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always-just-red · 1 month ago

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Hi! Hope you're having a good day!

Just found your blog yesterday and read Onychinus' Finest. I've been STARVED of Kieran and Luke fics, not enough people appreciate them, so I come with a request! (Most of what I'll say is totally optional. I believe in the author's creative vision overall so if something doesn't fit feel free to change and adapt whatever you'd like.)

Either hunter or assassin MC, where they're at a mission, and they're ambushed. One of the twins gets hurt protecting her, maybe even taken, and she just goes on a rampage to get him back. They've never quite seen her so protective and yet so vengeful. She might go by herself? When Sylus wants to plan ahead properly since his own miscalculations lead them to get attacked in the first place. The twins are loyal to him, the other brother won't go without his permission despise his brother being missing or hurt. I'm just picturing her finding a broken mask, half of it missing (she's never seen their faces before.)

Happy ending. 🥺 Just fluffy you know? I want the twins melting into her, one with gratitude for finding his brother and the other just with disbelief and affection that she's do all this for him.

Special mention to any heads on her lap like overgrown puppies, just holding her close. They're sweet boys I think, especially if their guard and masks are finally down.

You can take this as platonic or romantic, she could be with Sylus and still have grown to really care and look out for the twins, or she could love them. (I don't know which ones angstier)

Thank you for even considering this even if you decide it's not worth your time!

AAAAAAA HEY!! You had such a vision for this and it was so fun to work with-- I hope it's everything you imagined! You've always been so so so supportive and kind, so I low-key went all-out on this, that's half the reason it took so long. 😭😭 Think this is my longest fic so far oh my gosh? Love it though, all the action scenes took me RIGHT back to my Assassin's Creed fanfic writing days haha Anyway! This is set in the same canon as the last fic because I loved that dynamic ngl. Not a direct sequel though!

Beneath The Mask

Luke and Kieran x Reader 🎭

Summary: Sylus and Kieran are useless, as always, so you take matters into your own hands

Genre: angst + fluff + ACTION!! *karate chops*

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, swearing, descriptions of violence, injury, broken bones, killing (don't @ reader, she wants her man back!!), but also some humour 😌

| Word count: 4.6k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sometimes, you think you’re the only member of Onychinus who isn’t completely out of their mind.

You’d think it was Sylus, your indomitable leader. Smiles-with-a-knife-at-his-throat Sylus. Has-the-situation-completely-in-hand Sylus. It used to inspire you: that crimson gaze of his, always alight with a fire that’s never, ever, quite out of control.

How does he do it? You’d wonder in awe, like a wide-eyed child enthralled by a magic trick.

How does he do it? You’re wiser, now. You know it’s a lie, now, but you still can’t see through it. It’s driving you mad.

You watch as the man works away at a large, glass monitor, his fingers gliding across the screen with their usual grace. You get glimpses: names, faces, contacts. He’s testing the cords of his network— an intricate web— and he’s hoping someone’s caught something he can sink his teeth into.

He’s been at this for two hours, ever since you dragged yourselves back here with your tails between your legs. There’s a gash on his forehead that hasn’t yet healed, and the blood is still drying, dark on his face. Has he thought to heal it? Or— there’s a smudge on his finger— does he like his guilt a little warmer to the touch?

“We need an order, boss,” you seethe, because you’re tired of standing beside him, unacknowledged.

“You have your order.” He types out a message. Dismisses another. “Wait.”

“I meant an order that isn’t complete bullshit.”

He shoots you a glance, his eyes embers of warning. “Careful, sweetie. You forget yourself.”

Your fists ball. “Oh, spare me.”

“What would you have me do?” he mutters, gaze returning to the screen. He isn’t rising to the challenge, or should you say— stooping to it. He’s so goddamn noble.

“They have Luke, Sylus.”

“I know.”

“So let’s fucking do something! Let’s go back, let’s get him. They caught us off-guard last time, that’s all. They got their hands on some Ever tech, so what? We know that, now. They don’t stand a chance if we just—”

“Charge in there, guns blazing?” Sylus finishes for you, lips curled in derision.

It sounds stupid out loud, and he wants you to hear it. You do; you don’t care. “We don’t need all of this,” you beseech, your hand waving over the monitor. “We have you, boss.”

“Me?” he chuckles, and it’s so, so bitter.

Is that the guilt you’ve been looking for? It isn’t enough. His eyes are still pools of calm— spilt blood, unreciprocated. How does he do it?

“We have to do something,” you say limply. “Please, I can’t… I can’t do this, Sylus. All this nothing. Tell me what to do. I’ll go back alone if I have to. Just say the word and I’ll—”

“Look at this,” he interrupts, stepping away from the screen so that you can take his place before it.

It’s an order, even if it isn’t the one you want. You roll your eyes as you obey, and you begin to scour the intel he’s gathered. Eyewitness accounts, rumours, surveillance footage— some courtesy of Mephisto— and it’s all centred around two things. One: the aspiring new gang you’d set out to dismantle earlier, and two: a link to Ever. A solid link to Ever.

“They didn’t steal Ever’s tech,” you release on a sigh of understanding. “They’re working together.”

“Mmm.” Sylus’s hand clears the screen before you. “We should have known. I should have known.”

Your mind is so caught-up by the revelation that you almost miss the confession.

“This was my mistake,” he continues, watching you. “And you are all my responsibility. Believe me…” He taps the screen and live surveillance footage springs up: an outside view of the compound you’d raided earlier. “I want to burn that place to the ground as much as you do.”

But… “No collateral damage,” you murmur, eyeing the guards on patrol.

“No collateral damage,” Sylus nods. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, boss.”

And maybe he is burning with just as much anger. Maybe the fear is making his heart drum, and the guilt making his skin crawl. It’s the same, old trick, isn’t it? Done to death:

The mask without a mask— just where does he hide all that?

Maybe he doesn’t.

There’s only so much faith you can have in something you can’t see.

…

Clink.

You slot a bullet into the magazine of your pistol, then follow it up with another. Clink. Then another. Clink. You’ve never relished this quiet— not like Sylus does. To him it’s an art. To you: a chore. You glance about the armoury, and you’ve never resented your shelves of options quite like this before. Antiques. Prototypes. So many means of dealing death.

You’ve never seen the beauty in it, but a shot through the heart means something different to Sylus than it does to the rest of you. It can be intimate. Symbolic. He can die for something, someone, and he can do it over, and over, and over again. How poetic.

You holster your loaded weapon, then reach for another.

“What’re you doing?”

The voice makes you jump. “Gods, Kieran. You want a bullet through your head?”

“No.” He misses the meaning of your words. “Why— wanna shoot me?”

“Right now?” you ask cynically.

He laughs like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Liar. You’ve finished loading the second gun so you slide it across the table to him wordlessly. The beak of his mask lowers as he regards it; he doesn’t pick it up.

“You’re being weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s cool. I like it.”

You roll your eyes, wandering over to a rack of weapon attachments. There are different sights. Silencers. (Is that how you want to play this? Quiet?) “I’m going back for Luke,” you state as you muse it over. “You want in, or not?”

The rest is implied: Sylus doesn’t know. He isn’t coming. All of that’s evident from the fact that you’re here, rifling through his precious collection, and not ensnared in the tendrils of his Evol somewhere. A toddler could connect the dots. Kieran will get there. Give him a minute.

It takes half a minute. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. An ambiguous apology.

“It’s fine, Kieran.” He was never going to come with you. “I can do this alone. I can—”

A weight lands on you, tackling you into the weapons rack, and you land on the floor amongst the attachments you’d just been perusing so calmly. The weight stays on you, pinning you: hands are on your wrists, twisting you around. “Kieran!” you protest.

The man pulls away, leaving you slumped in your new, uncomfortable seat.

“Wha—” You try to stand up but you’re jolted back; your wrist is fixed to something. You turn your head, eyes widening as they fall on the pair of handcuffs you’ve been restrained with. They’re padded— lined with a soft, velvety material. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“Boss’s room. Luke and I had a bet,” Kieran shrugs, now towering over you.

“You win?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

You’re still trying to squeeze your hand out of the cuffs. You pry at them. Twist and wriggle your fingers— none of it’s any use. You glance up at Kieran, admitting defeat with a sigh. He brushes his hands together in a ‘job well done’ sort of gesture, his eyes fixed on you, well— you have to imagine they are.

Instead of windows to the soul you’re faced with red-glass imitations, impossible to read, and you’re tired of all the guessing.

“How do you do it?” you ask with a quiet desperation. “How do you act like everything’s fine?”

“Boss will come up with a plan,” the twin says simply, like he hasn’t really thought about it.

“And what if it takes too long? What if we’re too late? I mean… think of all the shit he knows, Kieran. Everything about us, about boss— it’s priceless. Do you really think they’re holding back?”

Kieran huffs. “You worried he’ll snitch or something?”

“I’m worried they’re hurting him!” you snap. “What the hell is wrong with you!? He’s your brother! He could be dead and you’re acting like, like..”

Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him hopelessly. There’s nothing to see— no tension in his body, no harsher rise and fall to his chest, betraying a nervous, racing heart. All the usual signs are missing. He isn’t shifting on his feet like he does when he’s anxious. Is he that good at pretending, or…

Does he really not care?

You shake your head, looking down at the floor; you’re so sick of red eyes. He’s crazy. Sylus is crazy.

There’s nothing for it, then.

“You know what?” you chuckle dryly, under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. This isn’t all bad, I mean… when’s the last time you and I had any one-to-one time, huh?”

Kieran is silent. He lowers himself slowly until he’s crouched before you— forearms resting on his knees. His head tilts inquisitively: Go on.

“Maybe,” you lilt, “this is an opportunity.” You’re practically whispering, and the man leans in, not wanting to miss a word. Your free hand reaches for a horn of his hood and you use it to pull him closer; he doesn’t even resist. “How about we…” you speak into his ear, “go look through Luke’s stuff?”

Kieran draws back, those false eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you think, for a second, that you’ve gone too far.

“You’re the best,” he breathes out, suddenly fiddling with the handcuffs, slotting the key into the lock. “Just… the absolute best.”

Got him.

The cuff springs open and you’re on top of him, tackling him to the ground and pinning his arms by the side of his head before he can think to stop you. “Oh,” he grumbles, going still beneath you, and it sounds like his eyes are narrowing, “you’re not the best. You’re sneaky.”

His compliance lasts all of a second, and then he’s fighting back— using his strength to throw you off balance and wrench his wrists free. He rolls on top of you, trapping you just as effectively as you’d done him, and he laughs like a child, having ever so much fun.

With a grunt of effort, you manage to push him aside. You turn onto your stomach, scrabbling away as you look for space, opportunity, and— if you’re being honest— something you can throw at him. A hand connects with your shoulder and you thrust your elbow backwards on instinct. It hits something hard.

“Ah, shit! Wait, wait, wait… time out.”

You freeze instantly.

Kieran’s voice is different; it’s acquired a clarity that tells you his mask his away from his face. Don’t move. You stare down at the floor with a patience that’s almost sacred. He’s taking a while, though…

“You ok?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His voice is different again, like he’s holding his nose. “Nosebleed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

You sit up with your legs crossed while you wait, but your eyes are still trained downwards. You can hear Kieran’s breath, a little ways behind you— so much clearer without the mask— and the intimacy is always sobering. Realising he’s vulnerable, knowable, and all you have to do is turn around.

He doesn’t rush, though: doesn’t scramble to pull the mask back down, or insist you keep looking away. The silence, the stillness— all of it is trust.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye; he’s set the mask down on the ground while he bleeds.

“I’m worried too,” he admits softly, and you’re not sure what’s more foreign: his voice, unhindered, or the honesty it carries. You don’t want to scare either away, so you do nothing. There’s more: “I can’t leave boss, though. Who else has he got?”

“The hunter?”

“Nah,” he dismisses. “She’s hot stuff, y’know? A lot of players in that game.” He taps at his mask idly. “Heard one of them’s a doctor.”

You’re quiet again. Thinking.

“Boss always has our back,” Kieran asserts. “We have to look out for him too… That’s the job, right?”

He’s not really asking you; you came to this late, after all. It was their job long before it was yours.

You’ve nothing to do but look at your hands and listen, biding your time. The passing seconds are still restless, useless, but the sensation slips when you feel hands on your waist, pulling you back. Kieran’s arms wrap around you. His chin settles on your shoulder, and you close your eyes.

“Stay,” he says. “Please?”

His pain is harder to sit with than your own. Minutes ago, this was something you wanted. Now it’s just another wound you don’t know how to stitch up; too deep, too late.

You let your head rest against his, but you don’t say a word.

…

This was easier when you were relying on Mephisto’s guidance and not hazy, disjointed memories. The last time you were here you were running, Kieran at your side and Sylus not far ahead. You weren’t thinking about what corners you turned or what directions you travelled; you were thinking about everything behind you. Shouts. Gunshots. The subtler rush of your leader’s Evol, still crackling, still faltering, courtesy of whatever technology your attackers had managed to appropriate.

It all happened so quickly.

Every corridor feels longer, now. Each moment— slow. Your body is aching. You’ve lost count of how many encounters you’ve had, but there’s a new bruise or scrape for every body in your wake. None of it has been easy. You ran out of bullets just getting inside this damn place, and the rest has been messier: up-close and personal.

You’re catching your breath, so you toe the rifle of your last adversary, lying a short way from their limp, open hand. They never got a chance to use it, and you were lucky; it would have been loud. Every guard in this run-down labyrinth is looking for you. The last thing you need is to send out a homing beacon.

Glance around. Try to work out your bearings.

This was once a police station. Old-world. Eroded beyond recognition, almost. These places were the first to fall victim to the backwards evolution of the N109 Zone. The bones are the same, but the skin is different. Every wall is scrawled with anti-Association sentiments.

It makes you smile, despite everything.

Your footsteps are deliberately quiet as you carry on down the corridor, turning into the next room— you’ve been tackling them one-by-one. There’s a narrower corridor before the room opens out, and then…

Cells.

A short line of them— five in total. Your heart wants to beat faster with hope, but your mind is holding it back: insisting this is wrong. It seems abandoned. Forgotten. You walk by the first cell, and then the second. Nothing. The third. Nothing.

There’s a sound behind you, and you almost don’t hear it. You spin, only to find a hand wrapped around your throat, tight and unforgiving. A guard thrusts you up against the red-brick column that divides two cells, and you’d cry out in pain, but there’s no breath to carry it. Your eyes water. You try to prise the hand away, and it’s desperation that possesses you— not skill or experience.

You kick out and hit nothing, but the second time, you catch the man’s shin. He shouts, his grip failing just enough for you to slip your fingers beneath his. A few seconds of advantage. You grasp his wrist, using your other hand to wrench his forefinger backwards— crack. He staggers with a cry and then you’re dodging his frenzied attempts to recapture you: weaving behind him, seizing the back of his neck. Your foot trips his. He’s teetering, off-balance, and you use the momentum to crash his head against a bar of the cell.

Metal rings out. Flesh splits.

The guard crumples at your feet and you almost go down with him. Your lungs are pulling for so much air that it makes your throat sting. Adrenaline laps your limbs, celebrating in sheer, ecstatic disbelief; you’re alive.

Someone wolf-whistles and you swear you feel everything stop.

Your gaze shoots up, lit by hope, but it’s quickly snuffed out. A young man is watching you from the fourth cell, his arms threaded through the bars. There’s a shameless grin as his eyes flit over you. All of you.

“Fuck off,” you sneer as you step over the guard. You turn to leave.

“Rude.”

Your eyes go wide. You spin back. “Luke?”

The man cocks his head like you’ve asked a trick question. “... Yeah?” It takes a drawn-out moment of you staring at him, motionless, for him to recognise your confusion. “Oh, right. Here—” he draws up his hood and the horns are missing, so he emulates them with pointed fingers— “this help?”

You lunge forwards, trapping him in a hug through the bars of his cell; you barely notice the separation. He chuckles as he hugs you back: “Miss me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale in relief, even though he was definitely setting you up for a joke. You break away from him, forcing yourself to look at anything but his face. Gods, his face. Pretend you don’t already want to look again. “Are you hurt?” you ask. “Did they—”

“Nope!” he interrupts with what sounds like a smile. “I told them everything.”

You glance up; you can’t help it.

He winks at you. “I lied. Glad you got here before they figured that out, though. Sheesh, that would not have been fun.” His hands wrap around the bars. “Can you get me out of here?” He tugs at them. “Pleeease?”

Right. “Yeah.” You glance around. You just need to find the—

“Key’s with the dead guy,” Luke says. “What a jerk, huh?”

It still feels like there are hands on your throat. “Totally.” You wander over to the body, bending down to rummage through the man’s pockets. After a brief search, you produce the key.

Luke slow claps. “My hero.”

You laugh softly as you return to the cell, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The twin strides through, giving a little bow as he passes, then stretches his arms like he’s just been set free from a much smaller cage.

“So…” He speaks in a sing-song sort of voice, sniffing the air like it’s sweeter. “Where’re boss and Kieran?”

“Um. Home?”

Luke narrows his eyes at you— vaguely resembling the slits of his missing mask. “You went rogue?”

You wince. “I did go rogue.”

You’re still being studied warily. Luke has raised an eyebrow and it’s so starkly expressive; is this a look he gives you often? You have a feeling it is. Then he shrugs and it’s gone. “That’s hot,” he quips. He crouches down beside the dead guard, lifting the body and puppeteering one of the arms to wave at you. “Look— this is gonna be you when boss finds out.”

You cross your arms. Luke laughs, dropping the man back down with a thud. “Just you and me then?” he clarifies, holding a hand out to you.

Are you supposed to know what to do with it? “You and me,” you confirm. Your hand goes out too.

Luke slaps it gently one way, then another. He entangles your fingers. Pulls back. Does a few more slaps in sporadic directions, and— is this a secret handshake? You don’t have a secret handshake.

“Nice,” he beams once the ritual is complete. “Let’s go, let's go!”

…

Luke is hanging close to the wall across from you, waiting— listening— as you both brace yourselves behind the turn of yet another corridor of the rival base. He sneaks glances around the corner.

“Anyone there?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t press on, either, because it’s odd; you’d both thought you’d heard something. This isn’t your usual strategy— playing it safe. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke err on the side of caution, but he’s concentrating, even closing his eyes so he can listen harder.

You take advantage of the moment in a way you shouldn’t: letting your gaze linger on his face. Even with his hood up— shadows lowered like a veil— he’s still a stranger to you. You want to know him; you know him already. He’s been smiling at your jokes forever, but tell him one now, and it’ll be the first time.

