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enhaflixer · 10 days ago

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hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 1

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART 2 HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

The library had been blissfully quiet for exactly forty-three minutes. You'd counted. Forty-three minutes of peaceful study, undisturbed concentration, and actual progress on your Transfiguration essay. Which meant you were overdue for—

A paper crane swooped down from nowhere, circling your head three times before unfolding itself atop your carefully organized notes. The parchment fluttered open to reveal a doodle of what appeared to be you with steam coming out of your ears and your hair standing on end. Beneath it, elegant script that you unfortunately recognized immediately:

Looking a bit tense today, Gryffindork. Did someone hide your color-coded study schedule again?

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, but only made it to four before the sound of poorly suppressed laughter broke your concentration. Across the library, lounging in a chair as though he owned the place, sat Nishimura Riki. The bane of your existence for seven consecutive years.

"Real mature," you muttered, crumpling the parchment and tossing it over your shoulder.

The paper froze mid-air, reversed direction, and neatly unfolded itself before landing back on your textbook.

"That's littering, you know," Riki called, just loud enough to make Madam Pince shoot you both a warning glare. "Not very environmentally conscious of you."

You stabbed your quill into your inkpot with unnecessary force. "Some of us are trying to study for our N.E.W.T.s like responsible seventh-years."

Riki stretched, his Slytherin tie deliberately loosened, black hair artfully tousled in that way that made half the school swoon and made you want to hex him bald. "Ah yes, another thrilling evening of revising information you memorized three months ago. Living the dream."

"Not everyone coasts by on natural talent and family connections," you shot back.

Something flashed in his dark eyes – irritation, perhaps – but his smirk never faltered. "Is that what you think? That I don't work for my grades?"

"I think," you said, gathering your belongings with precise movements, "that you spend more time planning elaborate pranks than studying, yet somehow maintain your position as second in our class."

"Second only to you," he said with an exaggerated bow. "Though not for lack of trying."

Your academic rivalry was legendary – seven years of trading the top spot back and forth, never more than a few points separating you. It would have been admirable if he wasn't so insufferable about it.

"Well, some of us can't afford to waste time," you said, shoving your books into your bag.

Riki pushed off his chair and sauntered over, dropping into the seat across from you without invitation. "You know what your problem is?"

"Currently? You're sitting at my table."

He leaned forward, undeterred. "You've forgotten how to have fun. When was the last time you did something just because it made you laugh?"

"I laugh plenty," you insisted, though the defensive tone in your voice betrayed you.

"At jokes in textbooks, maybe." He twirled his wand between his fingers – a nervous habit he'd had since first year. "You're seventeen going on seventy."

"And you're seventeen going on seven," you countered. "Wasn't it your enchanted water balloons that flooded the third floor yesterday?"

His grin widened. "Can't prove it was me."

"Professor Flitwick literally said, 'Impressive charm work, Mr. Nishimura, but please reserve it for your classwork.'"

"He appreciates creativity," Riki shrugged, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But that was nothing. Tomorrow's prank will be legendary."

Despite yourself, curiosity piqued. "What are you planning now?"

"Concerned for my academic future?" he teased. "Worried I might finally surpass you if I get expelled?"

"Worried about innocent bystanders," you corrected. "Your last 'legendary' prank turned the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team purple for a week."

"That was an accident," he protested, though his smile suggested otherwise. "The color was supposed to fade after twenty-four hours."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. "Well, whatever you're planning, leave me out of it. Some of us have actual goals beyond being remembered as Hogwarts' most annoying student."

His laugh followed you as you headed for the exit. "Come on! You know you'd be much happier if you loosened up a little!"

You resolutely ignored him, which was your standard approach to Nishimura Riki. Seven years of practice had proven it was the only way to maintain your sanity.

You should have known ignoring him wouldn't work. It never did.

The next morning, you woke to find every single one of your quills had been enchanted to write nothing but love poems. About him.

Eyes dark as midnight, smile sharp as wit, Nishimura Riki, quite the perfect fit...

"That's IT!" You stormed into the Great Hall, marching directly to the Slytherin table where Riki sat surrounded by his usual admirers. You slammed the offending quill down in front of him.

He looked up with infuriating innocence. "Problem?"

"Fix. My. Quills." Each word came through gritted teeth.

He inspected the quill with exaggerated care. "I'm flattered, truly, but I don't think I inspired this passionate declaration. Perhaps you've been harboring secret feelings?"

Several of his friends snickered. Your cheeks burned, but whether from anger or embarrassment, you refused to analyze.

"This isn't funny," you hissed. "I have a Charms practical in twenty minutes."

"Hmm." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That is a problem."

"A problem you created!"

"I suppose I could fix it..." he mused, "for a price."

You crossed your arms. "What price?"

His smile turned mischievous. "Admit that I'm the better duelist."

This was an ongoing point of contention. You'd been evenly matched in Defense Against the Dark Arts since third year, much to both your frustrations.

"Never," you declared. "I beat you fair and square last week."

"You caught me off-guard with that modified Impediment Jinx."

"Which is called strategy," you countered. "Something you might understand if you spent more time studying and less time being an insufferable prat."

He clutched his heart dramatically. "You wound me. And here I thought we were friends."

"We are not friends," you said firmly. "We have never been friends."

Something shifted in his expression – so briefly you might have imagined it – before his usual smirk returned. "Fine. I'll fix your quills because I'm magnanimous and mature."

You snorted.

He flicked his wand, muttering an incantation under his breath. "There. Crisis averted. Though I was looking forward to Professor Flitwick reading poetry about my 'raven locks' and 'quicksilver reflexes.'"

"You're impossible," you said, snatching back your quill.

He winked. "Yet somehow you put up with me."

"Not by choice," you grumbled, turning to leave.

"Oh, by the way," he called after you, "pink is definitely your color!"

You frowned, then caught your reflection in a silver platter. Your hair had turned bright, bubblegum pink.

"NISHIMURA!"

It took three counter-charms to fix your hair, making you late for Charms and costing Gryffindor five points. Which was exactly what Riki had intended, no doubt. Your houses were neck-and-neck for the cup, and every point mattered in these final weeks.

Retaliation was necessary. And for once, you decided to beat him at his own game.

It took careful planning, timed precisely to the Slytherin Quidditch practice. A specialized color-changing potion in his shampoo (courtesy of a reluctant Slughorn, who thought you were doing "extra credit research"). By dinner, every Slytherin at the table was staring at Riki's violently pink hair and robes.

The best part? The potion was keyed to only activate for clothing in Slytherin colors and hair of his exact shade. No innocent bystanders.

His expression when he realized what had happened was worth the three nights of sleep you'd sacrificed to perfect the potion.

"Well played," he conceded when he cornered you after dinner, his robes still resolutely pink despite numerous attempts to change them back.

You allowed yourself a satisfied smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"This means war, you know." But he didn't sound angry – if anything, he seemed impressed.

"We've been at war since you turned my cauldron into a toad in first year," you reminded him.

"Good times," he sighed nostalgically. "Though I think you're forgetting that I never leave a prank unanswered."

You shrugged. "Do your worst, Nishimura. I'll be ready."

You were not, in fact, ready.

Three days later, whispers followed you through the corridors. Students giggled behind their hands as you passed. Even the professors were giving you strange looks.

It wasn't until Luna Lovegood approached you at lunch with her dreamy expression that you discovered why.

"I think it's very brave of you to be so public with your feelings," she said, patting your hand. "Though the singing Valentine might have been a bit much."

"What singing Valentine?" you asked, a sense of dread building.

She blinked owlishly. "The one you sent to Riki Nishimura this morning. With the cherubs and rose petals? It performed in the middle of the entrance hall."

Your blood ran cold. "I didn't send—"

But Luna had already drifted away, leaving you to face the horrified realization that Riki had successfully framed you for sending him the most over-the-top, public declaration of love in Hogwarts history.

The smug look on his face when you found him confirmed everything.

"That was LOW," you growled, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Even for you."

He captured your finger, gently pushing it away. "Just giving the people what they want. Half the school already thinks we're secretly in love, given how obsessed we are with each other."

"We are NOT—" you spluttered, then lowered your voice when you realized people were watching. "We are not obsessed with each other."

"Seven years of elaborate pranks suggests otherwise," he pointed out.

"Seven years of you being an absolute menace," you corrected.

He leaned against the wall, studying you with unexpected seriousness. "You know, anyone else would have reported me to McGonagall years ago. Yet you always retaliate instead. Why is that?"

The question caught you off guard. Why hadn't you ever reported him? It would have been the sensible thing to do.

"Because," you said finally, "that would be admitting you've won."

His slow smile was different from his usual smirk – smaller, more genuine. "And we can't have that, can we?"

"Never," you agreed, finding yourself smiling back despite everything.

The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between you before you broke the spell. "This isn't over, Nishimura. I'm going to make you regret that Valentine stunt."

"Looking forward to it," he called as you walked away.

Your opportunity came sooner than expected. You discovered quite by accident that Riki had been working on a modified time-distortion spell – not an actual Time-Turner, but a charm that created the illusion of time passing. His plan, according to the notes you'd "borrowed" from his bag during Potions, was to make you think you'd slept through your Arithmancy N.E.W.T.

Clever, but not clever enough.

You spent a week developing a counter-charm, designed to reflect the spell back on its caster. It was advanced magic, beyond N.E.W.T. level really, but the thought of beating Riki at his own game was too tempting to resist.

The night before the Arithmancy exam, you stayed up late in the library, knowing he'd make his move when you were exhausted and vulnerable. Sure enough, just after midnight, you detected the subtle shimmer of disillusionment as he crept toward your table.

You pretended to be dozing on your textbook, wand concealed but ready beneath the pages.

You felt rather than saw the moment he cast the spell – a strange ripple in the air, the whispered Latin incantation. In one fluid motion, you raised your wand and cast your counter-charm.

"Tempus Reflectum!"

Your spells collided in midair with a sound like shattering glass. Golden light erupted between you, blinding in its intensity. You felt a strange pulling sensation behind your navel, similar to a Portkey but stronger, as if something was yanking you through dimensions rather than mere space.

The last thing you saw was Riki's shocked face, his hand reaching toward you as the magic engulfed you both.

Then darkness.

You woke to sunlight on your face and the unfamiliar sensation of high-thread-count sheets against your skin. Your head pounded viciously, like the aftermath of a poorly brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion. Groggily, you rolled over, burying your face in a pillow that smelled of lavender and something else – a woody, spicy scent that was strangely familiar.

"Five more minutes," you mumbled, pulling blankets over your head.

Wait. These weren't your Gryffindor dormitory blankets.

Your eyes snapped open, heart racing. This wasn't your bed in Gryffindor Tower. The room was unfamiliar - spacious with burgundy accents and photographs you didn't recognize.

Worse, you weren't alone.

A warm weight pressed against your side. You turned your head slowly and froze. Nishimura Riki - your sworn enemy - was asleep next to you, his dark hair tousled, face relaxed in sleep, looking several years older than he should.

"What the—" you started, voice dying as your brain struggled to process the impossible sight before you. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening.

Riki stirred beside you, mumbling something incoherent. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then he blinked rapidly, confusion washing over his features as he registered the unfamiliar surroundings. When his gaze finally landed on you, he froze.

"Wait..." he said groggily, rubbing his eyes like he might be dreaming. "What's going on?"

You scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed in your haste. "Why are you— Where are we—" The questions tumbled over each other, none completing themselves.

Riki seemed equally disoriented, looking down at his own body, touching his face. "I feel... different. Older?" His voice was deeper, his shoulders broader. This wasn't the lanky seventeen-year-old who'd been tormenting you yesterday.

"This isn't Hogwarts," you whispered, taking in the room. "This isn't my dormitory. Why are we in a bed? Together?" Your voice rose with each question.

Realization dawned on his face, horror quickly replacing confusion. "No. No way. Tell me this isn't..."

The fog of sleep dissipated completely, replaced by rising panic. "You!" he finally accused, pointing a shaking finger. "What did you do? Where did you bring us?"

"ME?" Indignation cut through your shock. "You think I did this?" You grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head with all your strength. "This is clearly one of your stupid pranks gone wrong!"

"My pranks are never stupid," he shot back automatically, then looked wildly around the room at the photographs, at the clothing visible in the open wardrobe, at the obvious signs of a shared life. "And I definitely wouldn't prank myself into... whatever this nightmare is."

You noticed a wand on the nightstand - your wand, but somehow more worn - and lunged for it. As you did, something gold caught the light. A wedding ring on your finger.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hand. "No, no, no."

Riki noticed his own matching band and went pale. "This isn't possible."

You rushed to the mirror and gasped. Your reflection was you, but older - mid-twenties at least, with different hair and a confidence in your eyes your seventeen-year-old self had never possessed.

"If this is your idea of funny, Nishimura—" you began, whirling back toward him.

"For the last time, this isn't me!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I was trying to prank you with a time-distortion spell, not..." he gestured between you wildly, "whatever nightmare this is!"

"Time-distortion?" Your eyes narrowed. "That spell you were working on in the library! The one I countered with—"

"You countered it?" Riki jumped to his feet. "What did you use? What exactly did you cast?"

"A reflection charm. It was supposed to bounce your stupid prank back at you!"

"You interfered with experimental magic?" He looked genuinely appalled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you! The walking disaster who once turned the entire Great Hall ceiling into a swamp!"

"That was brilliant spellwork and you know it!"

Your shouting match escalated until you barely noticed the small figure appearing in the doorway. It wasn't until you heard a heartbroken sob that you both fell silent and turned.

A little girl stood there, maybe three years old, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. She had Riki's deep, dark eyes—so dark they were almost black—but your nose and mouth. Her black hair fell in messy waves to her shoulders, with a stubborn cowlick at the crown that somehow looked familiar. She wore mismatched pajamas—a Holyhead Harpies top and bottoms covered in tiny golden snitches. She was clutching a well-loved stuffed dragon, its once-vibrant green scales faded from countless hugs.

"Mama, Dada, no fight," she hiccupped, her lower lip trembling so dramatically that your heart clenched in response. "No fight, please."

The raw distress in her voice hit you like a physical blow. This child—your child, somehow—was devastated by your argument. And though your rational mind insisted she was a stranger, something deeper, more instinctive, recognized her as yours.

You caught Riki's expression changing from confusion to concern, his usual smirk melting away completely. His entire body language transformed in an instant—shoulders relaxing, voice softening to a tone you'd never heard him use before.

"Hey, it's okay," he said gently, approaching her with cautious steps and kneeling down to her level. "We're not fighting. We're just... talking loud."

His hand reached out to smooth her hair in a gesture that seemed so natural it startled you. The tenderness in his touch was nothing like the Riki you knew—the prankster, the rival, the perpetual thorn in your side.

"Loud scary," she whimpered, clutching her dragon tighter. Its head was tucked under her chin in a practiced motion of self-comfort. "Suki no like." Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilling down her already damp cheeks.

Something powerful and overwhelming surged through you—a fierce, protective instinct you'd never felt before. Without thinking, you moved toward her, your body acting before your mind could catch up. It felt like gravity—like you physically couldn't stay across the room while she was crying.

You knelt beside Riki, your shoulders almost touching as you both hunched down to her height. "We're sorry we scared you, Suki," you said, your voice coming out gentle and soothing, as if you'd comforted this child a thousand times before.

She looked up at you with those big, tear-filled eyes—Riki's eyes, unmistakably—and something twisted in your chest. Recognition flashed between you, soul-deep, impossible to explain. You'd never met this child before today, but your heart knew her.

Your hand reached out of its own volition to wipe a tear from her soft cheek. The moment your skin touched hers, a rush of emotion flooded through you—love, protectiveness, and a bone-deep certainty that whatever else was happening, this connection was real.

"Dragon scared too," she said solemnly, holding up the stuffed toy. Now that you looked more closely, you noticed the dragon had a tiny Gryffindor scarf around its neck, clearly handknitted. "Puff needs hugs when scared."

"Puff?" you asked softly.

"Short for Puffskein," Riki explained automatically, then looked surprised at his own knowledge. "I think... I gave it to her on her second birthday."

Suki nodded vigorously. "Daddy said... said Puff keeps bad dreams away."

Your eyes met Riki's over her head, a moment of mutual bewilderment passing between you. How could he know that? How could either of you feel such instant recognition of a child you'd just met?

"Well," you said, finding your voice again. "Puff is right. Hugs do help when you're scared."

Suki looked at you hopefully, arms lifting in an unmistakable request. The gesture was so innocent, so trusting, that you couldn't refuse. You gathered her small body against yours, surprised by how naturally she fit in your arms, how right her weight felt. She smelled of baby shampoo and that indefinable sweet scent that seemed to belong only to children.

When she reached one arm out to include Riki in the hug, you watched his face cycle through confusion, hesitation, and then surrender. He moved closer, completing the circle, his arm brushing yours as he embraced both you and Suki.

For one strange, suspended moment, the three of you stayed like that—a tableau of family comfort that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. You caught Riki's eyes over Suki's head, and the confusion in them mirrored your own, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability you'd never seen before.

Suki's small hand patted your cheek. "Better now?" she asked, her tears already drying as children's often do, her resilience astonishing. She looked between you with such hope, such complete faith that her parents could fix anything, that you felt a lump form in your throat.

"Yes," you managed, though nothing was better, nothing made sense. "Much better."

Riki nodded, his voice slightly hoarse when he added, "All better, Suki."

She beamed then, her whole face lighting up with such joy that it physically hurt to look at. Her smile—your smile, undeniably—transformed her tear-stained face. "Suki fixed it," she declared proudly, patting her own chest. "Suki good helper."

"The best helper," Riki agreed, with a sincerity that sounded strange coming from him.

She wiggled out of the embrace, suddenly energized now that the crisis had passed. "Hungry now," she announced, as if the emotional storm had never happened. "Pancakes? With chocolate?"

"And berries," you found yourself adding, the words coming from nowhere. "You need something healthy with all that chocolate."

