#while at the same time acknowledging you don’t know the true intent / story behind the tattoo ??

[causticsunshine]

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[showtoonzfan]

If you’re not familiar with the musical “Ride The Cyclone” and it’s current script situation with one of its main characters, this post is not for you! Thank you!

So I understand the “Ride the Cyclone” Fandom is really upset, including me ESPECIALLY and we all have a right to be, but I think at the same time, we all need to realize these four things regarding the “Ricky Potts script change” situation: Keep in mind I am NOT disabled so I don’t want to speak for anyone else, but I do want to share important things that I think most of the fandom needs to acknowledge:

Despite the change being an unnecessary piss poor decision and a HUGE downgrade compared to what the script was like before, we need to acknowledge that Ricky STILL has a disability. He may not have the same one he had before, but being mute from trauma is in fact a disability. I say this because everyone keeps saying he’s no longer disabled and that’s just not true. Again, it was still a bad change but his disability wasn’t completely erased like everyone keeps saying.

Disability representation in theater and casting more actors with said disability’s is something that NEEDS to be spoken up about, but harassing the creators and actors are NOT the way to do it. If you’re just telling the crew to off themselves and painting them as one note monsters, that is not getting anyone anywhere, and not helping.

Speaking of portraying people as one note, some of y’all honestly need to stop painting Brooke Maxwell and Jacob Richmond (the writers of the original script) as irredeemable monsters. Again, this issue in theater is something that desperately NEEDS to be spoken up about, and voices need to be heard, but as much as I hate to say it, we really DON’T know all the details on why the script was changed. We don’t know what was going through the writers heads, we DON’T know the full story, so seeing everyone say the writers changed it simply because they were ableist and nothing else are just jumping to conclusions way too early. Regardless if you think they’re truly ableist or not, regardless if you’ve lost all respect for them, these writers are still PEOPLE at the end of the day, and people make mistakes. There is always room to grow, there is always room to learn and improve. We need to actually speak up and inform them that this change was not a good one, instead of just screaming at them, sending threats and calling them ableist pieces of shit, something that I’ve seen SO many people do and it’s an issue. It’s hard to actually IMPROVE yourself when everyone is just calling you bad names and not seeing you as a layered person.

At this point of making this post, people really need to stop arguing with Kholby Wardwell (actor for Noel Gruber) on twitter. I don’t care if you like him, I don’t care if you don’t like him……STOP….arguing with him. I shouldn’t say everyone is, but there are a few, and there’s no point guys, stop harassing him. He’s made it clear on how he feels about all of this, and its obvious at this point, nobody can change his mind on his viewpoints. People also need to stop calling him ableist as well, because if you’ve read his twitter thread, you can tell he never had malicious intent. Of course I’m not excusing some of the way he worded or said things, but again, these issues for the RTC crew as a whole need to stop being viewed with a one note lens. While it’s not hard to say “theater needs to hire more disabled actors and make it accessible for them”- it’s ALSO not hard to NOT see everything as black and white, mainly the motivations behind the writers and actors. These are all things that need to coexist within the fandom, and people also need to stop pressuring the others to speak on this subject. Again, when you speak up about an important subject matter like this, doing it with aggression is not the way to go.

With all of that said, this script change has heavily disappointed me, even hurt me. I personally thought it was perfectly okay for Ricky to be a kid who got a degenerate disease at 6 years old and lost his ability to walk and talk, but somehow the writers felt the need to change it. It was unnecessary in my opinion, because I felt like the script wasn’t really the issue, it was casting able bodied actors as disabled characters, and getting rid of Ricky’s crutches five minutes into the show. That, as well as treating his disability as a joke, mainly the comments by Ocean. These were all criticisms the show has gotten over the years, so it hurts to see that what we got was the writers idea of “improving” that. Instead of “improving” it however, it felt more like they erased the issue so they wouldn’t get controversy and could avoid the problem, without putting in the effort. HOWEVER, despite that I don’t truly feel like that was the writers intentions. For now, I’ll give the writers the benefit of the doubt, because I do believe that they truly felt like they were helping and encouraging the disabled community, even if the outcome didn’t turn up that way. Again, we STILL don’t know the full story, so I sincerely hope Brooke Maxwell and Jacob Richmond come out with an official statement soon giving us the full insight to why they did what they did, since the new script has gotten so much backlash. It’s clear this change has done more harm than good, and with respect, I hope the writers can be educated and more open minded to why their idea wasn’t the best at all. I have always praised the writing of this musical, I haven’t been in the fandom that long but it has become one of my current favorite musicals of all time, and Ricky Potts has always been a character I adored, and he deserves SO much better. For all of this to happen because of one huge fuckup, hurts. At the end of the day, we all want the same thing. We all want disabled people to be treated like human beings, with respect, and have more accessibility, not just in theater, but EVERYWHERE. We all have a right to be mad, we all have a right to speak up, and I just hope that as a society we all can educate one another without it being taken too far. I sincerely wish the fandom, the writers, everyone, can bounce back from all of this, and society improves as a whole when it comes to the disabled. I will still continue to enjoy Ride the Cyclone, and watch it over and over because no script change can get in the way of my enjoyment of the show. With that said, things NEED to change, and I especially hope the Mccarter Theater gets the consequences to their horrendous action of illegally firing it’s only disabled actor. With that said, feel free to say your thoughts, feel free to disagree, I just needed to get this all out. Thank you for reading.

[purplesong1028]

Of Men and Games

Chapter 4: Good Intentions

As Escobar’s campaign sees success, Cali grows worried of his true intentions behind gaining political power. Luckily, Fernando might be a perfect candidate to find more information on that.

P.S. Yes, Fernando meets Eduardo in this chapter

Rating: General Audience

Paring: Pacho/Male OC

Words: 4,850

“Paisa Robinhood.” Gilberto takes a small sip of whisky, casually shaking the glass, eyes still focused on TV. “What a bunch of bullshit.”

“It’s journalism at its finest, hermano.” Miguel shrugs, looking rather amused than bothered. “People will believe anything, if you put money in their hands, and put a nice story on the screen.”

“Well, think about it this way,” Pacho adds a few more ice cubes to his drink, nodding at Gilberto with a smirk, “if Escobar can really become a senator, you might be president one day.”

That makes both brothers snort.

“Hijo de puta.” Gilberto shakes his head, clearly not taking offense at all. “The bastard is actually winning though. He’s out there giving cash to everyone who can cast a vote, paying all these reporters.”

He stops talking for a brief moment, and then shares a look with Pacho and Miguel, the three of them acknowledging the same truth.

“He will probably see a big return of these investments very soon.”

“What does it mean for us?” Miguel puts down his drink and leans back into the armchair. “How does that even work? Is he going to run his business as usual, while being a fucking senator?”

“No, es imposible,” Gilberto quickly dismisses that idea, “at least he’ll have to get more…detached to the whole thing, one way or another.”

“That would be an opportunity for us, right?” Pacho chimes in. “Escobar gets busy with politics, which he doesn’t know shit about, and that leaves Medellín more vulnerable.”

To be honest, he’s never had Gilberto’s political astuteness— very few people do, but what he knows is the business they’re in right now. He knows when to strike the competition at their weakest moments, and he never misses.

“It could, but don’t forget, he also gets a lot closer to the government than we do.” Gilberto taps his fingers on the wooden desk. “That’s a lot of uncertainty and risk. We don’t know what he would do with that power.”

They fall quiet for a moment, each drowned in their own thoughts. Then, after staring into the blank for a while, Pacho finishes his whisky in one go. “How about we try to find out?”

“Find out about Escobar’s next steps, politically?” Miguel asks, more like a confirmation.

“It’s worth a try, if we can get the right person to do it.”

“Do we have anyone that…”

“Wait, hold on.” Gilberto puts a hand up, interrupting both of them. “You’re thinking about the new governor again, aren’t you?”

“The new governor? Fernando Gómez you mean?” Miguel looks between them, finally catching up. “Is he even that close to us?”

Gilberto smirks. “Some of us, apparently.”

Miguel stares at them confusedly, and then his face is washed over by realization, eyes widening in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“It’s not what you think.” Pacho laughs, but doesn’t completely deny it. “Well, not entirely. He really seems to know what he’s doing. He helped to set up our recent deal with the Head of Logistics, and we’re paying way less than our old deal with the last governor.”

“Oh get to the point, you just had a good time with the guy!” Gilberto rolls his eyes, pouring himself another drink. “Or more than one time, I don’t want to know, but hey, this is serious, ok? Do you really trust him to do this?”

Pacho bites his bottom lip, playing back all the memories of interactions he had with Fernando: conversations with hidden messages, all the testing and manipulation, back and forth, suggesting so much without revealing anything.

“I don’t know if he will find anything useful, but I do trust him to not expose his intention, or ours.”

“Then I agree with you.” Gilberto smiles and raises the glass to his direction. “It’s worth a try.”

*

Fernando stands in front of Carlos’ office, carrying a pink gift bag in his hand. Inside, there are a whole bunch of presents for little girls: a princess dress, colorful hair bands, a teddy bear, and some Disney toys he got shipped from the US.

“Governor?” Carlos opens the door, surprised to see him. “Come on in, please! Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Please, call me Fernando. How have you been?” He puts the bag on Carlos’ desk. “I spoke to your secretary earlier, and she said you’ve been quite busy. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“No, of course not!” Carlos looks at the pink gift bag, “is this…?”

“Oh, these are not for you, my friend.” Fernando laughs, but then changes to a more concerned tone. “It’s for Melissa. I can’t seem to get her out of my mind since I saw her last time.”

“Sir…” Carlos touches the bag, and takes a brief look inside, but doesn’t take anything out. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know, I want to. Actually I…” Fernando looks away for a second. His hesitation is rehearsed, but the uneasy feeling in his chest isn’t. “This is why I’m here. I know you didn’t want me to help last time, and I respect that, I really do.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I spoke to my father, and he said there were other ways his foundations could help. There’s just some simple paperwork, and then…”

“Governor, Señor.” Carlos puts up both hands, still looking so polite and decent, a man with perfect manners. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me and my family. I truly do.”

Fernando stops talking. This is the answer he’s looking for. He just needs one more confirmation. “There’s a but, I assume?”

“Yes. But there’s no need. We figured it out. Trust me, we got everything covered. Melissa is going to be fine.”

“Oh, I see.” Fernando nods. That’s all he needs to know: the honest man ended up accepting Cali’s deal. Their plan worked. “Well, I’m very glad to hear that.”

Carlos smiles, genuinely happy, but he doesn’t miss the tiny sense of sadness hidden behind. “Yeah, my wife is very happy.”

“I’m sure she is.” But she doesn’t know the truth, does she? Fernando forces out one last polite, sweet smile and gets up, not wanting to spend one more second here, in Carlos’ space. “Well, then I suppose I won’t bother you any further.”

“Oh please, how can you be bothering anyone?” Carlos also stands up and walks him to the door, but pauses when he touches the door handle. The older man turns to him again, sincere and earnest, almost fatherly.

“You are a very good man, Fernando.”

“I’ve been blessed with a happy life.” He looks to the side, avoiding Carlos’ eyes, but quickly gathers himself to firmly return the gaze. “It’s a lot easier to be good when there’s no misfortune.”

Carlos smiles, without any real joy. “I suppose we can all agree on that.”

He nods and opens the door, walking out into the wide corridor. Sunlight shines through the large windows, brightening the neat spotless ceramic tiles. People are walking around in stylish suits, bathed in a shade of golden glow, carrying important documents and hurriedly speaking on the phone. Everyone looks important, smart, decent, but he knows better.

They all know better. He is just good at accepting reality.

“Señor?” His secretary walks towards him outside of his office, the largest one in the building. “There is a call for you on your private phone.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“No Señor. I think you told me not to answer your personal calls?”

“Oh that’s right!” He laughs, acting like he really just forgot that. But it’s necessary to put up some small tests for people who work closely with him. It’s necessary. “You said private phone. Sorry Carolina, I was distracted.”

“No problem, Señor. Let me know if you need anything else.” Carolina nods politely and returns to her desk.

*

Fernando walks into his office and closes the door behind him, shutting out all the noise.

He picks up his personal phone from the shelf by the wall. It’s never on the desk, because that’s where the work phone belongs, in everyone’s sight, professional and candid.

He checks the most recently missed call, and breaks into a tiny smile as he sees the number.

He dials back.

“You must be quite busy on a workday.” It doesn’t take long for Pacho’s smooth voice to come through.

“Don’t you think it’s a little risky to call when I’m at work?” Fernando walks to his window facing the large back garden. “Others could pick up? People could be listening.”

“Yeah, our people.”

He chuckles. Right, as if everyone doesn’t already know Cali basically owns all the phone business here.

“I suppose you need something from me.” He looks outside at gardeners watering the flowers, cleaning crew emptying trash cans by the tree. “Something urgent?”

“I wouldn’t say urgent, but quite important, if you can manage to do it.”

“If I can manage to do it.” He hears the amusement in his own voice. “Alright, you got me hooked. What is it?”

“I suppose you’ve been watching the news recently?”

“Hard not to. It’s everywhere.” Fernando picks up one of the newspapers laid out on his desk, and the front page is Escobar’s big face at his campaign rally.

“We need to know what his agenda is, if he becomes a senator.”

“When he becomes a senator, you mean.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he hears a huff. “Well, I guess it just became important and urgent.”

“You want me to approach Pablo Escobar, and get information out of him?” Fernando sits down on the comfortable leather coach, but the soft cushions don’t alleviate the sourness in his chest. “Are you not a little bit concerned for my safety?”

“I didn’t say you have to, did I?” He hears Pacho’s voice soften. “Also, you don’t need to approach Escobar himself.”

“That’s a good point.” He leans back into the cushion. “Isn’t he with that journalist? Valeria? Oh! How about Duque? He was the one who lobbied him into the New Liberal’s Party.”

“That could be a good point to start.”

“Great! That should be easy. We’ve met a couple of times already.” He thinks about the way Duque always carries that ridiculous pipe around. “I don’t really like him, but whatever.”

“So he’s the less fun Fernando?”

“Oh absolutely,” he snorts, “I think he’s going to a charity event in Bogota tomorrow night. Lots of the New Liberals will be there.”

“Sounds exactly like your type of party.” There’s a small pause, and then Pacho switches to a more serious tone. “If you find anything, I owe you a favor.”

He loves the sound of that. “So what do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

“I will think about it.” Fernando makes a mental note of that. He gets a lot of favors, but this one definitely shouldn’t be considered lightly. “For now, I’ll try to get you what you want first.”

“I shall wait for your good news then.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

“Looking forward to it.”

He keeps staring at the phone for a short while after the conversation ends, replaying the other man’s smooth, dangerous voice in his head, indulging in recent memories that are still fresh and sensational.

Then, he gets up from the coach, puts the phone back on the shelf, and tells his secretary to notify the chairman of that charity organization: the Governor of Valle del Cauca is coming to their party tomorrow.

*

Fernando is no stranger to charity parties at all. He has been attending them with his parents since he was a kid, so if he ever needs an invitation, all he needs to do is to make a phone call. Now that he has been elected as a governor, it has become even easier.

There are many friendly faces in the crowd, some he knows quite well, some he’s only seen once or twice, and some he’s not even sure he’s ever met at all. Maybe they’re just pretending to know him so they can have a conversation.

He navigates through all of them pretty much on autopilot mode. It’s one of his talents, really, he only needs to pay half attention, yet still appears highly engaging. The secret is to listen more, speak less, but when he speaks, he makes sure to always respond to one of the controversial topics people are talking about, so he can effortlessly provoke a whole new round of discussion that appears to be led by him.

Tonight, Fernando has been doing exactly that for about 45 minutes, making sure every person who approaches him is more or less pleased, until he spots Duque standing next to the bar, holding a drink in left hand, and the pipe in right hand, talking to a group of people he doesn’t recognize.

“¡Señor Duque!” He walks over, putting on his brightest smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“Governor Gómez, what a pleasure!” Duque gives him an enthusiastic handshake, and then pulls him in for a hug. “What brought you to Bogotá tonight?”

“Honestly? Just had to take a break from everything.” He makes a frustrated expression, but jokingly, not actually complaining, just to humor the audience. “You know, Valle del Cauca really feels a lot larger than it seems, once you’re managing it.”

The group of people laughs at the comment, and Duque laughs the loudest among them all. “I guess your hard work is paying off, governor, people love you! The economy’s growing, and your support within the department is over the roof!”

“Well, I try my best.” Fernando turns to the side, naturally leading Duque away from the group. “So I’m allowed to have a fun night, right?”

“Absolutely! Tell you what,” Duque puts an arm around his shoulder, “I was just talking to this very nice señorita, beautiful, smart, and I think she knows your family too! I’ll introduce you two later, and I’m sure she would love to have a dance with you!”

“You’re too good to me, my friend!” Fernando laughs alongside him. “How can I repay this kindness, hmm?”

“Oh please,” Duque waves him off, “what are you talking about? It’s nothing!”

“You’re right, you don’t need my help. The campaign you’re running is all over the TV, and I just read about it in three different newspapers too!” He observes Duque’s facial expression, monitoring every tiny change, and he doesn’t miss it when the relaxedness gets briefly clouded by caution. As annoying as Duque is, he is a lobbyist, a quite successful one at that, so of course he will become more alert whenever business comes up.

“Not gonna lie, even I’m a little jealous of the attention.” Fernando looks Duque straight in the eye as he carefully transitions the conversation to a whole other direction. “I mean, it was my face all over the news a few months ago.”

Duque’s eyes widen slightly, and then bursts out laughing.

“Oh Fernando! You’re still so young, my friend.” The older man claps him hard on the back. “You still have decades of success ahead of you. Your generation is the future!”

“Be hardworking, and be patient, right?” Fernando makes a nostalgic expression, putting on his typical good boy act. Why do people fall so easily for that every time? He never understands. “That was what my father said.”

“And you should listen to him! I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your father a few times, and he is a wise man.” Duque takes two glasses of champagne from a server, now having his guard down. When he hands a glass to Fernando, he almost acts a little fatherly. “Look, you are already a governor, the youngest governor we ever had. Your father must be proud!”

“He is.” Fernando takes a small sip of champagne just to keep up with the atmosphere he’s in. He doesn’t want alcohol to cloud his judgment in any way. “He also said this was a major step, my first milestone.”

“Exactly! You are just starting out. Who knows? You might build your own political party one day, or even become The President.”

“The President.” Fernando repeats the words in a humbled manner, like he’s flattered and in disbelief. “You really think so?”

Duque puts a hand on his shoulder, firm and comforting. “I have faith in you.”

“You’re such a delightful person to be around, Señor Duque.” He smiles, making sure to have joy and gratitude reach behind his eyes. “Really, I’m glad we talked. Recently it has just been…I won’t bother you with details, but you have no idea how helpful this is.”

“No, I get it! The sudden fame, the pressure, the responsibilities…” Duque waves it off. “It can get to you sometimes, but I promise you’ll get used to it, alright? You’re already handling everything so well!”

“You’re right, and honestly, maybe I shouldn’t even complain at all.” Fernando looks over at a group of people standing at another corner: Galán, Gaviria, Eduardo and a few more he doesn’t recognize. “Many others are in far more challenging situations than I am.”

“Well, what can I say?” Duque shrugs, “Radical positions lead to severe pushbacks.”

“Of course, but I do believe the kind of pushback needs to be taken into consideration here, doesn’t it?” He pauses for a moment to look down at the floor, and then looks back up with a slight frown, acting out a perfect balance between hesitation and determination. “Look, I think I owe you the same honesty you had for me, and I hope you know what I’m about to say comes from good intentions.”

Duque meets his gaze, silently holds it for several seconds and then gives him a small nod, inviting him to go on.

“I admit that I don’t know enough to judge, but about your candidate…words travel fast, and we both know that words carry real power in our world.” He walks one step closer and glances around, like he’s nervous of someone else eavesdropping. “I’m concerned for your safety, my friend, and the safety of others who are involved in this campaign, or even more so, those who are opposed to it.”

Duque doesn’t answer immediately. In fact, he’s not responding at all, but just maintains a calm, thoughtful composure. But Fernando can clearly see the way his fingers tighten around the champagne glass, and that alone tells him enough.

“I appreciate your concern, really, I do.” Eventually Duque responds, in a surprisingly gentle tone. “But you see, here’s the thing: there are rules in politics, not hard rules like laws, but if someone, anyone wants to get in, they will have to play by those rules, more or less. That’s just how things are.”

“And you believe Escobar will adhere to these rules too?”

“As I said, he will have to, if he really wants a seat at the table.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” He goes along with it, although he doesn’t agree in the slightest. Seriously, Duque has to be fucking delusional to truly believe that. “It makes you think though, doesn’t it? Why even go through all these troubles for a seat in the senate? I mean, he’s probably richer than all the senators combined.”

“Well, I guess I could ask you the same question.” Duque casually shakes his glass. “Why did you run for office? You already have everything you need, for the rest of your life.”

