#despite this i’m watching a streamer play it so its been on my mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

agustdiv1ne · 4 years ago

Text

candy hearts — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x f!reader

genre: childhood friends/idiots to lovers, fluff, angst

wc: 10.5k

synopsis: spending valentine's day with your best friend had become a sort of tradition for you two ever since you were seven years old. despite the twists and turns in your friendship as both of you grew up, the one thing that never changed was the box of candy hearts that he placed in your hands every year.

warnings: mentions of underage drinking, communication problems

note: happy valentine's day! i am in love with one (1) man

masterlist

wednesday, february 14th; age 7

why your teacher was so insistent on making a bunch of second graders celebrate valentine's day was beyond what your seven year-old mind could comprehend.

sure, your previous teachers had celebrated it, had given you a piece of candy and went on with the day. no more than that. it wasn't an important holiday to any kid, really, when every member of the opposite sex was gross and carried the contagious, terrifying disease of cooties.

despite this, miss hwang had decided that she needed to make a whole day out of it. she had hung bubblegum pink and ruby red streamers along all four walls of the classroom, plastered hearts of several different sizes on desks, chairs, windows, and had set up a buffet of sweets sat on the counter in the back of the classroom. cookies, cake pops, cupcakes; you name it, she had probably bought it for your class to chow on.

“alright!” miss hwang clasped her hands together in the front of the class, gathering you and your classmates’ attention. today she wore a pretty soft pink dress, her round glasses perched on her nose. you thought she looked really pretty, like a princess. “since today is valentine’s day, i wanted to play some games and just have a fun day today. we’ll be exchanging valentine’s later, so i hope everyone brought something to share with everyone. i brought some sweets for us to eat, too! is that alright with everyone?”

a chorus of high-pitched voices replied with cheers of ‘yes’ and ‘yeah’, the more rambunctious boys shoving at each others shoulders at the promise of sweets (that you thought they didn’t need; they were annoying enough already). she sent them a pointed look, and they stopped. miss hwang may have been kind, but she was far from a pushover.

she dismissed one row at a time, a line slowly forming as each child took the food that they wanted and put it on their heart-shaped plate. you grabbed a couple brownies and a chocolate chip cookie, and then you sat back down at your desk. you silently nibbled on one the brownies as you watched your fellow classmates converse. your nose wrinkled slightly.

you never got what was so great about valentine's day.

your parents had never really bothered celebrating it. rather, they had told (and showed) you that your love for someone shouldn't have to be displayed through grand gestures; you learned from a very young age that you should express your love through your actions and words, not through meaningless gifts once every year. you didn't hate it, hate was a strong word, you just simply didn't see why it was such a big deal.

you were knocked from your thoughts as miss hwang leaned down near your desk, her concerned eyes meeting your bored ones, “hi, y/n. you okay?”

you nodded, placing the half-eaten cookie down on your plate as she leaned her elbows against your desk. you sent her a polite smile, “i’m okay, miss hwang. i just don’t think this holiday is very fun.”

a small frown made its way across her face before it disappeared as quickly as it came. she tilted her head, “why is that, honey?”

“my mommy told me that valentine’s day is a calipat-” you stumbled over the big word, trying to sound it out before confidently finishing your sentence, “capitalist trick made to make people buy dumb things. i still brought stuff,” you lifted up the bag of heart-shaped chocolates in your hand, “but i just don’t think it’s very cool.”

the initial shock on her face (how could a parent tell their child that?) was quickly replaced by a tiny smile. “that’s- that’s okay, honey,” she recovered quickly, “i still hope today will be fun for you! getting candy is always fun, right?”

you smiled. she was right, of course. your seven year-old self could never pass up the chance to get some candy.

soon enough, she left your desk to return to the front of the class, announcing the valentine exchange. you went around to each desk, dropping a chocolate in each of your classmates' messily decorated boxes until you finally reached your own desk again. sitting down, you rummaged through the pile of candy, looking through the message cards that read 'to: from:'. most were left blank, though a few of your classmates had written their names in the 'from' part. you continued rummaging until you saw a message on a box of...candy hearts. the handwriting was messy, scribbles of words you could just barely make out, yet your eyebrows raised as you read the message, then raised even more at the name written below it.

'to: y/n

can we be friends?

from: yeonjun'

he had transferred to your school in the middle of year. you and him were in the same boat: a shy demeanor, no one to hang out with at recess, quiet as a mouse during class...you guessed that was why you were so shocked to see that message. he seemed too shy to even talk to miss hwang, the kindest teacher on campus.

towards the back of the room, the short, raven-haired boy shook with nerves as he sat at his desk, his chocolate-colored eyes glancing at the back of your head every few seconds. his heart nearly beat out of his chest as you turned towards him with a grin. you turned around, grabbing your box full of candy and the bag of chocolates you still had, walked to the desk next to him, and plopped down in the seat. you extended the bag of chocolate in your hand out to him.

“you want some of my candy? i have extra.”

that was the first time that you had ever spoken to choi yeonjun, the first time you spent valentine's day with him, but it certainly wasn't the last.

(sitting at her desk, miss hwang smiled at the sweet interaction. she had a feeling you'd be friends for a long time.)

thursday, february 14th; age 8

you and yeonjun grew close almost immediately.

the shy, quiet boy you once knew opened up, growing goofy and boisterous within a few months. it was easy to start calling him your best friend. even your parents could see how you two were attached to the hip, spending your birthdays with each other and your other friends, trick-or-treating together, giving each other christmas gifts, normal best friend things.

so when valentine's day finally rolled around again, it was no different. even if the holiday of love wasn't meant for platonic endeavors, neither of you cared, it was just another day to spend with each other.

as soon as the recess bell rang, you two bolted out the classroom door, finding your usual spot under the playground slide. the sun shone through the small holes of the platform above you, the loud stomping of other kids as they climbed the structure rattling around in your ears while you picked at the bark that stuck to your jeans. it was a surprisingly sunny — yet still quite chilly — day as the seasons began to slowly morph into springtime. yeonjun sat in front of you, his black hair styled in the same bowl cut he sported a year ago, a hand hiding behind his back.

you eyed him suspiciously, trying to reach behind him to grab the mystery item, “what’cha got there?”

he scooted backwards, tongue stuck out playfully as he replied, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

“you suck,” you pouted, retreating back to your original spot once you realized he wasn’t going to show you. “i was gonna give you your gift, but i guess now…”

his nose scrunched up as he reluctantly brought his hand forward, tossing a box of candy hearts into your lap. you grinned in triumph, grabbing your own for him gift from your jacket pocket, tossing it to him. you had given him the same thing.

as you opened the boxes full of sugary sweets, you heard the yard duty approach, “hey, no eating during recess!”

you both stared at each other, eyes wide, before he grabbed your hand and yanked you to your feet. he pulled you across the playground, your legs barely keeping up with his quick strides.

“run!”

saturday, febraury 14th; age 9

your leg bounced as you sat in the back seat of your mother's sedan, her amused eyes occasionally glancing at you through the rear view mirror as she drove. her fingers tapped along to the 2000's hits streaming quietly through the speakers.

“you’re sure excited,” she laughed, “valentine’s day must be really important to you two.”

“we became friends on valentine’s day, of course it’s important!” you explained indignantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. you were simply celebrating your friend anniversary — your friendaversary, you liked to say.

as she pulled up to the park where you planned to meet, your eyes searched the playground, trying to find him. you caught sight of a mop of black hair, sitting on a bench near the playground. his mother sat next to him. he wore his baseball uniform, a sport he recently picked up, a cherry red jersey with white pants and matching socks. it was hard not to spot him.

“yeonjun!” you called, and he spun around, his face lighting up as he found you. he nearly vaulted over the back of bench, his mother worriedly telling him to be careful, before running over to where you stood, almost crashing into you before crushing you in a hug. your mom stopped both of you from falling to the pavement with a protective hand on your back.

“careful there,” she lightly scolded him. yeonjun pulled away, lightly scratching at his head in embarrassment, a sheepish smile painted on his face as he mumbled a small ‘sorry.’

she simply smiled in response, his own mother approaching in the meantime. he looked up at her as she greeted your mother. after exchanging pleasantries, she raised an eyebrow expectantly at him, waving him forward. his brows furrowed for a split second before his expression morphed into realization, a tiny 'oh' escaping his plump lips. he stuck his hand in his pants pocket, brandishing the familiar pink box like a prize before handing it to you. you giggled, handing the box you'd been holding in your hands to him.

his mom patted his head, “alright, kiddo, it’s time to get going. you have a game in an hour.”

both of you whined. you wanted to spend more time with each other, both of you verbalizing that fact to your mothers. they shook their heads in amusement.

“maybe we can go watch yeonjun play, honey,” your mother said, and your eyes widened, turning towards him.

“can we do that?” you asked with excitement coloring your voice.

“yeah!” he cheered, nodding rapidly before he looked towatds his mom for confirmation. she nodded as well, a small smile on her face. he returned his gaze to you, his face lit up in glee, surging forward to hug you again.

“you’ll cheer me on, right?” he whispered hopefully into your ear.

“of course!”

as you buckled yourself in the back seat of your mom’s car, you asked, “can we make a poster before we go?”

she glanced back at you as she started the car, a hint of laughter in her voice, “we sure can, honey.”

as a nine year-old, you knew how to multiply and divide, you knew all of the planets in the solar system, and now you knew that valentine's day definitely wasn't as stupid as you once thought, not if you could spend it with your best friend.

sunday, february 14th; age 10

your mouth watered at the tall stack of steaming-hot pancakes sitting in front of you, courtesy of yeonjun's mom. your own mother had dropped you off just a few minutes prior with a promise to pick you up at 3. maybe you and yeonjun could push that time, you thought.

“go ahead and eat, you two. i’ll be making more so you can take some home, okay honey?” yeonjun’s mom asked. you immediately nodded in response.

“thank you mrs. choi!” you squealed. yeonjun chuckled across from you as he stabbed a few of the fluffy breakfast food onto his fork, dropping them on his plate with a loud ‘plunk!” you followed suit, grabbing the syrup from the center of the table to drench your plate in. as soon as you took your first bite, an explosion of maple syrup and sugary sweet, fluffy goodness coating your tongue. you hummed in delight at the same time as the boy across from you.

both of you scarfed down your food nearly as fast as mrs. choi had whipped it up, yeonjun grabbing your arm as soon as your plates were clean and dragging you to his living room. you called out a sweet ‘thank you!’ to his mom right before you left the kitchen.

the living room was spacious, two leather couches forming an L-shape in the corner to the left of where you stood, a table sitting in front of them. another, higher table filled with family photos laid to your right, mostly consisting of the choi’s pride, their only son, yeonjun himself. their tv was tucked in a small alcove on the wall farthest from you, a random baseball game playing on the screen. he dragged you to the couch that directly faced the screen before he trotting over to the white box below the tv, tweaking the screen’s settings until the wii was whirring to life.

he turned back towards you, displaying two different disks in his small hands, “mario kart or wii sports?”

“mario kart, duh. i’m gonna beat you on rainbow road, i’ve been practicing,” you sent him a haughty look, your thumbs pressing at imaginary buttons to prove your point.

“not if i beat you first!” he declared, ever the competitive one within your little duo. your rolled your eyes, sinking further into the couch as he threw himself next to you, tossing a remote into your lap.

and as you sat there, leaned forward, elbows nudging at each other’s in the struggle to place first, you concluded that there was no place you’d rather be than here. you liked spending time with him. you liked him, but not in the gross crush way. you don’t think you could ever like him like that.

monday, february 14th; age 11

ah, sixth grade.

your friendship with yeonjun was at its strongest. it was you and him against the world. or, well, you and him against the yard duty that you both swore had it out for you two.

you were sitting on one of the swings when he sprinted up to you, tossing something at you before you could even process it.

“think fast!”

you scrambled with it, and in the end, dropped it, the box hitting the bark with a dull thump. it was the infamous candy hearts again. you scrunched your face at him before leaning down to pick up the bubblegum pink box, meeting his expectant gaze as you straightened back up.

“well? where’s mine?” he questioned, extending his open palm out to you. you rolled your eyes, grabbing the box you had brought him from your jacket pocket and dropping it in his awaiting palm. he smiled, immediately opening the box. “thanks.”

“how are we friends again?” you asked playfully, and he flicked your forehead as revenge. you retaliated, causing his eyes to narrow, before you opened your own box.

“no food on the playground!” an approaching voice called. you both scrambled to hide the candy in your hands, stuffing them in your jacket pockets. you knew exactly who it was, the same yard duty that yelled at you in third grade. she hadn’t left you two alone since.

he mumbled a ‘shoot’ under his breath, spinning on his heel before grabbing your hand and bolting. you propelled yourself across the playground all the way to the ball wall on the other side of the asphalt. he slowed down, and you followed suit, both of you catching your breath behind the wall.

as you began to eat your candy again, a thought popped up in your mind.

“hey, yeonjun?”

“yeah?” he glanced over at you, dark eyes glinting with curiosity.

“we’ll still be friends in middle school, right?” your head drooped towards the pavement, unsure if your question was a stupid one. it sure sounded stupid out loud, you thought.

his pinky came into your view, and you looked up. he grinned as your eyes met his, exclaiming, “i promise that i’ll never leave you alone in middle school, even if i annoy you every day!”

you locked pinkies with him as you mirrored his expression, your previous worries now tucked into the back of your mind.

tuesday, february 14th; age 12

you leaned your head against your palm as you zoned out in your last period class. science had never been your favorite subject, even less so given that your teacher had been informally dubbed the school's wack job.

as the day had dragged on, you realized that the holiday wasn't as widely celebrated in middle school. the so-called 'special' day was reserved solely for the few couples on campus, most of which had been dating for only a couple weeks. you bet most would be broken up by next month, the typical cycle for immature, hormone-riddled relationships.

but back to your science class.

you felt your eyes nearly roll into your skull as your teacher excitedly explained the concept of genetics and punnett squares. what a riveting topic to listen to for an hour on valentine's day. you blocked out his boisterous ramblings, unable to focus, your mind chock-full of bitter thoughts of how your best friend had decided that he couldn't be seen with you at school.

okay, maybe not back to your science class. you were too distracted, too bothered, to concentrate.

because while yeonjun had promised to not leave you behind in middle school, it grew exceedingly obvious, as the year went on, that he had lied straight to your face. this holiday was only a painful reminder of that fact.

you couldn't entirely blame him, though, the vast sea of middle school causing you to slowly drift apart from each other as you both tried to find where you fit in. he had made new friends easily, the shy boy you once knew emerged from his shell, countless peers recognizing him for his impressive talents in baseball, in dance, in singing, the list could go on. he was good at everything that he tried his hand at, and by the middle of seventh grade, he had become the campus' golden boy. even the eighth graders knew him!

this came with a cost, however, and that was leaving you, his best friend of five years, behind (for the most part, at least).

you had found your own friends, of course. you had to, or else you would have been deemed a loner, and no one wants to be a loner in middle school. you were uncomfortable, having to talk to people you had never interacted with beforehand. despite this, you had found yourself a little group through your art class: yeri, chaeyoung, and yuqi. they had welcomed you into their trio easily. though it felt weird to have more than one friend for the first time, you were happy. well, uh, besides the whole yeonjun thing.

with only one class with him, it was easy to not speak to each other during school. your hangouts were now confined to after school, when he wasn't surrounded by his new friends and could make time for you. you never tried to talk to him about it, scared that he'd twist your words and it would destroy what semblance of friendship that remained between you. in all honesty, you wished that you could go back to elementary school, when things were easier, when you could talk to him at school without worrying about the consequences of doing so.

yet you knew it wasn't that easy. this wasn't elementary school anymore.

your eyes subconsciously trailed over to the boy in question. you were supposed to hang out with him after school, but there was always that one insecurity that rattled around your mind:

what if this was the year that he finally blew you off? for good?

you shook your head, going back to the worksheet your teacher had passed out as you were distracted by your thoughts. punnett squares, okay. one parent with a dominant and recessive gene, one parent with two recessive genes. now fill in the squares…

“hey.”

your head shot up from at the sound of his voice. eyes wide at the fact that he was speaking to you at school. it had been months since he had last done so.

“oh, hi yeonjun. what did you need?” you sent him a tight smile, not that he noticed. twelve year-old boys were never most observant.

he placed a box of candy hearts, the same thing he gifted you every year, on top of your desk. it was blank, no message or name in sight.

“i wanted to give you this before i forgot and it got crushed in my backpack.” his voice quietened, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to hear what he had to say next, “we’re still hanging out after school, right? like we always do?”

you nodded, and he shot you a small smile, “great, thanks.”

he walked away. as soon as he sat back down in his seat, his friends were punching at his shoulder, teasingly asking him if he was dating you. you could hear it all from where you were sitting, but you wished you couldn't after what he said next.

“me? with her? no way, we’re just friends. i could never see her like that.”

you never truly realized how much he truly meant to you until you no longer hung out until after school, but this? this hurt. it made your chest ache when you saw his borderline disgusted face at the insinuation that you were dating each other. what was so bad about you for him to have that reaction? was it your hair, your face, your acne? you found yourself mentally paging through every possible flaw you saw in yourself until the bell rang, signalling the end of school.

•

yuqi walked up to you at the front of campus, immediately spotting the forlorn look on your face, “hey, you good?”

“uh, yeah, i guess. listen, i have to go meet up with yeonjun. catch you later?” you asked..

“yeonjun, huh? are you sure you’re not dating him?” she smirked, and you rolled your eyes, your mood souring even more.

“we’re just friends,” you spat, turning away from her, “he’d never like me like that, anyway. i have no chance with him. i’ll see you later, yuqi.”

the further you walked, the worse you felt about how you spoke to yuqi. she didn't deserve to deal with the brunt of your wrath, it was uncalled for. you wanted to run back to school and apologize, but you were sure she had already been picked up.

you'd have to make it up to her tomorrow.

as you neared the supermarket a few blocks down the street from school, you could see yeonjun waiting near the entrance, his foot tapping against the sidewalk impatiently. his bike sat next to him, which explained how he arrived much earlier than you.

“took you long enough,” he teased as you approached, but you didn’t answer, only sending him a half-hearted smile in return. his grin fell, eyebrows now furrowed. oh, now he noticed how you were feeling? typical. “you okay?”

that was the second time you had been asked that now. you wanted to say no, you definitely were not okay, that it hurt to hear him say those words earlier, that it hurt that you couldn't even talk to him during school. you wanted to tell him that you felt abandoned, you wanted to tell him that he broke the promise he made a year ago, that ever since the first day of seventh grade you felt left behind. you wanted to ask him why he even bothered hanging out with you when he couldn't bother even speaking to you at school.

but you didn't.

instead, you plastered an artificial smile on your face, trying to make your voice sound a little more energetic than you felt, “yeah! i guess i’m just tired. science wasn’t exactly fun today, y’know?”

“tell me about it,” he laughed as he walked beside you, easily accepting your excuse without prying. you wished that he would have pried. “he’s the weirdest teacher i’ve ever had, i can’t believe he hasn’t been fired yet.”

“right?” you replied as you walked down the aisle full of candy. you picked out one of the overpriced boxes of heart-shaped chocolates before walking up to the register. you tried to hand some of your money to the lady helping you, but yeonjun swatted your hand away.

“nuh-uh, you’re not paying for this,” he argued.

“but-”

“no.”

you visibly deflated, scrunching your nose at him in distaste. he simply grinned in response.

“ah, young love,” the cashier sighed as she took yeonjun’s money. your heart clenched, thanking her before you two walked outside again, the air cool against your skin, the sun glaring into your eyes, the weather the complete opposite of your mood. you glanced over at yeonjun. you wondered why he hadn’t protested when she said that. you didn’t ask.

his hand found yours, dragging you around the corner behind the building. your heart raced, skin heating up slightly at the contact. your reaction couldn't have meant anything. no, you couldn't like him like that. you were friends, nothing more, nothing less.

as you sat behind the supermarket, unwrapping and eating the chocolate that you had bought just a few minutes ago, you realized that you really couldn't deny it anymore: you were in love with choi yeonjun, your best friend, and you couldn't do anything about it.

thursday, february 14th; age 13

nothing significantly changed between seventh and eighth grade.

one year had passed since you had realized your feelings (sorry ten year-old you, you definitely could like yeonjun in that ‘gross crush way’). all the while, yeonjun continued his infuriating streak of ignoring you during school hours. your feelings for him hadn’t faded one bit no matter how much you tried to will them away, your friends now aware of your struggles after you filled them in on the entire situation. it didn’t take long for yuqi to forgive you after you told her what had happened that day.

this year, you no longer had classes with him, differing passions meant differing schedules. you threw yourself into the one art class offered on campus. alternatively, yeonjun joined choir and dance, finding his true passions for performance. none of your core classes overlapped, unfortunately.

it had been nearly three weeks since you had last spoken to him.

