#it’s cemented into her being that she is

[prettyiwa]

I'm finally getting around to reading this masterpiece and I am kicking myself for not having read it earlier.

From the start, you establish the nature of this story, that this is a special day, that even on this special day, Reader is captivated by this stranger, that they've known the words that are to come. There you are. I've been waiting. Such a simple and hopeful and ominous set of first words for a soulmate. They establish that there was faith that they would unite, that there is heartbreak awaiting them as Reader meets him on her special day. He has been waiting, but she didn't. The stark contrast between them communicating who they are and where they are perfectly.

Your command over atmospheric writing is, in my opinion, unparalleled. The words you choose all work to weave this wondrous tapestry, vivid in the descriptions you provide and the world you create. Everything has weight to it, working to bring your writing to life so that it breathes. It aids your storytelling, the establishment of the relationships between the girls and the belief and personal and societal stigma surrounding soulmates, everything that will lead to the decision to marry despite Kita's promise of waiting.

The development of Takao's relationship with Reader is slow, gentle, the earnest crush of adolescence that morphs into friendship. Their separation is the result of life, subject to the same difficulties of real relationships and friendships as people grow and grow apart, and their reunion is smooth, natural, aided by the work put in to remain friends despite the attraction and fear surrounding not being one another's soul mates. Their burgeoning love is whole and true, a choice that they make despite knowing there is someone out there "made for them," a leap of faith in one another captured spectacularly by your words.

And the return to Kita? Knowing the full weight of the choices that Reader made to get to this point makes the heartbreak all the more poignant and visceral, cementing a sense of dread for the choices and conversations that await.

I am thoroughly in love with the way you stitch together words to create such a vivid story with such precision. Thank you so much for crafting this story. I cannot wait to continue 💜

lover be good to me: part one

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it's your wedding day.

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: this fic has been a long time coming—it's basically my baby at this point. i'm so excited to finally get to share part one with you! i am so thankful for everyone who has sat thru me yelling about this to them. and a million thank yous to my beta, between your enthusiasm for this fic and all your help with it—i don't know if it could have been done without you!

title and part title are from hozier's "be" and "nfwmb"

tags for this part: soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, very significant reader x oc, slow burn, hurt/comfort, pining, alcohol consumption, anxiety.

see main fic tags here.

wc: 13k

The hydrangeas are in full bloom.

You can see them through the window: the sea in each blossom, the radiant blue of them veined through with white, ocean and foam detailed in petals. They nod with the rain, weighed down by the fat droplets. 

There are two men that keep passing through the sea of hydrangeas like ships, leaving little eddies of blooms in their wake. They must be vendors considering they’re weighted down by boxes, though neither seems bothered by their load. 

You watch them for a moment. They’re both efficient, unbothered by the slow, steady drizzle. You rest your chin on your cupped palm, eyes drawn to the shorter man. There’s a few strands of hair peeking out from beneath his hat, the hazy gray of it—black-tipped like thunderclouds��an odd contrast to his lean, toned body. 

He makes his way through the courtyard, and you lean forward to keep him in sight, your nose almost pressed against the foggy window pane. He steps carefully around a drooping hydrangea bloom, his calm face visible for the first time, and something threads through you for a breath unraveling too quickly for you to place. 

He ducks beneath the eaves and out of your sight. 

Just in time, too. The rain picks up drumming gently against the ground, carrying a few loosened petals with it. The other man—broader and taller but no less graceful for it—spits out a curse. He hurries forward until he too is gone from view. 

“Told you it would rain,” Abe says from behind you, making you yelp. She presses in next to you. Her breath billows over the window pane blooming hazy against it, a marine fog. 

“You did,” you say with a laugh. “So did the weather channel. Almost a full week before you did.”

She scoffs. “Yes, but that’s their job. Mine was sheer instinct.”

“And listening to the weather channel?”

“Must you slander me?”

“Yes,” you say, smiling, but your gaze returns to the courtyard where the hydrangeas are bleeding petals under the rain’s heavy cut. 

“Are you nervous?”

You meet Abe’s gaze in the reflection of the window pane. Her dark eyes are warm and soft, and maybe a little bit sad. 

“Should I be?” you ask.

She wraps a small hand around yours and you realize you’ve been tapping your nail against your water glass, a crystalline symphony. 

“No,” she says firmly. “You shouldn’t.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, sprouts like flowers between the cracks in the concrete. You lean into her. She sighs, long and put-upon, but she tilts towards you, opens her body to you. It’s an invitation you know well. You rest your head in the crook of her shoulder and stare out the window.

“Yeah,” you say. “You’re right.”

“Always am.”

“That’s debatable, Natsu.” 

She grumbles but starts to pull away without comment when the kimono stylist calls out for her. She pauses for a moment. She leans in and adjusts your shiromuku carefully, her fingers deft. Then she squeezes your hand softly, familiar and warm, like a song you’ll always know. You squeeze back. 

You watch her reflection in the window until it blurs at the edges. She’s already bickering with Yoshikawa by the time it fades entirely from the foggy windowpane, their voices carrying. You’re sure that they’re curled together over Yoshikawa’s phone, flicking through the itinerary you’ve already forgotten most of. 

There’s movement beyond the window and you perk up as the man from before walks by. He’s kept under the eaves by the increased rain, and you can see the way it’s dampened his hair to something closer to slate.

There’s a gleam of amber above the boxes he’s carrying; the briefest flash of his eyes, bright and keen. He sweeps by the window almost close enough to touch, and you press your fingertips against the cool pane without thinking. 

It’s this closeness that lets you see his phone—a flip phone, of all things, with a little charm you can’t quite make out dangling from it—slip from his pocket. You wince as it drops out of view. 

He keeps going though, utterly unfazed. The rain has overshadowed the noise you realize, and you’re darting outside before you even know it, the shoji rattling slightly from your force. The summer humidity rolls over you, so stark against your aircon-chilled skin that you shiver with it. 

“You dropped your phone!” you call out after the man, hurrying along the engawa to scoop it up, careful of your shiromuku’s hem. The tiny charm is a stylized stalk of rice, you realize, the little panicles at the top colored with shimmering golden paint. It’s cute. A little at odds with his utilitarian flip phone, but cute nonetheless.

Ahead of you, the man goes still.

He’s turning around when his name unfurls inside of you. 

The movies hadn’t said it was anything like this.

There’s no passion ripping through you like forest fire, no lightning strike sizzling his name into your very bones. It’s slow and soft, like slipping into bathwater after a long, hard day, the heated kiss of it a balm against all of your bruises. Like the bloom of the first crocuses, a promise of spring after the long winter. 

“Oh, Shinsuke,” you breathe, and you think you’ve never known a name so well, that each curve of it was made to fit upon your tongue. 

The man—Shinsuke—stares at you. And then his lips tilt into a faint smile, tender like the oncoming dawn; a watercolor sky burgeoning with sunlight, a world coming awake. You think you could build a home in the way he looks at you. 

“There you are,” he says softly. “I’ve been waiting.”

You know.

You’ve known for years that he’s been waiting for you; it’s been scrawled on your skin this whole time. He has always, always been waiting for you.

Your soulmark pulses faintly. For a breath, you think you can see it glow despite the heavy layers you have on.

“Shinsuke,” you say again. It’s a helpless little sound, the edges of it catching in your throat like burrs. You need to say something else. You know you do. You know what you have to tell him, but he’s looking at you so softly that the words keep getting lost. 

Your grip on his phone tightens until the little rice charm is cutting into your skin.

His smile starts to fade. It curls in on itself, wilting at the edges, like the last of the summer flowers.

He’s been looking at only you, you realize. Just you. Your face, most likely, but it feels like something more—as if he’s seeing down to your marrow, as if he’s flayed you open beneath his tender gaze. He’s only been looking at you. Nothing else. 

He’s been looking at you, but you think he’s seeing the rest now. Your careful makeup. Your pristine hair.

Your lavish shiromuku—carefully embroidered with the elegant sweep of cranes’ wings and with delicate petals unfolding into bountiful chrysanthemums—that fits you perfectly, the heavy silk of it as white as driven snow.

You couldn’t find the words for it, caught up in the gentle sun of his joy as it pooled golden around you, but he’s finally seeing what you couldn’t say.

It’s your wedding day.

***

Your soulmark appears when you’re twelve, all without you even noticing. 

Summer is in full bloom in Toyooka; the wet lick of a heatwave has settled oppressive over the countryside. It’s relentless. Even the rice fields seem to feel it, the verdant green ripple of them becoming a honey-slow shiver under the wind’s gentle touch. 

In the heat the cicadas’ call goes lazy; the storks only come out in the earliest parts of morning. They wade carefully through the still waters of the rice paddies, their beaks flashing in the weak sunlight as they needle down into the murk. 

The rental house is tucked carefully between two farms, a lone house amid the rippling rice plants. It’s old but well-maintained, a perfect little hideaway for your mother to finish her study. In the heat, she keeps the shoji doors open wide to let in the dancing, citronella-scented breeze. The first day you wander around the house to weigh the papers down with a mish-mash of items: the fruit bowl, pilfered from the kitchen counter under your father’s nose; encyclopedias long outdated; a pair of petal-flecked garden shears. 

It helps it feel like home.

Abe and her mother have come to Toyooka too; your mothers spend their days bent close together, talking in a language you know by heart but still can’t understand. Caught up in their research, they leave you to your own devices.

Away from all of your other friends and the bustle of the city, you and Abe roam free like a pair of stray cats. You spend the days without chores wandering through town, your arm hooked through hers, both your tongues stained sky blue from the Gari-Gari Kun popsicles from the conbini. The grannies wave at you as you pass by them; the two of you wave back with sticky fingers. 

You flit in and out of the rice paddies, scooping up tadpoles from the murky water. The farmers grow used to your presence quickly; they greet you cheerfully, accepting the onigiri you bring with little nods. 

After you splash through a paddy to coo over them, Watanabe lets you feed his ducks. He pours the feed from his hands into your smaller ones with a grunt. His hands are strong but aged, the dark skin on the back of his hands papery in the sunlight, wrinkled like old parchment. He teaches you both how to sprinkle the feed into the water just right so the ducks go arrowing across the water, little ships without sails. 

The days are long and short in the same breath.  

At night, Abe’s flashlight flickers in her window like a firefly, long after you are both meant to be in bed. You flash your own message back, little secrets wrapped up in ribbons of light, never mentioned after dawn. The two of you are woven together as only childhood friends can be.

And it’s Abe that sees your soulmark first. 

It’s midday and the clouds are rolling in across the clear blue sky hanging heavy and low, a gray promise of afternoon thunder. The two of you trace shapes in the clouds, shaded under a massive camphor tree, bumping into each other’s arms as you go.

There’s a rabbit in your cloud, the puffy edges of it extending into fluffy gray ears that wisp and sway with the growing breeze. You’ve just traced along the little curve of its nose when Abe—who has been burbling away like a spring brook, her chatter weaving a spell around the two of you—goes silent. 

Then she shrieks and grabs your arm.

“When did it come in?” she asks breathlessly. She’s shaking you too hard for you to see what she’s talking about, but there’s only one thing that tone could mean. 

You freeze, your heart pounding in your ears. For a moment, you consider closing your eyes, as if that will keep it from being real. As if that will rewrite your fate. 

You think of all the quotes you’ve scrawled in your notebooks late at night, and hope for all of them and none of them. 

Abe gives you another little shake. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! It’s so early! How long have you had it? Has anyone said it yet? What do you—”

“I don’t know!” you say, shaking her off and scooting backwards, pulling your arm towards your chest. 

She scowls. “How do you not know?”

“I didn’t notice it.”

You hadn’t. Maybe it was the sleepy haze of summer days running together.

Maybe you hadn’t wanted to see it.

Now that you know, it’s easy to see your mark. It’s already settled into your skin, the kanji tucked carefully into the tender flesh of the crook of your elbow. The characters are neat, precise little things, delicate at the edges. It shimmers silvery in the sunlight. A winter moon’s glow inked into your skin.

Abe plants her hands on her hips. “You didn’t notice your soulmark?”

You shake your head. “You know I would tell you!!”

She huffs. “I guess. You really didn’t know?”

You yank on a tuft of grass. “Nope.”

“Idiot,” she says, but it’s fond. She nudges closer to you despite the heat. “Who doesn’t realize their mark was written?”

“Me, I guess.”

“Guess so. Lemme see,” she says, making grabby hands at your arm; you let her yank it close with a sigh. She peers down at your mark with heavy concentration.

“You look like Granny Takada right now.”

She pouts. “Do not!”

“You do,” you tell her. “You’re all squinty.” 

“Do you want me to read it to you or not?”

You take a second too long to answer, the words caught in your throat, tangled on your tongue. Abe glances up. Something passes over her face; it’s too quick to know, a fleeting summer storm. She drops your arm with a sigh.

“The kanji are complicated,” she complains. “Too hard to read. Leave it to you to have a soulmate like that.” 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, wrinkling your nose even as you relax, your muscles uncoiling. 

She snorts. “Nothing, nothing,” she coos, smacking your hand away when you swat at her. “Let’s go, it’s gonna rain. We can’t track mud inside again.”

“That was you, not me.”

Abe ignores you, popping up to her feet and rocking back on her heels. She takes off before you can stand her braids streaming behind her like kite ribbons, and you yelp out a protest as you scramble to your feet. 

“Nat-chan!” 

“Keep up!” she shouts, halfway to the rice paddy that edges the little meadow, and you take off after her.

The skies open on the two of you when you’re almost back to the rental, the rain relentless and heavy as only a summer storm can be. You both shriek but the water is warm, and you giggle at the way Abe’s bangs are plastered to her forehead even as you keep running.

You tumble into the genkan just as the first lightning strike splits the sky. You’re practically tripping over each other. Abe knocks into the getabako, jarring a pair of your father’s shoes, their well-worn soles rolling upwards like the barnacled hull of a capsized boat. She grunts with the impact.

“Quiet,” you hiss.

“I’m being quiet,” she hisses back, just as your mother rounds the corner and fixes the two of you with an unimpressed raised brow.

Abe’s mother peeks around the corner too, her lips thinning as she sees the water dripping from the two of you. “You’re soaked,” she says. “And you’re making a mess of the genkan, Natsumi.”

“Sorry,” she mutters.

Her mother sighs. “Weren’t you supposed to be back earlier? Before the rain?”

“We got distracted because her soulmark came in!” Abe says, pointing to you with no remorse. 

You gape at her. 

“What?” she says. “It’s in a pretty obvious spot.” 

“Natsumi,” her mother says, exasperated. “You’re always jumping in feet first.”

Abe grumbles, but goes quiet when her mother eyes her.

“Chieko,” your mother says. “Do you need umbrellas for the walk home?”

