#shuffle handwriting ask game

[pyonzzz]

♪

HI HELLO welcome to the blog friend

[jupitersflytrap]

♪ !

‘expert in a dying field’ by the beths

“the city is painted with memory / the water will never run clear”

[assigned-boyking-at-birth]

music note emojii

Song: Raise Hell by Brandi Carlile

[lou-struck]

Distracting

Keiji Akaashi x reader

College AU!

WC: 2k

~ Thanks to the new library aid, your once quiet study spot has become much more… Distracting

a/n: sorry I have been gone for so long, it's been hard to do things lately. I hope you like this one. I tried to make it cohesive but when you start something and stop it in bi-weekly intervals you tend to loose yourself a bit in the process.

There is always that one damn professor who takes an extra step to make their course more challenging for students for no reason in particular.  

Yours is your history professor, known throughout the campus as Dr. Asshole. He is known for handwriting confusing exam questions and surprise Pop Quizzes on material chapters ahead of the assigned reading.

His newest pretentious obsession is assigning massive papers and requiring that his students research the whole thing using non-digital sources. This wouldn't be an issue normally, but your university is in the middle of nowhere, and there are at least a hundred students in this particular class. Which means every desperate student looking to raise their grade will be flocking to the library trying to find as many sources they can.

As soon as your class and you start your usual walk to the university's library, your usual study spot, and hope it will be the goldmine of information you need it to be. 

The sliding glass doors part for you as you enter. The faint smell of books wafts under your nose as you enjoy the natural sunlight that streams in through the glass skylights. The quiet, studious atmosphere lacks the noisy distractions that are back at your place. The air is comfortable, not too warm, and not too cold.

Your usual table is bare and sun-soaked under the glass skylights. Your book bag slides stiffly down your shoulder, and you wonder if it would be a good idea to leave it unattended for a few minutes.

Your eyes scan the room. There are a few students lounging in the corner on some large beanbags, Little white earbuds snug in their ears as they scroll through their sleek, thin, laptops. You see the back of one of the Library assistants slowly pushing a cart of books down a lowly lit aisle. 

Your gut tells you that you can trust the small group of randos. You set your bag down on the table so you can begin your search for academic materials. Slowly, you make your way down the rows of books. The space has never looked cleaner; all the selves, even the hard-to-reach ones, are free of dust, and as you flip through possible sources, you notice that someone has taken the time to smooth out previously dog-eared pages and pluck out the old bookmarks. 

After only searing the shelves for a few minutes, you have an uncomfortably tall stack of books in your arms. 

For balance, you stretch your chin out to steady the stack as you start to walk back to your table. The smooth laminate of the book jackets causes your literary mountain to quake as you shuffle through the shelves. Your arms burning from the weight as you turn a blind corner. 

There's a crash

There's some cursing

And you are on the ground…The books clattering to the floor around you as you wonder how you ended up face to carpet. 

Books are scattered all around you as a hand comes into your peripheral. It extends itself toward you as if it was trying to help you up.

"Are you alright!? I am so sorry." the voice of its owner says. Their voice laced with genuine concern as you take in the worried face of and the dark, slightly-messy hair of Keiji Akaashi. You know him as the setter for your university's Volleyball team. 

You have only ever seen him with his friends walking to practice or from the stands whenever you make it to a home game. Never up close like this. He is so handsome that you wonder if you hit your head during your fall to have just noticed it.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks again, and you realize that you haven't answered him at all. You must've been too busy admiring how great the lean athlete looks in his cream-colored sweater.

"Yeah," you reply, taking his hand and allowing him to help you to your feet. "I'm all right."j

"Really?' His blue eyes are looking you over again as if he doesn't believe you.

You know your head and give him a sweet smile. "I'm positive. I'll take a whole lot more than a book cart to take me out."

"That's a relief." he chuckles, "I guess I got a bit distracted earlier." his gaze casting downwards slightly. They embarrassingly land on a half-open book, which must be the cause of this whole thing. 

"Pride and Prejudice?" you muse, craning your neck to view the title. "Good choice. I'd get distracted too."

"It's a great book." he sighs, "But I should've been paying more attention to where I was going. Especially with the cart, those wheels are stubborn." 

You look at the cart behind him and find yourself agreeing with him. The library may have been renovated fairly recently, but those carts were not included in the remodel. "I see what you mean; they certainly have seen better days." Your fingers reach out to gently tug at the peeling top layer of paint on the cart. The tan color covers up chipped and uneven coats of grays and black from years past. 

It brings a silly smile to your lips when you think about the similar paint job covering the light switches back at your rental. College housing does not have the highest caliber or repairs, and so it is often subjected to the 'landlord special.'

You notice that he is watching you, his blue eyes scanning your features like he is reading a book. They flicker from your eyes to your mouth as if he is trying to discern what you are thinking at that moment. 

This careful attention isn't creepy at all. It's rather endearing. Especially coming from someone as blatantly attractive as Keiji Akaashi. 

Your cheeks burn with embers of youthful bashfulness, and you hope that he doesn't notice.

"Oh wow, you were really carrying a lot of books," he comments, looking away from you long enough to notice your stack of fallen library books. Without any hesitation, he crouches down and begins gathering the pile for you. 

"You think so?" you ask. "I still don't know if I have enough for my assignment." the somber tone of your voice causes the library aide to inspect the large stack of books in his arms.

"Let me guess, you have Dr. Asshole this semester." he chuckles dryly. "I had him last spring."

"He's really the worst," you chuckle. "I just want to get this paper over with before everyone is fighting over the same three books."

"I remember that," he laments, "Bokuto- uhh, my friend was in that class for about one hour before he dropped it. I think that was the smartest thing he has ever done."

"I think I'm a bit too stubborn to drop." you chuckle, holding your arms out to take the books from his sweater-clad arms. 

"And I'm a bit too stubborn to give these back to you." he glances at the tables behind you. "Where are we taking these?" 

"I- can take them back myself," you say defiantly, a light playfulness to your tone.

"I'm sure you can. But it's the least I can do after running you over with a book cart."

"It's hard to argue with that logic. My spot is right there." you point to your lonely table as he follows behind you. Easily carrying the stack of books you had selected. 

Having a gorgeous man carry your books was something you thought only existed in coming-of-age rom-coms (or whatever). But now that it's happening in real life, you can't say that the experience is not enjoyable.

"Is there alright?" he asks, gesturing to the tabletop. When you nod, he sets the pile down at your spot and notices that there is a student waiting by the checkout counter, their fingers drumming impatiently against the wood. Keiji sees them and lets out a deep sigh, "I guess I have to get back to work, but if you need any help finding more books for your paper, I'd be more than happy to help."

You hate that this little moment, whatever it was, is over. But you understand that he has a job to do, and so do you. "Thank you, I will definitely let you know if my pile is too small."

He smiles so genuinely at your words that you start to wonder if him hitting you with that book cart is one of the best things to ever happen to you. 

As he walks away, you get settled into your seat and take the first book from your pile. Your eyes scan over the crinkly, water-damaged pages without really processing anything. 

How could you think about anything other than Keiji Akaashi, the volleyball-playing, sweater-wearing, snarky library assistant who keeps glancing over at you from his desk?

You hide your smile with the palm of your hand, determined to pretend to be engrossed in your studies.

~

Half an hour later, you have not made any progress on your paper at all. Your poor, distracted brain tries to read those tiny words. But you can't comprehend anything. So you're just staring down at the pages with a furrowed brow.

It's not your fault, really…

It's his…

You wonder if he takes pleasure in distracting little old you. 

As if to test this theory of yours, you shyly glance back over at the checkout counter only to make direct eye contact with Akaasi. His blue eyes shine almost mockingly as if to say, 'I caught you.'

You look back at your incomprehensible book, trying to make your movements as natural as possible. But from the corner of your eye, you notice that he's coming over. 

"Someone just turned this one in," he says, placing a well-loved book at the top of your pile. "I thought it would help you with your paper."

"Thank you." you beam, not realizing that your empty page of notes is shining up at him. 

"It's not a problem." he smiles. 'You may want to move on from that one; it doesn't seem to be giving you anything useful."

He caught you. You feel that familiar, embarrassing heat creeping its way up your neck. You shake it away and look at him with a reassuring smile.

"Masterpieces take time." you chuckle, "What would Dr. Asshole say if he found out I rushed through this precious little paper of his."

He leans against the wood. "There's a difference between taking your time and getting distracted." the way he murmurs that last word sends the butterflies resting in your stomach flying all over the place. Their imaginary wings tickle your heart as they travel upwards.

"Just watch." you grin, taking a new book off of your pile. "I am about to make so much progress."

"I'll believe it when I see it," he says, turning to walk back to his table. You may not notice it, but the tips of his ears are flushed a deep shade of pink as he glances back at you from over his shoulder.

Determinedly, you read away. Jotting down little bits of information with a newfound energy. Cute library aides may be distracting, but passing this class is a bit more important at this moment.

You manage to get a decent amount of work done before your water bottle runs dry. 

The warm air makes studying without it rather uncomfortable, so you grab the cylinder and take it to the water fountain near the bathroom. 

By the time you come back to your spot, you notice a little blue notecard on your tabletop taped to a pack of gum.

Sorry again for running you over. I had to go to practice, but I hope this makes up for it. - K. Akaashi

In this moment, you couldn't care less about the gum. How could you when his phone number is carefully printed at the bottom of the card?

