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#i’d rather just share directly with the handful of people who care enough to actually say something
yikesitskennawrites · 2 years
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Transitions- Chapter Eighteen: Chatting With An Acquaintance
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Pairings: Steven Grant x (platonic) Reader, Marc Spector x (platonic) Reader, Jake Lockley x (platonic) Reader, Layla El-Faouly x (platonic) Reader  
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“It’s nice to meet you again,” Layla says as she holds out her hand and smiles at you. You grasped her hand with your own and shook it awkwardly.
“It’s been awhile hasn’t it?” You reply and she hums in answer as you let go of her hand. “We really need to stop meeting like this.” You gesture towards Jake who stood next to you and Layla. He adjusted his flat cap so it wasn’t covering his eyes. “Twice now that we only met because of the boys.” The three of you stood in Stevens and Marcs apartment, you still wore your work uniform and your feet were still aching from the five hour shift you did. A suitcase with wheels rested next to the sofa, you assumed it was Layla's. 
“They’re always up to something,” Layla adds and crosses her arms over her chest. “Y’know the time before last, I had to track Marc down to Cairo; at least Jake tells me that he needs help with something.” 
“Jake asked for your help?” You raise your brow and give her a questioning look before shifting your gaze to the man in question. He didn’t seem fazed at all, but rather expectant of your confusion and slight anger. “I’m surprised that he asked.”
“He didn’t directly ask, but told me that he had a job for me.”
“And that's babysitting me,” 
“Looking after and house sitting,” Layla corrects. 
“Same thing. It’s just a polished sentence so I don’t feel babied.” You wave her correction away. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s no fucking way I can take care of myself up against a cult especially after what happened last month-”
“What happened last month?” 
“-But, I’d rather call this house-sitting what it actually is rather than putting kind words on it.”
“What happened last month?” Layla repeats her question and you share a look with her. 
“Jake didn’t tell you?” You ask and she purses her lips before you both look at Jake. “You have the audacity to ask her to babysit me but you haven’t told her the reason why?” He doesn’t answer and you scoff, raising your arms into the air as you make the gesture of flipping a table. “Typical. Right, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jake has been fronting since last month when Marc and I got attacked by a group of insane cultists. He told me multiple times that he only plans on being in the driver's seat until his job is complete and then he’s going to disappear.”
“Are you serious?” Layla scoffs. 
“Deadass.”
“What?” 
“I’m serious.” You tell her. Of course the older generation wouldn’t understand the slang, that’s been the third time it happened. “I thought that maybe he would tell you a little more than he let me in on but I was wrong.”
“You were attacked by a cult and neither of you told me?” Layla says. She frowns and glares between the two of you. The glare almost made you take a step back and rethink your decision of not telling her. The look in her eyes reminded you of your own mother when you got in trouble for skipping school once. She grounded you for two months after that and you had to listen to a long lecture about her and your fathers disappointment in you.
“What was I supposed to say?” You gave her a look of disbelief. “I was attacked and attempted to be kidnapped; but hey, that soup I ate for dinner was good? Besides, I didn’t know that I could have talked to you.”
“Yeah. You were supposed to tell me that.” Layla says. “I literally told you to call me if you needed anything.”
“I thought you were just being nice!” You defend yourself. “I thought it was just something you were telling me because that’s what people do.”
“I wasn’t telling you just to tell you that. I was being genuine.”
“Okay, well that’s nice to know for future shit-shows.” You say. “Be angry at Jake for not telling you all the details because from my understanding, the two of you have talked enough to have a relationship.”
“Acquaintanceship.” Layla says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She turns her anger towards the man that the two of you were brought together through. “You had an entire month to tell me.” She states. She sounded pissed and disappointed in the man. You cross your arms over your chest and watch the argument unfold.
“It’s not your problem.” Jake replies. He didn’t look concerned or scared, not one bit. Instead, he gave a nonchalant vibe by studying his gloves and frowning when he noticed that one of the crescents on his knuckles were scratched. You rolled your eyes. You weren’t surprised at his emotional state, he really didn’t give two shits about you.
“It is when you bring Marc and Steven into it.” Layla hisses at him. Her hands curled into fists. “You brought a kid into this shit.”
“I’m sixteen.” You say and she shoots you a glare. The sight made you keep your mouth shut for a few moments. 
“I didn’t bring them into anything.” Jake defends. “Your ex-husband and his buddy brought them into this the moment that they invited them for dinner.”
“But you continue to let them hang around even with your Moon Knight bullshit,” Layla says. You press your lips together as you listen to her suck in a breath. 
“They’re better off around me than they are without.” He says, “You don’t know what Harrow's cult has planned.”
“And you do?” You raise a brow. “You won’t even tell us what you’re doing or where you’re going; and you’re implying that we need to trust you just because you want Steven and Marc happy and safe.”
“God, you’re just like Marc.” Layla groans. You blink and turn your attention to her and back to Jake. He didn’t seem to have a reaction to that statement. In your opinion, Marc and Jake weren’t exactly the same. Marc was definitely more likely to try for a relationship unlike Jake who is there one moment and gone the next. You frown at the woman. You don’t understand how she reached that conclusion, but you knew that she was once married to Marc so she knew much more than you knew about him. The tension in the room felt suffocating. You didn’t like the silence coming from Jake and the frustration flowing out of Layla. 
“He’s not like Marc,” you say, causing the two of them to look at you. “Jake looks like a toad.”
“De vuelta a esto, ¿eh?” Jake mumbles and throws his hands into the air. You give him a small smile since you weren’t sure what he was saying was good or bad. He’s probably threatening to beat you up at this rate. He adds, “After this trip, you won’t have to worry about Harrow's followers or me.” 
“So, you’re going somewhere to destroy Harrow's cult?” You ask. He doesn’t say anything and you’re satisfied with the silence. “See? Was that too hard to say?” He doesn’t answer and you sigh. You decided to try to push your luck by asking him the length of time he would be gone. He doesn’t answer but instead he walks towards the dining table and picks up a duffle bag before swinging it over his shoulder. You quietly watch him stride to the entrance and swing it open before shutting it behind him. Layla throws her hands up and you frown at the sight of the door. You didn’t know if you should let him go as peacefully as he could or demand answers that you knew you would never receive as long as he is in the driver's seat. Of course, you had a reputation of annoying him today, might as well follow through with it. 
“I’ll be back.” You tell Layla as you speed walk to the door and open it before shutting it closed. Jake was already at the elevator, his eyes were on the rising numbers above the door as you approached. 
“So, you’re leaving just like that?” You say as you close the distance between the two of you.  “Without saying goodbye?” You stop a few feet away from him and place your hands on your hips. He gives you a look. “You better come back,” You warn. You don’t know why you say it, he made his intentions clear on the drive to the apartment complex. He’s not doing this for you but rather his alters. 
“I’m pretty pissed that you’re leaving me in the dark- and stop giving me that angry glare, I’m not going to push your damn buttons right now since I know you’re not going to answer any of my questions.” You huff out. “Just…be careful.” He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to. He was the brooding person you always knew since day one of meeting him. 
“Stay safe.” Jake says in return and you both hold a stare between the two of you. Just like you don’t know why you said what you said moments ago, you lift your arm into the air for the promise-shake you did with Marc and Steven over a month ago. He looks between you and your arm. “What?”
“I want a promise.” You tell him. “A deal that you will come back.” 
“What are you nine?”
“Sixteen actually.” You say. You know that he made the jab just to try to get underneath your skin, but you couldn’t care less about it. You add, “You should already know that if you’re keeping tabs on me and anyone I work with.” You don’t lower your arm, you were determined to at least get this deal from him since you couldn’t get any other answers besides the fact that he was going to go destroy Harrows cult.
“Pinky promise like we’re children?”
“Surely you were around when I made Steven and Marc make a deal with me that they would tell me anything that had to do with my life?” You say with a raised brow. You can’t tell what expression he was wearing in the dim light of the hallway. Your building really needed to get better lighting. But, the noise of him releasing a groan caused you to internally pump your fists into the air in victory. 
“I can’t promise you that I’ll come back,” He says. “But I can make a deal with you that Steven and Marc will.” And that was good enough for you. He raises his own hand and clutches your arm and you return his grip with your own hand. You both shake once before he lets go as if you were too hot to touch. You lower your arm and you both stand in silence for a minute until the noise of the elevator dinging interrupted the peace. You shift your eyes away from him and to the sliding metal doors of the box. This might be the last time you see Jake Lockley. Well, it might be the last time you see the body of Marc, Steven, and Jake if they don’t come back at all. Jake steps into the metal death box and you watch as he presses the button to the lobby floor. A little past him, decorating the walls were mirrors. 
Your reflection stared back, bags were underneath your eyes from sleepless nights and your collar bones showed a bit from underneath the collar of your shirt. You didn’t look well and you definitely still felt like shit from how little you took care of yourself. You looked half-dead. For a moment, you wondered if Marc and Steven were staring back, this was the sight that would have greeted them whenever Jake visited. How were they doing? It’s been awhile since you last heard of them from their alter, he’s been too wrapped up in whatever he’s been doing to not stop by. You raised your hand to stop the doors from closing and looked at Jake. He looked like one of those cartoon dad characters that don’t know how to express their emotions well with his bushy brows and mustache growing above his lips. He adjusted his flat cap to rest better on his head as he waited for you to do whatever it was you were about to do.
You wet your lips before you ask, “How are they?”
“Pissed,” Jake says. He looks at the mirror to his right and narrows his eyes at the sight. In the glass, you saw the reflection of Jake glaring at himself and your half cut off reflection of yourself from where you stood in the entrance of the elevator. You guessed that he saw the other men. “Steven says you need to eat more and get more sleep.”
“Is Steven really saying that?”
“Well, are you surprised? He’s been mommying you since day one.”
“Oh, fuck off.” A British accent says, causing you to step back in surprise. You watched as Jake loosened temporarily into a slumped posture before his back straightened once more and he had a resting bitch face. You raised your hand back up to stop the doors from shutting as you stared at him. That was the first time you ever saw another alter forcibly take control for a split second. The transitions between Marc and Steven were smooth whenever they switched, but this was completely the opposite. 
“What…?” You breathe out. Jake looked more pissed than usual.
“Let go,” He says and gestures to your hand holding the door. You didn’t know what to say, you were too stumped over the sudden and forcible switch you just witnessed; and besides that? You just heard Stevens' voice for the first time in a month and you didn’t realize how much you missed it until now. The sooner you let Jake go, the sooner you would get Steven and Marc back. So, you removed your hand from the elevator to let the third alter leave. You hoped that he would keep his end of the deal as the elevator doors finally shut and the floor numbers began to tick down to the lobby. 
You stared at the descending numbers until the screen showed a L. Behind you, you heard a door open and close before there was a jingle of keys. The noise was what caused you to swivel on your heel and walk back to your neighbors apartment. You watched your other neighbor, the girl who thought you were having a lover's quarrel with Steven keep her head down as she passed you and made her way to the death trap box. You haven’t talked to her since then, you both were too awkward to communicate since the admitted assumption that Steven was your sugar daddy made things weird. The thought grossed you out and caused your stomach to churn as you opened the door to his flat and closed it not a moment afterwards.
Layla was sitting on the couch as you entered the apartment. Her eyes trailed to you as soon as you locked the door behind you. The television was playing a BBC News broadcast of the weather and the short spike of a heatwave in the middle of this week. You didn’t like the heat, the last time there was a heatwave you were a puddle of sweat on the floor of your living room.
“Steven said that you’re a junior in high-school.” Layla says as you cross the room and awkwardly sit on the other end of the couch. You bring your legs up onto the cushions and hug your legs to your chest as you watch the broadcast switch over to one of the main ladies at the desks and they begin to talk about the upcoming summer bank holiday. 
“I’m a senior now.” You reply. “School starts back up in September. I should be graduating in early June next year.” You were glad for the summer break the United States schools offer, but honestly you just wanted to wrap up your schooling now so you wouldn’t be stressed about passing your final year while working full time.
“Steven said that you planned on working after you finish school.” 
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have any other plans?”
“I don’t think I could make any other plans.” You admit. “University isn’t an option anymore and traveling isn’t much of one either.” She hums and you both watch the television for a moment. 
“Are you excited to finish school?” She quietly asks. “Yeah,” You shrug. “I’ve been looking forward to wrapping up my basic education since I entered high-school.”
“I remember graduating.” Layla says. She had a look on her face as she stared at the television. It was clear that the two of you were using it for background noise and neither of you cared to pay attention to it. “I was in the class of 2014. After I completed school, I went on many trips with my father to the sites he was digging at.” She looked a little sad as she finished.
“How was that?”
“It was fun.”
“Did you find anything cool?”
“Plenty of fossils and ancient antiques.” She shrugs. “I found an old vase from the Han Dynasty period.”
“Which was?” You remember learning about the time period in middle-school but you don’t remember much of the history. You mainly remember learning school shooting drills and something about the Aztecs in history class.
“Around two-hundred and twenty common era.”
“Oof, wow.” You say. Your eyes became wide in awe. “How was it preserved?” You would think it would be cracked from the thousands of years and probably not that good.
“It was in a good condition, not a single crack or chip. The paint was kind of faded but that’s to be expected from over a thousands of years of sitting on a shelf.”
“Where did you find it?”
“It was in the Han Empire area.” She states. You give her a confused look. “Eastern side of China.” Your mouth makes an O shape as she continues, “The place where I found it was underneath an abandoned rich person's home, kind of in a basement like room. The room was hidden away…” She trails off and you stare at her. “Art was very privileged and a sign of wealth, especially back then.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I kept it.”
“You kept it?”
“Yep.” She pops the P and smiles at your awed and incredulous look. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her teeth were showing.
“You didn’t sell it to become rich?”
“Some things I want to keep for myself.” She shrugs. “Besides, what would I say to someone when they ask where I found it? I can’t exactly tell them that I trespassed into an abandoned area and took something. I would have gotten arrested for that and be put to death. Especially in China. Over there they take thievery much more harsher than the United Kingdom or States do.”
“What the fuck?” You breathe out which caused her to laugh. “Steven did say you work dangerous jobs. I just didn’t expect this.” She was kind of like Lara the Tomb Raider.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Maybe some protection job like a police officer or a bodyguard. That would have explained why you had a gun that night we met.”
“No,” She chuckles. “I collect items and sell them on the blackmarket or to any wealthy human willing to buy.”
“Wow.” You state and shake your head a little. You wouldn’t have thought that was Layla's choice in career, but of course you were wrong.
“So, quick question…” She starts. You raise a brow at her. Man, you hoped that she wouldn’t ask you something to kill this mood.
“Shoot.”
“Is it true you stole a table?” She asks.
“I thought it was free.” You state, your cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. She lets out a boisterous laugh. 
“At least Marc tells the truth about that.” 
“Why wouldn’t he?” You frown at her statement. What was that supposed to mean? She doesn’t answer but the smile she had slowly falls from her face. Whatever Marc lied about obviously caused her some pain.
“What time do you work tomorrow?” She asks instead of answering.  You wanted to know what had her so worked up over Marc and his lies, but you decided not to push her on the subject because if it was you, you wouldn’t want to be questioned about it either. Layla was much like Marc in that regard. She’ll tell you eventually.
“Seven to three.” You say. “Usually it’s nine to five or nine to two, but the manager is going on maternity leave soon and they need me to help fill in the schedule.”
“We’ll get you there on time.” 
“How are we going to get there?” You ask. “If we’re taking the bus I’ll have to set my alarm a little earlier.”
“I have a Vespa.” She says and waves your worry away. “Don’t worry about it.” The sound of the news cutting to break made you turn your attention back to the flat screen. A commercial for dog food was playing. You don’t know what else to chat with her about, but you had one thing on your mind other than whatever Marc could have lied about. How did Layla know Jake enough to be called over to babysit you? Was Jake slipping over to Layla's home during the days that he was gone? Was Layla invited on one of his sketchy trips of doing whatever he does? You wanted to know how well Layla knew him.
“It seems like you know Jake.” You start. 
“We had a lovely chat when he returned to London,” She says. You raise your brow, when did he leave London? Which is exactly what you ask her. “Those first few days when Marc and Steven disappeared. He visited me shortly after you called about his return.”
“How do you know he left London?”
“He mentioned it.”
“Just casually?”
“He slipped up.”
“Jake never slips up.” You state with a frown. “He has a soft spot for you.”
“Bullshit, he held a knife to my throat.”
“You too, huh?” You reply and you both look at each other. She looks pissed at hearing how he threatened you. “Jake never slips up.” You repeat quietly. “He refuses to tell me where he goes and what he does. He goes missing for days to a week, and now longer than that. He won’t tell me where he’s going or where he went. His mouth is like a bank vault, but for you? He tells you he left London.” You shake your head gently. “He did that on purpose, Layla.” She seems more concerned about the same thing he did to you as he did to her.
“He threatened you with a knife?” She asks quietly. You figured that she was going to hear all about it from Steven or Marc whenever they find out what Jake did, so you might as well tell her from the source.
“Threatened to slit my throat like Khonshu wants him to.” You tell her and she looks more upset.
“But, you’re just a kid.”
“So, I’ve been told.” You say. “Didn’t stop him from threatening me…” You trail off and bite your cheek. You weren’t going to lie, you were still upset about the threat but overtime you’ve become less wary of Jake. He was a mysterious man and you don’t trust him a hundred percent just yet, but he did keep you safe like he promised he was doing for his alters. “He, uh, kind of made up about it when he saved me from getting kidnapped.”
“What?”
“Yeah. The, uh, cult last month.” You mumble. You could feel yourself slipping away into a dreamlike state when you begin to think back on it. “I was getting dragged away by some guy and Jake cut his arm off.” The words sounded distant coming from you. You wouldn’t have guessed that the words came from you if it weren’t for the vibration in your throat and the horrified look of concern written on Layla's face.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good?”
“No- that’s,” Layla starts and shakes her head a bit, her brown curls bouncing lightly against her forehead. “That's traumatic for someone to go through. Did Jake ask you about how you’re feeling?”
“No.”
“Well, how are you feeling?” She asks. You don’t say anything, mainly because you don’t know where to begin and you don’t feel comfortable trauma dumping on a stranger. Sure, you know her name but you don’t know her well enough to be able to tell her how much you were truly suffering. How each night you woke up screaming and/or in tears. She was probably going to figure it out when you accidentally wake her with your cries over the next few weeks until Marc and Steven returned, but for now you didn’t want to tell her about it. “Y’know that everything I said about how you can talk to me about anything still applies here, right now.” You nod once and swallow. 
“You want to watch a movie?” You say instead. She purses her lips and just like that, lets go of the subject, much like you did earlier.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Something free on YouTube, I guess.”
“I think Steven has a Netflix account...” Layla trails off as she flicks through the settings on the television to see if there's an app downloaded for the media site.
“I don’t know if he’s signed in or not.” You say as she finds the app and presses down onto the remote to select it.
“There’s only one way to find out.” She says and briefly glances over to you. “You want to go pop some popcorn?” 
“You’re trusting me with cooking?”
“Right. Marc said you nearly caught their kitchen on fire.”
“It was only once.”
“I think I can trust you with using the microwave?” She raises a brow at you. 
“I can handle it.”
“I’ll teach you how to cook later,” She says. You both let out a cheer as you watch the screen on the television load to select an account. There was one for Steven and one for Marc. Marcs had the generic smiley face, which didn’t suit him in your opinion while Stevens had the panda. “Unless you want take-out?”
“No,” You smile at her as you push yourself off of the couch and begin your walk to the kitchen. “I need to gain some cooking skills.”
“Great because I’ve been craving some kebabs.” She says. “And I know the perfect recipe to teach you.”
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@letugulus , @only-roaches , @jvdethirlwall , @xennityxen , @astrobuzzsstuff , @nub-the-stub , @em-asian , @yawn0-0 , @80pairsofcrocs
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yesimwriting · 3 years
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Hello! Your Nikolai fic tranquility is so beautiful! Can you write more for Nikolai? Maybe the opposite with reader having a nightmare? Or whatever you want just please give me more! If you have a tagging list I'd love to be included btw :)
A/n hii!! first off,, thank you! i was a little nervous about writing him for the first time,, but i love him so much (even though i love a good villain/morally grey character in love i think nikolai would probably make the least toxic bf in the grishaverse lol)
you gave me a little too much freedom here lol bc i have so many ideas for him!! lowkey might need to give him a longer fic/series soon when i catch up with requests!! WOW THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND FOR WHAT
Summary: Reader is a handmaid who has grown up assisting Nikolai. Through the years, the two have developed a special relationship that most definitely breaks royal protocol--they’re best friends and rivals on a good day, and dangerously close to being something more the second either of them is remotely upset or extremely happy. Learning about the fact that Nikolai was almost engaged to Alina (a good friend of yours) and being reminded of the fact that as royalty Nikolai has many prospects (both serious women worthy of his title and women only suitable for trysts meant to relieve tension) has you both realizing something you should have years ago.
Word count: 31210
Warnings: disclaimer--may not be the most cannon thing ever,, but i wanted the ‘child of the help competes and falls in love with the child of royalty’ energy okay?? Lol
I could do a whole blurb series with this dynamic nikolai x reader,, like just stories of them growing up together and randomly realizing they might like each other romantically?? I probably shouldn’t rn but i ADORE this trope.
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The perfection of the room is disappointing. Idle hands, idle thoughts--so I work to smooth out a perfect duvet. Still, the thoughts come--aggressive and unavoidable. It’s silly, maybe even sad, to feel possessive over something that’s never been yours, something that could never be yours, but the harder I fight off the feeling the stronger it grows. Jealousy is a weed growing quickly in my chest, vile roots planted firmly in my heart.
Normally my favorite part of the day would be waiting for Nikolai to return to his room in the palace after dinner and his evening duties. He’s always a bit softer in the evenings, during my last check-in of the day. I’m normally thrilled to be done organizing his room early because that means the second he arrives there will be no distraction. Most evenings, he’ll find me perched in the seat by his bed, reading. He’ll mock-scold me for daring to defy his orders and reading ahead from the book we both take turns reading aloud from each night. He then warns me that I better react exactly the way I did when I first read it or else. That threat is always followed by a gentle laugh.
