#i literally just keep on forgetting to tidy up these notes and post them

[jemmo]

my sister watches bad buddy - ep 3

- omg look at his gay lil high school crush

- ‘that wasn’t a smile’ he says… smiling

- pran at the noodle shop like ‘rlly hope I’m I don’t run into that guy I mounted 10 seconds ago’

- omg the back and forth, the bickering, the domesticity of it all

- there’s an innuendo I could make about a chopstick fight but this is too cute to ruin

- pran wanna be that dumpling

- it’s a date! he paid, that means it’s a date!

- pat: let’s race pran: pls you’re so childish also pran: cheats to get a head start

- his lil floppy flops!!

- dw pran, pat will resort to underhand tactics to beat you

- his lil pouty lips!! he’s such a dick!!!

- STOP FUCKING FLIRTING

- can the man pls not be so lovesick, it’s putting me off my chicken

- fucking ok wai, what did the chair do to you??

- i could really do with a moral compass like pa. i need to be called out on my shit too

- oof. i felt when he dropped that can

- pat being the least subtle stalker ever

- pran grabbing pat by the shirt like ‘ may be mad but at least now I can fulfil my dream of pushing this man against a wall’

- noooooo don’t say that, he looks so sad *pat smirks* scratch that, I should’ve known, he’s evil

- pat trying to get back into pran’s good books like “you know you’d miss me if I wasn’t annoying you”

- me and pat have the same level of self-confidence except his is deserved and mine is delusional

- “you think I want to be this close” no in fact he wants to be closer

- pran’s longing stare is rlly stinking up that lift

- it’s like when someone farts in a lift and everyone’s looking around for the culprit except it’s just strangers looking at each other like ‘do you see those gays gaying over there’

- you ever plaster your whole body against your buddy for *jokes*

- can they stop with all the dog talk, it’s like they’re asking for a furry fic

- sniff him! sniff him! SNIFF HIM!

- and pran nutted right there

- he just wants to hang out! don’t be mean! he dressed up so hot for you!

- i will never cave so easy *gets called babe* I have caved

- pat malewife confirmed!!!!

- pat is on crack for this, how dare he

- i’m not against public sex, and pat was so mountable in that scene

- pat in this ep is just like *shouts aggressively* no I will be your knight in shining armour!

- pat might be a himbo but he can still manipulate his fellow himbos to do his bidding

- knock on the door already gay boy!!

- he’s reaching out! I’m so proud!

- omg can he stop tho. he’s too good, I actually hate it. stop being a good boy

- *physically convulsed and squealed bc of the way pat looked at pran*

- pran stop lusting so hard this is a public hallway!

- he a happy boi!!!!!

(ep 1) (ep 2)

+ if you miss my rants, heres a lil footnote

just wanted to add this bc me and my sister usually chat after the ep and she said something about how ep 3 is just pat trying to make pran happy, and trying to do good things for him, but them never working or pran always seeing the bad, and them not even being his fault but pat just trying to make things right. and then when everything’s settled, he rights something by giving pran his guitar back and finally he turns the door hanger and pat has made him happy! 

i just never thought of ep 3 like this, but it’s so cute. the way that none of it is his fault, the bus stop or the rebuild or the expenses, but bc the responsibility is put on pran, and pran kinda puts the blame on pat as a form of defence and bc it’s maybe easier to get mad at him than at the real guilty people, pat takes it upon himself to fix things. bc pat wouldn’t have done any of this normally, but bc it inconveniences pran and makes him sad, he has to do it. he’s not forced, he does it off his own back. and it’s almost like this healing cycle, bc it’s like pran knows he can blame pat bc pat will fix things, bc pat can put it right for him, it’s a way pran can take all the burden put on him and put it on someone else and have it looked after and dealt with. unlike every other negative force in his life, here he can be mad about something and see someone actually try to right it. no one else does that for him, not his parents or his friends. he’s mad at the situation but it’s like he knows voicing that won’t make them change. but here, pat changes, pat goes to the effort of doing this for him, where pran feels like no one else would. i just think that’s so good. 

and it’s the same with the guitar, it’s not pats fault, but bc pran has to take the fall, pat takes it upon himself to put things right and return it. getting mad at his mom won’t give him any catharsis bc she won’t apologise, but getting mad at pat, he will apologise, he will try to make up for it. and I just rlly like that pat is this way for pran to see that there’s good in the world, there’s ppl that want to do stuff for him, that his anger is valid and that ppl want to make him feel better. instead of always being responsible for other peoples feelings, someone else can be responsible for his. and i just know if Pat had seen him turn that door hanger he would’ve jumped for joy bc finally he made pran happy, that’s all he ever wants

[deshirea]

hello,    hello,    hello    !    i’m  rolling  in  fashionably  late  in  true  desirae  style    !    i  am  carra,    24  years  old,    goes  by  she  /  her,    from  the  cst,    and  super  stoked  to  be  here    !    i  haven’t  been  in  a  group  in  so  long,    like  literal  years,    but  i  seen  kat    [  fully  just  disclosing  that  i  follow  on  main  lmao    ]    post  the  teaser  graphic  and  i  was  literal  heart  eyes.    i  almost  didn’t  submit  my  app  bc  i  was  scared  that  i  wasn’t  making  the  cut,    but  i  pushed  through  and  i’m  so  glad  that  i  did  and  that  we’re  all  going  to  be  writing  with  each  other    !    my  app  is  super  long  and  i’m  in  the  works  of  tidying  things  up  and  adding  more  depth  bc  i’m  a  perfectionist,    but  i’ll  link  my  favorite  little  bits  under  the  cut.

the  full  application  if  anyone’s  curious,    don’t  want  to  limit  you  beauts.

the  carrd  for  starters,    it’s  still  under  construction,    but  you  can  find  her  statistics  and  just  some  little  blurbs  i  thought  was  cute.

her  favorite  colors  are  maroon  and  money  green.

at  one  point  of  her  childhood,    around  age  8  -  9,    she  actually  yearned  for  a  sibling.    after  spending  so  much  time  around  the  bouiette  siblings,    it  was   inevitable.    the  desire  was  cut  short  when  she  realized  that  she’d  have  to  share  everything  she  owned  with  said  sibling  if  she  ever  got  one,    and  when  that  thought  popped  into  her  head,    she   made  sure  to  never  comment  on  it  again.    looking  up  at  her  parents  with  those  big  doe  eyes,    snuggling  up  to  them,    and  making  sure  they  knew  that  she  ‘had  the  best  family  ever,’    and  that  she  was  more  than  content.

she  writes  almost  everything  down  as  soon  as  it  pops  into  her  head  (  not  wanting  to  risk  forgetting   amid  everyday  activities  )  on  whatever  is  nearest  to  her  at  the  time.    whether  it's  her  phone,    a  notebook,    etc.    she  has  various  voice  memos  [  not  entirely  all  just  her  voice  displayed  on  them  ],    note  entries  labeled  with  the  date,    and   sticky  notes  in  her  purse.

despite  what  people  may  think,    desirae  isn’t  perfect.    the  young  adult  gets  into  her  fair  share  of  mess  just  like  everyone  else,    she  just  knows  how  to  clean  it  up  properly.    if  she  needs  to  point  attention  to  her  peers’  mistakes  to  sweep  her  own  under  the  rug,    she’ll  manage  just  fine.    most  of  the  time,    the  tabloids  that  do  make  the  cut  are  in  her  favor,    and  if  they  do  catch  her  by  surprise,    she’s  quick  to  swing  it  whichever  direction  she  needs  to.

constantly  outweighs  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  decisions  she  makes.    sometimes  the  cons  win  out,    but  she’s  game  to  test  the  odds,    most  of  the  time  it  turns  out  in  her  favor.

her  instagram  and  stories  are  calculated  from  the  content  all  the  way  down  to  the  sappy  captions.     her  recent  feed  consists  of  first  class  flights,    dinner  dates,    outfits  of  the  day,    fashion  tips,    and  throwbacks.

isn’t  the  type  to  flat  out  spill  her  drink  on  you,    but  somehow  she’s  magically  there,   settled  in  the  background,    and  somehow  uncharacteristically  quiet  when  it  happens?

has  never  had  an  actual  romantic  relationship,    but  has  been  coy  enough  to  keep  all  of  her  entanglements  out  of  the  public  eye  which  she  believes  puts  her  at  an  advantage  when  it  comes  to  the  love  club.    ironic  to  the  name,    the  brunette  doesn’t  let  distractions  get  in  her  way  and  keep  her  tied  down  to  anything  besides  what’s  truly  important.    or  at  least  that’s  what  she  believes.

has  her  belly  button  pierced,    both  standard  and  industrial  lobes,    and  her  grandmother’s  birthday  in  roman  numerals  tattooed  on  her  left  wrist  that  she  revealed  in  an  exclusive  video  with  elle,    just  after  her  nineteenth  birthday.

has  to  often  remind  herself  not  to  enjoy  the  love  club’s  commentary  in  the  group  chat  too  much,    and  often  mutes  it  when  they  manage  to  get  a  genuine  smile  out  of  her.    it  never  lasts  for  too  long  though,    because  she  can’t  miss  out  on  any  subtle  hints.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Kiro’s Memories of Summer Date (Eng Translation)

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

References are made to the following unreleased and likely cancelled content, so please read them before this date, or you might get lost at certain parts:

> R&S - Stunning Young Idol

> R&S - Youthhood

> Greenhouse Date (IMPORTANT)

There’s a call BEFORE the date: here

[ This date was released in CN on 21 October 2020 ]

[ PRESENT - Location: MC’s house ]

MC: All right, I’ve read through the scrapbook. Are you satisfied now? 

Kiro and I are sitting shoulder to shoulder, flipping to the last page of the scrapbook. 

Kiro : Did you leave something out? 

MC: Hm? Did I miss out an itinerary?

Kiro takes up a pen. In the blank space on the page, he draws a slightly crooked, but adorable teddy bear. 

Next to it, he draws a speech bubble: “I have a secret to tell you!”

-

[ FLASHBACK - Location: MC’s house ]

“I have a secret to tell you”...

MC: ...

While absent-mindedly having my breakfast, I ponder on what Kiro’s “secret” could be.

A few days ago, I suddenly received a call from Kiro while he was filming outdoors. We agreed that today would be left entirely up to his arrangements.

"Ding dong--”

MC: Coming, coming!

I run over and pull the door open. Behind the door stands Kiro, wearing a baseball cap and looking very relaxed. Several strands of golden coloured hair disobediently curl upwards underneath the brim of his hat. 

When he sees me, he immediately reveals a happy smile. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, are you ready? We can set out!

MC: You haven’t told me where we’re going?

Kiro: Since it’s a secret, how could I divulge it from the start?

He shakes his head firmly, and even uses his fingers to make a ‘X’ in front of his mouth.

Kiro: This time, I’m not going to soften my heart and divulge it to you first!

MC: All right...

Seeing how he’s rarely this serious, all you can do is smile and agree.

This “secret” - it’s probably a visit to another secret haunt to view the scenery, right? 

Kiro: You definitely wouldn’t be able to guess it this time!

He blinks and grabs one of my hands, his tone as lively as a dancing musical note.

Your mood is also influenced by his, and the corners of your lips involuntarily tug upwards. 

MC: I’ll just wait and see then?

Kiro: In the name of donuts, I guarantee that you’ll definitely like it!

Even though the sky outside the window is filled with dark clouds, Kiro’s smiling face seems to light up all of the gloom.

No matter where we go, and no matter what view we see, as long as we’re together, it’s good enough.

--At least, that’s what I initially thought.

-

[ Location: Kiro’s car ]

MC: Where exactly are we going? 

When I notice the car gradually ambling onto an empty trail in the outskirts, the confusion in my heart becomes more evident.

Pattering raindrops continuously pelt onto the window of the car. Outside the window are large plains of greenery which are being cleansed by the rain. 

Kiro turns his head to look at me, and it’s as though his eyes are filled with stars. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, I once promised that I’d give you a garden belonging just to us. 

Along with Kiro’s voice, a small garden teeming with blooming flowers appears in our line of sight.

It’s only after a few seconds that I finally internalise the meaning of his words, and my eyes widen.

MC: W...what do you mean? Are you saying...

Kiro: That’s right. This garden belongs to us now. 

Without waiting for me to continue guessing, he nods in acknowledgement. 

Kiro: When I was filming, a friend said he wanted to dispose of a small garden. So I bought it from him.

MC: But... but...

Even after several “but”s, I still can’t think of what to say. Should I rebuke him for squandering money to buy this garden, or tell him that he didn’t have to take my words literally back then?

Meanwhile, Kiro animatedly introduces the garden to me. 

Kiro: Even though the garden isn’t large, it’s pretty near the city. And it has a very beautiful glass greenhouse! The first time I saw the photograph, I felt it was very suited for us. When we’re free next time, we can have a vacation here. This is a “secret haunt” belonging to the two of us!

Noticing that I haven’t responded even after a while, Kiro slows down.

Kiro: What’s wrong, Miss Chips? You don’t like it?

MC: I...

Kiro stares at me anxiously, as though the moment I shake my head, his eyes would reveal a grieved expression.

When I think about his kind intentions, my heart softens. 

MC: I like it very much. Really, I’m incredibly happy!

His blue eyes are once again ignited with a radiant light. Kiro suddenly chuckles and leans over. 

Before I can react, I feel a gentle sensation on my cheek. When his lips make contact with my cheek before pulling away, there’s a soft sound.

Kiro: It’s great that you like it.

MC: [blushing] ...

In contrast to my stunned state with my mouth hanging open slightly, he looks especially at ease.

Kiro: Miss Chips, what’s wrong? 

MC: [blushing] N-nothing.

You face away, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of that gentle touch. But your heart rate is unable to calm down.

And you don’t notice the widening smile on Kiro’s lips.

While talking, the car reaches its destination.

Kiro: We’re here! Let’s get out of the car!

Kiro leaves the car first, holding an umbrella. Then, he walks over to my side and pulls the door open. 

-

[ Location: Forested area ]

Damp air accompanies the summer wind. Not too far off, the garden, which sits in the midst of mountains and forests, is reminiscent of a scenery framed in a painting.

Purplish-blue morning glories climb and entwine around bamboo fences, embellishing the curtain of drizzling rain with heart-stirring vibrance. 

MC: How beautiful...

The anticipation I harbour for the garden has reached its peak. Similarly, Kiro also pulls me towards it in anticipation. 

-

[ Location: Garden ]

When we draw nearer, we discover that the garden doesn’t seem to have been tended to for an extremely long time. Even the glass greenhouse is filled with junk, and is in disarray. 

The image in our heads - a small, romantic, yet beautiful garden flourishing with blooming flowers - is shattered in an instant. 

Kiro: Why does it look completely from what I imagined...

Kiro walks around the garden, frowning as he looks at me apologetically.

Kiro: I’m sorry, Miss Chips. I should have asked someone to tidy the place properly before bringing you here. 

MC: There’s no need to apologise. 

I place my hands on both sides of his face. Before he can react, I knead his cheeks with my palms. 

Kiro: ...mm?

MC: I think it’d be even more meaningful if we decorate the garden ourselves. We can write our names on this garden together.

Kiro is stunned for a moment, his eyes widening slightly. Then, a smile appears on his face. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, you’re right! This is a garden belonging to us.

-

I originally thought that tidying up the greenhouse would be an insipid affair. But I didn’t expect that we’d turn it into a treasure hunt. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, look at what I found!

Peering in his direction, I see Kiro squatting in front of a large paper box filled with various bits and bobs. In his hand is a beautiful glass bottle. 

Along with the swaying of the bottle, the glass beads in it channel tinkling sounds.

MC: It’s ramune!

[Trivia] Ramune is a Japanese carbonated soft drink

I lean over, realising that the box contains several more of such bottles. They’ve been washed and stored away by the original owner.

MC: Last time, I couldn’t bear to throw the bottles away after drinking them. But I’d always get sprayed whenever I open them...

Just recalling the uncontrollable spurting leaves me with a twinge of lingering trepidation. 

Kiro: It’s actually very simple. Press down on the cap for a while longer, and wait for the fizziness to go away before removing your finger from it. When I was schooling, I’d buy this whenever summer arrived.

Kiro sounds very familiar with it, his eyes brimming with longing.

His words also transport me back to my earlier years: summer days, late afternoons, and ice-cold ramune.

MC: Looks like we’re the same. Actually, it doesn’t taste that good, but the way to open it is really interesting!

Kiro and I exchange a glance, and we burst into laughter. 

Kiro: Actually... I still think cola tastes better!

While chatting, we clear out the soda bottles together. There are still various things in the box: lego toys with missing parts, incomplete jigsaw puzzles...

And a metal box filled with tiny paper slips. The words on the slips are unclear, but you can vaguely read them--

“Lend me your homework”, “Why is teacher dismissing class late again”, “Let’s go home together after school”, “I’m on cleaning duty today”...

MC: Pfft...

As I flip through the slips of paper, I laugh without restraint. Curious, Kiro takes a look at the slips. 

Kiro: Oh, they’re short notes! How nostalgic. Many people used to give me short notes during class last time too!

MC: Eh, really? 

I cast him a doubtful glance. Kiro pretends to be indignant as he looks at me, eyes wide.

Kiro: Of course - I’m Kiro! But I didn’t respond to every single note... apart from yours. I’ll always keep the notes you write to me.

After saying this, he suddenly makes a fist with one hand and places it on his other palm.

Kiro: Oh yes, I have to find a box for them when I get home too!

I pause for a while, unable to think of any important notes you wrote to him.

MC: You’re referring to those normal memos, right? 

Kiro: They’re still memories belonging to us. 

He cuts me off. His eyes sparkle, reminiscent of a little squirrel which has found a pine cone.

Kiro: I can remember all the important things, but it’s more difficult to remember the more trivial ones. But every minute and every second with you - I don’t want to forget them. They could even be left as family heirlooms!

MC: How could they be family heirlooms...

Kiro: Of course they can! Next time, we’ll tell them that the box contains the dribs and drabs belonging to me and the cutest girl in the world. Each note records a story. And each story is an important treasure. 

I open my mouth, but forget how to speak.

In his voice, I seem to envisage a scene from the future. 

My heart beats rapidly. I hurriedly lower my head, leafing through a random sketchbook in my hand. 

The sketchbook contains a drawing of a girl’s side profile done in clean brush strokes. As I flip through the following pages, I find that the entire book contains the same person in different situations. 

Kiro: Ohh, he definitely has a secret crush on her!

Miss Chips: Yeah, this should be very precious to him.

The thin sketchbook in your hands seems to shoulder the weight of memories. You carefully place it at the side, prepared to return it to its owner. All of a sudden, you hear Kiro speak.

Kiro: Miss Chips, have I ever told you about my high school days? 

You shake your head, recollecting the interviews and articles written about him before he returned to the country.

MC: I know a little. You attended high school in America, and even formed a band. Then, you successfully signed on with Warner Brothers... In the end, you entered Berkeley University with excellent results. All the articles said that you were an exceptionally serious and hardworking person. 

Kiro: So you already knew about it... However, I wasn’t necessarily that “sweet boy” mentioned in the articles!

The corners of his lips tug upwards, his expression carrying with it an almost imperceptible playfulness and ease.

Kiro: At that time, I was actually a little rebellious. I was filled with curiosity about the world, and wanted to try everything. 

