#i'll say no matter how fleeting it all was they did love each other ;-; miss their mess Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[warmsol]

i've missed you so ♫

[thehusbandoden]

You Flinch During an Argument -Hawks

My confidence for this series is like at a 2 outta 10 but I can't really take it back now sooo ig I'll just continue to write. I hope someone's enjoying it </3

Hurt to Comfort | 1,097 words

Warnings!: Mentions of arguing, flinching, mention of someone beating up on themselves (Hawks), Hawks' name used. Let me know if I miss any <3

Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi

Gif credit: @tatakaeeren

His heart will stop as soon as he sees you recoiling from him.

He was planning on simply taking your hand to ground you both.

He'll softly ask if you're okay and what you need from him.

You need him to leave you alone? Sure thing, he'll be busy cussing himself out in the kitchen- doing those stupid dishes the argument started.

Want comfort? Don't worry, he'll hold you for hours upon hours, accomanying each peck with a soft apology.

He'll get very upset with himself and will be very reserved and somewhat cold for the next week or so.

He keeps thinking back to that one movement from you.

And no matter what he was planning on doing and how you said that you knew he wasn't going to hurt you, he can't get the idea that you flinched because of him out of his head.

You finally have enough when he leaves for a mission and only gives you a peck on the lips, no extra cuddles, kisses, hugs, compliments, or tickle fights the entire week he was preparing to leave.

Right as he was saying his goodbye his eyes were as cold as ever, holding no liveliness in the honey depths.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" You pout, crossing your arms across your chest.

And that was quite normal for the two of you.

He would chuckle and swoop you in his winged embrace, kissing your lips before inhaling the scent of your shampoo, kissing your forehead as he did so. "I love you, and I miss you already", "You're so goregous.. don't find someone better when I'm gone, mkay?", "I cannot wait to see your smiling face when I get back" were some of the things he would whisper to you as he hugged you, mentally bracing himself for the long week or more that he would be apart from you.

But now? All he did was glance around before giving you a negative response, informing you he had everything.

"A-aren't you going to kiss me?" You ask, emotions getting the best of you.

He then came and gave you a small, fleeting peck to the lips before heading out with another hushed 'goodbye'.

You then labored to figure out how to help him for the next three weeks, until he finally came home to you.

As Keigo's hand made its way towards you you recoiled back out of instinct, not fear. You would never fear your Keigo.

But did he know that?

Terror consumed Keigo as soon as he saw you flinch.. were you.. scared of him?

His heart beat faster against his chest as sweat protruded from his body... you were scared of him... he scared you.

Forcing himself to get a grip and focus on you, Keigo weakly asked, "Y-y/n... did you think I was going to hit you?"

You immedietly shook your head no, and made your way to him, one hand on his cheek. "No baby, I know you would never hit me. I don't know why I flinched, I guess it was just instinct. I'm not scared of you."

"O-oh.. well do you want me to leave you alone or.."

"I would love it if you would cuddle me. We can talk more later, right now we both just need one another." At that, Keigo nodded before making his way towards your shared bedroom, holding your hand in his trembling one.

Since then, Keigo has been a wreck.

He doesn't eat properly, he doesn't sleep properly, and he's not his usual chipper self. He's a lot more cold towards you, sitting on the other side of the living room instead of right next you, he does the dishes, laundry, vaccuming, and any other kind of chore you can think of without playfully bantering with you like usual, he avoids starting arguments, always just agreeing to whatever you were saying, and he hardly touches you.

If you want a kiss before he goes to work, you need to ask for one, and then you'll get a small peck on the lips, and sometimes just your forehead.

You want cuddles after having a nightmare? You're going to have to deal with you clinging onto him for comfort while he awkwardly rubs your shoulders.

He's miserable, punishing himself for a simple reaction from you.

~~

"I'm leaving y/n." Keigo called, picking up his bags and suitcase, entirely ready to leave.

"Wait! Wait!" You exclaim, dashing into the enterance way. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I have everything needed for the trip." Keigo muttered, honey eyes cold.

As Keigo turned to leave your emotions went out of whack, Keigo is really messed up if he won't kiss you before a three week mission.

"C-can I get a kiss?" You ask quietly, emotions ready to leak any minute.

Keigo just walked towards you, pecking your lips once, before walking out of the door with a quick "goodbye".

As soon as the door closed you fell onto your knees, overcome with emotions. Your Keigo was truly broken. He hadn't even said 'I love you'.

~

Three weeks later Keigo came home, and you had a plan in mind. You would simply sit him down and have a talk with him, ask him what's bothering him, get him to talk, comfort him, and then reassure him. Then, things would be back to normal.

But that bird just had to ruin all of your hardwork.

As soon as Keigo stepped through the door he jumped on top of you, dropping the two of you onto the livingroom floor.

"K-Keigo?"

"Oh y/n I am so so sorry! I was so focussed on my worry about you that they sent me home and then I decided to go take a vacation and clear my head- and I realized how cold I've been to you! I didn't even give you a kiss- or, or say I love you- y/n I am so very very sorry." Keigo exclaimed, burying his face into your chest pitifully.

"Oh baby what changed? I was going to sit you down and make you talk it out unil you were normal again."

"I thought about it over and over again- and I realized that you're not acting scared of me. If you were you would be quiet and would want to stay away from me and not start those silly arguments you keep tryin' to pull." Keigo pouted, pecking your lips once he was done talking.

"Keigo.. you still haven't said it."

"Said wha- oh I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!~"

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[jahnavisurenda-21]

Demon Slayer||The Midnight Visitor||Forbidden Romance||Akaza

Introducing the series most well-written character with the perfect backstory.

These encounters turned to be more and more strange as the days passed, as a Hashira this would be condemned but, as a human could your feelings be more accepted.

You couldn't dwell on that single piece of guilt in your planned meetings, you were always so careful, marking your steps, making sure you wouldn't be followed.

Today, you had cleared your schedules, it was an honor serving as a Hashira but, you may be a little tainted, not that it mattered too much now, you had already come so far.

So, even if there is a very questionable period, of how long you would continue to see your lover, it might end when the spine cracks and it could be like a time-struck bomb. But it felt worth it. If you look back now, you will miss out on what you have now.

These thoughts spiraled, you cursed yourself, and you questioned if your dedication to the Corp just lame words was, that any liar would give to make an excuse.

You pushed open a drawer, and you smiled when you recalled who had given you this fine Kimono, with such an eye-catching hairpin. You had gotten it many years back, but this was your first time draping it yourself.

It was such a baffling situation, as you put on the Kimono, put on the hairstyle you had practiced for a while, and did your makeup like you practiced. It was a rare night, where you and your lover were meeting after a long flight. You wanted to make it a lovely memory you could hold close to your heart because time was fleeting, but it shouldn't mean you should just let go without giving it your all.

You were, well with your lover going to a festival, where you could gaze about the streets illuminated, with dancing smiles, activities the children squealed to get a chance at, and humble parents trying to control them.

You reached the spot where you had asked him to meet you, it was just about the time of dusk, surely your heart swelled, when Akaza finally made his presence known, he froze for a moment when he noticed a rare moment of beauty which adorned your presence, it was truly enchanting to see you in a Kimono, he was truly captivated for a few moments.

"I didn't know we had something like this planned."

"It's okay, but It is a festival in the busy streets and this festival I wanted to go with you, because... I might not see you anytime soon again." You whispered.

"But you already knew that now, didn't you? The moment you met me here in the same place two years ago. This wouldn't be a romance where we plan our future looking at the stars, or we wait for each other to come back home. Those were the risks; we've made it till here." Akaza paused but looked at the illuminating lights he would soon walk under beside you.

"I know... But I guess I got a little hopeful." You admitted that you unknowingly moved closer to him, Akaza took your hand in his intertwining it,

"I can't deny that I wanted this to last that's something you won't hear a demon say, but things are getting agitated, and disturbed I can't say for sure what is causing the uneasiness, but I feel it, and I know you too can," Akaza emphasized the bitter truth, You put your head on his chest, as he cradled you closer, "I'm hearing your heartbeat." You stated, "Well, what does it say?"

"It says we are wasting our time, by not heading to the festival."

Akaza chuckled, "Let's get a move then."

The festival was glamorous, It was just like how your grandmother described those few hours felt like a dream maybe in the dead of the night Akaza returned you back to your estate, he stood outside the door, just a couple feet away from you.

"I guess this is goodbye?" You said, without choking on your tears,

You felt Akaza put his arms around you, for a long time, "Don't forget to still send me your letters, I'll always reply to them like usual."

"Take care of yourself, my love, I won't be pleased if I see you with injuries, and..." Akaza kissed your forehead, "I'll still be hopeful of our next meeting. Goodbye."

[sleepylilbuggie]

storytimeeeeeee <333333

i would like to tell a story. now, i won't say i'm a good storyteller, but i do believe it is worth the read. no promises though. i joined tumblr in the middle of the summer. i was on tumblr for a fleeting moment back in the day when it was gaining popularity, but this is the first time since. i had little to no expectations, i'm usually pretty quiet on the internet. i thought maybe i'd have a place to shit post, maybe make some online friends. to my surprise, i have found something much greater than that. it was the 12th of august. someone had interacted with one of my posts, so i thought that i'd try to be funny and dm them about it. well, that turned out to be the best thing i ever did. she and i really hit it off. we were talking every day. i tend to be one hell of a flirt, and with her there was no exception besides the fact that i actually meant it. it really didn't take long for me to actually become invested. it was terrifying at first. she lives so far away, we both had weird situations going on. plus, i've liked people since, but i hadn't been in a relationship for about four years prior. however, none of that was going to stop me. texting all day turned into nighttime calls, and nighttime calls turned into 24/7 calls. we fell hard, and fast. on the 31rst, just a few weeks after meeting her, i asked her to be mine. this was the second best decision i've ever made, trailing closely behind sending that first message that dramatically altered the course of my life in the best way possible. for our one-month anniversary, as a way to say fuck distance because i am far more powerful, i bought a plane ticket to her for a few months from then. now, it's important to note i had never been on an airplane before, nor have i even seen an airport close up, but nothing was going to stop me. we had a few rough months leading up to the trip. although the time we spent with each other looked a little different, there was no doubt that the love was still there. in what seemed like no time at all, but also excruciatingly slow, months turned to weeks, and week turned to days and all of a sudden i was taking one last look around my dorm on my way out the door knowing when i went to sleep that night i'd be on the other side of the country, in my girlfriend's bed. i can't lie and say that being with her in person felt any different. more whole, maybe, like coming home. no matter how we were talking, in the little computer box or face to face, she's always her. sure, i miss the cuddles and the kisses but i'll have that all again. if i close my eyes tight enough as i drift off to sleep, i can almost feel them, anyway. the important part to me is that she's proven her love and patience for me again and again. i really do believe she is it for me. i don't know where i'd be without her. it's hard to believe that some silly social media site full of people who are a tad bit more than borderline insane (i'd say no offense... but..) was the cause of all of this. how did i get so lucky that the right person interacted with my post on the right day and i was bold enough to reach out? it's funny how the world knows just when to let something good happen, hmm? nearly six months down, and a lifetime left to go. happy valentine's day, bunny. i love you! <33

[quinnverse]

I do, I care. The words crush her more than she anticipated. When he had first called upon her, Sarah saw it as a flattering, exciting little experience. Fleeting, but momentarily exciting. She hadn't expected to like him as much as she did. But liking him didn't change the fact that she was a Pleinsworth and that they moved in entirely different circles. Sarah enjoyed love stories, but she had no intention of living Romeo and Juliet.

“I win? What is the reward? Eternal guilt and heartache?” Exasperated, she let out a sigh. “I am not trying to guilt you, Mister Tallmadge. I do not aim to make a monster out of you. Out of either of us. And I am not saying it is all your fault. I acknowledge that I was an equal participant. I-I told you to keep going, I made you touch me. And I… I liked having you touch me, I did, but I…”

Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. She wanted to scream out of frustration. Not at him, but at herself. Why was it so hard to understand what she wanted? She wanted to be liked, to be adored, and cherished. She had a feeling Benjamin was perfectly capable of doing as much, but she worried that she would not be capable of giving it back. Sarah loved her family more than anyone else, more than she would ever love a husband. To betray her father and marry someone against his approval would be unthinkable. She would rather give up on love than to give up on family.

“I saw the way you look at Miss Wynter.” It wasn’t the statement she planned to say and yet it felt right. “You like her. And you say you like me. So, is there anyone else you like?” The words are more accusatory than she intended and Sarah tries to correct herself. “If I were to reject you, who would you go to next?”

“Answer me this: if you knew my father would approve, or that there was a high chance that he might, would you actually marry me?” Sarah stared at him with an expectant gaze. She hoped he would say no, to lessen her guilt. In reality, she hoped her future husband would be someone like him. Kind and considerate, handsome and tender. But he was right, the two of them would not be allowed to be together. Not without a fight, and it was a fight that Sarah wasn’t sure she was brave enough to put up.

“I like you, Mister Tallmadge. Despite my better judgement, I do like you. I do not love you, as you do not love me, but I do like you. And I wish that meant more, that it could mean more, because I care about you. Though we are hardly well acquainted, I do not wish to hurt you in any capacity. A-And I really, really like kissing you, but…” Stepping closer to him until she sat in a chair beside him. Sarah let out a soft sigh and continued.

“We would not be happy together, Mister Tallmadge.” Her voice was soft, the tone she used to calm down her sisters after a hard day. The voice she used to make people feel better. “Our lives don’t coincide. My heart is in England. Yours is not. My heart is in the ton, and yours is not. I understand these differences and I respect them, but it does not change the fact that we are not suited for one another, no matter how much we might like each other."

She allowed a moment of silence to pass between them, swiping at her cheeks with her palm.

“If it is any consolation to your pride, you are the best man I’ve ever kissed.” Offering a wry smile, she clears her throat and sniffles. She didn’t feel the need to point out once more that he was the only person she’d kissed, so she merely offered a smile and hoped he wouldn’t be too offended by her lighthearted attempt at humor.

"I'll help you find someone you can marry," He offered and Sarah rose her hands in defense, waving away the notion.

“You do not need to do that. I know I can be rather cold, but I am not that cruel. I would not torment you in making you find me a suitor." She lowered her hands back to her lap and averted her gaze. "In truth, there were a few men that have shown interest, but none that i feel at all drawn towards. You were the only one that showed promise, ironically enough."

“If it would wound you too much to see me, I understand, but I would like to be friends. My sisters adore you. No man ever plays along with their schemes, so they would have you over any time you wanted. And if you ever get lonely again…” Sarah silently scolded herself for the brash comment, but reached out and gently placed her hand on his leg. “Well, as long as I remain unwed, I’ll just say that--should you become afflicted again-- I wouldn’t be opposed to some lighthearted kissing between friends. But, you didn’t hear that from me.”

The idea of such a relationship was unheard of and Sarah never would've expected herself to propose such a thing. She was a romantic at heart. She believed in proper courting and the idea of falling in love. She believed that one day both of them would find someone worth loving, worth sacrificing things for. But until then, she knew her dreams would certainly be haunted by the memory of their kisses. And if he wished to relive the memory without any pretenses, she wasn't opposed. She trusted him, more than she thought she ever would.

“Can I ask you a question, though?” Her cheeks flared as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirts. “How... How did you know to do that? W-What you did with your fingers? How did you know that it would…” Shaking her head, she blushed and clamped her legs together. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t ask such a thing.”

Sarah was a geyser of emotion, shaking and sputtering as she curled her hands into fists. “Since when does anyone care what I want? What I want has never mattered. So, I assumed that was a man’s way, your way, of saying no. If I misinterpreted I’m sorry, but…"

"I care," Benjamin earnestly cut in. "Sarah, I do. I know I have no right to care at all, but-"

"You said I wouldn’t want to marry you, but you never asked me if that were the case. You chose for me. Without even considering my opinions on the matter, you decided what I would want."

Benjamin scoffed, considerably thrown. "I was thinking of your future," he said defensively. "Do you really, honestly believe that your father would take one look at me and let us be together? Even if it was what you wanted?"

Once more, the color returned to Sarah's cheeks in a bright, livid splash of pink. She surged forward with a snarl of accusations, reminding him of how he'd been the aggressor, and that he had been the true source of their transgression.

Face flooding scarlet, Benjamin exhaled and dropped his face down into his hands. "All right, fine -- you win: I am a monster, and I am the one at fault," he tightly agreed, "but I am not trying to confuse you, nor am I trying to trap you into something that you don't even want." Exhaling, he dropped his hands down at his sides. "I don't know what you want me to say, Sarah. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Visible hurt welled up within her eyes, and it soon became clear that he'd (yet again) said the wrong thing.

“So, did you ever like me, or did you only like the idea of me? Of not being alone? Or was I just a pair of lips to pass the time?"

Benjamin swallowed, taking a step back as though she'd shoved him. "I like you," he reassured. "I didn't think...I-I would never..."

"I just wanted you. And I thought you wanted me, too. But, clearly, I know nothing about you or your intentions."

"If I didn't want you at all, don't you think I wouldn't be quite so confused right now?" he asked, his voice much softer in its intensity.

A single tear spilled down her cheek, yet that lone streak stabbed through his heart and into his very soul, making Benjamin curl in on himself in shame.

“There was nothing pure intentioned about what you did," she accused, "or about how it felt. You cannot claim 'pure intentions' and romance when your eyes were filled with lust."

Slowly, Benjamin sank into a neighboring chair, his legs wobbling at the effort. "You're right," he agreed. "It was wrong of me... I told you it was wrong, but you asked if...i-if I would..." Trailing off, he bit into his cheek until he tasted blood. What was he trying to accomplish here? What did he even want? To further whip this girl back and forth, and drag their good names through the mud?

"I'll help you find someone you can marry," Benjamin said in a rush. Head spinning, a part of him knew he was on the cusp of madness as he continued, "It's the least I can do since...s-since I know I could never be yours."

[comfortscripts]

I don't want to snog him {Fred W.}

Plot - George has enlisted you to help him win over Angelina but unknown to you, his plan also might have something to do with getting Fred to admit his feelings for you.

Requested? Yes/No

Warnings - Jealousy (Not sure if that’s a warning though), a quick kiss and not fully proofread so I am sorry in advance

Word Count - 1.3k

"Y/N, just the person I was looking for" George Weasley announced as he waltzed into the common room, spotting you bundled up in the window seat with some muggle book Hermione lent you.

