#mai voice: I can have a little bit of betrayal. as a treat.

[discordiansamba]

if you asked sokka a year ago where he thought he'd be in a year's time, he probably never would have given the answer of 'living in the fire lord's personal family villa on ember island in the fire nation with my sister and a brainwashed prince zuko'. never in a million years. not a chance.

that's where sokka is.

his sister has, for whatever reason, decided that they need to let zuko come to them. sokka loves his sister, but he also thinks she's insane. did she miss the part where zuko was brainwashed? he's spent the past half year meeting and interacting with an endless parade of people from his past, and it hasn't so much as cracked.

he lived with his sister as her servant for months, katara! months! you're not going to convince him he's been brainwashed!

but katara is stubborn. she's not backing down on this. zuko's condition is bad. like. really bad. she's going to need all the help she can get to bring him back. which means zuko needs to work with them, and not against them. which means they have to gain lee's trust. they have to make him understand his entire life is a lie.

great. he's sure that'll be easy peasy.

...living with lee is probably the strangest experience sokka has had in his life- and he's including the time he was kidnapped by a spirit. he wasn't kidding about being able to cook. he doesn't trust them, so he makes all of his own food. it actually smells good. he and katara can't help but spy on him whenever he cooks.

(eventually, he gets frustrated enough by this and tells them to sit down. i'll make you one meal if you stop spying on me. sokka gives him his most solemn vow and instantly comes to regret it. it's delicious.)

those first few days, they let him do whatever he wants. sokka's pretty sure zuko gets lost in his own home. he stares at his childhood portrait a lot. at mirrors. he pointedly ignores him and katara. he's so bristly and standoffish that it actually feels a little like zuko's back already, until sokka realizes they've just... never seen lee upset before.

katara talks to him whenever he'll let her, which isn't often. sokka feels like he's going to tear out his hair. they're not getting anywhere. katara's the one who said that zuko was at risk of becoming lee permanently. shouldn't she be trying to speed things along? plus azula might come knocking on their door to get her tea server back.

toph and aang drop by once a week to bring supplies. they kind of have to. katara and sokka are just as trapped in the villa as zuko is. they ask if they've made progress. the answer is always no. they deliver a letter from iroh. he's pretty sure the old man is starting to get pretty antsy.

all this for someone sokka doesn't even like.

three weeks in, toph and aang bring a surprise visitor. it's maybe not the last person sokka expects to see, but she's pretty high up there. the gloomy girl who sighs a lot looks down at them-

-and tells them she wants to help.

katara finds zuko tucked away in the corner of the villa, curled up in on himself. he's clutching his head, and visibly flinches when she draws closer. katara stops in her tracks, even backing up a few steps.

he's terrified of her- and she can't even blame him.

they should have known azula would have tried something like this. that she would lie to him. she just doesn't understand how she could do this. she tries to think about sokka becoming a different person, and it makes her shudder. she can't imagine asking for it herself. and then making him become her servant?

she doesn't think she'll ever understand azula.

"lee," katara keeps her voice quiet, "-i'm not going to hurt you."

zuko shakes his head. he doesn't look at her.

katara sighs, and sits down. zuko somehow manages to force himself more into the corner. it was beyond surreal to see him like this. it had been beyond surreal the entire time. she'd really rather he go back to yelling at her and calling her a water tribe peasant. she could deal with that.

"listen," katara says, "-I know this is scary, and I know what Azula told you, but none if it's true. the only thing I want to do is help you."

zuko looks up at her. he asks her why they've locked him up here if that's really true. why keep me prisoner if all you want to do is help me? katara bites her lip. he has a point, but... he's made it obvious that he'll run if he gets the chance. she can't blame him for that either. he doesn't know any better.

zuko is completely convinced he's lee. he's spent two years caught in a web of lies, enforced as much by innocent bystanders who have only ever known him as lee as it was by lan-wei. he'd built a life for himself in ba sing se as lee. he'd been... genuinely happy there, she thinks. and it's enough to almost, almost make her try and convince iroh to just let him live like this. to just be lee.

she doesn't think zuko was ever happy.

it's funny. she's spent so long resenting him for his betrayal at ba sing se. but these past few months, and getting to know him as lee... she thinks she's ended up with a better understanding of zuko than she's ever had before. she doesn't think he deserves to endure azula's constant mockery of him, but... a nice, peaceful life at the ba sing se tea shop.

but it wouldn't be right.

katara took the chance while he was unconscious to check out his brain. she'd spent weeks after the war, systematically freeing the brainwashed joo dees. it had been a struggle at first, but once she'd found the rhythm, she'd practically been able to do it in her sleep. she'd already known lee would be different, but...

...it had been worse than she'd thought. so much worse.

they were so, so lucky she'd found zuko when she did. a year or two from now? she didn't even know if water from the spirit oasis would be enough to save him. there wouldn't be a zuko anymore. he'd just... become lee. completely and utterly. he already was lee, completely and utterly... but they still had a chance.

the window of opportunity was very much closing.

"please, katara," zuko says, "-I just want to go home."

he doesn't even know this villa belongs to his family. iroh told her that they had many happy memories in this place- memories that zuko has forgotten entirely. no, not forgotten. just... locked away. inaccessible. she sighs.

"lee," she says, "-i know this isn't going to be easy to hear. but you need to the truth. all i'm asking is that you listen."

"what?" lee spits. "you're going to tell me I'm brainwashed again? I know who I am, katara."

"no," katara says, "-you don't."

[mariclerc]

Falling for you | cl16

Summary: thanks to a debt owed by your father you have to marry the boss of the mafia.

Warnings: angst, fake marriage, mafia au, mentions of blood and gunshots, 5 years age gap, mafia boss!Charles with a soft spot for reader and a little bit of fluff.

Part 2, part 3, part 4

You knew that your father was not a good person, and he is someone who is quite bad and incompetent towards you, for him you are just a pawn in the middle of his game and not his daughter. There is never a lack of mistreatment and shocking looks with him, but the worst of all is that due to a debt owed by one of his businesses, so he decided to make a forced marriage between his 22-year-old daughter and the head of the Monegasque mafia in order to "solve his debts."

So here you find yourself, tied to a fake marriage with le diable de monte carlo (the devil of monte carlo) and he is not someone very nice, let's say, he is not someone you like and you can assure that he doesn't like you either.

Now you are in an opulent living room bathed in the soft glow of a fireplace, Charles sits by the fire, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand, he looks a little troubled... Across the room, you clutch a throw pillow on the plush couch with downcast eyes, an awkward silence stretches between you two.

He sighs. “We should probably talk.”

You steal a glance at him, then quickly look away. “Talk? About what?” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

He sets down his glass. “This whole... situation, the marriage... your father.”

You tense up, your father's betrayal and your forced marriage are fresh wounds. “There's not much to say, is there? He owed you a debt with his business, and... Well, here we are.”

“It doesn't have to be like this. I know this isn't what you wanted.” he says looking at you.

You let out a sigh. “Of course it's not! My whole life has been a series of things I never wanted, thanks to him! And now I'm stuck in a gilded cage with a... a...” you say with a slightly rising voice.

You struggle to find the right words.

Charles rises an eyebrow. “A what?”

You feel your frustration bubbling up. “A… a fucking pretentious and arrogant idiot who thinks the world revolves around him and his fucking business!” you finally say.

The words tumble out, surprising even you, Charles stares at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“So that's how you see me, huh?” he says chuckling. “It's pretty accurate I might say.” his voice is low and dangerous.

You take a shaky breath. “I… I don't know what I see! This whole thing is crazy. We barely know each other, and now we're married? It's all a damn fucking mess!” you say as tears form in your eyes.

You break down in tears, burying your face in the pillow. Charles hesitate for a bit, then rises and walks towards you, he sits beside you, a hint of gentleness in his movements.

“Hey... Look at me y/n.” he says softly, you sniffle and hesitantly lift your head, Charles meets your gaze, his expression is unreadable. “I know this is a huge mess... But maybe, there's a way to make it work... For both of us.” he swipe his thumb to clean your tears and he extends a hand hesitantly, you stare at it for a long moment, then slowly reach out and take it.

“Why are you being so gentle towards me all of a sudden?” you ask him shyly.

He shrugged. “Why not?” he whispered with a low voice. “Look, I may be a son of a bitch out there, but I can try to treat you nice inside of this big ass mansion.” he sighed. “I know we don't like each other and this sucks, but I don't think you deserve any more shit than you've already gotten.” he says softly.

You look at him perplexed, not knowing what to say to him, it is well known that he is arrogant and perhaps the most feared man in all of Monaco, but now he is giving you hints of a somewhat sweet side of him. Which is quite unexpected for you.

***

After that night a couple of weeks have passed, and the truth it's that he kept his word, outside he may be a son of a bitch, but inside the mansion he does everything possible to treat you well, as you deserve, but apart from that, it is the same monotonous routine and one or another event that you have to attend with him because of course, in front of the people you are his "wife", but you don't feel that way, you are simply with Charles to benefit your father and that's it.

The mansion is dark, the only light spilling from the city skyline outside the window, you're curled up on the bed, a book in your lap, but the words blur before your eyes and unease prickles your skin. Charles is at a late-night business meeting, and worry gnaws at you, he normally arrives late at night, but he must have already arrived home, usually if he arrives and you are asleep he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, it is his way of telling you that he has arrived.

Suddenly, a crash shatters the silence and you hear the front door splinting open, a panicked gasp escape your lips. You scramble off the bed, heart hammering in your chest, footsteps pound into the apartment and your phone fumbles in your hand as you dial Charles' number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

Then, the gunshots erupt and you scream, the sound raw with terror, scrambling for cover, you fling yourself towards the walk-in closet, slamming the door shut just as rough voices fill the room. You huddle in the darkness, phone clutched in one hand, the other pressed against your mouth to stifle your sobs. Every creak of the floorboards, every muttered word sounds amplified.

Minutes tick by like hours and, finally, more gunshots, followed by a tense silence. Your legs are like jelly, your breath ragged, then, the creak of the closet door turning slowly makes your heart lurch, you squeeze your eyes shut, tears stinging your cheeks hoping for the worst.

A hand, rough but surprisingly gentle, reaches out and covers your mouth. A warm body presses against yours, a familiar scent of leather and cologne filling your senses.

“It's okay, it's me baby, shhh...” You hear Charles low and urgent voice.

You open your eyes a crack, relief washing over you as you see Charles' face. He looks grim, his eyes narrowed, but there's a flicker of worry in them as they meet yours, his hands are stained a shocking red, making you gasp.

