#but with the rising boys they could make bold choices

[lee-sanghyeok]

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[pucksandpower]

In Another Life

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Rome, 79 AD

The bustling streets of Rome pulse with life as you make your way through the crowded forum. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat wafts through the air, mingling with the chatter of merchants and citizens going about their daily business. You adjust your stola, the flowing garment feeling unusually constricting today as you hurry towards the Temple of Venus.

“Watch where you’re going!” A gruff voice shouts as you accidentally bump into a burly man carrying an amphora.

“My apologies,” you mutter, quickening your pace. Your heart races, not from the near-collision, but from anticipation. You’re running late for your clandestine meeting with Charles, the young patrician who has captured your heart.

As you approach the temple, you spot him pacing nervously at the base of the steps. His toga gleams white in the afternoon sun and his usually perfectly coiffed hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it anxiously.

“There you are!” Charles exclaims as you draw near. His face breaks into a relieved smile, and he reaches for your hands. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

You can’t help but return his smile, your earlier stress melting away. “As if I could stay away,” you tease, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “Though I must say, your choice of meeting place is rather bold. The Temple of Venus? Are you trying to tell me something?”

He laughs, a warm, rich sound that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “Perhaps I’m simply hoping the goddess will smile upon us,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “After all, we could use all the divine favor we can get.”

Your smile falters slightly at his words, reality creeping back in. “Have you spoken with your father?” You ask, unable to keep the worry from your voice.

Charles’ expression grows serious. “I have,” he says, leading you to a secluded corner of the temple grounds. “He’s ... not pleased, to say the least. He still insists on the marriage to Claudia.”

You feel a pang in your chest at the mention of Charles’ intended bride. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Charles replies firmly. “That my heart belongs to you and I won’t marry another.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles,” you whisper, “you know the consequences-”

He cuts you off, cupping your face in his hands. “I don’t care about the consequences. I love you, Y/N. I won’t let my father’s ambitions or society’s expectations keep us apart.”

You lean into his touch, torn between elation and fear. “But your family, your position ... you’d lose everything.”

“Not everything,” Charles insists. “I’d have you. That’s all that matters.”

You’re about to respond when a commotion near the temple entrance catches your attention. Your blood runs cold as you spot Charles’ father, Senator Leclerc, striding towards you, flanked by several burly slaves.

“Charles!” The senator bellows, his face contorted with rage. “Step away from that girl at once!”

Charles instinctively moves to shield you. “Father, please,” he begins, but the senator cuts him off.

“Silence! You shame our family with this ... this dalliance. I won’t stand for it any longer.”

You feel Charles tense beside you. “It’s not a dalliance, Father. I love her.”

The senator’s face grows even redder. “Love? You know nothing of love, boy. You have a duty to your family, to Rome. I won’t let you throw it all away for some common girl.”

“She’s not common,” Charles argues, his voice rising. “She’s extraordinary, and I won’t let you or anyone speak ill of her.”

The tension in the air is palpable as father and son face off. You want to intervene, to de-escalate the situation, but you’re frozen in place, your heart pounding.

Suddenly, one of the senator’s slaves moves forward, reaching for Charles. Without thinking, you step between them. “Don’t touch him!” You cry out.

Everything happens in a blur. The slave’s hand connects with your shoulder, shoving you back. You stumble, your foot catching on the hem of your stola. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself falling, tumbling down the temple steps.

“Y/N!” Charles’ anguished cry is the last thing you hear before pain explodes through your body and the world goes dark.

You drift in and out of consciousness, aware of frantic voices and the sensation of being carried. Charles’ face swims into view, streaked with tears.

“Stay with me, love,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Please, don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, to reassure him, but no words come. The pain is fading now, replaced by a strange numbness. You manage to lift a hand to Charles’ cheek, wanting to wipe away his tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I love you, Charles. In this life and the next.”

As darkness closes in, your last thought is a desperate hope that someday, somehow, you’ll find each other again.

Genoa, 1348

The acrid smell of smoke and death hangs heavy in the air as Charles makes his way through the narrow, winding streets. His eyes water, both from the stench and the unshed tears he’s been holding back for days. The plague has ravaged the city, leaving behind a trail of devastation and despair.

Charles pulls his cloth mask tighter over his nose and mouth, though he knows it’s likely futile. He’s a physician, one of the few brave — or foolish — enough to still tend to the sick. But today, he’s not seeking out patients. He’s searching for you.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice muffled by the mask. “Y/N, where are you?”

A nearby door creaks open, and a haggard face peers out. “Keep your voice down, fool,” the old woman hisses. “You’ll bring the afflicted running.”

Charles ignores her, pressing on. His heart races with each step, fear and hope warring within him. He hasn’t seen you in days, not since you left to care for your ailing aunt. The memory of your parting plays in his mind, as vivid as if it were happening now.

“I have to go,” you had said, your eyes filled with determination and fear. “She has no one else.”

He had tried to dissuade you. “It’s too dangerous. The plague-”

“I know the risks,” you’d cut him off. “But I can’t abandon her. You’d do the same if it were your family.”

He couldn’t argue with that. It was one of the things he loved most about you — your unwavering compassion, even in the face of danger.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he’d pleaded, pulling you close. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

You’d kissed him then, soft and sweet. “I promise. Nothing could keep me from you, my love. Not even death itself.”

Now, as he rounds another corner, Charles clings to that promise like a lifeline. “Y/N!” He calls again, desperation creeping into his voice.

Suddenly, he spots a familiar figure stumbling down the street. His heart leaps. “Y/N!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and Charles feels his world tilt on its axis. Your face is pale, your eyes glassy with fever. As he watches in horror, you collapse to the ground.

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, rushing to your side. He gathers you in his arms, his physician’s training warring with his lover’s panic. “Y/N, can you hear me? Open your eyes, love.”

Your eyelids flutter, and you manage a weak smile. “Charles,” you whisper. “You found me.”

“Of course I found you,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll always find you. Now, let’s get you home and take care of you.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, it’s too late. The plague-”

“Don’t say that,” Charles interrupts fiercely. “It’s not too late. I’m a physician, remember? I’ll cure you. I have to.”

Despite your condition, you manage a soft laugh. “My stubborn love. Always fighting the impossible.”

Charles lifts you gently, cradling you against his chest. “Nothing’s impossible when it comes to you,” he insists, starting the journey back to his home. “We’ve overcome so much already. Remember when we first met? You were convinced a lowly apprentice physician could never court a merchant’s daughter.”

You smile at the memory. “And you were determined to prove me wrong.”

“Which I did,” Charles says, a hint of his old cockiness creeping into his voice. “Rather spectacularly, if I recall correctly.”

“Mmm, yes,” you murmur. “That night under the stars, when you recited all those ridiculous poems ...”

Charles chuckles. “They weren’t ridiculous. They were romantic.”

“They were terrible,” you counter weakly. “But your heart was in the right place.”

As they near Charles’ home, your breathing becomes more labored. Fear claws at Charles’ chest, but he forces it down. “Stay with me, love,” he pleads. “We’re almost there.”

Once inside, Charles lays you gently on the bed. He works tirelessly, applying every treatment and remedy he knows. Hours blur together as he fights against the inevitable, refusing to give up hope.

But as night falls, he can no longer deny the truth. The plague is winning and he’s powerless to stop it.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s time to let go.”

He shakes his head vehemently, tears streaming down his face. “No, I can’t. I won’t lose you again.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Again?”

Charles pauses, unsure where that thought came from. “I ... I don’t know. It just feels like I’ve lost you before, somehow.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps in another life,” you muse. “But in this one, we found each other. We loved. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not enough,” Charles insists, his voice breaking. “We were supposed to have more time. We were going to get married, have children, grow old together.”

“We’ll have that chance,” you say with surprising conviction. “If not in this life, then in the next. Our souls are bound, Charles. I feel it. This isn’t the end for us.”

Charles wants to believe you, but the grief is overwhelming. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know our love,” you reply, reaching up to touch his face. “It’s stronger than death, stronger than time itself. We’ll find each other again, my love. I promise.”

As your hand falls away, your eyes close for the last time. Charles pulls you close, his body wracked with sobs. “I’ll find you,” he vows through his tears. “In this life or the next, I’ll always find you.”

Days pass in a haze of grief and determination. Charles throws himself into treating the sick with renewed vigor, heedless of the risk to himself. And when the telltale symptoms begin to appear — the fever, the chills, the aching limbs — he faces them without fear.

As he lies in his sickbed, Charles’ thoughts are only of you. “I’m coming, my love,” he whispers to the empty room. “Wait for me.”

His last conscious thought is a fervent hope that somehow, somewhere, you’ll be reunited once more.

Paris, 1789

The streets of Paris echo with the sound of angry voices and marching feet as Charles makes his way through the city’s winding alleys. His heart races, not from the exertion of his hurried pace, but from the fear of what’s to come. The revolution has begun in earnest, and his world is crumbling around him.

“Charles!” Your voice cuts through the chaos, and he turns to see you running towards him, your skirts hiked up to allow for faster movement. “Thank God I found you. We have to go, now!”

He grabs your hand, pulling you into a shadowy doorway. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s not safe!”

You cup his face in your hands, your eyes blazing with determination. “I couldn’t leave without you. The mob is heading for your family’s estate. We need to get you out of the city.”

Charles feels a rush of love for you, even as fear grips his heart. You, a baker’s daughter, risking everything to save him. “And what of you? Your family?”

“They’re safe,” you assure him. “Papa closed the bakery and they’ve gone to stay with relatives in the countryside. But you ... Charles, they’ll kill you if they find you.”

He knows you’re right. His family name, once a source of pride, is now a death sentence. “Where can we go?” He asks, his mind racing.

“I have a plan,” you say, tugging him back into the street. “There’s a farmer who owes my father a favor. He’s agreed to hide us until we can secure passage to England.”

As you hurry through the streets, the sounds of the mob grow louder. Charles can’t help but look back, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he’s leaving behind.

“Charles, focus,” you urge, squeezing his hand. “We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, a group of revolutionaries rounds the corner ahead of you. Their eyes lock onto Charles, recognition dawning on their faces.

“Aristocrat!” One of them shouts, pointing an accusing finger. “Seize him!”

“Run!” Charles yells, pulling you in the opposite direction. You flee hand-in-hand, weaving through the narrow streets as shouts and footsteps echo behind you.

“This way,” you pant, yanking him down an alley. “I know a shortcut.”

You lead him through a maze of backstreets, the angry voices growing fainter. Just as Charles begins to hope you’ve lost them, you emerge onto a main road … and straight into the path of another group of revolutionaries.

“Halt!” A burly man with a tricolor sash shouts, leveling a musket at Charles.

Charles pushes you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Please,” he says, raising his hands. “We mean no harm. We’re just trying to leave the city.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You’re Leclerc’s boy, aren’t you? The one who’s been helping nobles escape?”

Charles feels you stiffen behind him. He’d kept his activities secret, even from you, to keep you safe. But now ...

“Yes,” he admits, straightening his spine. “I’ve been helping innocent people escape persecution. If that’s a crime, then I’m guilty.”

The man’s face twists with rage. “Traitor to the revolution!” He spits. “You’ll pay for your crimes against the people!”

As the man raises his musket, time seems to slow. Charles is acutely aware of your rapid breathing behind him, of the sweat beading on his brow, of the hammering of his heart.

“No!” You cry out, trying to push past Charles. “Please, he’s a good man! He’s helped people, saved lives!”

“Y/N, don’t,” Charles pleads, holding you back. He turns to face you, drinking in the sight of your face, committing every detail to memory. “I love you,” he says softly. “In this life and the next.”

The words trigger a flash of memory — or is it déjà vu? Charles has a sudden feeling that he’s said those words before, in another time, another place.

The moment is shattered by the deafening crack of the musket firing. Charles feels a searing pain in his chest, and then he’s falling, the world tilting sideways.

“Charles!” You anguished scream seems to come from far away. He feels your arms around him, cradling his head in your lap. “No, no, no. Stay with me, my love. Please!”

Charles tries to speak, but only a wet cough comes out. He can taste blood in his mouth. The pain is fading now, replaced by a spreading numbness.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Tears stream down your face as you bend over him. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a hero, Charles. My hero.”

He wants to tell you how much he loves you, how meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him. But the darkness is closing in, and he can feel himself slipping away.

As his eyes flutter closed, Charles has a strange sensation of déjà vu. He sees flashes of other lives — ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa — where he loved you and lost you. Or did you lose him?

With his last breath, Charles makes a silent vow. Somehow, someway, he’ll find you again. In the next life, you’ll get it right. You have to.

The world fades to black, but Charles isn’t afraid. He knows this isn’t the end. It’s just another beginning.

You hold Charles’ lifeless body, your sobs echoing in the suddenly quiet street. The revolutionaries stand awkwardly, some looking ashamed, others defiant.

“What have you done?” You cry out, your voice raw with grief and anger. “He was a good man! He helped people!”

The man with the musket shifts uncomfortably. “He was an aristocrat,” he mutters, but there’s less conviction in his voice now.

You look up at him, your eyes blazing through your tears. “He was a human being,” you say fiercely. “And you murdered him.”

As the reality of what they’ve done sinks in, the crowd begins to disperse. You’re left alone with Charles, cradling his body in the middle of the street.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “In the next life, my love. I promise we’ll be together again.”

As night falls over Paris, you sit vigil over Charles’ body, your heart broken but your spirit undefeated. Somewhere deep inside, you know this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just another chapter in a love that spans lifetimes.

London, 1942

The steady tick of the clock on the mantle seems to echo through the small London flat as you pace anxiously, your eyes darting to the window every few seconds. The air raid sirens have been silent for days, but the tension in the city remains palpable. It’s been weeks since you’ve heard from Charles, and the knot of worry in your stomach grows tighter with each passing day.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. Your heart races as you rush to answer it, hope and fear warring within you. But instead of Charles’ warm smile, you’re met with the solemn face of his fellow RAF pilot, James.

“James,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. “What is it? What’s happened?”

James removes his cap, twisting it in his hands. “May I come in? I’m afraid I have some news about Charles.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis as you step back, allowing James to enter. You lead him to the small sitting room, your movements mechanical, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance.

“Please,” you say, gesturing to a chair. “Sit down and tell me everything.”

James perches on the edge of the armchair, his discomfort palpable. “There’s no easy way to say this. Charles’ plane was shot down over the Channel three days ago. We ... we haven’t found any survivors.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, driving the air from your lungs. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be right. Charles is too good a pilot. He promised he’d come back to me.”

James leans forward, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Charles was one of the best pilots I’ve ever known, but the Jerries caught us by surprise. There was nothing he could do.”

You sink onto the sofa, your legs suddenly unable to support you. “Tell me what happened,” you demand, your voice stronger than you feel. “I need to know everything.”

James nods, taking a deep breath. “We were on a routine patrol over the Channel. Everything seemed quiet, and then suddenly the sky was full of Messerschmitts. They came out of nowhere, diving out of the sun.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Charles ... he was incredible. He managed to take down two of them before they could even react. But there were just too many of them.”

You close your eyes, picturing Charles in the cockpit of his Spitfire, his face set with determination as he faced impossible odds. It’s an image that both comforts and devastates you.

“I saw his plane take a hit,” James continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He was trying to draw their fire away from the rest of us. The last thing I heard over the radio was him saying, ‘Tell Y/N I love her. In this life and the next.’”

A sob escapes you at those words, so achingly familiar. “He’s said that before,” you murmur, more to yourself than to James.

“I’m sorry?” James asks, leaning closer.

You shake your head, unsure how to explain the strange sense of déjà vu. “It’s nothing. Please, go on.”

James nods, though he looks at you curiously. “His plane went down fast after that. We searched for hours, but with the weather and the waves ...” He trails off, leaving the grim implication hanging in the air.

“So there’s still a chance?” You ask, clinging to a shred of hope. “If you didn’t find ... if there’s no body, he could still be out there, right?”

The pity in James’ eyes is almost unbearable. “Y/N, I know it’s hard to accept, but the chances of survival in those conditions ... it would take a miracle.”

You stand abruptly, pacing the small room. “Then I’ll believe in miracles,” you declare fiercely. “Charles is strong, and he’s a survivor. He wouldn’t leave me, not like this.”

James rises, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I understand. Charles spoke of you often, you know. He loved you more than anything in this world.”

“Loves,” you correct him sharply. “He loves me. Present tense.”