"Oh no, what have you gone and done now?" You say.

George only asks for your help for 2 reasons; Firstly, when he has forgotten to do his Transfiguration homework or secondly, when him and Fred have a prank they need help executing.

He smiles whilst squeezing his tall-self next to you in the window, before looking up with the widest smile you've seen.

"Well my dear Y/N, I have a proposition for you" He says throwing an arm over your shoulder before continuing. "As you know, the Hogsmeade trip is coming up and I am in need of your assistance with getting a certain witch to go with me"

You see, Hogwarts is normally a place of studies and magic but due to the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, all that matters to the Hogwarts witches and wizards is who is going with who.

Two of those swooning fools go by the names of George Weasley and Angelina Johnson. Both of them want to go with each other but are too nervous to ask.

Y/N couldn't say they didn't care about going to Hogsmeade but they weren't going half as crazy as everyone else. Elaborate schemes, sneaky way of finding out who likes who just left broken heart filled halls. Why would Y/N submit themselves to any of that? But that didn't mean you couldn't help you best friends get together.

"Aww Little Georgie has a crush" You say squishing his cheeks between your fingers. "Of course I'll help and if it is any consolation, Angie has a thing for you as well"

George blushes when he realised you knew exactly who he was talking about but quickly played it off with a grin.

'If only you knew that this plan involved your love life as well' He thought before starting to explain the plan.

The plan was simple, you talk George up to Angelina whilst also feeding George information about her likes, her schedule and her current feelings towards him.

The part of the plan George failed to mention was the part where his less attractive twin brother gets incredibly jealous over how close you and George are. One thing to know about the Weasley siblings is that they all get very jealous, due to always having to share everything with their siblings. Fred and Ron were definitely the worst at coping with their jealous side which was exactly what George was counting on.

And with dear Freddie secretly harbouring the largest crush on a certain Y/N, seeing them get friendlier with George will certainly get Freddie to react and expose his feelings.

As it got closer to the Hogsmeade trip, the plan was fully in action. Y/N was constantly nudging Angelina in the direction of George, slowly pushing her to truly accept her feelings for him. But whilst that plan was working oh so amazingly, George's operation 'Get Freddie to stop being a wuss about his feelings' was going even better.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Freddie had been hearing all of the compliments and praising of his twin. Each word was like an extra ounce of jealousy on his shoulders. In Fred's mind, Y/N was just fawning over George in the way he wished Y/N would fawn over him.

The final straw came the Thursday before the trip. Y/N was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Angelina, Katie, George and Fred, all talking about the upcoming trip.

"So George, who are you going to Hogsmeade with?" Y/N asks with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, obviously a hint to ask Angie.

"It's funny you ask actually because I was hoping to ask someone special today" George responded with his eyes practically making heart-shapes towards the seat next to you which was occupied by your best friend, Angelina.

Unfortunately, Fred miscalculated where his brother was looking and read it as George making heart eyes towards Y/N. With a quick mutter of goodbye, Fred stood up from the table and stomped away like a toddler having a tantrum.

Y/N watched Fred walk away and wondered what the hell just happened. From the corner of their eye, they saw George looking like he was about to go after his brother. Y/N couldn't let that happen for two reasons, firstly George would miss his chance to ask Angie and secondly, Y/N wanted to be able to comfort the boy she had been infatuated with since third year.

"I'm going to go and make sure he is alright" You say standing up from the table and heading off in the same direction the older Weasley twin did. You knew exactly where he would be.

Approaching the black lake, you saw a certain lanky ginger pacing by the lake. He was clearly angry, you could tell by the way he was cracking his fingers on his right hand over and over again. That was his tell.

"Freddie?" You called out softly, snapping the Weasley out of his jealous trance and stopping him in his tracks.

"What do you want? Came to tell me that you will be off snogging my brother this weekend?" He sneered.

His response caused a sea of emotion to rise within you. Anger, hurt, confusion just to name a few. Why did he think that? Why is he being so rude? Why would he even care?

"Excuse me? I am not planning on doing anything of the sort with your brother but even if I was, it is none of your business" You retorted in a slightly harsher tone than you wanted.

Fred turned to you and just stared before something seemed to snap.

"Except for the fact that it is my business if the person I have been in love with since I was 14 decides to go off and do who knows what with my twin brother?" He marches slowly towards you whilst he goes on his little rant. "So yeah, I am pissed off and it's not like you or him even cared that you have been stabbing my heart all week. You and your stupid compliments towards him or silly hints about going to Hogsmeade but what is worse is that he knows how I felt and he just let you"

Fred stops in front of you and takes a breath, almost to refill his ammo before finishing his speech. "So I guess that you two deserve each other."

Fred looks into your eyes one last time before turning away to head back towards Hogwarts.

Y/N stands in shock. The boy they have been dreaming about since they were a dorky tween had confessed his love. But like an idiot, Y/N just stood there without professing their love. Y/N had always been shy but this is a matter of losing Freddie, their Freddie. Quickly they turned towards the fleeting image of the Weasley boy and shouted.

"I love you Fred Weasley"

Fred halts at the confession and turns to see if it was just a figment of his imagination but he saw them making their way towards where he stood.

"Fred, I have been helping George ask Angelina out, not fawning over him. He is a friend and Godric knows I don't want to snog him. You are the person I want to be complimenting and giggling with. You are the person I want to go on Hogsmeade trips with where we drink so much butterbeer, we feel sick." Finally reaching the shocked boy, you look up at him.

"You are the one I want to love and be loved by, if you'll let me?"

Instead of a response to your question, you feel a pair of warm lips meet yours, a taste of cinnamon and cherry tarts invades your senses. You know what magic feels like but this, this was the stuff that muggles write about and now you finally understood why.

Eventually Fred pulled away, much to your dismay, and as a small smirk graced his pale face he asked "So fancy going to Hogsmeade together, my love?

[yiling-daddy]

Yes, that was me! I can definitely expand on my thoughts re: how Madam Yu’s behaviour reads differently to me due to my traditional, Chinese upbringing.

There is a lot of subjectivity as to whether Madam Yu can be read as abusive, and this reading is often influenced by culture—hence you often see completely off-base takes floating around. However, to me, the way that cultural context influences the reading will actually change depending on the relationship, so I will discuss each one separately. Most of the culturally insensitive takes are about her being an abusive or uncaring mother (she’s not), or that she’s a spurned woman (it’s more complicated than that), so you can skip down to the JC, JYL, and CSSR sections for that.

Madam Yu and Wei Wuxian

As a trend, I think western fandom tends to simplify Wei Wuxian’s dynamic with the Jiang family into an entire adopted family. Consequently, Yu Ziyuan gets perceived as this two-dimensional, evil stepmom figure—but I think this doesn’t capture the truth.

There’s a bit more variability among Chinese audiences when they read the Jiang family dynamic, partly due to our deeper familiarity with wuxia tropes, but mostly because there's a mediocre Netflix translation colouring the western interpretation. Though many Chinese fans do view them all as a sort of family unit and read Madam Yu as a stepmother, I do not. To me, Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli view Wei Wuxian as family—but Madam Yu does not. Madam Yu views him as a servant, a disciple of the sect, and an outsider at the dinner table—and it’s not wrong for her to do so. It’s not gracious, but it’s not unfounded. I don’t think Wei Ying ever gives any indication that he views her as a mother, either.

If you agree that they don’t have anything like a mother-son relationship, all these insults/complaints that Yu Ziyuan levels at him—that he’s the “son of a servant”, that Jiang Fengmian is weird for openly favouring Wei Wuxian over his own son, etc.—these start to make sense? Like, it’s shitty to listen to, but none of it is wrong. Suddenly it reads less like pointless insults and more like actual points.

Additionally, if we consider that Wei Wuxian is a disciple of the sect who goes around and raises the ire of the Wen clan, corporal punishment suddenly looks very normal (again, within the culture). Hence, when I watched the donghua and CQL, I hated seeing Wei Wuxian getting whipped, but I didn’t perceive this as abuse—especially because of the political nature of the decision.

But it is definitely still possible to mistreat a disciple.

In CQL, you see Madam Yu throwing an unnecessary amount of vitriol at Wei Ying. In the novel extras, it's revealed that she regularly whipped him but never whipped the other disciples, indicating that it wasn't normal corporal punishment. She also whipped him for absurdly stupid reasons. To me, this signals that she tended to abuse her authority over him. Even if you don’t view her as an abusive mother to Wei Ying, it's fair to read her as an abusive authority figure.

Importantly however, "abuse" is a loaded word suggesting a violation of social norms, and again, the situation is complicated because the social norms of the setting don't match those of the modern world. Madam Yu is not overstepping her bounds as master of Lotus Pier—hence, people do not think very much of this treatment in-universe, including Wei Ying himself.

Madam Yu, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli

Okay, when I first watched CQL, I cringed when Madam Yu started dragging her family because she sounded like My Actual Chinese Mother. I felt for a second like I had transmigrated into Jiang Cheng’s body and I was experiencing his agony firsthand!

Madam Yu reads very realistically, and I think this is why it gets personal for a lot of Chinese people when this fandom discusses her character. Yes, she belittles and hurts her children for their perceived failures, but many Chinese people can tell you that this is just a common parenting style. And while it might look like bullying to an outsider, this behaviour is usually motivated by love. It is often also motivated by fear that the child’s future will be substandard. This is textually obvious when you consider what exactly Madam Yu yells about:

She snaps at Yanli to stop peeling lotus pods, because she shouldn’t act like a servant. If Yanli keeps behaving so passively, what kind of role is she going to fall into in the future—especially given that she is not a cultivator?

She berates Jiang Cheng for always being inferior to Wei Wuxian no matter what he does. If Jiang Cheng is constantly overshadowed by Wei Wuxian, what will that mean for his future as sect leader? Or his future status and reputation among the sects?

I can do these Chinese Mom Translations because parents in real life will actually say things like this out of concern for their children (insults included), in an attempt to motivate them... and it really does light a fire under our asses. I attribute many of my personal successes to this parenting style. Thus, when I see posts like “Madam Yu didn’t show any sign of caring for others” or "Madam Yu was a purely selfish and arrogant person" or “Madam Yu is an abusive mother and nothing else"—well, I can tell most of these people are not Chinese, or if they are, then they likely did not have a traditional upbringing.

While I don't think these uninformed readings of Madam Yu are necessarily racist, I do think they they are unpleasant for Chinese fans to constantly see. For those of us in the west that had this type of upbringing, we often struggle with trying to frame and process our relationships with our parents. For me, this was partly due to the emotional baggage of my upbringing (Jiang Cheng winning!!!)... but it was also because white society kept telling me that my parents didn't give a shit about me when obviously they did. That’s fucked up to experience. It reeks of cultural imperialism. Thus, when I see Chinese people getting annoyed at these Madam Yu takes, I’m not surprised. This is unfortunately a fictional discussion that very much resembles a real one for us.

Yu Ziyuan, Jiang Fengmian, and Cangse Sanren

A lot of people view Madam Yu as a spurned woman and assume that is her motivation for constantly antagonizing Wei Wuxian and her husband. But because I assume that a lot of her chaotic yelling stems from her concerns as an Actual Chinese Mother, my take is different.

Remember the scene where Madam Yu catches Jiang Fengmian scolding Jiang Cheng just after praising Wei Wuxian? She drags Jiang Cheng up to his father and, in both CQL and the donghua, says something to this effect (paraphrased from memory):

This is your son, the future master of Lotus Pier! Even if you don’t like him because he was born to me, his surname is still Jiang!

And in CQL, she also says this right after berating Jiang Cheng for not measuring up to Wei Wuxian:

But it’s not your fault. Your mother is no match for his mother.

Yu Ziyuan isn’t angry about Cangse Sanren because she’s jealous; she is angry about Cangse Sanren because she thinks Jiang Fengmian’s feelings for her are jeopardizing his competence as a father to Jiang Cheng. Viewed in this light, it also makes sense why Yu Ziyuan is hostile to Wei Wuxian in a way that alienates him from the family—constantly calling him the son of a servant, pointing out the rumours about his parentage, etc. She’s not doing this because she hates Cangse Sanren or Wei Wuxian; she’s doing it because Wei Wuxian’s presence in the family is threatening Jiang Cheng’s future in her eyes.

Bonus: Did Yu Ziyuan love Jiang Fengmian?

Yes! In both the donghua and CQL (I ashamedly admit I don’t clearly remember the novel), I thought their final moments made it quite evident that they cared for each other. They fought together, died together to protect their home, and reached out to one another in their final moments.

But when I rewatched Madam Yu’s scenes in CQL and the donghua, I realized we got other hints that westerners probably missed. I'll focus on CQL:

Right before Jiang Fengmian sets off with Yanli for Lanling, Madam Yu sees them off. She gives Yanli some snacks and then—without making eye contact with Jiang Fengmian—says that she’s also giving them medicine in case someone gets a headache. Jiang Fengmian pauses, because it’s obviously for him.

This is recognizable behaviour for a lot of Chinese people. I can’t tell you how many times my mother got apoplectic at me, and then the only follow-up was her going out of her way to make me my favourite meal. The chaotic yelling you see between Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan is also pretty typical to many Chinese parents, and again, the follow-up in my household was often one of them going out of their way to do something for the other.

This is just how the culture is in a lot of families. “Sorry” isn’t expressed in words; it's expressed in actions. “I love you” isn’t expressed in words; it’s expressed in actions. In Chinese culture, the dominant love language is acts of service. It's fleeting, but we get glimpses of that kind of love between Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian. 

[dreaminpetals]

COMMISSION: norton & naib watch their s/o bleed out on the rocket chair, then comfort each other after 🧲 🔪

norton campbell ;;

Your heart dropped to your feet when you heard the chime that indicated a survivor had been knocked down. You prayed as you decoded ー Please don't be Nor, please don't be Nor ...

Hearing a laboured "Focus on decoding!" confirmed your fears. It was muffled, distant, but distinct. Norton had been chaired.

The frantic hammering of your heart in your ears overtook your senses as you sprinted towards the chair, shouting to Helena that you were going to rescue him. Your heart overpowers your brain whenever Norton is in even the slightest ounce of danger. This was one of those instances. You should have thought twice before hurrying to his aid.

You exhaled a sigh of relief when you approached his chair and noticed there was no hunter to be seen. Norton however had the opposite reaction. His expression contorted into one of pure terror when he saw you were the one rescuing him.

"Leave me! Get away from me!" His words fell to deaf ears as you dashed towards him, arms open and ready to free him from his confines.

Everything was going smoothly until you heard the words that would stay with you forever.

"Jack is behind you!"

It was a trap.

In a heartbeat, your back was slashed open and you collapsed to your hands and knees.

"Lovebirds," Jack hummed, stomping on your wounded back, earning a scream from Norton. "Now, where's that decoder..." he turned on his heel and vanished to hunt down Helena with an unmistakable bloodlust.

You weren't panicking yet. You could simply heal yourself, andー

You were out of self heals.

"The hunter is near me!" Helena wailed from across the map, sending ice straight down the spines of you and your boyfriend. The fourth survivor had been eliminated already. There was no saving you.

Norton's entire body was wracked by sobs as you lay curled in a ball on the ground, writhing around in utter agony. If it wasn't for the bar squeezing him down into the rocket chair, he would bandage you up and press endless kisses onto your bloodied skin, his own safety be damned.

He had never seen anybody bleed out before. The Prospector has always managed to heal his teammates, his only punishments being faced on rocket chairs. In Norton's eyes, you were going to die.

"It's okay," you choked out, "I'll be... be..."

"You're going to die," Norton whimpered in the highest tone you've ever heard from him. He sounded like a child with the way his raspy voice cracked.

Your eyes widened at his words. Did he think bleeding out was fatal? Oh no.

You ached to explain to him that the worst consequences were comas that lasted no longer than a week, but you were losing strength. Fast. As your throat closed up, speech became more and more difficult. It felt as if glass was piercing your windpipe, concealing the truth from your guilt stricken lover.

"'Sall my fault... fuck, I love you, okay?" He hiccuped through strained wheezes for air.

'Don't say that... I'll be okay...' you yearned to respond, but each second the invisible weight on your back grew, crushing you further.

Although your vision was spotting and blurring, you could see Norton tremble where he sat. His fingers gripped the bar holding him hostage until they bled. He was using all of his strength to attempt to free you somehow.

With one final, ragged breath, you closed your eyes and succumbed to your injuries. Norton didn't scream like you thought he would. He watched you sink into the ground in utter silence, sniffing back tears and coughing sporadically.

Despite the agony you endured mere minutes ago, you weren't rendered unconscious like previous, less fortunate survivors. You could walk, albeit with jittery legs and a weight on your back forcing you down. Having regained some strength, you noted that you could speak as well. Every bone in your body was aching for you to find Norton and save him from his unnecessary grief.

You immediately captured Helena's undivided attention when you hobbled into the manor, leaving a steady red trail behind you. She wrapped your wounds up with the first aid kit she kept on her, the smell of blood that lingered in the air faded with every careful swipe of your skin. Since you were in the room for injured survivors, Norton didn't see you when he stormed back into the manor. His physical wounds were nothing compared to his emotional ones. If only Helena finished patching you up just a minute earlier, he could have seen that you survived far earlier.

"Norton is in your room, by the way," Helena began, patting you on the back to signal that her work was done, "in the one you share. I asked where he was going."

"Our room," you repeated to yourself under your breath. You thanked Helena and promptly headed to your room, legs carrying you as fast as they could take you.

You were out of breath once you reached your shared room. A series of knocks on the door were greeted with silence. You noticed that the static sobbing from the room paused for a moment, then resumed.

Twisting your key into the door and unlocking it, you saw Norton swiftly hide your shirt underneath your pillow. Was he trying to get the last of your scent before it faded away forever?

"So. You've come to haunt me too." He spat, burning holes into your face with his unwelcoming glare. "Just like everyone else from the mines. Fuck off."

"Norton, it's me,"

"You're only pretending to be them. Second I acknowledge you're not real you'll go away."

His words shattered your heart.

Approaching him with caution, you kneeled onto the bed beside him and placed your palm on his cheek. He leaned into your touch despite his harsh words, his tear streaked face dampening your hand. "If I wasn't real, would I be this warm?" You whispered as soft as your voice could manage to be. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared into your eyes, searching for any signs of life. Your eyes were too warm and full of adoration to be a hallucination, a ghost, a memory.

"How did you...?" he began, teetering on the verge of tears again.