Tonight I’m in no mood for our nightly banter or even our nightly reading. My mother had warned me of the dangers of getting too comfortable with the royal family. I should have heeded that warning when she first gave it to me, the morning she found Nikolai and I fast asleep on a couch in the library as children. The palace likes to bring up the children of the staff by training them to attend to the next generation of royals. It makes the staff more efficient, a lifetime of knowing what someone wants makes you better for them. It also creates some level of connection, making betrayal a little less likely. Nikolai and I might have taken it farther than most. But now I want a reminder of the way we’re supposed to be--maybe if I detach now the bleeding of my heart won’t kill me. That has to remain secret, because if I explain it to Nikolai something in me will break. The one line between us will be crossed.
This will be the sixth secret I’ve kept from Nikolai in my entire life.
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The secrets:
I don’t know why I was picked for Nikolai. I wasn’t particularly skilled, but still, the day came when my mother was told that I now worked directly for the Lantsov boy. It’s an honor, a true one, but my mother had been a little nervous. To whom much is given, much is expected--and I detested Nikolai. Not for being a prince, but for being a prince who thought girls couldn’t race or fight.
The day my mother came looking for me because I never showed up for dinner and she found Nikolai and I attempting to fight in the way only a ten-year-old girl and eleven-year-old boy would, she had looked truly mortified. Nikolai had only laughed, either oblivious to my mother’s embarrassment or uncaring about it. He had then hugged me--an expression of care that had left me reeling. I saw him more as a rival than someone to tend to, but in that moment I saw him as a friend. Even more so when he told me he didn’t want me to go yet and that he was upset that so much of the day had been wasted by studies that kept him with boring people and away from me. And then he invited me to his lessons--my mother was quick to attempt to decline politely, but the desires of a prince at any age outweigh that of a mother.
After that, everyone kind of just stopped trying to remind us of our propriety. The tutor at first was concerned about my presence, but Nikolai remained stubborn. I wasn’t a big enough deal to cause an argument, so I began to attend lessons with him almost every day, only staying away when my mother needed aid with laundry or cleaning. His parents must have been somewhat aware of our friendship, but they must have been oblivious to our closeness because it was never mentioned.
My mother’s worry began to ease, she’d even started to take some pride when I’d come to our room proudly proclaiming that I scored two marks higher than Nikolai. She did, however, warn that it might be more tactful to let him score higher.
The comment was casual, just a suggestion, but it left me feeling wrong. It was the first time since we met that I had thought about our different statuses. I didn’t tell him--and that was the first secret I ever kept from him.
As we grew, we traded physical competition for academic rivalry, trying to best each other in both lessons and games of strategy like chess and cards. But with growing comes responsibility. Nikolai started to have obligations that were meant to be private. I couldn’t follow him at all times. But he’d always come back from locked door meetings grinning like he carried schoolyard gossip instead of government secrets. He shared everything with me, even when I playfully warned against it.
He’d always step closer when I teased that perhaps he shouldn’t tell me everything. And then he’d say, “If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone--and I don’t want to live in a world like that.” Often, he’d give my hand a light squeeze before moving on like he had not said anything intimate.
On a day in which Nikolai was in one of those meetings, I became a woman. When I first saw the blood, I had been horrified--but my mother was quick to explain that it was natural. She said that I was now a woman, a wonderful thing, really--but a thing that came with obligations. She told me that I could no longer have the impromptu ‘sleepovers’ with Nikolai unless he ordered it. I told her he’s never ordered me to do anything for him.
She didn’t ease, something in her had started to become nervous again. My mother had recently started to act the way she did when Nikolai and I first became friends. I didn’t want to fall asleep in Nikolai’s bed while I was bleeding, but I didn’t want to never have another sleepover with him again. Especially not when she refused to explain why being a woman changed so much.
I had decided to avoid Nikolai as much as possible until the sting of my mother’s new rule faded. Unfortunately, that night Nikolai was extra talkative--excited as he insisted I stay for a little longer. Soon, I found his familiar good naturedness melting away my nerves and before I knew it I was laughing in the middle of the night. When my eyelids started to feel heavy, I had moved from the chair, ready to head back to my room.
Nikolai had looked at me oddly before he asked why would I leave so late when it would be easier for me to just sleepover? It was an innocent question, he did not know about my change and I had wanted to keep it that way.
I tried playing coy, but Nikolai has always had a talent for getting around my better judgement. I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but I remember him standing in front of me. It was the first time I noticed how much had actually changed over the years--he was now taller than me for the first time in his life. His hair had started to grow a little longer, golden and soft-looking--and his face seemed much more angular. But he had not lost his boyish charm.
“Y/n?” My name fell softly from his lips, and that was the first time I had ever noted the fullness of them. I didn’t understand why I considered that something worth noting. “Did I do something to make you mad at me?”
Perhaps I had been a little curt--nerves and hormones had left me not feeling like myself. I didn’t tell him about the bleeding, I couldn’t. That became the second secret I kept from him--but I did tell him that my mother had told me I was a woman now, and that women can’t have sleepovers. Not with those of the opposite gender. I made no effort to hide my confusion because I expected him to be as perplexed as I was. But he was not confused--in fact, he had the audacity to laugh. My face flushed, but I did not know why.
“Why is that funny?” Maybe he thought I was still too much of a child to be considered a woman. I assumed it a fair assumption, I had not grown the way he had--my shoulders had not become sturdier and I had not become particularly broader. Still, I would rather melt into the floor than tell him about the reason my mother now considered me a woman. “My mother did say that, and I don’t know what being a ‘woman’ has to do with staying in your room at night.” Something strange had crossed over his features then, something much more brooding than I was used to.
I had blinked at him as unexplained nerves pooled in my stomach. Perhaps that look would have been enough to keep me silent if he had managed to not grin. That self-assured grin that had always challenged me. “Well since you know everything about my mother now, maybe you can tell me why she’s been acting strange. She’s starting to act the way she did when we first became friends.” I expected him to at least pretend to be worried. Perhaps his parents had spoken to her and had mentioned wanting our friendship to end. But his grin had only grown. Pride left me angry. “She did say that I could stay if you ordered it--but I’m glad you’ve never ordered me to do anything, so I can leave right now because you’re acting as odd as her. I don’t understand what you could find funny about our friendship ending.”
He had stopped me from storming out of his room by placing one hand on the wall between me and the door. “Y/n, don’t be cross--I’ll explain it all, I promise.” Angry pride made me want to storm away from him, but curiosity and something unknown and warm kept me in place. “Do you remember when we read the play about the rival families, how the two main characters had kissed?”
I remembered that part of the play especially well. The concept of kissing so casually, outside of marriage, had been jarring to me. “Yes.”
“Now that we’re older, your mother must be worried that we might do that.” He paused before leaning against the arm he placed on the wall to keep me from leaving a little more. “Kiss.”
The clarification was not needed--in that brief pause, I had allowed myself to imagine no distance between our lips. Something in me burned with embarrassment when I realized that some part of me found the thought appealing. The only thing I wanted in that moment was assurance that Nikolai would never know I felt that. That was my third secret, and the weight of it was heavy against my chest.
Still, though, all of my confusion had not yet left. “Is there much harm in a kiss?”
The question had left an odd smile on his lips. “There’s potential harm in what it could lead to for the woman, but not so much for the man.” He exhaled slowly as my face tensed. He could always read me too well because he was quick to add, “What it could lead to isn’t a bad thing, it’s meant to be pleasurable, but it’s serious.” I did not understand, but a part of me was starting to grow okay with that. Nikolai’s voice had started to become lower than ever, and his gaze remained tense. Perhaps if I accepted the confusion for now, things could go back to normal. If the conversation ended, I could stop thinking of his lips and his hands and what it would mean for them to touch me. “It’s considered a vice, like drinking or gambling.” The additional comment helped more than it should have. A vice--not scary and not painful, but not something to indulge in. That’s enough explanation for now. “If you want to know, I won’t deny you.”
I appreciated the offer tremendously. The vice that comes after kissing is clearly something that’s been intentionally kept from me. It’s something he was privy to that I was not, and he offered it to me like so much else. But if knowledge that my mother feared us kissing made me think of his lips, then I doubted I could handle knowing what comes after kissing.
“I’ll let you know when I want to know, but I appreciate the offer.” It felt like a fair response. His snarky grin came back immediately. Irritation rooted itself in my stomach. I hated not knowing more than him for once, but I still had one question I could not relinquish. “But what does that vice have to do with orders?”
At that, his smugness faltered. “It’s not unheard of, for princes and handmaids--for a prince to obligate a handmaid in order to fulfill his vice. Though many handmaids fill the vice of their own will for benefits.
The explanation left him like a confession. I didn’t understand his hesitance--it’s not like he’d ever make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Even when I worked, he was hesitant to ask me to go out of my way to bring him a glass of water. And I couldn’t imagine gaining anything from offering Nikolai something I didn’t really understand. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my life had more privileges than many palace servants. “Oh.”
His eyes hardened. “You know I’d never--”
“I know.” It was finally easy to smile again. “I never thought otherwise.” Something in him seemed to ease at that, his eyes went from hard to warm in less than a second.
I had no more questions for him and I was also no longer a flight risk, but Nikolai did not move. He did not step back to create a more appropriate distance and he did not drop his arm. His gaze, however, did move--dropping downwards, and slightly away from my eyes. I did the same, my eyes falling to his lips.
The silence between us began to make me feel like something in me was in danger of overflowing. “Then I guess my mother is once again worrying for no reason.” Strangely, I did not feel the need to feel embarrassed about staring at his lips. “Because I would never particularly want to kiss you, Nikolai Lantsov.”
The comment was meant to be teasing, a joke to clear away unknown tension. I should have known better than to challenge his pride because he instinctually moved his hand off the wall and beneath my chin. I did not flinch when he tilted my head upwards slightly with his fingers. “I could get you to want to kiss me if I wanted to.”
Three secrets in one night. I did not think I could bear a fourth one. “Hm…” The ground we treaded on felt unstable, but something in me trusted Nikolai to not let me falter. “I should--I should go before I give my mother anymore cause to worry.”
His fingers had brushed down my chin easily as he dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
And that he did. The days passed without mention of the last time he asked me to sleepover. It was as if nothing had changed except now I found myself noting things I most definitely did not want to note. These didn’t feel like individual secrets because it felt easy to group each admirational thought into one secret. Soon, that became my new normal--easy banter, easy touches of hands, and easy yet silent admirations of his beauty.
I never wandered too hard about what the vice that kissing can lead to entailed. I didn't particularly want to know, but knowing that I could ask Nikolai at any time brought a sense of security to me. But besides that, I never thought of that conversation until the day I was asked to look for Nikolai because he was late for dinner.
That in itself was odd, most of the time when Nikolai was late it was because he was with you. I checked his room, two other rooms he was known to frequent, and then finally the library. First, I noticed a handmaid two years older than me. I was finally at an age when one begins to compare their beauty to those around them, and I recognized the girl as gorgeous. She was better endowed than me, physically, and she always seemed fun. And then I noticed Nikolai, standing closer to her than I’ve ever seen him stand to anyone. His expression was serious as the girl giggled.
Nikolai’s expression shifted from tense to shocked when he saw me. “Y/n.”
It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what I had interrupted. Guilt and jealousy were quick to twist in my stomach. “Dinner--your parents sent me to look for you.”
He was quick to walk around the girl, who was quick to glare at me. I attempted to disappear down the hall after mumbling a quick apology, but Nikolai was faster than me.
“Y/n,” he did not hesitate to grab my wrist.
It shouldn’t have irked me the way it did, after all, neither of us had ever really hesitated to touch each other. I had always reached for him when I wanted him, and he had done the same. But the thought of the same hands that touched the most beautiful girl I had ever seen on me left me bitter in a way I didn’t understand.
Still, I pushed through all of that. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, your mother asked me to look for you because she assumed you’d be with me when you were late to dinner. I didn’t think that there’d be--”
“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The words came out flat as his eyes took on the same quality they did the night he explained my mother’s concern to me. “Valaria wishes there was something to interrupt, but there wasn’t.”
Oh. I refused to let the correction inflate me. “Would you like me to not come to your room tonight?”
The offer felt awkward to make. “No,” the answer came quickly, “In fact, go there now--I want to see you right after dinner. I’ve missed you today.” The instruction left my face feeling warm. “We could read an extra chapter of our book if you’d like.”
Despite myself, I grinned. “Yes.”
“Looking forward to it.”
True to his word, Nikolai was quick to return to his room. He had come back to me eagerly, going out of his way to squeeze my shoulder as he entered the room.
I opened the book to the chapter we had left off on, but before I could start reading, Nikolai stopped me. “Sit next to me?”
The question came softly. It had been some time since we sat next to each other on his bed. Still, I moved off of the chair and to his bed. Something in me longed for the familiar closeness of childhood. I allowed him to play with my fingers as I read.
“You know you could take one night off from me if you wanted to.” The admission left me softly, part of unsure if he was still paying attention to my words. “She was pretty, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you told me you wanted me to not come tonight.”
Nikolai exhaled easily, squeezing my fingers once. “I said I wanted to see you and I meant it.”
It took all of my energy to push past the way his words made my stomach leap. “In general, if you ever--”
Nikolai cut me off by laying his head on my lap the way he used to. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” It was the first time in years that he spoke to me in a way that acknowledged his authority. “Keep reading please.”
And that was the last time we had ever mentioned other handmaids in that context. The fifth secret I ever kept from him was the way I worried that one day that would change.
--
The door creaks open while I’m in the middle of fluffing an already pristine pillow. Nikolai steps into the room, but I continue to work.
“Darling,” he breathes too easily, “Today has been painful.” I straighten, looking at him as casually as I can manage. “And now I have to deal with you being mad at me.”
Damn him and his ability to read me with one look. “I’m not mad.”
“You know you can’t lie to me,” he sighs, stepping forward, “We’ve known each other too long for that.”
I press my lips together, irrational anger pushing itself into me at an odd angle. “We’ve also known each other too long to keep secrets.”
His eyebrows draw together, a look so quizzical I’m reminded of our schooling days. “What secrets have I kept from you?”
Mentioning that had been a mistake. I exhale as flatly as possible. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” My dismissal only has Nikolai’s expression hardening. I drop my gaze. “Unless you need something, I’m retiring my services for the evening.”
I take a reluctant step towards the door, eyes attached to the floor. “Y/n,” his voice is gentle. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Please let that be at least somewhat believable. “I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself in the morning.” I take another step, a little more assured. Nikolai’s hand is on my shoulder before I can escape. “Nikolai--”
“Y/n,” his voice is that of velvet, “I can’t have you be mad at me. Not now.”
Sighing, I meet his gaze. The tiredness I see behind his eyes is almost enough to chase away my nerve. What I’d give to be able to melt into our familiar routine. “Then you should have told me you were almost engaged to a literal Saint--the same literal Saint who’s one of my closest friends.”
Nikolai’s expression shifts as his hand drops from my shoulder slowly, fingers brushing down my arm before he finally intertwines our fingers. I bite my tongue to avoid squeezing his hand, but I don’t move to separate us either. He studies me silently, eyebrows drawn together. The longer he stares, the more whatever turmoil he’s experiencing seems to dissipate. After a minute of silence, I can read his expression perfectly. His lips are pressed together in that coy way--the way he only looks when he’s suppressing a smile.
I loathe him for it. “Nikolai Lantsov, don’t you dare laugh--not after what you did. Do you have any idea what it felt like to have Alina casually mention the fact that you almost married her casually? Like that was common knowledge to everyone but me?”
My words break away the last of his self control. He grins, flashing his annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to want nothing more than to see you and then you let me believe something may actually be wrong when the only issue is your jealousy?”
The amusement in his tone is like poison to me. I find the strength to jerk my hand away from him. “I am not jealous.” He laughs; I am further enraged. “I am not.” The genuineness of my anger must finally register on some level, because he tries to suppress his smile. “I have every right to be mad at my best friend for not telling me that he was almost married.”
“We didn’t exactly come close,” he manages, expression still much too light for my taste. “I’m glad for Alina’s sake, I’m not sure being a Saint would be enough to protect her.”
He is infuriating. “I’m not sure anything you have will be enough to protect you.”
Something in his gaze shifts, softening the tilt of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that.”
I don’t know what I expected from him--but not this. I thought he’d be at least somewhat apologetic. “You should have told me.”
“I would have if I felt it was significant.”
“I’m your best friend--your marriage is significant to me. And even though it’s not like you’re engaged to her right now, you should have told me. You know I talk to Alina all the time.”
He sighs once, a hint of apology threatening to ghost over his eyes. “If I knew not knowing would have upset you so much I would have told you. I was--I was just so excited to be around you again I didn’t see much relevance in anything that didn’t involve you.”
The intensity that Nikolai regards me with is enough to wither all of my fury. But without my anger, I am left spiraling in emotion that I’ve been pushing against for years. My mother’s warning about relationships with those above us rings in my ears--sharp and headache inducing. I am still when he reaches for my hand again, but I do no allow myself to return the gentle squeeze of his fingers.
“I’m not sure much outside of you has significance.” He’s giving me a look I am familiar with. A look he often uses to chase away my anger.
Without my anger, I have nothing to keep me from melting into him, indulging in his presence fully. It’s so easy with him and I blinded myself to the danger of that. He may not be marrying Alina, but one day he will marry someone. A person worthy of his status--and what would I be left doing? Washing their laundry? Tearing up when I dusted the library and came across a book we had read together? Enough damage has already been done--I need to cut myself with this blade now in hopes of making sure I can one day recover.
He will get married one day, and nothing will be the same. And that’s a good thing--he deserves the love of a princess or queen. I want his happiness, even if it’s not with me. But some vindictive part of me hopes that some part of him will miss me. That some part of him will be dulled without me.
I’m a fool--he will remember me as the handmaid from his youth. The girl who made him laugh once or twice before he grew up. I force my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t win me over with words every time.” I need to get out of here before he says something that makes me lose all resolve. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be here to prepare you for breakfast.”
“Y/n.”
I step forward, refusing to look at him. “Goodnight.”
He sighs, his hand quick to grab my arm. Before I can question him I feel myself pulled back. I expect him to pull me just close enough so that I have to meet his gaze. He continues, pulling me sharply before placing a quick hand on my shoulder, forcing me down. My back hits his bed.
I sit up as soon as the reality of what just happened seeps into my mind. “Nikolai, what in the Saints--”
“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”
I scoff, thoughts of escaping him put on hold by the principle of pride. Fine. I’ll beat him one last time, and then I’ll let us separate. I shove him. He laughs--of course this is funny to him. He got to keep fighting past the age of about eleven. His laughter adds to my anger, I move to shove him again, but he catches my wrist easily. I struggle against his hold, shoving him a third time with my still free hand. He pushes me slightly. That’s all it takes to unleash familiar habits.
Our small fight is hardly fair. He has all the advantage--more training, and he’s standing above me. When I finally make a move that might give me some success, Nikolai leans forward. He practically tackles me, his weight forcing me flat against the bed.
I move an arm, ready to push him off of me. Nikolai snags my wrists, holding them above my head. “This means I win.” I roll my eyes, anger returning.
“Let me go.”
He sighs tiredly, but the smugness radiating off of him is suffocating. “Admit that you were jealous.”
There are a lot of things I am willing to do for him--but never that. I cannot give him the one separation I still have. “I wasn’t.”
“Then why are you mad?”
I press my lips together. “I told you--”
“Do you really think you could lie to me?”
“You don’t know me that well.”
Nikolai moves his freehand, touching my chin as a way to ask me to look at him. I meet his gaze hesitantly. “Yes, I do, and that’s never bothered you before but it does now.”
Maybe this is a conversation better had bluntly. “It bothers me now because you’re too old to hold onto the daughter of a palace handmaid and I’m too old to pretend that our different statuses don’t matter.”
“Y/n,” he breathes, “Nothing’s changed. Status didn’t matter to me when we were children, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”
“You can afford to say things like that.”
“What good is my title if it means I can’t,” he pauses, eyes hesitant, “If I can’t keep things the same between us?”
I smile, the sadness of the look weighs on me and I can’t even see it. “Nikolai, you always knew things would change.”
“No, I--”
“You can’t tell me you think your future wife would like you having such a close relationship with a handmaid.” I press my lips together. “One day you’ll fall in love and get married and you’ll want me to leave your bedchamber as soon as dinner is over because you’ll be eager to spend time with your wife.” His gaze hardens. “And that’s not a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thi--”
The last syllable of my sentence dies in my throat. Nikolai, who must be possessed by something, leans down and presses his lips against mine. I beg myself to resist, but his gentleness is everything I’ve ever wanted. He releases my hands in favor of holding my face. That’s all it takes--my hands move without my permission, into his hair--pulling him closer to me. What am I doing? I’m insane. Placing my hands on his chest cautiously, I push just slightly. He’s quick to obey, pulling away while allowing his teeth to brush against my bottom lip.
I gape at him--taking in his now slightly swollen lips. “Nikolai.” He can’t do this to me. We’re friends. Despite the fact that I’ve loved him more than I should--we’re friends. “You’re being extremely unfair.”
He draws his eyebrows together, sitting up quickly and moving off of me. “I’m being unfair? I have spent my entire life loving y--”
I sit up, furious in a new way. “You have not!” This is the dumbest I have ever been. I move to stand, still feeling the softness of his lips against mine.
“Your tooth fell out.” The sharpness of his words forces me to still.
“What?”
I can’t bring myself to turn and look at him, but I’ve always been able to feel any heaviness he bears. The weight of it leaves little room for air in my lungs. “You were ten. I told you ‘girls couldn’t fight’ so you punched me in the face. That was the first time we ever fought--I didn’t mean to hit you in the face, but you moved. You moved and I hit you in the mouth and your last baby tooth fell out. I expected you to cry or get angry, but you just blinked at me and laughed. You were happy to lose your last baby tooth because it meant you were grown up. And then you smiled and asked me if you looked older. If anything, the gap in your smile made you look younger but I told you that you looked like a grown-up because I wanted you to keep smiling. Because your smile made me feel like I won something.” I turn on my heels, but I cannot meet his gaze. “That was the moment I fell in love with you--so don’t tell me I haven’t spent my entire life loving you.”
The weight of his words is harder to survive against than the heaviness of his feelings. “Nikolai, you know we can’t ever be together--”
“Why not?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I manage, voice low, “You almost married the Sun Summoner--”
“That was political--”
“Exactly, your marriage is meant to be political, and if it happens to be out of love--which is what I hope you get, because it is what you deserve--it will be to someone of status.”
Nikolai stands, the movement is that of a king, not the boy I know. “I do not want status or to love someone else--I want you.”
