#when morn breaks the sun shines fiercely

[cherryblessing]

📎— TO LOVE.

SATORU & SUGURU × GN!reader

—GOJO SATORU

``to be loved by you feels like stepping out after the rain, the air hushed, the sky a tender gray. your eyes, like trembling leaves, catch the droplets of a passing storm, each one a mirror— tiny worlds where i see myself reflected, always cradled in your everything.``

To be loved by Gojo Satoru feels like curling up on the couch after a long day, your head resting against his chest as the soft glow of the TV flickers across the room. The movie playing is something ridiculous—so bad it’s good—but neither of you is paying much attention.

Satoru’s laugh fills the space, bright and carefree, as he makes snarky comments about the plot, his voice dipping into exaggerated tones to mimic the absurd dialogue.

You can feel the vibration of his laughter against your cheek, a quiet reminder of just how alive he is. His arm is draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your skin, and for once, there’s no urgency, no chaos, just the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body against yours.

Every so often, Satoru turns his head to look at you—not with the sharp, calculating gaze the world knows him for, but something softer, almost boyish. There’s something grounding in the way he watches you, as if you’re the only thing that matters in this moment, the only thing he wants to see.

When he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head, it’s as casual as it is tender. “You’re not even watching,” Satoru teases, his voice low and warm.

“I am,” you lie, but it doesn’t matter, because neither is he.

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until you can hear the steady beat of his heart. It’s a sound that feels safe, refreshing, like stepping outside after a storm and breathing in the crisp, clean air. The rest of the world falls away, leaving just the two of you in this tiny bubble of peace and silliness.

And somehow, in that simplicity, there’s everything. The way Satoru holds you, so effortlessly, makes you feel cradled in something bigger than yourself—like even in his most unguarded moments, he’s giving you a piece of infinity. His love isn’t loud or overwhelming right now; it’s in the quiet gestures, the way he doesn’t move even though his arm is probably falling asleep, the way his thumb brushes against your shoulder without him even realizing it.

To be loved by Gojo Satoru is to find that even in the most ordinary moments, he has a way of making you feel extraordinary. It’s the safety of his warmth, the way he makes you laugh, the way he looks at you like you’re the best part of his life. It’s messy, imperfect, and utterly human. And as he starts pointing out yet another ridiculous plot hole in the movie, you can’t help but smile, because being here with him feels like home.

—GETO SUGURU

``to be loved by you feels like moonlight spilling through fractured walls, its silver touch stitching shadows with light. in the stillness of midnight, your voice carries like the first bird's song, gentle but insistent— a herald of dawn, softening the horizon. the sun breaks, and i see you there, shining just as fierce, just as constant.``

To be loved by you feels like sitting under the shade of a tree after a day that’s drained all the strength from Geto Suguru’s body. The morning’s training still lingers in his every muscle, a dull ache that he would normally ignore, but today he doesn’t have to. Not with you here. The warmth of your presence takes the edge off, softening the harshness of the day in a way nothing else can.

Suguru watches as you pull out the lunch you’ve prepared for him, your hands moving with the quiet confidence he’s come to admire. The dappled sunlight filters through the leaves above, flickering across your face, and for a moment, he forgets the ache in his shoulders or the heaviness in his chest. You hand him a neatly packed box, and he takes it, your fingers brushing for the briefest moment.

The first bite is simple but satisfying, a kind of care he hasn’t allowed himself to believe he deserves.

“This is good,” Suguru murmurs, his voice quieter than he intended. There’s a fleeting vulnerability in the way he says it, his words tinged with the unspoken realization that someone took the time to do this for him.

“Really good.”

You laugh softly, and it makes him pause. The sound is gentle, cutting through the quiet like a thread of moonlight slipping through fractured walls. It doesn’t demand attention—it simply exists, constant and steady, much like you. It’s in moments like these that Suguru wonders if you realize the weight you lift from him just by being here.

“You always forget to eat properly after training,” you tease lightly, and the corner of Suguru’s mouth lifts in a rare, unguarded smile. “So I figured I’d help you out.”

“Help me out, huh?” Suguru repeats, his tone laced with faint amusement, but his gaze is soft as it rests on you. There’s a kind of peace in your presence that Suguru hasn’t found anywhere else—a quiet understanding that feels like stepping into the stillness of midnight and hearing the first bird’s song, a herald of something brighter.

As he leans back against the tree, Suguru finds himself watching you more than eating. The way your eyes light up as you talk about something small, the way the sunlight catches in your hair, the way you look at him—not with pity, but with something fierce and unshakable. You remind him of the sun breaking over the horizon, shining just as constant, just as fierce, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But he knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Thank you,” Suguru says, his voice quiet but certain. The words feel heavier than they should, carrying more than just gratitude for the meal. Maybe he’s thanking you for more—for the way you soften the edges of his life, for the way you make him feel like he’s allowed to have moments like this.

To be loved by you, Suguru realizes, is to be held in a light that doesn’t waver, even when everything else feels broken. It’s constant, unrelenting, and impossibly kind. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Suguru allows himself to lean into it.

all writing, including poems are my own.

©cherryblessing.2024

[evelhak]

🕊️🦜

️These are from my ongoing fic The Luminous Things, which is a part of a big series and about half? two thirds? of it is posted already, but I'm not actively writing anything completely new, so I'll choose from the unpublished parts of it.

🦜 a pretty quote

This was hard to choose because I saw the words poetic and symbolism in the game instructions, and I am NUTS for extended metaphor, but that's why it's also hard to find something that makes sense with limited context. I tried.

This is Momoi's POV, the context is a party where basically everyone has epiphanies:

I feel like I’m coming undone at the seams. But it doesn’t hurt. I just want out, out, out. Out of where? I don’t even know. I just don’t want to be put in spaces anymore. I don’t want to put myself in spaces. I want to be the space.                       I want to say that this room, this space, is mine as much as anyone else’s. That these are my people. I am not just theirs. They are mine.                       I never needed to find my niche, and I especially didn’t need to find something more than that. I needed to be it. I don’t want to be necessary, or useful, or interesting, or desirable, or worth something.                       I just want to be.                       I’ve always been overflowing.                       I’m a force of nature and I won’t be cultivated anymore.                       I am not intelligent and beautiful.                       I am not girly but fierce.                       I am not because, if, when, despite of.                       I am not conditional.                       I am.                       When I move through the impossible, strange, transcendental dance in the room that seems at once bright and dim, loud and tranquil, when I grab a hand that is extended to me, when another one meets mine, I am not glue. I am not a bridge. My hands are hands and the thing to be connected, between them, is me.                       I am my centre of gravity, and I’m growing and pulsating and mobile in the world that seemed so sure and simple and still to me before. And now my chest feels like a monster that lives at the centre of the earth is about to break out.                       It just needs something. One more thing. Something to roar at.                       Someone.

🕊️ a sweet quote

I told you I could not be concise, I'm so sorry, but here's a sweet MidoTaka moment from the same party. They are dating and pretty far along in their relationship here. Midorima's POV.

                      I swallow, and force out what has been on my mind for a while now, finally forming into a thought:                       – If I got into my first and second university choice, and you got into my second choice, I would go there with you.                       He blinks in surprise, and then his face turns soft.                       – You really don’t need to do that. You should do what you want.                       – That’s what I want, in fact.                       – Are you sure you’re not just overcompensating for how you think you’re gonna “steamroll” over me? Bold of you to think you could, by the way.                       – No. It’s because you’re right. The differences are not that significant, I say, making his eyes widen a little in surprise. – The differences between my first and second choice are things like… some lecturer I heard of who interests me, who may or may not be there next year. Whether it’s the morning or the afternoon sun that shines to the labs. Where the libraries are located. What length the grass is kept.                       He snorts.                       – What length the grass is…                       – I’m serious. I put that on my pro con list. I have a preference for these things. You know that. But that doesn’t mean that because I have a preference for something so incredibly trivial in the grant scheme of things, and you don’t, that I should always get what I want. And it’s because of you that I know this.                       I take a breath, and he looks at me openly, as I go on.                       – I can let go of some things. Not everything is as significant. And if my preferences are based on something this trivial, then I’m going to choose you.                       He snorts again.                       – Thanks for choosing me over a few centimetres difference in grass length.                       – That is what I’m saying! You’re even making me sound like a jerk just joking about it! I’m saying that if we decide that we’re going to try to stay together, then both of us should make compromises. – But I wasn’t making any compromises, Kazunari says, crossing his arms. – Are you hearing me, I had no preference. That’s why I didn’t talk that much about it! Because there wasn’t anything to talk about.                       – Well, then, if it comes to it, let me make the compromise, I say.                       He looks at me for a moment in consideration, then smirks.                       – Sure. You can have this one, as long as it’s within reason.

Even now I feel like I had to cut it too short. I'm hopeless.

Thank you for the ask, it was fun. 🩵✨

[marsi-is-depressed]

Finding a family series. Chapter 11: Still jealous?

It's a peaceful morning when Rowena the reader, the stag, the dire wolf, the Kraken and Caraxes are all sitting in the place where the Kraken is, everything is peaceful until aemond stumbles upon everyone.

A hooded man stuck a dagger in the reader. She is in and out of consciousness, lying on Caraxes' back while her father Daemon brings her home. The reader properly wakes up to Rowena nuzzling and kissing her mother. The reader's face, the toddle points to the door and babbles, 'Ag, Ag.' The reader asks who she's talking about.

The castle was silent under the blanket of night, the flickering torches in the halls casting shadows that danced along the cold stone walls. In her chamber, the reader lay in a deep slumber, the day’s emotional weight finally giving way to exhaustion. The direwolf was curled near the bed, its heavy breaths a rhythmic reminder of its constant presence.

She stirred slightly, half-awake, when she felt something soft patting her cheek. Groggily, she muttered, “Go away, not now.” She assumed it was the wolf, nudging her as it sometimes did for attention.

But the patting persisted. With a sigh, she opened her eyes, ready to shoo away her companion—only to freeze at the sight before her.

Standing next to her bed, gripping the sheets with tiny fists for balance, was Rowena. The baby—no, the toddler now—was wide awake, her big eyes shining with triumph as she looked up at her mother.

“Mama,” Rowena said softly, her small voice breaking the stillness of the night.

The reader bolted upright, her heart racing. “Rowena?” she whispered, stunned. “How did you get here?”

She glanced toward the cot, realizing it was empty. Understanding dawned on her—Rowena hadn’t walked her first steps like most babies. She had climbed her way out of her cot and made her way across the room, her determination as fierce as her spirit.

A proud, incredulous smile spread across the reader’s face. “You climbed out?” she murmured, leaning forward to lift the toddler into her arms. Rowena let out a happy squeal, clearly pleased with her achievement, and clung tightly to her mother’s neck.

“You didn’t just walk your first steps,” the reader said, her voice thick with emotion. “You climbed your first steps. You brave little thing.”

Clearly proud of herself, Rowena gave a toothy grin and snuggled against her mother’s chest. The reader cradled her close, her heart swelling with love and awe at the little person Rowena was becoming. It felt like a moment of magic, the kind that would etch itself into her memory forever.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered into Rowena’s hair, her voice soft. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and gently swayed back and forth, soothing her. Rowena’s small fingers found their way into the reader’s hair, clutching it tightly as she began to drift off.

The reader adjusted her position, lying back against the pillows with Rowena curled up on top of her. She watched her daughter’s eyelids grow heavier until they finally closed, her breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of sleep.

The room fell silent again, except for the occasional huff from the direwolf at the foot of the bed. The reader felt a warmth in her chest, a deep contentment she hadn’t known she needed. She wrapped her arms securely around Rowena, her hand resting gently on the child’s back.

As her own eyelids grew heavy, she whispered, “You’re going to be unstoppable, little one. Just like your family. Just like me.�� The two of them drifted into peaceful sleep, their bond stronger than ever, as the quiet castle stood guard around them. The direwolf lifted its head momentarily, then settled back down, its watchful gaze ensuring their safety through the night. The reader dreamed of a bright future, with Rowena’s first “steps” symbolizing the strength they both carried forward together.

The warm morning sun bathed the castle grounds in golden light as the reader stood outside in the training yard. She practiced her swordsmanship with focused determination, her strikes swift and precise. Sweat dripped down her brow, but she was relentless, the blade in her hand an extension of her will. The direwolf sat nearby, watching her movements intently, its head tilting slightly with each swing of the sword.

Inside the castle, Rowena stirred from her nap. Her little eyes fluttered open, and she let out a small yawn, but her contentment quickly faded. The room was quiet, and the familiar presence of her mother was absent. Panic set in, and Rowena began to wail, her cries echoing through the chamber.

“Mama! Mama!” she shouted between sobs, her tiny fists clutching at the blanket in frustration.

Daemon, who had been passing by, immediately entered the room. His usually composed face twisted with concern as he scooped the crying toddler into his arms. “Shh, little one,” he murmured, rocking her gently. “Mama will be back soon. Don’t cry.”

But Rowena was inconsolable. She squirmed and wriggled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she continued to call for her mother. “Mama! Mama!”

Daemon sighed, his attempts to calm her proving fruitless. He could feel her little body tense with frustration, and her cries only grew louder. He paced the room, trying to think of what to do when

Rowena began to squirm even harder, reaching toward the floor.

“You want down?” Daemon asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Alright then.”

Carefully, he placed her on the ground, watching as she steadied herself on her chubby legs. The moment her feet touched the floor, she turned toward the door and began toddling determinedly, her cries still echoing in the halls.

Meanwhile, outside, the reader paused mid-swing when she heard the faint sound of Rowena’s cries. Her heart clenched as the sound grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable shout of “Mama!” She quickly turned toward the castle, the direwolf immediately standing at her side as if sensing the urgency.

From the castle door, Rowena appeared, her tiny legs carrying her forward as fast as they could. The toddler’s face was red and tear-streaked, but her determination was unwavering as she headed straight for her mother.

The reader gasped, dropping her sword in the grass. “Rowena?” she called, rushing toward her daughter. She knelt down just as Rowena reached her, scooping the child into her arms and holding her close. “Oh, my brave little girl,” the reader whispered, wiping away Rowena’s tears. “What’s wrong? Were you looking for me?”

Rowena nodded, clutching her mother’s tunic tightly. “Mama,” she said again, her voice trembling but filled with relief.

Daemon, who had followed closely behind, stopped in his tracks, stunned by what he was seeing. “She... she walks,” he said, his voice filled with astonishment.

The reader glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She’s been walking a little, for a little while now,” she admitted softly. “But that’s not the most surprising thing.”

“What do you mean?” Daemon asked, still staring at Rowena with wide eyes.

The reader chuckled, adjusting the toddler in her arms. “She didn’t walk her first steps, Father. She climbed them.” She kissed the top of Rowena’s head, her pride evident. “She climbed out of her cot to find me. She’s always been brave, just like her family.”

Daemon crossed his arms, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Climbed her first steps, did she?” He looked at Rowena, who was now snuggling into her mother’s shoulder, her little hand playing with the reader’s hair. “That’s a true Targaryen for you. Bold and unyielding.”

Rowena let out a small, content sigh, her earlier distress forgotten in the comfort of her mother’s arms. The reader stood, cradling her daughter, and walked back toward the castle, Daemon following closely.

“You’ve got quite the spirit, little one,” Daemon said, his tone fond. “And your mother’s resolve, it seems.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a serene morning, the kind where the air was cool and carried the scent of salt from the sea. The reader sat cross-legged on the grassy cliffside overlooking the waters where the kraken often surfaced. Beside her, Rowena toddled around, occasionally falling into the soft grass with giggles. The stag stood nearby, chewing on patches of grass, while the direwolf lay lazily at the reader's side.

Caraxes, ever protective, loomed nearby, his massive form casting a long shadow. The kraken occasionally broke the surface, its bright orange tentacles rippling through the water as if to say hello.

The scene was peaceful, a picture of a peculiar but loving family. Rowena’s laughter blended with the gentle crash of the waves, and the reader leaned back, basking in the tranquility of the moment.

That peace was interrupted by the sound of boots crunching against the gravel path. The reader turned to see Aemond approaching, his expression a mix of curiosity and his usual disdain. He stopped a few feet away, taking in the strange assembly before him.

“Well, well,” Aemond drawled, crossing his arms. “What a delightful little zoo you’ve gathered here. Do they charge you for admission, cousin?”

The reader frowned, about to retort, but before she could, Rowena stood up on her tiny legs, wobbling slightly before walking directly toward Aemond. The toddler’s determination was evident in her small steps as she closed the distance between them.

Aemond blinked in surprise. “What are you—?”

Rowena reached up, her small arms outstretched, silently asking to be picked up. The reader’s jaw dropped slightly in shock, as did Aemond’s. The usually stoic prince hesitated, glancing at the reader, then at the watchful eyes of the animals surrounding them.

Caraxes let out a low rumble, and the direwolf raised its head, ears twitching. The stag stood still, its large eyes focused on Aemond. Even the kraken’s tentacles rippled more intensely, sensing the tension.

“Fine,” Aemond muttered, clearly aware of the audience. He leaned down and carefully lifted Rowena into his arms. The toddler immediately patted his face with her tiny hands, her attention drawn to his eyepatch. She traced its edge with curiosity, her small fingers gentle as she explored.

Aemond stiffened at first, but Rowena’s innocent touch seemed to disarm him. She tilted her head, silently asking about the patch in her own way. “It’s... nothing you need to worry about, little one,” Aemond said softly, his tone far gentler than anyone had ever heard.

The reader, watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ve never seen you so calm, cousin,” she said, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Perhaps Rowena has a magic touch.”

Aemond shot her a glare, but there was no real malice in it. Rowena, oblivious to the tension, giggled and patted his cheek, as if approving of him.

“She likes you,” the reader noted, folding her arms as she leaned back against Caraxes. “That’s rare. I suppose even she sees there’s some good in you.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Aemond muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a faint smile.

Rowena began to babble incoherently, her little voice filled with excitement as she gestured toward the stag and the Kraken in the distance. Aemond followed her gaze, his single eye narrowing slightly as he observed the unusual group of creatures.

“Your little menagerie is quite... unique,” he said, his voice laced with grudging respect. “And you’re quite the odd mother to them all.”

The reader chuckled. “I take that as a compliment. They’re family, just as much as anyone else.”

Aemond didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to Rowena, who had started tugging on a strand of his hair. He sighed but didn’t stop her, allowing the toddler to entertain herself.

The reader leaned her head against Caraxes, watching the unlikely pair with a mix of amusement and genuine surprise. “You know, Aemond,” she said after a moment, “you’re not half as terrible as you pretend to be.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, focusing instead on balancing Rowena in his arms. The direwolf let out a soft huff, almost as if agreeing with the reader’s statement, and the kraken’s tentacles waved gently in the water.