"I'm hurt, but... I'd never die on you, Nor. It's okay. I'm here." You pressed a nurturing kiss to his nose and felt his face heat up underneath yours. Pressing your forehead against his, he felt no malicious intent from you, unlike all the other visions he saw of his deported loved ones. He felt nothing but love and kindness from you, the same way he's always remembered you.

"It's really you," he uttered your name like a prayer, voice flickering above a whisper, before enveloping you in his arms and pulling you snug close to him. He bawled into your shoulder, letting the warmth of your body comfort him after one of the most horrifying moments of his life. You could feel his snot and hot tears bubble on your shoulder but you didn't mind in the slightest. You were home, in Norton's arms.

You knew that for Norton to cry in front of you, he was wounded deep. It was rare to see tears fall from his eyes and to feel him cling to you, terrified of letting go. Between pants, you could hear him beg for you to stay and never die on him. His pleas were answered by soft hushes and gentle kisses.

Norton pulled away for a fleeting moment to turn you around and examine your wounded back. There was a rip through your top and underneath were bandages stained with dry blood. Helena did a decent job of patching you up, though she definitely missed a few spots. Norton pressed chaste kisses to the exposed skin, his silent way of reassuring you he loved you no matter what.

"I'll kill him for doing this to you," your boyfriend hissed, teeth ghosting along your flesh. "I'll make him pay." His mouth was still connected to your back, and he could feel you shiver in response to his words.

"Nor, you don't needー"

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. If anyone... if anyone ever does this to you a second time, I'll..."

"Norton."

Your sudden sharp tone caused him to freeze. Had he gone too far? His demeanour immediately switched and he pulled away from you, offering you a toothy grin to show he sincerely meant no harm.

You pulled your shirt back down and turned around so your calm eyes could meet his wide ones. "I'll be okay. I'm more worried about you, if anything. Come here." You patted your lap and the back of Norton's fluffy hair soon met your thighs. He laid down and began to rub the tears from his eyes, before you pushed his hands away and rubbed them into nothingness yourself.

He loved laying in your lap. Whether he was having flashbacks of past events, or if he was hurt from a match, laying his head on your soft thighs and gazing up at you with love never failed to calm him down. He felt so safe and warm.

"Have a little rest, Nor. I'll be here when you wake up." You rubbed calming circles into his hair as he nodded. His eyes closed, then opened again to ensure that you really were there and you truly were alive. You shushed him, both hands massaging his scalp until he drifted off into a comfortable sleep. He would do anything for you.

naib subedar ;;

"Naib's been containing the hunter for so long, you think we should help out?" Luca asked you as the two of you drummed away at a cipher machine together. You nodded your head in agreement, pulling yourself away from the noisy machine and overturning your empty pockets.

"I don't have any self heals, though. I'll shout if I need anything." This time it was Luca's turn to nod as he smacked the machine, steadily making progress towards your escape.

You roamed the abandoned factory for a few moments before hearing a distant yelp and the sound of someone falling to the ground. You followed the source of the sound to the factory, and the metallic clunks of Guard 26 carrying your lover to the basement made your skin crawl. This rescue was going to be tremendously difficult.

"Don't rescue me!" Naib managed to rasp as the hunter slammed him into the rocket chair. You could hear the pain in his voice even though he tried to mask it. It was always like Naib to hide his true feelings behind a cold front.

You knew Guard 26 chairing your only rescuer in the basement was a recipe for disaster, but you wanted to at least attempt to save him.

Hopping down the stairs, you were met face to face with the hunter. Their cogs whirred as they advanced towards you, and you stunned them momentarily.

"Oh, you're so stupid [Name]," Naib sighed as your fingers danced across the bar holding him captive. "Go back to where it's safe!" You ignored his cries and slid to the side, dodging one of Guard 26's strikes. The floor began to light up in an array of colours under you which you miraculously dodged, earning a gasp from your chaired lover.

Unfortunately, you weren't able to pull off the rescue of your dreams this time. You attempted to psyche out the hunter and trick them into hitting the chair, but their spiked bat met your side before you could pull away. Despite arriving without even a scratch, the impact of being hit as you rescued caused you to fall to your knees.


Blood pooled underneath you and you gritted your teeth as you waited to be chaired, the pain overriding your senses and bringing tears to your eyes.

That relief never came.

The haunting dings of Guard 26 slowly dissipated as they hopped up the stairs to find Luca. There were several other chairs in the basement, why didn't they chair you? It must be in their wiring to save as much time as possible.

You clutched at your stomach, wincing as crimson bloomed on your shirt. Panic hadn't filled your veins yet. You applied pressure to your wound, using the same healing tactics Naib had taught you before. Your plan was to do all you could while you were downed, then call Luca for help at the last minute.

Until Luca was terrorshocked.

Your eyes snapped up to meet Naib's the second you both heard him collapse against the cipher machine. Anxiety began to set in, your movements growing more sloppy. You nicked yourself more often, and Naib noticed it too.

"Easy there... Deep breaths, all right?" He cooed, wriggling to free himself from the grip of the rocket chair. His struggles were unsuccessful, though. No matter how hard he tried to escape for you, the chair wasn't merciful whatsoever.

You felt your body grow numb as you lost more blood. You could no longer feel the cold tiles of the basement. To you, everything was cold. You scooched closer to the chair Naib was trapped in and extended a hand. "Naib, I... I can't feel my legs," although his movements were limited, he was able to wrap his hand around yours and squeeze it tight.

"You're gonna be fine." He was lying through his teeth. Naib could see the glassy look in your eyes, hell, as your hand quivered in his, he could feel the life draining from it. Your voice wasn't a comfort to him anymore, every word you spoke was full of agony and he wished you would stay quiet as to not worry him more.

Naib has seen this before. He's been pinned under debris, forced to watch a comrade succumb to their injuries. It's why he's the man he is today. Always self-sacrificing, never leaving anyone behind. Yet he couldn't extend the same behaviour to you... his lover was bleeding out in front of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do. He tried so desperately to hide the fear from his face, but a single tear slid down his cheek and his expression sunk when he felt you begin to fade away. As you melted into the ground, Naib cried out your name until there was nothing left of you to hold. Then he followed.

You were awoken by the sound someone scurrying towards you. Rubbing your eyes, you saw a flash of colour before an excited hand met your shoulder. "You're finally up. Can you walk?" It took a few moments to process Naib's words. As you scanned the room around you, you spotted bouquets of flowers and numerous get well soon cards.

"What... what happened to me?" You groggily asked as you gazed at your hands. They had been bandaged up with care.

Naib swallowed hard as he replied, "you've been out for around a day. I've been looking after you... hope you don't mind." As your vision adjusted to the bright lights of your room, you noticed his shirt had been discarded and his chest was wrapped tightly in bandages. Both of you were left bruised and battered from that hellish match, it seems.

Your heart soared as you thought about how much Naib must adore you to watch over you like that. Though he acted coolly as if his actions were no big deal, you could sense that he was still worried about you. He touched you as if you were made of glass and his usual scratchy voice was replaced by a soft, considerate one ー an attempt to ease your anxieties and make you more comfortable.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," his hand connected to yours and eased your weight onto the floor below you. You stumbled over your feet, but quickly met Naib's chest as his arms wrapped around your back. "Easy there, I've got you." He let you lean on him for support and helped you peel off your bloodied shirt before drawing a bath for you.

Naib kneeled beside the bubblebath you rested in, scrubbing your hair with his calloused fingers. It tickled ever so slightly, you couldn't remember the last time somebody had handled you with such care. His hands maneuvered around your body with precision and care as he washed away all of the dirt and dust that marred your skin.

A comfortable silence hung in the air until you decided to speak up, "what about you? Do you want me to wash you as well?"

Naib's expression softened when he heard your voice. "Iー uh, I'm good." His blunt response didn't match his gaze in the slightest.

"I can see you wince every time you lift your arms. And you smell."

"...Fine." He huffed in defeat, beckoning you to scootch forward to make room for him in the tub. You felt the water splash as he took a seat behind you and pulled you into his arms. "Hey. What you did yesterday... don't do it again, okay? I don't want you getting hurt ever again."

You turned over your shoulder to face him and he offered you a faint smile. It wasn't like his usual smug grins, it was more tender, something he couldn't get rid of upon seeing you awake again.

You could keep your head in Naib's warm chest forever, his steady heartbeat and the occasional ripples of water filling your ears. You were on the verge of falling asleep when you remembered that Naib needed to be scrubbed too.

Lifting his arms up above your head, you escaped his gentle grasp and turned around to face him. His expression was one of grumpiness after you slithered free from his arms, but the second you grabbed a loofah and massaged his skin his gaze molded into a loving one. His cuts had faded and closed up but they were definitely visible, and they looked like they hurt. A lot.

"I'm sorry for being so reckless, I just wanted you to get out safe." You whispered between fond swipes of his chest, really getting the soap in there.

He rested his arms on the edges of the tub, huffing in response. "When I tell you not to rescue, don't rescue, okay? Your safety's more important than mine." You attempted to object to his brash statement, but he shut you up with a kiss and stole the breath from your lips. Your lips remained connected for a few lingering seconds, and Naib deepened the kiss right as you expected him to pull away.

"...I thought I was going to lose you," he muttered against your skin, pulling away and pressing another, sweeter kiss to the corner of your lips. "Water's getting cold... let's get out," he drained the tub and scooped you up into his arms, bringing you to your bed and wrapping you up in a bathrobe. You were perfectly capable of dressing yourself, but Naib's must-take-care-of-lover instincts refused to let you do that.

He snuggled up to you from behind, nose breathing in the fresh scent of your hair. "Goodnight, love." And you dozed off in his arms, ever protective of you.

[mooniefics]

— the hands that beckon me

pairing : zeke jaeger / reader

word count : 1.9k

tags : emotional hurt / comfort, relationship discussion, pillow talk, insecure zeke :(

summary : zeke is finally home, on a brief layover from the war, and you both finally get around to having that tough discussion you've been putting off for far too long.

— originally posted 1 / 21 / 21 on ao3 —

"what do you do while i'm gone?"

your skin was still hot from being pressed over his when he asked, thrumming with a warmth you hadn't felt yet craved so deeply for months. you turned to face him from your place on your back in bed, pressing into his side, peering curiously at his profile. you'd missed seeing him like this, out of his ironed, pristine uniform, hair messy from your fingers running through it, sharp features warmed with the flush of passion, unobscured by his glasses, eyes and voice sleepy and relaxed rather than alert and tight with self-awareness.

"what do you mean?" your reply was soft, almost playful to counter his matter-of-fact delivery, reaching out to draw your fingers across his firm, bare chest.

"i mean what keeps you busy? what do you do for fun?"

>readmore<

the war with the mid-east allied forces had been dragging on for just about two years now, and there seemed to be no end in sight, but after the marleyan army managed to snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat on foreign soil, the news came to your internment zone that the soldiers would be returning on a brief layover as the countries' political leaders decided whether or not they'd be willing to smooth things over in a more peaceful manner.

this afternoon you had been there at the gates with his grandparents, barely able to stand still beside them as all three of you waited wordlessly with baited breath, balancing up on your tiptoes, straining to peek over the crowd to catch a glimpse of him. while others were stood by with looks of unmasked dread—men with clenched jaws and stiff shoulders, women with tears brimming their eyes, children tugging at sleeves and already crying with impatience—you felt an uncontainable joy. it was humbling to look around at all the panicked faces, to remember that not every family had the luxury of your confidence, the almost guaranteed certainty that the one you loved would return. but you couldn't help the blinding smile that broke out across your face as he ambled through the crowd, tired, well-kept, but looking warmly down at you and his family.

you had let him to greet them first, they were his blood relatives after all, but only after he'd finished giving his grandmother a tight hug and exchanging affectionate words did you allow yourself to throw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder and breathing in his rich scent of gunpowder, pine, just a faint hint of cigarettes, melting easily into his strong embrace. you and zeke had wandered back alongside the older couple to their home, sharing a calm, easy dinner where zeke relayed what information he could to them about the status of the ongoing battle, but you were just itching to have some time to yourself with him.

you'd spent hours cleaning your quaint little home a few streets down, agonizing over every little detail despite how you knew he didn't mind whatever state it was in, just that you were there. and as soon as you'd both said your friendly goodbyes and made it through the door of your home, he was pulling you along to the bedroom, legs having memorized the path of weaving through the living room and kitchen and down the hall to the door on the left.

he was impatient, as he always was when he was tugging you out of your clothes, but sensual all in the same when he pressed his lips onto yours, murmured soft, longing words in your ear, hands squeezing and grabbing, reacquainting themselves with your soft figure. you both didn't last long—how could you when you were so eager—but felt satisfied all the time after everything was said and done, lowering back onto the mattress, flushed and panting, a faint sheen of sweat shimmering over your skin. his question just now had puzzled you. it was simple, but you knew it hid something deeper, he'd never asked something of that nature in all the time he'd been coming back and going away.

"well.. not much really. i go to work at the jewelry shop, have tea with your grandmother on thursdays, wander around the market if i feel up to it, help mary from down the street with her boys if she needs it."

you faltered at the mention of her, not remembering whether you'd seen her husband when you'd met with zeke at the entrance to the zone. you forced yourself not to frown. how selfish of you, you didn't even bother to check on her before you allowed yourself to be whisked away for the night.

he seemed to notice your sudden dismay, wrapping a comforting arm around you as he spoke, "you mean aksoy?" you nodded. "he made it back on the train alright. drunk off his ass, but alive."

you breathed a small sigh of relief, offering up a small smile at him. "good to hear."

and though his lips curled back in a similar expression, it didn't quite reach his eyes, and you only felt further perturbed by how his gaze briefly flickered elsewhere. "why do you ask?" you prompted, fingers trailing up his neck to rest at his jaw, gently turning him to face you again.

"just curious, is all.."

you could sense that he was lying, but about what you didn't quite know. "come on, zeke, we've known each other since we were kids. you don't think i know when you're hiding something?"

he hummed, the corners of his eyes creasing as an easy, genuine grin graced his features. "i apologize for underestimating your lie detecting skills."

you couldn't help but giggle softly at his words, thumb stroking over his warm cheek, body fitting perfectly against his. he was really here. finally, after all this waiting, he had come back to you, even if only for a few weeks that would surely fly past in an instant.

"i don't really know how to say this.." he seemed uncharacteristically sheepish, grey eyes traversing over your face, onto a far wall of the room, then up to the ceiling for a brief moment before it finally wandered back to you, "i guess you could say it started with me feeling a bit guilty, leaving you here all by yourself."

"i can bear the wait, you know that. as long as i know that i'll get to see you." for now, came the silent addendum.

he had three years left, barely a quarter remaining in his term, but you didn't broach the topic, and he seemed just as content putting off the discussion as you were. your relationship was easy, in a sense. there was never any squabbling over when the two of you would move in, or when he would retire from his position and settle down, milestones such as marriage and children were never issues. but there were days where you wished they were, though you'd never admit it.

just like how you'd never admit to the warm burn of envy that sparked to life when a man came into the shop you worked at searching for a ring for his partner, a spark that inevitably gave way to a cool emptiness settling deep into your chest, swallowing up your heart and balling an uncomfortable lump in your throat by the time you'd helped him choose out just the perfect jewel and sent him on his way.

"i know that, but," he swallowed, licking his lips, "sometimes i'm afraid that you're getting bored."

"bored?" the word felt strangely odd on your tongue, your own eyes blinking at him.

"bored." he reaffirmed, frowning slightly as he continued, "you see other people your age—our age—every day, don't you? when you go to the market, when you're at work, hell, even when you're spending time with your friends, you see people with lives, with structure." you knew the exact words that were coming next, but the impact of them hurt all the same. "people who don't have the thought of how time is running out hanging over their head."

it was you who turned away this time, feeling your lower lip tremble, eyes suddenly watering despite how you wished not to cry. all those complicated feelings you'd pushed down in favor of relishing in your feigned ignorance, of pretending that zeke was just a normal soldier with normal duties who was just lucky enough to come back each time. you'd always politely brushed your friends off when they'd pestered you of the absence of a ring on your finger, asking when you'd have children of your own rather than always being there to help them take care of theirs, you swept their concerns aside with a rehearsed smile because you didn't want to come to terms with the fact that you wanted those things for yourself.

the pill of zeke's looming mortality was hard enough to swallow on its own, all without mentioning how the love you shared was so rich yet so fleeting, fruitful yet futile all at once. you had no words to offer him, but your silence seemed to be enough of a reply, a forlorn, almost remorseful look settling over his handsome features.

"perhaps— perhaps you should search for someone else." you felt your stomach knot and twist, sorrow bubbling up like a geyser from below, biting at your cheek as to not let your shaky breaths spill from your mouth, "you're beautiful, it would really be no trouble at all for you to find someone—someone who can give you a good life. a fulfilling life."

"but.. there's still time left, isn't there?" your voice was quiet, thick with restrained tears, "there's still time for us."

"it isn't fair to you."

"it wouldn't be fair to you either if i left now." your brows knitting together, expression strained as you felt warmth trickle down your face, dripping down your chin onto his shoulder. "do you want me to leave?"

he looked away, hesitating just enough to make more droplets bead at your lashes before he shook his head, drawing a crooked finger across your cheek to catch a few stray tears. again, that disdain at your own selfishness came. he was worried for you, ruminating own his own impending death, trying to soften the blow of it for you at the expense of his own happiness, yet all you could do was cry at the thought of parting with him in any voluntary way.

"you're the one i want." you whispered, sniffling, "i knew what i was getting into at the start of all this, the things that i would miss, the things i would have to give up on, but they can wait. i can't be without you, not if i know that i can spend a single moment longer like this, loving you."

the sun had sank low in the sky, light abandoning the two of you in the dark of your room, alone with your shared, trembling breaths, his frown and distant eyes, your tears and imploring gaze. you felt weary in many ways as you allowed yourself to settle back onto his chest, closing your eyes at the feeling of his arm tightening its grasp around you, holding you close, a silent plea to stay just as you were.

he didn't speak, not another word of uncertainty exchanged, but you knew that he understood. he was here, and as long as that was the case you would always wait, keep turning down the hands that beckoned you, rescind your domestic desires for the sake of clinging to this one rare, importunate, lovely thing you had—clinging to him.

[mistaeq]

Saturday, 26th December

Romeo!Don Giovanna x Juliet!Reader: The Masque

TW // mafia is mentioned, please don't take it lightly. Mista x Trish is implied, but I've aged her up.