“Because I didn’t build any of that.” He admits, and this is the first honest thing he said to Duque. “Everything I have comes from my father and my grandfather. I want something just for me.”

“Makes sense, but it’s a privilege to even think that way, isn’t it?” Duque puts down the empty glass. A server comes by offering him another one, but he declines. “You see, sometimes for people who grew up with nothing, nothing’s ever enough.”

“Nothing’s ever enough.” Fernando repeats it, just for himself to hear it another time, to let it really sink in. “He’s not going to stop at the senate, is he?”

They fall into silence. A few feet away, people are going in and out of the dance floor, moving elegantly with big smiles on their faces, seemingly not having a single worry for tomorrow. Classic music is playing, is it Chopin? He should be able to tell if he listens more closely, but his mind is occupied at the moment.

*

“Señores, are you enjoying the evening?” A voice comes behind them, and Fernando recognizes it, from TV, from radio, from that party he went to a few months ago.

He did not expect to hear that voice tonight.

“Señor Escobar?” Duque turns around, looking equally surprised. “I thought you weren’t going to make it!”

“I tried to make time. You said it could be helpful for the campaign.”

Escobar answers Duque, but glances towards his direction. Fernando offers his hand first.

“Fernando Gómez. Maybe you don’t remember, but I believe we met once, Señor Escobar.”

“I remember, governor.” Escobar shakes his hand firmly. “Actually, I thought you might have forgotten about me.”

“What? That was the best party I’ve ever been to!” He laughs in a slightly exaggerated way. “A monkey drinking tequila? Hippos in the backyard? How could anyone ever forget about that?”

Escobar smiles, almost looking deceptively humble. “Well, I’m happy that I was able to entertain you.”

“Please, I was literally just telling Señor Duque, entertainment has been a luxury for me ever since I took office.” He takes another sip of champagne just to calm his nerves. He did not prepare for this.

“I could imagine.” Escobar nods, but there’s something more in his tone, like a tentative challenge. “A large part of our country’s economy moves through the port in your department.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Fernando lets out a long sigh, keeping up the pretense. “It’s been months, and I’m still trying to figure out who’s in charge of what in Transportation. Honestly, that division is a total fucking mess.”

Escobar grins, and Fernando doesn’t miss the arrogance hidden behind. Good, let Escobar think he’s just an oblivious new governor and nothing more.

“I’m sure you will get everything in order very soon, governor. I’ve heard good things about you.”

“I certainly hope so too,” he raises his glass to Escobar, “and I hope it’s easier for you, if you ever take office in future.”

Escobar clicks their glasses together. “Thank you for your good wish, governor.”

Fernando brings the glass to his lips, and drinks it all up in one go. This can be the perfect moment to walk out of the situation, just make up an excuse and leave.

However, who knows better about Escobar’s plans than Escobar himself? This is highly risky, he knows. But he plans to never see Escobar again, so it’s really now or never. When has he ever given up an opportunity like that?

He takes a deep breath and puts the glass down. “Señor Duque and I were just talking,” Fernando gestures at Duque, bringing him back into the conversation, “it was incredible that you decided to run for office now.”

That seems to arouse Escobar’s curiosity immediately. “How come?”

“Because you have already succeeded! You’ve built a fortune, all by yourself, and you can comfortably enjoy the rest of your life.”

“And I’ve told governor Gómez, we all have greater ambitions for our own reasons.” Duque joins in naturally, because that was exactly what they were talking about before Escobar showed up.

“Hey, campaigning is tedious work, right? I’ve just done it, I know!” Fernando grabs another drink from a server, intentionally making the movement a little clumsy. “But you are willing to go through all that trouble for a seat in the senate, when you already have everything.”

“Well, we only live once, don’t we?”

“Absolutely.” He shakes his glass thoughtfully. “Sometimes I feel like we never have enough time to do all we want, before our time runs out.”

“You know what I believe, governor?” Escobar moves a step closer, eyes burning with enthusiasm. “A man never dies, if he is remembered by history.”

“Remembered by history…” Fernando shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the chilly feeling down his spine. Yes, the extent of Escobar’s ambition worries him, but what really makes him ponder is how much he wants that for himself.

“A beautiful idea only very few men can achieve, how inspiring.” He sums it up, now ready to take the exit. “Well, it’s been great talking to you, Señor Escobar, but if you don’t mind…” He turns his attention back to Duque, “I believe our friend here wants to introduce me to a señorita?”

“Of course.” Escobar chuckles, “It would be very rude of me to get in your way about that.”

*

The girl Duque introduces him to is Camila Castillo. Their families do know each other, though not very close. She is everything Duque described: beautiful, smart, elegant, and to his pleasant surprise, they are able to have a rather engaging conversation.

He would have been good with spending the rest of this evening hanging out with her, but he can’t help but get distracted after spotting Eduardo Sandoval sitting alone by the bar, staring intensely at Escobar’s direction.

He and Eduardo have met and talked at a few events, simply because they are around the same age, but they are not friends, acquaintances at best. Frankly, Fernando’s pretty sure Eduardo doesn’t even like him, so whatever that stubborn man does should be none of his business. But after everything that’s happened tonight, he is feeling particularly altruistic at the moment, so he offers to get Camila a special cocktail, and walks over to the bar.

Eduardo notices him, but only acknowledges him with a simple nod. He doesn’t take offense; it’s actually better for him to not appear too close to Eduardo anyway.

He proceeds to give the bartender two extremely complicated cocktail orders, and takes the chance to stand next to the man.

“I just got away from there, and I strongly suggest you not to approach.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, governor.” Eduardo spares him a glance and a tiny smile. No, not a smile, more like a sneer. “Plus, you got away in one piece yourself, didn’t you?”

“Look, I’m not disagreeing with you on this matter at all, ok?” Fernando resists the urge to facepalm himself. “But what can you possibly achieve right here, right now, besides adding a big target on your back?”

Eduardo huffs with genuine humor. “Pretty sure I already got more than one.”

“And…that’s a good thing?”

The other man ignores the question long enough that Fernando almost gives up, but then he puts the drink down with a loud clatter, and turns to face him.

“Some of us have to think for more than ourselves.” Their eyes meet, Eduardo’s blue pupils deep as sapphires. “If you disagree, that’s fine, but at least don’t try to stop others.”

“I’m not trying to stop you. I’m only suggesting that, quite honestly, you don’t do anything stupid right here.”

That is far from his best approach, but at this moment, he is already incredibly exhausted and frustrated, so since he’s really doing this out of good will, Eduardo can take it or leave it.

Eduardo raises his eyebrows, the defensive demeanor turning into genuine shock, and then, to Fernando’s surprise, he laughs out. It sounds curt and humorless, but nevertheless relaxed, in a strange way.

“I appreciate your good intentions, Fernando. I really do.” Eduardo says, now addressing him by his first name. “So let me offer a suggestion to you as well: stay in your department, and try to avoid Medellín and Bogotá in the near future, for your own safety. Anyone can get a target on their back.”

If that comes from anyone else, he would probably treat it as a threat, but he knows that’s not the case with Eduardo. Eduardo is honest, and sometimes, that’s the worst.

He lets out a long sigh and covers his face with both hands, dropping all the pretense for the first time tonight. For some godforsaken reason, Eduardo is the one person who makes him feel comfortable enough to do that.

“What the hell is going on these days, Eduardo?” He turns to face the other man again, looking deep into those calm blue eyes. “Things shouldn’t be this way.”

Eduardo’s lips curve up, but there’s no joy, only bitterness. “Well, that’s something we can agree on.”

Behind Eduardo, Galán and Gaviria walk towards their direction, like two parents who just found their lost child in a shopping mall.

Fernando greets both of them politely, and excused himself. The bartender places two finished cocktails in front of him, and he takes a small sip.

It’s sophisticated, sweet and luxurious, without a hint of liquor hidden inside. From outside, it looks perfect.

@ashlingiswriting @yourlocalspacewitxch @mandaloria314 @drabbles-mc @narcolini @cherixrosa @cheesybadgers @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @dashavau @alreadywritten @smoke-n-fiire @artemiseamoon @sikkui

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Get Over Yourself - Lindsey Horan x Reader

Prompt: The Great Horan x reader? Where she and R aren’t a thing, but there are some feelings there. R always flirts with her and asks her out a lot, but Lindsey always rejects her. Eventually, R stops doing it bc she doesn’t want to continue being hurt and disappointed by the rejection. So, when R gets shipped with another teammate (you decide) by the fans, R has to flirt with them as PR stunt. Lindsey gets jealous and realizes that she wants to be the only one R flirts with. Cue an angsty fight between the two until she finally tells R how she feels and they make up.

“Hey Linds, do you believe in love at first sight?” Y/N smirked, slowly walking past Lindsey, pausing, waiting for the midfielder to acknowledge her. Once Lindsey looked up, cocking her head to the side, she continued, “or do you need me to walk by again?” Y/N winked, giving a slow, dramatic strut past.

Several players rolled their eyes, some boo’ing, while others squirted Y/N with water. Lindsey just rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk, “come on, let’s pass,” she reached a handout for Y/N to help tug her up.

Y/N grasped the offered hand, tugging Lindsey to a standing position. Lindsey, not expecting Y/N to actually pull her up, pushed herself up at the same time, crashing her body into Y/N’s.

“If you wanted to feel me up, you just had to ask,” Y/N smirked, hands on either of Lindsey’s hips to help steady her.

“You gotta buy me dinner first for that,” Lindsey gave Y/N a gentle shove to the chest before jogging away, tapping a ball with her.

“Yea?” Y/N hesitated, biting her lip, watching the blonde to see if she was serious or not. The friends had such a flirtatious relationship, the lines between friends and more had been blurred, were blurred. Hands would wander, hugs lingered, eyes always finding each other in crowded rooms. Y/N was the first person Lindsey would seek out when she needed to talk about something, needed comfort, or just needed to hear Y/N’s voice.

Anyone watching the two women could easily interpret the interactions would assume the friends were a couple. But they weren’t. The concept of a romantic relationship had never been discussed. Y/N had been working to feel out if it was more than harmless flirting for Lindsey, like it was for herself. But their friendship had been like this for so long, Y/N didn’t know how Lindsey felt.

Y/N knew how she felt, how she couldn’t help be drawn to Lindsey, and would be more than willing maintain the friendship as long as it meant she still got to be with the midfielder. Worried if Lindsey knew the true intention behind Y/N’s flirting it would push her away.

Y/N was brought out of her musings when Lindsey flipped a ball into her stomach.

“We playing or not you weirdo?” Lindsey smirked.

“Oh yea,” Y/N kicked the ball back, still only half paying attention. Her thoughts still on her feelings for the blonde, distracted by Lindsey implying she might want to go for dinner with Y/N, “so you, me, dinner. Then you can feel me up as much as you want,” the soccer player smirked, but her eyes critically watching the midfielder.

Lindsey scoffed, rolling her eyes, “What, like a date?” thinking it was a joke, laughed, juggling the ball a few times before passing it back, “like I would ever date you,” she continued to laugh alone.

Y/N felt her entire body heat up. Lindsey thought it was a joke. A joke they would ever date. That she was a joke, the concept of them as a joke, “hey, I was just trying to give you free access to touch all this,” she awkwardly motioned the length of her body, “your loss, “she tried to play it off, hoping her voice sounded more nonchalant than it really felt.

Thankfully, Y/N was saved from having to hear what Lindsey would say or do by practicing beginning.

For the next two hours, it was Y/N could do to avoid Lindsey. Switching lines for drills, have to re-tie her cleats several times, even requesting more work with the defenders to avoid all the midfielders. Everyone gave Y/N strange looks when she darted away at the water break and Lindsey reached out to touch a bruise forming on Y/N’s leg.

Somehow, Y/N managed to avoid the team for the next two days. Arriving just on time to meetings, meals, and practices. Leaving as soon as she could. She spent two days putting in extra workouts, extra training, or just wandering the mall. Anything that would keep her put of the hotel and away from the team. She was only trying to avoid the blonde, but she knew it was near impossible to avoid one person in the close group of women.

“Y/L/N!” one of the media coordinators called her as she tried to rush out of another meeting on the third day, “you and Mewis are up for media, let’s go.”

“Fuck” Y/N mumbled, slowly turning around to follow the media person.

“Don’t sound so excited!” Kristie slung an arm across Y/N’s shoulders, “we’re both hot, funny, and supposedly really good at soccer. We are a triple threat!” she tugged Y/N to a stop to jump on her back for a piggy back ride, “we get stuck, just flex these guns,” Kristie teasingly squeezed Y/N’s arms, “and they’ll all be so distracted we can just run away.”

That drew a genuine laugh from the soccer player, she tightened her hold under the blondes’ legs and carried her into the media room.

The media team all laughed as the pair walked in, Kristie having wrapped her legs around Y/N’s waist and around her shoulders., holding so tightly Y/N didn’t need to hold her. Looking similar to koala on a branch.

“USWNT presents ‘Koala or Kristie’. Where we show you a picture and you decide if it’s a koala or a Kristie,” Y/N announced to the media staff as she turned so Kristie could let go and drop right into the chair. When Kristie didn’t let go right away, Y/N reached behind her and began tickling the blonde until her grip let go and she fell into the chair.

The staff all laughed at the pairs antics, “you guys are already live,” one called while the two finished settling into the chairs, handing a phone over so they could read the questions being sent in.

Y/N smirked while she scrolled through the comments, letting Kristie introduce them and officially start their session.

“Alright Y/N/N,” Kristie leaned into Y/N’s side to attempt to read the phone and choose a question, “start off with a good one.”

“I have one of my own before I get to the fan ones,” Y/N giggled, grinning at the blonde while she tugged the phone away, “do you think you have the right koala-fications?”

Kristie stared at Y/N before glancing to the media staff behind the camera, “I think I’m busy today guys, I am available when I can do this with anyone else.”

Y/N maintained a serious expression, “that answers that, Kristie Mewis does not have the right koala-fications,” she began scrolling through the phone looking for a real fan question while Kristie turned and mock gasped at Y/N, “if I could play any other sport professionally, I would be a basketball player,” she continued on, ignoring Kristie staring at her.

Y/N deliberately focused on the phone, waiting for Kristie to say anything, her serious expression slipping and a smirk cracking through.

Kristie shook her head, “no way you could be a basketball player, you’re way too short,” she held a hand up next to her, drastically exaggerating Y/N’s height.

“But I’ve got mad hops, and big feet!” Y/N put her hands under her knee and lifted her leg, so her foot was in view of the camera.

“That just means you have big feet, not that it will make you a good basketball player,” Kristie laughed, pushing Y/N’s foot away from her.

“My mom said I’ll grow into them, there’s still a chance,” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. She knew she wouldn’t get any taller, but it was fun working Kristie up.

“You’re 28, you’re not growing into your feet at this point,” Kristie rolled her eyes, shaking her head, “read a question!”

Much of their live session went that way, very few questions being answered. The friends easily distracted, telling stories or just bantering, forgetting the camera was there entirely.

By the end of the say, the video had been picked apart, screenshots were made, and new a secret couple was formed.

Y/N had gone back to avoiding the team, her thoughts even more jumbled now that everyone assumed she was with Kristie. She didn’t have feelings for Kristie, she loved her like a friend and loved their easy going dynamic, but it would never be anything more that. And she knew Kristie felt the same.

“You’re avoiding me,” Lindsey said as greeting when Y/N walked into her room the next day.

“Fuck!” Y/N stepped back into the closed door, her body crashing against it, “what the fuck Lindsey?” she stomped further into the room.

“You’re avoiding me,” Lindsey repeated, sitting in a chair in the corning, watching Y/N move around the room.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Y/N continued to rummage around the room, mindlessly moving things around in order to look busy, “how’d you get into my room?”

“Kicked your rookie out, convinced the poor kid medical needed to redo their testing,” she answered quickly, “you’re avoiding me,” she said it a third time.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Y/N began to refold her suitcase to keep her hands busy and continue to avoid looking at the blonde critically staring at her, “but just to clarify, if I was, you thought the solution was to corner me in my room?”

“Is this because of practice the other day?” Lindsey pushed out of the chair and closed the distance between them, “because I know I’ve felt you up for less than dinner before,” she chuckled softly, stepping close, pressing her body against y/N’s placing a handout to land low on Y/N’s hip.

Y/N abruptly dropped the shirt she was folding and took two large steps away from Lindsey, “Fuck Lindsey, it’s not always about you. I’m not avoiding you. I haven’t hung out with anyone else,” she snapped, her jaw clenching while she stared hard at Lindsey.

Lindsey stared wide eyed at the sudden outburst before gathering herself, snapping back, “yet, Kristie gets to hang all over you.”

“You hang all over me all the time Lindsey, it’s the same thing. Besides, it was for the live thing we did,” Y/N didn’t know what she was so angry all of a sudden. She was avoiding Lindsey and Lindsey was just calling her out on the immature behaviour. Y/N really didn’t understand why she was upset, Lindsey had a right to confront her avoidance. Y/N was the one that had decided to pull away when it seemed Lindsey didn’t see their friendship as anything more. But what Y/N really didn’t understand, was why Lindsey was so upset about Kristie being on her.  

Lindsey knew why she was upset. She had spent the last two days always just missing Y/N and had replayed all their interactions before Y/N seemingly disappeared. The only thing she could come up with when she joked about them going out and shooting down Y/N’s dinner invite. Then she watched the live session Y/N did with Kristie, a few other players planning on throwing in their own obscure questions. The feeling she got in her chest watching Y/N carry Kristie in was a feeling she couldn’t place; she’d never felt it before.

Jealously was what Alex said.

Longing was what Kelley said.

Infatuation was what Rose said.

Gross was what Sam said, thinking it was directed at her sister.

Realization was what Sonnett said.

She sat silent the entire time, that feeling growing throughout. She ruminated on what her friends. None of the words fit, yet, they all fit. That was the problem, they all fit. She was realizing her feelings for Y/N. She was infatuated with how effortlessly funny she was. Longed to be the one Y/N was making smile the way she was making Kristie smile. And she jealous Kristie got to be the one Y/N was with while she had been avoided for two days.

So, Lindsey knew why she was upset. She was frustrated at herself because she wanted to tell Y/N how she felt but she couldn’t get the words out. Could only make a joke that didn’t end up being a great joke because now Y/N was upset too.

“Get over yourself Lindsey. You don’t get a say in who hangs on me and who doesn’t,” Y/N said, her voice had started firm, but sounded defeated by the end. She looked down before shuffling back to the bed to resume folding her clothes.

“But what if I did?” Lindsey rushed out, crinkling her face at how that sounded, implying Y/N was something someone controlled, “fuck, that came out wrong! I meant, I want hang all over you and you to hang all over me. And dinner, so I can feel you up. And I don’t want you avoiding me anymore.”

Y/N’s hands paused while she folder her shirt, before continuing, her eyes never leaving the shirt, “Lindsey, you don’t get to come in here pissed at me because you got jealous, then expect things to be alright.”

“I don’t want that or expect that! Yes, I got so jealous when I saw you and Kristie together and I didn’t even understand what it meant. But then I figured it out, I wanted all our banter and jokes about being together to be real. I don’t want to call you at the end of bad day, because I won’t have to because you’ll be in the bed next to me,” Lindsey saw Y/N’s hands stop moving and the shirt slip back on top of the suit case, Y/N’s arms dropping to her side, but she still wouldn’t look up.  

Lindsey took a tentative step closer, not wanting to spook the girl away like she had initially.

“I want it all to be real. I want everything we had a couple days ago again, but I want it to be real and more. I want this gross longing feeling to stop because I have you again,” taking a risk, she gently held Y/N’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

Y/N squeezed back before letting go, “Linds, just because you got jealous doesn’t me this is what you want. You like the idea of me, you don’t like me. And we can try and go back to how it was before, but my feelings are real, Lindsey, I know how I feel about you.”

“My feelings are real too!” Lindsey gripped Y/N’s hand again, tight, “this isn’t just me being jealous, watching you with Kristie was just what I needed to realize that I was just too scared to admit how I felt about you. I know how I feel about you,” she finished with conviction, reaching for other hand and squeezed both tight.

“Ok,” Y/N nodded, seeing the sincerity on Lindsey’s face.

“Ok?”

Lindsey was confused, she poured her heart out and she gets is ok?

“I don’t know your feelings Linds, but I trust you, and if you say they are real, then they’re real,” she smiled.

“So, can I take you for dinner?” Lindsey asked, still shy even though she knew the answer would be yes.

“And you can feel me up all you want after.”

[juviaafullbuster]

IN EVERY UNIVERSE

"JUVIAAAA"

He should have known. He should have seen it coming the moment he heard that blue cat call out her name. Of course nothing good would come from this. That stupid cat, exceed, whatever he is, was raised by Natsu after all.  But he didn't think much of it when he saw him flying towards Juvia, who was currently sitting with the other girls and landing in the middle of their table.

