#i just been busy and i am slowly coming back with my hyperfixation on him

[hunnam]

[writermai05]

Arsonist's Lullabye

Chapter 4: Build Again

Summary: Zuko has a crazy day at work 

Pairing: Zuko x fem! reader (Live Action or Animated) 

A/N: Surprise! Another chapter, before Friday. I may or may not post two chapters this week, but no promises LMAOO. Not revised because we die like men. As always feel free to leave comments or constructive feedback, as it helps me grow. 

Word Count: 878

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot. Lots of divergence from the canon story lol. 

Warnings: None I think. 

Today started like any other, utterly uneventful. 

Zuko had gone downstairs into the shop at eight in the morning to prepare for opening. Iroh went into the kitchen in the back and handled most of the cooking. Zuko had previously asked his uncle many times if he needed any help, but Iroh consistently refused. Although, he didn’t quite blame his uncle for that. The first, and last, time that Zuko had been let into the kitchen ended up in flames: literally. He had burnt dozens of fruit tarts and muffins. Admittedly, he was much better at understanding the science behind food, rather than actually cooking it. 

He mopped the floors, wiped the tables, restocked straws and napkins, and prepared the various toppings, boba, jellies, and syrups. He found the process of opening quite therapeutic, no one was around to distract him and he was able to focus on the tasks at hand. 

Fridays were usually their busiest days. The tea ceremony room often had large parties coming in, businessmen having meetings, clubs from the University having events. and of course the front open seating area was full. The Jasmine Dragon was a place where people came and felt welcome, regardless of who they were, and the idea warmed Zuko’s heart. He felt immense pride in his Uncle’s shop. 

Today was busy, but there was no afternoon rush like there usually was. Students sat quietly, typing away at their laptops and wearing headphones to keep any distractions at bay. The tea room had absolutely no reservations for the day. Zuko kept himself busy by grabbing more pastries from the kitchen to sell. 

As he ducked below the counter to put the pastries in the warming oven, he heard the chime of the door’s bell. 

“Welcome! Give me one second..” He called out from below. Once he had finished, he got up slowly, keeping his attention on the warmer before finally addressing the customer. Making eye contact with them, his eyes widened. 

It was Aang. 

Zuko attempted to compose himself, before opening his mouth to speak.

“Hey…What can I get for you?” He said in a rigid way. He cursed himself for his inability to just act normal. 

Though,  Aang wasn’t doing much better. He stood there, eyes also wide. 

“My bad...I thought Iroh would be working the register today.” He said, wincing at his confession. 

“Oh. Well, I…Do you want me to go-” He asked gesturing to his left where the kitchen was. Aang shook his head, eyebrows scrunching. 

“No! No, it’s okay. I don’t want to make this harder.” Zuko nodded, in response, walking back over to the register. 

“Yeah. Um, what would you like to order?” Zuko hasn’t sounded this unsure while taking an order since he was 14. 

“I’ll just get one wintermelon milk tea and a brown sugar boba.” Aang was definitely ordering for himself and Katara. 

“Alright. Any toppings with that?” 

“Just tapioca in both, please.” 

Zuko nodded stiffly, punching the order into the screen. 

“That’ll be 7 silver pieces.” 

As Aang ruffled through his bag pocket and placed the coins on the counter, Zuko waited, hands anxiously moving around. 

“Thank you, I’ll get those out shortly.” 

He turned away as fast as possible, getting the to-go cups, and preparing the boba like Aang asked. ‘What are you doing! This is literally your chance to apologize.’ He thought to himself. He debated what to do for a while before settling. He finished up Aang’s order, ducking below the counter once again to retrieve some pastries for the boy. One egg custard tart, and one red bean cake. He knew Aang liked Egg tarts, but he had no idea what Katara would like. He grabbed a red bean rice cake, considering that it was probably a pretty safe option. 

“Order for Aang!” He called out, placing the pastries onto the counter with the drinks. Aang hurried to the counter, looking at the things Zuko had laid out for him. 

“I didn’t order any pastries…” He said confusedly. 

“...I know.” Zuko said, with a nod, making strong eye contact with Aang. This was his chance.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I know this is not nearly enough for what I did but I hope you at least accept it as a peace offering.” Zuko intently watched Aang’s face, trying to get a read. 

Much to Zuko’s surprise, Aang smiled. 

“Thank you Zuko! This means a lot, really.” Aang smiled, grabbing a bag and straws for the drinks. 

“Hey! Next Friday is Toph’s power disc game. Suki and the Kyoshi colorguard are performing too, with the band. You should come! You can talk to the others.”

Zuko pursed his lips and squinted at Aang. 

“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s the best idea Aang.” He said, helping Aang with the bags. 

“Come on, it'll be fine! I’ll be there and so will one of our new friends Y/n. I think she said that she met you here before.”

Zuko perked up at the mention of you being there. Maybe if he had the support of both you and Aang, it would be easier to get through. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” Zuko said. 

“Great! I’ll see you then. Thanks again Zuko!”

Zuko hoped he wouldn’t regret this. 

[erwin0859]

if it's okay to make more requests, i have another one! my wanderer hyperfixation is still going strong 😭 can i please request wanderer taking care of a drunk reader who has a drinking problem? sorry if that's a weird request 💀

I wouldn't call it weird, but more like... concerning? 🤨 Please stay safe! I hope you're doing fine, I don't recall getting a reaction from you about your previous request, months ago... My apologies by the way, for the time it took... partially due to Wanderer's presence in the 4.8 summer event. Screentime & new voice lines from him means more material for inspiration and writing him. And... procrastination 😅

Wanderer taking care of drunk GN reader with drinking problems

Ambient music (ironically fitting title):

You come back to your senses after feeling a sudden splash of cold water hitting your face.

"Morning, sunshine."

With your sight gaining some clarity back, you can first discern a figure standing before you, with crossed arms. As your ears slowly pick up on their surrounding, revealing the presence of a river nearby, the figure gets clearer and you recognize who it belongs to... alongside the fact it's the middle of the night.

"... you?"

"Seems like you're back to your senses. So, how was your little trip to Wonderland?"

"... trip? Oh, you mean..."

As you try to stand up by yourself, some remaining dizziness prevents you from raising properly, resulting in the loss of your balance, falling on the grass.

"Ugh... You really are pathetic sometimes, S/O."

His next action goes against the harshness of his words, as he bows to pick you up with ease - even keeping a grip on you, until you could stand on your own without falling again.

"Why am I here...?"

"Don't tell me you forgot about your filthy habit already..."

He steps back and now stares a little more intensely at you, clearly unamused.

"You got drunk again. You're lucky I was the one who found you. Who knows what could have happened, had it been someone else."

"Where... did you find me?"

"Collapsed on the road, in the wilderness, like a wounded animal. Hearing some helpless cries from you could have been entertaining..."

His eyes close as he sighs. While you're busy processing his words, he adds another batch of them.

"Endangering yourself like that, with such a filthy and disposable drink, will not lead you anywhere nice. It's about time you find another outlet to cleanse your mind."

You nod, acknowledging his words, remaining silent for now as you process them. You know there's some truth in them, but you also know that removing a bad habit is easier said than done, especially when the root cause itself isn't treated.

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that your life is all sunshine and rainbows. But if consuming strong drinks is your way to cope... why not try tea then? You know already about my preference to have it as bitter as possible. If anything, it won't make you drunk, at least. Besides... don't go thinking I had any pleasure in looking for you like I just did."

With another sigh, he reached out for your shoulder, resting his hand on it.

"Come, let's go home now. You need some rest, and not just to reflect."

After you nod in approval, he proceeds to get a good grip around your shoulders, lifting you in the air afterward. Although he wouldn't be against a night stroll, flying back home will be more convenient, given the present circumstances.

If anything, the consequent breeze from the flight should air your mind a little, perhaps even symbolizing the wind of change, as you may now deviate from the unhealthy habit that brought this moment.

Thank you for reading! Link to main post

[isatoru]

life update i'm dating bachira part time and isagi part time

[shyanshippingsociety]

Shyan Shipping Society Fic Promo - May & June 2022

last post

Hey everyone! I’m so excited to bring you our May/June fic promo masterlist!

May 

Shane needs cuddles by TokyoTiger91 | G, 900, complete

No one knows Shane is an omega. He has an unusually bad heat and has to call out sick. Ryan gets worried and comes over because he's not answering his phone and they always manage to text even when one of them is sick.

/r/relationship_advice by ouijaboy | T, 1K, complete

Posted by u/ThrowRA22datesoverme 4 days ago

I (31M) am starting to resent my best friend and business partner (36M). How do I snap out of this?

I guess, I guess, I guess this is the end by mummifiedgoose | T, 5K, complete

"Just as quickly as the interaction occurred, it had ended. And Shane had been left to grapple with his own death. An imminent one coming far too soon. And then whatever would be left once his corpse was reanimated. He hoped he wouldn’t be aware of it."

It's the zombie apocalypse. While Shane, Ryan, and a few of their surviving co-workers make their daring escape to the rooftop for a military evacuation Shane get's bit. Ryan is forced to leave him there as Shane transforms into a zombie, losing all sense of who he is and becoming a grotesque, hungry, creature. Years later Ryan and co. returns to the Buzzfeed offices and Ryan comes face to face with his zombified best friend. Shane nearly kills him but has a realization; He knows this man.. this is Ryan... this is his best friend. Slowly, Shane's humanity is restored. Miraculously, It's his love for Ryan (and vice versa) that brings him back.

And he’s Blue by BittyBergara | T, 800, complete

Shane Madej was a mystery he wanted to unravel.

Stim Boys Drabble Collection by Gilded_Quill | T, 12K, on-going

A collection of one-shots and drabbles based on a list of Autism-Centric Writing Prompts.

Featuring Stimming, Special Interests, Hyperfixations, Meltdowns, and two boys navigating the highs and lows of neurodiversity. Each chapter will be a stand-alone, and their relationship status won't be consistent throughout. Nor will the timeline be.

June

Stars in Your Soul by Blue__Jay | M, 31K, in-progress

Shane can't avoid the truth any longer and Ryan comes to a decision. The course of their friendship is altered forever.

the gang goes to hell by TokyoTiger91 | E, 700, complete

He knew how frightened Ryan was of demons and hell so he wasn't at all offended when Ryan was frightened of him at first. He just asked him because he knew how upsetting it would be for Ryan if he just disappeared one day, it was quite frankly a shock to him when Ryan agreed.

Gotcha by juicyjucky | E, 8K, complete

“Wait! Shane don’t-“ He gets cut off by the sight of Shane sitting at the edge of the bed with Ryan’s laptop in front of him, open. They both freeze as Shane meets Ryan’s eyes just as he enters the doorway with a hand outstretched too little too late. Shane’s expression is indiscernible and Ryan is extremely tempted to turn around, open the front door, take a long walk and disappear into the ocean forever.

---

Shane discovers something new about Ryan

if you want to read some more fics, you can always check out our ao3 collection! see you soon! ♡

[alonfic]

second nature

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x reader genre: college + bff to lovers au | fluff, pining pining pining wc: 4,767 description: love is complicated; it tends to bloom in desire, in impulse. sometimes you just need to stop the overthinking and just do. in other words, you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend and decide to take matters into your own hands. author’s note: completely self-indulgent. i just wanted a scene where mc jumps into kuroo’s arms and kisses him after a win. sue me.

People do stupid things when they’re in love. You don’t know who said it, if this is some universal conclusion, or maybe Hercules’s Megara is a love genius who you should take notes from. Then again, she did twice, and was saved by her destined lover the second time around. You aren’t all that sure this is a fate prescribed to you by the stars nor is it one that you want for yourself, but it makes you wonder if your love life would be easier if it could have that Disney-esque theatrics just for a happy ending.

Then again, you don’t think Disney has any love stories about best friends turning into lovers, just strangers to lovers. But how do you fall in love with someone you haven’t spent years together cultivating memories with? How do you not look back and smile at the stories of chasing fireflies in the summertime or running from the ocean’s kiss because it’s just a tad too cold even in the late spring? Could it be possible to imagine a love built out of the blue?

Perhaps that part of unexpectedness could be the suspect. Being around him is comfortable; easy as breathing. He’s always been there, always a faint image in the back of your mind as you walk down memory lane, and still there as you walk down this strange path of adulthood. He’s never one to push too hard or let you fall without reaching a hand out to hold you steady.

