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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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january: an art retrospective

i did some stuff last month (but it’s a lot of stuff and there’s a photodump + some Serious Fucking Reflection, so it’s all below the cut)

so ok, let’s start with this. here are some heads. each head has a red arrow. that red arrow is what i call the red line of the devil. it’s the slope of the face from the side of the eye to the cheekbone and then down towards the chin. up until like 2 weeks ago, i couldn’t draw it. i couldn’t fucking draw it. i would edit over that part of the face over and over again until i was frustrated and tired and i had a raging homosexual headache and it still never looked right. notice that each head is different. notice that each head looks wrong.

at the start of 2021 i finally admitted to myself, as per the image above, that i was deeply, deeply unhappy with my art. what was the problem? i dunno. but i decided i was going to fix it and i was going to do so via another one scribble a day event wherein for every day of january i would find a photo of a human head, and i would draw it.

january 1st, 2021. i was embarrassed to tweet this even on my private account where like 5 friends and a rock would see it. in retrospect, you can also see all of my bad habits emerging like dicks from a hole in the ground. it’s disproportionate. the brows look flat. the eyes are slanting upwards. the entire drawing looks flat, like this isn’t a 3d person but a caricature of one.

january 2nd, 3rd, 4th:

on the 2nd i decided to start a separate thread for doodles and applied learning. here’s the first set of tests

the rest of the week is kind of uneventful so we’re going to skip those. fast forward to january 11th

this one is especially bad. i am acutely aware, suddenly, that i am not changing anything at all. i’m stressed and miserable about it because i’m still trying to see people as people and trying to draw people that look attractive and proportionate and hot. my friend, leny, reminds me that i need to think about faces in terms of planes. i have a moment. my other friend masha sends me some links to anatomy tutorials. i have another moment.

january 11th. applied sketch

january 13th is when i start the troubleshooting process. the link above drives me mad because i’m pretty happy with the face but then i realize that there’s something very fucking wrong with the shape of the head LOL and then i realize that i’ve never had any idea what the proportion of the face to the rest of the skull is so i grit my teeth and i open a new canvas and i

bald studies. it seemed like the right thing to do. can’t draw heads? ok draw some heads. look at some photographs. i traced each photo but tried to stick to straight lines so that i could replicate the shapes more easily. i broke each face down into shapes. i thought about airplanes

i got really excited. i started doing studies, then applied studies, then stylized studies.

sketches. i’m not sure what’s going on (as always) and it’s very rough, but they look different from the sketches i did on january 2nd. that’s a start

january 16th’s daily study. looks more like a person now. juuuuuust a bit

more applied studies

on the 18th i take a break and go stare at some lips because i don’t understand how the fuck they work. again, i focus on shapes, on volume, on the fact that these things exist in 3d. holy fuck lips exist in 3d. holy fuck we are real

january 19th. i’m working on it.

january 22nd. some sketches + a daily study. it has finally occurred to me that heads can tilt up and down and that things look different accordingly. yes i was not aware of this before. yes i have been drawing for over a decade.

january 23rd. by this point after doing my daily sketch i almost always go back and do an applied study which is basically to say i drew a lot of fucking links. this one looks kind of okay. i’m kind of proud

january 25th. links. trying to make sense of everything i’ve learned

26th, 27th, 28th. daily studies

january 1st. january 31st

The End Of The Photo Dump (dab)

ok NOW i get to talk about what i discovered while studying the shit out of human beings

FIRST OF ALL, there is something precious and magical about drawing shit without the explicit knowledge that you’re going to tweet that shit out to 45 people later. it takes the burden of perception off your shoulders and that does something to you, or at least that’s my theory. i told myself i wouldn’t post any of this stuff until the end of the month (if i wanted to post it at all) and kept everything off my public social media accounts and that meant i could draw ugly as hell without worrying about who would point and laugh, which i absolutely fucking did. a lot of these are fucking trainwrecks. most of these are fucking trainwrecks. why do they look like that?? why??? this doesn’t look like the work of someone who’s allegedly been drawing since they were in kindergarten, does it?????

here’s why: because that person took a huge motherfucking swing at everything they’d ever known about art and spent a month building something new in its place. the abstract explanation is that i grew up on shoujo and weird old anime and my understanding of anatomy was unironically kamichama karin and while i love kamichama karin, when kamichama karin is your rule even if you try to break it, you’re going to end up going nowhere. “you have to know the rules to break them”, yeah? well i didn’t know shit. the abstract explanation is i’ve been miserable about my art for a few years now because i saw other people doing things effortlessly which i couldn’t and instead of going back to the basics, i tried to do what they did (not plagiarism, mind you, i mean i literally tried to copy the red line of the devil i mentioned above because i couldn’t even make that happen) and then i fucking failed.

the simple explanation is this. i had to unlearn everything, and relearn it again (like some kind of new renaissance clown, what the fuck is this?)

take this for example. all my life i’ve drawn faces in the order: eyes, nose, mouth, face shape, head. this works for some people, im aware, but it was something central to how i had always drawn, so i decentralized it. i said fuck you to the old me and changed the order up. now i start with the nose, then the eyes, mouth, the chin line, and the sides of the face. now i force myself to think about the human head as a series of parts interacting with each other instead of a bunch of disparate features which i want to look pretty.

or let’s use this zelda from last year. something about this looked wrong last october, the way something about all of my drawings looked wrong, but i couldn’t pinpoint it for hell the way i couldn’t articulate Any of my feelings about the visual arts. now, looking back, here’s what i see. that nose is sticking out far too much given how she’s not really facing very far away from the camera. that ear at the back shouldn’t be there. her forehead is too big. she doesn’t have a forehead. what the fuck is up with the shape of her head?

so apparently reject modernity embrace tradition has its roots in alt-right terminology and i’m not very horny for the alt-right (you understand), but the spirit survives here. you know sometimes you have to admit that you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing and draw people for 31 days. i’ve spent my whole life drawing stylized people and while again there are artists who have no issue with this, i veered off the track of the Good and the Holy and couldn’t get back on. i had no point of reference because i’d never thought about what an actual human being looks like, so i had no way to fix what i knew in my gut looked wrong but wouldn’t come out better.

this was hard. this was like oikawa tooru swallowing his worthless pride and admitting that ushijima wakatoshi had gotten the best of him for the last time in his high school career, but in haikyuu!! by furudate haruichi oikawa tooru fucks off to argentina and then joins the argentinean national team, and you know what, i think i’ve made it to argentina (not the team just the country). as per the golden rule of dont fucking move until you’re at least two thirds of the way through the month, i only started trying to draw Shit shit on like the 22nd or something, but i was happy with that i created. i am happy with what i’ve done. i’ve posted like 2 things this month that involve people with what i now call ~applied Knowledge~~ and they’re, like, not perfect obviously (perfection is an unattainable ideal), but i’m fucking proud of them. i didn’t spend 5 hours hunched over my laptop adjusting the red line of the devil because it’s not a devil’s line anymore. because i finally sorta get how people work. because i sat down and i said ‘we are not going to fuck with this misery shit anymore’ and then i did that. it’s just a line now.

here are 2 collages tracking my painstakingly carved out progress from january 2nd to february 2nd because i’m a slut for collages

and here’s what i’ve done to my art! the same person drew these but also Not Really! you know! for the first time in a year i don’t immediately hate what i’ve drawn. you know what guys? art is fucking fun. zelda’s forehead doesn’t scare me anymore because i know how foreheads fucking work now, and i don’t know everything, and i’m going to keep troubleshooting stuff as i go (i want to draw a skeleton. like a. i want to draw a goddamn skeleton guys) but i’m honestly and genuinely proud of what i’ve done in the span of a month, and i’m also in disbelief. i started this month-long challenge out as a last ditch effort to make peace with my art because i’ve been tired for a long time and i was ready to kick the bucket on drawing people altogether. i didn’t think anything would happen. nothing’s happened for years. i’ve been miserable for years.

this was the caption for january 1st, 2021. i was super, super fucking embarrassed and it looks like super fucking shit, but you know what, i think i did in fact triumph over the bullshit. surprisingly enough, when you put in consistent effort into something, You Will See Results. didn’t see that coming, did you? i know i didn’t.

this isn’t a success story. it’s a happiness story. i never gave a shit damn about the institute of art or whatever, i was just mad at myself because what i saw in my head didn’t match up with what was on the canvas. and now it’s getting better. now i’m calibrating the compass. now drawing not just backgrounds but also people is exciting to me, and i can stick my links in your face and tell you ‘they hot’. i’m going to keep doing that. i’m going to keep going until i drop off the side of the earth and then spiral towards mars like some kind of fairy, and then i’m going to create something beautiful.

thanks for reading. here’s a pr department link for sticking around until the end

#my stuff

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stellarboystyles · 4 years ago

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serendipity

ahhhh she’s finally done!! now i can rest my weary soul. thank you to my lover @bfharry for putting this lovely event together, and i’m sorry this late, i’m a mess.

7k pining, fluff and smut

friends to lovers college au // trigger warning - mentions of illness, family death and childhood trauma, mentions of alcohol use.

She was reaching as high as she could, desperately trying to get to the book on the shelf that was much too high for her to reach. She turns to Harry, who’s smirking down at her with crossed arms.

“Need a lift, sprout?”

She gives him a look of eloquence. “Please.”

She giggles as he dips down, wrapping his arms around her legs and lifting her up. Now, she’s happily at eye level with the desired shelf.

Her fingers skimming over the spines of all the hardbacks sitting comfortably on the wood surface. E...F...G...H...

“Found it!”

Once her eyes lock on the title, she pulls the book out as fast as she could.

“Okay, let me down.”

“Sure? Don’t like the view from up there? Know you’re not used to it-”

“No, now let me down before I bruise you like the peach that you are.”

“Ouch.” he snickered, setting you back down onto the ground beneath. “S’harsh.”

“Deserved it.” she teased before he sticks out his tongue in a playful response.

“What d’ya need the book for?”

“It’s for that analysis we have to do for poetry class.”

He blinks at her once, eyes widening slightly. “What analysis?”

She giggles at his expression. “You didn’t read your emails, did you?”

“Fuck!” he exclaims, voice slightly above a whisper, but it was enough to agitate the other students in the library who are trying to either study or get their own work done.

“Shhh!”

“Sorry, sorry.” he apologizes to the people around them before Y/N puts a hand on his bicep and he leans into her to hear her whispering words.

“You just have to pick a poetry book, analyze it, make a conclusion, all that stuff.”

“So it’s like an essay?”

“Kind of.” she follows Harry as he starts to examine the shelves for a book himself. “You know how Greene is, he’s super chill. He wants it to be more of a review, what you think of the book and the author.”

“So, like a review.”

She blinks at him. “That’s what I just said.”

“M’tired, gimme a break.” he sighs. “He never challenges us in that class.”

“I guess not.” she shrugs. “Easy grade, right?”

“Sounds like it.” he gives a casual nod. “When’s it due?”

“Tuesday.”

“Sweet.” he nods, eyes skimmed across the shelves before landing on a cornflower blue hardback. Harry chose books by their cover a lot. Not metaphorically, just literally.

“Ready?”

He nods again. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Once they’d both gotten their book signed out, they started down the path across the patch of grass, making their way to their next class that they had together.

“So you really didn’t check your phone all weekend?”

He shakes his head. “No, my phone was off ‘cos Gem was visiting over the weekend, remember?” he taps on the side of her head with one finger. “Helloooo, earth to Y/N, you were there.”

“Quit it!” she scolds, swatting his hand away. “Yeah, I think I remember her. She’s the least annoying Styles’ sibling, right?”

Harry unexpectedly clutches his chest, wincing in pain. “Ouch, ow!”

Panic rushed through her, the first thing popping into her mind was that he was having an asthma attack. “Haz, are you okay?” she drops her bag onto the ground so that she can help him. “You’re scaring me, do you need your inhaler?”

He leans over, eyes squeezed closed. One hand is resting on his knee, the other still grasping at his sternum.

“My ego...it hurts.”

As soon as the words registered, anger washed over her, jaw rippling before punching him in the bicep.

“You’re such a little shit.”

“Oi, tha’ hurt!” he laughs, which makes her even more angry, whisking her bag off the ground and walking away from him as quickly as possible.

He lets out a lighthearted sigh before starting to jog up to her. “C’mon, wait up.”

“Go away.” she grumbles, quickening the pace of her steps towards the building that their next class was in. Her hand was less than a foot away from reaching the door, about to push it open but she was no match for his longer legs as he jogged to catch up with her.

“Hey, hey.” he manages to get her hand in his grasp. She turns around in his grip, eyes fiery with vex.

“What.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” he frowns, moving so that he’s holding both of her hands in his as he stood in front of her. “Please? M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the brick wall behind her. “Yes you did.”

“Let me make it up to you?” he offers, resting his palm on the rough surface above her head.

“Whatever you want.”

The pounding heartbeat in her ears is deafening, but the prank that he’d just pulled wasn’t quickly forgotten.

“I’ll let you know when I think of something.” Pushing herself off the wall, she turns and pushes the door open to the classroom, leaving a sad Harry behind. He trudged along behind her, silently moping before sitting next to her. Not even a minute after they sat down, Harry was leaning over to her, trying to get her attention.

“Y/N, please.” he whines, laying his head on her shoulder. “M’sorry.”

The butterflies in her stomach were crumbling her resolve, and she lays her cheek on top of his curls. “It’s okay.” he can hear the smile in her quiet voice. He peers up at her, an endearing smile beaming back at her.

“Not mad at me anymore?” he clarifies, voice filled with hope.

“How long have we been best friends?” she laughs. “Y’know I can never stay mad at you.”

“We were babies, don’t you remember?” he snickers. “Like, actual babies.”

Neither of them really remember.

Harry and Y/N’s parents had been neighbors and friends for years before either of them were born, and when Harry was almost two, they’d given birth to a beautiful baby girl.

“Harry, look.” Anne coos to her son as he sits on her lap. “See the baby?”

He stops playing with his teddy, toddling over to the sound of his mummy’s voice and he’s so fascinated, probably because he’s never seen a real baby before.

“I hold her?”

The new mum says “of course” before she gives her baby to Anne, now holding her in Harry’s lap.

“I pet?”

He carefully lifts a chubby hand, places it on her tummy and pats gently at the pale lavender onesie.

“My sweet boy.” Anne kisses the top of his head, smoothing out his blonde bangs.

Harry leans down and pushes a soft kiss onto her cheek, and it’s safe to say both mums melt at the sight.

“They’ll be best friends for sure.”

He looks up at the baby’s mum. “She seepin’?”

She nods with a smile. “Yeah, she's sleepin’.”

He gives her another kiss on her cheek before speaking again, this time in a hushed voice.

“Night Night, baby.”

“Our mums are never gonna let us forget that day.” he groans, twisting open the cap of the drink in his hands.

“Or that you had a crush on me.”

He nearly chokes on his juice, making her split into a fit of giggles.

“Maybe I did.” he admits, leaning his elbows onto the desk. “So what?”

“You definitely did, remember when you kissed me?”

His cheeks heat up at her teasing, arms crossing on top of the desk before laying his head down in embarrassment. He cracks one eye open at her laughing. “y/nnnn.”

When Harry was five and Y/N was four, he asked if he could kiss her, at school.

“You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world.” Harry tells her as his fingers draw in the dirt.

“That’s what my mummy and daddy tells me!” she cheers, and he may only be five years old but he knows that no other girl on the playground would happily sit in the dirt with him like she would. Her cheeks are resting against her hands and Harry thinks that they’re the cutest cheeks he’s ever seen.

“Can we kiss now?”

She thinks for a moment before speaking.

“You can’t tell your mummy, because she might tell my mummy and we’ll be in trouble.”

“Won’t tell anyone, not even Niall.”

Her eyes go wide with a gasp. Niall was his best friend, he must really mean business.

“Really?”

“Promise.” he holds out his pinky for her to squeeze.

Unfortunately for them, while Y/N was over next door at Harry’s for a playdate Anne caught them kissing in the back garden and they were both forced into the friend zone. Y/N was super sad, and Harry didn’t like that one bit, so he tried to make her feel better.

“Don’t cry, someday when we’re grown ups we can kiss and hold hands anytime we want! We can be best friends ‘til then, okay?”

“The start of an epic friendship.” he reminisces, flashing her a wink.

“Good times and bad.” she nods, and the mood drifts to sad silence.

“We’ve really been there through everything, huh?” he acknowledges, meeting her gaze.

When Harry was twelve and Y/N was eleven, Harry’s dad left. Left his family with nothing and Harry was devastated.

“How could he? This isn’t fair to any of you.”

Y/N was standing in Anne’s kitchen listening to her painstakingly tell her what had just happened. He’d left while Anne was working and Gemma and Harry were at school, leaving the remainder of the family devastated.

“I know darling, but we’ll get through this. I’m worried about Harry, he ran off. He was so upset. Do you know where he could be?”

“I’ll find him.”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Her mind and legs worked together to pedal faster than she ever had before through the park behind their street. As soon as she crosses the bridge she sees him. He’s sitting under their favorite oak tree, knees dew up to his chest.

“Harry!”

She throws her bike down and sprints to him, falling next to him.

He looks up, releases the grip on his hair and reaches out, grasping her hands and she quickly pulls him into a hug and she’d never held anyone so tight in her entire life. Her own hot tears started to fall from her face at the sound of his heartbreaking cries and she doesn’t know how long they stayed there like that, slowly moving her fingers through his curls as she held him. He let out a whimper when she forced his face out of her neck, cradling his cheeks in her hands. He looked so defeated and she had to use every ounce of strength in her body not to sit there and cuddle him against this tree all night. His mum and sister needed him, and he needed them. Her fingers brushed across his wet cheeks and he leaned into her touch as she repeated the action.

“I’m so sorry, Haz.” another sob escapes him at her words. “You don’t have to talk about it. You can cry, scream and yell, whatever you want...but we gotta get home., it’s getting dark.”

“Don’t wanna go back there.” he shakes his head and tightens his hold on your shirt.

“H, your mum and sister need you, and you need them.”

“I need you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters and she’s not sure why, but she’s sure Harry can feel it because he’s still fisting her shirt.

“I’ll stay the night at yours, my mum won’t care.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’ll get over it.”

Understandably, of course her father wasn’t too fond of the idea of his daughter sleeping over at her best friend’s house, because he was a boy. But she reassured her dad countless times that “boys were gross” so he begrudgingly allowed it.

They’d cuddled countless times, that night was no different. She held him, stroking his hair some more as they talked. The mood is lightened after awhile. Even though the healing process hasn’t even really begun yet. Harry was gonna be okay, because he had Y/N.

“Gemma gets so jealous because she can’t have boys in her room.” he jokes, making her giggle.

“She’s also fifteen and has a boyfriend.” she reasons. “We’re just best friends.”

“True.”

Comfortable silence engulfed Harry’s room for a few moments, the vibe was mellow from each other’s presence before Y/N spoke again.

“It’s gonna be okay.” her voice was barely above a whisper, brushing the stray hairs away from his forehead.

“You don’t know that.” he whispers, peering up at her. The moonlight shining through the window is enough to illuminate their faces while they talk.

“Yeah I do.” she argues softly. “It’s bad right now, but it’ll be okay someday. Promise.”

When Y/N was seventeen, her world came crashing down.

“Harry, can you come down please?”

He quickly put down his phone, shoving it into his pocket when he heard the urgency in his mum’s voice coming from downstairs. Ever since his dad left he’d grown closer to his mum and sister, more protective.

He rushes downstairs, finding her in the kitchen.

“Mum? What's wrong?”

“I need you to go next door and check on Y/N, alright?”

His face fills with confusion and fear but Anne doesn’t give him any time to respond.

“I just got off the phone with Rachelle, she and Will had gone out to dinner and he started to have some terrible pain. They’re at the hospital now, they did some tests…they found something and they think it might be cancer.”

Harry’s face falls.

“Oh God, Mum—”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Does she know? She had to work after school today, does she know?”

“Her mum said she was going to call her once she’d gotten home from work.”

“She gets off at eight thirty,” he pulls out his phone and sees that it’s nine fifteen. “She should be home by now.” He briskly walks over to the window that faces Y/N’s house.

“Her car’s there.” he reveals. “M’goin’ over there. I’ll be back.”

She agrees and without another word Harry’s at her front door.

Locked.

“Shit, shit, shit.” he mutters to himself before remembering the spare key under the flower pot by the door. Once it’s retrieved, his trembling hands fumble with the piece of metal before successfully unlocking the door and pushing it open. As soon as he’s inside, he hears muffled crying from upstairs and it’s all he needs to hear before he’s rushing upstairs and down the hall to her bedroom. Normally he would never just walk in her room uninvited, but when he saw the white wooden door decorated with silver stars all over, he wasn’t going to stop until he got to her. As soon as he pushes her bedroom door open, the sight alone is enough to make him cry. He watches her yank her desk chair out, screaming as she throws it as hard as she could across the floor.

“Y/N!”

He rushes to her, pulling her in the most protective hug he’s ever given. Her arms retreated to frightfully gripping the front of his shirt, knees buckling. They ended up crumpled on the floor, backs against the wall as he held her. Her gut wrenching cries were hushed by Harry’s embrace.

“Hey, hey—shhh. M’here, look at me, okay? Deep breaths, breathe with me, okay?”

“I can’t, it’s too much. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.” her cries made his heart ache, all he wanted to do was make it better, but he just couldn’t.

Needless to say, they’ve been there for each other through everything. Y/N’s dad passed away later that year, leaving everyone devastated. Harry waited a year to go to college to be there for Y/N and her mum.

“Are you excited for NYU?”

She tried to sound happy for him, but her voice was laced with sadness. His back was facing her so she couldn’t see his face as he glanced at the sunset out her window.

“M’not going.” he admits, voice small and her jaw goes slack.

“What? What d’you mean you’re not going?”

“Can’t leave you two here like this.” he turns around and tears are brimming his waterline. “Already talked it over with mum, and the bakery’s not really willin’ t’let me go yet.”

“Harry.” she warns.

“Hey,” it’s alright.” he pulls her into a protective hug. “We’ll get everything sorted out, okay? It’ll be nice to take a year off from school anyway.”

His lighthearted tone isn’t enough to soothe her anxiety. “You don’t have to put your life on hold for me.”

“I’m not.” he promises. “We’ve been there for each other through everything, yeah?” he pulls away slightly, giving her a warm smile. “That doesn’t just stop because we aren’t kids anymore.”

“We make a good team.”

Her words warm his heart and he turns to her, nodding with a sweet smile.

“Yeah, we do, don’t we?”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Her.

Admire her.

Tell her how the crinkles in her eyes are like crescent moons, glowing when she smiles.

Watch how she giggles at your jokes that aren’t funny, and how coy she gets when you’re sweet with her.

She couldn’t help but get lost in books like this. Somehow they managed to capture everything she’s ever been through, and everything she’s struggling with now. It was torture, really, being in love with her best friend, seeing him everyday, hiding her feelings from him in fear of their friendship being ruined forever. She couldn’t even fathom if that horror were to become her reality, she surely wouldn’t survive the heartbreak.

Touch her.

Tell her that the stretch marks that paint her skin are magnificent, and that her body is just one dazzling part of who she is.

Snuggle her with tender touches and soft fingertips, love on every curve of her body.

She found herself daydreaming at times like this—the midday sun beaming down on her through the window of the library as she sat in one of the lounge chairs, reading one of her favorite poetry books. She would think about how Harry would touch her if she were his. How he would caress her skin, what his lips could do, where his hands would go.

Adore her.

Cherish her.

Her reading was quickly interrupted, her vision obstructed by a pair of hands covering her eyes followed by a familiar voice.

“Guess who.”

“Uh...Bigfoot?”

“Heeeey.” he protests, moving to sit in the lounge chair next to hers. “S’mean.”

She giggles at his pouting, squeezing one of his cheeks. “Poor baby.”

“Ouch.” he brought his hand up to his face to rub the sore skin. “Like beatin’ up on me, do yeh?”

“Just a little.” she winks.

“Yeah, yeah.” he playfully rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the book in his best friend’s hands. “Whatcha readin’?”

Her heartbeat quickened as she realised that she had been caught, swiftly shutting the book and tucking it into her bag. “Nothing.”

“Nooo, lemme see!”

He didn’t give her another chance to respond, knowing her all too well. She shied away from his words, cheeks splashing with pink.

“C’mon, pleeease?” he frowns, nudging her arm with his elbow. He notices her apprehension, not wanting to push her.

“S’just me.”

His voice is softer, giving her a fluttering feeling as he leans in closer. “Y’trust me, right?”

The close proximity made her heart thump in her chest. She gives him a slight nod before quietly replying. “Yeah.”

He gently bites down on his lower lip, his eyes flickering from her eyes, down to her lips.

Were they going to kiss?

“Why won’t you tell me what you were readin’?” he quirks with a small smile, tilting his head slightly. You can see the wheels turning. “S’it naughty?”

“No!” she gives him a look, as if to say stooooop, Haz.

He chuckles at her nervousness, patiently waiting as she keeps fumbling over her words, avoiding his captivating eyes. “No...no, no, it’s a...it’s just a book.”

“Obviously.” he blinks. “What kind of book.”

“Just poetry.” she mumbles, hoping he would drop the subject quickly.

“S’it for your poetry analysis thing? What kind of—”

“Harryyyyy.” she whines, hiding her face in her hands.

“M’not doin’ anything! Can’t I be interested in what you’re readin’?” he defends, resting his cheek in his hand, elbow leaning on the arm of the chair.

“M’only teasing.” he swipes his fingers across her heated cheeks as he speaks softly to her. “You’re bein’ so shy.”

It’s so adorable, he thinks to himself.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.” he reassures. “M’starving. Did you still wanna go to lunch?”

She perked up at his question, the book in her bag eventually forgotten, just as she wished. “Please, I’m so hungry.”

“Can we get—”

“Chinese?” his face lights up. “Please please please?”

“We had that last weekend.”

“So? S’the best food ever, and since when do you turn down chinese food?” he rests his head on the table. “I’ll help you with French Lit.”

“Compelling argument, I didn’t know you were taking a debate class.”

“So funny.” he rolls his eyes. “C’mon, please?”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

“I love chow mein so much.”

Y/N’s words barely register in his ears, let alone his brain as he admired the sight of her, eyes closed in bliss as she slurps another noodle.

She’s just so fucking cute.

“I love you so much.”

“What?”

He’s sure his heart had just dropped into his stomach and his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud!

“Didn’t say anything.” he mumbles, mentally cursing himself after feeling the heat radiating off his cheeks. He avoids her gaze as he shoves another spoonful of hot and sour soup into his mouth.

“So how’s your story for creative writing going?” she wonders, twirling some noodles with her fork, because no, she didn’t know how to use chopsticks, and yes, Harry never missed an opportunity to tease her about it.

“Awful.” he pouts, to which she mirrors his expression.

“You stuck?”

“Very.” he groans. “Just can’t seem to get the words out, y’know?”

“I’ve been there.” she nods. “Do you want some help?”

“Please.” he begged, giving her puppy eyes. “S’due next friday, been workin’ on it every night and still can’t get a single word out.”

“I think you just need to take a break, babes.” she offers. “Let’s have a sleepover this weekend and I’ll help you.”

He gives a sigh of relief, making her laugh. “You’re a gem. What would I do without you?”

“Your life would definitely be less exciting.” she notes, taking another bite.

He was silent for a moment, probably thinking of a comeba—

“At least I know how to use chopsticks.”

“You won’t teach me!” she pouts at his teasing. “Quit being mean.”

“Want me to teach you?” he perks, peering up at her.

“Yes.” she lets out a breathless giggle while nodding.

He playfully huffs, slightly rolling his eyes as he moves to sit behind her on her bed.

“Okay, so you hold them like this…”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Friday, October 12

Dear Diary,

I feel like I’m going crazy. I keep trying to finish this story for my creative writing class but I keep getting distracted...all I can think about is him. I can’t help it, he’s all I ever think about. How am I supposed to write a romance fiction piece when all I can think about is how I’m in love with my best friend? Harry is charming and sweet and funny and genuine, any girl would be lucky to be his. How did I get myself into this mess? Harry would never like me like that, ever. My heart hurts if I think about it too much. Sometimes I feel like I should just tell him, bite the bullet, rip off the band aid and hope to God that our friendship isn’t ruined forever. In a perfect world,

Y/N drops her pen at the vibration of her phone.

Harry is calling…

“Hello?”

“We’ve known each other for how long and you still answer with hello?”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “Are you having a bad day or are you just making fun of me for shits and giggles?”

“Lil bit of both, yeah?” she can hear the cheekiness in his voice. “We still havin’ a sleepover this weekend? Might have to do it at yours, Niall’s havin’ a party and I doubt we’ll get anything done.”

She could hear the sheepish tone in his voice. “Oh no, if you wanna be at the party we can totally reschedule.” she offers.

Harry scrunches up his nose. “Need to get this paper done, m’never gonna finish it with all the noise.” he’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Besides, I’d rather spend the weekend with you.”

She feels her heart flutter at his admission, cheeks tingling with heat.

“ Okay...can you bring some snacks?”

There were no two humans on earth that loved fruit more than Harry and Y/N. so around fifteen minutes later, when Harry showed up to Y/N’s door with two smoothies, she melted like sugar.

“Berry for you.” he hands you the icy purple smoothie in his left hand. “Strawberry banana for me.”

“Awh, thank you!” she gently pinches one of his cheeks. “You’re so sweet.”

“Oi, worse than my mum, aren’t you?” he rubs at the newly pink cheek.

“No.” she defends. “C’mon, I’ll help you with your story so you don’t drag it out all weekend.”

“I resent that.” he mutters, sitting beside her on her bed as he flips open his laptop.

“Do you have an idea of what you wanna write?”

“I have a little bit finished, now, about five thousand words. Wanna have a look?”

Y/N reads it over and it’s nothing short of a masterpiece so far. How can he be so pretty and talented at the same time?

“This is beautiful,” she gapes, turning to look up at him. “This is so good, H.”

“Oh, stop.” He sheepishly brushes off her praise. “Don’t think it’s bad so far, just need to come up with a conflict.”

“Just figure out what breaks your characters, what makes them the most vulnerable, what would completely crush them?”

“Losing each other.”

“More specific?” she tries, staring at the screen in front of her. “It’ll help with the details.”

“Rory’s afraid to tell Daisy that he’s in love with her.” he says. “He’s afraid that, if she finds out, it’ll ruin their friendship.”

Y/N’s lungs felt empty, like all the air had been sucked out by Harry’s words.

“Okay, um,” she gulps, trying to collect her thoughts. “So...write about that, and see where the story takes you.”

Three hours later

“Can we take a break?” he groans, laying back on the pillows of her bed. “M’starving.”

“Me too.” she pouts, fiddling with her hands. “Whatcha hungry for?”

“Mmm,” Harry thinks for a few moments before speaking up. “A veggie grill just opened up downtown, we should go there!”

“You’re making me crave nachos.”

“You always crave nachos.”

“Why do you always have to call me out?” she whines, giving him a bashful glance.

“S’fun, innit?” he smirks, nudging her shoulder with his bicep.

“No.” she giggles, lying down next to him. “I’m gonna go get a shower then we can go.”

“Okay.”

An endearing smile adorned his face as she snuggled slightly into the soft pillows. Her eyes leisurely blink at him, falling closed after a few seconds.

“Sleepy?”

“Mhm.”

“Thought you wanted a shower?” he hummed. Although, he wouldn’t mind staying here all night. “You can stay here, I’ll go pick up some food.”

“No, it’s okay.” she yawns, pushing herself up off the bed. “I’ll be quick.”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Harry gets bored easily, although his best friends room was much more lovely than his. He thinks his room is pretty basic; but Y/N’s room was much more charming. The walls were painted a pale ivory, decorated with fairy lights above her bed, which was dressed with a crisp white comforter and matching pillows. The knitted plum blanket that Harry had gotten her ages ago for Christmas was at the end of her bed. He vividly remembers when he had given it to her.

Her eyes were sparkling with joy as she pulled the blanket out of the box.

“Your mum helped me make it.” he mentions with a sheepish smile. “She was so patient, even though I had no idea what I was doing.”

“It’s beautiful.” she beams, pulling it close to her heart before looking up at him as they sat on the floor of Harry’s living room. “I love it.”

He gives her a soft smile, but he feels melancholic energy surrounding him. He keeps telling himself that he didn’t have a reason to be sad, because they weren’t together...but all he wanted was for her to be his. She was so cute, beanie snug on her head under the glow of the Christmas tree.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

To which she nods. “Of course.”

“Do you think,” his lips are pressed together in thought for a moment. “Do you think that fate is real?”

“Like kismet?” she cocks her head with a smile and he nods, breaking into a laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, like kismet.”

“I think,” she takes a moment, fumbling with her hands before looking up at him. “Yeah, I think it’s real.”

Ten thousand words. Harry has to write ten thousand words by next Friday and he doesn’t have a single word typed out. Creative writing was supposed to be fun, and he had to write a romance fiction piece? Harry didn’t exactly thrive when it came to love. In fact, his love life was bone dry, to put it lightly. Other girls were...boring, compared to Y/N. Harry was charming and romantic and sweet and loving—but he didn’t want some random girl, he wanted Y/N to be his girl. Pining over her was his full time job, always has been.