James nods, not arguing. “Of course. I’m sorry, I should go. Is there anything you need? Anyone I can call for you?”

You shake your head, suddenly desperate to be alone. “No, thank you. I just ... I need some time.”

As you show James out, he pauses at the door. “Charles was more than just my commanding officer. He was my friend. If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thank you, James. That means a lot.”

As the door closes behind him, the flat seems to grow impossibly quiet. You lean against the wall, feeling as though you might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

Your eyes fall on a framed photograph of Charles, taken just before he left for his last mission. His smile is radiant, his eyes full of life and love. You pick up the frame, tracing his features with a trembling finger.

“You promised,” you whisper to the image. “You promised you’d come back to me.”

A memory surfaces, unbidden. Charles, laughing as he spun you around in the park on your first date. “You know,” he had said, his eyes twinkling, “I have the strangest feeling I’ve known you forever.”

You had felt it too, that inexplicable sense of familiarity, of coming home. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life,” you had joked.

Charles had grown serious then, cupping your face in his hands. “If that’s true,” he had said softly, “then I’m certain I loved you just as much then as I do now.”

The memory is too much. Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, still clutching the photograph to your chest. Sobs wrack your body as the full weight of your loss crashes over you.

“Come back to me,” you plead between gasping breaths. “Please, Charles. Find me again. In this life or the next, just find me.”

As you kneel there, lost in your grief, a strange calm settles over you. Deep in your soul, you feel a certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Charles will find each other again.

You have to believe it. It’s the only thing that will get you through the long, dark nights ahead.

Berlin, 1961

The cold November air bites at Charles’ face as he paces along the western side of the Berlin Wall, his breath forming small clouds in the dim light of dawn. His eyes scan the imposing concrete barrier, searching for any sign of movement on the other side. He checks his watch for the hundredth time, willing the minutes to pass faster.

“Come on, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath. “Where are you?”

As if in answer to his plea, a small pebble arcs over the wall, landing at his feet. Charles’ heart leaps as he bends to retrieve it, unfolding the small piece of paper wrapped around it.

I’m here, the note reads in your familiar handwriting. Same spot. Be careful.

Charles moves quickly to a section of the wall where a drain pipe creates a small blind spot from the watchtowers. He pulls out a compact mirror, angling it to catch a glimpse of the other side.

“Y/N,” he whispers urgently. “Can you hear me?”

“Charles!” Your voice comes back, barely audible. “Thank God. I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“I’ll always come for you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Are you alright? Did anyone follow you?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “I was careful. But Charles, we don’t have much time. They’re planning to move me to Moscow next week. This might be our last chance.”

Charles feels his stomach drop. “Moscow? No, we can’t let that happen. We have to get you out of there tonight.”

“How?” You ask, a note of desperation in your voice. “The security has been tightened since the last escape attempt. There are patrols everywhere.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “I have a contact in the American sector. He might be able to help. But Y/N, it’s risky. If we’re caught ...”

“I know,” you interrupt. “But I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be loyal to a system I despise. And I can’t bear to be separated from you any longer.”

His heart swells at your words. “I feel the same way. Okay, listen carefully. Meet me back here at midnight. Wear dark clothes and bring only what you can carry in a small bag. I’ll have everything else ready on this side.”

“Midnight,” you repeat. “I’ll be here. Charles ... I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says softly. “More than you could ever know. Be safe, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

As Charles turns to leave, he’s struck by a sudden, overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He’s had this feeling before when talking to you, as if your souls have known each other across lifetimes. Shaking off the strange thought, he hurries away to set the plan in motion.

The hours crawl by as Charles makes preparations. He meets with his American contact, secures false documents, and plots the safest route to the western sector. As night falls, he returns to the wall, his nerves on edge.

Midnight comes and goes. Charles waits, every muscle tense, straining to hear any sound from the other side. Five minutes pass. Then ten.

“Y/N?” He whispers urgently. “Are you there?”

Silence answers him. Charles feels panic rising in his chest. Something’s wrong.

Suddenly, the night is shattered by the sound of shouting and dogs barking. Floodlights blaze to life on the eastern side of the wall.

“No,” Charles breathes, horror washing over him. “Y/N!”

He presses himself against the wall, desperate to hear something, anything. The chaos on the other side grows louder. Then, cutting through it all, he hears your voice.

“Charles!” You cry out. “Charles, help me!”

Without thinking, Charles begins to climb the wall, heedless of the danger. He has to get to you, has to save you.

“Stop right there!” A gruff voice shouts in German. Charles freezes, realizing he’s been spotted by a guard on the western side.

“Please,” Charles begs in German, “You don’t understand. There’s someone over there who needs help. I have to-”

His words are cut off by the sharp crack of gunfire from the eastern side. Charles’ blood runs cold.

“Y/N!” He screams, no longer caring who hears him. “Y/N, answer me!”

But there’s no response. The night falls eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of hurried orders being given in Russian.

Charles slumps against the wall, his mind refusing to accept what his heart already knows. You’re gone. He was too late.

Hours pass in a blur. Charles remains by the wall, numb with grief and shock. As dawn breaks, he hears someone approaching from the western side.

“Mr. Leclerc?” A voice says softly. It’s his American contact. “I’m so sorry. We ... we heard what happened.”

Charles looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “Tell me,” he says hoarsely.

The man sighs heavily. “She was caught trying to reach the wall. There was a struggle. The guards ... they didn’t hesitate to use lethal force.”

Each word is like a knife to Charles’ heart. “Did she suffer?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“It was quick,” the man assures him. “If it’s any consolation, our sources say her last words were about you. She said, ‘Tell Charles I’ll find him again. In this life or the next.’”

Charles closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Those words ... why do they sound so familiar?

“Mr. Leclerc,” the American says gently, “it’s not safe for you to stay here. We need to get you out of Berlin. There will be questions, investigations.”

But Charles barely hears him. His mind is reeling, flashes of memories — or are they dreams — flooding his consciousness. Ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa, revolutionary France, war-torn skies over the English Channel. In each scene, he sees your face, hears your voice promising to find each other again.

“This isn’t the end,” Charles murmurs, more to himself than to the confused American.

“I’m sorry?” The man asks.

Charles stands, a strange calm settling over him. “Nothing,” he says. “You’re right. We should go.”

As they walk away from the wall, Charles makes a silent vow. He will live, he will remember, and he will find you again. Somehow, somewhere, in another life, you will have your chance at happiness.

The Berlin Wall may have separated you in this life, but Charles is certain now that your souls are bound across lifetimes. And no wall, no war, no force on earth can keep you apart forever.

Abu Dhabi, 2025

The roar of engines fills the air as Charles crosses the finish line, clinching his first Formula 1 World Championship. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Charles barely hears them. His eyes scan the barriers, searching for one face among thousands.

As he brings his Ferrari to a stop, he sees you pushing through the throng of celebrating team members. Your eyes meet, and suddenly everything else fades away. Charles leaps from the car, not even bothering to remove his helmet as he runs towards you.

“We did it!” He shouts, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around. “We actually did it!”

You laugh, tears of joy streaming down your face. “You did it, Charles! I’m so proud of you!”

He sets you down gently, finally removing his helmet. His hair is matted with sweat, his face flushed with exertion and excitement. To you, he’s never looked more handsome.

“No,” Charles says, cupping your face in his hands. “We did this together. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a passionate kiss. The world around you explodes with camera flashes and cheers, but neither of you notice. In this moment, you’re the only two people in the world.

As you finally break apart, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs. “In this life and-”

“And all the others,” you finish, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over you.

Charles pulls back slightly, his brow furrowed. “You feel it too, don’t you?” He asks. “Like we’ve said these words before?”

You nod, a bit dazed. “It’s strange. Sometimes when I look at you, I get flashes of ... I don’t know, other times, other places. But it’s always us, always together.”

A grin spreads across Charles’ face. “Maybe we’re soulmates,” he teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

“Charles! Y/N!” A voice calls out. You turn to see Fred Vasseur approaching. “Sorry to interrupt, but Charles has to get weighed.”

Charles nods, then turns back to you. “Wait for me?” He asks.

You smile, giving him a quick kiss. “Always,” you promise.

As Charles is whisked away for obligations, you find yourself lost in thought. The strange feeling of familiarity, of a love that transcends time, has been with you since the day you met Charles. You’ve never mentioned it to him before, afraid he’d think you were crazy.

The podium ceremony is a blur of champagne and cheers. Charles’ radiant smile never wavers as he hoists the trophy, but his eyes keep finding you in the crowd. When it’s finally over, he makes a beeline for you, ignoring the clamoring reporters.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, taking your hand.

You raise an eyebrow. “What about the press conference? The team celebrations?”

Charles shakes his head. “They can wait. Right now, I just want to be with you.”

Hand-in-hand, you sneak away from the track, laughing like teenagers as you dodge team members and journalists. Charles leads you to his car and soon you’re speeding down the winding roads of the Emirati capital.

“Where are we going?” You ask, the wind whipping through your hair.

Charles grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ll see.”

As the sun begins to set, Charles pulls off onto a small dirt road. It leads to a secluded hilltop overlooking the valley below. The view is breathtaking, the entire landscape bathed in the warm glow of twilight.

“Charles,” you breathe, taking in the scene. “It’s beautiful.”

He comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You turn in his arms, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “What are we doing here, Charles?”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly looking nervous. “Y/N, do you remember the day we met?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course. I was lost in the paddock and you offered to help me find my way.”

“The moment I saw you,” Charles says softly, “it was like ... like coming home. Like I’d been searching for you my whole life without even knowing it.”

Your heart races as he continues. “And ever since then, I’ve had these ... dreams, I guess. Flashes of other lives, other times. But always with you.”

“Charles,” you whisper, hardly daring to believe what you’re hearing. “I’ve had them too. I thought I was going crazy.”

He shakes his head, a look of wonder on his face. “Not crazy. Just ... connected. In a way I can’t fully explain.”

Charles takes your hands in his, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your skin. “I don’t know if it’s past lives or parallel universes or just some cosmic coincidence. But I do know this: in every life, in every version of reality, I love you. And I want to spend the rest of this life, and all the ones that come after, loving you.”

Your breath catches as Charles drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod emphatically. “Yes,” you manage to choke out. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

Charles’ face breaks into a radiant smile as he slips the ring onto your finger. He stands, pulling you into a kiss that feels like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

As you break apart, both of you laughing and crying, a sense of rightness settles over you. Whatever strange connection you share, whatever cosmic forces have brought you together time and time again, you know that this — right here, right now — is where you’re meant to be.

“I love you,” you say, looking into Charles’ eyes. “In this life and all the others.”

“And I love you,” he replies, holding you close. “Always and forever.”

The future stretches out before you, full of promise and possibility. And though you don’t know what challenges it might bring, you’re certain of one thing: whatever comes, you’ll face it together.

Just as you always have, and always will.

[thealogie]

picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.

you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.

so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.

so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.

and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.

and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?

This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Four)

Summary: You and Tommy suddenly find yourselves in a small predicament as the impending hour of your engagement ball draws near. Only to be made worse when you make an unexpected bold move in your war of words. As alliances begin to form between the gangster and an unlikely guest later that evening. Yours and Tommy's feelings also begin to show when he makes a move that will leave you as equally breathless. But with someone watching from afar, another problem comes your way. One that could leave everything in jeopardy.

Warnings: Language, angst, domestic violence, use of one racial slur, very brief 18+ themes.

Word Count: 5692

Authors Note: The waltz played at the engagement ball is called "Second Waltz" by Dmitri Shostakovich. Which was also used in my trailer for this series.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" you asked with gritted teeth, hovering over the workman with half his body buried deep under the intricate rail work of pipes as you silently prayed for a better outcome than what the current situation held.

" Busted main pipe, Miss" Mr Potts grunted as he hoisted himself up from under the dusty floors of your aging home.

Well, bollocks, you thought to yourself as you wiped the layer of sweat that had accumulated on the back of your neck. The sweltering heat that had descended over the country, having no mercy on you and every other citizen that was accustomed to summers your southern neighbors would consider dreary and wet.

" Is it possible you could fix it...by tonight?" you questioned in hopes things could be swiftly sorted before your engagement ball set to take place that evening. The soirée you had no choice but to put a brave face on for. But not a sweaty, frazzled-haired one if you had any control over your bathing habits.

" Mr Potts?" you queried once again when a hearty crescendo of laughter left the plumbers jiggling girth at your lack of knowledge for manual labor, and the hours it would take to fix such a problem.

" Tonight? Are you 'aving a laugh?" he snorted as you crossed your arms, the deepening creases of your brow furrowing with every chuckle that left his raspy lungs.

" It's not that funny..." you mumbled as he continued to echo his amusement. Could probably fix it myself, given the chance, your strong willingness pushed through your pouting lips when Tommy came striding down the hallway.

"Y/N" he greeted you with a soft smile, dressed in only a vest and suit trousers, his suspenders hanging loosely from his hips. It would almost be unusual to see him fully dressed in your presence at this point, you thought to yourself as you watched him wipe the sticking heat from under his chin down to his toned collarbone. Hot. So...so, terribly hot...

"Mr Shelby" you greeted him back with flushed cheeks, pulling yourself away from your steamy thoughts as he stood arm to arm with you. His darting eyes unable to divert from the beads of perspiration that had settled on your rising chest, dripping down to the curves of your...fuck

" Pipes about to burst " you said, catching his wandering eye as you subtly shimmied the frills of your dress over your steamy display.

" Right" he replied as he cleared his throat, finding a degree of innuendo in your passing statement he felt would be best kept to himself than shared with the room and it's causing effect. You.

As you both watched the plumber plod about, a silence momentarily settled between you both, free from the bickering, cocky remarks and slamming of doors.

Something had unexpectedly changed since Tommy turned up in both support and respect to your father's funeral. The sudden shift away from butting heads, replaced by the echoing spark of yearning from your first encounter. But for how long, until you faced yet another bump in your precariously winding road to admitting your sentiments towards the other?

"Me and my boys will be 'round first thing tomorrow" the workman announced as he settled his cap on his head, breaking the tension between you both.

" But...but how are we supposed to wash?"you hurried after his heavy footsteps, left inconveniently in the lurch.

" Servants' quarters aren't connected to the main buildings' plumbing" he replied, turning around as his pout belly bounced into yours, the sudden impact causing you to fly back two feet. " Their bath is hooked up to the pipes for the horses stables. That ain't gonna be a problem is it now, Miss? he asked with his hands on his hips as his eyes honed in on your bumbling lips.

" I...I didn't build this house, Mr Potts" you said with darting eyes and reddened cheeks, feeling like you were suddenly the one to be blamed for the houses' layout, and the divide it created between classes.

" I can assure you, had I been the one to oversee the architecture..." you rambled off into an incoherent speech on how you was for workers rights as the plumbers' brow began to scrunch at your nattering to a comment he made in jest.

" No, it's not a problem. Absolutely, definitely not, a problem" you answered, catching your breath with a weary smile as your embarrassment for not being able to reply to a simple question without going into a rant caught up with you.

" Splendid" he replied, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders as he turned around. A chuckle leaving his lips for the high society lady he had left in a dizzy.

Spinning on your heel, you came face to face with your smoking squatter, casually leaning against the wall as a small grin of amusement he had no intention of hiding, lurked behind the fumes of tobacco as you slowly padded towards him, awaiting the dose of humiliation you were sure was on the tip of his tongue.

" One bath" he said stood in front of you as his eyes darted back and forth to the servants' quarters.

" Hmm" you hummed as you watched him brush the droplets of heat from his brow. Both of you in dire need to cool down. But with only one bath, the race to it's location was now tethering on the starting line as you both waited for the other to make the first move.

"Excuse me" you said before taking off down the very hallway he'd been eyeing up, attempting to get a head start on your mutually shared agenda.

" Stifling isn't it?" You said, flapping the top of your dress in attempt to get a draft down to your sweating crevices as he quickly appeared beside you, matching your quickened pace as you both exchanged pleasantries to hide the determination you had to get to the only bath with running water.

" Suffocating" he replied as you jogged breathlessly next to his long strides, distracted enough for him to take a quick peek at the beautiful sight of your bouncing bosom.

" You dropped something, love" Tommy warned you as he glanced down at your feet, causing you to momentarily stop in your tracks.

Dropped something, your eyes narrowed in on him briskly walking away with a throaty chuckle. Dropped your guard for him mischievously fooling you more like!