Today I offer you this, which I'm proud of, and it doesn't happen often. So I hope you all enjoy this.

A darker point of view on Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Naples, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their ancient strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

Is now the two hours' traffic of my fic;

The which if you with patient eyes attend,

What here shall miss, my toil shall strive to mend.

"I will be honest to thee, if thou do not mind me saying so, Don Giovanna. But I am still struggling to understand why thou wanted to show up to the event." the golden haired signore slightly chuckled, after his councilor's words, who was now helping him with fixing the bow which perfectly fit his elegant braid. He never gave up on styling his hair the same way, and now that he was showing up to an event out of pure spite, he was not going to change that.

"It is not that I wanted it, my dear Guido." the Don said, fixing his cream colored jacket's sleeves, an amused grin animating his relaxed features. "They don't expect me to show up at all, all they did was inviting me, thinking I would have chosen to not to go. And make fun of thy lord's attitude. It would be rude of mine, to not to let them know how good I am doing, despite their several attempts to push me down."

"Indeed, signore. Thy reasonment sounds just right." the young councilor Guido Mista agreed with the Don, crouching to give a better look at the lord's image in the mirror and nodding in satisfaction when he made sure the bow was symmetrical as he wanted. "In addition to this, I am pleased to inform thee about my choice of asking Lord Diavolo's daughter's hand in marriage, as soon as she will turn eighteen. Lady Trish." Giorno's grin, if possibly, widened. His councilor marrying his worst enemy's daughter? Sounded just perfect, since she was gonna move in their mansion. By her own choice. She hated her father, and had agreed to the marriage. Great to hear.

"Thou spoke music to my ears, Guido. And I thank thee for thou fixed my bow properly." the golden haired Don stood up, and started walking towards the door, eyeing at his councilor's outfit. "Get ready, we are going." Believe me, he was about to touch the door handle, when a rough voice, who always allowed itself to speak too much, interrupted his actions.

"What about thy heart, signore? No love story nor marriage for thee?" The gunslinger dared to say, perfectly knowing his Don thought he had to keep on being focused on his own affairs, rather than have love related ones. He just liked to drop the question every now and then, but started being genuinely worried. Guido know how romantic Don Giovanna could get, and the thought of him getting old without getting married, weirded him out. At first, he used to think Giorno needed time to get used to his role as a boss in the neapolitan mafia - the biggest reason of his strife against Diavolo -, but now, years had passed, and it was getting worse.

"Tender is the way love might make this man change. Thy lord is not ready to face such a thing. Unless it is really worth a try." Don Giovanna's hand lingered around the doorknob, caressing it in an attempt to examinate a thin layer of dust. "Do me the favor to tell Ghirga that cleaning up every little thing, even the most insignificant one, is definitely not optional." the blonde said, finally tightening his grip on the door handle and exiting the room. Left in the whistling silence of the place, the councilor proceeded to get ready for the event himself. He knew his signore didn't like to make someone wait.

As soon as he came in the hall, everyone turned around him and his councilor, Guido Mista, who soon blended into the crowd, for his betrothed Trish Una gripped on his arm and pulled him somewhere else. "Bothering thy councilor is not my intention, Don Giovanna. I am asking for thy permission, to take him for a while." What else could the blonde man even answer, if not agreeing with it happening. Without any doubt, he was left alone so fast, he had now nobody to cover him, as his golden hair didn't blend at all into the crowd.

A pleasant smell of cooked food and wooden furniture penetrated the Don's nose, as he gripped a glass of wine from the servant who was walking around with a tray holding some. The man shook the crystal glass a little, before he smelled the alcoholic liquid, and took a sip from it. Then, he quietly snorted. "And this would be wine. I consider myself lucky, being these people's foe. This truly doth be terrible."

Giorno mentally commented almost everything in the hall, judging the furniture... "Outdated.", the people... "Seeing them stare at me pleases me. If they are willing to criticize my appearance and attitude, I will be even more pleased.", and the service as well. "These servants are just what Lord Diavolo likes. Being so useless, it pains me." he took the last sip from his crystal glass of wine. "Let me see how much will it take for some servant to notice."

No wonder, the signore was really full of himself, and he was right, for all the people's voices murmuring when he passed by, were coming from pure envy. Diavolo staring at him, from the top of a huge flight of stairs. Don Giovanna had not noticed him, for he didn't consider necessary the action of looking above his own head. Giorno knew he was the one to be already at the top. If so, it were others who had too look up to him. He had learnt he had to stand up to ferocious beasts too, and he managed, in his life, to dominate the worst out of all the beasts. Humanity.

Plus, he was extremely focused on what was happening in front of himself, for he could see, in the middle of the hall, several couples dancing. No need to specify, that was the place where Lady Trish had brought the councilor Mista. Don Giovanna couldn't help but slightly smirk. That man had always been so loyal to him, and he was genuinely proud of him for he had found a wife and helped his affairs at the same time. He watched at the curly, dark haired councilor moving his betrother around with grace, until they accidentally bumped into another couple who was dancing beside them. The Don was now elegantly chuckling, he was amused, he was...

...Love-struck. The couple who Mista and Una had bumped into, consisted in a young lord and a beautiful creature who probably came from heavens above. The angel apologized to the pink haired Lady with a laughter, and bowed to Guido in apology. The angel... were you. Diavolo's niece/nephew had made the impenetrable heart of Don Giovanna fall in love. Could he talk about love? He wanted to. All in a matter of two seconds, the golden haired man imagined you dressed up for a luxurious wedding. What he did not know, was that there would have also been Diavolo in the crowd, watching his archenemy marry you. He had no idea you were related to him. As the same servant he had taken a glass from before passed by, Giorno gripped her arm, and pulled her closer.

"What angel is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?" he frantically asked, his tone was serious and imposing, as if he was ready to squeeze the information out of the poor servant. But she knew nothing about you, it was not like she was a family servant. She was just there to serve for the event. "I know not, sir", the poor waitress said, holding the tray on her chest and trying to go back into the kitchen. "I apologize. Uh. More wine?" The girl also asked, as Don Giovanna remembered he had ran out of wine. But he shook his head and left the empty glass in the servant's hand, moving towards you to have a better look, not noticing he was right under the flight of stairs where Diavolo and a follower of his were standing. Then, he started to talk to himself, contemplating you.

"O, they doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems they hangs upon the cheek of night." he moved his hands together, in a similar motion as one of a prayer. "Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder angel o'er their fellows shows." Don Giovanna's fingers intertwined with each other as he spoke. "The measure done, I'll watch their place of stand, and, touching theirs, make blessed my rude hand." with his intense gaze, Giorno's left hand moved to slide on the side of his body, as the right hand touched his chest. "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

He made the mistake to melt right under the sight of Diavolo, who smirked in seeing him so vulnerable for such a thing. Nobody was there to tell him that falling in love with you would have been his end. The pink haired lord was not irritated, for even if Giorno had tried to humiliate him, the golden haired boss was humiliating himself now, over a fleeting love. The man on the stairs wouldn't even have needed to do anything. Not that he wanted it in the first place. He would have behaved, to show his superiority off.

But Diavolo's loyal servant, lord Cioccolata, had other ideas. "This, by his voice, should be Giovanna. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?" the green haired man bent over the banister to take a better look to the supercilious Giorno, who, again, had no clue of what was right above him. "Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, to strike him dead, I hold it not a sin." Cioccolata murmured, but felt his arm get gripped from his boss.

"Why, how now, kinsman. Wherefore storm you so?" the servant's jaw dropped.

"Signore, this is literally Don Giovanna, our foe, a villain that is hither come in spite, to scorn at our solemnity this night." as the same servant who Giorno had talked to approached Diavolo and offered him a glass of wine, the pink haired boss smelled it and took a little sip from it. Then, grinned. He was not in the mood for violence. For now. So he had to keep Cioccolata back from every kind of bad decision. It wasn't easy, to keep such a man from murder. Out of pure honesty.

"Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, Cioccolata. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Naples brags of him to be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth." Diavolo explained. It would not have been good if something happened to that man in his mansion. He was part of Naples' pride. "I would not for the wealth of all the town, here in my house do him disparagement: therefore be patient, take no note of him. It is my will, the which if thou respect, show a fair presence and put off these frowns, and ill-beseeming semblance for a feast." was he asking his most violent servant to have... patience over his archenemy? Yes, he was, and Cioccolata was speechless.

"It fits, when such a villain is a guest. I'll not endure him." the angered man replied, trying once again to get his signore to reasonate and realize they could get rid of him so easily if they wished so. The councilor Mista was even too distracted by Diavolo's daughter to keep an eye on his boss. It could have been so simple, for Cioccolata, to...

"Am I the master here, or you? You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! You'll be the man!" the pink haired man slightly raised his voice - not enough for Giorno to hear - and made himself clear, so that if the green haired made any possible mess during his feast, he would have had to take his own responsibility.

"I will withdraw, then." the servant gave up on his ideas, but rudely. His one almost felt like a poisonous gaze. "But this intrusion shall now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall." he said, indirectly threatening an oblivious Giorno. Talking about him, during their conversation between the two men on the stairs, he turned unnoticed until Cioccolata left. When Diavolo looked down on him again, the golden haired boss was now in the middle of a crowded mess of people who was dancing, people who was eating and conversing. He was with you. Finally.

Giorno Giovanna approached you in a way you couldn't help but notice. He looked like the sun, a golden being, it caught your heart as well. Neverending seconds of staring at each other followed, until... "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this." he gently took your hand in his. It felt warm. "My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." as the man said so, he leaned in to leave a soft kiss on the back of your hand. His sweet scent overwhelming you as he moved. How gentle.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this." you withdrew your hand and slightly chuckled, reassuring him it was fine. Someway, the two of you found yourself moving away from the crowd. In a more intimate spot. Diavolo couldn't even find you. "For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch..." your sweet voice was soothing the man more than you would realize. "...and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

Giorno bit his lip in anticipation, and gently exhaled. "Have not saints lips... and holy palmers too?" he asked, leaning down right towards your soft mouth, before you moved aside and, chuckling like an angel playing in a field, avoided the gentleman's kiss, jokingly scolding his mind with a mischievous smile.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." You provoked him. Where had Giorno Giovanna's temperance gone? He had swore to his councilor, just before leaving his house, that he wouldn't have let love blind his senses. And there he was. Plus, you did not know each other. You did not know who you were. You did not know you should have not been there together. Due to this, he gladly accepted your game, and chuckled back. God, he was so ethereal and he did not even realize it.

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do." he begged, looking almost afraid of touching you, or your waist, or your own hand. How can someone fall so deep in love after having just met someone? Does love at first sight even exist? "They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Don Giovanna's tone sounded impatient.

But you had accepted to play his game, and now you would have played it until the very end. You smirked, staring at the blonde man's trembling lips. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." you said, implying the fact that you wouldn't have made the first step. It made sense, though. It was him, who had compared you to a saint first. Little did you know, you were playing with fire, for that man you felt love at first sight for, was your uncle's archenemy.

Giorno grinned, and hid you more against the wall, as your hands automatically wrapped around his figure. Though you didn't move in for a kiss. Until... "Then move not... while my prayer's effect I take.", said the man, grazing with his lips against yours, and finally pressing. You felt all your senses relieve and relax, as your hands grasped on the fabric of the Don's jacket. You didn't like your uncle's crimes. You wouldn't have liked Giorno's ones too. But you had no clue. And he had no clue you were Diavolo's niece/nephew. And you were in love.

His sugary sweet lips clicked against yours a last, neverending time, when he pulled back and thought staring right in your eyes was a good idea. "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." Don Giovanna whispered, breathing hard against your giggling mouth. He hadn't stopped playing, you noticed with a pleasant feeling.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took...?" you slyly asked him, clearly wanting the kiss to continue, clearly wanting more, having no idea of how wrong it was. Having no idea of how dangerous is was. Though his eyes widened, and got even closer, so close to giving you what you wanted for the second time. You felt yourself growing so enamored.

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!" he paused for a second, before he bit his own lower lip. "Give me my sin again." Giorno whispered, grabbing your waist with his hand and kissing you, almost desperately, but romantically, against the wall. He had been so focused on anything else, that he had forgotten the true flavor of love, and living it all again after he had swore he wouldn't have done it, was way too intense. Way too beautiful. Better than the art he'd been collecting the latest years.

When he pulled back, you instictively smiled and raised an eyebrow, silently chuckling a little. "You kiss by the book..." you told him, caressing his neck gently and carefully. If it were for him and you, that beautiful moment could go on for hours, days, even an eternity. But beautiful things never last. The two of you almost had a heart attack, when the arm of a blonde, long haired man grabbed your right wrist, ripping your dream in half.

"Madam/sir, your uncle craves a word with you." he almost managed to get you away from Giorno, when the Don grabbed your left wrist, and pulled you towards him, not letting the man, Tiziano to be precise, bring you away.

"What's their uncle?"

At that question, the almond eyed man smirked, as if he was ready to drop a heavy bomb on the snooty Don. "Marry, bachelor, their uncle is the lord of the house, and a good man, wise and virtuous. I nursed his niece/nephew, that you talk'd withal." as if Tiziano had read into Don Giovanna's mind, he added something else, just for the sake of making it even heavier. "I tell you, he that can lay hold of them, shall have the chinks."

Then the blonde haired Don followed the two of you around the hall, until he saw you get pulled upstairs by Tiziano, and connected his brains to what he saw. Diavolo, waiting for you upstairs, and Tiziano holding your arm so that you wouldn't have been able to run away. Four painful words formed on Giorno's whispering lips. "Are they an enemy...?" he asked to himself, looking at you up there, until Trish didn't appear as well behind you.

Trish wasn't happy to be there, she loved Guido Mista, but apparently Diavolo had called all his family back. And your presence there, only confirmed his fear. You were about to step back towards him and say something, but Tiziano caught your shoulder just in time, and pulled you close enough to whisper you the words you would have never wanted to hear. "His name is Giorno." he added more details. "Giorno Giovanna. The only appearance you should match to your great enemy."

You stood there. Empty. You and your forbidden lover had understood what was going on. And both your hearts clenched. And both your hearts suffered. How could love be so beautiful yet so evil, to make a man live and die on the same evening. How...

We all know how this story ends, we know about the pain, we know about the sorrow. But what if this time it made sense. One of the lovers is dirty with criminal blood, running through his veins, and you accept him, in the good and in the bad. Is this right...?

Or is death the punishment, for the sin that in reality your lips hadn't purged at all?

[rosierin]

shinsuke de hyōgo l kita shinsuke

this was initially supposed to be for valentine's day- whoops—

a cyrano de bergerac inspired one-shot featuring an oblivious kita, chaotic miya twins and a wheezing suna.

genre: honestly crack, but with a romantic ending

word count: 3.9k

It was a pleasant summer day to be sat in the park. Evening had fallen, the air was sweet, complete silence surrounded them; all the ideal factors conducive to a perfect confession. And what better way to do it then while watching the sunset after a classic date at a high end restaurant.

Kita and (y/n) had known each other since middle school and had been friends from pretty much day one. 

It was the sort of friendship that had started thanks to proximity; they lived nearby, shared a class, and continued because of their complimentary personalities. Kita had always been the more reserved type, so (y/n)'s outgoing personality had been a refreshing add-on to his life. It wasn't the same type of outgoing as the older Miya twin either; unlike him she knew of things such as discretion and respect of one's personal boundaries. She knew how to make him smile and her presence had always given him a sense of security and peace that only resonated within her. It was only a matter of time until he began developing feelings for her and as soon as their last year of high school came about, that's when he finally built up the courage to ask her out

Tonight however was different. He wanted to take the next step further, for through years of accumulated infatuation, Kita had never been surer about his feelings for (y/n). He knew it was more than just a crush, more than any old, fleeting feeling one could experience such as a romance built over summer. Rather, what Kita felt he knew was real and tonight was the night he would put those feelings into words.

"(Y/n)." Years of yearning to say everything he'd kept hidden, ready to be told at last.

"Hm?" She turned her head, shifting her gaze from the golden sun and focusing on Kita, a smile on her face.

He took a deep breath.

"I love you."

Silence.

For some reason, his words seemed to hang heavy on the warm summer breeze and all of a sudden, the setting no longer felt so comfortable. In fact, Kita began to feel the exact opposite. Did silences after a confession always take this long? And was it just him, a trick of the light or was she... Frowning?

He pursed his lips. That's it, he'd done something wrong. Was it the tone of his voice? Had he came off as too authoritative? Or cold? His aloofness had never seemed to bother her beforehand though... Gosh. He couldn't remember the last time his hands felt this clammy. Not even his first volleyball game had made this anxious. He swallowed down his dry throat. Patience, Kita. Patience. Good things come to those who wait, his grandma always said. Perhaps she had just gotten shy.

"Oh-"

Oh? Was.. Was that all? 

A million and one questions rushed through his head at her response, or rather lack of. No mind Kita, just move onto a different subject, he told himself.

He cleared his throat and hastily tried stringing a coherent sentence together in his head, rushing to kill the oppressing silence, and admittedly, it took him a fair amount of willpower not to stumble over his own words.

"I- erm. Would ya like to do this again next week?"

He didn't miss the way she bit her lip at his question, that simple act alone being enough to make his heart sink. 

"Oh!" She exclaimed, somewhat regaining a bit more liveliness to her demeanor. But Kita had known her long enough to tell that there was a lack of sincerity behind that smile; it was the kind she pulled when Atsumu had told her a joke but was too polite to tell him it was terrible. "Erm, well, I'll have to let you know about that. You know, with homework and whatnot," she chuckled dryly. "You know how it can be." 

"Of course," Kita nodded, politely and as naturally as he could be without looking like he was about to melt through the bars of the wooden bench. "I understand if yer busy."

"Yep! Gotta keep them grades up."

"Mhmm." 

"...."

Another silence filled the air, save for the occasional cricket chirping in the distance. It lasted for a good three minutes, until (y/n) suddenly got up and turned towards the still sitting Kita. 

"Well, thank you for this evening, Shin. I think I'm gonna head home for now, it's getting a bit late. Wouldn't want my mum to worry, y'know?"

Then, he stood up and wiped his sweaty hands on his slacks. "Yeah, no, it's no problem." He offered a tiny smile as (y/n) leaned in to lightly peck his cheek. 

"Goodnight," she smiled.

A nod. Then, she was gone. 

"G'night."

Yep. Something had definitely gone wrong.

