#Rather than. Just having u in my life bec we both want it that way yk

[poptod]

hey again! i was wondering if u could do an elliot x reader, kinda like an enemies to lovers, where he thinks they’re an average person until they outsmart him which both impresses and pisses him off? but like sweet at the end? also from his pov so that we can hear his little monologues? i’m a sucker for happy endings. thanks and love ur writing

notes: sorry this is a tad late again. had a rough morning. i know nothing about cyber security and absolutely nothing about mr robot. i tried my best thank u for requesting :) hope you like it

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Be it the end of days, Elliot would not call upon you. Of course he wouldn't – he barely knew you, only your name and face and the position you held relative to him. Another worker much like himself, just far more normal than him, and far less intelligent than him. That fact didn't stem from any specific dislike for you; just the truth. Among your coworkers you did not stand out, a tactic he often wished he had.

You were barely on his radar, at least not until the question of method came up during a meeting. Some hellhole business had hired them for cyber protection, and out of all those gathered at the tables, Gideon called upon you and him for answers. Elliot suggested the method they usually used – application security. You did not. Instead, with the tip of a pen pressed delicately against your chin, you told Gideon and those present that it'd be a better idea to use network security. Not a massive difference, but a big enough one that your suggestion irked him. The way you said it, too – "I think network would be better," so kind and sweet, a facade so heavy Elliot was surprised you still had a job.

For some strange reason your boss agreed with you.

And you ended up being right.

And suddenly, you became a lot more of an important person in his life, in the definition that he hated you. He payed more attention, and with that he noticed something he should've known all along. You were smart. Like him.

You were smart – so what? Confusion persisted when he tried to think of why that irritated him so terribly. Maybe it was because you remained normal. The two of you were equals, so why did he have issues? Where were yours? From everything he'd noted of you, and as of recent that was quite a lot, you were perfectly fine. No anxiety, no nightmarish mental disturbances, no addictions, no loneliness – kindness was your 'thing'.

Maybe he was just jealous.

The thought stewed like sick in his head as you laughed, the soft sound coming from the break room to his desk, just to make his fist curl and his jaw grind. This feeling, it felt... less than normal. Just like every single fucking thing about him, and he dug his nails further into his palm.

Be it the end of days, Elliot would not trust you. It couldn't be real – you never cried, you never looked stressed, and though you weren't always smiling you were certainly never frowning. Of course, he only noticed this while at work. After hours he found your various online accounts, and what starts as pure curiosity turns into a search for your records, wondering if there's anything that's ever been wrong with you.

Beautiful hair, soft skin, shining eyes, and a smile that could melt ice away from even his heart. No, nothing wrong there. Happy parents, no sign of disability, financial security. Nothing wrong there either. Good friends, useful hobbies, beautiful eyes. Beautiful eyes, saccharine like warm honey and sweet mints. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and waving away the people in his head, redirecting his attention to trying to get your medical records. Just out of curiosity. He doesn't get it – at least not that night, but he knows he'll get it eventually. Just a matter of time, and it's better than simply asking you, an act he would never find approachable.

On Thursday, despite his own leanings, he does actually talk to you. For the first time, and it's quite a lot harder to hate you when you smile and listen carefully to the words he says like they're the most important thing in the world. He'd expected your upfront kindness to be rude and subtle, that passive aggressive thing rich people loved to use. It's still polite, of course it is – you don't know him, although he'd bet he knows you. Nonetheless you act like you don't know him, and while most people would consider it a hindrance to conversation, you use it to your advantage.

You ask him if he's comfortable as though it's a normal question. You make sure you aren't bothering him, you ask if he wants to talk about the project, you respect every boundary he sets, you wait for him to respond as he talks to himself in his head, but the most surprising part is that somehow it feels normal. Like these are normal questions to ask, like you do this with everyone, and by the end of it he's wondering if you actually do do it for everyone.

Later you ask him if he wants to go out with some of your coworkers for a drink. He says no, you don't try to get him to come, and you give him the option of coming later if he wants to. You also tell him he's welcome on any other evening out. Over the next couple weeks you stay true to your word – you ask him if he wants to come, and one evening he says yes. Not out of any pressure from you, just simple curiosity to your behavior outside the workplace.

Turns out you aren't all that different. You keep up that rule of comfort, and as you meet multiple people in the crowded bar he wonders how the hell you keep up with it without bursting out in irritation. Even he can't keep up, and he's one of those specific people, the kind that need alterations to interactions to be comfortable. You hold open the door for those behind you, you bring drinks to those who ask you to carry them, you listen to the stories of strangers and friends alike. You smile almost the entire evening.

And he catches you in that smile, your eyes meeting his. Recognizing him you smile even wider, waving at him as a pleasant blush covers over your cheeks, a genuine happiness to simply be near him in a way that might mean you're friends.

No one smiles when they see him. He's a bit of a horror story in the office, but you smile.

It's a nice feeling.

Be it the end of days, he would not join your life. He's too much of an embarrassment, too much of a fuck-up to exist without guilt in your story, too terrified of hindering your potential. You're perfect, and while at first he didn't believe it to be true it's clear now.

He avoids you for the most part. Ducking out of rooms and meetings, staying right at his desk, leaving work early or late relative to your schedule. At first when you pass by him (rarely with his efforts), you still smiled and waved silently. After a while, you stop smiling, and a little while later you avert your eyes at his presence. He feels horrid for what he does, seeing how you're even now trying to make him comfortable through recognizing his disinterest in you and accordingly growing a faux disinterest in him.

It's not like that unhappiness is always visible – in fact, it rarely shows, only in the moments where your eyes mistakenly meet. However most other hours of the day you're working with that tapping of your foot and the soft humming that he can only hear if he strains. That or talking to your coworkers, helping them through difficult issues and scanning through data.

Even with his special steps made to rid you of his unpleasant life, there are moments where it's unavoidable to in the very least be near each other. Mandatory meetings and office parties that he's roped into, unwillingly of course, but as his coworkers drink you join him on the faraway couch looking over the bustling, tipsy crowd.

"I know you don't like me all that much," you say, words soft and not meeting his eye. You remembered he doesn't like eye contact all that much. "I just want to apologize if I ever said or did anything to offend you. I didn't mean to, you seem like a very kind person."

He scoffs, and in confusion you look to him.

"You know I'm not nice," he mutters almost under his breath, but as always you pay close attention and decipher his words.

"Not to people you don't trust, no. Sometimes people find it hard to trust others and that's perfectly okay," you say with a smile, one that he quickly looks away from. "But you're not cruel. You're actually rather polite when people respect you in return. It's not an uncommon trait at all."

You think he hates you and you're still trying to make him feel better.

"How the hell do you do it?" He finally asks, the words blurting out before he can fully process what they mean. When he hears what he says his heart stops, shivering in the silence of your reply, anxious to see if you'll even answer at all.

"Do what?"

"Be nice. To everyone," he explains himself, growing quiet with each passing second.

Again you pause, thinking on his question before you answer.

"I do get annoyed with people a lot. I don't want to do things for people sometimes, but when people ask of me something I ask myself, 'what do I lose from doing this?' and 'what does this person gain from me doing this?', and usually it doesn't cost me anything, and most times it relieves stress off a lot of people," you say, using small hand gestures as you speak. "That, and it takes very little effort to make sure people are comfortable. Also helps you to get to know the person better, you know? You get a lot information about people when you know what makes them comfortable."

He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. Instead he scoffs, stands, and leaves.

Be it the end of days, he would not ask anything of you. You're perfectly happy, and he's mostly satisfied knowing that you're more human than he previously thought. Not fully satisfied – a part of him wants to be close to you, yearns for that warmth you could so easily give him, that kindness in you that he finds so rarely. But he does fine on his own, and so do you, and he finds he doesn't know how to go about becoming friends with you. He doesn't know how, so he doesn't try.

Time passes and he tries to think of you less often, only successful once every two full moons. The rest of the time he looks across the clean-cut cubicles for you, over the grey wasteland for your glow, aching to hear that distant humming again. You come to him in dreams and hallucinations alike, and sometimes he even falls for it. He lets himself believe it, that you'd somehow find your way to his apartment, that you'd be willing to offer familiarity and kindness – even to someone like him.

Fortunately the two of you are on good terms, relatively. Better than they were when he was avoiding you entirely. Now he's just not interacting with you. He's fine being in the same room, hell, he's fine standing next to you, but he doesn't strike up a conversation. Neither do you, and the polite but work-centered relationship continues.

On a rainy evening his boss catches him before he can leave, asking if he could put in a few hours off the clock, and everyone knows bosses never ask. So he sits back down at his desk, thinking bitterly on what he could be doing instead of stuck inside lifeless walls as rain and hail batters hell against the skyscraper windows. Outside, there aren't any lights – he's too high up in the sky to easily see the lights of cars and restaurants on the streets. All he can see is a powered out building's dark windows, so he doesn't linger on the view long.

Slowly most other people file out, but he's not quite done with the assignment. It's not quite right, something's out of place, hidden from his searching eyes that scan the bright screen so ferociously. A burning sensation begins to grow in his head, begging him to return to his home computers where the pixels aren't quite so large. His tie holds a tight rope around his neck, his breathing growing harsh, and the trance of discomfort only broken when the sound of a curse, followed by the slap of a hand against a counter and a choked sob, reaches him.

Peeking over the walls he looks to the break room, the source of the noise, and in the seemingly empty office (completely empty to you), you're curled up on the floor with your hands over your eyes. His breathing halts when another sob wracks through your body, your shoulders shivering with the intensity that holds him in place, unable to look away or to move closer. A screech comes from your shoe when it slides across the linoleum floor, curling your legs tight against your chest.

You're muttering something – something he can't quite hear, but he's spoken the words himself enough times that he thinks he knows what you're saying.

Shut up.

Please be quiet.

Go away.

He knows what that means to him. Breakdowns, unrelenting voices, pushing him and criticizing his every move, but that's him. That's normal for him, he's broken in that way and a dozen others. You're not.

You're not broken at all, and for that a new curiosity blooms in his chest. It's a little sick, but it pushes him to approach you, slow footsteps making themselves clear to ensure you wouldn't jump.

"Hey," he says rather lamely, his voice low and cracking with his insecurity. He's not usually on the giving end of comfort, and to be fair, he's not usually on the receiving end, either.

"I'm sorry," you get out, your tone like the creaking of a rotted door, tired and broken. You keep your face hidden in your hands. "I didn't know you were here."

"It's... I don't mind," he says, this time much more even, and with that clarity you recognize him.

"What are you doing here so late, Elliot?" You ask softly, your breathing beginning to even.

"Gideon asked me to," he answers. "You?"

"Needed to look over some coding," you mumble, finally raising your head from your hands. Strands of hair stick to your skin, wet from tears and blushing from the heat of your hands.

Shifting slightly, he moves from a knelt position to a sitting one, his legs crossed as he sat in front of you, using that patience you so often had and this time using it to your advantage. He can wait – it doesn't cost him anything, and it would mean the world to you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks quietly when you fully get your breathing under control.

"Thank you," you murmur, staring at the ground beside him. "You ever have.. these thoughts, they... bad thoughts, that just keep on telling you to do bad things?"

"... yes," he answers hesitantly.

"You can't tell anyone this," you add quietly, to which he fully agrees. He's giving a part of himself here, too. "... but it's worse than that. They can put these visions in my eyes, it's usually manageable. Bugs that aren't there. Ghost fingers on my face and back. Sometimes it gets bad though, and it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to keep it secret. I could get fired, you know."