He walks over to her desk, admiring the pictures that graced the wall just above. One of the photos that catches his eye is Y/N, probably about three or four, and her dad is reading her a bedtime story, her mum most likely being the one taking the photo. Sorrow washes over him, because it never gets easier, does it?

His eyes float to a few photos of Harry and Y/N laying next to each other on their friend Jess’s parents house on the terrace. It was the first time they’d ever gotten drunk and they were trashed. The first photo is them attempting to sit up for a picture.

“You guys are so drunk.”

“M’not drunk.” Harry glances at Millie and Jess, who were behind the camera. “M’Harry! Who’s drunk?”

Harry’s rebuttal left both of them bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Haz, Jess wants a picture of us, pleeeeaaaase?”

Harry holds himself up by leaning back with one hand on the ground, the other arm slung around Y/N’s shoulder. He then turns to nuzzle his nose into her hair.

“Y’so pretty.” he murmurs drunkenly into her ear.

“Shut up, you’re drunk.”

“M’not, m’serious.”

The last one from that night was them cuddling on the sofa at the end of their night, Harry’s face nuzzled into her shoulder as they slept soundly well into the afternoon.

His fingertips brushed across his favorite photo of them. They were working together at the bakery, and Harry had just traced his flour dipped fingertips in a line across Y/N’s cheek before she retaliated by sweeping some icing across the bridge of his nose. He grins from ear to ear at the memory.

“Hey Y/N, guess what?”

She turned around to face him when he abruptly drew a line with his flour dipped fingertips across her cheek.

Her jaw went slack at his bold action before icing was swiped across the bridge of his nose.

“Now we’re even.” that is, until she flicks some of the remaining blue icing from her fingers onto his face.

“Aw, c’mon!” he wipes his face with his apron before narrowing his eyes. “Really?”

“You started it.” she pointed out and Harry gave her a shrug.

“I am so gonna get you back the next time we bake at my house.”

His eyes fall down to her desk, and he promises he didn’t mean to see it. It was his name, in her handwriting, written in purple gel pen inside an open book. Was it a journal?

Friday, October 12

Dear Diary,

Shit.

He looked away for a moment, lip caught between his teeth. Should he read it? No, but he couldn’t help himself.

I feel like I’m going crazy. I keep trying to finish this story for my creative writing class but I keep getting distracted...all I can think about is him.

Him? Who’s she talking about? Does she like someone? The empty feeling in his chest isn’t a good feeling by any means.

I can’t help it, he’s all I ever think about. How am I supposed to write a romance fiction piece when all I can think about is how I’m in love with my best friend?

All the color drains from Harry’s face.

“Is she talking about me?” he murmurs.

Harry is charming and sweet and funny and genuine, any girl would be lucky to be his.

His heart flutters at the mention of his name, aching at the next line.

How did I get myself into this mess? Harry would never like me like that, ever. My heart hurts if I think about it too much.

He felt like he was going to cry. How could this girl not know how much of a sucker he is for her? His heart thumped inside his chest and he could feel the heat radiating off his flushed cheeks.

Okay, don’t panic. Just calm down, don’t freak out.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what he had just read whilst trying to decide what to do. Does he just tell her? Show her the page? No, she’ll be so angry that he read her diary, who does that?

In that moment, he chooses to do the only thing that makes sense.

He listens to his heart.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

She’d just hopped out of the shower when she heard a knock on her bathroom door.

“Hey, s’just me.” Harry’s voice clarifies through the wood. “Already ordered some food, m’gonna go and pick it up, I’ll be back.”

“I can go with you if you want-”

“No, s’okay! Be back in fifteen.”

And he’s gone.

After exiting her bathroom, she changes into some comfy clothes before deciding to read something from her book collection until Harry gets back. WHen she turns to go over to her bookshelves, she sees it.

A familiar lavender book, her diary, was lying open on her desk, and her heart sinks. Had he read what she’d written earlier? That must be why he was in such a hurry to leave! She probably scared him off. Y/N’s heart was racing as she stepped closer and realised that the page the diary was open to wasn’t written in her handwriting.

It was Harry’s handwriting.

Hi lovie, it’s Harry.

I was too nervous to tell you this to your face, so I’m gonna write out my feelings.

You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I absolutely adore everything about you.

I love how you talk in your sleep, and yes, you do talk in your sleep. I know how much you love to snuggle when you’re sleepy or sad or you just want a cuddle...and how you still sleep with a night light on like when we were small. You always tell me it’s so you can see in case you need to get up and have a wee in the middle of the night, but I know it’s because you’re still scared of the dark.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Was she dreaming?

I love how you crinkle your nose when you laugh, and how your smile glows like moonlight and how you play with your hands when you don’t know what to say. I love your love for books, and how much better your taste in music is than me. I love how you love to snuggle, especially when you’re...inebriated.

She giggles silently to herself, because he was so right. Not that he was any better.

I could go on forever, but I don’t wanna get caught writing this.

I am so in love with you, Y/N.

Love, H. x

Y/N didn’t know how to feel. Her heart was warm, but she was so nervous. What does this mean for them? How will this affect their friendship? Hundreds of questions run through her brain until she hears a knock on the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” she whispers. “Okay, just... be chill, please be chill.”

Trying to calm herself down in a matter of seconds was pointless. Walking over to the door, she took a deep breath in before opening the door.

“Hi.” he blinks at her, letting out a light laugh before setting down the two paper bags in his hands. “M’back. They didn’t have the-”

“I read it.”

He avoids her gaze and he feels frozen by her words, digging his vans into the carpet.

“Harry.” she breathes. “Say something.”

His eyes flicker to meet hers, taking a step forward.

“I...I love you.”

Y/N feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest, like she just came for air after being kept under water for too long.

“If this makes things weird, I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, but I love you to pieces and I-”

“I love you too.”

His smile is pure joy before he takes her hand in his, pulling her closer to him.

“Can I kiss you?” he begs, almost breathless. “Please.”

She nods, and he cradles her cheeks in his hands, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

His lips were so soft, moving with hers like they were made for each other.

Harry was sitting on the edge of her bed, her thighs straddling his hips and she sat across his lap. Her hands were in his hair, the fluttery tendrils twirled around her fingers. His hands are settled on her waist, slowly moving to her thighs.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs the serious question against her lips and she nods quickly. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” he breathes. “M’just checkin’.”

“It’s okay.” she laughs breathlessly against his lips. “Everything's okay.”

Reluctantly, he pulls back slightly to look at her, searching for any sort of doubt, but there was none.

“Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

His voice is cautious. “M’not goin’ anywhere, ever. Don’t have to rush anything.”

“Just go with the flow, H.” she murmurs, sliding her hands up his clothed biceps.

“Sorry, who are you?” he raises his eyebrows, a baffled expression on his face. “Since when do you ever go with the flow?”

“A lot of things have changed today.” she confesses, hands resting on his shoulders. “Why not?”

They’d always felt so safe with each other, so now was no different.

They both dived back into the kiss. Harry’s tongue swiped across her bottom lip, testing the waters before lips and tongue worked together to deepen the kiss.

“Wanna ride my thigh?” he wonders, mumbling against her lips. “Don’t have to if-”

“Yeah. yes.” she gulps, moving to slide her shorts down while he shuffles out of his jeans. Once they were both without pants, they didn’t waste anymore time.

“C’mere, darlin’.” he flicked his fingers, encouraging her back onto his lap.

“Just feel my touch.”

The tone of his voice was unbelievably hot, raspy and low as their lips continuously brushed. His hands grip her hips, guiding her movements.

“Feel good?” he suckles on her bottom lip, drawing a whimper past her lips. She’s rocking against his bare thigh, coarse hair stimulating her even closer to the edge.

“Feels so good, Harry.”

Her moans are nothing short of melodic, chasing her orgasm through the lace. He pushes her t-shirt up, kisses are decorated down her neck until his mouth is on one of her breasts. She tilts her head back at the suckling sensation with another moan, and it’s so fucking intoxicating to Harry. His tongue flicks her nipple a few more times before lifting his head.

“Like that?” he hums, moving to cup her breasts. She nods and his thumbs start to tweak her nipples and she arches her back at the feeling.

“Harry.” she whimpers, gripping the material of his shirt in her fists. “Please.”

“Whatcha need, tell me darlin’.”

“M’gonna come, m’gonna come.”

He gives a thick moan, hands moving to hold her backside. “Know you are. C’mon angel, you can let go.”

His sweet words coax her through her orgasm as she’s coming down, and she feels like she’s floating.

“Did you like that?”

“Mhm.” she nods, her eyes fluttering closed as Harry’s hand brushes some baby hairs off her forehead. “Wanna keep going.”

“Jeez, at least let me take you out to dinner first.”

#boyfriendathon #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut

852 notes · View notes

shoichee · 4 years ago

Text

Star-crossed

[Midorima x Reader]

[Hanahaki!au]

Word Count: 8840

Warning: attempted angst, death

Note: This is my first time writing angst, oh dear. Even after years of bawling over other people’s works, I still have no solid idea on how to create heart-wrenching writing. Here goes though.

»»—————　☼　—————««

“I’m really excited!”

“Ne, ne, I honestly can’t wait to bloom…”

“What kind of flowers would my body grow do you think?...”

You only drone out the incessant bustlings of chattering from your classmates as special health education class ended as you sat there patiently waiting for the next teacher to walk into class to start the next period.

Next is… ah, math…

You sigh, heaving out the bulky textbook out of your bag and drop it on the desk with a thump, making a few students flinch at the near proximity. You lay your elbow on the hardcover, allowing your thoughts to drift away as your fingers gently thrum. This teacher, you knew, was the type to start class unceremoniously late.

It was boring. Everyone already knew about the stage of blooming. It had been incanted incessantly to you by adults around you ever since grade school. Yet, Shūtōku high was one of the many high schools that still insisted in “teaching” the basic knowledge of what’s to come soon.

Maybe these classes don’t teach, but rather, serve as a reminder of the inevitable that all growing teenagers will face sooner or later: blooming.

Some people have already experienced it as soon as they graduated out of middle school; they were called the “early bloomers.” That was one of your closer friends.

So what’s it like? you once asked, turning to your new friend at the time. You said you bloomed…

And you recall her nodding her head fervently.

Yeah! she eagerly replied. While it may be painful at first, it went away after a few weeks for me… it’s not so different like getting a period, you know?... I heard it’s different for everyone, but for me, my heart thumped super loudly! And I get these tingly sensations!...

… It’s just like a sign that you’ve become totally mature!

A frantic clang from the doorway interrupts your train of thought as you eye the expectant teacher, completely out of breath as he tries to arrive on time but completely failing miserably.

Unlike in special health ed, most of the students groan at the thought of continuing the onslaught of derivative lessons. You don’t really care either way and promptly open your textbook to the appropriate page.

As class slowly ticks by, your mind wanders off from the subject of class again, drifting to the constant destination of your recent curiosity of bloomings.

You are what everyone calls a “late bloomer.”

You aren’t the only late bloomer, obviously, but it does make you quite anxious at the fact of potentially being the “last one” in your class, or perhaps out of the entire school.

No one wants to really hang out with a late bloomer; they were often stereotyped as “immature” or “abnormal.” After all, this was a normal stage of life, a sign of growing up out of childhood. No one wants to hang around with someone seen as a “kid.”

A soft cough pulls you from your daydreaming as you subtly glance at the desk to your left. It was a classmate of yours, as well as an acquaintance.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying to not bring attention to yourself. “... Are you okay?”

She gives a quiet clearing of her throat before she nods, hand still pressed against her lips. She then shakes her head side to side, her long hair swaying slightly with the motion.

“Ah, don’t worry about me getting sick,” you quietly reassure. “But you should really go to the nurse’s after. Have you tried tying your hair up? I heard doing so can help cool off and keep a clearer head…”

She cautiously drops her hand back to her desk before giving you a small, reassuring smile.

“Thank you, (l/n-san). I’ll be fine.”

“(l/n).”

“Yes!” You stand up from your desk the moment the teacher calls on you, relieved at the fact that he didn’t seem to notice your hushed conversation.

“Could you please come up to the board to solve this problem…?”

---------

Lunch time is always the time you come out of class to search for Takao. As you walk briskly in the hallways, you try to avoid staring at everyone’s floral tattoos located at the side of their necks, imprinted underneath the canopies of their jaws. Each individual’s flower mark showcased what their bodies grew during their stages of blooming.

And each plant was unique to the individual. They could represent their personality, their prospective future, what their future soulmate would be like… anything goes, and every student constantly gossips about what the other’s marks would exactly mean.

You, markless, walk faster, hoping that no one would spot you and flit their eyes to your blank neck… although everyone at school already knows those who have still yet to bloom.

You envy them.

“(y/n)-chan!!” Takao waves you over when you enter the cafeteria. “Over here!”

You briefly scan the tables before you spot him, begrudgingly noticing his pink hyacinth at the crook of his neck, even though you’re happy for him that he passed that stage of his life.

Pink hyacinths… they symbolized playfulness.

You would know; not only did special health classes painstakingly educate students since young for the anticipation of blooming, you took the extra effort of researching many more flowers on your own time, patiently abiding your time to have a striking plant engraved onto you one day.

As you carry your tray and slide into your seat, you finally notice a grumbling greenhead besides Takao.

“Shin-chan! So you do care about having a flower mark after all, eh?”

That’s right, huh. Midorima, too, was markless.

Just like you.

“Your assumptions are getting ridiculous, Takao.”

“Seriously? You expect me to believe that when your eyes always land on people’s necks when you talk to them—pfffft—” He breaks out into guffaws as he clutches his stomach helplessly, which cued Midorima into reaching for the point-guard in an attempt to strangle him.

Pink hyacinths are perfect for someone like Takao. You couldn’t help but let a smile slip from your lips.

“Whoaa!!” Takao peers over to you, ignoring his predicament of being restrained to death by Midorima. “(y/n)-chan! You should smile more!—ow!”

“Worry about yourself first,” he scowls, before tentatively letting him go with a defeated sigh. He opts to hold his lucky charm for the day (a terracotta pot).

“Shintarou-san,” you call out to him, after several minutes of comfortable silence as all three of you ate your lunches. “What do you think your flower would be?”

“Man proposes, God disposes. As long as I always provide everything to maximize my opportunities and follow the order of fate, I do not need to worry about such baseless things.”

You mildly snicker at his typical response. “Is that so, horoscope man.”

“Why waste time worrying about something that’s not in your hands?” He pushes up his glasses with his taped hand. “You should be focusing on what you can do as of now, nanodayo.” When he finishes, he looks up from his lunch to glance at you, noticing your widened eyes.

“Ah…” you stare at him at a loss for words, caught off guard at the fact that he sounded… almost concerned for you. “I’ll keep it in mind, Shintarou.”

“There’s no way that’s our Shin-chan!” Takao rushes to try to feel Midorima’s forehead. “That’s way too good of an advice to be you—”

“Shut up—get off of me—!”

As the two basketball players struggle in each other’s vice grips, they fail to notice the ruddy color having its own moment of blooming onto your cheeks.

---------

“... and what this means, class, is that having your first love is a monumental sign of blooming. That being said, having to experience love for the first time does not automatically guarantee blooming. This natural phenomena is still being studied by scientists around the world. What’s also interesting is that we humans are the only ones with this unique…”

More basic information? You yawn, covering your mouth in hopes no one notices, but as you look around you, your classmates are too engrossed in the lecture to even pay attention to anything else.

Of course they’d pay attention. It’s a special event that will happen to everyone at some point; even though you were sure they all already knew the information to heart, you knew they would take any opportunity to learn more about themselves in any way. You don’t blame them, however. You’re curious about your own body’s idiosyncrasies of not blooming yet.

“... Lies.” You snap your head to the source of the quiet remark to see your classmate on your left, arms crossed on the desk with a minimal scowl on her face.

Noticing your piercing stare, she turns to you before widening her eyes at realizing that she was heard. She abruptly turns her face to the front of the class, trying to pass off the act of suddenly paying attention to the teacher.

You turn your head to face the front as well but you still glance to your left from time to time.

“Are you feeling better?...” you hesitantly whisper.

Not expecting you to show concern, she jumps in her seat before eyeing you warily. As soon as she decides that you were merely concerned, she gives a polite nod and a smile.

“It was just a little flu I caught… Thank you for worrying about me. I’m just a sickly person but I thankfully recover very quickly.”

And with that, she ends the conversation with you to finally genuinely pay attention for the rest of class.

You try to do the same, but you feel knots of lead settling in your stomach.

… Lies?

What was that about?

---------

“(y/n)-chan! Wanna come and watch our practices today?”

You were stopped in the hallways by a grinning Takao, with a trailing Midorima not too far behind with a bundle of faux peacock feathers.

You’re not too sure if you should be concerned with a clinging Takao on your arm and attempting to kidnap you or a stoic Midorima displaying around a ridiculous souvenir.

“Huh? W-why?”

“You’re obviously free right now, obviously.”

“That doesn’t make sense��wah!”

Before you can put any further word in, Takao is dragging you to the gym, with an exasperated Midorima being figuratively pulled along with you two as well.

“Here we are, (y/n)-chan!” Takao ushers you beyond the gym doors and indicates the bleachers for you to sit and watch.

“You really think I’m going along with all of this, Kazu?”

“I know you better than anyone.”

“No you don’t,” you frown, turning away from him with a huff.

“Takao.”

Takao immediately gulps at the call of his name from Midorima and both you and him turn around to see a particularly hostile green-haired person.

“Sorry, sorry! Please don’t hit me!” And Takao races to the lockers in an attempt to escape from his fury.

Midorima relaxes his stance after he leaves and turns to you.

“Thanks, Shintarou.”

“I wasn’t doing it for you,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “He was just being more troublesome than usual.” But the way he clumsily handled his frames told a different story to you.

You laugh at him. “If you insist, Shintarou-san.”

“R-right…”

“Hey! Shin-chan!” Takao yells from the opposite side of the gym. Get over here! Captain is coming!”

At the captain being mentioned, Midorima straightens up before jogging over to warm up.

You suppose you can watch their practice this evening.

---------

You’ve never seen anyone handle a basketball like that.

What the hell? His range was damn near impossible.

You were thankful that you allowed Takao to drag you over to the gym to watch. Otherwise, you would’ve never learned about this side of Midorima.

Wait… Midorima?

No, you shake your head. It’s only because it was a lot more interesting than all of your classes, that’s all.

You repeat it to yourself like a mantra, yet every time your eyes land on Midorima’s shooting form, your mind goes blank.

You were absolutely captivated… not that you would ever admit it though.

---------

“... scientists are still doing social experiments on the blooming stage of humans. You may be wondering, if it’s been a part of societies for thousands of years, why are we studying it? Well, during old times, they were often explained using myths and folk stories…”

It really sucked that special health ed class was a mandatory requirement for all first-years. All of this was old news to you still.

“... new recent findings came out that answered the everlong question of whether the bloomings can actually be dangerous for humans, and how dangerous.”

Oh? That was new. But you suppose there was no way they’d tell little kids about the possibilities and risks with bloomings.

“Obviously, we know it can be fatal, just like pregnancies going awry and such. While we don’t know the exact mortality rate, researchers are trying to develop new medicines to curb away the potential amount of deaths associated with bloomings. But other scholars suggest not to drain precious resources into medicine development when they can use it for more pressing medical issues, and I know many of you believe this as well. Their take on this issue is that ‘blooming is something that should not be tampered with and the success of bloomings rely solely on the individual’s abilities and willpower to come of age since it’s unique to every person’...”

Unique… He was right. Even the signs and symptoms of a blooming vary greatly for everyone. The only thing everyone had in common was that their bodies grew plants. Even the way plants grow vary from person to person. That’s what they taught since the very beginning.

“... since blooming is unique to every individual, creating a standard medicine and procedure for all would be impossible, or at the very least inaccessible due to high expenses in accommodating medicine for every patient.”

Most of the students in the room nod in fervent agreement, and pretty soon, the room was filled with chattering at the new information they took in.

You glance to your classmate on your left again but you were surprised to see that her seat was empty.

Was she not here from the start?

You sigh and chide yourself for not noticing at the beginning of homeroom, but quickly dismiss the casual thought for more immediate problems like your upcoming exam for chemistry in a few periods.

Ah, oh well.

---------

“If you’re looking for Takao, forget it. He’s in detention for causing a disruption for one of the teachers last period.”

“Sh-shintarou?!” You whirl around to find Midorima alone with his bear plush. “You’re not at practice?”

“We practice tomorrow.”

“I see,” you say, not knowing how to continue the conversation from here.

“I guess I’ll be going home early then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As you try to walk past Midorima, he sidesteps quickly to block your pathway, and you walk right into him before stepping back out of embarrassment.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—!”

“(y/n).” He averts his eyes while sliding up his glasses. “You’re walking home alone?”

Still in a state of flusters, you promptly nod your head as you stare down at your shoes.

“Come. We better get going before it gets too late. Cancers will have unlucky encounters after dusk.” Midorima jerks his head to the direction of the exit, motioning for you to follow before he turns on his heel and walks away.

“Sh-shintarou?”

“I-it’ll only be… troublesome if something were to happen.” He stops walking and looks back at you. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up.”

“R-right. Coming!”

---------

It wasn’t completely unexpected that the walk home would have an awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Usually, Takao would be the social “buffer” and the proxy between you two, but now that he was out of the picture, neither of you knew how to strike up a casual conversation. That was more of Takao’s specialty.

“... I’ve thought about what you said.” At his voice, you turn to look up at his contemplative face. You give him an inquisitive look to encourage him to continue his thought. “... Although I’m not so certain what kind of plant I would grow. Not even the Oha Asa could predict it.”

“Ah, I see…” You turn your face to face the front as you gaze at the sunset ahead. “Are you afraid of the uncertainty?” At your question, he falls silent, giving you the confirmation that he was, indeed, scared.

“Shintarou,” you murmur. “You’re not alone in feeling the uneasiness of blooming.”

“Wha—I never said anything about blooming, nanodayo—”

“Sure,” you interject. “Well, for me, I really hope I’d get a gorgeous flower, a flower so breathtaking that would make everyone stop in their tracks to admire the mark. I want to change those stares of pity and disdain into those of admiration and envy…” You can tell he’s hanging onto your every word despite the fact that he wasn’t facing you, his steps slowing down ever so slightly to be as close to you to hear what you had to say without deeming it suspicious.

“I envy Takao… a lot,” you sigh, and Midorima turns his head slightly to you at the mention of Takao’s name. “He already has a flower mark and he’s so put-together despite his cheerfulness… He’s really reliable.”

“I see.”

“... and the truth is, I’m really scared. I feel like I’m going to be the last person to ever get a mark. I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, with my body—”

He stops in his tracks.

“That’s a foolish line of thought.”

You turn to face him, ready to glare at him, but you stop when you make eye contact, startled at the intensity of his gaze. You swear you can see your figure reflected in his viridian irises. A few seconds of suffocating silence crawl by, and you break away eye contact, intimidated by his gaze and the possible implication of his words.

“Sorry about that.”

He says nothing in return.

The rest of the walk home became even more uncomfortable, with Midorima walking slightly ahead and you making a wordless effort to constantly match his stride.

You don’t know why, but seeing his taut back to you squeezes your heart ever so slightly, the mute badumps ever feeling like a constant dull sore.

“Shintarou…” you softly call out after you arrive at your house. The sun had left the horizon shortly before you arrived at your destination. “Thank you for walking me home, and… sorry, it looks like it’s past dusk now, but will you be able to get home safely?”

“Fool,” he huffs. “I have my lucky charm to compensate for my misfortune today.”

You smile at him, relieved at the thought that maybe that moment before was all just your overthinking.

“Of course, Shintarou.”

---------

It was hard looking at Midorima without losing your cool from that point on. It wasn’t like the two of you did anything out of the ordinary yesterday, excluding the fact that he volunteered to walk you home. But you knew he just cared for you in his own way, as a friend.

As a friend.

“(y/n)-chan!” Takao tries to pounce on you, pulling your cheeks apart. “What’s with the nasty frown on your face? Didn’t I tell you that you should smile more?”

“Shtop—pawling—Takow—!”

As he laughs at your stretched face from his pulling, you manage to pry his hands off of your cheeks and take refuge behind the sour-faced shooting guard. “Shintarou! Save me from Takao!”

“Takao, come here.” He gave a harsher punch to his head than usual, and Takao did not fail to comment on it.

“Sheesh, that hurt even more, Shin-chan? What did I do?—oh, ohhhhhhh.” His grimace lit up to an expression of realization and mischievousness. “I see.”

“Your antics are getting more and more preposterous. If you have that much energy, you should expend it during practice, nanodayo.”

“Right, right, Shin-chan!” He waves Midorima off before slinging his arm around your shoulder. “But (y/n)-chan, don’t think you're off the hook just yet!”

You can only sigh as he dramatically waggles his finger at you while Midorima clicks his tongue, opting to walk to his classroom instead.

“H-hey! Don’t leave me behind!”

And with that, the duo disappeared right before the warning bell rang.

---------

You sense an uncharacteristic aura of hostility directed at you right when you entered class, but you shake your head before plopping at your designated seat. As much as you try to mind your own business, the hostility you felt peaked even more. You glance around before your eyes fall on your classmate to your usual left.

She was silently seething, but particularly at you.

“Is… something the matter?” You shot her a worried look. “You were gone yesterday, right? Did your flu kick up again?”

“What’s with you?”

“Pardon?”

“Why do you care so much for me? I never asked for it.”

“Wh-what? I’m just worried? Did I say something wrong?”

“You are—”

“I am?”

And the bell rang with such convenient timing to interrupt the two of you.

“It’s nothing. Forget it.”

And class started without a further word from her, and as lectures progress, you peek over to her desk to see her never looking your way. The least you do, you decide, is to try to apologize and talk to her afterschool.

“... a revolutionary finding was published all over the news yesterday regarding bloomings. He proposed the most controversial proposition yet: bloomings neither affect the human body’s growth and maturity physiologically nor psychologically and that these ‘effects’ from blooming are merely all placebo. His conclusions have caused an uproar in the world of scholarship, but what I want for you students to do is to write an in-class paper about your reaction to these potential revelations…”

You sit up straight, and for the first time, you listen to his lessons with utmost attention. Your mind racing, you rush to grab a suitable pencil before you start to write your thoughts for the assignment. You peer over to your classmate to see her already writing furiously. You do the same.

She was the first student to screech the chair as she stood up, daintily holding the paper to bring it to the front desk.

All you could discern from her paper, even despite the neat writing, was:

I am ultimately relieved.

---------

“W-wait! Please!” You dash out of the classroom, trailing after your classmate who hightailed it out as soon as possible.

“Leave me alone already!” she heaves over her shoulder, willing her legs to run even faster.

“Your… homework! I have to give… work that you… missed!” And you had relatively no problem speeding up to match her pace.

“Can you just stop following me?! I can just get it from my teachers! What’s your deal?!”

“I want to apologize—!” But before you can finish your sentence, your classmate drops onto her knees, clasping her mouth in complete desperation. “H-hey! What’s wrong?!”

She wheezed into her palms before she got up and ran again before you could completely catch up to her.

She busted open the main doors and ran into the secluded areas of the school courtyard, hoping to lose your trail of her, but as soon as she turned from looking behind her shoulder to the front again, you managed to cut her way off.

“Your… homework…” you gasp for air, shakily handing her the papers that were clenched in your hand.

The next thing you register are splatters of blood on the sheets. And your classmate desperately holding her coughs in.

“Hey!...” You hold her frame, slowly dropping the two of you onto the ground in kneeling positions to try to ease the burden on her body, soiled papers already discarded to the side.

Cough. “Don’t—” Cough. “Fucking—” Cough. “Touch me…”

As she spoke, her hands loosen up their grip against her mouth, but as soon as she did, petals and buds cascaded from her lips. Which were all soaked in blood.

“I…” You dumbly look at the pile of flowers in front of her. You couldn’t even tell what type of flowers they were from all the blood. “You’re blooming?” You always thought she already did.

She slaps your hand, which was on her shoulder the entire time, before tucking her strands behind her ear to prevent them from being further drenched in crimson.

Her neck, being exposed for the first time, was blank.

“C-congratulations!” You say, holding both her shoulders this time with excitement. “You’re—!”

Slap.

The sound resonated through the area, which luckily was mostly empty. Your face pulsates with a stinging heat.

“I’m fucking dying!” She stands up shakily from her kneeling position. “How could you say such an awful thing—I’m dying, I’m fucking dying…”

You can only stare at her in shock from her being so volatile for the first time since you met her, or the fact that she said such a morbid thing.

“I don’t… I don’t understand—?”

“I’m sick!” she seethes, her throat struggling to choke out words. Tears run silently down her agonized face, diluting the thick blood smeared across her face.

“I’m so sorry…! I didn’t know your flu was this ba—”

“You’re the reason why I’m dying,” she hoarsely spat.

The silence was so palpable that even the labored breathing from her was unnaturally loud.

“What? Why me?”

“I…” she hesitates, before dropping to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to—it’s not your fault, I…

… I’m so scared.” Hiccup. “There isn’t any medicine to help me…”

You hand her a tissue from your bag to try to clean up the bloody mess off of her, but before you can dab the tissue to her face, she gingerly grabs your wrist.

“I… love Takao.”

What? You held your breath, anticipating to hear what she’d say next.

“But he rejected me not too long ago. I thought I could get over him and be done with blooming relatively quickly but…” She pointedly looks at you. “Whenever he’s so close to you, especially as of late… my heart hurts. It hurts, it hurts so badly and I don’t know, and then I just start coughing more, and more, and more.”

“It’s just a stage of life,” you insist. “Maybe your case is the most extreme, but—”

“Oh, stop it already,” she snarls. “You still believe in whatever they feed you about this ‘blooming’? It’s a disease, for fuck’s sake.” She tries to get up again. “I thought… I could be friends with you because you were the only one who wasn’t being sucked into their rhetorics… guess I was wrong.”

You were still on your knees when you tried to stretch out your hand to her, but retracted it after seeing her stumble away from you. But as she did so, she hacked out a new bouquet of flowers, but this time, you could see tiny white flowers rimmed with pale blue.

Morning glories…

They meant unrequited love.

“(y/n)...?” she softly asked, for the first time using her usual mild-mannered tone of voice with you today. She disregarded the mess of petals she made around her, appearing to be accustomed to the unsettling sight.

“... yes?”

“Do you love Takao?”

“I would never see him that way.”

“That’s… good to hear…” She gives you a defeated close-eyed smile.

��Wait… you still need to get cleaned up.”

You got up on your feet to try to guide her face your way to wipe off, and as you try to scrub the dried clots of blood away, she manages to croak a laugh.

“I thought that you were trying to rub it in my face about Takao the entire time whenever you talked to me… I was so wary of you, I was so blinded…” You silently listen as you pour your water bottle over the next tissue.

“Do you know why teens in particular have to pay attention to when they’ll bloom?”

“No…” You furrow your brows, already reevaluating about everything you supposedly already knew about blooming. “I don’t.”

“Teens are more likely to have their first love than any other person. If they can overcome their first unrequited love… that would mean… they are ready to apparently to survive and carry on with their lives…

… tell me… am I not good enough to be alive? I can’t even get over—”

You only hush her as you scrub away the last remnants of blood from her skin. Her clothes were unfortunately already stained.

“That’s the best I could do,” you quietly say. “Please get home as soon as possible. And take care of yourself.”

“The paper we had today in class… When our teacher talked about the new findings of blooming research, I was so happy. But looking around class, no one seemed to share the same sentiments. Even still, I am glad about the possibility that one day, we’d stop emphasizing so much on these marks…

“Although I wish I made the attempt to become closer friends with you sooner, I have no regrets now… I’m so glad you’re here…

“I feel so relieved…”

---------

The next day of school, you had an ominous feeling settled within the pits of your stomach. You come to school early, deciding to sit at your desk the entire time and reading to pass the time. You did not feel like talking to your happy-go-lucky friend and his grumpy pet, as much as you usually enjoy their company.

Ever so often, you would glance at the clock and wish for it to come faster.

The bell eventually rings and most of the students crowd into the classroom into their seats. The homeroom teacher promptly follows after and puts her bag onto the front desk. But the seat to your left… was empty.

“Everyone… I have some unfortunate news to share,” she solemnly says. No, no, no… it can’t be.

Your mind goes blank as you stare at the teacher, vaguely reading her lips as one thing went in and out the other ear.

“... she unfortunately passed away. She wasn’t able to bloom.”

Your heart, already struggling to keep afloat on the last shreds of optimism, sank.

“Wha…? She’s gone?”

“That’s such a pity…”

“She was in our class? Since when?”

“Yikes, she wasn’t even able to bloom? That sucks for her, honestly.”

You stare blankly at your desk, not registering the fact that the special health ed class teacher took over the class after homeroom.

The whispers around the gossiping students only serve as a cruel reminder that late bloomers did not get any sympathy from others.

You needed to bloom, and fast.

---------

You only manage to exit out of class and find the cafeteria out of pure muscle memory, but your mind constantly goes back to yesterday evening with her. Were you the last person she got to speak with before she died? Was she scared? Did she truly die happy? You will never get to know.

