#this is probably one of the few things that he had a choice in

[fairestwriting]

sorry if you’ve done something like this-

What about Jade, Leona, Jamil and Vil with a S/O that somebody tried to love potion?

…warning for minor book/chapter 4 spoilers in the jamil one? in case anyone is a newcomer here. there was just No way i could write this without mentioning his lore. like. come on

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Honestly, it’d take anyone some serious guts to try to do this. Or serious ignorance. Or straight up hubris, or maybe all of the above at the same time— Since your first few friendlier hangouts with Leona, it was pretty much known to most people who knew you that you were completely off-limits. Even if you just stayed friends, no sane person was going to mess with anyone who’s close to him. It’s almost an unspoken, pretty much school wide rule.

It was an especially bad choice for that perpetrator to try to slip you the potion during lunchtime. Maybe they’re a classmate you barely know, maybe they pretend to be a friend, it’d definitely have to be someone who could get away with approaching you to pretend to want some casual conversation. This privilege was soon to end, however, since you had agreed with Leona to meet up with him at the greenhouse after you ate.

The second you step inside, he can smell that something is off. By then you can already feel it starting to take effect, your head feeling foggy and suddenly occupied with thoughts of that person, which just feels confusing for now. You walk up to him, he’s sitting up with a frown on his face, asking you to come closer. Hazy, you step forward, and through your clouded vision you see him leaning in to smell you. It feels weird at the moment, you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with this— Even though that’s your boyfriend, you think, maybe you’d rather be this close with someone else…

He can’t tell it’s a love potion exactly, at least not just by smelling you, but he knows something is off. “Have you been up to anything weird lately, Herbivore?” He asks, his voice full of suspicion. You just shake your head, mention your classes today were all unremarkable, then so was lunch, you just met up with your friend, while you were eating. Somehow you can’t stop yourself from letting the subject linger on them, even though it puzzles you on the inside. He quickly picks up on what must have happened.

Really, anyone who even considers trying this has some nerve. He even says that out loud to them, after dragging you out of the greenhouse into a hunt for this specific person. You won’t even get the chance to remember much about the incident. Next thing you know, you’re in one of the potions lab, with an emptied vial of antidote in your hands. Leona is standing next to you with crossed arms and a death glare, and your “friend” is shaking behind a cauldron, having prepared that in record time. Even if notice of the incident spreads, Leona definitely won’t want you to leave his side anytime soon…

𐙚 Jade Leech

Another case in which attempting anything with you is definitely a feat of courage. Even though there’s a higher chance they wouldn’t know you’re dating Jade in the first place, because of how private he is, he’s clearly fond of you. And that’s without even taking into consideration how often he’s around. Jade doesn’t have the sort of infamy Leona dows, but it’s not any less intimidating of a situation, anyone with eyes can tell he’s watching every person around him very closely…

They’d really have to get lucky to get you to consume even a single drop of anything. They might have even tried multiple times, in multiple different ways. Spiking your food or drink is not an option at all with him, because he’s sitting with you while you eat, and who would want to take that chance? If they got you, it was probably by offering you an “extra drink they got from the vending machine”, which might as well have been attempted before, with Jade successfully distracting you from the drink every time.

”My, how kind of you. I’ve heard that soda is very popular, is that true?” Somehow, he shows up just in time to strike up conversation with the person, placing a hand on the can they tampered with. ”I don’t recall seeing this brand back home. Would you mind if I had a small sip first?” He looks at them, then at you, with a strange menacing smile. Once again, that person is taking the can back and stammering excuses that make less and less sense as time passes…

If they’re brave/stupid enough, and you’re oblivious enough, Jade will just sneakily make himself your bodyguard, ready to catch any new attempts and stop them right before you could get the spiked drink anywhere near your lips. He’ll do it as many times as he has to— And if it goes on for long enough, and one day they decide to not take their little trap back, he will literally just open it and drink the whole thing. He’ll do it while making eye contact with them, even. “Oh, I’m sorry, my hand slipped. It’s really unfortunate when that happens, isn’t it? It’s very easy to forget, since most of the time it doesn’t cause any harm… But the wrong ‘slip’ could really cost you your hand, you know�� It’s important to be careful.” He doesn’t look away from them for even one second.

You’re confused as hell, Jade is weird a lot of the time, but just what’s going on right now? He hands them back the can, and just waves his hand at your question, telling you he’ll explain on the way as he walks off to get some antidote. From the nurse, specifically. And it’s not because he can’t make his own, because he could probably do it before the dizziness even hit— It’s to get your little “friend” in trouble with the staff, he’ll even play up the symptoms to make sure they get a nasty suspension… Even if they’re not expelled, you somehow never see them again.

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Not happening. At all. You have no “off limits” fame, no one knows you’re dating (Upon Jamil’s own request) and even if they did, they wouldn’t be that intimidated to try to make a move on you normally. He’s too busy to be lingering around you too much, plus he just wants you to have your own independence in general… everything is seemingly stacked in the favor of that person who wants to slip you the potion, but it’s nowhere near enough to get past Jamil. It just could never be.

…So you’d think it’d be easy for someone to catch you off guard, try to slip something in your food or drink. But there’s just no way that potion isn’t even making it into the vial. Really, with the upbringing Jamil had, could any fellow teenager manage to fly under his radar when trying to tamper with your things? Not a chance. He’s learned to spot real, professional assassins going after Kalim. Catching on to some other student’s creepy behavior is nothing to him.

He knew it before he even heard that person’s name, or saw them talk to you with his own eyes. It just takes a few conversations about this weird classmate of yours who you started suspecting might like you for him to be able to tell they don’t have good intentions. ”...I know I might sound paranoid, but I think you should be careful around them.” Is all he says, when you two talk about it the first time. You know him well enough to be aware of how serious that warning is.

Nothing is said after that, but he’s watching them closely too. You don’t eat lunch together that often, but Jamil always watches your table from afar when he’s not there. At first it’s just out of habit, but now that he’s got an eye on this person, their every move has your full attention. And it’s all just too familiar, the way they seem to also watch your table, or more specifically, watch you while you eat. He can even sense their frustration at how guarded you’ve gotten since his warning.

You’ll never even hear about a possible poisoning attempt because he catches them in the middle of their potion brewing— With a good chance he wasn’t even trying to do that. He just happened to spot them acting weird in the hallways, and decided to investigate. Following them to the laboratory, standing outside of the door to see what’s happening, maybe take a video or two. He then walks inside, no notable expression on his face, and speaks to them. ”I wouldn’t do this if I were you. Even making this potion outside of class could get you in serious trouble.” Nothing else is said, he shows them the video on his phone screen, and walks off. Next thing you hear, they got suspended, an when they come back, they won’t even dare to meet your eyes.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

The day you two agreed you’d make your relationship official, you also had a very long talk about the things that it might entail—The worries had been stewing in his mind for a while now, at first regarding his own reputation, but eventually they turned their focus to you. He’s had people interacting strangely with people who were just his dormmates, so one could only wonder how they’d treat someone they suspect is his partner…You’re warned at the very start that it’s a good idea to be cautious of others. But because it’s Vil, and he has all those vocal, sometimes fanatic admirers that are seemingly just everywhere, it can be kind of sadly easy to forget that this type of person could fixate on you too.

It becomes a bit of a dilemma for him, when he hears about this classmate of yours you’ve been talking to occasionally. On one hand, of course he wants you to have friends, he’s not crazy. On the other, he already has a weird feeling from the interactions you describe. Then under all his common sense, he just feels sort of jealous in general. You might notice he suddenly looks alarmed, and he might even remind you it’s important to be careful with others. But even if you take it to heart, would you really outright assume they were planning anything so creepy?

It’s a thankful coincidence that dating Vil also means learning a lot about potions. You often sit around in the Pomefiore dorm laboratory while he’s doing something, and he’s happy to explain the process to you however many times you need. Ironically, the specific subject of attempted love potion slips might come up. It happens to celebrities often, after all, it’s not crazy to think someone would try to get to him— ”They teach you to not eat or drink anything a fan gives you. You accept it if they’re handing it out, but you don’t touch it. And it’s not just for the sake of keeping up with your diet.” He retells you what he was taught. ”You don’t even donate it, since it could be tampered with. Usually, there are tells, but not always…”

Then question becomes, how skilled could another student get, specifically when compared to how observant you can be? It could go either way here. It’s easy to be alarmed by anyone offering you snacks or drinks after Vil tells you these stories, but you’re not a celebrity, so would that really happen to you? What if you’re just forgetful, or they really manage to get you at a moment when you’re vulnerable? Luckily, no matter how sneaky someone is, they can’t hide the effects of the potion forever. On the color of your drink, the smell, the taste… or, in a worst case scenario, in the way it feels when it starts to kick in.

You’ll know something is wrong, and he’s lectured you enough you know to get an antidote from the nurse if needed, and you know to report it to school staff. It’s dealt with quickly enough, but no matter when he finds out, he’s outraged all the same. ”How does a student get away with even trying to brew something like this? Staff shouldn’t allow just anybody to use laboratories unsupervised…” Vil fusses over you, smoothing your clothes just so his hands have something to do. Even if you didn’t swallow any of the potion, he tells you to take the day off to rest and stays nearby. Of course he wouldn’t just let the situation be solved without reacting, but first, he has to be sure you’re safe.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[aringofsalt]

silver linings

so that bts video, huh??? i got a lil brain worm and. well. now i have 1.3k of spec fic. under the cut for anyone avoiding bts/potential spoilers 💛

It was raining. Of course it was raining.

The clouds that had gathered that morning had seemed like enough of a bad omen when Buck woke that morning, back stiff from a night on his old air mattress since Eddie's couch had been packed away. Eddie had made a halfhearted joke about clouds with silver linings as they packed the last few things into the U-Haul, Buck had glared at him without comment, and then, without further ado, the sky had opened up.

Unfortunately, it was just normal rain—barely more than drizzle—and Eddie was fully capable of driving in it, so it wouldn't do more than slow him down a little.

It wouldn't keep him here.

Logically, Buck knew this was the best choice Eddie could be making. Chris needed him, and he needed Chris. It made sense, even if he hated it. But his traitor brain kept running through the list of people who'd left him, for one reason or another. Maddie Abby Ali Maddie Eddie Taylor Natalia Bobby Tommy Eddie; it was a never-ending loop, and he couldn't make it stop. But that wasn't Eddie's fault, it wasn't his problem, it was entirely Buck's to deal with. So he slapped on his best smile—sure, it probably looked more like a grimace, but he was trying—and drew Eddie in for a hug.

He let himself hang on for longer than he probably should've, and when they pulled back, he ran to his truck for the bag of cookies and snacks he'd made. If he used that as an opportunity to wipe tears from his eyes, well, that was nobody's business but his.

When he got back, he handed off the bag, and Eddie just stared at it for a moment.

"Of course you're still baking."

"Well, yeah. Gotta fill my time somehow with everybody busy or—or gone." It came out harsher than he intended. "Sorry, that's not fair."

Eddie looked almost...nervous, passing the bag back and forth between his hands.

"So, I have an apology to make," he began.

Oh.

"Dude, come on, you already tried to apologize. I told you, I get it."

"No, not for—" Eddie gestured at the U-Haul. "I know you get it, but it still sucks for you, I know. But that's not what I mean. I mean for Tommy."

Buck's brow furrowed. "Tommy? What about Tommy?"

"I told you not to call him," he said simply. "I mean, I actively stopped you from calling him, too. We all did. And that wasn't fair, to you or him."

"Why the hell are you bringing this up now?" That, more than anything, made Buck's temper start to simmer in his veins. He'd spent far longer than he cared to admit agonizing over it, finally convincing himself that if everybody he knew was saying he shouldn't reach out, maybe they were right. And now Eddie was trying to take it back? "It's been months, Eddie, I can't just call him up now because—because, what, you feel guilty?"

"Because we were wrong. And you still miss him." Eddie shook the bag in Buck's direction. "I know you do."

"I miss a lot of people. So what?"

Eddie cringed a little, but Buck couldn't bring himself to feel bad for the harsh edge to his tone. This was not how he pictured saying goodbye going, standing in the rain arguing with his best friend before he left the state, anger getting close to boiling over.

"So, I called him." Eddie paused, visibly steeling himself. "A couple days ago. I figured he should know I was leaving, I wanted to say bye. See how he was doing. We got a beer and talked some and—shit, Buck, I should've just let you call. The man's a mess. He's hiding it, or trying to, but he is. He knows he fucked up, he wanted to reach out, too, but he thought you were fine with it, so he stayed away."

Despair shot through him. Tommy had wanted to reach out, too? Tommy thought he was fine with it? Eddie's words put so much of the last few months in a different perspective. The times he'd caught him bubbling, what if he'd started typing too, given Tommy a sign, any sign, that they were thinking about each other, instead of him just believing it was one-sided?

"Eddie, what the fuck."

"I know a thing or two about running because things are moving in a way you weren't expecting and not knowing how to get control back. I think that was his problem, he's used to being in control and, man, you hit him like a freaking hurricane. Figuratively and literally, I guess. But he's still completely gone on you, and I know you are on him, so. It means I made the right choice."

"The—the right choice? Eddie, what—"

"Told you. I called Tommy."

Eddie reached out and clapped Buck on the shoulder, then waved behind him.

"Hey, man."

"Hey Eddie."

Buck turned slowly, as though if he moved too fast he'd find someone else behind him. But no, it was Tommy; and Eddie was right. He was a bit of a mess. The average person probably wouldn't have noticed—he was, as always, devastatingly attractive. But Buck could tell that the hollows under his eyes were deeper than he'd ever seen them, the stubble on his jaw grown out a little more than he'd ever let it get while they were together. He was even holding himself differently, hands balled up in the pockets of his hoodie, just like they'd been when they'd met for coffee after Buck fucked things up the first time.

He had that same look on his face, too, that unsure, nervous look that still said I hope as he smiled softly.

"Evan."

Fuck, he'd missed hearing that. He let out a shaky breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, itching to reach out and wrap his arms around Tommy like he'd been dying to for months, unsure how it would be received. But Eddie was behind him, pushing him gently in his direction.

"Go on, Buck. You guys got this," Eddie whispered in his ear.

He got one more hug, then Eddie moved forward to hug Tommy as well. Buck would have felt bad about the way his and Tommy's eyes met and didn't leave each other the whole time if Eddie hadn't orchestrated this whole thing to begin with.

He left, quietly, the U-Haul pulling away with little fanfare, and they were still staring at each other. The rain was still falling, soaking their hair and clothes, and it was a single drop trailing down Tommy's nose to sit on the tip of it that finally made Buck move. He stepped into Tommy's space, gently reaching out and wiping it away with his thumb, and then it was the easiest thing in the world to pull him even closer.

It felt like something out of the movies Tommy loved so much, the two of them reunited and kissing in the rain. He didn't even want to come up for air, confident that he could survive without it if he could just keep kissing him forever, cradling Tommy's face in his hands and feeling Tommy's hands warm on his hips. But eventually they gave in, foreheads pressed together and breathing heavily.

"I missed you so much," he finally forced out. "I—I don't know what you want, from here, but I want—Tommy, I just want—" He broke off, nuzzled into Tommy's neck instead, breathing in the scent of his skin, his detergent and cologne.

"I want, too," Tommy agreed. "I'm so sorry—"

"Don't," Buck cut him off. "Not now. We have time for that later. All the time in the world. Let's go get dry, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy agreed, pressing one more kiss to Buck's lips. "All the time in the world."