Kiro: My band also tried all sorts of styles, because it’d be so boring if we only stuck to one! 

Kiro: You definitely didn’t know that I secretly played truant. Pei En and I... ah, he was my bandmate. When we had performances, we’d often go out to have fun behind our agent’s back. 

Kiro: I even researched how to sneak donuts into the performance venue...

The Kiro he’s talking about is a little foreign, but my curiosity is stirred up.

The Kiro of back then - was he really like that? 

Kiro: ...but there was one thing I didn’t try back then. 

With this, he suddenly stops and looks at me. 

MC: What was it? 

I blink in puzzlement. With a smile curling up his lips, he suddenly leans close to my ear. His lips brush against my ear, and I can almost feel their ridges. 

Kiro: I didn’t try liking a person. Do you think it’s because I hadn’t met you yet?

Every syllable, accompanied by his breath, rushes into my ear. 

The citrusy scent from the soda bottles lingers in the air - sour and sweet, just like those young and inexperienced years. 

My free hand is gripped by Kiro.

Subconsciously, I tighten my hold on his fingers, and I respond without much thought. 

MC: [blushing] At that time... you should have been studying!

Kiro: ...you’re right. 

The warm atmosphere vanishes in an instant. Kiro releases a sigh and fumes slightly, but it disappears quickly. 

Kiro: [sighs] Miss Chips, you’re really slow. 

He mutters something softly, but I pretend not to hear him and continue clearing out the items with my head lowered. My face feels like its burning.

-

Very soon, the junk in the greenhouse are cleared away. Kiro is currently tidying the messy wires, and I’m carrying an umbrella and the items to be disposed, leaving the greenhouse. 

MC: I’m heading out to throw the rubbish away. 

It’s still drizzling outside. By the time I toss the rubbish at the crossing, the drizzle grows heavier. As such, I follow a small trail and run back.

Passing through the stone path to the garden, I turn at a bend and step across a puddle. When I lift my head, I see Kiro sitting at the glass pavilion.

He’s barefoot, gazing at the path I had set out on, as though waiting for me to return.

Rain patters continuously around the pavilion. The morning glories which entwine around it are encased with water vapour.

Everything is hazy. Only his colours are especially distinct.

He doesn’t seem to care at all when the water droplets pelt onto him. He looks happy and content.

MC: Kiro!

My voice shatters the picture-like image before me. Kiro whips his head around in response, shock flashing across his features. 

Kiro: Eh? Miss Chips, why did you appear from this side?

MC: Because it’s much nearer. Were you waiting for me? 

With a sound of acknowledgement, Kiro raises something in his hand happily, showing it off as though he found a treasure. 

Kiro: Look at what I found! 

In his hand is a harmonica, and the logo on it looks incredibly familiar.

MC: In junior middle high, I think I had a harmonica with the same brand...

I walk over to the pavilion. Like Kiro, I remove my shoes and squeeze underneath the tiny pavilion with him, our shoulders touching.

Kiro pulls me even closer, preventing water from the eaves from pelting onto my shoulder.

The pattering water droplets continuously pelt onto our bare feet. The relaxing and cooling sensation enters the depths of our hearts.

- 

The rain persists even after a while. Kiro and I are hiding in the pavilion. Coincidentally, we have a full, unobstructed view of the entire garden.

I take a careful look at the harmonica in his hand. It has been washed clean, and the marks of years gone by linger on its body.

MC: Does it still work?

Kiro: Mm, I just tried it. It still makes sounds. 

With this, Kiro looks at me confidently.

Kiro: I said that I wasn’t good at playing the harmonica before. Afterwards, I specially practised it! This time, I’ll definitely play it even more amazingly than the last time!

MC: Cough cough. Actually, I didn’t mention this the last time - when I learnt the harmonica in junior high, the teacher complimented me for having a natural talent!

After saying this, I have a twinge of guilt. Because since then, it’s been a long time since I even touched a harmonica.

Kiro: Really? Miss Chips, you’re amazing!

Kiro’s eyes are shining as he looks at me. I lift up my chin ‘modestly’.

MC: I was so-so.

Kiro: Boasting might make your nose grow longer.

I subconsciously touch the tip of my nose, but react in time.

MC: It’d only grow longer when you tell a lie, right?

Kiro: Is that so? 

He elongates his words, widening his eyes and pretending to be silly. 

Kiro: In that case, I’ll play a song first to get the ball rolling.

Without much preparation, Kiro brings the harmonica to his lips. After adjusting his breathing, he blows the first note. 

“Du--”

My eyes widen in astonishment, not expecting that he really meant it when he said he “wasn’t good at playing it.”

Noticing my expression, Kiro arches one of his brows, as though telling me not to underestimate him.

At this moment, several musical notes form a smooth melody.

It’s a tune I’ve never heard before. Along with the rhythm created by the rain, it drifts over in a tranquil and mellifluous manner.

Kiro has his head half lowered, his lips moving from time to time along the harmonica. His expression has turned quiet, as though immersing himself in the world of music. 

Every time I see such a Kiro, I’ll always feel that he genuinely loves music with a fiery passion.

Soon, the melody ends. Before I fully extricate myself from the music, Kiro is already turning towards me with a satisfied look on his face.

Kiro: How was it? It’s a new song I’ve been trying recently.

MC: Hold on... are you really not good at it 

Kiro: After we performed together the other time, I re-discovered the joy in it!

He chuckles. He uses a tissue to wipe the harmonica clean, then hands it to me. 

Kiro: Now it’s your turn, Miss Chips.

MC: I’ll start off by saying that it’s been many years since I last played. 

I speak timidly, taking the harmonica.

MC: Let me see... I’ll play “Farewell” then.

Kiro nods. He holds his chin with a hand, his clear eyes gazing at me, waiting for my performance seriously.

I take a deep breath, placing my lips on the harmonica, which still has his lingering warmth on it. After a moment of hesitation, I blow the first note. 

“Su--”

I subconsciously look at Kiro’s expression. There isn’t a hint of ridicule in his eyes. Instead, they are filled with encouragement and trust. 

Hence, I continue pressing on, completing the simple melody.

Originally thinking that I had more or less forgotten it, memories from the past slowly surface before my eyes, enabling the melody to become fluent gradually.

My eyes flutter shut as well, basking in the delight of the moment where music and memories interlace.

After playing the final note, Kiro starts applauding.

Kiro: I didn’t expect Miss Chips to play so well even after such a long time!

Every time Kiro compliments someone, he’s always especially sincere. Seeing his awe and commendation, I start to feel embarrassed.

MC: Actually, I only know how to play a few songs...

Kiro: That’s already very amazing! Sometimes, I think about how great it’d be if I could travel through time.

MC: Why do you say that? 

Kiro: Because that way, I’d be able to know you in junior middle high.

He doesn’t seem to be joking. His gaze is focused on me, as though imagining how I looked like in junior middle high.

Kiro: Then, I’d be your seat mate, and give you lots of little notes during class. In summer, I’d buy two bottles of ice-cold ramune and wait for you before heading home together...

Kiro: [sighs] I really want to participate in your past: junior middle high, high school, university... all those long years.

Kiro: Fortunately, I can still participate in your present and future. 

His voice merges with the flavour of summer, and the sound of my heart beating against my chest resembles the song of cicadas, unable to be halted.

Unable to control my emotions, I instinctively want to avert my eyes. At the same time, however, I don’t want to keep avoiding things out of embarrassment like I did earlier.

I’m at a loss, so I simply lift the edges of my lips, giving him a small smile.

MC: All right, we’ll start from our garden.

And it’d span across the rest of our lives. From now till the future, everything will be given to him.

Kiro: Mm, I’ve got it!

Kiro beams with joy. He takes one of my hands in his and grips it tightly, as though he’ll never let go again.

By this time, the rain has already stopped. The summer heat in the air has long since dissipated, leaving behind the freshness of rain. 

This tiny greenhouse isn’t very exquisite, but the wilfully growing plants give it a rustic charm. After the rain, the lush flowers appear vibrant.

We step out of the pavilion and into the garden. Only now do I truly feel like this garden belongs to us.

Kiro: What type of flowers should we plant next time? What do you like? Roses... daisies... freesias...

MC: They’re all fine. We can plant different types of flowers. This way, there’ll be flowers blooming in every season. We can even buy a glass tea set so we can sit in the greenhouse and appreciate the flowers over tea.

Kiro: We’ll also have a rocking chair. When we’re old, we can sit here and enjoy the moment.

Based on the garden in our imagination, we start conceptualising and planning how it’d look like in the future.

When we reach the glass greenhouse, I look at the empty door and realise that something is missing.

Kiro: Over here, we need to hang a door plate.

Suddenly, Kiro retrieves a small wooden board from behind the door. Not knowing when he did it, the wooden board already has our names written on it. 

-- Kiro’s & Miss Chips’ Garden.

MC: When did you prepare this? 

Kiro: When you left just now. Now, I’ll leave the important task of hanging up the door plate to you!

Looking at the familiar handwriting on the wooden board, there’s a heaviness in a certain area in my heart. Perhaps that area already stores a flourishing garden filled with blooming flowers.

I tiptoe, hanging the wooden board on a nail, then look at it from left to right.

MC: Done!

Satisfied, I clap my hands together and turn around. Taken by surprise, I see a bouquet of white freesias, their petals dotted with water droplets.

The other end of the bouquet is held by Kiro. His eyes contain a bright smile. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, this is for you. This is the first bouquet in our garden!

He pauses for a while, his tone turning serious. 

Kiro: Next time, all the flowers here will be given to you, and only you.

My mouth hangs open. My heart rate speeds up in an unnatural manner. The blooming flowers seem to replicate the splendour of midsummer.

[Trivia] White freesias symbolise purity and innocence, and are the most popular wedding flowers because they are symbolic of the purity of the bride as well as the trust between the couple :’D

I take the freesias, which have been tied together simply with a ribbon, holding them to my chest like a treasure.

MC: I like it very much, thank you!

Kiro: I really want to do one thing right now!

Kiro suddenly stretches out his arms, bringing both me and the flowers into his arms. The summer-like heat encases me in an instant. 

While I’m still at a loss, I feel my feet being lifted off the ground as Kiro carries and spins me around several times.

MC: Whoa, hold on!

Kiro: [laughs] I can’t wait any longer!

He chuckles while setting me down. His eyes are filled with the colours of unconcealed happiness. Then, he offers his hand to me. 

Kiro: Do you still remember the dance we did before? 

I recall the “dance” we did the last time in a greenhouse, where I was spun around till I was dizzy. I shake my head vigorously.

MC: I don’t remember!

Kiro: Liar.

Seeing his slightly aggrieved expression, I smile and place my hand gently on his palm. Then, he playfully hooks his fingers with mine.

All of a sudden, the dark clouds accumulated in the sky are blown away by the wind. Rays of light from afar reach us, illuminating the entire garden.

The scintillating light dances on the tips of Kiro’s golden coloured hair, and my vision is completely taken over by his smiling face. 

It can no longer hold anything else.

Kiro: Let’s dance!

I’m pulled closer to Kiro, and he takes my head, lifting it over my head.

MC: Are we going to dance right here? 

I can’t help but laugh. Cooperating with him, I tiptoe and twirl around. Then, he draws me into his arms.

Kiro leans his chin on my shoulder. The breath he exhales stirs up stray hairs on the side of my neck.

I can’t see the expression on his face, but hear his incredibly gentle voice in my ear, imbued with overwhelming sweetness.

Kiro: Miss Chips--

-

[ PRESENT - Location: MC’s house ]

Kiro: All right, that should be it. The only thing left is to paste that photograph we took at the garden. Hmm... we can also consider making dried flowers using the flowers in every season, and keep them here...

Kiro sets down the pen, casting an earnest look at the mostly empty book, as though he has come to a decision.

My gaze lingers on the phrase he just wrote down.

The adorable teddy bear is waving at me from the book. The speech bubble is drawn seriously, and there’s an arrow pointing at the next page.

The ink left behind by Kiro has yet to dry completely. His voice in my memory and the short phrase blend together, creating a drawn out sweetness in my heart. 

“Miss Chips, will you give your future to me?”

--

💐 MOMENTS 💐

Kiro’s Post: The person who sees this message can make a wish.

MC: Why do you suddenly want to fulfil people’s wishes?

Kiro: Because I want to know what your wish is!

-

Kiro’s Post: The person who sees this message can make a wish.

MC: Could I wish for three more wishes?

Kiro: If it’s Miss Chips, even a thousand or ten thousand wishes are okay.

-

Kiro’s Post: The person who sees this message can make a wish.

MC: Looks like I’m the first one?

Kiro: Mm! Actually, you’re the only one.

--

Call after the date: here

[softboywriting]

Go The Fuck To Sleep | Shawn Mendes

Summary: You and Shawn make some big decisions. [established friend/relationship] [non au] 

Word Count: 1.7k

|Masterlist In Bio|

The second day of Shawn being home from tour you show up at his apartment. You're a good friend, well, better than good. You and Shawn have history, a long history. On and off dating, deciding to be friends, hooking up, both wanting more but never finding the right time. Things are complicated. It's just after eight and you've got a bag in hand with a wrapped present for him. You knock twice and wait. He's awake. You didn't text him before you showed up, but you know how he is. 

"Hello?" Shawn asks, opening the door to see you standing there. He grins. "About time you showed up."

"I've got things to do that are better than babysit you."

"Babysit? I'm a baby now?" 

"You've always been a baby." You shove his chest playfully and he backs up to let you inside. You pass him the gift from your bag and he turns it over in his hands curiously. "Open it."

"What did you get me?" He mumbles, tearing off the paper and revealing a copy of Go The Fuck To Sleep. "Wh-"

"You need to sleep." You look him over and then grab his jaw in your hand. "It looks like you haven't been getting any rest and frankly you look like shit. You look old."

Shawn's face drops and he stares at you, hurt in his eyes. "Take that back."

"No. You just don't want the truth."

"I'm fine."

"You're exhausted. When did you last eat a full square meal? When did you last eat three meals a day and snacks? Shawn, you're killing yourself." 

He walks past you and into the living area. "I didn't think you'd show up and berate me."

"Well someone oughta because you obviously aren't doing shit about it yourself." 

"You think I don't know?!" He rounds on you, walking back angrily and meeting you halfway. "You think I have no idea that I've lost ten pounds? That I forget to eat because I'm too busy and I'm stressed out? Do you really think I don't notice that I'm not getting enough sleep? Because trust me I know." His voice falters and he clenches his jaw, trying to hold himself together. 

You lay your hand on his chest and his heart is pounding wildly. "I'm here to help you."

"How?" He sighs tiredly. 

"By staying with you and making sure you're okay." You slide your hand up to cup his cheek. "You're home now, you don't have to work or stress about anything. Your only obligation is you." 

"I'm so tired," he says brokenly. "I'm so, so tired."

"I know. Why don't you go lay down and close your eyes? I'll make some food for you to eat for the next few days." 

"But I don't have anything."

"I'll order groceries for delivery." You push him toward the couch. "Relax. I swear I'll handle everything."

Shawn grabs your hand as you move to turn away to raid his kitchen. You raise your eyebrows and he pulls you toward him. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He says, hugging you tight. 

"You'd survive. Just barely." 

"Yeah, just barely." 

_____________________

Three hours later and you've got Shawn's fridge and freezer stuffed with everything from a veggie tray to muffins and chicken tortilla soup, a specialty of yours. You've even portioned everything out, knowing he usually follows a pretty controlled diet. He's passed out on the couch when you go to check up on him. He's so cute, mouth hanging open, plush lips a little dry. You wonder how long it's been since he slept this hard. 

Another half an hour passes and you keep busy by tidying up a bit. You don't want to turn the TV on lest you wake him and you definitely don't want to run the vacuum or anything. In the end it doesn't matter because just as you settle down at the other end of the couch he sits bolt upright and looks around as if he has been punched. 

"Whoa, hey, are you alright?" You lay your hand on his foot and he jerks it away. 

A second passes as he gains his bearings. "Where...h- oh. I'm home." He flops back and slaps a hand over his heart. "I was having a nightmare that I was still on the bus and we crashed. I saw my apartment and for a second I thought I died and ended up here or something." 

You chuckle softly. "No, you're not dead."

"How long was I out?" 

"A few hours. I made food, probably enough for the week." You scoot over and take his feet onto your lap. "I'll stay the night if you want."

"Please? I've missed you. When you're around I feel normal, like I don't have to be someone that people expect me to be." 

"Being on tour is that bad?" 

He shrugs. "It gets to you after a while. Most days I'm fine, things are great. But then I start to shut down and spiral. It's...hard."

You pat his legs and sigh. "Well the tour is over. It's done and you're home and it's time to be Shawn again." You mutter softly to yourself. "My Shawn."

He sits up and smiles shyly. "Your Shawn? Are you trying to tell me something?" 

"No, what, well...I guess?" 

He pulls his feet off your lap and shifts around so he's sitting beside you, thigh pressed against yours. "You know that I'm down literally whenever you are. I'm off tour now and I've got some time we could...y'know...finally do this."

"I know...I just...I-"

"You're nervous." 

"No, well yes, but that's not it." You let out a shaky breath. "I want to tell you something."

Shawn slides his hand over yours and threads your fingers together. "Anything."

You squeeze his hand tight, closing your eyes as if bracing for an impact. "I got the job."

"The job?" 

"Think about it."

He pauses and suddenly it hits him. "The job! The producer gig! You're producing for Big Box records! When do you move out to LA? Are you gonna move? Oh my God I'm so proud of you!" 

You grin big. "I actually have a proposal, um, you know how you got that place out there last year in Teddy's neighborhood?" 

"Yeah, yes oh my God yeah you can stay there."

"Thank you, actually I mean that was part of my proposal but it wasn't all of it." You shake your head. "I shouldn't even bring this up. I wasn't going to say anything and it sort of came out. Nevermind. It's fine, thank you, I'd love to stay at your place out there." 

"No no no no, hey, what's up? What aren't you telling me?" 

"Nothing, it's fine we'll talk tomorrow. You should sleep."

"I'm not going to sleep when you have my brain going a mile a minute now. Tell me, whatever it is, I can handle it."

You sigh. "I got the job because...because I said I could get you to consider signing with Big Box. They want you really bad and I know your contract is up in a few months and so do they. I'm sorry and I understand if you hate me, I just wanted this job so badly I used your name and I shouldn't have."

"No...no actually uh, I've been thinking about signing with a new label." He runs a hand over his hair and yawns. "There's been some things going on that I'm not comfortable with, some ideas being tossed around. I'd like to get out before it's too late, yknow?" 

"Shawn you can't be serious."

"I am, I'm so serious. We've always been on the same wavelength. I'm not mad that you used my name to get a job, I told you that you could ages ago. I didn't expect this but it's fine. It's time, like I said I've got some concerns right now and I've voiced them and things aren't being done to change anything. Five years is enough, I've got ideas and a vision for my music and if I can find that in Big Box Records I will." 

You pull your hand away from his. "This isn't a spur of the moment decision! You can't just jump in head first! What if-" 

Shawn grabs your face and kisses you, lips pressed hard to yours. "I'll go wherever you go. I'm so tired of being alone it's killing me and you're the only person who I've ever loved that wasn't family. This is our moment, we've waited for three years for the right time. If this isn't it then I don't know what is. I promise I'll meet with the execs and I'll do the whole song and dance and jump through the hoops. If it works out then it works out with the label, if not then I'll do everything I can to help you find another job."