In truth, you don’t think about loving your best friend. At least you try not to at first. It isn’t something you’re supposed to do or anything that could proceed painlessly, and you’re no masochist. Maybe you are. Wouldn’t you have extracted yourself from the situation sooner if you weren’t?

Then again, you didn’t choose to love him one morning, it just happened.

/

You consider ignoring Kuroo when it happens. Or if there’s any chance of going back.

It isn’t anything against him because you obviously wouldn’t feel the way that you do if you considered him a shitty person. But that’s the problem. Well, not the problem, more like the reason. The heart of your pining has always been a consistent figure. A loving one that has always had your back even when you both were kids; him the notoriously shy boy who clung to his father’s leg when you and your mother first stopped by, and you the painfully hard-headed one who lacked control when you came bounding up to him with the intent of friendship.

Funny how things seem to take on a reverse effect as he approaches you in the same confidence. His smile unaltered by the slight changes in you, how you tense up ever-so-slightly and squeak affirmations when he mentions going out later that night as a treat for surviving midterms. It shouldn’t mean anything more, really, these are normal interactions for you both. The small celebrations are your favorite things to do, so you hope it doesn’t feel weird when you say yes and he looks at you like he’s over the moon kind of happy.

You don’t say a word when his hand is on the small of your back in the slightly crowded ramen shop. It’s been a longtime favorite of your and his, and surviving the quarter is a celebration in and of itself. Everything is normal. These things, like guiding you to a table, are normal. Your hyperfixations on them are hardly normal though.

Was he always this touchy? Of course, you ponder this. It’s your brain wondering and hoping to figure out what the motivations of these actions are even if he’s done them before. He’s always been keen on physical touch with you. Ever the one to wrap an arm around your shoulders while you two walk around shopping centers or the park to keep potential intruders away and to keep you from getting swept up in the crowds. Sometimes holding your hand when things get tense and he wants you to know he’s there. They’re normal for him by all accounts, and there hasn’t been a time where any of that has felt out of place, at least until now. And it isn’t because of him, it’s you.

If you had an allowance to dream and believe in your idealistic side, this would be a new beginning and his way of easing you into intimate gestures. You don’t though. Your realistic side won’t let you. He just doesn’t make it very easy on you as he sits in front of you under very grainy incandescent lighting—the very non-ideal kind to consider one’s love for somebody—and still manages to get you feel the same things you had when you awoke to him cooking breakfast in your kitchen after a late night study session. The very stupid morning that brought you to this conclusion.

When he says your name, you realize the server is there. You’re naturally a little embarrassed because you haven’t even had a chance to glance at the menu, still a little more spaced out than usual, though it shouldn’t be that big of a problem. You already know what you want, and so does Kuroo. 

He jumps in and asks if you want your usual choice, to which you simply nod so he can tell the server who leaves just as quickly as they had come. Kuroo looks like he wants to say something, probably ask about what’s going on with you, but instead something else catches his eye.

He leans over the table and his fingertips find some stray locks of yours dangerously trying to kiss the corner of your lip. His fingertips graze your cheek rather slowly. Painfully slow, even. It doesn’t help the sweat on your palms or the pounding of your chest. Hell, your heart feels like it might fall out if he continues going at such a snail’s pace, but eventually he gets the strands behind your ear.

He smiles at you again, and this time you know it’s all over.

There is no going back.

/

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

You almost deny it altogether, almost. But this is Kuroo. You know better than to try and lie to the boy you’ve known since middle school, the same boy who knows when something’s wrong before you even have a chance to register that something’s wrong. It sometimes makes you want to curse at him and wish this whole thing would just come to a halt instead of continuing on this weird precipice of change. But you stop yourself and step aside so he can enter your apartment, making his way through the long hallway and turning right to take a perch on the barstool at your kitchen isle.

He’s right anyway. It’s been days since you realized your feelings and even more since you two went out to get ramen together. But you’d be damned to admit the truth.

“Been busy.” You settle on this because it’s a safe answer, at least relatively so, though he hardly looks even the slightest bit convinced. The fact that you lean on the opposite side of the granite countertop is enough to solidify his doubt, but you decide to play the fool anyway. “What?”

“Are you alright? Have I done something to upset you?” Kuroo asks this genuinely, and you can tell most definitively by the slight crease in his brow and the small line his lips have become. It isn’t a frown by any means, it’s his pensive expression. He must be trying to think back on anything he’s either said or done in the past couple of weeks, but you know he wouldn’t be able to guess it.

Not that “it” is all that major. How do you even describe the sensation of falling in love with your best friend? How do you even dare face them after you’ve done it? And where do you even go from there when it’s happened? These are the things you’ve mulled over; they’re also the things that have stopped you from immediately treating your friendship with Kuroo like business as usual. You don’t think there’s any going back once you say something. No matter the times you’ve imagined what could happen or what it would be like to cross that bridge, a bit of reality grounds you from all impulsive acts.

Of course, you would love to just kiss him and run your hands through his beautifully soft sable hair. You wouldn’t hesitate to finally tell him your feelings if you didn’t think there was anything to lose or if you weren’t in the right state of mind, at least there’s the cushion of not caring and simple selfishness in all of that. It takes a lot to shake it all out of your head, at least to just try to, as he watches you in that unnervingly analytical way.

“Are you sure I haven’t done anything?” You can tell he’s trying to probe now, perhaps hoping for an opening to atone for any misgiving he might’ve done without realizing. His voice is soft, comforting. “If I did, I really am sorry.”

You shake your head again, this time for him and his question. You’re starting to feel a little bad for keeping this from him. “You haven’t done anything, I promise. I’ve just been preoccupied with some things. It’s getting better, so really, no need to worry.”

You hope the half-truths are enough to keep his interrogative questions and inquisitorial stare at bay. At least enough to change the subject, he’s the one who called about coming here, after all.

“If you’re sure?” He tries once more, just to give you an out. It isn’t like you to keep anything from him, and he knows this, but you can’t help but want to keep this one thing under lock-and-key. At least for now, or forever.

You nod. “What’s up anyway?”

“Well, I’ve been missing my best friend like crazy since someone’s been ghosting me for the past two weeks.”

The emphasis on ‘someone’ makes you snort, just a little and only for a moment because he shoots you a playful glare. You hold your hands up in surrender in hopes of spurring the conversation forward. Just because you wanted to avoid him to keep the truth under wraps doesn’t mean you haven’t missed the cheeky bastard.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, with a faint smile. “Has it been that hard without me?”

“The hardest! Kenma’s sick of me, you know. Him, I’m used to wanting to keep me away. But you? That’s a different playing field.” It’s all in a playful jest, of course, and whatever the case may be for you, you know that Kuroo doesn’t mind. He knows it would be for a good reason, even if you don’t think this is all that good of a reason to try and push him away. It’s a hard thing to do when it’s clear that he has no intentions of being set aside, and how can you, given the history here?

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, o’dramatic one?” Of course, you’ll play it off, just to see the toothy grin on his lips, and watch the light dance in the hickory of his eyes as he considers his next quip. You wonder if he’ll have you do something stupid just to make up for the sudden separation, although you’re grateful that he’s a more benevolent schemer where you’re concerned. You expect him to charge you a free coffee or something.

“Come to my game on Saturday, please,” Kuroo coughs the last word, as if it might be painful for him to say, or maybe he’s trying to play off sounding forceful, which has never been his forte.

You can’t help but smile albeit confused at the sudden news when it feels like it’s been ages since his last high school game. “A game? With who?”

“It’s just a reunion game against Karasuno, since it’s a rare occasion where we all happen to be free at the same time, and you know us. We’re always hankering for another Battle at the Garbage Dump.”

Before you can say anything, he adds, “If you love me, you’ll come!”

You probably miss the way he looks at you a little more longingly than he once did, as if there’s something he means in these cheeky words. They should mean nothing more than provocations, a mild itch of guilt tripping, but only in good nature. It couldn’t possibly mean anything in the way that you’re hoping. No, not at all.

You know he only means it all in a lighthearted way, but you can’t deny the way your heart seems to rumble with a very distinct sound of early springtime thunder and you feel the back of your throat go dry. Of course, you can’t deny this truth, not even when it’s disguised like this. And anyway, who would you be if you missed out on one of his games?

Of course, you’ll go. 

/

When Kozume calls you over, you already know it’s a mistake to oblige.

The moment you get there, he’s playing a game though he pays a little more attention to you when he sees how much you tense up at the sound of Kuroo’s name. It’s enough for the conversation to completely focus on the former Nekoma captain, and you’re almost certain you want to go home already. If anything, you might be able to cite that you had some homework you need to sort out before the big game.

“You shouldn’t keep lying to yourself. Plus, I know you finished all your homework so you wouldn’t be distracted for the game,” Kozume points out, shooting you a brief pointed look. “You’ve been avoiding me too, you know.” 

And this is why: visiting Kozume means speculations, and speculations means hopes, and those mean disappointments because reality is just that cruel. You tell him so in your apology, even when he pointedly ignores the question and instead asks you one.

“When do you think you’ll tell him?”

You look at him incredulously. “Why would I do that?”

The sheer idea is preposterous; confessing to Kuroo might invite trouble for the two of you and the state of your friendship. Sure, you tried ignoring him and seeing if that could help, but that was a bust. Telling him would probably be even worse. Probably the worst thing you could do in this situation. Is it even possible to be okay after confessing to your best friend?

“You’re both idiots who deserve to be together. Why else would I ask?”

He isn’t even looking at you as he says any of this, instead focusing his attention on the characters in his game. His own little fantasy. A part of you is envious of the escapism, wishing for a bit of that for yourself at the moment. At least you can forge a love story from camaraderie there, and in a game world like that, it’s acceptable. Loving your best friend in the modern reality? Not so much.

You’re a little confused at Kozume’s wording. What was he trying to say? Kuroo liked you back? The thought makes you shake your head.

“Easier for you to say,” you roll your eyes at him, certain he hasn’t seen it, but he clicks his tongue at you anyway.

“If you did something, or let yourself do something, life would be so much easier for the both of you.”

“You say this with the assumption that he feels something too,” you point out, still in disbelief. After all, why would Kuroo love you back as more than a friend?

“Why do you even love him anyway?”

You can’t help but reply so nonchalantly when it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Why not?”

There are many answers to that question, probably more than you care to admit, let alone to Kozume. Even without meeting his eyes or saying a word about any of it, he seems to know already. It’s unnerving. Have you always been this easy to read? Does Kuroo know too?

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

“It’d make things too complicated.”

In other words: it’s easier to tell the truth when you’re not speaking to Kuroo about the whole thing. Hell, it’s easier to address it when it isn’t directly to him. It happened, and obviously there’s no way to strip the power from it now.

“Is that what’s really stopping you?”

You take a moment to consider this, and maybe the large part is the fear of consequence, if there will be one, what it will be, that sort of thing.

“Yeah…”

“Then stop thinking and just do something about it. I’ve never known you to take things lying down. Talk to him after the game or something.”

You don’t say anything, but you consider it.

/

The day of the game is supposed to be simple. It isn’t like it’s supposed to bloom into anything, and yet you find yourself thrumming with excitement when Kuroo easily finds you in the crowd before he’s set to enter the gym.

You don’t care to admit how much you enjoy this or the sight of seeing him in that vibrant shade of red. The same way you’ve seen him in countless games. It stirs something in your chest as you’re reminded of those days, like this revelation of your feelings might have bloomed sooner than you realized.

“Come find me after the game,” Kuroo tells you with that beautifully toothy grin of his, and you find that you can hardly breathe. “I have something to tell you when I win.”

When did he get so damn good looking? You want to wonder, though that would only be one of many ponderings. You don’t know what his words mean, or why the implication makes your heart react the way it does, but you hope against your own ideals just to remain in reality. At least you try to.

It’s hard once the game begins.

/

Watching him play feels like falling in love again.

You don’t know what it is in the way Kuroo carries himself or how he seems to dance across the court with a hitch in any of his movements, but it’s addictive to watch. How easily he remains himself even on the court. The very cheeky grin flashes at his opponents, particularly Tsukishima, who looks more and more fired up as they contain their rally. They don’t look much different than when they first played against one another in high school, though they all seem to carry a newfound sense of wisdom in this game they’ve been destined to play time and time again.

