#if anything sounds incomprehensible: i did not read that a second time before posting and will not <3333 yay!!

[director-yomi-hellsmile]

what r u most excited to see out of the next warriors book question mark emoji

Heh, well, (this also extends towards what I want to see in the arc as a whole, as TEQ is the first book of arc 9 and for the love of god can there please be some meaningful change ever after an arc ends that'd be great)

1. That one territory change tease everyone's talking about

I. Don't like the lake territories. If they're gonna move (and it's. Heavily implied they will (then again the books do have a track record in underwhelming and dissapointing everyone in increasingly ridiculous ways)) because the uhhhh I dunno moonpool is dying or whatever I honestly don't care for the reason as long as they can fucking move already

Originally, the Clans resided in the so-called forest territories, during the first arc, half of the second arc, and every single prequel. The second arc involved it getting destroyed, and the Clans had to Move and that's how they arrived at the lake territories. "Wait but doesn't that mean they're gonna reuse this same plot the second time why does anyone want this" because the lake territories kinda suck lol

Like. I liked the forest territories they worked well. Ok hold on look at this thing

Color coded all Clan territories, everything else is either a communal/sacred/unclaimed ground. Can you notice something about it. All the Clan's borders touch somewhat, they all are next to and have access to each other and can just walk anywhere.

RiverClan's and WindClan's borders touch even if they are separated by a river, RiverClan can always just swim through it so they can attack them like they did many times then. WindClan and ShadowClan are separated by a road but can just pass it and duke it out on either side, they are explicitly said to be enemies for an extremely long time. ShadowClan and ThunderClan, again, are separated by a road, but ThunderClan can literally walk over it and ShadowClan has a whole secret passage below it which is how they've been assaulting each other so efficiently. ThunderClan and RiverClan have history going to war with each other over those rocks which they both can easily access just like the rest of their borders, TC cats don't even have to swim through the river they even got a convenient little bridge nearby. ThunderClan also shares a border with WindClan, they can easily just step over it to either aid or fight them. ShadowClan and RiverClan look like they might not be able to access each other, which yeah it is a bit harder which is why I think it's been noted they aren't as hostile with each other, however, again, all they have to do in order to be able to access them is to 1) walk over the road 2) walk through fourtrees in either order and that's literally what happens. First ShadowClan hunted in their river that way, and then they literally united to form TigerClan.

Like. All of them can interact with minimal problem. There is no physical barrier that's actually separating them aside from the law.

Not to mention that it just. Feels like a place that exists and has history. Biggest example being the sunningrocks, which ThunderClan and RiverClan both fought over, it's so disputed even the fandom is arguing over who it actually belongs to. There's the owl tree, the great sycamore, snakerocks, sandy hollow, tallpines, that are distinct pieces of TC territory even without any fights happening there. (I. Actually got no idea whether the books say the treecut place is TC territory or part of the twolegplace). ShadowClan has the carrionplace and the burnt sycamore, WindClan has the outlook rock and the gorge on the border with RiverClan, which has an island, a barn nearby, stepping stones, probably something else I forgot. Red marker is like, notable areas where battles took place I kinda forgor for this one also there were some missing from the wiki I feel like there's not enough of them there sowwy

Basically there are Places. I know, that's fucking huge right,

Ok now let's see. The lake territories.

(i hate this new map artstyle i cant fuckibg see anything)

Did you notice anything. Is it perhaps. The huge fucking lake in the middle .

Okay I will refrain from talking about the Huge Fucking Lake In The Middle yet. First, the borders are fucking confusing and literally change and switch around in supplementary material set inbetween the arcs. I do not know how much territory SkyClan has the only thing we know about it is that their camp is inbetween ShC and TC borders. It used to be more comprehensible to me because actually at first they were positioned directly in-between ShC and TC however one arc they just randomly fucking changed locations with no explanation aside from a paragraph saying FIND OUT WHY SKYCLAN MOVED THE FUCKING CAMP IN OUR NEW SUPPLEMENTARY MATERIAL SUPER EDITION COMING OUT NEXT YEAR I fucking hate it here also that book sucked balls

The borders are hardly defined and RiverClan cats randomly teleport in ThunderClan territory despite the fact that in order to access it, the shortest possible path - which STILL would be ridiculously long for these cats to just walk continuously - they could take is to walk the whole way across ShadowClan territory first, because of THE HUGE FUCKING LAKE IN THE MIDDLE

Fuck the lake I am the lake's biggest hater. I hate that fuckass body of water. So you know how all of the Clans could easily interact back at the forest territories??? Well too bad because now that's been thrown out the window thanks to the Huge Fucking Lake In The Middle blocking off literally all of them .

Prior to the arrival of SkyClan, the Clans now only had two neighbors whose territory they could access as opposed to back in the forest territories they had three, aka all of the remaining ones. ThunderClan and RiverClan literally cannot interact anymore. ShadowClan and WindClan are blocked off from each other completely. Because of the Huge Fucking Lake In The Middle that makes it impossible now.

It also doesn't fucking make sense for convenience's sake regarding the main two communal grounds, the holy place aka moonpool, and the gathering area aka the island. In order to access the island and go to the gathering every month, literally every single Clan besides RiverClan has to go through a whole fucking life-changing journey that also requires them to walk directly through RiverClan in order to get to the fucking island, rip to ThunderClan I guess but they just have to walk over the entire half of This Huge Fucking Lake In The Middle every time they want to go to a gathering that's just never overly elaborated on. Oh and the moonpool. Only ThunderClan and WindClan have easy access to it, if you are from literally any other Clan you're gonna have to walk through BOTH TC's/WC's entire fucking territory and half of the entire Huge Fucking Lake That's In The Middle. And the medcats have to do this shit TWICE a month. It's also never elaborated on much either because why the fuck

Of course, the Huge Fucking Lake In The Middle massively limits the amount of fights that these "warrior" cats can get into because now they can apparently only have conflict with two Clans at a time. So, where are the current lake territory then? Nowhere apparently.

There are.... No disputed areas like sunningrocks anymore. I mean, the clearing could be kind of considered one, but also not really, because they fought over it literally Once and then never again also it was originally just gifted to ShC by TC. ThunderClan and WindClan used to fight a lot at first, but it's mostly because Onestar was mad at them, and not because they wanted any particular land from each other.

There were some notable fights though! And literally all of them except for one involved ThunderClan. Well there was the aforementioned one (1) ShadowClan-ThunderClan battle at the clearing. There was also a ThunderClan-WindClan by the tunnels on TC territory. There was also a....... *squints* an all four-Clan wide battle on ThunderClan territory? What the fuck did Onestar pay RiverClan in to make them walk all the. Nevermind. Whatever I'm fine I'm fine.

Warrior cats from the books called "Warriors" known as the books where cats fucking fight, don't even fight each other like they used to. Back in my time they were all dying in wars every week now they think that war is "bad" now apparently and will not do it anymore. Because of woke

The lake territories are also just............ Boring. Like, in the original forest territories I could list so many of their landmarks meanwhile the lake is just completely devoid of any of that. The only thing that belongs to any Clan that I remember being even remotely interesting and relevant at all were the tunnels under ThunderClan and WindClan, and we don't see them any more since the fourth arc ended. Oh and there's also the abandoned twoleg den in TC that Jayfeather uses as a garden to grow his little weed in. And uhhh.... That's it that's literally it nothing else matters I can't fucking rember

It's legitimately such a downgrade from the forest territories. Everyone in the fandom pretty much prefers the forest territories because shit fucking happened in them. So yeah I'm fine if they reuse the moving plot in this one. I want them to go settle in some new hopefully more interesting and easily accessible by all Clans place please can we do that. Can we just start over. Throw out the whole lake please . Also the whole moving plot would also be good because then during the journey all the Clans would be forced to interact with each other more lmao

2. Possible mass death event that's kinda teased by the Mystery Sickness

These cats need to die and if not in war then during the PLAGUES

I cheered and clapped when the SkyClan cats started getting terribly sick and it was revealed that shit was contagious when I was reading the preview. Yessss babes go spread that shit around!!!! Especially to ThunderClan!!!!!! Kill everybody!!!!

The Clans (ESPECIALLY THUNDERCLAN) are fucking overpopulated with background nobodies that just take up space in the allegiances. Hold on let me bring out the numbers.

In the first book of the first arc, and the first one in the series, ThunderClan had 31 cats, counting Rosetail and the unnamed kits. Pretty reasonable size for a Clan I'd say.

In the first book of the third arc, ThunderClan now had 34 cats. Most of them got some reasonable amounts of focus during the story so at no point did I feel like anyone was really "taking up space". The Clans in total then, all had 79 cats combined, going off of the allegiances list.

Currently? ThunderClan has 52 cats. That's a fucking LOT. And half of them have no relevance whatsoever and only exist to just Be there in the background.

RiverClan has 24 cats. WindClan has 30 cats. ShadowClan has 36 cats. SkyClan has 38 cats.

Combined? That's 180 motherfucking cats.

Please literally kill of at LEAST a half of them I'm begging yall. The cast is too fucking big and literally no one is getting any development or relevance or relationships because of that unless they're the main character. Warrior cats don't die like they used to anymore .

3. Ok now besides really wanting people to fight and die I also uhhh. Moonpaw [ominous sound cue]

I think everyone has been made aware of my month long Moonpawposting by now lmao

I want to see what they'll do with her and her funky headmate even if I know it probably won't be pretty if we're going off of the blurb and their track record, I'm just sitting there by the highway with my popcorn ready waiting for a car crash to happen. She's become somewhat of a blorbo to me even if I knew her for one chapter from the preview

Like. So much can go wrong. They're probably gonna fuck her up real hard and also I kinda care more about The Voice than her. Sorry I think her headmate is just so silly and has like, 2x more personality than her. Sorry Moonpaw. And while I don't trust the writers on this one I gotta say that the fandom so far has been WAY nastier about her + her chimerism than the actual books themselves. Like I'm passionate about Moonpaw like. I did write all these posts in my Moonpaw fueled rage

But yeah I. Wanna witness the the Moonpaw :3

[olithepoet]

Whumptober Day 1

This is my first tumblr post! I really want to start posting on here so I'm forcing myself to put this out there, even if I don't keep up with it all month. Sorry for any mistakes!

Heres the link to the ao3 if you prefer to read on there! -> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Whumptober2023/works/50490616

Summary:

Izuku has been overworking himself with training and collapses. Of course, Katsuki is there to catch him.

----------

Izuku was about to get back from training. Katsuki had been waiting all afternoon and had been repeating that same sentence over and over again.

‘He’s about to get back.’

‘He’ll be here in a few minutes

‘Any second now…’

And yet, here he was, still waiting, alone in his dorm.

He was starting to get pissed. Izuku was training with All Might, and Katsuki had warned him to lay off his poor boyfriend. He had been training way too hard, like usual, but it seemed worse lately. If All Might wasn’t taking Izuku out for some much-needed relaxation, and was instead working him so late, he would have to kill him!

He had already yelled at All Might the night before, threatening the same thing. Did he think he wasn’t serious? Because he was, and he would prove it to the old bastard!

In his anger, Katsuki ignored the sound of his door opening behind him. He was fuming, staring down at the homework on his desk that he had completed hours before.

“Kacchan.”

Hearing that hoarse whisper snapped him out of it.

He turned around and saw Izuku there, leaning against the door behind him. He was still grasping onto the knob, even though he had already shut the door. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him steady.

“Where the hell have you been?” He snapped, more out of worry than anything.

“Kacchan…” His boyfriend only whispered again, and Katsuki’s heart pounded. He looked like shit.

“Did that old man work for you for this long? I swear I’ll kill him! What’s he thinking anyway, you’ve trained more than anyone! You don’t need–”

“No, no, Kacchan–” Izuku tried to shut up his angry rambling, but Katsuki didn’t know how else to respond. He was honestly freaked out. He hadn’t seen Izuku like this in a while.

“It was just me, okay? All Might cancel training for some reason…I didn’t want to get behind.”

And Katsuki just stood and stared at his idiot of a boyfriend, because what the fuck? Was he that stupid, to work himself to the point of exhaustion? To go so long without a break? To take no time for himself all week? And worst of all, to worry him?

They were all stupid questions. He knew that his nerd really was that dumb. All Might must’ve canceled after what Katsuki said about him overworking himself, clearly agreeing with what he had said. Of course, Izuku didn’t get that. And he would have to fix this. Like always.

He knelt in front of Izuku and sighed. “You know I told you to take it easy, you idiot. You’re not fucking falling behind. But you will if you keep this shit up! If you won’t listen I’m not gonna keep helping you!” He barked out. Deep down he knew that last part wasn’t true. He would keep helping him. But he wasn’t going to tell Izuku that. He needed to learn his lesson!

Izuku whimpered. “I’m sorry…I…” He could barely speak as his words slurred. Katsuki looked into his face and past his boyfriend's now watery eyes, instead noticing his pale complexion. That wasn’t normal…

Izuku tried looking into Katsuki’s eyes but he couldn’t.

“Hey! Izu!” Katsuki’s anger immediately washed away. He couldn’t pretend to be angry when all he felt was concern. And the tears in Izuku’s eyes as a result of his words didn’t help. “Look at me!”

But Izuku couldn’t focus. His eyes darted around as if he couldn't see.

“Izuku! Did you not hear me? Look!” Katsuki frowned. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Izuku’s head turned to face his hand, but he never got the chance to answer. He tried to, his mouth opening, but when he started to speak, it came out strangled and incomprehensible. He closed his mouth and went to reach for his head.

Taking his hand off the doorknob made him lose balance. He wobbled, and Katsuki watched, helpless, placing his hands loosely onto Izuku’s hips in hopes of stabilizing him.

Then his eyes closed.

Izuku started to fall forward, and Katsuki's hands reached out instinctively to catch him. He immediately stood up, lifting Izuku with him by grabbing under his armpits, and he leaned a certain way so that the limp boy’s head fell onto his shoulder.

He shuffled awkwardly towards his bed and placed Izuku softly onto it. He reached down and lifted Izuku’s legs onto the bed as well, making sure he was in a comfortable position. He placed his hand on his boyfriend's face lovingly, looking at him with concern.

“You idiot.”

Katsuki rushed to the door and half hoped that Izuku wasn’t too out of it and would wake up soon, and half hoped that he would stay asleep for a while. He didn’t want Izuku to wake up while he was gone. That would frighten him, and that was the opposite of what he needed. Katsuki rushed as fast as he could without running.

He reached the elevator and clicked the button to go down. He regretted not using the stairs, and he cursed under his breath at the slow thing. Realistically, he knew this was faster, but that wasn’t the point.

He had already cooked dinner for himself, which inadvertently meant he cooked for Izuku too since lately, the other boy wanted to eat better meals that suited his needs for his training. Izuku had always liked his cooking and Katsuki wouldn’t let Izuku cook for himself, because while he wasn’t completely useless in the kitchen, after a long workout he would just give up and eat whatever was easiest. Katsuki deemed those meals inedible.

He made dinner for Izuku once, to show how much better he was at cooking, and after that, Katsuki led Izuku to believe that he was just stealing his extras.

That wasn’t true of course.

By the time Izuku finished his training, Lunch Rush was done serving food, anyway. It was the same tonight. So, he hurriedly got some food prepared on a plate, the chicken he had cooked earlier that was completely uneaten since Katsuki was waiting to eat with Izuku, and heated it with some other vegetables and rice. Anything to get some nutrients back into his system. He hated to just stand around and wait for the food to finish so he got Izuku a glass of milk too.

Carrying the plate upstairs he realized he maybe had gotten a little too much food. He just wanted the best for his Izuku. The last time he had seen him pass out from exhaustion like this was after his big fight with Shigaraki. Since then, after we all settled back into school again, he had been having instances like this. But not to this extreme.

Well, this was going to be it. Katsuki was sure of it. He was going to get it inside his boyfriend's thick skull that he needed to get a hold of himself, or Katsuki would do it for him.

He made it back upstairs and he sighed with relief when he saw Izuku was still asleep. He put the plate and glass down and sat on the bed next to him.

“Izuku…” Katsuki nudged him, then reached to grab his shoulder and shake him. Izuku blinked for a few moments, with no reaction.

Finally, after far too long in Katsuki’s option, his eyes focus on him. There was no time to waste.

He grabbed Izuku and sat him up forcefully, pulling the plate onto his own lap and cutting the chicken for him. Izuku barely had any time to process what was going on before Katsuki finished, and started shoving pieces into his mouth.

“Kacchan slow down–”

“Eat!”

Izuku took another bite and chewed faster in anticipation, but Katsuki grabbed the milk instead and tilted it into his mouth. Izuku thought he would drown.

When Katsuki was thoroughly satisfied he stopped, and Izuku took the opportunity to stop his crazed boyfriend. He grabbed his hands in the split second that he put the glass down and reached for the fork.

“Stop!”

“Izuku, that wasn’t enough!”

“I know, I know, I’ll eat more, just give me a second!”

Katsuki stares for a moment and then puts his hands down with a sigh. “This is fucking serious Izuku. You can't get mad at me for being worried about you.”

“I know! I’m sorry, I'm just…so scared of falling behind. What if someone gets hurt because I’m not strong enough.” He looks down into his lap.

“Izuku,” he pauses, looking at his boyfriend who has an ashamed look on his face. He wanted to be harsh. To force him to listen, for once. But he could tell he felt bad already. “Is that how you feel? Don’t you understand that doing this to yourself is just making it worse? Izuku, if you keep this up, you’re going to fall behind. You can only get stronger and stay on track if you pace yourself.”

“I know Kacchan. I’m sorry. It’s just so hard for me to accept that sometimes–”

“I know. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Izuku sighed. Of course, his Kacchan understood. He always did. He was the only one who could. Izuku was just so thankful he had his Kacchan.

“I can feed myself, Kacchan. I’m feeling a lot better after eating.” Izuku took the fork and continued his meal. He wasn’t too hungry anymore–after all, Katsuki had shoved an unimaginable amount of food down his throat already–but he could tell that he needed more nutrients. And he wanted to make his Kacchan happy.

Katsuki reluctantly let him feed himself.

“Izuku, I’m not allowing you to train tomorrow. Or the next day. You need these days to let your body heal.”

He nodded between bites of rice. “Okay.”

“And how about, next time, I’ll train with you?”

Izuku lit up. He loved training with Kacchan; it was not only a good challenge, but also a fun time to spend together. Katsuki would keep him in check.

“Perfect.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds being Izuku’s chewing. Katsuki eventually rearranged himself to sit beside him and unintentionally began running his hands through the boy’s dark green curls.

“Kacchan…I can’t eat all this…” The boy took a good look down at his plate, a little amused. There were still three pieces left. And he had already eaten three. “You haven’t even eaten yet, have you? Why don’t you have some?”

“I made it for you.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku laughs. “I think if I ate this much it would be more unhealthy than anything. You seriously couldn’t have made all of this thinking I’d eat it…”

Katsuki sighed. He had caught him. “Fine”

Izuku gave him a sidelong look. “You always yell at me to think of myself more, and yet here you are.”

Katsuki was only half listening, having now taken the fork and knife to cut up the rest of the pieces so they could easily share. “Hah?!”

“You weren’t thinking of yourself, were you? You were going to go without dinner for me.”

“What are you trying to say, nerd?”

“Just that you’re being hypocritical. I could say the same things to you.” And Kastuki would’ve quipped back harder, but Izuku looked so proud of himself for that.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s still different.”

“How?”

“Because I’d only do those things for you.”

Izuku smiled. A real smile, one that brightened Katsuki’s whole year. Because, yeah, this probably wasn’t the last time he would have to deal with his boyfriend being an absolute moron, but that was okay. This was real progress and laid the groundwork for them to get through this, together. He trusted that Izuku would do his best.

Even though Izuku’s exhaustion was very prominent on his face, his smile wasn’t hindered at all. He was going to help Izuku do his best, too, just to make sure that smile wasn’t lost.

And that’s exactly what he did, all night, making sure to stay up way later than it took for them to finish that mountain of food, just to rub the pain away from his boyfriend's sore muscles.

[mizumiii]

II - An old tale

Previous part - Table of contents - Next part

Fem!Reader x Kenpachi Zaraki

Good evening! I was not very motivated to post the following chapters but since you were some to read, it gave me the will I lacked!

You opened your eyes with a strange sensation. You were feeling light and the pain was nothing more than a distant memory, your mind was stress-free and at peace. It was odd but not unpleasant. It was like the last gruesome instants of your life had happened to someone else. At that very second, you froze. No way. There was just no way you would just forget about your harsh life and simply get over it. You fumed for a while, walking in a circle in the middle of the empty street with your thoughts in a mess.

“Oh, hello there”, sing-sang someone.

You raised your head to meet an incredible mess of orange hair. The woman in front of you was wearing strange dark clothes, and even odder she had a sword at her belt. 

“Who are you?” You asked.

“I'm Koyo, and I'm here to help you”, the explanation was a tad wasted by her hand reaching for her sword.

“How are you going to help me with your sword??”

“I'm a shinigami, I'll help you cross to the soul society”, Koyo added as if it was obvious.

“It's shady as hell!” You almost yelled.

“Listen, you must have noticed that you're dead, no?”

It was difficult to object to this. You had felt yourself die. But that was this and this was that. 

“Don't wanna.”

A heavy silence. The easygoing expression of Koyo melted in total incomprehension.

“You can't stay there, your soul is gonna crumble away and you'll turn into a soulless starving monster called Hollow.”

You pondered. You could not accept that your life was so easily wasted and finished. How could a random girl arbitrarily set your ancient life aside and send you to the next as if your eighteenth past years had been just a joke. You were feeling so dejected and angry but had no one to address it. Because it was obvious to you that Koyo was not at fault there. But it did not make it any less infuriating. 

“So now let me do my job, and let's both go on with our lives.” The shinigami tried to convince you. “Look I'm just gonna press the safe end of my sword on your forehand and like this, you'll be safe and I'll be able to go back to my meditation.”

In a swift move, Koyo drew her sword and bumped your face before you could say anything. You blinked. But nothing happened. Koyo blinked too. Then touch you again with her weapon's pommel. And again. And again. Each time a bit harder. 

“Hey ! Hey! Stop! You're hurting me!” You shouted then massaged your reddening forehead. 

“Is it broken? Can it break?” Koyo was losing face in her shinigami's equipment. “Meiseki, why are you slacking!”

She even desperately tried to bump her forehead. But to no avail. 

“Be honest, you do not have the slightest idea how it works ?” You judgmentally asked. 

“Usually it works, I don't need to know why… Just wait a moment, I'll deal with it…” Koyo sighed desperately, before grabbing her phone, “Yes Koyo on the phone, of course, I'm working, why do you sound so surprised Kotetsu-san?” She ignored your shameless scoff. “I found a soul but the konsô doesn't work on her. What? Does she have a soul chain?....No? Yes, I'm sure she's dead. Her corpse is next to us, with her head smashed open.”

You shivered. Before you dared look, a huge Japanese's style door suddenly appeared. 

“Please follow me, to the Seireitei, the shinigami's place in Soul society…”

“Try to look happy to be working”, you laughed, taking a step forward. 

There was nothing else waiting for you there, with the living. So you should just keep moving forward and see what was waiting for you on the other side. When you opened your eyes on the Seireitei, you heard Koyo speak to someone else passing by.

“Good morning Captain Kenpachi.”

Next part

[harrytpotter]

What’s Happening To Me? — OneShot

Plot: James Potter was starting to feel more and more overprotective towards his friend Y/N and considerably annoyed at the blatant flirting she and one of his best friends were displaying publicly and at the thought she might be falling for Sirius. What was happening to him?

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: 5,9K.

A/N: I just had revised this long-ass story entirely and was pretty proud at the summary i came up with just for Tumblr to mess up with my post and erase its entire content, only leaving the title behind. Now i can’t remember the previous summary i wrote and am pissed about it. Anyways, I love writing for James and it shows. I won’t revise this again because i really am annoyed at tumblr so apologies in advance for any mistakes! :)

James tried to concentrate on Slughorn’s voice as the professor went on and on about whatever potion they were going to start working on during next week. He was really doing his best to absorb his words, but an extremely flirty pair beside him was making this task nearly impossible. He knew this was just for show since Sirius wanted to make Marlene jealous and Y/N kindly agreed to help him out, but all of this was still bothering him for some reason. Maybe it was because he knew Sirius way too well to know for sure he was enjoying this situation a little too much. Maybe it was because he cared about Y/N enough to bother if Sirius was going to end up hurting her somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Merlin, would you two stop? It’s getting annoying,” he hissed at Y/N and Sirius, whom had been all giggly and touchy for the entire class.

“Does it bother you to see a happy couple in love, Prongs?” Sirius teased, barely suppressing a laugh.

“I’m just trying to pay attention to class,” he mumbled annoyed, his fists clenching slightly.

“Don’t be mean to him, Sirius!” Y/N bumped her fist on his arm. “He’s bitter because Lily is still turning him down despite his best efforts,” Y/N looked at James sympathetically as if saying she was sorry for him.

James sighed heavily at the mention of Lily’s name. Sure, it did annoy him that she was still rejecting his attempts of woo her, but, if he was being quite frank, it didn’t bother or frustrate him like it used to. If anything, it just... he didn’t even know anymore. Why he was still chasing her. Why he was still trying to get her to go out with him. It was seeming more and more pointless lately. He wasn’t sure if he was still pinning after her for a purpose or solely for the challenge.

“Earth to James!” Y/N waved her hand in front of James’ eyes. “You there?”

James tilted his head a little so his best friend’s face could enter his visual field. Her y/h/c hair was loose in a messy way that suited her perfectly, matching harmonically her hypnotic y/e/c eyes. She had a natural confidence that seemed to radiate from her body and wrap every single soul in the room. She was truly effortlessly magnetic. James started feeling flustered suddenly, unbeknownst to why.

“You alright there, mate?” Sirius asked with a brow lifted, staring at him.

“Never better, Pads!” James shot a cocky grin his way, brushing off the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

James fell unusually quiet for the short rest of the class, his mind flickering between Y/N and Sirius and Lily. Everything just seemed so... out of place right now. He didn’t even notice Slughorn dismissing the class until Y/N tapped gently on his shoulder.