“I can’t take that from you--”
“You can’t take anything from me because I’ve already given it all to you.”
I press my lips together, heart tearing for him. “I love you too much to ruin you.”
My words seem to snap something in him because his eyes darken, the way he watches me adjusting accordingly. “You can’t ruin something that’s always been yours.”
I let myself smile. At him. At his words. At the foolish hope the child in me has clung to after all of these years. I reach for him thoughtlessly, because I have the right to. Because I’ve always had the right to. He’s quick to respond, kissing me with much more security than before.
This time, he pulls away of his own regard. “You still haven’t admitted that you were jealous.”
His teasing smugness isn’t as sour to me anymore. “I wasn’t.”
Nikolai pulls me towards him easily, lips threatening to brush against me, warm breath against my face. “Are you sure, darling? You were awfully quick to claim what’s yours.”
I roll my eyes, grinning so widely I’m surprised my face doesn’t yet hurt. “You’re the one that fell for a ten-year-old girl with a bloody mouth.”
When he smiles back at me, he places a hand on my hip, pulling me forward slightly. “That I did.” He pulls me forward slightly. "Does this mean you can sleep in here again?"
"If anything, this is more reason for me to sleep in another room." He rolls his eyes, pulling me even closer. "But I won't tell if you don't."
Nikolai leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Deal."
tags: @deardiarystuff @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33
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amjustagirl · 3 years
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Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 
Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.
Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader
Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 
Wordcount: 7.8k 
Masterlist link here
A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 
This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 
Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3
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It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 
That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 
But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 
And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 
There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 
That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   
‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 
Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 
And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 
Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 
Why on earth did he agree to this again? 
‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 
His glare softens by a fraction. 
Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 
Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 
He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 
‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 
Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 
‘Hm.’ 
He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.
‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 
Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 
‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 
She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 
‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 
‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’
‘Dramatic ass.’ 
‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 
‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 
Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 
He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 
Then he takes a breath. 
Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .
Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.
Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 
He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 
Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 
‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 
‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 
Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 
Much, much worse. 
He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 
He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 
His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 
‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  
The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 
‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  
The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 
She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’
There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  
He takes her hand with a rare smile. 
Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 
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It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 
He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 
They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 
He appreciates that. 
She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 
He likes that. 
So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 
‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  
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They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 
He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 
Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 
‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 
In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 
So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   
It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 
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He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.
Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 
He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 
She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 
Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 
‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.
Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.
As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 
‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’
He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 
The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 
His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 
And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 
But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 
The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 
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‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 
‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 
He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 
When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 
‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 
He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 
She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 
He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 
‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 
‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.
He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 
‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 
So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 
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Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 
They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 
‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 
She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 
On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 
He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 
‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 
‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.
‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 
He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  
The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 
‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 
‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.
‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 
All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.
If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 
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But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 
She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 
‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 
There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 
She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 
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He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 
His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’
His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 
‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 
When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’
He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 
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He finds himself wondering about them. 
It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 
But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  
If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 
He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 
‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 
There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  
Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 
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He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 
This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 
Oikawa Tooru . 
It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.
‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 
‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’
His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 
‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 
Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 
She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   
He blinks. That was unexpected. 
‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 
‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 
‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 
‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.
‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.
He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 
‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 
She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 
He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 
So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 
He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 
‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 
‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 
‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 
‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 
She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  
‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 
She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 
He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 
‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 
That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    
‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’
That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 
‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’
He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 
Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 
His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 
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They move in together after that. 
He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 
When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.
Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.
‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  
‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 
It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  
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He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 
Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 
‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 
‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’
‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  
‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 
He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 
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He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 
With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 
‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 
‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 
‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’
He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 
‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 
The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.
Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’
She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 
‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’
The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 
‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 
Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 
Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 
He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  
‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 
‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 
‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 
He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 
If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  
It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 
Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 
He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 
He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   
He waits. 
Then his phone buzzes. 
Ah. 
She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  
“Omi?” 
She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 
‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’
He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.
‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 
Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  
‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 
If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  
‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 
‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 
Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 
She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  
She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 
He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 
He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 
He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  
She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 
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It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 
He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 
Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 
The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 
‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 
He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 
‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 
‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 
‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 
Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 
He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   
So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 
Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.
‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  
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If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 
As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3
Taglist: 
@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)
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byulsgrease · 3 years
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if you arent too busy, can you write a idol!hwasa x idol!reader, wherein they both have to practice with each other for a special stage. However on the first meeting they become starstruck and cant believe somethings are real, but soon warm up to each other?
i'm not terribly busy but this still took a while anyway oops - sorry this took so long anon! here you go :D
if anyone has requests for the other members hmu cuz I've got 2 more hyejin reqs after this one (not that I'm complaining)
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"who says we can't do something on our own?"
(hwasa x idol!reader, ~1.2k words)
cw: food + alcohol mention (y'all know how it is)
I named someone Minjeong - it's not Aespa's Winter, idk anything about 4th gen gg's - 민정 is my Korean name so it's just what came to mind
"Hey, wake up. You've gotta see this. GET UP," a voice piercing through the fog of your sleep.
What a rude awakening. Your shoulders being shaken vigorously by a pair of small hands meant they belonged to none other than Minjeong, your youngest group member. You rolled over to glare menacingly at her with one eye open, trying to pull your brain out of the slumber. All you could see was the bright light of her phone shining in your eyes - a video of some kind. But then you heard the audio:
"Have you seen the clip?" asked the interviewer.
"Yes, my members and many MooMoos made sure I saw it"— Moos? Oh, it's Hwasa. WAIT. Both your eyes flew open as you sat up and snatched Jeongie's phone out of her hand to stare at the video. Your mind immediately flashed back to the interview you did last week - they asked who you most wanted to collaborate with, if there were no limitations. Your ears started to heat up at the sheer thought of the flustered mess of an answer you gave - of course you said Hwasa. Both of you debuted relatively close to each other, within a year, but never interacted much over the years. Mamamoo as a group was a force to be reckoned with, but there was just something about Hwasa specifically. You mostly just admired her unique singing voice and undeniable stage presence, and her relentless drive to always be herself in an industry constantly trying to fit women into a box.
Finally snapping out of re-living that embarrassment, your attention turned back to the phone in your hand. The interviewer must've asked her to send a message in response to you, because you couldn't believe that she was waving and saying, "How haven't we gotten to know each other better over all these years? I'd love to work with you on something sometime," curtly dipping her head in a slight bow.
"SEE? You needed to see that," Minjeong rushed to say, full of energy. "And close your mouth, your jaw's on the floor," jokingly pointing.
You side-eyed her and shut your mouth. "Is this what Loco felt like when she called him during Hyena on the Keyboard?" you wondered aloud.
"At least she's not calling you while on camera," she commented, knowing full well that you'd probably embarrass yourself again if she did. "But hey, at least she noticed you! Can I have my phone back now?" It would be a dream come true to collaborate with her, but cross-company collabs... always a pain. that couldn't be helped. The fantasy abruptly ended with demands from your rumbling stomach. Done with your what-if's, you placed the phone back in your maknae's outstretched hand to get up and make breakfast.
~~~~
With award show season rolling around, the crazy scramble of rehearsing for special live stages without leaking sets and collabs began. Checking your email that morning showed a schedule to record the backing track for a special live stage, but that was it. With who? You texted your members a screenshot, but they all told you that block of time in their schedule was empty. A solo stage? The solo mini-album you released this cycle did relatively well, the title track got a music show win, but not a multi-week chart-topper by any means. Possibilities turning over in your mind, you stepped out from your place to head to the company, totally in the dark about what was in store.
The recording studio always smelled the same along with the couches, a comfort for all the insanely long nights and crack-of-dawn early mornings over the years. With a bit of time to kill, you plopped down on one and gingerly patted the worn cushions as some kind of symbolic thank-you for supporting you (literally).
A hesitant but loud knock sent your gaze directly to the door. Watching it slowly open, you leaned forward to see who it was. Needless to say, your jaw fell to the floor again as you clapped a hand over your gaping mouth, eyes widening. Like a soldier obeying a command, you immediately stood up as straight as possible and bowed profusely at Hwasa, sporting a very similar expression on her face (which you failed to notice, your mind running a million miles a minute).
After a series of frantic bows and miscellaneous utterances to each other, she spoke. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said with calm, surveying your frenzied state. "I guess we're granting that collab wish from your interview, huh?"
The red-hot embarrassment leapt to your face. "I...I definitely made a fool of myself answering that question. And our maknae showed me your interview clip too, which was cool, but never did I think it would actually happen," you stammered. I should probably stop talking.
"Well, here I am," she half-smiled coolly. "Let's get started, I'm really looking forward to finally work with you on this," a gleam in her eye and a hint of excitement in her voice.
The studio suddenly felt a lot smaller with her in it, despite there only being your managers, the producer, and the both of you - less people than you and your members alone. Both of you remained relatively quiet the whole time, rather unsure of what to say or talk about. You watched enough MMMTV to know that all the members on their own were shyer than together, and Hwasa knew the same was true for you. But the work basically took care of itself, seamlessly taking turns in the recording booth, witnessing each other's work style and process. The both of you knew your way in front of a mic, seasoned professionals by now. Upon wrapping up, you bowed politely to each other after a quick exchange of KaTalk info, a short and sweet goodbye.
That was... anticlimactic. I mean, it's finally happening - I can't believe it. But maybe I was too idealistic about maybe creating a meaningful relationship with her outside of work... What does she think of me?
~~~~
In the days leading up to the collab stage, you kept going back and forth on whether to reach out or not, despite now being in possession of her contact info. What would you even say? Thoughts of a witty one-liner or relatable meme came to mind, but maybe she'd assume the worst - that you were clout-chasing, or something. Anxieties abuzz, your phone vibrated in your pocket. The KaTalk notification sprawled across your screen. Speak of the devil, it's her.
"Hey, awards season has me stressed. I know you must pretty busy right now too, but I somehow get off early tomorrow if you wanna grab dinner after work?" You had to reread that one. Oh, what? She's inviting me?
Trying not to be weird about responding too quickly, you typed out, "Wow, yeah, that sounds great! ^^ wait, your company doesn't care about you going out to eat during award season?"
"nah, they stopped having that kind of control over us a while ago, we are the money-maker of the company, after all 😏"
"so I guess this means they don't check your phone either ㅋㅋㅋ"
"nope :)"
You proceeded to set a time and place to meet, someplace with meat.
In the process of feasting on an inordinate amount of gopchang imbued with a splash of beer, you learned a fair amount about each other. You talked career, professional aspirations, the weird habits of your members, and more. What surprised you most was the amount of things she already knew about you, having admitted to watching some of your behind-the-scenes content after seeing your interview clip.
"Ah... I'm sorry if I came across as distant during that first recording session," she confessed, pausing to sip her beer. "I honestly didn't know what to do with myself, I felt a little star-struck."
"Oh what?? I felt the exact same, so no worries - and sorry if I came off similarly distant," you rambled back. A bit of silence fell between you, acknowledging the mutual sentiment. You spoke up after a bit, "Thanks for inviting me out tonight, I didn't realize how much I needed this."
"Thank you for making the time, I had fun getting to know you better," she articulated with a smile. "Maybe it'll make the collab stage better," she added on jokingly. You responded with a nod and expression of mutual affirmation.
~~~~
After that, messaging each other became a regular occurrence, that gopchang outing having broken the ice. Honestly, you tried your best to talk about anything besides work, but the baseline of shared understanding connected you in a way that came more naturally than it did with your non idol friends.
You stood across the way from her at the sound check for the final stage, dressed in joggers and slides. Funny to think that you'd be recording this for real in a couple hours, making eyes with the blinking red light on the cameras surrounding you. It sucks that fans wouldn't get to experience the energy and atmosphere of the performance - Hyejin alone is one thing, but adding someone else into her stage presence? Unmatched. There's nothing quite like a live performance - and while you knew everyone in the industry dealt with the consequences of the pandemic, it certainly took a toll to perform and not feel the energy from fans. But realistically, nothing you could do about it. The sound check went over smooth like butter. The stage chemistry came flowing naturally between you both, even when bare-faced and dressed in just sweats.
And when the time came for the actual filming, you both absolutely killed it, an upbeat mash-up of TWIT and your title track. At the very end came a sliver of hesitation before throwing your arms around each other with a big smile for the ending fairy, proud of the work you accomplished together, and a mental fist-pump to yourself for making friends with one of the industry's finest.
Once again walking to a restaurant that served mostly meat to celebrate, you playfully proposed, "We... should do that again sometime." A little puff of air came out her nose in amusement.
"Yeah, we should. Too bad we're gonna have to wait a whole cycle before we can release anything else together again," she sighed longingly.
"Who says we can't do something on our own?"
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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years
Text
Loki Series Thoughts—Glorious Purpose
Ok, I’m always nervous about posting my thoughts, but here we go. Spoilers ahead of course!!! (Disclaimer: Any gifs or images are not mine.)
Let’s start out with the episode’s name: Glorious Purpose. I know some people were a bit miffed about the emphasis put on the line, but I actually thought it worked well. It’s not so much that Loki actually believes in this “purpose,” but rather he is clinging to what he’s been told his purpose is. And by the end of the episode, he’s finally working through some of the things he’s been hurt by, abandoning what he’s been forced into and ready to be who he wants. Granted, it’s still going to take some time for him to come to grips with all that has happened, but I’m excited to see the journey.
The TVA. They undeniably suck. Whether or not it will be addressed directly, they are the (or one of the) antagonists in the show. What they are doing is, frankly, tyrannical. Three “time keepers” have taken it upon themselves to force countless versions of time and people into one single stream. And you know what? They can’t control that timeline. Not like they want to. As much as Loki’s line about “the weak” applies to himself, it applies to the TVA, too. It’s a facade of control that they cling to; if they truly had the right, the ability, to control time, everyone would follow their path. There would be no variants. Now, I could write a whole separate analysis on the MCU’s explanation of time travel. It’s convoluted and in a large way doesn’t make sense.
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I’d like to talk about Loki’s characterization. I am, in a word, relieved. From the trailers, Tom seemed to be over-acting, something rather strange for someone so good at conveying deep emotions through nuanced actions. Now I believe any exaggerated lines from the trailers are just Loki trying to separate himself from who he’s been told he is, and trying to reinvent himself. I don’t think that’s a bad thing either; they’re not rewriting Loki, he’s just growing in a new way. And though this way is “new” I think it will be similar to what we’ve seen before. From what we’ve seen so far, there is good continuity, and they are addressing things about Loki that should be addressed in canon.
Loki projects. Most notably in the Avengers, but also a bit in Thor 1 and The Dark World, a lot of Loki’s lines can be applied to himself, though he is talking generally or towards another group. What comes to mind is actually something he touches upon again in the series. The illusion of freedom. And though it is not said that line in particular is him thinking of himself, it can be inferred based on his admission that the line in the gifs above apply to him. Also that little gesture when he says “weak” breaks me. He’s hurting so much.
Loki is not a villain. He may think he’s one because everyone else is telling him that, yet we’re already seeing it brought up that it’s not true. I can only hope that we’ll see Loki state this himself later in the series. He was largely forced to do what he did. It is not his fault, so how can he be a villain?
Loki cares. Tom’s acting is just *chef’s kiss* Seeing his mother’s death hurts so much. I love that his first response is denial. Loki is thrown into something he’s never known about before, being shown things that, to his knowledge, have never happened. But then when he’s had a few seconds to wander around the TVA on his own terms, he’s more come to grips with all that’s going on. So, when he’s by himself and see’s Frigga lying there, dead, it gets to him. Then seeing Odin still call him his son, he feels the slightest glimmer of hope, but also regret; he already knows in the back of his mind that he’s not actually going to get that. Loki’s living from second to second, trying to hold on. He probably thinks this ends with his death. (I do have issues with that Odin scene in context of Ragnarok but that’s more a tangential aside, so I’ll gloss over it for now.) Then seeing Thor and himself acting like brothers again is heartwarming. So just when he’s feeling uplifted, Thanos comes into the picture. He realizes how much control the titan still had over his life; he never really escaped. And in the end, Thanos made good on his promise. And that is terrifying! And he laughs at it. It’s a sad sort of laugh, one that’s slightly crazed. Loki feels that no matter what he does, it ends in pain. By the end of seeing all that, he is a man broken. Rather, more broken than he already was.
Loki is struggling. That’s nothing profound; it’s obvious. But where it really stands out to me is actually in a part I originally thought to be out of character. I am referring to “What if I was a robot and I didn’t know it.” Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s actually that his perception of himself has been so thrown that he really isn’t sure about his own chemical makeup anymore. Odin and Frigga keeping from him that he’s a frost giant made him so unsure of himself, he thought he might not even be a living being.
Nervous tics. Was I the only one noticing his leg bouncing when he talked to Mobius? And what about that scene when he’s sitting on the steps? He begins to pick at his hands. Note, that’s something he did in T1 after finding out he was a frost giant and while confessing to the Warriors Four about how he was the one who told the guard of their trip to Jotunheim. Just a little detail I really appreciated. (If anyone has gifs of any of these things, feel free to share :)
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Mobius. I’ll be honest, I’m a bit undecided. I’m hesitant to say he’s evil. After all, we haven’t seen that much of him yet. However, I will say he is unscrupulous and manipulative. His questions weren’t to help Loki work through his trauma. Mobius was trying to goad him into helping, and likely was trying to gauge how much this Loki is like the variant he’s tracking. When Loki makes any admission of his feelings, it’s something he already knew, not a conclusion Mobius helped him reach. Mobius mocks him a bit and pushes his buttons because he sees Loki as a means to an end, and wants to know how easily he can get him to work with him. And what strikes me is how similar Mobius’s deal is to Thor’s deal in TDW. Thor doesn’t offer Loki freedom, he offers revenge. Mobius’s deal is just another variation of this. He can’t offer “salvation” but he can offer something “better”. Working for the TVA really isn’t better, though. So what does he mean? Well, I think he means a chance for Loki to prove he’s a hero. I hope as the show progresses it’s addressed that Loki doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone. That’s what he’s been doing his whole life, but I want Loki to see for himself that he doesn’t have to.
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Miss Minutes. Propaganda. Plain and simple, it’s propaganda. Besides the way it praises the “time keepers” as amazing saviors, necessary to keep the world in order, it’s essentially saying “don’t think for yourself.” The whole point of the video is “the time keepers are great. The TVA is flawless. Trust us to decide everything. You have no autonomy in the world we want, so surrender your free will. Submit to the system we’ve decided is perfect and everything will be just fine.” Of course, by “just fine” they mean the variant will be pruned and the timeline will keep going as the time keepers see fit. The animation style was great though! It really fit.
The infinity stones. I think their inclusion makes sense. If you remember from Endgame, the stones being in the right place in the right time keeps the timeline from branching, and thus prevents the multiverse from being created. Likely, the time keepers used the stones to make their “sacred timeline.” Naturally, any variant time stones would cause a problem. That’s why they have so many extras. But think about how pointless so much of what happened seems. Nat, Gamora, Vision, Tony, everyone who was snapped, everyone who was left. So, literally the entire universe was flipped upside down for paperweights. It really puts Thanos’s pursuit of the stones into perspective, doesn’t it?
The cloaked figure. I think there’s some misdirection going on here in one way or another. Mobius says he’s chasing a Loki variant, then immediately it cuts to a scene with the cloaked figure. Our minds are likely to assume that is the variant then. But they don’t actually say it’s Loki, so I’m inclined to believe it’s not. Though, I don’t have enough information to say who I do think it is, I could make a couple of educated guesses and say Mephisto (he certainly interacted with Loki in the comics, plus there’s the stained glass window) or Sylvie. Well, whoever Sophia Di Martino’s character is. I know she was previously listed as Sylvie on sources such as IMDb, but that has since disappeared. But why would you have a “young Sylvie” (Cailey Fleming) without an older version? There is speculation Di Martino’s character will be Lady Loki, but I hope this won’t happen. If they make Lady Loki her own character, I doubt we’ll see Variant Loki get to be fluid. Even if it’s confirmed on the record, it’d be nice to see actually happen beyond a piece of paper. And with twist villains being such a prominent force in modern media, I’m interested to see who our cloaked friend really is.
Time travel. Like I said earlier, this is a lot. But I can’t talk about the episode and not mention this aspect in at least a little more depth. I don’t like how the MCU deals with time travel. I think it’s an unnecessarily complicated mix of a number of different, already complicated theories. However, I think Loki will ultimately escape from the TVA and create a multiverse too difficult to prune (and maybe he’ll actually get to burn the place down too!) This will then tie directly into Doctor Strange 2. Do you guys know what that’s called? The Multiverse of Madness. Actually, in the Miss Minutes propaganda, they almost exactly say “will throw the multiverse into madness.” Will we get to (finally!) see a certain raven-haired god meeting Dr. Strange? And maybe even the Scarlet Witch herself? Well, I’m not sure, but right now I think it’s looking pretty good!
And some random things that didn’t really anywhere else:
Peggy is in the background?! My thought here is that Steve wasn’t supposed to stay with her. This made not only a Variant Steve, but also a Variant Peggy. We may not see Steve, but I bet he’s been taken care of too!! And who knows? Maybe there will be a cameo later. Otherwise, it might be something that was cut from the show, or just a fun easter egg of sorts.
The score was so good! It sets the mood perfectly.
Loki is a good fighter. Even if he’s overpowered, he finds a way.
Some of the humor didn’t land, but that might just be a personal thing.
So now my final thoughts. It’s their strongest pilot yet. So much emotion crammed into less than an hour. A lot of exposition, too, yet it didn’t feel tedious (Endgame I’m looking at you). And then we get to delve into Loki’s psyche, something that really appeals to me! Overall, 9/10. I hope the rest of the series is as good!
Did I miss anything? Was there something you were hoping I’d mention and didn’t? Or do you have something to add or (politely!) disagree with? I’d love to hear it all! Remember, fandom is a safe space to talk about, analyze, and debate about things you enjoy. My ask box is always open with anon on. Reblogs and comments are great too. Thanks!
Me after watching the episode:
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luvnami · 3 years
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𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 (here) | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Second part to ‘Ocean’! Hope you enjoy it :> Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!
𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife​ @amjustagirl​ @aliteama​
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares, Relationship Issues (lack of communication), Overthinking/Anxious Thoughts, I criticise Nanami’s choice of clothing
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -  Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He  (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of  what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made  it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time. 