“quit looking so sad, y/n, he’s just a boy,” yeri’s stern voice snapped you out of your wallowing, “boys aren’t worth it. ever. also quit staring at him, you look weird.”

“i wasn’t staring!” you whined, “i was just...spacing out?” you glanced towards your other two friends for support.

chaeyoung shot you an unimpressed look, “you were staring, don’t deny it.”

you turned towards yuqi expectantly. she grimanced, before shrugging. “don’t look at me! you know they’re right.”

“traitors, all of you are traitors,” you sighed, causing them to roll their eyes at your dramatics. chaeyoung smacked the back of your head lightly.

“you need to tell him how you’re feeling, or else nothing’s ever gonna change,” chaeyoung remarked. “i have no problem telling him for you, or i could just fight him.” she sloppily punched at the air, making you chuckle.

“he’s a head taller than you, and you don’t even know how to fight, chae, but i appreciate it.” you sighed, smile falling from your face, “i just don’t know how to tell him. i don’t wanna sound clingy or anything, we’re only friends.”

the last thing you wanted was to sound like a jealous girlfriend, yet at the same time, you didn't want to have to fight to spend time with him anymore.

yeri opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the shrill sound of the bell ringing. the four of you stood up, you with one last forlorn glance across the cafeteria at yeonjun, before parting ways to your final classes for the day.

•

chaeyoung had a plan.

while you had told her not to fight yeonjun, you never explicitly said that she couldn't talk to him. she knew that you were never going to do it — you were too scared of confrontation — so she had taken that duty upon herself, no matter how angry you became at her. she was doing this for you!

the final bell of the day rang out, and yeonjun nearly bolted out the door. chaeyoung quickly followed, calling out his name. he stopped in his tracks, turning around to face her.

“oh, chaeyoung, what’s up?” he asked, sporting a curious expression.

“we need to talk.”

his brows furrowed, a silent question of ‘what?’

“it’s about y/n.”

he silently followed her to an empty bench. she scooted so that she faced him, her arms folded across her chest. she looked intimidating despite her small stature.

“when was the last time you talked to her?” she questioned, eyes narrowing at his shocked expression.

“uh, it’s been at least two weeks,” he murmured, his chest suddenly tight, “i didn’t even reali-”

she cut him off, “i don’t want to keep you for too long since y/n’s waiting for you,” — she sent him a pointed look — “but i hope you know that this whole ‘too cool to talk to her during school’ thing is just hurting her. she feels abandoned by you, even if she doesn’t show it. pardon my language, but get your shit together, yeonjun, before you lose her for good.”

“i’m sor-”

chaeyoung put one hand up, “don’t apologize to me, go apologize to her.”

“you’re right. thanks, chaeyoung.”

“you’re damn right i’m right. now go.”

•

you sat on a bench at the front of campus, where you and yeonjun had planned to meet today (well, before he ghosted you for the past three weeks). you weren't even sure if he remembered, and as the minutes ticked by, no yeonjun in sight, you figured that he really did forget.

“guess i’ll just go home,” you mumbled to yourself, chucking the pink box in your hand back into your backpack.

you made it halfway down the street before the tears started falling.

you heard a distant voice call your name. you knew who it was. you walked faster, but his footsteps grew louder, his hand catching your wrist before you could will yourself to run. you hung your head, not wanting him to see your tear-stained face. he spun you around to face him, bending down to try to catch a glimpse of your face. you turned away.

"hey, look at me," he prompted softly, his hands now resting on your shoulders. "please?"

you gulped, your heart aching painfully inside your chest as your watery eyes met his worried ones. he could feel his heart shatter. he had done this to you, he had made you cry.

he had abandoned you, despite his promise not to.

“chaeyoung talked to you, didn’t she?” the look on his face answered your question. you pursed your lips, you’d have to have a word with her later.

“god, i’m such an idiot,” he groaned. “i didn’t even realize-”

“it’s not your fault, i hid it from you for a reason,” you whispered. “i didn’t want to ruin our friendship by blaming you.”

“you wouldn’t have ruined anything!” he explained, frustrated with himself. he saw you wince, so he lowered his voice, “i needed to know, and i’m glad chaeyoung told me. you’re my best friend, y/n. i shouldn’t be making you feel like that. i’m so sorry.”

tears welled in your eyes again, a sob ripping through your throat. he may have just friend-zoned you, but hearing those words was a major weight off of your shoulders. he gathered you in his arms, affection between you two coming easily no matter how long you didn't speak to each other, allowing you to sob into his chest until your tears ran dry. it must have been an odd sight, two eighth graders holding each other on the side of the road, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

you had your best friend back.

“c’mon,” he said, pulling back from you, “let’s go buy some overpriced chocolate. i brought you your candy hearts, too.”

friday, february 14th; age 14

after his apology, yeonjun made a conscious effort to spend more time with you, and as freshman year went on, it felt like you two were stuck together like glue again, most of your puberty-fueled middle school angst now behind you.

the last thing you needed, however, was sitting next to yeonjun while multiple girls tried to shoot their shot with him.

he grew up well in the past year, growing into the features that were once too big for him. he sprouted like a beanstalk until he stood at 5'11, taller than both the majority of your class and the upperclassmen. just like in middle school, he quickly rose to the top to become the campus' golden boy, star player of the baseball team, making varsity freshman year, and an impressive member of the dance team. it was no wonder girls fawned over him.

you chewed your sandwich as yet another girl approached yeonjun, sheepishly handing him an envelope and a box of chocolates before scurrying away. he glanced over at you, a smirk on his face, “we’re binging all of these after school, i hope you know.”

you clicked your tongue, the corners of your lips pulling up, “i figured. i can’t believe so many girls decided to do that, you’re no heartthrob.”

“what, you don’t think i’m handsome?” he leaned his face towards yours, and you willed the heat rushing to your face away.

you shoved him away, fighting the urge to kiss his plump lips, “no, you ogre. get your smelly breath away from me.”

“rude,” he stuck his tongue out before returning his attention back to his own food. across from you, yeri arched an eyebrow, wordlessly judging you. you returned her expression with a half-hearted glare, no bite behind your gaze.

•

“just confess already,” yuqi said, chaeyoung and yeri cheering in agreement as you four walked to your final class of the day.

“and get rejected? and make things awkward? hell no,” you countered. “i’ll figure it out, just give me time.”

“you’ve had two years already,” yeri fired back, “don’t make me get chaeyoung to tell him.”

“do that and i’ll throw you in a ditch,” you smiled sweetly in reply, your eyes glinting with dangerous promise. they backed off after that, the four of you entering your art 1 class.

•

“okay, we mostly have reese’s, hershey’s chocolate, skittles, and starbursts,” yeonjun explained, spreading out his valentine’s candy stash on his family’s coffee table. he ended up getting more as the day went on, you honestly couldn’t believe it.

“y’know, if this is how valentine’s day is gonna go for you, then we’re gonna be friends for a long time,” you laughed despite the small ache in your chest.

“am i just a candy bank for you now? and we’ve already been friends for a long time, you nut, quit acting like we haven’t been,” he pouted, flicking your forehead lightly.

rrealization flickered across his face, “oh!” he dug through his backpack for a few seconds, pulling the usual pink box from one of the compartments, “here.”

“you never forget, huh?” you giggled, grabbing the candy from him before giving him his own box.

“i’ll never forget, dumb-dumb. now, which marvel movie do you wanna watch?”

saturday, february 14th; age 15

a party was the last place you thought you'd be on your fifteenth valentine's day.

it was being thrown by one of the juniors that lived in your neighborhood, one of the varsity baseball players. of course it was yeonjun who was invited, him being friends with the upperclassman, but he had decided that he needed to drag you along, too. it wasn't like you needed a car when it was that close to your house, anyway.

“why did i need to come with you, again? i’m sure you know enough people here,” you complained, dragging your feet behind the boy.

he glanced back at you, “today wouldn’t be the same without you here. it isn’t that scary, i promise.”

“sure it isn’t,” you mumbled, reluctantly following yeonjun to the kitchen. there weren’t that many sophomores here, mostly juniors and seniors, so you felt completely out of your element. the alcohol in the ice chest next to the kitchen counter freaked you out. this was not your scene, not in the slightest.

the first hour that passed was fairly uneventful, you sticking to yeonjun's side like a magnet in fear if losing him the dense crowd. for the nost part, you stood silently as he conversed with others, occasionally shooting him a small smile to let him know thay you were okay (you weren't really okay, but he didn't need to know that).

“yeonjun, hey!” you heard a voice call over the music booming throughout the house, interrupting your current conversation. it was lee minho, a junior on the basketball team, a point guard. everyone knew him for his handsome space and oddly kind nature, unheard of for someone from any of the popular sports teams. “we’re playing seven minutes in heaven down in the basement.” minho’s eyes trailed over to, a flirtatious smirk playing at his face while you felt like a deer in the headlights. “bring your friend, too. she’s cute.”

your eyes widened before you lowered your gaze down to your feet, finding the floor extremely interesting. you didn't catch the glare that yeonjun sent the older boy, nor the shit-eating grin minho sported before he sauntered off.

“sorry about him,” you heard yeonjun say, hiding his irritation with a small smile, “he can be a bit...forward, sometimes.”

you awkwardly chuckled, “uh, don’t worry about it. it’s not like you can control him.” your fingers found his forearm, “now come on, let’s go play. it sounds kinda fun.”

his eyes nearly bulged from his skull, “you wanna go play seven minutes in heaven? you? who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“quit acting so shocked before i change my mind and leave your sorry ass at this party,” you pouted, dragging him towards the steps that lead down to the basement. you found a spot next to each other in the large circle that had formed on the floor, an empty beer bottle in the center. juniors and seniors made up most of the people in the circle, only a few kids your age sprinkled in.

“alright!” a girl you didn’t recognize yelled, clapping her hands to gather everyone’s attention. she must of have been a senior, or even a junior. “i’m sure most of you know how to play, but for the newbies…” — her eyes met yours knowingly, and you played with your fingers nervously as she looked away — “when it’s your turn, spin the bottle. whoever it lands on is who you’re spending seven minutes with in there.” a manicured finger pointed towards the closet on the wall to your right.

“now, who wants to go first?”

“i will,” a random girl offered, scooting forward to spin the bottle. a few whoops rounded the room as it landed on one of the popular seniors who looked as high as a kite. your nose scrunched up.

the first couple rounds, each couple stumbled from the closet with dazed eyes and crumpled clothes. you were nervous to be picked.

“hey, you,” a girl, who honestly looked a little buzzed, pointed towards you, “you should spin.”

oh no.

you averted your panicked eyes towards yeonjun, his whole face screaming concern.

“you can say no,” he murmured, and you almost took him up on his offer, but after a few moments you shook your head.

“i’ll do it.”

you tentatively crawled forward, hands shaking a little as you spun the bottle. it spun around one, two, three, four times...then stopped. you looked over to where the neck of bottle had stopped.

it pointed at minho.

a bright grin lit up his face, standing up before making his way over to you. he extended a hand towards your shocked form still sitting on the floor. you took his hand slowly as he spoke, “hey, what a coincidence! i had a feeling it would land on me.”

you smiled nervously in response, allowing him to pull you over to the closet. the girl that had spoken earlier shoved you two inside with a shot in one hand and slammed the door shut, making you jump.

“your time starts now!”

you leaned against the wall opposite of him. the air inside the closest was musty, but at least it didn't smell like the air outside the small space. it was mostly dark, the light from the basememt outside streaming through the bottom of the door. you could barely make out minho's features.

“y/n.”

your head shot up, your arms protectively wrapped around your torso. you were nervous, that much he could tell, and he didn't want to force you into anything you didn't want to do. that wasn't what he was here for.

“we don’t have to do anything, alright? we can just sit in here until time is up,” he offered.

you stayed silent, weighing your options. you could kiss him, you could have a good time and forget about everything for seven minutes. you could temporarily forget about your stupid feelings and kiss a guy who thought you were cute. you liked yeonjun, sure, but if nothing was going to come from your unrequited feelings, then was kissing lee minho so bad?

you thought not.

“what if i want to do something?” you countered, taking an uncharacteristically bold step forward. he smirked, his hands coming to wrap around your waist to pull you flush against him.

“then i have no problem indulging you.”

then, his lips were on yours. you had kissed a couple boys before, sure, but this was different. it wasn't sloppy or hungry, but slow, patient. he was testing the waters with you, seeing what you liked and allowing you to set the pace. the whole thing surprised you, given that he was a teenage boy.

you shifted forward, pressing your lips harder against his. he easily matched your fervor, hands squeezing your waist every few seconds before his hands traveled lower to your hips. he pulled away from your lips, asking if it was okay. you replied with a breathy ‘mhm’ before leaning back up again.

after a few more minutes of locking lips with the boy, he broke apart, his lips traving to the column of your throat to nip and suck at the sensitive skin there. this was the farthest you had ever gone with a boy, but you didn't want him to stop. his lips made you forget about everything, even the boy sitting outside who you were honest-to-god in love with.

“time’s up!”

you broke apart immediately, patting at your hair to make sure it you didn’t look like too much of a mess. you walked out of the closet first, eyes dazed and a few red marks marring the skin of your neck, minho cockily trailing behind you. he grabbed your wristt before you could head back to your seat, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “can i get your number?”

you nodded silently, your face as hot as an inferno as you plugged your number into his phone. he grinned as you handed it back to him, “thanks, cutie.”

“y-you’re welcome,” you mumbled before running back to your spot. yeonjun looked annoyed, lips pursed and brows pulled together in a frown as you sat down next to him.

“did you just give him your number?” he questioned, his knuckles white from gripping the carpet below.

“uh, yeah. why?” you asked with a dopey smile, still in a daze. “he’s cute. and nice.”

he suddenly stood up, dragging you up with him. he pulled you upstairs until you stood in the chilly night air, the stars above shining bright. his hands found your shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“he’ll use you. you don’t know how he is,” he gritted out, sharp eyes cutting into your form.

your own eyes narrowed, yanking your form from his grip, “you don’t know that. why are you being so protective all of a sudden?”

“because you’re my best friend!” he cried, “i’m supposed to protect you from boys who want to use you, minho is just another one of those boys!”

“you know what, yeonjun? you don’t need to protect me. i can talk to whoever i want, and if i get hurt, then i get hurt. don’t try to tell me i should stay away when a someone finally takes interest in me,” you seethed, having no idea why he was acting like this. you turned away, walking down the driveway as you called behind you, “i’m going home. don’t follow me.”

he stared in anger at your retreating form, the put in his stomach widening the farther you walked away from him. he sat down on the porch, his head in his hands. why in the hell was he so mad? minho wasn't even the worst guy you could be with. he stared at the pavement, thoughts bouncing around in his head.

and then it hit him.

choi yeonjun was in love with you, his best friend, and he couldn't even do anything about it. you didn't like him like that, there was no way.

(oh, how oblivious could he be?)

•

you heard a knock on your door as it neared 11 o'clock at night. your parents were asleep upstairs, so you doubted that they heard. though your frustrated tears were now dry on your face, you had turned off your phone earlier, not wanting to talk to anyone right now.

you frowned. who could it be at this hour?

you stood on your tiptoes as you cautiously glanced through the peephole, finding nothing but a box of candy hearts sitting on your doormat.

you opened the door quickly snatching the box before locking the door again. a message was written on the side.

'i'm sorry for being an asshole. forgive me?

- yeonjun'

despite the small crack in your heart, you willed yourself to smile.

sunday, february 14th; age 16

“quit groaning, you’re distracting me from cramming hess’s law into my brain,” you shot a half-hearted glare at the boy currently sprawled across your bed.

he groaned again just to annoy you, so you threw a pencil at him. he glared.

“honestly, who the hell plans a test for the day after valentine’s day? an ap chem test at that? it’s like mrs. kim wants us to die,” he groaned, despite your complaints just a couple minutes earlier.

“she does, you idiot. haven’t you seen the looks she’s given our class? she despises us.” your hands combed through your messy hair in frustration.

“you’re right,” he mumbled before he slammed his face into your bed sheets, papers sprawled all around him. “i’m never gonna get these concepts before tomorrow morning.”

“should’ve done the work then,” you replied, trying to go back to the practice worksheet you were attempting to complete.

he imitated you, so you rolled your chair over so you could slap him. “quit being salty.”

“i’m not!” he whined, burying his head in your sheets again.

you rolled your eyes, standing up and shoving him over. you laid on your stomach next to him, gathering his worksheets and quizzes up before starting to explain each one.

he shouldn't have been so affected by the proximity, you had been closer before. he stared at you in wonder as you passionately explained the concepts, going through each problem and pointing out the small mistakes he had made on his quizzes. you were so beautiful to him, and smart, and funny, and cute, and-

“are you even listening?” your voice snapped him from his daze, the realization that he had been staring at you with hearts in his eyes for the past five minutes.

he felt the tips of his ears turn red as he stumbled over his words, “of c-course i was!”

“then what did i just say?”

“uh…”

“that’s what i thought.” you rolled off your bed, your heart pounding after catching him staring at you. your hands rested on your hips as you spoke, “come on, we’re gonna fail anyway. let’s just go eat candy and watch movies.”

“bet,” he replied, sliding off of your bed as well, following you down to your living room.

•

it neared ten p.m. when you fell asleep, your head slowly falling to the side until it rested on his chest. he nearly choked on the starburst sitting in his mouth at the position, your arms subconsciously wrapping around his torso to pull his warm body closer to you.

he looked down at your sleeping face, lips parted slightly, your eyelashes brushing against your cheeks. you looked like an angel, he thought, a beautiful little angel. you had his heart beating a million miles a minute. he was glad you were sleeping because you wouldn't be able to hear it.

“god, i’m so fucked,” he mumbled quietly, making sure to not wake you up.

tuesday, february 14th; age 17

to yeonjun: hey, sorry that i can't hang out today :( gotta spend it with the boyf. happy friendaversary, tho, i left something on your porch !

you felt a little regretful sending that text, but hey, your priorities currently laid with your boyfriend. your sweet, tall boyfriend, the ultimate gentleman, jeong yunho. he would be here in a few minutes, whisking you off to a picnic dinner.

you met yunho in your english class this year, immediately taking a liking to his goofy personality. it didn't take long for him to ask you out and for you to say yes.

(little did you know, watching the enture ordeal broke yeonjun's fragile heart.)

“hey, baby,” he smiled as you opened the door, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before guiding you to his car.

the date was nice enough, but something felt...off. it didn't feel right to spend the day without yeonjun, and while you liked yunho, it just wasn't the same. you wanted to run to yeonjun's house and watch movies with him, eat chocolate, complain about teachers…

fuck.

you didn't think you could date yunho anymore, and the box of candy hearts waiting for you on your porch when yunho dropped you off was a heartwrenching reminder of that fact.

wednesday, february 14th; age 18

this valentine's day wasn't a fun one. why?

four words: yeonjun had a girlfriend.

okay, it was freshman year of college, you should have expected it when he was that god damn handsome and charming. he could probably get any girl he wanted. you own relationship hadn't worked out once the realization of a long-distance relationship after graduation hit you and yunho, so you were left alone this holiday.

you couldn't hate lee mina. she was way too nice, never mean to you, pretty, thin, perfect. they looked wonderful together. there was nothing wrong with their relationship, and you could never come between them, that went against your morals, no matter how jealous you were that she had the privilege to kiss him, to hug him, to do everything you had always wanted to do with him since the seventh grade. however, you couldn't lie to yourself, it hurt like a bitch.

your roommate tried cheering you up, but had given up when she realized that you wouldn't budge, leaving you to wallow in your bed for the day. with no classes today, you allowed yourself to.

a buzz from your phone had you groaning, not wanting to speak with anyone at the moment. you felt gross, you probably looked gross, and mentally just out of it. all because of a boy. what ever had happened to your 'men ain't shit' philosophy?

apparently he was an unfortunate exception.

you tapped the screen to life, finding a text from the man who inadvertently caused most of your struggles.

'from yeonjun: hey, happy friendaversary. i left you ur usual outside your dorm. maybe we can hang tomorrow?'

you shut the screen off, dragging yourself out of your bed just long enough to snatch the small box outside of your door. the box had shrunk significantly since you were seven years old, you deduced.