[junrenjun]

I’ve read your alpha Vernon fic like 12 times in the last hour I’m not even joking I think I’m obsessed- please please please more alpha Vernon if you’re up for it

72 Hours

alpha!vernon x omega!reader

genre: smut, fluff

wc: 6.7k

warnings: afab reader, unprotected sex (we are pretending they are on birth control okay?), a/b/o dynamics, heat sex, breeding kink, praise kink, bath sex, finally admitting feelings lol

HOUR 0 

Vernon’s attention is pulled away from the movie by the buzzing of his phone. Grumbling a bit due to the interruption, he clicks on the notification. It’s a snap from Joshua, a picture of the departure times on the airport screen. All of the flights have “delayed” printed next to them in bold red letters. He captioned the picture with a frowny face. How fitting. 

“Joshua’s flight is delayed,” Vernon says, looking up from his phone. Seungkwan doesn’t even glance up from where his gaze is fixed on the screen. A bit of popcorn falls from his hand as he shovels it toward his mouth. 

Annoyed with the lack of response, Vernon tosses a throw pillow at him. It hits him square on the side of the face and he chokes on the popcorn in his mouth. Coughing a little, he eventually recovers. “Yeah, that sucks or whatever, but was that really necessary?” his roommate argues, finally pulling his attention away from the movie. 

“Yes,” Vernon fires back, “you could at least pretend like you’re listening to me. And we should probably call Y/N.” 

Seungkwan has the audacity to look at him like he’s confused. “Y/N? Why would we need to call her?” 

The alpha slides a hand over his face in defeat. How did Seungkwan not see the problem here? “Josh was supposed to help her through her heat, like he always does. But now he’s not going to be here until at least tomorrow night or later and she’s due any second now.” 

His roommate simply gives him a weird look, shaking his head a bit. “Go help her yourself since you’re so in tune with her cycle” he mumbles, turning back to the TV and shoveling more popcorn into his mouth. 

Now it’s Vernon’s turn to be confused. Didn’t Seungkwan know that your heat hits every 3 months, on the 3rd week of the month, basically on the dot? Did his roommate not realize that you and Joshua both disappear on that same week like clockwork? And Joshua has outright talked about being your designated heat partner before, much to Vernon’s chagrin. If he had the choice, it would be him in your nest every 3 months. But you’ve never seemed to show any interest in Vernon and seem to be pretty content with the arrangement you and Josh have. 

Seungkwan must sense his inner turmoil from the other side of the couch, because he’s turning back toward the alpha with a sigh. “Vernon, everyone knows you have a thing for her. Just offer to help with her heat.”

When Vernon said they should call you, he meant to say that they should comfort you. Assure you that you would be okay, regardless of if you found someone to take Joshua’s place. Especially knowing that today could potentially be the last day of pre-heat, he’s sure the lack of a partner is stressing you out right now. 

But Seungkwan’s proposition sounds…like a horrible idea. While it makes his alpha rumble in delight, the rational part of him knows that it’s going to be detrimental for his heart. Seeing you in one of your most vulnerable states. Having sex with you. Getting to treat you like you are his and his only. Just for it to all end after a few days. How can he go back to being just friends with you after that?

He’s startled out of his stupor by his phone buzzing once again. But instead of a Snapchat notification, this time he’s met by your contact photo. You are calling him. He lets it ring for another second, before finally gaining the courage to answer. As he picks up, he walks out of the room, not granting Seungkwan the satisfaction of listening to his conversation. 

When he brings the phone to his ear, he’s instantly met with you panicking. You’re rambling about something Vernon can’t quite understand, but what he does pick up on is the strain in your voice. You must have been crying. Something deep within his chest aches at the sound. Before you can finish, he’s shushing you. “Y/N, honey, you need to calm down, I can’t understand you.” 

Vernon is a little startled at the “honey” that slips out of his mouth, and clearly you are too, with the way you’ve gone silent. The only thing that plays through his speakers is some muffled sniffling. “Good. Now tell me what’s wrong. Slowly.” 

You sniffle a few more times. “Did Joshua tell you his flight was delayed?” you ask, quietly. 

“Yeah,” Vernon says, a bit gentler now.

“He…” you pause, yet another sniffle coming through. “He was supposed to help me with my heat. And now I don’t think he’s going to be back in time. I haven’t spent a heat alone in years Vernon.” 

His heart aches at the way your voice cracks when you say “years.” All he wants is to wrap his arms around you, offering as much comfort as he can. But alas, he’s here in his own bedroom while you are…well he hopes you are in your own home. “Okay,” he acknowledges. “What can I do to help? Who did you spend your heat with before Joshua?”

“Johnny,” you immediately respond. “But he moved away.” 

“And before that?” Vernon asks. 

“...my ex,” you sob. Well fuck, now he really feels bad. He didn’t even know you had an ex. 

Sighing, Vernon rubs his forehead trying to figure this situation out. “Okay, there’s no one in this town right now that you would be willing to spend your heat with?” 

There’s an awkward silence as he waits for your answer. Vernon squirms nervously. “I wouldn’t say no one…”

HOUR 2 

Somehow that phone call ended up with a promise to help you. You made him pinky promise over the phone. Vernon doesn’t break promises. Especially not pinky promises made to basically-in-heat omegas. 

So here he is now, standing in front of your door tentatively, a duffle bag in hand. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here, if he;s being honest. He should probably knock. But before he can, the door is yanked open and you pull him inside. “I could smell you just standing there you know,” you say, pulling his jacket off. “If you stood there any longer you would catch a cold.” 

He finally takes a chance to look down at you. You’re clad in a green satin pajama set and wow you look good. Maybe it’s just his alpha brain speaking or your pre-heat pheromones swirling in the air, because it’s not really meant to be seductive. The shorts reach mid-thigh and the shirt covers everything except your neck and lower arms. But something about it is so enticing. 

Catching himself slipping, he pulls himself out of his stupor. “How long do you have?” he asks, running his hands down the bare skin of your arms. You shudder in response.

“An hour or two probably,” you whisper, closing your eyes and breathing in his scent. 

“Okay,” he responds, pulling away from your body. He tries his best to ignore your whines of protest. “Do you have anything prepped? Food? Water? Nest?” 

You take a step closer to him. “My nest has been ready for like years. Josh usually makes some rice for us beforehand though.” You say the last bit with a pout, staring off toward your kitchen wistfully. Likely thinking of how you miss Joshua, his own alpha tells him with a bit of a growl. 

“Just rice? Nothing else? What about water?” he asks once again. 

“I’ve got a case of water in my room and a bunch of snacks. We make rice to store in the fridge because it’s fast to heat up and pretty much the only thing I can stomach once I’m fully gone.” The final stages of pre-heat are hitting, and Vernon can tell from the way you lay your head against his chest as you say the last part of the sentence. 

Pushing you back up, he brushes some hair out of your face. “Okay. How about you take a nap while I make some rice?” You nod in response, lashes brushing your cheeks as you blink slowly. 

He guides you toward your bedroom slowly, letting you lean against him for support. Once you get there, he stops at the threshold and lets you open the door. As you enter, he turns to leave, eager to get started on some cooking. But your voice stops him in his tracks. “Tuck me in?” You need to stop being cute or Vernon might actually implode by the end of this week. He glances nervously at the bed where your nest is made. You haven’t given him permission to enter yet.

Like you can read his mind, you sigh and say, “Vernon. I wouldn’t have asked you to help with my heat if you didn’t have permission to enter my nest.” He nods, like he knew that all along, and finally enters your room. It smells heavily of you. The scent weighs down on him and he feels his own gland pulse in response. 

He follows you over to the bed, though it’s more of a mass of blankets and clothes than anything else. You plop down in the center and start to get comfortable as he hovers nervously at the side. That’s when he spots a hoodie of his own. One that he had thought he lost for some time now. One that mysteriously went missing after he and his friends watched a movie at your apartment. “You have one of my shirts in your nest?”

You eye the hoodie, nervously. Like you didn’t mean for him to see it. “You’re one of my friends and I trust you. I have a lot of things from friends in here.” 

Vernon feels so conflicted. While he hates that you keep calling him a friend, part of him preens at the fact that you stole a sweatshirt from him just for your nest. “How does Joshua feel about having stuff from another alpha in your nest?”

“Well it’s my nest and he’s not my alpha,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

The words “he’s not my alpha,” ring through Vernon’s head. He’s not sure if the sentiment makes him feel better or worse. Taking a step forward, he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, tucking the sides under your body. You hum in content. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he reaches up and ruffles your hair a bit. “Sleep tight bug.” You hum once again. 

It takes a moment for Vernon to pull himself away from your nest and out to the kitchen. Though the stench of pre-heat is less concentrated outside of your room, it feels like it sticks to him. He feels lightheaded as he searches the cabinet for your rice cooker. What has he gotten himself into?

HOUR 5 

Many bowls of rice later, Vernon finds himself checking your room once again. You’re sleeping peacefully, tucked into a little ball. He seats himself on the corner of the bed and reaches out to hold the back of his hand to your forehead. Just as he suspected, you’re burning up already. He knew your heat was likely to come faster in the presence of an alpha. Especially an alpha you know you’ll be spending it with.

The touch makes you whine a little bit in your sleep. Vernon can’t help but coo at the cuteness. Your eyes flutter open at the sudden sound. “It’s fucking hot,” is all you manage to say as you come to.

He chuckles a bit, pulling himself farther into your bed. “Yeah? Do you want me to help?”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you let out a little hum. “Please scent me.” 

You don’t need to tell Vernon twice. He wiggles all the way into your nest, lying parallel to you. His nose meets the junction of your shoulder and you shiver in response. He drags his nose up and down the side of your neck, his alpha preening as goosebumps appear on your skin. Experimentally, he pokes his tongue out, taking the tiniest little lick at your gland. A sharp exhale leaves your mouth, but you don’t say anything. Taking it as a sign to continue, he licks a long stripe up your neck. Your heat pheromones taste sickly sweet on his tongue. If this is just how your skin tastes now, he can’t even imagine how sweet your slick will be in the throes of heat. 

He switches sides now, using a hand on your jaw to softly tilt your head to the side. He repeats the same process as before, but takes some time to rub his cheek on the spot behind your ear. Your scents thicken together in the air. It must really stir you up, because you suddenly press your lower body against his. “Please,” you mutter, eyes still closed. 

“Use your words bug,” he whispers into your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

You pant a bit, rolling your hips against his leg. It's at this moment that Vernon realizes he’s painfully hard already. God, he really hopes his gym habits are enough to sustain his stamina these next few days. “Want you to make me cum,” you tell him breathlessly.

You’re still grinding against his thigh and he realizes that this may be his chance to let you release some energy. If you tire yourself out at the beginning, the heat won’t be as strong later on. “Looks like you’re already doing it by yourself, bug. C’mon. Keep going.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, guiding your movements with a hand on your hip. With his help, you speed up. Vernon can feel a wet spot forming on his sweatpants and it takes a whole lot of self-restraint to keep himself from sniffing the air in search of your slick’s scent. “Need more,” you whisper. In response, he pushes his leg closer to you and flexes his quad. You gasp as your clit rubs deliciously on the muscle. 

Vernon can tell you’re right on the edge. He feels your legs tremble, then he pulls away at the last minute. “What the fuck Vernon!” you exclaim breathlessly. When he looks up, your eyes are wide open, pupils blown and your chest is heaving. Oh, he so fucked after this. 

“You’ll cum eventually, bug. I promise. But if I tease you enough, work you up enough, your heat will break for longer once you finally cum.” He explains, hoping you’re not too deep into the heat mindset yet. If you are, no explanation will work. You’ll be too far gone to understand anything but the need to orgasm and be bred. 

He can see the skepticism on your face, but you give in. “Okay. But if you don’t make me cum soon, I’m making Josh take your place the second he gets back.” 

At the mention of the other alpha, Vernon growls embarrassingly loud. Honestly, he didn’t even know he was growling until he saw the surprised look on your face. “Bug, I know it was just a joke but maybe don’t mention other alphas while I’m literally in your heat nest.” 

You look back at him unamused. “Just make me cum Vernon.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

HOUR 7

So far, all of Vernon’s predictions have been correct. 1) You have the prettiest body he’s even seen. 2) Your slick tastes absolutely heavenly. 3) The face you make when you cum is worth every single ounce of effort. 

So much runs through his mind as he watches you finally reach release after 2 hours of edging. Did you complain every single time he pulled his fingers and tongue away? Yes. Does his dick feel numb from being achingly hard this long? Yep. Is there a giant wet spot on the front of his pants? Obviously. But was it all worth it for these few seconds he gets to watch you writhe in ecstasy? Absolutely. 

As you make your way down from your high, Vernon comfortingly rubs his hands along your thighs. “Good girl,” he says, voice low. In response to his praise, you keen. Loud. It takes you both by surprise, if the embarrassed look on your face is any indication. 

For a second, you both just stare at each other. He takes a second to appreciate how beautiful you look. Hair mussed, blush tinting your cheeks, sweat coating your forehead. Everything about you is perfect. But he figures he better say something because you look even more mortified every second. “So praise is what gets you going, huh bug?”

You whine and turn yourself over, burying your face into the sheets. He chuckles at your lack of response, pulling himself up to lay next to you. In the silence, he lightly draws little shapes onto the nape of your neck. You shiver. “Don’t go all shy on me now,” he comments. 

His taunting makes you turn around to face him. “I’ve never done that before,” you admit after a few seconds. 

Now this takes him by surprise. “You’ve never keened before?” he asks, pushing a stray hair out of your face. 

“Nope. I kind of thought it was one of those myths they tell you about heats,” you say. 

“Oh,” Vernon blurts. “I didn’t know it was a heat thing. I’ve had an omega keen during regular sex before.” 

You’re silent for a moment while processing this new information. It begins to worry him. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up having sex with another omega while he’s in your nest. God, he’s so stupid. 

Finally, you speak. “Well you are good in bed. Pretty worthy of a keen outside of a heat, I guess.” 

“You guess?” he retorts. “You haven’t even had the real thing yet.”

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes and pushing lightly at his chest. “I’m tired.” 

He can tell your eyes are getting droopy. Now that your body has processed that the sex is over (for the time being), it’s forcing you to shut down. Making you conserve some energy until the hormones kick back in. Shit, he should really get some fluids in your system before you’re out. He scrambles out of bed, ignoring your whine of protest, and locates the water bottles on your floor. Grabbing an electrolyte packet from the top of your dresser, he preps the water for you. 

When he turns back around, you already have your face buried in a pillow. He runs back over, turning you around while you blink lazily at him. “C’mon you gotta drink some water first.” He uncaps the bottle and holds it to your lips. 

You push it away, mumbling “I’m too tired.” 

He watches as your eyes droop and you attempt to turn around once more. “No, no. Bug you gotta drink something before you go to bed. You’ll be dehydrated.”

You shake your head in denial. If there was one thing Vernon was not prepared for, it was this. Most omegas are usually pliant and willing to meet an alpha's demand in heat. Why are you not? It should be instinctual. Oh. He has to play with your instincts. As much as he doesn’t want to (his mom raised him right, okay?), he really needs you to drink this water. An ER trip with a heat-ridden omega that you aren’t mated to sounds like a recipe for disaster. “Alpha wants you to drink the water.” The words feel foreign coming out of his mouth.

Like a switch flipped in your brain, you look back up at him. “It will make Alpha happy if I drink the water?” He nods. You take the water out of his hands wordlessly and drain the entire bottle.

He sighs in relief. “Okay. You can sleep now, bug.” You’re practically out before your head hits the pillow. 