"I know," he says almost automatically, but he does know what it's like. To question what's real, never knowing if those words in your head are your own, unable to see past the charade of a reality. "I get them too," he says, and immediately he knows he's chosen the right words for once.

"Thank you for telling me," you say, always a mediator between the worlds people make up in their minds. "It really does make me feel better that I'm not alone."

You're emotional. He knows that, he knows you're interested in the emotions of yourself and others, but only now does he realize it's actually clinical kindness. Respect above all, thank you for the littlest things, and a plain explanation of your own emotions. Maybe it makes it easier for you – he knows he certainly appreciates it. Sometimes it's hard to decipher facial emotions, and having you tell him straight lets him skip past that uncertainty and into a place he knows he can help from.

Be it the end of days, he would protect you. You're like him, and he's like you, and while the differences are too clear to those viewing your friendship, there's actually more similarities than differences. Sure, you're wonderful with social interactions, but you also hear voices, like him. You have breakdowns, like him, you handle your emotions with very specific preferences.

Somehow you become part of him – the innocent part, the part worth saving, and that's why he would protect you. You're a part of him in a way that makes him think maybe I'm not all bad, as long as the part that isn't bad is you. He lets you in bit by bit, inviting you to his apartment on a whim, even letting you cook dinner for the two of you.

You stay over one night. Not on purpose, but you fall asleep on the floor, facing the buzzing television with your dirty plate beside you. Keeping quiet he takes both your plates, leaving them in the kitchen before joining you on the floor. Hesitantly he raises his hand, reaching for you with delicate fingers aiming to brush the stray hairs falling upon your sleeping face. He does just so, taking in a moment where he can touch you without fear. Where it's just you, no crying thoughts on how you might despise this time spent with him, how you hate the way he moves and speaks – it's just you.

And you've turned into everything.

The flowers growing in the cracks of cement. The rain that patters against the forest canopy, slipping past the leaves, mist creeping up through the mountain's valley. The sun that shines warm against his clothes and melts sweet ice cream. The bird song in a city park. The mother with her child. The poetry of old and new poets, the bubbles in soda, handwritten words on rough parchment. You are the paint on the hands of budding artists, the soft pillowcases of a bed loved by a decades-old couple, the posters hanging in a teenager's room, every lovely thing in the world, every action, scent, feeling, and taste imbued with a life given by those who adore their worlds so dearly.

Be it the end of days, he would love you, and nothing more.

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr. robot

[dinosaurtsukki]

across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. I)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own. 

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

“You’re not the first painter to come here,” the ferryman said. Actually, it wasn’t the first time Bokuto had heard that. And now, he was sitting in the middle of tiny, fishing boat, clutching his tattered suitcase and the thin, wooden box where he kept his canvases for dear life. Mostly due to the fact that if his suitcase or canvases found their way overboard, Bokuto would have no choice but to jump after them.

“Is he a terror?” Bokuto asked, deciding to make conversation with the ferryman anyway.

“A terror? No, none of the painters who came back looked scared. Maybe frustrated or lost is the right word,” the ferryman said. “He never leaves the manor but they say that he’s more beautiful than his suitor.”

“I’ve heard that too,” Bokuto muttered as he gazed over the horizon to the shore where the boat was headed. He wasn’t particularly fond of the job he had to take: a portrait commission. Bokuto would much rather work on the commission from the church in his hometown with his master, painting bodies and landscapes were his specialization. On the other hand, Bokuto was not as confident with drawing the human face, specifically, capturing emotion in the eyes. Which were very, very important for a painter hoping to make his own way into the world. And because of that, his master sent him off to the Elysium Estate, a secluded piece of land nestled along the coast of a provincial town owned by the Akaashi family, to paint Akaashi Keiji’s portrait to send to his suitor.

An hour later, the boat had reached the harbor and Bokuto promptly got off, grateful for steady, unshifting land, thanked the ferryman and paid the fee. Then, clutching his suitcase and canvases, he made his way up a rocky trail to where the estate was. Up close, the large house looked dark and gloomy, as if nobody lived there, at all, but it still looked quite grand with its Greek-inspired architecture and marble columns framing the entrance. Standing outside, as if expecting him, was a young man with short, black hair, dressed in a butler’s uniform.

“You must be the painter, Bokuto Koutarou,” he spoke, bowing formally when Bokuto walked up. “I’m Kageyama Tobio, the estate butler. If there is anything you need during your stay here, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks!” Bokuto grinned. “Um, no need to be so formal though. I’m just an apprentice painter.”

“The madam ordered me to treat you as such,” Kageyama said, holding out his hand to take Bokuto’s belongings. Bokuto contemplated it for a while and handed him his suitcase, keeping his canvases closely to himself. Kageyama opened the door to the estate and they walked into a foyer that was dimly lit by a few candles.

“It doesn’t seem like a lot of people stay here, huh?” Bokuto said as he looked around.

“Only the madam and her son are currently living here,” Kageyama explained, taking an oil lamp from the table and walking down a hallway near the grand staircase. “You will be staying in this room for the meantime,” he added, opening the door to a room that was much larger than Bokuto’s master’s studio. Inside was a large, four-poster bed, windows that almost covered the entire far wall, a fireplace, and an easel already set up. When Bokuto glanced at the wall nearest him, he could see a door that probably led into his own bathroom.

“Wow, this is… a nice room,” Bokuto said, unable to find the words to say.

“The madam and young master Keiji have retired for the evening but he has agreed to meet you for breakfast in the dining hall,” Kageyama said, leaving the suitcase on top of the chest at the foot of Bokuto’s bed. “Would you like me to bring up some supper?”

“Yes please,” Bokuto smiled politely and Kageyama left him in the dark, grand room. Bokuto took the time to start a fire to light up the room. Then, he unloaded his canvases. The wooden box that was custom-made for it was nailed shut and Bokuto pried it open with a small tool stashed in his suitcase. To his relief, the canvases were both as pristine and white as when he first packed them. Bokuto lovingly ran his finger across the surface, already eager to break out his paints and start the commission. Just for the sake of being able to paint again.

After a warm meal of bread and soup, Bokuto lay on the soft bed of his room and fell asleep.

The next morning, he was woken up by Kageyama knocking on the door. Remembering that he would be meeting Akaashi for the first time, Bokuto quickly washed his face and dressed into his best pair of trousers and a clean shirt before hurrying to the dining room. The room was half the size of the manor’s living room, but better lit with tall windows that reached the ceiling. The long table was set for two and already sitting there, was Akaashi Keiji.

The rumors about his beauty were true: with his tanned skin, hair the color of chocolate that fell in short waves around his face, his graceful facial features, and eyes the color of deep emerald that followed Bokuto as he walked to his seat. Under the table, he felt his hands itch for a piece of charcoal and paper.

“U-um, Bokuto Koutarou,” he stammered, remembering that he had to introduce himself. “Pleased to meet you… um, sir.”

“There’s no need for that,” Akaashi waved his hand. His voice was soft but he spoke and enunciated every syllable. “So, my mother sent you to become a companion before I’m carted off to Italy to get married. Hopefully, I get to enjoy some kind of freedom before that happens.” He paused and fixed his gaze on Bokuto. “What do you think about all this?”

“Well, your mother seems concerned about you and your health—”

“You don’t have to talk as if she’s here,” Akaashi interrupted him. “She’s the one who’s paying you, not me. Tell me what you really think.” Bokuto blinked at the interruption and one look at Akaashi told him that he would detect any lie. So, Bokuto decided to tell the truth, or as much as he could without spilling the fact that he was painting his portrait in secret.

“When I entered the workforce to get a job, I never thought I’d have to be hired to be a personal companion,” Bokuto chuckled. “But it beats working in a factory. About your situation however, I think it’s a bit sad.”

“Sad? Do you pity me?” Akaashi’s expression was neutral.

“In a way, I do. It must be lonely having to stay here. Maybe your mother hired me so you’d have someone to talk to. In a way, I guess I am perfect for job,” Bokuto grinned. “People say I’m talkative enough to hold a conversation for two.” Akaashi looked down at his plate, as if thinking over what Bokuto said, and then looked out the window.

“I want to go down to the beach today,” he said, Bokuto silently let out a sigh of relief. He had passed whatever test Akaashi had set up. “Accompany me after breakfast.”

“Yes sir,” Bokuto nodded. In front of him, he saw the corner of Akaashi’s lip turn up.

“I’m younger than you. You may call me Akaashi.”

An hour later, Bokuto made his way down the beach with Akaashi behind him, wearing a dark green scarf around his chin and a jacket over his shirt. Bokuto couldn’t help but notice how Akaashi looked at the beach as if it was the first time he was there, and perhaps it was his first time at the beach. Judging by how thin his frame was and his breathing that was almost labored while he walked down the beach, Bokuto could easily tell how sickly he was. Bokuto considered sitting on the sand with Akaashi, but another part of him wanted Akaashi to experience much more. As soon as they reached the beach, Bokuto kicked off his shoes and socks and walked over to wade in the sea.

“Come on,” he smiled and raised a hand encouragingly at Akaashi who eyed him curiously before taking off his shoes and socks, as well as his jacket and left them in a neat pile beside Bokuto’s things. He dipped his feet hesitantly in the water, before walking forward and joining Bokuto.

“Thanks to you, my mother allowed me to finally come down here,” Akaashi said, squinting at the horizon. “We came to live at the estate because the doctors said the sea breeze might do me good, but they kept me locked inside.”

“What do you do to pass the time?” Bokuto asked.

“Read, mostly. Actually, all the time,” Akaashi answered. “Even if I wasn’t allowed to go out, my father consistently sent me books and tutors so at least my learning was up to standard. My mother joins me in the library sometimes to work on her embroidery.” He looked sideways at Bokuto. “I know a lot of things, like the deepest parts of the sea we’re standing in, the trade routes that cross it, but I’ve never been in it.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, yesterday was the first time I’ve been to sea,” Bokuto admitted. “I never thought waves could rock a boat so much. I was sick to my stomach and I almost threw up over the side of the boat.” Akaashi smiled wryly.

“Did you?”

“No,” Bokuto chuckled. “The sea was a wonderful blue, I couldn’t bear to throw up in it.”

“That’s good,” Akaashi nodded. “I’ve always wondered about how salty the sea is.” Bokuto raised his eyebrows, bent down, and cupped some water in his hands.

“Want to try it for yourself?”

“As long as you don’t tell my mother,” Akaashi snorted. He cupped his hands down under Bokuto’s and bent down, raising their hands. Bokuto felt Akaashi’s lips kiss the tips of his fingers as he sipped the saltwater. Akaashi raised his head, making a face that was half-grimace, half-look of curiosity, and spat the saltwater back into the sea. Bokuto laughed.

“How was it?”

“The saltiest thing I ever tasted,” Akaashi said. “Even saltier than bacon. But now I know how salty sea is.”

They spent the next few hours at the beach, even taking their lunch there after Kageyama delivered it in a picnic basket. Bokuto took the time to watch Akaashi as he picked up rocks and shells to inspect before returning them where he found them, attempting to memorize his unwilling client’s face. In his head, Bokuto pictured Akaashi in a fancy, green dress jacket that matched the color of his eyes, sitting with his hands folded over each other and perhaps a book on his lap. He kept that image in mind when he asked Akaashi if they could head inside. The madam, whom Bokuto was to meet the next day, called Akaashi to the library giving time for Bokuto to begin sketching drafts of the portrait.