“Are you coming, Jamesy?” She asked, Sirius wrapping her against his chest. “Everyone else is already gone.”

“Sure...” James mumbled, still a little airy. His eyes wandered from Sirius’ tight grip around Y/N to her hand gently holding his wrist as her thumb caressed his skin lightly.

“Hurry up, Prongs! We can’t be late for lunch, I have a special surprise for my love here,” Sirius lifted Y/N’s chin gently whilst staring devilishly into her eyes.

James once again felt the same unsettling feeling he did before in the pit of his stomach when he noticed a subtle pink tone brushing through Y/N’s cheeks for a split second as she stared dumbfounded at Sirius.

“You two realize Marlene isn’t even here anymore to witness your annoying flirt, don’t you?” James asked his friends grumpily.

“Would you lighten up for Merlin’s sake, Prongs? Love is never annoying!” Sirius winked at him.

“Love might not be but you certainly are, darling,” Y/N retorted teasingly at Sirius, who took his free hand to his chest in mock offense.

“I usually grow on people, do you know that? Don’t you be so quick on biting the hand that feeds you,” he winged his brows at their amused female friend.

“You really are a complete prat, Sirius Black!” Y/N rolled her eyes with a large grin.

They were so invested on teasing each other that they had seemingly forget about James’ presence. The Gryffindor Quidditch captain spat an annoyed goodbye at his friends before storming off the classroom.

Y/N frowned and mentioned to follow James, but Sirius quickly grabbed her gently by the arm, stopping her from doing so.

“What are you doing? We have to go check on him! Haven’t you noticed how annoyed he left?” She lifted a brow at the grey-eyed boy.

“I did, indeed. But I also have noticed that he seems a little too annoyed at us lately, specially at me,” he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“Your point? He’s probably still frustrated at his last unsuccessful attempt of wooing Lily,” Y/N sighed.

“Oh, love, believe me, this has nothing to do with Lily. I know Prongs way too well, better than he knows himself, if I may add.”

“Are you implying he’s in love with you?” Y/N exploded in a loud laugh. “Of course it has to do with Lily. It always has something to do with Lily.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes whilst a mischievous grin took over his face. Y/N did a pretty good job in hiding her annoyance when she mentioned Lily’s name, but Sirius could read his y/h/c friend like an open book. He noticed it.

“What now?” She frowned at him.

“Nothing, love. Nothing at all. Come, let’s sit by the Black Lake, shall we? It’s too much of a beautiful day to spend it locked indoors,” he winked knowingly at his friend whilst taking her by the hand, another plan taking form inside his mind.

——————————————————————

“Where are Padfoot and Y/N?” Remus asked no one in particular as he glanced around the Gryffindor table at lunch time.

“Haven’t seen them since Potions this morning,” Peter shrugged uninterested.

“They’re probably snogging somewhere,” James said bitterly, his eyes glued on his food.

Remus lifted a brow at James whilst Peter blinked his eyes in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Remus asked him with a furrowed expression.

“There’s nothing to read into it. I just meant what I said,” James shrugged, a grimace on his features as he looked at Remus and Peter.

“But Prongs...” Peter whispered as quietly as he could without being incomprehensible. “We know this between them is just for show.”

“Do we? Please, Wormy. You know Padfoot. We all do,” James said calmly. “It’s just a matter of time until they cross the line, assuming they haven’t already.”

“What if they have? It’s not like it’s any of our business,” Remus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the messy-haired boy.

“But it is!” James exclaimed exasperatedly. “Y/N is also our friend, why do I seem like I’m the only one who cares about her wellbeing?! Padfoot is smitten with Marlene, you know that Moony. Y/N is the one who’ll end up getting hurt amidst this craziness.”

“Y/N is a smart girl, Prongs. She’s not naive. I highly doubt she or Padfoot himself will do something as stupid as that,” Remus shrugged before taking a piece of turkey to his mouth.

James bit his tongue and returned his gaze to his nearly untouched plate. He really hoped both Y/N and Sirius were smart enough to prevent what could only be described as a catastrophe, at least in his eyes. Just the thought of his best female friend being hurt by Sirius’ reckless actions made him feel like punching something. Or, more accurately, someone.

A loud sound of giggles snapped James out of his thoughts and drove him to wander his eyes to the big doors that separated the Great from the Entrance Hall. Holding hands, Y/N and Sirius were all smiles as they entered the room and approached their table.

“You almost missed the meal,” Peter scolded them with a motherly tone.

“Worry not, my dear Wormtail! We already ate,” Sirius winked at him.

“How’s that possible? You’ve just arrived,” Remus lifted a brow at Sirius.

“We raided the kitchen,” Y/N shrugged as she took a seat next to Remus.

Sirius plunk down by Y/N’s side and wrapped her in his arms guilelessly, playing with a lock of her hair. Nothing different than his usual behavior — since he and Y/N were pretty close friends themselves — but enough to drive James off the edge.

“You alright there, mate?” Sirius asked him for the second time that day, looking even more amused then he did firstly.

James blinked at the sudden attention as his other three best friends stared at him inquisitively. He only then realized how tense his body was and the tight grip he had around his fork. His knuckles were white due to how much pressure he was putting into it. The Gryffindor boy relaxed with a couple of deep breaths before letting his fork rest by the side of his plate.

“Hey, Prongs!” Peter whispered excitedly, breaking the awkward silence that fell upon the usually-very-talkative Marauders. “Fourth person on your left... look who’s staring at you!”

James gladly allowed his focus to shift from Y/N and Sirius as he looked to where Peter had told him. He lifted his brows in surprise as he’s met by Lily’s eyes, a small and shy smile forming on her face as their eyes locked. James returned her smile, waiting for the butterflies to flutter his stomach as they always did whenever he used to have some kind of interaction with the redhead. But they didn’t come at all. Not this time.

“What the bloody hell is happening to me?” He thought to himself as he forced himself to hold Lily’s stare for what seemed like forever.

“Looks like someone is finally wooing the girl of their dreams,” Remus teased after James broke off the eye contact.

“It was about time! I don’t think I could stand another year of this pitiful chase, it was getting quite embarrassing mate,” Sirius joked, earning amused laughs from both Peter and Remus.

“Would you three stop already?” Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m happy for you, Jamesy. Don’t mind them,” she reached for his hand across the table and gave it a light squeeze. A sweet smile on her lips.

James felt his stomach leaping like crazy inside of him at her touch. He furrowed his brows at the unknown feeling, his hand lingering on hers a while too longer.

——————————————————————

“You’re staring,” Remus pointed out without taking his eyes off his book.

“I’m not!” James denied quickly. “I’m just thinking about what to write on my essay.”

“Is your essay stamped on Y/N’s and Sirius’ faces?” The boy with chocolate eyes teased.

“Don’t you think they’re spending way too much time together?” James asked as he stared at Y/N and Sirius laughing together in a distant corner inside the Common Room. Y/N’s cheeks were flustered due to how hard Sirius was making her laugh.

“Meaning?” Remus’ attention was now solely on James as he studied his friend with a quirked eyebrow.

“Meaning they’ve got other friends outside each other, you know?!” James sounded a lot more harsh than he ever planned to.

The sound of Y/N’s laugh echoed in the room once more. She sounded like a 4-year-old laughing, it was absolutely adorable and completely contagious. James couldn’t help a small smile to spread across his face. He then caught himself wishing he could make her laugh like that. His face fell suddenly as he wondered why this thought would ever cross his mind.

“If it bothers you so much why don’t you just talk to her about it?” Remus shrugged, his focus back on his book.

James reflected on his friend’s advise for a short while until his vision got red again as Sirius trailed his fingers across Y/N’s back whilst whispering something into her ear. James closed his book with a loud bang, startling Remus and other few students who sat close to them.

“Where the bloody are you going?” Remus asked as his friend got on his feet and started gathering his things.

“Somewhere I can actually study,” James mumbled before moving in the direction of the portrait hole.

James wandered aimlessly through the castle, both his mind and heart racing and pounding with questions and emotions. Was he losing his mind? He didn’t know what was happening to him, why or how it started and neither how to make it stop. Y/N didn’t seem nearly as bothered at Sirius’ blatant advances, so he shouldn’t be either, right?!

As James’ feet stopped suddenly on their own, his surroundings came into focus once again and he caught himself staring back at him in a bathroom mirror. He rested his books on top of the nearest sink and took his glasses off, throwing a quick splash of water in his face and leaning over so he could rest his hands on the basin marble.

“What’s happening to me?” He mumbled to his own reflexion.

——————————————————————

“Gather around, kids!” Slughorn said proudly in front of a cauldron as the students started arriving for the Potions class.

Y/N, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter approached the Professor and peeked curiously into the cauldron content. A mother-of-pearl sheen liquid with a spiraling steam lied inside of it. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on her feet as she instantly recognized what the potion with such an unusual shine was.

“Oh...” Sirius whispered not so quietly into her ear with an annoying teasing tone, wrapping his arm on her shoulders.

“Oh Indeed, Mr. Black,” Slughorn grinned amusedly at the raven-haired boy. “Perhaps Miss Y/L/N could tell us what this potion is?”

“Amortentia, Sir. The most powerful love potion in the world. It causes a powerful infatuation or obsession from the drinker. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. It’s also known by its smelling properties. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what — or should I say who — attracts them,” Y/N promptly answered the Professor’s question.

The room was dead silent as everyone stared at the cauldron with great interest after Y/N’s words. Especially the girls, whom all eyed the liquid furtively.

“Very good, Miss L/N! Ten points to Gryffindor!” Slughorn rumbled satisfied.

“That was hot,” Sirius joked, winking at Y/N.

James clenched his teeth as he stared at Sirius, feeling increasingly annoyed at the ever so blatant flirt and not hearing Slughorn asking for a volunteer to smell the potion in front of the entire class.

“Oh, Mr. Potter!” Slughorn exclaimed, dragging his attention back to the class. “Come here now, don’t be shy,” the teacher motioned for him to approach the cauldron.

Looking around, James realized the entire class stepped back and he was standing considerably afar from them. Gulping, the always-so-brave-and-carefree Gryffindor boy slowly started to walk to the cauldron, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Just go already, mate! We all know you’re gonna smell something Lily-related anyway!” Sirius shouted from behind him, earning laughs from almost the entire student body present at the class.

“I highly doubt he will,” Lily said out of the blue, making James stop suddenly on his feet and turn around to face her.

“What was that, love?” He quirked an eyebrow at her with a devilish smile. There was nothing that turned him on more than a challenge.

“I said you wouldn’t smell me. My bet is on something Quidditch-related. But I’ll tell you what, if you do smell anything that actually has something to do with me, I’ll let you take me out on a date,” Lily crossed her arms against her chest defiantly.

That was it, the moment James had been waiting for ever since he first laid his eyes on Lily. The moment he thought would be the happiest of his life. The moment that would leave him feeling over the moon of joy. But nothing of this happened. Sure, it felt satisfactory to finally achieve a long-term goal and finally convincing Lily, but that was it. Just it.

“Go on, Potter! We don’t have all day!” Someone among the Slytherin students shouted, clearly excited to see the outcome of the proposal.

James then walked to Slughorn and stood in front of the cauldron, facing his fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherin crowd.

“Now, Mr. Potter, close your eyes and take a deep breath,” Slughorn instructed as he stepped aside and left James and the cauldron all alone in the spotlight. “And then let us know what you smelled!”

James did exactly as Professor Slughorn had told him to. At first, nothing happened, and then, suddenly, a powerful wave of the most endearing and hypnotic smell enveloped him and raided all of his senses. The smell was an intoxicating mixture of patchouli, sandalwood and cranberry. His eyes widened open as he instantly recognized where he had already smelled this. It was her smell. Y/N’s signature smell.

James’ eyes searched the little crowd furiously until they landed on Y/N. She was inspecting her nails, weirdly quite interested. He wanted to shout so she could look at him. He wanted to lock eyes with her and tell her what he had just smelled. He wanted to run at her and sweep her off her feet, spin her around and tell her what had been in his heart unbeknownst to him this whole time. He now knew what was happening to him.

“Mr. Potter?” Slughorn’s voice alerted James that he and the entire class were waiting for his answer.

James nodded at the Professor and allowed his eyes to land on Y/N once again before finally answering him. However, what he witnessed made his stomach sink. Y/N was whispering something into Sirius’ ear and his left hand was clutched on her waist.

“So that’s why she wouldn’t look at me,” he thought bitterly at himself.

James’ eyes wandered to Lily, a sudden frustration invading him. The redhead looked at him expectantly, unlike Y/N, who was too immersed on Sirius to notice the longing looks he had been sending her way lately. Sighing, James made a stupid decision in the heat of the moment.

“I smell vanilla and lilies,” he announced to Slughorn, knowing very well Lily smelled like that.

When he turned around to face the class again, Y/N and Sirius were nowhere to be found. Lily on the other hand, was standing right where she was, blinking with a dumbfounded expression.

——————————————————————

“Please, Sirius, don’t make me go in there,” Y/N begged Sirius as they approached the Three Broomsticks. She knew exactly what she was going to witness once they went into the establishment.

“Come on now, Y/N! Marlene is going to be there with Alice, please?” He gave her his best puppy eyes as he implored.

“How long will we have to keep up with this?” She asked, pointing back and forth between the two of them.

“Until she admits she has the hots for me,” he winked at his best friend, who simply rolled her eyes at him.

When they entered the pub, their eyes instantly fell on the table where a certain couple was having their first date. Sirius squeezed Y/N’s hand as he noticed her gaze lingering on James’ back.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” She mumbled, pulling Sirius by the hand to a distant table where Remus, Peter, Alice and Marlene sat chatting happily.

“Finally! Where the two of you were?” Remus exclaimed as Y/N and Sirius approached them.

“We were a little... busy, Moony,” Sirius winked suggestively at his friends. “Seems like I’m simply irresistible to my sunshine here.”

Marlene rolled her eyes at them, clearly beyond annoyed at Y/N’s and Sirius’ presence.

“Y/N, tell me, how can you possibly tolerate him, darling?” Remus teased as he noticed Marlene’s annoyance and Sirius’ proud grin.

“I usually keep my lips on his for as long as I can so he can’t speak. That’s the key,” Y/N shrugged, getting into character.

Remus, Peter, Alice and even Marlene laughed at Sirius’ shocked expression at Y/N’s comeback. She forced herself to laugh as well even though she was feeling everything but joy right now.

Stealing a glance in James’ direction, their eyes locked for a while before he drove his attention back to Lily and Y/N felt the sudden need of fresh air.

“I have to use the loo. Be right back,” Y/N mumbled at her friends whilst getting up.

The chit-chat ceased quickly as three of the Marauders and the two girls observed the y/h/c girl shy away from them.

“So, how’s our plan going, babe?” Marlene asked excitedly to Sirius as soon as they couldn’t see Y/N anymore, linking her arm in his.

Before Sirius could say anything, Remus cut him off asking with a much shocked tone of voice: “What plan are you two talking about? Didn’t Marlene despised you like you told us when you’ve asked Y/N for help to make her jealous? Why is she calling you babe? What is going on here?”

“Hold your wolves, would ya Moony? We’ll explain everything,” Sirius grinned. “I did tell Y/N that but Marlene and I had already been sneaking around unbeknownst to general knowledge.”

“Was that supposed to enlighten me?” Remus quirked a brow at him.

“Let me explain, for Merlin’s sake!” Marlene lifted a hand in front of Sirius as he opened his mouth to start talking. “We were snogging in an empty classroom under James’ invisibility cloak this one time when he and Y/N suddenly sneaked in as they ran away from Filch-“

-

“Oh, Sirius,” Marlene mumbled pleasantly at the raven-haired boy who was brushing his lips against her neck teasingly.

“Do you like that?” He asked softly.

“Ye-Yeah,” she muttered in response amidst a heavy sigh.

The couple was suddenly startled as the classroom door clicked open and was quickly closed again with an explosion of giggles. They quickly parted as they stared confusedly at Y/N and James, whom were out of breath and leant against the dark and old rock-wall, hands clutched together.

“Merlin, did you see Filch’s face?” James asked with a laugh.

“I honestly thought he’d spit fire,” Y/N answered with a snore, her face completely flustered from all the running.

James stared at his friend in a comfort silent for quite some time, as if he was engraving her every feature in his mind. “Godric, you’re beautiful.”

Sirius gasped at his friend’s words. Marlene’s mouth fell open.

It was only when Y/N’s eyes widened that James realized he had said that out loud.

“I-I mean, you’re quite alright for a girl and everything, mate,” he added quickly, making even more of a fool out of himself.

“Yeah... thanks, mate,” Y/N answered with a furrowed expression. She was clearly embarrassed as well. “We should probably get going before Filch comes back. Where did you leave your bloody cloak anyway?”

“I’m not sure, I couldn’t find it anywhere. Sirius must’ve borrowed it,” he shrugged, opening the door and checking the outside surroundings for any sign of Filch. “Let’s go!” He grabbed Y/N by the hand and led her out of the classroom, closing the door behind them.

“Did he just say what I heard?” Sirius checked with Marlene just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating as he tossed the invisibility cloak on the floor.

“He actually did,” she answered, a little shocked herself. “Not that it was surprising in any way, I mean, it‘s quite obvious he has it bad for her, I just didn’t think he’d ever notice, he pinning after Lily and everything,” Marlene shrugged.

“I don’t think he reckoned his feelings just yet, James can be a bit of a thick-head sometimes.”

“A bit? And just sometimes? The lad has been chasing after the same girl - who wants nothing to do with him if I may add - for almost six whole years. He definitely is a big time thick-head,” Marlene quirked a brow at Sirius.

“You’re right...” he mumbled thoughtfully. “We have to do something, they’ve got too much pride to ever admit their feelings for each other.”

Marlene shot him a grin as the perfect idea crossed her mind, “have you told anyone about us?”

“Not yet.”

“Good, here’s what we’re going to do...” Marlene started to explain him how he’d tell everyone she didn’t want anything to do with him and then ask for Y/N’s help to make her jealous in front of all of his friends. She made sure to let him know he was supposed to flirt hard with Y/N when James was around.

-

“Did you really have to make the beginning so... graphic?” Alice asked with a grimace once Marlene had told them the entire story.

“Agreed!” Remus quirked his brows at the secret couple. “But I have to say, this idea was quite... clever.”

“It really was,” Peter nodded excitedly. “Padfoot definitely stroke a nerve by flirting with Y/N in front of Prongs.”

“And so did Lily by pretending she was finally interested in him,” Marlene smiled proudly at herself.

“Wait... what?” Sirius looked utterly shocked as he asked her.

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I thought it’d look more... realistic if you didn’t know that. You care about Y/N, you wouldn’t bare seeing her hurt without letting her know the truth,” Marlene shrugged at her boyfriend.

“Woman... you are the love of my life,” Sirius grinned devilishly at her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.

-

“That prick...” James mumbled at himself as he clenched his fists at the sight of Sirius flirting and touching Marlene. Didn’t he have no respect for Y/N? He literally just waited until she turned her back to be a complete prat.

“What?” A bored Lily asked.

James realized he had been staring at their friends table basically ever since Y/N and Sirius first showed up, leaving Lily hanging. But, truth be told, the date sucked even before that. He and Lily had zero chemistry, zero common ground, zero... everything. They definitely didn’t belong together.

“Look Evans...” he started after a heavy sigh, looking for the right words.

“This date sucks,” Lily completed as she shrugged in relief. “I know.”

“Well, I’d probably be way more gentle than that, but... that’s what I was trying to say,” he laughed.

“You didn’t smell vanilla and lilies when you inhaled Amortentia, did you?” She quirked a brow at him.

“No...” he furrowed apologetically. “I smelled patchouli, sandalwood and cranberry. As in-“

“Y/N’s artisanal perfume,” she cut him off with a smirk. “Why did you lie you idiot?”

“In my defense, I was gonna tell the truth but then... I saw her and Sirius flirting and, well, you know what I did,” he shrugged.

“Your stupidness never fails to amaze me, Potter,” Lily rolled her eyes at the hazel-eyed boy. “Sirius would never get himself involved with a girl his best mate fancied.”

“Please, he could never know I fancy Y/N,” he furrowed his brows in disbelief. “I’ve only realized it myself a couple days ago.”

“Potter, you oblivious daft, everyone knows you have it bad for her for ages and the other way around,” she rolled her eyes at him once again.

“Are you saying-“

“That the entire school already realized you both long for each other? Yes. Now, let’s go,” Lily stood up and motioned with her head for him to follow her.

“Where are we going?” He asked confused.

“You are going to tell Y/N what Amortentia really smelled like to you and I am going to watch it alongside all of our friends and tease the two of you later,” she said as if it was obvious whilst they crossed the pub.

-

“He admitted his feelings towards Y/N out loud,” Lily announced amused as they approached their friends, taking Y/N’s vacant seat.

“Bloody finally!” Sirius and Remus shouted in unison as they both lifted their glasses in mock celebration.

“I have to say I thought I’d have to kiss her in front of you so your blind self would finally realize your own damn feelings,” Sirius grinned amused at James.

“Please, this is Prongs we’re talking about! He’d probably punch you in the face and still not have a clue as to why he was so angry at the whole situation,” Remus teased with a smirk.

“Sod off, would you?” James flashed his middle finger at them, his eyes scanning the entire place. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She said she was going to use the loo, let me go look for her,” Alice answered James with an excited smile.

James stood there full of hope whilst Alice went looking for Y/N, his heart pounding against his chest and his hands sweating as he thought about finally telling her how he felt.

Alice reappeared again a few minutes later, but there was no sign of Y/N as she walked back to their table.

“She wasn’t there,” she told James, a furrowed expression on her face.

“Where the bloody hell can she possibly be?” Sirius asked with a confused look.

“The castle...” James mumbled at himself before taking off hurriedly.

Marlene stood up as quickly as she could and mentioned to run after James.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked with a scrunched face.

“Well, I’m definitely not gonna miss the pathetic scene of him finally confessing his feelings to our Y/N, will you?” She quirked an eyebrow.

The little crowd exchanged looks among them before getting up recklessly and take off on James’ trail.

——————————————————————

“How do I do that? How do I tell her I have feelings for her after saying in front of the entire class I smelled lilies as I inhaled Amortentia?” James asked breathlessly as he stopped suddenly in front of the Fat Lady portrait, turning on his heels so he could face his friends.

“Preferable with your mouth, although I suppose you could use your hands as well, you know, to make it more... intimate,” Sirius suggested with a devilishly grin, winging his eyebrows.

“Merlin. I don’t even know what to say about... that,” Lily looked disgusted at Sirius, turning to James afterwards. “Just... do something meaningful for the both of you. Use something that the two of you have in common to make it special. I’m sure it’ll earn you extra points.”

“I’m with Evans on this one,” Remus shrugged. “Sorry, Padfoot.”

They kept throwing suggestions at him, but James wasn’t paying attention anymore. Lily’s words were hammering inside his head as he was thinking about what to do. And then, suddenly, as if it was magic, a brilliant idea popped inside his mind.

“Fat Lady, has Y/N came in already?” James asked the portrait that guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor tower.

“Yes, Potter, she came in a while ago in fact. She didn’t have the best of looks on her face if I may add, I’m assuming she went straight upstairs to her dormitory,” the portrait answered promptly, gladly giving away the juicy details in hopes to gossip a little bit.

“Perfect!” James grinned at the painting. “Thanks, love!” He shouted before running through the hallway.

“Should we follow him?” Peter asked Remus and Sirius.

“What if he comes back?” Sirius shrugged.

“I don’t think he will,” Lily smiled, realizing what he was about to do.

“Mind sharing the why?” Marlene quirked a brow at her.

“Think about it. What’s the one thing they both equally love fiercely?” Lily asked the little crowd with a grin. “Despite each other, of course.”

“Quidditch...” Remus answered slowly, realizing James’ intentions as well.

Before anyone could say anything, James came back and flew by them on his broom, a large grin on his face, “well? Are you lot coming or what?”

Taking off as fast as he could and with his friends on his trail, James flew around the hallways of the castle in the direction of the sloping lawns in the school grounds.

As James proceeded on his flying, he started to draw more and more curious students returning from the Hogsmeade trip, that way, by the time he had approached the exterior walls of the Gryffindor Tower, he had quite a crowd standing underneath him.

Touching the ground slightly, James gathered a few little pieces of rocks and hopped on his broom again, flying up until he reached the same level of the girls dorm’s window.

Before James could execute his plan, a loud shout from Minerva McGonagall startled him.

“James Potter, get off this broom immediately!”

Before James could answer and beg for her to let him do what he had come here to in the first place, the window cracked open. As his eyes shot in the direction of the sound, James spotted an utterly confused Y/N staring at him.

“James what the bloody hell are you doing?” She asked with a frown.

“Well, I was planning on throwing these rocks softly at your window until you opened them up, but I guess there’s no point in doing so now,” he shrugged, showing her the rocks he had clutched into his palm.

“And why would you do that?” She giggled at him, causing butterflies to flutter inside James’ stomach.

“Because I have something rather important to discuss with you, love,” he grinned.

“Why didn’t you just shout my name from the Common Room then, you mental?” She quirked her eyebrows.

“‘m afraid that wouldn’t be as nearly as romantic.”

“Romantic? What are you talking about?” She asked, a disrupted look on her face. “James, what’s going on here?”

“POTTER!” McGonagall shouted once again.

“Could you give a smitten boy a second to confess his feelings for Merlin’s sake, Minnie?” He shouted with a wink at the Professor.

“Well... I suppose I can,” she shrugged with a discreet side smirk. “And Potter?”

“Yes, Minnie?”

“Glad to see you finally build up the courage,” she smiled at the dumbfounded look the boy gave her.

Y/N was still staring at James in shock as he drove his attention back to her.

“So...” she said.

“I lied at the Potions class last week,” he said out of the blue, gliding trough the air.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I didn’t smell lilies or vanilla when I inhaled Amortentia.”

“And what did you smell?” Y/N asked and James could notice she was holding her breath back.