˚。⋆.˚。⋆.˚。⋆.

The next day, Kita went to tell everything to his team. He had debated for a long time whether or not it was a good idea, but the way the whole exchange had went in addition to the image of (y/n)'s scrunched up features and uneasiness had kept him up at night. He needed to know what the problem was, that or he feared he wouldn't be able to focus at all for the next... Well, that was exactly the problem— he didn't know when or how he would be able to function if he didn't get any answers. And admittedly, he knew the twins would have more experience in the relationship department than he did— not that that was very difficult since (y/n) had been his first love— but whatever the case may be, unfortunately they were his only hope.

"Well? How'd ya date go?" Asked Atsumu as he finished setting the ball to his twin brother.

"About that. I think I messed it up." 

A loud bang followed Kita's words in result of Osamu's powerful spike. 

"Why, what happened?" He asked. "Ya didn't make her pay the bill for ya, did ya?"

"No, I paid," Kita said, shaking his head. "I said 'I love you.'"

At this, both twins put their practice on hold to glance at each other. Atsumu propped the ball under his arm and raised a questioning brow at his captain.

"Is that it?"

"Well...yeah."

Osamu's expression mimicked his brothers; a mix between confusion and apprehension.

"Well, what didja say beforehand?" He then asked. Kita blinked. This time, it was his turn to feel confused. 

"Nothin'. That's all I said." 

An awkward silence settled between the three teammates as they shared a round of dumbfounded looks. Even Suna who was busy practicing his serves further down the court had stopped to listen in on the conversation.

"Ya mean ta' say ya confessed to her outta the blue?" Atsumu asked, his lip twitching upward. Now at this point, Kita was truly at a loss. Were the twins implying that he had done it wrong?

"Ain't that what girls wanna hear?"

A splutter echoed somewhere down the court— Suna. He was clutching his sides and laughing openly before shaking his head and serving the ball on the other side of the court and for some reason, Kita felt like his cheeks had grown very warm.

"Well I mean- yeah, but there's a whole process to it! Ya don't just blurt out 'I love ya' 'cause ya feel like it. It's the buildup she's waitin' for," Atsumu explained through a lazy grin.

"But it wasn't just 'cause I felt like it," Kita argued, somewhat perplexed. "I meant it- And we've known each other for years."

"I know, but still. I'm sure she was expectin' somethin' a little more than just three words, ya know? I mean it's as ya said, you've known eachother since middle school! By now she probably expects a full novel from ya!" 

"A full novel?" Kita echoed. Well that seemed like overkill.

"Maybe not that much," Osamu stepped in, "but 'Tsumu's right. I think ya left her feelin' a little underwhelmed."

His captain pondered over his words.

Underwhelmed? Really? But what more could she want? His words were precise, sincere, meaningful. Granted they were only three words, but how else could he possibly express his feelings for (y/n) when that's all he could think to say? He knew other words than love: adore, cherish, admire... But wouldn't it have been the same if he'd used one of those words instead? They all meant more or less the same thing.

"So what am I supposed to do?" 

At that, the twins exchanged a look, and Kita could've sworn he saw both of them surpress a smirk as they held their silent conversation. However before Kita could question, Atsumu piped up.

"We'll gladly help ya with yer romance problems cap'n. But on one condition," he started. Kita raised his brow expectedly. 

"We're off cleanin' duties for three months if ya succeed in wooin' yer lady," Osamu finished, the mischivous glint in his eyes reflecting that of his older twins'. One tended to forget just how cunning Osamu is seeing as it was usually Atsumu who got labelled as the naughtier twin. But it was in times like these where Kita was reminded just how similar those two really were.

"One month," Kita objected.

"Two months," they chorused.

"Six, full weeks."

The twins glanced at each other, mulled over his answer briefly before turning to him and nodding once, twin smiles splitting their faces in a way that practically screamed trouble. "Deal." 

Oh well, there was no backing down now. But oddly enough, Kita couldn't help himself from feeling that he had just made a pact with Inarizaki's two, conniving little devils.

˚。⋆.˚。⋆.˚。⋆.

"This doesn't seem like a very foolproof plan, Miyas," Kita droned as he eyed the twins who stood underneath his loved one's balcony.

Atsumu scoffed. "What? Sure it is! You'll see, we've got this whole thing under control!"

"Just leave it ta' us," Osamu smirked.

"Leave it to us." If Kita could think of one sentence he didn't want to hear from the twins, it was that. Perhaps on the court, during practice, then yes, maybe Kita would accept putting his trust in his two teammates. But when stood below (y/n)'s balcony, dressed in a full suit and tie and holding a bouquet of roses, Kita couldn't have felt more out of place. 

"Now c'mon, get her attention!" Atsumu urged, voice low as to not be heard while he made obscure hand mouvements in Kita's direction.

The latter stood stiffly and looked left and right, clueless as to what to do. "How?" 

"Use a pebble or somethin'!" 

This time the captain sighed and reluctantly began his search for said pebble. He knew this idea was stupid and honestly, debated on whether or not he should just go home and call it quits. It was late, already way past evening hours and he couldn't imagine what people would think if they saw him lurking around a girl's house at this time of night, not to mention in the company of two other boys huddled under her balcony. It was freakin' weird. 

Luckily, not many people lived around these parts, meaning he needn't worry about the eyes of others on him as he readied himself to launch a small pebble against (y/n)'s closed window.

Clink. 

No response. 

"What now? Should I wait?" Kita asked as he tried peering into the window. The lights were still on, meaning she hadn't gone to bed yet.

"Nah, try another," Atsumu whispered as he jerked his head in direction of more pebbles. 

"Why am I doing this...." Kita murmured to himself as he reluctantly bent down to pick up another. 

"'Cause ya love 'er.' Osamu whispered regardless from somewhere in the shadows. Another sigh. Yes, he was right, he did love her, and that fact alone was enough to give Kita a motivation boost in order to go through with this far-fetched, Miya concocted plan.

Two more pebbles were launched at (y/n)'s window shortly after this exchange, and it was on the third one that she finally opened up her window, only for her to wince when it knocked her square on the forehead. 

A fit of strangled chortles could be heard beneath the balcony.

"Ouchie- The heck— Shinsuke?" 

As she peered down over her balcony, Kita suddenly felt his chest constrict at the sight of her; damp hair and clad in her summer nightwear and it was only then that it occurred to him that she had just gotten out the shower.

A quiet whistle followed by a low chuckle made Kita stiffen— the Miyas. Had they no shame? 

"...Shut yer traps."

"What?" (Y/n)'s voice suddenly sounded above his head. She was smiling, thankfully. At least she wasn't upset or angry at him for showing up so late. "I uh- sorry, I can't really hear you from up here. Do you want to just come in?" She asked. 

Kita frantically looked at the twins though kept it concealed behind his best vacant expression. They vehemently shook their heads. "It'll ruin the effect," the elder one whispered.

Kita cleared his throat. "Erm, no. No, thank you. Speakin' with ya from here is just fine." 

"Accent! Yer accent!" Atsumu called, quietly while his brother made a cross sign with his arms. Kita discreetly nodded.

"It is far too much of a lovely evening to be locked up inside. It would be a shame not to make the most of it, don't you think?" 

At this, (y/n) merely blinked, somewhat innocently before a small smile pulled at her lips. It must be working, Kita thought. He looked at the twins for affirmation, and when they flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs up, Kita couldn't have felt prouder. It served as encouragement for him to continue. 

"What's all this?" (Y/n) giggled as she nodded towards Kita's attire and flowers, amusement clear on her moonlit features. 

"For thou, my dear!" Kita's usually monotone voice carried across the deserted streets— courtesy of Atsumu's indications. He glanced at him once, listened to his next words before nodding and adopting his same, Shakespearean stance: "A grand gesture, though only a mere token of my affection for if you spare me just a second of your time I shall attempt to articulate the sentiments I have been harbouring for you over the past hundreds of moons!"

"Hundreds of moons?" (Y/n) echoed as she peered down at him from her balcony, lips curling, eyebrows raising. "My, that is a long time!" She marvelled as she leaned further over the balcony, arms folded neatly upon its surface. From where Kita stood, she appeared as a curious cat as she eyed him with all the interest in the world, lips upturned into a mischievous smirk. "But please by all means, I would love to hear these articulated, harboured sentiments of yours."

A pang of worry overcame Kita as (y/n) watched him expectedly. Luckily, he had the twins to lean on. He glanced over at the space under the balcony and saw Osamu motioning to him despite Atsumu's protests. He whispered the following:

"Of course. For (y/n), not only do I love you, I adore you. These sentiments I detain for you are eternal. Like a fruit, our love will be endless; transversing all seasons and growing stronger as the years go by.

To me, you are nothing short of perfection. You're radiant through rain and shine, and I can't help but fathom how lucky I would be, to have you by my side for a hundred moons more."

A smile graced Kita's lips as he repeated Osamu's speech and he was pleasantly surprised by its outcome. For you see, Osamu's speech was simple. It was modulated and concise. He didn't beat around the bush, nor did he use his body to speak. All in all, one could call Osamu's speech effortless. And as the words flowed from Kita's lips, (y/n) appeared bewitched by their appeal.

Now as for Atsumu, he spoke from the heart. Through his ardent words, one could call him cheesy, over theatrical or perhaps even someone who was trying a little too hard. Though through Kita's knowing eyes, all he saw was the same passionate and spirited boy he saw on the court— like love incarnate. And the fire lit in (y/n)'s eyes only served as proof of their efficiency.

However, as elaborate and as heartfelt as his words may be, this only made them harder to relay and much to Kita's distress, he found himself looking over at him more times than he'd ought to. Luckily for him, his twin brother was there, whispering back whenever words escaped him, filling in the blanks.

This little tactic of theirs continued for another ten minutes or so, but as much as Kita wished for it to work, a Miya-elaborated plan could only go so far, Kita should've known that. 

He was midway through his speech when Osamu suddenly stopped speaking and the whispering under the balcony got louder. 

"Stupid 'Samu. I wasn't done speakin'!" 

"So what? She's probably gettin' bored of yer lines anyway." 

"Yeah? Not yer stupid, food related love metaphors?" 

"Rather that than a discount, Shakespearian rip-off."

"Alright. that's it."

Kita paled. 

He watched, utterly mortified when Osamu suddenly pounced on his twin and never in his life had Kita experienced such a drastic change of emotions. He tried subtly getting their attention through shuffles of feet and discreet glances, however it was useless. Without the twins' help, it was only a matter of time until his speech began losing coherency, dying out until it was reduced to silence. 

He didn't dare look (y/n) in the eye after that.

"Shinsuke? Are you alright?" 

"I, er. It seems I have lost my touch," he spoke, ruefully.

"Oh? Don't tell me you regret your heartfelt confession," she teased.

"O' course not!" Kita replied, his voice teetering into a shout. A mix of guilt and embarrassment had made him unable to detect the playful lilt to (y/n)'s voice and thus the unexpected raise of his voice made everyone's head turn, including the twins. He saw (y/n)'s face fall into a look of bemusement, and sighed quietly under his breath as he recollected himself. "No. It's not that..." 

Once again, everything became still. The twins had finally stopped their bickering picked themselves off the ground. And, as they caught a glimpse of their friends' dejected, downcast gaze, they looked at each other before casting him an apologetic look. They tried whispering to him some more but this time Kita refused to listen. Instead he released another, longer sigh, then looked back up at the balcony to meet (y/n)'s gaze.

"Listen (y/n), I'm sorry. Everythin' I said before was true, 'cept it doesn't mean anythin' since none of it came from me." 

He paused for a moment in case (y/n) wanted to speak and simply regarded her, trying to make sense of her current unreadable expression. She didn't appear angry or sad, but blank as though she was anticipating his next words.

He took this as a sign to pursue his speech.

"I was so darn worried after the other night that I asked the twins for their help. They said ya didn't like my confession so I wanted to do it right. I understand why it was weird to just confess outta the blue but I just didn't know how else to say everythin' that was on my heart."

"I don't wear my heart on my sleeve like Atsumu does, and I'm not much of a smooth talker. My words are usually harsh and cold— I know that because I overheard the Miyas and Suna talk about it instead of practicing."

The twins promptly gulped but he heared (y/n) giggle. It brought a tiny smile to his face.

"But I mean it when I say I love ya. It took me a while to get there, but actually I think I've always loved ya. I'm sorry I couldn't think of a better way to say it." 

Kita let out a long breath as he finished his last words and like magic, his chest suddenly felt a lot lighter. He kept his eyes trained on (y/n)'s face, wondering if perhaps what he had said was enough, and when her face melted into an affectionate smile, he swore he'd never seen anything sweeter.

"You're so sweet, Shin. I love you, too!" 

I love you, too. 

Warmth bloomed in Kita's chest. Finally the four, little words he'd been longing to hear had greeted his ears. They sounded sweeter than anything he could've imagined. But then again, everything was when it stemmed from her, if it was enounced through her voice.

A series of coos erupted from the shadows and that's when Kita was reminded that he and (y/n) had not in fact been alone. Heat rushed to Kita's pale cheeks as (y/n) emitted a small squeak and she peered over her balcony in attempts of spotting the two perpetrators. 

"Hold on, are the twins here right now?!" 

Kita pinched the bridge of his nose, ashamed as he watched the twins sheepishly creep out from the gloom.

"Hey, (y/n)!" Atsumu beamed as he and his twin waved. "Fancy seeing ya here!"

Osamu sighed and lightly tugged at his collar. "It's her house, dumbass.." 

"...Right-"

At this point, Kita was just about ready to tell the twins to go home, but just as he parted his lips to chide them, (y/n) erupted into another fit of giggles. 

"Now I see why the speeches were so lame." 

Atsumu gasped, affronted, and Osamu pouted. "Lame?! Wh— How dare ya!" The former yelled.

"Yeah. Well actually, at least the part about the fruit was cute," (y/n) hummed.

Another gasp, a low chuckle.

"Told ya she'd like it."

"Shut it, 'Samu! I was gonna say somethin' similar, ya just beat me to it!" 

An affectionate roll of the eyes from (y/n) followed the twins' bickering and even in spite of the ridiculousness of the situation, Kita found himself smiling at them despite himself. 

"Why don't you come inside?" (Y/n) asked, nodding her head to the front door of her house below. "I'll go make some tea." 

Kita nodded with a smile. "Yer the best."

"I know~" (Y/n) blew Kita a playful kiss as she retreated into her bedroom, leaving Kita and the twins at her doorstep.

However, he noticed that traces of bashfulness remained evident on the Twins' features, and they fidgeted as they stood side by side next to the entrance of (y/n)'s door. 

"I'm pretty sure she was talkin' about you too." 

Immediately, their faces perked up and the usual brightness in their eyes returned in a matter of seconds. Then, together they entered (y/n)'s house, the twins hot on Kita's heels.

"So..." Atsumu began, "Do we still get those six weeks off or—"

"Don't push yer luck, Miya."

Atsumu nodded. Osamu cleared his throat. 

"Understandable."

Kita shut the door behind them.

[hostagine]

Speak Now - Chapter 1 - (Rewrite)

Summery:

He knew he'd lost her that day at the airport, and he'd have to let go of the wild belief that he still had a chance. Now, -6 years later- he'd forfeit love to marry for money, and Kaoru struggles to turn that pumpkin back into a carriage, and save his brother before the clock strikes 00:00.

___

He fell in love.

The depressing thing was, is that the very moment he realized it, his heart that suddenly felt so full, was viciously ripped away from him and torn in two.

It'd happened so fast he barely had time to relish in that sweet, fleeting feeling that almost made him light on his feet, before he was knocked over on his hands and kicked while he was down.

It'd happened so fast, that he'd laid his chin on her shoulder and inhaled the scent of her shampoo, and exhaled same breath in a broken sigh.

He urged her forward, hands on her shoulders, shoving her towards the direction of that blubbering blonde idiot he just so unfortunately was able to call his best friend.

He fell in love, the same moment Mrs. Anne-Sophie's plane happened to fly over their heads and muffle the single painful sob that escaped him, before he could muffle it behind his sleeve.

When the dust from the pavement settled and he watched from the window as they held each other and confessed every ounce of buried feelings to each other.

Hikaru knew he was in love, because Haruhi Fujioka broke his heart.

Then the feeling slowly started to come back to his knees when Kaoru gave a hearty pat to his shoulder that almost sent him bundling forward and whispered in his ear that it was over. "It's over. It's over, Hikaru. Your work paid off. You did it."

I did it.

The irony of that.

And just a day passed before he was forced back into their normal. What was supposed to be his normal. When the Host Club's doors opened after surviving disbandment, and they had to host together, smile together, laugh together, while he had to bury his feelings by himself. While he was stuck at a crossroad, struggling between feeling sorry for himself, and being happy for his friends, who were so obviously in love.

It was like a tiny man was doing somersaults in the pit of his stomach, threatening to make him sick. He was lucky that his primary job was keeping all eyes on his brother, and he could milk him of all the distraction he could until the bell rang and they could go home.

Is what he hoped, before Haruhi suddenly took his hand and made him face her, rosy cheeks cupped with white silk and pearls. Eyes bursting with something he'd never quite seem on her before. Something of warmth and fondness. Complete and utter adoration.

"What's that girly look for?" he teased.

Haruhi ignored that, dimples appearing at each end of her glossy lips. That shade of pink suited her.

"There's this really weird feeling in my chest," she said, as her fingers touched the place just above her heart. "I feel weirdly at peace."

"I had no idea it could feel like this," she added after he turned away, lips tightening, but her expression didn't falter. "And it's all because of you that I was able to tell him how I felt. I don't what I would have done without you."

Hikaru scoffed, wishing his dumb cosplay had pockets so he had something to do with his hands. A distraction. "Obviously. I'm the best."

Then she looked on somewhere, looking at nothing in particular as she let out a soft, sort of sad sigh.

He tweaked his brow, looking away from Tamaki as he looked into the eyes of some gushing fangirl, telling his exaggerated, more romantic version of how he and Haruhi confessed, and that, despite the popular belief within the host club, he was actually the one who confessed first.

Liar.

"So." She breathed.

"...So?"

"You're going to Spain?" She said. It was kind of sudden that he and Kaoru decided that. Especially right after declaring they'd all go to Boston with her.

"Seems so," he nodded thoughtfully. "What's with that tone? You're not going to - dare I say - miss me, will you?"