“If it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Of course not.”

You and Abe engage in a rapid-fire round of mouthing things to each other as your mothers search for umbrellas, too close to risk actual words. Abe speaks fast, even in exaggerated slow motion, and after you think she says something about snails, you decide it’s too incomprehensible to keep trying. You wave her off with a quick tilt of your head. She scowls but stops, crossing her arms with a soggy squish. 

The scowl disappears from her face as soon as her mother steps up beside her, handing her one of your umbrellas. She traces a finger over the nearest little cat design, petting lightly at its fabric ears. 

“Let’s go before you catch a cold,” Chieko says. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye,” Abe says, her voice stilted.

“Bye,” you parrot. 

“Alright then,” Chieko says after a moment. She looks at you, considering. You bite the inside of your cheek, running the tip of your tongue against the pinched flesh. 

She sighs. “You’ll figure it out,” she says softly.

You should have known that she wouldn’t offer congratulations. The relief spreads over you like a balm, soothing the scrape you hadn’t even known was there. 

You nod. 

“See you tomorrow,” your mother tells her.

She and Abe disappear out the front door and into the downpour; Abe throws you one last look before the door closes behind them. You look away. 

Your mother is quiet for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I—I don’t think so.”

She considers you. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll get you a towel and then you need to go change before you get sick.”

“Okay.” 

She disappears down the hallway without another word. 

You look down to your soulmark. At the thin kanji of it, the gleam of them like spiderwebs caught in a moonbeam, an ethereal silver. When you touch it, tracing a fingertip carefully against the crook of your elbow, it just feels like skin. As if it’s always been there. As if it’s always been a part of you. 

Upside down, the kanji are difficult to parse. You run your fingers over them once more, and then your mother is there with a towel. You yank your fingers away as if burned. She doesn’t react, just handing you the towel and corralling you upstairs to dry yourself off. 

Dinner is quiet that night and you go up to bed early, tired from the ups and downs of the day.

You’ve just finished brushing your teeth when the flickering catches your attention. You spit out the last bit of foam and rinse out your mouth before padding over to your window. 

A little light bobs up and down across the way; at moments, you can make out the vague outline of Abe’s face when she brings the flashlight up with a sharp jerk that almost hits her chin. She’s cycling through the attention-getting code you’d made up a few years back. 

You consider pulling your shade down entirely. 

Instead, you pad over to your dresser drawer and pull out your own flashlight. You settle into bed with it heavy on your lap. You pull at the edge of the faded sticker slapped below the switch, tearing a little piece of it off. You flick it on for a second. Just enough to let Abe know you’re there. 

It’s not your normal greeting, and Abe’s window stays dark for a long, long moment. 

Mad at me? she finally flashes, little pulses of starlight in the dark.

You are. Soulmates are different for the two of you. You’ve grown up hearing all of the jargon for your mother’s study, and you know that she has too. You know the low rate of soulmates meeting, and you know the distant look in your father’s eyes as he wraps tender fingers around his blackened mark. 

It’s different, and you thought she knew that. 

Sorry, her flashlight blinks out. I am.

You think of how she complained about the kanji of your mark despite being the most proficient in your classroom. 

Mad at me?

You wonder how you would have told your parents that you’d received your mark when you can barely acknowledge it yourself. 

You raise your flashlight.

No, you send off. Not anymore. 

Good, she immediately sends. 

You talk until your eyelids are drooping and your jaw is cracking with non-stop yawning. It’s easy to say goodnight, knowing you’ll see each other in the morning. You pull down your shade and climb into bed.

You fall asleep with your hand cupped over your soulmark.

***

It takes you three days to finally ask what your mark says. 

Evening is coming to life, the sky darkening into plum, the faintest hint of cotton-candy pink lingering on the horizon. As your father sets the table, you’re unable to resist the quiet call of what fate has scraped into your skin. 

He blinks, trading a look with your mother, but then he smiles softly. 

“After dinner,” he tells you. “Okay?”

You nod.

It’s your mother who reads it to you later, the two of you whispering together on the engawa surrounded by the flicker of the summer fireflies. You curl tight into her side, a rib returned. 

“There you are,” she reads softly, stroking a thumb gently over the kanji. “I’ve been waiting.” 

Her voice is a honeyed drip, sweet and steady, and though she is smiling, you think she sounds sad. She shifts to press a hand tight over her stomach as if it’s the only thing holding her together, as if she’s suddenly too big for her body. You know her mark is there. The kanji has gone sour and black, an eclipsed moon. 

“I don’t know if I want them to wait for me,” you whisper to her. 

She presses a kiss to your hairline. “You don’t have to know, tadpole.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

She shifts beside you. “You don’t have to wait for them, you know,” she tells you.

“Really?”

“Really,” she says.

“Do you think I’ll meet them?” you ask, kicking your feet and looking out into the night. A firefly flares bright, and you consider running to catch it. You’ve always been quick enough. The fireflies have always been trusting enough. 

She nudges a knuckle against your cheek. “The chances are low,” she admits, because she has never lied to you about soulmates. “And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She still has her hand pressed hard against her ribcage. 

You bite your lip and don’t ask anything else. 

The two of you stay curled together under the stars, watching the trucks trundle down the road as the late-working farmers return from the paddies. Eventually, she ushers you inside, and when she thinks you aren’t looking she knots her fingers in your father’s shirt. The fabric winds tight around her fingers, cutting into the softness of her skin. Her shoulders are trembling. Your father cups the back of her head and brushes a kiss to her hairline. 

You go up to your bedroom without a word because even this young, you know there are things you aren’t meant to see. 

Not long after that night your mother and Abe’s mother publish the study. It’s a culmination of years of grueling research on soulmates, of half-written notes on napkins when you go out to restaurants, of simmering arguments between her and Abe’s mother, of death threats and poisonous words. 

It covers the concept of soulmates like kudzu, winding over the romance of it and smothering it beneath statistics and a dissection of societal impact alike. 

It gets a nickname soon after publication, and your mother’s smile is a melon rind curve, bitter at the edges. 

They call it the Heartbreak Study.

***

Summer comes to an end.

You leave Toyooka on a rainy afternoon, the light drizzle sending water droplets racing down the train window. The storks huddle together in the paddies, their wet feathers gleaming like the moon. Abe is warm at your side curled into you, already half-asleep from the underlying hum of the train. It picks up speed and the rolling green of the countryside blurs like a watercolor, smearing across the horizon as you head back to the city.

It feels like you’re leaving more than the countryside behind.

Still, the city is a comfort, the bustle of it a familiar song, and you’d missed the neon lights that dot the streets like little flowers. With the return of school just around the corner it’s nice to settle back into the rhythm of city life, so different from the steady, unyielding heartbeat of Toyooka. 

You unpack your clothes and yourself too, slotting everything back into your city life, trying to fit back into it like a well-worn pair of shoes. 

“Oh,” Yoshikawa says lazily the next day, when you and Abe find her sprawled out on a bench by the conbini, sucking on a popsicle. She peers up at you, her long hair flowing around her shoulders like weeds in the current, softly swaying with each little movement. “You’re back.”

“She got her soulmark!” Abe says, dragging you forward by your wrist to display your mark. 

“Natsu,” you groan, ignoring the way she tugs at your wrist to pull you even more into Yoshikawa’s space. “Really?”

“What, you weren’t going to tell her?”

“Yeah,” Yoshikawa drawls, her dark eyes sly. “Were you not gonna tell me?”

“Shut up, Yocchan,” you say. “You know I was going to tell you.”

“You sure?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows. “Doesn’t quite sound like it.”

“Yocchan.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop teasing. Can I see?” 

You hesitate for a breath. 

“You don’t gotta,” Yoshikawa says, biting into her popsicle with a loud crunch. Her lips are blue with it, the same color as the mid-morning sky. It drips down her elegant fingers, catches on the small scars littered across them. She licks at them absently, but her gaze is keen.

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just…still getting used to it.”

She hums. 

“Great,” Abe says, using her grip on your wrist to tug you forward again. “Look, look, look!”

Yoshikawa pushes herself the rest of the way up slowly, tucking her popsicle between her teeth as she reaches for your arm. Her fingers are sticky against your skin. She’s quiet as she reads your mark, her brow slightly furrowed. 

She lets you go after a minute, and you try not to fidget.

“Romantic,” she says. She lays back down on the bench.

Abe makes a strangled noise. “That’s all?”

Yoshikawa blinks slowly, but there’s a smug curve to her lips. “Is there something else to say?”

Abe stamps her foot. “There’s so much to say! She got her mark! The first of us! The first in our year!”

“Nah, Sasaki got his right before the break.”

“He did?”

“He did?” you echo. Relief blooms in you, rooting in the cracks of you, and you let out a tight breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Yeah,” Yoshikawa says. She closes her eyes and raises her face to the sun. It bathes her, turns her golden, an offering at the ending summer’s altar. “Our moms are friends. Heard them talking about it.” 

“Oh,” Abe says, pursing her lips. She glances at you, and you don’t know what she sees in your face, but her eyes go soft. “I guess it’s better that way. It won’t be as big of a deal. It’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” you ask. It comes out smaller than you meant it to. 

She nudges you with her hip. “Yeah,” she says, her voice gentle. There’s a promise in it. “I do.”

Yoshikawa hums her agreement as she bites off the last of her popsicle, ignoring Abe’s wince. She sucks the stick clean and glances at it. “Oh,” she says mildly. “I won.” 

“What?” Abe cries out, practically clambering on top of her to grab the stick. “How do you always win?”

Yoshikawa grunts under her sudden burden, stretching out one long arm to keep Abe from grabbing the stick. “S’not my fault you have bad luck.”

“C’mon, you already had a popsicle today!”

You watch them struggle, Abe doing her best to blanket Yoshikawa’s lanky frame with her tiny one. The laughter bubbles out of you, spills from you like an overflowing urn, loud and unrestrained. 

They turn to you in unison, brows raised. 

“Let’s go to the park,” you say, laughter still sweet on your tongue. “Don’t want to waste the day.” 

They eye you for a moment. They look at each other and shrug. 

“Conbini first,” Abe says. “I want something.” 

“You can’t have my popsicle,” Yoshikawa says.

“I don’t want your stupid free popsicle!”

“You were just trying to grab it!”

“Well I don’t want it anymore! I want mochi instead!”

This time you swallow down your laugh, let it spread warm through you like bottled sunshine. You follow the bickering pair into the conbini. They wait for you at the door, and you link pinkies with them both so they can drag you down the snack aisle.

For the first time since getting your mark, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

***

School starts up again.

It’s still warm, the last dregs of summer lingering in the air as you walk languidly to school with your friends. Abe flits ahead, her dark hair shimmering under the morning sun, and you think of a little darting fish on a reef, a quicksilver flash of scales. She greets other classmates easily. They always have a smile for her, and she falls into step beside them for a moment, chattering away. 

But in the end she always turns around and waits for you and Yoshikawa.

She’s off in the distance when Yoshikawa glances down at the silver peeking out of the crook of your elbow, exposed by the summer uniform’s short sleeves. 

“No wrap?” she asks. 

“No wrap,” you say.

You’d thought about it, but wearing a wrap screams that you’ve gotten your mark. With yours tucked tender into the crook of your elbow, you might be able to get away with it. At least you hope so. You know how many eyes will be on you when people realize, and you shift on the balls of your feet, pressing closer to Yoshikawa.

She hums. “Alright.”

You know that tone.

“Do not cause any problems,” you warn her.

She blinks slowly, like a smug cat with a patch of sunshine all to itself. “I would never. Do you want some toast?”

“Do I what—”

She pulls a handkerchief filled with toast out from her bag, little oily spots of butter bleeding through the hand-embroidered cloth. “Toast,” she says, holding it out.

“Don’t try to distract me,” you say irritably, but when she nudges the toast in your direction you slip a piece free of the handkerchief. You’ve eaten breakfast but no one makes bread like Yoshikawa’s mother, a hobby she’d picked up in her year abroad as a teen. Any of her loaves crackle perfectly under the bread knife, each slice thick and hearty, woven through with herbs and spices. 

“I would never.”

“Liar,” you mutter, sinking your teeth into the toast.

“So mean,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“Hurry up!” Abe shouts back to you both, her hands cupped over her mouth to unnecessarily amplify herself. 

Yoshikawa ignores her, sauntering along as your fellow students pour past you both. She moves like a river current, languid and flowing, and immoveable from her path. 

“You’re the worst,” Abe tells her a few minutes later, when you’ve finally caught up to her. 

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t ignore me, Yocchan!” 

“I’m not,” Yoshikawa says, holding out the toast again. She always brings enough for all three of you. “You just say it so much that it’s lost all meaning.” 

Abe grumbles, but she snags a piece of toast. It crunches beneath her teeth, a crackling symphony. “This is bribery, you know,” she says through her mouthful, scrunching up her nose. 

Yoshikawa shrugs. 

“C’mon,” you say, poking at them both. “We’re gonna be late.”

Abe links arms with you. Your mark flashes bright with the movement, glimmering like snow in the moonlight, all prismatic ice. 

She hums, shifting her arm just enough that your elbows are interlocked, hiding your mark as she tugs you towards the school gates. “Let’s go then,” she says. 

Yoshikawa falls into step on your other side. She leans over and softly bonks her head against yours, her long hair a veil for you both. You press together for a breath, then she pulls back and links her arm through your other arm as you enter the school grounds.

You make it two whole periods before someone notices. 

It’s Hasegawa, of course, her deep brown eyes going wide as you reach into your bag for your textbook. She says something to her seatmate, and Honda’s eyes snap to you.

You keep arranging your supplies. You set your pencil down next to your notebook and line them up as precisely as you can, nudging it back and forth until it’s perfectly aligned as they whisper to each other. They keep glancing at you until Yoshikawa leans back in her seat and flashes them a razor-edged smile. Honda squeaks, and they both go quiet after that.

But there’s no escaping it. You can feel eyes on you all day, and murmurs follow you everywhere. You barely eat at lunch, pushing the pieces of your bento around as Abe and Yoshikawa crowd you on either side. 

You almost make it to the end of the school day, but then Ueda and Nakajima stop you in the hallway. You bow to your seniors as they look you up and down. 

“We heard you got your soulmark,” Nakajima says, swaying in place just slightly, like kelp caught in a current. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” you say, trying not to fidget with your sleeve.

“When?” Ueda asks, frowning.

“Over the break.”

“Early to be getting your mark,” she muses. She doesn’t have hers yet, you think. Only a handful of people in her year do. 

“They say the earlier the mark manifests, the stronger the soul bond,” Nakajima says. 

It’s a common belief, one of the oldest wives tales there is, but you’ve spent too long listening to your mother. You know better. Still, your stomach twists.