"Yes Happy?"

"Remember what I told you when we came back from Edolas?"

Happy was wiggling his tail excitedly, while trying to hold back from spilling the information immediately. After all, he lives for the drama. Juvia on the other hand was just looking at him, confusion written all over her face.

"Juvia isn't following.."

"You know, about the Juvia in Edolas and how the Gray there is obsessed with her.."

"Oh yes! Of course Juvia remembers that! The other Juvia is very lucky.."

"Yeah, and guess what? She got even luckier. Turns out they've got-"

"HAPPY!"

Gray had to stop him before he spilled too much. Why were they on the other side of the hall anyways? Juvia was always stuck to him whenever he came back from a mission. Why did she have to abandon him now of all times?

"What is it Gray? I'm busy delivering information."

"If you don't shut it that's the last information you'll ever deliver."

At that Happy visibly gulped. Gray was sure he was considering whether it was worth taking the risk. He probably still remembered the incident where Gray had declared him his enemy. Gray himself didn't remember much of what happened, just that it wasn't his proudest moment when he woke up half naked on an island surrounded by strangers. Now however, he was glad it had happened. At least that cat knew what he was dealing with and wouldn't dare to finish that sentence.

"Hey popsicle, are you threatening Happy?"

This just keeps getting better. Of course Natsu had to get involved as well. All he wanted was to enjoy being back home and spending some time with Juvia. And he wasn't doing either. Really, the last thing he needed was Natsu and his damn cat to ruin things for him.

"I don't threaten anyone unless necessary. So if you want to save him from trouble, tell your cat to back off."

"I'M AN EXCEED!"

"Like I care. Point is, shut up."

"HEY, DON'T TALK TO HAPPY LIKE THAT!"

"Stay out of it, flamebrain!"

"IF HAPPY IS INVOLVED, I'M INVOLVED."

"Whatever.."

He just needed to get to Juvia. There was no need to participate in the conversation with Natsu. Not that you could actually hold one. It would always end in a fight and if that idiot doesn't shut up soon, Gray was sure that this will be the case today as well. So he decided to be the bigger person and ignore Natsu, no matter how much he was provoked. However Natsu didn't get the message.

"What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're being weird lately. Happy noticed too, right Happy?"

"Aye!"

"I'm not being weird, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I think it's because he's jealous of you!"

"WHY WOULD I BE JEALOUS OF NATSU?"

"He did tell me what happened.. is it because he has more woman than you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, that snow woman. He had quite a lot on his side, you however just had-"

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Like it wasn't bad enough that he was going to tell Juvia about their Edolas counterparts, she really didn't need to know about that whole woman in the depth of his heart thing.

"You're jealous of me?"

"Who's jealous of who?

"Gray is jealous of Natsu."

"Seriously?"

"NO!"

That's it. He's going to kill that cat. But first he'll have to deal with Natsu because he was costing him his nerves as well. So next thing he knew, they were throwing fists at each other until Erza forcefully stopped them.

"What is this about? Explain yourself before I pull out my sword."

"Grays being mean to Happy."

"That's because Happy is stupid! Probably got it from you.."

"SILENCE! Happy!"

"Yes?"

"Explain!"

"Well, Gray is being mean to me just because I wanted to tell Juvia about what we saw in Edolas. I don't see why he's so worked up over it, I mean I was just going to say that they're married."

"Who's married?"

"Gray and Juvia!"

Silence. The whole guild went silent. Well, except for Happys snickering. Gray could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was certain he would never hear the end of it. After all, he could already feel the eyes on him.

"Gray and Juvia are married in Edolas?" It was Juvia who decided to break the awful silence. Happy nodded eagerly in response to her question.

More silence. Or as Gray would say, the calm before the storm.

"Is that true?" Juvia was looking at him with wide eyes. He knows her well enough by now to know exactly what was currently going on in her head. He could tell her imagination was going wild with wedding pictures. But she was clearly holding back from squealing, instead she kept staring at him, desperately waiting for an answer. Gray sighed.

"Yes.."

And then all hell broke loss. Mira was cornering him trying to find out as much as possible, while Cana kept adding her inappropriate comments. Elfman starting shouting something about marriage being manly, whatever that meant. By the time Gray had managed to escape from them Juvia was no longer in sight.

"Juvia?"

"She went outside, said she needed to cool down."  Lucy smirked proudly, making Gray fear her next sentence. "Good thing you're an ice wizard. Who else could cool her down?"

"Hilarious. I'm going outside."

"Of course you are."

Gray didn't bother reacting anymore. Instead he went to search for Juvia. The cold air outside hit him in the face. It wasn't until now that he realized how stuffy it was in there.

He distanced himself from the guild hall while keeping an eye out for his bluenette. He really had missed her during his mission and now that he was back, he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. After all, he had finally acknowledged his feelings for her and after seeing their counterparts in Edolas and that vision he had been trapped in, it just made him long for her more.

Those feelings still freaked him out somehow. He wasn't aware that he was capable of feeling this much for someone. But Juvia had really broken down every single one of his walls. And he was really grateful for that. She was the one who kept pulling him back whenever he was close to the edge. She's his power to live, even though having admitted that so bluntly in front of her still got him all embarrassed. And her teasing didn't help one bit.

"Juvia!" He spotted her on a bench near the lake. She seemed lost in thought. When she heard his voice however, she immediately spun around.

"Graysama! Juvia is sorry for leaving so abruptly.."

"Don't worry about that. Are you okay?"

He sat down next to her. Usually he would leave a space between them, not wanting to give her any ideas. But things changed. And now here he was, sitting as close to her as possible, longing for her touch. Juvia smiled at him.

"Juvia is very happy that you're back."

"I'm happy to be back too. I.." He cleared his throat and looked away shyly. "I missed you."

"Juvia missed you too. Juvia was wondering whether you were doing alright, if you manged to stay dressed and whether the others bothered to pick up the clothes you discarded.." she kept talking but Gray was too focused on her beauty, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky having someone like her in his life.

"I want what they have as well." Gray had blurted out the thought before he could realize it.

"What who has?" Juvia questioned him. He could go back on his word, pretend he never said it. But what's the point? He was just making himself suffer by prolonging it. And he had promised her to be clear with his intentions once he got back, not that he got to finish that promise before he was swept back to Elentir. Point is, it was time for him to be honest.

"I want what Edolas Gray and Juvia have.."

"You want.. you want to marry Juvia!?"

"What? No!"

"No?"

This wasn't going the way he wanted it all. Gray sighed.

"One day."

"One day?"

"Yes, one day I'm going to marry you. But I think it's still a little early for that. To be fair, our counterparts in Edolas are older.."

Juvia just kept looking at him in disbelief. He couldn't blame her. It wasn't exactly his style to be so open and honest. They didn't start dating yet and he was already talking about marriage. Juvia had really impacted him..

"Listen. I want to be with you. Like Edo Gray is with Edo Juvia, like Fairy Nail Glen is with Fairy Nail Juvina.. I want Earthland Gray to be with Earthland Juvia as well."

"What's Fairy Nail? And who is Juvina?"

"That's a long story.. point is I want to be with you. I'm sorry I'm not as clear with my intentions as the other me. But that doesn't mean I want you less than he wants his Juvia.."

By this point Gray was a blushing mess. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, too afraid to see her reaction. He had literally just run her over with emotions.

"Graysama doesn't have to be sorry."

"Huh?"

"For not being as clear with his feelings. I feel in love with this version of Gray, the Earthland version. Juvia wouldn't change a thing about you."

Gray smiled at her. She was truly too perfect. How did she always know what to say? She seemed so calm and collected while he was literally trying his best not to freak out.

"And Juvia would like that very much as well. Earthland Gray and Earthland Juvia being together.." she was looking at Gray sweetly and he couldn't help the smile that took over his face.

"I promise to be the best version of myself for you."

"You already are."

They smiled at each other and Gray tucked behind the hair that had fallen into her face. He found himself leaning closer and he saw Juvia doing the same. He had just closed his eyes, just a little away from finally kissing her after thinking about it for so long, when a voice interrupted them, making them jump apart.

"Gray loves Juvia!"

"Quiet Happy!

"They are so cute together."

"About time he made a move."

How had he not seen them hiding behind that bush. He'll admit Lucy, Wendy and Charles were hidden pretty well, but Natsus pink hair and Happys blue fur were visible to everyone. And Erza hadn't even bothered hiding. He must have been too focused on the girl in front of him to notice. Said girl was now blushing furiously.

"I'm going to kick their asses.."

"Juvia thinks it's sweet that they're so supportive of you. You have a great team."

"How are they a great team? They literally interrupted a very important moment."

"Juvia knows.. but Juvia is very happy already."

"So you don't want me to kiss you?"

"Juvia didn't say that!"

He was truly enjoying teasing her. So much, he was able to ignore his friends presence. So instead of letting them ruin their moment, he leaned in and finally, after so long, kissed her. It took her a moment to react, but once she did, Gray felt like the luckiest person in the universe. He was never going to let her go.

"Juvia loves you very much."

"And I love Juvia very much."

He kissed her again, already addicted. His friends were cheering, probably happy that he finally made a move. He couldn't blame them, it took him long enough.

"All that because I told her about Edolas Gray and Juvias marriage. Imagine what she'll do when she hears about Greige.."

"Who's Greige?"

"HAPPY!"

♡♡♡

Here you have it, my contribution to Gruvia day! I hope you like it, let me know what you think :)

Also, I'm still fangirling over the drawing we got today. Maybe I'll write something about that too one day..

Anyways, happy Gruvia day! ♡

[fandomvariousness]

Caught

Pairing: Eren x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, violence, smut: fingering, slight dubcon, power play, choking

Summary: Eren fu*ks you through the bars of his cell. YEP. That’s it.

Word count: 2k

A/N: We love deranged Eren supremacy, don’t we ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡•)

It always takes just a slightest moment of distraction.

You couldn’t take your eyes of the Attack titan, who has also happened to be your lover, tearing everything apart. You were standing in a stupor on the edge of some building, aware that you’re having an unforgivable meltdown, yet you couldn’t move a limb. How has it come to this?

Just as you were regaining your common sense, a giant hand swatted you away like you were nothing but a pesky fly. You managed to see the Jaw titan scurrying away as your back hit the hard brick wall of another building before you plummeted down, what, 3, 4 stories?

The pain was excruciating: your head was pulsating unbearably, vision fuzzy, taste of blood in your mouth.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you tried to get yourself together and ignoring the severe injuries stood up.

Yet you only managed to get on all fours before feeling your consciousness slip away.

~

Your eyes fluttered open as you felt your consciousness tap back into you. You groaned in slight pain and started to get up, but was pushed back down by a soft hand.

“Please, don’t move.” It was Mikasa.

“Mikasa,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “What’s going on?”

She remained silent as you forced your eyes to open properly and immediately regretted it. You’ve never seen Mikasa with such grim an expression that she wore now.

“Mikasa…” you repeated, afraid to ask what’s wrong.

She gulped. “Sasha’s dead. She’s been shot after two Marleyan kids snuck into the airship.”

You felt the shock run down your throat, dispersing all over your body.

“Shit,” you mumbled, trying to control the shaking. “Shit…”

“She’s already buried. You’ve been unconscious for some time.”

You were wiping your tears away that couldn’t stop streaming. After a while, you mustered up the strength to ask about him.

“And Eren? Where is he?”

Mikasa let her head hang even lower.

~

You sauntered over to the deep basement, where Eren was being held. You told no one you were coming, especially not Hange or Levi. All of the events were too much for you, and you just needed to lay eyes on him to know whether what they say is true.

You don’t want to believe any of it, but you saw with your own eyes how the Attack Titan destroyed the city. No remorse, no hesitation – just destruction.

Dimly lit stone hallways gave off eerie atmosphere, the flames dancing with the shadows in every crack and crevice. You knew no one was here except for you and Eren in his cell further away, but you felt like you were being watched. Watched by the dark.

As you approached his cell, still slightly limping, you heard him muttering something.

“Fight… Fight…”

You gulped and finally stepped into the light, taking in the sight of Eren at the same time: his damp hair was gathered in a bun, his lean yet muscular frame leaning to the sink with his hands, staring dead in the eyes of his own reflection.

You forced yourself to stop staring at his bare, toned torso before you diverted your gaze to his face, trying to catch his eyes, yet he wasn’t interested, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

“Eren?” you croaked out, slightly wavering on your intentions. Maybe you shouldn’t’ve come here, especially how he acted with Hange not so long ago.

He sighed silently and let his head hang a little lower, with his eyes closed – obviously annoyed. “I thought the visiting hours were over.”

Oh, so he’s being cheeky? After all of you risked your lives for his selfish intentions, after Sasha died, after you almost died, after each of you abandoned your morals and did what Eren wanted you to do.

You felt yourself burn with odium – you realized you’ve never been this angry on him before.

“Look at me, you, jackass,” you spat angrily, striding over to the bars and rattling them with both of your hands. “All of this so funny to you, huh??”

His knuckles whitened as he was clearly restraining himself from acting out against you.

“Y/N…” he growled alarmingly, few orange sparks jolting around his frame.

Your heart stuck in your throat, yet you forbid yourself to show him how terrified you were.

You chuckled. “Ooh, go ahead, just blow this whole building away, because you don’t even care about us, right??”

You heard the sink creak before he threw himself towards the bars, rattling them in rage a single time, as if to shake you off. Naturally, you drew back a bit, but didn’t let go of the bars.

Both of you were breathing heavily, staring each other dead in the eyes.

“Eren, I swear, I would slap you so hard if –”

If not for these damn bars, you were going to say, but the airflow was cut off when his calloused hand wrapped around your neck and drew you flush against the bars, metal squeezing against your sore skin.

You didn’t lose your cool as your eyes were still having a battle of their own, Eren’s fingers squeezing into your skin to the point of teasing.

“Go ahead and try.”

You slightly bit your lower lip as you stretched out your hand between the bars, squeezing your own dainty palm against his thick neck. That did almost nothing, of course, but you were showing him that you won’t cower before him like he expects you to.

He noted that as the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly. “You’re feisty today.”

You cursed yourself mentally as you felt blush creep up your cheeks – not in a million years you’d want to give in to him in this situation, but your body was acting on its own.

You curtly pushed him away with the hand you were holding his neck as he released his own grip, yet the look didn’t break.

You were genuinely pissed on Eren – you wanted to have a nice, calm talk with him and find out what’s really going on, but he’s being even more stubborn than usual.

You sighed. “Sorry to disturb your… slumber.” you noted snarkily and turned around to walk away, yet Eren’s hand wrapped around your throat from behind in one swift motion and dragged you back.

Your body hit the bars painfully, making you wince.

“You wound me up, and now you’re going away?” he muttered smokily against the back of your ear, lips as close as the bars allowed.

You grunted as you tried to pry his fingers off of your skin when his other hand snaked around your waist, barring your escape completely.

“Am I your hostage now?” you breathed out, feeling your stomach flutter as Eren’s breath tickled your skin.

The hand around your waist snuck under your white long-sleeve shirt, leaving a scalding-hot trail in its wake. “Kind of.”

You managed to suppress a moan, but your eyelids fluttered down on their own.

“Didn’t you miss me?” he whispered, his hand kneading your breast as the other tightened around your neck.

Heat was continuously pooling in your lower stomach as you hummed in agreement.

“Didn’t catch that,” he jerked your body against the bars, rattling them. “What was it again?”

You winced and gripped the bars above your head with both of your hands. “I missed you.” you wailed louder than intended.

You didn’t see it, but you sure as hell felt him smirk.

His tongue brushed against the nape of your neck, coaxing out a quick moan out of you, making Eren release a breathy laugh. “I missed your cute sounds.”

You blushed even harder as you flailed your hand in air for a second, searching for Eren’s head before you found it and burrowed your fingers in his dark hair, messing up his bun.

“Eren,” you breathed out and he knew exactly what to do – he always did.

Normally, he would tease and edge the shit out of you, but having being apart longer than ever, he himself was eager to touch and feel you.

His hand left your neck and snuck under the waistline of your leggings and panties, gliding his fingers through your slick core.

You shivered as he breathed out. “All that rage got you so wet for me.”

“Yes,” you whined squirming against the bars, feeling his own hardness against your behind.

He circled your clit, his own pants feeling tighter and tighter. You felt like your skin was glowing from all the heat and for a moment you wished so hard these damn bars would melt from that same heat, leaving no barrier between the two of you.

Eren’s expert hands were making you moan louder and louder before you felt an intrusion in your mouth as he slipped two digits inside. “You don’t want Hange to interrupt our quality time, do you?”

You yelped as he pushed a finger inside your core – it was just one finger, but you were already on the brink of overstimulation.

“E-Eren,” you croaked after a few moments. “Need your cock, please,”

The battle between your mind and your body was long non-existent as you admitted you’re such a mess for him, like always. You always got caught in his web, and this time is no exception.

You lowered your hand to stroke the obvious tent in his pants, making him groan oh-so-sexily.

He didn’t hesitate as he hooked his fingers under the hem of your pants and underwear as he pulled them down to your knees, a waft of air hitting your wet center. You didn’t even mind the bars painfully pushing against your skin and bones anymore.

You gripped the metal above your head again as Eren aligned himself with your entrance, his fingers digging into your hips as he pushed inside, the sweet stretching ache turning into blazing pleasure almost immediately.

You let out a prolonged moan at the cacophony of these sensations as Eren started to move.

“So tight, always so tight,” Eren mumbled, losing himself in you too.

His tip hit your G-spot, what wasn’t surprising since he knew every inch of you and was always marking your responses to his ministrations. He knew exactly how to make you lose your mind.

The bars were rattling real loud as he pounded into you as if the barrier was non-existent, both of you ignoring the pain from constantly hitting the hard metal.

“Missed my dick, didn’t you?” it was more like a statement than a question, what made you feel dirty and was a final point of tipping you towards you release.

“Eren!” you yelped. “I’m gonna cum,” you were a hot mess, tongue lolling out of your mouth slightly.

He felt your cunt clench around him, indicating that you’re indeed so close, as he pounded into you hard a few times more, one hand cupping your breast and the other on your stomach. You released a short, high-pitched moan when you finally fell, seemingly straight into his embrace.

He pumped into you chasing his own release as you were coming back to your senses, holding on to the bars for dear life as you finally felt his seed spill inside you, your bodies becoming one despite the obvious division.

He held you against the bars with his arms snaked around your waist for a few moments more as you both tried to steady your breathing.

“Really missed you,” Eren muttered quietly, his breath tickling your neck sweetly.

You pulled up your leggings as he did the same with his own pants and turned around to face him, cupping his face with your hand, gently this time.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” was all you could say as you got emotional all of a sudden, seeing his face snuggle into your palm, resembling a small, stray puppy, so desperate for comfort.

He smiled slowly. “You’re not angry on me anymore, are you?”

You released a breathy laugh. “I won’t be if you watch that filthy mouth of yours from time to time.”

“But you like it filthy, don’t you?”

You bit your lower lip. “I do.”

[alberivh]

devotion (ROYAL AU) — pt.1 : realization.

Butler! Diluc X GN!Reader . Royal! childe (as supporting character), butler! Kaeya (supporting cast ; in pt2 story line)

contains : heavy angst, comfort/hurt, isolation, arranged marriage, major character death, mentions of blood, injuries, execution, abusive relationship, abandonment, ‘consumption’, false accusation, blades

summaries : arranged marriage has always been one of your family ruthless tradition. You were allowed to love them you couldn’t reach, yet the feeling of being abandoned once and for all by those who you truly treasured was more than numbness could ever describe. Diluc who’s your lover need to accept this tradition, yet he, himself need to get his life down for your future sake.

A/N : thank you for 100 followers!! It has been a wild ride since i’ve just joined this community. Thank you very much and as a rewards, here’s a token of heavy angst for y’all. I have a really bad writing block right now, so this might took more than you think hehe. So once again, thank you very much! ( i actually hate this, tyvm)

“Your majesty…please allow me to hold y—“

“No. I simply do not have time for people pleaser, please let yourself be out from here..” , you cursed your future-husband out of from your bounties. It startled all of the maids and butlers in your room, it even make your somewhat-fiancé looked awful. You were pissed by him, by the structure of his eyelids, the heavy breathe from who-knows-where and many more part of him you don’t even want to recognize.

There’s no reason to deny that you hate this, all of this, Known as the maiden of the family, you were nothing but their only pry. It pissed you, it really does. How come you are holding the throne at the age of 25? Aren’t you supposed to check your garden instead taking all of your well-behave throne and the awful arranged marriage your family has made? No? What an unlucky person you are, the butlers thought.

“Diluc please guide master tartaglia to the upfront door, i have no intention to see him now. If you already had brought him downstairs, get back to my resident immediately.”