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[afkenma]

papered love— kozume.k x g/n reader

A/N: pinch punch first day of the month no returns (started this on 1st of June)!! Hello, I’ve been struggling on who to write about next, but I think I’ll settle for the man of the movie himself, kenma!! Have you watched the movie yet? Hope everyone gets to soon. I’m retracting myself from much dialogue this time and focusing on making a reader feel what kenma’s lover is feeling, if that makes sense. enjoy :)

the only noise filling the peaceful sunset’s air rolling into the room between you and him were the pixelated sound effects of a promising tetris game he focused on clearing, and the whispering shuffles of the cards, papers and books you were allocating around in his room. you could feel your boyfriend’s back lean against your own, as you began stacking his overused notebooks into a translucent, white box. The sighs of defeat and clanking of the console as he restarted a game dissociated into a comforting nothingness that allowed you to drift into no particular thoughts, for there was nothing tugging for your attention.

then, something did. weathered, small notes began spilling out of the crevices of almost every notebook, to which you dazily disregard to your side as waste papers before you noticed the raw amount. interested, your arms clawed at a falling paper from the standard notebook in your arms, and you almost instantly brought it to your eyes to inspect it, muttering the alarmingly-careful handwriting to yourself as you read:

you could feel the body supported behind you tense up in a flinch whilst you slowly read. his head whipped around to face you, hair smacking along his cheeks with the motion. he clearly recognizes it. his stares timidly fall between your puzzled face, the confusion on papers and stationary scattered around you, and the neat assortment of all his intrusive thoughts of you, thoughts he would never be able to stand verbalizing. embarrassment was painted red on his ears as he scrambled to pick the remaining papers before you did, but you unintentionally fueled the fire burning in his cheeks when you hastily scooped them up first and began to, still confused but riddled with curiosity, read the others.

people are supposed to be difficult, so why?

your hair looks put together in that style. i want you to do that more often.

your eyes are easy to love

ill bring more cooking for you next time because i love your smiles when you eat

i saw you walking to school alone today, I’ll come with you

i wish i could do more than just think

you wish i could tell you what i think more often aswell, too.

i love you, too.

an unwavering smile spread across your face as you held your warming cheek with a tender hand, your voice slightly cracking upon the realisatlion that these small, tattered note were addressed to you. kenma nervously sits beside you with a prominent blush as his mind spins at a thousand thoughts per second, and he can’t bring his cat-like eyes to yours. incoherent muttering splatters from his lips as he begins to speak as he looks up at you but he’s interrupted by the cunning, bashful grin you wore. His eyebrows furrow and he irritatedly asks you why your smiling like that.

you laugh, a taunting yet playful giggle that breaks him out of his nervousness, akin to how your laughter always brings peace. he shyly hugs at his knees, eyes widened and slightly crinkled in a small smile as he holds himself, patiently waiting for you to finish. Soon after, you calm down and very carefully straighten the stack, lovesick eyes doting on the words he never brought himself to repeat after his embarrassing cliché confession speech.

turns out he’s thinking about you more than you thought.

[kitashousewife]

my love

an: first piece for my lovesick event! i can't wait heehee it's so cute also yeah maybe a little heids coded but !! idc

pairings: timeskip!sakusa x fem!reader

warnings: fluff!! lots of fluff, sakusa is shy but very sweet, uni friends to lovers, food and eating mentions, drink mentions & consumption, confession of feelings

-

every week has been about the same since the new year. working at your internship, working your regular job, coming home, just to do it all again the next day. everything was beginning to blend together into a confusing haze, one where every day feels the same. january had come and gone and before you knew it, february was knocking on your door.

the past two weeks, though, things have been a bit sweeter.

it started with a small gift bag on your doormat when you arrived home after work. there was no note, no message, not even a text about it. but, after a long first day back from the weekend you brought it inside without a second thought.

you plop down on the couch and pluck out the baby-pink tissue paper to reveal a few of your favorite candies resting at the bottom of the bag. you can't help but smile, deciding to snack on one before you started dinner.

the next day you came home to a card stuck in the door, signed with only your name. while you set your things down, you opened the card to hopefully get a clue of who it's from, which causes some money flutter out.

i hope yesterday and today feel a bit sweeter. get your favorite drink tomorrow, on me.

you hum, a little confused as to who this could be. it had to be someone you knew, considering they knew where you live. your first thought was a co-worker, but that theory proved wrong when you asked them about it the next day. you considered family, but they quickly denied.

the next week is filled with other small gifts and notes. dinner from your favorite restaurant delivered shortly after you got home, a small box of chocolates, and many other little treats. it's now only a couple days before valentines, and you're itching to find out who these could be from.

"i can't figure it out 'omi," you sigh, placing your newest gift in a vase on your kitchen counter. a dozen roses, with a printed note.

because you deserve them.

"i can't recognize the handwriting, and everything arrives before i get home, so i never see them!" you huff, grabbing a couple plates out of your cupboards for the pizza sakusa brought over.

"weird," he sighs, scrolling through his phone. you shake your head.

"yeah, weird. i just don't have any clue as to who it could be. i'm not even seeing anyone,"

"trust me, i know," sakusa teases, smirking when you throw a napkin his direction. "but seriously, i'm sure you'll find out soon. it's almost valentines day."

"so?" you raise an eyebrow, reaching in the fridge for a couple drinks. "what if they continue after that, and i'm stuck in this cycle for weeks?"

he snorts. "oh man, receiving presents every day for weeks on end? how awful,"

you roll your eyes, setting his drink down in front of him. scooting next to him at the table, you sigh. he grabs you a piece of pizza, your favorite one, and nods toward the flowers.

"i bet you'll find out soon. they look beautiful, by the way."

"yeah, i hope so. and thanks, i hope i can keep them alive for more than a couple of days."

"doubt it,"

"enough about me," you wave at him dismissively, which he grins at. "what are your valentines plans this year?"

he chews for a second before deciding what to say. really, he could give this entire act up right now.

"nothing. practice and going home. we have a few away games next week,"

"lame," you tease, grabbing his used plate for him. "the famous, star athlete, sakusa kiyoomi doesn't have a da-"

"shut up," he groans. he shuffles behind you and towards the couch, before throwing himself on it. "i'm fine," he turns on your tv and gets comfortable. "by the way, i brought dessert. it's in the fridge."

"what would i do without you, 'omi? you spoil me."

that sentence echoes throughout his mind over the next day. like he said to you, the day is almost here. his last two gifts are sitting on his kitchen counter, mocking him from where they are placed. for the last two weeks, he has tried to back out. tried to stop it all, return everything to their respective stores and forget anything even happened. but this year, he didn't want to chicken out. he wanted things to be different.

thankfully, he has some teammates who feel the same way. at the beginning of the month, they helped him create this plan. two weeks of gifts, leading up to the big reveal.

"excited for tomorrow?" hinata wiggles his eyebrows as they walk out of the gym.

"excited isn't the word i would use," sakusa rasps, kicking the rocks in the parking lot.

"it's gonna be fine! nobody can resist ya, 'omi." atusmu winks, jogging ahead of the two men. "what's the gift today?"

sakusa pulls on his car door, not even looking at his teammates.

"a dress."

"the one we showed you?" hinata's head tilts to the side. sakusa nods, firing up the ignition.

"she'll love it. i'm positive."

"i sure hope so. i'll tell you guys if i hear anything," sakusa waves and shuts the door. he drives to your apartment slowly, trying to calm any nerves that he has swimming around in his stomach.

as he pulls into the parking lot of your complex, he can tell something is a little different. he grabs the box, shallow but wide, and heads up towards your door. this is for sure the most lavish of the gifts you've received thus far, as well as the largest. he adjusts the shiny red bow on the top and steps out of the elevator.

"no, nothing today. at least not yet anyway,"

sakusa stops. his heart races immediately. that's your voice, he's sure of it. she must be home early today. he turns on his heels to go back down the elevator, deciding he will wait a few minutes to deliver it.

"oh, just going downstairs to check the mail," your keys jingle in your hand as you shut your door. "mom, don't be ridiculous, i'm sure whoever it is isn't a creep," your phone is pressed to your ear. he begins to panic. he slips into the stairwell, hoping to avoid you. thankfully you head into the elevator.

he walks quickly to your door, placing the gift up against it as he has done many times before. he heads down the stairwell, slipping through one of the side entrances before reaching his car and leaving as quickly as possible.

he groans, palms sliding down his face while he waits at the red light. he thinks to the first time he met you. you sat next to him four years ago in some business class he can't remember. you seemed shy, not speaking much for the first few weeks other than to ask for a pen. after working on a group project, you finally blossomed. the two of you became quick friends. sakusa was grateful to find someone who cared about him, not his career. someone who understood what his silence meant and what his humor was. someone who appreciated him, for him.

that's what makes this so scary, he thinks. possibly losing the only person who understands.

you hang up the phone and walk to your door, almost laughing out loud when you see the box.

"of course," you mumble to yourself. possibly your last chance to catch whoever it was and you just so happened to be out. even after getting off early.

as your front door clicks shut, you walk towards your couch. this box is much nicer than anything else you've gotten. it's light, you note, and you shake it a bit. muffled sounds of paper fill your ears, quickly making you too curious. your fingers pull the red bow, putting it off to the side. when you lift up the top, you're met with a note.

be ready by tomorrow at 7. i hope you like it.

your eyebrows thread together, moving the carefully folded tissue paper back to reveal rather expensive-looking fabric. you can't help the gasp that leaves your lips when you pull it out of its confines.

a floor-length, silky, black dress with thin straps and a slit on the thigh, and just your size. it's outstanding, both in quality and appearance. you're shocked. something you've only seen in photos and on numerous pinterest boards now rests between your fingertips. your lips part as you feel the dress once more.

excitement sets in quickly after as you realize you will be soon meeting this mystery person. you scurry to your room and hang the dress in your closet like a secret, one you can finally share tomorrow evening.

sakusa is a wreck.

it's 6:40 pm, he needs to leave in five minutes, and he still isn't sure what to wear. none of his friends will answer, not even his sister. he moves things around in his closet, pulling out the suit he wore to the last event the team was forced to go to. a plain black suit with a black tie. simple, but he's out of time. you teased him about it before, and he hopes you feel different in a few minutes.

you aren't feeling much better. your hair and makeup are finished, your shoes and purse picked out, and you're just pulling the zipper up on your dress when you check the time. you have only two minutes until your mystery admirer is revealed.

your pacing is cut short when there's a knock at your door. your heart is racing, you've never felt so nervous in your entire life.

"s-sorry! i was-kiyoomi?"

you're met with your best friend, standing in front of your door in a rather expensive suit, holding a small box in his hands.

"oh my god," he breathes, taking everything in. he thought the dress may be too much, but god was he wrong. "you look...incredible."

"thanks," you mumble. you too dies on your tongue as he walks by you and into your apartment. realization hits you like a train. "wait,"

"yeah, it's me."

"kiyoomi, i don't-"

"just listen for a sec," he looks up from the box and meets your eyes, and you nod. he clears his throat.

"i just, i didn't know how else to do this. i knew that if i tried to tell you, i would just give up like every other time," he runs a hand through his hair, pouting immediately when he remembers the time it took to style it. "i thought this would be something special,"

"it is," you step closer to him, but he only fidgets with the box.

"here," he hands it to you. "this is the final one,"

you let out a small gasp. a set of earrings and a matching necklace sparkle almost instantly in the light. two simple studs and a lone diamond rest on a dainty chain. you immediately put the earrings on and pull the necklace out of the box.

"'omi, wow. these are," your voice trails off as he grabs the necklace and stands behind you. he fastens it from behind, hands shaking slightly. the diamond falls right below your collarbone.

"they match your eyes," he looks at his shoe, before looking at you. "i saw them and couldn't stop thinking about you."

