#which is quite an easy definition to achieve at first glance

[kaiserouo]

i don't wanna spend waaaaay too much time farming in this game so im just gonna farm bosses and... uh, use that moxxi money glitch that apparently never got patched since game launch

[klutzymaiden123]

Hey, do u have any writing tips? (Like for outlining, grammar, etc....?) I admire the way you write greatly so I wanted to know.

So the biggest thing that I would advise for any and all writers is rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. I cannot emphasis how vital those can be. Growing up, I would look to other writers and get jealous and insecure because I wasn't achieving their flow and ease. I didn't realise for a long time that this was because they rewrote their stuff before posting and sharing.

Its easy to compare your skill to someone's final work, but remember, everyone has a first draft. You would be surprised if you were to glance between the two as most drafts are quite minimal in comparison. Just keep pushing through your drafts. The magic grows as your confidence grows, which is a natural process that happens from going over your story so many times that you become sick of it 💀

Otherwise, I would say that every writer have their own processes which work for them. So I can't give you a definite response, only what works for me personally.

I really, really connect with music. I connect to how people sing and speak their words and the effects they'll use on their vocals to further get their feelings across. I love themes, concepts, anguish and symbolism that artists will put in their artists. So I often listen to music when I'm writing. Something that matches the mood or greatly inspires me.

I used to go to others to edit my work (which I highly recommend!), but if you don't feel comfortable doing that, you can always select the Read Aloud feature on your word document.

Typically, when I finish a chapter, I like to give it some days to settle before coming back and having my document read it out to me. This way, my mind is fresher and I'm also able to hear how it all sounds outside of my mind. Artists of all kinds enter a haze when they're practising their craft, so its hard to experience things objectively. For writers, we may not realise that we've mispelled a word, used the incorrect grammer, or used an awkward sounding word that throws off the sentence. When someone else is reading it to you, you will notice it rather then letting things slip beneath the radar. I also recommend reading along with the narration to catch any mispells.

And for outlining, yes, I outline. I prefer to keep them all on my OneNote, where they're written out via chapter. I will write out the basic plans, actions and dialogue, so when I've reached writing out that chapter, all the hard work is done for me. Past me has already worked out the choeography and general plot direction, so all I need to do is get it onto the page.

Otherwise, what I would say is just to continue practising. You honestly won't even realise how much you've grown until you've opened up an old document, or read a previous chapter. I still am blown away by the earlier chapters because I think I've grown a lot since when I first published this story. This fic has absolutely been a journey for me and its encapsulated my evolution as a writer since its gone on for so long. So even if you don't feel capable right now, you will eventually as you discover your own voice and style. Everyone's learning and growing. So happy writing!

[bonesandthebees]

[“You also don’t have to worry about that sort of thing too much given your status.” / “But you do?” Tomys asked, raising an eyebrow. / Fighting to keep his face neutral, Wilbur shrugged.] despite his childishness, there’s still potential in Tomys. He reads between the lines perfectly here. And Wilbur is trying so hard to pretend that it’s not a big deal rather than his biggest fear in life.

[Legally, I hold no title. So yes, I do have to be more careful with the impression I leave on others.”] Every chapter there is at least one line that makes me feel so bad for Wilbur (there’s a lot in general, but a few jump out), this is one of them. It describes him perfectly, always aware of what others need to think of him. Always keeping his cards close to his chest.

And Tomys picks up that it must be stressful but then does the exact opposite and just speaks his mind and calls it prissy in the same breath, which pisses Wilbur off, because he’s so close to getting it yet he’s not taking it seriously. (Also I love rose!Wilbur having and subsequently losing his/a temper.)

And the jab about Tomys height again shows the potential for a good relationship. They could have that joking relationship Tomys wants at some point, he’s just jumping the gun a bit and missing several layers of context to get Why Wilbur will not be that friends or informal with him (yet). (It’s Ranboo’s presence and the knowledge that this can and will get back to his father and Phil might be anger about it.)

It’s also interesting to see Wilbur bounce between formal and etiquette and his actual feelings or losing his temper around Tomys, it’s like he can’t quite stop his true nature form shining through, in a way Tomys brings out the childishness Wilbur never really got to have, but then he can’t fully sink into it because he still has a goal/mission to achieve and even when no one else is there, other people’s expectations of him are still holding him back form every full relaxing.

Side note: all the servants dipping their heads at Wilbur as he walks past, clearly aware of his status and giving him the respect while Wilbur himself barely notices because he’s too caught up in his own head, you could summarise his entire chapter with this once interaction + maybe the following one with Phil (though the first interaction in chapter 1 also says a LOT).

[Like the night before, the guard barely spared him a second glance before letting him inside.] This could be taken 2 ways. 1. What’s actually happing, aka the guards can all easily recognise Wilbur and let him in without second thought because he’s the Consuls son and of course he’s allowed inside. 2. Aka how Wilbur might take it, they barely look at him and he’s barely worth their attention.

(4/?)

-🎄

exactly there IS potential there!! even though tommy doesn't understand what's going on, he does read between the lines. being kept ignorant of the reality of your situation doesn't make you an idiot, it just means you need someone to tell you what's going on.

:) wilbur always has to be the one holding the cards because without them the only thing giving him power is his father's position

I love rose!wilbur because he tries so hard to be as smart and controlled as his father is but he's a petty little shit with an easy to stoke temper. little does he know his dad used to be the same way when he was wilbur's age. had to get it from somewhere after all.

yeah again they could definitely have a great friendship. the two of them are very similar in a lot of ways. but there's a lot of context that's keeping wilbur from letting himself get too familiar with tommy and playing into his sense of humor. the problem is, like you said, being around tommy brings out the childishness wilbur never got to fully embrace when he was tommy's age. ironically, if he did give into that childish urge to insult tommy, it would probably make tommy like him more.

god yeah he's so caught up in his own head and doesn't even realize that, yeah dumbass, the servants and guards DO know who you are and respect you

[oliver-gomez00]

How to Select the Best Space for your Exhibition Booth?

The first thing every exhibitor considers while planning their trade fair participation is the design and construction of their exhibition stand. Blueprint Sp.Z.o.o. is one of the pioneers in exhibition stand construction in Germany and across Europe, that has years of experience in the exhibition industry. We are a professional exhibition booth builder company in Germany that has made a tremendous impact on target audience of our clients at every trade fair through our outstanding, sustainable, and creative exhibition stands.

We understand the importance of having a good stand space in the exhibition hall and how choosing the right space at the venue can actually help increase foot traffic at your booth, which ultimately will help in enhancing your brand recognition in the international marketplace. Now, we will share some of the ‘trade secrets’ here with you which will help you decide the location of your booth to achieve your exhibiting goals:

Concentrate on high foot traffic areas: Let us tell you about some of the areas which have a steady influx of people and can thereby increase your chances to expand your customer base. Stands near the entrance have a high chance of getting a lot of visitors and therefore these spaces are quite costly to rent. Several other high congregation areas in the venue would be near the restrooms, food stations, aisle intersections, and corners. So, if you have the spaces at/near these locations available at the venue, then you should definitely consider renting them.

Lock the booth space as early as possible: Exhibition stand spaces must be rented as early as they are available because not only you will be given an early bird discount but you will also have a lot of options for your stand space. So, it is necessary for exhibiting companies to lock the booth space as early as possible otherwise they will be left with less to no choice and have to book an undesired booth space. To avoid this, you should consider renting a space of your choice as early as it becomes available.

Preparing budget for the stand: This is one of the most important aspects that every exhibitor must think about early on. Once you have decided on the amount that you can spend on your exhibition stand design, booth construction, promotion of your exhibit, renting a space at the venue, and hiring a professional exhibition stand manufacturer, it becomes very easy to properly plan the marketing strategy for the show and preparing an impressive sales pitch.

Drift towards the bigger brands: If you don’t have the exhibition stand space near the high foot traffic areas, it doesn’t mean that you are not going to have a lot of visitor interaction at your booth. All you have to do is look for the big brands on the show floor, find out which spaces are available near them and you are set. Usually, trade visitors seek out the big brands at the fairground and make a beeline to visit them first. So, if you have booths near them, you will get a much high concentration of attendees at your stand too.

Research and explore your options: You cannot just take a glance at the entire exhibition floor plan and decide on a space that you think would benefit you the most. If you think so, we’ll advise you to relax and take a closer look. To ensure successful trade show participation, you should consider all of your options. If there’s a high foot traffic booth space available on the show floor but is getting ticked off by other exhibitors due to a pillar or beam near it, then don’t worry about getting yourself that spot. All you need is an experienced trade show booth company that crafts visually stunning, unique, business-driven stands and are capable of covering that pillar you were worrying about with their creativity and expertise.

[bluexiao]

#inazuma, the land of eternity.

—relationship headcanons for all inazuma characters

CHARACTERS. Ayaka, Baal, Kazuha, Kokomi, Gorou, Sara, Thoma/Tohma, Yae, Yoimiya; gn!reader

THEMES. fluff w/ character analysis:)

WARNINGS. spoilers up ahead! not much more like the basics of who they are and what they do + places in inazuma. nothing major unless maybe for ayaka? just a few implications for her story quest.

NOTES. this definitely took awhile to make! i have no regrets though:) also, this is very long time wow the dedication,,, anyway i think i blotched this whole thing but enjoy!! most are written based on how i analyzed them just a heads up!

AYAKA

Of course, the Shirasagi Himegimi is a well-known individual in the whole of Inazuma. With her identity alone, it may be difficult to loiter around without gaining attention from onlookers.

Nonetheless, it’s not a hindrance for you to bond with your beautiful girlfriend. Actually, this will only prompt the both of you to go and sneak outside probably with disguises or masks on so that there will be no one interrupting you. You’d both throw a fit of giggles and all whenever you two passed by someone familiar, probably her own brother or Thoma.

Your favorite place together however is the Chinju Forest. Not only is it near the Kamisato Residence but also because there are no monsters or people there. The surrounding is peaceful and beautiful as well.

Dancing for you while you two are alone? Definitely. She would even offer her hand and may take yours to join her. Don’t know how to dance? She doesn’t mind! She might even teach you how, or atleast guide you with your hands together. At first it might be silly but by the time you two had gotten serious, which is an easy feat to achieve really since she’s used to hold a serious facade, only this time it’s not just a facade.

She’s serious because she’s realizing just how you make her feel and that she, once again, is in awe that she has you now by her side.

“Thank you for being with me, I promise you that I’ll protect you and care for you as much as I can as gratitude of your love and kindness. Please, will you dance with me?”

BAAL

Is a strict lover, probably even the most protective out of everyone else. She may seem like she is pretty detached to you atfirst glance but she cares deeply inside nonetheless.

We don’t really know much about her yet but I feel like it’s difficult to spend time with you, especially since she seems to be the type to do her work seriously and not spend a single second wasting her time, not that you are a waste of time, no.

Point is, she’s a god. She should or would appear as emotionless all the time and she is also quite busy running the whole nation.

Also, public appearances are a no go. She doesn’t permit you to take her outside for the sole reason that it is to protect your identity.

She might take you out sometimes, but it is very rare, and most likely at nights. She might even stop the storm for you, wherever you two might go.

I feel like she shows her soft spot to you more often than not. She lets her guard down when you two are away from the eyes of others, often reaching out her hand and a soft look on her eyes as she does so. Normally, no words leave her lips since that gaze was enough for you to sense that it was her way of saying thank you--for staying by her side all this time, to eternity and beyond.

“Can you stay with me for eternity? Are you willing to? For… me, you say. If that is what you wish, then I shall grant it for you.”

KAZUHA

Is probably the best lover out of everyone, no cap. But that’s just at first glance, actually. He holds many thoughts inside his head, words he can never say aloud, memories he can never relive in terms of practicality.

Nonetheless, it wouldn’t stop him from showing his love and devotion to you. No matter how much he seems like he carries more than a few burdens deep inside his heart.

Loves dates with you all around Liyue, most likely. Taking you to eat is the most important time of his life. You will never miss a meal when you’re dating him, I tell you.

And he composes you haikus most of the time! If he is away, he might even send a bird to you with a paper on its beak or so and written there is a new haiku composed of how much he misses you and longs for you and so on.

Definitely is into hand-holding while walking down the harbor or even on the ship as you two are perched somewhere where the wind can pass you both easily.

“You have captured my heart, I take it you’ll bear responsibility for it, won’t you, dove?”

KOKOMI

Everyone is absolutely jealous of your relationship—not necessarily in a bad way though.

She treats everyone fairly and equally, but you? You—she pampers on a daily, if not per second, basis.

Definitely, the type to call you “honey” or “sweetie,” a replacement of the “comrade” she once called you along with everyone else.

On second thought, she might be calling you lots of sweet nicknames. And they don’t absolutely sound cringe-y when they came from her lips! It’ll just leave you flustered and on her grasps seriously.

She is incredibly busy though, so there is only limited time for you both. No worries! She always makes it up for you because she’s sweet like that:(

“Ah, there goes my lovely Y/n! How about we eat lunch together? Come, I shall cook for you as an apology for being away for so long.”

GOROU

Is a busy man, let’s get this point out more often than not. He is the general of the resistance and it shows that he definitely plays a big role indeed.

Training members, answering inquiries, assisting in the planning; the list goes on.

Although he does make time for you, at the very most capacity that he can. Eating and sitting with you during meals, letting you stand by his side whenever he walks around the camp, and even holding your hand while doing so.

He is also very protective. He would absolutely never let you go to the front lines unless it is absolutely necessary. He just couldn’t see you get hurt, and it would also make him lose his focus. So it’s best if he would be worryless while in battle if you were staying behind safely at the camp.

If you get even a small injury I tell you he’s going feRaL. Well, if it is caused by the battle, that is, On second thought, if you accidentally caused it yourself he might even reprimand you for that because poor boy doesn’t like seeing you hurt:(

“You must be careful next time, sweetheart. Does it hurt? There, I dressed it for you now-oh? You want me… to kiss it better? What-” he sighs, “How can I ever say no to you?” internally screaming rn

SARA

She is very considerate of your well-being. And very protective as hell. Anyone who dares disrespect your privacy earns an earful from her.

If you have conflicting beliefs, then that might be a problem. She wouldn’t want to see you on the different side, but she definitely would respect you if that’s your decision.

She probably wouldn’t even have the heart to hurt you… maybe try to capture you if it’s necessary but hurt you? No.

Dates with her is probably mostly private, partly for your safety and one part because she prefers it that way.

Okay but taking her around outside if she’s not busy? She might even let down her guard when you do so.

“This is… I had a good time, I shall thank you for that.” she’ll say with a small smile on her face and when I say she looks beautiful like that, she absolutely does, you’d probably stare at her in awe of such a sight.

THOMA

Is very fun to be with; he can make you smile, laugh, or even holler. Although he does many different things that you yourself wouldn’t want to involve in his business most of the time.

Another one who loves calling you pet names. He definitely calls you ones that make you cringe most of the time just to tease you or have a good laugh for the both of you. He just loves seeing you react to them, well unless if he stepped out of line, which is rare anyway.

He is a natural giver, and he would get flustered if he receives something from you; may it be a gift, a praise, an i love you, or hugs or kisses, absolutely anything. He just becomes happy with that, yknow?

Also protective, I mean it’s his job so he would naturally want to keep you safe and sound. But it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t take you out on dates. Actually, he might be the one who would do that more often than everyone, maybe aside from Yoimiya.

He loves treating you around town, anywhere. He actually likes it when people greet you two and they say that you two are a good couple, it swells his pride, you see.

“Ah yes, of course, you see that too huh, don’t you? See that, honey? Even Taroumaru agrees to me!”

YAE

Much like Ayaka’s, it is difficult to go out with your lovely Lady without as much as an interruption from any other person.

Dates in Mt. Yougou? Just roaming around while petting the foxes and talking to each other? Definitely. The peaceful atmosphere is very calming that even someone like her could cast her worries and work aside while she’s there with you.

She would mostly talk about the customers they had or the cases they covered, nothing too private to share to you, just sharing her line of thought on the people in general.

Also, the place is not too far from her work so she can go back if she is suddenly needed. After all, she still is the head of the Grand Narukami Shrine. She cannot possibly not take responsibility of that.

She is also a private person, me thinks. She would rather show her affections to you in private, whenever you two are alone. It’s mostly her initiating kisses, actually. She loves seeing your reaction right away and may even tease you for it.

“Flustered now, are we? Now, now, was it not you who asked me out first? You should have readied for this kind of treatment yourself, no?”

Also, she does seem very observant. She may even know you like the back of her hand by just observing your actions and your words. So if you say that it’s alright even if she’s busy and she’s not giving you attention, she’ll see if you’re lying and would do her absolute best to finish whatever task she needs to finally have time for you.

YOIMIYA

She is also fun to be with! Exhilarating might be the proper word, honestly. She is the embodiment of energy and joy.

I bet she may even be the best candidate for best dates award. She’s not busy so often plus she always knows her way around!

Fireworks festival dates are a given for her. But actually, she does have times when she is silent and you would notice that every once in awhile if you two are along and are not out running errands, just on a simple date with a tricolor dango on your hands perhaps.

When she is silent, it tells just how much she is enjoying your company and how peaceful she is at your presence. She might even lean her weight onto you for a bit as you two silently watch the ocean from up ahead.

“I like this, you know. Being one with silence and enjoying the breath of fresh air. Somehow, I don’t feel like I’m in a rush with you. I think it’s a good thing, right?”

NOTES. i personally liked writing for ayaka and also gorou hmmm am i playing favorites? sorry xiao and kazu

[animeomegas]

Omega!BNHA boys - easiest to hardest labours

Anon: who has the easiest or the most difficult time giving birth for the BNHA boys?

and

Anon:  Which BNHA boys had the easiest/hardest births?

(Okay, the people have asked and so I have delivered. I do think that Dabi, Shouto and Aizawa probably wouldn’t have any pups, but I also don’t think they’re so against getting pregnant as someone like Kakashi. Therefore, while I will never write pregnant Kakashi, I’m happy to write pregnant Dabi, Shouto and Aizawa. I picked the characters to include based on who I had ideas for. Enjoy~) 

Warnings: Fairly graphic labour depictions (Nothing crazy but some specific stuff), blood mentions, mentions of epidurals, mentions of near death experiences. 

1.    Hitoshi Shinsou – He has difficulties whilst pregnant, but as far as the actual labour goes, Shinsou has the easiest time ever. Even his first pregnancy was super easy, and with every consecutive pregnancy (Shinsou has four pregnancies and five children in total) it just gets faster and simpler. None of his labours last more than five hours. He’s the poster boy for ‘Doctors and other omegas hate him’.  

2.    Izuku Midoriya – Firstly, this boy has the most insane pain tolerance ever, so that certainly helps him during labour. Basically, the whole thing is simple for him. He has you and his mother with him for support, and everything goes completely as planned. It’s not easy, but it’s certainly easier than most omegas find it.

3.    Katsuki Bakugou– His is much the same as Izuku’s. Simple and easier than most omegas find it. He’s only slightly lower down because his pain tolerance isn’t quite as high, and Katsuki had twins which made it slightly more complicated. However, he made sure that everyone else’s experience was as hard as possible. The doctors and midwives will certainly remember Bakugou, let’s just say that.

4.    Eijrio Kirishima – His labour is very normal and average. He definitely decides to go for a natural birth, because he’s definitely man enough to handle it without pain medication. Spolier alert, he caves and gets an epidural. That definitely makes the first part of the labour more difficult. He handles the whole thing very well though, but he’s got a strong grip so his alpha’s hand may be a little sore.

5.    Denki Kaminari – Denki’s labour is also normal, but his pup is very large and Denki tears pretty badly. Kaminari can’t walk very well when he leaves the hospital and has to use a wheelchair for a little while. He’s very adorable though, because he invites all his friends over and lets them into the hospital room one by one, as long as the doctors are cool with it. He tries to keep up a cheerful attitude the whole time, and he gets very, very loud while he’s pushing. He also definitely gives his alpha some nasty electric shocks if they don’t wear some heavy-duty rubber gloves. Kaminari can’t walk very well when he leaves the hospital and has to use a wheelchair for a little while.

6.    Fumikage Tokoyami – His labour is exhausting, in every sense of the word. It’s lasts 24 hours in total, and he gives birth to triplets. Three babies and an entire day of labour. No wonder he’s exhausted. By the end, he’s constantly saying that he can’t do it anymore, and when the labour is finished, he’s only awake long enough to glance at his babies before collapsing. It’s tough for him.

7.    Dabi – This is where things start to shift into more difficult labours. His labour is also in the normal range, but he doesn’t have access to medicine in the same way as the people above him on the list. He has to deal with it with only his alpha and a sketchy medic who could probably stitch him up but had never delivered a pup before. He doesn’t get proper post-natal care, so it takes him a while to recover, but ultimately, he’s okay. Honestly, everyone else in the room is in just as much danger as him because he really loses control of his fire. If his alpha doesn’t have a quirk that can counter him, they might have to leave the room at certain points.

8.    Shouto Todoroki – He has to have a c-section because his hips aren’t wide enough because of the suppressant abuse he endured during puberty. Shouto is pretty terrified of being drugged with pain meds because it freaks him out to be so vulnerable around so many people. His alpha needs to make sure he can see them at all times while he’s having his operation because he needs to be kept calm. Shouto needs quite a bit of time to recover too, because his job is so physically demanding that he can’t return until he’s fully healed. He’s not very happy about that.

9.    Shouta Aizawa – Shouta has a really tough time in labour, particularly after his pup is already out. He haemorrhages badly. His alpha actually gets shoved into the corner of the room with how many doctors flood to the room to treat Shouta. It’s definitely very nerve-wracking for a few hours, but Shouta is okay in the end. Very tired, but okay. It’s a huge relief, although you definitely have to constantly stop Shouta from overworking himself while he’s still recovering.

10.   Toshinori Yagi - His labour is very high risk from the get go. He has a significant injury, he’s very underweight and he’s in his late forties. It was just red flag after red flag, but he was desperate for a family now that he had finally retired and he wouldn’t stop until he had achieved his dream. So, he gives birth at a private hospital with a whole army of doctors to help him. His blood pressure sky rockets, and he has issues with blood loss. The pup is thankfully very healthy, if a little underweight, but Toshi is in a bad state. He’s pretty distressed through the whole thing, and relies on his alpha to calm him down and support him as much as they can. It takes him a long time to recover, but he treats the recovery seriously now that he’s retired and it goes well. 

