#i was originally writing out possible chains of events and that made it way too long. it's already too long

[commsroom]

Question for you, and maybe you've answered it before, but what do you think would have happened differently if Hera and Doug hadn't been able to stop Hilbert during his Christmas time coup? What would Cutter have done? Would SI5 still have been sent to the station since Hera wouldn't be broken? I've been thinking about this a lot lately

a couple of things to keep in mind: 1) the SI-5 (or similar operatives) would've been sent regardless of hera's or any other crew member's status; their mission was always to confirm the presence of and make contact with alien life. 2) hilbert would've told cutter everything right away. 3) eiffel didn't know about decima yet.

if hilbert won, minkowski would be dead, and he was supposed to kill eiffel. what happens next... really depends. if cutter sends his people immediately - do they show up before lovelace does? is eiffel still alive when they get there? does lovelace show up? the dear listeners don't have a concept of death, but they do seem invested in contacting eiffel in particular - if he isn't there, what happens?

under these circumstances, hilbert would accelerate the decima trials. if hera managed to kill hilbert, eiffel would still die. even if they found some other way to subdue him, what leverage would they have? and eiffel would die anyway unless lovelace showed up and circumstances still led to him getting a blood transfusion from her, which they don't know he needs. with minkowski gone, i think eiffel and hera would be a lot more willing to sign on with lovelace; you'd see... a lot more absolutes, a lot more choices made out of desperation, from everyone. lovelace would recognize eiffel's decima, and i think the only situation where hilbert survives for any length of time is if she realizes it's the only way to keep eiffel alive. which is still... a big if. there couldn't be the same kind of uneasy alliance with hilbert, anyway. the SI-5 would be a lot more direct. lovelace would escalate things. and if eiffel is there, and the dear listeners want to talk to him, they're trapped.

best case scenario, maybe... they manage to blow up the hephaestus / steal the urania, get pulled into the (blue) star, the dear listeners still watchtower eiffel and send them back to earth. but they can't get back to earth without cutter knowing. even if eiffel was more jaded by all of this, i think he has his limits, and that might give them some hope, however slight. but if eiffel was dead, and hera didn't blame lovelace, she would be one thousand percent on board with lovelace's revenge plan. if eiffel was dead and hera didn't even know lovelace, or wasn't on decent terms with her, um. she'd probably just blow up the station herself. just, all things considered, i don't know if there's a way it ends well and isn't depressing. i don't know if they could've made it home safe without minkowski.

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part I): Childhood and the Pilot

It's time to break down the All-American Scullys with their strong sense of family, tightly held religious beliefs, and psychic leanings that were hinted at but never fully explored in canon.

**Note**: All of the Scullys have had their personalities assessed and Typed (Scully, Maggie, Melissa, and the Bill Scullys and Charlie?); so feel free if you want to see how they operate in their own minds (and with each other, explored in the Bill Scullys post.)

Childhood

Bill proposed to Maggie when he stepped off his ship after the Cuban Blockade; and they played "Beyond the Sea"-- the song that heralded his arrival-- at their wedding (and later at his funeral.) The dates are a bit snarly, as canonically Bill and Melissa were conceived out of wedlock to a very Catholic family, but that's due to the show's writing team not having had a show bible to refer back to (but also makes perfect sense for Maggie's freedom-seeking, "don't tie me down" character... so make of that what you will.) He and his wife were in love and happy, with her gently teasing him in Beyond the Sea about his fastidious ways ("As if he's an authority on having a good time")

and he good-naturedly taking it on the chin.

As a father, Bill Scully gave his children clear instructions on what not to do while they played, but gave them space to make their own decisions.

He also made model WWII planes with his sons (which Scully remembered the names of years later in Piper Maru); and read Moby Dick to his daughter over and over as a bedtime story, bonding over their own nicknames of Ahab and Starbuck (ones Scully honored when naming her subsequent pets.)

Scully's childhood was spent moving from one Naval Base to another (with a cut out line in Kitsunegari stating they'd been stationed in Japan once) but kept afloat with a heavy dose of tradition. Each Christmas, her father would always put the star or angel on top of the tree (mentioned in A Christmas Carol)

and would always take the decorations down the day after Christmas. One of those Christmases Maggie gifted her daughters their crosses

...which Scully also claims was a birthday present. Of her two daughters, Melissa doesn't seem too enthusiastic to receive a cross

while Scully feels honored to be given a symbol of her family's beliefs. Both girls drift from the faith before the events of S1; but Scully gravitates back to as an anchor amidst the turbulence of her repeated life traumas.

An important note: When did Scully receive her necklace? Canon says on her birthday, but shows Maggie handing it to her on Christmas Is this a show bible problem, or can it be explained? Yes, indeedy, it can! Pick which explanation you like best (or all of them!)--

#1. It's both: the original chain was longer than the chain Scully wears in the series, meaning that Maggie gifted her another, smaller chain on an ensuing birthday.

#2. The necklace Scully wears now is her sister's necklace, possibly gifted to her by Melissa on her birthday. Melissa's necklace had a shorter, more delicate chain

compared to her sister's (who was a rough-and-tumble tomboy);

and it could be an heirloom Scully cherished from her sister and gave to Emily, believing her to have been Melissa's daughter.

#3. Regardless, Mulder would have had to rifle through Scully's apartment to have found the longer chain; meaning the one he wore to California (3) was probably found in late night wanderings to her place, revisiting the scene of the crime perhaps for clues but really for penance. (Or he bought a new chain so he could wear her cross? Unlikely considering his habits and cheapskate second-nature.)

Little Scully and her brothers were close-- so much so that their fight over a rabbit Scully rescued (Bill threatened to stew it and Dana shoved and yelled at him, standing her ground)

was resolved without hanging resentment; and the duo later gallivanted in the woods with Charlie to shoot. Charlie was active participant in their childhood activities; and he and Bill bought their sister a BB gun for one of her birthdays-- though likely it was bought with the lion's share of Bill's pocket money, which would be in-line with his character (see Type post here)--

even though her birthday was in February and they didn't shoot the gun until autumn (there's that show bible problem again.)

Death plays a key part in Scully's early memories: when Bill was bullying her about the rabbit, she accidentally smothered it to death while trying to protect it.

And when shooting with her brothers, she'd wounded a snake in her fervor, grasping it in sorrow and crying in remorse.

Maggie noted: "Through tears she was saying that: 'Something was missing from the snake.' She'd taken something that was not hers to take. And although deathly afraid of snakes, Dana held the animal as if sheer human will could keep it alive."

These experiences are pivotal for Scully's character:

She realized has an unreasonable hope against reality, denying what she cannot understand.

It's why she gravitated to science: it helped her explain and quantify life's tragedies and morbid mysteries, giving her answers to make peace with the ups and downs she encounters. It also stripped her of her denial and excuses, holding her steadfastly honest character accountable. Her main defense is (and was) denial; but her honesty checkmates that impulse, accepting the truth even if it's unpleasant.

Scully also developed a profound fear of death--

avoiding all discussion of it later after her abduction and during her cancer arc-- fear which drew her to medicine, then pathology, then self-protection and harm prevention in law enforcement. Likely, this fear drew her to a career in death, a way to understand and overcome it. While a part of her is resigned to the cycle of life and death, she never truly makes peace with loss, feeling it keenly in all areas of her life. She is later baffled that Alfred Fellig could have "too much life"; and it's not until her experience in Tithonus that she is shaken with the realization that there is a fate worse than death.

Melissa Scully, meanwhile, never feared death: she respected it, viewing it as a release for a soul from being trapped. Her childhood seems to have been spent observing and nurturing her sister-- playing hopscotch and celebrating her sister's successful jump;

complicitly sneaking down to open presents early;

and encouraging her to follow her heart and join the FBI when both of their parents were upset that Scully had left medicine. Scully's subconscious even dreams her into the rabbit memory, blending Melissa and Emily as a silent, watchful observer on the stairs.

As a teenager, Scully sneaked out late with her mother's cigarettes, quietly smoking on the porch and hoping she wouldn't get caught because her father would "kill her." She seemed to have quit the habit by the time she dropped out of medical school and joined the FBI, which finally earned her father's anger.

At Christmas, she was torn between doing what she felt was right and walking away from Quantico so she would no longer disappoint her Captain Scully and Maggie.

Melissa is the one who encouraged her to "follow her heart", stabling Scully's insecurity with a steady faith that "There is no right or wrong. Life's just a path."

Melissa and Captain Scully seem to have had the greatest impacts on Scully's mentality-- Melissa encouraged and pushed her sister out of her comfort zone while always standing beside her in support (which Scully needs because of her Ni Demon, post here); and Ahab cherished his Starbuck, teaching her constellations while they boated and proudly supporting her in everything she did... except the FBI. Scully clung to them both: she took after her father's stoicism and needed his strength; but she needed Melissa's carefree backup even though they could never see eye-to-eye and often got into meaningless bickerings once they became adults.

As for the rest of the family, Maggie was Scully's steady, unwavering rock of support: she was just as angry as her husband about her daughter's career change, but by the time S1 unfolds, she has set aside those frustrations and is wholeheartedly supporting her baby girl, even "encouraging" her husband (with imperious eyebrows) to get over the awkward tension he and his little girl had built up. Bill seems to be on good terms with Scully whenever they show up in each other's lives even when he's being a pain (which will be explored in future); and Scully seems more actively involved in Charlie's life up until late S4 (again, will be discussed in future parts.) But as a whole, the Scullys seem to be tightly bonded, with their disagreements becoming water under the bridge rather than dealbreakers... for now.

Pilot

Scully begins her career with the FBI, ready to distinguish herself.

"I was recruited out of medical school," she recounts, tamping down her proud smile as best she can.

The only comment she makes about her family is that: "My parents still think it as an act of rebellion,

but uh..."-- she trails off with a Cheshire Cat grin.

Her parents weren't wrong, as evidenced by her deeply satisfied smirk

(exactly like the one she had in Never Again while "rebelling" against her life and getting the tattoo "that she deserves.)

and her own teen rebellion-- afraid of but hoping to get caught.

While small in mention, it is large in consequence: Scully is pursuing the FBI because it feels right; but she is also deriving a little satisfaction at pushing at boundaries and making a name for herself through her own endeavors. We shall see how that unfolds.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

**Disclaimers**: There are probably typos; but I've given up on the nit-picky grammar life. I'll come back and sneak edit later~.

[riddlerosehearts]

🐍 same, there were many things i did not enjoy about HoO but leo is one of the highlights i will always treasure from it. in fact I made my OC just so I could make them be friends with him bc it's like an old childhood dream of mine 😭 it's several years late but i will do it anyway. have u ever made any pjo ocs?

I read your post and i agree with you so much!! EN did jamil so dirty and just the few changes they made to his lines flipped the entire dynamic between him and kalim and basically completely erased how tragic and difficult their situation is, and portrayed jamil as basically just someone throwing a fit over something easily changeable when it isn't. I play on JP so I was so surprised to see the changes EN made, it sucked seeing so many ppl hate my fav

oh nooo yeah if both riddle and jamil are in the athena cabin i have no clue who'd become the head counselor... this is so hard, if only we could have more than one :(. Kalim'd def be in a different cabin at least, but just him being around camp would make it so much harder for jamil to be himself, it hurts my heart. there are so many ways you can write this and it all has so much angst potential. on the other hand you're so right abt the missed leo nico friendship bc i always intuitively felt they could've be good friends without knowing why, but your analysis puts everything into words and makes me even sadder we had such a missed opportunity... like cmon rick....

idia labwear groovy but nico is actually so funny - nico ominously approaching cats with his hands out like the grabbing emoji when nobody is looking and completely unaware how scared the cats feel, meanwhile all he wants is to spend some time with kitty before the chain sneezing sets in

I love your ideas abt the outfits I think they fit super well!! if i get around to doodling the characters in a twst au i'd like to reference your ideas if that's okay with you! They'd both probably attempt to wear the uniforms as a full set in the beginning then decide it's way too much of a hassle/feels too stiff (totally not an excuse to want to draw them in the full outfit), then begin modifying things so it felt more like themselves, though at least I think they both would like the ignihyde uniforms better than the other dorms, igni's seems more casual and practical than the other ones imo. for some reason i feel like the savanaclaw colours would look good on leo, i just picture yellow being a nice colour on him - but leo in savanaclaw would just be like him stuck with a ton of jocks feeling confused why he's even there lool

also imagine leo meeting ortho, he'd be so fascinated that something like ortho was possible and be inspired to make a robot of his own (twst festus origin story?) idk if there's a robotics club but i could see that being leo's club of choice, nico maybe board games... which means he'd meet idia and azul omg, what do you think?

sorry it took me a bit a longer to answer this time. i haven't!! i don't make OCs super often in general, i don't even really have one for twst haha, but i love seeing all the creativity other people put into their OCs.

yeah exactly!! i do keep up with the JP main story updates and have read most of the JP events through fan translations, but i started by playing on EN. and i feel really lucky that i recognized the words for master and servant and could tell they were mistranslating some things, because i can imagine that otherwise i would've come out of it hating jamil for "betraying" kalim too. instead i loved him and was a little annoyed with kalim until book 5 showed more of his growth. i don't ship jamil and kalim but i do love both of them and it's sad that the complexity of their dynamic got watered down so much... i will note, though, that the app is rated E10+ on the google play store and 4+ on the iOS app store, so my guess is that higher-ups at disney thought the actual story wasn't kid-friendly enough.

something else to keep in mind with athena kids that i actually sort of forgot about until recently, is that they're all claimed from birth and therefore are pursued by monsters from birth :( and then also the fact that athena is a virgin goddess who just sort of gives babies to people who might not have been prepared to have one... i bet that would make things so much rougher for riddle and jamil. some other ideas i had are that if jamil's parent was a minor god, it could be nemesis (goddess of revenge) or terpsichore (muse of dance). and for kalim, if his parent was an olympian it would be either dionysus or apollo and if it was a minor god it'd be tyche (goddess of luck and fortune). like you said, there's so many different ways i could see their story going in an AU like this and they'd all be so angsty.

if you wanna see more analysis on how nico and leo fit together there's some stuff i've reblogged from others in my valdangelo tag! not all of it is necessarily romantic, i just basically use that for anything about the two of them--and a lot of the reasons why people like the ship are reasons why they'd work platonically as well. but yeah one of my biggest criticisms of HoO is how even though i like all the new characters for the most part, i feel like their relationships to each other were largely defined by romance (and i don't just mean the actual couples, but also the frank-hazel-leo love triangle for example) and a lot of potential was missed because of that!

oh yeah go for it!! feel free to use pretty much any of these ideas we've been brainstorming as basis for your own headcanons and stuff, i don't mind at all. and like i've been saying, if you did draw anything for this AU i'd love to see it. i can definitely see that about leo and nico both trying on the full uniform and then quickly deciding not to bother with it anymore lol. i imagined them both not wearing the tie because i just think nico wouldn't really want to and that leo might not even know how to tie one AFSKJGHDF. do you think leo would add any other accessories or personalization to his school uniform? also, i was thinking, i totally agree that they'd both like the ignihyde uniform, especially nico because it resembles the bulky jackets he normally likes to wear! but i wonder what nico would wear for a dorm uniform if he transferred to ramshackle... according to one of silver's voice lines at least, they canonically don't have one, so maybe he'd just wear, like, a my chemical romance shirt and call that a uniform lol. or keep his ignihyde uniform and confuse everyone.

omg, i love the thought of leo meeting ortho and being inspired to make festus because of him. he'd definitely be so fascinated by everything ortho could do. as for the clubs, i saved this excellent post about NRC's clubs for reference a while back, and since no other existing clubs were mentioned in either of the camp vargas events, i assume that that's all of them. but afaik there's nothing that says leo couldn't start a robotics club, and i'm sure there'd be people willing to join! out of the existing clubs i can totally see nico being in the board game club, i think that'd be a lot of fun for him.

[asachuu]

Alright, BSD/AO3-related “confession” time, although this shouldn’t have really become a confession.

While my works over on AO3 are occasionally quite dark, the full extent of which is entirely subjective, yet still one I could describe as such objectively, I do sometimes try to water a lot of it down out of fear I’m starting to sound “edgy for the sake of it”, as nonsensical as I personally find that description. Though I’m aware the thought process goes against what I personally believe on these matters, I still don’t want anyone to look at anything I write and assume it’s nothing but a mindless pile of brutality treated without proper seriousness and/or something to exaggerate for “no real reason”, and I often find myself worrying whether or not it’ll come off as such, even though I understand each author has their own visions and motives, me included, and not everyone will assume those correctly, nor will people ever universally agree on them, enjoy the content or even have the willingness to accept the mere existence of art that isn’t pure or sanitized, therefore one shouldn’t feel anxious over this when nobody owes any sort of explanation or justification for their creations to strangers anyway, but…let’s just say I’m still trying to get past that. Unfortunately, I suppose spending too much time around audiences who consider going into any type of ever-so-slightly darker territory in one’s works as an act only terrible, cruel individuals would do may have had its long-lasting effects…but I digress.

There was one work which was initially meant to be entirely unfiltered, “uncensored”, if I should say so, and that work was meant to be what would eventually become both A Second Chance and No Retakes, given the two are merely two varying iterations of an alternate universe I wanted to create for the ship I’m writing about. I suppose it’s the third, never spoken about version of it, and although there are four to five total versions as of today, this one in particular had almost made it through, had I not completely washed everything I were to include away just a few days before I got to writing my “first” fic. In fact, it was precisely the fully clean version which became A Second Chance; the series is essentially only different in its beginning, past and subsequently the way said past would affect what was happening, yet the more general events stayed intact, unlike No Retakes which is still not being too truthful to its original introductory disclaimer as of the last update.

Now, I felt like I had to tidy this one up, and if I am to be honest, it was mainly thanks to my only “enthusiastic” audience at the time always focusing on any sadder element of my writing and pinpointing how much it ruined the whole work, which was…a rather demotivating experience, aside from all else I could say about it. Considering this was a work I would be posting publicly with the intention of actually having others see it and associate it with this chain of accounts instead of someone’s random throwaway I could just ditch at any time, and not only that, this would also be something of great personal importance to me, I didn’t want to discard what I assumed to be my only chance at making something I could look back and be satisfied with. There is certainly far more to this story, but all that is to say, I didn’t want— and frankly couldn’t even afford— this to be dismissed as someone’s “horrible” work with such “unnecessary cruelty” in it, or however else it would have been described.

Even after a long time, after I had started publishing far more “risky” things, such as my whole Rimlaine-related series, and detached myself as much as possible from an audience which would ultimately never find any enjoyment in what I actually wished to be creating and would only serve to bring me down or make me dislike my own content, there was one thing I didn’t change my mind on, and that was feeling as though I still wouldn’t have been able to write the original concept of the ChuuArt series/fic/etc. I had in mind, even after everything I had written by that point and even after many chapters of No Retakes. In fact, I changed my mind a mere four weeks ago, which is the only reason I’m writing this.

If you’ve never heard me describe what the original consisted of, I’ll have to slightly disappoint you this time as I definitely don’t have enough confidence to actually state what it could have been, but as is probably very obvious, it wasn’t for the faint-hearted. I feel as though it’s no exaggeration if I say it was far more dark than every single Rimlaine fic I have ever written combined. I don’t believe I ever considered it “unreasonable” or any other such descriptor, not even when I was too afraid to write it, though— in truth, I sincerely believe both A Second Chance and No Retakes are extremely unrealistic and don’t represent practically anything I had been envisioning. Right now, I’ve decided to see if it’s possible for me to rework the outlines for the latter as it’s obviously very far from done and nobody apart from me would know what the original was meant to be, steering it a little bit closer to its long-lost predecessors, but even if I do manage to pull this off, the concept has been lost from the very beginning, and nothing can replicate it unless I somehow wholeheartedly try to overwrite people’s memories.