"omi, i-"

"i like you. i really, really do and i just wanted to-"

"i like you, too."

he stops, mouth open. you repeat yourself and take a step towards him. you continue.

"but, i'm me and-"

"that's kind of the whole point," he grabs your hands and chuckles. "you have always cared for me, you understand me, and you don't treat me differently like others do. you get me, and i can't explain it, but i don't want anyone else."

you smile, the prettiest smile he's ever seen.

"are you asking me out?" you tease, poking the knot of his tie. he rolls his eyes.

"yes," he laughs dryly. "what do you say?"

you begin walking toward the door.

"i would love to, kiyoomi. nothing would make me happier, to be honest,"

sakusa can breathe again. he meets you at the door and takes you by the hand, finally lacing his fingers with yours.

"any other surprises?" you ask, pressing the elevator button to the lobby.

"i can't tell you."

"why not?"

he smiles, something rare and usually only seen by you.

"gotta keep you on your toes."

[flowers-for-the-grave]

Curse of Victory

Scott sat in his house, perched on his bed, with a book in his lap and a pencil in his hands. He turned to a blank page, then gazed pensively out his window and at the view.

He tapped his pencil against the corner of his lip.

In the past, he'd written about his allies and the chaos of the server. He'd documented the advancements made to the base. He recorded silly, useless details that had potential to become useful in the future.

Mostly though, he tried articulating his memories.

Other players - specifically the ones who hadn't been cursed blessed with victory - had poor recollection of past games. The memories were still there, they would still reappear from time to time, but mostly they lurked in the dark recesses of their minds until called upon. Those memories were old. They had no purpose to them other than to have them keep playing; the reward for victory, after all, was to remember.

Grian remembered everything. Scott knew that he remembered throwing himself off a cliff, cheating on Scar, his slow yet steady loss of his fellow Bad Boys until he had been left alone.

Pearl remembered everything, too. She knew about the trio he, her and Cleo had been in the past; how she had been abandoned by her soulmate yet still came out on top, and Scott took his life so she wouldn't have to suffer in that world longer; how she had at first been in a duo in the Nosy Neighbours, which soon became a trio.

Martyn remembered. He had been the Red King's Hand, his loyal soldier and servant who'd had the burden honour of taking his king's life. He, too, was left by his soulmate and had spent weeks trying to undo his wrongs and get back in her good books. He had been Scott's only ally in the last life game, loyal and devoted, and had taken the mantle of victor.

Scott knew what they remembered, because they had told him. In the cold, empty Void, awaiting the next game as they sat alone with no company but each other, they didn't have much else to do except share what they remembered.

He remembered flower fields with Jimmy, a poppy tucked behind his ear and a wedding ring of twine around his finger. He remembered his allyship with Pearl and Cleo, which split into a duo in the life game afterwards. He remembered the fish tail that had swished behind him and still half-expected it to be there at night.

Most of all, they all remembered the pain.

Scott had tried articulating his thoughts, writing them on paper to go over later. It didn't work, predictably. But the sentiment had been there.

Martyn and Jimmy were Red Lives now.

It was an odd thought. Jimmy had never had the best luck in the games, always being the first one to be eliminated from the game. He had been a terrible ally - always so accident-prone and clumsy - but he'd also been joyful and kind. He had been as vibrant as the colour of his canary wings, and burned as bright as the sun.

It seemed sensible that Jimmy would go down so quickly.

Martyn, on the other hand...

Martyn was vicious. He was ruthless and cunning and quick. In the heat of battle, his sword always struck true. He was a fighter, from birth to death. He did not die easily.

But, like all of them, he was mortal. And he was human. He was subject to such things as mortality.

Scott scribbled this down as best he could. His handwriting, normally pristine and fancy, was erratic and scruffy. The others would probably think someone else wrote this, but the winners would know.

They always did.

He set down his pencil and lay down, staring up at the ceiling.

His bed felt cold.

He sat up again and rose to his feet. He shuffled to his door, opened it, stepped outside into the cool night air and began to walk. Where, he couldn't say. His feet were carrying him in whichever direction they saw fit.

Scott left behind the plateau on the mountain and approached the open field at Spawn.

He spotted Martyn standing there awkwardly, yawning and dragging his feet along the ground.

"Martyn? What are you doing up this late?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," Martyn replied. His eyes glimmered red, sparkling rubies or flowing blood. Either way, they were beautiful. "Besides, a little Green Life out here, with no protection, and with a Red Life no less."

"You wouldn't try anything."

"Wouldn't I?"

"No." He spoke with conviction. He slowly drew nearer to the Red Life and paused a few centimetres from him. Scott cupped Martyn's cheek, and the Red Life leaned into the touch ever so slightly. There was hesitation in his eyes.

Martyn sighed, taking a step back. "I want this to end."

"You want to go back to the Void that much?"

"No? Yes? I don't know! It's... it's frustrating." He folded his arms and stared at the floor. "I just want things to be clear again. I want to talk to you without feeling the urge to rip your arms off. Hell, I want to talk to people in general!"

Scott grabbed Martyn gently by the arm. Without a word, they both travelled up to Pearl's base. He knocked on the door and was met with the image of Pearl - bushy hair, bags under her eyes - grumbling to herself.

"What?"

Scott, with Martyn in tow, pushed past and into the room. "Wait here," he commanded. "I'll be back soon."

He quickly ran up to the plateau, silently sneaking into his house and taking the bed. He legged it all the way back, using the diving board for assistance. He placed it down up against a free spot on the wall.

Pulling the covers back, he hopped in and patted the space next to him. Martyn nervously crawled in.

Pearl watched them awkwardly. Then she sent out a message via her comm.

"We're having a winners' sleepover." she stated.

Scott nodded.

Grian appeared a few minutes later, with two other beds. He placed them near to Scott's and the other two victors got under the covers.

"To victory, and shitty memories." Scott said, and the others repeated it.

Scott and Martyn tangled in each other's limbs with a small smile on their faces. It felt good, to be like this again. He'd missed it.

As slumber overcame him, Scott had one final thought.

He was home.

[lustrous-dawn]

“FEESH!” The Nature children chimed together, holding a handful of cards as they revealed them to Zhen.

“No, no, guys! That's not how you play the game!” He plucked the cards from their grasp, fending off the whining Tora as she reached for them again. “I have to shuffle them again. Hang on.”

It all started with Arashi peering curiously over his shoulder as he shuffled his deck. Zhen never minded it, Arashi had a brighter mind than most, some things he quickly picked up on. It was best to keep the young one preoccupied, gears always churning. 

Especially while the child remained bright. Arashi gave a wide smile after their flight, the brightest he had ever seen from the lad. 

“Teach us!” They exclaimed again, growing impatient. 

Teach… His smile faulted.

His behavior at the gala had more or less been disgraceful. His time as a god had taught him the importance of appearances and equities. I never apologized to her either. 

“Zhen?”

Arashi, always aware, noted his change. “I'm just thinking about my teacher.” There was no use in masking it. The Tornadus was more perspective than he gave the kid credit for.

“You have a teacher?” Arashi asked.

“Yeah… I don't think she's pretty much happy with me right now.” 

“Give her a rock!” Tora said. “Arashi always likes rocks! Momma likes rocks too!”

Zhen gave a half-hearted smile. “Rocks don't exactly solve everything, Tora.” 

“She don’t have good taste then.” Tora huffed. “Everyone likes rocks.”

Zhen laughed. “Well. It's hard to say, Tora. Maybe next time I'll give her a pretty rock and I'll tell you how she feels.”

“I'll go find one!” She was up and gone around the corner before he could stop her. 

“Zhen?” 

“Hm?”

Arashi had a parchment in his small claws. He slowly placed it in Zhen's hands. “Teacher?” 

With a frown, Zhen exclaimed the handwriting. He recognized none of the strange symbols made by heavy brushstrokes until it started to shift under his eyes. 

“Reshi!? Where did you get this?”

Sleepover?!

“It was in the trash…,” muttered Arashi. 

Zhen bit his lower lip. 

“Can I come?” 

Zhen hesitated. What was the worst that could happen?

-

And that's how Zhen found himself in the familiar interior of  Dragonspiral Tower, the hands of Tora and Arashi enveloped by his own. One twin could never go somewhere without the other, inseparable.  

Dressed in what would be a onesie in the shape of their normal formes.

[ Zhen, Arashi and Tora have made it to the sleepover ]

[ethereousdelirious]

I'm BACK

Here's (nearly) 3k of sickly rat man E.lias B.ouchard

With special guest appearances by J.onah M.agnus and B.arnabas Be.nnett 👀

Set in S2 with heavy spoilers for S4

Peter had a bloodhound’s nose for suffering— Elias’ suffering. If he wasn't the one to cause it, he was sure to be the one to make it worse, to revel in it. Oh, yes, he'd dote and smother, fret and fuss, all of it with that insufferable grin on his face.

“Ih'tshuh!” Elias kept his eyes shut, scrubbing away the itch from strands of pomaded hair that had long since broken loose.

And, as though Elias’ misery had reached a threshold that had summoned him, Peter answered: “Bless you, dearest.”

“Ugh.” Keeping his face buried in his hands, Elias leaned forward until his forehead touched his laptop. The edge of his desk dug into his stomach, the newest entry in a list of discomforts that had begun with a sore throat that morning and lengthened gradually throughout the day.

Peter's shuffling footsteps made the floor creak and when he spoke again, his voice came closer. “Not feeling well, are we?”

Elias peered through a gap in his fingers to give the Beholder some quarter. Peter, of course, had no immediate designs on his life, but it never hurt to be thorough.

When he failed to answer, Peter rested a hand on his back and gave a low whistle. “You know what you've got?”

“One person too many in my office,” Elias said into his palms, peering over the tips of his fingers to better glare at Peter. The light from his laptop stabbed into his eyes, sending a spike of nausea downward from his temples.

“A fever,” Peter replied. The thin gloss of concern in his voice only put a shine on the sadistic glee beneath it.

Elias’ sinuses burned. He took a tremulous breath through his mouth to no avail. “Aht'sch! Eh'kscuh!”

He had to curl in on himself to keep from slamming his forehead into his laptop (oh, Peter would have just loved to witness that), and the subsequent ache ran around his ribs and down his back and made him shudder. No, he didn't need Peter's insight, nor the Beholding's, to know that he was running a temperature. The body aches and chills were proof enough.

Peter cocked his head as Elias reached for the box of tissues Rosie had discreetly delivered him earlier in the day. “Don't tell me you've lost your voice now?” he asked hopefully, and then laughed. “Wait, you couldn't!”

“Do you need something?” Elias asked finally, satisfying himself with the social faux pas of blowing his nose without leaving the room. His voice came thin and pinched, exhausted despite his best attempt at some bravado.