He scoops you up cradled in his arms, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “Don't worry tesoro, it's alright. You're safe now.” he says soothingly. (darling)

He carries you swiftly through the darkened mansion, his movements sure despite the blood on his hands. You bury your face in his chest, the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart a stark contrast to the chilling scene you narrowly escaped. He flips on the light of the hallway, revealing the extent of the carnage: there are bullet holes in the walls, furniture overturned, blood spatters staining the pristine white tiles. You cling to him, trembling and Charles rushes you into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He gently sets you down and reaches for the first-aid kit, his movements are efficient as he cleanses a small cut on your arm that you hadn't even noticed in your panic.

“Charles… what happened? Who were those men?” you asked with hoarse voice.

“Just some... business associates who overstepped their boundaries, that's all.” he says avoiding your gaze.

You frown, knowing he's not telling you everything, you reach out and touch the blood on his hand, your voice barely a whisper.

”Charles, is it… is it my father? Did he… he sent those guys?” you whisper terrified.

Charles meets your gaze, his face a mask of cold fury. “Let's just say, his people won't be bothering us anymore, I promise.” he says steely, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his hold both protective and fiercely possessive.

The silence after Charles' last words hangs heavy in the air, thick with unspoken emotions. You stare up at him, his hold on you a lifeline in the aftermath of the terrifying ordeal.

“Charles, I… I don't even know what to say.” you say with trembling voice.

He leans back a fraction, concern softening his features. “You don't have to say anything baby, not yet. Just… know that you're safe now. That's all that matters to me.” he says gently.

But the words tumble out before you can stop them, a flood of emotions breaking the dam.

“No, it's not all that matters. This whole thing… it's been terrifying, confusing. But… being here with you, even in the middle of this mess it felt different. Safe, somehow, and maybe… a little bit comforting.” you say as your eyes fill with tears again.

A flicker of surprise crosses Charles' face, quickly replaced by a warmth that takes your breath away. His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek, the feeling of his fingertip on your face feels like a soft caress.

“Comforting, huh? That's an interesting word choice for a situation involving gunshots and gangsters.” he says with a low and husky voice.

You manage a weak smile. “But it's the truth! And maybe… that's because… because deep down, despite everything, despite how we got here… I think I… I might be starting to feel something for you, Charles.” you say with a small and shy voice.

The air crackles with unspoken confessions Charles stares at you, his gaze searching yours. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, chasing away the shadows of violence.

He smiles at you, the dimples making him present on his face. “Well, that's a relief, because believe it or not, tesoro, I feel the same way as you do... you know, being stuck in a loveless marriage with a cute pretty girl wasn't exactly on my agenda either.” he chuckled. (darling)

You laugh, a shaky sound that breaks the tension. He leans in, his lips hovering close to yours.

“How about we forget the whole arranged marriage thing, and see where this… feeling… takes us?” he says with his voice above a whisper.

His eyes hold yours, a question and a promise all at once, your heart beats a frantic rhythm in your chest. There's a world of uncertainty ahead, but for the first time, you feel a flicker of hope.

“I think I'd like that.” you say while nodding and smiling again.

He closes the gap between you, the kiss was a little hesitant at first, then it deepens with a newfound tenderness. The taste of blood mingles with the salt of your tears, a stark reminder of the danger you narrowly escaped, but the kiss itself is a promise of something new, something hopeful. In the wreckage of your forced marriage, a seed of real love has begun to bloom between the two of you.

***

The following days after the break-in are a real-life nightmare for you, you constantly wake up in the middle of the night with nightmares and so on, but at the same time, there are moments of calm like the one you are experiencing now. You're curled up on the couch, a book in your lap, but your eyes keep drifting towards Charles, who's engrossed in paperwork at the coffee table.

Charles glances up, catching your gaze, he smiles, a genuine one that reaches his eyes, and sets down his pen. “Daydreaming again, I see, hm?” he asked you while smiling softly.

You blush, self-consciously tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Just… thinking about... How things have changed so much, so quickly.” you smile back at him.

He walks over and sits beside you, his arm brushing yours in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Not all changes are bad, are they love?” he says lightly.

You shake your head. “Definitely not, especially not the ones that involve delicious takeout and avoiding gangsters all day.” you let out a soft giggle.

He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting. “Speaking of avoiding things, how about a change of scenery? A getaway? Just the two of us, before things get too… normal.”

The way he says "normal" makes you laugh... The normal life with Charles Leclerc, mafia boss (or ex-mafia boss, you haven't quite figured that out yet) is anything but normal in your book.

“A getaway? Where did you have in mind?” you asked intrigued.

He leans in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about Italy? We can go there and go unnoticed, plus it would be in a fairly quiet place where we wouldn't have to worry about anything or anyone, how does that sound chérie?” he says softly. (darling)

A mix of emotions washes over you – excitement and nervousness... But mostly, you feel a thrill of anticipation. Italy with Charles, on your own terms, feels like a new beginning.

“Italy, huh? Sounds… interesting.” you sighed. “When would we leave then?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow? Pack your bags, tesoro. We're leaving the chaos behind and heading for sunshine, good food, and maybe a little bit of… romance.” he smiled and you could swear his eyes were shining.

Your heart skips a beat... Italy with Charles, a chance to explore a new side of him, a side free from the pressures of his past life. Maybe, just maybe, this trip could be the start of something truly extraordinary.

“Consider it packed! Let's go and see what Italy has in store for us.” you say with a bright smile on your face.

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his kiss a promise of adventure and a deeper connection waiting to be discovered, the weight of your past may linger, but as you break away from the kiss, you know with a newfound certainty that your future, unlike your forced marriage, is something you'll write together.

***

Rolling hills bathed in the golden light of the setting sun stretch out before you, lavender fields shimmer in the distance, and the air is fragrant with the scent of wildflowers and fresh herbs. You stand on a terrace overlooking this idyllic scene, a glass of chilled prosecco in your hand, Charles leans against the railing beside you, a contented smile playing on his lips.

“This is perfect. I can't remember the last time I felt this… peaceful.” you sigh contentedly.

He reaches out and takes a strand of hair that's escaped your messy braid, tucking it behind your ear.

“Me neither, maybe all we needed was a little sunshine and a whole lot of beautiful countryside to escape the chaos.” you turn to face him, your eyes meeting his.

The past few weeks in Italy have been a revelation. You've explored charming towns, tasted incredible food, and most importantly, discovered a side of Charles you never knew existed: a man who appreciates quiet evenings on the terrace, who laughs easily at your dumb jokes, and whose eyes hold a tenderness you haven't seen before.

You smile softly. “It's more than the sunshine, Charles, it's the feeling of starting over! Of leaving behind the expectations and the dangers... Here, we can just be us.”

He pulls you into a gentle embrace, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Just us, and that's all that matters... Though, maybe a little less danger in the future would be nice.”

You laugh, the sound echoing across the quiet landscape.

“No promises, Mr. Leclerc. But I wouldn't mind a little less excitement for a while.” you said teasingly.

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours. “Speaking of Leclerc… this whole marriage situation. It's obviously not ideal... What do you... what do you want to do?” he speaks in a more serious tone.

You take a sip of your prosecco, considering your options... The truth is, being Charles' wife has opened your eyes to a world you never knew existed: It's thrilling, exhilarating, and sometimes terrifying. But one thing is certain - you don't want to lose him.

“How about we forget the whole arranged marriage thing? Let's start over, for real this time... Just Charles and y/n, seeing where this… feeling takes us.” you say softly while smiling confidently.

A slow smile spreads across Charles' face, brighter than the setting sun. He takes your hand, his touch sending a spark through you.

“Now that's an offer I can't refuse, so... Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Leclerc… Hold on tight, because the journey is exciting.” he said while grinning.

You laugh, the sound echoing through the Tuscan hills. In the distance, a church bell tolls, marking the end of the day. As you raise your glass towards the vibrant orange sky, you know that this new beginning, forged in the heart of Italy, holds the promise of a future brighter than any sunset.

A comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the gentle rustling of leaves in the warm breeze.

Charles takes a long sip of his prosecco, then sets the glass down on the railing, he turns to you, his gaze intense.

“So, Ms. Y/n Leclerc. This new life… it doesn't start tomorrow... It starts right now, with you.” He says with a low, husky voice.

His words send a shiver down your spine, he steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His touch is warm, sending a delicious warmth through your body.

“There's something about this place, about you… it makes me want to be a better man, you know? The kind of man who deserves a woman sweet like you.” he continue speaking quietly, looking into your eyes.

You lean into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. “You already are a good man, Charles... A complex man, yes, but you're trying to be such a good one.” you say with your voice barely a whisper.

He dips his head, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. The last rays of the setting sun cast a golden glow on his beautiful face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes, a vulnerability that you have only been able to see on this trip.

“Then let me show you just how good I can be amore.” he said with his voice husky with desire.

He closes the gap between you, the kiss both passionate and tender. It's a kiss that speaks of new beginnings, of unspoken promises, and of a love that has blossomed amidst chaos and found its strength in a shared desire for peace.

As you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, you know that this kiss isn't just a moment in time, it's a declaration, a commitment to write your own story, together, under the warm Italian sky.

The stars begin to twinkle overhead, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of jasmine, Charles pulls you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively and you lean your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. You know that this is the true beginning of something quite special between the two of you, something that you long for and so does he.

***

After a couple of days, you and Charles stroll hand-in-hand through the villa's sprawling gardens, the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers filling the air.

“I can't believe we actually own a place like this! It's so amazing and beautiful!” you say while smiling.

Charles squeezes your hand as you spot a vine laden with ripe figs and reach up to pluck one, Charles watches you with a fond smile.

“Careful there piccola mia, don't get too carried away.” he says teasingly. (little one)

You toss the fig into your mouth while closing your eyes, savoring the sweet, juicy flavor. “I can't help it Cha! Everything here is so delicious and sweet.” you say giggling.

Charles steps closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I'm glad you like it... But I think there's something even sweeter here.” he says leaning in.

He dips his head and kisses you softly, his lips lingering on yours and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer towards you.

“I'll take that as a compliment!” you smile.

He pulls away, his eyes still filled with warmth.

“A compliment? More like a promise chérie, a promise of many, many more delicious things to come... And I have a few ideas on my mind.” he says while smirking. (darling)

You playfully swat at his arm, but he just laughs, catching your hand and holding it tightly, together, you wander through the gardens, picking figs, grapes, strawberries, and juicy tomatoes. Charles playfully gives you nicknames based on the fruits and vegetables you pick.

“You're my little figgy, picking all the sweetest fruits.” he says while tickling.

You giggle, trying to swat away his tickling fingers. “Stop it Charlie! I'm not a figgy, I'm a tomato girl!”

Charles pretends to pout.

“A tomato girl? How disappointing, I was hoping for a little fig girl, someone sweet and juicy.” he says in a dramatic way.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help but smile. “Oh, please. You'd be lucky to have a tomato girl like me!” you chuckled.

Charles leans in and kisses your cheek. “Lucky? Oh, baby, i'm the luckiest man in the world because I have you by my side.”