As the morning stretched on, the peaceful atmosphere returned, albeit with an unexpected addition. The reader couldn’t help but marvel at the moment: her baby girl, a collection of unusual yet loyal creatures, and even Aemond—standing together in a rare harmony. Perhaps, she thought, family wasn’t always what you expected, but it was always what you made it

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the grassy cliffside as Rhaenyra and Alicent stepped out of the castle, their gowns billowing slightly in the breeze. They paused at the edge of the stone path, their eyes falling on the scene before them: Aemond, typically stoic and detached, holding little Rowena in his arms while the reader leaned casually against Caraxes. The stag grazed peacefully nearby, and the direwolf sat alert yet calm at the reader’s feet. The kraken’s orange tentacles occasionally broke the water’s surface, a quiet, watchful presence in the distance.

Rhaenyra crossed her arms, a small smile playing on her lips. “Would you look at that,” she murmured. “It seems Rowena has managed to do what no one else could.”

Alicent glanced sideways at her former friend. “And what would that be?”

“Softening Aemond,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone both amused and reflective. “She’s turned him into a nursemaid, no less.”

Alicent couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “It is... unexpected,” she admitted. Her expression turned wistful as she watched her son adjust Rowena in his arms, the toddler babbling and occasionally tugging on his hair. “I’ve never seen him so patient before. That little one has a gift.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her gaze shifting to the reader. “And my daughter,” she said, her voice soft with pride, “has built a family entirely her own. She didn’t need a husband to find love and purpose—she created it herself.”

Alicent sighed. “She’s resilient, I’ll give her that. Though I can’t help but wonder if she’s taken on too much. Caring for Rowena, that strange collection of animals...”

“Her animals are her family,” Rhaenyra interrupted, her tone firm. “Just as Rowena is. And you see how well she’s done. I have no doubt she’ll continue to surprise us all.”

As they spoke, Rowena began to squirm in Aemond’s arms, her small face scrunching up in distress. Aemond frowned, bouncing her slightly in an attempt to soothe her. “What’s the matter now, little one?” he muttered, but his efforts were in vain.

“Mama!” Rowena cried, her voice rising in urgency as tears welled in her eyes. Her tiny arms stretched toward the reader, fingers grasping for her mother.

Aemond, clearly out of his depth, looked helplessly at the reader. “She wants you,” he said, a touch of frustration in his voice.

The reader straightened from her position against Caraxes and stepped forward, reaching out to take Rowena. The moment the toddler was in her arms, she calmed, sniffling softly as she buried her face in the reader’s shoulder. The reader gently stroked her daughter’s hair, murmuring soothing words.

“It’s all right, my love,” the reader whispered. “Mama’s here.”

Rowena turned her head slightly, her tear-streaked face catching sight of Alicent. The toddler’s eyes widened, and she immediately clutched tighter to the reader, her small body trembling. “Mama,” she said again, but this time, her voice was tinged with fear. She pointed a tiny finger toward Alicent and whimpered.

The reader’s brows furrowed, and her gaze snapped to Alicent. “What’s wrong, Rowena?” she asked softly, though her voice carried an edge of suspicion.

Rowena didn’t answer, but her reaction was clear. She buried her face again in the reader’s shoulder, trying to hide from Alicent’s gaze. The animals nearby seemed to sense the toddler’s distress. The dire wolf stood, its ears perking up as it let out a low growl. The stag stopped grazing, lifting its majestic head to watch the queen with unblinking eyes. Even Caraxes shifted slightly, his large form tensing as he let out a rumbling huff.

The reader turned fully to face Alicent, her expression guarded. “She’s frightened of you,” she said plainly. “Why?”

Alicent raised her hands in a placating gesture, her eyes wide with surprise. “I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I haven’t done anything to her. Perhaps she’s just unfamiliar with me.”

“Perhaps,” the reader replied, though her tone suggested she wasn’t convinced. She glanced at her animals, their protective stances reassuring her. “But Rowena doesn’t scare easily.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, placing a hand on the reader’s shoulder. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” she said, though her sharp gaze didn’t leave Alicent. “Rowena is young. She may simply be overwhelmed.”

The reader nodded slowly but remained unconvinced. She pressed a kiss to Rowena’s temple, whispering comforting words to her daughter. Whatever the reason for Rowena’s fear, the reader resolved to stay vigilant. Her family—both human and animal—was her world, and she would protect it at all costs.

As the group began to disperse, Aemond lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the reader and Rowena. “If she dislikes people as much as her animals seem to, she’ll grow up to be a fierce one,” he said, his tone a mix of jest and genuine observation.

The reader smirked, meeting his gaze. “She’s my daughter. Fierce is in her blood.”

With that, she turned and carried Rowena back to the safety of their quarters, her loyal animals trailing behind. The stag paused to glance at Alicent one last time before following, its presence a silent but powerful reminder of the family’s strength and unity.

___________________________________

The castle seemed to echo with Rowena's cries, her inconsolable wails pulling at the reader’s heart. Despite her best efforts—rocking her, singing softly, and even offering her favorite carved stag toy—nothing seemed to calm the distressed toddler. Rowena squirmed in her mother’s arms, her tiny fists pounding in frustration as her tears fell unabated.

Even the stag, who had been a calming presence since Rowena’s arrival, seemed to add to her distress. When it approached, gently lowering its massive head in an attempt to nuzzle her, Rowena only cried harder, clutching at the reader’s gown and burying her face in her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” the reader murmured, her voice tinged with panic as she looked at her father, Daemon, who had arrived moments earlier. His face was tight with worry, but he simply gestured for her to follow her instincts.

Resolving to try something else, the reader carried Rowena to her private chambers and began to draw a warm bath. The room filled with the soft scent of sweet herbs and flowers as she added the soaps she knew Rowena loved. The warm steam curled around them as the reader gently undressed her sobbing daughter, whispering soothing words the entire time.

“It’s all right, my little star,” she cooed, carefully lowering Rowena into the water. “Mama’s here. Let’s wash away all those tears.”

At first, Rowena’s cries persisted, her small fists splashing angrily in the water. But as the warmth enveloped her and the soothing scent of the soaps filled the air, her cries gradually subsided into soft hiccups. The reader carefully poured water over her daughter’s curls, washing them gently while humming a lullaby. By the time she kissed Rowena’s chubby cheek, the toddler was calm, her wide eyes gazing up at her mother with curiosity.

The reader sat back, wiping the stray strands of damp hair from Rowena’s forehead. “There now,” she said softly, smiling. “Much better, hm?”

Rowena reached up with one tiny, wet hand and placed it on her mother’s cheek, her small fingers gripping at her. The reader’s heart melted as she leaned into the touch, pressing another kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“Now,” the reader continued, wrapping Rowena in a soft towel and cradling her close. “Can you tell Mama why you were so upset? Why did you point at Alicent earlier?” Rowena’s small face scrunched up in concentration, her voice barely more than a whisper as she replied, “Bad man.”

The reader froze, staring at her daughter in shock. “Bad man?” she repeated, her voice laced with concern. “What bad man, sweetheart?”

Rowena clutched the towel tighter around her, burying her face in her mother’s neck. “Bad man,” she said again, her voice trembling.

The reader’s mind raced. Rowena was too young to explain clearly, but her words couldn’t be ignored. Someone—someone associated with Alicent—had frightened her. But who? And why? The reader held Rowena tighter, her resolve hardening. Whoever this "bad man" was, she would find out, and she would ensure he never came near her daughter again.

Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, Rhaenyra and Daemon sat together in her chambers. Rhaenyra’s expression was tight, her hands clasped as she recounted the events from earlier, when

Rowena had pointed at Alicent and burst into tears.

“She was terrified, Daemon,” Rhaenyra said, her voice filled with both anger and worry. “She clung to Y/N like her life depended on it. And the way the animals reacted—it was as if they sensed her fear, too.”

Daemon frowned deeply, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you think Alicent did something to her?” he asked, his tone dark.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “No, I don’t think Alicent herself frightened Rowena. But there’s something—or someone—connected to her that has. Y/N said as much when she left. She believes Rowena is associating Alicent with someone else.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his protective instincts flaring. “Then we need to find out who it is,” he said firmly. “If anyone in this castle has hurt my granddaughter, they will answer to me.”

Rhaenyra placed a calming hand on his arm, though her own gaze was fierce. “We will figure it out,” she assured him. “But we need to tread carefully. We can’t afford to escalate tensions between the families without proof.”

Daemon let out a low growl of frustration but nodded. “I’ll speak with Y/N in the morning,” he said. “Perhaps Rowena will tell her more.”

As the two strategized, neither noticed the small figure listening just outside the door. Aemond, who had been walking past, had stopped to eavesdrop when he caught mention of Rowena’s distress. His single eye narrowed as he processed their words, and a faint frown tugged at his lips. He had always dismissed the animals’ protectiveness over Rowena as a strange quirk, but now, he couldn’t help but feel there was more to it.

For once, Aemond found himself silently rooting for his cousin. Whoever had caused Rowena’s fear, he thought grimly, deserved to face the wrath of the Targaryens—and their dragons.

__________________________________________________

The morning sun filtered softly through the trees as the reader set off toward the small cottage in the woods, her heart heavy with the weight of unanswered questions. The stag trotted beside her, its elegant steps crunching softly on the underbrush, while the direwolf lingered slightly ahead, its nose to the ground, alert as always. The peaceful forest seemed at odds with the tumult in her mind as she thought of Rowena and the mystery surrounding her origins.

As she approached the clearing, the direwolf stopped suddenly, its ears swiveling toward the dense trees. A sharp crack of a stick breaking sounded in the distance. The reader froze, her hand instinctively going to the small dagger she had strapped to her belt. She scanned the tree line but saw nothing, the forest unnervingly silent.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice steady despite the unease creeping up her spine.

No answer. After a few tense moments, she exhaled and pressed forward, stepping into the cottage. The air inside was stale and heavy, the faint smell of decay lingering despite the growth of wildflowers outside. She hadn’t been able to shake the image of the mother’s body cradling Rowena, and now, standing where that moment had played out, she felt a lump rise in her throat.

The direwolf followed her inside, but the stag hesitated near the doorway, stamping a hoof uneasily as if sensing danger. The reader turned to reassure it but froze when something caught her eye in the dim light—a dagger, its blade stained with dried blood, lying forgotten in the corner of the room.

The sight sent a chill down her spine. She knelt cautiously, reaching out to examine the weapon when a sudden crash shattered the tense silence. The door flew open, and before she could react, a hooded figure lunged at her from the shadows. Pain erupted in her side as a blade drove into her flesh. She gasped, her vision swimming, but instinct kicked in.

With a fierce cry, she swung her fist, catching the man’s jaw with enough force to stagger him. He stumbled back, but her strength was fading fast. She clutched the wound at her side, her blood seeping through her fingers.

The direwolf, now fully panicked, lunged at the intruder with a snarl, snapping its powerful jaws. The man slashed at the animal with his dagger, forcing it to back off momentarily. Seeing her protector faltering, the reader tried to rise, but her legs gave out beneath her. The world blurred around her, the edges of her vision darkening.

The direwolf let out a heart-wrenching howl that echoed through the forest, a sound of pure desperation. The stag, sensing the danger, reared up, pawing at the air with its antlers lowered. The hooded figure hesitated, realizing that reinforcements might soon arrive, and fled into the woods.

The direwolf wasted no time. It turned and bolted toward the castle, its frantic howls carrying the urgency of its mission.

Back at the castle, Daemon had been in the courtyard, entertaining Rowena as Rhaenyra watched with a fond smile. The toddler squealed with delight as she tugged at his hair, babbling in her incomprehensible but enthusiastic way. Suddenly, the direwolf’s howl cut through the peaceful moment like a blade.

Daemon immediately stiffened, his sharp eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound. The direwolf barreled into the courtyard moments later, its fur bristling and its eyes wide with panic. It let out another urgent howl, pacing and snapping its jaws as if demanding attention.

Rhaenyra’s expression turned from amused to alarmed. “Daemon,” she began, but he was already moving, handing Rowena into her arms with careful urgency.

“She’s in trouble,” Daemon said grimly, his voice taut with determination. He didn’t need to know the details—he trusted the direwolf’s instincts. “Stay here with Rowena.”

Before Rhaenyra could protest, he was mounting Caraxes, the massive red dragon letting out a low growl of anticipation as he took to the skies. The direwolf led the way below, its frantic pace guiding him toward the forest.

When Daemon reached the clearing, his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him. The stag stood near the cottage, its body tense and ready to charge, while the direwolf hovered protectively over the reader, who lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath her.

“Y/N!” Daemon shouted, leaping from Caraxes before the dragon had even landed fully. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he assessed her injuries. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, her face pale and damp with sweat.

“Father,” she murmured weakly, her voice barely audible. “I… I found something…”

“Save your strength,” he commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed a cloth to her wound to staunch the bleeding. “We’ll get you home, and we’ll figure this out.”

The direwolf nudged her arm gently, whining softly, while the stag let out a low, mournful bellow. Daemon looked up, his expression a mixture of fury and despair. Whoever had done this would pay dearly.

“I’ll get you home,” he repeated, his voice steely with resolve. “You’re safe now. I swear it.”

The wind roared in her ears as Caraxes soared through the sky, the rhythmic beat of the dragon’s wings a constant lull as the reader drifted in and out of consciousness. She could barely feel the steady warmth of her father’s hands as he held her securely on Caraxes’ back, his arms wrapped protectively around her limp body. Blood still seeped from her side, and the pain flared every time the dragon shifted, but her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere through the haze, the sound of her daughter’s cries pierced her dulled senses. Rowena’s desperate screams of "Mama!" echoed in her mind, yanking her from the dark abyss threatening to pull her under. "Rowena…" the reader mumbled weakly, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. "Hold on," Daemon urged, his voice raw with fear and determination. "I’m getting you home. Don’t you dare leave her. Don’t you dare leave me." Her lips moved again, but no words came out. The last thing she saw before slipping back into unconsciousness was the blurred sight of her father’s white hair, stark against the darkening sky, and the comforting silhouette of Caraxes as he raced toward the castle.

When they arrived, chaos erupted. Maesters flooded into the room where Daemon carried his daughter, barking orders as they worked feverishly to stop the bleeding and save her life. The direwolf, covered in dirt and panting from the frantic run to the castle, paced just outside the room, letting out occasional low whines.

Inside, Daemon stayed by her side, refusing to leave as the maesters stitched her wound and applied poultices. His usually fierce demeanor cracked, and his hands trembled slightly as he brushed damp hair from her face. He muttered reassurances she likely couldn’t hear, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Rowena’s cries filled the castle halls through the chaos, growing louder with every moment. It was Rhaenyra who appeared first, cradling the distressed toddler, trying to soothe her as tears streamed down Rowena’s chubby cheeks. Aemond entered shortly after, his face unreadable as he stepped in, his eyepatch hiding any flicker of emotion.

“Aemond,” Rhaenyra whispered as she tried to keep Rowena calm, “take her to Daemon. She won’t stop crying for Y/N.”

Reluctantly, Aemond took the squirming toddler into his arms. Rowena immediately buried her face in his chest, her small fists clutching at his tunic. Despite his stoic nature, Aemond didn’t pull away or show his usual disdain. Instead, he walked over to where Daemon stood beside his daughter.

Rowena’s cries seemed to soften slightly at the sight of her mother, even as she remained unconscious. The toddler reached out a tiny hand, her tearful face breaking everyone’s hearts in the room.

The reader stirred faintly, her hand twitching before her eyes fluttered open just enough to see the people around her. Her voice was weak and raspy as she grasped Daemon’s hand tightly.

“Father…” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. Daemon leaned closer, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “What is it?”

“The man who… who attacked me…” She paused, fighting through the pain. “He had a black cloak on and his hood was up… And I found a dagger. A catspaw dagger… stained with blood.”

Daemon’s expression darkened immediately. He could feel the weight of her words, the implications settling heavily on his shoulders. “A cloak?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her grip on his hand tightened, her next words filled with quiet desperation. “If… if I don’t wake up, promise me—promise me you’ll protect Rowena. Don’t let them take her.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched as he nodded firmly. “You will wake up. But I swear it, I will protect her.”

With that, her strength gave out, and she slipped back into unconsciousness as the maesters continued their work. Daemon stayed rooted to the spot, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge, suspicion, and the promise he had just made.

Hours later, when the maesters had done all they could, the room finally quieted. Daemon sat at the bedside, exhaustion etched into his face. Rowena, who had been inconsolable earlier, had finally cried herself to sleep. She lay curled up beside her mother, her tiny body rising and falling with each steady breath. Her small hand clutched at the reader’s hair, as if afraid to let go.

When the reader finally woke, it was to the soft warmth of her daughter beside her. The pain in her side was sharp and unrelenting, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of Rowena’s peaceful face nestled against her.

She reached out, brushing her fingers through Rowena’s fine hair. The movement stirred the toddler, who yawned sleepily and blinked up at her mother with wide, tear-streaked eyes.

“Mama,” Rowena whispered, her voice full of relief.

The reader smiled weakly, her own eyes misting as she cradled her daughter close. “I’m here, my sweet girl,” she murmured. “Mama’s here.”

Daemon, who had fallen asleep slumped in a chair nearby, woke at the sound of her voice. His relief was palpable as he stood and approached the bed.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with genuine emotion.

“Barely,” she teased lightly, though her voice was weak. “But I’m here.”

Daemon nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Rowena, who had now fallen back asleep against her mother. “You’ve been through hell, and yet, here you are,” he said. “Stubborn as ever.”

She smiled faintly but then grew serious. “The cloak… it means something, doesn’t it?”

Daemon’s face hardened. “It does. But that’s not your concern right now. Rest. I’ll handle it.”

The reader didn’t argue, too tired to press further. As Daemon turned to leave the room, she called out to him softly.

“Father?”

He paused, looking back at her.

“Thank you,” she said simply, her voice full of gratitude.

Daemon nodded, his expression unreadable, before stepping out of the room. But as he closed the door behind him, he vowed silently to uncover the truth and ensure that neither his daughter nor his granddaughter would ever face danger like this again.

The soft morning light filtered into the room, bathing it in a warm glow. The reader stirred slowly, her body still aching but feeling lighter than the night before. As her eyes fluttered open, she was greeted by Rowena’s small face mere inches from her own. The toddler was nuzzling against her cheek, pressing sloppy little kisses on her mother’s face.

“Rowena,” the reader mumbled with a sleepy smile, her heart swelling at the display of affection. “Good morning, my love.”