“Home,” the messy-haired boy answered with a gentle smile, his hazel eyes lingering on Y/N’s. “And it smelled like patchouli, sandalwood and cranberries.”

Slowly realizing he was describing her scents, Y/N’s cheeks heated up furiously as she stared at the boy she has been fancying for so long, her eyes widened in shock.

“James is this one of your jokes? If it is, I swear to Godric-“

“No, love. I’d never joke about something like that. I’d never do something like that to you,” he smiled gently. “I’m in love with you, madly in love with you. I have been for years. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”

“In that case, would you get off this broom already so I can kiss you?” Y/N said with a lovingly frown.

“Gladly!” James’ face lit up as he hurriedly closed the space between his broom and the window, hopping inside the girl’s dorm.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Y/N shook her head with a smile.

“About you? Definitely!” James grabbed Y/N by her waist and crashed his lips into her, finally tasting what true happiness was like.

[scripturiends]

gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Read on ao3

Summary: It was the one time her hunch had been wrong.

In which Han Joonhwi is acting suspicious, and Kang Sol A intends to find out why.

Rating: T

Word count: 3,848

Notes: Title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘invisible string’: “Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs; were there clues I didn’t see?”

~

As promised, here is the Solhwi fic that I had hoped to be up before Episode 7 airs. I went straight to work after receiving positive feedback from an interest check post. As I mentioned there, the story isn’t necessarily dwelling on the current timeline, but is, for the most part, still canon-compliant. I totally made up all the legal jargon, so please bear with me. And, like the show, I decided to do ‘cutscenes’ instead of one unilinear fic.

I had a lot of fun with this little project for the past two days, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :) I’d also love to hear your thoughts, please do send me a message or feel free to comment, it would mean the absolute world to me. Thank you and let’s all look forward to Episodes 7 and 8 this week!

The fic is under the cut. As a sidenote, this fic is un-beta’ed. All mistakes are mine.

~

I.

Kang Sol A swears she only drifted off for a second.

She had been burning the midnight oil for the past few days, well into the weekend, so much that the tension was radiating into her atmosphere, so much that the heat was starting to get to her head. Her Civil Code paper may not write itself, but neither could she if it took every ounce of her energy just to even sit up. So she plopped down on her bed, head heavy on her pillow, still fighting the urge to doze off.

She blinked, slowly, and as her eyes fluttered at an alarming rate, they eventually closed — just for a moment, I’ll count to ten and then wake up again — and stilled.

Birds were chirping outside her window when her eyes shot open, and that’s how she knew she messed up big-time. She woke with a start, frantically shaking off the books and papers off her person and frisking for her phone, silently praying that she wasn’t too late for her meeting with her project partner Seo Jiho, who she knows absolutely despises latecomers.

Sol A felt something vibrate from behind her, and an incomprehensible sound escaped her lips as she checked her phone. There were mountains of notifications that prevented her from checking the current time: self-set alarms, e-mails from her professors, reminders about today’s meeting with Jiho, and missed calls from a certain Han Joonhwi.

Clearing all of them at once, she finally reads: 9:07 AM. She was supposed to meet Jiho at 9:15. Sol A breathes a sigh of relief, but her momentary celebration is cut short when her phone starts to ring.

Han Joonhwi was calling again.

She didn’t even get a chance to speak yet when the voice on the other end asked, “Breakfast?”

Sol A put him on speaker phone as she packed up her things. “Can’t,” she replied mindlessly. “I have to meet with Seo Jiho and I’m already late. Eat by yourself.”

A few seconds of silence went unnoticed as Kang Sol A zipped up her knapsack and wore it over her shoulder. She finally picked up her phone and switched back to the handset. “Don’t skip breakfast, you hear me?”

Still nothing. “Joonhwi-ah.”

“Walk fast,” was all he said. And then he hung up.

That caught Sol A off guard, but she heeded the advice anyway.

She made it to the study room at exactly 9:13, only stopping by the entrance to catch her breath and tie her hair back into a ponytail. It was silent, so she half-hoped that no one would be there, but half-expected nothing less from Jiho. So she walks in, footsteps heavy, only skidding to a halt when she sees Jiho staring someone down, someone whose back looked all-too-familiar.

“You like her, don’t you?” she overhears from Jiho. “Kang So-”

Jiho suddenly fell silent at the sight of Sol A, and the man opposite him suddenly turned his head towards her. She was right about who it was — it was none other than the person she spoke with on the phone just a few minutes ago.

If Joonhwi was surprised, he didn’t show it.

But Kang Sol A did. She blinked once, and with a hint of dubiousness, she asked, “Who likes who?”

The men shared a look, and she was met with silence again, which was beginning to irk her. But she bit her tongue, took a seat across Seo Jiho, and grinned cheekily at him. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You aren’t...” Jiho replied, trailing off.

“I am by your standards. I know you,” she said matter-of-factly. “For Seo Jiho, ‘on time’ actually means ‘thirty minutes early’. Which means I’m late.”

Sighing wistfully, Sol A added, “I learned that the hard way.”

She locks eyes with Joonhwi momentarily, but he averts his gaze, expression unreadable. Sol A ignores this and tries her luck once more, eyes flitting from Jiho to Joonhwi and back. “Who were you guys talking about?”

This time, almost with no hesitation, Joonhwi finally spoke up. “No one,” he answered. “My roommate was just practicing his cross-examination skills on me.”

He stood up, giving Seo Jiho a final staredown. “They’re very poor at the moment. Help him out, will you?”

Then, without looking Kang Sol A in the eye, he gave her a soft squeeze on the shoulder, and promptly left.

Sol A’s eyes followed Joonhwi’s back, and stayed there even after he left. His touch lingered on her shoulder like a ghost, but instead of comfort, all she felt was fear. Suspicion. Restlessness. That maybe he was hiding something, and whether it involved her or not, she was keen on finding out just exactly what it was.

II.

“I’m telling you, Yeseul-ah,” Sol A insists. “Something’s up with him.”

They link arms, walking past the school entrance and into the lobby. Jeon Yeseul turns to her, hair falling perfectly into place as she lets out an angelic laugh. God, Sol A thinks. Even her laugh is perfect. But past the admiration for her Aphrodite-like features, Sol A feels like she’s being mocked.

She pouts. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do!” Yeseul defends. “You think he likes Kang Sol B.”

Sol A slides her left hand off Yeseul’s arm and holds her friend’s right one lightly. “So why are you laughing at me, then?”

“Unnie.” Yeseul wraps an arm around Sol A’s shoulder. “Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe Joonhwi-oppa likes you?”

Sol A almost choked on her spit. Of course she’s thought about it — after all, she’s a hundred percent certain that it was the name Kang Sol that slipped from Seo Jiho’s mouth a few days ago. But none of the evidence so far points to it being herself. And anyway, it’s not as if he’s shown any interest in Sol A as a woman. In fact, all he does is tease her. And she’s okay with that. And Sol B already likes Joonhwi. And they seem to be a far better fit than Sol A and Joonhwi. And it’s not like she harbors any romantic feelings for him, either.

She pushes the thought away before it could become bigger.

Sol A denies, deflects, and defends. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?” her friend challenges.

“Why would he be avoiding me if that were true?” Sol A counters.

“People do that when they feel awkward around their crush,” Yeseul rebuts.

This is starting to feel like a game of chess rather than a conversation between best friends. “I think he’s just scared I’ll tell my roommate or something.” Before Yeseul could say anything else, by some stroke of luck, Sol A spots Joonhwi from her peripheral vision, walking past Lady Justice.

Yeseul smiles kindly at Sol A. She doesn’t doubt its genuineness, but she feels like it’s laced with mischief. “Should we test your theory, then?”

What does that mean?

“Joonhwi-oppa!” Yeseul shouts, waving at him from across the room.

She’s not going to ask him, is she?

Yeseul runs to Joonhwi, a light skip in her step. “I have something to ask you.”

Wait.

“Wait,” escaped from Sol A’s lips, barely a whisper before it started registering on her what Yeseul was about to do. And when it does, she finally sprints. “Jeon Yeseul, wait!”

“Oppa.” Yeseul bats her eyelashes at Joonhwi. Sol A was in tow behind her, feeling small but unsure why.

“Oh, Yeseul-ah,” Joonhwi greets. His eyes lit up at the sight of his friend and classmate.

While it pained Sol A to just sit back and watch, knowing that Joonhwi had been purposefully avoiding her, she let the scene unfold, trusting that Yeseul knew what she was doing.

“You haven’t been going to the study group sessions lately,” Yeseul starts.

Sol A hoped it would get a rise out of him, seeing as he was the one who started the group to begin with, but was barely showing up these days. Instead, all he said was, “The pair project in Civil Code has been holding me up.”

Yeah, right, she thinks. A second-round judicial exam passer and a former police academy student having a hard time in Civil Code? Why do I find that hard to believe?

Sol A scoffs, and Yeseul pinches her side. “Sol-unnie and I are meeting the others for lunch. You should come join us.”

“Ah,” Joonhwi drawled out slowly, as if coming up with an excuse to say no. Sol A expects it to be his next move. “I wish I could, but-”

Knew it.

“Kang Sol B will be there,” Sol A blurts out, fully aware that it’s a total lie. Still, she had to try.

Something in Joonhwi’s mood changed, and his face hardened. Still not making eye contact with Sol A, he excuses himself from Yeseul. “I’ll take a rain check today, okay?”

And without another word, he left again, leaving Sol A with the same emptiness that she had felt in the study room the other day.

Yeseul finally turns to Sol A, crossing her arms. “You’re right. He’s being weird.”

III.

A few more days without Joonhwi’s company, and Sol A was starting to feel its ill effects on her. She hadn’t realized just how much she took him for granted until he was no longer around to challenge her ideas, to annoy her over the littlest of things, to calm her down when she’s freaking out, to be her drinking buddy, to be someone she could tell any and every stupid story to, with the utmost confidence that he’ll keep it to himself or that he wouldn’t belittle her for it.

They’d been through too much together now, and even their fateful first meeting all those years ago didn’t faze him from her. In fact, her little scheme, no matter how deceitful at the time, brought him closer not just to her, but to Byeol, her mom, and to an extent, even Dan.

So what changed? What on earth did Seo Jiho say to him, and what on earth did she walk into, that made him close himself off from her? Proximity may not breed familiarity, but right now she wishes nothing more than to be in his orbit again.

Arguably the worst consequence of the lack of Joonhwi in Sol A’s life right now is having no one to eat with.

During one of her all-nighters at the dorm, she found herself with an intense craving for some ramyeon. She removed her earphones, partly to pull herself back to reality, but mostly to ask her roommate to have a meal with her. As if Sol B would say yes, but it was worth a shot.

“I’m going downstairs for a bite. You wanna come?”

No response, as expected from Kang Sol B. Sol A inwardly rolled her eyes, spinning in her chair to tease her roommate, only to find the desk empty.

She scratched her head while walking, wondering where Sol B could be at this time of night. And without a heads up, too… She was getting worried.

But it seems like her concern was all for naught, because Sol B was right where Sol A was headed.

And she was there with Han Joonhwi.

She was laughing. It was the first time that she saw Sol B laugh, maybe ever, and to see that Joonhwi could be someone who could do that for her, made Sol A feel proud. Like knowing Han Joonhwi was a privilege, not only because of the way he could make people comfortable around him, but also because Sol A had once been on the receiving end of it herself.

She should be relieved. In fact, she should be happy. Because it means that her guess was right, which means she doesn’t have to keep digging anymore. She could just tell Joonhwi that his secret’s safe with her, and they could finally go back to the way they were before... Right?

And yet something about witnessing the pair interact as a mere bystander didn’t sit right with Sol A. There’s a pang in her chest that she can’t quite comprehend — maybe she just misses him, or maybe it’s something else completely. Because if Han Joonhwi has feelings for Kang Sol B, and they’re together right now, then that leaves only one explanation: he must be avoiding her, and for a completely different reason.

It was the first time her hunch had been wrong.

Needless to say, Sol A lost her appetite and trudged back upstairs lifelessly, a bitter taste in her mouth and an ache in her stomach that she couldn’t quite place where it even came from.

IV.

Come Friday, Sol A was too exhausted to even think about Han Joonhwi. Between the endless deadlines and papers to write, her job in the copy room, and the Seo Byungju case, her energy had been too depleted and her social battery too worn out to even care that her relationships could be falling apart.

The only thing she has going for her now is the Legal Clinic, the one place where she could bury her nose deep in case digests and law readings and she would absolutely never get tired of it, because it’s the one place where she feels like she’s making a real difference, especially when people’s lives are at stake. It was the remaining part of her life where Sol A felt like she was in control, so these days, all her emotionally-charged passion was focused on this one thing.

But of course that had to fall apart too, when Professor Yang asked for her to stay after class.

He cut right to the chase. “I’ll be meeting with my defense lawyer today so I need you to consult with the client in my stead.”

Count on Yangcrates to always give Sol A a heart attack in under two seconds.

“M-me?” she stuttered.

The professor’s face twitched, ever-so-slightly, which Sol A took as a sign to backtrack and confidently proclaim that she’s up to the task. She knows there’s nothing Yang Jonghoon hates more than a quitter.

“Ah, yes, of course,” she accedes, with a little more verve.

He nods once in her direction. “And take Han Joonhwi with you,” he commanded.

She’s doomed. Not that she wasn’t doomed before, but now that Professor Yang had to drag her personal life into this, she was really in shambles.

Sol A clears her throat. “With all due respect, Sir,” she laughs nervously, “don’t you trust me?”

Professor Yang takes a moment to think about it. Sol A wonders if today’s the day she finally gets a definitive answer. But Yangcrates is as sly as ever. “This is your chance to get back at him for the Bad FaMa case. Make him your assistant this time.”

He walks away, leaving Sol A dumbfounded once again, but not before he adds, “Under my orders, of course.”

Sol A’s knees buckled at the thought. Normally, she would find this predicament to be absolutely funny, a chance to bicker with Joonhwi and learn something from him at the same time. But he’s angry at her, and she doesn’t even know why, and even merely approaching him has turned into a problem.

Everything in Sol A’s life right now is a problem. She wonders if it's getting Joonhwi back that would fix everything.

Upon leaving the classroom, she spots him getting a drink from the vending machine. She has to slap herself twice, just to mentally prepare herself, to muster up the courage to approach him again.

“Come on, Sol,” she whispers to herself. “This isn’t hard.”

Shaking off the nerves, she takes a step forward, but in a momentary state of weakness, takes another step back. “So what if he’s mad? That’s his problem. I’ve never given him a reason to be angry. He should suck it up. Not me. Come on. Just do it.”

A step forward.

“Just do it.”

A step back.

“Goddamn it.”

One final step back to boost herself forward, and she’s running towards him, pretending to be as casual as possible. “Han Joonhwi!” she calls out to him.

His eyes widen at the sight of her, knowing he has nowhere to escape.

“Did you get my text? Professor Yang needs our help at the Legal Clinic.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

Joonhwi scratched the back of his head, and Sol A just knows it’s about to be another lame excuse. “I can’t. I’m meeting Sol B for our Civil Code term paper.”

He can’t even look at her, and Sol A wonders just how bad she had hurt Joonhwi for him to feel like this towards her. But that only lasted for a second, when she realized just exactly what he said. Then, her pity turned into irritation, as she accused, “Liar.”

Sol A crossed her arms, and glared at Joonhwi. “Did you forget that I’m her roommate? She went home today.”

V.

Sol A sat across Joonhwi inside the Legal Clinic, her eyes narrowed to slits. A profound silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by a sharp inhale from her.

“You like Kang Sol B, don’t you?”

The only response she got was Han Joonhwi’s signature smirk, playful and taunting, one that said, ‘You don’t know me, and you never will’.

She hated that.

She slammed a hand on the table, and pointed at him accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have kept your secret if you just asked. Is that why you were avoiding me? Because you think I’d tell her or something?”

The same smile painted on his face, Joonhwi exhaled defeatedly. “Kang Sol A, I thought I taught you to never make any claims with unfounded bases.”

An eyebrow perched up on Sol A’s end. “It’s not unfounded,” she argues.

“Where’s your evidence, then?” he dared her.

Sol A had been waiting for this. She listed everything he had ever done — or refused to do, which was spend time with her, speak to her, or even look at her, which was absolutely the bare minimum — since the incident with Seo Jiho up to this very moment.

He waves his hand dismissingly. “That’s all speculative.”

If his goal was to rile her up, then it’s definitely working. “Then what about what I heard Seo Jiho tell you that one time? And most importantly, you straight up lied to my face.”

“Circumstantial,” he quips. “That would never hold up in court, especially not when the only witness is yourself. How are you going to be both the defense lawyer and the sole witness?”

Han Joonhwi should be at the edge of the precipice here, and yet he has managed to flip the situation over and turn it into an interrogation for Kang Sol A.

Nothing can hide her frustration anymore. “I would never be the lawyer in my own case. Look, it’s still evidence. You asked, and I gave it. Seriously, Han Joonhwi, what’s with you?”

Instead of a direct answer, he points out, “You rely on your emotions too much.”

Almost immediately, she shoots back, “And you rely on the law too much. This isn’t a courtroom. This is a human conversation.”

He purses his lips, unable to say anything, and Kang Sol A continues. “You’re too stubborn.”

“And you’re too nosy.”

“You’ve benefited from it more than once.” Sol A’s patience is getting thinner by the second. “Can’t you just tell me what I did so that I can either apologize for it or call you out for being wrong?”

“You and Sol B are hardly friends. What reason would I have to be afraid?” Amusement gleamed in Joonhwi’s eyes; Sol A was astounded by how he could stay so nonchalant about this. “Think.”

She glared at him, but still ceded. Damn his tenacity. “Fine, I’ll play along.”

She rolled her eyes, and in a blasé manner, started to think out loud. “I overheard Jiho ask you if you liked Kang Sol, and then you started avoiding me. Yeseul asked you to join us for lunch, and when I said Sol B would be there, even though she really wasn’t, you declined. So I thought it was her that you liked. But it doesn’t make sense, because I saw you two hanging out at the cafeteria that one night-”

His arrogant expression changed to one of shock. “You did?”

“-and then you straight up lied to me about your plans. Unless you two are already dating-”

“We’re not,” he interrupts once more. Sol A eyes him with suspicion. “We’re not,” he repeats indignantly.

“-it could only mean that you do like Kang Sol…”

Joonhwi starts slowly nodding, face a little flushed, but somehow urging her on to continue.

“...just not B. You like-”

“Kang Sol A.” Professor Yang enters the room, calling out her name.

She’s sure her professor asked her to do something, but she was unmoved. At this point, she doesn’t think anything could pull her out of her reverie for the rest of the day.

A veil that covered her eyes was lifted, and she had never been so pitiful of the blindfold that Lady Justice wore. The scales Kang Sol A carried, as heavy as the burdens she was facing, balanced with Han Joonhwi holding them up with her. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand right at that moment, to feel the heaviness in its entirety, and thank him for staying anyway.

They don't talk for the rest of the day, but Kang Sol A is unbothered.

Her questioning attitude may have always gotten her in trouble in school, but this was the one time she was glad to be wrong.

Epilogue

Han Joonhwi fell asleep on his desk again.

He normally finishes up all his revisions early, but because of his agitation, the cold table seemed to be more inviting than the bed, where he simply ends up tossing and turning.

Despite the stiff neck it was bound to cause, he’s been doing it for days, only being woken up by his constant 8:30 alarms. This time, however, it was his gracious roommate Seo Jiho who finally interrupted him from his slumber.

Jiho slammed a sealed instant ramyeon pack on Joonhwi’s desk. He groggily looked up at his friend, whose hair was still disheveled, and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s from Kang Sol A.” Before walking away, he deadpanned, “Do your own bidding next time. I’m not your messenger.”

Joonhwi took the cup ramyeon, spotting the bright yellow sticky note on it, not unlike the ones he’d put on Sol A’s notebook, or occasionally, her forehead. He smiled to himself as he read the message, walking out to heat up some water for breakfast, but not before carefully displaying the note on his bulletin board for the whole world to see.

Han Joonhwi,

For a second-round judicial exam passer, you can be so dense.

I like you back, you idiot.

Now stop sulking and have breakfast with me.

Idiot.

~

Send me your thoughts/fic requests here!

[belphies-wife]

Sick Belphie Part 1

Belphie’s the youngest/the baby brother so when he’s sick everyone suddenly starts coddling him and taking care of him. I will die on this hill.

Also, again, no beta. We’re still dying like Lilith.

Oh, and I apologize for posting this late, I was quite busy of Wednesday and Thursday and couldn’t complete this on time. Sorry if it’s short.

If your requested something from me, please the bottom for a some information on how I’m dealing with requests.

Part 2 will (hopefully) be out sometime next week.

»»————-　♔　————-««

No one had noticed that Belphegor had fallen ill at first. He seemed normal, albeit maybe he had been sleeping more than usual, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The symptoms weren't concerning either. Even Belphegor hardly noticed it.

No, the realization came that night, when everyone had retired to their rooms and gone to sleep, and the night terrors had plagued their minds. Their darkest fears were pulled from their thoughts' deepest crevices and made into something so seemingly real.

You had been the first to wake up that night, face streaked with tears and a scream at the tip of your tongue. That was no normal nightmare. It seemed so real. Too real.

A cry echoed from down the hall, prompting you to leap out of bed and momentarily forget about your dream and rush towards the sound. Perhaps most people living under your circumstances would have learned never to rush headfirst into potentially dangerous situations. Still, you lacked any sense of self-preservation and never seemed to learn anything from your past experiences.

The noise had come from Mammon's room, and you didn't hesitate to slam open the door, bursting in.

"Mammon!? Are you alright!?" You asked, fearing for the worst.

Tears trickled down the Avatar of Greed's face. "Ain't nothin' serious." He muttered, wiping them off and turning away from you. "Just a bad dream."

"That's weird. I had a nightmare too. What did you dream about?"

Mammon shook his head. "I don't wanna say."

"It's alright. You don't have to if you don't want to." You said. "Don't you think it's strange that we both had a nightmare at the same time?"

Mammon sniffed, thinking for a moment. "If the others also had nightmares, then maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe Belphie's sick."

You frowned. "You should go back to sleep. I'll investigate." You were out the door to find Beel already awake. He seemed surprised to see you.

"Did you have any bad dreams?" You asked.

Beel blinked at you, confused. "How'd you know?"

"Mammon and I did too."

Beel frowned before the realization dawned in him. "Belphie..." He said, furrowing his brow in concern.

You made your way over to Belphie's bed, inspecting the sleeping demon for any signs of illness. First, you had to move the pile of blankets stacked on top of him so that you could get a good look at him.

The poor Avatar of Sloth's face was flushed with fever and despite the three blankets he had wrapped around his body, he was shivering.

"Oh, you poor thing." You cooed, pressing your palm against his clammy forehead. He subconsciously leaned into your touch, the coolness of your head providing temporary relief. 

“I’m sorry. I should have realized sooner.” Beel apologized.

“It’s not your fault.”

“You should get Lucifer. He’s probably awake already. Belphie... when he gets sick he causes everyone asleep at the same time as him to have nightmares. Well, everyone around him, at least. He can’t help it.”

You nodded your head and headed of to Lucifer’s room, sparing Belphegor one last glance. You made sure to knock, just in case Beel had been wrong. He wasn’t.

“Belphie’s sick.” You told Lucifer once he opened the door. “He has a really high fever. Can you check on him? I’m worried.” You asked.

Lucifer was already making his was to Beel and Belphie’s room, his pace significantly faster than usual. You were almost jogging to keep up with him.

Beel was by Belphie’s bed, fretting over his sick twin. He moved aside when he saw Lucifer come in.

The Avatar of Pride checked his youngest brother’s temperature like you had done before, concern flashing across his features.

“Is it bad?” Beel asked, the worry he had for his twin evident in his voice.

“He’ll recover, if that is what you are asking. We will, however, have to help in nursing him back to health.”

Belphegor stirred in his sleep, but didn’t open his eyes.

“Go ask Satan if he can make some sort of medicine.” Lucifer instructed you. “And Beel, go get a bowl of water and a clean washcloth. Let’s see if we can do something about that fever.”

Satan, after learning of her brother’s ailment, was quick to start concocting a medicine that he claiming would help make Belphie’s fever more bearable and clear his sinuses. You weren’t sure if his eagerness stemmed from concern or from the fact that he probably wouldn’t be getting a good night’s sleep until Belphie started recovering, but it was the thought that counted.

You returned to the twin’s room to inform Lucifer that Satan was working on the medicine. There, you found that Belphie had woken up, though his eyes were barely open.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” You asked him, but he only muttered something incomprehensible in response. You didn’t push him to repeat himself.

“Go back to sleep. You need your rest.” Lucifer told Belphegor with a softness you’ve never heard in his voice before. “We were all supposed to be awake in an hour, anyways.”

Belphie closed his eyes again. It didn’t take long for him to drift off.

“Would you be alright with staying with him for the day? We have a student council meeting to attend to.” Lucifer said.

“Of course.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

Hi! Thank you so much for everyone who requested something from me! All of the requests have been quite long so far, so, as stated in my bio, I’ll be posting them on Sundays. I have three so far, so I’ll be doing the first this Sunday, and the second on the next one, and so on and so forth. If you’d like to make a request but have it posted sooner, try to limit your request to it being for a maximum of four characters, or request a full fic instead of a listfic/headcanon for one character.

You guys have been so sweet with my first few posts and it makes me unbelievably happy that there are so many of you enjoying my content. I thank you all from the very bottom of my heart <3

Thank you so much for reading!

Request a Fic/Headcanon || Obey Me Masterlist

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | C.S.

view pinned post for masterlist!

Genre: smut (mostly suggestive in this part though)

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: blood drinking, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

If you had to read the words pythagorean theorem one more time, you were gonna smash your brains in. 

You reached over to your phone, unlocking your screen to the group chat. 

y/n: anyone wanna come over and help me with this dumb problem? my heads gonna implode. 

chaeyeon: busy tonight, Y/N. lol, just summon a demon or smth. 

yuri: lmao that ouija board is still there right? I think we left it under your bed 

chaeyeon: I don’t think you summon demons with a ouija board, yuri

y/n: ugh you guys are no help. brb, summoning demon...