11.  Tomura Shigaraki – If he had better medical attention, he wouldn’t be right at the bottom of this list. His labour is complicated. His pup is in breech and gets tangled in the umbilical cord, which is not immediately clear because he couldn’t go to a hospital. He managed to kidnap a doctor after he found out that he was pregnant, offering to let him go once he delivered the baby, but the doctor was still lacking enough equipment to properly help him. He had to go the hospital in the end, covering his face and hiding his identity, relying heavily on his alpha to get him there and protect his identity. He was in such a dire condition that the doctors treated him first and asked questions later, the second he was awake and vaguely stable, you both grabbed your pup and broke out of the hospital. It was a disaster and both Tomura and his pup almost died multiple times.

[blu-joons]

Braids ~ Min Yoongi

A stressed sigh came from you as you allowed your hair to drop yet again as your plait fell apart as you brought it underneath your ear. It was a sound that quickly caught Yoongi’s attention as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone, moving his eyes to look across at you.

Your hands brushed through your hair to let it all fall all over again, throwing the hairband that you had around your wrist to the floor in frustration that nothing seemed to be going right.

“Let me have a go,” a voice suddenly suggested, glancing up through the reflection of your mirror you noticed Yoongi shuffling along the bed and moving to sit beside you, legs either side of your body.

“Have you even braided hair before?” You asked as you passed him your hairbands.

His head shook as he parted your hair into two, it was nothing he’d tried before, but it was certainly something he was willing to try, especially if it could go a short way into trying to make your day a little easier.

You watched on as he picked up your hairbrush and moved it through the left side of your hair, making sure that each knot was removed, and each hair was separated so that he could give it a go.

“You might have to give me a few pointers,” he chuckled, holding onto the handful of hair.

You nodded back at him, “first of all you need to put my hair into three to plait.”

His lips parted from the concentration of trying to place your hair into three equal handfuls, leaving you unable to hide your laughter, watching as he lifted it up once he was done.

You then told him to start moving the left strand into the middle, which he cautiously did. You could feel him dropping your hair plenty of times, unable to begin to imagine how loose your plaits would be by the time Yoongi was finished.

It took a few minutes for him to pick all of your hair back up, with the left strand now in the middle and his fingers parted in all sorts of uncomfortable directions.

“Now what do I do?” He asked with intrigue, looking at you through the mirror.

“Do the same, but with the right strand.”

“But it took me five minutes to do the left strand,” he cried out as you let go of a chuckle. The same thing happened, as much of your hair dropped until he had the right strand now in the middle.

“You just need to keep doing that until my hair is too short to keep moving it into the middle,” you informed him, spotting his eyes rolling. “You were the one who volunteered to do this.”

“But I don’t get how you usually make it look so easy.”

He slowly started to move the left strand again, trying to hold onto your hair as best as he could, moving it into the middle before trying the right strand again. It took a little while, but eventually Yoongi managed to make his way to the bottom of your hair.

“And now all you need to do is tie the hairband in it, and then you’re all done.”

You ended up picking up the hairband for him to tie up your locks, noticing how much of a struggle it was for him to both hold onto your hair and not let it untie and also wrap the band around it. After much switching and turning, he managed to loosely tie the band around your hair, dropping your hair as it sat proudly against your chest.

Your smile grew as you looked down at what he had done, strands of hair had been missed many times, your plaits were nowhere near tight to your head, but your hair was plaited, admittedly, even if not to the same standard that you usually did it.

“There you go,” Yoongi grinned, tapping against the top of your head, “for a first time, I don’t think I’ve done too badly, it definitely looks like a plait at least.”

“As long as it curls my hair for work tomorrow, then I think it’ll do the trick.”

“You think? I’ve done a great job of that,” he argued, smiling proudly.

Your head nodded as you hand reached up to lift the right side of your head of hair for him to now work on. His eyes widened as he very quickly picked up on the hint that you were dropping.

“You can’t do half a job I’m afraid, now, get plaiting and finish it off.”

He took the strand of hair, looking helplessly for you to give him the same pointers that you had done with the previous plait. Once he had your hair in three, and began to move the left strand first, it all soon came back to him, and the plait started to come together, far better than the one on the left side of your head had done.

“Maybe rather than hire stylists for tour I could just do it instead,” he joked, “it would definitely save the company a lot of money as well.”

Your head shook, feeling his hand quickly stopped you as he tried to keep you still so that he could concentrate. “No one is going to want you to do their hair Yoongs, no disrespect, but you’ve only done my hair because I’m only sleeping in it.”

“You mean you’re not going to go out and show off my masterpiece?”

Your head nodded as a pout formed on his face as he finished off your plaits. As an apology came from your lips, he couldn’t hide his smile that he’d managed to get you. Even he wouldn’t have forced you to go out with your hair looking as it did.

“I’m only joking, I know the plaits are far from perfect, but like you said, they’ll do the trick for the night at least, right?”

“Absolutely, my hair will be perfect for work tomorrow,” you smiled, waiting until he’d tied off your second plait before you continued talking. “With a bit of practice, I reckon you could actually get the hang of all of this.”

“I hate to admit it, but I actually quite enjoyed doing your hair,” he grinned, “it’s not like I ever get to do anything like that with my hair, you couldn’t plait what I have.”

“I reckon I could with some time.”

His head shook as his hands moved around your shoulders, pulling you further back to rest against his front, pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

As his eyes studied your hair properly for the first time in front of the mirror, he couldn’t help but sigh. It was far from what he’d seen you achieve, but the smile on your face was back, which as far as he was concerned, meant that his job was done.

Your head tilted back to look up at him, “I definitely think I’ll get you to plait my hair more often.”

“At the end of a bad day, I’ll be right there to do it,” he mused.

“A boyfriend and a hairdresser, I’m so lucky.”

His eyes rolled at your sarcasm, poking your cheek gently. His hands then grabbed onto your plaits, moving them under your chin and tying them into a knot, only for it to slip out as soon as his hands moved away.

“Nice try,” you laughed, pulling yourself up so that you could sit beside him on the couch, “thank you for doing my hair.”

“I enjoyed doing it, just maybe don’t tell the boys about this.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

---

Masterlist

[ackasamii--archive]

if you love him

summary: armin is ready to let you go but are you?

pairing: armin arlert x black!fem reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: a little angst and fluff

note: had this idea one day and decided to post it. hope you like it because this one is close to my heart. title inspired by this song.

“Where’s y/n?” Something Armin Arlert heard a lot the past four years. This time it was Connie asking while glancing around to see if he could spot her.

“Probably with Onyankopon again.” Sasha answered easily while lying lazily in a chair. “Honestly surprised she hasn’t been caught by Hange or Levi yet, she should stop while she’s ahead.”

Jean scoffed, “We all know she’s into him, I don’t know why she’s still sneaking around.”

“You know y/n, she’s always kept to herself, kind of like Mikasa, but more discreet about it.” Connie shrugged.

Said girl narrowed her eyes at the buzzcut male, “More discreet?”

His heart twisted at every passing second while listening to them talk. There was one thing they were right about; you really did keep to yourself. And that’s what initially drawled him towards you.

It was the way you were always silent during conversation amongst friends and enjoying being around the people you were most comfortable with. How the quiet smile appeared on your lips whenever Jean or Connie made some stupid joke. Or the way Armin was captured by every word whenever you do speak, which was a rarity in itself. There was just something about you that kept his eyes always looking for you in a crowd. And sometimes they would meet for the briefest second before you quickly looked away to something else.

Then there was your skin. It was different from everyone else’s. Even Eren’s and Ymir’s. Your complexion had the sun smiling at you whenever it was out. Standing out amongst a sea of people, making you beautifully unique in his eyes.

It was easy to see that you wouldn’t fit with someone like him. Weak and useless Armin. You deserve someone strong and bold like Jean. Maybe outgoing and funny like Connie. Or maybe someone who could relate to you the most.

Like Onyankopon.

It was when the first came to Paradis Island. The moment your eyes landed on him; you were in awe. How was it that a stranger, a Marleyan, was able to capture your attention in seconds when he’s known you ever since they first started in the Survey Corps?

And just like that you’ve been sneaking out at night and coming back in the early hours of the morning with a soft smile on your lips. Yes, he’s noticed. He’s noticed how much happier you’ve become whenever you’d come back from your nightly adventures. He hated it. He hated that it couldn’t be him that made you smile like that.

Such a beautiful smile.

“She’ll tell us when she wants to.” Armin forced himself to say. He hid his heartbreak. He hid because at the end of the day, what he felt didn’t matter. Especially in a time of war.

War. Whoever said war was kind must’ve been out of their damned minds.

“Nothing we can do about it,” Mikasa shrugged, “it’s her own fault if she gets caught.”

Connie suddenly cleared his throat loudly, “Speaking of!” Armin along with everyone else turned their heads to find you entering the room, eyes slightly widened in surprise and curiosity. “Now where’ve you been, young lady?!”

You roll your eyes, “I went for a walk, mind your business.”

It was one of those brief seconds again. Where his and your eyes connected. Almost as if it were a puzzle finding its place.

This time he looked away.

“Shouldn’t you all be asleep?” you asked while leaning on the armchair Sasha was sitting in. “You know how the captain gets when we make noise past curfew.”

“We should say the same for you,, dummy.” Jean flicked her forehead.

You smack his hand, “Whatever. Do what you want, don’t get mad if Levi makes you do extra chores in the morning.”

She’s more talkative, Armin noticed. He wondered if anyone else realized this as well. If they did, they sure didn’t mind it much.

Not long after, everyone else decided to follow your lead and head to bed, not wanting to face the wrath of their strict superior in the morning to come. And as usual, Armin would lay away at night, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

He’d think about Eren and where he’s gone. He’d think about everyone else’s mental sanity through all of this, especially with this dangerous plan they had when they got to Marley. But tonight your face couldn’t stop appearing in his mind.

So much so, he dreamed of what your lips would feel like against his.

While simultaneously fighting off a growing resentment towards the Marleyan.

Next morning they received another letter from Eren. Which meant more developments in their plan. Which also meant more exhaustingly long meetings with Hange and the others. Those were the days he got to see you a lot more.

Sneaking glances your way, smiling despite himself whenever your eyes met.

Actually, it was happening a lot often now that Armin thought about it. Today he even caught you looking at him! It was strange and quite confusing considering your secret situation with Onyankopon.

Then night came. Armin hadn’t returned to the quarters yet as he was finishing up with Hange. Sometimes they could get a bit too carried away and he’d be patient enough to wait until she was finished. But once he was finally free, Armin pulled at his tie and left his white shirt unbuttoned.

He didn’t walk back to the quarters. Instead, he walked along the beach he and the others found years ago.

The ocean.

It was still beautiful no matter how many times he laid his eyes on it.

No matter how much it pained him to know what was coming on the other side.

He didn’t mean to.

No, he really didn’t.

But Armin just happened to turn his head and see you leave the tent Onyankopon was staying in. There was something within him that grew to the point where he felt reckless.

You stopped in your tracks, worried that you might’ve been caught when someone called your name. But when you glanced behind you, it was only Armin.

His kind features released the tension from your body as you fully turned to the male slowly approaching you.

You never knew what to do around him. How to act, how to talk. Armin Arlert had to be the most intelligent member of Levi’s squad and with that title came intimidation.

Not only that but he was far too pretty to be talking to someone like you. To even notice you. And so you only stared at your shaking hands, hoping your darkened skin could hide the warm feeling spreading across your face. If not your skin, please let the night protect you.

“What are you doing out here?” You finally ask carefully.

His blue eyes, similar to the large body of water, stared at you with an intensity you could not understand. In fact he always did. For years you never knew why he looked at you this way. Was it because of how you looked? How dark your skin was? Sure, you were most definitely used to that. Along with the whispers and the judgment.

But he held none of that. It was something else entirely. Something that had you shift on your toes and made your stomach do endless flips.

Now he was standing close. Not too close that you were uncomfortable with. But closer than he usually stood near anyone.

And then he whispers.

“Does he at least love you?”

You simply stared at him, now in confusion, “Who?”

“Onyankopon”

His heart was practically ready to leave his chest at that very moment. What had come over him? It’s like as soon as he saw you leave that tent, all signs of rational and reason had left him. And before he knew it, he had called your name, and now here you were. Standing before each other.

Ready to accept—

“What makes you think that?”

The question had thrown him off. Armin studied your face, seeing the confusion written all over it. A small part of him thought you adorable with the way you scrunched up your brows matched with the little frown on your face.

There he goes wishing for something out of his reach.

“It’s just that...” He hesitated to continue, the recklessness slowly leaving him. “you seem happier whenever you come back from seeing him...”

He had to look away from you. Find anything else he could look at but your face at this moment. So, instead he looked at the ocean and the words began to spill.

“And that’s all I’ve wanted for you. To see you smile, to see you happy. Even in a time where all things seem hopeless. When things seem impossible to achieve...like you.” He heard a quick gasp and continued before he regretted everything, “With everything unfolding, the titans, the Marleyans, this war, Eren—everything in my world is slowly crumbling before me. So, I search for you. I find you because you are my warmth, because you are my hope, and my motivation. In my dreams we’re free. And sometimes you’re there with me.” He closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay while clenching and unclenching his hands, “If you love him—”

“I don’t!”

Armin opened his eyes.

Seeing you crying was the saddest thing he’s ever witnessed. His body moved before his mind could process.

Suddenly his world was in his hands as he wiped the rebellious tears away.

You gripped onto his wrist while trying to calm down. Damn. You hadn’t planned to cry in front of him. Then again you hadn’t planned to hear any of that.

“It’s not him I love.”

You felt him freeze but never move his hands from the sides of your head. It was comforting, like a warm blanket.

After you’ve calmed down, you spoke in a more controlled voice, “I was an orphan before coming to the corps. I was the only person who looked different. There was no one that looked like...me. And I was alone. Being the outsider. Being the one to stand out when I just wanted to disappear in the sea of people.

And then I joined the Survey Corps where many people all over would be. Still, I was the only me among them. But it was different. I made friends, I didn’t see the judgment or rejection, not from them, not from you. I was happy, but the feeling of loneliness remained with me until...”

“Onyankopon.” Armin finished as realization crossed his features.

You nodded, “I can’t tell you how happy I was to see him. I wanted to cry right then and there. So, yes, I started sneaking out to see him. To learn about myself and hope that there were more people out there that looked like me. I wanted to know if my family was still out there if there was still hope. And he gave it to me. Something to hope for and the confidence to one day confess to the man I love.”

A smile reached your lips as you caught Armin’s own tears. His head leaned against yours as he closed his eyes.

“I didn’t feel—”

“Worthy? Me neither.”

There it was again. The same intensity in his eyes. Although this time, you knew what this was. You should’ve known sooner as he pulled you closer.

And he whispered, just a feather away from your lips, “May I?”

“Yes.”

He was gentle against your lips and slow as if he were taking his time to soak in your warmth and taste. His strong desire for you showed more through his body as one hand cupped your cheek with his thumb brushing below your eyes and his other pulled you closer to him where his warmth engulfed you, comforted you, and held you lovingly.

Finally.

Oh how you yearned to stay like this forever. Breathing in his scent, running your hand through his soft blond hair, and listening to him murmur against your ear about how much he loved you.

That night stayed with you as the war went on.

You would have Onyankopon to thank after the words exchanged between the two of you the night before. Why you were more talkative and happier.

“Onyan?”

The man looked up from his work and smiled gently at the nickname you’ve given him over time.

“Yeah, y/n?”

You pick at the wooden table in deep thought with a small frown on your face. He noticed the change in your mood the moment you entered his tent that night. But knowing you, constantly asking questions would not allow you to open up.

He learned to simply wait.

“Do you think I can be loved?”

Onyankopon stared at you for a moment.

“Why would you ask something like that.”

You sighed, “No, what I mean...it’s not like I’m the ideal type, you know?”

He raised a slick brow, “What’s this about?” Before you could reply he had already figured it out, “Oh wait, it’s about that one kid, isn’t it?”

You scoffed, “Yeah, that one kid.”

He chuckled and leaned on the table to look you in the eyes, “Do you love him?”

You didn’t respond.

“Ah,” The man rubbed his chin with a growing smirk, “Have you told him yet?”

“Are you crazy? Of course I haven’t!”

“Mmm, I think I’m quite sane, thank you.” He smirked. “We live in an unpredictable world, kiddo. You never know what’s going to happen next. You could die knowing you never told someone you loved them. Maybe they needed to hear it and it would be too late.” You stared at him blankly before he sighed, “Okay, let me put it this way. Do you want to die with regrets?”

You frowned, “No, no I don’t.”

Onyankopon nodded, “Then if you love him that much, tell him. Yeah, sure there could be rejection, but it beats having your confession weigh you down when it’s too late.”

You took in his words, knowing that he was right and you had to somehow build up whatever courage in you to just tell him.

Just do it. What could go wrong?

“Really?”

“Yep!”

A small teasing smile reached your lips, “Talking from experience?”

He laughed despite the small stab in his heart.

“Maybe!”

© all content belongs to ackasamii 2021. do not modify or repost.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Laugh

Prompt: Hi!! I really love your writing and always look forward to when you update, I can’t tell if your prompts are open (please ignore this if they aren’t!) but if they are I have a prompt for your (un)wanted series; each of the fae making Virgil laugh for the first time, at first he’s insecure/scared to laugh because of experiences in the village but he slowly learns to be ok/comfortable laughing thanks to the fae; again, if your prompts aren’t open I apologize and hope you have a nice day!! - anon

so uh

hey

did you guys know that this past Friday was the one year anniversary of the first chapter of (un)wanted

'cause wow

uhhhhhh I'm not good at speeches so have fluff

Read on Ao3 (Un)Wanted Masterlist

Warnings: none!

Pairings: DLAMPR, it’s found family nonsense

Word Count:  5419

Whether or not they agree on who made Virgil laugh first is irrelevant, the point is that they’ll find something to argue about sooner or later, and when they do, Virgil’s learned enough to curl up with Oliver and just watch. Preferably from the safety of the kraken’s head, a little bit away from the shore, where he’s close enough to hear the things they say but not close enough to be in the way.

It was Oliver’s idea to do that, actually. Virgil…hasn’t been the best at learning how to deal with anger. Other people’s anger, in particular, for completely understandable reasons.

 It had been Logan who spotted it, coming over to his side when the twins were having an argument over what side of the lake they were each taking jurisdiction for that decade and Roman’s voice had risen, Remus’s voice had multiplied, and Logan had seen Virgil curl in on himself, clutching his tunic tightly around him and trying desperately to vanish into the wall.

 Once the twins realized what was happening—namely, Virgil breathing heavily in Logan’s arms as he glared at the two of them for being so oblivious—they’d stopped right away, calming down and crouching to be smaller so that Virgil could see them, see them, not their anger, and apologize. Remus had tugged Virgil into his lap as part of his apology and Roman had ruffled his hair and promised that he’d never raise his voice around him again.

 Logan had been quiet as Virgil clung to him, only later working up the courage to ask what was wrong with him.

 “Nothing is wrong with you, little one, you’re experiencing symptoms of your trauma.” A cool hand had passed over his forehead, smoothing his hair back from his face. “Your experiences with human anger have not been good, it stands to reason that you react to it.”

 “But—it’s stupid,” Virgil had spat, “I know—I should know you guys won’t—won’t—“

 “Shh, shh, hush, now…that’s it. Come back here for a moment. There you go.” Logan’s chin had come to rest on top of Virgil’s head. “Knowing something theoretically and properly internalizing it are two different processes, little one. It’s going to take time.”

 “But I’ve given it time.”

 “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. There’s no textbook on healing from trauma.”

 “There should be.”

 Logan had chuckled. “I don’t think even with our combined lifetimes we would be able to read it.”

 But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t start trying to help Virgil work through it. It had been the twins who started taking the bigger steps; sometimes Roman or Remus would be spending time with Virgil and the other would bustle in, muttering about something or other gone wrong. A patch of kelp that kept getting infected, a herd of deer that insisted on trampling half of the garden, something. And as they talked, the other would coax Virgil into their lap, keeping him grounded. Their voices might raise, just a little, but they were very careful not to yell and the warm weight of arms around Virgil and a head on his shoulder kept him safe.

 When someone couldn’t hold him, Oliver does. The kraken made no secret of how much he liked to hold Virgil—Remus muttered something about how he wasn’t jealous of a kraken, shut up, Roman—and had no reservations about extending an arm for Virgil to step into to wrap him up and carry him to safety. The others made sure not to yell, of course, but that meant that it manifested in other ways.

 Logan’s hands turned blue.

 Roman’s magic started to tingle from his fingers.

 Remus’s tentacles came out.

 Janus started hissing.

 Patton’s chest glowed.

 And sometimes, when he’s safely in someone else’s arms and high away on top of Oliver’s head, that was fine.

 Virgil shuffles a little, careful to keep his weight squarely on top of Oliver, not shifting too much either side. Of course, that’s easy when Oliver is really fucking huge. And the kraken burbles every now and then, shifting slowly from side to side in the water, careful not to jostle him too much. He pats the spot next to him in thanks and the water thrums with Oliver’s purr.

 Onshore, about twenty feet away, he makes eye contact with Logan. Logan rolls his eyes dramatically, the sheer exasperation on his face making Virgil snort. When he looks back, Logan’s face has softened considerably into such fondness that he can feel the tips of his ears flush.

 “I don’t know why we’re still fucking arguing about this,” Remus says, drawing their attention, “I won! I got him to laugh first! So I win!”

 “You have no proof of that,” Roman says immediately, “besides, you haven’t even told us what it is, how are we supposed to trust that?”

 “Just because we’re not all Lolo with his meticulous journals and note-taking methods doesn’t mean I’m not right, you absolute—“

 “Language!”

 “Oh, I’ll show you fucking language—“

 “How is it,” Virgil mumbles at Oliver, “that they’ve been arguing for so long and Remus hasn’t said what he thinks it is yet?”