As much as he wants to tuck himself into bed next to you, Vernon feels gross and sticky. And doesn’t want to invade your privacy. You look comfy all curled up in your nest anyways. He drags himself to your bathroom, where he strips and rinses off the shower. For a minute, he has the thought to jerk off. But the thought that you could wake at any time and be ready for another round prevents him from doing so. 

Once he finally feels clean, he changes into a clean pair of sweats. He watches you for a few minutes, making sure you’re still sleeping soundly. He feels like a creep until he remembers that this is a totally normal instinct for him to be feeling right now. His omega is in heat, in their most vulnerable moments. Of course he wants to watch over them. 

Wait. Did he just say his omega? Oh, this is bad. He’s never going to recover from this week. 

In an attempt to distract himself, he ventures out to the kitchen in search of dinner. He manages to find some instant ramen in your pantry and starts preparing some. He checks his phone, letting Seungkwan know that yes, he’s still alive. No he has not died of suffocation by pussy yet. There’s an unopened message from Joshua asking if everything is going okay. Vernon just barely catches himself before he can let out a hushed growl. He tries his best to respond politely. 

Later, his ramen is gone and he’s done enough Instagram doom scrolling. He takes the opportunity to check on you one more time. Sure enough, you’re perfectly fine. It doesn’t quite soothe his instincts though. Pushing them aside, he settles himself into the couch for the night. He uses one of your throw pillows and the blanket you always leave in the living room. Everything smells like you and it pleases his instincts thoroughly. Though he tosses and turns for a while, sleep finally takes him. 

HOUR 17

A loud sob wakes Vernon up from deep sleep. He doesn’t even bother to check the time, he just books it to your room. Your door practically slams against the wall. “What’s wrong?” he asks frantically. 

Your head whips around to where he’s standing in the doorway. “You’re here,” you sniffle, somewhat surprised. 

“Umm yes?” 

“I thought you left Alpha. Thought you didn’t want to stay with me.”

Vernon’s heart breaks. How could he be so stupid? He played with your instincts to get you to drink that water last night. Of course you would wake up in a headspace. Part of him wants to go straight to your nest and scent you. Assure you that he’s right here and he’ll be here the whole time. But part of him is fiending to bring you food. Based on the sunlight filtering in through your curtains, it has to have been over 12 hours since your last meal. 

“I slept on the couch bug. To give you some space last night. I’ve been here the whole time. Are you hungry?” You quickly shake your head in denial. “Are you sure? It’s been a while since you’ve eaten.” You stare down at your stomach wordlessly, like it’s going to answer for you. He sighs. “Okay. I’m going to get you some rice. Stay right there. If Alpha isn’t back in 5 minutes you can call out for him okay?” You nod, tentatively. The headspace must be heavy right now. 

As fast as he can, he runs out into the kitchen and heats up a bowl of rice. He debates finding something more nutritious to add to it, but he doesn’t really have the time to. He makes it back to your room in record time. 

“Eat,” he says, setting the bowl in front of you. He frames it as a statement, not a question. If he’s right about the whole headspace thing, you won’t resist. Sure enough, you pick up the fork and start to poke around at the rice. While you eat, he preps another water bottle and grabs a protein bar from your nightstand drawer. 

You eye the protein bar when he sits it down in front of you. “It’s too much,” you say, poutily. 

“Try,” he urges. You pout once more. In the end, you finish the rice and the water, with the protein bar about half eaten. Vernon considers it a win. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Now that you’re here, yeah,” you whisper, tucking your head into his shoulder. 

He reaches down to pet your hair. “I’m sorry I left you in here alone last night. You didn’t really say anything about where to sleep. I didn’t know if waking up to a random alpha would set you off.” 

“I thought it was implied with the whole helping me through my heat thing,” you mumble into his shirt. You pause for a moment, before turning your head to look up at him. “And you’re not a random alpha. I’ve known you for a while now. My omega is comfortable with you.”

The statement is like music to Vernon’s ears. There’s nothing better than knowing your inner omega trusts him and his alpha. “Okay,” he concedes. “‘I’ll sleep in here tonight if you want me to.” 

You nod, but before you can speak, your face twists in pain. “What’s wrong?” he asks as you lean back on the bed.

“Just cramps,” you say, eyes screwed shut. 

“Okay,” he says as he hovers over you. “What can I do?” 

You peek one eye open and smile sheepishly. “I think you know.”

“A knot?” he confirms

You nod, eyes closed once again. “A knot.”

Vernon has to take a deep breath to remember that this is in fact reality, and not a dream. “Where do you want me to start?” he asks, running a finger down your bare arm. 

You shudder in response. “Wherever you want.” 

He sees your shirt ride up a bit, exposing your stomach. Seizing the opportunity, he pulls the shirt even higher, leaning down to press soft kisses to the skin there. His free hand trails down to your thigh and begins to tease. His thumb pushes the end of your shorts upward, lightly brushing over the scent gland there. The contact makes you whine. 

He takes his time with it, gently teasing you through your underwear with slow, agonizing circles on your clit. His other hand grips your thigh while he mouths at the skin of your hip. It leaves you breathless. 

Vernon isn’t much better himself. The scent of your slick is heavy in the air, sweet and enticing. Soft moans fill his ears. It makes him dizzy. 

You must get fed up with the slow pace, because your hips start to wriggle away and you push yourself up on your elbows. “Are you going to give me your knot or what?”

He chuckles at your words and pulls himself up so he’s face to face with you. “So impatient,” he chides. 

Your face twists in annoyance. “Seriously Vernon if you don’t pull your dick out soon I’m going to…”

His lips find yours, cutting you off with a soft kiss. When he finally pulls away, you are silent once again. “Be good for me,” he mumbles, breath tickling your face. He reaches down and begins to pull off his pajama pants. Once you realize what he’s doing, you scramble to do the same. As much as Vernon wanted to undress you himself, the image of you easing your panties down your legs will be burned into his memory forever. 

He runs a finger up the apex of your thigh, then sweeps through the slick collecting in your folds. You gasp and your eyes flutter shut in response. “All this for me?” he teases. Honestly, he expected a snarky response from you, so it takes him by surprise when you eagerly nod.

He pulls his hand away to pump himself a few times. Not that he really needs it, he’s been hard since the words “a knot” left your mouth. You open your eyes once you notice the lack of contact and he watches your line of sight move down. He can practically see the gears turning in your heat-addled brain. “...’s so big.” 

It takes everything in Vernon’s power to not cum on the spot. “Oh god, Bug you can’t say things like that.” 

“Want it in me,” you mumble, reaching out to pull him closer.

He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

A loud whine leaves your throat. “No.”

“Bug seriously, I need to prep you.”

At this, you look up at him through your lashes. Tears begin to well in your eyes and threaten to spill. “Please just fuck me. I can’t take it.”

Vernon can’t even look at you anymore. He squeezes his eyes shut, a never-ending string of “don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum,” rattling around in his brain. The mental image of you, the omega of his dreams, crying and begging him to fuck you, is almost too much. 

He gives himself one more second to cool down before lining himself up at your entrance. His tip rubs deliciously against you and he leans down to lick gently at your scent gland. You hum satisfactorily at this. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” he whispers against your skin.

Once he feels you nod in approval, he pushes in. Your wetness offers little to no resistance and he’s able to bottom out quickly. Though he has to take a second to ground himself, with the way you are gripping him like crazy. He feels you panting against his neck. “Please move,” you finally tell him. And who is Vernon to deny that request? 

Slowly, he starts to move in and out. You writhe at the friction, one hand twisted in the bedsheets and the other pawing at his back. He cringes when he hears the way your slick squelches, but settles once you let out a pretty moan. “Feel good?” he asks.

You nod, little gasps leaving your mouth. He picks up the pace at that. The room fills with the smell of your combined scents and Vernon’s alpha preens. He gets even more of an ego boost when he angles his hips up and you keen as he hits your sweet spot. “Vernon please,” you beg.

“I’ve got you bug,” he breathes. He crooks his hips up a tiny bit more, trying to hit that same spot over and over. It must work because your breath hitches and you clench around him. He can’t help but whimper at the tightness. 

Looking down, Vernon can’t help but think that he wants this to last forever. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure. Both your scents mixing deliciously in the air. The feeling of you wrapped around him. That’s all he can really ask for. Except marriage and a few babies maybe. 

The thought of babies immediately sends his alpha into overdrive and, before he knows it, he’s whispering in your ear. “Gonna fill you up,” he grunts. “Get you nice and round with my pups, yeah?” Once the words leave his mouth, he realizes what he’s done. What if you’re not into that? Are you going to be mad at him? But the garbled “please please please” that leaves your mouth is enough to silence his negative thoughts. 

Maybe it’s the heavenly sounds you’re making or maybe it’s the thought of you pregnant that winds him up, but finally he feels the base of his knot start to swell. It catches slightly on your walls, so he reaches down to play with your clit in an attempt to relax your muscles. 

Fast circles with his thumb seem to do the trick. He buries himself inside you fully and it’s enough to push you over the edge. You spasm around him and he feels a gush of slick drip out of you. The feeling has him cumming immediately in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had. Shockwaves run through his body and he has to set his head down on your shoulder. 

When he comes back to, he realizes his knot is already fully inflated. You’re still throbbing and the overstimulation is almost painful. Slowly, he turns so that you are both laying on your sides. Your eyes finally flutter back open and, wow, do you look cock drunk. “Feel better?” he asks.

You roll your eyes but nod at the same time. How cute. “Sleepy,” you mumble, head lolling onto his chest. 

“Okay,” he concedes, knowing better than to stop you. “Sleep well bug.”

He watches as your breathing evens out, waiting for the cue that you are fully asleep. Once he’s sure you aren’t awake, he mumbles a soft “I love you” into your hair. 

HOUR 43

Vernon has never felt so tired in his life. He’s lost count of how many times he’s cum, how many knots he’s given you. He definitely overestimated the influential power of an omega in heat. No matter how hard he tries, it feels impossible to say no to you. 

You’re writhing on the bed underneath him. He’s made you cum with his fingers so many times that they’ve practically shriveled up. “Please Nonie. Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“I don’t think I can,” he tells you gently. 

“Please?” you beg. “I need it.”

He takes a deep breath to reel in his patience. “Bug I think there’s more of my cum in you than there is in me.” 

“It’s still not enough,” you whine. 

This is the most desperate he’s seen you so far. Part of him feels perverted that he enjoys the way you beg for him. Another part of him, mainly his alpha, feels elated.

He listens to your cries a few seconds longer before reminding himself that he may never get to see you like this again. So he makes true to his word, and fills you up again and again and again.

HOUR 61

“I think I only need one more knot,” you tell him, tracing patterns onto his back. The feeling of your finger running gently across his skin makes the hair on his arms prickle. 

“Really?” he asks, turning around to look at you. “We’re barely into day 3.”

You shrug. “I can feel it.” 

He gives you a knowing look. “Do you want it now?” 

After a few moments of thought, you shake your head. “Can we shower first?”

He reaches a hand down to your legs, gently brushing the meat of your thigh. “Can you stand long enough for a shower? Or should I run a bath?” 

“A bath would be nice,” you mumble. 

A soft kiss is pressed to your forehead before he pulls himself out of the nest. His own legs feel like jelly, but he does his best to ignore it. The same way he ignores the small whine that he hears escape your mouth as he leaves the room. He can’t let himself get attached. 

HOUR 62

A strangled gasp leaves your lips as Vernon pushes all the way into you. “...mmm, so much for a bath,” you mutter.

He chuckles into the back of your neck. “You asked for this bug.”

“I know, I ju-just…ah right there. Bath sex is my…my favorite part of heats” you admit. 

“Mmm,” he mumbles. “Should’ve told me that sooner.” 

You lean back to lay full against Vernon’s shoulder. His head sits right next to yours, and he lets himself drop it to rest against the junction of your neck. He loses himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him. 

The rhythm is slow, sensual. But he’s learned enough about your body language that he can tell it’s doing the job. Your walls pulse around him. Your breathing is erratic. Your toes curl and soft moans leave your mouth. He tries to savor it. After all, this is probably the last time he’ll ever see you like this. 

He lets himself indulge a bit this round. His teeth graze your scent gland as he knots you. Nothing close to the bite he wants to put there, but enough to quell the urge that’s been there the past few days. It sets you off once again, cumming for the 2nd time in just minutes. He tries to ignore the fact that you want it just as bad as he does. 

HOUR 72

Days later and your heat finally broken, you find yourself snuggled into the couch with Vernon. The movie you have playing is nothing more than background noise.

“Sooo…didn’t know you had a breeding kink” he teases, poking your foot.

You roll your eyes at him. “Heats were literally created for breeding. Of course I was into it.”

He looks down, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I guess that’s true.”

“What?” you question. “Do you not promise to knock up all the omegas you help through heat?”

Vernon knocks the surprise off his face a split second too late. “No?” The crack in his voice definitely gives him away.

“Vernon!” you exclaim, slapping him on the arm, scandalized. “You did not just let me take your heat virginity!”

Embarrassed, he runs his hands over his face. “Don’t call it that!” he whines. 

You laugh lightheartedly. “If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t tell. You did everything right.” 

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Except I left you alone that first night.”

You reach out to touch his leg comfortingly. It’s clear that you understand how bad he actually feels about that. “Yeah but it’s not like you got the rundown of what I wanted beforehand. You were just respecting my boundaries.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he nods, not very convincingly. 

“You’re a good alpha, Vernon.” The statement hits him in the head like a hammer. It rings around in his skull for what feels like hours. 

He peeks up at you shyly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you tell him with a smile on your face. “You took good care of me. Fed me, kept me clean. And…” your eyes trail down to look at his lips.

“And?”

Nothing would prepare him for the devastation of what you say next. “And I wish you would do that all the time.” Surely you don’t mean that in the way he thinks you do. It’s all about the heat right?

“You don’t want Josh to come back for your next heat?”

You inch closer to him on the couch. “No, I want you. I want you all the time. Not just during my heat.”

Oh. Oh. Realization hits him like a truck. “You like me too?”

“Of course I do. Why else would I ask you to help me this week?”

The words leave his lips before he can catch himself. “Because you had no other option.”

“No you idiot,” you say while smacking his thigh lightly. “I’ve just been too chicken to ask you before.”

Surely this can’t be right. Have you been showing him hints this whole time? Was he just too blind to see it? “You spend your heats with Josh though…” he thinks out loud. 

“He offered to help with my first heat after Johnny left,” you explain. “I called him your name in the middle of it and he’s been begging me to ask you since then. I was scared that you weren’t interested.”

Vernon feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. You really do like him back. Before he can stop himself, he leans down and captures your mouth with his. You immediately kiss him back, hooking your arms around his neck. You both stay there for what feels like forever. 

Finally, you pull away to catch your breath, resting your forehead against his. After a moment, a notification from your phone has you reluctantly pulling back. It’s a text from Joshua.

Josh

Sooooo

My flight wasn’t actually delayed

You and Vernon admitted you like each other right?

    You

      I hate you

Josh

Worth it though?

    You           Worth it.

[overtake]

Hi!!!! I can't get over how much I love this fic and I was thinking about the first time they meet in the locker room at the practice rink. You wrote "Max looks up, cheeks flushing in surprise to find someone else in there. His eyes go big at seeing Daniel." and I was wondering if there's a chance we can read about Max's point of view sometime in the future ♥️ I would really love to read anything you want to share with us about this fic algjkshd ♥️

So late on answering this but I’d love to provide you with Max’s POV!

The first time Max talked to Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel was commanding attention in a cluster of hockey players at Max’s rookie season All-Star Game. To date, Max isn’t sure if his ears are just innately tuned to the frequency of his bright, honking laugh, or if his joy was truly louder than the announcement and subsequent crowd cheers for the start of the hardest shot competition.