You realized how weird this conversation would sound from an outside perspective, but it was a sort of inside joke you had within your friend group. You and your friends had joked about ‘summoning a demon’ before, and you’d even used a Oujia board a few times and done fake seances to freak each other out. The results were always disappointing—not that you ever actually wanted to contact the dead or anything, but you were at least hoping for a spooky story or something you could tell. 

You knew they were joking around, but your brain felt a little delirious from all the math churning it into mush. 

You switched tabs from your test, typing in the search bar “how to summon a demon”. You chuckled a little under your breath at the ridiculousness. But at least then you could tell your friends you actually tried. They’d get a kick out of that. 

You followed a few rabbit holes down some forums, mockingly reciting strings of incomprehensible Latin. If you were gonna do this, you were gonna commit fully. 

“You called?”

You scrambled backwards, nearly jumping a foot off the bed at the sudden unfamiliar voice echoing in the room. 

Then you saw him. 

He was perched on your bookshelf, one leg dangling lackadaisically over the edge, the other folded up at his side. You caught a glimpse of his piercing crimson-red eyes illuminated in the dim candle-lit room. He looked particularly cat-like in his position, a devilish grin painted on his face, what looked like fangs coming to two sharp points in his mouth.

The man picked up a pen from your bookshelf, twirling it in his hand casually with playful twists of his fingers. “You’re new…” he mused, glancing at you up and down. “And... cute. Fresh blood. How'd you get my number, hmm?”

You sat stunned, dizzy from confusion. Your words were lodged in your throat, unable to utter a single sound. This had to be a dream, right? Had you fallen asleep while working on your homework? It wouldn't be the first time.

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the oak of the bookcase, waiting for your next move. The only words you could manage came out in a hoarse croak, shaky and uncertain. "This—I'm dreaming…" 

He shook his head, clicking his tongue tauntingly against his teeth. "Oh, there's a lot of things I could do right now to assure you you aren't," he started, the gleam in his eye particularly sinister as he drew his gaze up and down. "But trust me. You wouldn't want that." 

“Who—”

“I have a lot of names, but you can just call me San. Your friendly neighborhood demon.” He flashed a fiendish smirk. “Well, maybe don’t linger too much on the ‘friendly’ part.”

“D—demon?”

“What, you didn’t know? You’re the one who summoned me, darling.” He drew out his words, slowly, carefully, continuing to play with the pen in his fingers. The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, as if he had the power to kill you at any moment. He probably did.  

He pressed his palms against the top of the shelf to hoist himself off, the books on it threatening to topple with the sudden movement. The minute he vaulted down from the shelf, you were able to get a better look at him. 

The first thing that drew your eye was his impossibly broad shoulders, accentuated by the tight cut of his shirt. It contrasted against his tiny waist, cinched in neatly with a belt. His proportions were unreal, and so very fittingly non-human. He was undoubtedly the most incredible sight you'd ever seen in your life, human or otherwise. He made his way over to the bed where you sat. You snapped your laptop closed, pushing it to the side, your blood turning to ice as he inched closer to you. The way he sauntered across the floor almost seemed like he was floating, like gravity was merely a fun game to him.  

He poised himself over you, his powerful stance alone commanding you to look at him. His fingernail dragged under your chin with a distinct sting, pulling your gaze up to his intense eyes. It was cold, like a dull knife, causing your body to tremble slightly. His piercing eye-contact was entrancing, even spell-binding—you couldn't tear your eyes away. "How cute," he teased sing-songily, “you’re a virgin.”

Your eyes widened, still pulled in by his magnetic gaze. “How did you—” 

"I can smell one from a mile away. The scent… it's just so…" he paused to lick his lips, drawing his tongue slowly over his black metal lip ring. "delicious." 

“Anyway, you must have had a reason to summon me, no? A soul to harvest? A sacrifice maybe?” Something about his tone was giddy at the idea. “At your service, darling.” He drew down in a playful bow, his mouth twitching into a smirk. 

You hated to say it, but he was entirely your type. From up close, you could see his other piercings more clearly, several earrings lining both ears, glimmering against the cartilage. His right eyebrow donned a shaved slit, decorated with another piercing. Of course the demon you summoned in your dream would be your ideal man. Well, he kind of looked like the edgy Hot-topic boy of your 7th grade self’s dreams, but you couldn’t deny that was still kind of your type still. His jet-black hair framed the sharp cut of his jaw perfectly—you were sure he could see you practically drooling over him at this point.  He looked crafted by heaven—hell?—itself.  

Even so, no single part of you desired for him to take your virginity right this second. Maybe under different circumstances, but not with the time ticking down on your math assignment and the fact that he was a fucking demon you just conjured into your room.

You shook your lewd thoughts out of your head, worried for a moment that demons might have some sort of mind-reading powers you weren’t aware of. “Well, uh, actually… I need help with my math homework.”

He snickered, his eyes trained on you like prey. “You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re not serious.”

“I’m kind of serious. It’s like 10% of my grade.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth again, breaking eye contact finally, and you felt a sense of relief as you finally had a moment to breathe away from his suffocating glare.“For someone who just summoned a demon you’re a real buzzkill.”  He perched himself on the edge of the bed, resting his butt lightly against the edge of the frame. “Fine,” he groaned. “Let’s say I actually helped you. You know how this works, right? If I do something for you, you have to give me something in return.”

You gulped. This was a dream, it had to be, and the best you could do was go along for the ride. Even so, you couldn’t help but feel shaken, despite doing your best to convince yourself it wasn’t real—like some sort of subconscious defense mechanism your body employed in danger. And, well, he kind of seemed like danger. “Like what?”

“Well, normally...” He glanced back over, pinning you down with his gaze once again. “It’d be your soul.” 

Your breath stopped in your throat. You weren’t quite sure if you were ready to give up your entire soul for 10% of your math grade, although that was a pretty accurate metaphor for your college experience. 

“Your virginity maybe?” he hummed, drawing his tongue back over his lips, then, seeing your expression, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “No? Damn. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Um… I can offer to make you dinner?”

He paused, his eyes widening for a second, then burst into a cacophony of laughter. It was the first time he broke his exterior, and for a moment, he looked a bit more human. “I’ll take it.” Then, more “but you realize a contract with a demon is binding, right?”

 “So, I’m contractually obligated to make you dinner, that’s what you’re saying?”

He paused, his smile turning amused once more. “Feisty. I like you,” he winked flirtatiously, sending heat rising in your cheeks. You hated to say it, but he was devilishly charming, on top of being probably the hottest being, human or not, you’d ever seen. 

You glanced at your phone, noting the time ticking down slowly but surely.  “Okay, I’m not joking. The math. My assignment is due in 45 minutes.” 

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He sat next to your side on the bed for a while, guiding you through the problems like some sort of hot e-boy math tutor. Not that you were complaining about that. The way he sat was surprisingly cute, one leg tucked up at his side, the other folded underneath him.

“Where’d you learn math, anyway?” you asked, admiring his immaculate side profile as his eyes trained on the laptop screen, typing the answers in. “They have like, demon school or something?”

He gave you a side glance, and you once again felt uneasy under the heat of his gaze. “A demon never reveals his secrets.”

“I thought that was a magician.” 

He visibly stifled a laugh, pressing his lips tightly to avoid giving you the satisfaction of breaking his serious exterior. “Can you be quiet? I’m focusing. I’m a demon, not a mathematician. This is way out of my scope of work,” he grumbled through his teeth. 

You watched him silently as he worked. As he typed, his tongue lingered just outside his parted lips in concentration. “Even you sitting next to me is distracting,” he hissed quietly. “You don’t realize what your scent is doing to me right now.”

Right. Your virgin scent. Was that really so appealing to him? 

“Fine. I guess I’ll go make dinner. You promise you’re gonna turn this in in time?” 

“I’m contractually obligated,” he responded dryly. 

You hoisted yourself off the bed and headed to the kitchen to make dinner,  but something about leaving a stranger in your room felt strange. No stranger than accepting he was a demon, though, you supposed. 

You returned with a large plate of pasta, pretty much the only thing you had on hand. He received it apprehensively from you. 

“What?” you asked, offended at his look of disgust. “Sorry, I didn’t have any fresh human souls on hand. My bad.”  

You sat across from him on the bed, watching in fascination as he nibbled slowly at the thin spaghetti noodles. “You have any hot sauce or anything?” he asked, wincing as he took a few more bites. 

“I barely had enough pasta to feed two people. I’m a broke college student. Anyway, I never forced you to accept the dinner offer.” 

“I didn’t think it’d be so bland. What, you didn’t know demons prefer spicy food?”

“I didn’t know demons existed until today. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. This is all a dream I’m going to wake up from in a bit anyway.”

A wicked smirk danced up on his lips again. “Oh, you still think it’s a dream? Cute,” he sang condescendingly. “Well, then I guess it wouldn’t matter if I did this...”  

Your heart seemed to stop in your chest as he crawled forward on his palms. You felt his breath linger on your neck first, then the gentle scrape of his pointed canines against your sensitive skin. Every hair on your body stood up. He pressed them down slightly, just enough to feel the tension on your flesh. Then he bit harder, nearly piercing as he sunk them in.

You reeled back, shoving him off you breathlessly. “What the fuck-”

“You still think it’s a dream? Then it wouldn’t matter if it sunk my teeth in. You’d just wake up, right? Isn’t that how dreams are supposed to work?” he taunted, a smile curled up on his lip. His fangs gleamed under the still-dim light of your bedroom. “Humans are so amusing,”   

You wiped at your neck, rubbing circles where his teeth pinched your skin. He sat himself upright again and stood up from the bed. “Well, my end of the deal is over. Consider you released from your contract.” 

“You’re leaving?”

“Well I’m not gonna stay here.” His hand came up to his ear like a phone. “Call me if you have a soul to harvest. You know my number.” 

He was gone before you could blink, like an apparition, disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. Your eyelids grew heavier as you reflected what had just happened, and you wondered what would happen if you fell asleep in a dream. Would you just wake up? 

You collapsed into bed, still unsure whether or not the past few hours had actually happened or not. Part of you hoped they had—there was something about him that was so deeply captivating, you would do anything to see him again. 

As he said, you did have his ‘number’.

You woke up dazed, still unsure if you had dreamt the events of the night before. The only sure way to know was to check your assignment—if you had really fallen asleep while doing your homework, you wouldn’t have turned the assignment in, right?

You opened your online class page, scanning for the assignment, and there it was, in bold letters: 

Submitted: 98%. 

Your breath caught in your throat. You felt two distinct emotions: relief that you got the assignment turned in, and complete disbelief that your encounter last night was not part of your imagination.

You could summon him again. 

He seemed about as harmless as a demon could seem. At first, he had been entirely intimating—his aura made it seem like he could have eaten your soul right there with no second thoughts. But watching that powerful being, capable of so much evil and chaos, do something as mundane as your math homework… that was the most entertaining, and almost adorable thing, you’d ever witnessed. 

Besides, you had something he desired, something you could dangle in front of him to keep him coming back. You had your virginity, which seemed to be the ultimate prize for a demon like him. The way he had talked about it last night, it seemed you were irresistible for him. But he also accepted your rejection so easily. 

As long as you kept drafting up meaningless contracts, he had to oblige, right? You weren’t sure exactly how it worked, but that’s how it seemed from your interactions last night. If it worked like you thought it did, his job as a demon was to make a contract with his summoner, no matter how insignificant, as long as he takes something in return. 

That night, you read the same latin phrase you had before he’d appeared, this time off a sticky note push-pinned in your wall. 

You heard him again before you saw him, and you whipped your head around to see where he was standing behind you. 

He wore the same playful, devilish smirk, displaying his fangs. “Hmm, you decided to let me harvest your soul now, have you? That was quick.”

It had barely been 24 hours, and yet you’d already forgotten how incredibly hot he was, for lack of a better word. Your lips parted slightly in awe, forgetting for a second to formulate a response. 

“I hope your silence is a yes,” he interrupted. 

You shook your attraction to him out of your head for a moment, remembering what you brought him here for. “I want you to clean my bathroom.”

He laughed in disbelief, plopping himself down on the bed. “I’m sorry, you want me to what?”

“That’s how this works right? I summon you and do what I want. And I give you something in return.” You leaned against the desk behind you. 

“What am I, your errand boy?”

“But that is how this works, right?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth in annoyance. “Yes,” he grumbled reluctantly. “But what do I get this time?”

“I cook you dinner again.”

“I’m gonna need more than that.”

“I’ll let you bite my neck. Draw blood if you want.”

His eyes widened at your proposal. His reaction confirmed your suspicion—the blood of a virgin must be like crack to a demon like him. His face went flush. “Deal,” he confirmed eagerly. 

You watched him as he cleaned, and there was something satisfying about watching this bloodthirsty demon scrubbing the bathtub on his hands and knees. He almost looked a bit pathetic. You stood in the door frame, unable to help from grinning at making him perform such menial tasks. A lot more was at stake now than just dinner, so you might as well have some fun with his end of the bargain. Even on his knees, you couldn’t help but watch him in awe. Every part of him was sculpted immaculately—his appearance was distinctly human, and yet he was in all other ways otherworldly. 

“I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to some human’s lowly errand boy,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“Less talking, more scrubbing,” you demanded with a smirk, and he shot you a deathly glare. 

You followed through with your promise of dinner, and this time you came prepared with hot sauce. He devoured it eagerly, and you felt proud for making a dinner worthy of a demon’s praise. 

But there was still one more promise you had to follow through on, and the thought made your head spin.  

He sat across from you on the bed, eyes trained on your neck in a very un-subtle display of desire. You’d never felt so wanted, even if it was just the thought of your virgin blood that had him practically drooling. 

“You sure about this?” he asked hesitantly. It was strange that he was even asking permission, as he seemed so eager the other night to just sink his teeth right into you. 

“I’m contractually obligated,” you teased dryly. Then, more seriously, “But yes, I am.” 

He placed his left hand on your neck, steadying it in place. His fierce, almost predatory gaze washed over you completely. 

He leaned forward, parting his lips to drag his teeth gently along your neck. You tipped your head back, giving him a better angle. He teased there for a while, lingering his sharp canines on your skin. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck, the warmth of it sending chills rocketing down your spine. Your lips parted slightly, gentle moans escaping at the sensation. The situation was predatory, and yet it felt completely sensual in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

He paused for a moment, lips fluttering over your skin as he spoke. “You have no idea how hard it is not to completely drain you,” he whispered, voice dripping off his tongue with a sort of lustful hunger. “I promise I’ll only take a bit.”

He sunk down, and you heard it before you felt it—the distinct sound of teeth piercing flesh. You cried out a bit, bringing your own hand to your mouth to muffle your whines. It stung a bit, but in a twisted way, there was something about it you liked. You felt his tongue draw over your wound slowly, lapping deliberately at the fresh blood like a starved animal.  

He moaned against you, and it echoed in your ear like the most divine sound you’ve ever heard. He may have been a demon, but his noises sounded like they came from heaven itself. He pulled your waist against his as he slowly bathed his tongue over the punctured flesh, his fingers squeezing as he grasped at your waist. He littered a few faint kisses across your blood-stained skin, moving slightly down towards your shoulder blades. The sudden sensation drew soft, pleasured moans from your lips. 

As he finally pulled away, parting his lips tenderly away from your skin, you caught the faintest glimmer of his blacked-out eyes before they flickered back to normal. His deep red irises sparkled like rubies as he maintained eye contact. He brought one of his hands up from your waist, gently wiping at his blood-stained lips with the back of his palm. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself for a second. Your skin tastes so sweet, like candy,” he praised softly, voice deep and wanting. “And your blood, fuck—it’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted.”

The seductive gleam in his eye signaled that you had awoken something in him, something you hadn’t meant to. He was still holding you, probably without even noticing, but you didn't want to draw his attention to it quite yet. You wanted to experience it for just a bit longer if you could. Something about the way he held your waist against his made you crave more of him. 

Almost as if a switch flipped, his expression went dark, his fingernails suddenly digging all the way into your waist. You yelped in pain as he nearly punctured the skin through your clothes. “I need you to walk away from me right now. Before I do something I’ll regret,” he growled. You watched as his eyes flashed to the same demonic black for a moment. 

You gulped, slowly backing yourself away from him, scrambling off the bed. "Farther," he groaned painfully, his breathing becoming heavy and labored. His hands clenched at the blanket on the bed, balling into restrained fists. "Now."

You ran from the room, your feet moving before you even knew where they were taking you. You ran all the way down the hallway to the front door, sliding your back down against it as you collapsed to the floor. Your limbs shook weakly, trying to calm yourself down. You must have sat there for an hour or more, completely frozen, not quite aware of the passing of time. You wiped the blood of your neck, but it didn't do much, smearing it across. 

When you managed to finally stand up again, you made your way hesitantly towards the door of the bedroom, swinging your head around the doorframe first. 

"San…?" you called apprehensively.

But he was gone, leaving only a light imprint on the sheets of the blood-stained bed and two deep punctures in your neck to remind you he was ever there.

[to be continued]

[millenniumblog]

[ID: A chart describing the core values of each of the nine Enneagram personality types with YuGiOh characters correlated to each of the types.]

YuGiOh Enneagram Analysis, Part #1

Please note that this is the “boring” informational post about Enneagram with the Types listed and explained as well as a few other things. The next post is what has the actual, in-depth character profiles promised!

Introduction & Motivation

Over the past several months, I have been trying to analyze my strengths and weaknesses as a writer and learn more. I have been writing fanfiction since I was a little kid, making my first FF.net account in 2003 when I would have been twelve years old. Even before that, I was a lurker and wrote fics to share with my childhood best friend on paper or floppy discs.

YuGiOh came into my life at some point shortly thereafter. I know this, because I spent my thirteenth birthday in a comic book shop, mostly watching some of my male friends play the trading card game. I had some of the cards, but I was never much of a player, unable to keep up with the seemingly rapid rule changes. Besides that, I was always way more interested in the story and characters than I was in the card game. I remember I even wanted to call “YuGiOh cards” “Duel Monsters” instead to make it seem a little closer to tween-y LARPing.

Eventually, I gave up on collecting cards or trying to ply the game. I felt that while my male friends didn’t mind me being around when they played, they weren’t extremely interested in helping me learn or keep up. I felt I had other strengths, so I started carrying around a notebook even more than I already did. I started my fledgling forays into online fandom. And YuGiOh was a big part of the beginning of that.

I can’t remember posting any YuGiOh fic in particular, and I’m sure that if I had it would make me cringe now. What I do remember is reading some and also spending a lot of time lying on my bed, headphones plugged into a small purple stereo, listening to the first of the two American-released CDs with YuGiOh-inspired music on them. In particular, the last three tracks were pieces of music from the original score composed for the 4Kids dub, which is - for some reason - different from the original Japanese music.

During that time, I would fantasize and conjure my own YuGiOh plots in my head, most of which were focused on the Ancient Egyptian and more spooky, spiritual, and horror themes in the show. I was really fascinated with the reincarnation angle, though my understanding of and opinions on how that works have grown with time.

Years went by, and I didn’t think about YuGiOh much at all. Then, something happened in 2018. I don’t know what got in my head, but it was like all the joy I once found in thinking about the YuGiOh characters came back in a giddy conversation with my childhood best friend. Then, for a little while, it wouldn’t leave me alone.

I started writing for the fandom then, and after several detours, I’m trying to get back in the groove of it.

My approach to the tone of YuGiOh-fanning is that it’s a bit serious, but it’s also with a tongue placed in my cheek because of how incomprehensible or silly the plot can be on a meta level. Sometimes, it almost brings tears to my eyes by being so over-the-top about something that, in the real world, would make no sense at all. But the drama, in the context of the universe, somehow rings true.

I think that’s all owing to how most of the primary characters are just... really freaking great characters.

It has often puzzled me. Like, did Takahashi do all this layering on purpose? Is it really there, or did earnest fanon just make it seem like it? And, as a person, I am always here for a good fan-and-canon symbiosis.

This post is going to be, from here on, an effort to match the YuGiOh characters to the 9 Enneagram Personality Types. I am writing this for my own benefit as I continue to work on my pet YuGiOh fanfiction project, It’s Always Sunny in Domino City, which is a mixture of YGOTAS-vibes-and-concepts taken seriously and a sincere take on fanfiction for the actual canon. It’s dramedy about a sizeable chunk of the main cast a few years post-canon with some canon divergence such as the Memory World arc not yet and possibly never-happening. If that sounds like something you’d like, I would humbly request you check it out!

Either way, this will be an in-depth character analysis cheatsheet for all of the characters above, based on my observations, opinions, and feelings. I invite discussion, but it’s fine if we need to agree to totally disagree!

If you are interested and enjoy what’s below the Read More and in the coming second post, then you are welcome to utilize the character analyses to aid you in your own fanwork!

Enneagram

What is Enneagram, and why am I using it?

Enneagram is a personality categorization system that one might compare to the somewhat better-known MBTI. However, in the words of excellent writing-advice YouTuber, Abbie Emmons:

MBTI shows us how we behave.

Enneagram shows us what we believe.

I will be referencing Abbie’s video Using The ENNEAGRAM To Write CONFLICTED CHARACTERS and her free Enneagram-cheatsheet, available in the description of the linked video. Whether it’s before you continue reading or after, if you’re interested in writing, I would highly recommend you check out her channel!

The Enneagram system has nine basic personality types that overlap and interact in really interesting ways. It is not a hard science, and it’s not a horoscope. Instead, it’s supposed to be “based on conventional wisdom and modern psychology.” All I can say is that with every set of characters I’ve tried it with, it works! Once you get the hang of it, it feels kind of like ~✰~magic~✰~!

Below, I will list Abbie’s simplified definitions of each of the personality types, in order:

Type 1: The Reformer

The Rational, Idealistic Type:

Principled, Purposeful, Self-Controlled, and Perfectionistic

Basic Fear: Of being corrupt/evil, defective

Basic Desire: To be good, to have integrity, to be balanced

Key Motivations: Want to be right, to strive higher and improve everything, to be consistent with their ideals, to justify themselves, to be beyond criticism so as not to be condemned by anyone.

Type 2: The Helper

The Caring, Interpersonal Type:

Generous, Demonstrative, People-Pleasing, and Possessive

Basic Fear: Of being unwanted, unworthy of being loved

Basic Desire: To feel loved

Key Motivations: Want to be loved, to express their feelings for others, to be needed and appreciated, to get others to respond to them, to vindicate their claims about themselves.

Type 3: The Achiever

The Success-Oriented, Pragmatic Type:

Adaptable, Excelling, Driven, and Image-Conscious

Basic Fear: Of being worthless

Basic Desire: To feel valuable and worthwhile

Key Motivations: Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others.

Type 4: The Individualist

The Sensitive, Introspective Type:

Expressive, Dramatic, Self-Absorbed, and Temperamental

Basic Fear: That they have no identity or personal significance

Basic Desire: To find themselves and their significance (to create an identity)

Key Motivations: Want to express themselves and their individuality, to create and surround themselves with beauty, to maintain certain moods and feelings, to withdraw to protect their self-image, to take care of emotional needs before attending to anything else, to attract a "rescuer."

Type 5: The Investigator

The Intense, Cerebral Type:

Perceptive, Innovative, Secretive, and Isolated

Basic Fear: Being useless, helpless, or incapable

Basic Desire: To be capable and competent

Key Motivations: Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment.

Type 6: The Loyalist

The Committed, Security-Oriented Type:

Engaging, Responsible, Anxious, and Suspicious

Basic Fear: Of being without support and guidance

Basic Desire: To have security and support

Key Motivations: Want to have security, to feel supported by others, to have certitude and reassurance, to test the attitudes of others toward them, to fight against anxiety and insecurity.

Type 7: The Enthusiast

The Busy, Variety-Seeking Type:

Spontaneous, Versatile, Acquisitive, and Scattered

Basic Fear: Of being deprived and in pain

Basic Desire: To be satisfied and content—to have their needs fulfilled

Key Motivations: Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain.

Type 8: The Challenger

The Powerful, Dominating Type:

Self-Confident, Decisive, Willful, and Confrontational

Basic Fear: Of being harmed or controlled by others

Basic Desire: To protect themselves (to be in control of their own life and destiny)

Key Motivations: Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation.

Type 9: The Peacemaker

The Easygoing, Self-Effacing Type:

Receptive, Reassuring, Agreeable, and Complacent

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

Basic Desire: To have inner stability, "peace of mind"

Key Motivations: Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them.

Now that you’ve seen all those, what do you think your favorite character is? In YuGiOh or anything else! It works great for original characters and even yourself and your loved ones.

The actual Character Profiles will be in coming post(s), but continue reading if you want me to explain more about how and why the Enneagram is a great personality typing system. #nonspon, or whatever.

The Enneagram Chart

Now, you could just go to the Enneagram Institute’s page on How the System Works, but below I’ll cut it down to only the parts I’m interested in and explain those in a way that helps me.

Unlike in astrology or MBTI, which are both more restrictive in different ways, the relative position of each type matters a bit on the Enneagram chart, because it can be used to visualize a lot of things about a person!

The Basic Chart

The Types are shown in a clockwise fashion with “1″ in the 1 o’clock position on an analog clock. The interior lines mean things, but I have trouble reading it without further delineation.

Centers of Response

Below are two small charts, displayed side-by-side. (If it’s too small, try right-click, open in new tab!)

The chart on the left shows the three “centers.” The “centers” indicate the first ‘processing language’ a person would use to respond to stimuli.

Type 8, Type 9, and Type 1 respond first based on instinct (primal, gut-feeling). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the id.

Type 2, Type 3, and Type 4 respond first based on feelings (social or personal desires, the heart). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the ego.

Type 5, Type 6, and Type 7 respond first based on thoughts (analytical rather than emotional, the head). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the superego.

Remember that, of course, every single type and person engages their instincts, their emotions, and their thoughts at different times and to different degrees, and some of these are learned or changed behaviors. This is about what their innate drive toward that would be.