“Yes,” Peter said, smiling broadly, “but it appears I'm so overcome with concern for you, my dear friend, that I've entirely forgotten what it was.”

“I don't have time for this.” Elias turned his blurry gaze back to his laptop, where a disordered spreadsheet awaited him.

Peter was quiet for a few blessed moments, allowing Elias to paw through a pile of receipts and expense reports, most of which bore Tim's handwriting— deliberately messy, oftentimes completely incomprehensible.

But Peter's presence, quiet though he was, kept Elias' shoulders tense, his brow furrowed. Whatever Peter's game was, he had no patience for it, and yet, there was no escape.

“Ehk'tSCH!”

“And I suppose reimbursements can't wait a few days,” Peter said mildly, handing Elias a tissue.

“No, Peter, they can't.” Elias scrubbed his nose without any regard for the irritated skin above his lip. “If I submit these late, then Tim will know his efforts to delay me have succeeded, and I simply can't reward his childish outbursts with even a hint of success or he'll— Ah.” A burn ran through Elias’ nose, breaths teasing the back of his throat.

“Oh, don't leave me in suspense now.”

“EHT'SCHUH!”

“Bl—”

“Don't.” Elias fixed Peter with a watery glare, shoving the tissue so hard to his nose that it hurt. “He’ll devote all his efforts to annoying me, and I can't have that.”

Peter leaned in, wrinkling his greatcoat against the edge of Elias’ heavy wooden desk, and pressed the back of his hand to Elias’ forehead. His pale eyes glimmered with some faint amusement. “You're missing something rather obvious, you know.”

Jonah Magnus, James Wright, Elias Bouchard. All the sort of cool-blooded men who paled when they got angry, who trembled with it and spoke very softly.

Normally.

All the blood rushed into Elias’ face, supplementing the fever pressing insistently against Peter's hand. “Do forgive me,” he said with venom, scowling at his spreadsheet, “Rosie neglected to inform me I hired you as an advisor.”

“Oh, don't be like that.” Peter withdrew his hand and Elias’ whole body shivered at the loss of contact and it hurt, ached in all his joints and made his head throb. “I'll even tell you what it is… for a price.”

“Peter— hh'ekSCHUH!” Hot tears streamed down Elias’ cheeks, irritating his feverish skin. Worse than the discomfort, he hadn't managed to duck away, and now a wash of droplets made rainbows on his laptop monitor. Disgusting… “What is it?” he asked stiffly. The lack of Beholding buzzed somewhere deep inside himself, teaming up with his headache and congestion to make his head spin. Feed and be fed… And Elias bore witness to only his own display of misery. Such paltry melodramas were of no interest to the Eye.

Peter laughed. “I hope that wasn't an attempt to compel me! I didn't feel a thing.”

Whether it was, Elias couldn't say. “Peter.”

He was a man who could eat a loss no matter how bad it tasted, who knew the value of biding his time. Still, it stung, somewhere deep beneath the misery and feverish confusion, beneath the headache and the burn in his sinuses.

He reached out with a shaking hand and shut his laptop, dirtied screen and all. His eyes watered, spilling yet more tears down his cheeks. “What's your condition?” he asked, face pressed to his handkerchief.

He'd rendered himself all but powerless for the moment, burying mouth, nose, and eyes into the gray cotton. A shudder ran through him at the emptiness and he forced himself to peer over the top of the handkerchief. Unlikely as it was that Peter had wanted him dead (at the moment), there was no point being careless.

Peter, for his part, stood as benignly as ever. Anyone would have thought him a kindly old fisherman, save for the uncanny hunger evident in that smiling mouth. “Isn't it obvious?” he asked, and chuckled gently, as though Elias’ sniveling was as endearing as the antics of a beloved grandchild. “I am terribly worried about you, my friend. But I know, I know—” here, he raised his hands in apparent surrender— “you have such a hard time accepting help. But I insist, you simply must let me look after you in this time of weakness.”

“Eager to play the voyeur, are we?” Elias said into his handkerchief. It had already grown damp and clammy with fever-sweat and the run-off from his tortured nose, and he couldn't help the shivers that ran down his spine.

And Peter smiled.

Elias made a last effort to claim the information from Peter's psyche, but all he earned for his efforts was a wave of giddiness. Peter gave no indication that he'd even felt the attempt. “Well?”

“If you're so eager to p-play nursemaid—” A tickle flared in his sinuses and retreated, eliciting a gasp. “Oh, for God's s— AHK'KSTCH! Dammit…” Sweat ran freely down his temples and hair hung in his face and his tie pressed on the base of his neck and his suit clung to him— yes, he was in a real fever now, perhaps the worst he'd ever had away from the comparative safety of a sickbed. “Nnh— just… tell me.” He couldn't draw a full breath; his heart raced. “Please.”

“You are in a bad way.” Peter laughed quietly. “Just call out sick.”

A large chunk of Elias’ psyche crashed to the floor, sending spiderweb cracks running through a few of the pillars holding up his self-control. He stared dully at Peter as the fever worked its way through him and his thoughts struggled to move through the oppressive heat.

Strategically… it wasn't the worst move. It was generally better to be underestimated than overestimated. Although, he'd have to find a way to keep tabs on Jon.

Well, when all the paths forward were excruciating, he might as well choose the one that allowed him to go to bed in the foreseeable future.

—

The chill air of the Archive bit into his skin, drawing shivers down the length of his body. Still, he kept his arms by his sides, clinging to his last scrap of dignity. Peter had helpfully angled him toward a mirror before steering him toward the Archives, and there had been nothing for Elias to do but slick his hair back (though his pomade had long since lost its grip) and carry on.

He could do nothing to mitigate his pallor or the deep, irritated pink of his nostrils, nothing to correct the dark circles under his eyes or the seams of blood on his chapped lips.

But he could keep from curling in on himself like some defeated, helpless little mortal. And so he strode down the hallway, with the fluorescents burning his eyes and shivers rippling the muscles of his back.

Rounding a corner, he found Tim and Jon staring at each other like alley cats, both of them stiff, defensive.

When he came within earshot, something struck him hard across the back, forcing an expulsion of air from his lungs that turned into a coughing fit.

The distinctive buzz, sticky salt on his skin, foreign-foreign-foreign skimmed across his psyche— No doubt Peter thought he was being clever.

“Er…” Jon's voice. But what was he… Dammit, why couldn't he just see? “Elias?”

“Jon…” Elias choked. Somehow his forearm had found the wall. He straightened up with a pang of discomfort that echoed through his entire body. “Tim.”

“Did you need something?” Tim asked, unimpressed as ever. “Or did you just come down to give us all the spooky flu?”

Slipping into the dimwitted persona of Elias Bouchard took less effort than he'd feared. “I just came down to tell you…” Ah, and just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel any worse, a wave of dizziness passed over him: not vertigo, but the dangerous, stomach-turning giddiness that always accompanied a fainting spell. “I'm not feeling well. I've come down with something and I'm going home for the day.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

“You don't have to sound so surprised, Jon.”

“Just… didn't think that was something that could happen to you.”

“Well, it is and it has,” Elias said stiffly. Frantic breaths washed over his cracked lips and the world began to gray at the edges. He stumbled back and hit something solid, and Peter’s fingertips dug into his shoulders.

“Huh!” Tim snickered, making no effort to keep his amusement hidden. “Best wishes for the recovery you deserve.” He turned to go, leaving Jon staring down Elias in apparent fascination.

Peter's hands burned on his shoulders, contrasted by the damp chill of the Lonely on his back. Sweat or condensation stuck to the back of his neck and a few icy droplets snaked beneath his collar.

Beneath it all, the strength of Elias’ patron kept him upright. He hadn't been abandoned, no, but he couldn't reach it, either. All he had was his foundation, and the feverish tremors running through him threatened the stability of even that small comfort with every passing moment.

“Jon.” Elias sighed, projecting stuffed-shirt exasperation as well as he could. “I haven't lied to you yet. This would be an awfully stupid place to start.”

“Right.” Jon straightened, still examining Elias curiously. “Well, ah. I hope you feel better soon. I suppose.”

The image of him faded as he walked away and the Lonely’s rushing waves grew louder and louder in his ears…

“My dear Jonah…” Barnabas. Fingers in his damp curls. “I came as fast as I could when I heard of your condition.”

Jonah opened his eyes. Barnabas’ blurry face greeted him, dark at the edges except for where the candlelight lit his features in shades of yellow. “You…” was all he could manage before he started to cough.

“Oh, don't speak, Jonah. Just rest, please.” Barnabas reached for him again, ran his fingers down the side of Jonah's face.

With his eyes slipping shut, Jonah forced his hand up from under the covers, intertwined his fingers with Barnabas’.

If he had to be ill, at least he was in good company.

When Elias opened his eyes (Jonah's eyes), it was Peter who greeted him. He sat a few feet away from the bedside with an ear-to-ear smile that spelled nothing but misfortune. Whatever had kept him from killing Elias, be it fondness or pragmatism, contained no hint of Barnabas’ tender concern all those years ago.

He hadn't propped Elias’ head up, either, and pain spread out through his tortured sinuses, culminating inevitably: “ik'STCH! HK'TSCHUH! HH'ETSCH!” He curled in on himself, driving himself upward, out of bed, knees buckling.

“Elias, Elias.” Peter caught him and sat him on the edge of the bed, leaving him to nurse a running nose by sniffling and hoping for the best. “Stay in bed. You're very ill, you know.”

Peter—”

“Just tell me what you need and I'll fetch it for you.”

“Anything you desire, Jonah, I'll get it for you. Any book, any diversion. Anything.”

Elias sniffled and fixed him with a baleful look, but there was no getting around it. Even just sitting here, his head spun and his heart pounded. “...tissues.”

“Oh.” Peter’s smile sharpened, his eyes turning colder. “You can do better than that.”

Elias sniffed. “Will the great and magnanimous Peter Lukas please fetch me some tissues?”

“I'm not sure I like ‘magnanimous,’” Peter said thoughtfully, but he got up anyway. From outside the room, he shouted, “Maybe ‘his Loneliness’.”

Slowly, painfully, Elias got back in bed. His head throbbed with every slight motion. He stacked the pillows clumsily and fell back against them.

“Look at this, Jonah.” Barnabas opened his handkerchief to reveal an orange, peeled and sliced. “Please share it with me. You know they're terribly tart; I can never eat the whole thing by myself.”

Jonah’s fever had only just broken that morning, but he managed to sit himself up without assistance.