His eyes open, meeting yours. Could he sense you watching? He grins, poking his tongue out at you.

“Stop it.”

“You stop it,” he retorts. The coast must be clear, for he comes away from the wall and rounds the corner with a spring in his gait.

You sigh as you stand to follow him. One less-enthusiastic step forward, and something snakes around your ankle. Your gaze drops like a stone, but it isn’t fast enough. You’re hauled into the air, voice failing, vision swimming as the world flips upside-down and you’re strung up from the ceiling. “Luke!” you manage in warning.

Are those his footsteps, coming back? You’re facing the wrong way and you try to lift the lower half of your body so you can reach for your ankle, but you’re already exhausted. Your muscles burn. After a few, futile inches, you give up, going limp.

There are footsteps behind you. “Oh, hey boss!” Luke exclaims.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

An unwitting pendulum: you can’t keep your body from turning, ever so slowly, until you’re staring the right way down the corridor. You can’t see much of it, though.

Sylus is in front of you, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his eyes.

“Hey, boss,” you echo reluctantly.

He says nothing, and behind him, Luke slides a gloating finger across his own throat: you’re dead! And you’re turning, still. Sylus lifts a hand to the top of your head and swivels you back to him. “What happened to that trust of yours, sweetie? Hmm?”

You half-laugh, nervous. He doesn’t seem quite as amused.

Releasing your head, he steps back with a huff of disappointment as you start a slow rotation once more. He taps a finger to his chin pensively, like you’re a masterpiece he’s convinced might be a forgery, now that he’s looking more closely. “Reckless little thing, aren’t you?” he tuts.

There’s maybe a smile, but it’s short-lived; the dark rope around your ankle whips you into the air. You shriek with shock as you lose all bearings, all vision, all sense of reality. You’re falling.

Someone catches you.

“My reckless little thing,” Luke grins, jostling you into a more secure position in his arms. “Mine.”

You want to protest, but your breath is gone.

“You can’t afford her,” Sylus speaks over his shoulder; he’s already taken the lead in guiding you out of here. Mephisto squawks somewhere up ahead, appearing in a cloud of smoke and feathers.

Luke gives a defensive hmph as he holds you a tighter. Then he smiles down at you, and though it’s new, you know it’s far from the first time, and even further from the last.

…

“Are we really doing this?” you ask Sylus sceptically.

“Lighten up, sweetie.” He clicks his fingers.

Not far from you, currently oblivious to your presence, Kieran stands at the door of your leader’s study, still waiting for an order. The air above him changes: it swirls with a dark, scarlet mist. Luke drops out of it, landing straight on his twin’s back.

“What the—” Kieran splutters, but his brother’s arms are over his shoulders, around his neck. “Get off!” he squeaks out.

“No way. I was a prisoner,” Luke chortles. “You have to be super nice to me. Carry me everywhere. Boss said so.”

“He did not!”

And with those words, Kieran flips his other half the rest of the way over his shoulder; Luke lands on the ground with an unceremonious splat. All four limbs are sprawled. “Ow!” he whines.

Sylus has already strode the rest of the way into the room. “Play nice,” he scolds as he steps over Luke, then passes by Kieran.

“Yes, boss!” they chime, stilling obediently as the older man disappears into his study. The moment the doors close behind him, Kieran throws himself down. He wrestles with Luke, both of them laughing and rolling around as they try to hurt each-other.

It makes you think of those old, vintage cartoons you used to see on TV. You can just picture the cloud of dust, the colourful stars and shapes flying with every traded punch. Idiots.

You leave them to it, slinging yourself down on a couch and closing your eyes. Gods, you want to sleep. There’s blood dried to your hands and face, but you’ll shower later. There are grazes and cuts still bleeding, but you’ll tend to them later. Everything can wait.

The room has gone quiet. Too quiet; you open your eyes.

Luke and Kieran stand in front of you ominously, their figures symmetrical. The illusion of reflection is broken by Luke’s absent mask, but his eyes are just as unreadable.

“What?” you cave.

“You went rogue,” Kieran states, and his brother is nodding gravely, like this is a very serious infraction.

You smile. “I did go rogue.” More shameless than last time. “I got a free pass, though. Luke said it was hot.”

Kieran’s mask turns to face his twin, slow and resentful. Luke shrugs. “What? It was.”

There’s an impasse: long enough to make you think they’re having some kind of secret discussion. Both twins look at you. You smile sheepishly. You don’t think you’ll ever really know the entirety of what goes on in those heads, but it’s for the best. You value your sanity.

“You went rogue,” Kieran carries on, as if his speech had never been interrupted, and his authority not just completely undercut. He moves closer, slinking down beside you, and Luke plays the part of his mirror image. “There will have to be a… punishment.”

The word is elongated for effect, and it’s remarkably similar to Kieran’s ‘ghost voice’— which you know, thanks to the time he roped you into that ‘the base is haunted!’ prank. (Sylus did not, in fact, fall for it.)

“Bring it,” you murmur, closing your eyes again. “I just stormed a whole enemy base single-handed. I think I can handle the two of—”

Your voice meanders to a stop as Kieran nuzzles against you. His mask is off; you feel the soft of his face and the bridge of his nose. His breath is light on your neck. You smile, slipping deeper into your seat and then his embrace as his arms go around you. He’s warm. Really warm.

There’s a weight— Luke’s head on your lap— and he hugs you too, arms lower around your waist. His breath tickles your stomach. You hum in contentment, running your hands through his hair.

He's safe. You're all safe.

They were never going to say thank you; it’s not in their nature. Their language isn't superficial. It isn’t words spoken aloud or feelings worn on the face— it can’t be. A smile is too easily read by the rest of the world, but a smile behind a mask? It’s private. Reserved only for those who’ve learnt to hear it in your voice, or see it in the way your body relaxes when you hold someone you care for.

A language of tiny, intimate details.

Kieran has never nestled his face quite so closely against you. You don’t think you’ve ever known Luke go so long without talking.

#🖋rach is actually writing #luke and kieran x reader #luke and kieran #love and deepspace #platonic sylus x reader #sylus #lads #lnds #l&ds

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roonotrue · 22 days ago

Text

Day 1 - Ice Skating with Vil!

Twisted Wonderland Writings Masterpost

Prologue, Day 2

Prompt: In the end Epel is the one who manages to convince a housewarden to help, specifically getting Vil to help distract the MC while he and the other freshies enact their plan, which is now being referred to as Operation 'Christmas Miracle!'

Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and the reader is called 'MC/Prefect.' The reader also knows how to ice skate but hasn't in a while. (I am too scared to ever try ice skating, but for those of you who do Merry Christmas.)

Included Characters: Vil Schoenheit

Warnings: Mild Swearing.

Tags: @twistedcece

~~~

It's been weeks since you spoke with your fellow freshmen about the winter holidays in your world, and the cold has really come rushing in full force at NRC.

Snow blankets the ground, and students wear thick layers to class to keep warm.

You didn't really have any thick layers to bundle up in, but luckily Professor Crewel noticed this when you and Grim came into class a Prefect and Cat-shaped popsicle, ten minutes late. He then personally saw to yell at Crowley in his office for twenty whole minutes about letting you freeze to death.

So now you have a winter coat.

Big enough for Grim to hide in with you when heading to class. Maybe you can wrangle some gloves out of him to if you play your cards right.

But that's none of this is the point. The point is, it's cold enough to go ice skating on the pond outside the Alchemy Workshop.

Which Vil invited you to go do.

Vil.

Vil Schoenheit.

Invited you.

To go... Ice skating.

The famous model and actor, and the Housewarden of Pomefiore (though much less relevant than the FAMOUS MODEL AND ACTOR part) invited YOU... To go ice skating with him.

Okay, look, it's not that you find it hard to believe (you do actually find it very hard to believe), it's just that... Vil is... Vil.

And you're you. In his eyes, a potato. Not that you mind. Most people are potatoes compared to Vil Scheonheit, but also, potatoes aren't that bad of a comparison.

One of the most diverse ingredients and stand-alone foods in this world and yours. Easily able to fit into any dish or meal as a main ingredient or a side.

You'd say since coming to NRC, you fit that description kind of well.

The point is, you and Vil are friends, but like, you've never gone and done something alone with him like this. You'd asked if other Pomefiore students might be there (namely Rook or Epel), but he'd said it'd just be you two.

Alone. Without one of the idiots (read: friends) in your life (take your pick, there are many), contributing to, or leading the conversation.

You're totally not overthinking this or anything.

You try way too hard to wear something nicer than usual- but as mentioned before, you don't have a ton of warm clothes. And they'll be covered by your coat anyway so why the hell does it matter?

Because it's Vil. That's why it matters. You want to look nice.

"You know, I still think the first shirt was the nicest." Grim mutters between bites of tuna.

Which you don't appreciate considering you gave him that can so he'd shut up for a minute.

"It had a hole in it, Grim. Do you really think Vil wouldn't notice that?" You scoff, searching your closet for another nicer button-up.

The only good one you have is for your school uniform, but it needs to be washed, and you don't have time for that- Vil is literally on his way to pick you up.

"No, cuz it'll be hidden under the coat! Now hurry up, he just texted you he's here."

"What!?" You rush to your phone, quickly throwing on the shirt, rushing to button it up as you see the text.

"Okay, okay, okay- Uh, I left another can of tuna on the counter for you if you get hungry while I'm gone, and if anyone swings by needing me for something- I'm dead, got it?" You tell Grim, putting on your coat.

"Sure thing, henchhuman! Stay out as late as you need, the Great Grim has got things handled!" He says with a large smile, way too excited for you to leave.

Normally he complains anytime you go somewhere without him and get's all grumpy or will end up sneaking along after you.

But today, he's been all too happy to help you get ready and push you out the door.

It's suspicious. He's been acting suspiciously for the last two weeks.

So have the others. Avoiding you, getting anxious and awkward when you're around. Lying.

You're not an idiot. They're up to something. You can't quite figure out what exactly but you can reckon it's probably something that you're going to have to fix later.

But right now, you've got more pressing issues.

Like stopping at the hall mirror to make sure your hair isn't messed up, and your skin's not greasy or anything.

When you open the door Vil is, as always, the vision of perfection. Dressed snuggly in a deep blue winter coat, black leather gloves, and a white fur scarf, his hair tied back in a bun, only the front half left loose to frame his face as it usually does.

His violet eyes glimmer when he sees you, swiftly putting his phone back in his pocket.

"There you are, are you ready to go?" He smiles.

"Yep!" You chuckle as you rub your hands together at the cold breeze that comes rushing in from outside.

It snowed particularly hard last night, so classes had been canceled today. But right now, the sky is clear, and the fresh snow sparkles under the late morning light.

The motion, however, catches Vil's eye, whose smile drops as he looks you up and down and raises a brow.

"It's quite cold out, MC, are you sure you don't want to put on gloves? And a scarf you be a good idea too. And maybe a different coat, that one simply is not your color, who did you let pick it out, Crowley? It hardly looks warm enough for the weather." He asks, poking at the sleeve of the item.

Actually, yes, he did pick it out. The cheapest one he could find.

"It's the only coat I have, and I don't have any gloves or anything. It's fine though, I've gotten pretty used to the cold by now." You laugh it off, and Vil's eyes narrow.

"Hm. Very well, let's just get going, I'm sure we can swing by Sam's shop and pick you up something." He nods, resolute.

"Oh, I don't really have any money for it. Not if I want to eat something other than the cheap microwave meals Crowley leaves for me over break." You wave your hands, stepping outside and closing the door before you let any more heat out.

It was hard enough getting the furnace working, you're not wasting a single second of the warmth it provides before it breaks again.

"Microwave meals!? Is that birdbrained idiot trying to kill you!? Do you know how many preservatives and chemicals are in those!?" Vil looks horrified and you can't help but chuckle, scratching at the back of your head nervously.

"Well, food is food, as Ruggie would say. We can worry more about it later if you'd like, but I'd really like to have some sort of fun on my snow day, don't you?" You ask, trying to change the subject.

The housewarden cringes at the idea of dropping the subject, but lets out a defeated sigh.

"Fine. We will be talking about this later though. Or at least I'll be talking with Crowley next housewarden's meeting." He mumbles the last bit as he grabs your arm, looping it through his.

Oh. Oh.

He leads the way down Ramshackle steps towards the gate. And you try not to think about you two looking awfully a lot like a couple.

Ice skating is a common winter date where you're from... And then you have a thought.

A stomach-dropping thought.

Is this a date?

You nearly stumble to a stop at the thought.

You didn't think to ask. Why would you!? It was such a random out-of-the-blue offer! You didn't think 'Would you like to go ice skating with me today?' translated to anything nonplatonic!

It's probably not a date. Probably.

So you quickly decide to distract yourself from the warmth radiating from where your and Vil's arms are locked.

"So, you wouldn't happen to know what's up with Epel lately? He and the others have been avoiding me. I think they're planning something, but I don't know what." You mention, and Vil glances at you with a small smirk.

"It just so happens I do. And trust me, it's nothing to worry about. Let's just focus on us today, yes?"

Oh, this might be a fucking date.

Fuuuuuuuck.

You would have tried so much harder to look nicer if you'd realized this sooner!

"O-okay. Well, how have you been with all the cold weather? Are you excited for the break?" You ask, suddenly feeling very nervous.

"I don't mind the cold, it dries out the skin, but simply adding an extra hydration step to my skincare routine in the morning and night is a simple fix for it." He informs and you smile.

"I've tried that face scrub stuff you got for me, and it works really well. Smells nice too. I'm almost out of it, so I'll have to save up for some more." You mention, the gift- or well, 'charity' as he called it at the time a few months ago, of skincare products.

It was nice of him, and you're pretty sure it was a 'thank you' for helping him during his overblot. Which is more than you got from Leona.

You've been able to set up a routine for yourself with it, probably nothing as complicated as his routine, but you're proud to say you have seen some improvements.

"Oh? I'm glad, I wasn't sure you'd use any of them, Epel certainly doesn't." He scoffs, and you chuckle.

"Yet somehow has incredible skin." You remark as you walk out the gate and towards the Alchemy Workshop

"I know, as to how he got so lucky when all he does is wash it with water and a cloth in the morning- sometimes- I will never understand." Vil sighs, bringing a hand to his head in disappointment.

"Well, at least he's got you to look out for him. Wish I were so lucky to have gotten the fair Vil Schoenheit as a guide throughout my time here at NRC. All I got was Crowley." You sigh, unintentionally leaning into him as a cold breeze passes through.

"Hm, well, if you'd like I can certainly dedicate some of my time to help you with self-care and style? And trust me, it's no burden on me. After all, if we're going to be seen together more, it ought to be my job to make sure you look good enough to impress. I want the world to see you as beautiful on the outside as I know you are on the inside." He meets your wide-eyed gaze with a soft smile.

There's a fondness in his eyes that you don't think you've ever seen before.

A fondness meant just for you.

"Oh my, are you sure you're not cold? Your face is all red." He asks, though there's a knowing look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

Oh, he's teasing you.

"I'm fine! I just didn't expect that! I don't get compliments often, you know?" You turn away, focusing on the path ahead of you.

"Oh, I doubt that sweet potato, with how selfless and determined you are? There are a lot of people here at NRC who should be singing your praises for everything you do for them." He brings his other free hand to rest on top of your arm, still locked with his.

"Well, all I really hear is people telling me that I shouldn't be so kind, or that I'm naive, too trusting, too generous, and foolish for never requesting anything in return... Sometimes it's like none of the students here even know what kindness is, the way they react to it." You can see the Alchemy Workshop ahead of you.

"Hm, I see. Well, I might agree in some aspects that you're too trusting and generous at times, but for the most part, it's... Not a bad thing. You've helped people, MC, even at your own detriment, and though the idea of you continuing to do so worries me, I know you will. Because you have a good heart. You care about people, even when they don't deserve your care. It's admirable." He sighs wistfully, staring off ahead, the condensation of his breath floating in the icy air around his face.

You pause when you reach the Alchemy Workshop, looking at him as he turns to you questioningly.

"... Thanks, Vil. You have a good heart too. Even if you don't show it very often. You look after your dormmates and underclassmen, you make sure they're taking care of themselves, eating healthy, and doing well in school. You encourage their passions a lot, even Epel's love for Spelldrive, despite not liking the sport yourself. You have your own way of caring about people, it's a more 'tough love' style than mine, but it's still just as admirable." You know he's thinking back to his own overblot and behavior leading up to it.

To be honest, it was bad, but people are more than just their worst moments.

And perhaps that is you being too forgiving, but empathy is something that NRC has been lacking for a long time. So perhaps it's just your cross to bear.

Vil meets your eyes for a long moment, thoughts swirling around those long lashes and pretty lavender irises.

"The way you're able to see people, sweet potato... It's a remarkable ability, you know that right?" He finally smiles, and it remains the most beautiful sight you've ever known.

"A blessing and a curse at times. Now come on, I wanna ice skate!" You laugh and pull at the connection of your arms to usher him forward.

"So you do know how? I never thought to ask, but I figured if you didn't I could teach you." Vil inquires as you walk around the building to see the frozen pond.

It looks beautiful, sparkling in the daylight. There are a few students on the other side skating, but they're far enough that you and Vil can still skate with plenty of room. It's a big pond after all.

"Kind of, I haven't in a while, so I might be a bit rusty- and certainly not as elegant as I'm sure you are." Of all the talents for Vil Schoenheit to have, ice skating may be the least surprising.

It's a beautiful hobby. Elegant, graceful, refined, and mature. All words that can describe ice skating and Vil.

"I only started learning a few years ago, and only really in the wintertime when I'm home alone on break. I picked it up to pass the time." He explains, walking you over to the pond edge where two bags sit- a note attached.

"You're alone during winter break?" You ask, slightly hesitant, not wanting it to be a sensitive topic, but he probably wouldn't have mentioned it if it was, right?

"Yes, my father's work schedule is usually packed, so he's not home often. I have the house to myself for the most part, save for the housekeepers." He picks up the note (you see that it's signed 'from Rook') and opens the bag nearest so you both can see the white ice skates inside.

"Oh, well, you can always call or text me during break if you get bored. I'd enjoy hearing from you." You grab the other bag as he hands it to you (ignoring how your hands brush), and he chuckles.

"I just might, sweet potato. Here, I sent Rook to buy these for you, so don't worry about returning them to me." He tells you.

You brush snow off a nearby tree stump and sit down to put them on. They fit perfectly, and you don't even want to begin to guess how Rook got your shoe size.

"You sure? I can pay you back-"

"Don't worry about it. Consider them one of your gifts. Now, let's go, we don't have all day."

Wait, one of your what-

You stumble a bit and Vil's arm darts out to steady you.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine, just haven't worn a pair of these in a while!" You laugh it off, and you both make your way to the ice.

Vil is as elegant as you thought he'd be, gliding across the ice smoothly. You have a rocky start, nearly slipping straight onto your butt the moment you touch the ice, but you find your balance quickly.

The memories of your last time skating flow back to the forefront of your mind, and you manage to not look like a complete fool gliding across the ice with Vil.

"Gosh, it feels like so long ago since I last did this!" You laugh, doing slow wide circles around the ice with Vil.

"Hm, it is a rather elegant winter activity, we could make it a tradition if you'd like? Coming to ice skate before winter break. It would keep either of us from getting too rusty and I can give you some of the hydrating face masks I use in the morning and night to keep your face from getting dry- and lip balm, chapped lips will not be accepted while we're together." He asks you, and you turn to him, skating in front of him backward.

It's a bold offer. Everything about Vil had been bold today. Does he truly like you? Like, like-like you?

You certainly like-like him.

By the seven you sound like a middle schooler with their first ever crush. Hell, you've certainly felt like one for... Awhile now.

Every time you're near him, acting like a blushing idiot, twirling your hair and giggling. You're not actually doing either of those things, but you sure feel like it!

Ever since his overblot, he's been a consistent voice of reason in your life, helping you curb the chaotic tendencies of those around you every time he's around.

And somewhere along the line, you've developed that terrible fluttering in your stomach that people call a crush every time he speaks to you. Or offers to help with something. Or looks at you. Or calls you 'sweet potato' which really only started just before Halloween.

God, he really has been dropping big hints, huh? So you should make a bold move too, right?

By the seven, please don't let this backfire.

"I'd love to, but only if you let me take you out to dinner afterward." You smile, the slightest of nervous flushes on your face, and his eyes widen, startled, but so does his smirk.

"How bold. And here I was worried that even after today you wouldn't get the hint. It's a date, sweet potato." He skates closer to you.

"I'm not that dense you know, just... In a state of shock that you'd want to go out with me. You do know you could have anyone right? You're a famous model, actor, and the housewarden of Pomefiore. From what I've seen so far, there isn't a girl or guy alive that wouldn't throw themselves at your feet." You acknowledge and he just laughs.

"Ah, yes, all the guys and girls that would love to be with me just for my looks, fame, and money. No, thank you. I'll stick with one of the only people in the world who sees me. Who appreciates my help, even when others think I'm being a bitch. Who values my advice, and actually listens to it. Who makes me feel like I... for a single second... Don't need to try so hard to be perfect." You stop skating at his words.

So does he.

"Vil... You never have to be perfect with me. I'm not perfect. Neither is anyone I know- I mean, look at my best friends! They're morons! But I still love them! Because they make me laugh. They care about my wellbeing- in their own ways, and they're there for me when I really need them." You list fondly, skating just a bit closer to grab Vil's gloved hand.

"That's all I really need from anyone, and maybe to some people, that's a low bar, but hey, I'm happy. So it must not be that bad of a thing, you know? So if you're up to doing just those three things, then I'll gladly date you, and do the same in return." When you look up at him, he's watching you closely.

Or well, maybe not you.

Your lips.

"I think I'm quite capable of doing all of that. And more, if you'd allow me?" He glances to meet your gaze his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

You smile and nod.

And he kisses you. Slow, soft, and gentle. Warmth fills you, making the cold that your cheap coat couldn't keep out, melt away.

You lean into the kiss, and you have to stop yourself from chasing after it when he pulls away.

"Lots of those. That's also part of the deal- I require lots of those." You sigh wistfully and he laughs.

Bright, and melodic, and real.

You move to skate an inch back just to see it better and-

"Ack-!"

Your skate catches on something, stalling and sending you falling back.

Your arms frantically reach to grab something and stabilize yourself. At the same time, Vil quickly reaches forward to grab you, which he does, but then his skate trips over the same thing that must have tripped you.

You land in snow.

Ah. You two were at the edge of the pond.

You tripped on solid ground.

And dragged Vil down with you.

Not a great start to the relationship.

It takes a moment of blinking to fully process what just happened but when you do, you find Vil on top of you, a single hair fallen out of his bun.

Without thinking you reach out and tuck it behind his ear so it's less noticeable to someone who isn't this close to him.

His eyes meet yours and you flush, suddenly bashful and worried all at once.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay!?" You ask, feeling the snow below you, freezing cold seeping through your coat and clothes.

You use your hands to prop yourself up, ignoring the cold and how it starts to sting.

"I'm alright, are you?" He asks and you nod, looking around, your happy you two are now the only ones at the pond.

Vil may have agreed to date you, but he might quickly retract it if anyone saw that.

You sigh in relief, and then... You can't stop yourself from laughing.

"Care to enlighten me on what's so funny about this? Ugh, I've probably messed up my hair- and my clothes-" He pushes himself up, standing swiftly, brushing the snow off of his coat.

"Because we weren't paying attention at all!" You snort out, still laughing at the whole clumsy situation.

"Exactly! You could have gotten hurt, you are aware of that, correct?" He scolds, leaning down to offer you a hand up, which you gladly take while still giggling.

"Yeah, but we didn't, and this will be a hilarious first date story someday." You struggle to balance only for a second when he pulls you to your feet (he's stronger than you thought, duly noted) but he holds your arms to keep you steady.

"We are not telling anyone that I fell." He says firmly, but you smile up at him and can immediately see that fondness softening his sharp glare.

"Of course not. The beautiful and fair, Vil Schoenheit was my hero, helping me up, checking for injuries, kissing them better-" He scoffs as you giggle out the lie.

"We're not telling anyone that either, sweet potato. Let's just stick with you fell, and I helped you up, yes?" He smirks, and you sigh with a smile still glued to your face.

"As you wish, my fairest." You loop your arms and begin skating out towards the middle of the ice once more.

"How about you show me some of those fancier moves you were doing earlier? The figure skating stuff. I'm no master like you, but I think I can learn a few things." You suggest.

"I wouldn't call myself a master, but I can show you a few things I've learned, so watch closely, sweet potato."

"Oh, trust me, I will."

You two spend the next hour skating, Vil teaching you some more advanced moves, which leads to you falling once or twice more, but you get a few down before evening rolls around with no serious injury.

"I think we should probably head back now, my hands are going to go numb." You sigh, a little disappointed to call it quits, but your hands hurt from how cold they are, and you legs are getting tired too.

"That's probably for the best, to much time out in the cold is terrible for the skin." He sighs, already skating towards you.

"I though you had hydrating face masks for that?" You joke and he rolls his eyes.

"There's only so much a face mask can protect you from and prevent. Are you hungry? We can grab something to eat before we go back, my treat this time, since I was the one who invited you out after all." He suggests and you would like to protest that you should at least pay for your share but- you really don't have the money.

And you're actually starving. You both kind of skipped any kind of lunch, being too distracted with skating and confessions and all that.

Note to self, pack lunches next year.

"Sure, Mostro Lounge would be the best option-" You go to recommend, but Vil quickly interrupts.

"I was thinking of somewhere else. You've been to Mostro Lounge dozens of times, but I'd love to bring you to a restaurant in town that I think you'd like." He asks pulling out his phone and typing something very quickly.

"Oh? Okay. So long as Azul doesn't find out I'm cheating on him with another restaurant, we should be fine." You chuckle and your words draw one from Vil to.

"It's a small place, quaint, quiet, and... Homey. I think you'll enjoy it." Good, so nothing that's 5-star fine dining.

You're really not dressed for that kind of restaurant.

"Alright, but I should stop by and tell Grim I'll be out a little longer, or he might get worried."

"Oh, I think he'll be fine. You can text someone else to check on him if you're really worried, or I can have Rook do it?" He pulls you a bit closer to him as you shiver a bit from a cold wind.

Oh, yeah, Grim will definitely be fine.

"Alright. Lead the way, my fairest." You sigh with a dopey smile, and he glances down at you with a smirk.

"Is that your pet name for me now?" He asks with a raised brow and you nudge him.

"Like you can judge, you literally call me a potato!" You laugh.

"A sweet potato." He correct.

"Still a potato. But it's fine. I quite like it. Would you like me to call you something else?" You ask, tilting your head in his direction and he hums in thought.

"No, I think that will work. As well as darling, love, sweetheart, beauty, my queen- those all work too." He smiles proudly, and you giggle.

"Of course, my queen." You give a small, mock bow, and it's his turn to nudge you.

Today has been... Wonderful.

And even if you're alone during winter break, at least you know Vil is only a text or phone call away.

It'll be a good Christmas this year. You just know it.