Each rally feels like it goes on for longer than the last, as if everything will be gone in a single drop, and perhaps it’s true to say that this mirrors that of love. How you may try as you might to keep the secret of loving away from reality, but it all comes crashing down eventually. It feels that way when you see the final round reach a neck and neck standstill. Neither side wants the ball to drop, to allot victory to their opponent, of course.

It’s Kuroo’s determination that stands out to you. The way he seems to cheer his team on even without words as he tries his best to keep the orange, green, and white ball in play. He’s never been one to give up no matter the circumstances. He’s always found a way to move things in his favor, and he’s never once wavered, even in the beginning of his time with volleyball, he’s always tried, even with losses under his belt.

It’s strangely beautiful to bear witness to this play once more. You don’t know what it is when he looks back at you before his notoriously accurate block with a small, yet triumphant smile, like he knows this’ll win the game, or even so, bring them closer to it, but it rouses something even stranger in your chest as you cheer alongside everyone else in celebration of the first point of two needed to finally win the game. This is by no means a big game like the Inter-high or anything, but it feels that way. Maybe that’s why everything seems to stand out to you. It feels like something big might happen.

Simple as this game might be, it feels like everything when they reach the end of the rally.

They win, and you rise from your seat without a second thought. 

/

You don’t think about what you’re doing.

Your limbs seem to move on their own accord as the rest of the team does a final bow to the audience. You don’t bother stopping to wonder if Kuroo’s searching the crowd for you as you make your way down the stairs, or what the little frown on his face means when his gaze lingers on the spot right behind the banner as soon as you reach the hallway across from the court. Your spot.

No, you don’t stop to think about it.

You don’t even stop moving as you call his name or as you see the light come back to his beautiful hickory eyes. You don’t stop to consider what that might mean either.

Instead you run to him at full speed without bumping into anyone, truly a miracle in and of itself, and instead of stopping right before him with your feet planted firmly on the ground like any other person, you choose to jump. You don’t know why. You don’t think about why either. You just believe that he won’t drop you because he’s never given you a reason to believe otherwise. In fact, you absolutely trust him to catch you now more than ever, and to no one’s surprise, he does.

There are so many things you want to do—reasonable things that any normal best friend supporting their best friend would do. You want to say congratulations. You want to just hug him and jump down because you want to believe that this will be like any other hug you’ve shared with this man you’ve known for years. And maybe it could’ve been that simple if you had just stopped to consider what your actions would mean to him, you, and everyone else. But you don’t bother with the frivolities, you don’t want to yet.

Because when you really look at Kuroo, you catch sight of something beautiful. A sight all too familiar to you and the years of memories you’ve shared together. It’s him in his most purest form; little drops of sweat falling at the sides of his face, an elated grin in all its toothy glory, and the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes becoming more and more prominent. And yet, there’s something a little too new in the way that he looks back at you, the way his gaze lingers on your lips and only snaps back up to your eyes when you say his name. 

Your grip around his shoulders tightens and his lips fall a little closer together like he might say something, but you don’t give him a chance. It’s hard when you find yourself on a roll of impulses, like you’re untouchable from consequence.

Maybe you’ve watched too many romance movies, or maybe read too many stories where the best friends finally get together after years of pining and being called idiots by everyone around them. You know it’s all too silly, and you and Kuroo have spent evenings mocking the theatrics of boombox accompanied confessions and singing over the loudspeakers with the marching band as the main male lead’s instrumental track. They’re endearing in the moment, but so painfully unreal, you almost wish this world was entirely fantasy for just a taste of what could be with Kuroo. That’s the true villain, maybe. You can’t stop yourself now.

Everything everyone has ever speculated about you two flies over your head, and for once in a great while, you stop caring enough to just do what you’ve always wanted to do, to finally actualize the fantasies you’ve played out over and over in your head.

Fuck it, you decide. If there’s any time to do this, it’s now. The extra shit can wait.

So, before any words, you kiss him.

You take note of the way he responds so gently to the initiation. It’s a tentative pressure, as if he’s testing the waters to see what you can handle before you pull away. But you don’t. You remain, and maybe part of that has to do with the adrenaline coursing through your veins or maybe it’s the part of you that seeks this wish fulfillment and wants to bask in it before reality sinks it.

The whole thing is indescribable. Of course, it is. All of your fantasies have never gotten you as far as the real deal. You wouldn’t have guessed just how close to peppermint he would taste, or that there would be a slight hint of honeyed lemons in the aftertaste. Like the treat promises, you feel invigorated, rejuvenated, and maybe even worst of all, hungry for a little more.

This is why you readjust your grip around his shoulders as you attempt to deepen the kiss. In response, his grip on your thighs tighten, as if he might be afraid you’ll disappear. And to your surprise, he kisses you back with just as much fervor, like it might be the last time.

You don’t remember what draws you apart, whether it’s one of his teammates jeering at you two or if it’s your respective needs to breathe, but you’re inclined to etch this new sight of him to memory. The way his chest heaves, his pupils dilated, and his lips all pink and swollen. It’s new and beautiful, and you wonder if it’ll happen again.

And then it hits you.

What you’ve done. Your head spins just a little.

“I’ve fucked us up, haven’t I?” Your words are no louder than a whisper, but it feels like it’s only you two right now. Nothing else to cut into this moment, though you almost sort of wish for an opportunity to sink into the ground because what the fuck did you just do?

All you can do is try to shake yourself away from him, back down to the ground, back to reality.

Kuroo keeps you in place and takes the chance to really look at you. His eyes scan your face for a trace of truth, not that this would be a hard feat anyway. You’ve never been good at hiding anything from him, not when you were kids, and most certainly not now. You wonder if he can read, “I’m totally and utterly in love with you” from your eyes or if it somehow materialized across your forehead like Kozume and Nobuyuki have always teased you.

“That’s not entirely fair,” he says, still faint with his usual teasing.

“Huh?” Your eyebrows knit together, and your lips seem to pull into an involuntary frown.

“That implies that you were the only one who compromised our friendship…” he pauses for a second as his bottom lip trembles and he gives an inaudible swallow, “right?”

“What are you getting at?” Simply the implication is enough to bring lightning to your skin, as if to resuscitate you back to a more serene state. Your heart can’t seem to handle this overload, however. You wonder if he can hear it.

“I think you know what I’m getting at...”

His cheeks have gone pinker than the cherry blossoms in spring. Of course, it should’ve been enough to confirm your suspicions. You could’ve left it at that, but for your sake, for your very own heart, you tell him what you need.

“Say it.”

One more look at you and it’s enough for him. Somehow you know that without being told.

“I love you.”

Your heart trembles, even louder now, like a thunderstorm. That strange calmness remains. The kind only he can elicit in you.

Kuroo looks at you in wait, in wonder, as if your answer wasn’t as clear as day already. You laugh a little and the corners of his lips turn upward.

“I love you too.”

He lets you drop down, of course, but only after another kiss.

You hold his hand and walk through the double doors you entered through.

This time together.

[hlizr50]

Bonus Chapter - Gwyn POV

So we had some technical difficulties, but here's the whole thing (copy/paste was not my friend).

Thanks for the fun @yazthebookish @daevastanner and @bookprofessor

Warm clouds of breath puffed out of Gwyn’s nose and mouth, drifting into the air – the only things obscuring the twinkling of frost-white stars.

She had been in the training ring for nearly three hours. Sleep hadn’t been an option, not even a consideration. The priestess had nearly worn her leathers under her robes to the service, knowing that the singing and celebration would open a crater so wide in her soul that she would take leave as soon as acceptable and retreat to the safety and solace of the frigid night air and sharpened steel. Gwyn scoffed, a hot bitter laugh that rose unbidden from her chest.

This night, the library was no sanctuary. It had been a stark reminder of her weakness, her failure.

Her guilt.

The only thing that had made her choose her usual camisole and leggings under her robes was the inevitable tongue-lashing she would have received from Merrill. Knowing the state she would be in, Gwyn wasn’t sure if she would burst into tears or jump to strangle the beautiful crone in a fit of rage and pain. Best not to test her luck.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed into her palms before rubbing them together, willing the blood not to freeze in her fingertips before selecting a sword from the rack. She had spent extra time stretching to combat the cold air seeping into her muscles, kept in constant motion. Numbness threatened the ends of her fingers and the tip of her nose, but as a whole she was limber and warm. And so, weapon in hand, she turned to face her foe.

The ribbon.

She silently thanked the Mother for her competitiveness and hyperfixation on this goal, grateful for the distraction that it gave her from the glaring absence of her sister. The raw edges of that wound had begun healing in the two years and some months since the attack at Sangravah, but holidays always seemed to tear it wide open. This was the first time she’d had an outlet for her sorrow.

So she closed her eyes and breathed, centering herself in this moment, letting the grief fall away. All that remained was her, the sword, and the ribbon glowing silver in the moonlight.

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes,” she whispered, eyelids drifting open. “Nothing can break me.” Feeling herself balance, muscles thrumming with anticipation, she sliced the sword. And watched the ribbon wave, uncut, in the winter breeze. She groaned, but set her feet, took a breath, and swung again.

The ribbon simply glided over the blade, taunting her as it straightened. She felt a warm bubble of frustration begin to glow in her chest. Her lips tilted up in a grim smirk as she took her stance again, preparing to swipe the sword. But just as she lifted her arm the sound of boots softly hitting stone seemed to echo from the silent night behind her. The priestess spun to face…

Azriel?

Perhaps the warmth under her breastbone had not been frustration, after all.

“I’m sorry. I knew you all were going to the river house, so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I came up here, and –“

“It’s fine,” the shadowsinger answered coolly. “I came to retrieve something I forgot.” Gwyn regarded the shadows that were his constant companions. It almost seemed as if they were… looking at her? Was that even possible?

Perhaps the chill was seeping into her mind.

The priestess smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was trying to cut the ribbon.” She lifted her arm, sword in hand, to gesture to the offending strand of silk. Hopefully the ribbon would heed the threat of the blade pointed blatantly at its length and behave.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked. Gwyn just shrugged, in spite of her frozen nose and fingertips.

“Once you get moving, you stop noticing it.”

Azriel nodded in silence, and for a moment his eyes caught hers. Something flickered there, like a match struck in a hurricane. Gwyn lowered her gaze. She could only imagine what the spymaster saw when he looked at her, the memories and images that might churn behind his hazel eyes. It had been he who had found her that night – nude, bloodied, trembling. Is that who he saw, even now?

Is that who he would always see?

“Happy Solstice,” she offered, an attempt to break the silence and to interrupt the path of her own rumination.

“Are you kicking me out?” Azriel snorted. Her eyes widened, gaze flashing back up to him.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind sharing the ring. I just… I know you like to be alone.” Mother above, Gwyneth. Could you sound any more like a rambling fool? She let herself grin at him, and her own panicked musings. “Is that why you came up here?”

“I forgot something,” he reminded her.

The priestess fixed him with a skeptical eye. “At two in the morning?” She felt her grin widen with amusement, corners of her eyes crinkling.

“I can’t sleep without my favorite dagger.”

Gwyn thanked the Mother for the ridiculousness of his words, lest she be completely unraveled by the crooked smile that he’d offered her. That smile, alone, was a gift. She knew that Azriel did not hand them out freely.

“A comfort for every growing child,” she remarked scathingly, and she swore he nearlyreleased a snicker. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did sleep with a dagger, or four. Actually, now that he mentioned it, she had absolutely no doubt that he did. Maybe he clutched one close to his chest, cuddling it like a teddy bear. “How was the party?”

One of his shadows broke away from him and twirled with the fog that her question had puffed into the air. Like a little dancing duet. She wondered what had prompted the shadow’s bravery.

“Fine.”

The shadowsinger definitely left some things to be desired as far as conversation went.

As if he realized that very thing, he tried again. “It was nice.” And that wasn’t much better. “Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?”

“Yes.” Though she couldn’t really call what she had done ‘celebrating’. “Though the service was the main highlight.”

“I see.”

Again. His gift for words was astounding. But Gwyn took it as a challenge, to see just how far she could draw him out from behind the indifferent mask of the spymaster. So she tilted her head at him.