"Always saying that," Suki said with a dramatic sigh that was so reminiscent of Riki's that you almost laughed despite everything. "Boring."

Riki smothered what might have been a chuckle. "Some things never change," he murmured, so quietly only you could hear.

Suki grabbed both your hands in her small ones, tugging with surprising strength. "Come on! Sara waiting!"

As she mentioned the other child, another voice called out from somewhere down the hall—a younger, less articulate voice that nevertheless commanded attention.

"MAMA! DADA! UP!"

Riki's eyes met yours again, a silent question passing between you. Neither of you had to say it aloud: how could something feel so wrong and so right at the same time? How could these children be strangers and yet feel like they were pieces of your own heart?

Suki tugged more insistently. "Sara awake. She hungry too."

You allowed yourself to be pulled to your feet, noticing as you rose that Riki's hand lingered near your elbow, steadying you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He snatched it back when he realized what he was doing, but not before you felt the warmth of his touch—so different from the antagonistic shoves and playful jabs you were used to exchanging.

"We should..." he began awkwardly.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally uncomfortable. "The other one—Sara—she sounds..."

"Impatient," Riki finished, a hint of his usual wry humor returning. "Wonder where she gets that from."

"Certainly not from me," you retorted automatically, falling into your familiar pattern of banter before you could stop yourself.

Suki looked up at you both, her dark eyes narrowing with that uncanny perceptiveness again. "No more fighting," she warned, squeezing your hands. "Promise?"

The way she said it—like she was the parent and you were the children—made something catch in your throat. This tiny person somehow had the power to make you feel both chastised and protected.

"Promise," you said softly, and meant it.

"For now," Riki added with a ghost of his usual mischief, but when Suki's eyes narrowed further, he quickly amended, "I mean, yes, I promise too."

Suki nodded, satisfied with your compliance. "Good," she declared. "Now pancakes."

She pulled you both toward the door with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was going and expected the rest of the world to follow. And somehow, despite everything—the confusion, the impossibility of the situation, the fact that you were in a strange house with the person you'd spent seven years despising—you found yourself following her lead.

As you passed through the doorway, your arm brushed against Riki's, and instead of flinching away as you normally would, you felt an odd sense of reassurance from the contact. You were both lost here, both confused, but at least you were lost together.

"Temporary truce?" you whispered to him, just low enough that Suki couldn't hear.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his voice equally soft. "But for the record, I still think this is somehow your fault."

"And I'm certain it's yours," you countered, but there was no real heat in it.

Suki glanced back, caught you whispering, and gave you both a look of such knowing approval that you wondered if she'd somehow orchestrated this whole bizarre situation. For a three-year-old, she seemed remarkably in control.

"Come on, slow pokes!" she called, tugging you forward. "Sara waiting!"

The voice from down the hall called again, more insistently this time:

"DADA! UP NOW!"

You followed in stunned silence, wondering what cosmic joke had landed you in a future where you and Nishimura Riki had not only married but created this earnest little peacemaker and her baby sister.

After a chaotic breakfast involving Sara wearing more pancake than she ate and Suki demonstrating her surprisingly advanced levitation skills ("No, Suki, we don't float the syrup to the ceiling"), you finally managed to settle the children with enchanted coloring books in the living room.

"We have approximately seven minutes before disaster strikes again," Riki muttered, watching Sara scribble with determined focus. "Let's use them wisely."

"We need to search the house," you whispered. "Find anything that might explain what happened or how to reverse it."

You split up, Riki taking the study while you explored the sitting room. The cottage was larger than it appeared from outside—clearly magically extended—with comfortable, lived-in furnishings that blended wizarding and Muggle styles seamlessly.

The walls were covered with photographs—magical ones that moved and Muggle ones that didn't. They told the story of a life you couldn't remember living: graduation from Hogwarts (standing suspiciously close to Riki), your wedding (looking disgustingly happy), Riki in formal Auror robes receiving some kind of commendation, you in professor's robes surrounded by students.

You paused at a series of photos displaying Suki's early days. There was one of you in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, cradling a newborn bundle while Riki sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders. The look on his face—pure wonder mixed with what could only be described as adoration—was so unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear that you had to look away.

"Found something," Riki called softly from the study. "Photo albums. Lots of them."

You joined him, settling on the floor as he spread several leather-bound albums before you. Each was meticulously labeled in what appeared to be your handwriting: "Wedding," "Suki's First Year," "Sara's Birth," "Family Holidays."

"This is surreal," you muttered, opening the one labeled "Sara's Birth."

The images inside showed a progression: you with a rounded belly, Riki's hand resting on it with a proud smile; you in labor, gripping Riki's hand so tightly his fingers were white (that one gave you a small satisfaction); and finally, Riki holding newborn Sara, tears streaming unashamedly down his face while Suki peered curiously at her new sister.

"I look...happy," Riki said quietly, touching the edge of the photo.

"We both do," you admitted reluctantly.

You flipped through more pages, watching your impossible family life unfold. Holidays at what appeared to be his parents' home in Japan. Suki's first steps. Sara's naming ceremony.

"Look at this one," Riki said, pointing to a photo of both of you asleep on a couch, Suki as a baby nestled between you. The image captured pure exhaustion, but also undeniable contentment.

"This can't be real," you whispered, but the evidence was overwhelming. "How did we go from hexing each other to...this?"

Riki closed the album carefully. "More importantly, how do we get back to our time?"

You stood abruptly, pacing the study. "There must be something in this house—your research notes, my lesson plans, anything that might explain the magic that sent us here."

"Or how to reverse it," Riki added, rising to his feet.

"Exactly," you agreed, turning too quickly and colliding with him. His hands automatically steadied you, fingers wrapping around your upper arms.

You jerked away. "Don't touch me, Nishimura," you hissed. "Get your filthy fingers off me. God knows where they've been."

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps?—before his usual smirk reappeared. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't know about God, but judging by these photos, I think I know where you'd like them to be."

Your face burned. "You're disgusting."

"And yet, apparently, you married me," he countered, gesturing to the ring on your finger. "Enthusiastically, from the looks of these albums."

You were about to deliver a scathing retort when a small sniffle from the doorway froze you both. Suki stood there, clutching Puff, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

"Mama and Dada fighting again?" she asked, voice trembling.

Pure panic flashed across Riki's face—the same feeling coursing through you. You had exactly two seconds to prevent another meltdown.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Riki's waist, plastering what you hoped was a convincing smile on your face.

"Not fighting, sweetheart," you said quickly. "Dada and I were just...playing."

Riki, to his credit, recovered quickly. His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side.

"That's right," he agreed, smiling down at Suki. "Mama and I were just being silly."

Suki didn't look entirely convinced. "No more loud voices?"

"No more loud voices," you promised.

She studied you both with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Sara made mess. Big mess."

You exchanged an alarmed glance with Riki before hurrying to the living room, where you discovered Sara had somehow gotten hold of a pot of Everlasting Ink. The black liquid covered the toddler, the carpet, and most of a nearby armchair.

"How—" you began.

"I left for one minute!" Suki defended herself. "One minute!"

You bit back a laugh at her indignant tone—so reminiscent of your own when dealing with Riki's pranks—and turned to assess the damage.

"I'll take Sara for a bath," Riki offered, gingerly lifting the ink-covered toddler. "You tackle the furniture?"

You nodded, surprised by how easily you both fell into problem-solving mode. "Suki, can you show me where we keep the cleaning supplies?"

The crisis was half-managed when a bright silver light burst through the window. A tabby cat Patronus landed gracefully on the coffee table, fixing you both with a stern, familiar gaze.

"Mr. Nishimura. Miss L/N ]," came Professor McGonagall's voice from the ethereal cat. "Or should I say, Professor and Auror Nishimura? I am aware of your...temporal predicament. Report to my office at Hogwarts immediately. Without the children, if you please. Eight o'clock this evening. Do try not to destroy anything else in the meantime."

The Patronus dissolved, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.

"She knows," you whispered.

"Of course she does," Riki said, Sara squirming in his arms, leaving ink stains on his shirt. "She's McGonagall."

"But how? And what did she mean 'destroy anything else'?" A thought struck you. "Merlin's beard—what if our spell did more than just send us through time? What if we changed something important?"

Riki frowned. "Or broke something magical."

"The timeline itself, perhaps," you suggested, feeling sick.

"Well," he said, shifting Sara to his other hip, "at least we don't have to figure this out alone now."

You looked around at the chaotic scene—the ink-stained room, the confused children, the evidence of a life neither of you remembered building—and felt a wave of hysterical laughter bubble up.

"What's so funny?" Riki asked, eyebrows raised.

"Just picturing McGonagall's face when we have to explain that this all started because you tried to make me miss an exam."

He opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "We are so getting detention. For a month. Possibly the rest of our lives."

Suki tugged at your hand. "Who was the cat lady?"

You knelt down to her level. "That was Headmistress McGonagall. She's...an old friend."

"The scary one from your stories?" Suki asked, eyes wide. "The one who can turn into a cat?"

"Exactly that one," Riki confirmed.

Suki considered this information solemnly. "She mad at you?"

You exchanged a look with Riki. "Probably," you admitted.

"Definitely," he corrected.

"You need timeout?" Suki asked seriously.

This time, when your eyes met Riki's, you couldn't help it—you both burst out laughing, the tension of the morning finally breaking. Suki looked between you, confused but pleased that her parents were laughing instead of fighting.

"Yes, Suki," you managed when you could speak again. "I think Dada and I are in a very long timeout."

"The longest," Riki agreed, his smile—his real smile, not the smirk you were used to—making something flutter strangely in your chest.

You quickly looked away, focusing on the ink stain. Whatever was happening, whatever McGonagall knew, one thing was certain—you needed to fix this mess and get back where you belonged. Before you started getting used to Riki's genuine smile, or the way Suki's hand felt in yours, or the strange sense of rightness that kept creeping in despite your best efforts to ignore it.

Because this wasn't your life. It couldn't be. No matter what the photographs showed or how natural it sometimes felt.

...Could it?

Meeting with McGonagall had been exactly as intimidating as expected. Even as adults—or at least, in adult bodies—you both found yourselves fidgeting under her stern gaze like first-years caught out after curfew.

"Of all the reckless, irresponsible applications of magic," she'd said, pacing her office while portraits of former headmasters watched with varying degrees of amusement. "A temporal displacement caused by a schoolyard rivalry. Albus would have found this terribly entertaining." Her tone made it clear she did not share this sentiment.

McGonagall had explained, with remarkable patience, that your spell collision had created a rare but not unprecedented magical phenomenon. You had essentially switched places with your future selves—who were now presumably navigating your teenage lives at Hogwarts.

"So does that mean we can go back?" you'd asked hopefully.

Her answer had crushed that hope. "The magic will resolve itself naturally in approximately four weeks. Any attempt to force a reversal could cause irreparable damage to both timelines."

"Four WEEKS?" Riki had choked out.

"Consider it an educational opportunity, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall had replied, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "A chance to see where your choices lead. Perhaps it will inspire better decision-making in your youth."

And with that decidedly unhelpful advice, she'd sent you both back to your cottage and your borrowed life, with instructions to maintain your professional obligations and "try not to destroy the timeline."

Which was how you found yourself standing in front of a classroom of third-year students the next morning, trying to remember anything useful about shield charms beyond the basics you'd learned in fifth year.

"Professor?" A Ravenclaw girl in the front row raised her hand. "You said last week we'd be practicing against minor hexes today."

"Right," you said, stalling. "But first, let's review. Can anyone tell me the three key principles of effective shielding?"

Thank Merlin for eager students. As they rattled off answers, you discreetly consulted the lesson plans you'd found in your desk drawer. Apparently, your future self was exceptionally organized—each lesson meticulously planned with notes on individual students' progress.

Meanwhile, Riki had reluctantly departed for the Ministry, armed with a crash course in current Auror protocols courtesy of a surprisingly helpful portrait of a former Head of Magical Law Enforcement hanging in McGonagall's office.

"Just act important and delegate everything," the portrait had advised with a wink. "Standard procedure for department heads after a vacation."

Department head. Apparently, Riki had risen quickly through Auror ranks to lead a specialized unit focused on magical smuggling and illegal enchantments. Your respect for your future husband's abilities had increased considerably—not that you'd admit it aloud.

The day passed in a blur of classes, staff meetings, and trying not to reveal your temporal displacement to colleagues who clearly knew you well. By evening, you were mentally exhausted but strangely exhilarated. You'd always secretly considered teaching, and discovering that you'd achieved that ambition was oddly satisfying.

Riki returned home via Floo just before dinner, looking shell-shocked but intact. The children greeted him with enthusiasm, Suki launching herself at his legs while Sara babbled excitedly from her high chair.

"How was it?" you asked once the initial chaos subsided.

"Terrifying," he admitted quietly, accepting the cup of tea you offered. "I'm apparently in charge of seventeen Aurors and coordinating with magical law enforcement across Europe. Me. The guy who once transfigured all the Slytherin common room furniture into rubber ducks."

"Well, you always were good at transfiguration," you pointed out, surprising yourself with the compliment.

He looked equally surprised. "Did you just acknowledge one of my skills without adding an insult?"

"Don't get used to it." But you found yourself smiling anyway.

Suki, ever watchful, observed this exchange with obvious approval. "Dada catch bad wizards today?" she asked, climbing onto his lap.

"Sort of," Riki answered, automatically adjusting to accommodate her. "Dada mostly signed papers and pretended to know what he was doing."

"That's what you always say," Suki giggled, clearly accustomed to this joke.

You watched them together, struck again by how naturally Riki had adapted to fatherhood. The boy who'd once charmed your quills to write nothing but love poems about himself was now patiently listening to a toddler's detailed description of her day at magical daycare.

"Miss Penny let me feed the pygmy puffs," Suki was explaining earnestly. "And I didn't even squeeze them too hard this time."

"That's my girl," Riki said, genuine pride in his voice. "Always improving."

Later, after you'd managed bathtime (Sara could apparently generate tsunamis with minimal water) and bedtime stories (Suki insisted on three, with different voices for each character), you and Riki faced the awkward reality of sleeping arrangements.

"I'll take the sofa," he offered, hovering in the bedroom doorway.

"Don't be ridiculous," you said practically. "That sofa is barely long enough for Suki. We're adults. We can share a bed without it being... weird."

Both of you knew this was a lie, but neither acknowledged it.

You established firm boundaries—a pillow wall down the center of the mattress and strict adherence to respective sides. You changed in the bathroom, emerging in pajamas you'd found in a drawer (thankfully modest), while Riki wore sweatpants and a t-shirt that he'd clearly transfigured to be baggier than its original fit.

"Goodnight," you said stiffly, turning your back to the pillow barrier.

"Goodnight," he replied from his side. "Try not to snore."

"I do not snore!"

"How would you know? You're asleep when it happens."

Just like that, you were arguing again—the familiar pattern a strange comfort in this unfamiliar situation.

You must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were waking to a small voice and the mattress dipping slightly.

"Mama? Dada? Bad dream."

Suki stood beside the bed in her Holyhead Harpies pajamas, Puff clutched tightly to her chest, eyes wide and frightened in the dim wandlight that automatically illuminated at her distress.

Riki sat up immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing. "What kind of bad dream, Suki-bean?"

The casual endearment slipped out so naturally that neither of you remarked on it.

"Monsters," she whispered dramatically. "In the closet. And under bed. And in curtains."

"That's a lot of monsters," you said, sitting up as well.

"So many," she agreed solemnly. "Need both Mama and Dada."

She was already climbing onto the bed, worming her way directly into the center—right over your carefully constructed pillow barrier. She settled between you, looking from one to the other expectantly.

"Both stay," she insisted. "Both keep monsters away."

Riki met your eyes over her head, silently communicating in that strange way you'd developed over the past few days. You nodded slightly.

"We'll both stay," he promised. "No monsters allowed."

"That's right," you agreed. "Mama and Dada are scarier than any monsters."

Suki considered this, then nodded decisively. "Mama has scary voice when Sara draws on walls."

Riki bit back a laugh. "She certainly does."

You elbowed him lightly, but couldn't help smiling. Suki snuggled down between you, one small hand gripping your pajama top, the other clutching Riki's shirt.

"Night-night," she murmured, already drifting back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that her parents would keep her safe.

You lay awake long after her breathing deepened, acutely aware of Riki doing the same on the other side of your daughter. Your daughter. The thought still sent a jolt through you.

"This is strange, isn't it?" he whispered finally. "How quickly this starts feeling..."

"Normal," you finished when he trailed off. "I know."

"I'm not as terrible at this as I would have expected," he admitted.

"And I'm not hexing you every five minutes, which shows remarkable restraint on my part."

His low chuckle vibrated through the mattress. "Perhaps we've matured. A little."

"Apparently enough to create this," you said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair from Suki's forehead.

"She's pretty amazing, isn't she?" The naked pride in his voice made your throat tighten.

"Both of them are."

Silence fell again, but it was different now—contemplative rather than awkward. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the last sensation being Suki's warm weight against your side and, just beyond her, the steady rhythm of Riki's breathing.

The next few days established a strange new routine. You taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by day, gradually growing more comfortable as muscle memory and your future self's excellent notes guided you. Your colleagues clearly respected you—Professor Flitwick even mentioned your recent paper on practical defensive applications of Charms work published in Transfiguration Today.

Riki adapted to Auror work with surprising skill, his natural talent for thinking outside conventional boundaries apparently serving him well in investigating magical smuggling operations. He returned home each evening with increasingly fewer looks of panic and more stories of actual accomplishment.

The children attended Little Sorcerers, a magical daycare in Hogsmeade run by a cheerful witch named Penny Clearwater who had apparently been a few years ahead of you at Hogwarts. Suki was in the "Developing Wands" group for magical children showing early signs of ability, while Sara stayed in the "Baby Beasts" room.

