#sometimes i think i get carried away when drawing the male figure...

[fivecentshow]

morisawa chiaki but he's balling (2/3) 🏀

hey, i got the 2nd one done! here's our ryusei red chilling in the grass before going back to practice. oh look, he smiling our way!

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

How do you analyze so good I'm really impressed and honestly wonder if I can learn from you

It's a skill, so the good news is, you can practice and get better at it!

Read A Lot/Gain Context

Analysis often means making comparisons or drawing from external context - one of the best things you can do if you want to be better at analysis is to try to cram your head with as much knowledge as possible. The time period, culture of origin, and where the author slots into those are usually major influences on a work (in Homestuck's case, much of it is a direct commentary on the internet culture it emerged from, and missing that part of it can drastically influence how the story reads).

Also important are the works the author themselves are inspired by. You've likely heard some variation of "nothing is original." We're actually really lucky with Homestuck in that regard, as the work is highly referential, and you can glean a lot by looking at what it references (for example, if you watch Serendipity, one of Karkat's favorite movies, which is titledropped during the troll romance explanation, you will understand Karkat so much better). This applies to things like mythological allusions - you'll hardly know why it matters that Karkat is a Christ figure if you don't know what the general outline of the Christ story is, nor will you pick up on the Rapture elements of Gamzee's religion or the fact that Doc Scratch is The Devil, etc. The key to picking up a lot of symbolism is being aware that the symbols exist.

And last, it helps to read a lot of media and media analysis so you can get a better understanding of how media "works" - how tropes are used, what effect language has, what other entries into the genre/works with similar themes/etc. have already done to explore the same things as the piece being analyzed is doing - and what other people have already gleaned and interpreted. I've mentioned before that many people seem to find Homestuck's storytelling bizarre and unique when it's actually quite standard for postmodernism, the genre it belongs to. But you're not going to know that if you've never read anything postmodern, y'know? I also often prepare for long character essays by reading other peoples' character essays - sometimes people pick up on things I miss, and sometimes people have interpretations I vehemently disagree with; both of these help me to refine my take on the matter.

Try to Discard Biases/Meet the Work Where It Is

Many will carry into reading media an expectation of what they want to get out of it. For example, one generally goes into a standard hetero romance book expecting a female lead, a male love interest, romance (of course), and a happy ending for the happy couple. If the book fails to deliver these things, a reader will often walk away thinking it was a bad book, even if the story told instead is objectively good and interesting. We actually see this a lot with Wuthering Heights, which receives very polarizing reviews because people go into it expecting a gothic romance, when it's really more like a gossip Youtube video spilling the tea on some shitty rich people (and it's really good at being that).

There's nothing necessarily wrong with this when reading for pleasure and personal enjoyment, but it presents a problem when attempting to analyze something. There's a concept called the "Procrustean bed," named after a mythological bandit who used to stretch people or cut off their limbs to fit them to a bed, that describes "an arbitrary standard to which exact conformity is forced." Going into a media reading with expectations and biases often results in a very Procrustean reading - I'm sure we've all seen posts complaining about how fanfic often forces canon characters to fit certain archetypes while discarding their actual character traits, etc.

Therefore, when reading for analysis, it's generally a good idea to try and discard as much bias and expectation as possible (obviously, we are never fully free of bias, but the effort counts) - or, perhaps even better, to compartmentalize those biases for comparison while reading. For example, Hussie talks at length about what they INTENDED Homestuck to be, and, while reading, I like to keep Hussie's words to the side while I try to experience the comic fresh, seeing what choices were made in accordance with Hussie's intentions, or where I think Hussie may have fumbled the messaging. At the same time, I try to let the work stand on its own, set in its proper context.

I'd say this is the number-one problem in fandom analysis. For example, people hear from the fandom that Eridan is an incel or a nice guy, so they interpret everything he says and does to fit that belief, or ignore any contradictory evidence. Or they fall for the character's façade that's meant to be dismantled by the viewer. Some works are fairly shallow and accessible, wearing all their meaning on their sleeve (or are Not That Deep, if you prefer meme-talk), and problems arise when a work is, in fact, That Deep, because someone biased towards the former will discard evidence that a work is the latter. This isn't exclusive to HS - it's happened in basically all of my fandoms - which is a statement to how easy it is to fall into this way of thinking.

Even without knowing that Hussie had coming-of-age themes in mind, for example, characters will talk about being kids and growing up. Knowing that Hussie has explicitly said that that's one of HS's themes serves as extra evidence for that interpretation, but the work itself tells you what it's about - if you're willing to listen to it.

Even If the Curtains are Just Blue, That Still Means Something

This is the next biggest fandom stumbling block - thr insinuation that when things in a work are put into the work without more explicit symbolism, that that means they're a discardable detail. This one is more about making a mindset shift - details aren't discardable, even if they don't appear to have been made with the explicit intention to mean something. Everything kind of means something.

First of all, whether or not the curtains are Just Blue is often highly dependent on the work. For example, in something made in large quantities with little time, staff, and budget - say, for example, one of the entries into the MCU's TV shows - there likely isn't too much meaning behind a choice of blue curtains in a shot (although you'd be surprised how often choices in these constrained environments are still very deliberately made). In a work like Homestuck, however, so terribly dense with symbolism and allegory, chances are, the blue curtains DO hold some special meaning, even if it's not readily apparent.

However, even in cases where a choice is made arbitrarily, it still usually ends up revealing something about the work's creative process. Going back to our MCU example, perhaps the blue curtains were chosen because the shot is cool-toned and they fit the color grading. Perhaps they were chosen because the director really likes blue. Perhaps the shot was filmed at an actual location and the blue curtains were already there. Or, even, perhaps the blue curtains were just what they had on hand, and the show was made too quickly and cheaply to bother sourcing something that would fit the tone or lend extra meaning. These all, to varying degrees, say something about the work - maybe not anything so significant that it would come up in an analysis, but they still contribute to a greater understanding of what the work is, what it's trying to say, and how successful it is at saying it.

And this applies to things with much higher stakes. For example, Hussie being a white US citizen likely had an effect on the B1 kids being mostly US citizens, and there was discourse surrounding how, even though they were ostensibly aracial, references were made to Dave's pale skin. Do I think these were deliberate choices made to push some sort of US superiority; no, obviously not. But they still end up revealing things about the creation of the work - that Hussie had certain biases as a result of being who they were.

Your Brain is Designed to Recognize Patterns, So Put That to Use

So with "establish context" and "discard expectations" out of the way, we can start getting into the nitty-gritty of what should be jumping out at you when attempting to understand a work. One of the most prominent things that you should be looking for is PATTERNS.

Writing is a highly conscious effort, which draws from highly unconscious places. Naturally, whether these patterns are intentional or unintentional is dependent on the author (see again why reading up on a work's context is so important), but you can generally bet that anything that IS a pattern is something that holds significance.

For example, Karkat consistently shows that he's very distraught when any of his friends get hurt, that he misses his friends, even the murderous assholes, that he's willing to sit them down and intervene on their behalf, despite all his grandstanding to the contrary. We are supposed to notice that Karkat actually loves his friends, and that he's lying when he says he doesn't care about them.

Homestuck is very carefully and deliberately crafted; if something comes up more than once, it's a safe bet to assume that you're supposed to notice, or at least feel, it. Don't take my word for it:

Basically, [reusing elements is] about building an extremely dense interior vocabulary to tell a story with, and continue to build and expand that vocabulary by revisiting its components often, combining them, extending them and so on. A vocabulary can be (and usually is) simple, consisting of single words, but in this case it extends to entire sentences and paragraph structures and visual forms and even entire scenes like the one linked above. Sometimes the purpose for reiteration is clear, and sometimes there really is no purpose other than to hit a familiar note, and for me that's all that needs to happen for it to be worthwhile. Triggering recognition is a powerful tool for a storyteller to use. Recognition is a powerful experience for a reader. It promotes alertness, at the very least. And in a lot of cases here, I think it promotes levity (humor! this is mostly a work of comedy, remember.) Controlling a reader's recognition faculty is one way to manipulate the reader's reactions as desired to advance the creative agenda.

But this applies to less deliberately-crafted work, too; for example, if an author consistently writes women as shallow, cruel, and manipulative, then we can glean that the author probably has some sort of issue with women. Villains often being queer-coded suggests that the culture they come from has problems with the gays. Etc. etc.

This is how I reached my conclusion that Pale EriKar is heavily foreshadowed - the two are CONSTANTLY kind to each other, sharing secrets, providing emotional support, etc. etc. It's why that part of my Eridan essay is structured the way that it is - by showing you first how consistently the two interact in suspiciously pale-coded ways, the fact that a crab is shown in both Eridan's first appearance AND his appearance on the moirallegiance "hatched for each other" page becomes the cincher of a PATTERN of the two being set up to shoosh-pap each other.

A work will tell you about itself if you listen. If it tells you something over and over, then it's basically begging you to pay attention.

Contrast is Important, Too

Patterns are also significant when they're broken. For example, say a villain is constantly beating up the protagonist. Here's our pattern: the hero is physically weaker than the villain. In a straight fight, the hero will always lose.

And then, at the mid-season two-parter, the hero WINS. Since we've set up this long pattern of the hero always losing to this villain, the fact that this pattern was disrupted means that this moment is extremely important for the work. Let's say the hero wins using guile - in this case, we walk away with the message that the work is saying that insurmountable obstacles may have workarounds, and adaptability and flexibility are good, heroic traits. Now let's say the hero won using physical strength, after a whole season of training and practicing - in this case, we say that the work says hard work and effort are heroic, and will pay off in the end.

In Homestuck, as an example, we set up a long pattern of Vriska being an awful, manipulative bitch, and a fairly remorseless killer. And then, after killing Tavros, she talks to John and admits that she's freaking out because she feels really bad about it. This vulnerability is hinted at by some of her earlier actions/dialogue, which is itself a pattern to notice, but it's not really explicit until it's set up to be in direct contrast to the ultimate spider8itch move of killing Tavros. This contrast is intended to draw our attention, to point out something significant - hey, Vriska feels bad! She's a product of her terrible society and awful lusus! While it's shitty that she killed Tavros, she's also meant to be tragic and sympathetic herself!

Hussie even talks about how patterns and surprises are used in tandem:

Prior to Eridan's entrance into the room, and even during, the deaths were completely unguessable. After Feferi's death, Kanaya's becomes considerably more so, but still quite uncertain. After her death, all bets are off. Not only do all deaths thereafter become guessable, but in some cases, "predictable". That's because it was the line between a series of shocking events, and the establishment of an actual story pattern. The new pattern serves a purpose, as a sort of announcement that the story is shifting gears, that we're drifting into these mock-survival horror, mock-crime drama segments, driven by suspense more than usual. The suspense has more authority because of all the collateral of unpredictability built up over time, as well as all the typical stuff that helps like long term characterization. But now that the pattern is out in the open, following through with more deaths no longer qualifies as unpredictability. Just the opposite, it would now be playing into expectations, which as I said, can be important too. This gear we've switched to is the new normal, and any unpredictability to arise thereafter will necessarily be a departure from whatever current patterns would indicate.

Patterns are important because they tell you what baselines the work is setting - what's normal, what's standard, what this or that generally "means." Contrast is important because it means something has changed, or some significant point is being made. They work in tandem to provide the reader with points of focus in the story, things to keep in mind as they read, consciously or unconsciously.

Theme

I'm talking about this stuff in pretty broad and open terms because stories are so malleable, and so myriad, and can say so many things. There are stories where horrible cruelties are painted as good things - propoganda is the big one, but consider all the discourse around romance books that paint abusive/toxic relationships as ideal. There are stories where the protagonist is actually the villain, and their actions are not aspirational, and works where everyone sucks and nobody is aspirational, and works where everybody is essentially a good person, if sometimes misguided.

This is, again, why outside context is so important, and biases need to be left at the door. For example, generally speaking, one can assume that the protagonist of a children's cartoon is going to be an aspirational hero, or at least a conflicted character who must learn to do the right thing. However, there are even exceptions to this! Invader Zim, for example, features an outright villain protagonist - a proud servant of a fascist empire - and for a lower-stakes example, the Eds of Ed, Edd, n' Eddy are the neighborhood scammers, constantly causing problems for the other characters with their schemes.

Thus, how do we determine what any particular narrative's stance on a given topic is? It's a difficult question to answer because every narrative is different. If I say something like, "the things that bring the protagonists success in their goals are what the narrative says are good," then we run into the issue of villain/gray morality protagonists. To use moral terms like "hero" and "villain" instead runs into the problem of defining morality within a narrative in the first place. But you have to draw the line somewhere.

So that brings us to themes.

Now, as with a lot of artistic terms, "theme" isn't necessarily well-defined (this isn't helped by the way the word is used colloquially to mean things like aesthetic, moral of the story, or symbolism). Wikipedia says: "In contemporary literary studies, a theme is a central topic, subject, or message within a narrative," but this is still very broad and hard to work with, so I'll give it a shot.

A theme is what a work says, beyond the literal series of events. Sometimes a theme is obvious - the theme of Boy Who Cried Wolf is that if you become famous for lying, you won't be believed when you tell the truth. Sometimes a theme is one of many - for example, Disney's Cinderalla says that kindness and virtue will eventually be recognized and rewarded, and that cruelty is interlinked with ugliness. Sometimes a theme is unintentional - for example, how Disney's body of work tends to villainize queer-coded characters. Sometimes context and the passage of time changes the theme - for example, Snow White originally held a message of hope for wartime families that domestic normalcy would one day return, but is now seen as anti-feminist as it appears to insinuate that a woman's place is in the kitchen, and her happiness is in marriage to a man. And sometimes a theme is not something you agree with.

In any case, a theme is a meaning to be gleaned from the text, more broad and universally applicable than the text itself. After all, we humans have traditionally always used story to impart meaning; our oldest epic, The Epic of Gilgamesh, contains within it several themes, most famously that of accepting one's mortality. It's startling, really, how applicable the story is to this day, even if specific details have become obtuse or unsavory to a modern reader.

This is, again, why it's so important to engage with a text on its own terms, in its own context, with as little bias as possible. A story's themes are not necessarily apparent, and commonly implied rather than stated outright, and approaching the story with expectations can easily lead to a Procrustean twisting of the facts to fit those expectations. A theme should emerge to the analyzer out of the reading, not the other way around.

Identifying theme gets easier with practice, and largely comes down to identifying patterns within the narrative (alongside looking at context and symbolism, of course). What does the narrative consistently touch base on? Are there any references; is there any symbolism? What does the story deem "normal," "good," or "bad"? How are ideas developed, and why? Why did these events happen, and are those motivations echoed anywhere else?

Homestuck is very complex and tackles many topics at once, and explaining why it's a coming-of-age would basically require a whole second essay, so I'll use a simpler and more popular example (like I've been trying to do) - let's say, Shrek.

The most obvious theme of Shrek is that beauty does not equate goodness, that one mustn't judge a book by its cover. The opening sequence is LITERALLY Shrek ripping out pages of a fairy tale book to use as toilet paper, and the movie ends with Fiona finding that her happiest, truest self IS as an ugly ogre. Shrek's main character conflict is that people immediately judge him as cruel and evil because he's ugly, and the characters' lowest points occur because Fiona is similarly insecure about her ogre half, considering it unlovable.

But there's other stuff in there, too. For example, if you know that Dreamworks and Shrek were founded after a falling out with Disney, then the beautiful, sanitized city of Dulac, with its switchback queue and singing animatronics add to this theme of a direct refutation of traditional Disney fairytale values, mocking them as manufactured, inhuman, and even cruel in the way that they marginalize those who don't fit an ideal of beauty. Again we see the opening sequence - defacing a fairytale - as support for this, but also the way that Dulac is displacing fairytale creatures. There's a moment where Gepetto literally sells Pinocchio, which can easily be read as a commentary on the crass commercialization and exploitation of fairy tales Disney likes to do.

And then, of course, there are lesser, supplementary themes. Love being a powerful positive force is one - Donkey is able to rally Shrek after he truly reciprocates Dragon's love for him (which echoes the theme of not equating goodness with beauty, as Dragon is still big and scary), and it's true love's kiss that grants Fiona her happy ending.

And then there's stuff that's unintentional. There's all this work done about how beauty =/= goodness, but then they made the villain incredibly short, which is a traditionally unattractive physical feature. So, does that mean that ugly things can be beautiful unless that ugliness is specifically height?

Sometimes, authorial intent does not match up with result - but in those instances, I think the most is revealed about the author. Modern Disney products tend to be very cowardly about going anti-corporation and pro-weirdness, despite their usual feel-good tones and uplifting themes - and that says a lot about Disney, doesn't it. That's why I think it's still important to keep authorial intent in mind, if possible, even if they fumble what they say they've set out to do.

Obviously, Lord Fuckwad being short doesn't REALLY detract from the overall message - but it's still a weird hitch in the themes, which I think is interesting to talk about, so you can see where personal judgement and biases DO have to be applied. There are two options here, more or less - either one believes that Shrek is making an exception for short people, who are of the Devil, or one believes that the filmmakers did a bit of an oopsie. Barring an outright statement from the filmmakers, there's no way to know for sure.

We can say a work has very complex themes when it intentionally explores multiple ideas very deeply. We can say a work has shallow themes when it doesn't have much intentional meaning, and/or that meaning is explored very lightly. The labyrinthine storytelling of Homestuck, with its forays into mortality, morality, and growing up, chock full of symbolism and pastiche and allusions, is a work with complex themes - especially as compared to the average newspaper comic strip, although they ostensibly share a genre.

We can say a work has very unified themes when these themes serve to compliment each other - the refutation of Disney-esque values, and love as a positive driving force, compliment the main theme in Shrek of not judging books by their covers, of beauty not equating to goodness. Ugly things are worthy of love, and those who push standards of beauty are evil and suck.

Similarly, we can say a work has unfocused or messy themes when the themes it includes - intentionally or not - contradict, distract, and/or detract from each other. Beauty has no correlation to goodness... unless you're short, in which case, you are closer to Hell and therefore of evil blood. To get a little controversial, this is actually why I didn't like Last Wish very much - there are approximately three separate storylines, with three separate thematic arcs, going on in the same movie, none of which particularly compliment each other - so the experience was very messy to me, story-wise, even though it was pretty and the wolf was hot. This is why we feel weird about Disney pushing anti-corporate messages, when they're a big corporate machine, or why it's easy to assume Homestuck was written poorly if you don't like Hussie - we want themes to be coherent, we want context to be unified with output.

Tone

Tone is somehow even harder to define than theme. It's like, the "vibe" of a work. For example, you generally don't expect something lighthearted to deal with the realistic, brutal tragedies of war. Maybe it'll touch on them in light, optimistic ways, but it isn't about to go All Quiet on the Western Front on the reader. By the same token, you don't expect fully happy endings out of the melodrama of opera, or frivolous slice of life from something grimdark.

Tone, too, is something people often wind up Procrusteanizing, which makes discussion difficult if two people disagree. If I read Homestuck as unwaveringly optimistic, with its downer ending the result of an author fumble, I'm pretty much going to irreconcileably disagree with somebody who reads Homestuck as though it's always been a kind of tragedy where things don't work out for the characters. Since it's even more difficult to define than theme, I'm not even really going to bother; I just felt like I had to bring it up because, despite its nebulosity, it's vital to how one reads and interprets a text. Sometimes I don't have a better answer for why I dislike a certain interpretation other than that it doesn't suit the work's tone. I generally try to avoid saying that, though, because it winds up smacking of subjective preference.

In summary... analysis is about keeping everything in mind all the time! But i swear, it gets easier the more you do it. Happy reading!

[total-feminism-takes]

Lesbian Courtney anon here!

HOT TAKE!

Beth don't need to main three because the main three need her and love her who they are!

Imagine this and the scene: Bratz style girls x TD

Beth, the sweetheart they all love Beth even Courtney in her own I rather punch the wall or die then admit my feelings to anyone because that's how I was raised and my therapist with I am working on it.

Courtney angry feminist trope stick up her butt religious type everyone says (Mom of the group and puts herself in dangerous situations make sure all her girls are alright!)

Lindsay the bubbly cute (she more than likely get away with it after being caught once)

Leshawna - true leadership

Heather ('Leader' but not really the figure head, she will tear people apart in heartbeat that stare in sexual way at her girls)

All of them have sleepovers, a bit fights over teenager things like Lindsay no! Frosted tips for Tyler so gross! AHHHhh

Boy troubles are in comfort and cuddle times! Maybe Lindsay and Courtney cuddle the most after Duncan and Tyler got detention with Alejandro again and Heather is like no tears boys are stupid! Then they all cuddle together and stuff!

Girl dates!

Beth with Lindsay holding hands and Courtney then carrying them when they get tired sometimes because Courtney strong and works out with Eva!

Heather makeovers! Lindsay and Beth in beauty school poor Heather as their test subject and Leshawna happily waiting her turn!

Eva and Courtney teaching Beth self defense!

That's it and immediately someone draw these girls in fluffy strawberry cowgirls, blueberry cow, and farmer moon outfits like NOW!!

I like Beth but I have hate relationship with people who are like she gets a glow up and rest the cast can't tell it's Beth!

Everyone is ugly sometimes.

Beth is not ugly due to her looks. I don't like Beth trope of her thinking everyone wants her because I was like that once but then I was like male validation ain't it. BUT THEY DON'T GIVE HER GROWTH AND GIVE HER BRADY!!!

ANGOY

BETH DESERVES BETTER. BRO!

I am say it.

Fat, chubby, acne, greasy hair, and depression- I don't care.

I love you, girl or not. I have in my whole life care over others from throwing up toddlers and older people in mental distress.

Baby, let me tell you something, ugliness is when you look hollow look in the mirror due to being the 'prettiest girl in the world' but alone just for validation for a guy who can't even remotely recall your favorite color or birthday!

I rather tell you I have bath my sick loved ones when they weren't healthy or just happy in general. Beth is not meant to be perfect girl or the prettiest girl because she just a girl.

Her warmth, her smile, and her willingness to help is just her that we should value.

And she ain't even that ugly.

All these girls not even ugly. Mess up drawing shaped bodies but not ugly.

Speaking with experiment from a little girl who was Beth growing up and became the Courtney archetype of rage, acting like I know better to push everyone away, and etc, the world was cruel and killed a little girl of hope now I have rage and my tan skin with angry makes people think I am danger for not knowing how to let go or grieve all of it yet.

Basically Beth. They- I - the fandom should leave you alone if we don't love all of you with flaws and such too.

Beth for president and Courtney vice president! for a school AU trope and Heather gets jealous runs against them with Leshawna! Lindsay just wants to make their posters!

- 🧡

[origamiplushie]

I Have a Bird in Spring. Chapter 4.

Written as part of the @steddiesummerexchange for @hardboiledleggs.

Chapter 4. The Mimic Poison Frog

Chapter 3. Read on AO3.

The mimic poison frog is the first known monogamous amphibian species. Both parents help care for the eggs and the tadpoles. The male frog helps guard the young while the female comes by regularly to feed the tadpoles with her unfertilized eggs.

For a long time there was just darkness, sometimes interspersed with voices although he could never make out what they were saying. He could have been hearing one of those adults from the Peanuts for all he could tell.