You stop before the cafeteria doorway, inhaling and exhaling to bring your conscience back into the present day, and slowly stroll in. Takao and Midorima were already deep in conversation, so you stop, waiting for the perfect opportunity to join them.

“Shin-chan, have you heard?” Takao says, holding up his fork. “A student our year died from blooming.”

“It’s not in my matters to worry about, although I would like to give her family my condolences.” Midorima takes his time to cut his patty cleanly with a knife.

“It must suck though, to think this would happen… isn’t it a bit sad, Shin-chan?”

“It’s easily preventable, nanodayo.” He chews a small piece before continuing. “I would’ve never made the foolish mistake of falling in love. I’d rather be markless than fall in love.”

He would’ve never made the foolish mistake of falling in love…

He would’ve never made such a mistake…

He would’ve never fallen in love.

And certainly not with you.

Your heavy heart spikes in a pulse. Your heart was now racing for the wrong reasons. Those dull sores were now nothing compared to the incessant squeezing on your heart. And it won’t let up. You try to steady your breathing to calm yourself but your intake of air almost feels as if it’s being cut off.

You feel as if you can’t breathe.

You step back a couple steps before you dash to the nearest restroom, ignoring the stares of a few students around you.

“Speaking of the girl, wasn’t she in (y/n)-chan’s classroom? I actually haven’t seen her around today.”

“Takao, let me eat in peace.”

“Sheesh, you’re such a downer, Shin-chan.”

---------

You not being able to breathe was not just figuratively.

You ran to the restroom up on the 3rd floor, where you knew it was always mostly empty. You opened the door of the furthest stall and locked yourself in before you tried to heave whatever was blocking your airway.

1… 4… 7… 8 fern leaves—fronds—were choked out in a string of forced wheezes. They all floated seemingly innocently on the water of the toilet bowl.

Your body trembles, not able to take the sudden physical burden on it.

You should be happy, you really should. This was what you wished and prayed for all these years. But whatever you coughed out wasn’t even pretty-looking; hell, it wasn’t even a flower.

“I’d rather be markless…”

With Midorima’s words playing back to back in your head like a broken record, your lungs had the visceral reaction to gasp for more air before throwing up the rest of the leaves. It took the rest of lunch for you to stand up properly and collect yourself before you headed back to class.

You wished and you wished for your blooming to come, but now that your signs became apparent, you suddenly don’t want to bloom.

---------

Classes became harder to focus on, especially with the persistent dull stabs echoing in your heart. You feel that this pain was being constantly amplified and spread to the rest of your body.

You’re tired already, and it was only the initial stages.

School finished before you even knew it. Maybe it was because of the constant distraction your pain provided. A benefit from this new situation, if you were trying to be hopelessly optimistic, is that you wouldn’t be bored anymore at least.

You walk out of class in a slight daze, loosely scanning your surroundings until your eyes land on Takao and Midorima, although your gaze lingered on Midorima longer than you want to admit.

You hate this. The moment you figured that you fell in love with him was also the moment you learned that it was unrequited. If that wasn’t the unluckiest thing that ever happened to you, you don’t know what else is.

As you walk towards them, you toy with the idea of carrying around lucky items and taking Midorima’s advice in doing whatever you can to make your life easier (especially as of late), but you decide against it, trying not to dig your own grave by purposely doing things that reminded you of the green-haired boy even more.

“Kazu! Shintarou!” You casually wave over to them, masking the pain you felt at the sharp jabs you felt every so often in your chest.

“Oh? There you are,” Takao walks to your side to drop his arm on your shoulder. “Where you been, (y/n)-chan?”

“Been busy with… assignments and school.”

“Ah, well that can’t be helped. Speaking of busy, our captain is upping our practices, so we’re going to be gone a lot of the times.”

“No, no, don’t worry about me, just focus on basketball,” you say. “After all, that’s what you’re most passionate about. Don’t let me stop you.”

“You sure are understanding,” he laughs as he ruffles your hair. “But so—wah? Shin-chan, where are you going? Don’t leave me behind, damn it!”

Midorima won’t even speak with you…

“Seeyah! Nice seeing you!”

“Yeah… bye, Takao and… Shintarou…” By the time you spoke Midorima’s name, it barely came out as an audible whisper.

Somewhere within your heart, you hoped to be able to speak with Midorima but you wonder if he’s avoiding you on purpose.

As you walk home, alone, you think about the conversation you and Midorima had when he walked with you.

Had you misinterpreted Midorima in thinking that he wanted to bloom?

Was Midorima not the type to even want a mark?

In the end, were you just projecting your own desires and insecurities onto him?

The more you think, the more you realize how little you truly know about him. Right on cue, your windpipe constricts and spasms, signalling for you to find something to throw up in.

The nearest trash can was sufficient, and besides, no one was out in the streets to see a pitiful you hacking out with atrocious noises in an attempt to coax the leaves out. You pant in an attempt to calm your breathing, noticing the small spots of blood already staining dots on the vibrant fronds. Viscous blood mixed with your saliva hangs precariously from your lips, waiting to separate and fall into the bin with the leaves.

Your hands, grasping the trash can’s rims, shake in trying to hold your body up. And they tremble harder when you squint your eyes to start sobbing.

Your thick tears managed to fall into the bin before the ropy strands of blood dangling from your lips.

---------

You decide to spend most of your free time, at home and at school, researching about blooming beyond what your education system fed you. At school, you properly utilize the library, scouring every book on the subject you could find. But you weren’t surprised to see only books that talked about topics that were already covered in class.

Your fervid research took your mind off of Midorima, which subsequently stalled your stage of blooming.

You were going to start at the foundation of blooming: what exactly was it?

While the question is still being debated among the top scientists in the country, you took it upon yourself to try to come with an answer for yourself. For all you were concerned with, everything you thought you knew about blooming felt like an intricately-woven lie.

All the theorizing in your mind halted when you coincidentally found Midorima in one of the library sections.

“Sh-shintarou…?”

At your voice, he jumps out of his skin and then freezes. “What are you doing here?... Don’t you have practice?”

“Obviously I do, nanodayo…” he mutters, sliding his glasses up. You hate that you’ve noticed his habits even before you fell for him, but now that you did, you were even more hyper aware of everything he does. “But they insisted I rest for the actual games.”

“... while the others continue practice like normal?”

He ignores your question as he turns around to walk away. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll be going.”

“W-wait!” You unconsciously grab the back of his uniform shirt. Shit.

He turns around, eyeing you and waiting what you had to say.

“Well, I… I have to go home—right now! And well, since Takao is at practice I was wondering if you—”

He frowns before calmly replying. “No.”

No?

He leaves.

You stand there completely devastated. You don’t know whether to be furious at him and hate him to get over your pain or to do nothing but collapse against the bookshelf and silently cry your heart out.

You did the latter.

---------

The more you think about your unrequited love, the faster you will bloom. The faster you overcome and mature, the faster your blooming will pass. That’s what the books say.

But if you think about them more, isn’t that just a first-row ticket to accelerating to your death? Perhaps your late classmate was right in which blooming wasn’t something to boast about.

Your eyes have been puffy for days, although you mask it quite well with skincare and a dab of concealer. Nonetheless, you still look unwell and unnaturally pale at other parts of your face.

Your other classmates don’t pay attention to you, and for once, you’re grateful that your markless status helped you in flying under everyone’s radar.

You think you’re getting delusional. To ease your own pain during class, you now make it a little hobby to come up with different scenarios in how you would be saved from this.

What if you stop coming to school for a few weeks to see if anyone notices that you went missing?

What if you collapse in the hallway while walking with your friends and then Midorima panics and confesses his undying love for you?

What if an earthquake hit the bustlings of Tokyo and you were one of the only students who couldn’t be rescued by professionals and you were trapped because of your blooming body—and then maybe perhaps Midorima—

“(y/n).”

“Y-y-yes?” You immediately stand up without missing a beat.

“Could you read the passage from lines 37 to 49?...”

“Yes!...”

This was stupid. What were you even thinking at this point?

Honestly, your best option was to do everything in your power to get over Midorima and get your long-deserved mark.

---------

It’s been a couple of days.

While you still fantasize a few “damsel in distress” scenarios sometimes, you feel numb in a good way; your body was accustomed to the dull thuds, so you don’t even feel them as much anymore, and your mind has been clearer ever since the passing of your acquaintance, but at this point, you’re more inclined to call her your friend. You still hacked up a few ferns, though.

You decide to visit her grave on the weekend, which was freshly dug and cemented; it’s been a few weeks since her passing after all. As stupid as it sounded, you got her morning glories. Her spirit might hate you for constantly reminding her the cause of her death, but it’s the only flower that truly reminds you of her, and the only flower that made such an impact on you.

You pay your respects and spend the afternoon with her, murmuring how she was right after all and now it was your turn to finally go what she went through. You also talk about how Takao was doing, and how Shūtōku was competing right now against the big schools. You affectionately rub her gravestone before you leave.

You happen to pass by the stadium of where the esteemed Winter Cup was being held. That was where your team was competing wasn’t it?

You stop, however, when you see a particular greenhead near, with an unfamiliar blonde… and a pink-haired girl, a gorgeous one at that.

Thump… thump… thump…

You were supposed to be over him. You weren’t supposed to care about his affairs. But you saw him being so casual with her while she was holding a baby husky, you suddenly felt as helpless as the you back in the cafeteria, at the doorway, when you heard what Midorima said.

You already told your late friend that you got over Midorima. The last thing you wanted to do now was to end up lying to her that you never did.

You tear your eyes away and bolt, tears blurring your vision as you run in the general direction to where you thought was your home. You hoped that your parents were still at work, because you did not have the courage to tell them that you were a disappointment because you couldn’t even do the bare minimum of blooming. And you certainly hoped her spirit wasn’t following you somehow, because you didn’t want to be the reason for her suffering again, as unreasonable as it sounded.

By the time you arrived at your gates, you couldn’t control the resurfacing of ferns from your lungs as you felt the blood spilling in bursts with the leaves, along with the loud hiccups and desperate wails that escaped from your body. You had left a visible trail of complementary colors of red and green. But you didn’t care. Guilt and rejection wracked your body to the point beyond properly functioning.

Despite the muddy colors that fill your vision, you manage to clumsily use the keys to enter into your house, but walking beyond those gates proved to be more troublesome as those muddy colors soon became even hazier and your legs wobbled weaker. You stumbled and tripped and slipped yet you made the effort to get back up again. You knew you were going to have to hide the dark bruises that formed from you constantly crashing… and probably come up with excuses if you couldn’t obscure all of them. You beg your body to make it to your room at the very least.

I’ll… just sleep it off… it’ll all be okay… I’ll wake up, and everything will just be a dream… a dream…

You collapse onto the floor of the living room, your house door still completely open from moments before.

It must be your room’s bed, right? How else would it explain why you felt so at ease right now?

You feebly choke, too lethargic to even hold up a hand to stop the contents of your blooming from spilling all over the floor.

Ah… won’t they be mad when they’d get back from home?... Maybe you should clean up your bed.

But a short nap sounds heavenly at the moment, and your body has the same idea, your heart relaxing and easing up on the painful thuds for the first time in a while.

You peacefully flutter your eyes, registering amongst the haze the brilliant shade of greens the fern exhibited, which truly reminded you of the person who ultimately could not return your love back… a true sight for sore eyes like yours.

“Sh… ta… rou…”

You vaguely felt your throat tickling from the inside before you lost complete consciousness.

The fern that represented eternal youth… new life… new beginnings… even until the end, you could not comprehend why your body decided to grow ferns.

The sight on the floor was eerily ethereal. Your face was completely serene as your lips were parted by long, elegant ferns emerging from your esophagus, watered by fresh crimson. Your body looked like it was made to be a delicate, asymmetrical vase for the newly-sprouted foliage. There was nothing but silence, save for the wall clock’s ticking that signaled your death.

---------

“Midorin? What’s wrong?” Momoi tilted her head up at Midorima, who started to palpitate. “Did the games pump you up?”

“Obviously not.” He glanced at her pointedly before he excused himself.

“H-uh? Hold up—Midorin!”

At her voice, he took longer strides to outpace, even lose, her, and he sharply made a turn to a deserted area behind the stadiums. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe—

A cough. Two coughs. Then his floodgates bursted, with a yellow petal fluttering into his hand before he coughed up the rest of the hyacinth flower, its scent steeped in the headache-inducing odor of metal.

The yellow hyacinth… while the pink hyacinth tattooed on Takao meant playfulness, his own flower meant jealousy.

The first time he felt it was when Takao dragged you to the gym and proclaimed that he knew you better than anyone. His own heart thrashed in its place at the sight of Takao being so confident and easygoing around you. While beating Takao managed to subdue his inner pain, a seed of doubt was still inevitably planted within.

The second time he felt a stronger wave of envy was when he saw you patiently waiting for Takao to come out of his class.

The third time he felt his heart do an awful kick in his upper rib cage was when he heard you spoke so highly of Takao as he walked you home. No matter how much he tried to get close to you, he knew he could never outdo Takao socially. The fact that he could only get as close as he did to you was indirectly thanks to Takao. He was silent that evening, his mind swirling from the self-hatred and jealousy of his innate friendliness to everyone… especially you.

You both ironically envied Takao for different reasons.

As soon as he waited for you to safely enter your house, he widened his eyes as his throat started to twitch. Clasping his lucky item, he bolted to the nearest grass area outside a fence to barf up his umpteenth whole hyacinth flower, with crushed petals and stems.

That’s when he knew that not even the Oha Asa could not save him from this, not unless he took a different approach.

He hated it. He could not emphasize it any further than that. The way you allowed Takao to get so close to you, the way he saw how Takao knew what was going on inside his head. He hated yet envied his natural ability to read people.

So what did he do? He only did what he only knew how to do in social situations: walk away.

He’d never admit that he was in love. Certainly not to Takao. He’ll keep denying it to him to the bitter end. He told himself that he would show Takao someday, that he was, without a doubt, more suitable to be by your side.

He wanted to get over his love for you as soon as possible so he could adorn a flower tattoo…

If he did… would you notice him too?

Would he be a man worthy of your love?

Avoiding you broke him in many ways. Every time he did, he kept rethinking about his plan. Was this a good idea?

But being the stubborn person he was, he decided to not budge. He’d figure that the Oha Asa would give him the ultimate blessings for Cancer someday soon, and he could act accordingly then. For now, he figured he should lay low.

He’ll never breathe a word of his blooming to Takao. He didn’t want to be the next person making that same mistake as your classmate, yet here he was, a perfect example of falling for the exact same trap, despite knowing the consequences.

He couldn’t help it. Not if it was you.

Yet, Takao being the sharp point-guard that he was, noticed how Midorima had trouble keeping up during practices. Midorima didn’t know what Takao told the captain, but the next thing he knew, he wasn’t allowed to practice under the pretense of “saving his strength before the games.” As much as he wanted to argue, he couldn’t do much when the captain’s glare pierced through him, daring him to defy the captain’s order. He couldn’t even play basketball anymore in order to distract himself from thoughts of you.

As he continued to think back about all the failed interactions he tried to initiate with you, his lips leaked petal after soaked petal onto the concrete as he propped his forearms and head against the wall.

“Damn it… damn it… damn it…”

He slowly slid his down, his fisted arms and head still against the wall, until he dropped his knees onto the hard floor. He tried to regain his composure, but it was difficult with his knees mushing the bloodied flowers already on the concrete and the fresher flowers ever so continuing to fall on his lap.

He kept hacking up hyacinths blossoms, hoping he could clear his throat and stabilize his breathing again before he could go back into the stadium. Even after nonstop regurgitation, its glaring yellow color kept mocking at his macabre predicament, taunting him to try to stop the flow of its fatal petals.

He slammed his fist against the wall. He had to tough it out… how else could he ever face you?

But the strength of his wall pounding told a different story. It lacked physical strength even with his unwavering conviction. Midorima was dying. He was dying and he wasn’t even able to have a single thing in his favor.

For the first time, he cursed his fate, cursed the horoscopes, cursed astrology and all the unseen deities in the cosmos for concocting up such a horrible thing for only humans.

“... It’s really frustrating… being like this…”

Midorima gave a final, painful rasp before his body completely slumped, his raised arms going limp at his sides. His body eventually fell onto his side, unable to hold up its own weight without support.

His viscid blood slowly soaked his verdant hair, his orange jersey jacket and sweats, and his golden hyacinths. Warm colors ironically encompassed his ever-growing cold corpse, illustrating a striking yet haunting still-life painting, lying in wait for the next person to discover at the back of the stadium…

#midorima x reader #midorima shintaro #midorima shintarou #midorima shintarou x reader #midorima shintaro x reader #knb #knb x reader #knb scenarios #knb angst #kuroko no basket #takao kazunari

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georgerussellls · 4 years ago

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WAIT IM A NEW MAX STAN WHAT DID HIS FATHER DO WHY DON'T WE LIKE HIM OMG

welcome to the max fan club, where we put super max on repeat to get pumped, hate jos, eat hot chip and lie

okay this is a long ass list that I SWEAR I had put together before and it's in this post but I decided to repost it all here just to have it all in one place ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

okay, let's begin: (gonna put this under a read more, it’s gotten rather long)

REASONS TO NOT LIKE JOS VERSTAPPEN

from essentially sports:

Max Verstappen reminisced an interesting episode in his karting days. In 2012, when he was just 15 years old he was racing at an event in Sarno, near Naples, Italy.

“I should have won that race easily,”he told The Telegraph. “On the first lap, someone overtook me and I wanted to regain my position on the next lap. I tried to pass a very fast turn, he didn’t see me and we hit. ”

“My dad worked very hard that weekend and I threw it all away. He was very angry and didn’t talk to me. On the way home, about five miles away, he said something to me and we ended up arguing.”

Max Verstappen went on to say that Jos stopped at a gas station and kicked him out of the van. He said that he was supposed to go home alone, and left the 15-year old alone. Max then called his mother to pick him up and Jos and he were not on speaking terms for a week.

and this one from the telegraph:

At the karting world cup in Sarno, southern Italy, Verstappen Jnr, showed the lightning speed which has made him the youngest man ever to win a seat in Formula One, with Toro Rosso next season. He qualified fastest and comfortably won the pre-final by a few seconds. In the final itself, the red mist descended and Verstappen blew it. Having lost the lead from pole position, on lap two he attempted a kamikaze manoeuvre. The resulting collision broke his painstakingly assembled kart, sending Verstappen out of the race.

In such circumstances, most fathers might offer their teary son a consolatory hug, shoulder pat, or even a few words of encouragement. Not Jos. “I was so upset with him,” Verstappen says over coffee. “I walked away out of the park, and went to the van and started packing the tent down. He was crying like a baby. He was really disappointed. He said: ‘Daddy, we have to go and pick up the chassis because it’s the last race of the day.’ I replied: ‘No, I’m not going. If you want your chassis, you have to go and get it yourself.’

“He looked at me and knew I was angry. He got somebody else to help him put it in the van. Then we left the circuit, and he tried to start speaking to me. I didn’t say a word to him. I said: ‘Don’t speak to me. I’m really fed up with it and disappointed with the way you were racing. Please, don’t speak.’ ”

For most parents, a few hours of the silent treatment suffice to teach their child a lesson. Jos, furious after investing weeks preparing the kart only for Max to make what he regarded as a rookie’s error, took it to extremes. “I didn’t speak to him for seven days,” he says. “I ignored him. I was really p‑‑‑‑‑. I really wanted to teach him a point that it should hurt him. I wanted to show him that. He was also sick from what happened. And after a week, I started talking to him again.”

a concise timeline from this post by @formulatrash

1998 (Max is 1) : Jos and his father (Max’s grandfather) are convicted of assault by battery at a karting track, both given five-year suspended sentences after reaching a financial settlement with the victim. Jos specifically is detailed as having fractured the victim’s skull.

2008 (Max is 11) : Jos appears in court charged with assaulting his estranged wife (Max’s mother) - is cleared of physical assault but sentenced for verbal and written threats and breaking a restraining order against him

2011 (Max is 14 and competing in cars) : Jos faces allegations of assault against his then-girlfriend (not Max’s mother by this point)

2012 (Max is 15 and competing in cars) : Jos is arrested for attempted murder after he allegedly tried to use a car as a weapon to run over his ex-girlfriend, who subsequently became his wife. She dropped the charges.

2016 (Max is 19 and a Red Bull F1 driver) : Reports that Jos has been arrested for battering his own father, violating a restraining order that his father had had placed on him.

max said in this video that his father "tried to stab a mechanic with a fork"

he has also said that there's nothing in F1 that can put more pressure on him than his father already has. (I can't find the source on this one so please DM me if you know!)

update #1: Turkish GP 2020

Max said this when referring to turn 8 in Instabul Park:

hope this is enough to help you, anon!❤️

update #2: in an interview with David Coulthard, apparently Jos would hit Max on the helmet quite hard while he was in karts, with a lot of bystanders being concerned over what he described as "tough love".

yeah that's all the dirt I have on Jos Verstappen at the moment. will update if new stuff is made public.

#f1 #max verstappen #jos verstappen #mine #thank you for the opportunity to dunk on this human stain even further #long post

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hottestthingalive · 3 years ago

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Hi I want to hear more about the tommy-with-a-camera agenda, or any ideas like it, or any concepts/headcanons you think about... just anything really

oh anon. oh anon the power you've given me. oh the sharing my dsmp headcanons power. oh good golly gee willickers

anyways, camera au:

-tommy's camera broke while he was dead -- it had been on its last legs already, but being in a chest in a very hot prison buried under all of tommy's other belongings did it no favors. it was tubbo and ranboo who helped him fix it: ranboo paid for the materials, and tubbo showed him how to make the repairs. they were going to buy him a whole new one, but tubbo knew as soon as he saw tommy holding it (like a lifeline, like a saving grace, like the way he held the discs, long ago) that that wouldn't be an option. it works much better now that it's been fixed, and they even repainted it!

-speaking of the camera, i firmly believe that tommy puts stickers all over that thing, as well as everything else. c!tommy has stickers person vibes. someone got him a sticker machine once and he's been obsessed with making his own stickers ever since. he also has a sticker collection. something something the inherent impermanence of stickers and tommy managing to love them anyways, and painstakingly collecting and saving the ones that have fallen off or been torn in a box beneath his bed something something angsty fluff. anyways.

outside of the tommy with a camera agenda hcs:

-you know how when you spend enough time around people you start to pick up on their mannerisms? spend enough time around bad and you'll eventually accidentally pick up his cursing aversion and his substitute cursing. there was a point where the whole eggpire called their enemies muffinheads.

-tubbo and ranboo make a point out of always putting michael to bed at night. because they can't always both be there but want to make sure it happens, they'll coordinate ahead of time and message each other, but also have a calendar in the kitchen in snowchester to mark down whether or not they'll be able to do it that night. although the calendar was originally used solely for michael’s bedtime routine, they started using it for other stuff, too: holidays and anniversaries and events and everything in between. ranboo keeps that same calendar copied down in his memory book. they let michael decorate the days of it when he's bored.

-techno likes to joke about phil chronically adopting kids, and threatens to send him to adopters' anonymous, so in retaliation, phil pokes fun about how techno's got a veritable zoo of pets, and how he should “start charging admission to his house at this rate”. neither of them like to talk about tommy much, but both of them have just narrowly avoided bringing him up in their ribbing (techno as an example of phil's terrible taste in adoptive children, phil as an example of techno's issue with adopting pets -- "even tommy was essentially a raccoon!").

-i am a sucker for techno and tubbo's dynamic, and so i am constantly having thoughts about what might happen if they became friends in canon. think about that concept for two seconds and tell me it doesn't make you whether fear for your life and/or fill you with pure chaotic glee. anyways tubbo "battlebox ace extraordinare" "was beating tommy before the 'discs were worth more than you ever were' thing" "genuinely a brilliant pvper" underscore sparring with/being trained by technoblade is a very fun idea.

-i also love the idea of techno or phil trying to give tubbo a shovel talk and him giving them one instead. in general the idea of phil and techno being mildly terrified of tubbo but unable/unwilling to do anything about it fills me with glee because i just imagine a scenario in the far-off future where techno, ranboo, phil and tubbo are all standing off against someone and techno's just standing in the background letting tubbo do his thing because he genuinely believes that terrifying teenager could easily kill a man. all for c!techno being team "genuinely believes tubbo could do anything and would be surprised and a little offended if you said otherwise". i think these grown men who are colloquially considered gods should fear this 5′6 teenager. as a treat

-quackity keeps his engagement rings in a safe with the deed to las nevadas, his contracts with the members of it, and his old marriage papers to schlatt. only slime knows where they are. some nights, he’ll take them out of the safe and turn them over in his fingers, wondering what went wrong.

-speaking of slime, i firmly believe that, in an attempt to introduce him to human culture, quackity sat him down in front of a tv and told him to go to town. quackity initially set the tv to documentary channels, national geographic and all that, but things went downhill as soon as slime discovered cable television. he's watched so many sitcoms. partially because of this, slime is CONVINCED that quackity, karl and sapnap are having some dramatic dispute that will be solved in "the next few episodes" or that they are secretly still together and have to hide their relationship for the time being for some unknown reason. also, slime now talks like someone in a 70s or 80s sitcom a lot of the time, and, because he's not human, can make Definitely Not Human noises, including playing a laugh track or a dramatic sound effect. this does not go over well when he's in political meetings with quackity.

-karl's been doing not so great lately. he swears he's lost something, that he's forgotten something hugely important -- but any time he tries to figure out what it is, he gets distracted, usually by another bout of time travel. it's odd, he thinks, how often sapnap mentions quackity -- almost as if he's more important to them than karl remembers -- and then karl forgets again. maybe i should start keeping a memory book, he muses, and then wonders where he got that idea from, and then he's distracted by plans for a new build in kinoko, and he forgets about even his memory issues for the time being. he thinks that he might have lost something. and then he forgets even that.

-puffy and sam, after breaking free of the eggs' control, could still hear it in their heads sometimes, promising things, screaming at them, threatening everyone they loved. puffy dealt with her nightmares by visiting her children and setting up an appointment with someone in another server for online therapy -- sam dealt with his by sleeping less and working at the prison more and more and more. one of those methods was far more effective than the other, and sam's lack of sleep has continued even with the egg gone, which has done him no favors.

-is purpled an alien? is purpled just some dude who likes space? what even is a purpled? no one knows but there’s loads of conspiracy theories running around about the guy. he’s just vibing and doesn’t really care but he does like to encourage some of the ones he thinks are funniest.

-thanks to wilbur “how confusing and convoluted can i make my family tree” soot, people are, in fact, super fucking confused about wilbur & phil & fundy’s family. phil, after initially being annoyed about it, decided to just go with the chaos and has somehow made it worse. there’s a running joke in the smp now that if someone doesn’t know their family/doesn’t have a family/is just friends with wil, fundy or phil, they’re “on the soot family tree”.

i’ve got more headcanons (i could ramble about dsmp stuff for ages, it’s truly insane) but i’ll leave it here for now. hope you enjoy, anon!

#dsmp #bunch of people listed here and i am. lazy. and also don't want to clog up the main tags. so.#tommy with a camera agenda #asks #anon #cinder's headcanons

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echo-bleu · 4 years ago

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Hi, hello, hey! I'd like to request #48, I'm in the mood for angst 💙 Never worry about length, I love & adore everything you write 💙💙💙

Em. I know that by “never worry about length” you meant “it can be super short”. I swear I meant to write something short. I...didn’t.

#48 “You make me want things I can’t have.”

It’s currently 22k and still growing. There will be 5 or 6 chapters, and the prompt doesn’t even come into it until late chapter 4...

It is ANGSTY. It’s a canon divergence where Magnus erases his memories of Alec in 3x19 Read at your own risk and maybe prepare tissues. But I promise a happy ending.

This was betaed by the amazing JeanBoulet. Huge thanks also to the folks at the Fandom Playhouse discord server for all the encouragement and squealing! Especially you Em: I love you and this is a slightly early Christmas present!

[Specific warnings: suicidal thoughts (mentioned), terminal illness/poisoning, internalized ableism]

Summary:

Over the ten months that follow Alec's deal with Asmodeus, Alec struggles to adapt to a world without Magnus in it, Magnus falls in love all over again and everyone just tries to make it through another day.

Alec is dying from venom poisoning and Magnus doesn't even remember him.

Read on AO3.

take me back to the start (1)

He’s in Pandemonium, staring across the room at an apparition with a bow in his hand.

He’s in his loft and standing over a pentagram, an electric jolt going through his body as he links hands with someone.

He’s kneeling in his living room, pulling energy from the hand in his, stumbling back against a lean and muscular body, exhausted.

He’s holding up his glass and toasting with a tall man, whispering words, flirting.

He’s watching the man train, shirtless, swallowing back his desire and trying to find the words to say how much he wants him.

He’s standing in a corridor, hurt and heartbroken, the man turning his back on him.

He’s storming into a wedding, and the man is striding toward him—

Wait.

Back up.

Back to the start.

There’s something bittersweet about being back at Pandemonium after all this time. They’re not here to chase a demon this time, or to offer a priceless jewel in exchange for a summoning. They were trying to get Clary’s memories back then, too, Alec remembers. He was against that plan from the beginning, but it led him to Magnus.

He thought himself in love with Jace, back then.

It’s a strange and painful turn of events that leads them back here. He’s not in love with Jace anymore. Clary isn’t the only one missing her memories. Izzy isn’t wearing that necklace today, though it’s been around her neck every day since—

Alec stops his recollection right there, before it turns into something else. He struggles inside, leaning heavily on his crutches. The music assaults his ears as soon as he’s past the door and he winces. He stays back as Jace and Izzy lose themselves into the crowd. He shouldn’t even be here. He doesn’t know why he decided to come, beside to punish himself.

He adjusts his grip on the crutches and looks around the large, dimly lit room, his height allowing him to scan the crowd easily. He can still see Jace and Izzy making progress toward the mezzanine on the other side of the room. The raised space is less crowded, reserved by the bouncers as a VIP section. Alec can distinguish the couches where a mix of Downworlders are lounging, Seelies blending in with vampires and werewolves.

And a single warlock.

Magnus looks different. He’s let his hair grow a little, and it’s not styled up but to the side, streaked with green and purple — or maybe that’s just the light playing tricks on Alec’s eyes. His outfit is flamboyant, gold brocade on a deep red velvet, the high collar opened on his chest to reveal multiple necklaces. Alec swallows hard.

Alec wonders, even now, if Magnus toned himself down for him when they were together, or if he simply didn’t feel the need to be noticed by other people as much when he was with Alec.

Jace and Izzy reach the stairs and briefly argue with the bouncer at the bottom. After a minute, Magnus makes a gesture and they’re allowed in. Alec can’t hear them, not over the deafening music. He forces himself to take his eyes off Magnus and slowly, painstakingly makes his way around the room, circumventing the crowd to avoid getting toppled over. His balance isn’t good enough anymore to risk the dance floor, and he’s in enough pain as it is without taking a fall.

Izzy and Jace are arguing with Magnus, clearly agitated, when Alec makes it to the mezzanine. The bouncer lets him through without protesting. Alec doesn’t look up until he’s made it up the stairs, and when he does, he can hear bits of shouted conversation amid the music.

“—for a bunch of Shadowhunters to come to my club—”

“Magnus, I know you’re angry, but this is about—”

“I don’t know why I’d even listen to Lightwoods of all people—”

“Magnus! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

That’s Jace. Alec wants to intervene, but he can’t bring himself to yell from across the room. He’s not sure he can speak at all.

“I know Alec broke your heart, but—” Izzy starts.

Alec braces himself. Magnus’ eyes land on him, but there’s no recognition in them, only a frown. The truth feels like a knife twisting in Alec’s gut. He was still holding on to hope but his mother was right, there’s no denying it now. Then Magnus looks at Jace and Izzy, his gaze turning angry, and back at Alec. There’s a vague curiosity on his face, a slight tilt of his head Alec knows well — but not anymore, because it’s not meant to be this way—

“Who’s Alec?” Magnus asks.

The knife twists again. Alec stumbles, hissing in pain. It feels like an actual, physical wound. His throat knots up, and he turns away from Magnus. He needs to get out of here.

He ignores the stabbing pain in his hip as he stumbles down the stairs, a mess of crutches and barely controlled steps, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up face down at the bottom. He runs out the backdoor as fast as he can, into a back alley smelling of piss and forgotten garbage. The contents of his stomach make it to the floor, behind a trash can.

He leans against the wall, barely avoiding stepping into a puddle of his own vomit, and stays there until breathing doesn’t feel like swallowing needles anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Jace and Izzy find him. He can’t get Magnus’ face out of his head. The way his eyes slid over Alec like he wasn’t even there. Who’s Alec?

“Alec,” Jace calls him. He must have felt Alec’s distress through the parabatai bond. Though Alec isn’t sure what Jace feels from him anymore, these days. Between the agony of leaving Magnus and his injury, Alec has tried his best to close his side of the bond.

And the last few days, he’s pretty sure Jace has tried to do the same for him. He looks rough, like he hasn’t slept in days — none of them has. Not since Clary left.

“Did he agree?” he asks.

Izzy scrunches up her face in pain. “Yeah, but—”

“He doesn’t remember us,” Alec states.