~~~

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zhaobear · 6 months ago

Text

a perfect match

PAIRING : sung hanbin x fem reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, college au, barista au, mild enemies/rivals to lovers au, sick fic

WORD COUNT : 4310 words

SUMMARY : you and sung hanbin complement each other perfectly, whether it's behind the coffee bar or during late nights in your dorm building. however, companionship quickly turns to competition as the end of the year approaches — and with that, the glorious title of employee of the year. but when hanbin falls sick, you decide you can put your feud aside for one day.

WARNINGS : profanity, brief mentions of drinking, one slightly heated kiss, mc is competitive, hanbin is messing with her, jiwoong is just there, injeolmi toast reference, there are interspersed flashbacks in italics & one tense change!

AUTHOR'S NOTE : helloo making my zeroseblr debut!! thank you so much to anyone who reads i hope you enjoy <3 a huge huge thank you to @jayflrt and @s7toru for the support and encouragement, i don't think i'd be publishing this without them!

“HANBIN DIDN’T COME IN TODAY,” Jiwoong says in lieu of a greeting as soon as you enter the back of the store.

You flip through the café’s records book, noting down your time of arrival. Jiwoong can yap about Sung Hanbin all he wants, but you won’t let that stop you from getting paid.

“What does that have to do with me?” You shoot back, tying up your apron.

Jiwoong shrugs. “You guys are close, right? I thought you’d know what’s up.”

You scoff. You and Hanbin may have been close once, but that was before he started coming for your position.

“Keep it up, Hanbin!” Jiwoong claps Hanbin on the shoulder as he finishes taking a customer’s order. “Engaging with customers and making them feel connected to the store is one of our most important values.”

“Thanks, Jiwoong,” Hanbin beams, the sight of his dimples causing butterflies to take flight in your stomach, for whatever strange reason. That is, until Jiwoong’s next words.

“With how much improvement you’re making, you might just be up for Employee of the Year.” Jiwoong winks. Your jaw drops to the floor. Jiwoong doesn’t notice your mouth hanging open and simply returns to making drinks like he didn't just shatter your entire world.

“What the hell!” You call out indignantly. “Why would he get Employee of the Year?”

Jiwoong turns to look at you like he’s just remembering your presence for the first time.

“Well, Hanbin’s been learning very quickly since he joined. He’s made a lot of improvement and the customers love him.”

“He served a frozen sandwich the other day!” You cry out. You remember it clearly — the customer had approached you with a furious glint in her eyes, demanding to know why her sandwich wasn’t heated. Hanbin had popped up behind you to apologize for his mistake, and a blush immediately overtook her face as she shoved the sandwich into her mouth, claiming she preferred it frozen anyway.

“That was last week! I’m a changed man now,” Hanbin insists.

“The award should not go to him,” You splutter at Jiwoong. “I can talk to customers too!” You shove Hanbin away as the next customer in line approaches the register.

“Hi, could I please get an iced matcha latte, and a—”

“Hi, how was your day?” You interrupt loudly. Jiwoong slaps a hand to his mouth to stifle a poorly-contained laugh. The girl’s eyes go wide as she takes in your expression, her gaze flitting nervously between you and the door, like she’s considering bolting out of the shop.

“Sorry, don’t mind her. She means well,” a smooth voice interrupts. Hanbin slides back to his position on the register, his hand circling your waist as he gently eases you to the side.

You huff. “I can handle myself on register!”

Hanbin’s hand shifts to your lower back as he leans over to whisper to you. “You’re staring the poor girl down like she just murdered your family. I got this.”

True to his words, the girl visibly relaxes when Hanbin takes over and begins to make conversation. Your cheeks grow hot at the gesture. You should be angry, but Hanbin’s hand is warm on you and his shoulder is knocking into yours and you can’t seem to think straight.

Hanbin leans close again, and your brain short-circuits.

“I’m coming for your award,” he breathes cheekily into your ear.

The giddy feeling in your chest immediately dies on the spot.

You scowl at the memory, your knuckles turning white as you tie the strings of your apron tighter. Jiwoong raises an eyebrow, reminding you of his question.

“I’m not speaking to him anymore.” You have to hold back from crossing your arms like an angry child.

“You were fighting him over the register on Wednesday,” Jiwoong points out.

“A lot can change in three days.”

Jiwoong sighs. “Seriously, do you know what’s up? He hasn’t called or texted at all.”

That makes you pause. Ever since your current feud with Sung Hanbin, he became particularly more committed to “beating” you at work, whether it was clocking in earlier than you, going beyond the necessary opening requirements, or covering more shifts than usual. For him to not show up to work without any prior notice or explanation — maybe there is something wrong.

You relent. “I’ll go check up on him after my shift, okay?”

A Cheshire grin spreads across Jiwoong’s face. “So much extra effort,” he muses.

“We live in the same building,” you deadpan. You check your hair in the small mirror on the wall before heading to the front of the store for your shift.

“I didn’t even tell you to go check up on him!” Jiwoong calls to your back. You give him the finger in return.

“Hanbin, open up!” You yell, pounding on his door for what feels like the millionth time. You press your ear to the wood, but hear absolutely nothing.

“I can see your Snap location!”

Then, a rustle.

You hear the creak of a bed, and the sound of soft footsteps gradually approaching closer. The door swings open, revealing Sung Hanbin in his pajamas.

“You were in bed the whole time?” You shriek. “Jiwoong was worried sick! He was acting like you dropped off the face of the Earth when you didn’t contact anyone!”

Hanbin wordlessly turns around, making a beeline away from the door. You huff, following him inside his dorm without another thought.

“You’re just going to leave when I’m talking to you? Look, I get it if you don’t want to interact with me, but you shouldn’t ghost your manager. Isn’t that—”

Hanbin stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door shut on you. Realization dawns upon you when you hear retching from the other end. The puzzle pieces slot into place — his glazed eyes, paler-than-usual face, and complete lack of energy.

“Hanbin?” You ask, your voice softer than before. No response. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Hanbin whispers faintly behind the door.

“Okay,” you respond uneasily, “but I’m staying here until you come out.”

You take his soft sigh as affirmation, and immediately pull out your phone to text his roommate.

you: wya??

taerae: staying w my aunt for the weekend taerae: why whats up?

you: hanbins sick

taerae: oh shit taerae: well. gl to him

you: 😭 you: do you have medicine

taerae: no 😂 taerae: wait actually taerae: check the bottom drawer on my desk

you: found it ty

You gather whatever medicines look helpful from Taerae’s drawer, then grab water from the fridge. Soon enough, you hear Hanbin moving behind the door, followed by the flush of the toilet and water running from the sink. He emerges from the bathroom, his face glistening with water droplets. He looks tired in a way you’ve never seen before as he trudges past you and collapses at the foot of his bed.

He groans softly at the hard surface, but makes no move to get up. You crouch down to the ground, pressing your hand against his forehead in concern.

“Hanbin,” you gasp. “You’re burning up.”

Hanbin makes a pitiful noise, shifting so he’s pressing his flushed cheek to the cold tile. You loop your arms through his and haul him to his feet.

“You missed the bed,” you try to joke, but even you can hear the terribly masked worry in your voice. Hanbin slumps onto the mattress, and you carefully pull the covers over him despite his small sounds of protest. He’s clearly not concerned enough to do anything more, so he mutters incoherent nonsense under his breath and then closes his eyes.

You can’t help the minuscule twitch of your lips at the sight, but you turn back to the medicine bottles before you can allow yourself to dwell on it.

Once you’ve arranged an assortment of pills and the water, you gently shake Hanbin, whose eyes are still shut.

“Sit up,” you urge, tapping his shoulder. Hanbin cracks open an eye, sulking. Regardless, he complies, sitting up and fully opening his eyes. “Take these.”

His frown deepens, but his gaze scans your face and he obeys without another word.

“How long have you been sick like this?”

Silence.

“When’s the last time you ate?” You try instead. Hanbin pauses, like he’s taking a moment to genuinely think about it, then shrugs blankly. “Hanbin, you have to eat!”

“Not hungry,” he mumbles.

“This isn’t up for debate,” you shoot back. “I’ll go grab you something, so stay here, okay?”

Hanbin nods, sinking back into bed. You shoulder your bag and search for his phone and keys, finding them on his desk.

“Here,” you say, tucking his phone under his pillow. “Call me if you need anything. I’m taking your keys so you don’t have to let me in. Take a nap, and I’ll be back soon.”

Hanbin only buries his face further into the pillow. You refill his water and adjust the room temperature before slipping on your shoes at the front. You helplessly turn back to look at him once more, like a compass straying north. Then, you leave.

When Sung Hanbin first walked into Say Yes! Coffee with a stunning resume and even more stunning smile, you recognized him instantly.

You had met Hanbin in the beginning of your sophomore year on a Thursday night, when the noise from the room above yours was becoming unbearable.

You had stormed up the stairs in your pajamas, too tired to care about appearances as you incessantly knocked on the door. When the door opened to a man clad in all black with an unnervingly handsome face, you faltered slightly. However, the sight of the dim lights and red solo cups behind him rekindled your anger, and you immediately began to tell him off.

He was holding a party on a Thursday night, for god’s sake, couldn’t he at least have waited until the weekend? As you continued on about the lack of consideration for those with Friday morning classes — however small the number may be — your voice got stuck in your throat when the man responded with a dazzling smile.

“Cute,” he had said, causing you to flinch in shock. He agreeably promised to keep the noise down, and with your face heating up from a mixture of embarrassment and surprise, you turned around and left without another word.

You didn’t see him again after that incident, but true to his word, the noise was considerably softer in the following parties. When you saw him again at your workplace, you weren’t even sure if he’d remember you.

However, Hanbin’s eyes had instantly lit up. “Pajama girl!” He’d exclaimed, and your smile dropped.

From then onwards, your relationship had taken a turn. Jiwoong began scheduling the two of you for almost every shift together, allowing you to witness every step of his journey — from training, to slowly taking over register, to becoming a pain in your ass. It almost made you sentimental, thinking about how much you’d gotten to see.