Domestic life fell into place with unexpected ease. You discovered household charms you'd never known, apparently perfected by your future self. Riki, much to your surprise, was an excellent cook—another skill his future self had developed.

"My mother always said cooking is just like potions, but with less chance of explosion," he explained one evening as he expertly charmed knives to chop vegetables. "Usually less chance, anyway."

One week into your strange displacement, you were sitting at the kitchen table grading essays while Riki played with the girls in the living room. His patient voice floated through the doorway as he explained, for what must have been the thousandth time, why Sara couldn't ride the toy broomstick Suki had received for her birthday.

"Because she's too little, Suki. Remember when you were her age and tried to ride Uncle Jake's broom? What happened?"

"I falled in rosebushes," Suki recited reluctantly. "And needed ouchie potion."

"Exactly. So Sara needs to wait until she's bigger, just like you did."

You found yourself smiling at the exchange. The Riki you knew from Hogwarts had never shown this kind of patience. But then, you'd never really looked for it either, had you? You'd been so busy competing, bickering, retaliating for pranks, that you'd never considered there might be more to him.

Later that night, after the children were asleep, you found yourself lingering in the study, examining framed certificates and photographs. Your teaching credentials from a specialized Defense mastery program. Riki's Auror certification, with honors. A joint commendation from the Ministry for some collaborative project.

Riki found you there, two mugs of tea in hand. He offered one silently, and you accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Strange to see what we become," he said finally, examining a photo of you both at what appeared to be a Ministry function.

"Not what I expected," you admitted.

"No?"

You gestured around the study. "Look at all this. Professional success. Academic recognition. A home, a family..." You trailed off, not quite able to complete the thought.

Riki did it for you. "Everything we secretly wanted but were too proud to admit?"

You looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, suddenly looking vulnerable in a way the seventeen-year-old Riki never would have allowed. "I never hated you, you know. I was just..."

"Competitive?" you supplied.

"Immature," he corrected with a rueful smile. "And maybe a little intimidated. You always knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. I just knew what I didn't want—to follow my father into the diplomatic service, to be serious all the time."

"So you became the class clown instead?"

"I became whatever would get a reaction." His honesty surprised you. "Especially from you."

You weren't ready for this conversation—this glimpse beneath the surface of your carefully maintained animosity. So you deflected.

"Well, apparently it worked out for both of us." You gestured to the evidence of your successful careers. "Though I still can't believe I married someone who once enchanted my hair to glow in the dark during exams."

"In my defense, you looked incredible. Like a vengeful goddess."

Despite yourself, you laughed. "I was so furious. I couldn't figure out how to counter it for three days."

"I know." His smile turned reminiscent. "McGonagall finally took pity on you. But not before I got to admire my handiwork for half a week."

The ease between you was new and unsettling. It felt like a betrayal of your properly antagonistic relationship, yet it also felt... right. As if your bodies remembered a friendship—and more—that your minds hadn't yet experienced.

"We should sleep," you said abruptly, uncomfortable with the direction of your thoughts. "Early classes tomorrow."

Riki nodded, the moment broken. "Right. Of course."

You both headed to the bedroom, maintaining the pretense of the pillow barrier even though Suki had demolished it the past three nights in a row, inevitably climbing into your bed with complaints of monsters, bad dreams, or simply "missing Mama and Dada."

But as you lay in the darkness, listening to Riki's breathing slow on the other side of the useless barrier, you couldn't help wondering: If this was your future—a respected career, beautiful children, and an unexpectedly supportive partner—was it really something you wanted to undo?

The thought followed you into dreams where seventeen-year-old Riki laughed as he turned your hair pink, but adult Riki smiled as he helped you wash it out, his fingers gentle against your scalp and his eyes holding something you weren't ready to name.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains as you carefully extracted yourself from the bed, trying not to disturb Riki. Over the past ten days, you'd fallen into an uneasy routine—you rose early to prepare for your classes while he handled the nighttime wake-ups with Sara, who still wasn't sleeping through the night.

Today you had a particularly early staff meeting to review the upcoming O.W.L. practical examinations. You gathered your teaching robes and had just started toward the bathroom when a loud chiming sound filled the room.

A glowing orb materialized above the dresser—something like a remembrall but larger and pulsing with magical energy. You approached it cautiously, poking it with your wand.

The orb expanded, revealing the face of a woman you didn't recognize—though she clearly knew you, judging by her broad smile.

"Fucking finally! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday!" the woman exclaimed. Her curly hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, and she appeared to be wearing pajamas. "Did you get my message about Friday? Because Marcus is taking the kids to his mother's, and I'm desperate for a girls' night."

You froze, desperately trying to place her. This must be a friend of your future self—possibly your best friend, given her casual manner.

"I, um—" you stammered.

"Oh shit, did I wake you? What time is it there?" She squinted, then gasped dramatically. "Is that Riki in bed behind you? Sorry! Although..." her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "since I've got you both, I might as well ask. That thing you mentioned last month? The tongue thing?"

Your face burned as you realized what kind of "thing" she was referring to.

"I tried it with Marcus but I must be doing something wrong because he just looked confused, and honestly, after three kids you'd think I'd have figured out how to keep things interesting," she continued, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "But you always seem to have Riki thoroughly fucked—he practically glows every time I see him—so clearly you're doing something right."

You heard a muffled sound from the bed and glanced back to see Riki stirring, his eyes opening with confusion that quickly transformed to interest as he caught snippets of the conversation.

"I mean," your friend continued, lowering her voice even more, "last time we talked, you said it was all about the pattern you use with your tongue and how you have to maintain eye contact the whole time? And something about using a specific angle? I tried but Marcus kept laughing and saying it tickled."

Riki's eyebrows shot up, and he propped himself on his elbows, now fully awake and listening intently.

"And then you mentioned that thing with the ice cube beforehand? Did you mean like directly on his—"

"I REALLY need to go," you interrupted desperately, but your friend was on a roll.

"—because that seemed extreme, but then again, your sex life is legendary. Remember at New Year's when you two disappeared for an hour and came back looking like you'd been mauled by something? And Riki couldn't stop smirking for the rest of the night? Merlin's balls, whatever you did to him must have been spectacular."

At this point, Riki had both hands clamped over his mouth, his entire body shaking with barely contained laughter.

"Anyway," your friend continued, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, "I just need a refresher. When you grip his thighs, is it more about the pressure or the—"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" you finally shouted, frantically tapping the orb, trying to end the call. "I'M ABOUT TO BE LATE FOR A MEETING!"

"Oh! Sorry!" she said, finally noticing your distress. "But just quickly—that position you mentioned, the one where you—"

"SILENCIO!" you bellowed, finally succeeding in muting her. But the call continued, her lips moving silently as she enthusiastically mimed what appeared to be a particularly athletic maneuver.

Behind you, Riki had lost his battle with composure. He was now howling with laughter, rolling on the bed and clutching his stomach.

"Holy shit," he gasped between fits of hysterical laughter. "Eye contact the whole time? Ice cubes? What the fuck do our future selves get up to?"

You finally located the deactivation rune and jabbed it violently. The orb vanished with a small pop, leaving mortified silence in its wake.

Well, silence except for Riki's continued uncontrollable laughter.

"I will hex you into next week," you threatened, your face burning hot enough to fry an egg.

"The fucking tongue thing!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. "And apparently I get 'thoroughly mauled' at New Year's? No wonder future-me always looks so damn pleased with himself!"

"Would you SHUT UP?" you hissed, grabbing a pillow and launching it at his head.

He caught it mid-air, his Quidditch reflexes intact even as he gasped for breath between laughs. "I can't—I can't breathe—"

"Good! Die, then!"

"Aww, don't be embarrassed," he teased, finally regaining some control. "Obviously our future selves enjoy fucking each other. We have two tiny munchkins as proof of that." He gestured toward the nursery with a grin. "Concrete evidence of at least two very successful encounters."

"This isn't funny, you absolute ass!" But your embarrassment was being overtaken by reluctant amusement at the absurdity of the situation.

"It's extremely funny," he countered, sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes. "Your face when she started mimicking that position—"

You launched yourself across the bed, determined to silence him before he could continue. Your hand clamped over his mouth as you landed half on top of him, using your body weight to pin him down.

"Not. Another. Goddamn. Word." You glared down at him, trying to look intimidating despite your undoubtedly bright red face.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement evident even with his mouth covered. But then something shifted in his gaze—the laughter fading into something warmer, more intense. You suddenly became acutely aware of your position: straddling his lap, one hand over his mouth, your faces inches apart.

His breath was warm against your palm. You should move. You should definitely move. But your body seemed frozen, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his mouth. The casual strength in his grip sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Is this how you keep me thoroughly fucked and satisfied?" he murmured, voice pitched low in a way you'd never heard from seventeen-year-old Riki. "Pinning me down until I submit?"

Your breath caught. The air between you felt charged, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with your usual animosity.

"I—" Whatever you might have said was lost as a piercing wail erupted from the nursery monitor on the nightstand.

"DAAAAADAAAA!" Sara's voice shattered the moment. "UP! UP NOW!"

Riki closed his eyes briefly, a mixture of frustration and resignation crossing his features. "Fuck. Perfect timing, as always," he muttered.

You scrambled off him, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between your bodies. "I should—shower. Meeting. Early."

Eloquence had apparently abandoned you entirely.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'll check on Sara."

"Right. Good. Yes." You edged toward the bathroom, clutching your teaching robes like a shield.

At the door, he paused, throwing you a look over his shoulder. "You know we're going to have to continue this conversation eventually."

"What conversation?" you asked, aiming for innocent and missing by several miles.

His smile was slow and knowing. "The one about all the ways our future selves apparently enjoy fucking each other. And maybe that tongue thing. Seems like valuable information we shouldn't waste."

With that parting shot, he left to tend to Sara, leaving you leaning weakly against the bathroom door, your heart racing and your mind filled with images you had no business imagining.

You'd just finished putting Sara down for her nap when the distinct crack of apparition sounded from the front garden. Wand instantly in hand—a reflex from your Defense teaching—you moved cautiously toward the window.

A petite Japanese woman in elegant midnight-blue robes stood at your gate, a large ornate box floating beside her. Her hair was pulled into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and though she must have been in her fifties, she had the posture of someone half her age.

"Riki!" you called, recognizing her from the family photos. "Your mother's here!"

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of muffled curses.

"My WHAT?" he hissed, appearing in the doorway with a look of undisguised panic. "Why? Did you know she was coming?"

"How would I know that?" you whispered back frantically.

"You're the one who's apparently been married to me for years! Don't you have a schedule or something?"

Before you could argue further, an imperious knock sounded at the door. You both froze like guilty first-years caught out after curfew.

Suki, oblivious to your distress, came barreling down the hall. "GRANDMA!" she squealed, reaching for the doorknob before either of you could stop her.

The door swung open to reveal Riki's mother, her stern expression instantly transforming into a warm smile at the sight of her granddaughter.

"Suki!" she exclaimed, setting down her floating package to sweep the child into her arms. "Have you been practicing your Japanese?"

"Hai, Grandma!" Suki replied proudly.

"Good girl." She kissed Suki's forehead before setting her down, then turned her attention to you and Riki, who was hovering awkwardly behind you.

"Darling," she greeted you with unexpected warmth, moving forward to embrace you. "You look tired. Is my son helping enough with the children?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning to Riki. "Riki! Your hair is a mess. Are you still sleeping until noon? You have responsibilities now!"

Without warning, she reached up and slapped the back of his head—a feat requiring her to almost stand on tiptoe, given the height difference.

"Mom!" Riki protested, rubbing his head. "It's good to see you too."

"Is it? When was the last time you visited?" She grabbed his ear and tugged, pulling his head down to her level. "Do I need to remind you of the importance of family?"

You bit your lip, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of fully-grown Auror Riki being treated like a naughty schoolboy. The look of helpless resignation on his face suggested this was a regular occurrence.

"We've been busy with work, Mom," you intervened, taking pity on him. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?"

She released Riki's ear and beamed at you. "Always so polite. This one knows how to show respect, Riki. You should learn from your wife."

"Yes, Mom," Riki muttered, rubbing his ear.

"Grandma bring presents?" Suki asked hopefully, eyeing the box that had resumed floating beside her grandmother.

"Just one special delivery today," Hana replied, guiding the box into the living room with a flick of her wand. "For your parents."

You led everyone into the kitchen, where you busied yourself preparing tea. Riki, clearly trying to behave, pulled out a chair for his mother.

"Such good manners," Hana observed with mock surprise. "Did your wife teach you that, too?"

"Mom..." Riki began with a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm teasing, Riki," she said, but slapped his arm anyway. "Mostly."

You placed a teacup in front of her, grateful that your future self apparently knew how she took her tea.

"Now," Hana said after taking a delicate sip, "about the item you asked me to find."

You exchanged a quick glance with Riki, neither of you having any idea what she was referring to.

"I've brought it, just as promised," she continued. "Though why you couldn't have asked for it during your visit last month instead of by owl, I don't understand."

"Work has been... unpredictable," you improvised, hoping it was a plausible excuse.

Hana made a dismissive gesture. "Always work with you two. But I suppose that's why you're both so successful." There was genuine pride in her voice, despite her criticisms.

"Suki," she said, turning to her granddaughter who was attempting to climb onto Riki's lap, "would you show me your new drawings? The ones you told Grandma about in your message?"

Suki nodded eagerly. "In my room! I drawed a dragon eating ice cream!"

"Drew, Baby," Riki corrected automatically.

"That's what I said, Daddy," Suki replied with the confidence of a child who could never be wrong. She took her grandmother's hand and began tugging her toward the stairs.

"I'll just be a few minutes," Hana said, allowing herself to be led away. "Riki, make yourself useful and start dinner. Your wife works all day teaching those hopeless children to defend themselves. The least you can do is feed her properly."

"Yes, Mom," Riki replied with practiced patience.

The moment they disappeared upstairs, he turned to you. "What the hell is going on? What did you apparently ask her for?"

"How should I know?" you whispered back. "Maybe it's in that box she brought?"

You both turned to look at the ornate package still floating in the living room. It was wrapped in deep blue silk with silver constellations that actually twinkled and shifted across the fabric.

"Whatever it is, it's fancy," Riki observed. "And apparently important."

"We can't open it until we know what it is," you said reasonably. "Your mother might expect a specific reaction."

"I haven't seen her this... pleasant... in years," Riki admitted. "Usually there's at least twenty minutes of criticism before she even considers smiling."

"She seems quite fond of me," you couldn't help noting with a slight smirk.

"Of course she is," Riki grumbled. "You're exactly the type of person she wanted me to be—studious, responsible, organized. You probably color-code your lesson plans."

"I do not!" you protested, then caught yourself. "Well, future-me might, but that's beside the point."

Before you could continue, Hana reappeared, sans Suki. "She's showing Sara her drawings now," she explained. "That child could talk for England in the Olympics."

"Wonder where she gets that from," you said, giving Riki a pointed look.

Hana laughed. "Exactly what I was thinking." She moved to the box and gestured for you to join her. "Come, I'll show you what I found. Riki, start the rice. The women are talking."

Riki rolled his eyes but obediently moved to the kitchen, muttering something about "impossible women ganging up on him."

Hana drew you to the far side of the living room, lowering her voice. "I wanted to give this to you privately first," she said, untying the silk wrapping. "So you can decide how to present it to him for your anniversary."

Anniversary? Your heart rate picked up. Exactly how close was this supposedly important date?

The silk fell away, revealing a carved wooden box with the Nishimura family crest inlaid in mother-of-pearl. Hana opened it carefully to reveal a stunning platinum pocket watch nestled in velvet.

"It belonged to his grandfather," she explained, lifting it gently. "Riki adored it as a child. Used to beg to hold it, would sit for hours watching the constellation dial shift with the seasons."

She opened the watch's case, revealing an exquisitely detailed night sky in miniature, with tiny stars that glittered and moved in real-time. The craftsmanship was breathtaking.

"His grandfather promised it to him when he became a man worthy of it," Hana continued, a soft smile playing at her lips. "But he passed before Riki finished Hogwarts."

She pressed the watch into your hands. "When you wrote asking if I still had it—if I would consider letting you give it to him for your fifth anniversary—I admit I cried. You understand my son in ways I never could."

Fifth anniversary. The words echoed in your mind. You and Riki had been married for five years in this timeline.

"I..." you began, genuinely moved by both the gift and the sentiment behind it.

"No need for words," Hana said, patting your hand. "I know you'll present it perfectly. Just promise me you'll take a photograph of his face when he sees it."

"I promise," you said sincerely, carefully returning the watch to its case.

"Good. Now hide it away before he—"

"Before I what?" Riki asked, returning from the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder.

Hana moved with surprising speed, snatching the box and thrusting it behind you. "Before you stick your nose where it doesn't belong!" she scolded, reaching up to tug his ear again. "Honestly, Riki, eavesdropping at your age!"

"I wasn't—" he protested, bending awkwardly to accommodate her grip on his ear. "Mom, please!"

"Go back to the kitchen," she commanded. "The rice will burn."

"It's in a spelled pot, it can't burn," he argued.

She released his ear only to slap the back of his head again. "Don't contradict your mother. Go. Shoo."

Riki shot you a pleading look, but you merely shrugged, hiding your amusement poorly. He slouched back to the kitchen, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "traitor."

Once he was out of earshot, Hana handed you the box again. "Hide this somewhere he won't look. Do you have such a place?"

You thought quickly. "My lesson plan cabinet. He'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail than look through teaching materials."

Hana nodded approvingly. "Smart girl. This is why I always said you were too good for him."

"I don't know about that," you said, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

Hana's expression softened. "Neither does he. That's what makes you perfect together." She straightened her robes briskly. "Now, I should supervise his cooking before he ruins dinner. His father was the same way—brilliant man, hopeless with domestic spells."

As she marched toward the kitchen, you heard her exclaim, "Riki! What are you doing to those poor vegetables? Here, let me show you again..."

