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obsessivevoidkitten · 30 days ago

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Dear Brother

Kinktober Day 14: Incest Yandere brother x male reader CW: Incest, noncon, memory alteration, mind manipulation, possessive yandere, protective yandere, general yandere behavior, versatile reader, anal sex, drugging, sedatives, aphrodisiacs, collaring, murder, Stockholm syndrome, major character death, reader's own cum as lube, masturbation, discrimination against those without powers, dead dove: DO NOT EAT Word Count: 3.8k (This is dark. Sorry for any errors, I did not have it betaread. I hope there are some who will enjoy this.)

The meteor that crashed to the ground generations ago came with it a particularly invasive pathogen. A virus that infected all of humanity, changing the DNA of everyone on Earth, though a large portion of people remained asymptomatic with recessive changes.

Those with symptoms displayed mutations. They varied wildly from animal traits, elemental powers, enhanced strength, super speed, extra limbs, and many others.

Over many years, the DNA that the virus altered became increasingly prominent as mutations were inherited and compounded. Asymptomatics were rarer and rarer. Currently, they made up only 15 percent of the population.

A small portion of people used their extra human abilities for evil, and others became government sanctioned heroes to fight them.

The people who had mutations become highly sought after and fetishized. More laws came into effect to protect them from villains and criminals who would traffic them.

You were a mutationless nobody living in this society.

A brand new law had established a curfew for all people without strong enough mutations. They couldn't go out unless someone with a strong ability was with them.

Another law was that those with no abilities couldn't live alone.

Because of this, you became wholly dependent on your older brother, Drew.

Your older sibling was entirely fine with this arrangement. He had a love for you that wasn't entirely brotherly, though you didn't suspect anything. It seemed to you that his overprotective behavior was the product of being an older brother to someone without a mutation in a world that conditioned people to think of those like you as defenseless. You thought yourself fairly lucky. You weren't forced into an abusive or restrictive marriage or roommate situation because you had Drew. He was always happy to chaperone and escort you.

When he wasn't too busy with his work as a hero. Drew had moved the two of you to a small town due to a lower crime rate and desire to keep you safe and spend as much time with you as possible. It was also to isolate you from any potential suitors. But... you didn't really need to know about that... You had gotten too chummy with people online through various social media and dating websites who lived a bit too close for comfort in the large city you had lived in previously. It was getting burdensome finding them, intimidating them, burying more than one body when they wouldn't get the hint that you were spoken for. That had been rare, though.

If he really needed to, he could use a power no one knew he possessed. He could remove and replace memories. It was a tedious task, requiring a lot of time and energy, and not all minds were susceptible. Even if they were, it couldn't normally be used multiple times on the same person. Which is why he couldn't just make you forget or hate them. Luckily, most people were easily intimidated by Drew. He was tall and muscular, which was enough in some cases, but he also could move things with his mind and produce a psychic barrier around his skin to make him indestructible.

The quieter smaller town was kinda nice, but you were rather bored. Especially when Drew had to do his patrols. He made sure he worked more in the early morning and afternoon since you always liked to be up at night playing video games and going for walks at night with him. Sometimes, he'd take you out to eat at a 24/7 diner that the town had.

He thought of those outings as dates and considered himself to be courting his defenseless brother.

Your brother always ordered ice cream for you to share. Drew loved to watch you eat it, sometimes biting his lip as you so lewdly licked the cold confection from your spoon. It made his cock twitch in his pants. How he wished you were licking his manhood like that. Eager to get every drop of his cum.

The last time you were at the diner you had caught him staring at you with an odd expression.

"What's with that weird face?"

"Oh, uh... I just had a brain freeze."

You had chuckled at him and went back to eating. How he longed for the day when he could tell you how he really loved you. Hopefully it would be soon, but he just didn't know how to broach the topic.

He had let you walk in on him wanking a few times. But all it achieved was you turning red and scrambling out of the room with an immediate apology followed by you pretending that nothing had occurred. Nothing like the pornos.

The other day, you had been comfortable enough to fall asleep on the couch as the two of you watched a movie. He had been admiring your peacefully sleeping form when you slouched over and leaned on his shoulder. He could hear your breathing and felt your drool as it ran down his arm.

It gave him an instant hard-on that he had to address. You had been a busy bee and cleaned the whole house earlier before cooking dinner. You were totally wiped out. Though even on an easy day, you were known for sleeping deeply. Drew carefully shifted the shorts he had been wearing so his large cock was sticking out through the leg and cautiously jerked himself off while imaging you cuddling and clinging to him after a long day.

He had cum so hard that a bit had landed on your lips. He was worried you would wake up, but you remained out like a light as he gently massaged it into your lip like lip gloss.

After that, he had "accidentally" fallen asleep right beside you. He couldn't very well wake a sleeping angel by moving.

That had been well over a month ago, and his desire for you had only grown. He had taken to stealing your underwear and keeping a pair under his pillows so he could sniff them before bed and dream about you.

He knew one day soon he'd have you in every way.

But there was a setback.

His schedule had shifted temporarily while he was on an assignment to help take down a super villain coalition. For two weeks, he was barely home at all, and a vermin had slipped in.

He came home one day to find you on the porch chatting with some piece of absolute filth who kept brushing his hand against yours.

When he left and you came back inside, Drew was holding back serious rage. You had a look on your face that told him all you needed to know. He didn't even have to question you about who it was. You just kept gushing about him.

"That was Len! He's such a sweetie! He saw me on the porch a few days ago when he was walking by and noticed I was glum."

The way you swooned and gushed made Drew's stomach lurch.

"He's so cool! I'm sure you'll like him. He isn't a hero, but his mutation is awesome. He can spontaneously make fire."

Drew noticed you twiddling your fingers in the way you only did when you were brimming with joy. Would that piece of trash know details like that about you!?

Your brother immediately began planning for Len's demise. This was beyond intimidation, threats, and memory alteration. He lived far too close and touched your perfect weak hands with his disgusting grubby ones. Drew knew exactly how he'd do it. He'd infiltrate Len's home and use his telekinetic abilities to cause him to have a stroke. Then he'd burn the house down. It wasn't unheard of for people's mutations to run out of control.

On the night that Drew planned to end Len, you had been texting Len. Even though it was late, he had invited you over because he was playing a new game that he thought you might enjoy together. If you wanted, he'd leave the door unlocked so you could come in. He knew knocking and waiting made you anxious.

He was such a good listener. He would have come over and walked with you, but it was such a short walk, and you didn't want to wake up Drew. Besides, his house was just a few down from yours. If you ran, you could be there in under a minute. And, honestly, no one took these curfew laws seriously in small towns.

You rushed over as fast as you could and nervously opened the door and stepped inside.

"Dr-Drew? What are you-?"

The question was left unfinished as your gaze lowered to Len laying motionless at your brother's feet. Drew's eyes went wide, and his mouth agape when he noticed you. He obviously had not expected you to walk in on his activities. This was just like when you had just turned 20 and you had caught him killing your parents because they had wanted to convince you to go to an isolated island for the mutationless because they wanted you to feel normal.

He had wiped the events from your brain, made you think they had abandoned you both long ago, and finished by making you think he was the older brother so you'd accept him taking care of you a bit more easily when in reality he was a year younger.

But unlike last time, he couldn't erase Len or what you had witnessed. After doing it once, and so extensively, you were inoculated from it.

Your mind was reeling, struggling to piece together an explanation for what you were seeing. You took a few steps back, planning to just run away and hope you woke up from whatever awful nightmare this night was shaping into. But the door slammed shut before you could finish turning around.

"Y-you have to understand! He was going to steal you away... He didn't deserve you. No one does! Except me."

Drew used his abilities to make you slowly float towards him. The look on his face could only be described as deranged.

"I'm so sorry you had to see this. It was supposed to look like an accident..."

You squirmed in his psychic hold as you began sobbing. Your brain finally registered that your brother killed the man you had started to fall in love with. Nothing made sense.

Once his power brought you to him, he wrapped one arm around you tightly and used his free hand to pull a tiny spray capsule up to your face from his utility belt.

He spritzed you just once, and within a few seconds, you were fast asleep. With you taken care of for the moment, Drew could safely get back to the business at hand.

Your subconscious mind must have still been in denial because you found yourself in a dream pounding Len's muscular ass. He was riding you, and you found yourself bucking into his tight hot hole. In reality, your brother had been watching you sleep and decided to rub your crotch. He figured you needed the stress relief, and if you woke up, maybe the pleasure would prove he was just trying to make you happy.

It made sense in his warped mind.

He was originally just going to jerk you off, but when you got fully hard under his touch... he couldn't resist the urge to ride on it. Drew lubed it up and sank himself down on it. This was perfect, he thought. Your first official act as lovers. It would definitely make you forget about that sack of garbage he just took out.

The look on your face as you drooled in your sleep and let out little lewd gasps went straight to his dick and had him cumming in no time. He briefly lifted off of your cock long enough to smear his semen on it before lowering himself again.

You were fucking his cum into him and it would be mixed with your own once you climaxed. The thought made his stomach flutter as blush crept across his face.

Drew knew you were close, your moans had gotten louder and you had started bucking your hips into him. He was amazed you hadn't woken up yet. Though you had always been a deep sleeper and the stuff he sprayed you with was pretty heavy duty. Your eyes fluttered open as you shot your load inside him and moaned out the name Len.

L e n.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Your brother, who had never raised a hand to you, slapped you hard across the face.

"That loser is DEAD!! Len is a fucking corpse smoldering in the ashes of his house!"

You were shaking as you stared up at him, still confused about what was going on. Your brain was full of fog and struggled to piece together the events that transpired last night and the fact that your brother was on your dick and angrily yelling in your face.

When he realized the fear in your eyes, he got off of you and pulled you close.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it's not your fault. You're so innocent, and he wormed his way into your mind like the greedy parasite he was."

He kissed your cheek gently where he had struck you.

"Just... try not to say his name, okay? You gotta forget about him. It isn't healthy to linger on toxic people like that."

He got up and made his way to the bathroom connected to his room.

"I bet a bath will make us both feel a little more relaxed."

You were pretty sure that you would never be relaxed again for the rest of your life. Your brother was a villain and you had no idea what he was capable of doing to you. The sibling you had depended on killed Len, forced himself on you while you were sleeping, and slapped you.

Since he was busy making a bath, you thought you'd take the chance to leave. You pulled up your pants and crept past the bedroom door and down the stairs. When you reached the bottom, you stared in dismay at the blockade he had put in front of the door. There was no other choice but to turn around. But as you did so you slammed right into the chest of your sibling, who was staring down at you darkly.

"I just came downstairs for a sn-snack."

You were trembling and hoped he bought it. You knew he had when his face softened.

"Oh, well after our bath I'll make us a late night snack."

He grabbed you by the hand and led you back upstairs.

"This will be our first bath together! I'm really excited."

The last thing you wanted to do was to bathe with this monster. But there was no escaping it.

"Haha I guess I'm excited in more than one way!"

You glanced over and saw what he meant. His cock was fully erect.

"I-I'm too shy to bathe together!"

"Don't be silly! We're lovers now and we both really need this."

He picked you up like you weighed nothing and took you into the tub with him. He sat down and positioned you on his lap facing towards him. His erection jabbed at you from below. It made you cringe and curl in on yourself.

Despite the bubbles and warm water, you had never felt so filthy.

"You're still so tense, but big bro will make everything better~"

He groped and massaged your ass before starting to rub your hole. You flinched.

"You have to relax to make this easier."

Eventually, he pressed a finger into you.

"Please sto-"

You were cut off by involuntarily moaning as he hit a special spot inside you.

"Oh, you liked that, didn't you? Made you sound so needy~"

As he kept attending to that place inside you, working his way up to three fingers, your mind got more clouded and distracted, and your body went limp and relaxed.

"Sto-ahhh AAAHHHH!!"

Your hole clenched tightly as you spilled your load on his chest.

Before you could catch your breath he slowly replaced his fingers with his cock. Careful not to hurt you as he slowly eased you down on his entire length.

You were already hard again despite being so sensitive. His hard cock entered you with a bit of pain despite the previous stretching.

For Drew, it was bliss. Heaven. His cock was wrapped in the warm paradise that was his beloved brother. Finally, he was with you in the way his heart yearned to be. He should have just done this the second the two of you had moved out here.

The slight bit of pain you had initially felt faded at the feeling of him battering your insides. His tip perfectly kissed that spot inside you, your resolve being fucked away with each thrust.

Drew moaned your name as he came in you all too soon.

"My cum is in you. My cum is in you. My cum is in you. Mycumisinyou."

He never lost his hard on and kept right on making love to you, his precious brother, without stopping for a second. As his movements intensified, the lavender scented water splashed against the two of you.

"I-I knew I could make it all better!"

You prattled on incoherently as drool pooled from the corner of your mouth.

"You're right. We should let our actions do the talking"

Drews lips dominated yours as he kissed you deeply, nibbling on your lower lip and licking up your drool as he made out with you. As both of you came once more, he slid his tongue into your mouth and rubbed it against yours.

He pulled away and kissed your forehead. Your brain was foggy, and your body was exhausted after all you had been made to endure.

"I guess I should clean us up before the water goes completely cold. Don't worry, we can do that some more after we've rested up, okay?"

You muttered something, but you didn't know what you were saying or even what you were responding to.

That didn't stop Drew from hearing whatever he wanted to though.

"Yeah, we can still make out in bed before we fall asleep!"

Drew cleaned you off then sat you down on his bed after dressing you. Then he ran downstairs and came back up with some cookies.

"You wanted a snack right?"

You nodded sheepishly and nibbled a few to maintain the lie you told earlier. When you finished you went to brush your teeth before bed.

You couldn't look at yourself in the mirror. You were ashamed you had let your brother violate you in such a manner. You were ashamed you were brushing your teeth like it was a normal night. Maybe you could escape or call for help when he was working. It was already early in the morning. His schedule had returned to normal, and he would be back to work in a few hours. You just had to play along and get into bed with him...

The trembling of your body didn't betray your fear, Drew just assumed you were cold and held you protectively under the blankets. He stroked your side gently. It would have been comforting before you knew he was a murderer. Now, it only made you tense. Though you did manage to grab a few moments of uneasy rest.

Upon waking, you realized you were oddly calm. Tranquil. When you had finally fallen asleep, he had sprayed you with another substance from his utility belt.

This time, it was just something heroes used to calm people down. Villains and sometimes people in shock. It was pretty harmless, so if he had to keep you mildly sedated with it, he could. Though he hoped he could adjust you to your new circumstances with it and then eventually wean you off. It made you a little calmer, happier, and more accepting of your situation.

You also found yourself collared. The inside was a soft fabric and the outside a rough material. It was locked to a long chain that was mounted to the wall. You could reach the restroom and the minifridge he had by his bed. A minifridge stocked with all your favorite snacks and cold meals, a mounted chain, a custom collar in your favorite color... How long had he planned for this possibility?

There was definitely anger and grief, but they felt much more muted than they should have been.

The first year or so as your brother's boyfriend was a bit messy. Despite the calming drug, you still had emotional outbursts and anxiety. But your brother understood. He wasn't going to abandon you just because you were a bit moody or said hurtful things sometimes.

He endured and the two of you got through. It didn't hurt that he had stockpiled illegal aphrodisiacs confiscated from human traffickers. They made a target especially horny for the first person who's DNA they were exposed to. Whenever he used it, you were hard and needy to the point of crying, and only his dick could make it any better.

It was a great breakthrough when your body finally got hard from his touch without the help of any drugs at all.

And then you started kissing him and leaning on your big strong brother whenever you got lonely from your isolation. He was the only person you were allowed to have any contact with, and the craving for touch became too unbearable.

Your broken mind slowly justified it and changed your perspective on how you saw Drew. The only other option was going insane.

He was just looking out for you and keeping you safe from evil people. It was all for your own good. He took care of all of your needs. Cuddled you, kept you safe, provided you with games and food, and he was always happy to give you his cock or hole whenever you needed it, even when he was tired from work. If you had trouble sleeping, he'd even gently slip his dick into you and rock you to sleep with the thrusts.

It had, at long last, gotten to the point where he could take you outside on dates again with no fear at all that you'd try to escape him. In fact, you'd cling to his arm for dear life no matter where you went.

Drew was so happy. Now everyone could see that you two were the perfect couple.

#yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #male yandere #male reader #yandere scenario #yandere fic #yandere sibling #yandere brother #My OCs #My OC Len #My OC Drew #Male Yandere x Male reader #Kinktober #Kinktober 2024

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annwrites24 · 15 days ago

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I'm working on a WIP right now, getting approximate word counts for chapters, and some of them are twice the length of others... Most are 3- 4k, but one is over 7k, and another is barely 2k, lol!!!!! Do I just need to get better at editing? Who knows.

Pls rb for a larger sample size; I'm looking for general opinions here!

#fanfiction #ao3 #fan fiction #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 writer #fanfic writing #fanfic #polls #ann asks

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paperultra · 9 months ago

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THE FIVE NONSENSES

[ SOULMATE!AU ] Pairing: Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader x Miya Atsumu Summary: Like most people, you do not meet the Miya twins so much as they are thrust upon you. Unlike most people, you are thrust upon them as well. read on ao3 | read on quotev

CHAPTER THREE: SMELL Word Count: 8,205 words Warnings: Swearing

“Hey, you! Join the photography club!”

You narrowly dodge the flyer thrust in front of your face, knocking back into someone in the process. Flustered, you move in the opposite direction, only to knock shoulders with another student walking the other way. Both of your apologies get lost in the noise.

“Join the basketball team! Winter Cup finalists two years in a row!”

“Improve your focus in calligraphy club!”

“Join kyudo club!”

“Join marching band!”

With a small huff, you grab the strap of Osamu’s schoolbag and squeeze through the crowd. Osamu looks over his shoulder at you, and you meet his raised eyebrow with a grimace; not long after, a hand presses between your shoulder blades to usher you forward.

“Dammit,” Atsumu grumbles, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Where’s the volleyball club?”

“Hell if I know,” Osamu says. “Call Aran.”

“’S what I’m doin’, dumbass.” Punching a few buttons, the other boy presses his phone against his ear with visible impatience. “Aran!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Atsumu’s voice carries high over the clamor surrounding you, causing several students to swivel their heads. “Where the hell’s the volleyball club? … Class 1-7? Seriously?”

Hanging up without so much as a thank-you, Atsumu quickens his stride down the congested hallway. Osamu follows suit, and you end up seizing the back of his blazer as the three of you head to Class 1-7, evading arms and signs and flyers the entire way.

Having visited the school before to watch Ojiro play, you had known that Inarizaki High School is big; navigating it as a student on the first day of school, however, is a whole different animal. You hadn’t realized it was this big. Or this crowded. After a year of being large fish in a small pond, you now find yourselves in an ocean.

At least you have the twins to rough it with.

(It should be noted that your thankfulness varies wildly from hour to hour.)

Near the entrance to Class 1-7, you spot Ojiro wielding a bright sign advertising the volleyball club. He easily stands head and shoulders above most of the other students, and the sight of a familiar face helps you relax – even though you’d just seen him at graduation a few weeks ago, he somehow looks older here, comfortable and self-assured in the raucous halls of Inarizaki.

“Yo! Aran!” Osamu and Atsumu call out, running up to the second-year. You, still holding onto Osamu’s blazer, are unceremoniously yanked along.

Ojiro perks up and grins widely when you all reach him, freeing one hand to bump fists with the twins. “’Bout time you guys showed up. Thought ya chickened out or somethin’,” he exclaims, then nods at you with a grin. “Good to see you here too, [L/n]-chan.”

You smile back. “Hi, Ojiro-senpai.”

(Of all the people the twins consider friends, which have always been rather scant in number, you like Ojiro Aran the best.)

“Chickened out?” Atsumu scoffs. “No way. You scrubs are gonna need us if ya wanna win nationals this year.”

A laugh bursts out of Ojiro’s chest. “Don’t ya think you’re gettin’ a little ahead of yerself?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” Osamu pipes up. He elbows his brother’s side, jabbing a thumb at the doorway when the latter chokes up and glares. “Hurry yer ass up, ‘Tsumu, we haven’t even signed up yet.”

You cough. Ojiro laughs again, leading the three of you into the classroom.

There’s a ton of students already inside when you enter. In one corner of the room is the girls’ volleyball club, and in the other is the boys’, though many are mingling and wandering around to chat. A few are upperclassmen wearing the Inarizaki volleyball team’s jacket – the rest, you assume, are first-years hoping for a chance to join.

It’s not surprising for a school that’s gone to the Spring Tournament almost thirty times. Most of these applicants will be benched for their entire high school career.

Following Ojiro to the desk for the boys’ volleyball club, you encounter the two people sitting behind it.

“Arata-senpai, Kobayashi-senpai,” Ojiro announces, clapping one hand on Osamu’s shoulder and the other on Atsumu’s, “got a package deal for ya.”

The first thing you notice about Arata is how tall he is when he’s sitting down. Then he slowly stands up, and your eyes widen as he keeps going and going, finally stopping about half a head taller than Ojiro.

Arata breathes in, vulpine eyes narrowing, before he slams his hands down on the desk with a loud thwap.

“If it ain’t the Miya twins!” he chirps, voice much peppier than expected, and you choke back a surprised laugh. “I watched yer match last year at nationals. You two think ya have what it takes to be part of a powerhouse?”

“Why talk big when we can just show ya, senpai?” Atsumu says, as if he hadn’t been gassing himself up to Ojiro moments before. He pulls out his signup sheet, already filled out in his usual large, messy print, and slides it over to the captain, leaning over the desk with one hand on his hip. “Got yers, ’Samu?”

“Yup.” Osamu slides his over as well, handwriting slightly neater.

Arata takes the sheets happily. Your gaze falls upon his hands by chance, and then it remains there, taking stock of the scribbles of purple and red decorating his skin.

Ojiro whistles. “Looks like yer soulmate’s havin’ fun with some gel pens,” he comments, pointing at Arata’s hands.

“Hm?” The other boy blinks and takes a moment to inspect the words curving below his knuckles. His brow furrows, and he squints before finally breaking out into a goofy smile. “Ah,” he says, and his voice takes on a distinctly fonder, dreamier tone, “guess they are. They’ve been practicin’ hiragana a lot lately. See? Pretty good, eh?” Arata stretches his hands out face-down, showing them off.

(You can barely read the characters.)

“Neat,” Atsumu says, though his tone has flattened just slightly.

“Right?” Arata doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re gonna finally see each other in person next summer after I graduate. They’re graduating high school this June in Spain …”

“He’s really excited,” Ojiro mutters to the three of you, “in case ya couldn’t tell.”

The volleyball captain’s cheeks turn an endearing shade of pink. “What’s wrong with that, huh, Ojiro? I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with them, so it’s a good sign I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Next to you, Osamu shifts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. You feel his elbow brush against your arm, bare skin separated by layers of fabric.

The rest of your life.

A strange feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. It’s the same kind you get whenever your parents ask about Osamu, and whenever you see couples wearing matching outfits at the mall – a feeling a little less than longing, and a little more than guilt. Like you ought to be doing more, saying more, expressing more. Feeling more.

You wonder what it is like to be Arata, infatuated, proudly flaunting the colors on his hands.

The girl sitting at the desk finally speaks up.

“I thought we were talkin’ about volleyball, not yer love life, Arata.”

Your gaze moves away from Arata’s wrists and onto the girl.

Still sitting, she and the captain paint a picture of a mouse and an elephant, her tiny form complemented by large, expressionless eyes and a small nose. The maroon jacket hanging off her shoulders looks one size too big.

And yet, when her gaze flicks over and meets yours, you’re overtaken by a sudden chill.

Scary.

Arata jumps and glances down at her. “O-Oh, right! Sorry, Kobayashi-chan, I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” Kobayashi continues to stare at you, and you start to feel slightly uncomfortable. “’S why I’m here.”

“Yeah!” Coughing, Arata rubs the back of his neck and turns his attention back to the twins. “Gettin’ back on track … if it isn’t obvious already, Kobayashi-chan is our manager. She’s real good. Real detailed.”

“But I’m also in my third year, which means we’re currently lookin’ for a new manager for next year,” Kobayashi supplies. “So if ya happen to know any first-years who’re qualified and willing to apply for the right reasons, please let me know.”

Your brow furrows at that.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘the right reasons’?” Osamu asks.

A sheepish laugh escapes Arata’s throat. “Well … the volleyball team’s pretty popular, so we get a lot of folks wantin’ to be manager just to get closer to the team and see if one of the members is their soulmate.” He sighs. “It’s not that I wanna keep any soulmates apart, but those kinds of applicants slow down the search, and obviously, we want a manager who actually wants to manage.”

Ah. Already, some of your peers already seem like they’re on a time crunch to find their person. Soulmates are getting to be a bigger and bigger deal as you get older, and with that comes certain expectations. It’s not hard to figure out why some would hope to have someone popular and athletic.

“Sorry, don’t know anybody like that,” Atsumu replies at the same time Ojiro says your name.

You look at your senior, surprised.

He directs a finger upwards. “Ya know volleyball pretty well,” he points out. “Wanna apply? You already manage the twins, after all.”

“Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean –”

Arata seems to finally notice you, eyebrows raising. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t see ya there,” he exclaims. “What’s yer name?”

Reluctantly, you step up next to Osamu and introduce yourself.

“[L/n]-chan. So ya know the twins?”

“I’ve lived on the same street as them since elementary school.”

“Really! Ya must know them well, then.”

“More than well,” says Kobayashi.

She points down at your hand. Arata follows her finger, and you resist the urge to curl your pinkie when his mouth drops.

“Oh, damn, you’re soulmates with – er, uh –”

Osamu and Atsumu just stand there, watching the captain flounder. After a few seconds, you reach up and tug Osamu’s earlobe sharply.

“Osamu,” you say, both as an answer and as a scolding, ignoring the muttered ‘ow’ coming from your right.

Clapping his hands, Arata nods. “You’re soulmates with Osamu-kun! Wow, that’s amazing. And you’ve been together since elementary school? He’d think and play better with you just bein’ there.”

You smile, embarrassed.

“That doesn’t make her the right candidate, Arata,” says Kobayashi. “Even if she really wants to manage the team, she might still prioritize Osamu-kun over everybody else. The last thing I want is a manager who picks favorites.”

She says it so bluntly, so seriously. Your smile weakens as her words hit a sore spot you didn’t know you even had.

There must be a good way to disagree. The two truths of the matter are that being a good manager would mean risking being a bad soulmate, and that being a good manager is a risk you can afford. Osamu isn’t the type of person who needs to be worried about. He gets scraped up, but he doesn’t mind it, and he knows his limits. If a player got hurt right as Osamu called you for something, you know you’d check on the other player first. Even if the other player was Atsumu. (Maybe.)

Osamu simply does not need you to take care of him. You don’t know how to express this without seeming like you don’t care as much as you should.

Atsumu cuts in before you can organize your thoughts into words.

“She wouldn’t,” he says, “unless it’s me. But ’Samu and I are soulmates, so we’re already at our best when we’re on the court.”

The upperclassmen before you tilt their heads simultaneously.

“… Wait,” Arata says after a while, slowly. “You’re tellin’ me that Osamu-kun has two soulmates?”

Osamu glances at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can only meet his eyes for a few seconds before you have to look at the ground.

“Guess I’m favored,” Osamu replies.

“Wow.” Huffing out a laugh, Arata crosses his arms. “Two soulmates … huh. I wonder how that works …” Kobayashi grunts and he clears his throat. “S-Sorry. Anyway, [L/n]-chan, if you’re interested in the manager position, just fill this out and give it to Kobayashi-chan. We’re taking applications until July first or until we find someone, whichever comes first.”

He hands you a sheet of paper, and you take it tentatively.

“My phone number’s at the top in case you have any questions,” Kobayashi adds. Her voice lowers, but its monotony remains. “And if ya end up applying, know that I won’t show any favoritism just because of yer soulmate.”

You take in a breath through your nose, fingers curling into the application in your hands. “Yeah, of course.”

She nods once, then leans back in her seat. The set of her mouth relaxes just slightly, and she crosses her arms, morphing from a cutthroat manager to a tired senpai.

“See ya after school. Good luck,” she says. Her eyes bore into yours. “To all of ya.”

There’s a moment of silent surprise between you, Osamu, and Atsumu. Then all three of you bow as Ojiro and Arata chuckle.

“Thank you!”

—

The twins, predictably, become one of three first-year regulars on Inarizaki’s boys’ volleyball team. You place your manager application in the top drawer of your desk, which you pull out frequently over the next three weeks just to stare at the blank form, unsure about the whole thing.

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and you’ve taken the paper out of your binder and set it on top of your desk at home when your phone buzzes.

Osamu: you home

You: yeah

Osamu: ok

And that’s it. You stare at your screen for a few seconds, unblinking, before you shoot up from your seat and scramble to your dresser to get changed.

Five minutes and a bit of haphazard cleaning later, there’s a few firm knocks on the front door, followed by incessant banging. You stalk over to open the door before it’s knocked off its hinges.

“I could hear you,” you tell Atsumu, unimpressed, as the two enter and shuck off their shoes.

“I know.”

He deftly dodges the kick you aim at his ankle. This usually happens nowadays, unfortunately, but it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“’S just you here?” Osamu asks, shuffling into some slippers and walking further into the house. His gym bag hangs from his shoulder, big and bulky, and you look at it curiously.

“… Yeah?”

“Fer someone left home alone all the time, you’re duller than a rock,” Atsumu says. “Folks’re gone and ya don’t even throw a party? Geez.”

You narrow your eyes as he grins. “Maybe I just want peace and quiet after havin’ to sit in class with you all week, Atsumu. Anyways, why are you guys here?”

You receive no answer. After eyeing the kitchen, Osamu turns and heads down the hallway, prompting you to follow. You’re further confused when he enters the bathroom and sets his bag on the countertop.

As he unzips it, Atsumu squeezes past you and reaches into the bag, pulling out a –

A shower cap.

“… Is the shower at yer place broken or something?”

“No,” Osamu says, and he pulls something else out. “Ma’s home.”

You stare at the box in his hands. Then you look back up at the twins.

“She’s gonna kill you.”

—

Watching Osamu and Atsumu bleach each other’s hair is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Their dark T-shirts have speckles of orange on them, there are bits of foil littering the sink and the bathroom floor, and the acrid stench of bleach filling the bathroom is starting to creep down the hallway. You can only hope it doesn’t linger past Sunday night when you go back to the dorms.

“If you screw this up, I’m shaving yer giant head in yer sleep.”

“I’m doin’ it better than you did, ya scrub!”

You stand outside, shirt collar pulled up and over your nose, as Atsumu finishes combing through the top part of Osamu’s hair. It’s an incredible thing to witness: Osamu sitting on the shower seat, hunched over and holding a sheet of foil over his undercut while Atsumu hangs over him, wearing one of the shower caps to keep his own hair out of the way. It’s also a disaster.

You lift your phone up to snap a quick picture.

“Oi! What’re ya doin’?”

“Making a present for Ojiro.” Upon viewing the photographic evidence, you realize something. “You’re not gonna tell Auntie that you dyed yer hair at my house, right?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Osamu assures, letting Atsumu hold onto the foil while he pulls on a shower cap. He sets a timer, and the two of them hurry out of the bathroom to escape the fumes. “She won’t be thinkin’ about the details when she finds out.”

“Like she’d ever blame ya, anyway.” Atsumu scoffs. “You’re the favorite and you ain’t even her kid.”

“Well, I don’t wanna take my chances.” You recall the countless number of times the twins had received a whooping for something stupid they did, and the countless number of times you had just barely managed to slip under the radar by keeping your mouth shut. “Y’know, she might make ya dye it black again if the school doesn’t like it.”

“Please. If anything, they’ll thank us fer givin’ them an easy way to tell us apart.”

“Is that why you’re dyein’ yer hair? You’re already in different classes.”

“It ain’t fer class,” Osamu says. “It’s fer volleyball.”

Atsumu presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, pulling up a game on his phone. “Some of the scrubs still can’t tell us apart on court,” he sniffs. “’M tired of it.”

That, you think, makes a lot more sense.

Osamu and Atsumu have always taken full advantage of being identical twins. You’ve seen them pull just about every stunt in the book – switching the way they part their hair on random days, pretending to be the other when one of them gets in trouble, making money off classmates who bet on knowing who’s who (and lying on more than one occasion). Looking alike isn’t usually a point of contention between them.

When it does bother them, volleyball is usually involved. They don’t always wear different shirts or numbered jerseys at practice, and you’ve been to enough of them to know that this can cause issues at the beginning of the year. The coach calls out the wrong name, a teammate calls for Osamu when they mean Atsumu, things like that.