"Shawn..." You press your forehead to his and his eyes roll back for a moment as if he's fighting sleep. "What if we're not right for each other? What if this is a mistake?" 

"Three years has been plenty of time for making mistakes. If we were going to fall apart it would have happened by now. If you're ready, I'm ready. Let's make this happen."

"It's a big deal...are you sure? Are you even awake enough?" 

He cups your face in his callused hands and focuses on you as best he can. "I've been sure about two things in my life. Playing music and wanting to wake up with you every day. So I'm asking outright, will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yeah," you laugh softly. "Yeah I will." 

Shawn wraps his arms around you and pulls you on top of him as he lays back. "God I've waited forever for this."

"Not forever, only a few years." You fluff his hair. "You really need to get some more sleep. I know we're making big decisions here but you are going to lose your mind if you keep yourself awake any longer."

He closes his eyes and smiles. "I think I can finally rest." 

"Mmm. Good." You kiss his nose and he scrunches it up before his face relaxes and you're sure he's passed out. "I love you bud, now go the fuck to sleep."

End

——————–

Thank you so much for reading. Please reblog and share if you read/enjoyed it. -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[galactic-magick]

Mom: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Summary: Alistair accidentally calls you “mom,” forcing you to reveal your feelings for Maxwell.

Words: 1100+

Warnings: fem reader, a swear I think

Author’s Notes: Inspired by @hailmary-yramliah​ ‘s post, it was such a cute idea I had to write it and I would literally give my life for Alistair so here ya go! Also I wrote a Maxwell fic yesterday too which y’all can find in my masterlist!

Taglist: Lmk if you wanna be tagged in any future Max fics! @mandoalorian​

-

-

-

“Do you have everything you need?” you ask Alistair.

“Yup!” he grins, dropping his duffle bag on the floor.

“You have your pajamas and extra clothes?”

“Mmhmm!”

“Toothbrush?”

“Uhhh…” he races to the bathroom and stuffs one in the side pocket. “Now I do!”

You laugh, ruffling his hair, “Great! Your dad’s on his way home and he can drop you off,”

“Can you come with us?”

“Sure,”

Alistair giggles and runs over to the couch to watch some TV while you tidy the kitchen a bit. There’s never really very much to clean in the house since Alistair doesn’t really make messes besides maybe some toys lying around; if anything Maxwell is the one that leaves shit all over the place. But you still like to have the house look nice when your shift is over.

You’ve been Alistair’s nanny for about a year now, and quite honestly it’s the best job you’ve ever had. Alistair is an angel of a child and his father pays good money for you to watch him until he gets home, but it’s even more than that. You’re treated like family. Many times Maxwell will invite you to stay for dinner with them or the three of you will go out somewhere for the evening. He’ll take you to all the latest movies, let Alistair run wild at the arcade, or just walk around the city.

Truthfully, you’ve fallen for Maxwell a bit through it all. He may be a little full of himself at times, sure, but he has a beautiful heart, and you love Alistair as if he was your own son too. Of course you never mention it or act on it since he’s technically your employer, but you’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about him romantically.

Tonight, though, you’re planning on just going home. Alistair has a sleepover at a friend’s house so there’s not really a reason to stick around, and you’ve never spent time with Maxwell without Alistair before.

Soon enough, the door opens and in walks Maxwell.

“Daddy!” Alistair squeals, running over to him and giving him a hug.

“Alistair!” Maxwell enthusiastically hugs him back.

“Can Y/N come with us to Jake’s house?”

“Absolutely,” he shrugs at you and laughs. “Unless you have somewhere else to be? His house isn’t far,”

“Nope,” you shake your head and return a grin. “It’s no problem,”

You slide in the passenger seat and Maxwell drives to the house, just outside the city. Alistair practically rips off the door in excitement and jumps out.

“Alistair!” you call after him through the window, and he turns around. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh no!” he runs back and grabs his bag before sprinting to the house again. “Bye Mom! Bye dad!”

Did you…did you hear that right?

You keep your eye on him until he gets to the door and walks in to make sure he’s alright, waving at the parent.

Maxwell pulls out of the driveway and starts driving back to the city.

“Did he just call you Mom?” he asks.

“I…I don’t know. It certainly sounded like it,” you laugh, trying to cover up your shock. This was…awkward, to say the least.

What are you supposed to say? You can’t deny how happy it makes you to hear that Alistair sees you as someone that close to him, like a parent can be. And him associating you as Maxwell’s significant other makes your cheeks warm. But maybe he didn’t mean it that way…

“You know, you really are like a mother to him,” Maxwell cuts off your thoughts.

“Really?”

“Yeah. He cares about you, and he listens to you, and he talks about you even when you’re not around. He’s always asking me if you can stay longer, even though you spend so much time with us already,”

You smile, and your eyes water a bit, “That’s sweet,”

“You’re definitely more fit to be his mom than his real mother is, I’ll say,”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry. Maxwell doesn’t really talk about his relationship with his ex-wife, but from the few comments he does give you can tell she’s not very nice. Supposedly she spends more time with her new boyfriend nowadays instead of paying attention to Alistair, and that alone gets you fuming. Of course you don’t mind the extra days you get to spend with him because of that, but it still kills you on the inside.

“Anyway,” Maxwell sighs. “Want to get some dinner? Your favorite, my treat,”

“Sure,” you nod, attempting to ignore the anxiety boiling.

You’re going out with Maxwell Lord? Just the two of you? Right after Alistair just referred to you as his mom?

Damn.

Surprisingly though, the nerves don’t last very long. Once you’re at your table and start chatting, everything feels natural. The meal and the hours seem to fly by. A few people recognize him and say hello throughout the evening, but most of the time he’s all yours, as if you do this all the time and you’ve been together for years.

“Maxwell, I…” you take a deep breath. It’s now or never. If you don’t tell him during this strange wave of confidence, you probably won’t get the chance again.

“I like you. Shit, I might even love you,” you look down at your plate, not ready to meet his gaze just yet. “You and Alistair are like my family. You guys mean more to me than anyone else, which is crazy, because I never would’ve thought that would happen when you first hired me, but it’s true,”

“Y/N-“

“Wait,” you stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, and it’s okay. If you don’t feel the same I’ll pretend I never said anything and move on,”

“Y/N.” he reaches across the table and grabs your hand. “I love you too,”

“You…” you look down at your hand and back to his eyes. “You do?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “Now, I suppose we’re doing things a little out of order, since you’re now considered Alistair’s mother before there’s been marriage or anything like that,” his head cocks to the side, “But maybe we could consider this our first date and go from there?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “Sounds perfect,”

His face lights up even more, “And don’t worry, I’ll still pay you for your services,”

You shrug, “You could always pay me with fancy dates and kisses,”

“Fantastic idea,” he claps his hands together. “Would you…happen to want to cash some of those kisses in tonight?”

“I would,” you laugh.

He chuckles, bringing your hand to his lips, “I look forward to it, my dear,”

[dalgikiss]

Catch-22 // h. iwaizumi

index

part 9

The smell of coffee is the first thing he notices when he steps past the front door, golden rays of the sunlight coming in through your foyer window and he randomly remembers when you told him your foyer was your favorite room. 

“Your house didn’t change” He comments and you look up from where you were fixing the shoes on the shoe rack. He remembered the summer days when everyone would line up in front of your room in an attempt to wake you up and drag you outside to play volleyball and the festival nights where he’d come pick you up before retrieving everyone else. 

You hand him the house slippers you had affectionately dubbed as his, during his first year. The porcupine on them looks just like your hair Haji! He takes them into his hand and you gesture for him to walk in, dropping your bag by a chair and making your way into your room. 

“You good?” You ask, closing the door behind him and he glances around your room. The post-it’s from Oikawa still littered the space above your desk, stuffed toys Hanamaki had won for you at carnivals strewn on your bed, Matsukawa’s pictures hung up on your wall and Iwaizumi’s clothes he had forgotten about hung on the back of your chair. 

He takes a seat on your desk chair and you flop onto your bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars Oikawa had put on your ceilings in a half assed attempt to decorate your room. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just haven’t hung out with you in a while”

You roll over to your side to face him, “what, you miss me or something?” 

He shrugs, no use in playing it off. You already knew the truth. “Yeah I do”

“Ew, disgusting” 

You let out a yell when he throws your -his actually, but he’ll let you keep it- jacket at you, rolling off the bed in a half assed attempt to protect yourself and land at his feet. He nudges you softly with his foot, hiding his smile when you writhe on the ground like a worm.

“Stop being stupid” He says gruffly. You still for a moment, hands covering your face before barreling towards him, almost toppling him over in your chair. The chair rolls backwards, almost hitting the wall as his feet tried to find purchase on the floor to avoid slipping. His left hand held onto your waist, right hand fumbling for the corner of your desk and you screwed your eyes shut, fisting your hands in the back of his uniform shirt when you felt the chair tipping back. 

Once you realized the chair had never fallen over, thanks to Iwaizumi gripping onto your desk so tightly, the whites of his knuckle showed, you stand up, embarrassed. 

“I literally just said to stop being stupid” 

You’re about to retort that you can’t help it, you lose brain cells whenever you’re with him but his phone vibrates on his desk and you can see a photo of Ryuoko as his wallpaper and everything comes rushing back to you at once. 

You brush your hair away from your face, stepping backwards to create distance from him, berating yourself for falling into old habits so easily. 

Stupid, how could you forget?

He’s not yours, not yours, not yours

Idiot!

 He wheels his way back to your desk, reaching for his phone and you pretend to busy yourself with tidying up your room, rearranging the items on your desks that had shifted and putting away the jacket thrown at you.

“How’s Ryuoko?” You ask softly, hesitantly. 

His fingers still on the screen of his phone when her name is mentioned, but his back is facing you this time so you don’t see the expression on his face and he finishes his text to Oikawa before gruffly answering. 

“Angry” He says

“Oh” You take a pause, unsure of what to say. “Why?”

You

“She said some shitty stuff about you guys and I got kind of upset at her and she got upset with me”

“Ah I see”

The silence that settles over is thick and heavy, neither one of you brave enough to break it. You’re too scared to look up, to see what he looks like and he stares blankly at the photo Matsukawa had taken the summer before school started. 

It’s in front of the convenience store, Hanamaki on Matsukawa’s back, Oikawa on Iwaizumi and you standing in the middle. He smiles faintly when he recalls how the cute photo quickly went wrong when the phone suddenly fell from where it was standing, capturing only how everyone began falling apart and running forward in their attempts to save it. Unfortunately for Matsukawa, his phone screen had cracked that day. 

You seemed happier back then, always laughing, hair ruffling in the summer breeze while you struggled to catch your breath from being strongly encouraged to play volleyball. He could recall the afternoons you fell asleep in his lap, his fingers running through your hair and ears burning red hot. 

Did you like him back then?

Do you even like him now?

Did you ever like him at all?

Was Ryuoko just lying?

He worries his lip in between his teeth, mulling over the questions in his head. It’s him who has enough courage to break the silence leaving you in shock at his words.

“She asked me to choose between her and you guys” 

“Did you make your decision?” 

He shakes his head hard, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “I can’t- I can’t make a decision like this” His head swirls with the idea of not being around the four of you anymore, panic settling into his bones and he shakes his head harder, digging his fingers into his palm so hard he can feel crescent shaped indents forming. 

You watch him, numbness wrapping around your mind at the prospect of not having Iwaizumi around anymore. 

The past few weeks where you’ve forced yourself to stay distant from him were hard enough as it was, every fiber in your being telling you to just talk to him, to bask in his presence and lose yourself under his gaze and reserved smile like you used to but your common sense knew better, keeping you away from him at arm's length distance.

“I can’t lose you guys” He whispers, “I can’t” When he looks up, he’s staring at your downcast form. “Tell me what you’d do, what do you choose?”

Your eyes widen. “You know I can’t answer that for you” 

He stares at you with a look you’ve never seen and it makes you uneasy. Iwaizumi was always easy to read. He doesn’t move from your chair and you don’t move from your spot on the bed, both of you just watching, waiting.

This time it’s you who talks first. 

“What do you want?”

“I want-” It’s like he’s trying to stare into your soul, trying to figure out the answer to your question. “- to be with you guys”

I want to be with you

He rubs his knuckles underneath his thumb, too focused on you to realize he was forming a bruise. Your eyes travel to where his thumb was furiously pushing against his hand and you force yourself to stay in your spot. 

“I want to walk home with Matsukawa and be baited into buying pork buns for Hanamki without hearing Ryuoko complain about not spending time with her. I want to hear Oikawa complaining over something so trivial, it makes me want to knock my head into the walls without Ryuoko whining about how not being with her is a waste” The complaints roll off his tongue like water on a duck’s back and you can only listen to his jumbled rant and watch his normal composure turn red. 

“I like Ryuoko” he says firmly, as though he was trying to convince himself. “I like Ryuoko but she just demands all of my time and talks so badly about my friends and doesn’t listen to me when I say I need to be alone because she takes it the wrong way”

He repeats himself, “I like Ryuoko” and you nod, turning away from him so he doesn’t see the way your face contorts in slight pain when he says it. 

Iwaizumi takes note of your turned head and fake smile and before he can register it, the words are already out of his mouth. 

“Ryuoko said you have a crush on me”

You practically jerk your head to face him again, cheeks burning and ears ringing. “What?” 

It takes him a few moments to recognize what he said, jaw dropping open at his boldness. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that, shit- I’m gonna go” He fumbles for his bag, goodbyes spilling out of his mouth as he backs out of your room. The sound of his footsteps racing down your stairs and the crash of your gate are the only remnants left of him being in your home leaving you to stare blankly at the spot where he once was.

[theshrubbery]

Can I Be Close To You - snowbaz fake dating au ch1

I post this on ao3 but I fancied posting on here too ‘cause I really wanna start taking snowbaz writing requests and stuff but for that I figured I should post stuff first haha

SIMON

Baz is plotting something. I just know he is. I don’t care what Penny says, Baz is always plotting something and no one can persuade me otherwise. Understandably, after the last few times I’ve been sure that Baz was plotting against me and nothing actually happened, Penny has long since lost her faith in my judgement of him. Not that Penny really likes him all that much herself either anyways.

Baz is my roommate here at Watford, and he’s the poshest shitbag I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Though meeting really is putting it lightly, really we were forced together back in our first year, forced to become roommates for the rest of our careers at Watford. Fan-fucking-tastic that was, best bloody day of my life, as if I hadn’t already felt like I’d been thrown in somewhere I didn’t belong, I just had to be shoved into an eight-year rooming contract with the richest twat in the entire school.

Watford is a pretty elite school, I think it’s militant at times but Penny drools over the place, thinks it’s the bread and butter of the entire academic world. I only got in through a scholarship I didn’t even want. The headmaster of the school scouted me from care when I was eleven after news got around about my successive high marks in all my schoolwork. The headmaster all but adopted me then took me in as his young prodigy with promises of a better life and the expectation that I was probably going to grow up to cure cancer, or something like that.

This entire school is entirely out of my league, full of rich, elitist people from rich, elitist families, who’d all likely burst an artery if they knew I was here—the headmaster had kept it under wraps, had secretly enrolled me a few days before term started and sent me on my merry way to the Hell that is sharing a room with Tyrannus Basilton Grim-Pitch. Yes. That is his real name. What a git.

Back to my point, though, I am actually, genuinely, positive that Baz is plotting something this time. He’s always watched me when he thinks I’m not looking (seriously, who does he think I am to leave my guard down around him, my sworn enemy, of course I notice him staring at me) but now it feels like he’s watching me with a purpose. His face twists up as though he has something to say but he just can’t get it out. It looks painful enough that I almost want to snap around and face him when he looks at me like that, I want to demand to know what he’s thinking if only to put him out of that misery. Or something like that, I guess.

“Baz isn’t plotting anything, Simon,” Penny says as we sit down at a table in the cafeteria for breakfast. I roll my eyes and pick up a small roll of bread, biting a chunk out of it with my teeth and replying with my mouth still full of food. No matter how many times Penny tells me off for this, I just can’t seem to break the habit. Although that seems to imply that I try—which I don’t.

“You don’t see the way he looks at me, Pen.” I swallow my mouthful of bread and lather a thick chunk of butter across the remains in my hands, then I eat that, too. “We’ve only been back a couple weeks but I can already feel the murderous intent. I keep catching him staring at me like he’s just waiting for the right moment to take me down.”

“Simon, are you sure Baz sees you as his enemy?” Penny asks me, raising her eyebrow skeptically as I reach for another bread roll and begin to slather it in butter. I’m ravenous.

“Of course,” I say, probably a little too loudly. “Literally, Pen, how many times has he tried to take me down? Remember when he pushed me down that flight of stairs?”

“I mean, that was kind of both your faults, really, Simon.” Penny gives me a pointed look and flips her thick hair over her shoulder. “I literally don’t know what you were expecting, fighting at the top of the stairs like that.”

“I mean the fight started in our room,” I tell her. I can’t understand how Penny doesn’t realise how blatantly obvious it is that Baz is out for my blood. “He’s the one that pushed me through our door and onto the landing. I bet that was his plan all along! To get me to the edge of the stairs and then punch me so I fell down!”

“Yeah. Or, he just got in a lucky punch. You didn’t see how sick he looked after he realised what he’d done.”

“Probably thinking about the court charges and prison sentences when he realised he actually almost killed me.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Simon.” Penny pats my arm across the table from where she sits opposite me almost sarcastically. “I’m sure he has better people to kill than you.”

“I don’t understand him at all,” I huff, reaching to pull a plate of bacon sandwiches towards me. I’m halfway through my second one when I see Baz enter the cafeteria through the heavy-set wooden doors at the far end of the room over Penny’s shoulder and I almost choke at the surprise, coughing embarrassingly loudly. My eyes burn and water as Penny runs around my side of the table and begins thumping me, way too hard I shall add, on the back in an attempt to get me to breathe again. The chunk of sandwich that was lodged in my throat flies back up into my mouth and I take a deep, heaving breath as I chew and swallow it down properly. Penny looks at me with the most hilariously disgusted face I think I have ever seen.

“You are actually disgusting, Simon Snow,” she says as she sits back down. I give her a smile in apology but Baz catches my attention.

Baz looks at me and snickers, quite clearly, at my reaction to his entering the room, though when he realises I’m watching, he immediately tampers down and pretends he’s simply amused at something one of his minions said (because I highly doubt a guy like Baz has anything other than minions, forget friends). For a moment I think Baz is going to ignore me after that initial surprise of seeing me staring straight back at him, but instead he chooses to sit the table behind ours, facing me, clearly in my line of vision. It’s as though he wants me to see him, or he wants to see me. For more of his fucking creepy stalking, I presume.

It’s a nightmare to go to class after that, knowing full well that Baz was going to be there and knowing full well I’d be sat right next to him at my desk. I suppose it’s better than it used to be in the younger years, when the tables were pushed together to form groups of six students at each. Now we’re older, they’re arranged in straight lines down the room, so rather than bashing elbows with Baz we now have an arms-length between us.

Not that it was my choice to sit here, stupid schools and their stupid seating plans, it’s a wonder I ever survived English with Baz breathing right next to me the entire time, writing in his posh, cursive handwriting and making my scrawl look illegibly pathetic.