She smirked, directing her eyes to the buffet table, where they'd laid a gourmet of food made by a chef Kyoya had hired straight from Greece. She had yet to try any. "I was just thinking. It's hard to believe that a month from now, we'll all be thousands of miles away."

Truly. They'd all tried to so hard to keep the Host Club, and now they were breaking up and going abroad.

"You're so going to miss me." He decided.

She hesitated. "I guess I will... What will you do?"

"You're not the only one with dreams and ambitions," she flinched when he jabbed his finger between her eyes, and stuck out his tongue. "Sure, we can't all be top notch lawyers, but I'll try to keep up with you."

She nodded slowly, seeming to be in deep thought once something over took her mind. Then she looked back at him, brow furrowed, and her tiny hand clenched in such a tight fist. Suddenly bursting with so much serious determination he almost couldn't laugh.

"Let's do our best then," She said. "No matter what. Even if things don't go the way we plan, let's make the most of it."

He was quiet for a moment, watching her eyes, unmoving, the shimmer of her lips, every dimple twitch. He almost forgot what she was saying. But then he grinned, mimicking her stance and bumped the side of his fist against her's.

"I'll hold you to it." He said. "Fujioka."

Then she smiled the kind of smile he could drown in. So simple. So, so beautiful.

"Don't be stupid while I'm gone, Hitachiin."

"You drive a hard bargain."

Then they were silent. As noise arouse within the club and they were left in the background, their hands slowly coming entwined. Unspoken feelings and fears mutual between them. But neither admitting. That growing up was right around the corner. That leaving was scary. The shared, sad realization that they were going to be okay without them but being not so sure that they'd be okay without them.

And the feeling of her small hand slipping away from him, as she pulled away to be closer to Tamaki as he gestured to her from a distance told Hikaru that he'd have to go much further than Spain to truly let go.

__

A\N Welcome to the freshly rewritten version of Speak Now ! I'm very excited to share this story with everyone again. I feel strongly about it this time and I hope this newfound inspiration will finally show a finished outcome. This time around I want to bring more authentic characters. And a more authentic Host Club, and I hope you enjoy this new journey with me. - Thank you for reading! And again, all constructive criticism is appreciated

[pathetic-has-been-rockstar]

Memories and a movie

Pairing: Castiel x Dean

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Square filled: Miracle on 34th Street

Warnings: none

Summary:   Dean Winchester has never been one for holidays, but he's fond of his few good childhood memories. When Castiel unwillingly upsets him, he will have to find a way to make up for it.

Words: 2391

Beta: @raspberrymama

my work can be found on AO3, here! If you’re interested in the whole series, you just have to click here!

Dean is in the kitchen again, making popcorns and humming a cheesy Christmas song that he heard while grocery shopping, and just won't get out of his head. He's not too bothered about it, all in all.

You won't be joining them at the bunker at least for another day, due to the closed roads, but the rest of them can start to get in the Christmas spirit. They decided to watch a Christmas-themed movie, so to give Cas and Jack the full holidays-are-coming experience. While he throws some more butter in the popcorn, he looks for the salt, trying not to spill stuff around.

A moment later, Sam walks in the kitchen, holding his pc and looking at him.

“Hey. Need a hand with that?”

“Yeah, pass me that bowl. Do we have it?”

“Yep. Miracle on 34th Street, as usual. Are you sure you don't want to watch the new version, too? I think maybe Jack...”

Dean stops him before he can go on. “Sammy, we've been over this. You and I are going to show the kid our Christmas movie, and that's it. If he doesn't like it, he'll show us his favourite one, and we will never forgive him for that.”

Sam scoffs softly and clicks a key on his pc. “Alright, then, I'll throw in the subtitles and we're good to go. We'll wait for you in the...”

“Dean cave!”

Sam sighs, exasperated. “... yes, Dean, we'll wait for you in the Dean cave.”

“Don't say it like that. It's a temple of happiness and comfort. It's the Dean cave!”

Sam opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it. He sighs and walks away from the kitchen, smiling. Dean is insufferable, of course, but it's a different kind of a pain in the ass. A light-hearted, happy Dean who teases and mocks people around him because it's fun, and not to keep a distance to avoid painful separations. All in all, he's glad of being nagged like that.

He walks in the infamous Dean cave and he finds everyone already settling down. He connects the HDMI cable to his pc and goes to sit on the couch, next to Eileen. She makes a small hint at him, and Sam nods. He clears his throat and looks at Castiel, curled up on an armchair next to the couch.

“Uh, Cas... why don't you give us the armchair? We can definitely be more comfortable there. Here, take the couch.”

Shrugging, Castiel moves on the couch. A moment later, Dean walks through the door with a ridiculously huge bowl of popcorn, and goes to sit next to Castiel. Jack stands up, going to turn off the lights, and Sam hits play on the pc before going back to the armchair and letting Eileen sit on his legs.

“So... did you love it, or did you adore it?” Dean beams at Castiel and Jack as soon as he turns the light back on.

“I like it! It put me in a good mood”, Jack nods, smiling. Dean chuckles, satisfied, then turns at Castiel, who still hasn't spoken, and looks pretty confused.

"What troubles you, Cas?" Dean asks, curious to see if he will have to explain something.

“I don't really understand the point of this movie.”

“The-the point? Cas, it's the best Christmas movie ever made, until Trading Places, what do you think is the point?”

Castiel shakes his head, an incredulous expression on his face. “Dean, it's a terrible story about how the American system cages a man for believing to be a fictional character. The judge emits his sentence on a case that doesn't belong in a courtroom, based on what's written on currency. It all stems from the troubles of an alcoholic man. How can you love this movie?”

Dean looks at Castiel, horrified. Sam knows that face. It's the same expression he had when he was forced to destroy Baby to survive a ghost attack. Whatever it's going to happen, the happy atmosphere of movie night is about to go up in flames. Surprisingly, Dean just sets his jaw and nods.

“Alright, I get it. Not everyone can appreciate it.”

“I'm just saying that there's not a lot that...”

“Shut up!” Dean barks, a second before walking away without giving anyone the time to stop him. Confused, Castiel turns to Sam.

“What did I say?”

“Cas, uh... Dean loves this movie. Very, very much. We... we used to watch it with dad, so... I-I think he was hoping you'd like it, too.”

For a long moment, Castiel stays quiet, then nods. “I understand. I suppose I'll go apologize to him.”

“It's not... let him cool off a bit, maybe.”

“Don't worry, Sam. I know exactly what to do.” Castiel ignores Sam's suggestion before going after Dean, leaving Sam, Eileen and Jack in the room. Jack stands up and stretches, still in a good mood.

“Don't worry Sam. If there's anyone able to calm Dean down, that's Cas.”

Sam chuckles, taking Eileen's hand. “You know what? You're right. Let's clean this place and go to bed, we'll deal with the lovebirds tomorrow.”

They all laugh, and start tidying up the place.

Castiel walks in Dean's room, awkwardly standing just a few steps from the door. Dean is sitting at his desk, going through some stuff, and Castiel can take a look at him. He studies how his dark blond hair is slightly ruffled on the back of his neck, after being pressed against the back of the couch for the last couple of hours, how the shirt's fabric stretches on his broad shoulders. It's looking at the movement of his shoulders that Cas realizes that Dean is moving. He turns to him, and gives him an indecipherable look.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Dean... I wanted to...”

“Ah, look... it's fine, man. It's just a movie. No big deal.”

“Sam explained to me it was a sort of tradition. I should have known there was a story behind it. There's always a story with you.”

Dean's lips curl again in one of the half smiles that Cas has learned to map and interpret down to a fine art... in a few seconds. There's always a moment or two of pure amazement at seeing how his whole traits seem to turn him from a weathered hunter into a smiling man, showing the Dean he's always cherished so deeply.

“You know... you're right. Guess I was mad because it's one of the good stories, this one.”

“... would you like to share it with me?”

For a fleeting moment, Castiel sees the surprise in Dean's eyes, as clear as fleeting. It almost hurts to think that he could be surprised to be asked to share something obviously so dear to him, but Castiel stays quiet and watches Dean nodding in agreement.

“It's just... you know we didn't have exactly an easy childhood. I had to take care of Sammy from day one, cause dad... you know. You heard more than enough. But Christmas... soometimes it was not about... this.” Dean says, gesturing at the room around him. “Sure, it was always in a different motel, always after some monster. But... the police rarely work on Christmas' night. Families stick together, making it harder for the monsters to hunt. Motels would offer something to their guests, especially to us. They saw a single dad working his ass off with two children... it tends to make people feel sympathy, especially at Christmas.”

Castiel nods, entranced by Dean's voice. He keeps smiling, and it's clear that, despite everything that man put him and Sam through, he still misses his father. His dad.

“And no matter where we were... that movie is a classic. If it wasn't on a channel, it was on another. When he managed to stay with us, Dad would make some popcorn, usually with so much butter that you could see through the bag once you were done, and we would all hunker down and watch that movie together.”

“... it sounds like a wonderful memory, indeed.”

“Yeah, it... it is. One year... one year Sammy was so upset that we had to decide: telling him that Santa wasn't real, or inventing an excuse to justify the fact that, once again, we didn't get a new house.”

“How did you deal with that?”

“We told him that Santa couldn't get a new house for us because we had to move constantly, to stay safe. We had to stick with that for a couple of years, before he grew out of that. I... I did my best to let him be a kid, Cas. Standing up to dad wasn't easy, and I... I just did my best.”

Castiel must fight the anger he feels understanding why Dean sees himself the way he does, and walks as close as possible to Dean. He places a hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to find the right words to say.

“Dean... you did a wonderful job with Sam. You shouldn't have been forced to look out for him. Your father was supposed to do it... and I'm sure that Sam is grateful for it. I'm sorry I didn't appreciate the movie.”

“Ah, Cas, it's fine. I overreacted.”

“No. It's not fine. Allow me to apologize.”

“... there's no need to...”

“Dean, I understood that around Christmas is customary to make kind gestures to each other. Please, let me.”

Dean chuckles, raising his hands.

“Alright. Let's see what you got for me.”

“Fine. Get dressed.”

“... what?”

“Get dressed.”

Dean smiles, curious to see what Cas has in mind and stands up to grab his coat. He puts it on, takes a scarf and a hat, puts on his gloves, and finally turns to face him.

“Is this enough?”

“It is. Are you ready to take a flight?”

“Not a fan of it, but... whatever makes you happy.”

Castiel gives him a small hint before placing a hand on his shoulder, and Dean experiences the familiar and dreaded feeling of his stomach being mashed from the inside during teleportation. A second later, when he opens his eyes, he manages to steady himself against a brick wall and take a deep breath before bending down and trying to catch his breath.

The air is cold, heavy, and Dean knows the smell lingering in the air, even if he can't pinpoint where or when. It feels familiar, but somehow distant, and it brings mixed feelings with it. When he finally feels his stomach settling down, he straightens his back and looks at the angel who just brought him there.

“Cas... where are we?”

“Why don't we go find out?” Cas answers, with a small smile that lets out his anticipation. Dean, affected by Cas' visible excitement, starts walking towards the exit of the alley where they appeared.

Before they walk out of it, Dean has a clear idea of where they are. There's only one city in the world that has that particular kind of bright night, those sounds mixed in a cacophony so terrible to result irresistible, topped with the smell of a thousand different foods, people and exhaust pipes. When they walk out from the alley, his hypotheses are confirmed, and Dean laughs, incredulous, turning to Cas.

“You brought me to New York?”

“So it seems.”

“What the...”

“There.”

Cas points at something behind Dean, who feels his heart stopping for a second, then starting to beat furiously in an attempt to catch up. Sure enough, turning around Dean sees the building of Macy's, dressed in blinding lights and Christmas decorations.

For a moment, Castiel is deeply worried. He never saw Dean reacting like that. His mouth fell open, while his whole face transformed into a blank expression of utter disbelief. He just keeps staring at Macy's, his eyes running up and down the building the only movement that Cas can see, as if trying to find a way to get in, or something like that. After a few very long moments, he decides to risk a question.

“Dean... are you alright?”

Dean turns to Cas so quickly that he almost takes a step back. He raises his arm, pointing at the building.

“You... you brought me to New York. On Christmas' week. To friggin' Macy's? Because you didn't like my favourite Christmas movie... you thought it was a good idea to bring me into it?”

At six and seven for Dean's reaction, Castiel nods. He thought he'd appreciate the intention behind the gesture. Perhaps he's been too intrusive. Perhaps he interpreted the sharing of his story in the wrong way, or perhaps Dean didn't mean that...

“Cas... that's the... that is the most stupid, senseless, sweet thing that anyone is ever done for me!” Dean practically shouts in Castiel's face.

“Why are you yelling now?”

“Because you are not supposed to... Cas, how... why did you do this?”

When he finally realizes why Dean is so upset, Castiel smiles. A big, wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle and the most human side of him flash clearly like one of the Christmas lights around them. Dean Winchester, the legendary hunter, the man who came back from Hell, the one who died and came back to tell the tale more than once... is embarrassed. The most brazen, skilled conqueror of waitress of the United States has no idea about how to react to a genuine gesture of care and affection.

The smile of Castiel erupts into a light-hearted laughter, and Dean is bedazzled in finding out that, in fact, he loves that. He thought he'd hate Castiel laughing at him in a moment like that, but... he was wrong. He adores his laughter. It tells him that Cas just read all the right things in his reaction, understood where they came from, and why they are there.

Dean blushes, sticks his hands in his pockets and mutters, in a falsely angry tone “Shut up” at Castiel. He doesn't stop Castiel when he nudges him with a shoulder and stays close to him.

“What do you say about we go and take a closer look at that place?”

Trying to keep his coolness, and failing miserably, Dean nods. “Well, since we're here...”

Cas shakes lightly his head, impatient and slightly exasperated. “Yeah, we're here. Thanks for seconding me. Come on, let's go.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! 

I truly hope you enjoyed this little story. Every kind of feedback is very much appreciated, just as much as likes and reblogs!

Please, do not repost my works or part/s of it on different places, not even if you give credits.

[48610]

210511 — 3:47

my brain's a little.. empty, so excuse me if i sound all over the place. not that my other letters have been good. anyway, though i kind of made fun of oppa about feeling like things are surreal, i suppose at times i feel that way too. especially that night. it kind of feels like it didn't happen, right? i guess neither of us expected that we'd end up like this. though i've liked you for a long time now, when i confessed then, i really thought that i'd continue that way, you know — occasionally i'd think of you and miss you, all that. but i should've known that the feelings would only grow stronger, and they did. now, i'm not sure if there's even an hour that passed without you on my mind. it just makes me miss you more.

just as you can't believe that i like you, i can't believe that you're all right with me liking you. i think it'll take me awhile to get used to the fact that you don't mind receiving this amount of love. earlier, when you said that 'it's just you' and that i can tell you anything, funnily enough, i kind of wanted to cry (we've heard this one before), because it dawned on me that you're my soulmate, and you're right, i've always been comfortable with telling you everything because i know you won't think of me any different. i guess since it's about you, i'm kind of afraid that i'd cross any boundaries or say something wrong that'd make you dislike me. sometimes, i somehow managed to convince myself that you're actually annoyed. but of course, that didn't stop me from talking to you, and the little jokes we exchange still make me smile. hopefully i'll be successful at kicking out these cells that're sabotaging my head soon.

since this is a space where i can talk about anything i want (and i think you're asleep right now), i think it's okay to be honest about this? when i was asking you about the way you like me, well, maybe you caught on, but i was half hoping to hear that you do like me romantically, even a tiny bit. the other half, i've already told myself that it's in a platonic way. despite knowing that nothing will happen between the two of us, i guess i was wishing that there's at least 2% of you that reciprocates. does that makes sense? but i get that you can't force to have feelings for someone. and why i didn't say that i understood you liking me as a 'soulmate', even though that was how i'd liked you before too.. i was kind of confused in that moment, truthfully. we've always talked about how we're each other's best friend, sibling, parental figure, and lover all in one. but most of those seem to be deep friendship and family feelings, apart from the lover part, which got me thinking that maybe i'd always attached real romantic feelings to that? i remember that in the past, i was especially happy whenever i got to say that part, and maybe even entertained the fleeting thoughts of being with you as lovers. but i do understand what kind of feeling it is, to love one another as soulmates.

now, about your heart attack line. i know that you feel bad about it, and maybe think that it's the reason why we've come to this..? i can't really recall much of the past, but i think i wasn't fully sure about what you were hinting at, and didn't pursue anything further anyway, so it definitely didn't lead to me falling for you, or at least, not the biggest reason at all. sure, there was also that one time when you mentioned that you thought you liked me, and that sparked a moment of 'what if' in my mind, but i think that at the time i'd already liked you? because i thought that we'd liked each other, and just missed the timing. so.. the point is that, i really do like you for you. i fell for you because of your personality, and the way you make me feel whenever i'm around you, which have always been a big factor as to why you're so special to me. over the years, no matter whether i thought i liked you like that or not, i'd always adored you and cherished you a lot. don't feel too bad about what you said in the past, okay? you'd always been, and will forever be my favorite (and my only) soulmate.

i love you.

[spicycreativity]

A Place Where I Can Breathe - Ch 5

Chapter: 5/7 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: Paranoid tendencies, depictions of extreme anxiety Excerpt: Three days of this had Virgil feeling like a walking conspiracy theory. He was absolutely convinced that Janus was going to come striding in, armored in the fury of the scorned, and neatly burn away his friends' self-esteem until nothing remained but a smoldering ruin of the love Virgil had only just grown accustomed to. And he would have nothing but the pain of his own empathy, and Janus would have Remus.

Virgil grew increasingly jumpy as the days passed and danger failed to manifest. He had taken to sleeping in the living room in his clothes in case Janus tried to corner someone. He wrung the details of the encounter out of Roman, who was unusually reticent about the whole ordeal. This did absolutely nothing to calm Virgil's nerves. He kept himself glued to the others whenever they came downstairs, never letting them get more than a few paces away from him.

The sleep deprivation wasn't helping matters either; even without the anxiety-induced insomnia wreaking havoc on his fragile sleep schedule, the couch was just the wrong size for sleeping on and he woke up multiple times during the nights to readjust. Fearing that exhaustion would make him complacent, he supplemented this lack of sleep with copious amounts of caffeine.

Three days of this had him feeling like a walking conspiracy theory. He was absolutely convinced that Janus was going to come striding in, armored in the fury of the scorned, and neatly burn away his friends' self-esteem until nothing remained but a smoldering ruin of the love Virgil had only just grown accustomed to. And he would have nothing but the pain of his own empathy, and Janus would have Remus.