You blush, your heart fluttering in your chest. As you continue to wander through the gardens, picking fruits and vegetables, you feel a sense of peace and contentment washing over you... This is more than just a gateway, it's a chance to start fresh, to build a new life together as a married couple, away from all the chaos and danger of your past. And with Charles by your side, you know that anything is possible.

[skylarsblue]

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

[amiishinzou]

❀ Motherly ❀

Summary: the electro archon may be his creator and technically his mother, but it’s safe to say that you’re Kabukimono’s mama.

Kabukimono x fem!Reader (platonic)

Genre: fluff to angst

Word Count: 1,277

Notes/Warnings: Character death, Reader is related to Niwa, Niwa is still the second betrayal but Reader's heart is used, events take place before and during the Tatarasuna Incident

Author's Note: I haven't written a fic since 2020 so my writing might be wonky, please don't flop 🙏 EDIT: part two here (i forgot to post it TwT)

Ever since your cousin, Niwa, had introduced you to a lovely boy, who was referred to as Kabukimono by the other workers in Tatarasuna, the two of you had become inseparable. You always treated him as if he was your own son (not that you’d be ashamed of admitting it).

Whenever he wasn’t helping Niwa and Katsuragi with forging and smithing swords, he usually stays with you in his free time. In no way you’re swordsmith like your cousin but you resided with Niwa since you had no other family to stay with you. 

During the early days of his stay, Kabukimono didn't quite know how to blend in with human society, so you took it as your job to teach him various things and eventually the two of you bonded together that way. Teaching him how to read and write, do basic house chores, cook simple meals, and now currently how to sew. 

“There you go, you did a good job at stitching, Kabukimono.” You said with a gentle voice, watching the short boy make a simple stitch on the embroidery fabric. Giving him a gentle pat on his head like a reward, the young puppet giggled in response. “Thank you, mama!” Kabukimono replied, looking up at you with his indigo eyes that sparkled with fondness. The familial name he had for you always made your heart swell, remembering the time he had accidentally called you that for the first time when you soothed him from a nightmare. The young puppet was embarrassed at first and didn’t know what came to him, but you insisted that it was okay for him to keep calling you his mama.

In fact, that only made Kabukimono really see you as his mother. After all, you were sweet, kind, and caring like how a mother should be. Unlike his creator who had betrayed and abandoned him upon his creation.

“Alright, I should be cooking up some lunch now before Niwa comes ba- Hm?” As you tried to stand up, your words were cut off when the young puppet quickly grabbed hold of your hand.

“Yes, what is it darling?” you watched his eyes light up at the term of endearment that you always used for him.

“Um… can you please hold me? Just for a little while?” The young puppet innocently asks, his expression slightly bashful. Well, how could you refuse your sweet son?

Chortling at his adorable request, you sat down next to him again and picked him up with ease, setting him down gently in between your legs and giving Kabukimono his needed embrace.

“Just ten minutes, okay?” you told him and he responded with an “okay” back, Kabukimono then nuzzled into your shoulder affectionately as he relaxed into your hold. He was always grateful that you will always spoil him with your motherly affection.

You had initially thought that he was being clingy as usual (not that you mind), but your motherly instincts told you otherwise.

“Darling, you seem a little sad.” Kabukimono looked at you, surprised.

“You can tell?”   

“Of course, I can tell if my son is feeling blue.” you giggled, squeezing him tightly in your arms before giving him a soft yet concerned expression. “What’s got my darling sad?”

The young puppet frowned to himself, averting his gaze from you for a bit before looking back up at you. “Mama… do you think I’m human?” he asked, the question making your eyes widen in slight surprise. Smiling at your son again, you answered.

“Well… you have two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth. You’ve also got hands and feet. I think it’s safe to say you’re human.” you grinned, booping Kabukimono on the nose which caused him to giggle a bit, but his smile faltered after.

“But mama… I don’t have a heart.” Kabukimono said sadly, placing his hand over where his heart should be.

It was true, he was a puppet that had no heart beating inside his chest. “So how can I be a human without one?”

You wanted to console the poor boy, thinking deeply for a while as you hummed. When an idea came up in your mind, you gave Kabukimono a warm smile, gently cupping his face with your hand.

“How about this: why don’t I share my heart with you?” 

“Share your heart with me? I don’t understand…” Your proposal made the young puppet confused.

“You see, the heart makes you feel different emotions, right? So when you feel happy, then I’ll feel happy. And when you feel sad like now, then I’ll feel sad too.” You explained, gently taking Kabukimono’s hand to press it against your chest.

He felt the beating of your heart through the palm of his hand. “As my son, you have the right to own my heart. And as long as I’m alive, my heart beats for you.”

The young puppet eyes sparkled at your proposal, a warm and fluttering feeling flowed from within his chest. It’s as if the vibration of your heart beat made him more alive and it made him very happy that he now found himself a heart! Brushing his bangs away, you placed a soft kiss on his forehead

“Kabukimono, my sweet darling son… you’re human just as I am. I’ll always love you no matter what, that’s my duty as a mother. Can you trust your mama on that?” You asked, hoping that your words will give him the confidence he needed.

Fortunately for you, Kabukimono wholeheartedly understood your words and nodded his head happily.

“Thank you mama,” the young puppet beamed, hugging you tightly. “I love you!” 

“I love you too, my sweet son.”

Amongst such a heartwarming scene, it unfortunately caused a cruel idea to pop up in a certain Doctor’s mind.

. . .

“Niwa, have you seen Kabukimono? He’s been gone for days and I’m worried sick-” Your eyes widen at the sight before you. Your cousin was dying on the floor, a stab wound on his stomach as blood gushed on the floor.

“Niwa!” You cried out as you rushed to his side, kneeling down on the ground to get to his level.

“Ah, looks like I can pursue my plan immediately now that you’re here.” An evil chuckle emitted from the unknown man in front of you, his face hidden behind a mask.

Your heart races in fear as you protectively held your cousin. “Who are you and what have you done to my cousin!?” 

The masked man approached you and he forcefully grabbed your neck, raising you up from the ground. You choked as you try to remain calm, but alas you were terribly scared as you struggled from his hold.

“I wonder how that poor, pathetic puppet will react when his heart stops beating for him?”

Your breath hitches as you realize what this meant. “N-No, don’t you dare-!”

. . .

“This device seemed to have protected me… what’s in it?” Kabukimono looked at the man before him, holding the box in his hands.

“Your friend Niwa was too cowardly to stop the furnace and fled. But he was kind enough to at least give you what you’ve always desired.” The Doctor then ripped out the withered heart from the device, handing it to the puppet.

“Your heart that came from your mother.”

Kabukimono was horrified, his hands trembled as he looked down on the withered heart. He was angry that his friend had betrayed him, but most of all… he was anguished that his mother is dead.

His first and only heart stopped beating for him.

He was back to being a heartless puppet once again.

likes and reblogs will be highly appreciated!

[nightcolorz]

Daddy wants 2 hear ur thoughts on Armand’s relationship with lestat ‼️if you don’t I will aggressively butt fuck you and spank you like the naughty little boy you are

Xoxo -TOTALLY not your favorite boy toy Edward

(Also I imagine someone already asked you this cuz ur so hot and popular so u don’t have 2 answer if u already answered someone else’s ask about it)

Edward I instantly recognized ur sexy voice and I pissed myself cuz I was so eager to answer ur ask 🥹❤️. I love how ambiguous this prompt is so I can talk about whatever I want 😈💦💦. I sure do hope my answer is sufficient so that u won’t butt fuck me and spank me bcus im a naughty boy who needs to be punished 🥺

uh anyways. Armand and lestat !! They r my favorite ship in the vampire chronicles ssh don’t tell anyone. Devils minion is a very, very close second. By nature of the polyamorous blood orgy dynamic of all of the vampire chronicles characters, all of the main cast is in some way deeply in love with every other member of the main cast. The great thing about this is that every character has the capacity to have a deep and important romantic and sexual connection with any other given vampire, regardless of how many deep and romantic connections they may have. But even with all this in mind, in my opinion, out of all of the loves of his life Lestat has had, I’d argue that Armand was the most significant. By this I mean their relationship is fundamental to literally every relationship Lestat has had there after and the vampire chronicles literally wouldn’t have happened if lestat and Armand hadn’t become insanely psycho sexually bonded for a little bit in 1700s Paris. Even tho Lestat and Armand never end up as “endgame” bcus they r 100% incompatible and their love is less like an affectionate desire to be with someone and more like a virus they can’t control, I think that Armand is always going to be lestats “soulmate”, in the sense that if any pairing in the vampire chronicles is destined to always find each other in every universe, it’s lestat and Armand. I mean this incredibly derogatorily btw.

Armand and lestat remind me of Batman and the joker, they r like in universal unable to exist or be completed without the other while simultaneously hating each others guts. The great thing about that is that they also genuinely like each other despite the hatred and betrayal and see each other in a very affectionate, human way that isn’t common for either of them. But lestat and Armand require each other in a way that I perceive as very cosmic. I love the concept of two characters who hate each other very much being bound by some force that compels them to care for each other. And that’s lestat and Armand to a tea. They are very brothers to me, Cain and Abel but if Abel is immortal and gives cain wedgies and affectionate punches on the arm after Cain kills him for the one billionth time. Can’t have a cain without Abel, rlly.

Lestat will always forgive Armand for anyway he betrays or wrongs him bcus he is connected to Armand in a way that he is with no one else. They sort of fulfill this primal desire in each other that is impossible to get from anyone but each other. Lestat sees Armand in a way no one else does. He basically has had Armand’s entire life’s story and whole self inserted into his brain by Armand in magnus’s tower, and he ends up knowing Armand in his entirety and being like “well what a pathetic little fuck. How embarrassing.”

It’s important to Armand and to lestat that they both see and understand each other in their entirety and the feelings they come away with are “wow. Ur so gross and weird. But I like u anyway.” Lestat and Armand both have problems with having their identities romanticized or treated like mythological tales to the point where they kind of can’t perceive themselves in anyway that’s normal or comforting. Lestat has his issues where he acts like he’s a doomed god who’s every action and step is some sort of thematic representation of evil, and Armand has been told since he was a child that he’s not human and hes unable to be like humans or even be like any vampire who understands what being a human means. So I think to the both of them, having someone who understands them so intimately, and perceives them just as that jerk nasty they can’t help but like is so important. Who else would ruffle Armand’s hair but lestat? Anyways

most of Armand’s hatred for lestat comes from a place of expecting him to be more important then he is. Lestat takes away Armand’s divine purpose, and then he’s like idk what u want from me I’m like 20 and stupid. Lestat is just as lost as Armand is, and neither of them can give each other the guidance or support in immortality the other is looking for. they r both just kids who have been abandoned who happened to wander into each other on the street. And I think that, ultimately, this what lesmand is all about. While lestat and Armand both have amazing relationships with other characters that define who they r in unique and interesting ways, lesmand breaks them both down to their barest essentials, it strips them of the glamor into smth dirty that they both can’t help but see in each other and love.

in conclusion #lesmand for life!!!thank u sexy for sending me this ask mwah

[soanliawriter]

His touch makes you feel safe // Levi Ackerman oneshot (fluff)

You were never a fan of being touched, not because you're afraid of germs, but cause you had PTSD from guys thought you can trust, turn their lusts in and did things without your permission. But after meeting Levi, you crave for his safety and touch

Levi actually saved you from those guys you called "friends", seeing that you were uncomfortable and couldn't move from the shock of everything, you were dead on the insides of your "friend's" betrayal.