He took his time, drawing different parts of Akaashi at first: his hands, his hair, his side profile and ears, his nose and mouth, and lastly, his eyes. Bokuto had to soap the charcoal off his fingers before joining Akaashi at supper, this time making less conversation to observe the details of his face. When he was alone in his room again, Bokuto laid the sketches out before him near the fireplace and made an attempt to draw Akaashi’s eyes again, only to give up on lie on the floor, trying to remember how the candlelight at dinnertime accentuated the planes of his face and the faraway look in Akaashi’s eyes that seemed to lead out to sea.

…

The next day, Bokuto sat in front of Akaashi Keiji’s mother, or Mikoto, as she preferred that he would address her, in the manor’s library upstairs. Out of all the rooms Bokuto had visited in the giant house, this one seemed to be the most visited by the madam and her son. Like the dining room, it had large windows that lit the entire room. The wooden floor was polished and books that have left their shelves to rest in stacks around the room showed signs of it being frequented, most likely by Akaashi himself. Other than that, there was something about the entire room that felt comforting and warm.

“So, you’ve met my son,” Mikoto said, sipping from her teacup. She looked a lot like her son: same brown hair, green eyes, and sharp features. His master told him that she had one lame leg, thanks to being infected by polio years ago, which prevented her from going around frequently. “How did you find him?” she asked, fixing him with her gaze.

“He’s, well, quite reserved,” Bokuto answered. “Yesterday when we had breakfast, I feel as if he was testing me,” he added with a nervous chuckle.

“Ah, Keiji tends to do that,” Mikoto smiled ruefully. “We used to live near a city when he was younger. But, because of his health, my husband decided to move us here for the sea air. That did Keiji’s health better but unfortunately, he’s had very little encounter with the outside world. When we told him about the marriage arrangement, he’s grown distant from me.”

“Is that the reason why nobody has ever successfully painted his portrait?” Bokuto asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mikoto nodded. “Keiji’s strong-willed and scheming, despite everything. He knows that we need the marriage for our lands and wealth to continue remaining under our family name. He doesn’t directly transgress the marriage, but he makes it difficult for it to continue.”

“He’s probably prolonging it,” Bokuto said, suddenly feeling sad for Akaashi. Even though he was better off with a wealthy family compared to Bokuto who was taken in by his master after his parents died, Akaashi had very little freedom. And now, a marriage.

“Probably,” Mikoto set her cup down and looked at the portrait of her that hung over the fireplace. “Which is why we need you, Bokuto-san. Your master played a hand in helping seal my marriage by painting this portrait. He did well. And now, you must do the same.” Bokuto gulped. “Your master spoke very highly of you. Have you started on the portrait?”

“Yes,” Bokuto nodded. Early that morning, he had sketched a rough layout of Akaashi on one of his canvases. Without Akaashi there to pose, it took a great deal for Bokuto to visualize his position. But he wasn’t his master’s student for nothing. Bokuto was confident that he could paint Akaashi’s likeness.

“Well, I mustn’t keep you then,” Mikoto said. “Call Akaashi to come here. I’ll let you have a few hours to paint.”

“Thank you, Mikoto-san,” Bokuto bowed before leaving the library, closing the double doors behind him. He walked down the great stairs of the manor and was about to head into his room when he ran into Akaashi heading his way. “Akaashi,” Bokuto grinned, trying to make it seem as if he hadn’t just discussed Akaashi’s marriage with his mother just a while ago. “I was just about to look for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Akaashi said. He was wearing trousers, a light blue shirt, and a beige jacket.

“Your mother requests that you join her in the library,” Bokuto said. Akaashi made a face.

“I don’t feel like reading, I’d rather go outside,” he said. “Would you come join me at the beach again? It should be at low tide when we are there.”

“I-I would, but…” Bokuto stammered.

“Is there anything you’re preoccupied with?” Akaashi asked, stepping closer to Bokuto. His green eyes bored into his, searching for an answer. Bokuto relented.

“Of course not,” he shook his head and smiled. “Going to the beach sounds great.” Bokuto groaned internally, thinking about how fast he’d have to paint before sunset. And then, Akaashi smiled, excitement shining in his eyes.

“Let’s go then, Bokuto-san.” And somehow, it was all alright. The two of them made their way to the beach, walking side by side. Akaashi had the same scarf he wore yesterday tied around his chin. Bokuto walked in front of Akaashi when they made their way down the trail along the rocky side of the cliff. Every so often, Bokuto felt the urge to turn around to check how Akaashi was doing, and to memorize the look of his hands as they gripped the side of the cliff, the concentration in his furrowed brow, how his green scarf billowed behind him in the wind. As they neared the bottom of the cliff, Bokuto suddenly heard the sound of rocks falling and Akaashi crying in surprise.

“Bokuto-san!”

Quick as a flash, Bokuto turned around to catch Akaashi in his arms, holding a hand out to steady himself against the cliff with the other wrapped around Akaashi’s waist. Up close, Bokuto could smell the sea breeze already caught in Akaashi’s clothes as well as the slightest whiff of vanilla. For a moment, he wondered if he could catch that scent in the portrait he was going to paint.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Bokuto said. Akaashi stepped back, steadying himself against the rocky cliff wall. His one hand lingered on Bokuto’s shoulder before using it to pull down the scarf tied around his chin.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” he spoke. Without thinking, Bokuto held out a hand to him. Akaashi accepted and the two walked hand-in-hand to the beach.

Bokuto soon found out why Akaashi was excited to go down to the beach at this time. After leaving his scarf, jacket, shoes, and socks in a neat pile again on the sand, Akaashi waded out to sea and bent down in search of hermit crabs and other creatures in the tide pools. Bokuto waded with him for a while before sitting near a large rock and taking out a piece of paper folded around a small piece of drawing charcoal. He decided to focus on drawing Akaashi’s hands, folded over each other, before finding his own hand moving by itself and drawing Akaashi’s eyes, his nose, the scarf tied around his chin that covered his mouth. ‘Stupid,’ Bokuto shook his head, realizing that he didn’t need to sketch the scarf for the portrait. He folded the sketch and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, rubbing the charcoal of his fingers on his pants as Akaashi jogged towards him with something cupped in his hands.

“Bokuto-san,” he stopped, holding out his hands to Bokuto to show a hermit crab scuttling in it. Bokuto let out a chuckle.

“I see you’ve found a friend,” he reached out a finger to gently stroke the crab’s shell. Akaashi had a small smile on his face. “Thinking of bringing it home?”

“No,” Akaashi shook his head. “I read that they easily get depressed when they’re alone. And I don’t think he would want to live in a sink. I just wanted to hold one in my hands.”

“Like when you held seawater yesterday,” Bokuto said, smiling at the memory. “But I’d advice against tasting this one.” Akaashi looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Very funny, Bokuto-san,” he said dryly. Bokuto snickered. Akaashi bent down and released the hermit crab into the sand.

“Let’s head back, I’m good for today,” Akaashi said, walking back to where his things were. “I know you still have some things to work on.”

“I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Akaashi held out a hand. “It was… rude of me to try to invade your privacy. I apologize. It’s just…” Akaashi pursed his lips and looked down.

“I get it. Kageyama isn’t the most talkative person around,” Bokuto grinned, sidling up next to him. “And I was hired to be your companion.”

“I don’t want you to think about it like that,” Akaashi said. “I know it’s not normal. It’s kind of sad that my mother would have to hire someone to be my friend here. So, can we both pretend that your salary doesn’t come from a fake friendship?”

“Well…” Bokuto shrugged. “If we’re going to that, want to add to the pretending?”

“How do you suppose we do that?” Akaashi looked at him curiously.

“If we’re going to be pretend friends, how did our ‘friendship’ begin?” Bokuto asked. “Maybe I was a boy from the nearby village who wandered here, wanting to see the Elysium Estate for myself. All the other kids say it’s an abandoned manor, a haunted one specifically. But I, a brave soul, decided to check it out.” Akaashi smiled and sat down on the sand to put on his socks and shoes.

“On that day, my mother let me read outside, just near the house of course. While reading my book, I couldn’t help but notice a noise coming from behind the house,” he continued.

“It was me, pelting pebbles at one of the windows,” Bokuto laughed, fully engaged in their imagining.

“Lucky for you, my mother was asleep and I happened to appear before you first.”

“I probably screamed like a girl in terror thinking you were a ghost.”

“And then I had to calm you down. And then tell you that there were in fact people living here.”

“And then I sense how lonely you are and invite you to play.”

“And then we play tag all morning and chase each other on the beach,” Akaashi smiled, eyes scanning the horizon again. “That’s a nice backstory. Though, it’s just a story.”

“It’s a good story,” Bokuto held out a hand and helped Akaashi to his feet. Both of them reached the manor a good three hours before the sun set, leaving Bokuto with enough time to begin mixing his paints to begin the portrait. It was probably his favorite part of painting, creating the colors to imprint a real picture on canvas. He mixed some red and white into a warm shade of brown for Akaashi’s skin, darkening the shade for his hair. Bokuto touched his brush to his paints and filled in his sketch. Then, he mixed in white and a darker brown for the highlights and contours. Next, he worked on Akaashi’s suit: dark green jacket and crisp white shirt. Clothing was harder to work on without a model but Bokuto tried to imagine where the creases and folds would be placed and ran his brush over them.

Now that he had begun, Bokuto didn’t want to stop painting, even after dinner when he had to light five candles and place them around his workstation. Eventually, the change in lighting got to him and Bokuto knew he couldn’t continue working like this. He packed away his paints, brushes, and palette, folded up his easel, and moved them to the extra storeroom connected to his bedroom. Then, he gently lifted the canvas, careful not to touch it, and placed it gently in the closet. Lastly, Bokuto blew out all the candles, taking the last one with him to take one last look at his painting before going to sleep. When he squinted, with the candle in front of him, the portrait looked as if it was on fire.

…

The next few days were like so: Bokuto would accompany Akaashi for walks on the beach or around the fields bordering the estate and the village over. Many times, Bokuto would have to rush his time to work on Akaashi’s portrait before sunset fell. In the mornings, he’d wake up early to check on errors he might have made in the dim light. Most of them were errors in shading, a color not mixed right, but there was little to fix. Before he knew it, Bokuto was almost finished with the portrait.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel guilty having to paint this portrait behind Akaashi’s back, knowing all the effort he put into preventing his arranged marriage as best as he could. Even seeing the excited look on Akaashi’s face, which lifted Bokuto’s spirits momentarily, had the bitter aftertaste of knowing that this excitement would all be ruined once Bokuto had to tell him about his circumstances for being at the manor. So, he spent a bit more time with Akaashi, hoping that he didn’t have to finish the portrait so early. That was until Akaashi.

“He’ll likely be in bed all day,” Mikoto said, telling Bokuto the news over breakfast when he asked why Akaashi wasn’t there. “That should give you enough time to finish the portrait by tomorrow, right?” she looked up at him over her breakfast. Bokuto swallowed.

“Yes Ma’am,” he nodded. For once, he wasn’t excited to get back to finishing a painting.

“Good. Keiji’s father has called for me to meet him in Kyushu. I set out to leave tomorrow after breakfast. If you like, I could be the one to tell Keiji about your… background,” she said, spreading butter on a slice of bread. He could tell that she was relieved, probably, knowing that she’d be rid of her sickly son. ‘No, that’s not it,’ Bokuto mentally shook his head, reminding himself that Akaashi Mikoto was simply doing her job as a mother and as someone concerned about the wealth of her family. She wasn’t a bad woman, Bokuto just somehow bitterly considered her as one.