Likewise, the same “centers” can also be used for the chart on the right. You will notice that all three of these are defined by what is typically considered a negative emotion. This is because this is about a person’s instinctive, not particularly conscious emotional response when they are backed into a corner and deprived of something that is core to the needs of their personality type.

Type 8, Type 9, and Type 1 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with anger/rage.

Type 2, Type 3, and Type 4 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with shame.

Type 5, Type 6, and Type 7 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with fear.

Stress vs. Growth

We all know that there are times when a person isn’t acting like themselves, for better or for worse. Usually, “You’re not acting like yourself,” means that a person is behaving badly. Of course, it’s way easier to withdraw and bristle and defend rather than growing in the midst of adversity. However, it is certainly possible to experience character growth in response to experiences, good and bad. Unlike a lot of other personality typing schemes, the Enneagram has a way to display and predict what stress and growth do to a person.

The Enneagram never suggests that any Type is an island unto itself. Every person contains multitudes, but a person’s Type is likely to remain relatively stable throughout their lives, once they have had a chance to develop any personality at all. This means that when a person is stressed or growing that they do not become the type they emulate. Rather, they are more highly expressing that aspects of their personality that reflect those drives and desires but in a way that is either fraught, sickly, or unwell (in the case of stress), or aspirational, flying-high, and incorporating the hard-lessons into who a person is going to be going forward (in the case of growth). The latter, especially, isn’t a sustainable mode, while a stressed person can become more entrenched in their bad habits and defensive coping mechanisms.

Stress

Note the white, directional arrows. Each number has an arrow point pointing to it and an arrow leading away from it. The point indicates that this is the stress manifestation for the Type at the origin of that arrow. The origin of each arrow indicates the Type being described.

Confused? Let me finally give you a YuGiOh example.

When I was trying to identify the Types of the characters, defining Marik was difficult, because he has a “Yami,” or Dark Side, which has its own personality and will but which is not its own separate soul or person than Marik himself. Rather, it’s a kind of fantasy/magic-assisted personality splintering where Yami Marik is a full manifestation of the negative traits Marik needed to embody to survive.

So, for reference:

When stressed, Type 1 behaves more like Type 4. 

When stressed, Type 2 behaves more like Type 8.

When stressed, Type 3 behaves more like Type 9.

When stressed, Type 4 behaves more like Type 2.

When stressed, Type 5 behaves more like Type 7.

When stressed, Type 6 behaves more like Type 3.

When stressed, Type 7 behaves more like Type 1.

When stressed, Type 8 behaves more like Type 5.

When stressed, Type 9 behaves more like Type 6.

Alternatively, you can use these sequences to follow the stress lines:

1-4-2-8-5-7-1

9-6-3-9

Growth

Think of the above-explanation in reverse.

The sequence:

1-7-5-8-2-4-1

9-3-6-9

As a Type 1 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 7.

As a Type 2 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 4.

As a Type 3 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 6.

As a Type 4 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 1.

As a Type 5 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 8.

As a Type 6 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 9.

As a Type 7 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 5.

As a Type 8 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 2.

As a Type 9 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 3.

Wings

The final thing to know about the Enneagram chart for my purposes is about wings. The wing of your personality traits accounts for the complementary and contradictory aspects of your personality. They are the inconsistencies that make you human, predicted and jumped in. Typically, a person is not thought to have both possible wings but one or the other. A wing is one of the two adjacent Types to yours, the number before, or the number after, and it is annotated, for example:

Type 1, Wing 2: 1w2

Type 1, Wing 9: 1w9

Link to Part 2 Here!

[wavesmp3]

eurydice

juyeon x reader - retelling of orpheus and eurydice, steampunk au - warnings: mentions of death - wc. 3.4k - a/n: originally posted for another group but yolo

--

juyeon hadn’t expected the underworld to be this quiet. although, when he thinks about it, he isn’t sure what he did expect. there’s an eerie stillness in the silent air that drips down his torso and dangles by his feet begging him to stay. be weary of the underworld the guide had warned him it lives to tempt fools like you. 

‘fool’ was the word the guide had used. juyeon had denied it in the moment. “love,” he said to the guide, with a determined set to his jaw, “i’m doing this for love.” but now as he wanders the silent darkness and unnatural heat of the underworld with only a lantern to light his passage, he thinks that perhaps the guide wasn’t too far off. for his love made him foolish enough to make a deal with a demon and travel the underworld all in search of you. 

“you came.” you say to him once he finds you with a voice so quiet it almost gets lost before it reaches his ears. you don’t look shocked to see him. you don’t even look happy. in fact, you barely look like you. juyeon doesn’t recognize the hollowed shape of your face and the dull line your lips make. he found your body in the darkness, but for a moment, juyeon can’t be positive he found you with it. 

“of course,” he gulps, and you don’t make any indication that you’ve even heard him speak. he swallows again and shifts the lantern to his other hand, bouncing slightly on his heels. he fights the urge to shove his fists into pockets, and another, more prominent urge to turn around and run straight for the sun. “you waited.”

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

--

juyeon remembers the day you died. remembers it too well, almost. he remembers the ringing in his ears and a hollowness inside his chest. he remembers the way he couldn’t cry. the way he couldn’t feel sad. he remembers hearing that you had died and thinking there was no way in hell he’d let it stay like that. juyeon knew, from the moment he heard, that he’d come and find you.

juyeon hasn’t cried. but right now, staring at the face of someone who’s been dead for too long, he feels like he just might.

--

“you made a deal with a demon.” you repeat, voice still void of anything sounding remotely like you.

“yeah.” he says, picking at a spot below his chin, faking nonchalance in the same way he would’ve when he first met you. the same nonchalance that you used to poke his side and tease him for. but when he does it right now, you barely seem to register the words let alone the tone of them. “for you. i made a deal for you.”

you nod. “what is it?”

“you get to come with me back to the real world...”

“...but?”

“but you have to walk behind me the entire time. and I can’t look back. not once, not until we’re back up above.”

“and what happens if you do?”

“you die.” he waits a beat. “again.” 

you utter something incomprehensible, a small croak that sounds faintly like a scoff. “kind of like eurydice.”

juyeon leans forward. “what?”

you meet his eyes suddenly, as if only now realizing he’s been next to you this entire time. you blink. “nevermind.”

you don’t make a sound after that, don’t even move a muscle. juyeon didn’t expect you to be elated, but he did expect you to at least be surprised. and your lack of shock, your lack of… you, creates a knee-deep river of doubt in his mind. “you don’t have to come with me.” he says with what he hopes is reassurance. “i didn’t come here to force you back. i came here to ask.” 

and the silence that comes after he says it stretches into eternity. an infinite eternity that ends the second your mouth twitches, just barely, into what juyeon swears is a smile. “you came.” 

he inhales, and the air tastes faintly like hope. “i couldn’t let you go.”

“okay.” you accept, fiddling with something juyeon can’t make out in your hand. and the admission, makes him release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. juyeon knew coming down here was a shot in the dark. literally. his friends had made sure he knew. even the guide had made it clear: sometimes the dead don’t want to return. so, yeah, juyeon knew there was no guarantee you’d want to follow him back to the real world and no guarantee you’d agree to the demon’s terms. but all that doubt, all those voices telling him no seem so insignificant when he hears you say: “i’ll come with you.” 

you meet his eyes again, and this time they look a little more like yours.

--

throughout his relationship with you, juyeon grew fond of the way you cracked your knuckles and joints. it’s stress relief you’d tell him popping your neck for the fifth time that morning. he’d found it odd at first, concerning even. but now days, juyeon can’t seem to find the way you crack your back every time you get up as anything but endearing. 

even now, as you sit on the tattered, green couch you bought off the old apothecary owner, juyeon feels nothing more than a small pang of affection for the way you crack your knuckles while reading a book.  

“hey,” juyeon begins, sitting next to you on the couch, “eric gave this to me today.”

he hands you the folded ad for a ticket to center circle. the once-in-a-lifetime tickets that were only offered once every few years. 

you study the ad for a while, running your finger against the crease in the paper. juyeon shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you do. 

“i don’t want it,” you shrug, folding the paper back up and tossing it on the coffee table.

“but,” juyeon refutes, eyes trained on the discarded paper and brows furrowed, “it’s your dream.”

“you dummy,” you tease with a numbingly sweet smile. and for a moment, you don’t say anything else. instead you capture his hand and pull on each of his fingers, cracking his knuckles like you do with yours. and it’s while staring at his hands that you mutter, “dreams change, you know.”  

--

the walk to the real world begins quietly. 

“do you remember the myth of orpheus and eurydice?” you say from somewhere behind juyeon, voice quiet and yet far. and yes, it must be far because the words sound like they’ve been echoing off the rocks and stones for years. 

“remind me.” 

“from what i can remember, they were in love.” you wait a moment, and juyeon could bet that if he turned around right now, he’d find you somewhere far behind him, cracking your knuckles. “and when eurydice died, orpheus convinced hades to let her go on the same terms as your deal with the demon. or something like that.” 

��i see,” juyeon whispers. “so what happened when they made it back to earth?” 

“that’s the thing,” you say, this time nearly yelling the words, “they didn’t. orpheus looked back at the last second.” 

juyeon stops walking. “well, that’s not going to be us.” 

he hears you sigh. “i know.” 

juyeon starts walking again, holding up the lantern that emits just enough light to see his feet and nothing else. “so why’d he look back?” 

“i don’t think the myth really says. some say he got impatient. others say orpheus began to doubt that eurydice was actually behind him and then also doubt that hades would ever let her go. but I think they’re all wrong. maybe he looked back because eurydice asked him to.” 

the implication makes juyeon gulp. “why would she do that?” 

you don’t answer the question. “why do you think orpheus turned?”

“i don’t know.” 

“turn around and you will.”

“that’s not funny.”

quietly, you say: “it wasn’t a joke.” 

juyeon pretends to not hear. 

--

when juyeon realized he loved you, it wasn’t something big or spectacular. it wasn’t a tidal wave of emotion that crashed and dragged him below the tide. rather, it was a small wave of adoration that lapped by his feet, a cool and calm sensation that made him want to dig his heels in the sand and wade further into the water. 

when juyeon realizes he loves you, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter, complaining about work. 

“i love you.” he admits, walking towards where you sit. he doesn’t miss the way you still and the way you refuse to look anywhere but at your own hands. and juyeon knows it’s too soon, too fast. it’s only been two months since he’s known you. one month since you started dating. he knows it’s too soon to have fallen in love. but that doesn’t really change the fact that he has. he repeats it, feeling a deep need to cement this moment further into his memory and another to memorize the image of you sitting on his kitchen counter smiling at your hands.

“you don’t have to say it back or anything,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “i  didn’t say it so that you would-” silently, you cut him off, leaning forward until your forehead is pressed against his. “i just wanted you to know cause i do,” he continues softly, “i love you.”

your eyes flit up to his, lashes brushing against his brow bone. “i know.” it’s then that you take his face between his palms and press your lips to his. 

it’s three weeks after that moment in his kitchen, that you return the statement, although you don’t return it with the words themself. 

he meets you on one of the benches outside the warehouse after work. when you see him approaching, something seems to visibly soften throughout your entire body. you pull him down to sit next to you on the bench, wrap your arms around his torso under his heavy coat, and bury your face into the space between his shoulder and his chest. 

juyeon places a kiss on your temple. “you okay?” 

“i had the worst day at the plant.” you mumble into his coat. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” 

“no,” you hesitate as if deciding what it is that you do want. after a moment you answer: “i just want you near.”

--

“do you feel that?” juyeon hears you ask. 

“feel what?” 

“the rain?” 

he holds out his palm and stares at the darkness above. how could it possibly rain in a place like this, juyeon wonders to himself. 

“no.” he finally answers. “i don’t feel anything.” 

“it’s pouring!” he can’t tell. he doesn’t hear the rain, doesn’t hear the thunder you claim to have heard. but he hears your voice, and it sounds warbled as if coming from behind curtains and curtains of pounding rain. he can tell you’re yelling to be heard over it. “you still don’t feel it?”

“no!” he yells back.

“i’m tired.” 

“we’re almost there.” he says to the darkness that stretches before him, praying that it bounces off the emptiness of this world and finds you. “we just have to make it through the night.”

“no, juyeon, i’m tired.” you repeat frustrated. and with the way you say it, juyeon isn’t sure what exactly you’re tired of.

“do you remember your first storm in ironport?” he asks, a desperate attempt to take your mind off the current storm, and another, more hopeless effort to make you miss home. 

“yeah,” you murmur, voice no longer a desperate yell. and yet somehow, juyeon hears you better now than he did before. “of course i remember.”

--

the day of your first ironport strom is also the day you kiss juyeon.

in all transparency, juyeon hadn’t noticed the dark clouds gathering above and the distant rumbling coming from the farmlands in the west. he’d been too distracted with watching you nod off during the trolley ride back from the warehouse, too distracted trying to make sure your head stayed perfectly balanced on his shoulder. 

but by the time the trolley does squeak and stutter to your stop, it’s pouring. you slowly get up and hover by the exit, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “i bet you hadn’t insisted on taking me home now.” you say between a yawn.

juyeon shakes his head and joins you by the exit, wearing a smile that feels too bright against the weather outside. “make a run for it?” he suggests. 

you scrunch your nose and crack your knuckles. “yeah, okay.” you find his hand, and fit it against your own. “ready?” 

juyeon swallows the fluttering in his stomach. “ready.” 

despite the running and shocked yelps, you’re drenched before you even make it to the end of the street. and it’s sometime after the second turn that you both give up entirely, jumping into puddles at the corner of rosebud and kicking water at each other. 

“look,” you exclaim, pointing at the sky, “there’s a break in the clouds.” juyeon looks up at where you point. ironport is known for its ferocious storms with dark grey and angry clouds that tumble across the sky and linger there for days on end. juyeon, living in ironport his whole life, has seen his fair share of the town’s storms, but this, juyeon has never seen. over the farmlands, the clouds part across the sky and a golden light comes pouring over the grassy hills. your voice comes out low. “it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

his eyes land on you. “yeah, it is.”

and juyeon’s so lost, mindlessly staring at you that he almost doesn’t register the way you stare back at him with a lopsided smile, grab his color, and pull him towards you until his lips meet yours. 

almost.

--

“still raining?” juyeon asks, just to check if you’re still behind.

“yeah.” 

“you must be drenched.” 

“i am.” you pause. “and cold.” it must be a test, juyeon thinks. or a trial of some sort, because how is he supposed to not turn around right at this moment and give you something to make you warm.

after some time, you ask: “how do you know you’ve made a mistake?” 

he tilts his head at the question. it’s an odd question, yes. but something to pass the time he assumes. “you know the sensation you get on the air lift right before the drop by the watchtower.” he waits for some affirmation that you’ve heard. it never comes. “it feels like that for me. like a rock in my gut. i know i’ve made a mistake because i feel the wrongness of it.” 

you let out a small cough. “do you feel that right now?”

“no.” something akin to fear settles underneath his tongue. “do you?”

--

when eric asks if you and juyeon are friends, juyeon doesn’t think to mention the way you two have been hanging out at the warehouse every day after work or how much he enjoys talking with you. it doesn’t phase juyeon to describe the lack of air in his lungs each time you’re so much as mentioned or the smile that appears whenever you’re near. instead, he shrugs, and says, “yeah, i guess we’ve gotten close.”

--

“it stopped raining,” you murmur softly, sounding close. so close juyeon thinks he can smell the rainwater dripping from your clothes and hear your arms flailing in the darkness. it takes a moment for him to realize, you actually are. 

“when did you get so close?” 

“oh, juyeon,” you smile, or at least he imagines you do, “i’ve never been far.” 

--

the second time juyeon sees you is not a coincidence. he’s been spending every evening at the warehouse since your first conversation together, hoping at some point you’ll walk in with the other plant workers. until finally one night you do. 

“small world.” he begins, meeting you at the bar. 

“yeah,” you reply, and a sudden warmth fills juyeon when you purse your lips, as if there’s a private joke waiting on your tongue, “we’re all closer than we assume.”

--

the first thing juyeon thinks when a sort of warmth fills his body, is that there’s a fire growing in the dark abyss that is the road between the underworld and the real one. 

it’s only when he hears you say, “juyeon is that the…?” does he realize that the warmth lingering in his fingertips is from the sun. the world around him is still entirely dark, the only light being from the lantern still. but before juyeon sees the light of the sun, he can feel the sunlight and taste it on his tongue. 

“it’s almost over,” he says to the new warmth in his knees and to you who’s now so close behind him.

you don’t respond. and some small part of juyeon that’s buried under oceans of grief and love, knows what the silence means. a miniscule, almost negligible, part of juyeon knows how to interpret your lack of response. 

but the larger, more intruding part of juyeon that can’t bear the idea of letting you go, selfishly asks, “what about your dream? what about center circle?”

you sigh, and it’s the first sound you’ve made since noticing the sun. “oh juyeon, i stopped caring about center circle the day i met you.”

--

the first time juyeon sees you is at the warehouse. and as soon as you enter with the other plant workers, juyeon knows you’re new. he can tell by the way you talk, with an accent that sounds too western to be from around here, and from the way your face is the only one he doesn’t know. curiosity is what he tells himself and eric when asked later that week. juyeon approaches you at the warehouse bar because he’s curious. although, curiosity doesn’t begin to explain the churning in his gut and the chill running down his spine as he does. 

“hey,” he greets, resting his elbows against the bar. “i’m juyeon.” 

you study him before answering, as if determining whether you should even bother with giving him your name. lucky for him, you do. 

“you new around here?” he asks, despite knowing you are. the polite thing to do, he figures. 

“what gave me away?” you snort.

“ironport’s a small town.” he shrugs, with a degree of nonchalance that doesn’t at all match the current pace of his heart. “the people that are born here tend to die here as well.” 

“not me.” you mutter, shaking your head. “i’m certainly not dying in ironport.” 

juyeon seats himself on the barstool next to you. “is there a preferred place of death then?”

“center circle.” you tell him, as the barkeep slides you your drink. “it’s been my dream since forever. i’ve worked my way up from the wallows. if i die before getting to the center circle, i’ll walk there from hell myself.”

“that’s insane.” he responds half-teasing, half-not.

you take a long sip from your drink. “i know.” 

“and yet?”

you meet his eyes steadily. “and yet i can’t let it go.” 

at the bottom of his gut juyeon again feels curiosity tug.

--

“juyeon,” you breathe, so close he can feel it on his shoulder. “come back to me.” he doesn’t respond, acts like he doesn’t even hear the words. instead, he steps forward, feels the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and then sinks back into the cool sensation of your forehead knocking against his neck. 

“come back to me, okay?” you repeat into his back. “but don’t come back too soon.” 

“and you’ll wait for me?” he asks, yearning for nothing more than to turn around and kiss your eyelids and nose and cheeks and lips. wanting nothing more than to turn around and memorize your face in all the ways he forgot to do while you were alive and on earth. 

“well yeah,” you smile against his shirt, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

and for a small second, relishing in the sensation of your chest shaking with laughter against his back, juyeon feels at peace.

“so have you figured it out yet?” you start, lifting your chin from his shoulder, and interlocking your fingers with his. “have you figured out why orpheus turned?” 

“no.” he returns, with a squeeze. 

“but i guess i’m about to find out.”  

[konglindorm]

Lindworm: Chapter 1

(This is a little over half of the first chapter I had planned to share the whole thing, but then I realized it was 7,000 words. You can buy and read the rest of Lindworm here!)

“Thank you so much for thinking of me,” Marit said, “but really I would rather not marry a monster.”

Marit would not have thought herself the sort of person to talk back to kings, had she ever had cause to contemplate such matters. But then she never would have thought the king the sort of person to sacrifice a girl to a lindworm, and yet here she was, the third victim.

She was only seventeen, and this wedding was a death sentence.

Six months ago, Prince Harald had set out to find a bride, and had been stopped by a great serpent in the road. Since then, the serpent—the lindworm—had eaten two foreign princesses, both after a sham of a wedding. Both women had thought they were coming to marry Prince Harald.

Here, in the forest outside the capital city, rumors had flown. Rumors that they would shortly be at war with both kingdoms that had lost a princess, and rumors, more interesting to their small family with no members likely to be sent to the battlefield, of the lindworm, of why a man-eating dragon would be welcomed to the palace and fed. Rumors that said the lindworm was Prince Harald’s brother, that the king humored it instead of killing it because the monster was family.

Marit didn’t know how much truth there might be to such rumors. She didn’t know how a queen could bear and birth a serpent, but she did know the world was full of strange, incomprehensible things.

The king stared at her, his men standing stiffly by. It had not, of course, been thoughtfulness that led him to her cottage in the woods. Marit knew this, and knew that the marriage was not optional, and that one could not speak to a king in this manner and expect to keep one’s head. But when one has already been sentenced to death, such things as respect for royalty matter very little.

“It is not an offer,” the king informed her when he found his voice. “It is a command, and you may choose to obey or not, but willing or unwilling, you will find yourself before a priest in my great hall one week from now.”

One week, she thought. One week to live the rest of her life. She could run—could she run?

No, if the king was leaving her a few days to say her goodbyes, it was only because he knew she could not run. There would be guards posted. She would be caught and brought back. She would still end the week dead, and likely her father and sister, too, if the king suspected they had helped her. As they certainly would.

Her family—they were away from the house now, deeper into the woods, scavenging. There was little left to eat, their winter stores almost empty by March, and the ground still too frozen to begin the year’s planting. She had stayed behind to tend to the animals, too likely to slow them down after twisting her ankle yesterday, falling from a tree; it had barely hurt, and would be healed by tomorrow. The king would be long gone before they returned, and it would fall to her to explain her upcoming death.

“There will be a bride price, of course,” said the king.

Marit wasn’t quite sure what a bride price was, thought it may be like a dowry—she’d sewn items, slowly, over the last several years for her dowry, but doubted the lindworm would demand her linens as well as her life.

The king went on to explain the bride price, the amount of money her father would be given for this farce of a marriage—the opposite of a dowry, then, and a staggering amount.

It had been a long, brutal winter following a short, dry summer, and for that price Marit may have volunteered herself. Any number of young women may have; it was enough to save not only their own small farm, but those of a few near neighbors. Enough to buy a second goat, a few more chickens, enough to pay all of their debts in the city and have their broken tools repaired.

For such a sum, she would have volunteered. She would have gladly given her life to so dramatically improve the lives of her father and younger sister.

But the king had not asked. The king had demanded, and Marit knew she would resent him for however many days she had left to do so.

He left her, as she’d expected, with guards posted nearby, and she led the animals back to their shed and let herself back into the cottage, not wanting to look at them, their clean uniforms with shiny brass buttons, their polished boots slowly gathering mud, their faces as they avoided her eyes, because they knew, must know, that this was wrong, and yet they were loyal to their king, and would not let her run.

~

Marit watched through the back window, working idly on her knitting, unable to stay focused on the difficult stitch she’d meant to master this week, until she saw her sister and her father coming out from the woods. She ran to meet them, and hurried them inside before they could ask about the soldiers scattered about. And then she told them.

“Why you?” Greta cried. “Why you?”

She hadn’t asked how he’d chosen her, out of all the unwed maids within walking distance of the palace. She didn’t think she wanted to know why it was her that must die, and not Annette, who had no father to protect her, or Martine, who was more beautiful, or Signe or Gretchen or any of the other girls she knew.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who wished death on her friends, either.

Besides, the lindworm had already eaten two women, and there was no reason to expect he might stop at a third. They may all be dead before this ended, Gretchen and Signe and Annette and Martine, and the younger girls, Greta and her friends, all the forest, all the city, someday all the kingdom sacrificed to satisfy the appetite of a monster that should have been killed the moment it showed itself to Prince Harald.

She could only hope that the fathers of the dead princesses would declare war, that they would kill her king and his lindworm with him before the whole country was devoured.

King Olaf had always been known as a kind and noble king. He’d lowered taxes and held festivals and been much loved, before these last six months, and Marit didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how a good king could become a bad one overnight because of one monster.

Maybe it was his son. Marit would throw the whole world over for Greta, she knew, but she’d been at Greta’s side since she’d emerged from their mother’s stomach, been the first to hold the new baby, tiny and wrinkled and red, getting blood all over her vest, as their father had said his goodbyes to Mama, only turning his attention to Marit and the new baby when his wife was gone.

For Greta, for her father, for Mama if she’d lived, Marit would do anything. But if a boar walked out of the woods and claimed to be her long lost brother, she wouldn’t take him at his word, wouldn’t escort him into the city to trample the blacksmith just because he asked her.

She didn’t think the king could hide a paternal relationship with a lindworm for several years. They must have met only when he stopped the prince on the road. And Marit didn’t understand.

She gathered Greta in her arms and listened to the younger girl cry, unable to shed any tears for herself, unsure why. She looked over Greta’s head at her father, and saw the same desperate sadness in his eyes that she had seen when she was five years old, and her mother was dying in childbirth. Her father loved her, but he could do nothing to save her, and they all knew it. He could not defy the king; to try would only make him angry, would likely risk Greta’s life too.

He came and wrapped himself around them both, and Marit thought, but was not quite sure, that he wept too. She sat, dry-eyed, between them, for long hours, until it was time for dinner and bed.

They watched out the window as a new group of soldiers marched in, and the first group left. At least they weren’t expected to feed and board their prison guards.

In the morning they found that the soldiers would let Marit go where she pleased, but one or two would always follow, from a respectful distance. No one followed her sister or father, so they went in three different directions, to the neighbors and to the city, Marit to make her farewells, and all of them to give warning. The king is feeding maidens to his lindworm. Marit is the first; she will not likely be the last. Send your daughters quietly to family in other cities, if you can. Marry them quickly to boys in the village, if you can. We do not know why the lindworm wants weddings, but he does, so make your daughters unweddable.

Gretchen, when Marit told her, said it probably had to do with a dragon’s fondness for virgins. She then said that if the king came to her, she would rid herself of virginity with the first man she could find before she would go to the lindworm, with the whole town to watch as proof, if necessary.