When you were taken care of by Levi's squad, everytime the men in his group tries to reach out and touch, you moved away and scream at their face to not touch you.

"Guys are all the same, don't you dare lay a finger on me!! Monsters!! I hate you!! I hate you I hate you I hate you!!" Tears running down your eyes as Petra, being the only woman in Levi's squad comforting you.

After what the others said to their captain, Levi doesn't blame you for having the strong hatred for men after what you'd been through. "Just leave her be, I don't know when she'll warm up to us, but we can't leave her like that" Levi says as everyone saluted at him and agreed with him.

A couple of days past, you went out of the bathroom, you weren't looking where you were going, you bumped into someone, feeling men hands on your arms you roughly and harshly pushed them away, hissing at the feeling of their hands on your bare skin, scratching the place where they touched you to the point it was turning bright red, making it bleed a little for your nails has gotten longer and sharper.

"Hey, hey!" You heard another man's voice as you pushed yourself away so they couldn't touch you, looking up to see it was the captain. Levi Ackerman.

"No!!"

"Hey I won't touch you. Just, stop doing that"

He said softly retracting his outstretched arms and back to his sides, eyeing your hands slowing down your scratches. You breathed deep in and out as, wincing at the pain from scratching too much and hard.

"I'm sorry those guys harmed you and traumatized you. They're being taken care of by the Military Police"

"Good, those men are monsters. I hate them, wish they can just die!"

"Hey"

You paused yourself holding a hand against your mouth as you looked him in the eyes before jogging across the hallway, heading to the roof top of the barracks.

Finding a wall, leaning against it sliding your whole body down, knees against your chest hugging them tightly, silently wincing at the pain on your arms, gripping them hard in the process too at how much you still have strong hatred in your heart.

You stayed there a bit, admiring the beautiful starry night sky, it calms you. The stars, moon, skies, it brings relief in your system. Sighing as you rest your head on top of your knees.

"Mind if I sit here?" Jolted in shock moving back a little seeing Levi again, you sigh looking at his hands to see he had a bucket of water and a towel, "what's that for?" Pointing at what he was holding, he puts it down, "let me treat those wounds" chills sent shivers down your spine at the gentleness this man as on you.

Nodding your head moving away a little more as he sat down beside you, "may I?" He asked outstretching his arm towards you, taken aback as you reach your hand for him to hold, closing your eyes shut as the water hit your skin, hissing at the pain making your feet squirm in place and finger twitching as Levi held you gently.

"Some of these will scar a little" he says softly before grabbing a roller bandage, wrapping it on your arm, noticing how he was meticulous at wrapping your arm, his touch was so gentle like a feather on skin, the entire time you were silent, so does he, taking care of your wounds.

When he finished patching your arms up, he hold them and caressed them carefully, Levi looked at you with half lidded eyes as you looked down at your feet.

"You're getting better"

"It's because.. you're not like those guys"

"Tch, I wanted to beat them up to death after what they're doing to you. The Military Police came right on time though"

"Thanks"

You said as you stood up and walked away, but before you could he stopped you, pulling away harshly at his touch looking back at him, he immediately apologizes before you walked away again, back to the room they have given you.

The next day approached, you still didn't go out of your room to eat for any form of touch from people, you want to avoid at all costs for the time being.

A knock was heard snapping your head towards the door, "who's there?"

"Captain Levi" you relaxed at the sound of his voice and hearing his name, "enter" you simply say hearing the door open, sitting up from your bed, hugging yourself as he placed a tray of mushroom soup, soft baked bread and mushed potatoes.

"I don't know what you like, so I got what looked appetizing"

"They look great"

"Taste not so much though. Eat your fill" he simply said before walking away to your door, but before he could leave you called his name out, he stopped in his tracks looking back at you, "stay.. please" you said with a small blush on your cheeks looking away, rubbing your bandaged arms.

You heard him sigh, taking a sit on your bed as his arms crossed over his chest, "eat, I'll take the tray out for you if you still don't want to leave this room" he says softly as you nodded taking a sit on the chair, smelling the food before taking a bite.

"This is better than those in the underground"

"I guess" he says as he admired you eating your fill.

Some time passes by and you finished eating, you looked back to him and nodded to him that's you're done, he stood up and grabbed the tray, "can I, accompany you?" You asked hesitantly, he looks at you before humming and gesturing you to follow him.

Smiled like a child before humming a song before following him out your room.

You did what you asked, you followed Levi around like an obedient pet, people was murmuring a little but you didn't care, started to warm up to the man too.

There's times you were getting distracted when Levi will softly hold you and shove you out of the way a little, he removed his hands at you, fearing you would push him away, but you didn't.

You actually smiled at him softly before holding his hand, he was taken aback but squeezed your hand before walking towards his office.

Weeks and months has passed, you were touched deprived, wanting Levi's touch throughout the day. He for some reason healed your trauma, but it's only when it's his touch and still uncomfortable with others, but you are getting better in terms of physical touch.

People started to have a rumor that you two were together even, by how close you were being to each other.

But Levi payed bo attention to them, he's glad that you were getting better as times passes by.

Craving his soft and gentle touches has started to get comforting to you.

He doesn't mind it at all.

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 31: Crying, truth serum*

tw: restraints, choking, magical whump, noncon drugging (sort of? forcing someone to drink a potion), interrogation, betrayal, torture mention

*alternate prompt

Halloween whump!

...

Whumper sat down at the small table with a bag of candy. He dropped it on the table with a thump, catching Whumpee's attention.

Whumpee's eyes went wide, and he started salivating. The food Whumper had given him was so bland, and he bet the candy tasted like heaven.

"Oh, this caught your eye?" He chuckled, and grabbed a piece. "I love Halloween. Trick or treat, Whumpee?"

"Treat...?" he answered hesitantly, knowing full well that none of Whumper's games ever ended well. He was extremely aware of the ropes digging into his skin, keeping him from grabbing the bag of candy and feasting on it.

"Good choice." Whumper was unwrapping the candy painfully slowly, making it known to Whumpee every second of his enjoyment. He popped the small chocolate in his mouth, with an "Mmmmm" and a "Ohh, that's good." Chewing it slowly and thoroughly, watching as Whumpee's mouth gaped.

He couldn't take watching it anymore, thought he knew he probably shouldn't. "May I-may I have a piece?"

He looked at Whumpee thoughtfully.

"...please?"

"Sure, why not. Open wide." He walked over to Whumpee, wrapper in hand, and shoved it down Whumpee's throat.

He started choking and sputtering, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. His throat started to burn, and he tried desperately to get the wrapper out.

Whumper grabbed another candy to unwrap, dropping the confections in one hand and shoving the wrapper into Whumpee's throat, pushing the first down again with it.

He coughed up the wrappers and pushed them out with his tongue, tears flowing down his face. "Y-you can stop now," he sobbed when the worst of the choking stopped. "I don't want any more candy-" His voice hitched on a cough, and Whumper backed away.

"Okay, then." He popped the candies in his mouth and picked another piece from the bag. Whumpee was relieved to watch him place the wrapper on the table. "You said you wanted a treat, so how about something to wash it down?" He pulled out a small glass vial from inside his jacket. The vial itself was beautiful, with its faceted sides and smooth curves, but the liquid it carried was a gorgeous bright green.

He didn't trust Whumper, but he couldn't struggle as Whumper unplugged the vial and poured its contents into his mouth. He swallowed, not wanting to anger Whumper by spitting it out and wasting it.

He sat down again, picking up a clipboard and pen he kept in the room. "Halloween is a great time, for things like witches and spells and potions. That lovely little drink was a gift from my friend, and her work is quite magical."

He had heard rumors of witches in his area, but no one had ever dared to interfere with one; they were too powerful, too unpredictable.

"Let's see how well she did. How did your colleagues infiltrate this place?"

"They briefly stole a key so they could copy it, and entered on a night when nobody, including the janitor, was working there. Our hacker took down the cameras from our base so they could move freely." It was a question he would have never answered. Yet it slipped so easily off of his tongue, and he couldn't stop it. He immediately felt deep pangs of guilt and regret and bit the inside of his lip.

"Wonderful," he stated, jotting down notes. "The truth serum seems to be working great."

Truth serum? Oh no, oh no no no. Fuck, I don't wanna betray everyone!

"Let's continue-"

"No, I don't want to continue, I'd be betraying my friends- well, I think of them as friends, I really don't know how they feel about me. Oh, and I really don't want to let down the guy I like, he doesn't know I'm bi, but I really like him and hope he'll go out with me. Plus, they're all I have, if they kicked me out I'd have nowhere to go, they've been helping me pay my rent." What am I saying?

"Ha! This is much better than I thought it would be. Look on the bright side, Whumpee, you keep this up and maybe I won't have to torture you anymore for answers."

"Honestly, part of me would be okay with that, I hate torture, and I'm so scared of you. But I want to stay loyal to my friends, and I don't want answers to just roll off my tongue, like the way-"

"Whumpee, that's enough," he said sharply, cutting Whumpee off. "Let's get back on track. I want to squeeze as much out of you as I can while this dose lasts. Why, exactly, did your team want to break in?"

Here we go.

[sinshckled]

22, 30, 32!

★ |  * ⋆      -   -  - –  INBOX !  *  ﹡                  ﹡     ✧ * ☇  ( @willpcwer ! )

#22 ― How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

He is a very organized person. Has always been, really ; I suppose it mattered more back in his council days, when he had an office and an insane amount of paperwork. However, despite the minimal amount of material possessions he possesses nowadays ( most of them survival-oriented ), he still takes the time to organize what little he has AND demonstrates organizing in other ways, mainly strategically.

After unofficially taking on the mantle of guildmaster in Crime Sorcière, I could see him gather his guildmates for "today's schedule", "brainstorming", "presentations", "debriefs", etc. ( esp. post-OS merge, as there are more people ) Perhaps more formal that it has to be ― and he would definitely reach into his councilman experience/vocabulary for that !

.

#30 ― Most prized possession?