With the increased shifts came increased shenanigans during breaks, from ridiculous drink concoctions to espresso shot chugging competitions. Eventually, these were followed by unexpected knocks on your door and boba runs between classes.

Hanbin would let you into the dance studio, smirking at your reactions in the mirror whenever he caught you staring as he practiced. You allowed him to tag along on your trips to the library, even though he would use the soundproof study room to loudly poke fun at you while you would fret over your lab reports and problem sets.

Despite the vast differences in your majors, you still had the common denominator of a shared dorm building. This was clear every time Hanbin would knock on your door to drag you to his upstairs parties to expand your social circle, or when you would knock on his to deliver successful baking experiments.

In your second semester, he joined you in a General Education class that he absolutely did not need to take, and you started going to his open dance classes despite your severe lack of coordination.

So perhaps Jiwoong was right, maybe you were incredibly close — until the possibility of Hanbin winning Employee of the Year became real enough to scare you, until you decided it would be easier to hate him. (Was it Employee of the Year that you were afraid of, or something else?)

You reenter Hanbin’s dorm with a giant thermos of steaming hot soup, an extra blanket, and an assortment of items from the nearby drugstore. You dump the contents onto the table, wincing at the amount. You may have gone slightly crazy and swept nearly everything off the shelves at the pharmacy, but you convince yourself they’ll be necessary.

When you enter his room with the food, you’re surprised to find that he’s already awake. His brows furrow slightly at the sight of you.

“I brought you soup,” you explain, nodding at the bowl in your hands. “Eat.”

While the Hanbin 30 minutes ago was so sluggish he could barely keep his eyes open, this Hanbin is uncannily alert. His eyes dart back and forth between you, the soup, and the medicines scattered across his desk. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s searching for the right words.

“Why’re you doing this?” A strange question to settle on, but you smile at him softly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t understand,” he replies, his gaze wary.

You frown. “You’ve done the same for me. Remember when I got super drunk at Matthew’s and you brought me home?”

Hanbin goes silent.

Things like this between you and Hanbin are never questioned — they always go without saying. He threatens you at work, but he still picks you up when you drink too much. You fight him over the register, but you still sit next to him in class and watch him from the back of the dance studio. You’re still here, because you know Hanbin would be no different.

“You don’t owe me for that,” Hanbin blurts out, red creeping up his cheeks.

“I don’t think of it like that. I’m here because I want you to get better,” you say, holding out the bowl of soup to him. A peace offering.

Hanbin hesitates, then accepts it, blowing on it to cool it down and taking a sip. He hums in satisfaction, then shovels the rest down his throat within a minute. You gape.

“Slow down,” you scold, remembering the vomiting from earlier. You feel a pang of guilt realizing how hungry he must’ve been, motionless in his bed without the energy to eat.

Hanbin grows more lethargic on his second bowl, his eyelids beginning to sink. He catches himself just before he can allow himself to doze, and you frown. You can’t help but wonder why he’s fighting sleep when it’s what he needs the most — his half-lidded eyes stay focused on you, and then it hits you. Maybe he wants to be alone.

You take the bowl back and pull the covers over him, noting with a twinge of satisfaction that some color has returned to his face.

“I’ll clean things up and then head out so you can get some sleep,” you tell him. Although something deep inside you longs to stay, to stick with him until you’re sure that his fever is gone, you stand up from the chair.

However, Hanbin grabs your elbow before you can fully turn away. When you look at him, there’s a plea behind his eyes that he doesn’t seem keen on voicing. Even when he’s sick, he’s strong, tugging you back towards him until you’re sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Do you want more soup?” You ask, unsure of what he needs from you.

Hanbin shakes his head. “Stay,” he mumbles, so faint that you barely hear it.

Oh.

“Sleep,” you coax him gently, your heart squeezing at his request. “I won’t go anywhere.”

Hanbin searches your face with a hint of desperation, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sparkle in his eyes. (Did Sung Hanbin always look at you like you had hung the moon and stars?)

You don’t have to think about it for too long because Hanbin seems to find whatever he’s looking for in your expression and finally closes his eyes. Sleep pulls him under within minutes, evident in his deeper breathing and the loosened tension in his body.

You brush some of his hair away from his forehead, softening at the lines of his face, more youthful and relaxed with the rest.

In a few minutes, you know you’ll have to clean up, restock the fridge, and find a damp washcloth to reduce his temperature. But you allow yourself a moment to stare, brushing his thumb with your cheek.

Even while asleep, Hanbin leans into the touch, like a flower searching for sunlight, and you flinch. You return to your chair next to his bed and watch him until the sun rises, your heart a jumbled mess.

“Jiwoong.” Hanbin calls out one morning towards the end of his training, when the three of you are opening the store.

“Hmm?” Jiwoong shoots Hanbin a brief glance before going back to busying himself with the espresso machine.

“Why do you always schedule me and Y/N together?”

You turn at the mention of your name, perking up with curiosity. Jiwoong’s brows furrow, almost as though the answer is obvious.

“Y/N is efficient, in pretty much all ways possible. She can make the most drinks in the least time possible, without compromising quality. She’s also great at responding to unexpected situations,” Jiwoong explains. You grin at the compliment but stay silent, sensing he has more to say.

“Hanbin, you’re slower and sometimes you freeze up during mishaps. But you’re good with customers. You know enough about coffee to make recommendations. You’re perceptive, so you’re first to know when we need to restock. All of which Y/N tends to fall short on. Which is fine, of course, because neither of you is perfect.

“But what one of you lacks, the other one makes up. You’re imperfect separately, but a perfect match together.” Jiwoong puts a pause to his grandiose speech to fish for the keys in his pocket. “Anyways, I’m going to unlock the door now.”

You shoot Hanbin an incredulous look, despite the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest. Hanbin looks equally confused, but his gaze softens when you make eye contact. The smile he returns is so tender that you have to look away, your face burning like a star. You go back to wiping down the counters, and avoid thinking about Sung Hanbin and how incredibly red his ears were.

When Hanbin wakes up, you’re reminded of his training days from all those months ago, of his shy but earnest demeanor, unafraid to reveal his struggles and ask for help.

This Hanbin is similarly vulnerable, allowing himself to be open and show you weakness. Allowing you to help him.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Hanbin’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you flush, shaking yourself out of your nostalgia. You press the back of your hand against his forehead, sighing in relief.

“Drink this, it’ll help," you say, avoiding his eyes as you hand him a glass of orange juice. “Your fever finally broke.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m sweating balls,” he rasps, kicking off the blankets you’d piled on top of him. He chugs down the juice and rubs at his eyes. “What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday evening. You pretty much slept through the whole day,” you grin.

“Did you stay since yesterday?” A hint of guilt flashes across Hanbin’s face.

“It’s fine, I got some work done,” you wave it off, gesturing to your computer propped open on his desk. “Taerae’s gonna be back soon, so I’ll head out, okay? I texted Jiwoong for you, so you’re not working tomorrow. There’s some extra soup in the fridge, so heat that whenever you want.”

You start to gather your things, but Hanbin catches your wrist. His expression is abnormally serious, his eyes piercing holes into yours.

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?” You use your other hand to check his forehead again, but he stops you.

"I need you."

Your mouth falls open. “What?”

Hanbin quickly catches himself. "I need you — to drop this Employee of the Year thing. Jiwoong already told me he's giving it to you."

You're still stuck on the first three words of his sentence, but when the gears in your head finally turn you gasp. It's a lot to process and you shake your head, wondering if you even heard him right. How long were you fighting for an award that was already yours?

"I thought you wanted to win," is all you can think of saying.

Hanbin smiles, warm and soft in a way so familiar that your heart aches. “Y/N, I don’t care about Employee of the Year. Go out with me.”

You find yourself at a loss for words, but Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind as he continues.

“I know I still have a lot to learn, and I didn't even care about the award that much. I was mostly just teasing you, so can we please stop fighting over it? Or else I’ll seriously think you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you choke out.

Hanbin chuckles. “I figured that now. No one spends this much time and effort on someone they hate.”

“Shut up,” you say halfheartedly, your heart hammering in your chest. “Are you serious?” Hanbin tugs you by the hands, enough that you’re sitting on the edge of his bed. All traces of humor vanish from his face as he stares at you intently.

“Y/N, I like you. I thought you were cute ever since you showed up at my doorstep in your pajamas. And I’ve been hopelessly obsessed with you ever since we started working together. Does that answer your question?”

Fireworks explode in your chest as you think back to Jiwoong’s old words.

What one of you lacks, the other one makes up.

When Hanbin is sick, you take care of him. When Hanbin forgets to eat at the dance studio, you bring him food. And despite all your incessant fighting, Hanbin covers for you at the register. Hanbin invites you to parties when you’re cooped up in the library for too long. Hanbin sends you his notes when you doze off in class.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you begin to put together the little moments of your relationship. You were a perfect match the whole time, just as Jiwoong said, only you hadn’t truly realized the weight of his words. You itch with the need to do something, but your hands are still tightly grasped in Hanbin’s and you can’t think of much else to do than to lean down and press your lips to his cheek.

Hanbin makes a small noise of surprise at the contact, his hands slackening around yours. You flush at the warmth of his skin against your mouth, feeling as though you’re floating somewhere above the stars. When you pull away, Hanbin’s eyes are closed, lashes fanned against his cheekbones and face tilted upwards like he’s hoping for more, or savoring it. His eyes are glassy when they finally open, eliciting a giggle from your throat.

“I like you too,” you grin, “if that didn’t make it clear.”

Hanbin smiles then, so wide that you can see his whisker dimples. He pulls you down and on top of him, burying his face in your neck.

“Let me kiss you properly,” he whispers into your skin. You separate from him enough to read his expression, eyes widening at the sudden sharpness in his gaze. His eyes flicker between yours, before darting down to your lips and fixating on them.

“Won’t your mouth taste horrible?” You tease, but you’re already leaning in.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs against your lips before closing the distance.

A thousand firecrackers flare up in your body when his mouth meets yours. You gasp when his tongue slips into your mouth, leaving behind the pleasantly surprising taste of orange juice.

Sparks fly where his skin touches yours, multiplied by a thousand when he cradles your cheek and deepens the kiss. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. The soft groan that emits from Hanbin causes a jolt of pleasure to shudder down your spine, and you instinctively tug harder.

You pull away far too soon to catch your breath, breath hitching at the string of saliva between both your lips.

“Gross,” you lie, but Hanbin’s eyes only darken.

“I wanna do that again.” He leans in again, but you veer away before you can allow your judgment to blur.

“You have to focus on getting better first!” You swat at his hands.

Hanbin pouts. “I’m way better. Stellar, actually.”

“You can kiss me in two days.”

Hanbin’s answering smile is blindingly bright, even though you didn’t say anything particularly funny.

“What is it?” Your pulse races at how he looks at you — like you’re made of every precious thing in the world, like you’re a dream made alive.

“I think this might be the happiest day of my life,” he answers. As he grins at you with the warmth of the entire sun, you realize the fluttering behind your ribcage was never a new feeling — you were just as enamored with him when you first met.

You smile back, bigger than you’ve ever smiled at Hanbin, watching his gaze turn awestruck as a red-hot blush creeps up his cheeks and neck.

“I think it might be mine too.”

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koolades-world · 2 years ago

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More Obey me! Headcannons

had so much fun last time I wanted to do it again

Satan is so smart, but has issues doing basic math and refuses to admit it, like he can’t figure out fifteen plus seven without his fingers or a calculator (is this me projecting? maybe)

Belphie bought himself and Mc matching house slippers. Mc thought Beel felt left out and made Belphie buy a pair for him too

Beel has a huge green thumb, and takes upon himself to save plants he thinks are sad or lonely. He buys the dying plants from the store to bring back to life (partially inspired by the chat where someone, forgot who, told beel that if he talked to plants they would grow faster my precious baby)

Lucifer is the best cook at the HoL, but rarely has time to cook. Beel is the second best but usually eats the ingredients before he can make anything with them. Mammon is probably the worst because Levi can make food from animes almost perfectly

Asmo once almost set a store he was collaborating with on fire with his rage alone because they spelt his name wrong

Beel probably needs a new toothbrush every couple weeks. Belphie probably gets toothbrushes mixed up and uses ones that aren’t his

Lucifer and Solomon like prune juice haha old men

The one thing Luke and Simeon have seriously disagreed on is if raisins belong in dessert. Michael likes them, so Luke does too. Simeon thinks they’re awful but never directly says it, so Lucifer usually says it for him

Despite always being online, Levi had not once checked his RAD email. He has 9,999+ emails, probably a lot more because 9,999 is where it stops counting

Mammon collects cool rocks and keeps them in a box under his bed

Satan’s hands are always freezing, so he sticks them under Mc (or a cat) when possible, or uses a charmed hot water bottle from Solomon that stays warm for days at a time

Solomon and Asmo have had matching bracelet sets for as long as they’ve known each other, and since they didn’t make them anymore, they got some custom done for Mc so they could also have them

For about 1,000 years, Thirteen though jelly beans were an actual kind of bean and Solomon never let her let it go

The first food Mc and Mammon ate on a date in the human world together was Taiyaki, so he made it a point to learn how to make them to surprise Mc (even though he’s a terrible cook) (I might make this a fic since I like this idea so much)

Diavolo has always wanted a Devildom version of a hamster but Barbatos refused to have any kind of rodent in the castle, rat or not

Luke probably downloads those stupid app games with the ads unironically

Satan’s favorite Disney Princess is Ariel because she ran off to do what she wanted without caring what her father thought, it’s giving daddy issues. He’s probably considered running off and marrying Mephisto to make Lucifer angry

Raphael unironically enjoys off brand chips and soda

Lucifer is a nail biter, and Asmo is helping him curve the habit by putting a nasty tasting top coat when he does his nails, and it’s also why he wears gloves all the time.

Belphie and Satan once went up to the humans world together to mess with people in Salem, Massachusetts with magic, which spawned several conspiracy theory books. They read them together and laugh as a past time

Diavolo once went to the human world in his demon form for,, reasons, and accidentally got written into ancient mythology because he got spotted by humans

Barbatos had a home garden for cooking and sometimes lets Asmo have leaves from some of the plants to make homemade skin care products

Mammon probably has lots of earwax. Don’t share your earbuds with him unless you make him clean them afterwards

Belphie has a really large water bottle that’s always on his side table. He wakes up randomly though the night, chugs an ungodly amount of water and then passed out again. In the mornings he has to piss really bad but is too lazy to get up and actually do it, so he just sits and complains. Even Beel isn’t sure how he’s able to drink that much water in a short amount of time

Satan likes waking up early to enjoy the morning air and read outside for a while since mornings can get hectic with his brothers

Thirteen’s favorite torture device is the Iron Maiden. She had her own that she bedazzled. Even Asmo is jealous and wants her to make him one too

Mammon introduced Diavolo to Gatorade, and instead of sneaking behind Lucifer and Barbatos’s backs to drink Demonus, they have secret Gatorade meetings

Diavolo and Lucifer definitely both had a hidden Dialuci stash of things and probably clash trying to collect limited edition things online

None of the Obey me cast took birthdays or passing of years seriously until Mc entered the picture and suddenly time was precious, and they actually kept track. Because of this, nobody is really sure how old the twins are

Mephisto thinks roosters want world domination

Asmo thinks cilantro tastes like soap and Levi thinks anything cola flavored tastes like cough medicine

Mammon's favorite party trick is one Mc taught him, which is rolling his tongue Everyone he meets, including his brothers, thinks it's so cool when really it's just a genetic thing

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strawberry-cowmilk · 1 year ago

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cuddling the brothers (realistic)

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: this is a shitpost (at this point I'm basically roasting these men) also pretty sure I did this before but not a joke version

-----

Lucifer

honestly consider yourself lucky if this man agrees to cuddle you or has time to cuddle you

and if it does happen it's behind a door he put 5 magic locks on because he can't risk his brothers seeing him all soft for you (pride at its finest)

lucifer's shoulders are so stiff if a plate fell on them it would shatter from the sheer impact

other than him not feeling soft and cuddly but more like a brick, it's not bad at all

Mammon

here follows an example of mammon's average attempt to ask you to cuddle with him

'hey uh mc, look, listen, uhhhh nevermind I'm going to akudonald's, want something?' (he is awkwardly playing with his shirt and not looking you in the eyes while speaking)

but when you actually do hug him, mammon feels like a living heater do not hug him on a hot summer day also he's a little awkward about it at first but then refuses to release you

Leviathan

step 1 is getting levi to warm up enough to you so you two can cuddle without him going insane

step 2 is you have to get used to the fact that when he decides he wants to hold you and it's during his gaming sessions you might get cheese puff dust all over you because he was eating those before

your clothes will look like a bee after it sat on a flower

also never hug him after he's been marinating in his room all day he will not smell super great until after his bath

Satan

how often have you cuddled with him only to smell the strong scent of cat food and on his clothes?

one time you hugged him and a whole pack of cat food fell out of his pocket

and sometimes he's been in some ancient library so you hug him, end up inhaling some dust that stuck to him, and sneeze

please get satan some perfume and a lint roller for his next birthday

also he doesn't love being held so usually it's just him holding you, not you holding him or you holding each other

Asmodeus

sometimes he gets a little too happy and squeezes you a little hard (you feel like you are breaking a rib)

also sometimes there's a whole cloud of strong perfume surrounding him good luck breathing oxygen

sometimes he gets a glimpse of you hugging in the mirror and then he want to take pictures of you and him in that position

when asmo says 'take a picture' he means 'I'm going to take 86367336 pictures and delete everything except the best three'

Beelzebub

like mammon he is a walking heater but like three times more warm it feels like hugging the sun

also good luck with the smell if he wants to hug you after his gym visit when the showers were broken

by the way never cuddle him in his bed because the sheets are basically fully coated in crumbs it's like sitting on the beach

but other than all that, he's nice to cuddle he looks so happy like :)))

Belphegor

beel is warm, his twin is the opposite

his hands feel like putting food from the fridge onto your skin and you can even feel some cold through your clothes

also there's a 99% chance he's going to fall asleep on you and you have to end up dragging him to the nearest couch or bed (or just leave him he can sleep on everything, through anything and on any surface probably)

and belphie has a tight grip on you there's no escape once you decide to cuddle him

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me swd #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #asmodeus obey me #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me #obey me shitpost #gn!mc

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misc-obeyme · 11 months ago

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XOXO

Happy Valentine's Day!