“this is the main reason why everyone despis—“

“Please leave Immediately. My master have no further interest to speak with you, master tartaglia.” Diluc shouted your internal response to the group of scums in front of your sight. He heard enough of this small talk your future-husband has been talking about. Diluc wasn’t jealous, he was simply too disturbed with your disgusted face everytime tartaglia walks around your residence. just how much pressured you had been under to make you act so ruthless in front of the man you’ll called husband in no time?

he silently observing him down the hall. Not wanting to have a talk with a scum like him, he avoid any sights of his ‘particular’ interest. After all, in his eyes, tartaglia doesn’t deserve any part of you. He acts too normally, there diluc suspicion of your fiancé grown. There must be something behind his motive. Tartaglia have recognize diluc’s gaze for a while now. Though, he pretend none of those bothering suspicion triggered his rage. And so, he fired him up with a quick straightforward awareness. Or as the citizen say, A threat.

“mr. Butler..stop loving my future partner or tomorrow you’ll have the consequences..got it? And do not touch them..i’ve warned you when you were alive, i like my future partner to be a virgin ins—“

“master tartaglia i have no relationship with the majesty, how come you assume such a thing from a humble butler like me? I was just simply following orders, hope you could understand, master tartaglia.” , answering his rage. Tartaglia found his emotion drains wild. It look like those bothering emotions he hide finally show diluc their true intention to spoiled you. Diluc’s eyes met your fiancé terrifying visions, the murderous aura in it explains his true intention. Diluc could only plea inside, let my majesty be safe.

“don’t you dare say anything to your master, mr butler. My partner has been mine all along, stay away from our relationship or tomorrow would be your last day…”

“Though, i simply wouldn’t mind, ajax.” , he gurantees tartaglia’s eyes.

The night came. the breeze flew through your open windows, leaving chills through your spine. it was an unsurprisingly beautiful night, you quoted. Diluc was preparing your bed, as you humm through the southed area of your room. The melodical sound of your humming have always soothes his grudge from afar. It was always been his favorite sound.

“ your majesty, the bed has been done. You may rest peacefully now..so please excuse m—“

“Diluc…stop making it seems like i’m the only one who loved you..just stay here, i missed you a lot..” , in a sudden your arm was attached to his body, his dirty and ordinary body. You embraced him so tightly, as if diluc were going to some place you wouldn’t want him to cross. You were scared of losing him. You don’t want any of this marriage, you don’t want tartaglia to even acknowledge your presence. You just want diluc to stay by your side, even if you both have considered how selfish it is.

You clunge onto his chest, pressing gentle kiss on his cheeks. Not wanting him to leave nor to leave you behind. So desperate of you to feel this way.

“you’ve been doing great darling,i’m proud of you..”

“please stay like this for a while, i love you. So please, don’t go..don’t go..” , diluc watch your flattering smile turns into a small-sobs, it cracks him, he doesn’t want to let you go either. He was simply following your fiancé awareness, he doesn’t want anyone to harm you, even if it meant for you to see him in agony. Diluc Carries your figure into your bed in return, not wanting to bare any of his emotions. Feelings are fragile and so do he. giving soft and gentle kisses to your forehead as he wiped your tears, whispering a ‘goodnight’ before he left you again. If he was being honest, he wants to be more selfish, he wants to be with you, forever.

“hmm..i’ll be waiting for you, goodnight my beloved..”

“What’s with the inconvenience…?” The loud atmosphere greet you with chills. What time is it? You don’t even know. All you know is the sunrise have yet to grown out from the wave of the clouds. but why must all of your maids gather themself on your room, something important? But why must them gather at the edge of dusk..? Did your mother fucked up again? But actually, what happened?

At the same time, you mumbled a form of question. Where’s diluc? You asked yourself.

“Y-Your majesty! d-diluc have now been courted by the queen, i-i don’t know what happened but please stay put i shall help you! Yes! I-i—“ courted? In sudden, you dropped your glasses. The broken piece of the glasses shard scarred your leg. It was painful, but you didn’t care. The blood shed of your scars leave the carpet of your resident turn into a red motives of blood. What did diluc do to make himself courted by your own mother? All he did was to love me, mother. The maid beside you were in all panics, trying to brag your arm from leaving the room. Although you declined the embrace of it, you were still running in pain, it made the maids panics turn into vomits.

Rushing through the open corridor of your resident in sweats and blood shed, You found diluc. His hands tied with a rope, a slight red bruises covered his face. He was Courted by your mother because of an unknown letter that has been sent to the queen herself, it was dumb for her to court an innocent person like him. Though, at last, you found yourself screaming his name. The pain which hold onto your consciousness leave your body in a second. diluc was aware of this, Everything. His hands wanted to touch you and lead you to rest. but he couldn’t, the execution would be in front of his eyes in no time.

“you did harm my child don’t you? Look at those blood on their legs! How come a butler like you harmed my precious child..?! They are unconscious because of you filthy butler. Know your degree, h—“

“you abuse them, your highness. You abuse them, ever since their father die, you abandoned them and break them to pieces. How come you only care about them dying when their time to hold the throne came? They were dying because of you, those consumption they witness are all because of you. And you dare to tell me what to do when all i did was just to love them?!” He quoted every single words you wish you could say to your mothers face. You wished you have the audacity to tell her the truth, yet your weak body refuse it’s urge to make diluc out of the execution lines. I’m sorry, i’m really sorry.

silence fill the room. You were laying in pain, as you heard diluc’s defense and your mother’s lies. You realized once more, you were nothing to them. Just a pry for the throne. none of the guards have pitied you either, they are too focused on never-letting diluc’s eyes or hands meet your figure in this state of time. Those scarred glasses on your legs have made you lose too-many bloods, it scared diluc. After all, as a lover he is, he has devoted himself to protect you in all cost. let them be safe and take me away. It’s his last hope for you to stay awake for him.

“no execution needed. I have no reason to pay attention to fools like you. so isolation it is. This is all because of you, my child is dying and you’re the one at fault. Noticed how they haven’t even called your name again? They died because your lack of responsibility.” , spitting her mucus in diluc’s knees. You could barely saw diluc chills which you usually saw in his eyes. He’s about to cry..you think.

“Guards, please take my child away and let them rest in their bed. And so for this butler, put him in the isolation room, make sure to let him eat only once in a day, understood? Ah..don’t let my child see him, i don’t want them to see an abuser like him crawling out their life’s on my window.” , orders from your mother are none to first. They couldn’t be disobey and you understand them. You understand how ruthless it is, you understand it. But why must diluc? Why him? You saw the sight of him, blades are all over his neck. For what reason actually? To let him never see you again.

carried by the guards to your room and diluc was gone from your vision. He is not wrong, your highness. So why must those who loved me left my side, mother? Why won’t these bruises you add to my flawless skin never leave me? Is it because i’m a procession of your own sin? It was a cursed to fall in love with those you could barely reach.

PART 2 : COMING SOON

this is shitty, really shitty in fact. Though, thank you very much for reading this. Part 2 will come soon, if i had some energy to write the readers mother personality without getting pissed off. But anyways, see y’all soon at part 2 <3

[ghostdrew22]

hi ok sooooo i have asked numerous writers for this request because i thrive on angst and fluff 👁👄👁 so here goes: a love triangle between draco, harry, and a ravenclaw reader. the reader’s been known to be head over heels in love with draco and giving him origami hearts everyday for a year or two, which he only throws in his trash bin. he usually just ignores her and finds her gestures annoying and laughable. one day, he goes too far with his rebuttals. the reader, heartbroken and realizing she had no chance at all, stopped pursuing him altogether. for the next few weeks, he found himself weirded out that he hadn’t received any origami hearts. while emptying his trashbin, he discovers that when you unfold the hearts, there were little notes of encouragement and sweet letters. just as he was about to confront her, he notices the reader folding something on her table during class and thinking it was finally another origami heart for him. however, it was a butterfly, and she handed it to harry instead. Jajdjeioa PLS MAKE IT ANGSTY AND FLUFFY IT’S UP TO U ON HOW IT WILL END BUT WOULD BE CUTE IF HARRY MADE THE PAPER BUTTERFLY FLAP ITS WINGS THO

Ok sorry for the cliche and long request, take your time and stay safe. I enjoy your writing sm 🥺

Butterflies and Paper Hearts || D.M, H.P

Requested: Yes Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader , a bit of Harry Potter x reader but not really Warnings: ANGST, swearing, Summary: Draco doesn’t like you and tries to let you down multiple times, when it finally does work he feels regret wash over him.

WORDS : 3864

First of all, I’m so sorry for taking so long to get to this. I read the request when it first came in and I loved it but I’ve been struggling to conceptualize it, and then I fell into a bit of a sad spiral because of all the other stuff that’s been going on in my life, which is why I took me so long to complete it. Second of all, I had to amend the idea a bit to make it work for me, e.g I wrote this in an AU where Voldemort doesn’t exist because I hate mr. no-nose, and I didn’t make the hearts go on for years. Third of all, thank you so much for this request! It’s a lovely concept and I really enjoyed writing it <3

~~~

Butterflies.

Flying. Soaring. Alive.

The first time that Draco had ever noticed you was in your fourth year. You were sat at the Ravenclaw table and immersed in a discussion with Padma Patil, one that had you laughing so hard that you were throwing your head back and wiping tears from your eyes. The sight had knocked the wind out of his lungs, like someone had just punched him in the stomach, and he felt the weirdest sensation in his gut.

It was butterflies erupting.

~~~

The first time that you noticed Draco was in your fifth year. Ravenclaws and Slytherins were in Charms together, as usual, and you’d accidentally sat next to him instead of Padma.

“Dude, you’ll never guess what happened this morn-“ You stop speaking the second you notice that the person beside you is, in fact, not your best friend but rather a scowling Slytherin. “You’re not Padma.” You frown.

“No shit.” He rolls his eyes, “What gave it away? The green robes or the blond hair?”

“The snarky attitude.” You instantly reply and he looks taken aback for a second, “Who are you anyway?”

If you’d thought he looked shocked before, you were wrong. “Excuse me?”

“Who are you? What was so confusing about that sentence?” You raise your eyebrows, “Clearly not a Ravenclaw.”

He scoffs at your remark but answers anyway, “I’m Draco? Draco Malfoy?” He asks, a pretentious tone lacing his voice. “We’ve shared this lesson together since you got here last year?”

“Stalker much?” You ask with a smile and he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, nice to meet you Draco, I’m Y/N.”

“I know.” He replies simply as he takes the hand that you’d outstretched. “Some of us pay attention.”

“Mhmm.”

“So what happened this morning?”

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“You were about to tell me about what happened this morning.”

“Oh.” You respond in embarrassment and watch as his smirk grows.

“What? Am I not worthy of your great story?”

“It’s not that, I just don’t think it’ll interest you.”

“Try me.”

“Right, what’s all this then?” Padma asks as she stops in front of the desk with a confused expression.

You giggle at her obvious confusion, “I accidentally sat here instead of by our normal spot. Do you know this miserable boy?”

“Better than I’d like to admit.” She responds sourly before turning a harsh gaze toward Draco, “Daddy’s boy.”

“Wench.” He responds and she rolls her eyes.

“Are you coming to sit with me?” Padma asks as she turns back to you and you shake your head.

“Maybe tomorrow, I’d like to sit here and annoy him today.”

“I cannot possibly stand in the way of that, you’re doing the whole grade a great service.” Padma replies with a laugh as she goes to sit a few desks away from you.

~~~

Day 1 - 1 Heart

Hearts.

Fragile things.

It’s the next Monday when you have Charms again, and you decide to sit by Draco’s desk in hopes of him coming to sit beside you.

“What on earth are you doing?” Draco asks as he peers over your shoulder before sitting in the chair beside you.

“Origami.” You respond with a smile and he raises an eyebrow toward you. “That thing where you fold pieces of paper into shapes?” You ask and he nods in understanding.

He takes his seat with a sigh, “Sounds boring.”

“Everything sounds boring to you.” You roll your eyes before finishing up the origami heart.

“True.”

You give it a once over and smile in satisfaction before turning to Draco and handing it out him. “Here.”

Hearts. Absurdly fragile things, Draco thinks as he feels his own heart begin to race. Here you are, nonchalantly handing him a piece of paper, and he feels like his entire world is collapsing in on itself at the gesture. Y/N, giving me a heart.

He rolls his eyes and takes the object from you with a scowl, “Why are you giving this to me?”

You shrug, “You’re not completely intolerable, you’ve earned it.”

He smirks, “Careful, people might start to think that you like me.”

You smile, “Maybe I do.”

Your smile reminds him of butterflies- bright, fluttering, inviting, warm, beautiful.

He rolls his eyes and makes a big show of tossing the origami heart into a nearby bin, and you fight to hide the hurt hidden behind your eyes. But what you don’t know is that at the end of the Charms lesson, once everyone else has left, Draco goes into that very same bin and pulls out the heart.

Day 20 - 20 Hearts

“Are you still doing this?” He asks in annoyance as you hand him another origami heart, the same way you have, every morning, for the last twenty days.

“Yup. I’ve got no reason to stop.” You shrug with a small smile.

“How about the fact that I think they’re stupid and I don’t like them?”

“You’re under the misconception that I care about your feelings.”

He chuckles and brings his face down to yours till you’re inches apart. “I think you care a lot more about my feelings than you’d like to admit.”

You swallow and look away from him, trying to avoid the warm feeling that’s creeping up your neck and settling into your skin. “You wish blondie.”

“Mhmm.” He replies absent-mindedly as he turns into the classroom, drops the heart into the nearest bin, and sits in his seat.

You try to look unbothered as you go to sit beside him, ignoring the disappointment that’s churning your insides.

Day 35 - 35 Hearts

You watch as Draco inspects the origami heart from the Slytherin table, hoping that he might open it this time.

“He’s going to break your heart, Y/N.” Padma whispers from her seat beside you in the Great Hall.

You shake your head and let your eyes drift away from the blond at the Slytherin table. “He wouldn’t do that, he’s a lot better than you think he is.”

“Y/N, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have and I know that this isn’t going to end well.”

“And why not?” You ask defensively.

Because you’re a muggle-born, Padma wants to say, but she knows that it isn’t her place to crush your dreams so harshly. She shakes her head instead and smiles sympathetically, “Nevermind, I’m sorry for overstepping.”

You don’t notice, too busy talking to Padma, that Draco tucks the little piece of paper into his robe with a small smile.

Day 50 - 50 Hearts

You don’t exactly know when you caught feelings for Draco, it’s like all the small moments just bunched up together, but you know that it wasn’t your intention. The hearts, the sitting together in charms, it had all just started as friendly gestures in an attempt to get the scowling boy to befriend you, but somewhere along the line things just got too messy.

And now, you’re utterly infatuated with him.

You take a deep breath as you pull out the small box from your bag containing Draco’s Christmas present. The train comes to a half at platform 9 and 3/4, and you quickly grab your belongings before rushing out of the train in order to catch the blond before he goes home for the holidays.

You catch him by the door and you smile at him. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Another paper heart?” He raises his eyebrows with a smirk and you shake your head.

“No, it’s something else actually.” You hand the box to him, wrapped in a mix of dark green and navy blue paper, and he accepts it with a skeptical glance.

“What is it?”

“A Christmas present.” You laugh and he nods sheepishly in acknowledgement.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t get you anything…”

“I didn’t want anything.” You smile again, “That’s not why I got you a gift.”

You watch as he nods again and looks out the window. “Then why did you get me the gift?”

“Cause we’re friends.” You shrug and he swallows.

If he were any other person then the erupting butterflies in his stomach would be an obvious sign to pull you closer and hug you till both your arms hurt. If you weren’t a muggle-born witch, and his parents weren’t watching him intently from outside the train, then this would be the moment that he seized to let your friendship blossom into more.

“We’re not friends.” He spits out coldly, and you’re taken aback by the sudden harsh tone.

“Okay…” You reply quietly, “Acquaintances?”

“For fuck sake…” He mumbles with a sigh, “Y/N, I don’t like you, at all. You’re annoying, you’re pushy, and worst of all, you’re a mudblood.”

Harsh words, words that taste of venomous denial, are running out of his mouth before he can stop them. The look of astonishment and sadness on your face has regret dancing on his tastebuds like the taste of tar, and he struggles to push that feeling down.

“You don’t mean that…” 

“I meant every word, and I can repeat it if that empty skull of yours didn’t catch it.”

You shake your head and look down at the ground, trying to blink away tears, and he nods as he turns to finally leave the train.

“Draco.” You choke out and he whips his head back angrily.

“What?”

“I forgot to give you this today.” You whisper as you hand him his origami heart and push your way past him toward the platform.

You feel sick, you feel sad, you feel disappointed. There’s a twisting and churning that’s going on in your stomach but it’s not like normal, it’s the opposite of what you’ve felt every time before.

It’s butterflies dying.

He watches you walk away as a lump forms in his throat.

Day 65 - 0 Hearts

Draco walks into charms half-expecting you to be sitting somewhere else, and half-hoping that you’re sitting in your usual seat beside him. He didn’t open the Christmas present, too much guilt weighing him down, and he hopes that you don’t give him any more paper hearts.

He feels an odd combination of anguish and comfort when he sees that you haven’t moved, and goes to sit beside you in silence. You turn to him and smile but say nothing to him, not then and not for the rest of the lesson. When you get up to leave he half-expects you to drop an origami heart on his books, and disappointment consumes when you don’t.

Day 75 - 0 Hearts

“Morning.” He mumbles as he finds a spot beside you, as usual.

“Morning.” You respond.

That’s all the conversation that you two have now. A part of you misses the way the two of you had been before, easy-going, sarcastic, in-sync, but an even bigger part of you understands why that had to be over. He could never allow himself to love someone like you without resentful undertones of disgust and shame, and you could never settle for someone who doesn’t love you regardless of your blood purity.

“Y/N…” Someone whines from ahead and you look up from your desk to find Harry stood in front of you.

You laugh at his childish behaviour, “Yes Harry?”

“Please help me with this assignment?”

“No.” You respond bluntly, just to mess with him, and he pouts at you.

“Please?” You shake your head, “Please?” You shake your head again and he pouts at you hopelessly, “Pleaseeee?” He begs once more and drags out his plea.

You laugh once again and nod, “Okay fine.”

“Thank you so much!” He exclaims excitedly and leans over the desk to hug you. You shake your head and giggle in his arms, and Draco has to look away to ignore the looming feeling of jealousy consuming him.

Day 103 - 1 Heart

“So, I know that we’re not friends or anything…” You start as you turn to Draco, “But Valentine’s Day is tomorrow and I can’t resist the urge to give you one more.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion but feels realisation wash over him as you hand him an origami heart, one that’s bigger than all the rest you’ve given him in the past. He nods and takes it from you, trying to pretend as though his heart isn’t swelling at the gesture. “Thank you.” He responds curtly before the two of you revert back to silence.

It’s only when he’s alone in his dorm room that night that he actually looks at the origami heart. It’s red, and you’ve written his name across it in cursive. He runs his fingers along it and allows himself to unfurl it, feeling shocked to find words written inside it.

I know you never read these, so I’m probably wasting my time, but I wanted to say that I miss you.

Ridiculous right? I even feel stupid writing it. But it’s the truth, I do. I miss your smile, and your laugh. I miss the way you would scribble nonsense in my book to distract me from the lesson, and I miss the way you’d get so frustrated when I did the same. I miss the way you’d make fun of me for being a nerd, and try not to look proud when you outdid me in tests.

I miss your jokes too, even though they weren’t really funny, and the way you’d always forget your textbook so we were forced to share and we had an excuse to talk. I miss you a bunch, even though I know that you don’t miss me nearly as much.

Happy Valentine’s Day pretty boy,

I wish you could’ve loved me the way that I love you.

He quickly jumps off his bed and walks toward his trunk. He pulls out the Christmas gift that he never opened and another small box that he’d used to store all of your origami hearts, and begins to go through them all.

Note 1 - You’re weird but I like you. Very defensive, I hope that I can knock down those barriers. Note 2 - Your hair looked really nice today, made you look like a famous movie star who pays people to do it for him. Do you secretly have a hairdresser in your room? Note 3 - Your eyes are a strange colour, a cross between blue and grey, it reminds me of the sky before a really pretty rainstorm.

He opens every heart, from the first to the last, processing every last compliment that you’d ever written. With every word he reads, he feels a mixture of love and guilt wash over him simultaneously. Love for you- because you’re kind, and funny, and beautiful, and way too good for him- and guilt- for treating you so horribly because he was scared, when all he had wanted to do was kiss you, and hold your hand.

9 - I’m oddly very proud of you for beating me in the latest Charms assignment, you might actually be the bigger nerd between us both. 20 - I know you hate that I call you pretty boy but that’s what you are, you’re unnecessarily pretty! 26 - You’re very funny when you’re not trying to be. Your jokes are horrendous, but your impersonations and quips can be quite amusing. 35 - I’m starting to think that you don’t read these. No, I’m sure that you’re not reading these. Doesn’t matter though, there’s so many things that I love about you and I think I’ll explode if I don’t put them down somewhere. 47 - I’ve fallen very hard for you, it might be your dumb laugh or the way you tickle me whenever you walk into class, but I didn’t know that you could feel this much for a person. Damn you pretty boy. 50 - Padma thinks you’re no good for me, I agree, but I don’t care. I love you too much to give you up.

The last of the collection is the Christmas gift that you gave him. He’d refrained from opening it out of shame, feeling unworthy of a gift from you after being so cold to you that day on the train. He unwraps it and finds another paper heart, with a silver engraved ring above it. The words, ‘pretty boy’  are inscribed into the ring and he smiles at the sight, a few tears sliding down his face.

Pretty boys like you deserve a little more than paper hearts, I hope you like it.

He slips the ring on before getting off his bed, walking to his desk, and pulling out a piece of paper.

Day 104 - 1 Heart.

It’s Valentine’s Day and his palms are sweaty, for the first time in his life Draco has sweaty palms because of a girl.

You’re in your usual seat and you’re folding another piece of paper. His heart soars at the sight of you so focused, that goofy smile you always have whenever something demands a lot of your attention, and your hands working delicately against the edges of the paper. He stops in front of you.

He clears his throat and you look up at him, startled by the sudden interruption. “Oh, Draco, morning.” You respond with a small smile, obviously still apprehensive about him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Y/N.” He smiles back and slides an origami heart onto the desk, beside the butterfly that you seem to have been folding.

“What’s this?” You ask in confusion as you pick it up and inspect it.

“You’ve made enough to be able to tell by now.” He deadpans and you laugh softly with a nod.

“It’s a paper heart.” You smile up at him, “Did you make this for me?”

“Maybe.” He responds curtly as he slides into his chair beside you, but you catch the shy smile he’s harboring.

“Thank you.” He nods, “I could’ve done better though.”

He scoffs, “That’s not a fair comparison.”

“And why not?” You raise your eyebrows and he chuckles as he rolls his eyes.

“Read the note inside and you’ll know why.”

“There’s a note inside?” You exclaim excitedly as you start to unfold the heart and he yanks it out of your hands.

“No! Read it later when I’m, like, far away from you.” He says defensively and you furrow your eyebrows but nod in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll read it after school.” You take it back from him and put it in your robe. You resume folding the butterfly and smile when you see that it’s done.

Draco watches intently as you finish it, expecting you to hand it to him once it’s finished, and furrows his eyebrows in confusion when you set it down and scan the classroom.

“Harry!” You exclaim as you watch him walk from the door and toward you with a bright smile.

“Y/N.” He responds once he’s standing in front of you. “Is this for me?” He asks once he sees the butterfly on your desk, and Draco is about to scoff at the question but you nod your head eagerly.

“Of course!” You pick it up and give it to Harry, watching excitedly as he opens it up and reads the note inside.

Draco watches in silent envy as Harry laughs, at whatever you’ve written in the note, and brings his lips down to your forehead. “Thank you so much butterfly, I love it.”

You smile proudly and your eyes light up as you watch Harry cast a charm to make the butterfly flap it’s wings and fly down to his desk. “When are you going to teach me that? I’ve been asking for weeks now!”

“If I taught you then I wouldn’t have anything to impress you with.” He smirks as he leaves to his desk and you shake your head with a laugh.

“You two seem to be quite friendly now…” Draco mumbles, trying to hide the jealousy in his voice. The butterflies that had been erupting in his stomach earlier that morning being trampled to death by Harry.

“Yeah, we’ve been-“ You cut yourself off with a gasp as you catch a glimpse of the ring that you bought Draco, “You’re wearing it!”

He smiles at your excitement, thinking about how such simple expressions from you leave butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Yes.” He chuckles and you smile.

“I thought you didn’t like it.” You respond softly and he feels his heart break.

“No, not at all. I just didn’t want other people getting jealous.”

He smiles at you and you feel that familiar bubbling in your stomach, like rosh bushes blooming at the sight of the sun, but you can’t exactly pinpoint the feeling.

Later that day when you’re sat beneath a tree and reading Draco’s letter, you know exactly what that feeling is.