At some point he became aware of the various smells surrounding him. Something floral, green, sweet. And something else that almost stung to smell, slightly sharp or maybe bitter. The smell was distinctive and he felt sure that he should recognize it. After some pondering it came to him - antiseptic!

The combination of flowers and antiseptic seemed to also hint towards a clear conclusion but his head was still too foggy to grasp it. He fell back into the darkness before he could figure it out.

Next he regained awareness of his own body. Everything ached subtly and all his limbs felt stiff as if after taking a nap that was too long. He tried moving one of his arms but it felt as if he was still asleep, both his arms and legs heavy as stone. The attempt still exhausted him and the world faded away once more.

Waking up this time he felt much more awake. He first tried moving his hands again and although they still felt stiff he managed to do so. Feeling the crisp sheets under him he determined that he was laying on a bed and from the looks of things had been doing so for a while. This observation and the smells he noticed before finally clued him into where he was - a hospital.

Gathering his strength, he decided to try opening his eyes next. The whiteness that greeted him was nearly blinding even if someone had thoughtfully dimmed the lights. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes and slowly turned his head to the side.

He found a few vases filled with various flowers. He couldn’t tell you which ones because he had never even been able to tell apart daisies and marigolds. 

Next to the flowers are a few hand-made cards. One has an awesome drawing of him as a bard playing a tune on his guitar and the words ‘Bardic inspiration: Get well soon!’. Another is a lot more plain - a heart drawn around the words ‘Stop doing stupid shit.’

He’s touched. It is clear that he’s had plenty of visitors while he’s been unconscious. 

But he couldn’t deny that the gifts left by one guest in particular made his pulse pick up a notch and butterflies appear in his stomach. Two origami frogs peeking out from their spot hidden between all the flowers. Eddie slowly reached out a hand and managed to maneuver them out without knocking anything over.

He looked closer to see what they had to say. One  carried the message ‘Don’t scare me like that again!’ and the other ‘Wake up soon, hero.’

He carefully placed them back on the nightstand, making sure to find a good spot where they could enjoy all the greenery.

This past year Steve Harrington has once again become a bright spot in Eddie’s life. Eddie hasn’t really allowed himself to think about why he had gotten into the habit of checking out Family Video’s new release shelf each week. Why he felt his heart jump at seeing any burgundy cars. Why he had emptied out a small ornamental chest that had once been used as a prop just to have a worthy spot to store all the frog-shaped notes he had received from Steve.

Eddie couldn’t avoid thinking about it any more. In this empty hospital room there wasn’t anyone to distract him from the feelings he had been pushing down for months now. 

Looking back, Eddie knew that he had had the beginnings of a crush on Steve way back when they were kids. However, that had just been puppy love compared to what he felt now. Now knowing that Steve wasn’t just pretty or nice to look at, but also just nice in general, sweet and loyal and ultimately so good at his core, Eddie knew that he didn’t just admire Steve - he was full-on smitten .

Like daydreaming-about-holding-hands, exchanging-sleepy-goodnight-kisses, getting-an-apartment-with-Steve-and-Robin smitten.

Even thinking about it made Eddie’s heart beat faster. However, he knew Steve probably didn’t feel the same. 

Steve was destined for the kind of love story Hallmark movies were made of. One day he would meet a girl who would love him as much as he deserved to be loved. And maybe, hopefully, Eddie would get to at least keep him in his life as a friend this time.

---

Their new government funded double wide trailer was definitely an upgrade from their old one. Wayne was probably glad to finally have an actual bedroom again. Eddie was mostly glad that the interior was different enough that he didn’t have to check the ceiling for a portal every night. It enabled him to actually enjoy hanging out in their new living room. 

His new room was nice too. Wayne and his band had obviously done their best to decorate it like his old room. He recognized a few of the posters as ones he had seen in Gareth’s or Jeff’s rooms. He had admittedly gotten a bit teary-eyed when he first noticed how much of their stuff his friends had each clearly donated to the cause of making the space feel like his own.

But Eddie still found himself spending most of his time after being released from the hospital sitting on the couch in their living room. Why? Well, mostly because he was constantly getting visitors in the form of his bandmates, the younger Hellfire members and their friends or the older members of the monster hunting crew. Even a couple of Wayne’s friends, who hadn’t believed the accusations thrown at him, dropped in to check if he was alright once they heard he was back home. 

Today it looked like it was gonna be just him and Wayne though. They were watching some sports game or another on tv. Eddie wasn’t sure, he was mostly just looking vaguely in that direction while letting his mind wander.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Wayne breaking their comfortable silence.

“So you found your Steve again, huh?”

A soft smile formed on Eddie’s face.

“Mhm. It turns out he never moved away. He was hidden under my nose this entire time.”

“Should have known. I wouldn’t be surprised if you came and told me you’d lost your nose while it was still attached to your face. You always seem to go damn near blind when you’re looking for something.”

Eddie squawked in offense. Betrayed! By his own uncle! 

“But I’m happy for you. You two are good together.”

Eddie quickly turned to look at his uncle.

“Ah, nonono, none of that we’re just friends, Wayne!”

Wayne just took another sip of his beer.

“I’m serious! We’re not dating!”

“I’ve got eyes, boy. I can see you making cow eyes at him every time he walks in the door.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re together! Steve’s straight.”

“Mhm, might be true that you’re not together. Yet. But considering the way that boy hangs onto your every word and looks at you with hearts in his eyes I wouldn’t be so sure he’s straight.”

“You’re imagining things. There is no way Steve Harrington is into dudes, much less into me .” Eddie scoffed.

“Maybe I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am. And I think if you opened your eyes you would agree with me.”

Wayne switched off the TV and stood up.

“I’ll head to the store, pick up something for dinner. But, Eddie?”

Eddie looked at him stubbornly.

“Just think about it.”

And because fate obviously had something against him who else would walk in minutes after Wayne had left but Steve goddamn Harrington. Eddie did his best to compose himself and forget about his conversation with his uncle. He didn’t quite manage it.

Steve looked around the room as he walked in.

“You by yourself today, Eds? That's unexpected, I feel like we never get the chance to hang out one-on-one these days.” 

That was true. Eddie could almost call himself popular these days with the amount of regular visitors he had. 

Eddie and Steve had also been spending more time together since the near-apocalypse - they weren’t even trying to hide their friendship from the rest of the party anymore. At this point they could overtly hang out and only get a few surprised looks from their other friends.

But Eddie had to admit, they had been able to spend a lot more time by themselves before they stopped sneaking around. Often when Steve had shown up to visit him he ended up joining him and the kids in watching a movie, quizzing Eddie, Nancy and Robin in preparation for their exams or getting to know Eddie’s bandmates.

Yeah, Steve had finally gotten to officially meet Eddie’s bandmates. At first they were a bit wary of hanging out with anyone used to running in the popular circles but they warmed up to him quickly. Steve had asked Gareth about his Dwarven fighter and after listening through Vondal Frostbeard’s novel of a backstory actually asked further questions! And apparently Jeff sometimes watched baseball with his dad and was glad to have somebody to discuss the latest game with. 

Winning Frank’s trust took longer but one day Eddie came outside to see them smoking together and exchanging their favourite recipes and that was that. Frank was always the one preparing snacks for them all before a smoke sesh, so that made sense, but Eddie hadn’t even known Steve liked to cook.

Corroded Coffin wasn't doing any proper practice sessions yet because Eddie was still recovering his strength. But Steve would now sit in on their jam sessions every now and then and the other guys even asked after him when he happened to be busy. 

Jam sessions were more loosely structured than proper practices. They usually just played whatever random snippets of music that sounded good or sometimes whatever earworm had gotten stuck in someone’s head. Steve had probably been expecting something different. The first time he heard them playing anything more mainstream than Queen, his eyes had nearly popped out of his head in shock.

“Is that fucking Time after time ? By Cyndie freaking Lauper?”

“Yup.”

“After all the shit you’ve given me for my music taste? Is this you finally conceding that pop music counts as good music ?”

“Uh-uh-uh, I never said all pop music is bad. True, it is generally bland and as intellectually nutritious as a cracker but it is catchy. But sometimes a good song is a good song. I’ve never let society tell me what I can or can’t like, I’m not going to start now. I think liking both is fine, don’t you?“

Steve had had this really intense look on his face as he mulled over what Eddie had said.

“You know, I agree, maybe liking both is fine.” He said.

They’d gone back to playing music after that but Steve had looked somewhat lost in thought for the rest of the evening. Still, Eddie was just glad that someone else realized the ingenuity of his words. It was mostly like throwing pearls in front of pigs in Hawkins.

Back in the present moment, Steve stopped in front of the couch and handed Eddie a frog.

“I was going to just sneak you this, but I guess now I can just invite you directly,” Steve was rubbing at the back of his neck. Considering how often the two of them hung out, Eddie was unsure why Steve was being so awkward.

“I thought that, you know, the weather is supposed to be nice tomorrow. Sunny. And so maybe you would like to go on a picnic tomorrow?”

Eddie didn’t even need to think it over. He was going to go crazy if he didn’t get away from the house soon. It was definitely a nice place and he could go outside and sit on the porch but he didn’t like being confined to one place. He got that it would be risky to just take a walk down main street with most of Hawkins still being wary of him, however going to the woods with Steve would be just the ticket.

---

Steve was nervous. 

This wasn’t generally unheard of but it was unusual in this specific context. You see, Steve was driving to pick up Eddie for their picnic. Usually Eddie made him feel like he could relax and not worry about appearances. He knew Eddie wouldn’t judge him if he said something wrong or took a while to understand whatever point Eddie was trying to make. Usually hanging out with Eddie was like taking a break from his usual anxieties.

Yet today he worried all the way to the Munsons’ trailer, he worried through greeting Eddie and helping him into the car and he kept on worrying on the short drive to the woods.

Steve had a plan for today and it needed to go perfectly .

At the edge of the woods he found a spot to park and helped Eddie back out of the car.

He noticed Eddie casting bemused glances towards him, probably noticing his strange mood, as he quickly grabbed a basket out of the trunk. Thankfully, he had apparently decided not to ask and just continued telling Steve about his latest campaign idea as they walked to their clearing.

When they reached the clearing, Steve said,

“Close your eyes and don’t peek! I want to surprise you.”

“I’m afraid you already told me to expect a picnic but if you want to try and wow me, go ahead,” Eddie laughed but obligingly closed his eyes.

Steve tried to get everything set up as fast as he could, he didn’t want to just leave Eddie to stand there. 

He shook out the checkered red blanket his mom had bought alongside the basket when she had had dreams of doing a stereotypical Sunday family picnic someday. His mom never ended up using them, but Steve was happy to put them to use now. 

He laid out the various snacks and containers of cut-up fruit as well as two classes and a small bottle of sparkling wine.

And finally he added the finishing touch, a lit candle in the very middle of the blanket.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“You can look now.”

Eddie gleefully opened his eyes and turned to look at what Steve had done. When his eyes landed on the picnic blanket he stopped and stared for a moment.

“Wow, Stevie you really went all out, huh?”

“Well, of course I did. It’s not every day I get you all to myself anymore. C’mon, take a seat.”

They both sat on the blanket and Steve nervously fiddled with the handle of the basket.

“One last thing, Eddie…”

He reached into the basket and brought out the roses he’d bought for the other man.

“Here, these are for you.”

Eddie took them automatically, gaping in shock. Then he just stared at the flowers for a minute or two. Steve tried to keep himself busy by opening and pouring out the sparkling wine.

At last Eddie looked up and Steve saw that he was blushing.

“Steve, this is going to be a really stupid question and I’m most likely jumping to conclusions, shouldn’t even really ask, but…”

He looked down at the merrily flickering candle before continuing .

“...Is this a date?”

Steve cleared his throat before answering.

“Yes. Or at least, it could be if you would like it to be. I wanted this to be a date. As a kid, this used to be my favourite place. The place I would come when I wanted to feel happy and free and safe. Part of it was that this was where I could come and play with you . And then the upside-down ruined the peacefulness of this place. But then I found you again.”

“Ever since we started talking again I’ve noticed how comfortable I feel around you. How sad I feel whenever we spend more than a few hours without hanging out. As we got closer I realized that in an ideal world, I would never have to spend time away from you. You became my new dream for the future - a life where you and I would live together, with Robin as a roommate or at least living next door. A life where I could come home and spend the rest of my evening cooking dinner together or listening to you explain all the traps you have planned out for the kids or trying to explain a sports game to you.”

Steve glanced over at Eddie to try and gauge how he was reacting but Eddie's face was unreadable.

“At first it really scared me, this new dream. It was nothing like the life I had been told to want. But then you helped me realize that no one else can tell me how to live my life. No one, not my parents or the neighbors or the government can tell me what to enjoy. I can like whatever or whoever I want. And who I like, Eddie, is you. You mean so much to me, Eddie. These days, the place I feel happiest is with you.”

“So if you’re interested,  maybe this can be a date and we can decide what kind of life we want to live, together. But if you don’t want any of that, just say so. I can take it and I would never let it hurt our friendship.”

He swallowed and waited for Eddie to reply. Looking Eddie in the eye while waiting for what might be a very kind, but ultimately pitying rejection was too much so Steve stared up at the branches. 

It seemed like an eternity went by in that anxious silence and Steve’s started cursing himself for having said anything at all.

Stupid, stupid stupid. What were you thinking? You’re lucky enough he wants to be your friend and now you had to come on to him? 

“You’re serious?” Eddie asked incredulously. 

Steve flinched, prepared for another heartbreak.

“Steve. Stevie. Sweetheart . I would love nothing more to date you! The fact that you actually like me, romantically, is enough to make up for everything that happened during this shitty year.”

When Steve looked at Eddie, he saw him absolutely beaming back at him. Hope bloomed in his chest and he started smiling too.

“Yeah? You’d date me? Let me call you my boyfriend and everything?”

Eddie laughed giddily and instead of responding he just leaned in, took Steve’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Everything around them faded away.

Although the forest was no longer silent as it once had been, Steve couldn’t hear a thing. All of his focus was on the pair of lips pressed against his.

The kiss broke too soon but thankfully Eddie didn’t go anywhere. He leaned his forehead against Steve’s and stared into his eyes for a moment before hugging him and laughing, overcome with joy.

Steve carefully moved the candle further away before hugging him back. Then he felt Eddie suddenly straighten up in surprise.

“Steve, look! Tadpoles! There’s tadpoles in the pond!”

Quickly Steve turned to look at the bond as well. And it was true! There were hundreds of little black dots swimming around in the water.

“There’s going to be frogs again this summer.” Eddie commented happily, “Hey, do you think if we gave them some of our fruit, would they eat it? Well, I guess not, frogs eat like flies and stuff, right? It just feels rude to enjoy this lovely picnic you’ve set up for us and not share.”

Steve just leaned against Eddie as the other man continued to discuss what kind of offering they should make to the tadpoles, and smiled down at the pond.

Two years ago, or even way back in 1977, he could have never imagined being this happy, but here he was. He’d gotten both his childhood best friend as well as his frog pond back. But he no longer needed to run to this clearing to escape his cold and empty life because the prettiest boy in the world had just agreed to be his boyfriend. 

And if he ever did need a place where he could feel safe, he could run to Eddie and find that safety in his arms.

[twitcheye]

Woodsmoke

My grandmother, Jewel, died on January 1st.  She lived to be 107, it wasn’t unexpected.

I handled it just fine until my uncle came up to see me with a box of stuff from her house - nothing I really wanted, it was old tourist souvenirs from the Netherlands and nobody could remember who had actually gone to the Netherlands to get them; old Pyrex casserole dishes and I don’t make casseroles; drawings from when I was in elementary school that I made for her, which was surprising to me because I didn’t think she liked me.  And when I opened the box, a strong smell of woodsmoke and pine trees came out, and dissipated, and with it, so did she.

I’m an adoptee.  She did not like me when I was a baby, because I came to the family complete with infant trauma from being stuck into a series of foster homes at birth.  I stiffened up and shoved away from anybody who picked me up, I cried without making noise, I was basically a little cryptid.  It never got any better.  I read books too much, I didn’t play with my normal cousins, I was likely to be silent except for weird pronouncements.  My uncle remembers walking around a fish hatchery with me when I was not quite 3, and I was silent until very near the end of the walk.  Just before we left, I apparently stopped by a holding tank of infant salmon, looked up into his face, and said “Everything that is born dies.  Someday all of these fish will be gone, and we will all be gone, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be, you can’t change it, so don’t be sad.”  In short: I was an unlikeable child, and I knew it, and I never figured out how to change it.  So I don’t blame my Grandma Jewel for not liking me.  Except maybe she did, secretly, because she kept my bad drawings of raccoons from when I was eight.

Anyway.  My Grandma Jewel was often curt, and sometimes mean, and never affectionate towards me.  I was afraid of her when I was little but also I admired her.  She lived in a tiny house by Yosemite and swam every day at the little local pool, the one by the granite boulders that have deep holes from the native Miwoks grinding acorns for generations.  Her house smelled of wood fires, the TV got one station only sporadically, and her rescue dog had been shot as a pup and was afraid of men carrying long sticks.  California quail families would rush in front of us on walks, the males with their dumb little bobble forehead feather.  Everything smelled like woodsmoke and pine trees.  I was afraid of Jewel but I was thrilled every time I went to visit her.  And now I miss her and her strange smoky mean old self.

[dawnmarsemilycywinski]

The Dark Crystal

Creatures/art work and myths interwoven in fantasy - find out about Dark Crystal - who are the Gelf? The Skeksis? The Mystics? And look at the artwork by Biran Froud

I remember watching the Dark Crystal when I was quite young and I remember it to be creepy yet good. Some people say that the movie scared them when they were a kid however I am in a different situation.

It has been a long time since I have seen the movie but I believe the story is about a Gelfling which is like an elf creature, male Gelflings only have long pointed ears but female Gelflings have ears but also have wings that they can willingly put away.

Sadly this is all I can remember so I decided to watch this video to help me understand what the , movie was about through a fun way but after watching it. I got confused I don't think the writers even understood what the plot was because in this movie, I have no other way of explaining the movie to you, other that saying that “things just happen slowly”.

I used this YouTube video to help give me a recap:

This is his Skeksis design: where do you think he got the ideas from? How has he made them appear slightly evil?

The design of the Skeksis is very interesting, they make the creatures look evil by making them look gross looking. They make their skin wrinkly, discoloured, pus and hairy. It's very disgusting. They also make there hands and there beaks quite pointy.

One thing I have noticed about character design is that when you want to create an evil character, you need to use sharper lines to make them look harsh. If you want to make a nice character, make their design smooth with more curved lines. I use this technique with the eyes I draw, the same eye can give away a lot of a character's personality.

How would this sheet help a puppet designer? Why is it a ‘good’ concept art sheet?

This is a good concept art sheep because it goes into detail on what the evil Skeksis looks like making it easy for the puppet designers to know exactly what they need to do to execute this look. It's good concept art as well because it shows the clothing that they would wear and how their hands are supposed to look so people can figure out how to put the hands together and how they would wear the clothes.

The designs are also quite clever because of how their clothes drape and cover a lot of Skeksi's body, only showing the hands and the head when the rest of them is clothes, making it easier for the puppet designers to create.

Why does this type of anatomy sketch help Brian Froud with his designs?

Sometimes when a part of a body is drawn, you can get a rough idea of what the character would look like. The hands look to be very helpful because you get the idea that the Skiksis is a sharp and bone-like creature which carries well when you look at the final Skeksis character.

Sketching these parts of the anatomy is helpful for the puppet designers to be used they get a better understanding of what some areas are supposed to look like.

https://characterdesignreferences.com/artist-of-the-week -15/brian-froud https://www.darkcrystal.com/mythology/canon/the-dark- crystal/

https://darkcrystal.fandom.com/wiki/UrRu

[mana-jjk]

jjk would work so well as a slice of life instead of fearing for their lives everyday, this is the one series i always beg for filler ;;

help !! not his brain fjfjdj no but he’s definitely an interesting character. his hatred for non-sorcerers in canon has kind of transitioned to people with passive attitudes. the way he’ll mark down papers for just not sounding critical or passionate enough definitely goes on rate your professor lmao.

gojo is so unserious and sometimes that makes getou want to strangle him, but it also breaks him out of spirals so !! the gays are working as intended

god the passive aggressiveness and tension in the reunion is enough for shoko to consider just giving up on the male species entirely. also getou has a firm belief against posting his kids on any kind of social media, so there was a moment of “YOURE A FATHER?” the dumbassery of men is profound

omg yes, these girls might have done some bad things, but that’s because they were never allowed to be kids. i just think they both deserve to have happy school memories, friends, and each other ;; they finally get to see each other grow up !!

toge and yuuta are just good, they’re my emotional support and deserve everything in this world

and of course !! i love nobamaki!!

• nobara notices maki first, after spending days agonizing over new designs she was in a really grumpy mood but yuuji forced her to come with him to the sparring event at the new club megumi’s cousin forced him to join - he’s carrying signs and everything, she’s so embarrassed to be near him

• she complains the entire time, especially during the male portion. it’s hot, stinky, and humid, it smells like man, she wants to leave, and megumi only had a 10 minute portion before he got beat by one of the more experienced club members

• she immediately stops talking as soon as the second portion begins and the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen is stepping into position, pulling her headgear into place. the black and white hakama looks striking against her, the wooden naginata sword in her hands accentuating the corded muscles in her arms.

• it’s the longest she’s ever gone without talking, eyes shiny and enraptured, shoving yuuji away violently when he starts poking her in concern.

• she forces megumi to introduce them, practically vibrating in place while also trying to look cool. the hardest thing she’s ever done in her life was not immediately melting into a blushing mess at the way maki pulled her headgear off, wiped the sweat from her face, and quirked an eyebrow at her

• for maki’s part, she didn’t really register nobara at first, she’s used to maintaining a very disciplined focus, and while the other girl was cute, she didn’t have time to pay attention to anything outside of that focus. panda has always told her it’s not a very welcoming mindset to have, but how can she possibly focus on anything but proving herself?

• megumi is an unwilling, unamused wing-man for nobara. he and maki, as the family disappointments, are used to keep up with each other, so he has a vague idea of her schedule. which nobara exploits, obviously.

• maki gets used to having these kind of clingy freshman around, their bickering becomes background noise to the club practices megumi isn’t even involved in. she doesn’t like to admit it, but it feels nice to have someone so unashamedly impressed by the work she puts in. it’s nice having the headgear to hide the sharp grin she gets when she hears nobara crying out encouragement in the otherwise quiet gym.

• maki really starts to acknowledge her as a friend by that point, but it’s the first time she sees her sketchbook that she’s the one who’s impressed. she’s not particularly into fashion, design, or even drawing, but when you open nobara’s notebook, the first thing you know is how extreme she is.

• while some might assume a book full of vague figures and ruffly clothes, they never seem to expect the extent. Specific fabrics, stitches, dynamic poses, equipment, inspiration, swatches, and even unconventional materials are not only drawn, but stitched together into her journal. chain mail samples, paint colors mixed together in raised textures, and even brand designs are thrown in every free space. it’s like looking into the mind of a mad woman, except she knows exactly what she wants.

• one of the pages includes an onna-musha design with a model that looks suspiciously like maki. it makes her smirk a little and she teasingly compliments her taste.