“What does yours say?” Ueda asks.

You bite your tongue; the pain flashes through you like lightning, bright and sharp and bitter. The bitterness lingers, fills your mouth until you have to swallow it down. It stings the whole way. 

Ueda waits.

When you tell her, it feels like each word is being torn from you, as if they’d rooted into your very flesh. 

(You suppose they have.) 

For a breath, Ueda’s face twists. You think of the first hint of rot in ripe fruit, when the scent goes too sweet, a promise of decay. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen jealousy over a mark, but it’s odd to have it directed at you. 

I didn’t ask for this, you want to tell her. I don’t know if I even want this.

“Oh, how lovely,” Nakajima murmurs, moon-eyed. “You’re lucky to have such a devoted soulmate.”

You smile, but you think it’s a poor imitation of one, soured at the edges as it is. “Yeah,” you say, because she’s looking at you expectantly. “I am.”

“Well, congratulations. Right, Machi?”

“Yeah,” Ueda says, flashing you a tight smile. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” you say, the words ash on your tongue. 

Nakajima tilts her head, bird-like, but Yoshikawa comes to your rescue, calling out your name from down the hall. You bid your seniors a quiet goodbye before hurrying to her.

She slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing lightly. 

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.”

She hums her disbelief but leaves you be.

With her by your side, smiling pleasantly and radiating danger, the day passes without anyone else approaching you. Abe joins you again, looking proud of herself in a way that means she caused a problem, and you wonder what you did to deserve both of them. 

They come home with you when school ends, waving to your parents as you head up to your room. You collapse face-down on your bed and Yoshikawa laughs, low and deep and a little bit sad. 

She and Abe curl up around you like cats. They talk about everything and nothing, filling up your room with their presence until you start to go lax against them. They shuffle closer as you do and they’re warm against you, like sunbaked stone. You sink into that warmth and breathe out deeply.

The next few weeks will be filled with questions, with murmurs behind your back, with everything that comes with getting your mark so early. You know that, but there’s one other thing that you know, too.

With them, you know you’ll make it through. 

***

The school year blurs past in a watercolor of seasons. Fall gives way to winter, curling up under the biting cold; spring chases away winter in a riot of color, the sakura buds unfurling as your upperclassmen graduate, each bloom inset into the branches like a little jewel. As summer beckons, the days warming as the promise of rain hangs heavy in the humid air, Kimura gets her mark.

She’s only the third person in your year to get hers and she’s coy about it, wrapping it in a ribbon, the burgundy silk luscious against her skin. It’s as eye-catching as she meant it to be. 

It’s elegant in its own way, though the ribbon wilts slightly as the day goes on, mostly from the way she keeps touching it. She strokes along the ribbon as she talks with her friends. You’re not sure she realizes it.

A few people glance your way, their eyes flickering to your elbow, but their attention is as fleeting as the first snow. Their gazes return to Kimura, to the bruised burgundy of her ribbon.

Something loosens in you, unravels from where it’s been knit tight around your ribs. 

Honda gets hers next, and then Watanabe gets his. 

Slowly, mark after mark comes into being, words unfurling across skin. As more of your classmates receive their marks, yours fades into the background. It becomes common and you sink into that commonality, having long waited for the spotlight on you to cease.

Your mark fades into the background, like a star just after dawn—known only to those who know where to look. You try not to think of it. Sometimes you even succeed.

In your second year of high school, there’s Takao.

He’s a quiet boy. Stoic, even, his face almost stony as he introduces himself as the new transfer student. But he has a dandelion tuft smile, downy soft and fleeting, carried off by the wind not long after it blooms across his lips. 

You like it, his smile. 

You watch Kimura—your class rep, a position she’s held since middle school—get to her feet. Takao is setting up his desk when she approaches, methodically laying out his supplies. He keeps them in neat rows and you can’t help but smile when you see that his eraser is a battered little Keroppi, its round eyes almost flattened into a straight line on one side.

The class’s chatter softens, a few people glancing towards Kimura and Takao. You can’t see her face, but her fingers are trembling, just a bit. He looks unbothered. There’s not a trace of nerves in him, until you realize that the tips of his ears have gone faintly pink.

Kimura’s voice doesn’t carry when she greets him so you don’t hear what she says, but you see the tension bleed from her after Takao speaks. 

Not soulmates, then.

She relaxes, and from the way her hands are moving she’s starting to outline the classroom expectations. You shift in your seat, starting to turn away, when a flash of movement from Takao catches your eye.

He looks at you from beneath the fan of his eyelashes from across the classroom. He has a small spray of fading freckles, you realize, speckled over the bridge of his nose like a cluster of stars. He gives you that smile again. It takes a moment to realize you’re staring, and you look away, your cheeks hot.  

“You’ve got a crush,” Abe sing-songs at lunch a few days later, jabbing her chopsticks into your bento and stealing a piece of pickled daikon. 

“I don’t,” you say, moving your bento away as she tries to steal another piece. 

Yoshikawa snorts. She’s sprawled out on the grass next to you and Abe, her long skirt caught up around her calves. There’s grass caught in her black hair, the verdant blades swaying as she moves, as if floating in the whirling eddies of the darkened sea.  

“If you’re gonna lie,” she says, turning over onto her stomach, “at least do it well.” 

“I’m not lying!”

“Liar.”

“Such a liar,” Abe agrees. “You stare at him all the time.”

“No I don’t!”

Abe’s grin goes sly. “I didn’t say who,” she tells you. 

“I—it doesn’t matter who, I don’t stare at anyone!”

Yoshikawa raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t stare at Takao.” 

You scowl down at the ground, ripping up a small chunk of grass. You rub the blades between your fingers until they’re a fine pulp, and the scent of a freshly mowed lawn permeates the air.

“See?” Abe says. “Told you.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Yoshikawa asks, peering up at you. She’s sly-eyed, her gaze keen despite the way she yawns. 

“Not yet,” you say. It takes you a moment to realize that you’re cupping a hand over your mark, rubbing your thumb over the thin skin just above it.

Yoshikawa smiles, warm and soft and knowing, and doesn’t say anything else. Instead she moves closer to you, curling around you like a crescent moon, her head padded on her discarded blazer. You settle into the cradle of her.

Abe is grinning wildly. “I knew that you had a crush,” she says, popping another bite of your rice into her mouth. 

“Oh, like we haven’t seen the way you moon over Takeda!” you say.

She shrugs. “She’s cute.” 

You huff and reach over to steal some of her tamagoyaki. She yelps, scrambling to pull her bento away as you snatch at the last piece. “Mean!” she says, watching as you eat it, the fluffy egg practically melting on your tongue. “I want the rest of your daikon!”

“Get your own!”

She reaches for your bento and you swat at her. The two of you bicker for the rest of lunch, only ceasing when you return to the classroom and take your seats.

Out of the corner of your eye, there’s a flicker of movement. When you glance over, Takao is already watching you. There’s a smile tucked sweet into the corner of his mouth, a sliver of a thing. 

It’s you who looks away first.

You’ll talk to him eventually, you think, cupping a hand over your soulmark once again. 

Just not yet.

***

Not yet lasts longer than you thought.

You and Takao trade glances across the classroom for one week, then another, and then another still. Each look is a fleeting thing, like a shooting star streaking across the sky. 

But you don’t speak to each other. 

You learn the sound of his voice through others when he speaks to your classmates and teachers. It’s quiet, steady, with a warm rasp to it that makes you think of billowing smoke. He blushes to the tips of his ears when it cracks. It’s cute in a way that makes you ache.  

You learn the sound of him, but never for yourself.

Still, you gravitate towards each other. He offers you a tangerine one morning, his smile small, soft, and earnest. When you nod he uses his fingernail to split open the peel, unfurling it in a smooth motion. The peel curls bright around his hand. He separates out a segment and gives it to you, his fingertips damp with sticky juice. They leave shy little imprints across your palm. 

The fruit bursts across your tongue like sunshine, golden and warm. Takao is watching you with hopeful eyes. You grin, and hold your hand out for another.

He sits down next to you to share it. The classroom is full of chatter, but the two of you are quiet, wrapped up in your own world. Suddenly, it’s not so much that you’re scared of speaking, but that maybe you don’t quite need it. Not yet.

It would be nice, you suppose, but as time passes, you and Takao find ways to fit together without speaking. Instead, you learn the tilt of his mouth and the crinkle of his nose and the way his fingers run through his hair. 

It works. It’s not quite enough, but it works.

And so not yet lasts just a little bit longer, the two of you steering away from the cliff’s edge looming in the distance. 

Another month goes by. 

You spend hours with Takao, the sight of you together a common thing to the point where your classmates ask you where he is when they’re looking for him. You can usually tell them. You’re incredibly aware of each other, caught in each other’s gravitational pull. 

Sometimes it feels like you’re destined to only orbit each other, to never truly touch. 

But sometimes you almost speak.

It’s a golden afternoon, the wind rustling through the leaves like a lullaby, filling the space between you both. You’re tucked together on one of the benches in the school’s yard watching the flow of students as they head to their clubs. 

Takao is sunstruck, haloed in gold, and it makes his dark eyes even deeper, an obsidian sheen. You’ve seen it before, but there’s still something about it that makes your stomach flip. 

He shakes his head, trying to get his hair out of his eyes. It doesn’t work, and he does it again. You think of a wet dog and try to stifle your laugh. 

When he does it for a third time, you reach out and brush your fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. He turns into the touch, just slightly.

Someone shrieks out a laugh, and you look up to see one of the girls in the other classes batting lightly at her boyfriend. He murmurs something to her, and her smile grows wider. 

Your stomach twists, coiling tight as you watch them banter with each other. The gaps between your ribs seem to grow, until the empty space is what you’re made of. 

You want, you want, you want. 

You wonder if you’ll ever have.

Takao senses your change in mood but you say nothing, and the two of you separate not long after. 

Your father is watering the plants when you come home. They fill the windows of your home, the sun streaming through the verdant leaves, leaving emerald patches of light on the floor, nature’s stained glass. 

He’s quietly humming to himself, each note off-key, but he stops as soon as he sees you. He eyes you for a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say.

“You were better at lying when you were little,” he tells you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now what’s wrong?”

You tell him. It spills out of you like an oil slick, coating everything it touches. You tell him about Takao, about the silence, about it all. You hadn’t realized how much the quiet was eating away at your bones. 

“So what is it, exactly, that you’re worrying about?” your father asks when you’ve finished. It’s a sharp question, razor-edged, but his eyes are soft.

“What if he’s not my soulmate?” you ask him.

He blinks. “Does that change how you feel about him?”

You take a moment to consider. You think of Takao’s smile, and the way his fingers linger against the palm of your hand when he hands you the erasers to clap; the way he lets you take pieces of his bento, all without a word. 

“No,” you say. “I don’t think so.”

“There you go, then.”

“But if he’s not my soulmate—”

“You know the statistics as well as I do,” he says.  “If Takao isn’t your soulmate, that doesn’t mean you can’t be with him.”

“They’re waiting,” you whisper.

“That doesn’t mean you have to,” he says gently. “You’re allowed to make your own choice.” 

You’re not sure that you are.

“What if he is my soulmate?”

Your father puts down the watering can. You see a flash of his soulmark. It’s blackened, a charred smudge against his skin, and when you glance up at his face, there’s something old in his expression. For a breath, you don’t know him at all.

It’s gone as soon as it came, like a shadow beneath the summer sun. He smiles at you. “Then your mom and I will have to meet him, won’t we?”

You balk. 

He laughs, a sound that shimmers in the air. “I’m joking, tadpole,” he says. “And if he is—you’ll figure it out. There’s no point in guessing before you even know.” 

You fidget with your sleeve, rubbing your thumb over the fraying hem of it. 

There are worse things than losing something you never had, you think.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

But things are easier said than done.

It’s not easy, not with Takao. It’s hard to find the words when you’ve spent so much time living in the space between them. 

You find yourself on the rooftop with him during lunch. It’s unseasonably warm, thick puffy clouds sitting high in a robin’s egg blue sky, and you’re sitting side-by-side, close enough to touch. Close enough, but not quite.

Takao hands you some anpan; you give him one of your onigiri, peeling the packaging open for him. He nudges against you, a silent thank you, and something in you breaks. 

“This is stupid,” you blurt out, loud enough that a few heads turn your way.

You clap your hand over your mouth immediately. 

He blinks, staring at you with his lips parted, and your cheeks start to heat. And then he laughs, the sound like woodfire smoke, billowing out of him in low, slow tones. It sweeps over you, settles on your skin, and though your cheeks heat more the sight of him sparks something in you. 

He laughs freely and warmly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. It doesn’t stop; if anything, it flows more strongly, like a river to the ocean. You find yourself swept up in it, laughter bubbling up inside you. 

When it spills out of you and joins his, it sounds like a song. 

“I cannot believe that’s what you said,” he says, and oh, you’ve ached to hear his voice when it was meant for you. You drink it in, swallow it down, something for you alone. “Of all the things.”

He laughs again, short and sharp with delight, but your smile is wilting, going brittle at the edges.

You finally have Takao, only to lose him a moment later.

You’re not soulmates. 

***

It changes things. 

You don’t mean for it to happen, but it does. Suddenly, the language between the two of you is different. Too used to speaking without words, neither of you are prepared for actual speech. You stumble over conversation, the words caught in your mouths like pebbles in a wave, spinning over and over until they’re worn down to nothing. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Abe says, lounging upside down on your bed, tapping away at her controller, her brow furrowed as she smashes at the buttons. “You just gotta adjust, that’s all.” 

You sigh. It’s not something you can explain, really. How one space was filled and another emptied. It leaves something in you aching. 

Yoshikawa hums from where she’s sprawled on your floor, barely paying attention to the tv as she hits combo after combo, much to Abe’s annoyance. “Soulmate stuff is weird,” she says. “But it’s up to you.”

“It’s up to him, too,” you remind her. “Not everyone wants to date someone who isn’t their soulmate.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Abe says. “He likes you. It’s kinda gross how much.”

Your cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Make me.” 

You throw a pillow at her face, relishing her little yelp as she tries to scramble out of the way and almost falls off your bed. 

“Brat,” she says, tossing the pillow back. “He does, though. Like you.”

“I know,” you say, something vast filling you.

“Is this about the waiting thing?” Yoshikawa asks, putting down her controller and turning to face you. She hooks her chin over your knee, looking up at you with knowing eyes. 

You bite at your bottom lip. 

You know the rates better than anyone; you’ve spent your whole childhood hearing a language all its own. Percentages, probabilities, and all manners of complicated academic jargon, all focused on stripping away the whimsy of soulmates. 

Your mother has only ever wanted to understand. But in that coveting, that hunger, she pressed understanding upon you as well, until you’re caught up in yourself, a tangled skein, so knotted that the beginning can barely be found. 