“Do you sing?”

Azriel blinked at her in surprise and she felt a small twinge of satisfaction in her chest. “Why do you ask?”

“They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?”

“I ama shadowsinger,” he corrected. “It’s not a title that someone just made up.”

Gwyn shrugged at him. Semantics, and beside the point. “Do you, though? Sing?”

“Yes,” he chuckled.

Oh, this was quite the development, and she had so many more questions! What was his favorite song? What kind of music did he prefer? The priestess wondered what his voice would sound like, if it would be just as velvety and smooth as it was when he spoke. She took a breath to ask if she could hear –

“Try cutting the ribbon again.” The abrupt redirection of the conversation was as clear a signal as there could be.

Another time, then.

“What – with you watching?” The shadowsinger nodded, and Gwyn felt her skin prickle with nervous anticipation. Which was silly. Azriel was present daily at training, and he had worked with her privately on multiple occasions. Maybe it was the holiday. Maybe it was the winter chill. Maybe it was her shattered heart, broken but healing, and the emptiness Catrin had left behind. Maybe it was the desperate hope that he saw more in her than the broken, bleeding girl he’d found in the temple two years ago. But that wholly undivided attention on her, in that moment, sparked something inside of her. So she took a breath, found her footing, and swung.

It was all she could do not to throw her head back and groan and the still-intact ribbon, gently swaying, taunting her under the stars.

“Again.”

Gwyn delivered another blow. She knew her technique was good – she was the definition of determined, a perfectionist. And yet…

“You’re turning the blade a fraction as it comes parallel to the ground.” Azriel pulled the Illyrian blade from the scabbard between his wings, shadows content to observe. The priestess also watched intently, determined to correct even the slightest error. She wanted to be the first to cut the ribbon. “Watch.”

He moved his arm slowly, mimicking her movements and rotating his wrist the same way that she had. The siphon on his hand seemed to glow in the moonlight, and she found her gaze sliding between his wrist and the pale scars that covered his fingers. It was far from the first time she had noticed them, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to know what had happened to cause them. But she had also noticed that he seemed to hide his hands as often as possible. Gwyn was not known for thinking before she spoke, but she knew that this particular conversation would come on Azriel’s terms. “You see how you open up right here?” He then shifted his wrist, correcting himself. “Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm.”

Gwyn mirrored the movement, slow and controlled, biting her bottom lip as she worked to correct her wrist position as her arm moved through the air. It took three times before she could do it without the error. “I blame Cassian for this,” she huffed. “He’s too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days.”

Azriel laughed. “I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you.” She practically beamed at him, the dual achievement of correcting her swing and making the shadowsinger laugh lighting her veins with pride.

And then he dipped his head and shoulders, almost a bow. His goodbye.

“Happy Solstice,” he said before turning to head into the House. “Don’t stay out too much longer. You’ll freeze.”

Gwyn nodded before turning herself back to face the ribbon. She was eager to try to slice through it, after the impromptu lesson. But as she breathed in, a bone-deep weariness slumped her shoulders. Where earlier she had known that sleep would be an impossibility, now she felt calm. Almost at peace, the jagged wounds around her heart softened and comforted. The forced exhaustion and focus of training would have had something to do with that, of course. That had been her plan.

But she couldn’t help but wonder if the easy banter, the soft chuckles, and that crooked grin had been a balm to her soul, as well.

He hadn’t retrieved his ‘favorite dagger’. Hadn’t retrieved anything at all. But whatever it was that Azriel had intended to do in the training ring that night, their conversation and lesson had seemed enough for him to leave the ring calm and content – as far as she could discern. He had smiled. He had laughed.

She put the sword back in the rack, determined to remember what Azriel had taught her the next time she was in the ring. Looking up at the stars, she blew into her cupped hands and rubbed them together, encouraging warmth back into her frozen fingertips.

“Happy Solstice, Catrin,” she whispered, sending the cloud of her breath as a messenger into the heavens.

Her legs were heavy and barely able to carry her back to the dormitory, into her bed. She didn’t bother to remove the leathers, even though she knew she would regret it in the morning. All she could think about was sleep. And the sweet lullaby in her soul, a deep rich voice glowing blue and gold, swathing her in comfort and peace and hope.

[stormyweaver]

Borrowed Time || Chp. 1

So my latest hyperfixation has been this show on Netflix called ‘Swee/t Home’. It’s a live-action South Korean adaption of a webtoon comic, and seriously if you’ve never heard of it before, at least watch the first episode. If you aren’t hooked, gosh, I don’t know what could make a person want more! But you don’t have to have seen the show to enjoy this I think, but again I’d highly reccommend checking the series out. I adore every single character and I’ll probably be writing more about them all, but for now I’m focusing on Pyeon San/g-wook because h-he’s my fave... He’s basically a mysterious drifter who dolls out justice in his own badass way, and he’s amazing and a super complex character. 

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR EPISODE FIVE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED:

This is after Sang-wook kills the pedophile he was hired to find, and then drags his body outside while bringing two other victims who had died to a monster inside the apartment building. It was pouring raining and my brain instantly went: how can you have a out-in-the-rain scene without sickness? BLASPHEMY! Anyway hope y’all enjoy!

The timing might have been slightly comical if he didn't have a splitting headache. Or, was it a concussion? That... nurse had mentioned something similar, but he truly hadn't paid her any mind. Why would he give someone so prying the time of day in the first place? He hated being touched without his permission, no matter the reason; maybe she had simply been trying to help, but there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to let her continue treating him as if he was some weakling.

No, he only... felt weak, due to all of the stress. He would bounce back eventually - he inevitably did. Though he could never fully comprehend why, his body had an uncanny ability to heal faster than most, and bestowed him with a strength that most people only ever imagined themselves possessing. It had served him well over the years, made him capable of surviving on his own for as long as he'd needed to, aided him in carrying out the tasks others simply didn't have the stomach for. It had of course, had it's downsides - there were injuries and ailments he simply couldn't knock in a matter of hours, and those instances where he'd been forced to finally allow his body to rest were intensely irritating.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he staggered through the dirtied hallway and, sensing that he was finally alone, allowed himself to lean bodily against a flyer-littered wall. His breath was coming in short, harsh pants, almost bordering on wheezing, though his teeth instantly grit at the idea. He wasn't weak-- damn it, if Jae-heon had just left him out there to die, he wouldn't be feeling like utter, completely useless shit right now. The zealot likely loathed him just like the rest, if not fear then at the very least an intense dislike. Only his 'vows' or whatever meaningless word of God had made him keep the gate open. He swallowed- or rather, made an attempt to, and was unsurprised to find that the action was mildly painful. Pair that was the throbbing near his sinuses, the malaise, and the general feeling of being lethargic, it wouldn't take a medical professional to inform him that he was unwell. What was that old saying? Something about only fools catching a chill from standing out in the rain? Nonsense. But... well, he wasn't about to start pondering old proverbs with a pounding headache. At least he wasn't getting a nose bleed. Just a stuffy one. It took Sang-wook longer than he would have preferred to stand up straight again and continue limping down the walkway, but eventually he did, coming to a stop on the corner of a vacant room. He could practically hear his limbs creak as he perched himself on the edge of a step, and one hand automatically slipped into his jacket pocket. Some habits were harder to break than others. And if ever there a time he truly needed a smoke... With the lit cigarette between his lips, he began to ponder what his next move would be. He had technically finished his business there; no other reason to remain other than the fact that fucking monsters were roaming the city. Of all the positively inconvenient bullshit - monsters. Not that he had any real plans after taking care of matters. He never did. Being a drifter meant not making attachments, not allowing himself to get roped into anything unless it was related to his main task. And yet there he was, with an apartment full of people who either saw him as a thug or a threat or, for some irritatingly insane reason, a person to be pardoned. A laughable concept at best. He didn't even want to be pardoned - he didn't regret the things he had done, to begin with. And wasn't that one of the key steps to getting into heaven? Being repentant for your sins? Well, that was already one big strike against him. Just how did that damned nosey priest expect him to continue on, then? Why had he been so adamant about "saving" him? Why? A trail of smoke filtered past his nostrils, nose absently wrinkling as the thoughts only served to frustrate him all the more. What the hell was he going to do... He brought the stick to his lips again, but his breath caught pre-inhale, mouth forming a deeper frown than normal. A small pin-prick had been stinging the back of his nose ever since he'd woken up, but so far he'd been able to ignore it. Until now. He sniffed harshly, once, twice and, thinking that was that, but the moment he closed his lips around the cigarette, he inhaled harshly through his nose. "hH'KGSHHh!" The sneeze jerked his head down sharply, though he managed to keep it relatively quiet. The last thing he needed was some passerby hearing and having the guts to try and approach him. Though containing it hadn't done his headache any favors, and his teeth had nearly snapped the cigarette in half. Hell, he couldn't even smoke in peace. What was the point of still being alive, again? "You shouldn't be smoking," Ah, there it was. Sang-wook didn't need to glance up in order to place the voice - he could smell the self-righteousness from a mile away. Or, he would have, had he been able to smell anything at the moment.

Resisting the urge to sniffle, he made no attempt at offering even a semblance of acknowledgement towards the other. Not that it would stop him from poking his nose where it didn't belong, so it came as no surprise when Jae-heon stood directly in front of him, gradually lowering himself until he was seated similarly to the other with a soft grunt. Sighing, Sang-wook plucked the useless cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the floor, swiftly crunching it beneath his boot. "I'm not,"

Jae-heon hummed in acknowledgement. "I don't say it to judge," Sang-wook wasn't sure why he felt the need to clarify, but his gaze did flit over to the other's general direction for a moment. He could see the glint his blade gave off out of the corner of his eye. Curious. Although he didn't doubt the other's skill, he just didn't see a point in taking it with him everywhere. But that was ultimately his choice, and he didn't have the mental capacity to bother pondering why he did so. "How are you feeling?" The scarred man barely lifted his eyes to Jae-heon, who gestured with his chin towards the direction Sang-wook had originally walked from. "Yu-ri took a look at your head injury, right? Is it serious?"

The only response he gave was a meager shrug. Sang-wook wouldn't willingly give information about how he was feeling when it didn't matter in the long run. Whether he was fine or slowly bleeding out, what difference would it make? You shouldn't be alive in the first place; why does he care? God, thinking made his head throb. Couldn't he just be alone in this god forsaken complex for more than a solid minute?

He heard Jae-heon sigh, noted him shift slightly, but still kept his gaze glued to the floor. "What you did... I can't agree with your actions," Sang-wook almost scoffed aloud. Was he really expected to listen to a lecture about right and wrong? His attention was already split, anyway. The itch sparked in his sinuses still burned, not having been satisfied with the weak excuse for a sneeze, and every facial muscle was tensed as he worked to smother the sensation into submission. At least he always happened to look stoic, so he doubted the other would notice. Still, hearing Jae-heon gear up for a sermon of sorts didn't bode well for his waning resolve. "But I do understand why you did what you did. The others might not - they might still see you as something that you're not-" "What would you know about what I am?" Sang-wook interjected sharply, a scowl evident on his features. Admittedly, it hurt to talk, and he internally cringed at the trace of hoarseness in his voice. But he didn't like anyone thinking of him as some misunderstood wretch worthy of some kind of redemption. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a villain, not good or evil - he simply was, and he never needed to be more or less than that, didn't need to satisfy anyone's opinion of him. Jae-heon glanced down momentarily, looking as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. Speaking could come as easily as breathing at certain times, and yet there were moments were every point of diction managed to fail him. "I'm not here to pity you. And I wouldn't claim to understand you. Every person has their reasons for what they do - and every person has to stand with those reasons before the almighty. I'm not here to judge," The scarred skin beneath Sang-wook's eye jumped slightly. "Then what are you here to do? Whatever it is, you're wasting your..." He had to pause, throat constricting momentarily before he sighed unevenly through his nose, "... breath. You should be more concerned about yourself," Jae-heon couldn't help but quirk a miniscule smile at that. "That isn't God's way. Besides, I wouldn't still be alive if I had decided to be selfish," His thoughts shifted to Hyun-su, Mr. Han, Ms. Im and Ji-su - he had all of them to thank for his life, for making it this far. People who, while they may not have shared the same faith as himself, had believed that sticking together and looking after each other was the way to survive - was the right path. No matter their differences, they chose to be selfless, and that was what had led them to finding the other survivors. Sang-wook didn't reply, mainly due to the fact that he wasn't sure he could safely do so without breaking his concentration. Though it didn't matter - Jae-heon continued anyway. "You didn't have to bring back Min-Ju and Su-ung. I won't ask you why, because to me, what matters is that you did. That means something," When Sang-wook didn't respond again, Jae-heon opened his mouth to continue, only to be silenced when the other opposite him took in a sharp inhale and twisted off to the side. "hH'GKxnt! h'HCHGnt!" Jae-heon blinked for a moment, not really startled by the sneezes but seeming to examine Sang-wook with a little more scrutiny, to which the the other flashed him a glare. Unfazed, he continued to gaze at the other. "You look pale. You should be resting," Sang-wook simply scoffed, cringing at the phlegm lining his throat. He desperately needed to sniff back the moisture threatening to breach his nostrils, but his pride held the action back as Jae-heon continued to press the issue. "You're up and about after having passed out - and you were in the rain for a good while. You might be getting sick," And if he was? What the hell did it matter? Sang-wook wanted to press both heels of his palms against his eyes and grind until the pressure behind them lessened at least a little. He was exhausted, and fatigue suddenly swept over him like the storm clouds still raging outside. Everything felt heavy and sluggish which, for someone with normally such sharp senses, was more than off-putting. It felt wrong. He felt wrong. Why was the good Christian wasting time worrying about whether or not he was ill when there were literal monsters still roaming the apartment? As if sensing his turmoil, Jae-heon finally moved to stand back up, katana blade resting by his side. "You should go see Yu-ri - at the very least she can give you something for your head," He began to turn away, paused, then uttered something that made the skin on the back of Song-wook's neck prickle uncomfortably.