" You cheat!" you pouted as you summoned the will of your inner child, racing after his steps like a charging young boy, red-faced and sweaty about to tackle down his biggest rival, when you came to a stumbling stop into his body, quickly wrapping your slippery hand around his on the brass handle of the door as you both fought for dominance.

" Ladies first" he relented to the gentlemanly way of doing things, gesturing for you to go as you blew a lock of hair from in front of your eyes,

" No, you go" you replied coyly, intending to play a back and forth game of politeness until your graciously gave. Ignoring the fact you had launched yourself into him seconds earlier, ready to fight him to the death on who gets first dibs.

"Well, if you insist" he opened the door with a smirk, swiftly shutting it behind him.

"But..but..." He left you muted and mumbling as you stood with crossed arms, your eyes darting in disbelief to and from the room he had just entered.

What a... you scoffed to yourself unable to find the appropriate insult as you heard him turn the water on, obnoxiously whistling to himself in the process.

And to think you thought the unspoken ceasefire between you was a treaty you had both signed.

What was he doing, practicing his butterfly stroke? you thought to yourself as your eyes honed in on the bathroom door. One hour. One full hour he'd been in there bathing himself as if he was a Greek goddess in the seas of Pathos.

" Right" you stormed up from the chair placed directly outside the door you had been waiting in front of for the hour of your life you'd never get back.

"Mr Shelby?" you politely knocked for the first time since his arrival, only to have a response of silence.

"Mr Shelby!?" Your patience lasted all but two seconds as your fist began to pound on the door before you dramatically swung it open. It's not like you hadn't already seen the lengthy manhood the gods had bestowed upon him, you reasoned to yourself as you charged through to see him with his head lulled back against the ceramic bath, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers.

" Get out. It's my turn" you huffed with your back against the sink as you watched him with annoyance, peacefully submerged in the cloudy water filled with Epsom salts.

" Oh, It's you. I would've never guessed" he opened one eye with a smirk to see you getting furiously irritated by the locks of hair sticking to your face.

" It's been an hour. Now leave" you said as you turned to the sink, fiddling with the cold tap to relive yourself from the heat radiating from your skin.

"It's been ten minutes" he said, lifting his cigarette to his lips as his eyes roamed over your dress adhered to your skin with sweat.

"You've used all the water! I can't...I can't believe you!" you snapped, turning the silver faucet to the very end for only a pitiful drop of water to settle in your palm.

" You can use mine when I get out" he said, causing your eyes to widen as big as his cocky grin. He may very well have been accustomed to sharing mucky bath water when he was a child in a bid for his mother to save on pennies, but you had never done anything of the sort. Let alone with a grown man you had only known for a matter of weeks. "Or there's a pond at the bottom of the garden"

" Pond?!"

" Too posh for ponds as well, ey princess?" a sly smirk settled on his ridiculously plump lips as he waited, watching you in the corners of his blue irises with amusement.

"Leave" you demanded, succumbing to the realisation that you had no choice but to bathe in his leftovers than share a pond with any potential slithering beings that lived in it.

" Five more minutes" he said closing his eyes, blowing a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. Had he become so accustomed to your daily bickering, that he was in fact doing this on purpose just so he would have an excuse to interact with you? Yes.

Whatever possessed you to do what you did next, when you propped your foot on the edge of the toilet seat and unclasped your garter straps, shimmying the stockings from your legs along with them. Would plague you for the rest of the evening if not, your entire life.

" Out" you approached the side of the bath, throwing your most intimate of undergarments on top of his bundled up clothes on a nearby chair.

" I think I'd rather stay, darling" he said watching you pull your dress from over your head as his cigarette slowly submerged itself under the murky water. The sight of you now only in your under slip leaving him momentarily stunned.

"Fine" you said forcing a sarcastic smile through your slowly evaporating bravado.

There's no going back now, you thought to yourself, dipping your foot into the bath as Tommy bolted upright until his body was firmly against the back of the cool enclosure.

"Fuck, what are..." he was lost for words at your unexpected display of both competitiveness, and a boldness that would match any Small Heath lass he'd ever encountered.

" What does it look like I'm doing? I'm having a bath, Mr Shelby" you replied, following through with your endeavor without a blip as you poured a tinned jug of water over your locks, watching Tommy shift position as he rubbed the droplets of water sitting on the curls of his long lashes away with his hand. Was he seeing things? Dreaming, hallucinating?

" Do you ever relax?" he asked you after silently observing you laver the soap onto your chest and arms in the quickest manner you could possibly achieve to do it in. Watching the bubbles of perfumed lavender seep down to your ample cleavage as your entangled legs and little room to move, made matters worse for the growing predicament he now found himself in.

" Huh!" you scoffed at his remark that would be better attributed to himself as you went to reach for the bar of soap, when your slippery hands had it sinking to the bottom of the watery deep. Inconveniently close to his side of the bath. Dangerously close to his side.

Locking eyes, you cautiously dipped your hand under the water when you felt him grab hold of your wrist, saving you from discovering the effect you had on him, and grabbing something he'd prefer stayed attached to his body.

With a heaving chest your eyes met in a lustful gaze as you felt the gentle tightening of his hand around yours in the cool water. Beckoning your thoughts to join him in the unspoken line he wanted to cross. The line you had both been dancing precariously close to ever since you met.

Whether it was fear of what would come after, or the nerves you felt about being intimate with someone again after your first disastrous time. You abruptly stood up as Tommy's mouth fell agape at the sight before him. Your body sheathed in your slip, drenched in enough water to see through the thin fabric to reveal your bare body beneath. Knickerless. Fuck.

" Stay" Tommy's breathy voice churning with desire mumbled, swallowing the lump in his throat as his straining cock twitched at the sight of your bare body in front of him. His hands edging to wrap around your legs and pull you down on top of him to relive you both of the tension you had let build through weeks of bickering.

" I won't" you left, leaving him with the angry echo of your voice and the puddles of your parting footsteps. Anger you felt only for yourself, and the yearning you had to indulge in your forbidden desires. Knowing it would only further confuse your mounting feelings for him, and the emotional web it would create if your future dealt you the wrong hand.

" Fucking hell..." Tommy threw his head back, slowly engulfing himself until he was fully submerged under the water. You'd be the death of him.

What the hell was you thinking, you pushed your damp hair away from your face as you walked down the heavy wooded stairs into the foyer. The sight of an unknown woman in the dining room capturing your attention enough for you to momentarily forget your impromptu bath with the blue-eyed trespasser.

" Ghastly, isn't it?" you said with crossed arms coming to stand beside her as she pulled the cigarette from between her ruby painted lips, lowering her sunglasses enough from the large portrait of Tommy to look at you.

" So you're the one" she said with a pursed smile, her hazel eyes igniting with a shared mischievousness for infuriating your mutual acquaintance.

" And you must be?" you queried as she stubbed out her cigarette on the frame of Tommy's imposing painting.

" Polly Gray. Aunt Polly to some" she said, reaching her immaculately painted talons out in a polite handshake before returning her eyes to the large framed picture.

" Whatever do you think possessed him to commission such a monstrosity?" your nose scrunched up at the beady-eyed horse and it's owner looming over you.

"Grand home, grand aspirations" she waved her hand in front of her at the strokes of paint, and it's ill fitting placement. A dining room. His mug watching everyone eat their breakfast. How delightful.

" Grand ego, more like" you said when a puff of smoke to your left came into view as you carried on your torment, knowing the very owner of the painting both you and his Aunt were ruthlessly insulting was standing right beside you.

" Well, he certainly has enough of that" she replied with a smirk, as Tommy furrowed his brow at you both simultaneously ganging up on him, having only met moments ago.

He liked his portrait, he thought to himself as he stiffened his posture, admiring the work that had been done when a burst of giggles came from next of him.

" You two finished?" he said as you both pulled your eyes away from the brooding painting of himself to the grumpy human version.

" Oh, Mr Shelby. I didn't see you there" you said with your hand to your chest, his shaking head not joining you and his Aunts shared amusement.

" Tommy. Y/N and I were just getting to know each other. Or rather, your interesting painting" she said, turning to pick up the folder of documents her nephews' distracted thoughts had forgotten to sign, when Tommy ceased the opportunity to enclose the small space between you as his Aunt bundled her belongings together.

" You left these with my clothes" his hot breath whispered into your ear with a curling smile, prickling the skin of your neck in a gentle wave of pleasure as he reached into his back pocket to pull out your laced underwear.

" Give them" you said quietly through gritted teeth, as you both tugged on the delicate item of clothing until they ripped and Tommy let go with a breathy chuckle.

" What's with you all of a sudden, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled to you, gently elbowing you in the side to get your attention, you reciprocated back twice as hard just as Polly turned to see the tense display between you both.

Don't think she hadn't noticed, nor the fact both of you had hair still damp with water. Just what had you two been up to?

" It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gray" you bid his Aunt goodbye with the bundled knickers scrunched in your hand behind your back as Tommy's thumb gently brushed over the fleshy part of your wrist.

Why were you suddenly playing so hard to get? You had got in the bath with him for Christ' sake, he thought to himself as his eyes followed you out the room. Were you playing games? his thoughts further nagged him with the idea of you toying with him. He'd seen you looking at him. Seen you stealing glances when you thought he wasn't watching. How long were you going to keep pretending you didn't want it as much as him?

" Until next time" she said with a curious smile, intrigued to know more about you and what had her nephew away from the office so frequently after mouthing to anyone forced to listen, how much you got under his skin.

" Now that's a rare sight worth painting" her drawn lips closed into a tight smile as the door closed and her head turned to see the pining eyes of her nephew, held in captivation for the woman that had just left the room.

" Be careful Thomas, anyone might just think you're in love" she arched her brow with a matching smirk before making her way to his office. Leaving a huffing Tommy with a disgruntled thrown as he shoved his hands into the depths of his trouser pockets.

Shit.

" Don't think I haven't noticed, Mr Shelby" your Grannie lifted her chin, her eyes looking at the gangster from head to toe stood beside her.

"I've seen that look" her lips pouted with a knowing smile, catching him staring at you from across the ballroom later that evening, as your fiance loomed over you. A look she herself had shared with a man not so different to Tommy.

" And what look would that be, Dowager? Tommy said through the toying smirk on the corner of his mouth as he took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, before taking a seat on the gold plush settee next to her.

" A look as old as time" she said, lifting the glass of bubbles to her lips as Tommy's eyes creased into a mischievous smile.

" Your secret is safe with me, Mr Shelby" Grannie's eyes met the spark of youth in his as she returned to keeping a watchful eye on you. Her loathing for the gangster having taken a sudden blow after witnessing his attentiveness to you at her son's funeral in the absence of your betrothed.

"Brute!" her eyes filled with anger as she watched Cal grab hold of your arm, pulling you into the darkness of the corner of the room.

" I can have him find his way into the cut, if you'd like" Tommy scoffed cocking a brow, passing your Grannie the small pocket square of white cotton from the front of his tailored tux, to usher the tears for your bleak circumstances away.

"Behave" she let a small giggle slip, patting his leg as her new budding companion for the evening sent her a boyish grin as she dabbed her eyes through her laughter.

" I'm afraid my dear girl will have even dire choices if Mr Astor happens to go missing. Her last remaining option looking ever the more bleak with each passing day" she sighed as her head cast down in exhaustion to her fingers clutched tightly around the champagne glass resting in her lap.

"Arrow House" Tommy let a breathy exhale out. Your Grannie only confirming his suspicions as to what had you clinging on for dear life to the house that would be better torn down than the many repairs needed to fix the state your father had left it in.

" For what it's worth, Mr Shelby. Your arrival may have thrown a spanner into my granddaughter's secret scheming, but it also brought a spring in her step for the life she once lived to it's full. Something I haven't had the joy of witnessing for many years" she confided in him, resting her aged hand creased with the wrinkles of wisdom she had earned on his arm. "And for that, I'm forever grateful to you"

" You're hurting me" you flinched at Cal's hand clasped tightly around your wrist, his eyes darkening into a bottomless glare of blackness.

" I will have you answer me, Y/N" he demanded, pulling you further into his body, hiding your guests from the controlling nature of your relationship.

" Why was he there, hm? Did you invite him?" his eyes blazed at you with fury. Breaths away from insulting you for his own insecurities having learnt of Tommy's appearance at your father's funeral from your brother.

" Are you whoring yourself out to him?" His paranoia spat through gritted teeth, his tightening hold numbing the extremities of your throbbing hand as your eyes welled with fear." Answer me!"

" Y/N?" Tommy's concerned voice drifted to you with his enclosing footsteps.

" Mr Shelby" you turned away from him, wiping the tears from your eyes with your bruising hand.

" Once again, Shelby. You seek out my fiance" Cal seethed though a throaty laugh, stretching the strain from his fingers that were moments away from snapping your wrist.

" It seems he is quite fond of you, dear" he scoffed with amusement as Tommy handed you a glass of gin, his look of disgust for the man beside him and the state of upset he had left you in further angering him when your limp hand had no strength to hold the small glass of liquor you quietly mumbled your gratitude for.

" A backstreet gypsy boy trying to win himself a woman of society. Whoever gave you the idea you could achieve such a thing?"

" This backstreet gypsy has never been one to turn down a challenge, Mr Astor. Especially not something as pretty as your wife to be" Tommy raised his brow, letting his mouth fall open with a challenging smirk, knowing the bastard in front of him wouldn't have a leg to stand on if he tried his luck with the cutthroat gangster, notorious for killing anyone who dared to come up against him.

" Fellas" your brother came between the two men in an attempt to calm the tension before a bloody shootout ensued.

"Dicky, Harold, meet Mr Shelby. My baby sister's houseguest" he turned to the men beside him as Tommy and your fiance continued to lock horns with a glaring, shared stance.

" Oh yes, the criminal" they tallest sniggered as the other took a chuckling bite of fish eggs on the wafer thin piece of bread in his hand.

" Harold Sterling. We share a business acquaintance" Tommy's head snapped to the giggling duo as he pointed his finger.

" I doubt that" he scoffed as his wife appeared beside him, curious as to who the smartly dressed gentleman was.

" Mr J.R Hughes from Hampstead, London" Tommy reminded him, lighting a cigarette, blowing the first drag of tobacco in his smug face.

" He mentioned you'd be attending this evening's ball. Said for me to send his regards to your wife, Kitty." His eyes narrowed in as Mr Sterling's widened with embarrassment.

" Your secretary, you've been sleeping with her again, haven't you? You dirty pig" his wife quietly snarled at him, as he tried to usher her away from causing a scene in front of the many dignitaries and fellow business partners present.

" Oh I'm sorry, I mean Gladys" Tommy named his second mistress through his cigarette loosely sitting between his lips before he could escape his dues.

" You bastard, you rotten bastard!" She snapped, swatting him across the arm as he cowered away.

" Dicky, how's your old man? Hear he got locked up?" Tommy turned to his next victim, picking them off one by one as you looked down at your drink, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to stop the smile of amusement you had for Tommy's brutal onslaught of the insufferable gang of merry men your brother spent time with.

" You have the wrong man, Mr Shelby. You don't know my father" he spat, turning to leave.

" The whole of Birmingham north of Aston knows him. The butcher of Bordesley Green"

" Your father's a butcher?" Johnathan's brow furrowed as his friend's lips wobbled without an answer.

" If butchering people is a profession" Tommy raised his brow. Ruthlessly unveiling the man's secret, his family had done their upmost to keep hidden from high society. But not from the backstreets of Birmingham his father's midnight killings had landed him in a life long stint at his majesty's pleasure until the noose called his name.

" Good lord, man!" Johnathan looked to his friend in horror, taking a step back from him and the small caviar knife on the porcelain plate in his hand, he feared he would use to gauge his organs out having learnt of his father's murderous hobby, as Tommy watched your finances eyes dart back and forth to him, waiting for the gang leader to reveal his own dirty secrets.

" Gentleman" Tommy left with a wicked smile of satisfaction. Leaving Cal momentarily with the comfort that his own legacy was safely secure. Safe for now, that is.

Watching you from afar at the side of the ballroom later that evening, Tommy continued to quietly endure your brother's nattering of unwarranted business ideas. Only entertaining his nonsense so he could peacefully steal glances at the woman who truly held his interest.

" Compelling, Johnathan" Tommy absently noted, pulling his eyes away from you as he took the last sip from his emptying glass of whisky.

" Another, old chap?" Your brother pointed to his glass, eager to continue his ridiculous business proposition he hoped would earn him big money.