You slipped the box into your teaching bag, mind reeling. Five years of marriage. A thoughtful anniversary gift that Riki would apparently treasure. A mother-in-law who clearly adored you and whom you called "Mom" with ease.

This life—this future—kept revealing layers that made it harder and harder to dismiss as a nightmare or a prank gone wrong. Because parts of it, if you were being honest with yourself, didn't feel wrong at all.

They felt alarmingly, confusingly right.

From the kitchen came the sound of Riki's protests, followed by his mother's firm instructions and what sounded like another light slap. Despite everything—your displacement in time, your confusion about your feelings, the lingering embarrassment from this morning's call—you found yourself smiling.

Some things, apparently, never changed. Even in a future where everything else had.

Two days after Hana's visit, you were grading essays in the study when the fireplace flared green. Instinctively, you reached for your wand, still not entirely comfortable with the casual magical security of your future home.A man's head appeared in the flames—mid-thirties, with an easy smile and close-cropped hair. "Riki! You home, mate?" he called.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Thankfully, Riki appeared from the kitchen, and you were surprised to see genuine delight spreading across his face.

"Jake!" He rushed to the fireplace, the dish towel in his hands forgotten. "Merlin, it's good to see you."

The relief in his voice was palpable—this wasn't just recognition of someone from this future timeline, but someone he genuinely knew.

"Good to see me? You saw me three days ago at the office," Jake's floating head laughed. "Listen, just checking about tomorrow night. Seera's been on my case all week about what time you two are arriving."

Riki blinked, momentarily thrown. "Tomorrow night?"

Jake's expression turned exasperated. "The department dinner? Don't tell me you forgot. You RSVPed weeks ago."

"Right. The department dinner," Riki repeated, shooting you a panicked glance.

"Unbelievable," Jake said, but his tone was affectionate rather than annoyed. "I've been reminding you about deadlines since you were nine, and you still forget. Good thing I called. Seera would hex me into next week if you two didn't show—she's been looking forward to catching up with the professor here." He nodded in your direction.

You gave a small wave, noting how Riki seemed to relax into the familiar dynamic with Jake.

"It's just..." Riki began, running a hand through his hair, "with the children and everything—"

"Don't even start," Jake cut him off. "You already arranged for Molly Weasley to watch the girls. You told me yourself last week. Said it was your anniversary gift to yourselves—an evening without sticky fingers and bedtime tantrums."

Your eyes met Riki's, a silent message passing between you. He looked both relieved to be talking to someone from his past and confused by the new information.

"Right," Riki said, recovering his composure. "Sorry, just a long week. What time is it again?"

"Seven for drinks, dinner at eight," Jake replied. "At Theodesia's in Diagon Alley. The private room upstairs." He paused, then added with a knowing smirk, "Formal dress. You know how the boss loves any excuse for everyone to get fancy."

"Great," Riki said with more genuine enthusiasm now. "Looking forward to it."

"You'd better be. Seera's been practicing her speech all week." Jake winked. "She's determined to toast the department's most disgustingly perfect couple on their anniversary milestone."

"Our... right." Riki's hand went back to his hair—a nervous tell you'd noticed over the past weeks. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Excellent! See you both tomorrow, then," Jake said. His head started to withdraw, then popped back. "Oh, and Riki? Wear the blue dress robes. Your wife once told Seera they make your ass look fantastic."

With that parting shot and a laugh, he disappeared, leaving the fireplace ordinary once more.

Riki stared at the empty fireplace for a moment, a complicated mix of emotions crossing his face.

"You know him," you said, not a question but an observation. "From before all this."

"Jake Sim," Riki nodded, sinking onto the sofa beside you. "He lived down the street from us when I was a kid. Seven years older than me, but he always let me tag along when his friends played Quidditch. Taught me how to fly, actually." His voice softened with fondness. "Kind of the big brother I never had."

"That must be nice," you said carefully. "Having someone familiar in all this strangeness."

"It is," he admitted. "Weird to see him so much older, though." He glanced at you. "Apparently he works in the Auror department with me. That explains a lot—he always said he wanted to be an Auror."

"So," you said, returning to practicalities, "department dinner tomorrow."

"Apparently." Riki looked less panicked now, almost reassured by the connection to his past. "Formal. With at least one person I actually know."

"And a toast to our anniversary." You groaned. "Perfect."

"Let me check the details," Riki said, summoning his work organizer from his bag and flipping through to tomorrow's date. "Here it is. 'Annual Auror Division Recognition Dinner. Special achievement acknowledgments.' And in smaller writing: 'Jake and Seera Sim confirmed, Table 3.'"

"Recognition dinner? Is your future self getting an award or something?"

"I have no idea." Riki looked genuinely alarmed by the possibility. "I'm still trying to figure out where to find case files in my office."

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache forming. "So now we have to attend a formal dinner with people who know us—our future selves—well enough to comment on how your ass looks in dress robes, make anniversary toasts, and possibly present you with some kind of award."

"Don't forget we apparently arranged childcare with Molly Weasley," Riki added. "Whom neither of us has spoken to in this timeline."

"Shit." You dropped your head into your hands. "This is getting more complicated by the day."

Riki was quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Maybe we should look at this as an opportunity."

You raised your head. "An opportunity for what? Public humiliation?"

"Information gathering," he corrected, looking more confident than he had in days. "Jake knows me—the real me. And he obviously knows our future selves well too. He might be able to help us understand how we ended up... here." He gestured vaguely between you. "Plus, if this is some kind of work event, I might learn more about what my job actually entails."

He had a point. And if you were honest with yourself, you were a bit curious about your social circle in this future life—especially this childhood friend who had clearly remained important to Riki into adulthood.

"Fine," you conceded. "But we need a strategy. Signals if one of us is getting into conversational quicksand."

"I'll step on your foot if you start heading into dangerous territory," Riki suggested.

"And I'll spill my drink on you if you do the same."

"Seems fair," he agreed, then glanced at the clock. "Should we... call Molly? Confirm the childcare arrangement?"

"As much as I'm dreading it, probably," you admitted. "We also need to figure out what to wear to this thing."

Riki stood up. "I'll check the wardrobe for the allegedly ass-flattering blue robes. You handle Molly."

"Why do I get the hard job?" you protested.

"Because she already loves you, Professor," he said with a grin. "Everyone does, apparently."

You threw a quill at him, which he dodged easily as he headed upstairs.

After an awkward but ultimately successful Floo call to Molly Weasley—who indeed seemed already aware of your childcare needs and waved off your attempts to confirm details with a cheerful "Of course, dear, just bring them over before six like usual"—you headed upstairs to assess your own formal wear options.

The master bedroom closet revealed an impressive collection of teaching robes interspersed with more formal attire. Near the back, you found several elegant dress robes and gowns that your seventeen-year-old self would never have imagined owning.

You were examining a particularly stunning deep green gown when Riki emerged from the bathroom, holding up a set of formal midnight-blue dress robes with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar.

"Found them," he announced. "Think these are the ones that make my ass look fantastic?"

"I wouldn't know," you said primly. "I've never made a habit of assessing that particular feature."

"Liar," he said with a smirk. "I've caught you looking."

"I have not—" you began, then stopped at his triumphant expression. "You're just trying to get a rise out of me!"

"And succeeding." He grinned, then nodded at the green gown in your hands. "That one. It's phenomenal."

You glanced down at the gown, surprised by his comment. "You think?"

"I know." His voice had lost its teasing edge. "You wore something similar to the Yule Ball in fourth year. I remembered thinking..." He trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Thinking what?" you prompted, curious despite yourself.

"Nothing important." He focused intently on his dress robes, inspecting them for non-existent lint. "Just that you looked... nice."

The admission hung in the air between you, unexpectedly weighty. You'd gone to the Yule Ball with a Ravenclaw boy whose name you barely remembered now. You hadn't even realized Riki had noticed you that night.

"Well," you said, trying to sound casual, "I suppose this will do, then."

"We should probably practice," Riki said abruptly.

"Practice what?"

"Acting like... you know. A couple." His cheeks had colored slightly. "If these people know us well, they'll expect certain behaviors. Interactions."

"Like what?" You weren't sure if the flutter in your stomach was anxiety or something else.

"I don't know, exactly. But probably more than the awkward distance we've been maintaining." He gestured between you. "People who've been married for five years don't flinch when they accidentally brush hands passing the salt."

He had a point, loath as you were to admit it. Your attempts at playing happy couple in front of the children were unconvincing enough; fooling adults who knew you well would be even harder.

"What did you have in mind?" you asked cautiously.

"Just... getting more comfortable. Small things." He stepped closer, tentatively reaching for your hand. "May I?"

Your heart stuttered as you nodded, allowing him to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused—Auror training, perhaps, or years of Quidditch.

"See? Not so terrible." His voice had dropped to a lower register that sent an unexpected shiver through you.

"I suppose not," you managed.

He took another half step closer. "At an event like this, I might... put my arm around you." Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he released your hand and slid his arm around your waist.

You tensed briefly, then made yourself relax into the contact. It felt strange—Nishimura Riki touching you without it being part of some prank or competition—but not unpleasant.

"And you might lean into me a little," he suggested. "Like it's natural."

Hesitantly, you shifted your weight, allowing your body to rest slightly against his. He was solid, warm, his familiar scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him—enveloping you.

"Better," he murmured. "Almost convincing."

You looked up, intending to make some sarcastic remark, but the words died in your throat. His face was much closer than you'd realized, his dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

"People might expect us to..." he began, then paused. "That is, married couples usually..."

"Usually what?" you whispered, though you knew perfectly well what he meant.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Dance," he finished, stepping back abruptly and breaking the moment. "We should practice dancing. For tomorrow."

"Right," you said, ignoring the confusing pang of disappointment. "Dancing. Good idea."

"I'll, um, let you finish looking through your options," he said, backing toward the door with his blue robes still clutched in one hand. "Need to check on the girls anyway."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and the lingering sensation of his arm around your waist.

You turned back to the closet, fingers brushing against the green fabric of the gown. A formal dinner with colleagues who knew your future selves intimately. An anniversary toast. And Riki in robes specifically noted for how well they fit him.

Tomorrow night promised to be interesting, to say the least.

part 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

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angelesca · 3 months ago

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w.c. 3.4k💀so much words for this crap / sunday x truckdriver!gnreader (dafuqq is this dynamic), small stories, 99% of the penacony cast are impressed by you(they should be), robin is a cutie pie, sunday is a closeted robin fan, you and sunday squabble daily, sunday your wonweek is showing💗, wrote this in the tumblr drafts vro🔥part crack [𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬]: 1 ┃ 2 ┃...

a/n: farted this out bc i got inspired by this otome isekai manhwa i was reading [truck knight taekbae] + aesthetics inspired by [who made me a princess]

darkness monopolised your vision ever since you got here; day time never graced you. the insulated walls do their job well—only the vibrations, the frayed edges of sound, can be heard.

chains grip your wrists, the metal twisting into your skin, wringing it like cloth. ouch. what now? maybe if you fart consecutively, and hard enough, you can blow your way out?

"brother... why…?" vibrations again.

"don’t… monitor… danger."

the iron door creaks. light shines a single ray though the gap, and like the sun, the radiance blinds you. you squint your eyes, tracing the outline of two silhouettes.

the taller one approaches, each stride covering an equal, set amount of distance without a lost beat. "i have one question," their tone dashes against the whetstone, pointing a sharpened blade at you. "who are you?"

their eyes did not welcome any light, no reflection of you in them, as if you were only a whisper of the air. you feel the cracks in your throat. "me? i’m just a truck driver."

you are having tea with sunday.

after the less-than-ideal introductions, the picture cleared: you, a truck driver, are isekai’d into penacony via truck inception(?).

"i apologise for my manners," sunday sips his cup. "when you... suspisciously appeared in my bathroom, unresponding, there was no room to be courteous."

"sorry about that," you play with the rim of your cup awkwardly. "i'm not sure what happened either." the honest truth.

sunday shakes his head. he's majestic. "so, you said that you were…" he taps his chin.

"a truck driver."

"a criminal?"

"... truck driver."

“an assassin?”

"..." you almost turned into one.

little did you know, your lone walk was accompanied by a slithering shadow. except... it was no shadow. it was a dazzling spotlight that had fans and reporters following her repslendent glow, as expected of penacony's halovian songstress: robin.

"you mentioned you were a truck driver," finally, someone knows what a truck driver is. "will you allow me to see it?"

yes, your truck teleported into the dreamscape too. how could you live without them? they sit by a pavement on penacony's streets, hoarding the stares of confused citizens.

you watch an infinite cosmos flare in robin's incandescent eyes. your truck is just that impressive. "wow...! it's so beautiful!"

"what a curious machine," a blue and blonde-haired pair are analysing. "a vehicle that inefficiently operates on wheels? rather old-fashioned."

"what in the ever-lovin' fudge? my great-great-great-great-great gramps had one of those!"

"a sight of blissful beauty blooms before my eyes. amazing!"

“where am i?”

“acheron, it hasnt even been a minute yet and you’re confused.”

people's eager stomping tremble the earth and sky. it's just that impressive. in the distance, an extra pair of wary eyes observe you.

"i admit, i am still suspiscious of you," sunday crosses one leg over the other. "robin sang nothing but praises. however, i'm afraid i'll need you under my surveillance to prove your trustworthiness."

urk. possessive much? "why are there knives, swords, and rocket launchers on the table?" sunday cocks an eyebrow at you, expecting you to make a move. "... i'm really not an assassin, sunday." but you do know his entire life story, so you're actually his stalker.

suddenly. the room blurs. an annoying static repeats, plucking the sensory wires from your circuit. is he... is he using his thingamajig powers?

"you may not be one... for now." he looks out a large window. you follow his gaze. wait a minute. what are they doing to-

“MY TRUUUUCK!!!” your passion transcends boundaries, past the lower-case and forcing the caps lock. lunging, you rush outside the mansion. "HEy!"

"aaaaa!! run!"

"eeek!"

"nyaa~!" who the hell was that?

"what the..." you are stunned. how dare they vandalise your truck! "was this your order?" you turn to sunday, infuriated.

"what will you do now?" a corner of his lips lifts, provoking.

you clench your fist. no one messes with you, the best truck driver, and only truck driver, in penacony.

hypothetically, if you got hit by a truck and ended up here, could you, a truck driver, hit a penaconian and isekai them over to your world?

"hey, robin?"

"hm?" her smile is innocent, gazing at you with a prospering kindness deserving of its own halo.

you smack your head. a dozen times over. then a few more.

"hey, aventurine?"

"hi hi~"

you shake your head. wouldn't his luck interfere? if anything, you'd be the one to get run over again.

"hey, acheron?"

"who are you?"

doesn't even know who you are despite telling her a minute ago. if she ended up in your world, she'd be asking the same question anyway: "where am i?"

you pick your nose. she'd slice you in half. period.

"hey, rappa."

"dazzling ninja rappa at your service!"

"as am i, the dimension-trespassing truck driving ninja!"

unfortunately, ninja roleplay with rappa is too fun. every friday, you play dnd together and you can't miss it this week.

there's only one person left.

"hey sun-"

"don't."

you stare blankly. "i didn't say anything?"

sunday glares back. "if you are going to speak to me, do it in front of me, and not while starting the engine of your truck."

"tch... damn."

"could i use your truck as a stage prop for my next concert?"

"oh, what if it suddenly rains?"

"what if i accidentally trip?"

you notice a gap in robin's behaviour. "how come you're so nervous today?"

robin looks at you, mouth on the verge of speaking. she looks down at her shoes. "hmm..." she tilts her head, lips mumbling. she hesitates, unready to spill her heart.

there's one thing you do best. you suggest, "why don't we go for a ride in my truck?"

robin's hunched back quickly reshapens itself. it's been some time since you've had a passenger, but with the way robin swiftly adjusts herself in the seats, excited, you don't worry about the mess in the truck. you start the vehicle, ready to stroll penacony's streets.

you hand her a piece of unexpired candy from a compartment, and she accepts the gesture. it doesn't take long before robin settles herself afterwards. she sighs. "... it's my brother, he'll be attending a show for the first time. i'm a bit nervous."

"why would he not be supportive?" you question.

robin shakes her head. "it may be because my brother is a perfectionist. i can't help but believe that he'll be expecting a flawless performance."

halovian songstress robin, a nation-wide icon, for her, expectations continually rise without rest. but for now, she sits next to you as robin herself, without the embellishments and performing. a breath of fresh air.

words of reassurance may be able to tend her heart. "make as many mistakes as you want," you comfort, "you are robin yourself before you are a singer, a civilian, and a sister."

the candy in her palm is scrunched. her heart, opens. robin herself, smiles. not because she is expected to, not because she is told to, but because she wants to. "thank you."

on the eighth day, grant... sunday getting down on one knee for you. wasn't this a bit fast?

your mouth opens. "are you proposing right now?"

"what are you on about?" sunday looks up at you, eyebrows scrunched. in his hands, a riiiiiiiiiiing- no, he's just cleaning his shoes with a cloth. better luck next time.

robin suggested to use your truck like a cabbie. that way, you can still keep your pride as a truck driver, and provide ears for wary hearts:

a student struggling with academics.

someone who doesn't know which direction to take.

the ramblings of a doctor whose words are spoken with precision, slicing his words into the victim's flesh. but behind the gloves are trembling hands that only wishes to sew tight the rotting wounds of a poor gambler, if only he would let him.

a galaxy ranger who witnessed the brevity of lives in the isolated expanse of the universe, walked along the shore of nihility. she departs with you her true name so that when she returns, your heart can accompany her solitude once more.

a young girl who cannot tell if the blood on her hands are someone else's, or her own. every allude to life reminded her of a deathly fate. however, as your passenger, she is reminded that she can forge a life of her own, undecided by destiny. penance and redemption, then, in the end, she hopes to regain her humanity.

you've listened to them all. unlocked each of their hearts, always gave back the key if they ever wanted to return again. turns out, the people of penacony are not much different from those in your world.

robin would pass out if she saw this.

from what you remember, there were 88 doors in the oak family's residence (you're a dedicated fan). you've explored each one, door 86, 87, 88... 89?

a secluded door that can only be seen with eagle eyes. the mystery kindles sparks in your chest, flaming curious fires. you slowly open the door. 86, 87, 88, 89... robins? (one for every door?) they all stare at you within their enclosures, as either posters, figurines, or books cover. in the middle sat a familiar head of grey hair, lowered, back turned towards you.