 The kraken just shrugs. Carefully, not moving Virgil, but he does shrug.

 “Well, since you’re so adamant that you’re correct,” Janus drawls, effectively cutting off Remus and Patton’s tangent about swearing—which is something they never can quite put down—“why don’t you tell us what it is?”

 “Roro and Pat were there,” Remus huffs, putting his hands on his hips, I don’t see what there is to argue about.”

 “We were—oh goodness,” Patton sighs, “are you talking about the first time Virgil met Oliver?”

 Remus beams. “Sure am!”

 “Was that when I got absolutely covered in that voracious green slime that was determined to consume me?” Roman scoffs and wipes his sleeves at the memory of it. “Absolutely dreadful.”

 Remus throws his head back and cackles.

 “It was a wonder I was able to get clean,” Roman mutters, glaring at his brother, absolutely splitting his sides.

 “Ah,” Remus sighs after a moment, wiping his eyes, “good times, good times.”

 He points victoriously at Patton.

 “See? You were there! You remember!”

 Patton sighs. “I do…but that doesn’t count.”

 “What?” Remus whirls around and gestures at Oliver, who stick up two tentacle tips and waves. “Are you discounting this magnificent, glorious beastie from our debate?”

 “Technically that would be Oliver getting Virgil to laugh, not you.”

 “Or,” Roman says, puffing his chest out, “it would be me. Since I was the one to get so egregiously wounded—“

 “You were covered in slime,” Logan points out, “calm down.”

 “—then it was me that sparked that reaction.”

 Virgil rolls his eyes and pats Oliver’s head again. “You’re not just a beastie, you know that, right?”

 Oliver rumbles under him.

 “Okay, good.”

 “Besides, that was barely a laugh.” Patton pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It was…okay, yes, it’s one of my favorite memories since Virgil has come to stay with us—“

 Remus turns and shoots Virgil a wink over his shoulder.

 “—but a laugh?” Patton looks at Logan. “What’s the definition of a laugh, Lo?”

 “Technically, it’s to express certain emotions, particularly mirth or delight, through a series of spontaneous and usually unarticulated sounds.” Logan crosses his arms. “Which means that as long as it wasn’t planned and it wasn’t articulated, anything counts as a laugh.”

 “Thank you!”

 “Alright, alright,” Patton huffs, “always with the technicalities.”

 “You were the one who asked me for the definition.”

 “So what do you think it is,” Janus asks, examining his gloves with feigned disinterest, “since you’re so insistent that you know the correct usage of the word ‘laugh?’”

 Virgil can see Patton’s grin from Oliver’s head.

 “Why, the bread day, of course!”

 As if on cue, several groans go up around the clearing.

 “Patton, none of us were there for that—“

 “You can’t just keep insisting on that one, it’s not like—“

 “You can stop rubbing it in, Pat—“

 “Of course, you need—“

 “It was wonderful,” Patton says, raising his voice just a little to speak over the others, “he looked so happy.”

 Virgil does actually remember that one too. And yes, okay, maybe he’s glad that he’s far away from the others so they can’t see the small smile spreading over his face at the memory. The warm kitchen, the smell of the bread, the soft warmth of Patton’s presence next to him…

 Yeah, that’s a good memory.

 Oliver thrums under him and he pats the kraken’s head absentmindedly. Patton sighs over on the shore as the others mutter amongst themselves. Then he claps his hands.

 “Well, I think that’s me winning, so—“

 “Hold on,” Logan says, holding up his hand, “as we said, you are the only one who was there. I would argue that a laugh where all of us were present is much more significant.”

 He glances up at Virgil and his gaze softens.

 “Considering the incredible amount of work that Virgil has done since arriving to stay with us, I’d say that marks…quite an achievement.”

 Of course, as soon as one of them starts to get all sappy, the rest quickly join in. Virgil is incredibly glad that he can use shifting on top of Oliver’s head to duck away from the blush he knows is spreading all over his face. Mostly so he doesn’t have to look at the fondness and pride on their faces. Partly because he knows Roman would immediately become insufferable.

 “So,” Roman says after a while, which means it’s safe to look up again, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

 Logan crosses his arms, using one hand to adjust his glasses on his face. “Do we all remember the first time Virgil began to experiment with his webs?”

 Virgil’s breath catches in his throat. Oh, he knows what Logan’s talking about.

 The seasons had been turning, fall creeping in through the tendrils of the forest. The leaves had begun to change, dislodging themselves from their branches and twisting down through the air to land in massive piles on the ground. Carpets of red, orange, purple, and brown had covered the paths they would walk, fruits growing heavy and ripe. Roman and Patton had spent hours out in the woods near the lake with him, plucking berries off the trees and eating them until their mouths and fingers were stained with the juice.

 The trees around the clearing had lost their leaves a little quicker than the others, leaving their limbs bare, the naked wood gleaming in the sun. The light had warmed the leaves during the day, leaving them dry and crunchy as they walked over them. Something Virgil hadn’t minded at all during the day—he had gotten into more than a few playful encounters with Remus, crashing through the leaves just to hear them crunch—but when night had rolled around…

 The thin limbs blowing in the breeze hadn’t been pleasant reminders that the seasons were changing. No, they were fingers tapping threateningly on the windows, or looming there to scratch him if he moved too much.

 Logan had noticed him hovering just outside the clearing the next day, softly placing a hand on his shoulder after alerting him to his presence and asking, gently, what the matter was.

 “The…the trees,” Virgil had muttered, balling his fists up in shame, “I, um…they…”

 Logan had taken one look at the way the shadows fell around the clearing and nodded firmly. “I understand, little one.”

 He’d tucked Virgil up in his arms when Virgil asked, rubbing his back gently.

 “Would you like to talk about it, or be distracted from it?”

 “Distraction, please.”

 Logan had smiled. “Have you had a chance to practice with your webs yet?”

 “No.”

 “Would you like to try now?”

 “Uh, sure. What do we do?”

 Logan had started to walk them toward the center of the clearing, explaining how spiders use their webs as a part of their consciousness.

 “Wait, they what?”

 Logan had nodded. “There is a theory of mind known as ‘extended cognition.’ It states that whilst humans—and most sentient beings—use their minds as a great deal of their processing of thought and feeling, we rely on a lot of external structures outside of our minds to help us think. Sometimes outside of our own bodies as well.”

 “Whoa…” Virgil had looked down at his hands. “What do you mean?”

 “Think of the way you organize your room.” Logan had gestured to Virgil’s door. “It’s laid out in a way that helps you think, helps you process information. It informs your decision-making sometimes, does it not?”

 At Virgil’s nod, Logan had asked softly for his hand, beginning to make small circles in the air as Virgil started to let his webs slip.

 “The same is true of a spider’s web. Picture the web as something of a hub.”

 “A hub?”

 “Yes. Do you remember talking about how spiders use their webs?”

 “Yeah, as like a sensory extension. They can feel the vibrations of different strands in order to track their food or sense what’s coming for them.”

 Logan had smiled. “Very good memory, Virgil, that’s excellent. Yes, they can tell the difference between different types of vibrations too, from different types of prey to debris to predators.”

 A small web starts to form between the gaps in Virgil’s fingers.

 “But what else they do is fascinating.” He tugs very gently on one of the strands. “The spider isn’t idle when it sits in the middle of its web. Rather, it’s constantly moving, checking each individual strand. Pulling this one a little tighter, tugging that one.”

 Virgil watches as the light gleams off of the strands. He moves his fingers a little to watch them. “What for?”

 “Pulling a strand tighter makes it more sensitive to vibrations.” He reaches up to Virgil’s head. “Like cupping your hand around your ear to hear things more clearly.”

 “Whoa, that’s cool.”

 “Mm. An external way of filtering what information the spider receives in order to better process it.”

 Virgil had looked up at Logan. Logan had smiled softly and stepped back, letting Virgil spin the web between his own hands.

 “…you think this will help me too?”

 “I think that my research has shown that taking a spider’s web away from them severely impairs their ability to function,” had come the quiet reply, “and that you haven’t had much of a chance to spin freely.”

 Virgil had looked down at his hands. The web had looked so small, too small. He had looked back up at Logan, chewing on his lip.

 “Can I…?”

 Logan had smiled and folded his hands behind his back.

 Virgil had closed his eyes and reached.

 There was something strange, he had realized, about being in your body without being in your body. Something like a wall, sometimes thick, sometimes only static, between you and whatever you sense. Hiding somewhere in a corner of your mind where you were in the world, but not really with the world. As if you were existing but just…slightly to the left.

 His body didn’t need to do anything spectacular, it just needed to exist. He was a shape. Just a shape. Nothing more, nothing less.

 And that was okay.

 Without even realizing it, his four legs had lifted him up, suspending him a few inches off the ground as his hands continued to spin. He had felt them taking the web produced and moving it from place to place, but he wasn’t thinking about it.

 He had just…done it.

 He had been the slight crack in his left finger as he wrapped his hands around and around the threads of the web.

 He had been the very tip of his upper left leg as it took the web and tossed it into place.

 He had been the last strand that decided to stick to somewhere and make that its home.

 When he had opened his eyes, an unknown amount of time later, his mouth had dropped open in awe.

 The clearing, previously empty save for the bare-limbed trees and scattered leaves, was draped and covered in spiderwebs.

 Logan, who must’ve been standing there quietly, had looked up and around him, eyes wide with wonder. He had turned slowly, spotting Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus, all staring around with wide eyes at the mass of webs that clung with gossamer elegance to the fabric of the world.

 Virgil had hung there, suspended amidst the web, spinning slowly as he felt the world breathe.

 Dusk had fallen, bathing the clearing in a soft light that reached gentle fingers out to paint thin blue shadows along the ground. The cool air had been weightless, blowing effortlessly through each strand and setting it to tingle. Everywhere a strand vibrated, a single drop of dew had formed, a single crystal in the half-dark.

 A glittering hub.

 And for the first time, Virgil had looked at something he’d made not with fear, not with anger, but with wonder.

 And he’d laughed.

 Giddy, child-like, bemused entirely by his creation and the way his body molded to the soft chimes of the web, spinning, spinning, unspun in the comfort of the mist.

 Virgil’s legs twitch behind him at the memory of the first web, and as he looks down, he realizes he’s been idly toying with a web on top of Oliver. The kraken, of course, is more than delighted to realize he’s received a present, burbling happily as Logan finishes his quiet recounting of that evening. A lull hangs over the shore for a moment before Logan adjusts his tie.

 “I believe I win.”

 “Hold on,” Roman says, “let’s not be too hasty, here.”

 “I do remember that,” Patton murmurs, glancing over at Virgil, “that web was so pretty.”

 “Pretty enough for Logan to win?”

 “Maybe not that pretty.” He sends a wink at Virgil.

 Rude.

 “Well,” Logan huffs, turning to Roman, “if you’re so certain, Roman, what on earth do you think it is?”

 Virgil can hear the fucking smirk on his face from here.

 “Have you all forgotten so quickly?” He spreads his arms. “Has the image of our sleepy little spider left your minds so soon after it happened?”

 Oh.

 Oh, no.

 Virgil knows exactly what Roman’s talking about.

 Okay, in his defense—who is he kidding, he knows damn well he set himself up for this. But it had been such a long day! He’d been working with Logan, trying to get the garden set up properly and that was hard, okay? Trying to manage the three different notebooks, the planters, the pots, the tools, it was a lot, and he still wasn’t used to using his new legs so he kept bumping into things and it was a lot. Then he had to help Patton with clearing out another section of the kitchen to make room for all the new baking pans and they were so loud and hard to manage and get the things in all the right places took so long and ugh. And then to top it all off Janus had promised to go with him on a walk and—listen, okay, the day was long.

 And Roman is really, really warm.

 He’d been walking back from the portal, drained from the effort of keeping his magic under control on the other side of the garden, panting slightly as he rounded the corner. He’d looked up just in time to see Roman shutting his red door behind him.

 “Ah,” he’d said, coming over with a smile, “there you are, little honeybee, I’ve been looking for you.”

 He’d taken one look at Virgil’s demeanor, however, and quickly softened his voice, coming a little closer, hands at the ready to ensure he was alright.

 “What’s happened, little honeybee, are you alright? Do you need anything?”

 “I’m fine, Roman, I just—oh—“

 “Shh, easy, hey, come here…” Roman had leaned Virgil gently against the side of the house. “Too much?”

 Virgil had nodded wearily. “Think I just…pushed it a little too hard today.”

 “It happens.” He’d run his hand gently through Virgil’s hair. “Magic-wise or just existence-wise?”

 “Bit of both?”

 “My poor little honeybee, you must be exhausted.” Virgil’s eyes had slipped closed for a moment as Roman had carded his hand through his hair again. “Do you want to be left alone, or can I take care of you?”

 Virgil had leaned into Roman’s touch and mumbled something. Roman had chuckled.

 “Those aren’t words, little honeybee.”

 “Mm.” Virgil had managed to crack one eye open. “C’n I come with you?”

 “Of course, Virgil, let’s get you somewhere warmer.”

 Roman had guided him carefully through the red door, sitting him down and producing cloth and bottle out of seemingly nowhere. He had shushed any protests gently, saying that it didn’t matter that Virgil hadn’t been crying, he can still let Roman clean his face off. He’d cupped Virgil’s head and asked him quietly to look at him.

 “I don’t want you to fall asleep here, little honeybee,” he’d murmured, “so try and stay awake until we can get you somewhere comfortable, alright?”

 “I’m not that tired,” he’d protested, “I’ll be fine.”

 Roman had just smiled.

 And Virgil really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him be so tired that he’d tried really hard to keep his eyes open. Even when Roman’s hand under his chin had been so warm, so confident in holding his head right where it needed to be. Even when the soothing repetitive motions of the cloth had coaxed his gaze not to Roman’s face but to the way the fabric moved in and out of his vision. Even when Roman had to pause and rewet the cloth and he’d let his eyes drift shut for a moment, just a moment.

 Only to realize later that Roman had stopped completely, and was watching him with a quietly smug smile.

 “Stay awake for me, little honeybee,” he’d whispered, “I’m almost done.”

 “‘M trying.”

 “I know, I know,” Roman had soothed, finishing cleaning his face, “and you’re doing a wonderful job for me.”

 Then, of course, everything had gone wrong.

 Because just that one little word of praise had been enough for the very tips of Virgil’s ears to go read, and of course, Roman had spotted it.

 “Little honeybee,” he’d murmured, tilting Virgil’s chin up just a little higher, “what’s got you so flustered?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Hmm, nothing? Are you sure? Your ears look awful red.”

 “It’s fine.”

 “Oh, I’m sure,” Roman had said lowly, still cleaning off Virgil’s face with gentle swipes of the cloth, “I’m sure it’s fine, little honeybee, I trust you completely, I’m simply worried. If I’m doing something wrong, then I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”

 He says, as he’d looked directly into Virgil’s eyes.

 “Why,” Virgil had whined out as Roman had chuckled, watching him cover his face, “are you so mean?”

 “Sorry, little honeybee,” Roman had murmured, not sounding very sorry at all as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, “I couldn’t resist, you’re too cute.”

 “I am not!”

 “Oh, little honeybee—“

 “No,” Virgil had said—said, definitely, not pouted, “don’t respond to that.”

 “If you insist.” Roman had given him another moment before reminding him that he still needs to finish. “I’m really almost done, I promise. It won’t take much longer.”

 Of course, having someone hold your face when you were already flustered is not easy, and it was Roman, so…

 “What happened,” he had asked as though he didn’t know damn well what had happened, “why aren’t you so sleepy anymore, little honeybee?”

 Virgil had been quite impressed with the glare he’d managed to give Roman through the remaining blush on his cheeks. Roman had simply laughed.

 “Alright, I deserve that.” He’d stroked a thumb carefully over Virgil’s clean cheek and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the other. “You did wonderfully, little honeybee, thank you. I’m all done now.”

 Roman had turned away, putting the cloth and the bottle back into whatever aether he’d pulled them out of and offering his hand to Virgil.

 “Come on, do you want to change into something else?”

 The sleepy haze had returned by the time he’d managed to get into the softer clothes Roman had offered, all but stumbling into Roman’s arms as they retreated to the large mess of cushions and pillows. Roman had laid down first, Virgil on top of him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other scratching lightly at the center of his four legs.

 “Shh, shh,” he’d coaxed when Virgil had started to whine, “none of that now, little honeybee, just relax.”

 A soft knock on the door.

 “Yes?”

 “Roman, have you seen…” Logan had trailed off the instant he spotted them. “Ah. Nevermind.”

 “Have I seen our little spider?” Roman had lightly knuckled Virgil’s jaw. “Yes, I believe I have. Did you need something?”

 “Only to join you, if you’d allow me.” He’d glanced behind up. “Or rather, allow us.”

 Virgil hadn’t been able to fully recognize the others coming in to join them around the mass of pillows, but he had registered the soft weight of Patton asking if he could dust him off a little and the soft gurgle of Remus as he settled in above them on the wall.

 “My, my,” a voice had drawled, Virgil too tired to look over at Janus, “what a sleepy little spider.”

 “Mm.” Virgil had felt Roman’s chest warm as the hand on his back continued to scratch gently. “Precious little spider.”

 “Are you two just going to fuss at him until he falls asleep?”

 “Why shouldn’t we?”

 “Well, if you fluster him too badly he might not be able to sleep.”

 “Why, Logan, I’m hurt. Surely you know we would never.”

 Virgil still isn’t sure what it was, whether it was the drawl of Janus’s voice, Logan’s disbelieving scoff, or the very real memory of Roman enjoying driving him out of his mind a few minutes ago, but whatever it was, it bubbled up in the pit of his stomach and he started to giggle.

 The room had gone quiet, just listening to Virgil lying on Roman’s chest, absolutely stunned.

 “You’re so giggly, little spider,” Roman had teased, “so giggly, so adorable, I’ve never heard you giggle before. It’s so cute!”

 “Giggle spider, is that a thing, Logan?”

 “Well, it certainly is now.”

 Roman had rubbed his back soothingly, still teasing, trying to lull Virgil back to sleep. Janus had reached over and tucked a blanket over the two of them, leaning down to kiss Virgil’s hair and murmur something about getting it out, little spider, it would be alright.

 Virgil isn’t sure if that was the first time he’d fallen asleep with a smile on his face, but it wasn’t the last.

 “…yes, alright,” Logan concedes, “that was adorable.”

 Roman throws his hands up in triumph. “See? Everyone’s favorite is our giggle spider.”

 Yeah, Virgil’s really glad he’s not standing next to Roman right now, and that he’s far enough away that they can’t see his blush if he ducks his head. He still gets all giggly when he remembers it, no use in reminding everyone of that now.

 “Janus? Are you going to try and compete, or…” Roman strikes a dramatic pose. “Shall we commence with my victory already?”

 Janus is quiet for a minute. Then he raises his hand and lets a little bit of the golden glow of the Claim flicker up around his hand.

 “Virgil,” he says softly—oh, he’s using it so he doesn’t have to raise his voice, that’s clever— “would you come over here, please?”

 “Uh, sure.” He pats Oliver’s head and the kraken burbles, wrapping an arm tightly around Virgil’s waist to set him on the shore near Remus. Remus reaches out to steady him, make sure he’s alright. “I’m good, thanks. I’m here now.”

 “Yes, thank you, little mouse.” Janus tilts his head. “Do you have a favorite?”

 “…favorite?”

 “A time you laughed,” comes the soft voice, “do you have one? It’s alright if you don’t.”

 Virgil glances around the circle, expecting to see scoffs or playful challenges or maybe—just maybe—someone will whisper that he knows theirs is the correct choice. But he doesn’t.

 All he sees are curious expressions, even a few encouraging smiles.

 “Wait, really?”

 Janus nods. “Anything? It doesn’t have to be much.”

 Virgil thinks. Does he? He remembers meeting Oliver for the first time, remembers making bread with Patton, remembers spinning in the clearing, remembers falling asleep on Roman’s chest.

 Something else…something else…

 “I remember,” he starts nervously, “it was one of the first times I went for a walk at night by myself.”

 He looks around, maybe he wasn’t supposed to do that, but no judgment meets his gaze. He swallows.

 “It was dark outside but the moon was really bright. I could see perfectly, even with the trees, all the way to the lake.”

 He glances behind him, at Oliver, playing in the reeds.

 “Oliver was asleep. He—I think it was after you guys spent the day cleaning out the underbelly of the caverns down there, he was really tired. So the lake was, like, super flat.”

 He remembers little ripples, just the barest touch of the breeze to the surface of the water.

 “And I, um, I realized that I’d never actually seen anything be that…” He struggles for a moment for the right word. “…still before.”

 He shifts a little.

 “Everything was always moving. Even when it was quieter, the water was never completely flat. There were waves, there were—there was always something.”

 But not that night. No, that night it felt like the lake was breathing, not like the wind was blowing across it. If he sat still enough, it was almost as if he could watch it inhale and exhale, at peace in the moonlight.

 “And I…I dunno, I really liked the way the moon looked.” He looks down at his hands. “It, uh, reminded me of what the Claim looks like.”

 He’d sat there for a while, just staring at his hands, wondering how the gold of the Claim would look bathed in silvery light. He’d rubbed them together, trying to see if he could feel it, only for something else to emerge entirely.

 He hears the gasps of Roman and Patton as a purple orb begins to form in his hands.

 “I, uh…made this for the first time that night,” he murmurs, watching it spin and dance in his hands, suspended there, floating like some great bubble, “and it looked…like me.”

 He remembers staring into it and not seeing anything but energy. About looking at it the way he used to watch the moon, the stars, anything he could never understand but wanted to, so desperately.

 Only to realize that he already understood it.

 Gone were the gauntlets, gone were the strings, gone were the threats of torture and hurt and pain.

 All that was left was this.

 And feeling that relief, seeing this orb as a manifestation of the fact that it was free…

 In that release, he’d laughed.

 “It was…the first time I think I realized I was me.”

 Virgil looks up at them. The orb fades back into nothingness, leaving his hands empty. After a pause, Janus reaches forward and gently draws him in.

 “That,” he says softly, “that is my favorite.”

 “You fucking sap.”

 “He has gone soft.”