“stupid greedy companies making everything cheaper,” you grumbled to yourself, shuffling back to your bed. you’d have to give him his gift tomorrow, you guessed.

valentine's day really wasn't that cool, you had to agree with your seven year-old self again.

thursday, february 14th; age 19

him and mina didn't last long, and while you felt a little bad, you couldn't deny that you were happy with the outcome. he was back in your dorm within a month. she had cheated on him, that conniving bitch. you concluded that your horrible person radar was a bit rusty.

you sat at your vanity, dolling yourself up despite knowing that yeonjun couldn't care less what you looked like. you weren't sure what had gotten into you, nor did your roommate, lia. she knocked on your open door, making your glance over at her.

“you look nice. you sure this isn’t a date?”

“very, we’re just friends,” you replied, carefully applying some mascara without stabbing either of your eyes. thank god. “there’s no way he’d ask me out.”

“i’d say otherwise,” she countered, now leaning against the doorframe, “he literally has heart eyes for you whenever he’s over here. he barely even acknowledges me!”

“quit lying to my face,” you mumbled, throwing on a baby pink cardigan, “he doesn’t have hearts in his eyes for anyone, including me.”

“well a little birdy — well a gigantic birdy — soobin, his roommate, yeah? he told me he’s in love with you.” chaeyoung still lived with you, too, passing by to offer words of agreement, supporting lia’s claim. she apparently had heard the same thing.

“well, soobin’s a liar too, then.”

a knock on the front door stopped her from remarking on anything else, giving you a knowing look before walking off, “if i were you, i’d confess tonight.”

you rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond. you opened the front door, finding yeonjun with his freshly-dyed silver hair styled up, wearing a hoodie and jeans, his normal pair on converse on his feet.

“hi, you look- wow,” he stuttered, his usual confident persona shattered into pieces at the sight of you, a flustered mess taking his place.

you laughed, “you look pretty wow yourself.”

•

he had kept what he had planned a secret, staying silent when you prodded him, asking where you were going. he simply smiled in response no matter how hard you flicked him.

you hadn't even noticed he had taken you to a secluded hillside until he had parked the car.

“are you gonna murder me?” you teased, making him shove at your shoulder.

“if i wanted to kill you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

“how comforting.”

he laid a blanket out to sit on, the sky a dark expanse above you. the stars were fully visible tonight, twinkling against the dark background.

“i thought this would be something cool to do,” he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “we can always go ba-”

“absolutely not, i love it!” you exclaimed, plopping down on the blanket. a fond smile painted his lips as he sat down next to you.

you spent hours laying next to each other, pointing out different constellations to each other. he had always known more than you, and he liked to show that off.

as soon as you ran out of constellations, you looked over at him, willing yourself to just confess already. you took a deep breath.

“uh, i-”

“look, a shooting star!” he pointed up towards the sky. a flash of green and purple streaked across the sky, disappearing as quickly as it came. you felt all of your confidence leave your body, no longer hyped up enough to confess.

a few minutes of comfortable silence filled the air, neither of you finding any words to say. he broke the silence first.

“y/n, i just wanted to tell you that-”

the sound of a nearby police siren cut him off. both of you shot up, turning around to find a police car right behind you.

“what are you kids doing up here?”

you glanced at each other, then back the officer, then back at each other before bursting into boisterous laughter.

your confession may not have gone all too well, but the puzzled look on the police officer's face made up for it.

friday, february 14th; age 20

another year, another headache.

the courage to confess never returned. you never figured out what he was going to say to you that night. eventually, it slipped your mind entirely. and so you were back at square one.

a platonic day with yeonjun wasn't so bad, right?

wrong. your chest still ached, the friendly affection between you two hurting more than helping.

maybe next year you would get the guts to confess.

sunday, february 14th; age 21

your final valentine's day in college was spent with your friends, in your apartment.

soobin sat in the armchair, beomgyu, taehyun, and kai bickered on the floor, lia and chaeyoung on one couch, yeonjun and you taking the second couch, leaned comfortably against each other. you had ended up in that position after the first movie, your tired selves naturally gravitating to each other like magnets. the others had vehemently teased you for it, but you two hadn't cared.

until now, at least.

it started out as innocent conversation as everyone grew bored of the current movie. the rom-com was kai's idea, but even he disliked it. so all of you began to talk about different couples on campus, both actual and hypothetical.

“there’s a guy in my sculpting class that looks at this one girl like she’s a goddess, it’s crazy. it’s painful to watch them skirt around each other every day,” you sighed, mindlessly snuggling further into yeonjun’s chest.

“it’s like you two,” taehyun pointed out. suddenly, the fatigue drained from your body, shooting up to stare at yeonjun. his cheeks were flushed a tomato red, wide eyes unable to look at you. instead, he looked down at the ground. you had never seen him this flustered. you couldn’t laugh when you were just as panicked.

soobin chuckled, “yeah, you guys are so obvious. best friends, really? just date already.”

chaeyoung and lia stared at you in amusement, basking in your utter embarrassment. tears welled in your, which only happened when you reached peak embarrassment. you stood up abruptly, everyone halting their laughter as soon as they saw the tears streaming down your face.

“i can’t stay here,” you choked out, bolting from the living room to your room.

“y/n-”

the door slammed before chaeyoung could finish her sentence, a tense silence filling the room at your absence.

everyone looked towards yeonjun, who still sat on the couch, completely shell-shocked.

“yeonjun,” chaeyoung called.

he snapped out of his daze, finally focusing on chaeyoung. he looked helpless, lost, he had no idea what to do after you stormed out with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“go talk to her. tell her how you feel before you lose her.” it felt like eighth grade all over again, chaeyoung giving him advice and him having to fix the situation with you.

he stood up silently, making his way to your room. he knocked.

“y/n?”

your door opened slowly, just a crack, until your bloodshot eyes were visible. he gently pushed the door open enough to make his way inside. he immediately engulfed you in a hug, allowing you to sob into his hoodie. he smelled of lemons and lavender, the scent had always calmed you down, and now was no exception. it only took a few minutes for you to stop crying.

he cupped your face gently in his hands, “no more crying, please. i’m so fucking in love with you, i have been since we were fifteen.”

“you what?” you nearly choked, voice cracking.

“what?” he panicked.

“you’ve loved me since fifteen? are you kidding? i’ve loved you since we were fucking twelve,” you giggled hysterically, tears welling in your eyes once more, but not in sadness or embarrassment.

he laughed in dsibelief, “god, we’re so stupid.”

“absolute clowns,” you added.

“indeed.” he grinned as wide as possible, the weight that had been weighing on his shoulders finally lifted. “at least i can finally do this.”

his lips crashed into yours in a amalgamation of hunger, passion, the years of pent up feelings finally pouring out like a broken damn. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, your bodies molded into each other like matching puzzle pieces. and that was what you were, pieces of the puzzle that had finally fit together, found each other despite all of the struggles in through your lives. the ups and downs of life could never truly break you two apart.

you could proudly say you were in love with your best friend, your soulmate, the man that knew you best.

and it all started with a box of candy hearts, signed with a sloppy message asking to be friends.

taglist: @hwaddict @jiminaaaahhhh @yeonbear0304 @jjuniefiles

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Let Them Talk

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female) ft. Sykkuno

Warnings: Swearing, Jealousy

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: We can all agree Among Us is a fun game on its own but what makes it ten times better is playing it with the right company. Y/N could agree 100% Being a streamer herself, she loves playing with the streamer gang that includes her boyfriend and best friend. But, what happens when her boyfriend starts doubting her feelings for him due to her close relationship with her best friend.

Requested by @cheetoscat . Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, I hope the final product is worth the wait. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Y/AU/N - Your Among Us Name

I settle in my gaming chair, adjusting my webcam one last time before joining the Among Us lobby with my friends.

“Hi everyone!“ I say into the mic, a smile plastering itself on my face. Discord is a magical thing, man. It’s so easy to forget that the people you are talking to aren’t around you or within arm’s reach. You could be separated by miles and miles of land or - in our case - oceans as well. Distance becomes negligible when you hear your friends’ voices, their laughter; when you have a good time together despite being each behind a screen, often times alone.

Well, I’m one of those lucky ones that isn’t alone. No one knows that, though. Everyone thinks I’m a single, self-employed girl that’s straight out of college. And they are 90% right. Only thing is - I’m not single. That would be a shocker in and of itself, but revealing who’s changed my relationship status would be a bomb with a whole new intensity.

Speaking of my significant other who shall remain unnamed - just kidding, it’s Corpse - his form materializes in the doorway of my recording room. I give him a hand signal the camera isn’t able to capture, alerting him of the fact that my mic is on. He replies by blowing me a kiss and walking off down the hall to his recording room where he’ll be stationed for the next three or so hours.

I owe this relationship to my best friend Sykkuno. I’m a pretty new and not very well known on the platform, however, thanks to him I haven’t only obtained a boyfriend, but a following of a little over million subscribers as well.

It all started with an invitation to fill a spot in the Among Us lobby him and his friends had created. It took him quite a bit to convince me to join, but I eventually caved and agreed. Suddenly, there I was. In a Discord call, in an Among Us lobby with some of the most well-known names on this platform. I’m talking YouTube legends. I was that puppy playing with the big dogs. The newbie tagging along with the big leagues. Or at least that’s how I felt until we all started vibing - talking and teasing each other as though we’ve known each other for years and not minutes.

When I joined the call, Corpse wasn’t present. After everyone else introduced themselves, Sykkuno informed me that we were waiting for Corpse to return. The name sounded really cool to me and I was genuinely very excited to meet this Corpse guy.

And then, out of the blue - no prep, no warning...

“Did you get someone to fill the spot? Oh- Hello, Y/AU/N.“

…he started talking and he had me star-struck. Apparently, he also had me a blabbering mess cause I remember blurting out: “Whoa, who’s this guy speaking in bold and underlined at the same time?”

The entire lobby, including Corpse, laughed. Sean, or Jack like they called him most often, answered my question, “That is the voice of God, Y/N. Its source is named Corpse, though.”

Heat spread from the bottom of my neck to the tips of my ears. I was mortified by my own stupidity. I was well aware they couldn’t see me and I was incredibly thankful for that, but I simply could not get myself to open my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I said through nervous laughter.

“No, no, I like that description. Bold and underlined at the same time, huh?“ His voice sounded even more pleasant when it had that teasing, mischievous note to it. That thought popping up in my head only made things worse for my self-esteem and only made me more embarrassed, causing me to hide my face in my hands. “You sure it’s not in Italics as well?“

His question got a weak laugh out of me. “Nope, definitely not. Nothing Italic about it.“

Yes, I don’t even know how some terrible jokes about MS Word fonts got me as far as a romantic relationship, but they did! We’ve been living together for quite some time now, dating for even longer - hiding it just as long. It’s not that we have been actively trying to hide it or something, we just wanted to see how long it would take someone to become sus of us. When we realized no one would notice, we decided that if any rumors about us started, or even fans shipping us, we’d come clean. That hasn’t happened either, so we haven’t had the proper chance to address our relationship and neither of us minds.

At this point, I’m honestly afraid of revealing it to the gaming squad. Sykkuno especially. He’s my best friend, after all. I can see him being hurt by the fact that I kept a secret so big even from him. The last thing I wanna do is hurt my best friend but it’s already too late for that, it’s inevitable.

“Y/N have you looked at Twitter today?“ Rae, another streamer I’ve become close with over the months, says urgently.

Overlooking the tension in her words, I answer: “Nope, haven’t had the time. Why? What’s up?“

Before Rae can say anything else, Sykkuno joins the conversation, his voice somehow even more urgent than Rae’s. “It’s nothing, Y/N. If you see it, just don’t let it bother you, ok?”

Hearing such a tone from Rae isn’t unusual, but hearing it from Sykkuno is completely different and a lot more worrisome. “Well if it has the potential of bothering me it can’t be nothing. What’s going on?”

Just then, my phone dings with two notifications. I check to see they are messages from Rae.

“I sent you screenshots. Sorry, Sykkuno. She has to know in order to address it and defuse it as well. I know better than anyone how fast these rumors can spread, especially if no one reacts to them.“ She says, her tone barely apologetic at all.

I open the screenshots she has sent me and I find myself frozen in shock. Some old pictures of Sykkuno and I have been posted on Twitter by some random user. These pictures have started an entire thread of suspicions surrounding our relationship.

The pictures in question are from a New Year’s Eve party a mutual friend of ours held two years ago. Sure, in the pictures we are a lot closer than what would be considered a platonic proximity. And yes one of the pictures is of me kissing his cheek. Yes we were both a bit tipsy. I acknowledge all those things and yet none of them are concrete reasons for these rumors to have started piling.

“This is silly.“ I finally say after maybe five minutes of silence on my end. ”This is absolutely ridiculous! And why are people so serious about it as well? Actual, important matters get discussed more nonchalantly than the potential relationship between two online personalities! What is this world we live in?“ I know I shouldn’t let these rumors get to me like this, especially not on camera. Still, I can’t help it. I feel it’s so unfair to Corpse. He has to put up with this as well and it’s by no means easy for him. I’ve been shipped with people from our group in the past and he always took those rumors to heart despite acting like he didn’t care. Neither of us should get worked up, but him getting upset about them creates a domino effect with my emotions - causing me to be hit just as hard as him, in some cases harder.

Rumors of the past aside, this one is the worst by far. Mostly cause even Corpse himself suspected something between Sykkuno and I at the very beginning, when we were still acquaintances, barely crossing into the realm of friends.

I pull up Twitter to look for the whole thread, barely sparing my stream chat a glance in the process. It seems pretty split - those who agree with me and those who think Sykkuno and I make ‘such an adorable couple’. The thread is ridiculously long, and if we take into account that it was only started approximately five hours ago, you can either view it as impressive, amusing or sad. Why sad? Because someone has dedicated so much time and effort into fueling the fire of a weakly supported theory.

I love Sykkuno with all my heart. Everyone knows that - fandom, streamer squad, Corpse and Sykkuno included. I love too much and too platonically to ever even dream of having a romantic connection with him. I thought that was more than obvious, but people are either blind here, or just grasping at straws. One thing’s for certain - they’re stepping on a nerve.

“Hey where’s Corpse? Did he disconnect?” Felix asks, gaining my full attention. My eyes dart to the monitor, searching through the little avatars in a desperate search for the one of my boyfriend. It’s nowhere to be found.

“He just messaged me saying his connection is unstable but he might join us later.“ Rae says, “You guys can invite someone to fill...“

“Bathroom break.“ I interrupt, not waiting for a response before shutting my mic off, putting the ‘BRB‘ graphic on my stream and yanking the headset off. I basically run down the hall to Corpse’s recording room, my heart pounding like a bass drum.

“Corpse?!“ I call out to him, one hand already on the doorknob. When five seconds pass by without a response, I barge in.

Inside, I find his usual spot on the gaming chair empty and his slumped figure seated on his bed.

“Corpse?“ I try again, watching for even the tiniest change of body language. He remains still as a statue, not bothering to look up at me either.

His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hanging low. His eyes are covered by the short curtain of his dark messy curls. I can’t gauge much. Is he angry? Is he sad? Both? How should I approach the situation?

Before I find the answer to any of those questions, I am kneeling in front of him, our height difference eliminated. I gently pry his hands off the mattress and take them in mine, holding them firmly but tenderly. With one hand I reach up to tilt his head so his eyes can meet mine. He complies, his tear-filled brown orbs meeting mine. Those tears have the same effect on me as fifty sharp knives stabbing into my chest. These tears focus their attack straight on my heart, tearing it to pieces.

“Baby....“

He cuts me off, “Why is it always someone else, huh? Do they deem me not worthy of being with you? Do they think you deserve better?” His voice wavers, “Well, they might be right. They are correct and there’s little I can do to prove them wrong. They mean you well, Y/N - pairing you with guys better than me. Those are some loyal fans you’ve got. They only want what’s best for you. And so do I. If ‘best’ is being with someone else then...”

It’s my turn to cut him off. I put an end to his nonsense ramble that’s slowly killing me by pressing my finger against his lips. The sternness of my gaze is beyond me as I get up and walk over to his computer setup. I put on his headset and hop into the call as well as the lobby with his avatar.

“Hey Corpse’s back!” Toast says, “Good to have you back buddy.”

“No, not Corpse.” I say in a casual, nonchalant voice.

“Wait, wha-“ Sean’s voice shows just how confused he is, representing the confusion of the entire lobby actually.

“I know all of you are streaming so this message will be heard by several different audiences so I’m gonna make myself perfectly clear.“ I take a deep breath, “Sykkuno and I aren’t dating. He’s a lovely guy and he deserves to find a girl who will treat him right. That girl isn’t and won’t be me though. I am already treating someone right. Someone who treats me more than right as well. An amazing person. A man-child with a heart of gold. You know him, to a certain extent. He goes by the name of Corpse Husband, but I prefer to call him ‘Love of my life’. Thank you for your time and attention, goodbye.“

I exit the call and turn around to find a stunned Copse looking at me.

“That was meant for you just as much.“ I say with a fake strict attitude, one hand on my hip the other rested on his desk behind me, “Were you listening?“

Within milliseconds, he’s on his feet standing directly in front of me, his lips inches away from mine. “I heard and memorized every word. But...” he pauses for a moment, “I think you have no idea how big of a chaos you just created.”

I smile mischievously, “We’ll worry about that later. For now...” I close the gap between us, connecting our lips in a sweet and passionate kiss.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @the-fuck-up-of-today @slashersdream @chiefwombathoagiepizza @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01

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celestialtitania · 4 years ago

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it's always you (part 6)

Written for Day 12: Cuddles of Marichat May, Can also read on AO3.

@marichatmay

Chat rolled out of the way as Gigantitan nearly stepped on him. He winced as he slammed into a falling car, only managing to extend his baton in time to keep the car from completely crushing him.

"Chat!" Ladybug called, her voice sounding frightened.

"I'm okay!" He called back, gingerly picking himself up. He went to retrieve his baton and felt as though someone was stabbing him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop to his knees with a guttural cry.

"Chat!" Ladybug was by his side in an instant, rapidly spinning her yoyo to keep them safe from any projectiles thrown their way. "Are you okay?"

"I think I broke my arm," he gritted his teeth. "I'll be okay, tell me what you need, LB."

She tossed him an incredulous stare. "I need you to stay safe." She bit her lip, looking slightly unsure. "Did you break the arm with the Cataclysm?"

"No, thankfully it was just the other arm."

She gave a quick glance around. "Okay, on my signal cataclysm the Eiffel Tower." He nodded, cradling his broken arm, he jumped to the foot of the Eiffel Tower, as Ladybug called her Lucky Charm.

Chat caught her eye just as Ladybug dove between Gigantitan's legs holding what appeared to be a cape. Frowning in confusion but having complete trust in every one of Ladybug's crazy plans, he tapped the Eiffel Tower with the swirling black energy from his Cataclysm.

The tower turned to rust and began to creak as it began its steady descent downwards. Meanwhile, Ladybug had turned the cape into streamers to distract Gigantitan. He had just raised his arms to grab the streamers, when the Eiffel Tower crashed down on him, effectively trapping him.

With Gigantitan unable to move and his hands trapped, Ladybug was easily able to grab his bracelet. She broke the akumatized object and immediately called for her Miraculous Ladybug afterwards, catching Baby August before he got hurt.

Chat felt the cloud of red ladybugs circle his arm and let out a sigh of relief as the pain vanished. He gave his shoulder an experimental roll, grinning when it moved without causing him any pain.

"Kitty!" Ladybug crashed into him, giving him a giant hug. Despite himself, Chat's heart still lurched forward causing him to struggle to hug her back. Not that it mattered, with her pulling away just as quickly.

She gently laid a hand on his arm with her thumb idly stroking his arm making knots twist in his stomach. "It's okay now, thank goodness," she cried in relief.

"Y-yeah, the Cure is great," Chat grinned, taking a step backwards as he spoke. He'd hoped to do it casually but considering the hurt look that had appeared on Ladybug's face, he had failed to do so.

The worst part was that he didn't want to hurt her. But being so close to her wasn't good for his heart and besides, he'd promised himself that he would do everything to keep Marinette from getting hurt.

He pointed at her earrings instead. "Your time's about to run out, Bug." She blinked, just as the loud beep was heard.

"You're right. I'm glad you're okay now, Kitty," she smiled at him before swinging away. He watched until her form was just a dot on the horizon before leaping away to find his own hiding place.

Ducking into an empty alley, he released his transformation.

"Finally!" Plagg cried as he emerged, already looking for some Camembert. Adrien let Plagg eat for a few moments before speaking up.