Oh you're stumping me a bit here LMAO. He owns very little. He doesn't have anything from his childhood, and anything he possessed pre-TOH was either destroyed in the Etherion blast or confiscated by the Rune Guards on order of the Council after his betrayal.

I would say that it used to be his Wizard Saint medal ; he took a lot of pride in this title, and wore it on a medallion. ( If he still had it on him post-"revival" at the time of his arrest, it was also confiscated. He was stripped on the title, after all. )

.

#32 ― Concept of home and family?

Elmina & his mother's cottage was the first and last time he had a place to call home. Home was never the Tower ― that was his jail, then his weapon. He dedicated years of his life to its built and he was proud of the final result, but it was always just a mean to an end. He called it home, got his friends to do so as well, but it was mostly to cultivate loyalty & trust. ( Having taken over that wretched place and dubbing it "theirs" was also, perhaps, tinted with pettiness ? an attempt at alleviating the trauma ? an attempt to reduce what had once been a source of nightmare to their playing ground ? ) His headquarters as Siegrain, too, were nothing but a living space where he could rest when in Era for the job. His friends at the Tower, however, had been family. Milliana and Sho called him "brother", and he too would treat them as such ― despite the voice in his head that called them pawns.

Trust had to be built first, but along the years, Crime Sorcière became home too. They may never have had quarters beyond their tents, but that was his place of belonging ― something he would never have fathomed. He forged a particularly strong bond with Meredy, to a point where he considers her a sister and cares deeply for her as such. Post-pardon, he will appreciate the stability, but will still ache for the starry night and the warmth of the campfire. He will get homesick in a way he never expected to. ( Keeping in contact will be very important to him )

Home is just one more person ; fiery scarlet hair, warm brown eyes, the glint of light upon armor & the sharpness of loyal blades. This home isn't one he feels worthy to call his, but within her embrace, surrounded by her scent & her colors, he feels like he can breathe a bit easier.

✔ ― ACCEPTING

[rollercoasterwords]

HI YOU!! for the ask game ooh. well actually i would love in general to hear your thoughts on peter i don’t know if i’ve seen you speak about him b4 xx and i guess for the sake of the game my unpopular opinion in regards to him is that. i sort of do sympathize with him as a boy at least more than general fandom seems 2…feel like the tendency to erase him from the narrative altogether sort of. undermines the significance of his eventual betrayal + also the way he is treated by fandom compared to other equally terrible characters like barty or tom riddle or evan whatshisname…a little suspicious 2 me!! anyway i am front row in the lecture theatre ready to hear your takes hand em over xx

ridi!! welcome 2 my lecture hall i am clearing my throat + taking a sip of water + tapping my little microphone <3

ok for the sake of summarizing: unpopular opinion that peter is underrated

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

so like....i agree with this but idk if it is in the way i sometimes see people agreeing with it. like i have seen people who go "omg peter was actually a great fantastic guy!!! he was amazing i love him!!" in an effort to combat him sort of getting left to the side and. well. i do not think peter was a great guy lol. and of course u can do whatever u want with him in an au but i personally do not usually take an interest in characters unless there is at least a few threads or connections to their canon characterization, bc that's what gets me interested in the first place, y'know?

i actually have talked about peter somewhere on this blog before so maybe i will go and hunt down that post bc i kinda put like. a bunch of my takes in there. (found it here u go!) but basically in the context of a canon universe i think peter's betrayal is incredibly interesting and can be read in a variety of different ways all of which can be fun to explore. i've written two canon-compliant fics where in each of them i took a slightly different route for what i did with his character, but both times peter was one of the characters whose motivations and interiority felt the most complicated to me and i had to spend a long time like....sending voice notes to my sister to work through how i wanted to portray him.

however that being said as with characters like regulus or barty or bellatrix or whoever i am not a fan of people trying to rehabilitate peter's character by erasing his canon flaws. he was a villain in canon for a reason and i think his betrayal + the flaws that go along with it are crucial to his character, so i just find it boring when someone tries to pull a 180 and make him this super-duper nice guy who's never done anything wrong.

i also don't blame people writing aus or whatnot who just....don't really care much about peter and don't want to spend a bunch of time writing him. i think that's valid! the same way that i don't really blame anyone who just isn't interested in certain side characters and doesn't really care about taking the time to write them. HOWEVER. i do agree that there is an interesting bit of discontinuity in the way people sidestepped peter as a villain + death eater + instead became obsessed with characters like barty + evan, and i do think part of that....may come from the fact that peter is portrayed in canon as unattractive (which...jkr's fatphobia is a conversation for another post lol) and the ways i have seen many people engaging with other death eater characters involves making them ummmm. very conventionally attractive. which! idk. i hesitate to generalize abt this issue bc i don't necessarily think it's like a driving force so much as one slightly suspicious variable in a whole host of variables for why anyone might be interested in barty crouch jr. but not in peter--like some people obviously are not gonna care about alice + frank as much as james + lily + will be happier to redeem the longbottoms' villain than the potters', etc etc. overall i think that is just a whole can of worms that i need 2 think abt more before opening lol

[catra-writes]

grief.

grief for those ive lost, grief for the person i couldnt be and for the person i used to be, grief for those ive hurt and couldnt help grief for pain i caused myself for damage i caused for damage i couldnt fix. grief for things that never happened, for what could have been had i tried a little harder let a lone tried at all, had i said something for once. grief for the words i left unspoken and now will never know what impact they could have had, for what impact i could have had. i feel grief for so much, the people who left my life, the lives i left, the relationships i ended, the relationships i let slip through my fingers, the things that could have been more happy memories, the memories that turned sour. the pets i lost and no longer have, the things i neglected to care for.

i feel so much grief for things that were both in and out of my control, i dont want to feel more grief but i know this will never go away, i'll always have "sad for what could have and what ifs" moments, i'll always feel a pit in my stomach for choices i made or didnt make, that wont change. grief never goes away for a survivor of disasters, even if on the outside it doesnt seem all that disastrous.

2. mind control

a mind under control, something people think i've had all my life but in reality i never have nor could i gain it. not where i am right now. i have people still in my life controlling me, poisoning my mind with more doubts and fears and insecurities, more guilt and blame and things i cant change until im finally gone from here. my mind is under the control of seeds of doubt and anxieties planted by my abusers since i was a mere child, things i cant uproot when theyre still being watered on the daily.

i cant free myself of the mind control unless i have help choking the weeds out, until then im stuck under the thumb of voices and chains belonging to those who've hurt me to the point im convinced im beyond repair, to people i believe i have no choice but to rely on or else i cant function because thats what they want in my head.

3. betrayal

a feeling im all to damn familiar with. many of my relationships ended because of a backstab, a switch of sides. im all to familiar with the feeling of gut wrenching pain, my heart dropping to the pit in my stomach as the person i thought had my back turns and dives a sword through it. ive had my heart taken and smashed to bits but a betrayal too many times to count. whether its an ex partner or a friend, even a family member, i know the feeling all too well.

betrayal as someone i loved sided with an abuser, betrayal as someone leaves me for better or worse. i may not have absolutely felt it all but i have felt it enough.

4. jealousy.

jealous when even though we're both poly my partner gives or receives attention and affection from/to someone else, jealous when my siblings are clearly treated better than i am, jealous when people are chosen over me, jealous when people receive or give things to others and i once again get little to nothing.

i hate jealousy, it feels unfair and selfish but at the same time its justified. with all i have gone through, gotten and lacked through my life i have a right to be jealous. i get jealous and i need to admit it to myself, i get jealous and i need t let myself be.

5. cursed.

some could say i have been, maybe even that i brought it on myself. for many reasons, and they could be right. but ive been cursed in the other way, cursed out by the family i no longer what to associate myself with because they have it in their heads that im wrong and always doing wrong. cursed by those who believe i was born wrong and dont deserve to have or be right. cursed out because i dont fit in someones box so to them i deserve to be called slurs and become their verbal punching bag.

iv'e been cursed by the world to live in a body im uncomfortable with, to be a person i can only pretend to love.

6. unrequited love.

one sided love, often the reason for a lot of the relationships i ended myself romantic or otherwise. and it hurts both ways to realize that. the person i'd though i loved the same way having to get their heart broken when i realize i never did, or the person i though loved me back turning out to be a liar and a user.

i dont feel love or fall in love often, not because im too hurt and broken to want to anymore but just because thats the way i am, influenced by the damage or not. and when i do, a lot of times it turned out to be unrequited, ive given up on searching for and making new attachments, because i no longer see or feel the need to try.

7. forgotten.

being forgotten and forgetting, some of my greatest fears. i fear constantly of what i've forgotten, if maybe it was important or dangerous and remembering it could bring more pain or that i forgot something and in turn caused someone else pain. i fear that i'll be forgotten, my name and face and very being gone from all memory, no one knowing who i am, leaving me in the dust. i fear i'll forget myself, if i cant remember who i am, if others forget me, what do i do? what do i become? and im terrified that without memory i wont exist, im terrified to find out what that would be like if it were ever to happen and im terrified that the truth really is that thats going to be a good thing in the end.

ive forgotten so much already, names, faces, people, items, dates, events, very pieces of myself even. im so terrified of anymore being forgotten. by myself or anyone else.

8. terminal disease

i cant say i have one, but i can ay it often feels like it with the physical, emotional and mental anguish and debilitating pain i constantly carry with me. every movement, every word, every energy spent makes me feel just a little weaker. i'll have highs then i'll crash just a little lower ever time. it doesnt feel like it'll ever go away, ever fully heal, like i'll never recover, at least not to full. it'll keep going down, going backwards, no matter how many times or how far it climbs back up, like gravity it always goes back down. you cant take a leap without landing.

9. neglected.

ive been neglected by my parents growing up, things that should have been taught and given to be i either got very little of, never got at all and/or watched/heard others receive instead. i missed out on the support from a parent telling me it was okay to cry let alone feel, that it was okay to make mistakes, that it was okay for accidents to happen and that it was okay to ask for help, to be honest and admit and own up to things. i missed out on a parent being there when i needed it, i missed out on a parent trying genuinely to understand. instead i got nothing, i got yelled at or i got shamed.

if another adult dared give me any of that i cried or got angry and confused or scared. i missed out on proper help from adults growing up, only learning when it was to late that i had options i could have used to get further.

i grew up being sidelined and hardly even being given the bare minimum. so when im included, when im cared for, when im given even the bare minimum, i dont know what to do, i cry,i feel guilty, im convinced im less than deserving, im unfamiliar with it, i dont know how to process it.