His hands shook, though, and Barnabas pressed an orange slice to his lips for him. Sweet liquid trickled down Barnabas’ fingertips and Jonah chased it with his tongue.

“Here we are!” Peter's bulk filled the doorway. He'd taken off his greatcoat to reveal a thick sweater mottled with oil stains. Of more interest was the tissue box in his hand, which he flung carelessly in Elias’ direction.

“Thank you,” Elias said drily, promptly burying his nose in a handful. He blew his nose, propriety be damned, and fell back against the pillows. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I gathered that.”

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and rested his palm on Elias’ forehead, clearly enjoying the mockery of domesticity. “That little Archivist of yours rounded the corner and your legs went out. I caught you of course, and I took you home. But, you know, it was the funniest thing. I got turned around on my way to the front door, and I'm afraid a fair few of your employees saw me carrying you.” Peter ruffled Elias' hair, smiling down at him.

He could have shifted his hand a few inches, wrapped it around Elias’ exposed throat, pinned him there.

He could have taken a pillow, held it against Elias’ face.

He could have done any number of things and might at any moment, and for all Elias knew, the only thing keeping him at bay was the promise of mutually assured destruction.

“I'm going to try to sleep now,” Elias said primly. “I suggest you leave me to it.”

If Peter was disappointed at Elias’ lack of reaction, he didn't show it. He nodded shortly and stood up. “I'm sure I'll find a way to occupy myself.”

Barnabas’ hair stood up at odd angles, the obvious product of many a long night awake at Jonah's bedside. But his weary smile was as genuine as any Jonah had ever known, and tears glimmered in his eyes despite it. “I was terribly worried about you, my dear Jonah. When I received word that you'd collapsed, I nearly wept.”

Jonah was already slipping back toward sleep, but he offered Barnabas a smile even as his eyes slipped shut. “...glad you're here.”

That kind of naive trust was far behind him now. He’d shed all that childishness in pursuit of greater things. There was no point in missing it.

In missing him.

Jonah Magnus had made his bed. All he could do now was lie in it.

[pyonzzz]

♪

i think it is so funny that the wxs cover played instead of the original

[loserboyfriendrjl]

a/n: (prev pinned) didn’t i just hit 2k in may of this year? how the time flies, damn! anyways, thank you to everyone who has supported me on this journey, from the people who actively engage with my content with the from-time-to-time people, to everyone else! to anons who’ve sent me asks and to people who have motivated me, thank you all for bringing me to this milestone! (and many more to come!)

i think this calls for a celebration, and therefore i present to you…

saintchaser’s 3k followers celebration!

🎧 — shuffling my playlists for you! give me a playlist from my spotify (which you can access by clicking the link in my bio), a number, and i will tell you the song that pops up! (you can also request me to write a ficlet based on the playlist, just mention that and the pairing/trope you would like me to use, if there is any!)

🤍— positivity exchange! we compliment each other! blog theme, takes, the relationship we have (if we have any), anything of that sorts! going wild! we need more positivity in the world, so why not?

🎲 — mutual/character games! fmk (characters only), would you rather, cym, all that jazz! (if you have any more ideas, feel free to suggest!)

❕— unpopular opinions/questions! you share an opinion or a question, and i will tell you if i agree with it or not, or give an answer to your question!

📸 — picture game! i will pick an image from my camera roll that i think fits your vibe, and i can explain why, if that’s wanted! (we can do this as an exchange, too, if you would like that!)

🖋️— writing time! give me a prompt, a ship, a trope, anything your heart desires, and i’ll try to make up something for it! (note that it might take a bit)

🖌️ — i haven’t done this before, but this is about your handwriting as one of the marauders! you submit your handwriting to my ask box, and i will tell you, based on my perception, who i think it fits best!

🏞️ — (mutuals exclusive) making a pinboard for you! about 20 pins, based on blog vibes and your vibes in general!

💌 — (mutuals exclusive) writing letters! i’ll tell you a little bit about what i think about you, what i think about your blog, about our interactions, that kind of thing!

🎹 — (mutuals exclusive) bringing back what i had done for my last celebration, mutual playlists! submit this emoji to your ask box and i will make a playlist for you that i think fits your vibe or that you might like!

🚋 — anything else! (please specify!) let your imagination run wild!

NOTE: the celebration will last for two weeks from the moment of posting onwards, and most likely all asks will be answered! all asks can be found under the “#starchaser’s 3k followers celebration” tag!

[roohuh]

His bedroom.

Part 15 of Obliviate

Ominis x MC

Summary: you and Sebastian search Ominis room for clues as to his whereabouts

Warnings: end game spoilers!!

Having found nothing more than Ominis discarded text book in the common room, you and Sebastian decide to search their room for anything that could be of help. Walking into the room you take a good look around clutching Ominis’ wand in your hands. You had never been in the boys room to your memory. Not being allowed to have the opposite gender in your room, you always had just went to the Undercroft if you needed privacy. Softly sitting on the bed you assume has to be Ominis', it being the only made bed in the room. You notice something under Ominis pillow and wonder if it would be too invasive to investigate the box you are looking for clues anyways and this could be a clue. Curiosity out ways your scruples and you slide the small back box from the pillow. You glance over at Sebastian who was looking through a trunk of letters trying to find one he thought may have Ominis home address. You open the box peering in at the beautifully delicate antique ring adorned with an oddly shaped stone.

“Accio!” Sebastian pulls the box from your hands shaking his head “You weren’t supposed to see that!” He stuffs it in his pocket.

“Was that?”

“Don’t ruin the surprise, forget you saw that and look for real clues you dummy.” Sebastian continues to shuffle through old letters in vain as you search Ominis desk. Finding nothing notable, just the regular school supplies all neatly sorted into specific places. You laugh noting the large jar of candy sat next to his ink and quill. Then you open his letterbox and see your handwriting. It is the letter Ominis saved the day he gave you the stack. Gently you open the envelope and read the contents of the letter.

Ominis,

If you are asking what I would say if you asked me to marry you I would reply that you sir are trying to cheat and you must ask me yourself. But I would say that if you were to ask you would like my answer.

-MC

Blushing you go to put the letter back in the box but as you do you spot another letter this one looks much older. The letter read:

My Dearest Ominis,

I miss you so but soon I shall be returning to see you! I just have to investigate something at the school I used to attend. Soon you shall get your first wand and be sorted yourself. You will love Hogwarts. It is a wonderful place. The ring I have enclosed is a gift for you to give you courage until I return. I remember how much you loved to sit and fiddle with it last time I visited you.

Love Aunt Noctua

Meticulously putting the letter back in the letterbox you close the lid feeling slightly embarrassed of your shameless snooping. The croak of Ominis’ toad beings your attention to the small round animal.

“There there. We shall find your master soon do not worry. ” You say tossing a worm into his enclosure incase he is hungry. Feeling frustration from your helplessness you turn to Sebastian,

“This is getting us nowhere.”

“Calm down, we are going to figure this out.” He tries to soothe, never taking his eyes off his task.

“This is taking too long. Every second we spend here they could be torturing him there!”

“What do you want me to do MC?” Sebastian snaps, tossing the letters back into the trunk.

“I am going to talk to his brother! He knows where Ominis is and I know what has to be done to retrieve him.”

“Ominis would never forgive me if I let you do that. And you will never forgive yourself if you do what you are implying.”

“You forget Sebastian. I killed Ranrok and Rookwood. I am capable of doing what needs to be done.”

“Those were self defense! They attacked you. This is different. You would be marching into a man’s home killing him in cold blood. You once tried to talk me out of dabbling in the dark arts do not make the same mistake you warned against .”

“Because I was too slow, Rookwood cursed Anne. Because I couldn’t do what had to be done Ranrok Killed the man from the ministry, Lodgok, and Professor Fig. I am not about to let Ominis join the list of people who died because I couldn’t save them.” You shake your head fighting the tears and turn to leave.

“Wait… I’m going with you. We will bring our Ominis home together. And I swear if that creep lays a hand on you I will kill him.”

[malum-forev]

Game On: Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven

She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands until she saw purple and yellow stars cover her already blurry vision. It seemed the stark contrast of the white chalk against the once emerald green board wasn’t enough of an eyesore for Mrs. Patterson, one of (Y/N)’s teachers, she was insistent on writing everything in her infamous script handwriting. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, the red ink on last semester’s paper that read: ‘Your closing argument is not only structurally incorrect but factually inaccurate.’ Still haunted (Y/N).

Mrs. Patterson looked down at her polished silver watch, nine forty-five. “Judging by your empty eyes, I think now would be a good place to stop.”

Scattered chuckles could be heard around the room but what was most noticeable was the sighs of relief. The 7:30 pm double lecture was hard to handle but having one of the most decorated teachers in that time slot became almost unbearable. (Y/N) got up to stretch her back and pick up her things as people started shuffling out of the classroom. 

“Law students sure know how to enjoy a Friday night.” She instantly recognized his voice.

‘Deep breath, one, two, three.’ She counted in her head before turning around.

“What can I say, they don’t call us the life of the party for nothing.” She smiled. “I thought you had practice tonight, you know to get ready for the big game next week.”

Bucky clutched the left side of his chest. “You know my schedule? Don’t make me blush.”

(Y/N) hiked her tote bag up and walked past him towards the door and peeked her head out, looking both ways. Once she turned around, she bumped into his chest.

She pushed him away from her and from any potential witnesses. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky leaned on the wall closest to the door and started shuffling through his backpack. “You’ve been avoiding me.” 

“That statement didn’t answer my question.” She crossed her arms. “Someone could see you here.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, his furrowed eyebrows cast a dark shadow on his celeste eyes.

“Your eyes look like marbles when you make that face.” She stated.

His features softened and a deep dimple appeared next to his newly revealed pearly whites. “That statement didn’t answer my question.”

“Your argument becomes invalid once you’ve repeated my structure.” 

“The class that just ended was legal argumentation right?” He chuckled. 

It was her turn to mimic his act. “You know my schedule? Don’t make me blush.”

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “I came to give you this.”

Dangled in front of her eyes, (Y/N) immediately recognized the thin gold bracelet. She gasped and took it out of Bucky’s hands. “Where did you find it!”

“I do believe people usually say ‘thank you’.” Bucky chuckled. “That’s why I’d been calling.”

Although this made (Y/N) feel even more guilty about avoiding him, she could never tell him the truth. “This week has been kind of crazy.”

Bucky laced his hand in hers and brought (Y/N) into a hug. He said “Alright.” Without believing a word she spoke.

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re coming to the game next Thursday right?”

“I think won’t be able-“

“Please?” He interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up to meet his eyes, their noses touching. “Okay.”

Again, a smile creeped on to his lips and he turned his head to bring them closer to hers but (Y/N) turned and took a step back. 