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5k
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Nanami decides to enter university and get a degree. He casts a life of sorcery behind and turns a blind eye to curses that peer at him curiously on the street. When you text him and ask about how life is in the city of Tokyo, he replies that it would be much better if you were here with him. You choose to ignore the meaning between the lines and tell him that he’ll do great in university; you’re sure of it!
Truth be told, his parents are more than glad to fund Nanami’s ventures and encourage him to do so. As a result, he finds himself engulfed by the world of rigorous studying. Lectures and tutorials drain his time from morning to evening, not to forget project meetings and whatever the hell ‘socialising’ means.
But campus life is invigorating. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and his roommate singing a foreign song with a catchy tune and has time to enjoy a lovely breakfast before he heads off for morning classes. Everything is done in his own time. No one rushes him to save the lives of innocent civilians, nor does the weariness of a day’s fight linger in his bones.
Quietly, gently. That is how Nanami’s time in university goes by. Writing essays on analysing market trends or a project on that sociology elective module he chose is nothing too tricky, especially when one compares it to sorcery. 
He learns to relax, unwinding in the golden hours of the evening with a Murakami paperback and a steaming cup of coffee by his side. Nanami meets new people — people who have never heard what a curse is (though he does find his witchy neighbour intriguing), people who have families at the furthest ends of the earth. Their companionship is refreshing.
You, meanwhile, earn a nice sum from working at Jujutsu Tech. You don’t work directly with curses (something which Nanami is thankful for) and enjoy your time surrounded by nature, treating the younger students with a smile and warm cup of tea. 
You and Nanami decide to move into an apartment where the commute is halfway between both schools. It’s a nice change of pace, really. You wake up next to each other in the blinding morning light, still entangled in the cheap (and slightly scratchy) duvet you got on sale. Nanami presses a kiss between your brows. You smile, your hand warm on his skin. 
“Good morning, Ken,” you croak as the sunlight frames your face.
You lean forward and place your head against his chest. Nanami’s hand strokes your shoulder lovingly as the both of you make small talk on the day’s events, then laughing when he makes a cheesy (and slightly indecent) joke about what he enjoys eating for breakfast. Your heart soars in your chest, catching the upwind and slicing through the clouds. It feels like heaven.
But the sea does not always remain calm and peaceful. Its tides rise and fall with the waxing and waning of the moon, and waves can come crashing down on boats that dare sail through its treacherous waters. 
Nanami buries the constant nightmares of Haibara under his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night with your arms around his waist. He pretends he does not see the curses that linger in the corner of his lecture theatre, nor the ones that stare back in the bathrooms. Nanami slips a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. His fellow classmates call him intelligent, quiet, but kind. 
He wants to believe that, too.
☆*: .。.
Nanami joins a hedge fund company after graduation. 
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Ken?” you ask over the table.
The restaurant you had booked for dinner boasts of its month-long waitlists and seasonal menus. You poke at the raw fish that sits on your plate, Nanami holding a glass of amber liquid. He watches its colour swirl under the dim light.
“The pay is good. We’ll be comfortable.”
“I don’t care about money, Ken. I’d rather you do something less stressful and be happier.”
“Let me try it out for a year or so. That can’t hurt, right?”
He smiles, you smile. 
Your hand slips into his comfortably over the table, and your eyes meet in silent understanding. You squeeze his hand.
The company changes Nanami. Some things are obvious — the way he now parts and combs his hair back with wax, the pressed suits that line your shared wardrobe, the work phone that buzzes with notifications every minute of the day. Others are more… subtle. He comes home later and later each night, occasionally staying over in the office. His alcohol consumption increases. You spend the weekends alone. 
It’s gotten to the point where you’re lucky if you eat dinner with him once a week. You’re busy with your own work, too, but you assume that Nanami would be able to come home on at least the weekends. Your mind begins to drift.
Is there a colleague who wears a skirt too short, a manager who touches his shoulder a second too long? It’s been at least four years since you and Nanami had gotten together, and you still don’t know his stance on marriage or children yet. Does he love you, or does he love his job more? 
You fall into a pit of doubt and despair. Perhaps you should have been a lesser burden on Nanami. He spent so many hours taking care of you back then, wearing himself thin between missions, that the idea of him getting tired of being a caregiver to someone who didn’t remember him at all was… possible; reality, even?
There’s nothing original about you, either. Your handwriting is the same as a girl you’ll never remember from middle school, the way you text influenced by the students you work with. Maybe you laugh too loud. Or you’re too fat, too skinny, too quiet, too noisy, too blunt, too shy, too clumsy. So what made him love you? Or was he just in love with a previous version of you that you weren’t now?
It feels like you’re staring into a mirror when you try to remember who you used to be with childhood journals and photographs. The same face, the same body, memories that don’t make sense and a head that has become a blank canvas. A parent’s child, a teacher’s student. Unable to reach past the glass.
You don’t know who you are anymore with how you’ve changed to please Nanami — a person of personalities that switches in the blink of an eye. So why does he still keep you in his rented heart that’s full of other tenants, and under the contact name ‘Dear ♡’? You place the button in a drawer amongst a mess of spare keys, bits of tissue paper and promotional pamphlets. 
It’s tiring. Nanami’s head is in the clouds as you share a parfait, and you ask him, “Kento, do you really love me?”.
“What?” he asks incredulously. “Of course I do.”
The eyebags that are on his face have been there since two weeks ago. Nanami can’t remember when the last time was when he got a proper night of sleep, and currently, he’s thinking about the new client that-
“Kento,” you interrupt. “You’re exhausted.”
You point your spoon at him for extra emphasis, the tip of it having a dollop of whipped cream. 
“Pointing your utensils around is bad manners.”
“Never knew you cared about table manners.”
“Well, now I do.”
You lick the spoon clean and eye Nanami. He returns a tired stare before his gaze falls to the side and he lets out a sigh. He almost wishes that you would stop bothering him about this and let him go back home. There are so many emails he needs to send, and he can’t sit still without checking the stock market every hour or so. 
“Do you want to break up?”
The words come easier than expected.
“Huh?! What makes you say that?”
“You seem like you want to.”
“You can’t just assume things like-”
The girls sitting by the next table fall quiet. Nanami thinks that they’re eavesdropping on your conversation; you think so too. You glance quickly at them and they pretend nothing had ever happened, hiding their looks of surprise as they shove spoonfuls of dessert into their mouths.
“Let’s go somewhere else.”
You sound irritated. Nanami pays with his card, grabbing his things as you step outside of the cafe first. 
“Slow down,” he mumbles and pockets his wallet. 
You whip around.
“You can’t just assume things like that, Kento.”
“Fine, I’m sorry.”
Staring at him, your eyes seem glazed over. Tired, maybe. Tearing up, maybe. Maybe, maybe. Many maybes. Nanami doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with you, actually. You seem distant, out of reach when you’re lying in the same bed as him. Is it the money; is he making enough to make you happy?
Nanami reaches out and tries to hold your hand (when was the last time he had done that?) when his phone buzzes. He retracts his hand and reaches for his back pocket, but you grab his wrist. He looks at you.
“What are you doing? Let go.”
Irritation laces his voice. 
“Don’t answer that.”
“Are you crazy? It’s from work. I have to.”
“Work this, work that! You spent the last year basically married to your office and the one time we get to go out together, you want to work?”
Your voice is sharp, slicing Nanami’s hazy conscience. He watches as it pools at his feet, a gust of fresh air tickling his skin. He relaxes his wrist and you pull your hand away. Passersby glance at you briefly before continuing their daily commute, not bothering to give you a second glance.
“Sorry,” you mumble.
“It’s okay,” Nanami replies. 
The both of you stand in the street, suddenly feeling as if you’ve drifted away from one other unknowingly. Like a boat in the ocean, Nanami rocks with the waves that splash gently on his hull. Everything is blue and vast around him. He can’t see the land. 
Nanami thinks about that girl at the bakery. The way she always cried out ‘Come back soon!’ every time he left as if he wouldn’t return a second time. And then he thinks about the clients he serves, all outfits and jewellery that easily cost half his salary. They shove money into his hands, expecting even more in return without a word of thanks. 
“Hey,” Nanami says. 
He reaches out across the waters and grasps your hand in his. You look up, eyes brimming with tears. He swipes at the corner of your eye with his thumb. Understanding washes over him and he takes a deep breath. 
“I’m sorry,” Nanami whispers sincerely.
That night, he calls Gojo when you’re safely tucked into bed. Nanami tries to ignore how the older sorcerer cackles at him and hangs up once the call is presumably over on his end. He slips under the covers as you turn over in your sleep, resting against his chest. Nanami kisses your brow. 
He gets his first night of good sleep in a long, long time. 
☆*: .。.
Nanami falls back into the rhythm of sorcery. He trains for a good month until he gets his stamina and strength back, obtaining a new weapon from the school for his missions. Gojo seems oddly delighted to see him return, laughing when Nanami’s out of breath from a workout.
“Ken,” you say, wrinkling your nose when he steps out of your shared bedroom. “You’re going to work in that?” 
Nanami adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, staring at you. 
“Is this not appropriate?”
You observe him from head to toe. The leopard print tie, blue shirt and tan suit — you resist the urge to tell him he’s so close to looking like a pimp. Out of all the lovely suits that Nanami has, he chooses to wear this one?
“It’s a bit bright, that’s all,” you laugh. 
“I thought I would go with something eccentric. You don’t get to wear this at the office,” he remarks, striding over to the kitchen to grab your packed lunches. 
You remain quiet and fiddle with a loose thread on your own suit jacket. 
“Something the matter?”
“Oh! Nothing at all. Let’s go.”
It’s more convenient now since the both of you work at the same place. Nanami drives to Jujutsu Tech every morning and picks you up in the evenings as well. He detests how Gojo makes fun of him for it, calling him a ‘lovely husband’. It makes your cheeks warm, and you duck your head before Nanami can ask you anything about it.
Peace reigns true for a few months. The morning routine is a nice change of pace compared to Nanami’s previous job. You’re able to spend more time together, even to the point of going grocery shopping or watching a movie with takeout on Friday nights.
Nanami relaxes only a little. Compared to office work, this is probably just as bad. First of all, he has to see Gojo almost every day and have him talk his ear off. Secondly, he returns to being the balance between life and death for civilians once more. It’s not a task he enjoys. However, he harbours that the thanks he receives and the lives he saves are a good enough exchange. 
Years come and go, as do students of Jujutsu Tech. Nanami sees more dead sorcerers and exorcises more curses. You quietly type away at a laptop, filing their deaths and completing any tasks you’re given from the higher-ups. It seems that life has slowed down once more and you return to a monotonous pace. 
You wonder if your relationship with Nanami will progress any further. It’s been close to nine years and yet… nothing has developed beyond living together or the odd weekend date. That’s not to say that you don’t love Nanami. You do, honestly. He treats you well and listens to your occasional nagging to put his stacks of books away, but you want something more. You crave the thought of getting married, to be lawfully his and maybe start a family. But, contrary to belief, Nanami isn’t opposed to it when you bring the topic up over dinner one night.
“Marriage?” 
His chopsticks pick off a portion of grilled salmon and he brings it to his mouth with some rice. He chews, swallowing.
“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for so long, you know? So it kind of seems natural for us to do so.”
Your gut twists nervously. The steam from your miso soup rises silently in the air, wisps of white smeared out at the edges. 
“Sure.”
“Huh?”
“Sure, let’s get married.” Nanami says.
You have to physically close your mouth and your eyes are widened in shock. Your heartbeat accelerates that much faster.
“Are you serious?”
“Well, were you serious when you asked me that question?”
Heat rises to your face. 
“As you said, we’ve been together and living under the same roof for quite some time. Marriage seems like a plausible idea.”
“Then let’s-!”
“But I have one condition.”
Momentarily, your heart wavers. Nanami finishes the last drop of miso soup in his bowl and balances his chopsticks on top of the porcelain. As usual, his plate and bowls are scraped clean. 
“I’ll only get married after I stop being a sorcerer.”
Your face twists in confusion as you try to understand where Nanami is coming from. You don’t get it — didn’t being a sorcerer mean that Nanami faced death everyday and that he should be taking advantage of what time he has left? But, of course, you don’t mean to curse him into an early grave like that. Except… Except that your face visibly falls and Nanami takes notice of it.
“I’d rather not have my life entangled with curses more than it should be. Once we both earn enough money and have a nice savings account, we can retire and go do whatever we want. Besides, I’ll invest. It’ll be more than enough.”
You remain silent and stare at your half-finished dinner. Nanami reaches over the table and takes your hand in his. 
“Can you give me some more time, please?”
You don’t reply. 
☆*: .。.
“Did you hear about the new first years?”
“Mm. The one who died, right?”
“Gojo wants me to mentor him for a while.”
Nanami’s hands are positioned on the steering perfectly. His palms guide the car carefully through the steep roads that climb up to Jujutsu Tech. You flip through a checklist of things you need to do for the day.
“Will you be heading out of school?”
“Probably. There’s a scene I need to check out.”
“Stay safe, alright?”
“Of course. You too, don’t forget to have your lunch again.”
Nanami pulls into the parking lot of the school. Leaning over the clutch, he presses a kiss to your hairline. You gently peck his jaw.
“See you tonight. I might not be able to pick you up, so get Nitta to drive you.”
“See you, Ken.”
Nanami watches as you open the car door and step out. You turn back, giving him a wave and smile through the window. He returns the gesture. Once you’re out of sight, Nanami pulls out his phone as he sits in the car. He thumbs through his emails and his Adam’s apple bobs as soon as he sees the confirmation sent to him. A loose sigh worms its way out of his chest. He pushes the door open and steps out. 
The rest of the day is spent teaching Itadori Yuuji about the sanctity of being young and simpleminded. Sorcery isn’t child’s play — especially when there are lives involved. He watches as Itadori’s face crumbles at the mention of the transfigured humans. He wants to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it isn’t his fault.  
They have a quick debrief of the situation with Ijichi before parting ways. Nanami shoulders his burden once more, watching as the car pulls away in the direction of Yoshino’s home. 
As night falls, Nitta drives you home. She’s chatty, serious about her job and does it well. You smile when she gushes about how lovely Nanami must be at home, and, oh! Do tell him to lighten up at work. 
You thank her when she drops you off. As you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex, you make a routine stop by the mailboxes. Junk, bills and… a box? You flip it over to see who it’s addressed to; perhaps Nanami had ordered something online. However, your name is printed neatly across the label.
The first thing you do when you get home is to open the box. It’s small, probably not more than a hand’s breadth in length. Your pen knife slices through the tape cleanly and when you push aside the flaps, you spot two velvet boxes sitting in a mess of paper filler. Your fingers tremble when you pull one of them out and open it. 
A silver ring sits in the furrow of a cushion with Nanami’s name on the inside. Your heart skips a beat and you reach into the cardboard to pull out the second ring box. This one is a little larger, with your name engraved on the interior side of the band. It must be Nanami’s, then.
It’s already well past 6p.m. as you dial his number with your lower lip between your teeth. You pace around the house, bouncing on the balls of your feet. What were these meant to be? Promise rings? Engagement rings? You hadn’t dared to slip the one with Nanami’s name engraved onto your finger just yet.
“Hello?” 
Nanami’s breathing is laboured. Your heart falls and you stop in the middle of your living room, staring ahead at nothing.
“Ken? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just… just a little hurt. It’s nothing serious.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve called Ijichi to pick me up, don’t-”
“So it is serious, then!” you cry out in horror. 
“No, no. I said I’m fine. Look, did you receive the rings yet?”
“I did, but that’s not the point now. Are you safe?”
“I-”
You hear Nanami’s phone clatter to the ground and the thump of his body on the floor. 
“Kento?” you whisper.
He doesn’t reply. 
☆*: .。.
You’re seated on the floor of your shared home, an oversized pajama shirt stolen from Nanami’s closet swallowing you. Sunlight pours in through an open window at two in the afternoon and the quiet hum of vehicles outside can be vaguely heard.
Clip, clip, clip.
One hand holds a nail clipper, while the other cradles Nanami’s fingers gently. The blond watches you absentmindedly while you trim his nails. He had insisted he was perfectly capable of doing them on his own, but the glare you gave him made Nanami sink back into the sofa. 
He was hurt after a fight with Mahito — the wound on his side made him grimace whenever he stood up, and Nanami found himself relying on you more than he wished to. Thankfully, he had passed out from blood loss and pain but nothing too devastating had happened. That didn’t change how concerned you were about him, though. You try to forget how you had hailed a taxi just to rush back to Jujutsu Tech to see Nanami lying in the sickbay with a blood drenched shirt. 
Nanami thinks it’s childish. When was the last time someone had clipped his nails for him? Was it his mother? A warm breeze wrings itself through the window. You run the pad of your finger over the cut edge, feeling for any sharp portions. 
Nanami stares at the top of your head. Your fingers feel uncharacteristically soft against his own calloused ones — wielding a weapon in battle wore his palms down at the end of the day. He doesn’t particularly want to admit he likes it.
Nanami is a man of truth. He hates lying, and definitely doesn’t tolerate beating around the bush. But if he spoke as he thought, told you everything he felt about you as often as it came like the wind, how would you react? He clutches his heart in the aching hand of a budding teenager, the fears of facing a cruel world fresh in his mind. 
Being a sorcerer means facing death on a daily basis, especially with the increase in curses with modern times. It doesn’t help that with both of you on the field, it means double the chances. Sorcerers never die without regrets.
Nanami wishes he could love you more, let you explore each crevice of his heart without fear of leaving you; being left behind one day. He doesn’t want to curse you if he dies. He doesn’t want to become a burden to you any more than he should be. 
Clip, clip, clip.
“Is it too short?” 
You glance up briefly at Nanami and brush the hair out of your eyes. He stares down at his fingers and feels them over with his thumb. He shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine.”
You nod and move on to his next hand. You’re systematical about it — trimming off most of the grown parts in three portions, then a couple tinier clips to finish the job off. A nail file sits on the ground beside you, the tiles of the floor cool against your bare legs.
“Hey, Ken?”
“Hmm?”
“I heard that there’s a new bakery opposite that popular department store. I was thinking of going to take a look later. Do you want me to get anything for you?”
“Nothing too sweet would be nice.”
“Okay.”
The living room falls back into a comfortable silence.
Clip, clip, clip.
☆*: .。.
It takes a few more weeks before Nanami is cleared by Ieri to return to regular sorcery work. He tries to rest in the downtime he has, he really does — but the itch to get up and finish Mahito off has him restless. 
At this, Gojo sends Nanami and you off to Hamamatsu on another curse investigation for a change of scenery. Gojo doesn’t want to admit it, but he had mumbled to you something about taking care of Nanami’s mental health. Maybe the beach would help? You told him he sounded like a doctor from the 20th century. You’re not one to refuse a free trip outside of Tokyo, though, so you and Nanami pack your luggage and troop off to Hamamatsu on the Shinkansen. 
“Thank you.”
Nanami’s fingers curl around the ice cream cone handed to him, the sun scorching his back. It’s too hot for this; for anything, really. He makes a mental note to give Gojo a good stare of disapproval once he returns to school. 
Why did the mission have to be on the warmest day of the year? With how the heatwave makes perspiration trickle down your back, though, the dangers of facing a possible special grade curse is the least of your worries right now.
“It’s so hot!” 
You eagerly lap at the soft serve, savouring the cold, sweet treat. Nanami wanted to take a photo of the ice cream, but- oh well, you’ve begun eating, and the horrendous heat would have probably melted it before he found a good angle, anyways. 
Protected by the shade of a shopping district, Nanami and you had agreed to find refuge for a few hours — the curse could wait till the sun began to set. Besides, it would be more likely to turn up after dark. 
“How does yours taste, Ken?” you ask and peer over at his cone.
He had gotten a cookies and cream flavoured one, despite how you egged him on to try out the local eel flavour. Nanami was not going to ruin his taste buds just like that, thank you very much.
“It’s alright,” he says, licking traces of ice cream off of his lips. “Could do with a little more cookie.”
“Wanna try mine?” 
You stick your cone into Nanami’s face. He’s greeted with your half-eaten soft serve, where your tongue has made a path of its own against the original swirl. He eyes you carefully and you offer the cone to him once more.
“That’s unhygienic.”
“Oh, come on, Ken! We’ve kissed before, sharing saliva on ice cream is nothing compared to that.”
Heat rushes to his face, though Nanami assumes a composed facade. He blames it on the weather without hesitation. Not wanting you to tease him anymore, he leans forward and nips a tiny portion of your ice cream off of the tip. 
“Yummy, isn’t it?”
“Mmm.”
“Want to try mine too?” 
The words leave his lips on reflex. Nanami wonders when he’s begun letting you try his food — when he used to be so adamant that no one could even touch its container or look in its direction (thanks to Gojo’s greedy fingers). You nod excitedly and lick off of a portion. 
“It’s good!” 
What was the first time he had said it to you? Over oden in the winter; over those disgustingly sweet slurpees you insisted on from 7 11? All those small moments that had built up culminated in Nanami’s affection and understanding towards you. The way in which you offer him a bite of your food without expecting anything in return; is that what love is like? 
“You’ve got some ice cream on your face,” Nanami says.
You instinctively use your tongue and try to clean it off. “Did I get it?”
Nanami shakes his head. “It’s on this side,” he replies, pointing a spot on his own face.
You try again, to no avail. Nanami sighs.
“What would you do without me?” he asks monotonously, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it off.
You stand there, frozen for a second when he leans in. His promise ring is cold against your cheek.
“Kento?” you whisper. 
Under the light of the shining sun, he presses his lips to yours, shielding you from warm rays and the glances of passersby with his back. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as you taste cookies and cream, your eyes fluttering shut instinctively. 
Nanami isn’t a fan of public affection. God forbid Gojo see him kissing you, really. But as he leans back and watches your half-lidded eyes stare up at him, he asks himself if you’ve ever received his own sort of love in return. 
A relationship’s all about give and take; but has he given as much as he should have? Has Nanami loved you in a way that matters? Life is a fleeting concept to all sorcerers. Should he die and leave you behind, Nanami wonders if he would pass without any regrets. Did he do enough when he tugged the covers over your shoulders when you fell asleep on the sofa, was there more he could have done even after buying you that watch you had eyeballed for the past few months?
There’s that sort of incompetence that curls up in his chest on sleepless nights, even with you tucked into his side. It makes his head spin and his heart fall into a bottomless pit. With all the eyes of juniors and students that look up to him, Nanami can’t help but wonder if he’s truly as good as everyone thinks he is. Being a sorcerer holds little problem. But what about a lover, a husband?
