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sexyandhedonistic · 9 months

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Faith (and feeling) is the secret: A small success story and what you can learn from it.

Hello, my loves. It’s been a while since I’ve made any sort of post on this blog. Today I’m going to be bringing you one of my many success stories. As someone who’s very private, I’m always skeptical about talking about any of them as they tend to be quite personal and oftentimes require me to disclose details to provide context. Even in this one, I’ll be keeping it occasionally vague and change a few insignificant details to preserve that privacy. Nevertheless, I feel good about sharing this one because I remember drawing so many comparisons and turning to a lot of what Neville himself said in his lectures and I applied what I’ve learned from beginning to end. Anyway, let’s get to the story:

This happened some time ago, it doesn’t really matter when but I had found out that a favorite artist of mine was having a concert after tickets had started going on sale. The concert was in one of my favorite cities which was a bit of distance from me so I was open to going, but not particularly compelled to. When I first heard about it, I looked up how much of the seating was occupied just to have an idea of how popular this concert was.

I couldn’t even see the seating chart because it would halt me with a “there are no seats available at this time”. Knowing the law, if I really did want to go, what I had just read meant nothing in the slightest, so I wasn’t discouraged. I continued to check from time to time to see if anything had changed and I would bump into the same exact notice. But again, I was still open to going and what I had read held no value and my reaction was no different than if I had seen a stadium full of blue sections. It didn’t matter one bit. This went on for two months.

During that time, I found out that some of my friends were going, so now I was more interested in going as well. I hadn’t particularly assumed I would go throughout, I was always thinking of the idea rather than from it. So, although for the most part I had no solid desire to actually be there up until now, I still knew that if I wanted to, I could be. Not once through this entire time did I feel stressed nor desperate. I always had faith.

It was the month of the event and I still didn’t have seats, and then they announced a giveaway which I entered. The span to apply was approximately two weeks and they would announce a winner a week before the event. That very morning, I was still hopeful about winning. I felt good, I kept thinking about what it would be like to be in one of my favorite cities hanging out with my friends and seeing one of our favorite artists. And then I decided to induce the state akin to sleep to really place myself into that state of consciousness.

I would like to mention something very briefly here that I’m not sure whether or not I have previously brought up, but whenever I imagine during the state akin to sleep, I see it as death. What I mean by that is that I am conscious of being something I don’t want to be before I induce the SATS, and the goal should be to come out of that imaginal act conscious of being something else. That’s how you should always approach the state akin to sleep. Die to the old state and identify yourself with the new one.

Having already been in Los Angeles on numerous occasions, I drew the feeling from that. I recalled what the weather was like at that time of year, I remembered all of the landmarks I would pass by, I thought about how happy I would be to see my friends, how excited I would feel to see one of my favorite artists perform, and I mentally placed myself in that city. I was no longer sitting in bed within four walls miles and miles away. I was in Los Angeles. I was surrounded by the hot weather telling my friends how happy I was to see them and I heard them say it back to me. I saw the lights and the streets, I felt the butterflies of making my way to the venue and finding my seat. I took all of those feelings and really let myself sit and become fully drenched in them until I felt happy to be there. (And I remembered to think from the end and not of the end. Remember that this is key. If I simply thought about being there, it would create no shift in consciousness.) I kept focusing on that feeling, I didn’t have a particular scene in mind, I was simply focusing on the senses and the emotions of being there. I felt happy that I was able to make it, I was thinking about how glad I felt for not taking no for an answer and the memory of the present moment of me inducing the SATS was something I had done last week.

I wasn’t keeping track of the time I was in that state, but it was roughly an hour. I hadn’t slept and the sun was starting to rise when I pulled myself out. I felt satisfied with my prayer and I reminded myself that if for whatever reason I felt uncertain I could simply do the same, so I felt good. I wasn’t anxious about whether or not I had done enough because I knew praying and accepting that it was happening was all I had to do and soon enough I’d be making my way to LA.

Then I went to sleep. The winners were to be announced in a few hours and shut my eyes assuming I would wake up to the good news. However, I didn’t win the giveaway, but I was a runner up and I was given access to purchase tickets at a heavily discounted price, which in itself was a good start to my trip to LA. I didn’t have a particular seat in mind when I saw myself there, but I did want to be close and I was (4th row from the stage). A seat that would’ve cost me about $230 went down to $60, so I snagged it. If you’re familiar with the You Are In Barbados story, this was my “Good news, Mr. Goddard” moment. It was happening.