Of course, not stating it directly doesn’t mean I can’t imply it, and I will have to, just for the sake of what I’m trying to get at. The initial premise was always having Arthur survive the events of Fifteen, that much is obvious, and while there is one other version of the AU in which he survives on his own accord without any interference from the Port Mafia, the rest of them did require him to fall into the organization’s hands. Now, here is where I feel like ASC/NR completely fail at being anyhow logical, and this has hit me more than ever recently, though I’ll explain why afterwards, despite being somewhat confident that you could figure it out even without my input from here.

Naturally, there is absolutely no reason for Arthur to have been entirely safe and intact until meeting Chuuya in any iteration (…maybe aside from that one exception, but I think you’ll get what I mean more specifically), and no horrible living conditions I place him in are even remotely comparable to what I believe an organization such as the Port Mafia would do to a traitor if he were to be kept alive for any reason instead of immediately assassinated, as implied in Fifteen. I will give off somewhat plot-important spoilers here for No Retakes, so please beware, but NR tries to give some flimsy reasoning for this as I seemed to have become more and more self-aware of it while writing the initial outlines— I thought that perhaps, if Arthur regained his memories and could have potentially held some valuable information about other organizations, it would have made sense to try and keep him alive and well, and while it would have definitely been more straightforward for any PM member to just…let’s say…“standard-mafia-procedure” the information out of him, nobody would have had any reason to do that if he’d either been completely unconscious or he forgot everything again, right…? And one more “spoiler”, although it’s been slightly hinted at in the fic itself already and I heavily regret giving it such little relevance— even that much didn’t sit right with me, so he doesn’t escape entirely unscathed, but nonetheless, all of it is extremely tame, in my opinion. (Spoilers end) It feels more like a last resort to attain more realism points which simply aren’t really there, or so I believe.

The original, however, went all-out with this “realism” I so speak of, and I’ll just say that every variation of this AU has a five year gap between Fifteen and its present at the very least, but in both I’ve written about so far, Arthur isn’t particularly conscious for any of those five or more years. In that version, for one reason or another that hasn’t been properly worked on before being discarded and turned into one of the newer ideas, he’d been reluctantly kept alive, but not a soul would have given him the luxury of just leaving him be for ages until he would have most likely rotted away like in ASC, or until he’d woken up again like in NR. I believe everyone can have their own interpretation of my words here as I don’t even know how I would type this out in the first place, but essentially, at that point, Chuuya wouldn’t have simply carried him away for the sake of it or been tasked to watch over him, it’d be more of him just outright saving whatever was left of his life. I’m sure that anything one could imagine here would also lead to an obvious difference between how this AU’s Arthur would act, as opposed to both AU versions of him currently existing, yet to write all that simply felt…wrong. Not wrong because it didn’t make sense and felt like a pointless gore fest— the complete opposite, actually, but wrong as in, according to my mind and my mind only, something “too dark for AO3” or the BSD fandom as a whole. I probably would have had the tendency to overdescribe it as well instead of letting the reader make up their own mind, which would have added onto that factor, and I was too worried to even dare venturing there. Some of it certainly also had to do with fearing I wouldn’t be able to pull it off as a more amateurish writer, but it wasn’t the main driving force.

Now, anyone could sit here and tell me that my reason was complete bullshit, and I can’t believe I’ve only arrived to this conclusion myself so late. What led me to it, you may ask? Simple— Bungou Stray Dogs itself.

I’ve drafted this very post those four weeks ago when I changed my thoughts on these matters and just edited it to make it fit recent events, but at the time of writing this initially, I was only on chapter 40 of re-reading the manga, and that has been enough to convince me none of my fics, not even the original AU I had in mind, are “too edgy” for anything to do with BSD (and AO3, of course, I think that site has seen it all). Though I firmly believe no such thing even needs some kind of “justification” to be written in the first place, as for my observation, all of my harsher ideas would still be reduced to mere dust if compared to that or the light novels. There is not a single thing I could have ever written that would have gone “too far” by my own anxiety-driven standards, and even if I genuinely took that entire concept and wrote it to the full extent I’ve had in my mind, it would only be dreaming of being on par with something like Atsushi’s backstory or Q’s treatment, both of which are basically at the mere start of the manga. If not that, it would absolutely pale in comparison to the entirety of Stormbringer, for example, and if one was to put it simply, the amount of missing limbs, dead bodies, torture, on-screen and described gore in this series would make my own concepts…I want to say laughable, but it’d actually make them just a tiny bit more BSD-worthy.

Nothing I’m writing feels like BSD itself from this perspective, and I understand that I’m writing fanfiction— I’m in a space where people don’t always want to match the mood and tone of the media they’re making their own spin on, and there is not a single thing out of place if I make any of my works more toned down, peaceful and whatnot, but at the same time, there will also be nothing out of place if I don’t. Honestly, this may be somewhat clear already, but I don’t want to write works which are fully sanitized, clean and light-hearted only, and while yes, I believe a couple of those exist on my page, those aren’t meant to be the majority as that was never my goal to begin with. I didn’t even have one at first, but when I both actually tried to think of one somewhere along the way and reflected on all my old drafts and notes, the answer I got was to make the opposite of what I look for while browsing AO3 myself, ironically— as I don’t usually spend my time reading much, not even on there, I only ever read short fics that I can go through in one sitting which don’t leave me thinking about anything surrounding them and I feel as though I’ve read them from their true beginning to their true end, with the plot being only what was in the 4000 or so words I skimmed through rather than something much different, something I’ve only looked through a window into, and, simply put for what I think is my case, something far more pretentious than that, of course. Hopefully, there is no need for me to clarify I clearly do enjoy the shorter, less complex fics and am in no way trying to devalue them, they’re just not what I personally would like to write myself— I would be delighted if someday, I could feel as though I have created something which has a full, proper story in itself, and additionally, seeing as it’s BSD fanfiction, absolutely not have this story be one in which you could almost believe all the characters are regular office workers with rather mild problems in their lives. The only thing which is closest to this, yet which still fails to meet the former criteria, is probably all to do with Rimlaine that I’ve written, but that was not the initial plan, and now I’m seeing that it didn’t really have to be this way.

Not that I regret it too much, seeing as I could fix this if I truly wanted to— No Retakes was mostly born out of late regrets after I’ve fallen in love with that version of the AU and spent months wishing I had worked on it from the very beginning instead of having a thousand separate worries about it, all before I realized there were more people encouraging me to write it than people who would have insinuated I’d already written a ChuuArt AU and another “similar” one wasn’t necessary anymore. I could undoubtedly go back and show everyone one more of the originals, the one which would have rivaled every single work of mine in terms of just how dark it would have been, but I’m not sure whether it’s my ongoing WIP or general exhaustion stopping me more here, aside from the fact that I simply don’t have that much of a desire to do it when I could still try and pray to salvage said WIP a little bit and find a middle ground that doesn’t require me to start another project I will inevitably have no time to work on without getting too worn down.

Anyhow, I suppose I’ll get to looking through the outlines again, perhaps cut out some chapters on the way if I can and hope not to add more by accident. For better or for worse, while the reason should have probably been a bit different, I’m glad to be a bit less willing to censor half my works now that I’ve at least realized what media I’ve actually been using this whole time, and I’m hoping it will have some impact going forward as I really want to write what I alone want to write, not what people who don’t even care about my works want to see me create.

[booksandwords]

Exchange of Power by Tricia Owens

Series: Juxtapose City, #8 Read time: 4 Days Rating: 5/5

The quote: "Don't die," Starr murmured against his lips. "It might have been okay before, when it was only about the sex between us. But not now, Darkness. I'm in too deep to lose you now." — Calyx Starr

Warnings: Read this book with caution. There are no warnings as to the true content. The Juxtapose City series contains multiple incidents of dubious consent, murder, drug use, torture, incest, oh and the occasional light blackmail.

😵🤯😘 And we are back to wtf just happened??? There is a lot to digest from the last maybe 20% of this. Game-changing events. Moments of just why. Sex as power is nothing new to Juxtapose City but some of how it is used here is... offputting maybe. We have new antagonists with differing motives and new relationships but it is still Black and Calyx against the world. Masochistic Black is back and I'm really not sure how I feel about that. The payoff to that in a way is that we get to see Calyx, the former whore, as what is possibly the strongest ace advocate in the city. As stated sex is power so in this world it really can mean next to nothing. It is good if maybe end heavy entry, lots of arc conclusions and full stops. It feels like a hark back to the original style of the series.

I'm writing this review nearly a year after I read the book, it is going to be largely dot points. These are just things to be remembered going forward and things that I appreciated.

I want to say that this starts off in Captain Dick's head. He doesn't appear much after that. But what we do get from that time with him is incredibly important. It is an explanation of what he's been doing all this time. F***er.

The title Exchange of Power is perfect, it doesn't make sense until the end. And I promise you it will make sense at the end. And at that point, it made me so emotional.

Masochistic Black and uber-possessive Starr both appear with more frequency in this than they have for a while, Starr is a possessive creature anyway but there is a scene in this that triggers him badly. And leads to an interesting moment of character clash. In a way that is near painful to read.

This has one of Parker's visions a strong and rather terrifying one. But I'm trying to figure out the context of it given the ending of the book. It feels like it is definitely going to come back later. (Parker)

Calyx was armed with a faze whip. He wanted to wrap it around Kard's nuts and repeatedly push the button. Hell, he wanted to stand on the button. — I mean given what Kard is doing with Black I don't blame him. (Calyx)

"I want to hitch my wagon to yours. I've heard rumors on the streets about what's on the horizon and I want to make sure I'm high enough up the food chain that I can make a difference when it happens." "You're talking war." — This is a clever play, for both of them. Sundhill has done his time as the villain de jour now he gets to be a half-valuable ally. And he will make a good ally in his own way. (Black and Sundhill)

Sundhill broke the kiss again to suck on his earlobe. "Agent Starr has his hand down his pants," he whispered. Black shuddered violently. "He likes watching us." Sundhill sounded smug. Black didn't care. The thought of Starr watching him prostitute himself to the Golden Wonder both shamed him and turned him on in the dirtiest of ways. — These two and Starr have the most messed up relationship. But there are some smart language choices here, Black referring to Sundhill as the Golden Wonder. (Sundhill and Black)

"You sure as hell didn't warn me you were going to do that! Did it slip your mind that Sundhill wasn't wearing a Bliss tab? I felt every fucking second of that man's lust for you, Darkness! I felt everything he felt when he was talking about fucking your face and ordering you around. My god, I need to scrub my brain out now because of that!" — This is Starr's reaction to the moments of the quotes before. Starr wasn't jealous so much as pissed and reacting as is only normal for someone (in particular a former sex worker who enjoyed it) who is in the middle of a sexual feedback loop. (Calyx)

"I know what you're doing," Calyx sobbed against his ear. "I won't let you do it. You're not using me to punish you. I get that you hate yourself for what you did to us, but that's where this ends. I'm not letting you turn this into something even uglier." "It already is!" — Calyx has a serious possessive streak that is on full display here and Black wants his masochistic itch scratched. This is the moment in which they both break. Black is punishing himself and using Starr and his love as a weapon. (Calyx and Black)

"If you want to hurt me, then hurt me." Black held out his wrists, tight together. "Cuff me and punish me. Make me scream and cry. Make yourself feel better. I deserve it, don't I? I've brought nothing but misery and suffering to your life. You're right. You can't trust me. Every other word out of my mouth is a lie. My name is a lie. You hate that about me so get some of your own back. I'll let you." — Black wants to be punished it's that streak again. I love how Calyx in all his glory decides to punish him. It is a moment of pure power for Calyx and something that Black needed.

It wasn't sex he wanted, but connection. Sex was poor glue for holding two people together. Having fucked a few hundred people, Calyx knew this better than most. — 😆 The former whore may just be the best ace advocate in this world. (Calyx)

"How can you love me this much? How can you forgive me? I'm nothing but a monster." Calyx groaned and hugged Black tighter. "Don't ask me questions like that, okay, sweetheart? You break my fucking heart." "I think you're trying to burst mine," — This is a moment of pure love between them. It almost broke me. Black is back in his dark near self-loathing points. (Black and Calyx)

"I love you, Parker. Fuck, I don't care if we're supposed to be on opposite sides of this war. I don't even care if I have to sit in the bunker and knit sweaters for you. I just—I won't let anyone tear us apart. Tell me what I have to do to keep you with me." — Is that the first time we've heard him vocalise his emotions? Love being the most important here. They've done all but never said the words. And there is such desperation here, Jake needs Parker at this point, more than he needs oxygen. (Jake)

2nd Quote: It hit him like paint thrown at a wall: reds and purple, anger and fear; blues and grays, violence and despair— "The fuck you've got my fucking back you fucker—" —green for Calyx's eyes, black for Black who screams and screams, and charcoal, gunpowder, and smoke— "—you don't know shit, you motherfu—" —pulling at his arm as Black screams and there's icy blue and Genesis-noPhoenix-noGenesis-noPhoenix is jumping at him and the explosion is yellows and oranges and somewhere there is green, green for Calyx's eyes as Black is screaming, screaming because of the red...I wanted this in here. — Parker

[skiimbii]

> the 'ship' of theseus theory

I'm sure people have already talked about this concept a million times over, and I won't be new to the party, but the name I came up with on a whim is funny. I needed to share it somehow. So, I'm here!

It's scribbled on a post-it note on my corkboard: if you change one core aspect of a character with every chapter that you write, at the end of the fic - is it still the same character? Or is it just a glorified OC? Is it still the same ship? Not a crazy premise, of course. But it's something that I find myself thinking about a lot when I read various AUs online. It can definitely be hard to write a good AU without changing a single aspect of a character - and honestly, it's usually necessary to change stuff because oftentimes backstories changing means that personal values change - but I feel like there's a moment where your 'ship' stops being the same thing you started out with. Just like the original paradox, I don't think it's possible to know when you've gone too far until you've already placed yourself firmly in "I've mischaracterized them! Gotta add #OOC to the tags" territory. However, this doesn't stop me from wanting to be able to pinpoint that moment. Is there a way to figure it out? Can there be a formula made, or is it something that you need to figure out on a case-by-case basis? What parts of this ship can you replace without changing who the ship is, fundamentally? It's a hard idea to figure out! I don't think there's a solution, really, but I like the brain workout it gives me.

You can make a very barebones solution to this problem, I've found, by watching the second Spiderverse movie. Specifically, I'm talking about 'canon events'; things that need to happen in order for Spiderman to become Spiderman. Thinking about a character and their personality as a chain of events instead of one giant incomprehensible web of traits can help make the ship easier to navigate. Peter Parker's uncle must die in order to create Spiderman; [insert character's name here] must do [insert event here] to become who they are in the present. Everything else that happens is merely additional. I'll reiterate, it's a very barebones way of fixing things. But if you're confused, or new to the writing game, or just not very good at figuring some of this shit out, it's not a bad starting point, I don't think. And, much like in the movie, you can break this rule, if you think you want to do your own thing. (I think I'm clever.)

This isn't just for individuals, of course. I didn't call it the ship of Theseus for no reason :). If you have a ship that has, for example, the very best dynamic - #rivals_to_lovers - and you change it to #childhood_friends_to_lovers, for an AU you've thought up ... how far can you take changing the genre before you've ended up with a completely different pair of characters? When an author understands how to change the dynamic and really toe that line, I find that those fics tend to be some of the best pieces of writing I've ever read. It's about being able to fix that ship to fit your needs in that moment; to make it a galleon or a schooner or a yacht or a battleship, without changing the name painted onto the hull. (I would give examples of fics that have done this beautifully, but unfortunately my ao3 subscriptions stay between me and god.) The ship doesn't even have to be people, in all actuality. This little thought experiment of mine extends to be as general as just the concept of AUs themselves. It does get a tad convoluted at that scale - I'm thinking about that joke about how the darkest franchises have the most fluffy fanart - but it's still a track that can be followed. When you change a setting, you don't just change what background you've dropped the characters on, but rather you've changed the very heart of the story itself. If you were born in a different planet, or country, or tax bracket, you wouldn't be who you've grown up to become. Same concept, even if they are fictional. (In that line of thinking, any #yume or #Xreader fics could play around with that idea. I think it would be fun to ask yourself how you would act differently if you were raised in a different universe. Imagine yourself as a ship!) I like to think about changing settings as a form of translation, specifically translating songs; sure, you can translate the lyrics directly from one language to another, completely literally, but that'll just end up sounding clunky. Talented translators know how to bend and shape the words and phrases into the next language to sound just as good as the original lyrics. Good authors can change the setting while still maintaining the character as the character. Change a pirate into a college student, but keep their sense of (perhaps criminal) adventure, or whatever your situation might be.

You can read all of this and completely disagree, it's all welcomed. I'm not trying to say that this is the only way to create good media, because it isn't. Art is subjective, and this is an idea that came to me while eating breakfast, so it has no horse in this race. But, if you're like me, and you want to make something that follows the rules of canon without needing to actually follow the rules of canon - maybe it will also help you, to think about it as a boat. Or maybe you're tired of the nautical references. My ship passes you in the night, and we're both good because we're still floating.

[transformersbrainrot]

I'm really loving this discussion and have a lot of thoughts, so I'm just gonna respond point by point.

So, first off, I should clarify that I read IDW1 in a really weird order, so that might have colored my perception of things. I first read Last Stand of the Wreckers as a one-off in like 2021 when I was first getting back into Transformers since I was a kid, then like 3 months ago, I started MTMTE. I got about 15 issues into that (up until Overlord breaks out and Rewind dies (well, kind of, but we don't need to get into that)) Then I had the same thought you did when you read issue one (granted, it took longer bc I was more familiar with the franchise as a whole) and decided to stop and binge-read the TPBs. I also was not going in blind WHATSOEVER because I'd been on TF Tumblr for the past 3 years, and I'm sure you know how that goes. Ok, now on to actually responding to what you said.

I remember strongly disliking Verity Carlo, especially annoying and boring at times. I think this was mostly due to reading the comics in the recommended order, which starting of with Megatron Origins puts you in the expectation of seeing more of the war on Cybertron rather than the jump to Earth. As the issues went on and the humans started showing up less, I found myself missing them. The appreciation I grew for Verity, Hunter, and Jimmy came too late, like many emotions for Phase one.

Basically, I wholeheartedly agree with this, although I found them to be more boring than annoying. Also, I had already seen Last Stand Verity, so I knew she got better,

I found myself jumping with joy when I saw Verity again in The Last Stand of The Wreckers, surprising even myself. And really appreciating the little callbacks to her in Phase two before meeting her again. I loved the relationship between Hunter O'nion, Sunstreaker and the Headmasters, the whole ark being one of my favorites.

I totally agree with the stuff you're saying about callbacks; those never fail to get a Leonardo-DiCaprio-pointing reaction out of me, haha. However, I definitely found the whole -ations/pre-All Hail Megatron era to be the most tedious to read. That just comes down to personal preference, though. (I mean, all of this does, of course, but there's no real analytical reasoning here; I just thought it was kinda dull.) Maybe I'm just not a fan of Simon Furman's writing style, I dunno.

Other human characters like Spike weren't really hitting it at all, mainly because we didn't see much of them or if we did it left no impact. The only thing I remember about Spike in those comics is the way he disappointed Prowl with his reasonable reserve for the autobots and not considering him a friend.

Spike is also the only Phase 1 human I could name off the top of my head outside of the original trio. Also, I have an (admittedly undeserved) tendency to give Prowl way more grace than he deserves. Honestly, I have one for basically every morally grey or even evil cybertronian character. I just want all my robots to be friends and am willing to forgive A LOT to make that happen :(. All that to say, I was FULLY on Prowl's side against Spike about the whole Scrapper incident and the resulting fallout (even if Spike might've maayybee had a little bit of tiny possible justification).

Despite all that, Phase one gives context for later events and relationships mentioned in Phase two, making it much easier to understand what events the characters are referring to. I actually went for MTMTE when I began the comics, and the moment I read the first issue, I felt left out of a lot, especially as a new transformers fan with no knowledge beyond Transformers Prime. Going through Phase one first helped me meet the whole list of characters I had no knowledge of before.