"sunday?"

the head moves up. gradually, it creaks. never in your life, did you expect to see a robin-crazed hidden room, nor a red-faced sunday. oh robin, the brother you were so worried about, is actually your no.1 fan. sunday's halovian wings flap furiously, doing nothing to cool his face down. his expression seems annoyed to have been caught in the act. "... what?"

"is this your robin shrine?" this is it. this will be your revenge, and the beginning tastes sweet. "so, you're the real criminal out of the two of us."

one can imagine the fumes blowing out of his ears. his eyes glisten, on the verge of tears. oops, he's really embarrassed.

you turn your face away, allowing sunday as much privacy as possible within his very private room. or rather, you are avoiding his eyes to suppress laughter. "you're coming to robin's concert, right?"

"you coming?" you gesture towards your majestic truck. it's a beautiful night for a truck ride.

sunday, your victim, is reluctant, of course. he probably still believes that you are an assassin who will run him over. "i won't die, will i?"

you huff. "i'm just a truck driver. what's the worse i could do? kidnap you?" sunday stares at you, frightened. it does not take much for him to believe in your potential for evil. "it's a joke... i'm not a criminal. or an assassin."

"just for a few minutes," he resigns. score. you open the door for sunday, who eventually sits down. you start the engine.

"welcome." sunday is in your truck. what an achievement. heh. you place your foot on the pedal.

it is silent apart from the engine's buzzing. you hand sunday an unexpired bag of chips from the compartment. he receives it, inspecting the packaging. his eyes trail to the window, studying how the sunset paints penacony with autumn's palette, but beyond it, he is watching the dots of people. you watch the melancholic sunday.

"what's on your mind?" you ask.

"nothing significant."

"well, the whole point of my trucking service is to listen to passengers." you turn the wheel. honestly, you don't know where you're going, and neither does sunday. the moon guides you tonight, two lost souls. "say anything."

sunday fiddles with the bag of chips. "...maintaining the oak family status, work, the people," he finally speaks, "it balances on my shoulders."

you hum, signalling him to continue.

"wouldn't a utopia free from suffering solve everything?"

quite a hard-hitting question for a truck driver, sunday. you nod. "of course. the only problem is that it is not real - everyone is forced into the current reality. it is harsh and cruel..." you blink. "but we are not powerless to it."

"how do you suggest we solve it?"

it is quiet for a moment before your mind wanders to every passenger you've had. they all had one thing in common. "i guess, a lot of people want a shoulder to lean on, an ear to open for them, and a voice to validate their feelings. we can do that."

all those passengers seemed to shine brighter at the end of the ride, ready to chase a dream. you may not be saving the world - you are no hero, just a truck driver - but you help tend the invisible wounds of people: the blood that drips from sharp words, the bruises that sting from deprecation, the headaches.

isn't it fine to take it slow? navigate the dark, little-by-little, and by the end, there will be an even brighter light.

"... i see." sunday watches your hands manoeuvre the truck's mechanics. the flick in your eyes that turn to him, to which he shies away from. then, he rests his eyes. as the truck drives, a silence hangs, one of quiet understanding. bit-by-bit, you gaze into sunday's heart.

it's been some time since you got run over.

adjusting to penacony was difficult at first. you had to adapt to life at the family's mansion, and the daily customs. however, the burden was eased slightly, all partly thanks to a special helper.

every morning, a cup of coffee or freshly-squeezed juice presents itself in the kitchen. every afternoon, your favourite bookshop always happens to have the book you wanted, already reserved for you. every night, your bedroom door slowly opens, quietly. your blanket, moves up to cover your torso. the mess in your room, rearranged and picked up. the back of a hand, feathers over your cheek. and nothing more happens. your little helper is easily satisfied at the sight of a peaceful you.

"does robin know about this room?" you are flipping through an ancient truck magazine.

sunday is wiping the display cabinets. his wings are flapping again, turning to you. "you didn't mention it to her, did you?"

"no, but she's going on tour soon after," you play with the corner of a page. "why don't you send her your encouragement?”

"what do you suggest?" he asks.

you look at the ceiling. it's full of robin's pictures. "a heartfelt letter? personally, i would buy her a truck but i don't think she needs that."

a small laugh escapes sunday's lips. you did not expect that. "that would be nice." he moves over to a desk, and from a drawer he pulls out a page adorned with blue flowers, and a pen.

you walk over to his desk. "you're into stationary?"

"i don't see why not," sunday says, "my work requires mostly writing, after all."

he begins from the top: 'dear sister,'. from there, sunday is a bit clumsy and awkward, asks her how the weather is and if she had breakfast. "... i've never done this before," is what he said. but gradually, the pen picks up, and the words flow. now, there was too much left unspoken when sunday reaches the final line, and had to cross out the sentence he was writing. a total of four pages, both sides filled, with more words waiting to be said - those would be left for when the siblings reunite.

"maybe we can have the people of penacony sign it too." you smile, imagining robin's elation when she reads it.

sunday nods. he scratches his signature and hands the paper to you. "here."

you take the pen, hesitant. "what's this for?"

sunday raises an eyebrow. "you're a citizen of penacony, are you not?"

... oh. were you? your throat dries. when did you become a part of penacony? weren't you... just a truck driver?

sunday watches you contemplate. a silence drawls. suddenly, he wraps his hand around yours, holding the pen still. "why are you hesitating?" nib meets page. ribbon by ribbon, the ink dances. "you belong here, don't you?"

your chest grows warm. you weren't expecting that either. full of surprises, aren't we? the same person that chained your hands and observed you, coldly answered to you, is offering his warmth. his hand is resolute, unwilling to let go. it reassure your doubts. you smile.

the pen lifts:

'from, your loving brother and, your dear friend.'

surprisingly, sunday has gotten comfortable with your presence in his forbidden robin cove. as you have with his in your magnificent truck.

yet, as much as you've driven closer, the gap is bottomless. sunday doesn't appreciate you looking at him, yet, he's allowed to drill holes in you when you're not aware?

you've asked robin, but she answered cryptically with a smile. "he used to watch over me as well, overprotective as always, but i'm sure that's his way of expressing himself when words fail him."

you reccount the passing moments.

a person more of action, lesser of words. for his people, he worked endlessly without their validation. for robin, he hid in the shadows of his much brighter devotion and support. for you, he let you slowly seep into his life, and you absorbed him into yours. a truck driver and an overqualified partner-in-crime.

quiet devotion is a tender song. without the beating of his loud commands, penacony would be left unprotected. without the instrumental scratching of his pen, there would be no light on the streets. without the percussive clicking of his shoes, the citizens would not be able to dance and celebrate.

this was sunday's song; no one else heard it, but it hums beneath the surface, invisible. those who press their ears against it can sense its vibrations. a silence that speaks louder than words or lyrics. and now, you can't mistake it, your heart beats to the silent song.

it is the night of robin's last stage in penacony. you and sunday stand on a balcony, watching over her. the final song sways along the night-caressed breeze, setting free the wings of hopeful listeners and dreamchasers.

though for a certain someone, he was using more of his eyes than ears. when you meet his golden pair, they turn away as usual.

"what's with you?" you lean against the railing.

his hands hide behind his back. "nothing significant."

"hey, i thought we were past that already. i told you i'm a truck driver who listen to their passengers."

silence hangs. a few more spoken words, "and? have you told your story?"

"me?"

his eyes find yours, but they don't turn away anymore. behind his role as penacony's figure and as a brother, it is sunday who is talking to you. in his gaze, it doesn't judge, impartial, waiting to listen, asking if it is okay for you to lend him your key.

he's come a long way into this journey. now, he awaits at your doorstep. the words catch in your throat. "i'm... just a truck driver..." you close your eyes. "a truck driver who got lost here."

sunday shakes his head. "i’m not asking about one miniscule part of your life. behind that is you who experienced a reality that built the person in front of me," his voice is shaky. an unsteady hand opens and closes, hopes to reach out for yours, but is uncertain. "i'm... asking for permission to learn all of you."

"..." robin's song is about to come to an end.

you look at the mirror. a mirror that always reflected only you, now fits one more person in the frame. that is your answer.

the you who is listening, reading, watching, all your past versions converge into this quiet meeting. usually, the mirror rejected, criticised, and distorted. but today, it finally listens. the mirror holds your reflection to be true. before you got to penacony, before you stood in the middle of a road, before you became a truck driver, you were...

"speak to me. i'm here to listen as you have for others." and keep that key to his heart, for it remains open unconditionally, always a place for you in there.

two losts souls, under the moon, found a home in each other.

a person closes the novel they were reading. they pick up their phone and start typing:

“-4.2/5 rating, absolute horror. where was robin at the end? i was waiting for her! and what’s with all the mirrors and life lessons? preeeeetty criiiinge. i'm reading a fantasy novel, not a lecture. why is mc even a truck driver anyways? also, not enough hand holding, and definitely not enough kissing. zero points!” this random nobody criticises, slamming fingers on the screen. they pause. “i wonder when the next volume will be released…”

a/n: great use of my holiday tbh, get everything out b4 i'm busy again💖i hate drawing hoyo charas they're so detailed, applause to all the hoyo artists u guys r goated fr i thought itd be cute to turn this into a series. i have some deleted ideas since i only wanted this to be a short piece (i got carried away smh). but tbh this fic ended off nicely, i dont think it needs continuing. idk. i like pistachio ice cream thanks for reading!!😲

#hold me back b4 i do a sunday arranged marriage isekai #with a train conductor reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sunday x reader #angie's crayon drawings!

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emo-batboy · 1 year ago

Text

Battinson Guest Starring on TV Shows

For someone who holds the title of Richest Man in the World, Bruce doesn’t do a lot of traveling.

Which is to say he does a LOT of traveling, but he always tries to find a way out of it.

(Are there bat-related reasons for this? Are there people-related reasons for this? Are there anxiety-related reasons for this? Who knows?)

But partners and sponsors aren’t always going to tolerate his hermit-like tendencies. So once every month or so, Alfred wrangles Bruce into a private jet and sends him off to who knows where so he can represent the company.

Usually, it’s somewhere close on the East Coast, maybe it’s across the pond, even Asia isn’t off the table, but the rarest place to spot Bruce Wayne is actually the West Coast of the US.

One day, it is announced that Bruce Wayne will be spending two (count ‘em, 2) consecutive weeks in California with his kids for some grand business convention.

The West Coast media goes feral with the news, ESPECIALLY interviewers. And because Bruce kicks up such a fuss this time, Alfred has the gall to sign him up for FOUR TV appearances.

Here are these appearances :)

RuPaul’s Drag Race

Drag Queens, especially Drag Race all-stars, contribute to a wide variety of charities

So on a new episode, the queens are challenged to design and shoot a promotional ad for their own charity

And who better to act as a guest judge for this episode than the show’s largest benefactor, CEO of the Wayne Foundation, Bruce Wayne?!

Physically? He’s older than half of the contestants. But spiritually? He screams Baby Gay.

Fifteen minutes into the episode, Bruce is welcomed into the werkroom where he gives them pointers on their campaign. He’s in his cute little three-piece suit (Alfred’s idea) with the intention of looking put-together and knowledgeable. But that’s not the only outcome.

They all flirt with him. Everyone, single or taken. The confessionals are so thirsty.

“He’s lucky the cameras are on. Otherwise, I’d eat him up faster than a bachelorette party in a buffet line.”

“My celebrity crush is talking to me, and all I can focus on are his gorgeous eyes. How am I supposed to know what he's saying?”

Of course, they shoot their shot, but most of it is joking since they don't know he's bi yet.

“Are you single, honey?” Bruce blushes. “It’s complicated.” “Well, I’ll make it simple for you.”

We all know this man can't handle being flirted with. We saw how he froze when Selina did it. It’s like he mentally bluescreens when someone calls him a pet name.

Only THEN do they learn he's bi

One of the queens jokingly asks him, “Ever been with a man before?” thinking it would be a firm no, but Bruce says, “Actually, yes.” “Oh shit, really?” And to Bruce’s embarrassment, the whole room hears him.

The flirting is thus taken up a notch.

On the main stage, Bruce has a lot of great constructive criticism. He talks about how to find the right audience, the importance of a good slogan, and even goes on a little rant about logo design.

(You cannot convince me that Bruce hasn’t hyperfixated on the business of charity work before. Or the science of marketing. They’re his favorite business topics.)

After about three minutes of him complimenting one contestant for their Drag Library pitch, he stops himself mid-sentence and says, “Oh sorry, am I talking too much?” “No, please! Keep talking, sweetheart.” Bruce covers his face to hide his blush. “Why is everyone flirting with me?” “Baby, have you seen yourself?”

While the judges deliberate, RuPaul mentions Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent. Bruce nods along for a while then suddenly just blurts out, “Wait, does it spell ****?”

The judges pause then burst out laughing. “Oh no, we’ve traumatized him!" Bruce is blushing up a storm. “I just never thought about it like that!” “Sweet, innocent Bruce. We’re so sorry.”

It’s later revealed that Bruce offered to help some of the queens launch their charity projects through the Wayne Foundation.

It’s v cute 🥰

Nailed It!

I love Nicole Byer.

She is Mother.

In all seriousness, she’s so fucking funny and she’s personable enough to pull Bruce out of his shell a bit.

The theme for this episode is Found Family. Three pairs of family members compete together—a gay father and his adopted son, an aunt who adopted her niece, and a stepfather and stepdaughter.

Because Bruce Wayne famously adopted two children, he is invited to guest judge.

So Nicole opens the episode with a zinger, the contestants are introduced, and Bruce is welcomed onto the judge’s panel beside Nicole and Jacques.

(Yes, Bruce does speak French. Yes, Nicole makes a joke about it being hot.)

Nicole: “We were surprised you accepted our invitation, Mr. Wayne. You’re notorious for staying on the East Coast. What brought you to the Nailed It! Studio?” Bruce: “My children love this show. They always tell me I should be on it since I’m so bad at baking.” Nicole: “Really? Maybe we should do a celebrity season of Nailed It! and have you compete.” Bruce: “No, you should not.”

Nicole: “So, Bruce, I know you have a butler at home who bakes for you. But what’s the grossest thing you’ve eaten? Escargot? Bad caviar?” Bruce: “I drank olive oil straight from the bottle once.” Nicole: “…What?”

The problem for Bruce is he can’t say anything bad. It just feels mean :(

(And he would rather jump into oncoming traffic than gamble with a social interaction)

For the first challenge, the contestants make cake pops. But when Bruce tries the first one, there is a sickening crunch. Bruce’s eyes widen for a second and he slowly chews.

Nicole: “What was that? Bruce, are you okay?” Bruce, clearly struggling: “It’s…good.”

“Bruce, you can spit it out. It’s okay.” “I already swallowed it.” “Oh, you poor thing.” Bruce chokes for a second, and Nicole pats his back. “Please don’t die. We can’t afford it.”

For the big challenge, production has a surprise in store for Bruce.

Dick (9) and Jason (7) run onto the set and smother Bruce with a hug.

It’s adorable. Bruce no longer cares about paying attention, okay? His kids are here :D

The two boys read from cue cards to announce the second challenge: a three-tiered Gotcha Day cake. And as per tradition, the winner of the first challenge gets a leg-up.

This time, it’s a Helping Hands Button. When they hit the button, Dick and Jason will run over and help them for three minutes. (While being supervised, of course.)

As the contestants bake, Nicole says hello to Dick and Jason, who are clambering all over Bruce like a jungle gym. They both shake her hand and talk about how they love the show.

Nicole looks pointedly at the two empty chairs beside Bruce. “You know, we brought these chairs for you two to sit in.” Dick, on Bruce’s shoulders: “We’re fine, Ms. Byer!” Nicole: “Ms. Byer? Oh, you’re a cutie, aren’t you?”

Just ten minutes before the challenge is over, the Helping Hands button is pressed, and Dick and Jason are given stools so they can help the aunt and niece stack their cake tiers.

Two minutes in, the aunt instructs them to let go of the cake. But the moment Jason pulls his hands away, the cake topples over and covers him in frosting. Jason, whispering: “Oh f*ck.” Bruce: “Jason!” Jason: “I didn’t say that! Dick did!” Nicole: *cackling as Bruce buried his face in his hands*

Jason gets cleaned up, and Dick helps them stack what can still be salvaged.

When Wes brings out the trophy, he’s dressed as Batman. Dick and Jason gets a kick out of that.

Celebrity Family Feud

Bruce was invited to the show after his SNL skit went viral a few months ago

This episode, the teams are split up by cities they grew up in. Gotham v. Star City. Naturally, his team is playing for the Wayne Foundation.

It’s a pretty odd cast of people, most of them having moved to LA or Hollywood. Bruce is the only one to still live in Gotham.

They have fun, though, despite their limited common ground. The audience has a few good laughs.

(Some at Bruce's expense)

Harvey: You're a very wealthy man, Mr. Wayne. What do you really do in that tower all day? Bruce: I, uh…business? Harvey: …You business. Bruce: ……Wait-

All in good fun. Bruce just vibes in his little corner until he needs to answer a question. It's pretty chill.

For exactly half of the episode.

Then it happens.

Steve Harvey takes two people from each team up to the buzzer and says, “We asked 100 people: Name something your parents always told you as a kid.”

What the production failed to consider is how this particular question might be a sensitive topic for some contestants.

Bruce’s team gets the question, and Steve saunters up to Bruce, completely oblivious.