They get especially miffed when one gets praised for something the other did. Atsumu, in particular, hates that the most.

“Ya have anythin’ to eat?”

Head snapping up, you look at Osamu and nod halfway through absorbing what he’s just asked. “There’s leftover onigiri in the fridge and snacks in the cupboard,” you reply, stepping over Atsumu’s outstretched legs to lead his brother towards the kitchen.

(“Heat up an onigiri fer me,” Atsumu calls out.)

(“Get it yerself, lazy-ass,” Osamu shoots back.)

In the kitchen, you fish out the last two onigiri the twins’ mom had given you yesterday and present them to Osamu.

“Here. You and Atsumu can each have one.”

“These the ones with salted salmon?”

You nod.

Osamu thinks for a moment. His lips purse, his eyelids droop, and even though he kind of looks like a lunch lady with that shower cap on, it’s cute.

“I’ll make ochazuke and yaki onigiri,” he decides. “What do ya want?”

“I’ll just have some chips or something. I just ate lunch, so I’m not that hungry.”

He stares at you, then accepts the onigiri from your hands. “Okay.”

Putting the rice balls on the counter next to the stove, Osamu retrieves a small plate, a bowl, and a mug from the cupboard. He finds most of everything else pretty quickly – the cast iron skillet under the oven, the spatula in the drawer right next to the fridge, and the soy sauce and oil in the lower corner cabinet. The only thing he asks for you to locate is the green tea, which you get from the depths of the second shelf in the pantry.

While he works, you grab a bag of your favorite chips and pop it open, leaning against the unused counter on the other side of the stove to watch.

You like it whenever Osamu cooks. The click of the stovetop turning on, the curve of oil being poured into the skillet, and you’re rocking gently in a small boat, curled up in an overstuffed chair on a rainy day.

(It’s an extension of how he feels, you’ve learned – for as much as Miya Osamu loves volleyball, he loves food just a teeny bit more.)

When the oil is hot enough, he unwraps one of the onigiri and places it in.

You turn the opening of your chip bag towards him as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Here,” you offer once he notices.

“Thanks.”

Atsumu’s onigiri sizzles in the skillet while the water for Osamu’s tea continues to heat up. Osamu mirrors your posture on his side of the stove, messily crunching down on several chips, and the two of you wait.

“Didja apply for the manager position yet?”

You swallow too early, rough shards of chips cutting down your throat. Fighting the urge to cough, you shake your head and reach for the water you’d left on the table this morning. “No. Still thinkin’ about it.” He hums. “You guys haven’t found one yet?”

“Kobayashi-senpai’s real picky.” He flips the onigiri over with one sharp push of the spatula, brushing soy sauce over the freshly grilled side. The water boiler beeps right after, and he seamlessly transitions over to pour the hot water over the teabag in his mug. “Most of the applicants we saw were annoyin’, anyway.”

“Oh.”

You recall the last practice you’d attended, watching from the balcony with your homework as the team ran laps around the court. The applicant on trial that day had watched them go by a few times, still and proper, before suddenly turning to Kobayashi and excusing themselves from the gym. They never came back.

On the walk back to the dorms that evening, Atsumu explained that the student had a counter for how many times their soulmate would pass by them.

(“Waste of time n’ space,” he’d complained. “Who’d wanna be with someone that desperate?”)

“Ya wouldn’t be half bad at it.”

“… Yeah …”

“If ya don’t wanna apply, just say so.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’ll wanna do it for the next three years.”

“Whaddaya want to do, then?”

“I dunno.” With a sigh, you set your bag of chips down. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to apply.”

Osamu shrugs. “If ya are,” he says, turning off the stove top, “don’t do it just ’cause of me.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, sharp and knowing as he flips the yaki onigiri onto the plate he’d pulled out earlier.

After calling Atsumu, who had migrated to the living room couch while he had been waiting, the twins scarf down their afternoon snack in no time at all and raid your cupboard for the complimentary snacks your parents usually bring back from their trips.

Halfway into his fourth wafer, Atsumu’s timer goes off.

“Oh, shit.” Shoving the rest of the wafer into his mouth and silencing the alarm, Atsumu gets up and eagerly makes a beeline to the bathroom.

“… Do ya think it worked?” you mutter as you and Osamu stand up more slowly.

“I dunno.”

A loud swear explodes from the bathroom.

You look at each other sharply. Wiping the crumbs from your lips, the two of you run over to investigate.

As you get closer, you hear the sink running, then Atsumu muttering underneath his breath.

When you peek into the bathroom, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Osamu says, leaning past you to get a better look. “’Tsumu, ya look like a carrot.”

“Shaddup, ’Samu,” Atsumu moans, rinsing his hair angrily. “I know. Fuck.”

Hair bleach on dark hair, as you find out, works similarly to hair bleach on dark fabric. Contrary to the sandy blond the older twin had desired, the result he had gotten is instead a bright, burnt yellow-orange matching the stains on his T-shirt. Not carrot, necessarily, but definitely not blond.

“Ugh.” Nose and forehead wrinkling, Atsumu leans toward the mirror, pinching a section of hair between his fingers. “It … it ain’t that bad, right?” His pitch rises with the slightest hint of denial. “I’m pullin’ it off.”

“It’s that bad,” Osamu says.

“’Samu!”

“Maybe you can bleach it again?” you suggest.

“And then his hair falls out? Bad idea.”

“Dye it, then, like you are.”

“We don’t have money left to buy a different color.” With a sigh, Osamu puts his hands on his hips. “Damn. Sorry, ’Tsumu.”

Atsumu groans and thunks his forehead against the mirror, dripping water all the way down its surface onto the counter. His frustration is so palpable that you can feel it prickling your skin.

If he hadn’t been so excited before, you’d probably poke fun. You should poke fun, but the disappointed twist of his lips and the droopiness of his sopping wet hair just makes you feel bad. He looks like a wet puppy.

Dammit.

You take your phone out.

Osamu tracks the movement. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Lookin’ something up.” You press on the first link you see, skim the webpage quickly, and put your phone back into your pocket. “I’m headin’ out fer a bit. Stay here.”

“… ’Kay.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbles.

After grabbing your wallet and checking its contents, you head outside to drag your bike out from underneath the vacant carport. And as you hop onto the seat, pedaling down towards the nearest drugstore, you tell yourself that Atsumu better thank you on his hands and knees once you get back.

—

“Blue shampoo?” Atsumu’s tone is suspicious as he slathers the back of Osamu’s hair in grey dye.

“It’s supposed to cancel out the orange.” Turning the bottle to face you, you read the description beneath the brand name. “‘Eliminates brassy, orange undertones.’ See?”

“It ain’t gonna fuck up my hair even more?”

“’Course not,” you retort, all hopes of veneration quickly fading away. “I ain’t an asshole, Atsumu.”

His eyebrow twitches, hands slowing. You take the opportunity to place the bottle sideways in the crook of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head to hold it in place.

“Oi –”

“Go try it. I’ll finish Osamu’s hair.”

“Yer so bossy,” Atsumu grumbles, but he lets you nudge him out the way, peeling his gloves off and grabbing the shampoo.

You snap some gloves on in turn, keeping one eye on Osamu’s hair and the other on Atsumu as he ducks his head beneath the sink faucet. They’d pretty much finished up applying the dye for Osamu, at least from what you can tell, so you start combing through the locks with your fingers to make sure everything is covered.

Miya hair is very thick. Soft, too. You hope all this bleaching and dyeing won’t ruin it too much.

“Hm,” Osamu hums abruptly.

You stop. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You furrow your brow but resume, only to just barely hear him mumble, “… Feels nice.”

Oh.

A smile crawls onto your lips without warning, the space behind your ribcage suddenly cozy and soft.

“Alright, I’m doin’ it,” Atsumu announces. You look up just in time to see him squeeze a dollop of shampoo into his hand. “Euch! It’s so blue!”

“Why do ya sound so surprised?!”

“Shaddup, I just wasn’t expectin’ it to be so dark! … Smells okay, though …”

While the shampoo does its work on Atsumu’s hair, you take a little extra time combing Osamu’s. He remains quiet and still, thumbs tapping idly on the dark screen on his phone. You wait for him to make more snide remarks at Atsumu’s expense or complain about the smell of the dye, but he doesn’t.

You eventually finish up while the water still runs blue and sudsy into the bowl of the sink. Osamu mutters a thank you and ambles off after eyeing his brother for a few seconds. You linger for a while longer.

(God, you hope it works. If not for Atsumu’s sake, then for your pride and your wallet.)

After what seems like forever, he rinses out the last of the shampoo, wrings his hair out a bit, and straightens up to look in the mirror.

You examine his reflection as well. It’s less orange, yes, but still not as light as he had wanted, more gold than sand. Not necessarily good, but certainly less bad.

Atsumu fixates on the more muted shade of his hair for a minute or two. His lips press downwards at the corners, and then they part to say your name.

You blink.

“What?”

“Why’d ya buy the shampoo?”

He sounds almost accusatory, but not quite; there’s an undertone that you very, very rarely hear in his voice. He meets your eyes in the mirror, hair a dripping, tangled mess.

“… ’Cause I felt bad fer ya,” you admit unwillingly. Atsumu makes a face, and you sharpen your tongue, because that is what feels comfortable with him. Normal. “And I didn’t want to hear ya mopin’ and complainin’ about it all week.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he persists. “I coulda pulled it off.”

You scoff. “Just ’cause you’re taller than most of the school doesn’t mean they wouldn’t’a noticed. And anyways, it’s better now, ain’t it?”

“I didn’t ask ya to buy it.”

“Ya didn’t even know what it was until I told you.”

“An’ if I did, I still wouldn’t’ve asked!”

“Yeah, ’cause yer prideful ass would rather die than ask fer help!” you snap, jabbing his bicep with your finger. “God! I knew ya wouldn’t even say thank you!”

“Well, if ya knew I was gonna be a dick about it, why’d ya waste yer money?!”

“I felt bad fer ya!” you screech. “My mistake!”

“Yeah, yer mistake!” Atsumu shouts back.

Chest heaving for breath, you glare at him. He glares in return. Temper pinks his face and the tips of his ears, flares his nostrils and curls his lip in that fierce and familiar way. In the back of your mind, you know you are doing the same.

Asshole.

You’re angry, yes. And offended, and exasperated, and and and –

And hurt.

“It’s so hard,” you say, your voice deciding to crack at the worst time possible, “to be nice to you sometimes, Atsumu.”

When the words leave your throat, his face grows blank in that way you’ve always hated, his mouth pressing into a fine line.

“So?” he replies.

You roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

Casting one last glance at the bottle of shampoo next to the sink, you clench your fists and turn to leave. What a waste of money. This is the last time you’re ever going to feel bad for him.

A hand wraps around your elbow upon your first step outside the bathroom.

“… Are ya cryin’?”

“No,” you bite, wishing he hadn’t asked because now you do feel like crying, just a little bit.

Atsumu pauses for an excruciating moment. You can practically feel his distaste for whatever words he’s about to say.

“I’ll pay ya back,” he mutters. “Fer the shampoo.”

“No.”

“Whaddaya mean, no?”

“I don’t want yer money.”

“Well, what do ya want, ’cause I ain’t owin’ ya anything.”

“I want a thank you.”

“… Can’t I just –”

“No.”

Atsumu throws his hands up. “Fine!” he says. “Thanks fer buyin’ somethin’ I didn’t ask fer! There, ya happy now?”

“I want ya to mean it,” you say quietly.

“I did mean it.”

You cross your arms.

He groans. Glancing around as if checking for hidden cameras, Atsumu slowly pushes his bangs away from his face and wipes his nose, sniffing.

“… Fine,” he eventually grumbles at the floor tiles. Cheeks puffed, he looks up at you from the corner of his eye and scratches the back of his head. “The shampoo fixed it a little bit,” the words struggle their way out of his mouth, “so … thanks … fer gettin’ it fer me. Ya didn’t have to.”

He looks like he’s just eaten soap, his ears still red, and that’s how you know he’s being sincere. Your shoulders relax a little bit.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Atsumu’s expression, almost doleful for just that moment, blooms into something more sarcastic once you accept his gratitude. He gestures at the doorway behind you. “Can I go now?”

“Dry the mirror and the counter first.”

“But I said thank you.”

You throw a towel at his face and walk away, more satisfied than not.

—

“How’s Osamu-kun doing?”

You prop your phone up against the wall behind your desk, tilting your pen between your fingers. “He’s fine, Ma.”

“Did ya tell him how good his curry is? He makes it better than me.”

“Yeah, he says he’s glad you guys like it.”

After resolving the blue shampoo issue with Atsumu on Saturday, you’d gone back to the kitchen and found Osamu chopping vegetables and tofu next to the sink. At first, you figured he was hungry again, but upon your questioning, he’d only denied it.

(“’S fer you.”

“… Fer me? No, you don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I know. Ya don’t like the curry at the cafeteria, so bring mine back to the dorm and save it in the fridge fer later. If ya don’t want it, leave it fer yer folks to eat when they get back.”)

He didn’t leave much room for debate. And since he was using your family’s food to make it anyway, you accepted, a bit perplexed but happy nonetheless. You hadn’t expected him to remember your complaint about the cafeteria’s bland curry.

The amount he made was enough to fill two Tupperware containers, one of which you left for your parents when they returned two days later. Needless to say, they were delighted.

“What a thoughtful boy. He’s so good to you, honey.”

You smile, walking back to your desk. “Yeah.”

(“Ya like dark chocolate in it, right?”)

Your mom sighs. It’s a familiar sigh, and you click your pen, knowing what she is about to say before she even takes a breath.

“I just don’t know why he hasn’t asked ya out yet.”

You can hear your dad speak up between chews in the background. “It ain’t like how it was back when we were young, dear. Soulmates these days don’t like makin’ things so formal and official.”

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be sweet? I was so happy when we went on our first official date.”

“The one at the konbini ’cause I couldn’t afford anythin’ nicer?”

“Yes. I loved it.”

“I know. You were smilin’ the whole time.”

“Glad you’re still in love,” you say dryly when they giggle over the phone, your nose wrinkling when your dad comes into view to give your mom a loud smooch. During these moments, you wish you’d called instead. “I’m still here.”

“Oh, I know, I know. Honey, you should bring Osamu-kun somethin’ fer his next game! A snack fer afterwards. He’ll like that.”

“Okay.” You’ve done that before. The first time you gave him an orange in your first year of junior high, he and Atsumu squabbled over dividing it for five minutes. Now you get double portions whenever you have the compulsion to bring something after games, just to keep the peace.

“Speaking of games …”

Here we go.

“… Have ya applied to be the manager for the volleyball team yet?”

“Um.” Glancing at the wall to your right, you click your pen some more, taking your time to answer. “I filled the form out …”

“[Y/n]! If ya dawdle, someone else’ll snatch it up. When’s it due?”

“July first or until they find someone.”

“Turn it in tomorrow!”

“Okay, okay.”

Your mom sighs again, and she places a bowl down onto the table. “… Otherwise, are ya okay? I’m sorry we missed ya at home.”

“It’s fine. I hung out with Kokomi and the twins. How was yer anniversary?”

“We’ll make sure we’re home next time you’re on weekend leave. And it was lovely! Oh, honey, ya should’ve seen the fish yer pa caught …”

You talk with your parents until they finish their dinner, hanging up once they’ve started cleaning up. As soon as the video cuts out, you release a breath and turn your phone face-down.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous about applying for the manager position. It’s the natural thing to do, because it’s natural to want to be involved with something Osamu is interested in, his own opinion on the matter notwithstanding. You think you might like being a manager. It’s not like you want to do something else more.

Getting rejected by Kobayashi would be horrible, though.

Maybe you’ll wait a little longer to turn your application in. Polish it up some more, and such.

—

After volleyball practice ends, and after everyone who had lingered behind to practice some more is ready to call it a night, Atsumu tells you and Osamu that he’s staying a little longer to practice his jump float serves.

“Are ya sure? Cafeteria’s servin’ all-you-can-eat pasta for dinner.”

“I’ll be done before it closes.”

Osamu doesn’t look convinced. To be fair, neither are you; Atsumu often loses track of time when he stays behind, resulting in an extra hungry, extra irritable Atsumu.

“Atsumu,” you say.

He huffs at you. “Seriously, I will!” he insists, before turning to walk back to the end line. You, Osamu, Ginjima, Akagi, and Ojiro all look on helplessly as he throws a volleyball into the air and gives himself a running start.