I had my trip, I booked my flights, I prepared everything and within a week I was on my way to see so many of my favorite people in one city. I was ecstatic the entire time leading up to it and I enjoyed myself to death. The concert was on a weekend and I was back home by the time the week started. It was Tuesday and I was checking my inbox and for some reason I felt like going through my spam folder. And I came across an email that stood out to me.

It was an email from the event telling me that one of the winners hadn’t responded so I was next in line and I had won two tickets plus the opportunity to meet them. Now, I admit that I did think the giveaway was going to be the how in my story. When I induced the state akin to sleep, I didn’t visualize myself winning, I visualized myself being in LA because that was the actual end. What I most wanted was to attend the concert so that was the end I was living in. Yet, that email served as a reminder that if I really did want to meet them, I very much could have. That would’ve been the part where Abdullah would’ve told me, “Who said you are only attending? You are in Los Angeles and you met them.” If I had that desire in my heart, I would’ve remembered to remain faithful to that even after the giveaway had ended. Remember that it always comes down to persistence and brazen impudence when it comes to whatever it is that you really want. Know what you want and reject anything that isn’t it. Nothing more, nothing less.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little success story of mine and you can learn a thing or two from it. I know I’m always here providing advice to the best of my ability and this particular success story attests to the fact that I practice what I preach to you all. I’ve also told you guys before that when you all start having successes of your own, your faith in the law will only grow more and more. I speak from experience!

So my advice to you from this story, as I always have advised:

Know what you want. Have a clear idea of your desire.

Facts aren’t important. The 3D isn’t important.

Go straight to the end. You don’t need to become conscious of things in steps. (This is why I focused on being in LA and not on winning the giveaway.)

Have faith. Always walk by faith and not by sight.

The takeaway is to not worry about the how in the slightest, only concern yourself with what the end of your wish fulfilled looks like. It is yours if you truly want it. Focus on the end only, not anything in between. If you know circumstances don’t matter and you are limitless, that you don't need to worry about the how, the when, the why or the if, the only relevant question you should be asking yourself is the following:

Do you want it?

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wondermacaroni · 14 days

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Happy 4/13!! Since I’ve been posting group doodles lately, it was obligatory that we draw something to celebrate. Mine is in green (except for the shading, lol). Some thoughts on my history with Homestuck and my reread of the comic with friends are under the cut.

I’ll say preemptively, forgive me if the paragraph spacing is wonky. I don’t post a lot of big text posts, if any at all, so I have no idea if this will show up in a bearable to read format or not. Anyways.

I first read Homestuck on an early morning in April, soon before that year’s 4/13 and a little ways out from my 14th birthday in late May. I hadn’t slept at all that night, and my normal internet circles had slowed to a crawl as the sun began to rise. Bored out of my mind and too energized to sleep, I decided it was finally time to check out that one webcomic that I had seen some people post cool art for.

To keep it simple, I had a pretty big scare in the family that same day I started reading. Everything ended up and has been just fine regarding that, but I think it cemented Homestuck in my mind as a way to process things somehow. Now that I’m about to graduate college, I’ve returned to needing to process things, and of course, my way to process it.

So, one night a month or two ago, I’m looking into some Homestuck browser game (shoutouts to Wigglersim) when my friend asks what it’s about. I get a little clammy, but I do mention the game, Homestuck and all. Imagine my surprise when they ask for a link to check it out as well.

I could hear the interest egging me on like the Green Goblin mask at that point.

Over the next few days, we went from the browser game, to the doll maker, to installing the collection, to almost-nightly streams of our read-along with the comic. It has been a BLAST so far. Sure, we probably could have blazed through on our own much faster. But having someone there to break things down and engage with, especially for a work like Homestuck, has made the whole ordeal even more enjoyable overall.

To be honest with you, I could never really get myself to reread Homestuck before then. I had the collection installed on my laptop but I could never get past some feeling of shame that came with opening it, or even looking at it for too long. Even when I had finally forced myself to get comfortable with Homestuck Posting or die trying, the thought of fully reengaging and not dwelling in the bliss of memories was a little too much.