I wanted to do a cute and quick little headcanon, so this is the brothers reacting to MC giving them a box of conversation hearts. If you'd like me to do the other characters as well, feel free to send me a request for it. 💕 ETA: Part two is here!

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Warnings: none!

Lucifer

He does understand that there is limited space on these tiny chalk hearts, but is that really an excuse for the terrible spelling? LUV U and U R CUTE really make him frown.

Despite this, Lucifer does think it's very cute of you to give them to him. He will keep them on his desk, safe in their box, and woe betide anyone who even dares to touch them. He won't even touch them himself and no, it has nothing to do with getting chalky candy dust on his spotless black gloves.

He may not fully understand your human customs, MC, but he truly does appreciate your thoughtfulness. When you're spending time with him while he does paperwork, he will actually pick one out to give to you. It's the one that says ALL MINE.

He waits to see if you blush. If you do, he's out of his seat in an instant, pulling you to your feet so he can kiss you. He'll whisper in your ear about how you are, in fact, all his.

Mammon

At first he's too busy being flustered by the fact that you gave him something so cute to consider anything else. But once he's calmed down, he starts scheming. Hey, MC! Don't ya think Devildom variants of these'd sell like hotcakes? You'd both be rich!

You get to decide if you indulge this idea or not. Though admittedly, it'd be pretty interesting to see what kinds of phrases you might come up with for a Devildom variant. They might say things like LUV POTION or SPELL ON U or maybe even HEART HEX. The two of you have a fun time coming up with these, whether or not you actually make them.

Mammon might think that you're only giving these to him because it's what humans do on Valentine's Day. He thinks it's cute, but he doesn't know if it means anything special. You can remove his doubts by choosing a specific message out of the box, though.

Put one that says KISS ME in his hand and it's all over for you. If you're around other people, you can be sure he's dragging you into the nearest empty room.

Leviathan

Ahh! MC! Did you know they actually made a promotional version of these for the anime I Made A Cake For My Crush Decorated With Candy Hearts But They Turned Out To Be Cursed And Now She's A Dragon? They had some in the box that were actually cursed and would turn anyone who ate them into a dragon for a day! They were pulled from the shelves, but he still has three boxes of them that have never been opened.

You listen to this in amusement, but you're quick to let him know that these are just regular human world candy hearts. As far as you know, there are no curses on them. Levi finds he's actually quite excited to try the real thing.

That is, until he starts to read the messages. Each heart he reads makes his blush get worse until he eventually asks you if you realize what these candies say. That blush goes deep red when you indicate that you are fully aware.

He'll get it together and actually try one, though. He's trying not to think too much about the messages. They taste kinda funny and they're a little chalky, but he loves them because they're from you. Give him one that says HUG ME to watch him blush all over again before he reluctantly puts his arms around you. Wait a moment and he'll melt in your embrace.

Satan

He's heard of these, though he's never had the occasion to try them for himself. He's skeptical of their texture, but he finds the little messages charming. He will eat some if you insist. He's grateful you thought of him, MC. He truly appreciates your gift.

Then again, these little conversation hearts are like a puzzling challenge. How can he make them say what he wants to say to you? They're so brief and they don't make much sense even when strung together. He spends half a day staring at them and thinking about it.

You eventually find a set of them lined up neatly on the table in your room. They say U & ME, FOREVER, SAY YES, MY LOVE. You look around for him, but Satan isn't there. He left these here for you to find on your own. You'll have to go looking for him in another part of the house.

He's in his room, blushing behind his book, acting like he doesn't know exactly what you're there for. All you have to do is take the book out of his hands and say yes. That single word is all he needs. You won't be leaving his room until morning.

Asmodeus

Oh, wow, these are absolutely adorable! Not as adorable as him… or you… but still so cute! Help him set them up so he can take a picture for Devilgram. He knows it'll do numbers because everybody is so into human world trends right now. Plus, he's going to throw in a selfie of the two of you eating them.

Okay, wouldn't it be cute if he painted your nails to look like little conversation hearts? He does it immediately and gives himself a set to match. You're amazed at the skill it takes to write the words so small and perfect, but Asmo is more than up to the task.

Ask him which one is his favorite and he'll say all of the ones that remind him of you. He'll start putting them into your hand - CUTIE, SWEETIE PIE, and XOXO. He makes kissy faces at you as he puts that last one on your palm.

When you laugh, he joins you. You're radiant and that's all he can see for a moment. And then the candies are forgotten because he can't resist your sweet lips. He doesn't need candy, MC. He has you.

Beelzebub

Surprises you by not inhaling them immediately. You have several boxes for him because you anticipated this reaction. Don't worry, though, he'll still eat everything you've brought him.

But he stops because he's curious. They say stuff on them, right? That's really cute, MC. He picks out one that says only LOVE. He doesn't need a lot of words, candied or otherwise, to let you know how he feels about you.

Turns out you're the one who's flustered now. You cover it up by telling him to try some. He does as you ask and he's happy enough to eat them all. You tell him about the different ways they can be used to decorate other desserts as well. Eventually he realizes he's really hungry. He wants to take you out to get something a little more substantial soon.

He tells you that he's full of sweet candy words now, but he would rather just hold you than say them. You're okay with that, of course, and it's not long before you find yourself covered in kisses.

Belphegor

What are these? Are they for Beel? You'll have to explain that you wanted to give them to him. Tell him about how popular they are in the human world and he'll start to understand. He might even be aware of what they are, but he certainly wasn't expecting you to give him any.

What a nice gift, MC. He's happy that you thought of him. He tries them out of curiosity and finds he's not too fond of their thick texture. But he likes the words. He arranges them into a little sentence for you. SWEET, DREAM, YOU & ME.

You see him blushing slightly when you read them together out loud. Well, that could mean a lot of things, right? There aren't enough words to make a real sentence. But he's just coming up with excuses to cover the fact that he's nervous about hearing you say the words.

It's easy enough to distract him with some kisses. He forgets his embarrassment pretty quickly when he's suddenly far more focused on how you feel in his arms.

xoxo part two with the side characters

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

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zorlovinghue · 4 months ago

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Hiii just discovered your blog (because of TCF/LCF) and just had to ask - where is your profile pic from? And do you have any other recs like ‘The Malicious Member is Back’ because I started reading it after seeing it in your posts and am loving it so far :D

Hallooo! My profile picture is Do Seojoon from [I Became the Youngest Member of Top Idol]/[My Comeback as the Youngest Member]! He is the older brother of the MC, Do SeohanXD

If you're interested with this one, get ready to face how strikingly different the novel and manhwa is, but overall it's all good!

Other recommendations you might want to give a try to:

In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe

I'm a Genius Idol But My Passive is a Sunfish

Debut or Die

The Trashy PD has to Survive as an Idol

You might already know Debut or Die since it is the biggest in fandom too, plot-wise all of these have more progression while not very heavy to follow. With [I'm a Genius Idol but My Passive is a Sunfish] and [I Became the Youngest Member of Top Idol] being the lighter ones. I love all of them. Very much. If you're looking for a character with typical krs!Cale or Cale!krs morally grey tendency, then Seo Hoyun from [The Trashy PD has to Survive as an Idol] will be a good start to familiarize yourself. (personal feeling but this one actually got the best of me from how similarly coded he is, even the 'blackmailing'/'scamming' and 'taking advantage of someone but actually cares for them along the way' is strikingly more pronounced:D)

Surprisingly, [Debut or Die], [The Malicious Member is Back], [I Became The Youngest Member of Top Idol] are the three where the group is build up through Idol competition. While the others are making a comeback after trouble or more agency-focus debut-trainee if you did not want to go through another musings for who would likely debut in the end. Which is, fun and engaging either way!

[Debut or Die]'s Park Moondae is literally Kim Rok Soo in some unique ways.... But, hmm, maybe more of a reliable narrator in comparison? As reliable as it can be with his personality.

If you want different characterization, as in cute and adorable MC instead of the genius and cynical characters, [I Became the Youngest Member of Top Idol]'s Do Seohan and [I'm a Genius Idol but My Passive is a Sunfish]'s Han Baekya are remarkably some refreshing change! Where as [In This Life, The Greatest Star In The Universe]'s MC Sun Woo-Joo is more heartwarming. I think these three are actually the most mentally sounds and healthy out of others, which is sparsely seen these days.

Each of these recommendations is refreshing and is impactful in their approaches. And I personally eager to tell you that all of them are worth reading for!

[Debut or Die], [I Became the Youngest Member of Top Idol], and [In This Life, The Greatest Star in the Universe] already got manhwa adaptation, so if you need more visuals feel free to give it a long shot to go!

It's most likely that I'll missed many points considering it's been a while since I catch up, I strongly advised to take my words with a grain of salt and take a look yourself for a better judgement<3

p.s. If you want to have the Coughing Up Blood shenanigans, [The Trashy PD has to Survive as an Idol] and [I'm a Genius Idol but My Passive is a Sunfish] will give you exactly that! I'm not sure about the latter since I haven't read much but the probability is high! >///< if you want a character who's constantly in the danger of death then [Debut or Die] took it seriously with its premise lmaooo

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yukidragon · 7 months ago

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Sunshine in Hell Height Headcanons

It's June 15, which as many of you know from this official profile, that it's Sunny Day Jack's birthday today!

You might also know that it's [Redacted]'s birthday thanks to this ominous picture Sauce shared last year on this day. Funny how these two totally distinct characters share a birthday isn't it? 🤔

Anyway, I was hoping to have written something for this year to celebrate, but like last year my spoons are way too few and far between. I was also hoping to do something self-indulgent for my own birthday, but same lack of spoons halted me there too.

So, until I can stock up on more metaphorical utensils to help me do the stuff I feel like doing, I'm going to celebrate by rambling a little bit about some headcanon details.

Sunshine in Hell differs from the game demos in a number of ways, and one of them is Jack's height. As you might've seen from the profile link, Jack is canonically 6'2", but in my personal headcanon continuity, I decided to make the gentle giant quite a bit taller than that. Because it amuses me, and I struggle with imagining Jack as shorter than Cove Holden.

When deciding how tall to make Jack in my stories, I also decided to do a height chart for him and a few other characters as well. It helps to better imagine characters interacting when you can see how tall they are compared to others.

Yes, I threw in a few extra love interests to the mix, as well as a couple other MCs. I was curious to see how tall Alice would be compared to her sisters, and I had to throw in their love interests as well.

As an aside, it tickles me that even after I made Jack significantly taller, he's shorter than Bo's horny "Feed Me" form.

For those of you that need the conversion from centimeters to feet and inches, or have trouble reading the image, I'll write them down for easy reference.

Alice: 162 cm / 5'4"

Jack: 198 cm / 6'6"

Shaun: 178 cm / 5'10"

Nick: 173 cm / 5'8"

Ian: 170 cm / 5'7"

Bo: 180 cm / 5'11"

Barbie: 184 cm / 6'0"

Bo "Feed Me" form: 216 cm / 7'1"

Elias: 185 cm / 6'1"

Coraline: 172 cm / 5'8"

As you can see, Shaun, Nick, and Ian stuck with the canon heights in their profiles. It's just Jack who got a height increase because it's what I imagined his height to be from the start, and Sunshine in Hell is basically my headcanons that diverge from the game's canon, so I do what I want. It's also fun to imagine scary yandere Jack towering over every single one of the love interests. It adds to the intimidation factor too despite his gentle giant persona.

Bo and Elias don't have canon heights like the SDJ love interests, so I mostly just did whatever felt right to me for them. Bo's regular height was influenced by the mafia AU picture Sauce drew. It served as a very good height comparison chart all on its own. As you can see, Bo is just tall enough to reach Jack's smile if you don't count the ears and poofy hair.

All credit to the awesome Sauce for their lovely art of course and for feeding my headcanons. As always, I want to link to the SnaccPop Patreon as gratitude for being cool with me using their art in my posts. If you're a a free or paying member, consider checking out an important survey that went up to help guide the team in their future endeavors.

Bo looks so short compared to Jack, doesn't he? In my headcanon land, it's just a matter of perspective, and next to other people Bo is pretty darn tall. Though he's just one teeny tiny inch shorter than his puppy.

You bet your sweet bippy Barbie takes smug satisfaction in that one inch height superiority. Bo talks so big as a big bad alpha dog, but the puppy he's trying to dominate is just a bit bigger and badder than he ever expected.

Of course, Bo gets to turn it right back around on Barbie with his monster sized "Feed Me" form. Like werewolves that become huge compared to their human selves, when Bo's inner beast comes out to play, he adds on quite a lot of height and muscle. He towers over even Jack! Still, even when super sized, he's no match for Barbie.

As you can see, despite being the eldest child, Alice is shorter than her two younger sisters, especially Barbie! They got more of their dad's height genes, while Alice took more after their mom in that department. Barbie and Coraline are quite a bit taller than average, a fact that Barbie revels in, and Coraline can find a little awkward sometimes, especially during moments of weakness. It can be hard to help someone stand back up and walk when they're much taller than you are after all. It leads to some embarrassing moments for poor Coraline.

On that same note of surprisingly tall people with chronic illnesses, I thought it would be interesting if Elias would have been a very tall man if not for his illness. There's no canon height for him and he's floating with Jack and Bo in the Christmas picture, so it's hard to go with a comparative height. So, I went with what felt narratively interesting to me. With his legs being twisted, and him being hunched over with a cane, he probably appeared shorter than he actually was. It's hard to see his exact height with his lower half ghostly and indistinct as well. It's only when he actually bothers to give himself legs and stand with both feet planted firmly on the ground that he can show off just how tall he really is.

While I'm on the topic of height, I wonder if one of Ian's insecurities was his height. Some men have issues if they're shorter than their peers, and Ian is the shortest of the love interests. I can imagine it certainly didn't help if he was bullied for being short along with his general "nerdy" appearance back in school.

Still, Ian has nothing to complain about at the height he's at as a fully grown adult. Even if the other love interests are taller than he is, Ian is still above average for men in the US. He's just got the misfortune of being the shortest guy in a group of very tall people. At least he doesn't have to worry about taking the bottom spot in the height chart like Alice.

Yes, Alice is a bit self-conscious about being so short compared to her peers, even if technically she's also above average height for a woman in the US. She feels especially tiny when standing next to Jack.

Though, admittedly, Alice does find it very nice to feel tiny and delicate when Jack sweeps her up into his arms. It makes her feel less self-conscious about how chubby she is when her big strong giant of a boyfriend can carry her around so easily. Once she gets over the initial fear that he might drop her, she'll soon look forward to being whisked away by her silly clown.

Oh, and if you're wondering about Mary's height... I'm still debating if I want her to be around Alice's height or a little taller. She had the same eye color in both lives due to the eyes being windows to the soul, but there were other physical differences due to different parents introducing different genetics. I need to ruminate on that fine of detail more and see what feels more interesting to me narratively.

Though even if Mary was as tall as Barbie, she'll still be short enough for Joseph to sweep into her arms since he's just as much of a giant now as he was then. Not that it would stop him from trying even if his sunshine was bigger than him. Nothing will stop Joseph/Jack from showing his love for his sunshine!

I think I'll wrap things up on that fluffy note. I hope y'all enjoyed me going off on a headcanon ramble after such a long time. With any luck, I'll be able to get to answering some asks soon. Thanks for reading!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #The Groom of Gallagher Mansion #Elias Gallagher #DachaBo #SnaccPop Studios #Headcanon Ramblings #Sauce-y Art

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i-am-a-secret-ssshhh · 1 year ago

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Obey Me X Twisted Wonderland Prompt

Sort of a Solomon x MC prompt!

This goes for an MC that goes to Twisted Wonderland after they go through Nightbringer, but the Obey Me Boys from the OG game come to get them from Twisted Wonderland.

I think that if this were to happen, MC would immediately turn to Solomon before they even considered happily and affectionately greeting the brothers or the others. Because they don’t know if these Obey Me Boys come from the past or the present, but they do know that no matter where they were, Solomon was himself and was there for them.

Obviously, the brothers would be hurt, but if Solomon told them about what happened during Nightbringer, they might understand. If he hadn’t, then they will be extremely jealous, wondering why they’re human is acting like this with the Shady Sorcerer.

I can imagine MC seeing Solomon, stopping whatever they were doing, and immediately rushing over, tackling him into a hug. Like this, maybe,

MC: No, no, Crewel wanted us to measure it in percentages of weight, not percentages of volume. No wonder you’re not doing too well in that class.

Deuce: How do you know all this? I don’t have it anywhere in my notes that we’re supposed to do it that way.

MC, glancing down and thinking about their favorite person: Just, had someone tutor me a while back. They were a very good teacher.

Epel: Was it Vil? He’s good at potions, but I don’t know anyone who could last against his teaching.

MC, laughing: No, it wasn’t Vil.

Vil approaches angrily.

Ace: Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

MC, trying to avoid another Overblot: What’s up, Vil?

Vil: The new exchange student put in my dorm!

MC, realizing he’s come to vent all his problems to them, as they’re the unpaid therapist: I forgot Crowley was doing that today. I wasn’t invited because my dorm is unofficial and too small for new students. What’s wrong with your new student?

Vil: He’s just so infuriating! It’s like he’s only ever relied on his looks, and acts as though the world revolves around him!

Epel, under his breath: Reminds me of someone else I know.

MC, smacking Epel: Well, surely there has to be something good about him?

Vil: His social media skills are commendable, and he seems very good at reading people. But it’s hard to approach him. He seems rather attached to two of the Diasomnia exchange students.

MC: That’s a little surprising. Most people are afraid of Diasomnia students.

Sebek: Clearly this new exchange student just has good taste!

MC, slowly putting the pieces together: You know, the description of the exchange student reminds me of someone I know.

Ace: Think it’s them?

MC: It’s possible, but doubtful.

Solomon, approaching the group: Never doubt my abilities, dear apprentice.

MC immediately drops their notes and other things, rushing past Vil and their friends towards Solomon.

MC, tackling the sorcerer: Solomon! I missed you so much!

Solomon, laughing, and patting their head affectionately: I missed you as well.

Asmodeus: Did you miss me, darling?

Solomon, helping MC up, waits to see their reaction.

MC, unsure of how to approach the demon: Of course I missed you, Asmo.

Asmo, blinks when he is not also bombarded with affection like Solomon was: Then, where’s my hug?

MC: Did you want one?

Asmo, pouting: Of course!

Or with any of the brothers and others.

If MC is dating Solomon they could tackle him into a hug and then start kissing all over his face. It’d be really funny if the brothers and others didn’t know they were dating and were just so shocked to see them being so romantically affectionate with Solomon.