 “Oh, like you haven’t?”

 And just like that, the petty bickering is back, but filled with fondness and barely concealed amusement and it’s so perfect, it’s so right, that Virgil can’t help himself.

 Virgil can’t help it, he laughs.

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[countessofravenclaw]

Memories of Time: Chapter twenty-three

What if you woke up one morning and realized that you were back in the beginning of your story? But to your surprise, you remember how that story will play out. Did you go back in time?

Studio OnBeat: class of 2015 Fanclub

Ambar: EVERYONE STAY AWAY FROM DELFI! 

Matteo: It can’t be as bad as that

Ambar: I have never seen her this angry. She looks like she would very much like to kill someone. Gastón should definitely stay as far away from her as possible.

Gastón: I’ll do that happily, but maybe this is a good thing. She can’t want to date me if she’d rather kill me.

Simon: All of this just from being kicked out of the competition?

Nina: Well, we all know Delfi and how dramatic she can get, but this does seem a bit much…

Ambar: You know, I have to agree… I’ll try to dig into it some more, see if there’s something else we should be aware of. 

Luna scrolled through the messages while waiting for the theatre class to begin. She glanced at Matteo, who was sitting behind her. One good thing that could be said about their situation: Gastón had succeeded, and Luna and Simon had been offered his and Delfi’s place in the competition. 

Now only the finale remained in their way. It was time to stop holding back and go full in. Her and Simon had to win, which wasn’t an easy task. Not only that, Ambar and Matteo NEEDED to become second. If both of those events didn’t happen,  she didn’t know what was going to happen. 

Luna had done her best with Simon, Ambar, and Matteo’s training, and she did believe that they were capable of achieving the feat that was required of them, but it still wasn’t going to be easy.  She would be lying if she said they hadn’t been extremely lucky. The other competitors were nothing to be messed with. Okay, she knew that they would definitely be able to defeat Jim and Nico, but Perla and Tomas, who Luna didn’t remember ever speaking to, were really good. 

“Chica Delivery, where are you?” Matteo nudged her, to shake her out of her thoughts. Mr. Perez had apparently come into the classroom and the class was starting. Just like last time, Luna and Matteo had been tasked with performing “Romeo and Juliet” and the performance would be happening in a moment. Truth be told, Luna had forgotten her lines at least six different times, as her and Matteo had done all the rehearsing in one speed session. She wasn't exactly looking forward to this, but all that they needed was Luna failing to pass a class right now, so she had to push through.

“So, today we’ll see the last of the performances,” Mr. Perez was saying. “Let’s start with… Romeo and Juliet.”

Well, it was best to get it out of the way. Luna stood up from her chair and walked to the front of the classroom. Matteo’s cocky grin was not really helping matters. 

“Oh Romeo, Romeo, what brought you here?” Luna began, reciting her first line

“Love told me where you lived…” Matteo answered her with the most exaggerated, dramatic voice. “It counseled me, it guided my eyes toward this bench.”

It took Luna all the effort she could muster to not start laughing out loud. She couldn’t believe that Matteo had added that line in again. They had rehearsed at the park bench, as they had originally. They had done all the work one weekend while Luna was officially staying at Nina’s. Of course, she had actually been at Matteo’s, and they’d actually managed to get their school work done before getting distracted… anyways, the bottom line was that they had not rehearsed at the park bench. 

“I was guided towards this bench, Juliet…” Luna realized that Matteo had repeated his line… her mind was absolutely blank. Yep, she had forgotten her lines, again. Good thing she never actually pursued acting—she would have not lasted a day on Broadway or the West End. And from what Nina had described—Her and Gastón had become quite the theatre enthusiasts while living in London and having access to all the West End shows—those shows were long and complicated, and she didn’t understand how anyone could remember all of it. 

“Uhhmmm… This bench that stands in the way of our destiny, alas as it is our destiny to be apart,” Luna tried to improvise. That was terrible and didn’t make any sense, but wasn’t that just what Sheakpeare was all about? She could tell that Matteo was about the crack up, but he played along.

“But it’s destiny we need to defy, my dear Juliet. Not even the sun and the moon can stand in my way.” Matteo continued, abandoning the script completely, “but I shall defy space and time to have you, my dear beloved.” Luna stared at him for a moment. It was a very innocent line to anyone else’s ears, but she couldn’t believe that he was bringing the “time” up with other people listening. Maybe she had become a bit too jumpy from the now over three months of sneaking around and making secret plans. She tried to focus back on the scene at hand. “But Romeo, your ego will be the death of you.”

“I’d rather ride to my death than be without you,” Matteo continued dramatically. Then all of sudden he was kneeling in front of her. “So now I ask you my deal Juliet, your hand in marriage.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Perez had apparently gotten enough of their version of Shakespeare. The absence of a smile on Matteo’s face as he and Luna took their seats was uncharacteristic, and he seemed a bit more serious than usual.

*

“I can’t believe it. I forgot all my lines.” Luna laughed as she and Matteo stopped in the middle of the library before meeting the others. 

“Well, I think we managed it quite well,” Matteo responded, leaning against a bookcase. “We should co-write a play together,” he continued with a mischievous smile, “and then use Nina’s name and get it published by her publisher.”

“I am sure she'd rather burn anything that we wrote before letting us do that,” Luna laughed. If her and Matteo ever tried to write anything even hinting at prose, Nina would die of horror after reading it. Matteo was good with lyrics, and even Luna had written some of her own, but their storytelling skills were not on par with modern standards. 

“What do you mean? I am sure we’d do a splendid job.” 

“Be serious, Chico Fresa.” Luna punched him playfully. “We’d be terrible playwrights. No matter how much our class was entertained.”

“The ending was good wasn’t it?”

“Definitely. How did you come up with the idea to propose?”

“Yeah about that…” Matteo started speaking, but Luna was only listening with one ear, so she didn’t register what he was saying. “I know this is not the most romantic place, but I wanted to…”

“Shhh,” Luna shushed him, “I hear someone… oh no, it’s Jim and Yam.” She had noticed them just in time, as the blonde and red-haired girls rounded the bookcase.

“Yeah, it was a great performance wasn’t it?” Matteo tried to play it casually. “Well, I have to go. I’ll see you later, Valente.” And Matteo left Luna alone with Jim and Yam. 

The two girls hounded her at once. “Why were you alone here with Matteo?” 

“Um, I came here to look for a book and ran into him.”

“Only that?” Yam asked with a teasing smile. “Come on, Luna, we saw you during theatre class.” 

“What else would it be?” Luna’s heart picked up its pace as she was faced with Jim and Yam’s questioning. 

“Luna, what is going on with Matteo? Tell us!” Jim went on.

“Nothing is going on with Matteo,” Luna lied. Of course, a lot was going on with Matteo. He was her boyfriend of over five years now, and she was sure they would have become something more soon if their lives had not turned upside down as they had. How was she supposed to get out of this situation? 

“Are you sure? He clearly likes you, and he is the most popular guy at Blake and he is single. He’s been in everyone’s sights since he finished things with Ambar. If you don’t go for it now, he might not be available for much longer.” Part of  Luna wanted to say that Matteo was hers, and everyone else should just back off, but she knew that she couldn’t. There would be a lot of explaining to do if she burst out and claimed Matteo as her boyfriend when they had spent the last three months trying to convince everyone otherwise.

“Luna! What are you doing here?” Almost as a god send, Nina appeared at Luna’s side.

“Nina, good you’re here. Please tell Luna that there’s something between her and Matteo.”

Luna saw Nina hide her face of horror very quickly. “I don’t understand. Where did you get that idea from?” 

“You should have seen them today—”

“Girls, we would love to stay and chat, but we really need to be going.” Nina gripped Luna’s arms. “I promised Luna that I’d give her physics tutoring.”

“Thank you for getting me out of that.” Luna sighed as they hurried deeper into the library.

“Matteo sent me. Come on, others are waiting.”

***

“You have similar points of view. You could make a great team…” Ambar couldn’t focus on what Mr, Acosta was saying about pictures. She kept glancing at Delfi, who was still wearing that murderous expression she’d had the whole day. And there was no question about it, her eyes were sternly fixated on Gastón. 

“Ughhh, imagine having to team up with Nina,” she started talking, probably for the first time that day. Ambar decided not to respond to Delfi’s comment. This far, she had been able to avoid badmouthing anyone too badly, even Matteo, and she really didn’t know how convincing she would be if she had to say something bad about Nina. She was like a little sister to her.

“Poor Gastón. Out of everyone, Mr. Acosta put him with her,” Delfi continued. 

“Why do you even care?” Ambar couldn’t help but be a bit confused by Delfi’s comment Maybe Nina was right, and there was more to Delfi’s sour mood than just the competition defeat. Why would she care about who Gaston was paired up with, if she was this angry at him? 

“Because I wanted to be paired with him.” Delfi stated like it was the obvious thing in the world. 

This made Ambar even more confused. Delfi clearly had been angry at Gastón the whole day, and now all of a sudden she wasn’t anymore? It didn’t make any sense.“What?” She couldn’t keep it in. “Why…? I thought you were angry at him, since he blew the whole competition for you.”

“I was, but… still—” 

Oh for goodness sake. Why had Ambar expected anything else from Delfi? She guessed she had just utterly forgotten how ride or die Delfi had been for Gastón, even going so far as catfishing him before giving up.   

“Please, don’t tell me you still like him?” Ambar let the frustration show in her voice, to show that she didn't approve. “Isn’t it clear now that he won’t be interested in you? Maybe it’s time to give up.”

“Don’t you always say that I need to take what I want?” Delfi still didn’t tear her eyes from Gastón, “plus, I know why he isn’t interested.”

Ambar couldn’t think of anything to say, because she had no idea what Delfi meant. Of course, she herself knew why Gastón wasn’t interested in Delfi—he was engaged to the girl he had fallen in love with at age 17, and even without Nina, Gastón would never be interested in Delfi. Delfi wasn’t his type, her interests were way too out of his wheelhouse, no matter if she had brown hair. Delfi didn’t know how much there was under the surface to Gastón, things that Nina had brought out of him. But what did Delfi now think was holding him back? Ambar didn’t know. 

“I heard him talking to someone in the Roller’s hallway after our turn in the competition.”

“What does that even mean?” Ambar tried to keep her poker face. “He could have been talking to anyone. It was probably Matteo.”

“He was talking to a girl,” Delfi continued. “And… he said he loved her.”

This made Ambar freeze. What kind of conversation had Delfi heard Nina and Gastón having? The good thing was that Delfi apparently had not recognized Nina’s voice, and the disaster that would have resulted from that had been avoided. “I’m still not understanding what you’re gonna do with this information. He has a girlfriend. That’s more reason to just forget him and move on.”

“Not until I know who she is. Now that I know what the obstacle is, I can get it out of my way.” This was exactly what they had all tried to avoid. Instead of getting Delfi off Gastón’s back, she was going to start tracking the girl she thought was Gastón’s girlfriend. This was dangerous. Delfi wasn’t stupid—if she started seriously looking into it, she might get to that track that would lead her to discover Nina, which would bring on another set of problems. “I don’t know what I’ll do once I find her out, but I won’t rest until I have.”

“Well, don’t you think that task is quite… impossible?” Ambar was trying her best to save the situation. “She could be anybody. You don’t even know if she goes to Blake.”

“Well, she goes to Roller. That's a start.”

“How do you even know that?” It was better to get Delfi aas far away from the actual truth as possible. “Maybe she just went to see one of his competitions. Maybe she’s not even from Buenos Aires, and that's why you haven’t seen her around—”

“You two seem to have a lot to say.” Mr. Acosta turned to two of them. “I hope you channel all that enthusiasm into the assignment.”

Delfi picked up the camera in front of her and started taking pictures of Ambar, continuing the conversation as she did so. “Maybe you are right.” 

“About giving up on him?” Ambar tried not to sound too hopeful.

“About it being difficult.” Delfi apparently hadn’t heard a word of what she had said. “And where did she even come from to get her hands on him? She definitely wasn’t in the picture last year.”

“Maybe they met during a vacation?”

“Yeah, and she just spontaneously shows up here,” Delfi scoffed. They had traded places, and Ambar was now behind the camera. “You know, I think she is from Blake. I know I’ve heard her voice somewhere, and how else would they have been able to see each other? He spends all his time at Roller.”

“Why couldn’t you still be with Matteo?” she whined, “You could have asked him. He must know who she is.”

“I wouldn't count on it, and anyway I’m not with Matteo so drop it.” she shot her a glare. “Besides, he could easily see her during afternoons and weekends. Honestly Delfi, your logic is not really holding…”

Delfi’s gaze had wandered away from Ambar and the camera, to something across the classroom. Ambar rolled her eyes and turned around…

She had expected Delfi to have been looking at Gastón again… but she was not. She was looking in his direction, but her eyes were not focused on him—they were focused on Nina, whom he was taking pictures of at that very moment. 

“You—you aren’t honestly thinking it’s Nina?” The terror began rising in Ambar’s stomach. This was exactly what wasn’t allowed to happen.

“Just look at how close he is getting to her.”

To Ambar, it looked like Gastón was instinctively touching Nina a little bit more than necessary when directing her for the photo. Ambar didn’t think it was that noticeable if you didn’t know, but of course Delfi of course was looking for something just like that, and it was up to Ambar to get the idea out of her head. 

“I don’t see it, Delfi. I think you’re getting paranoid.” She tried to turn back toward their own work, but Delfi didn’t budge. Ambar suppressed a frustrated grunt and took a deep breath. It was time to jump back into the “Old Ambar” pool—sad to say that this wasn’t even going to be the deep end. “You do realize we’re talking about Nina here?” 

Delfi finally turned her head.

“It sounds immensely stupid,” Ambar continued. “Gastón is one of the most popular guys in the whole school, that little girl would have no chance with him. It defies all the laws of the universe.”

Yes, true love did defy the laws of the universe. Ambar knew that better than anyone. Her relationship with Simon was something no one could have seen coming.

“Maybe that's why they’re hiding.” You definitely couldn’t call Delfi unintelligent. To Ambar’s misfortune right now, she was very smart when she wanted to be. 

“And doesn’t she, like, live with her nose in a book?” Ambar continued. “I highly doubt she has ever spoken to a guy in her whole life. When on earth would that have been able to happen?” Ambar let herself laugh while she was speaking, hoping that, to Delfi, it sounded like she was being mean and putting Nina down, when she was actually laughing at the ridiculousness of her statement, since it was so far from the truth. In reality, Nina had had multiple guys after her—Ambar didn’t know much about the painter guy, but she had been there for the year before Nina had gone to Oxford, and even if everything that had happened with Eric was nothing short of a disaster, no one could blame him for liking Nina. 

“...So, basically, I think you’re just out of your mind if you think she’s the one you heard. Just look at her.” Ambar finished her speech and prayed that she had managed to change Delfi’s mind, since she really didn’t want to keep going. It hurt her to think that once up a time she had actually believed these things. She knew that this was something she would be needing to do in the future as well, as long as they were in this situation, but she didn’t want to say bad things about the people who were like family to her. It was part of the deal, so to say, and there was no other choice. She knew that at least Luna and Nina had most likely been forced to say something negative about her to Jim and Yam or someone else—there was no avoiding it, given how she had been.

***

Bam!!! The Roller Band had been rehearsing a song on the Roller’s stage until Pedro had hit the hi-hat so hard that the stand it had been on had fallen over.

“How hard did you hit that?” Nico laughed as the song skittered to a stop

“Not my fault, actually,” Pedro countered while trying to get the stand to stand up on its own again. “Look, the screw on the base has broken. It was only a matter of time.”

“Well, what do we do now?” Simon asked, pulling the guitar strap from his shoulder.

“Well, this is gone now,” Pedro said, gesturing to the hi-hat. “I’ll go look in the dressing room for a spare stand we can use, otherwise we’ll need to pray Tamara has room in the budget for a spare drum part.”

“So in other words, it will take a while?” Simon joked. He had to admit that getting along with “past” Nico and Pedro had been less strange than he had originally thought, but it still didn’t make not strange. “So I take it that rehearsal is over?”

“It looks like it,” Nico answered, looking at the clock at the wall. “I need to get going too—Jim is waiting for me on the rink.”

Simon couldn’t fully read if Nico was excited or something else when he mentioned Jim. He had no idea at what point the Jim drama was at the moment, and in order to not get caught up in it, he didn’t ask. Funny, really, consiering ever since Nico had come back from New York and re-joined the Roller band, he hadn’t had any long-term serious relationships. He was known as the ladies' man of the band since Simon and Pedro had long-term partners. They both did wish that Nico would find happiness someday and that the right person was somewhere.

As Simon had been left alone on stage, he looked around the empty cafeteria and noticed that Ambar was sitting on one of the tables. He had not noticed her coming in, but he had been distracted by Pedro and his broken drum.

“Your drink… my lady.” He swooped across the cafeteria to Ambar’s table.

“I didn’t order anything,” she responded, not taking her eyes off her computer. She was so focused on something that she hadn’t realized that it was him standing in front of her. Simon smiled at her. He always loved to watch her work.

“This one is on me,” he sat down across from her at the table and brushed some hair out of her face, which made her look up.

“Oh Simon, I didn’t notice it was you.”

“The place is empty, so I thought I’d say hi to my wife. Were you working on something? You looked pretty focused.”

“No, just thinking,” she responded, sliding her hand over the table to take his. “Delfi is getting on my last nerve. It’s not easy to fool her, you know.”

“You know, I am really proud of you, darling. You are single-handedly saving all of our butts.” Simon smiled at her. 

“There really is no way that you could somehow make Pedro ask her out?”

Simon laughed, “I don’t think so. If I did that, he would probably have a million different questions for me if I did. And would she even say yes?”

“Probably not.” Ambar joined in on the laughter. “We need to find a way to hypnotize them or rope them into a blind date.”

“But anyway,” she stopped laughing and continued with a flirtier tone, “enough about Delfi. You know where we’re going this weekend?”

“Yes, I got your google calendar invite. You have gone full Amy Santiago apparently, next thing I know, you’ll have an obsession with three-ring binders.”

“Well, it’s your fault for introducing me to Brooklyn 99.”

“Well, I don’t regret it.” Simon checked again that they were alone before inching his face closer to hers as she started to do the same.

Bam!! Simon whipped his head around and saw Pedro struggling to get the hi-hat onto the stage. Luckily, he didn’t appear to have seen them. 

“So did you want something else, Ambar?” Simon got up from the chair before Pedro could notice anything else. 

“No, I’m good thank you, Simon.”

“Simon! Could you come to help me with this? I found a new stand!” Pedro yelled from the stage. Simon went back to him and helped him lift the instrument onto the stage. 

“So, what was that about?” Pedro asked him as they put the hi-hat next to the drumset.

“What do you mean?” Simon tried to sound as nonchalant as possible to mask the panic that was bubbling inside him. Had Pedro seen something? If he had, then how much?

“I mean, you were sitting down with her and got up as soon as I arrived.” Okay, so he hadn't seen that much. Simon’s heart rate calmed down just a little.

“I mean, Nico and I kind of thought that you liked Luna since you came here for her and stuff—” Argh, where was Pedro going with this? “—but now I’m kind of starting to doubt that.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Is there something going on with Ambar?” 

Oh no. Pedro was speeding dangerously fast in the right direction. What was Simon supposed to respond to that? Ambar was his wife, but he couldn’t say that, and he was a terrible liar. He really wanted to glance towards her to see if she was listening in, but doing that would have been an obvious tell.  

“Where have you gotten that idea from?” he started. “The cafeteria was empty. I delivered her order and we chatted for a bit.”

“Well, she is single, and not bad looking, everyone can see that. And it isn’t just that.” Pedro apparently wasn’t going to relent. “I’ve seen you two talk before, and she always seems a bit more friendly when she’s with you.”

“Isn’t she always friendly?” Simon tried to act dumb.

“Well, I don’t know, kind of, but also not. You haven’t known her for long enough to know her that well.” Simon fought the urge to laugh. He didn’t know her well? He knew everything about her, but of course, in Pedro’s timeline, he shouldn't and couldn’t.

“Honestly, Pedro, if you think that there is something going on with me and Ambar, then you yourself should ask Delfi out.” Desperately, Simon tried to change the subject before his face would give him away. 

“Delfi??”

***

“Just explain again, slowly this time.” Gastón said to Matteo, who was on the other end of the phone. “You tried to propose to her during your improv version of Romeo and Juliet? In front of the whole class?”

“She forgot her lines, so we started inventing them ourselves, and I just thought I’d slide it in there. I tried to explain it to her later, but then Jim and Yam came in and she didn’t hear anything I said.”

“What were you thinking?” Gastón laughed and looked down at his phone. He had Matteo on speaker while he was sitting at his desk in his room editing the pictures for the photography class. 

“You told me that I didn’t need a plan.”

“I didn't mean to wing it.” Gastón didn’t know why he was surprised that Matteo had misinterpreted hir words. It was Matteo, and sometimes Gastón wondered if the concussion from that fall five years ago still affected him somehow. He also hated to admit that the series of unfortunate events of Matteo Balsano’s proposal saga was actually quite entertaining. “I meant that you don’t need a big grand plan. For example, next time she comes over, you could sit her on the couch and just ask.”

“I don’t know.” Matteo breathed a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone “I mean we are talking about Luna here … that just doesn’t feel right.”

“Then maybe it would be easier to drop it—for now anyway.” Gastón sighed. “Our situation is so far from ideal, and I don’t know if it’s really the right moment for a major relationship development.”

“I don’t get it anymore. Do you want me to propose or not?” Matteo was clearly starting to get aggravated, and Gaston couldn’t really blame him. He knew how much Matteo loved Luna, and it must have been hard to have all of his future plans be thrown to the wind.

“It’s not my decision, Matteo.” Gastón often found that the best way of dealing with an annoyed Matteo Balsano was to talk to him extremely calmly. “I want you to be happy, and I know that's with Luna. You know I’ll support you, but remember to use your brain.”

“Yeah, I know,” Matteo responded. “Ugh, Sofia is calling me for something.”

“Think about what I said,” Gastón reminded him, “and try not to be too mean to Sofia.”

“You know I love her, but she doesn't need to know that,” Matteo laughed, “since I am supposed to be a teenager and all that.” Then he hung up. 