" Yeh" Tommy cleared his throat, passing him his empty tumbler, thankful to be rid of him as he made his way to the lonely seat next to you.

" Mr Shelby" you looked up at him, away from the dancing guests as he settled himself beside you. " I want to thank you, for earlier" your tired eyes looked to him, hoping he understood the depth of your gratitude for intervening.

" Y/N..." he sighed, taking your battered wrist into his comforting touch, brushing his thumb gently over your bruising skin deepened once again with the marks of control your fiance had over you.

" Please, please don't say it. Just let me forget, if only for a moment" you interrupted him, resting your fingers gingerly over his hand as Tommy let out a stifled huff of frustration.

"So, what's this one?" Tommy changed the subject, turning his head to the swaying of ball dresses being guided in step around the ballroom.

" The waltz" you answered, thankful he'd not insisted on the matter you knew looked painfully frustrating to any bystander.

" And why aren't you dancing it, ey?" he turned back to you with a playful grin, keen to see you be spun around if to only have you smile for just one moment like he had witnessed at the ballet.

" I'm untouchable, I'm afraid" you said, raising your left hand and the diamond sitting on your finger. " Only male family members and Cal are seen as suitable dance members" you scoffed, looking down at the weighty piece of jewellery in your hand, only ever letting it grace your skin for events such as tonight's.

" You lot" Tommy chuckled leaning back in his seat, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the rules and expectations of the world you lived in. Small Heath didn't seem so bad after all.

" They show no mercy when they start gossiping" you looked back to the full room of unknown people who were only connected to you by wealth and status.

" Then let them talk" Tommy grabbed your hand, pulling you up and away to the patio doors as Grannie watched from afar with a hiccuping smile in her seat of observation as Tommy shot her a wink.

Naughty boy, she giggled to herself as the years of her own youth and the excitement it brought hurtled back to her.

" Wouldn't happen to have your hawk eyes on Mr Shelby, would you Grannie?" Your brother appeared beside her with two glasses of whisky, as he scanned the room for Tommy.

" Johnathan, must you lurk! Go make yourself busy, child" your Grannie jumped with fright, taking one of the glasses of liquor from his hand, then swatting him away with the other as Johnathan wandered off with a pout.

"Mr Shelby, what...what are you doing?" you breathlessly gasped, having been pulled from your seat to the outside patio quicker than you had time to react to.

" What does it look like, Y/N? I'm dancing " Tommy arched a brow as he pulled his wrapped hand around your waist further into his body.

" Don't be ridiculous, you can't dance" you rolled your eyes, trying to distance yourself from his strong frame, and the blushing effect it had on you.

" I'm a quick learner, love" he smirked as he straightened his back, grasping your hand in his.

As the booming drums rumbled from within the ballroom, Tommy began to lead you into a waltz with your guidance, or what he would best describe, bossy instructions he suspiciously didn't seem in need of, having picked up the steps of the dance astonishingly quickly for a novice.

Quick learner, your skeptical eyes looked up at the cocky grin trying to push past the bottom lip he was biting down on when the interlude of pounding drums had Tommy stomping his feet in unison.

" Stop it!" You huffed, swatting his arm at his playful mocking, when the thunderous sound of the strings recommenced and Tommy suddenly spun you around in his hold, freeing you both from the small patch of concrete he had kept you in as he guided you with long strides across your impromptu dance floor like he had danced it a thousand times.

" Tommy!" His name slipped past your squealing lips when he unexpectedly lifted you up to the starry night of stringed twinkling lights as your dress bloomed around you. The sound of his name and your beaming smile sending his thumping heart racing when he brought you back down into his arms, while your flushed cheeks and darting eyes revealed the embarrassment you felt for losing yourself in the moment.

" Mr Shel..."

"Y/N, shut up" Tommy quietened the use of formalities you had continued to insist on when he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, holding you tightly in his strong hold.

Breathlessly pulling back, your glistening eyes shone through the nervousness settling in your chest as your hands reached to rest on his pounding heart as he wantonly looked down at you, when the urge became too strong and you mutually crashed your lips back together in a passionate hold filled with a longing you had both been desperate to fill. Lips plush against each other, tongues intertwined in a secret dance only you knew.

" Mr Shelby?" Your brother called for the man who was currently locked in a heavy embrace with his sister as he pushed the French doors open with his back, simultaneously sipping from his whisky tumbler.

"Oh, dear" he quietly muttered as the remaining amber liquid poured to the greying concrete floor from his limp hand as he turned to see the unexpected sight of you together, oblivious of his presence.

Now this was a problem. A problem for him and your impending nuptials he was hoping would get him out of the small pickle he found himself in.

Oh dear, oh dear...

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings @classygirlything21 @dana-rmz

[yumekojabaml]

ঞじòぴé Chapter 1 ઈଓᦗ࿐

Summary: M/n is a cute little white boy in Japan filled with demons and slayers. What if I told you those demons and slayers want him?

Harem list: 1/2 2/2

Chapter 2

author's purpose: Yes, I’m making another series even though I will NEVER finish it. If you guys could give me and idea on each post I got you👌🏽. The yandere will be speaking with bold and a color of my choice. The reader will have just bold.

TW: Death

“Something bad is 'bout to happen to me. I don't know what, but I feel it coming”— Steve Lacy

“M/N M/N RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN”

“I'm sorry m/n I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.”

“M/N GET BACK HERE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH ME.”

“HELP ME SOMEBODY PLEASE.”

“MAMA PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN.

“GET AWAY FROM ME.”

“Nobodys going to help you.”

You woke drenched in sweat from a dream. “Type of dream was that?” You spoke out loud you've never had a dream like that before why all of a sudden?

‘I should get dressed.’ before getting dressed let me tell you what you look like. You have (h/l) hair with a petite body, long beautiful nails, and princess peach-like lips. You had a beauty that women wanted but never got.

Getting dressed, you ate, brushed your teeth, then left.

You open the shoji doors and close them leaving to get food since you are slowly running out. As you got there you got some stares from men mostly— the women envy you they just wished you, a foreigner NEVER came here. Did you care?… no you didn't.

“Hi, M/n It's been a while. “Spoke the pregnant lady. “Yes, it has been— how's the baby?” She smiled at you rubbing her belly. “He’s a fighter for sure he's been kicking me all day like he wants to see the world already.” She chuckled making you smile. “When he's born I want you to be his god uncle. “Does she really want that a teenager who should still be in middle school? “You mean it ame?” She nodded. “Now come help me.” she grabbed your wrist.

“Bye see you tomorrow!” She yelled waving goodbye as you walked away. All she wanted was for you to help her cook when her husband come home she gave you some of her food before you left. At least you don't have to cook.

For some reason when you came home and ate you just got this uneasy feeling like— something scary was gonna happen.

Laying your head down to rest all you hear is a loud, bloody murder scream. And your dumb ass got up and ran to the screaming once you got there the screaming stop all there was, was crying. You went to Ames's home seeing her holding a baby in her hands. She saw you. “M-m/n c-come closer.” You bent down in front of her.

“T-take c…are of m-my baby pl…ease. “Tears ran down hers and your face Ame chocked on her blood handing you her baby. “I will Ame… I’ll take care of him.” She smiled after saying. “You’ll be a better mother than me M/n.” Her hand dropped from your cheek before her eyes slowly shut. Your body was shaking if only Ame knew her baby was… gone before her.

— OBANAI’S POV—

‘Shit shit shit shit why didn't we get a report about this sooner.’ I thought seeing multiple dead bodies and blood. “We… are late- too late,” Giyuu said looking down of course we had to be late these demons are getting sneakier.

“Wait! I sense a heartbeat.” Sanemi ran in front of us we followed we made it to a house inside was a boy. Sitting on his knees sniffing holding a deceased baby along with a woman with tears streaming from his face. Giyuu was the first to step up to him.

“We need to get you out of here your family and many others will get a proper burial I just need you to let go of the baby and come with us.” The kid let go of the baby walking out of the house with his head down not even looking at us.

The kaiushi came cleaning up and burying the bodies I turned my head to the kid who was still there. Sanemi walked up to him. “Hey, listen you need to go home the sun is rising so you'll be fine walking home alone. “He didn't say anything well that's what we thought cause after Sanemi was done talking

“She was all I had left. “We looked at him he continued. “She loved me since the day I came to Japan she showed me around and treated me like I was a child of her own and now— she’s gone… because you couldn”t get here a second early.” He got up walking away from us.

It wasn't our fault we were late

[starsinthenigth]

★Rise!Donatello x Scene!Style!Reader Headcanons★

— |✷| REQUEST ??: yes (on wattpad).

— |✷| ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC: can be seen as both.

— |✷| TROPES: canon x reader.

— |✷| CONTENT WARNING: reader x canon, may be out character, repetitive words, scene style, scene themes, styling, wigs★not proof read, not proof read, not proof read★

(I don't like the word 'aesthetic' that much for some reason, I just don't know what other synonyms to use help, he—)

— |☆| Vibrant, maximised and over the top. Those could be the words that Donatello would describe your aesthetic and numerous accessories pairing your outfits. It could be a bit too overwhelming for him to look at, his eyes could be flickering around taking in the little details of your choice of clothing, but boy.. does he love it. It may be too much for others,  maybe even himself but  it's also so cool.

— |☆| He would like, erm, love to help plan out your outfits, as he is the most fashionable turtle in the family after all-  So I can imagine him planning out quite a few outfits for you based on the '2010's style' and such .. Also, expect him to end up pulling all nighters after hours of researching stuff regarding the fashion of someone with a scene-aesthetic. So he might accidentally gain a new hyperfixation to research on thanks to you and your highlighted choice of fashion. /pos

— |☆| In case you need / want to dye your hair and run out of hair-dye then, don't fret dear (reader) — as Donnie would make — ..well, try— to create hair dye specifically for you !! Ranging from the colour that you wish to dye your hair in, to if the chemicals that used will react positively to your skin and roots once applied to your scalp. Man's got it covered for ya. Though don't expect him to dye your hair for you, due to sensory issues and all. Or maybe even, if you have sensory issues with hair-dye yourself, he would try to make his own wigs for you, based on your length, colour and mass preferences !! Though, he may fail to do so, as it will most likely be time consuming and complicated. As determined as he may be to make a wig for you, I can see him settling with ordering or hoarding wigs from local shops.. and then modifying them so they fit your exact proportions and likes.

— |☆| If you guys hold hands, Donnie may fiddle with one of the plenty bracelets that you may be wearing, admiring the bright colours and pretty, or maybe even messy patterns of the beads and such. He may ask, or well- plead for you to make him one. Or maybe even, he would even try to make a few of his own. Both for himself and you. Yes, they are going to have different shades of purple, mostly vibrant and darkened shades. And speaking of bracelets and such- he would more than gladly create most of your accessories, being a bit shy to do so at first, but after the first couple of times of you receiving his gifts he would get a bit more bold and would start giving them to you more often. Or whenever you need them. Bro will honestly feel honoured if he sees you wearing the stuff that he made for you and maybe even a bit flustered at first, but he would be mostly humbled.

— |☆| The music that you are listening to ?? The one that is considered emo ?? It's going straight to his jammy-jam playlist. If I'm being honest, he would enjoy it quite a bit. Okay, a lot, if I'm being honest. Especially the electric-pop side of the scene-music-genre as he already does listen to techno so I suppose it may appeal to him a bit more than deathcore or punk. But who's to say that he won't blast the other types of music that are considered scene ?? Honestly, I can easily see him working and whirring some tech of his while his hearing is just flooded with 'LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOORRRRRR !!'. It may also make him feel like a badass, like his 'emotionally unavailable bad boy image' is being boosted to the max or something, something. Also, he'd always think of you whenever he is listening to scene and such.

— |☆| Oh and, safe to say that you would grow inspired by you so that he starts wearing clothes that match the scene-genre after doing some extensive, and impulse, research on the style as to not miss out or wear anything that may not pass as scene. He also may ditch the 'old lady' disguise and use a more 'edgy-2010 themed-teen' look for whenever he goes out. Or he may combine them. Imagine seeing a mutant teen dressed up as a scene grandma it be like, so cool and funny. He'd also flip the bird and maybe even nuke whoever is making fun of you for your, and his,  gorgeously highlighted and vibrant fashion.

— |✷| EXTRA NOTES: werggg, first time writing for a reader with a specific style, hopefully I didn't miss or get anything wrong erh. yeh, hope y'all enjoyed. scene is cool, scene is great /gen !!

[kcwriter-blog]

And Yet

The nights are the hardest. During the day there are reports to read, dispatches to send, agents to meet and plans to make. At night there is only him. His thoughts. His remorse. His guilt.

Guilt for what happened in the past. Guilt for what he intends to do. Guilt for what he did to her.

He laces his fingers together, leans forward and rests his head on his knuckles. So many memories. So many regrets. He never should have let it get that far.

And yet.

That first tentative kiss. A bold move on her part. A silent question. Did he feel for her what she felt for him?

He knew how she felt. Had known for some time. Had pushed aside his own feelings. It wasn't right. Any first kiss would end in a last. He knew that, even if she did not.

And yet.

It had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way. So long since anyone had touched him. He resisted. Then he did what he has always done. He gave into his impulses - and doomed them both.

And yet.

He lifts his head, unlaces his fingers and rubs his eyes. He is so tired. The Fade calls. There are places he can go. Places that will remind him of what was lost. Places that will bolster his resolve.

And yet.

Rising from his desk, he walks over to a cot in a corner of the room. They don't understand why he won't take more opulent quarters. He doesn't need them. He doesn't deserve them.

Reclining, he closes his eyes and opens himself to the Fade. Quickly, the door opens. He steps through and finds what he always finds. He is not where he planned to be.

And yet.

There is a gravel path leading to a manicured garden. She will be there. In her dreams she is always there.

At first there were nightmares. It was only to be expected. She had been through so much. Lost so much.

It was his fault. How could it not be? He had set it all in motion. He took everything from her. Her clan, her gods, her vallaslin, her heart and, ultimately, herself.

And yet.

He chased away the nightmares. It was the least he could do.

No, that was a lie. One of many he told himself. The lie that they could be together. The lie that he could set it all aside. The lie that he could be happy. He chased away the nightmares because he loved her. Would always love her.

And yet.

The nightmares lessened over time, replaced by gentler dreams. He does not need to watch over her but he cannot stay away. Now he watches to see if she is happy. To see if her dreams include someone else. Someone who can take away her pain.

And yet.

He pads softly up the path. He always comes as a wolf. He knows she isn't fooled but he cannot bear to hurt her any more than he already has.

And yet.

At the garden entrance he hears laughter. Two young elves race across the lawn. She is standing beneath an arch decorated with flowers. He focuses, as he always does, on her missing arm. One more thing he has taken from her.

Her back is to him. An elf is holding her, hugging her, kissing her. Jealousy wars with relief. She has someone. Someone who makes her happy.

And yet.

She steps out of the embrace. He can see the elf's face. His heart stops. It is his face. He looks at the children. His cheekbones. His freckles. An auburn-haired girl. A boy with grey eyes.

He slinks backwards. It isn't a dream about what she has. It is a dream about what she wants.

She turns, catching sight of him as she has done so many times before. They never speak. Have not spoken since that final kiss.

And yet.

"I see you, Fen' Harel." Her voice is soft, sad and heartbreakingly beautiful.

He flinches. It feels wrong, that hated name falling from her lips. His ears droop. He looks into her eyes. Looks for the anger that should be there. Was there so many years ago. All he sees now is love coupled with pain.

She does not step forward. She knows he will turn away, as he has so many times before.

And yet.

"It is time we speak," she says in a tone that brooks no argument.

He has no choice. His wolf form falls away. He stands before her in the clothes he wore when they first met.

"Years ago you made a decision for me," she says as she looks into his eyes. His soul. "A decision you had no right to make. You speak of free will, yet you negated mine."

There is no heat behind her words. No accusation. In her mind, it is a fact.

"I did not." He gazes at her, silently pleading with her to stop.

"I would have gone with you. I wanted to be by your side," she continues as if she did not hear him. Her voice is not as gentle as before. Anger wars with grief. "You said, no."

"I could not let that happen," he replies, his voice husky. "I cannot let you see what I will become. I could not risk you becoming the same."

The softness in her expression is replaced by steel. Her will was always strong. It was what carried her through the unspeakable horrors he had unwittingly unleashed.

"That was my choice to make, not yours!" Now, he hears the anger.