“It’s alright, Mikoto-san,” Bokuto shook his head. “I’ll tell him myself.”

Mikoto smiled at him. Immediately, she looked years younger, just like the woman in the portrait that hung in the library. “Thank you, Bokuto-san. I trust that it hasn’t been easy, having to paint a portrait of my son without having him pose. I have no doubt that the portrait will be lovely, but I’m not looking forward to seeing the look on Keiji’s face after realizing what I’ve done.”

“Neither am I,” Bokuto smiled ruefully. “Forgive me for this but, I believe I’ve come to see him as a friend these past few weeks.”

“I know he sees you as one too,” Mikoto nodded, looking out the window. “I forbade him from going to the beach for years, fearing that something would happen to him. I couldn’t accompany him and Kageyama’s the only household staff who manages the property. These days, you can tell how excited he is in the morning. He doesn’t say it but you can see it in his eyes.”

Bokuto smiled wistfully. In his portrait, he tried to capture the small smile that would come up on Akaashi’s face whenever he was excitedly wading in the beach or showing Bokuto something new. But as successful as he was in picturing it, it didn’t translate in the portrait. The Akaashi Keiji there had a stern expression on his face, his eyes staring blankly. It was still a good portrait, but Bokuto knew that something was lacking.

After breakfast, he spent more than an hour adding the finishing touches on the portrait and looking at it from afar. He was finished with the portrait, but he didn’t want to tell Mikoto or her son yet. Instead, Bokuto ventured off into the kitchens where Kageyama was busy preparing lunch. With going to the beach with Akaashi and being locked in his room working on the portrait, Bokuto saw very little of Kageyama. Knowing that he’ll be leaving soon after giving the portrait to Mikoto, Bokuto felt that he should have at least one conversation with the butler.

“Bokuto-san,” Kageyama looked up from the pot he was stirring on the stove. “Is there anything you need?”

“Just water,” Bokuto said. “It’s alright, I can get some myself.” Kageyama nodded and Bokuto filled his cup at the tap near the stove before sitting at the long wooden table inside the kitchen. There was a bowl of potatoes, a chopping board, and a knife on the table. “Do these need peeling?” Bokuto asked, picking one up and, without waiting for an answer, picked up the knife.

“Please don’t trouble yourself with that, Bokuto-san,” Kageyama said hurriedly. “You still have the young master’s portrait to finish.”

“It’s already finished,” Bokuto smiled up at him. “And believe it or not, squinting at a canvas with a brush full of paint gets tiring after a while. I’m a pretty good assistant in the kitchen as well,” he said, peeling the potato. “But I’m a terrible cook.” A small smile flitted across Kageyama’s face. He sat at the table in front of Bokuto and cubed the peeled potatoes.

“How long have you worked here?” Bokuto asked, hoping to initiate conversation.

“A good five years,” Kageyama answered. “The previous butler was a good friend of mine but he decided to work in a much livelier household.” Bokuto quirked his lips slightly.

“And you don’t mind having a less-lively household?”

“It’s quite ideal, actually. I only have two people to wait upon. Both of them don’t require much, except for when the young master falls ill. The pay is good and the room and board is free,” Kageyama answered. “And the beach is just outside for me to visit.”

“It makes me sad knowing that Akaashi hasn’t visited the beach at least once before I came,” Bokuto said.

“Yes,” Kageyama nodded, pausing with his work to look up at Bokuto. “He’s… a lonely man. I’ve kept wondering again and again if maybe I could have tried to befriend him but… that would be imposing of me.”

“Akaashi probably wouldn’t mind,” Bokuto said. Kageyama blinked at him in surprise before smiling.

“Seeing how lively he is now with you as company, I agree.” Again, Bokuto felt regret in the back of his throat.

“Do you… do you think he’ll hate me after I tell him that I’m painting his portrait?” Bokuto asked. Kageyama pursed his lips.

“I don’t know the answer to that. But I have a feeling he will be disappointed,” he said, scooping up the cubed potatoes and adding them into the pot on the stove. “Lunch will be ready in half an hour. Would you like me to take it to your room?”

“No need,” Bokuto shook his head and then, an idea popped into his head. “I could take Akaashi’s lunch to his room.”

“Bokuto-san, you don’t need to—”

“Trouble myself, I know,” Bokuto nodded. “But I’m finished with the portrait and there’s nothing else for me to do. Also…” he sighed. “I know it’s pretty useless but maybe I could make amends with Akaashi this way?”

“He would appreciate it,” Kageyama said.

Bokuto carefully carried the tray of Akaashi’s lunch: soup with chicken and potatoes, and a roll of bread, upstairs to his room. It just occurred to him that he had never been to Akaashi’s room before and seldom even went to the second floor. Bokuto paused in front of it before knocking once, twice, thrice.

“Akaashi?” he spoke. “I, uh, brought—”

“Come in.”

Bokuto opened the door. He didn’t know what to expect when it came to Akaashi’s room but once he was inside, the whole space undeniably felt as if it belonged to Akaashi. The number of books in his bedroom was probably a quarter of what was in the manor’s library. Bokuto felt himself smile, knowing he found the source of the gaps in the bookshelves. The curtains on the window were drawn back, letting in a good amount of light. There was a small table pushed near the window and on it was a vase full of wildflowers. Bokuto recognized them as the ones that Akaashi had picked in the fields the other day. The owner of the room himself was sitting up in bed, wearing a maroon robe, with a book on his lap.

“I brought your lunch,” Bokuto said, lifting up the tray.

“Thank you,” Akaashi said, his voice sounded hoarse and weak. Bokuto set down the tray at his nightstand and sat down on the chair near his bed.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Akaashi shrugged, there was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed the fact that he was teasing Bokuto.

“Care to elaborate?” he chuckled.

“I think it’s the usual flu,” Akaashi sighed. “Aches, fever, all that good stuff. Nothing new.”

“Well, you better eat to maintain your strength,” Bokuto said, gesturing to the tray. Akaashi smiled wryly and lifted it to his lap. While he ate, Bokuto looked over at the books on his nightstand. Most of them were books on philosophy and political science. Except for one with a deep, burgundy jacket and a well-worn spine. “Greek Myths and Legends,” Bokuto read aloud.

“It’s my favorite book from my collection,” Akaashi said, sipping some broth from his spoon. “My father had gifted it to me personally before we left our previous estate.”

“I didn’t take you for a fan of legends,” Bokuto said.

“They’re the best things to read,” Akaashi cocked his head. “They’ve been around longer than any scientific theory or philosophy. The very beginnings of how men and women attempted to make sense of a world they didn’t understand yet.”

“When you put it that way…” Bokuto reached out a hand. “May I?” Akaashi nodded his permission and Bokuto carefully extracted the book from the pile and thumbed through the pages. He could tell that the book was worth quite a lot. From the thick, cream-colored pages, the title that was written in perfect calligraphy, to the colored, watercolor illustrations. The fact that this book wasn’t behind a display case, well-worn from reading and placed on a nightstand said a lot about Akaashi. Bokuto flipped to a random page. “The Myth of Prometheus,” he read aloud. In front of him, Akaashi smiled and leaned back in his bed.

“’There lived a titan named Prometheus, the supreme trickster and the god of fire,’” he recited out loud. ‘Of course he remembers it word by word,’ Bokuto thought, smiling to himself as he continued where Akaashi left off.

“’He was tasked by Zeus to form man from earth and water, and he did so. But Prometheus, the titan, grew fond of his creation…’” And so, Bokuto continued reading, not stopping until he reached the end of the myth when Prometheus was sentenced to his punishment of being chained to a rock while an eagle feasted on smalleaccompanying illustration of Prometheus’s punishment.

“Zeus always was the most bloodthirsty of the three major gods,” Akaashi chuckled dryly. “It’s a good story. While it is meant to be a cautionary tale about what happens when you defy the orders of a god, it does bring to light the need for situations wherein such transgressions are necessary.” He paused and turned to look at Bokuto. “What do you think about it, Bokuto-san?”

“Well, I always thought it was about…love?” he said uncertainly. In all honesty, the only time he ever encountered the myth was when his master retold it to him. Greek myths were always the subject of many painting commissions so Bokuto was trained to be familiar with them. The hard part when it came to painting them was adding that slight variation, the artist’s interpretation of the myth.

“Love?” Akaashi echoed. “You seem to be quite the romantic, Bokuto-san.”

“I-I mean,” Bokuto stammered, thinking of a good reason. “Prometheus was in that whole predicament because he loved his own creation too much, right? And it’s almost impossible to love something you created.” It was true, he knew that much, especially among painters. Sometimes that love gets to the point that it was impossible for him to find imperfections in his work, or even fathom being separated from the painting. In the end, most of the paintings Bokuto loved would end up in the hands of the people who paid for it. “It would be cruel of him to deny his own creations that fire, and Prometheus knew the consequences for it. I bet even after being chained to that rock, he would still make that same decision again if he could.” When he finished, he found Akaashi looking at him with an amused expression on his face.

“You’re quire right,” he said. “It’s an interesting take on the myth. I never would have thought of it but then again, I’m not a creator.” The look on Akaashi’s face seemed to lay bare Bokuto’s secrets.

“D-do you have any other favorite myths?” Bokuto asked, hoping to change the subject. “I could read a couple more for you if you like.” Akaashi placed his tray back on the nightstand and folded his hands over his lap.

“That would be nice Bokuto-san. Could you turn to page three-hundred and twenty?”

“’The Twelve Labors of Heracles,”’ Bokuto read aloud.

“It’s a long one. Are you up for it?” a corner of Akaashi’s mouth was turned up in a smile.

“Of course I am,” Bokuto returned the smile. He’s never been much of a reader, especially after being taught by the older painters at his master’s studio and even then, he had been slow when it came reading and writing. At first, Bokuto winced as he stumbled over some of the words but Akaashi kindly helped him through it and didn’t seem to mind. He was quite good at making up voices for characters like Pan, the satyr or Medusa that cracked a smile on Akaashi’s face. Before he knew it, it was already dinnertime when Kageyama brought up their food. Mikoto came in once to take Akaashi’s temperature and before leaving the room, she made eye contact with Bokuto who hgave the most imperceptible of nods. ‘Yes, the painting is done,’ it meant, and Bokuto was back to contemplating how to break the news to Akaashi.

“Something the matter, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked. They were both still eating dinner at the table near his bedroom window. Akaashi looked visibly better than he looked earlier.

“I…” Bokuto swallowed and felt his hand curl into a fist on his lap. “Akaashi… I-I haven’t exactly been truthful to you.” Silence fell, Akaashi stopped what he was doing and looked at Bokuto, waiting patiently for him to finish. It only made Bokuto even more nervous. “You see, I’m actually—”

“Another painter that my mother hired,” Akaashi interrupted him. Bokuto’s eyes went wide.

“You… you knew?”

Akaashi pursed his lips and reached for Bokuto’s hand, the one that was still on the table. His hand was smaller and more delicate against Bokuto’s hands, his touch feather-light. “As much as you scrub your hands, you can’t quite erase all of the charcoal and paint stains completely, nor the smell of turpentine.”

“Ahaha, I should have been more careful then,” Bokuto laughed nervously and stopped when he saw the expression on Akaashi’s face: it was the picture of melancholy, and Bokuto felt his heart ache. Did he still choose the befriend him even after knowing his intentions? “I… I’m sorry,” he apologized softly.

“Why are you apologizing?” Akaashi looked up to meet his eyes.