"Hey, Plagg. I know it's been a long day, but do you mind letting me transform so I can go to Marinette's for a bit?"

Plagg made a face at him. "You've been spending a lot of time transformed, to be with your girlfriend."

"I'll get you three wheels of Camembert and one other type of cheese," Adrien offered.

Plagg narrowed his eyes at Adrien. "Oh, fine, but it better be quality cheese!" he threatened. Adrien grinned, calling for his transformation.

Chat Noir leaped over the rooftops, reaching Marinette's balcony in record time. He really hoped she was there as he dropped into her room.

Marinette swiveled around from working on her sewing machine, eyes widening as she saw Chat there.

"Hey!" She greeted him, hurrying towards him. Just the sight of her was enough to make his weariness disappear. She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The best part of being with Marinette was how loved she made him feel. He adored her. "Are you okay?" she fretted, looking him over for injuries. He tilted his head questioningly and she huffed at him. "I know you came here straight from the akuma attack, Chat."

He glanced at her monitor to see the news playing. "I'm fine, Princess. The Cure fixed me up, right as rain, like always."

"I know it does, but I still hate it when you get hurt," Marinette hugged him again.

"Hey, I know you're probably busy with a new project but can we just watch a movie together or something?" Chat asked hopefully, his heart hammering in his chest.

He would understand if Marinette rejected him for her work. It would hurt but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

Marinette squinted at him. "As long as we get to cuddle the whole time. I don't think I can handle letting you go just yet."

Her words caused a lump to form in his throat as he happily smiled at her. Chat's heart felt lighter, the tension draining from his shoulders.

He dragged her over to her chaise, snuggling into her side. "I don't need a movie, I'd rather just hug you too," he admitted. Marinette smiled at him, wrapping herself around him.

In each other's embrace, they felt safe and cared for. Letting his eyes slide shut, Chat could only think about how lucky he was for having Marinette's love.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #my fic #marichat may #marichat may 2021 #marichatmay2021 #day 12: cuddles #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #ladybug #adrien agreste #ml plagg #ladynoir #marichat #fluff #hurt/comfort #chat gets hurt again #it's always you

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laurelsofhighever · 4 years ago

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Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #king alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #f!cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #queen cousland #the falcon and the rose #the mysterious falcon sequel #smoke and mirrors #guys it's happening

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cherry-valentine · 4 years ago

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Spring 2021 Anime Season

Mars Red is one of two series this season set in one of my favorite periods, the Meiji era. It’s a vampire series that deals a lot with the politics of war as the Japanese military is attempting to establish a vampire unit, supposedly to compete with the British vampire unit (because of course that’s a thing). It focuses on a human military officer named Maeda who is charged with recruiting and managing vampires. Maeda is the type of character I really enjoy. Handsome, a little older than most anime protagonists, chain-smoking, overly serious, and voiced by Junichi Suwabe (who has to have the sexiest voice in all of anime). The series has a classic, romantic feel to it. Its take on vampires is somewhat traditional (they evaporate in the sun, drink blood, sleep in coffins, have super strength and speed, etc.). If it brings anything new to the table, it’s the concept of vampires having different ranks, from S-class down, and how lower ranks naturally fear higher ranks. Still yet, the classic vibe works in the show’s favor. Combined with the historical setting, it gives the show a certain charm. The art is lovely, from the backgrounds to the character designs, and the music is a high point. It easily has the best ending theme of the season.

Fumetsu no Anata e (To Your Eternity) is a unique series. I’ve seen a lot of people comparing it to Mushishi, but with an overarching plot, and that assessment is pretty accurate. The show follows an entity that comes to be known as Fushi. It begins as an orb, and as it makes contact with other objects and creatures, it learns from them and can possibly take their forms. Among the forms it most often takes are a white wolf and a young man. Originally, it’s a somewhat empty shell, incapable of communicating, but as it meets different creatures and learns, it develops a personality and begins to speak. The series is, overall, about Fushi’s journey through this world and all the experiences it gains, both wonderful and tragic. There’s a subtle beauty to the series, with an early focus on nature, but it also has scenes of trauma and violence. The animation is fluid and the facial expressions are amazing. There’s an overall natural feel to it that, like others have pointed out, reminds me of Mushishi (though it’s definitely faster paced than Mushishi). The show also likes to make you cry, so keep that in mind.

Joran: The Princess of Snow and Blood is the other series set in the Meiji era this season, albeit an alternate version of it that has a strange form of technology. To be honest, I’m a little fuzzy on some of the details, but it seems to be about a group called the Nue who work for the government to fight against a growing rebellion. The main character is Sawa, a member of Nue who has some sort of special powers involving her blood, which allow her to transform and battle monsters, or whatever else stands in her way. Her goal is to get revenge for the death of her entire clan (implied to be wiped out because of their power). Sawa is a decent heroine, a woman who craves vengeance and is determined to get it through any means, but is, at her core, a compassionate person who would rather live in peace. It’s this internal conflict that makes Sawa compelling (even if it’s not entirely original). The other characters are interesting, particularly Tsuki, whom I won’t talk much about because it would involve spoilers. The plot and details can get a little convoluted, but the action and animation are solid. When Sawa transforms, the art style changes, and it’s a really cool visual effect. The music is also nice.

Shaman King received a remake this season. I was a huge fan of the original, and so far I’m enjoying the remake, but to be honest, I’m having trouble seeing the point. The art is almost the same (just a lot shinier), the voice actors are the same, the plot is the same. Maybe it’s just that it’s been so long since I saw the original, I’m unable to remember the details and so I can’t tell what’s different. But to me it feels like I’m just rewatching the show. Which is fine, because I loved it to begin with. Maybe it gets different later on. Maybe it more closely follows the manga. I’ll keep watching to find out. For anyone new to the series, it looks like the remake is a solid place to start if you want to get into it. I won’t go into plot details for a story this old, so I’ll just say it’s a top tier shounen fighting series with a unique art style and some very memorable characters. If you like that sort of thing, and missed the original (or you just want a refresher), definitely check it out!

Godzilla Singular Point is a true delight. I’m a huge Godzilla (and kaiju in general) fan. I’ve watched every single Godzilla movie, as well as all the related movies (the Mothra films, Rodan, etc.), but I never watched the previous Godzilla anime that was on Netflix a few years ago. It just didn’t sound like something I’d like. Singular Point, however, is right up my alley. Set mainly in a small seaside town that’s suddenly attacked by bird-like monsters known as Rodans, we have two geeky protagonists using their intelligence to figure out what’s going on while more and more monsters appear. Mei and Yun are excellent heroes. They rely on their wits rather than physical strength, which is a refreshing approach. It’s also interesting that they have little to no face-to-face interaction. Instead, they chat with each other via text as they work separately. They often challenge each other with science questions. It’s adorable. The show’s overall feel is fairly upbeat and energetic. The colorful art and peppy character designs by Kazue Kato (who did Blue Exorcist) help with this feel. It should be noted that Godzilla himself doesn’t fully appear until halfway through the series. It says a lot about the quality of the show that I don’t actually mind that at all. Some of the science stuff does go over my head, but the general plot is easy enough to follow and the action is very well done. It also has fantastic music, with my favorite opening theme of the season. Even if Godzilla isn’t your thing, consider giving this series a shot if you like nerdy science types as heroes.

Burning Kabaddi is a sports anime about an unsual sport. I’d never heard of it before now, and if people in the comments were not talking about the very real sport, I would have assumed it was made up for the anime. The show is aware that the sport is obscure, so it takes great pains to explain the rules and details so that we can all follow the action. The story centers on Yoigoshi, a soccer prodigy who decides to drop all sports once he gets to high school due to all the drama and angst that surrounded him (mostly due to his teammates being jealous of his talent), and pursue a career as a streamer. All the various sports clubs at the school want to recruit him (especially the soccer club, of course) because they’ve heard of his skill and he has an athletic build. He rejects them all, but the Kabaddi club is strangely relentless. He ends up being manipulated into joining (the vice captain of the team straight up blackmails him by threatening to show his online streaming account to the whole school). Despite this rocky beginning, Yoigoshi actually starts to enjoy playing Kabaddi, and more importantly, begins to bond with his new teammates. It’s pretty fun stuff that doesn’t take itself too seriously. The art is serviceable for a sports anime and the music is fine. The series isn’t going to blow your mind, but it’s a fun way to spend twenty minutes every week. Worth a watch if you have a weakness for hot blooded sports anime.

The World Ends With You finally got its anime adaptation and I was so excited. The game is one of my all-time favorites. So far the anime is pretty good. The art is a near perfect replication of the bold, thick-lined art of the game. The battles are exciting and cool. Best of all, the anime often uses music from the game. This is important because the game has one of the best soundtracks, ever. Every time I recognize a song from the game, I almost squeal. If I had a complaint, it’s that the pacing feels a little off at times. It feels like the anime is rushing through the story, but that’s understandable. In the game, it took longer for everything to happen because you were walking from place to place, fighting battles along the way, stopping to scan NPC’s, shopping at stores, spending time in menus, etc. The anime has to cut most of that out, so naturally things are going to move faster. The result is that you don’t get to spend as much time with these characters, and so you feel less attached to them. Anyone watching the anime who didn’t play the game might feel like the emotional beats are lacking. I feel like this anime is definitely meant to be enjoyed by fans of the game, rather than newcomers to the story. But if you are a fan of the game? You should be watching this every week. It’s an excellent refresher on the story, just in time for the second game to come out this summer. Super high on my watch list.

Boku no Hero Academia has a new season. To be honest I don’t remember what number we’re on. This season, so far, focuses on a tournament-style competition between the two main hero classes. I would much prefer the plot to move on to something more exciting involving the villains, but I suppose they have to throw arcs like this in every so often just to remind everyone of which characters have which quirks. The plus point is that instead of being an individual competition, it’s team-based. What this ultimately means is that characters that are viewed as weaker or having more obscure quirks actually get a chance to shine. These are characters who definitely aren’t going to win one-on-one battles. In an individual tournament, it’s pretty much a given that characters like Deku, Bakugou, and Todoroki are going to win most of the matches. But in a team, everyone has to work together. The end result is that the lady characters, all of whom have fairly weak or situational quirks, finally FINALLY get to actually do stuff! Even better, in several of the match-ups, the girls have taken the lead in planning and strategizing. It’s been pretty nice to watch. The girls from the other class have been very proactive as well. I really wish the girls could do more in “real” battles with villains, since it’s clear that they can step up when they need to. Who knows? Maybe this is a sign of good things to come.

86 is a new mecha/sci-fi anime based on a series of light novels. The setup is fairly cool: In a country where everyone has silver hair and eyes, the people live in what looks like a utopia. There is a war going on outside their protected land but all combat is performed by automated robots, so there are no human casualties... or so the government would have the people believe. In reality, there is a district that exists on the outskirts of the country called 86, where people who don’t have silver hair and eyes are sent to pilot the robots and fight to protect the country that shunned them. Most of the pilots are children or teenagers. The mortality rate is high. Only a few people in the government know of their existence, mostly military types that include “handlers”. These handlers each take on an 86 unit and communicate with them through a system called “para-raid”. Using this, they monitor the battlefield from their safe positions and issue commands. Naturally, most handlers view their units as nothing more than tools in the war, and most 86-ers view their handlers as privileged snobs who know nothing of actual battle. The real plot kicks in when Lena, a young Major, becomes the new handler for a particular 86 unit. Lena is sympathetic to the people of 86, but it’s going to be hard getting her notoriously rough unit to accept her. The plot is a bit complicated and the show deals with some weighty themes (racism, privilege, war, child soldiers, death). Lena is a likable enough heroine and the members of 86 are all interesting and fairly well written. The music is fine. The art... well, it’s pretty to look at, but it feels a bit generic to me. A bit too shiny. The mecha designs are great, but I’m not crazy about the character designs, which feel like they could be from any other modern anime. I also find it sad but hilarious at the same time that the women’s military uniforms are clearly designed for fanservice (they include mini skirts, thigh-highs with garters, and a short jacket that opens up just above the chest to show the tight shirt underneath) while the men’s uniforms are just totally normal military wear. To be honest it’s just too stupid to actually be offensive, so it comes across as comical. Thankfully, the interesting setup and plot carry the show, making it good enough to overlook the generic visuals.

Moriarty the Patriot has a new season... maybe? I think it’s technically still season one, but with a split cour. Regardless, it feels like a new season so I’m treating it as such. The series focuses on famous Sherlock antagonist Moriarty, here represented as a trio of handsome brothers (though one of them is clearly the protagonist and the leader of the group) who work as “crime consultants” and basically help the lower classes wage class warfare against the nobility. This season shifts the focus away from the individual crimes Moriarty concocts and instead focuses on larger-scale conflicts that involve government conspiracies, corrupt cops, etc. We’re also treated to a lady James Bond (finally!), fixing one of the very few complaints I had about the first cour (that it lacked strong lady characters). The show remains very compelling, with beautiful art and excellent new opening and ending themes.

Best of Season:

Best New Show: Godzilla Singular Point

Best Opening Theme: Godzilla Singular Point

Best Ending Theme: Mars Red

Best New Male Character: Maeda (Mars Red)

Best New Female Character: Sawa (Joran)

#Anime Reviews #Spring 2021 Anime #Seasonal Anime Reviews #Seasonal Anime #Anime #Text #Godzilla Singular Point #Mars Red #moriarty the patriot #Fumetsu no anata e #Burning Kabaddi #86

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mariaiscrafting · 3 years ago

Note

You know, what think I like when you are critical of a content creator is that you know how to separate a fact from especulation, unlike a blog out there that took especulation as facts.

Example, that night when we were critical of Karl, or any instance you have discussed about him, a lot of anons were saying that he gave them clout chaser vibes to them, and despite your opinion, you expressed that those were only especulation and not the truth, and to keep that in mind. That's good critical thinking.

But this blog had some similar anons, saying that he only is friends with the Feral Boys gro clout- In fact, they said the Feral Boys were only in it to benefit from clout and money. And they took it as a truth. I know you instance on them is neutral, but come one, they are friends. All of them. Karl isn't friends with them for clout. Like today Karl was playing golf with salad gang plus Sapnap and George at first and then Quackity and Dream joined bc they had spared time and it all devolved into typical chaos (Poor Corpse and Tina and Brook, had to endure those children lol/lh /j). Like, the stream wasn't planned with the 5/5 yet they joined, missing Karl and just having fun.

Idk, I guess that blog's superiority (They were a SBI focused blog) just irritated me. It's as if they were putting both groups at each other as if those streamers aren't friends or close. They were singing prayers of one while shunning the other based from especulation. Criticissism is fine, in fact recommended to be critical of your interests, but taking rumors as facts to base your crit is yikes. It's as if I wanted to crit SBI and base it only of "Philza hanging only with people younger than him is kinda weird ngl.." or "Sbi doesn't care about Tommy cuz he joined late" like that dumb Tumblr post did or some fuckers in Twitter imply.

The main reason I take so much care to separate speculation from evidence-backed theories and confirmed truths is because I feel like that separation is what distinguishes us from mcyttwt the most. One of the main reasons for mcyttwt's toxicity, imo - for its relentless cancelling of everyone, for its bandwagon campaigns - is that people oftentimes criticize and defend based on their personal feelings rather than rationale or evidence.

For example, I complain a lot about Dream stans on here, but you know the reason I didn't stop watching Dream directly after the cheating scandal broke loose, even though I thought he cheated? Because of mcytblr Dream stans. Mcytblr Dream stans engaged with me in discussion, both publicly and in DMs, about the cheating scandal, and even those who eventually came to the conclusion that Dream didn't cheat accepted the facts and statistics they were given and kept a healthy skepticism throughout the process. On Twitter, Dream stans were defending him before he even made a video following up to the mods' initial accusations because they felt that Dream wasn't the kind of guy to lie or cheat. They were replying to screenshots of statistical analyses from subreddits and to articles from mathematicians and staticians with extremely reactionary responses because of that feeling, which they believed in so adamantly, they had accepted it as fact. The thing is, to believe that Dream didn't cheat in the face of all the statistical and rhetorical evidence to the contrary is, in itself, speculative. Usually we think of speculation as a baseless theory that something is a positive truth- that is to say, that something did happen. But speculation also applies to those theories of someone not having done something, when the opposite has been nearly proven to be true.

For this same reason, I chose not to ignore the anti-technotwt threads with screenshots of Techno's old tweets in them. For me to have simply ignored these screenshots and continued supposing that Techno never expressed bigoted beliefs and/or currently doesn't would have been speculative on my part, and to boot, blatantly wrong, given the evidence to the contrary.

People in this fandom, and in all RPF/RPF-adjacent fandoms need to understand that almost everything they believe about the CCs they watch is speculative, at least to some extent, because of the nature of the content they make. Even if someone, in your opinion, displays evidence of some aspect of their personality - whether that be some form of bigoted, sweet, rude, clout-chasing, or anything else - because of the extremely one-sided nature of sharing one's life through a screen, that theory of ours will almost alwyas only ever be speculation, not a solid conclusion that can be drawn. We will never know these people's true intentions behind something shared to us via the Internet.

That vagueness leads to virtually every viewer creating a different theory in our heads about the CCs we watch, and we can't treat those theories as facts, especially not when sharing them with the rest of a fandom. I'm not a very big blog, but I consider even over 50 followers to be way too many people to spread a theory too, without at least clarifying that what I'm posting is speculation. If I have evidence, I like to list it or, if I can, provide sources; but otherwise, I take care to qualify most things with phrases or disclaimers that will clue followers into the speculative nature of whatever it is I'm saying. This is because theories and "feelings" can blaze through a fandom like wildfire, especially somewhere like Twitter, where so many things are word-of-mouth or based on summary due to character limitation.

You know why mcyttwt was cancelling Andi? Only a handful of original Tweeters under the cancel Andi hashtags actually knew what clips or tweets to criticize her for, or tried to elaborate on that criticism. But because every other mcyttwt user was getting bombarded by their mutuals hate-posting about Andi on their TLs, the "negative feeling" towards Andi grew and grew, even if most people didn't even know what they were supposed to feel negative about, exactly. Our judgement works on a quick trigger on the Internet because of the amount of information we're receiving, and so, even a single bad word against someone you don't have too strong of an opinion on can fundamentally alter your perception of them, usually subconsciously. If the first thing you see about Andi, who you've only seen on a couple LOH's or a couple Punz streams before then, is a tweet along the lines of, "disappointed in Andi for her homophobia and joking about suicide," despite you having no context, you will most likely be pushed to the negative side of her. Thus begins the cycle of hatred, building up and up, leading to you searching for more and more criticism about Andi, whether speculative or not, until you solidly and genuinely believe she is a Horrible Person. It all starts with the vaguest fucking feeling, because that's all speculation has to go off of, and it snowballs into a fucking wildfire across an entire fandom. I'm not about to be another person to let feelings snowball and spread like that.

Now, I don't know what exact blog you're referring to, but as an adamant SBI enthusiast, let me flip the argument many SBI stans have for their speculation upon the genuity of Karl's friendship with the Feral Bois, onto SBI. What do we have to go off of for the genuity of SBI's friendship, anyways? Our perceived brother dynamic between Tommy and Wilbur could very well just be Tommy capitalizing on Wilbur's brand and continuing the charade until now because it's been profitable. Maybe Techno only continues to associate with SBI because he knows how much his fanbase likes headcanon'ing about SBI, so he puts up with streams with them so he can continue to feed his fanbase with dynamics he knows they're obsessed with. Maybe Phil would rather play MC with people his age, and actually dislikes that he's friends with a teenager, but sticks around because he profitted so much off of Dream SMP and SBI-related content. And what could any SBI stan have to argue with me on any of these theories? Just because SBI laughs around each other and seems fond of each other doesn't mean they're actually like that behind the cameras. They so seldomly stream or make videos together anymore, anyways, so maybe they've grown tired of keeping up the dynamic.

Everything I said could be interpreted as utter bullshit, and that's because it fucking is. I don't actually know what Techno wants to do with his life, or how Wilbur and Tommy actually feel about each other, or who Phil wants to fucking befriend. The same goes for Feral Boys. There's nothing wrong with stating your theories or speculation, but to treat them as fact or not at least qualify such posts with the fact that this is all based on your bias and opinion, and no substantive evidence, is irresponsible. Just because you feel like one or more of the Feral Boys is "clout-chasing" doesn't mean you have the right to tout that feeling as truth. I feel a lot of things about a lot of CCs, both negative and positive, but no matter how strong my feelings, unless they have substantive evidence backing them up, I have no right to treat them as facts with my followers.