~~~

Y/N.

Beautiful, funny, kind, observant, utterly perfect Y/N.

I’ve spent the last three hours trying to come up with a reason for you to forgive me, I couldn’t come up with one. I also tried to find an excuse, any really, that could justify my horrid actions over the last few weeks, and I couldn’t find one. So instead, I settled on just telling you the truth.

I’m a coward.

You’re probably laughing right now and thinking, “He’s only realising this now?”, and the answer is yes. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but you’re the brighter one between us two. It took me 103 more days than you, to realise what you knew the first day you made me a paper heart; the two of us are meant to be.

That sounds a bit cheesy doesn’t it? Doesn’t matter anyway, because in note 12 you said that you enjoy my cheesy anecdotes. I’m not sure why though, I’m not particularly sure why you love anything about me when you’re you, but I guess some mysteries can never be solved.

I’m sorry for those words I said that day on the train, I didn’t mean them. I was scared of what my parents would think if I fell for a muggle-born witch, but I forgot one important thing; it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that I’ve never been as happy as when I’m with you. If I could spend the rest of my life getting these perfect little paper hearts from you, listening to your sweet laugh, bothering you when you’re trying to get work done and buying you rings that match the ones on my hands, then I’d be over the moon.

I’m sorry for taking so long to tell you this; I love you Y/N. I know that I haven’t earned a second chance but if by some miracle you decide to grant me one then I promise to make it worth your while.

I would pick the stars out of the sky for you Y/N, if only you asked me to.

Happy Valentine’s Day from your pretty boy.

You look up from the letter and wipe the tears that had managed to escape, before getting off the grass and running back into the castle. When you find Draco eating dinner in the Great Hall, and see him flash you a shy smile, you instantly know what that feeling from earlier was.

It was butterflies reviving.

~~~

get added to my taglist <33

taglist : @purpleskymalfoy, @astoria-malfcy, @dreaming-about-fanfictions, @dracoscene

~~~

I’m pretty sure I completely deviated from what you wanted, I’m so sorry if it’s not satisfactory :( It’s so cheesy and I feel like I messed it up at a few points but either way I liked writing it, it made me very happy to finally write some Draco fluff again.

anyway, love you all,

jean <3

[blu-joons]

The Fan Meet ~ Lee Minhyuk

He could never quite put his finger on what it was that set off his heart as soon as he saw you walk into the venue for the fan meet. Perhaps it was how oblivious you were to his attention whilst you queued, patiently waiting your turn to meet the individual members.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Hyunsik smiled, the first of the members to greet you as you were invited onto the stage. “What’s your name?” He asked, taking your photocard and signing his signature.

“It’s Y/N,” you whispered back to him, watching his hand carefully as he wrote each individual character of your name with plenty of care. “Thank you for hosting an event like this for your fans today, it really does mean a lot.”

“It’s thanks to all of your support that we can do these things.”

Your head nodded, “I’ll always be cheering for you guys with everything.”

As the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, and his eyes narrowed until they were barely visible, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks begin to brighten. You quickly took the card before Hyunsik noticed and moved onto the next member.

Peniel was the next to write over your card, signing just underneath his face on the image. “I’m running a poll with the fans today, so I want to know what your favourite song is?”

“Any song that has your rap in it.”

His eyes widened with a loud chuckle, extending his hand out for you to high five in response to your answer. You cautiously reached out, knowing just how clammy your hands were with nerves, thankful that Peniel had been so kind to ignore that about you.

“Maybe you could have a word with the company to get them to feature my raps more often.”

“All of you guys deserve to feature equally,” you replied, aware that the next member was also listening into your conversation. “But no one will be able to rap like you can, don’t worry.”

“That was a good answer,” he acknowledged, sliding your photo card along the table, “although, for my own ego, can we just agree that I’m your favourite member of BTOB?”

Your head nodded, rolling your eyes as he leant closer towards you. “Don’t worry, at least for whilst I’m speaking to you, you’re my favourite member of BTOB.”

“Don’t worry, I know you’ll just end up saying the same to all the other members anyway.”

As both of you let go of loud echoes of laughter, Minhyuk’s attention was caught at the end of the table. He tried to ignore the wide smile on your face, although by the grip he had on the pen that he held, it was clear that his frustrations had gotten the better of him having watched you for so long without anyone else around you.

You soon moved onto the next member, instantly feeling your cheeks blush as Eunkwang looked back at you. He signed your card, keeping his eyes on you invitingly, capturing your attention like he did with anyone in his company.

“Thank you for being such an incredible leader,” you smiled, breaking the silence.

“Thank you for being such a dedicated fan and taking the time to come and see us today.”

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves in heavy conversation, as ever, Eunkwang couldn’t have cared less for the time restrictions that they were put under. He had you in stitches of laughter in no time, seemingly funnier in person than you could have ever imagined.

“My turn,” a voice soon called out, ushering you along to come face to face with Changsub, with Sungjae quickly leaning across too, both signing your photocard at the same time.

Your head could only shake at how chaotic the two of them were, with several questions being fired at you, you barely had time to think. The only thing you could feel for sure was both sets of their eyes staring back at you.

“I have no idea what either of you just said,” you admitted, anxiously glancing between them both, “I feel like every YouTube compilation I’ve watched has just come true.”

Both of them chuckled at your response, relieved to see you’d taken their chaos with such humour. “We’re trying to break the stereotype of us, but I think we’re just making it worse.”

You quickly assured them it was adorable how close they were, glancing down to see that your card had been moved on once again, coming to the final member in the line-up.

Before you even looked up at Minhyuk, he had a wide smile on his face, pulling himself further into the table so that he was within closer earshot of you, letting go of a chuckle.

“How’s your day been Y/N?” Unable to stop his laughter as your eyebrows knitted together in confusion, perplexed by his sudden question.

Your head shook, trying to wake yourself up, “have I introduced myself or just had some sort of existential crisis that I’m unaware of?” You asked, only to see his finger tap where Hyunsik had signed the card earlier.

“Don’t worry, everything is very much normal right now,” he quickly assured you, finishing off signing over his figure. “So, tell me, how long have you been a melody for? A while?”

You were very quickly taken aback by how intently Minhyuk listened to you, holding onto your every word. Even if he’d spoken to hundreds of fans before you, he still managed to make you feel as if you were the first fan that he’d greeted all day.

As your story began to conclude, his attention was still very much on you. “I’ve been trying for a couple of years to get tickets to an event like this, but I never managed to find the money in time, until now at least.”

“I for one am glad that you found the money,” he sincerely responded, “I keep trying to get the company to reduce the prices of these things, but they never seem to listen.”

“Well, it was definitely worth the wait after so long. You guys are all so lovely, you must be exhausted, and yet you’re still wearing a massive smile,” you complimented.

With that, Minhyuk’s smile only widened further, enjoying the kindness that you sent his way. Even though he’d heard it from most of the fans that he’d met, hearing it from you somehow just felt different for him.

The two of you had been talking for so long, a slight queue ended up building behind you, although Changsub and Sungjae did a good job of keeping them entertained. Before long, a member of staff crept over to Minhyuk, giving him a bit of a nudge.

Just as you were about to go, he pulled your photocard back towards himself, turning it over onto the blank side. “Would you consider this ruined if I wrote something else on it?” He quizzed, relived when your head shook back at him, shielding it from you and scribbling something down.

“Thank you,” you smiled, taking it back after a few moments as he slid it back across to you. “I hope the rest of the meet goes well for you too.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be too long until we see each other again,” he smiled, admiring your innocence as you walked down the steps.

Once you were outside of the building and away from any fans, you turned the photocard back around, noticing the small note that Minhyuk had written in the bottom left coroner of the card. A gasp escaped from you as you read over the black ink, unable to comprehend that what you were reading really was true.

“Y/N, my number is written at the bottom of this note. I really enjoyed meeting you today and would love to get to you more. Give me a text when you’re free sometime, Minhyuk x

---

Masterlist

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 5 / End

Now, we return to the scene at the beginning of the story.

A little regretfully, Fred left for his work as the “Crime Consultant’s” point of contact, and Louis was alone in the hall once again.

However, the situation was completely different from before. He was no longer watching helplessly as the fish grew weaker — instead, he’d found a ray of hope for its recovery.

Standing before the aquarium, Louis was now gambling on both the medicine’s efficacy and the fish’s own willpower.

“Please, help him……”

Fervently, he prayed for the angelfish’s recovery.

And as the so-called king of the aquarium swam about its tank, the image of his brother surfaced in his mind.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Five days after that, the time had finally come for the tropical fish to be transported to Stapleton’s residence.

It was early in the morning, and the sky was perfectly clear. Several horse-drawn carts lay parked on the street outside their mansion. For ease of transport, the fish had been transferred to suitably-sized bottles; and as the members of the Moriarty household carried the bottles, tanks and other aquarium equipment onto the carts, Louis stood at the mansion entrance, quietly watching over the scene.

Although he’d nearly collapsed after those consecutive days of exertion, by the time the fish were set to be moved out, Louis had been able to recover his full strength. That haggard complexion of his was now restored to its healthy glow, and behind those spectacle lenses, his eyes shone with the sparkle of success.

At first, Louis had wanted to move the items onto the carts all by himself, saying that the entire enterprise down to the fishes’ transport was his responsibility. However, knowing he had contributed the most this time around, the rest of the Moriarty household insisted that he not work any longer. As a result, though dissatisfied, Louis had hence been relegated to a spectating role.

Occasionally, as they moved past him while carrying the fish in their bottles, the glint in Louis’s eyes would tremble ever so slightly. And when that happened, he would pretend to adjust his spectacles in order to hide the tremors in his heart.

“Feeling emotional, Louis?”

Seeing his younger brother readjust his perfectly-positioned spectacles for the fifth time, William walked up beside him.

Embarrassed, Louis gave a small cough, then straightened his back.

“I would never——”

He stopped. Then, looking at the carts, his voice grew soft.

“No, you’re right. I didn’t want to acknowledge it — but for once, I’m feeling rather sentimental.”

Hearing Louis reveal his true feelings, William gave him a fond look.

Before the two men, the bottles containing the pufferfish and guppies were being loaded onto the carts. Ever since the tiny fish had been given names, Louis’s tropical fish-keeping endeavour had taken a strange turn.

Recalling the reason that a spanner had been thrown in the works of this enterprise, Louis turned solemn, and dipped his head.

“Nii-san. I am truly sorry for what happened before. I went overboard, and ended up causing everyone unnecessary worry. I was immature, and I shall reflect gravely on that.”

Not only did he grow fanatical over the angelfish named after his brother, he even made the aquarium layout needlessly extravagant, and recreated a South American habitat through and through. To top it off, in caring for the sick fish, he had nearly destroyed his own health. Looking back on it all with a cool eye, he had really been quite reckless.

As Louis reflected on his actions in earnest, right then, Moran and Fred walked past bearing pots of tropical plants: the by-products of his over-enthusiasm. They would now become a surprise gift for Stapleton.

Without taking his gaze off the trees, Louis burned those symbols of his inadequacy firmly into his eyes.

Watching his brother ruminate on the subject so gravely, after a beat of silence, William spoke.

“You may be right. If the situation had persisted, and you’d collapsed, the care of the other fish may’ve been impacted. Although you took care not to let that happen, I do wish you had taken the worst-case scenario into account and talked with me more.”

“…………”

Louis knew that. But still, to have his faults pointed out by someone he respected — those words had pierced through his chest.

Naturally, the sense of achievement that’d grown within Louis now began to wilt; though his face once bore a proud expression, he now favoured looking down instead.

“But you know, that’s just one part of the story.”

“Eh?”

Out of the blue, William had added that in a gentle voice, and Louis was startled.

He couldn’t decipher the meaning behind that remark. Then, William narrated his own thoughts.

“Louis, you went overboard for a single fish, so much so you neglected your own body — I don’t think you should’ve done that, since there were in fact two other angelfish which could act as substitutes. But in a way, to go so far in order to ensure that not even a single life is wasted: that could be seen as an expression of your sincerity.”

Sincerity.

Louis knew he’d been driven by an impulse akin to selfishness. But strangely, he did not resist as that word seeped into his heart.

“Certainly, I had said that it’s possible to replace the fish if they die. But I think it’s wrong to take that at face value, and put one’s faith in how there’ll be replacements, or second chances.”

William moved on to talk about the attitude Louis had taken towards his work.

“Such naive thinking can undermine one’s focus on the task at hand. For example, if you were to think ‘There’s two more of them, anyway’, and approach the enterprise with that optimistic mindset, it wouldn’t be a surprise if all the fish ended up dying right away. In other words, Louis: from that point of view, I would say your earnestness towards that one fish was exceptionally appropriate.”

“……Nii-san.”

William’s tone had contained no more emotion than what his words conveyed, and in no way had he defended Louis’s actions. He was simply assessing them from an objective standpoint.

And that, was precisely why Louis was glad.

He’d thought his actions were nothing more than a mistake born from his own foolishness. But William had shown him that they could in fact be seen as the complete opposite. Taken another way, his persistence towards that one fish was proof of his ardour for his work — that, was what his older brother was telling him.

For now, William fell silent. And right then, the two brothers caught sight of Moran carrying an aquarium tank toward the carts. He hadn’t faltered at all since the start: with his physical strength, it seemed no load was too heavy for him to bear.

It looked like there were only a few things left to move; Fred, who’d also been hard at work loading the items, now put in a last burst of energy. Incidentally, Albert had already moved his share of the items onto the carts earlier, and left for his work at the universal trading company.

Taking his gaze off Moran, Louis now stared at the empty tanks lined up on the carts.

Then, the sight of the three angelfish swimming in close formation sprang to mind.

“…………”

In truth, before their departure from the mansion, he had wanted to return ‘William’ to the tank with the other two angelfish. He’d thought it would be nice to see them swimming harmoniously together once more.

But that wish had not been fulfilled. For Louis, who was in charge of this endeavour, it was truly a pity.

Then, following behind Moran, Fred stepped out the doorway of the mansion. In his arms was a bottle that held a certain fish.

Louis stood before the entrance. Fred studied his expression, and asked him a question.

“This’s the last one…… Is it really alright to load it up?”

“……Yes, please do.”

His reply bore a faint sense of loneliness. Hearing that, Fred nodded solemnly, and proceeded towards the carts.

For one last time, Louis looked at the bottle Fred was holding.

Swimming within it, was the angelfish that’d been ill up to a few days ago.

Earlier, as Fred spoke to him, Louis had noticed it swimming languidly yet powerfully through the water. The rays of the morning sun, just risen, gleamed off its silver scales — their lustre was simply beautiful.

In other words—— the angelfish had thoroughly regained its former elegance.

The day after he used the treatment William provided, the fish had gradually recovered, and fully regained its strength just the day before. However, as Louis was hesitant to stop the treatment immediately after it had recuperated, he had no choice but to abandon the thought of letting it rejoin its former tank mates. Instead, it spent its remaining days in the mansion confined to the small aquarium.

At the very least, he’d wanted to see the “three brothers” together once more.

However, as Fred loaded the bottle onto the cart, Louis quietly closed his eyes, and put that thought away.

——They are but three fish; they’re not the same as us, by any means.

That cold line was directed at himself.

After caring for them so wholeheartedly, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of them in the slightest.

Moreover, if he had asked his brother seriously, it might have been possible to leave just the three angelfish behind in the mansion. In any case, there were many other varieties of tropical fish: they didn’t necessarily have to part with those three.

However, Louis did not do that.

As Fred had brought up, the one who’d asserted that the fish were nothing more than tools — was none other than himself.

He had no intention of retracting his words now. Furthermore, he was afraid that when the next mission came around, he might just let his emotions get the better of him, and end up causing irreversible damage.

When all was said and done, those stunning tropical fish were simply tools — a means to an end.

There were some things that could only be obtained by pushing aside sentimentality, disciplining oneself, and devoting one’s heart to their work, just as he had done.

And he was sure that his brother understood those feelings of his.

Even as he felt a pang of regret, Louis banished those thoughts, and met his brother’s gaze beside him.

William smiled back. “Well then, we’ve had a rather long chat, if I do say so myself,” he said. “But all that was just waffle. There’s only one thing I want to tell you, Louis.”

He knew what Louis truly wanted to hear right now. Then, he spoke in a warm and gentle voice — not as the leader of a criminal organisation that lurked in the darkness, but as an older brother.

“You didn’t let a single life go to waste: you did a great job, Louis.”

“……Yes!”

Louis replied with vigour. Then, dropping his guard, he nearly broke into a grin — and tried to suppress it in a panic. But he barely managed to stop himself from cracking a smile; emotion welled up from the depths of his heart, and his eyes misted over: it seemed that such sentiment could not be suppressed, even by a cool-headed man like himself. Through a mist of tears, he could vaguely make out the figure of his brother standing before him.

To become his brother’s strength. To fulfil his brother’s wishes. And, if possible, even if it was only for a little bit: to receive his brother’s praise.