“You didn’t need to be so civil around me since you knew what my intentions were,” Bokuto said. “Your mother told me that you constantly evaded the other painters’ and refused to pose for them to delay your wedding.”

“That is true,” Akaashi nodded, taking his hand back. Bokuto’s hand quickly felt the loss of warmth. “But shouldn’t I say the same for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have to befriend me either. All you had to do was to paint my portrait in secret. You could have quickly denied my requests to go to the beach or ask my mother to keep me occupied for as long as you wanted.” The candlestick on their table was their only light source in the room and it illuminated Akaashi’s features so clearly and Bokuto felt every word he said. “Or is it, you just did those so I would trust you and for your cover not to be blown.”

“I…” Bokuto could hardly find the words. It was just like the first time they met, when they talked over breakfast before going to the beach. Except, Bokuto knew there was something at stake, only he didn’t know precisely what that was. Akaashi Keiji was just another one of his clients. Bokuto’s job would be finished tomorrow and he would go back to his studio with his money and he would wait for his next commission and in a few years, he wouldn’t even remember Akaashi Keiji among the other paintings he would make.

And so, he decided on his reply.

“Yes. You’re right.” He steeled himself for the look of hurt on Akaashi’s face, maybe a few things he would shout. ‘Those are momentary. I would forget about them later on,’ he thought. Instead, Akaashi leaned back in his seat and turned his head to the window.

“I see,” was all he said. And for some reason, that was worse.

“Akaashi—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Akaashi cut him off, he was still looking out the window. “You may retire to your rooms now, Bokuto-san. You’ll have to travel home tomorrow.”

Bokuto swallowed hard and stood up, murmuring a ‘good night’ before leaving Akaashi’s room, running down the stairs, and entering his own room. He was out of breath and livid. ‘Why am I letting that get to me?’ he thought. With every breath he inhaled, an image of Akaashi came to mind. The intense look on his face when he was trying to figure out of Bokuto was lying. The pure excitement at seeing the beach. The hesitance giving way to confidence as he waded into the water. The pucker of his lips when he tasted the sea. The pure concentration as he hunted for hermit crabs. The movement of his lips when he said Bokuto’s name.

Without even realizing it, Bokuto found himself standing in front of Akaashi’s portrait. ‘Painters have an instinct,’ he remembered his master telling him when Bokuto made his first oil painting of a landscape. ‘A lot of us can tell when something is wrong with what we’ve painted. Not when it comes to the technical skills like light or shading. But it pertains to whether we’ve successfully captured a scene that’s alive, and all scenes are, on canvas.’ With his instinct, Bokuto could instantly tell that the portrait he painted of a man with a stiff expression on his face and no light behind his eyes, was not Akaashi.

Bokuto picked up his turpentine-soaked rag that he used to clean his brushed and held it over the face in the portrait. With one swift motion, he swiped it off.

…

He barely slept that night, knowing for sure that he was going to lose his job the next morning. He was going to be one of those painters who had left the estate empty-handed and frustrated, after getting so close. Yet try as he might, Bokuto knew that he didn’t regret destroying the portrait. So maybe, he could return with his head held high.

After stealing a few hours of sleep, Bokuto woke up to wash himself as best as he could and change into a clean shirt. He did all of this without looking at the portrait. Kageyama called him for breakfast and Bokuto steeled himself to face Mikoto and Akaashi. She attempted to make conversation over breakfast and yet he’d nod once in a while and pick at his breakfast, choosing not to acknowledge Bokuto who felt a deep ache in his chest.

Finally, it was time to unveil the portrait. Bokuto knew that he could simply tell Mikoto that he chose to change it in the last minute but on the other hand, he wanted Akaashi to see what he had done. So, he covered the portrait with a cloth and met them in the library to unveil the finished product.

“Bokuto Koutarou!” Mikoto exclaimed indignantly. She was clearly frustrated and Bokuto couldn’t blame her. She has gone through this same scenario a few times over. “You said you finished the portrait.”

“I did,” Bokuto nodded stiffly. “But… it wasn’t satisfactory enough.”

“You could have left that up for me to decide,” Mikoto huffed. Bokuto glanced over at Akaashi to find that the corner of his mouth had turned up in a smile. ‘Maybe this was his plan all along,’ Bokuto wondered. But it didn’t matter now. “Clearly, you are just like all the other painters who have come here. I suggest you leave as soon as possible.”

Bokuto nodded again, taking the cloth to cover up the portrait when Akaashi spoke up, saying something that neither Bokuto nor Mikoto could have expected.

“I’ll pose for him.”

Bokuto stopped and turned to face him. Akaashi was looking directly at him with a look of mild amusement on his face.

“You will?” Mikoto asked.

“I will,” Akaashi nodded. “I think… it’s time I put off this marriage long enough,” he explained. And yet, Bokuto didn’t quite believe he was telling the truth.

“Oh, Keiji,” Mikoto’s voice softened as she held her son’s face in her hands and enveloped him into a hug. “Thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

“I know, Mother,” Akaashi said stiffly.

“As much as I would like to ask ‘why now?’, I really must get going,” Mikoto straightened up and looked at Bokuto this time. “I will be gone for two weeks. I expect a fully-finished portrait by the time I return.”

“I shall not disappoint,” Bokuto bowed.

“Good,” Mikoto nodded.

“Let me walk you to the ship, Mother,” Akaashi said, offering her his arm. Before leaving the room, Akaashi glanced once at Bokuto and with an imperceptible incline of his head, gestured for him to follow. An hour later, Mikoto and her luggage, which Bokuto helped Kageyama with, were loaded in the ship waiting for her at the docks. After the ship set sail, Kageyama was the first to head back to the house. Bokuto stayed with Akaashi as they watched the ship sail into the distance. He had a million questions for him but for now, all he could feel was relief. As Bokuto watched the way the wind swept through Akaashi’s hair, he knew that he wouldn’t mind looking at him for the next two weeks.

…

They started working on the portrait the next day. Kageyama offered to push the long table from the dining room to the side since it was the most well-lit room in the estate. In the middle, they added a chair and a low table for Akaashi to pose on. Bokuto set up his easel and spare canvas at the side, grateful at being able to paint in good lighting after having to work secretly in his own room. He began painting the background of the portrait with broad strokes of a maroon color to keep busy when Akaashi walked inside.

To say that he looked stunning was an understatement. Before Bokuto began his first portrait, Mikoto had shown him the suit that Akaashi was supposed to wear: a dark emerald green with golden buttons and a crisp white shirt meant to be worn with the color turned up. Seeing Akaashi actually wearing it was a different story. The suit hugged him perfectly, accentuating the slight curves in his waist with the high collar just reaching the bottom of his chin. Akaashi had combed his hair back just slightly which showed off his forehead.

“You look…” Bokuto began to say before stopping himself quickly. “Ready.”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nodded curtly, unaware of how good he looked. “If you would…” he gestured to the chair in the center of the dining room and Bokuto hurried to pose him.

“Sit slightly forward in the chair,” he instructed. “Back straight. You can rest your elbow on the table if you want but the other hand, please keep on your lap.” Akaashi followed the instructions. “Lastly,” Bokuto reached a hand out to touch Akaashi’s shoulder to tilt him slightly towards the canvas. He was aware of how close Akaashi’s face was and that he was probably staring at Bokuto. ‘In all my years of painting, have I ever worked someone as beautiful as this?’ he wondered, before shaking the thought of his head and backing away to survey the pose. “Good, perfect,” Bokuto nodded before returning to his canvas.

“What expression should I have on my face?” Akaashi asked.

“A neutral expression would be ideal,” Bokuto answered, quickly painting an outline on the canvas. “If you get uncomfortable in your position please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Alright, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. “Am I… allowed to speak?”

Bokuto glanced up at him and back to the painting. “Of course,” he swallowed before continuing. “I have you to thank for my job.”

“I didn’t do it for your job,” he heard Akaashi speak. Bokuto bit his lip. This wasn’t an ideal position for them to have this conversation.

“Then… why?” Bokuto asked.

“I should ask why you decided to destroy the portrait of me.”

“That… That’s because the person I painted wasn’t you,” Bokuto answered. “I didn’t want it to be the work I submitted.”

“I see…” Akaashi said. He had the same amused expression on his face as he had when he saw the portrait unveiled to him. “It’s just the opposite of what Prometheus did.” Bokuto paused his work to listen. “In your disgust at your creation, you opted to destroy it. Such is the mind of a creator.” There was a wry smile playing on Akaashi’s lips.

“It wasn’t disgust,” Bokuto contradicted him. “It was… a lack of attachment more like.”

“How come?” Akaashi cocked his head ever so slightly, his pose still undisturbed.

“Because my subject wasn’t aware of being painted,” Bokuto smiled, finally deciding to meet Akaashi’s gaze. Surprise flickered there, and then mirth.

“That better be a good portrait then.”

“It will be.”

They were able to finish a good amount of the portrait in that afternoon before Akaashi grew tired of posing. Bokuto was about to offer to go to the beach again but stopped when Akaashi headed straight for his room. ‘Maybe he doesn’t forgive me quite yet,’ Bokuto thought with a sigh, only for those thoughts to end when Akaashi asked him to have dinner in his room, especially since the dining table was out of use. It was a relief to see Akaashi engaged with him in conversation. The book of “Greek Legends and Myths” were still on the nightstand where Bokuto had left it. And somehow, with Mikoto out for two weeks, Bokuto felt as if he wanted to stay in that manor forever.

Before going straight to his room, he decided to pass by the dining room to look at the portrait again. He had worked fast, completing a few days’ work in just one day. The sensation of not wanting to leave was even stronger and Bokuto felt a hard lump in his throat. He walked briskly past the dining room when a small voice whispered in the back of his head: ‘Turn around.’

Bokuto spun around and caught sight of Akaashi standing in the far end of the room. Only, he was pale and almost transparent, and wearing an elaborate suit. Bokuto blinked once and then the vision was gone.

#across the sea #bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #portrait of a lady on fire!au #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!! oneshot #across the sea: act I #bokuaka fanfic

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wed[nesday] 8 May 1833

5 3/4

12 1/4

Vc

F[ahrenheit] 67° at 5 3/4 and ver[y] fine morn[in]g - ver[y] hot - at my desk at 7 - wr[ote] and finish[e]d

Let[ter] to M- [Mariana] - ver[y] near[l]y 3 p[ages]  somehow did not write readily - kind let[ter] of condol[en]ce

writ[in]g on the melanch[ol]y subj[ec]t ‘I can scarce[l]y wr[ite] of an[y]th[in]g else - b[u]t you will be gl[a]d to

‘hear, I like the looks of Thom[a]s, and hope and th[in]k he is ver[y] like[l]y to be the sort of serv[an]t I want

‘one for wh[o]m I shall forev[e]r rem[em]b[e]r my obligat[io]n to you - I shall be anx[iou]s for you to

‘see Eugénie - She nev[e]r wore a cap in her life - I f[ou]nd it will n[o]t do to ta[ke] h[e]r to Langt[o]n

‘w[i]thout one - I am cert[ainl]y n[o]t disap[pointe]d in her so far - are n[o]t men eas[ie]r to manage th[a]n wom[e]n?