#anyways this kinda went everywhere but oh well #discourse #fandom critical #karl jacobs #feral boys #mcyt #asks #uhhh yeah this isnt neg to any cc just to the way fandom will treat them

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yuthoe · 4 years ago

Text

Day 22: Reunion (MONSTA X: Yoo Kihyun)

TODAY'S LATE PROMPT FOR MTM IS:

Day 22: Fake Dating

ah yes, one of the favorite tropes in fanfic and i did not do it justice at all lmao. truthfully i was really excited about this, but the fic took a left somewhere and grew its own mind or smth. i think the poor writing is a combination of burnout and getting really distracted lmao.

tried to make kihyun the savage guy that he is, but still polite and considerate and i think i did that???? question mark???? please tell me what you thought about this lmao, i've never been to a high school reunion (except for my grandma's) and will never go to one anytime soon.

PAIRING: Yoo Kihyun x reader. GENRE: fic, fluff, mild angst. WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, swearing. WORD COUNT: 1,769.

---

“Act natural,” you say as you smooth down the lapels of your friend’s coat, dust some lint off the shoulders. “Like, just act like normal. We just have to say hi to a few people and then go after an hour or something.”

Kihyun is looking you over as well, straightening out the sleeves of your shirt and making sure your hair is nice and styled and perfect. “I’m taking that as a go signal to tease you in front of everyone then, gotcha.”

You roll your eyes and take his hand, tugging him towards the glass door of the events hall. “Very funny, but you know what? These people might buy it even more, so go ahead.”

He intertwines your fingers as he pushes the door open for you. There’s a smirk on his face that says you’re going to regret what you just said. “If you say so," he says, as you pull him along with you.

Everything is decorated like a senior prom from the early 2000s--balloons everywhere, streamers hung up on the walls, a disco ball suspended in the middle of the room. There's a stage set up at the far wall, and popular tracks from your high school days play softly on the sound system. People are already mingling, table hopping when they see a familiar face.

You go to the small registration booth off to the side, Kihyun in tow, and sign on the space next to your name, walking away quickly to find a table. It's easy to weave through the thin crowd to your spot, and thankfully no one goes up to talk to you as you settle in.

A relieved sigh escapes your lips as you deflate against the seat; Kihyun chuckles at the sight.

"Why are you so nervous? You were so confident when you asked me out,” he says, smirking at your flustered state.

“Hey,” you counter, sitting up straight and pointing at him. There’s a smile of embarrassment threatening to crawl up your face, but you force it down. “This isn’t a date. I didn’t ask you out—I respectfully asked if you could come with me to my high school reunion and pretend we’re dating. There’s a difference.”

He tilts his head and laughs. “Okay, fine, this isn’t a date. But you’re shaking like a hamster, dude. What’s got you so jittery?”

Before you can open your mouth to say something smart, a yell of your name behind you makes you stop. Suddenly a flurry of pink silk ruffles envelops you, cold metal bracelets press against your face and neck, and a tinnitus-inducing squeal is blasted in your ear.

“OMG, I can’t believe you made it!” The offending classmate plops down the seat beside you and… you can’t say you remember her. You know you have a questionable memory, but you can’t recall anyone with a scarily-toothy smile and long acrylic nails. “I was wondering if you were gonna show today, I missed you!”

You smile warily. “Yeah, I thought I’d stop by, just for a bi—,”

“And who is this with you?” she interrupts, gaze fixed on your friend now.

Kihyun still has a polite smile on, eyebrow raised and patiently waiting for you to introduce him. You meet his eyes and take a steadying breath.

“This is, uh. Kihyun. My boyfriend.”

Your batchmate immediately extends a hand out to him. “Hi there! I’m Danhee. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Kihyun grasps her hand and shakes it firmly. “Likewise.”

Danhee (apparently, that’s her name. Still doesn’t ring a bell.) turns back to you, props an elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand. “So what have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, you know, nothing much,” you say, twiddling your thumbs under the table. “Work’s keeping me busy, mostly. It’s pretty—,”

“Great! How’d you two meet?” Her eyes are sparkling, in that menacing way you’re familiar with when someone is hunting for gossip. “Probably work, right? I know Y/N isn’t that outgoing so I doubt—,”

“You know what, I’m gonna go get a drink.” You turn to Kihyun, desperate to get away. “You want a drink, Kihyun? Cool, I’ll get you something.” The chair screeches as you push away from the table and make a beeline for the buffet.

The air conditioning helps cool down your flaming face as you leave to get some reprieve from the suffocating air of the table. No matter how much you wrack your brain you can’t seem to remember anyone named Danhee; maybe she was in another class and part of the popular clique, a group you tended to stay away from.

You take a deep breath, surveying the array of finger food and wonder briefly what the main dishes are. The arrangement is no different from the ones you’ve seen at company parties—save maybe for the small picket signs that have slang from your high school days speared into some of the food. Despite looking delicious, you feel nauseous at the thought of taking a bite.

The drinks corner offers coffee, the kind that tries to pass off as Americano but ends up tasting more like candy because people keep putting too much sugar in it. It’s what you and Kihyun call “conference coffee” and shit on for the entirety of the conference you’re attending, even as you keep drinking it because there’s usually no other choice. Water is an option, as well as a fruit punch of some kind. If you’re being honest, you’d really like a beer right now, but you know the alcohol won’t come out until later.

In addition to the mound of paperwork you forced yourself to finish earlier, this week has just been plain exhausting. You’d hoped that coming to the reunion would help you relax, but apparently not.

Ice cubes clink as they go down the tall glasses. The coffee, however sugary it turns out to be, still smells heavenly and wakes you up some. You water both servings down a bit, if only to tamp down the syrupy sweetness.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. Kihyun moves into your line of vision, brows slightly scrunched. “You okay there?”

You don’t answer, thinking of words to say that won’t make you look pathetic in front of your work partner. You’re usually great at explaining and justifying your actions to your superiors, but words fail you this time.

So you just shrug and hand him his drink. “Can’t say for sure.” You take a sip and cringe; your mouth feels like it’s coated in a thick layer of sugar. Kihyun watches you and decides wisely to put his drink down, but pours two glasses of water.

“Do you know her?” he asks, concentrating on the drinks.

“Danhee? Nah. I mostly avoided her type back then. Being around them made me uncomfy.”

“‘Cuz she looks like a part of the Plastics from Mean Girls?”

You scoff. “No,” you say, but smile all the same as you walk back to your table. “Because I was a loner and operated on the mindset of ‘I’m not like other girls’ throughout high school.”

Kihyun laughs loud. “God, I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” You sigh as you sit back down. “Thankfully outgrew that in college, though. Turns out being surrounded with a lot of open-minded people does something to your personality, and,” you open your arms, presenting yourself to Kihyun’s amused smile. “Now you have me, your beloved hardworking partner that throws snark at you everyday.”

If anything, his grin gets wider. Kihyun raises his glass of water, and you toast. “I’m proud of you for becoming so mature.” He takes a drink, making faces like he’s downing whiskey instead of regular water. “Although, apparently not mature enough to just ask me out plain and simple.”

You want to strangle him, you really do.

He’s right, though. Part of the reason why you invited him as your plus one is for moral support and to show people that the wallflower can also nab a man as great as Kihyun. But the other reason is that you’ve wanted to ask Kihyun on a date, but just didn’t know how to without embarrassing yourself.

You sigh and take a swig of your water. “Yeah, well, can you blame me, though? We always keep professional at work and I barely see you outside the building, so I haven’t really gotten a chance to ask.” You’re not lying—Kihyun being here is only possible because you left the building at the same time last week and asked him then before you chickened out.

He tilts his head in assent and takes another sip before crossing his arms on the table to whisper at you. “How about we make this a date, then?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling like you can’t believe he suggested such a ridiculous thing. “What—here? My high school reunion that I only invited you to because I didn’t want to be alone?”

And maybe it’s the trick of the light, but you think you see his eyes go soft. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s not ideal, but we’re here anyway. There’s free food, shitty coffee, and some entertainment.” He tilts his head to the stage, and you follow his gaze to where a couple of your batchmates are discussing something, mics in their hands. “Whether it’s the good kind of entertainment or the cringy kind though, we’ll find out soon,” you hear him whisper.

In theory, you have nothing to lose. Nothing really to hide. Perhaps the worst part of the night passed when you had that panicked moment with Danhee earlier, and all that’s left is to enjoy the night. You can still leave in an hour or two like you planned, but now with a higher chance of getting a few drinks afterwards, too.

So you make your decision and look back at him. “All right, Yoo Kihyun,” you say. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

His smile morphs into a smirk, the trademark confident grin making a small shudder run down your spine. You try to keep your composure as he slides a hand to your thigh. “Perfect. Wanna bet you’ll last an hour before you want to leave?” His fingers are massaging your knee, soft hands gentle on the meat of your thigh.

You scoff, grabbing at his hand to make him stop. “Deal. I’ll bet you an hour and a half.”

And before you turn your attention back to the stage, you see his smirk again, excited for the challenge.

#kdiarynet #monsta x #monsta x kihyun #yoo kihyun #monsta x kihyun scenario #monsa x kihyun imagine #kihyun scenrio #kihyun imagine #yoo kihyun scenario #yoo khyun imagine #monsta x scenario #monsta x imagine #fic: mine #fic: not spicy #fic: kihyun #theme: may trope mayhem 2021

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arigatouiris · 4 years ago

Text

an inconvenient crush // kozume kenma x reader (2/2)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the support! I really appreciate people coming in and telling me you liked my story! Makes me feel so loved and valid, I can’t even begin to tell you how special it makes me feel. Here’s the final part! Do let me know what you think! Thank you so much :”)

Word count: 4k+

Pairing: YouTuber! Kenma Kozume x Streamer! Reader

Summary: YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma’s secret YouTube persona, puddinghead0.

What happens when their paths cross?

Kuroo is honestly tired of Kenma’s second-guessing, and (y/n) is a bit of a crackhead.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, crackhead reader, internet bullying, slang, gaming references, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff

C h a p t e r T w o: kozume in love

Kenma chuckled when he heard you scream over the controller. The both of you were currently fighting a boss named Martyr Logarius, and while you had beaten the game once, playing it in Newgame+ was extra hard. Kenma was certainly helping, but you had made a silly mistake and died for the fourth time in a row.

"You're dodging too early," Kenma said, still chuckling, "But it is entertaining to see you dodge in such panic."

"Shut up," You groaned over the microphone, earning more chuckles from him, "I'm trying, okay?"

"You beat this game, you said?"

"Ahhh!"

Kenma laughed some more, now covering his face with his hand. He could hear you laugh out of frustration as well, but while this entire orchestration felt funny to both of you, Kenma's heart bubbled dangerously. He loved the sound of your voice, and he absolutely adored the way you groaned and cursed at the bosses each time you died or each time you defeated them. You were good, and even as the game tested you, you trod on. He could see you loved gaming in its entirety, and slowly, he was learning more about you.

"I need a beer." You sighed.

"This game does that to you," Kenma leaned back against his bean bag, "I mean... Not to burst your bubble, but you do suck."

"Oye," You warned playfully, "I'm a streamer."

"Anyone can stream, (y/n)."

There was silence on the other end after that, but Kenma didn't think it was anything odd. The co-oping between you two was going on for a few days now, and it would last up to 5-7 hours at most. It was strange that despite college, you two managed to find time to sit and play, but after a point, it had become more than just the game. You began to crave his voice, crave the way he'd be there, whenever you were about to run low on health, he'd come over and give you time to heal.

Co-oping with Kenma was fun because it felt, oddly, as if he really cared.

"(y/n)?"

"I always thought you sounded familiar," Kenma blinked, "But I think hearing you say more words sort of... gave it away."

"Gave what away?" Kenma's heart was pounding now.

"Kozume-kun," He didn't want to hear the rest, "Are you puddinghead0?"

It took him several seconds to process what you said. He could practically feel his heart beat against his ears, and he could sense you getting impatient at him as well.

"Kozume—"

"How did you know?"

You took a few moments to answer.

"I... I've been a fan for too long not to recognize your voice, really. I just... I guess I had to hear you through the microphone to instantly pick it up? I don't know I... Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to know."

"Oh," His heart broke at how low you sounded. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't ask you because I knew you were him or anything! I asked you as Kozume—"

"Right."

"No, listen," You were panicking now, "I assure you, I didn't know until recently. I didn't even think... I never—"

"What did you picture him as, (y/n)?"

"What do you—"

"I'm sure you pictured him as someone different, right? It must disappoint you that someone you admire is in fact, a regular college student—"

"Don't say that! I really enjoy playing with you, and... I never even pictured how you'd look in the first place!"

"Sure—"

"Can we meet? Please, let me just—"

"Not happening. It was nice playing with you, (y/n). I hope you get the platinum—"

"Please, don't do this."

When Kenma hesitated, he knew that it was no longer an inconvenient crush. His fingers trembled and he couldn't look away from the television screen. His chest hurt and he was certain that his shirt was drenched.

"Please, let's—"

"Where do you want to... meet?"

"Oh, thank goodness," Your genuine relief made him want to laugh, "I was so certain you'd hang up. Oh, thank god. Uh, I don't know. You live near campus?"

He narrowed his eyes, "What campus?"

"Tokyo University?"

"You go here too?"

"Literature student! You go here? You mean to say the puddinghead0 goes to—"

"Please, just never call me that, okay?"

"Where do you want to meet?"

"I... Just come to campus, we'll figure it out."

What normally took Kenma 12 minutes took him 17 now. He spent some time pacing back and forth on whether to go or not, before understanding that he couldn't back out after assuring you that he'd be there. He wondered if you would come as a fan or as his friend (were you his friend?), but the foremost thing that Kenma worried about was what your interaction with him would be about. Why did you want to meet him? What explanation did you want to give?

Maybe she wants to thank me, he thought as he walked forward, finally bucking up and realizing that he might actually need to meet you alone as himself.

He noticed that you were waiting outside the gates of the campus, airpods plugged in, head rocking lightly to some music that you were listening to. From a distance, you caught sight of him and waved almost hesitantly, shooting his heart to the skies. Your hair was tied in a messy bun and you were wearing anime merch, a Bakugou shirt with regular jeans. No matter what you wore, Kenma thought you were ridiculously pretty. Kenma had always thought you were pretty, from the very first video that you uploaded. He caught your stream in Kuroo's laptop when he had come over, and apparently it was your first time. You were hesitant and shy, but it gradually died down the more you played. Kenma found himself laughing so much that it alerted Kuroo, who had understood right away that you held a special place in Kenma's mind since no one could make Kenma laugh quite like you could.

When he was a few feet away from you, you looked at him awkwardly before he noticed you were red-faced. Is she... blushing?

"U-Uh, yeah so uh," She was so nervous that it was making him feel weird, "I don't want to treat you differently but I just realized that I was gushing to you about puddinghead not knowing that you are, in fact, puddinghead and god, I feel like an idiot."

Kenma had to laugh at that before shaking his head, "It's fine, I don't get too many compliments anyway."

"You had me simping all over you and you knock that down as compliments? Please teach me the art of modesty, senpai."

Kenma laughed some more before letting out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. You were taking breaths now yourself; you were standing beside someone who had literally inspired you to start streaming gameplay, and you had no idea that you were playing alongside him all this while until he had practically confirmed it not too long ago. Of course, a part of you felt weird that he never told you himself, but perhaps he wanted to keep it a secret. Also...

He had been watching your streams. Kenma had admitted that as himself the first time you had met. You could practically die.

"There's this cafe down this road," You said, suddenly feeling a lot bolder, "We won't have to stand around awkwardly then."

"Alright."

The walk wasn't quiet, you were desperately trying to think of something to talk about, and you were mumbling a few things here and there about Bloodborne, and he commented back; but neither of you found your heart in the conversation and kept going because you didn't know how to handle the silence. While you admired Kenma, Kenma was also aware that you had no idea the feelings he had for you.

It made him feel a bit inadequate, and he wasn't sure how to take it.

When you reached the cafe, Kenma and yourself took the seats outside. You took in his appearance properly for the first time that evening; his hair tied in a messy, loose ponytail and wearing baggy clothing with black jeans and sneakers. Kenma was gorgeous, you wouldn't deny that, especially now that your heart was bubbling with excitement over how he was your YouTube idol. Strangely, his question rang in your mind:

What did you picture him as, (y/n)?

Your eyes softened at Kenma as he checked his phone for a minute; unable to look away. You stared at him the way folks stare at a rainbow, taking in all that unexpected beauty, not wanting to look away in case it might disappear. You felt yourself blushing when he looked up to meet your gaze, almost feeling time stop. But, you were too much of an overthinker to let that happen.

I'm sure you pictured him as someone different, right? It must disappoint you that someone you admire is in fact, a regular college student—

"Kozume-kun," What am I doing? "I can't picture anyone but you."

He was now staring at you like you were an idiot mumbling rubbish. He gulped, you could see the rise and fall of his adam's apple, but he wasn't saying a word.

"A few months ago, when I started the channel on Twitch, I could do it only because of you. You inspired me to upload my own gameplay because I now had a platform to be proud of it. But as Kozumu-kun, you gave me the courage to not only be proud of my gameplay but to see what's actually important," You smiled as you said, "Fun."

"You're giving me way too much credit."

You shook your head, "We don't always realize how little exchanges that we have with people cause ripple effects. Playing with you these past few days reminded me of what streaming for views made me forget. Views don't matter, the fun does. I let those comments get to me because the views mattered to me, and they still do. But, that's not everything. I learned that from you."

Kenma didn't know what to say.

"So when you figured out that I was... the YouTuber—"

"Puddinghead—"

"—Yeah, that. Didn't you think I lied to you?"

You shook your head, "You never had a face reveal, which meant that you wanted to keep it a secret. So why would I feel like you lied? You had every reason to—"

"Stop being so fucking adorable, it's actually pissing me off." Kenma snapped without realizing.

Both of your eyes widened—Kenma's and yours—at the words that exited his mouth. Your face was flaming at what he said, and Kenma probably felt like a suicidal ostrich. He wanted to bury his head under the ground and never rise, for that would keep him away from the embarrassment that was due; he could hear Kuroo's laughter in the distance, which made it all the worse.

"I'm... I'm not trying to be cute, you know?" You said, tilting your head a little, playing with a strand of your hair.

Kenma frowned at you, wondering now if you were doing it on purpose.

"What are you... doing?"

"There's a word for it!" You pointed an index finger in the air, "Hanker sore."

Kenma scoffed, "What's that?"

"It's finding someone so attractive that it pisses you off."

Kenma blushed, "Y-You're not all that attractive, you just... come across as cute sometimes."

Your eyes widened, "I'm a catch!"

He bit his lower lip, "Yeah, sure."

"Hey! I am a total catch, you could like totally fall for me!"

Kenma's heart skipped a beat, "Yeah, sure."

While you were sitting across him having a struggle over how he easily pushed away your claims, Kenma stared at you like you were all he could see, and as if you were a sight that he would forget if he didn't drink in your details at this very second. A moment later, you gasped before leaning forward.

"I think we should get something."

"Let's actually... go get your platinum."

Your eyes widened, "You... don't mind?"

He shook his head now that he was absolutely certain, "No, let's go back."

You were beaming and thanking him, acting as if he suddenly wasn't the YouTuber you had been simping after, treating him like a separate individual that he was, behaving as you would with anyone else; Kenma's worries dissipated in thin air, he was now confident that he had fallen in love with you, mind, body, and soul—your voice had ensnared and captured him, and now, your revelation had done the deed of claiming his heart.

"Oh, and," Kenma said, "No one will know."

You nodded before throwing him a mock salute, "Of course!"

You were legitimately freaking out.

Kenma had followed you as puddinghead on your professional Twitter and you had been staring at the screen for close to an hour now. You weren't sure if the reason for your heart to be beating the way it was was because Kenma was puddinghead or because you had finally learned what puddinghead looked like, but whatever it was, the feeling was intense.

Are these feelings romantic though? You wouldn't lie, before you knew puddinghead's face, you had pictured meeting him and dating him—the regular daydreaming that a person would do for the person they were simping after. And while those thoughts were innocent, now puddinghead had a name. Puddinghead was Kozume Kenma, an attractive college student, CEO of Bouncing Ball Corp, and YouTuber. Your mind was taking you to places, and juxtaposing your previous fantasies now with Kenma's face. No, no, no, you scolded yourself before covering your face with your hand. Yes, discovering his identity is huge, but don't forget, he thinks of you as a friend!