Ok, so like I said at the top, I had a fairly similar chain of events. But honestly, that's part of why I made the original post. Most of the war stories referenced by characters at the end of Phase One/throughout Phase Two (Simanzi, Sherma Bridge, Hell's Point, basically everything else Rewind showed Tailgate.) were never actually shown. It felt like as long as you knew, "Autobots wage their battle to destroy the evil forces of the Decepticons!" You had all the context you needed. I also feel that I should reiterate that I don't think that applies to Megatron Origin, Last Stand of the Wreckers, or the final volume of the Phase One TPB (Heart of Darkness (🤢) through Chaos). Those are all still required readings for IDW1, in my opinion.

With Phase one in mind, it's easier to understand characters and their motivations in Phase two. For example, I loved Cyclonus since he was introduced in Phase one, and later in MTMTE and LL, I would get as frustrated as him when someone called him a decepticon, probably even more.

I have to disagree here, if only because most of the relevant characters to Phases 2 and 3 are incredibly minor players or straight-up haven't been introduced yet in 90% of Phase One. The Cyclonus thing would be a good point if it wasn't for the fact that the whole Dead Universe crew is referred to as Decepticons for everything from Infestation (when Kup gets sucked into the DU) until after Chaos. So Cyclonus correcting people kind of clarifies it for the reader as much as it did the other characters, anyway.

When Megatron "turned" autobot, I was as angry as characters like Prowl with the sentencing he got. Because I remembered all the decepticons, autobots, and humans that died directly because of his actions.

Redeemed Megatron is honestly the reason I wanted to read MTMTE/IDW in the first place (thank you, Earthspark), so this was something I just didn't really run into and can't really speak on. Fair, though.

Speaking of Megatron, one of my favorite things is seeing the parallels and references between panels. A favorite example are these panels with Verity seeing Megatron for the first time and Mehr seeing Ultra Magus' holoform of Verity:

Again, while I certainly enjoy these moments, I don't know if they justify reading seven years of comics.

There is also the build up of Phase one to Phase two. If you read just Phase two you hear about the DJD and then get to meet them. Sure, they look badass but if you've been reading Phase one they are a tool that haunts the narrative whenever decepticons speaks about going against orders and autobots speaking about the worst of the worst from the decepticons.

I honestly can't think of a time the DJD was mentioned in Phase One aside from maayybee Last Stand (which, again, I consider required reading anyway). As for when the Autobots talk about the worst of the Decepticons, like I said before, most of what they mention isn't from Phase One anyway, so there's no real added impact, in my opinion.

P.C. I think why people like Phase two better is because it's more character focused, we get to be with these mechs up close and personal. While in Phase one, it's more events based and we get up close and personal with the characters in the Spot Light issues.

This 100%. I'm absolutely convinced that the switch from Plot-Driven stories to Character-Driven ones is why no one really talks about any IDW comics before Chaos Theory.

Sorry early IDW enjoyers but that universe doesn't hit it's stride until Chaos Theory

Idk if there's many TFIDW Phase One die hards but I'd you're out there y'all can fight me on this. There's good stuff in there for sure (LSOT, Spotlight Kup, AHM, etc). But honestly the majority of it ranges from Pretty Solid to Genuinely Awful (looking at you Heart of Darkness). I think it's worth reading but imo you can read LSOT then skip to Space Opera (Hot Rod trying to get back to Earth with the Matrix) and go from there for just as good of an experience.

[the-blind-geisha]

Hello!! Hope you are doing well hehhe

Just wanted to say that I love your sephiroth love letters so so much! I was so happy when I stumbled across them like bestie you had me giggling and swinging my feet in the air 🧚‍���️

Not sure if you still accept requests but when you have time would you be able to write another one??!! If you want to course, I’m happy with the current ones (don’t tell anyone that I reread them almost daily shhhh)

Anyways, sorry for the long message JSJDJND have a good day/night muah 💞💞💞

A/N: Aww, I am glad you enjoyed them!

Well, I actually only do love letters during certain times of the year. However, since I wasn't exactly clear on that, I'm fine to do this one. Besides, I think the main reason as to why I would only do them once or twice a year has mainly passed, so it should be okay for me to open them through the year.

I looked up ideas through a prompt generator, and I think I'll write down one from when he's transitioned to being a villain (in one sort of AU given what I know about the original lol).

Thanks again for the lovely words!

I left the letter addressed only for you and you alone.

I am certain you can understand why, my dear. Given your actions against me, I will assume they were meant to be enforced by your 'superiors'—those Shinra lapdogs.

I am not your enemy. I never was. With all my power, I would see to it that the world would burn, save only for yourself and I. We could live together in a paradise fit for the two of us under her rule. A utopia where our love could flourish without the suffocation of the world around us.

She merely needs to be freed. The moment I free the very creation that made me possible, she will snuff out those who are unworthy. I need but whisper your name to her to have my mother spare you and all that you desire.

The worms of this world can tremble, bow down before my feet be them lifeless husks or thralls to my command. The silence can consume the world, but all I need hear is your voice beckoning to me alone. That will prevent the madness from burrowing deeper into my mind and heart.

In a way, you are my savior as well. Imprisoned within the cracks of the earth, it is your light that encourages me to thrive.

I will not have the world chain you away from me in turn. They can dare try. I warn you of the whispers I hear upon the wind: Shinra seeks to cage you just to keep me under control.

My dearest light in the suffocating dark, come to me and be free upon the wings I only can offer you. I will see to it that we both fly to paradise, undisturbed. For you alone, I would be but a mere servant to and bow before your feet as though you were the very gods themselves.

I can do better...

I can see to it that I grant you such a title, and should you bask with me in the glow of the catastrophic events to unfold, we will become gods together. You and I, we can and will rule the world as it slowly rebuilds itself from the chaos I aim to unleash.

Look upon me as you once did—with love and wanting. The last I looked into your eyes, they gazed at me as though I were a stranger; as if I were your enemy and one to be killed. It is what stayed my hand last I swung my blade at your party. They were not the cherished vision I once held dear. They were cold, almost lifeless in a way.

The very memory wounds me, my star, and I pray you know this.

But those tears. Did I cause those? Do not weep for me, my angel. I am the same as I've always been—merely, awakened.

I will see to it that you too will be unchained from the prison of mortality, ready at my side as I have always wanted and wished.

I have a future planned for us both. I will see to it we are born as the new gods of this future paradise.

Forever yours,

Sephiroth

[all-things-fic]

Spoilin’ for a Fight

A/N: Happy Sunday loves! Hope you’ve all had a lovely and restful weekend. No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you... I have indeed (finally) posted another piece of writing. Here’s 6.7k of Harry riling up his partner all because of a bloody vest.

Thank you as always for all the love and patience everyone has given me. Especially @waitingfortwilight, @haute-romance-quotidienne and @harryfeatgaga. Hopefully this lives up to any hype the sneak peek created! I’m going to disappear again .x 

***

You rolled your lips into your mouth as you watched him walk his way around your master bedroom. His movements were confidently familiar as he tucked his vest into the waistband of his white boxer-briefs and kept his eyes down to the dress shirt and trousers he had laid out across your bedspread, sitting next to choice accessories. 

He was running late. Both you and he knew it. Yet the leisurely motions he undertook would never have told you that if you didn’t already know. The way he had taken longer in the shower, carelessly stepped out of the towel (and stepped over it too, meaning the item was now damp and in a bunched up pile closer to Harry’s side of the bed waiting for someone to put it in the laundry basket) and meandered his way through getting ready. 

Boxers first, then black ankle socks. Then the bloody vest. 

You exhaled through your nose, trying not to release a breath that would catch his attention and let him know that you were becoming slightly vexed by how lackadaisical he was choosing to be.

The vest had to go.

Not even in a sexual way either. 

And it wasn’t the fact that it just wasn’t doing it for you - on the contrary it was quite the opposite, the tight item clearly letting you ogle and appreciate the fine specimen you were proud to call your partner - but it was just how much of grandad-move it was.

You understood how having some sort of undershirt kept his actual shirt looking pristine acting as a defensive layer between his body and his clothing.

But, the vest had to go. 

It just had to.

Blindly reaching down to your dresser for your tube of mascara, you unscrewed the gold lid and coated the wand with product. 

Mouth slightly fallen, you washed your lashes with the High Density Black mascara and quickly made the switch to the other eye making sure to get your bottom lashes too. 

Looking at Harry through the mirror, you wondered what he could be debating as he stood silently in the middle of the room. A soft frown traced his brow, his eyes looking down at the bed. His hands were digging into his waist, as his lips jutted slightly in thought. 

Your conclusion was that he was debating his outfit choice for the evening. 

Lid gently screwed back on, you placed your mascara into your cosmetic vanity, before then reaching out for your brow gel. A quick brush through each side and you were done with that step.

You happened to quite like his outfit choice. It was a little less formal than usual for one of your dinners. Classic houndstooth patterned trousers and smart black shirt. The kind of material that made a scratching noise which was music to your ears as you clawed at your man, wanting him closer. Whether that was in the booth of a restaurant, on the car ride home while you were sat at a red traffic light, or when he had you pinned against the locked door for your house. 

Eyes dropping, you watched as your hands - with freshly lacquered nails - gently drew the opening of your silky-satin dressing gown together as it started to gape. 

From your fidgeting, Harry’s attention was stolen by the movement he had seen in his peripherals and when you next looked up at him in the mirror you were met by his already awaiting gaze.

His face looked worn, as his still slightly damp hair fell across his forehead. Lines lingered in his skin from the way his head was tilted and his arms were bent as his hands faffed around with what appeared to be a trinket box. He must’ve reached for it at some point while you were otherwise occupied. 

Gold cross dipping underneath the neckline of the vest, the width of his chest seemed to be getting wider the longer you kept your eyes on his reflection. In moments like this you always became hyper aware of the amount of tattoos that were scattered across his body - arms, shoulders and chest. If you were able to let your eyes drop lower, you were sure the ones of his legs would be just as vivid.

But while everything else about him just seemed content in the moment, his eyes were different. They were strong as they held yours. Waiting for something. 

And you knew you couldn’t keep his gaze as you let your words leave your throat, albeit with less conviction than you originally thought them.

If you were after a bicker before dinner then he was absolutely going to bite and give you what you wanted. You just knew it. 

“You’re not going out in that, are you?”

“‘S there a problem ‘f I am?”

A charged pause.

Harry’s remark was shot out instantly, on yours as fast as a predator was on their prey. 

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you looked back at him through the mirror. A slant to his lips as he waited once more.

Gentle raise of his eyebrows. Faint but definitely there. Goading. Knowing you would be so aware of every moment, every twitch with your eye for detail. His eyes shone in a way that he was daring you.

Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. Most definitely. 

See, this wasn’t new territory for you and Harry. He knew that it sometimes got on your last nerve in how he opted for a vest to cover his top half as an undershirt but especially when he only wore that as the item of choice and simply slung a suit jacket over the top to complete the outfit. 

Like that one time when he attended The Store X The Vinyl Factory's Transformer exhibition and swung by your then rented London townhouse after said event in the small hours only for you to chastise him on the doorstep for how he hadn’t even put on a proper shirt for the evening. 

That night he had teased you - “‘least let me in the door before you start dressing me down, darling. Especially considering ‘m halfway there with not putting on a clean shirt an’ everythin’” - in that slow draw that maddeningly managed to warm you through even when you were irritated with it’s orator. 

Blinking, you knew you needed to respond but you weren’t sure which route you wanted to take with your tact. 

“Not a problem, ‘s just not my favourite.”

“Didn’t realise we’d become tha’ sorta couple,” he paused, his sentence obviously not finished. When your eyes met his again, he continued, “The kind that tells the other what they can and can’t wear, can and can’t do.”

Sighing, you fiddled with your diamond earrings and spoke, “Forget I said anything.” 

“No, no,” he spoke clearly, ringless hands rising in defeat. “You don’t like the vest, ‘s fine. Allowed an opinion.”

“Nice to know.”

A suppressed laugh spluttered from Harry’s lips as he pressed them together. 

Looking at him again, you watched him wrinkle his nose up at you through the mirror. By now your gaze was flat and you were far from impressed with his taunting.

“Come on,” he encouraged, eyes alight.  “‘S have a row.” 

“I’d rather not.”

“‘S healthy to tell me to piss off every once in a while, y’know tha’?”

“So, piss off.”

“Ouch,” he dragged the word, playing offended. “Could say it wi’a bit less conviction next time.”

“That’s if we make it to a next time,” you muttered, seeing his smirk. “‘M not doing this.”

He watched the way you snatched at your other earring, your hands quick to try and place it gently to your lobe but in your haste you fell foul of losing the item. 

“Shit,” you hissed when the dainty jewellery slipped from your grip and to the wooden floor below with a dull clink. 

“Hang on-“

“It’s fine,” you rebutted any chance of his offering to help, swiping for the earring and managing to make good the second time around. 

There was tension in the air now as Harry remained quiet while you continued busying yourself, ignoring the bubble of annoyance and unexplained upset simmering within you.

Gently scooping at your necklace next, you fiddled with the clasp of the fine chain and tilted your neck down as you raised your hands and arms to place the necklace onto yourself. 

From behind you, Harry nervously chewed at his bottom lip. He knew the outcome wasn’t going to go well as he looked on at your slightly shaking hands struggling to successfully bring the two sides together. 

Rather than point out the possibility of ruining the nails that you had endlessly chewed his ear about all afternoon and constantly stuck under his nose to show off; he waited with baited breath, more than willing to step in if required.

It was when he heard the small and soft growl omit from your mouth with sheer frustration that he decided to change tact.

Gone was the trinket box, tossed aimlessly back onto the bed with a soft bounce. His hands gently placed to rest against taut shoulders, Harry leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head. Nose tickled by your hair he muttered into the silky strands, “Let me, darling.”

You froze as you sat in your seat, eyes still slightly lowered from the way you had dropped your head. Frantically blinking as you mulled over how you were going to play your next move. 

Harry hummed, noticing that you had gone quiet on him, knowing you wouldn’t want to engage with him just yet considering how soon he had previously provoked. He just had to wait it out a little more. 

A slump came to your shoulders at his words, partially irked at how he had been the one to coil your spring - pushing and pressing and prodding - and now he thought he could be the one to so easily offer you release. 

“Let me just-,” he spoke more so to himself, cutting himself off, as he scooped your hair into his hands and mumbled soft apologies considering he knew you had spent some time on styling. 

When he was happy that your neck was open enough and there wasn’t going to be anything to hinder him with your tresses over one shoulder, he reached for the item. 

Harry’s right hand met yours first, his thumb and forefinger easily pinching at the delicate chain that he knew so well having been the person to pick and purchase the item. 

Surprised at how easily you gave up the treasure, Harry darted his eyes to your left side and reached for the other side of the fine chain. 

“Have you got it?” You were reluctant to let the one side of the necklace go, in fear of losing the pendant that was currently bouncing against your chest from the way you held the jewellery item. 

Again, a throaty hum vibrated through Harry’s chest. 

“Which idiot chose the finicky clasp?”

“You did,” you outright answered him.

He chuckled in concentration, eyes zoned in on the way his thumbnail pressed at the clasp to hold it down, and his left hand fed itself to the right. “‘S right, I did. Fucking big idiot over ‘ere.”

You then felt the chain gently tickle the back of your neck as Harry let the item go. “But he’s only gone an’ bloody done it.”

Lightly sighing, you pressed your hand to your chest and felt the necklace sitting cooly against your hotter than usual skin. A soft smile at Harry’s choice of words to let you know he had successfully put on the necklace. 

Slightly inside your own head as you raised it to sit up straight, you quickly busied yourself with returning items that you had been using to get ready, to their rightful spots.

Behind you, you heard Harry chuckle as he gently dropped himself down to sit on the edge of your side of the bed. He was clearly amused at how you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“Ignoring me now? Not even gonna gi’me a thank you?”

If you hadn’t been so stubborn, and focused on the task at hand you would have heard his question and thanked him. However, given your own bloody-mindedness, you never stood a chance. 

Learning forward, Harry’s hand reached down to one of the four legs that made up your dressing table pouffe - the one closest to him - and swiftly pulled. 

Of course, you squealed. The quick change in motion was enough to cause anyone to omit a noise fit only to dogs hearing due to its pitch. 

“‘Ve got yer,” he spoke around a chuckle, enlightened by your reaction as the chair scraped against the flooring and made it so you were virtually sat in his lap. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed...”

Sharply, you turned to look at him and pushed at his shoulder. “Hope you’re not implying-“

“Wha’,” his expression was boyishly cheeky as he cut you off with his question, his hand keeping hold of yours that had pushed his shoulder. “What am I implying?”

Nostrils flared as you looked at him, feeling your arm slowly wrap around his neck as he tried to pull you closer once more on the chair. Legs man spread, he managed to slot you in between his thighs and enjoyed the way your soft knees squashed into his inner thigh from how close you now were. 

“I’m implying what the proverb is implying,” he smarmily responded, forever having an answer for everything.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” he turned, noting the way your arm was still draped around his neck.

“Shame that,” you commented. “Cause if you were alluding to the other thing then you would’ve really gotten the fight you were looking for.”

Harry’s eyes cut to you from the corner of his vision, his lips now pressed gently against your forearm. “Would I? If that’s the case, I take it back.”

Again your nostrils flared, as you mumbled a veiled threat of, “Swear to god, Harry.”

“So, so easy to wind up-“

Harry’s voice was abruptly cut off when your fingers came into contact with the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled as hard as you could. His only response was to gently graze his teeth to the skin of your arm and the silk of the gown in the tiniest of nips as he ascended to your neck.  

“D’yeh know how much I love fighting with you?” He mumbled against your skin, “How much I love doing anything and everything with you?”

“Have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” you swallowed around your dry response, feeling his lips quirk against the shoulder of your silk gown as he gently brushed your hair away once more.

With it falling down your back, you became all too aware of the gape to your coverup, revealing your clavicle and the top of your breast, as Harry’s lips rubbed against where your neck and shoulder met. 

Growl-like hum heard from your suitor, you gently pushed your finger through his drying hair. Forcing it in haphazard directions before bringing it back and smoothing it down. 

When he showered you with affection like he was currently doing, it was hard to stay mad at him. Which is why you found the direction of conversation so intriguing. What was he trying to achieve here? Whatever it was, he really was going the wrong way about it. 

“Know why I love fighting?” He felt you shake your head lightly as he brought you back to him with the question. The rustle of your hair against his was heard prominently in your ears as he now lightly rested his forehead to your temple. “Yea’, you do,” he disagreed with your non-verbal response, tone gritty as he tried to rouse once more. 

“‘S cause I love shagging when we’re angry,” he heavily pressed his nose into your cheek, knowing you were watching him through the hooded eyelids regardless of how you wouldn’t fully let your gaze meet his long enough to be suckered in. “How you really dig your nails into my back an’ shoulders when I properly get going - not to mention my arse cheeks - and how it feels when I step under the shower the next morning and wince like a little wuss.”

You laughed breathily, stopping your feelings of joy by biting down on your bottom lip. Laughter however played on your lips, lingering in a soft smile that danced along and up the corners of your mouth.

“Fight me, darling.” 

Amused didn’t even cover it as you pulled your head back in a slightly uncomfortable way to look at him. The smoulder of his dilated eyes that were clearly set on what he wanted, they jarred so evidently against his messy hair that looked fit for a toddler who had woken from a heavy nap.

He seemed awfully whiny for a man who was confident with what he wanted. Supposed to be the instigator of an exchange of diverging or opposite views, creating most likely a heated happening. Then again, maybe he was onto something.

Soft frown set in the middle of his brows, his eyes dropped so brazenly down to your lips. A quick swipe of your tongue had them glistening enticingly for him as saliva lingered and caused his groan to get caught in his throat. 