‘at all rates, I am forev[e]r oblig[e]d to you for all the troub[le] you ha[ve] tak[e]n for me - adieu -

‘God bless you, my d[eare]st Mary! Ev[e]r ver[y] espec[iall]y and ent[irel]y y[ou]rs AL- [Anne Lister]’ h[a]d Eugénie at 9 -

and young Parsons to cut and dress my h[ai]r - d[o]wnst[ai]rs at 11 - Mrs. Ch[arle]s Robins[o]n and lit[tle] Hugh h[a]d just call[e]d

for 10 min[ute]s - br[eak]f[a]st - wr[ote] 2 p[ages] and end to my a[un]t and th[e]n Steph. D[octo]r B- [Belcombe] call[e]d for

1/2 h[ou]r - th[in]ks he c[oul]d manage ab[ou]t Miss W- [Walker] - could have her at Thorparch very comforta

bly fortnight and then see how she was   told him all about the business between π- [Mariana] and me

very good friends   but our ever living together at an end  explained   feared there

might be some pique in her feeling at my three several and serious times preventing her

leaving δ- [Charles Lawton] and some fancies about my better circumstances and society?  he seemed sur

prised and sorry but behaved remarkably well   told him it was all her own doing and how much

I had g[r]ived over it but Charlotte Norcliffe had done me much good she and my aunt the only peop

le besides himself who knew of it  said I should not have thought of this experiment

with Miss W- [Walker] had π- [Mariana] and I been as formerly but no pique certainly on my part but I was dull without

having some interest if Miss W- [Walker] married I would take care she did it nicely and her children

would interest  mentioned π-‘s [Mariana] having asked me to live at Speake  he asked if I

might not sell Shibden if factories increased   No said I not for millions I have

much family pride and sense of duty to my uncle said I should [have] provided more than amply for

π- [Mariana] yes left her a life estate in all I had had she been settled with me but two days  but now as I

could not name her in my will as I should have done formerly I should probably not do it at

all I said she had been more worldly than I ever was in my life and less constant too said I would

rather have Miss W- [Walker]  than someone of higher rank and more worldly if I did not take her might

do worse   he laughed and said you are an odd person too and took his leave th[e]n finish[e]d

the 3[r]d p[age] and wr[ote] one long and finish[e]d my let[ter] to my a[un]t - told h[e]r so th[a]t she, b[u]t nobod[y]else

w[oul]d und[er]st[a]nd, wh[a]t I h[a]d communicat[e]d to D[octo]r B- [Belcombe] on the subj[ec]t of M- [Mariana] b[u]t n[o]t a word of wh[a]t

pass[e]d ab[ou]t Miss W- [Walker]   announc[e]d my agreeab[le] journ[e]y und[e]r 6 h[ou]rs - and ask[e]d for Simmens[o]ns

and col[ou]r of draw[in]g r[oo]m curt[ai]ns to s[e]nd to Kendell for the chiffonier - then wrote to Miss W- [Walker] copied

yesterday from my notebook and wr[ote] so far of today - ‘York. Wed[nesday] 8 May 1833. Th[an]k you ver[y]

‘m[u]ch for y[ou]r let[ter] w[hi]ch I can on[l]y regret w[a]s n[o]t writt[en] in bet[ter] sp[iri]ts - I ha[ve] th[ou]ght oft[e]n, and m[u]ch

‘and anx[iousl]y ab[ou]t you - you told me my last let[ter] w[a]s like a sunbeam - may th[i]s let[ter] be like

‘anoth[e]r sunbeam, and a bright[e]r!  I determ[ine]d n[o]t to wr[ite] till I w[a]s off fr[om] Shibd[e]n, and am now writ[in]g

‘in the ver[y] r[oo]m where you and I were so comf[ortabl]y togeth[e]r in Oct[obe]r - If you c[oul]d recall th[a]t ti[me], w[oul]d you?

 swore Doctor B- [Belcombe] to secrecy both about Miss W- [Walker] and π- [Mariana]

102

1833

May

LL

L

Vc

Vc

‘Consid[e]r four-and-twenty h[ou]rs - judge for yours[self], if you can; if n[o]t, ask y[ou]r sist[e]rs’ adv[i]ce,

‘and ta[ke] it - I still th[in]k th[a]t health and happ[ine]ss are w[i]thin y[ou]r reach, and, as I trust, by mo[re] ways

‘th[a]n one - I ha[ve] seen m[u]ch of y[ou]r a[un]t; and we are s[u]ch good fr[ie]nds, I do n[o]t fancy h[e]r opin[ion]s w[oul]d oppose

‘my own - I go to Langt[o]n tomor[row] (direct to me at Mrs. Norcliffes’, Langton hall, n[ea]r Malt[o]n,

‘Yorksh[i]re) and intend stay[in]g a fortnight; aft[e]r th[a]t, I m[u]st ret[ur]n to Shibd[e]n for 2 or 3 days, and shall

‘th[e]n ma[ke] the best of my way to the cont[inen]t - b[u]t, in the meanti[me], you may accomod[ate] y[ou]r plans to

‘mine, or mine to yours, if you please - I told you at part[in]g, th[a]t I w[oul]d meet you

‘on y[ou]r ret[ur]n, if you wish[e]d it - If you ha[ve] energy en[ou]gh to determ[ine], I will ta[ke] you up

‘at y[ou]r sist[e]rs’ own door at Udale ; and, as, dur[in]g the pres[en]t build[in]g operat[io]ns, it is

‘imposs[ible] to accom[oda]te extra peop[le], I c[oul]d, or, rath[er] I mean we c[oul]d, sleep at Inverness - I

‘th[in]k you w[oul]d like Eugénie, and f[ou]nd my man-serv[an]t all we want[e]d - If you dare gi[ve] a

‘fair trail, I am sanguine as ev[e]r ab[ou]t y[ou]r entire recov[er]y - wr[ite] in ans[we]r wh[a]tev[e]r

‘you th[in]k best; b[u]t wr[ite] it soon - Rouse yours[elf] whi[le] there is yet ti[me] - rememb[e]r th[a]t the

‘sun is ris[in]g so[me]whi[le] bef[ore] we see h[i]m, and th[a]t when hum[a]n ills seem w[i]thout remedy,

‘it is n[o]t bec[ause] th[a]t remedy really fails to exist, b[u]t simp[l]y bec[ause] we kno[w] n[o]t how to f[i]nd it -

‘my k[i]nd reg[ar]ds to y[ou]r sist[e]r, and Capt[ai]n Suth[erlan]d; and, be y[ou]r ans[we]r to my let[ter] wh[a]t it may. bel[ieve]

‘me ev[e]r sincere[l]y interest[e]d in y[ou]r welfare, and ev[e]r faith[full]y and affect[ionatel]y y[ou]rs AL- [Anne Lister]

‘am I n[o]t to ha[ve] the kneecaps?’ at 3 55/.. s[e]nt off my let[ter]s to my a[un]t Shibd[e]n, and to M- [Mariana] Lawt[o]n

hall, Lawt[o]n, Cheshire’ and to ‘Miss Walker, at Capt[ai]n Sutherlands’ of Udale Fortrose Ross-shire’

out at 4 5/.. - took Eugénie and b[ou]ght slippers, and silk for dress at Hudsons’, etc and th[e]n took h[e]r to Mrs. Belcombe’s

for Mrs. Milne and Charlotte to see - 1/2 h[ou]r in the minst[e]r court - th[e]n across the wat[e]r to the Duffins’ - 3/4 h[ou]r

and d[i]d n[o]t vent[u]re to go and see her - call[e]d on Mrs. Anne and Miss Gage - at din[ner] so ca[me] away - din[ner] at the hot[e]l

at 6 1/4 in 1/2 h[ou]r - at the Belcombe’s at 7 20/.. to go w[i]th Mrs. Milne to the amateur concert - tremend[ousl]y hot -

Miss Belco[mbe] and Miss Greenup and Miss Bagshaw and Hamlyn and Ch[arle]s Milne of the p[ar]ty - Mrs. Milne and I left th[e]m and walk[e]d

1/2 h[ou]r tow[ar]ds Monk bar - tea and sp[en]t the ev[enin]g at Mrs. Belco[mbe]s’ and ho[me] at 11 10/.. -wr[ote] the last 9 lines  ver[y] fine

day - ver[y] m[u]ch cool[e]r th[i]s ev[enin]g F[ahrenheit] 66 1/2° at 11 1/4 p.m.

[theanimeview]

i spent hours scanning your tumblr bec im amazed how u notice tiny details kudos! know claude and diana loved each other but i seriously wish there were more scenes about their past, how do you think claude acted after having a relationship with diana, did you think he was already gradually changing (to be better) then? i know this is weird but if she were alive, do you he think he'd be the type of husband who was overprotective of athy and maybe even possessive of his wife? thank you so much!

OH!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU!!! This made my day! I hope you’ll excuse my delayed response time, I was trying to think about a good answer to your questions. I’m going to try answering them one-by-one below:

1. How do you think Claude acted after having a relationship with Diana?

I think Claude was somewhat similar to how he is now with Athy. In that sense, I think around others, he acts very closed-off, choosing not to talk a lot (sort of like he is when Athy and he have tea or take naps). However, in private, particularly because of the dream he showed Athy where he is yelling at Diana to choose him over the baby, I think he was much more physically affectionate. His dream sequence makes it seem like him going back and yelling at her to choose him is something he wishes he had done rather than something that happened. For that reason, I think he has remained the type of person to act reserved when it comes to showing affection (and possibly because of his magic too, since it looks like people with powerful magic often freeze their hearts). 

2. Did you think he was already gradually changing (to be better) then?

I think Claude had a much softer heart while Diana was alive, but that the pain of losing her caused his heart to harden. I mean, think about his childhood. Children are delicate and often learn first by example. In his youth, he wasn’t loved. His parents treated him poorly and as a spare when his magic manifested, his brother was cruel and vindictive, his fiance left him for his brother, and servants see him as both a savior from his predecessor as well as a bloody usurper in many ways. Essentially, he is not favored personally–rather, his image is favored. Diana seems to be the first person that saw Claude as a person and didn’t try to abuse him for it, it is probably why he fell in love with her. But after her death, after she chooses to have Athy, which kills her, over a life with him, I wonder if he didn’t take it as a personal slight rather than a gift from her to him (which is how I think Diana felt about having Athy). 

Exceptions to people seeing Claude as more than his position who aren’t using that to hurt him (like his brother) are the closest servants we see to him, Felix and Lilly. Lilly, after Athy interacts with Claude more, and by extension Lilly, seems to see him differently now and we do too as the readers. He takes care of his daughter and listens to Lilly and Felix about caring for her (such as when Felix tells him how to properly hold Athy as a child). 

What I mean to say, is that I wonder if him getting better now isn’t him just returning to how he used to be before Diana’s death. I hope that’s clear. 

3. If she were alive, do you he think he’d be the type of husband who was overprotective of Athy and maybe even possessive of his wife?  

Have you read “Empress from Another World?” Because I think Claude would be a lot like the Emporer in that story, save for a more quiet personality. Claude, I think, following Diana living through Athy’s birth would probably be really protective of her and Athy. He might be possessive too, but I don’t think so. Like, I think he hasn’t let Athy leave the palace yet (that we know of–though she has snuck out with Lucas’ help) because he is really protective of her. 

Claude doesn’t seem to have a possessive personality, if he did, I think his fiance would have had to escape far further than she did to give birth to Jannette. Moreover, I don’t think he would give things up as much and as easily as he does (like the treasuries to Athy, or the royal seal). That’s my thoughts. 

Thank you so much for reaching out. I love this series so much. If you have any theories or want to talk more, I’m always happy to do so!

#suddenly became a princess one day #어느날-공주가-되어버렸다 #lovely princess #analysis #one day i became a princess #who made me a princess

[solarianradiance]

Jellyatinous Rose

Calliope: Welcome lovelies, to oUr little get together for an adventure throUgh the Use of a Role-Playing Game system called DUngeons & Dragons! Tonight we have a new player joining in oUr dUngeon delving, oUr lovely friend, Roxy.