Or, if they got married as a sort of formality, they were practically already married in Nightbringer as they lived together and acted like a married couple, and no one knew. Like, just one day they went and filed a marriage certificate and didn’t tell anyone so when the Twisted Wonderland characters ask who this person is, they very easily respond with “My Husband”, and everyone on both sides is in shock

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amoudesole · 7 days ago

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OOO!!

Just read your Anti-Magic Reader and I wonder how Malleus's magic would react to the anti magic. Like he's the 5th? strongest mage. Could Reader cancel his magic immediately or would reader need to work their way up to cancelling out Malleus's magic or would reader only be able to partially cancel out such strong magic?

Would there be any backlash from the Anti-Magic to Reader and over-blotted students ? 👀

Can Reader cancel out potions if they end up consuming them? or would that be some sort of loop whole? (I'm just laughing at the imagery of an ever growing frustrated Vil if reader ends up immune to every potion he brews lol)

The Anti magic may be helpful for avoiding some opportunistic Yans but there is also a big negative, if reader gets hurt, magic might not be able to heal any grievous injuries... 👀

I have many questions and theories building up lol

hehehehehhhhe i love this ask ( im also so sorry for the late reply ive been putting off logging into tumblr for awhile because, laziness. )

If i may go on a scientific(?) tangent- considering in the ol' ancient days of human history when people from other continents go to another continent there's a tendency for them to either bring disease, or get disease

AND that got me thinking, considering yuu/mc isn't from the Twisted wonderland world itself, I'd imagine magic to be some sort of disease to yuu/mc and her body would create anti-bodies to not be infected by the magic/disease that or some weird magic doo-hickey gives em' the plot armor

scientifical tangent over: time to answer the ask itself

If it were from the start yuu/mc wouldn't have that much of a resistance to magic... yet, so in terms of cancelling out Malleus's magic- it'd be a small build up :D, as you said the dude is one of the fifth most powerful mages in the world in yuu/mc being that op in such a foreign world at the start? (Probably but huhu.. feels a bit unrealistic... I mean this is a fantasy setting already... ) but I'd imagine as the more overblots mc faces the anti-magic barrier around her and in her would strengthen and increase in size ( a walking Riddle's UM )

I'm still working on the idea of what exactly would happen with anti-magic yuu/mc during the overblots tho so :,)

Drinking any sort of potion would basically be a flavored drink, carbonated water typa feel, but basically no effect, and considering Vil is very adept in potion making... while not conventional, real poisons without magic infused would also do the same effect, no? :)

And you're right on that part huhu, let's say mc gets a rather nasty wound- or gets into an actual deadly accident- magic spells, potions, elixirs, all of the sorts wouldn't work; but this is also a chance for yans to get an opportunity to swoop in and take care of mc physically, nursing her back to health ( with a price of course, ) totally not looking at a few characters rn ( guess who /j )

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland

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hazyange1s · 3 months ago

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the process of detonation (g.w. x f!mc)

summary: Garreth has a bit of a crisis when the reality of growing up starts to hit hard. While trying to overcome self-doubt and bottle up the explosion waiting to happen, she’s there to show him that there’s nothing wrong with a little chaos.

tags: allusions to adhd, alcohol use, seventh year, awkwardness and fluff, literal fireworks, too many food metaphors?, friends to lovers, gryffindor!reader, garreth is an ace at pining, beater!Garreth because yes obviously, the “wearing his sweater” trope, seniors and their existential crises, mc only referred to by she/her pronouns

word count: 5.6 k

rating: T

a/n: my entry for @garrethweasleyfest ! the prompt I used was “explosion” (kind of got inspired by explode - mother mother)

read on ao3

Garreth wasn’t all that good at really explaining the inner workings of his mind, but perhaps he could give it a go.

He might be biased, but in a way; he thought people could be compared to potions. They’re messy, complex, and each have their own set of ingredients that make them what they are — and change how they react. Some people have a little extra rose petals to them, some a sprinkle of stardust, and others are just…pure poison.

In Garreth’s case, his brewing tended to say a lot about his own concoction of self.

Of course, for most of his life, he never really considered that there might be something fundamentally wrong with whatever recipe God or whoever had used to create him. It wasn’t until seventh year when he was finally considered a grown wizard that Garreth began to suspect… and to wonder if there was any leaf or powder out there that could be thrown in to stabilize him.

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

In Garreth’s defense, he had a lot on his mind that day.

Between his growing stack of homework assignments, early morning Quidditch practices three days a week, and the NEWT study group he’d been strong-armed into joining by Natsai and his Aunt, it was a wonder he had any working brain cells left at all. And that didn’t even count the time he spent on his own, er… creative projects.

So it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d accidentally broken a golden rule of potion-making in his sleepy endeavor at a cure for ague. Not once as his knife rocked against the cutting board did he consider that everybody else was flattening the blades and pressing down instead, and the rest of his friends were too oblivious to, either.

“— But then, he tried to kiss me! No request, no warning, nothing! One second I’m mid-conversation about centaurs’ rights, and the next his tongue is two inches from my face! All of that time wasted when I could have been doing any of the million other; more important things I have going on!”

Oddly enough, hearing about his friend’s failed attempts at courting (which were rather numerous) was the best part of his day so far.

Garreth nodded along politely, offering a vague “mhmm” and “you can’t be serious” at appropriate intervals, gaze flickering between his workstation and the witch in the midst of a passionate rant while turning her ladle idly in her own cauldron. He’d never been good at strictly keeping his eyes on his own work, and it was that much harder with her directly beside him; her vest unbuttoned and cheeks fairy floss pink from the vapors surrounding them.

She gave a resounding huff, dropping the ladle to rest her elbows on the textbook open in front of her. “All that is to say; I’ve come to the conclusion that men are incorrigible.”

“Sounds fairly accurate,” Garreth snorted. He gently nudged her off of the book (they often shared his, as it was filled with helpful notes) to double check a measurement.

Even if some little voice whispered that reasonable was boring and she should keep her — ahem — mind open to other possibilities, he dutifully ignored it.

“Although, we’re not all pigs, you know. Some of us have a spot of…well. Class, I suppose.” He grumbled.

“I hope you’re not referring to yourself,” her laughter rang out like the peal of a bell. “You’re a lot of things, Garreth, but you’re not exactly the epitome of a gentleman.”

His face pinched, and again she chuckled, which was a small consolation.

It stung because it was true. Garreth wasn’t exactly a rake by most standards, but he flirted with too many witches and wizards and had snogged half that number besides to be much else. He was a terrible dancer, didn’t have a fortune to inherit (even if he had been the eldest Weasley), and flaunted most rules and regulations.

So, no, he wasn’t winning any awards in Witch Weekly for Bachelor of the Year.

To spite her, he did the gentlemanly thing and conceded, albeit not so gracefully. “I’m only trying to say…you shouldn’t lump us all in with a few bad apples. I certainly wouldn’t have disappointed you like that.”

“How comforting to know. I’m still sticking with my hypothesis, but thanks for trying.”

Well, now he was thinking about how he would kiss her, if given the chance.

(This was purely for scientific reasons, of course.)

Garreth, eager to salvage what remained of his pride, readied another reply as he sprinkled the flakes of dittany into his lightly smoking cauldron. It would have been a good one, too, if not for —

“Garreth!”

There was only a hair of a second between her shouting his name in warning and what was possibly one of his most impressive explosions to date. Even though she lunged for him, she was too late to stop the blast from sending him reeling backwards with a hand over his burning-hot face and a very unbecoming cry of surprise.

Having expected him to be closer, she stumbled in her attempt at pushing him out of the way, and thus they collided like two atoms — tumbling to the stone floor in a jumble of limbs and hissed curses.

“Come on, seriously, Garreth?” Sebastian groaned from an adjacent potions station. He, along with a few others who’d been close to the blast, were coughing and waving away billowing clouds of smoke.

Natty sighed. “That’ll be another ten points from Gryffindor.”

But their protestations fell to the wayside once he was peering up at the sheepish face of his savior; no more than a few inches away. Within kissing distance, even.

Wait. What?

“Fuck. Ow. Sorry,” she groaned, trying to untangle their aching limbs as she lay half-splayed across Garreth’s chest.

It was then that his traitorous mind started paying attention to how warm she was, how bright that ring of pure gold in her eyes was, how infuriatingly good the blend of mallowsweet and smoke clinging to her like a second skin smelled…

Shiiiiittt. Shit, shit, shit.

“No, it’s, uh, it’s my fault. Totally my fault, I wasn’t, er…paying attention,” he panted. The wind had been thoroughly knocked out of him — and it wasn’t just because her elbow had struck him right in the stomach when they’d fallen.

When she managed to sort herself out and hastily climb to her feet, that stinging feeling from before returned, and Garreth didn’t notice the developing bruise on his tailbone one bit.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Oh, er, I think so,” he stood up, legs wobbling like a newborn thestral, and dusted off his robes. “My pride took the biggest blow. Though I suppose I should count myself lucky I had the Hero of Hogwarts to save me.”

He waggled his brows, and her jaw went slack before she was doubled over in a fit of raucous laughter.

“What?! It wasn’t that funny.“

“No, you —“ she can hardly get the words out between breathless giggles. “Garreth, your eyebrows.”

Reaching up, his fingers found the ridge just above his eyes — where, indeed, great chunks of what was once thick ginger hair are missing. “Bollocks. That’s the third time in six months.”

The unfortunate loss of his eyebrows (and dignity) became yesterday’s news when she traversed the newly formed space between them to rub what he assumed was soot off of his nose, still chuckling to herself. He resisted the urge to brush away the wayward hairs sticking to her forehead in kind.

“I’ll give you this — you’re definitely not most men,” she grinned.

It was probably an insult, but all Garreth heard was a ringing endorsement. Against the odds, he cracked a lopsided smile of his own.

Maybe he’d even call it a victory.

Professor Sharp waved his wand, and the thick fumes disappeared, allowing them all a good glimpse of his signature long-suffering scowl.

“Ten points from Gryffindor. Shocking, I know,” the ex-Auror sighed, resigned. “And I expect that cauldron to be replaced within the fortnight.”

Well. A bittersweet victory, to be sure.

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

Everything tumbled downhill from there.

In the spirit of further self-reflection, Garreth knew that their unceremonious meeting on the dirty floor of the Potions classroom wasn’t some hit-him-over-the-head moment of recognition — even if most of his revelations came in that form. This one had been creeping up on him since fifth year, like a wily sort of poison; disguised with a sweet scent to throw him off.

But just how massively fucked was he, you may ask?

That became clear one rainy afternoon. Not just any rainy afternoon, mind you, because those were a galleon a dozen during autumn in the Scottish Highlands; but the afternoon of their first Quidditch game of the year against Slytherin.

Which didn’t help the fact that his head was already so not in the game.

It started out well enough, with Gryffindor managing to make several goals in a row that had their swaths of supporters in the stands crowing with pride. Garreth did his best to keep up as he weaved and dodged and looped around the field, trying to focus solely on the hunt for Bludgers. Of course, this required him to pay equally close attention to his teammates lest they fall victim to one of the bloodthirsty balls.

One teammate in particular more than the others, perhaps.

Flying was made all the more difficult by the sheets of icy rain pelting his face. Not even the goggles – with the assistance of an Impervious Charm – were helping him distinguish much more than vague blobs of color streaking through the cloudy sky. This, he justified, was why he started to miss more swings than he made and almost dropped his bat (twice). It wasn’t Garreth’s fault the elements were working against them.

Despite that, they were still forty points up when the conniving snakes switched tactics and started going after Gryffindors’ three female Chasers. Natty was an expert at evasion, and Nellie tended to fly high to avoid them… but not her.

She always had to be in the bloody thick of it, didn’t she?

It might have been annoying, if it wasn’t so damn impressive. Garreth couldn’t help but admire the way she moved; how she’d feint and crack a little smile each time someone fell for the trick. The way her red sweater clung, dripping, from her frame and strands of hair curled around her wet forehead were particularly distracting, too.

For the first time in his career, Garreth found himself wishing he was in the crowd – just so he could watch her.

Sebastian tossed the Quaffle to Imelda over Natty’s head – only for his face to contort with rage when it was snatched from the air between them. Garreth whooped proudly when she took off towards the goal posts. The first Bludger was hot on her tail, but so was he, maneuvering between her and the ball. He spent the next few minutes as her guardian until having to turn tail at the last minute to rescue Lucan.

The next events happened so quickly he couldn’t quite recall much but this: a familiar, feminine cry of alarm from behind him, the brown blur of a Bludger streaking towards him, and the reverberation in his arm when his bat connected with it. There was a thunderous crack, and then another scream.

What he’d meant to do was send it towards any of the three Slytherins trying to overtake her, but instead…

Garreth’s entire world narrowed down to the moment when she just barely managed to duck out of the Bludger’s path. He’d come to a screeching halt on his broom, hovering mere feet away from her with his eyes wide as saucers behind his foggy goggles, something sinking inside him as the Slytherins flew off with the Quaffle. The stadium erupted into cheers for them seconds later.

“What the hell was that?” She panted, her indignant scowl apparent even through the downpour. “You almost took my bloody head off, Garreth!”

“It — it was an accident. And you’re fine, right, so no harm, no foul?” He had to shout to be heard over the spectators and the wind.

“An inch to the left and I wouldn’t have been fine at all! I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you need to get it together!”

“I just –”

She sped off so fast the resulting wind made him shiver. Either Garreth was simply losing his touch, or there was something seriously wrong with him lately. Cursing to himself, he shook off the chill her anger had left him with and the shame that followed, and threw himself back into the game comforted by the knowledge that he’d be able to get roaring drunk at the after party.

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Drunk might be an understatement, actually.

By the time the party was in full swing, Garreth had already downed more than his share of the sneakily procured liquor (courtesy of yours truly, Sirona’s unrelenting generosity, and several bribes to the house elves in the kitchens). Someone had enchanted a few of the lamps to change color occasionally, throwing red and green and blue lights around Gryffindor’s common room, which teemed with House members in Quidditch jumpers and all other manner of memorabilia. Even little Doge and Dumbledore had emerged briefly to shyly congratulate the team.

Not even the jubilant music pouring from the gramophone or the well-earned laughter of the partygoers could drown out what was going on inside Garreth’s head.

He’d never embarrassed himself so profoundly at a match before. Quidditch, like potion-making, was one of the few areas Garreth excelled in, and he couldn’t even do that right. Ever since school had started up again, he’d been a mess. Exploding cauldrons, racking up more detentions than ever, always saying the wrong thing…

It was seventh year, for Merlin’s sake, and he was a grown wizard now. But while everyone else was coming into themselves, it seemed like he was just coming apart.

So instead of enjoying the victory, Garreth had taken to drowning his sorrows in drink while watching from the sidelines; neck-deep in an early quarter life crisis while slumped in one of the armchairs. Leander found him there eventually, his freckled face a mask of concern as he leaned against the wall beside him.

“What’s with the sour face?” Leander raised a brow. “We just beat Slytherin! I thought you’d be dancing on the tables or something.”

“I’m not really in the dancing mood. Go on, I’ll live vicariously through you.” Garreth grumbled.

“As much as everyone would probably love to see that, I’d rather find out what’s got your wand all knotted up.”

Garreth sighed, raking the hand not currently clutching a glass of Firewhiskey through his still-damp curls. “You saw what happened, Lee. The team’s probably pissed at me for being a massive disappointment, especially…”

He gestured vaguely to the hero of the hour (the hero of every hour of every day as far as he was concerned, and she’d earned the title several times over) across the room. She was talking with Natty, Nellie, and Cressida by the fireplace, her smile brighter than the flames’ glow that lit her from behind. A clawed hand squeezed at his heart.

“Oh, that? That was…I mean, you made a minor miscalculation. Most of them have forgotten already, I reckon.” Leander’s eyes darted to the side — as they always did when he was lying horribly.

“A minor miscalculation that could have led to the untimely death of one of my best friends.”

“You’re being even more dramatic than usual…are you tossed already?”

”I dunno, mum; am I?”

There was a quiet rumble around him, like thunder. At first he thought it was just his stomach informing him of how much he’d indeed had to drink, but then a fat drop of rain landed on his nose.

Leander’s big, dark eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he dragged Garreth onto his slightly unsteady feet with an arm in his. “Alright, you’re being bloody insufferable, and you’ve quite literally got a dark cloud hanging over you. Come on, up you get — go talk to her and apologize.”

“No, Lee, please!” Garreth whined. “I’ve suffered enough humiliation today.”

”Don’t be a coward, you’ll be fine.”

The taller boy weaved through the crowd easily, pulling a stumbling Garreth along beside him until they came face-to-face with the very group of girls he had been avoiding all night. They all went quiet immediately — which was not a good sign.

Garreth scratched the back of his head, glancing between Leander and the witch with the suspicious scowl in front of him, feeling for all the world like he’d never been less of a Gryffindor than in that moment. Surely the alcohol was supposed to help with these things, right?

”Er…would you like to dance?” He blurted.

Well, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. But having to talk to her at all in his clumsy state seemed even more daunting with all eyes on him, and getting her alone was a simple solution.

“You sure you’ll be able to without tripping over your feet?” Nellie snorted.

“‘M perfectly cohabitated — uh, coordinated, I mean,” Garreth argued.

Natty shook her head, hiding her laughter behind a hand. “Oh, dear.”

His favorite witch turned a familiar shade of pink, and for a moment Garreth feared that she’d laugh in his face, but eventually she sighed and handed her bottle of Butterbeer to Natty.

“If you step on my toes, I’ll jinx you,” she warned, leading him to the center of the room where groups of friends and cozy couples were scattered to dance to the magically amplified music (it was a miracle none of the professors had come to complain about it, really).

“No promises.”

Garreth wrestled with what to do when they got there. Was he supposed to take her hand? Her waist? Or, rather, should he keep it friendly and avoid touching her at all? The latter option seemed much less risky, and yet he found himself longing to feel her hand in his and the heat of her body. He’d been hooked ever since that day in Potions.

Deciding it would be better to keep his distance for now, Garreth went with swaying awkwardly on the spot instead, but she had other ideas — her hand sought out his, and she threw him into a dizzying little turn that evoked both laughter and a slight wave of nausea.

“Oh, are you leading?” He chuckled, suddenly thankful for the ballroom lessons they’d all received the year prior as he mimicked her move, twirling her playfully with ease that surprised even him.

“That might be safer,” she said. “Although you’re not doing half bad so far.”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Garreth grinned proudly.

