#considering all nightering every other day again

[cr0ws-cha0t1c-c0llect10n]

HOW HAS SLEEP SCHEDULE RESET BEEN SUCH A HUGE FAILURE?????? I GET ONE NIGHT SLEEPING ON TIME BUT NOW IT’S BACK TO IMPOSSIBLE BEFORE 1 AM??????? AND I WAS PRACTICALLY PASSING OUT WHILE BRUSHING MY TEETH EARLIER?????? i’m smhing my head >:{

[fatuismooches]

bene quiescam, dilecte mi.

synopsis: Exams are any student’s nightmare, and that too applies to even Zandik sometimes (although to quite a lesser extent, perhaps it'd be more accurate to call it an annoyance.) As any good partner does, you do your best to relieve his stress, but this time he takes things into his own hands.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: This is a commissioned work! A cute lil fluffy scenario with Dottie getting stressed from exams and dragging Reader away for cuddles was requested. I hope you enjoy!

Exam season at the Akademiya was not for the weak.

The House of Daena was always occupied even until ungodly hours, the libraries were full yet so quiet, and other spots were filled by students who had their coffee refilled far too many times. Classrooms were overtaken by study groups and the chalkboards were filled to the brim by sleep-deprived scholars. All-nighters were frequent for many students. Seniors could often be seen trying to comfort their younger classmates. Conversations consisted of a variety of feelings, from confidence to anxiety (mostly the latter.) The sight was something that simultaneously comforted you and scared you a bit, knowing everyone else was in the same boat as you.

Ever since you met Zandik, however, you could say your studying experience was probably different from the other students. Of course, there was still the stress that came with it, but studying with Zandik was definitely more enjoyable than doing it by yourself, especially when you had the very special privilege of being his beloved. His brilliance always shined through, even when he acted all grumpy about helping you and explaining concepts again. You gave him a kiss every time, which he clicked his tongue at and excused himself to refill his coffee. Indeed, it was moments like these that made studying better.

Zandik, on the other hand, was never one to worry much, which was a stark difference compared to other students and yourself. You were always a bit jealous at how unworried he was. Often, he didn’t even need to study too much, spending his time doing his own research as he usually did. You supposed it was to be expected considering how intelligent he was, but still.

However, this time, you had seen Zandik in a state you’d never seen him in before. Alright, that statement seemed a bit dramatic, but it was still true - you’d never seen him study to this extent (although it was still a lot less than what other students did.) The situation he had found himself in was due to a couple of reasons.

Firstly, he had decided to sign up for a class that had a terrible professor, despite your pleading for him to listen to the poor reviews of the teacher and just take the class with someone else next semester. His logic was that all the professors disliked him anyway, so it wasn’t a problem (which turned out to be the opposite, of course.) Not to mention, the class was writing-intensive. Zandik wasn’t a bad writer especially if he was excited about a topic. But his thoughts tended to be scattered as he wrote what came to mind, and the professor was quite strict and demanding for a particular writing style. (There was also the fact that quite a few of his papers were written by you, as he wasn’t interested in wasting precious time on such things… no one knew that though.) You couldn’t forget the numerous group projects too - Zandik only ever got a good grade on those if you were his partner. 

All in all, the situation wasn’t ideal. This final exam was pretty important for your lover. Thankfully, you had already finished all your exams and could bask in the softness of your bed for hours, but that was also coupled with witnessing Zandik being glued to his desk all day and night, preferring to stay in the dorm to study. It was a good thing you stocked up on pens and pencils - he had already broken at least a dozen…

For as long as you knew him, you had slowly tried to introduce him to the concept of a break, which… wasn’t really that successful despite the years you spent with him. And it certainly wasn’t successful now. You had pushed and pushed him to relax for a bit but there were times even you couldn’t convince him, Zandik being the stubborn scholar he was. At least he was making time to eat the snacks you prepared for him. Probably only because he couldn’t physically continue without some substance in his body.

So for now, you had settled with taking care of the other chores and working on his research in his stead to ease his burden. You weren’t really put off much by his actions, at least not when you’ve been with him this long. His exam would be over rather soon anyway, and things would be back to normal.

Zandik, on the other hand, was also coping fairly well. He was a bit annoyed at the fact so much time was spent on this class, but he supposed it was to be expected considering the kind of nonsense that was demanded at the Akademiya. Something that he was not coping well with, however, was the lack of touch he’d received from you lately.

He had always been used to being by himself, the touch of others making his skin crawl. When he met you, he initially thought your kindness and fleeting touches were incessant. Now, Zandik itched for them, although he very much refused to admit that to himself.

Still, how does he get you to throw your arms over him and nag at him to come to bed? How does he get you to touch and kiss him? How does he get you to pull at his waist and tug him out the door for some fresh air? Obviously, asking you was out of the question. He wasn’t going to deal with your teasing right now. He could subtly drop some hints, but you had been pretty dense these last couple of days.

Perhaps he should take a page out of your book and simply take what he wanted. It could be a good plan - you usually listened to him as long as there was affection involved. So that was what Zandik did as soon as you reached back to the dorm.

“Zandik, I got your favorite from the tavern. I’ll just put it away for- oh. You’re actually out of that chair for once! That’s a surprise- ah, h-hey! What are you doing?” It hadn’t even been a minute before you were suddenly being dragged by your partner to the bed. What was his reasoning for this, you wondered.

“You’re tired.” …Well, that was unexpected.

“I’m tired? Me?” 

“Yes. The bags under your eyes are still there and I can hear you yawning from the kitchen.” You furrowed your eyebrows and blinked at him when you realized he was still touching you. Well, clinging would be a better word, from the way his fingers still dug into your arms. And then, everything clicked as you realized the true reason behind this little show. Of course, you’d play along if that was what your beloved desired.

“…Yeah, I am pretty tired, actually. I guess finals took a lot out of me.” It was a convincing lie since it was partially true - you were still pretty exhausted from all of that studying.

“Exactly. So-”

“So I should get some rest before I end up causing you trouble, yes yes, I know Zandik.” You finished his sentence to spare him any further embarrassment, along with then tugging on his arm to pull him further into the bed with you. “And since you’re already here, you should just stay with me. Just so I can get the best rest I possibly can,” you smiled at him, giggling at his seemingly annoyed expression. 

“I still have work to do. I have not finished reviewing chapter 27 yet,” he grumbled, and yet he made no effort to remove himself from your embrace. You took it as a sign to bring him even closer to you.

“You’ve already done more than enough. You’re going to top the class like you usually do. There’s no need to worry so much,” you said as you placed a kiss on top of his head, reveling in the soft blue fluff that greeted you.

“I don’t need you to give me a pep talk. And I am not worried,” Zandik said as if he wasn’t snuggling closer to your neck, teeth about to graze your skin.

“I’m not doing that! I’m just… you know, it doesn’t matter. Just think about all the fun things we’re going to do after! All the ruins we’re going to secretly explore and the machines we’ll dissect! That’s what I do to motivate me when I’m studying.” You didn’t mention how you were looking forward to holding him hostage in bed in the mornings.

“You motivate yourself by thinking of all the work you’re going to do with me?” Your lover sounded simultaneously confused and amused as he began to nibble along your shoulder. You think the biting was a sort of stress relief for Zandik, for some odd reason. But such things didn’t bother you in the slightest anymore.

“Yes, but not because it’s work. It’s because I get to spend time doing things I’m interested in with a cutie as well. It’s a pretty good deal if you ask me,” you couldn’t help but tease him as he scoffed at your flirting, but his demeanor already seemed lighter than the past few days.

“I don’t remember this enthusiasm on the last expedition we went on,” he responded, finally nipping your skin, and moving upward to your ear.

“Alright, now that's a different story… you made me carry a bunch of things in the desert!” You laughed, the banter lifting your mood. It always felt good to have a normal conversation with your lover, especially after such a stressful week. As much as you wanted to continue talking, you also wanted to seize the opportunity to add a few hours to Zandik’s sleep schedule. You wrapped your arms around him a bit tighter as you yawned.

“But I am rather tired, as you said. I think it’s time for some sleep, wouldn’t you say?” At your words, Zandik began to try and shift out of your arms, but to no avail. Whether your arms were that strong, or Zandik was faking his protest, well, who could say?

“Nuh-uh. You already said you’d stay and rest with me,” you smiled as you reached over to turn off the lights, only the light from outside illuminating the dark room now.

“I promised no such thing. You’re the one who assumed that,” he mumbled, the heaviness of his body becoming much more noticeable to him now that he had entered a relaxed mood. 

“Yes yes, it’s all my fault you can’t pull an all-nighter today,” you rolled your eyes in amusement as you pulled the blanket over you two. “Just get some shut-eye, I’m sure you’ll need it for tomorrow’s one. Okay, Zandik?” Your voice had become softer, and the only response you got from your partner was a series of reluctant grumbles, which you grinned at. 

“Good,” you whispered as you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Rest well, my beloved.”

[sanjisprincesswifey]

valentine's day

summary: spending valentine's day with the monster trio

notes: sanji, zoro, & luffy x implied female reader (separately), pure fluff

black leg sanji

sanji may know your favorite flower or candy, but he remains a teddy bear, roses, and box of chocolates kind of guy 

for sanji, it’s the idea that you deserve love in its purest form; that all he wants to give you is the love people see in movies or read in books

it’s about the sentiment; he could give you your favorite flowers or candy any other day (and he does). today, on valentine’s day, it’s about him and how he wants to show you he loves you 

he’ll plan a nice, romantic dinner that includes a sweet wine, dimly lit candles, and a meal perfectly curated for your palettes

again, to sanji it’s his way of proving to you that he loves you; he’s so in love with you, in fact, that you’re worthy of the love that others only dream of having. so tonight’s meal has been in preparation for weeks before the actual date 

he can’t help but stray from the basics and put his own touches on everything. 

sanji gets all giggly and flustered while he leaves small presents around the ship for you to find. small is a loose term though, in actuality the presents probably cost thousands of berry 

finally, he pulls a couple all nighters to write you a handwritten love letter. it obviously starts off as a proclamation of his love and obsession with you, but around the second page he begins to explain just how much you mean to him. how he’s changed for the better and learned to love both himself and life so much more now that he has you. 

the day consists of being wrapped up in your boyfriends long limbs practically every minute of the day, so many kisses you swear his lips must be tired, and words even sweeter than the candy he gives you

roronoa zoro

zoro gets lost walking on a straight path, you think he’ll remember a holiday? 