• her cheeks turn pink but nobara doesn’t fiddle her thumbs or look away shyly, her chest puffs in pride, an almost manic look in her eye as she pleads for her to model her designs. it’s the in the way nobara’s eyes sharpen in focus as she carefully helps her dress, the pride and passion that practically drips off of her once she sees the complete image. it’s that fire, in that moment, that seeps through her perfectly composed form, where maki finally sees her

• it’s in the way, that even sensing the atmosphere shift, nobara bares her teeth in a grin and meets her head on in every way. never asking her to hold back, never afraid of the fire and anger that constantly turmoils, never trying to do anything but embrace the flames in their entirety. she’s simultaneously beautiful and ugly in all the same and different ways, unafraid of blood and sweat and grit, yet oh so practiced in perfumes and glossy lips and fluttering eyelashes. unafraid to show maki her passion, and never ceasing to demand the same in return. that’s when she realizes it, oh so slow to the uptake that nobara knew from first sight.

• it doesn’t take them very long after that, first kiss in the middle of nobara’s makeshift workshop and their first date under the moonlight of a 24/7 ramen place.

• nobara dresses like every day is a fashion week, her perfect makeup, stylish taste, and even higher expectations. yet she sits in the stool of warm light with chipped nails and a snorting laugh, looking at maki like she’s anything she’s ever wanted.

• it’s easy, easier than anything she’s ever done before, and for once she lets herself relax, head propped on her hand and quirking an eyebrow and not even pretending it doesn’t send a wave of satisfaction to be there, with her.

this took so long omg but um gorls <3 they’re dating and girlfriends and nobara steals maki’s jackets and leaves lipgloss stains on her face with too much satisfaction

i keep looking through the college au and coming up with more questions.

does geto teach a philosophy Gen-ed that everyone has to take?

are nanako and mimiko there? what are they up to?

I have to know more about ijichi's suffering

how close does toge get to dropping out? how often? will he ever actually do it?

do gojo and geto do that thing where they both casually mention their husband but nobody puts together that it's the other professor? (are they together in this au or is there more angst?)

i’m loving the questions !! <3 thank you for taking such an interest ! 🥺

getou’s philosophy:

• so getou has a PhD in philosophy and does research on the side of his position as a professor.

• he’s one of the few philosophy professors, so he teaches up to 4 - 5 classes a semester. this can include higher levels, major-specific, sub-categories, etc. but he always specifically requests a introduction to philosophy class, a requirement in most majors.

• it’s either that, or they take a speech class with Yuki Tsukumo and her teaching assistant, Aoi Todo. Who, yes, as an icebreaker, make you proclaim your type in men/women/other.

• yuuji took that class lol and now they’re trying to recruit him as a TA, no one could believe he would be the first to be recruited for that

• anyway, back to philosophy, getou has way too much fun being as evil and instigating as possible. you have to speak to get a grade in his class, and he will purposely misinterpret what you say.

• student: i just think in the case of the trolley problem, i wouldn’t hesitate to save more people.

• getou: oh? so you assign value to numbers? are human lives stastics to you? if they throw their money out will you also change your mind? i bet you don’t even care if there was a child on the other side huh? murderer

• you leave his class traumatized lol

nanako and mimiko:

• they are here and are still adopted by getou! they didn’t have the best home life, and moved around foster care for a lot of their lives until they accidentally bumped into getou while they were running away.

• he helped them call their social work and were moved into a better situation, though they begged him to stay in contact.

• a complicated and usual amount of time later, enough for adoption process in japan, he has officially adopted them.

• in present day, nanako and mimiko insisted on transferring colleges to the one getou got a job at so they could stay together.

• mimiko is currently a fashion design major and nanako is her biggest inspiration. she exclusively makes clothes for her or inspired by her and because of that she’s struggling a bit in college, despite being the top of her class.

• nanako is a digital marketing and social media major and part-time model who loves showing off mimiko’s designs. she also likes to bicker with nobara by saying her sister is on a whole different level than her. mimiko doesn’t care but likes the support her sister gives her lol

• mimiko will eventually change her major to graphic design, to someday design toys for children. she likes making clothes because it makes nanako smile, but she loves making toys that she and nanako used to cherish while hiding in the closet from their bad foster parents.

• like i said, nanako likes fighting with nobara, but actually has a lot of fun around her. she also loves panda and thinks he’s so fun and would be a great model. they always get chaotic around each other and turn into instigators.

• mimiko ended up finding an unexpected friendship in toge, he was quiet and she couldn’t understand sign but he always carried a little notebook that he would write notes in for her. they would watch nobara and nanako bicker, and toge would make her laugh by making doodles of them in the pages, and then clap when she drew a better quality version in turn. the way he ruffles her hair reminds her a bit of an older brother. (this is my agenda and i’m dying with it)!!

save ijichi:

• poor ijichi is an education major trying to get his master’s degree. being a teaching assistant was one of the requirements for him to graduate, and being gojo’s teaching assistant is the only position available.

• gojo did not want a teaching assistant, he likes to talk like a squirrel, go on tangents, and essentially not follow a schedule or explain to anyone. having a teaching assistant contradicts that so.

• lol

• gojo enjoys going on a tangent, losing everyone and then pointing at ijichi to answer a trick question.

• he also enjoys playing pranks on him, think of jim from the office. but his pranks are so nonsensical and childish that it gives everyone whiplash. once gojo accused him of passing notes and made him read a note out loud that gojo wrote, it only had a picture of a cat wearing sunglasses on it.

• the students feel so bad for him, when yuuta took the class, he always stayed after just to bow as deep as he could to apologize for his cousin’s behavior.

• every day ijichi tells himself he’s going to get a backbone, then gojo starts laughing and a cold chill runs up his spine

• gojo also leaves all the grading to ijichi but routinely complains about how lenient he is as a grader

• this man is fighting for his life

• in truth, gojo plans to give him a glowing recommendation that’ll guarantee him a high-paying, prestigious job, but he can’t let ijichi think he’s too nice, right?

toge drops out:

• so i think that toge would end up dropping out at the end of his second year in college. he’s just started his major courses, so the majority of his credits are transferable should he choose to come back.

• but it’s after yuuta comes back, and toge expects his mental state to get better. in some ways it does, he’s happy when he’s with them, but when it’s time to go to class he’s right back where he started.

• it’s probably kusakabe, one of his professors, that puts the idea of dropping out in his head. just a passing reference to how the professor dropped out several times before finding what he wanted to do.

• and the idea stayed like an infection, it was all toge could think about when he was finishing up his semester. even worse when their past upperclassmen, who did drop out to open their own bar, came for a visit.

• hakari was so open to questions about it, and kiara looked so happy talking about their business. and all he could remember was how bored and unhappy they were, and how they were thriving.

• and then gojo suggests it.

• “i never really cared about your grades,” he said, “you looked lonely, but you aren’t anymore. but somehow, you’re just as unhappy as the day i found you. all i want for you is to be happy, and i don’t think you’re finding it here.”

• the man was always so uncanny in how he could read anyone’s mind. this time in particular, he offered a solution that toge had never thought about.

• “have you ever thought of culinary school?”

• ‘my parents would never - they’re already threatening to disown me -’

• “let them, i always figured you’d take his last name anyway,” toge chose to ignore that, “but you aren’t alone anymore. so why don’t you try being happy?”

• when toge told yuuta, similar to only a year ago when they were in opposite positions, yuuta asked him softly, “what do you want to do?”

• the answer came easier than he thought

• by the start of the next semester, gojo had helped him enroll in a culinary school nearby.

gojo and getou:

• so these men are the most annoying people to exist at this university, and the board regrets hiring both of them everyday.

• both of them are alumni of the college, and this matters because they had been dating when they were students, but broke up very dramatically just before gojo graduated early.

• they went their separate ways for almost a decade and only really started talking again when getou got hired at the university.

• they only started talking again when shoko forced them to meet her, she wanted her friends back.

• she regretted it only a few months later when they started dating again lol

• so they’re still dating, but everyone thinks that getou is dating manami suda because they were often together.

• but no one mistakes gojo trying to flirt with getou so he has a reputation as a homewrecker. even worse is that getou flirts back so everyone thinks they’re terrible people

• and they think it’s so funny so they only enable people into thinking so, yuuta couldn’t look gojo in the face for a month

• only nanako and mimiko know what’s actually happening and they’re both disgusted and not ready to have gojo as their step-father. megumi knows too but he’s suffering so much that everyone just leaves him alone

• yuuji is so distraught that his gojo-sensei is a horrible person, he and nobara do a confrontation and find out that they were dating the entire time.

• everyone suffers after that because now they find amusement in PDA

• but yes after everything, they do a different storyline every new class like theater kids do

[blisschi]

Hi, can i request a zhongli x male reader angst to fluff hanahaki au where male reader was a God a long time ago who died to hanahaki because of zhongli and guizhong, but male reader is resurrected as a mortal and zhongli sees them again

Hey! I'm not completely sure if that is what you meant nonnie, but this idea was stuck in my head for a while now and I just had to write it! It's certainly not one of my best pieces but.. I hope you like it.. 💕

🌸In another life🌸

Pairing: Zhongli x Hanahaki! M! Reader

Warnings: Major Character Death, Angst to Fluff..? I think.. It's really bittersweet.

Notes: u_u ... I can't english

Zhongli turned his head towards the storyteller, who clearly caught his attention with the words that just left his mouth. Although for most people it was unknown, forgotten, Zhongli never forgot a single event in the story he started.

"Once upon a time, there was a young god who loved every creature in Tayvat."

He lowered the cup that he was holding, focusing his attention on the words of the story.

They always started out the same.

"The god that loved every creature in Tayvat, the same god that would offer everything to everyone by his love, lost life."

They always ended the same way.

Zhongli closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering the moment he met the young man with a smile on his face.

The man told him that he was visiting Liyue out of sheer curiosity, and that he was coming back to it out of curiosity as well.

"Do you think I could be any kind of a threat to you?" You laughed softly, turning your head towards your friend. Although you were a weak god and you were far from strong, somehow the Geo Archon decided to devote a moment of his attention to you. The moment that sprouted into feeling.

Morax smiled slightly and walked closer to you, gazing out at the sea of ​​clouds.

"Things that are dangerous, not often have to look like a threat."

Just like love.

Love can be beautiful, but won't it turn into poison in the blink of an eye as soon as you lose control of it?

Like flowers, can delight with their amazing charm, when their roots must dig into the very center of the heart, almost breaking it.

"He taught him to understand."

"The young god introduced himself by the name [Y / N]. He befriended Rex Lapis, despite different views and observations." The storyteller continued.

Zhongli looked down at his cup, half full of tea. His mind was full of the thoughts he always chose to leave to himself. He thought that from the mortals, he probably would never hear this name again.

Morax sighed softly, smiling as you pulled his hand along the fields of flowers. He never really understood why you loved them so much, but he could accept that the time you spent with them made you feel relaxed.

"You have some really beautiful plants here, you know?" You laughed as you let go of his hand and ran to one of the trees, immediately sitting under it. The other male calmly approached you and watched as one of the butterflies sat on your finger.

Maybe it was your charm that all creatures loved so much? Until then, he was unable to answer this question. Why did he choose to protect you? Is it because he really thought you were a dear friend to him? Maybe it was because you seemed so vulnerable and weak, just making him feel pity.

You lifted your hand up, showing the creature to your friend. It's wings were golden that gleamed like the light of the setting sun.

"It's so small. but it was not afraid to sit on my finger.. just like I was not afraid to make contact with you, Morax." Glistening pupils looked at you now, taking their attention away from the butterfly. "If you wanted to, I would have been lying underground a long time ago. If you only thought that I was a threat.. ha.."

You laughed softly as you watched the butterfly fly away from your sight.

"You wouldn't hesitate to attack me, would you?"

"He taught him to look up to the future."

Sometimes being weak has its advantages. Not everyone sees you as their enemy, the stronger will usually ignore you, or offer help caused by feelings of pity. Pity over your existence and weakness.

Where do you see this land in a few hundred years, Morax? It was one of your first questions to him that he had to think seriously about. Of course, he cared about Liyue, but admittedly he never thought about what everything would look like in the future.

Will he still dominate these beautiful landscapes? Will he still be able to be called their Archon?

"He taught him to take care."

Zhongli smiled, closing his eyes. He would never have thought it would end this way. True, his life was not over, but the divine era certainly came to an end. People, although weak - will cope.

A soft laugh broke the silence in the room as you ran one hand through the god's hair. This was one of those days where you spent time together, without any worries. You gently braided Morax's hair, smiling to yourself.

"Maybe you should wear this hairstyle more often?" You asked, gently tangling some pieces of flowers into his hair. He just closed his eyes and relaxed in the feeling of your touch. Your hands always seemed extremely delicate. "No? The great god who rules over all Liyue doesn't have time to spend a few minutes making a hairstyle?"

"I didn't say anything." The man sighed and turned to face you. "Why should I worry about a trivial thing like my hair?"

You raised your eyebrows and tilted your head slightly, apparently surprised by his answer.

"Isn't it nicer to look at Liyue when everything is in its place?" You asked, getting up from the ground and placing both of your hands on his shoulders. "If you take care of every smallest element.. eventually these elements will fit together and create perfection.. No matter if it is the perfect weapon.. power.. or hairstyle.."

You were happy watching your friend become attached to more people. At first you enjoyed it, you thought you helped him open up to the world. On your journey together, you met a large number of amazing beings, but suddenly one goddess appeared that seemed to take the person dearest to you away.

"The young god taught him feelings that Rex Lapis did not understand before. He helped him open up to new things, to new people."

Zhongli gritted his teeth as he remembered the rest of the story. Even though you taught him so much, he still understood so little back then.

"[Y / N] had feelings for Morax stronger than to any other being. But it was not his will that made the love strong." The storyteller continued, drawing the attention of more people. "For one-sided love is the strongest. For one-sided love hurts the most."

Goddess of dust, beautiful and gentle, good-hearted and wise. She was a weak god, just like you, maybe that was why Morax had paid more attention to her back then? Maybe he forgot that in fact your strenght was nothing, but his presence near you. He spent every free moment with the goddess. You dreamt that he could give you more attention, but apparently it was not given to you.

You taught him so much and all he offered you was jealousy. Jealousy was eating you from the inside as you saw the goddess slowly pull Morax towards her. It hurt your heart when you had the opportunity to meet a man less and less. But you yourself didn't have the heart to stop it all, because you knew that this goddess meant well for him.

You understood that it was easy to fall in love with someone like him.

"The years passed, the gods drifted apart. The young god was helping Rex Lapis to understand the newer and newer feelings that the goddess had helped him to experience this time."

You understood that you are not the only one who deserves this feeling to be returned.

Zhongli shook his head and opened his eyes, staring at his reflection in the already cold tea. If he knew you thought so.. If he knew he was slowly breaking your heart while spending time with the goddess, it would have all ended differently.

Anyway, it never came out of his mouth that they were 'just friends', it never came out of his mouth that they were something more..

Zhongli clenched his fist, remembering your last moments with him. He remembered your tears, your painful, but smiling face.

"Over time, his feelings did not diminish, but bloomed like the flower buds that he admired so much on his first visit to Liyue. The feeling became unbearable, breaking his heart, hurting him, making him even weaker. The young god then wanted the feeling of love to become something alien to him. "

He remembered you asking him to tell you one of the old stories that he once told you at the beginning of your friendship.

"Why do you suddenly want to hear it? I must say, it's not one of the most interesting ones.."

You laughed quietly, but apart from the laughter, a choked cough escaped your mouth, which you tried to hide with all your might.

"It just.. this story really brings me good memories.. remember? You told it to me when we were sitting under the same tree.. years ago.."

Morax closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, staring up at the sky.

"Well then.."

Zhongli stared at his hands placed on the table in front of him. If he himself lost his life, would he be able to meet you again?

"It was their last meeting. The young god left after him nothing but flowers, which slowly choked him from the inside. Rex Lapis never lost the abilities he had received from his friend. Rex Lapis never forgot, he carried his feelings to the end. One can only hope that after the death of the God of Geo, the two met again."

"Master Zhongli, right?" A soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, making him look up at the person that called his name. "Can I sit here?"

A joyful smile on the face of a stranger, unusually similar to the smile of a young god who left this world many years ago. The same gaze, that looked at his face with love and affection.

Zhongli nodded slightly, not taking his eyes away from the face of the newly met person.

"I see you here a lot, so I figured I'd introduce myself!" The male laughed, painting a smile on Zhongli's face as he reached towards the consultant. "[Y/N]."

"Maybe in another life, they'll be happy together'."

[vibraniumwing]

breaking point.

a neville longbottom x reader wherein neville finally reaches his breaking point when it comes to you

WARNING: nsfw, 18+ (really, don’t read if you’re not.),dirty talk, light choking, oral (female receiving), semi-public, slight praise kink, unprotected sex and just plain nasty nasty lmao

A/N: look, okay, i have discussed this headcanon with @minty-malfoy​ and @slytherinsunrise​ about how neville is actually a dom underneath his soft and fluffy exterior and i just really wanted to write this akdjaksjf i love vanilla neville but honestly this hc is the death of me.

DO NOT READ UNDER THE CUT IF YOU ARE BELOW 18.

---

There are certain moments in time wherein people make promises to themselves about keeping things hidden from the eyes of the public, that no matter what would happen, they would carry this burden ‘til they’re in the grave.

However, with you acting like this, Neville is finding it hard to keep himself in place.

---

Neville swore himself into secrecy about keeping this alter-ego of his a secret due to the fact that it doesn’t fit the image that the public has set upon him. He knew he was this soft, little angel in the eyes of his friends and those who knew him; little did they know there was a beast underneath that façade of his.

His eyes watched you like a hawk as you travelled to-and-fro, grabbing items to put in your grocery cart as you dragged him all the way to a muggle one since you’ve running low on supplies back at home. 

He studied the way your face would contort into one of seriousness when deciding what brand to buy for pasta sauce, how your shirt would lift up just a bit and expose the soft skin underneath while grabbing things from a certain height and how innocent you looked in that shirt of his you decided to wear on your trip.

It was driving the lad absolutely mad at how gorgeous you looked without even trying and all he wanted to do was to pin you up against one of those shelves and show you how badly he wanted you. But he was stuck in his own restraints—physically and figuratively speaking— so there was no way he could do that.

Also, he just loved you too much to even do so suddenly.

---

You were currently working on dinner, mindlessly stirring as your head moved to the soft music that was playing through the kitchen. It was a rather cold day so you opted to wear or steal one of Neville’s sweaters that was a size too large for you. Your hands quickly moved to tie your hair in a messy bun and continue on with your task.

What you didn’t know, however, was the fact that the owner of the sweater you were wearing was watching you work silently. His jaw clenched shut as he fought with every patience he had to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you senseless.

Oh how he wished to do that, but he just can’t, not yet to say the least.

---

Of course, there are secrets that no matter how hard one tries to hide, it’ll uncover itself eventually. Unfortunately, one of those was Neville’s.

You had always thought of the idea that maybe your boyfriend isn’t as vanilla as he always was. You’ve always adored how gentle and caring he was when it comes to your intimate moments with him, how he was always aware of what keeps you over the edge and leaves you wanting for more. 

Yet you had always yearned for something that you don’t have the heart to bring up to the man, until you discovered what lies beneath his innocent little mask.

Coming home from a tiring day at work was never fun, but when you have a loving boyfriend waiting with warm cuddles and kisses, you wouldn’t mind the exhaustion at all; probably even looking forward to come home to that everyday.

However, instead of being greeted by your lovers warm smile, you met with silence the moment you walked into the door. Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion since he was nowhere to be seen. Lightly making your way up, you heard soft pants come from your room. 

Your mind immediately went to a difference place, getting ready to be greeted by something very heart shattering but instead what you saw was something rather surprising as you peeked through the small opening of the door

It was Neville with his back against the headboard of the bed you both shared, low groans rumbling from his chest as he relieved himself from his stress, accompanied with strings of rather colorful words on how he wanted to make you know who’s in charge inside the bedroom.

Safe to say that scene left you hot and bothered for the rest of the night— and that you might have cooked up a plan on how to make your adorable boyfriend reach his limit.

Then you commenced your plan, wearing more of his shirts and sweaters around the house knowing how much he loves you to see you in them (which sometimes leads to them being scattered on the floor) and by tying your hair in-front of him, grinning at him cheekily when he goes silent by watching you do that.

You’d get a certain reaction from him whenever he catches you doing that, adoring how he’d have this entranced look while watching you and how he’d immediately be flustered after because you caught him. 

But to no avail- he knew how to control his urges and you weren’t having any of it anymore. As much as you love Neville for his patience and respect, you’ve reached your breaking point.

---

Neville was seated beside you with a certain flare in his eyes as you continued to palm him through the fabric of his slacks, his cheeks were flushed as he watched you casually conversed with Hermione from across the table, acting as if nothing was happening from under the table.

The woman had invited the two of you over for a rather fancy dinner and he was already losing his mind upon seeing the white body hugging dress you wore and you were really drawing the line with your discreet actions under the table. 

“Say Neville, are you really planning on teaching back at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, looking at your boyfriend expectantly with a curious grin. You looked over at your boyfriend who adjusted in his seat, “Oh yeah, I do actually. Professor Sprout’s about to retire so I’m planning to take over for her.” He managed to splutter out, adjusting his tie as you slowly quickened your pace against his pants.

As the table moved on to another topic, your boyfriend was quick to lean in and whisper, “Not here, (Y/N)” with a gentle tone, holding on to the last ounce of patience he had. 

You batted your eyelashes at him, a devilish grin plastered on your lips as you shrugged him off, “I have no idea as to what you are even implying, Nev.” you simply replied, retreating your hand from its position as you felt him starting to twitch under the fabric. 

The male threw his head back in annoyance at the sudden interruption of his pleasure before giving you a stern look, voice low enough so that only you can hear, “You know exactly what you’re doing and I swear if you don’t stop that attitude right now you’ll see what you’re in for.” He said, jaw clenched as you laughed at him softly, igniting his frustrations even more.

“Make me, Longbottom.”

And that was enough for the beast inside Neville to let loose, absolutely enraged at the bratiness you were showing him. He cleared off his throat and stood up, “As much as I love this party, me and (Y/N) have to cut the night short. I still have a few things to pack before leaving for Hogwarts.” giving his friends a rather sad smile and glanced at you.

The sudden change in his demeanor has left you wet in-between your legs, your heart racing as you gathered your purse and waved off to your friends. His larger hand instantly found its way to yours as he led you outside the restaurant and into a rather isolated alley and instantly apparated to your shared bedroom. 

He was quick to pin you against the wall, one hand holding both of your wrists above your head as the other was cupping your cheek, thumb swiping on your lower lip as he spoke, “Princess, I know you love me gentle but do you really think you deserve that? After what you’ve done to me?” his hips grinding against yours, feeling how hard he was underneath his pants.

Your breath hitched at the friction, shaking your head as your brattiness faltered all too quickly by the way he was acting, “No Nev, I don’t.” which led to him wrapping his hand around your neck as he lightly pressed down on it. “Don’t talk to me like that.” 

His usual gentle voice was coated with arousal making you moan, “No, sir. I’m sorry for acting like a brat” which made him groan in satisfaction at the way those words rolled out of your mouth. He then captured your lips in a heated kiss, feeling himself let loose as his hand slowly trailed down to the underneath of your dress, his fingers now ghosting over your heat. 