10. ghost.

ive had my fair share of ghosts, still do, often times i was one, still am one. ghosts in the sense of haunting words and memories, ghosts in the sense of overwhelming bottled up guilt, ghosts in the sense that ive been conditioned to carry what i really dont deserve. a ghost in the sense that im invisible, a ghost in the sense that i get ignored and over looked or brushed off, a ghost in the sense that people see and have seen me as nothing more than a fleeting piece of the past.

im here, im rarely seen or heard, i have constant phrases said by others swimming in my head, constant pressure placed on my shoulder like a manipulative parent placing their hand on my and telling me whats expected of me and giving me false hope that i could ever be enough for them, false hope that they care when at the same time they push me to the back, shove me to the side and favour others over me.

ive been a ghost, haunted by the ghosts of others and their words and actions all my life.

[ziltoidcoffee]

Drabble: Sith Terry and Padawan Daniel

(No one asked, but I delivered? Don’t super need to know Star wars to get this drabble. I’m not even that confident in writing the world either. P But I did it anyway. Might make this a drabble series.)

“Excuse me.”

The unfamiliar voice pulls Daniel from his trance, dark eyes fluttering open. The world around him slowly comes back into view, but he’s not met with the vibrant green foliage and trickling streams of the meditation garden

Standing over him is a man, a stranger with wide shoulders, blue eyes, and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. His height is imposing, practically looming over him, but Daniel’s not intimidated nor is he scared. The dark robes the stranger is wearing are those of a Jedi Master. Though this alone does not calm Daniel. It is the stranger’s soothing force that brings him peace of mind. He is not at all concerned by his presence. They are in the Jedi Temple, after all. But even Padawans like himself know it’s rude to interrupt a meditation.

“Master Miyagi?” he speaks again, and Daniel turns to his master sitting cross-legged beside him in the grass. He opens his eyes and tips his head back to stare up at the other Jedi though he says nothing.

“I’m sorry for my rudeness. But I wanted to introduce myself,” the stranger says and bows similar to those of Master Miyagi’s home planet. “My name is Terry Silver. My master was Kim San Jang of Malachor. My master sends his respects. Master Kreese—or Darth Kai—was my Master’s first Padawan.”  

Daniel’s eyes widen, stunned by the man’s mention of Master Kreese. The former Jedi attacked his own student at the dorms after he lost to Daniel in the Apprentice Tournament. He revealed his true allegiance to the sith and demanded Padawan Lawrence come with him or meet the end of his saber. Luckily for Daniel and the other padawans, Master Miyagi reached them in time and defeated him. While Master Kreese lost an arm in battle, he was spared his life and taken to the containment cells. Padawan Lawrence was assigned a new master and taken on a mission to the outer rim.  That was the last Daniel he heard of the Sith, now going by the name Darth Kai. 

“Word about what happened didn't reach Malachor until now,” Terry explains. “My master apologizes for his student’s betrayal and dishonorable actions.”

When Master Miyagi stands, Daniel joins him on his feet, coming up to Master Silver’s shoulders. “Accept…apology,” his master declares. “Not…your master fault.”

Master Silver nods. “I know,” he agrees. “But my master and I feel responsible. Master Kreese confessed he was struggling with the force. But we did not treat this admission with enough gravity and brushed off his concerns, which is why I am here now. To bring Darth Kai back to the light.”

Daniel smiles, impressed by Master Silver’s ambition. There have been many failed attempts to convert a sith back to a Jedi.

“Hope you can be successful,” Master Miyagi tells him.

“Unfortunately, I arrived too late,” he declares with a frown. “Darth Kai will be buried as a Sith tonight.”

“He’s dead? What happened?” Daniel blurts, and Master Silver turns to look at him, sending heat to his cheeks. This isn’t the first time he’s spoken out of term to those ranked above him. But his master is forgiving, unlike some Jedi at the temple. 

Though Master Silver doesn’t look angry either. For a second, he swears the Jedi’s eyes almost sharpen and the edge of his lips curl up. But then his sullen expression returns as he answers, “Yes, cardiac arrest.”

Master Miyagi rubs his chin. “I sensed disturbance in force. Not long ago. Could be reason.”

Daniel nods. “I felt it too,” he admits. His master may be stronger in wielding the force, but he’s always been very sensitive to shifts and changes.

“I felt his passing as well,“ Terry announces, and his gaze stays on the Padawan. “He left us moments before we were supposed to meet.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Daniel whispers, and Terry smiles a little bit.

“When I was a Padawan, I looked up to Master Kreese,” he explains, “He was an excellent Jedi then. But after losing his first student, it just broke his heart. He was never the same. Grief does something to a man.”

Though his master doesn’t look surprised, Daniel is floored by this news. He had no idea Master Kreese had a Padawan before Johnny or that they died. “Understand,” Master Miyagi says but doesn’t elaborate, not that Daniel’s surprised. His master doesn’t speak often and sometimes in riddles, but he’s still the best teacher. He would even call the older man a friend.

Terry smiles and lets his gaze sweep over Daniel. “Is this your Padawan? The champion?” he asks suddenly. 

A rush of self-consciousness comes over Daniel at the attention. “Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles

“Our apologies to you too,” Terry tells him, but Daniel just shrugs.

“It’s okay, really. It’s just a shame to lose another Jedi to the dark,” he says, repeating what Master Miyagi said the other day.

Instead of replying, Terry stares at him a moment, and Daniel can’t help himself, reaching out with the force to read the Jedi Master’s mind. It’s a bad habit he picked up ever since he learned how to control his telepathy. But this gift earned him a spot among the Padawans in the first place. At first, Master Miyagi and the other masters were impressed, considering his age and experience. But most days, they were annoyed and yelling at him to stop. Though he doesn’t usually last very long. 

They sense his presence quickly and immediately start to shield, giving him seconds to pick up anything. But Terry’s mind is like a steel trap, stronger than even the Jedi on the council. He can’t get even a single tendril inside. Then as Daniel tries to leave, he feels what must be Terry’s force take hold of his own. 

His heart thunders in his chest. He’s been caught. But instead of reprimanding him, Terry’s mouth quirks up at the corners.

“Hello there,” Daniel hears in the back of his mind, and as fast and hard as he can, he pulls the tendrils away.

Thankfully, Terry lets him go and turns to Master Miyagi. “Again. I'm sorry to interrupt your meditation,” he declares, acting like nothing happened between them, as if two strangers connecting through the force wasn’t a rare occurrence.

“Thank you,” is all his master says. 

Daniel takes a second to gather his composure to speak, feeling strange after his brush with Terry’s force. “I’m sorry about Master Kreese,” he manages to get out.

“Thank you, Padawan,” Terry replies, and something about his tone sends a chill down Daniel’s spine. 

As the Jedi Master leaves the garden, Master Miyagi turns to him. “Come, we continue meditation.”.

He follows his master’s command and returns to the grass, shutting his eyes. But for the rest of his meditation, Daniel struggles to push away any thoughts of Master Silver.

[twink-between-worlds]

Ohh man I thought of a good one for kinda vidow (either ship or platonic tbh) with the angst starter prompts

❛ you’re a weapon, and weapons don’t weep. ❜

Over Shadow being upset at Vio's betrayal and he gets all emotional and vaati or gannon just sneer at him and say that. Shadow's so conflicted about whose side he should really be on or if Vio ever meant all the nice things and time spent just being with him or caring about what he has to say. If he'd ever be treated good again if he actually sided with the heroes. Treated like an actual living being with thoughts and feelings that mattered. Feeling bad that at first, he only offered that same thing to Vio to corrupt him to the evil side. How much that changed into actually wanting to listen to Vio and spend time with him and genuinley just enjoy another person?

Sorry that got kinda long sjsjwkskxk

this took far too long, but i wanted it to be perfect...and it still isn't, i dont think, but here you go! i actually kinda liked writing this, maybe i need to do more stuff like this? the vidow can be read as romantic or platonic, its ambiguous much like vios morals

Shadow doesn’t understand what he did wrong. He thought—he thought Vio liked him. He thought they were friends. Were they ever? Shadow doesn’t know anymore. He wishes he knew what Vio was thinking—what Vio had thought about as they went to break the mirror. He should have asked. Did Vio mean it? When they ran their fingers through Shadow’s hair and cracked jokes about how the shade’s messy hair would make a crown fit awkwardly? When they held Shadow’s hand and promised a future? It seemed real. All of Vio’s words came out genuine, full of trust, and Shadow can’t help but wonder if Vio is just the worlds best actor. He feels…stupid. He shouldn’t—he pulled the same trick to convince Vio to convert to his side, and Vio is far from stupid—but he does. The shade let out a choked sob, hiding his face in his hands. He’s embarrassed, he trusted Vio, he thought they were his friend— “This is pathetic,”Vaati’s voice rang through Shadow’s ears, and he curled up tighter. “You’re a weapon, Shadow Link, and weapons do not weep. Quit being a baby, you brought it on yourself.” He knows. He knows that this is pathetic, that he looks like a sopping wet rat right about now, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop mourning the loss of a friendship he may not have even had. Would it be worth it, to try and see Vio’s point of view? Would it be worth the risk to try and be treated like a being with thoughts by shifting to the heroes side? Or would they shun him, too? He could confidently say that Vio wouldn’t do that, once, but now he isn’t too sure. Shadow misses them, just a bit, and if they were here he could ask all the questions he has. Vio isn’t a good liar—their face betrays them, and the corners of their mouth always twitch up when they try to lie. Vio told half-truths to avoid directly lying. That’s something Shadow knows is true—so would they answer his questions honestly? Shadow thinks so. At least, he hopes so. Shadow thinks he could have played this differently.. He lied to Vio, at first, promising the same things Vio gave him—someone to talk to, someone to spend time with, someone that cared—and he’d grown to learn he meant it. Did Vio mean it? Maybe. Maybe not, though. The only way he would know is if he asked them. Shadow let out a breath, rubbing his eyes—how long had he been crying? He isn’t sure, but Vaati’s little visit was over, and the bastard was gone. Shadow thinks all the risks are worth it. He may not get answers, and he may be making a mistake, but… It’s worth a shot. The shade stood up, glaring at where Vaati had been beforehand. “Vaati can shove it.”He mumbled, making up his mind then and there.

[luvyanfei]

with a younger sister (hcs)

ft. diluc & kaeya requested by anon

i envy everyone who has an older sibling 

diluc ragnvindr.

diluc is the ideal older sibling anyone would wish for. he’s intelligent, humble, wealthy, and a responsible young man, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. being his sibling, you’re well-aware of the fact that the death of your father and the betrayal from the knights have taken quite a toll on his mental health. he tries to stay optimistic for your sake, but how can he bring himself to move on after what has happened? 

despite known for being a closed-off individual, diluc has no problems expressing his feelings clearly with you since you’ve been with him for most of his life. almost everyone can tell he’s slightly more comfortable in your presence than an average person. your relationship is built up on trust and friendship - there’s no secrets between the two of you. well, even if diluc did want to lie, you would know right away just by looking at his face or hearing his tone. he swears, he thinks you know him better than he does himself at times. 

if any harm were to befall on you, he’d see it fit to punish whoever has the audacity to even lay a finger on you. did the harbingers attack you? he’s already getting his claymore to attack them back. did the slimes push you while you were heading to the winery? he’d be happy to shove them off a cliff. did you accidentally trip over your own feet? he’s going to have to murder someone’s shoes tonight. just kidding, ehe~! 

diluc is protective, but only to a certain degree. he’s well-aware that you can handle yourself fine. he’s seen to it that you’re given proper combat training in case he’s unable to defend you. he wants you to be safe, he wants you to live your life to the fullest, but most importantly, diluc wants you to be happy. 