“What if I do meet them?” you ask. “And they really have been waiting?”

Yoshikawa hums; it reverberates through you. “Dunno,” she says. “But what if you don’t meet them?”

You glare. “Thanks, that’s helpful.” 

“Yeah, Yocchan,” Abe pipes up. “Super helpful.”

Yoshikawa tosses another pillow at her. “I don’t see you offering anything!”

“I already said it’ll be fine!” 

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!” 

You laugh, the sound light but loud. Your friends pause, looking incredibly pleased with themselves. 

“Oh good,” Abe says. “You’re back.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Nothing,” she says, but you think there’s a bit of sadness to her, in the waning moon of her smile. “Are you gonna play with us now?” 

She shoves a controller at you and you take it with a huff. “Get ready to lose,” you tell her.

“What else is new?” Yoshikawa asks, moving away from you to grab her own controller again.

“Shut up, Yocchan,” Abe says, scowling. “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too.” 

You ignore them both to pick your character, but you can’t help the smile that plays across your lips as they continue to argue with each other. Abe curls herself around you, sticking her tongue out at Yoshikawa. You shift to give her room and your mark catches the light, reflects it back like morning dew. 

For a moment you stare down at the words that have already changed your life so much. Sometimes you wonder how much more they can take from you.

“It’s my choice,” you say. You freeze, not having meant to say it out loud, but Yoshikawa just hums, settling warm on your other side

“Yeah,” she says with a little hum. “It is.” 

But it isn’t just your choice.

You can’t quite understand Takao’s smile anymore. The nuances are lost in the space between the two of you, a language half-forgotten. The structure is there, but you’ve lost some of the words. 

You can’t quite understand his choice, either.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, a scant few weeks after you realize you aren’t soulmates. The tips of his ears are pink, the color of the early dawn, and his eyes are glassy. “It’s just that—”

“We’re not soulmates,” you finish for him. Your heart is thrumming behind your ribs, a hummingbird battering against its cage. “Right?”

He winces. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

Maybe you should have known that it would.

He winces again; his hands tighten on the strap of his school bag. He stares at you, looking helpless, and you hate that you want to cradle his face in your hands. That you want to make it better for him. 

“It—”

He cuts himself off. His lip trembles, wobbling like a spinning top, and it comes to you all at once. It’s written in the space between you, in a language you’ve both been speaking for months, one that’s all your own.

Takao’s lying.

“Tell me the truth,” you demand, clenching your fists. 

He looks away. “We’re not soulmates,” he says. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Liar.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says. “Please.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“Fine,” you say. “Fine.” 

When you walk away, he doesn’t come after you. 

***

You hide yourself away among the hydrangea bushes that line the library, settling yourself in a sea of powder-blue petals. You curl up, pulling your knees up against your chest, and cry quietly until your uniform skirt is damp. 

“Well, that’s not good,” Abe says.

You glance up to see her and Yoshikawa leaning over the hydrangea bushes, looking down at you with tender expressions. You immediately cry harder, starting to sob aloud.

“Oh shit,” Abe says, pushing through the puffball clusters of flowers and dropping to her knees beside you. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, it’s okay.” 

“Takao?” Yoshikawa asks.

You nod. 

She smiles, sharp and mean. “Abe, stay with her. I’ll be back.”

You shoot to your feet, grabbing her by her uniform sleeve before she can take off. “No!” you yelp. “No, Asako, don’t do anything!”

“Why not? He made you cry.” 

“He just—it’s okay.”

“It’s not.” 

“He doesn’t want to be with someone who isn’t his soulmate,” you say softly. “That’s…he’s allowed to make that choice.”

She clicks her tongue. “He didn’t strike me as the type.”

“Me either,” you mumble. “I think he’s lying.”

“Why would he lie?” Abe asks, tilting her head.

“Don’t know,” you say. “But it just…it just seemed like he was. Please leave him alone.”

You don’t know how to explain it. You’re not sure you can. It’s a strange little language, the language that forms between two people who haven’t spoken to each other, and you’re not sure anyone who hasn’t created that language between themselves and another could even begin to understand the alphabet of it. 

Yoshikawa hums; her sly eyes are narrowed, the deep brown of them darkened to almost black. “Fine. But if he makes you cry again, all bets are off.”

“Yeah,” Abe says, nudging you up to your feet. “And we know where you hide, so no point in trying to keep it from us!”

Your laugh is watery, but it’s light as it leaves your lips. 

Abe loops her arm through yours. “Let’s go,” she says. “It’s lunchtime and Yoshikawa has a good bento today.”

“And it’s not for you,” Yoshikawa says lazily, stuffing her hands in her pocket as the three of you start to walk. “So don’t even try it.” 

You laugh again and they bicker all the way to the classroom. You’re in the middle of grabbing your own bento when you feel eyes on you and when you look up, Takao startles, looking away quickly. You bite your lip as the tips of his ears go pink once more. 

He glances at you again, and his eyes linger on your face. When his lips curl down into a small frown, you realize he knows you’ve been crying. He looks away as the twist of his lips goes pained. 

Yoshikawa steps in front of you, blocking your view of him. “C’mon,” she says softly, chivving you towards her desk where Abe is already sitting. “Let’s go.”

You follow her after one last glance in Takao’s direction. 

It develops into a routine over the next few weeks. You get used to the feeling of eyes on you all over again. Takao’s gaze feels silken against your skin, and though you shouldn’t, you bask in it. Maybe you’re too used to it; it reminds you of the beginning, when all you had was fleeting looks and quiet gazes. 

But now he looks away every time you look up, though his ears always give him away. 

Still, there’s a comfort to it. It doesn’t go away, even as you simply circle around each other, caught in each other’s orbit once more. This time, at least, you know that you’ll stay this way. 

Except two months after you go your separate ways, you’re assigned to work on a project together.

Your hurt has waned; it’s a healing bruise, now, only flaring to life when you press on it. The hopeful look on Takao’s face barely even causes an ache. You stay in your seat, but he gets to his feet and comes to you as the teacher leaves.

“Hi,” Takao says, fidgeting with the strap of his school bag. “I’m—if you want to switch partners to someone else, I understand.”

“Do you want to switch partners?” you ask.

“Not really,” he blurts out, and this time, his blush is bright, the apples of his cheeks dusted in heated red. “I mean, no. I don’t.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. It feels nice, somehow, looking at him, at his small, timid smile and the way the sun catches golden on his skin. “I guess I’m fine with it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m—I’m glad.”

“Let’s talk after clubs,” you say. “We can figure out our topic then.” 

He nods. He stands there for a moment; it’s only when you raise an eyebrow that he jolts and heads back to his desk. When you look over, he’s got his hands pressed against his face. You think you see him mutter “idiot” to himself.

The smile tugs on your lips without you even realizing it. 

***

“I miss you,” Takao says, fifteen minutes into your third project session. “I miss you so much.” 

You go stiff. 

The project has gone well so far. You’ve found yourself falling into easy communication with Takao, but you’ve kept it strictly to the project, rarely going into your lives outside of school. Still, it’s easy in a way it hasn’t been in a while. You find yourself smiling, and sometimes he even makes you laugh. 

“Okay,” you say, sounding wooden even to yourself. “I—I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” 

He winces. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says.

You mean to say okay, but what you say instead is—

“I miss you too.”

Takao blinks. And then a smile is spreading across his lips, slow like the dawn and just as warm. “Really?” he asks.

Your cheeks heat, but you nod. 

“Do you think we can be friends?” he asks, almost shy.

You bite your lip. “I think…I think we can try.” 

“I’d like that,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

You smile at him, slow and sure. “Me too.”

He smiles back, and the two of you turn back to your project.

You find that it takes time to learn how to be friends with Takao. It’s not like Abe and Yoshikawa with the fluid ease of childhood friends, forged by years and years at each other’s sides, memory after memory built into a firm foundation. Nor is it like your other friends.

Takao seems to inhabit a space all his own. Maybe he always will. It seems right that he would; it doesn’t surprise you that he carved himself a place in your world without even trying. 

It takes time. Eventually, even Abe and Yoshikawa warm up to him, until the four of you are spending summer nights together, popsicles melting down your fingers in the heat. You laugh through sticky lips and sit side-by-side despite the heat.

It feels good to have him back in your life, and high school goes by in a whirlwind of seasons, the years melting together until you graduate. He’s by your side when you do ,along with Yoshikawa and Abe, the four of you taking pictures on the school lawn surrounded by your peers. 

The four of you spend as much time as you can together before you head off to college, just a few scant weeks after graduating. 

It’s easy with Yoshikawa and Abe; the three of you are woven together, a tapestry of home. College is just another stitch, with the three of you attending the same one. You find a cute apartment just off campus, in a slightly worn building with wisteria dripping down the sides like honey. Yoshikawa and Abe like to hang laundry from the balcony; they says it comes back with a floral scent. The dishwasher is broken more often than not, the rooms are tiny, and you love it. So do they, and the three of you build a home together.

With Takao, it’s harder. You drift away from each other in college, pressed in on all sides by classes, studying, and local friends. It feels hard to find the time to breathe, let alone text Takao anything other than a fleeting check-in or a picture of something that reminded you of him.

Unlike before, it feels natural. It isn’t without its edges but they’re dulled, so that they press against your skin instead of cut. He simply fades from your everyday life until the ding of his text message is a surprise instead of a given. 

When he walks back into your life in your third year of college, it’s like getting hit by a lightning bolt.

***

The izakaya is tucked away at the edge of the city, sandwiched between two small apartment buildings that have ivy spidering up the side of them. You watch as a sheet billows on a clothesline, rippling like water, the clothespins holding firm despite the strong breeze. 

The fat tabby lazing on the edge of the izakaya steps doesn’t even lift its head to look at you. It’s sheltered under a verdant fern frond, part of the little forest of plants clustered around the entrance. Some of the plants are spilling out of their pots, sprawling out in great clusters of leaves, the tiny flowers dotted in them barely visible in the light of the nearby vending machine. 

You crouch down by the cat unable to resist, and it blinks itself awake slowly, turning slate gray eyes your way. It sniffs at your knuckles when you reach out to it. It rubs its cheek against your hand once, and then gets to its feet, stretching mightily as your friends laugh from just inside the entrance. You try to pet it again but it pointedly turns away and curls up again under the frond, further in than before, a little forest deity hidden amid lush scenery. 

You stare at it for a moment longer, looking at how its cheeks squish up against its paws. 

“Pouting doesn’t affect Momo,” someone behind you says.

You look up, and then go still.

“Hi,” Takao says, warm like the early morning sun. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” you say, as if he hasn’t knocked the breath from you. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. You?”

“Are we really going to do this?” you ask, standing up from your awkward crouch. 

He smiles, and you think he might be swallowing down a laugh. “Do what?”

You scowl at him. “You know what,” you say. “The small talk.”

“It’s polite.”

“Is that your main concern? Politeness?”

This time, he does laugh, low and sweet. “No,” he says, his eyes glittering. “You are.”

Your cheeks heat. “You can’t just say that.”

“Just did,” he says. “Are—are you here by yourself?”

“With friends.”

“Do you think I could steal you away for a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I think you can.” 

He smiles at you. “Good.”

He ushers you into the izakaya. It’s warm inside despite the open windows, and the scent of fried food lingers in the air. People’s chatter fills the room up to the rafters, little laughs peppered in like champagne sounds, little pops of joy. There’s another cat curled up on a barstool tucked away in a corner, a ball of white fluff that makes you think of dandelions. 

Yoshikawa sees you first; when she sees Takao behind you, she raises a single elegant brow before turning back to your group of friends. She says something with a lazy roll of her shoulders, and suddenly, all of your friends are trying very hard to not look at the entrance. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

Takao laughs, the huff of air stirring against your nape. “They’re pretty obvious,” he says. “Should we go say hi?” 

“Later,” you say.

He follows you to the bar. He’s close, and under the scent of fried food you can make out the faintest hint of his woodsy cologne. 

You sit side by side, close enough to feel each other’s warmth but without touching. The bartender brings you your beers, and you look to Takao as he taps the neck of his bottle against yours. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he breathes, his dark eyes soft.

“Yeah,” you say. “It is.” 

One drink turns into two until you’re both sliding closer to each other in your seat, pressing into each other’s sides. You barely keep yourself from curling into him. He leans in close when you’re speaking, so that his voice is rumbling low in your ear. 

You share some takoyaki and then one of the biggest okonomiyaki you’ve ever seen, the pancake stuffed to the brim with filling and heavily topped. When the food arrives, so does the white cat, meowing quietly at your feet as it winds its way around the rungs of your barstool. Takao holds you steady when you lean down to pet it, his hand firm on your lower back. 

By your third beer, Yoshikawa and the rest of your friend group leaves. She gives you a little wave on her way out the door. 

“Sorry,” Takao says. “I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s been…really nice.”

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you admit. “It’s been great.”

He smiles, and it’s that same dandelion fluff smile you remember, sweet and fleeting. 

“Good,” he says, taking a sip from his beer. You watch the way his forearm flexes. “Listen, do you want to meet up again?”

“Yeah, I would.”

His eyes crinkle. “Great,” he says.

You bite down on your smile. 

The two of you finish your beers between lazy chatter. It’s comfortable, as if you never fell out of touch. 

When you leave, Takao waits as you pet the white cat once more, delicately bumping your knuckles against its cheek as it rumbles out a purr. It meows pitifully when you stop, opening its blue, blue eyes with a disgruntled look on its face, and you laugh to yourself, kneeling to give it a few more pets. 

You look for the tabby as you exit the izakaya but it’s gone, likely curled up amid some of the planters further back. You and Takao both stop at the sidewalk, carefully making sure you’re out of the way of any pedestrians, and for a moment, you just look at each other.

“See you soon?” Takao asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you soon.” 

“Good,” he breathes, with his eyes so soft that it makes your cheeks warm. 

You say goodbye, and each of you heads home. When you glance back Takao is already looking back at you from the street corner. You give him a little wave, and he jolts before hurrying off.

You smile your whole way home.

***

“It’s so hot,” you complain, flopping down next to Takao on the park bench. “Can we go to the conbini?”

“Popsicles?” he asks.

“No, I want onigiri.”

He raises a brow. “How does that help with the heat?”

“It doesn’t,” you tell him. “The aircon does.”

He laughs. “Oh, of course.” 

You head to the closest conbini, practically swimming through the humid summer air. The air is so thick that you could cut it; there’s rain on the horizon, promised in the encroaching gray-blue clouds hanging low in the sky. 

Inside it’s blessedly cool, the aircon hard at work. The two of you scour the aisles, picking out varying snacks and pointing out new flavors to each other—you try to make him buy a cream stew Gari Gari Kun popsicle, but he refuses—before you head to the cashier.