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “Sorry, I forgot.”

(Y/N) cleared her throat and turned towards the door. “So, I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“I was actually thinking we could see each other on Sunday. Steve is leaving and I have the apartment to myself.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, a crimson tint adorning his cheeks.

“Sure, just text me.” She smiled.

“Promise you’ll answer?”

“I promise.” She nodded before leaving the classroom. The winter air of January helped her cool down. She brought her hand up to her lips, her heartbeat more present there than inside of her chest, but they only made her remember what had happened a week ago. 

The sound of glasses clinking and her friends’ laughter brought (Y/N) joy. It had been a few hours since they had all celebrated the new year. The scene before her eyes made her feel like she was a little kid again, no worries no deadlines just now.  

“Are you coming or not?!” Natasha laughed from the front door, kicking her shoes off on her way out. 

“I’ll keep your clothes safe.” (Y/N) smiled and headed out. 

The previous day had been unusually sunny, the deep ray of warmth cast over the snow had made some of the water at the lake in front of Steve’s cabin melt. So, the obvious conclusion the group had come to (during the final sips of the fourth champagne bottle and the start of the second tequila shot) was to skinny dip. 

“In some cultures, it brings luck into the new year.” Sam tried to justify as he unzipped his pants.

“Please!” (Y/N) let out a loud laugh. “There has to be at least one of us that doesn’t get pneumonia!”

“Anything bad that happens to you this semester, I’m blaming it on not jumping in!” Wanda yelled as she jumped in. One by one they all shrieked from the cold and erupted in laughter from the alcohol. 

(Y/N) was starting to pile all of her friends’ belongings when she felt someone throw her over their shoulder.

“Can’t let you have bad luck this year, doll.” Bucky laughed as he brought her closer to the edge of the dock. “You have two options: take off your clothes and jump with us or I’ll throw you in with everything you’ve got on.”

Wanda, Steve, Sam, and Natasha cheered from their position inside of the lake. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll jump in! Just turn around!” (Y/N) said through laughs. 

As everyone turned around, (Y/N) quickly discarded her clothes. Bucky peeked through his fingers, that covered his eyes. He double checked that no one was looking, although judging from his friends’ alcohol intake it was possible that even if someone saw them, none would remember. He brought her close to him, their chests touching. 

“Three.” He whispered.

“What are you doing?” She questioned, worried. 

“Two.” 

“James, let’s just jump.” (Y/N) turned to look at her friends but they weren’t even paying attention, the group was too preoccupied with the freezing water to even care.

“One.”

(Y/N) grabbed his hand and took him to the border of the dock, but Bucky brought her back to him.

“Happy New Year, doll.” He smiled before bringing his lips to hers. The passionate kiss took her by surprise. It wasn’t like before, it wasn’t filled with deep breaths and hunger, a desire. It was soft and deep, something (Y/N) had never experienced before. But suddenly the pleasure turned into warmth, a burning feeling that covered her skin. A feeling of all too much consumption. (Y/N) pulled away, breathless. Her widened eyes met his and in a moment of desperation and before she could even conceptualize what was happening, she jumped. 

The cheers of her friends, drowned her thoughts and as she rose back to the top the clattering of her teeth and the drop of her body temperature numbed anything and everything.

Sometime later, once they couldn’t feel their toes anymore, all of them started filing into the cabin. But before (Y/N) could enter, Bucky pulled her aside hidden from anyone’s view.

“What was that about?” His eyes spoke millions of words, those his lips couldn’t pronounce. “I don’t even get a ‘Happy New Year Buck?’.”

“Happy New Year Buck.” She repeated, her eyes focused on the ground. 

He took his index finger to her chin and lifted it up. “Tell me, tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

(Y/N) debated telling him, bearing her naked soul to him. Putting herself in an even more vulnerable position than she had been with him some night before. But Bucky noticed immediately, her eyes changed and it was as if the walls had built up again. 

“If we want this to work, we cannot kiss.” She stated sternly.

“What-“

“Friends with benefits, no kissing. Ever.” She interrupted. 

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes. He took her hand and placed it on his, rubbing circles on her wrist. “One of these days, you’re going to wind yourself up a little bit too much. And you’re going to fall apart. Everything is more complicated whenever your head gets in front of your heart.”

“Those are the terms, take it or leave it.” Her blank stare challenged him, (Y/N) pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. “I’m going inside.”

In a matter of seconds, Bucky was left alone with the winter breeze and in his hand he held the snapped gold bracelet that was wrapped around (Y/N)’s wrist. 

Sunday rolled around faster than (Y/N) had anticipated. Before she knew it, she had already avoided her roommates’ questions, grabbed some coffee and was laying on Bucky’s bed with only a thin bedsheet covering her, his comforter had been long gone.

Bucky walked in with both of the coffees in his hand. “This kid Peter really has the hots for you.”

“Why are you talking like a transatlantic news broadcaster?” She smiled as he handed over the coffee.

“In case you lost my number.” Bucky read out loud the ten digits that Peter had written on the side of the cup.

“Oh god, I seriously don’t have time to let him down easy.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on Bucky’s headboard. 

“If you don’t watch out, you’ll get a heartbreaker reputation.” Bucky chuckled as he traced his fingers up and down her arm. 

(Y/N) opened her mouth but quickly closed it, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Anything that wouldn’t come out as a lie, and in this moment she could only lie.

“So, this friends with benefits thing. It comes with the ‘friends’ part right?” Bucky asked and (Y/N) nodded. “So, can I ask you something?”

She chuckled. “Sure.”

“No ox two.” Bucky looked at her as serious as ever.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but erupt in laughter. “What are you on about?”

“So when my sister and I were younger, my ma wanted to create like a secret phrase. Something with which we had to tell the truth but she promised that we wouldn’t be in trouble. And since we weren’t allowed to say ‘bullshit’ she came up with ox two. Ox as in similar to bull and Two as in number two, shit.” Bucky explained.

Her laughter did not seize but instead intensified. 

“When you promise no ox two, you have to tell the truth.”

“I promise, no ox two.” (Y/N) smiled. 

“Why are you insistent on not dating?” Bucky asked her.

(Y/N) took another deep breath. “Look, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Great way to start.” Bucky chuckled.

“All my life, I’ve had to work double at everything just to prove that I’m capable. I constantly have to jump through an insane amount of hoops to end up with a great result, even better than anyone around me, especially any of my male classmates. But even when I show that I can deliver better, they say I am just not enough.”

“I don’t doubt Peter is a great guy but, I am not willing to sacrifice everything I’ve done for someone. One single comment from Peter could ruin everything I’ve worked for. Now, instead of being hard working, I try too hard. Because I put my studies in front of my love life, I’m a prude. If I ever decide things don’t work out, I’m a bitch.”

“Instead of opening yourself up, you live in this shell. Only hyper focusing on your goal.” Bucky uttered. 

(Y/N) scoffed. “Of course you would judge me.”

Bucky turned to face her. “I’m not judging, I just think sometimes you should stop and enjoy the ride. I wouldn’t want you to get to where you want to be, only to realize the journey was part of the reward.”

(Y/N) let out a small smile. “This thing between you and me, that’s the most adventurous I’ve ever been.”

“Well, don’t worry about me. My lips are sealed, no one will ever know what goes on.” Bucky closed the gap between the two of them and started leaving a trail of kisses from her collarbone to the edge of her lips, but never once touching them. 

...---...

Tagged List

@charmedbysarge @rabbitrabbit12321

@crazy4seb-chris

[owlyflufff]

Koutarou finds the notebook on Keiji’s desk.

Don’t get him wrong, having the privilege to move to a new apartment with your partner was the best thing in the world.

Having to unload all of your belongings from the boxes and figuring out where to put each individual item however was not. More so in the absolute dead of the night, the invisible hands of time telling Koutarou it was already 12:00 am.

Numerous boxes were all that the eye could see, items already taken out lay in an absolute disarray across the four corners of their apartment, and one item that so happened to catch Koutarou’s eye was a notebook. 

He knows it’s history very well.

“Kou?” Not too far away, Koutarou can practically make up Keiji’s voice. 

“Over here Keiji, I’m in your nest of papers and stuff!” His office, Koutarou was referring to the spare room in their apartment that was going to be Keiji’s soon to be office. He was odd that way, for saying things that no one would often understand, giving things new names and making new definitions out of thin air.

“Is the nest littered with paperwork?” And Keiji might be a little odd as well, for speaking in those very same names and definitions, understanding Koutarou far better than anyone else.

“As littered as it will ever be!”

It’s alright though, in the simplicity of their still work in progress apartment, the two of them can be odd together.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” there’s shuffling here and there from Keiji as he makes his way to Koutarou although the latter was already fixated on the notebook in his hand. Hands threading carefully along years worth of writing, all bundled and sealed behind a worn out cover. Koutarou smiles.

Written at the very top of the notebook’s cover in Keiji’s handwriting it read: “Star Report”.

If you asked Koutarou-er-Bokuto back in his second year what he thought of the notebook, he would answer that it was a volleyball progress report of some sort.

Akaashi often brought it along with him inside of his gym bag, taking it out in between training and practice matches, tallying wins and loses from the aftermaths, jotting down strategies by the second.

He had often observed from afar, his attention shifting back and forth between the players on the court and his notebook as he wrote feverishly like there was no tomorrow.

Although, how often had it been that Bokuto would notice Akaashi looking at him the most?

The way Akaashi’s eyes would trail after him every so often. Swiftly he would retrieve his notebook whenever something became a detriment to Bokuto’s mood, whispers of numbered weaknesses pass through his lips if Bokuto listened close enough. Writing things down a lot more when it revolved around him, clutching the notebook tight like a close kept secret.

However, in Bokuto’s second year, he and Akaashi grew to be friends, and friends would often share each other’s secrets.

“Aghasheee,” Bokuto peaks from behind Akaashi’s shoulder, the sound of a notebook closing shut follows in suite.

“Yes Bokuto-san?” Akaashi peers from behind to a sulking Bokuto, careful to shift himself as Bokuto sags unto the side of his shoulder.

“I’m having a problem right now, a big one even!” Bokuto says.

“You’ve had one just yesterday,” Akaashi says. “You were complaining why getting snacks from vending machines don’t have the same mechanics as  crane games when clearly that would make everyone’s life harder-”

“But it would be fun, wouldn’t it?!”

“A fun way to torment everyone then yes,” Akaashi fiddles with the corner of his notebook. “Besides, a shooter game like those laser ones in the arcade would work much better if you want to get a snack out of a vending machine since you just have to shoot the target-”

“We can talk about that another time Akaashi, that’s not the problem right now!”