Now, as I enter the class, Baz is already there, sitting straight at his desk and managing to look somehow both attentive and bored. He notices me as I enter, I see one of his crossed legs twitch beneath the table and his jaw suddenly clench. I see it from the other side of the room when he swallows and looks pointedly away from me.

I don’t know whether he’s humiliated at me having caught him laughing at me, or whether he’s finally got tired of trying to plot against me but whatever it is, I feel oddly lost without it. Having an enemy like Baz, someone always a step ahead, gives me a reason to get up in the morning. Because if I don’t get up I’m almost positive Baz would smother me with a pillow and my death would be pathetic rather than heroic. And although I don’t really think that Baz would murder me, I don’t like to take chances like that where I can help it.

The lesson passes the same as usual, in a hazy blur. I take notes but only because if I don’t keep my grades up I’ll lose my scholarship and be sent back to a god-awful care home, but I barely take any of the information in, I’m far too conscious of Baz today, even-more-so than usual. Something just seems off with him, though I don’t have the slightest idea what. He keeps glancing over at me, fidgeting, writing out notes only to stop mid-sentence and push his pen hard into the paper of his glaringly empty page.

Baz keeps running a hand through his hair, too, and I can’t help the swirling of anger in my gut when I think he must be copying me. I’ve known Baz for eight years, lived with him for nine months of the year each time, but I’ve never known him to be the type to fidget and muss his hair up. The great Basilton Pitch was always exceptionally put-together, if only to lord it over the rest of us peasants, always neat and tidy and always making out like nothing was wrong, even when I hear him sobbing in our en-suite shower at the end of the day when he thinks I’m not in the room.

At the end of the lesson he’d looked over at me like he’d forgotten I had eyes and could look right back. His face had coloured, a deep red against the bronze of his skin (Baz had inherited his looks off his mother, apparently, and she was Egyptian), and he’d gathered his things, stuffing them in his leather satchel, and left the room in a hurry.

I don’t see Baz for the rest of the day until last lesson, history, though he doesn’t sit anywhere near me, thank God. Despite this though, I still can’t concentrate, not with the knowledge that Baz is in the room. It doesn’t matter how many other people fill up the room, Baz is pompous enough to make me feel like it’s just the two of us. Everyone else feels like an extra in our on-going battle. I make as many notes as I can, fill out the worksheets the teacher hands out to the best of my ability despite the churning in my stomach that tells me something is wrong, probably warning me that Baz is going to have me as soon as we’re out of lesson, he’s probably itching to fight me like we haven’t in years. We’re long overdue, really. But instead, rather than a fight, Baz volunteers to collect the worksheets for the teacher, and he leaves me until last.

My heart thrums as he gets nearer, the adrenaline beginning to surge through my veins at the prospect of another fight with him. Baz stands there, in front of my desk, the stack of stapled worksheets cradled in the crook of his arm and balanced on his hip as he looks uncomfortably down at me. Baz is taller than me, by at least three inches, so he loves to remind me, and to meet my eyes he has to lower that smug chin.

“Snow,” Baz says, pursing his lips. I panic and try to come up with something clever.

“Actually it’s raining,” I stupidly say instead. Baz huffs at me, shifts where he stands, and sucks his lips into his mouth as he looks out the window to confirm, letting the lower one slip through his teeth as he releases them. He looks back to me.

“Astute observation, Snow, you complete bloody moron.” Baz’s voice is flat and biting and it makes me want to punch him.

“What do you want, Baz?” I ask him, leaning forwards in my chair.

“Your worksheets,” answers Baz, holding out a well-cared-for hand. I make to give him my sheets but then yank them back at the last second, enjoying the grimace Baz gives me. I’m pretty sure I almost hear him growl.

“No,” I smirk. “What do you actually want?” Baz looks almost dumbfounded for a moment, like I’d asked him to reveal all his deepest darkest secrets, like I’d found something out he didn’t want me to know. Then his features settle again and he snatches the paper out my hand.

“Just meet me back in our room after lesson, I need to talk to you about something.”

“What do you mean? You’re not meant to tell your enemy your plans for murder, that just takes all the fun out of it.”

“Fuck—Snow, just—” Baz shakes his head and slams my paper down into the pile at his hip, already turning to storm away as he composes himself. “Just be there, okay? This is important.”

Baz doesn’t catch me giving him the middle finger as he walks away, but the teacher does, which is really just my luck, and I’m glad that Penny isn’t in this class with me to laugh at my misfortune.

“You want me to what?” I shout, incredulous. Did I actually just hear what I thought I heard with my very own two ears? I know that I’m prone to idiocy, I zone out a lot, mishear, all of that, but seriously. If I thought being caught giving Baz the finger was misfortune, I must have been stupid. This right here is misfortune.

“You heard me,” Baz says, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed as though he expects me to try and break free, escape, run and never come back. Honestly, I really am fucking considering it.

“I swear to God,” I say with a humourless laugh, running a hand down my face, the other propping me up on the bed. “I knew you were plotting something, Baz, but this? This just takes the fucking cake. Are you serious?”

“Yes, Snow, I am serious, and I’d appreciate it if you’d start treating it as such.”

“You told your dad. You have a boyfriend. To get under his skin. And it completely backfired?”

“Correct.” It looks like it pains Baz to admit it. Good.

“And now you want me  to pretend to be your boyfriend over half term at your house?”

“I always thought you were ignorant but I guess your ears do work after all, very well done, Snow,” Baz says patronisingly. The sound of his voice irks me and I all I want to do is refuse. But… there’s something in Baz’s face that tells me there’s more to this than meets the eye. I hate Baz, really I do, but I can’t stand to see him looking so vulnerable. I still don’t know how to answer him though, and the silence in the room is making the atmosphere heavy.

“You’re gay?” I ask instead of replying. I never considered that Baz could be gay, he always has girls fawning over him. My own girlfriend, Agatha, left me for a shot at Baz last year though that wound is long closed, I’m not sure me and Agatha were ever meant to be together in the first place. Still, though, having her leave me to throw herself at the enemy was a kick to the balls. I never understood why Baz had always turned all these girls down, he could probably have his pick of any of the girls in our year if he so wanted to (except Penny, because Penny both hates Baz and already has a boyfriend, Micah, who lives in America) so this really would explain it.

“Entirely,” Baz confirms with a nod. “Absolutely, one-hundred percent. You?”

“I…” I’ve never actually thought about it, and I can’t think of the right answer to say before Baz interrupts me.

“If you do this I promise I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

“Like you’d kill me anyways, it would be too much paperwork and shame to your family name.”

“Simon,” Baz says, and I can’t help but give him my full attention at that. “Please. Just do me this one favour. I’ll do whatever you want after the week is up, I’ll leave you alone or whatever the fuck it is you want from me. Just do me this one favour and don’t make me a fool before my father.”

“You’re a fool anyways,” I murmur under my breath, unable to help myself. I look up at Baz, really taking him in, and I realise just how serious this is to him, it feels like unnecessary cruelty to say no. Who knows what he might do to me if I refuse to help him. And besides… how bad could it really be? Jesus Christ I can’t believe I’m even thinking of doing this in the first place, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“I’ll do it,” I say, and Baz’s head snaps up so fast he hits it against the door. He looks at me, wide-eyed, like he’d already been planning his escape from his family and which country to start his new life in. I don’t know why this is such a big deal to Baz, but I suppose I’ll find out. At least I’ll get to see if he lives in a stupid mansion like I’ve always pictured he does.

BAZ

My stomach bottoms out when Snow agrees. I’d never actually expected him too. Christ above, I’m fake-dating Simon bloody Snow. I almost feel guilty that he doesn’t know how badly I want him, that he’s giving me everything I’ve ever craved in the cruellest way possible. It’s selfish, really, that I’m taking him for granted like this, but there’s no-one else I can trust enough. Maybe that’s because I’ve been hopelessly in love with Snow for years, but it doesn’t matter. At least for a week, I’ll have a taste of what could be, in a different life, I can look into those blue eyes and stroke that golden hair under the guise of fake-love, and when the week is up, I can come back to Watford and die of heartache over what could have been.

[bayern-moni]

Ship Asks: El Cid x Mine

Author's little den: This is dedicated to @lamaquego that 4 months and 10 days ago asked me to write for her a fanfiction about these two characters and how their "love story" would unfold in a less unforgiving AU than canon. I have to say sorry to you because I'm not able to fulfill that promise, I tried but in this period just can't bring myself to write anything more than these posts, which are a sort of relief for me. So, this is for you, in exchange for that fanfiction that, like that love story, never was. I really hope you can like it 😁

For all the others who just read this post, enjoy it and spread word of this nice ship 👍

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(AU: Mine lives after the Gaiden's events)

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How would they describe each other to loved ones who haven’t met their partner yet?

El Cid: "She was a friend a long time ago. No, perhaps it was more than that. She was my favorite rival" (To Lacaille). Apart from that, don't be fooled by her elegant appearance, she was and still is an incorrigible pest.

Mine: The most stubborn man I have ever met! Although he seems quite intimidating at first sight with his sharp looks, he's quite funny to poke fun at. It was one of the few past times I had back then when the three of us lived together in that forest house.

(Don't trust if he says mean things about me, it's only envy)

How do they let their loved ones know they are dating?

They don't. Nobody cared if these two were comfortable enough to convey the news, because their "loved ones" just knew. Felser had called it since the very beginning and I mean it. Little Sasha had started sparkling with joy and didn't shut up about it for days, always trying (and failing) to stalk the couple. She was too happy that El Cid finally decided to have a life. Sisyphus became insufferable for the same reasons. Instead, the others never suspected anything: the doubt about capricorn having feelings at all was like a huge ham over their eyes.

Who still blushes when their partner compliments them?

You'd never guess it ;)

Who is most likely to check how their day is going?

When they were little kids training to reach the perfect blade, each in their own way, both often happened to forget about things like time etc... So the one that made sure nobody fainted from exhaustion was Felser. Then, growing up, the situation stayed the same got a little better. Now, Mine worked consistently less than him having left behind the obsession her dream had turned to, now she worked as sword-maker/sharpener in Rodorio -sometimes she even gave lessons to Lacaille-, but surprisingly El Cid is the one writing her more often asking for things like how the day at work is going, or just to hearing her complain about her clients. Mine writes more about the lines of "Did you remember to sleep this week between the trainings, you Spanish stakhanovite?"

(ok, the anachronism is necessary here)

Who gets jealous easiest?

None of them.

Who is the happy morning person and who is grumpy and just wants to go back to bed?

Starting from the fact that a "happy morning person" is more than not an aberration of nature (Kardia's words), the answer is that both are the grumpy type of morning people. Both Mine and El Cid are used to wake up to go and train at the crack of dawn since they were kids, but it doesn't mean they are happy about it. She is the one who complains loudly about it, but go ask Dohko what happens if he practices his new instrument at the early hours of the day. If you dare, I mean.

Who takes the longest to get ready and who is the most tidy and organised

Both are most tidy and organized, but El Cid reached a pathological level at it.

What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

Mine is annoyed by his self destructive training schedule because she sees it is eating at him and plus they rarely get to spend a lot of time with each other because of it, but differently from Sysyphus and the others she does understand his motives and drive to become the holy blade himself. She literally consumed her whole soul for a similar goal, after all. She wouldn't change anything, though. Not even his emotional constipation.

El Cid could list a very long list of pranks that annoyed him. But nothing about her specifically. Only the fact that she let herself corrupt her noble dream in a demonic obsession. But he does not put it against her. It wasn't her fault, after all, she didn't want it, it just happened.

Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt?

First of all, they don't even know what a t-shirt is. Secondly, she mostly wears women' kimonos (and quite revealing, now that we're at it), so I don't think it's a great mystery why they don't possibly exchange their clothes. Even if once Mine tried to bribe him during a bet, obviously, he vehemently refused and nothing could be done about it. Mine, instead, just doesn't like shirts.

Who plays pranks on the other?

Once, Mine used to sing in the shower with a very awfully shrieking voice with the sole goal of annoying his partner, who just happened to be a very light sleeper at the 3 am. Then, they were reported to the local police and she reluctantly stopped much to his relief.

Who says ‘I love you’ first?

El Cid. The trauma of seeing her revived as Phobetor's illusion and being forced to fight her to death broke every ounce of restraint left. As soon as they found each other again (because it's my AU and I can), that was the first thing he said. He couldn't take other blows on his too fragile heart. Risking waiting too much until she'd slip from his grasp again was out of question. By the way, he almost canonically said it in the end of the Gaiden so it's not too farfetched. She obviously understood this urgency and was delighted to declare that now they could really love and care for each other openly. In a real relationship. Then, she demanded a date, but this is another story.

Their reaction to the other beating them at something

Mine beats him at something: She gloats for the rest of the month, he's extremely annoyed and his pride battered, but he refuses to show it externally. If someone pokes him for it, though, he's met with a truly icy glare.

El Cid beats her at something: He looks like it couldn't go otherwise, Mine screams at him for a hour because he supposedly had cheated and then plans her revenge with Sasha. Because she embodies fair play.

Their favourite activity to do together

Talking about their shared dream and challenge each other at who reached the best results and showing their progresses.

The song that describes them the best

The Calling - Wherever you will go

Which one is most likely to get arrested?

Mine, definitely.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror?

He's too mature for these things, she'd instead rather use more refined method of writing. Like a good old note written in bloodlike tomato sauce saying "Remember to go to the grocery store", or something like that, to make him have a heart attack in the morning. She says it wakes you up like nothing else. He just see them with a raised eyebrow.

One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Reality

One headcanon about this OTP that mends it (or the plot of the fanfiction I should've written but couldn't)

Mine doesn't disappear when Phobetor is defeated and the mirage of Catalania turns out to be just that, an illusion. Instead, she finds herself to have been really revived by the dream god's power, much to both her and his breathtaking happiness. It's something none of them even dared to dream, the possibility of having a future, even if the prospect of the Holy War still stood as a Damocles's blade on their neck. Lacaille just becomes their self-proclaimed adopted son, no matter how much El Cid protested that it was ridiculous (she supported him, btw). They arrive at the Sanctuary where she is immediately welcomed with a mix of curiosity and respect by most of its saints. Curiosity because nobody ever saw a Japanese woman and she not even was a saint. Respect because nobody in their right mind had ever imagined El Cid of all people bring a woman between them, so she had to be really special. However, she is friendly with everyone and soon becomes friend of Sysyphus (their favorite topic of complain about El Cid's habits) and then, the little Sasha when she was brought there a couple of years later. The girl was delighted to be with another woman, just like she was with Calbera. After the war, El Cid survives, always because I can, but he's affected in daily life by the loss of his dominant arm and just doubles his training schedule for making up to his handicap, although Mine herself often berates him for it worried about him. Sasha is deeply saddened to see his inability to adjust to a life that doesn't involve war and death and orders to both of them to go and live their lives together in any place they want, like free and ordinary people who deserve to live happily after all they were put through. Like she did with Yuzuriha and Yato in Jamir. Both understood it and tried to do their best to fulfill the goddess's wish, even if life isn't always without problems. They did manage to get a happy life together and that's what is important.

Asks weird questions in the middle of the night

Sysyphus. If it were a modern AU, he'd be the typical insecure friend who phones you at ungodly hours of the night to ask you advice about his problems. And El Cid would be the friend who at first would answer it (because it could be something important) and then leaving the phone in the fridge until the call expires. Mine just would be amused at their antics and frustrated her sleep was interrupted.

Who can't keep their hands to themselves?

Phantaso

What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Ask Felser if you really want to know. It's your only hope, because their lips are sealed shut on mutual accord.

First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

Absolutely not (they both nod). When they first met they had a strange impression of each other, like the other was an alien, staring with a confusingly fascinated air that made Felser to chuckle, amused.

She was a Japanese little girl, so lithe and short that made people doubt she was that age, with strange red eyes that he had never seen before (he'd see them again only when Tenma'll cross his way). But after the initial surprise, he descovered she was a mischievous little pest, who loved getting him exasperated only for the satisfaction of snatching a reaction out of him, with the complicity of the oldest of them. But her dedication to her work as a sword sharpener was truly something to look up to. He really believed she'd manage to create the perfect blade infusing her soul in it, like he was trying to do to his body.

To her, instead, he had seemed like a little crow. A scrawny vampire-like-pallid kid with eyes too sharp and old for his age, too responsible and silent, the perspective of spending years training together seemed boring at the time. But his accent was funny, like he tried very hard to get rid of it and learning their common language, just the way she did with hers (in the meanwhile it was Felser who translated for them). As it was his grumpiness in the morning or the fact he was so unused to gentleness that the moment he received a good word or gesture immediately clung to it like a lifeline. But still, he was too rigid, even for her who was the same. A perfect Nagagire who needed her to enliven his brutal training sessions. After all, she's sure the best holy sword would be hers, but who says she can't have some fun in the process?

No, it definitely wasn't love at first sight. But despite the beginning, they gradually recognized in each other such a determination, a desire to go beyond their maximum limit, the same burning, inextinguishable, complementary dream both lived to fulfill (together, possibly) that attracted them like a magnet. The very Catalania was the tangible proof of that.

Does their work ever interfere with the relationship?

Read: Why do they need to have a serious chat?

[tableforonechaoscrew]

Tem + all 50 this or that q's if you feel up to it 💕💕

• Hot or cold shower?

Hot shower! Usually super hot. Honestly I'd prefer baths though - Tem

• Summer or winter?

Summer, can't be barefoot in the winter 'less you live someplace warm year round. - Tem

• Typically boyish style or typically girlish style?

Um- I guess typically girlish? I don't know. I wear a lot of skirts? - Tem

• Night owl or Early bird?

Night owl, I'm not good at early mornings since i have trouble sleeping. - Tem

• Full breakfast or ‘grab a bite and run’?

... i forget about breakfast as a concept. - Tem

• Easily panicked or always chill?

Uhhhhh usually chill! But I'm a lil anxious about things - Tem

• Coffee or Tea?

Both! - Tem

• Dogs or Cats?

Cats! But i also like snakes and frogs - Tem

• Writing or reading?

READING, god i love reading -Tem

• Movies or TV shows?

Mmmm depends on the mood - Tem

• Outside or inside?

Outside~ - Tem

• Overprepared or underprepared?

Overprepared i think - Tem

• Sunny weather or rainy weather?

Both!! - Tem

• Being surrounded by people or being alone?

Being alone, or have a select few around - Tem

• 12-hour clock or 24-hour clock?

12-hour clock! I can't understand a 24-hour clock. - Tem

• Instagram or Snapchat?

Snapchat! - Tem

• Study over a period of time or last-minute cram?

Ummmmmmmmmmm probably study over a long period of time. Although I'm not a fan of academics. - Tem

• Text or call?

Both? I only like calling people i know, or when people i care about call me. Otherwise no phone calls. - Tem

• Driving license or not?

Not! - Tem

• Cake or biscuit?

Cake i suppose, preferably vanilla or red velvet - Tem

• Water or juice?

I drink more water than juice, but i drink juice when I'm sad. - Tem

• Says it how it is or keeps their mouth shut?

Say how it is, I'm not likely to sugar coat things. - Tem

• Always runs out of charge or always keeps a charger on them?

Keeps a charger on me! Gotta be prepared because Esme is never prepared. - Tem

• Read the whole book in one sitting or take a year to finish it?