You settle in at one of the tables, opening your drink as Takao unwraps one of your onigiri, handing it to you before he busies himself with his own food. He gives you a little swat when you reach out for his snacks, making you retract your hand with a laugh. As you pull back, you wonder when the two of you fell back into rhythm.

It’s close to the one you had in high school, but not the same. There’s something new twining through the rhythm, a swirl of notes that resonates through you. It’s an easy flow, a soft ebb and tide, like the calmest of seas. 

“Hey,” Takao says gently. 

“Hmm?”

“Where did you go, just then?” 

You blink and take a sip of your peach tea. It lingers sweet on your tongue as you meet his stoic gaze. His mouth tilts, just slightly, something tucked up secret in the corner of his soft lips. 

For a moment, you just look at him. He meets your gaze easily; he lets you look your fill, as patient as ever.

“Sorry,” you say. “Nowhere important.” 

“Okay.”

You shake your head. “You’re so—” you break off.

“I’m so?”

You bite at your lip. “You,” you say. “You’re so you.”

His smile is small, but it grows, as steady and sure as the sun’s rise.

“I hope so,” he says, almost flippant, but there’s something soft in his gaze; it brushes over you like silk.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

He just laughs, quiet and low.

The two of you chat as you eat, talking about Yoshikawa’s upcoming art show at a trendy new gallery. You’ve been waiting patiently ever since the curator first picked her up as a featured artist. It’ll be nice to go with Takao, for the four of you to be side-by-side again, something that’s becoming as constant as it was in your high school days. 

When you’re finished Takao takes all the wrappers and folds them up neatly, creasing them until they’re practically origami. You bite down on your smile.

The summer air rolls over you as you step back into it, licking across your skin as only wet heat can. You shudder with it. 

Still you meander through the nearby park, ducking beneath low-hanging branches hanging heavy with fruit, the citrus of them permeating the air. It’s quiet, with just the distant shouts of the playground and the whisper of the leaves in the stirring breeze to accompany you both. 

You find yourself at the koi pond without meaning to and Takao wordlessly heads to the food meter as you settle yourself on the rock wall that edges the pond. The surface ripples, orange and gold scales muted in the murky water like a sunset covered by clouds. You trail your fingertips over the surface, and giggle as they mouth at them. 

Takao presses some feed into your palm when he comes back; the heat of him lingers there. Your mark glimmers in the light as you toss in the feed, a needlepoint flash of silver. You can feel Takao’s eyes on it. But then the koi come up in great, arcing splashes, the quiet pond roiling like the angry sea in their fervor, and you laugh as you dodge the worst of it.

Takao chuckles, and he settles down next to you to hand you the last of the feed.

You curl into him despite the heat, skin against skin, a slick slide of a touch before you fall still. The koi are still churning up the water, their gaping mouths breaking through the surface, and you give them what they want. Scales flicker by, a mesmerizing firework show caught beneath the surface, and so it catches you off guard when Takao suddenly says—

“I’m sorry.” 

You go still.

“For what?”

He shifts beside you; when you glance at him, he’s staring into the distance, his dark eyes caught on something that only he can see.

“For high school.”

You breathe out through your nose. “So you’ve said.”

“I was scared.”

“So you’ve said,” you repeat.

He glances at you, then, and his eyes remind you of the vastness of the unending night sky, dark and glittering.

“I’m not scared anymore.” 

You suck in a sharp breath. He waits, ever patient.

“Me neither,” you say, curling your pinky around his, twining around him like thread. 

He cups your cheek, his touch almost reverent, and presses his forehead to yours. “Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He leans in and kisses you. It’s careful and sweet.

It feels like coming home.

He breaks the kiss when you’ve stolen each other’s breath away.

 “Our soulmates—” he starts.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, kissing him again. He’s smiling against your lips.  Warmth floods you. You love him, you love him, you love him. That’s all there is. That’s all you need. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say again.

He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re right,” he says. “It doesn’t.”

Until suddenly, it does.

***

You and your soulmate—Shinsuke, you think, still tasting the honey of it on your tongue, Shinsuke Shinsuke Shinsuke—watch each other. 

The only sound is the steady fall of the rain. 

It’s picked up again, sending the hydrangeas eddying, spinning in a lazy current as their puffball blossoms catch the droplets. More petals flutter to the ground. The blue of them is stark against the dirt, and you think of what a storm leaves in its wake.

Shinsuke lets out a deep, slow breath, and you wince. His amber eyes have dimmed and the last of his smile has washed away, leaving just the dregs of emotion behind, too faint for you to read. 

You feel too small for your skin; your heart is fluttering, a hummingbird thing, trying to press through the gaps in your ribcage. You take in a shallow breath. It tastes of the earth, of drenched soil and summer heat. You choke on it. 

Shinsuke’s brow furrows as you take in another breath, even shallower than the last, and your heart is thrumming, and his eyes are so sharp, so knowing, so kind. You’re caught in the amber of them, the resin of his gaze pouring over you. 

Even the rain seems quiet now. 

His lips part.

Your ribs start to crack; your heart thumps harder against them. Too strong, too fast, too loud. 

His lips part, and you do the only thing you can.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp.

You run.

[midnite-c6]

Ok now do a trilogy to Thanos x Namgyus gf but make it a threesome 💔

okay 💓 was thinking of doing that in part 2 but i wanted to edge. LMAO.

previous : part 1 ! part 2 ! <3 thanos (choi su-bong) x namgyusgf!reader pt. 3 warnings: 18+, cheating, degradation, pwp, rough sex

ˆつ⁠｡⁠☆ with the back and forth of videos (of you getting fucked by them) being sent on both their phones, it turned into a competition of the two. to see who could make you feel better, but that was getting boring, the best solution is to just share! obviously.

nsfw below!! -> 🫶🏻

"you lying, cheating, slut." nam-gyu slips his cock from your pussy, before ramming it back in again, starting another rhythmic pace of his dick sliding in and out of you. your body was practically floating, having su-bong hold you up from the ground, with his hand tightly holding onto your hair. from this view, he could see you look up at him with cheeks stained with your mascara, how your makeup is ruined, and how you were taking him so well inside your mouth, just like the first time. "so fucking wet." nam-gyu would groan out, pointing out how easy it was to just slip in and out of you for hours. "damn it. one dick isn't enough for you, huh?" your eyes move from thanos' looking up at your boyfriend's. "your slutty dumb brain needs two cocks to fill her up so it's happy, am i correct?" he'd particularly thrust harder during the last sentence, you barely even heard what he said because you were too busy thinking of what he's doing to your cunt right now.

"she's just searchin' for the best." the one inside your mouth replied. you'd only choke against him as he forces himself deeper inside your throat. "fuck off." but nam-gyu couldn't lie, you were clenching him like crazy. he'd only let out a moan from that, spitting on your clit. that was the only sensation your clit had gotten, nam-gyu was ignoring it the whole night because you don't deserve to be pleased like that! now both your pussy and chin is dripping wet from their filthy juices and saliva.

su-bong would pull out of your mouth, giving it some kind of mercy, you can finally breathe the air around you, that was still a difficult task considering now every time nam-gyu pushes inside you, the head of his cock hits your g-spot so perfectly, you'd wonder if he's trying to impress you, that thanos was only second best compared to him, maybe that's why he was your boyfriend in the first place... thanos looks down at your pretty, fucked out face and laughs, "you're such a freak for liking this!" wow. he was one to talk. he then places his dick on your face, rubbing his leaking pre-cum to ruin your face even more. "damn .. even prettier like this, señorita." he just loves seeing your face covered in his sticky cum.. </3

"ma' bro, let me fuck her." nam-gyu stops his thrusts, though not bothering to look at su-bong. "urgh. no." thanos tilts his head to the side. "how about we fuck her both, at the same time?" "what. you're into anal?" "psh, what am i not into? but. both of us. inside her pretty cunt. you can take it, right?" he asks as he tugs on your hair, you were still only getting to calm down from all the thrusting.. "fuck no, dude! i don't want my dick touching yours!" clearly, nam-gyu wasn't high enough for this. "fuuck, man, don't think 'bout that shit, she'll scream ten times more. high risk, high reward. i've seen it in a porno." nam-gyu scoffs, "high risk, high reward my ass. don't care shit 'bout what you watch." nam-gyu was opposed to it.

but seeing you to become an absolute shaking, screaming mess? hell yea. now you're laid down on the rought cement floors of the office room inside club pentagon, your legs being spread wide open, nam-gyu's arm hooked to your left thigh as su-bong's to the right. nam-gyu was first to enter inside you, then you'd already start yelling how it was too much when su-bong starts to push himself in aswell, "su-bong! s-stop! stop!" nam-gyu would harshly slap your face. "no moanin' his name, only mine. got it?" you nodded, fuck was he strict. "yes, sir.." you'd whine out lazily. you were being stretched like crazy, you swear they'd rip you open right about now. thanos finally bottoms out inside you, your body was already shaking, even when they're not even moving. but oh you wished that they stayed that way. now you're moaning crazily, for sure everyone inside the club, even with the loud music could hear how much you were being fucked. they were both fast as fuck, not giving you any time to breathe at all, it was like a literal race. nam-gyu's veiny, ringed hands were wrapped around your neck, just to let you know he's in control. thankfully, su-bong would pay attention to your clit, with his thumb pressing hardly against the sensitive bud, maybe you could cum tonight.

that's how you'll spend the night, and many more nights, but right now they're determined to fill your womb with their cum mixed together, like true bestfriends.

phew guys i forgot to add plot this is all sex. damnn . gonna start becoming inactive again and WAY more slow with reqs 💔 i love journalism hahah.

[lightofraye]

Not an anti to hate

I debated this. As an "anti" of Danneel, I debated this. It had been suggested I post this as it is Martin Luther King Jr's Day. (A holiday honoring one of the best Civil Rights Activists, for my international followers.)

Danneel... made being an activist as a joke. A performative slackativist, Danneel made a joke out of being an activist. She tried it for a little while and then slacked off because it required work, and we all know that she can't do sustainable work. If she could, her acting career wouldn't be a joke. All her other attempts wouldn't be a joke.

(When she (in)famously claimed being a producer was easier than an actor, we all knew what that meant: she just didn't do the work and had everyone else do it. When The Winchesters fell behind scheduling; had a bad, ever changing storyline; unsafe set; and went over budget, we all knew what it meant. Meanwhile, Walker was notable for a balanced work-life schedule, under budget, a notable reputation in Hollywood....)

Sorry, got sidetracked.

The fact that Danneel didn't correct JJ is an embarrassment. It cements a really negative perception about her: ignorant, uneducated, bad parenting.

And sadly, it's not overlooked.

In fact, I couldn't help but see that Jensen did notice and tried to hide it by making a photo of it black and white and adding a historical photo of Dr. King.

Danneel had no excuse. JJ was a child. In fact, JJ was what--8? 7? Children aren't aware of race; they are taught racism. JJ was innocent. Danneel? Is not. This could've been used as an excellent educational moment for Danneel to teach JJ that Dr. King was a Person of Color, that his skin was dark, and why that mattered back in the 1960s.

This is particularly embarrassing because Danneel was pushing her activism hard around this time. With that one photoshoot with a book about "How to be Black", talking about racial equality, and claiming to be friends with POCs.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Her attempts to seem relatable during the COVID Lockdown were just as embarrassing, especially during that one livestream when she tried to claim that she worked just as hard as a nurse. Jensen shut her up real fast. (She couldn't even parent for two weeks before she was dragging their nanny back to watch the kids.)

Still... just another reason to be critical of Danneel. I know many interpret being an "anti" as being a "hater"--I am not a hater. Just highly critical of someone who had the opportunity to do so much and instead of using those opportunities, she pulls her husband down, puts him down, lies through her teeth, and seems incapable of growth. Bottomline: not an anti to hate, but an anti to be critical and refuse to stan someone who is abusive.

[freakinator]

Oh my god your tags on the kazam post just reminded me that while watching Kab's stream the orher day she, the person who always goes on about how she is NOT her character and that they aren't the same, said fans aren't allowed to ship characters if it's against boundaries because, "They aren't characters, they ARE us."

Which confused me? Perhaps I misunderstood, which could certainly be the case since I already had a sour taste in my mouth since in the same stream she was saying a lot to encourage boundary warrior mentality including telling chat to simply not ship Mane with ANYBODY even though he stated he doesn't really care so long as he doesn't see it; directly inserting her own personal beliefs above Mane's stated boundaries despite emphasizing the importance of following each individual creators boundaries. I sound incredinly nitpicky right now sorry lol it just irritates me how much she says one thing, only to then go on to contradict herself. Especially when the things she says as a creator only further encourages conflict within the fandom that already has issues with harassment over boundaries.

yeah i heard about it and only further cemented my idea in my mind of her being a Twitter UserTM tbh esp since at least from what ive seen the ppl in the fandom who love being boundary warriors are the exact same ones who bring that shit to chat, like tell me why zams chat which is filled shameless shippers barely if ever talk about shipping there (unless the kazamers are present) and yet chats where the streamer has been vocal about not wanting to get shipped love bringing ships up like theyre fucking paid to do it

[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

So I lied

there's bits and pieces of the intro to the next chapter not here but enjoy this!

I am pushing to have a Tuesday/Wednesday release!

The forest seemed to hold it’s breath as the star gestured to the surrounding glowing trees. 

“When the order was finally established, a primordial star gave up her spot in the sky, to stay on earth in order to guide the order and firmly cement its placement as the bridge between our worlds. It was a move that impressed the other stars, and to show their support for the newly found order, they made the Asterius that you saw in the market. One created and cultivated from the power of each court to symbolize its unity within the order.”

“Was there any particular reason why they chose a tree  as a symbol?” she asked, as she stared at the glowing trees, gently swaying in the night breeze.

“Yeah…but what’s with your tone? Trees are cool!” he frowned, almost sounding offended.

“They’re alright…but I mean why do stars take such interest in them if they’re practically everywhere? Surely you guys must have cooler things than just…trees!”

“We do but…we wanted to use something familiar to both worlds and besides, have you ever noticed that no matter how far into the heavens a tree can ascend it must always stay rooted to the earth to survive? It can never forget its origins, no matter how far or great it grows…” he smiled thoughtfully as his foot scuffed against the ground. “Isn’t that something?”

Asha slowly nodded, and turned her eyes upwards “Hmm I guess it does sound a bit more…fascinating when you describe it like that…but why do yours glow?”

The star hummed thoughtfully as he rubbed his chin, “Well, the short scientific and aesthetic answer would be bioluminescence to attract nocturnal pollinators. Plus you can always appreciate their beauty no matter what time of day. It makes the nighttime forests nicer, doesn’t it?”