“What’s the matter then Bokuto-san?” There’s shuffling against the floor and Bokuto Koutarou finds himself face to face with Akaashi Keiji.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto inhales sharply then exhales just as much, building up the momentum for whatever he was about to say.

What follows is just what Akaashi expects from Bokuto, it’s unexpected.

“If I was a breakfast food, what would I be?”

If Akaashi was someone from Bokuto’s old team, he would have probably been on the receiving end of raised eyebrows, laughter and worse comes to worse, ignorance. However, Akaashi was not from his old team, Akaashi is Akaashi, and Akaashi stays. Akaashi listens.

“Breakfast food,” Akaashi repeats, seeking for more context so Bokuto continues. 

“My sisters keep saying cereals, Kuroo said I’m a breakfast burrito and Kenma thinks I’m toast with way too much butter.” 

The gears are turning in Akaashi’s mind, Bokuto thinks. It’s the way his face scrunches up, the way his fingers reach to nestle against his chin and his eyes shut close that make it so incredible Akaashi-like, it fascinates Bokuto a lot more than it should.

“What about me then?”

“Hm?”

“If you were to associate me with a breakfast food Bokuto-san, what would it be?” Akaashi is quick to ask.

Admittedly, Bokuto would have been countering Akaashi right now, saying he asked first so he should get a response first. So it surprises him, catches him off guard when he blurts out:

“Oatmeal, I think you’re oatmeal Akaashi.”

All Akaashi gives in response is a gentle tilt of his head and says, “oatmeal?”

His voice doesn’t sound offended or distasteful, only curiosity in between the lines, and Bokuto holds unto that curiosity that is given to him, wanting to give back as much.

“Yep, oatmeal!” Bokuto reconfirms. “Oatmeal becauseeee it looks plain at first sight you know? Nothing too extraordinary at least.” 

“But then,” He’s swift to look at Akaashi, afraid he’s already done something to the setter’s mood but Akaashi only waits, listens. “when you try it out, it’s actually pretty good!” 

Silence before- “what I’m trying to get at here is, there’s a lot more to it than what meets the eye.” 

There’s a shift. Bokuto’s sure, he knows there’s a shift in the atmosphere somehow, there’s a shift in the weight of his words and there’s a shift in Akaashi Keiji. 

For there is light dancing in Akaashi’s eyes. There is wonder, there is curiosity, there is fun and whimsy and understanding buried within those eyes and Bokuto so asks himself what it would be like to see Akaashi like this more often. 

“Bokuto-san...” Akaashi starts. “Would my answer to your question really mean anything to you?” He says slowly, “you seem to be better at these than I am, I’m sure you can answer your own question and besides, you’ve already gotten a handful of responses-”

“Of course it would.” If Bokuto could only hear himself right now, blissfully unaware of how firm he had spoken. “It’s you we’re talking about Akaashi! What it means to me is as important as what’s written in that notebook means to you.”

Bokuto looks over at the one in Akaashi’s hold. “That notebook...it’s important to you isn’t it?”

There’s a pause before; “Yes,” there’s a sincerity in Akaashi’s voice that catches Bokuto off guard, he looks at Akaashi and Akaashi meets him halfway, “the notebook is important to me.”

Bokuto nods and he smiles. “Then your answer is important to me as well.”

Bokuto watches as Akaashi looks up to face the ceiling, eyes shield shut with immense concentration. A beat, then:

“Pancakes.” 

Simple and straightforward Akaashi says, “Bokuto-san to me is pancakes. There’s a lot of layers stacked on top of each other, it can be overwhelming sometimes but, it’s nice to have...awfully sweet to the core even.”

Akaashi shifts away from looking at the ceiling and looks over to Bokuto, the faintest smile on his lips. 

Six months, Bokuto has only known Akaashi Keiji for six months back then and yet with all these jumbled up and broken bits of interactions, somehow it clicks.

Quiet first year and boisterous second year, setter and spiker, Akaashi and Bokuto, oatmeal and pancakes. An odd combination, but somehow they work, somehow they click.

“You know Akaashi,” Akaashi is smiling and Bokuto starts to smile as well, and he does not ever want to stop. “I think that’s a pretty good answer.” 

If you asked Bokuto in his third year what he thought about the notebook, he would answer that it was something that means a lot to Akaashi. 

Whatever that was at least.

For Akaashi began to bring the notebook outside of volleyball matters as well.  Sometimes during lunch, other times when it was just the two of them buying a new pair of shoes. Where Akaashi went, the notebook followed, and Bokuto was no fool to know just how much time and effort Akaashi place in writing along those pages, the dedication was admirable, endearing even. 

“Did you see my super cool killer serve just now Akaashi?!” Bokuto says one time in between practice. He leans close to Akaashi, prodding for any ounce of praise from the setter as he always does.

“I did, I also saw every other one of your serves that went outside and hit a homerun-”

“Akaashiiii, I told you it’s not about the failure but the success didn’t I?”

Akaashi pauses for a moment, thinking as he always does. “I think that one’s failures can be just as important as the success that comes with it.” A beat. “It makes for a good analysis of one’s performance.”

Bokuto hums for a moment and Akaashi expects another series of questions until-

“You know, I like you a lot Akaashi.”

Whatever response Akaashi had beforehand dies at the tip of his tongue as quickly as it had form. Now, Bokuto was never one to observe someone’s eyes if he’s going to be honest but Akaashi’s have never looked wider than they have right now.

“I don’t really follow,” is all Akaashi musters out, the notebook in his hand held in a death grip.

“Why wouldn’t I like you Akaashi!” Bokuto continues on. “You’re really observant, kinda like a hawk, always watching our opponents and probably thinking of ways to explode them with your mind-”

“I don’t remember wanting to explode anyone Bokuto-san.”

“But you look really cool doing it anyway, and you write things, in your notebook!” Bokuto swiftly points to the one in Akaashi’s possession. “That’s what you’ve been taking down right?”

There’s something in Akaashi features that tells Bokuto he’s missed the mark, not completely but it’s not like he hit a bullseye either.

“You can say that,” Akaashi says slowly. “I wouldn’t say it’s a volleyball log book though.”

“Oh, wait really?! Then what is it? What’s inside?” Bokuto bounces from left to right like an owl but his attempts to look at its content are futile in the face of a sealed notebook.

Akaashi stays silent, a lot longer than Bokuto expects but he opens up all the same. “A lot more things than you realize, maybe some things you don’t really know.”

“There you go again” Bokuto drawls on, “you’re being all cryptic on me Akaashi.”

“And if I’m doing it on purpose?”

“Then that’s just gonna make even more curious!”

There’s a pause between them, a silence, then a promise.

“One day,” Bokuto’s attention refocuses on Akaashi as he hears his voice.

“One day, I’ll let you see its contents.” Akaashi says. “Not now though, not yet. I want to see something through.”

Bokuto can’t say he understands those words, but they’re Akaashi’s words and he trusts Akaashi’s words, he trusts Akaashi. That’s more than enough to seal the deal.

“Promise me 100%?” There’s hope brimming in Bokuto’s eyes. He’s reaching out to Akaashi, trying his best to extend this bridge of trust forming between whatever bond he has cultivated with this setter.

What he doesn’t know is that Akaashi is reaching out as well, holding unto it just as much.

“I promise 120%.” 

Fast forward 5 years from that day and here Koutarou is, the weight of Keiji’s words and writings all held close to him, a single flip of a page away from uncovering all it’s little secrets.

Koutarou doesn’t turn the page. His eagerness to know is strong but that trust and love he has for Keiji is much stronger. He knows Keiji wouldn’t forget.

There’s the sound of fluffy slippers gently thumping along the floor and Koutarou smiles at the sound.

“Kou?” Keiji’s head peaks from the entrance of his office. His husband’s been hard at work organizing the rest of their apartment, the disheveled hair and the way his glasses are daring to fall over says as much.

Koutarou walks over to Keiji, gently pushing his glasses back up and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey hey hey Keiji,” Koutarou says with so much gentleness. “Thanks for all your hardwork today, we can fix the rest tomorrow if you’re tired.”

Keiji manages a woobly faint smile before he turns to look at the office, his eyes come to a stop and soon enough he’s approaching the item Koutarou already expects he would.

“Is this…” Keiji trails on, reaching out to get the notebook from the desk.

“The old notebook you used to write on!” Koutarou beams.

Keiji opens it, flipping through the pages with much care before closing it once more. “Kou, do you remember that promise I made to you during my second year?”

“Of course,” Koutarou says, a soft smile on his lips. “How could I ever forget a promise I made with you.” 

Keiji nods, still full of understanding after all these years that it makes Koutarou’s heart swell. 

“Here,” the notebook is placed in Koutarou’s hands once more, only he’s given this, Keiji gives this to him willingly and without hesitation. “I trust you.” 

The words are so simple, so easy yet Koutarou has never been more grateful. 

“I’ll give you some time,” Keiji plants a soft kiss to Koutarou’s cheek before he’s exiting the office. “It’s a fairly long read. If you need me love, I’ll be in the living room.” 

As Keiji slowly disappears from his line of sight, Koutarou looks down at the notebook and with a flip of the cover, he begins reading. 

The start is what Koutarou expects in some way. It was a series of observations from previous matches, both official and mere practice ones. Koutarou reads through every single one, because it’s Keiji’s writing and Koutarou loves reading everything his husband writ-

“Bokuto-san’s smile is kind” ;

is what the next few pages on the notebook say. Koutarou blinks once, back reading to make sure he isn’t seeing things and sure enough in Keiji’s writing were the words as they are. 

Along the next few pages were more things about him, nothing too personal but little tidbits of moments they’ve spent together. Quotes that made Keiji laugh apparently and observations of things Koutarou loves, all carefully (and poetically even-) written by his husband. 

“Troublesome, Bokuto-san can be troublesome sometimes but he often does it to improve his performance.” A page reads. 

“Bokuto-san likes knock knock jokes to cheer him up from a mood slump, perhaps I should find more of those.” Another page reads and Koutarou can quite remember how Keiji always knew how to get him back on his feet. 

“If Bokuto-san was a breakfast food, he would be pancakes.” is written on another page and Koutarou laughs at the memory of that conversation. 

There is a list of Koutarou’s weaknesses but there is another list of Koutarou’s strengths not too far away. 

Then, written within the pages of Keiji’s notebook it reads:

“I think I’m in love with Bokuto-san.”

And Bokuto pauses.  

“Yes, the notebook is important to me.”

“A lot more things than you realize, maybe some things you don’t really know.”

Oh. Oh.