“Alec—”

“He erased his memories of me, and by extension, you. I hoped he’d remember Clary, since he knew her from before.”

“He does, that’s why he agreed to help,” Jace says. There’s hope and sorrow mixing on his face, warring with each other like he doesn’t know how to feel either. “But how could he—”

“I broke his heart,” Alec murmurs. “He has the power to erase me, so he did. At least he’s not hurting.”

“You knew?” Izzy asks, shocked.

“Yes. Mom went to see him, before the battle. She figured out what I’d done and she tried to tell him. He treated her like she was still a Circle member and he shut the door in her face. She told me once I woke up.”

“Oh, Alec,” Izzy squeezes his arm. Alec leans into her touch, even though he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want comfort. He wants...he wants the sweet relief of oblivion, too. But he’s not going to get that. Not yet.

And he wouldn’t want to forget Magnus for the world.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jace asks.

Alec looks away, fighting back tears. It’s answer enough. He didn’t want to believe it, not really. He knew. He knew when Magnus didn’t come after the battle of Alicante. Catarina confirmed it, with a gentleness that surprised even Alec.

But everyone is gentle with him these days, like they’re walking on eggs. He’s become fragile. No, broken.

Broken beyond repair.

Magnus sighs. Having Shadowhunters in his loft makes his skin crawl. At least when he told them to bring a fifth they chose someone decent, Clary’s vampire friend Simon. It might make it harder to do the ritual, but Magnus won’t have to clean up after a fourth thoughtless Shadowhunter.

The two he’s already interacted with — Jace and Isabelle — are brash and annoying, clearly used to the spotlight. Simon seems to be dating Isabelle, though Magnus can hardly see what he sees in her beside her looks. She was downright rude the other day.

The third Shadowhunter is more interesting. He’s tall and handsome, honestly one of the most beautiful men Magnus has ever seen, though he looks sad and drawn. There’s something familiar about him that Magnus can’t place. Unlike his sister, he doesn’t particularly look like either of his parents, so it’s not that. Maybe something from one of the other Lightwoods or Truebloods Magnus has known over the years.

He’s avoiding Magnus’ gaze with a consistency that would be admirable if it wasn’t uncomfortable. Is he really so sure of his superiority that he won’t even look a Downworlder in the eyes?

No, it’s not that. Magnus is almost sure there’s something else, something he should know. Something...something to do with the box in his nightstand, the one with a carved bow and arrows on the lid.

He knows what the box is. He knows it contains memories he chose to remove from his mind, memories that must have been painful – Magnus knows himself. If the memories had been dangerous, he’d have put them somewhere safer. This is something else. This is personal. And something in his subconscious is telling him that these Shadowhunters have something to do with it.

It’s only one more reason not to trust them, as far as Magnus is concerned. If they hurt him badly enough that he had to remove his memories...that means heartbreak. Did they do something to his lover, somehow? Did they kill the one Magnus loved?

The tall Shadowhunter – Alec – talks quietly with his siblings in a corner of the room. He’s walking with difficulty, leaning on metal crutches that make a soft tap on the floor each time he takes a step. Magnus tracks him through the room that way, watching him through the corner of his eyes. Each move looks painful, and there’s something emanating from him, like an unknown sickness. Some sort of battle injury, Magnus guesses. From fighting demons in New York, or from the now infamous Battle of Alicante four months ago? He knows there were many casualties, and there must have been wounded Shadowhunters too.

“Magnus,” Isabelle calls him quietly. Magnus snaps back to the task at hand. They’re not here for a social call.

“What?” he snaps at her.

“I know you don’t remember us, but you know you’re missing memories, right?”

“Yes,” Magnus sighs. “I’m not interested in knowing more about them, especially not from you. I removed them for a reason.”

“Alright, alright,” Isabelle relents. “So, do you think you can help Clary?”

“If the Angels took away her runes and her memories, it’s not going to be the same as simply unlocking a mental block or retrieving memories,” Magnus says. “This won’t be easy, and I’m not sure it can be done.”

He sees the others, except Alec, gather around him to listen. “Once, you helped her get back her memories,” Jace said. “It didn’t work—” he glances at Alec across the room, “—but it could have.”

Magnus’ memory of that day is present, but incomplete, full of holes he knows are due to a memory spell. He doesn’t remember why it didn’t work. He hopes it won’t matter today.

“Those memories were ones I took myself,” he says. “I fed them to a memory demon. Biscuit’s current situation is a tad more complicated.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Isabelle asks.

“You said she has pure angel blood, didn’t you? And so do you,” Magnus points at Jace. “The same blood, in fact.”

“That’s right.”

“We’re going to use that. We’re going to ask for her memories back directly from the source. We’re going to summon an angel.”

“Is it safe?” Alec asks, approaching them, and Magnus realizes that this is the first time he’s spoken aloud in his presence.

“No,” Magnus answers.

“Alec, if there’s even a chance—” Jace pleads. “We have to.”

Alec closes his eyes, looking pained. “Jace—”

“No, Alec. It’s not fair. She didn’t chose this.”

Alec opens his eyes again, his whole body stiffening. Isabelle’s eyes widen as she looks between him and Jace, and even Jace seems to freeze in shock at his own words. The whole room appears to hold its breath, waiting to see Alec snap.

“You’re right,” Alec says after a moment, his shoulders slumping. He looks like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. Magnus feels a strange instinct to help him, to offer a body to lean on – but he doesn’t move. “She didn’t. We’ll do it.”

He’s clearly the leader of their group, because after that, there’s no protest, no question, not even from Simon. In fact, Simon looks at Alec with a mixture of admiration and sadness in his eyes, and his gaze is hard when he turns back toward Magnus.

Magnus doesn’t know what he’s done to provoke this kind of hostility. From cocky Shadowhunters like Jace and Isabelle, he expects it, though he’s starting to suspect that their carelessness is only a facade. From Simon, with whom he’s only had friendly, even fatherly interactions? Not so much.

Alec seems to be the only one not angry with him in some way. Instead, he steals looks at Magnus when he thinks Magnus is not looking, and his gaze in those moments is too intense, filled with emotions Magnus can’t even begin to comprehend.

Isabelle makes Alec sit down on the couch while Magnus prepares the ingredients needed for the ritual. Alec refuses at first, looking around him like he doesn’t want to touch anything in the loft, but he relents after half an hour, clearly in a lot of pain. He stays with his back ramrod straight, refusing to relax. He touches the leather of the couch almost reverently, and Isabelle just tilts her head sadly.

Magnus is being far too curious about them. He has no reason to be. They’re just Shadowhunters paying for his services, that’s all. He needs to focus on helping Clary.

The ritual involves painting the ceiling as well as the floor, so he concentrates all his magic on the intricate drawings. “Is this some kind of angelic pentagram?” Simon asks curiously.

“Not exactly,” Magnus answers. “There are similar elements, but this is an angelic Seal.” He doesn’t add that it’s the archangel seal he inherited from his father. An entrance to Heaven, right here at his doorstep, even for a Fallen angel. “It still needs five people to activate it.”

“Summoning an angel,” Simon says. “It’s gotta be dangerous, right? I mean, not for them, but for us?” he gestures to Magnus and himself, excluding the Shadowhunters.

“It could be painful, if the angel doesn’t like our demon blood. Are you ready to do that for Clary?”

“I’d go to Hell for her,” Simon says, tilting his head. “And further.”

Magnus nods. “Angels are unpredictable, but this one will be bound by the Seal. He shouldn’t be able to do true harm.”

“So we just ask him to give back Clary’s memories?” Isabelle asks.

“I’m just handling the Seal,” Magnus says. “It will take all my energy. Jace will ask the question. I suggest you think about what you want to ask.”

Jace nods from where he’s standing in parade rest by Alec. “I already know,” he says.

“Then gather up,” Magnus says. “I’m ready.”

They all stand around the circle he painted on the ground, each going inside one of the smaller circles linked by a network of white lines. Alec leaves his crutches on the floor outside of the Seal area and limps over to his spot with a grunt, standing with his full weight on his good leg.

“Link hands,” Magnus orders.

Isabelle and Jace exchange a look Magnus can’t interpret. They’re on each side of Alec, with Simon beside Isabelle and Magnus completing the circle between him and Jace. He reaches out and clasps his hands with the two men.

The pull on Magnus’ power, as soon as the circle is closed, is immense. If he hadn’t recently received an enormous boost, thanks to his father’s death and Edom’s destruction, he wouldn’t have been able to handle it. He focuses his energy on keeping the Seal stable, between the floor and the ceiling, a column of light with them on the outside.

The form of the angel starts to shimmer inside the light, wings folded back against his back. He doesn’t become fully solid, instead remaining ethereal, almost see-through.

“Who dares to summon an angel?”

His mouth doesn’t move, but the voice rings in all their heads.

Magnus grits his teeth against the pain blooming in his chest, tightening his hold on Simon and Jace’s hands. It was always going to be painful. The angels hate nothing more than demon blood, even – especially – when the blood is from a fallen angel. It hurts like hell, but Magnus has been to hell, and he’s come back. He can do this. Simon is wincing, but not as badly, his own demon blood more diluted.

What Magnus doesn’t expect is for Alec to cry out and crumple, barely holding onto his siblings’ hands. He’s angel-blooded. He shouldn’t be in pain. Or is it just his injury acting up under the pressure of the Seal?

He looks barely conscious, his mouth half-opened in a cry of pain. Magnus swallows against his own throbbing chest and signals to Jace to get a move on.

“Raziel’s soldier, and Ithuriel’s child,” he answers. “I am of angel blood.”

The angel turns toward him. “Jonathan Herondale. Yes, we know of you. What do you want from the Angels?”

“My lover, Clarissa Fairchild. She’s one of your children, too. You took her powers and her memories.”

“She played with powers beyond her understanding,” the angel says. “She was punished.”

“I’m asking the angels for forgiveness,” Jace says. “Forgive her, and she and I will be your soldiers on Earth, for as long as you desire.”

Magnus grimaces and hopes Jace knows what he’s doing. He hasn’t had much dealings with the angels before, but this is a not promise that can be taken lightly.

The pain is getting harder to bear, and Magnus wishes Jace would hurry up. Simon is looking a little frayed around the edges, his face screwed up in pain.

Alec looks like he’s hanging on by a thread.

“It is not in my power to decide,” the angel says. “But the Angels are fair. We do not deal punishment unjustly. Her sentence is not forever.”

“She’ll be forgiven?” Jace asks, his surprise showing through his facade. “She’ll get her memories and her runes back?”

“Eventually.”

“But when?”

The angel opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Alec lets out a cry of pain and his hands slip out of his siblings as he falls to the floor. The circle breaks, and the pillar of light disappears, taking the angel with it. “No!” Jace cries out, but he doesn’t reach for the angel. He reaches for Alec instead.

He falls to his knees beside his brother. “Alec!”

“I’m fine,” Alec grunts, through he’s clearly anything but. He’s curled up on himself, his face white with agony, even now that the angel is gone and the pressure on Magnus’ chest has left. “I’m sorry, Jace.”

“It’s okay, brother,” Jace murmurs. “Why did he react like this?” he asks louder, looking up at Magnus.

Magnus shakes his head. “I don’t know. It should only have done that if he had demon blood.”

Jace and Isabelle share a look, and Simon’s breath hitches. Magnus looks between them, but none of them is forthcoming with whatever knowledge they have that Magnus doesn’t share.

Alec sits up with Jace’s help, his hand going to his right hip as he groans in pain. “Help me up,” he asks his brother. Jace seems ready to protest, but he must see something in Alec’s face, because he gets Alec’s arm around his shoulders instead. Isabelle goes to retrieve the crutches and gives them back to Alec, who takes them with trembling hands.

Magnus’ heart tightens, seeing him in such obvious pain. He doesn’t know why—

Or maybe he does. The signs are all there, and it’s time he stopped pretending not to see them.

These Shadowhunters didn’t hurt his lover or his friends. These Shadowhunters were his friends, somehow. And Alec…

Alec is the one who must have broken his heart. That’s the only explanation for what Magnus feels right now. It’s like body memory, almost, a level of compassion and love that cannot possibly come from the few interactions they’ve had that he remembers.

Magnus steels himself against the part of his brain that wants to get the memory box from his nightstand right now and open it. He removed those memories for a reason. Because living with them must have hurt too much.

He’s not going to go back on that and expose himself to that kind of suffering just because he’s curious.

“What does it mean for Clary?” Simon asks.

“I don’t know,” Jace says. “He said she’d be forgiven eventually, but—”

“Angels don’t see the passage of time like you do,” Magnus cuts in. “It could be years. Decades.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Isabelle asks. Alec remains quiet, head down, still leaning against Jace.

“Nothing I can think of,” Magnus answers. He stands up straighter. “Which means you’re no longer in need of my services. Please refrain from coming back here unless there’s a true emergency.”

He doesn’t want the reminder that he decided to erase the last — what, three years? — of his life.

Isabelle looks visibly shaken by that, and she swallows. Alec doesn’t look up at all. He turns away like he doesn’t want Magnus to see his face, and Magnus wonders what he’s trying to hide. Jace throws him a murderous look, and Simon shakes his head in sadness.

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” Isabelle says quietly. “We won’t bother you again.”

Good riddance, Magnus thinks.

It rings wrong even in his head.

“How are you doing?”

Izzy leans against the door frame of Alec’s office. She looks tired, overworked. She’s taken on so much in the last few months.

It’s been two weeks since Alec collapsed at Magnus’. He can still feel the pain burning through his veins, eating away at his body, each day bringing him closer to the edge.

“I’m fine,” Alec says, putting down his pen. He shifts in his seat painfully, his hip seizing. He’s been sitting still for too long.

“I wish you would stop saying that,” Izzy sighs.

“I wish you would stop asking me,” Alec shrugs.

They’ve been beating around the bush, trying to ignore the elephant in the room. It’s too big to tackle during work days. They go through the motions like it all still matters, the Clave, the Downworld Cabinet, the patrols. Alec can see Jace and Izzy struggle with it, but he can’t do anything for them.

Clary’s gone back to art school, all knowledge of the Shadow World erased from her mind. Alec has made sure that she’s safe and settled, and all that’s left is watching Jace tear himself apart as he grieves. The hope that the angel brought them isn’t enough. Not when it’s so vague.

Not when everything else is falling apart, too.

It’s been just over four months since it started, since the day Alec made a deal with Asmodeus. It feels like an eternity ago, and yet also like it was yesterday. Magnus’ desperation as Alec broke up with him is seared in his mind forever, and it accompanies Alec’s every waking thought.

Magnus doesn’t remember.

It’s a comfort, these days. Losing Magnus will remain the hardest thing Alec has ever done, but he’s thankful for it, however much it hurts. Because it means that Magnus has his magic again, that he can be happy.

Because it means that Magnus doesn’t have to live through the aftermath.

It’s been four months, too, since the Battle of Alicante. Magnus missed it all. He wasn’t there when they all thought they were going to die there, trapped by the demon hordes, caught in between two forces of evil. He wasn’t there to hold Alec’s hand when he woke up in the hospital to a broken body and demon venom coursing through his veins.

He wasn’t there, when they figured out that it was a death sentence.

Catarina slowed the spread of the venom, but nothing she or the Silent Brothers tried could get it out of his system.

“You’re hurting,” Izzy says, walking in fully and closing the door behind her. “I can see it. I know you don’t like the painkillers, but you need them.”

Painfree runes have long stopped working on Alec’s abused body. The mundane pills were Catarina’s idea. She was there in the aftermath of the battle, when Magnus wasn’t, she ran triage with the Silent Brothers and saved countless Shadowhunters. She did her best to piece Alec’s shattered hip back together and she was the one who figured out what was wrong with him.

“They’re not much use anymore,” Alec admits. The pills are some of the strongest on the market, but his Nephilim body metabolizes everything faster than a mundane, and they barely take the edge off.

No, it’s better that Magnus isn’t here. That he didn’t have to sit by Alec’s bedside after the battle, praying at every new treatment, every test, that something would change. That he doesn’t have to watch the venom slowly win over Alec’s body, leaving him weak and trembling. That he won’t have to wait with them for the day it will reach his heart, and it will all be over.

Maybe a year, Catarina told him. If you stop working and rest most of the time.

Alec has done neither. He can’t. He’ll go out of his mind if he tries to rest anymore than he already does. Work takes his mind off things.

He’s still the Head of the Institute, if only because there is barely enough left of the Clave to hold Alicante together, and appointing new Heads has been the least of their problems.

“There has to be something else we can do,” Izzy says. “To relieve the pain, at least.”

“You know there isn’t,” Alec sighs.

She’s not doing well. None of them are. They’re barely holding themselves together.

They lost their father, the day of the battle. Robert Lightwood didn’t make it out of the destroyed city. They’ve lost Clary and Magnus, and now they’re losing Alec too, as his deterioration accelerates with each passing day.

Their whole family is falling apart.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Izzy says, faking lightness. “We can meet Simon and Maia at the Hunter’s Moon. It will be nice.”

Alec wants to say yes, to give her that, a moment of normalcy amid the chaos. But he’s exhausted and in pain, the ache in his hip never letting up. He’s tired of people watching what they say around him. Looking at him like he’s going to disappear any minute.

He shakes his head. “I think I’ll just go to bed early tonight. I could use the rest.”

Izzy nods wordlessly, disappointed but understanding. “I love you, big brother,” she says.

She says it a lot, these days.

“I love you too,” Alec replies, like every other time. There’s nothing else to say. No it’s gonna be okay, Izzy because it’s not, and they both know it.

Someone knock on the door. “Yes?” Alec calls.

Underhill pokes his head in. “Sir, your mother is here.”

“Let her in,” Alec nods. Maryse has been hovering, and he can’t blame her. Looking at Izzy, he can’t deny her the little bit of hope in her eyes. “Let’s make it a family thing,” he says. “Go get Jace and Max.” He can hold off his exhaustion for a few more hours, for them.

Izzy slips out with a smile on her face and Underhill comes back with Maryse in tow.

“Hey, Mom,” Alec smiles weakly, pushing himself up to greet her.

Maryse strides to his side and hugs him tightly. “Alec,” she breathes, love and pain warring in her voice. “How do you feel today?”

“Not great,” Alec murmurs.

He finds himself honest with her, these days, more than he is with his siblings. She’s been his strongest support, despite their once strained relationship, and Alec is too spent to be angry with her as he once was. All of that doesn’t matter, anymore.

Maryse doesn’t break down, at least not in his presence. But Alec is too much like her for his own good, and he can see her pain in every gesture, in the way her hugs last a little longer, the way she tightens her hand on his arm, the way her voice hitches every time she says goodbye after spending time with him.

She hands him his crutches and supports him as he gets situated. Walking is getting harder every day, as the venom lights his nerve endings on fire with every step on his already unstable hip. Maryse just squeezes his shoulder as he hobbles around his desk and hovers until he’s safely sitting on the couch.

“Tell me,” she says quietly, kicking off her shoes and curling up beside him.

They’ve become tactile in a way they never were before. Neither of them likes being touched much, but as it turns out, terminal illness has a way of making you reevaluate your priorities. Alec lets his family hug him as much as they want to now, even on the days it makes his skin crawl.

He sighs, leaning his shoulder against his mother’s. “The new Inquisitor is a homophobic dick. And he wants me removed. He says I can’t do my job anymore.”

“Jia won’t let him do it,” Maryse says.

“I don’t know. He’s not wrong.”

Maryse takes his hand in hers. “Alec, even now, you’re a much better Head than I ever was. You’re holding up admirably in the worst of circumstances.”

“I’m tired,” Alec murmurs. “I don’t know how long I can do this.”

She squeezes his hand, and he sees her swallow back her emotions. “If you feel like you should step down to rest, I’m sure Jens can handle the fort for a while. Until Izzy’s ready.”

Not until you come back. She’s the only one of all of them who faces the inevitable and doesn’t try to pretend that Alec is going to get better. If nothing else, she’s never been one to shy away from the hard truths.

“Maybe soon,” Alec says. He doesn’t want to, but he’s quickly getting to the point where he won’t be able to work anymore. “I miss him,” he adds, his voice breaking. “I can’t stop.”

Alec can’t get Magnus’ face out of his head. The way Magnus looked at him like he was nothing to him. Alec is nothing to him, now. Magnus doesn’t remember any of their time together.

It hurts more than Alec would have thought possible. He’d thought he’d already reached rock bottom, that nothing could possibly hurt worse than breaking up with Magnus. Than waking up in that hospital bed, having lost everything. But that look haunts him.

Maryse just hugs him without a word.

“Alec!” Max exclaims, rushing into the office with his usual energy. Izzy and Jace are on his heels. He jumps on the couch on Alec’s other side, missing Alec’s quick wince when it jostles his leg.

Max is old enough to understand what’s happening, and not quite old enough to know what to do with his emotions. He alternates between acting like everything is fine and randomly bursting into tears, with no in-between. Today seems to be the former, because he starts rambling about his training without a care in the world.

Alec looks up at Jace and they share an entire conversation in an eyebrow raise. Alec keeps his side of the parabatai bond firmly closed, but he knows that his pain leaks through anyway. He can feel Jace’s despair, the way he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

They say the worst pain a Shadowhunter can endure is the loss of his parabatai. Alec remembers the words. It’s one of the things they learn, in the initial parabatai testing. They’re asked if it’s worth it, risking that.

When they gave a resounding yes, their fourteen-year-old brains had no space to comprehend the pain of today.

Jace and Izzy watch Alec like he’s about to disappear, and he knows, he can see, that they can’t yet imagine what will happen after.

They don’t talk about it during the day. It’s too heavy, to much to bear for all of them.

At night, Alec finds himself more often than not sandwiched between Jace and Izzy in his bed. They come claiming they have nightmares or can’t sleep, never quite saying that they just want to feel close to someone else, close to Alec. They say the words, quietly, the words that won’t come out during the day. It was worth it.

And sometimes, where thou diest, I will die. On those days, Alec hugs Jace tight as he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t mean it, that he will go on.

“—and Kara keeps saying I need to work on my defense, but she’s not a teacher!” Max is saying when Alec tunes back into his surroundings. He’s absently drumming his fingers on his good leg, his other hand still in Maryse’s.

“You should listen to her, Max,” Izzy says. “She’s one of the best fighters of her generation. She’s a fairly new transfer,” she explains to Maryse.

“She’s not even a grown-up!” Max protests. “Besides, Aline said she needs to stop overthinking every fight. So she’s not that good.”

“I don’t think you were supposed to hear that,” Alec says, fairly sure that Aline was not referring Kara’s training but rather the frequent phone calls with her deeply transphobic father that send her crying to either of their offices. “You should spend more time training and less time eavesdropping.”

Max pouts and they all laugh, the lightness of the moment freeing them from the stifling sorrow that’s settled between the adults in the room.

Maryse makes the effort to keep the conversation going after that, though she never releases Alec’s hand. It feels good, to have a normal moment with his family. Jace still has shadows in his eyes, but he settles in a chair and even smiles. Izzy’s cheerfulness sounds a bit fake, but she tries. Alec struggles to keep the pain from showing, but he watches them and feels a deep swarm of love for all of them.

After they’re all gone, Alec painfully stumbles back to his desk and pulls up a piece of paper and a pen.

Dear Magnus, he writes. He pauses, and wishes that even Magnus’ name didn’t make him want to cry. Every minute I spent with you was worth the pain it causes me today.

He writes on, until his hand shakes too much to continue. He doesn’t cross out anything, or bother censuring himself. He puts down his pen, finally, and folds the paper carefully.

He unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk with a rune and opens it. He goes to slip the letter he’s just written inside, but he can’t help but stare at the small box there. He doesn’t open it. He knows its contents by heart. He can almost feel it under his finger, the raised edges of the Lightwood crest in smooth silver, the ring he was going to give Magnus. It will go to Izzy, now. There’s a letter for her, underneath the box.

There are other letters, too. One addressed to the next Head of the Institute, instructions on how to keep the Downworld Cabinet going. Alec’s will, freshly updated. Every Shadowhunter is required to draft a will before their first mission in the field, and rewrite it every year. They know better than any other mortal that they can die at any time.

There’s a letter for Jace. One for Maryse. One for Max, who will have to finish growing up without a father and down one brother.

The rest are for Magnus. During the endless days he spent laid up in the hospital, Alec took to writing him letters. In them, he recounted the strongest beats of their relationship, the sweet moments, the hard truths. Everything Alec can remember, since he now has to remember for them both.

He doesn’t think Magnus will ever read them, but he’s not doing this for Magnus. He’s doing this for himself. One last indulgence, since he’s no longer good for anything else.

A drop falls on the top letter, turning the paper darker. Alec jumps and realizes it’s sweat falling down from his hairline. He puts down today’s letter, carefully tucking it in to make a tidy stack, and closes the drawer, his hands trembling a little. His fever is spiking again. In a few hours, he’ll be delirious and out of his mind.

Jace says he cries out for Magnus, in the worst moments. Alec has stopped letting anyone else into his Soundless-rune proofed room. It’s getting worse. It used to happen every few days, but recently, he hardly ever goes a night without losing himself to the venom in his body.

He’s slipping away.

He doesn’t want to die, if only for the pain he knows it will cause his family. But more and more, on days like today, he thinks it might be a relief.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #isabelle lightwood #jace wayland #angst #take me back to the start #mine #echo's fanfiction #hmdiscord #malec discord server #moonlight-breeze-44 #asks

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Compromised Earth.”

Sorry guys, I was super exhausted today, and my brain wasn’t thinking up anything else it wanted to write. I will try to get out some now and inventive ideas in the next week, but today you get another recovery continuation since that is what my brain wanted to write lol

I hope you still like and have a great day :)

His entire body hurt,

Not like it had before, obviously, more of a dull ache, the kind that comes after a day of really hard physical training after years of inactivity, but in that case, it still meant he was having trouble moving. He lay on his bed, in his quarters propped up by an ungodly amount of pillows. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure where Sunny had found them all only to assume that she had probably gone around stealing them from people.

If that was the case, at least no one said anything.

Aside from that, she had gone out of her way to assign someone to watch him when she couldn't be there. He was still experiencing some withdrawal symptoms,and she was unreasonably worried that something would happen with his health.

Katie, Krill, Ramirez, Mav, and a few others were taking it in shifts to watch him. He was sure if he was a little less of an extrovert, he would have hated it, but honestly the company was a comfort and it helped him to sleep easier knowing someone was there.

Ramirez was there now playing something on a vintage handheld gaming system of some sort cursing under his breath occasionally when things didn’t go his way. He looked up in concern, probably worried that he had disturbed the Commander’s sleep, though Adam was honestly fine, drifting in and out and in and out as the occasion called for it.

Recovery was slow and painful, and those some had suggested it, he refused meds to dull the pain.

He could already feel the hinted prod of long dormant cravings and so refused any and all painkillers knowing that, if he gave in once, he would be more likely to do it, again, and again, and again.

At least now he could stand, though only for short periods of time. Long enough to get up to go to the bathroom and take very short, hot showers, though both activities tended to leave him absolutely exhausted.

The Spiderlings had visited him earlier in the day babysat by Waffles and Dr. Katie, The had been very excited to see him, and he in return, though he had only been able to manage their presence for a short amount of time before being forced to send them off too tired to keep his eyes open.

He was just drifting off to sleep again when a commotion outside the door startled him awake. Ramirez stood form his seat a concerned expression on his face, setting his handheld down on the chair behind him and walking over to the door.

“What is it?”’

Ramirez shook his head and held up a hand, “Just let me check it out.” The door hissed open and then shut filling the room with a swelling of voices for a short moment.

“He's resting!”

He sat up recognizing sunny’s angered voice.

“I know that, but this is urgen-”

The door was shut, and the sound of voices was cut off leaving only the distant humming of muffled words. He pushed himself higher up in his sitting position, eyes squeezing shut against the ache.

He leaned forward, but couldn’t make out what was being said.

The longer it went on the more impatient he got, before eventually throwing his legs over the side of the bed and slowly getting to his feet.

His back and legs screamed in protest, and the metal of the ship was cool beneath his feet as he limped on both legs, to the door. Despite having one mechanical leg, his body was in so much pain that it didn’t bother to relegate the agony to a single side. THe door hissed open, only for him to find Ramirez, Sunny and Waffles facing off against an official UNSC officer looking more than a bit frazzled by the hostility being projected by his two crewmen, and now the dog, who also seemed less than pleased about this turn of events.

As the door opened, they all turned to look at him.

What a sight he must have been, shirtless, and covered in bandages facing off against some pretty severe irritation from the Steel-Eye suit. The skin about his back, arms and chest was extremely inflamed and irritated, making his already haggard appearance even more so. The officer quickly solution, while the other two looked at him in concern coming to his side to make sure he was ok.

Ramirez offered him an arm, but he waved it off, “What is this all about?”

The officer nodded nervously, “I am so sorry to bother you commander, but there have been some developments in relation to the burg, and the UNSC is calling a meeting to deal with it. Not to mention there have been some…. Questions as to your methods during the last engagement that the brass would like to discuss. They understand that you are still recovering, but based on recent circumstances, we cannot put things off any longer.”

“Like hell you can’t” Sunny snarled

Adam held up a hand to her, “Let me get changed, and I will accompany you.”

Both Sunny and Ramirez sputtered in protest as the officer saluted, the two of them following him back into his rooms with arguments on their tongues.

He limped over to the closet doors, ignoring them as it hissed open, reaching in to grab out a white shirt.

“Adam, you can barely walk, the UNSC has no right to ask you to come in if you aren’t recovered.” Sunny seemed to be working herself up into a killing mood.

The threaded one of his arms through a sleeve, painstakingly pulling the shirt closed fingers fumbling with the buttons, “This is my job, Sunny, and I intend to do it.”

Ramirez held out his hands, “But Sir, I am sure there is some sort of compromise. Maybe they could project you in as a hologram, that way you wouldn’t need to use up all your strength.”

Adam turned to look at him, “As commander of the UNSC fleet, I hardly intend to give off an air of weakness to my superiors. I can walk, so I will go. Or I may at the very least, try.”

“And slow down your recovery.” Sunny interjected

“If that’s what I must do.”

“I get your loyalty, Adam, but sometimes I think you cave to unreasonable demands.” He had gotten the shirt on and had managed to pants as well, despite his screaming back.

Shoes were going to be a real bitch.

He pulled on his uniform jacket and plucked his hat from its spot atop a shelf stuffing it onto his head as his shoulders seemed to moan with the agony.

“My mind is made up.”

He bent down to retrieve his shoes, but was struck by an excessive bout of pain that seemed to radiate up his spine and into his limbs. His knuckles were white against the door-frame.

Ramirez hurried forward, helped him to stand and retrieved his pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed. He sighed in relief feeling only mildly embarrassed as Ramirez knelt to help put on the shoes.

Sunny didn’t look pleased, but offered Ramirez the other shoe when he was done with the first.

Ramirez looked up, “We can’t change your mind?

Adam shook his head, “No.”

“Then we will accompany you. Make sure you don’t overwork yourself.” He glanced over at Sunny, “Right.”

She was clearly displeased, but nodded her bird-like head, “I will carry you if I must.” She glowered at him, “or if I feel like you are growing too stupid to take care of your own health.”

Her words tugged a half-hearted smile from him, “How sweet.”

He stood again, slowly helped to his feet by Ramirez, and together they stepped out of the room and off down the hall.

He tried to walk with a purpose, but after the first hallway he was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t been too hasty in his assessment of his own strength. His feet were like led boot encased in concrete, his back hurt horrendously, and his chest was feeling a little tight, though he kept that to himself.

Their pace had significantly slowed by the time he made it to cargo bay, And both Ramirez and Sunn were looking at him as if they expected him to collapse at any moment.

He was glad they were there for that eventuality for it was definitely seeming like an eventuality now. The officer was waiting for him, and upon seeing his face, the man’s eyes grew wide and his skin blanched.

Did he really look that bad?

“Are you alright, commander.”

“Yes, let's just get inside so I can sit down.” The man didn’t argue with him, hurrying onto the UNSC shuttle.

Climbing up that ramp might as well have been climbing up Everest, and the only relief was a seat waiting for him when they stepped on.

He took his seat to exhausted to even keep his eyes open.

Aware partially of Sunny and Ramirez buckling the harness around him before taking their own seats.

He fell asleep on the way in, or at least he thought he did, jostled awake when landing came.

It took everything he had to force his eyes back open and unstrap himself from the seat. Ramirez took his offered hand and pulled him to his feet.

His legs were so weak.

Light spilled in from the Shuttle doors, and together they stepped outside into the light of earth. He closed his eyes for the sun on his skin, which helped to make him feel just a little better.

“Commander.”

He looked up, surprised to find a good portion of the UNSC brass waiting for him at the base of the ramp.

His old captain , now Admiral Kelly being one of those.

She took one look at him and frowned immediately, “Are you alright, Commander.”

He limped down the ramp, “yes ma’am, I’m fine.”

“You look like shit…. And that’s me being diplomatic.”

He gave a weak smile as the others looked on in concern, “I'll be alright as long as we get somewhere where I can sit.”

“Then let's hurry and do that.” Admiral Kelly, grabbed him by the arm and steered him over to a waiting truck.

It felt like his knees were going to buckle but he managed to get in, with some help from Sunny.