Hand against the back of your head, he tilted your face down to his once more and let his mouth sit at the corner of your lips. Your breathing and his had started to become staccato, as anticipation bubbled within you both from your shared close proximity. 

“‘M waiting,” you challenged knowing he would rise up to the provocation, as his hand turned you face a tiny amount more so when he stuck his nose against yours, so they would slot perfectly together.

Harry’s vision blurred as he felt your warm breath bounce against his face, licking his own lips now and rolling them into his mouth to take away any dryness. 

Hand drawing you to him and mouth about to take your bottom lip, he felt the soft draw back of your head causing his lips to tweak as his breathy laugh mixed within his short and sharp exhalations. 

“‘S tha’ how it’s gonna be?“

You fought the way your hooded eyes wanted to close at the gruff tone that laced his question, wanting to marvel in the glow that had started to coat the skin of his face. 

“Said you wanted a fight.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth were his lips abruptly upon yours. His hand spread across your entire cheek as your free hand reached for his wrist and tightly gripped. Noses squashed from the force; desperate to have each other. 

Harry's lips were fierce and bruising, his body feeling heavier against yours as he rested his other hand against your chair and gave you more of his weight. 

For him your smell was everywhere, as your other arm wrapped around his neck and clawed at the fabric of that bloody vest. The sweet of your hair care juxtaposed against the woody florals of your perfume that sensually drew and tied him to you.

Knees knocking together, you felt the way his hand stumbled as it peeled away from the chair and clawed at the silky fabric of your gown. Fingers quickly became frantic as his concentration moved to his hands that lifted fabric and slipped underneath craving the feel of your warm, soft skin.

With his mouth slightly slower and fallen as he was pulled elsewhere, you tried to take the lead as his hands wandered and he explored.

His hands were softer than usual, time away from music and instruments meaning the callouses had faded. Short nails were dull as they clawed, fingertips dancing against your plush thighs as they flattened to the seat and then upwards along your hip, scooping around your back and confidently spreading out just shy of the top of your bum.

God, he loved knowing you were completely naked underneath. How with a quick and sharp tug of his hand, he would have you bare to him.

Small press against your lower back had Harry silently asking you to raise and fall into his lap. You ignored him at first, far too wrapped up in the way he gave you his tongue around his quivering lips that were trying not to smile at the way the two of you were shamelessly necking on and he was managing to get his own way. 

Pressing your toes into the patterned antique Persian rug which sat underneath your bed, your body created a break between your thighs and their seat. Harry took advantage of the space without any need for a nudge, his hands curling against the clammier, warm skin as he urged you once more to come to him.

Your knees hit the side of your mattress first, lifting and mounting Harry’s lap and he moaned as he enjoyed your full weight against him. Fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, you felt him squeeze as he started to lower himself down to the bed.

Body laying atop an outfit priced easily in the early thousands, Harry hummed clearly letting you know how pleased he was with himself. This was only solidified by the crack of his hand, as it slapped against you bare bum cheek now on show. 

“Can’t believe you’ve got your arse in the air like this,” he rasped, head lifted so he could leave lingering kisses to the hinge of your jaw. 

Mouth slightly dropped, you could feel the way his right hand danced against the curve of your cheek and the way it dipped as it met the back of your thigh. 

His eyes were on your face, chin soft as he tilted his head down to his chest. You admired him, somehow able to find a stillness woven within a intoxicated, sensual love between the lewdish comments and suggestive wandering hands. 

Lips melding to the skin of your cheek, he asked,  “Who’re you showing it off to?”

“You, ‘f you want it like that.”

The coolness of the room hit your bare skin even more as Harry roughly pushed up the fabric of your gown up as he palmed your cheeks once more, skin massaged and squeezed between his digits.

Raw groan, he found his voice, “Turn over for me.” 

Harry slid himself closer to the side of bed, hands making light work of his socks and his briefs before he turned to throw you a glance over his shoulder.

You had removed your gown, item somewhere now on the floor revealing yourself to him proudly. 

As you lay gently on your stomach, the expanse of your bare back on show for him. He greedily let his eyes wander, the curvature of your shoulders and the indentation of your spine line. 

The way your right leg was slightly bent creating a crease to your hip and your left leg a little straighter. You certainly gave him plenty to devour with his sight. 

He didn’t give it much thought when he joined you back on the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress closer to your head.

Bare fingers caught your attention as you watched his hands scrunch around his expensive dress shirt, the familiar scratching sound music to your ears as it caught against his nails and not yours for once while he threw it to the floor at the bottom end of the bed.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to make it to tha’ dinner,” he spoke, his words not really warranting an answer. Beside your hips, you could feel his knees as he leaned for the trousers on the other side of you and pushed them out of the way too.

He continued with, “Already late. ‘S no point.”

From the way he spoke you wondered if this was what he had been aiming for all along. To scrap dinner and have his way with you. It wouldn’t have been the first time and definitely not the last. 

Eyes already heavy from the deep lull of Harry’s voice, they closed when you felt his lips hit your back, making light work of inhaling you in. His mouth was wet as he reacquainted his lips with your skin, suckling the lower he got.

Nose gently sweeping down, you found yourself dropping your forehead to your forearm giggling from the light tickle, only to sharply cry out as his teeth sunk into the top of your cheek and your head lifted once more. 

Your hand reached behind you pressing against his forehead, “Don’t you dare leave a love bite on my bum.”

His lips twitched at your squealed but breathy chastise, tongue laving against the startings of a mark. “Always begrudging me of eating, darling.”

A devilish grin laced his features as you dared to look over your shoulder at him and take in his gaze that owlishly looked at you from behind your curved hip. All you could see were his eyes as your hand gently pushed his head while he pulled your hips upwards with him, lips skimming the backs of your thighs. 

“Mm,” he started. “Not everything though, ‘s tha’ right?”

The man simply didn’t want to part from his meal.

“You always did like dessert better.” 

There was nothing more Harry loved than when you let him put his face between your legs. But when you let him do it from behind, he couldn’t even explain the difference yet there was one.

Maybe it was the way he could grab and smack your arse, fingers digging into your hips as he got to pull you onto his face when things started to get hot and heavy. That animalistic grab to your hip bone, loins pulled onto his face as he went to town.

Even better when you would push back against him. So caught up in the way he felt that you couldn’t wait any longer. He could talk to you easier this way too, really coax you not only with the feel of his tongue but the words that dripped off it too. 

And then there was the possible anticipation of assplay. Tongue always ready and willing to stimulate if it were desired and communicated. 

The way his hands massaged you, softly pulling apart your rounded cheeks and opening you to the cool air of your bedroom almost stunned. Your body quickly gathered itself with a warm moan when you felt his warm salvia drip messily down onto your ass and your middle. 

Then he was leaning forward - lapping at your skin - lapping you up. Tongue greedy at your cheeks and folds, building his own desires before he actually ate. 

This was his starter. 

The most feminine gasp exited your open mouth when you felt his mouth land where you needed him the most, somewhat too cautiously for your liking at first but you knew he sometimes liked to play this game. You found yourself wiggling back, Harry’s hands wrapping around and squeezing into your thick thighs welcomingly when he knew you’d caught on. 

He hummed, pleased that you had fallen from his meek offerings and gave you more of his mouth. 

“There’s my girl.”

“H,” you panted, pressing your forehead onto your forearm. 

“Fuck,” he muttered against you, enjoying how you were letting him have a taste. Your sweetness quenching his starved fancy. 

You were wet, but he wanted you wetter. Just wet enough so that you were tacky when he tapped himself against you teasingly. 

With his eyes closed, Harry opened his mouth wider as he pulled your hips back to his lips. His nails dig into your skin as your hands clenched into the sheets beneath.

He worked slowly against you, tongue licking at your wetness and saliva mixing with your early arousal. Nose buried inside of you as he devoured you in a way that had you thinking he had been wanting you this way for weeks. A little bit rougher, grabbing you to him and not in the way that quickies usually brought. In a way that sex selfishly commanded sometimes. 

“God, baby-“ how was it always so- gratifying? 

With his eyes closed now as he tried to focus, Harry felt your body shuffle and his own limbs followed after you without restraint. Your bum became slightly raised as you pressed your arms deeper into the mattress due to the way you began to play with yourself.

Your fingers swiped upwards in gentle pulls against your clit, Harry’s mouth barely letting up. He must’ve figured out what you were doing though from your slight change in position as he hummed against your heat, light mutterings that you couldn’t make out. 

“‘S tha’ feel good?” he asked, voice hot as he pulled back to bring his focus onto the glide of your fingers against your wet and neglected clit. “Couldn’t wait, wanted to play.”

You knew you were slick, you could feel it but rather than feel embarrassed you found yourself without a care as you pushed yourself back again. His chuckle made you feel on fire, “Not done with me? Still need some more?”

His lips and tongue dove straight back in rather than wait for a verbal answer, feeling the way your legs widened further when he licked in a particular way. The smell and taste of you was everywhere, gleaming against him with a tackiness that was the perfect piece of free memorabilia. 

Breathing heavier, you both listened to every small gasp and light moan that was drawn from you. The sound of his lips pulling at you making a heat spread across your chest and down to your core.

Harry knew your reactions like the back of his hand, and was waiting for that one sound that was so sweet and enough to get him to cheekily pull away. 

The thought alone had his lips curving into a smile against you, as he felt you starting to clench against his tongue from your joint efforts of pleasure. 

“Harry,” you whispered, rushed. The slow burning feeling starting to form in the pit of your stomach as your fingers began to move with that little bit more fervour. “Want you.”

His mouth was away from you and against the skin of your bum cheek not long after, lips messily wiping as he moved them up your back leaving a trail of arousal in his wake as you felt yourself fall flat to the mattress as he mounted you. 

Hands pinched into the skin of your back, Harry pressed his pelvis against you. 

Feeling him nestled between the cheeks of your bum, caused your eyes to close. He was so full and hard for you, you couldn’t contain the throaty moan that accompanied his grind into the dip of your bum.

“‘M gonna fuck you,” he panted, hands sweeping your hair to one shoulder so his lips can find your skin again. “Want that, hm?”

Your fingers wove into the hair at the nape of his neck, as he craned his head to look at you. His left hand pressed into the bed, holding his entire weight as his right hand reached down for his leaking cock. 

“‘S this what you want- how you want it?” He goaded in question again, gently tapping himself against the skin of your bum before he slid himself down and watched as you slightly raised your own hips for him and started to reach behind you to encourage him to press his weight on top of you.

Harry lined himself up, pushing forward and shifting his eyes from his sinking cock and up your back to see your head dipping forward to fall between your shoulders. He knew he’d never grow tired of the welcomed blissful moan of ‘yes’ that always left your lips when he finally gave it to you.

Humming deeply, Harry bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires. 

He swore, in the least teenage boy way possible, you were always tighter to him like this. Especially if you crossed your legs at your ankles behind him while he pushed into you. 

It was usually the position you adopted when you’d let him take you this way, however in the dusk evening he could feel that you had lifted your legs up so your calves were resting against his bum and holding him to you; cutting his shallow thrusting short to press and hold him deeper inside. 

As his pelvis flattened against your bum, he gritted his teeth and released a deep noise from the very back of his throat. The sound had you giggling, slightly wiggling your hips from beneath him, the moment quickly halted by one of his hands cupping at your skin.

“Darling, steady,” he warned.

“Come on,” you wiggled again. “Fuck me then.”

Pulling back, Harry nudged forward just as smooth, the intent behind his thrust obvious. Eyes dropped down he enjoyed the bounce of your cheeks from the force of his pelvis.

A content hum left your smiling lips as you jolted from each push of his hips; his grunts of exertion delightfully pleasurable as his hands pressed into the mattress next to your waist. 

Thrust measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what they wanted and needed. How to get it too. Undulating and determined.

Harry’s eyes closed as he felt you squeeze him, your legs dropping away from the cheeks of his clenching arse and down to the bed with a soft bounce. You moved again and he followed, legs opening wider against the mattress beneath you both. 

The way your face was now half buried into the sheets, muffling your moans that were usually hot against his ear and coaxing him to places he was still dumbfounded he was able reach let alone find. 

Teeth gritted once more, he could feel the tightness in his limbs and lower back. The work of his hips was unyielding but you were opening up to him, only making him want to continue the steady rhythm. To push and pull. To chase.

And it was enough. It was nice. Simmering. And if you opened your legs just that little bit wider you could rub yourself against the sheets but you wanted to give as good as you could get. Being engulfed wasn’t going to give you that. 

“Give it to me,” you requested, “Harder, baby.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really need it, don’t yer?”

He pulled you upwards, hands at the curve of your waist so his fingers indented and left lighter marks against your skin from the pressure.

Now on your knees he could really have his way with you. 

Soon the sound of your skin slapping together only started to add to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach and yours. The sound of it so obscene but so welcomed to both your ears. 

Harry’s eyes raked over your naked body, the pert cheeks of your arse bouncing enticingly against his hips, to the tops of your fingers that were fisting tightly into your bedsheets. Knuckles so prominent due to the unrelenting grip.

He had noticed that your body was on its way to folding in on itself, arms stretching above your head and hands finding purchase on your plush bed pillows closer to the top of the bed that had been reached and pulled for by your own lack of knowing what to do with your hands.

“D’ya love me?”

His question was so gritty. Throat dry from his heavy breathing. You found yourself collapsing again. 

Your body, in its lethargy, started to curl up into itself with hands pressed down and your legs bent as your arse begins to bob more against him rather than thrust itself back.

“Said d’ya love me.”

He was sharp with his thrust.

“So much-“

It was wet and it was gasped. Low moan as he cracked his hand against your cheek.

“‘S tha’ the sex talkin’,” he heaved goadingly, and you knew he was smiling. It wasn’t the sex talking, but it could be. Both so taken by the waves of pleasure that could easily sway even the most sound of minds.

You whined into your arm from his smarmy laugh, a writhe to your hips as Harry licked at his thumb and pressed it enticing against your arse. Gentle rubs had you gasping his name and pressing back, as his thumb slid down to collect your arousal that was sat coating your outer walls and his cock each time he retreated.

As you became more excited, his thumb pressed against you with a bit more pressure, gently popping inside and sitting there. 

“Harry,” you whined, the loudest you could around biting your lips, a soft frown forming against your brow at the pleasurable intrusion. 

“You fuckin’ love it,” he growled, watching as you pushed back against his next thrust. “You dirty mare.” 

Heavy frown against your brow, you dropped your head onto your forearm once more and felt yourself start to clench around him. “Yea’,” he muttered to himself, “You’re coming.” 

Nodding your head against your forearm, you felt his free hand rest onto yours that was pushed above your head. He pressed down, fingers slotting through yours as he grunted in time with his harder thrusts into you.

With shaking thighs and aching knees, you feel your mouth fall as his teeth grazed over your ear and his heavy pants warmed your already perspiring cheeks. 

“Don’t fight me,” he pleaded. “‘S nice to give in.”

His head was heavy against your temple, your hair messily in your face. You felt your expression fall as you teetered, starting to lean slightly more to one side. He was nodding, you didn’t know who to but you knew what about and you found yourself craving his narration of whispered ‘yeses’ but instead you were both overcome and the best he can do was huskily groan to encourage you.

Suddenly it tipped and your limbs started to shake as you pressed back against him both in want of more but more so to ground yourself so you didn’t collapse. He stuttered from your vigour but held you there, feeling you helplessly writhe and mercilessly squeeze around him. His cock grinding and dipping into you, drawing out each tremor, desperately seeking its own sexual gratification.

Your other hand was wrapped around his face, fingers digging into the back of his neck and whispering begs for him to come inside of you. Pleas of how you want him to give it to you. Fill you up.

And you were lewd because sometimes that was how he liked it.

Such a pretty face and pretty mouth - yours - speaking to him in such a way. Admonishment was forgotten. Who needed or cared for it when his balls were pulling up tight with each slap against you. 

And then he collapsed against you. His thighs roughly spread you as he clenched and groaned deeply - guttural - giving you everything he had. 

Blood rushed around his ears as he shuddered and shook, the force of his orgasm causing his hips to continue with little pushes just to be sure he was done. Lost to himself, the silence and his sensitivity. 

He roused to your dirty snicker, one of disbelief. Right hand wrapping behind to feel for his arse cheek and digging your nails there, wanting to keep him deep inside, or just behind you for long enough to feel him pressed flaccid and wet against your cheeks. 

The filthy reminder caused you to flush, as Harry shuffled behind you, lips seeking out your clammy skin. 

“Make you mad more often, ‘f tha’s my private penance.”

His words were muffled, spoken into your shoulder as his hands soothed and massaged over your joints in preparation for the aching reminders tomorrow. 

And the vest was still on. 

[kyotarou]

title: a little more noise

pairing: kyōtani kentarō x gn!reader

synopsis: in a world of constant silence, he’s the noise you need in life, even if he’s a bit quiet.

warnings: fluff, angst, mutual pining, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, lotta tropes and cliches, two swear words if i counted correctly

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: i wrote this in two days which i’m very proud of, go me! always wanted to write a kyōken fic and here it is. kinda scared to post this bc he’s quite tough to characterize imo and i’m terrible at writing longer pieces. oh well :,) no indentation because that’d be such a pain. hope you like it, feedback is always appreciated! (this is also my first time writing slowburn so please lmk if it’s still too fast)

Your parents were not bad people—that was a fact. They were kind, and you did everything an ordinary family would; eat dinner together, go on trips, attend school events. Things were quiet, a little too quiet for comfort. It never felt… right. You heard stories of parents arguing, nasty divorces, and custody battles. They tore your friends apart, made them feel a pain you could never understand. You knew how terrible it was, yet sometimes you wished you went through that to fill the silence in your home. The same monotonous, “good mornings,” and “hellos,” became sickening to hear. You told yourself to push on until after graduation where you’d escape. As the years dragged on, you weren’t so sure you could keep your sanity intact.

It was how you met Kyōtani Kentarō, a second-year from your school who was in a different class. Your friend told you of a gym nearby that was secluded at night. With a sly grin, he said he met up with students from other schools to smoke, and sometimes as a hookup spot. You wrinkled your nose at his comment and flicked his forehead. These were the people you hung out with; not so bright, but easygoing and fun. They were the ones who satisfied the need for noise, the bit of excitement in your life.

You snuck out after your parents had gone to bed. It didn’t hit until halfway through your walk that several things could happen. You were alone with nothing to defend yourself with except your phone and bare hands. Looking down at your outfit, an old dark hoodie and some sweats, you hoped it was ominous enough to ward people away. Besides, the last thing you wanted was to go home and wallow in its emptiness.

To see the lights on in the gym was a surprise. Upon closer inspection, you heard the squeaking of shoes and the cannon-like sounds of balls slamming the floor. You peeked your head through the door. The only person inside was a boy, no older than you. The first thing you noticed was his oddly dyed hair which resembled a tennis ball. The second was his piercing gaze as he turned his head and stared at you. You jumped. He looked as though he was going to charge at you. Instead, the boy huffed, walked to the other side of the gym, and picked up the ball. You spotted a familiar white and blue jacket on the ground.

“Seijoh?”

The boy turned to you again. “Yeah.” His voice was low, but powerful enough to rumble the earth.

You swallowed. “I go there, too.” This was a waste of time, you thought. You should’ve gone home, and you almost did until he spoke again.

“Never seen you before.”

The ball flew into the air with the boy tailing it. His body bent in a way you didn’t think was possible, face pinched in concentration. It hit his hand then the ground with the loudest smacks you had ever heard. It was incredible, but also scary. He picked up another ball behind him and did the same, and again, and again, until his side was empty and yours was strewn with several blue and yellow volleyballs. The more you watched, the more mesmerized you became.

“Can I stay?” You felt stupid for asking, but if he was trying to concentrate, you didn’t want to disturb him. Surprisingly, he nodded. You sank to the floor with your knees to your chest and listened to the constant thwacks and smacks all night.