Whole book in one sitting~ Many books in one sitting. - Tem

• Climb the stairs or take the lift?

Uhhhhhhhhhh no real preference. - Tem

• Apple or Samsung?

Samsung - Tem

• Write on paper or type it out?

Type it out! But I'll write letters by hand. - Tem

• Does the assignment as soon as it’s set or does it in the lesson it’s supposed to be handed in?

I'm really in between to be honest.  - Tem

• Love at first sight or get to know them?

Get to know them! But probably crush at first sight. - Tem

• Use a hairdryer or let it air dry?

Air dry! - Tem

• Converse or Vans?

Vans, if i have to wear shoes. - Tem

• Order the same meal or something new every time?

Something different usually, but always a safe food that I'm comfortable with, unless i get recommendations from friends. - Tem

• Listens to the album as the tracklisting or shuffles it?

I hate shuffle, i just kinda pick and choose tbh. - Tem

• Hits on strangers or cries because they’ll never meet again?

Neither??? - Tem

• Believes in fate or takes it into their own hands?

I believe in fate, or I'd like to at least - Tem

• Believes that ‘Sex should be in a bed’ or that ‘Quickies are cool too’?

Um.. I'm not.. I'm not comfortable with these kind of questions. - Tem

• Ace at tidying or has a literal dumpsite in their house/room?

I'm moderately messy! My room is generally tidy, but my tarot cards and stuff are kinda all over the place. - Tem

• Marmite or Peanut butter?

Neither, but if i have to choose, Peanut Butter. - Tem

• Rap or rock?

Rock! But I'm more of an indie music person - Tem

• PJ’s or naked? ;)

.... - Tem

• Puts others first or ‘every man for himself’?

Put others first usually. - Tem

• Bus or Train?

Train - Tem

• Pen or Pencil?

I like pencils! They can erase. - Tem

• Candles or Febreeze?

Candles my beloved - Tem

• Notes or flashcards?

Notes! I make lots of them! - Tem

• Chocolate or candy?

Uhhh depends on the mood i guess? - Tem

• Phone camera or digital cameras?

Film cameras.. Digital if i have to, but i love developing film. - Tem

• Card or Cash payment?

Card. - Tem

• Smiles in every photo or ignores the camera?

Uhhhhhhh, i guess both. - Tem

• Likely to read this whole post or skip past?

Likely to read the whole post. - Tem

[scorpiosanssexy]

(2/2) I sleep late and I wake up like 30 minutes before class starts lol. I sleep with all the lights off like a true psycopath. I already had like two roommates before, and I really hated the second one. She was super dirty and printed shit at night, so it was so damn noisy and I couldn't sleep. Hence, I resorted dipping both of her toothbrush in the toilet bowl. She lasted two weeks as my roommate.

(disclaimer: Tumblr must have deleted part 1 of your ask but don’t worry i had read through it before finishing your matchup)

congratulations, we have found you a potenial roommate. We have throughly looked through your application and we are hope you are happy with your result. Below this post are all the details about them.

Yours Sincerely

The Accomodation Team

Name: Suna Rintarou 

 Birthday: 25th January (Aqaurius) 

MBTI type: ISTP

Firstly, you will have not have to worry about any noise when it comes to this roommate.

Suna usually spends most of his time at home painting he gives me artist vibes ok. and needs total silence to do so, which you definitely appreciate Also, he is an Aquarius so he can appreciate your Gemini wit and you can understand his aloof nature really well

because you have the same MBTI type you ways in which you guys can make decisions (in regards to the apartment) will be very similar so conflict levels will be low

Suna can cook and will cook meals for you when you have a hard day, they won’t be anything fancy, his signature dish being miso soup Just imagine you guys eating miso soup in the winter

Suna is a relatively tidy person, you might find the odd paintbrush on the counter but he only forgets to put things away when he is tired.

Also, his sleep schedule is slightly cursed however he seems to be managing quite fine, he will encourage you to sleep if he sees you are exhausted

He found it hilarious when you told him the story of your old roommate and his tempted to prank Atsumu with your trick

You guys are the roommates that will write passive-aggressive notes on your neighbour’s door if they are being too loud or even call the police to break up parties whilst sipping some wine

He is also the same when it comes to waking up, you are both bond overdrinking some coffee and running to class

The Miya twins will be around quite often, you and Osamu get on really well because you are blunt and straight to the point, he always prepares you guys meals for the week, which you too are quite grateful for

thanks to Suna you have coupons to his little onigiri shop

Atsumu is another story.......

Suna has personally banned him from entering the apartment

you guys do bully him a bit

his nickname to you guys is Sangwoo

yes Suna introduced you to Killing Stalking

Whenever he comes around he does like to flirt with you (Suna’s really hot roommate) but I can imagine you literally roast him alive

Suna and Osamu are in love lol

The four of you just play Mario karts once every month (Atsumu loses every time)

Suna loves Howl Moving Castle so you guys watch it together a lot (his favourite character is Calciifer)

he says the Miya twins are not his friends but they are awww

Your home space is surprisedly stylish

Thanks to you loving to keep a clean space and Suna’s paintings you have a really avant-garde place

Atsumu insists it’s the perfect place to have parties but you too are like noooo, loud noises and mess no thank you

Overall you have a sassy, reliable and creative roommate

Other Potential Matches: Kunimi Akira or Iwaizumi Hajime

Feel Free to request as the askbox is still open

[aroworlds]

What Makes Us Human, Part Two

Moll of Sirenne needs prompts in their girdle book to navigate casual conversations, struggles to master facial expressions and feels safest weeding the monastery's vegetable gardens. Following their call to service, however, means offering wanderers in need a priest's support and guidance. A life free of social expectation to court, wed and befriend does outweigh their fear of causing harm—until forgetting the date of a holiday provokes a guest's ire and three cutting words: lifeless and loveless.

A priest must expand a guest's sense of human worth, but what do they do when their own comes under question? Can an autistic, aromantic priest ever expect to serve outside the garden? And what day is it...?

Contains: A middle-aged, agender priest set on defying social norms around love; an alloromantic guest with a journey to undergo in conquering her amatonormativity and ableism; and an elderly aromantic priest providing irascible reassurance.

Content Advisory: Depictions and discussions of ableism, amatonormativity and dehumanisation, particularly with regards to autism and aromanticism. Please expect additional background references to partner abuse and dysfunctional relationships, along with a side mention of magic causing harm to animals. This piece also includes reflections on non-romantic love's being pushed as a second-best "humanising" quality on non-partnerning, aplatonic and neurodiverse aros.

Length: 4, 946 words (part one of two).

Note: This is the newest entry in my tradition of Not Valentine’s Day Aro Stories posted on Valentine’s Day. No familiarity with my other Marchverse stories is needed, although it does obliquely nod at events referenced in Love is the Reckoning.

Will you ignore their need of someone their own to reassure them that they are so wonderfully and deservedly human?

Moll checks that she follows and, wordlessly, heads towards the guest common room. Their heart thrums in their chest; they fight to slow their heaving ribs. What will they do if Gennifer isn’t finished with what caused her to miss breakfast? What if … shades, can’t they send an acolyte to find her or Oki? Waiting with James won’t lack unpleasantness, but Moll needn’t engage her in conversation. They can keep their silence while a brown-robe hunts down a senior priest.

Breathe.

For good or ill, they are both decided to follow a new path.

Gennifer, fortunately, sits in one of several armchairs, frowning down at the ledger in her lap. Two acolytes tidying feel more like shadows than occupants in a vast room of redwood tables and bookshelves, all crammed with books, games, paper, pencils and paints. Pots filled with trailing ferns hang from the high rafters, lending the room a touch of Sirenne’s soil-and-leaflitter scent; the large slate tiles, polished smooth and set close together, feel cool under Moll’s bare feet. Large windows reveal the gardens between wings, permitting light enough that demarcations of “outside” and “inside” lose relevance.

She closes the book and looks up, her thick brows raised. Moll has long learnt better than to voice these observations, but Gennifer resembles her pet chicken—a round, fat woman with nut-brown skin and hair, the latter trimmed to a fine fuzz covering her scalp and neck. The red robes, belted with an advising priest’s green sash, pick up the reddish tinge in the hen’s feathers; the neat way she tucks her arms at her sides, her hands drawn up by her chest, resembles the hen’s wings. No quality will so provoke this comparison if not for Gennifer’s mothering of anyone, guest or priest, she judges in need.

“May we converse in private?” Moll asks, turning their head to ensure that James follows them into the room. “Thank you.”

She stands a few paces off, tucking her hand—the tip of one finger smeared with her lip paint—behind her back.

The acolytes down their books and retreat to the hallway.

“What is it?” Gennifer waves at the chair opposite her table. “Sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea? A biscuit?”

“No. James has the opinion … that I can’t relate to their experiences. She wishes the guidance of another priest.” Only a lifetime of practice allows Moll to keep their voice flat and calm. “I don’t wish to cause her any further distress, so I ask that you assign her to someone of a more … suitable nature.”

Only the slightest shift of brow mars Gennifer’s quiet smile. “I see. Is this the case, James?”

How can Gennifer, as careful and controlled as most of Sirenne’s priests, so evade accusations of lifelessness? What difference exists between her expression and theirs? Why can’t Moll see, recognise and imitate it?

James hesitates for long enough that Moll wonders if she’s beset by a change of heart, but at length she nods and takes the offered chair. “Yes. Please. They don’t even know what day it is! They just ask pointless question after question, all stiff and wooden. How am I supposed to get anywhere with a priest that remembers nothing normal?”

She doesn’t mention, Moll thinks with a nauseating bitterness, that she accused all priests of such ignorance. They may not know what the date means, how better to have approached James’s guiding or why only Gennifer’s questions are worth answering, but they know one thing: their control teeters on collapse’s edge.

They bow, turn and stride to the doorway.

“It’s difficult,” Gennifer says with a non-committal softness, “to feel as though—”

Moll quickens their step, their red robes flapping about their calves. Another pair of acolytes enter the hallway, stop and abruptly reverse direction as though afraid to tangle with a priest in a temper. They fist their hands until their fingers ache, but their shoulders shake and their chest heaves. Why did they entertain the delusion that their thick, autistic body, with its oversized hands and stern face, can ever be anything but threatening?  

How much more damage need they cause before accepting the truth?

The feel of grass beneath their soles and the strengthening of the rich damp-earth smell tells Moll that they’ve left the building for one of the gardens. Rows of mulched corn, peas and beans grow in a sunny section of the monastery, angled away from the greenhouse. The gardens weren’t their intention, at least insofar that they possessed any, but a riot of unwanted seedlings sprout from the pea straw’s seeds, diverting water and nutrients from the vegetables. The acolytes are a few days behind in their weeding. Good enough.  

Moll—ignored by the priest and guests tending the greenhouse’s tomatoes—grabs a bucket and a trowel, kneels by the first pea-festooned trellis and starts pulling up weeds.

There’s no glamour in weeding, no proud presentation of the literal fruits of one’s labour. New weeds poke through the soil and mulch almost as soon as one finishes, and, as in laundry and dishwashing, Moll never finds the satisfaction of conclusion. A garden always provides distraction, however, and nobody stopped to marvel at a quartermaster’s labour. Why expect it now?

Peace, instead, lies in the feel of damp earth clinging to bare feet, the patter of water falling on green leaves, the smell of sun warming soil and straw, the pop as a root pulls free from its earthen cradle. Moll’s trembling fingers fight to gently prise weeds from the bed and shake soil from their roots, but they put their rage into their shoulder as they hurl each into the bucket left at the end of the row.

Pull, shake, throw.

Pop, patter, thwack.

Isn’t this suitable work? If their labour allows Gennifer to guide James by providing the food eaten by priests, acolytes and guests, how aren’t they following their calling?

Pop, patter, smack.

“Do all of those require pulling?”

They jerk, straighten and turn, started to find the Guide sitting in her wheelchair only an arm’s length distant, her attendant idling with a book at the other end of the row. She’s a small woman with white hair gone yellow, sunken cheeks and bony limbs; “elderly” suggests more youth than she shows. Her green robe, belted with red, catches the light through some trickery of weave; a darker green blanket, knit from witched wool, sits over her lap, although the summer warmth permits her to bare both marked shoulders. A ball of yarn, two knitting needles and a toe and heel in progress rests in the valley between her knees. Based on Moll’s infrequent glimpses of her work about the monastery, she too prefers her hands busy, perhaps despite her swollen knuckles.

She looks like a stiff breeze will blow her out of her chair, but she reminds Moll of a century-dead tree, its roots grown so deep that its trunk and limbs survive drought and cyclone.

They drop their plant and, suddenly aware of their aching shoulders and back, bow to Sirenne’s most senior priest.

“Oh, stop. Sit up and stay sit up. Sat up? Whatever.” The Guide sighs and peers down at Moll. “Aren’t your back and knees breaking? I’m hurting just looking at you.”

Moll realises then that they’ve worked down the row and halfway across the bed. Small bits of seed and gravel dig into their knees through the thin linen of their summer robe; their legs, beset with an unnatural stiffness, fight their attempts to sit. “I’m sorry, sir, for my unsupp—”

The Guide raises both hands and claps her fingers to her thumb in the gesture meant to indicate a bird’s opening beak—usually made to mock a person prone to gossip. If she owns something as ordinary as a shroudname, Moll has never heard it mentioned. She’s just the Guide, the leader of her flock on their journey to … well, the Sojourner isn’t the sort of god that provides clarity. No bright heaven or dark hell; just the bewildering grey of somewhere.  

Moll dislikes those vague, unspecific words.

“I’m sorry for abandon—”

She repeats the gesture several times, fingertip smacking against thumb.

“I’m … sorry?”

Moll has heard the monastery’s gossip about the Guide, but they didn’t expect … well, this.

“Stop it with the drivel.” The Guide sighs and shakes her head. “If you apologise again, I’ll send you to shadow with the calling-year acolytes. Don’t think I won’t!”

Just the thought of taking lessons with Ro and Alicia has Moll closing their mouth with a teeth-clacking snap. Moll’s calling-year included a grandparent twice their age, but Ro’s year leans young, and they can’t say that they’ll enjoy being so subjected to the acolytes’ discussions, explosions, giggles, jibes and pranks. Moll endured enough of that in the army, irritated even when they were of the customary age to partake!

Is this the Guide’s way of saying that Moll needs those lessons?

Are their missteps with James so serious that Gennifer went to the Guide?

“Moll?”

They sit up, rolling their shoulders back in a vain attempt to ease their stiffness. “I don’t think I need those lessons refreshed,” they say, hoping that their tone doesn’t convey their stomach’s nervous roiling. A priest shouldn’t be afraid to admit fault. How can one help guide another in open-hearted curiosity while bound to an unfailing sense of correctness? “I think I’ll do better in the gardens or the stables. Wherever you believe my work most needed.”

Not that Moll has done an exemplary job with the garden, given the halo of uprooted-and-thrown plants surrounding the bucket.

“Really?” The Guide sighs, looking down at Moll with raised eyebrows. “Because I came here to tell a guiding priest to pick the gravel from their knees, wash up and hop to the infirmary to be briefed on a guest’s needs from his new priest.”

Moll frowns. The infirmary? A guest’s new priest? “Another guest—”

“No! You want to specialise in the arts of weed pulling and shit shovelling! Far be it from me to stop a priest from following their road—even if that road takes them five clicks backwards.” The Guide shrugs and nestles her hands in her lap. “I’m sure there’s another priest with curiosity, patience and directness to help guide a guest as much harmed by Sirenne as the world—another priest that finds equal confusion in tedious definitions of normality. Gennifer’s unexpectedly busy—what about Oki?”

They stiffen, their eyes resting on the thick, bobbled stockings covering the Guide’s unshod feet. “I don’t understand,” Moll murmurs, beset with too many curiosities to untangle but certain that few priests have referenced Sirenne’s harming a guest. “If I knew what you’re referencing, perhaps I could say…? But … I don’t want to distress another guest, and someone must muck the stables.”

After all, she may as well be referencing Moll’s treatment of James.

The Guide stares at Moll, her brow furrowed, her expression well beyond their conjecture. “I think,” she says at length, “you should explain the source of your newfound enthusiasm for regression.”

By now, narrating a discussion with a guest to a senior priest feels habitual. Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their teeth, before beginning with the dining hall, backtracking to explain their anxiety and James’s prior behaviours, and continuing with the courtyard conversations.

Their voice, steady during all manner of absurd, eldritch and horrifying goings-on in their fifteen years with Seventh, wobbles on the words “loveless” and “lifeless”.

“…so I did the inappropriate thing of leaving without allowing for proper explanation or facilitation of—”

“Nep, nep, nep.” The Guide beaks her fingers thrice; Moll, startled, falls silent. “Drivel. You cluck worse than Gennifer’s chicken. That you can work on—tell Gennifer or your calling-year priests that you want them to help you learn to stop clucking.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You assumed yourself the cause of her mood. James felt distressed by spending Lovers’ Day separated from her partner and took offense to your thinking you’d caused offense. She wanted you to simply offer sympathy, believing her situation abundantly self-evident and unneedful of explanation.”

How many times, over the course of a life, have allistics and alloromantics driven them to aghast speechlessness at their absence of rationality? Lovers’ Day is but a petty holiday borrowed from Astreuch tradition, something about which the Sojourner says nothing. Moll doesn’t care enough to recollect its existence, but neither will they disparage or dismiss her pain—if only she mentioned the holiday when asked!

Sirenne should offer sanctuary, but they’re still caught up in the mess caused by love’s assumption, expectation and conformity.

Even here, they’re still rendered less than human.

“I … asked why…” Moll shakes their head, turns and pulls up another weed. “I don’t understand that. None of it. So I belong out here.”

“I didn’t say it was reasonable. It isn’t any more reasonable than your current occupational decision.” The Guide barks a laugh. “But since when do we expect guests to bring reason with them? They don’t. We help them find it.”

They don’t know what word names the mood that has Moll wrench, twist and fling a seeding somewhere towards the bucket before looking up at the Guide. “How could I have—”

“You should have,” the Guide says, her words soft, “taken her to Gennifer as soon as her judgement turned personal. You didn’t need to tolerate that half as long as you did. Take her to someone who gives her fewer excuses and isn’t bearing bruises the world never lets heal. No garden so needs weeding that you should be breaking your body, afterwards, to survive the punches you thought you had to let her throw.”

They sit up, bunching their robes over their legs. Her words ring of bewildering improbability, an unexpected response—like the giving of their girdle book, the leather cover now speckled with dirt and mulch—wildly contradictory to the world’s usual rules and processes. Ideal, certainly, but not in practice true.

“I’m meant,” Moll says slowly, “to be able to do my work. I can’t give every allistic or alloromantic guest to Gennifer because they don’t make se—”

“We both know you won’t ask that another priest take on a guest’s care because you don’t understand their reasoning, but you should if they don’t respect your humanity!” The Guide waves her hand towards the great hall. “How, if you break yourself dealing with every guest assigned to you, are you going to give your best service to the next agender, aromantic or autistic guest walking up our driveway? What if there’s someone there in need of you? Can you, right now, serve as they need?”

They freeze, open-mouthed.

Never did Moll think to look at their work from that angle.