Having a friend there, one who has been willing to engage despite it all, has made the reread much less daunting. Despite all of my warnings of the future like a frenzied oracle, I’ve been able to expose that long-hidden soft spot after all these years. It’s like unclenching your jaw, in a way.

The time we’ve spent taking it all in has REALLY spurred us to put something out lately as well. Every turn of the New Year, my friends and I boot up a group canvas and collaborate on one big slab of doodles. Lately though, I’ve been wanting to do that a lot more, and so have my friends. With the reread, I finally decided to rip off the bandage and do something I hadn’t really done as a teen first reading through Homestuck— I decided to make some fanart.

It felt like uncorking champagne. Though it was probably more akin to uncorking sparkling grape juice. Whatever. I hadn’t done it, I did it, and it felt GOOD to do it. You get it. If nothing else, waiting to draw that fanart for eight some odd years meant that I didn’t have any old drawings to painfully reflect on, for better or for worse.

I don’t like doing much other than lurking. However, with all of the drawings we had made, it’d be a shame not to share them beyond like ten people. My friend started posting some, to some really surprising amounts of engagement, at least for us. I followed in suit for support, and I’ve seen much of the same myself. It’s intimidating to be perceived, but it has been nice to shake hands with the community from the other side of my normal lurking perspective. Thank you meowrails fans for your support, maybe I’ll cook again soon, who knows?

We’ve now gotten to the point in the comic where this reread just becomes a read, and right before 4/13. I never finished the comic past the second Alterniabound flash, though I’ve picked up on little spoiler things here and there. I’m excited, I’m nervous, I can’t wait to see what horrible ick I’ll get next.

With streaming this to my friend, I have accidentally convinced more friends to look into Homestuck as well. The network slowly grows, and with it, another ticket is reserved for a group movie night of Con Air. I can’t wait to see how it goes.

Anyways, that’s all for my yapping. Have a happy 4/13, consider a reread with friends, and thank you for your interest in my lecture if you’re reading or skimming through this.

#homestuck #413 #john egbert #man I’m sorry I just have a lot to say #homestuck posting in the house tonight

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voidvoidvoidvoidvo · 4 months

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crying saint posting (+inv that one time)!! cringey rant about my reading of their character + one bonus drawing below the cut!!

ive always had trouble with saint as a character. at first i couldn't figure out a design for them, then i didn't know what kind of personality they would have. and i used to lean more towards a cold, uncaring saint. maybe even evil perhaps?? but that never really clicked for me i think.

and so i started thinking, specifically after i sketched the first artwork here. hey what if. what if saint was actually painfully empathetic. what if they genuinely loved every part of the word surrounding them. what if ascending creatures pretty much against their will brings saint pain. what if seeing a limp body where a lively creature determined to survive was a second before simply breaks their heart a little.

and you know what i prefer that version of saint a lot more than the uncaring one. i like to think that maybe they were forced to do their job. perhaps by the void worm they tried to ascend, even though believing that would probably be akin to believing in a crack theory. but hey. that's not all. what if actually it is their fully conscious decision. imagine this is the only way they can get out of their cycle. and they tried, they tried hard to avoid that way, but after so long they're just painfully tired. so with a heavy heart they do end up ascending creatures. maybe over time in either of those scenarios they manage to convince themselves that ascension really is the best way out for everyone. or maybe that's a totally separate scenario where this was what motivated them to start doing what they do.

i just find something very compelling about a critter destined to bring death that doesn't actually want to do it because of crushing love they have for everything around them, but that does it anyway because it feels forced to do so for various reasons.

so basically, i just really like crying saint. the end :)

#rain world #rainworld #slugcat #rw spoilers #rw saint #rw godmode #briefly anyway-#i can also very much imagine them hugging iterators and other slugcats. if those even exist besides them still #what the fuck is wrong with this posts formatting on pc???

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assortedvillainvault · 3 months

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It's a bit of a random question, but I'm simply curious, how did you start falling in love with the Horned King/what's your origin story with him? Only if you want to share it of course^^ Feel free to also just generally gush or ramble about him!

(also btw I think it's awesome that we share him as an f/o now, I think subconsciously I already knew for a while that I'd fall for him eventually, it was just a matter of time he's just too gorgeous💕)

Ok this ask has given me the warm fuzzies for several weeks so thank you and I guess I should probably answer this now huh -

(also every time someone else pops up who f/o's him I'm Absolutely Delighted and am so glad I helped facilitate your decent into lich simpery)

I'll do IRL and self insert shenanigans, so IRL first:

- the first time I watched the black cauldron I'd be ...about 8 or 9?