You felt his lips curl up into the kiss, “Aren’t you a dirty little one, you’ve gone the whole night without underwear on?” He teased, middle and ring fingers dipping into your pussy as he left open mouth kisses against your neck, sucking on the skin rather harshly. 

“So wet for me, aren’t you darling?” he whispered, ravelling in the lewd sounds that left your mouth mixed with desperate pants. You bucked your hips into his hands, begging for more friction as you felt your knees slowly start to give out from underneath. 

Neville slowly pulled his fingers out upon feeling your walls tighten around it, making you whine as he licked your essence off his fingers, letting out hum of satisfaction as he locked lips with you again; hand reaching over the back to unzip your dress, letting it pool to your feet, nimble fingers quickly undoing your bra and letting it join the clothes on the floor. 

“So beautiful” He mumbled, stepping away from you as he loosened his tie, “Be a good girl and lay down on the bed, princess.” His tone sends chills down your spine as you lay on the bed, watching him get rid of own clothes, mouth watering as you watch him stroke his length to soothe it from its aching need.. 

He then approached you, licking his lips as he lowered himself, eyeing how your heat glistened against the dim lit room, “So fucking wet for me.” He growled before diving  right into you, tongue dancing around your clit gently he curled two fingers inside of you, causing your hips to buck up in the process, moans escaping your lips which made the male groan. “Keep still, darling.” He said, his other hand gripping on your thigh tightly as he continued.

You tried your best to keep still, panting heavily as Neville continued to fuck you with his tongue and fingers, back arching as your hand was now gripping on his hair, the sensation too overwhelming for you as a familiar knot form once again. 

“N-Nev, I’m close” You said, only making him pump his fingers in and out of you more quickly, humming in approval which sent you into this state of pure bliss as you reached your high, coating his slender fingers with your juice. 

Neville was quick to lap whatever mess you had made, tongue darting out to clean his own digits as crawled up to your eye level, “You were such an angel for me now, weren’t you, princess?” he questioned, thumb brushing against your bottom lip again as you nodded, taking his thumb in-between your lips to suck on in gently as you locked your gaze with him.

His usual soft brown eyes were filled with lust as he positioned himself, expression faltering slightly as he waited for your approval, making your heart flutter at the fact that he still wanted your answer. With a single nod, he thrusted into you, groaning at how tight you were around him. “So.. fucking tight for me, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Nev, all for you.” You answered, hips jolting up at the way he slowly started to move, teasing you lightly as he trudged on with this pace, making you whine, “Faster, Nev, please!”

Neville happily obliged in your request, pace picking up as his lips attacked all the soft spots of your neck, making you a moaning mess underneath him as he soon became relentless with his speed; your lewd sounds making him go wild, his free hand finding its way back to your clit, the pad of his thumb toying on it as he continued to go in and out of you.

Still sensitive from your first high, you quickly felt your second one forming as he kept his pace. “Go on, baby.” With those simple words, you felt your orgasm crash through once again, sending you a wave of euphoria as he rode out your high, eventually coming down from his own high too.

He gently pulled out of you and smiled, kissing your forehead, “Stay right there, alright?” He said, snatching his boxers off the floor and headed off to the bathroom before coming back with a towel in hand, waving it sheepishly. 

“Let me do the work, my love.” He said gently, cleaning you up before taking you into his arms, carrying you into the bathroom where the bathtub was full and ready to use. 

He gently placed you down and helped you hop in, the warmth of the water instantly relaxing your muscles, before situating himself behind you, a shy grin on his lips, a light pink dusting over his cheeks, “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You laughed at him softly, shaking your head gently as you sensed his fingers massage your scalp gently, cleaning you off. “No, Nev. You were great.” You answered, leaning into him gently as you teased, “Who knew you had that kind of side, my love?”

Neville chuckled at your words, carefully rinsing you off as he shrugged lightly, lathering his hands with soap as he ran his hands against your soft skin, fingers tracing the marks he’s left, “I’ve always had that side of me, I know that you know that, but I just kept on holding myself back because I didn’t want to hurt you like that.” He answered truthfully, voice laced with gentleness.

You turned to face him with a smile, leaning in to press your lips against his, heart jumping everywhere at how pure his answer was, “You don’t have to hide anything from me anymore since I’d accept you either way, Nev.”

And with that the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company as you both got ready for bed once again, Neville doing all the work of changing the sheets and what not before letting you back on the bed and into his arms, peppering your face with a ton of kisses soon afterwards.

“Are you sure that I wasn’t too hard on you, love?” He asked once more, looking at you with a rather guilty look, to which you shook your head, giving him a comforting smile as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips, “You were perfect, my love, trust me.”

You felt him relax against you, holding you closer to his chest as he kissed your lips once more, smiling against them.

“I love you, (Y/N).)” “I love you too, Nev.”

---

TAGS: @theweasleyslut​ @violetravens​ @eunoia-kth​ @starlightweasley​ @minty-malfoy​ @glimmering-darling-dolly​ @slytherinsunrise​

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑻𝒆𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 (𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐) 𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 (𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳)× 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔, 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟖𝐊

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢-𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭, 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧).

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @yunhoiseyecandy @yunhofingers @galaxteez @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @vocalyunho

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The girl's eyes peered with great attention onto the map in front of her. Making sure it was the correct hallway, she proceeded to make her way down the small staircase. Being so attentive towards the schedule and diagram given to her, not to mention carrying her binder and some of her journals, she nearly tripped on the last couple of stairs but luckily regained her balance before any disaster happened. Faced with a wall full of lockers, she made a right turn and carefully looked for the number written on her paper. Her locker was one of the last ones, which she didn't mind. A door at the end of the lockers was half open, letting her have a peak inside what she assumed to be the training room for the boxing club, given the huge punching bag that was hanging and all sorts of other equipment that she would never guess what they were for.

Squinting her eyes, she began to put in her combination, safely maneuvering the lock and getting her locker to open. With a soft grunt, she tossed her heavy book bag into the compartment, her shoulder aching after having carried so many things at once. She began organizing things so loudly in there she didn't notice the tall, lean figure that approached the punching bag, one of his hands finishing the task of wrapping the safety bandages on the other. His black hair was already sticking to his forehead after having run some laps outside in the track field, his usual warm up before heading inside. Making sure the bandages were tightly secured, he held his fists up before landing a couple of punches onto the bag, stopping momentarily before resuming to strike at it with as much force as he could. Through pants and grunts, he continued his punches, teeth clenched and eyes completely focused, his body beginning to perspire even more sweat, leaving his shirt nearly soaked through.

Gasping for air, he decided to take a break, body hunched over as he rested his hands on his knees, slowly getting his heart rate back to normal. Getting an unusual feeling, he suddenly lifted his head and tilted it to the left. He was both surprised and intrigued to see a girl he'd never seen before gaze at him, her eyes wide open and lips slightly agape, fascination clearly visible on her features. Having been caught eyeing him, she quickly hid her face behind the open locker door, her cheeks immediately reddening and her hands fumbling to quickly take out what she needed and just dash out of there to avoid any further embarrassment. The young athlete chuckled softly, smile still plastered on his face as he began walking out of her room and up to where she was.

"I take it you're new in the school right?"

Startled by his close proximity and tall height, she dropped all of the things she was currently holding, muttering out a slight curse as she began bending down to pick them up.

"Here. Let me help."

Pulling her back up, the male speedily gathered her things and held them back out to her.

"Thank you..." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You never answered my question." He gently reminded her.

"Oh...yeah I just transferred here." She responded, hand reaching up to brush some fallen hair behind her ear.

"Thought so, in my years here I'm pretty sure I would have remembered a cute little face like yours."

His compliment followed along by his large hand booping the bun on the top of her head only worked to make her feel more shy about standing in front of such a handsome guy.

"I'm Yunho." He held out his wrapped hand out to her, which she gratefully shook.

"I'm Y/N."

He looked at her with a fond smile upon hearing her name.

"Well Y/N, if you ever get lost or need something, please let me know. I'd be happy to help."

Unable to help himself, he leaned down and bumped his nose against hers, making her slightly crinkle her own after he pulled back.

"I like you. Let's be friends."

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"Look! Yunho! I see the beach already!"

Yunho only took a small glance over at his friend, who had of course taken off her seatbelt in order to stand up and get a better view of the blue ocean that was now drawing closer and closer to them. Without taking his eyes off the road, he grabbed one of her belt loops and firmly sat her back down, not about to risk an accident happening.

"Y/N just because this car is convertible, doesn't mean you can just go wilding about and standing up. You could get hurt."

Poking her bottom lip out with crossed arms, the girl pushed the seat further back so she could rest her feet up on the dashboard. Still hyped up about their trip to California and unable to contain her excitement, Y/N moved one of her legs so it could nudge Yunho's arm. He merely rolled his eyes at her, so used to her mischievous yet rather adorable antics. He couldn't suppress the smile on his face when she kept bumping her knee up against his elbow or tapping her foot against one of the hands that was gripping the steering wheel. During one particular move of her leg, he got his hand off the wheel and grabbed her thigh, squeezing at it softly and keeping it within his reach.

"Do you have a death wish?" He questioned her.

"No..... I'm just too excited and I can't wait to see the rest of the gang." She bounced against the seat.

Releasing a light chuckle, Yunho used his thumb to rub circles against her exposed knee, tugging at the ripped fabric coming out.

"Seriously, couldn't you pick another pair of jeans?" He shook his head.

"What's wrong with them?" She exclaimed in offense.

"They're practically ripping from how skin tight they are. Honestly, did you just paint them on? Guys will stare at your ass." He involuntarily gripped her thigh a little tighter when he pictured some pervert eyeing his best friend up and down.

"Maybe that was the whole plan along."

Her little snort only made him smack her thigh rather abruptly, earning her a glare from him as well, which only served to make her burst into giggles.

"Hit me harder daddy." She teased him, sitting up to rest her head on his shoulders as she batted her eyelashes at him.

"Oh my fuck- I can't with you! You know I hate that word!" He cringed in disgust at the unholy word, lightly shoving her head off him, opting to instead turn up the volume of the music to hopefully calm his energetic friend down a bit.

Pulling into the parking lot, Y/N wasted no time in jumping out of the car and sprinting out towards the small crowd that was already gathered near the shoreline, a small bonfire already being started while the sun was still out. Finally catching sight of the last pair to get there, some of their friends waved them over.

"Hey guys! They're here! Yunho and Y/N are here!" A bright pink haired male who was donning a crop top began jumping up and down in excitement at the whole crew being gathered.

Meanwhile the jet black hair male next to him was not amused by his screeching.

"Ok ok geez, we get it." He held San down.

"Yeosang stop being a drag and let loose for once. We're on vacation, no more mean professors. No late night studying, no more presentations. Tonight we're just a bunch of adults who are going to get shit faced wasted and party all night long!" His friend let out a piercing holler.

"Ok but I'm not carrying your drunk ass back to the room then Woo." Yeosang warned him.

"Mingi!"

Y/N immediately ran up to her friend who was just as tall as Yunho. She was so happy to finally see him after so long, none of them having been able to see much of him since he had gone away on a transfer college program and had been living abroad for a while now. She clung onto him tightly.

"I missed you two munchkin." Mingi bent his face to kiss the top of her head before ruffling her hair into a tangled mess like he'd usually do.

"I'm not going to punch you for that only because I missed your clumsy ass too much." She squinted her eyes at him, but immediately went back to her happy self and began asking him so many questions about what he had done.

Yunho went over to see if anyone needed help, always stepping up to set up anything they needed. He had decided to help out his older friend, Seonghwa, bring out the coolers full of beer and other alcoholic beverages while another one, Hongjoong, began making a playlist on his phone which would soon blast all over the bluetooth speakers.

"How was the ride here?" Seonghwa asked Yunho, who could only let out an exhausted sigh.

"That crazy huh?" Hongjoong chuckled, looking over at Y/N who was practically hanging onto Mingi's arm like a koala, while San and Wooyoung were arguing about not being giving the same amount of hugs.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy she's already having fun, but even I think she's a little too much for me nowadays. I can barely keep up with her energy sometimes." Yunho admitted, although he found it ironic how ever since the years passed, it had seemed as if though his once bubbly and energetic nature switch somewhat with Y/N's more calm and mellow personality.

"Well I mean, don't worry about babysitting her tonight. Just drink some beer and go wild like we used to back in high school."

Popping off the cap, Seonghwa handed the bottle over to Yunho who immediately took a small sip of it.

"Are you kidding me? I'm going to have to stay sober and make sure she doesn't do anything too crazy."

Smirking, Hongjoong came up to him as he pulled something out of his pants.

"I thought you'd say that which is why I took the liberty of placing you two in the same motel room. Now you don't have to worry about rooming with tweedle dumb or tweedle idiot there." He nodded over to Wooyoung and San.

Yunho looked down at the room key with bewilderment.

"Oh Hong- why would you? Listen she's my best friend, but to share a room with her-"

"Is the best idea if you ask me. Seriously Yunho, we're here about to get fucked as hell. Maybe this is the chance for something between you two to finally happen. If you know what I mean." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, which made Yunho blush wildly.

"Nothing will happen. She only sees me as a friend." He tried to convince himself more than anyone else.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong looked at him and then at each other, both of them with a dead panned expression.

"Oh honey you are so lost." Seonghwa stated, letting out some very audible tsks.

"Jongho! Come here! We need an opinion from a level headed person." Hongjoong waved over a muscular red head over, who came over with arms crossed over his chest.

"What?" He looked unamused.

"On a scale of 1-10, how much would you say Yunho and Y/N want to fuck each other?"

Yunho covered Hongjoong's mouth at that.

"Hyung! What the fuck?!" He looked around to make sure Y/N didn't hear anything.

Shrugging, Jongho slid his hands into his pant's pockets.

"I don't really pay attention to hetero shit, but I'd say solid 12 if I'm being honest." Satisfying their curiosity, he went back towards Yeosang, who was already downing down another bottle and laughing a lot more than he'd usually do, which prompted his partner to take the bottle away from him, which Yeosang did not appreciate and began grumbling in a not so threatening manner.

Yunho looked over at his friend, talking so casually with the other girls, all of them showing off pictures of clothes or their pets no doubt. He began to think that maybe Hongjoong and Seonghwa were right. Perhaps this could be the night where something would spark between them.

He just had to wait and see.

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Loud cheers and hollers were being poured out at the two females who were currently tongue deep inside each other's throats due to the dare they were given.

"3, 2, 1! Ok. 40 seconds is up."

The more dominant of the girls got off the other's lap, a smug look on her face while the other looked completely dazed as she tried to regain her composure.

"Dang Sua, you didn't need to go that intense. Poor Yoohyeon." Wooyoung shook a finger at her.

"I know for a fact you enjoyed that little show just as much as she did." She glanced in between his legs, eyeing the very visible boner that had formed there before brushing some hair out of Yoohyeon's face.

"Ok it's not my turn but I've really been wondering long and hard about something! Seungyeon! Is it true you got your nipples pierced last month?" San suddenly blurted out, words slightly slurring as all eyes looked over at the bronzed beauty who had a wicked grin on her face.

"I did." She confirmed the rumor.

"No way! You have low pain tolerance! I don't believe you!" He interjected.

Putting her drink down, she sauntered over to him, hands on her hips as she stood in front of him. Grabbing the end of her shirt, she lifted it up and let her well endowed tits pop out. San nearly choked as he stared at the metal bars piercing through her nipples.

"Hot damn. I love being Bi." He licked his lips.

With a giggle, Seungyeon gave her tits a little shake before covering them up again.

"Ok now that I blessed you with my chest, now you have to do something for me."

Always up for a challenge, San immediately agreed.

"What is it? Come on throw it at me. Who's dick or pussy am I sucking?" His question had everyone laughing.

"No, don't get ahead of yourself fuck boi. I dare you to strip and jump into the cold water." She smirked, really convinced he'd never do it.

But to everyone's shock, horror and amusement, San didn't waste a second before standing up and ridding himself of all his clothes, leaving some of his friends wide eyed while others were getting more turned on by the ever escalating game of truth or dare.

"You know if you wanted an excuse to just see my dick, all you had to do was ask."

With a wink towards the tanned female, San ran into the water and let his entire body submerge underneath the waves. Meanwhile the rest of the party got off their seats to witness or record the entire thing. Coming out of the water, San swiped his hair back before calling out to them.

"I bet none of you have the guts to do the same!" He challenged them.

"Bet!" Wooyoung responded before practically ripping his shirt off.

With a shrug, Seungyeon completely took off her top.

"You have all seen my tits already. What the heck?"

Soon a few more of them joined San in the water, while the others either stood there contemplating if they should do something or just let them be.

"I knew it. I knew this would eventually turn into one of those college parties that ends in an orgy- NOT THAT I'VE EVER SEEN THEM!" Mingi immediately shouted, but everyone around him just looked at him with absolutely no surprise or judgment.

"I wanna join!"

Yunho watched in horror as Y/N took off her shirt and threw it at him. Before she could even reach for her bra clasp, he took off his jacket and covered her, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder.

"No you don't. We're going to our room and you're going straight to bed." He firmly said, ignoring the suggestive glances the others were giving him.

"Put me down Yunho! Put me down!" She wiggled in his grasp, trying to break free but in her tipsy state she couldn't really do much.

"Bye Y/N! Sorry you didn't get to show us your boobs! I bet they're great!" Yeosang waved at them, completely drunk with Jongho holding him up so he wouldn't fall.

Y/N eventually gave up and just let Yunho carry her across the motel parking lot, his car already having been moved over so it'd be easier for them to get their stuff. Not fully coherent and with still leftover energy, she began tapping on his back.

"Truth or dare."

"Y/N, I'm pretty sure the game already ended." He told her as he took out his key to lock and put the alarm on his car.

"But you didn't pick anything besides truth you boring old sack! Now pick dare! I wanna dare you to do something!" She insisted.

"Fine. What do you want me to do?" He wanted to satisfy her whims for a moment.

"Dare you to slam me on the hood of the car and make out with me."

Yunho wasn't sure if she was being serious or was playing around like she usually did, but her sentence made him freeze up.

"I knew it. I knew you didn't have the balls to do it." She snickered at him.

Finally deciding to snap, Yunho tore his jacket off her body before hauling her down and slamming her onto the hood of his car, not to hard so she wouldn't get hurt. With a dark look in his eyes, he smirked down at her.

"Bet."

Before she had time to respond or comprehend what was going on, Y/N was already melting into the kiss her long time friend was giving her. She didn't hesitate to allow his tongue to slither in her mouth. Y/N moaned as Yunho continued to massage his tongue against hers, rolling them over each other before sucking down on it. His hands which had been holding her arms over her head let go of them so they could snake down her torso before gripping her hips. Prying her legs open with his knee, Yunho pressed himself in between them, his growing bulge grinding against her jean clad core. Y/N could feel her underwear stick to her folds from how aroused she was becoming. Having nothing to lose, she wrapped her legs around Yunho's waist, squeezing him closer as she grinded harder against him, practically dry humping him.

"Fuck! You're driving me insane."

Wanting to get her as frustrated as him, he trailed wet and sloppy kisses down her sternum, licking on the top of her cleavage, while his fingers pushed underneath her bra cups so they could rub her nipples in between them.

"Oh! Oh my god!" She gasped out, her hands going to the back of his head, fingers harshly tugging at the strands of his hair as she pressed her chest out more forward him.

"Please suck my tits."

Yunho let out a brief awkward laugh at her request before pulling himself off her, which resulted in her writhing in an annoyed manner.

"That wasn't part of the dare Y/N and I'm not doing such a lewd action out in public."

He did not let her glare deter him from patting the top of her head softly. Turning his back to her, he made way towards their hotel room calling out to her so she could follow him. When he didn't hear nor sense her following behind him, he quickly turned around and saw that instead she was walking towards the pool.

"Y/N I'm not going to tell you again. Get in the room right now and- No! Y/N no!"

He chased after her as if she was a misbehaving cat, internally cursing himself as he saw her entering the pool area. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her peel off her tight skinny jeans before diving into the pool, some of the water splashing onto him.

"Holy hell, please give me the strength to deal with her." He muttered to himself as he picked up her discarded clothing.

He just stood there both admiring and just guarding her as she freely swam around without a care in the world. Emerging from underwater, she swam up to where Yunho was and propped her elbows on the concrete.

"Join me Yuyu." She made it a point to use the nickname he favored and to glance at him with puppy dog eyes.

"No. It's late and you have gone wild enough for one night. Now come on, out you go now."

Extending his hand out, he ordered her to take it so he could pull her out of there. Having other thoughts in mind, Y/N acted as if she was giving in. As soon as she took his hand, she took advantage of his unguarded state to strongly pull him down into the water with her. Yunho came back out of the water with a shocked expression.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!" He shouted at her, wiping some of the dripping water off his face.

"Maybe. I don't know."

With absolutely no remorse, she pushed him towards the pool steps, making him sit down on one of them before straddling his lap. Not giving him a chance to ask, Y/N just cupped his cheeks and began to fervently kiss him, not lingering long on his lips as she preferred to attack his neck, biting and sucking at various points in an effort to leave purple and red spots all over his milky skin. Yunho's hands cupped her hips in a futile attempt to hold her still but ultimately failing as they seemed to have a mind of their own and wandered further down to cup her ass. Kneading at her cheeks, Yunho bucked his hips up at hers, head tilting to the side to allow her to nibble away as she pleased at his skin.

"Just what exactly do you want with all this?" Yunho finally asked.

Humming against his skin, she placed a sweet peck on the recent mark she made.

"I want you to suck my boobs." She repeated her words from before.

Taking his hands off her ass, she placed them on her chest, making them massage them as she liked them to be.

"That's it? You go through all this just to get your boobs sucked?" Yunho found it ridiculous yet cute.

Shaking her head, Y/N began bouncing on his lap.

"No I want you to fuck me." She blurted out.

Yunho immediately retracted her hands off her body, eyes not even blinking as he began processing what she just said. Gulping down an imaginary lump, he took a deep breath and gathered his strength and self control.

"Y/N, baby. You're probably too wasted to think straight. You don't know what you're saying. So let's just go back to the room and go to sleep. Don't want you regretting anything in the morning."

Even though he said it to her, he mostly meant it for himself. He didn't want to ruin anything they had already built up over the years just because of some stupid decision. Y/N however clung onto him when he attempted to let her go.

"I'm not wasted trust me. I'm in full use of my 5 senses and I mean it when I say I want you to fuck me Jeong Yunho."

Trying to seduce him one last time, she began to nibble at his earlobe, knowing he was sensitive around that area. Wanting to rile him up, she whispered in his ear.

"If not then that's ok..... I'm sure Seonghwa or Hongjoong won't mind me joining them for a night."

Instantly, she was lifted up by his strong arms and carried away towards their room.

"You're not spending the night with anyone but me."

Yunho nearly broke the door down from how hard he opened it, using his foot to slam it close behind them. Setting his friend down on the bed, he began to rid himself of his soaked clothes, letting them pile up into a short wet stack on the floor. Y/N bit down at her bottom lip as she took in the size of Yunho's cock. It was well above average and the thickness had her mouth watering. When Yunho came over to her, she tried to reach out and stroke it, but he quickly grabbed her wrist and stopped her from getting closer. Pushing her further on the bed until her head hit the headboard, Yunho reached under her back so he could unclasp her bra and free her boobs from their confinement.