"Take care of yourself," Jae-heon’s retreating footsteps seemed to echo unusually loud, and it wasn't until he could no longer hear them any longer that Sang-wook finally indulged in a thick, pitiful sniffle and allowed his head to drop into his waiting hands.

[mannatea]

Hi. I used to follow your old blog on a different account. Hope you're doing well. Do you have any tips on thinking up stories that are *not* dark and depressing due to subject material? The last story I was working on I had to quit because the backstory I was developing for my passive male character was super depressing. At times I enjoyed researching it, though what won out was the thought I was wasting my time looking into angsty things for something I wasn't even planning to publish. Now I want to write something a little happier. But I have the most experience in writing angst and cringe comedy 😅 thanks for any help you can give. Stay safe out there!

By the way, good on you for dropping that manga you used to follow. I was happy most of the characters lived, but other than that, it felt "meh" to me (granted, I didn't read all the way from the beginning). The author was probably going for a "people will always be fighting each other" theme, but some of the imagery of what happened after a time skip could definitely be taken as pro-fascist. And I was disappointed the protagonist basically said he wanted to bring about destruction! I'm glad I didn't spend any money to read it.

Wow, hi! I’m doing all right, thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing all right, too. :)

As far as “that manga” goes, I’ve kept tabs on it. I’ve been on the fringes for the last two-ish years; I dedicated something like four real life years to that fandom and mostly had a good time while I was there (made some friends I hope to keep for life), so it was one of those situations where I just had to find out how it ended. I realized at some point that I was in a very negative space in the fandom, and felt it was better to publicly drop the series and the blog associated with all of my meta/discussion than to play in what had become a toxic pool for me. I didn’t really want to drop the account after my time there, but I couldn’t have dealt with the nonstop questions/messages/etc that would have piled in over the years, and eh, when you’re done you’re done. I criticize Hallmark television for fun, now, instead. It’s a lot less stressful! And literally nothing is That Deep so there’s very few delusions, at least on the Tumblr side of things. (Reddit, however, is insane, but I don’t post in the fandom there.)

As far as writing advice goes, I am going to apologize in advance for muddled thoughts. I just got out of work and have been staring at numbers all day, so it’s hard for me to think lmaoo.

In my opinion, any sort of character or personality type/flaw/whatever could have developed via a negative OR positive influence/catalyst, so that’s something to consider. I also think people tend to reach for “sad” or “traumatic” pasts either as a way to cope with their own issues/pasts/whatevers, or because it’s the “easy explanation” for why a character is the way they are.

If you WANT to write things a certain way, it’s sometimes a matter of changing the lens through which you’re viewing life, the story, the characters, or character writing in general. This is never easy, especially when you find a genre you feel comfortable in, but it’s always possible. When I was in college and submitted an autobiographical piece (Rot Tooth) for a creative writing final, I received multiple comments from classmates and even the professor that my talent/skill was in writing comedy. COMEDY!!!! I don’t think anyone who has read my writing from the last decade would say that I was a comedy writer. I stopped labeling ‘fics as humor/romance so long ago I can’t even remember when it was. But boom. I had written a comedy piece.

I don’t think I can ignore that most of the comedic elements in Rot Tooth were brought about because humor is one of the ways in which I cope with things, but it was also a very conscious choice I made. I wanted people to be able to engage with the story without being grossed out, without getting bored, without feeling that it was a poor-pathetic-me story, and humor was the classiest way to do it. Here, read this long story that includes journal entries from Ye Olde Livejournal days, but it will make you laugh often enough that the depressing aspects of the story don’t weigh it down too much! It was probably the only way to make the subject matter widely palatable. 

As often as I joke about characters or scenes or moments that “just write themselves” the author does have control. I mostly write fanfiction, so let’s go with examples from that.

I’m (very slowly) working on a ‘fic called Three Years which features a character who, when last seen, was headed off to serve a prison sentence. They haven’t been on the show for three years and thus I assume they have been serving that sentence for the last three years. The story starts when this character is released from prison. They are a woman. This is a historical piece of fiction. Prisons were vile to women and yet...this is fiction. I have a choice. I get to choose. Does she get to start her life off carrying 25 bags of trauma or just 2? It would be unreasonable to expect that someone, especially a woman, who was imprisoned for 3 years in the early 1900s wouldn’t have some issues (at the very least, the isolation would have been awful), but it doesn’t really have to be much worse than that. It doesn’t.

I have the power to choose.

A character has anger issues. Sure, he could have had a traumatic past with an abusive parent who took his anger out on him or his mom or whatever...or maybe it is an inherited personality trait and the parent figure with the problem was never really That Bad about it, but seeing it normalized makes it harder for the character in question to realize it’s a huge problem and part of their character arc is realizing they need to get help, not because they don’t want to be like their dad, and not because they hate their dad, but because they just want to be a better person/they don’t want to let that struggle consume them.

Someone’s sweetheart goes off to war. Guess what? They don’t have to die there to force a traumatic past. They don’t have to come back a raging alcoholic either. Maybe the time apart, and the time fighting a war just puts a natural sort of crack in the relationship by making it clearer to each character what they want in life/what matters to them in their life.

A character is super passionate about their work/hobby. Maybe they have ADHD and it’s a hyperfixation. Maybe they’re autistic and it’s a Special Interest. It doesn’t have to be “their parents ignored them and forced them to be alone all the time and they used this thing to cope so it means everything to them because it’s always been there.”

Maybe you have a character whose greatest fear is losing the people they love. It doesn’t have to be because a pet died in their arms when they were four and it traumatized them. It doesn’t have to be because they only have one person they love in the whole world. It can just be a thing because that’s a valid fear literally anyone can reasonably have, and maybe it’s a bigger deal because they don’t have siblings or aren’t close to many people! (And the “aren’t close to many people” thing doesn’t have to stem from trauma, either. Most busy adults for example who get to choose their friends, are just like that.)

A perfectionist might just have the personality type; it doesn’t mean their parents criticized everything they ever did. A person with three failed marriages might hesitate to fall in love and try again but it doesn’t have to be because those three failed marriages were abusive. A quiet character may just be shy or introverted by nature. 

I think everyone carries some kind of trauma with them, so it’s never unreasonable to have some in a person’s past (you can’t write an ugly character without having to think about the fact that they carry some trauma from what it’s like to grow up ugly), but it doesn’t have to define them. It doesn’t have to overshadow everything else in their past.

You can always ask yourself, “Why am I reaching for angst every time I create a backstory?” Literally everyone has some kind of angst. Most kids were hurt by things said to them in school, for example, or made fun of for some reason. Most people did something extremely embarrassing as a kid and never got over it. There are a thousand little moments in our adult lives that go back to these little points—you might call them the tiny traumas. But they’re not defining. They’re not so heavy they also live in the present. Not all of them.

Why do you reach for the darkest corner? Why not for the light? Or a middle ground?

I encourage people to write basically whatever floats their boat, but it sounds like you’re at a point where you just feel weighed down by that sort of stuff, and that’s not a great way to feel, especially when it discourages you from working on a project entirely.

My final suggestion: look at some of your favorite characters from various types of media. Are they all traumatized? What are their defining characteristics? Black Beauty has some depressing stuff in it, but is ultimately a story with a happy ending. Pride and Prejudice has drama, but nobody���s past is filled with the darkest stuff imaginable. North and South has awful things to consider in it (cotton mills were sooo awful) but the characters are not wildly traumatized people.

What kind of story are you trying to tell? Do the characters need to be traumatized to tell it? Does the story have to be dark to get across the message you want to send? 

Way back in the day, when I was into “that manga” I made an RP blog for a one-off character that nobody gave a damn about. Like, he was so one-off that even back in those days nobody even remembered him having existed. It was sort of a joke RP blog that wasn’t supposed to be serious. The only canon information we had about this character was that he enjoyed drinking. I decided to make him a lighthearted character because the series was pretty dark and I wanted to send people hilarious starters instead of wading through the muck of depression with everyone else’s sad, abused characters. I decided his family was old money and he had a brother. Nothing super traumatizing in his past. Some family issues but not the sort of thing that would haunt anyone. He was not traumatized in his recent past any more than other characters were. Mostly just “a regular guy.” I really loved RPing him. He was fun! The story could get heavy but he didn’t have to be.

Anyway, dive head-first into the dark angst if you want, but if it’s not necessary to tell the story you want to tell, just remember you don’t have to go there. You have the choice.

[mblay-and-company]

It’s Self Indulgent FanFiction time, ya’ll!!!

So I came across this Prompt List by @palettes-and-prompts and IMMEDIATELY became intrigued by the very first dialogue prompt, and since a certain Hotel in Hell with a certain Radio Demon has became my Hyperfixation for the time being, I have decided to indulge myself.

When I started, I really struggled to decide if I wanted to directly insert myself into this or make it a Reader Fic.  I decided fuck it, this is for me!  And then I struggled to decide which name to use for myself, bc most of my OC’s are named after me in some degree and it’s very awkward... :I

So, without further ado, have a FanFic featuring a human me hanging out in the Hotel and having been foolish enough to have made SOME deals with Alastor, but not stupid enough to sell my Soul to him.  Misadventures of Michaela the Hell Temp, go!

"C'mon, toots, ya gotta tell me what yer kink is!"

Michaela let out a hard sigh, looking at the Effeminate Spider Demon with an exhausted glare.

"I don't need to tell you anything, Angel-"

"But I gotta know what freaky shit Smiles is into!  You two clearly are into something!"

After Angel Dust learned about the "bizarre Deal" she admitted to have with Alastor, along with what she described as a light crush, he immediately started making assumptions.  Honestly, it felt like he had been drilling her for hours for the "deets," even though it was probably only a few minutes at best.

"Angel, do you not understand how being Ace works-"

"Is it a Foot Fetish?!  Are ya two into suckin' toes?!" He almost let out a cheer when he watched her react, but quickly realized she was recoiling in disgust.

"Angel, that's fucking gross!  Do ya even know how much DEAD SKIN there is between toes???" She gagged out, her nose scrunched up.

"And why are we wondering about dead skin cells?" The two quickly turned to see a curious Alastor, quietly drinking a cup of coffee.  He could hear the sounds of their argument halfway across the Hotel, and it finally piqued his interest.

"Al, you really don't wanna be a part of this-" She tried to warn him, only to get shoved out of the way by Angel.

"Smiles!  What kinky shit do you two do during sex???" He practically screamed out with excitement.  Alastor let out a sudden cough, choking on his coffee.