It was early in the morning on what would have been the fourth day of Virgil's self-imposed lookout duty when he finally reached his breaking point. He threw off his blankets and crept to the basement door.

He stood in front of it for a long time just staring at the patterns in the wood. His breath echoed in his head, so loud he was half-convinced it would wake the whole house. He had no plan. He just needed to know.

Virgil opened the door.

He stepped over the threshold and immediately froze on the landing at the sight before him. Shame burned hot in his face. There was nothing sinister to behold, just the innocent sight of Janus and Remus asleep on the couch in their clothes, two GameCube controllers tangled on the floor in front of them. Virgil almost smiled at the memory of long nights spent in front of the TV, spirited wrestling matches and arguments about what counted as cheating.

He gave a wistful sigh and leaned against the banister, fully aware of just how creepy he was being. He wanted nothing more than to cast aside this stupid grudge and curl up under Remus' arm, his head only inches away from Janus' where it rested on Remus' chest.

Virgil knew it was foolish to linger, more foolish still to descend a few steps, and a few more, and a few more until he was sitting on the bottom step. He didn't have a goal in mind; he just wanted to stay in the moment. He could pretend he had just woken up and gently extricated himself from the cuddle pile. He could pretend they had all stayed up late playing Mario Kart and were about to all have coffee together. He could, for one moment of sublime nostalgia, pretend that things were back to normal.

Even if that meant pretending that Roman, Logan, and Patton didn't love him yet.

Virgil couldn't deny that there had been a sense of solidarity in rejection, a connection forged in mutual scorn. And for one fleeting moment, Virgil understood why Janus and Remus had felt so betrayed by him. Even Janus, who dealt almost exclusively in gray areas, was unable or unwilling to see past the false dichotomy of 'dark' and 'light' that had dictated and defined their lives for so very long.

Virgil braced his elbow against his knee and let his chin rest in his palm. He knew he should leave. He intended to leave. Soon.

And then, like shattering glass, the spell broke on its own: Remus opened his eyes.

For one heart-stopping moment, he and Virgil just stared at each other.

Then Virgil shot to his feet. "I was just leaving," he whispered.

Remus held eye contact. He couldn't get up without disturbing Janus, who was still asleep on his shoulder. "What were you doing?" Remus whispered back, too sleepy to be anything but confused.

Despite himself, Virgil's eyes flickered to Janus. He shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

He really should have known better. Remus pursued chaos with the same reckless determination of a labrador chasing a tennis ball; he was going to sink his teeth into this opportunity no matter who or what he knocked over on the way.

Remus' eyes lit up. Keeping his gaze locked onto Virgil's horrified face, he lifted his elbow and nudged Janus in the ribs. Hard.

In the basement, 'Janus is not a morning person,' was not merely a statement of fact, it was a threat. Janus jerked upright, looking for all the world like a cobra with his capelet hung up on the couch cushions behind his head. He narrowed his eyes at Virgil, and the expression of sleepy irritability was so familiar that Virgil would have laughed if he wasn't too busy panicking.

"Look who dropped in for a visit," Remus prompted, looking every part the triumphant tattletale as he smirked at Virgil.

Janus arranged his capelet over his shoulders and addressed Virgil without looking at him. "Did you want something?"

"Yeah, actually." Virgil set his jaw, pointedly ignoring the ghosts of familiarity that still flitted in the periphery of his mind.

"I thought you were leaving," Remus said.

"Yeah, well…" Virgil tried and failed to think of something punchy to say. "I just remembered I'm mad at you."

Janus scoffed. "Right. You're mad at us."

"I am!" Virgil nearly stamped his foot, but managed to hold back. "Look, let's…" He sighed, suddenly exhausted. "Let's not do this. Just-- Please don't hurt the others again, okay? I know it's me you're mad at, so please don't drag them into it. And I'll do you the favor of never coming back here." He took one last look around the room and turned to leave.

"Wait!"

Virgil froze with his back turned. He had expected some sort of protest from Remus, but that had been Janus' voice. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Janus slide back into the cool persona he wore around like armor. But for one split second, his face had been so open and Virgil had seen the truth beneath the layers. It was a look of despair so honest and pure that Virgil's chest ached to behold it, and he understood in an instant something he had always known: Janus was afraid.

The coals burning in Virgil's chest went out, with barely a whiff of smoke to indicate that they had ever been there at all. "What, Janus?"

"Um." And with that final hesitation, Janus had control again. "Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. You can't leave so soon."

"Watch me," Virgil said, less as a threat and more as a way to prompt Janus to get to the point.

"We should talk," Janus said, examining his gloved fingertips as though he wasn't still half-asleep and panicking. "Why don't you stay for coffee and we can get this straightened out?"

Virgil was quiet for a long moment as he thought it over. He wanted to believe that Janus had a sincere apology prepared, but he knew that would never be the case. Maybe if one of them was on their deathbed, but never before. But more than that, he missed his friends. He so badly wanted an excuse to forgive them, and if there was even a chance that Janus would admit, even obliquely, to any sort of wrongdoing, then Virgil wanted to take it.

"Oh, just say yes," Remus snapped. "We all know you want to."

"Upstairs," Virgil said.

Janus and Remus both made faces of disgust. "Aw, Virgil, are you too good for the dungeon now?" Remus asked. "We even put away all the ticklers, sex knobs, and lacy hoohas just for you."

"Ew." Virgil wrinkled his nose. "Upstairs. Take it or leave it."

"That's hardly fair," Janus started, but Virgil cut him off.

"Take it or leave it," he repeated firmly.

"Fine by me," Remus said, standing up and rocking forward onto his toes.

Janus made a show of sighing and rolling his eyes, so Virgil knew just how demanding he was being. "Oh, very well. Upstairs it is."

Remus didn't drink coffee. Virgil offered him one anyway, which Remus declined.

He just sat back and watched and tugged at his hair while Janus spooned mound after mound of crisp white sugar into his mug and Virgil poured his customary eight fluid ounces of milk into his own mug.

Coffee rituals completed, Virgil and Janus sat down and stared at each other.

"You owe Roman an apology," Virgil said, scowling.

Janus, still a little disoriented and moving slower than he would have liked, played dumb. "Whatever do you mean?"

Remus growled at the mention of Roman, but did not interrupt. Instead, he bounced his legs under the table. He knew that Janus and Virgil were both hurting, though their little dance was agonizing to watch. But that was how they worked, so Remus sat and tried his hardest not to give voice to the hundreds of thoughts racing through his brain.

"I'm not in the mood for games," Virgil said, staring at his coffee. "He told me what you said."

"I'd be perfectly happy to apologize to Roman," Janus said, pausing for dramatic effect, "just as soon as he apologizes to me. And Remus, for that matter."

Remus stuck his tongue out the mention of his name, but kept his thoughts to himself. He just wanted Virgil back, and didn't particularly care what path Janus took as long as they reached their destination.

"Come to think of it," Janus continued, more at ease now that he had a plan of attack, "has he apologized to you ?"

"He doesn't need to," Virgil said, still not looking at Janus. "None of them do. They didn't know how badly they were hurting us."

"You didn't tell them."

"I don't need to!"

"Mm." Janus sat back, fixing Virgil with a critical gaze. "So you expect an apology from me , but not from your new friends? Why the double standard, Virgil? What makes me so different from them?"

"Because!" Virgil clenched his hands into fists under the table. "Because I know they're sorry for how they treated me. They don't have to say it, because they show me every day. And you-- I truly don't think you're even capable of admitting when you've made a mistake."

"Oh, shit," Remus muttered.

Janus was silent, his mind working feverishly to identify the combination of words that would hurt Virgil as deeply as Virgil's words had hurt Janus.

"And I know it's hard for you," Virgil continued, the anger draining out of his voice, "but you could say something. Say it backwards, for all I care."

Janus washed away the venom on his tongue with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

"I don't know what you'd have me say." A pause. "Because I did everything right and I don't regret anything I said or did. I certainly don't miss you."

Virgil was quiet for a long moment as he processed that. "My turn, I guess," he said finally. "I… should have communicated better with you guys. And I should have been more respectful of your feelings. I was just so tired of being angry all the time, and I… I guess I was hoping that you guys would follow my lead."

"Do I have to apologize for anything?" Remus asked, kicking his boots up onto the table. "Let's see…" Guilt and remorse weren't typically in his wheelhouse, though he was certainly capable of feeling them. He simply didn't have time for regret, always charging forward to the next possibility. "Oh, I'm sorry I put slugs in your bed!"

Virgil looked at him sideways. "You… didn't… put slugs in my bed," he said slowly. Then again, he hadn't actually seen his bed in several days. "Did you?"

Janus shook his head.

"Oh, that's right!" Remus waved a hand and smiled at Virgil. "I only thought about it."

"Please," Virgil said, "please explain to me the creative merit of putting slugs in my bed."

"He never said it was a creative endeavor," Janus said.

"No, that was a revenge plot," Remus said. "I would never use slugs for self-expression. There's nothing shocking about slugs." He paused, scrunching up his mouth in thought. "Unless you put one up your ass or something." Virgil choked on his coffee, spitting out a mouthful across the table at Janus, who was mostly successful in his attempts to dodge it. Unruffled, Remus continued, "And there are much more shocking things to put up your butt!"

"Slugs, Re," Virgil reminded him between coughs.

"I think," Janus said, imagining a roll of paper towels to hand to Virgil, "there are lots of ways to express oneself via slug." He gave Remus a keen look. "You just have to be creative enough to come up with something."

"Of course you'd say that." Virgil mopped up the spilled coffee, balled up the paper towel, and aimed it at Janus' head.

Remus nodded his agreement, snatching the paper towel ball out of the air as it passed.

Janus let himself be teased. "Oh, please do me the favor of elaborating on that," he said, bowing his head to Virgil in a show of false deference.

"You're pro-slugs," Remus said, just for the sake of throwing a wrench in things.

"He's pro-anti," Virgil corrected.

"A contrarian," Remus agreed.

Janus rolled his eyes and leaned forward. "You're right. I never agree with anyone."

"What do we do now?" Remus asked Virgil in a faux-whisper.

Virgil responded by lunging over the table and knocking Janus' hat off.

"You know how much I love it when you do that," Janus grumbled, bending to pick it up. "You never go after each other like this," he said once he'd resurfaced.

Remus just shrugged at him. "Sorry, Danger Noodle, but Virgil doesn't wear a hat."

"Yes, that's what I meant." Janus sat back and crossed his arms, putting on a show of irritation.

Under the table, Virgil gently kicked his shin. Janus flashed him a closed-mouth smile.

***

4:45 was a disgusting hour to be awake, truly barbaric. Roman rolled out of bed before he could change his mind on the matter and stood up, yawning and running both hands through his hair to try to get it to sit right. Ordinarily, he would never emerge from his room looking anything less than his princely best, but today he had (dare he say it?) bigger things to worry about.

Bigger things such as Virgil's newfound guard dog tendencies. Roman couldn't believe that Logan and Patton hadn't brought it up already, or even seemed to have noticed that anything was amiss. Roman was the only one who seemed to chafe under Virgil's constant supervision, flinch at the way he haunted the corners of the room whenever anyone ventured downstairs.

And, since apparently no one else was going to do it, Roman took it upon himself to wake his comrades from their slumber and gather them in his room so they could work out a strategy for helping Virgil out of his weird, paranoid phase.

It was not lost on Roman that Virgil's vigil had only started up after Roman's encounter with Janus. He had kept that information to himself, ashamed in a way he couldn't really define and didn't like to think about. He really didn't think Patton and Logan needed to know.

Neither one of them was particularly happy to be summoned at such an early hour, and neither one had their glasses. They both squinted at Roman, who bounced on his toes and looked around the room to make sure everything was perfect.

Roman's bedroom, much like everyone else's, was inherently linked to his function. His room represented ultimate creative freedom, meaning he could change it at will to facilitate whatever creative undertaking he so desired. Since today's was a confrontation, he had first imagined a massive meeting room at the top of some towering skyscraper. But he had second-guessed himself, and in the moments before summoning his friends, had cycled through a tree house, a laboratory, and a stage, before finally turning it into an exact facsimile of the living room. Thinking this might be disorienting, he changed all the decor to red and gold, and finally summoned his friends before he could change his mind again.

"Y'okay, Roman?" Patton mumbled, falling back onto the couch without a second glance and rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.

Logan, who was much more annoyed at this disturbance, didn't wait for an answer. "Confusional arousal, also known as 'sleep drunkenness' is a condition that results from being woken suddenly--"

"I know, I know!" Roman waved his hands. "Look, I'll just come right out and say it: I'm worried about Anxiety."

"May I inquire why?" Logan asked stiffly. "Or are you going to interrupt again?"

Roman made a face at him. "Have you seriously not noticed that he's always downstairs?"

"Is he?" Patton asked. "I noticed he's been waking up earlier, but…" He paused and shrugged at Roman. "I mean, you sometimes wake up that early."

"That's what I'm telling you!" Roman said. "He's always down there! Even at weird times!"

"How long have you been observing this phenomenon?" Logan asked.

"Do-doo-be-do-doo," Patton sang.

"Phenomenon," Logan said, closing his eyes. "Not 'Mahna Mahna'."

"Do-doo-be-do-doo," Patton sang again, shimmying his shoulders a little.

Logan opened his eyes and turned to Roman. "How long have you been observing this behavior?"

"I don't know, like three days?" Roman said. "What, do you not believe me?"

"Aw, I'm sure Logan believes you," Patton said, trying to mediate despite the fact that he had no idea what Logan was getting at.

"I do believe you that Anxiety has been in the living room every time you have gone downstairs," Logan said. "What I am trying to determine is if this is a coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence!" Roman snapped. "You don't have to keep undermining me, Logan! If you don't believe me, just say so instead of trying to make me look stupid and… and inadequate."

"Whoa, kiddo!" Patton put up his hands. "Nobody thinks you're inadequate." He paused and waited for Logan to agree. Logan just looked at him, confused, so Patton continued, "Right, Logan?"

"That depends. Are we discussing Roman's creative works or his adherence to the scientific method-- Patton, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Forget it," Roman rolled his eyes. "I might as well just come right out and tell you: Deceit dropped by for a visit a couple nights ago--"

"When?" Logan interrupted.

Roman dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "And he tried to get me to say that Anxiety was bad for, well, for me. For all of us, I think is what he was getting at. Probably so we'd kick Anxiety out and send him straight back to Deceit's creepy clutches. Anyway, I told him to get lost and went right upstairs to tell Anxiety what had happened, and he's been camped out in the living room ever since."

"If I'm doing the math correctly," Logan said, looking at Roman sideways, "that was also the night that Thomas dreamt about a Dionysian org--"

Patton squeaked, but it was Roman who got words out faster, "I think we all remember! Let's not bring it back up."

"My point being, you were distracted or otherwise incapacitated for the rest of the night."

"This isn't about me!" Roman said, "As much as it pains me to admit it. This is about saving Anxiety from…" He hesitated. "Well, from whatever it is he's freaking out about. I say we go down there, sit him down, and work this out once and for all."

"Yay!" Patton said, caught up in the moment.

"Logan, are you in?"

"Would it even matter if I said no?"

"That's the spirit!" Roman strode to the door and pulled it open, sparing a thought to imagine Logan and Patton out of their pajamas and into their normal clothes. "Come, my brethren! To battle!"

"Um, battle?" Patton said, trailing after Roman with much less vigor than Roman would have liked. "How about to breakfast?"

"Can we have French toast?" Roman asked, looking between Patton and Logan while Logan shut the door.

Logan shrugged helplessly. "Sure."

"Very well." Roman beckoned Patton and Logan to follow him and marched down the hall toward the stairs. "Come, my brethren! To breakfast!"

He was quiet on the stairs in case Virgil was asleep; part of him hoped Virgil was asleep so that Logan would see and possibly admit that Roman had been correct in his statement that Virgil was always downstairs.

But to their mutual confusion, voices emanated from the kitchen. Roman paused just short of the doorway, frowning at the sound of his brother's voice.

"You still have to tell us what you think the creative applications of slugs are!" Remus said, oblivious to the audience just out of sight.

"You know he doesn't have any," Virgil said, laughing.

Roman's frown deepened and he glanced behind him to meet the equally confused faces of Logan and Patton.

"You haven't given me any time to think," Janus said. "And I did specify that a creative person could come up with something."

This was the catalyst that got Roman in motion, compelled by the understanding that something was deeply wrong. Forgetting his original goal entirely, he stepped into the kitchen to find Virgil smiling at the two sides Roman had thought he hated most.

Patton and Logan followed Roman into the kitchen. Patton froze, just as baffled as Roman, but Logan only inclined his head on his way to the coffee maker. "Good morning, Anxiety, Deceit." He turned to Remus and frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't know how I should address you."

"Call me by your name, Elio," Remus said, widening his eyes.

"Neither one of us is name--"

"Oh, forget it." Remus waved a hand. "Call me Remus, call me Dukey, call me Madonna for all I care."

"Good morning, Remus."

"Logan!" Roman said, his eyes still locked on Virgil. "Don't-- Don't--" He shook his head. "Anxiety, what's going on? Why aren't you scared of them?"

"Why would he be scared of us?" Remus demanded.

Janus watched, his eyes traveling from one face to the next until he found what he was looking for. He didn't have a clue what was going on, and it was obvious that Logan didn't either. Roman and Remus were trying to work it out, which left Patton, who barely factored into the equation, and Virgil. Virgil, who was shifting in his chair looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. Aha.

"Because you're evil!" Roman said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And…" Patton said hesitantly, "You hurt him."

"He doesn't like you!" Roman agreed. "He was glad to be rid of you!"

Virgil grit his teeth but could only watch helplessly as Janus and Remus exchanged a look of mutual understanding and stared expectantly at him.

"Is that what he told you?" Janus purred, ignoring the violent beating of his heart against his ribs. "Were we cruel to you, Anxiety?" He gave Remus an expectant look.

Remus held eye contact. He knew what Janus wanted him to do; a part of him even wanted to do it. As much as Remus was about morbid possibilities, he was also about ugly truths. He had no interest in defying his function, in censoring himself. But the sight of Virgil in his periphery, pale and shaking in his chair like the sole survivor of a head-on car crash, made Remus pause. And, holding eye contact with Janus, he lifted his hand and placed it over his own mouth.