What can he say? That love gave him the right to choose for her? He knows in his heart it did not.

"Now you are making another decision. One that will harm tens of thousands." She takes a step forward. "Only a would-be god could be so arrogant."

"I am not a god," he whispers. He takes a step back. His own anger kindles in response to hers. How can she think that? Why can't she understand?

"You think not?" Her eyes challenge him. She challenges him in ways no one ever has before. "Only a god could be so callous."

Her words are like daggers. He cannot look at her.

"I have no choice," he answers, his voice rising but still barely more than a whisper.

"There are always choices, Solas," she says. Her voice is weary. The anger spent. "You may not like them but they are there."

She turns her head in the direction of her dream children, of his dream self. Turns her head in the direction of what could have been.

"Var lath vir suledin, vhenan," she says. "Remember?"

His answer sticks in his throat.

She turns back to him.

"Your choice is simple, vhenan. You can be Fen'Harel and destroy the world, or you can be Solas and find a better way."

He searches her face, expecting to see hope. There is none. She knows him too well.

And yet.

She has not given up on him.

Without another word, she turns and walks back to the other Solas waiting patiently under the arch.

It hurts. It always does. She cannot be happy unless he is by her side. Unless he is where he wants to be.

He awakens. He has a choice to make.

And yet.

[keouil]

as long as the sun remains the sun

"rise and shine, boys!" mattsun yells over the drowsy first years, banging pots and pans together. "rome wasn't built in a day!" "we're japanese!" tsukishima barks. 5k. iwaizumi/oikawa/kageyama. camping!au. also on ao3.

Asahi is the one who breaks first.

“WHAT THE FRICK!!” came a decidedly shrill, possibly embarrassing, surely pathetic scream from over all the way at the other side of the camp that had Iwaizumi snap his head in that direction and Oikawa inch closer to him almost imperceptibly.

"Don't tell me—" Suga shakes his head at the same time Daichi curses low under his breath, "What now."

A dozen things happen at once in rapid succession.

Noya sprints to the direction of the voice, Hinata close on his tail because he was basically His Tail. Ennoshita scrambling after them after Suga hissed at him to not just stand there and follow. Yahaba quirking an eyebrow at the elementary choice of a curse word, Narita catching his judgment and getting all up in his space until he apologized, Tanaka acting as his back-up.

Daichi, who had so far been in the middle of a passionate rant detailing Karasuno’s dependability when it came to these things—What things, Mattsun interjected. Roughhousing and getting our hands dirty, Suga supplied proudly—when Asahi all but debunked it in less than the time it took for Makki to count heads as soon as they arrived at the campsite.

“Your kid is missing,” Makki comments, looking over the list of attendees.

“Ours?” Oikawa asks, at the same time Daichi stands up, “Probably mine.”

Makki looks back and forth between them, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet and fumbling around for an out. Iwaizumi knows exactly the reason why, and voices it out loud for everyone to hear: “It’s Kageyama.”

Again, a dozen things happen at once.

Daichi gasps out in horror, head whipping around the campsite.

Mattsun palms his forehead, already dreading the absolutely normal reaction he was absolutely going to get from Oikawa.

Suga decides he wants to permanently end Iwaizumi’s life for the multiple grave offenses he’d been committing against his soul throughout the day: getting the last window seat on the bus, being a loud snorer, breathing near him and making it his problem, choosing gluten-free marshmallows at the rest stop like a deranged psychopath. He told him as much at check-out, You’re a deranged psychopath and I don’t trust my first years with you, Suga admonished. Likewise, Iwaizumi replied, looking menacingly down at the copious amounts of sugary pastries in his basket. And you’re not feeding my first years this shit.

And really it was that bold and unfounded sense of entitlement that had Suga adding another box, more out of sheer spite than anything as he passed him, glaring, Watch me.

"We've been here less than an hour," Makki looks around in confusion, exasperated. "How have we already lost one of them. What exactly could have happened in less than an hour."

Suga and Daichi look at each other.

"Hinata," they say at the same time. 

-

They find Kageyama lost in the woods.

It’s Iwaizumi, best tracker on the team and just generally more adaptable to wilderness survival, who finds him holding onto his duffel bag for dear life under the bark of an ancient looking tree. He apparently challenged Hinata to a race on who can get to the campsite first and got thoroughly sidetracked by the similar looking trees and having ostensibly no sense of direction or self-preservation, huddled in an open area easily accessible to rain or wild animals.

Iwaizumi sighed and mentally noted for later: Teach Kageyama basic life skills, that he then revises to, Make Sugawara teach Kageyama basic life skills.

“Kageyama,” he says, approaching the clearing. Kageyama’s head snaps up and the look of such open relief on his face tugs at Iwaizumi’s heart a little, because it really was so easy, to slip into a senpai complex for someone like him. “You okay?”

Kageyama blinks. "I-Iwaizumi-san," he starts hesitantly, standing up on shaking legs. "I—"

"Got lost," Iwaizumi answers for him. "I know. We've been looking for you for a while."

Kageyama flushes. "You have?"

"You mean you haven't been hearing your vice captain call your name bloody for the past hour?" Iwaizumi tries for a joke. Only it's not really, because Suga was swearing himself raw, if not for Daichi reminding him to preserve his voice for later. 

But Kageyama still just blinks, still so disoriented, still so wet behind the ears no matter the facade he puts up.

"Right then," Iwaizumi clears his throat, beckoning him over. "Let's go."

Kageyama all but trips over his feet to follow after him, clutching his bag even tighter to his chest as he hangs off Iwaizumi’s every word.

“The next time you find yourself lost in the woods,” he starts explaining. “Try tracking the movement of the sun.” When he looks over to check if Kageyama was listening, instead notes the absolute gobsmacked expression on his face in return, amends just as quickly: "Oh, he says. “You can just — follow the sunset.”

Kageyama begins vehemently nodding, scrambling to get a notebook out and listing all the other things Iwaizumi was rattling off about when it came to Camping Survival 101. Don't eat this, he points to a patch of enticing ivy. Only drink from fresh water sources like rivers or streams, he adds. But if you find yourself in a pinch, carve out an opening from a tree and wait for the water to follow.

By the time they make it back to camp, Oikawa has half the Karasuno team—and some of Seijoh—in a formation line much like a militant officer does with its army lines, barking out orders to fan out across the different areas of the campsite. Go to the forest, ordered Oikawa at Noya. Try the trail behind the waterfalls, he yelled at Kyotani.

Daichi and Suga sported uniform looks of indignation as Oikawa looked an hour away from splitting his hair out in frustration.

“If someone doesn’t get Tobio back by midnight,” he warns the rest. “I swear to G—”

Iwaizumi coughs.

Oikawa doesn’t turn, doesn’t even acknowledge his return. He senses it, Iwaizumi knows, the change in the air and the very real presence Kageyama takes up in any space. So instead his shoulders just stiffen, tilting his head their way just so.

“I mean,” Oikawa coughs, loudly and not at all awkwardly. “Tobio can sleep in the rain for all I care!” he claps. “Right then, back to unpacking!"

-

Naturally, as with all order of things, sleeping arrangements go by as smoothly as everyone expects.

“No.”

“At least look at it.”

“No.”

"You didn't even look!"

"I said no."

Yamaguchi looked like he was tempted by the devil himself to throw a log Kunimi’s way. “Oi,” he hisses, growing annoyed. “What’s so wrong with this sleeping bag? It’s the same as everyone else’s.”

Kunimi cast a bored glance at the pack Yamaguchi was holding up, all neatly folded and prepped for use. “It’s orange,” he deadpans. “I hate orange.”

“It’s just a color!” yells Yamaguchi. “It functions exactly the same!”

“Then why don’t you use it?” Kunimi lifts a brow. Behind them, they can hear Hinata yelling at Kageyama to move his sleeping bag by the outskirts of the camp, his longer than usual pack taking up half the space designated for the first years. Kindaichi looked equally awkward trying to fit himself and his belongings in what little space they were allowed to take up. “If it’s basically the same thing anyway?”

Yamaguchi breathes once, twice. “It’s not for me,” he explains slowly. “None of our sleeping bags fit Tsukki. He needs a longer one like Kageyama’s.”

Kunimi crosses his arms in defiance. “And that’s my problem because?”

Yamaguchi has half the mind to call out for Daichi, or Iwaizumi, or literally anyone else who could demonstrate even a modicum of empathy so clearly lacking in Kunimi. 

"You don’t even need it!” he gestures wildly to the mint green one by his legs. “You can use the large one like everyone else’s! Tsukki can't use anything else but extra large!”

Kunimi huffs, brushing past him. “I’m not like everyone else,” delivered in the same cadence as a main character in a 2000s romcom who finally decides she's better than everyone and doesn't need a man to fulfil her needs both emotionally and physically. 

"What the fuck," Yamaguchi swears under his breath as he stared after him.

He turns his head in time to see Hinata and Kageyama running around and demanding Kindaichi to share his insect repellant spray, along with some of the manga he brought, telling him to not be so selfish and stop hoarding all the survival items. Iwaizumi stops them all with a glare and forces Kindaichi to share, Hinata to shut up, and Kageyama to let him know if he needs anything else. 

"What the fuck," Yamaguchi swears under his breath as he stared after them.

-

By the time dinner rolls around, everyone is either pissy (first years), amused (second years), or elated (third years). 

They were all lounging about the makeshift campfire that took all afternoon to build, the warmth of the fire lighting up everyone's features along with the moonlight streaming in through the gaps in the trees. It was unusually cold that night, a breeze in the air that began from deep in the forest until it tapered out to just north of chilly in their site. But even so, the expressions on everyone's faces felt far more frosty.

Oikawa is the first to pick up the tension.

He leans over to whisper as much to Daichi, who was busy arranging the logs in the fire. “I think,” he starts curiously. "Something is going on."

Daichi looks up to survey around the camp, taking stock of his own kin and then some.

Hinata and Kageyama are, predictably, huffing and puffing and very pointedly looking away from each other because God knows what and who has the time. Yamaguchi has been apologizing for the better part of ten minutes, very nearly close to begging to a Tsukishima who hasn't even so much as glanced his way, because God knows what and who has the time. Kunimi and Kindaichi are the only ones who at least look mildly cohabitative, but then again Daichi thinks he’s never seen them be anything but bored and nervous, respectively and in equal measures.

His eyes trail over everyone—in various states of pissed, amused, elated—before giving up and shrugging, “God knows what and who has the time.”

But evidently, Suga and Iwaizumi do.

“Well well well,” Suga cooes, straddling up to where the first years were, sensing turmoil between Yamaguchi and Kunimi. "What say we turn those frowns upside down?"

"Oh god," Yamaguchi audibly groans into his hands. "Please stop."

Kunimi looks on in horror at a grinning Suga, slowly inching away from the fire before Iwaizumi clamped a hand on his shoulder, "Not so fast."

Yamaguchi and Kunimi lock eyes in a rare moment of unity. There was an internal conversation happening in the span of a second, before both of them, as if on cue, break open.

"HE WON'T GIVE ME HIS BAG!"

"HE WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Iwaizumi puts both his palms up. "Bedside voices, boys," he chides, stern. Suga instinctively took a step back at the sound, but rights himself on time as he comes up next to Iwaizumi. "Yes yes," he agrees. "What he said."

Across the crackling of the fire, Daichi looks on impassively as Oikawa sports a drool.

"Think we should do something?" Daichi nods to the almost ridiculous scene of Yamaguchi and Kunimi both kneeling by the dirt, heads bowed low in shame as Iwaizumi rattled off about team camaraderie and the importance of communication. Suga was animatedly agreeing along to whatever he was saying and sporting his own That's right! That's right! comments from time to time. "We are technically their captains."

"Captains, shmantains," Oikawa mumbles distractedly, and when Daichi turns to look, notes in annoyance his attention wasn't even directed at the scolding but more so the matters of Iwaizumi's backside in shorts. "We do enough. We work hard. We earned this."

Daichi coughs awkwardly. "Earned what, exactly."

Oikawa doesn't even budge, stars shooting out of his eyes as he gave possibly the most obvious and inappropriate once-over Daichi has ever seen in his life. And he's seen Tanaka with Kiyoko.

"This," he says, gesturing to Iwaizumi and in Oikawa's words, "glorious display of aesthetic athleticism."

-

They threaten everyone with suicide runs the next morning.

If there was anything at all both third years unanimously agreed on—aside from their perverse sense of ownership over exactly who it was that raised Kageyama, with Iwaizumi putting up a surprisingly good fight—it was the equally perverse sense of joy they derived from torturing underclassmen. The sun was glaringly bright, the blue of the clouds so open, and the ringing voices of their seniors all the more jarring.

"Rise and shine, boys!" Mattsun yells over the drowsy first years, banging pots and pans together. "Rome wasn't built in a day!"

"We're Japanese!" Tsukishima barks, putting the covers back up on his head. 

Suga just yanks his blanket from his sleeping bag, earning him a death glare he expertly deflects with a smile that was deceptively way too chipper for someone he swears he heard yelling at Daichi during Golden Week to shut his phone up or he was going to hurl it across the Pacific Ocean.

"Japanese, Yappanese," Makki strolls over to shake Kageyama and Hinata off of their matching sleeping bags. "Today, you're all under our command."

Hinata just rolls over Kageyama. 

Kageyama just lets him.

Makki curls a brow, a single foot raised to kick them before Oikawa gets there first, pushing him away. "I got it," he says. "Jesus Christ, Makki, they're children."

"We're sixteen!" bites out Tsukishima again, who was now being forcibly dragged by Mattsun along with Kunimi and Kindaichi to the shower stalls. "And we have legal rights! My brother will hear about this!"

"Your aniki will be glad someone finally put your spoiled ass in place," Daichi declares, trying to separate Hinata from their tangle of limbs. From his peripheral, he can see Asahi gently trying to get Yamaguchi to stop mumbling in his sleep. "He sends his regards by the way! Saeko-neesan too, Tanaka!"

"Tobio," Oikawa crouches, rocking his sleeping bag. "Tobio," he says again, shaking his shoulder. "Tobio," he hisses directly next to him. Nothing. Oikawa breathes once, twice, before standing up and very pointedly bringing a leg up to stamp on him before Iwaizumi, too, beats him to it.

"What the fuck," he swears, putting a hand out to stop him. "So much for them being children!"

Oikawa has his mouth open to retort, before a ball of orange fur snowballs its way past them and lumps itself together again with the black mass that was Kageyama. They hear Daichi stomping over the next second, cursing under his breath at Hinata for once again getting past him. 

"Kageyama.." Hinata mumbles into his hair sleepily, and to their horror, sees Kageyama actually melting into the embrace almost unconsciously. "Think... someone's calling.. Let's.. ignore.. if.. Tsukishima."

-

By the time they wrangle everyone awake and slap water on their faces, Daichi and Oikawa are only too happy to introduce them to the 10-km hiking trail everyone was required to complete.

"Mind," recalls Oikawa, looking over his nails in boredom. "We heard there were some snakes in the more woodsy areas."

"Bears too," adds Daichi, grinning.

"Bears too," affirms Oikawa, also grinning.

Kyotani and Tanaka try to run. 

Iwaizumi hauls them both back by the necks of their shirts, all pearly white teeth in the shit-eating grin on his face when he dumps them back on the line. Hinata shudders and rapidly gets his phone out, shaking hands wobbly typing out his last will and testament to an incoherent text meant for Kenma; when a hand shoots out to yank it out of his hands. Mattsun, grinning down on him like a feline cat, as he then began patting everyone down and demanding they surrender their electronics. Next to him, they can hear Yamaguchi pleading for his life to a bored Makki. 

Suga doesn't answer to a single one of their cries for help.

Asahi just hid cowardly behind him.

Daichi whistles to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright then,” he grins over the growing crowd and uses their agony to fuel his adrenaline higher. Oikawa was doing the same. “With this, we formally welcome you to the Annual Karasuno-Seijoh Summer Teambuilding Camp!”

Oikawa’s smile fades a little at that. “I thought we agreed on Seijoh-Karasuno?”

“Are you perhaps a secret fujoshi?” Daichi asks innocently.

Oikawa blinks. “I—” he starts, unsurely, ignoring Suga chuckling behind him. “I don’t particularly think so, no.”

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Daichi snaps, turning his attention back to their first and second years who were only growing more creative with their complaints and vain attempts at getting out of the day’s torture activities.

"I sprained my ankle," whines Hinata.