He couldn’t save Haibara, so how dare he think about…
“Kento,” you swallow. “Ken?”
Nanami snaps out of his daze. “Huh?”
“I dropped my ice cream,” you whisper. 
He swivels his head and spots your cone face down on the sidewalk. His own cone drips down his hand, the melting liquid staining the sleeve of his suit. For once, Nanami’s mind runs blank. 
“Kento? Are you okay?” you ask gently.
“Hey,” he murmurs. 
“Mm?”
Nanami’s careful to avoid the pool of melting ice cream as he steps closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches as his cologne invade your senses.
“I love you. Let’s get married.”
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bigskydreaming · 3 years
Text
And one more bit from the “Kings of the Sky” AU albeit several installments in, because I just......don’t know when or why I stumbled into an obsession with the dynamics between Dick and Jason and Cass as the eldest three Wayne siblings, but its there, its real, and its happening. I’ve stopped fighting it. I just....enjoy writing those three being dumb siblings who are dumb like so, so much.
Anyway, in this AU series, Jason doesn’t go to Ethiopia and die, but rather eventually joins Dick at Titans Tower more regularly and is Flamebird. Both are closer with Bruce here than in canon because Dick helped Bruce and Jason get through the Garzonas stuff and Jason helped kick Bruce in the direction of Dick and adoption papers right after the Brother Blood storyline. Then Cass is actually the third to join the family, by way of Babs, and she’s Batgirl and then Black Bat, but there’s a period of time when its just Dick, Jason and Cass as the Wayne kids. 
(PS - this is the same series as where Jason ends up with his own age group of Titans, and accidentally falls into a love quadrangle of doom that is absolutely NOT a polycule dammit, with Tom Bronson (Tomcat), Ray Terrill (The Ray) and Todd Rice (Obsidian). Which amuses his brother and sister to no end).
Tim and Duke are both next, but sorta at the same time? Like Tim’s story takes a sharp turn when Robin II never dies and obviously is Flamebird now like Robin I is Nightwing, and Tim winds up in foster care after his parents die differently than in canon. Duke is also in foster care at this time, though a different placement, and while no Robin has died here, its been awhile since there’s been one in Gotham, and to kids who grew up with the idea of there always being a Robin, that feels weird and wrong ultimately. 
So Tim and Duke both hit on the idea of being Robin like, at around the same time and totally disconnected from one another, and that leads to them both joining the Batfam around the same time, and co-sharing Robin until Damian arrives much later and they both move on to new identities. But there’s no real confusion between Robins because Duke is the daytime Robin with more yellow coloring in his costume and Tim is the nighttime Robin with more red, and people say Red or Yellow if they ever need to differentiate which Robin they’re talking about. Anyway.
************
So [Tim and Duke] run into trouble eventually and then when running from trouble they run into each other and they’re like….huh. Awkward. And then they decide well, might as well both run from trouble in the same direction, I guess. So they do.
“Did you have a plan for dealing with these guys?” Tim yelled at Duke. The other boy looked back over his shoulder briefly and gave what would probably have been a half-shrug if he didn’t awkwardly try to barrel-roll over a car two seconds later.
“Umm, sorta?”
“How sorta are we talking about? Maybe the two of us together could fill in the gaps in the plan and come up with one full plan?”
“Uh yeah, no, its not that kinda sorta. I meant sorta in the sense that I thought I had a plan but it didn’t work and that’s why these guys are after me. Sooooo…”
“Not helpful, basically.”
“Yeah. Pretty much. And hey, I don’t hear you offering up a plan! Did you even have one at all?”
“Uh….I mean I kinda didn’t think I was going to need one because I figured some kid running around in a mask making a nuisance of himself was the sorta thing that was bound to attract Batman. And so I was just pretty much running around until that happened, and then I’d make a case for how I obviously need training and Gotham needs Robin and if its not me its likely to be someone else trying eventually anyway so why not be me?”
Duke paused just long enough to squint at him. “That’s a terrible plan.”
Tim rolled his eyes. The effort didn’t pair well with his huffing and over-all exertions from running for his life and all that, but necessity demanded. “Yeah I know, that’s why I never said it was a plan! It was mostly….more…idea-ish.”
“I’m just saying, I thought I was doing this wrong, but at least I had a plan! I mean yeah, it might have ended up with me accidentally busting in on what I thought was a bunch of Riddler’s henchmen setting up some kind of clue thing, only it was actually a bunch of Intergang type guys with alien space guns or some shit all dressed up as Riddler henchmen for some reason? I dunno what they were trying to do honestly, but so yeah I might have ended up running away on foot from like twenty of them and some kind of hovercycle -”
“I’m going to cut you off there and say wherever this is going its probably not the superior vantage point I think you think you have.”
Meanwhile, Batman was not going to be coming because he’s off on a JLA mission. However, in his absence Dick and Jason are in town filling in, and they finished taking out the bad guys several blocks back and caught up to whomever was running from them, figured out the situation and are currently sitting on the edge of a rooftop watching them realize they’re totally lost and trying to figure out where to go from here. Mostly because Dick and Jason are incredibly amused listening to their back and forth and also just…this whole situation.
Dick justifies not piping up to let them know they’re safe now by saying this is good intel gathering so we can offer Bruce our assessment as to whether they’re gonna try and keep doing this whether we train them or not, and also how they handle this whole being lost situation. Not knowing they don’t have to run anymore isn’t going to hurt them and really, this is a good field exercise almost.
Jason justifies not piping up by saying this is fucking hilarious and I will hurt you if you end this any sooner than we have to, I deserve this, I had a rough week.
Which is right around the time that Cass pipes up from where she’s been lurking unnoticed behind them this whole time: “Oh no. Was it Tom? Or Ray? Or was it Todd?”
And she does it right in Jason’s ear so he kinda aborted-shrieks and almost falls off the roof except Cass is ready for that and grabs his arm to steady him.
“I hate when you do that!” Jason growls in an attempt to cover up how badly she got him and also because he hates when she does it which is why she does it a lot. Again, they don’t hate each other at all, but they do seem to act like it a lot, and neither of them is entirely sure why. They kinda just started doing it and have each been trying to get the other back ever since and ended up locked in an unending spiral of gotcha-gotchaback, except, y’know, Batfam style.
Dick occasionally picks sides just to muddy the waters. And then he randomly switches sides without warning, so neither of them ever wants to risk getting too peeved at him even when he’s helping the other, because that might push him fully over to the other side and leave them permanently outnumbered, so they’re kinda stuck, which is exactly as he likes it, lol.
“Why are you Satan,” Jason hisses dramatically as he gets up and stomps over to the other side of the roof to sulk, lest she almost knock him off again. Its not the almost falling part that bothers him, its that she’s the one that snatches him to safety each time. She’s like a freaking cat toying with a - yeah not going there, just blaming Selina. Knew them hanging out was going to be bad news for me somehow, he gripes.
Cass just shrugs and smoothly sits down cross-legged right where she is, grinning Cheshire-cat style at him from there. “Childhood trauma,” is her answer.
“Great, and now you’re stealing my comeback on top of it?! Is nothing sacred to you?”
She offers another shrug. He would like to return those for store credit please. Maybe get something useful instead. “Haven’t decided yet. Babs is still helping me explore my options. We’re going alphabetically and we’re only on  the E-religions.”
“God, you’re the worst. I can’t believe you ruined sisters for me.”
“You already used that same line last week when you came out of your room still half-asleep and she was just sitting directly across from your door waiting and staring unblinking and you yelped and dropped your laptop on your toe, and then cursed so loud that B came running around the hall thinking we were being invaded,” Dick reported idly, still perched in the same position he’d been in all along and watching the boys below them. “Just in case you thought no one noticed when you recycle.”
“I noticed too,” Cass added solemnly.
“I have no siblings,” Jason intoned. He threw up his hands dramatically and then loudly jumped down to the street below with a little help from the fire escape. It drew both Duke and Tim’s attention and they startled before realizing it was Flamebird. And that he’d landed on the street and was stalking past them while barely acknowledging them. And that that was Nightwing standing on the roof now with his hands on his hips yelling after him.
“Oh, reeeeeeal subtle. You’re not having fun anymore so you gotta make sure nobody else does either. Wow, the Brat-like behavior, just jumped out of the shadows with that one!”
And that was Flamebird not even turning around and just yelling back. “I HAVE NO SIBLINGS!”
And also they were both pretty sure that was Batgirl crouched on the roof next to Nightwing now, and she was…..sticking her tongue out at Flamebird’s back? No, Batgirl very much definitely was sticking out her tongue, that wasn’t in doubt, it was more just….very unexpected to see.
What was happening right now?
********
Eventually Tim and Duke have inevitably worn down [Bruce’s] resistance to training them by insisting they’re gonna keep doing this and if its not them its gonna be someone sooner or later anyway. Because, as they put it, you guys may not know this but Gotham’s gotten used to Robins by now and it freaks people out not to see one and Robin’s as important as Batman really and there needs to be a Robin and its not just us that will think that, like look at the fact that already two of us had the exact same idea, huh? And also, we’re gonna keep doing it anyway, sooooo….there’s that.
And then Cass vouches that they’re both 100% serious about that.
And then Dick vouches that as a former determined daredevil kid that was absolutely going to keep doing the same thing no matter whether you’d helped me or not, B, I also am of the assessment that these two mean it all the way.
And not to be left out and just to have something to contribute but also grumpy because his brother and sister are picking on him and he’s eighteen going on ten, Jason throws in: “And my assessment is that they both definitely seem dumb enough to keep doing this without help anyway and they definitely need help or they definitely will die, I’d give it a month, month and a half tops.”
And then Bruce dryly thanks his children for their contributions, their keen insights in this matter have been absolutely invaluable, he has no idea how he would make a decision here without it.
“Oooh, a rare sighting of Bat-snark in the wild. Someone call Nat-Geo quick, maybe he’ll do it again,” Dick says.
Bruce sighs. Duke and Tim look like they’re trying to decide if they’re allowed to be amused or if that’s also part of some weird Bat-test that they’re probably taking without even knowing it.
So Tim and Duke move in, start training together, and then also get sent to school together and it takes a month or so of settling in before they decide whether or not they actually are happy about this. There’s a period of deciding they’re supposed to be bitter rivals who snipe at each other back and forth across the dining table at every available opportunity, but that changes the first night Dick and Jason come back from the Tower since Tim and Duke have moved in and where Cass is also home instead of at the Clocktower with Babs.
Since all three of the older Batkids, upon seeing Tim and Duke squabble at dinner, decide to obnoxiously coo about how adorable it is watching the kids play. Which pretty instantly cements Duke and Tim as realizing their best chance of surviving the sudden acquisition of three older superhero ninja foster siblings who all can be as obnoxious as they are dangerous but also as much as they are - Duke and Tim are convinced - all quite insane.
A belief further cemented the next morning, with all three of them having spent the night at the Manor as well. Treating Duke and Tim to their first Saturday morning episode of the Cass and Jason show.
In this episode, Jason emerged from his bedroom in his pajamas still but warily peeking his head out first to look both ways down the hall before deciding it was clear…..and then makes it just almost to the end of the hallway leading to the stairs, when Cass drops down from where she’d been waiting perched above the other side of the door, in such a way as to suddenly fill the doorway just in front of him, hanging upside down suspending herself just with her feet wedged above the doorway, all while keeping her hands crossed her chest, a dead-eyed expression on her face, and with her tongue hanging out like she’s some kind of vampire hanging upside down in mid-slumber.
Jason shrieked and stumbled back a foot before catching himself and shoving two fingers in a cross shape in her direction.
“Demon! DEMON! Goddammit, I abjure thee, that’s supposed to fucking do something about having a demon sister, now what the fuck does it take to banish you!?”
“Can’t be banished,” Cass informed him, still upside down. “Can be bought though.”
Jason halted. “What?”
“I’m really surprised you never figured it out,” Dick said from his room further down the hallway. He was leaning against the doorjamb, arms casually crossed.
“Why did you think she never goes after me?”
Jason swiveled back and forth between his siblings suspiciously, trying to scry both their inscrutable (and in Cass’ case, still upside down) faces for signs they were telling the truth. “You’re telling me that Little Miss Monstrous has been a pain in my ass from day one and the reason she’s never so much as eked a single boo in your direction is you’ve been bribing her all this time?”
Dick shrugged. “Its all about getting in on the ground floor.”
Jason squinted, still unconvinced. “Nuh-uh. No way. You’re just fucking with me. Like if this is for real, what have you been buying her off with?”
Dick smiled beatifically. “Cuddles and hugs.”
“NO! NO! Bullshit! I am NOT falling for this crap again, you are not gonna get me this way this time. I call BS, fuck you, nuh uh, you’re lying out your ass and your ass-face both.”
“Wait, what is this ‘this’ that I did before? What ever are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“Is this about the Care Bear you had when you were fifteen?”
“Shut upppppppppppppppp, I didn’t have a Care Bear then, you’re such a - “
“Oh, I dunno, I’m preeeeetty sure there’s some holiday photos from that year that would say otherwise, pretty definitively in the form of you and your Care Bear….”
“That I only had because you literally just gave it to me as a present solely so that you could claim that I had a Care Bear when I was fifteen, you douchebag!”
“Just because I gave you the Care Bear didn’t mean you had to keep the Care Bear and hold the Care Bear and love the Care Bear, Jay. You chose to do all that.”
“I only kept the damn thing because you’re an asshole who lied about it being a family heirloom so I felt like I had to or I’d be a total jerk. Is nothing sacred to you?”
“I didn’t lie! It is a treasured family heirloom! Its the first Care Bear I gave to my little brother to teach him the important and valuable lesson that Care Bears - say it with me now - “
“Finish that sentence and they will never find your body.”
“CARE!” Cass shrieked from behind him before jumping on Jason’s back and bearing him down to the floor in an undignified tangle as she splayed atop him like a starfish and he stared up at the ceiling in a kind of strangled frozen fury, like there was so much emotion he wanted to process he’d overheated and now was stuck like that until he cooled down.
That was when Dick leaned over him and solemnly added one final thought, as though it was a crucial addition of the gravest importance:: “A lot.”
Jason’s eye twitched.
Dick’s eyes went wide in response. “Uh oh. He went to the Danger Zone. Run Cass. We’ve unleashed the dogs of war!”
Cass was off and on her feet in a second, taking off down the hall like a rocket. “Not the dogs of war!” She yelled.
Dick was only seconds behind her when behind him, Jason rose like an eruption, growling wordlessly and sparks practically flashing from his suddenly flinty eyes. He charged after them like an enraged bull.
“Kenny Loggins wouldn’t want this!” Dick yelled over his shoulder as he rounded the doorway and vanished. Jason rounded it in hot pursuit.
“Poison Ivy won’t even be able to make compost from what’s left of you when I’m through!”
The yelling and running vanished into the distance. Duke and Tim finally looked at each other blankly.
“What?” Tim asked. Duke shrugged helplessly.
A door opened at the end of the hallway. Bruce stuck his head out. “Is it safe?”
Tim just stared at him.
“What?” Duke asked.
**************
LOL mostly I just want to get to the tail end of the series, when Dick and Jason go undercover as supervillains in the Society of well, Supervillains....Dick as War Shrike and Jason as Gray Jay. (A kind of bird usually known for or referenced as being thieving and unpredictable and unexpectedly dangerous despite its size. Jason never went into the Lazarus Pit here and so isn’t as huge as he is in canon, he’s on the smaller side due to his early life’s malnutrition. Living with Bruce helped him catch up enough that he’s not TINY tiny, but he’s still smaller enough that this particular mantle fits him a little better than it would his massive canon depiction).
Cass also partakes in the undercover storyline, just showing up uninvited in a persona she’s crafted for the mission and calls Black Swan. And War Shrike and Gray Jay are both so startled and obviously a little freaked by her unexpected arrival, that combined with her being ticked at her brothers for leaving her behind, RUDE, and them sufficiently cowed and guilted by her wrath, that it all adds up to the other villains as being clear evidence that she is the boss and they are her advance minions. 
Which mollifies and satisfies Cass immensely, and leaves Jason grumpy that their mission was hijacked and also his sister is The Worst, and leaves Dick temporarily disgruntled because This Whole Thing Was His Idea DAMMIT but then five seconds later finding it hilarious because Dick is a chaos connoisseur and he has an appreciation for whimsy and the unexpected.
“I can’t believe you not only gate-crashed our extremely sensitive and delicate undercover operation, but you completely hijacked it as well! This is so typical,” Jason grouched.
Cass simply swept ahead of him and strode down the hallway with lethal grace. “Silence minion.”
Jason spluttered behind her and she grinned to herself. He really made it too easy sometimes.
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theepitomeofamess · 3 years
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hey y'all, i'm working on this project i'm really excited about and i wanted to share some of it.
it's basically just a retelling of Ares mythology (i know that this probably sounds a lot like knock off madeline miller, but just hear me out) focusing on the parts that don't paint him like an angry meathead -- the version of his myth where he's raised by Priapus and taught to dance long before fighting, how he is one of the few male gods to care for his children and respect women, the story of his daughter Alcippe (which, if you don't know it, trigger warning for sexual assault and murder if you look it up), and the idea that his anger stems from depression caused by being hated by his supposed father and ostracized by any god who wanted to stay on Zeus' good side (hello projecting :^D).
Anyway, i wanna share some ideas i have about Ares as a character (in no way trying to be disrespectful to the deity, my apologies if it comes off that way). I've got a long list of ideas under the cut, I'd love to get some feedback (@witch19, you know I'd love your opinion on all this)
so a big concept i want to work with is tattoos. from what i understand, tattoos were a sign of punishment in ancient greece, used to mark slaves and criminals so they could be identified or continually punished. there's a story (link here) of athenians tattooing athena's owl on ancient samians after a defeat, ares decided to take on the same punishment as the men he had helped in the battle. as he grows into himself and his confidence, the tattoo grows with him from athena's pygmy owl to an eagle owl, which became one of his sacred animals in some versions of his mythology. he started getting even more as he started viewing them as a sign of strength rather than punishment, and especially when he learned of emperors tattooing gladiators, who he often helped and identified with
the owl is his first tattoo, but his favorite is a honeycomb over his heart. there are a lot of bees on the comb, with aphrodite being the queen directly over his heart. there's a bee for each of his children, and a drone with a broken wing for Hephaestus (Aphrodite actually gets a matching queen bee on the back of her hand so when she puts her hand over his heart, the bee is still there)
maybe another tattoo is a peacock feather for his mother? maybe it's covering a Lichtenberg figure he got from one of zeus' fits of rage?? maybe idk???
speaking of scars, he gains a scar for every one that's gained by a soldier. it doesn't matter what side the soldier is on, it doesn't matter how minor the wound is, he bleeds with every soldier in every fight he's involved in, feels their pain. armor does nothing to stop it -- it never even gets scuffed.
because it never gets hit and therefore looks brand new, ares doesn't actually like wearing his armor. it gives the impression that he's never been in a fight. he'd rather just wear his tunic.
he's actually much more of a romantic person than a sexual one. he's not asexual (bisexual, actually), he's just a big softy and craves a softer, more genuine connection. that's why he doesn't take as many lovers, why he doesn't have casual sex, and why he takes his time romancing aphrodite. he really enjoys the soft, quiet intimacy.
the first time he met aphrodite, he asked her to dance. no one was dancing except servant girls/nymphs, and they were not on the same page at first. aphrodite thought "dancing" was an innuendo (like what zeus and poseidon have done before), and ares wasn't catching on to the fact that she thought he meant sex. poor boy just wanted to dance, and it took some talking in circles, but he did get his dance. aphrodite loved how fun and innocent it was.
dancing is an outlet for him. he loves it. he spent his whole childhood with priapus dancing, and still enjoys it to no end. this influences his build (where a lot of the gods -- zeus, poseidon, etc. -- are more bulky and lumbering, ares is very lean, limber, and light on his feet)
he keeps a garden. it was part of being raised by priapus in the mortal world -- they grew their own food, and it's a hobby that followed ares into adulthood. besides, growing his own food means that, while he doesn't get as many offerings, he still gets the good stuff. the garden has a beehive that aphrodite loves helping with. all of his children are spoiled with mortal food before they are ever old enough or well known enough to get an offering from the mortal world
he refuses the idea that zeus is his father. he believes the version of the story that he was conceived by hera alone through pure spite and rage -- this is the version that athena tells him, and he tends to believe athena before anyone else.
speaking of, he actually gets along with a lot of the gods. he and athena, though constantly pitted against each other, have a pretty good relationship and she is often a comfort for him. they will often sit together in no man's land after a battle, and she will often comfort him if it was a particularly bloody one. at the end of the day, in her mind, she's his big sister. she actually used to (against zeus' wishes) go visit ares at priapus' home and read him stories.
apollo actually really enjoys hanging out with him -- ares dances to apollo's music and apollo is the one that gives ares his tattoos, a form of art that apollo doesn't get to practice otherwise.
he sees hades a lot more than a lot of people, as he often helps thanatos in escorting killed battalions to the underworld, spending the entire time ensuring them that even if they did not achieve victory, they brought honor to their homes and families. hades doesn't have favorite nephews/neices, but given how ares has been ostracized in a way that hades can find familiar, he empathizes with him quite a bit.
he and hephaestus actually would have been very close if they were allowed to have a childhood together and didn't have mutual jealousy, and actually have some really sweet moments. ares trusts hephaestus wholly with the wellbeing of aphrodite and his children, knowing that he will take care of them in his stead if he needs to.
still working out the kinks on this idea, but the dryad Harmonia is born from the tree that grows from ares' tears for Alcippe. she offers to help him create an entire society of daughters for him, ones that live away from the threat of men. daughters that know well how to protect themselves from those who threaten and attack them. (like i said, i'm still working on this idea, i'm not even sure if the amazons will be included, but i like thinking about the different ways that this could be interpreted/used)
maybe in that same vein of harmonia and the tree, ares crafts eros' bow himself (maybe with some help from hephaestus and his experienced craftsmanship?) from a branch of harmonia's tree? maybe he strings it with his own heartstring, left dangling loose, irreparable after the heartbreak of Alcippe?
okay so clearly i have a lot of ideas regarding this project. any and all writers, mythology lovers, narrative flippers, please let me know of any further interest or ideas about this!