"Are you really going to fuck me? Fuck me like one of your exes? I heard a few naughty and interesting rumors." She let out a soft giggle.

With darkening eyes, Yunho used one of his hands to wrap itself her neck, tightening around it so as to cut off her breathing for a brief moment.

"First of all, don't mention any of those skanks right now."

Releasing her neck, he peeled her panties off her legs and threw them across the room, ignoring where it landed. Taking both of her hands in his, he pressed his forehead against hers, his lips tenderly brushing against her own.

"And second of all, I'm not going to fuck you...."

Giving her a loving peck, he smiled at her.

"I'm going to make love to you."

Unlike his previous hungry kiss, this time his kisses were more soft and drawn out, as if he wanted to take his time in savoring each and every time his lips enveloped hers in a tender yet passionate kiss. Every once in a while, he'd tug at her bottom lip with his teeth in a playful way. Once he got her fill of tasting her mouth, his lips traveled down her chest, finally giving her what she'd ask for since the beginning. Looking up towards her, he took hold of one of her delectable breasts and brought his mouth close to it, tongue circling around the sensitive nipple before it disappeared inside his mouth. Yunho couldn't hide the proud smirk on his face whenever he felt Y/N squirm underneath him, back arching everytime he gave her tits a particularly long and hard suck. Pressing them together, he squeezed them into his large hands before taking both of her nipples in his mouth, teeth grazing over them. Taking notice of her change in breathing, Yunho couldn't resist himself in teasing her a little.

"Finally satisfied that you got what you wanted? You got your tits sucked, should I stop now?"

When he began moving away from her, Y/N pulled him back to land on top of her.

"No! You said you were going to make love to me." She whined at him, lips pouting out.

Pecking her pouty lips, Yunho began crawling down her body.

"I did say that and I'm following through on it."

Pulling her body close to his face, he ran his nose against her slippery folds. Parting her lips with 2 of his fingers, he delved his tongue into her hole, collecting some of her arousal and lapping it up with such ardent intensity. His face was practically smothering itself into her heat, her juices staining not only his nose but even his chin. But Yunho couldn't help himself as he continued to feast on her taste, his tongue flicking out against her clit before sucking more of her juices out of her. He loved having her roll her hips against his face, her eyes shut tight as she let herself get lost in the addicting feeling of having his mouth swallow her mound and folds. It boosted his confidence when he heard her moans get louder and her the rising of her chest become more agitated. By the way her thighs began to clench around his head, he knew she was going to cum any second. Before that could happen, he released her delicious clit from his mouth with a loud popping sound and climbed back on top of her body.

Before she could complain about him leaving her hanging, he began to pump himself slowly, the tip of his dick running across her folds. Looking at her one last time, he asked her one more time if she was ok with it. Instead of answering, she replaced his hand with her own, getting a low hiss to spill out from his lips as she began to stroke his length. Thumb playing with his slit, her mouth was occupied in kissing all over the marks she had previously made on his neck. Not wanting to waste any more time, she lined him up at her entrance and pushed him inside enough to get the tip in.

"Go ahead Yuyu." She encouraged him, her hands steadying themselves on his arms for support.

Slowly easing the rest of himself inch by inch in her, Yunho gave them both a few seconds to get adjusted before he began to expertly roll his hips. It was a slow and steady pace, but he made sure to hit deep enough for both of them to start moaning against their lips, which were never more than a few inches apart from each other. Yunho never took his eyes off her face, drinking up every single one of her facial expressions. He moved her hands off his arms so he could hold them in his own, their fingers intertwining with one another. He began to pick up his pace, hips slamming further onto her body. Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Yunho captured her lips one more time in a desperate kiss. He only pulled away so she could hear what he had to say.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you. From the first moment I laid eyes on you back in high school, I've yearned to make you mine."

Y/N gasped when he sunk his teeth into her neck, his hands pressing her hard against the mattress as his thrusts became more forceful, ripping out whimper after whimper out of her throat.

"I tried to find someone else....hoping I'd get over you....but none compared to you. I've only ever wanted you."

Y/N was left completely speechless at his words, never imagining he'd actually feel the same way she felt about him. She could see the longing in his eyes and she had no doubts that her own were probably mirroring his feelings at that moment as well. Caressing his face, she found it difficult to get out any coherent words due to Yunho ramming his cock inside her, but eventually she found her voice.

"I love you Yunho."

His hips momentarily stopped when he heard those 4 words, his mind trying to decipher if it was real or another one of his fantasies. Knowing he was doubting what he heard, she repeated herself.

"I love you Yunho."

Lifting her up, Yunho sat her on top of him, his arms holding her so close to him, he could practically smother her.

"Say that again." He begged her.

Y/N began crying out when he began lifting her up and sinking her back down onto his cock, his hips relentlessly bucking up into her. His fingers were gripping onto the sides of her waist so hard they would probably leave prints for days to come. Her nails raked along his back, leaving scratch marks plastered on the top.

"I love you! I love you!" She began chanting loudly through chattering teeth and shaky breathing.

Yunho felt himself go feral at hearing her repeat her words, wanting to hear her say it for so many years.

"Fuck I love you too my darling."

When he shifted angles underneath her slightly, he brushed against her g-spot, making Y/N's whimpers turn even louder and her walls clenched tighter around him.

"Right there love? Does it feel good right there?" He cooed in her ear, fingers brushing against the bulge protruding out of her stomach.

Through tear brimmed eyes, Y/N frantically nodded.

"Yes! Right there feels good. Please keep going, I'm going to cum." She begged him, her nails digging sharply into his skin.

Yunho continued to stroke his hips up, watching intently as Y/N shut her eyes tightly and clenched her teeth. Holding onto her tightly, he witnessed as she began sputtering incoherent words while her body shook uncontrollably on top of him, her orgasm washing over her and coating Yunho's cock which was still sliding in and out of her. It was such a beautiful scene, seeing her dissolve into immense pleasure that he didn't fall far behind as he began pumping all of his cum into her, shooting a heavy load that some began to spill onto his thighs as he continued to bounce her on top of him, helping them both ride out their highs.

They were so exhausted they ended up collapsing on the bed, their breathing raspy and hoarse. Reaching his hand out, Yunho pulled her body back up against his, wanting to stay as close to her as possible. Brushing some of her hair out of her face, he wiped off some of the smudged eyeliner and mascara that had become messy.

"I look ugly don't I?" She questioned him.

"You're always gorgeous to me, although if you want my honest opinion, I think you're prettier without any makeup on." He nuzzled his nose against hers.

Snuggling close to him, Y/N buried her face in his chest, inhaling in his scent while her ears listened intently to the beating of his heart. Their fingers began to play with one another, bumping against each other or just clasping and unclasping back and forth.

"So does this make us....?" She looked up at him.

"I mean, I would hope so. I was literally balls deep inside you while I declared my love for you. I would expect us to be official at this rate."

They both laughed softly at his answer.

"We should have been honest with each other a long time ago." She lamented not saying anything before.

"I'll say, I could have been making love to you a long time ago."

Y/N squealed when Yunho flipped her over, making her lie face down while pushing her legs apart.

"Y-Yunho! Already?" She couldn't stop blushing as she felt his dick poking at her ass.

"What can I say beautiful? You rile me up as if I was a teenager again." He had absolutely no shame as he began pushing inside her once again.

"But what if they hear us?" She pointed to the walls, knowing fully well her friends were probably already back in their rooms by now.

Yunho didn't seem to care as he fully shoved himself inside her folds and pressed open mouth kisses on the nape of her neck.

"Well then I hope they brought ear plugs."

✿*:･ﾟﾟ･:*✿✿*:･ﾟﾟ･:*✿✿*:･ﾟﾟ･:*✿✿*:･ﾟﾟ･:*✿

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

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[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @tanjhero​

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Being the Flame Pillar’s tsugoku is no easy task; saving his brother, however, proves to be something else entirely. - 

warnings: mentions of blood, angst

words: 2.5k

-

Burning hearts, brilliant eyes, wishes that never come true. There’s almost something beautiful in sorrow, the slight glimpse of light in the vast darkness. To be a demon slayer, one must bury their heart. They have to hide it under lock and key, learn how to forget what crying feels like. You’ve always carried this ideology close to your heart ever since you started your training as a young adolescent.

Six years have then since passed, and the Final Selection is well behind you. Ragged scars cover your arms, chest, and back, all trophies from your brutal battles with blood-hungry beasts. Demons, to be precise; you see ragged, glinting teeth in the night, in the hours of the day when you’re finally allowed to dream. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, these teeth seek to ravage you, to sink into your skin and rip your throat out.

The world is dark. You’ve long since grown cold, refusing to properly feel anything. To be emotional is to be distracted; if you wanted to survive, for others to survive, you cannot afford to deal with such interruptions. This is the very reason why your mentor – the gracious Flame Pillar himself, Rengoku Kyojuro – always struck you as odd. Like the sun itself, he’s full of light and eternal brightness.

You’ve never been more jealous of someone in your life.

You train by his side, let him whip you into proper shape. Being a tsugoku is no easy task; both mentally and physically draining, you’re often left scrambling for any sensation left in your numb fingertips. Although your body suffers from the constant thrum of pain, you are strong. You don’t take your strength lightly, and neither does your mentor.

As time and his persistent nature eat away at your skeptical brain cells, he’s more or less become a friend. Much to your initial displeasure, you allowed him to root himself to you. However, as you grew stronger, wiser, your heart did so as well. Kyojuro, this dear man, has cracked open the safe of your heart. With each rising sun, you envision him, his dazzling smile, his abnormal irises. It’s the first time in your life you’ve been blessed.

The days grow into something long and dark whenever you train with him. He doesn’t give up, refuses to let you to wipe away the sweat at your brow, keeps going and going until you’re a trembling mess at his feet. He’s to make a slayer of you yet.

Some days, you consider yourself lucky. Kyojuro is a soft man despite the hard cording of muscle covering his skeleton. Sometimes, his gaze melts into something akin to honey, dangerously sweet and tempting. He’ll call training off early, opting to massage your weakened muscles and guide you through breathing exercises. You don’t take these treatments lightly; after all, Kyojuro is a Pillar, a highly respected one at that. To have a pathetically weak tsugoku will only bring shame onto his namesake.

And, if he’s really in a giving mood, he’ll insist you spend the night at his residence.

Already well fed and bathed, you dismiss Kyojuro with a tight-lipped smile and a prayer for his safe return. He explained that he and his father were to travel into town and seek out the beloved liquor his father adores so much. Although his face is stoic, you can see the pain and disappointment in the depths of his eyes. Like himself, Rengoku Shinjuro is a man deserving respect – or at least used to be. Since the passing of his wife, he’s been drowning his sorrows (amongst all other emotion humanly possible) until he sees the bottom of the bottle.

You find solace in your room, wet hair unceremoniously thrown over your shoulder. Like your father and grandfather, you wear your hair long; the one true tradition that’s been passed down your bloodline for generations. Even as shorter hairstyles become widely accepted, your clan refused to do so, following the old rule of cutting hair once one was shunned. You lose yourself in thought, mindlessly combing through hair with a comb made out of bone.

It isn’t the first time you’ve stayed in the Rengoku household, but you always find yourself drawing hesitant. Kyojuro’s own room sits right down the hallway, a silent temptation that you never give into. To do so would be disrespectful to your kind mentor, even downright inappropriate. Mentor and tsugoku was a strictly former relation – nothing more. You’d be damned if you stepped out of line.

A slight knock at the door stirs your curiosity. Kyojuro and Shinjuro have yet to return from their shopping trip despite the sky being cloaked in an ominous purple. Instead, you’re greeted by Senjuro, Kyojuro’s younger brother. Like the other two – and the rest of the males in his bloodline – he sports the fire crackle hair, the robust eyes. The entire Rengoku clan has been blessed by the sun, by fire, since the beginning of time. You’re not good friends with Senjuro, by you’re way past the line of casual acquaintances.

You glance to the cheesecloth in his hands, your eyebrow raising itself in a silent question. Senjuro sends you a cheeky smile, though the edges are tinged with nervousness. It startles you just how much he resembles Kyojuro. As you beckon him to enter, you set your comb down and tell him to join you on the futon.

“Aniki and father aren’t back yet,” Senjuro tells you as he sits down. “And I figured… Well, maybe… If it was okay for us to hang out?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Senjuro’s always been like this, awkward yet exceptionally kind. As he unwraps the cheesecloth, you’re greeted by the sight of plump grapes and rice crackers.

“I know we already had dinner, but sometimes Aniki and I sit around with some snacks and talk about everything.” Senjuro’s smile grows at the mention of his brother; you find it extremely endearing. “And you’re always nice to me, so I thought that we could…” His sentence trails off into nothing and he worries his bottom lip.

You promptly pick a grape from the bunch and pop it into your mouth. Its sweet flavor erupts on your tongue and you hum in appreciation. “Thank you for the treat.”

The nervousness in Senjuro’s smile melts away. “I watched you and Aniki train earlier. You’re incredible,” he gushes. “It’s no wonder why you’re Aniki’s tsugoku!”

You wave off his compliment with a dismissive hand. “First you bring me food, then you flatter me; is there an ulterior motive to this?” you tease.

With a slight giggle, Senjuro shoves at your shoulder. “I just wanted to be in your company, that’s all.”

You find the gesture to be incredibly sweet. As you ponder on his words, you realize that Kyojuro must be busy all the time, attending to his work as a Pillar, and Shinjoru spends almost every waking moment getting drunk. “Look at you, being the charmer,” you throw his way. “You definitely take after your brother.”

Senjuro visibly perks up at your words. “Really? You think so?”

You chuckle at his excited response. “Yes, really. I think you’re going to grow up into a wonderful man, Senjuro-kun.”

His cheeks warm up at your praise. “I can see why Aniki likes you so much.”

The cracker you hold stops centimeters away from your mouth. You instinctively lower your hand. “What do you mean?”

Senjuro cocks his head to the side. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? Aniki’s had a crush on you for months.”

The cracker falls into your lap. “He what?”

Something snaps outside the screen door. The hairs on the back of your neck come to a sudden rise; the sharp smell of blood fills the air and your mind kicks into autopilot. Shoving Senjuro away, you quickly grab onto your blade as the door is ripped from its hinges, the sight of bright yellow eyes shining through the dark.

A demon.

“Shit,” you curse, shooting to a stand, drawing your blade from its sheath, and holding it out before you in a defensive stance.

The demon stalks into the room; its body is nothing short of massive, all flexing muscle the color of moss. His head easily brushes the ceiling as he draws himself to his full height, inky, greasy hair falling in his grotesque face. His nostrils twitch as though they’re following a scent. “Where is he?” he growls, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. “Where is the Flame Pillar?”

Your grip on your blade tightens. While it’s fortunate that Kyojuro isn’t home, that means you’ll have to take out the demon and protect Senjuro at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, you can convince the creature to turn around and leave.

“My apologies,” you say, your voice brisk. “The one you seek isn’t here.”

The demon’s yellow eyes stare down at the blade in your hands. His lips pull back in a snarl, his razor-sharp fangs shining in the light. You sharply inhale at the sight, a slight spark of panic traveling down your spine. “Pathetic little slayer,” he hisses, “thinking you can stop me? I’ll rip your head off and drink straight from your neck.”

You shift your weight on your feet. “Senjuro, get out of here. Now.”

Behind you, Senjuro scrambles to his feet. You can hear him gulp, but you ignore the urge to turn around and see if he’s okay. “B-but what about…”

“Get your brother. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

With another drawn out growl, the demon lowers itself, ready to pounce.

“Run!”

A large flash of green fills your vision and you hastily swing your sword. The battle you engage in is fierce, intense, too quick to be seen by the naked eye. Your body twirls and evades the monstrous demon’s attacks, bouncing off the walls and slithering between his legs.

You don’t necessarily realize it as you move the fight outside, the night’s breeze carrying your hair and whipping it into your face. Biting back a curse, you jump backwards just in time for a clawed hand to slash at the space where you previously stood.

“I will kill you!” the demon roars.

“Breath of Ashes: Shimmering Coal!” you cry out. In a great, fantastic arc, your blade grows to an unbearably hot temperature as you slice through the demon’s chest.

He screams in agony at the searing pain, reeling back and clutching at his chest. His eyes scream murder as he charges you; this time, though, you aren’t so lucky. Your back makes a sickening snap noise as you’re thrown into a nearby tree. Struggling for breath, you quickly get back up, charging at the demon again.

Time is lost. A faint hint at a new moon fills the sky; the only light comes from the inside of your room, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Your movements are bold, swift, straight to the point; you slash and strike at the demon, landing devastating blows, but his neck is too thick. You curse and howl in pain as claws rip at your sides, your arms, your face; blood openly flows down your face and the rest of your body, soaking the material of your torn yukata.

You groan from your spot on the ground; the coppery taste of blood coats your tongue, the back of your throat. Struggling to sit up, your fingers claw into the grass and dirt as you fight off the wave of nausea. It can’t end like this – you can’t end like this. You refuse to give up, to die. Even if this demon spills your guts, you’ll slice off his head and take him to hell with you.

Black fills the outer rims of your vision. There’s a harsh ringing in your ears, ready to steal your hearing away from you. Death is creeping up onto your doorstep, waiting, just waiting for you to answer.

There’s a cry of your name and a swirl of flames. Kyojuro comes seemingly out of nowhere; a war cry spills from his lips as he swings his blade and brings it down on the demon’s neck. Although he’s incredibly fast, your trained eyes follow his every move. The muscles in his back flex as he slices the demon’s head clean off. The demon releases an animalistic sound, spittle flying from his mouth as his head lands nearby.

“Fuck you, Flame Pillar! I’ll see you in hell!” he screeches before his head turns into dust.

A ragged breath punches its way out of your lungs as you slump back onto the ground. Kyojuro rushes to your side, worry etched into his features. You see his mouth move, but you can barely hear the words tumbling out. He gingerly slides his arms under you and picks you up, holding you close to his chest. The rest of the world passes by in a blur as he carries you back inside, instead of stopping in your room, however, he continues all the way to his room.

“Can you hear me?” his voice filters into your mind. You nod your head and groan as he places you onto his bed. “Gods, (y/n),” he breathes, pushing the damp strands out of your face. He gulps at the sheer amount of blood coating your face. “Hang on,” he tells you.

Rising from the bed, he fetches an abundance of medical supplies and gets to work at cleaning you up. Both his eyes and movements are gentle as he wipes away the blood, revealing your exhausted face. As he removes your yukata, he averts his gaze and hastily covers your privates up before working at your exposed arms and stomach.

“To do what you did,” he starts, his voice hoarse. He sounds suspiciously close to crying. “You saved him. You saved Senjuro.” His voice shakes as his hands begin to tremble. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Flicking your eyes to him, you notice how he’s biting hard onto his lip, desperate to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen such a pained look on his face a day in your life. His eyes shift between the two of yours, tears welling up and clouding the surface. Your heart jumps to your throat.

“You saved my baby brother,” he spews. Tears rush down his handsome face. “You risked your life to save him. It’s just… I…” He frantically rubs at his eyes with a sleeve. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.” Despite his tears, Kyojuro manages a tiny smile. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if you died,” he confesses.

“Kyojuro-san…?” you croak.

Taking your hands in his, he swiftly brings them to his lips and presses kisses to your knuckles. “I was so scared.” He frantically shakes his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. “You see… I- I love you, (y/n).”

Your breath stills in your throat. He… He loves you? Rengoku Kyojuro, a man blessed by the gods themselves, loves you.

Leaning down, he gently presses his forehead to yours. “I love you with my very being,” he mutters. “And to know that you’ve saved Senjuro… It makes me love you even more.”

Before you have time to register it, your hands link around his neck. This man was the one to melt the ice surrounding your heart; he was the one to make you feel again. You smile weakly at him. “Kyojuro-san… I… I love you, too.”

[lyntonier]

A train to Paris

Carmen Sandiego x Gray Calloway

Summary: Carmen is taking a break away from her work — helping out at the Orphanage and fighting crime — and decides to take a trip back to Paris, a location she quite enjoyed. During her journey she meets a familiar face she believed she would not see again.

A/N: This is set after season 4.

"So Carms, I hear you are off to Paris for the week huh?"

I smile into the phone, listening to Ivy's comment.

"You heard correct. Well, assuming nothing goes wrong, that is".

I had gotten a break from working at the Orphanage with my Madre, so I decided to take myself on a little trip. We had finally met about eleven months ago, and I had been helping around as much as I possibly could without a break. Well, I tell a lie, I had a couple days free from working with Madre, though I used those days to check for any crime around. I guess some habits die hard huh, this was meant to be my new start but I can't seem to leave fighting crime behind. It was my choice to work so much at the Orphanage though.

Madre had had enough and told me to take a week away and go someplace, so where better than Paris? The beauty of the city when the sun goes down and the lights come on again, the food, the art and architecture, the history, it's simply something I cannot forget. It's truly a once in a lifetime thing.

"Wow, I'm so jealous! I wish I could be there with you, it would be so much fun- Zack stop! Leave Julia alone. No- She probably does NOT appreciate that, so quit it... Yes, you, who else?!.......... Sorry Carms, it's Zach trying to flirt with Julia again".

Giggling at Ivy's scolding to her brother, I make a mental note to tease him about that when I next see him. He kept flirting with the poor woman, to which she would politely laugh and make an excuse to leave.

"No worries Ivy, it's alright. I must admit though, I do feel sorry for Julia in some respects".

"I know right! Gosh, he's so oblivious sometimes. I love him anyway though, no matter how much of a douche brain he is".

"It would be nice to be able to meet up with all of you again, it's been a while since I saw all of you properly. You'll have to let me know when you two both have some time off and I'll get hold of Shadowsan and Player, then we can all have a nice catch-up".

I hear Ivy sigh wistfully into the phone, light laughter leaving her lips.

"Honestly Carms, that seems like such a good idea right about now. I'm so tired with work, I got called out five times within the past two days, three of which were last night. I've not had a nice snooze in for ages and I could do with one right about now, haha."

"You do sound quite tired. When do you get off shift?"

"Uuuh, hold on....... Forty-five minutes, then I can go home".

"Well, you should treat yourself to a warm bubble bath and a long rest".

"I think I'll take that one and do just that. Ah- I've got to shoot, Cheif is calling for me. I'll call you tomorrow and we can talk more, yeah?"

"Yes, wouldn't miss it for the world. Tell the others I said hello for me? And I'll work on arranging a girls trip between you and me to somewhere, just let me know where you fancy going".

"Oh you're a star Carm, I'll be looking forward to that then. I'll decide tonight and let you know tomorrow, and I'll pass on your 'hellos' to the others. Talk soon Carm".

I smile into the phone, mildly disappointed that our conversation had to end so soon.

"Talk soon Ivy".

With that, I hear the beep of an ended call as Ivy hangs up the line. A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me as I move my phone down to my lap, checking the time. It was 1:15 in the morning. Raising my eyebrows, I nod at my phone, surprised at how late it was. I should probably try to get some sleep as I'll be arriving at my stop in about seven hours from now and I would much prefer to not be falling asleep at every given moment.

Setting my phone down next to myself, I grab a blanket out of my carry bag and drape it over my lap, removing my jumper and folding it into four before placing it onto the seat to my left. Reaching up above myself, I pull a cord that turned off the lights in my little train booth, engulfing myself in darkness. The only form of light that I had at this stage was the gentle light from the moon, it would be full soon. Laying down, I place my head onto my jumper and pull my blanket up higher, closing my eyes and relaxing my body.