“Alright, Bruce Wayne!” Bruce nods awkwardly. “Hi, Steve.” “Bruce, what’s wrong? You’re looking a bit uncomfortable.” “…I don’t like this question, Steve.” “Why not?” Bruce just gives him a desperate look, and it clicks. “Oh! Oh my gosh!”

Let’s be real. Bruce is awkward enough, but Steve Harvey cannot save an awkward moment for his life either.

But he tries his best anyway and asks, “Are you okay with answering this question, or would you like to pass?” Bruce nods frantically. “I can answer. ‘I love you.’” “I love you too, Mr. Wayne.” “No, uh, my answer is ‘I love you.’” “Oh! That’s a good one.”

Thankfully, the audience erupts in laughter. That little interaction cuts the tension, and Bruce’s answer ends up on the board.

And by god, the memes

“I love you too, Mr. Wayne” is the new “Enjoy your meal.” “You too.”

The audio clip of “I don’t like this question, Steve” goes viral on TikTok

Someone gets a pic of Bruce and Steve looking at each other with palpable fear in their eyes, and it makes its rounds all over Twitter

10/10 never again

Running Wild with Bear Grylls

Now this is the most challenging. Not because it’s difficult, of course. But because Bruce has to look stupid enough to maintain his Brucie Wayne persona but smart enough to keep himself safe.

For this episode, Bear takes Bruce to the California desert.

“How much do you know about survival, Bruce?” Bear asks. Bruce nods carefully. “I did some survival training once with a friend from boarding school.” “Oh really, how did you do?” “Fine, I think.”

This is, of course, his way of saying I trained with a league of assassins for years, but Bear can’t know that! And that’s how most of the episode goes.

Thank god Bruce's fear of being caught is mistaken for being scared of the physical challenge because every time Bear points out how well he’s doing, he breaks into a sweat.

Bear: For a businessman, you’re surprisingly fit. Bruce, sweating bullets: Oh, this is all just for show.

Bear: Wow, you’re a natural. Are you sure you’ve never set up a zip-line before? Bruce, gripping his equipment so tight he gets rope burn: I think it’s just the survival instincts.

Of course, he pretends to be out of breath a few times. The Drama.

Bruce, pretending to slip and fall: Ouch! Who knew the outdoors were so dangerous? Bear, you are crazy. Bruce, internally: How much longer are we doing this?

Bruce being a vegetarian is actually a point of contention. You see, Bear always makes their celebrity guests do something crazy for food like skin a snake or eat a mouse. Scavenging for berries just doesn’t grab the audience’s attention.

But do you know what is vegetarian?

Bear: Now, in extreme cases of survival, it’s not rare for humans to resort to drinking their own pee. That’s what we’ll be doing in a moment. Are you up for it? Bruce, visibly repulsed: I’ve had Gotham tap water. I’ll be fine.

How on God’s Green Earth did Alfred convince him to do this?

To get to the extraction point, Bear takes Bruce down a cliffside.

Bear shows Bruce the meticulous process of properly belaying from the top of a cliff, and Bruce, who has done this over 100 times is like, “Wow that’s so dangerous :( Will we be okay?”

He really tries to ramp up his acting skills this time.

(Little does he know that’s not necessary.)

Bruce goes down first as Bear belays with a cameraman filming from the top. Halfway down, Bruce hears a scuffle, and the cameraman yells, “F*ck!”

Bruce looks up, arms already out for protection, and he sees a small disk falling towards him. It’s the lens cap. He catches it on instinct.

For a second, he thinks, “Shit, was that too skilled? That’s not enough to make people think I’m Batman, right? I just caught it in midair while dangling from a cliff. That’s totally not weird and suspicious. Normal people do that—“

Then Bear yells, “Bruce, drop it!” Bruce looks up at Bear, confused. “Why?” “There's a scorpion!” That’s when Bruce looks at the lens cap and sees a black scorpion perched on top with its tail ready to strike.

They don’t have those in Gotham.

Bruce jumps in his harness and flings the cap at the rocky cliffside. He hears a crunch, and the scorpion and cap tumble to the ground. Bruce frowns. Can a scorpion survive that drop?

“You just killed a scorpion, mate!” Bear cries. Bruce looks up in horror. “I killed it?!” “Hell yeah!” Bruce’s face falls. “No!”

Because oh. shit.

Bruce just killed something. The sad, orphaned vegetarian just killed a scorpion.

Bruce has a meltdown.

He didn’t mean to kill it!!!! Oh no, he just killed an innocent little creature. Yeah, he punches people for fun sometimes, and he definitely put a few violent criminals in the hospital, but he’s never committed MURDER!!

This poor little scorpion died due to his own negligence, and he feels so so so bad about it.

Bruce is a mess as he climbs the rest of the way down.

Bruce, cradling the scorpion’s body: I don’t know how to perform CPR on a scorpion! Bear: Bruce, you took its head clean off. Bruce: *sad noises*

Legit inconsolable. To him, it’s like he just murdered a puppy

Once they're out, Bear is trying to cheer him up. Bless him.

Bear: We’ve conquered the wild! Haven’t we, Bruce? Bruce, head between his legs, still mourning the scorpion: I’m never going outside again.

Yeah, no one’s going to think he’s Batman after that.

And that's all four of Bruce's TV appearances from the West Coast :) Dick and Jason never let him live any of it down. Alfred is almost sorry. (He is not sorry.)

Let me know your thoughts! What other TV shows do you think Battinson would appear on as a guest?

Okie dokie :D Love y'all! Have a good day <3

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moon1833 · 11 months ago

Text

Haikyuu! Boyfriend headcannons! Part 2

Seijoh, Nekoma, and Fukurōdani

IWAIZUMI

Unrequited/requited love/miscommunication (sorry)!

Had class together.

Thought you were one of Oikawa’s fan girls trying to get closer to him for his best friend at first since Oikawa was right next to him.

You genuinely just didn’t know what the homework was.

Had no idea he was even on the volleyball team until you heard him talking to his friend in class.

He always thought you were beautiful, but he didn’t bother attempting anything.

You started talking to him in class a little, but he was still unsure about your intentions.

You thought it was funny how he was always yelling at his friend.

The first time you laughed at Iwaizumi calling him “Shitty-kawa” he completely froze up from shock.

Knew he was in too deep at that point.

He told Oikawa about his feelings for you and he took at as an opportunity to get to know you, too.

You thought he was nice, but you were interested in Iwaizumi.

Asked Oikawa to help set you up

He took match making very seriously.

However, Iwaizumi saw you two talking and texting more and just assumed he was right all along.

Started a rift between him and Oikawa, Iwaizumi confronted him eventually.

Oikawa came clean about everything.

Iwaizumi told him he wanted to get to know you at your own pace but he appreciates the effort.

He starts talking to you more.

Knowing you liked him made him insanely nervous he could barely string a sentence together.

Oikawa didn’t tell you that he knew you liked him.

He invites you to a game.

You’re cheering for him as loud as you can since everyone else was cheering for Oikawa.

“He’s overrated.” You told him after the game. “I thought you were much more interesting to watch.”

He almost kissed you right there in the middle of the gym, ignoring Oikawa complaining about how ‘mean’ you were to him.

Asked you if you wanted to grab ice cream after the game.

You say yes obviously.

You spent at least 15 consecutive minutes telling him how awesome the game was.

He was bright red the whole time.

Slyly bought your ice cream before you could even think about getting your wallet.

“There’s a little ice cream on your face.”

“Oh,” you wipe your face, embarrassed. “did I get it?”

“Can I?” you nod.

He takes his thumb and wipes the bottom of your lips (there was no ice cream on your face).

You closed the distance, unable to handle how he was looking at you

Ice cream was suddenly his favorite dessert.

Favorite past time as a couple was making fun of Oikawa (who insisted on third wheeling both of you).

Light PDA as much as he can.

Hand on your thigh whenever you’re sitting next to each other, or around your shoulder.

He loves showing you off.

He’s very gentle with you.

Kisses your face all the time whenever you’re cuddling.

OIKAWA

Fake dating/drunk confessions (very slight grumpy x sunshine if you squint)!

You were team manager for Seijoh.

You had no problem with Oikawa, but it did annoy you that you had to deal with the swarm of fangirls almost every day.

You had an intimidating aura, so they backed off when you were around.

He wouldn’t admit it, but the girls approaching him daily bothered him too more than it flattered him.

He also felt bad constantly rejecting girl after girl because he wanted to focus on volleyball.

He proposed the idea of a fake relationship to you.

You were opposed to it at first, you didn’t want to get killed by a crazy fangirl.

He said he “wouldn’t let that happen.”

You told him if it was up to him to protect you, you were screwed.

He asked you to think it over.

You weighed your options, you were constantly hit on from other teams and decided it’d be a good idea.

He hugged you and lifted you up when you told him.

Decided the only people who would know it was fake was Iwaizumi.

Which meant even in practice you had to pretend.

Oikawa was a good actor, he was constantly wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

It was hard to stay unbothered by it and make it seem like it was normal.

Iwaizumi almost forgot it was fake.

Oikawa had just gotten used to kissing your cheek goodbye, he kept doing it even when no one was around.

He started realizing he was developing real feelings for you after you showed up to practice in his jacket with his name on it.

Even though it was planned, it was impossible for him to think about anything but you in his clothes for a few nights.

You realized you were falling for him when he fell asleep on your head while sitting next to you on the bus after a game.

He smelled good.

At a house party celebrating another win for Seijoh, you both showed up together.

You both drank a little too much, and the casual arm around your shoulder as you both spoke to the group on the couch had you leaning into him.

As more people sat down around you both you ended up on his lap.

He sneakily kept kissing your neck.

Got to a point where you were dragging him somewhere deeper into the house.

Momentarily thought you were about to chew him out or that he overstepped.

Last thing he was expecting was for you to use his collar to bring his face to your level and kiss him, backing him against a wall.

“I wish this was real.” He mumbled practically into your mouth.

“Look around.” You replied, running your hands through his hair. “Who am I faking this for?”

Neither of you forgot the next morning.

However, you were too scared to talk about it with him.

Regardless, Oikawa showed up at your door at 10 in the morning (as soon as he woke up) with breakfast and coffee.

You had just finished throwing up and wanted to again at the sight of him in your kitchen with his glasses.

He admitted he was starting to want a real relationship with you, but understood if you didn’t mean anything by your actions last night.

“If I didn’t feel like I was dying right now I’d kick you.”

Started dating for real after that.

He is always tickling you.

CONSTANT PDA.

If you thought it was bad before it’s even worse now.

His fangirls cannot stand you so he’s always with you.

Always a hickey on his neck.

He purposely wears shirts that reveal it.

BOKUTO

Opposites/tutor x student!

You had Trig together.

You sat in the back of the room and never really spoke.

Bokuto would ask questions so frequently the teacher would call on him even if he didn’t raise his hand.

Class would laugh at him but he genuinely didn’t understand the work.

Your teacher offered you (who was at the top of the class) to tutor him for extra credit.

You agreed.

The first time he came to the library for your first session he loudly declared how pretty you were.

You were caught off guard, flushing red as Bokuto apologized.

Found out that he just had a short attention span but he could focus if he really tried.

Constantly changing the subject to talk to you.

Started walking you to class (he was late to his own classes)

Begged you to come to his matches.

Out of curiosity you did (you wanted to see him play).

He shouted your name and waved at you the moment you walked in, telling his entire team you were here.

He was on 1000% the whole time, showing off as much as he could.

Ran up to you as soon as the game was done to ask you if you thought he played well.

Akaashi came to pull him back, apologizing.

You called him that night to tell him he played well.

Ended up on the phone with him until 4am.

Continued to tutor him, even though he eventually got kicked out of the library for being too loud.

Now studied at his house or yours.

He did not get any work done when he was in your room for the first time (he hadn’t seen you in comfy clothes before, either).

Purposefully left his hoodie at your house so you’d have to visit him at practice and give it back to him.

Partially wanted you to keep it.

When he passed his trig test for the first time, you hugged him from excitement.

He was so excited he picked you up and spun you around.

You volunteered for the summer training camp as a nurse (Bokuto asked you to with puppy eyes).

He would purposely get hurt so you’d have to help him.

Would get dramatically jealous if you were tending to another guy.

Kuroo flirted with you in an attempt to get Bokuto to admit that he liked you.

Bokuto just scooped you up and walked away.

When wrapping his fingers for the third time even though he didn’t need it, he asked you to “kiss it better”.

You rolled your eyes at him before kissing his cheek.

“If this will stop you from jamming your fingers intentionally, then sure.”

Ran back into the gym yelling to Kuroo that you kissed him.

You fell asleep on his shoulder on the way home.

It was the longest anyone on the team had seen him be quiet.

At your next study session, you’d rearward him for each question answered correctly with another kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly was an academic weapon.

Would giggle after each one.

Gently kissed him on the lips that day at the end of the worksheet you made for him.

Ended up on your bed.

He talks about you to everyone.

Asked you if he could be your boyfriend.

Loves to lay on top of you.

You’re the only person who could get him out of “emo mode”.

He loves picking you up.

AKAASHI

Childhood friends to lovers/young love!

You met Akaashi when you were in elementary school, you were seat buddies.

You were both on the quieter side, he was overall introverted while you were just nervous.

Bonded over a box of crayons.

You came out of your shell more as you got older.

Were inseparable.

Always holding his hand.

Everyone always teased you two.

We’re each other’s first kisses at the age of 10 because you wanted to know what it felt like.

Supported him more than anyone else through volleyball.

He knew he always liked you, but didn’t want to compromise the friendship.

Bokuto convinces him to confess.

You return his feelings to his surprise.

You were both young (in middle school) when you told each other you had feelings for each other, so you didn’t really seriously date for a few years.

Maybe argued once in your whole relationship.

He’s very understanding.

Knows you better than you do.

He proposes right after graduation.

Long engagement because you’ve “waited this long”.

We’re practically married before you were married.

Bokuto’s your practice kid.

KUROO

Fated lovers!

Met him by ‘accident’.

Your cat had run out your front door, you were looking for him.

You find him nuzzled into some guys arms at the park he usually ran off to.

You’re so happy you found him you almost forget to thank Kuroo, who found your cat.

He thought that was cute.

You’re walking away, still talking to your cat before you noticed his presence.

You bowed, thanking him repeatedly.

He wanted to ask for your number right then and there but you were already running off.

Went to the same school, but Nekoma was so big you never saw him before.

Ran into him one morning on the train.

He gave up his seat for you to sit, and you spent the rest of the trip talking to each other.

Gives you the nickname “Kitty”.

You hate it (you love it).

Introduces you to Kenma, who takes a liking to you.

Kuroo gets jealous of how much nicer he is to you than him.

Started walking to the train station together every morning.

You fall asleep on him almost every time.

He’s worried you’re not sleeping well now (you will not hear the end of it).

One morning, there was no room to sit so you were both forced to stand, using the pole for balance.

Someone knocks into you, sending you roughly into Kuroo.

He snaps at the person who shoved you to watch it before holding you by the waist protectively.

You couldn’t string a thought together for a few moments.

The SMOOTHEST in asking you out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t.” You tilt your head at him in confusion. “It’s Friday.”

“I know, I’ll pick you up at 3. Dress cute.”

Took you to a cat cafe because he just “had to”.

Holds your hands through crowds or has a hand on the small of your back.

Very gentlemanly.

You kiss his cheek when telling him goodnight.

Thinks about it all weekend.

The next time he sees you he kisses you as soon as he gets close enough to “even the score”.

Shows you off whenever he possibly can.

Always standing behind you with a hand on your waist.

Extremely ticklish.

Like all you have to do is poke his side and he’s squealing.

You use that to your advantage.

Absolutely showers you in gifts.

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #tsukishima x reader #x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #iwazumi hajime #iwazumi x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #jjk

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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

Text

Will would like to say, at risk of perjuring himself, that he did not intend to fall asleep.

Like, he wanted to.

And he did.

But it was not his original intent.

His original intent was to stabilize his patients (success), climb out the back window of the infirmary (success), stick the landing (failure is good for growth), meet Nico behind the Big House (success), and shadow travel to his cabin without throwing up (fifty percent is a pass). The secondary intent was to sprawl on his boyfriend’s lap, taking up as much space as possible in his massive, against-camp-regulations bed (how it is possible to be Dionysus’ nepo baby without actually being a child of Dionysus, Will shall never know), turn off his brain, and watch him play video games for a while.

The issue is that Nico is so comfortable.

Yeah, he’s bony. And yeah, sometimes he gets really into the game and forgets that Will is there, elbowing him in the face as he cusses at the screen in what sounds like ancient Latin. And yeah, the sound of a CoD lobby is the opposite of a sleep-conductive environment. However.

However.

While he may spend hours of his week standing on tables, lecturing on healthy eating habits and regular circadian rhythms via sonnet, and enforcing said habits via taser (rip Leo Valdez, you would’ve loved watching Will taser people for stress relief, come back alive soon), Will is what his friends and family call a ‘big fat hypocrite’.

He wouldn’t know healthy habits if they painted themselves bright neon blue (the easiest colour for him to see), stood ten feet tall, dressed in Malvolio’s outfit from Twelfth Night, and roundhouse kicked him in the teeth his mother spent thousands of dollars on (braces suck). He has not slept through the night even once his whole life. Yesterday, his two meals were 1) twizzlers and 2) audacity. He once measured how much liquid he had in his system on any given time and then drank approximately two point seven litres of RedBull to become, by volume, one half percent caffeine. (His heart did indeed stop. But it started back up again when Jason shocked him, so it was fine. Plus, he wrote it all down, so in reality it was science.)

Also, his dumbfuck peers keep getting themselves maimed, and he was informed unfortunately by Chiron that he cannot strike and leave them to suffer. (Accusing him of violating his First Amendment Right To Petition got him nothing but stable duty.) As of ten minutes before Nico picked him up, he was on his thirty-ninth consecutive hour of being awake. Probably. (He’s reasonably certain that climbing a tree on Friday morning and belting himself to the trunk, Katniss Everdeen style, for a quick catnap was not a fever dream, but one can never be too certain.)