“Don’t worry,” Kobayashi says, grabbing your attention just as he jumps. She holds up the key to the gymnasium. “I’ll kick him out before he misses dinner.”

Ojiro, ever the responsible one, lets out a noise of protest. “Senpai, I can lock up. You should go.”

“No, it’s fine.” Though her tone is impassive, she makes it clear that her mind is set as she waves him off. “I’m goin’ out to eat with my boyfriend later, anyway.”

You blink.

Though Ojiro is visibly reluctant, he acquiesces. “… Okay. Thank you, Kobayashi-senpai.”

“Mmhm,” Kobayashi hums, and her gaze falls upon you. “Make sure they get to the cafeteria in one piece, [L/n]-chan.”

“I will, senpai.”

You wait outside while the guys change out of their gym clothes and gather their things. Once they exit the building, you join them, listening idly to their chatter about today’s practice as the five of you trek towards the cafeteria.

“Hey, Ojiro-senpai, Akagi-senpai,” Ginjima speaks up during a lull in the conversation. “What Kobayashi-senpai said earlier …”

Attention piqued, you look at your upperclassmen for their reactions to Ginjima’s question. Next to you, Osamu does little to hide his curiosity as well.

Ojiro and Akagi, in turn, share a glance, and Ojiro raises an eyebrow at Ginjima.

“Yeah?” Ojiro replies.

“Well, y’know …” Ginjima presses expectantly, “when she said that she has a boyfriend, did she mean …?”

“That’s somethin’ you can ask Kobayashi-senpai about, ain’t it?”

You imagine doing just that and cringe.

Ginjima’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “Well –!” he replies, a bit too loudly. “I would, but I don’t want her to think I’m bein’ judgmental or somethin’. Plus, I’m just a first-year …”

“Aw, I think it’s fine if they know, Aran. It ain’t like she’s hidin’ it or anythin’,” Akagi says. Ojiro looks up for a moment in thought, then shrugs tentatively, and Akagi smiles at you and the two boys. “Kobayashi-senpai’s not datin’ her soulmate. They’re pretty serious, too.”

Ojiro rests his hands behind his head. “He’s a nice guy. Comes to games sometimes.”

“Oh, I see …”

You nod slowly, absorbing this new piece of information. Kobayashi has a boyfriend. A boyfriend that she goes on dates with, one she really likes. You wonder how long they’ve been together.

You wonder if Kobayashi’s met her soulmate yet.

“E-Excuse me! Hello!”

The quick patter of footsteps interrupts your train of thought. Glancing behind you, you stop short when you see one of your classmates running up to your group, waving one hand and holding a camera in the other. The golden orange of the sky burnishes her red hair.

“Naruko-san,” you and Ginjima greet at the same time. Ginjima laughs.

“Sorry to bother ya!” Naruko bows and quickly straightens, holding her camera up and smiling nervously. “I-I was just takin’ some pictures for photography club, and I was wonderin’ if you guys would mind me takin’ a picture?”

“How long’s it gonna take?” Osamu asks.

“Not too long. Five minutes? U-Unless y’all are in a hurry to get somewhere …”

“Not too much of a hurry. Just wanna make it to dinner.” Ojiro smiles, patting Osamu and Akagi’s backs. “Where do ya want us?”

Naruko brightens, her cheeks going red. “J-Just keep walkin’! The lighting’s perfect right now, and I wanna take a picture of yer backs with yer volleyball jackets on.” She glances at you, and her expression grows more nervous. “Er …”

You lock eyes with her for a few seconds before catching on. Nodding, you take a step towards Naruko to join her.

Osamu’s hand grasps your shoulder.

His hold is loose, but you bite back the urge to slump over at the sudden warmth of it, pausing instead to look back at him.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

You answer tentatively. “I don’t have a team jacket.”

“That’s fine. You’re walkin’ with us too.”

“Yeah, but …” You wet your lips. “Like, visually, it’ll look weird if one person doesn’t have one on …”

The corner of Osamu’s mouth twitches, and he frowns. You watch as his gaze moves past your shoulder. A sudden, brief twinge of irritation, not belonging to you, zings through your ribcage.

“Why’s that matter?”

“Yeah. C’mon, it’ll be fine,” Ojiro says.

“It’s okay!” Naruko suddenly blurts, and you jolt slightly, looking back at her. She bounces on her feet, voice even higher pitched. “I can do a more candid shot, now that I think about it! A-Actually, Miya-san, could ya give [L/n]-san yer jacket? And Ginjima-san, you can keep yers around yer waist …”

Her sudden change in idea perplexes you a bit. But Osamu seems to be satisfied, and he shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders.

After a bit of hesitation, you slide your arms through the sleeves.

(It’s just as warm.)

“Ooh, [L/n]-chan’s wearin’ Osamu’s jacket,” Ginjima teases behind his hand, and your face heats up.

“Okay.” Behind you, Naruko lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. “I’m ready. Y’all can start walkin’ now, just like ya were before.”

With only a bit of self-consciousness, the five of you follow her instructions. There are only a few clicks of the camera before Naruko calls out her thanks and goes off without another word, leaving you and the boys to speculate whether you’ll ever see the results.

“How cute,” Akagi comments. “She looked like she was gonna throw up, though.”

“I hope those were conflicting statements.”

“Okay, Aran, I wasn’t implying …”

While the two upperclassmen start to banter, you move to take Osamu’s jacket off, only for him to stop you.

“’S fine,” he says. “You can wear it if ya want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And so you do.

—

The boys’ first practice game in July is brutal.

Many of your peers have come to watch. It’s a favorite after-school pastime of Inarizaki’s student populace, you’ve quickly discovered, to hop from one athletic club to the other simply to spectate and speculate. People pack the balcony and peek around the doorway, catching the scent of blood and sweat.

Between the crowd’s cheering and jeering, the squeak of sneakers on the gym floor, and the sound of palms ramming into volleyballs, the atmosphere is sharp, almost electric – something that you feel tingling on your skin as you stand on the sidelines, Kobayashi right by your side.

Atsumu delivers another devastating service ace. It ricochets off the corner of the other side of the court with a thunderous boom.

“Did you catch that, [L/n]-chan?” Kobayashi asks, arms crossed. “That was one of his better ones.”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t.”

“Hm.”

You watch the slow, satisfied stretch of Atsumu’s smile, and wait patiently. “It’s okay. He ain’t done yet.”

Indeed, Atsumu is just getting started. You spare an amused glance at Osamu in front of the net, his hands locked protectively behind his head, before turning back to Atsumu as the volleyball is thrown back to him.

Raising your camera, you adjust the focus, finger ready on the shutter button.

Toss. Run. Jump.

Click.

On your other side, a girl pumps her fists and cheers.

“Wow! Another one!” she gushes.

You smile behind your lens. “Ya always sound so impressed, Tsubaki-chan.”

“I’m just excited! We’re crushin’ them in the last set!”

“’Course we are,” says Kobayashi. “Our offense is that much better. I’m a little disappointed.”

As your upperclassman patiently points out each player’s strengths and weaknesses, you keep an eye on the team and crouch low. You’ve got plenty of photos now that the game’s nearing its end – lots of sets, a few spikes and digs, some flashy jump serves. Hopefully, some of them have turned out halfway decent. Even though you’d widened the aperture to make up for the gym’s crappy lighting and adjusted the shutter speed for blurring, you still worry about your timing.

By the time Inarizaki scores the winning point, you’ve moved to the opposite end of the court and have to race back to capture their reactions.

One thing you like about the volleyball team is how expressive they are. Joy, passion, pride – off the high of a victory, they bare everything, whether it’s through their expressions or the way they move or both.

Tsubaki says your name excitedly as soon as the teams have finished thanking each other, tugging on your arm. “Can I see the action shots, [Y/n]-chan?” she requests.

“Ah, sure.”

You turn the camera towards her, and she leans in as you scroll through the photos, her grin widening.

“Wow! Yer timin’s amazin’. They look so cool!”

The praise brings summer to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you reply genuinely. After a moment of hesitation, you lift the camera again. “Smile, Manager-san?”

Tsubaki doesn’t hesitate to broaden her already present grin, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. Kobayashi looks your way as well, and you take one shot, knowing it will be kept.

“Cute!” Tsubaki exclaims.

Two shadows loom over your shoulders as the girl bestows you with another compliment. When you turn your head to the right, your nose nearly brushes Osamu’s cheek.

“Ya got any good shots of us, [Y/n]?” Atsumu asks expectantly.

“Yes, actually, I did,” you reply, going back through the camera roll with a particular image in mind. You’re only vaguely aware of the warmth they exude as they budge into your personal space, the smell of sweat lingering on their skin. “Here.”

You’re particularly proud of this one. It had been a split second of pure luck, standing on the sidelines when a window of opportunity opened for a fast-tempo set. You had felt it – you knew Atsumu would set to Osamu, and as Osamu jumped, arm reared back as Atsumu sent the ball to him, you had captured it.

Somehow, you always get the timing right with them.

“Cool,” the twins approve proudly.

“Email that one to us, will ya?” Atsumu says. “I ain’t lettin’ you photography nerds hoard it away.”

“She’s sendin’ all these to Arata-senpai, ya dolt.”

“Hey, I wanna see!” Gintama breaks into your little group, trying to sneak a peek in. “Did ya get one of my spikes?”

“Yeah, how about my jump serve?”

“That super cool block me and Ren did in the second set!”

“Didja get one of Coach?”

One by one, the team gathers around you, eager for a glimpse of their successes. The crowding is uncomfortable, but you try your best to show them what you can anyway, feeling a rare sense of pride about your own accomplishments.

You’re happy with your choice.

Tsubaki will be a great manager. Even when you first met her, you knew she had everything she'd need for the job – a passion for the sport, a desire to help others succeed, and an endless amount of perseverance. Inarizaki couldn’t ask for a better person to replace Kobayashi next year. She’ll do well in what she’s decided to do.

And so will you.

—

#haikyuu #hq #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #miya atsumu x reader x miya osamu #haikyuu fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #yeah i got carried away LOL #the miya twins giving themselves terrible dye jobs lives rent free in my head #atsumu's especially. i KNOW they screwed up with his #that color looks way too close to a bleach gone wrong on black hair and he just made it his brand for the rest of high school #this is spiraling i am spiraling #kobayashi i'll miss you i loved thinking you up #the five nonsenses

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spnbabe67 · 26 days ago

Text

Til I'm Drunk Loved Up In Your Kiss

Kinktober Day 31: Mask Kink

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, PiV, Rough sex (Dean gets smacked like, 2 times), clothed sex

Summary: Dean reaps the reward when Tori gets a little too close to a certain demonic friend who spills some secrets

Word Count: 2221

Authors Note: Title is a lyric from the song You Belong to Me by Cat Pierce and the fic is inspired by this post from @cheynovak

Happy Halloween! Stay creepy, lovelies!

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature

All Hallows Eve. A holiday enjoyed by kids and adults alike, albeit with different activities. Adult Halloween activities varied wildly from going door to door begging for candy while dressed in costumes in the likeness of Disney characters, superheros or animals. Well, technically they still wore costumes, but they didn’t beg for candy from strangers anymore, they bought it with their own hard earned cash. It wasn’t like kids were trick or treating at the big, decrepit warehouse that sat above the Men of Letters bunker, so there was no need to decorate the outside. Inside was a different story. Tori and Sam had ganged up on him, insisting they throw a Halloween party for them and their other friends from out of state (And from beyond the Earthly plane). He’d been primed to say no, but damn Tori for giving him those eyes of hers that instantly had him caving, reluctantly agreeing to the plan.

All month the three of them had accumulated enough decorations to put Spirit Halloween to shame. He was half convinced Tori had raided every one in a 10 mile radius with the amount of decor and themed crap she’d brought back with her. The night before, once their friends had started to arrive, Tori and his brother practically never left the kitchen, brewing up delicious smelling desserts and finger foods (literally, Tori had concocted a snack made of mini sausages that looked like gnarled fingers). All of them had carved out pumpkins and decorated the Bunker from floor to ceiling in decor until it could have passed as a haunted house, garnering compliments from friends and family as they started trickling in, all dressed in various costumes.

Dean had a couple issues with the guest list. Two to be exact. He’d shot Tori a look as Rowena and Crowley poofed into existence, the King of Hell needing no costume outside a pair of tacky devil’s horns on his head, his mother aptly dressed like Jessica Rabbit. His lover had simply shrugged, greeting them with a smile and an offer of candy out of a large plastic cauldron bowl. Dean crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Crowley as the demon walked past him, a smug grin on his face. The flaps of his gauntlets flapped against his chest, reminding Dean of something peculiar.

While everyone else was dressed up, Tori had yet to reveal her costume, greeting their people in a pair of jeans and a tank top. Sam had gone the funny route, dressing up as Bob Ross, even letting Tori perm his hair into picture perfect curls. Dean had gone with the classic superhero, donning a department store quality Batman suit complete with the gloves, belt and a mask. He knew she had one, he’d seen the extra bag from Spirit and had picked up the packages from the front stoop, ones she’d secretly squirreled away to places unknown to him. Once the mother-son duo from Hell migrated further into the Bunker, Dean walked over to Tori.

“Really?” Dean asked, giving her a look

“What?” She shrugged again. “We’re on good terms, at least for now. Friends close enemies closer right? ‘Sides, I like Rowena. She has fun stories” Tori checked the slim banded watch on her wrist. “Do you mind watching the door while I go change? Everyone came in at once and I haven’t gotten a chance to slip away yet.”

Dean nodded, taking the cauldron-bowl from her.

“Thank you, My love.” Tori shot him a grin and Dean forgot how he could even be irritated with her. She leaned up on her tippy toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek below the edge of the mask. “Lookin’ good, Bats.” Tori winked at him as she walked away.

After nobody came through the doors for a good 15 minutes, Dean placed the cauldron on the table Tori had set up. Risking the wrath of his girl for leaving his assigned station, Dean wandered off further into the Bunker. Faces of friends and family greeted him as he moved through the halls, some participating in the games they’d set up, others had cozied up in the Bunker’s home theatre where Tori had figured out how to preprogram a set schedule of Halloween movies to run throughout the night for those who were feeling a little less ‘peopley’ as she’d put it.

Dean followed the sound of raucous laughter into the kitchen where the site of Tori stopped him in his tracks. She always stopped him in his tracks, sending his heart aflutter, but this. Fuck-she’d outdone herself tonight, and Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She had slipped into a black long sleeve dress so tight it might as well have been painted on, the hem stopping mid thigh where a pair of over-the-knee boots continued down her legs. A wide black ribbon was tied around her waist, a make-shift scabbard for the sword that was tucked against her body. A black mask obscured her face above the slightly crooked bridge of her nose, broken in her youth and never set right, and a wide and flat brimmed hat placed atop her freely flowing hair. Tori tipped her head back, laughing at some joke Charlie and Claire made, Dean’s eyes tracking the exposed column of her throat as she did.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her, dressed to the nines, a physical embodiment of one of his oldest fantasies. A fantasy he’d only mentioned to one person they both had regular contact with him. Dean found Crowley’s eyes already on him, smirking behind the rim of a tumbler filled with dark liquid. Oh it is so on, asshole. Dean walked up to Tori, wrapping his arm around her waist, making her look up at him, pressing her darkly painted lips together trying to suppress a knowing smirk.

“Hey, Babe.” She said, her greeting laced with cheeky pride, and Dean knew damn well she could see past the mask obscuring his features. “What do you think of my costume? Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah! Tori was just telling us how Crowley gave her the sword.” Charlie chirped from where she sat at the table, dressed in one of her LARPing costumes. “I was just trying to convince her to lend it to me for Moondor.”

“I love it.” Dean stammered out, so many emotions and feelings coursing through his body he swore he was vibrating. “Can I-can I talk to you real quick? There’s an issue with the theatre.”

Tori quickly wrapped up her conversation with Charlie and Claire before following Dean out of the kitchen. She knew damn well there was nothing wrong with the theatre, she saw the way he reacted when he saw her in her costume; the cheap mask did absolutely nothing to disguise the blush painting his cheeks as he stammered out his excuse to get her out of the kitchen. But she wanted to see how long he’d keep this up.

“So, what’s wrong?” She asked, adjusting the sword that Crowley had given her specifically for this purpose. Sure, the King of Hell could be a backstabbing asshole sometimes, but he was good for some things too. “Is the film reel fucked again. I can go back and fix it.”