Gastón sighed to himself as he turned back to his computer and began scrolling through the pictures again. You could easily get a book out of the Matteo shenanigans, maybe he should convince Nina to write one. 

He opened another folder from the school pictures to the one where he had hidden the pictures he had tricked Nina into taking with him of the kiss. The photos had turned out quite well for spontaneous auto-shutter shots. 

“Gastón, are you…” Isla’s voice made him jump. When had his mother stopped knocking before entering when the door was definitely closed? Or maybe she never had done that before Nina had come into the picture, since she had been the first—and last—girl he had brought home. He didn’t remember. “...is everything alright?”

He must have looked quite freaked out as he quickly closed the folder. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, you’re wearing the same face you were when we caught you stealing candy when you were 5.”

“Well you kind of startled me,” Gastón countered. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“What were you doing here, cooped up all alone here in the dark?” Dark? His room was nowhere near being dark. Sure he hadn’t had the ceiling lamp on, but the sun had only just gone down.

“Am I not allowed to close the door of my own room now?”

“Of course you are, but you just seem to spend all your time locked up here now, or out of the house.” Isla sighed. “Your father and I have been away, but when we are here, we would like to see you.”

Gaston sighed internally. Of course they had noticed, but what was he supposed to do? When his parents were home, out was the only place he could see Nina. And it was not like he could talk with her on the phone around the house where anyone could hear. It was really killing him to have to be away from her. 

“I had my door closed because I was talking to Matteo and didn’t want to be overheard. He’s been having some girl trouble since apparently, the ‘Balsano charm’ has been deflating since he broke up with Ambar. You know, I’m actually surprised that you don’t know this. Don’t you and Sofia talk?” he said, trying to swerve the conversation away from his own strange behavior. His mother and Matteo’s stepmother were really good friends, had been even before he’d met Matteo, which had been an interesting discovery at the start of their friendship, given Matteo’s early relationship with Sofia. Maybe it wasn't the best direction to go, since he knew for the certain that Mom and Sofia loved gossiping about the two of them, but it was the only thing he could come up with that was kind of true. Like Nina always said, he was a terrible liar, but he had been talking to Matteo, and they had been talking about his girl troubles. 

“Well, I certainly doubt Matteo talks about that kind of stuff with Sofia,” Isla laughed, “but she has been saying that he’s been strangely nice to her. But maybe it is time, it has been years.”

“Yeah,” Gastón responded. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to respond to that, and he was just trying to think of a way to end the conversation. Not that he minded talking to his mother, of course he didn’t, but they were treading very close to dangerous ground with the subject of Matteo’s behavior changes. 

“Are those the pictures you took for that school assignment?” His mom seemed to have other plans for the conversation herself, as her eyes were fixated on the monitor behind him and she came into the room from the door. Gastón turned around and was relieved to notice that he had managed to close the folder that had the pictures that Mom definitely wasn't allowed to see, but had still left the one with the pics for class open. 

“Yeah, we were told to take a headshot of our partners,” he said quickly, explaining away why he had tens of pictures of a girl on his computer. 

“I am glad you have taken to photography. You got that from your father. I couldn’t take a picture of a cloud until he taught me how to.” Isla said as she came closer to look at the pictures on the screen. “These are really good. She’s your partner? What's her name?”

Great, this was the last thing he wanted. He was a terrible actor, and Delfi might have bought his act, but there was no way he’d fool his mother. He really couldn’t start talking extensively about Nina without accidentally slipping up and saying something that he definitely shouldn’t be saying about a person who was just his partner in a school assignment. His mother could also read his facial expression too well, even if he tried to hide them. 

“Nina Simonetti,” he said, making an effort to keep his face as expressionless as possible. Maybe Mom wouldn’t ask anymore questions if he just gave a straight answer. 

“Is she Italian?” Of all the questions she could have asked, his mother had actually asked a relatively safe one. Nina was not Italian, that was sure knowledge, but Gastón wouldn’t be that surprised if she did have some Italian blood somewhere in her ancestry, given her last name. He tried to keep his answer as vague as possible. “I don’t think so.” 

“Hold on, is she Ana Castro’s daughter?” Gastón froze. How on earth had his mom made that connection? He knew that Ana had actually worked with his parents when he was little, but he didn’t realize she would remember it just like that. And why was she expecting him to know?

“How would I know? She was only my assignment partner, and she’s not even in my grade. This has been the only time I have been involved with her.” He realized he’d put a weird amount of emphasis on the complete lie he’d finished on.

“I was just thinking, Ana did some legal services for us when you were younger,” Isla went on. “She was a Simonetti at the time but got divorced not long after. We haven’t really kept in touch, which is a shame because we got on well. She had a daughter who was younger than you. I don't remember her name, but that must be her, now that I’m thinking about it. She looks exactly like Ana.”

“Okay.” Gastón didn’t really know why his mother was recounting this much of the story, which he of course already knew, but he figured the best course of action was to just nod and agree. 

“Well, how was she? Was she nice? Did you like working with her?” Isla started asking, more enthusiastically than before.

“Yes… I think so.” Gastón wasn’t fully aware of where his mother was going with this.

“Will you be working together in the future?” Oh, now he understood. It was inpossible not to hear the suggestive tone in her voice. Leave it to his mother to try to “subtly” hint that he should get involved with her old friend's daughter, who already was his fiance. How had they ended up here? This was getting extremely complicated.

“Mom, I know what you’re trying to do here,” he stated. “I honestly don't think I will see her again.” He had no idea how he would have continued, but he didn’t need to, as his phone started ringing, and to his horror, the screen, which was still facing up and in the blatant view of his mother, read “Nina.” So much for his “I will not see her again.” Great timing, truly.

“Is that her?”

“Um, yeah.” He couldn’t pick up the call, not now. Even if he got Mom to leave so he could talk to Nina, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t interrogate him later about what they had talked about, which would mean he’d need to lie to her face even more, which would probably result in him getting caught. His parents didn’t know everything about him, but they sure could tell when he lied. He’d barely ever gotten away with it as a kid. “She must have some question about the pictures.”

“At this hour? It is almost 11 pm.”

“I don’t know what kind of schedule she is working with. I’ll call her back. Now I need to get something from downstairs.” he said as he got up from the chair. 

He shot Nina a message as he was walking down a hall: “I’m sorry I hung up on you. You called right in front of Mom, she saw the caller ID, I’ll explain later. I’ll call you back in 30 minutes. Love you.”

Uuuuu, the tensions are rising... and Matteo is really making the proposing so much harder for himself than it has to be. And yes, i just made Simon a Brooklyn 99 fan, which he ended up roping Ambar into as well, but Simon seems like a person who would be into that show. I am pretty sure Roller Band probably binged it together since I am sure there are Spanish subs in the show

[addictedtojmanga]

Shoujo manga recommendations - otome game isekai

So, after 10+ years reading shoujo manga, I’ve read over 1k titles, admittedly, a reasonable amount is one-shot (or at least a collection of), but nonetheless, over time I had to expand my interests.

Lately, I’ve started reading the otome game isekai genre, and decided it’d be nice to share the ones I thought were best.

Most of them are pretty much the same, but the best ones usually have a twist, so...

! Warning: You’ll most likely want to beat up 1 or 2 characters from each one, but worry not, so do I and the other characters

1. Fiancée's Observation Log of the Self-proclaimed Villainess

Crown prince Cecil was so brilliant that everything in life was easy to the point of boring him, then one day, his fiancée Bertia suddenly said "Prince Cecil, I am a villainess!" Claiming that this world is the same as that of an "otome game" from her past life and that she is playing the role of the "villainess" in it, she aims to play her part well and have their engagement annulled. With that goal in mind, she sets about causing turmoil in Cecil's daily life.

This one definitely takes the gold for me. Super sweet and pretty funny.

2. My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

Most people would prefer being the protagonist of a world full of adventure, be it in a game or in another world. But, unfortunately, a certain girl is not so lucky. Regaining the memories of her past life, she realizes that she was reborn in the world of Fortune Lover—one of the games she used to play. Unfortunately, the character she was reincarnated into—Katarina Claes—is the game's main antagonist, who faces utter doom in every ending. Using her extensive knowledge of the game, she takes it upon herself to escape from the chains of this accursed destiny. However, this will not be an easy feat, especially since she needs to be cautious as to not set off death flags that may speed up the impending doom she is trying to avoid. Even so, to make a change that will affect the lives of everyone around her, she strives—not as the heroine—but as the villainess.

This one takes 2nd place! It has a different result than others, and the FL is great - everyone is, to be fair.

3. Of Course I’ll Claim Palimony

"I'll annul our engagement!" My fiancé suddenly declared?! Apparently he's in love with the recently transferred count's daughter and is planning on making me the villain in order to annul the engagement. Although I have no lingering attachments about the engagement, I do have to claim a hefty consolation fee don't I?

This is sooo good. The FL is spectacular and manages to stand out - even if just a bit - from the rest of the genre.

4. I’m a Villainous Daughter, so I’m going to keep the Last Boss

Avoid the BAD END! That's the goal of the villainess in this plot-twisting story!! She has been reborn into the world of an otome game as the villainess, Irene. Using her memories of her former life, she recognizes flags indicating she's en-route to the bad end, so she makes a plan to conquer the last boss (the evil king Claude), make him her lover, and see if she can open up a new route!

Pretty funny, and the FL is bold. Also, the ML is a bishounen.

It’s one of the few mangas from this genre that has been completely translated, and since it only has 13 chapters, it’s a good way to start out.

5. The Plain & Unnoticeable Me is No More

Elaine Lana Norris, who was born at the top of the aristocratic daughter, was declared abandoned by her second fiancé at the school's founding party. Lana, who has been made a villain daughter, is driven out of her home by a strict grandfather. But there is a secret in Lana that everyone doesn't know about?

I don’t want to give out any spoilers, however, it suffices to say that she accepts her role as the villainess.

Ok, I think these 5 are my favorite, but the ones below have been selected as well, so they’re still pretty good and worth reading.

6. The Villiainess Is Adored by the Crown Prince of the Neighboring Kingdom    

Tiararose was supposed to be disengaged and exiled from the country. “This was the Otome game I had played!” She realized on the day before the story’s ending??……. Shall I wait for the judgment? But, I did not do anything too cruel……. Thinking so, the ending continues. But, during the judgement??something that was not possible in the game happened. The neighboring crown prince courted the villainous daughter Tiararose.

ML: 10/10 FL: 8/10 (too insecure for my taste)

7. Endo and Kobayashi’s Live Commentary on the Villainess

She’s always putting on that grumpy face even though she’s not actually that upset! Oh, why can’t she just be honest with herself…!??? She is a tsundere, after all? When her embarrassment levels exceed a certain limit, she will explode into anger. However, the point that she’s suppressing under the surface is that she wouldn’t mind that sort of thing if it were in a less public place.? As Endo-kun passionately reacts to the antics of Lady Liselotte, the villainess of an otome game, Kobayashi-san provides a painstaking breakdown of her tsundere behaviour. Suddenly, one person could hear their voices; Liselotte’s fiancée, Prince Siegward. That is where this story begins.

8. I’m the Villainess, but the Capture Targets are too Abnormal  

The villainess, Mystia, remembered her past life on her 10th birthday and has unwittingly turned the characters in the otome game "Kyun Kyun Love School" into yanderes! In order to avoid becoming the love rival of the "heroine" who will lead her to her downfall, she starts making every effort to break off her engagement with her "prince-like classmate"! That’s was what supposed to happen...But, because of her kind personality, her favorability increased instead!

It’s still in its beginning stages, but seems pretty solid.    

9. Though I May Be a Villainess, I'll Show You I Can Obtain Happiness!  

A collection of one shots.

Great way to start out, it has quite a few options, so if you don’t like one, give another one a try!

10.  The Villainess, Cecilia Silvie, Doesn't Want to Die, So She Decided to Cross-dress!      

I was reincarnated into the body Cecilia Silvie, the villainess of an otome game. According to the plot, what awaits me in the normal route is either a slow, painful death or an instantaneous one... Essentially, every route leads to my demise. Then I'll change my fate! And that's why I decided to become a man. However, I made a mistake during a certain event, and the story began to head down an unexpected path...?

I haven’t seen any other like this, and if you like gender bender, this one’s for you!

11.  I’ll Become a Villainess That Will Go Down in History ― The More of a Villainess I Become, the More the Prince will Dote on Me

Alicia is the eldest daughter of the noble Williams family—a bloodline that excels in dark magic. Her jet-black hair and golden eyes command a powerful presence, but her most unique features are, without a doubt, her sharp tongue and malevolent nature. By all means, she is a villainess, but also a fictional character from an otome game!

12. I’m Not a Villainess!! Just Because I Can Control Darkness Doesn’t Mean I’m a Bad Person!

The novel The Saint Beloved by the Prince is set in the land of Lacia, where spirits control the elements, each of which is overseen by a "Spirit King." On rare occasions, these Spirit Kings may bless a single human, granting them immense magical control over their respective element. The heroine, Amelia Logan, and the villainess, Claudia Leitzya, are two sides of the same coin, blessed by the Light and Dark Spirit Kings respectively. However, while Amelia is beloved, Claudia is hated and rejected due to her dark skin, ebony locks, and aptitude for dark magic. After dying in modern-day Japan, Sakura is reborn as an infant Claudia. While difficult at first, Claudia tries to adjust to this new life, all the while accompanied by the Dark Spirit King Gerald. But even this task is far from easy; people fear her at first glance, no matter how she acts toward them. Still, Claudia is set on changing her fate from the novel, proving she is a good person and breaking free from the shackles of a "villainess."

13. Rebirth of the Villainess: The Life of Letizia after the Engagement Annulment      

For some reason, the duke's daughter, Letizia, was plotting to break her engagement with the prince. Her plan succeeded and the prince, none the wiser. But shortly after the engagement was terminated... The King collapsed! In that moment, she recalled her memories of her past life as a nurse and she fully utilised her knowledge & experience as a nurse, to save the King's life. Thinking she had achieved what she wanted, she thought she could finally relax, drinking her favourite beverage and leisurely spend her time, she instead somehow keeps getting involved in incident after incident. The slow and peaceful life is now nothing but a dream!? Lazy daughter, busy seeking freedom and laziness!

14. I Won't Become a Villainess. I'm Just a "Normal" Duke's Daughter!

A Japanese person reincarnated into an otome game chock full of death flags for the villainess, Rosalind. "I'm going to live an enjoyable life in this world!" Making full use of the game knowledge to avoid death flags, for some reason events keep happening one after another?! Contracting with spirits, helping her father (the prime minister) with his work using her modern day knowledge, taking a walk with the holy beast... and on top of all that, even starting up the heroine's event...? Will Rosalind be able to smash through every unknown death flag that comes her way...?! And will she be able to be fluffy lovey-dovey with the supporting beastkin character she liked from her previous life?!

Cute. Has beasts.

15. Milady Just Wants to Relax      

She worked herself to death in her past life, but then she was reborn in another world as the villainess Ronia! As expected, her engagement is broken and she's expelled from society, but now she takes that chance to live peacefully, and even opens a cafe with the help of her fairy comrades, which is becoming unexpectedly popular with beast-kin...?

Also cute. Also has beasts.

16. I Swear I Won’t Bother You Again!            

Violette, a proud and beautiful daughter of a duke, commits a crime out of jealousy towards her half-sister. Convicted, Violet faces her own heart with sincerity in a prison cell and regrets her sin. Then time rewinds to a turning point—to her first meeting with Maryjun one year ago. Violette makes a decision. She will not make mistakes this time. Without committing a crime and bothering anyone, she will live an ordinary, plain and inconspicuous life...! However, incidents contrary to Violette's expectations occur one after another...?!

17. I Became a Villain Daughter

On her 15th birthday, Hinase Kaede, a young girl who was working as a part-timer, perished in a traffic accident. Upon her death, a self-proclaimed “God” appeared, declaring that Kaede would be brought back to life. However, Kaede’s happiness was short-lived and her soul was thrown into Erika, the villainess of an otome game! In the original game, Erika became a saint candidate alongside the heroine, committed evil deeds over the course of the candidacy, and ultimately faced condemnation. Thus, Kaede decides that she will not get close to the main characters of the game so as to avoid the bad end, but yet——?

[darlington-v]

I know different interpretations of a work are generally enriching and cool... but c!dream villan interpretations is like how to tell me you only watch Tommy without saying you only watch tommy.... which would be fine but its not a great place to be making statements about the whole nature of the dsmp lol

Wild speculation, but sometimes I wonder if like, because the dsmp didn't really start as a narrative, and a lot of fans don't nessecarily enter it expecting a narrative, but then there is one and the fandom is really discourse heavy and everyone is sort of excpeted to have an opinion while maybe not expecting to form one from the begining or not having a ton of experience with narrative in a way that would "expect" them to have an opinion or not take things at face value??, I don't know if I explained that well at all... and I don't really even think thats right nessecarily... but like wow sometimes some of the takes about power and government and villany...

Honestly, it makes sense!!!

I think something interesting is like.... looking at how animatics have shaped the like tone and culture of the fandom essentially. Like, an interesting fact that I didn't really fully grasp until SUPER recently is like...

c!Wilbur out the gate admits he is manipulating c!Tommy. Like his first youtube video on the Dream SMP he admits his goal is to manipulate c!Tommy and people like c!Tommy into helping him achieve a potion ("drug") empire to monopolize on potions because there were a lot of people on the server who like to min-max, which is to put all of your effort into this one specific skill essentially. so like... i know minecraft doesnt have a skill tree but if it did, it would be putting all your points into that one specific branch of a skill tree. So he wanted to exploit the labor of all the TommyInnits to.... maintain a Potion Empire.

THIS IS A LONG POST BC I GOT CARRIED AWAY SO BUCKLE UP

And I don't think a lot of the fandom who joined later on knows this. I certainly didn't until like a week or so ago? Like... I knew c!Wilbur had been manipulative from the start because I'm a mod of (shameless self promo incoming) @dsmpanalysis and we have a lot of different POVs in that mod team and discord and we talk about it really frequently. I joined the fandom as someone who was really big on L'manburg ESPECIALLY crimeboys, and have turned into.... *gestures vaguely to my blog*

And ngl I owe a lot of it to @1-michibiki-1 in terms of c!Dream "Apologism" but all of the mods there have expanded my thoughts and views on the storylines of this narrative.

My application consisted of like largely essays about like... how I think Dream was the villain but he was meant to be the villain because you don't get any insight into his character WHICH.... IS A FAIR ASSUMPTION AT FIRST GLANCE. People are easily villainized when you cannot get a glimpse into their thought process. It's easy to dwindle someone down into this flat character and starting out I knew Dream didn't stream the SMP on purpose.

And I personally came to the conclusion of "Oh! So Dream is supposed to be the villain." However as the story continued and I learned more about what Dream went through I began to realize that... it's more than likely a form of a red herring. My opinions on this were immediately solidified when I watched Ranboo's 2 MIL stream because both Ranboo AND Dream agree on enjoying red herrings.

There have been MANY times were Dream has said that c!Dream is a complex character and he's not a wholly evil guy and there have been times where the narrative has honestly just proved that.

Anyways, what's important though was that... I learned most of this from other people who were more focused on c!Dream rather than myself. Eventually I shifted from c!Tommy to c!Ranboo and c!Techno after c!Tommy betrayed c!Techno and I began to realize.... everything I learned before hopping in wasn't exactly what it seemed.

Part of this is because I'm older, I heavily identify with c!Techno's sense of loyalty and philosophies on government, but I especially identify with the anguish c!Techno voiced in... a lot of lore but especially the lore around Doomsday.

I'm not 16 anymore. I don't always feel wronged by adults, or older people in my case, whenever they absolutely have done something wrong by me, but I do feel wronged by my close friends. I also felt like c!Tommy's sense of loyalty didn't line up with mine after what felt like him constantly flip-flopping and refusing to understand c!Techno's morals on government didn't line up with his.

In short, it was easier to identify with Tommy in these animatics versus in the actual stream content because c!Tommy is played by a 16 year old. I'm not a teenager and my line of thinking doesn't entirely line up with people that age anymore. It's harder to place myself in the same shoes of someone's OC who is played closer to their actual age, because I'm not that age.

Regardless, I was still on the c!Dream is a villain train. I wasn't ever like... c!Dream is repulsive I hate him, but I was like omg hot villain lad go brrr.

Even when the first like... mellohi, panic room, Ranboo lore stream popped up I thought "Oh! c!Ranboo corruption arc?"

And I was excited because I really wanted this shy, nervous character to turn into villain buddies with his good pal c!Dream. I'm a total sucker for villains and corruption arcs and all that good shit.

SO I STARTED GETTING REALLY INTERESTED IN ENDERSMILE. I'VE BEEN ON ENDERSMILE SQUAD OUT THE GATE. NOT THE SAME WAY I AM NOW, BUT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED THEM TO TEAM UP.

So... upon not really keeping up with c!Dream and being relatively??? indifferent? I don't think I started arguments on c!Dream back then, but I might have. But I remember like... starting to participate more whenever c!Dream came up and looking more into Dream's character BUT ESPECIALLY TALKING WITH OUR SERVER'S C!DREAM SPECIALIST MICHI ABOUT DREAM A LOT MORE.

And because Michi has been a watcher since day one and was a DTeam fan rather than a SBI fan, she was able to provide me with more information on how the server worked pre-Tommy but especially pre-Wilbur.

Now, you could definitely argue well Michi probably has clear bias but it made sense to me when I looked back on how the storyline had been constructed and was going along, and everyone in the server talks a lot about our own biases and how we want people to maybe not lean so hard on them. Michi would also provide like anecdotes on what had happened and I'm sure links were probably provided at one point but the point was I felt like Michi had no reason to lie or manipulate how the story was told and if she did, eventually someone would have pointed it out because... Group of like... right now it's around 20 or more analysts but I don't remember how many at the time there were. POINT BEING, WE'VE ALL GOT POINTS TO PROVE AND IN MY EXPERIENCE NOT MANY OF US HAVE BEEN SHY TO PROVE THEM.

So if anyone ever had any differing opinions they would be talked about and we literally had and still have discussions.