i don’t know if he even knows what day it is normally 

since he doesn’t even know what day it is, that most likely means he doesn’t even have a gift for you

sorry babe, but if you want to have a nice date you will have to plan it yourself 

however, if you mention your concerns to someone who is more situationally aware (cough, cough, nami, robin, or sanji), he may remember to get you a gift 

albeit, it won’t be wrapped and will most likely still be wearing the price tag, but it is a gift regardless

that being said, roronoa zoro is incredibly sentimental in his gift giving. just because he may be a bit forgetful does not mean that he doesn’t love you

he loves you so much he doesn’t need a day to remind you of that; he tells you every day in the way that he interacts with you 

considering how much he loves you, remember to give him some reassurance about his airhead-ness. he doesn’t want to admit it, but he was actually a little worried it might jeopardize your relationship 

monkey d luffy

knows valentine’s day is important to you so he’ll celebrate with you, but otherwise doesn’t really care much for the holiday besides all the candy, of course

luffy can’t be trusted with any money nami gives him as he’d spend it solely on meat, so he must resort to handmade gifts

but do not be fooled by the name! your captain is incredibly sweet, the handpicked flower bouquets contain all your favorite colors and all your favorite flowers. he insists on adventuring to a flower field and picking each flower individually claiming that it’ll only be right for you if he’s the one who does it

usopp, robin and nami then wrap it up all nice and pretty for that extra special touch

in classic luffy fashion, he’d also give you a box that has the appearance of a box of chocolates but inside contains a bunch of cool looking seashells or rocks that he, again, hand chose for you

no outside planning is done besides this though as dinner with luffy only sounds fun in theory; he’s a human vacuum cleaner, you wouldn’t get very far in your own meal before he’s swallowing up your food too 

he’d love for you to join him for a dance under the moonlight though

his long, rubber arms wrap around you while his body sinks into yours as you rock back and forth to the music 

and, of course, he is telling you he loves you every second of the day and every other day for the rest of your lives

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ like this post? send me a request!

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

See How It Shines

Summary: Spencer gets home from work to find Reader in tears over the new Hozier album.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff and comfort

Content warnings: The masterpiece of Hozier’s Unreal Unearth, me stopping halfway to listen to the entire album, me crying to every song I reference

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: shoutout to anyone who picks up on every song reference I make. I am instantly in love with you.

Spencer had been etched with the weight of unsolved cases and the relentless march of time, and he was forced to call it a night around six. The team had already pulled an all-nighter earlier in the week, so Hotch decided they all deserved rest. Spencer, however, wasn’t tired (he was; it was the late cups of coffee). Nevertheless, he makes it to his apartment door, skipping every other step. As Spencer turned the key in the lock, a soft melody flowed from the other side, haunting him yet drawing him in.

When the door opens with a slight creak, the music only grows. The living room was a sanctuary, bathed in the golden hues of twilight and table lamps, together casting long, ethereal shadows across the aged wooden floor. Plants adorned the walls and shelves. Since you moved in, he has never shared a space with so many simple living things.  His record player, a testament to decades of shared music between him and his mother, spun its vinyl tale. This time it was for you, as it breathed life into the album as you sat on the couch in a nest of blankets.

Ah yes, it was Hozier day. The anticipated album release of Unreal Unearth. His girlfriend highly anticipated it. She had been vibrating as the week drew to a close with five days left, then three, then one. And it was well worth the wait, considering the tears continuing to streak her face as the Irish man begged for someone to not fall away from him.

Spencer set his bag down by the door and proceeded toward the couch with caution as if he were ready to pounce like a predator on prey. Except the end resulted in a tender hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him with a puffy face and snotty nose. It was Spencer’s next instinct to grab a tissue from the end table and offer it to you. Of course, you took it. And even though the answer was obvious, he still felt the need to ask, “Are you okay?”

It was a struggle for you to inhale, so you blew your nose again. "I didn’t expect this to be a breakup album.” The album sleeve was wrapped in your arms, proving to already be a prized possession. The tracklist was organized by the layers of Dante’s hell they fell under.

Spencer gave you a small smirk before placing a kiss on your head. “Well, I’ll go ahead and get started on dinner.” It was his turn to take the culinary reins for tonight. “Do you need anything?”

“I need to know who this woman is, Spencer.” You throw your head back as Hozier hits a high note that neither of you has heard from him before. You stay there as you ask, “Who made this man feel so much pain?”

“You want to fight Hozier’s ex-girlfriend?”

“Ew, no.” Your nose scrunched. “I just want to know how. The power to make a man feel this way.”

Spencer chuckled. He had answers. And he’s happy to not reply with any of them. “I’m making chicken parmesan. That okay?”

You nodded, soon returning to singing about holding a heart like a steering wheel. But you then grabbed his hand. Your eyes are red, and Spencer is sure you’ll need drops before the end of the night. “Did a part of you die the first time I called you ‘baby,’ Spencer?”

Spencer couldn’t help but smirk as he quirked a brow. “Do what?”

“They’re song lyrics.” You let go of him.

Spencer has never fully understood the uproar that comes with Hozier. Then again, no one really flocks to Beethoven and Chopin like they used to. Plus, Vivaldi wasn’t known for belting out in the middle of his pieces and Spencer can at least admit Hozier’s belts ( well, the ones he’s heard so far) tug at him by the chest. He came back to his senses quickly when his mismatched socks landed on the cold tile. He washed his hands and opened the fridge door with his good knee.

Songs of water and knives reminded him he had chicken to wash and cut. And the familiar feeling in his own kitchen gets the tasks in Spencer’s head in order. He could feel the weight of his week slowly lift, replaced by Spencer attempting to chop to the song. It was inefficient. Some songs play shockingly fast for a breakup album. He settled for a more percussion style of noise, making each slice more deliberate as a testament to his meticulousness.

The flour and breadcrumbs sizzled in the oil that mingled with the sight of you matching the pitch of the song and humming where Hozier shouted, caressing the album sleeve like it was alive and needed your warmth. The weight of the lyrics settling in your bones caused your head to fall in shock as a long, high note carried through the whole apartment.

The album played on, weaving tales of love and loss, each one successfully targeting your core and striking effectively. And when Spencer got into the groove of his own routine in the kitchen, he listened to the lyrics as they almost guided him to autopilot, reminding him of the joys that come with his leg around you in bed, ensuring you don’t move anywhere except closer to him. And how the idea of losing that is something he does not care to dwell on for long.

He could keep it together, he thought.

Until his voice soars about the glistening of an animal’s eyes. About the force of love for someone recklessly in the middle of the street. Spencer couldn’t help but feel a lump forming in his throat. It was a visceral reaction—Spencer's sniffle. But it wasn’t unheard.

You turned your gaze toward Spencer, your eyes soft with understanding. You could hear the emotion in his breath and the slight catch in his throat. “Spencer?” You asked.

“I’m fine.”

Your lower lip quivers with a puffy smile. “You’re crying.”

“No, I’m chopping. Chopping while completely fine.” His sniffles continued to give him away (sanitary stations over pride every time).

You couldn’t help but find the situation adorable. You lazily got up from the couch, letting one of the blankets slide off with you, dragging along behind you across the wood floor and then the tile. You carefully put your hands around his waist because safety comes first. You squeeze him, and he laughs a little. For a moment, he puts his left hand on your arm, keeping it there. You noticed how his fingertips were colder than expected as you looked at the cutting board from under his arm. “So basil makes you cry? Is that it?”

Spencer laughs again, diverting his gaze from the record player and clearing his eyes from unshed tears. “Today, it apparently does. There must be some emotional properties I didn’t consider.”

“Nothing to do with an Irish man singing his heart out?”

Spencer rubs his nose on his sleeve. Fuck sanitation right now; he’s about to go through it. The snot is evident. See how it shines, indeed. “Is he really singing about roadkill?”

“Yep.” You sniffle in return as you lay your head on his back.

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

“How does he do it?”

“That I don’t know.” You held Spencer as he let the music hit him. Taking moments to turn from the food to wipe his tears.

[iloveboysinred]

And they were roommates ![college au]

pg. 13 | Roommate Yuji & Megumi x roommate! gn reader [platonic]

cw; cursing

masterlist

-When you'd started at Jujutsu Tech University, you were paired with Yuji and Megumi to be your roommates.

-it took a while for Megumi to warm up to you, being the quiet one out of the pair. But you'd consider the gestures he'd do suggest you guys were friends.

-He'd restock the toiletries, leave food on the stove or in the microwave for you and Yuji, and silently sit at the kitchen island to eat breakfast with you in the morning.

-you and Yuji hit it off right away, it was clear you guys shared one braincell.

-you guys would brush your teeth together in the morning, play board games, and give Megumi weekly 'concerts' which was really you and him blasting music and singing, following poor Megumi around the house.

-eventually when you and Megumi started to get closer, you all would have sleepovers in each other's rooms, pulling all-nighters like you didn't have class the next day, watching cliché movies Megumi pretended to hate (he loves them) and doing skincare.

-you would borrow Yuji's clothes on a regular basis, sometimes forgetting to give them back.

-it's okay though, Yuji doesn't have the heart to press you about them

-you'd force them to have 'roomie nights' with you, where you all applied a facemask, ate junk food and played video games or watched tv together. Sometimes you would try to do pedicures on Yuji, Megumi outright refusing the first time you asked.

-your dorm was always tidy because Megumi was a neat freak.

-you guys would have study sessions, which was really just Megumi tutoring you cause Yuji had no fucking clue what was going on.

-sometimes you would all try to bake together, finding a random recipe on the internet and deciding to try it, Megumi saving the dorm from burning down on multiple occasions.

-you regularly borrowed Megumi's hair products, and he pretended not to notice even though you walked around with your hair smelling just like his.

-constant bickering with Yuji cause he would eat food you left in the fridge.

-"Hey roomie!" as a greeting every time you saw either one of them, Megumi would roll his eyes and Yuji would return your energy, running full speed at you to hug you, like you haven't seen each other in decades...even though you literally lived together.

-Megumi brings you guys snacks and food from the store

-you're always asking to see his devine dogs, and he sighs, summoning them.

-"you know bringing them out takes up my energy, right?"

-you and Yuji pull pranks on Megumi, and on each other. Sometimes involving Gojo.

-Megumi hates it when you and Yuji sit next to him when he's trying to read or catch up on assignments because you guys won't shut the fuck up.

-The three of you split that one braincell three ways, it was just less obvious when it came to Megumi because he has decorum.

-proven true when you were looking for your phone and Megumi checked the fridge

-"Why the hell would it be in there?" "can't leave any stone unturned."