"I beg your PARDON?!" He sputtered out, his grin pulled tight and twitching in the corners.  The static that emanated off of him seemed to intensify in agitation.  With another hard sigh, Michaela gave Angel a harsh check to his side, knocking him to the ground.

"This idiot is CONVINCED that we must have sex together just because we do business with each other.  He's been trying to delve into this nonexistant sex life for WAY too long, and I can feel a migrain coming on because of it." She scowled, rubbing her temples.  Alastor made a cough to clear his throat out, looking over at Angel.

"I fear you have forgotten that not everyone is in the Prostitution Business, my effeminate fellow!  And besides, I believe it is in your best interest to know that your little pet has squeezed himself under the oven, and our Charming Demon Belle can't coax him out.  I offered my assistance, but she doesn't seem to trust me with the pig's safety!"  He cried out in feigned offence, dramatically putting his hand over his heart in a swoon.  Upon being told his beloved pet was potentially in danger, Angel let out a distressed gasp.

"Fat Nuggets, hold on, Daddy's coming for ya!!!"  He cried out, sprinting down the hall at full speed.  Michaela let out a hard sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping down.

"I thought he would never leave..." She muttered, before looking up at Alastor.  "Is Nugs really stuck?"

"It would seem so..." He hummed thoughtfully.  "I wasn't planning on telling Angel about it, but it certainly became a much needed means to remove him from the room!"

"It seems we both conveniently benefit from this..." She mused, rubbing her temples again.  She was trying to think of ways to politely thank him without incurring a higher "tab" of debt with him.  The dealings she already had with him were careful, but she knew full well that he was much more cunning than she was, and he was VERY good at pulling the "favor" card.

"Most certainly, my dear!" He laughed heartily.  "I couldn't leave you in such a distressing state!  Not when I would find myself just as uncomfortable!"

"Thanks for that..." She let out a soft sigh.  Perhaps finding situations that were mutually beneficial really was the way to go?

"However..."

And there it was.  She couldn't help but cringe as she watched him tap his chin thoughtfully, his eyes focused entirely on her.

"I can't help but think that our business dealings isn't the ONLY reason that spider was so insistent on believing we had a... Less than professional relationship?" His eyebrows quirked as he carefully studied her expression. She was a combination of conflicted, embarrassed, and possibly mocking?  She was a massive kaleidoscope of emotions, many often showing off at once, making a very entertaining - Sometimes even unique - show for him.

"First of all..." She started, swirling her hand in circles to keep her thought process going.  "... Describing our relationship as "Professional" is kinda laughable, considering the CLOSEST I could be described is a Temp for you."  He simply responded with a static laced chuckle, followed with his disembodied laugh track, and a shrug.

"Second of all..." Her pause was a lot longer, rubbing one side of her temples with one hand as she held up a finger with the other, as if to say "One moment."  She let out another hard sigh, and let out a mumbled "I can't believe I'm explaining this to you..."

"You have my full attention now, sweetheart, I am most intrigued with what you have to say!  No backing out now!"  He chimed with a quirked eyebrow, his eyes glistening with intrigue and possible mischief.  With another sigh, she looked him dead in the eyes.

"I have a minor crush on you... A small infatuation..." She admitted, already regretting saying anything.  She braced for the inevitable mocking as he processed what she said to him.  Eventually he broke the silence with the hard laughter she expected of him, and after what felt like an eternity he wiped a tear from his eye.

"A horrible decision, really.  I pegged you to at LEAST be a little smarter than that, darling..." He chuckled darkly, before bending down to bring his face to eye level with her.  "After all, you know full well what horrors I am capable of, yes?  What I have done, and will continue to do, for all of eternity?"

She could feel a lump of nervousness caught in her throat.  His grin was impossibly wide and extremely dangerous, and his eyes were half lidded.  He looked exactly like what he was; A predator with full control over the situation.  If he decided to, he could kill her with such ease.  With a hard swallow, she explained herself.

"I'm not naive...  Nor am I complacent.  I certainly don't support or condone the atrocities you've done..." She let out a hard sigh, repeating the circling motion with her hand to process her thoughts.  "It's just easy to be... Charmed by your more gentlemanly behaviors... Your... Damn it, brain, you had this word five seconds ago...  It's usually used in reference to illnesses that spread easy..." She muttered as the circling became much faster.

"Contagious?" He offered with a chuckle, straightening himself out.  She admitted to this problem of forgetting words quite a while ago, despite her brain fully remembering the concept of the word she's attempting to say.  It was an interesting dilemma, to say the least.  She once anguished over forgetting the word "oven" for a week.

"Yeah, that one.  Your high energy and smile are very contagious..." She said with a point, before continuing.  "I always enjoy the music.  I may be modern, and I know you don't support most of my taste, but I do really like smooth jazz and swing.  You also genuinely make me laugh with your Dad Jokes, I find them hilarious..." The circling of her hand slowly became slower as she started to run out of her steam.

"I could never, in my right mind, try to chase after a serious romance with you, knowing full well the kind of monster you are...  But I can still find some of your other traits endearing.  I absolutely love a man who is passionate, kind of silly, gentlemanly, and for fuck's sake, you're an amazing cook!  It's hard to not be smitten by something that's being chased away by modern views of how men should act..." With a final sigh, she looked him in the eyes, resolved but quite tired.  She was surprised to see how much his expression had softened, especially with her last sentence.

". . . You are a remarkably. . . Perceptive individual, Michaela." He started softly, the static crackle nigh inaudible.  "Especially with how your own mind works.  I have seen, time and time again, fools allow themselves to spiral in such frivolous fantasies and drive themselves mad not knowing WHY they chased them in the first place.  And yet you seem so capable of picking apart your own brain like a professional Psychologist.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed to some degree."

She looked at him with a bewildered look, certainly not expecting any form of PRAISE from him like that.  She said nothing, cautiously holding her tongue and waiting for the preverbal "but..."

"Given Angel's more... Crass nature, I can certainly see how he misconstrued your infatuation.  However, it's clear as crystal to me that you wouldn't harbor such lustful intentions towards me!" He nodded to himself, seeming almost proud of this sudden character study.

"Never really was interested in sex." She laughs out matter of factly.  "And I think most of us can agree you aren't, either, so I don't see how two people not interested suddenly makes a duo WILDLY interested, especially in the weirder things Angel was suggesting..." She cringed slightly at the thought of the toes again, but the both of them started laughing again.  Alastor took a step closer, giving her a firm pat on the shoulders.

"Yes, indeedy, my dear!  This is an unexpected turn of events for me, to find someone who shares my woes!" He chimed happily, using his hand to gently coax her head to look up at him.  He hadn't seen her laugh and smile like this in a while, and it was a nice change of pace compared to her exhausted melancholy or entertaining - Albeit quick - flashes of anger.  "There's that lovely smile that's been missing!  As you know-"

"Yeah yeah, never fully dressed and all that." She chuckles with an eye roll.  "Though it IS definitely nice to talk to someone who actually UNDERSTANDS the lack of interest..."

She continued to ramble on, but he stopped listening.  She was usually very cautious about how he touched her, showing to be quite aversive if he attempted to go close to her neck in particular.  But it was like she didn't notice where his hand was, and was getting complacent.  Comfortable.  Lowering her guard.  He didn't bare his teeth to her, yet, but his smirk still pulled tight.  He watched through half lidded eyes as she caught herself stumbling over her words, and slowly realized the situation she was in.  As she slowed her ramblings to a stop, she attempted to move her head away; Only for him to tightly grip onto her face, his clawed fingers dangerously close to cutting into her cheeks.  It was at this point, looking at her terrified realization, that he bared his teeth to her.

"A-Alastor, I..." She quietly pleaded, feeling cold sweat starting to bead on her forehead.  Her body had tensed and her arms raised half way, but she stopped herself before trying to pry his hands away.  Not only did she know that it would be a futile attempt with his Demonic strength, but it could have been foolish to DARE try to touch him.  Her hands trembled in fear and conflict as he slowly pulled her face closer, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes, as he leaned in to close the distance.  Mere hairs separated their noses.

"I will admit..." He started coolly, his eyes flicking down the hall quickly to make sure no one would interrupt him, before returning his gaze to the frightened girl in his grasp.  "... The fact that Angel considered such a thing possible is quite amusing, even despite our... Lack of sexual desires.  Do you know why, my dear..?"

"N-No, I don't..." She swallowed hard, not understanding where he could be bringing this conversation.  She shuddered as he let out a cold laugh.

"It's amusing because even if we were both more active in seeking sexual gratification... You are still a small and weak living human.  And, if I could be so frank..."  He leaned closer to her ear, whispering with a sweet venom that made her blood run cold. "I don’t know if your fragile body can handle what I want to do to you."

He let out another dark chuckle before lowering her and releasing his grasp, reveling in the look of utter terror on her face; Eyes wide, mouth slack, and trembling like a small kitten caught in a rainstorm.  And then, as if a switch flipped in his mind, his expression softened to the more excited and less threatening version of himself.

"Now, I do believe it's lunch time!  Now I'm sure that Angel managed to get his little pet out of that little spot of trouble it was in, but perhaps I'll be able to have some bacon anyways!" He laughs with a jovial energy, as if the previous conversation never happened.  He quickly disappeared around the corner, heading straight for the kitchen.

Michaela stood alone in the hall, slowly bringing her hands to her cheeks.  It started to check the damage, but she slowly found herself becoming flustered as she thought about his strange threat.  What could he have considered?  Biting?  Clawing?  Crushing with tentacles?  The thought was, admittedly, exciting, and she had to stop herself from calling for Alastor to ask for clarification.

The last thing she needed a Sadist like him to learn was that she was, very contradictory to most of her Asexual nature, Masochistic and easily excited over such thoughts.

[askborrowermedic]

Am I back?

Kind of. I’m thinking more and more of this lil guy but I have some thoughts and would like some in return.

When I started this blog in 2016 I was really excited to finally have a muse that was a combination of two things I really like and hyperfixate on. Plus drawing him is still a v big comfort for my anxiety during the rough parts of my young adult life. Not sure if I can fully open up but there was one part where I really was in a dark place for a bit. A long bit.  I really loved the character I was developing and creating as a guy who’s just trying his best in the situation he was given with a cutesy aesthetic that had tf2′s dark/whacky edge. Or at least that’s how I felt about it (though it’s totes possible that wasn’t conveyed that well asdf)  However as time passed a few problems came up not just in my personal life but also somethings with the blog that I wasn’t really satisfied with anymore. For one I noticed a trend of drawing the same thing constantly and Patches started to flanderaize a little bit. Had this whole story and events planned with hints I’ve dropped into the asks but well- I never got to it. :( 

Second and more disturbing trend was people becoming actually *obsessed* with Patches. Note that i’m not saying all fans of this blog were weirdos- I really like most of ya’ll I swear. But when people started to dm me pretending I was patches, getting a ton of asks from the same people saying how cute he was to the point of infantilizing, having a vore fanfiction written with him without my consent and by golly I got so many bad vibes that I just slowly walked away from the blog. It also didn’t help that fellow ask blogs have basically nearly disappeared and tumblr literally nuking itself with the big ban.  It’s just been hard to conjure inspiration but, oh man when I draw Patches sometimes it makes me miss coming home in the late evening to come up with gags, do fun stuff with asks, roleplay with my friends, and just being involved with a community.  

With covid i’ve been busy working my butt off in my day job and getting ready to graduate college while writing my book and making a video and doing my art profilio and asdjkfhskhfkhKJHFJKHEF- Yeah. Alot.  So with my vomiting my thoughts on a tumblr post- Should I try on this blog again and give it another shot? Was thinking either cont. where it was left off or rebooting. Or both. I’ll see.

Final thing; I think the thing that made me write this and consider having a come back was people telling me how they were inspired by my work and STILL reblog/like my content here because it’s something that makes them happy. It’s honestly made me cry because that’s kind of the thing that drives me in life you know? Idk. Nonetheless, thank you all for supporting me all these years and being a pleasure to rp with and filling my inbox. It really pulled me through a very uncertain time in my life. Honestly. Thank you. <3 Now I that I think about it I think we need a tiny medical professional to fight COVID19 stress and fears right about now. rip

[mountainashfae]

🎥

🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

The best part of this app being 100% fantranslation is that I can go and grab transcripts of all my favorite scenes. I’ll try to keep it down to 5 and under a cut because a few go on for a bit.