REGARDLESS.... I DIDN'T FACT CHECK IN DEPTH BECAUSE I THOUGHT PEER REVIEW WAS ENOUGH WHEN YOU HAVE LIKE HOURS UPON HOURS OF STREAMS TO WATCH.

Anyways. Eventually I started paying closer attention and looking more into c!Dream lore but only recently have I started to triple check before speaking about c!Wilbur lore because I know everyone has biases and while I did trust everyone's thoughts and analysis in the discord, whenever I make essays I typically like it to be largely air tight and if theres a mistake, I want it to be because I forgot not because I just trusted what was said. Plus, I wanted to get down to the specifics of how Wilbur had always started with manipulation on the mind.

SO I WATCHED HIS FIRST VIDEO ON THE DREAM SMP.

AND WHAT I WAS NOT BY ANY MEANS EXPECTING WAS WILBUR TO SAY WORD FOR WORD, VERBATIM,

"SO WHY DON'T I START AN INDUSTRY WHERE I USE THE TOMMYINNITS OF THE WORLD TO WORK FOR ME, TO CREATE THINGS THAT THE MIN-MAXERS OF THE WORLD WILL WANT."

Like... this is in no way an attempt to like hardcore villainize c!Wilbur like everyone does Dream, it's just more so to like REALLY outline how far off a lot of fandom interpretation of c!Wilbur is....

Because of SBI focused animatics.

Now, when I joined I watched A LOT of animatics that really highlighted like... Wilbur being this self-loathing JD-esque, "I destroyed it because I had to because the world was against me because no one loved us, Tommy" type of character. At least... that's what it came across as.

And it definitely highlighted the fact that Tommy was a victim, which he is. He is undoubtedly a victim and no not even any dream apologist can change my mind otherwise. Tommy, despite being an instigator sometimes, didn't deserve the abuse he received.

But these animatics never shown the fact that c!Wilbur started L'manburg as a shady ploy to exploit people like c!Tommy and vilify c!Dream so he could have power.

And that was easy because Dream and Tommy had wars before. They had spars and pranks and here's the plan to take back my disks and here's the plan to out smart the thieving little child etc etc.

And all of the animatics I watched never mentioned this. Neither did the recaps though. The recaps gave the events flat out, there didn't sound like there was bias, and honestly I don't really know if there was rather than like... a lack of nuance. And it's hard to provide a recap with that much nuance in a short period of time for a youtube video, to be perfectly fair.

However, this creates a perfect formula for entirely rewriting the history of a server. c!Wilbur quite literally fucking succeeded TO A META LEVEL. He slandered and ran smear campaigns against Dream and like he even does that with Sapnap in the beginning. But what's crazy is that it transferred over into the meta! Most of this fandom understands Wilbur as a victim of mental illness, and yeah maybe? He definitely wasn't mentally well by the end of pogtopia, but he never started out with honorable intentions. L'manburg was never a victim, only its citizens. The TommyInnits of the world.

I just think it's like... such an interesting case study. Because this is like... an opinion like shared by at least half of the fandom, but the vilifying of c!Dream is shared by MOST of the fandom I would argue. Which is like even more crazy for me because that was c!Wilbur's goal!!!

LIKE I GO INSANE WHEN I THINK OF THIS BECAUSE HIS REACH IS JUST TOO POWERFUL. HE'S NOT EVEN ENTIRELY REAL, JUST A MANIPULATIVE PERSONA OF SOME BRITISH GUY.

And I mean... maybe people who have watched Wilbur's video on the SMP still maintain this idea that Wilbur wasn't always the bad guy, but honestly... I wouldn't be surprised if their introduction was still an animatic. Like bias is hard to check and I'm not going to lie I could have sworn I watched both Wilbur's AND Tommy's video on the SMP in the beginning and yet I STILL was a ride or die for tragic yet on some level still honorable Wilbur and a resilient Tommy.

Like... upon watching Wilbur's first video... possibly again I was surprised because I thought I did watch it like right before I even started watching the streams and yet I was still so invested in c!Wilbur as this tortured anti-hero.

It took 6 months of... not being in an echo chamber, full of multiple different people of different ages, different stream POVS, and people who joined the fandom at different points in time.

IDK IF THIS WAS EVEN ENTIRELY RELEVANT IT JUST FELT TANGENTIALLY RELEVANT AND THIS WAS SOMETHING I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT FOR A HOT MINUTE AFTER LIKE WATCHING WILBUR'S FIRST VIDEO AGAIN.

TLDR;

SBI CENTRIC ANIMATICS HAD A LASTING AFFECT ON THIS FANDOM AS IT'S HARD TO GO BACK AND ACTUALLY CHECK THE NARRATIVE FOR SOLID FACTS FOR YOUR OWN INTERPRETATION BASED ON THE FACT THAT THIS NARRATIVE SPANS OVER HUNDREDS OF HOURS WORTH OF TWITCH STREAMS.

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! Feel free not to answer this question if it is in any way too much, but I've been wondering about something concerning the "western" mdzs fandom. Lately, i have seen multiple pieces of fanart that use what is clearly Christian symbolism and sometimes downright iconography in depicting the characters. I'm a european fan, but it still makes me vaguely uneasy. I know that these things are rarely easy to judge. I'm definitely not qualified to do so and was wondering if you have an opinion

Hi there! thank you for your patience and for the interesting question! I’ve been thinking about this since i received this ask because it?? idk, it’s difficult to answer, but it also touches on a a few things that I find really interesting.

the short answer: it’s complicated, and I also don’t know what I feel!

the longer answer:

i think that this question is particularly difficult to answer because of how deeply christianity is tied to the western art and literary canon. so much of what is considered great european art is christian art! If you just take a quick glance at wiki’s page on european art, you can see how inextricable christianity is, and how integral christian iconography has been in the history of european art. If you study western art history, you must study christian imagery and christian canon because it’s just impossible to engage with a lot of the work in a meaningful way without it. that’s just the reality of it.

Christianity, of course, also has a strong presence in european colonial and imperialist history and has been used as a tool of oppression against many peoples and nations, including China. I would be lying if I said I had a good relationship with Christianity--I have always faced it with a deep suspicion because I think it did some very, very real damage, not just to chinese people, but to many cultures and peoples around the world, and that’s not a trauma that can be easily brushed aside or reconciled with.

here is what is also true: my maternal grandmother was devoutly christian. my aunt is devoutly christian. my uncle’s family is devoutly christian. my favorite cousin is devoutly christian. when I attended my cousin’s wedding, he had both a traditional chinese ceremony (tea-serving, bride-fetching, ABSURDLY long reception), and also a christian ceremony in a church. christianity is a really important part of his life, just as it’s important to my uncle’s family, and as it was important to my grandmother. I don’t think it’s my right or place to label them as simply victims of a colonialist past--they’re real people with real agency and choice and beliefs. I think it would be disrespectful to act otherwise.

that doesn’t negate the harm that christianity has done--but it does complicate things. is it inherently a bad thing that they’re christian, due to the political history of the religion and their heritage? that’s... not a question I’m really interested in debating. the fact remains that they are christian, that they are chinese, and that they chose their religion.

so! now here we are with mdzs, a chinese piece of media that is clearly Not christian, but is quickly gaining popularity in euroamerican spaces. people are making fanart! people are making A LOT of fanart! and art is, by nature, intertextual. a lot of the most interesting art (imo) makes deliberate use of that! for example (cyan art nerdery time let’s go), Nikolai Ge’s What is Truth?

I love this painting! it’s notable for its unusual depiction of christ: shabby, unkempt, slouched, in shadow. if you look for other paintings of this scene, christ is usually dignified, elegant, beautiful, melancholy -- there’s something very humanizing and humbling about this depiction, specifically because of the way it contrasts the standard. it’s powerful because we as the audience are expected to be familiar with the iconography of this scene, the story behind it, and its place in the christian canon.

you can make similar comments about Gentileschi’s Judith vs Caravaggio’s, or Manet’s Olympia vs Ingres’ Grande Odalisque -- all of these paintings exist in relation to one another and also to the larger canon (i’m simplifying: you can’t just compare one to another directly in isolation etc etc.) Gauguin’s Jacob Wrestling the Angel is also especially interesting because of how its portrayal of its content contrasts to its predecessors!

or! because i’m really In It now, one of my favorite paintings in the world, Joan of Arc by Bastien-Lepage:

I just!!! gosh, idk, what’s most interesting to me in this painting is the way it seems to hover between movements: the hyperrealistic, neoclassical-esque take on the figure, but the impressionistic brushstrokes of the background AAA gosh i love it so much. it’s really beautiful if you ever get a chance to see it in person at the Met. i’m putting this here both because i personally just really like it and also as an example of how intertextuality isn’t just about content, but also about visual elements.

anyways, sorry most of this is 19thc, that was what i studied the most lol.

(a final note: if you want to read about a really interesting painting that sits in the midst of just a Lot of different works, check out the wiki page on Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa, specifically under “Interpretation and Legacy”)

this is all a really long-winded way of getting to this point: if you want to make allusory fanart of mdzs with regards to western art canon, you kind of have to go out of your way to avoid christian imagery/iconography, especially when that’s the lens through which a lot of really intensely emotional art was created. many of my favorite paintings are christian: Vrubel’s Demon, Seated, Perov’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, Ge’s Conscience, Judas, Bastien-Lepage’s Joan of Arc, as shown above. that’s not to say there ISN’T plenty of non-christian art -- but christian art is very prominent and impossible to ignore.

so here are a few pieces of fanwork that I’ve seen that are very clearly making allusions to christian imagery:

1. this beautiful pietà nielan by tinynarwhals on twitter

2. a lovely jiang yanli as our lady of tears by @satuwilhelmiina

3. my second gif in this set here, which I will also show below:

i’m only going to talk about mine in depth because well, i know exactly what i was thinking when I put this gif together while I can’t speak for anyone else.

first: the two lines of the song that I wanted to use for lan xichen were “baby, I’m a fighter//in the robes of a saint” because i felt that they fit him very well. of course, just the word “saint” evokes catholicism, even if it’s become so entwined in the english language that it’s taken on a secular meaning as well.

second: when I saw this scene, my immediate thought was just “PIETÀ!!” because LOOK at that composition! lan xichen’s lap! nie mingjue lying perpendicular to it! the light blue/white/silver of lan xichen in contrast to the darker robes of both nie mingjue and meng yao! not just that, but the very cool triangular structure of the image is intensely striking, and Yes, i Do love that it simultaneously ALSO evokes deposition of christ vibes. (baxia as the cross.... god..... is that not the Tightest Shit) does this make meng yao joseph of arimathea? does it make him john the evangelist? both options are equally interesting, I think when viewed in relation to his roles in the story: as a spy in qishan and as nmj’s deputy. maybe he’s both.

anyways, did I do this intentionally? yes, though a lot of it is happy accident/discovered after the fact since I’m relying on CQL to have provided the image. i wanted to draw attention to all of that by superimposing that line over that image! (to be clear: I didn’t expect it to all come through because like. that’s ridiculous. the layers you’d have to go through to get from “pretty lxc gifset” --> “if we cast nie mingjue as a christ figure, what is the interesting commentary we could do on meng yao by casting him as either joseph of arimathea or john the evangelist” are like. ok ur gonna need to work a little harder than slapping a song lyric over an image to achieve an effect like that.)

the point of this is: yes, it’s intentionally christian, yes I did this, yes I am casting these very much non-christian characters into christian roles for this specific visual work -- is this okay?

I obviously thought it was because I made it. but would I feel the same about a work that was written doing something similar? probably not. I think that would make me quite uncomfortable in most situations. but there’s something about visual art that makes it slightly different that I have trouble articulating -- something about how the visual often seeks to illustrate parallels or ideas, whereas writing characters as a different religion can fundamentally change who those characters are, the world they inhabit, etc. in a more... invasive?? way. that’s still not quite right, but I genuinely am not sure how to explain what i mean! I hope the general idea comes across. ><

something else to think about is like, what are pieces I find acceptable and why?

what makes the pieces above that reference christian imagery different than this stunning nieyao piece by @cyandemise after klimt’s kiss? (warnings for like, dead bodies and vague body horror) like i ADORE this piece (PLEASE click for fullview it’s worth it for the quality). it’s incredibly beautiful and evocative and very obviously references a piece of european art. I have no problem with it. why? because it isn’t explicitly christian? it’s still deeply entrenched in western canon. klimt certainly made other pieces that were explicit christian references.

another piece I’d like to invite you all to consider is this incredible naruto fanart of sakura and ino beheading sasuke after caravaggio’s judith. (warnings for beheading, blood, etc. you know.) i also adore this piece! i think it’s very good both technically and conceptually. the reference that it makes has a real power when viewed in relation to the roles of the characters in their original story -- seeing the women that sasuke fucked over and treated so disrespectfully collaborating in his demise Says Something. this is also!! an explicitly christian reference made with non-christian japanese characters. is this okay? does it evoke the same discomfort as seeing mdzs characters being drawn with christian iconography? why or why not?

the point is, I don’t think there’s a neat answer, but I do think there are a lot of interesting issues surrounding cultural erasure/hegemony that are raised by this question. i don’t think there are easy resolutions to any of them either, but I think that it’s a good opportunity to reexamine our own discomfort and try and see where it comes from. all emotions are valid but not all are justified etc. so I try to ask, is it fair? do i apply my criticisms and standards equally? why or why not? does it do real harm, or do i just not like it? what makes one work okay and another not?

i’ve felt that there’s a real danger with the kind of like, deep moral scrutiny of recent years in quashing interesting work in the name of fear. this morality tends to be expressed in black and white, good and bad dichotomies that i really do think stymies meaningful conversation and progress. you’ll often see angry takes that boil down to things like, “POC good, queer people good, white people bad, christianity bad” etc. without a serious critical examination of the actual issues at hand. I feel that these are extraordinarily harmful simplifications that can lead to an increased insularity that isn’t necessarily good for anyone. there’s a fine line between asking people to stay in their lane and cultural gatekeeping sometimes, and I think that it’s something we should be mindful of when we’re engaging in conversations about cultural erasure, appropriation etc.

PERHAPS IT IS OBVIOUS that I have no idea where that line falls LMAO since after all that rambling I have given you basically nothing. but! I hope that you found it interesting at least, and that it gives you a bit more material to think on while you figure out where you stand ahaha.

was this just an excuse to show off cool (fan)art i like? maybe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(ko-fi)

[sukiglycerin]

dolce (sweetly, softly, gently)

* pairing: accompanist/violinist!katsuki bakugou x violinist!reader (gender neutral!) ft kamijirou

* genre: fluff, kinda angst, enemies to lovers, classical musician au hehe

* words: 9.5k (holy crap, this was a rollercoaster to write)

* warnings: swearing bc not only does bakugou exist, he is a prominent character, brief viola/second violinist jokes (reader’s words not mine), poor rosins being dropped :(

* a/n: SO this is very late for @prettysetterbaby​‘s v-day collab!! pls check out all the other talented writers involved >< jj is an ANGEL for putting up with me being late T_T  there’s some violin terminology in here but it’s fine if you don’t understand it! more notes at the end aha

* playlist (spotify in source link): violin sonata no.9, op.47 in a major “kreutzer” (beethoven) ; liebesfreud (kriesler) ; violin partita no.3 in e major (bach) ; duo concertante for 2 violins no.3 in d-sharp major, op.57 (beriot) ; clair de lune (debussy) ; duo for 2 violins in d-major, op.67, no.2 (spohr) ; 24 caprices op.1, no.24 in a minor (paganini)

* synopsis: being a soloist is not made easy by your new accompanist, bakugou. you step on each other’s toes when playing - but that’s alright, he’s just a pianist. you’re separated in your two worlds of musical instruments, until one day, you’re not. bakugou traverses over realms like a simple string crossing, and there’s a lot more he’s brought with him.

a double stop in violin is a technique in which two notes are played simultaneously. played correctly, one violin playing two notes should sound like two violins playing separate notes. if your life was a violin, you only needed double stops to play it. you'd perfected the art of being alone, playing the parts of two in your sad solo sonata. you were so, so sure you could compose and play for the whole orchestra - a symphony that would surely please the audience.

you were wrong. after all, a double stop has its limits as well, impossible to play with an interval of larger than a tenth. you were content with your double stops and playing by yourself. this was how you won countless competitions - what good would changing anything be?

you were born a soloist, or that's what your parents would say. you never followed the crowd, sticking to your own mind and doing what was true to you. you never worked well in an orchestra setting (and who knew what would become of you if you ever landed in second violin!). thus, you became a soloist, determined to keep the spotlight on you. it was you and your perfection that kept the eyes of the audience transfixed; you were desperate to keep their focus enraptured by every slight movement of your bow, every shift in finger position on the fingerboard. you wanted them to follow every dynamic and tempo change like their life depended on it, feel their emotion spark the moment your bow pressed a string. you were the only one on stage, an entertainer and an artist to the audience. you brought joy and sorrow through key changes and wonder through glissandos and held suspense with every tremolo. the audience was yours for an entire piece, for a story, for a lifetime.

oh, and there was the accompanist. what was his name again? batsugou? bakugou. the last part was a joke, of course. you'd never forget the man who ruined your first recital overseas.

katsuki bakugou was quickly made your accompanist after the previous one quit last minute and schedule clashes between any other potential candidates rendered them unable to travel with you. no one in their right mind would've come along on a plane to play a piano accompaniment for you. indeed, bakugou was not in his right mind. his name was prominent locally, an orchestral prodigy with the gift of perfect pitch since the tender age of thirteen. he never ventured internationally, though given the chance multiple times to do so. you could never understand why he never took any of the opportunities. you'd jump at any chance of expanding your musical horizons and performing for a larger audience, so it frustrated you to see someone with such potential to throw away possibly beneficial opportunities. not that you really paid much attention to him, anyway. bakugou was a pianist, and you were a violinist. you only cared about competition, not those with blessings you could only dream of achieving.

the months leading to your recital, bakugou had gone quiet. well, you didn't know him personally, so it was news of him that had gone practically radio silent. he was no longer featured in news articles or even pinned on bulletin boards for upcoming recitals. there were no updates from him on social media, too. not that you really paid attention, anyway. he was a prodigy, gifted naturally with talent, and you were a violinist.

an ambitious violinist, at that. you had dreams to perform anywhere out of the stifling air of japan. even to fly a short distance to south korea would be amazing, because it meant you'd be outside of japan. you worked towards this goal tirelessly. you dreamed of stepping on a plane, violin case in your right hand and your dreams in another, to fly to another country and perform. you wished to see the talent beyond your own bubble and feel the music resonate in an auditorium in a different way than it did in japan.

one day, that dream was realized. your violin case in one hand and dreams in another, you boarded the plane flying out of japan full of hope and the faith that good days were coming. while yes, you didn't expect to step out of that plane with anyone but your old accompanist, momo, bakugou's presence comforted you in the foreign atmosphere. for the first ten minutes, he said not a word to you but made it a point to speak to everyone else he could in what seemed like very convincingly fluent english. 

to which you finally mustered up the courage to say, in japanese, "i thought you didn't travel internationally."

his japanese voice was a comforting sound. "i don't. this is my first time out of japan."

you stared at him like he just said he ate babies for breakfast (which seemed just as astronomically insane as him never stepping foot out of japan). 

"but-" you stuttered. "your english is so good?"

"only because you can't understand it." 

to be fair, he had a point. you could only say the basics, like, "hi," "how are you?", "i'm fine, and you?," and the ever-so useful, "do you speak japanese? my english is not good." he appeared to never use any of these phrases, so he was a god in english compared to you. 

it was a miracle you navigated out of the airport with your luggage in hand and a general idea of how to get to the hotel you'd booked. you're not going to talk about the events in the hotel, though. sharing a bed with bakugou was a whole different story that consisted of him complaining about your phone usage at eleven pm and you complaining about his lack of sufficient english skills to be able to get the right hotel room (which he'd retort by saying "at least i speak english!").

the path to your first international competition was rocky, so understandably by the day of the performance, your metaphorical feet were sore and you only had water on your metaphorical mind. that is to say, you hadn't practiced with bakugou once until the day before the performance. said rehearsal was cut short due to misunderstandings as a result of bakugou's apparent not-so-fluency in english. you felt bad for him at this point.

and then you were up on stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other, and arms full of your childhood aspirations. also, definitely not prepared enough. you glanced once at bakugou before beginning and he looked confident enough. the lesson you learned that day was that looks can be deceiving. 

something you could remember quite clearly was the way the spotlight shined on the varnish of your instrument as you held it, propped between your chin and shoulder. you focused on this shine before taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, and praying muscle memory would take over and you'd play the piece faithfully to the score.

you liked to think your playing was accurate. you, the soloist, were the main focus of the piece. the accompaniment made the piece richer and fuller, complementing the violin beautifully while keeping attention on said violin. the thing was, bakugou, like you, played like a soloist. 

the performance was like a fight, and sadly not the graceful kind you'd see in a ballet. it was gory and a nuance to the ears, melodic tinkling of the piano becoming tears of a soldier dying in combat. at parts, you clashed by overshadowing the other by playing too loudly. sometimes it was you, and sometimes it was bakugou. it was a merciless game of tag; bakugou would be running to keep up with your playing; once achieving so, you were forced to start chasing after him. you can't exactly remember if he played well, though. for certain, he was not in sync with you, but you were mainly too preoccupied with your own playing to pay attention to his. listening to the recording of the performance, you were unable to evaluate his quality of playing properly, and thus, he remained your accompanist even when you returned to japan. 