-again proven true when you and Yuji were sent to buy dish soap, "the green kind" and brought home four different bottles cause you couldn't decide. Like, they're all green... and they're all dish soap.

-overall you guys have a great bond, the three of you asked to be roommates all the way up until you graduated and still visit each other very often.

notes and reblogs are appreciated :> comments, asks and submissions are welcomed <3333

[sixosix]

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,�� another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness. 

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

[spaceagesparkledust]

Random Doctor Who hcs: Sleep (Doctor edition!)

Does 9 sleep? Like. Like does he actually sleep??? 

The answer is no. 

“I don’t need to sleep I’m Time Lord.” he says with bags under his eyes. 

Gets nightmares pretty often when he does sleep.

Will take short little nod offs in the console room. 

Sleeps/relaxes in his leather jacket and jeans. Rose thinks this is so weird and gets on him for it all the time. She winds up buying him a soft jumper on some planet they stop at. He shows up in sweatpants and the jumper one day and rose and Jack just stare at him for a hot minute because he looks so wrong. “He looks so naked.” Nine gets so offended about it (they’re trying to say he looks fine but yeah they're laughing a bit). “You just look so…normal.” “Oi!” “No, no it’s not bad. S’ different.”

He actually learns how to relax a bit. He considers it a bit domestic, a lot domestic actually, and he looks so unintimidating in sweatpants but……maybe. 

Ten. Oh Ten. 

Dude got a pair of pajamas on his first day of being alive and has kept them ever since. They’re his favorite. He loves them so much that Rose has to take TenToo to go find a pair like them. 

Stays up with Rose talking about the most random things. Rose listens as long as she is able before she falls asleep. Her favorite lullaby :)

Like 9, he’d rather be tinkering with the Tardis than sleeping so he mostly does that. But he has taken up reading. Twilight’s getting wild. 

Has thought about asking to sleep with Rose. As in next to Rose. on the same bed. He immediately talked himself out of it. 

Martha has to make him sleep. “You just got possessed by a sun go to bed!” 

Generally sleeps less while Martha’s on board.

Gets bored and walks into Donna’s room to talk to her while Donna’s trying to go to bed. She indulges him sometimes but other times she just wants to go to bed. 

Has fallen asleep during movie nights with Donna and has denied it. 

Sleepovers with Donna. 

Cuddles :) 

Incredibly sleep deprived throughout the whole mess that is post-journey’s end. Like emotionally sleep deprived. Desperately in need of a nap. 

11 HATES sleeping. Hates it. If he’s sleeping, he’s going to be still, and if he’s going to be still, he’ll start thinking and we can’t have that. So he just…doesn’t. 

To keep himself occupied while traveling without Amy and Rory he tried going to sleep. It was a very bad, no good, horrible experience for him and he decided he just simply would never do that again. Hasn’t been in his room since. 

Will nod off from time to time but will not go to bed. Rory gets a bit concerned but maybe this is normal for time lords. Who’s he to say?

Trying to put him to bed is like working with a fussy toddler. You will have to cajole and shove and push and bribe him and it will not work. Just give up. 

Thinks pajamas look nice but has no need for them because he doesn’t sleep. 

The experience with the Dream Lord was enough for him thanks. 

12? Doesn’t sleep. Sleep is for the weak. 

Absolutely falls asleep standing up. 

Tries an energy drink once. Gets addicted. Is banned from energy drinks from now on. 

He and Clara pull the worst all-nighters you’ve ever seen. Its fun for them. 

Doesn’t own pajamas but he does own a really corny t-shirt Clara bought him that he would wear if he did sleep. But he doesn’t. So. 

Fourteen NEEDS a nap. Desperately. 

Is incredibly tired but has so much trouble going to sleep its unreal. 

Will stay up stargazing or tinkering with things in the house that don’t need to be tinkered with. Takes apart every appliance in the house until Donna and Sylvia yell at him to stop. 

Sleeps in an actual bed in an actual house because Donna made him. She was not about to have him sleep in the TARDIS.

Rose makes him a blanket fort in the living room. 

She stuffs it full of stuffed animals and puts up fairy lights. “It’s bigger on the inside.” 

It’s incredibly comfortable but unfortunately for every other member of the house it takes up a good chunk of space. (Rose and the Doctor do catch everyone getting a lot of use out of it though)

Lives in hand-me down pajamas until he can get his own but secretly loves the hand-me down pajamas

[eveningspringbreeze]

Madara's FS2 4* - Winter, in the Street Corners of Paris

Characters: Madara, Shu

Season: Winter

Shu: Mm… Yaawn...

(Perhaps it’s from pulling an all-nighter, or perhaps it’s burnout from finishing my deliveries, but it seems I’ve been fast asleep until the afternoon)

(Fortunately, I have plenty of time to spare until I must work again. So as to maintain perfection when working, I ought to rest properly)

(Perhaps I could relax with a stroll—) 

Madara: Excuse meeee!!! ☆

Shu: Gyoh!? M-mikejima….!? What in good heavens brought you here!? 

Do not bother me! Leave this instant! I do not want to have a barbarian such as you stampeding upon my atelier! 

Madara: Ahaha! This banter is so nostalgic! (1)

Didn’t we have a similar exchange back in Yumenosaki? If I’m not wrong, it was during Steamp— 

Shu: Non! I have no intentions of taking a trip down memory lane with you! 

You must have some business with me, right? Make it brief. 

Madara: Business, huh. And if “no” was my answer? 

Shu: …………

Madara: Sorry, sorry! I was just joking, you don’t have to glare at me all scary like that! 

Basically, Leo-san needed something from me. 

Shu: Tsukinaga did…? 

Madara: Yep. Apparently he’s been taking good care of a pen case that he borrowed from you. 

So much so in fact that he accidentally left behind the case’s stationary in this atelier. 

Shu: He’d only taken a pen case? Well, I suppose he is dexterous.

And that’s it? You came all the way to Paris just for Tsukinaga? 

Madara: Nah, I already had some work here in Europe, so I’m just dropping by.

Shu: “Dropping by”? No matter how trivially you say it, Europe’s not a place you can just casually travel through. 

 Either way, Tsukinaga’s forgotten belongings are not here. 

I had to send some luggage to the Starmony Dorms the other day, and I crammed in similar items as well. It’s probably all the way over there now. 

Good grief, why must everyone forget every little thing here? If they want to spend time overseas, perhaps consider bringing in some caution alongside? 

Madara: Mmhm. Since both language and culture are different, the way to do things here are bound to contrast with Japan’s. There’s no harm in being attentive. 

But also this atelier’s got such a homely feeling to it, it really calms you down. Maybe that’s why everyone’s losing their belongings here ♪

Shu: I'm not happy to hear that. This place isn’t a playground. 

Seems to me that you’ve been on a fool’s errand. Are you departing Paris after this? 

Madara: Nah. I’ve got time until my flight, so I’m planning on relaxing ‘til then. 

….Hmm? Why’re you dressing up? 

Are you going out? If so, please allow me to join you ☆

Shu: I refuse. I cannot relax when I’m near you. 

Madara: Now now, don’t say that! A journey is not just about the companions you have, but the people you care for along the way! (2) Having a friend is better than none…♪

<one hour later> 

Shu: …Seems like there’s a weekend flea market going on. 

Madara: Ooh, quite the Parisian spectacle! 

As you may or may not know, Paris is the one and only homeland for flea markets. 

It supposedly originates from the multitudes of secondhand-goods being sold resembling a flea infestation! (3)

Shu: I’m aware even without your quips, so do not spout such things at me. Just imagining it makes my back itch. 

Plus, that isn’t the only theory regarding its origin. 

I personally prefer the theory that it comes from the saying that “there is enjoyment found in taking the the time needed to search for treasure in the same way one would search for a flea”.

Madara: Enjoyment found in taking the time to search for things, huh. Truly, it must come from the exceptional feeling of accomplishment that comes with finding that rare piece of treasure. 

….Oh myyy? Something’s already caught my eye! 

This ceramic pot would be perfect for displaying plants ☆

Shu: Hm. Is gardening a hobby of yours? 

Madara: I wouldn’t quite call it a “hobby”. 

I’m not sure who started it, but my dorm room’s filled with plants, so I like bringing in some new ones from time to time. 

“Excuse me, shopkeeper-san! I’d like to buy this pot—” 

Shu: (....Ooh, looks like his constant traveling has lent him a rather good grasp on French) 

 (The real thrill of flea markets is the haggling. You must put your negotiation skills to its truest test….) 

<ten minutes later> 

Madara: —Thanks for waiting, Shu-san! 

Sorry for how long it took. I really hit it off with the shopkeeper. Before I knew it, we’d already talked for so long!

Shu: It’s alright. It’s good that your negotiations went well. 

It is of no concern to me what happens to you, however. But it would be a shame to watch an acquaintance get blatantly ripped off. 

Madara: Ah, so you were worrying about me. Thank you Shu-san, you’re a nice soul…♪

Shu: Don’t misunderstand. I simply do not want to feel unpleasant. 

Madara: Even then, that makes me happy to hear ♪

My haggling went great, so let me treat you to something as thanks for waiting.  

Tell me aaall about the specialties you’d recommend, Shu-san… ☆

Shu: Hmm… How about marron chauds— roasted chestnuts, then? 

It’s a winter specialty that you can find sold all around the city during the season. 

Madara: Sounds good! I’m sure it’ll warm us up. 

I can smell something fragrant over there, let’s go eat! 

---

TL Notes:

Shu’s lines aimed at Madara here is basically a 1-1 replica of a similar exchange in Steampunk Museum, which Madara tries to mention right after

Good old Madara idioms :] the original is 道連れ世は情け which doesn’t have an eng equivalent afaik? So I just used a shortened version of the meaning

This isn’t a correction or anything but Madara is so close to the actual most common theory… as Shu said there’s multiple theories, but one of the most common is that some of the goods sold in the markets were believed to have had actual flea infestations. I have never seen Shu’s theory before

This isn't proofread and was done in one go so feel free to correct me on anything!

[kingsandbastardz]

here u go, ask for trying times: give me your pitch for shipping wudi, i've got maybe one foot on that ship but i'm curious on your thoughts (gl on the all-nighter!!)