Since a few of these include the player, I’d like to preface this saying that the default name for the protagonist is Akira, and that’s the name most fantranslators use.

[  media hyperfixation ask game! ]  

Prelude to the Festival and Justice

Figaro: I’ll wait here. I have a hunch that things won’t end well if I go near the ruins of Mesa with you guys. Lennox: ........ Figaro: I can sense the tension from here. The original spirits of Central have heroic natures, so they hate wizards from the North. It feels like they’re saying, "Get out, villain."  Both Oz and I are ultimately Northern wizards at our core, after all.... Lennox: ......That’s not necessarily true. Figaro: Leno...... Lennox: When your nature changes, you grow accustomed to the land — and eventually the land comes to love you in return. The way you are overprotective of the brothers — I think that’s just like the Southern wizards, who love their families. Sir Oz must be the same..... Because a heart that loves harmony and goodwill was born in him, he came to be loved by the Central lands. So I’m sure it will all work out. Figaro: ......Thank you. You’re a good guy..... Lennox: Well, I am a better person than you, Dr. Figaro.   Figaro: ...... Lennox: No taking back your words.

Chapter 16: The Lunar Eclipse Palace (Murr and his Friend)

Murr: Hello, Shylock. It's certainly been a while. The scent of your pipe reminds me of the times we spent all night in argument. Shylock: It has certainly been a while since I last saw such a garrulous Murr. You must be a piece of Murr's soul. Murr: Indeed. What are you going to do with me? Shylock: I'm going to retrieve you and return you to Murr. Murr: Really? My dear friend Shylock, do you really want to do such a thing? Shylock: ...What do you mean? Murr: I thought you were quite fond of him. The innocent and simple-minded me, who rolls around like a stray cat. Shylock: .......... Murr: He won't talk down to you; he won't insult you. He'll listen to your every command. The foolish and adorable Murr, who belongs only to you. You loved me, and you loathed me. Of course you're fond of him. Shylock’s face stiffens at Murr’s grin. Shylock: ....Oh loathsome Murr. But if you are going to call me a friend, I do wish you would understand me a bit better. Murr: I believe I do understand you. You wanted to stop me from inventing magical science technology. But I refused. And as a result, your hometown was contaminated. The creatures went extinct, and the waves ceased to echo across the shores. Of course you loathe me. But you are surprisingly obsessive, so you could not cast away your affection for me. That is why you continue to think of me in conflict — the conflict that you so adore. You loathe me and you love me. You blame me and you forgive me. You pity me, and you think of me nostalgically. Am I wrong? Shylock smiles.

Chloe: Dreams Shared With a Sewing Box (aka the moment I fell in love with Chloe)

Imagining Chloe’s childhood makes my heart ache. Chloe is still smiling painfully. Chloe: It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s all in the past, so I’m all fine now! Plus, I can make whatever clothes I want now. I was only allowed to do chores here and there back then, but I was always so jealous watching my father and sisters create such beautiful clothes. I’d think, I also want to make nice clothes. And if I wear beautiful clothes, then maybe even I can change.... Even if I’m skinny and ugly..... If I can make such lovely clothes, then maybe even I can be of use to someone wonderful...... As Chloe’s voice grows hoarse, I can’t help but exclaim forcefully. Akira: ...Chloe, you are wonderful. You’re cool, you’re adorable, and you’re kind. I love you — we all love you, Chloe! Chloe looks surprised. Then he laughs shyly, his cheeks flushing. Chloe: Thank you, Sir Sage..... Ehehe.... That makes me so happy. Rustica said the same thing to me, you know.....

Chapter 17: Wicked Wizards (Rustica’s Wish) (aka my favorite Dad Rustica moment)

Rustica: Oh, there you are, Chloe. Chloe: .......... Rustica: I know very well how whimsical Westerners can be, but the people of Central are certainly prone to mood swings as well. The person who said hello to me in the morning glared at me and ran away in the afternoon. I was a little bit surprised. Chloe? Chloe: Ah...... Rustica. Sorry, sorry. What was that? Rustica: Did you hide something behind your back? Chloe: No, not at all! Rustica: Ahaha. So now you're trying to surprise me too, Chloe. What are you hiding? A bird? A butterfly? Chloe: Ah......! Rustica: Come on, show me. Chloe: ............ Rustica: ....A torn scarf? Isn’t this the scarf you embroidered, Chloe? This blue bird, right here. I remember you working on it, because I thought it was so lovely. How did it get torn? Chloe: ......Ah.... ....I gave it. To someone I made friends with at the party. Rustica: ............ Chloe: She said it was pretty, so I told her she could have it as a symbol of our friendship. Then she was really, really happy! She said she'd show it off to her friends and family! ....But this morning.... She said she didn't want it, because a wizard's scarf was bound to have some horrendous curse on it.... She said, "You're trying to deceive me and curse me to death, right?" And she tore it and threw it to the ground.... Rustica: Chloe.... Chloe: It's fine, it's fine! I'm not feeling down about it or anything! I'm used to this sort of thing, anyway! .....But I'm an idiot, so I came up with all these ridiculous fantasies. Like, maybe if I give her this scarf, she'll put it on the next day, and come to say hi to me. Then I’d feel really ticklish inside, but I’d also be really happy, and say, it looks great on you.... Chloe: Maybe her friends and family would ask me to make them scarves too, and I'd get really busy...... .......I came up with so many of those stupid fantasies, like the ones that play through your mind right before you fall asleep..... She was afraid it might be cursed.... Of course she was scared..... I'm such an idiot..... Rustica: You're not an idiot. Chloe: ...I am an idiot..... Rustica: Your dream is absolutely lovely. If she doesn't want the scarf, can I have it instead? Chloe: ....It's nothing valuable. Rustica, you're handsome, so you deserve to wear something much nicer. Rustica: There's no scarf more valuable than this one. Chloe: ....That's not true. I haven't used any expensive fabrics or threads.... Rustica: Because this scarf is the only one of its kind in this world. It's something that only you could make. Chloe: .......... Rustica: It's more precious than a commonplace luxury you could find anywhere. It’s more precious than the moonstone; more precious than any jewel. Here, look. This scarf was created by my beloved Chloe. It's the only one in the world. It has my favorite blue bird embroidered on it, too. It’s a bit torn, but that’s no cause for concern. For I have a friend who's very good at needlework. Rustica: I'm sure he will fix it up perfectly. This blue bird will fly freely into the sky, no matter how many times its wings are torn. Isn't that right, Chloe? Chloe: ......Yeah...... I'll sew it back together, as many times as I have to..... .....Thank you, Rustica. Rustica: And you have my thanks as well. Don't cry...... Please smile, Chloe. Chloe: ........ .....Yes...... Rustica: Please don't feel hurt. Like the bright moon that shines in the sky, we may be shoved away every time we approach someone, but...... We can smile wherever we are. We can sing the songs we love, and dance with the people we love, wherever we are.

Chapter 21: A Story for the Sage’s Manual (A Wish)

Oz: Sage. Akira: Yes...... Oz: I'm sorry — but you are going to share my fate. Akira: Huh......? Woah......! Oz takes my shoulder, and we lean over from the balcony. Akira: Hey...... Wai—! Oz: Let's go. Akira: ...........! Oz leaps from the castle balcony, holding me in his arms. ✦✧☾✧✦ Dark wings, and a golden moon. We plummet swiftly. Akira: ............ Oz: Grant me strength, Sage. You are the one who guides us. Believe in me. I believe in you. Akira. I tightly grip Oz's hand in return. For I, too, once wished for the same. I want to build a small bridge of trust. With this world. With the people living in this world. And...... With myself. Oz slowly releases his fingers. In that hand, he holds a magnificent staff. I hadn’t noticed, but the speed at which we’re falling has slowed. I look at Oz. He opens his mouth. Oz: << Vox Nox >> In that moment...... We defy the laws of nature. And rush upwards into the night sky. As if we’re flying to the moon.

[hanalwayssolo]

What We Owe To Each Other: Ch. 1 - Morning

A/N: WOW I REALLY AM ALIVE IF I AM STILL POSTING MY WRITING HERE LMAO ANYWAY

I originally intended to post this as a one-shot, but my one-shot got too long for my own good so I had to divide it into 6 chapters. Said chapters will alternate between Sam's and Nate's POVs. I've had this plotbunny in my drafts for quite some time, and since I rekindled my love for this game, I have inadvertently activated this particular hyperfixation like a dormant volcano coming to life, so here we are. Also, I realized that this is my first time sharing my writing for Uncharted and I am motherfucking terrified. Please be kind to me.

Morning | Noon | Night | Midnight | Nightmare | Dawn

[Link on AO3]

Autumn in Vermont, as it turned out, was piercingly cold for Sam’s tastes. He honestly thought his balls would freeze off. He might have missed the cold at some point after all those years he spent in Panama, but he could not stand this kind of cold: sharp and biting and cruel. Jetlagged and with barely three hours of sleep, the drive—though scenic at best—became a torment. If it weren’t for his numbing hands around the wheel of his rental car, or the fact that the heater failed to offer him the warmth he sorely needed, he would have taken the time to pause from the long drive, roll down his window, maybe light a cigarette and bask in the view that unraveled around him like a nostalgic Polaroid picture: morning fog veiling the stretch of the freeway; rows of maples and aspens aflame in scalding shades of gold; hills of red and orange and ochre, as if the entire landscape waged a private war against the sky’s dreary and cloudless gray.

But Sam kept driving. No offense to the spectacular colours of fall, but all he could think about was how he was still supposed to be somewhere in India just right about now.

Maybe this entire freezing weather wouldn’t have been half as bad if his recent expedition throughout the Western Ghats had not spoiled him too much of the pleasant summer heat, the exquisite food, the thrilling views—all of which he could never be afforded on this side of the world. That or his long-ass flight from Mumbai to New York simply made it unbearable to adjust to the sickly shift in season. It was a good thing he had some sense to pack warm clothes for the road; there was certainly no way in hell he would have survived in Victor’s old yet tastefully floral Havana shirts and cargo pants. Questionable fashion choices be damned, but he had to admit: those had been immensely comfortable. Even little Meenu was charmed to see him in those clothes. 

Either way, he’s already here. What else was he left to do? He should probably just focus on finding that godforsaken cottage, so he could finally warm himself up with a drink or two…

But even as Sam drifted past foggier hills and even redder mountains, and with the sordid space of the cheap Chevy not getting any warmer, he was beginning to regret heeding Nathan’s advice to postpone his supposedly extended Indian summer.

Frankly, he was beginning to regret agreeing to this whole Thanksgiving affair at all.

Of course, this was all their stupid idea. At the time—still woozy from the euphoric, Libertalia high—they had gladly obliged to celebrate at least one holiday from there on out. But now, turning down the invitation was out of the question, not when Sam had promised Nathan (and even Elena, too, for Christ’s sake, what was he thinking?) that he would give this family tradition a try. And Sam, being a man of his word (or at least, he tried to be) wanted to deliver. He even brought the finest bottle of pinot noir for the occasion. Sure, he may be a lot of other awful things, butbreaker of promises was certainly something he was not keen to add to his growing repertoire of crimes. Especially not after what he had done to Nathan. 

Most especially not after that.

He had already failed his brother more than he should have. Participation on a trivial holiday such as this one or otherwise, he was not going to fail him again.

Besides, what harm could one Thanksgiving dinner possibly do, anyway?

Well, I’d probably end up questioning my life choices, he suddenly thought miserably. We’d all be sitting at the dinner table and Nathan will tell me everything there is to know about their new joint venture, their pleasant life in New Orleans, all the while I’d tell them the most entertaining story of how I almost got myself killed in India, how I’m failing to get my shit together, how I’m the incomparable good-for-nothing in this goddamn family —

A soft and a rather sensual moan shoved him out of that spiraling thought. And then another. It was coming from his jacket pocket; he fished the thing out—which, of course, had to be his phone and its extremely inappropriate ringtone—and saw an unknown number on the screen. He answered by the fourth moan.