(actually, the biggest reason he stayed your accompanist was because of your classical musician friends' nagging. they were all in complete awe that the famous soloist, katsuki bakugou, had offered to be your accompanist, and begged for an autograph. of course, you declined.)

you figured that like you, bakugou was a soloist. he wasn't fit to assist your playing, far more suited to his own solos to entrance the audience with only his playing. being a soloist, he played like one too - that's simply how things worked. this understanding of him, though, still couldn't stop you from harbouring a small grudge against him for ruining your international debut.

and then there was the man himself, all standoffish and rough in words and persona. obscenities had no hesitation coming (thrust!) from his mouth. he yelled brashly and frequently and it astonished you that he was a classical musician, as most of your friends of the classical music profession were typically on the quiet, softer spoken side. those that were extroverts were optimistically so, in far contrast to bakugou, who you'd expect from looks alone to be playing in some heavy metal band. it was scary to hear his renditions of debussy's dreamy, serendipitous pieces when over your earbuds, he was yelling at some guy named "shitty hair" on his phone. you were curious how he looked recording the piece.

you didn't typically communicate, though. conversation, which only ever existed during rehearsal, was a question from you and a clipped grunt in response. there was nothing else to your relation; he played his part, and you played yours. sometimes you did this simultaneously, but it was as if you were playing two completely different things. performance, according to your friends, was now stilted. this was partially the reason you stopped listening to recorded performances. it wasn’t even like you’d ever derived pleasure from listening to them - you only nitpicked your mistakes.

your old accompanist, momo, on the other hand, was an absolute angel. she was kind, polite, and skilled on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like a graceful ballet. you fit well with her; each performance was like a delightful conversation between friends, pleasant on the ears and twinkling with joy and laughter. with her, every performance felt like something resembling victory, even if it wasn’t a competition. to you, winning the audience’s gaze was enough. 

then again, you didn't feel that you could judge quite yet. momo was your accompanist for years, and you could barely remember how the two of you sounded when you first started out. bakugou had been your accompanist for mere months (though it did feel much, much longer considering how frustrating he could be). you couldn't understand why he became your accompanist at all. 

opposites. it was an accurate representation of your relationship with bakugou. he was a pianist, you weren't. he was a prodigy, you weren't. he was blessed with talent, you weren't. there was nothing to talk to him about, obviously, because of these dividing factors.

the longer you knew him, the more your disdain for the man grew. at rehearsals, it always felt like your performances were about him, him, and him. he was the star piano player, of course. he hadn't volunteered to be your accompanist as a sense of "stepping down"; no, no, rather, he was flaunting his piano playing with a violin playing in the background. he played perfectly. for a soloist.

as time passed, these frustrations with him became more and more apparent. you became acutely aware of how his performance would outshine your own, and it sickened you. slowly, the quality of your own performances took a nosedive. if the piece was originally pianissimo, you'd take it up to piano (then, if bakugou increased his volume, forte). if the tempo was andante and he was playing moderato, you'd play allegro. it was a competition at this point - instigated by him, of course. you were just upping the ante, even if it meant sacrificing your own artistry.

a lot of people warned you of what would happen, but you ignored them. the fierce competition you felt between you and bakugou caused your own downfall as a musician. slowly, gigs stopped trickling in, like a faucet being shut off. you blamed this on bakugou. ("i was international before him. now, i can barely get a gig in musutafu! why does everyone think he's so great?" you had fumed over the phone to jirou, your old roommate from university. she asked you if you had even listened to him play.)

you were scrambling for places to perform at this point. (“fire him,” the very unhelpful hagakure told you. you didn’t know what you were thinking when you asked her, a violist in a local orchestra. it wasn’t like she ever got a solo.) you’d seriously considered doing so, but came up empty when looking for another accompanist. online forums and friends’ connections could only do so much. they were all either unavailable during rehearsal schedules or inadequate in terms of adapting to the music given. 

“you need to try working together with him,” jirou advised you one day over the phone. 

“yeah, say that to yourself and kaminari,” you muttered bitterly under your breath. kaminari was a guitarist in jirou’s band who hadn’t quite gotten along with jirou well. jirou made fun of the lightning bolt streak in his hair. when you first met them, all they did was bicker day and night; now, according to the other guitarist, tokoyami, they still did this, though on a smaller scale. 

she heard you. “well,” jirou said, slightly ticked off, “we get along better now. because of communication. look- i’m not saying you need to be best friends with bakugou or anything, but you need to talk to him about what’s working and what’s not. respect him as another musician, y’know?” 

“i’ll… try,” you said begrudgingly. 

you heard a muffled yell from the other side of the call. “kaminari, you idiot!” jirou called, voice a bit far. “what did i tell you about plugging in the amp? i said not to-” she cut herself off. “sorry, y/n, i need to go now. kaminari’s back to his normal antics.” she sighed, but it sounded more endeared than irritated. the call ended. 

respect bakugou as another musician. you could do that. bakugou was only a pianist. you were a violinist. he was your accompanist. he was to support your playing. you’d forever be separated from him, doing your own thing. he, certainly, couldn’t understand the woes of being a violinist. not the intonation nor the techniques; you were sure that if you handed him a violin on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to even hold the bow properly. the notion of bakugou, piano prodigy, struggling to make a decent sound on the violin with a bow clenched in an ungainly grip deeply amused you. 

these thoughts kept your relationship with bakugou afloat and restrained you from strangling him every time he stepped a toe out of line during rehearsals. ploddingly, with as minimal communication as you could manage, you tried to play with bakugou together, as a duet rather than as two soloists playing simultaneously. you swallowed your pride to play accurately to the music, patiently explaining any qualms you had with bakugou’s playing. 

eventually, you found yourself building up your performances to the quality they had once been with momo. it was still far from the pristine playing that led you to an international invite - but it was an improvement, and that was all that mattered to you. innately, you were slightly ashamed of the thoughts that allowed you to keep working with bakugou. they were thoughts that told of your superiority to him, because he was playing piano for you. that’s all he was; an accompaniment to you. you told yourself that having these thoughts on the inside was better than fighting with bakugou. 

somehow, along the strings of notes slurred together and shifts of fingers from one spot on a string to the next, you found yourself experiencing a strange joy gliding your bow against the strings of your violin. the rich sound of your instrument, withering and blooming with every stroke of vibrato you performed, fulfilled you unlike how it ever had before. up until now, you’d been playing for the audience, rather than yourself. the melody reverberating in the hollow body of your violin was never for your own ears to enjoy, it was for the audience’s satisfaction and listening pleasure. for it was their own enjoyment that won you competition after competition, playing with a blank face. on some occasions, you’d open your eyes during the applause to see some audience members crying, which ultimately confused you. how you were able to draw emotions from them with your playing when the music was unable to render you anything but indifferent? 

you knew it in yourself, though, that the happiness you felt was hollow. delightful notes supposed to boast joy and love echoed in the rehearsal room, falling flat on your ears.

you were a soloist, though. you couldn’t let thoughts like these get to you. you could only play, for both your pride and your audience. these woes were for you to shoulder, on top of the violin you held between your chin and collarbone. 

“you’re here early,” bakugou commented one day, opening the door to your shared rehearsal room. tucked under one arm was his folder of sheet music. he caught you in the middle of practicing one of the pieces for a gig - liebesfreud, by fritz kreisler. 

it was true. the morning sun basked the window sill and laminate flooring, warming the particular spots it shone through. you’d arrived an hour or so early. pleased by the bright nature of the morning, you pulled up the blinds. typically, you ran late, arriving ten minutes after bakugou’s text of “you’re late again, idiot” with a coffee and a bagel in your hands. those mornings, you were really grateful for having a case with backpack straps. if you hadn’t the time to eat your bagel on the way to rehearsal, it was cold and hard by the time you had a lunch break.

thankfully, today was not one of those days. whether it was the sun or the title of the piece (“love’s joy,” how wonderful), you’d woken up and decided that today, you’d have a warm and soft bagel for breakfast. you had a coupon for a free coffee and surprisingly, the commute to rehearsals was more punctual than usual. thus, you arrived an hour early, a smile on your face as you opened the door. you opened your case with extra care and rosined your bow with extra zest, humming a tune you heard playing on the radio. bakugou would’ve had a heart attack had he saw you then.

you ignored his entrance, only peeping one eye open at the man and nodding your head toward the piano as you continued on with the piece. you allowed yourself to become immersed in the music, following the soft pace bakugou set in his playing. closing your eyes, you saw the audience before you and felt your fingers sliding and pressing the strings. time flew while playing the piece; you’d barely noticed that the piece was nearing its end, playing its familiar melody one last time before opening your eyes. a glance at the rosin dusted in between the bridge and fingerboard of your violin satisfied you, like salt on caramel. you surely played just as sweet, smooth and saccharine like the gooey texture of a caramel confection. you relished in the sunlight streaming through into the room, ignoring the shuffling of papers behind you (from bakugou, no doubt). that was how you should play.

“something’s off,” you blearily opened your eyes to the sound of bakugou’s gruff voice. he was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in a not atypical manner. 

“what,” you said flatly. “it sounded fine to me. i didn’t mess up or anything.”

“no,” he replied, deep in thought, crimson eyes darkening a shade. “we don’t have proper… emotion in the music.”

“huh?” you felt a comical question mark rising out of your head. “i played it perfectly to score. it conveys the composer’s emotions to a t,” you said, getting annoyed with the pianist. your grip tightened on your violin’s neck.

“well- yeah,” he gritted his teeth. “but what about your emotions?”

“who cares about my emotions?” you said. “all that matters is that my playing is perfect. the audience feels the emotions, not me.” why else had you been plucked into violin lessons when you were five? surely not for your own enjoyment.

“idiot, that’s definitely not how it is.”

“it’s just violin playing!” you snapped. “it’s not complicated with- with emotions! it’s the same as anything else!”

“you’re wrong,” bakugou coldly answered.

“what would you understand?” you seethed. “you’re just a damn pianist. you follow my lead.”

he ignored your remarks. “why do you play a fucking instrument, then? why bother to enter competitions or recitals?”

“to win, like any other normal person!”

he let out a clipped, exasperated breath. “fuckin’ explains it, then.” he didn’t elaborate. dismissing the topic, he said, “whatever. play the piece from the top. actually try to look at me this time, so we can stay together. put more emphasis on the downbeat at the start.”

“it’s not like you even heard me play the beginning,” you retorted, but made sure to accent that note even more during the replay. pianists. they always were on their high horses.

something you looked forward to every year was the valentine’s recital. the organizers, an old couple, had known you since you were a child, and thus developed a soft spot for you. you were a shoo-in for the event, relied on to learn the music on a short deadline. last year, you played preludio, from bach’s partita for violin no. 3. this year, though, the catch was weird.

“the letter says it’s a violin duet?” you said to jirou while video calling her. “i don’t have a violinist on hand, just a pianist. it’s not like bakugou can suddenly master violin.”

jirou looked at you with a surprised expression. “you don’t know?”

you stared back at her. “know what?”

“he plays violin, too.”

“huh?” you must’ve misheard her. 

she nodded. “he’s pretty good, too. have you not seen the videos?”

“videos?" your eyes widened as you soon realized the implications of bakugou harbouring an aptitude for violin. "i’ve… i’ve got to go.”

“he’s as good as you, y/n,” jirou said with a knowing smile. you were quick to press the hang up button. 

five seconds into teenage bakugou’s rendition of one of paganini’s caprices, you exited youtube.

the next day, you kicked open the door to the practice room. 

“you,” you pointed a finger at bakugou, who sat at the piano midway through a piece. 

“what is it now, dumbass? you’re late again.”

“shut up,” you grumbled. “that’s beside the point. you- you play violin?!”

he shrugged, not avoiding your piercing gaze. “i’ve dabbled in it, yes.”

you shut the door behind you. “and why did you never tell me?!”

“tch. you never asked, did you?”

“you’re my accompanist, i should know these things!”

“you know i play piano, and that’s enough,” bakugou said stubbornly. “i only play piano with you.”

“not anymore.” setting your violin case down, you shuffled through the pocket that held your sheet music. flipping out a packet of sheet music, you thrust it in bakugou’s direction. “here.”

he grabbed the sheets from you, skimming the title. “duo for two violins in…. fuck,” he muttered. “why didn’t you just say no? who even is this from?”

“valentine’s recital. the pay’s good, bakugou, and we need it.”

“you need it,” he mumbled bitterly, holding the sheets out for you. “i don’t.”

“it’s not like i’m happy about it either. since when were you a violinist?”

“since when was it any of your damn business?”

"you're supposed to be my pianist! not anything else!"

you didn’t understand how he could be so musically inclined. you blinked, and your sight smeared, blurring the sight of your feet with the laminate flooring. this wasn't right, you thought as you felt a telltale heat creeping up you. why were you crying now? 

if there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your violin playing. it seemed to be the only thing you were good at as a child when academics and athletics failed you. sure, you hated it at first (as most children did when their parents forced them to do something), but as time went on, the applause of the audience and the title of "winner" rewarded you enough. you were no prodigy, so you worked endlessly every day to prove yourself worthy. you never understood how you'd worked so hard only to be in the shadows of others so naturally gifted who surely would never understand how much you practiced to become better.

when it came to bakugou, he was never supposed to be better. he was your pianist, talented in a completely different musical realm than your own, so he could never be superior to you - and now he wasn't. he never was. here you were for the past year or so, looking like a fool in bakugou's eyes. on the days you struggled so hard with fourth finger vibrato, he was probably laughing at your inadequacy at violin. as easily as he played the violin, katsuki bakugou played you like a fool.

everything collided when you stepped out of the room, leaving a particular golden haired boy alone to stare at the sheet music you tossed him. your head throbbed with the groggy sensation of almost-tears and anger coursed through your veins.

you couldn't back out of the recital now. you couldn't. 

you couldn't stand to look back into the vermillion eyes of katsuki bakugou now. even more so now, you couldn't.

your solution?

"hey, what's up?" jirou's collected voice filled your ear, your phone pressed to it. 

"hey, kyo, i… kind of did a bad thing," you said, feeling jittery as you sought a commute home. you'd already made up your mind that your sorry-ass wouldn't be able to look bakugou back in the face for the rest of the day.

"...again?" she asked, tone concealing a hint of surprise. "don't tell me it was with bakugou. don't you usually practice now?"

"...usually, yes…" you sheepishly shuffled your feet, standing outside on the sidewalk. "i'll be resuming it again, 'course, when i get home…"

"why aren't you with bakugou right now?"

"that's… that's a long story," you laughed nervously. 

"i can wait," jirou coolly replied. "kaminari got his foot stuck in his guitar case - don't ask - so i have time." 

you considered asking about kaminari, then thought better of it.

"you know about the valentine's day recital they have every year? well, this year…" you recounted the events that led you to now, standing outside on the phone with jirou.

"where are you going to find a violinist?"

a silence found itself opportune as jirou waited for an answer. "i'm, uh, not…?" you said, deflecting the question back to jirou.

"well, you can't play both parts in the duet, can you? actually, don't answer that. i know you'd try. didn't you try that one time in-"

"what's done in uni stays in uni," you hushed her before she could recall that one time you tried to play a sonata with a recording of yourself. "aren't you going to tell me to try to make amends with bakugou?" 

"no," she said thoughtfully after a pause. "you've tried before, and it's not working for you. i don't think you should be forced to do something you obviously don't want to do. i just think," she continued, "you need to find someone to do the duet with, if you don't want to work with bakugou. but objectively, he's your best bet."

as jirou always was, she was right. you thanked her for her advice not before hearing a distraught kaminari shouting for jirou in the background, and then she ended the call.

you repeated her words in your head once you got home, sliding your bow back and forth on your small block of worn rosin. the score for the duet was spread next to you on the floor. it wasn't that you didn't want to work with bakugou. or was it? had you been that selfish all along, sabotaging other performances because you didn't like him? if even jirou had noticed it, had bakugou noticed it too? 

your sigh let out a thousand burdens piled up in your mind, blowing air out like dust accumulating on your tribulations. you picked up your violin and bow thoughtlessly, testing out the strings and plucking a couple with your left hand. 

was it really only you with the contempt for working with bakugou? you'd assumed mutual hatred with him after your international debut, but had it really been so? had you been the only one picking fights during the time you'd worked together? as you backtracked, your fingers slipped into a familiar position. you began a piece you knew positively by heart, an absolute favorite of yours for years. you played mindlessly, serenading yourself with familiar notes and string fingerings as you thought long and hard about bakugou. how much shit had you given bakugou? he hardly complained, too, but why? why hadn't he quit after you'd been so ceaselessly difficult with him?

why were you so angry at bakugou, a gifted prodigy since childhood? the answer found itself as the composition descended into an array of complicated fingerings and string changes, sounding like an incoherent chaos somehow strung together by the music. you pretended you didn't know the answer.

it was much, much easier to leave bakugou as just a pianist. respectable in his own field, and incomparable to you. it was too good to be true, obviously. all your life, you played to win, and couldn't allow anyone else to surpass you. violin was about winning, winning, winning. how were you supposed to cope when all those hours of practice were easily overcome by someone with innate talent?

the piece eased your tension with a fermata, drawing out your vibrato to think. bakugou's perfection infuriated you, you concluded. knowing this, though, didn't help with anything. you almost screeched the last note as the composition came to an end, unsettled by thoughts of bakugou. you really couldn't stand him.

in an attempt to distract yourself from your dilemma, you decided to start practicing the recital composition. you pulled out an old portable music stand, bending the parts into place and stacking it up. carefully, you placed the sheets on the stand and skimmed over the music, bringing your violin up to your collarbone.

your eyes followed one measure ahead of what you were playing as you sight-read the piece. ahead, ahead, was all you could think as your fingers fumbled the notes, eyes moving from the score to the fingerboard. bakugou was far from your mind as you caught up to the music, too preoccupied with the sharps and flats you'd forgotten and the time you had to keep. you were busied by the shifts and the repeat signs in the music over anything else. your priority lay here for the time being, after all. the sight-reading was almost enough to make you forget you only play one half to a duet. there was still still an emptiness that lurked between the rests and the redundant beats that even your stilted practice couldn't mask. you tried not to worry about that, though. 

time floated by as you repeated the piece over and over, playing for accuracy first. it wasn't enough, but you pretended it was. the metronome on your phone ticked away like time, endless and impatient, until you couldn't stand it anymore and packed away your violin. 

the proceeding day was filled with more of the same practicing, working on tweaking hesitations and polishing up your playing. it was kind of convenient, practicing at home rather than waking up early to practice with bakugou. you missed the bagel the most. 

you were definitely not playing your best, and it was clear by the way your bow occasionally screeched and how you fumbled the fingerings when you were particularly negligent. the piece just didn't sound right without the second part. (bakugou was definitely not the second part missing. not at all.)

by the third day you gave up and admitted to yourself that yes, bakugou was the second part missing. you were only a little bit miserable buying your usual bagel and coffee and rushing to rehearsals fifteen minutes late, aware that you'd be unable to eat it before practice. you were substantially less miserable than how you were the day previous, practicing alone.

you weren't surprised to see bakugou already there, sitting on the piano bench and tightening his bow hairs. he acknowledged you with a grunt as you set down your breakfast and beverage. 

"showed up, huh?" he said finally, voice rough. he stood up, setting his sheet music on a stand. you stared at him, awed by his nonchalance. he picked up his violin and bow (which, by the way, looked super expensive) and propped his violin up by his chin. it felt so foreign to see him in position to play violin, fingers already expertly in first position and wrist beautifully curved, yet it inexplicably clicked. the scene in front of you looked like he'd done this everyday, as it was always supposed to have been, his back confidently straight. his fingers arched over the fingerboard and his bow appeared mathematically parallel to the bridge, held delicately between his fingers. you'd never carefully watched him play piano (probably due to your distaste to him and lack of knowledge about the percussion instrument), but he made the violin look like an instrument of the gods. he hesitated, though, bow moving a centimeter then back. he frowned at your idle silence and turned back to you. "well? are we doing this duet or not?" 

"oh," you reacted intelligently. "yeah. yeah." it kicked in what you were doing by the time you'd started tuning your violin, first bowing your a string. after tuning your violin (with the help of a tuning fork and none from the perfect-pitched bastard bakugou, who appeared to be watching you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes as you struggled to tune your violin properly), you set your sheet music next to bakugou's.

"ready?" you asked, as if you'd been the one waiting for bakugou all this time.

"ask yourself that," he snorted. "i'll do the count." 

you nodded.

"one, two, three, f-"

"wait, wait," you said, squinting at your music. "isn't it supposed to be a bit slower than that?"

"it says allegro," bakugou said, tapping his foot. "need an italian lesson? lively, briskly."

"i know what allegro means," you gritted. "seems too fast, when paired with dolce."

"maybe for you," he smirked.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "and that means what, exactly?"

he opened his mouth to reply some smug, smart-ass answer, but you stopped him. 

"nevermind," you said. "do the count again, at the same tempo. i can do it."

you were bluffing, of course. since when was allegro this fast? you wondered as the opening notes sped by you in a musical blur. already familiar with the melody, you messed up dynamics the most. of crescendos and diminuendos? it wasn't like bakugou would notice, too preoccupied with his part.

the ending of the piece took your breath away, storming toward you in a whirlwind. adrenaline filled your veins as you raced to the last measure of the music, overcome by the tempo and the music. this time, full of energy and exhilaration, the piece felt complete. your and bakugou's sound surrounded the two of you, overflowing the room with a saccharine melody. it felt right simply standing beside him playing a two part piece, chest heaving from the piece's energy. you could only hear your breathing, a gentle encore to your playing.

"your playing is sloppy," bakugou said bluntly. he leaned over to your sheet music, starting to point at dynamic markings.

you swatted his hand away before he could say a word. "yeah, well, i just got the music three days ago," you interjected.

"you also had two of the three days off, so i'd say you're not doing enough." he glanced back down at your score. he pointed at a measure. "this is a crescendo, moron, why didn't you get much louder?"

"just- pay attention to your own music!" you said. "besides, it's dolce. i can get away with playing softer."

"that wasn't very dolce to me," he argued. "nothing sweet, soft, or gentle about that," he mumbled.

"i can be sweet, soft, and gentle if i want to!" you retorted. 

he raised a brow, as if a challenge, scarlet eyes glinting in the light. "tch. i'm sure you can, but your playing damn can't."

“it can, too! listen,” you said, impetuously raising your violin and bow again. you slowly started to play a d major scale, impatiently scrunching your nose and squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate on making the music soft and gentle, tampering with different degrees of vibrato and bow pressure.

“... that’s just piano,” bakugou said, moving to you as you bowed an a. your bow came to an abrupt halt, making an unpleasant squeal, as bakugou positioned himself behind you. you felt his body warmth radiating behind you as a sweet, homely scent wafted around you. he brought his arms around you, hands overlapping where you held your violin and bow.