He fell asleep again resting against Sunny’s shoulder shaken awake when the truck pulled to a stop in front of UNSC headquarters. There was a party waiting for them, and he was deeply regretting agreeing to this.

He climbed out of the Truck behind Sunny stumbling when his feet hit the pavement.

Ramirez grabbed him by the arm and helped him to stand.

A light trembled had started up in his body, and he felt as if he was going to collapse.

He was so dizzy, his legs were so weak.

The party came to meet with him, “We are sorry Commander, that this was such a bad time, but there have been some developments with the Burg, we required discussing with you immediately.”

He nodded, though only half understanding what they were saying.”

“You plan managed to foil the larger part of the attack, but it looks like a Tesraki agent, paid off by the other side managed to get into the Gromm city, and steal some of the warp codes to sell for a prophet. We can’t be sure, but earth might have been on that list.”

“That sure got his attention.”

“The Burg might have our warp codes.”

“Yes.”

“Did you contact the GA?”

“Immediately.”

“Good… hopefully they might help us get a Nexus up in time.” His feet were a hundred pounds each sliding towards 1000. The curb before him was a seven foot leap.

He stepped up and…. Made it, by the skin of his teeth.

He pulled the other foot up and paused on the edge of the curb staring straight forward.

“We have already begun construction-.”

They continued talking, and he heard himself respond a few times. The faces before him warped in and out of focus continuing to speak. He spoke, though he had no idea what he was saying.

His vision started to go white.

It honestly scared him.

He had passed out before, and his vision had gone black, but this time it started to go white washing everything of color as he stared forward. His ears rang and his head spun.

Before he knew it he was sitting on the ground.

“Get his head down, between his knees.” Someone was saying.

A hand rested on his back.

He was breathing hard, but every time he tried to lift his head, the world started to go white again.

So he stayed there, not sure for how long before, finally he was able to lift his head.

A group of very worried people and one Alien stood around him. Sunny knelt at his side, Ramirez at his other, and a couple of the Admirals in front of him, others standing behind.

“Sweet mother earth, commander, we thought you were having a stroke.”

“The paramedics are on their way.” Someone was saying

“Call them off.” He mumbled, “I’m ok, just a little lightheaded.”

“If we had known you were this sick, commander, we would never have asked you to come.”

“We tried to tell you that.” Sunny snapped, but Adam rested a hand on her arm.

“Relax Sunny, they had no way of knowing. Help me up.”

She hesitated.

“Help me up.” He ordered, and she did so only grudgingly. He was back on his feet now though he kept his head down worried the world would go white again.

“Do you need a doctor?’ someone was asking.

A bottle of water was pressed into one of his hands.

He took a drink letting the cool liquid slide down his throat, “I'm alright.’

I’m alright ended up amounting to almost passing out three more times before they made it to the ‘war room’ and that was before Sunny began ignoring his orders and simply carried him the rest of the way.

He would have been embarrassed, if he had the cognitive capacity to do so, and probably would have been embarrassed when the paramedics showed up to place and IV and look him over once they got there.

They offered medication.

He refused.

Still concerned at the little cravings hinting at the back of his mind.

But there were more important things to deal with than that, one of them being the Burg.

And their possible knowledge of earth’s location.

At least he had managed to save SOME planets

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thesimperiuscurse · 4 years ago

Note

ALL OF THEM. For Eva

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themselves? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

Eva rarely seeks time alone. Her profession means that much of her time is dedicated to working by herself, but she’s very much extroverted and prefers to be in the lively company of loved ones. If she’s in distress, her first reaction is to reach out for her family, especially her mother Cherry, which is where she finds the most comfort. There are many places she loves in the wilds of California, and the ocean is where she can always find peace, but even then she doesn’t feel like there’s a spot where she can be truly alone—the birds and deer and the murmuring of trees are as conversational company as any.

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with receiving affection from others?

Although in the professionalism of ballet she comes off as a steely and work-obsessed person, she’s cuddly with those she trusts. She gives hugs freely to all her friends and family, who in general are openly affectionate, so that’s just the way she grew up. Her ‘love language’ is physical affection.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

She finds an infinite number of beautiful and simple things in nature—the blueness of the sky, the smell of the earth after rain, the soft whisper of the ocean washing back and forth across sand. Living in the city only amplifies her senses in picking out the tiny signs of emerald life amongst the hard urbanscape. She is far less likely to notice such little things of beauty in people, because frankly she cares more about nature than humanity, but that is until she met Mako. She notices more tiny details about him than she'd care to admit, like the way he always blushes when she says something nice to him, or how his dimples twinkle whenever he’s happy.

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them.

There’s a radiance to her that feels like the golden summer sun, the dawn that rises from every night, breathtaking; she has an infectious energy and unabashed joy that has the extraordinary ability to bring smiles to people’s faces, far more than she realises; an open kindness and gentleness to her touch unlike anyone else; life, passion, freedom, love, strength, beauty, courage, light, everything that he is not.

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

She hates being sick. Anything that slows her down, brings her below her painstakingly achieved peak athletic performance, frustrates her greatly. She rarely catches trivial illnesses like colds due to her hardened immune system, but when she injured her Achilles Heel the previous year, she was forced to stop dancing and rest, which she handled really badly. Her temper dropped sharply to the point of lashing out. In terms of taking care of other people, she doesn’t consider herself as a particularly tender and gentle care-giver (her mom and sister Fawn are the fussy doters in the family) but later on she may surprise herself.

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

Eva does have trouble articulating her feelings through words (at least, in an eloquent way) so she almost always communicates love through physical touch. This ranges from absentminded fingertip-brushes and shoulder bumps to baby koala cuddling. In reverse, Mako also has difficulty with verbal expression (though for another reason than being linguistically challenged) and over the past few chapters has been slowly learning how to return affection in their own wordless language.

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

Almost every day is physically stressful for her, because dancing up to eight hours on end really does a number on her legs. As both the Nationals and academy production draws closer, she has to spend more time on caring for her health, so in the final hour of each night she relaxes with an ice bath for her calves and a long shower, soothing balms massaged into her muscles followed by heat packs, precious time chatting with her family, and then conks right out to sleep.

🌲 How deeply does your OC feel? Are they typically empathetic or do they have a hard time connecting with others in this way? What are they like when offering support and comfort to someone they care for?

Eva is deeply empathetic, even more than Misha. She is capable of absorbing and feeling emotions as viscerally as if they were her own, which stems from her growing up amongst nature, listening deeply to all the movements and patterns of the earth. However, unlike Misha, she doesn’t have the social intelligence / self awareness to always understand the emotions or control her reactions to them. Her tunnel vision can mean that she’s often too preoccupied with herself to notice what's going on with other people. Her sympathy also has a very short rein.

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

She’s not a fearful person and never gets nightmares, but there are occasional times when she can get extremely stressed due to complications in ballet. Again, she’s always reassured by her parents. Since she’s a bit far away from them now, the steady quiet of her partner is a calming influence. She’s never been alone in her life, so in that case... we shall see.

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

She doesn’t have the patience to keep a journal. Tried once when she was a kid, kept it for three days, and never touched it again.

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Her best friends are Mako, Sasha, Piper, and Misha, and they’ve all been a tight-knit group of friends for one semester now. They are actually her first close friends out of her extended family, because her competitive nature and differences from ballet traditions always made her a bit of a loner, despite her natural friendliness. In the professional setting she spends most of her life in, she’s never on the lookout for making friends, and romantic partner wise, she’s never cared for that either.

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

I really like her sensory depth. The strength of which she feels things and her constant movement is enjoyable to write.

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

I have been super nice to her... so far. She’s sailing high on competition wins and lead roles right now, which isn’t to say she isn’t suffering for it, but she’s used to being the best and has become comfortable in that position.

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how baby is your OC?

She is a hardcore and mature person for her age, as the intensity of pre-professional ballet required her to grow up fast. However, she does have a childish streak that shines through when she’s very excited, and most vividly in the safe calm of her partner. Her peak baby moments are when she’s sleepy or cold and half-consciously snuggles as deep as she can into Mako’s arms. She’s also dumb as fuck but lets not count that. 4/10.

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

There haven’t been any traumatic events in her life yet, because she’s been sheltered by her parents, who try their best not to let their own traumatic pasts cycle into their children. I think that’s the key difference between Eva and her partner, and the very different ways they deal with their very similar ballet-centric lives.

#thanks for sending dude #i took out a few questions that were already known information #this was an essay of an answer but also the only ask so i figure it's okay #quite a few of these questions actually show up in the next chapter!#evangelinekingston #characterask #genfour #lilaremonn #thesimperiuscurse

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jasonbehrs · 3 years ago

Photo

let me be your guarantee

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

"You could stand to be a bit more selfish, you know."

"You could stand to be a bit more courteous in general, so I guess we both have things we need to work on."

fandom: kpop, super junior characters: ryeowook, kyuhyun ship: kyuwook genre: friendship, romance themes: genderbent, rule 63, high school, a day in the life, fluff (arguable) word count: 5.2k

read it below or on ffnet, wattpad, aff, or (new!) ao3

A/N (8.27.2021): I have no heterosexual explanation for the effects Ryeowook and Kyuhyun in drag have on me (or my creative process, evidently).

Rating for mildly suggestive language and graphic depictions of geometry. Title comes from Poster Girl by the Backstreet Boys. Cover art made by me. Thanks to Amy for the beta! (Even though you're already so over high school, haha.)

Uploading this as part of kyuwook month on twitter! I actually was gonna publish it wayyy back on July 21, but I waited so I could participate in ryeonamickyuo's #kyuwooksaturdays event on twitter lol. #marketing

~~~

A soothing chime alarm wakes Ryeowook up before dawn. She lets herself stretch in bed, enjoying the warm comfort of her blankets for a moment longer before getting up for a shower. She changes into the outfit she had prepared the night before: a sparkly white sweater and a pink skirt fluffed with tulle, and she painstakingly dries and curls her long lavender hair just the way she likes it before applying some light makeup. After scrutinising her appearance for another minute, she decides to add a small braid to her hair for fun.

With ease and minimal noise, Ryeowook flits through the kitchen to make enough breakfast for her and her parents. She's feeling like sweet potatoes and tofu this morning. She leaves her parents' portions in the oven to stay warm before serving herself, and she mentally checks through yesterday's to-do list to make sure she's all set for today while she chews.

Her homework is printed and neatly filed in their own plastic sleeves as a sustainable alternative to staples.

The cinnamon rolls she made the night before, with a small batch of gluten-free versions set aside, are individually packed in a tin waiting in the fridge.

After she brushes her teeth and puts on her silver flats, she'll be all ready for the walk to school.

Satisfied with her preparations, Ryeowook hums softly to herself as she washes the dishes after eating. With the sink by the kitchen window, she is able to catch the first rays of sunlight streak across the brightening sky, and she smiles. Today is going to be a good day.

~~~

Today is already a shit day.

The alarm blares once again after snoozing it for the third time just as someone bangs on her door, and the annoying sunlight shining through her bedroom window manages to directly hit her eyes. Kyuhyun frowns into her pillow. She was having an excellent dream about kimchi ramen that is already slipping out of her grasp the more she joins the land of the conscious.

She spares a second to flip the bird in Ahra's direction, knowing full well her older sister won't see it through the closed door, before rummaging through her unruly closet for whatever passes the sniff test. She changes into a pleather bodycon skirt (just long enough to meet the school's dress code, but no longer) and a long-sleeve red crop top in a half-awake daze.

Kyuhyun offhandedly recalls she left her homework in the printer last night. Hopefully she remembers to stuff that in her bag before she leaves.

Not one for morning showers, she simply runs a brush through her silky blonde hair a few times just to get the birds' nests out, wipes the oil off her face, and swipes on a thick cat eye to complete her look.

At the breakfast table, Kyuhyun eats in silence while ignoring the looks her dad gives her, no doubt at her mildly revealing outfit. She gives him a side hug anyway before leaving her dishes in the sink for later. She finishes her morning routine, grabs her keys and homework, and shuts the door behind her when she leaves for school.

~~~

Ryeowook cheerily pushes open the school doors with plenty of time left before the first bell. Instead of her locker, she walks purposefully through the hallways for the principal's office.

"Good morning, Ryeowook!" the matronly receptionist-cum-secretary greets when she sees Ryeowook sweep in.

"Good morning, Mrs. Oh!" Ryeowook chirps. "How has your hypoglycemia been treating you?" she asks as she gathers the paperwork she needs for her homeroom duties.

"Probably better if I remembered to eat breakfast in the mornings," Mrs. Oh responds with good humour, pushing her butterfly-themed sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose.

"I thought you might say that," Ryeowook says while rummaging through her bag. "Here, I made these last night. It's gluten-free, and you can't even tell!" She offers a cinnamon roll from her tin, and she smiles at the way Mrs. Oh lights up at the sight.

"Oh, Ryeowook! You're such a dear!" Mrs. Oh effuses.

Ryeowook bows in acknowledgement and waves goodbye, the papers for homeroom loose in her hand. She finally makes her way to her locker—the inside decorated with magnets, pictures, and a helpful calendar—so that she can get the books she'll need for all her pre-lunch classes.

In the hallways, she is greeted at every turn.

"Hey, Ryeowook! I hope you had a great weekend!" "I did, thanks! Happy Monday!"

"Oh my god, your outfit is completely adorable. It really brings out the lavender of your hair." "Wow, you think? I'll invest in more pink then~"

"Thanks so much for helping with the banner last week! It was a hit at our event; everyone wanted a photo with it." "No problem; I'm so glad to hear that! Like I always say, there's no such thing as too much glitter!"

These microtransactions of joy she gets while walking through the halls energise her like nothing else. She loves being helpful and knowing people care about her enough to say hi. It makes her life as a member of the school's community and as a student leader so fulfilling.

She makes it into homeroom with a minute to spare, sets her stuff at her desk, then places the tin of cinnamon rolls on the teachers' desk for everyone's enjoyment.

The bell rings, and the wattage turns up on her smile. "Good morning!" she calls out, easily cutting through the chatter with her high and bright voice. "There are cinnamon rolls at the front for everyone. Feel free to grab some while I take attendance. The ones swirled in a clockwise pattern are gluten free, so please save them for those with that dietary restriction!"

The typical gratitudes spill out—"Oh my god, these taste amazing." "You're so thoughtful, Ryeowook!" "Please marry me."—and she preens at the praise as she goes down the list in her hand.

It isn't until she gets to a specific name near the top, until she doesn't hear the typical 'Present!' that should follow, that she gives her first frown of the day.

She quickly shakes it off and finishes up, returning to her seat with every intention to rehearse her presentation one more time before the bell ending homeroom rings.

~~~

Kyuhyun steps into school right after the warning bell for first period rings, and she seamlessly joins the throngs of people hustling to their first class.

Well, she would join them, if there were throngs to join. Students stop in their tracks and fall silent as soon as they sense her presence, causing nearby students to quiet in confusion then in understanding such that a bubble of non-motion and non-noise follows her as she walks. The typical morning chatter resumes at a lowered volume from a safe distance of six feet behind her, and she is vain enough to presume at least 40% of those conversations are about her.

The stares go unacknowledged of course. So do the hapless love declarations from desperate freshmen and presumptive date offers from cocky upperclassmen. They might as well have said, "Kyuhyun, I bet you don't have better things to do with your time than stroke my ego and go dutch on an oily dinner at a chain restaurant after school." As if.

While leaving another potential suitor in the dust, a janitor accidentally turns on an industrial fan facing her direction just as she takes off her sunglasses. Coupled with the paused state of her classmates, her languid pace through the hall looks like a slow-motion runway walk that even Naomi Campbell in her prime would envy.

Kyuhyun's locker is empty save for the jacket she just shoved into it, then she goes straight to her first class of the day. She slides into her seat—not all the way in the back; cliche, much?—and, as if on cue, the whispers start.

"Do you think her hair is natural?' "Of course not, look at her eyebrows." "She could be dyeing her eyebrows!"

"I heard she drives to school? I thought only third-years and up were allowed to do that!" "I don't think allowances are all it takes to stop someone like her."

"Cho Kyuhyun in red should be one of the seven deadly sins." "That sin already exists, and it's called 'lust,' bro." "No no no no no. There's lust, and there's Cho Kyuhyun in red."

Strangers referring to you by your full name in some sort of layman's equivalent of a celebrity mononym has such a satisfying, powerful feel to it. Alas, save for a sly smirk, these too are ignored.

The smirk is promptly wiped off her face as soon as the teacher walks in, as if their life's greatest joy is teaching 16 year-olds about Korean peninsular history at 8:30 in the morning, and Kyuhyun already lolls her head back in disinterest.

~~~

Ryeowook snaps her hand up, a lone beacon of preparedness in a sea of bored or anxious faces.

"Thanks for volunteering, Ryeowook! Whenever you're ready." The teacher gestures to the podium with a sweep of their hands, pleased with the student's enthusiasm.

Ryeowook flounces out of her seat to the front of the classroom and loads up her presentation on the laptop hooked up to the projector. "S.E.S. as a Pop Culture Juggernaut" appears on screen in bold letters, and the subtle sounds of rustling fill the classroom as students sit up in interest.

"Good morning, everyone! Today I'm going to present on the seminal idol girl group S.E.S. Through interdisciplinary and anthropological analysis, I will illustrate how the mark they've left on Korean culture at the time of their debut carries ripple effects on the entertainment industry that can be observed to this day."

She takes a moment to look over the surprised and interested faces of her classmates and teacher, then smiles internally. She's going to crush this.

She clicks to the next slide. "S.E.S. is a girl group that debuted in 1997 under SM Entertainment. That may seem like a fairly innocuous sentence on its own; in which case, I'll inform you that they are the first girl group ever debuted in K-pop history…"

When the class learned their Forensics and Communication midterm assignment would be free-form, many of her classmates asked if she'd partner with them for a debate. Their topics were interesting enough. She would have customarily had little problem arguing on the cost-benefit analysis of a college education or the validity of prison sentences served overseas (to name a few).

But she graciously turned them all down. In her heart, she knew she'd simply enjoy it more if she gave a presentation on something more personal… and studies show passion for your work drives results. She expects nothing less than an A+.

Thanks to the confident excitement lacing her voice and a powerpoint that took her two weeks to perfect, she handily grabs the interest and attention of every student in the class, even the ones typically uninterested in idol culture. She winds up leading the class in a discussion on the inherent greater interest the Korean general public reserves for girl groups in contrast to the supersaturated boy band market, and the teacher has to regretfully cut them short to allow for the other midterm assignments that had to be seen that day.

"Thanks again, Ryeowook, for that illuminating and impassioned presentation! Why don't we keep that energy going, hmm? I know it may seem like a tough act to follow, but who's ready to present next?"

Expecting the worst, the teacher is pleasantly surprised when a majority of the class raises their hands to volunteer. The teacher looks over at Ryeowook and sends a quick wink in thanks, and Ryeowook gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

~~~

Kyuhyun clicks 'downvote' on a thread in the r/poppunk subreddit. As if Retrieve Me the Skyline has anything on Querying Quinn.

Just then, she senses a presence walk up to her desk. She lifts her eyes up from her phone—hidden behind an obviously strategically upright notebook in a semblance of respect for the teacher—to find said teacher looking at her disapprovingly. She sighs without remorse and puts her cellphone away, not one to fight once she's caught red-handed.

"Thank you, Ms. Cho. Now, as I was saying: Just like how Korean borrows from Chinese and English words, English borrows words from many other cultures. This is part of why their grammar rules are so inconsistent. Therefore, it may be helpful to learn the etymology of certain words to reinforce these rules. For example, 'geese' is the plural form of 'goose' because 'goose' was borrowed from German, and Proto-Germanic grammar does allow for plural forms for their nouns. On the other hand, 'moose' does not pluralise to 'meese' because it was borrowed from an Indigenous American language which did not pluralise their nouns."

Kyuhyun barely has the presence of mind to suppress a groan. If this is supposed to be an English class, why is the teacher talking about German all of a sudden? She isn't gaining any more while paying attention as she was while scrolling on her phone! This is why she doesn't bother. It would take her less time and less effort to simply read the textbook.

Honestly, that's how she usually spends her classes. She's not against learning necessarily—if she has to be here, she might as well—but she is against the fluff shit that most teachers feel the need to sprinkle in to keep people's attention or reinforce learning. If it's not going to be on the national exam at the end of the year, it's just a waste of time.

It doesn't help that Kyuhyun's a whole league above the mouthbreathers in this high school anyway. What other people need several hours of studying to understand sinks in for her after a single lecture. She has the makings to be every teacher's dream student, but she's made it very clear: Don't make her participate in class, and she won't eviscerate their self-esteem in exchange. It's an elegant system with an 87.5% success rate.

As her schedule has it, the only class where it doesn't work is her next one. The phys ed grade is almost entirely predicated on participation; and unfortunately for her, the venn diagram of men who have already had their insecurities abused to the point of desensitisation by their superiors during conscription and men who decide to become high school PE teachers seems to be a circle.

Her solution for this class is admittedly less elegant.

Even as the next period is just about to begin and the halls thin out, Kyuhyun still manages to easily breeze past the bumbling office receptionist trying to prevent her from leaving the grounds during school hours.

(Hey, she's gonna get a 0 for participation whether she's wasting time sitting on the bleachers and bored out of her mind or whether she's going to the mall to grab the new Napping with Nixies album. Might as well do the fun one. Bonus: instead of paying the Korean public school system for the rehydrated prison rations they consider 'food,' she can grab lunch at the foodcourt!)

~~~

Ryeowook spends her lunch period like a jetsetting CEO, the precious few minutes taken up by meetings with various teachers, students, and—today—even an administrator.

"Thanks so much for taking the time to meet with me, Ryeowook."

"Of course, Mr. Park! I'm happy to represent the needs of my class. Let me know if I can help with this initiative again later once it gains more momentum."

"I certainly will. Have a good rest of your day, Ms. Kim," Mr. Park replies warmly, his deep voice and barrel-chested physique radiating authority and paternity.

The administrator walks her out of his office, and they bow to each other at the door. The clock in the hallway tells her there is barely any time to make it to the cafeteria and eat a meal, so she sighs and resignedly walks back to her locker to exchange her books with the ones she'd need for her post-lunch classes.

She remembers there is a vending machine along the way to her next classroom, so she pivots her route slightly so that she can pick up a granola bar and a bottle of water. They'll be easy to finish before class starts.

"You know, you'd have time to eat a real lunch and attend your precious meetings if they just expanded our lunch hour to be an actual hour," a voice says from behind her just as she feeds a paper bill into the machine.

"I don't mind. It means we have more time spent in our classes."

She bends at the knee to retrieve her purchases then gracefully hops back up to twirl on her heel, steadfastly ignoring the other's presence as she continues on her way.

"I think we can definitely stand to spend less time in class. Come on; we already sacrifice the most formative years of our lives confined to these 'hallowed halls,' and they can't even let us digest our meals properly?" her nuisance heckles as Ryeowook is followed.

"I bet the Student Council would love to have an impassioned, opinionated person such as yourself on the panel. If you have ideas for change, you're free to share them with people who are empowered to do something about it," Ryeowook comments mildly, gaze trained forward even as the other pulls up beside her.

"The student council is a mockery of democracy and only serves as a mere figurehead for the students' collective political and bartering power to the school administration, and you know it."

Finally, Ryeowook stops. She squares her shoulders and looks her antagoniser in the eye. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mock an extracurricular about which I'm very passionate to my face, Kyuhyun-ssi."

The taller smirks. "As much as you'd appreciate time to sit and eat lunch with your friends for once?"

They are not alone in the hallway they've entered into. With an almost imperceptible turn of her head, Ryeowook can even see some students eavesdropping on their conversation, eager to hypothesise with their friends what the two most popular girls in school yet for completely opposite reasons are doing talking to each other.

"Hey, isn't that Kim Ryeowook?" "Talking to Cho Kyuhyun?" "Hold up, they know each other?"

If she could hear them, then they could certainly hear her, and that reminder is enough to reign in her annoyance. She allows herself ten seconds to collect her composure.

When she speaks again, her voice is airy and pleasant. "Well, if that's all, I have to go and spend what's left of my lunch period doing something a little more constructive than arguing with someone who'd rather complain than make the best of a situation. If you'll excuse me."

"You should have gotten fig newtons!" Kyuhyun calls as Ryeowook moves around her. Ryeowook counts it as a small blessing that the other does not follow. "They're easier to eat in class! Less noisy."

"You're not allowed to eat food in class," Ryeowook retorts plainly without even turning her head.

She can feel the other's eyes on her as she walks away, but she ignores it as she takes a swig of her water.

(She finishes her bar before crossing the threshold of the classroom, arriving before even the teacher does and finding a half of a sandwich wrap from the deli across the street waiting on her desk.)

~~~

The surface of Kyuhyun's desk is empty save for her arms and elbows organised to support her languid daydreaming. Outside the window, she watches as three red cars pass by.

More so than her other subjects, math just makes sense to her without even trying. There's less up for interpretation, there are consistent and logical rules, and patterns are clearer with numbers.

If she doesn't need to try, then why would she? So she hands in passable attempts at homework, texts throughout lecture, and is generally unresponsive during the class. Ms. Kang would love nothing more than to suspend her for insubordination and churlishness; but Kyuhyun is her best student by far, and they both know it.

"If the altitude of right triangle ABC intersects with the hypotenuse at D, what equation is always true?"

In fact, Kyuhyun would want to skip this class too, but there's just something about its specific learning environment that keeps her attending lesson after lesson.

In her periphery, the student in front of her and one row over hurriedly draws out the question in her notebook to analyse it. She raises her hand in excitement a moment later.

"Yes, Ryeowook?" "AD over AC is equal to AC over BD!"

Kyuhyun suppresses a scoff. The teacher smiles sympathetically, knowing that Ryeowook is doing her best, and says, "Sorry, but no."

Ryeowook pouts. "Aigoooo," she intones as she looks back at her drawing, no doubt trying to understand where she went wrong.

Encouraged by Ryeowook's attempt, more students try their hand at the problem.

"AC over AD equals BD over BC?" "Nope."

"AD over CD equals DB over CD!" "If you bothered to write that down, you'd immediately see why that cannot possibly be the correct answer."

The class lapses into silence, and Ms. Kang begins calling out desperately. "Anyone? Anyone else?" When it was apparent no one else knew the answer, she sighs. "Kyuhyun?"

"AD over AC is equal to CD over BC," she recites boredly, gaze still trained beyond the window. Forget being capable of immediately answering a direct question; if anyone had been observing her during this lesson, they would have thought she wasn't even paying attention at all.

"That is correct," the teacher admits begrudgingly. "Remember class, due to the AA Similarity Postulate…"

Kyuhyun lets the teacher's words drift in one ear and out the other, heeding no further sounds until the bell rings.

The end of the school day is finally upon them.

As much as she looks forward to this point every day, she sits in her chair and lets every other student file out first before packing her things. She's in no rush.

Kyuhyun drops her bookbag off at her locker and wanders the halls aimlessly instead, spending extra time in the art corridor to see the latest student works. The freshmen are working on watercolours, apparently.

After an unfortunate encounter in the bathroom, she beelines for the cafeteria, which happens to be in a completely other building, and runs into the second-to-last person she wants to see right now.

"What are you still doing here, Ms. Cho?" Mr. Park asks with suspicion.

"Just hanging out," she says with a shrug.

"I know you refuse to partake in any of our extracurriculars, but don't you have something better to do than loiter? I'm sure you have homework or some such."

"Maybe if this school started offering a curriculum that actually required me to reinforce what I learned at home, I would."

Mr. Park's eyes narrow in contempt. "Whatever delinquent nonsense you're up to, do it outside of my high school!" he bellows.

Kyuhyun's phone buzzes in her hand just then, and she uses the same hand to offer a sarcastic salute. "Your wish, Mr. Park," she offers in parting before rushing as fast as she can to her locker. She can't wait to get home.

~~~

When her home's doorbell rings its seasonal chime, Ryeowook is several pages deep into her biology packet. She begrudgingly sets down her work and gets up to look out the window.

Her view is exasperating.

"You weren't in homeroom this morning… again," she says in lieu of a greeting, walking back to where she was doing homework in the living room after letting in the guest.

"Babe, don't be like that," the guest whines while she takes off her shoes. "You know that homeroom is a gigantic waste of time. It's just Big Academia's way of—"

"—'Training students to get used to being herded like cattle,' yeah yeah. Tell it to someone who cares."

"Oh? This isn't a suggestion I should take to your precious student council?"

"I don't have time for you right now. I have a whole biology packet to complete before I can start baking," Ryeowook says as she waves said packet in the air for emphasis.

Kyuhyun pouts with her whole face. "Why bother letting me over if you're not even going to pay attention to me!"

Ryeowook sighs and repositions her laptop to rest on the arm of the couch, invitation unspoken. Kyuhyun drops her petulant act immediately and happily trods over to stretch out on the couch and rest her head on her girlfriend's lap. She wiggles in place to get comfortable and pulls out her phone. Ryeowook's typing provides a light, inconsistent soundtrack to her mindless scrolling; and it feels nice.

"How'd your presentation go?" she asks after a while.

"I almost accidentally commandeered the whole period because people were so excited about my topic." Ryeowook tried going for deadpan, but the pride in her voice was unmistakable.

"Well, duh. No one can listen to you talk about something you're interested in and stay indifferent."

"Yeah, it's cool how emotions are infectious," Ryeowook comments offhandedly.

"Sure, but I meant specifically you. You're, like, the most passionate person I know. I bet you had the best topic out of anyone there, anyway."

Ryeowook doesn't reply, but Kyuhyun cranes her neck just enough to watch a grateful and pleased smile cross the other's face.

Satisfied with how awesome of a girlfriend she is, she keeps going. "Did you like the wrap?"

Kyuhyun can somehow feel the change a split-second before she hears it. "It was delicious; thank you; and never do it again," Ryeowook responds with a clipped tone.

Kyuhyun rolls her eyes. "Stop sacrificing your lunch time for things that can be handled over email, and maybe I will."

"I meant skipping class; and don't even try to deny it!" Ryeowook adds as soon as she hears Kyuhyun's sharp intake of breath in preparation for a non-sequitur argument. "I know you. You thought to do it only because you passed by the deli on your way back from wherever truant kids spend their time."

"Napping with Nixies released a new album," Kyuhyun defends.

"And the store would have still had copies for you to buy during the weekend," Ryeowook retorts.

"First day sales are important, Ryeowook!"

"So is your education, Kyuhyun!" Ryeowook parrots back in the same whining tone.

"Spoken like a true cog in Big Academia's machine."

"This sentence probably won't make sense to a self-inflicted lone wolf, but collaboration happens best in person. And I prefer a small lunch anyway." Ryeowook tacks on that last bit like an afterthought. Kyuhyun might have believed her, except she's seen the way Ryeowook packs for picnic dates and knows that statement to be patently untrue.

"You could stand to be a bit more selfish with your time, you know."

"You could stand to be a bit more courteous in general, so I guess we both have things we need to work on," Ryeowook fires back easily.

Kyuhyun strikes the couch with her arms in offense. "I'm plenty courteous! I bought you lunch 'cause I knew you wouldn't have had a real meal otherwise!"

"I meant to people that aren't me!" Ryeowook clarifies exasperatedly.

"Hmph. People that aren't you don't deserve it. It's like Kanye-sunbaenim says: 'Asshole to the world but never to your girl.'"

"… I don't know what's worse: that I'm dating a girl that gets her love advice from Kanye West or the fact that I had to hear the phrase 'Kanye-sunbaenim' with my own two ears."

"Well, what if I told you I also get my life advice from Kimmy K-unnie? That way it counts as women empowerment. Don't you like that kind of stuff?"

Ryeowook finally tears her focus away from her work to eye Kyuhyun incredulously.

Kyuhyun innocently looks up through her eyelashes to meet the other's gaze. "Well if you're not into what I'm posting, don't look."

Mercilessly, Ryeowook shoves Kyuhyun off her lap. "Goodbye," she says as she places her laptop back on her folded legs.

Kyuhyun scrambles up from the floor and looks at the laptop with thinly veiled disdain and jealousy. "Let me back!"

"Not until you're nicer to people."

"I'm nice to people! Today, I heard Yom Syejin gossipping in the bathroom that the only way I could have avoided detention this year is by blowing Mr. Park, and I managed to walk away without dunking her head in the toilet. That seems plenty nice to me."

"Excuse me, Yom Syejin said what?!"

Ah shit, Kyuhyun knew she shouldn't have said anything. This is what she gets for thinking humourous delivery is enough to mask unfortunate content.

"Really, it's not a big deal. I handled it," Kyuhyun maintains.

"I'm sure you did, honey. Come on, help me bake some snickerdoodles," Ryeowook says as she immediately heads into the kitchen.

This would be an excellent idea, except that Kyuhyun can clearly see Ryeowook's biology packet is still unfinished and that Ryeowook's tone of voice sounded disingenuously peppy.

~~~

Ryeowook makes it into homeroom the next day with a minute to spare, sets her stuff at her desk, then places a tin of snickerdoodles on the teachers' desk for everyone's enjoyment.