Dean didn’t respond, simply, opening the door to their bedroom and shoving her into the room, slamming it behind her.

“You’ve been talking to Crowley.” Dean accused, and Tori watched him scan her body for the third time in the last five minutes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She played dumb, and it took everything in her not to burst out laughing.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Dean grunted, dropping down onto the bed

“Okay okay, calm down.” Tori giggled, unable to keep the charade up any longer, walking up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Yes," Crowley told me. I think he was trying to make fun of you but little does he know how much we like to experiment.”

Dean examined her costume, running his finger under the ribbon tied around her waist. “It’s a good costume. I mean, you’re always hot as hell, but fuck Tor.”

Tori huffed a laugh, plucking the mask from Dean’s head, tossing it off onto the desk. “Yeah? I’m glad you like it, Babe.”

“I do.” Dean slid his hand up her side. “I really do.”

Tori leaned down in the same moment Dean stretched up, their mouths meeting in the middle, noses bumping. Both of them laughed at the blunder before reattaching their lips, more coordinated this time. Tori tucked her hair behind her ears, snatching the sword from her waist and tossing it on the bed. Dean’s hands roamed up and down her sides and back, coming down to cup her ass, guiding her down to straddle his lap. Her hands carded through his hair as she settled on his lap, feeling his hardness poke against the inside of her thigh, the pants of his costume doing nothing to hinder his erection.

Dean’s hands on her hips guided her as Tori rolled forward on his lap. He squeezed her hips in time with her movements, moaning into her mouth. That was one thing of many she loved about him. He was so damn vocal and every time, without a doubt, it got her going almost more reliably than his wandering hands. Tori trailed kisses down his jaw, her teeth grazing the skin as she made it to his neck, pulling a low sound from it as she found that one spot below his ear, sucking a dark mark on it.

Her hand glided down his chest, bumping along the soft contours of his muscles through the skin tight shirt, gripping the yellow plastic buckle engraved with the Bat Signal insignia. Dean’s hand fumbled with her’s as they worked the finicky buckle undone, pushing it to the sides, hanging by the belt loops. He hissed a breath as Tori’s hand slid under his pants, under his boxers, to wrap around his length. Dean shifted enough to push his bottoms far enough down his thighs to free his cock and sit further back on the bed. Tori shoved him back on the bed, matching the grin he sported as she readjusted her position above him. Her dress had already hiked up far enough on her thighs for Dean to catch a glimpse of the black lace panties covering her core, matching the overall vibe of the outfit.

He watched with bated breath as she slid a hand between her thighs, sliding her panties to the side, positioning herself over him before sinking down. Both their heads tipped back as the fat head of his cock pressed against her entrance as she sunk down, his length splitting her open. Tori steadied herself with her hands on his chest as she adjusted to him seated fully inside her, her walls fluttering around him. Once the initial sting had given way to the pleasurable full feeling, Tori began to move. She bounced up and down on his cock, thighs lifting her almost all the way off him before dropping back down. Tori set a quick pace, roughly fucking herself on his cock.

She looked down at Dean, his hands having found their way to her breasts, kneading them through her dress. She bit her lip, as the curve of him brushed against that tender spot inside her inner walls.

“Do you, uh,” Tori stuttered. “Do you want me to, um-”

“Yes.” Dean finished, the single syllable a raw plea.

Tori nodded, leaning down to kiss him sloppily, the exchange dripping with passion before she pulled back. Before she had a chance to to think too much about it, Tori pulled her hand back before letting it crack across his face. The ragged moan the action pulled from Dean had her nearly cumming on the spot. Tori snapped her hips down hard on him, his grip on her hips helping her maintain her pace. She let herself just feel the moment, feel the heat and the tension crackling between them, slapping him once more

That was enough for Dean to let out a strangled moan, his cum spurting inside her as Tori chased her own high. It came when Dean slipped his hand between her legs, rubbing her clit until she shuddered and clamped down on him, throbbing around his cock.

“Was that okay?” Tori asked, lifting herself off of him, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand to clean herself up.

“Fuck, Tor, that was so much more than okay.” Dean reassured her, helping her off his body before pulling his pants back up, resecuring his belt. “That was fucking hot as hell. Mostly because it was you doing it.”

She grinned up at him as she readjusted her panties, pulling her dress back down her legs, looking more civil than she had seconds ago. Tori grabbed her makeup wipes from her desk, beckoning Dean over as she cleaned up the traces of her lipstick staining his face and neck before removing the stains from her own face. She met his gaze in the mirror as she reapplied her lipstick.

“Everything you ever hoped and dreamed?” Tori laughed.

“Even better.” Dean agreed, kissing her shoulder.

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural dean #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #happy halloweeeeeeen #happy halloween

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vetinarivimesy · 2 years ago

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Kenobi-centric fic recs

Everything here will heavily feature Obi-Wan Kenobi in some fashion, and will vary wildly by ship, tone, and fic-type though I'll do my best to give little blurbs/not-too-spoilery summaries.

The fics range from gen to explicit, in some cases pre-date tagging ettiquette, and, no, no I have not re-read them all (ye gods have you seen the word counts).

In a few cases I'm basing my summaries on very hazy memory and I have a noted bad habit of skimming straight past explicit porn when I don't want to read it, then forgetting its there entirely - so caveat lector!

These are mostly fics that I currently mentally catalogue as Wonderful Obvious Obi-Wan Kenobi Goodness fics rather than expecting to dig up any obscure hidden gems. The list would probably look very different on a different day. It's far from comprehensive, and the categories are loose at best. But here it is!

I've been contemplating putting something like this together for a while but been a bit nervous of sticking my head up above the metaphorical parapet. As, follows my fave character around without caring overmuch about the ship trash, I've got quite a list of Star Wars fics inhaled/rediscovered.

(Wee bit too used to coming into very dead fandoms long after everyone's left, put the chairs up on the tables, the metaphorical lights have been turned off... and the not so metaphorical bills have stopped being paid. More than once I've stumbled into a wonderful old fandom fic archive only for it to vanish into, Only What Was Saved on the Internet Archive Remains status. Even when the archive isn't actually an ex-archive, many don't actually allow for interaction. Apologies to the authors I've never worked up the courage to comment on, this is an explanation not an excuse!)

Obi-Wan's apprenticeship fics:

Commander Kenobi - norcumi (complete, 9646 words)

Obi-Wan gets de-aged in the midst of battle. Cody gets to find out what teenaged Obi-Wan was like. Given Obi-Wan thinks he's fresh out of Melida-Daan, nothing like whatever Cody might have been expecting.

A Town Called Stagnation - deniigiq (complete, 33,000 words)

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan take a trip to Stewjon, to let Obi-Wan get in touch with his roots post the horrorshow of his early apprenticeship. Smalltown thinking and the trauma of recent events clash horribly for everyone involved.

Another brilliant author who's whole fic-output is well worth checking out. Their wry utterly charming character voices never fail to amuse, even when the POV character is one I'm currently in an... actually I wouldn't mind some bashing of this guy kinda mood. I draw amusement and sympathy for Qui-Gon's character in every single one of their immediately post-Melida Daan fics for context here, with my knowledge of that event thoroughly warped and contaminated by the current popular fanon take on the matter too.

Though more Cody-centric, and thus Clone Wars era, than anything parallelogram (Complete, 33,000 words) and they're neutral (complete, 9900 words) by the same author are also wonderful.

poisoned chalice - qigiined (Complete, 9900 words)

Another author with the wit and deftness of characterisation to make immediately-post-Melida-Daan Qui-Gon's POV both amusing and sympathetic. They've also got quite a few other gems!

Qui-Gon's very wry POV as he tries to navigate raising a very traumatised child, and appeasing his various lineage members.

through hardships to the stars - kivaember (WIP, 148,000 words)

Canon divergence where Obi-Wan's apprenticeship snafu on Melida-Daan went just that much worse than those Legends-were-never-technically-canon novels would have it.

As a result Obi-Wan and a very young Jango Fett end up on the run from a terrifying darksider, whilst Jaster Mereel and Feemor despearately try to catch up with the pair.

Little Lights Stories - ms_nawilla (WIP, 628,000 words)

Qui-Gon neglected too much of Obi-Wan's training, so Obi-Wan isn't immediately knighted post-Naboo despite saving Qui-Gon's life and defeating the Sith.

Anakin goes to the creche, Qui-Gon's in utter denial, and Obi-Wan begins the rocky process of finding his own feet post-Naboo, getting through the thorny process of working out who you are as your own person after living under someone else's oppressive shadow for far too long.

Super detailed epic detailing all sorts of wonderful possible jedi-culture headcanons, illuminated manuscripts! beer! force-manipulation games! communal caring! crystallography! sex ed! old-people's homes! the engineers! clerical branch! outreach via art! dance instruction! reincarnation! politics! spies! terrible james bond esque spy films to hide that the spies were really real! lightsaber classes! non-jedi temple residents! U and L leaning prejudice! Alderaan!

Just what would happen if Qui-Gon Jinn were exactly the sort of irresponsible unpleasant adult who should never ever be given a child a lot of fandom suspects he is. His implied treatment of Obi-Wan here can be fairly harrowing, for all that its emotional neglect rather than anything graphic.

The jedi are never depicted as anything less than trying their best, unfortunately no matter how thorough the system tries to be, sometimes people do just fall through the cracks. As was v.nearly the case for Obi-Wan in this verse.

Mostly character driven, though the hints of the greater plot bubbling away underneath all of this glorious worldbuilding and character growth are both ominous and intriguing. The pairing is a hell of a spoiler, but also one that could potentially be a bit of a squick, I don't want to spoil the slowburn of this thing but I do want to give fair warning. Does tumblr offer spoiler tags?

Preventing Order 66 fics:

When Duty is Done - thosenearandfarwars (WIP, 257,000 words)

Wonderful long-form piece - technically a WIP but all installments so far are complete - a what happens next post-Palp's getting his comeuppance, messily. Features Codywan, grief, internalised ableism, jedi order reforming in a very nuanced 'we were this close to the brink' and lost so many people to the war sense *not* the sneaky 'jedi-positive but actually bashing' sense.

Hell I wholeheartedly reccie just about everything this author's ever done tbh!

(This Too Was a Gift (Complete, 69,000 words) is also utterly wonderfully done, and a complete fic in a similar vein, albeit much more focused on the ramifications for individual characters than the ensemble cast of thousands that is Star Wars.)

I Got My Head Checked - frostbitebakery (Complete, 79,000 words)

Codywan Sith!Obi-Wan AU. Cody falls for the hot Sith in the next cell...

Light of the Mists- Snowy Egret Chimes of Kyber, Songs of Kyber, and Anthem of Kyber (Complete, 166,000 words)

This one technically also fits the Obi-Wan's apprenticeship category too. Bit of an epic of, what would happen if Obi-Wan never made it to Bandomeer, and instead trained under a force sect with rather different ideas about how things worked than the modern jedi order?

Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi - stonefreeak (WIP, 113,000 words)

Wonderful crackfic premise done mostly seriously. (WIP)

By an extremely obscure bit of Senate Legalise, Obi-Wan finds himself thrust into the role of Supreme Chancellor. Palpatine is furious.

How A Romance Novel Saved The Galaxy - Ariana Deralte (WIP, 184,000 words)

The galaxy takes a left turn when a popular novel takes the world by storm, and the Jedi and Mandalorians mutually discover their two cultures aren't so different after all...

sanguine - glimmerglanger (complete, 158,000 words)

In which Obi-Wan being a vampire, with all the nasty prejudices that come with being a non-human in the GFFA, somehow saves the galaxy.

Just Go Kill Palpatine - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 6662 words though this is likely an underestimate due to formatting of a wonderful epistolary/OutsiderPOV social-media-centric chapter)

Just as the title says. Obi-Wan goes and attempts to do just that. Wonderful and hilarious.

The More I Live the More I See this Life is Not About Me - K_R_Closson

Another de-aged Obi-Wan fic. In which post-Melida-Daan suspicious of everyone and everything Kenobi somehow fixes things. Everyone around Obi-Wan is suitably horrified by the news of just what his apprenticeship under Qui-Gon entailed.

Not Quite Sure How to Catergorise these...

This category is the equivalent of the draw marked 'misc.' sorry! Mostly a mix of action/adventure stuff and fics I suspect will turn into, and they prevented order 66 fix-its, but maybe not, with some other truly misc. things thrown in.

backdrop - esama (Complete, 2300 words)

Short and sweet self-contained little tale. Very succinct, but what the author does with those words...

Gunslinger's Paean - Idiot's Array + Homeworld Elegy - Ashcroft_Writes (WIP, 299,000 words)

Epic, what if Obi-Wan post-Rako Hardeen paired up with Cad Bane action adventure tale. Mistrust. Violence. Gunslinging. Espionage. Murder attempts galore!

We Brothers, We Sisters, We Vod'e Few - infinitecompositions(WIP, 322,000 words)

Hell of a fic. WIP. What if canon were to take just a step to the left... Post-Naboo Obi-Wan finds himself recruited for the Shadows branch of the jedi order...

Another epic, cough, can you tell what style I like yet? Uh, starts off as a bit of a dark action adventure romp, rapidly morphs into a detailed dissection of spy-craft, espionage, and galactic politics - but becomes no less tense for it.

Kneading - Threebea O (WIP, 79,000 words)

Manages the miraculous trick of being canon, whilst seeming to be a fluffy bakery AU for a significant chunk of the first few chapters.

Jango/Obi - Jango falls for a local baker whilst hanging out in small town with Boba. Increasingly important to the fate of the galaxy shenanigans inevitably ensue when aforementioned baker turns out to be Obi-Wan Kenobi undercover.

Be Your Love - glimmerglanger (complete, explicit, 9000 words)

I tend not to go for 'real world' AUs but this author's work is so very excellent that I'm reccieing this one - hell I think most of their work is well worth a look through, and every fic-genre they've attempted has proven very fun indeed.

Heed the tags. Explicit Codywan BDSM stuff contained within.

Wizard of the Jundland Wastes - phoenixyfriend (complete, 3200 words)

Obi-Wan on Tatooine, outsiderPOV.

One of many wonderful Star Wars fics this author has written. If this one doesn't catch your fancy, one of their many delightful utterly bizarre premise taken to logical conclusion fics probably will.

Father of the Year (Not) - phoenixyfriend (complete, 2430 words)

Obi-Wan and Jango find out they're each other's soulmates. Mostly they're furious.

Wonderful very pointed skewering of all the usual soulmate and Jango is actually a decent dude tendencies in fic-writing.

Time Travel fics:

I thought I fought this war alone - stonefreeak (Complete, 3783 words)

Wonderful short and sweet Obi-Wan time travelling to his padawan days fix-it.

this is unexpected - MarbleGlove (Complete, 4461 words)

Very succinct and perfect with it time travel what if. Old Ben Kenobi goes back in time and immediately ruins Palpatine's day.

This author tends to be delightful no matter the fandom.

The Sun Swings East - kj_feybarn (Complete, 33,000 words)

Brilliantly done timeloop story of woe and hope. As much about recovery as the initial plot-driven despair. Mind the tags, Obi-Wan is understandably severely depressed throughout much of this fic.

The Making of Mavericks - AppoApples (complete, 146,000 words)

It was extremely difficult to choose just the one time travel fic from this author. Their output is wonderfully varied, don't like their particular take on the Jedi Order and/or the Mandalorians in this fic? Pick another, and odds are they'll have explored the concept from precisely the opposite angle.

This author has a wonderful exploratory sense of, okay okay, so how do we fix this thing/how do we make it worse?

In this case, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Cody, and Rex time travel to the past. This creates broad sweeping changes to the timeline, not always for the better.

The Desert Storm (complete, 1,144,599 words) & Rise and Fall series (WIP, 396,000 words) - Blue_Sunshine (WIP)

Wonderful epic-length time-travel fic. Highly recommended. Technically a WIP, but what there is already is well worth the time.

Ben Kenobi, now Nasaade, in utter furious despair finds himself back in time, pre, well, everything. He decides to take matters into his own hands and change things.

Gorgeous character-work, where by the end of the piece the characters are all in very different places than where they started out. And you utterly believe the growth (positive and negative) that got them there.

Draws from both legends and canon in a bit of a hodgepodge approach - despite drawing from a few of the more leaning towards the jedi were the bad guys sources in legends, impressively manages to tread a nuanced stance on, okay so what if the jedi and mandalorians did decide to start reforming in the face of this grave existential threat that's been brought to their attention?