You only learned his name a little while after. It was by accident. You were walking by a group of boys at school when one of them called him Mad Dog-chan, and you bit your lip to stop your laughter. Luckily, they didn’t notice. It was kind of cute the more you thought about it. It fit his appearance quite well, too. That night, you found him at the gym once again. Instead of a curt nod, you waved.

“Hey, Mad Dog-chan!”

You immediately regretted your words when he stopped bouncing the ball and flashed you a murderous look. You muttered a hurried apology and sat on the floor in your usual spot. He whacked a ball a couple of times then came over to grab his water bottle. After a few quick gulps, you expected him to get back on the court, but he stared at the spot beside you.

“It’s Kyōtani. Kyōtani Kentarō.”

Some nights, he didn’t practice. You sat in a playground nearby with soda and snacks from home. Originally, they were meant to replenish his energy when he overworked himself. Now, you were the one eating most of them, with Kyōtani nibbling on a custard bun as you wolfed down chip bag after chip bag. One thing you could say with confidence was Kyōtani was a great listener. At first, you sat in awkward silence. Then, you started rattling off all the things you did that day. It led to you talking about anything and everything, including the funny-looking dog you saw on the street last week. You hoped he didn’t think he reminded you of it.

Talking to Kyōtani was equivalent to talking to a wall. If anything, you were talking at him. He barely looked your way, and if you asked a question, he responded with a grunt or a simple, “Yeah.” Even though you wished it was two-sided, it felt good. You could finally break the silence that shrouded you for years, something you yearned to do but never had the confidence to. With Kyōtani, because of how quiet he was, you felt you could say anything without judgment. You did this for a while, rambling to him in the playground while he sat and listened.

Together, you sat on the swings with fruit sandwiches you made earlier that day. Your feet dragged against the sand and dirt as you swung back and forth. It seemed like Kyōtani enjoyed it. You noticed him eyeing your sandwich while licking his lips. You laughed and handed the rest to him. You started your daily tangent; woke up, ate a meat bun for breakfast, went to school, did homework, then came here. Somewhere along the way, you mentioned how you were home alone since your parents had lots of meetings to attend. You wished it was a little more lively. It was why you left the house every night, to find some noise in the suffocating void of it all.

You talked some more about your family, which you never did. You were too distracted to see Kyōtani’s head perk up. He stopped munching on the fruit sandwich and leaned forward, trying to look at your face. You continued to ramble, feeling your irritation slowly rise.

“Am I a bad person? I mean, they’re really nice, and I adore them. But it’s unbearable sometimes, and then I end up feeling like an asshole.”

You let out a dry laugh, ignoring the pain of the metal chains holding up the swing as they dug into your palms. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, unsure of what to say next. You chose to draw circles in the sand with the tip of your shoe.

“I understand how you feel.”

You looked at Kyōtani in surprise. You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. The night felt a little brighter.

The last thing your “friends” expected was for you to ditch them for him. “Looks like a tennis ball,” one of them said. You chuckled since it was your exact thought when you first met him. You were relieved but also disheartened when they didn’t seem to mind too much. At least you knew where they stood. 

Hanging out with Kyōtani was much different compared to your nights at the gym or the playground. You got lots of stares from the third-years who never thought he could behave like this. Some people in your class whispered about the two lone-wolves banding together. You pretended not to hear.

“You’ve been cheery lately.”

You stared at your mother, trying to process her words. They never asked about you, which you grew to appreciate. It meant not having to force out a conversation. You almost brushed it aside until she spoke again. Your chin rested in your palm as you picked the vegetables on your plate, stomach full with snacks.

“I met a new friend.”

Your mother raised her brows, impressed. “Oh? Tell me about him.”

“How do you know he’s a boy?”

“Just a hunch.”

You sighed, continuing to stir your food. “He’s quiet. A little weird, but he’s nice. I can talk to him about anything.”

“That’s good.”

Your father glanced at her, and she shot him a strange look. Don’t, it said. He backed off and ate as if nothing happened.

You managed to weave yourself with the other boys from the volleyball team. They were a scary bunch at first, most of them glaring at Kyōtani the moment he walked through the door, but they were nice to you. He had left his jacket at the playground one night, and you made a mental note to return it to him the next day. Except, like Kyōtani, you also forgot about it. When you saw the boys flood to the gym for practice, you raced home then back to school and shyly followed a group of girls to the gym who were there to gawk at the captain.

During their break, you nervously approached Kyōtani and poked his shoulder. They watched you return his jacket but didn’t expect his, “Thank you,” afterward. When you left, Oikawa bugged him to invite you back. Kyōtani shrugged. He usually ignored him at all costs. Oikawa took it as a good sign.

Hanging out with them was a lot more fun than you anticipated. They were better than your previous friends, and even though most of them didn’t like Kyōtani, they seemed to be warming up. Your favorite moment was the movie night at Oikawa’s house. The living room was packed, with little room to wiggle, but it was comfortable. That night, you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, and the tensions between you, Kyōtani, and the rest of the boys dissolved. You belonged here.

Yahaba caught him staring at you outside your classroom. You sat across from another classmate, helping her with a few assignments for her art class. You posed and let her take pictures. Some were silly, but the others captured your features perfectly. In one of them, you rested your cheek in your palm with the tip of your pencil wedged between your teeth. You looked at the camera through your lashes as your classmate continued to snap more shots.

“Cool it.” Yahaba clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Never said you were.”

You helped your classmate pack her things. While you followed her out the door, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and fiddled with the hem of her skirt. You bid her goodbye as her friends called her over, then turned to Kyōtani and Yahaba. 

“Ready to go?”

Yahaba nodded, as did Kyōtani. You walked ahead of them, listing off that day’s menu. Behind you, Kyōtani’s eyes zeroed in on your moving form, the shift of your hips as you took each step. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked like he was honing in on a kill. Yahaba prodded his arm.

“Don’t be a pervert.”

You swore you heard a slap.

Friday after school, your parents were home from work much earlier than anticipated. A game show played on the television. They barely noticed your arrival until you called out. The TV turned off, and your mother looked over the back of the sofa with a wry smile. Your father drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. His eyes stayed glued to the empty screen.

“Welcome back,” your mother greeted. She glanced at the boxes in the kitchen, filled with old plates and cutlery you hadn’t touched in a while. You assumed they were throwing them out.

“So…” she drawled. “What do you think of Tokyo?”

“Tokyo?”

Your hands shook as you set your school bag down on the kitchen table. The boxes made more sense. You remembered your father talking about a school his friend’s son attended. Nekoma, was it? He told you how great it was there, that it’d be easy to make friends in such a populated area.

“Tokyo…” you repeated. A heavy lump formed in your throat. “It seems… nice. Why do you ask?” You couldn’t stop the waver in your voice. Your mother caught on too.

“Dad’s company moved areas. It’s a big shift, but it’s too good to lose. So-”

“We’re moving.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you were about to.” 

Your head hung over the table. There was a crushing weight in your chest. Of course they wouldn’t tell you. They never did. It was too much to not expect this betrayal. If you told them how happy you were at Seijoh, maybe things would’ve been different. I could’ve prevented this. You shook your head. You couldn’t stop an entire company from moving, nor could you convince your father to find a new job in Miyagi. You had to follow them like you always did.

“If we can stay, we will, but most likely-”

“I’ll start packing.”

You grabbed your school bag and stomped to your room, vision obscured by your tears. Why now? Why did it have to be when you were starting to fit in, when you found real friends who made you happier than ever? Just when things looked like they were turning around, you were back at square one. You’d be there for a while, stuck in a new city far away from Seijoh. If you were with your old group, you wouldn’t have been this upset. But to not see them again—Yahaba, Hanamaki, even Oikawa.

You opened your phone and stared at the lock screen: a picture of you and Kentarō from the movie night at Oikawa’s. His arm was slung over your shoulder, a scowl on his face, but the peace sign he held up made it worth it. You remembered taking it and everyone gasping that Kentarō would even allow anyone to take a picture of him, let alone save it. Your heart fluttered. When did he stop being Kyōtani and become Kentarō?

Kentarō faced the empty playground. He sat in the right swing as he always did, scanning the area for any sign of you. In his hand was his attempt at a fruit sandwich, messily covered in cellophane with whipped cream oozing between the bread. A bandaid wrapped the tip of his finger where he accidentally cut himself. Damn those strawberries.

Kentarō kicked at the dirt. He waited, and waited some more, but after twenty minutes, you didn’t show. He pulled out his phone and sent you a quick text. Your absence made his skin crawl. His phone lit up with a response. Sorry, was all you said.

He couldn’t shake the heaviness as he trudged home.

The view outside the window gave you an excuse to be distracted. The voices of the boys were loud, but you chose to focus on the birds circling the courtyard. Two of them swooped down and landed on the thick branch of an old tree. They ruffled their feathers and nuzzled their beaks. You saw your old friends walk out of the main building. The one who introduced you to the gym glanced up. His eyes met yours momentarily. He went back to talking to someone you didn’t recognize and led them to the other side of the campus.

You stared out the window until Mattsun shook your shoulder. You turned and put on a faux smile. Your classwork was still strewn across your desk even though it was lunch. A few drops of chili sauce had landed on your math homework. You scowled at Hanamaki, his face stuffed with food.

“Oops.”

You wiped it off with an eye roll then stuffed it into your bag along with your other notebooks.

“What’s buggin’ ya?” Mattsun asked. 

You shrugged. “Nothing. I’m ready for the day to end.” It was the last thing you wanted. There was a bit of time before you left for Tokyo, but the countdown moved fast. You ignored Mattsun’s opposing look and ate. They couldn’t know yet.

Kentarō knew there was more than what met the eye, but he bit his tongue. He was paranoid, he told himself. The guilty look on your face as the boys laughed, unaware of the shift in attitude, said otherwise. He threw his arm over the back of your chair. You relaxed, but the sad look remained. Remembering the fruit sandwich he made, Kentarō grabbed it from his bag and slid it across your desk. You raised your brows.

“What’s this?”

“I made it.”

You unwrapped the sticky mess of whipped cream and strawberry jam. Kentarō watched you take a small bite, followed by a bigger one.

“This is delicious!”

He showed you the tip of his finger. “The price I paid for it.”

Your knees knocked against his under your desk. He flinched. You pressed your finger to your lips, then to the bandaid. “Thank you. Hope it feels better.”

Your cheeks swelled as you took more bites than you could chew. Pink syrup stuck to the corner of your mouth. Cute, Kentarō thought.

“What was that?” you mumbled. A crumb lodged itself in your throat. Mattsun rushed over and slapped you so hard on the back it echoed. A handful of other students looked over. Hanamaki scolded you for gulping down your bottle of water without taking any breaths. Kentarō cheeks turned a darker shade than the strawberries when you gripped his arm for support. You didn’t ask again.

“Cute,” he whispered anyway. He knew you wouldn’t hear over Mattsun’s teasing. “You’re cute.”

Kentarō invited you to the movies. He planned on having it at home, but his parents occupied the TV, and his laptop was too small to enjoy anything. He met you at a plaza a walking distance’s away. He let you pick the movie, curious about your tastes. Action? Romcom? When he looked at his ticket, it was for the latest horror movie. Critics raved about it, calling it the best of the decade. Impressive.

The movie started a while ago. The critics were right, it was scary, a lot scarier than he expected. You enjoyed it like a comedy movie, clapping your hand over your mouth when the entire theater shrieked at the killer, including Kentarō.

“You’re a sadist,” he whispered.

“Am not, just think it’s funny.”

He shook his head. Another jumpscare happened, this time worse than before. Several people jolted in their seats and bits of popcorn flew into the air. Kentarō didn’t realize he had sank into his seat—your seat, actually—until you nudged his foot with yours.

“Scared?” Your breath was warm against his ear.

“Sorry.”

You patted his hand which clutched the armrest with a vice grip. Kentarō’s heart beat faster.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m right here.”

The movie ended and the lights switched on. People left the theater with wobbly legs and pale faces. You headed to the exit holding your empty cups and popcorn bags with Kentarō in tow. He wished the movie was longer. Not because he enjoyed it, but because the smile on your face made it worth it.

Your room was bare besides your bed and desk. Most of your stuff was packed neatly in the many cardboard boxes piled inside your now empty closet. It’d been a few weeks since that Friday, and you still hadn’t told Kentarō or any of the boys. You weren’t sure how to break the news. He noticed how clingy you became, tailing him wherever he went at school. Not that he minded. You talked less at the playground. It was him who filled the silence instead, though his daily recaps weren’t as interesting as yours.

Next week was the last with Kentarō. In your shaky hands was an envelope, the edges indented from how hard you gripped it. You took out the letter inside, read it over, then slipped it back in. You thought about sealing it for the umpteenth time that day. Before your tongue swiped against the flap, you quickly scanned over the letter once more as if the words would disappear. You’d seal it later, you told yourself.

Your over-the-top cheeriness was so evident it was painful. They asked what was up, and you said you were simply having a good day. Kentarō knew better than that. At lunch, when you were away from everyone else, he prodded your shoulder and asked what was wrong. You frowned at him, then smiled.

“Everything's fine.”

Before he could probe further, you grabbed his wrist and led him to the cafeteria.

“There’s chicken! It’s your favorite, right?”

Something slipped out of your pocket. Kentarō thought it was your school notes. He bent down to pick it up and saw it was a white envelope, unsealed. You were already gone, dragged away by his teammates. He didn’t want to pry, but curiosity got the best of him. Turning the other direction, he grabbed the note inside. His name at the top caught his eye.

Dear Kyōken-chan,

He snorted.

Sorry for not telling you this sooner. I’m still trying to process this too.

A crease formed on his forehead as he squinted. The letter was quite long, the handwriting messy. He repeated the phrases in his head over and over, but he couldn’t fully understand what they meant. He flipped it to the back and sighed when there was more. He decided to scan it this time, except a handful of words made him reread it in depth.

“Kentarō!” In your arms were several wrapped buns from the cafeteria. He tried to stuff the note into his pocket, but you already saw.

“Oh.” The buns fell to the ground. “Oh no.”

Kentarō’s face was a mix of frustration and hurt. The hand holding the letter shook, the other balled in a fist. You wanted to run, but if you moved, you swore you’d collapse.

“(Y/N),” he murmured. “What is this?”

A weary laugh escaped your lips. “Um. Can we go somewhere else?”

Not waiting for an answer, you grabbed his wrist and led him to the school’s courtyard.

“One week,” he huffed.

“One week.”

You sat beneath a large, shady tree in the farthest corner away from the main building. Kentarō rubbed his temple and sighed. He held onto your letter. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap.

“For how long?”

“Probably forever. Not literally, but it’ll feel like it.”

“So you’re graduating from Nekoma?”

You nodded. Kentarō tapped his knuckles against his cheek.

“Wished you told me sooner.”

You blinked at him wearily. “You’re not mad?”

He shook his head then turned away. You grew quiet for a moment. He took it as his chance to butt in.

“So, you like me?”

“It’s all in the letter.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

You looked away. Your hands were clammy, and the air felt ten times hotter. The word you used was stronger, much stronger than he anticipated. It made his cheeks burn and a smile threatened to pull at his lips. He wanted to hear it come to life.

“I love you, Kentarō.”

It sounded sweet, almost tooth-rotting sweet. Kentarō chewed the inside of his cheek. He liked you, he really did. He just wasn’t sure if it was the right moment to say it. Would there be a right moment? After this week, you’d be in Tokyo in another school—a rival school, to make matters worse. He wanted his words to hold weight, and in that moment, they didn’t. Not as much as he wished.

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand.”

“I do.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the bell cut you off. Kentarō hoisted himself from the ground then held his hand out. His palm was rough under yours, but his touch was gentle. Once you got to your feet, you let go, but he kept his pinky locked with yours.

Friday arrived quickly. Sadness filled the air as you said your goodbyes, thanking your classmates and teachers for the short, but pleasant year. After school, the team led you to the gym with your eyes covered. The boys’ gym was decorated with a banner and a table with food. There was even a cake, the word Seijoh iced and crossed out on top. You let out a hearty laugh before inviting the boys to dig in.

“Of course,” said Oikawa. “I paid for it.”

On one side, Mattsun smeared frosting over Hanamaki’s cheek. On the other, Oikawa tried to spoon-feed Iwaizumi only to be smacked on the head. You sat on the floor next to Kentarō and looked around with a big smile. His thumb reached out to wipe a dollop of frosting from the corner of your mouth. The phrase, “Time flies when you’re having fun,” held up its end of the bargain. When you looked outside, the sun had begun to set.

You thanked your friends, took one last photo, and managed to hold in your tears until your walk home. You promised to visit and to cheer them on at nationals, even if you were on Nekoma’s side. They laughed, waved with sad smiles, then watched you leave.

Kentarō caught up with you a third of the way home. His hand slipped into yours, a habit he recently picked up. It wouldn’t last much longer. You stopped a few houses down from yours. You didn’t want to let go, not yet.

You learned many things this year. One, life wasn’t fair. It never was. Two, people weren’t as shitty as you thought, proven in your new friendships. Three, seeing Kentarō cry made your heart ache in a way you never wanted to feel again. His head fell against your shoulder with a hard thump, tears soaking through the uniform you’d wear for the last time. You rubbed his back and pressed your lips to the top of his head.

“Stay,” he pleaded.

“I wish I could.”

“Please don’t go.”

“I have to.”

Kentarō looked up through his watery lashes. Your lips connected. Who initiated it was a mystery. His kiss was slow but fervent. You leaned in, deepening it until you swore your teeth clashed. Kentarō’s hands rested on your hips, yours on the nape of his neck. His kisses were magnetizing, drawing you closer with each movement. You broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together. He still had tears in his eyes, and so did you. You stayed like that for a bit, wrapped in each other’s arms until you knew you had to let go.

“Call me everyday, please,” he whispered.

“I promise. I swear on my life.” 

You kissed him again. 

“Goodbye, Kentarō. I love you.”

“Goodbye, (Y/N). I’ll be waiting.”

“So will I.”

Kentarō didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. You knew he loved you, proven by his daily text messages and calls thereafter. Even if it only lasted a couple of seconds, you never missed a day. Sometimes, you heard his teammates' voices in the background. The audio would become crackly before a new voice replaced your boyfriend’s: Mattsun, Yahaba, Oikawa, and even Iwaizumi. 

Boyfriend. The fact made your stomach fill with butterflies. Kentarō was yours, and you were his.

It’d been months since you last saw him in person. You finished your second-year at Nekoma, a school that welcomed you with open arms. You met lots of people, found new friends, but the boys from Seijoh never left your mind. The picture you took hung on the wall of your new bedroom, a space you were still getting used to. Summer vacation was here, and you promised to come home to Miyagi for a week or two. On the train, you checked your phone to see how many kilometers were left. Just a few more minutes.

When it came to a halt, you burst from your seat, duffle bag in tow. You sent Kentarō a text, only to be face-to-face with him the moment the doors opened. You leapt into his arms, knocking him back a few steps. His chin rested on your shoulder as you hugged, swaying side to side.

“I missed you so much, Ken.”

“Missed you, too.”

Your fingers clasped around his, resting perfectly in the dips between his knuckles. Hopefully, he hadn’t dropped his habit. The months you were apart flew by, but they were also the longest you had ever witnessed. Seeing Kentarō for the first time in a while felt like a breath of cool, fresh air.

You tugged on his wrist, ready to head to town. He stayed put.

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

He grinned shyly at you. Kentarō brought color into your dull life, your source of noise in the thick silence. The summer wouldn’t forever, and you had another year left to endure. But as long as he was there, even kilometers away, you’d get through it together.

[sixeyesgojo]

being their best friend hc

Summary: What’s it like to be their best friend?

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuji, Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge

Word count: -

Content warning: -

A/N: -

Gojo Satoru

Gosh, the two of you were so chaotic as best friends. Both of you were up to no good at least half of the time and frankly, it pissed quite some people off but neither of you could give a flying fuck about others, just snickering at the mischief you've caused

As a troublemaker yourself, you obviously support Gojo wholeheartedly in... opposing the higher-ups, I guess? You actually wanted him to overthrow them, it was time for change.