Gretchen’s older brother, the only other person there save the guards, too far away to overhear, made a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

Marit wondered if it was too late to try Gretchen’s plan for herself, and concluded it probably was—if the lindworm demanded a virgin, then the soldiers would not let her cease to be one. The small chance of success wasn’t worth giving herself to a man she didn’t want and wouldn’t be allowed to keep. And the kind of man who might cooperate with such a plan would likely not make it a happy experience to cherish in her final days. She reminded Gretchen of the soldiers before moving on to the next neighbors.

~

Marit spend her days wandering, mostly. There was work to be done, and she helped, or tried to—her father said not to trouble herself with anything in these last few days, and when she insisted, she often found herself too distracted to finish, or at least to finish well, haunted constantly by imaginings of what the lindworm might be like, how it might feel to be eaten. She remembered breaking a finger in a slamming door as a child, the sharp crack of it, the pain. She imagined the pain and the cracking both amplified as an enormous snake swallowed her whole, as snakes will do, and then, bizarrely, imagined cowering on a banquet table as the lindworm sliced her to pieces with a knife held in its tail, popping each slice into its mouth one at a time, sometimes dipping a slice in a butter-sauce first.

She still had not cried, though she had found herself several times laughing hysterically at humorless jokes she couldn’t explain. Greta didn’t need to know about the butter sauce.

When there were two days left before the wedding, she went out intending to collect eggs from the chickens, and her feet carried her, instead, deeper into the woods.

The guards followed at a distance.

Marit stopped when she saw an old woman ahead. She was short, with white hair spilling from her cap, bright and cheerful in a blue skirt and red vest, and she smiled like an old friend at Marit, and asked why she was so sad.

Marit wasn’t a fool. She knew how it was with mysterious old women in forests, knew they were to be respected. Knew how often they carried magic within themselves. Knew that to cross them was idiocy, and that to be kind and respectful could change the course of one’s life.

So Marit told the woman her troubles, and the woman smiled again. “It will be all right,” she said. “If you obey me, it will be all right. Now, here is what you must do.”

Marit wasn’t foolish enough to think she might live through this, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the gift of a wise woman in the wood, either, even when that gift was the strangest advice she’d ever been given. Wear ten shifts beneath your dress, have milk and lye and whips waiting in your bedchamber.

She was already going to die; what did it matter if the king’s servants thought her a madwoman?

Ten shifts, though, would not be an easy thing to manage. Marit had two shifts, and two night shifts, which were wool instead of linen, with sleeves too wide to be hidden beneath her dress. She would have to rip them off. Greta owned the same, not much smaller as she was tall for her age, but Marit could not deprive her sister of all her undergarments, so only took one day shift and one night shift from her. That brought her to six, and four more yet to find. She couldn’t buy them; the king’s money wouldn’t come to her father until the day after the wedding. She had her dowry linens, unneeded now, and could use the fabric to make more shifts. But she had two days left to live, and wasn’t willing to spend her last precious moments sewing. With Greta’s help she converted one white bedsheet into a shift, but would sacrifice no more time when she had so many goodbyes to say—to friends, to livestock, to trees and streams and every future she had ever imagined for herself.

She begged one more shift from Olga, whose family was wealthier and who had one to spare for an acquaintance going to her death. Eight shifts, eight, two short, and no time to find more. It would have to be enough.

~

The morning she was to be taken away, Marit’s father pulled out her mother’s wedding dress and offered it to her.

Marit shook her head. “It should go to Greta. To a real wedding.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” her father said. “Take it, so your mother can be with you, as Greta and I cannot.”

So Marit put on her eight shifts, and she put on the dress. She was a bit smaller than her mother had been when she married, and it still fit despite the extra layers. Greta had wanted to make her a crown of flowers to match, but there were still few flowers in bloom, so she wove the crown from evergreen branches instead, coating her hands in sap, and placed it carefully on her sister’s head.

The three of them waited, solemnly, for Marit to be taken away. There was nothing left to say. All of the goodbyes were finished, all of the plans made. The next morning someone would come from the palace with the bride price and whatever was left of Marit to be buried. Her father would sell the animals and the house, give them away if he couldn’t sell them fast enough, and he would hire a wagon to take them far, far from the capital, to start a new life where the lindworm would never touch Greta. They’d gone over the details last night. Greta had cried again.

Marit still hadn’t cried, and thought she might be able to, now, but would not let herself; she didn’t want her tears seen by whoever took her away. She found she was more angry than sad. She felt a sharpness growing within her. Her life was forfeit, and so too was her sense of obligation to respect, to loyalty. The king, the queen, the prince, the priests who’d performed the weddings and the soldiers and couriers who’d stood by—damn them, she thought, damn them all, and damn the idea she owed them the barest amount of anything.

The king came to fetch her himself, and she refrained from spitting in his face only because of the guards that surrounded him, the fear they might kill her where she stood and cost her father the bride price.

The king was different, not angry and demanding as he had been a week ago, but stiff with an awkwardness that might almost be shame. Marit hugged her father and Greta one last time, and followed him back toward the city, his guards forming a circle around them. She didn’t care that he may feel shame; she had enough anger by now for the both of them.

He was quiet, and Marit didn’t want quiet. Not quite understanding the compulsion, she found herself goading him.

“What will happen after this?” she asked, and the king looked at her, then quickly away again. It was a long walk on foot, and she didn’t know why a king wouldn’t take a carriage, but she didn’t mind the extra time in her forest.

“You will be prepared for the wedding by lady’s maids. The wedding will be in the great hall, and after that we will have a banquet.”

“Not tonight,” Marit said, spurred by the thought of Annette being sent hundreds of miles away to an uncle she’d never met, of Gretchen searching for a man to defile her rather than be eaten. “Not to me. What will happen to your kingdom? After me, you’ll kill off every maid in the country, and then I suppose you’ll have to go to war, and find slaves to feed his appetite? Discipline is important for growing boys, Your Majesty. Learn to say no to your son.”

He raised a hand as if to slap her, and she tilted her chin forward, daring him—let him hit her, here surrounded by a small army, let all these soldiers, already uneasy with their roles, go home and report to their friends and families that their king was a man who struck defenseless maidens.

He lowered his hand, leaving Marit oddly disappointed. It would have been another reason to be angry, and her anger was protecting her from her fear.

The king sighed heavily. “We all do foolish things for our children.”

She wondered if he meant the lindworm, or only Prince Harald, who could not be married until it was satisfied. It didn’t matter—the result was the same for her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Maybe a king could afford to do foolish things for his children. Her own father had to be sensible—foolishness would only have hurt Greta. She felt the anger draining away, the fear rising up again. She didn’t want to die.

~

They arrived at the palace from a side gate, not taking the wide, paved road beneath the cherry trees, where any number of people might have seen their arrival. The king and his soldiers handed her off to a large group of women, some more elegant than others, and she asked him, before he left, what time the wedding would be.

“At eight o’clock,” he said. “Will that give you enough time to prepare?” One of the more elegant women assured him it would, and he told her, “Give the girl whatever she wants. It’s her wedding day, after all.” He laughed, unamused, more bitter than cruel, and then he was gone.

“Is there anything special we can do for you, miss?” asked one of the plainer women, who was likely a maid.

Marit thought of the old woman in the forest. “This is going to sound a little strange.”

All of the more plainly dressed women left to carry out her last request, leaving Marit with a flock of beautiful women whose most simple everyday clothes were likely ten times more expensive than her mother’s wedding dress. They tried to have her out of it, into borrowed silks instead, but she refused. It was the last gift from her father, the only familiar thing in this place. She kept her evergreen crown as well, but let them take it away long enough to clean away the sap, rubbing it from the branches and brushing it out of her hair.

They re-braided her hair into a more elaborate style, stringing in gemstones to match her dress, and applied powders and creams to her face, which itched and made her sneeze. She watched them carefully, picking out one who seemed both kind and fancy enough to know little of a peasant’s daily life. She drew her away from the crowd and explained, in a whisper, “I haven’t any underthings. I only own the one shift, and I left it for my sister, so she would have one to wear on laundry day. I didn’t think it would matter, when I’m only to die tonight, but I’m—I’m embarrassed to have all these fine people watching me, thinking that if the light hits just so they’ll see I’m not dressed properly.”

The woman believed, somehow, that a peasant girl might have come to a royal wedding with no undergarments, and offered to find a spare shift.

“Could I have two, please?” The woman raised her eyebrows, and Marit ducked her head. “It’s a tradition—I know it shan’t be a real wedding night, but it’s a tradition to make the groom work a little harder the first time.”

The woman believed the tradition she’d never heard of, as well, and came back shortly with two more shifts, beautiful, silken things, bringing Marit to the required ten.

The next problem came when she realized the women had no intention of leaving her alone while she took off her wedding dress and put on the shifts, which was awkward for more reasons than the eight shifts she already wore. She explained that she was not accustomed to being seen undressed by strangers, and finally they left her, for the first moment of privacy she’d had in hours, and the last she expected to have in her life.

She took off the dress and put on the shifts. She paused to look in the mirror—a thing she’d heard of but never before seen—and wondered if that was what she truly looked like, or only the effect of the powders and creams. She pulled the dress back on, took a few deep breaths—she had not cried yet, she would not cry now—and reopened the door so that the women could help re-fasten the dress in the back.

They set the evergreen crown back on her head, and took her to the priest that would read her last rites.

The hall where they held the wedding was gorgeous, with shining wood floors and dark walls covered in rosemåling, blue and gold and red. All the court was seated when she arrived, dressed in their finest clothes, looking horrified. She recognized the king and the queen and the prince, familiar from a dozen parades, sitting in the front row. The rest were strangers.

And then she saw the lindworm.

It was the height of six or seven men, white like a maggot, or the mold on stale bread. It had dark wings on its back, too small to hold its weight in flight, and shiny white fangs quite visible even when its mouth was shut. It had no legs. There was a crown balanced at the top of its head, the size a man would wear, which might have been funny if it hadn’t planned to eat her.

It was staring at her with an expression of mild curiosity, recognizable because its eyes were the eyes of a man, over-large, but still small in its serpent head, the same shade of blue as a dozen young men she’d seen in the city.

[rqnvindr]

restless (1.5k followers special)

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.4k

sypnosis: you don’t get sick that often. but when you do, your best friend, hajime has to put up with you acting like a baby. and being void of any inhibitions in your sleepy state leads to confessions of all sorts...

a/n: thank you guys so much for 1.5k! i originally planned to post this for my 1k followers special, but i sort of only gained inspiration to write it now, which all worked out because i hit another milestone ! thank you guys for all of the support and love, and for patiently waiting for this long overdue scenario ! 

--

“hajime~my soup is cold!” you screech, scrunching your nose as you drink the now stale liquid. iwaizumi face palms before reaching over to your tray to retrieve the bowl, rolling his eyes when you pout up at him as he fights the urge to give into you without any reprimanding. 

“if you had just drank it instead of complaining about how much you hated it you wouldn’t have this problem!” he scolds, clicking his tongue when you stick yours out at him. 

you throw the blankets over your head, burying yourself into your bedsheets as iwaizumi heads back to the kitchen to warm up your soup. he was your rock, but you seldom put him through this much. however, your sickness rewired your brain, making it harder for you to process the childishness of your demands and resort to mostly incomprehensible sighs and groans for communication. 

iwaizumi comes back with the now steaming bowl, stirring it gently to cool it down. 

“you have to drink it while it’s still hot.” you giggle, making him huff. “what’s so funny?”

“nothing, you just kind of sound like a mom.” iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at your endless giggles, wondering how you went from being whiny to a laughing mess from a simple statement that was meant to help you. 

“whatever, just drink up.” you tug at his sleeve before he could leave your side, pouting up at him. oh no not that face, he thinks to himself. 

“hajime, feed me.” you say in the most pleading voice that iwaizumi could not resist coming from you, as much as he hated to admit it. he sighs, pulling up your desk chair next to the bed. considering that this was the first time you’d been under the weather in a long while, it could potentially be more serious than it looks and he would hate to make you even more uncomfortable than you were already feeling. 

iwaizumi still has a little bit of trouble getting you to finish your soup even after complying to your command. he has to deal with you turning away from the spoon and doing more talking than eating. 

the hassle took a number on both of you, thought it seemed to have more of an effect on your already fatigued state, judging from the way you knocked out. iwaizumi stays in your room in case you woke up and needed anything else, keeping himself occupied with studying in the meantime. 

your soft breaths are rather soothing for him, relaxing him well enough to focus on his reading material. and when he turns around briefly to examine your sleeping face, his heart melts. you looked so peaceful it was hard to believe that you were quarreling with him earlier. iwaizumi chuckles as he plays back the moment in his head. as much as you annoyed him, he couldn’t have been happier to be the one to take care of you. 

in fact, iwaizumi often thought about what it would be like to be there for you, as more than a friend. when you called him this morning, voice hoarse and sniffling every five seconds, he thought about how you could’ve contacted anybody, oikawa, one of your girl friends, a whole list of people other than him. but like always, you came back to him. it was only natural that he’d wonder where these favors would take your guys’ relationship. 

iwaizumi is about to go get a glass of water until a soft murmur stops him.“i’d be so lonely without you...” your voice is so soft that he thinks his ears are failing him at first. 

“(y/n)?” iwaizumi calls for you, standing over your limp figure. 

“i know it must be hard to always deal with oikawa, and then there’s me.” you whisper. “i feel so bad, but you’re the most reliable friend i’ve ever had, and there’s no one who understands me like you do.” 

iwaizumi’s confused. were you talking in your sleep or giving a drowsy monologue, thinking that you were still dreaming as you talked to him?

he rubs the back of his neck, looking everywhere around the room but at you. “no, don’t feel bad, you know i’ll always be here for you, right?” ugh why is it so hard to reassure her about how much i care?

his test proves that you were awake when you giggle. “yeah. like how you always insist on walking me home even though i live close to campus. or how you saved me from almost dating someone who wasn’t good for me. you’re so protective~just like a knight in shining armor.” 

iwaizumi’s face burns up from the title. he didn’t want to force anything out of you, but his curiosity was starting to get the better of him. he also couldn’t deny how cute you looked hazily sputtering out your inner thoughts about him. maybe there was a chance that you felt the same way as he did...

he smiles, wiping the sweat that had formed on your forehead with a spare towel. “i’m glad you’re thankful for me. i’m just as thankful for you, but you really need to get some rest.”

iwaizumi starts walking away, but you grab his wrist. “no, please stay with me and hold my hand.” 

“i’m not leaving you, (y/n), i’m just going to the kitchen.” the warmth of your hand makes his palms sweat, both from your body heat and touch itself. 

“will you hold my hand when you get back?” you ask, making him sigh. 

“yes, i will. i’ll hold your hand for as long as you want, okay?” iwaizumi intended to say that more sarcastically, but he realized it came out differently when you squealed in response. 

--

your eyes slowly flutter open a couple hours later. you look down to see iwaizumi’s hand in yours, as he lies face down on the side of your bed. 

it takes a full minute to process that you’re actually holding hands with your best friend. you’d been dreaming about this for a while, but were wondering what led to this position. did you pass out and make him worry? did he just want to secretly show affection while you were unconscious? 

you feel relieved when he wakes up shortly after before your mind runs too wild. 

“hajime? what’s wrong? am i hurt?” you ask, slowly moving your hand away from his. iwaizumi’s glad that you don’t question the hand holding upfront, hoping to ease into that subject later.

“you were sick,” he replies with a yawn. “but you sound a lot better now, i think the nap helped.” 

you hum at his words. “i still have some body aches. but i am definitely feeling better.”

“that’s good.” iwaizumi clears his throat and awkward silence takes it’s place in the room. 

“but, why were we holding hands?” your cheeks warm up upon asking the inevitable question. 

iwaizumi sheepishly scratches his shoulder. “well, uh, you were a bit restless earlier and the only way for you to fall asleep was for me to hold your hand.” he says that fast, and you give him a questioning look. 

“what do you mean i was restless? just tell me the truth hajime, i won’t get mad.”

iwaizumi inhales deeply. “alright, you were a little bit drowsy and asked me to hold your hand when i tried to leave the room. you also said stuff about me being your ‘knight in shining armor’, and how no one else understands you like me and-”

“okay okay, stop i get it.” you raise your palm at him. 

“are you...embarrassed?” 

you lightly smack his arm. “of course i am! gah, and the fact that you heard everything just makes it even more, ugh!”

“i mean, if oikawa, mattsun or makki had heard you i’m sure they’d tell me anyway.” iwaizumi smirks, resulting in a glare from you. 

after a few seconds of trying to sting him with your stare, you break the silence. “you seem rather amused by my accidental confession, though.”

“not just amused. i’m happy.” iwaizumi holds out his hand for you to take, to which you accept, interlocking your fingers with his. 

you let out a chuckle. “well then, i’ll be sure to thank my sickness for giving me more courage than i would’ve ever had normally.” you get out of the covers and pull him in for a hug. he wraps his arms around you tightly, showing you that he’s never going to let you go. 

[fbfh]

three infinites and a reunion - sirius black x reader (gn)

pairing: sirius black x gn reader

wc: 1.2k

genre: ooh boy some hurt/comfort, moderate angst but it’s justified and quickly resolved, some trauma but what’s to be expected lol

warnings: spoilers for prisoner of azkaban sort of but most of it’s kind of common knowledge at this point, some fucks and other brief swears, post azkaban but the timeline is weird don’t come for me, reader is shaking cause of emotionally intense situation, mentions of bad mental health bc you know... dementors.... and uh, brief mentions of small stress induced weight loss (some promenent bones), sirius is king of consent, “you must be starving” then y’all eat some food, you get really fuckin determined to protect him who wouldn’t

summary: Holding out faith sometimes works out for the best, especially when the condemned love of your life is suddenly right in front of you, embracing you on the floor of your laundry room.  

requested: no i just have dogman brain rot

song I listened to while writing this: snow - ricky montgomery, the shipped gold standard - fall out boy, golden days - panic at the disco (bc it makes me think of marauders era in general lol)

a/n: as I have stated before I don’t know how numbers work or how to do basic math so I fucked with the timeline a little which should boil down to this: sirius was in az*aban for two years before he escaped making him around 23, while harry is maybe 3 or 4, don’t come for me if it’s off lmao

also this is what I imagine sirius to look like but like,, with the expressions and mannerisms in the viria fanart

I have at least two more parts planned out roughly so those should come at some point uwu

requests are open, here’s my kofi xo

Shaking. You’re fucking shaking, tremors wracking uncontrolably through your body as you stare through blurry, tear filled eyes already spilling, at the big black dog in front of you. You look up at your porch light almost instantly, squeezing your eyes shut. You can’t tell which is louder, the layered incomprehensible thoughts fighting and screaming every instinct, or your pulse hammering in your ears. This is almost too much to bear as it is, but right now what you need are some fucking answers. This is confirmed as steel yourself, looking back down at the dog before you can even finish the thought. 

You read somewhere that the more you think of a memory, the faster it fades. After almost two years of thinking of him, of those eyes that held such love and loyalty and courage, you were sure your memories of him must be worn out to near transparency. And yet you stand corrected right there on your porch after one year, eleven months, and two and a half weeks of repetitive, maddening remembering, looking into those eyes and knowing as clearly as you did all that time ago that this isn’t just a black dog.

You don’t even have to say anything, the message clear in those all too intelligent eyes being proof enough. Practicality snaps into place, and you hurriedly usher him inside, not knowing which felt longer - almost two years of painfully tested loyalty, or those fifteen seconds out on your porch. You secure the locks, pushing the foyer table against the door, and lead him into the laundry room and away from any windows or fireplaces. You press your back against the closed door, sliding down, trying to catch your breath, the dog sitting patiently across from you. 

You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, letting out a sharp breath, almost laugh, of relief. You take a few deep breaths, trying to center yourself before you work up the courage to look up. When you do, he’s sitting right there. He looks virtually identical to the last time you saw him, your memories once again stronger than the time trying to erode them. Those same eyes are latched onto yours, disbelieving and searching yours for any traces of hate or bitter judgement. 

He concludes there really is none when you throw yourself into his arms, holding him so tight. He chokes back a sob as he buries his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your back, hands clutching your shirt. You fight tears of pure relief, pursing your lips and letting out a few concentrated breaths. 

“Sirius,” you manage after yet another infinity, still shaking in his arms. His tears finally spill at the raw love in your voice, beginning the painful filling of the hole the dementors had been steadily carving for years. You feel the cool, wet droplets hit your shoulder, and you squeeze him even tighter. 

“I swear, I would never-”

“I know,” you cut him off, his voice tight, riddled with pain and the fear of being unjustly rejected and shunned again. One hand runs over his back in soothing, repetitive shapes, the other smoothing the back of his hair, “I’ve always known.” You repeat, your voice fierce with certainty, free of any trace of doubt. Your warmth almost burns him after all that time in the bitter cold, and he curls tighter into you, almost unable to breathe. 

After a while, you’re not sure how long, you finally pull away to look at him properly. It’s surreal, one moment he looks exactly like how you last saw him, the next he’s almost unrecognizable. His face is slightly more angular than you remember, the rosy glow to his cheeks all but gone, and you’re sure he’s lost some weight. His collarbones and spine are more discernible under your touch than they had been. At only 23, he holds a battered, beaten sorrow beyond his years, but a light lives in his eyes that will never go out. Who could blame him? You’re sure he’s in much better shape than anyone else in that hell hole. 

His hand caresses your cheek, memorizing every eyelash and freckle. 

“I missed you,” he brings his forehead to yours, “so much.” You feel the pain and emotion in his voice, and you remind yourself that it’s all over now. You’re not going to let him go back there. Ever. Your hand runs through his hair, and you bring your lips closer to his. 

“I missed you too,” your warm breath fans over his face, and his breath hitches, “so, so much.” Your words echo his, and his heart lurches, feeling like it’s beating again for the first time in far too long. You hover there for a second, and you feel his hesitance. With everything that happened, all the slander and lies, he doesn’t know how you feel. The last thing he would ever do is try to initiate unless he knows you want to as much as he does. His unbroken, unwavering respect makes you smile - he’s still as much of a gentleman as ever. 

You close the space between with no hesitation, and your lips meet. The corners of both your eyes are misty with relief and passion and everything left unsaid as he pulls you into his lap, as invested in you as ever. You kiss feverishly, his lips slightly chapped but still soft. You angle your head deepening the kiss, and his hands squeeze your waist. When you finally pull away to catch your breath, you pepper a few kisses across his face, trailing down to his neck before resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Does anyone know you’re here?” you ask quietly, already dreading an answer. 

“Not yet, I don’t think,” he answers, kissing the top of your head, “just got out.” 

You pull your head up, staring at him in disbelief, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

“You’re the first person I’ve come to see,” he continues, loving the look on your face, “though the whole world will probably hear in the papers tomorrow-” “Oh my god,” you mutter, gently batting his chest, pulling him close to you again, pressing more kisses to the side of his face.

“Well, who did you think I’d see, the Queen?” You laugh into his neck, and the sound sends warmth through his whole body, like someone finally turned on the sun. His chest aches, this time from being so full after so long, and his arms tighten around you again. You pull away suddenly, a few moments later. 

“God, you must be starving. Do you want anything to eat?” 

“Well…” he muses, and you know that look. 

“Come on Puppy,” you say, finally getting to your feet, and helping him up with you. 

Sitting at your kitchen table across from him, the love of your life, finishing leftovers and debating on certain wizard vs. muggle foods was something you truly, to your core, never knew if you’d be able to do. In a moment of warm, insurmountable determination, you know that you will let absolutely no harm come to this man. Your mind is made up, resolutely as you pour tea, plans already forming. He fought for himself and for you for so long, now it’s your turn.

And this is not a fight you’re capable of losing.

[ombreblossom]

Whatever you do don’t open your eyes” for the prompt!

So, I’m not entirely sure what one says before posting fanfiction on Tumblr, but here we go! This is decidedly not horror at all, but uh. Maybe more fitting for something posted on the eve of Act 3, which will inevitably destroy us all.

I’ve never posted fanfiction before, and this is the single longest creative work I’ve ever written, fanfiction or not. Not to mention I haven’t written anything creative, really, in almost a decade. All this said, I hope you enjoy!

The Ins and Outs of Surprises

Content warnings for panic attacks, dissociation, and tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: In which Jon has a little bit of a rough time with knocking and then goes on to have an unquestionably fluffy evening. Featuring: kitties, the author projecting mightily onto Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist (as is tradition), good-natured teasing of everyone involved, and loads (and I mean loads) of affection.

(An AO3 link will be added to a reblog.)

Jon whipped his head up from his laptop screen at the loud knocking on their front door. This was a situation in which The Beholding would have unhelpfully supplied information about acute tachycardia and panic attack onset signs—if he and Martin hadn’t averted the apocalypse and banished the fears, at any rate. They could scarcely believe their luck some days, could scarcely believe that they’d both managed to live to see an after, to see time march on once more unperturbed by cosmic terrors.

These days, Jon had to recognize the symptoms of an imminent panic attack and allay them himself. Well, Martin helped, kind and loving soul that he was. That Martin had stuck around after they’d ceased being two of a handful of fully conscious people left in the entire world was another thing Jon couldn’t believe sometimes, but he couldn’t be happier that he did.

The knocking continued to barge in on his thoughts every several seconds as he sat stock still at his desk, flanked on both sides by bookshelves filled to the brim of his and Martin’s books and various knick-knacks: Polaroids of the two of them with their friends leaned up against the spines of their books, souvenirs purchased from museums around London, and a collection of small ceramic cats of different breeds and colors. A brief vision of everything on those shelves coming tumbling down in what is solidifying as an inevitable scuffle ratcheted up Jon’s anxiety even more. 

He was tempted to get up and look about their flat for anything that could serve as a weapon, but there wasn’t much other than perhaps a chef’s knife, dull with constant, loving use, that Jon was likely to find, and he was just as likely to harm himself with it as the intruder. Jon’s hands found their clumsy way to his upper arms, gripping them tightly enough that surely there’d be half-moon divots left where his nails bit into his skin. His chest was starting to feel tight, as if someone were sitting on it in spite of Jon’s verticality.

On one hand, he wished desperately that Martin were here because surely they’d be much more capable of taking on an impending intruder together now that Jon was “powered down,” so to speak. On another hand, he was so grateful that Martin wasn’t here to possibly get murdered. Better him than Martin, who’d been through so much (and largely on Jon’s account).