“[name], what are you doing here?” diluc asks in a curious voice, surprised by your sudden intrusion in his tavern. you briskly place a container filled with cream puffs on the counter and grin.

“i thought you might want to try some desserts since i assume you ate dinner already, so why not take a little break while i’m around?” the redhead frowns, contemplating his decisions, but he agrees reluctantly.

“alright, but just for a little while.” he gestures for you to feed him one of the cream puffs’ since his hands are slightly dirty. 

you roll your eyes jokingly, and yet you offer him the treat with a sprightful grin adorning your features.

“what am i, your mother?” a tense silence follows after the word ‘mother’ rolls off your tongue. you grimace and chew on your lower lip. before you can apologize, diluc smiles, a mild yet genuine smile.

“no,” he begins, taking a bite of another pastry you offer, slowly to savor in the sweet taste, and swallowing, “you’re my precious younger sister. sometimes you may act irritating, but i’d rather be related to you more than anyone else.” rip kaeya 

he lightly flicks your forehead intentionally so as not to injure you in the process and chides, “so don’t you dare do anything that will place you in perilous situations.” 

kaeya alberich. 

it’s easy to forget that kaeya is your older brother because of the immaturity he continuously displays, sometimes. even diluc seems to think so, muttering under his breath how kaeya should turn to you as an example. when he first introduced you to his fellow knights, jean was a bit startled by your polite behavior, a sharp contrast to his mischievous and flamboyant attitude. you had to explicitly tell her that the two of you are related to clear her doubt. 

he’s extremely teasing with you, just a touch below bullying, but don’t get him wrong. he adores you, his precious sibling, with his entire heart. behind the constant smiles and uplifting laughter, the thought that you may leave him, like everyone else he cherishes has, terrifies him. you’re the only person who’s still by his side, the only person he can go to and actually feel like he belongs. he doesn’t want to lose anymore than he has gained. 

sometimes, when he’s having a bad day and ends up drinking more than he’s able to hold, you’re there to carry him back home, his arm clumsily slung over your shoulder. while he deals with a mild headache the next morning, you’re in the background scolding him to not drink so much wine. out of sympathy, you softly exclaim to him that he’s free to rant to you whatever problem he may be dealing with. you’re family, are you not? just like everything he’s doing to ensure your safety, you also want to act as a stable figure in his world too. 

he may be flirtatious, but he would be surprisingly picky on whoever manages to steal your heart. the last thing he needs is for you to come crawling to him in a mess of pitiful tears. you deserve to have a partner that will give you everlasting joy. at the end of the day, kaeya wants you to be happy. 

“how is my younger sister doing?” kaeya chirps with a cheerful lilt to his smooth voice, returning back to his household after completing his tedious tasks in the knights’ headquarters. 

your face is illuminated in a jovial light as you perk your eyes up from the crisp pages of the book you were skimming through and tackles him in an affectionate and welcoming embrace. 

“you’re back,” your soft murmur almost goes unheard in his ears, but being the perceptive individual that he is, kaeya manages to tune in the concealed relief laced in your tone. 

he brings a hand down to your head and gives it a few solid pats, ruffling your hair slightly. “of course i’m back. what kind of a sibling would i be if i decided to abandon you? a cruel one,” he winks, sticking his tongue out impishly, “that’s for sure.” 

[krabmeat]

☊⏃⋏ ⟟ ⏚⟒ ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⋏⍜⋏? ⏃⋏⊬⍙⏃⊬⌇ ⋏⍜⍙ ⏁⊑⏃⏁'⌇ ⏃⌰⌰ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍙⏃⊬. ☌⍜⎅ ⍀⟒⏃⎅⟒⍀ ☌⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⍀⟒⎐⟟⎐⟒⎅ ⎍⋏⟒⌖⌿⟒☊⏁⟒⎅⌰⊬ ⏚⊬ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔? ⟟⏁'⌇ ⌰⟟☍⟒ - ⏃ ⍀⟒⏃⌰⌰⊬ ⏚⏃⎅⏃⌇⌇ ⏃⋏⏁⏃☌⍜⋏⟟⌇⏁ ☌⍜⎅ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ☌⟒⏁⌇ ⌿⎍⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⍀⍙⍜⍀⌰⎅, ☊⏃⌰⌰⟟⋏☌ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ "⌇⏃⎐⟟⍜⎍⍀" (⏚⎍⏁ ⟟⋏ ⏃ ⋔⍜⍀⟒ ⌇⏃⏁⟟⍀⟟☊⏃⌰ ⍙⏃⊬ ⟟⋏⌇⏁⟒⏃⎅ ⍜⎎ ☌⟒⋏⎍⟟⋏⟒⌰⊬ ⌇⟒⟒⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⏃⌇☍⟒⎅ ⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⌇ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⊑⟒⍀⍜ ☊⏃⎍⌇⟒ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⏃⌇⏁ ⏁⊑⟒⊬'⎐⟒ ⋔⍜⌇⏁ ⌰⟟☍⟒⌰⊬ ☊⏃⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⟒⎐⟒⍀⊬⍜⋏⟒ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟒⋔ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟟☌⊑⏁⊬ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⍀ ⏁⍜ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⍜⟟⋏⏁ ⍙⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏁⟟⏁⌰⟒ ⎎⟒⟒⌰⌇ ⍜⎐⟒⍀⎍⌇⟒⎅ ⏃⋏⎅ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⌇⟟⍀⏃⏚⌰⟒). ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⍀⍜⏃⋔⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌰⏃⋏⎅⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌇⋔⌿, ⏚⍀⟟⋏☌⟟⋏☌ ⏁⟒⍀⍀⍜⍀ ⏃⋏⎅ ⊑⟒⌰⌰⎎⟟⍀⟒ ⏃☊⍀⍜⌇⌇ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍜⎐⟒⍀⍙⍜⍀⌰⎅, ⌰⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ☍⟒⌿⏁ ⟟⋏ ⍀⏃☌⟒ ⌇⏁⍀⍜⌰⌰ ⎎⍀⟒⟒. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⟒⋏⎅ ⎍⌿ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏁⎍⋏⎅⍀⏃, ⏁⊑⟒ ⏚⎍⍀⋏⟟⋏☌ ⎎⌰⏃☍⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏃⌇⊑⟒⌇ ☌⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⌰⍜⌇⏁ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⏃⍀⌇⊑ ⌿⟟⌰⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⌇⋏⍜⍙. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⌇⏁⎍⋔⏚⌰⟒⎅ ⎍⌿⍜⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ☊⍜⏁⏁⏃☌⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏁⍙⍜ ⟟⋔⋔⍜⍀⏁⏃⌰ ☌⍜⎅⌇ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⋔⏃⊬ ⍜⍀ ⋔⏃⊬ ⋏⍜⏁ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⎍⌇⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ☍⋏⍜⍙. ⍙⍜⋏⎅⟒⍀ ⍙⊑⏃⏁'⌰⌰ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏? ⟟ ⍙⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⌰⟟☍⟒ ⏁⍜ ⌇⟒⟒ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟟⌇.

- ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⋏⍜⋏

𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: philza, techno, Wilbur,(next few only mentioned)Mexican dream, schlatt, dream

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: they/them

𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: fire, death, arson, betrayal mention, being used, reference to drugs, slight cursing

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: translation vvvvv

Can i be enderman anon? anyways now that's all out of the way. God reader getting revived unexpectedly by dream? it's like - a really badass antagonist god that gets pulled out of the underworld, calling dream their "saviour" (but in a more satirical way instead of genuinely seeing the masked man as their hero cause in the past they've most likely called everyone that helped them their mighty helper to the point where the title feels overused and undesirable). They roamed the lands of the smp, bringing terror and hellfire across the overworld, letting their kept in rage stroll free. They end up in the tundra, the burning flakes of ashes getting lost in the harsh piles of snow. They happened to have stumbled upon the cottages of two immortal gods that they may or may not have used to know. Wonder what'll happen? i would like to see your take in this.

 - enderman anon

AHHH IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I DONT KNOW IF YOULL EVEN READ THIS STILL BUT TY FOR THE REQUEST IT ISNT THE BEST QUALITY IM SORRY :[[[

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You almost don't recognize the sensation of grass against your calloused and rough hands. You were in the void playing solitaire with Schlatt and Mexican Dream, and the next thing you knew you were suddenly pulled harshly by the back of your collar, falling on your spine. The looming mask of Dream is what stood above you, but he looked different. Longer hair, smelly, wearing a stained lime green jumpsuit with ‘0001' sewn into it and covered in cuts, scars and bruises. But before you could even question why Dream was suddenly there, he stepped back into the void, the void slowly surrounding and consuming him the further he went backwards. His now bony hand is still tightly gripped onto the back of your shirt, so while struggling your body is also enveloped in darkness. All it took was one blink and there you were on a patch of grass, staring at the pale blue sky.

"Huh."

Was all that came out of your mouth. You were still shocked at the turn of events that just happened, but no longer grounded. A running river nearby stunned your senses. How long had you been dead? It felt like years, but when you look around at the familiar forest you died in, not much had changed except for a couple newly planted saplings here and there. The swirling ashes you remembered before you died had all settled and compressed into the soil.

The river showed a strange reflection of yourself- your features have clearly sunken into your skull and there's a streak of white hair coming from your scalp along with words in fancy gold letters on your arm reading,

"May thy woes and hurt of the past no longer eradicate the upwards of this lost souls future. Allow thine to be praised by Ender themselves and be granted another chance at mortality."

Scrubbing or picking at your arm did nothing, so onwards you went walking along the forest to what you remember being a bustling "community".

Each mound of dirt you saw only brought memories of your death, of the place and people who sought to treat you like you were disposable. And now that you’re alive, you hate that they technically ended up being right. Your death; alone in a forest. Running away from the unexpected attacker, ashamed and too prideful to die in the prying eyes of your enemies. It fills you with rage, all the lives taken by your hands and for what? You weren’t overreacting, you knew that for sure. And before you knew it, you stole some fresh flint and steel from a random chest and got to work. 

You had always wanted to touch the fires you set. The soothing feeling you got from watching wood burn to char and ashes satisfied you. And it made it all the more euphoric to know it was trees of your manipulator's land. Running across the land, with flames as far as you could see when you looked behind you. The heat swirled around your neck and went into your nose, but the feeling was muscle memory at that point. You were still riding your high when a voice reached out to you, luckily when you were finally calm.