Right as I began to doze off, I felt a strange feeling of wariness make itself known in my gut, enticing me to sit up and evaluate my surroundings. Within a couple of seconds of having my eyes open, I heard a light tapping on my booth door. Someone was there. Averting my eyes to the glass section of the door, I keep my body motionless as I trace the figure with my eyes and their every possible movement.

If I stayed still then they would not see me and assume I was sleeping and most likely leave.

*tap, tap, tap*

"Excuse me, uh, I know you are awake.. can I come in? My booth has no heating and it's really cold out here".

Or maybe not.

Cautiously eyeing the door, I slowly raise myself from the seats and brace my hand into a fist, ready to fight off a possible threat. Standing tall, I cautiously step my way over to the door before grasping the cool metal handle with one hand and undoing a lock with the other. Twisting the handle, I edge the door open bit by bit.

"Hello... Um.. yes you may".

It was a man, not that much taller than me, and Australian. Or perhaps Kiwi. I couldn't see many of his facial features, other than the fact that he had a man bun and a couple bags with him. I wracked my brain for any vocal recognitions, however, nothing matched.

Standing aside, I made room for the strange man to come inside.

"Cheers mate, sorry 'bout how odd this is. I went to the train staff to ask about the heating and they told me that the booth I chose was meant to be closed, though the person on duty of closing it off didn't get around to it, hence me choosing the unlucky booth. They told me I would have to ask to share booths with somebody else seen as though all others are booked, and I saw your light go out, so I came here. Sorry and cheers again".

The man laughed, rubbing what I assumed was the back of his neck. His explanation seemed pretty truthful and his reasoning honest.

"That's no problem, sorry that you got a faulty booth, that must've sucked".

"Hah, tell me 'bout it" He joked.

Smiling, I close the door and return to my seat, watching as he put his bags in the overhead luggage area, leaving out a blanket of his own. Smart man.

"So, what's your name mate?"

"Carmen. And you?"

I see him whip his head around, before shaking it and laughing lightly.

"I had a friend called Carmen, though I've not seen her in a long time. My name is Grah-Grayson. Grayson".

I raise my eyebrow at his stutter, smirking lightly.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Grah-Grayson" I tease.

"Haha, as to you Carmen".

With that, we both fell silent, just basking in the pleasant atmosphere of the booth with the same idea of sleep on our minds.

Slipping back into my 'bed', I pull my blankets back over myself and close my eyes, listening carefully at everything around me. I hear some stuffing around, something dropping on the floor, followed by a second something, more shuffling, then a satisfied sigh. Peering over my shoulder, I see the outline of a body laying on the seat across from mine.

"Did you just take your shoes off?"

"Hm? Ah yeah mate, can't sleep with shoes on, that's just crazy".

Grah-Grayson laughs at his own statement, finding humour in my question.

I feel my lips draw into a thin line as I shuffle my feet around awkwardly, my shoes very much still on.

Am I crazy?

"G'd'night mate, thanks again for letting me in on such short notice".

"No, no, that's fine. Goodnight".

It felt strange saying goodnight to a stranger, though I had most definitely done stranger.

I feel my eyes shoot open rather rapidly, my heart pounding against my ribcage as I scramble to sit upright, taking in my surroundings eagerly before eyeing the strange man in the booth with me. I check the room once again for anything out of the ordinary, before removing the blanket from my body and standing, striding my way over the door and yanking it open silently and slipping out, closing it behind myself. I needed some fresh air.

Making my way to the end of the train, I open a door that leads to a small balcony attached to the carriage. Immediately the wind hits me, blowing my hair to the side.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, I relax my shoulders and close my eyes. I had a nightmare — rather a memory — that Coach Brunt had broken into my booth and tied me up, much like before, and decided that enough was enough and planned to end things then and there.

A pretty sad nightmare, huh.

I enjoy the breeze a little longer before turning around and opening the door, walking back into the train carriage and back to my booth. Opening the door, I am surprised to see Grah-Grayson awake and sat upright, watching out of the window at the scenery. It was early for him to be awake, it was about five in the morning and the sun had begun rising, casting a gentle glow in the booth.

"Ah, mate, there you are, are you alr-......."

The words leave his mouth as he stares at me in surprise, horror, happiness, sadness and recognition... a mix of everything. Exactly what I was feeling.

Tears fill my eyes as I gaze at the male before me. It couldn't be...

"G-Gray?"

"Black sheep..?."

Grah-Grayson stands up, tears in his own eyes as he stares at me intently.

Stepping forward, I feel my arms raising slightly and before I knew it I was lunging for him, sobs wreaking through my lips as tears flowed heavily from my eyes. Engulfing him in my arms, I feel him do the same with just as much ferocity. I hear sobs come from him too, his chest rising and falling quickly and sharply with each gasp of air.

Before anything could be said, I feel anger suddenly wash over me, leading me to remove my arms from around him and shove him away harshly, placing some distance between us.

A confused whimper leaves his mouth, clearly unintentionally, but before he could say anything I let months worth of hurt, confusion, upset and anger form into words and flow out freely.

"Gray where were you?! W-What did you mean 'don't tell her' that you woke up!! Do you know how long I waited for you to wake up in the hospital, unable to see you or hear from you, not knowing that you had long gone?! Do you- Do you know how long I WAITED fOR YOU? Three months Gray- three months that you were gone and I was waiting for you to wake up so that we could start over, so that I could know you were okay!" The words kept flowing out, no matter how much I tried to stop them. Although I didn't try. I couldn't bring myself to try. I started pacing back and forth as I rambled, making sure the emphasis on certain words came out.

"Carmen, let me explain, I-"

I cut him off, anger still clouding my better judgement.

"NO Gray, you don't get to explain until you hear me!! I searched EVERYWHERE for days, weeks, months for you, thinking that something had happened to you, only to be told by Chief that you had requested to not have your condition or whereabouts revealed to me! Why Gray, why..? If you were angry or upset at me and didn't want to see me, you could have just told me instead of making me worry like that! I spent so many nights awake trying to find out where you were with the help of Player, but nothing!! NOTHING!"

I heave out everything that has been resting on my shoulders, the feeling of relief evident on my shoulders as a weight had been lifted.

"Carmen I was never upset at you, more of I was upset at myself. It was my fault that you had been captured and lured in, I knew what was happening and I could have prevented it, but I didn't. I blamed myself for you being brainwashed and hurt, and for myself being hurt. I was such an idiot and I didn't want to do something that could hurt you again-"

"And yet you did.." I remark with a whisper, adverting my eyes as I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself and sniffling as I did so.

"I know and I'm sorry... I didn't want to interfere with your life, not after everything that had happened. VILE was caught and disbanded, you had information on your mother, everything was over and you had a fresh start ahead of you and I didn't want to get in the way of that. So, I changed my identity and lived away from the public eye, hidden away where you could not find me. It wasn't just a fresh start for you, it was one for me too... I asked for you to not be told of my departure, even though Cheif strongly suggested against it, the same with that Julia lady. I told them it was my only request, and they allowed it eventually. I now realise that wasn't a good idea and that it hurt you much more than I believed it could or would... I am so sorry Carmen.. I really am so, incredibly sorry.. I can't blame you if you are angry at me, I gue-"

"Of course I'm angry at you!! I finally realised after all of that time that I was in love with you, and I was prepared to tell you, only to find that you were gone! Those three months left in the dark were pure heaven compared to the.. the shitty, crappy, horrible feelings once I found out you were gone!"

I watch as Gray's eyes widen in surprise, as he stutters his next sentence, his face flushed from tears, much like my own.

"C-Carmen.. you- what did you just.. what did you just say?"

"That I realised after all of this time that I was in love with you, so very incredibly in love with you, and that I was prepared to tell you!" I growl.

We both stand there in silence, the cool feeling of my tears drying up on my face present. Sudden realisation dawns upon me at what I had just boldly announced. Smacking my hand over my mouth, I gasp, my eyes widening as the realisation finally sets in completely.

Nothing is said between us as we just stare one another in the eyes, waiting for the other to speak.

"Gray, I-"

I cut myself short as Gray abruptly strides towards me confidently, raising his hands to cup my cheeks as I step back, unsure of what was happening. Staring down into my eyes, Gray smiles gently.

"You always were a cheeky one, sneaking your way into my heart the way you did".

My stomach fills with butterflies at that, a small smile making its way onto my face, accompanied by little giggles. Soon enough, I was laughing uncontrollably into Gray's chest, him onto my shoulder.

The laughter died down soon after, we were just left with warm smiles on our faces.

Moving his hand across my face, his thumb stroking my cheek and his other hand caressed the back of my neck, he looks down at my lips before looking into my eyes.

"May I?"

That one sentence had my stomach doing flips as though I were a schoolgirl who just confessed her undying love to her crush and received the same feelings back, though I guess in some respects I was that schoolgirl, just a little older.

"You may".

With that, Gray leans down, pressing his lips gently against mine and pulling away. I did not feel those fireworks that people would describe a true-loves kiss as, rather I felt complete, safe, happy, joyous, excited, calm, at peace and so many more pleasant things, much better than those so described fireworks.

Leaning in for a second kiss, I met Gray halfway with just as much passion, more ferocity this time, however. Soon though, we had to depart for air, a gentle blush growing over both of our cheeks.

"Carmen, I-"

"Excuse me, are you two alright in there? I could faintly hear you arguing from next door".

Looking behind me, there was an older woman stood in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

"Yes, we are alright madame, thank you for your concern. Sorry for the noise, everything is sorted now" I explain, turning to face the woman.

"Very well then, there is no need to apologise my dear, as long as you are both okay. Oh, and sorry for interrupting your moment"

The lady giggles cheekily, before making her way back to her booth while rambling on about young love, or something along the lines.

"We should probably close the door, no?"

"Yes, we should. You, mister, have a lot to explain to me, especially what you have been up to since we last saw one another".

I smile as I leave Grays embrace, walking to the door and closing it.

"As do you. We have a while till we reach my destination, so shall we?"

"Hmm... I say sleep and then explain at a later time, on a date perhaps?"

"Friday, 8PM at Au Vieux Paris d'Arcole?" Grey wiggles his eyebrows, a smile on his face as he does so.

Laughter bubbles in my throat as I sniffle, wiping away any tear streams on my face as I nod my head eagerly.

"Call it a date".

A/N: This is my first ever oneshot/story piece that I've done on here and I honestly do not know how good it is, or how bad it is. All I can hope is that it's decent. It was inspired by @wizardsoffthecoast who had mentioned something about this, so here we are. I hope you enjoy it!

(I do apologise for any spelling mistakes!)

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A Manorian arranged marriage fic requested by an anon.

Huge thanks to @itach-i for her help and advice with plot and beta reading! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

Previously, in Part Two

*

PART THREE

*

Manon jumped at the knock on her door. She’d sat up all night watching the fire slowly die, unable to sleep. Stiff from sitting in a chair in a cold room for so many hours, she moved slowly to the door. Expecting Glennis, she was surprised to find Yrene waiting to come in. The healer’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Manon.

“I’m sure I look how I feel,” Manon said by way of greeting. She turned and went back to her chair.

Shivering, Yrene tried to get the fire going again, adding some kindling and blowing on the few stubborn embers that remained in the fireplace. The flames caught, but it would be a while before any heat radiated from it. She sat opposite Manon, watching her carefully.

“Just say it,” Manon said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

She’d come to consider Yrene a good friend over the last two years. The woman was kind and an exceptionally talented healer, helping Manon overcome some of the darkest moments of her grief. Yrene also helped her navigate her way through the complexities of her relationship with Dorian, giving her advice and translating some of the human customs she didn’t understand. Like exchanging gifts. Manon had never given or received a birthday gift before. Yrene not only helped her find one for Dorian, she listened without judgment as Manon explained how foreign the concept was to her. The idea for the memory book had come to her after imagining what Yrene might get if Dorian and Manon were marrying.

Yrene sighed, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen this room before,” she said, absentmindedly. “It’s quite lovely.”

Manon glanced up. The ceiling was painted like the sky at twilight. A deep, rich blue turning black with stars scattered across it. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of those frozen nights she and Dorian and the Thirteen spent camped in the Fangs in search of the Crochans. She recognized a constellation or two and realized it was likely the same night sky. She didn’t think there was enough time for him to have commissioned the mural between her accepting the invitation and now. But she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to underestimate Dorian’s love of grand romantic gestures. Whether it had been completed for this visit or not, the intention was the same. She leaned back to examine the stars, smiling slightly as memories came rushing back – Asterin teasing Dorian about his pretty blue eyes, Vesta’s shameless flirting that often came dangerously close to provoking Manon’s jealousy, Sorrel gifting Dorian an Ironteeth blade that he still carried, Ghislaine getting caught up in talking about books with him. They’d only traveled together for a couple of short months. And yet despite the hardships, there was so much good to remember. It made her think of the memory book, and how much she wished to be sharing it with him as his wife.

“Josie asked for you the other day,” Yrene said, drawing Manon’s attention back down from the ceiling.

“She said my name?” Yrene and Chaol’s daughter had just begun forming complex words the last time Manon had seen her.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “it was close enough that we knew who she meant. She mixed up the words a wee bit, so it came out Ma Nauntie instead of Auntie Manon. She’d seen one of Adarlan’s wyverns flying over the castle and thought it was Abraxos.” Yrene was grinning at the memory. “I’m afraid she butchered his name. But we’ve got her trying Brax for short.”

Manon was returning Yrene’s smile, but she didn’t know what to say. For as fond as she’d grown of Yrene, she’d come to care for Josie just as much. Would she ever see them again after today?

As if reading her mind, Yrene said, “I know it might be hard for you. To come here again. So I was thinking, maybe someday we can visit you?” Tears spilled from Yrene’s eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief.

“Of course! You can come back with me tonight if you wish,” Manon said, stretching out a hand. Sometimes it still felt strange for her to offer comfort to others. But it was something Yrene knew about her, something she never called attention to. And now, the healer leaned forward to take Manon’s hand in hers.

Yrene tried to smile but it just made her cry harder. She stood and walked away, taking a moment to blow her nose and dry her eyes. When she returned, she said, “Please don’t marry that fae prick. He’s not good enough for you. And I don’t trust him.”

Manon laughed, part of her shocked at the possibility, the other shocked at hearing Yrene swear. “No need to worry about that,” she said, further amused by Yrene’s exaggerated relief. “I no longer have plans to marry anyone. A consort isn’t required either. So, when the time is right, I shall only be in need of a … What was that word you so eloquently used just now? I will only need a prick.”

Yrene’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “Is it not the best word for him?”

Manon grew serious, thinking about her evening with Fennick. He’d been too flirtatious and self-absorbed, and a bit rude towards the others at the table with them. But based on her experiences with fae males, Fennick’s behavior was typical, with Rowan being the exception. Yes, he was arrogant, but he’d also expressed sympathy for the Thirteen, and shared his past heartbreak with her. She knew what Dorian thought of the prince and wasn’t surprised that Yrene would also dislike him.

“Why don’t you trust him?” Manon asked.

Yrene sighed and bit her lip as she searched for an answer. “It’s mostly a gut feeling. He barely addressed Dorian. And him telling us about coming here to find a mate didn’t endear him to anyone. Even Eveline thought he was an ass.” At Manon’s expression, she offered an apology for mentioning the young woman.

“No, don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in what you said about Fennick. He came here looking for a mate?”

“That’s what he said. Some tale or superstition of his grandmother’s claiming fae would find their mate at a wedding. It sounded made up. And when Eveline told him there were no other fae invited, he said he could have a bond with a human or witch.” Yrene shot her a wicked grin. “Dorian wanted to hit him, I could tell.”

Her own lips twitched upward at the thought. But her mind shifted quickly back to Fennick. She’d known of his intentions from the letter. But why antagonize Dorian? Yes, the male was conceited, but he hadn’t struck her as stupid. Yrene was watching her expectantly, but Manon just said, “Well, regardless, you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t intend to see him after today.”

“Thank the gods,” Yrene said, apparently letting the subject go.

Manon knew Yrene had an extra sense about people. Whether it was her healing magic or just her ability to read others, Manon didn’t know. But she trusted Yrene’s opinion and knew it wasn’t clouded by jealousy like Dorian’s. Yrene’s relief set off warning bells. Manon needed to think, and she welcomed the distraction it offered as she waited for the ceremony later today.

“Where is Josie now?” she asked.

“With Chaol. Actually, I should be getting back.”

“Do we have time for an early lunch before the ceremony? You could bring her up here.”

Yrene beamed at the offer, promising to return with her child in a few hours.

After the healer left, Manon bathed and dressed. She sent her guards off on separate errands, giving them the names of castle staff who might know the gossip that was most difficult to come by. Then she set out on her own search for information, something she should have done sooner.

***

Dorian heard shouting from the main stable and poked his head through the door. The head groom was sending stable hands off in every direction, calling out reminders about the diets of certain horses. She saw Dorian and walked over to greet him.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my lead grooms didn’t show up for work this morning and we’re scrambling to get the horses fed.” The woman grabbed hold of a young boy and turned him around. “Other way, lad. And be careful. That horse bites.”

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just headed for the wyvern paddock. Have they been fed yet?”

Only half listening, she nodded, then turned back to the chaos surrounding her. “Last time I give so much responsibility to one person,” she muttered.

Continuing around the main stable and towards the far end of the yard, he saw a figure standing by the building that housed the wyverns and stopped. But it was only Glennis. The white hair had fooled him for a split second. She was feeding a small, bluish gray wyvern.

“I thought you’d never give up your broom,” he said, holding out his hand towards Abraxos. The little wyvern snuffled against his palm and Dorian rubbed his snout.

Glennis waved a hand, feigning irritation at her new mode of transport. “Neither did I until this little trouble-maker hatched out of an egg.” She tossed a chunk of meat to her wyvern, then moved on to the next one. Apparently Abraxos had already received his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Glennis said, “the wyverns are more comfortable to ride. Especially for old witches like me.”

Dorian laughed, giving her his best smile. “Who are you kidding? You’re still young.” She snorted and waved him off again. As she fed the other wyverns, he turned back to Abraxos.

Fearing this would be his last chance to see the wyvern and hoping no one else would be here, he’d gotten up early to visit. Not that he’d actually slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep. “Hey, Brax,” he cooed, stepping through the gate into the stall. The wyvern curled his long, barbed tail around Dorian’s feet as he continued petting his snout. Dorian pulled a small bouquet of flowers from his cloak and laughed as a low, contented sound rumbled from Abraxos’s chest.

“He’s not like that with just anyone.” Glennis was standing behind them. “Flowers or no flowers.”

“I know,” Dorian said.

“She’d be mad to see you spoiling him so much.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t stop.

Glennis knew why he was here and went back to spoil her own wyvern, giving him privacy.

After a while, Dorian inhaled, long and ragged, his breath pooling in the morning chill when he released it. Abraxos watched him, seeming to know this was a goodbye. The wyvern let out a sad whine and Dorian tipped his head forward to rest against Abraxos. “You take good care of her for me, Brax. All right?”

Abraxos huffed in agreement, enshrouding Dorian in a cloud of hot air. The pungent smell gave Dorian the perfect excuse for the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he said goodbye to the little scarred wyvern.

Glennis was not so easily fooled. She knew the reason for the shimmer in his eyes, but said nothing as they started back to the castle together. The main stable appeared to be under control and Dorian waved to the head groom as they passed.

“You were married to a Crochan prince,” Dorian said, breaking their silence as they climbed a hill. “Was it arranged, or did you choose each other?”

For all her talk of old age, Glennis didn’t struggle with the incline. “A bit of both. We’d known each other forever, and our parents had thought it was a good match. There was never any formal agreement but they encouraged us. It was a bond forged of love.”

“So, you were mates then?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak up around her neck as they reached the top and were exposed to the wind. “But witches don’t have mating bonds like the fae.” She stopped walking to think. “It’s not a tether, not a physical thing like it is to the fae. There’s no silent communication, no feral territoriality. It’s just a stronger connection than a normal relationship. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tried to shrug it off. “Just curious.” They started walking again and he moved so he might block the worst of the wind from reaching her. “Then it has nothing to do with witches having fae blood? I mean, Manon must have more than the average witch since she comes from a lineage without much human involvement.”

Glennis frowned. “Hmmm, maybe. I’d never really thought of it like that. Our fae blood is so diluted, I’m not sure that it really makes a difference.” She stopped, and by her sad eyes, he knew he’d failed to fool her again. “You think Manon is your mate.”

He wanted to say yes. How else to explain the depth of his feelings for her? That constant tug in his chest. Light as it may be, it still connected him to her. Perhaps it was the fae blood in her, making a mating bond between them stronger than with other witches. But then, wouldn’t that also make it more possible for her to be Fennick’s mate? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to go down that path. Not after a long night of fighting the worst his imagination could come up with.

Maybe what he had with Manon was just love. A strong love of two people who completed each other, filled in the pieces that were missing and held the other up when darkness set in. That would be enough, Dorian knew. He didn’t need a mating bond to love her.

Glennis was still waiting for his reply. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I don’t think it matters.” He’d meant the words differently than she took them. But when sorrow crept across her face, so deep it made his chest ache, he knew what she was thinking.

“No,” she said. “After today, I don’t think it will either.”

*****

Manon sat rigid, her eyes facing forward, ignoring all the stares and words whispered in her direction. She and Glennis had blessedly been ushered to a spot with only two available seats, ensuring Fennick could not sit next to her. Giselle and Lara were positioned nearby, but out of the way of other guests. Hearing Fennick’s voice as he took his seat a couple of rows behind them, Manon exchanged a look with Glennis.

After her lunch with Yrene and while they readied themselves for the ceremony, Manon and her guards had discussed what little they could find out about the prince. The two witches gathered minimal gossip from the castle workers. The prince had brought no attendants or valets of his own, and he’d made a show of turning down the head steward’s offer to provide him one. It wasn’t unusual for a noble to eschew servants, even for a long and important trip such as this. But it felt off given his formality and haughty nature. Of course, it kept him out of the streams of gossip among the staff.

Manon had gone herself to the royal library, hoping to find some information on Fennick’s lineage. The Whitethorn clan was old and spread out in the fae lands across the sea. And with his age, she thought perhaps he’d been mentioned in a genealogy or even history book. But the librarian had been unable to find anything substantial. The only occurrence of his name was in a recent book about the fae that included trees of the older families. Fennick was indeed a second cousin to Rowan and Sellene, stemming from a side of the family that Maeve had passed over when it came to titles and lands. How he’d risen to prince so quickly, she didn’t know. Sellene, ever practical and shrewd, had not seemed the type to toss out prestigious titles to just anyone. Nor was she the type, Manon realized, who would send an extravagant gift in an attempt to brag about her kingdom’s wealth.

They’d found nothing, and what little she did know made no sense. And yet, it left her unsettled. Glennis too. But, like the others, her grandmother had hated him from the start. In her mind, Manon had already dismissed him as a possible consort or provider of an heir. Yet she was still more ambivalent about Fennick’s flaws than Glennis and Yrene. His story about the human woman he’d almost given up his immortality for had touched a very raw nerve and stuck with her. Whether it was the faint similarities to her own situation, or just that she pitied him, she was unsure. Perhaps Yrene was wrong. And Glennis.