I survived it, sorta. The deadlines keep trucking om 😭 So here's my thoughts:

It's really unfortunate that we don't see enough of Wuyan but I do think we have enough of a framework to draw some interesting conclusions about them both relationship-wise. So here's to me heavily analyzing the 5 minutes Wuyan is on screen! LMAO:

Service as show of devotion - Chooses to act like and appear as a lower rank personal servant to dfs even though he clearly has a lot of power to draw from to get things done and dfs tells him he sees his rank as being much higher

Of everyone that focuses their attention on dfs, he's the only one that doesn't want to own or control him (master di - slave, jlq - wife, llh - 主人, fdb - wants to be in charge)

Despite knowing he was massively outclassed, still put himself in lxy's path at donghai

Shared experience: both survived the Donghai battle together and both have matching chest scars courtesy of lxy. They also worked side by side for years to accomplish the same goals

Llh is presented as knowing dfs the best - but imo, that means wuyan knows even more. Wuyan knows all the why's that llh doesn't know

We don't see much general conversation but considering how relaxed dfs is around him and willing to winge about personal things - he seems like he's actually capable of communicating well with dfs lmao

Pure headcanon here, but I want to say he and dfs learned or figured out how to hide their chi at a high level together. DFS uses it all the time and seems to be undetectable even to llh - wuyan seems to be undetectable to the world - I mean i think his name means something like "without presence"? He comes pre-labelled. So I think it's something martial-skill related that would give additional meat to dfs' respect for him

Guards dfs' secrets - how dfs truly feels about all the mengzhu stuff and rankings etc. Don't know if he knows anything about Di Fortress, but anything he does know about dfs' background it's not going to be a topic of conversation

He pays attention to dfs' preferences and knows how to deliver them in the form he prefers (see jlq who doesn't know his preferences and hates that dfs doesn't like what she prepared for him)

As a personal guard, in the early days when dfs was weaker, he likely went with dfs to any secret meetings with llh, hid his chi to keep guard, and was privy to what went on between them. Likely is the only one that would know this information - which is also why he fully understands why dfs is obsessed with llh and supports him. And listened to him mourn him for however many years (I assume he's the one providing clean clothes and food during seclusion so that's 10 years of crying he's been privy to)

Is willing to extend his top level standard of service to the ppl dfs cares about

He acts like he's a nobody, and he's not a pretty face, but everything points to him actually being a very, very competent and high-level guy in his area of expertise? So a good match to dfs. His martial skill isn't comparable, so he can't fight him like lxy, but he can do all the things dfs doesn't like to do - like the organizational stuff, dealing with and managing ppl, etc.

Headcanon again: i can really see them having an experimental phase in their youth together. Like something where dfs and him kinda decide to test things out and then maybe deciding the timing was bad or they weren't into each other like that at that time or whatever. But deciding to remain friends instead. And continuing to build jinyuan alliance together and everything else. It's like best bro + work spouse rolled into one -- with the wild result that they come out even stronger at the end of it. Think lxy + zhan yunfei but they see each other and work together every day. Successfully. With some extra headcanon and a small stretch you can probably position him and dfs as foils to lxy and shan gudao? (Sadly not enough info about the formation of daily workings of JA back then)

headcanon continued: They have to have good communication because they negotiated or figured out how to navigate their Situation and have clearly been at it for awhile - with one being a 'servant' and with the other one having ptsd issues with servitude/slavery. In the waterfall scene we get to see dfs mildly checking in and essentially being all, "Uh, you still good there? Remember you can change things up any time you want. My opinion of you is still A++ fyi" and Wuyan essentially signalling he's fine by continuing on as always.

Wuyan is the last person alive that remembers who dfs was before Jinyuan Alliance and the development of the Di Mengzhu persona. He helped craft that persona.

Basically if you are into themes like fealty and devotion and the sort of comfort you can get from a long time friendship where they've seen each other at their worst. Where they've figured out how to communicate and operate/exist together seamlessly while making allowances for each others' needs and interests. This is it!

They could be queer platonic, they could be sexual, they can be any permutations of anything and it still doesn't change the basis of their relationship which is years of trust, communication, hard work and shared experiences.

Like imagine teenagers - one holding the other guy's hair up while he vomits blood and bile into an alley. Where they patch each others' wounds in the shadow of someone's doorway after getting their asses kicked but somehow also saving each other from getting killed that day. They're the ones that figure out how to kill together. How to hide together. They figure out how to teach others to kill and hide together. They build power with their joined hands and with it they gain the money and prestige that allows them a comfortable place to sleep and full bellies. They give this same thing to others. They build it up so well people can afford to do normal ppl shit like fall in love and get married.

These are things they likely wouldn't have thought of when they were engaged in a battle royale in the street. It's them, their circle of friends, against everyone else in the world. And even when all their friends are now dead - they're still alive. They're still together. They'll see it through.

Maybe one day they'll find their way into each other's beds - the future is ever changing. But whether they do or not doesn't matter - they already have each other. They've survived this much together. Anything else is just icing.

[hoes4hoseok]

txt reacts: you’re preparing for finals

boyfriend!txt x gn!reader requested by :: @unlocktxt (thanks for requesting, babes!) beta reader :: @goldenhypen (thank you for your feedback :) author’s note :: writing this was genuinely so fun and managed to relax me while i was actually losing my mind over finals 😭. dhmu about how inconsistent the tenses are i know they're bad HAHA i hope you guys enjoy and good luck to everyone taking finals now or soon! warnings :: a lot of food and eating habits talk,, i think that's it though. lmk if i need to add anything.

soobin

soobin would be so sweet while you were prepping for finals

if you were struggling with something that he didn’t understand, he’d literally spend 15 minutes on the computer with a pen & paper in hand trying to figure it out 

&& then he’d call you over to explain it but get confused in the middle 

but by that time you’d understand & explain it to him (◡‿◡✿)

you’d probably have many visits to the library since it’s more quiet (& less messy) there than the dorms

you’d also share earbuds while you worked

every once in a while, amongst the slow tracks, a random banger like ‘that that’ by psy would play & the two of you would be sent into a fit of laughter that you tried so hard to contain

luckily, the librarian never busted you

although it did earn a few looks from elsewhere in the room (whoops)

he’s also definitely the type of boyfriend who makes you really good tea

&& it probably became a very important part of your day (because how could it not?! the tea was amazing)

he would prioritize sleep quite a bit, so lights are off for him by 11 every night during finals week

&& that rubbed off on you!

the days would end with an episode of your favorite show playing on his laptop while you drifted off to sleep on his bed together (。-ω-)zzz 

stress be gone!

yeonjun

if you were in a long distance relationship with yeonjun, you & him would have planned for him to fly in the night your finals ended 

but yeonjun found a cheaper flight for the week before :) so naturally, he bought it!

he was so excited to surprise you, especially because he knew how stressed out you were from the several late night facetime calls you had 

&& you were indeed happy to see your boyfriend at your doorstep with takeout from your favorite restaurant in hand

it improved your week tenfold just seeing his face (ꉺᗜꉺ)

he, on the other hand, while happy to see you, was shocked to see how poorly you had been taking care of yourself

considering the dark circles under your eyes & the fact that you were in pajamas at 3 pm,, he knew something was off

&& you, as every student does at one point or another, were living on instant ramen & cereal — he could tell from the state of your dorm alone (╯•﹏•╰)

you didn’t plan for him to find out because he tends to worry about you a lot <3 (SORRY JUN)

&& the ‘less than 6 hours of sleep during finals week’ thing was pretty standard for people at your school

“eat with me” ( •_•)

he set the bag down on your table & looked at you with the playfully threatening stare that you had missed so much

“then i’m getting groceries while you nap” he continued, looking over at your kitchen area

oh wow had you missed your boyfriend

it only came to you when you felt as helpless & overwhelmed as right now

but you needed him. & so, you pulled him in for a tight hug, cutting off his mumbles about the lack of fruit in your kitchen (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

oh, how he loved you <3

beomgyu

beomgyu would not want you to overwork yourself. obviously.

but,, if you were gonna be pulling all nighters & working your butt off, so was he

y’all are in this TOGETHER (｡-_-｡ )人( ｡-_-｡)

he strikes me as the type to know those random life hacks so he might come to you excited with studying ones HEHE

like he’d tell you to chew a different flavor of gum while studying & then chew it again during the exam so you can remember the content better

&& ofc you’d comply to make him happy, but a few of them definitely helped you!

you two probably made plans to go on a little getaway together after the semester ended

so whenever you seemed particularly down, he’d remind you that you’d be miles away from all this in just a week :)

beomgyu is 100% the one making ramen runs to the kitchen (he made sure to stock up before finals week!)

&& he makes yours with the little modifications that you like, whether it’s extra spice, an egg, or some chopped vegetables – he’s got it all

he’s got flashcards, he’s got tea, he’s got hugs…& he’s also an absolute pain in your side when it comes to sleep

ಠಿ_ಠ “it’s 1:30…you said you’d sleep at 1:00” 

he’d have to physically pull you away from your work sometimes 

it wasn’t hard either because you were so tired that your eyes were closing

he’d probably sleep in the mornings of your exams,, but would slice some fruit for you to eat before going to bed

&& leave a little note of encouragement on a sticky note with a couple sticks of gum next to it :)

“good luck. you’re gonna ace this test. love you ♡”

taehyun

you & taehyun had a whole finals prep schedule planned out. this man was not about to let you fail any of your classes or fail any himself

so, your finals prep started at least a month early

he’d be up at seven am shaking you awake & threatening to pour his water on you ʘ‿ʘ

even though he knew you’d tackle him to the floor if he actually poured it 

once you finally rose, he’d give you a quick forehead kiss & push you off towards the bathroom to brush your teeth

you’d eat breakfast & start working relatively quickly

the two of you quickly realized that the pomodoro method worked best for you – finishing a task in 25 minutes, taking a five minute break, & repeating three times before taking a 20 to 30 minute break (y’all should try it frfr)

by noon, you’d be internally thanking him for waking you,, bc as much as you hated to admit it,, you are definitely more productive in the morning

&& on taehyun’s plan, you were actually getting enough sleep somehow?

&& he definitely had special allocated time slots in the schedule for personal time & date nights so that you two wouldn’t get burnt out

the routine definitely got harder to keep up with as finals inched closer & he could tell 

so he took you for a much-needed massage the day before finals started to destress (°◡°♡)

&& as expected, y’all would CRUSH finals week

he’d be so proud <3 but also he knew you would succeed bc of how hard you worked!