Right after receiving that task from William, he had inadvertently obtained what he’d desired — and Louis was trembling with emotion.

William adjusted his tie. “Well then, it seems everything has been loaded up,” he murmured. “I think it’s time for me to get ready to leave as well.”

Then, he softly placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Leave the rest to me, Louis. I’ll make sure your work wasn’t in vain.”

“I know, nii-san.”

Without a shadow of a doubt, Louis was certain of it. ——That his brother, would never let his own efforts go to waste.

Hearing that, William smiled; then, his expression immediately reverted to that of the “Crime Consultant”, and he went back into the mansion.

After seeing his brother off, Louis glanced at the carts full of glass tanks, and murmured to himself.

“……It’ll be time to make breakfast soon.”

Once he’d ascertained that the transport preparations were complete, the memories of his arduous days spent with the fish then morphed into a record of observations. In his mind, his thoughts switched back to their usual subjects: those of managing the mansion and their estate.

However, deep in his heart, that gorgeous silver light remained as an unfading memory.

Louis had taken on the challenge of maintaining aquaria, and completed his mission since. Surrounding him was a refined atmosphere, and the air of a man who’d finally brought an enterprise to fruition.

T/N: omg I have so many thoughts about this one — much longer than the usual one-liner at the end of each story — so they’re in a separate section below if you’re interested :3

Translator’s thoughts (haha)

Louis’s growth

I think this story in particular is the previously-untold link in Louis’s character development! As seen in the Baskervilles arc and the start of this story, Louis initially had this worldview that he needed to be a cold-blooded machine to fulfil William’s wishes. To him, everything else was unnecessary if they did not serve his brother’s goals.

But in the course of caring for the angelfish, Louis was forced to confront the fact that he was actually fond of the angelfish — even though this contradicted his existing worldview, since emotion is unnecessary in rearing mere tools. And upon reflecting on how he handled the whole debacle, he finally realised that although the way in which he acted on that affection was not entirely right — showering the fish with too much love, which might’ve led to its falling ill, and sacrificing his own health and potentially the entire endeavour to save just one fish — the very presence of that affection was not a bad thing; and as William affirmed, he should continue to value every single life.

So I think this was the turning point from which Louis started to let go of that obsession toward his brother, and act on his own emotions and wishes: what he thinks is right, as opposed to merely what William wants. And this culminated in him seeking Sherlock’s help to save his brother, even as William himself did not want to be saved.

So in short, I really think this story is a key point in Louis’s character development, connecting the Louis of the Baskervilles arc with the Louis we see in the Final Problem arc — a missing link in the narrative, if you will!

Some random thoughts:

I’d think that sometime after the events of this story, Louis would properly apologise to Fred over what happened in the Baskerville mission

William told Louis he was right to not let even a single life go to waste — I think those words would’ve echoed in Louis’s mind when he sought Sherlock’s help together with Fred

Parallels to the Final Problem arc

Furthermore, some aspects of this story do parallel what happened in the Final Problem arc:

‘William’ being the one to fall ill

Louis trying very hard to save him

Louis praying for someone to help his brother

Help coming from a friend, rather than Louis himself

‘William’ remaining separate from the other two angelfish for a time

I wonder if it’s intentional, in the same vein as that past illustration by Hikaru-sensei where William covered his left eye with a rose… It could be possible: this book was published alongside the Phantom arc (Volume 7), so it’s conceivable that the Final Problem arc had already been planned out by that point.

Wow this has been a long one — thank you for reading this far! And onward to the next story ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 2): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Imperial life sounds nice on paper... but will it ever live up to reality? (the answer is always no).

wc: 2.2k

tw: none (again, backstory. I’m SORRY! The lemon-y stuff will begin in the next part)

masterlist

“There was this patch of mud I was sure we’d be able to get through...” 

You’re sitting across from the Imperial Warrior and watching him scarf down your mother’s cooking, noting his ravenous appetite and the way he waves his hands around as he details how his horse is trapped in the mud from the storm that followed him here, and how he longed for death until he happened to find himself at your door, blah, blah, blah…

Your father and mother entertain him eagerly, nodding their heads and humming at his story, but you’re not having any of it. You just want to know what’s in the letter with the Imperial Seal on it so he can go and you can return to your mourning in peace. The letter is sitting with your father, untouched and forgotten while the man drones on and on. 

There’s something about how he’s going on about his horse that’s stuck in the mud that bothers you; there are too many intricate details and he’s--

“I’m sorry, I don't think we caught your name,” you interrupt, and the white haired man stops mid-sentence, a long silence echoing in the room. 

“Gojo,” he announces, holding his hand to his chest. “You can call me Gojo.” 

“And Gojo, you say your horse is stuck outside? We should help you go and retrieve it.” 

“Oh, no need, I was about to say that the lovely townsfolk helped me out with my situation. It’s in a stable as we speak.” 

You eye the confident man with some skepticism, then look over to the letter with intent. “And the letter?” 

“Ah! I almost forgot.” He motions for your father to open the letter, and when your father breaks the seal and slides out the paper, you angle your head to read the words scripted across the paper. You and your father read at the same pace, because your faces drop at the same time. 

“The Imperial Matchmaker?” The image of the wizened young woman dances before your eyes, and you blink twice, dismissing the improbability that her visit to your village just six months ago had anything to do with you or your family. She hadn’t even spoken to you, let alone laid eyes on you. How in the world--

“My story was to conclude with why she was not picked this time. I regret that I was not on time to come and retrieve you, my lady.” When Gojo holds a hand to his chest again, you feel some sort of sincerity from him. “You see, there are three princes of--”

“But aren’t there more illustrious ladies of the Court that might suit their needs?” you ask, squinting your eyes. There’s absolutely no way you were destined to wed a Prince of the Imperial Court. 

“What the Matchmaker has ordered will go as planned,” your mother announces, shooting up from her seat and hurrying from the table toward your room. Your father follows her, letter still in hand, leaving you alone with the white-haired warrior. You look over at him in disbelief, raising a brow in challenge to speak. 

“I assume you had an eventful day,” he begins, picking at the rest of his food thoughtfully. “You should go and rest. We leave at first light.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your mother, fussing over you as always, is crying as you wait for the horse and carriage to be brought from the town’s stables. Your father had neglected to come out of the house to see you off, even though you knew he loved you just as much as your mother. Perhaps seeing his last daughter off was even more painful than the other three had been. 

You can’t help but feel somewhat uneasy at the thought of being thrust into marriage to someone who ranked so much higher than you. Would you even get accustomed to court life in time? Would you feel at ease among the nobility of the land? Or would you be a wife who was shunned and set aside, only to be pulled out and bred occasionally? The thought isn’t even complete when the horse and carriage parade through the gates, the white haired man reappearing. 

“Oh...” Your mother breaks into a fresh set of tears, knowing wherever that carriage goes, she can’t follow you. “Oh, y/n, you’ll have to write as much as you can. Please let us know how you adjust. We’ll be here if you ever need to come home. We’ll be there for the wedding, too, don’t worry…” As she drones on and adjusts your clothing, you realize she’s saying all the things she needs to hear in order to feel comforted. You, on the other hand, feel nothing as they load your items into the back of the carriage and finally, place you in the modest-sized thing. 

When you pull away, you watch your waving mother fade into the distance, waving back until you could see her no longer. The open-air hits your face, and as you leave the only town you’ve ever known, you wonder if you’d ever be back. 

The letter - your future - is resting in your lap, and you finger the thing, flipping the edges of the letter around and around while scenery drifts by you.

Before long, you’re out of the town’s limits, and steering toward a path you’ve never seen before. Your nerves leap to extreme heights, and you release the clasp on the curtains that will shield you from sight. What did it matter that you were in unfamiliar territory? Wasn’t that just a metaphor for the rest of your life? 

The steady rocking of the carriage and sounds of nature lulls you into a rhythm and then, slowly, into sleep. There was no point in staying awake the entire time; you might as well get some rest before you met your future husband. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You don’t realize the carriage has stopped until you awake, your left hand knocking against the side of the carriage as you slide out of sleep. 

“Gojo?” When there is no response, you peel the curtain aside, and notice you’re in the middle of greenery. When you look down, there are faint signs of a path, but it seems to be grown over by grass and moss. “Gojo?” 

You have two options: you can get out of the carriage, risk staining your dress, and find the white-haired bastard, or you could stay put and wait for him to return. At first, the second option seems fair, but the longer you wait, the more you worry about him. 

Finally, you gather up the courage to exit the carriage, planting your feet firmly on the ground beneath you and walking to the front of the carriage. The horse is still there, eyeing you as you walk around it, untethered to anything but remaining dreadfully still. You reason that if something were to have gone wrong, the horse would have taken off, and you with it. But there’s no sign of a struggle, and you’re alone. 

Well, almost. 

You hear a couple of voices getting closer, and one is unmistakably Gojo’s. But the other voice you don’t know. “Perhaps we should just go now and avoid riding straight into the camp.” 

“No,” Gojo grunts. “It’s part of the show. We have to show her off before he gets her.” 

Camp? 

“Is she really as beautiful as Yuko said?” Yuko? What did he have to do with-

“I would say even more so.” The voices are getting even closer, and you have to make a choice , and fast: either get back in the carriage or confront the two on their words. “But we have to make her believe she’s still going to the Imperial Palace even though--” You’re out of time before you know it, and you’re stuck standing on the other side of the horse, facing Gojo and a shorter, black haired man with wide eyes, who is most certainly not an Imperial Warrior. His eyes widen even more when he sees you, but Gojo just moves to scratch the back of his head. 

“I’m assuming you heard most of that conversation, y/n.” 

Instead of responding, you take off into the opposite line of trees, weaving your way through the brush and grass with as much maneuvering as you can manage. Quick footfalls are crashing behind you, but you bob and weave through the branches, hoping one might catch the person off guard and buy you more time. You have no idea where the village is in regards to your current location, but perhaps if you could find the closest town, you could get ho--

You fall face first into the forest floor, a body landing on your back with enough force to knock the wind out of you. Fallen debris is scratching at your face and exposed hands, the dress covering most of your skin and protecting you.

“Y/n… you’re fast, I’ll give you that. But not as fast as me.” You’re hoisted up by your arms, and not-Gojo throws you over his shoulder and carries you back to the carriage, defeated. 

“She’s dirty! Ugh, he’s going to kill me.” Gojo whines when you return, and the man sets you in the carriage with a thump, exhaling deeply. 

“If she didn’t run, we wouldn’t have this issue.” The man breaks the handle off the inside of the door and shuts it, effectively trapping you inside. “And if you had done what I told you to do, she wouldn’t have gotten out in the first place.” You scramble to the far side of the carriage when he tosses you a dirty look, then disappears around the front. “Ride on, dumbass. And if you think you don’t have a true runner on your hands, you’re absolutely wrong. Keep an eye on her at all times, Satoru, and don’t stop for anything.” 

Satoru. 

You store that piece of information in your brain, the name registering somewhere deep in the annals of your memory as the carriage lurches forward again. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You can’t sleep, even though it’s night. 

Your captor is being guided by the moonlight, and when you hear the sounds and smells of crackling fires and shouts of acknowledgement, you know you’ve arrived somewhere that isn’t the Imperial Palace. 

You tried to find out why Gojo had tricked you and your family, why you were being taken somewhere that wasn’t the palace, and why the letter even existed if you were simply being taken hostage. But every shout had only been met with silence. 

You dared not to open the curtains now. Even when the carriage stops, you clutch yourself and attempt to squeeze your body as far away from the door as you can manage. Silence falls over the ruckus outside, and you hear footsteps approaching the door. It feels like an eternity before the carriage is flooded with moonlight and someone grabs you roughly, yanking you out into the open. 

Your first reflex is to struggle to remain in the carriage, but when that fails, you rely on letting your hand loose and your fist fly into the face of your assailant. The sound of crunching bones as your fist makes contact with their nose is unmistakable, but your victory is short lived. Another pair of rough hands grab your arms, twisting them behind your back uncomfortably. 

“Unhand me!” you shout into the night, but the person does not do as you ask. It’s only then you can observe your surroundings with clarity. As you pant into the chilly night, you see scores of eyes - male eyes - observing the scene with a mix of disbelief and amusement. You yank against the hands that are restraining you, but when Gojo appears in your line of sight, he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. 

“You broke Haibara’s nose,” He looks over at the man clutching his face, blood running down his fingers. “That’s not very ladylike.”

“No, it’s not,” a deeper voice replies behind him, and a hand lands on his shoulder. Your eyes drag from Gojo’s face to the man now beside him, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming an awful nightmare. Standing beside Gojo is a man of similar height; his long, black hair cascading around his shoulders and onyx eyes raking over your appearance lustily. 

Before you is General Geto Suguru, one of your country’s most feared enemies. His presence makes your knees weak - and not because of his good looks. No, it wasn’t even his looks that preceded him. His name was known among your people to be synonymous with “curse eater”, which made him even more fearsome than just a bedtime story told to keep children in line. Because if a man was able to eat curses… could he not eat children just as easily? 

“You’ll need to apologize to Haibara, little one.” 

But for some reason, instead of finding your voice, you spit at his feet in a show of bravery. The men in the gathered crowd reel back, inhaling in shock. But Geto and Gojo just raise their brows, looking at the spit gathered on Geto’s shoe. Geto cocks his head to the side a little, eyeing you curiously. “Haibara, follow me. Oh, and Nanami, bring her as well. I can see she’ll need some discipline before she’s wed to me.” 

[fanmoose12]

He's invited to their engagement party. Levi doesn't know if it's a cruel joke or a horrible misunderstanding. Quite frankly, he's not sure what's worse. He decides not to go either way. He doesn't think his heart can take it. And he doubts he'd be a welcomed guest there anyway.

But then Moblit visits their office. He doesn't come to Hange, doesn't bring flowers or other gifts. No, he goes straight to him.

"Can we talk, Levi?" he pocks his head inside, smiling slightly. The smile is painfully awkward, and yet endlessly sincere. What a fucking sweetheart, Levi thinks bitterly. So different from him. Perhaps, that's why Hange chose him in the end.

"What do you want?" he grunts, staring at his computer screen and trying to appear busier than he actually is. But Moblit either doesn't get the hint, or doesn't care. Wearing that same damn smile, he walks further into Levi's office and sits down on a chair that stands by his desk.

"It's about the engagement party," he gets straight to the point, almost leaving Levi breathless. The audacity... And he thought the other man was a sweetheart. "You're the only one who didn't give an answer..."

Levi hopes Moblit doesn't ask for his reason. Calling Hange's fiance a fucking moron would probably destroy what little relationship they still have.

"I know your history with Hange isn't the simplest one..." the smile falters for a second, but doesn't leave Moblit's face completely. "But she still holds you in high regard. She would want you to be there for her."

What an insolent fucking bastard. Wants him to be there? Wants to have his heart ripped out, more likely. Levi doesn't believe Hange is that cruel.

But if what Moblit tells him is true... If Hange really wants him to come, then he simply has no choice. He always had trouble with saying no to her, after all.

He makes this hard decision surprisingly easy.

"I'll be there, don't worry," he tells Moblit.

The man beams. He reaches out and catches Levi's hand, shaking it heartily. "Thank you so much," he says. "It'll mean so much to Hange, and I just want to make her happy, you know?"

More than you'll ever know, Levi thinks.

But, truth be told, he doesn't understand Moblit. If he was in his place - and there was a time where he almost was - he would never invite Hange's assholish ex to their engagement party, he'd rather kick his ass, and hard. But, perhaps, that's the difference between them, the difference that made Hange choose Moblit over him. Moblit places her happiness well above his own. And Levi can't thank him enough for that.

He can try, though.

"Thank you as well," he murmurs, and for a moment, Moblit's eyes fill with confusion. But then that second passes, and he seems to understand him, and his gaze softens, as he gives Levi a small nod.

"See you soon," he says, and leaves Levi's office.

He stares at the closed door for another minute, trying to understand what had possessed him to agree to it. To willingly go and celebrate Hange's engagement to another man... Something is definitely wrong with him.

That's called torturing yourself, a malicious voice in his head whispers.

Levi's intent to agree.

***

He realizes what a mistake he made pretty quickly. Two seconds after entering the café Moblit had rented out for the occasion, to be exact.

He walks in, sees Hange and Moblit in a middle of a room, dancing, while everyone cheers on them, and wants to walk out immediately.

The song choice is awful as well. He always hated Walk the Moon.

He's still by the door, and, maybe, if he leaves now, no one would notice. He almost turns back but then-

Then he remembers.

She would want you to be there for her

With a deep sigh that gets lost in a loud beat of music, he walks inside. He moves as discreetly as possible, avoiding everyone's curious eyes, as he tries to find a seat in the deepest, darkest corner of the café.

He finds it, fortunately. And, surprisingly, someone is already occupying it. His eyes widen, as he recognizes Petra. Soft-spoken and sweet, she can't exactly be called a life of the party. Yet for her to be hiding in the corner... It's a little bit strange, Levi can't deny it.

His thoughts about Petra are chased away when a new song comes in.

Oh, her eyes, her eyes

Make the stars look like they're not shinin'

God, if there is someone he hates more than Walk the Moon, it's Bruno Mars. The song is fitting though, he can't deny.

She is perfect just the way she is.

He turns away from Petra and heads for the bar.

He orders vodka on the rocks for himself, and - because he can be a gentleman sometimes - he also asks for a cocktail that is so sugary it can probably give one cavities for Petra.

When he sits next to her, handing her a drink, Petra smiles and thanks him. A faint blush colors her cheeks too, but Levi ignores it, churning it up to the poor lighting of the room. He ignores Petra's attempt at conversation as well, gladly he has all the reason to - the music is too loud to hear anything else. For once, Levi is thankful for that.

Petra keeps glancing at him, though, and the red on her face gets more prominent, and with a deep sigh Levi turns to her.

Petra is pretty, incredibly so. Only a blind wouldn't see it. Only a blind wouldn't see her obvious crush on him as well. Petra is sweet and pretty, maybe, he should talk to her. Maybe, it'd ease some of his heartbreak. Not all of it, obviously. Only one person can do it. The person who is still twirling around with the man who is not him.

His hand is almost reaching to her, his fingers are almost at her forearm, when a fucking photo montage begins.

Set to A Thousand Years.

He curses and bolts out of his place. Even he is not masochistic enough to watch hundreds of photos with the love of his fucking life in the arms of another man.

He walks outside and takes a deep breath. His tense muscles relaxe instantly when the sounds of music and laughter and delighted cheering fades away. He leans against the bricked wall and directs his gaze up to the sky. Stars aren't visible yet, the wind is slightly too harsh to be standing in just jacket and shirt and he forgot his cigarette pack, but Levi chases those complaints away.

He's almost content and he intends to stay this way, but then-

The door opens, and Levi turns to it with a scowl, thinking that it's Petra who decided to follow him. He realizes his mistake immediately, and his breath hitches, when he is met with those brown deep eyes.

Fuck.

He swiftly tears his gaze away, suddenly extremely aware of his heartbeat.

"Sorry!" Hange chuckles, the sound too hollow to be genuine. Out of the corner of his eyes, Levi sees her running a hand through her hair, messing it up even more. "I didn't wish to-"

"You didn't," he breathes out. He closes his eyes for a second, mustering all of his courage, and then looks up at her. "The street is wide enough to fit both of us. Stop being an idiot, four-eyes."

The nickname slips easily from his lips. It is only after he said it, only after he sees the shaken expression on Hange's face that realizes he hasn't called her that ever since their breakup.

He doesn't acknowledge his mistake. Bringing it up now means opening another can of worms he's not sure he can get through. Having Hange so close to him is already hard enough.

"Why aren't you inside?" he asks, attempting to sound nonchalant and not getting even close to achieving it. "A fience shouldn't skip her own engagement party. Especially when the photo montage is on..."

"Oh please," Hange huffs. "I stared so much at these photos while we selected them, I am getting sick just by looking at them. Besides," she pouts. "Moblit didn't let me share our private photos."

In spite of himself, Levi chuckles. "Are you saying photos like that exist?"

Hange snickers too. "Oh god, of course, they do not. I think Moblit would have a heart attack should I even offer to take a photo like that."

"So you're saying your fiancé is boring?"

Hange scoffs, and elbows him in a side. "I'm saying he's orderly."

"Same thing," Levi shrugs, and Hange laughs.

His treacherous heart skips a beat. Something warm spreads through him, as he listens to Hange's laughter. It grows warmer and spreads further, until it feels like he's enveloped by a sunlight - he's content, relaxed and happy. Hange always had such an effect on him.

She was the only who ever did.

"Thanks for coming," she tells him, after her laughter subdues. "I know it's probably awkward..."

"It's fine," he shakes his head.

"It's good to see you, Levi," a smile plays on her lips, the sweet and soft one that Levi always thought was reserved exclusively for him. He wonders if that is still true.