“For the love of god’s balls, if this is another insurance offer I’m gonna—”

“Please tell me you’re already on your way here,” the worried voice on the other line said by way of greeting. It was Nathan. 

“Oh. Hi there, little brother —”

“So? Where on earth are you? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday morning—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—relax,” said Sam placatingly, somewhat a little startled with his brother’s annoyance. “I only got here this morning,” he went on to explain. “My flight from Mumbai got delayed, then I had to book a rental car from JFK since my flight going here to Vermont got canceled, but yeah, sure—I’m on my way.”

“And by ‘on my way’, where exactly are you now?”

“Huh.” Sam drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, assessed the area that rolled before him: more maples and aspens and its swollen-red leaves; majestic oaks and its moss-encrusted trunks; an abundance of dew-soaked thickets; an endless foliage of green and gold. The forest around him breathed mist and fog. No nearby house nor sign in sight. 

“Still somewhere in Sutton. I guess,” he answered uncertainly.

“You guess?” Nathan laughed. Sam was certain he heard the slightest sound of mockery from it. “You sure you’re not lost?”

Sam scoffed loudly. “Am I lost?” Lost in my own mind, maybe. “Nathan, I never get lost.”

“Oh. Of course,” Nathan said rather feebly. “Okay.”

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s this really about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you never call just to check in on me. Everything alright?”

A sudden, inexplicable silence. On the other line seeped the thick wail of a saxophone, the shrill peals of laughter, and his brother’s obvious hesitation. It was either Nathan was hiding something from him, or something was awfully wrong. 

Usually, his money was on the latter.

“Uh, yeah,” Nathan said after a strained pause. “Everything’s fine.”

“Nathan.”

“What?”

“I could literally hear your bullshit all the way out here.”

“I… uh, hang on a sec—”  Nathan’s voice faltered and was quickly followed by a muffled noise, unsteady footsteps, a slam of the door. And then another silence, more unbearable than the last.

“Uh, Nathan? Still there?”

No answer.

This time, Sam pulled over the side of the road. He was dreadfully cold and, all thanks to his brother, was now also growing dreadfully anxious.

“Nathan,” Sam said impatiently, dragging a weary hand over his face, “I swear, you’re literally killing me here—”

“Hi. Sorry.” Nathan cleared his throat, letting out an audibly weary exhale. Wherever he was, it had gone completely quiet. “Right. Okay, there.”

“Now what the hell’s going on—”

“I’m going to be a dad.”

A dumbstruck silence. Then, in an almost unnerving wave of relief, Sam burst out laughing. 

“I’m being serious here,” Nathan said irritably.

“Yeah I know—Jesus, Nathan,” Sam said, pressing his forehead against the wheel, “for fuck’s sake—for a moment here I thought you’d be telling me that you’re sick and dying. But, anyway. I’m happy for you, little brother! How far along is Elena? Or perhaps you’re referring to another baby momma here—“

“Goddamnit, of course it’s Elena.”

“Right. Just had to make sure. So. How far along is she?”

“Ten weeks.”

“Ten weeks? Wow, that’s…” Sam trailed off, his eyes narrowing on the road. He was absently watching the swirl of leaves that danced with the autumn breeze until an amusing realization finally dawned on him.

“Now you wait just a fucking second.”

“What now?”

“Really? Ten weeks?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“Holy goddamn shit, you son of a bitch!” Sam said, unable to hold back his laughter. “I can’t believe you did it in fucking Libertalia—”

“No, no, no—we are not gonna have this conversation."

“Of course we’re not gonna have this conversation," Sam offered helpfully. “At least, not for now. Because I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason why you called me, right? I mean, this could’ve waited until I get there and yet here we are.”

They were quiet again. Outside, the sky had visibly darkened. Drops of rain slowly pittered against the windows. 

“It’s just…” Nathan drew out a sigh, paused, and sighed again. “It’s, well, I just… I’m happy, you have to know that. I really am. But… fuck, I don’t know, Sam. I’m kind of freaking out. What if I mess this up? What if my kid—”

“Whoa, okay—slow down, alright?” Sam leaned back in his seat. “Nathan,” he slowly began, “I know for a fact that you are gonna be a good dad but first of all: have you had the chance to sit down and talk to Elena to… you know, sort your feelings out?

“Yes. Kind of.”

“Nathan.”

“Okay, fine—no, I... we haven’t talked about it. She’s been busy—well, we both have been busy ironing things out with the new firm. We haven’t had the chance. We haven’t had the time—”

“Then make time for it.” As soon as the words left Sam, he realized how sharp and cutting the way he had said it that he immediately regretted being so callous. But if his brother needed to hear his piece of mind, then he might as well tell him what he needed to hear. “Look,” he went on, “I don’t know shit about being a parent or being someone’s husband, and I know I’m not the wisest brother out here and I’ve done stupid things, but I’m not that stupid not to know one thing here. And that one thing I am sure of is that your wife needs you to open up to her. She needs you now, more than ever. So please do us both a favour and calm down and go talk to Elena, ya hear me?”

Nathan said nothing. Another silence. Sam was waiting for a witty remark, a snappy comeback, anything. 

Instead, what Nathan said next was: “Thank you. And can I just say… you’re not dumb, Sam. You never were. If you could just find Darcy again—”

“Okay, don’t even go there.” 

“Right, sorry—oh wait, hold on—” Nathan abruptly broke off. Absolute silence. Then, a series of indistinct noises followed by a voice that was unmistakably Victor’s. Sam waited. Nathan came on again and said, “Sorry about that. Look, I—uh, Elena’s looking for me. We’ll talk later once you get here.”

“Right.” Sam exhaled a weary sigh. “Then try not to lose your shit before I get there, yeah?”

“Ha-ha, cute. Be seein’ ya,” Nathan said and before Sam could even say another word, his brother had already hung up.

Sam sat in solemn silence. Rain drummed heavily against the roof of his rental car as he let Nathan’s news marinate in his head. I’m gonna be a dad. Strange to think how years ago, back when they aimlessly roamed the streets of São Paulo armed with nothing but their stuttering Portuguese, the city brutally carving capable men out of their teenage bodies and testing their will to survive, he and Nathan only used to crack jokes about the mere possibility of this, of settling down just for the heck of it: being the best man at each other’s weddings, buying a house somewhere in the tropics, watching over each other’s kids. It all sounded ridiculous at the time. It all sounded so ridiculous simply because they believed that an ordinary life was something they certainly could never afford in their lifetime. 

Now here we are and my brother’s going to be a father, Sam thought over and over, and I’m going to be someone’s uncle. Shit.

Sam dwelled on that thought more than he should have. And for reasons unbeknownst to him, he was suddenly reminded of Hector Alcázar. Who would have thought that there was once a time that a notorious drug lord had tempted him with the very prospect of a quiet, normal life? How bad could it be to have a family of your own, to have someone you can come home to, mi hermano? Alcázar would ask Sam whenever their conversations steered too close to their own personal affairs. He did not mind. It was not like they had anything better to do with all the time they had in the dark and dismal quarters of their prison cell. And with the way the man fondly recounted many an anecdote about how he had met his late wife, Sam was almost convinced that murderous cartel kingpin or no, everyone’s infamous Butcher of Panama surprisingly owned a goddamn heart. 

Is it really all that bad? Sam had chewed on that question for years like a bubblegum slowly losing its taste. As far as the Drake brothers’ wayward ways were concerned, all this talk about an ordinary life never appealed to both Sam and Nathan back then. They already had each other. They were the family they needed. Why ask for more than they could possibly have? And besides, ordinary meant easy. And they were never meant for anything easy. They were meant for street brawls and petty thievery, for unearthing ancient relics and treasures of dead men. 

But if Sam were to be truly honest—and since honesty came so unnaturally to him, this was a monumental feat—to have an easy life, or at least some semblance of it, did not seem such a bad idea at all. In fact, that was all he ever wanted since their shitty father abandoned them to fend for themselves. Because no matter how many times he had expressed his distaste at even the slightest notion of entertaining such ordinariness, a part of him wanted it. More than he was willing to admit, that part of him still starved for it. Because an easy life also meant a good life. And a good life—a comfortable life after all the shit they have been through—was everything Sam wanted not just for himself, but also for his brother. 

So Sam could only be proud of Nathan for finally finding a good life worth settling for. He was happy for him. He should be happy for him.

And yet...

A treacherous train of thought. Its relentless shriek leaving echoes of all the what-ifs. Maybe if he hadn’t lost the last thirteen years of his life rotting in a prison cell, he might have had a shot at something good, too. Heck, had he made better decisions before Panama, or before São Paolo, or before London even, he might have had something better than good. Maybe he wouldn’t even have these nightmares plaguing him every night. If good and normal and painfully ordinary meant not having to wake up in the most ungodly hour desperately clawing at the bullets that no longer dwelled inside his body, then by all means—he would gladly settle with that. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be sitting in a cheap rental car in the middle of freezing Vermont, wallowing and miserable and bitter, wrestling against the horrible feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

Maybe Nathan was right. Maybe he really was the jealous one. And he hated himself for it.

Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sam thought. He finally rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

[whoami-imnotentirelysure]

01.02.2022

I only really ever do this when I feel like it, so believe me when I say I’m kind of shocked on the aspect that I feel like writing right now. I’ve been manic for almost a week now, and while it’s been fun- I know it’s coming to an end. I’m suffering, the consequences of my own actions. Today alone has felt like it’s been one hell of a day. It’s technically the 2nd, but it’s 1:45 am. So “today” is not over yet, but after I’m done writing this I will be forcing myself to go to bed. I’d like to work a long shift tomorrow to try and make some money. Today, I woke up at 8am. Best way to start the year, right? Yeah, per usual- the shithead was screaming on the top of her lungs. She was yelling at her dad about something and I don’t even know what the fuck she was yelling about. Thankfully, I’ll be able to “sleep in”, but I know it’ll only be like, maybe an hour or so more than today, since I have to work. I’m working on trying to figure out finances and stuff, Doordash has been treating me decent, and I’m working a long shift tomorrow whether I like it or not. I have to finish this week with at LEAST 150$. That means I need to make 90 tomorrow. I can’t afford less. While I was working today, my last order (was going to work beyond that, but…), had me turn on the interstate to get to their house. Please note: I haven’t driven on the interstate since May of last year. It’s January. I thought I was going to be just fine, with how my medication has regulated and now I thought I had been feeling normal. But boy, was I fucking wrong. I got maybe 2 miles into the 7 mile drift, and that’s when my agoraphobia spiked. I realized I didn’t have an exit for another 5 miles, and unfortunately when my body subconsciously thinks about these things: I hyperfixate on them. Can’t help it and unfortunately haven’t found a medicine to help yet. So for the beginning of those 5 miles, I was panicking- slowly feeling myself panic more and more. I could feel presyncope start to take over me. I had an urge to pull off to the side of the road, but I was on the clock, and the interstate was pretty “flowy”, to say the least. It would’ve been hell to try and get back on the interstate, it was dark, I didn’t want to pull over and get hit and/or murdered. So I forced myself and tried to calm down. I kept feeling this state of panic hit me, over, and over, and over again. I figured it was time to fight back. I kept telling myself that what I was feeling was a natural reaction to me facing my fears. That I just had to let that feeling pass, because feelings are temporary. They don’t last forever. I finally got to the 2mile before exit board, and I pat myself on the back. Yes, I was still panicking. Yes, I was still borderline passing out. But I trudged through the last two miles. And the first thing I went to do, was call Leo. I wanted to notify him that I had just fought one of my biggest fears, but alas: he didn’t answer. I went from proud of myself, to let down. I notified him that I needed him, and here comes probably the most let down part of the day: we got into our first “argument”, if you’d call it that. Idk, i called him after he wrote me back saying he was away from his phone. I can’t be toxic and be like “omgeeee you should’ve answered!”, but out of anger… that’s exactly how I reacted. I have to write him an apology after this before I go to bed. I feel this like… distance growing between us and it’s intimidating. I hate when that happens in a relationship, because I’m super quick to shut off my emotions when people start to get distant with me. And that’s the last thing I want. We haven’t really spoken much in the past week or so. I dunno what he’s busy doing all the time. It worries me. He’s sleeping a lot, and for someone who never slept when I first met him… I get this like, uneasy feeling. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to go to bed. I’m tired, and my brain feels fried.