The toddler giggled, her bright eyes sparkling as she pointed toward the door and babbled insistently, “Ag! Ag!”

The reader raised a brow, still half-asleep. “Who’s ‘Ag,’ my little troublemaker? Are you telling me stories already?” she teased, her voice laced with affection.

Rowena clapped her hands, bouncing slightly on the bed as she continued babbling, “Ag! Ag!” Her tiny finger jabbed toward the door again, clearly wanting her mother to follow.

The reader chuckled but winced as she shifted in bed, the sharp pain in her side flaring up and reminding her of the ordeal she’d just survived. Still, she pushed herself to sit up, gently kissing Rowena’s forehead before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“All right, sweetheart, let’s get moving,” she said softly. “But first, Mama needs to pee.”

She stood carefully, her hand immediately going to her side as a fresh wave of pain hit her. Gritting her teeth, she took a slow step forward, using the wall for support. Rowena, ever watchful, toddled along beside her, still pointing at the door and babbling “Ag!” with increasing urgency.

The reader shook her head with a small laugh. “Who are you talking about, Rowena? There’s no one there—”

Her words trailed off as the door opened, revealing Aemond standing in the doorway. His single eye flicked between the reader and Rowena, his face as stoic as ever, though a faint crease in his brow betrayed a hint of concern.

“Aemond?” the reader asked, surprise evident in her tone. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on the way she clutched her side for support. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said instead, his voice clipped but not unkind.

“I needed to—” The reader started to retort but was cut off as another sharp jab of pain made her grip the wall tighter. She hissed softly, her breath hitching.

Before she could protest, Aemond stepped forward and offered his arm for support. “Let me help,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

The reader narrowed her eyes but ultimately relented, too tired to argue. She leaned on him as he guided her toward the adjoining bathroom. As they reached the door, she smirked faintly, unable to resist a jab.

“Still jealous now?” she quipped, her voice soft but laced with amusement despite the pain.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he helped her to the edge of the washbasin, where she could steady herself. Just as she was about to dismiss him, Rowena waddled into the bathroom, her little face determined.

“Rowena!” the reader exclaimed, half-laughing despite herself. “You can’t come in here, love.”

Aemond turned to the toddler, his expression shifting into one of stern authority. “Out,” he ordered, his tone firm but not harsh. “This is not a place for you.”

Rowena, however, stood her ground, planting her little feet firmly and crossing her arms in a mimicry of adult defiance. Her eyes locked onto Aemond’s as if daring him to make her leave.

The reader chuckled weakly, leaning against the sink for support. “Good luck with that one,” she said, her voice tinged with admiration for her daughter’s spirit. “She’s got her grandfather’s stubbornness.”

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She takes after you,” he muttered.

Rowena, sensing her small victory, toddled over to her mother and grabbed the hem of her tunic, babbling happily again. “Ag!” she exclaimed, pointing at Aemond with a cheeky grin.

The reader laughed, ruffling Rowena’s hair. “She likes you, Aemond,” she said, her tone light but laced with genuine surprise. “You must have done something right.”

Aemond gave a small, almost imperceptible smile before quickly masking it. “She’s a bold one,” he said, watching Rowena with a mix of respect and amusement. “Like her mother.”

The moment was unexpectedly tender, a rare pause in the tension that often simmered between the two. Rowena, seemingly satisfied with her triumph, settled herself at her mother’s feet, happily babbling nonsense as if she hadn’t just staged a miniature rebellion.

The reader glanced at Aemond, her expression softening. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice sincere. “For helping me.”

Aemond inclined his head slightly, his eye flicking to Rowena before returning to the reader. “You should rest,” he said. “For her sake.”

“I know,” the reader replied, scooping Rowena up into her arms with a wince. She kissed her daughter’s head, smiling softly. “But she’s worth it.”

As Aemond stepped aside to let them leave the bathroom, Rowena reached out a hand toward him, babbling “Ag!” once more. Aemond hesitated for a moment before gently brushing his fingers against hers, earning a delighted giggle from the toddler.

The reader raised a brow. “Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

Aemond didn’t respond, but the faint smile that ghosted across his lips said more than words ever could.

[luneryn]

Do I belong?

Long through the night have I pondered that question, and weeping in darkness I have dared not wander—for if my thoughts should stray me further, I fear I might lose myself. For hours I'd cry. My face would ache and my lungs would grow weak and the tears would bring me no solace. And yet in the comfort of night and the shroud of its darkness there was peace among the silence of a world that had brought me such grief.

When the moon falls the sun comes to greet me, yet the morning is bittersweet and as every new day dawns, the bright and blinding light it brings gives no comfort to those who struggled through the night. You see, it's in that light—their light—that we each meet the maker of our misery. The light I've known is cruel and harsh. Every blemish shone bare, every difference denoted. In their light I am nothing more than sin—I am naught but an amusement for the mob. A cruel snicker, a cold stare, the sharp and crooked finger pointing through me—stabbing at my heart.

Why can't they see that I am more than shadows strewn out upon the surface of this world? I am between, and I am beyond. I am beautiful and I am worthy of love. I am capable of great empathy and compassion. I am a person, as they are—no more flawed than any other.

What of me shakes their world so, that I am worth destroying?—That they must cast me out?

...

My queer heart burns with fierce passion and righteous fury. Scorned as I am, I swear to live each day with pride and take each step with ardent fervor. No longer will I subsist within the comfortable cloak of the darkness that has bound me in silence for the eternity I've lived each day. I will make my own light and shine brightly outwards from within myself so that all those who look upon me will see the depth of my existence and the beauty of my being.

My hope will be that the burning light of my heart will shine forth and warm the hearts of all those stuck in the cold comforts of that stale darkness I once called home. That together the coalescence of our hearts will form harmonious symphonies that break our bonds and free us from the oppression and misery wrought on us by those who cast us out.

I need not live in fear and I need not suffer under the pestilence of a society that treats me with disdain and contempt. I am capable of great things. No heartache suffered nor pain endured shall see me sate the appetite of those who savor my distress. I shall continue to flourish. I shall see my truth unfurled.

...

I once asked myself if I belong; for a moment I thought not. I felt as though there was nothing here to find peace or happiness in. I thought I was truly alone. Yet now I understand the truth. I'm never alone, because I have community. They are my home and my happiness. With them by my side I'm never truly alone. They keep my light alive. They see me through hardship with such sweet succour. They are my friends, my family and more. They are my treasures.

(I'm already out publicly but I was inspired to write something lately and I wrote this as a short coming out story and thought it might be worth posting somewhere. No idea what tags to add because I don't use Tumblr often tbh.)

[overdevelopedglasses]

Tojoctober Day 8 - Score

(...You Better Throw the First Punch.)

Alt title is the second half of a lyric from “The Good, The Bad and The Dirty” by Panic! At the Disco.

Saejima confronts and assists Majima with what's been on his mind.

A continuation of the story from Day 2!

(Yakuza 4, 5, and 6 Spoilers)

—------------------

The morning sun, despite being in the sky for a while, shines a soft light on the courtyard of the Tojo Clan Headquarters. The only people outside, sitting on the stoop of one of the outdoor buildings are the Sixth Chairman's advisors: Saejima and Majima. Majima is slowly smoking a cigarette, watching the clouds he creates drift into the light blue sky. Saejima is nursing himself, as during their fight, he did get nicked by Majima's blade a couple times. 

For a while, the two are silent, each engrossed in their respective activities, but appreciating that they aren't alone. 

Saejima speaks up, breaking the silence and the somewhat weird air that has started to manifest.

"Somethin's been botherin' you, brother."

Majima lets out a long sigh, his expression ridden with melancholy. 

"Whadya mean?" Majima asks, clearly dodging whatever topic was about to be discussed.

"It's been ages since we've fought like that. Not to mention the funk you've been stinkin' the office with."

Majima's head spins around, expression wild with disbelief. He gives Saejima a light shove in the shoulder.

"Haw? Ya sayin' I smell?"

Saejima gives Majima a glare.

"Have you been washin' up?"

"The fuck!? I have great hygiene!"

"So ya know that's not what I meant."

Majima's gaze moves away from his brother, and looks back at a rising smoke cloud that he made. 

"Brother… ya know I trust you."

"Of course, Majima."

Majima swivels his gaze back to Saejima, this time hard and fierce.

"Not a peep about this to anyone, not even Daigo."

Saejima's expression remains unchanged by Majima's tonal shift. He's one of the few people who's unfazed by the Mad Dog's whiplash of personas. Comes with the territory, when he's been your sworn brother for over 3 decades.

"Whatever gives ya peace."

Majima drops his cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with his shoe. He picks up the butt and pockets it to throw away later. He takes a deep breath, and with his next words, Majima's tone and voice soften. His brother has to lean in close to make sure he hears him. Most would think Majima’s fallen quiet so he's not heard; Saejima thinks it's out of fear. Whatever this was, it was something the Mad Dog kept close at heart.

"...I don't think he's dead."

Saejima lets out a chuckle. Could he be any less specific?

"Majima, there's a lot of de-"

"Kiryu-chan."

Saejima stops short. Kiryu’s name had not been uttered by either of them since Daigo read his letter. Saejima had missed the man, sure, but Majima saying that name carried so many emotions with it that he couldn’t decipher all of them.

"There's no way that Kiryu-chan is dead."

Saejima starts to speak again, hoping he has the right angle on this situation. 

"We weren't at that fight, so we don't know how-"

"Saejima. Please."

Saejima sighs, the reason for why he was playing devil's advocate was lost on his brother. But he knows he hasn’t heard everything, so he shoots Majima an apologetic look. 

"The thing is, I've seen Kiryu-chan survive fuckin' everything. Brutal fights, gunshots, stab wounds, stab wounds I made, any attempt made on his life. Fuck, he even survived bleeding out in the snow!"

Majima glances at Saejima, and he gives him the nod to keep talking. Majima holds his gaze. A beat passes, and he continues.

"Here’s the kicker for me… Ya remember when I faked my death?"

"Yeah. You fooled everyone in Kamurocho and beyond, except for those who were in on it."

"But who did I fail to fool? Who knew me inside and out and didn't believe for a second I was dead?"

"....me." Saejima responds. He remembers everyone talking about how Goro Majima was killed a few years ago, but not for a second did Saejima believe the news. There would only be one way that he’d believe Majima had kicked the bucket, and that would be the gruesome sight of his corpse. 

"Exactly. Ya see, it's not in the same way as you, brother, but I feel like I know Kiryu-chan."

"You also stalked him for a good long while, according to him."

"That's not my point." Majima responds with a chuckle. Saejima had a feeling that Kiryu and Majima had a relationship that was more complicated than on the surface, but Saejima only heard word about their first antics from Kiryu. He had been meaning to broach the subject with his brother sooner, but since he went back to prison in 2010, they hadn’t had much time together, let alone just the two of them. 

"I think of Kiryu-chan's death announcement, and just… somethin' doesn't sit right."

"Is it because you see the similarities between your situation and his?"

"Maybe? But I always intended on coming back to the living. When it was safe to, ya know?"

He swears he hears his brother’s breath start to shake.

"But, I'm not sure he intends to return." Majima's tone shifts into one of sadness, and Saejima doesn't need another signal of what Majima's wellbeing is. He starts to feel really shitty. His brother had been suffering for a while, and Saejima only thought to speak up when he was about to be pummeled by the man. And Majima’s issue was not the denial that Saejima thought he'd have to combat. Majima had very good reason to believe that Kiryu still walked among them. It goes to show just how wicked smart his brother is. Underneath the mad dog persona is one of the sharpest brains Saejima has ever known. But with a sharp mind comes even more intense emotions, which was what Saejima excelled at, at least when it came to Majima. Not to mention from the way he was speaking, Kiryu must’ve been his closest relationship. His death was making Majima crack, and he had become too good at hiding his problems with laughter and violence for something so simple to be plaguing him this much. 

No, the problem was that Majima was so confident that Kiryu wasn’t dead, he feared that no one would believe him.

Better late than never, then. Saejima thought, before breaking the silence that had briefly fallen between them.

"Majima… I know he meant a lot to you. So I won't try to hit ya with any weird reasoning."

"But yer still thinkin' it. Ya probably think I'm crazy. I mean-I know I am, but crazy in a bad way." Majima's voice wavers.

"That doesn't matter. Ya think it'll change anything? Hell, I thought you had betrayed me for 2 decades, and that still didn't change anything."

Majima's eye flickers away briefly. Saejima continues, unrelenting.

"If you ever see him again… what do ya think you'll do?"

For the first time in a while, Saejima sees not anger, but sorrow, reflected in Majima’s good eye. 

"Well… that'll be a score I need to settle with the man himself. Why he did this," Majima gestures to the air, "Why he put his friends and family through anguish. Why…" Majima's expression changes, and Saejima knows that look better than anyone: while still traces of sorrow remain, Majima was looking into his memories.

"Why he would make me think that he broke our promise."

The two advisors fall back into silence, nothing left to be said. They gaze out at the blue sky and the clouds drifting by, some birds starting to chirp in the trees. After a while, Saejima scoots over, touching shoulders with his brother. He makes eye contact with him, the one eye wrought with a bit of confusion. It's out of character for him to initiate physical touch. With what Majima had laid out in front of him, it’s like the answer was staring at him in the face. 

Kiryu could still be alive. No… he is alive.

"If it's worth anything… I believe you."

For the first time since their fight, Majima smiles. A genuine smile, not one of the Mad Dog, but of Goro Majima. 

"Thanks, brother. Ya don't know how nice that is to hear."

A beat passes. Majima sighs, and Saejima gets the feeling that he had been holding that in for a long time.

"Ya mind if I rest my head? It's been a while, and emotional shit is fuckin' exhausting."

Saejima lets out a small laugh, any fucks he was giving about appearances being thrown to the wind.

"Sure."

Majima lets his head fall onto Saejima's shoulder, and shuts his eye. Saejima watches him shift his body until he's finally comfortable.

"Felt good to let that all out. Thanks, brother. For… everything."

Saejima smirks, "Thank you for everything, Majima. I don't know what I'd do without ya."

Saejima still has many questions, and a desire to learn about Kiryu from his brother, but now isn’t the best time to talk about it. Instead, Saejima looks back at the clouds, and in that moment he could swear that one of them looks like a very familiar dragon.

[brocken-dwaf]

Nature is a thing

In spring, the world awakens with delight, As flowers bloom, a colorful sight, Birds take flight, pure and bright, Nature's canvas, a stunning light.

Summer sun beats down with all its might, Life takes its course, in full delight, Bees, butterflies, horses unite, Dancing together, a joyful sight.

Autumn comes, leaves descend, Trees stand bare, their shawls rescind, Crisp air, a breeze that bends, Nature prepares for winter's trend.

Winter's chill, it grips the land, Snowflakes fall on nature's command, Frost, ice, a frozen band, Nature's beauty, in full demand.

In nature's dance, we find our place, A part of life's eternal chase, Every season, every phase, We marvel at its endless grace.

Nature is a wondrous thing, A symphony that makes us sing, Each season, a new offering, Gifts of beauty nature brings.

Spring brings life to every nook, Flowers bloom, by babbling brooks, The world refreshed, a newfound look, Nature's beauty, we partake.

Summer's warmth, it brings us joy, Days are long, nights employ, Sun shines bright, life's alloy, Nature's bounty, we enjoy.

Autumn's colors paint the land, Trees majestic, leaves expand, Crisp air, a feeling grand, Nature's magic, atour command.

Winter's snow blankets all, World so quiet, like a shawl, Frozen ground, icy sprawl, Nature's beauty, it enthralls.

Nature's rhythm, it never fades, Always there, in all its shades, A symphony of endless grades, And we're blessed to be its aides.

Nature is a teacher, wise and true, It shows us what it means to renew, To let go of the old, and embrace the new, And start again, like the morning dew.

In spring, we learn to grow and bloom, Shed our fears, leave our gloom, Rise up high, like a mushroom, And let our light, the world consume.

Summer teaches us to slow down, Savor life, wear a crown, Feel the warmth, all around, Let our feet touch the ground.

Autumn's lessons, they are clear, Shed the old, let it disappear, Face our fears, without a tear, Move ahead, with a new frontier.

Winter's wisdom, it's all around, Rest, pause, hear the sound, Of our own breath, that's so profound, Let our spirit be unbound.

In nature, we discover anew, A part of us, that's pure and true, A world that's free from daily hue, And let us see a different view.

Nature is a healer, for our soul, Brings us peace, and makes us whole, Helps us find, our inner goal, And makes us feel like we're on a roll.

Yet nature now is under attack, As humans leave their dirty track. Pollution, waste, what we lack, I care for nature, bringing it back.

Deforestation, mining the land, Chemicals and plastics expand, Ice caps melting, deserts expand, Species dying, water and land.

The climate is changing, the planet is warming, Fierce storms now the norming, Rising seas, no more conforming, Nature struggles, the future storming.

We pump carbon into the air, Poison the oceans without a care, Consume and waste without a share, For future lives, it's only fair.

We were given a garden, lush and green, But fail as stewards, it's clearly seen. Destroying nature, in the name of gain, When will we wake up, and break the chain?

Our actions now shape the future's course, It's time to change, apply our force. Conserve this planet, the only source, Of life we know, we must re-source.

Let's cherish nature's gift while we still can, Heal the planet, every woman, child and man. Our fate entwined, since Earth began, Together as stewards, life we'll expand.

Respect the planet, change our ways, The future's unwritten, the choice is ours to save, This garden of Eden, escape the days, Whennature is lost, no seasons, no place, To call our home a barren space.

The choice is ours, the time is now, To cherish nature, fulfill our vow. To save the planet, to show us how, Together as one, let's make it count.

To save our planet, we must act fast, Reduce our waste, and make it last, Cut down on plastic, switch to glass, And use our resources, with a purpose that's steadfast.

We can recycle, and reuse too, Compost our waste, it's easy to do, Plant trees, and let nature renew, And reduce our carbon footprint too.

But the sad truth is, most won't change, They'll carry on, in their old ways estranged, The environment, to them, is just a range, Of resources, to consume and arrange.

They'll keep on polluting, without a thought, The consequences, to them, are naught, And the earth will pay the cost, as it's wrought, With destruction, and a future that's fraught.

But we can't give up, we must persist, And keep on fighting, until we enlist, The masses, to change, and to desist, From harming our planet, or to coexist.

We must educate, and raise awareness, Of the dangers, that we all must address, And show them the beauty, that we must caress, And the consequences of our mess.

For we are all part of this planet, And it's up to us, to take a stand, and to commit, To protect the earth, and to permit, A future that's bright, and not unfit.