The bell rings, and the wattage turns up on her smile. "Good morning!" she calls out, easily cutting through the chatter with her high and bright voice. "There are snickerdoodles at the front for everyone. Feel free to grab some while I take attendance. I didn't have time last night to make as many as I wanted to, so I evenly divided the batch into goodie bags for you all! I wrote your names on them too, so please only take one. I'll know if you don't," she faux-threatens with a cute wink.

The typical gratitudes spill out—"You're the best!" "Thanks, Ryeowook!" "Please marry me?"—and she preens at the praise as she goes down the list in her hand.

It isn't until she notices one person in particular eagerly grabbing her designated bag that Ryeowook lets a private smile cross her face.

~~~

from: Kyuhyun-ssi (Geometry) oh my god yom skank-jin just bolted out of my english class like the new galaxy was on sale tf?

from: wookie💜 Maybe if you bothered attending homeroom this morning, you'd have an answer to your crudely-phrased question.

from: Kyuhyun-ssi (Geometry) oh my god what did you do

from: wookie💜 Did you know Syejinnie's favourite cookies are snickerdoodles?

from: Kyuhyun-ssi (Geometry) OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU DO

from: wookie💜 Bathrooms are for shitting, not shit-talking.

from: Kyuhyun-ssi (Geometry) i am madly in love with you

from: wookie💜 Stop texting me and pay attention in class!

from: wookie💜 And I love you too 💛

~~~

A/N (8.27.2021): Thanks for reading! To prove my thanks, here is fanart that almost made it into the cover photo.

#super junior #super junior fanfiction #kyuwook #kyuhyun #ryeowook #cho kyuhyun #kim ryeowook #jaso*

3 notes · View notes

misedejem · 4 years ago

Text

I wrote 75 headcanons about Kannao

25 for Kanji, 25 for Naoto, 25 for them as a couple

Why?

Why not.

Kanji Tatsumi

1. He does actually need glasses, but he was hesitant to ask for contacts, so he spent most of P4 struggling to see until Naoto brought up that he looked like he was having a hard time. He wore contacts for a bit, but eventually he just stuck to glasses.

2. The scar on his head was a source of speculation for the other members of the Investigation Team for years, because he never cared to explain, resulting in some very wacky theories. Eventually they found out it was just from a fight with a gang member, but considering he got it when he was twelve, the story is still pretty interesting.

3. He hates mentioning medical stuff to anybody, but he’s prone to fainting spells out of nowhere. Thankfully, it never happened in the TV, which several members of the IT very angrily said to him when he blacked out in front of them one day.

4. He’s the spitting image of his father, only with shorter hair. He could never let it grow out for that reason.

5. He’s the only one from the Investigation Team B to go to college. He studies textiles and trains to become a teacher in Tokyo. He ends up being an art teacher at a middle school.

6. He’s actually pretty good at literature and humanities subjects, though he struggles applying those skills in a school setting until a teacher who hasn’t given up on him yet helps him through them.

7. Rise forced him to take dance classes the minute he moved to the city because he was ‘super good at it dammit’. Ditto the drums. He can sing too, but she’s not allowed to know that.

8. He actually just tends to go along with Rise’s plans a lot, partially because he knows her well enough to know stopping her is futile, and also because she understands his tastes very well once she learns what they are

9. He doesn’t dislike the way he used to dress in high school, but it wasn’t quite him. It needed more cuteness, and softer colours, which is how he started to dress once he graduated high school.

10. The black hair and glasses stay forever, but when he’s sewing, he still wears his hair pushed back. Yukiko gave him a hairband for it when she noticed him growing slowly more irritated with it getting in his eyes.

11. As well as his nose and ears, he also gets an eyebrow piercing in college.

12. He manages to make a small group of friends in college, with his course being the perfect way for him to find likeminded individuals who applaud his skills rather than shunning them

13. Kanji is the best cook in the Investigation Team. His baking skills, especially, are exemplary.

14. He has an online, worldwide store where he sells his plushies and the occasional drawing and outfit. He’s semi-fluent in English by the time he graduates college, so when Naoto travels abroad sometimes he goes too and hits up the conventions.

15. Ann is his go-to model once they meet. He helps her with outfits for a college final once and they work together so well that she sticks with him.

16. The reason Koromaru dislikes him is that he can tell he’s kinda rough with physical affection. He doesn’t realise it for the longest time because nobody points it out. He is really good with animals otherwise though, and he’s also really good with kids.

17. He’s a back-up fighter for the Shadow Ops should they need him, by virtue of being married to their resident detective.

18. The main reason he keeps training his body though is actually because Chie is determined to beat him at arm wrestling one day, and he’s too proud to let anyone win without a fight.

19. When Naoto’s cat, Mochi, had kittens, he got to name the one they kept. His name is Pocky. He has a little leather jacket that Kanji painstakingly crafted one night when he couldn’t sleep.

20. He needs a lot of alcohol to get drunk (which makes nights out with the IT interesting for him, given that the others are all serious lightweights)

21. If you give him a life sim, especially that one with the cute animals, you will not see him again for days at a time. He’s not huge on video games, but life sims will take over his life

22. Even if he does retreat into a cave to build a pristine village though, he will still probably emerge with a smooth face because he doesn’t grow facial hair very easily. He can, but it takes a while.

23. He can’t sleep as easily unless he’s holding something soft.

24. The easiest time to get him to speak his mind about certain things is when he’s sick and more vulnerable, which doesn’t happen very often. For example, the IT had no idea their jokes at his expense bothered him until he confessed it while extremely out of it on cold medication one time. He doesn’t remember saying it either, but he did notice they were more sincere with him after that.

25. Everybody in the Investigation Team ends up facing their Shadow again in their adulthood, but by the time Shadow Kanji returns, Kanji has become so accepting of the self the Shadow had represented in the past that he takes on a completely different form. Naoto is the only other person with this same experience.

Naoto Shirogane:

1. By the time they stop growing, Naoto is nearly 5’1” and they absolutely make it a point to let their friends know

2. They don’t really know how to look after their hair at all, hence the cap and general messiness. They tend to forget about it until it becomes too long and gets all tangled.

3. They’re very accident prone, and are covered in a lot of scars from their childhood. The worst one though is one on their back from that time Sho stabbed them at Junes.

4. One of said scars came from their neighbours’ huge dog biting them when they were five. To this day, they’re still absolutely terrified of big dogs.

5. They’ve experienced panic attacks for most of their life, though they occur less frequently as an adult.

6. They resemble their mother more than their father, but the height comes from the Shirogane side. Grampa Shirogane was quite small as well.

7. They are the only member of the Investigation Team who can tolerate Rise’s cooking. The others suspect potential spice immunity.

8. As well as piano and ballroom dance, they were also trained in a choir as a child, but fell out of favour with it in their teens. The Velvet Siblings hold a final Theatre Showdown with their guests in 2019, and this is when Naoto fully rediscovers their musical side again.

9. If you ask Naoto how much those specially tailor-made clothes cost, they will mumble and then change the subject

10. Naoto returns to Yasogami as a full-time student in third year after Mitsuru enrols Labrys in the school out of nowhere, intent on investigating her motives.

11. They hold the school’s record for highest graded paper for decades. It was on Sherlock Holmes.

12. Naoto has written a lot of Sherlock Holmes fanfiction as a kid. The others are aware this exists, but are not allowed to read it.

13. They don’t attend college after graduation, but don’t have much time to figure out what they will do. The mental shutdown incidents begin the same year, and Naoto decided to help the Shadow Operatives with it as much as possible.

14. Naoto hates the title ‘detective prince’, and actively tries to shed it. Akechi was a godsend in that light.

15. They actually hate the media’s attention in general but figured that they may as well use the platform they have for a good cause. They want to be the kind of person they needed to see on TV as a kid, but they very vocally opposed the ‘detective prince’ crap until it ended – which it did quite abruptly when the truth about Akechi came out.

16. Much of what Goro Akechi likes, he got from Naoto’s indirect influence, from the way he dresses to knowledge of that jazz club in Kichijoji. They’re more of a regular there than he is.

17. Rise set them up on social media, but they don’t really get how to use it. Their fans discovered it though, so they still have a fair number of followers.

18. Naoto has a slight friendly rivalry with the people who run a local escape room place. Their goal as a company is to one day leave Naoto stumped.

19. Naoto doesn’t actually like coffee. Too bitter. Tea is their go-to.

20. They got a standard-size motorcycle at eighteen but doesn’t drive a car. Yakushiji and Kanji refuse to let them behind the wheel.

21. After becoming comfortable with their childish side once again, they became openly enamoured once more with Neo Featherman, and have a lot of very expensive figures on display in their house. They even cosplayed at a convention once with some of Kanji’s college friends (though it was difficult to convince them to do it)

22. Yosuke was paid back all the money the IT owed him shortly after Naoto joined the team and discovered they were mooching from him. Yosuke doesn’t know for certain where it came from.

23. They adopted a kitten they named Mochi in 2017, who they found abandoned outside a supermarket (in an old box that had contained a shipment of mochi, hence the name). She’s an orange tabby, and she became something of a comfort animal when Naoto was at their lowest.

24. Their grandfather died from an illness in early February 2017. They didn’t handle his loss well, and they ended up falling into a depression that they never really came out of, though they weren’t able to admit that they weren’t okay. It was an encounter with their Shadow that eventually led to them seeking help.

25. While they’re still a Private Detective in theory, most of the work they do following the events of P5 are Shadow-related. The Shirogane Agency became one of the Shadow Operatives’ closest allies. Makoto Niijima is currently doing an internship there (they met after the Phantom Thieves helped the SOs deal with another incident in Tokyo in 2018)

Kannao

1. Naoto ‘came down with a fever’ around the time of the Love Meets Bonds festival that had absolutely nothing to do with their friend Kanji suddenly seeming way cooler than before.

2. The ‘fever’ got worse when they started having classes together in school, and Naoto agreed to help Kanji with his college entrance exams.

3. At this point Kanji had kinda accepted his feelings existed, but were unrequited, and that he didn’t want that to interfere with their friendship. Naoto was one of the only people who really got him, and he didn’t want to lose them so soon after building a rapport with them. Little did he know.

4. Naoto was the first one to eventually confess, once Rise, Yu, Grampa, Nanako, several books and google searches, and a random stall vendor at the summer festival in their hometown had convinced them that the weird feeling in their chest wasn’t actually an illness. They did it in the summer of 2013, at said festival.

5. They were also the first one to say they were in love. The realisation hit them one day as they were watching Kanji play a cute life-simulator game in his college dorm.

6. While they’re no longer awkward around each other all the time, there are ways they can still make the other very flustered. For example, with Naoto, it’s any time Kanji is wearing a suit.

7. They got married at Christmas in 2019. Kanji had a proposal planned. Naoto misread the vibe and proposed early and spontaneously on the day he had planned to, though he still got to go ahead with his as well.

8. Kanji doesn’t really like PDA. They get a lot of people staring at them anyway because of how they look, or because Naoto is recognisable from the TV, and he doesn’t want to make the stares worse. In private though, he’s the more affectionate one.

9. Naoto accidentally fuelled the rumours that ‘Kanji Tatsumi is in a biker gang’ again when they first started dating by parking their motorcycle outside the textile shop. Ma Tatsumi was quick to tell anybody who questioned it that it belonged to her son’s significant other long before she was supposed to know they were dating

10. Kanji keeps forgetting to specify which number in his phone is for Naoto’s personal phone and which is for work, which has lead to such wonderful anecdotes as ‘I accidentally hired a private investigator to fix my broken car’

11. They’re both used to the other bolting upright in bed at 3am because they’ve had an idea for a new pair of socks for the cat, or another hypothesis for a case. Naoto also wakes up quite a bit due to nightmares.

12. They lived together with the rest of the Investigation Team since 2016, but they don’t get an apartment as just the two of them until the year they get married. It doesn’t take long before there is an entire room in that apartment filled from floor to ceiling with toys.

13. Kanji is much tidier and more organised than Naoto, even though Naoto isn’t bad, so he’s the one who figures out where things should go. Decorating the house is his favourite thing

14. They are the unparalleled board-game kings. Somehow, they’re an unstoppable force of nature when paired together for them.

15. Surprising everyone, Naoto is the more likely of the two to use pet names. They are the only person who won’t be threatened if they call him ‘Kan-chan’.

16. Before it became common knowledge amongst Naoto’s fanclub that Kanji was their boyfriend, they thought he was their bodyguard. (The Risette fandom had the same idea)

17. Kanji never helped that rumour die, considering that when the media tries to shove cameras into Naoto’s face, he yells obscenities and gets in the way until the footage is unusable.

18. They have a daughter in 2025, when Naoto is 30 and Kanji is 29. She’s named Chihiro, mostly because it’s like a phonetic portmanteau of Kanji’s father’s name (Koichi Tatsumi) and Naoto’s grandfather’s (Yasuhiro Shirogane). But also, that was the name of the actor who played Naoto’s favourite version of Feather Swan. Naoto isn’t creative enough to come up with a portmanteau.

19. They are each 80% of the other’s impulse control

20. Naoto couldn’t care less that Kanji isn’t the brightest, despite common misconception. The Shirogane family, and the people who work for it, always placed emphasis on a person’s intelligence (hence Yu’s requirement for a lot of knowledge to start the Fortune link) but Naoto is strongly opposed to that mindset. To them, it’s freeing to have somebody around who doesn’t want to be an intellectual 95% of the time.

21. They are very private when it comes to their relationship, to the point that sometimes even friends or colleagues have no idea what’s going on in their lives until it’s let slip somehow. When Junpei and Yukari – the Shadow Ops Naoto worked with the least - found out they were expecting, it first had to be explained to them that they’d been married for five years.

22. They sometimes get mistaken for father and son at restaurants until their early thirties, to which point Naoto will make a scene of ordering a lot of alcohol to prove they’re old enough. Naoto can’t really handle booze.

23. They’re really bad at making face to face announcements about anything big to their friends, so they always find some way to do it elaborately instead. They told the IT they were having a kid, for example, through a series of puzzles put together by Naoto

24. Kanji loves making couples costumes and outfits, but then gets too embarrassed to wear them

25. Naoto is a fiend for stealing Kanji’s clothes as pyjamas. They are large and warm, and when they’re travelling for work, they remind them of him. It got to the point where Kanji would pack a shirt of his secretly in Naoto’s suitcase, knowing that’s why his clothes always went missing.

#persona 4 #kanji tatsumi #naoto shirogane #kannao #headcanon

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years ago

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Bonus Question Answers! (non-anime animated noms)

This was SO. FUCKING. HARD. This question went so much better than I expected, and I’m only sad I lack the artistic skills to make it all a reality.

Below, my PAINSTAKINGLY selected top answers, If yours is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

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Q: The Senshi suddenly find themselves in a very different animated world. Which cartoon power (think Looney Tunes) do they each now possess?

* Usagi can make literal rainbows happen when she smiles. Rei can set anything on fire with her mind (she feels a bit cheated because she can do that at home too). Ami can write down anything in her special notebook and it literally changes reality around her (she does not share this with her fellow Senshi, because she knows the full weight of this power. She did, however, write Michiru having a bad hair day for just one day. Just one.) Makoto has the ability to pull out any ingredient she wants from any pantry/door/closet. She usually uses this for cooking purposes, so she won't have to purchase groceries. Minako has the ability to mimic any voice in the world, whether she has heard it or not. Hijinks ensue. The Outer Senshi sensibly escaped from the new animated world right after Michiru recovered from her bad hair day. They don't speak of the experience. -- @amberlilly [The whole thing was so solid, but what absolutely sent it over the top for me was Ami using her powers to fuck with Michiru in the most petty benign way, which is EVERYTHING.]

* Usagi is definitely rocking the exaggerated tear gushers. Ami can pull charts/diagrams out of nowhere at any time. Rei combusts when she gets sufficiently mad. Makoto has birds fly around when she sings while cooking or cleaning. Minako breaks the fourth wall to make jokes and asides to the audience. Chibi-Usa is somehow able to walk through ludicrous danger without getting touched, because the censors won't allow kids to be hurt in this show. Haruka can make girls melt into puddles of goo with her flirting. Michiru can summon a servant at any time to take care of an unpleasant or potentially dirty task for her (including to take the slapstick comedy for her). Setsuna has access to the script. Hotaru just sort of appears sometimes, just standing there, silently and menacingly, but never does anything on-screen (though you may hear the occasional off-screen screaming). Oh, and while I'd like to say Mamoru gains the power of inexplicable entrances... he kinda already has that one. --Darkcloud k'California [Again, I loved all these, but particularly Chibs saved by the censors, Michiru’s poor hapless slapstick avatar, and everything about Hotaru, thank you.]

* Usagi: The power to be found charming by every character she encounters and somehow escape all consequences and damage by simply remaining oblivious, a la Tweety Bird.

Rei: The power to explode, reducing her surroundings to charred wasteland, but remain relatively unscathed (perhaps a bit singed)

Ami: The power to grow multiple arms, hands, and hundreds of fingers in order to do tech stuff

Makoto: The power to punch someone through a brick wall, possibly several, and into someone's family dinner. It's always some surprised-looking family's private event. Often the same family.

Minako: the power to, Bugs Bunny style, apply lipstick and seduce ANYTHING. Which, according to her, is a power she already has.

Haruka: The power to run off a cliff and keep going until she looks down. She never learns to not look down.

Michiru: The power to stick a pin into any other character and cause them to deflate like a balloon

Hotaru: She just gets to actually be used. It is thrilling.

Pluto: She will observe this strange planet from afar with her huge telescope and breathe the Martian air and look great in a kilt and Roman-style helmet. -- @incorrecttact [Your set-up and punchline delivery style on all of these was perfection, and I legit lol’d at Mako and the poor family she continually interrupts.]

* to make dynamite go BOOM (Rei obviously); to have their opponent chase them to the point where they're floating in midair and then their opponent falls 5000 feet but they calmly walk back to land (like Wil E Coyote & the Roadrunner) (Usagi); the power to blow kisses to their opponent (which are clearly poisonous and end up killing the chap) (Minako); the power to have their opponent's entire arm shattered if they try to even punch them lightly on the arm (Makoto - this is canon anyways, but moreso exaggerated here hehe); to open a book and start reading it out loud and words start showing up on screen, confusing tf out of their opponent (Ami - also canon already) --@midnightdrops [Each of these were great, but Usagi and Mako as you described them totally sold me.]

* usagi: can now float on yummy aromas, so long as they lead her somewhere tasty! the others play a quick tournament of jun-ken-pon each time it happens to determine who will be responsible for steering her from blissfully drifting into traffic. again.

ami: is now possessed of x-ray vision! only she can neither turn it off, nor control its intensity. she is working on developing a set of goggles to dampen the effect, and secretly hopes they will make her look like geordi laforge.

rei: rei-chan is now blessed with the power of song! her heartfelt melodies soften the malice of even the most one-dimensional baddie, and influence public policy on a global scale. international success life, yo! i guess she's really a hard worker!

makoto: has become something of a cartoon cupid! in a poorly-ventilated room, her mere presence has bystanders declaring their love for one another within minutes*; and her decadent wedding cakes are the hit of second marriages across the country. *all of them so like her old senpai, and none of them falling for her, alas!

minako: employs her considerable powers of confidence and charm to convince the others she now has access to Plot Manipulation, mainly by engineering and taking ownership of a series of happy accidents. her real power is to literally jump out of her skin when she's startled*, and she has no intention of EVER letting the others know about it. *minako discovered this new ability while she was changing a roll of toilet paper, and a spider dropped onto her hand. the leader of the inner senshi had never been so horrified. her bones were so slick and cold, her skin a hideous unwiped pile, and then THE SPIDER CRAWLED INTO THE PILE and she STILL doesn't know if it ever got out and sometimes her skin itches REALLY bad and you know what let's stop talking about this right now okay???

setsuna: can now manifest a giant pencil and erase the enemy! but doing so would be breaking The Greatest Taboo, and leave her impaled upon the pencil.

haruka: her new empathetic ability is remarkably similar to Ma-Ti's "heart" ring (Captain Planet and the Planeteers, 1990 - 1996). basically, she's just like really soft at you, and it inspires you to take more positive actions toward yourself and the world at large? she protests about wishing she'd received something tough and intimidating, but secretly is very moved by being made an instrument of kindness.

michiru: her intuition has mutated into fourth wall awareness, and the subtlety with which she makes this known to you is SO GODDAMN UNCOMFORTABLE OH MY GOD

hotaru: can now not only communicate with inanimate objects, but also render them permanently animate! you should have been there during the princess tutu crossover episode when she met lamp-chan - they're STILL inseparable, and chibiusa is SUPER jealous. speaking of which,

chibiusa: can now use hammerspace to store her endless series of magical geegaws and weird animal boyfriends. -- @rasiqra-revulva [Dude, you have got to stop making me snort laugh, it’s RUDE. Pure solid gold, every word, with a special nod to Haruka, MICHIRU, and Minako’s extended tragic cartoon backstory.]

* Usagi - like her name suggests, she is now Bunny. By which I mean she is now a very pink and blonde bunny (somewhere between Bugs and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit), but with super-elastic limbs to accompany her new form. Ami - Magical Science Powers up to and including ‘mix one brightly colored liquid in flask with another brightly colored liquid in flask, explosion, get hammer.’ Rei - An infinite supply of dynamite she can pull out of nowhere. This shouldn’t be as useful as it is. Mako - Literally suplexed a giant metallic youma not just untransformed, but before she has Senshi powers at all. I fully believe she could lift an anvil in canon. Minako - While Usagi looks like a rabbit, Mina now has the supernatural trickster abilities of Bugs Bunny. Implausibly effective bad disguises, persuasion, showing up out of nowhere. Chibs - Now that gun from her first appearance is a real gun, but it shoots anything from normal bullets to pies in the face to live birds. Pluto - The fourth wall is a real and tangible thing. Pluto can not just break it, but control it. If she wants to remove a layer of cel or suddenly turn things into sketch, she can do it. If she wants to teleport, she can skip in the animation. If she wants to suddenly appear as a Roger Rabbit-style cartoon in a live action field, or vice versa? Yeah, she can do that too. She basically uses this power to warp the layers of her cartoonish reality for pastry acquisition. Haruka - You’d think it would be Roadrunner speed. Haruka thinks it will be Roadrunner speed. But no, it isn’t. Space Jam is Looney Tunes, and Haruka’s power is Basketball. Michiru - Another power that’s just canonical: Wealth. Ridiculous, tremendous wealth. Hotaru - The funniest thing for Hotaru to be in a zany cartoon world is Even More Spooky. Nothing changes except the artstyle and a ridiculous supervillain cape. -- Regalli [Pluto, man. Fantastic and brilliant and I legit WANT THIS. Also though, Hotaru with a cape.]

* Usagi gains the ability to eat anything and everything like the Tazmanian Devil, though she shares none of his aggressive personality; Minako enjoys fucking with people by bending reality (you know, diving into painted tunnels and stuff like that); Ami is able to utilize and test unreal technology without harm, like jet boots, massive bombs, tornado seeds, etc.; Mako uses body manipulations to change her size and shape--especially for blocking attacks to protect people or grabbing people (coupled with her immense strength); and Rei is the only one aware of the audience beyond the Fourth Wall... She tries not to talk to them but sometimes she just can't help it, especially when Usagi is getting on her nerves. -- @thehubby [I said pander to me, and you absolutely did. I can’t stop thinking about Rei trying not to make fourth wall eye contact, then just whirling around all “CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT??!?” and as it turns out, that IS precisely what I wanted.]

---

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry, so keep those answers coming! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin shit #THE GIFTENING 2020 bonus q

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newbornwhumperfly · 5 years ago

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all i know is you’re the nicest thing

CW: references to past non-con, dissociation, panic attack, references to victim-blaming.

a spinoff gift fic of @haro-whumps brilliant, heart-wrenching group whump series. this is based on some headcanons we’ve exchanged. i hope you like it, haro!!!

Snow is thick on the ground and Galo is going stir-crazy.

He hasn’t been able to run around the mansion for a week now. While it was kind of a fun challenge to wrestle through the drifts when they were ankle-high, it’s now impossible while keeping good form. Per usual, he’s been visiting the gym regularly but that’s come to a stop with the week before Christmas, depriving Galo of even this pressure-release. He still lifts weights, pushes and pullups until his arms tremble but he’s pushed himself as far as he can without burning out. Video games always exist, obviously.

What’s really funny, Galo thinks sourly, plucking a thread loose in his coverlet, is how a little cold weather makes you realize how isolated you are. Sure, he’d never really cared for Christmas. Correction: he kinda hated it. Aside from the fact that he’s decidedly not religious, the holiday was always bound up with baggage. Being made to wear festive, uncomfortable dresses to seemingly infinite parties full of infinitely shallow, shitty guests tripping over themselves and one another to flaunt how well they were doing.

Ever since he’s gotten his own place, Galo never bothered with his own celebrations. No SO, no super close buddies to chill with, no way in hell he’s gonna make plans with anyone in his family. Outside of the occasional Christmas party at work and its flimsy temptation of free dessert and sparkly booze, he hasn’t bothered.

Now though…

Galo worries his lower lip as he sips the smoothie Sasha made for him. There’s a sprig of holly on the rim and it makes him grin. The timid woman has blended his breakfast for the past seven months and he’s come to lean on the reliability of it, the way that Sasha assembles the ingredients just so, drawing out a fresh deliciousness he’s never managed to coax from the mixture. She’s really damn good with food and he remembers to tell her so whenever the opportunity arises. It never fails to soften her.

Now he has people to take care of. Well, ok, they’re not children. But sometimes Galo feels that way, as guilty as it makes him. They’ve learned helplessness well, as they were trained to. As it was beaten into them over years and years, until they were broken, stitched back together with brutal routine. He grips his cup, fingers flexing in rage. Aunt Bethany may be cold in her grave but Galo’s anger refuses to cool, needing only a flinch or stammer or any unbidden reminder of the abuse to stoke that fury. The many weeks Galo has lived with these traumatized slaves has only peeled back fresh layers to the nightmare, all of it fuel to the simmering heat that lurks below his skin. He said he wasn’t religious but he really hopes hell is real.

Galo threads his fingers through his tuft of hair, yanking firmly to shake that train of thought off its runaway track. Now he can’t even work out until the burn of adrenaline smothers the hateful heat in his veins, he needs a new distraction other than his guild or fucking video games he’s played a hundred times before. The charity places he fills his spare hours with are all closed too, the heavy snowfall blocking most of the volunteers from service. He really is gonna go crazy, stuck for long, quiet hours in this sprawling estate with only his slaves for company. Who can’t leave and will all probably feed off his tension until they’re all an accidental frown away from a breakdown.

Fuck.

Bethany is gone but her horrors haunt this house, the ghosts waiting to strike in every corner.

Galo wonders if these guys celebrate the holidays at all. None of them can buy eachother anything, duh, but they’d probably made do? He doesn’t really have any clue what slaves would do on holidays but it’s probably none of his goddamn business. If he had to venture a guess, they probably did something special together after Bethany fell asleep. Or who knows? Maybe Christmas had shittier associations for them than even he had. That assumption was probably depressingly accurate. They were clearly devoted to this little unit of theirs and had probably found some way to make the day nice for one another.

And Galo had the nerveto feel stymied. He groaned as he threw an arm over sore eyes, blocking out the gaming livestream he was listlessly tracking on his laptop. He sure as hell wasn’t throwing a party in this gothic funhouse, most likely the first time in the group’s memory that they didn’t have to arrange an event. He was sitting pretty on millions of dollars, bemoaning his loneliness on a holiday he didn’t even celebrate in the first place.

He’s sure that the poor bunch downstairs could only dream of getting good things like he could get for himself anytime he wanted.

Oh.

Galo sprung up from his lazy sprawl against the headboard, an idea flaring up, getting brighter and warmer the more he thought on it.

This…this could be a good idea.

Could be being the operative word here, Galo determines, clicking away from the livestream to open a new search page as he reaches for his notebook and begins to flip through the pages of observations. He pauses, massaging his eyes as he considers his options. He’d have to be verycareful with this one; if he’s gonna do this, he needs to do it right or not at all. It might be a big fucking mistake, with the potential for backsliding practically a minefield under Galo’s still-balancing feet.

But it has been months. Dozens of days had crawled by without incident and he’s got wiggle room when it comes to potential fuck-ups – the last triggering incident was over two months ago and it had nothing to do with Galo’s actions. He figures he is safe for now. But, then again, he might never be safe when it comes these people – or rather, they might never feel safe with him, he acknowledges, heart panging sharply at the thought. Is it worth the risk, disturbing the fragile balance he’d so painstakingly built over the stretch of time?

Galo sighs, trying to release his tension the breath as he rubs his temple, ruffling the buzz of hair distractedly. It might be selfish, but he wants – desperately – to make them happy. To do something for them all other than just stay out of their way. There’s always the risk, in anything he says or does or doesn’t say or doesn’t do, that he will hurt them without even knowing it and it hurts. One thing he knows for sure is that he’s never been that person to resign themselves to doing nothing. Nothing is written in stone – if he has the heart and the care, he can do what he puts his mind to.

Sucking air into his lungs in one big, fortifying whoosh, Galo squares his stiff shoulders and starts typing suggestions into his search bar. He’ll start with Greyson, since his choices are easier, and then work his way down the list. He’s got less than a week and if he can do this right, and he needs – he reallyneeds – to get this one right, then they’ll be happier. And that’s all that really matters in the end. These people have never expected kindness outside of one another for their entire lives and Bethany had built the world in their minds in her image, a world of casual cruelty.

Well, it’s about the time to change that, and if Christmas is supposed to be a time of rebirth or whatever, Galo will exorcise his aunt’s presence with the ass-whooping spirit of the motherfucking season.

~ ~

Master Galo has been…animated.

Galo is almost always cheerful, at least in their presence, but the past week has thrown the man into a state of nervous energy. It isn’t…bad, as far as Greyson can pinpoint. There is an excitement which hovers around him but there is tension too. He’s been muttering under his breath a great deal, mumbling to himself in a distracted, half-aware manner as he has tended to do when he has a lot on his plate. He has been glued to his laptop a great deal as well, tending to pace with it as he wanders on socked feet between his usual haunts. Most hours, he drifts from one room to another, sometimes shutting himself into a room to make a call, sometimes contemplating something on the screen in long pauses, biting his lip, brow scrunched in focus.

Greyson has warned the rest to take care and not distract Master Galo, as he is prone to bumping into doorframes or nearly tripping as he turns about to set the device down and scribble swiftly in that bulky notebook that he carries in his pants pocket everywhere he goes. Whatever Master Galo’s true mood, Greyson knows it would not do to disturb his patterns of distraction. It has already been tense downstairs, what with Master trapped inside due to the harsh weather and lack of exercise routine. A bored Master is dangerous. His full attention could be easily caught by anything (or anyone) who got in his way right now.

And he cannot help but notice, even though he should not notice, as it is none of his business, that Master Galo keeps the screen darker than usual when he carries it around and he always closes it when Greyson or one of the others approaches. He does the same with the notebook but there is almost a caution to the movement when Galo notices he is being observed or approached, snapping the device shut and looking for a moment almost like a guilty child caught sneaking a treat. Greyson does notwant to think about what that means. He will find out soon enough, he suspects.

So for almost a week, as Christmas Eve crept closer through the soft, white hours, passing too slowly and yet too fast, Greyson watched and waited for something to happen.

~ ~

Nyla has brought several packages up to Master Galo’s room in the past week.

In the past, she wouldn’t take too much note of this. Mistress had had everything delivered to her once her knees got too bad to go out shopping anymore and she had always given Nyla’s own knees a good whack with her cane when Nyla brought her the latest purchase.

Now, however, it is unusual now and unusual is always bad. Master Galo doesn’t tend to buy things for himself, besides the occasional video game or set of clothes that he often chooses to drive out and pick up in person. Now, he has eagerly grabbed each new package from her, a pleased, giddy grin on his face every time. She doesn’t know what it means but she has noticed Master’s hyperactivity and knows that Greyson is concerned. When she allows herself to dwell on it, it concerns her too.

Master’s behavior might not be bad (yet) but Nyla certainly isn’t going to call it good. Master Galo insisted he wants Christmas to be uneventful and while Nyla would typically be beyond grateful for such a reprieve, her anxiety worsens with the lack of planning to busy her worried mind. Nevertheless, she pours the fretful energy into perfecting what she can. She can always be perfect. Nyla assures herself of this constant as she polishes and re-polishes, scrubs and sharpens and floats like a dust mote through the halls, quivering at the ready for Master’s beck and call.

Her headaches are beginning again. The season ushers them in without fail, sharp heat coiling down her neck, her jaw, up through her temples and between the eyes, at times so stabbing that she nearly staggers from the anguish. She doesn’t though, despite being uncommonly tempted to grimace against the cruel pale glare of winter sun through every window. Putting it out of her mind, she glides quietly in rooms near Master Galo.

Adjusting this, that was already straight.

Wiping this, that was already spotless.

She scrubs at a wood-stain on the balcony for the sake of scrubbing, letting the tingling cramps in her overworked wrists and sore knees distract her from the pain in her head. How much her jaw felt like it was trying to escape from her face, how much her neck seemed trying to twist off from the rest of the spine, and the constantpressure, the throbbing patch of nose, eyes, brow clamped with a spiked vice.