Who cares about the higher-ups anyway? They didn't really like you either

It's widely known that Gojo has no sense of private space, so expect him to frequently come very close

Not that you mind anyway, at some point you even picked up that habit of his

Naturally, there will be a lot of PDA, like his arm around your shoulder or something like that

Outsiders always think the two of you are dating but

"Hah? Dating that idiot? As if!" (you can choose whoever says that, either you about him or vice versa)

The two of you actually sit down together to make plans on how to get on other people's nerves and nobody is really spared. Like that one time when you made a plan to mess with poor Megumi.

You're a formidable Jujutsu Sorcerer yourself, so there will be a lot of competitions between you and him

"Where's my reward? I've defeated that curse 0.01 seconds faster than you!"

"You will get your reward if you're at home faster than I am."

Fushiguro Megumi

He frequently has to get you out of trouble; be it because of some trouble or a curse, this boy always has to get you out of the mess and he's a little annoyed but does it regardless

Will roll his eyes a lot but he loves you just as much, so he puts up with your antics without complaining.... much

frequently asks "are you actually stupid?", which usually earns him a slap on the shoulder from you

He may be annoyed at you sometimes but he would never dare hurt you in any way, he even shows his appreciation in the most Megumi way possible

When he shows you appreciation, it's usually through simple gestures like offering massages, going grocery shopping with you or buying something you've mentioned you needed (as a casual remark, which you didn't expect him to remember), usually accompanied by him rubbing his neck and averting his eyes, saying, "I thought you'd need this."

takes pictures whenever you hang out but not of you or him

For example, if you were going to have a video game night, he'd take one of the controllers and the games

You have to convince him to appear on a selfie with you

claims "I'm not photogenic" but he totally is

Since he isn't much of a talker, hanging out in silence is fine for him too

is very good at keeping secrets, he will take them to his grave

doesn't show it a lot but he's almost as protective of you as a big brother would be

Itadori Yuuji

This boy would totally do any favor you asked of him - not that you would exploit this, but just know that he would

Yuuji is a very good listener and he knows when and what to comment when you tell him something, despite being a little dense.

His bright and cheery attitude never ceases to cheer you up too, no matter in which mood you were before seeing him

He's the kind of friend who would do anything with you. You don't even have to put in a lot of effort in order to convince him, just hit him up casually and he will agree. Bungee Jumping? Easy. Skydiving? No problem.

The two of you are regular customers at the local cinema.

And probably at some fastfood chain too.

Unlike Megumi, Yuuji takes a lot of selfies with you. Most of them are dorky ones where the two of you just grimace and then laugh about how ugly that picture turned out to be. One of them ends up being his homescreen picture.

You actually know him since (at least) middle school - you've become best friends quite quickly, mostly thanks to his easygoing personality. Who doesn't love this boy?

When he discloses that he will move to Tokyo, your first reaction is to be shocked but then that quickly transforms into happiness because it's what he chose to do

Due to personal reasons, you also move to Tokyo not too long after that. One would say it was coincidence when it actuality, it was fate that wasn't allowing you to let go of Yuuji. Not that you wanted to anyway.

He definitely didn't expect that. When you reunite, you just throw up two peace signs and say, "Seems like we're stuck together."

A smile graces his lips and he replies as follows: "Wouldn't have it any other way, if you ask me."

Kugisaki Nobara

You haven't known her for long... but it sure feels like it has been years because you just get along so well

You accidentally bumped into her, making her drop everything. You felt bad, so you invited her to a cup of tea. It clicked almost instantly.

Since you are originally from Tokyo, she insists that you are her personal guide

"If I got lost, that would be terrible, so I hereby appoint you as my personal Tokyo guide."

Nobara often calls you and invites you to hang out in downtown quite spontaneously

expect lots of shopping sprees, lots of laughter and lots of gossip

One thing you started to associate with her was bubble tea. You think of her whenever you drink it alone.

Oh yes, she also likes to call you in the evening to just talk, especially when she has not been able to see you a lot lately due to missions

Sometimes you get her little gifts, like earrings that you thought suited her, and deliver it directly to the students' dorm

There will always be a happy reaction coming from her. She is especially grateful when she sees a little gift after a tough mission.

Gradually, she starts to do the same for you.

"This hoodie was so cool and comfy, I thought I'd get one for both, me and you."

Inumaki Toge

You're a Jujutsu Sorcerer from the Jujutsu Highschool in Kyoto and met this peculiar boy at the Exchange Event, as a rival initially

However, you were impressed and approached him to befriend him. He was pretty hesitant at first but ultimately, didn't sense any hostility coming from you, so he just went with the flow. Who knew, maybe you ended up being a good friend?

At first it was chaos since you had no idea what the hell he meant by "Mustard leaf."

Hah, luck's on your side though because you managed to decode his speech after some time

Nobody knows how you did that but as a matter of fact, you did. Took you long enough, in your opinion.

Sometimes he would grab a paper and write on it to communicate with you nevertheless, he thinks it feels more personal to be able to accurately convey what someone wants to say themself - not that you really needed it after having decoded his speech

As mentioned, you're also a sorcerer but thanks to Toge, you branched out to the medical field simultaneously, just to be able to concoct throat medicine for him. It was an unspoken tradition for you to bring him a bottle of your own throat medicine and onigiri whenever you saw him. The way his eyes lit up was always worth the effort.

Your favorite way to hang out was making onigiris and sushi together, you can't convince me otherwise

Same as Megumi, he does not mind spending quieter evenings with you

He comes to visit you in Kyoto just as many times as you visit Tokyo.

"Bonito flakes." - "Yeah, Toge, I know. I agree with you."

[knickynoo]

Do you have any thoughts on Marty and his self esteem issues? In most of the trilogy, I feel like Marty ranges from experience a lot of insecurity at best, to like a considerable amount of self loathing at worst, (like pls Marty, Doc getting struck by lighting was not your fault? You’re not Thor?) . And there’s the whole chicken thing, so I was curious if you had any thoughts on where it stems from, how it’s affected him etc etc? Okay lmao that’s it, have a great day !!

Hello! Do I have thoughts?? Yes. I do.

So, one of the things I like so much about Marty as a character is that...he's kind of an enigma of sorts? Like. Here's this kid who skateboards, rocks that denim jacket and the cool sunglasses, plays guitar, has a pretty girlfriend, etc. You take all of that, and it should reflect a really confident, popular person. I mean, with all the stereotypical "cool guy" attributes considered, Marty should have Ferris Bueller-level confidence and charm. He should be strutting around, smooth-talking everyone, laughing in the face of danger, and possessing unshakeable self-esteem. But he does/has none of those things because, as we all know, Marty is A Mess (affectionate). And yeah, a lot of it seems to stem from self-esteem issues, which we do see sprinkled throughout the trilogy. Where's it all coming from? Well, a lot of places, most likely...

• FAMILY: Probably the biggest factor. Though I'm sure George and Lorraine were sincerely in love for a while at the beginning of their relationship/marriage, I think it's fair to assume that any real spark between them had pretty much fizzled out by the time Marty came along or when he was a young kid. Take a loveless relationship between a meek, subservient man and a woman who drinks away her feelings, factor in a 17-year-old boy who's probably never had any real semblance of parental stability in his house, and it's highly likely that kid is going to have some issues. It's really difficult to believe in yourself & feel secure when the norm is having parents who are wrapped up in their own worlds/rarely interact with each other, seeing your father get emotionally (& physically!) pushed around by his supervisor, and watching your mom cling to alcohol and sink into depression.

• Plus, there are the separate relationships George and Lorraine have with Marty. Granted, we don't see much of it, but what we see at dinner is probably a good example of a typical interaction. George is quick to steer Marty away from any situation where he may face rejection or hardship. And yeah, he may think he's protecting his son, but this strategy is actually pretty harmful. I can imagine that any time Marty is feeling nervous or let down, and goes to his father seeking encouragement, he's only left with the impression that it's better not to take any risks at all because he might fail anyway. Instead of being built up, any potential self-worth is being chipped away at by George.

And as far as Lorraine is concerned, I get the impression that she's (more often than not) critical and judgemental of Marty. She's not shy about airing her strong dislike for Jennifer, during which Marty stays completely silent and unresponsive. Perhaps Marty's general default around his mom is silence, due to him having learned a long while back that he's better off keeping his mouth shut. I can see Lorraine lecturing Marty often, picking apart every little flaw she may see in him (friends, grades, attitude, etc.), especially when she's had too many drinks and especially when you consider that Marty is probably her most "difficult" child. Sad as it may sound, I can't picture Marty walking away from very many interactions with his mother feeling good about himself.

• GENERAL ANXIETY/NEURODIVERGENCY: Marty is an easily flustered, anxious guy. And whether that stems from his home environment or genetics (I mean, look at George), I don't know. But he definitely seems to be a sort of nervous, hesitant kid, particularly in the first movie. I also, like most of the fandom, headcanon Marty as having ADHD. And like...if that's the case for him, it certainly isn't helping at all with the self-esteem stuff. He's written off as a slacker at school, told he'll never amount to anything, and probably struggles a lot to keep up in his classes and survive in an environment that almost definitely doesn't offer any form of support or accommodations. That would be a big blow to his self-worth as well.

People with ADHD also tend to be very critical of themselves, worry about what others think of them, and have a hard time with rejection. Hence, the one rejection at the audition followed by, I'm just a big, stupid failure and I'll never ever be good enough. My world is crumbling, I should just give up everything forever =(((

(What do you mean those weren't his exact words??)

• BONUS: Marty might also face a decent amount of social isolation/teasing due to his friendship with Doc, which would take a toll on confidence too. Also, I just...don't think that Marty has many friends??

When you take all the above factors, Marty's self-esteem issues make a lot of sense and, if not for Doc, would probably run a lot deeper than what we see in the trilogy. ALSO!

• Marty blaming himself for Doc getting hit by lightning in the DeLorean: I've seen a few people comment on this and how they think it's ridiculous that Marty felt guilty but...it's always made a lot of sense to me, actually. No, Marty didn't cause the lightning, but he did set off the chain of events that led to Doc being there at that moment. If he'd had the inner strength/self-control to walk away from Biff outside of the dance, he could have just joined Doc on the roof with the almanac and they'd have been on their merry way. And even if Biff had continued to challenge him, or even followed him, Marty likely could have created a diversion or gotten an adult at the dance to help and still made it up to the roof before the worst of the storm hit. But because he couldn't stand being called a chicken, he ended up taking a door to the face, had the book stolen back, and had to go on that little side adventure to retrieve it, which led to Doc needing to save him. So yeah, I'm actually team Marty on this one. His choice did lead to Doc being catapulted into the Old West, lol. I'd have been consumed with guilt too.

• The Chicken Thing: I'm not going to go into too much detail (HA!) because this is already ridiculously long, but I will say that I don't go by the more popular headcanon that says Marty's sudden inability to handle being challenged is due to the updated timeline taking effect and "altering" him. Essentially, that Marty growing up with a confident, successful father made him have higher expectations put on him, and so he was always striving to prove he could live up to them.

I actually don't think any ripples from the new timeline catch up to Marty yet during the course of the trilogy. (I tend to headcanon that as happening gradually in the coming weeks and months after he gets home). Instead, I think that Marty's inclination towards becoming feral at the words "chicken", "yellow", etc. is because of his life in his original timeline. Growing up with a jellyfish for a father, it makes sense that Marty would want to distance himself as much as possible from being associated with weakness. He'd want to prove himself that much more because everyone around him would probably think he's just like his cowardly old man.

And though I know it's not really possible (because they weren't planning on a 2nd or 3rd movie), I think a case can be made that there's a glimpse of the "chicken thing" in the first movie, in the scene of Marty and Lorraine in the car at the dance. I mean, he gets all upset and tells her not to drink, but then she calls him a square, uses the classic peer-pressure tactic of, everyone's doing it, and he caves instantly and takes a swig. Could be because he doesn't want to be thought of as a square, or could be because he's desperate to calm his nerves a bit. Either way, Marty doesn't seem to fare too well when challenged or put under pressure, so I lump this scene in as a "chicken" moment.

I...need to stop. I set out to write a quick response to this. Like, a paragraph or two. But this question activated Hyperfocus Mode, and I blinked and now it's 2 hours after I started and I have AN ESSAY.

Thanks for the ask! *goes to lie down*

[azazelsconfessional]

((Azazel's abilities(and some combat abilities for the other Missionaries as they continue to be side characters when this event ends)

Azazel is ridiculously powerful. He's easily the most powerful member of the Missionaries, after Nyarlathotep.

Shame about the chains that keep his power and true form locked away.

Rule of Revelation (Sacred Artifact: Bible "Eyes of the Fallen")

Azazel's Bible is always on his person. He does NOT put it down and does not give it to people except those he trusts. He's willing at times to show its contents to people but he won't let most anyone hold it.

If you do get a hold of it it will stop working/won't show you anything. It will just become a book with glowing symbols on/in it or a regular Bible with an eye on the front.

Eyes of the Fallen allows Azazel to view and proccess anything the pages see, including outside of Missionaries territory.

In order to use Eyes of the Fallen, Azazel needs to expose his chains, causing him to remove his cassock.

Azazel can move the pages wherever he pleases. They're magical so there's some resistance in them, however they are paper and thus easily destroyed or removed or displaced.

Large eyes made of light will appear in the sky over large areas he's searching.

Within Missionaries Territory Azazel can see anything without the aid of his Artifact.

Azazel can see anything there is to be seen and a bit more. Though he can't see "how" someone came to be who/what they are, he can see their current form and see them for what they really are(MC has 24+ souls and he can see and identify them all; Nomad is a human modified into a tiger and he can see his human soul; Shino is a Shadow/ghost/etc and he can see that he's no longer really alive/his original form; when Raphael made them all see zombies and the Fisher King he was able to confirm they weren't real zombies but the memories of a past occurrence; etc)

He can both see and hear things, however the other senses don't work.

There are little to no combat capabilities to Eyes of the Fallen.

Healing capabilities slightly described below.

Magic & Game Unit Skills

Azazel is insanely powerful to the point that his Summopedia page described him as being the most powerful of the Missionaries. However his chains prevent him from accessing his true form or power.

Azazel is able to use bursts of Aether(equivalent Light, Holy, etc) magic despite being a Fallen Angel.

They're not super strong, but they do have a decent range. He can use them more or less infinitely due to his huge power reserve that's otherwise restricted to him.

He's able to heal himself and others. In-game limits this to using Eyes of The Fallen/his Charge Skill and only to allies in his immediate vicinity, so I'll consider this healing happening through use of the pages of his Artifact over wounds.

Applies the effect 'Blessing' to his allies around himself(heals over time temporarily.)

Can remove a debuff of people he hits; weaken(defense) of people he hits; temporarily prevent use of skills of those he hits; heal allies after damaging opponents

Taking damage can strengthen allies(increase their charge points, which isn't really a concern in terms of writing since they can use their powers more or less instantly)

Misc

Azazel has wings he can magically produce/retract. He can use them to fly.

Azazel's pain tolerance is obscenely high. He responds to pain as though it's pleasure.

Azazel cannot be killed. Killing him will change him into his true form.

Breaking his chains(accessible only to beings with powers on level with a Supreme God/King of Gods; Archangel Raphael; and entities with Rules that can cut through/break/open things absolutely(MC's Rule of Rending, primarily) and a few others) will also change him into his true form and return to him his powers.

Eyes of the Fallen and some other things can make his tail turn from a goat tail into a snake tail. His scales are slightly keeled and more keeled when agitated/fighting, making them spiky like a spiny bush viper

Exists but is inaccessible--a spear with the Rule of Corruption inherit in his true body. Cannot access it unless chains are 'loosened' by an Archangel or are cut enough maybe????? I haven't decided how this headcanon works since he can't use it anyway

Under the cut a small rundown on side characters' powers

Arsalan:

Artifact is a shamshir that can spray an infinite amount of sacred oil

Oil is fired at a speed that can knock one off their feet or knock weapons out of one's hand

Oil is obviously slippery and heavy enough to prevent use of wings as well; holding things and maintaining footing is very difficult

Allies are adept at fighting through/with his oil and thus are uninhibited except if their wings get too oily

Always covered in oil himself, hard to hold on to

Oil has healing properties(Unction), hurts enemies after they've been hit by Arsalan(Unction Weakness)

Oil is flammable, Zabaniyya controls his flames and uses the oil to spread Hellfire if need be(see: Zabaniyya)

Sword is strong against demons in particular; sacred oil is all over his body and makes him strong against/resistant to demons as well

Rarely uses sword as weapon, sticks to oil and physical combat unless given permission by Jacob or in a desperate situation that requires it

Physically and mentally extremely strong and resilient, uninhibited by his own oils even when manhandling enemies via wrestling

Sword allows him to resist oil and temptation as well

Teeth and claws are very sharp

Incredible leader, almost all of Aoyama Guild will obey him without question

Maria

Artifact is thorns that can move pain to and from others and herself(including painful memories)

Thorns are able to grow just about anywhere, including inside, and cover spaces

Applies Stigma to herself and those she hits or is hit by(applies damage over time and reduces defense)

Heals self and allies, especially by transferring damage from them to enemies through thorns

Temporarily disable skills

Leader of the Aoyama Guild, obeyed by most of the current members

Gabriel

Rule/Sacred Artifact(undisclosed? May be a microphone?/magical girl wand?) allows her to drive others to madness through the power of moonlight. Dubiously part of her Rule is her ability to make others fall for/obey her simply by commanding them

Likely also has a sword Artifact, rarely uses it, similar circumstances as Arsalan

The latter usually is used to make people stop attacking(Charm)

Very support-based, strengthening, healing, and motivating self and allies through song and magic

Has wings, can fly quickly

Maddened people are probably controllable by her, or at least they adore her and will probably listen and attack allies that threaten her?

Zabaniyya

Role of the Torturer; Rule of Hellfire; Sacred Artifact is a fiery spear, however he doesn't use it, similar circumstances to Arsalan

Fights using martial arts, mastering the 'Fiery Spear Hand' in which he channels his weapon through his hands

Can also fight from a distance using fire, but rarely does

Inflicts internal and external burns through his Artifact. Rule of Hellfire under the Role of the Torturer causes eternal pain.

Internally burning all the time, high pain tolerance, considers pain a penance and doesn't shy away from it very much; probably essentially immune to fire? Basically a firey tank. V high defense.

Applies Stigma and deals additional damage to those afflicted with Stigma and Burn; also applies Stigma to those who hit him

Can harm others from a distance using a chain of cross-shaped flames if they're afflicted with Stigma; chains are probably homing?

Heals allies apparently???

Rule of Hellfire purges people of sin and evil through flames, thus likely more effective against demons

Can ignite flames of passion/love, although he refuses to do this

Has wings, can fly, rarely uses them

Will not fight unless ordered by appropriate parties or the enemy has broken divine law

Kimun/Wen Kamui

Rule allows him to strip others (of their growth). Artifact is the 'Mankiller Sword' which he uses on himself as Kimun and others as Wen.

Mankiller Sword, if it's able to strip someone of their clothing, fur, hair, or flesh, is able to spawn a copy of the person's past self for them to fight--losing the fight against themself will cause them to lose their growth. If they win, the copy disappears.

Can spawn multiple copies if he cuts them multiple times

Can duplicate himself this way as well

Copies(of himself or enemies) might not cooperate with him although they mostly obey, depends on the person and their traumas/what they're struggling to grow or move on from/etc

Temporarily can't attack after doing this????/after using his Charge Skill

Can copy enemy buffs

Able to heal self and allies

Very high defense and pain tolerance due to his role/rule causing him to strip himself of his own skin/pelt/fur to give it to others

Hurts you even if he misses.