[honestly this is such a dream. i made taehyun my dream bf in this LMFAO but hey he already is so…]

hueningkai

hueningkai would be there for you during your breaks. sure, he’d help you with the flashcards if you asked him, but he’d support you most by making you smile!

he’d make sure there’s always food in the fridge, especially if your schedules didn’t line up & he couldn’t eat with you

hueningkai would also give GREAT back massages & it’s all because he would NOT hold back ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ no knots would be left when he’s done

&& he’d probably also put on your favorite show or music while he did it which would be really odd at first, but you’d grow to appreciate it hehe 

he’d also go on a walk with you every night to help you unwind 

that would always do you wonders, especially after being cooped up inside all day 

it would also be a time when the two of you could finally talk about something other than everything stressing you out (because boy, had it become all-consuming)

on the mornings of your finals, he’d walk you to class & buy you your favorite drink with a bagel or donut on the way

if you got really anxious before going in, he’d hold your hand tightly & tell you to take deep breaths

&& to remember that you’re prepared & that one test will not matter in the grand scheme of things

he’d also send you in with a hug & a peck on the cheek. (´ ᴗ｀✿)

masterlist

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

I’m Gonna Tell ‘Em (Don’t you Dare)

Ao3

Tim just wanted coffee. That’s really all he desired in life. Coffee. His position as Red Robin. And Wayne Industries to get its shit together for one goddamn day. In that order.

“Are you shitting me? I was a fucking crime lord you little terror, I don’t give a fuck-”

He’d done an all-nighter in the Batcave. Again. Trying to crack a cold case he was sure had something to do with Riddler's vague warning a few nights ago. And he was so close, but his eyes had started to close for just a little too long.

So tell him why he walked into an argument that seemed to be based around the topic of murder, at 7 in the morning. Between Jason and Damian. Who both tried to kill him at least once. Respectively.

“And I am the Demon Prodigy of the League of Assassins. I could kill a man before I could speak.”

Tim stands in the doorway, contemplating if his need for coffee is higher than his potential rate of getting maimed in the dining room.

“Yeah, but you were fucking sheltered inside the bases like goddamn Rapunzel in her-”

“I was not sheltered. You of all people should know of Mother’s harshness for disobedience-“

“Oh and I’m sure you were so disobedient Mr. Goody Two Shoes-“

Ultimately, the urge for coffee wins. Tim crosses the kitchen as unnoticeably as he can, skirting the edges and keeping his footsteps as light as he can manage on 10 hours of sleep in the last week.

He’s busy, okay?

“I’ll admit I wasn’t raised to go against the orders of a higher-up but that did not mean-”

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.”

“Did my propensity for sneaking animals into the house escaped your notice? I thought you were better trained-“

“So what? You save every bird with a broken wing you come across, but you’d willingly slit the throat of a human?”

“Yes, Todd. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The coffee pot is half full. Tim counts this as the one redeeming factor of this morning. The threat of getting stabbed is nothing in the face of sweet, sweet caffeine.

“What’s your fucking number then?”

“I can’t possibly know the exact-“

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that shit on me-“

Tim considers pouring himself a cup, but he’s gonna drink the whole thing anyway and he’s exhausted enough to zone out during Alfred’s inevitable lecture, so he takes the whole pot and tips it back.

“I was sent out for missions when I was barely more than a toddler. You can’t expect me to remember every-“

“Ra’s had files on every fucking mission I did while brain dead and high on Lazarus rage, there’s no fucking way he didn’t have an exact-“

Tim chugs his precious coffee. The temperature is surprisingly cool enough that he doesn't immediately burn his tongue. Not that a few scorched taste buds would stop Tim from inhaling the only thing between him and unconscious. But it’s the thought that counts.

“What’s yours then, Todd?”

“Nope. Not until you tell me yours first. I’m not about to have you raise the number because I told you mine.”

“That’s preposterous. I would do no such thing.”

Tim calculates his chances of making it back out of the kitchen with a quarter pot of coffee in his hands and decides his caffeine fix is safer off with a few counters between him and his homicidal brothers.

And yah know. His physical well-being. But that’s pretty low on his ‘fucks to give list’ at the moment.

“I don’t trust a fucking word coming out of your mouth-“

“There’s an easy way to settle this if you’d just-“

“What? Shut up? Drop the argument? No fucking-“

“We can write it down separately and then show it to each other at the same time."

“…huh.”

Tim looks up in genuine fear when both of his siblings go quiet. That’s never a good sign. Not in this house.

There’s a window to his right that he could probably smash through if it came to it.

Neither of them are looking at him though, just regarding each other with much less animosity than a few seconds ago. Tim decides he’s probably fine and goes back to his coffee.

“I will go retrieve a piece of paper and two pens.”

Damian leaves the room and Tim freezes like if he stays still enough it’ll keep Jason from noticing him. Unfortunately, now that his older brother’s attention is directed to his surroundings and not just screaming at a 12-year-old, he makes direct eye contact with Tim.

“Oh hey, Timmers. How long have you been here?”

Tim stares at him blankly. He- doesn’t know what answer Jason wants from him and he’s not willing to face his older brother’s wrath if he’d been having what he thought was a private conversation.

“Sorry about the noise. I hope we didn’t wake you up.” Jason says after it’s clear that he isn't getting answers out of Tim.

As if the manor isn’t literally soundproofed. For this exact reason.

Tim’s 17 years of social etiquette training won’t let him just not answer the open-ended comment, but god does he wish that it did.

“No, I was already up.”

Jason nods as if he was expecting that answer. Which is fair. Tim’s sure he looks just as tired as he feels. His eye bags could hold all of his emotional trauma. They’re Guchi.

“And does Alfred know you’re drinking straight from the pot?” Jason motions to the carafe Tim’s clutching like a lifeline. Because it is.

Tim opens his mouth to lie through his teeth, but is saved by Damian’s re-entry. Wow, he’s never been so glad to see his stab-happy younger brother.

True to his word, the kid’s carrying a few pieces of paper and pens. Tim could leave now. He could casually walk right past them, out of the kitchen, and back to the cave to keep working on his case, but dammit, he’s invested now.

He’s still not sure what this argument is about exactly, but he’s willing to wait a few more minutes to satiate his curiosity now that he’s tentatively sure that the argument isn’t going to evolve into physical violence.

“I’ve acquired the tools to finish this once and for all, Todd.” Damian announces, sliding half of his spoils to Jason.

“Great. We’ll write our body count down and on 3 we’ll turn ‘em around. Got it?”

“Don’t tell me what to do” Damian grumbles, but writes dutifully anyway. The kid would be funny if he didn’t back his threats up with swords.

Tim is. Still lost, but he’s always secretly wondered how many people his brothers have killed. In a morbid way. Mostly because he wants to know if the murder attempts on him were a particularly special event or just a pattern. For his mental health's sake.

“Got it?” Jason asks, holding his paper close to his chest so no one can peek. Tim doesn’t know who would, considering he’s the only one in the kitchen that’s not a part of this squabble, but Damian copies the movement and Tim finds himself inching closer, taking the last swig of his coffee.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They flip the papers around and for a moment the kitchen is quiet.

“FUCK YEAH!” Jason pumps his fist in the air with a whoop. “Ha! Take that, Demon Brat! I’m the Robin with the highest kill count!”

Tim spits out his coffee and coughs violently. It’s partially because he got some in his lungs, but also to cover the incredulous laughter bursting uncontrollably out of him. It takes him a good few seconds to get his breathing under control, but when he looks up, his brothers are staring at him.

For a moment he’s tempted. So fucking tempted. Because he hasn’t told anyone anything more than bits and pieces about his time with the League. Hell, the only reason his family even knows about his little stint playing lap dog for Ra’s, is because he choked out a vague explanation about his missing spleen when he went into sepsis.

They don’t know about the missions he was sent on. The people he sold out. And most importantly, the multiple bases he blew up because he was crazier than the Joker after Bart and Kon’s death and then the near miss with Bruce.

The bases he absolutely didn’t evacuate. With hundreds of people inside. A few actually avalanched down mountainsides, and he’d eat his Batarang if any of them survived.

The only word he’d confidently use to describe his mental state then, is feral.

He didn’t have to blow them up. He really didn’t. A good few of the bases he’d never actually seen before he snuck in to level the place, but he’d been having a shitty year so naturally, he was going to make sure Ra’s got to have one too.

Not to mention that Tim was as depressed as he’d ever been and wasn’t particularly giving a lot of fucks about if he died during his warpath. He’d already lost a spleen, what were a few more organs?

So this argument? This competition? He finds it objectively fucking hilarious.

Damian and Jason are still staring at him in bewilderment, and for a moment -just a wild moment- he thinks about telling them.

Explaining how he was just. So done. And could only think of one way out, so he systematically hacked into every base he could get his hands on. Stole as many files as he could during his time constraint. And then blew all of them sky-high.

Thought about telling them how on one particularly bad night, gone through every log of the people in those bases. How he hadn’t been ‘sick’ as he claimed the week after he managed to crawl out of his safe house.

He was just too horrified to look anyone in the eye.

It would be funny to watch his family’s expressions go through the five stages of grief and add a few more just for funsies, if they even believed him at all. But no. Tim had his secrets and he was going to take them to the grave.

He grinned at his brothers, patted Jason on the shoulder with a quiet congratulations, and strolled out of the kitchen.

Tim had cases to solve and letting his family assume he wasn’t capable of murder was better for all of them in the long run.

No matter how wrong they were.

👻

In my defense. Writing prompts make the brain noodle go brr. You can blame @coffinbirds and @batcavescolony for these posts.

[inkofamethyst]

October 4, 2024

[approximately 4 am]

In desperate need of a funky grandpa sweater :/ But like it has to be perfect. The perfect kind of funky in the way that the patterns and colors feel like my own handwriting even though it probably belonged to some dude before me. That makes sense, right?

You know, I don't think anyone has ever listened to my Core Playlist, current. It just, idk, it just feels so intimate (and also it's a bit of a mess! paramore, austin wintory, beyonce, hadestown, and the crane wives all on one playlist? cmonnnn only a little freak like me could stand it, I'm sure)!

My dnd-friend mentioned a bit ago that she was struggling with loneliness and isolation and having very little by the way of consistent friends contacts and I think having biweekly craft-n-chats will help. Not just for her, but potentially to connect the whole discord chat again in a way that we haven't been connected since college, or covid, or even high school maybe. And maybe it won't get back to the same level as I-see-you-in-classes-every-day-and-also-at-rehearsal-after-school-twice-a-week but we also won't suffer the same fate as the type of friends who get lunch once a year and chat shallowly about general life updates. We may be distant physically but we live in the the time of technology!