Janus accepted this with a roll of his eyes. If Remus didn't want to put Virgil out of his misery, then Janus certainly wasn't going to be the one to do it. "Well, Anxiety? Answer the question." He curled his mouth into a vicious, humorless smile. "And do be honest, won't you?"

Virgil couldn't breathe. He swallowed convulsively, trying to get himself under control. The tightrope stretched out before him, growing narrower by the second. He kept his weight centered a second longer and stared, pleading, at Janus. "Don't."

"Leave him alone, you fiend!" Roman said, lunging forward and slamming his hand down on the table.

"Hey!" Virgil shot to his feet, chest-to-chest with Roman. The look of confusion in Roman's eyes turned to betrayal at the sight of Virgil facing off against him with his back to the Dark Sides. "Listen," Virgil said in a quavering voice, sinking back down into his chair, "let's just… Everybody calm down; I can explain."

"Take your time," Janus said, irritably. He motioned for Remus to put away his morningstar, which had jumped into his hand the moment Roman had hit the table.

"What is there to explain?" Roman demanded. "Are they holding you hostage, or what?"

The tightrope quivered beneath Virgil's feet. He took a deep breath and jumped. "I lied, okay? I was scared that you guys wouldn't want me anymore if you knew that we…"

Remus peeled his hand away from his mouth. "That we're tighter than Logan's ass!"

"Were friends," Virgil said.

Roman sat down next to Virgil, heart stuttering in his chest. Patton and Logan sat as well, but Roman barely noticed the movement. "You mean you were friends the whole time?"

"No!" Virgil said hurriedly. "Which reminds me." He turned and gave Janus a stern look. "I think Deceit has something he wants to say to you."

"I think Deceit can speak for himself, thank you," Janus said.

"If you're talking about that little late-night rendezvous, you can just forget it," Roman said, puffing out his chest. He didn't need everyone to know just how badly he'd been hurt, and insisting on an apology would do just that.

Janus turned to Virgil, triumphant. "See? There's nothing to apologize for."

"Wait a second," Patton said. "I'm confused." He turned to Virgil. "Why did you let us think that Deceit and the Duke were mean to you?"

"They were a little bit," Virgil said. Janus scoffed and Virgil kicked him under the table but continued explaining, "They didn't like that I was spending so much time with you and…  Well, I was scared that you wouldn't want me, and we were on bad terms when I moved up here, so I thought it would be easier if I just… kept my mouth shut."

"You were fighting?" Patton asked. "Did we cause that?" He was horrified at the thought. He didn't like Deceit and he didn't like the Duke, but the idea of actually hurting them or Virgil made his chest ache.

"You," Janus pointed at him, "have caused more pain than you even know."

"How?" Roman demanded. "We don't even talk to you."

"You shut us down every chance you get!" Remus said, baring his teeth. "How would you like it if your pens never wrote, hm? What would you do with all those thoughts in your head?"

"You're not making any sense, Dastardly Whip-stache, although I'd expect nothing else from the likes of you."

Janus raised an eyebrow at Virgil, looking at him pointedly. Virgil sighed. "Okay, okay. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to make you feel bad, but… When you try to stop Thomas from listening to us, it's… destructive."

"Destructive how?" Logan asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Try 'psychological torture,'" Janus muttered.

"Oh, please," Roman said, rolling his eyes. "We don't torture you. Like I said, we never even see you!"

Janus sat up straight. "How would you like it, Roman, if every time you tried to write one of your little stories, your pen tore straight through the paper? Or you turned around and the whole thing was shredded?" Not wanting Patton and Logan to feel as though they were absolved of any guilt, Janus looked at them in turn. "How would you feel if you were never able to properly perform your function? If something stopped you every time? If Thomas never heard your voice no matter how loud you tried to scream?"

"That sounds like it would be psychological torture," Logan said drily, unmoved. He only assisted in silencing Janus and Remus when their influence prevented Thomas from healthy functioning, which was rare.

"Do we--" Patton choked out. "Did we-- Virgil?" he beseeched. "Did we do that to you?"

Virgil nodded, knowing full well that there was no sparing Patton's feelings now. "That's part of the reason why we fought," Virgil said. "I forgave you and they--"

"Don't," Remus said.

"I was hoping that you guys accepting me meant we could all learn how to coexist without hurting each other," Virgil said, blushing. "Like, not to sound all bleeding-heart about it."

"So what, when did you guys all magically make up?" Roman demanded, resentment coloring his tone. Virgil's explanation soothed the sting a bit, but jealousy and bitterness still swirled dangerously in his mind.

"Uh, like, ten minutes ago?" Virgil said. "I was trying to get Deceit to apologize to you."

"For what, exactly?" Logan asked, looking at Roman. "You only mentioned that he tried to turn you against Anxiety."

"It's nothing to worry about," Roman said hurriedly.

"I think we need to apologize," Patton said. Everyone looked at him and he shrank back a little before finding his confidence again. "We hurt Virgil and his friends! That was wrong of us."

Janus eyed him, his gaze calculating. "The best apology is changed behavior."

"Oh, well, um." Patton looked down at the table.

"That's what I thought."

"You did it for me," Virgil pleaded. "You thought I was bad for Thomas, but now you know that I can be important too. What's different about them?"

"You can't seriously be expecting us to put up with that ," Roman said, gesturing at Remus, who was making lewd gestures at him across the table.

"C'mon, a month ago you would have said the exact same thing about me," Virgil said.

Roman crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, but this is too far."

"Aw, and you haven't even heard about my idea for desert ungulate erotica," Remus said, sticking out his lower lip. "I call it the Camel Sutra."

"See?"

"I'm just asking you to take a chance on them like you took a chance on me," Virgil said. "Look, I'm even vouching for them! Nobody vouched for me and you took me in."

"For the record," Logan said, "I have no opposition to this. We are all parts of Thomas and we all have important contributions to make."

"I meeeaaan…" Patton said slowly. Again, everyone turned to look at him. "Anxiety is kind of right."

"Virgil," Virgil blurted before he could change his mind. "My name is Virgil. If we--" He took a deep, shaky breath. "If we're gonna do this, I want you to know my name."

"Do what?" Roman asked, still reeling from Patton's words. "Uh, I mean, thank you, Virgil for being honest with us, but-- Him?" He pointed at Remus.

Remus flipped him off. "You're being a real dick right now, you know? What'd I ever do to you?"

"To Thomas, you mean? You scare him!"

"And who told him we were scary?" Remus demanded, reaching out to sling one arm over Janus' shoulder. They were a little too far apart for the motion to be comfortable. Remus dug his fingers into Janus' shoulder to keep from losing his grip. "You did! You and Daddy Long Dong over there."

"Roman," Patton was perfectly miserable, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders, "I think he's right."

"But they are scary!" Roman insisted. "I don't care if An-- If Virgil turned out to be a good guy--"

"Gee, thanks," Virgil muttered.

"--Deceit and my brother are not good for Thomas."

"And who are you to decide that?" Janus asked, sticking his chin out. "For Thomas' sake let's at least be honest with each other, Roman. You don't care one way or the other whether Remus and I are good for Thomas. You're only thinking about yourself. And I'm so sorry to tell you, but you're outnumbered. So what does that say about you? Virgil is practically on his knees begging you to give us a chance, and here you are denying him because you can't see past your own inherent prejudices."

"Yes, thank you, Deceit. I'll be sure to take that advice to heart," Roman snapped. He turned helplessly to Patton. "Well, Padre, you've always been our guide for right and wrong. I'll defer to you on this even if… Even if I don't like the answer. I trust you."

"Don't put it on him!" Virgil said. "I'm the one-- Don't-- It's not fair to put it all on him."

Patton smiled at Virgil, then at Roman. "It's okay. I think we should give them a chance. At least let them, you know, express themselves."

"Yeah," Roman sighed. "I was afraid you would say that."

"If we can work with Virgil, I don't see any reason we can't work with these two," Patton said. "Even if it does make me feel kinda…"

"Squirmy?" Remus suggested, wriggling in place to emphasize his point.

Patton screwed up his face in disgust before catching himself. "Uh-- Yeah. 'Squirmy' is a good word for it." He trailed off and cleared his throat and for one split second, a chill silence dominated the air.

Then Logan stood. "Was that the heartwarming conclusion?" he asked.

"I don't think there's gonna be a heartwarming conclusion, Lo," Virgil said to him.

"Ah. Well in that case, may I suggest French toast?"

Janus rose, smoothly shrugging Remus' hand off his shoulder. "Well," he started, "I'm sure--"

Virgil cut him off with a guttural noise like he was trying to deter a naughty cat from swiping a glass off a countertop. "Mm!"

Janus turned to him, brow furrowed in faux-concern. "Are you trying to get my attention or are you choking on something?"

"I need to talk to you for a sec," Virgil said, then turned to Remus. "Both of you." He turned to leave and motioned for them to follow him, giving both Patton and Roman lights taps on the shoulder on his way out.

He led them to the basement stairs and paused on the landing. "Listen, I know--" He broke off with a frustrated sigh, not wanting to offend his friends. "I want this to end well, and I know what you guys are like." Janus raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt. Virgil made an apologetic face at him and continued, "Don't push them, okay? Remus, no scare tactics. Janus, you know what the boundaries are. Don't try to find them. Just be cool, and I'll make sure they're cool back."

"I'll behave if Romano-Hermano does," Remus said, bouncing on his toes. "Ugh, fine, and I promise I won't write about his phobias unless I have a reeeaally good idea."

Janus sniffed and swept his hair back. "And I'll be sure to push as hard as I can. You're right, Virgil, it's in my best interest to antagonize Saint Patton and his little sidekick right out of the gate. Thank you for the warning."

Virgil refused to be intimidated, knowing full well that Janus was only pushing back so hard because Virgil had seen right through him. "So," he said expectantly, "French toast?"

"Sure." Janus was already in motion, leaning into Virgil so he could reach the doorknob. "This is going to be fun."

--

"This would be good with cinnamon," Patton said, his voice bright with false cheer, as he hacked at his French toast with needless ferocity.

"Mm-hm," Virgil said, desperate to ease some of the tension that made the maple syrup go sour in his mouth.

"The recipe called for powdered sugar only," Logan said.

Virgil kicked Janus under the table in a desperate bid to get him to break the icy silence he'd been maintaining.

Janus sneered back at him, having no other way to communicate that making small talk about breakfast toppings was beneath him.

It was Remus who extended the first hand. "What about cayenne?" His eyes flickered from one face to the next, nervous and probing, and Virgil's silent 'thank you' went unacknowledged.

Logan twitched in irritation. "The recipe--"

"Oh, forget the recipe, Discount Alton Brown."

"You can't call him that!" Roman said, forgetting himself.

Virgil took a breath to intervene but stopped himself, not wanting Roman to feel ganged up on.

"You called me an 'off-brand nerd processor' earlier this week," Logan said.

"Well, yeah, but…" Roman tapped his fingertips against the table, agitated, "Endearingly funny-mean nicknames are my thing."

"Now they're our thing," Remus said with a wicked grin, although he was sure not to sharpen his teeth this time. "Aww, how sweet. We have something in common."

"I think," Patton interjected, "spicy French toast sounds, eh…" Here, he faltered. "Interesting?"

Virgil looked down at his massacred pile of French toast so no one would see the hesitant smile on his face.

Breakfast ended with no major fights. Virgil managed to coalesce all the tact and charm he was capable of and use it to corral Logan, Roman, and Patton into his bedroom.

He imagined some purple beanbag chairs for all of them and sat down heavily in one, twisting the fabric of his hoodie in his hands. "I'm really sorry I lied to you guys. I understand if you're mad at me or don't want to hear it, but I just-- I was so scared that you would kick me out if I told you the truth. And it's not that I think you would-- Like, I know we're friends, it's just that I'm me."

"Virgil," Roman said, because Patton didn't look like he was going to interrupt. "It's okay. And, well, I'm big enough to admit that I may have been a little overzealous in my attempts to protect you. Although I'm really not sure how you manage to get along with my brother."

"Practice makes perfect," Virgil said, flashing what he hoped was a winning smile.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Roman grumbled.

"Anyway," Virgil said, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me, but I get it if not."

"Of course we forgive you!" Patton said. "I'm sorry I ever made you feel like you had to lie to us. You can always be honest with us."

Virgil nodded. "That's all I wanted to say. I don't know where to go from here."

"Your options are limited," Logan said. "However, I suggest that we all go down to the living room and try to encourage Remus and Deceit to do the same. Provided," he paused for a moment, and his gaze flickered to Roman, "everyone feels they can be cordial."

They all nodded in agreement and trundled back down the stairs in a single-file line with Logan at the head.

Remus began to hum a funeral march as they descended. He had made himself comfortable on the couch, his head propped up against one of the armrests and his feet in Janus' lap.

"You're still here?" Virgil asked, surprised. "Sorry, I didn't mean-- I just would think you'd be off writing."

Remus waved a hand. "John Dee-ceit Rockefeller over here is helping me workshop some things."

Janus considered solidarity for a split second before deciding to act natural. "Am I? That's news to me."

Virgil hurried over and sat down on the floor with his back to the couch, eager to mitigate whatever could easily become a complete disaster. Patton sat down beside him in a show of support, leaving Roman and Logan to eye each other over the remaining armchair.

"You don't have to be shy," Remus said, pleased that he was being allowed to dominate the conversation. He thought for a second, picturing the living room sans coffee table and with a bigger couch. Then he yawned.

This triggered a chain reaction. Virgil and Janus, who had been looking at him, also yawned, followed shortly by Patton, then Roman, then Logan.

"Maybe we should go back to bed," Virgil suggested, checking his phone. It was only a little past 7:00.

"I'm staying right here," Remus insisted. "I even made the couch bigger and everything." Knowing what was about to happen, he pulled his feet off Janus' lap.

Sure enough, Janus stood. "Do come get me if you need anything," he said, already in the process of sinking out.

"Translation," Virgil said, "'Disturb me under penalty of death.'"

"I'm going to make coffee," Roman muttered, wary of the potential nightmares that might result from sleeping too close to Remus. "Anyone else want one?"

"No, thank you," said Logan. "I have work to do."

"Robot," Roman muttered as Logan sank out. "Anyone else? Virgil?"

Virgil was too sleepy to consider the potential disaster of leaving Remus, Patton, and Roman alone together. He could barely feel the caffeine in his system. "M'going to bed," he muttered, running one hand down his face. "Possibly for several thousand years."

"No slugs," Remus murmured.

"I'll go with you," Patton said.

Roman darted to the kitchen before they could sink out properly, realizing a moment too late what was going to happen.

He took his time in the kitchen, realizing with a sinking dread that he had accidentally boxed himself in. As much as he wanted to hide in the kitchen or sink out and have his coffee in his room, he knew full well he couldn't allow himself to do that.

Avoiding the living room because Remus was there was a kind of cowardice that Roman simply could not allow in himself. So he made his coffee, exacting a kind of petty joy in the shrill hum of the milk frother. Then he strode right into the living room and sat down next to Remus, who was making no effort whatsoever to hide the fact that he was staring.

The tense silence pressed down on both of them, aching against their ribs. Remus' fingers itched for his morningstar, a thousand fragmented revenge fantasies playing out in front of his open eyes in stunning technicolor. He could never see them through to the end, though. No matter how hard he tried to pin one down, his attention invariably wandered to the climax of another.

Oblivious to this, Roman sat and tried not to squirm. He hated awkward silences, and his desire to fill them verged on compulsion. The trouble was, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. The English language only had so many social niceties built in, and none of them covered reconnecting with one's disowned evil twin.

Remus' fervent, feverish gaze sent a nasty itch down Roman's spine, and it took a great deal of effort not to shudder. It irked Roman, not knowing which of Remus' idiosyncrasies were his own, and which were calculated to be as annoying as possible.

As much as Roman wanted to believe that he couldn't fathom how this distorted shadow of himself could ever be considered useful, the truth was that he could . Roman believed, deep down in the darkest part of himself, that he was half a function. He had vowed a thousand times over that he would work as hard as he needed to in order to make up the difference. He could be good, and if he was good enough then maybe Remus would just disappear.

"Does Deceit ever talk about me?" Roman asked, well aware that Remus had no context for the inquiry.

Remus rolled his eyes. He had half been hoping that Roman would attack him so he had an excuse to fight back. He supposed he should have known better that Roman's first concern would be his reputation. "Oh, yes, all the time. He's in love with you."

"That's not what I meant!" Roman said, blushing. "Does he ever talk about us ?"

"You and me?" Remus asked, genuinely surprised. "No. Why?"

Roman ignored the question. "Has he ever brought me up?"

"I don't know what kind of conversations you think we have down there," Remus said, confused, "but we mostly just have sensual, passionate group sex-- Wait, no, I promised Virgil I wouldn't antagonize you. Um." Roman raised an eyebrow and sat back to watch Remus flounder. "Well, no. It's never come up."

"So you don't think you're half a function?" Roman asked, striving to keep his tone light. He failed, but knew better than to let that show on his face.

"Is that what he said to you?" Remus asked, half-impressed and half-offended. "You really must have pissed him off!"

"Is that pride?" Roman asked, cocking his head. "You're impressed with me for that ?"

Remus ignored this in favor of addressing Roman's earlier point. He didn't lie often, but the topic at hadn't was something he couldn't even be honest with himself about. "No. I don't think I'm half a function. I could be perfectly capable of being Thomas' sole Creativity if I ever got the chance."

"We," said Roman, determined not to cede any ground. "Same. And I certainly wouldn't want any assistance from the likes of you."

They glared at each other, teetering on the edge of a real argument.

Of the two of them, it was Remus who harbored the deeper anger, scars of resentment burned jagged and destructive in his psyche. He clenched his fist around nothing, his promise to Virgil keeping his morningstar out of his grip.

Of the two of them, it was Remus who had the most to lose if this truce went badly.

Half-hating himself for it, he relaxed his hand and said, "Dragons have four limbs."

Roman's brow furrowed in confusion; he searched his brother's face before he remembered the childhood argument and grinned. "No, that would make it a wyvern. Dragons have six limbs."

"That's unrealistic."

"They're fantasy creatures! It doesn't have to be realistic!"

"Wyverns are dumb, anyway," Remus teased, sticking out his tongue.

To their mutual surprise, the bickering escalated, not into a fight, but into a deep and detailed debate over fantasy worldbuilding.

When Virgil woke up and came downstairs, it was to the sight of the living room covered in papers and two Creativities asleep on opposite ends of the couch.