“There wouldn’t be that many—”

“Drivel. Most of the priests not us can handle James. Gennifer, though, isn’t aromantic. She’s kind, sweet and open-minded, certainly—and that’s better than nothing. But she doesn’t speak from a place of knowing. We do. And now, you can give someone something neither of us had—a guiding priest who knows in the heart. Can’t you imagine what that must feel like?” She sighs, her crow’s voice cracking. “Some guests won’t be suited to your strengths, but they’ll respect your humanity. Some won’t suit you, and you’ll make sure they’re cared for by someone they’re less likely to harm. And others, yet unknowing, need you. Will you, Moll, ignore their need of someone their own to reassure them that they are so wonderfully and deservedly human—no matter what the world says?”

Moll draws a breath, the hairs on their forearms raised, their body alert and quivering. Despite the near-cloudless sky, they look up, searching for lightning; the air crackles with that wild, dangerous energy. They hoped, five years ago, to return this gift Gennifer offered to a discharged quartermaster stripped of home and place. The gift of reframing the world, tossing about all long-held expectations so one can put aside the misunderstandings and follow a new turning. The gift, a chance to see everything anew, they couldn’t offer James.

A gift, perhaps, they can still offer someone else—because she’s right, something Moll didn’t realise until she said the word “us”.

They didn’t know that they’d waited forty-four years to receive that gift from their own—to be affirmed human by their kin’s reckoning.

The garden shouldn’t be the entirety of their service.

“That’s better.” The Guide gives a small, satisfied nod. “You’ve forgotten, I think, that in your first year, we learn how best you work with guests. Knowing that better, now, I need you in the infirmary to work with a guest who also didn’t pair well with his first priest—a guest who needs you, not Oki. Or will you mumble about weeds and manure?”

Moll shakes their head. No, not on their life or name!

“Good. Get up, have a long bath, scrub your fingernails, eat a late lunch and then present yourself to Thanh. Tell hir that I sent you to be Esher’s new guiding priest and ze must explain to you the magic. I doubt he’ll be any kind of conscious today, so you have time to dawdle.”

What happened last night? “Magic? Conscious?”

“Thanh will tell you. Go. I’ve got too many priests yet to talk to.”

Far too curious to surrender to bewilderment, Moll bows their head, grabs their trowel and scrambles upright just as the Guide waves her hand to her attendant. “Thank you. Sir. Thank you.” They turn for their bucket, freeze and spin back to face the Guide. “Sir, can I ask something?”

“Yes, quickly, but it had better not be clucking.”

They don’t know what she means by “clucking”, but they’ll ask Gennifer and Oki. “If you weren’t guiding guests when I came, why…?”

“Why didn’t I guide you, you mean?” The Guide shrugs. “I don’t guide guests or teach the acolytes. I’m perceptive and intelligent, they told me, but disastrously blunt. Now, after years in the kitchens, I guide the priests—once you’re educated enough in yourself that I needn’t dance around my words.” She hesitates. “I think, perhaps, there’s some acolytes I should have taught. But I do know the worth and the necessity in ensuring my own number in the priests that follow me.”

“I think you guide well,” Moll says quietly. “For me, if nobody else.”

Their own expressions aren’t given to smiling, but the Guide’s broadening lips, perhaps, speak for them both.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

[Fic] All due respect here... (there's no respect due)

Let’s try one last time... I truly apologise if the cut doesn’t work on mobile, I am posting from my laptop.

Enough is enough, they're right. There’s only so much that can be forgiven, before one’s indulgence becomes a red flag. Loneliness is not an excuse, Martino.

“You need to put your foot down” they keep saying. “You need to draw a line and say: this is unacceptable. If you step over the line once you get a warning, but do it twice and we’re done.”

It's just that… you know… He feels so stupid, now? He has been so blind, so naïve and nearly let himself be played like a fiddle. Hurting those who really care about him, and for what? Approval?

The more he thinks about it, the worse it gets. The signals were all there, for fuck’s sake!

Lulling him into a sense of comradery, that he had been missing ever since his friends from high school had all chosen different paths… Yeah, that’s how it had all started. With him, trying so desperately to fill that void. It hadn’t been as difficult as had imagined to bond over incomprehensible lectures, disgusting coffee and eclectic lifestyles. Francesco had been the first to approach him, complimenting his Apparat-inspired T-shirt and asking where he bought it. It hadn’t seen anything quite like it on the Internet, or he would have remembered! Deciding it was best to weed out the homophobes straight away, Martino told him the truth: it was a gift from his boyfriend. Not quite his usual style, but since it made Nico happy to see him wear it…

“Oh man, you’re so whipped.” Francesco had commented, instead, laughing. “But hey, who am I to judge? I’m actually a bit jealous, you know. No one ever made me something that cool. Do you think I could commission him one?”

Marti did, but he had been wrong. Niccolò wasn’t interested in designing clothes for anyone else, and while he was flattered by Fra’s proposal he would have to turn it down. Not exactly a great start, but Martino didn’t think much of it. This wasn’t kindergarten and surely Francesco wouldn’t hold that refusal against Nico.

Marina had literally saved his life, when he crossed the street and didn’t look as he was in the middle of some lovely banter with Niccolò. In return for her heroic deed, he was bound to treat her to lunch. Or a coffee, at least. The way she delivered that ridiculous request, wiggling her head and biting her lips – like a mischievous child, amused by their own audacity – reminded him so much of a certain someone… that he found himself discussing the top 10 TV shows betrayals of the decade (no! they were never going to forgive D&D for what he had done to Daenerys!) over a cappuccino. She might have been side-eyeing him for checking his phone a little too much, but he didn’t really care.

And then came Lorenzo. Well, it was actually Martino who had reached out to him. Who found him sitting on the floor of a dingy bathroom, crying his eyes out. Years ago, he would have stepped out and let someone else comfort a stranger. But then… Then he though ‘what I was the one sitting there? what if it was Nico? I don’t want to think everyone would just walk away and pretend they didn’t see him…’ and sat down next to him. He didn’t ask if he was okay, when he clearly wasn’t. He didn’t ask why he was so distraught. It wasn’t any of his business, and the question alone would have made this guy feel worse. It was a lesson he had learnt the hard way, through his own experience and Nico’s.

“Oi, you got 2 tens or 4 fives? Some spare coins? I’ve only 20€ in my wallet, and that fucking machine never gives you the right change if you put in more than a 10€ note.”   He had asked, when Lori looked up.

“I… I…” He had said, sniffling. Frantically, he had started looking for the money and seemed truly sorry he couldn’t help Martino out.

“Hey, that’s okay. I’ll manage. So, what can I get you? You look like you could use some hot chocolate, though I’m afraid I can only find vaguely chocolatey-flavored water, around here.”

He didn’t think he would get to meet any of them ever again, and then one day he spotted them all sitting at the same table. It wasn’t like Martino had ever believed in fate, but that did seem like a coincidence straight out from a Norwegian teen drama. A French romance. Not that he had ever watched either of them, of course. An occurrence meant to show him that the universe had plans, for the four of them.

In hindsight, he should have told the universe where he could shove its plans…

For a while, however, Martino thought there could hardly be anybody on Earth who got luckier than him in when it came to friendship. They always knew where to find the next best party but didn’t mind spending a night in, binge-watching the latest trashy show that had been uploaded on Netflix. Playing FIFA. Discussing politics, and even ethics and philosophy when they were more than a little drunk.

Everything changed, however, when things started to get a bit more personal. When they started dispensing details about their crushes, their heartbreaks, and Martino foolishly felt comfortable enough to share more of his life with Nico. Painting quite an idyllic picture, as complaints and rants about his inability to tidy up a room and tendency to zone out when they were discussing financial matters would only ever be disclosed to Giovanni. Nevertheless, to say that they weren’t his biggest fans would be an understatement.

  “Let me guess, it’s Nico. Again.”

 “Okay… So, he can leave on read for hours, but starts panicking if you don’t answer straight away?”

 “He put salt in your coffee because you weren’t paying attention? Is he… like, five or something? But well, if you find that endearing… You do you, man.”

 And it only got worse after they met him, and began spinning a whole other narrative in which Martino was either a hero or a martyr, for ‘putting up’ with Nico.

 “Oh, you're such a great guy not giving up on that.”

 “You sure must love him a lot to endure all of his up and downs.”

He reassured them all, told them that he appreciated the concern but that they barely knew Niccolò so he wouldn’t stand for any further slandering of his boyfriend.

So they laid low, and stayed quiet, for a while. It hurt them to see Martino trapped in what clearly was an abusive relationship, but there was nothing more that could be said or done about it. Whenever Nico was mentioned, they changed the subject.

Until tonight. Asking them both to join them at a party, and then corner him and attempted to stage an ‘intervention’.

Couldn’t he see how possessive and controlling Niccolò was, manipulating Marti into thinking his new friends were out to get him?

 “The two of you, against the world? Doesn’t it sound disturbing to you?”

 “Marti, come on, you have to admit that he has controlling tendencies. He shouldn’t need to know where you are at all times, doing what, with whom. He shouldn’t come up and snatch you away, whenever he notices you spend time talking to the same person for more than 2 minutes.”

 “It’s like he can’t stand not being at the center of your attention 100% of the time.”

How… How dare they? Who the fuck do they think they are?

“Get out of my face, you fuckers. If I hear you badmouthing Nico ever again, you’re gonna regret it.”

Thankfully, they don’t try to stop him when he storms out the room. The last thing he wants is to end up in a fight, and having Niccolò find out it was because of him. It had already happened once, with Malik and his friends, and… No revival of that was needed, thanks.

Little do they know about their late conversations, when Martino had indeed noticed was off with Niccolò and tried to find out how he could help. Because Marti couldn’t relate to the magnitude of Niccolò feelings, sure, but he had been there the year before. When everyone in Uni had seemed far more interesting that a boy who still attended high school…

Niccolò has a jealous streak, sure. That had been clear ever since he put in his pasta. But it wasn’t the ugly side of jealousy, stemming from a warped sense of ownership over him. It was more like… Feeling like he didn’t matter, of maybe being interest enough to catch someone’s attention but lacking in keep them entertained. Which in turn made him petty, vindictive, clingy. It was only a matter of time before Martino would agree with those guys, and leave him for good.

Marti tapped Nico's skull, then, and said to his brain "Stop with this bullshit. Stop making my boyfriend suffer, you asshole. You know nothing, zero, zilch, nil, nada. You're worse than Jon Snow.” He bent down to kiss his heart, and went on with "You, on the other hand… You know Nico's the best thing that has ever happened to me and that I'd be a fool not to cherish it. So what if he’s got some flaws? Who cares? Not me. One thing matters and it’s this: no else compares. So yeah, tell him he shouldn't worry: I'm not going anywhere."

"Ever?" He mumbled, not quite ready to believe Martino.

"Kim Jong-un, Nico. Remember?"  Marti reminded him, smiling as he stroked his cheek.

"Right. How could I forget King-Kong-Là…" That made them both laugh, and they decided not to discuss the matter any further. They were far more pleasurable ways to spend their night together…

So yeah, screw them. Screw everyone who overanalyzes every little thing Niccolò does, who is always ready to point the finger at him and say that Martino deserves better.

Of course he does, duh. Better friends, for a start.

*********************** All due respect here... There's no respect due. So fuck you and you, and you and you. You're cool, but fuck you... And I'm out of here. (Swear Jar, Illy)

[confusedinfj]

How to be an fj to fjs

AKA advice for tps on how to stop Fe draining your fj

You'll find this a little less complicated than the *ntp here, so here we go, the

top rules:

Try. Anything goes if you're trying

Don't do something if they already said they don't like it. Maybe you wanna buy then ice cream to cheer them up but they specifically said they hate it when you do that - don't do that. *ntps might want to make a note, cos I know their memory can be NON EXISTENT 😂

Fix the problem. Fjs don't want you to just listen, they don't have Fi. They want you to fix the problem - go ahead, Ts!

Add emotional drama to the fj's words - even if they're saying it calmly, they're very upset.

Look at the fj when they're speaking. Your fj will take you looking around as a sign to shut up.

Don't cut in and start telling a random story, even if you think it's relevant. Mbs you can tell it later - but Fe generally doesn't like hearing about how you've had it worse, so keep those stories to yourself.

Don't just give up when you feel like you're failing or can't fix the problem. Your fj wouldn't quit on you.

Don't tell the fj to go start a fight with the person who upset them. If they thought it would work they would have done it, believe it or not.

Don't start a fight on behalf of your fj. Fjs don't need you to stick up for them, and if they do they'll ask.

However, if you're viewing people having a go at your fj while you're literally RIGHT THERE you are welcome to throw shade. Just a little. Just back off if your fj looks at you pointedly.

Notes for the tps

Would not recommend buying presents to fix a problem you caused - this strikes fjs as manipulative most of the time. Fix the problem first

Learn to give an fj apology. That's right, you can't just go from A (I'm sorry) to B (pls forgive me?) to C (friends again!) with fjs. They're all about INTENT. ACTUALLY, tps, just take this advice and use it with everyone. Skip to the solutions advice.

Read this whole post 😂

Remember how you feel when you're a little down, or even just happy and/or in love. This is the fj all the time 😂 Don't worry, they have a better handle on their Fe than you do 😋

Try to picture yourself in the same situation, with the fj playing your role. This will help you work out what to do 95% of the time.

Flipping listen.

What is my fj feeling?

Fj emotions are deep, and they usually have a pretty chill equilibrium. If you get them to either extreme, they will take about an hour at least to go back to normal. This means that if your fj is screaming at you at 9 and then you apologise and they're all chill again at 9.30, they're still upset. They've just given up on you. They haven't properly processed their emotions, because they don't feel like there was a proper resolution to the argument. Skip to the solutions advice.

If you apologise and then your fj still ignores you for an hour in their room, don't go back in their and complain I JUST APOLOGISE WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN - *coughs* tps *cough*. Your fj is accepting your apology. That's what it looks like. They just need to fj themselves and then they'll be good and they'll likely forget about the problem a week later.

That's right, fjs forget problems once they've been dealt with. If your fj can remember a transgression, you never dealt with it properly. Fjs don't hold grudges, but they remember who they can and can't trust with their own feelings.

If your fj is calm looking, this means nothing. If your fj speaks calmly, this means nothing. If your fj is beginning to crack, times it by 1,000 to understand how upset they are. Back off.

If your fj is telling you there is a problem, there is a problem. Not a huge one, but listen. The fj will give you straightforward steps to follow - no worries.

If your fj is telling you there is a BIG problem, you have deeply hurt the fj and must fix it quickly. You must follow the fj's steps or come up with your own - see the SOLUTIONS advice.

If your fj is quiet, they could legit just be happy. You can test it by telling them a dumb story. If they don't laugh and look more annoyed, they're upset with you. You will need to work out why. Chances are they already told you, but anyway... Skip to WHAT DID I DO advice.

Don't accuse your fj of giving the silent treatment. They only go silent when they're really upset or feel like you're just arguing with them. It's not the silent treatment because it's not done to manipulate you.

If your fj is genuinely arguing with you (not just discussing), this is not a good place. They are really mad or upset, and you will need to read the SOLUTIONS advice.

If your fj is yelling/screaming at you, you are probably a Tp. An *ntp specifically. You should really know what's wrong, but you don't, so skip to TI TRIGGERED advice. You have probably broken the fj's heart at this point 💔

If your fj is hitting/throwing things and otherwise being erratic, they have run out of ways to explain their problem and you will need to commence FJ REBOOT. Good luck.

If your fj is crying, they are extremely upset. Fjs never show you crying unless you've really hurt them (or someone else has). Skip to FJ REBOOT advice.

If your fj is obsessed with tidying up and getting upset by mess, the problem is actually you. Fix the mess, then skip to SOLUTIONS advice.

If your fj is withdrawing and hiding, leave them alone. They don't know what's going on, and are likely to start a fight with you if you push them. They don't want that.

If your fj withdraws but occasionally comes out and snaps at you (nice to know you wanna know what's upsetting me!), they actually want you to fix them. You may commence FJ REBOOT steps

If your fj says they hate you or something, they want to. Maybe the even do. But their Fe is strong, so don't be scared you can never win them back. You just have to Fe nurture them for once - read the solutions advice and be kind.

Solutions

After you've tidied up any obvious problems (like mbs your mold sculpture in the middle of the kitchen), it's time to fix your RELATIONSHIP with the fj.

That's right, especially tps, you're not fixing the problem. Otherwise composting the mold sculpture and disinfecting the kitchen would be enough - your argument is valid.

You need to fix the damage you did to the fj - and the first step is

Acknowledge its not just ONE THING. Looking at Tps again - your fj is not experiencing emotional trauma just because you built a mold sculpture. That just pushed them over the edge. You're going to need to think through everything the fj has ever complained about and contemplate if you're still doing those things, or if you never actually apologised for them. To the fj, your mold sculpture probably hurt them more because you completely disregarded the fact that they spent 2 hours mopping the kitchen floor, and also that they have a life long phobia of mold and sculptures. Maybe it's more about the fact they specifically asked you to do it outside and you were like 'yup!' and then forgot, so they feel ignored. IT'S ALWAYS BIGGER. fjs never get upset over small things.

You must apologise. Having come up with the bigger offence in your mind, you must now apologise for it (hopefully you're correct. If not, the fj will probably correct you. DO NOT argue about how you've never DONE THAT. JUST APOLOGISE). So how does an fj apology go? It's about intent, so it goes something like: 'Hey, fj, I'm really sorry I built a mild statue in your kitchen right after you cleaned it and right before your parents came over. I cleaned up the mess, and I won't do it again (don't say this if you plan to). You must feel like I completely ignored you, and I'm sorry, because I kind of did. I'll listen next time. Can I do anything to make up for it?' Then you either do what's recommended (unlikely to be anything interesting) or leave without begging for forgiveness or arguing about why the fj should forgive you. Ew.

If you have done something so bad that these steps don't fix the problem (like maybe you blew up the house while building the model sculpture, idk) you need to do something to at least symbolically fix the problem - something that shows the fj you're willing to sacrifice things for them. Like maybe you could sell your Ferrari and buy them a new house without a mold sculpture, or if you don't have a Ferrari you could help them by sorting out the house insurance so they can buy a new one... (idk, I was coming up with these examples in the spot). Even if it's not directly symbolic, your fj will appreciate the EFFORT. Remember, it's not about fixing the problem, it's about showing the fj you care for them too.

What did I do

First, I am appalled you don't remember. The fj almost certainly told you, multiple times. So think about it - has the fj told you something recently? Maybe you thought it was a joke or just a suggestion... Review those.

After review, suggest the problem to your fj. Not like 'are you upset because I keep falling asleep when you talk to me?' because that sounds like you're making stuff up, more like 'it must be really upsetting when I fall asleep while you're talking - I'm really sorry' then follow solutions advice. The fj will either tell you you're right or tell you what you did wrong at this point. It's really not that complicated.

Don't scream 'I don't know what I did wrong, WOULD YOU TELL ME WHAT I DID ALREADY, YOU PSYCHO!?' at your fj. This is another thing you have done wrong haha. Following these steps will always work, unless you have an fj mistype on your hands, in which case everything will be so much worse 😂

Ti triggered

When you've Fe drained your fj and they have nothing left to give, it's personal. How can you tell if it's personal? When they're normal Fe users to everyone BUT YOU *GASP*. And they're not talking about your problems anymore.

Give some Fe/Te love back. Play the role of fj for a while. Give them a good FJ REBOOT.