- one thing you sincerely must understand about me is that I am, unapologetically, unequivocally, unexpectedly....a weenie.

- much as I adore the spooky and the strange, any film that veers into remotely scary territory, or horror in general, that shit scars me down to the cellular level.

- Power to everyone who can disengage/absorb that stuff healthily because I sure as fuck don't and doubt I ever will. Anyway.

- mum buys me the black cauldron and thinks nothing of it. It's Disney, right?

- anyway yeah uh suffice to say boy golly gee I'd never seen *that* many skeletons animated before. Think my little brother started crying at some point.

- but honestly, something about the films mad dichotomy of attempted cutesy fantasy with grim dark backdrop and off kilter humour enamoured me. And I found myself wanting *more* of the dark parts of the film.

- (still early the full cauldron born scenes were cut. So goddamn salty)

- the Horned King became a lynchpin of fascination, something about his eerie voice, his apathetic yet menacing mannerisms and his degraded appearance really drew me in. Esp his summoning and death scenes.

- I think I started drawing skeletons soon after and they're still the easiest thing for me to draw.

- over decade later when I was depressed as all fuck, I rewatched the film and found myself only really enjoying his scenes, in part because he was the only relatable villain to me at the time. (Eternally tired, quietly dramatic, quick to anger and dismissal. A smorgasbord of things to distract myself from feeling like I was actively decomposing too at the time. Brains are wild.)

- now I like to imagine quietly helping him get to a better place same as I've managed to do :) who needs therapy when you have imaginary lich time.

As for self insert funky times:

- rather than imagining myself in the dark ages, mostly because despite living in the UK my knowledge of that time period is just awful, I imagine a modern setting

- crucially tho the events of the film still happened exactly as shown.

- in this setting my s/I has moved to Wales and accidentally rediscovered the -broken- cauldron, and the remains of the castle. Time itself rusted the old thing and it cracked, letting HK's disheveled soul slip free.

- my S/I is an amateur ecologist, with interest in geology and paleontology and history. (So just me. Straight up me. I can't even pretend here) Once she figures out she's effectively haunted, HK's presence is akin to a field day.

- will she attempt to resurrect him properly? Eh who knows. Maybe. I'm a real fucking sucker for ghosts, esp partial possession or soul bonds.

- magic exists still in this setting, it's just mostly forgotten and thus dismissed. Of course my s/I has latent magic because of course, and I love the idea of HK teaching her as a pseudo bonding activity.

- love just watching HK be bamboozled and overwhelmed by the modern world too. Show this lich a toaster someone-

- very low stakes very chill, just two lonely fools trying to rebuild their 'lives' together. Probably the most weirdly cottage core of my selfships if I'm honest. With more dead things.

So yeah that's pretty much it! Thanks again for the lovely ask, and feel free to tag me in anything lich related 🥰

#thalassa responds #disney villains #the horned king #selfshipping shenanigans #not my first f/o but probably my most consistent!

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 1 year

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Hello dear! For the kissing prompts I was thinking 20 &/or 69 with Stephen & your OC Hope please, if you’d like.

(Thank your for the prompt - I tried my best, my friend. I hope you will find Hope well represented, as it's told from Stephen's pov. It might be kind of stilted and tropey, but fingers crossed that in the end, it hits the right notes!)

Stephen Strange x Hope Collins (OFC)

established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, 1.4k words

kissing prompts #20 - hand kisses and/or #69 – kissing your lover so gently, worried that if you pull away for just one second, they might disappear

Stephen Strange was leading a great life. Better then he’d ever imagined could be possible. He was doing work that he absolutely loved--and believed in his bones had always been his destiny. Sure, the hours were long and unpredictable, and his responsibilities invariably lead him into mortal danger, but he had found a true and fulfilling purpose. And despite the miseries and loneliness, the overwhelming darkness and constant deprivation of all things good and human, which he had suffered in his lonely quest for the path to victory over Thanos, Stephen was happier than he’d ever been in his life.