"What- Y/n? Hold on, is that really you Y/n..?"

You spin on your heels to the familiar manipulative British voice of a person you haven't seen in a long time. 

"Wilbur?! Man, I haven't seen another person's face other than those two addicts in a while- you look different." 

His eyes much like yours are sunken deep into his skull, purple-pink bags under his eyes and dull skin. Wilburs shocked lips fade into an opened mouth smile when he walks up to you with his hands momentarily confused on what they should do. Eventually, his right hand settles on clasping your left shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze.

“Y/n it is so good to see you! You look quite different yourself, wouldn’t you think-? Oh, look! We’re matching!”

The grey streak in your hair seems to make another appearance when Wilbur briefly smacks it with his middle and pointer finger. 

“Ay, it’s nice to see you too Wil, but back up for a second alright? I've got something to ask you by the way…”

Wilburs head peaks in interest, urging you to go on.

“I’m guessing that little streak in your hair wasn’t a fashion choice- and if it was it’s a bit strange- but how’d you get it? You died when you blew up L’manburg! I mean c'mon, people don’t just, well…REVIVE!”

He starts to walk. You aren’t quite sure where, but stumbling along with Wilbur while his arm is draped lazily atop your shoulders seems to suffice. 

“Ahh Y/n, you’d be surprised. The most WONDERFUL thing happened, actually! Years and years in my hell of a train station; do you know who was at the subway door when it finally opened, Y/n? Dream!”

“Wh- Dream?!”

Appalled, you try to stop in your tracks but fail when wilburs arm is still pushing forward. His storytelling voice dies down to curiosity and excitement.

“Wait, did he save you too? He did, didn’t he? Oh, this is wonderful!”

Wilbur emits eagerism and you suddenly realize what you could do with his desperacy to be socially accepted. Putting on the most exaggerated and animated voice, you speak. 

“Oh my god yeah! Gosh, that Dream guy is my hero! Thanks to him, I get to have another chance at living again, and isn’t that just…swell.”

In all honesty you didn’t really try hard to sound sincere but by the look of Wilbur, it seemed to work just fine. 

“Right?! I’ve been meaning to visit him in the prison if you’d like to tag along with me the day I go? I’m sure he’d love to see you, since he revived you and all.”

Oh, you were sure Dream wanted to see you. He wants a boon- a trade. Why else would he revive two of the most historically significant people on the server if not to make some sort of deal with them? Sure, Wilbur is as gullible and carefree as ever but you at least still had scraps of mental stability and level-headedness that made you all the more a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention Wilbur doesn’t know that Dream killed you, but telling him that now would blow your act. You decide to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Yeahh, sure! I’d love to go, just tell me when.”

And that’s the end of that conversation. The two of you walk to wherever Wilbur is going. It honestly surprised you how he couldn’t see through your apathy. From what you remembered, he was keen on being wise about people and their intentions but you guess years and years in hell do things to a person.

Somehow, you’re stuck in your mind for long enough that only now do you feel the sharp winter air making the hairs on your arms and legs stand straight up. 

“Wait, snow?”

The tundra was a drastic contrast to the void you were once in with schlatt and Mexican Dream. Instead of black as far as you could see, it was a blinding powdery white. 

‘Mexican Dream would’ve liked it here, probably would have tried to snort the snow like coke.’

You weren’t built for the snow, though. Hell- you didn’t even have a memory of anyone living in a tundra when you were alive! Why was Wilbur even in the tundra? You didn’t have the energy to ask, still feeling brittle and tired, back aching from laying on the dry dirt longer than expected earlier. 

“Yeah, just figured I’d show you around! Plus I already need to grab a couple things from an ender chest and this was the closest by. I’m a very busy man, after all.”

But why were there so many footprints in the snow? As far as you knew, Wilbur was the only one who lived out in the tundra- and he didn’t seem like the active type at all. There were strange shapes as well, large hooved footprints. However, all thinking comes to a halt at the same time Wilbur does.

“We’re here! You might see some familiar faces cause I live with people.”

Well, that answers the footsteps as well as the tall red-caped piglin hybrid giving leftover bones and raw meat to a polar bear.

“TECHNO! TECHNO, HEY!”

He tenses up for a second, you could tell he wanted to be left alone but that didn’t really bother Wilbur. But you recognize him. The name and the apparel- that guy is Technoblade. The same Technoblade who stood by your side while the two of you blew L’manburg up for the last time, and now the Technoblade who resides in a cottage shrouded in snow.

“Technoblade?!”

Hearing your voice being carried by the crisp winter air, he turns around immediately to see you and Wilbur a few feet away. Techno stood there dumbfounded, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t particularly joyed or ecstatic to see you, but he was at the very least happy to see an old ally back. 

“Y/n? Oh my god, now we’ve got TWO of you? We don’t have room for another one, alright?”

For some it might be hard to see the meaning behind his words. Luckily you’ve talked to him enough to where you can tell he’s being playful.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just build directly on top of your house. Besides, who WOULDN'T want to be near me 24-7?”

“Me-“

“Oh f*ck off.”

You would’ve thought that that was Wilbur due to the similar accent, but there was something off. The slight gruffness and age, yet still succeeding in sounding mellow.

“Phil! How’s my favorite old bird doing?”

He gives you a face. Not a happy one like you expected, rather a face that says ‘really?’ Probably because of the old comment. The two of you briefly hug, Phil’s tattered wings stretching out slightly.

“I’m doing alright, are you okay? Here, would you like to come in? It’s pretty cold outside, you probably haven’t seen snow in a couple years.”

He wasn’t wrong after all. You were freezing your toes off and were itching for lemon tea. The kind Phil used to make when he, Technoblade and Dream discussed plans on destroying L’manburg. Ah, the good ol days…

“Of course! We’ve got a lot to talk about- you still have that old chess board?”

“Yes, but first you have some explaining to do about the fire over in that tree, Y/n. You just got back and you’re already burning down forests?!”

“Did someone say fire?”

Techno has an eager stride in his step once he also looks back to see the raging lights of orange and red in the nearby forest.

“Don’t worry Phil! It’s just- ahh, a controlled burn..?”

Your tone of voice is unsure when a black crow shoots down from the sky into the snow in front of you. It’s left wing is charred and has smoke dancing from the burn. Philza looks at you with a stern glare.

“Oh my f*cking god…that’s it! We’re all going inside now, you too Techno. I don’t want you and Y/n going on a rampage.”

[ahtsumu]

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

↳ pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

v.

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

i.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face.  He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

[fluffrry]

Could you write something where the reader and H can't say they are together, his publicist idea, and her family is always asking why she doesnt date anyone even try to get her to blind dates and Harry is jealous but it is a bit fun, no angst.

Hi nonnie!! Here is a short little thing for you :D

Content: Bf!Harry, Famous!Harry (implied), Fluff, Banter, Non gender specific reader

Word count: 807

Authors Note: Hello! My requests are open and my masterlist is in the way!! In the mean time, please leave me any feedback you have and come talk to me in my inbox :)

******

Fame came with it’s perks, but only if you were willing to accept the things you had to give up. Harry had learned that going public with the ones he loved only hurt them in the long run, and neither he nor his team wanted to continue the pattern. You knew this, of course, but it didn't make it any less irritating.

Your family made it a point to gracefully shove you into relationships, much to your dismay. Even if they think Harry is just a roommate, you’d think they'd accept your want to be single. Family never quite does what we wish, though, do they?

You let Harry know everytime you had a date lined up, and assured him that it wasn’t anything you were planning to pursue. It still felt like a betrayal everytime you zipped up a new dress and took a taxi to a fancy restaurant, though.

“How ‘bout our own date night, then?” Harry proposed. He was filling up a blender with some multicolored fruits and milk, something he did every morning.

You’ll admit you are less than half awake as he says this. Harry is much more of a morning person than you are. By 7am he’s always chipper and ready to take on the day, never missing an opportunity to have a filling breakfast and some morning alone time.

“Oh, yeah? Where did that come from?” You asked, pawing around the top shelf of the fridge.

“I just haven’t treated you to something in a bit.” The knife Harry held hit the cutting board with a deep sound as it sliced. “And...I’m not the happiest seeing you go on all these blind dates.”

Harry’s chuckle followed the end of the sentence, but the fact that he made eye contact let you know he was serious.

“They’re just a formality, H. You don’t have to go out of your way. I don’t need any fancy wine, just you.” You pulled some orange juice from the fridge and grabbed a glass to pour it into.

“I know.” Harry paused as he pondered. “But I think it’d be nice.”

“Alright!! You plan and I’ll show up.”

Harry smiled, nodded, and powered up the blender. The beautiful fruits mixed into a light green color.

“Sounds good,” He said. “Just be ready by six.”

******

The restaurant was dimly lit, and had a fine dining atmosphere. The table you sat at was finished with glossy dark wood, and the napkins folded on top were stark white and clean. It was crowded with men in tuxedos and women in neutral dresses.

Harry had insisted you sit outside and avoid the crowd, so the breeze grazed over your skin and relaxed you. You were always calm with Harry. He had a warm, charming, and easy going vibe, even if he was always up for something spontaneous.

The table was by itself and on a small, balcony-like structure (something you rarely saw). It was behind glass that came up to just over your heads. Above it was a nice view of the sky and the cool, open air. If you looked to your right, you could see inside the restaurant and people watch.

“Mmm,” You mumbled as the ice cold water you sipped cooled your throat. “This is so nice. There’s so many options— I can’t decide what to get.”

Harry flipped through the menu with the precision of a veteran restaurant attendee. “How about we share something? Make it as romantic as we can. I’ll pick if you want.”

“Oh, no. Last time we did that I ended up eating a $200 appetizer. I’ll be picking my own meal, thank you.”

Both of you smiled in unison. Harry reached across the table to stroke your hand. You winced internally, knowing it was still wet from the condensation on the glass.

“From now on, every time you go on a date, we go on a date too.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“Yes. Very much so, actually.”

You always loved Harry’s honesty. It was second to his fluffy, soft, curls.

“I’m just worried someone may see us, you know?”

Harry rubbed the skin between your thumb and pointer finger gently. “Don’t worry. No one will. We’re alone, and I’m pretty sure that glass is tinted.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Very sure. Let me be the one to stress, okay?”

You made a noncommittal sound and returned your attention to the pricey menu.

Harry spoke again, the lightness returning to his voice, “You just worry about what movie we’re gonna watch tonight. You usually take hours just to choose.”

“Yes,” You agreed. “But my picks are always good, aren’t they?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know after you decide what to eat tonight. If that ever happens, of course.”

“Keep up that attitude, and I’ll have no problem keeping you here all night.”