He spent the better part of five minutes praying he wouldn’t step on her toes while simultaneously working up the courage to acknowledge the erupment in the room. And, because the universe didn’t like to make anything easy for him, Garreth had to compete with the little flutters in his stomach that beat their furious wings each time she laughed or squeezed his hand.

Merlin, just pull your wand out of your ass.

“Hey, so, about earlier. You know, during the game… you’re right, I wasn’t…I don’t know where my head’s been lately. I didn’t mean to muck things up.”

His breath held until she shrugged, her easy smile fading into something edged with concern. “Don’t worry about it. We won, and my head’s still attached to my body, so no hard feelings.”

She drew back, the impish grin back as she spun him again — which wasn’t very easy considering he had to duck under her arm. The room seemed to be moving with him, and Garreth had to right himself as subtly as possible when he came to a stop as colors that didn’t belong to the lights danced in his vision.

“You alright?” She chuckled, her hands braced on his biceps to steady him. “I think Nellie might have had a point about you tripping.”

“No, no, I’m good, just waiting for the room to stop spinning so I can look at you again.”

That hadn’t quite come out right. In place of the eye roll he was expecting, she giggled, adding fuel to his liquid confidence.

“Gods, you’re cute when you laugh,” Garreth found himself saying. He realized she was leading him away from the crowd, and soon he sank into a squashy cushion beside her. “I mean, you’re a bit blurry right now, but…still cute.”

“Okay, what’s gotten into you lately? Not that I mind the flirting… but you’ve been a right mess for weeks. I don’t think I’ve seen you this drunk before; not even when you saw your OWL results.”

A low groan rumbled in the back of his throat. “I’m peachy, pinkie promise.” Did she just say she didn’t mind his flirting?

Giggling at how absurd the words sounded together, he stuck his pinkie out to her and waited. “Come on, these are sacred!”

She did actually roll her eyes this time, but then her smallest finger hooked around his, and it didn’t pull away even when they were certainly exceeding the normal amount of time for a handshake. Garreth could smell the sweetness of Butterbeer on her breath.

It wasn’t enough to convince her, though. “Are you stressed about NEWTs? Who am I kidding, everyone and their grandmothers are. But if it’s really getting to you, then —“

Apparently, she wasn’t giving up, so Garreth sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch.

“Yes, I’m a bit strung out over the exams that will decide our entire career, what d’you think? I’m not going to have a fit over it.”

“Sorry,” her hands raised in surrender. “Just trying to figure out why you haven’t quite been yourself since the term started because I bloody care.”

“I would argue that blowing things up and making stupid decisions is very much on brand for me.”

Releasing a heavy sigh (more like an impatient huff, really), she wrested her pinkie from his, leaving Garreth more than a bit disappointed. But then again, what had he expected? That she’d sit there and hold his hand?

He hadn’t earned that. Somehow, he had earned her friendship from the very first day of their fifth year, but in no way did he reserve the right to even hope of something more. She was, well… extraordinary, and Garreth was an extraordinary disaster.

Maybe it was time he rectified that.

“Wait,” he tugged pathetically on her sleeve when she rose from the couch. “Sit with me for a little bit longer? I might need someone to Accio a rubbish bin over here soon.”

To his great relief, she sat down again, shaking her head to disguise a little chuckle. “You’re something else, y’know?”

”I’ve been told once or twice.”

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Bonfire Nights had been sparse the past couple of years around Hogwarts, as many of the residents had feared drawing attention to themselves with the looming threat of Ashwinders and goblins and the like. This year, Garreth had had the pleasure of seeing pyres built weeks beforehand, and by the end of October Zonko’s had sold out of Filibuster’s Fireworks.

As night settled over the Highlands, bonfires began to flare to life all along the rolling hills, appearing like flaming stars from the view at the castle. Garreth, alongside a group of fellow seventh years carrying sparklers and mini-fireworks, spent the brisk walk to the hill above Hogsmeade village lost in uncharacteristic melancholy. He’d never been the sort to reminisce; preferring to live in the here and now whenever possible, but for some reason the knowledge that this would be his last Bonfire Night at Hogwarts made it all a bit bittersweet (the flavor of the month, it seemed).

They drank hot chocolate in ceramic mugs provided by Sirona, surrounded by the body heat of the villages’ residents as they talked and laughed and chased their children away from the forest at the edge of the plateau. Hogsmeade’s lights had been dimmed for the occasion, glowing softly below them to allow the six foot pyre they gathered around to shine.

“I can’t believe next month is Christmas already,” Leander was saying between greedy sips of the drink cupped in his blue-tinged hands. “Then it’ll be the New Year, then Spring Break, and before we know it we’ll be taking our NEWTs and graduating…”

“Breathe, Lee,” Garreth chuckled. At least he wasn’t the only one getting hit with the terrifying reality of time all at once.

”I know, is it not amazing? The last few years have gone by so quickly. I will miss this place come summer, though,” Natty sighed wistfully.

Nellie snorted. “Speak for yourself. If I never have to open a textbook again after school is over, it’ll be too soon.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Leander?” His favorite Gryffindor (don’t tell Nats or Leander) joined their little circle, her frame wrapped in a thick red scarf and one of his old Christmas sweaters she’d stolen from him in fifth year and never given back — not that he minded, as it didn’t fit him anymore and looked far better on her, anyway.

The lanky redhead grumbled a reply, “Easy for you to say. Half of my job will be desk work.”

“No shame in that,” she shrugged. “Garreth’s going to be behind a cauldron, after all.”

“Hey, Potioneers do other things besides just… brew. I’ll still forage for my own ingredients, travel to sell them… hell, one day, I might just have my own shop.” Garreth said with pride.

“So long as you don’t blow it up,” her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.

As if on cue, a loud boom shook the ground beneath them. Everyone’s eyes shot to the sky, cheers swelling amongst the crowd as the first firework exploded in a shower of golden sparks, dissolving back towards the earth like falling stars. Despite all their talk of the future, Garreth felt like a first-year again as a smile broke out on his slightly chapped lips, apparently not immune to the childlike wonder the fireworks always seemed to bring.

The next one was even louder and brighter. Garreth nearly jumped out of his skin when an iron grip closed around his arm and a body pressed into his left side. She had buried her face in his shoulder, too, and a warm feeling unrelated to the cocoa spread from his stomach.

“Aww, is the big, bad Gryffindor afraid of fireworks?” he teased, trying not to enjoy the smell of her shampoo or the color in her cheeks too much as she looked up at him sheepishly.

“Shut up!” The shivering witch hissed. “Am not. I’m just…cold, and you’re a damn furnace, as usual.”

“Oh, you’re cold,” Garreth pouted just for the drama of it. Then, before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer still. “I suppose I’ll have to keep you warm, then.”

”And they say chivalry is dead.”

She flinched after the third blast, leading him to rub her shoulder in a subtle attempt at comfort, his heart thumping almost as loud as the fireworks now going off in quick succession when she curled into him. It was then that his Neanderthal brain concluded why she might have been so terrified; after fighting in a bloody war just two years ago.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be. I don’t mind.” At all. Garreth laughed to himself and set down his mug in the grass so he could cover the ear she didn’t have pressed to his chest with his hand.

“You know, you’re really sweet when you want to be,” he thought he heard her say over the explosions echoing throughout the valleys.

He lowered his head to speak into the ear closest to him, lips brushing the flyaways from her hair, rubbing her arm again when he noticed her shiver. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold; can’t have everyone think I’ve gone soft.”

Truth be told, his limbs always felt like melted taffy around her — he was practically a puddle at her feet.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Eventually, her head lifted partially from his shoulder, and with a sidelong glance he caught her peering up at the sky with a look best described as wonder. Each burst of sparks was reflected in her wide eyes, and Garreth felt tiny pricks of electricity along every nerve in his body at the sight.

“So, um…” he scrambled for something to say so he wouldn’t think about how close her lips would be if she turned to the side a bit. “Are you still going to write to me after school’s over? Or will you forget all about us little people when you’re off traveling the world in search of ancient relics and having daring adventures?”

“Of course I’m going to write, you moonmind,” she looked up at him, then, and his hand fell from the side of her head. “And I’ll come visit, too, so I can see that shop of yours.”

Perhaps she was just humoring him, but Garreth found nothing but sincerity in her soft smile, and his own crooked grin widened at the thought that she might be one of the first to genuinely believe in him.

“What’s got you so pensive all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the frayed edges of her cashmere scarf. “Maybe it’s just the old age catching up to me. It pairs well with my bum hip, I think.”

”Come on, I’m serious. I won’t tell anyone and ruin your sterling reputation, I swear.”

“I don’t know,” Garreth let out a sigh, his breath clouding in the air between them. “Just realized how much I’m gonna miss you.”

“And here I thought you’d be sick of my face after seeing it every day for three years,” her eyes darted away from him to watch a spray of green and red fill the starry sky. She wasn’t shaking anymore.

Never, he almost said. Garreth knew, as he gazed hopelessly at her perfect profile, that he would never be tired of her face — well, of all of her, really. In fact, he wouldn’t mind seeing her every day for the rest of his life.

“If you’re going to miss me so desperately… Perhaps you could join me on one of my so-called ‘daring adventures’ sometime; on the off chance Pippin gives you a holiday.”

His brows shot up as she met his stare. “Really? You’d want me to tag along?”

Their classmates and the villagers burst into raucous whistles and hollering as the finale began, fireworks filling the air with the smell of gunpowder and a rainbow of light that flashed on everyone’s uplifted faces. Garreth held her tightly lest she start to panic again, but the witch in his arms just laughed jubilantly at the crowd’s infectious excitement, nodding in response to his question.

“Sure. Never know when you might need a talented Potioneer to back you up. Fair warning that we’re bound to run into some trouble now and again, naturally.”

The thump of his heart became something wild and frantic, beating away beneath the hand she’d placed on his chest until he feared it, too, would simply explode. Gods, if they weren’t careful, he would wind up doing something massively stupid… or massively genius, depending on the results.

“As long as you’re there, I say bring it on,” Garreth beamed.

He could hardly believe his luck. She’d asked him to accompany her on her travels! That had to mean something, right?

Only one way to find out for sure…

“And would it be…er, just the two of us, or would Sebastian and Ominis and the rest of the crew be joining as well?”

Her eyes sparkled with recognition. “That depends on how you would feel about us traveling alone.”

”Would it be rather selfish of me to say that I’d love to have you to myself for a bit?”

“Probably…” her breath warmed his cheeks, though they were already burning hotter than a cauldron flame as Garreth became hypnotized by the way her teeth worried at her reddened lower lip. “But then I’d have to admit that I’m selfish, too.”

Now, that was a sign.

The last round of fireworks were utterly deafening, so Garreth had to lean in once again until the cold tips of their noses brushed to say, “Could I be even more of a self-serving bastard and ask you for one more thing?”

”Yes, you can — and yes to anything you want,” her lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped down to his slightly parted mouth.

“Anything?”

Garreth wasn’t one to ignore an opportunity when it arose. He took it and ran, gently placing his hand beneath her chin at the same moment his eyes slid shut and their lips brushed together with such a delicate touch that he shuddered. Then she took the lead, deepening the kiss with a wispy little sigh that had him weak at the knees and left him unable to form any solid thought but for how fucking incredible she tasted with the remnants of rich chocolate on her tongue.

When the two of them disconnected, the last sparks were fading from the sky, but they lived on in Garreth’s veins, popping and crackling like Fizzing Whizbees.

“See?” He murmured while still trying to catch his breath. “Didn’t disappoint you, did I?”

Her laughter bubbled up between them, brighter than any display. “You never disappoint, Garreth Weasley.”

Garreth had wondered before if he’d been made wrong; like one of his failed experiments with just a splash too much of the wrong thing. But perhaps — especially with someone like her to help keep him stable — some of the best things could come from the unpredictable and the unexpected.

He didn’t exactly find the missing ingredient…it had been there all along.

#my first published garreth fic whaaat #if you saw my WIP folder though…#procrastinated this one so hard uhh ignore the minimal editing effort #i didn’t see anything saying bonfire night is celebrated in Scotland but I just wanted an excuse for fireworks ok #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley x mc #garrethweasleyfest #garrethweasleyfest24 #writing

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anonymousewrites · 7 months ago

Text

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter One

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon!Reader

Chapter One: One Hell of a College

Summary: Ciel is given a new assignment, and Sebastian and (Y/N) find a way to blend in at Weston College.

Mouse Note: We're jumping right into the plot! Also, MC and Sebastian as a couple looooove to, you know, be in love. Writing them makes me blush. But, welcome back to One Hell of a Love! I had a ton of fun writing the Public School Arc. I have no idea if my updates will get ahead of the anime so just be wary of that (I read the manga so sometimes I am unsure). But please enjoy, feel free to comment (it's encouraged because it helps me stay motivated), and welcome back to the series!

“Hello, darling,” said Sebastian, smiling at (Y/N) as he finished plating Ciel’s afternoon tea. On the tray lay a letter from the Queen, the seal easily recognizable.

“My love,” said (Y/N), letting him pull them in for a light kiss. “Sneaking kisses in the halls? How scandalous.”

“But you tempt me so,” said Sebastian with a smirk. “How can I resist?”

(Y/N) let out a light laugh before turning around to walk with him towards Ciel’s office. Since their confession, the pair of demons had been quite satisfied together. They doubted the humans knew they were together, but they didn’t care. Their connection was different than humans’, their relationship didn’t follow the rules set by the ruling class.

Besides, (Y/N) and Sebastian were singularly minded demons. Sebastian still had a job to do, and (Y/N) was entertained enough to continue helping him. Having a relationship merely added to their enjoyment of existence together in the otherwise monotonous, dull living and contracts.

What was a little fun with the demon they love if not adding spice to existence?

Sebastian knocked lightly on Ciel’s office door, and Ciel acknowledged their arrival. (Y/N) opened the door, and Sebastian rolled in the cart. Pleased with himself as usual, Sebastian announced the day’s tea and cake combination. He also offered Ciel the letter from the Queen, but Ciel opted to eat his sweet treat before attending to business. Sebastian and (Y/N) suppressed amused smirks at Ciel pushing back work in favor of treats.

Finaly, Ciel unsealed the letter.

“ ‘To my dear boy,’ ” he read. “ ‘The Campania incident was a frightful calamity. Have you already recovered? Are you enjoying your Easter? For my part, though Easter is here at long last, I find myself unable to whole-heartedly enjoy the holiday as there is something that weighs upon my mind.

“I am worried about Derrick, the son of my cousin Duke Clemens. Derrick is in the fifth form at Weston College. But for some reason, it seems he has not returned home since last summer. He used to write home every day, but his letters abruptly stopped as well…The anxious duchess has called at his house, but he refuses to return home and so on. If it was Derrick alone, we might chalk it up to a rebellious phase. However, other students have also not returned home. I wonder what in the world could have brought about this behavior.

“Because his only son is acting thusly, Duke Clemens continues to lose heart…The whole affair has me very concerned indeed. I pray my loved ones can enjoy Easter in high, peaceful spirits as soon as possible. Victoria.’ ”

Sebastian considered. “So, in short, Her Majesty has charged you to investigate the reason why students have failed to return home from Weston College.”

Ciel nodded. “Public schools are independent institutions that refuse all government intervention, so it’s hard to lay a finger on them. Rather, those involved with the school don’t want to publicize their internal circumstances by making waves.”

Sebastian raised a brow. “Worrying about appearances even at a time like this. My, my, this is why humans are so tiring.”

“You understand vanity quite well,” said (Y/N), smirking.

“I am one hell of a butler,” said Sebastian. “Of course I must act accordingly.”

(Y/N) simply looked at him in amusement.

Nearly rolling his eyes at their obvious flirting—Ciel was not nearly as oblivious as the other servants—Ciel spoke. “I’d like someone to infiltrate the school, but Weston usually only lets in the sons of aristocrats. Those with titles are few, and I’m acquainted with most of them. If it comes down to sneaking in, a disguise would be dangerous.”

“So you will go as yourself?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

“I have no choice,” said Ciel, taking a sip of his tea. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind having the Queen in my debt. The problem lies not in whether or not there’s an open place at Weston.”

“If there is none, you simply need to make one,” remarked Sebastian with a light smirk.

“I’ll handle the investigation within the school,” said Ciel. “Sebastian, (Y/N), you will have to support me without being discovered yourself. How you go about it is up to you.”

Sebastian and (Y/N) bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

(Y/N) knew that that order—“up to you”—would be put to good, entertaining use.

“What is our plan for assisting the Young Master?” said (Y/N), sitting down in the library of the Phantomhive Mansion.

“You do not think we will simply lurk in the shadows until needed?” said Sebastian. “It would give us quite a few private moments.”

“As lovely as that possibility is, I suspect you have more planned,” said (Y/N), leaning their head on their hand with a sharp grin.

“Perceptive as ever,” said Sebastian, pleased at (Y/N)’s acumen. “I feel we can better keep an eye on the situation and gather our own information as housemasters.” As adults in the college, they would be able to go places at times students weren’t—imperative for investigations.

“Playing professors?” (Y/N) considered. “I haven’t done that yet, and I rarely play a masculine role. It sounds fun.”

“I’m certain you’ll do wonderfully,” said Sebastian. “And I look forward to seeing in a more masculine role.” He knew for damn sure he’d be just as attracted to them no matter what form they took—he loved who they were, not their appearance. That meant little to demons.

He tilted his head. “However…we should try to craft the proper disguise for your role.” Sebastian put his hand on his chest. “I have the perfect outfit for myself, but we shall have to see how you look.”

“I can look masculine,” said (Y/N).

“You can,” agreed Sebastian. “But I want you to look dashing, not just masculine.” He smirked. “Come alone, darling.”

“You’re doing this to play dress up,” said (Y/N), smirking as they stood to follow him.

“Or to undress you,” said Sebastian.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Positively gluttonous~”

“I think robes would add to the outfit,” said Sebastian as he finished buttoning (Y/N)’s vest.

They rolled their eyes. “I can’t wear a professor’s robes until I am hired. This is enough, I’m sure.”

They wore a dark grey button-up with black pants, a black vest, a tie, and a coat overtop (which would become robes if hired). Around (Y/N)’s neck hung a silver cross. Some religious figures would claim the demons wouldn’t be able to handle the holy symbol, but they would be wrong. Unless being used with some sort of religious or divine magic, they were fine wearing it. In fact, (Y/N) and Sebastian knew that being religious would help them get the jobs as housemaster and assistant—they’d be seen as intelligent, well-rounded individuals.