So let us come together, and unite, To save our planet, with all our might, And use our knowledge, and our insight, To create a future, that's bright and right.

For nature's beauty is too precious to lose, And the earth is a gift, that we must not abuse, Let's be the change, and let it diffuse, And let our love for nature be the fuse.

Let's work together, and make it known, That we care for the earth, and it's not alone, And that we'll do everything, to atone, For the damage that we have sown.

So let's save the planet, for generations to come, And let nature thrive, like a beating drum, Let's be the stewards, and let our actions hum, And let the beauty of nature always be our sum.

[constantly-tired-unwell]

On earth, there are seven continents, 195 countries, around 203 states, over 10,000 cities, over 15,000 towns, 38% of the population is made up of families, and there are over 8 billion people on this earth. Every second four people are born and two people die. The world turns like clock work, around the sun, being the only consistent thing that happens to every individual. We see hundreds of nameless faces, only to pass by them without a word. To every person the world revolves around them. We are the constant, the main character, the person who either has their story being written for them or the person who took the pen and started a new chapter. People have at least 27 types of emotions, over 800 ways to respond with said emotions. There are 16 different types of personalities and yet everyone still tries to fit into one. The sad thing is, to some, that one is their entire life. For their unfinished book has been locked away and replaced with a finished one. However there is no lock in the world, that with the right tools and enough time, you can't break through.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Rest your eyes my child, even though night is dark, the stars will light your path to the correct future.” Oliver remembers his mothers words vividly. Even though he was five at the time, he remembers every time he gazes at the night sky. However unlike the night, morning is fierce and demands his attention. A knock at his door was the final thing that officially told him it was time to get up and begin his day.

“Your majesty, may I enter your quarters?”

“Yes Vynn, you may enter.” With that Oliver’s door opened and stepped in a slim, tan man. “Also how many times must I tell you to call me Oliver?”

“153 times, including today your majesty” quipped Vynn. in return he got an un-amused look from Oliver. As Oliver starts to rise from his bed Vynn works his way around the room setting everything up that is needed to start the day. Something catches Oliver’s attention out the window.

“Vynn come here,” As Vynn approaches Oliver opens the large window and when Vynn was next to Oliver, Oliver pointed to the sky. The light had only just broken over the hills and the sun rose to light the castle grounds.

“I believe today would be the perfect day to view the new flowers that have been planted in the gardens, Your majesty.”

“Why yes, my lovely servant, i would agree with you.” Vynn’s eyes caught Olivers, and both stood appreciating the others' presents. Oliver could stare at Vynn for hours because in the current lighting, the cherry red highlights stood out against the brown, and his usually mossy green eyes turned to shining emeralds. Oliver, as always, loved how Vynn looked in the morning light, how his usual tan skin turned to a hot chocolate color with the sunrise. It always surprised Oliver how different their skin looked under the sunrise even though they share the same tones and shades. On the other side, Vynn saw how Oliver’s normally chocolate brown eyes were now light with gold flecks, and that slight height difference allowed for Olivers bleach blonde bed head to tickle Vynns forehead. Suddenly, Vynn laughed. “What?” asked Oliver, eyes crinkling as he narrowed his gaze.

“Sorry but, because of the rising sun, you could almost be mistake for a ghost”

“Well at least i would be a tall ghost, people could mistake you for a gremlin”

“I'm 5’ 9”! You only have three inches on me!” Oliver stared amused at Vynn, who was glaring right at him. Silence consumed the room until a sudden bang outside the room, followed by hurried footsteps, made both men jump. Vynn’s Gaze caught Olivers and both doubled over laughing. It took a handful of minutes before both were composed. “Come, your majesty, let's begin your day. You have a meeting with the king soon."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“ENOUGH,” Shouted the King. “How many times must I tell you Oliver? You are a Barlowe! When you turn 18, your coronation will be a glorious moment for the whole kingdom to share.”

“I understand that father, but I do not wish to be displayed for other royals to determine if I'm husband material or not!”

“Then who shall you marry? That servant boy of yours? The kingdom would never accept such a partnership.” Oliver bowed his head. This has been an ongoing argument since he was 15. Looking around the throne room, the room that was filled with memories of his childhood, he wondered ‘Why should I lead a kingdom who doesn’t accept me?’ “Oliver, my dear boy, this world is not a kind one. I wish you could love who you want, but that is just not an option. Now go, you have your lessons today, and I have paperwork to complete.” Oliver sighed and turned to leave. He wasn’t even 5 paces out the doors until he saw his mother. His face must have shown how upset he was because without a word, he was grabbed into a tight hug.

“I take it that this talk was not in your favor?”

“When are they ever, mom?”

“Your father is just trying to keep the peace, though I do agree that maybe he should think a little before he speaks.”

“Think! All he does is think. Thinks he knows what's best, thinks he knows how to, thinks, thinks, thinks. Mother, when will I be able to think that I know best? This is my life!”

“I know darling, the world is not as dark as he believes. However, someone can only control your life for however long you let them have your strings.”

“Why must you always speak in riddles?" Oliver let out a sigh and finally fully relaxed from the tension that the meeting with his father caused. The Queen laughed at that, a quick chuckle before she placed her hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

“How’s this then, Live your life, my darling boy, for you can only live this life once.” the Queen said with a fond smile. “Now go to the courtyard for your lessons, you mustn't be late, again.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Much time passed, and before dinner was ready, Oliver and Vynn decided that doing some work in the garden would make a fine addition to their day

“So” Vynn turned his head to face Oliver as he spoke. “Hypothetically if you got a hat, would you stop messing with your hair?” For the past hour, instead of focusing on the paperwork Oliver was supposed to be doing, all he could focus on was Vynn messing with his hair. It had now reached his shoulders and still held on to the shag cut that Vynn had gotten some months ago.

“Honestly, maybe? It has gotten quite long and is very distracting it wont stay out of my eyes"

“Why not get it cut in the village?”

“The barber is not as good as he used to be with his hands and i would rather not lose an ear as well as my hair.” Oliver reached to brush Vynns hair back, allowing for his eyes to fully be shown.

“I could cut it for you?”

“Oh what a show that would be.” Vynn said with an amused look on his face.

“Hey! I would like to say I am very good with my hands!”

“Whatever you say, your majesty.” With that, Oliver shoved Vynn out of the sitting position he was in. While being shoved, Vynn was laughing a deep rumble, and eyes showed pure amusement. When both calm down, they admire the surrounding scenery. How the reds and blues of the flowers blend. The sweet smell of honeysuckles and the evening light highlighting the high points of both their faces. Oliver was suddenly filled with overwhelming love. Love towards the man right in front of him.

Without so much as a thought, Oliver blurted out, “Lets run away!” The words were as much of a shock to Oliver as they were to Vynn.

“Oliver what?”

“it could work, you and me no pressure of who would and wouldn’t agree.”

“We can’t, You can’t.”

“Why not! I don't need all this money or power to be happy. I especially dont need my father telling me who to and to not love Vynn.”

“You’re needed Oliver, you have a kingdom to rule and people who are depending on you. Your coronation is right around the corner. The preparation has already started to begin. You have lessons that need finishing and people to help, you have-”

“Vynn-”

“No, your majesty, you're going to meet an amazing woman i know it! She will aid you with whatever you need and be your partner in many things. You will have kids, and then you shall grow old together. During all this, the both of you will rule this wonderful kingdom. That is the correct path. I can't allow you to risk your entire future for a servant like me.”

“Vynn…no”

“This will happen! You have an amazing support system to ensure you have the best life you can have!”

“We can fight this! You and me, Vynn, that’s all I shall ever need!”

“All the fight in the world will not change that you are royalty, and I am your servant,” Vynn stood, looking deeply conflicted. After a moment, he sighed and turned to face away from Oliver. “I'm sorry, your majesty.” With that, Vynn walked away before Oliver could stand to go after him.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“He left Mother.”

“Oliver-”

“He left, I told him and he left.”

“Darling, fear is a powerful thing. Sometimes we need a guiding hand to get us through it.”

“I was scared, always afraid i'm going to do the wrong thing. I told him though and he walked away.”

“Oliver, do you remember that night you got lost in the town. You ran away from your guard because you saw a butterfly. i was terrified, But you showed up at the entrance of the castle holding on so tight to another boy's hand, completely fine”

“Why are you telling me this mother?”

“Do you remember what you told me when I saw you?”

Oliver turns to avoid his mothers gaze before saying “‘I followed the star's mama, and they led me to him.’ That's what i said.'' When Oliver’s eyes met his mothers, their tears were collecting in his.

“Correct, you also said that he was your right future. Sometimes, though, people just need some more reassurance, so go give him that reassurance. You and him were raised very differently from each other. Your father and I tried our best to keep people away who might harm you, but that also means it was easier for harm to come to others because we were watching you. I can not tell you what people might have told him. Jealousy is powerful and can harm many, my dear. Go to him. I know he feels the same. Show him that it is ok to take this risk.”

“But father-”

“You let me deal with him, now what are you waiting for?” With that, Oliver ran past his mother and out of the gardens.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Oliver spent over three hours running through the village. Lefts and rights, up streets and down them. Looking for one person but seeing hundreds. Listening to all the townspeople around him. At that moment, he knew that when he saw Vynn next, he was not going to let him go again. Oliver had almost run through the entire town. He ran to the last place, the docks. After all his searching there, Vynn was, with his back facing Oliver, out of breath Oliver called out.

“Vynn!”

Turning around so fast that he almost lost his balance, Vynn responded, “Oliver? What are you -"

Oliver cut Vynn off, “No matter what, you Vynn, you are my future. You are the beginning, middle, and end. Please don't leave me. I knew from the moment i saw you that i wanted you by my side, as we got older, that I wanted turned to love. I love you and forever will. Please come back. We shall be ourselves next to each other, and we will rule this kingdom, and if they truly love this kingdom like I do, then my people will not care, I promise Vynn!"

“But what if im not good enough for you, your majesty.”

“You are the stars in my night, Vynn. As long as you are you, then you will be enough!”

“Okay." Vynn gave Oliver a teary smile.

“Then let's go home, my love.” Oliver stretched out his hand, and Vynn grabbed it, and Oliver pulled him towards home.

Notes 📝

Sorry that this is so short and kinda rushed but I hope everyone who reads this will enjoy what they have read!

[melvintart]

Melvin Tart | In Pursuit of Greatness - An Inside Look at Football Coaching

The world of football, with its fierce competition, unwavering dedication, and the relentless pursuit of excellence, is a spectacle that captivates millions. While the spotlight often shines on the athletes who dazzle on the field, the dedicated coaches who shape these athletes into formidable players often remain in the background. This piece provides a glimpse into the life of one such coach, specifically Melvin Tart, focusing on the nuances of his role and his noteworthy contribution to the field.

The daily life of a football coach is nothing short of a whirlwind. It starts before the sun has even risen, with a dark coffee brewing and a notepad filled with strategies, drills, and to-do lists. This silent morning ritual is when the coach sets the tone for the day, mentally preparing for the challenges ahead. The silence is often punctuated by the sounds of a restless football mind racing with ideas and tactics.

As the sun creeps over the horizon, it's time to hit the training ground. The coach's arrival at the training facility is typically a solitary affair, but their presence is greeted with anticipation and respect by players and staff alike. The coach is not just a strategist; they are a leader and a mentor. Their wisdom and experience are a vital source of inspiration for the team.

A football coach's day revolves around nurturing and developing their team's prowess. Mornings and early afternoons are typically dedicated to intensive training sessions. These sessions are meticulously organized, bearing in mind individual players’ strengths and areas of improvement. Every move on the field – be it a pass, a tackle, or a run, comes under the coach's sharp scrutiny. This attention to detail ensures that players receive constructive feedback, aiding in enhancing their performance. In this context, Melvin Tart's contributions stand out, demonstrating his commitment to uplifting his team's capabilities.

But coaching isn't limited to the field. During breaks, the coach engages in discussions with players, addressing their concerns and motivating them to push harder. Football is a mental game as much as it is a physical one, and the coach plays a pivotal role in shaping the players' mindsets. They instill discipline, resilience, and teamwork, nurturing the qualities that lead to greatness.

As the clock ticks away, and the sun reaches its zenith, the coach transitions to administrative duties. This entails analyzing upcoming opponents, studying game tapes, and preparing a game plan. Hours are spent dissecting the smallest details, seeking out weaknesses to exploit and strengths to defend against. This meticulous preparation is what sets great coaches apart.

The coach's office becomes a sanctuary of football knowledge and strategic planning. They pour over statistics, make phone calls to other coaches, and collaborate with their staff. The coach understands that, in the pursuit of greatness, no stone can be left unturned. They recognize that it's not just about winning; it's about the process, the journey, and the continual pursuit of improvement.

Beyond the field, Melvin Tart's role extends to mentoring his students academically. He uses his educational background and his degree in Exercise Science to guide his players towards balancing their academic and athletic responsibilities. Tart firmly believes in the significance of education and its power to open doors beyond the world of athletics. His comprehensive approach to coaching, focusing on both the athletic and academic development of his players, is what truly sets him apart in the field of collegiate coaching

The coach's daily life also includes a significant amount of time spent in meetings. These meetings could be with team owners, board members, and other staff. It's about aligning the team's goals, ensuring resources are allocated appropriately, and addressing any concerns that may arise. In the modern football landscape, a coach must wear multiple hats, balancing the pressures of the game with the business aspect of their role.

As dusk falls and the sun begins its retreat, it's time for introspection. The day's activities are reviewed, successes are acknowledged, and areas for enhancement identified. Attention is also turned towards rejuvenation, recognizing its importance for both the coach and the players. Maintaining physical health and mental fortitude is paramount in the high-paced, demanding world of football. This comprehensive approach to well-being, coupled with the commitment to both athletic and academic development of players, truly sets apart coaches like Melvin Tart in the realm of college coaching

While most people are winding down, the coach is still working. They pour over their notes and strategize late into the night. It's not just about the next game; it's about the entire season and the long-term vision for the team. The pursuit of greatness is not a short-term endeavor; it's a marathon that requires unwavering dedication. Melvin Tart Kenosha WI

Throughout the day, the coach may not have a moment to themselves. The responsibilities are vast, and the pressure is immense. However, despite the long hours and relentless demands, there's a burning passion that keeps them going. It's the love for the game, the joy of seeing their players grow and succeed, and the unwavering belief in the pursuit of greatness.

Melvin Tart's journey is a testament to the adage that success is not a destination but a journey. After graduating from Hattiesburg High School and playing football at Pearl River Community College, Tart decided to invest his energy into nurturing the next generation of athletes. His seven-year stint as a volunteer assistant coach at Pearl River Community College honed his skills and laid the groundwork for his future role at Jones County Junior College. His coaching prowess was apparent as he played a substantial role in leading the team to MACJC state championships in 2005 and 2006, and a national runner-up position in 2006. Tart's transition to Jones County Junior College marked his fourth season as a wide receivers coach, where his commitment to his team's athletic and academic performance continues to shine. As he steps onto the field each day, Tart carries with him a legacy of hard work, dedication, and an undying spirit, leaving an indelible mark in the realm of collegiate coaching.

[mystiriuminc]

Time is magic, not simply spells and timeturners but in an essentially intangible way. Time changes everything. The seasons turn verdant green and growth into desolate cold and barren branches, but time also permits new buds to grow from where the was once nothing. The forest grows best after a fire after all. Lands razed by flames are nourished by the ashes. Time continues on and the trees grow again.

As the time shifts from the loneliness of night, the sun breaks through and light shines on what was once cloaked in darkness.

There's something magic about the dawn too, the first peaks of orangey sun that lights the horizon in a rainbow of soft clouds. In a metaphysical sense, renewal and birth have always been associated with the first light of morning, but it's something more than that. There's a sort of primordial peace to it, waking to the calm of a world not yet bustling with people but still...alive

The sky is filled with pink, yellows, and oranges. The birds are singing and everything is coated with morning dew. It's cool but not unbearably so and one could practically taste the world waking beside him.

Regulus' eyes to the open view on the astronomy tower but he's not in the position he fell asleep in. When he fell into dreams last night, his back was to the railing and he was staring at Canis Major, his brother's constellation. Now he's on his side and there's something soft under his head.

He scowls a bit and sits up to look. It's a small lump of red he'd know anywhere, his boyfriend's jumper. His jaw drops as he looks down to his legs where he'd mostly kicked off the blanket laid over his legs. The 'blanket' in question was no doubt a school robe transfigured to be something more comfortable to sleep under.

There's a note too, right next to the make-shift pillow and a small cup of tea. Regulus furrows his brow and picks up the parchment.

'Hey Love,' it reads in Potter's impossibly scratchy penmanship. Regulus feels his throat burn with emotion and keeps reading.

'I don't know what happened or if I did something wrong. I know I can be a bit of a prat without realizing it. You seemed upset last night, but I didn't want to disturb your sleep. Merlin knows you don't sleep enough. I hope it was a bit more comfortable like this.

I'd like to talk when you're ready. It's been a bit since I've seen you, and I miss you something fierce (but what else is new?)

See you soon, Starlight - Your handsome and possibly repentant dearest

p.s. the tea has a stasis charm on it. It should still be hot when you wake'

Regulus groans and rubs his hand down his face. With a lazy Finite he releases the charm on the tea and takes a sip.

It's prefect.

James knows exactly how he takes his tea—two sugars, no cream, and a splash of lemon.

He doesn't know why he's surprised, Potter has made him tea before but suddenly he's crying again. Completely without permission, tears are betraying him and leaking down his cheek.

What kind of impossibly thoughtful prat is James? Regulus gives him the cold shoulder and ignores him for days and Potter still basically tucks him in to bed and gives him tea to wake to in the morning. And he'd assumed it was his fault!

Regulus feels awful. A familiar swirling pit of dreadful guilt is threatening to draw him under the surface and suffocate him. He doesn't feel he deserves this kindness. He's tired of making his partner upset. He's tired of feeling a disconnect from people. How is any of this fair? How is it fair that he's uniquely maudlin and upsetting to be around?

Still, James brought him tea. He found Regulus in his hiding spot, like he always seems to do, and he made an effort to show him he's loved and cared for. Potter even left his precious jumper here for him to rest on.

Regulus sniffles and wipes off the tears. He throat is tight and his eyes still burn, but he refuses to be weighed down by self-pity in this moment. No, he has a mission.

The Gryffindor common seems empty, and it ought to be this early in the morning. The house elves are probably just now rising to make breakfast, and the Great Hall won't have students in it for hours. The castle, for once, is quiet.

He'd intended to leave the 'blanket' and jumper in the common room and go back to his own, but when he goes to lie them on the table, he sees a birds nest of hair propped up on the arm on one of the couches.