Roxy: hey erebody, its ur gurl roxy!

Dave: hey rox

Rose: Welcome to the game Roxy, nice to see you came tonight~

Kanaya: Pleasure To Have You Dear Roxy!

Jade: nice to see you again!

John: glad you could make it tonight!

Roxy: tnx 4 the warm welcum gaiz, makes me feel good bout this venture here

Roxy: so, when do we start playin?

Calliope: Shortlym bUtt first, we shall introdUce oUr varioUs party members for the road ahead, so that we may give oUr newest addition a chance to Understand her new chUms? Jade, why dont we start with yoU?

Jade: ok!

Jade: im a level 5 chaotic good gnoll ranger called groche’a, and i was ousted from my tribe for not wanting to plunder tombs for bones because i was scared of waking the dead and having them get revenge on us... which they did! im the only survivor!

Roxy: wats a goll? Roxy: *gnoll

Jade: a gnoll is a dog person

Jade: like this!

Roxy: oh so ur a hyna furry basically then?

Jade: well no, im more like a malamute husky, i actually based my character off of bec and what jake told me about my scratched other self

Roxy: yeah, ur gilf self was pretty smokin for an old lady, so i can c y u chose her

Jade: ...what?

Calliope: Lets keep this train of introdUctions going, Dave YoU’re Up love!

Dave: im dave, and im a barbarian. im a level 4 chaotic good guy i guess, gettin my rage on with my magic shit talking sword and doin all kinds of awesome shit!

Roxy: u men like connan the barbarian?

Dave: no, not liek conan Dave: *like Dave: fuck

Roxy: wats ur backstory?

Dave: im a kickass barbarian, i showed up one day and started kicking ass, what more backstory do you need?

Roxy: that sunds lame

Dave: youre lame

Calliope: Moving on, John, how aboUt we introdUce yoUr character?

John: im Salamon of the Hearthlands, a level 4 neutral good halfling jester!

Roxy: wats a halflin?

John: they’re pretty much just hobbits but a bit more... “earthly” i think would be a good word to describe them? they’re sort more vice than virtue and do things like eat a lot of food, take whats not theirs and breed like rabbits.

Roxy: le gasp, ur a bunny boy! that sounds adorable!

John: heh, no, im not a bunny, but i guess i am bunny-like in that sense

Jade: you know, that would actually be a good fursona for you

John: eh, nah, its not really my thing, besides im more like a tiger

Jade: hahahaha! no you’re not!

John: in fact i think would be more like tigra from thundercats

Jade: i said no. you’re fucking. not.

John: uuuuh!!!

Roxy: calli!

Calliope: Yes Roxy, what is it?

Roxy: can u make jon into a bunny boy?

Calliope: I... can, bUt I need a good reason like a magical invocation or something like that, I cannot simply do as I wish with the players whenever I wish.

Calliope: Besides, the game has not started. Rose, why dont yoU go next?

Rose: 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒶 𝒩𝑒𝓊𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝐸𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒟𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝒩𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇, 𝒞𝓎𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒢𝓊𝓁’𝒢𝒶𝓃. 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝐿𝑜𝓁𝓉𝒽, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒩𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝒶𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓁𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓇𝑜𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝒸𝓀𝓁𝓎, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐸𝓁𝒻 𝒞𝒾𝓉𝓎, 𝑀𝑒𝓃𝓏𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒶𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓅𝓁𝑜𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒 𝓇𝓊𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒟𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒹𝑜𝓂~ 

Roxy: ur kinda given me the willies theres rosie

Rose: Hah! Thank you! I try to accentuate the nature of the Dark Elves as much as possible~ I am a Level 5 Necromancer by the way, just so we are clear.

Calliope: That was a nice sUrprise, always good to see dear ole Rose to give Us a performance and bring a little life throUgh characterization. Now, for oUr last member, Kanaya!

Kanaya: Salutations, I Am Mildred Of Baldurs Gate! A Neutral Good Human Cleric Of Lathander. I Am Level Three And I Am Looking Forward To Keeping You Out Of Trouble, As I Am The Primary Healer Of The Group. Though I Can Take A Swing With My Shredder Axe If I Wish, I Can Be More Than Helpful In Most Situations! 

Roxy: i dunno boit that but i think ill be hpy 2 have u round when the magical shit hits the fan! Roxy: *about

Calliope: Well, now that we have oUr standing party’s introdUctions oUt of the way, how aboUt we have Roxy introdUce Us to oUr newest member?!

Roxy: what bout u calli, whats ur character?

Calliope: I am the DUngeon Master, I recant the tale to the party based on the actions and decisions they make. Technically, I am all of the characters that are not part of the party! BUt I do have a rather sUltry lass that i have been meaning to play for a while. When my tenUre as DUngeon Master is Up, I shall pass the responsibility of rUnning the game onto others and break her oUt!

Roxy: rly? what is she? tell me!

Calliope: She isn’t finalized, but shes a YUan-Ti Magician, specifically an assistant. Haven’t qUite figUred oUt if shes a fUll-blood or a half-blood.

Roxy: a yankee?

Calliope: A YUan-Ti is more or less a snake person, mUch like myself I sUppose. I’ll admit shes a bit of a self-insert, bUt I made her for immersion for flarping. John helped me in crafting her!

Roxy: oh... he did now, did he?

John: yeah! it was actually pretty fun! learning about the lore of the snake people was kinda neat!

Calliope: Indeed! And in retUrn, helped John create another character to pair alongside with her! He is also a Magician, and she acts as his assistant!

Roxy: assistant huh? does that mean you can make his magic wand

Roxy: disappear?!~♥

John: whoa! roxy!

Calliope: Making a Magicians Magic Wand disappear is childs play.

John: uh calli, thats not what she mea-

Calliope: BUt making his wand spit magical glowing seed, now thats the magic~

Calliope: Mwah!~♥

Dave: whoa-ho, damn!

Rose: Ooo, how racey~

Kanaya: I Must Admit, That Got Quite Raunchy Awfully Quickly!

Jade: you can do that?!

John: ok! moving on! time for your introduction rox, before this turns into a smut campaign.

Roxy: how do u know that it wont turn into 1 when i do get my intro on? ;)

John: rox!

Roxy: relax! im jus teasin y Roxy: *u

Roxy: ok, my character is xerox gundalf the pink! shes a level 1 chotic good gun wizard!

John: gun wizard?! that actually sounds cool!

Jade: that actually sound cool, maybe ill roll one next campaign!

Dave: gotta admit, that does sound pretty bitchin rp as

Rose: Um, Roxy, as creative as that is, “Gun Wizard” isnt a valid class within the ruleset of DnD.

Roxy: wat? naaah, its fine! got xeroxs character shit filled out and everything! even drew her!

Roxy: c? kickass sex witch! put a spell on u make u her enchanted slav! put a magic bullet in ur butt and set her enemies on fire! abraka-sexbang!!

Rose: But we already have a Wizardess! Why don’t you be another class, a legal one such as a Rogue or a Thief?

Roxy: those dont sound legal 2 me sister, sides im a rogue in real life! i dont wanna play a rogue i wanna b a badass gun wizard! calli help me out here

Calliope: Mmmmm, well, while technically “GUn Wizards” are not what they are called, “GUn Mages” are in fact an actUal class! So I sUppose thats no significant issUe

Roxy: gasp YAYS!

Rose: Wait, “Gun Mage” is an actual class?

Calliope: Why yes, it is! QUite the interesting one too, might even roll a character to play as one myself at some point!

Rose: Well, anyways, as I said, we already have a Wizardess, which is myself. So how about you roll Up a Rogue? John can moonlight as one, but he isnt able to specialize as one. Here, lemme just get you started and roll you a character right now!

Roxy: uh, no, imma play a wizard!

Rose: We’ll make her Neutral Good, for maximum opportunity while still being approachable. Some good Dexterity for all of that lockpicking you’ll be doing.

Roxy: rose, water u doin?

Rose: Dump all the skill points into stealth, traps, and lockpicking!

Roxy: ross! Roxy:*rose

John: you know i could just spec into those skills myself, i was planning on doing it anyways!

Rose: We can make her pink, with some blue trimmings~

Roxy: stahp!

*Roxy latches onto Rose’s pen hand, preventing her from drawing further. The two devolve into a bit of a struggle*

Rose: Stop... getting... in the... way, Roxy!

Jade: you do know you can multi-class in this game, right? as in you both can have both.

Roxy: well i don.. wann play... fuckin rogue, i wan be... a wizard of bullets!

Rose: We need a Rogue to-*is bitten*-FUCK! ROXY!

Kanaya: What Is Happening?

*Roxy and Rose devolve to a mother/daughter/sister squabble between petty bitches who both want the same thing, but are unwilling to share, complete with hair pulling, bites, scratches, clothes ripping and an assortment of name calling.*

*Its a good ole fashioned cat fight yy’all!*

Jade: shouldnt someone stop this? like kanaya, isnt this your thing?

Kanaya: ...I... Want To, But I Think I Am Enjoying The Sight Of This Conflict? Should I Do So Anyways?

Dave: with them? nah man itll sort itself out eventually. just let em get tuckered out.

John: ... roll for initiative?

Calliope: Haa! Hahahaha!

#homestuck #jade harley #kanaya maryam #rose lalonde #roxy lalonde #john egbert #dave strider #the barbarian #calliope #long post

[stimuliandthelike]

yall ever get worried you're using other people

#Like not in a manipulative way just in a #There is an emptiness in my life here and I am using you to fill it up #Rather than. Just having u in my life bec we both want it that way yk #It's weird idk #Rant post

[jimlingss]

OMG KINA so I just finished reading The End and I was going thru a whole rollercoaster of emotions u truly made me feel All The Feels™️ with this fic!!! first of all, lemme just say u succeeded in going out with a banger bec this fic was SO INCREDIBLY AMAZING I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. LIKE EVERYTHING. originally, while reading I was just jotting down points that stuck out to me but eventually it turned into me basically live reacting bec one thing I didn’t expect was for us to spend so much

time with oc and jin after that crazy whirlwind adventure they went on when they ‘properly’ met?! I thought the fic would end when oc meets jin in the present day but I was so glad for it to continue on into what happens next bec it made me love them even more, and I’m so glad for everything that happened afterwards!!!! okay tbh I don’t really know how to make sense of all the notes I wrote down so I’m kinda just going to combine them, or at least the start of them, bec I feel like it’ll still make some sense if I do that bec they’re my thoughts/feelings about the fic/ur writing in general. but towards the end of what I wrote down it is literally just me reacting to things that happen in the fic bec A LOTTA SHIT HAPPENS so I’ll just start listing them bec idk how else to organise them and I already know this is gonna be a long message sbdkncf. before I start, please just know my heart swooned so many times even when jin and oc were talking while travelling thru time (their chemistry was just SO GOOD to me even from that point) and I also teared up/tried not to cry/failed miserably and cried multiple times even tho I didn’t mention that a lot in my notes, I felt that big lump in my throat so many times okay so that’s how u know the angst really got to me .__. The End was so thoughtful and heartfelt and amazing. I am so so so happy with the way the fic ended tho, thank u SOOO MUCH for writing this absolute masterpiece of a fic!!!!! it truly is such a good final story and I’m so thankful to be able to read it and all ur other fics throughout the years. so many of them have a special place in my heart and I think of them from time to time and reread them kinda often too so I’m so glad to be able to know such amazing fics exist :’) okay just this intro is getting long so lemme just get into listing my thoughts/reactions hehe sorry for how long and incoherent this is about to get but I’m not the best with words don’t know how else to share what I felt while reading this fic, but this is all things that I thought of while reading and wrote down bec I wanted to make sure u knew how amazing this fic and ur writing in general is to me (side note: as I’m sending this, the formatting of this ask is weird and there’s a huge space between this paragraph and the first bullet point for some reason and I can’t get rid of it but idk if it’ll actually send thru like that so if it does pls just ignore that. also I just realised there’s no word count anymore I think? rip apologies in advance for how long this is but I thought it might be easier if it’s all in one ask kjsjdnfn) :

• the dog world reference and when spring meets autumn reference :’) I love when u reference ur other fics

• I just love ur writing so much like it’s so easy to follow and get lost in the description and dialogue and works you’ve created. you’ve really outdone yourself with The End and I’m glad u seem to be proud of it too bec u should be!!!