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osir-ethria · 3 years
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.... Debating on whether or not I should do something other than the Schneeblings...
Well here’s another thing about them anyway.
Whitley loves fashion and designing with a much more creative aspect to clothing. Jacques however found out and called it far to feminine and that he should be focusing business and other things (minus fighting).
Winter would always let Whitley choose the dress she would wear to business meeting with Jacques and tell him about the guests reactions and how many compliments she got because of his choice. She did this in the form of a letter that Klein would hand Whitley because if she was seen anywhere near Whitley he would be reprimanded by their father. She’d first give him a list on what the event was about, how she was to be represented, and if Jacques was there to enjoy himself a little or purely just business.
This helped Whitley with his look when he went out on formal events and got to choose. (This is me saying please change his outfit for once. Maybe inspired by Weiss?)
Even though Winter never directly told Weiss but Whitley was the one who designed her outfits minus the Volume 7 one... I’d have to say Weiss looks good but like, the pounds of hair in that braid is unnecessary. She has a lot of hair but why make it not proportional to the rest of the head. Other than that she actually picked up a few things from Whitley just by studying what she’s been wearing.
After the half of the group that got to Vacuo arrives at the main kingdom they need new gear. The Atlas gear is going to give them a heat stroke. They are trying to decide what to do and they see an obviously emotionally unavailable Winter write a few things down, hand it to Whitley, and tells him to go all out.
Later she explains the whole fashion thing with them and tells them that if they’d trust him with their outfit designs to just list necessities, color schemes, any requirements that’ll help with how they fight, and what style of clothing they are comfortable or uncomfortable with. When Whitley receives these papers from the group he starts crying, they aren’t seeing it as weird and actually trust him with it. Remember, Jacques hated this side of Whitley.
Whitley works with Pietro to design the new gear and everyone loves it. Comfortable, looks good, and does its job. I also remember that the Schnee dust company doesn’t only have dust mines in Atlas even though it was the majority, there are some all over Remnent. (This is from the World of Remnent episode Rooster Teeth did about the Schnee Dust Company.) The Schnees however stay with the refugees instead of going somewhere else so they can help them. They also have enough money to help provide for the refugees like buying tents, getting food and water, and any other necessity. Whitley gets a good feeling from helping and not keeping it all to himself.
Whitley better ask Winter to train him or Winter forcefully teaches him because she can’t handle losing another sibling. This is just with a sword he hasn’t gotten his semblance yet.
He’s smarter than a lot think he should be, the only thing that’s stopping him from being a huntsman is how young he is, like I would prefer if he was around Oscar’s age, and he’s not of the physical or aura capability of a huntsman. You could argue Jaune was like that but Jaune was of the age to go to beacon, had a weapon, and was physically fit to the point he could play it off as maybe going to the school. The only thing he was lacking was skill which was remedied by Pyrrha.
Whitley hasn’t had any of that but I wouldn’t doubt that he’d be a good fit. I can imagine him trying to use his left hand but it doesn’t work out so he forces himself to switch and it works but he wanted to use his left hand for that. He’s not as nimble as Weiss but more so than Winter so he’s slowly forming into a mix. Best part would be he keeps his sarcastic attitude and teasing only being serious in serious situations.
I think all Schnees are brutally honest with everything but understand and feel bad when they hurt someone who hasn’t done anything bad to them or has gotten on their nerves. If they are misunderstood for what they say and they know it wouldn’t be easy to understand said topic they go soft and attempt to explain, Winter and Penny at the Schnee manor in Vol 7.
I also like to think that each of them are slightly gifted in the others area of art. Whitley is better with design, art, and visual concepts.
Weiss is better musical and hearing as well as being able to take quickly to anything she was forced to learn by Jacques or genuinely wanted to know. Weiss and Whitley also share common interest in design from a mathematical stand point because it gets their motors going which was derived from Jacques trying to control them and force how they think, what they do, and what’s going on.
Winter is more about art through movement. She taught Weiss how to dance and is probably the only person who could stand a chance against Yang with Martial Arts. With her being the most controlling of her emotions she could easily do acting which she was forced to do while in school before Atlas Academy.
Whitley learnt how to play the piano from Weiss with videos Klein recorded where Weiss explained how to play. This was an assignment by Jacques to prove she was practicing but Whitley caught them once and asked Klein if he could see the videos. Jacques thought he had the natural talent for the piano, nah he just practiced a lot with Weiss’s help.
Winter hasn’t listened to any of Weiss’ personal songs. By personal I mean the RWBY soundtracks. I head canon that those songs are Weiss describing their journey and how she believes their friends, enemies, and family feels.
I like the idea that Weiss’s songs were used as protest. Now Winter has heard a few she just never put two and two together that that was Weiss singing since she always had a soft pitched opera voice. Well not until she heard someone in the refugee camp blast This Life Is Mine which included the more opera segment. That broke Winter. The idea was on a head canon post but I forgot the name and I’ve liked to many posts to the point I doubt I’ll find it.
Whitley got two copies of Weiss’s songs, using a bit of money for himself and Winter there, and as a bonding activity between them and if they ever feel stressed listen to her music and voice. This is how Whitley realized that Jacques had been lying to him about his sisters just abandoning him and not caring for him at all that they left him, but rather Jacques pulled him away from Winter to ensure he wouldn’t end up like Weiss. This Life Is Mine hits close to Whitley as for Winter as much as she agrees with Whitley that it hits close she knows that Weiss’s song Path to Isolation hits more for her.
Weiss had managed to submit War, Until The End, and Fear to the people who published her songs before everything the evacuation using Pietro. Pietro questioned why and she just gave a quick summary, not explaining everything but just enough. Those publishers got though the portals and with the help of Whitley and the Schnee money got Weiss’s ‘final’ track out.
The songs are played everyday which was new for the Atlesians that survived compared to the survivors in Mantle. No one expected Weiss to be so defiant and see how abusive Jacques was to her and which they can assume the rest of the family. How they weren’t picture perfect.
......... I should stop now. Written to much again. I’ll most likely try to find the post with the idea that Weiss’s song were used as songs of retaliation in Mantle. If I do I’m going to reboot it so here me go, deep diving.
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Text
Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Shuu Maniac [Epilogue]
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Monologue
ーー When I wake up again,
I find myself in what resembles a prison cell.
Biting through my throbbing headache, I get up.
Next to me, I spot Shuu-san. 
This gives me an initial sense of relief. 
While his body was covered in wounds,
and he seemed to be knocked unconscious as well,
at least we were not separated.
 However ーー No matter where I looked,
I could not see Ririe around.
ー The scene starts in the underground dungeon
Yui: ( Ririe...Don’t tell me, did he... )
Uu...Ririe...
Shuu: ...Nn...
Yui: ! Shuu-sa...
Shuu: I was wondering who could be crying, but it was you, huh...?
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Yui: Shuu-san...?
Shuu: Why are you...crying?
Yui: I’m sorry...But Ririe’s...Also, you’re beaten and bruised as well...Uu...
Shuu: He’s...gone?
Yui: Nowhere to be found...
Shuu: ...If your family...is something worth sacrificing your own life for...
Then he...must have truly seen you as part of his. Therefore he tried to protect you...
...Meanwhile, I...
Yui: Shuu-san...Do you think he’s dead...?
Shuu: ...Don’t cry.
I could care less about other people crying but...You’re the only person I don’t want to see in tears.
Yui: ...I’m sorry...
( He’s right, now’s not the time to cry. I know that, but... )
Shuu: ...My bad.
Yui: Ehーー...?
Shuu: I should have protected both you and the little guy.
Yet, look at me...I’m actually disgusted by myself.
Yui: No way...You did your best trying to protect me...
Shuu: There’s no point in just ‘trying’. ...It doesn’t matter if I don’t succeed in the end.
Once they’re gone, it’s too late. I should know that painfully well...
I nearly...repeated my past mistake.
Yui: ( Shuu-san... )
Shuu: ...Your hand is injured. Did that happen when he shook you off?
Yui: Ah, yes...But it’s just a scratch. You are much more...
Shuu: Don’t mind me. You’re a woman, so be at least a little concerned about it.
Nn...
*Smooch*
Yui: ...Shuu-san...?
Shuu: Does it hurt?
Yui: It’s fine now. It stopped bleeding as well...
Shuu: ...Even though I’ve injured your body plenty of times with my fangs in the past. 
Right now I’m incredibly upset by the fact you’re wounded.
At that guy for hurting you, as well as at myself for being unable to prevent it.
...I’m sorry for failing to protect you.
Yui: Oh no...Please don’t apologize. I’m fine just knowing you are okay.
Shuu: I’m sure that he...That Ririe is still alive.
Anyone with that name is bound to be stubborn and tough.
Yui: Eh...?
Shuu: So...Don’t worry. If we believe in him and wait, I’m sure he’ll come back.
Yui: ...Yes.
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Shuu: ...Nn...
...Aah, speaking of which, this isn’t enough to get the message across, is it?
Yui: Eh?
Shuu: You want words rather than actions, no?
...I promise. I will never make you go through this sorta thing again.
Yui: Shuu-san...
Shuu: The only time I want to see your tears...is when I’m sucking your blood.
Yui: ( I didn’t think I’d ever hear Shuu speak such honest words... )
( I’m incredibly happy...to have his feelings directly conveyed like that... )
( ...However, right now I can’t just be happy. )
*Rustle*
Shuu: Ugh...Fuck...It still hurts...
Yui: You probably shouldn’t force yourself to get up...
Shuu: Can you really say that? You’re the one they’re after.
Yui: ...I wonder, why me?
Shuu: Beats me. It could be related to your blood again...Well, I doubt there’s a point in trying to figure that out right now.
However, the one thing I do know...Is that they’ve got something troublesome in the works.
Yui: What do you mean?
Shuu: If you were their only objective, then why am I still kept alive? I should be in the way of their plan...It doesn’t make sense, right?
What are they scheming...?
???: That’s a pretty rude thing to say about someone else.
ー Shin walks up to the cell
Yui: Shin-kun...
( If Carla-san is, Shin-kun must surely be a First blood as well...right? )
Shuu: Yui, stay by my side.
Shin: Hehe...Don’t be so alert.
I’ve come here to set you guys free after all.
Shuu: What...?
*Clunk*
*Rattle rattle*
Shin: Here you go. You can step outside.
Shuu: ...What’s your plan?
Shin: No idea. But Nii-san told me to do this.
Yui: Carla-san did...?
( He is probably the one who locked us up in here as well, right? Then why...? )
Shin: Come on, hurry up and come. I’ve been told to escort you to the guest room.
For real, I don’t get what goes on inside Nii-san’s head.
Shuu: ...Yui. For now, just stick to my side. 
I have absolutely no clue what their goal is...But they are definitely up to no good.
Yui: ...Yes.
ー The scene shifts to the guest room
Shin: Here. This is the guest room.
It’d be more work if we have to give you separate rooms, so you don’t mind sharing one, right? You guys are in that kinda relationship, aren’t you?
Shuu: ...Does this mean you don’t intend to keep us hostage?
Shin: Who knows? That depends on what Nii-san decides.
Shuu: ...
Shin: Are you trying to figure out...how you can escape?
Let me tell you, it’s useless. This is Banmaden in the Demon World.
I’m sure you’ll be able to tell by taking a peek out of the window, but asking the human lady over there to jump down from this height would be pushing it.
I’m sure a Vampire would be able to fly but...With those wounds, you’d have a rough time even keeping yourself afloat, no?
Well, it might be possible for you to run if you choose to leave her behind. What do you say?
Shuu: ...Quit the bad jokes. It pisses me off.
Shin: Haha, I figured you’d say that. Then you can enjoy your time locked up in here together.
I mean, soon enouーー
Carla: ーー You’re taking a little too long on the idle talk, Shin.
Shin: Aah, Nii-san. My bad~ I couldn’t help but have some fun.
Carla: Did you forget about my order?
Shin: No way. After escorting both hostages to the guest room, you wanted me to bring only Sakamaki Shuu to you, right?
Carla: If you remember, then hurry up.
ー Carla leaves
Shin: Ahーah. I got scolded by Nii-san because of you two.
Shuu: Don’t blame it on someone else. ...Where should I go?
Shin: Heeh, you’re more obedient than I thought you’d be. Not a bad attitude.
Nii-san is waiting for you in the reception hall. I’ll show you the way.
Yui: ...Wait, please! Only Shuu-san?
( I just can’t let him go by himself, he might actually be killed this time around...! )
Shin: Nii-san isn’t calling for you right now, understood?
Shuu: Don’t worry, Yui.
Yui: But, Shuu-san...!
Shuu: You wait here, okay? ...Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.
Yui: ...Can you promise me?
Shuu: Yeah, I promise. So believe in me and wait.
Yui: ...Okay.
Shin: Yeah, yeah. Leave the flirting for later. Could you not make Nii-san wait too long?
Shuu: I’ll get going then.
ー Shuu and Shin leave the room together
Yui: ( Shuu-san... )
ー The scene shifts to the reception hall
Shin: Nii-san, sorry for the wait. I’ve brought him with me.
Carla: Come in.
Shuu: ...I came as you wished, but what do you want from me?
Carla: Do I really need to say? Are you not aware already?
Shuu: That is exactly why I’m asking.
Your objective is Yui, no? Then why won’t you kill me?
Carla: As you said, there is something we need from that woman.
However, that is not our priority right now.
Shuu: ...What do you mean?
Carla: You will find out eventually.
I summoned you here for something unrelated to that woman.
Sakamaki Shuu. Do you not resentment your own Father?
Shuu: ...What are you implying?
Carla: Hmph...Right. I am not the best at beating around the bush either.
Let me get straight to the point. We want to bring ruin upon the race of Vampires.
Shuu: ...And you’re telling that to me? A Vampire ーー and the son of none other than the Vampire King.
Carla: I felt a connection with you.
We loathe Karlheinz, the King of Vampires.
And you too...Deep down you should feel the same. Am I wrong?
Shuu: I loathe the Old Man?
Carla: Think deeply. Who is responsible for ruining your family?
Everyone got messed up because of that man. Your family, your mother, your younger brother. And you yourself too. ...No?
Shuu: ...Nonsense.
Carla: Is that so? Go ahead and recall all the times you have suffered in your life. In the end ーー Where does it - to who does it all trace back?
Shuu: ...I don’t care about that. I don’t intend to loathe nor resent him at this point.
Carla: Are those your true feelings?
Things would not have turned out this way if it was not for that guy. Is there truly no part of you which feels that way?
Shuu: ...
Carla: We are supposed to loathe those who follow Karlheinz, but if you come to our side, it is a whole different story.
If you feel any resent towards that man, then join forces with us, Sakamaki Shuu.
Shuu: ...Ridiculous. Did you really think I would agree to that?
Carla: So you have no intention of working together?
Shuu: Unfortunately for you, whether it’s a fellow Vampire or a Founder, I simply have no interest in others. 
...She is the only family I have.
Carla: Hmph...I see. Oh well, I suppose it’s fine.
First you should take your time to think it through. If you do, I am sure you will start to realize how you feel.
Shuu: ...
ー The scene shifts back to the guest room
Yui: ( ...How much longer till Shuu-san’s back? Please, hurry back soon... )
*Creaaak*
Yui: ...! Shuu-san!
*Thud*
Yui: Shuu-san, thank god...! Did it go alright?
Shuu: ...
Yui: Shuu-san? ...Did something happen?
Shuu: ...No, it’s nothing. More importantly, were you waiting in front of the door this whole time?
Yui: I mean, I was worried...
Shuu: I told you I’d be back, no? ...You must be tired too. Don’t forget to rest.
Yui: ...Shuu-san, are you okay? What did Carla-san and his brother say to you...?
Shuu: No, it was nothing serious. You don’t have to worry about it.
Right now...We have to prioritize looking for a way to escape this place.
Yui: Right...But you shouldn’t push yourself, okay? Your wounds haven’t fully healed yet after all.
Shuu: I know.
We have to get out of here as soon as possible. If not, I am sure trouble awaits right around the corner.
Yui: ...
( The usual ‘it’s nothing serious’ again, huh? I can only hope that’s the case... )
ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー
<- [ Maniac 10 ] [ Ecstasy Prologue ] ->
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reinerispretty · 4 years
Text
beneath the moon. (sokka x f!reader) pt1
hello and welcome to my new fic :) i hope u have enjoyed urselves and i hope u like it!! thank u very much for reading!! pls share if u can but no worries if u can’t :)
pt2
Y/N) let out a gasp, her breath clouding in the chilly air. She had heard rumors of the return of the Avatar, an Air Nomad boy who travelled around on the back of a flying bison. She had never anticipated that they were true. 
“Early morning, rise and shine!” A hard hand pounded at the bedroom door.
(Y/N) groaned in her bed, turning over and covering her head with a pillow. The servant outside sighed. “You have to get up, Princess. You have lessons today.” 
She opened her eyes and stared at the white walls ahead of her. Bare and bleak. She tossed her blankets to the side and quickly pulled on her warmest fur robe and slippers before padding down the hall to the washroom.The servants had readied a tub of hot water for her. She inhaled the steam as she set herself inside and let the servants begin their work. They scrubbed every inch of her body, even the bottoms of her feet (and it took every ounce of her strength not to kick one of them in the face), and combed and washed her hair. They pulled it back into her usual style of two braids and dressed her in her warmest navy-blue coats. One of the servants smiled at her as she tied her into her garments. 
“It’s cold today,” the woman said. (Y/N) gave her a tight smile but didn’t speak. The servant’s own smile fell. She must be new, (Y/N) noticed, because she tried to talk to her. (Y/N) hadn’t spoken all morning, and it was rare if she did. In the past she had been labelled as a difficult child, so she decided it was easier if she just didn’t speak to the servants. She rarely spoke to anyone, really. 
She was escorted to her healing lessons once she was finished getting dressed. (Y/N) was the only waterbender in her family, so healing lessons were the only duty that took up the majority of her time. She sat in the hut quietly, like always, did her work, received good marks, and then left. After her lessons, she was free to do whatever she pleased. But there wasn’t much to do at all, so she walked around the city. 
Sometimes she watched Master Pakku train his pupils. She chose a spot on top of one of the highest buildings, with a good view, where she wouldn’t be seen. Her body itched to try the moves the boys were learning but it wasn’t allowed. Doing so could possibly get her banished from her tribe, and while she didn’t enjoy life there, she had nowhere else to go. So, she chose to watch instead. After watching, she walked around the canals. She greeted the people she encountered with a solemn nod of her head. (Y/N) was the serious one. No one tried to engage her in pleasantries and she was thankful for it. 
“(Y/N)!” A voice shouted as she walked down the icy sidewalks. She sighed, stopped, and turned around to face the source of the voice. Hahn skidded to a stop in front of her, a bright smile on his face. 
(Y/N) didn’t like Hahn. In fact, she detested him. When they were children, he would push her around when they were playing games and pull on her hair. He’d call her names and whenever she tried to bring it up to anyone, they would shrug and give her the average, “Boys will be boys,” answer. She knew it wasn’t right, how their tribe idolized Hahn, and she knew he certainly didn’t deserve it.
“Did you hear the good news?” 
“No, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me.” 
“Your feeling’s right. Yue accepted my proposal. We’ll be married sometime after her sixteenth birthday.” 
She felt the anger rising inside of her but kept her expression calm. She turned back around and continued on her walk. Hahn followed and walked in stride with her. 
“I take it my sister has had a continuous lack of judgement.” 
“What do you mean?” When she didn’t answer, he shrugged. “I’m psyched to be married to the Chief’s daughter. Does this mean I’ll be chief one day?” 
(Y/N) stopped once again and turned to face him. “Hahn, believe me when I tell you that I’d rather choke on a thousand sea prunes than ever let you be chief.” He scoffed. 
“Just goes to show I picked the right sister.” He walked right past her, his shoulder bumping into hers and knocking her off her balance. Once she had righted herself, she headed in the direction she had come. Back to their igloo, where her family would be getting ready for dinner. 
(Y/N) stormed through the igloo to find her family was already getting ready to eat their meal. Her mother looked up at her and smiled brightly. “(Y/N)! We weren’t sure if you were going to be joining us today. I’m glad you could make it.” 
She ignored her mother and instead faced Yue directly, whose eyes were downcast as she stared at her plate of food. “You’re marrying him?” She demanded. “Out of all the men in this tribe, you pick the dumbest, most insufferable--” 
“Hahn proposed to me,” Yue said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I said yes.” 
“For what reason? You could have literally any guy in this tribe, Yue, but you say yes to Hahn? A walking pile of sea sludge?” 
“(Y/N), that’s enough,” Her father said, his voice stern. She sat down at the table but made her mood obvious as she aggressively reached for the food the servants had laid out. “I won’t have you disrespecting your future brother-in-law.” 
“The only thing that’s disrespectful is that Yue’s marrying him,” (Y/N) grumbled. Yue slammed her hand on the table. 
“Why do you have to question every decision I make?” 
“Why do you continue to make stupid decisions?” (Y/N) knew she had gone too far as soon as she said it, but it was too late. Yue excused herself from the table and exited the room, leaving an icy chill in the air in her absence. (Y/N) prodded at the noodles on her plate. She had lost her appetite. 
“You need to apologize to Yue,” Her father said as he took a sip of wine. “Your words were not very kind.” 
“They were the truth,” (Y/N) sighed. “Why does she have to marry him, Father? He’s horrible.” 
“Hahn is a strong boy who is well-respected in the tribe. We need someone like that to help your sister when your mother and I are gone.” 
“She has me.” (Y/N) stood and excused herself from the table. She walked to Yue’s room only to find the door had been shut. She gave it a weak knock. “Yue? Can you hear me?” 
“Go away,” Her sister said from inside. (Y/N) frowned. Her voice had been jagged and watery. Yue was crying, and (Y/N) was the one who made her. So (Y/N) did what she was told and walked down the hall to her own room. She could apologize to Yue in the morning. 
It hurt her to know that she had made her sister cry. It hadn’t been her intention at all, it was just that sometimes her words of care came out wrong. Yue may have been her older sister, but ever since she was born, (Y/N) had always felt a strong need to protect her. Yue was the kindest person she knew, which resulted in a lot of people trying to take advantage of her. (Y/N) wouldn’t allow it. She stood at Yue’s side always to make sure that no one approached her for the wrong reasons. Being the princesses of the tribe meant that it was hard to determine who was actually trying to be nice to them and who was searching for something to gain. (Y/N) had developed the skill of judging others’ intentions a long time ago, but Yue always tried to see the good in people. 