For beyond the fulfillment he took in his capacity of Sanctum Master and a leader among the ancient Society of the Mystic Arts, he was no longer alone. He’d found a helpmate—of sorts, anyway, for his woman was not actually an initiate of Magic—whose love for him was unfailing. Who accepted the vagaries and daily uncertainties of life at his side with an ease borne of her love for him. Which included five years of having loved him in absentia without any hope that he might someday return.

Not that Hope didn’t worry about him when he headed off into danger or fret for his safety when he was overdue and hadn’t been in touch to let her know he was still alive and well. She had accepted such things as part of the package, always showing him a face of calm and confidence when he departed, and then only understated relief upon his return.

Of course, Stephen knew Hope well enough to understand how she kept most of her very normal misgivings to herself for his sake—and loved her all the more for it, while doing his best in whatever way he could, to minimize her need to worry. While she did her best to make the Sanctum more than his responsibility and living space. Hope’s love and dedication had made the Sanctum very much his hearth and home. Turned the rooms of his suite warm and cozy and sheltering, thus as close to a normal home as a Sanctum Master might ever know.

Their reunion in the months following The Return had blossomed into the sweetest, most natural, romantic relationship of Stephen’s life—and six months later they were going strong, and though Hope still maintained her little studio apartment midtown, for all intents and purposes she had taken up residence as much in his home as in his heart. In addition to being Guardian of the New York Sanctum, Stephen was often called away for days or even a week or so at a time, as their Reality—first so badly broken by Thanos and then abruptly restored in an event of cosmic proportions—required diligent attending to, and Masters of the Mystic Arts the whole world over had their share to do in shoring up and cracks or fissures that followed as slowly diminishing irregularities in the fabric of existence. But Hope had a full enough life of her own as an Art Therapist and teacher (taking the occasional commission, while drawing and painting for pleasure) that she came to think of Stephen’s absences akin to business trips with the unavoidable, added element of peril. And thus their life went on.

Though content beyond all previous measures, Stephen still knew more than a Master’s share of stress and worry, and both physical and mental exhaustion. Not unlike throughout his years as the nation’s foremost neurosurgeon. In those days, he had worn a seeming impenetrable armor of invulnerability, hiding what he considered weaknesses from the world. He had only ever allowed Christine Palmer to catch glimpses behind that façade, but in general he bore such things stoically and on his own. Invariably, they’d find an outlet of expression--since his sister Donna’s death in the summer before he left for college, Stephen periodically suffered stunningly realistic, soul-searing nightmares. He would awaken in terror, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, shaken to his core. But in the aftermath, like a pressure cooker venting steam, he would find equilibrium enough to carry forward with less of a burden. For a time.

Tonight’s nightmare was a doozy. Extra painful. And a visitation back to the 14 million timelines he had experienced in his quest to save half of all life on Earth and in the Universe. In an unending parade, Stephen found himself powerless to save the soul most dear to him. Watching Hope die vicious, violent deaths over and over again—deaths which he had endured--while Thanos himself presented the cruelest choice which Stephen’s subconscious could conceive of: save the girl or save the universe. You can never have both, Stephen Strange, the mad Titan intoned with each iteration, and how will you live with yourself either way?

Stephen lost track of how many timelines he looped through. His dream-self begged for Thanos to relent, offering his own life up in place of the choices before him. He heard Hope crying out for help, crying out his name again and again, and it hurt like nothing in his waking life ever had, for he knew he was doomed to pick the greater good. The bitter taste of self-hatred filled his mouth. Despair filled his veins. He cried out hoarsely in the midst of his nightmare, calling upon the Vishanti for mercy—and so intense was his plea, that he cried out in reality as well.

A dear voice filled with concern, a cool hand on his brow, broke through the miasma that held him tight. “Stephen, please…it’s a nightmare…you’re…you’re dreaming, darling. I swear it’s not real. Open your eyes…open them please, and come back to me…” Hope leaned above him, shaking him gently, the ends of her hair skimming across his shoulder.

Like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, her urgent, loving voice tugged him up from the dreadful depths of his fears. He snapped open his eyes to discover her face hovering over his. Marveling at the tracks of her tears juxtaposed against her soft, relieved smile, Stephen cupped her cheek. “What can I do? How can I help you, darling?” she whispered, turning her head slightly to kiss his palm. In the very way she had on the night they’d met and shared their first kisses. “This is the worst of them in months, isn’t it? Please…I’d do anything to help you, Stephen. Just tell me what to do.”