She nodded in agreement, “It does. But what’s the long answer?”

“Well,” he started as he straightened himself. “I don’t know the details exactly but I think it’s also because of their connection to some greater network of energy both with each other and the world around them. One of my nannies would always tell me about it when I was little and couldn’t stop climbing them but it’s pretty convoluted if I’m being honest.”

“A network of energy…” she whispered as her eyes trailed the trees’ glowing roots. “Like your energy?”

“Something like that,” he shrugged before thoughtfully staring at the sky. “I mean they sort of come from our world…so I guess it only makes sense that they would act like that…”

“You know before you told me anyl of this, I never would’ve thought that something as simple as a tree could hold so much meaning in the grand scheme of things,” she confessed. “Sure there was the wishing tree, but that felt more like a relic than anything else…not some political  cosmic display of diplomacy…”

“You’d be surprised…there’s a reason why most Asterius made today are no longer created by all four courts…”

“They aren’t?” she asked, a bit taken aback as the star shook his head.

“No not anymore, not since Deneb’s asterius came into the picture…”

“Deneb has an asterius?”

“Most members of the royal star families and high-ranking nobles do…but few have a tree as controversial as hers….” he hesitated as if mentally debating something before he eventually nodded and turned to her. “Asha” he stated suddenly as she straightened herself in preparation. “You remember how when we were in the forest you told me that you knew that the crimson court hated Deneb because of your father’s writings, right?”

“Right,” she nodded, trying not to shift uncomfortably. 

“Did your father ever state why?” 

“No…his master had been vague about the situation…but from what I could tell, it seemed as if the bad blood between the two parties was a little more extensive than just the courts…it seemed like it involved the council too…”

“It did,” Cepheus carefully nodded. “But did he say anything else?”

“Well…he theorized that it was the result of some act of defiance she did a few years ago that involved her children…you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“I do,” he confessed. “I don’t know if you’ll like the story but I suppose for you to understand anything I’ll need to give you a few details…”

He gestured for her to follow as they slowly began to near the forest. “I’m not sure if I’ve told you this explicitly,” he started as the glowing trees and shrubbery began to surround them.   “but the crimson court and cerulean court have always hated  each other. They’ve led countless wars and battles against each other long before the order,  Deneb, and her children ever entered the picture.”

“Why?” She asked as she ducked beneath a low-hanging  branch. “Was it differing philosophies? Scandalous love?” She called after the star who’d somehow managed to put a rather large walking distance between them. “Cultural differences? Why did they hate each other?”

He paused as if listening out for something before she finally made her way to his side, “Differing philosophies and a bloodthirsty competitiveness to conquer the galaxies,” the star frowned and abruptly looked away. 

Had…had he been ashamed of his court’s past? She wondered before he quietly continued, “Nevertheless it all seemed to come to a head when during one of these wars…the council, being as senile as they are, had grown both tired and indifferent to the constant fighting. So they decided to exercise their powers to ensure peace would prevail, one that, unlike their past attempts, could not be so easily dismissed…” The star sighed, slowly moving his hand as the air around his fingers began to glow a soft misty blue. 

Soon the rest of the world followed, rippling and blurring, as she blinked, trying to rub the uneasiness from her eyes as her surroundings slowly began to come into focus as she looked around. They were still in a forest, that much she could be sure of as the familiar sight of large, thick glowing greenery greeted her.

But where the distant yet elaborate town of Banquo had once stood was gone, and in its place was a seemingly endless glowing body of water. 

Were they…at the beach? No this couldn’t have been the beach, at least not one she’d been familiar with. Her eyes traced along the light blue shoreline as she took one hesitant step forward before rubbing her eyes in disbelief.

The ocean was glowing. Real oceans didn’t glow. But the feel of the calm sea breeze passing through her braids had nearly convinced her otherwise.

“Wait…” she started, looking around. “Is this another illusion like what you did with the scrolls?”

“Something of the sort,” the star smiled as he spoke from behind her. “Are you enjoying the view?”

She nodded, before looking around again, “Yeah! It’s…beautiful -,” her voice trailed off as she took in the sight of the star who’s skin was now a beautiful shade of cyan, while his hair was nearly white. 

Was this what a blue star looked like? She wondered, as she looked him over and over again.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring, but it was enough to earn herself an all too knowing grin as the star arrogantly extended a sapphire colored wing. “I was talking about the sea, but if you think I’m beautiful as well, and wish to stare,” he humbly gestured to himself as another wing revealed itself. “then by all means, my dear-,” 

“What?!” She scoffed, before waving her hands dismissively as she looked away. Thank God her blushes weren’t visible. “Ha! No! No way! I was talking about the beach! Not you! It’s the beach that’s beautiful, see?! You’re just…blue!” 

“Mmhmm.” He hummed teasingly as his now brilliantly blue  colored iris seemed bright with laughter. “Well either way I hope you enjoy whatever view you choose to partake in….or indulge…”

“I bet you say that to all the girls, don’t you?” she huffed and took a step back as she crossed her arms.

“Only the ones with good taste,” the star lazily grinned, never breaking eye contact with her as he stepped closer to her. His grin only sharpened as she glowered. “The ocean is that way, Asha.”

“I know that, you silly star!” She snapped and sharply turned to face the body of water, hoping to enjoy any semblance of peace she could get.

But alas, no peace came when she heard the king’s voice echoing from behind her as he lightly laughed, “Seriously Asha? Beautiful?” The other voices joined in as she tensed, trying to steady herself with one breath after another.

“Don’t get too attached Asha…Don’t you remember what your poor old father wanted?” rang the king’s voice in her ears again as she flinched. “You’re not supposed to be a part of this world, remember? Much less enjoy it or the beings that come with it.”

She wasn’t enjoying it. She wasn’t! She’d only been stating the obvious when she’d called the beach beautiful! She hadn’t meant anything more than that!

“Asha?” called Cepheus’s voice as she broke into a cold sweat. The echoes of voices faded like smoke as she blinked. “Asha, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She blurted, perhaps too quickly to convince anyone before she gestured to their surroundings, “But where are we exactly?”

“Kepler,” he answered as his wings quivered at the passing breeze.

“Kepler?” she narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t recall hearing of a city or country named Kepler…unless- her eyes widened as she stared back at the ocean.  “is this the ocean where you were before you heard my wish? Where you said that Deneb met her soul mate?” 

His smile grew as he nodded. “Yes.”

Ah! So this was the place! He hadn’t been lying when he’d called it beautiful, she thought as she looked over the shoreline once more. If there’d ever been a place she imagined as the setting for a scandalous royal alien fairytale then it would be here. But speaking of royalty…“Where’s the castle?”

“The castle?”

“Yeah, the Cygnus castle? You know the one you told me you loved to visit…you said you could see the waves from it, remember?”

“oh…OH!” he blinked in surprise, before lightly slapping his forehead. “Sorry…That castle wasn’t built yet…”

“Oh…” she replied, trying not to feel disappointed.

“But there’s another castle and a human village not too far from here…” 

“A human village?!” she gasped as he nodded. “There are humans in space?! Why?!!”

“Atlanteans, astronomers, diplomats, smugglers, the sheer expansiveness of the universe- take your pick!” he laughed as he listed the reasons on his clawed fingers. “A lot of humans settled here for different reasons. But the one thing they all have in common is that they’re well taken care of.” He hummed thoughtfully before lowering his hand. “You know Asha if you ever decide to come to space…I’m sure the other humans wouldn’t mind accommodating you and your family! 

Asha frowned. “You think I should stay with the other humans?”

“Of course! I mean…isn’t that what you wanted?”

Well..yes…but…she hadn’t wanted to do so without him. 

She couldn’t explain why, but…In this strange world. In his world, he was her only piece of familiarity. Her safety. How could he be so casual about them splitting up?

“Oh brother, do you hear this guy?!” the king’s voice angrily called as his figure slowly materialized before her. His grip on his spear tightened as he rudely waved to the oblivious star. “Ugh see whenever I tell you that age does not equate to wisdom, it’s because of things like this! You think he’d try to be a little less obvious about it!

‘A little less obvious?’ she wondered, as the king rolled his eyes before continuing, 

“C’mon Asha! Even Dario would be able to tell you that going into space is not the wonderful fix-all solution he’s trying to sell you.” She grimaced, her gaze no longer able to meet his as he stepped forward and shook his head disapprovingly. “Did you really think things would be any different in his world?”

‘I...I don’t know unless I go…maybe things could be different…it could be a fresh start! Maybe I could help people!’ she weakly thought in reply.

“Fresh start?! Asha Those people live amongst stars- why would they bother to entertain anything you have to offer? You have no powers, no title, no wealth, or relevant skill for that matter”

‘I know but…I won’t know unless I try…’ she’d meekly thought as his cruel laughter filled his ears.

“Try? Asha, you haven’t even made your decision to leave and he’s already decided to put you as far away from him as possible. Out of sight, and out of mind.” She could feel the ghost of his hand resting on her shoulder. “Changing environments isn’t going to change anything, Asha, not when we all know that the real problem has always been you. See? It didn’t take your little star very long to figure it out now, did it? He’s not very different from me, is he?”

She bit her lip, feeling her fingernails slowly dig into the palm of her hands as her name echoed within her own ears. Maybe Cepheus had been calling her, she didn’t know. She couldn’t hear him over the sound of the king’s voice teasingly asking her, “What? You didn’t think he wasn’t going to be embarrassed by you?”

‘No! He wasn’t embarrassed!’ she thought, clutching at the cape’s edges. ‘Beauty aside, his world was unarguably dangerous. Her father had almost been killed upon entering it, and now people with ties to it were trying to kill her! Maybe he was just trying to protect her, right? 

“Where’s your confidence?” the queen’s voice gently whispered. It sounded concerned, and maybe if she’d been in a better state of mind, she would’ve thought caring. “If you’re so sure he’s looking out for you then why don’t you tell him how you really feel?”

She could practically hear the grin in the king’s voice as he quickly added. “Or are you just too afraid that he’ll turn you down like the prince did?”

“Asha?” came Cepheus’s voice as she felt him grasp her shoulders. “Asha, are you alright?”

“I-,” she stopped, as a low growl reverberated overhead. 

The growl hadn’t been deafening, but something about it had felt wrong as if she were hearing the sound of a creature that never should’ve existed in the first place.

Her eyes promptly darted to the cloudy yet translucent sky above, narrowly catching sight of something large swiftly disappearing into the clouds as another growl shook the ground. 

She hadn’t seen much of what it was, nor had she wanted to. But from what she could determine, its body had been all too similar to the Atlantean serpentine she’d seen Allepac destroy. 

Only this one had been far bigger and more…organic looking… like it was something more than just an instrument of war….

“W-what in the world was that?!” she cried, stumbling behind the star as her eyes refused to leave the sky.

“The leviathan,” the star casually answered as he looked up at the sky. 

“The Leviathan?” she grimaced, quickly crouching behind the star as another growl filled the air. “Um…quick question...why is it growling like that? Better yet why is it flying?!”

“It’s probably determining whether or not to kill whatever it senses approaching.”

“Kill?” 

“With extreme prejudice…” the star cheerfully replied as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “this could get very nasty very quickly.”

Why he was so calm about this was beyond her…sure this might’ve been an illusion but it was a rather unpleasant one! Then again, he had stated that a star’s true form was rather large…what if he’d been bigger than the leviathan? Was that even possible?!

She hoped not, she thought, before a figure stepped out of the forest and approached.

To her surprise, it was a rather handsome man dressed in stately blue robes who looked to be somewhere in his late twenties or possibly early thirties. He appeared to be partially African, but she could tell through his white-colored dreadlocks, and crystal blue eyes, that he also carried Atlantean heritage, and just like any Atlantean she’d suspected his appearance no doubt, betrayed his true age. 

Sighing, he’d looked up and down the coast as if searching for something before he shook his head and withdrew a blue crystal attached to his necklace.

“Oceans,” he grumbled and watched with disgust as the glowing waves crashed along the shorelines. “Why did it have to be oceans? Does she have any idea how terrifying these things are?!” He sighed, shaking his head before he took one deep breath after another, and carefully kneeled, maintaining some distance from the water before he bowed his head and placed a hand over his heart.

 “Oh patroness of arts, protector of the seas, the heart of the Kraieyek empire,” he paused, as the sound of the ocean filled her ears once more. A sound that was promptly broken by the string of curses that left his lips as he abruptly rose back to his feet before backing away.

She hadn’t seen it at first until he’d moved, just out of reach of an emerging stream of water flowing upwards towards the beach. Such motion should’ve been impossible she thought as the water began to slowly encircle itself, as smaller streams began to branch off, connect, and tangle into a pattern of sorts. 

No sooner had the pattern formed than a figure slowly rose from the ocean’s depths. A multitude of brightly glowing cyan-colored eyes broke the surface. Water cascaded over her shoulders as she slowly rose to the edge of the shore.

To call her full height frightening would’ve been an understatement, but seeing it now hadn’t made it hard to understand why her father had reacted the way he did to the star’s heights. 

The star that stood before the man couldn’t have been any shorter than seventeen feet, as he bowed to her once more. Yet even despite her height, she was beautiful. Her skin was a pleasant shade of blue perfectly decorated with cyan-colored tattoos that spanned from her collarbone to her forearms and cyan-colored fingertips. Her four irises were a piercing shade of blue that sharply contrasted the dark blue of her scleras and the near whiteness of her hair. 

“Vitrius,” she softly spoke. All of her eyes focused on him as water continued dripping from her white hair.

“Vitrius” Asha whispered. As in Tau Vitrius?! Her father’s mentor?! This is what Tau Vitrius looked like? She hadn’t expected him to somewhat resemble the Atlanteans so much given the disdain he’d shown for their dialect and its influence. 

Wait, but if Vitrius was her astronomer, then that star could only be —“Your Majesty…” he bowed, leaving Asha unsure whether she should have been more impressed by the star’s beauty or Vitrius’s fearlessness.

But…she had to admit, that save for the faded scars on her limbs and the weariness in her eyes, Deneb looked shockingly young. Maybe no older than seventeen or eighteen which was far too young to be a queen. 

“I apologize for the informal setting,” she started, swiftly stepping by him. “Had I known you’d arrived so quickly, I would’ve arranged for something a bit more formal….” Maybe Asha had been imagining things, but she could’ve sworn that Deneb’s accent sounded…familiar.

“You’ve heard the news haven’t you?” she spoke, breaking the silence once more as she turned to face him.

“Yes…I believe congratulations are in order for your ascension to the throne,” Vitreous replied as he crossed his arms behind his back. “Headmistress Karagash sends her regards.”

She darkly scowled, before stepping away with a scoff. “Of course…. I take it that your superiors were overjoyed at the announcement weren’t they?”