Wonderful utterly enviable pacing - I know this one's extremely long. But at no point do you ever feel/notice the length when reading this thing.

It Was Another Time and I Another Man - Pell_Binterhol (WIP, 196,000 words)

Multiple Kenobis time travelling. Absolute chaos for absolutely everyone else; fellow time travellers, fellow Kenobis, and plotting Sith alike.

the massive machinery of hope - Killbothtwins (Complete, 150,000 words)

Obi-Wan travels back to his padawan days and annoys everyone else into helping him save the day. Wonderful sense of wry humour throughout this fic.

Living Memory - elsa3beth (WIP, 363,000 words)

Epic very detailed wonderful fic detailing just what General Kenobi would do if he had to fight the war again.

Deals with just what could happen if Anakin had ever had to face his fellow jedi with even a few of his flaws laid bare, and the fallout.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan, just barely managing to hold himself together, fresh out of the middle of his exile to Tatooine, is desperately playing four-dimensional chess against Palpatine and trying to use the awful structure of the Republic's Army to save both the Jedi and the Clones.

The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident - antigrav_vector & quarra (WIP, 783,000 words)

Long, character driven fic that's an incredibly fun take on just what might happen if Obi-Wan and a bunch of Ghost Company stumbled into Jaster Mereel's True Mandalorians and get themselves adopted. Heed the tags wrt pairings!

All the complications that come from being an adult stuck as an apparent child ensue. From being squicked out about being a kid again, to having other people being concerned that a kid is behaving like an adult, to just... time travel complications, kidnapping, force esoterica, and fighting a small war.

Plenty of Jedi thoughtfully staring at this strange miniature jedi master, lots of Mandalorians being both stunned and horrified by these tiny soldiers, and Dooku/Sifo-Dyas being a surprisingly lovely central pairing.

Not Qui-Gon friendly in the least, and in this verse you can't help but feel he very much deserves it.

Suicidal Misunderstandings - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 67,000 words)

Obi-Wan spends much of this fic convinced he's hallucinating and on a bad spice-trip. The trigger warning is very much in the name here.

That said, wonderful, often hilarious time travelling Obi-Wan fic, as the jedi desperately try to work out 1) what's wrong with Obi-Wan, and 2) how to stop Palpatine.

Re-Entry (Complete, 568,000 words) and Re-Entry Journey of the Whills (WIP, 889,000 words) - flamethrower

Fair warning, might turn into a deadlink fairly soon. The author's stuff is in the process of being transferred to another archive. Not a big deal (though fandom being a collective arse is, ffs), as with many older fics this one has moved home fairly often! (Squidgeworld.)

Wonderful absolute epic time travelling Obi-Wan Kenobi fic. Even if you're not a fan of the central Qui/Obi pairing it's written from a very believable perspective, of you can see precisely how these two adults got there, and an extremely enjoyable read with it.

Starts off as a fairly character-driven piece, as the plot slowly builds into something extremely ominous indeed, though once the plot momentum gets going ye gods it gets going.

Another case of technically a series that's a WIP, but every individual story that's up is complete and a satisfying individual whole.

Filled with all the things I love in a Star Wars fic, Obi-Wan getting to be awesome, force esoterica, Obi-Wan getting to be a little shit, plotty plot, the jedi getting to be nuanced and awesome, canon and fanon star wars lore all over the place, and plenty of action adventure and gorgeous character work.

I don't want to go into too much spoilery detail here, but suffice it to say this one is a classic in the fandom for a reason, and deservedly so.

Warning that the dark stuff in this fic can get dark, the level of whump Obi-Wan endures goes all the way up to extremely creepy Palpatine-torture on par with the Ventress/Sith-mask/Alpha-17 situation. It's never gratuitous with it, but in places this fic is explicit, at turns in both the fun porny way and the whump sense.

Star Wars crossovers and fusions:

Alas this section will be shorter than I'd like it to be - unlike a lot of other sci-fi fandoms Star Wars fandom seems to shy away from crossover fic by and large. There's both less of it, and what there is seems to get a hell of a lot less interaction than it would in a different fandom. Not guilt-tripping, again, I am very very guilty of failing to interact myself, just a weird, 'huh, where are all the crossovers?' thing I've noticed.

Rouge Handed - nevertheless_turtle (complete, 2190 words)

As the name hopefully implies this one's kinda sorta a Moulin Rouge crossover. Ish. In that it's firmly set wholly in the GFFA.

Delightful little crackfic.

The weeping stone - Gabriel4Sam (complete, 6965 words)

A wonderful crossover with The Mummy that somehow manages to thread the needle, hitting the humorous tone of those films perfectly whilst simultaneously making you feel very sad indeed for Obi-Wan.

A Star to Steer By - dogmatix, norcumi (first fic in the series is complete, second a WIP, 109,000 words)

Absolutely wonderful Stargate crossover/fusion - it somehow manages to be both a crossover and a fusion at once.

Largely told from Jack's POV, the Jedi are symbionts, with all the misunderstandings that would imply, given the SGC are much more used to dealing with malevolent parasitic Goa'uld than benevolent symbiosis.

Lost Jedi - Augusta Pembroke (complete)

A Velvet Goldmine crossover fic. Curt Wild meets Qui-Gon Jinn, and things get complicated. Qui/Curt with implied unfulfilled Qui/Obi feelings.

All the unhealthy messy relationship stuff the Velvet Goldmine tag and the age of the fic implies is probably present and correct here.

Qui-Gon ends trapped on the wrong side of the galaxy, he finds Curt who's force sensitive, and trains him to help him get back home to Obi-Wan... Things get messy.

Snow and Cinder - MrsHamill (explicit, complete, 16,000 words)

The pre-requisite wonderfully done Highlander/Methos crossover fic. Obi-Wan hangs out with the ROG for a while post-Naboo in a bid to get over a falling out with Qui-Gon Jinn and work through his own messy feelings on the matter. The main pairing is Qui/Obi as many older Master&Apprentice archive era fics are.

All you really need to know about Methos is he's very old, and very cynical. He's literally seen and done it all.

This one doesn't fall into the all too easy to fall into trap of having Methos, understandably an extremely old and cunning immortal being so much better at anything and everything than everyone else around him that it stops being fun and starts bashing the other-verse in the crossover, for which I'm extremely grateful. It's a difficult balance to tread and this author manages it wonderfully. (I say this from first-hand, I have tried and failed to airdrop this character into other sci-fi fandoms you'd think he'd work well in, fic-author perspective rather than as a crit of anyone else's work!)

Look at the publishing dates please.

A few of these fics pre-date Attack of the Clones. They were written in the 90s.

If I find out someone's been bashing an author for outdated terminology or characterisation or for not using the current 2022 language, or a character the fic pre-dates in a fic they've not looked at for over twenty years, or how they wrote the central pairing in the era when the punchline to every single joke in Hollywood was 'haha they're gay!' I... Well... I won't be writing another one of these rec lists. Which isn't much of a threat I realise, but please, be civil.

I could probably easily fill a couple more of these lists tbh, and get more specific with it genre-wise... But as a general, here's a few fics I remember fondly often. I can feel myself getting neurotically 'this has to be perfect' at this thing, so, this'll do for now.

#star wars #fanfic #fic recs #obi-wan kenobi #fanfic rec #long post #(stupidly long post)#recs list #fanfiction recommendation

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elliewiltarwyn · 3 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 | #2: Horizon

Word Count: 775

Third Umbral Moon, 28th Sun

The boat left this morning, and we’re on it. It’s finally happening: we’re on our way to Tural.

Some of the sheer excitement that had churned in my stomach the day we met Wuk Lamat is beginning to return now that the day has arrived…which would be great if it didn’t manifest as a bit of seasickness. Been holding it together better than Mia, though: she’s planted herself on a chair in our cabin and is determinedly staring out the porthole at the horizon to try and keep herself from pitching up breakfast. It’s hard enough for her already, and the waters are calm and inviting right now; I dread to think what’ll happen when a storm approaches, which is practically a given with how long the voyage is. Poor baby.

She insists that we shouldn’t dampen our excitement on her behalf, though, that we should go and chat with our shipmates about our destination to see what we can learn - as if I haven’t spent a good part of the past several moons in the company of the Third Promise of Tuliyollal, hearing her excitedly explain to me the wonders of the nation she seeks to claim rule over. And I’ll not deny: Tural sounds incredible. Wondrous sights the likes of which Eorzea can only dream of, an incredible mixing pot of culture and peoples - if nothing else, I think this journey will be worth it just to confirm the wonders she speaks of, that’s certainly an adventure in itself.

And yet…

There’d been a hesitation in her whenever she spoke to us of her home, and till today I’d never been able to put my finger on what that was. The realization dawned on me and Lily as we spoke to the other passengers on the ship; some of them were merchants that spoke in awed respect of the Pelupelu’s shrewdness and aptitude for bargaining; someone else spoke of the Turali names for the races, such as Hhetsarro and Xbr’aal for what we call the Miqo’te and the Hrothgar. Then there was the one Mamool Ja merc who got two sentences into the “simple-minded brute” act before groaning about it becoming impractical, with how more people were visitng Tural and learning what they were actually like…

It occurred to me then: Wuk Lamat had spoken to us of how she grew up as a daughter of the Dawnservant, how well she got along (or didn’t) with her older brothers, and the various awesome feats her father had performed in uniting Tuliyollal under one banner. She spoke of things like her favorite foods or favorite sights of the capital, and she spoke of how much she loved the Tural her father built… but this was the first time Lily and I had heard of things like the Pelupelu or the Turali names, or how rich and varied the Mamool Ja are as a people despite whatever assumptions Eorzeans concocted about them. Things beyond the borders of the capital city.

“I don’t think she’s been hiding them from us or anything,” was Lily’s take. “I think she might not actually have seen as much of Tural as she feels she should have as the Third Promise.” She giggled and added, “It’s funny that she felt it was easier to cross the ocean to Eorzea and ask for help to explore her own homeland.”

It certainly is funny, but I think there’s a little more to it than that. It’s obvious Wuk Lamat doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body; she’s bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, incredibly earnest, and very extremely naive. She’s excited to learn what her homeland has in store for her on her upcoming journey, but she’s also well aware of her own limitations and need for support from experienced adventurers like us. She put on a brave face when she first met, but as I look at her now standing upon the ship’s bow, grinning wildly at the distant horizon as she anxiously stretches her arms… she looks so young. I’m not certain she’s older than I was when I lost my parents.

But she’s determined to reach that horizon regardless. And, well, if there’s something I can do to support her in that endeavor, I can reach out and be the hand I needed in times like that.

…gods. I just told Lily this, and she gasped and looked at me, delighted, and whispered “El, you’re adopting her as your protege!” I immediately protested, but stopped mid-sentence because. Yeah. Yeah that’s definitely what I just wrote. Gods dammit. I’m getting older, but I’m not old enough to be a mentor, am I…?

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #my fanfiction #ffxiv fanfiction #ellie's journal entries #thinking of Ellie as Wuk Lamat's Auron is honestly a saving grace of dawntrail for me; i think ellie sees a lot of herself in wuk #and she's curious if there can be a version of her that's as strong without the trauma; she'd want to help wuk avoid the mistakes she made #though now we know the trauma always comes and wuk lamat is no exception ofc #dawntrail spoilers #kinda #on a totally random note: wtf's with the textures of the ship deck. they look so glitchy and i've never noticed it before #idk if it's a crime i forgot i had installed or something about the new graphics settings or what lmao

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 1 month ago

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Relationship: Kaisa/Johanna

Category: Teen and up audiences

Word count: 8.4k

Chapters: 1/1

Tags: wait.. is this the fic with the drums?; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Meet-Cute; Wingman; Romantic Comedy

Written for @sketchbookweek Day 4 - Wingman

🚈 Read it on ao3 💔

Preview:

Objectively, there were worst places to be than the tube at 7am, but that was a terribly easy thing to forget when you’re sleep deprived, crammed in with strangers with wildly varying levels of politeness, and having to deal with a lot of bullshit.

Kaisa groaned as Manuel’s icon popped up with unread messages on her discord app, no doubt explaining his rationale behind taking back the guy he’d just broken with for disrespecting his boundaries. This was an old song and dance. Kaisa knew nothing she said could dissuade her best friend, not when he was so certain that he was never going to be this in love again.

And honestly, Kaisa kind of hoped he was right. You had to be arse over teakettle to keep coming back after so many fights. She only wished she didn’t have to be the one to pick up the pieces every time it happened.

Knowing that if she didn’t give him any attention soon, he might think twice and delete all the messages with the juicy details, Kaisa’s thumb hovered over the icon (which was currently a Cedar tree, for some reason). The only thing that stopped her was realizing, with some surprise, that she was being talked to.

“Rough day already, huh?” The woman sitting beside her asked with more genuine sympathy in her voice than a complete stranger should be able to showcase. She seemed to be about her age, with messy brown curls and a kind smile, and had earned Kaisa’s respect in the previous half an hour they’d been sitting together by giving her a polite good morning and remaining otherwise silent.

Uncharacteristically, Kaisa found she for once didn’t mind being talked to during her detestable commute. This time she had something she had to tell someone lest she blow up like a party balloon from sheer stress.

“My friend is taking his ex back!” She snapped, not caring if she sounded insane because that’s how she felt, at that point.

#my fic #fic: ghb!#sketchbookweek2024 #i understand this may not be exactly what 'wingman' is supposed to mean.#but this fic showed up in my mind fully formed and begging to be written so.#come get your wholesome yuri with a side of toxic yaoi #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic

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yuurei20 · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! It's me again. Thank you for answering my last ask.

I went and found some more voice lines. Sadly, I cannot screenshot the audio, but here's the English translations of the lines from Jack's dorm uniform, Rook's Halloween costume, Malleus' GloMas outfit, Kalim's New Year getup, Silver's Halloween costume, and Silver's Birthday Boy clothes. It's worth noting that Deuce calls Kalim "Asim-senpai" in the New Year's duo.

Hope this helps! (I only have the Jack, Malleus, and Rook shown here, the rest I got via the helper cards in Crafter's Gauntlet battles. lol.)

Hello hello, thank you so much!! I checked the audio on all of the above cards and with the exception of the usual removal of honorifics, the official translations on EN are all perfect! :>

Have put together an original dialogue/literal translation comparison just for fun, but they're all great as they are!

Jack's phrasing here is probably meant to be a wolf-based pun, as the word he is using (かます) both means to defeat a person/win a challenge in one go, and is also pronounced the same as the word 嚙ます, for "to bite."

So technically he is saying both "let's bite them" and "let's finish them off" simultaneously, which isn't really something that can be portrayed in English.

Ruggie's response of "熱くなっちゃって" is kind of Ruggie saying, "You always get so heated!" or "passionate" or "worked up."

The word "hade" (派手) comes up a lot with Kalim, but can be so difficult to express in English. It can be said as "flashy," "gaudy," etc. Basically, to go very big!

Deuce's response is the same on EN and is a word of encouragement (it is actually かます again, from Jack's Duo, as Deuce is encouraging Kalim to take out their opponent), but Deuce is also saying "please."

And then there is Deuce's use of last-name-senpai being changed to a first name without an honorific which, as you say, is worthy of note!

Deuce's way of expressing himself connects directly to his past violence and his present-day efforts to reform himself; an important part of the character that might just be impossible to translate into english. (More here!)

Malleus and Sebek's lines are both perfectly accurate on EN, although "-sama" has been removed from Sebek's dialogue.

The game has an interesting relationship with the "-sama" honorific. Sebek's "Malleus-sama" gets rewritten into "Housewarden Malleus" or dropped, while it is localized as "Mr.," "Master," "O Great," "O mighty" or "Count" with other characters.

Rook's Halloween Duo dialogue is perfectly accurate! Interestingly, while Trey and Riddle both have "roses" in their nicknames, Riddle's is pronounced as the English/French word "rose," while Trey's is pronounced as the Japanese word "bara" (薔薇).

(All of Rook's nicknames (including changes made between servers) can be found here!)

Silver's Halloween Duo is also perfectly accurate, with just the loss of "-senpai" from Silver.

Leona's line is a great example of how flexible the Japanese language is, depending so heavily on context as it does: technically all Leona is saying is the word "show," in a command form. He isn't specifying what it is that he wants Silver to show to him, so while we can infer that this would probably be "show me what you've got" or "show me how it's done," etc, in English, he could technically also be saying "show me what's in your hands" or "show me what you're hiding," etc.

(If you've ever wondered how some translations can vary so wildly between sources, this is part of why!)