All this, and someone was still loudly rapping on the front door. The regularity with which the knocks came didn’t suggest an urgency or an immediate threat, so why hadn’t the knocker announced themselves? Maybe this mystery person was just trying to get his attention? But who could possibly know The (former) Archivist lived here? Was this even related to his status as Doom-Bringer? Jon remained in his seat where he’d been sending correspondence to the copyright holders of the next drama he was arranging for his theatre club to perform, paralyzed by indecision and a million swirling questions.

The person demanding his attention pounded their door once more, but this time a voice rang out, clear as a bell in crisp winter morning air.

“—you please open the door? I had to leave my keys in the car!”

His heart stammered and shuttered in his chest—much like Jon himself when he was excited, talking in stops and starts about the latest subject that he’d found interesting, but there was everything wrong with this kind of excitement. Martin had always found it endearing, or so he claimed, but he was sure he wouldn’t find this endearing, seeing Jon wavering on the precipice of panic. Jon, mouth gone bone-dry, croaked a response: “M-Martin?”

A little louder, Martin shouted, “Are you there, Jon? I don’t remember you saying you were going out today.” He audibly jerked the door handle, clearly checking to see if the door was locked. Even knowing who was on the other side of the door didn’t stop Jon from panicking. All sorts of gruesome scenarios danced through his mind. What if someone was using Martin to get at Jon, making it seem safe to leave their home only to ambush him once he was exposed?

Suddenly, all noise outside stopped, and this sent Jon spiraling further. He hadn’t really been taking note of his breathing this whole time, but he felt the encroaching fuzziness that he knew came with dropping oxygen levels. 

“Mar...tin?” Nothing still. Martin hadn’t returned yet. Gripping his cheap particle wood desk that carried none of the same gravitas his elaborate oak desk had at the institute, Jon stood up. It was a precarious thing, his legs shaking and threatening to send him to the floor if he moved too quickly, but he needed to know what happened to Martin.

Just as he had been about to take his first wobbly step toward the door, Jon heard the faint sound of a key sliding into a locking mechanism. In no time at all, his dear heart was in front of him, saying something Jon couldn’t parse.

“—okay to touch—Jon?” He sounded worried for some reason, his voice pitching up just that little extra bit, something Jon knew happened when Martin felt powerless in the face of someone in danger.

Where was the danger? Who was in danger?

Something light brushed against his shoulders and stayed there. In the back of his mind, he was sure Martin had meant it as a comfort to focus on instead of the menacing fuzziness. “Why don’t you sit down, Jon. Everything will be all right. Hey—hey. It’s okay. Just sit down, love, and breathe.” So Jon did.

For a while, he drifted, sightless and senseless save for the tightness in his chest.

When he came back to awareness, Martin was there; he’d pulled another chair up close to Jon and pulled him into a loose embrace, loose enough that Jon could escape with very little effort if he needed to. Soft shushing noises filled the room.

Jon lifted his head from its position buried in Martin’s chest and immediately lost himself again in Martin’s eyes. Dark and speckled as soil and just as full of life. Jon had read enough comparisons to celestial bodies in his lifetime (and made similar comparisons himself once upon a time when their relationship was new and Jon had no idea how to close the distance between them, so up on a pedestal Martin went) to think them useful now. Martin’s beauty didn’t come from being a lonely, unreachable, incomprehensible light in the night sky. Martin was beautiful for far more mundane reasons. He celebrated life and the ups and downs of it all. He sowed seeds of happiness whenever he could and hardly anyone left his presence the poorer. Certainly, Jon recognized, he was somewhat biased, and, no, Martin wasn’t a perfect human being and had his bad days when being around people was too much to bear, when he’d snap and sneer and hide, but those bad days were fewer and further between as time went on.

Martin was talking to him, as it turned out. Maybe he should pay attention to that? Push through the words upon words criss-crossing and overlapping in every direction and orientation. Like microcurrents in the ocean just off the coast of Bournemouth. He’d been warned off from swimming too far from the coast by his grandmother when he was younger. Not that he would have regardless (too many tourists, too many people looking to see only what they wanted to see of his shore-side city), but Jon’s wanderings only made her more fearful of what lurked beyond their small bubble.

Focus, Jon. Focus.

“Are you with me? I’m starting to get more worried here.” Ah, there’s the helpless sarcasm. 

Not able to speak just yet, he leaned back, loosening Martin’s hold on him. Without really comprehending the in-between, Jon’s arms wrapped around Martin’s middle. There was a rather inviting spot on his chest that perfectly pillowed Jon’s head when the opportunity arose, but now wasn’t the time. He’d be lost for hours in the comfort of it all. Instead, Jon looked at him.

“I’m with you,” he said, the gravel that rumbled around in his throat more pronounced than usual.

A full sigh blew out of Martin as he glanced away from Jon. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I totally forgot about the knocking….” This was when the guilt set in. A momentary indulgence, Martin told him once when the world was still Wrong. Time to put a stop to that.

One of Jon’s hands pulled Martin’s face back into view and stayed flush against his cold cheek. “Martin, it’s all right. Most days it wouldn’t bother me, but today…. Something about today has me a little on edge. It feels like something’s about to happen, but I don’t know what.”

Martin still looked worried. “Something is happening today, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Mirroring his gesture, Martin raised his own hand up, thumb following the path of Jon’s cheekbones, gently passing over the scars left by Jane Prentiss’ worms.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I promise it’s a good thing, though. No traps, no ulterior motives, no earthy manifestations of eldritch fear entities. It’s completely terror-free!”

“You promise, huh?” Jon said with a teasing lilt.

“I mean, as long as you discount the constant low-grade terror of living in a city with several million people and where anything can happen to you at any time.”

“I must say, Martin, you’re exceptionally reassuring today.”

“Thanks! I try.”

Jon just hmmed. 

With a hand still stroking Jon’s cheek and the worried look on his face softening by degrees, Martin said, “How are you feeling?”

Jon took a moment to honestly assess himself. He’d been trying to do that more often since distancing himself from the institute and everything it had represented to him. No more unreasonably late nights of work when he could just as easily spread his work out over the next day or several, and even when he couldn’t, Martin helped him make sure he stopped working no later than seven o’clock each evening. And while his pushing aside his bodily needs was a complicated matter with multiple causes, he’d been working on communicating when he needed to rest, when he was on the verge of pushing past his limits. (He’d been slowly coaxing Martin to do the same, though he’d just as often brush it off when Jon brought it up to him.)

After some examination, Jon replied, “I’m a bit tired, I suppose, but I’ll be all right once I get moving again.” He half-smiled at Martin, hoping to convey a sense of earnestness. Martin trusted him, he knew, and would take Jon’s words at face-value, but it didn’t hurt to lay it on thick sometimes.

The hand on his face was so soft. So pleasant a feeling it was, Jon nuzzled his face into that hand, eliciting a light-hearted giggle from Martin.

“Well, then,” he started, “Up we get! I’ve got something to show you. It’s a little chilly outside, so let’s grab your coat.”

Jon looked puzzled. “Outside? What’s outside?”

Martin gasped loudly. “It’s a surprise, Jon! How could you possibly ask me to spoil a surprise? The sheer audacity—I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest and a look of profound offense on his face, completing the ensemble of mock outrage.

A warmth settled in Jon’s chest. This silly man was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter how long that ended up being. He let himself be overcome with affection and took the hand Martin had been using to stroke his cheek and brought it to his lips, placing a sweet kiss onto his palm.

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood, whatever can I do to repay you for this betrayal?” Jon crooned, that sloppy half-smile morphing into something a bit more mischievous. He would take any opportunity he could get to coax Martin’s infamous blush into existence, a handsome spreading of color across warm tawny skin, reaching as far as the tips of his ears.

With the expected flush rising on his features, Martin eyed Jon with a mixture of equal parts amusement, affection, and disdain. He gently removed his hand from Jon’s hold and walked over to their coat closet. “What you can do for me, Jon, is come over here and let me help you into your coat!” There was no heat in his words—no, Jon would tease that there was none left to imbue Martin’s words because it was stuck preciously under his skin—and Jon chuckled as he rose from his chair and followed Martin over walked over to where Martin was waving Jon’s pea coat in front of him expectantly.

“All right, all right,” he said, turning around to face the direction he came from, back to Martin, allowing him to guide one woolen sleeve then another over Jon’s arms. (Their bookshelves were intact, if disorganized, to his mild surprise.) Martin tugged on the collar, a signal for Jon to face him.

Though he managed to retain most function in his right hand, despite Jude Perry’s desolate flame ravaging it, it was sometimes painful to flex his fingers. Thus, it became customary for Martin to help him into his outer layers. Buttons were especially difficult some days, but Martin would grab Jon’s lapels and bring him in close enough that only several centimeters separated them and he’d fasten Jon’s buttons for him. Today was no different, though today it was more about the casual intimacy that underlaid the gesture than it was about the practicality of it.

Almost ready to face the damp cold outside, Jon asked, “What’s the rush about, Martin?”

A royal purple scarf suddenly in hand, Martin said, “Well, it’s getting late, and Georgie is still waiting outside with—well, waiting outside, and she and Melanie have a date soon, so we can’t keep her waiting.” Martin curled the scarf around Jon’s neck just so. “Not to mention how miserable it is outside. And I had to turn the car off to take the keys when you wouldn’t answer the door, so it’s probably cold by now, and….” He trailed off, looking at the ceiling with a far-away expression as if contemplating what else to tell Jon in this moment. “In any case, we are in a bit of a hurry, so get your boots on and let’s go!”

Aforementioned boots on and otherwise bundled up, Jon cocked his head to the side. “But, why is Georgie—” He stopped. He didn’t need to know right then. He knew Martin would answer his questions when he felt he could. This was knowledge that could wait. “Lead the way, then, dear.”

They turned toward the door hand-in-hand. Before opening the door, Martin looked back at Jon and said, “I meant it when I said this was a surprise, Jon. I want you to close your eyes and not open them until I say to, okay?”

The proposition of keeping his eyes closed for an indeterminate amount of time didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he trusted Martin. Before he could provide his assent, however, Martin pressed on.

“I know you don’t feel safe when you can’t see anything, but it’s only for a short walk to the car, and I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure nothing happens to you,” he assured. 

Jon could let himself be caught in Martin’s gaze forever, sunny and bright as it was. Now wasn’t the time, he realized. Later on, Jon would lead him to their overstuffed couch by hand and drape himself over Martin and press kisses underneath the line of his jaw and down the line of his throat, as he knew Martin loved.

“I trust you, Martin.” Jon closed his eyes and used his unoccupied hand to gesture to them with a flourish. “Lead on.”

A blast of cold, saturated air assaulted them as Martin opened the door. Taking their first steps outside, Jon tried to place the temperature, figuring it was no warmer than five or six degrees. It was still kind of novel, not having the exact knowledge he was looking for beamed into his head without his consent.

“Hold on, Jon. Stay right here for a moment. I have to close the door. Don’t want our heating bill to go through the roof.” Jon did as he was told, resisting the urge to open his eyes in spite of Martin’s insistence and already missing the solid presence of his hand. As if he were the one with omniscience, Martin yelled back, “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes!”

Thoroughly thwarted, Jon waited for Martin to take his hand again before moving.

They parted the slow-moving air around them as they walked. Not forceful enough to be considered wind in his book but enough to siphon some of the scant amount of warmth his body produced away from him. People breezed by them, heeled shoes clacking against the sidewalk and snatches of conversations not meant for them drifting in and out of focus. “You said Georgie was here, right? Where is she? I don’t hear her at all.” 

“Georgie has been sworn to silence. Come on; we’re almost there.”

Martin pulled him forward, careful indeed to guide Jon around deposits of snow, soon to be gone, and depressions in the uneven sidewalk filled with slush. London and the surrounding area often got like this in the dead of winter; it didn’t snow overmuch, but when it did, rain soon followed, the temperature never remaining cool enough to sustain large amounts of snow for very long.

“Okay, Jon. We’re here. Keep your eyes closed for a little while longer.” Jon heard the tell-tale sound of a car door opening. The anticipation was roiling in him now; it was hardly bearable. He alternated between centering his weight on the balls of feet and then his heels—and back and forth—trying to dissipate some of the unease.

Just as Jon’s anxieties were building in intensity to a roaring crescendo, Martin spoke again: “You can open your eyes now, love.”

In front of Jon was a cat carrier—no mistaking it. He knew their shape intimately from all the hurried trips to the vet after The Admiral had gotten into food he shouldn’t have. The time The Admiral had eaten a sizable chunk of cold margherita pizza Georgie and he had left out on the table came to mind easily. Several frenzied Internet searches later, words like pancreatitis and anemia rolling around in their minds, they rushed The Admiral to an emergency vet. (It turned out that he hadn’t really eaten enough of the pizza to really worry about it, and the vet had a laugh at their expense, but the experience stuck with both of them.)

Someone had thrown a blanket over the carrier, making it difficult to make out what (who?) was inside, so Jon crouched down to get a better look. He could only imagine the look on his face right then.

A Maine Coon cat stared back at him, its amber eyes searching his and its head displaying a rich coat of golden yellows and deep browns. Jon was nigh speechless. “Who is this, Martin?” he whispered reverently.

Martin crouched down with him. “Well, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a name, not an official one anyway. I started feeding her a while ago on my way back from Tesco, and eventually she started following me back home. I wasn’t sure if she was actually someone’s cat or if she was a stray, so I always shooed her away before we got close to home.”

“That doesn’t answer why she’s here.” He wanted desperately to open the door of the carrier and run his hand through her fur, but Jon settled for poking his finger through the grate. The yet-to-be-named cat sniffed his finger from a couple angles and proceeded to rub her nose and face all over it. Jon nearly wept. 

“I can answer that one,” Georgie interjected, having been nearly forgotten by the other two. She came over and kneeled down with them, eyeing them both with mild concern. “Remember those couple times Melanie, Martin, and I all took off while you were working? Well, this guy was waffling on what to do with Goldie here”—Jon mouthed “Goldie? Really?” at Martin, who could only shrug helplessly—“and came to Melanie and me, your resident cat parents, for advice.

“We discovered pretty quickly that Goldie was a stray, or at least not microchipped. That made the decision that much easier. I walked him through all the different tests he’d want to get done to to make sure she was healthy and spayed and all that. The vet figured she’d been a house cat at some point, seeing as she was fairly clean and decently-well fed, even taking Martin feeding her into account. But no microchip, no tags, and no other indicator of who she belonged to, and the several weeks this guy had been asking around the area to try to find her owners with nothing to show for it?” 

Martin shot her a look. Georgie laughed, saying, “Oh, there was no way I wasn’t going to mention that. You talk a good game of resisting her charms, but you knew you were going to try to bring her home. You exhausted all your options trying to find her owners before we even showed up! The point is, we figured Goldie would find herself in good company with you two. Plus, I know how much you’ve missed The Admiral, Jon.”

This was too much to take in. He hadn’t been aware of any of this happening. In one sense, it was relieving: another piece of evidence to add the mounting pile that The Beholding had truly lost its grip on him. But how could Jon have missed all of this? Surely he joined Martin often enough in his London travels to have noticed him asking around about this cat.

“Hey.” Martin bumped their shoulders together. “I know what you’re thinking. I tried very hard to keep this from you in case it didn’t work out. I didn’t want to tell you about Goldie and get your hopes up only to find out that she had a loving family looking for her. And you’ve been so preoccupied with your theatre club’s new show; I wanted this to be a pleasant surprise.” Jon remembered the playbills scattered around his desk, a cursor left blinking, hovering over a supplicating email.

“You doing all right there, Jon?” Georgie leaned in closer to him, eyebrows furrowed. “We should get Goldie inside soon. It’s awfully cold.”

He’d heard enough. Standing up without warning, Jon waited for the other two to follow suit.

There was a moment when nobody moved. 

In a (in hindsight) hilarious attempt to force both Georgie and Martin up to their feet, Jon grabbed a hold of their collars and pulled, not too hard as to choke but enough to make his intentions known.

Jon advanced on Georgie first and threw his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. This was familiar; this was safe. It took them a long time to return to a place where they would love each other like this after everything. He’d thought once that it would be impossible, too many misunderstandings and too much unintentional harm a seemingly unending flood under the bridge of their relationship, but here they were.

Pulling away slightly, Jon pressed a brief kiss to Georgie’s dry cheek, a pleasant contrast to their overwhelmingly wet surroundings. He stared deep into her eyes and said, "Thank you for your part in this, Georgie. For helping bring—heh—Goldie to us."

Eyebrows shockingly close to the edge of her hairline and eyes wide, she stuttered out, "Oh! Yeah, sure."

He turned on Martin next, who stood stock still close by, watching the scene with rapt attention. 

“Martin.”

Jon didn’t give Martin a chance to respond, stealing his words with a kiss. Several kisses, really, all short and soft and sweet, with little regard for location. Nowhere was safe: Martin’s nose, cheek, temple, jaw, hair. All had kisses laid upon them in pretty short order. 

As if just realizing he had an armful (and lipful) of Jon, Martin pulled him in closer. “What was that for?”

Jon let his smile take over his face. “For all the kindnesses you do me—big and small, extravagant and simple, whether you believe them to be or not.” And he pressed one more kiss on Martin’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” he said. Wobbly, he continued, “Of course, Jon.”

Passersby walked around them. How Jon managed to forget this was a London street where people other than him, Martin, and Georgie existed was beyond him. He only noticed them at all because the chill of the languid London wind was starting to make a home in his bones. Better to work on getting everyone inside before the cold became too much.

“Where’s Melanie? I know she’d hate it, but I want to thank her as well.”

“Oh, Melanie would have loved to be here, if only to laugh at the hilarious conclusion of this rom-com movie plot we’ve all found ourselves in. But a meeting with one of the families she’s been working with ran late.” Melanie couldn’t talk too much about her work for fear of violating the confidentiality of the people she worked with, but from what Jon understood, she had essentially created a career adjacent to social work, in which she helped people living with the aftereffects of the fears’ full emergence reintegrate into society at large. She reasoned she was in a good position to help others shed the influence of the fears, given that she’d spent the last almost year before the Change doing the same. 

Georgie clasped Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, though! I’m going to be telling her a~all about this.”

“Are you trying to give me a coronary? Melanie can’t know I have feelings.”

Georgie threw her head back and laughed. “Consider it our payment for the invaluable advice we provided throughout this harrowing process that Melanie will get to tease you about how disgustingly cute you two are later.”

The two bickered for a little bit like this as the sun sank further further beneath the horizon, Martin occasionally chiming in with support for whomever would create the most chaos. He may have been the love of Jon’s life, but Martin could still be a little shit when the mood took him.

Georgie was right earlier. It was cold and starting to get colder, and, frankly, all Jon wanted to do right now was pet this cat that he was legally obligated to rename to something more dignified. Something like The Duchess or Empress Dowager Cat or something else of equal stature would do. He’ considered having Martin help him decide, but if “Goldie'' was anything to go by, then perhaps it’d be better to leave him out of the proceedings.

Starting to move the blanket away from Goldie’s carrier, Jon said, “It’s about time we brought her inside, don’t you think, Martin? I’d like to get her settled in before dinner.”

Georgie stayed a couple extra minutes to help get Goldie, some food she and Martin had picked up for her on the way back, and a few toys into the flat. Jon offered to walk her to the tube station, and Martin offered to drive her back to the flat she shared with Melanie, but Georgie refused both and sent the two of them on their way to go bond with their new furchild.

As Georgie rounded the corner of their block and left their sight, waving to them all the while, Jon and Martin returned to the warmth of their flat. And there she was, lying against the grate of the carrier, not a care in the world. He and Goldie would become fast friends, Jon was sure.

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

Outerwear hung up to dry and boots neatly sequestered on their drying mat, it was finally safe to allow Goldie to explore their flat, which she accomplished in approximately 5 seconds, zooming around from room to room in a series of excited dashes. She stopped in the middle of the living room floor and made several pointed sniffs into the air.

Martin looked over to where Jon stood; he looked positively gleeful with a loose fist poorly hiding a still obvious smile. Frizzy fly-away hairs haloed around his head with some plastered to his face and the rest of his black, silver mottled hair in a hastily-done up-do. It was well known that Jon's hair expanded a good thirty percent in moist air, and today was no exception. It was so charming, seeing this man so unguarded, so unmade compared to his historically meticulous appearance. 

Choosing this moment of loving staring to make herself known once again, Goldie wound herself in around their legs in figure eights, rubbing her scent onto their closes and purring loudly. Jon couldn’t stop the high keening noise that escaped from his mouth.

"Are you all right over there, love?" Martin snickered.

"Quiet, you."

Jon turned to face him. It didn't happen too often, but every once in a while, Jon would gain an extra depth of color in a delicate line across his nose and cheekbones, a warmer brown than what otherwise lived there. Martin was wholly pleased to see the color now, and that it arose from something he helped make happen made his heart soar. 

"This is your fault, you know," Jon said mildly.

"What's my fault?"

He huffed. "These entirely embarrassing reactions I'm having."

"Oh, is that all? Sorry that I can't find it myself to feel guilty, then. I happen to love all these embarrassing reactions you're having." Placing a kiss on Jon's temple, he continued, "You're adorable when you're like this, you know."

"I know you think that, you incorrigible man."

“You are!” 

Jon laughed fondly at this. “There’s no sense in arguing with you about this, is there?”

“Not really!”

Seemingly sensing the end of their dispute, Goldie plopped herself down on Jon’s foot. It didn’t seem possible that she could purr any louder than she was a couple minutes ago, but Martin’s life had always taken one look at his expectations and summarily ignored them.

“Are you seeing this, Martin?” Jon whispered, the awe in his voice unmistakable. “Her Most Esteemed Empress Dowager Cat has deemed me worthy of her attention. I am honored to be in her presence.”

It took everything Martin had in him to not bark a laugh at that. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t quite hear you. What are we calling our cat?”

Their cat. Their cat that they’d be taking care of and cuddling together. Somehow the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, and it threatened to make him speechless now.

Jon muttered indignantly, “Like your name was any better.”

Martin gathered Jon into his arms easily, despite Jon’s defensive posture.

“Why don’t we come up with a proper name for her tomorrow. We’ll call her Goldie for now”—Jon started to protest, but Martin pushed on—“because that’s what she’s been answering to, but let’s just make dinner and enjoy her company tonight, hmm?”

A short moment later, Jon replied, “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

They debated the relative merits of whipping up a quick curry versus spending a bit more time on a soup with a homemade broth and eventually decided on the former. The sounds of chopping potatoes and the clinking of glass jars containing garam masala, turmeric, red chili powder, cloves, star anise, and everything else necessary for aloo kurma spread throughout the flat. And if Goldie leapt onto the kitchen counter once or twice, knocking over bowls of ingredients and leaving inordinate amounts of fur in her wake, well. That was just fine with them.

[10moonymhrivertam]

Buffy/Witcher fic fragment

“Julian, duck!” The voice is a little shrill and definitely frantic. Jaskier’s still reeling from the portal, but something about the words has his hand shooting out to drag Geralt down with him. Something flies over their heads, and he looks up to see a headless body crumbling into dust. Which he hasn’t seen anything do in a very, very long time. He tenses at running footsteps, and he has a dagger in hand based sheerly on how frayed his nerves are. The girl standing over them is in jeans and a t-shirt, and he hasn’t seen the combination in decades.

“It is you! Everyone’s going to flip. It’s been years, I’m pretty sure they thought you were dead, especially since nobody really did magic yet when you went missing.” The girl has a hand out, and Jaskier stares at it, his brain buffering. Eventually, he realizes why. He’d gotten a spell to help him learn the most common language on the Continent when he’d arrived there, and now his brain is scrambling to parse English for the first time in twenty years.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, the words wrapping strangely around his tongue. The girl frowns, her face scrunching into an expression that rings a bell deep in his memory. He’d had a friend that made a face like that...

“Right. The spell. You were gone.” Her hand still hangs in the air between them. “I’m Dawn Summers. I can take you to Giles, if you want.”

Jaskier eyes her for another moment before accepting the hand and then turning to help Geralt up. He doesn’t refuse the help, but there’s something tight in his face that says he doesn’t trust conversations he didn’t understand being had over his head.

“She knows someone that might know something,” he says to Geralt. Geralt grunts, his eyes darting from grave to grave. Jaskier suppresses a sigh and turns back to Dawn.

“Lead the way, Miss Summers.” Her face does something strange, but without a word, she turns on her heel and heads for the gate of the cemetery with unerring accuracy. Geralt’s stony silence felt significant, but every time Jaskier thought of something to say, all he could think was how Geralt was going to tear him apart for this pile of shit later when Jaskier wasn’t the only translator around. Another voice speaking English stopped his anxiety from ratcheting higher.

“Dawn, all I want to know is how I didn’t see you go.”

“I literally just waited until you stopped asking me questions while you were reading. But look, I survived!” Her voice is as bright as the sun. “Also, I found something!”

“You found something?” It wouldn’t have been easy to miss the skepticism in his voice even if Jaskier didn’t already know him. Dawn looks back, drawing Giles’s eye. Jaskier waves awkwardly, suddenly aware of just how much distance time has put between them.

“Julian?”

“Giles. It’s been...a while, for me.”

“It hardly looks like it.” Jaskier recognizes the look from seeing one like it on Geralt’s face more than he remembers it on Giles’s.

“I think that first portal did something to the way I age. Do you want to not-invite us back somewhere?” Which clears up a little bit of the look on Giles’s face, at least.

“I suppose there is an anniversary pizza party which can use a few more guests.”

“Oh, yeah!” Dawn grinned. “You haven’t met Tara yet! Oh, and, um - who are you? Sorry.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt - for a split second, he was waiting for Geralt to answer, then remembered.

“Geralt, this is Dawn and Giles. Giles, Dawn; Geralt. Language barrier.” Geralt had figured that much out already, so he didn’t feel the need to repeat himself.

“Sounded Polish.” Giles said a string of something which almost sounded like a greeting, but made Jaskier make a face. The easiest explanation was just that his accent was incomprehensible, but - then he remembered that they’d hopped from the thirteenth century to the twentieth.