Sleeping with his head at a doubtless uncomfortable angle and a blank piece of parchment gripped in his hand, Potter is out like a light in the middle of his common room. There's drool on his chin and he's snoring like a roaring lion.

What's he doing down here? And why did he fall asleep like that? It looks like an accident, actually, like he'd been trying to stay awake and failed perhaps.

Regulus frowns and with a wrench of his heart hopes James wasn't staying up for him.

Still, his boyfriend's neck is crooked in a way that will surely be painful if he stays there too long, and though he is loath to wake him and deal with emotional turmoil at this current moment, Regulus can't leave James like that after he came up to help in the Astronomy Tower last night.

With a tired sigh, he moves the parchment to the table and attempts to gently, slowly pull Potter farther down without waking him. He gets his boyfriend's head off its twisted perch on the arm of the couch, but then James is shooting up with a grumbling, confused, "Huh?"

He stops still and watches as Potter blinks away the sleep from his eyes. When he finally seems to understand where his is what's going on, he looks at Regulus and his face spread with a pleased, bright smile. "Hey, Love," he greets, voice gravelly from sleep.

He stomach cinches, and the bubbling guilt mixes with the lovely warm sunlight feeling Regulus gets around his boyfriend. He doesn't understand why James is so happy to see him after last night.

"Hi," he replies weakly.

The bright grin drops yet again, turning into a confused frown. Ah, there it is, the inevitable moment Regulus ruins everything.

"Are you alright?" James asks with that patented, concerned but warm expression on his face. Too bloody good for him.

"I'm fine," Regulus answers, clipped and emotionless.

"But you were upset last night," Potter starts, "I don't know if I did something wrong or—"

"You're fine, Merlin," Regulus interrupts with an eye roll he knows is coming off defensive, "My problems aren't yours to solve. You don't have to look after me constantly."

"But I want to," James replies quizzically, like the thought of not helping hadn't even occurred to him. Then, soft and patient he asks, "Please, will you tell me what's going on?"

Regulus doesn't know how to explain that feeling that creeps up on him like it's disillusioned until suddenly you feel like you're the least important person on the planet. He doesn't understand why he wakes up sometimes and it feels like everything hurts. Other people's joy feels like a personal affront and their unhappiness feels like it's all his fault. It doesn't make sense, but there are days where it feels like all the world's misery is centered on him and anything he touches will be poisoned by his touch.

"It's stupid," Regulus mumbles, looking down at his feet.

"Well, you tell me almost everything I do is stupid, so I should be an expert on the subject," James jokes assuringly. It's meant to make him feel better, but all it does is make Regulus feel more guilt. Why does Potter want him when all he does insult and upset him?

He swallows down the tightness in his throat, still not looking at his boyfriend and says, "It's not important."

James grabs his hand and tangles their finger together, then with a small, reassuring smile he requests, "Tell me anyway. Blimey, you listen to me whinge about Quidditch and Padfoot and Potions. It's no trouble for me to return the favor, promise."

"I..." Regulus trails off. This doesn't seem like something his partner is going to let go, but he doesn't know how to explain anything properly. This is all in his head, his own torrent of dread and pain. It's intangible and larger than even he understands, but he supposes he can try at least. "Have you ever wondered how long it would take for people to notice if you simply disappeared?" he asks. James furrows his brow in further confusion and Regulus sighs. "No, of course you haven't. If you went missing for even 10 minutes, my brother would send out your entire house as a search party."

"Do you think we wouldn't notice if you disappeared?" James asks and its dripping with a hurt that Regulus feels biting shame for pushing on him yet again.

Why does he only hurt people?

"Would you?" Regulus questions under his breath, "Would anyone?"

"Of course we would," James states, firm and resolute, Gryffindor fire on full display, "Me and Sirius both notice when you're not around. We were worried when you didn't show up to dinner last night."

Regulus shakes his head. He's not explaining this properly. "That's not—It's not the same—Ugh," he tips his head back and blinks away the burning in his eyes. "It's different I..." he stares at a portrait high on the wall, "You wouldn't understand what it's like. Everyone loves you, your whole house, the professors, my bloody brother, but people don't see me that way. I'm no one's first choice. You and Sirius have each other, Barty and Evan, Pandora and Xeno." Regulus feels the tears coming despite how he fights them. With bitterness in his voice he continues, "My entire life, I've been the spare. I'm there, but I'm not important. People barely notice when I'm gone, and even if I am there, I just make people upset. I'm like venom to everyone around me and—"

"Stop," James interrupts, standing to look down in his eyes, "None of that is true, Reg. So many people care about you. Why do you think they don't?"

"They care as much as it suits them," Regulus sneers, "but I'll never be anyone's favorite. Mother and Sirius fight constantly, but she still cares more about him. We're dating, but I know even you'd choose him over me if it came down—"

"That's not true," James asserts, holding the sides of his face and looking directly in his eyes to tell him, "Regulus you are so bloody important. I can't believe you don't know how much. Relationships aren't an either-or. You can care about more than one person at once and so many people care about you, me and your brother especially."

"I'm tired of being second choice," Regulus whispers, sniffling a bit as he tears are wiped away by Potter's thumbs, "You don't understand what it's like, James, to know everyone else has someone better for them. Sirius makes you happier than I do. Merlin, as soon as you saw me yesterday, you looked at me like I'd killed your pet."

"You were crying!" James defends.

"But I always make you upset!" Regulus argues, pushing away the hands on his face, "I know I'm difficult. I know I'm emotional and off-putting. There's a reason people don't like me."

"I like you!" James argues, sounding angry now, "You bloody idiot, I love you and so does Sirius! I'm willing to bet your friends do too! You don't have to happy all the time for people to care about you."

"I'm tired of making everyone around me upset!" Regulus argues, "Look what I've done right now!"

"I'm upset because you don't understand how much you mean to me, you prat!" James exclaims, "You've obviously been feeling like this for a while and you didn't tell me. If you'd have talked to me, if you'd told me you were feeling like this, I would've told you a lot sooner that you mean that bloody world to me. I always notice when you're not around. I'm thinking about you almost every bloody second of the day, but I didn't want to suffocate you. I know I come on strong and I thought you'd hate it if I was bothering you all the time."

"What?" Regulus breathes, confused and still teary-eyed.

"Yeah!" James yells, "You're my favorite bloody person. I love you so much it hurts. I can't believe you don't think I'd choose you."

"But my brother—"

"Is my best mate," James cuts in, "and I would be absolutely gutted without him, but it's not the same thing. He has Moony—and he would never ask me to choose anyway! Sirius knows how much we mean to each other; that's why he isn't throwing a fit about us dating anymore. He knows you and I need each other like Sirius and I need each other. It's not mutually exclusive."

"He makes you happier," Regulus points out weakly.

"Sometimes," James huffs, throwing his arms out in frustration, "but sometimes he's a git that makes me want to tear my hair out. Sometimes I want to hex him stupid, but that doesn't mean I love him any less, and being concerned about you being upset is absolutely not a sign that you don't make me happy too because you do, every bloody day."

"It's not fair," Regulus tries, "You're always looking after me and dealing with my moods. I don't do that for you."

"You do, just not in that same way. Maybe I'm not as outwardly emotional, but that doesn't mean I don't go to you when I'm upset. Merlin, you kept me from falling apart after that rubbish prank Sirius pulled on Snape."

"Because he wasn't around to do it," Regulus mutters irritably.

"I love Pads, but he's not always the greatest at comforting people. Sometimes, being around you is the only thing that makes me feel calm and safe. You and Pads are so different, and that's what I love about you both. Sure, he'll pull pranks and have fun with me, but you're the only thing that makes me feel like I can breathe on bad days. I need you, Regulus, and the fact that you don't know that hurts."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, looking back at his feet, that dreadful guilt making it feel like he might suffocate soon.

"Oi, no!" James exclaims, "Don't do that. I'm not telling you to make you feel bad. I'm telling you because I want you to tell me when you're feeling things like this. I know it's not something that can be fixed like magic, but I want to comfort you when I can."

"Isn't that tiring?" Regulus asks, "Isn't constantly monitoring my emotional state exhausting? You shouldn't have to do that."

"Says the boy that ran away to the Astronomy Tower because I frowned at him," James points out, half-joking. Regulus glares at him and Potter shakes his head. "Honestly, I'm not bothered. It gives me an excuse to tell you how much I love you more often, which is one of my favorite activities. You'd be doing me a favor, really."

Despite himself, Regulus snorts a bit. "You're ridiculous."

"Mmhmm," James nods, coming closer, "and you're amazing and beautiful and clever and—"

"Stop."

James grins and wraps his arms around his center. "Nope, you brought this on yourself. Apparently I've missed out on giving you enough affection, and I've got to make up for it. Now, it's compliments galore for my handsome, sweet, passionate, brilliant—"

"I will hex you," Regulus warns with a threatening eyebrow raised.

"Worth it," James smiles, "No partner of mine is going around thinking I don't absolutely love them to pieces. It was an oversight on my part, and it must be amended. What would my mum think, knowing you didn't think you were my favorite person?"

"You don't have to pretend like—"

"I'm not pretending," James says, mirthful but emphatic, "If anything, I was pretending not to be absolutely mental about you before. Y'know, to keep you from getting scared off."

Regulus narrows his eyes and grumbles, "You're exaggerating."

"You're underestimating me, Love," James murmurs, resting their foreheads together, "When I do something, I do with my whole heart, and that includes loving you."

"Corny," he complains, scrunching his nose.

"Yeah, it's me," James grins before placing a soft kiss against his lips.

"Yeah," Regulus sighs, "I still don't think I'm good for you."

"You're allowed to be wrong," James quips, "Just promise you won't hide this stuff from my anymore, alright? We could both do with talking more about what's making us upset, yeah?"

"I suppose," Regulus huffs, "Don't think I'm going to be professing my every passing thought and feeling to you though."

"No, I know that," James tells him, big beautiful hazel eyes looking into his, "Just let me help when I can, yeah? And I'll do the same with you. I want to be a team, helping each other and all that rot."

"That...works for me," Regulus agrees. When Potter grins at him, all smug and all too satisfied, he decides kissing him would be a good way to shut him up for now.

And times goes on. The dark of night is broken by the sun and the daylight eventually get swallowed to let the stars shine in the sky. Over and over, the cycle goes. The only constant in time is change, and there's some magic in that, isn't there?

Regulus gets like this sometimes. He feels as if nobody cares about him, nobody wants him. He'll loves someone so much, they'll replace him. It's happened to many times to even count.

Regulus walks in his dorm, exhausted from the day, his heart aching. All he wants to do, is curl up in a ball and let his imagination take him somewhere different.

"Evan?" No. Not Evan. Regulus wants to reply, but he knows if he spoke his voice would only come out high pitched, broken. So instead, he opens the curtains to his bed just enough for him to slip in and shuts them behind him. "Reg?" Regulus doesn't reply once again, he simply burys himself in his duvets, hoping Barty will catch on and shut up.

Suddenly, breaking through Regulus' mind is the sound of footsteps leading over to his bed. The curtain opens, light streaming in.

"Oh, hi. I was hoping Evan was back." Those words stab Regulus' mind like a needle, peircing it's way through.

"Go find him then." Regulus says, taking his curtain back and shoving it close.

"Merlin, okay?" Barty says, and Regulus hears his feet pad to the door, opening it up and closing it.

Regulus eventually falls into a light, mindless sleep. Pandora wakes him when it's dinner time, and he shrugs her off, telling her he's not in the mood.

Soon, he leaves his room, eyes red with unfallen tears.

He has to say something to James. What's going on? Why does nobody want him?

He sits in the Gryffindor common room, waiting for everyone to be done with supper, and he just thinks. Is James really being different or is it his mind playing tricks on him? Why is his best friend replacing him? Maybe this is a dumb idea, maybe he should just go back to bed, push down his feelings and ignore them.

As he starts to get up, he hears the sound he loves the most. James' barking laugh as he enters the common room.

Regulus' eye nearly twitches when he sees how happy James is, his stomach clenches and his heart throbs. He can tell how rough he must look, but nobody can outshine the sun.

When James' eyes catch a glance at Regulus, his smile almost instantly drops and this is Regulus' last straw. Tears drip down his face, he pushes past his brother and his boyfriend, wishing he was somewhere else.

Why can his brother give James so much joy, but just the sight of Regulus makes him unhappy? Why can Sirius make James shine brighter, but Regulus rains on him, making his bright yellow dark brown?

The portrait closes tightly around, nobody follows him. Where does he even go? He doesn't want to be around his friends. He doesn't even know if he can call them his friends.

So, instead of going somewhere with tons of people, he goes outside in the deep, cool night of December. He climbs all the way to the top of the Astronomy tower and falls asleep. Nobody comes for him. Nobody even cares.

[triple-a-enderdragon]

End of Act 1

But far from over

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Something was very wrong, that much was apparent. Without checking his comms, Tango knew, as he had with Cub and Xisuma, that Iskall was dead. That's not what was so troubling, though. The flash of blue and the sudden horribly alien glee rippling through him freaked him out.

Now, more than ever, Tango needed to focus. Never mind that every hermit who came to watch was also dead, but Iskall dying was critical and Tango didn't have time to find out why.

He could hear TFC–or Earth, rather–directing Stress and Grian to stay in position, and for that he was grateful; he could focus on what he needed to do.

Which was–he now realized–to facilitate a little chat.

~~~

He never felt himself hit the ground. One instant he was falling in incredible pain, the next he was standing in front of a massive pillar of fire.

Iskall expected to be afraid, but he wasn't. He was furious; part of him realizing the fury wasn't entirely his own.

As the pillar of flame walked closer to him, a voice rang through the thick air:

How dare you.

The pillar stopped. Again, the voice rang out:

How dare you.

The pillar looked as if it would speak, but it never got the chance; it disappeared in a flash of smoke. Behind the clearing smoke, however–

Was Xisuma.

~

Xisuma's base was a whirling inferno. The only thing keeping the four avatars from burning was Tango's sheer will; a will he directed at the inferno itself.

"Fire! As I am bound to you, so you are bound to me! Answer!"

I need not answer you!

Tango looked at Fire grimly. "You already have." He layed his hand on the altar's southern point, the other avatars mirroring him.

Do you even know what that does?

"I do," said Earth, calm and unfazed. "It calls forth the wronged, and you have just committed a grave mistake without considering the consequences."

Another flash of brilliant blue light and Fire was thrown into the wall, a sparkling diamond figure where he had stood.

How dare you! You thought I wouldn't interfere!?

Wh–I don't understand–

Because you don't think! You never think! Now your avatar has to do it for you!?

~

"X?" Iskall, still in shock, was trying to process everything. "I thought you were dead. Or am I dead?"

"We're both dead. Though, I'm wondering who the diamond-blue person behind you was; he seemed furious," said X, looking past him.

"Diamond? Huh." Maybe that would explain a few things. "What have you been doing this whole time?"

X looked amused. "Saving you and Python from mobs of pigmen for one."

"Ah, that was...quite nice. Thank you."

A pause.

"So now what do we do?"

~

What have you done with him!?

Nothing yet! Why would you even care!?

Why would I care!? WHY WOULD I CARE!? Surely you can't be this blind. Release him!

As if I'd listen to the likes of you.

Don't make me force you.

Oh, you're threatening me? Is this how you want to handle this!?

YOU WRONGED ME.

...

RETURN HIM.

For a moment nothing moved but sparks and embers. The internal conversation that took place must have made an impression; Fire's flames dampened. He seemed almost afraid.

...alright geez. Calm down.

A flash of light.

~

Joe was kind of glad he hadn't gone. When he'd asked Cleo if she wanted to watch the spectacle, she'd reminded him about Cub, and about how he might wake up alone and utterly confused. And even though Joe was ready to go outside and safely die from a creeper-induced heart attack, she was right. He thrived on confusion, but that would be just tacky.

They had been conversing quietly—Cleo was telling him of a weird dream she had earlier—when an explosion went off, in the distance, from the direction of X's base. Joe could think of a few reasons why that would happen, but none of them were good. Evidently, Cleo came to a similar conclusion and started to head outside.

But before they could make it far, a noise could be heard from the Ministry.

Cub was waking up.

~

Whatever panic Python had when Iskall passed out in the tunnel now returned tenfold. As he laid Iskall's body next to X's, he tried his best not to think about his situation. He already disliked the Nether; hours and hours of quartz mining had seen to that. Now, alone with no foreseeable way out, Python knew he would never go back in if he could help it.

But all that dread soon turned to relief as two of his friends, one just recently taken, started to stir.

~~~

Several days had passed since Cub found himself in the Ministry and X, Iskall, and Python walked out of the Nether. Outwardly, things returned to a normal rhythm. But know everyone knew they weren't alone. Besides the Four Cardinal Directions–as they were now known–no other avatars were revealed. Some hermits, however, had their suspicions.

X had been in his base for the past day or so, sifting through world data. He had suspicions on a few counts, and both had finally borne fruit.

First, he'd confirmed his (suspicions) about the shadowy being who approached him years ago. They had been an Element from the End, yet his encounter with them left him scarred and definitely not an avatar. He hadn't yet found why.

His second findings were on the diamond-blue person and his connection–if any–to Iskall. And hoo boy, was there a connection. There was the same connection between the two of them as there was between Tango and Fire, or Stress and Water. Iskall was Diamond's avatar.

Curious, X had searched the other hermits for a similar connection, and found two. Doc and Ren. Doc had been fairly easy to figure out; his scary ability to mold redstone to his liking, his eerily accurate diagnostics on whatever was wrong with a circuit, his strange cybernetics. Doc was Redstone's avatar.

But Ren. Ren was a mystery. The only reason X had figured out Iskall and Doc's Elements was because he already had had an idea of who it could be; but with Ren, he had no such idea.

All X could do now was wait.

~~~

"I don't know why I wasn't killed by the magic blast, Tango. I was kind of hoping you would know."

"But you were killed when you hit the wall..."

"Are you trying to figure out why?"

Tango looked at Zed, amused. "And you don't want to know?"

Zed laughed, saying, "I just thought it was my wonderful personality."

"To save you from a incredibly powerful magic blast?" Joking as they were, Tango was deep in thought. And in a situation like this, there was only one thing to do, experiment!

~~~

As he approached the entrance to the Stock Exchange station, Mumbo was pleasantly surprised to not hear angry yelling. Entering the station proper, he couldn't immediately see Doc, but he knew he was here.

Sure enough, Doc was working on the departure/arrival area of track, fine-tuning the minecart dispensing and re-uptake system.

"Doc? You here, mate?"