Mercifully, dusk was coming swiftly at the heels of the noon, the quickly dimming sky beckoning in Christmas Eve. Nyla has told Greyson to be ready with the car in case Master should want to go somewhere at the last minute. Lilah has kept the driveway shoveled with Evan’s help, bless them both, and salted. Sasha putters about the kitchen, busy with nothing as she travels in slow circles like a crumb circling the drain. They all feel it. They are all waiting. Master has been locked in his bedroom all day and most of yesterday, doing…something. Other than an occasional soft curse, Nyla has heard little when she passes (pauses, lingers, eavesdrops) by his door. She doesn’t think about what might be coming, what could be about to descend upon them swifter than the evening, better to lose herself in little meaningless labors.

Her focus thankfully helps her avoid a start when Master Galo flings his bedroom door open and pokes his head out, glancing about until his eyes catch Nyla, already risen from her futile polishing to a poised, submissive, smiling stance.

Perfect. She is perfect.

“Oh! Hey, Nyla, good – you’re exactly who I wanted. Um, is everyone…busy right now?”

Nyla parses the question. Everyone should be busy. That seems to be the right answer.

“Yes, Master Galo. Is there anything you require?”

Master didn’t seem outwardly displeased by her answer so she let herself breathe into his reply.

“Awesome. Yeah, actually. Why don’t you tell everyone to finish up whatever they’re doing? If it’s not finished, it can wait till later. After that, can you tell everyone that I wanna see them, and you too, in the living room? I’ve got some…gif-, uh, good surprises for everyone.”

Nyla can’t breathe in. She has breathed out already and can’t breathe back in. She needs to breathe in. Needs to speak.

Surprises.

For everyone.

Oh god.

Oh please.

Breathe.

She’s missed his words, muffled, underwater, swimming through too-thick air, no sound.

You need to breathe.

You need to listen.

Listen!

Air thins around the words and they make it to Nyla’s ears.

“-holiday spirit and, uh, yeah. It’s my festive mood coming out I guess. Don’t wanna give it away, you’ll all see the surprises in a moment anyway! But, yep, a few minutes? That good?”

Breathe.

She’s still smiling. She can feel it. She can feel her face, her mouth, her hands clasped in front of her. She can’t feel her lungs for some reason.

She blinks.

Nods.

She’s answered Master, right? God, please, has she answered Master’s question?

She must have. She must have. She must have answered correctly because he is grinning and nodding and thank holy god he isn’t really looking straight at her, rubbing his neck in that strange way he does sometimes. She must have answered him because he hasn’t gotten angry and he’s closing the door and she couldn’t have made it worse and she can’t make it worse and she’s perfect and she-

Perfect.

The word is like a splash of cold water and Nyla remembers how to inhale, knees buckling briefly with the dizziness of no air, catching herself on the balcony as the head-neck-spine-wrist-knee pain floods through her awareness, riding in on the icy wave of fear.

Surprises.

For everyone.

Perfect.

Enough. Nyla flicks her tender wrist with sharp, punishing taps until her limbs unfreeze. The moment she trusts her legs to carry her, she scoops up her cleaning supplies and lets her body take over. Drift gently down the stairs to inform the others. Obey. Guide the others.

Be perfect.

~ ~

It’s about fucking time.

Evan allows himself to savor this small prick of resentment on his swift walk to the living room, following only a minute behind Greyson, who’d tersely passed along the command.

Huffing harshly through his nose, he lets the tic in his jaw relax into his required, submissive blank while he tucks the flyaway hairs at his neck and forehead back into his ponytail. He doesn’t give a damn, of course, how pretty he looks. It’s not like his Master is gonna fuck him…probably. Gifts are not good; Evan should know that by now. Should know better than anyone. His gut lurches oddly at the memory of clammy, clawed hands pawing and pulling and scraping and taking what they want. He hasn’t been eighteen in a while but the space of years makes no difference and he can still smell the stench of smoky, heaving gasps. He can still feel the confusion like a sticky sweat crawl through his limbs morphing into terror-rage-shame.

It’s just the scent-memory which summons nausea, nothing more. He just…hates the smell of ash on breath. Hates that it’s been months since he’s had hands on him, years since that was new, hates that the hands fill his dreams and make him wish he had no skin to touch at all. He scratches the ghostly caresses off in the shower and tries to be grateful, bitterly, that no new hands have replaced the phantoms. Master isn’t gonna fuck him, at least, not soon. He shouldn’t have any reason to care about “looking proper”.

But Nyla would care, Evan thinks, the months-old regret clenching like an invisible vice around his heart. He owes it her to still be good, to at least try to live up to her poise.

It’s this duty which lulls him as he glides, smooth and graceful as he can, into place behind Nyla in the living room. He notices how she and Greyson have put themselves at the front, forming a fragile wall in front of Lilah, who is quivering in place and hunching to make herself shorter. Sasha has placed herself at Lilah’s left, shoulder almost brushing her bowed head as she curls ever-so-slightly inward towards the teen. Evan has been left Lilah’s right to stand at, his tall form shielding her from the room’s entrance. All of this was Nyla’s doing, of course it was. She has ensured that Lilah will, at least, not be the first to endure what is to come, has given her time to brace herself.

Evan’s love and respect for Nyla soars and nearly overwhelms him for a moment as he tries mirroring her back-straight neck-long eyes-low hands-clasped-lightly posture. She had forgiven him a while ago though softening took far longer and he is grateful for the generosity of time when he hears her hum, barely audible, in approval.

It is the only sound other than crackle-rumble of the enormous wood-fire blazing high and hot and he glances to the side to see the orange shadows dance over Lilah’s face. The dull roar has drowned out her breathing, too loud, too uneven. She hasn’t gone Quiet yet and he wishes she could when the flames reflect tears threatening to spill from her eyes already. She’s trying very hard, he can tell. His sweet baby Lilah. His sweet baby girl. He wishes so badly he could hug her right now. He wishes Master wasn’t about to hurt her for no fucking reason.

Stop it.

Those thoughts are dangerous territory and Evan will notlet himself ruin anything for everyone else. This isn’t about him. He needs to be perfect right now, for Nyla, for Lilah, for all of them. He owes them that much at the very least. It gets harder to keep his face flat, however, when Master practically strutsaround the corner.

In all the months he’s been here, Master has never looked so energized. He’s switched out his usual t-shirt and shorts for a casual suit, hair slicked, and when he strides to a halt in front of the Christmas tree, he’s almost bouncing on his heels. His hands keep clenching, unclenching, clenching with whatever jumpy giddiness that’s put that wide grin on his face. Whatever restraint has kept him tethered is loose now and it trembles through every line in his broad body.

Evan drops his gaze to the rug so he doesn’t have to look anymore, tracing the red-white-green stitching of embroidered wreaths below his shoes. He knew, he knewbetter than to trust Master Galo’s mood, so peppy, so eager, so cagey. Master’s gonna drop the act like a heavy fist down on their heads and Evan might almost be sickly satisfied if not for how a traitorous nausea is curling in his gut to swallow the rage, if not for how his whole family is trembling around him, if not for how he’d almost – almost – begun to wonder if Master was…different.

At least this stupid, stupid, stupidpunchline is about to be called. Cold comfort now with how chipper Master is, how he can barely contain himself with the sweet satisfaction of it all, to watch his slaves quiver on the cusp of long-awaited suffering. Evan just hopes its everything Master’s fucking dreamed of.

~ ~

Lilah is so confused that she wants to cry.

Usually, the tension would strain every muscle tight, fighting her mind that kept trying to Go Away, ‘cause it wasn’t time yet. She is about to cry, a little wetness escaping, wiped away quickly. She can’t cry yet, she can’t even cry yet ‘cause nothing even happenedyet and that’s bad. She can cry later. There’ll be plenty of time to cry, soon. Soon, will go Quiet and she won’t be worried about anything.

She doesn’t understand.

It’s so stupid to be confused. This just…used to be so simple and it hasn’t been the same recently and…she doesn’t get it. Evan was right, of course Evan was right, he’s always been right about Mistress things. She should’ve trusted him more about Master. But…but he…

He seemed different.

She’s never been good at the games, not like everyone else. She’s stupid about the rules anyway, and there’s so much that the rest of them all understand so easily, that they’ve learned from so many years of being good. She should know that there will always be a game. There will always be a rule. A test.

But still. He really did seem like he might be different than Mistress. His games were so very different that Lilah would wonder if he had a game at all. That’s stupid. But she had a good reason to be! Master had always been kind to her. He’d always smiled at her, real big, and he said such nice things about her work! He gave her lots of rewards too. Lots of rest and new kinds of food and special tools to make her yard-work easier, even though Lilah had always done a good job without those things.

“It’ll help you as a thanks for being so good at everything”, Master had told, all his teeth showing.

She should’ve known that was a lie. It had to be. But she’d wantedso badly to believe it.

Master never got mad when she went Quiet – kind of sad, or what looked like sad, and watchful and worried. But never mad. He’d never get mad at Lilah, even though he’s been mad at the others, been mad at Evan, even though they’re all better at this. Good enough for years. Good enough, at least, to not be punished all the time, day and night, beaten into place ‘cause she always had to be reminded of how not-good she is.

Bad girl.

Why? She just wants to know why and wanting hurts. Her heart hurts. It’s not a scared-hurt. It’s a sad-hurt, heart sore and throbbing wildly. She feels sadder than scared and that’s new and stupid but…she really did think Master woulddo something bad when nobody has been really bad and now he isgoing to and…she just doesn’t know why. But he is. And he’s happyabout it. Evan would say it’s ‘cause Master enjoys it, that he enjoys playing with them the way he does. She should listen to Evan. Why doesn’t she listen? Why can’t she ever keep up?

‘Cause you’re a bad girl.

Master’s voice rings suddenly through the room, the noisewhere there was no noise pulling Lilah’s breath in a little too quickly and Sasha barely twitches at her side. Lilah swallows a whimper before it escapes her dry throat and just…listens to Master.

Please, let him get it over with quickly,she begs to someone, anyone.

Please let it be quick.

And, horribly, selfishly.

Please.

Let him choose someone else first.

~ ~

“Ok! First off, Merry Christmas Eve to everyone.”

A silence hovers briefly and Sasha stumbles to say “Merry Christmas, Master Galo” in sync with the rest of the group. Their chorus, fortunately, hides her stammer. Master has not seemed to mind her stumbling speech but right now? There’s no doubt it that every broken phrase would tally up in whatever pain is to be doled out now.

“Thanks! So, you’re all probably a little confused by the lack of celebrations. I know my aunt had tons of parties but…that’s just not me. I don’t love parties at the best of times and I really don’t love Christmas. But I figured, hey, I can do the holiday my way and you’ve all been a big part of changing how I feel about it. Everyone’s been awesome about decorating the house beautifully and making things feel cheerful, so, thanks so much for that. I really appreciate it.”

There is another beat of silence before Nyla, sweet, sacrificing, perfect Nyla, glides forward a couple of steps, Greyson carefully sidestepping to fill the space in front of Lilah, and kneels at Master Galo’s feet before taking up his hand to kiss it.

“Thank you, Master, for your kindness. We are all honored to serve you in whatever manner you desire.”

Sasha thinks, for the first time in a while, of how starkly largehis hand is next to Nyla’s head. Cold sweat beads on her brow as she measures those palms as though examining them for the first time, how when Nyla’s lips touch the backs of Master’s fingers, the span of his knuckles bridges her brow from temple to temple. He could crushNyla’s face with a firm squeeze, shatter her delicate little nose with one heavy slap, how could Sasha everhave forgotten that, even for a moment?

And now, the little blonde woman is deliberately putting herself at those heavy feet, pulling that meaty hand towards her lovely face, flattering and appeasing, indicating that she has chosen to go first for whatever this is. She’s so brave. She’s so good. Sasha loves her so much and she wants to save her so badly. Sasha wants to curl around Nyla’s kneeling form until Nyla is hidden away by Sasha’s arms and back and she’s safe from the pain which frightens Sasha so much and which Nyla so plainly does not deserve. But she is petrified and spineless and would only make it worse.

Oh, Nyla.

Greyson.

Lilah.

Evan.

Me.

Don’t react poorly!

Sasha blinks furiously until her tears settle behind her lids, pulsing with restrained grief.

Don’t make this worse than it’s already going to be.

~ ~

Greyson should’ve been the one to approach Master Galo first.

He has a…dialogue with Master and either way, he is older, more practiced, should be quicker to know what to do. But Nyla has caught onto being what she should be in half the time it took him and has thrown herself into the line of fire with her typical grace. It sickens Greyson that he was too slow and let her take the burden.

Currently, Master’s glee seems to have abated at Nyla’s gesture and, seemingly, was not replaced with rage. Yet. He blinks down at Nyla’s upturned, sweetly submissive, face and smiles softly at her. No smirk. No secretive glint in his eye. Nyla must have done the right thing, yet again. Master has yet to…use Nyla in that way but he clearly acknowledges the faultless state of her service and it softens him towards her.

“That’s…wonderful, Nyla. Very good! Hey, while you’re down there, can you help me pull these boxes out?”

Before Nyla has even crawled over to the bottom of the towering Christmas tree, Master has crouched beside her, scooping out brightly wrapped packages from below the swoop of the low-dangling branches and jangling the glittering ornaments. Brushing pine needles off his pants, Master piles them, gesturing Nyla to copy him, onto an armchair before swinging back towards them all to clap his hands decisively and grin once more.

“Alrighty, then. So! Nyla?”

“Yes, Master Galo?”

Soft, immediate, lilting.

“I guess since you’re, uh, right here, I’ll give you your gift first. Uh, can you hold your arms out, Nyla? This one’s a bit big.”

Greyson has barely time to blink before Master has practically dropped one of the largest packages, a box of wide, flat golden cardboard topped with plaid bows, into Nyla’s quickly outstretched arms.

What?

“Sorry! Sort of threw it at you, didn’t I? You can go back to the rest, Nyla. Greyson, you’re up, my man.”

What?

Greyson’s feet carry him forward, arms already extending, body reliably obedient even while his brain is lagging.

“Here y–, oh, no need for both arms. Heh, sorry, dude, your gift’s not Nyla-big.”

What does that mean?

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t need to understand, Greyson reminds himself harshly, he only needs to obey. So he remains blank, cups his palms as Master Galo places a little sleek black box, neatly bound in white ribbon, into Greyson’s palm. It is not professionally wrapped, Greyson absently notes, the tape was raggedly snapped off the dispenser and the bow is a bit crooked. He glides into place back at Nyla’s side, poised like emotionless pillars with their…gifts held stiffly in front of them as each person is called forth. Lilah, then Sasha, and, finally, Evan; all are handed a package, unique in size and decoration and received quietly and quickly before they are re-assembled as they were before, only now clinging to…

Most likely, the instruments of their imminent torture.

Or, as Master Galo is saying…

“Awesome. Alrighty, so, you’ve all got your gifts now. That’s good. You’ve probably noticed that they’re kind of sloppy. I wrapped them myself and…let’s just say, I wasn’t born to be a decorator. You’re just gonna have to live with it, heh. So…if you guys wanna sit down, like, on the couches or on the floor or, like, wherever you feel most comfortable opening your gifts? Just, uh, yeah. Everyone just go ahead and enjoy!”

All are silent and it is Nyla who folds elegantly to the floor and first begins to peel the wrapping back, small hands fluttering like butterflies as she unwinds the ribbon. Greyson folds alongside her, hesitating a brief moment as he catches Master’s eyes on his knees and then, slowly, sits on the ground and folds his ankles neatly in front of him. Master looks pleased when he sits this way rather than kneeling and Greyson’s jaw slightly slackens as he settles in beside Nyla. Her quick grace disguises her shaking to all but Greyson, whose arm touches her shoulder and absorbs her tremors. He leans, barely, against her, steadying her (and, honestly, himself as well) while he neatly disassembles his own package.

His box is the smallest, Greyson has noted, so he is the first to lift the lid and find…

A pair of glasses.

They are frameless at the bottom, rimmed in delicate wire that is stained redder than a ripe apple. It matches the hue of Greyson’s favored necktie. Spongy black nose pads and grips at the tips of the temples show how the eyewear would grip the face comfortably. Coiled beneath the neatly folded pair, clipped to the ends of each temple, is a fine chain, dozens of miniscule links glittering silver beneath the clear lenses.

They are…beautiful.

Greyson cannot do much more than blink. He can tell that everyone else is unwrapping slowly, glancing from the corners of their lowered eyes at his reaction and he shouldreact in some way. But he…he can’t…

What?

He finds that he is trembling as he plucks the frames from their nest of silk cleaning cloths, cradling them like they will shatter if he breaths wrong. His eyes raise almost without intent, catching Master Galo openly watching him, a soft hesitance weighing his gaze. Greyson nearly starts but Master gets ahead of a potential apology by gesturing vaguely at Greyson’s gift.

“I, uh, I peeked through B –…through your records and found your prescription. It said five years ago and I don’t know if your eyes changed since then and, well, if I’d gotten an appointment for you, this wouldn’t have been a surprise. Someone recommended I make them a tad sharper and so I did but, if you wanna adjust them or if they’re too strong just tell me… Anyways, I, uh, I really hope they see as nice as they look, heh…oh, yeah, and the chain is to keep them around your neck and the cloths are yours. Like, in case that wasn’t clear, all the stuff in the box – hell, the boxif you want it – is all yours. But, I hope you enjoy them, Greyson.”

Greyson cannot speak. He opens his mouth, moves his lips, and nothing emerges. Trembling more pronounced now, his hands pull off and fold his glasses and tuck them into his breast pocket, he does not choose to do this. He does not decide to lift the new frames to his face, unfold them, slide them into place and loop the chain behind his neck. He blinks as his body reconnects with awareness again, the missed moments of automation causing him to startle bodily with the clean, unscratched, clarity of the room before him.

There is…something inside Greyson’s chest. It is like a living thing, pressing, stretching the wall of his sternum. It takes his heart and his lungs and squeezes, mercilessly.

It hurts.

The animal is resurrected, awakened from a peaceful sleep to roar in his blood, unfamiliar with the way his insides are warm and loose and tingle like his legs after rising from hours on his knees, all the blood rushing back to the numb area. He feels and it aches and his throat is tightened by the same animal grip on his innards.

The tight, the hot, the blood-rush, the suddenness of the old tenderness is tearing at Greyson and, suddenly, all he wants to do is weep. No hollow, scraped-out loss prompting the swollen heat pounding like a pulse behind his lids. A press, inexorable as it is tender, against his sternum is cracking him from the inside and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He abandons his typical protocol of vacancy to bite his inner cheek savagely, allowing the throb to distract and dull the other strange unfamiliar anguish below his ribs.

It hurts but Greyson can take hurt. This anguish which is not anguish will be smothered too and once he allows the ache in his gnawed mouth to ebb, he is clearer again.

~ ~

Evan is pissed.

At least, he’s really trying to be. What he really feels, right now, is confused as hell. Which angers him more, ‘cause he can take his own pain and humiliation and the games that never ever end but this is, admittedly, pretty fucking weird.

He will, in his own mind, confess to being tense, if not really surprised, about his box being the biggest. But as he lifts his…gift out of its mountain of tissue paper, he can’t feel much of anything. It’s like his head is disconnected from his shoulders and his hands move on their own to unfurl a frankly enormous blanket, at least six feet in all directions, fluffy and hedgerow-green and thick and light all at the same time.

The first thing he registers is how soft it is.

He almost starts when he feels the texture of the blanket, fingers sinking into the tufts of…what is it? Evan doesn’t know, he’s never touched something this soft. He almost expects it to melt like soap-foam between his palms but it settles, barely a weight against his folded legs. It feels nice.

Evan snaps back to clarity, lowly roving a glance around to the others. They’ve all opened their own gifts and they’re all as confusing as Evan’s. They all look like gifts, but real gifts. The sort which Mistress’ “friends” would exchange during those god-awful parties. Sasha is cradling something bright and delicate in her hands, Nyla’s got something to wear perhaps, and Lilah’s unwrapping something fluffy. He can’t clearly see what Greyson got in that little box but he’s oddly silent.

Evan tries to stay sharp. He needs to be sharp, to be aware, nothing is more dangerous than getting distracted right now. Nothing is…good about getting a present. But he’s drawn like a throat to thirst by the softness in his lap and sets his jaw before cautiously lifting the blanket like a cape over his shoulders. Tufts tickle the nape of his neck, gentle bulk shielding his torso from the open air, and Evan feels more than allows his spine to relax just a fraction.

It feels so good. He likes it so much and he hates that he likes it as much as he does. Yet even as he straightens his spine and keeps his eyes down, he cannot help but turn his cheek just barely so that the tufts brush, feather-like, against the skin.

Liking this is fucking dangerous, of course it is, of course it is, it must be fucked up somehow. But Evan is tired of caring right no. And so leans further into the softness. Maybe he’ll pay later but if he really got this as a…giftthen he’s gonna damn well enjoy it like one.

~ ~

Nyla is stalling.

Yes, she’s offered herself first. Yes, she made a show of opening her package. But…she hesitates and keeps twitching away when she tries to peel back the mountain of red tissue. She smooths is back in layers, slippery as onionskin, crackling at even the littlest movement. She’s afraid of what she’s going to find and she has no excuse for her delay but that fear which keeps her fussing with the final sheet of tissue.

It is only once Greyson has lifted his gift out its box that she finally, unforgivably late, folds back the final barrier. It is in the same moment that Greyson’s gift becomes clear in her periphery, unmistakably a new pair of eyeglasses, when she comprehends what lies before her in the box.

A dress.

A dress?

It is a dress and it’s a pretty dress and it looks expensive and it’s a real gift and Nyla almost doubles over, spasming fingers gripping the edge of the box in an effort to remain grounded. She hides her tremble with busy movements, not really thinking but allowing her body to take over and carefully pull the dress from its crinkly nest.

Nyla knows little about clothing except from what Mistress Bethany and her guests wore but she knows what quality cloth feels like and this dress is certainly a cut of the finest. It has a supple, satiny feel but it isn’t silk, more like good linen in a soft blue imprinted with a pattern like white and grey stitching. It is crisp and flat and smells a little like vanilla when she moves it. Pleated skirt which could hit just below the knee, elbow-length sleeves, slimming waist. It has a wide neckline which doesn’t plunge to her breasts but instead would barely sit above the collarbones and sit halfway down the shoulder to show off their delicate swoop. It would show off the arc of her neck perfectly.

She would look so elegant in this dress, appearing so proper and almost fancy in a modest way. It is how she has dreamed of looking, sometimes, when she neatens her apron and flicks lint off her drab, black, uncomfortable uniform. In this dress, she would look as perfect as she behaves.

Absently, she strokes the along the mysterious fabric, wondering what it would feel like against all of her flesh. She nearly shivers with pleasure at the very thought of sliding that material over her head, zipping it up nice and neat. She suppresses a second, cold, shiver when a gratitude rises, unbidden, at her presence amongst the rest of the group. Mistress Bethany had never forced any of them to strip more than a shirt in front of one another but…who knew what Master Galo might command? If they had been alone when Master Galo gave her this, she would certainly assume she was meant to unclothe and slip into her giftstraight away. Display it for him. Looking pretty in it for him.

Master has paid close attention to them all, that much is abundantly clear. Nyla glances to the side and sees how Sasha is mesmerized by her gift. It is some sort of hair ornament, a flat clip to bridge the top of the head, a glorious, darkly polished wood that had been carved with an inlay of golden roses. It won’t just hold back the cascade of ebony hair, it will brighten the wavy length which Sasha combs between her fingertips, which soothes her so. Which one would notice if one watched her for long enough. Sasha’s fingers fly between hair and the ornament, sunk fully back upon her heels as she turns the clip over in her fingers like it is glass, watching the firelight catch all the petals and vines of gold.

Sasha loves her hair. She loves her gift.

It is all gift, Nyla realizes. All of her clothes are a gift. Seeing properly enough to do tasks obediently, having glasses at all, is a gift. Everything they are allowed to have is already a gift, graciously given on strict conditions. Nyla can go without her gift – her clothes – at any time Master Galo desires.

Nyla soothes her fluttering pulse with a low breath, stilling her hands so they won’t seize the fabric and scrunch that ironed hem. She is here, right now, with her family. She traces the pattern with her eyes, counting the facsimile of stitches on the bodice as she allows that thought to ease the edge of sudden anxiety. There is absolutelyno sense in torturing herself with scenarios like that, no sense at all. There was no need. Even…ifsuch an idea did come to Master Galo, Nyla would give him no reason to play it out. She was perfect, she had always been perfect, and she will continue to be perfect; it is the only thing she can control. Nobody will have any reason to hurt her. Oh, Master can hurt her, of course he can, but he won’t have a reason to do it.

She won’t evergive anyone a reason.

~ ~

Galo hears a giggle and the surprise causes him to glance up from the game he’s been pretending to play on his phone, sprawled on the armchair several feet away from the group.

Lilah has opened her gift. A little red winter hat, ear-flaps and all, topped with a cotton puff which Lilah is poking at. She has pressed a hand to her mouth but is still grinning through her fingers as she pokes and ruffles the little poofy ball on the hat, on the matching gloves, on the tassels of the matching scarf. Lilah has lost herself in an almost open delight, youth bubbling through her nerves as she bats at her gift. Her bruises have long faded, all the cuts pinked and flat with age, so her freckles are stark. The absence of wounds makes her look so much younger than her eighteen years and her glowing grin gives her a childish glow.

Tears well in his eyes and he has to press his knuckles against his lids as he tries to swallow back the ache in his throat.

“Thank you so much, Master Galo! Thank you!”

Galo hopes his eyes are clear as he glances up again and sees that Lilah is the one who spoke. The others are clearly carefully looking anywhere but at either Lilah or Galo and, to be honest, he’s a little shocked at what amounts to an outburst from Lilah. She is trembling violently but is also clutching her gift tightly to her chest, gazing at Galo with…gratitude, heavy as worship, in her eyes.

Her grins widely at her, his gesture seeming to brighten that gratitude to a feverish glow. It’s all too much for Galo all of a sudden and he has to look away again so the tears won’t betray him and leak down his face, hoping to God that his reply doesn’t sound too choked.

“You’re welcome, kiddo. I’m…really glad you like it.”

i’m gonna throw myself into a pit now! hope ya’ll liked it!

#this is a spinoff of haro-whump's genius i want ya'll to acknowledge that #haro-whumps #gw #slavery #whump #whumpee #group whump #caretaker #spinoff fic #references to non-con #trauma #writing #past abuse #references to past non-con #panic attack #healing #fear #dissociation

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adverb-slut · 5 years ago

Text

Breakpoint (Fanfiction) Part 3/6 | Asmodeus

I wrote this back in February, but I keep forgetting to post things on Tumblr, so here it is super late. Thank you to the anon who reminded me to do it! Chapter 4 (Levi’s chapter) has been in the works since February, too ... fret not, it’s coming ... slowly.

As per the usual, you can read this chapter on AO3 here.

Title:

Breakpoint

Summary:

These are the tales of when Belphegor, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Mammon, and Lucifer each decided to actively rebel against their Father and together incite the Great Celestial War.

Genre:

Backstory/Lore

Rating:

Word Count:

3263

Additional Note:

This chapter chronicles the breaking point of Asmodeus!

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 2 | Beelzebub here!

“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the [angels] went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” — Genesis 6:4

If there was one fact that was surer than the truth that the skies would always be blue, that the mountains would never move, that the sun would keep on shining, it was the certainty that Asmodeus would forever adore his job.

There was nothing about it that he would change, and as far as he was concerned, titular angels, seraphim, cherubim, and archangels, could keep their prestige and fame. They could cherish the fact that there wasn’t an angel that didn’t know their name, and they could revel in the knowledge that the powers they possessed were unlike any other creature before them.

It didn’t matter to him, for he knew, deep in his heart, that there was no career more fulfilling than being a Guardian Angel.

Living for several hundred years already, Asmodeus had been assigned to guard dozens of humans in his lifetime, keeping them out of harm’s way and ensuring that their safety was prioritized above all else. He was friendly with his charges—as all of his kind were instructed to do—but his gregariousness was merely part of the job; it was his responsibility to protect and become close to his human.

However, this all changed with his current charge. He had been assigned to her when she had turned thirteen. The only daughter in a family of seven sons, her mother and her long-since-deceased grandmother had prayed to God for several months to send her a protector, for she was often alone when her brothers and father went to tend the field.

Asmodeus didn’t think much of her when he had first made himself known to her, and she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either. Their initial meeting had been on the day her mother had died, and she hadn’t been in the mood to see visitors as she mourned.

After several weeks, though, the two had slowly become friends. Her mother’s death had left her in charge of the domestic affairs of the household, and she was forced to look after the eight men—nine, including Asmodeus—that shared their cramped tent.

He helped when he could, for it was obvious to him that she was struggling in the initial months. Her brothers occasionally wondered if she was superhuman, because due to Asmodeus’ aid, she was able to get the job done of two people (no one could see a Guardian Angel save for their charges).

It was from her that he learned to appreciate the orgasmic fragrance of flowers and the importance of maintaining an aesthetic, considering in a tent of mostly unruly boys, she was the one who kept things clean and free from disease.

This was all well and good for the first six years. Unfortunately, when his charge had graced the age of nineteen years and four moons, Asmodeus felt something stirring within him.

It was unusual. He realized it was a different feeling than the elation he felt when he went out into the plains and found a lone lily or the way his heart had filled the one time he realized that pinching his cheeks made them the most becoming shade of red.

This type of feeling was strange; it was reserved solely for his charge.

The way her smile was just a bit crooked; the brown, unmarred frontier that was her neck; the attentiveness that she showed her brothers after their long days of labor out in the sun; the fact that her plush lips dripped beeswax colored with beetroot; the ardor with which she maintained a sterile tent; the intensity that her full chest heaved with as she hoisted a bucket of water up from the family well to satiate the animals.

There was no part of her that he didn’t envelop in this feeling.

She was the sun, the moon, the stars.

He couldn’t place his finger on what to call this emotion—it couldn’t be love, could it? As far as he knew, love for an angel was the love their Father felt toward them, a stern disciplinary affection, while what they reciprocated was an unbroken devotion that was ever so slightly tinged with terror.

Whenever Asmodeus looked at her, he felt his cheeks bloom and heart soar; he came to realize that unlike his other humans, this one was one who he chose to guard not out of obligation, but rather due to his care and concern for her wellbeing.

Duplicitous men who approached her in the streets would find themselves suddenly covered in animal excrement, flung upon them by some “unseen hand.” Owners of shops in the marketplace who dared attempt to swindle her, “mysteriously” discovered that some of their wares had gone missing. Even her own father, who once reprimanded her for cutting her long, back-length hair up to her shoulders, was not exempt from Asmodeus’ retribution: the man’s painstakingly plowed fields had been ravaged and his crops uprooted by what he assumed to be “evil spirits.”

He was content not to act upon the feeling in regards to the girl herself—and besides, it wasn’t as if action would get him anywhere. Any interaction between a Guardian Angel and their charges that wasn’t strictly platonic was forbidden, and no angel had been brave enough to even toe the line in that realm of disobedience.

Which made the fact that late one night, Asmodeus found himself completely nude—his sweaty chest heaving from exhaustion and exhilaration—lying on a mat next to his equally drenched and unclothed charge, all the more surprising.

His charge drummed her fingers up and down his arms. “You did so good, Asmo,” she encouraged.

Considering he’d never done that before made the compliment all the more poignant as he turned toward her, propping a hand under his head. “Do you really think so?” He shifted so he wouldn’t be putting all his body weight on his tender wings.

“Yes,” she breathed, sighing happily. She pulled his hand from under his head and nestled it under hers. The woman moved her tapping fingers to his chest, which was lean from doing chores around the tent. “You’re so beautiful.”

He could feel his face flush. He’d never been called that. All his life, he had been conditioned to believe his own appearance wasn’t especially radiant, for he lived in a world where another angel set the standard of beauty. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Lucifer.”

“Mm,” she mumbled, kissing his face and running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose. “Does Lucifer have as beguiling eyes as you do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Asmodeus admitted. It was rumored that the Archangel of Music had eyes of obsidian, but few had seen him with his eyes opened. Lucifer was an angel that was always engrossed in his music—completely focused on the sound alone—with no need to give heed to what happened around him.

His charge planted a kiss on his cheek, moving her lips down his face until she reached the nape of his neck. “Surely he can’t be as enchanting as you. You, Asmo, are the most beautiful being ever created.”

With every touch, with every word, his blush grew deeper, and he wished that this moment could last forever.

“I lay there, wishing that the moment could last forever,” Asmodeus recited.

It was the next day, and his head hung low to avoid even his peripheral vision from grazing his Father’s glorious light. He found his attention nervously wavering as admired the Calacatta marble flooring of the Throne Room and the soft notes of the flute that Lucifer played from the Almighty’s left side.

His thoughts jumped back to yesterday’s conversation with his charge; he glanced again at the Archangel of Music, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but as usual, they were closed in peaceful concentration as the master flutist opened and closed the keys of his instrument to create the most rapturous tune.

Lucifer’s confidence in playing the perfect note every time encouraged Asmodeus to stand a little taller. He stared at his fellow angel and tried to compare their appearances, an insidious thought creeping into his head: was he truly more beautiful than Lucifer?