“Some were,” Vitrius confirmed with a small nod. “Barring the headmistress of course…but it seems as if most are cautiously optimistic in the council’s proposal…I know your feelings on the matter but there is no denying that your move is arguably as forward as it is backward. From the moment your sister abdicated, you were the only viable option to become Apsuramal.”

“You're too optimistic Vitrius,” she sighed, sounding more exasperated than anything else. “Ascension or not Vega’s banishment was not necessary nor will it do me any favors in the near future…”

“With all due respect my lady, sentiments aside, as high queen your power must be absolute and unquestionable. The situation that has brought us here is far from ideal, but even you must admit that banishing her will undoubtedly limit the options your opponents have to overthrow you, as that’s one less viable figurehead that they can use to challenge you.”

“And with all due respect astronomer,” she spoke. The ground silently yet somehow softly shook with every step she took. “Optimism aside, it was a rather well-planned self-inflicted blow. As it currently stands I am a rather unpopular Apsuramal, and the banishment of not only a superior healer but an initially more popular contender to the throne will certainly do me no favors in the eyes of my detestors or the ones who have yet to make up their minds on the matter.”

She turned her eyes towards the horizon as she placed her arms behind her, briefly allowing Asha a view of the small but luminescent cyan scales that littered her forearms almost in the patterns of constellations. “If I go through with the council’s proposal then everything my people and ancestors have worked and bled for, what my mother died for, all of it will have been for naught.”

“Not quite,” he interjected. “Pardon my optimism, but as bleak as the situation may be it has yet to become totally hopeless.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, as she spared him a glance.

“You may not have been born destined to rule the throne, but it seems as if fate has proven otherwise. Call it an old astronomer’s superstition,” he shrugged as he walked towards her. “but my master’s always told me that things never happen without reason…maybe you cannot be the perfection that the court wants, but you can be their hope, and sometimes that’s all people, or maybe even beings  need.”

“Do you really think I could be the hope my people need even when my desires do nothing more than push us closer to the very same war we sought to end?”

“It’s possible… although it’s far too early to say for sure…but even if they do not accept you as much as you’d like they’ll always need you. You are their Apsuramal. Their lifeline. They are a part of you just as you are of them. So neither of you can exist without each other, even while you’re still figuring things out.”

She said nothing as the waves continued to roll against the shoreline. Somewhere from above the Leviathan’s calls faintly echoed, as Vitrius cleared his throat,  “You don’t have to believe me your Highness, but the worst thing you could do is to let your enemies know you have fallen apart. Not when they’re still looking for the opportunity to strike.”

“Yes,” she took in a deep breath as she nodded. Her posture straightened as she turned back towards the ocean. “For now there is still time…And with it, hopefully, opportunities as well…”

“Did the council grant your request for a second hearing?”  he murmured thoughtfully.

“They did. Of course, you know they were rather adamant about the marriage arrangement, regardless of whether or not I made any valid counterarguments. But thankfully the meeting proved to be quite useful in…other ways to say the least,” a ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “Mortal word isn’t the only one that spreads quickly.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow at her words before turning to her. “Care to share what’s transpiring on your side of the galaxy?”

“My informant has confirmed rumors about a certain diplomat of the Myrkadius”  Deneb hummed before kneeling at the small patterned streams of water that promptly twisted itself into a small figure. “From what we gathered, her name is Alhena.”

“Alhena?” Vitrius repeated, looking somewhat surprised. “I didn’t know she was a diplomat…”

“She is…You’ve heard of her?”

Vitrius nodded. “She is a distant relative of the current Myrkadius I think. A remarkable singer as well. Maybe even too remarkable.”

“Hmm…” Deneb’s eyes narrowed as with a flick of her finger, the water figure immediately froze. “From what I hear she’s everything you’d expect in a silver star- ambitious, intelligent, manipulative, and whatnot, save for the one thing.”

“Oh?”

“She lacks significant physical power. It’s the only thing that’s keeping her from achieving a much higher status within her own court. But what she lacks in ambition, she certainly makes up for in charm and beauty…” Deneb laughed, muttering something in a strange language as red slowly began to seep into the small water figure before it shattered.

“Well, if he’s going to be like that, you might as well take a lover too,” Vitrius replied without hesitation as she cast him an ever-so-questioning glance. “What?” he shrugged as Asha nearly choked in disbelief. “I said what I said.”

Asha could tell from the way Deneb simply stared in an almost apprehensive way that she was used to Vitrius’s strange advice, as she continued, “Affair aside, I received word that Vega has accepted the sanctuary the Myrkadius offered her upon her abdication and banishment…”

“Sanctuary? So…that means…”

“Yes,” Deneb sighed and closed her eyes. “We finally know who she was with all those nights she’d been absent. She was probably the informant for the spies the silver court had sent to examine our border territories.”

“That’s… treason, isn’t it?” Vitrius asked as she nodded and he grimaced. “Goodness. There’s never a peaceful moment amongst your kind, is there?”

“You are one to talk,” Deneb frowned. “Exactly how many wars has your species started over trivial matters?”

“This isn’t about us,” Vitrius retorted as Asha quietly conceded Deneb’s point. “Drama aside, have you received any more intel from that other source? Perhaps they might know something given how they were the ones who’d been rather quick to inform you of the Myrkadius’s infiltration attempts!”

“No,” she shook her head. “Lately…They’ve been strangely silent…”

“Were you ever able to figure out who the source of that intel was?”

“Not yet. I’ve combed through all the spy networks in every corner of the universe, but it seems as if whoever it was spared no expense to ensure they wouldn’t be discovered…a calculated action no doubt, but if my suspicions are correct, I believe it originated from a different court.”

“There’s only one other court that would bother concerning themselves with the affair of the silver ones…” Vitrius added. “Perhaps you should look into allying with them.”

“That might not be possible,” she scowled. “The Solaris, no matter how friendly he may appear to be has always been rather adamant on staying away from us. Whether it be because of his friendship with the Nocturnes, or his partial ownership of the Terracotta court, my mother was never able to get anywhere when it came to attempting to secure an alliance between our courts.”

“But that should be changing rather soon,” Vitrius spoke with a small note of hope in his voice. “I overheard that the Solaris had personally requested that none of the astronomers attend the Sentenga Solstice this time.”

“I take it most of you weren’t pleased with that,” her eyes glowing rather smugly as Vitrius scowled. 

“Why would we be?” 

She chuckled. “Well if it’s of any consolation to you, I’ve heard the reasoning behind said the decision was on behalf of the Myrkadies and the Nocturnus, who by all means plan to be in attendance when the heir to the court is formally announced.”

“The Nocturnus and Myrkadius are attending?! I thought the Myrkadius and the Solaris despised each other!”

“Shocking isn’t it?” Deneb smiled, evidently amused. “But he’s done so under the notion of promising peace talks and alliances. All too coincidental, but I suppose from the view of the Solaris…if he were to establish a new level of tolerance between the two it would undoubtedly strengthen the council’s faith and favor towards him, which is exactly what he would need given both the Nocturnus’s growing influence and the legacy he is leaving behind for his heir.”

“Agreed, but…did he have to do that by excluding us?!” Vitrius huffed. “We’ve been working on facilitating their relations for millennials!”

“So it seems…” Deneb calmly replied. “He was after all strangely absent from the council meetings today….Any idea on who the chosen heir will be?”

“I’ve heard inklings of theories from my colleagues… most seem to be torn between Tomiolin and Rigil Kentaurus… Tomiolin is said to be rather studious and disciplined, whereas Kentaurus is said to be a bit more…unfocused, but even then most can’t deny that his charisma, sheer power, and superior skills as a healer and warrior almost make him the perfect candidate.”

Deneb’s lip curled, as she scoffed, before asking, “And what of Proxima? Does anyone believe in his chances?”

“He was…considered…but they didn’t really want to entertain the thought as much…apparently he’s a bit of an odd one…”

“Indeed,” she nodded as she stood. “He is more crimson than anything else.”

“Proxima is half crimson?” he raised a brow towards her.

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

“His eyes…” she whispered as her darkened claws grazed the side of her face. 

“Are they the same as the crimson royal family?” She nodded, as her expression hardened and her eyes narrowed. “I see…But if your mother was interested in pursuing an alliance of sorts, did she ever formally introduce you to the three princes?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Vitrius began. “Would you…ever entertain the idea of a possible alliance with one of them?”

“No.”

“No?” he took a step back and looked her over. “And why not!?”

“For as admirably disciplined and focused as he is, Tomiolin lacks any meaningful warrior prowess. Proxima is of crimson blood, and Kentaurus is…Kentaurus.”

“Meaning?”

“He is kind. Too kind, to be effective when in a leading role. Therefore he is not in the least bit desirable.”

“Well then, we are fortunate that you seek to make him an ally and not your husband!” Vitrius smiled as her gaze darkened. He must’ve seen the displeased look on her face as he cleared his throat before promptly adding. “I merely speak facts, Arided. You don’t have to like your allies. But if you can tolerate each other more than any third party, then I think your alliance is safe.”

“But even then, you forget just how crucial ownership of the Terracotta court is for both parties. They’ve been taking care of that minor court for eons, no doubt with the plan of utilizing it to its fullest potential if something were to say unfortunately but not unexpectedly happen to another major court.”

Vitrius eyes widened before he firmly shook his head. “They couldn’t replace your people-,” 

“You’d be surprised,” Deneb casually answered. “But if they are in on it, then that limits my potential for any strong alliance…which brings me back to where I am now…The cerulean court’s best healer now resides in the heart of any enemy’s empire, who strongly supports the crimson court, which very few would think of standing against.” She glanced over her shoulder at Vitrius. “And even though I exposed Vega’s treason it has done little to sway my court’s opinion towards me…if anything it’s only soured their opinion on the family as a whole…so if I am not careful I may end up exhausting all of my options. And what then? Would this higher power that you think put me on the throne save me then? Or would it be to abandon me to the hands of my enemies?” she asked, as her grip on her forearm tightened.

“I…I do not know, my queen. I wish I did…”

“I know…I only wish…wait”  her voice lowered as thunder rippled through the air once more, as both astronomer and star’s eyes turned to the sky.

Silence filled the air momentarily before the sound of thunder emerged once more, its pitch and volume heightening as it turned into a roar.

“Did you feel that?” she whispered.

“Feel what?!,” Vitreous retorted as he fearfully eyed the roaring waves>

“What’s happening?!” Asha shrieked, covering her ears as she turned to face Cepheus.

“Your Highness!” called one of the guards as several soldiers rushed to the shoreline. A few pointed their spears to the air, as several surrounded the queen. 

“A powerful presence has been detected approaching the planet!”

“This way your Highness! You must be prepared to evacuate if needed!” one of the guards called, as another roar pierced the air, this time accompanied by a bright beam of golden light as the clouds tore open revealing something that was headed straight towards the ocean.

In a heartbeat the queen was gone, sharply yelling commands as she headed towards the ocean where the object had disappeared. 

“Arided!” Vitrius screamed as he ran after her. “Arided come back!”

His words were lost to the wind as three pairs of blue wings emerged from her back. She was a mere blur as she swiftly dove into the dark depths below.

And then everything was still.

[elcrdi]

Animals are clearly better than people and I'm glad our friendship is cemented on that fact. That's the only downside about puppies is that they can be a handful and get into literally everything. Have you thought about crate training her? When Layla was a pup, that was one thing that helped keep her from getting into everything when I wasn't around. She actually loves her crate and willingly goes inside for naps and just to chill. It's like her little safe haven. It's something I can just tell from the way she acts around me, I don't know. I care about her a lot and the last thing I want to do is lose her. So even if that means being miserable but keeping her as a friend, that's the choice I'm going to have to make.

this is why we're besties, jake - i heavily agree on that. animals over people. she's a lot like layla by the sounds of it. precious, adorable, but a total handful. i'm honestly a little worried about how glen's trailer is going to survive. but we'll see how we go. how do you know you're not what she wants ? are you assuming, or has she said that to you ? i get it and i think it says a lot about how much you care for her that you're willing to push it all down to keep her as a friend.

[woso-dreamzzz]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2RhAQj2/ When Princesse finds out Mapi’s real name is Maria

- 🦈

Princesse is very shocked

It all cements in her mind that if Mapi can lie about her name then she's definitely lying about being a footballer

[deaneyrs]

dany refers to herself as a queen even when she isn’t sitting on the iron throne (which is all the time) because that is the role she sees herself in regarding every aspect of her life now.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny commits to the Bit a bit too hard...

So! For the first few weeks after his accident, whenever Danny would try to help the people of Amity Park, he would be treated as a Villain.

No matter if he had just defeated the Big Bad of the Week or saved a Cat from a tree, everybody in town only saw him as a Monster or Villain to he feared and hunted down. Danny was really getting sick of trying to get them on his side, until Sam made a suggestion.

"Why not just...play into it?" She said, barely looking up from painting her nails.

It was just an offhand suggestion, but it stuck with Danny. Why shouldn't he lean into it? The people of Amity Park already saw Ghosts as Evil, and they already assumed he was in cahoots with the Ghosts attacking the town. Why shouldn't he just...play into it?

So he does just that.

From that day on, whenever Phantom was spotted he would dramatically monologue about his Evil Plans, or claim that another Rogues attack on the City was his own act of terror.

Box Ghost destroys the towns Warehouses? It was on his orders.

Ember mind controls masses of Teenagers? All part of his Plans somehow.

Every Adult in Town is kidnapped by Young Blood? Danny gave them over to a friend as a Gift.

He crafts an identity for himself as the most Vile and Horrible Ghost that has ever attacked the City, using his own infamy to cement his legend even more firmly. The town only sees a Monsterous Villain, who has eveded capture near effortlessly for months on end, who constantly attacks their City and gets away with it.

Of course he still needs an excuse for how his plans keep getting stopped, and he gets it when his girlfriend Valerie becomes the Red Huntress. Before that, he just claimed infighting or the Fentons getting lucky, but Valerie becoming the Town's Hero meant he had a plausible excuse for how he kept getting "Foiled".

Val was suspicious, because she was not as involved as Phantom painted her to be, but in the end she had no proof of him faking his defeats. And she couldn't come up with any explanations for why he would do that in the first place. I mean, who would fake being a Supervillain? It had to he something else.

This did come back to bite him a while later, when the Justice League decided that enough was enough, and dispatched Justice League Dark to recruit Red Huntress and help Deal with him.

Coincidentally, that was the same day Pariah Dark attacked the Mortal Realm and sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone.

And honestly? Danny had spent over a Year proclaiming himself as a Villain who commanded Ghosts to attack the Human Realm, and he had heard about the Right of Conquest being Absolute in the Ghost Zone, so why not make it official? Why not overthrow the Ghost King, become the Ghost King, and cement his identity as a Villain while also forbidding Ghosts from entering the Human Realm without his permission?