"It's good to see you too," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're happy, Hange," he adds, looking at her. There is a stray lock of hair right next to her nose, and he gently pushes it away, tucking it behind her ear. "If you need anything, know that I'm here for you. I always will be."

He turns away and leaves after that, before he does something stupid like confess his undying love.

That's probably the last thing Hange wants to hear anyway.

He walks inside the cafe and returns to Petra's side. He looks at her, the words "want to ditch that shitty party?" almost at the tip of his tongue. But then Hange walks back in and their eyes meet across the room. She lifts her lips in a smile and tentatively raises her hand, waving at him. Levi nods, fighting back a smile of his own. His eyes still soften, though.

The hand he had outstretched towards Petra falls limply to his side.

Maybe, she'd help him forget, maybe, she'd ease some - not all, obviously - of his heartache.

But, apparently, he's not a complete asshole, because he can't do it - not to Petra, not to himself.

Not to Hange.

He lifts a glass to his lips and turns his gaze to the small stage. There Moblit is telling some story - either about their first kiss or their first date, Levi doesn't listen to him at all. Instead his eyes are focused on Hange - the faint blush on her cheeks, her glistening eyes, as she keeps laughing, laughing, laughing. Their gazes lock for a second, and her eyes turn just a little bit brighter.

At least one of them is happy. Levi revels in that.

[welllpthisishappening]

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible. 

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims. 

Whatever, really. 

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies. 

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though. 

She’s positive about that, at least. 

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie. 

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect. 

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers. 

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the  oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate. 

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why. 

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does. 

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too. 

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really. 

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so. 

She’s happy for Scarlet, really. 

They won the game. 

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks. 

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier. 

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse. 

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times. 

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers. 

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five. 

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold. 

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day. 

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face. 

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go. 

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously. 

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person. 

And yet. 

He sticks his hand out. 

It’s disarmingly earnest. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date. 

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind. 

She takes his hand. 

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later. 

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work. 

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably. 

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason. 

When the Yankees make the postseason. 

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face. 

Much like the goddamn fireworks. 

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault. 

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either. 

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened. 

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions. 

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off. 

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them. 

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand. 

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information. 

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that. 

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter. 

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart. 

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least. 

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs. 

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted.  An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open. 

They both jump.

So, that’s something. 

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume. 

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there. 

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works. 

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of. 

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being. 

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her. 

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be. 

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby. 

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected. 

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed. 

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead. 

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together. 

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first. 

She does her very best to memorize the movement. 

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable. 

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself. 

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division. 

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate. 

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him. 

Emma included. Emma, especially. 

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins. 

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then. 

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now. 

Got drafted, technically. 

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back. 

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.  

[argisthebulwark]

Hi. I’m sorry that I haven’t posted in a long time. I’ve been covering my shifts and those for 2 other coworkers for the past few months. and planning a wedding. and uhh surviving lol. but!! i got the anniversary edition and felt the skyrim itch on my brain again. so uhhh here’s me definitely not projecting about how Brynjolf is the character i always come back to. other fixations come and go but he is apparently eternal. 

“Hello, lass.” 

His voice was smooth and warmed every inch of the Dragonborn’s skin. His fingers were on her jaw leading her mouth toward his, the smirk illuminated by the weak moonlight wavering in from the well’s patchy opening. The Cistern’s silence was broken only by the whisper of their armor and her excited inhale when his lips grazed over hers. 

Brynjolf was safe. He was home, he was everything she needed to come back to. His stubble danced over her skin, his lips barely touching hers before they glided up to kiss her brow. Her fingers dug into the sides of his armor and tugged him closer, hungry for every bit of him. His kisses trailed down her brow to her cheek and her skin flushed under his touch. 

“Bryn.” She breathed as lips ghosted over hers once again. He hummed as his fingers traced down her jaw, leading her mouth closer to his. 

“Yes?” His breath was warm on her lips, his face only a fraction of a inch away but he was intent on teasing her. 

“I’m so sorry.” Her hands crawled up his chest, checking every bit of him for changes. It had been so long since she’d seen him and even longer since she’d gotten him to herself. Life had become so consuming; all of the Guilds tearing her in every direction, so many facets needing her undivided attention, every citizen wanting something from her. There was never enough time for him. 

“Don’t apologize.” Brynjolf’s voice softened, the hint of his laughter gone. “You know I’ll always wait for you, lass.” 

The Dragonborn threw her arms around his neck, dragging Brynjolf closer. Her kiss was messy and needy but she kissed him with every bit of emotion she couldn’t get out. His words echoed in her mind over and over, distracting her from the delicious experience of his hands slipping under her armor. I’ll always wait for you. 

“I love you.” She muttered into his skin, her fingers twisted deep into his hair. The mess of braids tangled around her fingers as she held him close, savoring the strange sense of finality. She was with Brynjolf, she was home. 

“I love you.” He spoke so easily, as if it was the most obvious fact in their lives. He swatted at a few stray hairs while she stared at him, trying to memorize Brynjolf’s face. She’d forgotten the slope of his nose and the way one side of his smile was always a little higher. She’d forgotten the crescent scar through his brow he’d never told her the story behind. She’d been gone for far too long. 

“I’ll never leave you again.” She vowed, though they both knew it wasn’t true. She would leave again when the Brotherhood or the Companions or one of the many Jarls needed her aid. She would leave when requested because the reality of being the Last Dragonborn was more responsibility than one lowly thief could stomach.

“I know.” He answered just like always, never acknowledging the amount of times she’d made the same promise. For the moment she clung to her words, desperately wishing that she could return to nothing more than a member of the Thieves Guild with a crush on the man who recruited her. Life was so much simpler. 

The Dragonborn stared up at the cracks as night turned to day, the stars disappearing among the yellow light of early morning. Brynjolf was silent beside her, allowing her to lay on his chest and listen to the beating of his heart. His nose was buried in her hair and his arms held her, the chill of Sun’s Dusk nothing compared to his warmth. 

In a matter of days another courier would arrive with a plead for help. She would hear a rumor from a guard or someone in the marketplace about dragon sightings halfway across the continent. The news would find her somehow and she would have to leave again. Though it was hard to walk away from Brynjolf the Dragonborn found comfort in his words. He would always wait for her. 

[ichigo-daifuku]

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil [3]

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Pairing: Diavolo/F!Reader Genre: Soulmate AU, Fake Relationship (?), Misunderstandings, Fluff, Angst, Smut

Synopsis: During a confrontation between Diavolo and a certain witch who harbors unrequited feelings for him, he declares his intention to ask you to stand beside him in reigning over the Devildom someday. You conclude only one logical explanation for the insanity he uttered: this is his way of discouraging the witch from being so persistent. Although clueless, you play along and become ‘lovers’ with him.

Inevitably, your existing attraction for Diavolo grows, but the distinction between truth and lies, the crisscrossed lines of the right and the wrong, and the question of what’s real and what isn’t, begin to plague your mind and stir up trouble for your relationship with him with each passing day.

Entangled within the woven threads of soulmates and a royal prophecy, this is the story of the Demon Prince and his future Queen: you.

1 | 2 | 3 Chapter 3: Speak No Evil Word Count: 5.6k

“Welcome, my lady.”

The staff at the Demon Lord’s Castle greeted you with dutiful bows. If they were surprised at the punctuality of your arrival, they showed no signs of it and ushered you inside. As per your previous visits, they were all cordial. Most of them even looked excited, and you felt a pang of guilt for deceiving them all this time.

Originally, the demon brothers had planned for your grand arrival with all seven of them escorting you to the ballroom. Due to your change of plans, however, you made excuses and admitted you had matters to discuss with Diavolo before the celebratory ball, intentionally leaving out any specifics. You persuaded them by divulging your plan of handing Diavolo the baked goods you prepared as a gift. In the end, the demon brothers reluctantly relented. You patted yourself on the back for remaining firm despite your gratitude for the Seven Rulers of Hell. It was a difficult feat to accomplish.

The day after your conversation with Solomon, you headed to town and purchased an outfit for the celebratory ball on your own rather than using those hanging on the racks of the prophesied Queen’s closet at the Demon Lord’s Castle. It was the first step in your departure from your role as the faux Queen. While browsing at one of your favorite boutiques, you found a red embroidered evening gown that completely covered your back and was zipped from the side. It was simpler than any of the formalwear in the Queen’s closet, but it wasn’t as if you would be at the party to impress anyone nor enjoy yourself.

It would be the last time you would pretend to be Diavolo’s other half. After this event, everything would be over.

A bittersweet feeling flooded your chest, but when you looked back at the moments you shared with Diavolo, you were unable to deny the truth to yourself: you’d do it all again if you could.

Your high heels click-clacked on the polished floor as you approached Diavolo’s study. Before anything else, you peeked inside and only entered the room once you found it empty. You shut the door and went over to his desk. The kisses you shared with him the other day were still fresh in your mind. In a span of a few days, your circumstances with him had completely changed. It was strange to stand in the same place with that realization gnawing at your gut.

Gingerly, you set the pastry box on Diavolo’s table, pulled a sticky note from his tall stack, and wrote a short thank you note for him. A small sense of finality washed over you as you signed your name and placed it on the box. It was cowardly of you to give him your gift like this, but once you’d told him you’d end this charade with him, he might decline it. You were already hurting, and as much as possible, you wanted to lessen the impact of his rejection.

After leaving his study and roaming around the castle, Diavolo remained nowhere in sight. You took a wild guess and went to the gazebo, a tinge of dread in your steps when you found out you were right. As tall and regal as he was during the first time you saw him, he stood and gazed at the lake, its tranquility one with its beholder.

“Diavolo,” you called.

“Hello there.” He turned his head to look at you, his lips breaking into a smile. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you replied and moved forward, taking in the sight of him in formalwear. “You look great, as always.”

“You flatter me.”

“It’s the truth.” Once you reached the gazebo, you stayed at the threshold, ready to leave once you had said what you needed to tell him. “By the way, I left something for you in your study.”

“A gift?”

“That’s right. Some pastries. I baked them myself.”

“Let’s eat them together later. We can have our own after-party.”

“No, I made them for you. And we’ll get full at the banquet, won’t we?”

“There’s always room for dessert.” He laughed at his own quip and gestured over the lake. “Why don’t you stand beside me? The view is quite splendid.”

“It’s fine. I can admire it from afar.” Unwavering, you remained rooted at your spot. The lake was majestic, but it wasn’t what you were here for tonight. You hid your shaky hands behind your back and fiddled with your fingers, taking a deep breath as you returned your complete attention to Diavolo. “I have something to tell you. It’s important.”

“You can tell me anything, my princess.”

“I’m sorry, Diavolo,” you said, “but let’s end this.”

A long pause passed before he clarified with uncertainty, “The party?”

“Not that. I meant this—whatever’s between us—let’s end it.”

“What? Why? Have I done something to displease you?” Diavolo interrogated, his entire demeanor shifting into a panicked one. He stepped closer to you, but you retreated and exited the gazebo entirely. It dawned on him: his pursuit would cause you to fall further back. A grim expression on his face, he came to a halt and demanded, “Tell me.”

“No, Diavolo. Far from it,” you confessed with a sad smile. “You’re the Prince of the Devildom, and you’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”

“If so, then what’s the problem?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“And?”

And? That’s all he has to say? you thought bitterly, hurt your confession warranted such a lackluster reaction. “I can’t keep doing this when there’s someone else meant to be by your side.”

Diavolo stiffened. “Someone… else…?”

“Yes. I can’t pretend to be the Queen in the prophecy anymore. I love you. A lot. And it’s hurting me, so please, let’s end this.”

Instead of replying, Diavolo kept quiet.

Unable to take his silence any longer, you averted your gaze and proceeded to wrap up the conversation. “I’ve said what I wanted to say. I’ll attend the party. You’re free to clarify this tonight or I can pretend to be your Queen one last time, whichever works for you. But please make sure to clear up the misunderstanding in the future.”

“You’re under the impression,” he paused and let out a laugh in an icy tone you’d never heard from him before, “that we’re pretending to be together?”

Chills ran down your spine. The question he uttered made you more nervous than you ever were tonight. Diavolo’s deep voice dripped with realization, incredulity, but most of all, rage.

You were in trouble.

“You’re right. There’s been a misunderstanding.” He let out a menacing laugh and strode in your direction. Instinctively, you attempted to put space between the two of you, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you close to him, wrapping both of his arms around your waist so quickly you didn’t have the chance to step away and flee. “All the times you said you were happy, whenever you told me you were looking forward to seeing me, when you agreed we looked like a great couple, you weren’t lying.”

“I wasn’t,” you acknowledged, your tense body gradually going lax at his touch. The familiar scent of his cologne made your mind hazy as you breathed in. “I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I might have pretended to be your lover, but I’ve been true to you. That’s why we have to end this.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Diavolo bent his head and whispered in your ear, “I never lie, did you know?”

You didn’t.

His words prompted your head to swirl with scenes of your interactions, one of them standing out among the rest.

“So, that day… when Maddi confronted us about the prophecy,” you paused, your eyes wide as you tilted your head to meet his gaze, “y-you meant every word you said?”

“Yes, you’re the one for me. The only one,” he declared, embracing you tighter. “Shall I prove it to you?”

Once the question left his lips, Diavolo’s eyes glowed, and the next thing you knew, the sights around you shifted from the gazebo to the Queen’s closet. He refused to let you go, and you were faintly aware you were in the corner of the room as your hips nudged the wooden edge of the grand vanity table. Fortunately, the surface was vacant since all the cosmetics remained in the drawers, or else they would have already toppled on the floor.

Diavolo asked, “Do you know what’s on your back?”

“How did you—”

“I saw. When we had breakfast together, during that day when you agreed to pretendto be my lover.” His fingers brushed the nape of your neck and slid down to your spine, his large palm resting over your back. “Do you know what’s written here?”

“My soulmark.”

“It’s more special than that.”

“How come?”

“Have you seen it?”

You shook your head. “I’ve never dared to. I don’t like it... and I’m… scared of it.”

“Do you like me?”

“I love you.”

“Are you scared of me?”

“No.”

“If that’s the case, there’s no need for you to dislike or be scared of your mark.”

As he had revealed to you moments ago, Diavolo never lied. You trusted him. If he was certain he was your soulmate, you had nothing to fear. “Okay, but I have to remove my dress, so if you will, the door is that way.”

Diavolo released you with a quiet laugh. A familiar mischievous smile played on his lips, he shook his head. Determinedly, he reasoned, “I can’t afford any more misunderstandings with you.”

Instead of leaving, he moved and settled down a few steps within your reach. He gave you free rein over the space in front of the mirror and crossed his arms, waiting.

Conceding, you sighed and shook your head in exasperation. There was no way you could convince him to leave. You raised your fingers to pull the zipper from your side, but the eyes trained on you were too intense, you almost turned—if not for the fact you’d still see him admiring your actions from the mirror which, strangely, felt more intimate. Averting your gaze, you stripped out of your evening gown. You thought of making your way to the chaise and laying down your outfit on it, but your hands felt too shaky, and your feet felt too cold. The crimson cloth slipped away from your fingers and pooled on the floor.

Donned only in your lingerie, you were exposed, and your back was ready for your revelation. Fear threatened you to put an end to this mess through flight, but your trust and affection for the man standing in front of you led you to fight this fear and face it head-on.

And then, on your own volition, you finally looked at what was imprinted on your back: the soulmark you once resented but now gave you hope and promise.

Once you saw it, you felt grateful for your unknowingly wise decision of hiding it from everyone who asked about it in the human world.

“No way…” you murmured, unable to tear your gaze from your back’s reflection.

Three numbers were written vertically over your spine:

6 6 6

Diavolo approached you, his arm moving past your waist and resting on the table. He tilted his head to the side, and like you, openly gazed at your soulmark’s reflection in the mirror. His fingertip traced over the numbers, one after another, earning a soft gasp from you. “You know what this means, yes?”

You did.

The Devil’s Number.

Devil.

Diavolo.

Speechless, you turned your face and stared at him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“Do you honestly believe I could be this good at pretending to be in love with you?” Diavolo questioned and gave you a kiss on your forehead. “You think too highly of me.”

“Do you really… love me?” you whispered.

“Listen well, my princess,” Diavolo embraced you and stroked your hair. “I love you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, dampening his suit, but neither of you cared. “The prophecy…”

“It’s about you.”

“So, all this time…”

He sighed and grimaced. “Yes.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I am,” he said, releasing you to wipe your tears with his thumbs. “Don’t think I’m letting you get away with it.”

Diavolo cradled your cheeks and bent his head to kiss you. After you decided to break things off with him, you had accepted you’d never be as close to him as you were before, but here you were. Eyes closed, you basked in his affection, which you now know was true and meant only for you. Despite the anger he admitted to, the sensation of his lips on yours was warm and forgiving. When you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, and deepened your kisses, the soft sigh that escaped his lips was all you needed to know he was relieved. It put him at ease that you loved him and weren’t going to leave him. It was a sentiment that mirrored yours.

Breathless, he leaned back and met your heated gaze. The crackling tension between the two of you grew from powerful to electrifying, a telltale sign of a singular ending to this encounter. It was a resolution you never dared to consider when you entered this castle tonight, but it was one you had no complaints about. He needed this—needed you—and you’d be damned if you were going to let this end like it did last time.

“Will you indulge me?” His fingers grazed your mark once more as he took the clasp of your bra between them and unhooked it in one go. “Rather, would you indulge in me, my princess?”

“Here? Now? The celebratory ball is going to start soon,” you teased, tugging his bow tie with your index finger and unfastening it.

“Our unfinished business is more important,” Diavolo reminded you, his suit jacket falling on top of your dress. You unbuttoned his shirt and brushed your lips on his collarbone, the tip of your tongue teasing his exposed skin. He sighed and continued, “You have no idea what you do to me. I’ve wanted you for so long, but it seems my feelings didn’t come across properly. I’ll make it so you’ll never have any doubts about us ever again.”

Diavolo guided you to sit on the dresser and began kissing your neck, freshening the faded lovebites he had made and adding more as he caressed your breasts with his palms and dragged his thumbs over your hardening buds. His ministrations were languid and tender, but every contact with his mouth and fingers left you squirming, eager for him to quicken his pace and pay attention to where you needed him the most.

“When you first arrived here, I just knew… I have to have you all to myself,” he confessed.

As his lips reached your abdomen, Diavolo went down on one knee. To you, he looked like a knight receiving an accolade from his monarch; as if the vanity table was your throne, and he was promising himself to you. Perhaps, it would be more appropriate to liken him to the prince who had finally found his elusive Cinderella. But perhaps not—as unlike that prince, he was removing your high heels and setting them aside. Desire and reverence filled his eyes as he tilted his head and stared at your bare form, your chest rising and falling in anticipation. 

“Now, everyone’s going to know you're mine,” he vowed, hooking your panties at the side and sliding them down your legs, “including you.”

Your mouth parted in a soundless groan as Diavolo kissed the inside of your knees.

“What do you say, my princess?”

Anticipation pooled at the pit of your stomach. A slow, coquettish smile made its way on your lips. Above all else, you wanted him to know you were eager for this as much as he was—that you desired him as much as he desired you. You raised your legs and beckoned him closer by spreading them and letting your calves and feet rest over his wide shoulders. “Show me.”

He smirked, pleased with your answer. Wordlessly, he kissed and nipped at the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. Tilting his head lower, his warm breath ghosted over the apex of your legs, his lips hovering over your sex. The first swipe of his tongue was gentle. He let you familiarize yourself with the sensation before he licked you where it was the most pleasurable. When he did, the sharp inhale you took didn’t escape his notice. He knew what he was doing, flicking his tongue and sucking at that little bundle of nerves with the right amount of pressure, in the way you never knew you wanted it. His index and middle finger over the sides of your entrance, his tongue plunged inside you. It triggered a sudden movement of your hips, but he held you in place and steadied you with his other hand, his ministrations never faltering, coaxing a diminutive moan out of your lips.

“You hear that?” he murmured, pertaining to the sound the shallow thrust of his middle finger made. Those three words sent a pleasurable wave from his lips to your groin, making you curl your toes and your back arch against the mirror. “We’ve only just begun, and you’re already so wet for me.”

“Stop teasing me so much,” you whined. You reached out to brush his hair and thread your fingers between its strands, but at the quickening pace of his hand, you ended up tugging at his locks instead.

“It’s because you’re holding back,” Diavolo pointed out with a soft chuckle. He peered at your face and waited for your reaction as he added a second—and soon, a third—finger into the mix. “Let me hear you. I know you can be louder than that.”

Even if you wanted to subdue the gratified noises threatening to fill the room, you were helpless against his earnest pursuit of your peak. He pumped his fingers in and out of you over and over, making you cry out as you reveled in the sensation of your release. At a rhythmless pace, your hips shifted against his face once more, only this time he let you ride out and enjoy the most out of your climax.