“you need to be,” he murmured into your ear, gentle tone almost slurring the words together, "fragile when you play dolce." he angled your bow slightly, moving your hand. "bow closer to the fingerboard." the smooth baritone of his voice resonated within you, becoming lost within the violinist's embrace.

"most of all," he said, dropping an octave to an intimate tone, "you need to feel it. you can attempt to play it, but without feeling, it's fuckin’ meaningless."

"feeling?" you repeated blankly. “the audience’s, you mean.”

he stepped away, a gesture that made you breathless, and shook his head. he crossed his arms over his chest, unintentionally accentuating their volume. “your damn feelings. what do you feel when playing the piece?”

there’s a pause for perhaps a second too long, as you mulled over different answers in your head.

“tch.” his eyes don’t leave you, gaze a laser burning into you. “‘s what i thought. why do you play violin?”

you held your tongue from answering my parents. “to win. i play to win,” you stated.

“and that’s the damn problem,” bakugou said, releasing a breath of frustrated air. “you win to play.”

“that means…?” you were starting to get impatient with the man, who seemed to be stalling and dragging out your limited time. 

“you win competitions to play more.” 

you almost scoffed, but his words were plausible. “what’s the purpose in playing more if not to win?”

he made a scratching noise in his throat, cool demeanor shifting to that of the bakugou you knew. “l-l-” he coughed, “love.”

“love?” you repeated, the word a surprise to swallow.

he nodded, gagging on his reply. you couldn’t see bakugou as the romantic type - the same bakugou who called all of his friends demeaning nicknames and could barely say the word love out loud. he was explosive, maybe, and talented, sure - but acquainted with love? you pursed your lips at the stuttering man trying to advise you.

“whatever,” he dismissed, voice oddly hoarse. “just play it from the top. fix the dynamics.”

weeks passed in a blur, though bakugou’s advice was left unforgotten. it had, for the most part, faded from your mind but lingered like a ghost in an abandoned attic, stirring up dust in complete silence. it was valid criticism on bakugou’s part, but the problem was that it was criticism you couldn’t digest. it was a ghost that you could not rid of, whispering and lurking until your music played over it. 

four weeks before the performance, you had the piece almost entirely memorized other than a few flukes here and there. you managed most of your dynamics, playing in sync with bakugou by your side. three weeks and the piece was mostly smooth, foregoing all sheet music and practicing in the middle of the room with bakugou tapping out the tempo on the honeyed floor. any mistakes were recovered from quickly, and you were pleased to say that the amount of bakugou’s slip-ups equated to yours. at two weeks, though, he brought up the pest bugging your mind. 

“play with more emotion,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting out a huff as you played for him. “start on f sharp again.”

you’d tried time and time again, but the longer you’d replayed the same few measures (followed by his criticism for the nth time), the only emotion you felt was frustration. your bow would push too hard or your vibrato would lay on thick, immensely irritating bakugou. you didn’t know why he even tried. 

the air felt stale and the lights shone obnoxiously bright. the pads of your left hand fingers had hardened by now, indented with a pair of parallel lines from your unforgiving violin strings. you inhaled rosin dust and occasional bow hairs miserably dropped to the floor. your arms were tired, sore, and sick of playing; your ears painfully endured the same tune again and again, the originally fluid and sweet notes becoming high frequency static. 

“i can’t do this.” you were tempted to flop onto the ground, hopelessness pouring over you.

“you can,” bakugou insisted stubbornly. “you just need to try harder.”

“harder?” you would’ve snapped (and you were surprised your e string didn’t already by the repetitive motions on it) if you weren’t so exhausted from rehearsing. 

he nodded like it was obvious. “try harder.”

you shakily inhaled, trying to smooth your voice over. “i’m sorry i can’t be a prodigy like you.”

he stiffened, tense to the point of trembling. “whatever,” and it was a strained word pulled from his mouth. it was very atypical for him to give up like this, but you didn't care. you avoided his eyes as you restarted the piece, unable to bloom anything from it.

outside of your rehearsal time, you practiced. arguably, your solo rehearsals were more rigorous. you forced yourself to add emotion to the piece, sometimes playing for jirou. she agreed with bakugou (though was a great deal less irritating), stating that your playing was somewhat hollow. (you restrained yourself from knocking on the instrument and saying that yes, indeed, violins were hollow.)

"how… how do you get any emotions from playing?" you asked jirou at one point, watching one of her band's rehearsals. they were on a break, chatting idly and taking sips from their water bottles.

“well…” jirou started, glancing back at her band members. “i think about the feelings i want the audience to feel because of my songs. i think about how the song makes me feel, then i put that into how i play.”

“how do you…” you shifted uncomfortably, “know what to feel?”

she looked at you, taken aback, but replied easily. “you don’t. it just… happens.”

her response was vastly different than what you’d been taught a child. emotions? sure, there was perhaps a time where playing evoked a feeling in you, plucked something melodical from your heartstrings. it was when you were a child, though, so it was irrational and erratic, an outburst in the middle of your otherwise level playing. your violin teacher didn’t approve when you’d follow how the music made you feel. she said it made you stray too far from the original piece and would make you lose competitions. no matter how you pushed back against her, her advice haunted you over and over every time you got anything other than first place. 

your performance is the audience, she’d told you. you didn’t understand what she meant at first, but she made sure you did while practicing for your next rehearsals. the audience, she quipped with thin lips under her sharp eyes, is everything. if the audience wasn’t satisfied, your performance was worthless, no matter how well you played technically. you play for them and you win - it was that plain. there was nothing more than you wanted but to win, at the time. you wanted a trophy, a medal, a certificate stating that you were better than most. it was palpable evidence that you were good enough - for your parents, your peers, anyone. like that, you practiced, a servant for approval. you weren’t a prodigy, but you sure as hell would try to play like one. her advice worked for over a decade, soundly racking you up with countless awards that filled your otherwise desolate self-esteem.

you didn’t say anything else to jirou about it, instead thinking about the bits and pieces of human feeling you could extract in between your piece’s accidentals and eighth notes. perhaps there was a possibility, through the phrases of notes and dynamic markings, you’d find a word that said love. a renewed interest sparked itself when jirou’s band continued their rehearsals, finding yourself to be a normal audience member (maybe even crying at the end. maybe).

you returned home to practice, practice, practice, coercing any hidden message in the music to vibrate in your violin and echo around your room. you watched other renditions of the piece to find something you were missing, but imitating them didn’t seem right. this continued for the following weeks, hiding any potential development from bakugou (or trying to, at least). you knew you’d be disappointing him if you failed after trying so hard. it was only safe to play what you knew, secure in the written parts of the composition and keeping it at that. 

by the time the performance came around, you were glad bakugou never found out about your secret efforts. if he had, you knew he’d be sorely dispirited by your lack of tangible progress, your sound just as hollow as the soundbox of your violin. you failed, you knew, and as crestfallen as you were on that cold february morning, the show must go on.

the performances were held in an auditorium, warm compared to the snowy wonderland outside. it was typically couples comprising the audience, all romantic and pepped up in the spirit of valentine's day (white day was no different). some arrived early, finding seats in the empty auditorium and chatting amongst themselves (or sometimes making out, which made you want to throw your violin at them and gag). bakugou’s and your performance was last; it quite the heavy honor to play the finale to the recital. 

backstage was a vast contrast to the hushed atmosphere settled over the assemblage. hovering over the staff and performers for the day was a sense of panic, hurry, and hecticness. bits of rosin were scattered on the ground where you prepared for your rehearsal, some belonging to your block and others not. your pack of extra strings lay next to you on the sofa you sat on, arm resting on the side of the seat. similar to your violin's strings, spun tightly over pegs to be kept in place, you felt high-strung. the buzz of energetic excitement flitted in your head, knee bumping up and down and jerking your violin in the same motion. it was hard to calm when you tuned your violin to absolute perfection, relying on bakugou's perfect pitch to do so. the fine tuners on the end of your strings probably hadn't had a harder time in the years you'd owned your violin.

"you're shaking the entire sofa, idiot," bakugou deadpanned next to you. “some of us are trying to rosin our bow, unlike you.” he glanced at the floor, where amber shards of rosin lay amidst white dust (also made of rosin). 

“to be fair, most of those aren’t mine,” you pointed out. you reached into your violin case, finding the rectangular case of rosin and opening the top. "mine's only chipped in a couple corners, and the rest is just worn on the edges from my bow."

you leaned over to look at bakugou's rosin, two stubs in its case. "and i'm the one dropping my rosin?"

his ears turned a deep red, matching the velvet curtains on stage. "that's different," he muttered, putting the lid on his rosin and putting it away. 

"you ready?" you watched him swallow before speaking, not looking at you. you could hear one of the presenters speaking, introducing the first piece to be played (an ever-so romantic rendition of clair de lune), but the voices felt distant and muffled over the sound of your own nervous heart beating.

"yeah," he replied. he turned to look at you, scarlet eyes meeting your own. "what, you're not scared now, are you, dumbass?"

you gulped. "no… just excited," you said. in truth, you felt disappointed in yourself for being unable to find any emotion in your playing - thinking about the piece, you were devoid of anything but the measures and the notes. what was the piece trying to say in the white space between staff lines? after the clef at the beginning of the music, where did the emotions start and everything else end?

quiet notes, twinkling from the piano on stage, met your ears. you took a deep breath. how did they make you feel? 

…not very good, because this pianist was certainly a beat or two off tempo. a large hand on your knee startled you out of your trance. its warmth was surprisingly comforting. you followed the arm connecting to the hand to meet bakugou's concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. 

"don't shake your knee like that. also, why are you so damn cold?" he moved his hand away, leaving an imprint of heat on your knee. you hadn't noticed the physical manifestation of your nerves prior to bakugou's words.

you left his question unanswered, staring at your violin in your lap. you traced the patterns in wood, fingers following the shape of the f-hole and thumbing circles on your chin rest. how were you supposed to be able to pull living, breathing life in the form of emotions from an inanimate object? what sorcery were you supposed to manage to satisfy yourself and the audience?

you thought back to bakugou's words. what was it had he said you were supposed to be playing for? love, the irrational and sentimental flaw of life - somehow expressed from the symbols on a sheet of paper and through strings on hollow wood. what sort of miracle was bakugou creating with his music?

what was violin, if not just a task to do everyday? what was it, out of competitions and tests of skill? what was the sound reverberating within its vacant body, recording every shift of fingers on the fingerboard?

you looked past your violin to the rosin on the floor. friction, your violin teacher had explained to you. you put rosin on your bow so it creates friction with the strings, and thus creates sound. it was strange how friction caused the smooth sound of a violin. too much friction, added by pressure on the bow, made a creaky sound on the strings. without rosin, the bow would be too smooth on the string and make no noise at all. the happy medium of not too much and not too little created the familiar rich tone on the strings.  

a happy medium, you mused. in between too much friction and none at all. maybe that was how you were supposed to feel, in between trying too hard and not trying at all. that's what feelings were in the end, right? a natural human instinct, spurred by life. could you breathe life into the music?

the stage seemed almost too big for the two of you, spotlights centering you on the wide, wooden platform. the crowd's eyes were on you and your fellow violinist, some watching with drooping eyelids. they felt far, distant under the shadows. even so, the question still besieged you - would you please them?

you teared your eyes away to bakugou, who started the count. everything was silent until he nodded to you, your cue to start the piece. it felt too fast when you began but it was the same allegro you’d been practicing with. muscle memory took control now, your fingers finding their places easily. 

your fingers and bow took all your attention. everything else fell away - the lights, the crowd, the stage - until it was just you, your violin, and the music. you could practically see the score in your head, playing the notes you'd come to know so well. 

you heard your music echo and resound off the walls, but that's all it seemed to do. it touched everyone in the room, looking for a place to stay, and diminished in an empty space alone. it frustrated you that it wouldn't resonate - where was the love bakugou had so told you of? this auditorium was no different than your room, where sounds bounced off walls and landed nowhere. you weren't reaching anywhere or anyone, lacking emotion and any true substance. 

love - what was love if not a hindrance? how could bakugou expect so much out of you? love - had you ever felt it for the violin? dolce told you to play sweetly, softly, and gently, but what was sweet about the violin? what was so sweet about the imprints of strings on your fingers, fragmented rosin at your feet, and bruises on your neck from long hours of practice? what was gentle about the arduous replaying of the same measure, the ringing in your ears after playing to master a simple phrase? what was soft about the forte that rang in your head, the fortissimo that filled a performance and clouded your senses?

dolce filled you like an epiphany, euphoric in your eyes that finally opened and awakened. dolce was in bakugou's eyes, soft velvet like the crimson curtains onstage, downcast at his violin. dolce was in his sound as his bow skittered near the fingerboard, in his fingers sliding back and forth on his a string. dolce was in his grasp of his bow and violin, in the very essence he played the violin with. dolce contradicted everything you knew, reminding you of bakugou's soft hands over yours, guiding your fingers and bow. dolce was the morning light streaming into the practice room as you argued with bakugou over tempos and notes, the light glinting on shattered shards of rosin as you anxiously rosined your bow. dolce was the curve of your violin scroll, the bend of your fingers over your bow's frog. dolce was the white space in between staff lines on your sheet music and through half and whole notes. dolce was everything in between the rough of your violin experience, the laughter and smiling gone forgotten during sleepless practice sessions and violin evaluations.

what was dolce, if not a rebellion? what was it, if not a rebellion from the years of work and pain you'd endured in the name of musicality? what was it, if not laughing in the face of your violin instructors and the strict score you adhered to? 

when you opened your eyes to meet bakugou's, whose carmine eyes dripped with a burning passion and the essence of souls, you finally felt. it was the so-sought over love, scorching every note and stroke of your bow and bursting life in every movement, breath, and echo of your performance. it was exhilarating, living through every slur and chord you played. when you finally met his eyes he understood, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips as his gaze never left yours. this was it - this was dolce, humming sweetly, softly, and gently in your ears and reflecting in the audience's heart. this was dolce, making you realize that you never wanted to play violin alone again.

you picked up a rose that had landed at your feet at the end of your piece, holding it next to bakugou's confused face. in doing so, you reached your second epiphany of the day - perhaps the more important of the two. bakugou's eyes bloomed redder than the rose, deeper than the lowest note on a double bass, and maybe it was he that was the true dolce you were looking for.

notes!!

if you’re reading this, congrats !! this is my longest fic on my account (the record will be broken soon), so i really appreciate you reading this :> (spare a reblog, perhaps?)

first, explaining the playlist:

beethoven’s kreutzer - this was played in the anime, “your lie in april,” and i simply think it fits the “fight” reader and bakugou have. this was played at reader’s first international recital that did not go so well.

kreisler’s liebesfreud (love’s joy) is in the same series as his piece called liebesleid (love’s sorrow), also featured in “your lie in april.” i personally really like the piece. of all of these listed, i think you should listen to this one the most.

beriot’s duo concertante was the other contender for reader and bakugou’s duet piece! 

debussy’s clair de lune is simply a favorite of mine. it’s the first piece played at the valentine’s performance (and i like to imagine reader’s listened to bakugou’s recording of the piece)

spohr’s duo for 2 violins is the piece reader and bakugou play! it’s the second part of the duo in allegro, and i once tried to listen to it while following the sheet music. i was so confused every time i did so; i’d get lost and such, and figured my musicality was declining. nope. i was reading the wrong part. so, i started freaking out because oh god the dolce is in the first part, not the second, and thankfully, there’s a bit of dolce in the second part too! however, it did take me a while to decide whether to use the first part instead.

also, spohr invented the chinrest on the violin! crazy :D

paginini’s 24th caprice is considered the hardest out of all 24 caprices. imagine,,, teenage bakugou playing this,,, doing the left hand pizz and all T^T pain

there’s a lot i wish i could cover in this! a lot of reader’s own flaws (ahem, viola jokes) and development were something i couldn’t cover. bakugou’s arc as well! he had an arc a bit before this story takes place :)) tl;dr i’m very tempted to pick my violin up again and start playing

the frog of the bow does not, sadly, go ribbit. it’s the part violinists hold the bow by!

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this :)

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

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The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

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The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

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August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[narrators-journal]

A hiccup in the process

cw: breaking and entering again, more stalking, that’s not gonna go away for this story lol, I think that’s the big ones to note. enjoy!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Sadly, Illumi couldn't keep an eye on you 24/7, which he found irked him slightly. More-so when Milluki would give him updates while he was on his mission. It wasn't like Milluki himself irked Illumi this easily every day, he was his baby brother, he was allowed to annoy the long haired assassin, that's what family does, but for some reason knowing that the rotund young man was using the spy cameras he'd installed for his own surveillance to check in on you every few days to ensure nothing bad happened ate at Illumi in a whole new fashion.

Despite this, the assassin focused on his work as best he could, not that it really required much focus, a pretty textbook political hit, easy enough. However, when he came back, he was not greeted by an equal amount of ease.

He'd stopped by his home, doing the usual after-job reports for the client, than told his mother that he'd return to keeping an eye on you until his next job, he also stopped by Milluki's room and rather coldly told him he could stop spying on you. Than, he headed over to your place, curious to see what fine details his brother didn't find necessary to relay. However, when he got to your home and peeked inside, careful to ensure no possible neighbors saw him, he found it suspiciously empty. Milluki would've told me of any new people coming around, so (y/n) isn't on a date or anything. It's not a weekend, so (f/n) surely doesn't have her, and (y/n) isn't the type to just up and leave.. he mused, a bit down the street now sitting on an empty bench in the spring air so he didn't seem super suspicious to anyone around by lingering around your home.

He mulled these questions over for a while, most of the day it seemed since the next time he returned from splitting his attention between puzzling out this issue of emotions and closely watching your home it was evening and the temperatures were cooling. What drew his attention completely to your home was the unfamiliar car that pulled into your driveway. A car pulling up wasn't super odd to Illumi, (f/n) occasionally came by after all, but this car didn't belong to them, and it definitely wasn't yours, as you either didn't have one, or it was at your home, so the sight of a new person immediately put Illumi on the defensive. This boiling feeling of out of place anger worsened when you lingered by the strangers car.

On the bright side, the long haired assassin used this opportunity to meander over and eavesdrop to figure out where you may have been,

        "-Thanks for taking me out!" you were saying, leaning a bit towards the drivers window, where a man, or maybe woman, illumi couldn't quite tell from where he was paused to listen, sat, waving your gratitude away nonchalantly,

            "Nah, it's cool. You were pretty fun to hang out with, I'd be happy to take you out again another time if you'd want." the person said, making you giggle, the sweet sound acting as gasoline on his already ill mood.

Sadly, Illumi couldn't linger around any longer, you were noticeably getting tenser and had thrown a few skeptical glances at the assassin while he was paused on his phone, so he didn't catch the remainder of your conversation before your 'friend' left.

Illumi walked around the block to calm down and refrain from any rash decisions that night, returning to his usual hiding place afterwards, watching you as you happily lounged in your home. While the darkness of night crept in around him, Illumi tried to figure out what to do and why he was so annoyed to see you with someone else. Did he want to kill you? Was he mad that you potentially going on a date made that goal harder to achieve cleanly? No, that didn't seem to be correct, the explanation not seeming to cover all of the prickly emotions he felt at the moment, but it was the best explanation he had. He didn't have a lot of experience with the 'softer emotions' as his mother sometimes called them when she had given him a basic course on wooing himself a wife, and he was an assassin, a trained killer, surely he had no need to learn about these things. Though, he had to admit, combing out those pesky barbs of maybe I'm jealous and maybe I'd like to be the one she has a fun time with from his already crowded and busy thoughts was annoying. Every other emotion he could neatly package away, he could temper his lust, curb his anger, and suppress sadness, guilt, shame, and the like. But this situation, you, seemed to have this aggravating power to flip the lid of Pandora's box and pick out the worst of the bunch to bring to the surface.

After some contemplation, the assassin decided that he did, in fact, want to kill someone, but not you. You were still an entertaining little puzzle to burn away the time, at least, even if you did aggravate him. so, instead of killing you, he waited for you to go to bed and than slipped inside once again. This time though, he wasn't there to peek at your sleeping body, Though I bet she's wearing something risque again a dark little voice whispered in his head, but no, he could not indulge in that tonight. He was there on a mission to find information on your friend and the person who took you on a date. Peeking beneath your covers to catch a glimpse of your soft thighs or chest could wait.

He focused on his task, digging through anything he found that could potentially hold information about those you knew, but nothing proved useful. He found a picture with (f/n)'s name on the back, but he already knew their name, he needed their address or full name, or at least their phone number to have Milluki trace it. Sadly though, you didn't make a habit of writing down police-interrogation level notes on your few friends and leaving them in the open, so Illumi had to collect himself and get a good grip on his hormonal reactions before going into your bedroom for your phone.

Your room was as quiet as before, with, at most, a white noise source that the lean assassin made a mental note to ween you off of once if he had you as a wife. It wasn't an impressive room, dotted with a few articles of dirty clothes or other signs of life, but his dark, empty eyes still zeroed in on a pair of your undergarments on the floor in particular. Part of him was repulsed by how slovenly you were to leave a few articles of dirty laundry on the floor, but another part of him knew that he himself wasn't an exact neat freak and he only thought you were messy because he had butlers, you didn't. No, instead that devious side of himself focused more on what was on the floor, and how that might mean you were...less modest than he might have first thought.

He stopped himself, repressing the nasty urge to check and than punish you if you really were so brave as to sleep without panties and just scooped up your phone and left your bedroom to staunch any other distractions. With a deep breath to clear away the lustful thoughts, Illumi easily hacked into your phone, really, your password was so easy, and dug around. He tried to find your friends contact information, and while he didn't find a phone number, address, or anything like that, he did find their online profile, which was enough for Milluki to track them down. However, he didn't stop snooping after that. Instead, he looked around in your photos, other messages or DMs, anything personal or potentially holding lewd info or images, but the most he found was a google search for an adult toy you seemed to be contemplating buying. He swiftly deleted that from your search history and returned your phone to where it had been.

Now he only needed to let his brother do his job and look into (f/n) and than your date. Of course, he'd have Milluki do that after clarifying why the shut-in gaming nerd should've told him you had a date of any sort.