That is why (Y/N) was so angry when she found out Yue had accepted Hahn’s proposal. She knew her sister didn’t care for that idiot, but she also knew that Yue cared deeply for the tribe. She would do whatever she could to protect it, even if it meant marrying the worst person ever. 
(Y/N) changed out of her day clothes and undid her braid. She sat in front of her mirror and brushed out her hair before climbing into bed. She stared at the ceiling of the igloo for what felt like hours. 
She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, but (Y/N) sat up quickly when she heard the horn. Horns meant something was happening, something exciting. She hopped out of bed and ran to Yue’s room, not even bothering to put on her robes, but her sister was nowhere to be found. (Y/N) pursed her lips and made her way to the tallest part of the igloo. It was slippery and required some skilled climbing, but (Y/N) was no stranger to the task. She sat atop the rounded portion and watched as a flying bison and three travelers landed inside the wall of the city. 
(Y/N) let out a gasp, her breath clouding in the chilly air. She had heard rumors of the return of the Avatar, an Air Nomad boy who travelled around on the back of a flying bison. She had never anticipated that they were true. Living in an area as secluded as the Northern Water Tribe, all people did was make up rumors to keep themselves entertained. She had heard enough about herself to last a lifetime. 
(Y/N) felt her mind race as she tried to anticipate the days’ events with the addition of the Avatar. It was Yue’s birthday today, so a great feast had been planned. She only hoped that the Avatar and his friends would be in attendance. 
(Y/N) slid down the side of the igloo and went back inside, where the servants instantly bombarded her with warm clothes and hot teas. “Are you crazy?” One of them asked as they led her to the washroom. “It’s your sister’s birthday and you’re trying to catch a cold?” 
(Y/N) exhaled a breath out of her nose, but let them say as they pleased as they began preparing her for the day. She had learned a long time ago how to drown them out. Usually they weren’t talking to her, but at her, so there was no need for her to even speak. 
As she stepped out of the warm water, a chill traveled up her spine, lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck. It was different than the normal cold air that came with living here. This wind seemed like it brought change. 
---
Tag List!!
@beifongsss , @aimee1602 , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @mdgrdians
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vodkassassin · 3 years
Note
My dude, my gal, or maybe nonbinary pal (just to be sure, don't know your pronouns) you gave me the light, you have opened my eyes. All this ships I didn't know I needed and now can't get enough of. Your writing is a DELIGHT. For a prompt, how do SQH's disciples see him? What about the demons under MBJ? That one shot of LQG getting jealous of MBJ in which the underling backs away slowly means this isn't the first time that has happened right?
Thank you so much! It really makes me happy to hear that people enjoy reading my stuff. It’s half of what makes writing it so enjoyable for me. Another part I enjoy is how I seem to be dragging all you poor fools down with me into my shipping abyss of rare pairs. God bless.
I went with the demon perspective! Might do a disciple perspective next time? Idk. @quiensecomioelpie
As an agent of the Northern kingdom, Mao Liang is required to attend strategy meetings whenever they are present within the palace. Regardless of whether they had just returned from a long, grueling mission in the field only the day before, or not.
Luckily, there’s never that much attention brought to them, and Mao Liang is never expected to share their opinion or thoughts during the meeting, only directly to his majesty and the advisor afterwards. A relief, because if Mao Liang had to speak to the dozens of generals and high ranking soldiers and fellow agents that stand around the colossal, war room table alongside them… Well, that’s a crowd, isn’t it? If Mao Liang was forced to publicly speak, they might actually die.
Someone who doesn’t seem to ever have a problem with addressing a crowd of demons, though — be they gruff soldiers or generals or a glowering, looming king — is someone that is worth admiring.
Lord Shang pulls his furs around his shoulders more tightly, attention directed almost entirely on the maps sprawled out over the table they’ve all gathered around today. His head tilts toward the side just slightly, like a predator whose eyes have zeroed in on his prey, and Mao Liang has to fight the urge to shiver at the sight.
The odd twitches that they see in their fellow demons tells them that they, too, experience the same unease, so at least they’re not alone in this.
It was an odd thing, at first, to fear a human — much less a cultivator. In the beginning, as Lord Shang was just ascending into his climb for power in the Northern Kingdom, it had been something Mao Liang had been almost offended by. Just as any demon in their right mind would be, faced with such a slight, twitchy little thing, whose eyes rove to and fro as if they are a frightened animal. It screams of weakness, to any demon eyes.
Any demon that doesn’t already know better, at least.
Within the decade, however, it became clear that this feeling did, indeed, have its place in Mao Liang’s heart. That they were not experiencing a falsity. That Lord Shang, despite his diminutive appearance, is deserving of this respect, and not just because his majesty is so fond of him.
Not only is the cultivator powerful — Mao Liang still shudders in remembrance, whenever there is a storm in the sky strong enough to birth lightning — but he is conniving. He is intelligent to a terrifying degree. He is scarily efficient, productive, and reliable.
When Lord Shang says something will be done, it is done.
When Lord Shang says changes need to be made, they are made, no matter how many voices make their dissent known (nor how many idiots have, over the years, attempted something much more underhanded — they all fail, each and every one of them, and eventually the attempts were fewer and fewer, before just completely grinding to a halt).
If Lord Shang decides you are not fit for a position….
Well. In the beginning, he’d have just taken care of it himself. Through varying means, all of them increasingly terrifying, according to the rumors Mao Liang has heard over the years. Now, though…
Now, if Lord Shang decides someone has to go, the king himself is ever so obliging to make sure that it happens, often post haste.
So much power in the palm of a single person, even if he is an immortal master — it’s awe-inspiring.
So, Lord Shang indeed deserves the respect he commands from the heart of every Northern demon, and even those beyond their borders. However long it had taken them all to realize (and then accept), the state of the kingdom in recent years has been thriving more than it ever has in the past. Things haven’t been this good since perhaps the early golden age of the current Mobei Jun’s great and mighty ancestors. And they all know exactly who to credit that for.
“Here.”
Mao Liang startles, gaze snapping down to the map and zeroing in on where Lord Shang’s dainty (and deceptively powerful, mustn’t forget that) finger is tapping on an outlined enemy outpost.
“Eliminate them, first.” Lord Shang says.
“Ah — my lord?” One of the generals hedges awkwardly, tone coming out rather flat in his attempt not to offend — as it happens with most demons, their accents when speaking the common language does not leave a lot of room for niceties and polite speech. It’s caused a lot of scares with Lord Shang, where the demons under his attention are never certain if they’re about to get banished from the kingdom or executed by the king (which would be a mercy, certainly).
Mao Liang winces, covering it up by clenching their jaw tightly and eyeing the general who spoke from the corner of his eye, as Lord Shang turns his attention directly upon him.
The general is standing ramrod straight, shoulders stiff and brow pinched, when the advisor’s aquamarine gaze cuts to him. The demal shouldn’t have spoken up at all.
“What is it?” Lord Shang asks, pleasantly. Mao Liang feels a shiver wrack their spine.
Lord Shang is always pleasant, right up until he isn’t. It’s when he isn’t, that one has to watch out for oneself. But it’s ever so difficult to know when that caution is required, because Lord Shang is unpredictable, in a sense.
It takes a lot to truly and irreparably offend the honorable advisor. The last one who had…
They’re still scraping the poor guy’s innards off the wall of that conference hall, Mao Liang is pretty sure.
“That outpost…” the General begins, haltingly. He eyes the peak lord hesitantly, searching the neutral mask for any sign of displeasure, before continuing. “It’s not very important in the grand scheme of things, my lord. The enemy does not particularly value it. To expend our forces on its destruction would, I believe, be a waste of our resources at this time.”
There. Succinct and to the point. Mao Liang cranes their head around to peer at the advisor, who stands at the head of the table.
In the shadow of his majesty’s great bulk and dark glower (which is currently directed at the silently sweating General, poor demal), Lord Shang looks so much smaller than he actually is. Almost breakable. Non-threatening.
Mao Liang has never heard a more hilarious joke in their life. Non-threatening, their ass.
“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” And oh, there is cheer injected into the advisor’s voice, now. Mao Liang watches in fascination as the general visibly cringes. “Ah, but that’s where you’d be wrong, General Peng! You see, this particular outpost actually is rather important, especially to our enemy. They’d just like for us to think that it isn’t. The larger outpost, here?”
Lord Shang sweeps his hand across the map to the larger outline that’s much closer to the Northern borders.
“That seems more of a threat to us, just like you pointed out earlier. And I agree, it does seem that way — however, this larger outpost is only a decoy. A red herring, if you will. It’s larger and more heavily manned specifically to distract us from this smaller outpost over here.”
General Peng flinches minutely, having his own contribution to the meeting so effortlessly and nonchalantly thrown back into his face as only an incorrect assumption rather than a logical deduction. He doesn’t speak, though, even to ask the advisor where he’d gotten such information from.
No one ever asks Lord Shang how he knows something. Everyone knows that if Lord Shang knows something, then he just knows it, and you are to trust it, because he is never, ever wrong.
It is frightening enough, having the advisor of the king know your name, personally, without you ever having introduced yourself to him. Small, meaningless facts about you, the names of your family, where your clan ancestral ritual grounds are (something that no demon tells anyone outside their own clan, upon pain of death. And having that just thrown out there in casual conversation? Terrifying.). What you had been doing, while undercover, just the week before….
Mao Liang’s first meeting with the Peak Lord Shang had been memorable, to say the least. They had come out of it with a very, very healthy fear and respect for the man, of course. Ask any demon in the Eternal Winter Palace — hell, any demon in the damn kingdom itself — and they would tell you the same.
“It’s this outpost we have to worry about.” Lord Shang is saying, tapping once again on the smaller outline. “It’s the center of their operations. Everything that actually matters is hidden underneath it. It is absolutely crucial that those of you in the field ensure that it will no longer be a problem. You should take, I’d say, around three platoons.”
Mao Liang glances down at the outline. The outpost is tiny, nestled into the belly of a valley. Just looking at it, they would guess there are only perhaps a thousand demons in total guarding the place. Sending in six thousand soldiers to take it out is a bit of overkill.
But, then again, if the real operations are all happening underground, concealed….
General Peng’s lips thin into a pale line. Then, the demal nods in acceptance. “If Lord Shang says so.”
“I do,” Lord Shang says, quietly, not even lifting his gaze back up from the map, staring down at where his own finger is pressed to the outpost.
General Peng’s entire face goes pale.
Before anything else can happen, like Lord Shang going completely silent and unhelpful (It’s happened in the past, Lord Shang deciding that they no longer required his advice, if they were so certain of their own (always subpar) intelligence on the matter. His majesty’s ire, in response, had been absolutely brutal on everyone even peripherally involved. Mao Liang had been lucky enough to not have been in attendance at that particular meeting, but they’d heard stories.)— before anything like that could happen, the king himself decided that enough is enough.
Mobei Jun shoves off the table and sends them all a sharp glare.
“Well,” his majesty says, powerful voice expanding into the air and filling the cavernous war room like it was something material. “You have your orders. What else do you want? Get out.”
As they all scramble to their feet and head for the door, Mao Liang is at the forefront. They hate tactical meetings. They’d rather be on the field. Or in their quarters, sleeping. Or in their quarters, reading. Anywhere that other people are not. This meeting has already drained their meager energy levels to almost nothing. It’s nap time. It’s nap time.
“Mao Liang,” Mobei Jun’s voice calls, and they fall to an abrupt stop just before the doors. “Stay behind.”
Demons, generals and soldiers and even fellow agents, stream past them, and they quietly despair. Fuck! They’d been so close!
They turn, and step back to the table. They execute a bow, working to keep any expression off their face entirely — especially when Lord Shang smiles at them. Oh, ancestors.
“There’s a mission that requires the best counter-intelligence agent that we have,” Lord Shang begins, as flattering as ever, and Mao Liang knows immediately that they’re in for a lot of work. Dammit. “Here, follow me. There’s no reason to do this in such a drafty, echoing hall. I’ll debrief you on the way to the kitchens.”
Ah! Mao Liang hasn’t eaten since yesterday! And from the glimmer in Lord Shang’s eye as the man smiles, he knows it too.
Another thing about Lord Shang, that Mao Liang particularly admires, is how the man cares, despite everything else. If you ever work directly underneath Lord Shang, you can always be absolutely certain that he will look out for you.
In the Northern Kingdom, there is no place safer.
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coldtomyflash · 3 years
Note
I've seen your speech pattern analysis on Flash characters. I was wondering if you had any advice on how to create speech patterns for OC characters?
oh heck this is one of the coolest questions i’ve ever received.
i’m gonna try not to go overboard/overwhelming and just give a bit of advice, and then if you want more details please come back and follow up!
There’s a few things to think about up front with character voices / speech patterns. The biggest and most obvious is language and cultural background. The second is personality. The third is personal history. Fourth, briefly, is gender. And the final one I’d say is idiosyncrasies to avoid ‘same voice’.
Culture and Group Dynamics
Depending on the setting, there’s a decent chance you’ll be writing characters from different cultural backgrounds. Even if you’re focusing on a single culture, there will be subcultures. Even if you’re focusing on a single narrow group of people, there will be age and generational differences.
Think about where your character is from. If it’s a fantasy world, that’s still (and even more, in some ways) important. What country, what ethnicity, what mother tongue? Did they grow up urban or rural? High socio-economic status or working class? What sort of educational background and peer group did they have growing up (and presently) and how does that factor into their vocabulary and mannerisms, if at all.
All of these can influence how people talk. There are regional accents and different modes of speaking to signal your group membership. There is code-switching across groups, for those who have had to learn multiple linguistics codes to survive and thrive in society. 
How much slang does this group and therefor this character use? What references (modern, outddated, topical, etc) do the rely on? What kind of references (pop culture, music, academic, etc)? What colloquialisms and proverbs do they say? Are these the same or different to their characters, even within the same culture, subculture, or group, and is it because they’re from a different place/sub-group or because of their idiosyncrasies?
You can use these to help your reader get to know more about your character’s background without having to spell it all out directly. Speech patterns and style are a great way to show instead of tell when it comes to details that are hard to drop in organically in other ways.
An important caveat: don’t write a bilingual character who switches languages in speech unless you’re ready to do a bit of research on that. In AATJS I did an absolutely horrific job of this because I was thinking more about fronting the fact that character was Italian rather than thinking through how people actually talk, and it came out exotifying and embarrassing. It’s important to make sure that the way you use language to bring in a character’s cultural and/or ethnic background feels authentic and manifests is a way that respects that language and its users. You can write a character with a complex cultural history without using multiple languages if you’re unprepared to do research and talk to bilingual speakers.
Personality
Probably the most salient thing in a writer’s mind when they’re trying to write character voices: is this the funny character? the serious one? the brainy one? etc.
Don’t overuse stereotypes and archetypes for creating speech patterns (or characters in general) if you’re trying to make a rounded, 3-dimensional character. Instead, go about three levels deeper.
Think about whether they’re introverted or extraverted, whether they are neurotypical or neurodivergent, whether they are introspective enough to express their own emotions clearly or whether they stumble when asked why they did a particular thing or feel a particular way (most people don’t or can’t clearly articulate exactly why they did something or how they feel, and come at things a bit sideways to circle around their motives and interior realities when pressed to make them external and concretely verbal).
Is this character calm, is their voice soothing, do they speak slowly? Are they excitable and loud and is their speech free-flowing? Are they angry? Do they swear? Do they use references for humour or are they more into puns? Do they laugh at their own jokes? Do they talk with their hands?
This character has social anxiety: how does that manifest in her speech? Does she clam up and get very quiet when she gets nervous, or does she go rapidfire and a little too loud (does she process by turning in or by distracting herself by turning outward)? Does she get very careful and deliberate in choosing her words (is she a bit high-strung?)? Ask yourself which fits best with the other elements of her personality and what you want the reader to know/interpret about her. 
This character is incredibly smart and a bit awkward: how does that manifest in their speech? Do they tend to use 5-dollar words, or do they expend a lot of energy choosing their words more carefully (how considerate are they to their audience when speaking and does that influence their speech)? Do they stumble over their words and explaining things, or are they good at making points with clear language learned from a lifetime of tutoring and helping others?
This character is the bff, who tries hard to make sure everyone else is happy first: how does that manifest in his speech? How does he switch between his happy-mask versus his more authentic self, and what changes in tone, word-choice, and inflection come in when he does?
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Personal History
I’m only drawing a distinction between this and personality (archetype, really) so that I can draw attention to ways to add simultaneously unique and shared layers to characters that are distinct but related to group dynamics.
Here’s sort of what I mean: the level of education of a mother (or primary caregiver) of an infant can determine that infant’s vocabulary size. While we can break down all the ‘why is that’ layers to this, the one I want to point is to the simple truth that the more education a person does, the more specialized language they end up learning over time. This doesn’t have to be formal education though -- the more you learn about something and the more you read and access new knowledges and perspective, the more and more words you learn, and then if you start using those words, they trickle down to those close to you.
So.
What’s your character’s educational background? Is it the same as their friends who you are also writing? Is the same as their family’s? How does this character’s family influence their speech? Are they formal, informal, warm, authoritative? 
If you’re writing siblings, they’ll have some shared things! But also some very different ones! Me and my sister talk nothing alike in terms of vocabulary, but a lot alike in terms of mannerisms whenever we spend a bit of time together!
If your characters grew up around each other, they’ll have a lot of the same references. People from the same cities or regions will have things specific to that region, either due to sub-culture effects or because of local references. 
The city of Calgary, Canada for instance has the Plus15 which are a connected pedway system between the buildings in downtown, so named because they are 15feet above the ground. Drive 3 hours north to the city of Edmonton, and you have an underground pedway just called the pedways, no special name. Go a few provinces east to Toronto and their underground pedway system downtown is called PATH. These are all known to locals and part of the vernacular, but are opaque to people outside those cities. And the whole idea of them is probably opaque to people who aren’t from super cold cities that don’t require building-connecting pedway systems for pedestrians to get around high-density areas like downtown (or university campuses) without going out into the cold. 
Friends, families, and groups are like that too. In-jokes, shared histories, speaking in references. What are your characters’ relationships to each other and how does that history influence the way they approach talking to each other?
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Gender
I don’t want to spend too much time on this one because ugh, gender. What even is it?
But like it or not, it has an impact on our speech patterns. There are cultural and societal norms in how men and women are likely to speak, and breaking those norms will be noticed regardless of whether you’re trans, enby, queer, or not. There are norms that people who are queer may fall into as well, sometimes without even noticing at first. A lot of these aren’t about word choice per se but instead about mannerisms and tone and body language, but some overlap or are specific to language.
Speaking in broad generalizations here, women use more emotional language and tend to speak with more hesitancies/qualifications. So more “i think, i feel” and less “it is”. More conversations that front emotions and dig deeper into those, with longer sentences to explain in detail. The obvious caveat is that personality matters more (i.e., is this a person who likes to talk about their emotions in detail or not) but it is something to consider because there will be general but subtle differences that you can use to help further distinguish your characters’ voices. 
Sidenote: this can also be exacerbated by different cultural backgrounds and languages (a simple example is Japanese which has different words for “I” depending on your gender as well as your personality, familiarity with the other persons in the conversation, and situational appropriateness, so interesting ways that gender and social expectations intersect in language).
Anyway this isn’t typically a huge problem except that I’ve found that a lot of writers have a tendency to overgeneralize the speech patterns that fit with their ascribed gender due to early-life socialization, or conversely to overgeneralize patterns that fit with their gender identity (when not cis) either due to heavily identifying with their gender identity’s speech model (or sometimes possibly due to a knee-jerk sort of backlash). I say this as an enby who both struggles with it and notices it and tries to edit and correct for it. 
I could get into all sorts of examples of ways this can lead to voice issues, but in general i think the point here is to make sure you’re writing any given character in view of that character’s personality and history, with gender only as a modifier for how some of these might come out in subtle ways but which can be important to help tell us about your character (and if you’re writing queer characters, it’s all the more important to consider how their relationship with gender and socialization might impact which speech models and styles they identify more with).
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Idiosyncrasies
So, you’ve got a character. You’ve got their personality and history down. You know how they manifest in their speech. And you’re still getting some ‘same voice’ issues.
People really are unique snowflakes. Let that be reflected in their speech.
This person uses contractions differently than that one. This one says “ain’t” and that one says “isn’t.”
This person makes Simpsons references and that one doesn’t like Simpsons, and makes Brooklyn Nine Nine references instead. That other one doesn’t use referential humour much at all. This one loves old movies and hasn’t seen any of the new stuff so they make references all the time but no one ever notices.
This one loves the word “excoriate” and that one doesn’t even know what it means because what the hell, who uses the word excoriate?
This one talks about food a lot, it overlaps with their interests. This one uses metaphors. This one grunts in response. This one exclaims. This one says “like” and that one hates it. That one refers to themselves in third person. This other one uses reflective language an usual amount (e.g., “love me some candy”). This other one keeps misusing the word inconceivable and that one speaks almost without contractions but still comes off as more charming and humorous while correcting him.
I have an aunt who says “girl” or “girlfriend” a fuck-ton and she has been my whole life and I don’t know why because none of her sisters do, but she does and it annoys me so much the way she says it. I swear a lot when I’m feeling casual despite never ever doing it in a professional or even slightly-less-than-relaxed space, so the idiosyncrasy of comfort levels has a massive impact on my vocabulary in ways which, I promise, almost no one who meets me first in a professional space expect.
Let your characters be individuals and try to make them as unique as possible without overdoing it, or over-relying on a single verbal tendency or habit. 
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And ... that’s all I’ve got for now. Completely failed at being concise. I meant to give like 2-3 bullet points or examples for each, not paragraphs, but here we are. That’s one of my verbal tendencies: long flowing verbosity :)
Hope this helps! 
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doridoripawaa · 3 years
Text
Time was fickle, with too much power in her hands
Leaving foolish mortals subject to her demands.
One never seemed to know just how much time had passed
Or which breath they breathed would become their very last.
Relentlessly, the sands of time had flowed each day
And the lives these twins should have shared, drifted away.
When they should have been together, they were apart
Until they ceased to understand the other’s heart.
Fate would have denied them a chance to live at all.
But they faced their demons with their chins held tall.
Side by side, the star-crossed twins had once again met
And acted together without any regrets.
Now reunited, only one question remained.
The time the brothers had lost… could it be regained?