Silver's Birthday Duo is also perfectly accurate, missing only the "-kun" from Ruggie.

Unlike Cater, who also uses honorifics in 100% of his dialogue (except with Trey in important situations), when Leona overblots Ruggie doesn't shift to calling him by name: he calls him a casual form of "you," which is equally fascinating. (More here)

Also, combined the above screenshots with their corresponding audio for reference, here!

#twstask #twst duo magic

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homestuckreplay · 1 month ago

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EOA2 - Statistics!

I’ve run the numbers on Act 2 cause I have a secret and deep love for stats. The data is collected here in the Homestuck GameFAQ and I collect it all myself, so it’s limited by what I can reasonably record.

Act 2 is 67.4% of Homestuck so far by page count. It ran for 511 pages across 125 days (June 9, 2009 to October 11, 2009), 104 of which had an update (83%). This averages 4.1 pages per day (4.9 on update days). September 24, 2009 (Homestuck Day 138) had the most pages in a single day with 15.

This is slightly lower than Act 1’s 4.4 pages per day (5.3 on update days), and still does not beat April 13, 2009’s (Homestuck Day 1) 16 total pages.

377 pages contained narrative text (73.7%) while 134 pages were image or animation only. There were 639 images and animations in total (panels), with 69 pages containing two images (13.5%; nice) and 15 containing three or more (2.9%). Page 510 had the most panels, with 17. Of these 639 panels, 250 were still images (39.2%), 371 were GIFs (58.2% - defined not as filetype, but as a short, simple animated panel), 11 were complex, non-interactive animations (1.7%) and 7 were interactive panels (1.1%).

18 pages contained sound [S] (3.5%), including 31 distinct music tracks worked on by 16 artists, 25 of which were new for act 2. This includes two versions of Showtime by Kevin Regamey & Malcolm Brown and three of Harlequin byMark Hadley.

The distribution of panel types (still image, GIF, animation and interactive) was very similar between Acts 1 and 2, but the amount of new music was significantly higher in Act 2. This was entirely due to Dave’s MIDI samples on p.338, which contained 20 tracks, 19 of which were new.

333 pages contained a command in the title (65.2%). Of these, 120 commands were to John (36.0%), 55 were to Rose (16.5%), 82 were to Dave (24.6%), 64 were to WV (19.2%), and 12 were to miscellaneous characters (3.6%), including the game engine (3), narrator (1), Spades Slick (2), Nannasprite (1), John’s piano (1), John’s fridge (1), John’s bathtub (1), Dad’s safe (1), and Colonel Sassacre (1).

262 commands came from the player (78.7%) and 71 came from WV, with all of WV’s commands directed to John or the narrator except for p.277 (DO THE POTTED VEGETABLE NEXT. IT LOOKS DELICIOUS.), which was directed to Rose. There were 99 additional commands from WV within p.253, directed to a mix of John and the narrator.

I imperfectly track ‘point of view character’ based on who the ‘you’ in narrative text is directed to, or without that, whose experiences we are seeing in the image. If we are seeing something the character wouldn’t be able to see, the point of view is the player’s. Based on these metrics, John is the point of view character for 139 pages (27.2%), Rose for 102 (20.0%), Dave for 122 (23.9%), WV for 104 (20.4%), the player for 42 (8.2%), and a different character for 8 pages (1.6%), including the narrator (4), Spades Slick (3) and Nannasprite (1). Six pages contain multiple POVs, accounting for the small discrepancy in the total number.

Act 1 only contained three command recipients and four point of view characters, while Act 2 contained 13 command recipients and eight point of view characters. By both metrics, John is the main character in both Acts 1 and 2, although Act 2 is really more of an ensemble cast.

There were 39 pesterlogs on 38 pages (7.4% of pages) and 9 spritelogs (1.8% of pages). Combining all chatlogs, John appears in 31 (plus 10 where he’s the recipient but doesn’t answer), Rose in 29 (plus one where she doesn’t answer), Dave in 12, GG in 4, and Nannasprite in 9. The chatlogs vary wildly in length, but average 172.6 words. The longest chatlog is between Rose and GG on p.442, which totals 587 words.

In total, Act 2 contained 14,386 words of narrative text, 2815 words in page titles (commands plus ‘==>’, which counts as one word as it has a distinct meaning), and 8286 words in chatlogs. This includes commands and narrative text within p.253 ([S] YOU THERE. BOY) but does not include other types of words within images, as these are hard to track without extensive time or better computer skills than mine.

This gives Act 2 a total word count of 25,487, or an average of 49.9 words per page – slightly higher than Act 1’s 42.5 average. Page 253 is by far the longest page in Act 2, with 2103 total words including 1579 of narrative text; p.448 is the second longest based on narrative text alone, with 218 words.

In Act 1, the total time elapsed in the narrative was around an hour and a half (0.11% of the real, out of universe time). Act 2 is much harder to estimate, but from earliest to latest point, the elapsed time in the narrative is around 4 billion years (1.17trillion% of the real, out of universe time).

#eoa2 #milestone #homestuck #chrono #i have so many hopes and dreams and theories abt how some of these stats are gonna change long term #call me in 5 years to see how its shakin out

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morelikeravenbore · 8 months ago

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✨Don't Tell Ominis

I wrote this fun oneshot for my dear friend @sleepywitchlory, whose MC Lory is as sweet, kind and loyal as she is, and whose friendship in this fandom I will always treasure and keep close to my heart.

Content warnings: none, unless you're triggered by offensive footwear. SFW.

Word count: 1.9k

Lory and Alistair belong to @sleepywitchlory.

[my hogwarts legacy masterlist]

Accidentally conjuring a dragon with Ancient Magic wasn't exactly what most would consider a stroke of luck, but as the secret entrance to the Undercroft slammed shut behind her, Aurélie thought herself very lucky on several accounts: first, that the dragon had been small, as far as dragons go; second, that Sebastian hadn't been there to witness her embarrassing blunder (because, as enthusiastic as he was about her practising her magic, she felt certain even he would draw the line at conjuring fire-breathing demon-lizards in a school; and third, that she'd managed to escape said demon-lizard without so much as a singed hair (hers, not the dragons.)

Luck — if one ignored the extremely unlucky circumstances that directly proceeded it — was on her side.

Read on 👇

Or so she thought, until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the still silence of the empty Defence tower, announcing the swift arrival of unidentified others.

Merde.

Fearing her luck had already run out, Aurélie raised her wand, intending to conceal herself under a hasty disillusionment, when a familiar voice gave her pause.

'Ouch!' hissed the voice from somewhere close by. 'Sebastian, that's my foot!'

'Bloody hell, Lory,' replied a second, much louder voice, 'if you'd stop clutching my arm so hard -'

'Will you both shut up before somebody hears us?'

Moments later, Aurélie breathed a sigh of relief as three slightly disheveled and out-of-breath figures appeared from beneath the guise of magical concealment. Luck had come to her aid again, but this time in the form of three of her four best friends, who each stared back at her with wildly varying expressions on their faces: surprise (Lory, pleasant), skepticism (Sebastian, shrewd), and indifferent (Alistair, cold.)

'Aura!' said Lory cheerfully, her strawberry-blonde hair gilded under the warm the torchlight.

'Aura?' echoed Sebastian, less cheerfully, his wild brown curls standing up in disarray.

Alistair, standing slightly away from the others, said nothing.

'What are you doing here?' Lorraine Jones, ever the sweet-natured Hufflepuff, saw nothing nefarious in her best friend being out past curfew and was simply happy to be united again. 'Were you in the Undercroft?' she asked, linking their arms together. 'You smell different. Like... charcoal?'

'She's right,' agreed Sebastian, leaning in to take an exaggerated a whiff of Aurélie's vivid red hair, 'you stink.'

'Hey!'

'Why were you in the Undercroft?' he went on, his brown eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. Where Lory's natural kindness saw only the best in every situation, Sebastian's Slytherin nature meant he was predisposed to believe the exact opposite. 'Were you alone? How long have you been down there? Why didn't you ask me to come?'

'Who cares why she was in the Undercroft,' muttered Alistair, who, generally speaking, didn't care much what anyone did so long as it didn't encroach on him. 'Why aren't we going into the Undercroft?'

Aurélie threw her arms out wide.

'No!' she cried as the dark-haired Slytherin made for the concealed entrance. 'You can't go in there!'

Alistair Cushing, distant descendant of Salazar Slytherin, inarguably the most intimidating student in the entire school, and - thanks to Lory's innate ability to befriend quite literally anyone or any thing - the newest addition to their friend group, fixed her with a piercing blue-eyed stare, clearly affronted

'And why not?' he asked, his calm tone thick with a disdain only those borne of Slytherin blood could afford; Alistair, like his cousin Ominis, did not take kindly to being told what to do.

'Yeah!' agreed Sebastian, elbowing him out of the way. 'Why not?'

'Because I said so!' snapped back Aurélie, who was not descended from ancient, all-powerful Parselmouths, but from a very long line of equally-formidable French women.

Alistair raised his eyes to the ceiling, silently praying for patience, while beside her, still clinging to Aurélie's arm, Lory bounced on the balls of her feet.

'Oooh,' she giggled, pinching her best friends elbow, 'did you sneak a boy down there, Aura?'

'What?' Aurélie's spluttered cry of indignation was rivalled only by that of Sebastian's.

'What boy?' they said in unison.

'What boy?' repeated Sebastian. 'Did you show someone the Undercroft? The Undercroft is supposed to be a secret! You're not allowed to do that!'

'Why not? You showed it to me!' Aurélie retorted.

'And me!' added Lory.

'Me, too,' came from Alistair.

Sebastian pulled a face. 'Yeah, well...' he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. 'You lot are different. That doesn't count. Only I'm allowed to share the knowledge of the Undercroft.'

'Excuse me?' Alistair rounded on him, standing taller in his indignation. 'The Undercroft has been known by my descendants for a thousand years, I do not need your permission to -'

'Oh, please,' Sebastian interrupted, rolling his eyes as Alistair bared down on him. 'You're like Ominis' third cousin, it's hardly a connection to boast about.'

'Right, and you're the third cousin of nobody, so why do you get to set the rules -'

'Because I've been using the Undercroft since first year!'

'So what? My family's been using it since the school was founded!'

Aura and Lory exchanged a silent, long-suffering look.

'Now, now, you two,' Lory intervened, stepping between the arguing boys with her palms raised. 'Play nice, or Aura won't tell us about her romantic rendezvous in the Undercroft.'

'Lory, I did not sneak a boy into the Undercroft! The only boys I know are...' she gestured vaguely at the two Slytherins before them, the taller of which groaned aloud and rolled his eyes.

'For the love of Salazar,' muttered Alistair, 'has there ever in the entire thousand-year history of Hogwarts been a Ravenclaw who gave a straight answer? Because I've certainly never met one.' He turned to fix Aurélie with his signature ice-prince glare. 'Why,' he said very deliberately, 'are we not allowed in the Undercroft?'

Aurélie gulped.

'Because I -' She shot a panicked look between each of her friends, wondering how much longer her luck was going to hold out. So far, beyond her narrow escape from her little magical mishap, luck had kept away any meddling prefects, professors or ghosts, and ensured that the roaring of the accidental dragon couldn't be heard several floors above it. At any rate, it was no good trying to hide a bloody dragon; someone was bound to notice eventually, so she might as well just admit to her mistake and hope that somehow luck would, well... fix it.

'Because, I - well, because I accidentally conjured a dragon down there.'

The silence that followed was so dense Aurélie had to wiggle her finger in her ear. Three stunned faces gaped back at her, and then, all at once -

'You conjured a what?'

'You conjured a dragon where?'

'Ooh, can we name it Nugget?'

'Lory, please,' Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. 'We've been over this, you cannot keep a dragon as a pet.'

Lory pouted. 'But why?'

'I don't understand,' Alistair cut in, one brow arched so high Aurélie was sure it would never come down again. 'If you conjured it, why can't you just... un-conjure it?'

'No!' cried the two girls in unison, their combined outrage echoing through the tower with enough force to wake the entire school.

'Are you mad? You can't just un-conjure an animal!'

'It's a living creature, Alistair!'

'How would you like it if I un-conjured you?'

'How could you be so unfeeling?'

'Bad move, Cushing,' Sebastian chuckled, clapping the tall bewildered Slytherin on the shoulder. 'I know you're only new to the group, but there are two rules you need to observe if you want to stay on the girls' good sides: never threaten Lory's Beasts, and never question Aura's fashion advice.'

'Yes, speaking of!' said Aurélie sharply, eyeing Sebastian's feet with disdain. 'I thought we agreed against those shoes!'

'Uh... t-these shoes? Are you sure? I don't recall, I think you're confused with my other shoes...'

'They are pretty ugly, Sebby,' Lory agreed, wrinkling her nose at the offending monstrosities that Sebastian considered appropriate footwear.

Aurélie threw her hands up, exasperated. 'They're hideous! We talked about this, you promised you were going to get rid of them!'

'Aw, bad move, Sallow,' smirked Alistair. 'Perhaps you need a refresher on those rules, hm?'

'Never mind my shoes!' Sebastian scowled, dodging away from a very condescending shoulder pat. 'Id say the more pressing matter is the literal dragon -'

'Nugget,' Lory interjected.

' - a literal unnamed dragon,' he continued, raising his voice, 'that someone decided to conjure in our Undercroft.'

Aurélie bristled. 'I didn't decide to -'

' — just seems a very unlikely thing to do by accident —'

'— on earth would I want to purposely conjure a —'

'— what goes on in your head half the time —'

'Enough!'

It wasn't often that Lorraine Jones lost her temper. She was, after all, the temperate voice of reason among the chaos; the gentle Hufflepuff influence who took all sides into consideration and mediated the best outcome for everyone. She was the temperate warmth to Alistair's coldness; the voice of reason to Sebastian's impulsivity; and a true friend to Aurélie, who'd shown up at Hogwarts two years prior, alone, overwhelmed, and grieving the untimely death of her parents. Without Lory, their unlikely friend group would be nothing but a fractured band of orphans, misfits and outcasts; Aurelie in her Ravenclaw tower, the three snakes in the dungeons, each of them separated by grief, isolated by trauma.

Lory was undoubtedly the glue that kept them all together - but, Merlin, when she was angry...

'Sebastian!' she snapped, jabbing a small but mighty finger at his face. 'For once in your life, shut up! And Aurélie!' she went on, interrupting the face she was pulling at Sebastian. 'Stop arguing with him!' Finally, she turned her wrath to the dark-haired boy, but when he only raised an unconcerned brow, she opened her mouth, closed it, then turned away, shrugging.

'Now,' she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips. 'Aura made a mistake, but bickering about it isn't going to get banish a dragon now, is it? Really, we should consider ourselves lucky that the situation isn't much worse!'

'Lucky?' Alistair echoed, laughing for quite possibly the first time in his entire life. 'Oh, my dear friends, facing a dragon is the least of your worries now.'

Sebastian frowned, clearly as confused as the rest of them. But then a slow-dawning horror broke across his face. 'Oh,' he said.

Aurélie paled, envisioning a dragon loose in the school, Hogwarts destroyed by fire, or worse - expulsion.

'What?' she demanded, palms sweaty. 'Sebastian Sallow, don't "oh" me! What is Alistair talking about?'

'Oh ho ho,' he said again, but this time with laughter in his voice. He turned to Alistair. 'You know, it isn't really my Undercroft, is it, Cushing?'

'For once in your life, Sallow, you are correct. Nor is it mine, really, being, as you mentioned, only a very distant relative to the Gaunt's. Hardly a connection at all, when you think about it.'

Aurélie turned, panic-stricken, to face her best friend.

'Oh, no,' she said.

'Oh, no,' Lory agreed.

Alistair cracked a rare smile. 'There's only one true owner of the Undercroft, after all...'

'And you, my favourite little Ancient Magic weilder,' Sebastian said, throwing an arm around Aurélie's shoulders, 'just stuck a great dirty dragon in the middle of the Heir of Slytherin's most treasured room.'

Luck fleed before her, leaving cold dread in its wake as a new set of echoing footsteps moved slowly toward them, accompanied by the unmistakeable red glow of a semi-sentient wand.

Ominis' sharp voice reached them first, slicing through the heavy silence like severing charm.

'You did what in my Undercroft?'