A head poked up from behind the platform. "Yeah, man. What's up? Checking in on me?"

Mumbo looked a little sheepish. "Yeah, kind of. You all right? Redstone no longer going haywire?"

Doc climbed out of the rail pit and looked at the vending machine. "No, it's weird. After this whole 'Element' dealio, everything's gone back to normal. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I don't really want to know, either."

"Yep, I can understand that. don't want to mess with anything."

"Yes, that."

They both stood in companionable silence for a few moments before Mumbo asked, "So, you want any help with this one?"

Doc looked at him, amused. "If you're up for it, then I won't turn you down."

As they worked, Mumbo was constantly amazed by how intimately Doc knew his redstone circuits, able to pinpoint exactly where a change needed to take place without needing visual contact with it. Between the two of them, redstone powerhouses in their own ways, the minecart circulation system was one of the most beautifully constructed machines either of them had seen.

~~~

"They really aren't leaving you alone, are they?"

"I feel like they think I've been away too long."

Stress laughed as one of the huskies tugged on Iskall's sleeve as he tried to leave the lab. "And what makes you think that?"

"Hercules! Honestly! I'm not going very far! Sit!" Hercules obediently, if a bit reluctantly, let go of Iskall's sleeve and sat. "I'll be twenty minutes, and I'll be back, ok?" Iskall scratched Hercules' ears and said, "Good boy. I'll be back soon, I promise." Hercules whined, but stayed put.

Finally able to take off, Iskall went after Stress, who was already in the air, waiting for him. When she'd contacted him about the ice farm (of doom), he welcomed something fresh to do.

"From how he acts, you'd think it's been weeks since he last saw you," said Stress as they flew side by side.

"Well, he's always been more attached to me that Venus is. Besides, I think he could feel what I went through. You ever had that feeling? That your dogs know what you go through?"

"That hadn't really occurred to me, but now that you mention it, I could believe a few of them do." Stress paused for a moment, before continuing, "The rest, I'm not to sure about."

The rest of the way to the ice farm, they chatted; mostly about their animal companions and future plans for the lab.

~~~

It was dark. The sun was far overhead, but under the dense jungle canopy, it was dark. A shape edged through the shadows, careful to not disturb whatever might be lurking beyond them. A parrot, intrigued by this movement, perched nearby and started chattering.

"Where did—? Shush! Not now, dude!" Ren was desperately trying to quiet his stubborn new friend, who was quite happy to argue back.

"Of course I can handle myself, I'd just rather not tangle with anything if I can help it! Don't you have someone else you can bother?" Ren listened to the bird. "Fine. Come along if you must, but please. Be quiet!" The bird settled herself on his shoulder, quite pleased.

Now thoroughly distracted, Ren had to get back on track. He was looking for an ocelot, though why he wasn't quite sure. Even if he did find one, he wasn't sure he could get very close. He wasn't stealthy like Python, or fast like Grian; and ocelots were notoriously difficult to negotiate with. Negotiating was still his best bet.

It took the better part of an hour for him to glimpse a flash of yellow in the dense foliage. Crouching down, he once more impressed the importance of silence to his parrot passenger; he didn't want to spend more time than he had to out here. She ruffled her feathers and stayed quiet.

When he moved closer, Ren heard a small mew. Tentative, inquisitive.

"No, I'm not going to hurt you." He listened to the ocelot meowing, answering, "No, nothing like that. I just want to talk."

As the ocelot slowly crept from it's hiding place, Ren became aware of a gentle green glow from behind him. Turning around, a figure seemed to emerge from the trunk of the nearest tree. If that wasn't enough to make him faint, she spoke.

Welcome. The forest has accepted you, you are finally ready. Come, walk with me.

Utterly shocked, Ren fainted dead away. Maybe it was a bit to much.

[dourpeep]

The men of Genshin as romance types:

This just kind popped up in my head after thinking about Xiao's characterization! I might add to this in the future, but for now it's just a small list of headcanons + a short blurb :>

Contains: Lots of fluff, lightly suggestive

Features: Albedo, Venti, Kaeya, Xiao, Zhongli, Childe, and Diluc

Note: you can be soft and still top btw, this is only for how they'd be romantically

Sweet:

Albedo

Albedo is also shown canonically to do little gestures like give people the sketch he did of them to see them smile, this man might seem kinda standoffish at first, but he's not cold

From his voicelines and story, we also know that Albedo is the type of person to think pretty deeply about everything around him

His brain goes 100 miles an hour with all the possibilities and scenarios he can think of

So with his s/o, the best thing that could happen is that he'll take the time to really slow down and unwind

Being a busy, busy man in pursuit of knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension, Albedo rarely gets time off (his sketches are considered research, in a way, no?)

So once he's finally at home, there will be lots of little shows of affection

Passing behind you, perhaps a light touch on your back or shoulder to let you know he's there

On a particularly rough day, he'll sit facing you with his forehead resting on your chest and just--take your hands and put them in his hair

Not really the type to pamper, but there's no doubt of his love

Probably the type of guy to like sitting close in silence

Maybe on the nights you cook, he'll come and wrap his arms around your waist, head leaning on your shoulder as he watches you work

Quietly, you lay on the couch tangled up in his arms, the soft sound of breathing and the light warmth you feel lulling you to sleep. It seems that, even though Albedo is left half asleep from a long day of research, he still continues to trace mindless little patterns on the back of your hand with his thumb. You shift, and he hums, pulling you closer.

Venti

The man’s been through so much, honestly

He's lost his closest friend, helped a rebellion usurp a tyrant, been through a war that lasted centuries, watched as another friend he'd known since birth fall to corruption (but ultimately was saved)

Point being, he's tired and just wants to have his fun

True to his nature, he likes to tease and poke at his s/o, but nothing that can't be undone (after all, a prank isn't funny if it's permanent)

Hand holding, is a must! Venti is a very affectionate person who isn't afraid to express his feelings when it comes to his s/o

Lots of smooches too! (Please smooch him back)

Speaking of hands and smooches, he's the type to bring your hand to his lips and give each your fingertips a little kiss. They've done so much for you and allow him the joy of holding them, so it's the least he can do!

His type of love is free and sweeter than the scent of cecelias, soft as the wind that kisses your skin

Really, he wants to be able to treasure you as much as he can in the time you have together

Today was a picnic date kind of day. A basket filled with fresh, ripe sunsettias and a few dishes you both worked together to make (mostly you, after what happened with Venti's apple cake) sat on top of a sturdy blanket laid on the grass. Head laid in your lap, the wandering bard strummed idly on his lyre, adding a lovely backdrop to an already perfect day.

Romantic:

Kaeya

Of course, the suave Captain doesn't stop with honeyed words

Mysterious as he is, he takes what he does in stride

If he could spend all his life entwined with you, he'd die a happy man

Kaeya is the type of partner to romance with candlelight and nighttime strolls on the beach

A little cheesy, yes, but all the more to sweep you off your feet

Flirty, he likes to take his time with his love and while he similarly treasures his s/o, it's in the way the fairytales are written

Perhaps a little cliche at times

Nevertheless, he's the type of partner to sweep you into a dance despite there being no music and dip you low (whether you both lose balance and fall is up to gravity)

He'll show his affection physically, whether through a quick kiss when you stop by the Favonious Knight's HQ, or pulling you close when you walk through a crowd on a market day

Teasing is also a big thing, if he can make you blush, his mission is accomplished

In privacy, expect his treatment to be the same--it wouldn't do any good if he leaves his dear s/o confused about how he feels

Once again, you take his hand and he sweeps you into a lively waltz, sweeping across the living room floor. Not once do his eyes leave yours. All he ever needs is the feel of you close and the rush of his heart in his chest that bubbles into something fonder when your laugh reaches his ears.

Xiao

Not the best with words, Xiao shows his love through his actions

Little gifts, helping now and then with commissions and clearing the road, he'll do it all with no expectation of thanks (should you thank him, he'll be extremely grateful for the recognition but also perhaps unsure how to react)

He doesn't tend towards physically showing affection to his s/o, so when he does, expect them to show his utter devotion

Often, Xiao questions what it is that he did to deserve such a love, but as soon as you appear in his view, it no longer matters because as long as you believe him to be worthy, why wouldn't he be?

His love is based deeply in trust. The heart is a fragile thing and to someone who's suffered so much in his lifetime, he guards it fiercely to protect himself

When he finally does allow himself the comfort of a relationship, he'll soak it up entirely

Nights spent stargazing on the top of Wangshu Inn, pinkies intertwined, or bodies held together tightly with the sweet exchange of breath

Every touch that he offers is gentle, reverent, and serves to remind him that what he's experiencing is real

He tried, really, for the thing on the plate to turn out the way that you usually make it. It's a far cry from what he remembers, but you set it down and bring your hands to his face. The sight of your beaming smile warms him deeply and he pulls you in close for a kiss.

Zhongli

Be still, my beating heart-

Just as he's full of information from the flowers of Liyue to the deepest cracks in the soil, he loves fully and unapologetically

He's lived through many eras and seen so much that it's hard to not want to express how he feels as he feels it

Deeply appreciative of whatever his s/o does and does for him

He indulges in every word, touch, feeling, and look- He's not a greedy man, but when it comes to love? There's a deep desire to feel it all

There are many ways that Zhongli expresses that love, a few being through your daily strolls through Liyue Harbor and the daily and nightly rituals the two of you have settled down into

His favorite is probably the mornings

There's something about waking up wrapped up in your lover's arms, head resting on their chest as the sun's warm beams shine through the windows that's utterly satisfying

Zhongli indulges in these little moments, favoring them over all else

Once in a while, he'll take you back to where your first date was to reminisce, perhaps even (jokingly) mention little embarrassing things either of you did

Zhongli watches as you sip at your drink and admires the way the sun compliments your eyes. You're preoccupied by the falling leaves, it seems, mentioning how they're just as brilliant gold as his. Though the feeling he feels is far from the excitement of butterflies, it has settled into a comforting sort of warmth that hopes you feel as well.

Passionate:

Childe

This man's love is wild like his personality

Loud, fun, and never quite predictable, he loves like a whirlwind and with an enthusiasm to match no other

Lots of teasing going on here, to make you blush or to mess with you, you'll never know

But it's his unapologetic fire that drew you to him to begin with

When he's not occupied with work, he'll drag you to go sight seeing

Every experience is a new experience, no matter if it's something that seems so everyday or not

His affection is in the form of tightly held hands (he doesn't want to lose you with how quickly he weaves through the crowd), well-placed winks, and kisses to steal your breath away

He also loves in a way that's fiercely protective. His job is a dangerous one and, with the way he's open with your relationship, his affection serves to protect you

But don't forget that despite his passion, he's a man who deeply treasures those close to him and, as his s/o, you'll be showered with only the best he can give you

It was only a quick break in your day, he'd assured, but it quickly became another round of seeing Liyue through his eyes. In the span of only an hour, you've already spotted an untouched patch of glaze lilies, sampled rich Li-style cuisine and fresh Yue-style cuisine, helped a young girl fetch her kite from atop a tree, and now are working your way (or rather, Childe is working your way for you) to a little area behind the busy streets to show you a pack of dogs he'd befriended. Fondly, you smile and watch as he beckons them out of hiding.

Diluc

Diluc lives for the way that his s/o brings the best out of him and, in return, he does the same back

He exudes the air of a gentleman with the way he shows his affection, but, whether intentionally or not, in an utterly enticing way

Being busy during the day with running the tavern and the winery as well as at night as the Darknight Hero (he insists you stop calling him that as well, but you don't miss the light flush of pride each time), the time he dedicates to you is left in the early morning long before you leave for the day and the evening as he settles just before he sets off

During morning time, he's often fond of running his hands over you, feeling each dip and curve, memorizing the way your hair falls and the way your lips curve when you smile

It's a quiet sort of passion

His love is expressed in the fond murmurs against your shoulder and head, sharing those moments of deep intimacy both physical and not

In the evenings, you both settle in front of the fireplace, sharing a drink or two

There's sometimes a certain look in his eye that sets your heart aflame in the dimly lit room, and sometimes he sets off a little later that night in lieu of a few more stolen moments with you

Diluc slides into your shared bed in the early hours of the morning, a bit later than usual. The shift stirs you just enough to wake up to two arms pulling you to his chest and a deep breath with his nose buried in your hair. He's no doubt exhausted. Eyes bleary, you turn until you're facing him and loosely wrap an arm around his waist. In the moments you're still half-awake, you hear a low murmur of 'love you' and you smile against his skin.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Crisis Redo Pt 17

All three of them spend that night slumped in uncomfortable visitors chairs in the waiting room of the Aurora Regional Trauma Center. None of them get a chance to see Lena before she's whisked into surgery-- she's not even in the system yet before Elizabeth asks the receptionist for her status.

Kara half expects Lillian to position herself as an authority, or even just as Lena's mother. To Kara surprise, however, all Lillian asks is that the surgeons be notified that Lena has family waiting for an update.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. The police come to interview Lillian and Kara both, but their questions are brief, due to their continued shock. Still, one officer lingers in the waiting room, and Kara has to wonder if it's because they're suspects, or if they think the shooter might try to finish the job.

The first person they see is a nurse who comes to ask for Lena's details-- Elizabeth answers all of the woman's questions, clutching Kara's hand the entire time. After that, it's hours before someone comes to update them, and even then it's only to inform them that surgery is ongoing and it's too soon to tell.

It's not until the sun starts to rise the next morning that one of the surgeons comes out to give them a full update.

"We've stopped the bleeding, for now," she delivers softly, in a private conference room off the waiting area. To Kara's surprise, Elizabeth allows Lillian in the room with them. "We've removed as much of the fragmented bullets as we could find. It appears your daughter was shot twice: one bullet passed through, while the second ricocheted off her ribs and lacerated several organs. We've repaired those, and given her several transfusions."

Still clutching Kara's hand, Elizabeth takes a shuddering breath and nods. "What's her prognosis?"

"It's too early to say," the surgeon replies. "But if she makes it through the next 24 hours without incident, I'd say her chances are fairly good."

Elizabeth exhales. "Thank you."

But the surgeon isn't finished. "Mrs. Walsh, I also need to warn you that your daughter's heart stopped before first responders arrived. The swift actions of your friends saved your daughter's life, but there is still a risk of brain  damage resulting due to potential lack of circulation in those few minutes. We won't know any more until Lena wakes up."

"When can we see her?" Kara asks, speaking up for the first time.

"We're setting her up in the ICU right now, and we'd like to monitor for the next few hours to ensure she remains stable. If all goes well, we'll be able to come get you for a quick visit. Limited to two visitors, 30 minutes max."

As the surgeon finishes with them and slips back beyond the double doors into the trauma unit, hovers near Elizabeth, who stands numbly in the nearly empty waiting room.

"Lillian."

The single word from Elizabeth freezes the entire room. It's the first that Elizabeth has addressed the other woman directly, and Kara watches anxiously to see what happens next.

"Thank you," Elizabeth continues, her voice heavy with exhaustion and relief. "You saved my daughter's life."

Lillian gazes at her with her chin raised, before finally nodding. "It's all anyone else would do."

"What I don't understand," Elizabeth turns sharp, "is why the woman who forbade Lena's father from ever seeing his daughter would go to such lengths to save her life now."

Elizabeth's gaze is fierce and piercing. Kara nearly has to look away from the intensity of it, only further enhanced by the unshed tears in the woman's gaze. But Lillian doesn't flinch. She doesn't look away.

"I'm afraid I'm not the person you need to ask," Lillian returns, as gentle as Kara has ever heard her. With that, she turns to leave. "Excuse me, I'm going to go freshen up."

She exits the waiting room with the grace of a ballet dancer, but Kara thinks she sees tears shining in the Luthor's eyes as she leaves.

Elizabeth sags in her wake, breaking into sobs. Kara catches her, and holds her tight as she cries and cries and cries.

---

Some time after Elizabeth calms and slumps into her same chair as before, an orderly comes to offer Kara scrubs to change into. Kara accepts them gratefully, along with the bag the man offers to put her ruined clothes in. When she returns, Elizabeth is still sitting there, still drained but more alert.

She has the same look as Lena, when she's spiraling.

"Lizzie..."

"This is what Lena's been keeping from me," Elizabeth declares softly. Kara can see her putting the pieces together. "She's been seeing them, seeing HER, and she didn't tell me--!"

"That's not--"

"Then tell me, Kara! Tell me what my daughter almost died before telling me?!"

Kara hesitates. Her promise to keep Lena's secret is fresh in her mind, but... Elizabeth's anguish overwhelms Kara's reticence.

"Let's... get some coffee."

They collect a coffee each from the vending machine and take a break from from the waiting room, instead stepping out in the cool night air. They walk a short distance from the sliding doors, far enough for privacy but close enough to be called back if something happens.

"Please, Kara," Lizzie begs again. "Just tell me."

"It's a long story," Kara warns, but swiftly continues. "And I suppose it all starts with the fact that I'm Supergirl."

---

Kara tells Elizabeth everything.

A much-abridged version, to be sure, but no amount of craziness is spared as Kara explains how over a year ago, the multiverse was condensed into this new, singular reality. And she explains how Lena came to regain her memories of their previous reality.

Elizabeth's reaction is... heart wrenching.

"Can you return mine too?" she asks simply. "So I know how to help her--"

But Kara can only shake her head. "There's nothing for you to remember."

"What do you mean...?"

"You died. When Lena was four years old. You died, and her father adopted her into his family, raised her."

Lizzie scoffs. "Adopted? He's her father!!"

"He never told her," Kara admits. "She only learned the truth after he died."

Elizabeth curses, and spits in rage. "Coward," she hisses. If he were still alive in this world I would... well." She falls quiet then, and softens. After a moment, she speaks again. "At least tell me they loved her."

Kara stares into her coffee, unable to meet Lizzie's gaze. "I think in a way they did, but... not the way Lena needed."

Instead of getting angry, Elizabeth only saddens. "My sweet girl..." she trails off, then turns back to Kara. "But you knew her? In the previous reality?"

Kara nods. "We met about six years ago. By that point, well..." She's already explained about Lex, about Lena's role in his arrest and trial. She can't bear to repeat it. "By then she had sworn off personal relationships."

"But you wore her down..."

"I did," Kara chuckles. "I'm sure I was very annoying, but I was also persistent, and, well... Lena's never been as cold as she pretended to be."

"What was she like?"

"She was... hurting. I never knew how much, until--" Kara's voice cracks. She clears her throat, pushing forwards. "I betrayed her trust. In a horrible way, and... it was a long time before she let me see how deep I'd hurt her."