Regardless. Point is, Will had cute boys to cuddle and Thoughts to Think. He had no intention of falling asleep.

And, yet.

He wakes up warm — the perfect kind of warm, wherein you feel akin to a soupified caterpillar in a chrysalis — or like a croissant lovingly shaped by the hands of an elderly chef in Paris and baked with care in a regulated oven — or like a wonderfully blubbery elephant seal baking on a slick rock — or like a space rock hurtling through the —

“Morning, Sunshine,” murmurs a very familiar voice. Following the very gentle murmur is a very gentle smooch on the forehead. Will, still mostly asleep, thinks he would sign off his soul without a second thought to ensure it happens again. “Or evening, rather.”

“Has anyone ever offered you their soul?” Will asks, fuzzy and disoriented. He tries and fails to blink the grogginess away, but the world around him stays dark, and the hand in his hair remains where it is, and he is so, so sleepy.

“Not yet,” Nico says. Will can hear the amused smile in his voice. “Why?”

Will yawns. “No reason. Timizzit?”

“Late, tesoro. Past curfew.”

Will groans, knocking his head gently back into Nico’s hold.

Of course his dumb ass slept through the evening. Of course he now has to drag himself awake and walk, in the blistering, nose-numbing frost (it’s sixty degrees, Solace) across camp, dodging feral harpy attacks (Apollo kids have harpy immunity, William), and trudging into his sad, small, lonely bed (gods above you are your father’s son) where he will of course be fully awake by the time he gets there. God really does give his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. (You’re an atheist, William Andrew.)

“Why me,” he laments, refusing to move from his boyfriend’s lap. Perhaps he will simply wither here, warm, satisfied, and more importantly away from little siblings who will not stop squabbling even when their long-suffering older brother looks longingly and pointedly at a bottle of cyanide.

Nico snorts. “Because the gods are punishing you for your crimes.”

“I have committed no crimes! This is unjust! Partisan! I am Hester Prynne and she is me —”

“Your mother is going to hell for teaching you literacy.”

“Defamation and libel!”

“Shut up, Will, gods —”

But he softens the blow of his words by leaning down, hands on either side of Will’s face, and kissing him like he’s trying to breathe him back to life. Or keep him quiet, honestly, but he smells like woodsmoke and citrus and old leather so Will doesn’t really mind. Even if he did, the chapped skin of Nico’s lips serves as a very good distraction, as does the brush of his thumb over Will’s cheekbone and the cool press of his ring against Will’s heated skin.

“Stay over,” he whispers, shifting his lips to Will’s chin, his jaw, his neck. He scratches his teeth lightly against Will’s adam’s apple and his hemoglobin briefly forget how important their job is. “You don’t have a shift tomorrow and everyone at camp owes you, like, twelve favours each.”

“That’s very convincing,” Will mumbles, unsure if he’s referring to Nico’s sound logic or the breath he blows on the shell of Will’s ear, which makes his arrector pili muscles go crazy. (He could make a more convincing case for the logic if all the blood had not abandoned his brain. Alas.)

“I’m a very convincing person.”

He slides a hand under Will’s shirt and his already very weak resolve pulls out a suitcase, packs its things, and abandons its family to pursue a career in competitive shoemaking. Or something. Nico’s hands are very very cold and it feels really really good for some reason and Will is just one man, okay. He may have been named after willpower but that does not mean he possesses any. And Nico is a convincing person. He out-stubborned Death.

“Okay,” he gasps out, arching into the nail Nico scratches over the intensely sensitive skin of his hip, “I’m staying, I’m staying, please take all your wiles and ship them out into the sea in a wine crate ala Danaë and her newborn.”

“…You are such a deeply strange person.”

“And yet you love me so.”

Nico presses his smile to Will’s forehead. “Indeed, I do.”

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lightseoul · 6 months ago

Note

ooooo could u do 30?? love ur writing sm!! ur an inspiration!!

yes, i can! and thank you so much <3 this one was a bit of a doozy to write, since i really tried to take the unexpected route. enjoy!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

30. "WE SHARE THE SAME NAME!" (1.4k)

he was in the middle of opening the mysterious package—cautious as ever, of course, lest it be a bomb threat sent to the #2 pro-hero dynamight—when he hears the barrage of knocks echo from the door.

he’s not used to visitors showing up unannounced to his home, what with privacy being one of his most deeply held values, especially now that he’s a top-ranking hero in his early 30s.

but it’s not the prospect of having to deal with an intruder that sends his heart racing and his stomach churning with equal parts dread and excitement.

he can easily deal with a non-savory—no doubt about it.

but the person who’s responsible for the all-too-familiar three consecutive, not too heavy but not too light-handed rapping on his door?

not so much.

despite himself, he crosses the distance between him and the entrance in just a matter of few strides, and he takes a deep breath as he steels himself for what’s about to greet him at the other side.

he doesn’t even bother to look through the peep hole, opting to grab the knob and turn it with conviction.

and sure enough, there you are in your—no, his—front porch, decked out in your casual clothes with no makeup on, looking like you just hurriedly dressed yourself to run to his place in a fit of urgency.

it’s that thought that causes his face to morph into worry, even though a million other things are racing in his head, like how long it’s been since you two were alone together, or how fucking pretty you look despite looking so bare and winded.

he gives you another once over, eyebrows further furrowing in confusion, because why the hell would you go out of your way to see him amidst everything? “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you start, “it’s just—well, of course it’s not nothing. i wouldn’t bother you if i absolutely had no business to—”

bakugou feels himself frown at your words, but you don’t stop.

“—but i think my package got sent… here…”

you trail off, gaze shifting from him to the cardboard box he was just trying to pry open with his bare hands a few minutes before you unceremoniously arrived at his doorstep, and the second you land on it, your eyes widen, and before he knows it, you’re toeing off your shoes and barging past him and into the living room.

you reach for the package that has been sitting on the kitchen island this entire time, clutching it to your chest and turning to face him, looking absolutely horrified. “you opened it?”

bakugou stammers for a beat, not knowing what to say, before finally settling with: “what else was i supposed to do? we share the same name!”

that must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because your face falls, and for a millisecond he thinks he shouldn’t have went there, but just as quickly you school your face into a neutral expression, before heaving a deep sigh.

“they got my address fucking wrong again.”

neither of you say anything for a while after that, the both of you just standing there in tense silence.

because in bakugou’s case, what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

that he thinks the universe is telling you two something? that the delivery men can’t even move the fuck on so why should he? that, after all this time, you two do still share the same name, and that it should stay that way—the bakugous—and not separated by a fucking ‘versus’ in the middle?

but he doesn’t say any of these, opting to stare at you instead as you fumbled with the package.

you’re being extra careful with it, he notes, your body angled slightly away from him, perhaps purposely obscuring his view of the parcel.

but then your hands slip and you yelp; down goes the box onto the pristine, hardwood floor, and out tumbles the contents so important that you raced all the way here to what used to be your shared home.

and when he sees it, everything suddenly makes sense.

because sprawled over the ground are what looks to be at least three matching sets of revealing underwear.

before he can even react, though, you swiftly crouch down and stuff the lingerie back into their container.

“they’re not mine—it’s my friend’s.” you then abruptly stand up, awkwardly smoothing back your hair, “she had it sent to my place to save on delivery.”

bakugou doesn’t know how he manages, but he hears himself reply in a surprisingly steady voice. “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“well, i want to,” you toss back without missing a beat, and he legitimately feels a seed of hope and relief being planted in the pit of his stomach.

because, sure, your reason for filing a divorce against him might be something he can never wrap his fucking head around, but he knows you’re coming from a place of immense love for him.

always, always coming from a place of love.

immense love that he knows hasn’t died out despite your insistent efforts to pull away and keep him at arm’s length.

still, he must’ve been looking pained, because your face softens the way it always did when you were about to soothe him. “i don’t want you to misunderstand, katsuki.”

he doesn’t get the chance to respond to you saying his first name again after what has felt like ages, though, because you reach for the undergarments again before dangling them in the air for him to look at.

“see?” you wiggle them for further emphasis, cringing at the fabric. “you’d catch me dead before you see me in these.”

and he agrees, that type of style was never your cup of tea, and he knows that better than anyone else.

but the way you just said that?

“don’t fucking joke about you being dead.”

“i was just kidding,” you retort defensively, the playful expression that was just etched on your features now long gone. you drop your hand to your side, and you heave such a heavy sigh it wracks your entire body.

you’re exhausted, but so is he.

who wouldn’t be, fighting for a marriage where your spouse is your motherfucking opponent?

bakugou clenches his eyes closed for a second, before opening them and fixing his gaze onto you. you must’ve felt his piercing stare, because your own, timid gaze drifts to him.

and he knows it’s stupid for him to ask, but he just can’t help it—not when you’re looking oh so vulnerable in the kitchen where you’ve cooked a thousand meals together, watching him with palpable longing.

“…are we still doing this?”

this being divorce by litigation—something he never would’ve imagined would be part of his future.

imminent death, life-threatening injuries, global destruction, maybe.

but not this.

and when you nod, he curses himself for even asking in the first place, because no matter how many times you’ve gone over this, the scalding pain that stabs his chest doesn’t get any less excruciating.

“i’m not gonna get any better, kats,” you add on, voice small. “i’m way beyond recovery.”

“and so naturally you have to divorce me?” he snaps, although he instantly regrets it.

you purse your lips into a thin line like you always did when you willed yourself not to cry. “i’m just trying to give you a second chance at love while you still have the time.”

bakugou’s about to spit something along the lines of why you’re talking like you’re already dead but he bites his tongue just in time.

he already knows what your answer is going to be.

so, instead, he shakes his head, muttering to himself. “…whatever the fuck happened to in sickness and in health?”

if you heard him, though, you don’t make it obvious. instead, you gingerly gather your things and start heading for the door.

his eyes only follow your movement as you put on your sneakers, and as you straighten up, he has to fight the lump in his throat at the sight of you leaving.

something that you’ve been doing a lot these days.

“‘m sorry again for the hassle,” you speak up, sheepishly gesturing to the parcel in tow.

he shakes his head. “‘s nothing.”

only it isn’t just nothing.

because at this point, every excuse for him to get to see you is everything.

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voxina · 1 month ago

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Harry Styles has denied reports he is in final talks to do a Vegas residency like Adele's ahead of his music return.

According to The New York Post, Harry, 31, was rumoured to in last minute negociations about fronting a string of gigs at The Sphere spanning up to 35 shows, two years after his last tour.

It would mark Harry’s biggest return to live music since Love On Tour, which ran from 2021 to 2023 in support of his albums Fine Line and Harry’s House.

However, a rep for Harry Styles has rubbished the claims.

It would have seen the pop star follow in the footsteps of Adele, who was a massive success at Caesars Palace with her Weekends With Adele residency - earning her a tidy $2 million per night.

Originally set for 24 shows, overwhelming demand saw the run extended multiple times, with the songstress wrapping in November 2024 after 100 performances.

Securing Harry would be a major win for The Sphere, following U2’s 40-show residency, which launched the $2.3 billion venue in 2023.

A source said: "For the Sphere to continue to be on everyone’s radar, they need to book some real ‘live’ artists like Styles.

“Almost everything at the Sphere has been geared for the 60-and-over crowd — The Eagles and The Dead, and even U2.”

The Sphere is owned by billionaire James Dolan, who also runs Madison Square Garden, the New York Knicks, and the Rangers.

Last year, James was close to securing a deal with Beyoncé, but those talks ultimately fell through.

However, James has a strong history with Harry.

The British singer played 15 consecutive sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden in 2022 - an achievement that led to a banner being raised in his honour.

There is also a key industry connection that makes this deal likely. Harry is managed by Jeffrey Azoff, whose father, Irving, has a longstanding relationship with James.

Irving represents U2, The Eagles, and Dead & Co., all of whom have had residencies at The Sphere.

While financial details for a potential deal remain unclear, The Sphere is known for offering lucrative contracts.

U2 received $10 million to produce their residency, while Live Nation guaranteed the band $4 million per show, regardless of ticket sales.

Over their seven-month run, they reportedly earned around $170 million.

When contacted by The Post, a Sphere representative said: "We do not comment on any artists performing at Sphere except for those who have been announced."

[X]

#harry styles #the sphere #harry rumors

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atwhughesversion · 3 months ago

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will the canucks ever end this spiral, or is the season over? a history lesson:

right now the vancouver canucks are…bad. they keep losing and they keep discovering new, worse ways to lose. it’s like they have a humiliation kink at this point. some people want the core blown up, some think quinn will refuse to re-sign in 2 years, some are convinced that tocchet is the root of our issues and he needs to be fired. team petey and team miller shirts would probably sell out faster than a rogers arena home game. they just lost consecutive games 6-1 and 5-1, in both of which they gave up 3 goals in the first period. neither of our two best forwards are even on pace to get a point per game this season, our goalie is one of the best in the world but has only played 8 games so far and is still trying to work his way back up to be the vezina-calibre performer he can be, we aren’t even in a wild card spot right now. quinn’s trying his best but even he’s only got 1.5 hands.

could things get any worse? well, yes, of course, it’s the canucks. but could they get better? also yes! let’s take a look at a spiral of canucks’ past.

on february 3, 2009, the canucks had lost 8 games in a row. they’d lost 9 home games in a row — they hadn’t won a game on home ice in over a month (dec 28, 2008, was the last). morale was low. fans were worried. would the team make the playoffs? they weren’t sitting in a playoff spot at that moment. in that stretch they lost games 6-4, 4-1, 5-3, 2-1, you name it. 3 of their last 4 had been OT losses (sound familiar?).

then, carolina came to vancouver. the canucks got a 2-goal lead — they gave up the 2-goal lead. with about a minute and a half left, in a tied game, the canucks took a penalty. they’d already given up multiple power play goals in this game, and it pretty much felt over. people pencilled in a 10th-straight home loss as despair settled back in over vancouver.

but what happened? alex burrows, perhaps best known for slaying the dragon in 2011, scored a shorthanded goal to win the game.

the two points that they collected pushed them back into a playoff spot. this was the start of a 4-game winning streak, and including this game they won 8 of their next 9. they finished the final stretch of the season 23-7-2 for an overall record of 45-27-10, and 100 points.

they swept the blues 4-0 in round 1 of the playoffs that year. they did lose to chicago in the next round, which tended to happen a lot back then. they also lost to chicago in the playoffs the next year (notable: they made the playoffs! both years!). but the year after that?

it’s the 2011 playoffs. round 1, game 7. the canucks had a 3-0 series lead that they’d given up. they’d been eliminated from the playoffs by chicago 2 seasons in a row — the team had the pieces, but they couldn’t get past the god damn blackhawks. the game went to overtime, and it almost ended with an incredible chance for chicago — luckily, luongo did Luongo Things. then, none other than our hero alex burrows got a breakaway, scored a goal, and he won the game. he slayed the dragon. and we all know what happened after that *drops mic* (the mic drop would feel better if the canucks had won the cup that year but let’s not get too crazy — it is the canucks, after all).

#canucks #hockey #vancouver canucks #nhl

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chiyoso · 2 years ago

Text

“THE MARA'S WILL”

someone as fragile as you shouldn't have to reign the bloodied fields of cloudford, along with raging war against two powerful factions—as well as an internal presence that invaded your mind that started all of this mayhem.

content warnings; oneshot · female reader · honkai impact 3rd inspired · takes place after xianzhou arc · canon universe · manupulation · mentions of depressive tendencies · declining mental health · war · death · traumatic events · mentions of blood · fighting · sensitive descriptions · dead dove: do not eat.

author notes; an open ending is an open ending. i appreciate all your of love for this oneshot, but i won't be making pt2. ty.

The Astral Express.

A widely known faction of celestial mysteriousness that traverses across the galaxy, they dedicate themselves to the ways of trailblaze and adventure, an enormous train conducted by a rumored fluffy creature that travels through vast worlds with its starry residers.

However, you didn't expect to meet the faction like this. The time that you yourself encountered the famous members of the Express— or rather, they bumped into you.

A memorable impression, leading their hearts and minds to waver in complete uneasiness, fear and curiousity.

It was one of those moments. Moments of tranquility, replaced almost immediately with unsightly chaos, and screeching horrors.

And they weren't coming from you.

2:49 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

NOW PLAYING ♪ TOT MUSICA

11 minutes until eruption.

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

“F- Fu-aahh.... Haah...” You groaned in pain. The sounds of alarms, crumbling and a voice of elegant dread echoed inside your mind, chanting unfamiliar, incomprehensible sounds that you were unable to understand nor fathom its sound waves.

Your flesh continued to crack as gold seeped out from the insides, bright lightning marks all around your form, accompanied with your heavy eyelids, struggling to keep your consciousness as you panted heavily. Your thoughts fogged viciously with memories of all kinds, your mind had felt like a mix between ice and fire. A flaming vortex along with an Icy storm that seethed inside, causing a severe throbbing that had you wailing in pain in heaps of volume consecutively as you grip your head.

“M- Mr. Yang!” A high pitched voice trembled, struggling on her feet while a grey haired female helped her up to stabilize her balance.

“Go. Call for reinforcements. I'll take it from here.” He says, gripping his cane while the other hand hoists his frames up to his nose bridge, returning his gaze towards the sight of you.

Reinforcements?

“H-hhgk—” You coughed up gold. Your face stained with your aureate tears, gasping for air as you clenched the area of your heart, which was beaming light, pulsating with the same color as the liquid that stained your whole being.

What was happening?

You screech, lower limbs suddenly at work, executing swift dodges that your untrained body couldn't handle physically, stretching and tearing your muscles.

Something was fighting for survival, and it wasn't you.

Your actions lowered the morale of determination from the Cloud Knights that had stationed on the sidelines, now replaced with a panic and fear from your ever so visibly increasing strength and agility, etching negative emotions into their wounded states that you have inflicted previously.