~~~
“...ran.”
A gentle voice, accompanied by a pair of warm, tender golden eyes.
“Saeran.”
A little shake of the shoulders accompanied the whispers this time.
“I know you aren’t sleeping, Saeran.”
As dawn’s light poured in through the windows, a young man with snow-white hair groaned and flitted his eyelids open. The soft pinks, oranges, and yellows of the outside that filtered in through the windows was enough to illuminate the eager, but fretful, face poised over his sleeping body. His emerald eyes narrowed as he scrutinized that face, which was finally starting to fill out around the edges again after the travesty he had endured. Apparently Honey Buddha chips and PhD Pepper could, actually, be beneficial for one’s health.
“I’m…” Saeran closed his eyes again and turned over onto his side, away from that burning golden gaze. “I’ll sleep now, Sae… Saeyoung.” The name felt bizarre on his lips, as if it were a name he wasn’t uttering himself. He knew it had been a great source of comfort in his youth, but after so many years of lies and deception, Saeran… had a lot to unlearn and relearn, to say the least. He still struggled to look directly at Saeyoung’s face, the face that reminded him of their past.
“Come onnn,” Saeyoung whined, and a small smile began to tug at the edges of the younger twin’s lips. Even though he wasn’t facing him, Saeran could easily picture the redhead’s lower lip sticking out in a pout and his freckled nose wrinkled up in frustration. “The sky is awake, so let’s wake up, Saeran.”
“Big talk coming from someone who also didn’t sleep,” Saeran commented casually, and he tried to pull up his blankets to cover his face.
The older twin, however, was not having any of his brother’s sass this morning.
“Rise and… shine!” Saeyoung chirped, and before Saeran could react, he grabbed onto the younger twin’s blankets and ripped them clean off of his body, giggling gleefully as he did so.
Saeran groaned inwardly (and perhaps outwardly, judging from the way Saeyoung was smirking at him) and pulled himself upright into a sitting position. The absence of blankets certainly would not stop him from sleeping, but candidly, he knew that his restless night wasn’t about to end in slumber anyway. He was trying to catch up on his years of sleep debt--he really was--but old habits die hard, and he was still the type of person who’d rather finish all of his tasks before taking any rest for himself.
Letting people down was the last thing that Saeran ever wanted to do.
He had taken up the torch of living for himself, but that did not mean that he suddenly stopped caring for all of the other people in his life. And despite everything, despite everything…
Saeyoung was near the top of his list of people he wanted to protect.
“You’ve got me,” Saeran conceded with a sigh, earning a hearty “yahoo!” from his brother. “Well, now that we’re both up,” he went on, brushing his bangs out of his minty eyes, “what did you have in mind for us for today?” He couldn’t be exactly certain of what his brother had planned; the elusive 707 was a mysterious, curious little cat, always sneaking this way and that. He must have had some sort of scheme up his sleeve, and Saeran was going to end up being dragged into it. He was happy to see Saeyoung being so playful, so mischievous, so cheerful again… but he could also be a bit of a headache.
“Fufufu,” Saeyoung chuckled, and his twin could have sworn that he saw a tail flicking eagerly behind him, “you see… I have nothing planned!” He put his hands behind his head and struck a wide grin at his brother. “Nothing at all!”
Confusion. Consternation. Curiosity.
Saeran narrowed his minty eyes at Saeyoung suspiciously. “Then… why are we awake?”
That, of course, was a question to which both of them knew the answer but neither of them wanted to vocalize it.
“Well, I just thought…” Saeyoung began, and then his arms dropped to his pockets, and his glittering golden gaze suddenly became clouded over with a hint of embarrassment. Embarrassment? Was Saeyoung… flustered? “I promised all those years ago that we would get to live freely, that we would get to do what we wanted.” A soft laugh slipped from his lips, but it was a sorrowful, pitiful sound, rather than a joyous one. As he lowered his head, Saeran couldn’t quite make out the expression in his eyes; the sunrise was reflecting off his glasses, obscuring his eyes--and his true feelings--beneath. “Well, the time has finally come!” He lifted his head and beamed at his twin again. “You’re in charge today, bro. Tell me how you want to spend the day!”
Saeran couldn’t shake this anxious feeling that crept up along his spine, sending a gentle shudder throughout his body. “Can… can we bring--”
“Brotherly bonding day!” Saeyoung interrupted him, and he folded his arms over his chest. “You. Me. That’s all.” His cheeks were nearly as red as his fiery curls, but Saeran could see how desperately he was trying to conceal just how uncomfortable and awkward he actually felt. The younger twin couldn’t help but admire his brother’s spirit; his ability to find laughter in even the darkest moments was a quality that had served him well.
“I’m in charge, then?” Saeran asked, looking for reassurance. He still felt his hair stand up and his nerves begin to prickle whenever he got too close to Saeyoung, but he was desperate to get over these feelings of dread. This was his beloved brother, his closest companion, his absolute ally. A day to catch up on lost time sounded… almost too good to be true. “Then, you’d better wear something comfortable.” Now a smirk played onto Saeran’s lips as Saeyoung tipped his head to the side curiously. “Be ready in 30 minutes.”
~~~
Through glades and underneath trees, traveled the twins
The elder being led by the younger one’s whims.
As birds chirped above and squirrels chattered in the trees,
Saeyoung couldn’t help but look at Saeran with glee.
“Are we there yet?” Saeyoung asked, but Saeran’s reply
Was but a shake of his head and an amused sigh.
“Be patient,” he murmured with a chuckle so soft,
That Saeyoung felt his heart soar high and aloft.
But then Saeran stopped, and with a smile on his face,
Turned ‘round and whispered, “Welcome to my happy place.”
The pair entered a field that was vibrant with life.
Of blooms, buds, and blossoms, the gorgeous field was rife.
“I come here when I need to breathe,” Saeran explained.
“When the world is getting tough and my heart feels pained.”
Just then, to the younger twin’s cheeks rose a soft blush,
“I want to share it with you,” he said in a hush.
Touched to his core, Saeyoung clutched his chest with his hand.
His brother had trusted him with this secret land!
“I want to make a crown for my lover, you see,
And I figured I’d let you accompany me.”
That was all Saeyoung needed to hear, ‘fore he said, “Let’s make beautiful crowns for your beloved’s head.”
As the sun traveled across the sky through that day,
The twins sat making flower crowns in their lil glade.
After making many wreaths of roses and mums,
Hunger began to rumble in both of their tums.
“If it wouldn’t be a hassle,” Saeran began,
“Not too far from here, I know of an ice cream stand.”
One twin wore a crown of lilac, one of aster,
As they raced to the shop to see who was faster.
One opted for strawberry, one for vanilla,
And they sat to watch folks from the nearby villa.
The sun was on the horizon, with bright pink rays,
To signal that the end was coming to the twins’ day.
As the first few stars twinkled in the growing night,
“Let’s head back,” Saeyoung prompted with a smile so slight.
Upon their return, the two climbed up to the roof,
One with a huge grin, the other a bit aloof.
But both were enchanted as they pointed up high,
Tracing constellations in the evening sky.
Saeyoung dared to turn his attention to Saeran,
And what he saw made his heart flutter yet again.
His twin was smiling, looking genuinely glad
As though the day with his brother weren’t half bad.
“Saeran,” Saeyoung whispered, his voice but a mumble.
“Thank you for today,” he said with a smile humble.
Saeran turned and replied, much to Saeyoung’s surprise
“Thank you, Saeyoung,” with a glimmer in his mint eyes.
~~~
A pair of flower crowns sat on the counter as the two brothers began to settle in for the night. Saeyoung yawned and stretched, ready to just fall asleep in his green pullover hoodie instead of actually changing into any pajamas. He wasn’t exactly sure how a day of weaving flowers and eating ice cream had taken so much of his energy, but he was willing to attribute that to a lack of sleep from the night before.
Well, a lack of sleep plus the constant fear gnawing at him that his brother secretly still loathed him and that he was just masking his fury and frustration as humility and timidity. Saeyoung had proposed the bonding day just as much for Saeran’s sake as for his own; they needed to make up for lost time, to try to reach out and understand one another again. Once they had been so close, they had been the other’s only ray of light in a world that constantly tried to snuff them out in darkness.
Now? He wasn’t exactly sure where they stood. Saeyoung didn’t know if he could ever again become that guiding light, that lighthouse in the night. But maybe, just maybe, he could be a candlestick, with a little flicker of hope, light, and warmth that could help lead his brother to safety and security.
‘Time for another sleepless night,’ the redhead thought, barely suppressing a sigh as he began to head towards his bedroom. “Thank you, bro,” he repeated once he saw that Saeran was also getting ready to turn in for the night. “It… it means a lot to me that you spent the day by my side.” A bit of a cheesy admission, sure, but in his efforts to change for the better, Saeyoung was trying to be more open about his feelings.
Maybe not to everyone, quite yet, but at least to his brother, his confidant.
“Well… good night, Saeran,” Saeyoung concluded at last, and he turned to open the door to the bedroom, eager to collapse and at least rest his eyelids even if sleep would never come.
A slight tug on his sleeve prompted him to stop before he ever reached the handle.
“S-S…” A soft whisper like a hiss trickled from the white-haired boy’s lips, and as Saeyoung turned his head to cast his twin a quizzical glance, he immediately noticed the vibrant vermillion that coated Saeran’s cheeks. “Saeyoung,” he managed to utter at last. “I… did not sleep at all last night,” he admitted finally, and Saeyoung almost began to worry that his brother wasn’t even breathing, judging from how red his face had become. “I kept… having nightmares.”
Saeyoung blinked sympathetically at his brother. He understood that feeling all too well. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a full night of sleep without some sort of haunting memory creeping up in his psyche, too.
“I think… I would sleep better… if I knew that I’m not alone, that I’ll never be alone again.” His gaze softened as he drifted away into his thoughts, his memories, his feelings. “If I had a reminder that I am enough, that I have strength and courage, when I think I am alone and powerless.”
The intensity of the aquamarine gaze that bored into Saeyoung’s golden eyes almost set the older twin ablaze himself. “I need that reminder,” he admitted. “Which is why…” His voice trailed off, but he quickly regained his composure. “Saeyoung.”
“Yes?” Saeyoung chirped, standing straight at attention. What was fueling his brother’s fire?
“Would you… be my guardian angel tonight?” Saeran murmured at last. “Would you… stay by my side until I can fall asleep?”
Guardian angel. A chance to be the candlelight in his brother’s life, once again.
“Be ready in 10 minutes,” Saeyoung told him with a smirk and a wink. “I’m going to tell you a bedtime story.”
He certainly didn’t expect the day with his brother to go so smoothly.
He certainly didn’t expect the day with his brother to end like a dream.
He certainly didn’t expect the day with his brother to result in him finally getting some sleep.
But as the twins lay side by side, both passed out in slumberland, for the first time in years, they finally looked at peace with one another.
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I am delighted to have written for @megami606sama 's beautiful art for the @mysme-rbb !
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kuroopaisen · 3 years
Text
03:22 am || sugawara koushi
➵ existentialism doesn’t have to be depressing.
wc: 2292
warnings: gn!reader, philosophical talk (I’m so sorry), existentialism
a/n: sorry for rambling so much about existentialism dslfk i was doing my best to get into the 3am mindset
The stars aren’t particularly bright, but you’re grateful that you can even catch a glimpse of them. Your apartment’s balcony is only small, and you can only see so much unobstructed sky. What you can see of the constellations are bleached by the city lights, but that hasn’t dampened either yours or Suga’s desire to stargaze. The two of you cuddle up on a dingy banged-up couch, barely big enough to fit both of you. Not that either of you care.
Suga seemed particularly unphased, littering quick kisses across the side of your face.
“Koushi,” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Hm?” A peck to your cheek.
“Are you quite alright?”
“I’m just peachy.” A kiss to your temple.
“Do you want something?” You giggle, turning your head to look at him straight.
“Nothing,” he beams, pressing his lips to your nose.
You grin, kissing his own nose in response.
You take a moment to admire him, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. 
He looks a bit like starlight personified, all silver hair and round, bright eyes. He’s got one of those smiles that lights up his whole face, crinkling his eyes in the most endearing way.
Those kind eyes of his were one of the things that had drawn you to him at first. Initially, your intentions had been purely platonic. But how weren’t you supposed to fall in love with this boy made of starlight?
“What’re you thinking about?” You ask, smoothing a thumb over his cheek. He smiles at you, those beautiful eyes of his touched with a hint of melancholy.
“Nothing.”
“You’re thinking about something,” you smile. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”
His eyes are kind, warm, gentle. But they’re perhaps a bit more expressive than he’d like.
Suga grins, shaking his head. “I was a fool to think I’d get anything by you, huh?”
“Good to see you’re learning your lesson,” you tease. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just… thinking about the inherent meaninglessness of life.”
You snort, but you’re not surprised. This isn’t unusual for him. “That doesn’t sound like ‘alright’.”
“Oh, but it is,” Suga grins, looking you directly in the eyes. “It’s great.”
“Why?”
“I get to do whatever I want,” Suga shrugs. “It doesn’t matter if there’s no greater meaning to any of it. I get to live my life in a way that makes me happy.”
“What makes you happy, then?” You ask, smoothing the top of his head.
“You,” he fires back immediately, a cheeky grin on his lips.
“That’s a cop-out,” you snort, poking his nose.
“I just…” He sighs, turning his gaze back to the faint stars. “I just want to do right by the people around me.”
“That’s wonderful,” you smile. There’s such beautiful sincerity in his eyes.
“It sounds cheesy,” Suga scoffs, his cheeks tinged pink.
“So?” You ask.
His blush deepens as he meets your eyes. “Well… you know…”
You’re well-aware of what the concern is, but you’ve decided to mark it down as ‘silly.’
“If you’re going to be a nihilist, you may as well be nice about it,” you shrug. “Nothing’s worse than being an asshole who’s rude to people because ‘life is meaningless’ and ‘humans are just base animals’ or whatever.”
Suga chuckles at your rather accurate impression of a man in a first-year philosophy degree.
“Just don’t start quoting Nietzsche at me,” you grin.  
“I would never,” Suga scoffs. “It’s gotta be Kierkegaard.”
“Wasn’t he just… really sad?” You ask, tilting your head at him.
“He hated democracy.”
“He did?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Suga shrugs. “I dunno. I just know he did.”
You giggle, shaking your head. “Good to see you’ve been paying attention in class.”
“Look,” Suga raises a hand, “I found that out when I was just scouring the net, okay?”
“Mhm…”
“Philosophy is supposed to make you think about life, not some guy’s opinion on democracy, okay?” Suga grins.
“You have to write a dialogue, right?” You ask. You remember him telling you about it, but you can’t quite recall what he’s actually supposed to do.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Are you arguing with Nietzsche?”
He laughs. “Not sure yet.”
“I think you should,” you hum. “I’d laugh.”
“I can’t believe my assignment is basically me writing fanfiction about me and Diogenes hanging out,” he grins.
“Actually yeah, write about him,” you snort. “I, too, would like to find an honest man.”
Suga chuckles. “Unfortunately, that’s not gonna help me get a good mark.”
“You’re going to get a good mark,” you say, pouting at him. “You always do.”
“Bold of you to put that much confidence in me,” he scoffs. “I haven’t even started writing it yet.”
“Have you planned it out?”
“Kind of?”
“Well, what’s your key argument?” You ask. You enjoy talking to him like this; unpicking his brain, finding out what he thought about the world. He always had something interesting to say, a thought to share about life in general.
 “I mean…” Suga sighs. “I always sorta figured that if life doesn’t inherently mean anything, then we’ve got a choice, right?”
“A choice?” 
“Yeah.” 
“What do you mean?” You shift yourself in his lap, your legs now dangling over the armrest. 
Suga pauses, pressing his lips together for a moment. “Well… you’re not morally beholden to anyone, right?” 
“Uh huh…” You nod slowly. 
“So… why wouldn’t you want to choose to do the kind thing? It’s not hard.”
You bite your lip. “But if you’re not ‘morally beholden’ to anyone, then what’s the point of being kind?” 
“You know… it’s the decent thing to do.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “And it feels good.” 
“But why?” 
“Do you disagree with me?” 
“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m just trying to help you solidify your argument.” 
“Ah, playing devil’s advocate, I see,” he grins. 
You flick him in the forehead gently. “How dare you.” 
“I’m just waiting for you to destroy me with facts and logic,” he teases, grinning at you. His eyes are much brighter now, twinkling with mirth. 
“Well,” you smile, running your fingers through his hair. “Presuming I did destroy you with facts and logic, then what would you say in response?” 
“Okay,” Suga sits up a little straighter, a determined glint in his eyes. “You know the whole ‘existence precedes essence’ thing, right?” 
“Kind of?” 
“Well, the basic principle is that we exist before anything else,” he begins. “That sounds obvious, but what it’s trying to get at is that our consciousness exists before anything else. There is no ‘essential nature’ to any of us.” 
“Right,” you nod. 
“So, we create our own values, our own meanings, because we don’t have any inherently,” he continues. “We have to make them ourselves, and that’s how we give our existence significance.” 
You hum in response. 
“A lot of people get kind of down if they believe there’s no inherent meaning to life, but that just means there so much more freedom. And there’s power in that freedom.” 
“What do you mean, exactly?” You ask. You’ve had these sorts of conversations before, but he’s been getting better and better at articulating himself. If anything, he seems relieved by it. 
“The essential meaninglessness of life isn’t a burden, it’s a chance to define ourselves and where we want to go,” he continues. 
“Mhm,” you nod, paying him the attention he deserves. 
“We may be meaningless in the grand scheme of the universe, but that means we’re free.” 
“How so?” You ask. 
He considers your question for a moment, a tiny pout on his lips. “We’re not inherently ‘good,’ but we’re not inherently ‘selfish’ either. We get to choose.” 
“Right,” you nod. “But… won’t some people find that overwhelming?”
“What do you mean?” He asks. 
“Isn’t that just the whole absurdity thing?” You’re trying to find the right words, to call on all the concepts you remember him telling you about. You may be no philosophy student, but you know Suga won’t judge. “You know, the… the contradiction between finding meaning and purpose in an inherently chaotic and meaningless world?” 
“Oh, right,” he nods. “Well… the absurd itself isn’t the problem, per se. If anything, one of the best things you can do is to accept that absurdity, even if it’s difficult.” 
“Yes, life is absurd,” he stresses. “Yes, it can be hard to find the motivation to press on when you feel that life is meaningless.” 
You wonder, for a moment, if he’s speaking from experience. 
“The idea is that you live on in-spite of that,” he smiles. “It’s like a big middle finger to a universe that doesn’t care about you.” 
“So… by deciding what matters to you is a way of biting back at a world that doesn’t care?” 
“Exactly!” He beams. “Freedom means we create our own meanings, and can find satisfaction in our lives by figuring out what we really want and how we feel we should live best,” he continues. “And it means that instead of having to worry about our ‘inherent, essential goodness’, we get to define ourselves by our actions -- people can claim that humans are inherently selfish, but we’re not.” 
He’s glowing now, eyes shining and cheeks bright. He really is beautiful. And good. So, so good. 
“Because neither behaviour is encoded in us, we’re responsible for the choices we make. We choose to be cruel, or we choose to be kind. We can choose to be good.” 
“And you think most people would do that?” You ask. 
“I’m not naive,” he sighs, “but I do think most people would want to do right by others. Not all. But most.” 
He takes a deep breath, looking to the sky once more. You follow his gaze upwards. 
“I just…” His voice is quiet now, almost as if he’s praying. “We’re all thrown into this absurd world, and we can make it easier for one another.” 
You press a gentle kiss to his temple, your heart feeling fuzzier than ever. 
Suga looks at you with the gentlest smile, a bright spark in his eyes. “We can bear the burden of the human condition together and show each other compassion.”
You run a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp with the tips of your fingers. 
He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, still smiling. “And the way I see it… if there’s no inherent meaning or purpose to the way things are, then there’s no reason to succumb to suffering.” 
“That’s a bit bold of you,” you chuckle. 
“I’m not saying that suffering is unavoidable or anything, but I mean, like…” He frowns, trying to unpick the implications of his own words. “Of course, there’ll be things you can’t escape and things that’ll fucking suck. I just mean that... You don’t have to do anything. In that sense, you can pursue what you want to pursue, prioritise the things that make you happy…”
“I see.” 
“I’m not saying that life’s a free-for-all either. Like, I’m not saying that it’s okay for people to be awful to each other,” he continues. “And I understand that the world we live in places limits on us and what we can conceivably do…”  
“What, like the… struggling artist thing?” You clarify. 
“Yeah,” he nods. “I know that it’s not that simple and everything won’t work out just because you want it to. I just think… if it makes you happy then… then it’s worth a try.” 
He sits back in the chair, sinking into the cushions. “But… I don’t know,” he sighs. “It’s hard to articulate.” 
“That’s okay,” you smile. “You’re making sense to me.” 
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure if my tutors have that same insight into my brain.” 
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you giggle, shifting yourself in his lap. “Can you think of a good one-liner?” You ask, tilting your head at him. 
“Hm…” He muses for a moment, tilting his head upwards. “At the end of the day, I just think that… we have a choice to be kind. Why wouldn’t you be?” 
You laugh. “Why would you say something so brave and yet so controversial?”
“Isn’t that meme outdated now?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I can never keep up with what the young people are doing these days.”
He snorts. “What are you, seventy-two?”
“In body, no,” you shake your head. “But in spirit?”
“Great, I’m dating a geriatric.”
“You knew this going into it,” you giggle. “I’ve just been burdened with age. There’s no space in my heart for optimism anymore.”
“That’s a lie and you know it,” Suga grins, gazing at you fondly.
“I like that about you,” you smile, smoothing a thumb over his cheek.
“I just think that there’s a lot of good out there if you look for it,” he shrugs, his words earnest and sincere. “I know the world isn’t that simple and that there’s plenty of horrible things too, but…” He chews his lip, eyes softening as he once again looking to the sky. “I want to contribute to the world as best as I can.”
You watch him as he watches the stars. You wonder if he knows he’s the brightest amongst them. If he knows how much joy and light, he’s brought to everyone who’s had the privilege of loving him. It’s a gift to be counted amongst them.
You’ve been told that people are made of stardust, but Suga makes you believe it.
You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting the warmth in your chest diffuse through your body. “I love you.”
He smiles at you, and you’re sure he can outshine the moon.
“I love you too.”  
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