You were about to join his party on the PSN and co-op Bloodborne again, but all you could think about were how long Kenma's fingers were when they were placed on the table before you that day when you met him in the cafe.

You were practically out of it.

"Hey, Kozume-kun!"

"You know you can call me Kenma, right? I call you (y/n)."

"O-Oh," Your face reddened uncharacteristically. "R-Really?"

You heard Kenma chuckle and your heart was ready to combust, "Yeah, what's there to think about?"

Oh dear lord, "Okay. Uh... So..."

"So."

"Uh."

"(y/n)?"

Fuck, "K-Kenma-kun."

Kenma had his hand covering his jaw at how cute you sounded, but you were practically jelly yourself. It wasn't easy learning the identity of your internet crush and having to play with them as friends. It wasn't easy to accept these facts and to admit that maybe, just maybe, the person that they are in real life was equally attractive.

"We have to beat the Shadows of Yharnam today."

Did his voice always sound like velvet?

"Hm, I've heard they were relatively easy?"

"No," He said chuckling, "To you, they're definitely going to be a challenge."

When he chuckles, I feel like I'll die.

"Didn't you play against them without co-op?"

"Oh, yeah," You could practically picture him rubbing the back of his neck, "I did co-op for Gherman in the end, though."

Fuck, he's so cute!

"What?" Kenma asked, sounding confused.

"What?"

"You said 'he's so cute', you mean Gherman?" You gasped, "(y/n), he's... he's an old man?"

"Y-Yeah! Haha, I mean... Yeah. It's... I was..."

Kenma laughed before asking you to continue before you slapped yourself for making such a big fool out of yourself. Snap out of it, you scolded yourself once more. You can't like Kenma-kun just because you know he's puddinghead.

But, did you?

As days passed, you exchanged numbers with Kenma. Texting him was relatively easy since he barely tried to keep the conversation alive and you just had so much to say. Sometimes, Kenma believed he might be boring, but you kept texting him as if his personality wasn't really that much of a bother. He wasn't much of a texter, and you had caught on, a fact that didn't actually bother you. Kenma, however, would never leave you on read, would try to reply within the hour even though he doesn't text as often.

Your mind, however, revolved around the heart he had once sent you as puddinghead.

You were re-reading the tweets almost every night, and juxtaposing the image of an empty face with Kenma's. For some reason, puddinghead's image was slowly erasing itself from your mind; you became less fascinated with the YouTube persona, but instead, looked forward to hearing from his real-life identity, trying to know more about his day, about his other interests, and having learned that he was from Nekoma blew your mind since he was from a rival school.

Kenma and you often met at the cafe again, just to grab a few snacks and talk about games. It would be you most of the time who would be initiating conversation, and Kenma would listen and retort when he felt the need to. However, not once did you feel like he wasn't listening; not once did Kenma make you think you weren't keeping him engaged. His eyes were on you, his intense gaze enough to burn you to the ground. It practically had you shivering.

Your mind, however, still continued to revolve around the heart he had once sent you as puddinghead.

"I might need to go to a volleyball game soon—"

"Why did you send me a heart?"

Kenma froze before meeting your gaze. "What?"

You almost wanted to slap yourself but you had said it. You couldn't hold it back, you couldn't keep mulling over your thoughts and therefore, you decided to tell the source of your problems what your problems were.

"Kenma-kun, I... I had a big crush on puddinghead," Kenma's gaze on you was unwavering, "Now that I know you're puddinghead, and... and you were the one who sent me a heart, I... I've always thought you were cute and all—"

"(y/n)—"

"—and it's a bit unfair if I like you only because you're puddinghead, but I gave it a lot of thought—"

"—(y/n), listen—"

"—and I don't want you thinking that my feelings are just because you're a famous YouTuber and I just want to like... I don't know... I enjoy every second with you and slowly I just—"

Kenma's finger tapped your forehead, freezing you in position. His cat-like eyes were boring into your soul, and there he was, face inches away from yours, expressionlessly staring into you.

"I've been in love with you for the longest time," Kenma's voice was gold, "No pressure, though."

"No..." What the fuck? "N-No pressure?!"

Kenma laughed at your outburst, "Yeah, I mean... I took sometime accepting it, to even think that I liked you over the internet didn't make sense to me. And then we bumped into each other and we started gaming together and I guess I understood that your internet persona was just a part of you I'd liked, and now I like you more."

Oh.

Was it really that simple?

"So... If I liked you as puddinghead—"

"Please don't call me that."

"—and if I like you as Kenma-kun, then..."

Kenma sighed before offering you a sweet smile, "It's probably the same thing, (y/n). Stop worrying."

"Can I kiss you?" You blurted out, without thought.

God, this woman, Kenma thought, before covering his jaw with his hand.

In less than a week, you'd learned the route to Kenma's apartment by heart. You went over to game at his place, and slowly began streaming as (y/n) again on Twitch. You didn't want to stream with Kenma yet, because you guys had just started dating a month ago. For liking you longer than you liked him, Kenma was relatively cool about you hanging over at his, and about initiating any sort of touch—because your thoughts were practically spilling out of you and as cute as he once thought they were, he didn't want you to say 'pinch me' every time he kissed you.

Kenma's hands were buried into your hair as he kissed you fervently, softly at first before pulling back to see how flushed your face was. He'd never really imagined you being here, out of the screen he saw you from, in his arms, kissing him back.

He chuckled at the thought.

"What's so funny?" You were legitimately a crackhead, but he adored you.

"I thought having a crush on you was very inconvenient at first."

"Why?"

He shrugged before pulling you to his chest, your face reddening at the contact. He noticed, but simply shook his head as you buried your face into his chest.

"Because I thought it was too good to be true."

"Am I the one freaking out each time or are you?"

"Yeah, that part even I don't get."

You giggled before wrapping your hands around his neck, bringing yourself closer to him. Your face was at the crook of his neck, eyes closed as his arms were wrapped around your waist. You were both currently on Kenma's couch, nuzzling with each other on a lazy class-less Monday.

Suddenly, the door opened, revealing Kenma's roommate, in all honesty, did not know how to react when a famous Twitch streamer was lying asleep on his roommate. Kenma gave him a nonchalant look before placing a finger on his lips.

"She's asleep."

"Y-Yeah, that's definitely what I was thinking." The roommate said before rushing to his room and locking the door.

Well, Kenma thought before bringing his hand back around your waist, That's a problem for another day.

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a-singleboat · 4 years ago

Text

Virtual Reality

Word Count: 2.4k

Request: hi! if your taking requests, i was wondering if you could write a damien x reader, where they meet through Twitch? add anything else you want i always love everything you write, thanks so much!! - anon

Warning(s): like, one swear

It was a Thursday night when you first met him, or rather, heard of him. You had been streaming for five hours heading into your sixth when you decided it might be time for you to log off for the night. As per usual, you took at least thirty minutes at the end of your stream just to talk with your viewers, usually about how their lives were going in exchange for a story from your own day.

Tonight, however, there was an influx of people asking if you’d ever heard of a streamer by the name of Damien Haas, which you hadn’t, and if you would do a collaboration with the man anytime soon. Apparently, your content was eerily similar and you were, and I quote, “Practically the female version of him, looks aside.”

“Damien Haas…” you rolled yourself back closer to your desk, hands settled on your keyboard. You typed his name into the search bar, patiently waiting for Twitch to pull up his account. You clicked into the first one, making an impressed face at the purple checkmark next to his name. You squinted at the screen. “Is this him? In the profile picture with the LEDs in the background?”

You glanced at your chat, chuckling as the viewers started spamming ‘yes’ and ‘oh my god it’s happening,’ and your personal favorite, ‘mom come pick me up the best crossover of 2020 is happening and im SCARED.’

“He plays a lot of Animal Crossing,” you observed, clicking on one of his videos and dragging the tab onto your main monitor so the stream could see it. You skipped through the beginning part, biting into a pretzel as you watched.

“He’s kinda cute,” you commented, laughing as your stream freaked out once more. There were a few people commenting what looked like it could be a ship name though you ignored it. “Shame I’d never meet him, though.”

You paused his video, taking note of the time, before rolling out your shoulders. “I think it’s time for me to head out so I’m gonna end this stream with a huge thank you to you all for sticking with me through this entire stream and if you didn’t stay the entire time, I’m glad you decided to join in on the ride even halfway through. I’ll see you guys next time.”

You ended the stream, waving goodbye to your viewers before the light went out and you could relax the smile off your face. Don’t get it twisted, you loved streaming and you loved your viewers but just like any other job, it could get exhausting at times. You shut down your monitors, the screens turning blue before fading to black. You stretched, taking your phone up from its charger and launching yourself into bed, opening your phone and clicking on Twitter.

Much like staying thirty minutes after you were done streaming to talk to viewers, you usually went on Twitter right after to answer questions and respond to DMs. This time, however, instead of opening the app to see a bunch of post-stream questions, your mentions were filled with the video clip of you saying, “He’s kinda cute,” as well as maybe a million people tagging both you and Damien in them.

Well, shit.

Soon enough, that was all that filled your timeline. You couldn’t move in one direction without running into another screencap of you admiring the man. God, you knew the consequences but something in the back of your mind was urging you to reach out to him.

After a few moments of contemplation, the lonely side of you won out, forcing you to message him against your better judgment. Without even thinking about it, you found his Twitter and sent this message:

Hey, I’m sorry about your mentions blowing up because of me tonight. My viewers recommended your Twitch to me and I spoke without thinking about it on Live.

And with no expectation of his response, you fell asleep right there with your phone on your chest and the DM still open.

You woke up the next morning with a sore neck and a dead phone, which was a terrible way to start your day. You rolled over, plugging your device into an outlet before crawling out of bed to start your day. When you weren’t streaming, you worked as a freelance editor for different YouTubers, helping their editors with their workload or even staying on as a Temp for different companies. Occasionally you edited the odd commercial here and there, but those gigs were rare.

Most recently, you had received some material from a group of YouTubers, Smosh. This job was different, however, because if you did well on this you could be looking at a permanent place of employment through their parent company, Mythical Entertainment.

You knew Mythical Entertainment, it was hard not to, especially since your aunt was one of the producers within the company, but tended to ignore everything the company did. The last you’d heard, they’d onboarded another YouTube group (which you did later find out to be Smosh, the same YouTubers whose video you were hired to edit).

After a quick shower and a half-assed attempt at a proper breakfast, you were ready to start your day. You situated yourself behind your monitors, opening the video clips that had been sent to you. The first was a sample video, something that gave you insight on what their editing style was actually like.

But imagine your surprise when you’re staring down the same man you have called cute the night before, his approximately five-eleven stance taking up one-sixth of the space. He was standing next to a blond, who had been marked as “Shayne Topp.”

Despite there being five other people in frame, your eyes kept moving back to Damien’s figure, watching his mannerisms through the screen and laughing along to his jokes when they fell upon deaf ears.

Your eyes slid over to your phone, now decently charged after sitting for so long. On your screen were dozens of notifications. There were maybe two from your mom, asking if you’d be coming home for dinner sometime that week but the majority came from Twitter. You picked up the device, unlocking and responding to your mom with a, “yes,” before opening Twitter.

Nothing much had changed from the night prior. Your mentions were still being flooded with the video from last night but newer content had been ushered in, namely fan edits using footage from your streams and, you assumed, his.

The only major difference, however, was the fact that Damien had responded to your DM from the night prior. The first message read:

It’s really no problem! My stream had mentioned your name before, too.

Followed by the second:

P.S. I think you’re cute, too.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Mr. Damien Haas, the man that you had made a thoughtless comment on stream about, also thought that you were cute. Suddenly, the fact that you had been staring at him for the past hour seemed less stalkerish and more like a blooming crush. You wrote back:

Aw, thanks! Have you seen the newer fan edits? They’re all so talented.

You cringed at yourself. A cute boy started talking to you and you’ve suddenly forgotten how to be suave, not that you really were in the first place. But still, you liked to think you had some tact when talking to people that you found attractive.

Not even a moment later, there came a response.

Yes, I have, he responded. And I agree! They are all very talented individuals.

You looked from the monitor in front of you. You had about a quarter of the footage left to go through before you could start editing but this technically wasn’t due until the following night. Feeling emboldened by the fact that he had actually responded, you replied:

Are you going to TwitchCon on Friday? We should meet up or something.

Anxiously you awaited his response, taking his silence as an opportunity to watch a bit more of the footage and take down notes according to the sample they’d given you. Roughly thirty minutes later is when the next response came in, reading as an affirmative to both questions.

You didn’t respond, choosing to leave your social media for after you’d finished editing the video. Your heart still pounded, however. Just the thought that there was a possibility for the two of you to meet was, simply put, insane. You’d just heard of the guy the night before and decided that he was going to be your latest hyperfixation.

But who could blame you? He was a nice, funny guy that showed the slightest bit of attraction towards you. It didn’t help that you were a sucker for guys that were nice to you.

Fast forward to the Friday of TwitchCon, also known as the first day of TwitchCon. You and Damien had been talking steadily over Twitter DMs and just last night you had gained his phone number, giving you even more access to the man than you had before. But of course, who were you if you didn’t tease your fans with the prospect of you meeting.

The night before, at the end of your stream, you’d given your fans the little tidbit of information that you and Damien were, in fact, planning on meeting up sometime during TwitchCon and would be greeting fans together for an hour at your booth.

That sent Twitter into a frenzy, both of your combined fans getting your ship name to trend within the hour, which confused the hell out of a bunch of locals.

It was nearing the time you and Damien had set to meet up. The plan was you’d meet around twelve for lunch, take an hour for yourselves, before going back to your booth and meeting with fans for an hour or so as promised.

You had never been more nervous than you were in that moment. Not only were you about to meet your three-day-old crush but apparently a very popular YouTuber. You tried not to let the thought mess with your head. One of your friends, Wilbur Soot (who you played Minecraft with from time to time) was poking fun at you for being nervous about meeting a popular YouTuber.

After three years of streaming and gaining a solid following, you’d think you’d be used to meeting other popular content creators. But because it was him, you found yourself unable to think straight.

“What if I fuck up?” you asked Wilbur anxiously. He’d flown in from London for this event at your insistence and because you’d offered to pay half his airfare to get there and back. He didn’t have his own booth as his arrival was very last minute, but he didn’t mind. He signed the occasional poster though his main purpose was to provide you mental and emotional support.

“You won’t fuck up,” he comforted, leafing through one of the comics a fan had given you. The entire thing was hand-drawn, which was an insane fact in itself. It looked professional, which was what blew you away when you’d received it. “Well, you won’t fuck up as badly as you did when you first met Schlatt.”

You groaned in embarrassment. “Don’t remind me.”

Long story short, you’d dumped a red in color slushy on the man accidentally after tripping over an unmarked cable. It really wasn’t your fault but the boys hadn’t let you live it down since then.

Half a moment later, Wilbur was poking your side. “Is that him?” he asked, jabbing his pointer finger into your side while looking in the opposite direction. He was looking at a familiar figure walking down the hallway toward your booth. He stopped for a moment to take a photo with a fan, talking to them about something, before continuing on his way toward you.

Your eyes locked and you gave him a smile while trying to beat Wilbur into no longer poking you. He stopped when you slapped his arm the first time, sticking his tongue at you before going on his phone. You rolled your eyes at his half-assed attempt of pretending he wasn’t about to start listening in on your conversation.

“Hey, Y/n, right?” Damien asked as he approached. You nodded, reaching out for a handshake but becoming pleasantly surprised when he instead pulled you in for a hug.

“You ready for lunch?” you asked glaring slightly at Wilbur as he made kissy faces over Damien’s shoulder. Luckily, Damien hadn’t noticed your moron of a best friend.

“Yeah, I saw this sushi place on the way in if you wanted to try that?”

“I’d be down,” you agreed, reaching behind your table to grab your bag. Wilbur was set to meet with a few other Minecraft streamers, meaning you didn’t have to worry about him while you had lunch. You looked over your shoulder, making sure everything was set for you to leave before saying goodbye to Wilbur.

Over the course of lunch, you and Damien had gotten to know each other pretty well. Once the conversation moved away from your fans and, well, work, and more into personal details, you found that you actually weren’t all that similar. For starters, Damien loved watching anime while your guilty pleasure was Gilmore Girls. The one show you both had a love for, however, was Avatar the Last Airbender, which made sense.

Another thing was that he actually enjoyed being in front of the camera while you tolerated it on most days, really only putting on your face cam for the last thirty minutes on most days. Despite that, he still classified himself as an introvert.

You returned back to your booth much later than you anticipated, thoroughly shocked at the line that had formed with Wilbur at the front of it, entertaining the fans that had shown up early to meet both you and Damien.

“Y/n!” one fan called, pointing in your direction. Immediately, the entire line turned and gaped at the sight of you and Damien walking together. You greeted them happily, stopping for pictures and verbally promising that you’d stay until you got to meet everyone personally.

“You really love your fans,” Damien observed as you put your things back down behind the table. Wilbur had set up shop on your right side, chatting with a few people at the front of the line.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere without them,” you admitted, pulling a silver sharpie from your bag. You handed a gold one to Damien. “I also wouldn’t have gotten to meet you without them, which I’m still sorry about, by the way. Your feed must have been chaotic.”

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. “But everything happens for a reason.”

You nodded, grinning up at him. “Yes, they do.”

Permanent

@beautiful-holland @toms-order @starlightfound @grandmascottlang @positiveparker @bippity-boppity-boopa @caswinchester2000 @andreasworlsboring101 @imladylunaticbitch

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Lucien’s Whimsical Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Disney Dates Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Victor

The date begins with MC in the office at around 9pm

She has been working tirelessly on a program for about half a month

She’s worried and stressed because she can’t think of something innovative for her program

Lucien suddenly calls to ask if she’s still at work, and suggests that she sets her work aside and relax i.e. by going to the amusement park the next day

MC hesitates, but Lucien goes into science mode and tells her that her efficiency might actually decline if she keeps focusing on one single thing

MC caves in, and immediately feels happier <3

The next day, the weather looks fine and perfect

And then it suddenly starts POURING right when they are two streets away from the amusement park

Lucien covers her head with one hand, and pulls her hand with the other to find shelter from the rain

They end up outside a shop

Lucien: Come to think of it, our story seems to always be associated with rainy days.

[Note: I did this translation while listening to a Chinese gameplay commentary, and the commentator said, “Your story is associated with rainbows, but you just can’t see them...” T^T]

Lucien notices cute Disney character plushies in the window of the shop and smiles

Lucien: I think I can understand the meaning of this sudden rain.

Lucien: Perhaps it was meant to sound a prelude so that would come here.

Lucien: Since it’s still raining, why don’t we go in to take a look?

A pair of Mickey and Minnie plushies catch MC’s attention, but she can’t reach it. Lucien tries to get them for her, but he keeps grabbing the wrong ones 👀

Because she's trapped in between the shelf and Lucien’s fine chest, she turns into a Gavin i.e. her ears start flushing

Lucien finally gets the correct set:

Lucien: This pair?

MC nods vigorously, and says they can get one each

While saying this, I reach out to take Minnie from Lucien’s hands. However, Lucien suddenly retracts both hands.

MC: Eh?

Lucien sways the Minnie in his left hand lightly, then smiles faintly as he reaches out his right hand, which is holding Mickey.

Lucien: If possible, I actually prefer to keep her. If MC wants to use these dolls to represent the both of us... I’m thinking this would be more meaningful, right?

After hearing his words, I feel the temperature of my cheeks rising even further. I gently poke the doll in Lucien’s hand.

MC: [blushing] ...put these back first!

Lucien: Hm? Why?

Lucien raises his eyebrows slightly, his smile gentle and calm. There’s a hint of mischievousness in his narrow eyes.

MC: [blushing] There seems to be other styles over there. Let’s go and take a look!

With this, I turn around and run towards the other end of the plushie section. Behind me, I hear the sound of Lucien’s faint, low laughter.

By the time MC leaves the shop, the rain has reduced to a drizzle. Soon after, Lucien walks out of the shop too.

I walk up to grab Lucien’s hand, and swing it twice.

MC: Lucien, let’s go!

Lucien: Judging from your expression, you seem to be in a much better mood?

MC: It’s because even before I’ve done anything, the heavy rain has already run away!

Lucien: You’re not wrong. Even though we don’t have umbrellas, the rain has dissipated on its own. This is why even when you meet temporary difficulties, don’t blindly immerse yourself in the feeling of loss. Everything has a solution, am I wrong?

MC agrees, and they finally head to the amusement park, which is still as crowded as ever despite the rain

Lucien suggests that they try something different today - instead of being participants, they become observers

Lucien: Sometimes, people’s emotions have an influencing effect, especially in this place.