Pulling an all-nighter (which is crazy bc I'm p sure I only did that once the entirety of last year) because I screwed up my sleep schedule real bad earlier this week and also needed to finish this fellowship draft. My personal statement is pretty solid (I mean I'm by no means the most prolific researcher or active social justice person or whatever but by golly I found one social issue I was passionate about in middle school and haven't stopped working on it since (I mean ofc I care about other issues but this one has just always felt like I could actually make some impact and while I haven't quantified that impact at least my involvement has been consistent)) but my research statement is just blehh. blehhhhhh (it's coming along actually I'm just insecure lol).

Anyway the one problem with straight-up writing during an all-nighter is that I'll have a good idea then immediately forget it because I start drifting off a little lol.

[7ish pm]

Okay so actually my advisor's review of my proposal went well! Still have some edits to do before I send it out to my recommenders and probably another full round or two before I can feel good submitting it.

Considering that I only got ~40 minutes of sleep just before I had to leave, I was surprisingly alert today. I'm going to bed by 8 tonight though. Legend of Vox Machina tomorrow though!!!

Today, gah!!! Today!!! I'm thankful that my sewing adventure worked out!!! I'm going full throttle on the sewn Scarlet Witch 2023 comic costume (all thanks to my mother who made a face when I suggested crocheting it (she was right but I still think the design I had would be cool to try (I've realized that many of my crochet projects right now are more based on skill novelty and the self-challenge of design))), and I drafted the pattern for the base sleeved mockneck bodycon largely during Wednesday's craft-n-chat (could I have bought a pattern for this or even found one for free online? sure. but my pinterest-addled DIY brain will not permit such a thing. all in the name of upskilling!). Went to use the serger at the library for the first time and AHHHHH OMG IT FITS SO WELL! The serger was literally perfect (and the staff were super helpful) and I will absolutely be making the sleeveless mock neck with that fabric I've envisioned for that exact project since summer 2020. Anyway while it helps that I'm currently in the no-bloat part of my cycle and that the fabric was pretty thick to hide any lumpies, the fit is literally so perfect. Like it caresses my curves and accentuates them but is clearly not a garment that is just too small, it's just well-fitted. The literal perfect fit for a superhero cosplay :D

The pattern needs minor modifications (as to be expected), but it's fairly forgiving and can likely serve as a base for future designs now that I no longer need to be afraid of knits hehe (I can make a Bumblebee cosplay! I can make that specific Wonder Woman design I've loved for years! (I'm sensing a cosplay arc.. which is a little inconvenient because I'm trying to prepare for a Bicolline arc)). But right now I can mark up my mockup with style lines. I will need to source my fabrics and figure out the best way to assemble everything (at least for this Halloween first draft). And then and then and then I'm learning how to 3D print this weekend!! I may have Wanda's tiara finished by next week!!!

All this said, I only have three weeks until the halloweekend bar crawl and while Katara's wrap seems simple to draft I do still have to draft it. And I need to source fabrics for both costumes (Wanda's I think I know, Katara's I'm still debating). God this is so much fun.

I have some chores to do tomorrow, but I might also go trawl the nearby fabric and craft stores.

okie gn :)

[seoafin]

Hi!! I stumbled upon dog days like, 8 hours ago? And just finished the newest chapter! And just wanted to scream in appreciation :)

Amazing, amazing, amazing! Gobbled it all up in one sitting. Love how you portray the dissociation, it really feels like it! Honestly, the description of talking to super pretty girls also. Like, the comments about soft hands and nice smelling perfumes?? I felt that. the descriptions in general! Of places, of characters, of feelings, you really capture it well. I had to take breaks and walk in circles in appreciation, amazing!

And poor mc!! Shes so kicked wet puppy coded auuugh im so crossing my fingers for a happy ending for the poorest little meow meow. She deserves the world by any means

AND THE STGS???  GOOD GOD DO THESE BITCHES NEED TO COMMUNICATE!!

I do love how mean and condescending u write them but like!! also really like how you describe mcs pov when they talk! Are they frfr are they just kidding are they 10 steps ahead??

Its all fun and games untill one line in the middle of the chapter gets you. Like Oh they (probs) ARE like head over heels. italicised Oh, actually!

Ive pulled almost an all nighter to read this, but man was it totally worth it! Sorry for a long one, I really hope you have a great day, thanks for writing and sharing! You are so cool! :)

im glad my gay experience came in handy because every single jjk women is so sexy. thank u for reading <3333 im really happy you enjoyed it!!! i think one thing about ddao is that ripmc is suchhhhh an unreliable narrator who is stuck in her head half the time actual things happen stsg's actions come off as so much worse. but also they are thee definition of 'if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more' i feel like naturally it's a bit difficult since once again stsg are probably unconsciously using their experience with each other to contextualize what a relationship with ripmc would look like...which....considering how the two of them are Not Normal People is the worst thing that could happen LMFAO 😭

[riku-in-japan]

Japan Trip 2023!!

It's been 4 long years and a full pandemic, but we are finally heading back to Japan again! Giving me 17 days to enjoy everything the country has to offer. (Because days 18 and 19 will be eaten up by traveling) In hindsight, I wish I had pushed my husband to book a few more days, because I'm just starting to feel it's going to be too short. At least, assuming I don't have to cancel half of my plans due to bad weather or a typhoon destroying every hiking trail in existence just before I arrive. (As happened in 2019...)

We have yet to book our hotels, but that doesn't keep me from creating extensive travel plans that may or may not be the death of me.

For example, I'm currently considering visiting Naritasan Shinso-ji Temple and Naritasan Park on the day of arrival. (Because my husband has never been there, and it's so pretty!) Our plane is scheduled to land at 9:45. So, even if it takes roughly 2 hours to make our way through customs, baggage claim, and to exchange our JR Railpass vouchers, there should be plenty of time to have a look around the area. Of course, we could decide to drop this plan if I realize upon arrival I'm just too sleep-deprived for sightseeing. (We would practically arrive in Japan at my usual bedtime, so I don't expect to sleep much on the airplane. To my body, this day would become an all-nighter! It's exactly for this reason I never do any extensive sightseeing on the day of arrival! Well, until this year... maybe.)

However, I managed to cook up an even more insane plan... You see, we will be spending a week of our stay in the Kyoto/Osaka area. I already pretty much have more places I want to visit than days to go around. And then, we came up with the brilliant idea we might want to throw in a day-tip to visit Hiroshima too. Osaka-Hiroshima is only 2 hours by Shinkansen, so it's honestly not too bad. My husband really wants to visit the Peace Memorial Museum (again), but I'm not entirely sold on the idea. (The Peace Memorial Park was incredibly impressive and do want to visit the museum sometime, but I just feel like this isn't the right year for it somehow.) So then, I had the brilliant idea to combine two plans. I will delay my own arrival in Hiroshima by giving myself a couple hours to visit Himeji Castle in the morning. So, my husband will have time to visit the Peace Memorial Museum. When I'm done in Himeji I make my way over the Hiroshima too, so we can meet up and visit Miyajima together in the afternoon, and then maybe we can explore Hiroshima a bit more in the evening until it's time to catch a train back to Osaka. Brilliant plan, right? *sarcasm*

Only while planning this, did I realize Himeji Castle is actually a lot closer to Osaka (by Shinkansen) than I expected, so... I may return to the drawing board and actually give Himeji its own day. There actually seems to be quite a lot of stuff around the castle itself, so it might warrant more than a two-hour visit. I'll have to figure it out as I plan out the other days.

What probably surprised me most, looking at my rough itinerary was... that I only have 3 days dedicated to Tokyo itself! The days that should have been for Tokyo are slowly getting allocated to an assorted number of other places... Like Mt.Takao, Kamakura, Nikko, Isehara... I fear my days in Tokyo will simply become one big shopping spree. I have spent plenty of time in Tokyo over the years and it will probably be the place I will visit most often in the future, so it's not that big of a deal, but... realizing I am effectively only spending 3 days of my whole trip in Tokyo certainly surprised me.

Either way, like always, I'm planning to blog about my travels... so, look forward to November! That's when the adventure begins!

[random-letters-i-just-thought-of]

Sadly, I missed day 4 of @kaneraweek, but I have something for today! I mostly went with the prompt "Late Nights" and "Jealousy". I also thought "outside PoV" was for today, because I came up with this at 2am in bed when I, of course, couldn't check the prompts😂. But when I realized my mistake, I already had the whole thing planned out and didn't want to change everything, so... here you go with a story from Kallus PoV🙃.

It's also here on ao3:

My works for Kanera Week 2023 (7470 words) by RandomLettersIJustThoughtOf Day 5: Never Find Anything Better (Late Nights | Happily Ever After | Jealousy) Hera is about to pull an all nighter with her paperwork again, but Kanan is not having it.

Sometimes, Kallus wondered how he ended up like this. How he ended up sitting across from his former arch enemy, Hera Syndulla, at a table of an improvised office at the rebel base of Javin IV, going over plans and strategies, sorting reports from units all over the sector, and making task lists and organizations till late at night.  The life as a rebel knew no structure. It meant you stayed up until dawn on days when it was necessary, and then on another day, you could do nothing but sit around and wait and hope. It was strange, being used to the all-consuming structure of the empire, but it also felt strangely right. This was work he really wanted to do, not one he was obliged or expected to do.

So he did stay up, even though the caff had run out hours ago and the occasional chatter had died down as officer after officer left the room until only he and Hera were left, buried in the remaining paperwork and too worried to leave the plans for the next day unchecked.

Sometimes, Kallus was still baffled that they were letting him do this. That they trusted him, a former imperial, to oversee their military operations. Yes, from a strategic point of view, it made sense; he knew the enemy, and he was trained as a strategist.

Still, sometimes, in moments like this, he looked at the reports and exact plans of the next rebel attacks and remembered how much he would have given for a fraction of this information two years ago. And then he thought of all the other things he had done and was shocked by how much these people were willing to trust him and how easily they had forgiven him when he didn't even forgive himself.

Hera, who he had hunted down multiple times and whose family he had threatened and hurt, leaned over and asked him for his opinion on some starship formation tactics she was working on.

He just nodded and rubbed a hand over his face to fight the exhaustion creeping in. "Makes sense to me. You'll just have to watch out for these damn Tie Defenders. They're a nasty invention."

"Right, but there are only like four of them, aren't there? We can't possibly run into them every maneuver."

"Still, they're a risk we have to consider now. As far as I know Thrawn and the empire, there are probably more than we know of."

"So, maybe we should add a flexible fighter on both sides?"