That was what unsettled her the most. It seemed impossible that both of them would misjudge the male. If only she weren’t here for Dorian’s wedding. Everything from her wits to her instincts were off kilter because of it, and she didn’t trust herself. Then again, if not for this wedding, she’d never have met Fennick and wouldn’t need to concern herself with him. The one good thing to come of it was the distraction it had provided her today.

There was movement at the front of the large chapel and Manon used every ounce of control to keep her face calm as Dorian and Chaol walked out towards the podium behind which the priest stood. Dressed in an azure jacket that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, he looked even more handsome than he had last night at dinner. Damaris hung from his side, and with his crown, he looked like a warrior king of old. This was it then, she thought, praying uselessly for more distractions or delays. Anything to keep her from having to watch Dorian pledge himself to another.

When he and Chaol took their places, the strings began to play a soft, beautiful melody. She couldn’t help herself and looked right at Dorian. He was, of course, staring at her. And for that moment, she pretended that she was walking to meet him. That she would be taking him as her king, becoming his queen, instead of Eveline. The hint of a smile caught his lips and she suspected, hoped, that he was imagining the same thing.

It wasn’t until Chaol lightly touched Dorian’s arm, drawing a frown in response, that she noticed the music had started over. She turned to Glennis and saw confusion, which was mirrored on the others in the crowd. Her grandmother stretched around to look back at the front entrance where the bride should have been standing.

“Maybe she has cold feet,” someone muttered.

In the first row, Lord Frey was turning red with rage. And right before he could jump up to go find his daughter and likely drag her down the aisle, Yrene came running in with a note in her hand.

***

Dorian hadn’t noticed anything. He’d been too busy looking at Manon. She was seated, so he couldn’t see the entire thing, but this dress rivaled the one she’d worn last night. A silvery gray color that matched the shimmering wings of her wyvern, the dress had a neckline that stretched across her collar bones, from shoulder to shoulder. Hanging down over her chest was a single red ruby, large enough to fit within the eye in the pommel of his sword. Her hair was braided into a crown atop her head. Despite their fight, despite everything, he smiled at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Unable to keep from wishing it was her walking towards him today.

Until Chaol tapped his arm and brought him back to reality. Where the musicians were fumbling to begin the processional again. Where Lord Frey was staring daggers at him for admiring Manon. Where Yrene was walking up the aisle instead of Eveline. He hadn’t even noticed Yrene wasn’t seated before them.

Trying to keep her voice low, she handed Dorian the letter she carried and said, “She’s gone. This was all she left.”

With so many eager ears and the heightened acoustics of the building, everyone heard her. Immediately, the chapel was in an uproar. Some guests were shocked, upset to see their king abandoned at the altar. Others were watching the scene unfold with glee, anxious for the tales they could tell afterwards. The priest stood with his mouth agape. Lord Frey was reaching for the letter, sputtering curses and pushing back the lords who’d allied with him. They were gathered around him, clamoring for an explanation. Manon and Glennis both stared wide-eyed at him, unsure how to react.

Dorian spun away from Lord Frey’s grasp and began to read.

Your Majesty,

Please forgive me for the lateness of this wedding gift. I had hoped to have it weeks ago, but my father is a paranoid man with many hideaways, and my efforts were delayed.

My father is not what he seems. He lost most of his gold during the war and has been pretending to be wealthy ever since. He fears nothing more than losing his title and being relegated to a life of poverty. His complaints to his neighbors about your rule were nothing more than talk. Is wasn’t until he was approached from afar that the talk turned into real threats of rebellion.

I was aware that someone was pushing my father down this path, offering to pay a rich reward for his work, but I didn’t know who until just an hour ago. A friend was finally able to procure some messages sent from the foreign party to my father as proof of their plan. They have been placed in your valet’s safe keeping. Ruben was always kind to me, and I believe him to be a trustworthy attendant to you.

I am sure you are curious about who is funding my father’s play at rebellion. I must confess I was shocked and confused to learn that Prince Fennick is behind the plot.

According to the messages, the prince had heard of my father’s money woes and came to him with a plan. My father was to stir up trouble among your nobles then offer up my hand in marriage as the only way to appease him and prevent a war.

I cannot be sure of the prince’s motives, but I suspect he has had his eye on your beloved witch queen for some time. I trust you will be able to get the details out of him.

I must also ask your forgiveness for my dreadful conduct in leaving you like this. The truth is, I am in love with a man named Costis, a groom in your stables. We had planned to run away, but my father pulled me unwillingly into his scheme before we could manage it. Costis was able to acquire the letters just this morning. As I have been freed from my father, we are now off to live our own lives.

I said above that this is my wedding gift to you. Of course, as we are no longer getting married, I do not give it to you as a wife to her husband. Instead, I offer this to my King, who is also now free to be with the witch he loves.

With hope for a long and happy life with your queen,

Eveline

 Dorian wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He rubbed at his eyes, skimmed over the message again and again, making sure it was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Passing it to Chaol, he ordered him to arrest Frey. And then he found Manon in the crowd and ran to her.

Her face held a million questions, but there was no time. They’d waited long enough. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. After a second’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He thought he heard someone yelling but it faded away, just like everything else around them.

The world, his world, was here in his arms. That’s all that mattered.

When they broke apart, the chapel had quieted down. Manon opened her eyes slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Marry me, witchling,” Dorian said, letting his wild grin take over his face. “Not today. I want our friends with us. But please, will you marry me? Be my queen? The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Manon began to laugh, and the sound of her joy was like a balm to his heart, repairing all the cracks and pieces that had broken off in the past months.

“Please,” he repeated. “If you want me to beg, I will.”

She laughed again before cupping his face in her hands and nodding. “Yes. I will marry you, princeling.”

Some of the guests began cheering, others were still reeling by the turn of events. Chaol and Yrene were next to them, hugging Glennis.

Dorian turned to see Lord Frey in shackles, being hauled off by the royal guard. A glance to Chaol told him they still had one other person to deal with. Signaling to his remaining guard and Manon’s sentinels, he walked to where Fennick still stood, an expression of deepest insult on the prince’s face.

“Fennick Whitethorn, you are under arrest for plotting to overthrow Adarlan,” Dorian said. Manon looked between him and Fennick, speechless with shock.

The male was stricken with outrage. “What? What the hell are you talking about? When I return to Doranelle, this will not be forgotten! Sellene will not stand for this!”

“I suspect Queen Sellene is not aware of what you’ve been up to,” Dorian countered, noticing Ruben enter the chapel. His valet waved a stack of papers for Dorian to see. Dorian nodded and motioned for Chaol to fetch them. To Manon, he explained, “Eveline found proof that our good friend Fennick was paying Lord Frey to carry out this sham. He wanted me out of the way to pursue you.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed and he saw the anger and embarrassment rise in her like a flood. It was a level of rage he’d never seen on her before. And hoped to never see again.

She turned and glared up at Fennick. He immediately began accusing Eveline and Lord Frey of lying, accusing Dorian of making it up to escape the wedding. But she said nothing, just watched him grow more pathetic as he spouted increasingly ridiculous excuses. When he had nothing left to say, Manon cocked her arm and punched him in the face, sending him shuffling back and twirling around before he thudded to the floor, unconscious. Her witches picked him up and dragged him out, following the royal guard to the dungeon.

*****

After an abbreviated un-wedding dinner, Manon walked with Dorian to the top of the king’s tower, past her guest rooms to the suite she would now be sharing with him. There was much to be discussed and worked out. While their marriage would be a good alliance for both kingdoms, compromises would have to be made. Including, Manon informed him, splitting their time between the two capitols.

Dorian had agreed before she even got all the words out. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

“We can’t be together all the time,” she said, trying to be sensible as she stood before him, staring in wonder at his proximity, listening to his heartbeat. He was taking his time pulling the pins from her hair, one by one. Manon wasn’t sure if sensible was possible right now. The heartache of the last six months, the explosive revelations of hours ago, she exhaled and let it all go, as if the winds could carry it away across the sea. Right here, right now, it was just them. Sensible talk about kingdoms and politics could wait.

“I beg to differ,” he said, reaching around her head for a pin. The movement brought him blessedly closer.

“There you go again,” she purred. “Begging.”

Her hair was free of pins and he began to undo the braid, letting it fall through his fingers. “Only for you, witchling.”

She continued to watch him, getting lost in the perfect smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. When Manon reached up and ran her fingers over his dimpled cheek, he made a little gasp and turned his attention from her hair. “You said last night that I don’t belong to you, but you belong to me,” she said.

“I did.” His smile faded, his voice a deep whisper.

“You were wrong. I am yours and yours only. There is no one else I would give myself to.”

Dorian took her face in both hands and kissed her, and she felt his smile return. “Only you.”

Clutching her hand, he led her to the bed where they took their time undressing each other. She lay back on the bed, losing herself to the charged heat of his touch, the soft fullness of his lips.

“Only you,” she murmured, feeling his mouth curl up against the inside of her thigh.

Dorian took his time, for they had that now. Time to tease and caress every inch of her, time to nip at her ears, time to shift her hips to sink deeper inside her, leaving her breathless and needy for more. And after an eternity where he sent her spinning over the edge again and again, he joined her, calling out her name as if it were his home.

When their euphoria faded, Dorian fell onto the bed next to her, pulling her close as they fought to catch their breath. “And you say I’m the one who always begs,” he teased.

They slept in the next morning, not getting out of bed until almost noon when Ruben knocked and demanded they eat something. There were other things to see to, guests to say goodbye to, and then finally, that night after dinner, Manon and Dorian went to the dungeons.

The second Lord Frey saw them, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Majesty. I only wanted the money to rebuild my estate. I never intended to bring about war. Please, please …”

Manon was surprised by the sudden turn. Just yesterday at the ceremony, he’d been trying to urge his allies to stand in support of him, ultimately resorting to screamed threats that had the opposite effect. And now, he was on his knees, pleading for his life.

“You’re accused of treason, Frey,” Dorian said. The man flinched at the loss of his title. “If you really want to continue confessing, be my guest. But you may want to wait for a judge.”

The man shook his head, befuddled. “You … you’re not going to hang me?”

This man had almost destroyed their lives, bringing Adarlan to the brink of civil war. Dorian had every right to punish him harshly. They’d discussed how to handle these interrogations over dinner, though they had not expected it would be this easy. It seemed that Frey was a coward at heart and had been a poor choice of conspirators for Fennick.

Dorian said, “I won’t hang you. If you tell me why.”

Frey heaved a sigh of relief, though he had the sense to still look nervous. “Before the war, Duke Perrington forced me to help fund some of his work at Morath.” At Dorian’s dubious look, he added, “I swear I did not know who he truly was then. I was acting in the best interest of my kingdom and my holdings. But … he bled me dry, offering promises of future reward that never came. And then he was revealed to be Erawan, leaving Adarlan devastated. I had enough in my vault to maintain appearances, but nothing more. Prince Fennick approached me earlier this year with an offer that would allow me to regain my former wealth. I was to stir up dislike for you and get support from other nobles, enough to pose a credible threat to your throne. When talk of rebellion grew to a boiling point, I would demand you marry my daughter. Her hand in exchange for appeasing your enemies.”

“And what was your payment?” Manon asked.

“Gold,” Frey said simply. She arched an eyebrow in a silent demand for more, and he sank miserably onto the floor. “And the promise that when an heir was born, the king would be eliminated, leaving me as regent.”

The gold was expected. But the threat of assassination came as a shock. Dorian was speechless, trying to process how close they’d come to ruin. Frey eyed him, fearful that the earlier proposal to spare him from hanging would be dismissed.

“What did he stand to gain?” Manon continued. Frey seemed oblivious to the fact that he would be installed as a puppet. Or, more likely, set up as Dorian’s killer and disposed of himself.  

“Prince Fennick would be able to marry you. He told me all about how the two of you met during the war.” At Manon’s surprise, the man hesitated. “He said that he had fallen in love with you, that you were his mate. But you were attached to King Dorian. He believed the only chance he stood was to have the king removed from the mix.”

Manon and Dorian said nothing as they stared at each other. Frey returned to begging for his life, mistaking their silence for anger at the dark depths of the scheme. He was still calling out to them for mercy as they left him with a guard.

When they reached Fennick’s cell further down the dank passageway, they found the fae stretched out lazily on a cot. His eyes were closed, and something about the scene made Manon’s temper boil to the surface. Dorian cleared his throat, and the fae could no longer pretend they weren’t there. He stood and looked between her and Dorian.

She’d thought perhaps Fennick might still be projecting the indignant fury of the night before, or something worse. But he wore the same confident expression he’d had when she first met him.

“I wasn’t lying about that woman I loved. Mortals are fickle. And they die so easily.”

It was directed at Manon, but Dorian asked, “Was that a threat?” She knew he was keeping his magic on a tight leash, but the air still crackled with it.

Fennick huffed a laugh, ignoring the question and Dorian. “Immortals such as you and I should not debase ourselves by associating with humans. Maeve and I rarely saw eye to eye, but the restrictions she placed on who could settle in Doranelle were something on which we could agree.”

“It seems to me your human was the smart one,” Manon said, somehow controlling the urge to maul him. “Escaping your clutches was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

He grinned at her, his sharp canines flashing, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Who said she escaped me?”

Here was the male she’d been worried they might find, the one kept hidden under the fancy clothes and courtly manners. The one who thought he could take their kingdoms as his own.

“So, you hate humans?” Dorian asked, lightly. “That’s what this is all about?”

Fennick finally turned to acknowledge him. “I don’t particularly care for them. But no, Your Majesty, that’s not what this is about.” Dorian’s title came out of his mouth as a sneer. “I had just as much right to Maeve’s throne as any Whitethorn. To simply hand it to Sellene, as if it were some cheap trinket to be tossed at whoever stood nearest was a disgrace.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Manon said.

“True,” Fennick agreed. “But there were no other kingdoms as vulnerable as yours. Or as valuable, what with all that gold you have hidden in the Wastes. The Witch Kingdom was the perfect place to start.”

Manon growled at the insult, but Dorian asked, “Start what?”

“My rule,” he said simply. To Manon, he added, “Having you at my side was to an extra reward. I understand the valg king wanted you for his queen. I must confess, that piqued my interest.”

She shuddered at the mention of Erawan. It brought back memories of the way his eyes would crawl over her, possessive and hungry. The valg king had planned to keep her as his own. Much like this fae.

Dorian’s restraint was reaching its limit and the air felt suddenly cooler. His voice was just as icy as he asked, “Rule what?”

“Everything.” The word was slick, as if coated in venom.

Something had changed in Fennick’s manner with the confession. Gone were the handsome features and polite way of speaking. Locked in a cell, his hair disheveled and clothing dirty, he looked like a different creature. She’d known fae could be feral, animalistic. She’d experienced it, barely survived it. But watching him speak these words, Manon wondered if she’d truly ever seen the transformation before.

“You searched for a desperate Adarlan noble,” she said, “one with a marriageable daughter, one who could be paid off to extort the king. All to force Dorian into an arranged marriage, seduce me to steal my kingdom, then kill him for his. Do I have it right?”

Fennick’s eyes narrowed on Dorian and he grinned. “The seduction part is right, at least.”

Manon flew at him, her iron nails extended and desperate for blood. Bars or not, she wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes from their sockets. But Dorian grabbed her by the waist and held her back. She struggled against him briefly before calming down. When he let go of her, she still shook with the desire to hurt the male. This fae prince had truly thought he could conquer Erilea? She wanted to scream in his face that he was a fool. But she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring more attention to how close he’d come to setting his plan in motion. And to her own foolishness. She’d let this monster touch her, dance with her. She’d pitied him when he deserved nothing but revulsion.

Dorian stepped up to the cell door, eyeing Fennick with a sly smile. “It’s funny that you think you could try to play us against each other.”

The male shrugged, unconcerned. “It was worth a shot. You are only human.”

“I may only be human,” Dorian said, “but I have something you don’t.”

Instantly, Fennick was slammed backwards by invisible hands, thrown up against the grimy stone wall and held there. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Somehow, Dorian had cut off his voice. The male’s eyes bulged in rage.

Manon watched Fennick struggle against Dorian’s magic, her enjoyment of the spectacle growing with each vein that popped out on the male’s neck. Speaking to Dorian, she mused, “Do you think he’s even a prince?”

“From his branch of the family? The one even Maeve ignored?” Dorian taunted. “No, I doubt it. And Sellene certainly played no part in this. He’s here on his own, likely without a coin to his name.”

“That reminds me,” Manon said, turning back to Fennick. “Your intricate plan had at least two big flaws,” she said. “Your reliance on using the Witch Kingdom’s gold was misguided, I’m afraid. The gold we have is mostly still in the ground, unrefined, and worth next to nothing. And your pathetic attempts to seduce me and make me think we might be mates …” She trailed off, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat at the words. “My mate stands beside me now,” she said, feeling Dorian’s gaze settle on her. Whatever connection they shared, whether it was love or something more, they were mates in each other’s eyes.

Fennick had gone still, a silent, malevolent rage simmering off him. She glanced at Dorian, who loosened his magical hold and let the fae drop to the floor in a heap.

Jumping up, Fennick sprang towards the bars holding him in, teeth bared, his hands reaching out to strike her. Dorian had them shielded. And when his fists were repelled by nothing but air, Fennick screamed. “You bitch! You don’t know-” The fae was thrown back against the wall, his voice cut off again.

“I’ve heard enough,” Dorian said, his face twisted as he struggled to control his magic so as not to kill the male.

Before they left, Manon said, “A messenger has been sent to Sellene, outlining all you’ve done and what you will be charged with. If she asks for you back to throw in her own cells, we may oblige.” When he didn’t seem to care, she added, “And a messenger was sent north to Terrasen. I’m sure Rowan will be interested in hearing about what you’ve done using the family name.” For the first time, real fear flashed across Fennick’s face. Manon smiled, wicked and slow. “You’re right to fear him,” she said. “But I fought with Sellene in the war. She is just as fearsome as Rowan. Why do you think they made her queen?”

By the time they walked back past Frey’s cell, it had been emptied of its prisoner. In exchange for his promise of testimony, he’d been moved to a cleaner section of the dungeons. And when they started up the twisting stairs, Dorian released his magic. They heard a thud and a string of loud curses.

Manon was silent as they came out into a room just off the main entrance hall. Even though she never fell for Fennick’s advances, had never come close to letting things progress in that direction, she’d excused his behavior. The fact that he’d marked her as a fool, marked her kingdom as vulnerable, marked Dorian for death, left her dizzy with guilt and fear. While Glennis and Yrene were happy to be proven right about him, Manon felt adrift, as if her instincts had abandoned her.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dorian said, motioning the steward over to them. She didn’t hear what he requested.

“I know. But it feels as though it is.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was duped as much as you were. Thank the gods for Eveline and Costis.”

“Yes,” Manon agreed. “I wonder where they will end up?”

A boy returned bearing two heavy cloaks. Dorian took them and smiled. “I don’t know. But we should find them and send them a wedding gift.”

He draped a cloak over her shoulders and put the other one across his own. Clasping her hand, he led her out of the castle and in the direction of the stables. Abraxos stretched his long neck and arched his back at the first sight of them, excited for their late visit. Manon hugged Dorian tight, thanking him for knowing exactly what she needed at the exact right time. They climbed into the saddle and with a whoop from his rider, Abraxos took off into the star filled night.

***

The following summer in Rifthold, after a week of festivities that brought the Terrasen Queen and her entire court, the Queen of the Western Wastes, the future Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent, the newly crowned King of Wendlyn, the Queen of Doranelle, and other royalty from across Erilea, Dorian and Manon were finally married.

That night, after the ceremony, as they lay in bed pointing out familiar constellations that had been painted on the ceiling of the royal suite, Dorian pulled a package from the bedside table. Silently, he presented it to his queen. Manon took it, bemused and unable to tell what was under the wrapping. When she tore it off and opened the box, she found a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Stamped in gold lettering on the cover were their names, Manon and Dorian.

“Is this the same …?” She trailed off, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

Dorian shook his head. “No, but Glennis told me about the one you got. I thought we should have our own. Open it.”

She flipped through and found some of the pages in the beginning already filled in. There was a family tree for each of them. Dorian’s included Chaol, Yrene, and Josie. And Manon traced her fingers over the names of the parents she’d never met, and the sisters she had lost.

Then a page titled How We Met. It was mostly blank, except for where Dorian had written

She saved me.

Manon stared at it for a long moment. Then suddenly, she jumped out of bed and went to his desk. After a moment of searching, she found a pen and bottle of ink. Underneath his words, she wrote

He saved me too.

Over the years, the book was carried back and forth between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, never leaving the possession of the King and Queen. Its pages were filled with memories, happy and sad. Memories of theirs and of others. Births, deaths.

And when the book was passed on to their daughter, she read her parents love for her and each other in every word. For they were lucky. Rhiannon’s parents were a love match, and she’d promised them she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The end.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this ending made up for the pain and angst everyone suffered through! ☺️

You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

@itach-i  @bookishwitchling  @manontrashbeak  @awesomelena555  @jimetg98  @over300books

[cno-inbminor]

domus

a/n: here we have another short drabble dump! i wrote this up very quickly -- i’m still working on that long fic i’ve been talking about! i apologize for taking so long to put it together. pls take this short fic as an apology for now. stay hydrated, wear your masks, and be safe! love you all so dearly <3 

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else. 

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi 

wc: ~3.7k, will probably have other parts in the future.

genre/warnings: angst with dashes of fluff; mentions of alcohol

pt. 2 | pt. 3

edit: now crossposted to AO3!

When you’re in love, you spend weeks and months wondering why time won’t stop. You sit and ponder over why you’ll have to die someday and leave behind the person you’ve dedicated your entire soul to, or what might happen if your death came early and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You wonder why the seasons seem to pass you by so quickly, that in the blink of an eye, you go from enjoying a cup of iced tea on the porch to holding a mug of hot chocolate inside watching snowflakes swirl in their journeys to the ground.

But when love ceases to exist, time seems to stop. The days drag for longer, the seasons crawl at a turtle’s pace, and the inevitable end feels less terrifying. You no longer fear the eventual sagging of your skin or the spider legs that grow at the corners of your eyes. You no longer cling onto a hope that there will be a lover’s hand holding yours at your bed of eternal sleep. You simply become, just you. Solitary, single, independent you.

It’s no longer you and someone else. The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, a whimper leaving your throat. You shakily reach over for the next blouse and fight back the tears, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. The skin is chapped and broken to the point that you would need layers and layers of chapstick to save any semblance of it, a terrible habit that you wish you hadn’t possessed. It’s muscle memory, the way you fold the blouse in half, fold the sleeves in, bending it over your arm before it lands in a neat stack of other tops in your suitcase. Your eyes take a glance at the clock, and you gather you have about another hour before you needed to leave for the airport and make it on time for your flight.

You ignore the male figure hunched over on the edge of your bed, tuning out his pleas and broken promises. He begs you to give him time, to implore that it’s all his fault and he’ll make it work for the two of you. Tetsuro promises that he didn’t mean to and that it wasn’t anything you did, but you feel so empty inside that you can’t even find the energy to argue, to turn on him and say that he was pretending to take all the blame so it’d be a better explanation to all your friends. A relationship involves both parties, and while there were special exceptions, this wasn’t one of them. Something was clearly wrong with you, and you were okay with that. You were just tired of Testuro attempting to take everything onto himself.