The notebook had been filled with volleyball, tidbits of Keiji’s life but it had been centered on Koutarou. That’s what it is isn’t it? That’s what this notebook has always been about this whole time.

Praises about Koutarou’s performance, little moments with him that Keiji seemed to value so much, and love. An incredible amount of love and adoration for Koutarou that Keiji so singe-handedly manage to write into a notebook. 

It’s Koutarou, it’s always been Koutarou. To Keiji, the most important thing to him is Koutarou.

And oh, what love does to him. One of those things so happens to be bolting straight for the living room where his husband said he would be. 

There Keiji is, sorting a few of the picture frames by the corner and Koutarou has never fallen harder.

Keiji turns around in alarm to Koutarou’s haste entering the living room, notebook tight in his hands. 

All Keiji does is smile as if he knows, he always knows, he knows Koutarou better than anyone else truly. “I take it that you read everythi-” 

Keiji is swept off the ground and Koutarou thinks he can reach for the sky. 

“I,” Koutarou says as he presses a kiss to Keiji’s right cheek, “love,” another peck to Keiji’s left cheek, “you,” another kiss to the top of Keiji’s forehead, “so much,” a final kiss to the tip of Keiji’s nose however far his glasses allowed for Koutarou to reach, pulling Keiji close to him as he carries him bridal style. 

Warm arms wrap around Koutarou’s neck in return and he holds unto him just as much. Bubbles of laughter, soft and oh so incredibly fond, erupt from Keiji as he is spun around. It’s the most beautiful thing Koutarou has ever heard. 

He stops spinning and for a moment, so does the world. When Koutarou draws  back, Keiji looks at him with those eyes still full of wonder and fun and whimsy. Love written all over Keiji’s face. 

“I love you too Koutarou,” Keiji says a little breathless, “I’ve loved you for the longest time.” 

Whatever distance is left between them disappears as Keiji brings his glasses down, holding Koutarou’s face like something precious and leans in to kiss his lips, pouring all the words he’s said and has yet to say to Koutarou with it.

If you asked Koutarou now what he thought of the notebook, he thought it was everything. A perfect summation of Keiji’s feelings for him that makes his heart full.  A beautiful proof that he is Keiji’s everything. 

Here wrapped in warmth and being kissed by lips full of care, Koutarou tells himself, here is his everything as well, the whole world, right in his arms.  All in the form of Keiji. 

Not even words on a notebook could ever truly express this. 

[moonsharky]

Hi!

can you write 3 and 5 :D

hiii i sure can! 💚

translation in ALT ID

3. what i am thinking about:

just answered here, hasnt changed yet. wont be long tho lol

5. shuffle playlist and write fave lyrics from it:

handwriting ask game

[night-market-if]

Paper Moons - Part 1

Welcome to Paper Moons, a community built game and a prequel to the Night Market. Join Gabriel Caine and the Graceling, on a journey through the market and the outlands. Help keep Gabriel from the madness that possesses the Fallen and discover the world outside the market proper and all that it entails.

Paper Moons will be updated weekly here on Tumblr. To participate in current updates, join my Patreon at the Courtesan tier. To play the alpha build with all choices included, join the Baron tier.

Enjoy!

The streets were dark. Wet with a black rain that scattered across it in obsidian gems.  The sound of the ocean roared at my back along with the rattle of cages. Soft moans of the dying were a cacophony against the night sky as the forgotten breathed their final goodbyes.  My leather boots were wet with dirt and grime, stained with a dark sludge I would have to spend the evening scrubbing out.  Glancing down at the parchment in my hand, I frowned.  

The letter had been pinned to my door this morning.  An old nail, like the ones they used to repair the docks, held it in place.  It had been vague and the handwriting barely legible, but there was a promise attached to the end.  A promise of money.  The promise of a better place to hole up instead of the small hovel that I was huddled within.  My roof was thatched and leaking, and the rain had been nearly incessant these last few days. As if the heavens were crying.

Stepping over the small foot bridge, I glanced at the stone house ahead. A waterwheel slowly churned the meandering river that bordered the house, while smoke puffed from a broken chimney.  Tugging my hood up and over my head, I chewed at my lip, feeling it split open once more. It was a habit I desperately needed to break.

The door was four rough-hewn planks, fitted together with flat bands of steel.  I knocked, my fists coming down on it with three thick thuds. It barely made a sound.  But I could hear the shuffling inside and when the door swung open, I was faced with a tall, dark skinned man. His hair was pulled sharply away from his face, his sleeveless shirt tight over a well muscled chest.

“Are you the Graceling?” His voice was rough and shot through with whiskey.

“I am, sir.” I dipped my head in respect, knowing full well I should not be entering into this unknown house, but my stomach was empty and had been for days.  

“Come in.” The man stepped aside, and my eyes skittered towards the confines of the stone cottage. It was dark within, a single kerosene candle the only illumination upon a driftwood table.  Stepping inside, I clutched the parchment close to my chest, feeling my heart flutter in fear.  When the door shut behind me, I jumped, turning rapidly to stare at the man with wide eyes.  “You scared or something?” he asked.

“No, sir.  Just… cautious.”

He nodded, not arguing. Walking past me, he disappeared around a half wall into a living quarters.  I looked around, not sure if I should follow. When he didn’t appear again, I stepped lightly after him.  The man stood in a living room. A place that was soft and cozy, strewn with pillows and throw blankets and a few scattered weapons.  The man was hovering around a half closed door, soft blue light coming from the cracks in the wood.

“Name’s Reese,” he said.  “Probably should have told you that from the get go.  Been a little stressed.”

Again, I nodded, my hands wringing together.  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Reese.”

“Yeah. Doubt that. You look skinny as a waif and I know you’re only here because you’re about two days from dying of starvation. Seen that look on others.  You got that hunger in your eyes. You able to do what you do without food in your belly?”

“With due respect, sir, I’m not sure what it is you want me to do?”

A soft moan came from the bedroom, the sound wet and broken with pain.  Someone else was speaking softly, hushing whoever was hurt.  My eyes couldn’t help but lock onto the door.

“It’s my boy,” Reese said. “He’s hurt.  You know anything about celestials?”

I snapped my eyes back to him. “I do.  They are a species that belong in the cosmos. Guiding forces that help in mysterious ways, answering only to the Knowing.”

“And what about fallen.”

I bowed my head.  “They are the ones cast from the Knowing for their sins.  It is rare to find a fallen, however.  Without the grace of the Knowing flowing through them, they struggle to manage in a world that is not their own.  Most succumb to madness.”

“Yeah,” Reese said, voice tight. “So you’re gonna stop that.”

I nodded. “I will try my best. I- It’s really going to depend on how far gone they truly are.  Grace is important to celestials. Their own grace. Grace from another doesn’t always take. Especially if the individual is not willing.”

“He’s willing.”

I felt sadness rock my heart.  A parent watching their child die.  It was never easy to see.  I hoped that I would be able to help whoever was on the other side, but the likelihood was, that sickness had already riddled their mind.

“I will do whatever I can,” I told him. It was the only promise I could make.

When Reese opened the door, a dull light pulsed from within.  A man sat on the bed, his white blond hair falling into his eyes, face coated in tears.  He looked up at me as I stepped into the room, his lavender eyes glinting.  He looked startled, his eyes flicking over towards Reese.

“You found one?”

Reese stepped forward, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. “They are a graceling. You don’t have to do anything more, Elias.  She is here to help.”

Elias looked back towards the bed, reaching out with a shaking hand.  A soft glow emanated from him, falling across the prone body upon the bed.

A man with dark skin laid upon silver sheets.  His skin was beaded with sweat, his body lashed across with cracks across a stretch of paper fine skin.  Face contorted with pain, he laid on the bed, whimpering, eyes screwed shut.

Quietly, I stepped in.  Without a word, Elias and Reese moved from the bed and slowly, I lowered myself next to the man.  Black hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty tendrils and the feathered wings I knew had once been attached to his back lay in a bloody mess in the corner.

“How long has he been like this?” I asked.  I reached out, running my fingers across his face, gathering the stench of his skin across my gloved palms.

“A few weeks,” Elias said. “He was okay after the fall. We thought he would survive. Then… his feathers started falling out, and he went downhill from there. I- I tried to help him. I did but…” Turning, he buried himself into Reese’s chest. I could hear the guilt within his cries.

Turning back to the man, I sighed. He was far gone, the madness etched across his features in hollow veins.  It was doubtful I would be able to do anything, but I had to at least try.

Pulling my gloves off, I let the light of the grace fill the room.  It sang, a high-pitched bell echoing across the walls. With the tips of my fingers, I rested them across his brow, slowly drawing lines across his skin. He whimpered, head thrashing back and forth.

“Shh…” I tried to soothe. “Let me help.”

He twisted upon the bed, his face contorting into agony and his body shaking in barely contained pain.  Pressing my palm to his cheek, I pushed against him, feeling the grace embedded in my skin leech forward. The cracks and lines of his body began to fill, a slow roll of mercury running down the fissures of his skin.  His eyes snapped open, coal-black and filled with the void.  Arching off the bed, he reached for me, trying to strike out. Reese was there instantly, holding him down.

“What’s his name?” I asked, trying to keep my hand steady.

“Gabriel.”

I tried to smile. “Gabriel. It’s okay. I’m here to help you. Just listen to the sound of my voice.  Listen to my words. You are loved, Gabriel. You are well.  Everything is going to be okay. We will take care of you.” I felt a tear slip from my eye, tracking silver down my cheek.  The chime of bells became louder and louder, echoing through the room in a blast of piercing song.  But the light, oh the light was filling him, mending each crack and crevice across his parched skin.  He only needed to accept it. He only needed to believe that he deserved to be saved.

As his body began to settle, the light sinking into his skin, his lips parted in sweet relief.  Slowly, I took my own hand away.

“He should sleep,” I whispered.

Reese, who was still holding him, stared at me with wide and terrified eyes.  “Did it work?”

“It’s too soon to tell.  Filling a celestial with grace is a long process. It does not just happen within the course of an evening.”

“Then do it again,” Reese said.

“Reese,” Elias said from the corner. “She is telling the truth.  It’s not like that.” Reese looked upset but didn’t protest. From behind me, I felt the other man approach.  “Please, you have done so much for us already. Come into the kitchen. Let me get you something to eat.”

My stomach growled in response.  “Yes. Yes, I would appreciate that.”

Settling in the kitchen, I kept my eyes on the door. Gabriel. He was asleep now. The house itself felt more at peace.  Reese sat at the kitchen table with me, while Elias began rummaging through the cabinets.

“So what is our next move?” Reese asked. “We’re willing to pay you whatever you need.”

Part 2

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