Daniel’s helmet and gloves were carelessly abandoned somewhere. He was leaning his chin on the butt of his carelessly taped stick, and his curls were toeing the line between handsomly tousled and unruly. He was giving everyone who spoke his undivided attention, the bags under his warm brown eyes gently crinkling in time with his smiles. Max didn’t care that some annoying reporter kept trying to grab him over to the side for an interview. He had just wanted to know what it felt like to be in Daniel’s orbit.

Between Daniel and Lewis Hamilton was a space big enough for Max to worm his way into, and he didn’t care that he was crashing the conversation. Daniel wouldn’t care either, probably. Max knew lots of people who played with him, and everyone said the same gushing things about Daniel’s kindness.

Most of the guys just nodded at him and didn’t break their side conversations, but Daniel had flashed his bright white teeth at him. “Max Verstappen,” he said. He said Max’s name funny, more like Maksh Vershtappen, and grinned a little wider after Max scrunched his face up at it. “Nice of you to join us, but aren’t you in this competition?”

He nodded over at where Sebastian Vettel was lining up a shot. Max just shrugged. “Maybe if I hide in this circle, they won’t be able to find me.”

“Aw,” Daniel said. “Shucks, Verstappen. Too nice to show up Seb?”

“I could’ve been on a beach,” Max said mournfully. “And instead I am here.”

Daniel laughed again. He doled them out as easily as breathing, but Max still let himself glow at the reward of being its cause. “Normally people wait until at least year two to start complaining about the All Star Game.”

“Well, they keep saying I’m ahead of my peers, first overall pick and everythint,” Max joked. Daniel opened his mouth to respond — some chirp about Max being cocky, Max would’ve bet — but his name was being announced as the next competitor, and he was forced out of the circle to perform like a show pony for the crowd.

“Save my spot,” he told Daniel, who winked.

“Only if you win.”

Max had won, and by a solid few miles per hour over Seb’s previous record. By the time he returned to the circle, Daniel had been warbling some terrible version of the American anthem, and Lewis had kindly explained the Fergie backstory to him, and then Daniel darted off toward Sebastian before Max could grab his attention back and make the joke he’d been trying to formulate about winning.

Up until the day Daniel walked into the Leafs practice facilities, Max never spoke to Daniel again, but he’d remembered the way Daniel’s attention had made him feel.

He’d mentally separated sex and hockey long ago. It wasn’t even a conscious choice he needed to make. He was in the locker room to win, and attraction was a distraction. He’d always known that he was into guys, as easily as he recognized that his name was Max and his eyes were blue, but that had nothing to do with hockey.

Hockey players weren’t a dating pool. A hockey team was an ecosystem so delicate that one chirp gone too far could throw off the entire chemistry of the team and lose them the season. The opponents were the guys trying to stop them from winning, and Max would be damned before he let there be a single earthly chance that he fucks one of them and they somehow use it against him to win. Thus, hockey and sex did not co-exist. It wasn’t even a consideration. Like his name, and his eyes, and being gay, it was a fact of life that Max never had to consciously think about.

Daniel was the first time his stomach flipped being nearby a hockey player, and he’d allowed himself the guilty pleasure of a youtube deep dive when it hit two weeks after the All Star Game and Daniel hadn’t left his mind. It resulted in a shame-ridden jerkoff session over bad commercial acting and an orgasm over a compilation of Ricciardo game-winners.

Daniel wasn’t even in the Leafs conference, Max had told himself after that first time. Max could have this. It wasn’t actually combining sex and hockey, and he’d still smash Daniel against the boards if he ever tried to get near Max’s puck.

Then Daniel was in Edmonton, still the other conference but in Max’s country, and everyone was calling it lights out on Daniel’s career. In the faceoff circle, face framed in orange fabric and dark circles, Max saw that all the free joy Daniel had once doled out had soured into pungent melancholy.

Max only had a few games against Daniel as an Oiler, but one stood out. It couldn’t have been more than two weeks before Daniel entered the assistance program, but there was a steely scrap of fight in his eyes that Max hadn’t seen in the past year and a half.

Max had won the only faceoff he had against Daniel that game, but Daniel stole the puck from him five seconds later in a motion so smooth that it slotted perfectly in the highlight reels Max had rabidly consumed and that everyone claimed were a ghost of Daniel past. He was focused on racing Daniel down the ice to try and prevent the breakaway, but his first thought when he heaved himself over the boards at the end of his shift was that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could consider Daniel done after a move like that.

He only understood when he heard their dipshit coach ream out Daniel a second later. It was a strain to hear from their bench, even with Zak’s loud-ass voice, but he was lecturing Daniel for attempting the shot. Zak was stabbing his stubby pointer at a whiteboard and screaming himself red to argue that Daniel should’ve passed to a guy that had been covered by two defencemen. The useless rookie he was referencing hadn’t even caught the rebound of Daniel’s shot on net, but fucking genius idea: don’t let your open guy go for the goal that Esteban had stopped only by the luckiest glance off his goalie stick.

Max understood, then. Daniel’s talent wasn’t gone. It’d just been suffocated. He was trying to change his game to conform to a system of hockey that constrained him to a set of plays. They weren’t allowing him to trust his gut, to capitalize on unexpected chances and make the right plays. Daniel would leave, or they would trade him, and Max knew he’d be better for it.

And then it was June, and Max had a surprise call from Cyril and a contact card for Daniel Ricciardo saved into his phone. He let himself be excited instead of apprehensive, even though letting himself combine hockey and sexual desire, all by using the desperate justification that the guy was a conference away, was clearly Max daring the universe to make this happen.

Max is here in his locker room in the heart of summer, and Daniel Ricciardo walks in with a slight stumble of hesitancy that betrays his uncertainty at finding Max in his new surroundings.

He looks back to the guy that keeps the sun a willing hostage in his smile. His curls are long and shiny, his under eyes no longer hollowed, and Max can see muscle on his body where there was once only bone. Max is struck dumb with the reckoning that his stomach still churns the same way at the sight of Daniel, even when he’s picking at his cuticles and looking the closest to nervous that he’ll probably let himself show.

This, Max grimly considers, could maybe be a problem.

[necromancerbunny]

The coroner | In a rush

summary: You’re usually happy to see Hotch and Spencer, but this time they leave without a word.

Perfectionist. Always the same method of murder. The same type of victims. Quite predictable in that sense, they say. Huh, this was probably the first time you heard these two saying something that wasn’t even close to the truth. Then again, you remind yourself, they don’t know what you do. But it’s still a small victory that they aren’t Mr. Know-it-all number one and two at the end of the day.

“Your unsub is everything but a perfectionist if you ask me,” you welcome them with a Cheshire cat smile plastered on your face. Hotch raises a brow in question, while Spencer’s eyes narrow in confusion as he glances at the newest body on the table. “He’s getting sloppy. Pretty disappointing.”

“How so?” Hotch wonders out loud before joining his colleague by the table, examining the wounds on the victim’s body. 

At first glance, everything’s the same; the weapon of choice, the lack of hesitance in the unsub’s cutting movements, the wounds, and the burn marks. But there is one little detail they weren’t trained to notice. With a cocky smile, you move to the other side of the table and lean down with a pen in your hand.

You can feel their eyes on you, you can sense that the level of their curiosity is rising. Since you’re not evil, you take a deep breath, then start talking. “Until the previous victim, the unsub wounded them and waited until they bled out before breaking their necks post mortem. But this time he changed his method, he cut him, but broke his neck while he was still alive,” you explain, poking the side of the victim's neck with the pen.

“He’s losing control. That’s the reason, we expected it,” Spencer says casually as he leans closer to the body to examine the neck.

With a huff, you straighten up and fold your arms over your chest. “Is that so? Because he killed sixteen men with the same method, but things have changed with this one.”

“Things? Plural?” Hotch wonders, his brown eyes following your every move.

You nod, then let out a sigh. “The toxicology report came back,” you begin, handing them the file. “We know that he didn’t drug the victims in the previous cases when we had the chance to do the test, but now we found quite a lot of flunitrazepam in the last victim’s blood.”

Spencer finally looks at you. “So he roofied the victim’s drink?” When you nod, he turns to his boss. “Okay, something must have happened to the unsub. Maybe he doesn’t have the strength to fight off his victims anymore. This man was approximately the same size and strength as the previous ones, which means…” He trails off, letting the suggestion hang in the air.

There’s a beat of silence, a few seconds that stretch out just a little too long for your liking. Hotch is often like this, letting his presence fill the space completely, and whether or not it’s intentional, it sure as hell feels suffocating sometimes.

“Is there anything else?” he asks you in the end. When you shake your head, he nods and turns to the younger man. “Let’s go, we need to release the updated profile.”

You stand there and watch the two of them leave the room without saying anything. Rolling your eyes, you walk after them to the door to call after them. “A thank you or a goodbye would be nice, you know.” They get into the elevator, and you shake your head at this. “Damn profilers,” you mutter under your breath as you return to your laptop to finish the autopsy report.

[obsidianpen]

I'm cheeky snippet anon. I was particularly hoping for a glimpse of the Draco pov in B&G but I'm a fan of all your fics I'll take any snippet and be incredibly grateful 😍 or I'll take nothing and be grateful too! Thanks for writing!

“Floor two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” announced the cool, female voice.

Draco rushed out of the lift as soon as the doors opened. A few interdepartmental memos flanked him before fluttering off in different directions. 

He knew his way around, having come here with his father on more than a few excursions, so Draco made his way to the Auror offices quickly. He kept his head down. He avoided making eye contact with anyone, and somehow managed not to draw attention to himself. 

He heard him before he saw him. 

Draco was just passing one of the large sections of walled-off cubicles when the much too familiar sound of Potter’s voice reached his ears. “...feels like a Friday, you know?”

“You said that yesterday, Harry.”

Weasley. After glancing quickly up and down the narrow hall he found himself in, which was, blessedly, empty at the moment, Draco made a split-second decision. He pressed himself up against the wall of what must have been Potter’s cubicle and eaves-dropped.

“It does, though. Feels like this week has dragged on forever already.”

“I know. It’s the paperwork.”

“It’s always the paperwork. I’m losing my damn mind.”

Perhaps you made a grievous error in your career choice, Potter, Draco thought amusedly. 

“You might have made a bad career choice, then,” said Weasley. Draco glowered. It sounded much less funny coming from him. 

“Yeah, well, at least you’re stuck in it with me.”

“Don’t think I’m not considering quitting every time a new case to file gets dropped on us. George said his door is always open.”

“You’re not allowed to quit. You’re nowhere near funny enough to help run a joke shop. You’d ruin his business, and then my Triwizard Tournament winnings will have gone entirely to waste.”

There was theatrical sigh followed swiftly by a banging sound, which was then followed by some swearing and some good-natured laughter. Draco rolled his eyes. He was about to turn the corner and finally announce his presence when Potter spoke again.

“It’s… Today is Hermione’s birthday, you know.”

Draco froze and held his breath. Her birthday? Today was her bloody birthday?

“...Yeah. I know.”

A stretch of silence so uncomfortable that even Draco felt awkward. More awkward than he already did, at any rate.

“I, er. I owled her, Asking her to meet me out later. I think she will.”

You think incorrectly, Potter, Draco thought darkly. 

“Yeah? That’s… Good. That’s good.”

“I told her I got her something. A gift.”

“That is traditionally what one does on someone’s birthday, yes.”

Potter sighed even more dramatically than before. “It’s you. You’re the gift. You and a giant, heartwarming, much-needed apology speech. You’re coming with me to the Three Broomsticks, and we are finally going to hash this whole thing out and move past it. Okay?”

Draco had to cover his mouth to prevent the awful laughter that threatened to escape. Weasley? Potter was bringing Weasley to Granger, as a present? Her estranged ex-boyfriend? To hash out his cheating behavior from over a year ago?

Wherever she was, Draco was certain that Granger would feel nothing but relief knowing she had missed out on this birthday surprise. She’d probably prefer to be ripped apart by the turbulence of time-travel, really.

“I… what?” Weasley said weakly.

Draco decided he’d heard more than enough. Granger would not be meeting anyone out for birthday drinks, because Granger was likely in mortal peril, stranded in the wrong decade, and that was looking at things optimistically. Channeling all the dignity he could manage, Draco straightened his posture, fixed a contemptuous look on his face, and turned the corner to reveal himself. 

“Potter,” he said stiffly. 

It worked too well. 

As it happened, Potter was leaning back slightly in his chair, lifting the two front legs off the ground. Upon the unanticipated arrival of Draco Malfoy in his cubicle, he startled so badly he yelped and kicked the chair right over, sending himself tumbling backwards to the floor–and good thing, too, because he also happened to have his wand in his hand. A bright yellow spark shot from its tip, missing Malfoy by a distressingly small amount as he fell and striking an interdepartmental memo mid-flight instead. The little paper airplane promptly exploded in a burst of golden confetti. 

“Hope that wasn’t important,” Draco said drily, not allowing the panic of nearly being hit by a hex show on his face.  

“WHAT THE FUCK, MALFOY?”

“FUCKING HELLS!”

Both Potter and Weasley yelled at the same time. Potter–in a move that was, admittedly, impressive–had turned his fall into a sort of tumble-roll, and was back on his feet in a flash, his wand aimed much more precisely on Draco’s face. Weasley had pulled his wand out as well, and now that Draco looked around properly, he saw that there were at least five other wizards and witches who had popped their heads up over the cubicle wall, all of which were now doing the same, looking alarmed. 

Probably wasn’t the brightest idea, spooking a bunch of aurors, Draco admitted in the privacy of his mind. 

[philosophicalparadox]

Interesting Itachi notes

(And a bit more about his ancestors because it’s relevant)

Alright, well, I did not anticipate my Kisame list to be so popular — apparently some of that was NOT common fandom knowledge lol. So I figure why not do the same with his partner, especially after I’ve done labors of love to find this information over the years lol

Starting with VA’s first, once again the boy gets duped by translators. I will forever not forgive Crispin Freeman for not cutting loose like he usually does (I.e. Alucard from Hellsing) because it would have matched the energy of the way Itachi speaks in Japanese so much better lol. Contrary to English speaking fandom interpretation, Itachi talks in Japanese pretty much exactly the way Sasuke does (sassy, scathingly sarcastic, dramatic), minus the cussing and with a few more odd word choices. Itachi is fond of, not puns, precisely, but using words and phrases that have deliberately obscure or double meanings. Which is terribly ironic because he’s very direct and to-the-point about a lot of things; he does in fact mince his words, but he also doesn’t waste time talking at length unless he needs to explain something, but even then he is usually pretty short and almost, if not actually, rude about it. He also is, true to fandom interpretation, rather philosophical, which gives him a pretty idiosyncratic way of speaking; he’s bordering on rudely casual (with other Akatsuki members) if not outright being a bratty lil shit (Kisame, and when he’s dissing Madara to Sasuke) but he’s also patently well versed. He reminds me the most of Sasuke and Kakashi when he talks if that helps lol it’s so hard to explain

HOWEVER there’s one exception right at the beginning: when Itachi encounters Kakashi during their trip to Konoha, his entire (informal, rude-ish) register changes, and kicks up to a more polite but still familiar one. He essentially talks to Kakashi like he’s an old colleague, which he is, but that’s really the first clue we get about that. He noticeably does Not treat Asuma or Kurenai that way; only Kakashi gets referred to as Kakashi-san, which I can only imagine Kisame had lots of questions about after the fact lolll

According to the Hiden and interviews with Kishimoto He’s basically a pseudo-piscivarian, in that he largely prefers to eat vegetables, especially crunchy ones like cabbage and peppers, and actually detests beef and most meat* . That said, we see him eat fish and chicken in canon, so he probably doesn’t mind white meats. Consensus on pork is non existent. He also, yes, prefers sweet foods, but also likes bitter things. His least favorite flavor profiles are Umami/savory (beef, mushrooms), acidic or spicy food and anything oily or fatty. (He shares the latter in common with Sasuke, though he’s the polar opposite in pretty much every other regard.)