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fanfic #hogwarts legacy oneshot #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy mc #aurelie collins #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #lorraine jones #ravenclaw x hufflepuff #morelikeravenbore writes

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yama-does-art · 5 days ago

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Magic on the Lost Light - Part 6

Lost Light x (gn)reader

Content: mtmte human oc insert, discontinued

Warnings: None

Word Count: 779

Ultra Magnus

Ultra Magnus paced his office, feeling a nasty helm ache coming on. Ever since the launch of the Lost Light, there has been one disaster after another. First, there was a critical failure to the ship engines that caused them to jump to a remote quadrant of the galaxy. Not only was it wildly off course from their original destination, they were nowhere near any Cybertronian colonies. The closest being a remote outpost on Delphi, and that trip alone will take another few weeks.

Then to add to that debacle, nearly a quarter of the crew fell out of the airlock and suffered major damages due to planet-side impact and atmospheric burnout. Thank primus that the gravity was so low, otherwise they would have suffered far greater losses. Following the retrieval of all missing crew members, Red Alert notified command that a Spark Eater was on board. Of course the captain had to recklessly endanger both himself and the life of their resident psychiatrist to exterminate the beast. Losing both his servos in the process.

Within 24 hours from launch, five crew members were lost and five more gained. The latter of which he was dealing with the repercussions now. Somehow, within the chaos, a human was transported onto their ship. No small part due to the failure of the quantum engines, but beyond that he really could not be bothered. What was he going to do with the human?

Rodimus was adamant on making them a part of the crew. Magnus was not. Upon meeting the human, he was outvoted. While they were not unreasonable, they seemed to take their physiological differences as an added challenge to get their point across as they had no issue staring him in the optics at point blank range.

First, he suggested relocating them to the next intergalactic trading hub. He could think of some that would be a few galaxies over. He reasoned they would be safer amongst other organics than on the Lost Light. A ship full of ex-combatants with varying degrees of tolerance towards the organic races. They argued against it.

‘With all due respect sir, leaving me on another planet will only be a detriment to my well being, I have no money, I have no knowledge of the norms and customs of any space faring species, let alone speak the language. I will be a lone human wherever I go, at least here, I know I have a few allies.’

He hated to admit it, but from that perspective leaving them would be negligence on his part. He had a responsibility to care for this being, especially due to the fact it was the failure of their technology that brought them here.

‘I understand that you can’t send me back. All I ask is some time to get my footing. I just need to learn how to survive in this environment. Who speaks what language? What is the political climate between the different species? What organizations can I go to for aid, and what organizations should I avoid? How do I navigate space? Help me answer these questions and then you may drop me at any station of your convenience.’

Once again, he had to agree with the human. Cybertronians were rather isolationist as a species, and when at war, organic relations were temperamental at the best of times. Those were all excellent questions, and it made him uncomfortable that he could not answer all of them immediately. From the perspective of a complete outsider, this was absolutely necessary for survival.

‘I know that my presence is a strain on resources, so let me make it up to you: Make me a part of your crew and put me to work. Before this I was a drifter, I made my living by doing odd jobs whatever it may be. Those eclectic skills may or may not be of use, regardless, I am willing to learn.’

He had been a commander for far too long to not recognize the signs of a determined individual. He would have to agree to Rungs assessment, this one was adaptable. While he doubted the capacity for a vagabond to integrate into the hierarchy of ship life, their boldness and initiative would allow them to fit in the Lost Light. He conceded the point.

And now Rodimus had to throw a wrench into his meticulous planning by making them the official Interspecies Liaison. Without consulting him no less.

He ex-vented. No matter, he will assess the human soon enough - right after their consultation with Brainstorm. At the very least, he could rely on Drift on keeping to a time table.

END

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #ultra magnus x reader #ultra magnus #yama.writes

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 2 years ago

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2012 - Rhode Island and the Pacific Ocean

Prologue of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description:

You're ecstatic on your twenty-first birthday when you finally get your soul-mark. Your soul already feels like a perfect match for you.

A world away, Bradley Bradshaw wakes up alone, recovering from a plane crash. He finally has soul indicators, only two. But quickly resolves to never search for them.

Disclaimer: Bradley is an angsty, angsty boy.

Warnings: afab!reader

Word Count: 2597

A/N: This is the prologue for my new Soulmate AU. In this we see the marks on both sides and get a deep dive into Bradley's psyche and thought processes on first receiving his marks.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

Soulmates. Nobody really knows how they came into being. As far as the history books know and say, everyone on the planet over the age of twenty-one woke up one morning with a mark, an indicator of who their perfect other half was. Since that day, it’s become a tradition for young adults to wait with bated breath for their twenty-first birthday. An entire field of science focused wholly on soul marks and identifying one’s soulmate came into being. But there was one caveat. The marks never tell you outright to whom your soul is linked. You have to use contextual clues and track your soul down. The marks also vary wildly amongst the documented instances of bonded souls. Some people can share their thoughts with their soul. Others hear their soul’s voices or share dreams. Your parents are ridiculously happy with each other and share a mark on their wrists. Yet others hear their soul’s voice, first on their twenty-first birthday and then again during times of intense emotion.

Given all the media attention on successful soulmate searches, it's no surprise that you’re practically vibrating out of your skin the night before your twenty-first birthday. The room is hushed around you, with the only sound other than your steady breathing, the clock's ticking as it counts the hour toward midnight. Every child in your family receives a soul candle to herald the discovery of their soulmate. Your mother and father had selected yours, especially for you. Your candle is now sitting on the table before you, waiting to be lit. You light the candle with shaky hands. The flame is intense, and as the candle wax melts, you close your eyes and wait. You’d been told that your family members had all gotten their marks precisely at midnight. As the clock chimes the midnight hour, goosebumps rise over your skin. A breeze wafts through the room, brushing tenderly across your cheeks and snatching your hair from its braid. It’s aromatic, sending the sweetness of sandalwood into your lungs. A scent clue? That’s not the most typical of indicators.

The breeze teases you with that intoxicating sandalwood scent for a short while before fading. The next soul clue you get is of auburn curls falling into whiskey-dark eyes and of big calloused hands. Then, a song plays, the lyrics swirling through your mind as you scramble for your phone and write them down.

“Matter of opinion, baby That's all right, mama was, (So?) papa too (Hmm) And I'm the only child Lovin' is all I know to do”

Fighter Jets fly through the air in front of your eyes. Then a vehicle roars down the road in your mind’s eye. It’s a truck, canary blue, aged but well-kept, with the paint shining in the sunlight. A shirt, Hawaiian print in a vibrant mix of colors, is laid carefully across the passenger seat. That’s everything you get. With one gentle shudder, your soul candle flickers, light dimming as the midnight hour draws to a close before finally flickering out. You have a soulmate!

What's surprising is the number of indicators you have. The most recent scientific journal articles on soul science mention percentages and the likelihood of a person having more than one indicator. Most people have a single soul indicator, the likelihood of which rests firmly at seventy-five percent. Ten percent of people have two, eight percent have three, four percent have four, and three percent have five or more. You have five indicators, setting you in the rarest three percent of the population: a scent, one or more physical features, a song, an occupation, and an essential item in your soul’s life. Ideally, the more indicators you have, the easier it should be to find your person. The problem for you is that while the scent, physical features, and song are all as clear as can be and in the case of the song reasonably easy to find, you can’t figure out which between the fighter jets and the truck are your soul’s occupation and item.

Maybe your soul, whoever they are, is a mechanic specializing in restoring old vehicles with a fondness for fighter jets. Or maybe they’re a pilot with a particular fondness for trucks, or at least one particular truck. You don’t have enough information to know otherwise. The hour is late, and despite the exhaustion fogging your vision and clouding your movements, you need to know more about your soul. The only indicator you have left that you can learn more about is the song. You grab your laptop and quickly type the lyrics into a new browser window. It pulls up the song ‘Tramp’ by Otis Redding. It’s a funky beat. The lyrics, a duet, speak poignantly about everything the female singer finds wrong with her man. But what resonates with you is how love is interspersed throughout the song. You can tell from the lyrics you heard in your soul vision that your soul is an only child with a big, loving heart. It’s late, and you have to be up early in the morning to start your first day of Officer Candidate School for the Navy. But you can’t help the excitement coursing through your veins. At least if your soul is an aviator, you’re in the right place to hopefully run into them on a Naval base at some point in your career. It’s a thought that ricochets through your brain along with the sight of those beautiful, sad eyes as you unwittingly fall asleep on your sofa.

Rooster

Thousands of miles away, a young man jolts awake in a hospital bed. Pain, thick and cloying, rises through every clumsy movement as he grasps at the call button. Beyond the harried beeping of the machines he's hooked up to and the thwack of rubber-soled shoes hurrying his way, he can just see a flicker of soft hair twisted into a braid and smell sweet citrus. The scent is nearly enough to drown out the sterile bleach smell of the sick bay he’s lying in. His soulmate? Is that them, four years after his twenty-first birthday? Before he can explore the half-remembered vision, the doctors are upon him.

“Ensign Bradshaw, Ensign Bradshaw, do you know where you are?”

After the all-consuming panic of the last few hours, a medical exam is the easiest thing Bradley’s lived through.

“Can you open your mouth for me?” Bradley feels like a doll, getting moved, poked, and prodded at the Doctor’s behest.

“Your motor functions are good, and your heart rate is stable. Ensign, you’re in luck. Your crash resulted in a broken leg and some scarring. The leg will heal, as will the scars. It will just take some time.”

The doctor, a jovial man with a strong resemblance to a child’s fantasy of Santa Claus, finishes up with the remaining checks quickly. Sick Bay is quiet and calm, the peace punctuated only by the quiet beeping of instruments. Nurses finish bustling around him after the doctor is done, closing the curtains around his bed and instructing him to press the button if he needs anything. With the latest dose of painkiller coursing through his system, it takes everything for Bradley to remember the vision he had of his soulmate. But he can only recall what he got when he woke up — the scent of sweet, tart citrus and glistening, soft hair in a braid. Two indicators aren't terrible. But he saw the scars crisscrossing his face when the nurses changed the bandages earlier. What soulmate would want a lowly Ensign in the Navy? Whose only claim to fame thus far would be crashing a multi-million dollar jet, and who is an orphan to boot?

He wouldn't want to be matched to himself! That all too reassuring thought is the last one before he's asleep and thrust into a disconcertingly familiar dreamscape.

“Uncle Mav! Uncle Ice!”

Bradley sees the child he was long ago, running towards the only dads he’s ever known. He loves them just as much as Goose, even if they’re not his dads by blood.

“Hey, Baby Goose!” Mav is young, with green eyes shining wickedly and a wide smile. Bradley can’t remember seeing his uncle this happy, relaxed, and healthy. Even after years of no contact, Bradley remembers how that embrace feels as he watches his younger self catapult right into his uncles’ arms. The feeling of being with Ice and Mav, even after everything that’s happened, still feels like home.

“Little Gosling! What’s gotten into you?” It’s Uncle Ice who asks him that. Tall and strong, Uncle Ice is everything he’d wanted to be in a man.

“Uncle Mav, Uncle Ice, can we talk?” Bradley remembers this conversation, remembers being squished between his uncles on the front stoop of the tiny house his mom had moved them into after his dad died.

“Of course.”

“Mama and Goose were soulmates, right? Like you and Uncle Ice are, Uncle Mav?” The fond look his uncles give each other speaks of so much love.

“Yeah, Baby Goose.” Mav is as serious as Bradley’s ever seen, green eyes dark with pain like always at the mention of Goose.

“What does it feel like when you find your soulmate? Are they always guaranteed to like me? Why would they like me?” Bradley winces at the sound of his voice cracking.

“I would ask Mama, but she shuts down whenever I mention Goose. Nobody ever tells me anything about him. He’s my dad. I know he is, but he sometimes feels like this ghost she tries to get me to become. I don’t know him. The only dads I know are you and Uncle Ice. And I’m young and gangly and kinda ugly. What about me would a soul have to love?”

Ice speaks while Mav swallows noisily, a sheen of tears obscuring the gleam in his eyes. “Gosling, we’re always here. You deserve to know more about your dad. You can always ask us about him. Goose,” he sniffles a little with a faraway look in his eyes, “was truly the best man I ever knew. He was the kind of man you could trust with everything important. ‘Cause he’d care for them with just as much love as he cared for you and your Mama.”

Bradley watches as his uncle tucks his younger self against his side.

“Do you know something, kiddo?” Seeing his face peer chubby and soft up at his uncle is a shock. “ Do you know how your dad got his callsign?”

“How, Uncle Mav?”

“We told your Mama it was because he acted like a Mother Hen, but when he laughed, it sounded like a goose honking. That’s why your Uncle Ice called him Mother Goose.” He’s grinning conspiratorially, “This is gossip from a friend and what I’ve always thought was the true story. He told me that your dad got the callsign Goose because, shortly before he graduated from flight school, he was lounging on a patch of grass one day. And as geese do, they love scrounging about in fresh grass. As luck would have it, your dad had picked this colossal gander’s prized patch of grass to nap in.”

Mav’s now chuckling, shoulders hunched, and voice choked at the mental picture even after all the time passed. “Your dad woke up from his nap to the gander’s bill right in his face and startled the gander. The gander snapped his beak right on your dad’s nose. The ensuing hue and cry resulted in laughter and many of the Navy’s soon-to-be finest rolling around in the grass, messing up their uniforms. Your dad escaped mostly unscathed with a bandage on his nose and a new callsign. And, it was that bandage which caught your Mama’s attention, too.”

All three of them are laughing now. Bradley can still feel the connection to his dad through that story. His uncles are brushing away tears, not that he noticed back then, and heaving in deep breaths.

"Now, about your soulmate. Of course, they're going to love you, kiddo. There is a lot to love."

"Yeah, Baby Goose," Mav's nodding along too, "lots to love."

"The best part of you isn't what you look like, Gosling." Ice sounds so fond, "It's what's in your heart. Like your dad, you have the biggest heart I've ever seen. Your soul will love you because they'll see your heart like nobody else."

"But Uncle Ice! That doesn't matter if they don't even get close enough to me to like me!" He's whining now. In hindsight, fourteen was not a good age to have this conversation with his uncles.

"Gosling, you just have to be yourself with your soulmate. The universe picked them for you. They are going to be your perfect match. No matter what happens in your life to make you think otherwise.”

The two men look fondly at each other and him, each with an arm wrapped around him when the colors spin before his eyes and fade to black.

It’s still and dark when his eyes open. A dream? Of Ice and Mav? As much as the thought of them and what they did to his career hurts, it's fitting that they are who he remembers talking about soulmates with first. They’ve always been his idols. The two men he knows, well, who he knew, the best. Why is it that every achievement, every milestone in his life, is overshadowed and entirely controlled by the two of them? Even the discovery of his soulmate is paired with a memory of when everything was perfect in his life. Before his Mama’s cancer diagnosis, before Mav pulled his papers, before his life imploded, bursting apart at the seams, shredded in tatters. Now the only thing in his life is planes, the fuel powering them flowing through his veins instead of blood. And he can’t even fly now.

“Your soulmate will love you for who you are, Gosling.” Uncle Ice’s words ring in his ears. Before everything fell apart, there was nobody Bradley would trust as much as Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky. But he knows Ice, knows Mav. When his papers were pulled, Mav would not have had the influence to do so. The decision to do so may have been Mav’s, but the actions were all the powerful Iceman's.

The ball of rage sitting low in his gut churns. A soulmate? To deal with him? The disaster that he is? That is not going to happen. He’s not taking his soulmate down when he inevitably burns in. Let’s ignore that his biggest fear is burning in, going down in a plane. At least this way, if he ever dies, they wouldn’t grieve him like his Mama grieved for his dad. Like Carole Bradshaw had grieved for Goose, for Nick Bradshaw. Carole had practically shut down. He hadn’t been enough to bring his Mama back, not entirely. The shadow of Nick Bradshaw had hovered over her for the rest of her life. And now the shadows of their love hovers over him. If he could, he’d give anything to be in his mother’s arms, hear her call him his name in her sweet voice, and fix everything. Maybe in that alternate universe, he’d be able to welcome his soulmate with open arms. In this one, where he’s alone in a hospital bed in an aircraft carrier, a soulmate’s just another shackle he can’t afford to have. Not if he’s going to prove he can be the best-of-the-best, be better than Maverick ever could be.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

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@infamous-reindeer

@caitsymichelle13

@mattyskies

@cosmic-psychickitty

@mygyn

@julesclues

@greenbaby12

@bubblegumbeautyqueen

@briseisgone

@soulmates8

@girl-in-the-chairs-void

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