Kallus shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Hera nodded and went back to scribbling. For a moment, he just watched her.  He had always known she was a skilled and determined pilot, but he had not known how much she CARED. She was not just a cocky young woman rebelling for the sake of troublemaking. No, she had a vision. She had hope for a brighter and better future. And she was ready to fight for it. She was a leader. She had a fire burning in her, and she inspired the same in the people who worked with her. Kallus could see why Zeb would follow her anywhere.  Silently, they went back to working.

The next time he looked up, it was to the quiet swoosh of the door opening. Kanan stood behind it, peeking inside.

Immediately, Kallus tensed up. Then, a moment later, he cursed himself for it and forced himself to relax. Even after all this time, his reflexes still made him go into fight mode whenever he saw the taller man, no matter how many times he told himself it was unnecessary now.  But, while his hatred for Zeb had always come from guilt and anger over the guilt he was feeling, his hatred for Kanan had always been rooted in fear. The fear not only of an extremely skilled warrior but also of a Jedi. The ones he had been thought to fear since his childhood. The dangerous maniacs who brought violence upon the whole galaxy. The traitors. The monsters he was made to believe the Jedi to be. And, even though he now knew neither Kanan nor the Jedi were anything like this, the fear was still there, just like the guilt.

So he still flinched whenever Kanan walked into him like this. And maybe rightly so. Kallus knew from experience that Kanan could beat the shit out of him if he wanted to. Not even the fact that he lost his sight could change anything about that. In fact, Kanan seemed as if he had grown even more powerful after that.

Now, Kanan was not wearing his mask, and Kallus could clearly see the scars surrounding his, now unseeing, eyes. He shuddered. He had never asked what had happened, but he knew lightsaber wounds and he knew the inquisitors. He could put two and two together. The fact that Kanan was still alive was enough to tell Kallus that maybe everybody should have the same amount of respect for this guy as him.

But now, Kanan just gave an appreciative nod to Kallus and then turned all his attention to Hera.

"There you are!", he greeted her, walking up to the desk to put his arms on every side of her paper and lean down to her.

Hera looked up as if she only noticed him now, even though she must have heard the door opening as well.

"Kanan, what do you need?", she asked in the clear tone of someone trying to play clueless, even though they knew exactly what was going on.

"What I need," Kanan answered, accusingly lifting one finger and poking her in the chest, "is you going to bed, right now. Do you have any idea how late it is?"

"Kanan...", Hera grumbled and tried to dodge him.

"Uh-uh." Kanan shook his head and interrupted her by placing his finger on her lip. "I won't hear that. You need sleep!"

Hera blushed deeply at his gesture and mumbled something incomprehensible since Kanan had decided to cover her whole mouth with his hand. A bit of wrangling ensued as Hera tried to free herself. But Kanan was much bigger than her and remained unfazed.

"I can't hear you, what was that? You're tired?", he teased her, but his tone was so gentle and filled with love that Kallus nearly blushed himself for intruding in their little moment.

He tried his best to concentrate heavily on his paper on weather conditions on Hoth rather than the gentle tussle and occasional giggling from his two teammates. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but smile a bit. These two! Sickeningly sweet.

As he shot them a few looks over the table, he realized that maybe this was the real reason he had left the empire. Yes, the obvious greed and cruelty were what convinced him in the end, but he wouldn't even have started to look or care for them if the people hadn't been so... emotionally cold compared to the rebels.  The empire was an all-consuming machine of oppression. It nipped every kind of humanity and affection in the bud, despised it, and punished it.  These people here were allowed to be human. They were allowed to feel, to care, to love. They could have little moments like this, little sparks of happiness. Of hope, even in such dark times. As he looked at Kanan and Hera, he knew: If one day he found something like this, it would be more than he ever deserved. And yet it was all he could ever hope for. All he wished for so desperately. Peace. Love. Family. He felt bad for wishing for things like that after he had taken the very same from so many people all around the galaxy during his time with the empire. He did not deserve something like that. He could never have what Kanan and Hera had. But sometimes, when he watched the ghost crew like this, when he thought about how easily all the specters, all the rebels had forgiven him, he felt a little spark of hope rise.

He looked at Kanan and Hera and saw everything good in the galaxy. And then he felt bad for having fought it for so long. None of them deserved any of the pain they had to go through. The galaxy did not deserve the destruction the empire had brought upon it. The least he could do, was to give everything he could to this rebellion, to these people. To maybe at least start to make up for everything.

"Alright, alright, that's enough!", he heard Kanan end their little tussle. "Don't make me carry you!"

"Kanan!", Hera gasped, finally free to speak now that Kanan used both hands to pick her up from her chair. "I'm not finished yet!"

"Yes, you are! Kallus, tell her she's finished!"

Kallus smiled. "It's alright, General. I'm sure I can sort the rest out by myself."

Kanan frowned at him. "You know it's late for you, too, right?"

He laughed. "I will be finished in no time, don't worry."

With an arm full of Hera, Kanan gave him a skeptical look.

"I'll send Zeb to look for you."

"No, you really don't need..." he tried to argue, but Kanan was already out of the door.

"I'm sure he'll be happy to carry you out as well!" he called back over his shoulder, and then he was gone, and Kallus was left shaking his head and wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean.

[clotpolesonly]

When Restless Hearts Beat Imperfectly

my second TRC fic!! this was actually the first one i started writing, but i stalled on it and had to come back later so the Pynch one got finished first. i am just.....overflowing with Lynch brothers emotions, okay? i am thinking about them for 23 hours out of every day. feel my feels with me ❤️ | Ronan & Declan | Gen | 3.3k | Very Slight AU | Missing TRK Scene | Declan Is Trying His Best | Ronan Has Feelings | Family Feels | Complicated Relationships | Reconciliation | Card Games | (also on AO3)

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For someone who was primarily characterized by his ability to bring his dreams into reality, Ronan sure as fuck had trouble sleeping. He was no stranger to tossing and turning, to late nights and all-nighters, to watching the sun rise with eyes too gritty and exhausted to appreciate the beauty of it.

He hadn't expected tonight to be one of those nights. But also, he sort of had. 

His head was buzzing with everything. Making Cabeswater and kissing Parrish and demons taking over everything and his brothers leaving and kissing Parrish and being back in the Barns and Noah attacking Blue and kissing Parrish and—

Yeah, there was no way sleep was happening tonight. He hadn't slept in this bedroom in two years, not since his father was alive, and that all on its own would've been enough to make him wary of closing his eyes, but on top of everything else? He didn’t know what kind of dreams would come out of his clusterfuck of a head right now, if he could even make sleep happen, and he wasn’t eager to find out.

As Ronan slumped his way down the unlit stairs by feel and muscle memory, he wished, just for a moment, that he was back at Monmouth instead. Gansey would be awake too probably, cross-legged on the floor, myopically gluing pieces onto his tiny town. He would've offered Ronan the glue gun. They often sat together in total silence, just like that, for hours at a time on nights like this.

But this wasn't Monmouth. And, when Ronan picked his way through the dark to the living room, it wasn't Gansey he found, but Declan. Ronan had almost forgotten that Declan and Matthew were still here, packed and ready to make for DC at first light. Another part of him, on some deep buried level, had already forgotten that any of them had ever left. But Ronan had never had nights like this before, and if Declan had, he didn’t know.

His brother was cross-legged on the couch, wearing an old faded t-shirt with a stretched out neckline and flannel pajama bottoms that were a bit too short for him. ORBMASTER sat on the coffee table in front of him, casting its light over the table's contents: playing cards, laid out in neat little piles. Declan was sorting them by number. Sevens with sevens, twos with twos, kings with kings. 

He hadn't noticed Ronan's presence yet. Ronan considered yelling, for the satisfaction of scaring the shit out of him. He considered asking what the fuck Declan was doing and why. He considered turning around and going back upstairs, finding somewhere else to lurk until the sun came up. He considered trying to sleep again.

In the end, he padded across the carpeted floor to sit down on the other side of the coffee table.

Declan looked up, apparently too tired to be startled. When Ronan didn't say anything, he went back to his cards, putting the last few in their places. Each numbered pile was also organized by suit: spade, then heart, then diamond, then club.

He scooped them all back into a stack. Ronan held out his hand for them. 

Too tired to be startled, but not too tired to be suspicious apparently. Declan eyed him like he thought Ronan was gonna eat his fucking cards or something, but when Ronan flapped his hand impatiently, Declan relinquished the deck.

Ronan shuffled them. Then he handed them back.

Slowly, narrowed eyes confused now more than wary, Declan began his process again. Threes with threes, jacks with jacks. A heart tucked under a club, the diamond slid in between. 

Ronan watched. It wasn't exactly riveting stuff, and it certainly wasn't Ronan's kind of stuff. He was more inclined toward throwing the cards up in the air to see just how much of a mess it made. But as Declan made his way methodically through the deck, he guessed he could see the appeal. There was something…reassuring, maybe, about it. About knowing that everything had a place. Making order out of chaos.

It wasn’t a glue gun or a haphazardly constructed cardboard city, but it was something. The soft sound of two people breathing was the same, at least, even if the silence they breathed into felt different. Declan wasn’t Gansey. Silence with him wasn’t the simple, companionable thing that Ronan was used to. It felt like being in the car with the radio on and the volume turned all the way down, like there should have been sound, or like the sound was there, only Ronan couldn’t hear it.

Ronan touched his ear. The left one.

Declan gathered up his cards again. This time, he offered Ronan the deck unprompted. Ronan shuffled it wordlessly, cards sliding through his fingers to form a bridge, the two halves cascading back together into one whole. Some of the cards felt warmer than others. Or maybe his exhausted brain was making shit up. He was spending way too much time around psychics lately and their weirdness was rubbing off on him.

Instead of giving the whole deck back, Ronan split it and kept one half for himself, flipping over the top card in the universally understood invitation to play War. Declan gave him a dirty look for disrupting his weird little un-shuffling routine. But he laid down a card of his own anyway. He won, and the dirty look immediately became a smug one. Fucker.

For a while, there was nothing but the soft fwip of cards being turned over. The last person Ronan had played this game with was Noah. They’d gotten way too into it, whooping and hollering and shit-talking each other like there was actually something riding on the outcome besides bragging rights. Gansey had had to intervene to make sure nobody got thrown out the window again.

Ronan hadn’t seen Noah in days. Hadn’t seen him really be him in longer than that.

He flipped over a jack. Declan played a four.