His “hobby” according to Kishimoto is visiting traditional tea houses/shops. He really likes tea, and the relaxed atmosphere is soothing to him. Conversely, and unsurprisingly, he doesn’t like visiting bars or other “crowded” places.

Speaking of hobbies and habits, yes, Itachi does like to cook and clean. There’s canon evidence for this, but Kishi also has confirmed it in interviews.

The Itachi Shinden novel implies that he’s at least baseline knowledgeable about traditional medicine. (More on that later) Whether that’s normal-ish knowledge for ninja, an Uchiha thing, or a quirk of his is unclear. Kakashi has similar knowledge, and he’s a total bookworm, so perhaps they are both simply well read lol.

Maybe it’s well known, but I don’t often see people acknowledging that Itachi 1, specializes in gathering Intel, and 2. That he worked closely with Konoha’s intel division consequently. This is acknowledged directly late in the series by Aoba, Itachi’s genin sensei, who also works for Intel under Ibiki.

I’ve mentioned this in another post, but his name has a triple/quadruple meaning— “Itachi” does translate to “weasel”, but it’s also an old catch-all term for any shape-shifting Youkai, though in particular it’s often associated with Tanuki. It’s also a derogatory term for people that are dubiously trustworthy or whose intentions aren’t always clear, as well as a descriptive word whose best English equivalent is the word “skulking”, or moving around like a fox, acting benign or innocent but clearly up to something.

As a related aside, the in-canon reason for his name probably comes from Izuna, in that he was possibly named after him. “Izuna” translates as “stoat/ermine” — like a mini weasel but far more vicious lol. The name Izuna has multiple meanings also, but is a far more common old name because ermines, the winter form of a stoat, were prized for their snow white pelt— consequently, “Izuna” as a descriptor refers to something that’s pure white, or something that’s easily tainted because of its purity (like ermine pelts, which stain easily).** Which gives Madara’s name, meaning “speckled/blotched/piebald/particolour” at the surface and has a double, derogatory meaning of “blemished, scarred, (as by smallpox)”*** some degree of irony lol.

Back to Itachi though —

Let’s talk about his fighting style: there’s no official data about this, but if you watch martial arts enough it’s fairly obvious that Itachi specifically uses a very Aikido inspired style— aikido is a Japanese martial art that began in Korea, and it specializes in non-lethal disarmament by way of holding or locking an opponent into a particular position where they can’t do shit until they exhaust themselves or give up lol. It’s also a defensive style that relies on the opponent doing most of the attacking, with, again, the intent of the Aikido being to arrest their movements or otherwise disarm them principally by using their own attacks/momentum against them, and by feinting dodges to direct their attacks into prime grappling/locking position. Philosophically, Aikido strongly emphasizes non-violence and is more of a self defense art. A classic example of this that he (sort of) uses in canon is when he (as his fake self) locked Kakashi’s clone into a neck hold that forced eye contact — that is based on an actual move in Aikido that is designed to communicate intent and read the opponent’s, but in his case it just happens to work fantastically with his abilities lol. Probably the reason Kishi chose it as the basis of his moveset.

Speaking of abilities, again there’s no official data on it, but from canon interpretation it’s pretty clear that Itachi’s Genjutsu abilities (especially the Tsukiyomi) rely on the opponent seeing him, not the other way around. He can be totally blind (and in the manga at least he mostly is) and his powers still work fine as long as they seek out eye contact with him. Nearest we can tell the base sharingan works in a similar way, but also requires the user to at least be able to see their victims chakra; it can however be used to enhance other genjutsu that doesn’t originate from the Sharingan itself, as evidenced by Sai’s encounter with Sasuke, so 🤷‍♀️. Who knows how it works; I was just thinking about the fact Itachi doesn’t need hand signs to cast a genjutsu even with just his base sharingan active. He could’ve been bluffing Naruto, but if it’s true that the Sharingan can enhance a genjutsu already cast, it would lend itself to explaining that ability. (Or, in HC territory, maybe he’s taught himself to project some of the Sharingan’s power, much like Shisui could.)

Evidence that Itachi’s illness is probably respiratory comes from two things — in the Shinden novel, he uses an herb called Japanese Knotweed in English, which has medicinal uses principally related to the lungs and heart, since it’s a bronchodilator, and two, from the fact that any time a character in Naruto is severely ill they all seem to have respiratory diseases lol. Hayate dying of what looks like tuberculosis, side characters on their sickbeds with coughs, etc. there’s a cultural and industry reason why that’s so — one, lung diseases are ✨dramatic✨ and two, just like how the Victorians romanticized “consumption” (aka, tuberculosis) Japan did something very similar after an outbreak hit Kyoto in the late 1800’s, probably from a different strain brought by Dutch ships. So the image is engrained.

To add a few notes:

* The fact Itachi hates beef and isn’t fond of meat has…potentially interesting, implications. Meat, especially beef,= masculinity in Japan, so being vegetarian has long since been a very UnMasculine thing to do, and therefore is associated with cross dressers and Queer men in Japan. That he also appreciates feminine pastimes like cooking, cleaning, and tea houses (and by extension ceremonies) sets up a bit of a queer code for him lol.

** I’m not done talking about Izuna lol because, as you’d expect, it’s very often a girl name. Because yknow, purity culture stuff. Yeah Japan had it too.

*** a historical note about Madara because I just can’t justify making another list for him, 1. Madara is a common name for calico cats, especially rare male calicos, and 2. It’s not surprising that there’s a ton of correlation between Madara and historical Nobunaga, but I honestly think he got his name partly because of a stand out feature Nobunaga had — he was severely scarred from smallpox as a child. So it’s possible, though there aren’t historical accounts of it, that he might’ve been jeered at with the derogatory form of Madara. Certainly Oda Nobunaga’s clan fucking hated him lol

Anyway, I’m done for now unless I think of something else. Do with this information what you will. 🕊️

[bloodygyaruuu]

Show us your Kirby gijinkas. Now. (If you even have any.)

sorry abt the long wait, but here u go

im SOOOO happy w how these turned out.

sorry, but i only really have set designs for meta and ddd at the moment but i'd LOVE to do the other characters. i know you didn't explicitly ask for mtdd, but I just couldn't help myself <3

(ill go into more detail about my choices under the cut, I just love to yap)

okay now that ur stuck here with me, I'm gonna start with my design headcanons and inspirations.

Meta Knight:

Okay for Meta I wanted go with a more slender-ish, short-statured body will a bit of a baby face. I really tried leaning into a bit for vampiric features like fangs, desaturated colors, and the signature vampire bites (although these ones are just moles for the aesthetic). I wanted to give him a good chunk of unique features too like a scar under his right eye, a few beauty marks, pale-white eyes, prominent fangs, like 2c/3a hair (this means curly/wavy incase ur unaware), permenant eye bags, and a hooked nose for good measure. Ski-slope nose meta is evil propaganda which shall not be trusted.

yes yes, i can hear u saying "he looks like a twink" and to that I respond, "well, I'm fucking trying. he looks strange w facial hair to me and also Im a raging lesbian who only draws women over and over again". Also I made him Mexican because have u SEEN the anime dub. its fucking gold. and while I'm not Mexican, I AM colombian and black, so I thought this would be a good time to flex my liberal wokeness and make meta darker than a piece of paper. excuse the egregious anime hairstyle, I like anime and don't get out much.

King Dedede:

Alrighty I REALLY stepped out of my comfort zone here. I'm gonna be honest and say not only do I not draw a lot of men, but I don't draw a lot of men with larger body types like ever so this was definitely a bit of a challenge. god bless the "fat guy" anatomy tumblr post I saved a year ago, it came in clutch. anyways, I wanted to add some traditionally black hairstyles to my kingy king so I did a bit of thinking until I came to a realization. BEARD. LOCS. it was genius. I scrolled thru this guys page on tiktok who also had beard locs but they had jewelry on them and I just thought "wow, el, ur a genius." so I threw them into the design ofc. I like how a few other gijinka designs of ddd give him a long braid in the back. It's very regal. So I did that too but it's a braid made up of locs. Dedede's head is probably extremely heavy from the hairstyle I gave him, but he'll live. To list off some attributes; I gave ddd a wide, flat nose, vibrantly dark skin, like the underbite kind of fangs that u see in werewolves(not sure what it's called exactly? anti fangs??), locs, bushy eyebrows, and blue, tiny pupils. Again, I am VERY happy w/ my resdesign of him since my design of MK didn't change all that much from 2022.

In Conclusion:

thank you to anyone who made it this far!!1!!1

I know I say a whole lot of nothing sometimes, but I'm just so touched somebody out there wanted to see MY gijinka designs. its so funny cuz that's literally what my first ever post was on this app and Its nice to see things come full circle for once. hopefully, you all think Ive improved since then. personally, I think I improved a wee bit, but ill always strive towards improvement so I can have enough talent to consider redrawing the designs I just made, but even better <3

[aunttheta]

Something that has always felt like an interesting choice to me when reading the island comes back fics is the way it seems like the island coming back fixes all of Siffrin's memory problems, like it's not bad or anything it just feels like an interesting choice since I honestly believe his memory problems are permanent now

I mean I highly doubt getting brain blasted by the universe everytime you remember something that vaguely reminds you of home would be healthy for your brain, it kinda feels like a scooper yknow like it goes in to get the specific memories but a scooper isn't exactly the most coordinated tool so other things get scraped out along with the target, and causes alot of damage as a result that can't really be fixed.

Now I do fully believe that the island coming back would make it easier for Sif to remember more basic words and things like that since they would have access to his native language again since that is absolutely apart of the problem and he might even have more childhood memories too

But generally speaking I think their memory would still be pretty bad, exhibit (A) being that one event you can get where they forget the names of the party who are all unrelated to the island and shouldn't be getting their names blasted out of Sif's memory, I honestly believe this is a pretty good example of how good Siffrin's general memory unrelated to the island wish craft blasting is actually doing, well I say unrelated more like he's been blasted so many times that it's affecting his actual general memory, which isn't something I think can be fixed by the island coming back.

And I honestly believe this to likely be the case for most of the islanders and anyone else that had a strong connection to it, I don't have much evidence for this specific thought since the only islanders we meet in the game are Sif and the king, and then the daydreaming one outside of them having a strong connection to it, but I believe how often someone gets memory wiped likely plays a pretty significant role to how much it effects their memory.

All that is to say I think it would be super interesting to explore the possibility of Siffrin's memory not getting fixed or really improving in any significant way outside of unlocking a few childhood memories and finally being able to think in their own language again, because imagine the pain of realizing a decent amount of your population has been permanently affected by a bad wish and it can't be undone, the damage happened and they WILL have to live with it for the rest of their lives, will it get any worse now that the island is back? No probably not but the island has been gone for so long that the damage done to these peoples memory likely ranges from moderate to severe and it can't be fixed, it's apart of them now, a lasting affect from the tragedy of losing their home they way they did and for how long it was gone too.

Now applying all of the former to Siffrin and think about how that could be explored as apart of the restoration of the island, how that could affect families finally getting to reunite with their loved ones, Sif's bad memory is one of his biggest insecurities in the game because of how paralyzing the thought of forgetting his loved ones is to them, and I think it would be so interesting to explore in a scenario where the island comes back, they get to relearn the constellations but their memory is still pretty bad and he forgets it all about a month later, that kinda of thing, I just think it'd be a hard hitting point in the lasting effects of what happened, kinda like how the loops will stick with him

And not just him but probably other islanders too.

Jeeezzzz this was a long rant lol, okay I'm done I just really love thinking about Siffrin's memory, and I honestly don't think enough people truly explore it in a more in depth way, because his bad memory is so important for some of his behavior, like their coin, the desperation to be close to the party, the desperation in not wanting to forget but knowing you're going to and how horrifying that can be when it's about people you love. Just thinking about it alot is all.

[spotaus]

New Age AU Drabble (Lonely)

Hello everyone!! Welcome to the next drabble I swore I was going to write! This one I'm very fond of, because it involves the two who kickstarted this whole thing, the King and his Royal Mage (in-training)-

This happens some time after Nightmare's reversal to his new age, so it's basically the next one in chronological order for the main story drabbles!

@ancha-aus @mutzelputz @papiliovolens Hi guys!! Welcome back :)

Ping

Error glanced up from his project when the little tingle of his magic blinked into his awareness. Someone’s outside? He looked over at the heavy door that separated the cool space of his study from the stairs which led down to the main floors of the castle. On his end, it was absolutely tangled in blue wires, like his own little spider web. Though, to be fair, the rest of the room wasn’t faring much better. He’d certainly taken the chance to make the space his. The king had told him to, after all! Much better than the tidy room his brothers always made him help clean…

Blue strings lashed out from the ceiling and wrapped around his current project, wrapping securely around it before tugging it, his knitting needles, and the notes he had scattered all up into the loft space shrouded in shadow above him. It was just a lot safer to keep all his projects up there, out of his way until he needed them. Out of sight of his rare visitors. He couldn’t show them something that wasn’t ready! That would be embarrassing! Not Royal Wizard behavior at all. 

As his project rose, Error rolled onto his back, popping his spine before making an effor to stand up himself. How long had he been laying there? Normally he’d have been up in one of his hammocks, but this project required he keep it level until a later step, so he’d decided that the soft rug on the floor and a few blankets would have to suffice. Had it been an hour or two? Knowing him, probably much longer. He didn’t like pulling back the curtains, his strings didn’t glow in the darkness if he did. Infusing magic worked a lot easier for him in the dark.

He glanced to the door again. Thirty seconds and there hadn’t been any more pings? It had to be someone he actually halfway wanted to see, then. Darn. 

Error crossed the space, stepping over a few loose supplies, and around a few of his hanging strings, until he came to the door. As much as he wished he could ignore this person, he knew better. So, he gripped the solid iron handle and swung the door inwards towards him. 

Stood outside on the landing of the stairs was Sir Dust. 

He wasn’t an unwelcome sight, but he definitely wasn’t an expected one either. Lately, it’d been that Ccino guy showing up to his door unannounced, bringing him meals or just checking in on him. Sir Dust had been there the day he was hired, the knight doing his best to encourage Error to not make stupid, rash choices. Fortunately, given that chance to think, Error had been able to return with a smart and rash choice instead! Which, might he add, landed him this sweet gig for royalty. That was why, when Dust came around, Error didn’t turn him away. His magic was powerful, and despite being small, he was really cool. 

“Error.” Sir Dust greeted. “Brought dinner. Ccino’s been busy.” 

Sir Dust was always blunt. Even that first day they met, when he’d spoken more than a few words he’d seemed strained. Uncomfortable. He was comfortable here in his home territory. 

And, he wasn’t lying! Error hadn’t even noticed it, but when he looked down, his eyelights honed in on the plate held easily in one of Dust’s hands, and a jug held in the other to his side. 

Error was quick to lean out the doorway with a grin and snatch up the plate, careful not to make contact with Dust’s hands. He’d abandoned his glasses somewhere behind him in the room, so he had to raise the plate closer to his face before he recognized the contents. 