Don't try to trigger their Fe for you. They're done with you specifically, you need to energise them by giving your own Fe back (or Fi, whatever, just be kind basically).

Be warm. Think warm thoughts about them and they'll feel them - high fe works like that

Be intentional about helping the fj emotionally. Tps, it's not about fixing the PROBLEM. That attitude will significantly slow your efforts down.

Take care of stuff and take the fj out for fun stuff if you can. Otherwise do fun stuff with them at home, or watch TV or something.

Just to be clear, these steps are to repeated over a long period of time. However, it is possible to un-Ti trigger an fj quickly with the correct attitude, but you'd have to be completely focused on the fj as a person and not fixing the fj...

Fj reboot

Designed to fix stressed or a little upset fjs. A good place to start after the SOLUTIONS advice if you've got a really big problem on your hands 😉

Hug your fj. If they push you away hug tighter. If they verbally tell you off, back off.

Be affectionate to your fj - physcisly, verbally, the whole thing,as long as it's genuine.

Be happy and genuine. But not inconsiderately happy (HHAHAA YOUR GRANDMA DIED HAHAHA!)

Make sure the fj has a tidy, calm environment. This is probably enough to fix a stressed fj.

Take your fj out somewhere fun - basically just anywhere if you're happy haha. If possible, don't include other people if you're trying to heal your own relationship with the fj - they separate people in their mind, and while they might be happy with the others, they can still be hurt by you. So isolated times are best. Otherwise, people it up if the fj wants 😂

Buy your fj a present if it seems natural, don't force this.

Watch TV or do something quiet with your fj.

Talk about feelings if your fj wants to. Not super likely, but very helpful if the fj decides it's necessary. Full eye contact and actual verbal input required. Don't talk abiut your own feelings and stuff, it's just one day if you do this right

Your fj should be all good after this, in which case, you can sit on your new skills for about 6 months+ unless you're a young tp still hating on your Fe, in which case 2 weeks tops till you use it again 😂 (this is a joke haha)

Specifically tps, be a tp. Not a mean, argumentative tp, the strangely affectionate tp you can be. Don't see tired Ti in your fj and give them more ti, give them your Fe. It's strange and warm, and the fj loves it. (Not pointing out other types like Tjs cos they probably fixed their fj in five minutes haha).

[runpogorun]

Here’s my gift to @wrtng-thngs-nd-stff for the Daredevil Exchange. It also fills the ‘Innocent until proven guilty’ square on my Daredevil Bingo card. Enjoy!

The prompt was: “Each night counts for something or else we’d all go mad,” by Charles Bukowski.

*****

Matt was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his socks and his tie when his phone beeped with a text message from Foggy:

Each night counts for something or else we’d all go mad.

Matt frowned, and held up his phone to dictate a response. “Fog. It’s too early to be that cryptic.” He placed the phone beside him and reached down to pick up a shoe, groaning quietly.

Foggy’s reply was swift: 

It’s not early, you’re just late. I’ve been watching the video of DD from last night. Are you okay?

Matt finished tying his shoes, and shrugged on his suit jacket before dictating his next text. “Yes, mom. I’ll see you soon.” He checked the time. He was only a little late, and last night’s video can’t have been that dramatic.

That’s unlikely, my dude. And did you forget Bukowski?

Matt had. He paused to do a quick internet search, and opened a new note in his phone. Then he straightened his tie and went to face the day.

_____

The next week, when Matt was once again late, it was this:

Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.

Are you going to make it? 

I need you today.

Matt was in a coffee shop, waiting for the triple order they would all need to get them started on the last day of pre-trial preparation. He didn’t bother replying, just sighed and collected his order then walked the short distance to the office. It had been a not-insignificant period of time since his last serious injury. He was keeping it together.

Matt wove between the towers of boxes, placing Karen’s coffee in the middle of her desk, then knocked on Foggy’s office door. Foggy’s head lifted, and he sprang out of his chair with a cry of, “Coffee!”

Matt leaned against the doorframe and nursed his own cup. “Where’s Karen?” 

“Picking up those photos.”

Matt hummed in response, taking a sip of coffee. Foggy wandered back to his desk and plopped down in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think Ms Zhang feels okay about tomorrow?” Foggy asked. 

Matt nodded. “I offered to pick her up, walk with her to the courthouse.”

“She lives literally nowhere near you.”

“Ah,” Matt said, “But she doesn’t know that.”

“You do you, buddy. Just get her there on time.” Foggy’s head bent to the desk in front of him, his hands shuffling papers. He sighed again. Behind Matt, the door swung open and Karen stalked in. She must have spied the coffee immediately, because she headed straight for her desk, dropping a thick envelope and scooping up her coffee cup with a sigh of happiness. She came over to join Matt, touching him on the arm in greeting as he smiled at her.

“Come on, Fog. We’re going to kill it tomorrow. We’re prepared. You can be happy.”

Foggy slowly raised a hand, pointing his pen at Matt and in a deep voice intoned, “We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.”

“What?” asked Karen.

Matt shook his head. “He’s on a Charles Bukowski kick,” he said.

Karen made a noise of comprehension, turning her head between Matt and Foggy. “Ohhhh,” she said. “Oh yeah, he’s perfect.”

“I know, right?” Foggy cried, gesticulating wildly. 

“What?” Matt asked.

“He’s like your… depressed Fairy Godmother.”

Matt downed the last of his coffee. “I’ve got work to do.” He walked to his office and firmly shut the door on the sounds of laughter.

_____

Maggie really did make neat stitches, her fingers moving nimbly. Matt wondered if she’d learned before Jack. Maybe it was just the kids. She’d once stitched him up, when he was thirteen years old and a car had backfired, sending a sonic wave which confused him enough that he’d missed the curb and tripped. He’d angrily brushed off the concerned stranger who tried to help him, and limped home, blood dripping down his leg and pooling in his sock. Maggie hadn’t had a lot to say then, sighing and pushing him into a seat with firm hands. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, punctuating it with a sharp snip.

Matt snorted. “That would be a waste.”

“A waste would be this wound being a bit deeper, and you bleeding to death in an alley.” She turned and started tidying away her supplies, carrying them to the sink. 

Matt stood and reached for his shirt, turning it right side out and running his fingers over it. The blood around the ragged tear was dry and crackly. He poked two fingers through the hole and wiggled them. Someone shrieked three blocks over, and Matt turned his head sharply to the side, listening hard. The sound dissolved into giggles - a group of friends having fun. He relaxed again, smoothing away a few flakes of blood.

“Matthew.” Maggie was standing close in front of him. He hadn’t noticed her moving closer.

“Hm?”

She walked towards him and reached out, smoothing his hair back from his brow. “You look tired. I said I was here to listen.” Slowly, she pried the shirt from his hands, taking it from him. 

“It’s nothing,” Matt said, sitting down again.

“Sure.”

Matt scrubbed a hand through his hair, pulled his mask from his pocket and smoothed it out on his knee. 

“You still worrying about whether you’re making a difference?” Maggie asked.

“No. I know I am,” Matt said, shaking his head. “It’s more… keeping my head in the game. You know. Not... letting my friends down. Again.”

“This one’s clean,” Maggie said, throwing a bundle of fabric at him.

“Black, I hope,” Matt said, shaking the shirt out pulling it on over his head.

“You know, kiddo, what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”

Matt froze. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll wash this and sew it up for you. Why don’t you visit me at a reasonable hour, next time? Take me out for afternoon tea.”

_____

“You told my mother about Bukowski?” Matt’s glasses were in his pocket, and he narrowed his eyes in an approximation of a hard stare.

“To be fair, I think she’d already heard of him,” Foggy said, shrugging in an overexaggerated way.

“You still haven’t told me why. Why, all of a sudden, you’re all trying to make me feel guilty by throwing some old sexist alcoholic’s rantings at me.”

“I don’t need to do anything at all to make you feel guilty. You do that all by yourself. And Theo got rid of his old bed so he didn’t need my copy of Post Office to keep the legs level, so he gave it back to me.”

“Please tell me you didn’t start a file of quotes you thought applied to me,” Matt said, giving the stare another go.

“Innocent until proven guilty. Stop trying to hypnotise my dinosaur.”

Matt sighed. “Karen’s coming. Let’s pretend to be busy.”

_____

Matt truly did regret this type of injury. It was embarrassing, being so limited by pain that he struggled to do even the basics. He heard Karen’s footfall on the stairs and carefully, so carefully, climbed out of bed, making it to the couch just before she said, “I’m coming in, Matt,” and slid her key into the lock. Matt bit back a groan of pain, and pasted a smile onto his face.

She walked straight to the kitchen, all rustling shopping bags and high heels. “Hey, Karen,” he offered. 

“I didn’t expect to see you out of bed.” Karen put a couple of things in Matt’s near-empty fridge. “Beer?”

“Please.”

She came over, putting the beer on the coffee table passing him his carton and fork, and slipping off her shoes to tuck her feet underneath herself. “Don’t try that face. It makes you look worse, which I didn’t think was possible.” He didn’t think he could reach his beer without her seeing how sore he truly was.

Instead, Matt prodded at his takeout. He was ravenous and it smelled good.

“Foggy’s on a date, so you’ve only got me tonight. Want to watch a movie?”

Matt smiled. “Sounds good.”

“Great. Eat up, then, because you need to be in bed and food doesn’t belong in the bedroom.”

“I’m good here.”

Karen shook her head. “Your couch is not as comfortable as that big, soft bed.”

Matt just rolled his eyes. Karen reached out and patted his knee, and said, “If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.”

Matt stabbed his fork into his take out, and threw up his hand. “Okay, okay, I admit defeat. We can watch in my bed, as long as you don’t quote him any more.”

“It’s a deal,” Karen said, smugly.

_____

Matt woke, in searing pain, but it wasn’t going to kill him. He had wondered, the previous night. He certainly wasn’t going to make it to the office today, or maybe tomorrow either.

He picked up his phone to check the time. Late enough that Foggy would be concerned, so he dictated a text: “In the morning it was morning, and I was still alive.” 

Foggy phoned back thirty seconds later. “Buddy, do I need to call an ambulance?” He sounded short of breath.

“I don’t know. Does your chest hurt?”

“An ambulance for you, asshole. How bad is it?”

“Like I said, I’m still alive. But I won’t be in today. I’m sorry, Fog.” Matt pulled the comforter higher, tucking it around his neck.

“Do I need to call Maggie?”

“No.”

“Matty-”

“I said no, Foggy.”

“Fine. But I’m bringing you lunch. And you’d better still be alive.”

“Foggy.”

“Hey, you know, today might be the time to use that Bukowski quote I’ve been saving up.”

“Jesus, Fog, haven’t you used them all up?”

“Oh no, he was a very prolific man. But this one is the best. Are you listening, Matty?”

Matt  pressed his face against the pillow and made a vague noise.

“Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.”

[idratherstayslytherin]

Feelings We Can’t Let Go ( A Drarry Fic) CHAPTER THREE

Summary: Harry needs to pass his NEWTs with a decent grade in Potions. The Ministry sends Harry to France so he can study for his exam with none other than Draco Malfoy, who has been blocked from Wizarding Society for almost a year now. It was supposed to be just a few months of tutoring, but it was so much more than that.

Read Chapter One HERE

Read Chapter Two HERE

Quick note: Posting re-edited chapter here and on ao3 again, because I want to improve my English and terrible writing. I hope you enjoy it!

This chapter was written partyly by me partly by my co-writer who isn’t helping me anymore, but still deserves the credit for huge part if it. You can find her AO3 HERE . I added a bit of the text and written some parts before, I also corrected grammar and some scenes that didn’t feel right or were ooc in my opinion. 

/////////

Harry found himself sitting in Draco’s kitchen, the Prophet open in his lap, and absentmindedly flipping through it, while watching as the blonde boy made dinner from the corner of his eye. A month had passed, and having dinner together every Thursday was something Harry insisted they should do, and even though Draco kept going on about how Harry should spend time with his proper friends, not him, he didn’t send Harry away when he apparated into his flat one week after their first conversation, but invited him in, smiling and looking a little flustered at the same time. Harry didn’t feel bad about inviting himself to someone else’s place for dinner. After a few uncomfortable silences and some slightly more comfortable, but short conversations, Draco didn’t seem to mind either. He poured them both a glass of firewhiskey, and lead the way into his kitchen. He let Harry rummage through the contents of his fridge, in hope of finding something useful (which he didn’t, so they ended up eating take-away, but from then on Draco always went shopping beforehand and carefully picked the nicest pieces of vegetables and bought the best meat so he could impress Harry with the meals he made, or just have fun with him cooking it together). At first it had been weird, neither of them wanting to do small talk and neither of them too keen on mentioning France, but then Draco started telling him about a potion he was working on with some colleagues, and Harry told him about going back to Hogwarts and taking his NEWTs there, and what it was like to be back there, and from then on the conversation carried on in a natural way, their talkativeness ensured by another glass of firewhiskey. The next week was a little less weird, but at the same time it was still pretty awkward. Being together and talking felt much less forced, neither of them trying to avoid certain topics and keeping quiet instead, they were just talking about whatever came to their minds. This time Draco was actually expecting Harry, hence why he spent an extra four hours tidying up and making sure everything was perfect, even though he couldn’t explain why he quite felt like this was necessary. He prepared a perfect dinner and was wearing spotless, freshly ironed dark grey trousers with a white button-down, making him look incredibly stiff and overdressed next to Harry, who just flopped down in one of the chairs next to the dinner table, wearing a pair of old jeans and a faded t-shirt, his hair the usual bird's nest compared to Draco’s slick locks. As the fourth week approached, Harry was acting as natural as ever. Draco didn’t feel like he needed to impress him in every way he could anymore, or at least he hid it very well. He allowed himself a little more comfort, wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail, some shorter strands escaping every so often, which he would tuck back behind his ear. Harry sat at the table, his gaze flicking up every time he caught Draco doing it, but quickly looking back down at the newspaper when he realised he was staring. By this time they were finally comfortable in each other’s company, Harry acting like he was at home, his feet propped up on another chair, laughing at the way Draco panicked when he dripped tomato sauce down his chest, ignoring the blonde boy telling him this was the exact reason why he needed an apron, which Harry naturally made fun of when he put it on. It felt good. Almost natural. Almost like they were friends (which Harry insisted they were, they just had to get to know each other better). “I’m gonna go take a piss” Harry announced, standing up, dropping the newspaper onto the table. “That’s a little bit more information than I needed, but go right ahead.” Harry just snorted at Draco’s response, leaving the kitchen. He surprised even himself by how he was used to being at Draco’s place, after all it had only been the fifth time, and he never arrived earlier than five or left later than eleven. He already felt uncomfortable thinking about explaining himself to Ginny, but he didn’t feel extraneous any more as he crossed the front room towards the bathroom, stopping to pick up a wooden carved model of a duck from the floor. He had no idea where did Draco get it from, however he knew it belonged on the mantelpiece. This was just one of those little things he’d do that would surprise Draco, along with knowing where to put the pot of tarragon leaves after making dinner, or fetching a random piece of cutlery they had forgotten before Draco even asked him to get it; and knowing exactly where to find it. It wasn’t just those kinds of little things, it was the little things in their conversations as well. Knowing what the other meant even before they could express themselves properly, or feeling when the topic they were talking about was becoming a little uncomfortable for the other, and changing it. It came as a bit of a shock to both of them, how quickly they became comfortable in each other’s company, but especially to Harry, who might have been the happiest he has been in a while. He still was unsure about his feelings towards Draco and this thing they had. The feeling of ambiguity always appeared as soon as he got home. He never lied, he always told Ginny he enjoyed himself, but as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he felt guilty, he felt uncertain whether he should enjoy himself with Draco, the Draco Malfoy they all knew. So usually he would just add something along the lines of ‘but I missed you and I’m happy to be home’ and he would capture his girlfriend’s lips in a kiss before she could say anything, afraid of hearing something he didn’t want to. “Soo, I was thinking-” Harry started as soon as he regained his footing after arriving in Draco’s living room by apparation. “Well that’s a surprise.” Draco butted in with a smirk. Harry shot him a glare, but couldn’t stop from feeling the corners of his mouth go up a little. “If you actually let me finish what I was about to say-” “No one’s stopping you.” Draco interrupted again. “Can’t you just shut up for a moment?” Harry huffed, flopping down on the sofa next to the blonde boy. “I probably can. If you ask me nicely enough.” Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s words and the mischievous grin on his face, he picked up a book from the coffee table and opened it. He started reading said book and deliberately not looking at Draco. The book was actually really boring, he still couldn’t understand how things like paleobotany fascinated the other boy so much that he had a book about it. “I’m not talking to you.” he informed Draco, who didn’t seem too affected by the way Harry was pretending to ignore him, and was just sitting reading another book. “Yes, I noticed” he sniggered, turning the page. “Oh fuck it I’m not good at this.” Harry groaned, giving up, slamming the book on the couch. “How do you understand any of this? You know what? I don’t even want to know, I bet you would just start to go on about it in a Hermione-ish way, and I still wouldn’t understand why you find it interesting.” Draco just rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what I actually wanted to say, was that we could do something different next week, like go out or something.” “Getting bored of being stuck in a four room flat with me?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I meant. I just-” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I like this, but I just thought.... I thought it would be nice to go to a bar or shopping or something like that.” “Sure.” Draco smirked. “Oh forget it.” Harry sighed, and shook his head. “No, I’m serious. Let’s go.” “Really?” Harry raised his eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting Draco to agree so quickly, but he was pleased. “How about next week, Thursday as usual, 11 am?” “Sounds good to me. Don't be late.” Draco smiled.