"You're our fastest runner," rebuts Suga.

"I'm allergic to trees," pipes Kindaichi.

"Not a thing," offers Mattsun.

"My sister said no," weeps Tanaka.

"You wanna try that again?" warns Daichi.

Iwaizumi clasps his hands together. "Enough!" he booms. If Oikawa inched closer to him in turn, everyone has the good foresight to keep their mouths shut about it. "Are we doing this or what?"

"Y-yes, Iwaizumi-san!" the first and second years chorus.

Now both Oikawa and Daichi's faces fell.

"Why do they always only listen to him?" wonders Suga, falling into step with the third years at the rear of the line. The first years were ahead, yelling and grovelling and swearing all their seniors rotten. It was music to their ears. "Is it like an alpha thing?"

"Most definitely an alpha thing," muses Makki, who also falls into step beside him. "Have you seen the way even Oikawa looks at him? Omega ass behavior."

-

They take their first break after three hours. 

Or, maybe it was more accurate to say, Tsukishima wouldn't stop grinding everyone's ears about the asthma condition he conveniently picked up within the first thirty minutes despite Suga knowing from Kiyoko no one on the team had such an autoimmune disease, that then suddenly morphed into an apparent life-threatening mutation that was going to kill him and everyone around him if he didn't let his body pause to take a break now, right now, this instant; that had Daichi snapping at everyone to take five.

"Oh thank god," Tsukishima wheezes, falling to his knees. 

"Tsukki!" came Yamaguchi's predictable cry of concern no sooner.

Most of the first years are sprawled out on the ground, chests heaving and breaths coming out in pants. The second years look as equally insufferable, but are too prideful to show any form of weakness to the third years who all but look like they just came out of a sports magazine photoshoot. There wasn’t a sliver of disorientation or a hair out of place. Iwaizumi even passed around the loot bags they had apparently so lovingly, out of the goodness of their hearts, prepared for them while they were all sleeping the night before.

Only the best for our cute kouhai! singsung Oikawa gleefully. 

Be thankful we even remembered to bring snacks for you forgetful brats! scolded Daichi sternly.

Hinata gingerly brings himself back to life, dragging his aching bones and his pack to where most of the first years converged purely out of a symbiotic survival instinct to band together against exploitative seniors. They were already angrily in a discussion about something, something that sounded much like plotting for the demise of Oikawa.

Or Daichi.

Or both.

"Do you know what they're feeding Goshiki right now?" Hinata seethes in a low voice, eyes darting around in alarm. "Fresh bread and crepes. Crepes. And what has Iwaizumi-san fed us so far?" he frowns down at the loot bag. "Fish crackers. Frog legs. For nutrition. Jesus Christ."

Kunimi grimaces, rubbing at his sore neck. "Welcome to the club."

"Have they always been this insufferable?" groans Tsukishima, angrily munching on a fish cracker.

"Oikawa? Yes," Kunimi replies. "Iwaizumi? Also yes." 

"Oikawa-san is usually nicer," Kindaichi offers, breaking off a piece of a protein bar he snuck into his pants that morning to split with Kageyama and Yamaguchi. "But Iwaizumi-san is a dictator, yes."

"Can confirm," Kageyama adds, after mumbling his thanks.

"Shut up!" Tsukishima hisses, yanking his share of the snack and shoving it in his mouth. "They basically pamper you!"

Kageyama points to himself incredulously. "M-me?" he stammers. "Daichi wouldn't give me another blanket because he told me children in third world countries didn't even have a roof over their heads and to not be so selfish, Kageyama. We raised you better than this, Kageyama," he mimes hotly. "And I'm the spoiled one?!"

Now it was Hinata's time to be annoyed. "Remind me again who was it that Oikawa-san made sure to get extra servings of rice last night."

Yamaguchi was only more than happy to pile on. "And who Iwaizumi-san made sure got warm water for his bath."

Kindaichi, surprisingly, also joins in. "And who warned me and Kunimi a day before the trip to be nice to Kageyama."

"Can confirm," is all Kunimi says, stealing Kindaichi’s insect repellant spray from Hinata's pack.

-

"A little more to the left, Kunimi."

...

"More."

...

"More."

...

"Are you an athlete or what? Tilt further and higher than that! More!"

...

"Daichi-san," Kunimi starts slowly, struggling to hold up the fishing pole that was already struggling to break with how brittle it was. Behind them he can hear Oikawa and Iwaizumi using far less harsher words to Kageyama and Hinata.

"This," he croaks out, "is my more."

They were somewhere by the open river, honest to gods fishing for their keep because someone��aka Iwaizumi—got it inside Daichi's and Suga's heads that real men should earn their keep and not wait to be fed. Nevermind all of them were literal minors and had literal permission slips signed to delegate these seniors with their lives in the event something should happen. Nevermind all of it was legally binding. Nevermind the second years didn't even bat an eye as soon as Iwaizumi got the fishing poles and worms out, apparently already expecting this method of torture from the previous year.

Tsukishima of course put up a riot.

He sputtered out and about as he rallied for the perfectly good rations they had back at the campsite and even volunteering himself for cooking duty if that was the problem. Makki and Mattsun were only too happy to tug him along to the deepest end of the waters, hunking him down and forcing him to wield the longest fishing pole they had. Might as well use that height for somethin', Makki quipped, Rather than just bitchin' and moanin'. Yamaguchi was tasked with the gruesome chore of feeding the live worms to his bait, his features squeamish and disgusted. Y-you can do it, Tsukki! 

"Ease up on him a little, Daichi," Suga teases some ways near them, helping Kindaichi keep a line steady.

"I will if he would just tilt to the left," Daichi warns, arms impatiently pointing to the side. Kunimi groans again, digging up some of his reserves to wield the stubborn line that wasn't budging this way and that. "It's really not moving!"

"You're just not tilting hard enough," demands Daichi.

"I am!" cries Kunimi, a bead of sweat trailing down his jaw. 

"More!" barks Daichi, insistent. "Unless you're okay with Kindaichi one-upping you?"

Kunimi's head snaps to Kindaichi, who was raising about a 15-inch slapjack hooked to his pole, along with the world's most shit-eating grin he wants to wipe off. Suga was beaming up at him proudly and yelling out his accomplishment for all of them to see and hear. Cries of congratulations and envy are volleyed throughout the stream. He sees foam rise out of Kageyama's ears as he huffed and rolled on his line even more fervently, an amused Iwaizumi telling him to go slowly and Oikawa taunting Hinata to do the same. 

"Let this be a lesson to you boys," Suga jeers across the field. "If you have a good mentor, the rest will follow!"

All the third years lock eyes.

They dine on the entire sea that night.

-

The training camp ends with an old-fashioned bbq party.

Iwaizumi was on the grill with Daichi and Asahi, moving in a routine that’s far smoother and more amicable than the rough patch they started with. They find out Iwaizumi is particularly adept at manning the grill and flipping the meat over, all grunt work and being the only one of the two who actually followed through with his verbal warnings to any of the first years who kept trying to sneak an early bite. 

I wouldn't do that if I were you, he warned to a stunned Yamaguchi. Unless you want this knife aimed somewhere lower.

Daichi, in charge of seasoning and Asahi with prepping, deft and nimble hands making quick work of both; don't even bat an eye when they see Iwaizumi set aside three plates he starts unceremoniously piling up with the leaner portions of meat.

Kunimi and Kindaichi are a given—Daichi pleasantly surprised to see him gentle somehow where they are concerned—but it's Kageyama who still comes as a surprise.

"Are they related or something?" Asahi whispers, oiling some of the grill grates. "Maybe cousins? Kageyama does look a little like him."

Daichi shakes his head, rubbing a thin layer of salt and pepper to a piece of chicken thigh. "I don't think so," he admits. "Just former teammates, I think."

Asahi nods along. "And Oikawa?"

"What about him?" pipes Iwaizumi, having overheard part of their conversation as he transfers some leftover charcoal Hinata brought to the pile. "What about Oikawa?"

Asahi flushes a little. "Oh," he says. "It's just that he's — well —"

Iwaizumi gestures for him to go on.

"He seems—" Asahi continues, unsurely. "I don't know. Like he wants to both kill Kageyama in his sleep and feed him until he fattens up like one of those kids from Hansel and Gretel."

Daichi suppresses a laugh.

Iwaizumi just looks amused. "Actually," he surmises. "I think you got everything right. Definitely the feeding part, at least. It’s why he’s threatened me to set aside all the leg parts for Kageyama since this morning,” he chuckles. “But we're working on the killing part."

Everyone is only too happy to be fed normal food for once.

The sun was just shy of setting around the campsite, hues of golden orange and pale yellow streaking the place in a healthy, lovely glow. The sounds of birds chirping and flitting about the pine trees are a welcome break from all the yelling, the wind at just the right temperature to be breezy and warm.

Hinata, especially, is overjoyed with all of it. "Waaa!" he gushes, all bright eyes looking up at Iwaizumi who handed him his plate he filled with extra enoki mushrooms. "This looks soooo good, Iwaizumi-san!"

Iwaizumi blushes, looking away. "R-right," he stammers. "Yes. Um. Eat—well, then."

At his side, he can feel Suga eyeing him knowingly. "You can say it," he says, setting up the drinks. "Hinata is very cute and will feed your senpai ego well."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” mumbles Iwaizumi, assembling the next plate.

The rest of the afternoon goes swimmingly. The sounds of easy laughter and open conversation flowing seamlessly throughout, seniors and juniors alike mingling. Asahi manages to hold a conversation with Makki and Mattsun that doesn't end with him sweating buckets at potentially overstepping anything he says, the Seijoh third years only too happy to know he was also a fan of the Sendai Frogs and was he looking to go pro after highschool, they wonder? 

Tanaka and Noya were in a heated discussion with Yahaba and Kyotani, both parties having very spirited opinions on whether Kubota Sayu or Fujino Ryoko were the representatives of 2000s actresses for Nippon cinema. Daichi was giving even more pointers to Kunimi about fishing, Kindaichi not even bothering to hide he was listening in and Suga only too happy to use his distraction as a way to funnel more meat into his plate.

Oikawa was busy fussing over Kageyama in his usual roundabout way, frowning down at the lack of vegetables in his plate and blaming Iwaizumi for sabotaging the child's health intentionally. I know he's our rival and everything, Iwa-chan , Oikawa chides. But doesn't he deserve nutrition too? Iwaizumi gave him an amused look, perhaps knowingly, Oikawa not budging an inch. Iwaizumi relents and goes back to fetch an entire plate full of hijiki seaweeds and cucumbers and seasoned radishes.

Kageyama flushed at all the food and attention, but where those two were concerned, he's long since learned it was best to just let them have their way unless they argue and make it everyone's problem. Again.

Towards the end it's Daichi who approaches Oikawa first, two cups of yuzu in hand. "Think we did okay?" 

Oikawa looks over at him, smiling in a skittish way, before accepting the drink. "I think," he takes a sip. "We did better than okay."

"Stellar endorsement from The Great King," Daichi teases. "Want to do it all over again next year?"

"There won't be a next year," Oikawa reminds him, an inflexion of something to his tone.

"Ah," Daichi blinks, and then: "Right."

Oikawa bumps shoulders with him. "But there's still be the next spring, and summer, and winter."

"Tsukishima might actually kill me if I even suggest we do something like this out in the cold," Daichi is quick to stop him. "Like actually kill me this time I think."

"Kageyama doesn't do well during winters either," Oikawa finds himself saying almost reflexively.

Daichi catches on, because of course he does. "Right," he says, smirking knowingly. “Of course.”

Oikawa blinks, unable to look at him. "R-right," he coughs awkwardly, before gesturing to the rest of the crowd. "Well then. Just as long as you stop threatening to make fishermen out of my players, I guess we can clear our schedule for you."

"And just as long as you stop trying to claim my first years as yours," Daichi's spread grins wider. "Then we would be more than happy to do this with you all over again, Oikawa-san."

[bouquetface]

I hope you’re fine and I’m your new follower here.. I wanted to ask something about Aries cuz I’m not able to get these mixed signals of him..

Additional information :- Pisces Rising (Venus and Mercury), Scorpio Moon and Cancer Mars

So there’s my classmate, he joined school in July 2022. I thought to take interest in him by observing him everyday. He seemed mysterious. In August, I lost interest in him but during the same time, I presented a science activity in front of the class. He was watching me. And the next day, he started stealing glances at me. His friends used to nudge his elbow to make him see whenever I did something. In 2023, the next day after my birthday, he sent me a follow request on Instagram. I accepted it. We started chatting the next day. He gave a heart to all my messages. In April, for library period, he would watch me while I read the book or make eye contact with me longer. If I join his eye contact, he wouldn’t avert his gaze from me. When I get a little shy, I would stop making eye contact with him but he would still watch me. Whenever we talked to each other in class, he blushed. In May, there was an anonymous account about our school meme page. After some time, that person started using pics of me and argued that it’s bad to use them. That person told me that I’m attention seeking and said some few curse words to me. After few days, I got to know that person was that boy the whole time. He apologised on the chat. We got called to principle office and he got worried about me. And there was other bullying too as my senior bullied me so the boy felt sorry for me and asking that if I’m okay. And after few months, And every time I return to my class, after doing something, he would be the first person to look at me, sometimes blush and smile at me like the old times. And he still does in 2024, not bullies me again.

Hello,

I hate to be negative because I think you may like him. However, If I am to be honest, he sounds very immature.

An immature aries sun often has to be dealt with the same way you’d treat a child. They can be impulsive and directionless. And they can be bullies since they can be selfish and not realize when their playing around has gone too far.

A mature aries is straight forward and goes for what they want. Not a single aries I have ever known sends mixed signals. They are a no bullshit sign when they are serious. It’s my favourite trait about them. And they are deeply protective when they do care.

Truthfully, to me your description indicates, he is childish and playing around with you. He is not mature enough to take you seriously. Him and his friends may be playing some stupid game, finding the situation funny.

Aries is ruled by mars. His mars in cancer means he has a debilitated mars. Mars does not do well in cancer. Mars is the enemy of the Moon, cancer is naturally ruled by the Moon. This means his Aries house & Mars will not function as they should. Mars is a warrior, the planet should be able to be a go-getter. Assert themselves, be bold & clear, take action.

In Cancer, mars struggles to make these choices. The planets fiery nature is being drowned in the watery nature of cancer. This can make one an angry crier, hypersensitive, and defensive. A lot of this occurs in private as they do not like confrontation.

If he’s a pisces rising, Mars rules his 2nd House. He could make poor financial choices throughout his life. As his cancer mars will be in the 5th, making it likely he is reckless with money. He may even grow a liking to gambling.

Mars cancer people are not doomed though. They will have some bad experiences but can learn from it. For him, his pisces placements along with an immature aries placement, will likely make him pity himself. He will feel a victim of many things in the world. He will likely struggle to accept his self destructive ways. He will need to make the choice to change himself. This may not come until much later in life. A lot of astrology in our charts will not resonate until a much later age as it has to be activated/developed through experiences.

However, I am not you, I don’t live your life. Nor, do I personally know him. I am only reading this off the placements & experiences with him you have sent in.

You do know him so if you feel this doesn’t resonate with his true character, disregard this as nonsense. Either way, I hope you found this somewhat helpful.

[konohamaru-sensei]

similarities

Merry Christmas @qettleqorn!! I am so happy that last year (also around christmas!) I randomly decided to VC with you and we just talked for hours that day and got a long so great! You've become one of my closes people here, someone I share a lot with (Even when I'm embarrassed) and someone I really love talking to. Thank you for everything this year and wish you all the best for the next!

--

Nanami X Oc / Also Sukuna x OC

Courtesan JJK Au with special appearance of @fireflylitsky's Izumi

sorry that it ends so suddenly I had no idea for an end so its just there! :D

--

There was a commotion outside of the doors, some yelling and something dropped something that sounded like a pan with a loud clang on the ground. Kin opened her eyes and blinked into the half light coming from the windows. “I’m sorry, my lady,” the man beside her said. “They should be more considerate of you.”

“It’s alright, Kento,” she yawned. After all, it was rather unlikely that a guest stayed over long into the next day. If she came back late, it would just cause too much chatter anyway. 

She pushed herself up and shook out the locks of her hair. “Next time you just have to come to me”, she said with a wink. “Then we can remain undisturbed as long as we like.” 