“Noodles, sweet!” He half-whispered to himself. 

His hand moved, gesturing out towards Dust. More of his strings shot past, from somewhere in the room, and clutched the jug before tugging it back inside with a flick of Error’s free hand. 

“Ccino told me to tell you: Drink that water. You’ll get dehydrated.” Dust voiced, watching unbothered as the jug was tugged back and out of his view. 

Error glanced up at him, and scoffed. Ccino had been doing his best to get Error to drink more tea with him because tea had water. Error was fine! He didn’t need as much water or food as an average monster, it was normal! Besides, he’d forget about it anyways. 

“Okay. Thanks!” he said anyways. Though, it was mostly thanks for the food. Error loved when Ccino made noodles. They were always buttery, and Error wasn’t sure how he always made something that looked so bland taste so good. …Now his mouth was watering. Maybe he was a little hungry after all. 

Error waited for Dust to start making his decent back down the stairs, but when he saw the monster was still stood still and quiet, he raised a brow. Was there something else? Had to be. He hoped Dust didn’t want inside. Error had all the plans to devour this food and then dive headfirst back into his project. He didn’t want to be distracted. 

“One more message.” Dust said, watching Error. His white eyelights were clear under his hood. Error didn’t think he was wearing his mask, but even with the soft glow from his web of strings he couldn’t tell in the shadows. Didn’t matter to him either way. 

“King Nightmare’s rescheduling your next… report.” Dust said plainly.

At that, Error felt his soul stop a bit in his chest. “Why?” He asked without thinking. The King had been listening and seemed interested during his last report! He’d made a lot of progress since then too, finished one of them enough that they could test it! The King had said he was excited to see it! Surely he hadn’t been tossed aside so quickly?

Dust seemed unphased by his demand of an answer. 

“The King is just taking time to rest. Last project wore him out.” Dust explained, before he added, “Ccino’s orders. Like drinking your water.” 

Error couldn’t tell, not really, but he was pretty sure the knight was grinning at that last part. Ha ha, very funny. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Error was pretty sure the entire castle knew that Ccino guy was in charge of keeping the King in check. Heck, when he’d first been brought in, the King looked worried about introducing him to that Ccino. Error never knew why, they’d gotten along great! 

But, if it was Ccino telling the King to take a break? He figured that the King was probably listening. Fair enough. His soul calmed down a little at the rationalization. 

“Oh, alright.” Error said finally, “Do you… know when he’ll want the next report by, then?” 

He could still plan, right? Maybe it was only a few days. 

“Mm, pretty sure Ccino said next month? Gotta catch up on some things. You live here.” Dust replied. 

Oh. Okay. Hmm. That was… a lot longer than he’d been hoping for. He could probably manage, though. Keep chugging away at his current project, maybe have time to draft a new one. Bigger? But, wait, the King wanted him to propose any bigger ones to him first. Supposedly he’d be allowed unlimited creative liberties, it was more so if something exploded he’d know what happened, but still. He didn’t want to break the few rules he had. Old projects then! Make them the best ever! 

He blinked in surprise when the little ping tingled in his skull. 

Dust had turned around without him noticing, a hand extended to just barely nudge one of his hanging strings. He didn’t look back as he spoke. 

“Gotta get back to rounds. G’night Error.” He said.

Error watched, disoriented for a second, before he nodded to himself. 

“Good night, Sir Dust!” He returned hurriedly.

He watched as the knight started moving, and entirely silently he descended the steps. Only when he had turned the curve out of sight and his shadow disappeared from the wall where torches below cast it, did he pull the door shut and return inside his room. 

His steps echoed against the stone floor until he returned to the cushioned rug, and then moved even further past that to one of his low-hanging hammocks. 

It was tucked beside a bookshelf that the King had let him stock with whatever books he liked from the library during his first week. The room had been cold and bare, obviously unlived in for a while, and Error didn’t exactly have a lot to move in. Just his spare clothes, the (now empty) pouch he’d been using to store his coin, and the dolls. He’d refused to remove those from his bag until he was alone, though, so he’d really had nothing to call his own. The King had given him the opportunity to collect items like books from the library, had let him choose some items from an incoming shipment of trading goods, and had sent someone to buy any equipment Error might need to advance his magic and creations. 

And, for the most part, Error was very self-sufficient. He’d had time to knit himself new clothes, and blankets, and decorate the room entirely with his magic. He spent a lot of time up in the high ceiling too, it was where he kept his dolls, and the projects, and all his important belongings. Everyone once in a while, though, he liked the bookshelf wall. Especially when he was eating. It was just easier to remember not to just hang up the plate among his projects. 

Ccino’s cooking was always delicious, Error would never not look forward to a meal made by him, even if it was the lamest sounding food ever. He’d managed to make brussel sprouts tolerable. A feat, honestly. The tastiness and warmth that spread through him couldn’t distract him from his worries, though. 

Error knew he’d have to work hard to make sure the King was impressed. But also not too bothered by it. He knows his explosive spells used to make his professors and tutors angry, and while the King had been nice about it so far, if he was tired? Error wouldn’t want to push the limits. But if he was too simply about it or lackluster, the King might be upset he was wasting his time? Ohhh. At least he had a month to work and try things out before then. Hopefully he could have an idea at that point. Hopefully. 

…

Ten days. 

Error had given it about 5 days after the time that the report was originally meant to happen, five days after Dust told him it’d been rescheduled, before he felt like he might go stir-crazy. Not because he was worried, but because of the exact opposite. He had his few other ongoing projects, mostly if not entirely completed, up to the King’s review. But he’d also developed another, newer, concept that he just knew would brighten the King’s mood. 

Dust had been the one periodically bringing him food still, he hadn’t seen Ccino, and Error didn’t dare pry too far. All he’d been told was that the King was still swamped with duties and was locking himself in his study to complete his duties. 

Now, Error was not one to talk about unhealthy work ethic, not in the slightest, but he figured it couldn’t be fun. The things the King was doing weren’t exciting or engaging like Error’s projects were, they were all papers and about talking to people. Error dreaded the idea of sitting alone in a room, trying to figure out something stupid like which roads a guy should walk or what people thought of him. Sounded stressful. 

So, Error had made something to make the King feel less bad! Less cooped up! 

Originally he had wanted to wait until his report, but he’d been so invested in making this that it’d only taken him a day, and his miniature prototypes had worked perfectly, so the larger one was ready in just a day or two! He’d really really tried to convince himself to be patient but… The King had liked him because he was bold! And did things he didn’t expect! And Error didn’t want to lose that reputation. If the King wouldn’t come to him, he’d just go to the King! 

That was the thought process, of course, which had led him to the entryway to the King’s royal wing. Then past it and the guards standing watch. Then to standing right infront of the door to the King’s study. 

He knew it was the study because he’d been inside once before. The King usually met with him up in the tower, but they had met down in his study once, to talk about the revised contract. It had been a long, boring conversation which involved the King asking Error to repeat his words back to him at certain points (the King had caught him spacing out several times, but never scolded him) to make sure he was actually listening. Something about making sure Error was safe and had other options? The King seemed super serious about making sure Error was okay, just because he was a kid, but he wasn’t a kid anymore! He was 13 by the time he signed, basically a whole adult! 

But, point is, Error had spent at least an hour or two in there listening to the King talk. He knew where this room was. 

Staring at the door was… a little imposing. What was his plan again? Burst inside? 

Yeah. If he knocked, someone would send him away. Just like at the try-outs. He had to just commit and walk in. The King had said in the contract that Error was always welcome to come to him if he needed something. And right now? Error needed his attention. 

He reached out, grabbing the big handle in one hand as he clutched his satchel with the other. He twisted it, and the moment it processed that it wasn’t locked, he pushed it inwards and slipped inside. He blindly shut it in his wake, just in-case someone tried to push him outside. 

Leaning against the door, his eyelights shot around to take in the room. 

No one was charging at him, and no one was rushing to yell at him. Good. Good. He-

“Error?” 

Well that wasn’t a voice he recognized! 

Error abandoned his skim of the room to search for the origin of the voice, and found himself staring wide-eyed at a monster across the room. This monster was a skeleton, their bones white, they seemed short, and skinny, and their one socket was wide in surprise with a single cyan eyelight, the other empty and seemingly gone dark. They stared at each-other. 

This odd skeleton, Error noticed, wore the King’s clothes. To a tee, the cloak, the shirt, the pants. The shoes looked different, but the pants covered them enough that Error couldn’t quite tell on a quick glance. That, and this skeleton had the King’s circlet resting on their skull, crescent moon plastered right in the center of their forehead. 

Error would’ve doubted the conclusion his mind came to, if it weren’t for the fact that he noticed this skeleton was not the only other one in the room. A quick glance revealed that Ccino was sat nearby to the skeleton, resting on one of the chairs around the coffee table. Error had been able to pick up that Ccino didn’t relax much at all. Especially not around strangers. 

“King Nightmare?” He asked back, staring at the monster across the room still. 

The way the monster seemed to flinch at the title told Error he was right. This was the King! 

A lot of questions flooded his mind, but they were beat-out by a sudden flood of curiosity. He hurried across the room, rapidly approaching the King, until they were stood just a few feet apart. He didn’t even notice Ccino’s worried ‘ah, ah wait-’ or the way the King had to refrain from stepping away. He just saw his suspicions were correct. 

“You’re… shorter.” He voiced, stupidly. 

He wasn’t wrong! The King was now shorter than him by at least half a head! Before the mass of dark magic that was the King had been taller than him by a lot, and he was tall for his age, but now! Now he was tiny! He wasn’t sure what to do with this information besides be delighted. He was used to being taller than people, but taller than a king? Now that was more his speed!

It took a few seconds for it to finally hit Error that the King did… not look happy. He didn’t look mad, but Error knew that was not an expression people would give when they were happy. His brows were furrowed a bit, his mouth tugged down ever so slightly at the corners, his shoulders were tense. 

“I- Yes, I am a bit… shorter. Than usual.” The King replied, “May I ask why you’re, ah, here, Mage Error?” 

Error blinked at him for a second. Right! He was here for a reason! 

“Oh! I just finished a lot of my projects, and I know that the report was rescheduled, but I made something I thought you would really like, and I…” He trailed off a moment as he realized Nightmare was staring at him. Had he done something wrong? 

Nightmare was still watching him, but seemed more alarmed that Error had stopped talking. He wasn’t sure he liked being able to read the King’s expressions like this. Usually, the king had a poker-face worthy of a family game night, only breaking when he was pleased and smiled. Now his expressions were so obvious even Error could read them. It was strange. 

“...Please, continue. A project?” The King seemed to catch himself and prompted. His expression schooled again, though it looked like he had to put in some effort. Eyelight flickering away from Error before shooting back to him. 

Error hesitated for a second, but ultimately continued. 

“I just… Thought that if I came to find you it wouldn’t take too long to show you, and then you wouldn’t be stuck doing just all your paperwork all day.” He was a bit more reserved than he’d meant to be when he presented the idea, both his hands now clutching the strap on his satchel. “I mean. If you’re that busy I can always. I can come back.” He paused again, “Or I- I- I can wait until my report day. Like I… probably should have.” 

He didn’t like the way his voice had stuttered and lagged at the end as he became more uncertain. He glanced over at Ccino. 

The older skeleton was watching between them wordlessly, looking a lot more tense than when Error had first seen him. Like he was waiting for something to happen. His eyelights were plastered on the King. Who was staring at Error intently. 

“Is this project something which you could share inside the study? I… wasn’t intending on leaving my hall today.” the King asked him in an oddly gentle tone. His voice slowed the same way as usual, but it was strange to hear it in such a high voice. 

Error’s hands wrung the strap of his satchel as he thought. “It’s. Ah. Explosive. It’d have to be outside.” He admitted in defeat. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that the King might not want to abandon his work to go look at Error’s spells. Thinking back, they did probably all look pretty silly to the King. He was really good at magic. Just like Dust was. “It can wait.” he added briefly. 

The silence that followed only lasted a second or two, enough for Error to furrow his brow and feel that little hint of indignation that used to plague him, the one that made him so mad at everyone. What was he thinking? He was good at magic too! Maybe not as good as the King, but certainly he was powerful, his magic wasn’t bad or a waste. Those instructors back at the academy were wrong, he knew so, he had to stop thinking about what they’d thought of him.

Error found himself glaring at the floor when a sound snapped his attention upwards. A fizzling sound and a little groan from the King. The King had gripped his skull, covering the socket with the cyan eyelight and turning away from Error’s view in a snap. 

That fizzling noise had sounded… unhealthy, to put it plainly. It didn’t help that Ccino finally spoke up, a little ‘My King?’ worriedly ringing out from the chair where Ccino had planted himself. The King had hunched himself forwards a bit to clutch at his socket, like he was trying to hold in pain. 

Was… was the king sick? Was that why he looked like this? Initially he’d assumed the dark energy had been a glamor. Some kind of magical enhancement to shield him, to make him more fearsome, even to cover up stunted growth. This must’ve been what he looked like normally, right? But. If that were true, the King would’ve just called it back onto his person or had Ccino usher him out. If he was sick, though? He might not be able to control that magic. Might be limited in its output, or even barred from access…

Error would’ve asked him, but his eyes moved curiously to the mirror instead. The reflection gave Error a perfect view of the King’s other side. The way the magic in his palm was flickering and sparking. Between- Between colors. The cyan Error was familiar with, and a soft purple that he’d never seen. 

He must’ve been right, on some level, because he realized it. He couldn’t sense the King’s magic. 

Or, at least, he couldn’t sense any magic that was active. The King’s magic worked like an aura, at least as far as Error had seen of it. Wide-spread, curling around anyone and anything it liked like a vine, and strangling what it didn’t like a noose. He wasn’t as good at seeing magic or feeling it as his brother, but he knew when a magical signature was missing, and he could feel familiar ones. The magic that the King was using to make his eyelight flicker? It was familiar, if only faintly, but it wasn’t his normal magic. Not by a longshot. There was very little intent, and what there was felt. Strange. Desperate, almost. 

“It’s alright. I’m fine, just a hiccup.” The King said, clearly responding to Ccino. 

It took a few deep breaths before the King righted himself, and Error watched as he peeked at the mirror first. He saw that the King’s eyelight was cyan again, but only partly. The bottom portion was still that lavender, and he hissed under his breath before covering his socket with his hand again. 

That same fizzling noise again, but muffled. Error watched, clearly, as the King’s face momentarily contorted with pain, before going still again. 

That couldn’t be healthy, whatever he was doing. His brother had told him all sorts of horror stories about things going wrong with magic at his academy. People who would change their appearance, and they would do it poorly, with adverse effects on their body. He got a chill.

“I- I- can wait. The project can wait.” Error muttered over the sound of that magic fizzling and popping over the King’s socket. 

He didn’t waste any time, even as he was pretty sure the King turned to call him back. He was already to the door, and then out of the door, and then hurrying down the hall. 

No one in the castle actually cared what he was up to, so he wasn’t exactly careful as he hurried down the halls and back to the tall tower which was his. When he passed the entryway, hsi strings caught his arms and tugged him up and over the dozens of spiraling stairs, straight to his doorway. He practically spun inside and retreated to the rafters among his projects to disperse the ones he’d placed into his satchel. 

…

It was childish, but Error felt faint about what he’d seen. He wasn’t sure why, but his head hurt just thinking about it. Altering appearance wasn’t something unheard of, or even really frowned about in his circles. But the magic the King had been doing was unfamiliar and strange. Not just something to alter the appearance of his magic, but something else. Something that was unnatural.