The man with the glasses, distance away from you clicked his tongue in frustration, he had summoned a multitude of black holes, raining hellish orbs of gravity towards you in such high speeds and velocity, but you... despite your poor state of self, you've managed to avoid them all.

But,

Even you weren't aware of your own skillful sequences.

ᛗᛁᛖ ᚾᛖᚷ ᛟᚾ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ

ᚾᚨᚺ ᛈᚺᚨᛋ ᛏᛖᛉᛉᛖ ᛚᚨᚺ

“P- Please... shut... get out of m—”

Feeble attempts of retribution, cease your resistance.

Play into submission, child of Lan.

You cocked your head to the skies, letting out gutteral sobs to the heavens, screaming and pleading your heart out while your own nails dug into your skin, your eyes weeped in gold, blurring your sense of sight.

Your thoughts were a sea of fragmented memories, bad ones, the negative ones that only fueled your transformation and the thread of your consciousness that you desperately were holding onto, was now being threatened harshly.

The man in glasses gripped his cane, firming his hold while witnessing your overwhelming presence and what was happening infront of him.

You were talking to yourself. You were visibly in pain, you were weeping, and the mara that was supposed to overcome you right now was... being barely resisted. Resisted. Resisted?

That's impossible.

You can't resist the Mara.

Beads of sweat formed trickled down along his jawline, his eyes diluded towards the sight that was all too familiar for him.

Someone- or something was talking to you, and he felt nothing but the sensation of dread swell inside him.

He didn't know what to do. Based on your own visible actions, it was clear—you didn't mean to do any harm, you were struggling more than anyone in this dire situation.

You brought your tainted hands that was darkening onto your face, trying to hold onto what's left of yourself, your consciousness.

“PLEASE! L- LEAVE M—” You choked out.

You were stumbling on your feet, drowning in pain as you sobbed your pleas of desperation.

His face scrunches, biting his bottom lip, frustrated over his hesitancy and lack of determination into going all out against you.

You reminded him of a state that reminded him of his past companions from another world, a state that only led to an upbringing of a powerful force, leading to the destruction of humanity and civilizations, a state that almost destroyed his homeworld.

But he had to remind himself repeatedly, you were just... Mara-strucked. A man-made work from the schemes of Sanctus Medicus, their work, befalling to an unfortunate character before him.

But... why the hell were you talking to yourself? Why were you pleading? Crying? How were you still able to talk? And most importantly, how were you still able to resist your supposed inevitable demise?

You peeked through your digits, your eyes pierce to the man with glasses, before lowering your hands to your sides in idle, continuing to pant heavily in place.

Your stance had your staggering legs slightly bent, your chin upwards—but your stained eyes remained on the figure infront of you.

His eyes diluded upon meeting your sorrowful gaze, his hand tightened around his cane further, seemingly ready to take on any action you will commence, but he wished you didn't engage, he wished for your attacks to cease. He didn't desire to harm you at all—You were in obvious pain, emotionally, physically and mentally, and only his veteran observations can see that.

“M- Miss—”

“Kill me.”

You said breathily with your burning throat, your voice had been accompanied with a second, mixing with your original tone with a now deeper, and sinister chord that showed the fruition of the transformation you were currently experiencing.

Your hands find their way to your throat as you coughed out more gold, along with the taste of iron that mixed with the aureate liquid that had turned into an morbid shade of color from your blood.

Your legs gave in, bringing you to your knees while you continued to choke on your own secretes, sobbing continuously from the sensations you were experiencing.

“BENEFACTOR! SHE HAS FALLEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

“END HER LIFE BEFOR—” “Gghk-... Nngh...”

“Reinforcements are on their way.”

“I- It hurts.... It HURTS!!!”

“Call for further units! At ONCE!”

“P- Please tell me I'll live...”

“BENEFACTOR ITS YOUR CHANCE!”

“M- Monster!” “M- MY ARMS!”

“KILL HER!” “HER STRENGTH IS ONLY-”

“KILL HER!” “KILL HER!”

“KILL HER!!!!”

“KILL HER!”

The man with glasses was overwhelmed with contradicting emotions, hindering his wavering will to use the opportunity of your vulnerability.

The cries and pleas of desperation from the several Cloud Knights that have fallen from your battle, ring through the bloodied field, along with your genuine—sorrowful filled sobs that only haunted and hesitated him much more.

His own thoughts were only mirroring the mess that you were in, having to be filled with deep memories of a life that was filled with death and torment, reminding him of his sins once again.

The child of the Hunt, hopelessly clings onto the wretched humanity, only to be shunned out and betrayed by your own race.

I feel their sea of desperation, their desires for your lesser existence to perish without a trace in the galaxy.

Give into the sensations of truth, let it embrace your poorly sculpted soul, for I will accept you without fail.

You were already on the floor arched, your hands had continued to hold your head, gripping your hair as you wallowed in your pool of tears, gold and blood that soaked your once beautiful skin.

“Sss-top... Stop... Please...”

You've already hurt your own kind.

“I- I... Hgk— Ahh-Haah...”

You've already inflicted enough despair and chaos to the point where these lowly humans cling onto their life in a feeble attempt of living.

“Th- That's not...”

Savor their pleas and screams of anguish as they call upon your death. You aren't wanted, you aren't needed.

“THAT'S NOT TRUE—”

The floor beneath your shaking body began to crack, the density and force around you had only drastically strengthen, creating a growing crater below you.

You are only inducing fear in your surroundings, and you are more than aware of what you're causing.

Hatred. Anguish. Despair. A need for violent measures. A selfish greed of clinging onto life from their grave wounds you placed upon them. This is all you.

All you.

Mindlessly in pain, your body unwillingly helps itself up despite your own injuries. You took a heavy step forward, only ceasing the noises that surrounded you as they witness your hauntingly beautiful yet bloodied form, but there was no attraction, they were now instilled with a new type of fear.

2:55 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

5 minutes until eruption.

You were a golden death. A victim.

A new dreadful existence that was unintentionally yet successfully created by Sanctus Medicus.

The golden liquid had already burned the rest of your outfit. Your body only continued to pour gold from the rifts on your skin, your heart—or your now crystalized core, pulsated with consecutive glows, as if your former heart, and the rest of your biology had changed, in which case, it did.

That's it... Embrace it... Your perfected, honed and better self.

Shut up.

The voice chuckles, continuing to fog and envelope your whole essence.

The unwavering, unbearable pain was now released, replaced with the sensations of your skin, healing slowly. The paleness in your face had become warm once again along with your body.

Your hair only grew longer, luscious and free, your eyes glimmered in high self esteem once more, while previous cracks all over your body had almost disappear as if nothing was there in the first place.

You will never admit it, but you felt more healthy, you felt beautiful, you felt confident, you felt...

New, refreshed and reborn, and you grasped control of yourself once again.

Your newfound vigor and vitality only brought unease and curiousity to the Cloud Knights who loathed your existence being a supposed child of Yaoshi the Abundance now.

The man with glasses couldn't help but be reminded of his weakness from your newfound growth, he had hesitated until now, witnessing your upbringing and his own actions had left a sour feeling on his drying throat, unease had surrounded the man, in fear of what will commence. He doesn't know how much longer he can fight, accompanied with the knowledge of his two fatigued Astral companions seeking out help of any kind, but another question lingered in his thoughts;

What were you?

You weren't a mindless Mara-strucked individual that they've previously continuously dealt with, nor you had the appearance of golden leaves that battered and grew out of you. You were just a woman, at what he assumes to be your very prime, the high peak of your health, appearance, physicality and mental state, and your curiousity and confusion about your own state confirmed his assumptions.

“I-...” Your senses interrupt you as your instincts come into fruition, tilting your head to the right, only to reveal a Cloud-Piercing spear infront of your vision that had thrusted forward from behind. The light, horizontal slit from your left cheek which the Cloud Knight slightly grazed, begun to heal almost quickly, as well as suddenly realizing your hand was already around the unfortunate Cloud Knight's neck, lifting them up in a chokehold as their air supply begins to be cut off.

With widened eyes, you immediately loosened your grasp upon becoming aware of your actions, retorting your hand while guilt pumped into you.

“It- It was... It was instinct I-” Your voice cracked, bringing both of your hands to cover your mouth as your once blurred vision finally had a good look to your surroundings, grasping the situation and your hellish surroundings at bay.

Remember the sight.

Your mind throbbed once again, yet your nerves find ways to soothe the pain, but... even then, it will never be able to heal your aching heart and the damage you inflicted against the soldiers of the Xianzhou Alliance.

Instincts went into play once more, feeling a sudden familiar, pulling force behind moving towards you in a faster, denser velocity, only for you to barely dodge a faster orb of gravity that you had previously, went up against.

“W- Wait! I-” You turn your face quickly towards the man whom attacked you just now, only to be met with a bright, icy blade that moved quickly towards you, but both of your hands had already instinctively raise to your face, piercing both of your palms instead, grasping in the side of the bloodied tip of the cold sword that pierced you.

“FUCK!!! NNGH—!” You whimpered in pain, feeling the sensations of burning that sourced within your palms, along with the skin and nerves that was already healing, your own rejuvenating flesh, pushing out the icy sword as a 'CLANG' follows suit.

“Hmph. You're lucky I didn't throw it with too much force, otherwise you wouldn't be able to survive that!” A voice of a young boy graced the battlefield, turning the red sea into a cold, thundering storm of snow and ice, putting the injured Cloud Knights at ease and discomfort from the coldness that surrounded the environent.

“L-Lieutenant Yanqing!” A Cloud Knight gasped at his arrival, alerting the rest with jarred cheers erupting, while your gaze dilutes back and forth to the man with glasses—and a child who happens to be a lieutenant that had arrived.

“P- Please- I-”

“Save it servant of the Abundance!”

A continuing, cold breeze of snow enveloped the young boy, his aqua colored swords flying towards you once more.

Now equipped with newfound, engraved instincts that you have begun to get use to, your body- that had not tasted the ways of war and battle, danced its way around elegantly and flexibly from the skillful wrath of ice that relentlessly continued to attack you.

Despite your consciousness and having a sense of control once again, you felt another sensation, one that felt like another presence, another soul, tangled with yours, tugging at your essence, and it was most definitely the reason as to why you were moving in such a way, that continued to inflict fear and uneasiness to the Cloud Knights, and the man with the glasses whom continued to witness your dance of agility and grace against the right hand of the Arbiter General.

...

Why me...?

Imperfect.

There are many others.

...

The embodiment of failure and success.

Wh- What does that even mea—

A host of purity and defections all in one. All suited for me.

A canvas of the purest, warmest of soul, painted with absolute grief, sadness, regret, pain — yet harboring no anger, rage, hatred. A non-existent need for revenge.

Something a certain diciple of mine lacked, thus her inevitable defeat from the subjects of Akivili.

And you are mine to break and reconstruct. I can finally fathom why the Hunt had their arrows set on you.

The words gnawed your logical, racing thoughts, leaving you in a moment of disarray, visibly seen from your relentless opponent.

The Hunt... The... Reignbow Arbiter? But—

“Hhgk—!”

Tch. So flawed.

You felt another burning sensation to the left side of your waist, looking towards a deep cut that split your flesh into two from the icy blades that hailed like the rain against you, yet once again, it had begun to heal slowly, as sounds of your flesh and cells crickled, halting the young boy in his trained steps for a moment.

“What... What are y—” The young boy gets cut off.

Your gaze suddenly returns to the boy, with your left iris flickering into a golden color, replacing your original shade.

“Your demise.” The voice took over your vocals for a moment.

“N- No! you will NOT HARM ANYONE FURTHER!” You grit your teeth, holding your curled fists into each other, retraining yourself and letting the voice solely focus on avoiding further attacks.

How unpleasant.

Why do you continue to resist, child of Lan?

The sight of you... talking to yourself? No... Your voice had continued to change back and forth, only confusing him further.

Something was amiss, but the young boy and his youth couldn't fanthom the uniqueness of the situation before him, he had only one thing in his determined mind, the solution of exterminating a being that threatened the peace for the Xianzhou Luofu; You.

The boy took his stance, his flying swords once again stationed behind him, but a sudden deep voice emerges from behind him, only startling the whole battlefield in his appearance.

“Yanqing. Well done in keeping the adversary at bay.”

A commanding presence immediately intensified the trickling air of tension, only leaving sounds of sharp breaths and your continuous argument with yourself.

Hush.

Huh?

You fall into silence to its bidding, only to look around to the young boy, who was now accompanied with the famous Arbiter General, holding a glaive that had a threatening presence, along with the General himself.

“I apologies for my tardiness Mr. Yang. I had matters to tend to.” The strong presence spoke, his eyes hovering upon your naked, yet coated state, assessing the situation with an unknown gleam in his eyes.

“Where of Stelle and March?” The man with glasses walked beside him, mirroring his gaze upon the beautiful woman before their sights.

“I sent message to the High Elder Vidyadhra medic to tend to their wounds, not to worry, they will be back.” He said faced to him with a knowing smile, only causing goosebumps to your skin, he was taking in this stage you set lightly, only irritating the voice in your head slightly.

“Now... What of the contexts of this fascinating situation?” The Arbiter General's penetrating gaze returns to you, eyeing your undeniable attracting form. You were oblivious, but the voice wasn't.

Leave the premises, now.

Wha? W- Who are you to tell me what t—

The throbbing had begun once again. Their conversations sealed upon noticing your actions as your hands gripped tightly around your head, whimpering in place.

“S- Stop...”

No. If you perish, I-

...

Leave, woman.

“Is she...?” The Arbiter General looks towards the man with the glasses, his eyebrow raised slightly in speculation.

“She's... She had been at this state for more than a few minutes since earlier...” He frowned, gripping his cane, being reminded of fragments from his life that whispered evily to him.

“Who cares? Let's extinguish her presence already General!” Impatient, the young boy firmed his grasp around the hilt of his sword of ice, pointing the tip of the sharpness towards you, his sky filled eyes sending daggers to your direction with determination.

“Patience little lieutenant. One does not rush in unknown, trifling matters.” The General warns with a faint smile that doesn't reach to his eyes, and without a choice from the tone of command, the young boy's will wavers with a sigh, lowering his blade in defeat.

“P- Please, end me...”

Your words grasped the attention of the trio, while your tears began to flow, taking note of your willingness to submit in defeat.

“See?! Even—” The young boy gets cut off once more, earning a serious glare from the General that hushed him almost immediately.

“Please I-... I'm sorry for causing harm...” You continued to sob quietly, gritting your teeth while your head continued to throb mercilessly with ruthless, familiar pain.

I said leave now, and I'll cease the pain.

The Arbiter General takes a step forward, his left hand holding the body of his glaive, no words left needed to describe that despite his aloof hold around his weapon, he was more than ready for any attempt of violent assault.

NOW.

Mirroring the gesture of his, you took a step back abiding the voice's word, your glistening, heterochromic eyes lock with the readied General, only fascinating him further from your saddened, alluring gaze. Noticing your hesitancy for closeness.

“...My lady, if you escape this very moment, I will make sure that every inch of the Xianzhou Luofu will be well guarded, awaiting your presence in every corner you find yourself in to hide away from our— from my grasp.”

A silence from him ensued for a few long moments, following a faint warning smile from earlier, his gaze unwavering towards you while you weeped, assuming you aren't able to grasp his own chords.

“I- I do not... wish to harm anyo—”

“You're right my lady, I won't allow it.” He came closer, moving towards you with delicacy in his footsteps.

“ ... ”

...

...Stubborn child.

“Don't go, my lady.”

“It- It hurts... My head... General I-”

“Our High Elder Vidyadhra apothecary will assist you.” The General says firmly with undertones of softness, taking another step forward, but you remained still, weeping in silence from the continuous throbbing and regeneration of the nerves that seethed you repeatedly.

He manipulates.

S- Stop the—hhnghk... Please...

His experienced words, eons worth of vocabulary, coming into fruition, laying the power of syllables onto you. Do not—

I DON'T- I CANNOT CARE FROM THE UNBEARABLE PAIN YOU CONTINUE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN!

A befitting punishment for your unwilling soul.

“I- I didn't mean to... General I- Hnnhk—...” Your form staggers, suffering from the internal turmoil that resumed, collapsing in place—but before you hit the floor, the sensation of warmth arrived behind your lower back and waist.

You found your crystalized golden core, your bare, coated chest pressed up against a man with command, towering and holding your suddenly weakened state that matched a situation one again in prior events.

“Jing Yuan.” He said, lowering his own golden to you, his expression, hidden with enthrall from your weakened state.

You hear the voice click its tongue.

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so—”

“Hush my lady,” He said in his low, husk voice, holding your weakened body, his hand firming against the soft, coated and warming flesh of your waist, stirring a once familiar sensation that rooted in his stomach.

“General Jing Yuan—” The young boy averted his gaze with a slight flush in his cheeks. Jing Yuan had not heard him, lest deciding to tend to the injured Cloud Knights instead, grumbling under his breath.

The man with glasses came closer to the two of you, his gaze feigning ignorance on the display.

“Miss... What—” He gets cut off, both men alarmed from your sudden intense grip around his biceps, your golden, crystalized core beaming, pulsating rapidly along with your quickened breath.

A golden ray of light erupted from you surrounding you vertically in a circle, sending the light up towards the sky endlessly, alerting everyone who bore witness to the intense display.

So be it.

A powerful, echoing screech escaped your mouth, tilting your head up to the direction of the clouds that welcomed your gaze as rubbles of cement from the previous struggles of the battle began to levitate the surroundings.

”ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ”

I claim your soul, little child of the Hunt.

You will be my host, my pure, imperfection of despair.

Only I shall intertwine with you, body, mind and soul eternally.

And this mortal, blessed with the lightning guardian spirit, shall be your first prey.

3:00 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

The eruption commences.

how ironic, this fic being my first successful hsr fic ended up being the reason why i got my ppl pleasing tendencies back pfft. anyways, reblogs help my audience reach, thank you!

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