Unable to be frozen

Can apply freeze(lowers defense, damage over time) if he misses

Jacob

Sacred Artifact is a Pillar allowing him to remember all previous loops; connected to the Tree of Life in Eden; cannot be killed

Sacred Artifact is the Archangel Uriel's whirling sword of flame. Doesn't use it in flame form most of the time, only uses it to enhance his punches and kicks and movements; it also guides him around due to his blindness; also able to restore people's memories from previous loops(including people he doesn't know and he "can reach even those who have never appeared in this Tokyo with his Rule") and makes a pillar of holy light that leads to the Tree of Life in Eden, making him more effective against either angels or the undead(hard to tell because it was used against undead angels, possibly both)

Blind, thus unaffected by anything that requires sight

Leader of the Aoyama Guild, although a lot of people aren't aware of it due to his absence, thus obeyed by most of its members(if not all of them because the Admins obey him)

Can multihit/punch very fast. He's no Captain Falcon but his fists are Dangerous.

Relies mostly on sound for navigation but can also be guided by his Artifact. Can probably blind others with the massive pillar of light from it.

Cannot be forced to move backwards. Can pull people in a certain range towards him/get in people's personal space easily to fight since he fights with his fists

Weakens enemies, applies Blessing(healing over time) to himself

Artifact heals him, removes ALL debuffs, and makes him highly resistent to damage temporarily

Artifact also provides him a shield that keeps him from being exposed to life-threatening conditions(Korpokkur's blizzard is how we learned about this--also keeps him warm and guides him to people and things he should meet)

Takes less damage from other close range fighters using their bare hands/fists(and any enhancements like knuckles, claws, etc--basically if you're a Blow unit/hit in a singular space in front of you he takes less damage from you)

Can use his Artifact as a sword but generally refuses to. It's a big, spinning sword of flame and would apply burn but he avoids using it because he hates weapons

NPC Angels

Primarily attack in a group. Always guarding the Church and its activities and almost always accompany its admins. The church is rarely unattended.

Fight with spears which can be thrown. Some level of magic?

Apply stigma to hit enemies. Deal more damage to Stigmafied enemies.

Can heal surrounding allies.

Nyarlathotep

You just die. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[tea-and-spoons]

All About Accommodations 2: Working with (or without) disability services

While writing my first post about accommodations, I realized that I had enough information about actually working with the office of disability services to make an entire second post- so I did!  My original post about the basics of accommodations is over here: All About Accommodations

So hopefully your school’s office of disability services is fantastic and supportive and wonderful, and they happily meet all of your needs!  But in a lot of cases, it’s a little more complicated than that (I really don’t know why) so this post will be about things that can help.

I was super nervous and confused about disability support services when I first got sick, so one of my older friends took me to visit the office, just to meet the staff and learn about what they do.  It was nice to get to know the staff a little before I had to get into all the personal details of my health, and just get a feel for what goes on there.  Many places will have open office hours when you can just drop by and ask general questions too.

To start the process of registering for accommodation, there may be a form you fill out online, or you might just have to send an email.  Or go to the actual office to say, “Hi I want to register for accommodations, what’s my next step?”  Setting up accommodations is a process, so you’ll probably have at least one meeting with the people who work in this office to discuss possible accommodations.  At the meeting, they’ll ask you lots of questions about how your disability affects you, and talk about what accommodations are available.  They’ll also probably ask you about your classes to understand what you might need there.  I try to do something relaxing and confidence boosting (like listening to music!) before my meetings.  And not scheduling something directly after, so I have time to decompress.  For the meeting itself, I find it helps to write and bring a list of possible accommodations and things to discuss- it helps keep me from getting too upset and then either forgetting or backing down.  Remember, you have a legal right to reasonable accommodations, and you deserve to thrive in college!

You’ll also almost definitely need to submit some documentation (like a letter or test result) from a medical professional.  Which is really not fair for a variety of reasons, but that’s how it is right now:/  There might be specific guidelines for what your school needs for documentation, but generally if it says, “Lovely reader of this blog has xyz condition and requires these accommodations.  Signed, Medical Professional”, it should work.  

Unfortunately, not all accommodations offices are as wonderful and supportive as they should be, so you and/or the person providing your documentation may need to do some persuading.  This could mean having more detailed documentation, arranging a phone call between a supportive medical professional and the disability services office, or just being extremely persistent.  I did once get my mom to make an “angry parent phone call” as a last resort, and it worked, but I think your school will probably be grumpy if you go right to that.

So what happens if the official office of disability services totally fails you and denies your accommodations?  Don’t panic, you still have more options.

I haven’t personally done this, but I know you can file a formal grievance with your college and try to get the accommodations decision changed.  You can also meet with your dean, who is higher up in the chain of command than disability services and may be able to help you.

If all else fails, you may have better luck working out informal accommodations with individual professors.  But also, having official accommodations from the college means that even the worst of professors have to comply with them.  So fingers crossed that you don’t find yourself in either of those situations.  But I really did have a lot of success talking to professors individually.  Even when disability services is already semi-cooperative, good professors will sometimes go above and beyond to make sure you’re included, and that’s pretty cool.  I’m fairly certain your professors aren’t allowed to ask questions about your disability if you don’t want them to, but I would recommend disclosing a little, because having a better understanding helps professors help you.

You can also talk to your classmates and see if they might be willing to help out.  For example, even if you were denied a formal note taker, someone might still be willing to photocopy their notes for you.  Or like for me, I have food allergies and needed classmates to be careful, so when the college said no to formal rules, I emailed all my classmates myself and said, “Hey I want to be safe in class, can you avoid bringing peanut butter?” and they were happy to listen.  Of course you still shouldn’t have to share anything you don’t want to, but I did find that accommodations that relied on other people went better when they knew who I was.  I think they would see me and remember they needed to be careful, instead of it being an abstract rule, and it helps a lot.   

My favorite type of informal accommodations is what my friends and I call “guerilla accommodations”.  None of the adults were willing to help, so my friends made it happen in their own (not always quite within the rules) ways!  Some of my favorite examples of guerilla accommodations have been: friends providing impromptu ASL translations of instructions, going into classrooms and swapping out unsafe equipment, helping educate classmates, unlocking doors to create accessible paths, contacting event organizers themselves with accessibility requests, and arranging rides.  My sister even once carried me out the parking lot when there was a fire drill!  My point is, just because the college told you no doesn’t mean it’s impossible.  There are a lot of good people out there who are willing to help, even if they’re not the ones that work in disability services.

I wish you the best of luck on your quest for accommodations!

[sopercabeth]

Coffee Cups & Terrible Liars

Hello! This is a fanfic I wrote back in 2017 when Scorpion still existed. Simpler times, I guess :-( It was originally published on my profile in FFN (@dauntlessmermaid) but I figured it was time for it to see the light of day here on Tumblr. 

If you wish to read it on FFN, click here

Summary:  "Well, he had talked to her, once. A very short, very uncomfortable conversation with his usual unfiltered self and a poorly delivered diagnosis of anemia that went just about as good as anyone would expect. " A Coffee Shop AU in which Walter is strangely fixated on a certain honey-colored haired barista and he's a little too keen on finding out why.

A/N: I do not own Scorpion or any content/characters related to the show. All rights belong to CBS :) Enjoy!

Unlike many people, Walter O'Brien found the thunderous bad weather sort of soothing. Especially given that the odds of seeing one in Los Angeles weren't very promising these days.

The surprisingly loud and rhythmic chirping of the rain drops against the roof top and the occasional thunder booming in the distance worked wonders by silencing his overloaded mind for a bit. Walter was inclined to believe that, even without his eidetic memory, the rain would always bring him back to Callan's endless green landscapes and simple lifestyle. This time instead, seeing the already flooded streets turning into rivers of dirt and all kinds garbage, he thought this thunderstorm was not really bringing back sweet childhood memories. Not that he had many of them to speak of…

The electricity had been down for almost an hour now, and even with the rain easing his mind he was beginning to feel as anxious as the blond-haired boy two tables ahead of him, who had been fidgeting with his bag since the first droplets of rain. Usually, Walter enjoyed spending time at Kovelsky's Coffee Shop; it was the most decent place to get his, and occasionally the team's, morning caffeine that was a comfortable drive away from the garage. But right now he wasn't very comfortable with the thought of how much work awaited him at the garage when he couldn't exactly drive there through the rain in his god forsaken Volkswagen. So he'd been stationed here, sitting on a vinyl lounge chair with no more company than an empty coffee cup, a kid suffering from severe anxiety and the shop's staff.

Walter remembered feeling quite proud about discovering Kovelsky's almost four weeks ago on his way home from a job. Ever since their first coffee pot had died, the team had agreed to take turns on who was in charge of buying their daily coffee and Walter stumbling into Kovelsky's the day prior to his turn, had been of the likes of a miracle; if such thing existed, of course.

A week after this astounding discovery, he'd been a little too proud enough to let it slip the moment Toby started his daily rant about having to get his coffee elsewhere again due to their second coffee pot —a gift from a client— also dying under suspicious circumstances.

He rarely shared personal information with the behaviorist knowing it would ultimately lead to an over-analysis on the potential emotional background of his most trivial choices, but this coffee machine problem had consumed his already sparse patience and truth be told, he ─or the team as a whole, for that matter─ didn't function properly before drinking an early morning dose of caffeine. That and the funny name he’d asked the barista to write on Toby’s coffee cup, had been the ideal set of variables that resulted in Toby successfully getting in his toes that morning. 

"I knew you were behind those ridiculous names on my coffee cups!" he said before taking a swig of his coffee "You tell that hot brunette barista that I'll be paying her a visit to get our order next time"

Walter choked on his drink. He grimaced, tongue burned.

An image of Kovelsky's barista, Paige, sprang in his mind flashing him a genuine smile as she handed him his order and change that same morning. Besides having Walter's lack of social skills as a disadvantage, he'd picked on the hint in Toby's snarky comment surprisingly fast. Walter made use of all his willpower to not blurt out more things that could potentially drag him even deeper into the hole, like the actual shade of brown of the hot brunette barista's hair, for starters.

"Just thought I needed an appropriate comeback for Emotional Dumpster Fire and Ego-maniac" he counterattacked, perhaps a little too late.

Walter cursed himself for hesitating on that last remark. Now, he was sure he had seen those nicknames in his coffee cups sometime in the past, but he didn't really know if either of them had been written on the ones Toby had ordered for him. So,as a result of him trying to cover up his slip, his brain had acted on his usual unfiltered auto-pilot.

Toby clicked his tongue, his lips curving into his trademark devilish grin. "You are such a terrible liar, mi amigo" he said, his fingers tapping on his cup excitedly "by the way I highly suspect of you deliberately messing up our new pot, but I'll let it go in the light of this new interesting chain of events"

Had he not being busy taking another glorious sip of his coffee, Walter might've even blushed at that last comment. He had indeed messed up said coffee machine, not intentionally at least and certainly not because keep going to Kovelsky's had been his plan all along (something he surprisingly didn't mind at all). In fact, and much to Walter's embarrassment, the sudden and disastrous malfunction of the machine had come off as a result of his first (and probably last) attempt at replicating Cinnamon dream, Paige's coffee recommendation of the week.

"T-that's not—"

"It was definitely a clever move to keep visiting our friend at Kovelsky's, actually" Toby said, cutting off his embarrassing stutter.

"What was a clever move to keep visiting our friend at Kovelsky's?" Sylvester, who apparently had been able to eavesdrop on Toby's last remark, asked as he joined them at the kitchen to get the lone apple that awaited him on the countertop "do we have a friend at Kovelsky's?"

"You all know, Kovelsky's?" Walter asked, his eyes shifting between both the mathematician and the behaviorist in bewilderment.

"That's the place where I get our coffee orders on Wednesdays, sometimes" Sylvester said as he proceeded to wash his apple in the sink behind Walter.

"You don't drink coffee" Walter added.

Sylvester hunched his shoulders. "You try telling Happy that"

"It's alright, pal" Toby added as he slid his free arm across Walter's shoulders "we've all had a crush on a coffee shop barista"

"What coffee shop barista?" Cabe asked. The homeland agent had arrived at just the perfect time to also eavesdrop on a conversation that should have never happened in the first place.

Walter visualized slapping himself hard in the face.

"The one this emotional dumpster fire is crushing on, of course" the behaviorist said, tightening his leverage on his shoulders.

"I don't have a crush on Paige" he snapped.

Oh boy.

While he listened to Toby and Cabe's frantic bursts of laughter, Walter finally said his goodbyes to a peaceful day at Scorpion's headquarters. There was no possible way that either of them would let go of that. Paige's name slipping from his lips had officially sealed his coffin.

"Did Paige put that cinnamon in your coffee as well?" Toby asked mockingly as he finally released Walter's shoulders and walked away in the direction of his desk.

Walter avoided visiting Kovelsky's for pretty much the entirety of the following week, something that did not go unnoticed by Toby, of course. He was fast to voice his utter disappointment regarding Walter's sudden interest in Yorkshire tea instead of his usual order from said coffee shop.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to buy a new coffee pot. Not out of sentimentalism, of course, but good old pride. Buying a new pot out of the blue would mean something for Toby, and he was definitely not backing up the shrink's theories on Walter's alleged emotions being awakened by the waitress.

A particularly loud thunder pulled Walter out of his reverie, his eyes falling to the empty cup atop the coffee table in front of him. The sight of his own name on it seemed foreign to him, as if he had somehow misspelled it his entire life. A ridiculous musing, if he actually put some thought to it, but the truth was that he found Paige's handwriting aesthetically beautiful, even when he had her write those absurd nicknames he'd come up for Toby.

Her little burst of laughter was worth the embarrassment, he thought.

Before this moment, Walter hadn't paid much attention to her handwriting, but he had indeed been observant of other things about her in the sporadic (but also uncomfortable) events in which they had interacted. And so he had come to associate the barista's light temper, energetic personality (surely a suitable behavior for someone who served at least a hundred customers per day) and overall appearance with a very neutral, pretty much basic handwriting style.

On the contrary, Paige had a very nice cursive handwriting with just the right amount of edges and curls to make it both elegant and practical enough to read effortlessly. 

He’d been wrong all along, of course. But when had he ever been right about people? It wasn’t exactly his department.The genius was a lot of things but a Harvard trained psychologist, so how in the world, ─and taking in consideration his close to non-existent social skills─ would he be able to decode a woman if he hadn't even properly talked to her?

He had talked to her just once. A very short, very uncomfortable conversation with his usual unfiltered self and a poorly delivered diagnosis of anemia that went just about as good as anyone would expect. Of course, not even a clinically addicted gambler like Toby would bet on the odds of him getting the chance to engage into yet another disastrous conversation with her. Walter wouldn't have blamed him either.

Walter shook his head in annoyance. He was definitely not happy with the turn his thoughts were taking. Especially since he was still incapable of figuring out what was that he found so intriguing about this woman. Or why he felt compelled to make these ridiculous assumptions about her, like the way she wrote his name on a paper container. Besides, by being a regular customer for almost three weeks, Walter couldn't act like he actually knew this woman. He represented 15 minutes of a 24-hour day in her life, not even a 2 percent of it, if put in perspective.

Walter sighed and risked a quick glance in Paige's direction. She had abandoned her place behind the bar and was trying to offer some kind of pastry to the fidgety kid sitting two tables ahead of him. 

He vaguely reminded him of a younger version of Sylvester, his feet tapping nervously on the floor as he examined a particular set of equations on the board of the garage. If the kid was anything like him, Walter doubted she'd make much progress in easing his anxiety.

But there she was, a couple of minutes later, gently ruffling up his hair as she handed him a freshly-baked chocolate muffin. “Thank you” the kid said a few moments later, both his hands too occupied picking on the pastry to continue their nervous tapping on the table. 

The streets had been unsually packed the day of his return to Kovelsky’s a few days later resulting in Walter arriving much later than expected. There was a relatively short line of customers, —probably because six forty-five was not quite the busy hour for the coffee shop— which meant he could possibly shorten his visit and return to the garage to finish the tedious task of testing governmental software security for the hundredth time. With the deadline approaching at a seemingly faster pace, Walter and Sylvester's progress turned out slower than anticipated and the genius had been forced to rely on Toby and Happy's coding skills to get the last patches of the firewall revised. It would have been the only way they’d be able to deliver the results in time to a very irritable Deputy Director Cooper, who had not only called for updates once, but twice in a manner of twenty minutes.

As of now, the team had worked tirelessly throughout the entire night with pre-scheduled 10-minute lunch breaks to increase efficiency. But as the morning hours approached, Walter and Toby had surprisingly agreed that they could definitely use a large order of egg bagels and coffee to get through the last couple of hours before the deadline was officially up.

Walter was functioning on auto-pilot by now, which was why he initially took no notice of the familiar voice that greeted him as he approached the end of the line to order. He was already blurting out his usual coffee order before the previous client had successfully retrieved his own order from the barista’s hands.

"Good morning to you too, Walter" a familiar voice said back, laughing softly.

Walter could almost feel the color running up his face, because damn it he knew that voice too well. He scratched the back of his head nervously, his eyes rising from the brown tiles to the delicately written 'Paige' on the name tag of the woman in front of him.

"I-I’m sorry," he stuttered back, feeling utterly ridiculous "good morning, Paige"

Walter had only pronounced her name out loud a couple times before, and so it felt kind of awkward coming out of his mouth. When he finally got himself together to look up at her, she seemed like she was holding back a grin.

Paige settled for a wide smile and proceeded to tap the screen of the monitor in front of her. Walter was a bit surprised to find out she’d changed a little since the last time he saw her. Her hair was pulled up in a high pony tail and her bangs looked slightly longer, almost reaching her eyelids now. The early morning light brought out a nice sun-kissed tone on her skin and made her eyes shine a warm hazelnut color too. Sun bathing, maybe? And hadn't the bags under her eyes lessened a little bit? Moderate sun exposure increases levels of vitamin D and may help increase overall sleep quality…

She looked quite stunning, actually.

"…than usual, today"

Walter shook his head, eyebrows scrunched up together "I'm sorry, what?"

Paige flashed him another gentle smile rendering him slightly dazed "I said you look a little more tired than usual today. Walter, are you okay?"

Apparently he was also slower than usual because it took him a whole three-seconds' time to process that question "Yes, yes, I'm fine" he said, before he resumed to the suddenly difficult task of retrieving the right amount of money from his wallet.

She raised an eyebrow at him, seemingly dissatisfied with his rushed answer.

He frowned, evidently confused, as he quickly went over the whole exchange before it finally downed on him. "I'm fine, thank you" he added.

"You're getting so much better…I'm actually proud!" she admitted, handing him the printed receipt. "You know the drill: I'll call your name when the order is ready. It shouldn't take long"

Walter was about to deliver what was most likely a completely unnecessary scientific fact when his phone buzzed inside his pocket snapping him back to reality. The security software, he thought, alarmed, as he swiped left below Toby's caller ID to answer.

"I hope you're all done with the flirting and driving your ass back with our coffees right now" he said.

"Almost there" the genius replied, cursing out loud at the time on his wristwatch. "Has Cooper showed up yet?"

"No, but it shouldn't take her more than five minutes. I don't think that woman has ever been late to something, not even her birth"

Walter rolled his eyes and looked at his wristwatch once again. Even if he sped, he'd never make it to the garage in time if he waited for his order to be ready "See you there" he said, then hung up and put his phone back in his pocket.

"Is everything alright?" Paige asked from behind the bar, a couple feet apart from him.

"Actually…no" he replied, a silent apology drawn all over his face "I have to go"

Paige blinked, puzzled "What?"

"I'm sorry!" he shouted as he dashed through the doors and towards the parking lot.

"Walter, wait!" she shouted back, a cup holder in her hand

He was not able to see the noticeable disappointment in Paige's face.

Walter always thought he was one to get things done without complaint. 