He tugged a string directly from his socket as he hung alone in the rafters, and saw the way that it hung from his fingertips. Blue, a deep one. Monster souls shouldn’t have traits, most didn’t, at least not the way human souls do. Magic, however, tends to manifest in a way that reflects its owner. Error had seen the way a white soul produced bright red magic. His own manifested as a dark blue. Integrity, he’d been told. It was reflecting on how he saw himself as well, he never gave up, he always walked his own path. Those who’d met him could certainly vouch for that. 

As far as he’d known, the King’s magic was cyan. Somewhere between Patience and Kindness, which made sense to him. The King had certainly been kind, offering him this job despite the rules, and he was patient too. Letting Error go on and on and on about his creations. He’d never doubted that those were accurate traits. Now, though? Now the King seemed to be sporting Purple. Purple was not a color which Error had ever seen from him. And it seemed the King must’ve thought the same thing of himself.

Error took a breath as he moved the string so it sat hovering between his index finger and his thumb, the ends clinging with residual, pliable, magic. With his other hand, he pinched the end nearest to his thumb and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t think about it often, but his strings were just that, made up of plenty of little threads, all woven together in just the right way which pleased Error. Texture and thickness which he liked and relied on to hold his weight, keep his projects secure, it was unlike any threads seen in the rest of the world. All his own. It’d taken him time to perfect it, though. Each new string, a new pattern and new density, until a few years ago when he’d figured it out. If he was right, though, he could mimic other styles. Other existing patterns. Other existing colors of magic.

He let his grip slide an inch or so down the string, concentrating as the fibers snapped and rearranged themselves. He furrowed his brow as he recalled the method to make a rope, the braids and twists and tension involved. Each strand felt like he was mentally moving a ten pound weight, and his concentration wavered when he realized his fingers were growing warm. Then, a few more seconds, another inch, and it felt like his fingertips would burst into flame. He hissed and opened his eyes, retracting his hand to see what sort of abomination he’d made. 

Half the string was still that familiar deep blue, but the portion near his thumb was a bright yellow. Thick, three times as thick as the blue, and with the appearance of a rope. It trembled and shook with tension, the portion where Error had given up being a strange and ugly, frayed mass of blue and yellow strands, some portions a muddled green at the exact mid-point. 

The sight made Error wince, and he pulled his fingers apart, the frayed portion snapping easily. The blue strand fell limp into his palm, while the yellow strand began to unravel. Quickly. LIttle chunks of burnt-out thread exploded like confetti, turning white or back to that blue color. It spun and spun until Error was left with little chunks of blue magic thread stuck to the fabric of his shirt and floating to the floor below him. The yellow magic he’d imbued, all the intent pushed behind it, wasn’t nearly enough to keep it steady or in place. Even if he’d finished the entire strand and burnt his fingers to do it, it wouldn’t have held up a small rock, let alone anything important. It was useless.

His little test, he realized, didn’t even cover the severity of the situation. He’d used strings, something he’d removed from his person. The King was doing that… to his own socket. 

How long had he been doing that? If Cyan wasn’t his natural magic, how much strain had he been under? For how long? 

It was none of his business, he reminded himself. The King was an adult, with a lot of advisors and strong magic users and people like Ccino. He had people who would tell him to stop. Error didn’t have the whole picture, surely. It wasn’t his place to worry about it. It just… rubbed him the wrong way. It bothered him. 

…And now he had two things to sulk about. Great. 

…

Ping

There it was again. 

Honestly, Error hadn’t expected anyone to come to see him again so soon. It’d hardly been a few hours since he attempted to visit the King, and it must’ve been dark by now. Who was coming up past dinner time? 

He eased himself down from where he’d placed himself in the rafters, and stood in front of his large door for a second, before opening it up to peek out. 

And. Outside, in the dimly lit corridor, was… The King. 

Or, at least, it looked like the King? Same clothes, same height as he’d seen earlier in the day, and his eyelight was cyan once again. Only, this time he couldn’t see the King’s expressions. He was wearing a mask. Error had to blink to process it. An owl, round and dark, with big eye holes right at the right level for the King’s sockets. It reminded Error a little bit of the fluffy owls he used to see outside his window, the ones just barely out the nest still losing their fluffy baby feathers. Was… Was it heresy to think the King was small and cute? Probably. Very absurd thought, compared to the haunting dark mass he usually was. Maybe that was why he disguised?

“Mage Error,” The King greeted, voice calm as it usually was, “I am aware that this is an impromptu visit, but may I come in? I realize I did not attend to you as I should have earlier, and I wish to rectify this mistake.” His cyan eyelight watched upwards, and Error stared down at him for a moment through the crack in the door. 

He glanced past him, too. But it seemed like the King was entirely alone. Just like he tended to be. 

Error swung open the door, pulling himself out of the way along with it. It wasn’t like he was going to say no to the King, but he wasn’t nearly as excited as usual. What should he do? Say? Obviously something was up with the King, but was Error supposed to say anything? Or was the King just here to make sure Error stayed out of trouble? Adults did that a lot back in the day when he got on their nerves. 

His thoughts persisted as the King entered the space. Error shut the door behind him and watched idly for a breath. The King was moving oddly. Like he was faint. His steps were just ever so slightly uneven and he seemed to wobble ever so slightly as he moved to sit at the unoccupied chair before Error’s desk. What was wrong with him? 

Error started moving, shifting away the items he’d once again strewn out on the floor back to the shadows of the rafters, and instead lowering a set of strings which held his hammock and a wooden board he much preferred to a table. The King watched as the items lowered, just like he always did, but the table was empty as Error hoisted himself to sit on the edge of the hammock across from the ruler. 

“You… have questions, right?” Nightmare voiced.

The King was looking at the empty surface suspended before the both of them, and Error realized he hadn’t even moved to gather his projects. For some reason he was hesitant to bring them up again. 

“Can I? Ask you stuff?” Error questioned uncertainly. “Adults usually don’t like when I start asking questions.” He admitted. 

The King looked up to him, before he sighed and nodded. “Ask anything you like.”

That was… an odd allowance. Error wasn’t used to that either. Usually the King was the one letting him talk, and talk, and talk, and his questions had never been about. Well. The King himself. Just about the knights, or the tapestries, or the food. Never about the King. 

“Why are you small?” The burning question was the one he had to get out of his head. He had theories, but the King was the only one who could confirm or deny them. 

The King was quiet for a brief second, before he brought a hand to his mask. It hovered there as he chuckled, though to Error it sounded a lot more like a giggle.

“It is a… complicated story. I’m still not quite sure myself, but I will share with you what I know as to how I came to be this way.” The King moved a hand behind his skull, tucking it beneath his hood, and tugged at a pretty silk ribbon. A purple one, Error noted. “It’s the least i can do.” 

The mask fell forward into the King’s awaiting hand, and once again Error was met by the image of that clean and soft white bone. The rounded face he didn’t recognize. His expression was neutral, schooled, careful.

“I know you are not from Orchard, nor are you familiar with the traditions of our kingdom. However, you recall the story of my upbringing, and my twin, correct?” He asked, and Error nodded. He recalled decently that there had been twin princes, the King, Nightmare, and his brother, Dream or something? He’d been asking about the tapestries and the King had told him how the two of them had grown up really close, and how he ended up with the throne in the end, banishing his twin so he wouldn’t steal the crown or something. 

“Good. Well. My coronation was not actually mine. It was that of my twin. Dream. He was the crown prince, but I had found word of a great cost to completing the ritual, and I was sure he would be hurt by the process.” The King explained. “The power of the kingdom is passed from generation to generation through the soul. Each King’s soul warps and changes, taking the shape of an apple, golden and shining with a seemingly divine magic. When my mother gave up her soul for Dream to eat, to inherit her title, I…” 

The king trailed off for a breath, and Error felt his insides twist a bit. Eating a soul? That was… a concept. Fascinating, but also he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which someone would actually follow through with it. Of course eating an entire other monster’s soul would provide a magic boost, just like when monsters absorbed human souls, or humans overloaded on magic.

“I stole it from him and completed the ritual myself.” So, maybe that was why he was sick? “The ritual, as it was meant to do, provided me with power beyond myself, yes, but it also altered my mind and physical form. I aged significantly, something I had always assumed was due to the overwhelming force of the gifted magic. In a matter of moments I was old, my mind more clear and sharp. The way you knew me before was the shape I was meant to hold. That I expected to stay.” The King rubbed a hand against his good socket, the other gently resting over the mask sat on his lap. “Several weeks ago, I collapsed. And when I awoke, I had taken on this form again, and it seems my mind is reverted as well. Both have returned, aside from my memories, back to the exact condition that they were on the day of my coronation. So, I find myself back in my youth, and small as a result.”

He seemed to pause for a second, before puffing a sigh, “Or, almost the exact condition. It seems a wound I suffered the same day didn’t ever quite heal.” He ghosted over his empty socket and the cracks running up and out of sight beneath his hood.

Error stared at him a second, and he blinked in confusion. That was a lot of wacky magic shenanigans, and that was coming from him of all monsters, but he was processing something that had been glossed over.

“Wait, so how old are you?” Error questioned, confused.

The King blinked at his question, before Error caught sight of something he didn’t quite expect to see today. A slight lavender blush dusted the King’s cheekbones. Error’s not even sure the King noticed he’d done it. 

“That’s a… tricky question I’ve been trying to decipher. However, as far as my development and mental state are concerned, I regrettably appear to be 13.” 

The King seemed ashamed to admit it, but Error found his mind working a bit faster than he’d meant it to be. The weak aura, the weird magic, the short height, the baby face, the higher voice, all of it! He’d heard of cases like this. Not usually between monsters, but often when monsters would overtake too much magic, or too many supplements, or strain their bodies, they could take on a higher form before reverting. Usually it only affected the amount of magic they could harness, and no one had ever sustained one long enough to actually age before releasing it, but it wasn’t an impossible idea. If the King had been operating on borrowed magic? It was entirely possible that there was a sort of stasis provided to him. Especially since Error was pretty sure he never ever got hurt. 

Part of him wished he’d paid more attention to the books on the shelves back home. His brother would eat this up. Soul-based research with an abnormally long-lasting period? Oh boy…

“That’s cool!” Error blurted without really thinking about it. 

The King seemed to actually flinch about it, cyan eyelight looking wide at Error form across the makeshift table. 

“I- What do you mean?” The King questioned, obviously confused and shocked. 

Error frowned a bit. Did the King really not realize how much skill that takes to pull something like that amount of magic transfer off? Error’s not even sure he could do something like that, and all without losing himself to this other invasive magic?

“King Nightmare, it sounds like you were a torch holding a really really hot fire and you didn’t even get burnt. I’ve never heard of someone using magic like that.” And he blinked as he suddenly perked up, “You’re young too! We’re like each other! Doing cool new magic things that no one wanted us to do! Well, I mean, you want me to do it, but- That’s not the point!” 

Error actually leaned forward a bit so his elbows planted on his knees, and he squinted at the King. “I bet I’m older now too, that’d be really cool. What season is your birthday?” He’d not seen the King celebrate his birthday since he’d been there, but then again, the King was always busy, and Error didn’t pay attention much. 

The King seemed taken aback, but still spoke, “My birthday is in the spring, but-”

Error lit up at that, “Yes! I am older!” he exclaimed excitedly to himself. He’d never had anyone younger than him to hang around before! Granted, he’d met other kids at the academy, but they hadn’t liked him much. 

His grinning was cut a bit short when the King stammered from the seat across from him again. 

“Mage Error, I- I’m glad to see this news isn’t distressing you, but I please ask you to consider my next few words.” The King was watching him, and Error tried to tone down the smile gracing his face. “News of my… state is not being circulated just yet. Orchard is still recovering from centuries of mistreatment under my bloodline’s rule, and I am nowhere near to being able to restore the kingdom as I had planned. My goals will likely only bring more turmoil and frustration to the people, and while assassinations and other sabotage have rarely graced these halls, if word gets out of my newfound weakened form? This castle, this entire kingdom, could be thrown to chaos.” The King’s tone was very serious, and it sounded tired. “You, Error, are not officially my mage, but to prying eyes your studies here fill that same purpose. I was willing to take you in when I was sure I had the power to protect you, but I can’t provide that security any more.”

“Before I came here, I reviewed our contract. At the loss of my protection, you are welcome to request an indefinite leave of absence from the position, and I will have one of my knights accompany you anywhere you wish to go and ensure you arrive safely. I do not want to put you in danger due to my search for reform. You have no obligations to stay in this place nor risk your life for it.” The King’s voice was steady as he said it. “You do not have to give me an answer this moment, but I needed to inform you so that you have a full understanding of your options.” 

Error’s grin had faded about halfway through the King’s speech, and he could already feel the fuzzy numbness creeping up one of his legs as he tried to keep himself from lashing out. Dust had talked to him about that. His reactiveness. 

“King Nightmare, I’m not going anywhere.” he declared, crossing his arms with a huff. “That dumb contract you made me read also said I can stay as long as I want the position. And I want the position.” And the food, and the tower, and the courtyard, and the knights, and the King who listened to him talk about his explosives. “I don’t care if you’re short or have purple magic or whatever,” the King flinched at that, “ You’re still really smart and you have a bunch of really strong people you’re in charge of. Including me, by the way.” 

He was almost offended. He was strong! He was dangerous! The King had always praised him for ingenuity and sheer force of will placed behind each of his projects, and Error took pride in that. He was strong, and powerful, and he wanted to do fun experiments and help the King. Almost more now that he knew that the King was some twig of a monster. Now he didn’t have to worry about lame old people bossing him around. 

The King seemed to lean forward ever so slightly in the chair he was sat in, and Error didn’t shy away. If this was a battle of the wills, he wouldn’t be-

A sniffle. 

Error jolted when the King pulled his hands up to his skull and hastily dragged his sleeves against his sockets. Was he crying??

“Ah- Forgive me!” The King said in a small voice, “Emotional regulation, another damning loss from my sudden form alteration. I’ve been lucky I hadn’t embarrassed myself sooner.” He practically teased himself. 

Error let his body stop tensing, and he noticed the uncomfortable fuzzy feeling had fled in the aftermath of his bold declaration. If he’d had any doubts before that this King was actually as he said, this was the final sign. The King had never showed so much emotion before. 

“I think it’s fine. I get mad all the time and you never mind.” Error voiced, though he wasn’t sure how welcome it would be. 

At that the king laughed, and Error grinned to himself, looking away from the scene. He didn’t like it when people saw him cry. He understood that one all too well. 

A silence fell between them. Error wasn’t going anywhere, he’d made that abundantly clear. The King wouldn’t be sending him away, either. It went unsaid, but it was there in the agreement they’d made just hardly a year prior. The King never went back on his deals.

“Mage Error, I believe you wanted to show me something earlier. Now that it is dark, I believe I would be willing to have Horror accompany us out to the courtyard so I may observe.” 

Error glanced back to the King, and saw that he was looking up at the darkened ceiling. As though trying to predict when a string would lower down his newest creations. 

“Oh, actually I bet we can do it here. From the balcony, I mean. It goes up into the sky, so it shouldn’t hurt anything.” he said, his excitement gaining momentum once again. “I actually made test ones this time too, just to make sure!” 

Error swung backwards out of his hammock, and let the strings above him loosen to drop the item into his awaiting hands. 

The King rose from his seat, walking a bit strangely still, but nothing which bothered Error much. He was more interested in the curious face of his ruler as he approached Error near the balcony exit. Error wasn’t one to use his balcony often, he didn’t even have strings set up to pull the curtains aside, so he lifted one back so that the King could pass by, and he followed himself shortly after. 