Stephen let out a slow breath while tracing the edge of his thumb along her cheekbone. Mesmerized by the pure power of the love in her eyes. “Them,” he croaked, “Months? This isn’t the first time you've been here when the nightmares came?”

Hope simply shrugged and looked down a moment. “I wanted to ask each time it happened before, but by the morning you always appeared…unscathed. If you didn’t remember, I didn’t want to remind you.” She raised her eyes again and a sweet furrow of determination stood between her brows. “But you shouldn’t try to hide this from me anymore. I want to know everything. Because you’re not alone and you don’t need to bear whatever this is, alone.”

“I should do that,” he conceded, realizing the truth. That he wasn’t doomed to perpetual solitude. That he’d found someone with a strong enough heart to stand strong for him when he was weak. “It’s a ridiculous force of habit that I haven’t already.”

Hope pursed her lips prettily and then told him, “It certainly has been, Stephen Strange. Not your first, and I’m sure not your last…” She took his free hand and brushed her lips across his knuckles, “And there’s no better time than the present.”

“How about we compromise, honey,” he asked, sliding the hand on her cheek along to thread his fingers in her hair, “In the morning, over breakfast, with the sunshine lighting your eyes the way I love…and after a good night’s rest?” She parted her lips to begin a reply, but by then Stephen had lowered her face close. To kiss Hope softly. Patiently. Ever so gently. And as though if he were to let her go for even a second, she would be as the stuff of dreams—too flattering sweet to be substantial.

Hope’s kiss, though, was proof of her promise. That he needn’t face his future or his fears alone ever again.

for more about Stephen and Hope:

'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (how they met; light & fluffy)

14,000,604 (angst, hurt/comfort, romance, passion, smut)

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, or reblogging with a comment. The only way an author’s work can be seen by a wider audience depends on YOU.💗

buy me a coffee?☕

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fantomette22 · 1 year

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For OCs asks... Isn't it your OC on your icon? Can you tell us more about them?

Ah Lucen Venator ! My beloved hunter <3 (I called my tarnished Lucen too, I might used that name for everyone lol but it's not exactly the same character either hehe ^^)

(drawing made by PaperAcolyte/Chess Albaneze on Instagram by the way. A really nice and sweet person who's making one of the best bloodborne comic to date!)

Alright so lil Lucen really try to be a kind soul but have seen some serious shit in his life (cf scars + last survivor origins initially but I arranged myself so that a lot of origin could actually fit him). What I mean is that he's more a summon helper than an invader XD I put a bit of myself in him. He's probably gonna ascend to become a great one but in the scenario where he would do the "Yharnam sunrise ending" he would ended becoming the next Crow.

He got black hair and silver? eyes. And actually more than just one scar on the face. Oh and I guess they/them is fine too? And If I had a female hunter I would probably have called her Lucen as well so

He's like the only characters with a complex family tree including both OC and really obscure characters from the lore of Bloodborne too. (I finally have an excuse to talk about it let's go !) (of course it's just my imagination and doesn't repose on anything)

Ok so first you have his grandad (that I call Mr Venator or just Venator because I didn't found a name yet) he's a a foreigner who came to Yharnam as a prospector originally and then became an old hunter. (He probably never met his grandson too... probably died way before 😢)

He had a son (Lucen's dad) that accompanied him but he was a child/young teenager when they came at Yharnam. But he hang up around the workshop & with other hunter and that's how he met the brother of his future wife and well, his future wife.

Now Lucen's mother (that's where the family tree get tricky XD) so she's from Yharnam? I think. she's from a servant family of Cain or smt akin too. She was a kid too during the beginning of the hunters and all (like before the hamlet/just after).

BUT she had an older brother/half brother (Lucen's uncle) who's an illegitimate Cainhurst/noble child. Maria took him under her wings and he became an old hunter (probably the youngest too, he was a teen). That GUY stayed a hunter and kinda rejected cainhurst who wanted him to become a knight and he's even the one who took care of the workshop after Gehrman went into the dream. And oh yeah he ended up becoming the beast possessed soul of the workshop...💀 (the freaking drama I know! I need names for everyone too ahhhh)

AND (it's not finished) that hunter is also... vileblood drifter Leo half brother too! (I know I said it was complex) (Leo, who's probably a cousin/relative of Bloody Crow too. Crow's dad is another one of my oc too but that will be for another time lol).