Kento smiled friendly: “I understand that the permanent place on your side is already filled by another.” He said it so sweetly, as if he was not trying to accuse her of anything, but she’d met him often enough to hear the slight wind of envy. It was true though, if Kin ordered Kento to come to the palace she would have to lend Sukuna out to someone else to make space for him and Sukuna quite liked his high position at court.

“Well maybe you could share then,” she winked back and though she had told him often enough to be honest with her, he just lowered his head a little as if to say “As you wish.” He really was very good at this. That’s why she kept coming back and kept paying the rising fees that he was worth.

She had tried, of course, to get Kento to move to the palace with her to keep him from being bought out by anyone else but her, but Kin had to learn that he very much enjoyed the work he was doing and liked the freedom that the red light district offered him. At least in comparison to the shut in feeling of palace walls. She couldn’t fault him for that, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

It was not like Kin wasn’t satisfied with the men that were brought to her. Sukuna had been such a promising courtesan that she had paid a good sum to get him to stay and though Kenjaku had left to pursue his own things, he had been more than serviceable. But she had been feeling out for something new, maybe someone younger and this house had a good line up of young shining stars. So she had come by to look for herself.

The white haired boy, Satoru, was the talk of the town, his slightly smaller but no less handsome companion Suguru had the women in the palace swooning and their friend Mei Mei was the dream that many women and men at court were too poor to afford, but Kin had immediately taken to Kento. 

He wasn’t as tall as Satoru, as conventionally handsome as Suguru or as bold as Mei Mei. He was soft, his voice was deep, his hands were warm and Kin had wanted to steal him away instantly. Without success, at least so far.

So she had no choice but to come back out here regularly to see him and his fee went up with every visit she did to see him. “Can other people even afford you still?” she had asked him jokingly one time as they were sitting in a hot bathtub together. He had smiled as friendly as always and his answer “Some” had annoyed her more than she wanted to admit.

If only Sukuna wasn’t so territorial, then maybe she could just bring him around. Sure, both men would agree to it because it was their job, but Sukuna really liked to take charge himself. Over the many years he had served Kin he really had developed a feeling of superiority over her other partners. As if he was the best person and nobody else would ever be able to satisfy her as he did.

“My lady,” Kento said and pressed a soft kiss to her naked shoulder. “I think it's about time for you to make your way.” He didn’t say it, but Kin knew he meant that he needed time to get ready for the next clients in the evening.

She was about to put his hair out of his eyes and agree with him that it was time to go when the door flew open. A boy was in the doorway and at first glance Kin could feel her heart stop for a second. The cherry blossom hair and the jawline looked way too similar to someone she knew very well.

“Itadori-kun”, Kento said and sat up. “You should not come in here at this time. Especially not without knocking.”

The boy flushed instantly: “I’m sorry Nanamin.” He was stuttering. “I just saw that you didn’t get breakfast yet and…”

A scream was audible behind the boy and then two arms reached for him. “Yuuji!” It was the voice of the woman that Kin knew as being head of the maids in the place. “What the hell are you doing?”  A head with black hair stuck their head into the room. “Uh, excuse the boy’s behaviour, madam, eh, please enjoy your time.” Then she pulled the boy and pushed the door closed.

Kin had rarely noticed what had happened, she was too fixated on the appearance of the boy. “Who is he?” She asked Kento.

“Itadori Yuuji. He was growing up around here as an orphan. Uchiha-san, the head of maids, took him in. She was the one who disciplined him just now.”

Kin nodded. “Do you know where he is from?”

Kento raised a brow as if he was curious why she wanted to know that. “Many of us people around here have no real family. He is training in this establishment to earn some money. As far as I know Master Yaga never asks for background as long as people work hard.”

So they had no idea who was among them. Kin’s heart was beating against her ribcage. It seemed impossible to think that this boy had found his way back so close to his family, with how big the world and the country was, but she would have recognised that hair colour anywhere. He had grown to look a lot like his father.

Kento seemed suspicious when Kin hurried to get dressed next to him, but etiquette told him not to ask what was on her mind. Instead he made himself presentable and walked her down the large staircase to the exit of the building as always. “When are you planning on letting me see you again?” he asked as always in this overly polite manner to not imply he was begging or trying to get her money.

“Soon,” Kin replied exactly as always. She always sent notice ahead of time for him to clear his schedule, but she never did longer than 24 h ahead. 

No kiss goodbye, they were now in public after all, but she took his hand and squeezed it before the door to the carriage opened and she slipped inside. There was a much smaller woman already sitting inside, a purple kimono matching her dark hair. She was Kin’s closest attendant and cousin, royal enough to be dressed in riches but not nearly royal enough to be of importance. They were always together.

“Did you wait long?” Kin asked, because she didn’t want to lead with her news fist.

Izumi shrugged: “You take your time with this one, I know you might be late.” She was referring to Kento. Kin had suggested Izumi go meet him too, mostly because they often shared such things with one another, but her cousin had lately been focused on her actual marriage instead of looking for fun outside of it.

“I have news,” Kin couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Incredibly big news. Izumi, my dear, I found one of them.”

The other woman turned her head: “One of what?”

“Kids.” Kin reached over to take her hand. “I found one of your kids.”

The carriage wheels wobbled forward over the cobblestone, pushing both women from left to right as the wood kept creaking under their weight. And though there was so much noise around them, the silence that fell between the two friends was almost as audible. Izumi first went white and then her cheeks coloured red.

“You’re joking”, she said as if it was a matter of fact.

Kin grabbed her hand closer: “No, I would never joke about such a thing.”

Izumi stared into her lap: “You found one of my kids? In the whorehouse?”

“Yes.” Kin knew that's not what she wanted to hear, but it was the truth.

“Which one?”

“Yuuji.” Kin was amazed that the name had stuck, even though he’d probably grown up mostly on his own.

“Yuuji..” Izumi’s eyes blurred and it looked like she was lost in memories.

“He is training there,” Kin explained. “Apparently an apprentice.”

Izumi looked up. “So we can still stop him from working! If I could just go to see -”

“You can’t.” Kin cut her off before she could finish her thought. “Remember, you can’t talk to him.”

“Right,” Izumi’s eyes fell to her hands again. “That was what I promised when I gave them away.” That was the trouble of being royal, but not royal enough. You had power to choose your high profile courtesans, but children out of marriage had to be given away. It was cruel, but it was the law.

“Will you tell him?” Izumi asked without looking at her friend. “That you found his son, I mean?”

Kin laughed a little: “I don’t think he’d care.”

“Suppose not,” Izumi agreed.

They sat side by side like this for a while, as the walls of the palace closed behind them. Kin kept holding Izumi’s hand tightly to offer her support. They’d done so much together all their lives and Kin hated that she was put in the position to give up two sons in the first place. 

After a while Izumi turned to the other woman. “Do you think I can at least look at him? See him?”

Kin didn’t know how she could summon the child without making it look suspicious, especially with Kento already having noticed something was odd, but she didn’t like it when her friend looked so defeated. “Definitely. I will make sure you will.”

[booburry]

Belated WIP Wednesday:

Cause I can never remember what day of the week it is apparently 🙃

Update on Echoes in Time, Chapter 4: A star is born

Update: Feeling a little guilty with my pace for this chapter, but I am sure it's fine. Thought to put the start of the next chapter below, while I work on the ending structure and then add in detail; about 80% done...I think. Work week has been absolutely draining so it's been a slow chapter progress but I am also setting up a lot for the future chapters and Sam & Mallory's long-term journey that spans the fic.

Also, just a general thing I have been thinking of stating: I plan to and intend on avoiding describing any and all physical features I can when it comes to Mallory. I just prefer that you can fill the visual of the story with your own imagery of her. I don't know if this is something people have been bothered by or wondering where the descriptors are, but this is why. Happy to share what I imagine her looking but I wouldn't expect it to find it's way into the fic.

Lastly, I swear I never ramble IRL...the chapter will probably end up being close to 8k words? I won't (probably) apologize for it.

Content warning: unintended nudity

The idea that Mallory’s mood could have gotten worse from the moment she admitted to ‘outing’ herself as a time-travelling ‘alien’ would seem improbable to impossible.

Unfortunately, as if struck by bad luck, it did.

It’s those damn Coe’s and their stupid book. Mallory grumbled within herself as she put on her socks before getting out of bed to get dressed for the day. She laid out some clothes on her bed, she sheet and blanket messily bunched up from her active sleeping—she never stayed still.

She was pondering over two options when, unexpectedly, there was a light knock on the door.

“One moment!” Mallory called out, upset and anxious that she suddenly felt rushed to decide what she was going to wear.

“Yup, no problem...” Sam called out, making Mallory instinctively grab a blanket to cover her exposed parts despite there being no way he could see her.

It would also be a lie if Mallory claimed the idea of only a panel of wood standing between Sam and her didn’t also excite her—her mind compulsively jumping into the deep end of that fantasy, losing herself until she heard Sam clear his throat from the hallway.

“I just put on my socks!” Mallory called out, rushing to pick an outfit and frustratingly, now knowing that he would be the first to see her left Mallory wishing to put more…effort into her choices.

It also just made her anxiety rise and her executive function vanish.

“Okay,” Sam called out, Mallory smiling as she just pictured him slightly rocking back onto his heels with his hands in his pockets.

Naturally, she reached up to grab Sam’s necklace to realize it wasn’t there. Without hesitation, that became Mallory’s next goal but she couldn’t seem to find it. Clothes were flying, pillows, blankets and sheets were tossed off the bed, nightstands dramatically being opened and shut.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asked with a great amount of concern, probably at the sudden loud sounds from within her room.

Mallory immediately felt as if her stomach was about to fall out of her ass as she realized, before being able to fully act, that Sam was about to walk in and see her wearing nothing but a pair of fuzzy socks.

“Sarah is wa—"

And boy did he.

“aaaaauuhh…mn.” Sam let out a prolonged, strained, sound that Mallory—if she were not frantically leaping over her bed to grab the sheet she threw to the side—would have teased him for relentlessly.

“Would you—” Mallory started to speak as she almost fell to the ground to roll herself into some amount of fabric. “Close the door!?” She called out to him, expecting him to walk out but the man, either in his confusion or boldness, stepped in and closed the door behind him.

His eyes were firmly on the floor.

“So…you, uh, put your socks on first, huh?” He slowly asked, obviously calculating a million things in his head as he sputtered out the words. Mallory felt her toes curl in as she stood up to securely wrap the sheet around herself.

“I don’t like the feeling of my bare feet touching things, okay?” Mallory muttered, feeling embarrassed by her quirks before immediately reminding herself of the complete invasion of her space, flashing a scorching glare at Sam. He didn’t see, of course, as his eyes were still glued to the floor. “Since when do you just walk in?”

“I—” Sam still wouldn’t look at her, which Mallory told herself was good, but god she also desperately wished he would. “You said socks…and then the noises...I, uh, I—” He tried to continue but still fell short. “I panicked.” He finally admitted, causing Mallory to feel a sudden urge she couldn’t resist.

“We’ll have to work on that.” She told him, mocking the words he had just used yesterday when she admitted she similarly panicked in a moment of high stress. But, despite the tone Sam may have used in themoment before, Mallory decided to say it with a slight, completely unfair, adjustment.

She pitched her voice deeper, making an effort to sound breathy while ensuring her words flowed together like silk and honey. She saw Sam’s chest pop out with a sudden and short exhale but the rest of his body was like stone.

“That’s…so cruel.” He told her, a light shake to his head, his face hidden behind his hat but Mallory knew how wide his smile was and the exact shade of crimson present on his cheeks from the tone he spoke in.

“You subjected yourself to this torture when you walked in here,” Mallory informed him with a matter-of-fact tone, losing herself in the moment. “Now, turn around and don’t look—please.” She quickly added the last request, her two parts already in contention, reminding her to not come off bossy or demand too much.

Sam just deeply chuckled.

“I would have preferred it if you just demanded me to.” He slowly glanced up at Mallory, who became immediately self-conscious about how tightly she had wrapped her sheet around her body. His eyes lingered, but at least he didn’t try to hide it, and he ensured to give Mallory a smirk and a playful, pronounced, wink.

“Turn. Around.” She reminded Sam with a teasingly annoyed tone while raising an eyebrow at him—a suppressed smile pushing its way forward as her heart beat against her chest.

“Mmmn,” Sam hummed as he immediately obeyed, “yeah…that’s much better.” He encouraged her, his tone just as taunting as Sam fought just as dirty in the game Mallory had started. His eyes looked towards the ceiling, Mallory’s gaze immediately being drawn to the pronounced curve of his strong neck.

“You’re so bad!” Mallory said with a laugh before realizing how the words she chose could be easily used against her when said to a person like Sam Coe.

She heard him hiss in a sharp inhale, a moment of silence and then…nothing.

“You alright?” She asked, a small concern that she had broken his ‘witty bone’.

“Yeah—well…no, but,” Sam paused another moment, Mallory truly starting to worry she had broken the man, “I wouldn’t change a thing. I just…can’t…really think, right now.” He slowly stated as his head leveled out and he awkwardly adjusted his posture. Mallory smirked.

“Blood rushing elsewhere?” She quickly asked.

“You could say that, sure.”

[twinkinspector]

present mic / yamada hizashi ❥ astrology masterlist

❥ birth date: july 7, 2111

❥ birth time: 6pm

❥ birth place: tokyo

❥ pop astrology analysis:

cancer sun, cancer moon, capricorn rising. on the surface, i would say his big three doesn't fit him. but that's in the pop astrology sense – just looking at the surface of his behaviors and at these three placements. i would have expected much more air and much more fire. but his big three consists of earth and water! weird to me for sure. [insert no bitches meme here] no leo? ALL THAT SAID........ it does make sense when you look deeper.

❥ in-depth below the cut ❥

❥ cancer sun: emotional. strong survival instinct. nurturing. sensitive. compassionate. seeks and offers security. loyal. protective. highly intuitive. associated with psychic abilities. charismatic. mommy issues.

our boy mic isn't what i'd call a textbook cancer. his analysis is going to be more of me dissecting the motivations behind his actions – he's much older than other characters, so he's likely "masking" his placements more than other analyses i've done. his motivations are almost always personal. they're often to protect his friends, which is very cancer. cancers take relationships really seriously, which is obviously the case with mic. because of the emotional and nurturing aspects of cancers, they can be very focused on the past. i think this manifests in the way he reacts when finding out about shirakumo. (i'm not going to say anything more than that bc spoilers.) ALSO i think his intuition comes into play with his choice of friends. though aizawa acted aloof and distant, mic knew he could crack him. and he did.

❥ cancer moon: loyal. nurturing. family is super important to him. goes out of his way to make others feel loved. naturally supports and protects others. very emotional. i've noticed this placement can have mood swings really easily based on the moon's current transits.

mic's personal motivations are super important to him. when shirakumo is killed in battle, he and aizawa are frozen in place to mourn him for hours. though his passing truly affected mic (and he still carries it with him), he was able to navigate his initial grief (showing a mastery and understanding of emotion) and more or less move forward. his friendship with aizawa is really indicative of how he goes out of his way to make others feel loved. he really had to go out of his way to be friends with someone so guarded. although he's loyal to his friends, mic is able to team up with pretty much anyone. in the manga, there was a point in his high school career when he had to team up in a two-vs.-two battle with someone he really didn't like against aizawa and shirakumo. while mic's team didn't win, he did a surprisingly good job of cooperating. this often shows a lot of empathy and emotional intelligence.

❥ capricorn rising: biiiiig bizzy-business energy. work-oriented. no-nonsense. stoic. poised. quick-witted. bright. emphasis on family. mastery of the material. organized.

it might seem like mic isn't high-achieving and work-oriented, but i think that's just something he's cultivated over the years. he's honestly much more hardworking than he seems on the surface. he has three jobs!!!!! he's also able to compartmentalize his strong emotions to do what needs to be done when it comes to work. this placement is super persistent. he wore a seemingly aloof aizawa down until he became a lifelong friend. i think this placement is HUGELY colored by his leo mercury.

❥ leo mercury: excels at public speaking, performance, and winning the hearts of others. proud. bold. authoritative. enthusiastic. well-liked. enjoys the spotlight.

mic is the poster child for the surface manifestations of a leo mercury. his entire persona was created around his special brand of communication – insanely loud and bold. this is the way his actions manifest – BIG and BOLD.