The balcony was a thick one, reinforced underneath by large wooden and stone beams, the railing thick enough that one could sit along it like a high-stakes bench. Error did just that, pulling himself up so his feet dangled over the edge. The King remained back, hood pulled tight to his skull as the night winds attempted to tug it away from him. It took a few moments before he joined Error near to the edge, leaning on the balcony which was just ever so slightly too tall for him. His arms rested at chin-height and he seemed to be debating whether to rest his chin on them like an arm rest. 

Error watched from over his shoulder, and grinned to himself as he secured the little invention with his strings before holding it out for the King to see in the moonlight that illuminated the darkness. Them, the castle grounds below, the mountainside and the sprawling hills and valleys beyond. 

“I’ve seen people make these before with gun-powder, they always glowed red, though. So I infused some magic into the canister and the projectiles, and they should do something fun.” Error explained excitedly, pointing out different locations on the thing held in his strings. Long, slender, a mix between a crossbow and a cannon, but tiny. Only the length of his forearm. “Best thing, it should be quiet!” He’d noticed that some of the knights didn’t like when his explosions made loud noises, and a lot of guards came rushing the first few times he’d set off his creations. 

The King examined it for a few moments longer, before he nodded silently. 

Error snickered before he pulled it back into his grip and aimed it up and out. Away from the tower, where it should’ve been just over the large, round, open space in the center of the castle. High in the sky. 

He shifted, dragging his fingers along the surface, the long portion lighting up and flinging something from the end of the device. A little ball of pure white. Up, up, up.

It exploded. 

Error laughed in triumph as the night sky above the palace was set ablaze with a collection of little shimmering lights, like falling stars in all shades of blue and green and purple and white flying everywhere before going dark. His eyelights shot back to the King as he loaded the next round, and he was delighted to see that the single cyan eyelight was plastered on the smoky after-effect left by the burning magic. He desperately wanted to start telling the King all about how he’d done such a genius thing, but he found himself simply hefting the little device up once again and firing into the open darkness instead.

[causticsodaa]

Sakura and Suo stopping each other

That’s it. That’s the title of the post.

This probably isn’t intentional and is just me reading too into both of these scenes, but I speculate these particular moments in Chapter(s) 50 and 75 have many similarities + differences at the same time and could parallel each other, or at least show how Suo and Sakura’s relationship has subtly developed over time.

For starters, both of these scenes open with Sakura/Suo looking out for each other amidst their battle, with the other person too pre-occupied to notice their concern.

These scenes also involve someone losing control during their fight (with KEEL being Suo, and Roppo having Kanji almost punching Sakura)

Suo and Kanji are stopped; however, it is Sakura who restrains Suo, while Kanji gains back his self control before he can manage to hit Sakura.

Then we get a few pages of exposition which involves Sakura/Kanji refocusing their priorities (I’m being brief about this because this part isn’t that important right now lol)

It’s also important to note that Sakura’s allies were being overwhelmed before these two moments, causing him to be more alert/distressed:

And we have the obligatory dead wife flashbacks, of course.

The main thing that sets these scenes apart, however, is when Sakura and Suo interfere with each other, and the context behind it.

In KEEL, Sakura stops Suo from losing control, insisting that there are more important things to do rather than focusing on one person (even though Nirei had been hurt)

Though Suo questions Sakura at first, we can see how quickly his thoughts shift when Sakura admits that he’s really mad at himself [for failing as a leader].

We see Suo calming down the more Sakura talks (even though he tries to escape from his grasp in the middle of it). Suo soon rationalizes and agrees with Sakura, even teasing him in classic Suo fashion to deflect from his strong outburst earlier.

Then we get one out of the two meaningful introspections that we’ve received from Suo so far right after:

Keep in mind, most of Suo’s internal dialogue have consisted of one-off quips about the situation around him, with them being enclosed in thought bubbles.

We barely see any sort of meaningful internal dialogue from him otherwise (compared to the other prominent characters such as Nirei, Ume, Tsubaki, Endo, and Sakura who is the MC) This writing choice is probably deliberate in order to keep the mysterious/unknown aspect of his character consistent.

The only other time we see this from Suo is in Noroshi, and his introspection is, once again, about Sakura.

This moment in KEEL is not only important for Nirei and Sakura’s developments, but it is also highly important for Suo; especially because we see two hidden aspects of his character drawn out by Sakura and Nirei. In essence, Chapter 50 main focus is on Suo, a character who is so closed off and ambiguous, and brings him to the limelight (given that the chapters title is literally named ‘Extreme Emotions’, which refers to Suo’s outburst).

In Roppo Ichiza however, things are different. This scene mainly focuses on Sakura, since we constantly see his internal dialogue echo throughout the chapter.

When Kanji gives out his orders, we can see Sakura doubt himself, both internally and externally. Suo, being the observant person he is, probably picked up on this.

So when Kanji yells his cue, Suo immediately rushes to grab Sakura’s hand and drags him to Shizuka, instead of letting him follow Suo himself.

Unlike KEEL, this interaction is very blunt and straightforward. It is a simple one-pager, rather than the multiple paged dedicated to their previous confrontation in the shipyard. Though Sakura protests, Suo merely reassures him of their main objective, and Sakura just lets Suo take him away.

We even see Sakura verbally resisting, while Suo had physically resisted before.

But after Suo says his words, Sakura immediately doubts himself again, wishing that he could do more in this situation.

I believe that this contrasts Suo’s introspection back in Chapter 50. Though Suo looks up to Sakura and even feels that he can never compete with him, Sakura himself doesn’t even think he’s enough [as a person]. It really shows how the other people in Sakura’s life really respect him, while Sakura can’t even respect himself.

In the end, Suo and Sakura look out for each other in times of need, and guide each other when necessary despite resistance; a push and pull relationship.

Also, it’s really cute how Suo and Sakura didn’t even let go of each other in the next chapter. Like Shizuka is right there, what are you guys even doing lol

[krystalisedsoul]

I started my period today, which means it’s time to think about how Illumi Zoldyck would act if you started your period for the first time in the house.

Morning comes, and for once, you’re up before him. It doesn’t take him long to notice the bloody stains where you lay. As for where you are? He doesn’t have to think too hard about that either — your sniffles from the bathroom are hardly as muffled as you think they are.

You refuse to open the door, stubbornly sobbing and insisting that nothing is wrong. He holds onto the handle firmly, left with no choice but to force it open. There you are, curled up in nothing but a navy lace nightgown—one of many he’s filled your wardrobe with.

“You’re only embarrassing yourself further by locking yourself away. We both already know you bled the bed.”

He’s so mistakenly rude I can’t help but love it. But don’t get it wrong—he means well. He just doesn’t know how to say it without looking down on you. You’re not a Zoldyck (yet). You’re not an assassin. You weren’t raised with the training he had. You both know you are very much below him in practically everything, he doesn’t shy from constantly reminding you about that every day somehow.

And yet, he cares for you—in his own, twisted way.

“You don’t have pads.”

“Huh?”

”…Where are the pads?”

For the first time, you think you might have seen Illumi completely frozen. It didn’t last longer than a few seconds, he made sure to compose himself but his eyes turning to the cabinets let you know enough. A cold-blooded killer, sure—but when it comes to women’s health, he is painfully uneducated. It’s not exactly a topic his mother would have bothered to discuss with him. She was always too preoccupied with talking about him or his brothers, not about her menstrual state.

“A butler will take care of that after you shower.”

And just like that, you’re scooped into his arms and carried off to a separate room. Don’t worry—before stepping out, he made sure to tell the butlers to avert their eyes from my body. Could he have let you change into something else? Sure. But what’s the point of dressing you just to undress you again?

Surprisingly, Illumi isn’t the worst at helping with a shower. He’s respectful enough to let you clean myself, but that doesn’t mean he leaves. He stands right in front of the tub, his eyes locked onto your body—more specifically, the blood trailing down your thighs, swirling into the water. He watches intently, as if studying something foreign.

By the time you’re done, he’s already set out fresh clothes for you—another gown, this time black, with thicker material. It’s warm. Comfortable, even. It’s something you might’ve worn before he took you away. And to your surprise, he’s also brought out a pair of fluffy black knee-high socks.

“I don’t want to wear them.”

He doesn’t speak at first, just clenches his jaw. His hands twitch around the socks.

“You have no choice. You need to keep your body warm on your period—including your feet.”

I suggest not arguing again.

For one, Illumi really wants to see you wear those socks.

And two, he doesn’t mind teaching you a lesson about denying your fiancé’s wishes.

If you thought being on your period would earn you a little mercy, you were dead wrong. He knows you’re already in a lot of pain—and that’s exactly why the lesson would be more impactful.

Later that day, he has a job. An assassination, obviously. You don’t ask details, and he doesn’t offer them. But before leaving, he gives the butlers strict orders regarding your care—things they were probably already going to do, but now it’s no longer a suggestion. It’s an obligation.

And unbeknownst to you, while he’s out, he’s checking his phone in between the job. He’s reading their updates.

“She’s eaten only three bites of her food.”

“She’s gone to the toilet.”

“A used pad has been disposed of.”

Each message is clinical, precise. The way they talk about you is similar to how they’d report on a mission. Cold. Efficient. And Illumi prefers it that way.

You, on the other hand, have no idea he’s watching over you like this. You go about your day in pain, curled up in bed, pressing a warm water bottle against your stomach, trying to will away the cramps. You barely eat. You don’t move much. And eventually, the pain, the discomfort, the sheer exhaustion—it gets to you. You cry and lock yourself in the bathroom again.

That’s when Illumi comes home.

A butler must have informed him because he doesn’t waste any time. The lock on the bathroom door is meaningless to him. He forces it open just like he did this morning. He doesn’t speak, nor does he waste time in moving after quickly scanning your body.

You barely register it when he pulls you up and into his lap. His arms encircle you in a stiff, calculated embrace—comfort, if you could even call it that. There’s no warmth in it, no soothing words, no gentle hushes against your ear. Just silence. Heavy and suffocating.

And yet, you cling to him.

Not because he is soft, or safe, or kind—but because he is here. Because there is no one else, nothing else, no arms but his to fall into. It is an instinct more than a choice, the way your fingers grasp at him, the way you burrow into his shoulder despite the rigidness of his hold.

Like a moth drawn to a flame—not for warmth, not for comfort, but because it is the only light in an endless dark. Because even as it burns, even as it consumes, it is still better than being alone in the cold.

[raintemper]

the promised nine sols ending-ish ramble yippee some of this might just be a word vomit there will be spoilers.

WOW IT HURTS I want to address the parallels of the events between Yi and Heng back then and Yi and Shuanshuan in the present. Obviously Yi very much fits that protective older brother role, the one who wants to take care of everything and keep his siblings safe.

He made the choices for Heng back then, dismissing much of her own thoughts and opinions as he thought himself older and wiser. This becomes very apparent in the final altercation between Yi and Heng, when he gave her an ultimatum to choose between leaving with him or staying and severing all ties. We learn that he was not able to follow up on seeing her before the departure for reasons out of his control, ow.

This is very similar to right before the final boss where Yi made the decision he thought would be safest for Shuanshuan, sending him away to the pale blue planet with the rest of the apemen. Where Shuanshuan absolutely refuses, wanting to choose to stay with Yi. (In contrast with Heng who did not want to go with Yi) He also makes a promise to see him again as to show Shuanshuan that he is not abandoning him forever, he is taking into consideration what he is saying. (That's a huge death flag though.) Of course, (true ending) Yi is also not able to follow up on that promise to see Shuanshuan again. But this time it is on his terms.

The roles kind of swap with Yi here. He is now in Heng's shoes. The one being left behind, but this is their will. It is not something someone forced them to do, they chose this for themselves. They were both alone (in the physical sense) in their final moments. But both achieved peace in their decisions. Not to mention, Yi was able to speak to Shuanshuan again. Something that he was not able to do with Heng, he couldn't explain himself to her or express that despite his harsh words he still cared so much for her. This is him finding closure.

I will also note Yi's self imposed isolation before the final fight, is a lot like how he was isolated from his family back on Penglai. Both Heng and his parents didn't see eye to eye with his beliefs and he kind responded in kind to theirs. Despite having a loving sister, there was definitely a distance there that came with not trying to listen and understand her all through their life. But while that isolation was not his intention, the second time it was. Being alone in New Kunlun meant that everyone else was safe.

This end also shows more how Yi finally learned the importance of feeling and home. He knew the only way to finally absolve him of all the wrongs in his life was to die with the infected roots, putting an end to the prolonged suffering of it all. Even if everyone else already forgave him for what he did, the only person who couldn't was himself. Heng chose to stay and die on Penglai because that was their home and she believed it was how things were meant to be. And Yi dying on New Kunlun, a little part of their home, was him dying in a place that his ideas started and now will end. This was one of the biggest achievements of his life and his greatest pain. He is finally awake.

He returns the apemen back to the pale blue planet, so that they may live and die in their home planet. Something that Yi and the other solarians are not able to do.

I will also mention, Yi started this entire journey for revenge. And as told many times before, when someone dedicates their life to revenge, the aftermath is not good. Once they achieve that revenge, there is nothing else keeping them going. You can argue that he has Shuanshuan, but Yi has already expressed to him before that he is not a good person. Yi no longer views himself in a good light, he is not the hero that will save the day. Some part of him is as much of a villain as he saw in the other sols in the beginning. The others have already been judged by him, he is the only one left. And in Yi's mind, perhaps he had made the gravest offense of them all. He has witnessed and lived those consequences. Of course, Yi's end is not seen in such a negative light. But it is a fitting conclusion for him, I think he has cleared most of his regrets. I like how he finally accepts the Tao and the return to nature, something that they all tried to defy for so long. That only prolonged their suffering and misery, no one was truly happy in New Kunlun.

Also a little side tidbit, the Shanhai 9000 that's looking for their friend. That had set them free and then killed by their friend, now a mutant. I felt this also set a little bit of foreshadowing for the true ending at least. Yi sending the apemen back to their homeplanet and ensuring their freedom even if it meant sacrificing his own life. All parties involved are free from the solarians suffering and their lifelong mission, even if they can't all be there to see it happen.

I didn't like the normal ending. There was no release, no sense of closure. He's back on Penglai, for what? It took all 10 council members to barely scrape together an unsuccessful plan to prolong the virus. As brilliant as Yi is, it just doesn't seem feasible for him to create a cure all by himself. Not to mention, now that the roots are gone, he very much can die and be infected by the tianhuo. How is he able to, in good conscience, continue harvesting apemen brain to power the already proven failed dreamscape as well as continuing to trample on Heng's wishes and peace? He's just pulled the wool back over his eyes. It is not a happy or fulfilling ending, it's just sad(in a bad way). Yi's refusal to accept reality, to accept anything that isn't within his control, which is exactly the same as he was in the beginning. There is no character growth, which makes everything feel a little meaningless.

[humanmorph]

austin should just never say what vibe a season is going for ever again because i keep seeing people referencing him talking about palisade as a hopeful season (as something they're aiming for, at least) & well. how it didn't really shake out that way. people including me btw i have thought about this many a times (probably most during the questlandia game post Oh-You-Know-What happening!)

edit: where tf did he even say that because it was not the playlist thing like i thought. unless i just missed it 3 times

[caramelmochacrow]

IM CRYING IM BAWLING IM SOBBING (episode 12 of love live school idol punched me in the gut)

[wickedhawtwexler]

did i tell y'all how i suggested to The Guy I Kinda Went On A Date With that we see a movie next time we hang out and his response was "idk there aren't any good places to see movies" like. sir. we live in new york city. what the actual fuck are you talking about 😭