Here's the family tree so you might understand better. With the simplified version and a more complex version (i'm sorry it's a mess... I might changed it one day...or not)

Anyway in my hc / one of my story all this lil squad : Lucen's parents (with his mom being like 8 months pregnant of him at the time...) his uncle and lil (emo teen young adult) Crow have been basically saved/hid by Gehrman when the church attacked Cainhurst. (I have lots of thoughts about it ! Lucen's uncle and Leo even reconcile in it wow)

Just imagining the following scene make me laugh all the time XD :

Laurence at the workshop : Gehrman what are you doing ??

Gehrman : Me ? Nothing I'm just having tea with some friends. Didn't you tell me you were busy with the mess at Cainhust or smt...

Imagined around the table you have like the doll, 2 anxious/scared future parents (with the dad being hurt because he was almost crucified at Hemwick), Crow (Voron) who's on the point of annihilated Laurence and the hunter (Lucen uncle) holding him back...

After that Lucen's family quit Yharnam. (Except his uncle who stayed/came back. And Crow who might have went with them? but ended up coming back a bit later too. I would never have thought crow would have been linked that much with my hunter... wtf)

Oh and i forgot to mention... when the Moon Presence was beckon... a child was born under the pale moonlight...far away from Yharnam... I let you guess who that was 👀

(I don't have that much bloodborne oc really... ok maybe besides them, the cainhurst ocs (the knight, crow? and a few others (I need names too) and if you don't count the king, Caryll, Dores, dores, gatekeeper, Archi & Paarl + some the corpses we see in game we know like 2 things about I guess the only other legit oc is like Gehrman's dog lmao XD)

Update : By the way it's pronounced LuSSen /LuÇen

#my asks #lucen venator #paleblood hunter #good hunter #original characters #bloodborne headcanons #so even if he's not blood related he's indirectly related to Leo. to crow to the royal guard oc and Maria I guess lmao XD #originally I wanted to put Leo in crow family but that didn't quit fit with the other family I had in mind so...#don't ask me how I made that up I have no idea #i am so sorry the family tree is a mess #all the stuff including crow are quite recent it's because of my mutual fault !!! <3 I hated the guy and now I'm like oh what if #he met my oc when he was a baby lol XD

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Hello hello! I’ve been thinking about elucien (as normal), and want to know what you think:

I love that both Lucien and Elain are skilled with people, and can influence and barter with others with seamless ease. I often wonder how—or who—will recognize this talent in the other first. And then, draw the similarity between them.

Will Elain observe Lucien, and find him awe-inspiring? Will she even realize that what he does is akin to what she does? How will it make her feel—strangely warm, giddy? Or afraid? Cautious? Will it draw her to him, whether she realizes it or not?

Or will Lucien see it first—see this talent and marvel at what she does. Will it make him happy, to see pieces of her—really her—shining through the facade she maintains? Will he recognize it for what it is, and the similarity to himself? Will he be the one giddy and warm, or cautious and afraid? Will he see it and think she does not need me? Or will it motivate him to see her more, to pull more of that true Elain outward, and let her shine?

As I write, I’m quite confident that should Lucien see it first, he’d definitely become wind beneath her wings (😉) and encourage her to do that more. But Elain? I’m unsure…and perhaps, that uncertainty is why Elain will notice Lucien’s talent first. Because she’s more uncertain about him and the bond, and how both make her feel. What she would like to do about them.

Anyways, I’m curious to what you think!