“You do look quite handsome,” said Sebastian, brushing a hand over (Y/N)’s hair fondly. They had altered it slightly, too, in order to fall in a traditionally masculine style (the length would never matter, though, since men like Viscount Druitt were as respect as Lord Midford, it was just the styling to present more masculine). “However, we could run a test.”

“Go on,” said (Y/N), smirking. They were looking forward to learning what Sebastian was suggesting.

Sebastian stepped out of the room and called down the hall. “Mey-Rin, come here, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Sebastian!” said Mey-Rin, running down the hall. She, unsurprisingly, tripped, but Sebastian caught her and set her upright before she could knock anything over.

“Really, Mey-Rin, you must be more careful,” tutted Sebastian.

“S-Sorry, I am,” said Mey-Rin sheepishly, red as usual.

“Now that you’re here, I need you to see someone,” said Sebastian.

“Is it a guest?” said Mey-Rin nervously.

“If you’d like to classify them as so,” said Sebastian, his words avoiding a lie with practiced ease. He stepped to the side, and (Y/N) stepped into their masculine role.

“Hello, Mey-Rin,” said (Y/N), smirking.

Mey-Rin’s eyes widened, and a heavy blush appeared on her cheek’s like it did when she faced Sebastian. Obviously, she found this masc form of (Y/N)’s quite attractive (and who could blame her?)

“Oh, uh, sir, uh, h-hello! Nice to meet you!” She bowed awkwardly and ran off.

(Y/N) watched her in amusement. “I barely changed my form, and yet that’s the reaction I got.” They smirked at Sebastian. “I think this disguise will work perfectly. Humans always do love a nice face and figure~”

“They do indeed,” said Sebastian.

“And I know another being who likes to look at me,” teased (Y/N).

Sebastian smirked with sharp teeth, not caring in the slightest to look away.

“Now that we have our plans,” said (Y/N), continuing on, “We should ensure there are…job openings for us.” They glanced at Sebastian. “Don’t you agree?”

“Indeed,” said Sebastian. “I’m sure there will be an opportunity quite soon.”

They shared devilish grins which promised murder. They were going to have fun at Weston College.

“Heave-ho!”

The students of Sapphire Owl House threw their arms up, and Ciel was tossed up by the white sheet. It was an unusual welcome party (though Ciel had worried about hazing), but Weston College was already proving a bit…strange anyways.

“Well, how do you like the traditional welcome of our house?” said Clayton, grinning. “Devote yourself to your studies all the more as a member of Sapphire Owl house, do you hear? Okay! Toss him higher next. One, two—”

“What is the meaning of all this racket?” snapped an authoritative voice.

“Dash it all!” cried one boy.

“It’s the Housemasters!” said another, freezing as they realized they were caught.

Ciel rolled haphazardly from the sheet to the ground with a yelp.

“Clayton,” said a second calm, though commanding, voice. “An upperclassman such as you is involved in this? I’m ashamed.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Well, er, this is our house tradition…” said Clayton, formal as ever but a bit hesitant.

“My, my, tradition is all well and good, but try not to overdo it.”

Ciel looked up while someone knelt before him.

“So you’re the new Phantomhive boy.” (Y/N) smiled at him with a hand outstretched. “Hello, I am Assistant Housemaster Noir.” Now their outfit was completed with robes instead of a jacket.

“And I am Housemaster Michaelis,” said Sebastian, dressed in his own set of housemaster robes. His hair was pushed back, and glasses balanced on his face. He smiled. “Welcome to Sapphire Owl House.”

Ciel’s eyebrow twitched. So this was how they planned to get in to Weston College. Ciel hated Sebastian as a teacher, and now he was stuck with him.

Demons.

Ciel, Sebastian, and (Y/N)’s time at Weston College commenced and was as British as it could be. It was a highly regulated school that raised its students into diligent workers and well-rounded men while also catering to aristocrats. Now, they tried to teach diligence by having the boys do certain chores occasionally, but when Ciel had to clean the dining hall…It of course became Sebastian and (Y/N)’s chores instead of Ciel’s.

“Sebastian,” he called, pulling off his eyepatch.

In an instant, Sebastian appeared beside him, and (Y/N) only took a moment longer to follow Sebastian.

“Right here,” said Sebastian.

“Already calling upon help? My, not even a day has passed,” said (Y/N).

Ciel ignored the teasing and faced them with his hands on his hips. “It seems that Derrick has been transferred to another house.”

“We did check the student roll and found the same information,” said Sebastian, flipping the clipboard paper over. “His name is on the list of Violet Wolf residents.”

“An abrupt change,” said (Y/N). Their nose twitched. They didn’t trust it.

“He should be at his house now,” said Ciel. “I’ll go there directly, so you tidy up here.”

“Very good, sir,” said Sebastian, bowing as Ciel ran out of the room.

“Now, then,” said (Y/N), taking off their long robes and surveying the mess in the dining room. “To work, Sebastian?”

“To work,” confirmed Sebastian.

He smirked. They were about to clean this room so well that it would be inhuman. (Poor Ciel was going to be heralded as an excellent cleaner and be asked to do it more often. He’d hate that, and what was Sebastian to do if not make some small irritation for his master?)

Sure enough, once the dining room was spotless and Ciel had returned (unsuccessful) from Violet Wolf, he was giving great praise by Clayton at the amazing job he’d done cleaning.

“Mr. Michaelis, Mr. Noir!” said Clayton as he spotted the housemasters. “Please feast your eyes on the dining hall! Phantomhive put it in order.” He patted an irritated, exhausted Ciel on the shoulder.”

“Nice work, Phantomhive,” said Sebastian with an innocent smile while Ciel glared at him.

“Truly an excellent job,” said (Y/N).

“You, too, sirs,” said Ciel, gritting his teeth. Then, he paused. He could use this to his advantage. He needed to get close to the Prefects, and since Clayton was Bluewer’s Drudge…he needed to get close to Clayton.

“I’m very glad to hear that my work pleases you so!” said Ciel, suddenly grinning brightly. He put on a performance of boyish gratitude and eagerness. “You see, I’m actually quite good at housekeeping and such!” He saluted. “So, please, Clayton, consider me at your service whenever you need aaanything done.”

What a brat, offering up our services, thought (Y/N). That being said, his manipulation of others was entertaining. They supposed it was a fair tradeoff.

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loveandleases · 8 months ago

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Since G won the poll, here's their alphabet post. Below the cut!

A = Admiration - G admires honesty.

B = Body - G loves a soft touch, the glide of a hand along their forearm, or up their back.

C = Cuddling - They love to hold their partner close. To press their face against the top of their head as they snuggle close.

D = Dates - Their ideal date would be to go out to a nice dinner, just talk. Truly talk, about your passions, your shared history. Your relationship?

E = Emotions - G likes to pride themselves on not giving to much away. While you and Cam did break their walls, they have learned to rebuild some in your absence. Though if you look at them from the corner of your eye, when they think you can't see them. Their emotions are written all over their face.

F = Family - G is somewhat close to their family. They had a lot of expectations when growing up and were sure to meet them head on. Now speaking of a family with MC, they would be more than interested in it.

G = Gifts - Time is more important to them than material things. Especially when it's so hard to come by and fleeting. Though if you want to give them a gift just know they will keep it forever. They might still have one from before.

H = Holding Hands - They cling to their partner. Graciously extended a guiding hand to you when out and about, or if you just want to feel them close.

I = Injury - G can handle pain quite a bit, they don't really overreact when hurt. But if a certain someone gets hurt, yeah they might freak out.

J = Jokes - They like to pretend they don't enjoy jokes, but you will see them hiding a snicker whenever Cam says one of their classic dad jokes.

K = Kisses - Soft at first, as if you're a piece of glass that can break at any moment. Or someone who can disappear when they turn their backs. When G knows you won't leave, their kiss then becomes rough, all encompassing. Trying to claim who they care so much about.

L = Love - They love with everything in them, with every fiber. Giving their all to their partner.

M = Memory - G has plenty of memories of MC and Cam, some of their favorites was the shared time together at Uni.

N = Nightmare (what is one of their fears?) - Losing someone they love. (for ex G, that may have already happened.)

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?) They always try to cover their mouth when they smile due to being bullied when they were younger.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?) 여보 Korean for honey.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?) Enjoying each others time, taking time out of your daily lives to appreciate the little things. Always talking some of the pets from the clinic out on walks if they need to. (also painting)

R = Rhythm (what song do they hum to themselves, when they think no one is listening.) Why by Hwasa.

S = Secrets (how open are they?) G is very secretive, they keep their secrets close to their chest.

T = Time (how do they spend their time?) Most of the time is at work, when they are free they tend to relax at home. They occasionally like to go out checking the scenery of the town, or well at the clinic with the pets who need them.

U = Upset (how do they act when they're upset?) They stew in their emotions, sometimes for days. They tend to bottle things an unhealthy amount.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of?) They're mostly proud of the pets they have saved, the work they have done. They worked hard to get to where they are.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?) G would prefer not to get into a fight, but that doesn't mean they won't say something in your honor if need be. If Mc was in a fight and was ganged up on then G would definitely fight with you.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?) Quite well considering your past. Though that may have changed over time, I suppose there is one way to find out.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?) Absolutely.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?) Reading, petting animals. Watching kdrama, I mean they would never! Cooking really calms them.

#loveandleases #love and leases #g #fluff alphabet #alphabet

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leebrontide · 2 years ago

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Ok so I said I would do a post on “reasons you’re not writing” from the POV of a writer/therapist who works with anxious, depressed, and neurodivergent clients. If you dig that, read on.

But firstly, a disclaimer. This list is far from comprehensive. Don’t yell at me if your experience isn’t represented. This is a tumblr post. Have realistic expectations.

Also, sometimes the reason you’re not writing is that your other obligations are just taking all of your energy and focus. Fixing that is well beyond the scope of this.

That said, here’s a bunch of barriers I see people run into all the time.

1) You’re afraid of failing, and subconsciously feel like it’s safer not to try.

This is a tricky one, because it's probably messing up many areas of your life, which in turn means you're going to frequently feel stressed out in general, which speaks to the point above.

This is around about where the general internet will tend to offer you an array of affirmations to use to sooth yourself. And that's fine. If those work for you, then use them! BUT, if the affirmations aren't working, then friend you have a bigger project on your hands.

You need to get comfortable with failing, particularly at creative projects. I know that can feel scary and vulnerable, but you won't take risks if you can't fail, which is going to hem in your creativity so hard that your motivation will starve. This is why people talk about writing a garbage draft. Not because they want to make garbage, but because they need the option of making garbage in order to take risks. That may or may not work for you, but either way, you really might wanna look at how to lower your stakes.

2) You’re not sure what you’re trying to communicate.

You can make things happen in the story, but you feel like you’re wandering around aimlessly. You don't find you're making decisions with conviction. It might be hard to really fall in love with any of your writing decisions.

For this one, I suggest stepping back and figuring out what the core of your enthusiasm for a story consists of. That CAN be a message or philosophy. It can also be a feeling or a vibe or a dynamic. That gives you a structure that you can build your decisions around, that you can be enthusiastic about.

3) You switched hyperfocus. And maybe your new hyperfocus is a lot of fun, but you feel sadness thinking about the WIP you left behind.

This one has a similar need to the one before, with an added layer of nuance, because you're probably already struggling with identifying what does interest you. This can make people feel really hopeless and helpless.

I have three totally different suggestions for this one. The first is to just be patient with yourself. Sometimes it's good for your brain to just indulge, and let your brain mine for dopamine where it can. Like, lean in. Spa day for your brain, as long as it's feeling good.

Secondly, see if you can find creative ways to weave your hyperfocus into your writing. Is there a dynamic in your favorite show that can inspire your writing, even if it's an original work? Do you want to take a moment to think about how transportation works in the history of your world? Can you consider your MCs relationship to old movies?

It doesn't always work, but sometimes instead of trying to switch things over, you can build a bridge, that gives depth and texture to your work.

Finally- consider embracing short fiction! Do some writing inspired directly by the hyperfocus du joir while it's around.

4) You feel like nothing you say will be interesting to anyone else.

We understand this is a self-esteem issue, right? You're gonna have to develop the trust that your experiences are not so utterly unrelatable to everyone else that your perspective has no value.

Friend, you are a human, with human experiences, writing for other humans. Trust me, you can do this.

It can help to think about your actual convictions. What do you know? What have you experienced? What matters to you? Funnily enough, the cure for feeling like nothing in you is worth expressing is to pour more of yourself into your writing.

5) You’re collapsed. It’s hard to feel enthusiasm and energy for things.

You're not gonna like this, but for this one I encourage you to put your keyboard or notebook down and stop trying to write right now. I know that when you're feeling better the writing feels good, and you're trying to feel better because everyone is telling you to feel better.

But it's not working, is it? If it was, you wouldn't be reading this.

For many people, writing requires them to be able to feel investment and excitement, because those feelings help steer them towards what's going to work and be exciting for the reader.

Your best bet is to focus your energy on finding gentle little activities that aren't so hard to focus on. Ideally, ones that get you moving just a little bit. You'll have a better time writing when you're less collapsed.

Shaming yourself and getting hopeless and anxious because you can't do this really difficult task right now will make you more collapsed, not less, which will be the opposite of helpful.

And yes, these are depression symptoms. Consider reaching out for supports and assessment around that if you can.

6) You can’t figure out the next step.

Thank God for the internet, this one is a lot more actionable than it used to be.

The first thing to do here is step back and ask yourself "where am I getting lost?" If you have someone to talk this through with, even better.

Then you hop on to your favorite search engine and type in "Stuck on my outline 2nd act" or "can't get started editing" or whatever. People LOVE giving writing advice. There's plenty around. Read some advice! Try things out!

Now here is the critical point- when and if that advice fails, stop and figure out why it failed. For example, I have a short term memory disorder. Most writing process advice is for people who do not have short term memory impairments. So a lot of the advice just plain didn't work for me.

By figuring out that my subpar memory was in the way of my writing process, I was able to put together processes that work for my specific brain and my specific process. You can read about that in more depth here and here.

Frankenstien yourself a process out of stolen bits of other people's processes, with an understanding of your own personalized needs as the lightning that brings it all to life. If you have even traits of ADHD or autism or other forms of neurodiversity (no diagnosis needed) you might also google "ADHD editing hacks".

Finally, and maybe most importantly, chuck anything that you can't adapt right into the trash. I don't care how great the writer who gave the advice is. That's what works for their life and their brain. You have neither. Writing advice is only as useful as it is adaptable.

7) You think of yourself as someone who doesn’t finish things, possibly with history to back that up.

Oh, I feel this one. This was me so hard. For so long.

Make room for the idea that you can and will change over time. Getting shit done is largely a matter of developing a bunch of skills. You've already developed so many different skills in your life that you might not even recognize some of them as skills. But I promise you that you have.

But you see #6? Go read that one again. If you're not finishing things, it's because there's something missing in your routine and process that you haven't developed skills around yet.

I'm not gonna tell you it's easy, but you can find and isolate the barriers and figure out ways around them.

8) You have too many projects and feel frozen when you try to pick one to work on.

Ask yourself if this is a real problem. It may be! Maybe you dream of making a living off of your writing! That requires a level of consistency.

But it also might just be that you've had it drilling into your head that not finishing things is some kind of personal failing.

Write out all your WIPs and story seeds.

See if some of them can be mushed into one. Some AMAZING stories come from people combining story ideas that seem separate into a single story. That's fun.

See if some of them are not for finishing. What's that post going around? Some stories are for finishing, and some are just for "getting the wiggles out"? That's solid advice.

Maybe some stories are just for daydreaming on the bus. Maybe some stories are actually only 1/3rd of a story, and you want to leave it to grow in the ground before you try to do anything with it. That's incredibly valid and common!

If you actually look at the stories that you have that are for finishing, right now, you may find a much more manageable number. And if you only have like 2 or 3 things you're working on, you can just let them take turns as the passion for each project takes you.

Keep a file somewhere of these undeveloped ideas. I have a scrivner file that has each idea it's own little sub-document so I can add thoughts to them for years as they percolate.

9) You get lost in preparation and don’t make it to the page.

A couple different things can be happening here. One thing that may be happening is that you're just a writer who needs a lot of research and prep time before you write. I'm like that. I will prewrite intensively for a year before I write a single sentence. That sounds ridiculous to a lot of people but it works with how my brain works and then when I do start writing I can easily and happily churn out a consistent 2-4k words per hour. If it works it works! Don't let anyone shame you!

The other option is that you feel like you're going to get something wrong/fail/get in trouble if you get anything "wrong". You feel safer doing research, so that's where you stay.

Only you can figure out which it is. Introspect. Then you know whether to focus on managing anxiety or just keep preppin.

10) You want to write, but when you sit down to write suddenly it’s two hours later and you’ve written like 5 words but curated 3 new playlists, read some fanfiction, and argued with some strangers on the internet.

Brains are rough, aren't they.

There are two schools of thought here. Both work, but not for all the same people.

Option 1 is to clear distractions. Download one of those apps that keeps you off the internet. Put your phone someplace that you need a ladder to reach, so you have to very actively decide to go get it. Noise cancelling headphones. Comfy clothes. Protein rich snacks and a beverage within easy reach. Pee ahead of time. Make a routine out of it to train your brain into associating this with focus.

Option 2 is to figure out the optimal level of distraction. When I write nonfiction I almost always have mindless home renovation shows on at the same time. Because nonficiton writing isn't quite stimulating enough to hold my attention. So my attention wanders and I end up doing something that WILL hold my attention. When I write fiction, I need music OR to be outdoors where I can look at trees or clouds or people on the sidewalk. I can't watch any kind of TV.

Think of your attention like a pie chart. Different writing tasks may take up different percentages of that pie. If you're awesome at focus maybe you can just put 90% of your focus on writing, and the other 10% is just making sure you don't forget to eat or something. But if you can't reliably conjure up more than 70% for one thing, then fill the rest of the pie with things you can easily pick up and put down. I only look up at the home decorating shows when my passive audio scanning suggests it's something I want to look up at.

These are both good approaches. Ignore anyone who demonizes either. That only means they've found the version that works for them.

You have your brain. Build a process for your brain.

I hope this helps. I have a free monthly newsletter if you like hearing my rants. It is...not consistently about writing advice or mental health. One time I wrote about how genetically modified goats are related to French colonized Madagascar in the 1800s as well as the modern US military. One time I broke down modern challenges to medical privacy practice policies. This is all to do with what I write but in an idiosyncratic way.

Cause I gotta write about what I care about.

#writeblr #mental health #neurodiversity #writing #writing advice #writing process #writing procrastination

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