As they wander around aimlessly, MC feels delighted because she doesn’t have to consider what attraction to go for next, etc.

The smiling faces of the visitors, the vibrant colours, the colourful balloons, the inter-dimensional cartoon celebrities... I can more clearly feel the charm of the amusement park.

I also have his company at my side...

I turn my head, sneaking a peek at Lucien. Similar to what I was doing just now, he’s watching the visitors queuing up to take a picture with a cartoon celebrity.

As though noticing my line of sight, Lucien turns his head over, meeting my eyes directly.

Lucien: What’s wrong?

MC: Nothing!

I shake my head, but the corners of my lips curl up involuntarily. Suddenly, a colourful castle enters my vision. I point excitedly��at the one which has a spire.

MC: Lucien, look at that castle! Isn’t it very pretty? Since young, I’ve always liked colourful castles with spires. I’ve even dreamt of them!

MC: I once dreamt that little monsters took over a castle, and I turned into a little super warrior, bravely sending those monsters running!

MC: The moment the monsters disappeared, there were colourful rivers of light outside the castle.

Lucien blinks slowly, then his eyes bend at a nice angle.

Lucien: Sounds like it was a righteous yet intriguing dream.

I purse my lips and smile, then look at my surroundings.

MC: We seem to have walked around the entire park. Let’s go for the attractions!

Lucien: All right. I’ll have to trouble MC to be my guide.

Immersed in the joyful atmosphere, I even forget the time. When I come back to my senses, I realise that the sky has started to darken, and the rain has long since stopped.

MC: It’s already 6pm...

Lucien: After this, do you want to have something to eat and have a rest, or continue playing?

MC: Let me think...

The lights in the park start flickering on one by one and MC decides to bring Lucien to the spinning teacup ride

MC asks if Lucien finds the light installations pretty

Lucien: When I’m with you, it seems I can always discover a different scenery.

All of a sudden, there are dazzling lights in the sky.

[Note: The original word used here is “流光”, which can mean (1) “rivers of light” (like an aurora...?), or (2) streamers (i.e. party confetti). I picked the “rivers of light” interpretation because it seems more appropriate. But I’m really not sure which one the writers are referring to so please don’t scold me if it turns out to be party confetti LOL]

MC: Too perfect... we were just talking about rivers of light just now, but I never thought that we’d see them. It’s so magical!

Lucien stands next to me. His expression is calm as he lifts his head to look at the lights. Then, he leans down slightly.

He laughs lightly, and I feel his warm breath brush against my cheeks, as tender as a feather.

Lucien: In the amusement park, nothing is impossible. That includes the whimsical lights in your dream.

Hearing his words, I’m left stunned. In the next second, a thought flashes across my mind.

MC: ...! Lucien, did you...?

With a sudden realisation, I look at him, my eyes filled with disbelief. Lucien doesn’t say anything. He just smiles faintly and straightens a finger to do a “shh” posture.

I was right! These lights were created by Lucien!

-- in order to complete the whimsical dream I once had.

Lucien rubs the top of my head, the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly, the colours in his eyes tender.

Before he retracts his hand, I hurriedly hold onto it, and then entwine my fingers with his.

MC: ...Lucien, thank you.

I originally planned to say even more, but my eyes are drawn to the couple in front of us.

They are lifting a Mickey doll in their hands, happily taking a selfie with the almost vanishing lights as a keepsake.

Thinking about how we ended up not buying the dolls from the shop just now, I suddenly feel slightly envious, and a little regretful towards my earlier decision.

Lucien: What are you thinking about?

MC: ...N-nothing much.

Following my line of sight, Lucien’s eyes sweep towards the couple in front of us, then holds my hand to walk forward.

Lucien: Let’s go, it’s almost our turn.

They ride the spinning teacup

MC confesses how she feels:

MC: I regret not taking photos of those beautiful lights, and regret...

I bite my lip, letting out a light sigh. At this moment, a low laugh travels to my ears. Lucien turns his face over, drawing nearer to me.

He pinches the tip of my nose gently.

Lucien: Do you still feel regret now?

MC: Eh?

Before I can react, Lucien takes out a pair of dolls from behind his back. It was the pair we saw at the shop!

My eyes widen in surprise, and I have no idea what to say.

Lucien: After you left the shop first in the afternoon, I bought them.

Lucien: As for why they could appear here, it’s thanks to the enthusiastic helpers in the shop.

Lucien: As for your other regret... want to take a photo?

Without waiting for me to react again, Lucien suddenly places the dolls into my arms and takes out his phone.

“Kacha” “Kacha”

Facing me, he takes several photos.

MC: ...eh, are you going to create more rivers of light?

I take the phone from him in confusion. After swiping through the photos, I realise that the photos only feature me, looking silly while holding the plushies.

MC: Why am I the only one in the photos... I even thought you’d capture the lights!

I purse my lips, pretending to be unhappy. Even so, the gradual heating up of my ears reveal my inner happiness.

Lucien laughs and sits even closer to me, gently wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

His body temperature seeps through his shirt, travelling from my arm to the depths of my heart.

I lift my head to look at Lucien. Neon lights flash across his face, casting a reflection in his eyes.

In the midst of the mottled, changing lights, I can clearly see a tiny me.

Lucien brushes my hair which has been messed up by the wind, then places a hand on my back, speaking in a low voice.

Lucien: Only you. Only the time spent with you are worth treasuring forever.

His warm breath lingers on the tip of my nose. He gazes at me tenderly. In that moment, my heartstrings are tugged, as though making contact with electricity.

The surrounding scenery and neon lights follow the movement of the spinning cup and continuously change. Only the starlight above us remains bright.

However, no matter how beautiful these lights are, they can’t compare to the tiny universe in Lucien’s eyes - the ones that reflect me in them.

MC: ...it’s the same for me.

Hugging a doll each, Lucien and I are nestled together quietly. As the music gradually reaches an end, the speed of the spinning teacups also slows down.

As though noticing my reluctance, Lucien suddenly asks.

Lucien: I wonder if MC’s “battery” is fully charged? As compared to the library, isn’t the relaxation from this trip to the amusement park even more fruitful?

MC: You’re right! My entire body is full of energy! Tomorrow, I can definitely welcome the new day of work with vitality!

Looking at my brilliant smile, the corner of Lucien’s lips curl upwards as well.

Lucien: In that case, it’s my turn to gain energy.

After saying this, he takes my hand in his once again, pressing his forehead against mine. His eyes drift shut.

In our arms, Mickey and Minnie’s foreheads are also leaning against each other.

As though energy could really transfer from my body to his, the space between Lucien’s eyebrows smoothens out, and his expression is one of a rare, complete state of relaxation.

I close my eyes too, feeling my throbbing heartbeat and his body temperature. Our skin is tightly pressed together, allowing our breaths to gradually mingle.

Perhaps more magical than the amusement park is Lucien - a miraculous existence.

As long as I’m by his side, I am always surrounded by happiness and joy.

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: I think so too!

Lucien: Perhaps next time, we can consider staying here overnight.

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: Eh? What charm?

Lucien: I feel very close to you.

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: It’d be great if today never ends.

Lucien: Even if it ends, it will remain in our hearts.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc lucien

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systematicmasspoisoning · 4 years ago

Text

Traitor Tubbo

I've seen so many excellent theories as to who the traitor is and I would like to throw my hat into the ring. I see several possible options. Depending on how this is received, this could be part one of a few. Reminder, this is all speculation. I'm analyzing a character here, not the streamer themselves, and in reality no one, especially not these teens and 20-something role players, are genuinely intending to be malicious or calculated. This is a game. But they're playing it, and my heartstrings, so damn well.

My top theory for the traitor? Tubbo.

Traitor Tubbo is definitely a fan favorite, and I'm probably a bit biased. I watch his streams most often and perhaps am overthinking things. But here's my supporting evidence: I think Tubbo has the most motivation because it's been established that Tubbo is underapprecited and underestimated. He's assumed to a yes-man, Tommy's right hand man. Schlatt specifically made him Secretary of State because he knew it would be a kick in the gut to Tommy.

But everyone also knows that shit gets done when Tubbo is on the server. This kid is dedicated. Guess thats what quarantine does to a Minecrafter. He planned the fesitval, helped streamline Pogtopia's potatoes, is an expert in redstone, is draining the ocean and making allies with the Badlands (BBH, Awesamdude, Antfrost, a few others).

Jschlatt said in his speech at the Festival that Tubbo gets things done (only to kill the kid like 10 minutes later :sadface:) and Wilbur said, later, that the planned Manberg Hotel probably won't be built now that Tubbo is (supposedly) on Pogtopia's side. I see parallels to Eret's traitor arc: he was the deus ex machina who saved them in Season 1 from being arrested for drugs, built their walls overnight and was given little credit for it. Wilbur still says to this day, "The walls I built to protect us."

Underappreciation fuels betrayal on this server. And Eret was smart. Overpowered, almost, from all his grinding (some of which he did with Tubbo, for hours on end.) He knew the revolution was 'never meant to be,' that L'Manberg was the losing side. He betrayed for power and kingship. Tubbo has different motivations - he doesn't advocate for violence, so he's said, and he just wants people to get along. He doesn't want a war. So what might he do for peace?

We all know, if we watch old SMP Earth clips and his Among Us streams that he is big brained. He's sometimes malicious and mischievous when he wants to be, as attested by his recent stair pranks. So him being the peaceful, owo baby boi side character isn't necessarily fact. It's a bit. A role, along the lines of Tubee and Big Law. He's much more.

Speaking of the stair prank, so funny, but had the potential to be cruel, too. Anyways, he clearly said that he was watching Tommy's stream, and saw Tommy die to the stairs. Then he pops on the server later and acts clueless to what went down, though he knew, mentioned in his stream earlier that day, that something important was going to happen that day. He turns up while they're discussing traitors, is quick to take control of the conversation and point out that the traitor is likely Wilbur (for being 'technically' on Dream's side, the side of chaos.) Fuel is added to the flames of confusion and infighting.

Playing dumb is one of Tubbo's most popular bits. It farms awes, as Tommy says. People underestimate him and assume he has no reason to lie. Tommy so easily believed him when Tubbo said he had the discs. In the Dream Betrayal stream, Tommy confronts Dream about the location of the discs with Tubbo in the call. The misunderstanding is cleared up. They don't question Tubbo's earlier statements. They also don't question it when Tubbo mentions he has blackmail on Dream. I have no idea what that might be, we can speculate on that all day. But when it comes to the discs, I think Tubbo lost a bargaining chip there. His lie was very thin. But we know he's good at lying (when its actually important) and thinking quick on his feet so I feel like there must be some motivation behind it. I don't know how, but I think the discs will definitely play a part in the coming war.

That same stream, with Dream's betrayal, Wilbur even foreshadowed Traitor Tubbo. He was making a list of their allies on the wall in Pogtopia and, despite his chat screaming at him to include Tubbo, he leaves the kid off the list and dismisses chat's worries. I'm being a little dramatic here, but can you imagine Tubbo coming across that? Seeing himself, once again, left out of the loop, off the list of people they can trust, possibly considered unimportant now that he's filled his role as a spy and had his arc seemingly completed? Back to being a yes man, a footnote in L'manberg's history, the sidekick to the protagonist, a foil who is killed off to fuel the protagonists' need for revenge.

Except, in Minecraft, you don't really die. You're respawned. Tubbo didn't die when he was executed on the day of the festival; a celebration he planned, was proud of, so excited to take part of that he used a dyslexic font to write his speech.

Some notes about the festival.

1. His excitement. He was looking forward to it. I say let him be excited, that's not necessarily suspicious - he worked damn hard on it.

2. But, I have thought about his difficulty choosing a side. He showed interest in blowing up L'Manberg, but then turns on a dime when Tommy says it's bad, and then comes up with a diplomatic response of "I trust your better judgment, Wilbur " There was the added element of peer pressure from Wilbur and Tommy, granted, talking over him and assuming his viewpoint. He's not always a yes man, he stands up to himself with Tommy constantly, but the scene with him on the roof with Tommy and Wilbur shows how little he is kept in the loop. (Him understanding peer pressure likely led to him forgiving Techno so easily. But I also wonder, and others have too, if he forgave Techno.... too easily.)

3. This isn't so much of a point but something that keeps the writer in me up late at night. He was very grateful when Schlatt praised him, probably something he didn't hear often under Wilbur's rule.

4. He said the phrase. In spite of him not advocating for violence, he said the phrase that would trigger an explosion. The choice was in his hands. That is assuming he got Wilbur's DM telling him what to do, but Tubbo had been told by Wilbur to check his DMs and they had been exchanging whispers frequently throughout the stream, Tubbo taking orders from Wilbur to hurry things along. On that note, why a DM? Why didn't he give Tubbo the order through a whisper thru minecraft where we could see the wording? Likely because they use their DMs to push along major plot points and discuss serious matters. This wasn't just an order from Wilbur, the character, this was an order from the streamer who has the most role playing experience and has admitted to being the puppetmaster behind a lot of Tommy and Tubbo's major actions. Tubbo, who has always tried to advocate for peace, supposedly was told a trigger phrase that would blow the place up, and he said it. It was so out of character for him, that I was surprised, and Wilbur was surprised too, from how Tubbo scrambled. So, I don't know - did Tubbo know it was a trigger phrase? What did the DM say?

There was clearly a lot of miscommunication and weird things that day so all of this is speculation. However, from Tubbo' side of the stream, you can see the deliberation when he finished the speech. The pause. The silence, like he was finished, but then Schlatt reminded him (not the real quote) "Anything else?" And then. Tubbo took the leap. To us, the uninformed audience, it seemed he was willing, in that moment, to allow the chaos.

He was given a role of power, and it backfired on him so quick after, but I would like to rewind to the moment Wilbur decided to give Tubbo a deciding role. I knew Tubbo would be playing a big part this season, cause the boy deserves it, but Wilbur putting that decision in the hands of Tubbo? Wow. *Chef's kiss* Wil's reasoning was, if Tubbo wanted to prove he wasn't a yes man, he'd make the decision NOT to pull the trigger.

But Wilbur also said that Schlatt approved of the speech and would know if Tubbo deviated, putting Tubbo at risk of being caught. He was caught anyway, obviously, but there was a moment there... where Schlatt was giving Tubbo a choice, too. To say the phrase that would prove he was a traitor. Like...Schlatt knew what was planned, and wanted to see what Tubbo would decide. Maybe it was a trigger phrase for something else, not just the bombs.

Point is. Tubbo, technically, saved the day. He was, in physical form, the button. He was the deciding factor for great destruction. He said the phrase, but instead of Manberg being blown, Schlatt moved quickly to trap Tubbo and start a bit that would STOP WILBUR IN HIS TRACKS. The button was never fully pressed. Tubbo's Traitor/Spy Arc was halted, and a diverging plot formed, one where Tubbo is exiled too, trusted again by Pogtopia, and the land isn't blown to smithereens.

As Wilbur has said time and time again, when you introduce a weapon in a story, it has to go off at some point. Traitor Tubbo has been on our minds since the day he was left behind in Manberg and given a position, (once again, might I add, as a right hand man, a loyal lackey. Never the lead.) Has that arc met its completing? Did it go off with a bang?

One possible theory is that, well, no. This has all been premeditated. Not scripted fully, but I feel as though there are strings being pulled by a master who knows how to tell a story.

When he was asked to be a spy, Tubbo's position was nearly revealed time and time again but it was Schlatt who decided he was too bored to continue walking down the tunnels. It was Schlatt who easily accepted Tubbo's blatant lie that he was pregnant and allowed for so much betrayal under his nose.

What I'm saying here is that Schlatt is, in fanfic terms, soft for Tubbo. In a less fluffy way, what I'm suggesting (which has been suggested before) is that Tubbo wasn't a double agent. He was a triple agent.

I've read a lot of fucking books, and when you're a triple agent and one side is getting suspicious of you, what's the greatest length you can go to to prove your loyalty to someone? Die for them. Organize your execution. Throw yourself on top of a bomb.

But like I said. You don't die in Minecraft.

(While I'm on the subject, does anyone find it interesting how Tubbo focused on messaging only Wilbur while Technoblade was on stage, whispering 'i thought he woulded hurt me?' and the like. Wouldn't you, if you were being executed, contact your best friend to get you out of there? Or the clearly stalling 'ally' holding a crossbow to your head? But it wasn't Tommy or Techno that Tubbo needed to convince of his innocence. Its Wilbur who was sus of him.)

I digress. Tubbo didn't die, but he execution=exile and he's living full time with Pogtopia. He's proven his loyalty. When Tubbo is asked if he's a traitor, his best friend quickly jumps to his support and says, something to the effect of, "Schlatt killed him! He couldn't be a traitor!" Suspicion is thrown off him.

He wasn't even there when Dream revealed there was a traitor. He. Played. Dumb.

Meanwhile, streaming on his own, Tubbo is seeking out tridents and OP bows, working on Redstone traps, refusing to get netherite for Tommy, going so far as to trap his friend's house under the guise of a prank, and appearing in TeamSpeak calls to listen in while Tommy was mining gold with Dream (around the time Tommy was pressuring the green bastard to reveal who the traitor is.)

Tubbo has also been building a reputation as someone with bad wifi and a constantly crashing game, so he can conveniently leave situations and not help out when he doesn't wanna. Sidebar: I have to wonder if Tubbo will even stream the day of the war. Schlatt doesn't stream, and neither did the Dream Team when they were villains. It builds up tension and the audience wonders about their motivations. Granted, Eret did stream so his betrayal was a huge surprise, but recently Tubbo has, quite often, made a point of struggling with bad wifi and a game that seems to crash when he's not the one streaming. It wouldn't be too suspicious for him to claim technical difficulties so he can slide under the radar and not have snitches and stream snipers tracing his steps. This is a stretch, but it would be Big Brained to meta game the war.

I've watched a lot of Tubbo's streams lately. It's probably not healthy, and I'm probably connecting dots that aren't there.

But here is my prediction(s) for next week.

Dream said, jokingly, the traitor is Tommy. Despite Tommy's adamance, it may just be possible. He just doesn't know about it yet. Maybe Tubbo talks Tommy into betraying Wilbur. (Wilbur, specifically, and not necessarily their cause, which is not to be exiled and have a not-blown-up L'manberg.) Tommy has said he couldn't be the traitor because he wouldn't betray Tubbo (followed by "Wilbur, too...well...he is a little crazy lately" and you can hear Tubbo in the background making noises of agreement.)

But if betraying Tubbo was no longer a worry? I think, for Tubbo, and for the discs, Tommy would negotiate new terms with Dream. Another end to the war. Another peace treaty. Let's be real, once Tommy switches sides, Pogtopia will crumble. Him and Tubbo are the linchpins.

To continue, Dream supposedly has a contract with Schlatt, and in the stream today, he was leaving banners with a big red X on different properties, like in Tommy's house. Marking territory. He made a point of doing it while Tommy was streaming, following the kid around into the nether and giving shields with the giant red X to supposedly Pogtopian allies (Awesamdude, George.)

Wilbur told Quackity in the Dream Betrayal stream that he worries that Dream's deal with Schlatt is to rescind Manberg's independence. To give power back to Dream. To get Tommy's allyship, Dream may propose instating Tommy as president. Those are Wilbur's predictions. They're not far off the mark. Or maybe I'm just as paranoid as him lol.

I think Dream is trying to manipulate Tommy, but what will the terms be? Presidency? Or Freedom?

I'm not sure that Tommy wants to be president. He likes to play around and while he's shown he can be good at coordination and leadership, (for example, the recent MCC thing where he taught Quackity how to play and they kicked ass,) Wilbur is quite right. Tommy shouldn't be president. Narratively, we all know the server would become....chaos. Okay, that might be kind of fun and he's got good ideas.. I like the kid, and he's grown so much, but he's not "mature enough." Not like Tubbo is, according to Wilbur himself (this is referencing the Stays in The Pit battle). Dream has also said, in the eboy collaboration, that the only Dream SMP player in the video whose stood a chance was Tubbo.

Tubbo has said he doesn't want to be president either, but shit gets done when Tubbo is on. Nature is preserved, giant builds are coordinated, events planned (with cute little digital invites sent to players). The few times that Tubbo has shared his opinion about drama on the server (there's a moment before the Pit that he gives a good speech) he's shown sound logic, great empathy, a willingness to compromise, to have fun and strengthen their community.