Diavolo might be all refined, dignified, and gentlemanly, but now that you had brought out the lascivious side of him—the raw and sinful part of him he kept in the dark to many—he was relentless. He straightened his body and licked his damp lips, savoring your taste. It was a look that told you that there was more to come—that he had more to give.

Eyes bleary, you were faintly aware of it as Diavolo stood. You did likewise, albeit unsteadily, and allowed him to turn your body around. With a light press of his palm over your back, he inclined you downward. Your fingers grasped the edge of the table, and the vision of your flushed state connected with your eyes in the glass. Above your likeness, Diavolo’s reflection smirked at you. Then and there, your earlier thoughts about him admiring you from the mirror were proven correct: everything about this was intimate, enthralling, and insanely sensual.

Diavolo pressed his lips on the numbers on your spine, and your legs wobbled as you shivered. He held you by the waist, his torso perfectly fitting over your back as his other hand worked on his trousers and guided himself near your fluttering entrance, the tip touching you but not entering. His lips tickled your ear, and he dragged them across the lobe and tugged at it. With a soft but demanding voice, he urged you, “Say it.”

Still in a daze from your climax but covetous of another, you were ready to do whatever he wanted you to do. “Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.” He nudged his length between your sensitive folds. He felt so good, and you knew he was going to feel even better once he was inside you.

“I’m yours,” you vowed, shifting your lower half to sheathe him. “I’m yours—only yours! Now, please Diavolo!”

He was delivering what he had promised earlier, showing you how you were his. At the same time, you wanted him to show you he was yours, too. Yearning to be connected to him in some way, you turned your head to meet his lips with your own. Instead of replying with words, he slipped his tongue past your mouth and kissed you deeper. He gripped your hips and eased himself inside your core.

Startled, you pulled your lips away and faced forward with a soft gasp. Although you had an idea of his size and girth from your foreplay, he still felt more than you expected. He was only halfway in, and yet, you were already biting your lower lip to suppress a pleasured scream from coming out of you.

His pace was tantalizingly unhurried. Again and again, he drew back and thrust inside you—only to stop midway. 

It was frustrating. You were capable of taking all of him, and you knew it.

“Harder,” you pleaded, “Do it harder… Please!”

With a kiss on your shoulder, he chuckled and replied, “As you wish, my princess.”

He gave you what you asked for and eased himself fully inside you. Once you accommodated his length, your eyes fluttered closed reflexively. Yes, this was it. This was exactly what you needed. Your breath hitched as he slowly drew back until his tip remained in your entrance, and in a second, he plunged inside you again. “Y-Yes, just like… like that.”

Diavolo groaned, increasing his pace. His fingers dug at your hips, and the erotic sound of skin slapping filled your ears. He leaned back and let out a low hum of appreciation as you took every inch of him perfectly. His voice strained and lacking its usual composure, he remarked, “Feels even better than I imagined.”

Well, damn.

The image of him touching himself to the thought of you was enough to make you shudder with arousal, but the pleasure of having him, in reality, was beyond any vision your mind could conjure up. You clenched around him, coaxing a grunt and a loud moan from his parted lips. He gritted his teeth and tightly shut his eyes, the rhythm he had set gradually turning rougher.

“Fuck!” you moaned, “Diavolo, I… I-I’m gonna—”

He sensed it. His pace refused to falter, and you reached your climax within seconds. You witnessed how much of a mess you turned to in the mirror, but you couldn’t care less. It was Diavolo who made you this way, after all. Your arms and legs gave out as you shuddered, but he readily caught you before you could fall to the ground. 

Diavolo unsheathed himself from you and returned you to your seated position. He kissed your hair and shifted his lips near your ear. “More?”

“Y-Yes.”

Gently, he held one of your legs up and propped your ankle on his shoulder. His other hand clamped over your bent knee. He entered your slick heat, and this time, you were able to accommodate him at once.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praised, his golden eyes following the movement as he thrust in and out of you. “Good girl.”

For the third time tonight, he drove you over the edge, but your earlier climax caused your current race to the peak to be agonizing. You feel it dangling over you, but at the same time, it was out of your reach. Distressed, you exclaimed, “I can’t!”

“You can,” he countered, giving it to you harder, “and you will.”

The fervor in his promise remained inexorable, and the tremor in his voice hinted at his impending climax.

You grabbed his wrist and shifted your leg downward, determined. He realized what you were trying to do as you held your arms up and wrapped your legs around his hips. Chuckling, he lifted you up with ease and held you in his arms firmly. You threaded your fingers through his hair and kissed him. He gripped your thighs and slid you up and down his length, returning to the rough momentum you had moments ago in sought of the heat the both of you had built up.

Little by little, his pace turned uneven. His breathing was labored and warm against your skin. 

“I want to see you come,” you told him. The familiar coil in your abdomen unfurling, your voice grew louder as you cried out, “Fill me up, Diavolo. You’re mine.”

As soon as you said those words, euphoria washed over every fiber of your being. This was the highest you’d ever felt, and you were certain no feeling could compare to this. No other being could compare to him. Diavolo was the only one for you.

In a split second, his jaw slackened and his eyes closed, groaning unabashedly and calling out your name. He continued thrusting inside you, never sliding out he chased his own peak. Trembling, he throbbed and filled you up as you asked, the warm and wet liquid dribbling down the inside of your thighs with his final thrust.

Panting, the two of you remained still as you came down from your respective highs.

It was you who broke the silence a few moments later. “I love you.”

He smiled and stroked your hair. “I love you too, my princess.”

The tender moment was shattered by the sudden increase of temperature on your back. Pain derived from your soulmark and spread over to your shoulders and hips. It rapidly grew hotter until it was sweltering. Your whole body felt as if it was on fire. You couldn’t take it any longer.

“Diavolo!” you cried, “My back—it’s burning!”

The touch of his bare skin was comforting, and somehow, his presence alleviated the agony. However, the invisible fire grew more intense. You could do nothing but let out a scream on his shoulder and cling to him.

Diavolo hooked one of his arms under your knees and carried you to the connecting bathroom. He placed you in the bathtub and made sure your head rested on the area gently. As the cold water rose and filled the tub, he caressed your forearm and held your hand reassuringly.

Your throat felt parched, you couldn’t say anything although you longed to. 

He cupped your cheek and wiped the tears you were unaware you were shedding. “Shhh… It’ll be alright. I’m here. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll stay with you and...”

Before you could hear the rest of Diavolo’s words of comfort, everything had gone black.

Vivid visions of the past filled your dreams one after another. You had long heard of people having their life flash before their eyes before they pass away. Was this it? Were you dying? You hoped not. The images blurred and turned ambiguous as the heat you felt subsided.

And then, you returned to the waking world. Alive.

The cool wind from the open terrace doors nipped at your skin. Except for your exposed back, the rest of your body was warm, enveloped by the calming embrace of the man laying underneath you.

You slowly opened your eyes and blinked.

Diavolo turned his head to look at you. “You’re awake.”

Your fingers reached the fabric of the sleeveless nightdress you were wearing. Vaguely, you recognize it as one of the items in the closet next door. It was your first time wearing it.

“I dressed you. I hope you don’t mind,” Diavolo said.

“It’s fine.” You had shared more intimate moments to be embarrassed about something like that; it almost felt trivial. “Thank you for staying and taking care of me.”

“Of course.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost midnight. How are you feeling?”

Abruptly, you sat bolt upright. “Wait, what? And the celebratory ball?”

“It’s still ongoing, but you have nothing to worry about. More importantly, does your back still hurt?”

“No,” you replied after a brief pause, surprised at your own observation. You stretched your shoulders and bent your arm to reach over the small of your back to check. “It’s as if nothing happened.”

“Something did, actually. Something very important,” Diavolo informed you, his tone full of seriousness. “Your mark changed.”

“What do you mean it changed?”

It was the first time you heard of a soulmark morphing into another shape or form. Appearances of soulmarks were rare enough. As you mulled it over, however, you were quick to overcome the disbelief. When all was said and done, you and Diavolo were far from a regular pair of lovers. 

Diavolo sat up and took your hand in his. “Come, look.”

The spark of excitement and delight in his demeanor piqued your curiosity. His eagerness, though contagious, was patient. He led you to the bathroom at the pace you were most comfortable with. Given the events that transpired earlier, the last thing he wanted was to insist you advance quicker and push yourself too hard.

A giant mirror rested over the sink. Unlike before, you had no qualms nor nervous sentiments about looking over your back. The nightdress made it easy for you to see what Diavolo was talking about.

“This is…”

“My sigil.”

You face Diavolo with a quiet smile.

“Do you still have doubts about me? About us?” he asked.

“No… I’m sorry.” You take his hand in yours once more. “For the record, I don’t think I ever will again.”

“Good to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me right away? You said you suspected it from the first day we met. I think there’s a possibility Barbatos knew of it as well.”

“Yes, it was the first time I felt so drawn to someone, but while I had my suspicions, I was only able to confirm them during that day, at the House of Lamentation,” he revealed, squeezing your hand. “As for Barbatos, I asked him not to look into anything relating to the prophecy and you, or at least, not to inform me if he sees anything—except if you would be in danger. I wanted things between us to progress naturally. Was that overly selfish of me?”

“Not at all. I’m glad we were able to get through this together, just the two of us,” you replied, endeared by his intention of pursuing a relationship with you in the most normal and genuine way he could. “I didn’t act upon it because I never thought it would be possible, but I… felt drawn to you from the first day, too.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you admitted and glanced at the door. “Is it too late for us to attend the party? I bet everyone is worried.”

“Are you feeling fine enough?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He nodded, his expression shifting into an amused one. “I think our previous outfits are wrinkled, though.”

You laughed. “I think so, too.”

“Why don’t you choose another one from your closet? You know, I was wondering why you’re always so hesitant to accept gifts from me.”

“Sorry about that,” you replied with sincerity. “This time, I accept the offer wholeheartedly. Thank you for everything. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome, my princess.”

As a final touch, you swiped a layer of red lipstick over your lips and closed the container with a snap. You leaned back and observed your reflection in the mirror. Even though your choice of lip color was bold, you opted for light makeup and went with the natural flushing of your cheeks. You couldn’t help the blood heating up your face at the reminder of your earlier escapades with Diavolo. Undoubtedly, you would never be able to look at this vanity table in the same way ever again. 

Gold jewelry adorned your ears and wrists. The intricate lace pattern of the sleeves and neckline of the black evening gown you were wearing was exquisite to your touch. The full expanse of your back was bare, laid in the open for all to see. While you were unused to such clothing, the impending revelation of your fate for all of the three worlds to witness felt right. All in all, it was a quick ensemble you arranged, but it was elegant. You were more satisfied than you were earlier when you first dressed up for the celebratory ball—in more ways than one.

“All done?” Diavolo asked, standing up from the chaise and putting his D.D.D. inside his pocket. He was in his demon form, as everyone else would be except for your friends from Purgatory Hall, for your ceremonial dance at the end of the celebration. It would be the only event you would be able to attend at this point, but it was the most important one, marking the end of Diavolo’s search and the beginning of your new role.

“Yes.”

He stepped forward and offered you his arm. “Shall we, my princess?”

Wordlessly, you smiled and slipped your hand in his arm as affirmation. This time, you had no guilt nor doubt. Your relationship with him was as real as it could get. You were the prophesied Queen of the Devildom. Soon, he would be your King.

Diavolo was your fate and your choice. And you were his.

Bound by destiny are the Prince and the Princess.

Over her skin, his symbol shall appear and remain.

And with the whole Devildom as their witness,

King and Queen, they shall be; eternal, they will reign.

Notes: And that’s a wrap!

This fic began with the idea of a character having ‘666’ as a soulmark. It was the first time I posted a work that was still in progress, and I’m really grateful for all the kind comments and feedback I received along the way. Thank you to everyone who supported this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💖

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Obey Me! Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[theji]

我的世界守则 The Rules of My World: An Analysis

I came across this video while browsing Weibo last night. It was taken during Yibo's rehearsal for his 'The Rules of My World' performance. I've listened to the song countless times and I like it, the rhythm and all, and the dance. But as with many rap music, I don't pay attention to the lyrics. I suddenly realised I don't really know what the song is talking about, save for the few phrases that stood out. That sparked my interest and inspired today's post. I had previously done some analysis of Zhan's songs, so it's Yibo's turn.

Disclaimer: I am not a professional translator or lyricist. And obviously I'm not Yibo nor do I know him personally, so I can't say for sure what the song is really about. The following analysis is purely based on my personal interpretation. It has CPN components. Please skip if you don't believe that BJYXSZD.

'The Rules of My World' is the 2nd song that Yibo penned the lyrics to himself. The fact that he wrote the lyrics is significant and makes the song worth analysing. 2019's 'Wu Gan' was more 'inward-looking'; about Yibo expressing his own thoughts on navigating the entertainment industry. To me, 'The Rules of My World' is him making a statement, a stand, at the same time, he's sending a message to those he cares about - GG and his (real) fans. Yibo released this song on 30 Dec 2020. The timing is interesting cos it like he's summing up his sentiments based on the events that took place during the year. To outsiders, 2020 was a good year for Yibo. He had many endorsements, projects, high exposure, his commercial value rose. But in CPN reality, 2020 was terrible for so many reasons. GG's incident, him being overworked, crazy fan wars and antis etc etc..anyone who cares about Yibo would be delusional to think he had it good last year.

欢迎你们来加入我的世界 (You're welcome to join my world)

入场券上面有正义的光源 (There's a light of justice on the admission ticket)

DD is giving fans an open invitation to enter his world, to understand him as a person and not just an idol. And he also hopes that his world can bring some light to the fans' world, to bring some positivity, encouragement and guidance to them.

此生面对严厉又仁慈的一切 (In this life we'll face harshness but also kindness)

轻松一点，我们一起度过黑夜 (Just relax, together we'll overcome darkness)

In the entertainment world (or life in general), there will be ups and downs, criticisms and compliments. Regardless of what may come, we can overcome any challenges together. Darkness here could also refer to the antis who seem determined to bring GGDD down. This could be a message to fans - to tell them that they don't always have to rush to defend him, and they don't need to retaliate (aka fan wars). It could also be a message to GG, to make a stand of solidarity and to reassure GG that DD will face any challenges alongside him.

新的征途 (A new journey)

愚蠢的，不好相处 (These fools, they aren't easy to get along with)

愚蠢的，不会打住 (These fools, they won't stop)

但衬托明天更耀眼的路 (But they will set off a brighter path for tomorrow)

It was said that DD matured considerably after the 2*7 incident. Took up more responsibility, became more focused on his career and mindful of future advancements etc. Started to take on more serious acting projects and to shift his career trajectory towards something more sustainable and less 'idol'. The new journey could be a reference to this new path. The fools - the antis, those against GGDD - may have caused damage but their actions have also sparked off DD's desire to do better and to find his footing in the entertainment industry. He now has a clearer view of what he wants, the path he wants to take.

我是我的样子 (This is how I am)

我生来就固执 (I was born stubborn)

讲自己的故事 (I'll tell my own story)

活独特的气质 (Living my unique self)

Follow me, 找到自己的价值 (Follow me, find your own value)

不去迎合别人活 才会觉得有意思 (Life is interesting if you don't cater to others)

我的世界不退让 (It's my world I won't give in)

我的世界不退让 (It's my world I won't give in)

Here, DD is being assertive. This is me, I follow my own rules, I'll make my own decisions, I'll forge my own path, I won't be influenced, I won't give up on my beliefs. So antis, capitalists etc can f*ck off.

It could also be seen as an advice to his fans - to follow his lead and live their own lives. This is also something that GG has repeatedly said to fans - to focus on their own lives, personal relationships, studies, careers etc. Don't devote so much time on chasing idols, online fan wars etc.

阳光耀眼 (The sun is dazzling)

乐观地，走向前 (Just move forward with optimism)

阳光耀眼 (The sun is dazzling)

无所谓，多危险 (Doesn't matter how dangerous it is)

阳光耀眼 (The sun is dazzling)

这是我的世界 (This is my world)

我世界的守则，不许你诡辩 (These are the rules of my world, I won't allow any sophistry)

I see this as DD's words of encouragement, to himself and to GG. Despite all the challenges and hardship, darkness will pass and the sun will come out eventually. And it's shining brightly, there is hope left in this world, there's is much to look forward to. So don't fear, be brave and forge ahead.

Sophistry: the use of clever but false arguments, especially with the intention of deceiving

Poor DD is always hit with industry rumours, about him dating his co-stars etc. Last year, someone even made a false police report against him. Just look at the number of statements his company had to put out. There have also always been ongoing rumours about rivalry between GGDD, tales of backstabbing etc, especially in 2020 at the height of the incident. DD is saying that this is his life, his world. No one knows better than the both of them. So to those who don't know better but continue to spew nonsense about his life and relationships and spread hate, know that I don't care about your antics, they don't hurt me but I won't tolerate them as well.

在我世界行走 (Walking in my world)

什么人生主题你透露 (What kind of life theme do you envisage)

是胆大勇猛所向披靡 (Is it to be bold, courageous and invincible)

或胆小逃避钻进壳里 (Or to be timid and escape into your shell)

喧闹倾诉众人party (Is it to pour out your troubles at a rowdy party)

寂寞相思不停地哭泣 (Or to cry silently non-stop out of loneliness and love-sickness)

都欢迎你来我这里 (All are welcome)

只要跟从自己的内心 (So long as you follow your heart)

跟限制和噪音 说一声 bang bang (I'll say 'Bang Bang' to restriction and noises)

怪兽都退散 (Monsters, be gone)

What kind of person am I in your eyes? The cool guy or soft sweet babie Yibo? Here, DD is acknowledging that the public has many different perceptions of him, and fans love different personas of him and he's ok with that. But if you love him, then let him be. Don't try to restrict him, don't quarrel or force him into a certain mould of your preference. He won't hesitate to shoot the haters (monsters) down.

迈出轻盈的步伐 (Take a light step forward)

一声令下 (With a single command)

来宣布 告别孤勇 (To announce a farewell to having to fight alone)

On this new path, with a new-found realisation of what he wants, DD is clear of what he wants to achieve and he is no longer burdened by fear, uncertainties etc. Both GGDD now have each other by their sides, they share a common purpose as they navigate the intricacies of the entertainment industry together and work their way to the top. And I think this is something that we're seeing more in the fandom since end 2020 - GGDD seemingly becoming more bold in their actions and messages they put out (silent or otherwise).

想要做盘旋的龙 (Wanna be a hovering dragon)

还想做懒散的虫 (Or a lazy worm)

别打扰我 走开 没空 (Don't bother me, go away, I have no time for that)

In public, DD is that proud and confident king. He's not a pushover. But behind the cameras, he just wants to chill and relax (and play games). Please don't bother me, give me some privacy to lead my own life, don't tell me what I can or cannot do.

Cue DD's message. He meant it.

Follow me, 找到自己的价值 (Follow me, find your own value)

不去迎合别人活 才会觉得有意思 (Life is interesting if you don't cater to others)

我们永远不退让 (We will never give in)

我们永远不退让 (We will never give in)

This is a repetition of the earlier verse but what has changed is the last 2 lines. From <It's my world I won't give in>, DD now says <We will never give in>. This was actually the first thing that sparked off my CPN, and hinted to me that this song concerns GG in some ways. Who's We? We all know how GGDD almost always use the word 'we' in their CQL promo interviews and bts, as though they come as a package and all views represent both of them as a entity. This also echoes the earlier sentiments - both of them, after the 2020 incident, have developed a steely resolve. They won't let the antis or challenges or societal views hold them back anymore. Their world, their rules. They will fight for their rights and what they believe in, and they are determined to reach their goals.

阳光耀眼 (The sun is dazzling)

乐观地 走向前 (Just move forward with optimism)

阳光耀眼 (The sun is dazzling)

无所谓 多危险 (Doesn't matter how dangerous it is)

阳光耀眼 (The sun is dazzling)

这是我的世界 (This is my world)

我们的世界不会被改变 (Our world will never be changed)

Again, similar to the above 'we' example. From this part of the song onwards, DD is referring to them both. The last line could also be viewed as an affirmation of GGDD's commitment to each other. Whatever is it, our relationship will not change. We will go through it all together.

Don‘t stop, get it, get it

Let me see you work up on it

Don’t stop, get it, get it

Let me see you all up on it

Let me see you work up on it

Don‘t stop, get it, get it

Don't stop

Hey

I interpret this as DD's words of encouragement to GG. Like don't stop fighting, continue to work hard towards your (our) goals. Go for it, you can do it!

在我的世界 (In my world)

本能很关键 (Instinct is the key)

坚持自己 (Stay true to yourself)

就是你们的世界 (It is your world)

DD's parting words to fans: to stay true to oneself, to build and enrich your own worlds, to fight for your goals, like how he is trying.

Well, I had fun working on this. Maybe I'll do Wu Gan another time. Reminded me of literature class during my schooling days, although I never did Chinese literature back then. Feel free to share your thoughts on the song with me. =D