He could take on time-sensitive and dangerous missions every day, but it had always been the ensuing paperwork that got the best of him. He was vaguely aware of the few perks of working for the government, but having to write reports and fill out endless forms every time they worked on something was far away from being considered among them. Especially because no matter how many times he reviewed said reports, they always made sure to comment on virtually anything about them: the language used, the length, the blank space on the comments section…

Walter would've given anything to ditch that insufferable task and take a look at the equations Sylvester was working on the board or see what was going on with that faint smell of smoke coming from Happy's workplace… even take a look at the book Toby was reading at the living room with his feet over the coffee table. But he was well aware that the paperwork wouldn't do itself over the night and if he neglected to work on it for another day, he might as well never do it at all.

He sighed and frowned at the insurmountable pile of paperwork before his eyes wishing he'd have some sort of supernatural ability to make it disappear. At this point he thought anything would do, though he'd like to admit that laser-like vision was one of his favorites. Walter rolled his eyes at this ridiculous trail of thought. He had to be very desperate to bring up his sparse knowledge on sci-fi material to occupy his mind.

In fact, Walter was so engrossed in the many uses he could think of for laser-like vision that he missed the knock on the door. At first, it seemed like nobody else noticed, but Toby ended up being the one to answer it, not after shooting the rest of the team a skeptical look. Cabe had left thirty minutes before, so it was rather unlikely that it'd be him, at least not with L.A. traffic this late in the afternoon. Could be another lost delivery guy…

Except that it was neither Cabe nor the disoriented delivery guy from the recently open restaurant two blocks away.

"Hi—uh, I'm sorry," she stuttered "my name is—"

"Paige" Toby interrupted her, obviously amused. Walter's eyes widened. "What a pleasant surprise…"

"Yes, uh, how did you— "Nevermind. I'm looking for Walter O'Brien?" she added, doubtful.

Three pairs of eyes turned in his direction, Toby's exceedingly amused, of course, as of Happy and Sylvester's…well, they looked mostly confused, although he doubted the mechanic's grin and raised eyebrow could be classified under confused. Walter had never stood up so fast in his life.

Keep it casual, he reminded himself.

The behaviorist seemed like he was about to deliver what was most likely a very embarrassing remark, but luckily, Walter's own curiosity beat him to it. A bright smile appeared on Paige's face as soon as he caught sight of him by his desk and left him momentarily dumbfounded —for the second time in that day, he recalled.

"Paige?" he asked, evidently confused as he rounded his desk awkwardly "W-what are you doing here?"

Walter could almost feel everyone's eyes on him, even Toby's as he politely invited the barista in and rekindled his place at the couch. The genius would've swore he heard kissing sounds as he walked past him, but was happy to see Paige didn't seem to notice when he finally approached her.

She looked the same way she did in the morning, except she had replaced the dark blue apron and white t-shirt underneath, for a loose pink camisole and a denim jacket.

"I'm so glad I found you" she said, her hazelnut eyes were beaming with excitement "you're a very difficult man to find"

"I am?" Walter shook his head "How did you know where I—"

Paige held her finger up in the air as she started rummaging inside her handbag "Hold on”.

"You dropped your wallet at the coffee shop this morning" she said, finally fishing the item from her bag.

It was indeed his wallet what Paige was holding in front of him. It looked foreign in her hand though, had he not patted his back pocket, he would've probably contemplated she was mistaken just like the lost delivery guy. It had been more than twelve hours since he'd been at the coffee shop, how could he have possibly missed that?

"It is my wallet indeed" he said.

"I hope you don't mind me looking inside for some kind of information…" she trailed off "promise I didn't take anything"

"No, no, of course not" Walter added, "I-I would've never thought—"

Paige's eyes looked warm, she smiled at him shyly.

"Thank you" he said after a short pause, bowing his head a little bit.

"No problem" she said, hunching her shoulders "you still owe big time, though"

They stood there for about half a minute looking anywhere but each other, until Walter had the common sense to take the damned wallet from her hand and put it in the back pocket of his pants. What was so intriguing about the stray lock of hair that escaped her pony tail, anyway?

"Well...It was nice seeing you again" she said, offering him a smile before she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

Walter sort of…panicked. He stretched his arm, not quite sure about what he was actually doing, and was just in time to grab the strap of her handbag as she pulled the heavy door open. The cool autumn breeze did nothing to clarify his thoughts, but for once his familiar unfiltered self served him right by blurting out the words: "Is—uh, is there any way I could…repay you?

Paige stood there, halfway in halfway out, for a terrifyingly long second that got Walter thinking about all the ways he could apologize to her, before she finally turned on her heel and faced him again, a wide grin on her face.

She then proceded to fetch a pen from her bag and stuck it between her teeth as she said "You can always try" before grabbing his arm to scribble down a series of numbers on his skin.

Walter looked to his forearm, incredulous. Was that…?

"I like Italian food, by the way" the barista said as she exited the garage.

[sweetchup]

Not A Chance!!

Type: Shalnark x reader

Prompt: O’Inari’s Wisdom — On any day during this week, people of the ages of 19-30 years old will go through a walk in the woods carrying a clear ornament (Traditionally it used to be a Jar). The ornament is usually filled with the person’s favorite scent or perfume, Name and Phone number on paper slip, and their dream type of lover on a rose petal. When walking through the woods, the person allows the God/Goddess of the woods O’inari’s Imps to trick them into meeting their soulmate. It is a must to switch ornaments with that first person they see for it is said the imps won’t allow them to leave the forest unless they do so.

Author Note: I decided to try a different writing style with the kiss scene this time. Tell me what you guys think.

(Prompts/Rules) (Masterlist)

“Hey (y/n), Bisky, What’s this?” Gon asks. His voice was hardly heard over the many chattering of the NPCS and other players in the city as you looked at him. Gon first shows Bisky, who was closer to him, a baby blue flier that you couldn’t quite read from where you were standing. “Is it some sort of Greed Island event?”

“Wait a minute. Gon do you not know what O’inari’s wisdom is?” Bisky questions, shocked. Walking over closer and looking from behind Bisky, you realize that the Winter Holiday of O’inari’s Wisdom was indeed taking place on Greed island. You were slightly surprised for a second but it soon started to make sense the more you thought about it. It had started snowing on the island recently and if the game was parallel to the times in the real world then it should also be December in the game. So it just made sense that Holidays were also coded into the game to match the changing seasons.

“Oh, so it’s a Holiday,” Gon says surprised once Bisky explains it to him, “We didn’t celebrate it on Whale Island. Maybe it’s because I was so young. But, at the very least, (y/n) will be able to celebrate it with us.”

“Huh?” You murmur confused. You never mentioned anything about doing it, “I’m not doing it. Actually, why would you think I would do it?”

“Well, you don’t have a boyfriend right? So you must have not done it yet. So you should do it! It will be fun!” Gon explains enthusiastically as Bisky nods in agreement. Of course, it was just straightforward thinking done by Gon, not thinking of other possible possibilities. Man, why exactly did Killua have to leave you to take the Hunter exam again?

“I actually have done the Holiday before,” You tell the two as you start to walk away, calling forth “book” as you do so. As you examine through your binder, you continued to explain what you meant to the younger boy, “I’ve actually done it many times. Sometimes doing a full week some years. Other times going to different locations from other cities or towns. But in all the years I’ve done, I never once heard nor bumped into anyone else in the forest. So I just gave up on th—”

Bisky suddenly cuts you off with a loud exaggerated gasp.

“Oh My~ Then that must mean you really do have a soulmate out there (y/n)! What powerful young love!!” Bisky states dreamily as sparkles and flowers seem to dance around her. All you can do is sigh at the older woman antics and continue on your way. Honestly, to you there was no way Soulmates could exist. Not a chance! There was just no science nor reason behind it. Nen could be explained. Monsters could be explained. But soulmates, not at all. It was just some made up myth with no hard facts.

As you make your way to the gate of Aiai, you feel Gon tug at your top to catch your attention.

“But, (y/n)?” You take your eyes away from your binder to look at Gon. “Do you think you could try? Perhaps one of the needed 99 slot cards is given at the event.”

“Oooo, good thinking Gon,” Bisky states looking at the flier and then looking at you. “With that possibility, I order you to do it then (y/n). Afterall, you are the only person who could do it out of us.”

You and Bisky stare at each other tensely for a little. Slightly challenging each other to step down until eventually you give up and finally look away. Even though you aren’t looking at her, you can hear Bisky doing a dance in success. “Fine then where do we go to take place in this event?”

“Apparently, you can get there by using an Accompany to Winterfell. We don’t even need to go there beforehand to use the accompany card.” As Bisky explains, you flip your binder and grab a spare accompany card. This is the last one from your binder so Gon and Bisky will have to start using their ones from now on. Well, Until you can get to Masadora to get some more.

“Okay then, let’s get this over with,” You state. Though for some reason you have an uneasy feeling in your stomach as you hold the card up. You wondered why, perhaps you felt nervous? But why would you? Greed Island was hardly crowded so this is the lowest chance of meeting someone during the Holiday. Maybe it was just the fact you haven’t done this tradition in a while. Yeah, that was probably just it, “Accompany on! To Winterfell!”

—.—.—.—.—

The crunching sound of snow is the only thing you hear as you walk through the forest. For what felt goes on for miles, all you have been seeing was snow covered pine trees. Not even birds or other sources of life have been spotted while you have been walking in this forest which was quite strange. How long have you been walking you wondered. It was hard to tell but you guessed maybe an hour or so?

Stopping next to a tree, you run your hand up it’s trunk somewhat tracing the engravement in it. You had already seen this before. It was like you have been going in circles, even though you have actually only been going straight. Was this some sort of test in the game? Maybe Gon was right about a specified slot card being here.

“Book!” In a poof, your binder opens up. Or, at least that's what you expect to happen. However, it doesn’t pop up. After calling the book a couple more times, you realize it was no use. It just doesn’t work. Was this some glitch in the game?

All of sudden, a rush of wind catches you off guard. It wasn’t just any breeze however, this gust of wind was similar to that of a giant icy blizzard. You cringe as the snow in the wind pricks and scratches at your skin. You needed to take cover from the harsh wind before you freeze to death.

Quickly, when you try to look around to find somewhere to take cover, something whips into your face, blinding you. As you struggle to pull it off of you, the wind suddenly comes to a complete stop. Weird, very weird. Finally getting it off of you and taking a good look at the item, you realize it was just an in-game scarf. Actually, you weren’t even sure it was an item from the game since it had a tag from the real world.

“Hey! That’s my sc—“ Turning around at the cheerful voice behind you, you see a familiar man a couple of feet away from you. You don’t understand why you recognize the man until he suddenly goes on guard and realization hits you. Wait a minute you remember that stance. He was a member of the Phantom Troupe wasn’t he? Shalnark, right? You quickly get on guard as well when he grabs an antenna from his pocket. An manipulator, huh? In a one on one fight like this, he has the clear advantage on you.

“Hey, I’m not here with the chain user,” You state, breaking the silence between you two. You weren’t usually someone to give up but avoiding a fight with him and going your separate ways is the best way to go in this situation. Afterall, the last thing you needed was to become his newest puppet. “I’m with the kids and all we are doing is playing the game by collecting cards.”

You wrap up Shalnark’s scarf and lightly toss it in front of his feet.

“I have no problems with you guys and I don’t want to fight you.” You continue as you start to walk backward, away from him. Hopefully, that woman, Pakunoda, told the other troupe members how you deteratarted Kurapika away from the option of placing a Nen dagger in her heart and helped spared their boss’ life.

It’s quiet and tense for a couple of minutes, not even the wind was blowing, before the blonde nods in agreement to your idea. You watch as he carefully picks up his scarf and then both of you two turn away from each other at the same time to walk away. Thankfully, counting on that woman seemed t—

All of sudden, after a couple of steps, the large gust of wind returns. You tried to fight against it and continue forward but it only seemed to grow stronger the more you tried. It grew so strong in fact that it lifted you right off your feet and threw you backward. You hoped to land on the soft snow but, of course with your luck, you hit something else very hard with a loud thump. Originally, you thought it was a tree that you hit but once you roll onto your side, you come to the realization that whatever you landed on doesn’t feel anything like tree bark.

“Ow! What was that…” Shooting up at the voice, You realize it was Shalnark that you had hit. You attempt to scurry away from him fast however, as soon as you get too far away, a gust of wind drags him back towards you. You pause as Shalnark lifts his head from being buried in the snow and looks at you confused.

“I-It’s some sort of error in the game. I swear. Maybe with the coding? Or—“ You blab out in a tangent trying to explain what was going on. Soon however, Shalnark sighs loudly, cutting you off.

“That’s a really stupid conclusion you cam up with. If you had once stop to look around you in this game, you would have realized this place, Greed Island, actually takes place in the real world. Specifically a straight shot east of York New.” Shalnark explains, somewhat sarcastically. All you do is roll your eyes. Of course you got stuck with the jackass of the troupe.

“Well then since this game isn’t actually a game, what do you think is going on, if you think you are oh so right?” You spat back at him. For some reason, you just couldn’t understand why he was being so rude in this situation, it was clearly neither of yours fault.

“Simple. This,” Shalnark states confidently as he takes the ornament from his pocket and lifts it up to you. You can’t help but laugh loudly at the idea, causing him to scowl at you.

“Y-You can’t be serious?! You and I? Soulmates!?”

“Of course! You do realize that in the myth it’s impossible for us to leave until we exchange our ornaments.” Shalnark explains, tossing his ornament at you. Clutching it in your hand, you quickly examine the ornament before scoffing.

“Yeah, not a chance,” You state as you toss his ornament back to him, causing Shalnark to sputter confused. “In no ways am I giving my personal information and phone number to the tech expert of the phantom troupe. That’s just plain stupid.”

You and Shalnark bicker on back and forth for a while until eventually he goes quiet and just glares at you. Honestly, in your opinion, it was better if he just chose to quit talking. He snaps his fingers catching you off guard, “Okay I have an idea! How about I try to convince you we are destine—”

“Soulmates?” You finish for him, slightly cringing.

“Yeah, that! And if I can convince you, then you can feel safe to give me your ornament so we can both leave.”

You ponder a little on the option he suggested. Honestly, you actually didn’t have much of any others option to begin with, “Fine. What do you got to convince me?”

“Well, first,” You watch closely as Shalnark grabs the Rose petal out from his ornament. Oh, you knew where this was going, that was actually a smart idea. Maybe this guy actually had some brain cells. “I’m going to read off my dream type of lover. I bet this will describes you.”

Reading off his petal to you, you listen carefully. As the more he goes on, you can’t deny that it did somewhat describe you, almost on the dime. As Shalnark shows the petal to you to prove he wasn’t making stuff up, You decide to grab your own petal. He seems to get excited that you finally understood what he was saying.

“See I tol—“ Shalnark is cut off when you let out a loud laugh.

“Yeah no way. Mine is ‘Someone who is like the sun; always cheerful as well as mentally bright.’” You read off, chucking it back into the ornament.

“Hey! I’m pretty cheerful! And bright!” Shalnark states, finally flashing you a smile for the first time you’ve been with him.

“Ha, I doubt that.” You say, though you can’t help but feel your heart skip a beat at how handsome he looked with a smile on his face. Your eyes go wide and you mentally slap yourself. What in the world were you thinking just now? You were flustered over him?!, “N-Next! What’s your other ideas?!”

“Aw come on!”

After a couple of more attempts from Shalnark to prove you two are soulmates, as well as many more confused borderline bipolar back and forth feelings on your end, Shalnark has run out of ideas and you two sit in silence as he tries to come up with more.

“Is that all the ideas you have?” You ask him shivering slightly as you pull your jacket closer for warmth. Looking up towards the sky above the thick pine branches, you see that it had just started to get darker out, effectively making it ten times colder as well. It now dawns on you that at this rate with your progress, you two could possibly freeze to death out here if you couldn’t get to a warm shelter before night.

“Shalnark. Here I—“ You suddenly pause what you were saying as you turn to face the man, “what the hell do you think you are doing…?”

You looked confused at Shalnark, who had moved closer to sit next to you. You didn’t know what he was up to but you definitely still didn’t trust him. As you try to lift yourself up to move away, Shalnark quickly grabs your wrist to keep you put where you were. Oh hell no. You struggle against his grip, attempting to pry his fingers off of your wrist but while you are distracted he uses his other hand to grab your arm. Effectively trapping you.

You struggle against him a little more but it only causes him to push you backwards down into the snow, him slightly leaning over you. Now nervous about what Shalnark was possibly doing, you shout out to him, “H-hey! I’ll give you the ornament okay? I don’t want—“

You feel the rest of your words die in your throat as Shalnark leans his forehead against yours, causing him to get very close to your face as well. Biting the inside of your mouth, you close your eyes tightly as a way to try calming your pounding heart. You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing out of fear or possibly something else. Though, again, it wasn’t like you could think straight at this point on time to figure which one. Cutting off your thoughts, Shalnark lets out a boyish giggle and tells you, “For someone who says they hate me and doesn’t believe in soulmates, your face sure is feeling quite hot. It’s almost as if you are flustered by me.”

Quickly, most likely in an attempt to save your dignity, you turn your face away to him so his face could no longer touch yours. As you do so, your heart leaps out of your chest when you hear him let out a small aww in disappointment.

“H-hey! I said I’ll give you my ornament so let go of me!” You sputter out, trying and likely failing at keeping yourself composed. You know it’s hard for you to think logically in a situation like this but you would’ve thought you had enough common sense in you to not get flustered by a mass murder.

“Hmmmm… Nope” Shalnark answers, popping the “p” at the end. Surprised and bewildered, You whirl your head around back to look at him. He seemed to get a kick out of your reaction because he can’t help but laugh. “You are correct by the fact that all I wanted originally was to take the ornament and leave. But the more we went on, talking and bickering, I realized I wanted something else.”

“H-huh? What? I don’t have much of anything else.” You questioned. Was he talking about cards in the game? Gon carried all of the number slot cards so you didn’t have anything that was useful to Shalnark.

“Silly girl~ It’s simple.” Shalnark flashes you a smile as he boops your nose with each next word, “I. Want. You~”

As you give a weird expression in response to Shalnark flirting attempt, he looks at you confused as to why you looked like that before full on laughing, when what looked like steam started to flow from out of your head. He couldn’t believe he fried your brain with a silly pick up line. It wasn’t even a good one either.

“Adorable~” Shalnark whispers out so softly and quietly that you almost don’t hear it. You go to ask him to repeat what he said again, but stop when he leans down. He wasn’t—

You can only watch as he inches closer and closer to your face. You don’t get why you don’t stop him, you know you probably should. But you just couldn’t for some reason you didn’t quite understand.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Shalnark kisses you. Stealing your first kiss, a precious thing you could never be able to get back from him. Though you doubt you would even try if you were able to.

As his lips moved against yours, you had to admit they were surprisingly soft, not at all rough or chapped like what the very few romance books you’ve read over the years described. Though you had to admit those boorish books were right about one thing, kissing someone was a feeling you’ve never once experienced before in your life. Authors have described the experience in many different ways but as Shalnark pulls away from your lips only to dive it once. Twice. And so many more times that you’ve lost count, you realize yours wasn’t like the ones written down. It didn’t take your breath away, it wasn’t rough or deep, it wasn’t messy or desperate.

But, it was yours. A feverish kiss if you must find a word to describe it. A kiss that even while pushed down into the freezing cold snow, you felt you were burning up inside. So much so, that your brain seemed to melt and your muscles turned to jelly from an non existent heat.

Finally after a while, you two pull away from each other, still in a trance like state from what happened. It’s quiet, nothing is heard nor said between you two as you just stare at each other. You know it is now dark out. You know you should be trying to get back to Gon and Bisky before they worry. You know it would be in your best interests to try to get away as far as you can from the dangerous man before you. You know you shouldn’t be feeling such feelings for him, for it is too soon and he probably doesn’t even deserve to be able to experience a pleasant emotion like this one. You know all these things almost as if they are engraved in your heart.

But, even when knowing all these things, you can’t stop yourself from dragging Shalnark back in to give you another kiss.