There's an old saying, that those who seek power shouldn't have it, and those who don't want the power are the ones who deserve it. If peace wants to be preserved on the SMP, maybe Tubbo should be president, and Tommy should see what it's like to be the right hand man. Or maybe, they will simply run off to a distant jungle base and leave the war to the adults.

My point is, Tubbo is Chekov's gun. Tubbo is the button that hasn't been pushed yet. He may be the deciding factor to change the tide of the war, by changing Tommy's loyalties. Tubbo might not be fully loyal to Schlatt, I could be totally off about the triple agent thing, but he's certainly not loyal to Wilbur. To Dream? We'll have to see. From what we've been shown so far, his loyalty is to himself and to Tommy, and in the end, its usually him and Tommy against the world.

If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. It's fun to speculate. He's just a kid, a smart one granted, and he's having fun; he isn't evil. Unless Evil Tubbo is the next huge arc, the villain of Season 3???? God I would love that. Go feral kiddo.

There are other streamers who are equally over looked and unappreciated and have just as much motivation to be the traitor. Niki is a strong contender, have ya'll heard about the letter she wrote to a mysterious 'friend?' Or, or, what if Philza gets whitelisted? What if there's no shocking traitor at all, just Dream trying to cause division in Pogtopia? What if it's us, the viewers, who were the traitors all along for being dirty snitches? (@rainbowtransform, great theory.)

I'm sure I'll be surprised no matter what the outcome is. But nothing would please me more than to see Tubbo get the spotlight he deserves.

Let me know your thoughts?

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oikaw-ugh · 4 years ago

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Aju Nice! (Haikyuu x Seventeen AU)

a/n: You all think I limit my shitposts in a day? Well, SIKE, you're wrong nyahahahha

Inspired by Seventeen's MV Aju Nice because damnnnn that concept was so good.

Seventeen AU: Wherein confetti explode from your chest the moment you fall in love.

I hate how this idea is so good but my writing powers sucks >=[[[[

Also, I know confetti exploding from your chest sounds so disgusting but let's just be creative, okay? HAHAHAHHAHA let your minds do the thing, forget the rocket science HAHAHAHA

Warning: mentions of chest pain, multi-tasker Y/N (a friend, a manager, a classmate, etc.)

Tsukishima Kei

"That's Y/N, Yachi's classmate and our new manager," Yamaguchi whispered beside Tsukishima.

Tsukishima scoffed, fixing his eyeglasses on the process, "Shut up, Yamaguchi," he didn't need his input, he knew.

He is also well aware of how cute you look as the 3rd years towered over you. He can clearly see the slight discomfort in your face from afar, your constipated grin as you bowed in front of Daichi.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue as he glances away. Whatever. It's not that he cares that much about you anyway...

He went back to the court. His hands on his nape as he studies on Hinata's spikes, mentally taking note and also brainstorming of possible counterattacks in the process if ever he gets to block a spiker like the tangerine in the future.

And yet, his thoughts weren't as composed as they usually are as pictures of your face flash in his head, making him blink in surprise from time to time, cupping his hot ears in the attempts of hiding it from no one in particular.

"Tsukishima, right?"

Tsukishima looks at his left and there you stood. Bewildered by how close you are and how clear he sees you with this distance, he takes a step back.

"I'm Y/N. I'm a new manager," you smiled as you offered Tsukishima your small hand, "I hope we become friends!"

Tsukishima contemplated. Something's telling him that the moment he touches your hand, something unpleasant will happen.

In the end, he did not fall for his thoughts. Heart ramming so loud, he reached for your hands - only to stop in the middle.

Tsukishima winced in pain as his hand landed onto his chest, slightly gripping his shirt as the sharp sting intensified. He gasped in surprise.

"Tsukishima, are you alright?" Voice laced with panic as you crouched along with Tsukishima who seemed to be grunting heavier.

"I'm-I'm fine..." He said, "Please, don't touch me..."

This didn't reassure you at all, "Wait, let me tell Daichi-san about this!" You exclaimed as you stood straight.

But before you could even take a step, a hand grabs you back, making you look at Tsukishima who is now looking up to you.

His face was troubled-looking as ever. Tsukishima's brows are pulled together as his lips is in a funny line. His cheeks are flushed along with his ears and beads of sweat lingered at the side of his face, which is funny since he’s still on his way on warming up.

He appeared like he is contemplating on what to say as his mouth kept on dropping and closing. But in the end you both get startled as confetti of different colors exploded between you two, both of you shriek in horror and surprise (Well, mostly you. It's unlikely of Tsukishima to shriek).

"Y/N, is everything alri-oh..." Daichi's voice eventually died when he saw the confetti spilled on the floor.

Hinata Shōyō

"Y/N, I think we should stop-"

"NO!" You literally screamed in front of Hinata's face the moment you see how he's starting to lose hope, "Not yet!"

"But-"

"We will train. We will get this. You and your juniors will be joining the Junior High Competition along with Kōji-kun and Izumi-kun," you announced.

"But I'm the only one who really wants to go..." Hinata said with his voice barely audible but it did not escape your ears.

"What are you saying?" You said, slightly irritated with how he's about to give up, "I'm here, too! I want to go to the competition, too!"

This surprises Hinata. He looks at you in awe, confused as to why you look more determined than he is. Your brows furrowed as your lips are in a frown, your right hand holding the dirty volleyball.

"I will cheer for you," you said. This time, with a cheeky smile, "So we will train until you can finally hit a decent toss, okay?"

Hinata, though still in the process of taking your support all in, managed to say, "Okay..." despite it all.

You walked towards the net, tossing the ball towards Hinata in which he successfully caught. With the ball glued in between his hands, he stared at you as you shift in to a stance of how setters do it at the television.

Earlier, he was feeling down with the realization that he wouldn't be able to practice with both Izumi and Kōji practicing for their club. He was prepared to go home when he accidentally stumbled upon you at the room.

"Hinata-kun? Aren't you supposed to be practicing at this hour?" You asked him with a smile which captivated his breath. Hinata looked away with a funny look he wish you couldn't see.

"Izumi-kun and Kōji-kun are practicing so I'm alone..." He explained.

"Let me help you then!"

And there you both are, basking under the setting sun's light. You two's sleeves folded up to your elbows as the wind blew harshly on your faces. And yet, you didn't mind how it dirtied your uniform or how it's been trying to blow your skirt. With these facts neatly stacked, Hinata couldn't help but feel he is important, his dreams are relevant, and...something fuzzy in his chest.

Puffing a handful of air, he threw the ball towards you. And with what you like to call as ‘expertise’ of tossing, a skill you’ve slightly acquired from watching different plays the other night, you successfully tossed the ball towards the air.

In a flash, Hinata ran towards flying object, jumped after and before he knew it, his fingertips has touched the ball, making it slice its way towards the other side of the make-shift court.

You both look at the ball now bouncing on the ground. The two of you panting before your gazes shifted to one another.

"We did it!" You grinned as your raised both of your hands, expecting a high five from Hinata as he successfully hit your toss. But your grin dissolved as he suddenly stepped back while groaning.

"H-Hinata?!" You exclaimed as your crouched as well, your hands light on his shaking shoulders, "A-Are you alright?"

"I-im fine..." He managed to say in the middle of his wince, "I'm just-"

Poof.

You both fell silent as confetti blasted from his chest, pieces of it stuck on your hair and faces.

Nishinoya Yū"

Y/N!" Nishinoya screamed as he ran towards your spot which made you pause from reading your textbook as you welcome your energetic friend.

"Noya!" You answered, equally energetic as his greeting."There's this volleyball move I invented. Would you like to see it?" He asked enthusiastically, slightly hopping from the ground.

You grinned, "Sure! Show me!"

Nishinoya punched the air as he muttered Yes! under his breath.

Everybody's just used with how chaotic Nishinoya can be to the point that they wouldn't believe things he'd say, that or they’d just take him lightly.

So when he showed this move he just invented to his volleyball friends, they mocked him and thought he was being childish again which ticked Nishinoya off.

I'll show this to Y/N instead. Y/N would believe. Y/N always did. He convinced himself as he marched his way towards your classroom.

"I want you to spike me the ball and I will receive it," Nishinoya said as he tossed the ball to you now that you're at the school grounds. You dribbled the ball as you wait for Nishinoya's receiving stance.

"Okay!" You screamed on the other side as you stopped dribbling, "Here I go!"

And you did your sloppy spike, which isn’t a surprise since you don’t play the sport. But what surprised you is how Nishinoya literally ran towards the ball, executing a stunt on the process which seemed like tumbling to you. But he must've done something wrong as he wasn't able to receive the ball the way he's supposed to do. Instead, he's still lying on the ground.

The grin on your face vanished as you ran towards Nishinoya's direction, "Noya!"

Nishinoya groaned as he twisted his body, now facing you. He closed his eyes as the sun pierced through, eventually adjusting when you’ve blocked the light.

"Noya, are you okay?" Worry is evident in your voice as you offered him your hands which Nishinoya gladly took.

"Yeah...yeah..." He grunted as he sat, his arms now resting on his folded knees.

"You should be careful, you know," you told him as you crouch, head leveling with his, "Was that the new move you were trying to introduce to me?" You asked him.

Now his grin was back, "Yeah! It's called 'Rolling Thunder'! But I'm still trying to fix it so don't think I was doing Rolling Thunder earlier! Believe me, it's a cool move!" He said fast.

"Noya! Noya!" You chuckled as you waved your hands in the air, "It's okay. I believe in you."

Nishinoya couldn't speak. He only stared, mouth slightly open as his cheeks flushed with sudden heat. Then his surprised face winced as he felt a jab on his chest. He was about to reach for it when confetti exploded from his chest, surprising you both with the streamers of different colors.

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trustsalvatorewriting · 5 years ago

Text

wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter eight

Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.

Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 2,473

_____________

❝ i hate all the hurt that you put me through, and that i blame myself for letting you ❞

HENRY PEARL RAN HIS FINGERS OVER THE GOLD WIRED RING, a soft but victorious smile on his face. The small, handmade ring glimmered in the light he'd hung above his desk. The night before, he'd gone to the nearest voodoo shop to purchase the smallest garnet stone, ignoring the sunrise as he immediately ran back home and into his bed. Admittedly, he'd been afraid that the ring wouldn't turn out the way he wanted; but Aniya had always looked so heartbroken whenever she looked at her own, and there was a part of him that couldn't bear to see that look on her face as often as he did.

There was a part of him that believed she would never love him -- not in the way that he wanted her to -- and he wouldn't blame her, either. She looked like she could conquer the world with a movement of her wrist. She would want more out of the world and he would never be able to give it to her. She was beautiful, and extraordinary, and he was just a boy.

Still, he had to admit he's been happy lately, and he'd wallowed in it selfishly. Henry knew in his heart that it wouldn't last very long, but the was all the more reason to enjoy it in the moment. A few days ago, Aniya told him she found him intriguing, and he told her 'we are only interested by things we don't understand.'

Henry Pearl's eyes were big enough to take it all in: the world, Aniya, and himself. He could float through the sky and never come back down. He wouldn't need to.

He set the complex -- yet beautiful -- garnet ring down on his desk, next to a photograph of he and his mother on her birthday, when Henry was only eight or nine years old. Colla Pearl had been a beautiful woman, with emerald green eyes and medium brown hair; though she hadn't been a healthy one. It was when Henry was thirteen that she became sick, and it was at fifteen that she died. Neither Henry nor his father had dealt with it properly.

Frowning, he glanced up at the calendar, and it occurred to him that Colla's birthday would be in a few days. A sick feeling over came Henry, and it struck him that it would be eight years since her death.

The twenty-one year old boy was pulled out his thoughts when he heard rumbling and music playing from the living room. Henry listened for a moment, hoping -- praying -- the music wasn't what he thought it was. When he heard a crash, he shut off his lamp and quickly made his way out of his closet-sized bedroom and down the hall. He was met with a low ringing noise to his left, where his father left the home phone hanging off the desk.

He hesitated, but picked it up to his ear. A low buzz emitted from the phone, signalling that whoever his father had tried to call had hung up, and he carefully set it back down on the charger. As he proceeded down the hall, he looked to his left and noticed the empty bedroom that belonged to his father. The bedsheets had been jumbled together, and he'd left his night lamp on, as if he'd tried to get some rest but changed his mind all together. Underneath the bed was an empty six-pack of Coors Lite, and Henry grimaced at the sight.

"Ja, må han leva! Ja, må han leva! Ja, må han leva uti hundrade år!" The Swedish song played throughout the home through a single DVD player. The birthday song mocked the atmosphere, and dread filled Henry's stomach as he realized why his father, William Pearl, had chosen to stay up so late: he'd believed it was Henry's mother's birthday.

Sorrow crawled its way to Henry's throat, wrapping itself around his neck and squeezing as he reached to turn off the music. Henry's vision went glassy as silence filled the apartment once again, and he heard his father cursing him in the kitchen.

"What the fuck? We're having a party, Henry!" William complained, rushing over to the player and restarting the track. "We're gonna have one hell of a party!"

Henry's gaze flitted across the room as he struggled to keep eye contact with William. The fifty-year-old man was nearly nude, wearing only a pair of boxers as he opened a box of party supplies Henry had tried to hide in the attic. William dumped the box upside down on the wooden floors, and Christmas ornaments and streamers were sent flying across the living room.

"Papa," Henry began. His throat went dry as an old ornament flew across the floor: a photo of he and his parents that they'd taken at the mall. "Papa, please stop."

"Let's make it look nice, here at home," William declared, messily organizing the supplies into different piles. He made his way to the small kitchen table and Henry's new shipment of silverware onto the table. "Here, you set the table--"

"Papa--" He tried again, taking a small step toward his father as he climbed onto the couch in an effort to hang a 'happy birthday' sign from the windows. For a moment, he wondered where William had gotten the money to purchase it; then it occurred to him that he left twenty dollars on the kitchen table every night in case of an emergency. Henry's throat tightened as he realized that his father had been impulsively spending the money on alcohol and useless decorations. It wasn't as though either of them celebrated holidays.

"Here is her party, why aren't you happy? Don't you miss her?" William's tone changed as he looked back at Henry, his eyes reddened and crazed as he screamed, "Be happy, for fuck's sake!"

When Henry's expression didn't shift, William reached for one of the plates Henry had bought and tossed it in his direction, screaming "here is her fucking party!"

Henry felt pressure against his shoulder as the plate slammed against the right side of his body and fell to the hard ground. He watched as it shattered, and cringed, his expression shifting to one of helplessness. "Papa, please stop."

"What?" William turned back to his son, a bright smile on his face as he walked forward, grabbing Henry's head with his hands and holding it against his own. His breath wreaked of alcohol and whatever he'd eaten in the past few weeks.

Henry wrapped his arm around his father's shoulder and tried to lead him back down the hall. "Please, Papa, just go to bed. Come here."

"I can't go to bed now!" He exclaimed, casually fighting off his son's grip and placing his dirtied hand on his already bruised cheek.

The boy flinched away from his father's touch. "Let's go to bed, Papa, come on..."

"But I'm arranging a dinner party for your mother," William argued, a dazed smile on his face. Henry would have sworn he was having a psychological break, but he supposed grief did that to people. William had lost his wife; it was only fitting that he acted this way. Still, the longer he acted like this, the easier it would be for William to hurt himself.

Henry tried again, carefully reaching for his arms as he tried to walk him back to his room. He comforted, "You can do that tomorrow, c-can you come to bed now?"

"No, I'm very busy making a birthday dinner for your mom, so the fucking cunt can finally be happy!"

"Papa, calm down, let's go to bed--" The boy bargained, ignoring the icy feeling that grew in his chest. His father would always say cruel things during his episodes, especially about Henry's mother; but they still stung every time he said them.

William shrugged off his son's grasp, walking into the small kitchen where a pot of potatoes and -- was that dirt? -- boiled over the stove. Henry reached for the pot while his father was distracted with pouring a bag full of potatoes into another pot. He held it over the sink and filled it with water in an attempt to wash out what mess William had made while Henry was busy.

"What the fuck are you doing? Stop it!" His father cursed, snatching the pot from Henry's grasp and putting it back on the stove. Smoke rose from the burning potatoes, and the young boy did his best to wave them away from the detector and sprinklers. As his father threw random spices onto the food, he exclaimed, "I told you, we're having a party! Look, we're gonna eat potatoes and shit."

The older man brushed long, gray locks from his face and reached to turn on everything on the stove, despite using only two pots filled to the brim with potatoes. William turned the nozzle and the oven lit up, as Henry took another step forward. "No. No, Papa, go to bed--"

"Don't ruin the food, now!" William sneered. Henry gulped and reached to turn the stove off, but his hands were immediately grabbed by William. His father glared at him for a moment, raising his hand. A stinging sensation covered Henry's left cheek.

"Please, Papa--"

Slap.

"C-Can't you j-j-just--"

Slap.

A sharp pain quickly formed below Henry's eye socket, a jarring feeling in his skull as William's fist connected with his son's cheek. A bruise began forming on Henry's face as he met eyes with his father again, a tired but pleading look in his eyes.

"Why c-c-can't -- why c-can't you go t-to bed now, Papa? Please..." Tears fell from Henry's eyes, his hair disheveled and shoulders hunched forward as he looked into the eyes of his estranged father. He was met with a cold glare and reddened eyes. Henry swallowed, preparing for another hit, the left side of his face reddened and covered with tears.

William nodded after a moment, his jaw clenched as he stared up at his son. "I was just trying to make some food and make things right." He cleared his throat and looked around the kitchen before taking a step toward Henry. "Move the fuck out of my way."

Henry stepped to the side as William made his way back to his bedroom. He let out a low breath and walked toward the stove, turning off all of the nozzles and the oven, and tossing the pot of potatoes and gunk into the garbage. He thought for a moment, then unplugged the microwave and toaster as well. As Henry went to clean up the mess in the living room, he allowed himself to accept his reality.

He would never be able to live in his apartment in the Quarter. It would be his -- overpriced -- art studio, and nothing more.

A tear slipped from his eye as he made his way into the attic, where he had organized Colla's items into different boxes. Henry moved to look through her 'treasured items,' the ones that she'd kept close to her heart when she was alive. Dainty pieces of jewelry tangled together at the bottom of the box, next to an old journal. Henry's brows knitted together in curiosity as he reached for the small brown book.

The pages were stained brown, implying that Colla had gone out of her way to dip them into tea. A chuckle left Henry's lips as he began to read her Swedish writings. After a few moments, he realized the book hadn't been her private journal, but a notebook, where she'd studied different and rare types of witchcraft.

'Tyaag witches participate in several different rituals in order to achieve functional mortality. However, functional mortality is only offered to twins born with earth magic. Once achieved, the twins will be sacrificed on their eighteenth birthday. This will usually consist of a slit throat and a knife through the base of the skull, paralyzing and killing them.

'The base of the skull is the fifth chakra, and the mouth of God. Three days after their death, the witch twins are resurrected. Unfortunately, the memory of their friends and loved ones is wiped completely of their existence. This is due to the fact that the witches are promised a new life; and therefore, their slate is wiped clean.

'Tyaag rituals are notorious for failed resurrections, as if the children do not comply with the fifteen rituals they need to complete before their deaths, the sacrifice will fail, and they will remain in spiritual limbo for the rest of eternity.'

Henry shut the book immediately, remembering the wound on Aniya's neck. He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if his memory were an etch-a-sketch. He glanced outside and noticed the faded sunlight, and realized he would be late for his double-shift at the diner if he didn't leave soon.

He quickly reached for the wired ring and put it into a small white box, complete with a little ribbon. A smile made its way across his face as he quickly changed into his work uniform, all but giddy to see Aniya again.

As he made his way out of the cramped apartment in downtown New Orleans, he caught a glimpse of his father drooling into his white satin pillows. Henry paused, then went into his room, pulling the duvet over the man's chubby body and tucking it over him. He quickly picked up the pack of alcohol on the floor and shut off the light in his bedroom with a final breath of relief. He grabbed his things and locked the door behind him, making his way to his old Jeep.

Henry drove in peaceful silence, admiring the lights and music of the city before stopping at the dumpster behind the diner.

It was there that he tossed his father's pack of alcohol and his mother's box of party supplies. It wasn't as if either of the items would ever do him good. He was exhausted, and no longer sure he would live to his twenty-eighth birthday.

Frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

________

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. i knew that henry needed to have his own chapter eventually, as he is just as complex as aniya and kol, with his own goals and ambitions outside of being the person who works in the restaurant. that being said, henry is based off martin from the swedish movie 'behind the lights' and henry pearl from 'battlecreek.' please comment and tell me what you think! - trust

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