• it’s so cool how u showed so many aspects of relationships and why some are great and some still may not work despite that and still have their own challenges within the various specific circumstances in this one fic and all the factors that go into relationships too (like oc said: family, compatibility, career, stability, etc)

• it’s such a pleasure to be able to see how much ur writing has improved and to just read all ur creative ideas in fics, both in older fics and newer fics, bec so many of them stick with me and have a special place in my heart. it just makes me want to reread them over and over and I definitely have already and I still will be rereading ur fics for a long time lol!!

• even the lil parts where jin and oc were getting friendlier or acting cuter with one another or when jin was secretly judging these candidates for oc even tho he’s trying to help potentially her be with one of them or even when jin seemed to know something that oc didn’t, it was all so heart-fluttering and exciting to read about I just love the subtleties in stories in general (it’s that show don’t tell aspect I think) and it was so well done in this fic imo!!!

• even tho I like ot7 fics I usually don’t gravitate towards stories like this where they’re all potential lover interests but at different points of oc’s life, but u just made it work so well!! I enjoyed myself reading this fic so much and I feel like everything just made sense and made me feel for oc and jin too and for the different situations oc was in and the emotions she felt within them. it was all different but somehow some similar emotion linked them that made her realise that this isn’t the life she wanted to choose for herself

• when oc found out the truth about jin u wrote ‘Your breath hitches. Your heart stops in your chest. It lodges inside your throat.’ and that’s LITERALLY how I felt. ur writing and this fic in particular made me feel SO many things and I absolutely LOVE when a story is able to do that to me. I adore ur writing so so so much!!!

• I had the fattest lump in my throat trying not to cry and I was just thinking how are u able to make me feel this way with ur writing I’m so in awe of how amazing it is?! how can someone write this well and write a story this good?!

• june 23rd the day of the car accident omg that’s ur blog’s anniversary date right? and ur last day on this blog? damn the parallels make me feel even more sad about u leaving and this whole situation with jin and oc :( they only knew each other for 2 years but from the way jin acts around oc and even wants her to choose a new timeline for herself to avoid meeting him and thus avoid the pain of his death? I can tell he really cares for oc and loves her so much :( HOW THE HECK did u manage to make me feel jin and oc’s chemistry so much when I didn’t even know what they were like when they were together?! again, ur writing is truly one of my favourites and I really mean that!!!

• when it said ‘Salt bleeds from your eyes that still hold the memory of his tender gaze but it, too, has already begun to fade.

The six love letters sit untouched on the table as if nothing had happened.

The silence of your apartment is deafening.’ I was scared oc is gonna forget about jin and this whole night she spent with him exploring possible alternate lives but I’m glad she still remembers when she woke up even tho it’s still painful he disappeared and I wonder if jin will remember :( probably not since his ghost was the one who knew everything after obviously dying but I wonder how oc would be with present day jin, knowing exactly when he dies and I wonder if she’d even tell him about anything from that eventful night?

• omfg as soon as I read that the new transfers from the Fresno branch were coming I remembered oc’s colleague talking about that at the start of the fic and THE DOTS WERE CONNECTING IN MY BRAIN I completely forgot about it throughout the course of the fic until then but I gasped and was like :O perhaps jin is one of them?!

• the way u describe jin’s lil •ᴗ• smile makes me emo for some reason I just love it :’)

• “is there something on my face?” “you’re just handsome” I KNOW OC KINDA DIDNT MEAN TO SAY THAT BUT YYYYEEEESSSS I LOVE IT HERE

• “It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can be good deskmates.” oh jin baby if only u knew

• “But I’m actually terrible with directions. Maybe you could join me and lead the way?” that’s not what u said in France!!!! oc knows u lying but it’s a cute excuse!!!

• ‘A love story with a forgotten prequel.’ omg PAIN... I wonder if jin will remember or come to know of their ‘prequel’ later on or when he dies or if he’ll reappear to oc when he dies ;(

• omg all of these snippets into their life together... usually I don’t like when stuff progresses fast but in this case I already love jin and oc together since their whole whirlwind adventure and it just feels right for them, and knowing what happens in just 2 years, I’m kinda glad they form such a deep relationship so quickly :’)

• ‘When you blow out the candle on the cake, you wish for this happiness to last.’ she got her 30th birthday wish and on her 31st birthday she’s not alone :( I hope this wish of her’s somehow comes true too :( I love her and jin, their relationship is just so cute and comforting and sweet and they’re just so right for each other I want this to last forever for them <3

• u know there’s this thing ppl say that’s like do I like men or do I like men written by women? u truly made me think that so much bec this jin was just so sweet and incredible to me I absolutely love him

• “Let’s look in July.” GIRL U KNOW WHATS GONNA HAPPEN IN JUNE is that why she just wants to stay where she’s always stayed rather than find a new place with jin only to be alone there when he’s gone :(

• the way they keep holding hands just reminds me of their prequel adventure when they’d hold hands to travel to different places/times, I love them so much man ;(

• omg oc is trying to avoid june 23rd.. I was thinking maybe she’ll do that and hopefully something will work out in their favour but idk .... I’m stressed I’m basically live reacting at this point bec it’s getting closer and closer to the date.. I’m scared tho is something bad gonna happen if they avoid june 23rd?? will oc possibly die instead??? what in the final destination is gonna happen I’m so ?!?! lemme continue reading..

• NOOOO WHY DID JIN LEAVE THE HOUSE AFTER PROMISING NOT TO I MEAN I GET HES WORRIED ABOUT OC’S HEALTH BUT NOOOOO PLEASE

• ‘I want her to be with someone who can make her happy.’ HES WISHING FOR HIMSELF!!! HES THE ONE WHO MAKES OC HAPPY THE ONLY ONE SHE WANTS TO BE WOTH!!!! omfg I really thought maybe he’ll get a second chance bUT HES WAKING UP TO THE SIGHT OF HER ON THE 30TH BDAY ISNT HE?! BACK IN THE PAST BEFORE THEY MET AND TO THE START OF THE STORY NOOO

• the way whenever jin looks at oc his eyes soften and his gaze tenders.... PAAAIIIINNN I WANT THEM TO BE TOGETHER SO BAD

• wait so he’s in hospital rn.. is this the period when his ghost and past oc are going on their adventure in the meantime.. and oc picks jin at the end right? so hopefully his ghost returns to his body in the hospital and he wakes up and they can be together in the present and future then? man I’m clinging onto every shred of hope I can for them to end up happy together, if that happens I hope they both tell each other they both know about what happened that crazy night with the 6 love letters

• holding his hand while he’s unconscious :( all this hand holding is just so THEM™️ I love it

• ‘Salt bleeds from your eyes that still holds the memories you’ve made together.’ OMG THE SALT BLEEDS FROM YOUR EYES LINE AGAIN BUT SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT miss kina u are a freaking genius I love whenever u do this in ur fics I just love parallels So Much

• ‘Even if it means the present and future pain, you wouldn’t change being with him.’ AND THAT LINE IS FROM EARLIER IN THE FIC TOO ISNT IT?? omfg so jin never actually died I AM SO GLAD MISS OC NEVER CHOSE ANOTHER GUY BEC IMAGINE IF SHE DID SHE WOULDVE JUST NOT KNOWN HER DREAM MAN AKA JIN kina the way the past and present and future all tie in together is just so genius to me like ITS SO PERFECT BEC IM HAPPY JIN IS STILL ALIVE BUT ALL THE EMOTIONS I FELT BEFORE WHILE WAITING FOR JUNE 23RD FELT LIKE A ROLLERCOASTER

• omg wait so did jin and oc never talk about how they knew the future/how jin’s ghost came to her?? wait miss kina I’m genuinely asking, this isn’t rhetorical lol, so they never tell each other and never know that the other basically knew about what would happen in the future? or they do talk about it and I’m just dumb and didn’t get it lol?

• ‘For the pair of you to be together. Until the end.’ omg I would’ve wished for this too if I was oc and ‘the end’ the name of the fic are the last words of it ahhh idk why that makes me feel things :’)

...this is all kind of a mess I’m sorry but thank u SO MUCH for this amazing fic kina!!!! and for all the amazing fics you’ve posted here during ur time on tumblr!!! I’m truly going to miss ur wonderful writing and presence here so much but I wish u all the best for ur future and I hope you’ll come back from time to time to let us know how u are if u want!! just like how u said ur not gonna forget writing/ur time on tumblr, I will never forget ur fics either and will be rereading them in the future too just bec I love them so much <3 in fact, before reading The End I was thinking to myself I want to reread Sugar and Coffee just bec I was lowkey nervous The End would end really angsty (but I love the way it ended) and S&C is one of my faves and it’s been awhile since I last read it so I might go to that lol!! I know anything I say won’t come close to how much I love u and ur writing and how thankful I am to be able to read it but please know I appreciate u so so so much and I really wish u all the happiness and success in the future too!!!! sorry I’m starting to sound redundant and this got so long, I think I said most of what I wanted to say at the start and throughout that list lol, but AHHH I LOVE U AND I LOVE THE END AND I LOVE ALL UR FICS <333

Holy shit, anon. You wrote me a whole bible and i- i loVE IT!! I am so honoured that you thought so much of my story to write and rave this much about it. I am so speechless and honoured and in awe.

first off, I'm glad you thought it was a banger cause I definitely wanted to leave off with one. I'm glad you gave it a chance and that you liked it even if these kinds of ot7 fics aren't up your alley. secondly, thank you for walking me though your thought processes and highlighting certain sections/dialogue. specific feedback like that is actually the most helpful since it points out what in particular was good. It also allows me to experience the story all over again :') thirdly, it's very nice to hear that my writing has improved since I think my writing skills was pretty garbage when I first started hahahaa that being said, it makes me very happy to know that people cherish my stories as much as I do. it's definitely a pleasure to write for readers like you :')

June 23rd is indeed my official anniversary date! there's definitely a lot of parallels - not only in the story itself, but in real life and from other fics (ie the cameos) haha. also nice catch!! I don't think anyone's mentioned the directions thing yet but jin was definitely telling some white lies to get with OC hahhaha I also want to say it makes me soo happy that you ship the two characters together cause that's what all romance writers aim for!! :D

To answer your question btw, OC never told Jin that she knew the future or how Jin's ghost came to her until after the accident and he wakes up. so the moment he wakes up in the hospital (right before the epilogue), he knows she knows. so they're both caught up to speed essentially.

Anyway, thank you so much. This all really means a lot, so thank you for reading <3

#happy to hear you're a fan of Sugar and Coffee too!! #cause that series is my shit hahaha #Jimlings