“I thought it’d be best to come clean with you,” he says, throat hoarse from lack of hydration. “I know you would question it and I haven’t done anything, I swear, I know you’re amazing and don’t deserve to live a lie and—”

“Do you want me to say ‘thank you’?” You interjected quietly, morosely. Your hands slide open the underwear drawer and take out a week’s worth of underwear, bras, and bralettes. “Do you want me to express my gratitude in your honesty for telling me that you don’t love me anymore? You can easily buy a trophy online and make the inscription yourself. ‘Most honest man alive’? Is that what you want?” You ask, tone flat and not possessing the least bit of amusement and humor.

“Can’t you give me some time? I’ll try, I’ll try to figure out what went wrong, and I can love you again. We can still get married and everything, but please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, Tetsu. I’m just gone for a week, maybe more.”

“Where are you even going?”

“That’s none of your business,” you quickly reply, defenses back up as you make a beeline for the bathroom. You pick up all the toiletries you can, the ones that would be allowed in your carry-on. Strangers won’t care about your missing skincare routine and your complexion not looking its best.

“What if you get lost? Or kidnapped? What if people ask—”

“Easy. Just tell them I had a last minute business trip, family emergency, whatever floats your boat.”

“Can’t you see that I’m trying? I—”

“This isn’t just about you!” You snap, whirling around to look at him for the first time in the last hour or so. Testuro notices with a pang in his heart that your cheeks have sunken in slightly since he broke his revelation to you just last week, the eye circles darker than ever. But your eyes are soulless, dead, no shine or spark that he’d wake up to every morning even muddled with sleep.

“You can’t just expect me to be okay and continue to bend over backwards for you without question. The least you could do is give me my time, give me some space to think about all of it. That’s the bare minimum.”

And with that, you zip your suitcase shut, grab your passport (even though you probably don’t need it), keys, wallet, and phone, and walk as quickly as you can to the front door. The scheduled Uber will arrive in just a few minutes, and as you slip into a pair of flats, you can hear the creak of the bed and Testuro’s padded steps nearing you.

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, anything. You’re still one of the most important people to me, so just – text me at some point. Let me know you’re alive at least.”

“You need to rest. You’re on call tomorrow,” you digress while opening the door.

“(Y/n)—”

“I’ll text you. Promise.”

And the door shuts behind you.

-

Your relationship with Akaashi Keiji is…hard to explain. In fact, you’re not even sure what to refer him as in your life. Anytime you spoke of him or attempted to explain, you’d fumble over words and draw blanks. While it was irritating and aggravating at times, you learned to just accept it.

Akaashi Keiji was the neighbor down the street, two years older, and someone who had known you since you were 8. Your moms were attached at the hip not longer after you moved to Tokyo, and that meant holidays were spent together, impromptu get-togethers and dinners were a common occurrence, and you saw him frequently at school. He was a quiet soul, gentle, but reserved. In fact, most of the things you knew about him were secondhand conversations from your mother talking about the family, because honestly his mom was basically your second mom now, and your mother trusted you with everything. His past, his troubles, his personality all relayed through your mom from his own, and when you saw him in the hallways, he wasn’t much of an enigma to you. Many other girls had found the mysterious air around him to be attractive, that the pretty setter who only ever smiled around his volleyball team and kept a tight circle of friends had something significant beneath the layers.

Keiji grew up with you, playing Smash on the Wii to pass time as your parents gossiped away. Sometimes, you’d play an intense game of Monopoly with him, a game that typically tipped in his favor. He never said much about himself, always relayed more about others that overlapped in your lives. The most he ever spoke to you about was when it came to teachers at school, even giving you some of his old notes and pointers. But even you could tell that he kept his guards up, and you wondered if he even classified you as a friend.

Your go-to explanation of Keiji’s standing in your life was a family friend. But that insinuated you were close with him, which you weren’t at all. No matter how many times he walked home with you (mainly at the pushing from his mother), no matter how many times he was forced to entertain you at dinners and holidays, no matter how many times he gave you a small smile in school, there was such a large gap between the two of you. He always seemed so different around his team, like they had the privilege of knowing the real him, and at times, you felt…jealous.

And the weird thing is that you can rely on him somehow – whether it be because he’d get an earful from his parents if he didn’t help you when you asked it or out of the goodness of his heart, he was simply always there. Sometimes, you were bold enough to text him about a show he talked about in the past, and he would reply quickly as if your unexpected, rare text about something benign didn’t faze him at all.  

Yet despite the distance, despite the lack of any semblance of an actual friendship with him, he was the first one you thought of when all this happened. He was the one you wanted to see – maybe it’s because he was the closest thing to home, and you didn’t want to go back to your parents explaining everything. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Tokyo, ever since you moved to Sapporo for your job and Testuro got matched for a residency at a hospital there.

At 7PM on a Friday afternoon, past the baggage claim with the sunset beaming in through the sliding glass doors, you stare at Keiji’s contact on your phone, thumb hovering hesitantly over the call button. You could count the number of times you’ve called him on one hand, but this was an emergency, right? Is this why your heart is pounding against your chest, so anxious that you feel like you’ll break into a cold sweat any time soon?

You jump into the deep end.

Your hand nervously brings the phone to your ear, waiting with bated breath as the dial tone echoes in the chamber of your brain. Part of you wants him to miss the call so you can avoid this awkward conversation, but another part of you desperately wants him to pick up as if he’ll be able to save you.

Oh god oh god oh god, you panic as the tone stops, there’s a pause, a rustle, and then a hesitant, “—Hello?”

You didn’t plan this out. You’re not ready for this. Shit, what are you supposed to say?

“—hello? (Y/n)?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Wow, you’re a terrible conversationalist.

“…um, I haven’t actually. I was about to warm up some leftovers?”

Your eyes focus on the taxis driving by, picking up passengers as they get waved down. Maybe you should just find a cheap hotel nearby, continue this conversation tomorrow.

“Well…I’m in town, actually. I just landed about 30 minutes ago and realized I didn’t have anywhere to go and I don’t really want to call anyone else and I don’t exactly know who else to call so I just, um, thought about calling you and asking if you’ve had dinner? Which if you’re busy and stuff, that’s totally fine, I should’ve texted you beforehand instead of springing this on you and—”

“(Y/n), it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not busy, so you can stop by. Did my mom ever give you my address?”

Keiji’s brief attempt to calm you down works, surprisingly. You allow yourself to take a deep breath despite the stale airport air, but it was some much-needed oxygen. This is going to be okay, Keiji doesn’t hate you quite yet.

“N-no, she never did.”

“That’s fine, I’ll text it to you. My place is about 30 minutes from the airport, I’d recommend getting a taxi instead of an Uber. I’ll order some delivery—”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You still like the miso ramen from that shop not far from your house, right? They opened up a second store not far from where I live.”

How did he remember that? You’re pretty sure your own mother had forgotten that fact by now.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you smile to yourself. “I still think about it sometimes.”

“Sounds good then. Get here safely then.”

“Okay. Thank you loads again. I’m sorry for all this—”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep me updated, see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Not 30 seconds later, a text arrives to your phone with an address, a keycode for getting past the main door, and other relevant instructions.

-

Keiji’s apartment is exactly as you expect it to be – prim, proper, neat almost to a fault, with minimalist decorations. The apartment complex he lives in is rather high-end, if the security guards standing outside the main entrance indicated anything. You almost feel completely out of place or like a bug on the wall as you step in after him, a rather comfortable silence between the two of you. His kitchen is spotless and almost sparkles back at you, and the only thing that seems out of place are the containers of your ramen he so kindly ordered for you.

“Your place is really nice, it’s really…you,” you comment, setting your stuff down at the door. Keiji indulges you with a quiet laugh, making sure that there wasn’t anything that would be in your way. His glasses are perched on his head, an old monochrome t-shirt on his shoulders and sweatpants hung low on his hips, yet in this apartment that almost seems like it should be in an interior design magazine, he looks at home. His ethereal beauty, the softness in his eyes, the gentle up-turned strands of his hair – he belonged here.

“The ramen came not too long ago, so it’s still hot. I’ll go ahead and put it together, you can put your jacket on the couch.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead, you fold your jacket over your suitcase and quietly make your way into the apartment. Straight across from you are doors to a balcony – darkness had long taken over the city, so you see nothing but your reflection at first. But as you near the plexiglass, the reflection disappears into the view and you almost gasp from the beauty of it.

Blinking lights, flashing billboards, and the brightly lit Tokyo Skytree peer back at you. It only hits you now how much you’ve missed home, and that even though Sapporo was one of the largest cities in Japan, it still wasn’t Tokyo.

“I never get tired of it,” Keiji chimes in while carrying your bowl of ramen to the dining table.

“It’s an amazing view, I can see why you’d live here,” you reply while moving away from it. The table also has two empty wine glasses, and just as you’re about to ask him why they were there, he returns with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to restock the wine fridge, but I knew I was going to kick myself for not having a bottle of that dessert wine we had before you went off to college,” he said with mirth and amusement. “You remember that one?”

“Yeah,” you nearly splutter, almost flushing that once again, Keiji was remembering details about you that you didn’t even know. “Your mom wanted to throw me a graduation dinner and you made it back in time after finals. And she had a bottle of it and between the two of us, we probably drank most of it. Our parents said it was too sweet.”

He nods and sits across from you, elbows on the table as you mutter, “Itadakimasu,” and start eating. You finish your meal silently for the most part, making small talk here and there. Keiji refills both of your glasses and the two of you sip the wine demurely, and while he seems okay with the lack of an explanation, you’re struggling to find the right words.

“So what’s with the impromptu trip to Tokyo? Are you going to see your parents?”

“Should I try to lie to you?”

“It’s up to you.”

Oh, okay then.

But he looks expectant, as if he knows you wouldn’t lie to him – in fact, you’ve never lied to him before. There was never any need to, but did that just mean neither of you ever cared enough?

“Something happened with me and Testuro. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but at the end of the day…I just needed to get away, as cliché as it sounds,” you laugh brokenly. Keiji continues to carefully observe you with a stare that you can’t escape. “I don’t want to tell my parents – you know them, they’ll ask a million questions. Without thinking, I booked a ticket to Tokyo and…now I’m here.”

That was a lie. How are you supposed to tell Keiji that he was the first person you thought of in an effort to run away? You and Keiji have never gotten personal before, he made sure of that. The last thing you want to do is weird him and scare him off.

“…did he cheat on you?” Keiji asked. His voice is darker in his inquiry, deeper than you’ve ever heard before. He has his hands folded in front of his lips and his eyes harden. Testuro may be an old friend to him, but you were in his life longer.

“Nonononono,” you quickly wave off. This isn’t the time to slander your…boyfriend? Could Tetsuro still even be your boyfriend if he no longer has any feelings for you? “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good to hear. If you want, you can tell me another time then. You’re welcome to stay here until you go back to Sapporo.”

You look up at him, eyes incredulous. Could Keiji really be this comfortable with you?

“I wouldn’t mind staying tonight, but I can stay in a hotel for the rest of the week that I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji refutes, standing from the table and taking your wine glasses to the sink. You follow with your bowl and he starts washing them before you can even offer. “Mom would kill me if she knew I let you pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly functioning bed you can stay in.”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother…”

“It’s not. The futon’s pretty comfortable, I’ve definitely fallen asleep on it plenty of times.”

“We can switch, I would never let you sleep on the futon for a whole week.”

“If you say so then. But for tonight, you can take my bed. Let me grab you an extra towel so you can shower. I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” he says while drying everything off, folding the kitchen towel neatly before heading off to his room. He returns with a large, soft grey towel and you shyly take it from him with a word of thanks, but he stays there in front of you, waiting for something.

“I’m really glad you picked up the phone,” you whisper softly, feeling the effects of the alcohol. You’re entering uncharted territory for the two of you, and this could either kill or strengthen this odd distant friendship. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know who else to call. You were the first person that came to mind and just…I don’t want to make this weird, like you can kick me out,” you begin to ramble. “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to take me in because your mom would be disappointed if you wouldn’t, you’ve already put up with me for over 15 years and it’s fine, I can be on my own and—”

Smooth, calloused hands delicately hold your face, large palms and nimble fingers cupping your cheeks. Your words die on your tongue as Keiji stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze until your breathing calms down to a steady, languid pace. “You’re my friend, (y/n). So it’s good that you called me.”

“I’m your…friend?” You ask unsteadily, feeling a sense of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms with the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go shower.”

“Okay.”

-

You’re fast asleep before Keiji finishes his own shower, his bedroom door left ajar as the hallway light beams through. He pauses in the midst of drying his hair with a towel, letting it bunch and hang off his neck as he cautiously pushes the door open. Keiji notices your even breathing and how much more relaxed you look in sleep. You’re curled up on your side with the blanket pulled up to your face and he can’t lie: it’s adorable and cute, and he shouldn’t really be thinking these things.

He sits on the edge of the bed in the little space that’s provided, lithe fingers reaching out to brush back a few stray wisps of your hair. Watching you sleep pulls him back into a fond memory he’s kept of the two of you, one that might’ve held very little significance to you but meant something so much more to him. He knows you know him well, he knows how much his mother babbles on about him, and adults were more prone to gossip than the rowdiest of teenagers – he’d be painfully oblivious if he didn’t think you knew that much about him, or more than the average friend.

But it’s comforting to him, sometimes. Knowing you, how kindly you think of others, he might not have to explain what he’s feeling in the moment. You would be able to know, and that soothes him to some degree.

Maybe he had a little bit too much wine as well, but ever so subtly, motions steady and unhurried, he deftly leans closer and closer until his lips brush the apple of your cheek. He lingers for no more than a few seconds and sits back up, gazing at you before standing. His hands adjust the blankets and make sure you’re properly tucked in. He pads away, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible as to not wake you.

And when he’s found a comfortable position on the futon with his most comfortable throw blanket, he realizes, begrudgingly, that this week will fly by too fast for his liking.  

[passable-talent]

*to the tune of the victorious intro* here i am, once again, feeling love for one mr. christensen once again

gif is by the lovely and talented @haydenchristensengifs​ , to whom as well as @haydens-moles​ i am dedicating this to. we’re all on the lorenzo train together babes.

im ignoring the entire plot after like. the twenty minute mark. it’s cool. we’re cool.

Lorenzo Di Lamberti x Male!Reader (Virgin Territory, 2007)

because i want nothing more than to ride through the italian countryside with him on him. look at him. he’s perfect.

tw: internalized homophobia. also theres lots of discussion of virginity and chastity and sex in here, though there’s no actual fucking. 

You felt horribly for the cities, so filled with their plagues and their sins. Not you. No, you had chosen the holy path, where you were going to work on the sin within yourself. 

The Sacred Sisters of the Bleeding Heart. You’d made your way there only a few months ago, when you had finally figured out the reason that you had never appreciated the women who’d tried to offer their hands to you. 

You had thought it was a sin, but Mother Superior said otherwise, and offered to guide you through your understanding of yourself. This is natural, she told you, just as natural as any other sin. You just need to understand the way in which to act on it.

You took her to mean that you could feel it, but never act upon it. 

Turns out, as you’d find out, that wasn’t quite what she meant. 

Nuns were meant to be virgins, right? That’s always what you’d thought. And yet, the gardener seemed to enjoy the fruits of their virginity quite a bit. 

And no, you weren’t like that. Even if you were going to allow yourself the bending of the rules that they were enjoying, you didn’t want to do it with him. He, uh, wasn’t your type.

You mourned when he died, though, even if it wasn’t the same way that the sisters mourned. However, he was taken away, and not even a day later was there a new one. 

Whenever the sisters went for walks, you accompanied them. You were close friends with most of them, and enjoyed walking beyond the confines of the walls of the convent. 

And when they heard a tree branch crack, and found a man lying on the ground, you were the one who lifted him across your back and carried him back to the convent. They thanked you profusely, and then, as per the usual arrangement, stood guard at the door to make sure Mother Superior didn’t come by while they did whatever they wanted to do. 

First, they kneeled at his side, and slid up his tunic at his stomach. You couldn’t help but let your eyes slide to them, and whatever they were doing. 

Sister Andrea lowered her mouth to his stomach, right above the waistline of his pants, and even through the veil over your eyes, you could still pick up on the smooth muscle there. 

You tore your eyes away as a smile came to your face, listening to what they were whispering about. But you’d grown distracted, and only when her footsteps were right outside the door did you realize you’d failed in your job as lookout. 

You gave a quick whistle in warning to the sisters as Mother Superior crossed the threshold into the doorway. 

Deaf and dumb, hmm? Good for the sisters, they certainly were going to miss their gardener. You, not exactly- he was just a man, even if a gorgeous one. 

This gardener was certainly an improvement on his predecessor. Still, you weren’t going to lose the purity you’d cultivated. No man was worth it. 

Then again, he looked like that...

No, he was the gardener, and he indulged in all of the sisters, didn’t he? There weren’t other men like you. You couldn’t assume that he would even appreciate your attention. 

Wait, why were you wondering about that? Regardless of whether or not he’d want you, you couldn’t. You could not indulge. No. 

“A bit of sin is healthy!” Sister Catarina would tell you as she walked with you through the halls. “No one will think any less of you, dear.” 

“No, no,” you said, teasing your fingers through the sheer fabric of your veil. “It’s not- enjoy yourselves with him, but that’s not what I’d be interested in.” 

And you’re telling the truth, honestly. You’re not interested in him. You’re not!

You were wandering the garden one day, not long later, singing to yourself. You often did so, hearing your voice echo through the fields and off of the walls. Then appeared the gardener behind you, you only heard him thanks to his footsteps. 

You didn’t wear a full wrap like the sisters, just a veil over your shoulders that you sometimes pulled over your face. So he couldn’t have possibly thought you female- no, he knew. Still, he walked closer to you, and it seemed as though he was trying to ask you something.

He put his fingers in front of his mouth, and opened them as he pulled them forward. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head, “I wasn’t speaking.”

He cocked his head, then, as if asking what you were doing instead, if not speaking. 

How were you to explain singing to someone who could not hear?

Singing- it’s not just from the voice, though, is it? It’s deeper than that. Hoping to explain, you brought your hand over your heart, then trailed your fingers up your throat as well. Maybe he’d understand your meaning- that singing came from the heart, instead. 

He didn’t quite look like he understood. 

Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand into yours. Though there were rough patches at the base of each of his fingers, his palms were soft. You lifted it to your throat, knowing that the vibrations of your voice would feel different when you talked than when you sang. 

You swallowed, and felt your adam’s apple move against his hand. He took a hard breath before his eyes met yours. 

“This is what it feels like when I speak,” you said, both moving your fingers away from your mouth in the way that indicated speech, as well as holding his hand against you.

“And-” you pressed your hand to your heart, then drawing your fingers upward, past his knuckles, in the same motion you’d used to describe signing before. 

You started humming, at first, always finding it difficult to sing in front of others. After a moment of that, you started singing, a simple melody, the same you’d been singing before. You watched him, watched his eyes drift from his hand on your throat, to your lips, before catching your eyes as well. 

He nodded, after a moment, and you figured that he’d understood. You took your hand from his, and slowly he pulled away. You found yourself nearly missing the warmth of his hand around your neck, but pulled your mind from your thoughts before it went somewhere you wouldn’t be able to get it back from. 

Now more than ever, you had to be careful. It was one thing to think he was beautiful while admiring from afar, but now, now you had shared a moment with him. You’d sung to him, even if he hadn’t heard you. He’d put his hand on your neck, with long fingers and soft skin and fond eyes.

So now you had more to push to the back of your brain. You thought you were doing fine- until he was tossed out, for lying. Turns out, he wasn’t deaf and dumb at all. 

He sat outside the doors of the convent, leaning in the shade, hoping to maybe catch a ride. You appeared on the top of the wall, sitting down with your legs thrown over it. 

“So,” you said, making him look up at you. “You heard me, the whole time.” 

“Yeah,” he said, a small smile on his face.

“You heard me sing.” 

“Mhm.” He shifted his shoulders against the wall, tilting his head. You kept his gaze for a moment, then looked out across the path, and the forest. 

“So what now? Where do you plan to go?”

“Oh, I’ll find somewhere else. I’ll make my way.” He looked out, just the way you did, at the rustling green leaves. “And you? You’ll stay here?” Without an answer, you tipped your weight forward, dropping to the ground outside the walls, your white veil fluttering off of your shoulders and down to the dirt. 

“Nah,” you said with a bit of a smile, “I think I prefer it out here. White isn’t my color.” He laughed a bit, turning his feet to the side and making room for you on the step he was seated on. You took him up on the offer.

“I’m Lorenzo,” he said, finally giving you his name as he extended his hand to you. You took it, once again feeling the softness of his palm. 

“(Y/N),” you answered. 

“Well, (Y/N),” Lorenzo said, “You have a lovely voice.” You shook your head, turning your gaze away.

“I don’t sing in front of people, you know,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“Which is, I guess,” Lorenzo said, pressing his feet flat to the wall beneath him, “why you sang in front of who you thought was deaf.” 

“How was I meant to know you were lying?” You accused, shoving his shoulder with more intention this time. 

“Oh, please!” He said, laughter working into his face, and lord, he was beautiful. “I’m dropped into a villa of beautiful women, and all I need to do is keep my mouth shut? Could you blame me?” 

“I guess not,” you said, shrugging quickly. “It’s not exactly to my taste.” 

“No?” Lorenzo asked, looking sideways at you. He gave you a quick glance, and though you looked up at the blue sky, you could nearly feel his gaze as it slid down over your collarbones. “What is to your taste, then?”

You shrugged, taking a deep breath. Were you about to admit it to him?

“Golden hair, strong shoulders, long legs.” You tried to force back a smile, looking down at your hands for a brief moment. “A man.” Before you could let yourself feel too vulnerable, you added- “Not a gardener, though.” 

There was a quick moment of silence between the two of you, and you wondered if you’d said something that surprised him. Would he be angry with you?

“I lean that way, sometimes,” he said with a laugh, resting his head back against the wall. “I can’t blame you.” 

You turned your head to him, and lord, you had always known he was beautiful. You’d always known. But now he was in front of you, and you weren’t so strongly fighting yourself anymore, and you knew that he was like you, at least a bit. 

So you bridged the gap, and kissed him. 

And you’d thought his hands were soft. His lips? His lips were perfect. His hands came up to your face, and one of them slipped around to your neck, keeping you close. You took your hands first to his ribcage, but as the kiss continued, they slid up to his back. 

When you broke away, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him. Damn, he had beautiful hair. No wonder the sisters called him an angel. 

“So what now?” You asked again, still close, still his hands on you. “Where do you plan to go?” A smile quirked on Lorenzo’s face, and he lifted his hand to take his fingers through your hair, pushing it from your face. 

“I’ll make my way,” He said again, smiling. His smile turned wicked, briefly, as he added, “I don’t think I’m going to want to be a gardener, though.” You narrowed your eyes, wondering if- he couldn’t possibly be referencing what you said earlier. That you wouldn’t want a gardener. “And you?”

He hadn’t taken his hands from you. He hadn’t even moved his eyes from yours since he’d opened them. You’d let your eyes stray to him plenty of times while he was within the convent, and maybe you were projecting, but you didn’t think he looked at any of the sisters like that. 

“We’ll see.” 

-🦌 Roe