"Am I ever late?" Harry faked being hurt. Draco just gave him a "how am i still hanging out with this idiot" look and shook his head.  “Great, okay, it’s a date” Harry grinned. Quickly after that he realised what he have just said. His cheeks were turning warmer and warmer every second. “I mean, it’s not a date like a date date, but-” “I’m perfectly aware of what that expression means, Potter” Draco scoffed. Harry bit down on his tongue to stop himself from babbling, and looked away from Draco, who looked a bit angry, feeling embarrassed. A few more slightly uncomfortable minutes passed, but quickly they got back into their usual routine and enjoyed the evening before saying their goodbyes. The week rolled by, and it was Thursday again, and Harry found himself walking side by side with Draco in Muggle London towards their destination. After hours spent at the science museum both boys’ legs were hurting almost as much as if they had just finished a good two hour run, and their knees refused to cooperate with them. Harry and Draco ended up sitting down on a bench just outside the building, overlooking the surrounding garden, comfortably leaning back, but keeping a little distance between them. Harry felt like he was going to literally die from hunger, they had been walking around with no food and they took no breaks between looking at the different exhibitions, continuously walking through the countless halls of the museum. But it was great,  Draco was a bit scared of being surrounded by muggles at first, but as soon as they started looking at the exhibits and chatting, he calmed down and loosened up, starting to comment on every little thing he found interesting about people passing by them. Sometimes he did this a bit too loud, so Harry had to hit him lightly on the arm with his elbow every so often, and look at him with his best “what the fuck are you doing?!” eyes. Draco didn’t seem too bothered by this, or concerned, he just brushed away few strands of his silver-blonde hair from his face and sighed deeply. “What? She looks like she fell into a birthday cake, then somehow managed to murder someone with cold blood.” Harry tried his best to keep his face straight, but the description was so accurate, that he had to cover his mouth to muffle an outburst of laughter. Draco was right, the thin lady who he was talking about was wearing a white latex dress that a design of clouds of different colours printed on it, the bottom decorated with dark red splashes that did look an awful lot like blood stains. She looked furious, following her supposed husband, looking at him as if she was going to murder him. The rest of their visit was full of Draco going “Merlin balls! How is this even possible.” or being left speechless. At some point he even left Harry alone just so he can read more on whatever that got his attention, while the other boy carried on, not as fascinated by the technology he grew up with as Draco, who had never before seen things like this. Harry panicked when he looked away from an old dress robes and noticed Draco wasn’t beside him anymore. He spent good fifteen minutes trying to find him, eventually discovering him in front of a display of various cell phones and reading the description below, his eyes were opening wider and wider with every word he read, shining with interest and rapture. It was a truly beautiful image, Harry thought, Draco looked his best when he was fascinated by something and a little smile appeared on his face. “Amazing, isn’t it?” Draco said when he finally noticed that Harry was standing next to him. “You never told me there were so many different types of those. It’s weird how they went from being a banana shaped thing to a brick that you can only type numbers to a smaller bricks with a screen” Harry had his arms crossed, but he was smiling at the blond. “I was looking for you.” He moved closer to Draco. “I thought you-” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because Draco interrupted him with a cheeky grin on his face. “Died? Was murdered by all those muggles, well- that would actually be possible-, but no. As you can see I’m well, and there’s no need for you to act like my mom.” Harry just rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know where you were, that’s all.” He said, settling on a defensive tone. Draco just smirked, shaking his head, but he didn’t leave his side again. “For how long are you going to pretend that you’re not hungry?” Draco asked after sitting on the bench in silence for some time, which made Harry snap out of his thoughts, back to reality. “I’ve been listening your stomach screaming for food since we got to the last exposition.” He turned to Harry so that they were face to face, smoothing his white, velvet shirt with one hand. “Alright.” Harry groaned, and stood up. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer without the food. “Get up, I’m taking you to one of my favourite places here. It’s still in muggle London, but that’s even better, right?” Draco studied Harry’s face and bit the inside of his cheek. “Is it really that good?” He questioned. Harry nodded. “A quiet place without annoying kids screaming and throwing food everywhere?” “Yes, it’s quite a kid-less place, you’ll like it.” Harry promised. “It’s not such a well known place, so it won’t be crowded either.” At this, the corners of Draco’s mouth twitched, a smile of relief spreading on his face. He stood up, and suddenly he was really close to Harry, there was barely an inch or two separating them. It was too close, apparently personal space was a myth to Draco. Harry felt his cheeks getting warmer for no other reason than that he could feel Draco’s hot breath on him. It felt weird, he wasn’t sure if he could ever get used to being this close to him. Even his stomach seemed to forget about the hunger and felt more like it was being tied in ropes that were being pulled from one end to another. It must be his problem with being close to people, he didn’t like being in crowded rooms or small spaces where people were touching their bodies to his. Yeah, that must be it. The lack of personal space, right? Nothing more. It’s not like Draco is a girl that he likes, and he loses his breath every time they talk. Although, he is impossibly handsome, especially with his hair pulled back just by hand, no hair gel; and wearing those tight black trousers. Harry knew he was attracted to some men, or rather he thought they were fit and he appreciated their bodies, but that’s it. However, he couldn’t help but notice the fact that Draco was extremely fit and was looking at Harry with such passion. Sure, maybe when they first met after the war he was a little confused about liking him in more than a friendly way, but it was only because they were there alone and he missed Ginny, right? True, he was attractive, smart, had Harry’s sense of humour and the ability to calm Harry down without words, but he was still a boy. Or a man. Harry was attracted to girls, he have never looked at men the way he looked at women, Draco was the only exception. Harry couldn’t be gay if he thought he wanted to snog only one man, right? Maybe that was it, maybe he just liked Draco as a friend and thought he was attractive, and quite intimidating, and extremely hard to quit, like a drug. You get more addicted with every smell, touch and look. Every word sits in your memory for longer than you could remember whatever your girlfriend told you to do this morning. Right, maybe Harry had a problem. “So, are you going to side-along me or do we have to walk there on our feet, which are pretty much dead?” Harry shook his head in order to collect his thoughts, realising he had been standing, staring at Draco. “Yeah, I...errr, yes.” “Yes, we’re apparating or yes, we’re walking until we die on the street?” The smile was still there on the blonde boy’s face, cheeky as ever, eyes locked onto Harry’s. “You’re asking too many questions.” Harry stepped back, swallowing thickly, and exhaling after having held his breath without noticing. He didn’t have a chance to calm himself down, because within seconds he was being pulled by his wrist to an empty alley. “What the hell, Draco?!” He gasped when they came to a halt in the middle of the deserted street, away from the noise of people getting in or out of the museum. “I’m quite hungry and you wouldn’t stop staring at me like…” Draco trailed off. 'like I wanted to kiss you' Harry unconsciously finished the sentence and almost chocked on his own saliva. “Anyways, would you be so kind and show me the way to this amazing, kid-less restaurant?” Draco’s voice was annoyed, but surprisingly soft, which was almost a contradiction, but it was one of those Draco-things only he managed. They were standing close, again, so close, that their noses were almost touching, Harry’s back against the brick wall, meaning he couldn’t back away. He pushed himself away from the wall, taking Draco’s forearm, and without a word he apparated them to a small Italian restaurant in the suburbs of London. The restaurant was indeed quiet, no children and only a few couples having lunch, apart from the pair of boys. Harry ordered an extra sized pizza, with pretty much all possible toppings, while Draco chose a plate of smoked haddock Florentine, and a bottle of wine as he knew Harry had no idea what to choose from the endless list, settling with a bottle of the most expensive white wine, after reassuring Harry that he would pay for the dinner, which he grudgingly agreed to, but only because he payed for the coffee they had earlier and the postcards and booklets and souvenirs they bought at the museum shop. They ate in silence, Draco only stopping to comment on Harry’s terrible table manners, who just rolled his eyes, not bothering to take a pause in wolfing down his serving, only speaking again when he finished, remarking how he couldn’t understand how Draco still had half a plateful, but this time it was the blonde boy who answered merely with a roll of his eyes, but as Harry continued to watch him as he ate, the way he cut up everything in tiny pieces, wiping his mouth after every second mouthful, he wasn’t even surprised Draco was taking twice as long. Of course he had noticed this before, Draco was always a slow, but extremely tidy and nice eater, but now that they were in public, he seemed to care even more, stiffly sticking to what he thought was the polite and correct way, even though he was just as hungry as Harry, and no one was watching them. Deciding to spend the rest of the afternoon in muggle London as well, after sharing the bottle of wine, and staying to have coffee and desert as well, they left the restaurant happy and with a full stomach. Harry suddenly felt guilty for spending the whole day with Draco, but then he realised Ginny wouldn’t even be at home, but at Quidditch practice, but before he could start feeling guilty again, remembering he didn’t tell Ginny when he’d be home or anything, Draco asked him where they were actually headed, and Harry forgot about Ginny again, dragging the blonde boy with him as he made his way towards the closest underground stop, explaining why exactly they had to visit Piccadilly Circus and Bond Street, and Draco didn’t even complain, especially not after he bought himself a new suit with a matching tie in one of the shops they went to, in which Harry thought he looked incredibly attractive, even though he didn’t say so, simply nodded when the boy told him he was buying it. When the crowd was beginning to be too much for both of them, they found a small cafeteria in one of the backstreets, where they sat and talked until the sun went down, not even how dark and late it got before they stepped out onto the streets again. Neither of them felt like walking any more, the afternoon was more than enough, so after finding a peaceful spot away from the crowds and joining hands, they disapparated together, leaving muggle London behind, landing in front of Grimmauld Place 12. “So… um-” Harry started after the two of them standing in silence for what seemed like hours. He realised he was still clutching Draco’s hand, and quickly let go, feeling embarrassed, he tried avoiding Draco’s gaze, who was again, standing way too close to him. Not way too close in the way that he didn’t like it, way too close in the way that he liked it too much, which was confusing and it made him uncomfortable, so he stepped back, rocking back and forward on his heels. “So?” Draco asked with a small smile. Harry just shook his head, not knowing how he wanted to continue or if he even wanted to continue. Did Draco want him to do something? What was he waiting for? He couldn't possibly be wanting Harry to ... no. The blonde boy didn’t react, he just kept staring at Harry, his face unreadable, his eyes locked onto Harry’s, gaze somehow sharp and soft at the same time, which was another of those Draco-things, and Harry felt like he wanted to run away to someplace the grey eyes couldn’t follow him, but at the same time like he wanted to step closer, and surrender to Draco’s look and his own feelings. But then Draco suddenly said “Night, Scarhead”, turned around and disapparated without sparing him another glance, which Harry found more unnerving than Draco being close to him, even though he couldn’t tell why was that. But whatever it was, it made Harry incapable or just not wanting to move, or rather face Ginny for another few minutes, so he just stood on the pavement, watching the streetlight flickering and the odd leaf tumbling from the trees on the other side, before sighing, and entering his home. “There you are, mate!” Ron called as soon as he locked the door behind him, sticking his ginger head out from the kitchen. Harry immediately regretted leaving his peaceful spot in the street in the fresh air, without having to talk to anyone. He forced a smile, and walked over to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Ginny, Hermione and I already ate, but there are some leftovers if you want something.” “Nah, I’m good” Harry shook his head. The smell from the kitchen was actually inviting, which meant Ron must have made it, because even though he was really lazy most of the times, he did take after Molly, and could make really delicious meals when Harry wasn’t home or couldn’t be bothered. Harry could still feel the satisfying weight of lunch and cake, and then the other cake he had with coffee in his stomach, accompanied by another, much less comfortable weight, which Harry was sure had nothing to do with the pizza or the cakes he ate. “Had a nice day?” Ron asked, moving around the kitchen, putting the dirty plates into the sink, casting a quick spell on them to clean them, before settling back onto his chair. “I guess. I did.” Harry still didn’t feel too comfortable talking about how he enjoyed Draco’s company, because he knew his friends had no idea what he was like now, and hadn’t forgiven him for his past yet. But he understood that, and didn’t want to push. “Is Gin already upstairs?” Ron nodded. “Well then I think I’ll just head up, talk to you tomorrow, g’night.” Harry mumbled, before leaving the kitchen and walking up the carpet-clad staircase to their bedroom. Ginny was there indeed, sitting in bed, but still wearing her outside clothes, pieces of paper filled with sketches of Quidditch strategies and attack formations spread out around her, only noticing Harry when he closed the door behind him. “Hey” Harry smiled, kicking off his shoes before sitting down beside her on the bed, pulling her in for a kiss. Oh, it felt so wrong, so wrong, but Harry wasn't keen of thinking about the reason why. “You were out late” Ginny remarked, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. “Um, yeah” Harry felt himself tense up. “Sorry. I thought I’d be home earlier, but we went to this museum, and then…” he trailed off. He felt like he was making excuses, and he didn’t like it at all. He also didn't feel like sharing too much of his time with Draco. It was something just for him and the other boy. “It’s okay” his girlfriend said with a soft smile, reaching over and lacing her fingers through Harry’s. He wanted to say that it wasn’t okay, but instead he just nodded, closing his eyes, and pulling Ginny closer, burying his face into her neck, inhaling her fresh and flowery scent, trying to clear his mind of everything else. It seemed to work, and they chatted about Quidditch and other things for the rest of the evening before going to bed, and apart from a sudden urge to tell Ginny how happy he was that Draco enjoyed the muggle museum, and how lovely lunch was, and how nice it was to look around all those shops in Bond Street, when she asked him about his day, but he settled with telling her about the exhibitions and how London was overcrowded and about the ugly dress of the woman they saw and a nice car he saw, and everything else that didn’t involve mentioning Draco. And Ginny was happy with his reply, and told him about her practice, then switched off the lights and snuggled up to him, and Harry flung his arm around her, letting his tiredness take over as soon as they pulled the covers up, Ginny’s goodnight-kiss still lingering on his lips. And it felt nice, it felt like this was the way it should be, and he felt guilty for ever thinking that it wasn’t, but he pushed that back to his subconscious as he drifted off, the steady rise and fall of Ginny’s chest as she fell asleep calming him down. The next morning greeted them with warm sunshine that flooded the room, falling onto them, the light making Ginny’s ginger hair shine like the finest copper. Harry thought it was beautiful, and after rubbing his eyes, he started combing his fingers through the fine strands, but then suddenly he found himself thinking of what Draco’s hair felt like, and how it looked in the sun. He thought of Draco's smile and his laugh that Harry always wanted to be the the reason of. He thought of Draco's grey eyes that turned silver whenever he was joyous or whenever he was emotional; they would go deep, dark grey every time Draco was furious or hurt. Harry thought of his somewhat pointy features and face that some people may considered unattractive, but Harry always blushed when he got got staring at. No. This wasn't the time to think about Draco. He shook his head, and went back to playing with Ginny’s hair, smoothing it out of her face before leaning in and placing soft kisses all over her face, and down her neck. 'GET HIM OUT OF YOUR HEAD. GET HIM OUT. OUT.' Within moments Ginny woke up, but Harry didn’t stop, his kisses trailing lower and lower, and as Ginny didn’t object at all, they ended up making love, a sweet tangle of red hair and white sheets, and the feeling of body on body. And it felt good. It felt right. It wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t thrilling, but it felt like something he knew well, and that’s what Harry needed. He hated being lost and uncertain.

They sat in bed for another hour, just cuddling and mumbling sweet nothings to each other, content with being together, not wanting to go back into reality, which was getting ready for another day of training for both of them, curse-breaking for Harry and Quidditch for Ginny. But at the end when they heard that Hermione was leaving already, they knew they had to get up, so after a quick shower and breakfast and a goodbye-kiss they parted ways.

[inyri]

6. A press of lips to knuckles, a hand clasped in the other, a courtly gesture of respect and admiration, perhaps segueing into a dance, staring into each others eyes, drinking in the emotion (Oc of your choice!)

(SWTOR. Nine and Theron, of course. This is a spiritual successor, if not quite directly after, this piece.  In continuity, this takes place shortly following Valkorion’s defeat at the end of KOTET.)

She has been the Empress of Zakuul- Nyriala, First of Her Name (granted, they’d all been First of Their Names, hadn’t they? Valkorion, Arcann, Vaylin- for an empire spanning centuries, it had done so with so very few rulers until these last few years)- for six hours and thirty-seven minutes by the galactic standard clock.

By remarkable coincidence, that is six hours and thirty-seven minutes longer than she would have liked to be an empress of anything at all.

She isn’t cut out for this. The endless pleasantries are one thing, half-truths and pretty lies flowing easily off her tongue; she’s trained in that since childhood and stars know she’s been at longer and duller parties than this one. But they all keep bowing and curtseying and kissing her hand and her head throbs from the noise and the heat, her neck sore from the weight of the heavy golden crown and if this Void-damned ambassador steps on her foot one more time she may very well scream and-

Theron catches her eye as she waltzes past and she can’t help but smile.

They’ve been circling counterpoint to each other around the room for hours, carefully apart, carefully proper. At a distance from him she can keep control of herself- too close, tonight, she might lose herself, pure stupid simple overwhelming joy breaking through the stresses of the evening, let him wrap her up in his arms in sight of everyone and kiss her-

(When the guards had come to escort her back to the celebration she’d come so close to simply throwing the doors of her chambers open and walking into the corridor with him, hand in hand. There was something in her- not someone else’s voice, not any more, just a little of her own wickedness- that said forget the rules, they made you Empress and you should do as you please but she’d silenced it more for Theron’s sake than hers: she could almost certainly do exactly as she pleased but Theron wasn’t supposed to be there, not in the Empress’ quarters and certainly not unannounced via secret passage.  

They’ll have to remedy that tonight, somehow. She doesn’t sleep well without him, even on Odessen, and Zakuul will never be her home. Though the war is over its streets and corridors haunt her still, in waking and in sleep, with so many nightmares that she will never, never, never feel safe, not even sitting on its throne. But with Theron beside her it’s easier. With Theron beside her everything is easier- then and now, tonight, forever-

Forever. She still can’t quite believe it.

His question and her answer were still echoes in the air when her escorts came back to fetch her and after a few last frantic kisses, hair tidied and face powdered and lipstick smudges wiped clean from Theron’s mouth, the sparkling pendant- an old tradition, an Imperial tradition and a practical one besides given the size of the gemstone; it would never have fit well beneath her combat gloves- clasped around her throat and tucked carefully into the neckline of her gown, he’d slipped back into the passage.

“I love you, Nine,” he’d whispered over the first knock on the outer door. “Save me the last dance?”

She still couldn’t even speak properly, every word except yes stripped out of her vocabulary, and she didn’t want to let go of his hand. As the panel started to close between them, her fingertips caught his. “Yes,” she’d said, again, again, again, until she couldn’t hold on any longer, “yes. I love you, too. Yes.”)

He returns her smile with a sly little wink as their paths intersect and then he’s gone, orbiting back around the room, Only a few more minutes and he’ll come around again; she can only hope this interminable song is done by then. She could do with a few minutes’ rest.

The pattern of steps begins once more, one last refrain- she knows this one at least, one of the court dances she’d rehearsed with Senya (did he ever dance, she’d asked mid-twirl, with you? Senya only smiled and shook her head). One last circle around the room. One last round of bows and curtsies, nodding to each, trying to keep focus and keep time all at once, nearly missing a step but only nearly. She’s practiced far too hard for that.

And then, finally, the music ends.

Her partner practically scrapes the floor before he backs away, effusive in his praise, and she turns to retreat toward her seat. Before she can reach it, only halfway across the ballroom with her guards moving from their posts toward her like flickering shadows in the corners of her eyes, the conductor clears his throat.

“Your Majesty,” he calls out, voice amplified enough to be heard over the murmuring crowd, “and honored guests. We beg your indulgence for one final dance.”

Theron slips up behind her- she doesn’t ever need to see Theron to know it’s him; by now she knows his footfalls, knows the way the air stirs and ripples around the shape of his body- and reaches for her hand.

“You did promise,” Theron murmurs in her ear, his fingers lacing through hers. Her guards go tense and still until she gestures, a single movement, and they fade back toward their posts. “Dance with me.”

“Ask me properly,” she says, and turns round toward him. He takes a step backward, shifting but not quite letting go of her, bowing low and graceful as his lips brush her knuckles. “Or I might say no.”

He grins and turns her hand in his, another kiss just at the curve of her wrist where her pulse flutters at the edge of the golden cuff (and someone in the crowd saw that, she can hear it in the way the whispers pitch upward). “Empress.” Theron glances up, wicked eyes shaded by fluttering lashes- oh, he’s awful and it’s a mercy she’s still standing; she goes quite literally weak when he looks at her like that and it gets her every single time. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

“You may.” On sheer impulse she sweeps her other hand across her throat, catching the chain between her fingers and lifting the pendant until the stone reflects the candlelight, brilliant and shimmering-

And everyone in the crowd saw that; Lana’s mouth falls open and she clutches frantically at Senya’s arm and she’s going to owe her an apology later but for now she only sees him.

Slow and sweet and graceful, the first notes of the song fill the air. They take a single step, hand in hand, and then another and another, his arm around her waist and her hand in his, and if the world exists around then for those minutes she couldn’t have said as they turn circles together in the center of the room.