Christ, Ronan was tired. He wasn’t really paying attention to the game, not that it was a game that required a lot of attention. There was an empty-wrong feeling in the back of his mind, one that crept around the edges of his consciousness all the time now. Cabeswater, dying. Cabeswater, decaying, just like Noah. The feeling was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Six. Ten. Declan took the hand.

Did Adam feel the empty-wrong too? Or did it feel like something else, this demon slithering in to pollute his connection with the forest? With Ronan's forest. With…

Matching eights. Three cards each, face down, and one more to win it. Declan grinned down at his jack with a mocking little head wiggle, just like he always had when they were kids. After winning hands of cards, after boxing matches that went his way, after mom agreed that Ronan had started it (this time), after succeeding in sneaking a cookie off the cooling rack when Ronan had gotten caught. It was a smug little shit of a gesture, all mischief and delight. Ronan hadn’t seen it in years.

Declan was sweeping the whole stack of cards into his hand when the words “I kissed Adam” fell out of Ronan’s mouth. He finally found the awakeness necessary to be surprised.

“Parrish?” he asked after a beat, his voice gritty from the late hour and lack of use but otherwise neutral.

“No, the other Adam.” Ronan slapped a three down on the table. He hoped the light from ORBMASTER wasn’t enough to illuminate the sudden redness in his cheeks.

Declan did that stupid thing where he blew air out of his nose and that was somehow supposed to be considered a laugh. He laid down a seven and took possession of Ronan’s three. He asked, “When?”

“Like, five hours ago.”

Queen and nine, in Ronan’s favor.

“Did he kiss you back?”

Ronan’s cheeks flushed hotter. “Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye—the wood grain of the coffee table had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room—he caught the motion of Declan’s nod.

“Nice.”

He laid down an ace. Ronan stared at him.

“Nice?”

Declan raised an eyebrow. “Was it not nice?”

“No! I mean, yes, it was— Of course, it—” Ronan huffed and threw down a jack that Declan immediately snatched up with a noise of satisfaction. “It was fine,” he said, face burning. “I just thought you’d have more of a reaction than that, is all.”

Declan paused in his straightening of the definitely-more-than-half-the-deck stack of cards in his hand to raise another eyebrow at him. “To you kissing Parrish or to you kissing a boy? Because you and Parrish were attached at the hip all night and, I hate to break it to you, but you have never been subtle about liking boys.”

The noise Ronan made was 80% surprise and 20% embarrassment. Okay, maybe 60/40.

Now Declan actually laughed, real laughter with sound and substance to it. With the way he said Ronan’s name, he might as well have put a hand on his chest and said “bless your heart” like one of the painfully southern old biddies at church.

Ronan leaned across the table to snatch the cards out of his hand. “Give me those, you fucker. You don’t deserve to be winning.”

Declan let him have them, too busy laughing some more to protest. Like the dumb head wiggle, it had been years since Ronan had seen his brother genuinely laugh. Or laugh at all, honestly. Or even just smile, beyond that creepy, bland, picture-perfect politician shit he pulled out for important adults and girls he was trying to sleep with. Not that he’d ever really noticed, or thought about it, or cared. Here, though, in the Barns—in their home—it felt like a glaring oversight. The thought occurred, unbidden, that Declan hadn’t seen him smile in just as long, only he’d probably noticed.

The thought didn’t sit well in him. It lodged somewhere in his ribcage, like a stubborn stitch after running for too long, and made him feel… He wasn’t sure how it made him feel. So he yanked a throw pillow out from behind Declan and hit him with it.

“Laugh it up, fuckface, see if I tell you anything ever again!”

Declan didn’t manage to stop laughing entirely, but that did get a strangled “no!” out of him. He fended off Ronan’s pillow attack and righted himself, making a futile effort to finger-comb his uncharacteristically messy hair into something approximating its usual presentable state. He cleared his throat.

“No,” he said again, with a bit more composure, though the jackass was clearly still trying not to crack up. “I want you to tell me things. I want you to—”

The last of his amusement fell away abruptly. Something about the silence that followed his bitten off words was louder than anything they’d said so far. Years of words unspoken stretched out between them, most of them his own. They filled the air like static, like radio waves, like an almost-physical thing. Words about dreams and deals and burner phones and secrets paid for in blood.

A whole other life his brother had been living.

Declan ducked his head, cleared his throat again. He reached for the cards, abandoned on the table when Ronan had gone on the attack. Ronan expected him to start sorting again, to fall back on the reassuring predictability of his little numbered piles, but after a long moment of hesitation, Declan hastily split the deck. He handed Ronan the noticeably bigger half. This time, he was the one to lay down the first card. The invitation.

Slowly, gingerly, Ronan settled back into position on the other side of the coffee table. Declan didn’t look up at him, still and waiting, eyes on his two of spades.

Ronan played a card.

They played in silence again for a while. Hard to tell how long; the wee hours didn’t carry with them the same feeling of movement that daylight hours did. They were a crystalized thing, suspended in the warm dimness of his—Declan’s—little dream light, and there was nothing in the living room to track the passage of time. Ronan thought there used to be a clock in here. Something that ticked, at least. There was no ticking now, though, and he had to wonder if it had been a dream thing. If it had fallen asleep when their dad died. If their dad had sold it to some collector somewhere. If Declan had. He wondered what else he hadn’t noticed he’d lost track of.

Ronan laid down three cards and a jack to do battle for their evenly matched fours. Declan’s cards were late in coming, delayed by a yawn so strong and insistent that it scrunched his whole face up. He muttered a curse and dragged the back of one hand over his eyes. He lost with a seven.

“You sure you’ll be good to drive in the morning?” Ronan asked as he gathered up his spoils. “Sure would be ironic for you to end up dead in a ditch on the way to DC.”

Declan huffed. “I’ve driven farther on less sleep. I’ll be fine.”

He rubbed at his eyes again, though, then dragged his fingers up through his hair. He looked as exhausted as any normal person would at somewhere around three in the morning, which, for Declan, was probably a sign that he’d barely slept for days and it was all catching up to him at once. Ronan knew the feeling. Hell, he was that feeling incarnate. That heavy, soul-deep kind of tired was baked into his DNA. Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising, then, for his brother to share it. It was part of the family resemblance. The Lynch legacy: curly hair, good teeth, blue eyes, and exhaustion.

Declan turned his cards over in his hand, tapping at the edge of the stack with his fingernail before drawing one. “I still wish you would come with us.”

He didn’t look at Ronan when he said it. There wasn’t much force behind it either. It wasn’t a plea or the overture to an argument. They’d done all their arguing earlier. This was merely a statement of fact, like he needed it on the record one more time. Like he just wanted Ronan to hear him say it. To know he meant it.

And Ronan did. It felt strange, believing it, like a square peg in a round hole, but all of it together—the wee hour stillness, the bittersweetness of home, the red rims of Declan’s eyes and the frizzy mess of his hair, every unbelievable piece of truth he’d offered up the day before—all sanded down the peg’s edges until the idea of it could wedge into place. His brother loved him. For all the blood and bile between them, for all the filthy water under their crumbling bridge, his brother loved him. He wanted Ronan with him where he could at least try to keep him safe, like he had been doing this whole time, their whole lives.

Ronan swallowed. It wasn’t easy. “You know I can’t do that. This is my fight. I can’t run away from it. Leave my friends to face it without me. I’m not that much of a coward.”

“I’m not asking you to be a coward, Ronan. I’m asking you to survive this. Can you promise me that?”

Declan looked so strange like this, at once entirely familiar and so new as to be almost unrecognizable. A liar with all his pretense stripped away. What was left was a boy, not far past 19, looking at the only family he had left with the knowledge that it might be the last time in his eyes, desperate for Ronan to tell him that it wouldn’t be.

But Ronan was no liar.

“I can promise I’ll fight like hell.”

It wasn’t what Declan wanted to hear, but he smiled anyway. Not a smile Ronan had ever seen before, but something new and painful and honest. He said, “Yeah, I bet you will.”

He laid down the last card in his hand. A jack of spades, falling to Ronan’s ace of the same. Something about that made Declan laugh again, that gentle puff of breath that barely qualified, and then he was pushing himself off the couch. He left the cards where they were—he’d probably found them stuffed down the side of the couch, where their dad had had a tendency to leave them, once upon a time—and scooped ORBMASTER into his hand. He cradled it against his stomach, the glow seeping out between his fingers to stripe the room.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Declan said, emphasis on try because, for all the times that Ronan had thought his brother could never understand him, the truth was that Declan knew him all too well.

“Yeah,” Ronan said to the deck in his hand. “You too.”

Declan rounded the coffee table, the dream caged in his fingers sweeping over everything like a lighthouse. He paused by Ronan. Then, like he often did with Matthew but Ronan honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever done with him, he ran his hand over Ronan’s head. On Matthew, it was a ruffle of his curls, but there were no curls to ruffle on Ronan. It was only the bare curve of his skull, cradled for a moment in the warmth of Declan’s palm.

If Declan were Gansey, they would have hugged. He would have made a speech about the power of love and how much they meant to each other. He would have had something optimistic and inspiring to say about the upcoming battle. If Declan were Gansey, there wouldn’t still be the static hum of things unsaid like radio waves in the still air between them.

But Declan was not Gansey. His hand slipped from Ronan’s head before Ronan could decide to acknowledge it or not, and then he was in the doorway, turning back one more time. ORBMASTER’s light just caught the edge of his smile.

“I hope things go well,” he said. “For you and Adam. He’s cute.”

Ronan fumbled the cards. “Oh my God, shut up, or I’m gonna have to break up with him on principle just because you said that.”

He could hear Declan chuckling to himself all the way up the stairs. Ronan grumbled about what an obnoxious fuckwad he was as he tried to gather the deck in the dark, then he grumbled some more when he gave it up as a lost cause. The cards would just have to stay a mess. He didn’t mind, really. He could sort it out later, or Declan could. If they all survived what was coming long enough to sort out anything.

Ronan didn’t bother going upstairs. He just crawled over the coffee table and onto the couch, the worn cushions as familiar to him as any mattress. The throw pillow he’d wielded against Declan earlier was better suited to weaponization than it was to comfort, honestly, but he stuffed it under his head anyway, and it didn’t stop sleep from tugging at him as soon as he closed his eyes.

He hoped his dreams would be kind, for once. He hoped his brothers would wake him up in the morning to say goodbye before they left. He hoped Adam would kiss him again tomorrow. He hoped they could salvage what was left of Cabeswater, and Noah. More than anything else, though, he sort of hoped he lived long enough to play cards with Declan again.