Elizabeth stares at her wordlessly. Kara's eyes burn with tears, and she wipes at them roughly. "And then the world ended, and I thought I'd never get the chance to make things right."

"But then you found her," Elizabeth prods.

"I did. And by some miracle she let me stay. She let me back into her life, and I promised--" Kara's chest hitches in a sob. "I promised that I--!"

This time, it's Lizzie who holds Kara as the tears come flooding out. She sobs for few short minutes on the woman's shoulder before she pulls away.

"But Lena didn't go looking for Lillian," Kara says tearfully. "You have to know that. Lillian must have found her the same way I did, and ambushed her at the clinic a few weeks ago. She asked me not to tell you, she-- she was ashamed of what you might think of her, if you knew that Lillian had a hand in raising her."

"I would never--"

"I know! I know, and I tried to tell Lena that, but... she's scared. So scared, to lose you. Lizzie, she-- she loves you so much, and she was terrified of losing you again."

They stand there, in the cold, tears streaming down their faces. After a while, Elizabeth sniffles and dries her eyes, her features hardening.

"You know Lillian better than I do, at this point," Lizzie says. She pegs Kara with a sharp stare. "Can she be trusted?"

Kara considers that for a long moment. "I think trust is a big word, as far as Lena's concerned," she says carefully. "But," she continues, "if she meant Lena harm, she simply could have let Lena bleed out on the clinic floor. And she didn't."

Elizabeth absorbs Kara's counsel with a small nod. After a moment, she swallows thickly, and grips Kara's hand tightly.

"Thank you," she says. "For sharing the truth with me."

Kara chuckles wetly. "If Lena asks, I'm telling her you magicked me."

Lizzie smiles thinly, wrapping Kara in a warming side hug.

"Fair enough."

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.1

Pt.2   Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: This is going to be a six part series. I’ve never done a series before, but I write so much anyway I thought why not make one. I’ll probably upload each part daily unless there is demand for them to come faster. I hope you enjoy. Requests/asks will be open if you wanna send smth to me! Although I will admit I am kinda slow in finishing requests. I have a lot to balance in my life so my apologies if I don’t get to them immediately!  

Word count: 1.8K

Loki x female!reader 

The sun shone through the window of your home, the golden rays warming up your cheeks and waking you from your slumber. Sitting up, you stretched, feeling the sleep vibrate out of your body. Tossing the sheets off your body, you swung your legs out of the bed and walked to the bathroom to begin your morning routine. Finishing with tending to the mass of hair on your head you trailed back into your bedroom to change into clothes appropriate for the day. An array of dresses always leaving you indecisive about what to wear.

Settling on an olive green one you walked towards the mirror and fastened the ties around the back of your neck. The loose sleeves draped over your shoulders, cascading down your back, and gold accents adorning the neckline. Finding your shoes, you slipped out of your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and walked down the hallway, the chatter of your family becoming more clear as you near the entrance of the main room. 

 “Good morning, mother. Father.”

It seemed you had slept in quite a bit, given your parents already eating breakfast. Your mother piped up

“There’s a portion left for you on the counter, my dear.”

Eying the food you decided you weren’t all that hungry yet. You had just woken up and your body had yet to settle. Declining, you grabbed your satchel and began to walk towards the door.

“But Y/N, you should really eat something before starting your day.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I promise. I’m just not that hungry right now. I’ll eat when I get back.”

Finally reaching the door, your father chimed in,

“You know, Y/N, just because you try to avoid the obvious, doesn’t mean it’s going to go away any sooner.”

Dropping your head, you sighed. You couldn’t seem to escape the duties of being a young woman in a world where royal obligations were something you were expected to partake in. Upon reaching the age of 18, you were supposed to be on the lookout for a decent suitor of a husband. The fact of the matter was, you were now approaching 22 and had yet to find someone acceptable, not only by your standards but by your parents. 

For this uniting of peoples would also be a uniting of families. You had until your 21st birthday to find a man suitable to everyone's liking and if you didn’t, arranged marriage was the next option. No one wanted to be known as the woman in Asgard who couldn’t get a man to offer his hand in marriage, yet here you were in all your glory. It was frustrating. 

If only they knew. 

“I know, Dad. Things are a little bit harder when I have to seek my parents' approval for my marriage.”

Your tone became short, frustrated at the entire situation. You already had someone, for a while now actually, but you hadn’t the guts to inform your parents because you knew they would shut him down. So you loved in silence. It was more than painful, not being able to be truly open with your lover, but you had yet to find the right time to pour out your heart to your family. Taking a deep breath, your grounded yourself and turned towards the door,

“I’ll be back later, I love you.”

Your mom got to responding before your father did,

“We love you too dear. Make sure to pay attention to who you’re around. Be safe.”

Smiling lightly you finally walked out the door and stepped into the fresh air that was Asgard. It never got old. The scent of the trees and freshwater that surrounded this place sent one into such serenity. Just being outside could allow your mind to drift elsewhere and forget about the troubles in your life. Walking as far as you could from your home you spaced out in the direction you were going. 

Coming back to when you accidentally kicked a pebble across the ground. Looking up you found yourself in one of the many gardens that surrounded Asgard. Walking to a marble bench, you scrunched up some of your dress in your hands, folding one leg under you before sitting atop it. Crossing your other leg across it and letting the fabric of your dress fall to the ground. 

Pulling your satchel into your lap, you grabbed your journal out of it and began to sketch the garden in front of you. Paying special attention to the detail of the flowers, wanting to make sure you entirely captured the essence of their beauty on paper. Lost in concentration, you failed to hear the footsteps approaching behind you. It wasn’t until you felt a hand rub small circles into your shoulder that you turned around. 

Hair fell in your face, obscuring your view of who was in front of you. Bringing your hand up to place your hair away from your face you dropped your pen on the ground. You went to reach for it, but a separate pair of hands grabbed it first.

“You seem to be quite the mess today, my darling.”

A genuine smile stretched across your features before looking up into the enchanting blue of his eyes. 

“Loki, hi! What are you doing out here?”

Sitting down next to you, careful to avoid your dress he spoke,

“Well, I was informed that a beautiful lady was sitting in the garden in front of the palace so of course, I had to go inspect the situation. And upon seeing a stunning shade of green draped over the bench, I had to introduce myself.” 

An airy laugh left your throat, blithe being showcased across your being.

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you fancy this beautiful woman.”

“How could I not? Her beauty extends beyond the physical. She's incredibly intelligent and the only one to unconditionally show kindness and love to those who deserve it. It’d be incredibly injudicious of me to not be aware of that.”

“Alright, alright Loki, you’ve buttered me up enough.” you chuckled

“It’s never enough, darling. And it’s not buttering you up if it’s true, which it is. So, against your wishes, I shall continue to do it.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Looking down at his hands, you placed yours on top of his and gazed into his eyes once more. Glancing down to his lips and back up to his eyes, you slowly leaned in, Loki meeting you halfway. A kiss so tender you forgot it was Loki whose lips were tangled in a dance with your own. 

Loki moved his hand out from underneath yours and placed it on your cheek. You pulled away from the kiss and nestled your head into his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek allowing you to relish in the moment of being with each other. Flashing your eyes back up to his you asked,

“Shall we go for a walk?”

“Why not?”

Stuffing your journal and pen back into your satchel you untangled your legs and got up from the bench, Loki helping you stand up so that you didn’t trip on your dress. Taking your hand in his own, you two walked through the garden on a path that would eventually lead you to the entrance of the palace. 

“I’ve missed you Loki. I always miss you, I hate being away from you.”

“I know my love, I do as well, but you of all people know our predicament.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned in haste to stop him as well, making him face you. You brought both your hands up to cup his face, an idea flashing bright behind your eyes,

“Well, maybe we can change it! We can be the change to get rid of this stupid rule. I can’t imagine my life without you Loki. I don’t want to have to share my world with someone else. It’s only ever going to be you.” 

Bringing his hands up to your wrists, he looked deep into your eyes, sorrow and hope swimming behind his facial features. 

“Maybe we can, although we have to prepare for the worst...but that doesn't mean we can’t try.”

Giving a small smile, he moved his hands to the back of your head, thumb caressing your temple, and leaned in to kiss you. Giving you all the reassurance you could’ve asked for. Pulling away from each other you continued down the path hand in hand. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, serenity washing over you. 

Opening your eyes, you realized you were closing in on the front of the palace meaning you would now be in the public eye and the last thing you wanted was more gossip to fall upon you. Looking at your lover, you stopped walking, halting him in his tracks. Forcing him to turn around and look at you.

“What is it?”

You sighed, suddenly being overcome with emotion.

“Well, if we walked any further, everyone would see us and I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for you…”

“...Trouble? For me?”

Loki scoffed, his signature smirk following.

“Love, all I’m known for is for causing trouble, I wouldn’t mind another notch on my belt.”

You were hesitant. You loved Loki and you knew your feelings were reciprocated through him, but it was difficult breaking from the chains of what you ‘were supposed to do’. It left you in such dissonance and yet you felt in your heart to rebel so fiercely that Asgard would immortalize your change. Your silence alerted Loki and he spoke again,

“Y/N, if we are to ever make any sort of change we cannot hide in the shadows anymore. We cannot separate and scatter like roaches when the light is shined upon us. We must bask in it. That is the only way we can possibly aspire to reach our goal of loving one another in true fulfillment.”

“You’re right.”

“I always am.”

You placed your hand back in his and Loki smiled down at you. 

“Ready to have the target on your back, Y/N?”

“As long as you’re by my side, I can handle anything.”

Walking out of the secluded area of the garden, you finally stepped into the light. For the first time in the last year being open about your courtship with Loki. Asgard’s God of Mischief and your parent’s worst nightmare. You felt armored for anything to be hurled in your direction with Loki was by your side and always would be. 

The anxiety of it all had yet to drain from your bones and you couldn’t help but draft up ‘what ifs’ in your head. As if Loki was scavenging through your brain, he gave your hand an inspiriting squeeze, bringing you back into your body and out of your head. If only you knew how the whispers of your choice in partnership would rain the fires of hell all too soon.

[qitwrites]

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(AO3) 

June 1st falls on a random Tuesday. The weather is decent enough, the sun bright but not harsh, and the air is pleasant, slowly dipping to colder temperatures.

Everyone crowds around various desks to chatter before homeroom, and Iida spends a grand total of two minutes trying to bring about order before migrating towards Todoroki’s desk to join in the conversation he’s having with Midoriya and Sero. When there’s roughly 14 seconds to spare before Aizawa rolls into the class in his signature yellow sleeping bag, everyone takes their seats and on time, as always, Aizawa arrives.

Three things are noted immediately:

1.     The yellow sleeping bag is nowhere in sight. It’s happened before, but not often.

2.    There’s a strange bounce to Aizawa’s step. Not like a normal bounce, but he’s not dragging his feet like a reluctant, sleep-deprived sloth. His steps are focused and intentional. This is a very rare, almost never-before-witnessed sight.

3.    His hair is up. He doesn’t usually do it up for class, though they’ve seen him pull it into a pony when he’s dressed more casually and not in his hero attire. This is an unprecedented situation.

The class watches Aizawa wearily because, from literal months of experience, they have realized that when something is out of the ordinary, shit usually flings itself towards the fan in a most spectacularly dramatic fashion.

Even Bakugou is on-edge, watching Aizawa like a hawk. Midoriya is ready to whip his iconic notebook out and make yet another behavioral observation under the Eraserhead section. Iida looks ready to disperse any tension. They are all ready.

Aizawa sets his stuff down, gruffly wishes them good morning and then turns around to write something on the board.

They are not ready.

It’s not a big deal at all actually. In hindsight, its stupidly minor, but with Aizawa, it stands out bright and shiny, and even Koda makes a small noise of surprise.

Aizawa’s hair is pulled into a pony with a scrunchie. Which is fine, all well and good. But the scrunchie is made of a rainbow-colored hyper shiny material, which is surprising, because Aizawa always seems allergic to color, especially on his person.

And finally, there are only 6 colors in the rainbow. Momo connects the dots before the rest, though Midoriya follows closely behind.

‘That’s-‘

‘-pride,’ Midoriya breathes, soft but just enough for Bakugou, Jirou, and Sero to hear.

The class is shocked for the first ten or so minutes, as more and more people make the connection, but honestly, it’s just a scrunchie. And with Eri under Aizawa’s care, it isn’t unlikely that he’s worn one of her hair ties or something. This is probably a coincidence, even if it is the first of June, so everyone stops fixating and starts focusing on class.

The scrunchie goes unmentioned and1A is on the same page- it’s definitely just a one-time thing.

It is not a one-time thing.

On the second of June, Aizawa saunters in seemingly back to his normal attire, and a few shoulders slump. They might all be saying its a coincidence, but that doesn’t mean they’re happy about it. There’s something so reassuring about the idea of their teacher, someone that protects them fiercely and loyally, being supportive.

Aizawa doesn’t seem to pick up on the mood, he just assigns them some self-study before taking a seat at his desk. And then he, very uncharacteristically, puts his feet up and reclines in his chair, a folder propped open in his lap.

There’s a collective inhale, the whole class breathing in as one because there it is- undeniable proof that it isn’t a coincidence.

On Aizawa’s feet are the brightest, most vibrantly gay pride socks ever. Each of the 6 colors loop around the material before the pattern repeats, and there’s no white material or anything, just the colors of the flag over and over.

‘Holy shit,’ Mina whisper-shouts, and her smile is blinding. Uraraka giggles. Tokoyami nods sagely and says, ‘The support of a figure of authority is a beacon against the darkness of humanity.’  

They do their best to focus on self-study, but there’s a buzz around the class, a happy vibe that permeates the air and saturates it completely. There’s a glob of purple in the corner that seems indifferent, if not actively dismayed, but he goes ignored.

Midoriya writes something in his notebook and puts three stars next to it.

On the third of June, Aizawa has a rainbow hair clip pushing his bangs out of his face, and on the fourth, the soles of his shoes are rainbow and proud.

The competition begins the following Monday.

The thing about class 1A is that they try to support one another in any way possible, to encourage and stand together and everything. The other thing is that they’re hella competitive. It’s a hero course after all, and they’re trying to come out on top and be the best.

And it turns out their teacher, the chilled, nonchalant, mostly uninterested Aizawa Shota, is almost more than a little competitive when it comes to this stuff.

On Monday, Momo uses a pride scrunchie to pull her hair into her signature ponytail. Jirou has a band around her wrist that says love is love is love, and Satou bakes rainbow cookies for the whole class, leaving a few on Aizawa’s desk beforehand.

Their teacher walks in with his hair up again, and when his eyes settle on the cookies, they widen fractionally before he schools his expression into a more neutral one. He greets them all and his eyes flit over Jirou’s band, and the colorful cookie crumbs around the class. When he looks at Momo, she quickly turns her head to the side, showing off her hair accessory that matches his.

Aizawa doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t smile, or even nod, nothing. He just kinda gets down to business. At least, that’s what it would look like to someone on the outside.

But 1A reads him- they watch the way he pushes his hair back, fingers lingering on his scrunchie while he reads out their assignment. They see the way his eyes momentarily linger on the cookies or Jirou’s wrist, such small, quick glances that they all catch because they read him. They know him, and he knows that they know.

When class ends, the room is filled with warm giggles when Aizawa leaves, the plate of cookies in hand.

The next day, Ojiro has a braid in his tail with different threads mixed in there, forming the familiar rainbow pattern. Mina has her horns painted in a pride flag ombre, spanning three different colors on each. Kirishima uses a rainbow hairband to keep his bangs out of his face during training, and Midoriya switches out his black shoelaces for rainbows.

Aizawa’s eyes ping pong around the class, and for a moment everyone wonders how many dress codes they’re breaking but he doesn’t say anything again. He just reads out their assignments as usual, his own pride pin shining brightly on his chest, against the black of his hero uniform.

It’s all fun and games, full of warmth and support until Aizawa starts pulling out the big guns.

Because when Aizawa walks in with a multicolored scarf wrapped around his neck, the class collectively realizes- he is challenging them, and beating them quite mercilessly at that. 

It’s obvious enough that even Bakugou growls in frustration, and then the games begin.

Mina shaves the word Pride into Iida’s undercut. Kaminari paints his nails. Hagakure replaces all her uniform buttons with multicolored ones. Shoji replaces his teal blue face mask with a pride one, and Uraraka has a few braids on the back of her head too. Satou’s desserts get more and more elaborate, more and more eye-catching and delicious.

The day after Aizawa walks in with a multicolored scarf, belt and goggles set, Satou stays up the entire night baking, set on paying their teacher back thrice fold.

Morning finds a rainbow croquembouche perched on Aizawa’s desk. Even Bakugou gives Satou a nod of respect because what the fuck? It’s literally a tower of sweets, brightly colored and absolutely delectable, and they get the biggest reaction out of Aizawa yet. His eyes widen, mouth dropping into a shocked little ‘o’, and his eyes immediately seek out Satou, who gives him a wide grin. Shaking his head incredulously, Aizawa conducts his class as usual. It’s a herculean task but he manages.

He still walks out with the entire dish balanced in his hands with great care.

Every teacher in their year has rainbow-colored tongues for the rest of the day.

Aizawa retaliates with eyeshadow. Rainbow eyeshadow. Jirou’s mouth drops, Aoyama starts wailing dramatically and even Todoroki looks impressed. Bakugou clicks his tongue and looks away, and Mina wants revenge.

The entire class comes together for the final showdown. Everyone tries to put color in their hair, though it doesn’t really work for the darker colors. Tokoyami adds a few sprinkles of glitter into his feathers, Iida switches his plain black frames to much more gaudy pride ones, and Todoroki and Bakugou have the most vibrant hair of them all, bright and ridiculous. Aizawa eyes them fondly almost, and that’s when they should’ve realized they were way out of their depth.

Because on June 30th, Aizawa walks into the class, his uniform spick and span, hair down, a ridiculous bounce in his step. Everyone eyes him from head to toe, and when they land on his feet, Kirishima inhales shakily.

‘No,’ he whispers.

‘Oh yes,’ Aizawa answers, his grin far too gleeful.

‘No fucking way,’ Bakugou snarls. His hands are shaking.

‘Language,’ Aizawa admonishes, his smile widening.

‘We’re doomed,’ Mina mumbles.

And right then, Aizawa taps the heels of his shoes together, and his pride rainbow shoes glow up and that’s it. Class 1A has lost. They accept it rather graciously, all things considered. Aizawa cackles like an evil witch, and Sero comforts a weeping Kaminari.

On July 1st, things go back to normal. Mostly normal.