“I’ll look into it,” Jaskier said in very firm English. Giles winced, and Jaskier felt bad for a moment. They quickly got on their way, and silence reigned. Jaskier hated the thick tension in the air, so with a mental fuck-it, he started speaking.

“Say something,” he pleaded with Geralt. “Anything. Three words or less?” The prompt usually worked when all else failed, but then - that had been before that awful dragon hunt half a year ago.

“Apologies are difficult.” The words came slowly, and Geralt looked pained. Jaskier didn’t bother hiding his surprise. Geralt eyed him for a moment before dropping his eyes to the sidewalk. “Harder now that I’m confused. And you’re the only one that knows what’s going on.”

Jaskier bit his lip, processing that. Geralt wanted to apologize, before they were portalled into Sunnydale. That was...a lot.

“This is...” Jaskier trailed off. “It’s where I’m from.” He looked away from Geralt. “A few years before we met, a portal took me from here and dropped me on the Continent. There was a mage that was so frustrated with my charades that she just slapped a translation spell on me. I’m just lucky the mechanics of it mean I can be a great bard. I can still tell the languages are separate, they still feel different, but I just - understand them.” He tapped his temple.

“This is where you’re from?” Geralt repeated. Jaskier looked over to see his eyes roaming from the sidewalk to the road to the power lines.

“It’s got monsters, too, but no witchers. Got something else, though. Oh, and it’s the twentieth century. Twenty-first, maybe, depending how long I was gone. It was the 90’s.”

“You know them?”

“The man. The girl said something about a spell, but...I don’t know what she means. Hold on. Miss Summers, what was that you said before about a spell?”

“Oh, yes, you were gone.” Hearing Giles say the same thing was a point in her favor. “It’s...rather complicated. There was memory alteration involved.”

“So I forgot you?” Jaskier couldn’t help but be a little upset by the idea.

“Wrong way around,” Dawn said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “We probably should wait until we get back, and then everyone else can tell you the way they remember things. It might be kind of neat to see how you tell things.”

“Alright, then.” Jaskier flashed them a disarming smile before turning his attention back to Geralt and shrugging. Geralt hummed and fell quiet again. Jaskier did the same despite himself, at least until the girl drifted back towards them.

[disappearance somewhere mid-s3; this is set in an ambiguous post-s5 everyone-is-happy-fuck-you]

“Is that a guitar?”

“A lute. Learning it was a little different. The tuning’s a bitch.” Giles shot him a look over his shoulder, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “This is a special one. I got it from the king of the elves.”

Dawn’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, Bilbo.”

“Hey, no, they’re real on the Continent!” Jasker protested. He outlined what history he’d learned at Oxenfurt for her, and by the time he was coming to the end of his impromptu lecture, they were outside a house he recognized, just barely. Giles was first through the door, tossing out a greeting to get a chorus of voices in return. Dawn followed. Jaskier hesitated just one moment. His high school friends seemed to be in there. He hadn’t seen them in going on thirty years. Nonetheless, if he didn’t go, Giles wouldn’t trust him, and he didn’t have any chance of either settling in here or finding his way home. So he forged ahead, hanging onto Geralt’s sleeve. He crossed the threshold without a lick of trouble, and Geralt shadowed him silently.

“Who’s that?” That was Joyce’s voice, he thought.

“We found them in the cemetery!” Dawn said, far too cheerfully. “But we didn’t invite them in,” she added quickly. “You heard!”

“We heard.” That was another familiar one. A few moments later, one of his old friends was in the doorway. “...Julian?”

There was a chorus of ‘what’s, and suddenly it seemed like the entirety of whatever party they were having was in the doorway. Before he’d quite processed it all, Xander had drawn him into a hell of a hug.

“Lute!” He protested, squirming out of the hug. He took off his case and floundered for a place to set it. Geralt gently removed it from his hands and nodded back to the others. Jaskier flashed him a quick, warm smile, then turned his attention back to distributing hugs.

“It’s been a while,” he offered when they’d had their fill.

“How are you not dead?” Xander asked, earning an elbow in the side from Willow. He winced and pouted at her. 

“There was a portal. Which did do something strange to my aging, I’ll admit.”

“You barely look older than me,” Dawn observed, which didn’t help Jaskier as much as it ought to.

“Well, that’s flattering.”

“Why, how old are you?” Buffy asked.

“Coming up on forty-three.” Geralt tensed at the various ‘bullshit’s that rose up. Jaskier flashed him a smile to reassure him. “I’d offer to prove it, but all I have is Geralt’s word, and he never even argued with Yennefer about those crow’s feet jokes, so I don’t know if he noticed.”

“Oh, what are we all standing around the hall for?” Joyce tittered. “Come on, come sit. There’s pizza; soda; some wine.”

“Ooh, they’ve got wine, Geralt!” Geralt hummed. Still holding Jaskier’s lute with something like reverence, he followed Jaskier. At least until Jaskier stopped dead in the door, his eyes narrowing at the man with bleach-blond hair in the middle of what sounded like a pop culture argument with a woman who hadn’t come to greet him. 

“You have more to catch me up on, right now,” he said lowly. Spike looked over and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Pretty boy. Thought you were dead. Nice going on the still being here.” Spike made a vague gesture of congratulations and then turned back to his partner, but she was squinting at Jaskier like she knew him.

“There was a thing,” Dawn answered, dropping onto the couch. “An organizationy thing. Now he basically has a taser in his brain so he can’t eat people. He doesn’t have a soul but he’s still okay.”

“Watch yourself, little bit.” Spike waved a threatening finger at her, and Jaskier nearly leapt forward with his dagger, clear invitation be damned. A hand landed on his shoulder. He tensed and nearly whipped around. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“When I left, that bastard was out to kill us.”

“And now?”

Jaskier huffed angrily through his nose. “He’s been invited to the party.”

“Treat him like he’s Valdo Marx, then.”

“Not fucking well helpful, Geralt, someday I’ll murder that little shit, I really will.”

“You’re Jaskier and Geralt of Rivia!” The accusation was sudden, giddy, and in the language Jaskier was used to hearing. He and Geralt turned as one to look at Spike’s conversation partner. Jaskier distantly noticed he was staring at her, too, though in a more ‘what the fuck’ way.

“And who would you be, madam?” The flirty, pleased smile touched easily on Jaskier’s face. Xander’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, when I went there, I usually went as Anyanka.”

“Anyanka...that’s familiar.”

“It had better be. I had at least three separate summons that stopped me and Hallie having days out because of you.”

“Summons?” Most of Jaskier’s excitement had dropped away.

“I was a demon zemsty.”

“Shit.” Jaskier could feel himself go pale. He could feel Geralt at his back, but couldn’t tell if he was angry or smug or indifferent. 

“But I’m not stupid. Witchers are almost as infamous as Slayers, and you’re the White Wolf’s bard.”

“Slayers?” Geralt asked. 

“It’s what I told you we have instead of Witchers. Except there’s only one, and she’s always a girl.”

“Seems like a lot of responsibility for one person,” he remarked. 

“Which is why Buffy has everyone.” Jaskier made a gesture encompassing the room. “And hasn’t died yet. No, wait, Kendra was Called. Well, she’s never died properly.”

[seimeinotaka]

Sword training (Vil x MC)

Set Post-Pomefiore.

Vil learns that Ann has somehow started training with a sword, of all things. He also finds himself getting somehow a knight of sorts.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

-

"Hi yah!"

The yell reached Vil's ears as he was doing his daily walk.  Instinctively, he turned his head to where the sound came from, easily recognizing the person's voice.

"Haaa!"

Ann swung her blunt sword in an upward arch, possibly the new movement she had been taught. It was too amateurish, inelegant and charmless, Vil thought to himself. It was exactly like her, though unexpectedly so, as he wouldn't have imagined she was interested in sword fighting in the first place.

"Hyah!"

She swung again.

At least she was passionate about it, though her passion alone wouldn't get her very far.

Ann paused her swings, turning suddenly around, startled when she realized his presence, though this didn't stop her from waving at him and jogging to where he was standing.

"Vil-senpai!" she said in between breaths. "I felt someone watching me but I didn't think it was you."

"Your swing is inelegant."

As well as her appearance: her hair was in a messy ponytail, bangs disheveled all over her flushed face.

"Well, Shishou just taught me this yesterday."

"Shishou?"

"Yes, Shishou. Silver-senpai. He's teaching me the sword in his free time."

That was surprising to say the least, Silver was from Diasomnia and one of Malleus's guards, everyone knew how they would flock behind him. Weren't they overzealous about Malleus's protection?

"I find it hard to imagine, he is always in Diasomnia doing his duties."

"It's okay! Kanchou said so!" she replied with a smile, as he frowned.

"Kanchou? Do you enjoy not making any sense?"

She rolled her eyes, that infuriating smile not fading in the slightest, and it was so tempting to smack her. "Kanchou is Lilia-senpai. Since Lilia-senpai is Silver-senpai's senpai, that would make him the big boss, so Kanchou."

He arched an eyebrow at her incomprehensible logic. Just like her.

"You make no sense."

"I don't? Huh, that's rude. You always call us potatoes, why can't I give you nicknames? There's Shishou and Kanchou, there's also Tsunotaro though that's his own fault. Trey-senpai is Aniki, Azul-senpai is Boss..." She looked at him with a sly smirk, "Wouldn't you like to know yours, Vil-senpai?"

Yes.

"No."

But he was not going to admit it.

"Too bad, it's a secret!"

"Then why offer something you're not even going to reveal?" He huffed, mildly annoyed to be entertaining her and going on her own tempo. He was the one who should be setting it, not her.

"Maybe I wanted to see if you were interested?"

"Why would I be interested?"

"Just a wild thought," she dared to say with a smirk. "I enjoy talking to you too."

-

Sometimes their paths crossed, almost like strangers fated to meet. He didn’t like leaving things to something intangible as fate, the same as how wishes worked. Like wishes, fate undermined hard work. There was no value to becoming the fated hero…or villain, cursed to a forgone conclusion especially if fate deemed you unworthy, no matter what. However, he wasn’t so sure he liked the only other logical explanation to these meetings, how he seemed to come across her during his walks, almost yearning for her.

Just as she was now standing in front of him, having interrupted her sword practice just to talk to him. And he was somehow entertaining her.

"If you were in my situation, like you were thrown into a foreign world, wouldn't you try things you normally wouldn't be able to do in your home world? We don't fight with swords, and the only remaining sword fighting styles are sports. Actually, one would suit Pomefiore, it's kind of elegant now that I think of it... But anyway, swords in my world are only good for sports, collection bragging rights, and to make money in gacha games, so you can't exactly train to wield one. "

He folded his arms over his chest, not fully convinced. “That’s quite a leap in logic, potato. Surely the first thing you would consider trying isn’t something involving fighting. I would understand if you were trying magic, but to want to engage in this kind of combat? You certainly don’t look the type.”

“How rude!” She huffed. “You should know better than to judge someone for their looks! Maybe I just wanted to try something really extra? This school has the gothic and medieval style that it begs to try something knights do.”

“That logic is too obtuse, even for you. I knew you were an otaku like Idia, but I didn’t take you as the delusional type.”

Something was off. She was unreasonable, but even this was a big stretch for her.

“Perhaps I could protect someone...!”

For a second, he thought something flashed in her eyes, but it was too brief to make sense of it.

"Must be nice to be able to take things like a game."

"Does it look like that way to you? I wish it was.”

Her soft expression was unreadable and somehow, it was disconcerting. It was the first time he had seen it in her eyes.

She didn’t seem to mind his silence, as she pondered for a brief moment, before breaking the tension. “Hmm, I guess if it were a game, I could say this…”

Ann knelt down in front of Vil, one knee on the ground, hand on her chest above her heart. Bowing her head down, she said with a regal tone, "I vow by this sword I wield, that I will protect you with all my might, my Queen."

Vil immediately froze up, heart stammering inside his chest, when she had just said before... was she even being serious? Was she playing, and like this? But the tone of her voice was so clear, playful but oddly sincere, making blood rush to his cheeks, heart racing so much it ached.

"How can you say such things without even the slightest hint of embarrassment?" he reproached, controlling the emotion within. It was unbecoming of a queen to show this inner and violently increasing turmoil that this…prank had stirred.

Ann stood up, laughing softly with a flushed face he wanted to smack.

"It's not like I'm not embarrassed but..." The expression in her eyes changed faintly, a mix of softness and...despair. "You don't know if you can say those words tomorrow so it's best to say them when you can."

She was most likely fooling around, she could stop doing that with him, as his heart was still recovering from the shock.

"So, you're one of those people, living your fullest every day," he replied, trying to sound unamused and unaffected by her.

"...I guess." Her gaze was fixed in the horizon, not looking at the orange colored sky but somewhere else, somewhere distant and foreign. That faint odd feeling from before heightened, it was briefly in her eyes. Perhaps she was just homesick, and this was her way of dealing with it. It could be something else too.

But he wouldn't pry, and he had the feeling she wouldn't say it either. Even someone as open as her had things sealed deep inside.

No.

Because she was so open about everything, it was why she could hide something.

-

“Just so you know,” Ann began, as she casually stretched, suddenly tagging Vil on his walk because she knew no limits and he was feeling charitable that day. “Paladins are supposed to protect the King and Queen.”

“I am aware of it, thank you for the useless information,” he replied dryly. “Also, Paladins are supposed to be master equestrians. How is your progress in the Horse Riding club?”

She flinched at his words, a large grimace replacing her teasing expression seconds before. “It’s a work in progress…” she mumbled. Though he was already aware that her progress was nil, it was bold of her to speak such words.

“Do your best to improve then, potato.”

“I don’t only need the horse, alright!” she huffed quickly. “It’s important to know you’re protecting someone! After seeing Shishou and Kanchou, even the annoying Sebek, protect Tsunotaro earnestly, I realized… I guess those speeches you hear in shonen anime do make sense, you do get a stronger purpose if you’re protecting someone.”

"I don't need you to protect me."

"Who said I was going to protect you?"

He could feel the flare up his cheeks, his mind already thinking of thousands of rebuttals because how dare she. He was the Queen, it was natural to imagine her proposal.

Did he need her help?

Absolutely not, he was more than capable of defending himself. The bodies of many who tried to fight him and lost were proof of that.

Did he want her to...

He stopped that trail of thought.

And most importantly…

“Didn’t you make that silly vow before?” he snarled, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

“Ah, so you remembered!” She gave him a big, bright, cheeky and infuriating smile. “It was just a test, but I can tell you do want me to stick around.”

“You’re really…”

She still had that smile of hers as she waved him goodbye. Softer and odder this time, but a smile nonetheless and he wanted so much to wipe it from her face. When he reached his dorm, he avoided Rook’s piercing gaze as the hunter complimented his newest blush.

But once his racing heart had slowed down, there was still that odd feeling he couldn’t shake off.

-

"Don't you want to go back?"

This time, he had reached out to her, catching her off guard as she had finished her sword practice. She was startled, both at being reached out to and him asking her that question. She probably never expected him to do either, but there was something he had to figure out.

"Huh?"

"To your world. Crowley is looking for a way to send you back, isn't he?"

"Well, looking is a stretch, he conveniently forgets it every time except when he wants me to do something. Then he excuses himself by saying that it is so hard that he can't do anything."

"You're avoiding the question."

She covered her mouth, but he could see hints of a gleeful smile. "Could it be you don't want me to go back? Hehe, that's actually sweet of yo-ack! Why did you smack me!?"

"You always think so highly of yourself, potato. Wouldn't you want me to beg you to not go back? Of course you would."

'So you keep deflecting the question,' he thought to himself. And it was then when he noticed, the smile she had held had softly, almost imperceptibly transformed. It was painful to watch, a mirthless expression behind that mask.

“There was something bothering me for a while, about you specifically. I finally realized it now. Your smile doesn’t always reach your eyes. I can tell you aren’t lying to me, but your true feelings are another thing entirely.”

She froze immediately, all pretenses and forced expressions vanished, replaced with a fearful expression of being caught.

“…You must be mistaken, Vil-senpai,” she replied softly, her hand gripping her arm awkwardly, as she couldn’t hold eye contact anymore. The attempt of a smile was so stiff that he didn’t need to say anything, as she realized it was futile. “I’m….”

She couldn’t finish that sentence and their meeting didn’t last much longer. Her distraught silence was more than enough proof for him that he was right, but she didn’t say anything else. He had caught her off guard, so used to hiding something in plain sight that, she didn’t know how to react when she met someone who knew where exactly to find it out.

Even though Vil didn’t know what it was.

As her figure disappeared in the horizon, he thought of his own Overblot. The feelings he had carried for so long, as they weighed him down, no matter how hard he tried to go on. Choking him gently, until he found it hard to breathe, to think.

Ann wasn’t capable of magic, that was certain, but…

That didn’t mean she couldn’t break.

-

Ann enoys giving people nicknames as you can tell. Hers for Vil is actually S-paisen, on the logic that he looked like an DoS but then he wasn’t (as she dealt with him during their stay at Ramshackle) and THEN NVM he is a DoS during his speech about making people kneel. Paisen, because she is affectionate towards him. She also has uhhh some issues but she’s not really the kind to say them out loud. Yet,

Thank you for reading!

[lizzieraindrops]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eris Morn/Ikora Rey Characters: Eris Morn, Ikora Rey Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hello destiny sapphics; allow me to introduce myself, Femslash, if nobody is going to write the content i want to see then i will create it myself, listen. it's about perceiving the weak and wounded places in someone you love, and lavishing love and care upon them even when they won't admit they need it, it's about the Mutual Support, it's about being kind to them even when you don't know how to be kind to yourself, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, oh and ikora has the most Distinguished Bisexual energy i've ever seen so jot that down, it doesn't come up but you needed to know, this is all just a bunch of softness and tenderness don't @ me okay

Summary:

Five storms Eris and Ikora weathered and one they didn't need to.

The Shadowkeep weblore lives in my head rent free. Set post-Taken King and mostly during Shadowkeep.

“As I told Asher, there is a storm coming...” “Oryx is dead. We’ve weathered the storm.” Ikora is upset. She has yet to understand the bigger picture. “Yet his sisters would see his will done. There will always be another storm.” “Then let’s weather it together.” -Shadowkeep Narrative Preview #1

Many thanks to @hencegoodfortune for the beta read and of course for the memes.

Chapter: |  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |  +1  |

Set just after The Taken King.

Eris knows she is not in the Hellmouth. Although the Tower has never felt the same since her ordeal on Luna, she recognizes it easily nonetheless. At every moment, the freshness of the open air reminds her that she is here, she is on Earth. She has been for some time now.

However, she has never forgotten how to move like a ribbon through the darkness, arcing undetected round predator and prey alike. She doubts that she ever will. Sometimes the habit returns of its own accord, and she’ll find her feet and hands floating weightless as she moves. Joints and muscle and sinew flex in careful concert to absorb every sound before it is made. The lines of lightly tensed limbs spiral seamlessly into the coiled core of her, tethering her in perfect silence. At the same time, she remains ever ready to fight, ready to flee. How often has Eris’ last, Lightless life lay along the knife’s edge of a split-second choice, the divergence between action and stillness, vengeance or survival?

Somehow, the smooth stone of the Tower’s level floors is harder to walk quietly on than the rough winding warrens through Luna’s porous rock. There are no edges to test with the edge of her boot, no uneven surface to ease her soles onto by swift and silent increments. There is only the unsubtle strike of heels on a flat, unforgiving surface. She makes the most of it, as every Hunter here does. Still, it leaves her uneasy. Her feet cannot quite keep to the ground.

Consequently, she often finds herself pacing, wandering from her post in the heart of the Tower whenever she grows restless. Every step falls lighter than the last, chasing silence in a meditation on weightlessness. It does not make her feel any better.

After so long underground, she is unaccustomed to the plenitude of open space here. While she has traced much of the Tower’s perimeters, the negative spaces in the centers of broad rooms and vaulted halls she leaves less frequented. She is too exposed there.

Yet maybe she is less affected by the empty space than the sheer number of souls that so often fill it. After so long so alone, they are simply so many, pressing at her survival-sharpened awareness from every angle. Not to mention she attracts too many of their stares in the crowded plazas. Although detection here is not followed by shrieking howls or the lightning strike of boomers, distrustful eyes still make her hunger for shelter. The choice to endure or to withdraw still needs to be be made. And whether well-meaning or ill-intentioned, a close approach still makes her instinctively recoil.

Eris has scraped out a place for herself here, lingering close enough to share with those who will listen the knowledge she has gained at a terrible price. But it has been made clear enough that she does not belong here anymore, not as she once did. If the condemnation of the Speaker and the only begrudging trust of the Vanguard’s Commander were not enough to tell her that, then the wary regard of most of the Tower’s populace would. So she holds herself back, toward the edges of things. It is difficult to do so at her station so near the Hall of Guardians, the greatest locus of Guardian activity on the planet. She draws herself to her full height and stands there proud, but never takes the ground she stands on for granted. When it becomes too much, like now, she paces.

This time, her pacing has led her to the edge of the Tower where her ship was once tethered. With how wary she has grown of exposed spaces, the open sky above that lays bare every courtyard and balcony should send her seeking cover - and yet, it does not. If anything, its incomprehensibly vast expanse calls to her. Strange.

Eris has traversed the spaces between planets with her own fragile body, with only a ship’s hull to keep the cold from swallowing what remains of her. Yet from Earth’s surface, a few mere miles of atmosphere transforms that emptiness, and its beauty holds her spellbound. It scatters sun into prismatic slices of light. The stars’ unblinking gaze softens into a flutter of eyelashes. No longer can she see the narrow spectrum of colors that humans evolved to discern; it has all faded into endless shades of the same hue. But the contrast of such brightnesses against the dark have become sharper than ever. Indeed, daylight has become a blaze to truly blind her. These stolen eyes of hers were made instead for depths and shadows.

Even so, she often finds herself staring out into the searing sky until her head aches. The sensations make her remember. She is no longer buried beneath stone, lost to this cosmos. She is free now, in some ways.

Eventually, her wanderings bring her back to the shaded refuge beneath the stairs just outside the Hall of Guardians. She is glad for this, too. Her station provides some small respite for her sensitive, ever-weeping eyes. And there she stays, until exhaustion drives her to rest, or else grief or fear or restlessness or her ever-smoldering rage drive her to pacing once again.

It’s true that many other eyes pass by that shadowed alcove of hers. Guardians constantly sweep in and out on either side of her, running and jumping and gliding up and down the stairs with urgent reports and important orders and burning questions for the Vanguard. They are so bright. Few of them spare a glance for her, these days, save for startled new Lights.

There are a few, though, who look upon her not with distrust or fear or begrudging tolerance, but with recognition. Once in a great while, cousin Asher will grace her with his inimitable company. It gladdens her heart, even when he merely stops to exchange research notes or brief insults. He cleaves to his research with a passionate vengeance, as does she. Unlike most, he pays more attention to her knowledge and her current work than her past. With the way he helped care for her in the months after her escape from Luna, she has come to hold him in close confidence.

On occasion, her friend the Guardian, who avenged her fireteam upon the very souls of Crota and Oryx, stops to greet her. Sometimes they bring her news from Luna or Mars. Words are few with that one lately, though. These days, their outgoing ghost is the one who relays whatever tidings they carry. The change leaves a cold shadow over Eris’ heart. Therefore, she values their quiet presence all the more. She fears for them.

Of course, Ikora’s is the kind regard she is subject to most often. Eris has never forgotten that Ikora believed her since the beginning. Most met her genuine warnings of inbound danger from the Hive with distrust, dismissal, or fear. Ikora not only listened, but met her with endless kindness. Even now, as the Warlock Vanguard steps into nearer chamber of the Hall for a brief consultation with Lord Shaxx, she spares a moment and a smile for Eris.

Ikora’s smile has always been warm and real and reassuring, a balm on the fibers of frayed nerves. Among the very few who welcomed Eris back to Earth, that smile was a signal of genuine care and safety that she homed in on immediately. The one directed at Eris now is subtle, a mere quirk of the lips. Yet it hints at the vast depths of passion and compassion below the surface, like a ripple that disappears swiftly on the surface of a deep, deep pool.

Ikora’s outward cool composure that obscures that intensity is not a façade. It is more an ingenius piece of architecture, a mighty aqueduct capable of holding and channelling the endless font of her inner immensities. It is an elegant and functional work of art well-kept and expanded over centuries.

The warmth that must be behind such a small yet genuine smile is palpable; it falls on Eris like the creeping warmth of sunlight, sinking in deep even though it scarcely touches her skin. Even the lower half of her face, where her many layers do not shield her from long-lost Sol, is still sallow and nearly as grayed as the dust of Luna. She hadn’t known at first, with the changes to her vision, not until Asher had told her. He never does shy away from the speaking of truth. In those endless years of darkness, the lack of light and loss of Light took something from Eris, sapped something vital, and left something strange in its place.

Yet Eris can feel the sun again, now. She can walk out into the courtyard at any time of day, find a south-facing wall to lean on, and bask in the radiating warmth like an ectothermic reptile.

Even without leaving the cool shadows of her post, another warmth still reaches her. Ikora offers her one more smile as she goes to return to her own station. Eris stands a little taller under the aegis of her regard, her spine the stem of a sunflower lifting her toward its steady kindness.

Eris takes not a single one of these boons for granted. Each one is a precious gift far beyond what she ever expected to experience again, after her descent into the Hellmouth. Yet none of it can quell her restlessness, for it springs from the same source as her gratefulness. It always comes back to what happened to her on Luna.

Each time she returns to her pacing, the Tower feels a little smaller. The scope of the sky distracts her for a shorter time. Now, even after her sworn vengeance upon the Hive has been fulfilled twice over in double deicide, the path of her vow still pulls her feet forward. She does not know where its shrouded course leads, only that there is still a threat yet to be met along it. More and more, she is certain that she cannot wait here to meet it, or it will be too late.

However, she never expected to leave behind wounds when she leaves. After she departs to sight the next storm on the horizon, she is haunted as often by the surprised hurt that she left in Ikora’s eyes as by the memory of her smile.