❥ leo venus: loves grand gestures. bold love. confident. playful. dramatic. energetic. can be emotionally unstable. loyal. warm. aesthetics are important to him. loves the effect he has on society.

i think this placement colors his others too. he's so bold in the way he expresses himself – even aesthetically. venus represents aesthetics as well as all its other domains. so his hair??????? v leo venus. this placement does speaks to his strong emotions even though it's not a water sign or a traditionally ~emotional~ sign to most people. he also thinks (rightfully) that society is a better place with him in it.

❥ cancer mars: indirect. passive-aggressive. inclined to control their feelings but can seem moody. can later erupt. protects himself. driven to action based upon emotion. mars is in its fall here.

this really drives home how much his emotions influence his actions. mars is the planet of action and how we deal with conflict. it's not always about how we react to conflict – sometimes it's about why things are causing conflict in our minds in the first place.

❥ virgo jupiter: intelligent. problem-solver. great technical and analytical skills. loves to learn. many interests. perfectionist. realistic. optimistic outlook on mundane things. gravitates toward extremes. jupiter is in detriment here.

this is another good representation of how mic expresses himself. he takes the smaller details and more mundane things and turns them into something bigger and more expansive (jupiterian). this is a perfect example of why he always volunteers to commentate – he's taking something mundane and turning it into an opportunity / something more interesting.

❥ pisces saturn: compassionate. philosophical. introspective. aloof. hopeful. idealistic.

this is interesting. some people with saturn in pisces tend to overcompensate for these traits by trying to control things. and i think mic does this. he doesn't necessarily control situations – but people. his whole ~thing~ is crowd control and inspiring others. to me, this placement is about turning the greater good and your ideals into a career – which is exactly what mic has done. he's not only a hero but he does it in a way that's really in-your-face and brings his ideals to the forefront.

the rest of these planets are GENERATIONAL. i'll make this into its own page after i have more than one character with these same placements!

❥ gemini uranus: intelligent. perceptive. flexible. resourceful. values freedom and independence.

people with this placement are usually really good at learning new skills – and quickly. they're often able to focus on multiple things. and they have a lot of interests! that's one reason they value freedom – they want the freedom to follow their interests.

❥ libra neptune: idealistic. creative. has an eye for beauty. receptive. compassionate. tolerant. seeks harmony and balance. love of beauty and art.

people with this placement are usually really charming. these people love to be idealistic, but they're able to balance that with realism. mic does the best he can within his means and tries to inspire others to be as idealistic as he is.

❥ taurus pluto: a knack for making something out of nothing. persistent. enjoys comfort and beauty.

these people may obsess over money and material things. this could be why mic works so many jobs instead of just making his interests into hobbies!

❥ overall

as i said in the beginning, it's interesting to analyze someone so much older than the characters i've been analyzing. the older you get, the more your learned behaviors affect you and color the way things manifest. so it's important to take that into account too! that's why i really tried to focus on his internal motivations – which actually checks out as far as the amount of cancer placements he has. his internal world is intense. i didn't analyze his cancer stellium specifically because it seems like he's learned to mask his emotions pretty well with grandiose behavior (given to him by his leo placements). i do think this chart fits him, but i'll admit that this was a tough one! i also want to note that every time i reference "family" here, i'm referring to his found family. mic really sees his friends as family. again..... very cancer.

❥ chart

[florahydevt]

Get to Know Me tag game!!

tagged by my wonderful boy @torstenerikssonvt

RULES: bold the ones that are true and tag people to do it.

APPEARANCE

Blonde hair // I prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // I have one or more piercings // I have at least one tattoo //I have dyed or highlighted my hair // I have gotten plastic surgery* // I have or had braces // I sunburn easily // I have freckles // I paint my nails // I typically wear makeup // I don’t often smile // I am pleased with how I look // I prefer Nike to Adidas // I wear baseball hats backwards

*idk if it counts as plastic surgery seeing as it wasn't for aesthetic choices as much as mobility purposes, but as a kid I had a reconstructive surgery on my left shoulder due to Erb's Palsy (also during said surgery I had a horrible allergic reaction to the anesthesia and ended up flat lining lol)

HOBBIES AND TALENTS

I play a sport // I can play an instrument // I am artistic // I know more than one language* // I have won a trophy in some sort of competition // I can cook or bake without a recipe // I know how to swim // I enjoy writing* //I can do origami // I prefer movies to tv shows // I can execute a perfect somersault // I enjoy singing* // I could survive in the wild on my own // I have read a new book series this year// I enjoy spending time with friends // I travel during work or school breaks // I can do a handstand

First *: I took Spanish for three years in high school, forgot most of it, and am slowly regaining my knowledge thanks to my coworkers who only speak Spanish. All of that to say, I sound like a moron but I can get my point across. Lo siento orz

Second *: Literally my favorite thing in the world and the one thing I feel confident in.

Third *: Thanks to being pushed into choir (and by extension drama) classes my entire school career, I fell out of love with singing for many years. But now I belt out my fav songs like Patti Lupone without the talent and enjoy the hell out of myself lol

RELATIONSHIP

I am in a relationship // I have been single for over a year // I have a crush // I have a best friend who I’ve known for ten years // my parents are together // I have dated my best friend // I am adopted // My crush has confessed to me // I have a long distance relationship // I am an only child // I give advice to my friends // I have made an online friend* // I met up with someone I have met online

*I've made many and I love all of you <3

AESTHETICS

I have heard the ocean in a conch shell // I have watched the sun rise // I enjoy rainy days // I have slept under the stars // I meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // I enjoy the smell of the beach // I know what snow tastes like // I listen to music to fall asleep // I enjoy thunderstorms // I enjoy cloud watching // I have attended a bonfire // I pay close attention to colors // I find mystery in the ocean // I enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favorite season

MISCELLANEOUS

I can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // I am the mom friend // I live by a certain quote // I like the smell of sharpies // I am involved in extracurricular activities // I enjoy Mexican food // I can drive a stick shift // I believe in true love // I make up scenarios to fall asleep // I sing in the shower // I wish I lived in a video game // I have a canopy above my bed // I am multiracial // I am a redhead // I own at least 3 dogs

tagging @m1lk-ch3rry @dollymollynanika and @keiirisruevt !!!

[multistoty]

hope and Kaven

@headsxwillxroll​

The air tasted like wonder. Like candied butterfly wings caught in sugared spiderwebs, and drunken peaches coated in luck.Wonderland felt like grandest show on land or by sea. Inside you’ll experience more wonders than most people see in a lifetime. You can sip magic from a cup and buy dreams in a bottle. But before you fully enter into our world, you must remember it’s all a game.Every person has the power to change their fate if they are brave enough to fight for what they desire more than anything.Dreams that come true can be beautiful, but they can also turn into nightmares when people won't wake up.The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. But there’s something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour that creates a language of its own. There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light.Sometimes your heart is the only thing worth listening to.Fascinating, isn't it, how often heroic and foolish turn out to be one and the same.She is a rose. Lovely on the eyes, yes, but such thorns are not to be ignored.It was difficult to be polite when you wanted to run away.Timid or arrogant, Charming or infuriating, and the princess was falling, falling, falling.It is much wiser to let your inner beauty shine through a drab gown than to attempt to conceal it with physical accoutrements.hope wondered if that youthful face had ever seen a true smile. her heart is not a game piece, to be played and discarded at will even if it was being used as a pawn. Why not bring herself to a fellow immortal winning the game under the table? The mikealson heir become rather fond of fools and acostumed to nonsense. He was all brush stroke features and shining angles in the dancing moon light.She stole glimpses of him again and again, like gathering unsatisfying crumbs in hopes they could be re-formed into a cake. Her heart was still a little heavy, but she'd decided carrying it around would only maker her stronger. He smelled of magic and heartbreak, and something about the combination made her think that despite what he claimed, he wanted to be her hero. Arrogant. Overconfident. Vain. Impossible. She hated the way he refused to leave her alone, how he took her insults the same way other boys might take a compliment, and that his interest in her was clearly only part of his role. And yet she could never seem to push him away. The onyx haired boy was probably not her father’s first choice in companion, but he had something to say beyond those furrowed brows and starlight cutting orbs. Why not play with someone who made their own rules? Who smiled like a villain and moved like a hero?She loved the feeling of doing something bold enough to make her future hold its breath while she closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation that she’d made a choice with the power to alter the course of her life. The auburn haired Mikealson heir might have held a tidal wave of morality, but it didn’t stop her from accessing the snarky side. Now, she was a moth and would eat silk if necessary to have her wings. Ringed ivory fingers toyed with the heavy silk of his playing cards. Kraven clearly someone with an affinity for understated luxury. she was grateful for her maids more muted red dress with less polish and tightened corset. Besides, better not to be seen at the moment. A fond challenge danced in her bright blue orbs as she leaned back in one of the mismatched chairs. The fire had at first threatened to melt her in it, but now warmed her skin like an old friend. “How about a wager my friend?”

[landsofaruin]

The First Emerald Invasion Pt.1

"The threat laid down by the Padashah sat like stone on the Senate floor. No man or woman present could bare to think it was possible, Altrius had fallen, the ancient city now crumbled in ruins or housed the enemy across the Emerald sea. The heathen leader sent a message to the senate, one that was met with an uncomfortable consideration, join the khaganate and relieve yourself of your gods or face the sons of the mighty Khan of Khans. Senators argued and threw fists, should they flee across the sea and join their cousins in the foreign continent, should they stay and risk the end of their people. It was the cunning Anastasius who spoke first 

“Have you become cowards? Have we not learned from our luxuries in the past that when we do nothing our nation crumbles underneath us. We have defended against Gods and daemons alike and we will not fear the likes of these common men from the mountains. They are like sheep, and what is a sheep to a dragon.” Another senator, Gaelia, spoke to him “It is easy for the noble Senator to speak of dragons when he beds the great general Hexemies, his noble beast Pyranthius the burning rose saving them should this great nation fall.” It was not Anastasius who spoke but rather his husband, the great general himself. “Calm yourself Senator, for is it not more common for a house like yours to hide behind walls and allow others to die for them. So I shall oblige you and offer myself and my two sibling riders as defenders of Satriya, along with their mounts, the Golden Flame Aureothor and the Ghostly wind Drethys. The mighty Altrian navy remains the greatest in the world, we have not to fear from children who have just learned that the ocean even exists.” Hexemies spoke boldly, as was his family's way, for they were of royal blood the beloveds of the emperors of old. The saviors of Altria would be the house of royal purple, the hot headed Golden rider Marius and the staunch commander Drusila, whose sword Moonsilver was just as mighty as her dragon.

It would take three weeks for the preparations to be arranged, the mighty boats of Altrian make each equipped with the mighty drake thrower, the ancient weapon that could spit fire as well as any living dragon. Pyranthius, her scales crimson as blood shone in the sun as enemy ships breached underneath the rising sun. Hexemies, astride his saddle, made a final inspection of his men before joining his siblings in the Arena of fire. The massive beast, known as Aureothor the Golden Flame, crawled from the cave entrance of the arena. His golden scales lined his body like a kite, fusing to form a seamless string from tail to wing. He was just as rambunctious as his rider, for he was known to escape the Arena and fly freely across the ocean before returning. But today, his face was stern and armored for battle, his rider’s own armor shone in the sun with a bright reflective wave so that his enemy could always know a burning death awaited them. The young boy, only ten and seven, was always eager to impress his far more accomplished siblings claiming Aureothor had been a bold choice, a dragon who was nearly three times the age of the boy and five times his size had finally found in a human the same pride and eagerness that he craved. Drusilla, armor bright silver to match her eyes beneath the draconic helm she wore, followed her brother as her horrifying mount, known as Drethys the Ghostly wind, strung below her. Drethys was a sight to behold, her scales that of a pitch black and violet hue and each claw as sharp as swords. Her horns seemed to curve and mark her face as if she had pincers, she looked more like a horrific spider than a dragon. She was a dragon bathed in the night, it only seemed fitting for her rider to appear as if she were the moon herself. The two were inseparable, as a young girl Drusilla would frequently sneak into the Arena to sleep with the dragon or secretly take nightly rides without the Dragon masters knowing. Drusilla and Marius took to the skies ready to meet the invaders." "The Emerald Invasions: a saga of fire and pride" by the Hierophant Julianus the Lesser, 1450 PI

[chicvogue]

Elegance and Edge: the Advantage of Luxury Fashion for Boys

The article titled 'Elegance and Edge: the Advantage of Luxury Fashion for Boys' explores the growing trend and importance of luxury fashion for boys. This article aims to examine the benefits of luxury fashion for boys, provide styling tips, and discuss the impact of luxury fashion on boys' confidence.

By embracing individuality through luxury fashion, boys can experience a sense of belonging and express their personal style. Through an objective and impersonal lens, this article will delve into the world of luxury fashion for boys, offering insights and knowledge to its audience.

The Growing Trend: Luxury Fashion for Boys

The rising popularity of luxury fashion for boys is evident in the current fashion industry. There is a growing trend of boys showing interest in luxury fashion, indicating a rising demand for stylish and high-quality clothing.

This shift in boys' fashion choices is breaking stereotypes and evolving the perception of what is considered appropriate for boys to wear. As they embrace luxury fashion, boys are able to express their individuality and style, fostering a sense of belonging within the fashion community.

Why Luxury Fashion Matters for Boys

Luxury fashion holds significant importance for boys, as it provides both elegance and an edge in their style choices.

Fashion plays a crucial role in shaping boys' identity, as it allows them to express their individuality and establish a sense of belonging.

By embracing luxury fashion, boys can exude confidence and sophistication, which can positively impact their self-esteem and social interactions.

Moreover, luxury fashion enables boys to align with societal standards of success and prestige, further reinforcing their sense of identity.

Exploring the Benefits of Luxury Fashion for Boys

Exploring the benefits of luxury fashion for boys involves examining the impact it has on their self-esteem, social interactions, and alignment with societal standards of success and prestige.

Luxury fashion provides numerous benefits for boys, including enhanced self-confidence and a sense of belonging. By following current fashion trends, boys can feel more connected to their peers and establish a positive image.

Additionally, luxury fashion allows boys to express their creativity and individuality, while also conforming to societal ideals of style and success.

Styling Tips: Incorporating Luxury Fashion for Boys

When incorporating luxury fashion advantage for boys, it is important to consider styling tips that enhance their overall appearance and create a sense of sophistication. By staying up-to-date with current fashion trends, parents can ensure that their boys are dressed in the latest styles.

Some styling tips to consider include:

Choosing high-quality fabrics: Opting for luxurious fabrics such as silk, cashmere, or fine cotton can elevate a boy's outfit and make it look more refined.

Incorporating statement pieces: Adding bold and unique items to a boy's wardrobe can make a fashion statement. This could be a statement jacket, a pair of stylish shoes, or an eye-catching accessory like a designer belt.

Paying attention to details: Small details can make a big difference in a boy's overall look. Parents should consider accessories like watches, hats, or sunglasses to complete their outfit. Additionally, grooming is essential. A well-groomed appearance, including neatly styled hair and clean nails, can enhance a boy's overall look.

These tips can help boys exude confidence and a sense of belonging in the fashion world.

The Impact of Luxury Fashion on Boys' Confidence

The impact of incorporating luxury fashion on boys' confidence can be observed through their enhanced sense of self-assurance and belonging in the fashion world. Luxury fashion provides boys with a unique opportunity to express their individuality and creativity, which in turn boosts their confidence.

Furthermore, the psychology behind luxury fashion for boys suggests that it allows them to develop a strong sense of identity and belonging.

Parents play a crucial role in shaping boys' fashion confidence by supporting their choices and encouraging self-expression.

Embracing Individuality: Luxury Fashion for Boys

Boys' fashion trends have evolved to embrace individuality, allowing young boys to express themselves through their style choices. Luxury fashion brands have recognized the importance of catering to this desire for uniqueness and have created collections that cater specifically to boys.

These trends not only provide young boys with a sense of belonging but also empower them to explore their personal style and develop their own fashion identity. Embracing individuality through luxury fashion allows boys to stand out and feel confident in their own skin.

Conclusion

Luxury fashion for boys is a growing trend that is gaining popularity. This article highlights the advantages of luxury fashion for boys, emphasizing the importance it holds.

It explores the benefits that luxury fashion brings to boys, such as enhancing their confidence and embracing their individuality.

Additionally, styling tips are provided to help incorporate luxury fashion into boys' wardrobes.

Overall, luxury fashion offers elegance and edge, giving boys a unique advantage in their fashion choices.

By embracing luxury fashion, boys can showcase their personal style and stand out from the crowd.