Because Midoriya keeps the shoelaces. Someone sneaks a rainbow charm on Bakugou’s bag that he somehow keeps forgetting to obliterate to pieces. Kirishima doesn’t switch out his hairband, and Ojiro asks Tsuyu to braid his tail when they go out for more casual outings.

And Aizawa? Well, the soles of his hero boots are never quite the same.

[kodzukyan]

talking to the moon

notes: yoshiwara au featuring samurai!baji x courtesan!(fem)reader! some fluff? angst. tw death! song recommendation accompaniments: yoshiwara lament - teto kasane & talking to the moon - kream!

wc: 2.3k

summary: yoshiwara is not meant for love, but you think it's far too late for you when you meet baji keisuke.

For as long as you can remember, your world has been seen through the bars of the harimise. A display, a product, for hours you would merely sit there and hope someone buys you.

The endlessly same scenery: the temple up north, the colorful vibrancy of kimonos, the bridge that leads southwards. Yoshiwara is always the same hustle and bustle of the lively streets. A day of ethereal beauty and strategic deceit; a night of lust and hushed promises, a so-called love that dispels with the first rays of dawn.

Once upon a time, you wanted to be someone who blooms for one person only, to love unreservedly. A childish dream to be free, to love fiercely. But fate steals your freedom and leaves you in the embrace of men who look at you as just another woman who warms their beds. Each bleak night as you look wistfully beyond the faceless man above you, the moon and stars sparkle, despite your torment, almost as if it’s mocking you for being unable to shine as they do.

With each passing day as you stare at your dull reflection in the polished mirror, bitterness seeps into your hardened heart. As your lips become redder and redder with used paint, the light in your eyes becomes dimmer and dimmer with dull indifference.

As if Yoshiwara bears your profound grief, it’s raining tonight. On such a day, you encounter him under the deep veil of darkness. His navy kimono contrasts vividly against your crimson lips, and the rosy pink that dusts his blushing cheeks gently warms your heart. He’s adorable, you think, as he grumbles and his friend nudges him towards the birdcage. Your eyes meet his, and his friend laughs and jostles him again towards you.

“Sir, won’t you please purchase me?” you smile sweetly, softly.

“I -” he starts.

“He would love to!” a new voice injects. His enthusiastic friend with blonde highlights smiles wolfishly.

“Welcome, please come in.”

You escort him to a room upstairs as the rain pours outside. When he cautiously enters your room, it is nothing like you are used to. He stands there awkwardly and runs a hand through his long locks.

“Would you like to sit? Perhaps a drink first?” you politely ask as you pat to the spot next to you.

It catches you by surprise when you can see the grays in his eyes as he looks at you instead of past you. He sits gruffly beside you and starts promptly, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You tilt your head, not really sure how to naturally proceed from here. But you've merely learned to comply, to satisfy, so you nod affirmatively and agree politely.

“In that case, what would you like to do?” you ask softly.

In a night meant for lovers between the sheets, he tells you stories of his adventures under the moonlight. You learn his name is Baji Keisuke, and he’s a samurai serving his childhood friend and the young lord of the Sano family. The one who ushered him here is one of his dearest friends named Kazutora, and they’ve been together since they were little. He loves feeling the adrenaline in his blood when he fights and often feeds stray cats because he thinks they’re cute. He unintentionally made his mom cry once when he was younger, so he swears he will never make her cry again.

He has dazzling eyes that tell no lies and an enigmatical smile that illuminates your heart, especially when he flashes his sharp canines that strikingly resemble fangs in his boisterous mirth. Outside, the continuous rain slows to a drizzle before it promptly stops. In your heart, he ignites a small spark of attainable hope.

A free spirit that contrasts very deeply against your very being. Unlike a trapped bird, he flies through the unclouded skies and undoubtedly makes life his own. His hearty laugh and vibrant eyes gently remind you what it's like to have hope beyond these four walls, to dream of a life of consuming love. You smile softly as he makes wild gestures with his hands, and you feel every insistent beat of your heart fluttering, thundering as he smiles affectionately at you.

Over and over again, he returns and buys your time instead of your used body. Time and time again, he talks naturally to you like you are someone in this world and listens to you like you are still good enough to be heard. Like the sun that melts away the darkness in your heart, your days spark a little brighter when he’s nearby. Instead of staring bitterly at your reflection as you paint your lips, the girlish dream you abandoned returns back to you.

Love whispers in your ears and knocks on your heart.

"Will you return?" you ask softly into the luminous night when he visits again. Once, twice, countless times to where you think you know him enough to remember what it’s like to love again.

As soon as the night ends, he has to leave. He will soar into the skies beyond the scope of your vision, beyond realms of the world you can only dream of because he's meant for something grander.

Still, you yearn.

"Where else would I go?" he answers as his eyes meet yours.

He clasps his rough hand around yours, eyes earnest and heart genuine, as he brushes against your knuckles tenderly. A hand full of calluses and blood, a hand used to wield swords and destructive weapons, but he cradles your hand so gently, tenderly, fondly.

"I will always come back to you."

You breathe out a quivering breath. You’ve heard these careless words countless times before from many other men, but his affectionate eyes are constantly full of genuine promises and unmistakable sincerity. You know Yoshiwara is the land of foolish dreams and lies, that Yoshiwara is unmeant for lovers.

Yoshiwara is not meant for the undeniable truth that you are irrevocably in love with him.

Still, you hope. You want to believe him, so you trust. You trust him with your vulnerability; you trust him with your heart. Under the veil of the night with the moon as your sole witness, you cut off a strand of your hair.

"For safe-keeping," you tell him as you tie your hair around his pinky, "Until you safely return."

He blinks once, twice before he smiles radiantly, fangs glinting in the light. He tugs a strand of his hair out before he clumsily wraps it around your pinky.

“There is something important I have to take care of,” he starts hesitantly. His eyes are looking into the darkness of the night, and for a moment, you can see weariness cloud his eyes. You reach to cradle his cheek, and at your touch, he looks at you. He holds your hand and presses a soft kiss on your fingertips. Newly found resolve beams through the clouds of doubt in his eyes. “But after that… Will you come with me?”

You stare incredulity at him, wide eyes carefully looking into his promising ones. He squeezes your hand as he stares anxiously back at you. The world is silent, and all you see is his gray eyes that have been your silver lining since the very first day.

He can’t afford to buy you, you know, and the fear of the consequences of running away burrows into your heart. But he looks at you, clear and open, and Heaven is in his eyes. You squeeze his hand back and bring it towards your lips to place a tender kiss on his palm. You think you’re far too ruined to be this optimistic about it, to dream of happiness like this, but you grin and nod anyway.

“I would go anywhere if it’s with you,” you smile, eyes and words honest.

He instantly breaks into an infectious grin, and he hugs you in eager excitement. “Thank you. I’ll be back by the next full moon. Wait for me,” he whispers fiercely into your hair.

You nod again as you melt into his comforting embrace. The flutters of your heart bloom into warmth in your chest, and it feeds into your heating cheeks as you hold on to him. The moon that invariably seems to look down on you, the stars that always seem to twinkle in critical disappointment softens as the lights of dawn overtake the sky.

A new day, a new hope.

He holds his pinky up, your hair tied on and your heart in the palm of his hands, as he looks at you. When you meet his eyes, the first rays of light glows behind him. He looks beautiful, angelic, and he seems so ephemeral. You hook your pinky, with his hair tied around it, with his in hopes that these fleeting moments will last just a moment longer, that this will be more than just a dream when you wake up.

A lie, a promise, you’re not quite sure which it is.

(You hope it’s a promise. You want it to be a promise.)

So, you wait. Day after day, night after night, and all the moments in between. You miss him like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky, but he fuels a fire in your heart that keeps you warm on the nights he isn’t here. It hasn’t rained for a long time now, you think, as you glance at your pinky and sunshine fill your soul. During nights, you keep your promise close to your heart as you stare at the phases of the moon. Waxing and waning, but your heart holds steady as you dream of boisterous laughter and lively eyes.

On the day of the full moon, you wait anxiously as people pass by. You’re on high alert as your eyes eagerly scan the crowd for any signs of him - his navy blue kimono, his long hair, his hearty laughter. As the blue sky turns to brilliant orange before it fades into the darkness of the night, the crushing weight in your heart grows heavier and heavier before the numbing realization that he won’t come hits you.

When the full moon peaks in the unclouded sky, only silence surrounds you. You sit lifelessly in front of your mirror at the end of the night with the full moon as your sole company. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here as you mindlessly keep brushing your hair.

The overbearing heaviness finally breaks your heart and breaches the dam that restrains your tears. You muffle your cries in your kimono because you should have known better, should have known that dreams are unmeant for someone like you. You glance wistfully at your pinky before you clutch it close to your shattered heart, and all the energy in your body just comes out as silent sobs. As you bury your face in your knees and hug yourself, each fond memory comes back and replays in your head.

A mistake. This is a terrible mistake because you know Yoshiwara is built of lies like these. But when you think of his sincere eyes, your heart breaks again. Baji Keisuke is many things, but he is rarely a liar. You want to believe in him, want to believe in the dream of a life with him beyond these walls.

Maybe it’s not this full moon, you tell yourself, but he will return one day. The next full moon, the one after that, and all these other ones after, you’ll keep waiting. You believe in him, believe in love, so you will hold on steadfastly, stubbornly, desperately because you don’t think your heart can handle it otherwise. 

In just another day of waiting in the similar scenery, you catch glimpses of a spark from the temple northwards. A new sight, but among the lively streets of just another busy day, it’s not a sight you focus on. The sparks are nice, though, you think as you suppress a giggle, because it reminds you of the fire in his eyes.

When it reaches dusk, the scorching winds blow from the northeast. The direction you watch him go from the confines of your birdcage, and when you still see the sparks, a foreboding feeling, a bad omen sinks into your heart as the sun falls.

The initial flare grows bigger and bigger until it bursts into a firestorm and begins swallowing the town. You run frantically alongside the chaotic crowd as the screams fill the air and fear fills your blood. You run, run, run until your legs are burning - from the fire? From fatigue? You’re not sure.

Your heart breaks with every step you take because death comes knocking. You keep holding on stubbornly because you still believe in your promise. But soon, your legs only carry you so far amongst the fleeting crowd and falling buildings and smoke fills your lungs and chokes you.

As fire devours you, you glance at the waxing moon. It ruthlessly tears through your skin and burns, burns, burns, but the pain of breaking your promise rips through your heart.

All you can think about are the moonlit nights under the same skies within the four walls you call home and the man you know as love. You think of his starry gray eyes and the promise you couldn’t keep, and you clutch your hand over your heart. Close, so, so close, but not quite another full moon yet. With sorry repeated on your cracked lips and lament in your anguished heart, your uncontrollable tears fall hopelessly.

(The news of the tragic death of a singular samurai, holding his bleeding hand to his heart, in the Battle of Valhalla never reaches you.

After all, fire travels faster than words.)

The deafening sound of crackling fire plays your requiem and ends the unfulfilled dream of love.

end notes: harimise is a viewing cage where courtesans were placed in, like products on display at shops. they sit there the whole day until someone buys them.

the act of cutting off your hair and tying it around someone's pinky is a lover's pact. basically, it's a vow of love between a courtesan and their customers, where they offer their hair, nails, and blood to seal the deal. it could be used to extort more money from the customer, but it could also just be a promise of love.

also fun fact: historically, yoshiwara did end up burning in a huge fire that originated in a temple! :")

[startanewdream]

Goodbye kiss

Summary: Lately they only share goodbye kisses (or Harry and Ginny's thoughts the day before they break up at Dumbledore's funeral). Sort of missing moment.

Or I was in the mood for some angst.

Harry’s kiss speaks of goodbye, tiny silver bells announcing their relationship is almost over.

Ginny is familiar with ending a relationship. She has had two breakups, after all, and she knows they are a risk at any relationship; she even encourages them when the relationship is going sour. Clean breakups are ideal - no hard feelings, just the acceptance that things didn’t work and now everyone is better on another path.

She remembers how it was with Michael. What they had had been cute at first, even special because he was his first boyfriend and she was his. But that was it; the only thing they ever shared was that beginning.

There wasn’t many feelings between them towards the end. Michael was too occupied with his OWLs and Ginny was too occupied with her Quidditch trainings, so they barely saw each other besides some meetings at the corridor when their schedules coincided. Michael was always at the library, Ginny was always outside and neither seemed to actually miss one another.

And then her efforts in training had actually paid off when Ginny caught the snitch under Cho Chang’s nose. She’d thought that Michael valued competition enough to actually praise her for her performance, but he wasn’t in the mood - and Ginny wasn’t very patient too, she admitted later.

‘If you are so upset that I beat Cho, why don’t you run off to comfort her?’, she’d yelled, annoyed that he was judging her for being actually pleased that they had beaten Ravenclaw.

‘Well, maybe I will’.

‘Do whatever you want, Michael, we are done’.

Michael had done exactly what she had suggested, and then Ginny had felt a tingle of annoyance that was the first real thing she’d felt for Michael Corner in a long time. But it was brief; she was better without him and in any case he was free to go comfort anyone he wanted.

Ginny would never discuss the need for a breakup.

Her breakup with Dean was late. Being with him had been nice for a long time, but a good snog was not enough to make a relationship last.

Things were rocky between them for a longer time than their relationship was good, but they still had feelings for each other, so they had tried. In the end, it had not been really his fault as much as it wasn’t hers; they just weren’t compatible, Ginny eventually realized. Dean wanted someone to pamper and to take care of and Ginny could handle herself just fine. She refused to be the lady in distress Dean somehow hoped she was.

Eventually she would find out that it wasn’t Dean that actually pushed her on the day of their breakup, but Ginny would not complain. Luck or not, their breakup felt necessary, a resolution of a relationship that was going nowhere and that was only damaging the friendship she once had with Dean.

Later Dean would try to talk to her, would want to rekindle their relationship. He might have lingering feelings for what they once had - but the sparkle that had first made them work together was gone.

All her previous relationships had faded so naturally.

Which is probably why this imminent breakup with Harry scares her so much.

She could understand if they had not worked out, if they found out they were better friends than lovers. But those few weeks they spent together only made evident how natural, almost effortless, it was being with Harry; it felt like they were supposed to be together. Dating Harry was a bright spot in the middle of a growing darkness, that Ginny had dared to pretend it would last.

Even knowing, she had hoped for more: they had so little time together, stolen hours that are not nearly enough. Ginny wants the time they never had to argue withhim, to find his faults and to discover what are her quirks that annoy him. She wants to have a bad day to see how they would work things out. She wants the tempestuous days that will show they can overcome any problem. She wants the good days where they will walk every little next step on their relationship.

But they won't have any of it.

Ending things with Michael and Dean had brought her relief. But breaking up with Harry is just… painful. Wrong. Heartbreaking.

Breakups are for when a relationship is bad, not for when in its best glorious days. Breakups are for when people are not in love anymore - and Harry likes her as much as she likes him, that Ginny knows, that she can see in the way he is staring at her, so desperate and so sorry.

He doesn't want to end things with her. But he will.

She can feel in the way he gazes at her these last couple days, or how he sometimes clings to her as if he fears letting her go, or how the joy in his eyes (that had glinted ever since Harry first kissed her) is gone, replaced by a quiet sorrow.

She hears in his voice as he talks to her, the ending always at the tip of his tongue. Not yet, but soon.

This would be easier, so much easier, if she didn't like him so much. If her heart wasn't beating desperately (for more, she wants more of him, always a little more) as she puts her arms around his neck like she has done hundred of times before, her lips touching his tenderly.

But Harry hesitates, his lips trembling and not moving against hers, and Ginny can already hear the parting words she knows he needs to say.

At night, when she can't sleep, she wonders how it will happen. If he is just going to tell her it's over. If he will justify. If he will cry.

If she will cry.

'Harry', she calls him, a soft plead. 'Kiss me'.

One more time, she thinks. We will leave the goodbye for another day.

When she feels Harry finally answering her kiss - his lips are urgent, feverish, needy and so sorry - she hopes for once that another day never comes.

~*~

Ginny’s kiss tastes like goodbye.

Harry hates it because it’s all wrong.

They must have exchanged hundreds of kisses by now - there was that first glorious kiss (sunlit, Harry had thought, it tasted like sunlit mournings), the goodnight kisses that tasted of good dreams and the even better good morning kisses that spoke of the possibilities the day brought.

That chaste peck on his cheek when they were in the Great Hall and he had wished her good luck on her exam.

That take-away-your-breath, fumbling-hands, intense snog in the broom cupboard of the sixth floor that tasted like desire and curiosity. The kiss on his bed that was forbidden and wonderful until they were hastily interrupted when Dean and Seamus entered the dormitory and Ginny had to leave under the Invisibility Cloak.

The warm kiss they shared when Ginny took him to the kitchens for a midnight snack and he could savour the hot chocolate on her lips - and then next day, when they had shared a picnic on the grounds, on that bright hot summer day, he had tasted every flavour of the fruits on her lips too. Fresh and sweet and acid.

But never bittersweet like it tastes these days.

Harry knows what he has to do and still he can’t. Not yet.

(Not ever, but he must)

Kissing Ginny is excruating as if lightning - the one in the tower that killed Dumbledore, the one marked forever in his forehead - is striking him, burning him; and yet kissing her still heals too, a phoenix song that fills him with a vain hope.

He tastes the goodbye in every kiss they share these last couple days. It’s Dumbledore’s funeral tomorrow and yet the day is warm, the sun shining on the surface of the lake, none at all caring that Dumbledore is gone and that Harry’s future is dark.

Harry looks away from the lake, his eyes falling on Ginny by his side. She is thoughtful, but when she feels his gaze, she turns to him, the corners of her mouth lifting up as if it is the most natural reaction for her to smile at him. Harry takes in the sight of Ginny - flaming red hair, warm fierce brown eyes, freckles carefully spread on her cheek (and collarbone and a little bit over her breasts, Harry knows) and he thinks this is the sight he wants to take to his heart, to last forever, even if their kisses are counted now.

She approaches him carefully and Harry reacts without even thinking, a second nature now - his arms reach to her, wrapping around her waist while Ginny throws her arms around his neck. Her lips brush over his, softly, the promise of a kiss he knows they will share in a second or too and for that second Harry hesitates, desperate for her lips and fearing it.

Every kiss they share is somehow closer to their last one. He already tastes the goodbye; he is not ready to let that goodbye leave his lips.

Maybe… maybe he can keep it there a little bit longer. Maybe if they kiss, time will stop and he will be able to live in that moment forever. But this will be the kiss that never ends.

‘Harry’, she whispers. Her eyes burn deep. ‘Kiss me’.

As if there is no tomorrow, he hears in her voice. As if it’s not the last time. As you always kissed me.

And Harry does.