He may have gotten a bit carried away and forgotten that the Villain thing was a disguise...but hey! He was still preventing Ghost Attacks! ...mostly. That's got to count for something right?

He may have let the Bit run a bit too far...

...

Check the tags for more context!

[stansthemans]

You know what, I’ve been thinking about this and I’m not done here yet. Let’s make this worse

More on Caryn’s commentary towards Stan. Not just that she’s kind of chubby, not just that she’s too loud and opinionated and what man is going to want to put up with all that. i think a lot the commentary would also involve Stan being involved in unladylike activities, mostly the boxing. Bc my fem Stan absolutely still does boxing. She has to. It’s the perfect excuse for the split lips and black eyes. Of course those are there, no need for anyone to ask questions or look twice. I think this would be the thing that her mother says that hurts Stan the most. Bc caryn knows why Stan has to keep it up. And it also sucks for her because it’s one of the only things that stan really does feel like she’s good at. In the ring, she can focus, she knows she’s talented and she works hard to hone her skills. She’s good at it, but it’s a thing that everyone judges her for being good at because this isn’t what a good girl would do.

And when they get caught, again, it’s so bad. Because its illegal its sick its wrong and possibly worst of all for Filbrick and caryn, it’s the potential loss of that meal ticket. Because if this got out, if people knew that ford had fucked his sister, what college would take him? What programs would have him? He wouldn’t be able to have a career bc no one would want to be involved with something like that. And Filbrick and Caryn can’t risk something like that happening. So the twins are discovered and they do everything they can to gaslight ford into blaming Stan. And the thing, it almost works. Yeah, i think ford is extra protective of fem Stan, but like i said before, that also carries over into feeling extra betrayed when shit breaks bad. And there’s just no way that Stan accidentally breaking the perpetual motion machine is the first and last straw. I don’t think it’s quite as intense when Stan is a girl vs an identical twin brother but ford’s desire to be his own person, to have his own accomplishments and interests that are in no way attached to someone else, to be seen as unique and special, that’s all there, and he doesn’t want to admit it, but Stan’s constant presence is smothering. You hear negative shit enough, it starts to cement in your mind, and ford is constantly hearing from others that Stan is riding on his coattails, that she’s useless and worthless without him looking out for her.

So when they’re caught, Filbrick and Caryn are quick to get them separated and very quick to start telling ford that it was all Stan’s fault, she seduced him somehow, she tricked him, she lies, he knows that she lies, this is nothing new. She’s so desperate to keep using him, because she knows as well as everyone else that she can’t make it out there on her own merits bc she has no merits. She needs ford, and what a perfect way to trap him. And ford is like wait no bc he’s the one who initiated the whole thing, and he knows the kinds of thoughts he’d been having about Stan for years, but still, those nasty little voices in his head, the ones that say that he deserves bigger and better things, things he really knows he can’t have if anyone knew about what he does with his sister, those voices make him wonder. Yeah, he was the one who kissed her first, but did she seduce him? Did she manipulate and slyly, subtly convince him that this was ok? Was she trying to trap him? She still talks about going off sailing all the time, and that’s a dream from childhood, right? That’s not actually something they’re really going to do, right? Stan doesn’t really still think that’s an actual option, right?

It almost works. It really almost works. I go back and forth on this, but it’s probably Shermie who drops the bomb. I headcanon an older Shermie, old enough that he’s not really close to the twins. By the time they’re really up and running around, he’s out of the house. He and his wife live close but not too close. Maybe somewhere in NY. So even when they’re teenagers, he’s distant. And it’s always a crapshoot on whose side he’s going to be on in the case of twins vs parents. But like the parents, i think he also regards Stan as a bit of a waste. Not as bad as them, but he’s definitely disappointed by her. I’m not sure if i want him to know the extent of the abuse she suffers, but he definitely knows how they talk to her, and he mostly agrees. So i don’t know if Filbrick and Caryn would let him know exactly why they’ve shipped his sister off to an asylum—because the fewer people who know, the less the shame—but he does know that’s where she is. And one day he says it in front of ford, and that snaps him out of everything else. All of those horrible thoughts of maybe she deserves to be sent away (they tell ford it’s to some distant aunt or something), they never should have done all this, those fly out the window, and ford loses his shit entirely. He’s a hair’s breadth away from burning the house and pawn shop down.

He finds her. He gets her out. He gets them away, but damn, it’s bad for a long time. Stan is traumatized from everything she goes through. The “therapy”, the drug cocktails. I don’t know if ford would fess up to how close he got to believing the things their parents said or if Stan would figure it out, but they also have to deal with that fall out. Ford bending over backwards, folding himself in a pretzel to try to make it up to her, and stan wants so badly to trust him again, but it’s broken. He let them take her away. He let them lock her up. Just her. He let them tell him that she didn’t love him, that she was using him, and he believed it. And yeah, it’s Stan and ford so of course she’s going to forgive him, but it’s a long, difficult road before they can be happy again.

What do you think would happen in fem!Stan aus if their parents find out her and Ford are having sex?

whoa boy. I mean. it would be Bad. I'm in the camp of Filbrick was an abusive dad, far more so to Stan than to Ford. With Stan, I lean towards it was physical as well as emotional and verbal. Ford didn't exactly have it easy with the weight of all filbrick's expectations placed on his shoulders, feeling like he had to be extra perfect bc of his birth defect and his intelligence, and this sense of responsibility for Stan, like anything Stan did was a reflection on him. I'm also not very forgiving to Caryn. I see a lot of people saying things like "she loved her boy" and I'm just not so sure. Especially with fem Stan, I think Caryn was critical about her looks and would she ever find a husband, and she let those criticisms be known. Stan never had to wonder if her parents didn't like her. They were clear on that front. Last born, totally unexpected, another mouth to feed, and worst of all: a girl.

I typically also think that the entire family hides the severity of what happens to Stan from Ford. it's the one cause they're all united on. I think filbrick and Caryn keep it secret as a means to control ford, because they think (know for a complete fact) that if ford knew, he would flip his lid and they would lose that potential meal ticket. they know that ford is choosing Stan over everything. Stan keeps it a secret because she's terrified that if ford knew, not only wold it break his heart, but he might try to fight for her, and she's so scared that filbrick would start hitting him too.

as for getting caught. yikes. I think they would place all the blame on Stan and the beating would very nearly kill her. it would just be terrible. typically with my version of the fem!stan au, I keep a lot of things very close to canon. She's even still named Stanley rather than constance bc I think doing that shows how little filbrick regarded her when she was born. their life plan was two boys and that's it (I headcanon older shermie). not only does Stan show up unwanted, but she also has the gall to be a girl. I usually still go with fem Stan being thrown out after the science fair incident, rather than other things I've seen like her running away. but for this, for them getting caught, it's the late 60s-ish. I think they might bring her to an asylum. maybe if it was something slightly less, like if she got knocked up but they didn't know it was bc of ford, maybe they would try to marry her off or ship her away to distant relatives. but this is so huge, I really think they'd have her committed. and ford, oh man, if ford knows that's what's happening, he'd go ballistic. ford is far, far more protective (and consequently, far more hurt and angry when betrayed) of fem Stan. that's not just his twin, not just the person he's in love with, it's his little sister, and despite the romantic/sexual feelings, that's been drilled into him his entire life. big brothers are supposed to take care of their little sisters, and ford is the big brother that really matters when it comes to Stan. they've always been so close. two halves of a whole, it doesn't work if they aren't together

yeah, I think he'd just lose his mind. literally clawing thru the dry wall. I think if they got caught, there wouldn't be a chance for the science fair shit to go down. ford would blow up at his parents, blow up at Shermie, and he would leave fire and brimstone in his wake trying to rescue Stan and get them as far away as possible to restart their lives. in some ways it's a happier ending for them, but man is it rough

[chryseis]

I know she's divisive, but Jaina Proudmoore is truly The Most Character of all time. She had sexist magic rules changed in her early teens. Her boyfriend broke up with her twice and the second time was because she wouldn't commit genocide with him. She built a city of refugees when she was like 25. She was exiled from her home country for helping kill her own father so that he wouldn't commit genocide. She loves to make sarcastic jokes and is the living embodiment of 'not to worry i have a permit' 'this just says i can do what i want'. She and one of her best friends hated each other half the time until he died. She once tried to kill her other best friend. People were upset with her for being angry and traumatized when the city she built was annihilated. She fucked a dragon. She almost committed genocide and her allies were more angry about the fact that she once gave some money to her adoptive nephew's friend. She's switched back and forth between political sides three different times. Her mother nearly executed her for treason. She was handed the leadership of her home country that she hadn't lived in since she was a young child. She now spends all her free time with her work husband from like 25 years ago even though he has a wife and two kids. Who is doing it like her

[elizabethrobertajones]

What I am getting from the new short story is that Wuk Lamat needs a hot shetona girlfriend who juuust superficially resembles Erenville in some ways to make him kind of uncomfortable but never enough to actually say something to anyone.

Also, she is basically the chosen one of the jock lesbian orange cat type guys, born to it in a way Alisaie had to fight and scrape to achieve :')

[loserelf]

trying to watch a knights tale cuz obviously but i cant get over the modernization choices that dated it within like two years of it coming out lol

[bulletbilltime]

One of my favorite tropes I've seen in some LiS fics is when Max is able to bring Chloe and/or Rachel with her when she time travels or time stops. The intimacy of breaking the laws of space-time with someone you love is just... ough

[randomnameless]

Glancing at something on Ao3 -

What kind of feelings Jerry was supposed to evoke, actually?

FE16 pushes the player - through Billy - to consider Jerry as a good parent, because it plays with the red herring about the evil lizard lady being evil.

And yet, even with all of his misgivings about his kid, Jerry is still the one who calls Flamey's bullshit and wonders if running away from GM wasn't the stupidest decision he ever made, just before kicking the bucket.

Being the cheap copy of the Ike'n'Greil relationship, Jerry's presence and death is supposed to be important to Billy - even in Tru Piss where they look pissed at seeing Emile and working with Uncle'n'pals.

And yet, unlike what we learn about Greil being the chadest amongst chads with 1 (one!) blackspot to his record, whenever you talk to characters about Jerry you're met with... less than rosy thoughts, even if the characters apparently handwave it away.

Let it be with Leonie, or even Alois, Billy learns that their dad wasn't the chadest of chads like Greil, but a drunkard (before Citrus' death, since Alois was a kid!) who apparently played dangerous games with people who idolised him, left his kid alone to be showered with praise by Leonie's village as he dealt with bandits, and left bar tabs all around the continent for his "apprentices" to pay.

Come the "journal" where, imo, we learn that dude was so afraid of his baby not being "normal" than he ran away from the odd lady who saved them "a long time" ago and who's pretty much not normal himself, and the place where his own wife, who displayed - partly - the same "abnormality" as their baby grew up and lived.

Then Nopes happened and did a number on poor Jerry - from mocking their kid's potential aspirations at being something else than a sword for hire, to their singing (done to cheer him up!) and actually learning he at times apparently let them go without food while he never invited them to the "thank you" parties throwns by the people his company saved...

Billy still loves their dad, but is he a good dad by any means?

With all that knowledge, after playing both FE16 and Nopes, can we really feel upset when Jerry kicks the bucket? For Billy maybe, because Jerry is important for them, but does it has the same echo as Greil's death, or even, to remain in Fodlan, Rodrigue's?

I guess if in Nopes, Jerry acted on his heel-face turn (or suddenly growing a brain) from his penultimate FE16 dialogue, we could have had a character growing beyond the red herring and the "unreliable narrator" stuff FE16's first part gave us, and maybe make for a more grounded-complete character, like confessing that he panicked after Citrus' death and worried for Billy, but regrets not being able to bring them the best life they dreamt of, and willing to apologise and let Billy grow in the same environment Citrus did.

Or maybe even explore what Jerry did in 300 years, if he never bothered to wonder why the fuck was he living to be as old as the elites, or his thoughts and feelings about Rhea periodically using hairdye to pretend to be someone else and "aging" even less than him...

Given how - or maybe i'm tainted by the fandom - FE16 thrived on the playerbase feeling characters/situation "relatable" from a doylist pov, I guess Jerry running away with bby!Billy because they weren't "normal" wasn't as weird as it sounds, babies should rightfully have a beating heart!

Bernie is a hikkikomori (forget the part where she's supposed to be the heir of one of the most important lands in Adrestia which would rightfully make her father disappointed with her (lbr, Greg would either have tried to get another kid with Bernie's mom, or got a second wife/bastard, or picked a branch member of his house to take his succession), Linhardt falls asleep and doesn't want to do his job as the next minister of Finances/whatever his dad does and prefers to hyperfocus on academic research ? How lol (please ignore the implications of House Hervring's heir being, uh, not interested in whatever his father does and how he is supposed to inherit his job (at least before Supreme Leader starts her war and pulls out her "reforms")).

Between the brackets are the first arguments that come to mind, if we consider the world those characters live in, aka Watsonian wise.

Jerry is worried about his baby's heart not beating and them not being normal? Jerry, you're not "normal" per Fodlan's standards yourself, you're over 300! Your wife had the same difficulties to emote than your kid and she might or not have had the same "heart not beating" syndrome given how it's her own heart that was transplanted in your kid

You know that what is "normal" for regular humans in Fodlan do not apply to you, your wife or your boss who oddly looks like your wife. So why was that argument even considered when you decided to run away and condemn your child to a life of "sword for hire" and danger at each day ending with a -y ?

IDK, it's as if, in BK, Kalas' bro, born without wings - which is an oddity since apparently everyone is born with some in this verse - finds Kalas weird for only having "one wing" and not two like everyone. It would be the pot calling the keetle back (but since BK is a game with coherent writing, this never happened).

Jerry runs away with the baby because the baby isn't normal despite the midwife assuring everyone they are?

Legit

300 yo Jerry runs away with the baby because the baby has the same condition as their mother despite the "immortal lady who saved his life" assuring him the baby is alright?

WTF

So, in the end, what are we supposed to think of Jerry?

Was he a character who made the best situation out of the shitty cards he was handed regarding their kid?

Or a character who swallowed an idiot plot ball to play with the doylist red herring, made errors but ultimately saw the light before being Clownya'd?

Or, given his supports and Nopes, a shitty character whose only redeeming point is to be Billy's dad, and who receives a lot of leeway by virtue of being Billy's dad by the writing team (given two fans) and the first game being from Billy's POV?

[mymarifae]

y'know. that answer doesn't even include the part where jade told aventurine that he shouldn't have killed his former "master" and that he should have just obeyed. like a good little slave