His musings were interrupted by his Father’s voice, which rivaled a volcanic boom in volume. “Asmodeus, Guardian Angel—what have you done, child?”

His Lucifer-like aplomb melted instantly. He knew his Father wouldn’t ask such a question lightly. He had just finished reciting the prior day’s events, after being called into the Celestial Realm to come before the Throne Room of God. Although he knew that the information he relayed would get him in trouble, he hadn’t expected such a livid reaction.

His Father continued, His glory flashing in and out with blinding brightness, “You have broken the cardinal laws of the Guardian Angels with this lust that consumed you yesterday. The very laws that I created—the very same laws that you chose to defy!”

“Father, I defied Your laws, yes,” Asmodeus admitted. He didn’t know if his defense would be seen as insolence, but considering his Father hadn’t reprimanded him yet, he barreled on. “But, believe me, lust is not the true emotion that overcame me that night.”

His Father’s voice was filled with malice as He hissed, “And what, child, feeling do you determine to have filled you as you made love to that woman?”

“You already said it, Father.” He gulped, once again drawing from Lucifer’s serenity to grant him an iota of confidence. “ Love .” If he could get his Father to believe that lust—what He considered to be the most carnal of sins—did not even remotely influence his actions last night, perhaps His anger would be assuaged.

“Love?” the Almighty thundered. “Child, you cannot love a human. It was I who created them; all their love belongs to Me.”

“It was love, Father,” Asmodeus insisted. He then realized that he wasn’t even lying. The feeling which he possessed for his charge truly was love.

A record was set in the Celestial Realm that day—a record for how bright and furious the Almighty glowed as his Son said those words.

Lucifer’s music was all Asmodeus was aware of as he crumpled to the floor. His hands covered his eyes in desperation, but it was to no avail; he could already feel them burning from the flashing light that surrounded him. Sparks flew in every direction and he could feel embers of fire lick the tips of his sandals.

Despite the sudden torridness of the Throne Room, Asmodeus could feel the ice of dread filling his veins. A terrified, frozen paralysis took over his bones.

He had never seen his Father this incensed—in fact, most angels took great care in not even trying to imagine it.

His Father then spoke, His voice dangerously calm, as if His livid glory wasn’t already in full display. “Look up, foolish child.”

Asmodeus tried to raise his head, but the closer his face inched toward God’s radiance, his shut eyes burned with the blaze of a thousand suns.

God repeated His command, a ravine of heat threading through His otherwise cool tone, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “Look up, foolish child.”

He again covered his eyes with his hands, and even though it did little to prevent the brightness of His Father’s ire from peeking through, he was able to at least tilt his face toward the direction of the Throne.

“Remove your hands and open your eyes,” His Father demanded.

Asmodeus took a deep breath. Was that it? Was his Father going to punish him with blindness for his sin? Because that was what he was sure would happen if he dared take his hands off his eyes. Nevertheless, he did what was asked of him.

He choked as he opened his eyes and saw that instead of only his Father’s bright form standing before him, there was his charge, as well. “But how?” He reached out his hand, gasping when his fingertips went right through her body without her saying so much as a word.

A vision, he realized. Normally, visions were dreams filled with premonitions sent by the Almighty. Often they told of future happenings, but there were times when they would show the viewer what was the current status of events if they were not there to witness them themselves. A typical vision was usually rendered in the mind, but here, in the direct presence of his Father, Asmodeus saw the apparition with his very own eyes.

The Almighty pointed the form of His finger toward a spot on the human’s body, right below her stomach. There in her womb rested a glowing yellow orb.

“Your ‘love,’” his Father spat, “has brought you the responsibility of a child.”

Asmodeus’ heart stopped. A child? His frigid blood thawed, and he couldn’t explain the sudden warm flush that overcame his body. “I’m … going to be a father?”

“Of a child that is half-angel and half-human, yes. I shall call this brand of creature, 'Nephilim',” his Father glowered. “In any case, this cannot stand.”

The warmth in his body immediately cooled. “Come again, Father?”

“I created humans to populate the Earth. Angels were never part of My plan.” God waved the part of His glory that formed a hand, and the vision of the human turned to ash, which dusted the tile floor. “The child will not survive.”

“No, Father, You can’t—” he began, cringing as he heard the defiance in his voice.

“—Consider it the consequence of your lust, Asmodeus.” His Father’s tone was decided. “I will be merciful—even though you deserve justice, instead—and tomorrow, you will return to your charge. She will know nothing of this incident but be forewarned—if this ever occurs again, there will be no grace. Your erasure from the Celestial Realm will be permanent.”

Another vision of his charge appeared before Asmodeus. This time, he was standing next to her as her Guardian Angel, as she wove threads of yarn on a loom. The two figures laughed as if all was well.

Something sunk low in Asmodeus’ stomach. There was nothing more he wanted than to enter in the vision and live his life as it predicted, even if it meant loving the woman from afar.

But his eyes turned glassy as he shook his head. “Father, I beg You. Spare the child.” He breathed deeply, a vow poised on his lips that he, in the next moments, would come to regret. “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

His Father’s glory receded, signaling that the Almighty was on the verge of calming down. “Be careful when you promise ‘anything,’ My son.”

“There is no price I won’t pay.”

“Even your life?”

“Even my life.”

“Your immortal life is worth thousands of human lives.”

“Then my sacrifice should be more than enough.”

The Almighty pondered the statement.

His silence only served to highlight the fact that during this whole encounter, Lucifer had played his flute, not bothering to watch the drama unfold.

Asmodeus had to give the Archangel of Music credit—considering his dedication to his craft, it was no wonder that their Father always yearned to have him by His side. Still, he couldn’t help but find it absurd that Lucifer hadn’t even so much as peeked at the spectacle in the Throne Room; his eyes never opened.

“I will spare your life,” his Father determined. By now, His ire had subsided and it was possible for Asmodeus to face His direction without his eyes watering. “And I will spare your child’s. However, you will never work for your charge, again. You will never see her and she will forget every moment she has spent with you. In her mind, you will never have existed at all.”

Asmodeus gulped and he tasted bile in his mouth. “But what about our child? And the Guardian Angel her mother and grandmother prayed for? Father, You wouldn’t ignore their pleas.”

“No,” his Father boomed. He moved the form of His arm and a third vision materialized.

This time, Asmodeus saw his charge—former charge?—sitting on a bench, again, working on a loom. The bulge on her abdomen was a clear indicator of her pregnancy. On her left stood a man, rugged and muscular with dark skin; his wings proved that he was an angel—her new Guardian Angel. There was another man on her right, who kissed the woman on the lips and rubbed her swollen stomach.

Asmodeus gagged—bodily gagged—repulsion filling his throat, as he realized what was to occur. “You’re allowing that human man to raise mine and her’s child as his own?” He didn’t want to mention the fact that his Father had chosen for her a Guardian Angel that was physically his opposite.

“My son, did you truly believe that you were to raise this child?” the Almighty asked, His voice genuinely puzzled. “You are a Guardian Angel; you live to guard humans that have asked for your protection. You were never created to parent them.”

“How will I ever see my child, then, Father?” While he still couldn’t believe that he had aided in the creation of life, he knew for a fact that he wanted to watch it grow and be there for it.

The Almighty was calm as he said, “You won’t.” Asmodeus felt his heart drop to his feet, as his Father warned, “Remember what I said, My son. Angels were not created to raise humans. If you so much as think of interacting with this child, then I will have no choice but to bind you and slice off your wings. Then you will forever remain in the Celestial Realm, doing the menial jobs of the unspecialized angels.”

Asmodeus felt something inside of him grow cold. Whether he returned to his charge and killed his child or let his child live and lose his charge, he would be giving up his entire world.

“If that’s what I have to do to ensure the child lives, then I’ll take that offer.” There was no emotion in his voice except for pure resignation.

“Excellent.” Suddenly, his Father’s voice became as smooth as honey. Knowing from experience, Asmodeus knew that His next words would be as bitter as gall. And he was right. “Now, My son, we have discussed how we are going to deal with you impregnating a human. It is time for your punishment for your original crime: you slept with your human charge. You say it was love, but I cannot see this purely sexual act as anything other than lust. You know the penalty for that has never been implemented, but it is time. However, My son, I will be merciful to you, once again.” Asmodeus simply stared dully as his Father continued, “My son, I will withdraw the original punishment for this crime from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Asmodeus, do you regret what you did?

It was only then that warmth bloomed inside him once more, the burning embers of his own ire against the Almighty. His Father could call it what He wished, but his passion for his charge was love, no matter how He twisted it. And that love would always remain for that human woman, wherever she was and whomever she reciprocated the love to.

There was only one word he could answer with.

“No.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me swd #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #adverbslut_writes #fanfiction #fanfic

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pessimisticlatte · 5 years ago

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Glass Roses - Chapter 6

Marichat ~ Adrienette ~ Platonic Marigami ~ Lukagami ~ Chlobrina ~ Nathalie x Emilie ~ DJWifi/Rougapace/Alynino

-Eventual Reveal-

Bit of a reveal in here, my wonderful readers! I love making things a bit complicated so that’s exactly what I’ve done! Enjoy my explanation as to why I described Lila as being ‘strawberry blonde’ in the last chapter! It’s going to be very important very, very soon :P

~~~~~~~~ Gabriel could feel Nathalie’s disdain toward him radiating off her. He was unsure of what he’d done to turn her against him but he didn’t have much reason to care, she was a means to an end and a way of bringing Emilie back to him. She didn’t have to like him anymore, she just had to obey his orders.

~~~~~~~

School had been active for a month. There hadn’t been a single akuma attack just yet, Marinette didn’t exactly understand the full extent of Hawkmoth’s powers but Master Fu had explained that he chose his victims by judging the strength of their emotions. Mari couldn’t grasp how that worked. Chat hadn’t come to see her since school had started and she could feel a deep, jittery worry sludging through her veins. He was on her mind near constantly, so much so that her anxiety around Adrien had almost completely diminished.

Mari stood on her balcony with a light cardigan wrapped around her slim shoulders, if Chat didn’t appear in the next twenty or so minutes, she’d decided that she was going to head out on a patrol as Ladybug. Rena Rouge, Carapace, Chat Noir and Ladybug had formed a roster for patrolling so that it wasn’t a responsibility placed solely on Ladybug and Chat’s shoulders and everyone had the chance to get a full night’s sleep. Mari had been meaning to raise the idea of adding another to their slowly growing band, she’d taken the Dragon miraculous back off Kagami before Kagami had gone away. The Bee miraculous, Snake miraculous, Horse, Monkey and the others were all still in the Guardian Box. She wouldn’t mind adding Ryuko to the roster or Viperion, maybe both, but tonight wasn’t her night to patrol. It was Chat’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lila stood in front of the dimly lit washbasin in her ensuite, looking at herself in the grimy mirror above it. All the lies she’d told the students at school about her mother always ran with an undercurrent of truth. Yes, her mother was absent, and yes, they hadn’t spent proper time together in years but it wasn’t because she was a super-spy or world-famous model, it was because of something far more sad.

Unwrapping the towel from around her head, Lila remembered the last time she’d seen her mother. The tanned skin of her mother’s face was stretched across the frame of her face, the meat of her cheeks created cliffs under her round cheekbones from the extent that it had withered away, once lively brown eyes now hollow and sunken, glassy and unseeing. The tangled, waist length strands of Lila’s hair came free from the towel and fell in damp clumps around her pyjama clad hips. Lila’s mother was a housemaid, a migrant one at that, who worked herself to the bone to keep Lila in school and clothed as best she could. The clothes on Lila’s back had been painstakingly hand-sewn by Lila herself to replicate the fashions she saw daily. Chloe Bourgeois didn’t know how lucky she was, her father was alive and her mother made time for her. She had money to throw around on stupid things like manicures she’d get redone in a different colour the very next day, while Lila didn’t even have enough spare to buy new bobby pins when she really needed them.

Brushing her hand through her limp, newly re-bleached hair, Lila sighed through her nose. Even Dupain-Cheng had it good. Her mother and father adored her, they always made time for her and never left her completely, utterly alone. A large chunk of Lila’s hair came off in her hand, the damp blonde ball tangled around her fingers caused a sob to rise in her throat. The tips of her butter yellow acrylic fingernails shone within the hairball, the manicure that she’d stolen money to get. The manicure that now held knotted bundles of her once magnificent brunette mane. Lila felt a hairy clump whisper against the skin of her back as she moved her head slightly, the weight of her drying hair was now pulling the dead, chemically destroyed roots directly out of her scalp.

She’d worked herself to the bone over the holidays to afford the hair bleach, the make up, jewellery, even her criminally paid for manicure. The family her mother worked for rarely let her go home and her wage scarcely covered their rent, not to mention school, so Lila worked when she could, as much as she could. She cleaned, she cooked, she sewed things, all so she could afford groceries, when she’d come up short of her calculations on how much she’d need to spend on her new appearance, she’d stolen cash from the till at the fast food restaurant she took the graveyard shift at. The manager had been none the wiser as Lila swiped petty change and other employee’s tips as well as bills and coins from the register.

Tears stinging her eyes as she tied what remained of her once thick, soft, glistening hair into a straggly, thin plait and repeated the mantra she told herself daily.

“When you marry Adrien Agreste, you will never go hungry again, you will be the daughter Gabriel Agreste never had, and you will make Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Chloe Bourgeois, Alya Cesaire and Kagami Tsurugi pay for everything they have done to you. You will rule Paris one day with Adrien and his wealth by your side, and you will make them know how to feels to have nothing, to have no one, to be nothing. You will destroy their families and serve justice for them not helping your mother.”

Lila and her mother had lived in Paris for longer than Marinette and her family. The Dupain Bakery had been run by a cantankerous old man before Tom Dupain and his new wife, Sabine Cheng, returned from China with their young daughter and took over the business. Lila’s mother had asked the old man to take her on as a baker or even as a waitress but he’d spat slurs at her until she’d fled the bakery with her damaged pride and worry for the young mouth she had to feed. Her mother never went back to the bakery but every time Lila saw the smiling faces of Tom and Sabine at an event they were catering, she thought of a time when her mother wasn’t too exhausted to function.

Alya’s mother, Marlena, was the head chef at Le Grande Paris restaurant and had been kind to Lila’s mother for as long as she worked there. Marlena and her husband were born in France but had Creole heritage, Marlena understood some of the disdain Lila’s mother endured and tried to make her feel welcome. Lila never had the chance to meet Alya before she started at College Francoise Dupont but after Marlena had been forced to fire her mother, Lila had vowed to make the other girl pay. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that a patron had assaulted her and she’d accidentally spilled hot soup on him, the man who grabbed her ass should have been punished, not her mother who was working to feed her. Alya had two parents and wouldn’t ever have to worry about her next meal, Alya’s mother had taken a woman who was supporting a sick child with what she had and left her in the gutter to die.

Kagami had taken Adrien’s focus off her. He no longer worried about settling Lila into the school and helping keep her caught up on work. He’d barely spoken to her today when he sat next to her in class. She’d spent quite a few painstaking hours forging her mother’s signature on a letter to the school to ensure Adrien would have to spend as much time as possible with her but he hadn’t deigned to say more than a few words, instead looking around the room to avoid her gaze. He’d spent lunch with Kagami too, and Marinette, and Alya. Lila would make him love her. He had no choice.

She didn’t know where to begin when it came to the pain Chloe had caused her. Lila’s mother had applied for a job at the Bourgeois residence a year ago, after Lila had started at Francoise Dupont, and Chloe had mercilessly mocked her for it. Chloe had hired Lila’s mother for a week, and held her mother’s job over Lila like a carrot to a horse, ensuring that Lila did whatever she wanted. Lila had almost been akumatised but Ivan had been instead, his rage so much more susceptible to the butterfly than her frustration. Her mother had then been unceremoniously let go, leaving her bedridden as Lila scraped in what she could to afford doctors visits for her now raging cold. After her mother had finally gotten better, Mayor Bourgeois had hired her again, saying that she was lucky that Chloe had taken pity on her and convinced him to take her back on as a maid. Chloe had spun a false story that made it appear as if Lila’s mother had stolen a valuable necklace from her, Lila knew that Chloe had actually given that very necklace to Sabrina several weeks before; but that was where her mother worked now, doing all the jobs other servants didn’t want to do. Her mother worked longer hours than she should, did jobs damaging to her already fragile health, and her employers paid little attention. Every time something broke, which was awfully often, the cost of repair would be taken out of Lila’s mother’s paycheque.

The cost of renting in Paris was ridiculously steep, meaning that pay that had once seemed generous barely kept them alive but after the deductions from every broken object, it was even less.

Looking at her face in the mirror, Lila vowed to make each of them pay and take from them what their families had denied her. Adrien was beautiful and kind but, most importantly, he was wealthy. He was the only person who could love Lila, who could fix the terrible life she came from. But Lila knew that there was no redemption for her, even if he loved her.

In her heart, she knew that she wouldn’t stop once she got everything she wanted. She was going to kill the man who sired her and leave his body in a gutter. She was going to completely isolate Adrien so he had no one and nothing but her, then she was going to use his family’s influence to become the most powerful person the world had ever seen. No matter how horrible the life she had was, she would never be happy unless everyone else was not.

She would tear Chloe Bourgeois’ life apart and take it for herself, looking exactly like the girl who had caused her and her mother more pain than they already endured.

~~~~~~~~~

Dressed as Chat Noir, Adrien leaned against a chimney and watched Marinette standing on her balcony. She looked so serene but so tense and worried at the same time, her body like a tightly coiled wire. Her azure eyes flicked around the houses in front of her, a frown growing on her beautiful face. He knew that she was looking for him but he wanted to wait another minute before he skipped across the roof-tops to her. Adrien had let Rena Rouge and Carapace know that he had plans come up tonight, meaning that he was going to be unable to finish his patrol; the two had looked at each other, sharing a knowing glance, and agreed that Carapace would take over his patrol tonight. Rena had pulled him aside afterwards and asked him, not so subtly, if he had a date planned; he’d felt his cheeks flare red under the mask and the gleam in Rena’s eye told him that she hadn’t missed it, something about her multicoloured opal eyes reminded him of Alya and the stance she held before him echoed the reporter perfectly.

It had been a while since Chat Noir and Rena Rogue had seen each other, just the two of them, and both had grown older and wiser over the summer holidays. Adrien was more perceptive since discovering Marinette was Ladybug, spending a lot of time analysing the way she walked, the way she talked and the way she stood. Alya had never stopped being perceptive but she’d always been so preoccupied when she dressed as Rena and she’d never taken the time to pick apart every aspect of who the boy in the black catsuit could be.

“Alya?” Adrien’s voice had softened. Carapace behind him was tapping a message to Ladybug to tell her of the patrol change tonight on his shell-phone (as he jokingly called it). The way he said her name had Alya’s eyes widening to saucers and her jaw dropping.

“Is that you behind that mask, Adrien Agreste?” Alya flicked her fingers against his forehead, Adrien batted her hand away.

“Who else could it be, you tricky fox?” He gave a devious smirk and winked.

“Somehow, you had been the last person I’d ever expected to be Chat Noir but I’d never expected Nino to be Carapace eithe-,” Alya slapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head, not looking at Adrien at all.

“N-Nino is Carapace?” Adrien’s eyes widened too, the black pupils shrinking to a pinprick. “That means Marin-, Lady-.”

“Marin? Do you mean Marinette?” Alya cut Adrien off with a quizzical look. She didn’t understand why he’d correlated Nino with Marinette and she was sure that she could dissect it but she didn’t have the mental space currently after discovering that Adrien ‘I live in a tower’ Agreste liked to dress in a skintight black cat suit and skip across Parisian rooftops, putting himself in near constant danger.

“Uh….,” Adrien paused awkwardly and shuffled his feet. “No?”

Alya’s eyes widened even further, the sclera fully haloing the glimmering rainbow of her eyes. “Marinette is Ladybug,” The words felt so weird but so right on her tongue. “Oh my god, Marinette is Ladybug and Ladybug is Marinette. How did I not notice earlier!”

“Shhhh, sh, sh, sh,” Adrien covered Alya’s mouth with his hand before she could call Cara- Nino’s attention to their discussion. “She doesn’t know that I know and she can’t know that you know.”

“It makes sense why she chose me now. It wasn’t because of the Ladyblog or just because Ella and Etta became the Sapotis, it was because I’m her best friend and there’s nothing like fighting crime with your bestie,” Adrien’s hand muffled Alya’s rambling, but he nodded.

“Oh shiiiiiit, what’d you do, Al?” Nino’s casual tone broke through the awkward air surrounding the position Alya and Adrien were in. “Wait, sorry, lemme try again, what’d you do, Nine-tails?”

Adrien took his hand off Alya’s mouth and sighed. Alya and Nino knew who each other were and if their superhero relationship was anything like their civilian one then secrets wouldn’t stay secret between them for long.

“Well shit, Nino,” Adrien rubbed his fingers across his brow. “You blew her cover.”

“I’m not Nino, who is Nino?” Nino put on a fake accent, looking awkwardly around the rooftop as if that would erase the knowledge Adrien now had.

“Can I say it?” Alya looked at Adrien who gave a single nod. Placing her hand gently on Nino’s cheek, Alya turned his face so his eyes would meet hers. “Adrien is Chat Noir, Speilberg.”

“Uh, not a good time to be pulling my leg, Al,” Nino looked so confused, his eyes tearing from those of his girlfriend to assess Adrien. “Like, really not a good time. I’m about to head out on a patrol and this prank really isn’t gonna help me keep a level head if I have to spend the whole time freakin’ out about Adrien possibly lying to me.”

Something cold formed in the pit of Adrien’s stomach. “She’s not pranking you, Nino,” Adrien dropped the jovial tone he used specifically for Chat Noir and slipped into his usual restrained voice, the one Nino heard daily and would have no choice but to recognise. “It’s me.”

Alya’s hand still on his face, Nino’s head snapped between the two of them.

“You’re definitely pulling my leg, this isn’t funny, how’d you get Chat to copy Adrien’s voice so well, Nine-tails?” Nino shook his head vigorously, removing Alya’s hand from his face by her orange clad wrist. “This isn’t funny.”

“Plagg, claws in,” Adrien knew there was no other way to convince Nino that he was Chat Noir and if he didn’t show him the truth, Adrien might very well ruin his relationship with Alya. Marinette would skin him alive if he tore Nino and Alya apart, they had found each other when both of them were very lost and had found their way together, if he destroyed that she would never, ever forgive him. The Chat Noir suit melted off Adrien’s body and clotted together to form Plagg who promptly fell, groaning, to the floor of building the three were stood upon.

Nino’s eyes bugged out of his head, stretching further than should be humanly possible. He shook his head, eyes closed, before looking at Adrien again.

“Dude, you...you’re Chat Noir?” Nino looked at Alya as he confusedly questioned his best friend. Alya gave her boyfriend a reassuring half smile and nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-Ladybug said that I couldn’t tell you that I was Chat Noir because it could put you and your families in danger,” Adrien’s brow creased as he remembered Marinette insisting that their loved ones came first. “But, now that you’re Carapace, you and Alya should know who I am.”

“Does Ladybug know?” Nino went straight to the point. With an air of sadness, Adrien shook his head. “So, you don’t know who Ladybug is?”

“He didn’t say that, Speilberg,” Alya cut in over the top, reminding the two boys that she was still there and a part of the conversation.

“So you do know who Ladybug is?” Nino cocked his head. He was well aware of Adrien’s crush on Ladybug and if his best friend knew who the girl behind the mask was then surely he’d asked her out.

“Uuuuuuuh………,” Adrien bit his lip. “Plagg, claws out.”

The Chat Noir suit folded back around Adrien’s body, the Cat Kwami groaning as his form dispersed into the costume.

“You know who Ladybug is but she doesn’t know who you are?” Nino had taken Adrien’s sudden transformation as an avoidance tactic. “Is she someone we know?”

“Uh,” Adrien didn’t want to give Mari away to Nino like he did to Alya. Being Chat had been his best kept secret but only because he’d never interacted with anyone aside from Ladybug before Rena Rouge and Carapace had joined them. Marinette had never asked who he was under the mask and had actually insisted that he didn’t tell her, he wasn’t going to disobey her wishes. Especially after his interaction with Tikki.

“Nino,” Alya pinched his arm.

“We definitely know her,” Nino rubbed his arm where Alya had pinched him. “Al knows who she is doesn’t she?”

Adrien opened and then closed his mouth, Nino bit his tongue to hold back making a joke about how good Adrien’s fish impression was.

“Imma start rifling off names cause I’m getting impatient and ya both know that I’m not a fan of puzzles. I’m a music man and filmmaker extraordinaire but puzzle maester I am not,” Alya pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, she loved his stubbornness but she wasn’t sure if this warranted another pinch or letting him continue to press Adrien. “Ahhhh...Chloe?”

Adrien shook his head. Why would Nino immediately go for Chloe?

“Good, even if she has changed, I couldn’t imagine her keeping being Ladybug a secret, plus she did fight with us as Queen Bee, didn’t she? So I should-a ruled her out immediately,” Alya grimaced. “Sabrina?”

Another head shake, this time Alya gave one too. Neither Adrien nor Alya realised it but in deciding to ask the name of every single girl Nino, Adrien and Alya knew, Nino was attempting to hold them up as long as possible before he went on patrol. It may be selfish but he wanted to spend more time with Alya and he was still getting used to the fact that Adrien, his best friend, was Chat Noir. He knew that he’d asked why Adrien would want to lie to him but after accepting that it was Adrien in front of him, he didn’t want to bring that back up; Nino didn’t like hurting people and he especially didn’t like hurting Adrien. The look on Adrien’s face after Nino had made the statement told him that his words had injured his best friend.

“Ladybug has dark hair...dark hair...dark hair,” Nino tapped his chin and started to pace. Alya shot a look at Adrien and mouthed the words ‘I think all the thinking is hurting him’, Adrien sneezed out a chuckle. “Juleka?”

“Nope,” Alya responded this time, cocking her hip and gently folding her arms below her bust. The smile on her face was casual and loving.

“Am I getting warmer or colder?” Nino pursed his lips.

“You’re getting soup,” Adrien stuck his chin out and leaned forward, extending his baton and resting both his hands and chin on the top of it.

“I dunno what that means. It can’t be Marc, I know they could match the voice but I don’t think they’d fit the suit,” Nino paused. “The voice, Ladybug’s voice, Al, do you have a recording?”

“Of course I have a recording,” Alya whipped out the Illusion flute and flicked the cap on the end off, opening up the screen beneath. Running her glove covered finger across it, Alya started to play a recording of Ladybug’s voice through the flute. She’d hooked the computer in the flute up to her phone and now had access to all the recordings she had of her interviews with Ladybug.

“...don’t worry, I’ve got you,” The soft voice coming through the speaker cooed to whoever was on the other end. Alya had taken this recording last time she’d helped Marinette take down an Akuma, the victim had been a little toddler who had immediately started bawling as soon as the possession left her body.

“T-that sounds like Mari,” Nino pointed at the flute with a knowing grin. “That’s a recording of Mari. Mari is Ladybug.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Adrien wiggled his hips slightly, still balancing his chin on the baton.

“Wait, I’m correct?” Nino actually looked very confused. He’d been playing to win but Mari was the last person he thought would be Ladybug. She was incredibly clumsy, not overly strong and very, very shy; Nino wasn’t sure that she could survive the stunts Ladybug did. Then he remembered that he’d seen Mari actually remained balanced during a gymnastics lesson at school, he’d seen her moving stacks of chairs heavier than she was, and she’d become more open, so much less shy. “Mari...Marinette is Ladybug.”

“Yes, she is,” Alya walked over to her boyfriend and placed her hands on his shoulders, her smaller frame melted into Nino’s as she hugged him. “I don’t think there could be anyone better to be Ladybug.”

“She’s selfless, caring, and so strong, that’s why I love her,” Adrien stood up fully and collapsed his baton, sticking it to the magnetic patch on the lower back of his suit. “When I discovered that Marinette was Ladybug, I realised that I was lucky to love someone so brave. Yeah, I was kinda mad at first that she hadn’t told me that she was Ladybug but she did it to protect me.”

“Mari is the perfect Ladybug,” Nino pressed a kiss to the top of Alya’s head, a grin breaking across his face. “You love her, eh?”

“Dammit, Speilberg, that’s what you take from this?” Alya rested her chin against his chest and looked up at him with round eyes.

“It’s alright, Alya,” Adrien chuckled awkwardly. “I told Nino that I had a crush on Mari during the holidays and he’s been trying to get me to admit to it for weeks.”

“Hell yeah, I have,” Nino rested his arms on Alya’s shoulders and rubbed his chin against her forehead, drawing an annoyed groan from the red-head in his hold. “So you know that Mari is Buggaboo but she doesn’t know that you’re Kitty boy?”

“Yeah,” Adrien chewed his bottom lip, ripping a flake of skin off.

“We know that Mari is Buggaboo and that you’re Kitty boy but she doesn’t know that we know and she also doesn’t know that we know that she doesn’t know,” Nino nodded his head, rubbing his chin against Alya’s forehead again, she struggled to pull out of his grip.

“Basically,” Adrien watched Alya wriggle around in Nino’s grip, trying to make him let go of her. With a grin and a wink toward Adrien, Nino squeezed Alya tighter.

“You’re going to go see her tonight as Chat, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Adrien’s embarrassment flush painted his cheeks again, even Alya hadn’t asked that.

“Do you do it often?” Alya stopped struggling and turned her head as much as she could to face Adrien, her half crushed smirk just as all knowing as she wanted it to be.

“I haven’t gone and seen her since school started. I haven’t really seen Ladybug either since we sorted out the patrol roster,” Nino loosened his hold on Alya, who simply spun around in his arms and leaned against him.

“Why’re you still here then? Go get her, tiger...cat….dude….Go get her, Kitty boy,” Adrien gave them a wide grin. “Nine-tails and I have got tonights patrol, we’re gonna get on the same page about all-a this.”

“Thanks, Nino, you’re the best,” Adrien walked over to Nino who fully let go of Alya and pulled Adrien into a tight hug. Adrien hugged his best friend back.

“I didn’t mean it, man. I understand that you didn’t tell me cause you wanted to keep Al and I safe. It means so much to me that you did it for us,” Nino’s voice was soft, a level that only Adrien was meant to hear but the enhanced hearing that came with Alya’s Fox miraculous meant that she’d heard them too. “I’d ask you to stay safe but that’s impossible in this line of work, so just...don’t get yourself killed. Love you, man.”

“Love you too, Speilberg,” Adrien squeezed a little tighter and lifted Nino off the ground slightly. Nino was taller than him so it wasn’t easy but it didn’t stop him. The two boys let each other go and engaged in their rather complicated handshake. Alya flung herself at Adrien and pulled him into a bone crushing hug before letting go and walking to stand beside Nino.

“Don’t hurt her, Agreste,” Alya’s voice was barbed as she gave him her warning. “I don’t care if you’re this jackasses best friend,” Alya pointed her thumb at Nino. “I will gut you, understand?”

“I understand,” Adrien swore with his hand over his heart. They walked across the roof to the edge, Nino glanced at Alya who nodded. Nino vaulted himself over the edge, leaving Alya lingering in the dimming sunlight, a halo of gold illuminating her orange and white costume.

“Please, let her tell you first,” Alya’s voice was soft and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. What she was crying about, Adrien didn’t know. “Don’t tell her that you’re Chat Noir until she asks, please don’t force her to come out as Ladybug to you either; you’ll stress the ever loving shit out of Mari if you do and it could send you both right into Hawkmoth’s clutches. She is the sweetest, strongest, most wonderful girl I have ever met but she carries her life on the head of a pin and the slightest wobble could send everything she has falling to the ground. She loves you, as Adrien and as Chat, but you need to let her tell you first.”

“Tikki said the same thing,” Alya gave him a confused look, her head tipping slightly. “The Ladybug Kwami.”

“Great minds think alike,” Alya laughed through her nose. “But give her time, Adrien, her heart is made of glass and we don’t want her to shatter. You might think that telling her that you know, that Nino and I know, would make things easier for her but rocking the boat before she has a lifejacket on will kill her. The work Mari does for Jagged Stone, her designs, her friendships, her grades, her job at her parent’s bakery, and her life as Ladybug are all on the line.”

“I promise you, Alya, I’ll take care of her and I won’t do anything to hurt her. You have my full permission to bury me in an unmarked grave if I do,” Alya slid her foot slightly over the edge of the roof, her heel planted on what was left of the roof beneath her.

“It’s laughable that you think I need your permission,” Alya leapt off the roof, leaving Adrien all alone, watching the space where she’d been until the forms of both her and Nino could be seen racing across the roofs through the glaring, setting sun.

Immediately after Alya and Nino had disappeared into Paris, Adrien had made his way to Marinette’s where he still stood, watching the now cooling wind pick up the wisps of her fringe. Exhaling his nervousness, Adrien started to move across the roofs into Marinette’s line of sight, he saw her head perk up as her eyes locked onto him. She had been waiting for him after all. Her smile set a blaze burning in his stomach, his chest, and his head, with a full and dimpled grin he catapulted onto her balcony and drew her into an embrace.

~~~~~~TAGLINE~~~~~~ @lady-charinette @katieykat513 @nifflerstorm @mochegato @aussie-lesbian @maniic-pixie-dream-girl

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