🧼💖

Hello NTSSM!!! I hope all is well in your world ❤️ You know......I almost wonder if this isn't something Elain already notices about Lucien. Maybe not to the full extent that you've described but she's been witness to some of the conversations he's had with the members of the IC (including when he began discussing what was going on in the human lands with Vassa and Jurian). But because no one really asks her opinion and she tends to sit quietly around him right now, he's not gotten a full glimpse of how capable she can be in that regard. But she has heard him speak in a way that proves his capabilities. She's seen him seamlessly integrate himself within the IC though they were originally uncertain about him. And I imagine it's another one of those things that make her even more frustrated with herself because there's no way she's not somewhat impressed by those things and she doesn't want to be because she's trying not to want him. When Elain finally has her moment to shine, I think Lucien is going to be stunned (and absolutely smitten as a result) to see how influential his Mate can actually be. I'm so excited for Elain to finally come alive in her book. Lucien too. Even if Elain is somewhat aware of Lucien's skills and he's gotten glimpses of who Elain is under her reserved demeaner, I think they're going to be amazed by one another when they've finally let their guards down and are in their elements. I'm just really excited for their story and their interactions with other characters (from a political standpoint). Rhys and Feyre were very savvy in that regard but there was always a level of mistrust coming from the other High Lords, humans, etc when interacting with them (because of the centuries Rhys spent playing the role of "evil" High Lord). Eluciens interactions with other Courts will have such a different feel considering SJM has told us how well liked they both are. P.S. We're still talking about the owl box idea! The only thing holding us back at the moment is we have this chipmunk that seems to have made a home close to our house and we see him running back and forth all the time. We're a little worried about his fate if we try to bring owls around😂

#pro elucien #elucien #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro elain archeron

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grumpy-zane · 2 years

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Limon of the sandy sea ‘Long Time no See’ Ft. Pixal + Cryptor

Cyrus had offered her the keys to a number of different vehicles to travel through, over, and under the desert, but she declined them all. She didn’t want to draw a lot of attention to herself, so the safest bet would be to take the train and hope for the best.

She was just visiting a friend, after all. Well, the term ‘friend’ was being generous.

It was the off season, meaning that not many tourists would be showing up to visit, which was perfect for her. No need to be annoyed by people asking for handouts or trying to pull her into spending more money than she needed to, it would just be the normal residents and the wranglers.

She stepped off the train and headed up the stairs to the wide open outside, the sun greeting her harshly with its wobbly rays. Pixal immediately locked eyes with the wrangler who was stationed nearby, “I’m looking for an android named ‘Cryptor’, he said he was here?”

“Ah, I know that one, he typically works the night shift at the tavern. He resides on the east wing of residence, try the address 0403.” The wrangler informed, “my friend and her friend rooms with him.”

Pixal had meandered between the houses made of wood and carved sandstone, their roofs painted light colors to keep the heat out and their sides decorated with various charms and ornaments. Some she recognized as insignias the serpentine used, others were more akin to regional symbols, drawn and built in sun-bleached colours. The house with the address ‘0403′ had a collection of symbols, the one with 3 dots in a ring she recognized immediately.

Her first inclination was to knock, but after that didn’t work she decided to send him an alarm. The loud ringing muffled through the wall, followed by a shout and fumbling. After a pause, the door in front of her practically tore off the hinges, “Can’t I get some damn sleep for once in my life!?” Cryptor seethed, glaring at her.

Pixal shrugged, “I was not aware that you *needed* to sleep.”

His left eye twitched, “I do now.” The two stared long and hard, enough time for him to calm down and roll his eyes, “Fine, come in.”

The door hissed as it slowly closed behind the two. He turned around to open up the inner window as Pixal stepped in more and took in the surroundings. Small TV propped in a corner on a tall shelf, radio set squarely on the coffee table as the main form of entertainment, work attire hung up on wall hooks, and a few doorways stemmed around leading to the back, kitchen, and bedroom. She took a peak in at the two beds that were shoved against the wall, a hammock hung from between them by the posts. Peculiarly, the source of power for the house came from a battery that currently had hair dryers laying around it. “Snooping?” Cryptor asked in a snarky tone.

“It is much more vacant and small than I predicted your living quarters to be. Quite the opposite of what I imagined you to look like.” She turned to him and smiled with an equal ego.

He frowned and looked down at himself, “You insult my appearance, your dear daddy’s handiwork?”

“No, I did expect you to look clunky,” She knocked on his translucent parts, the goop behind the malleable plastic swirling, “but not nearly as green.”

“That’s what happens when you die, you turn green.” He folded his arms and walked past her, sitting in the hammock and sinking in. “Though I suppose if your name is Zane, you don’t get that luxury.” Cryptor snorted. “How is he anyway?”

That took her by surprise, “I gave you his number, which you promptly-”

“Which I promptly blocked’ yes because he’s annoying.”

“He is doing fine.” She answered, deciding to sit on one of the beds, “As are the rest of the ninja. I did not visit to talk about them, however. I came to see how you were doing, and to tell you that dad does not appreciate you ignoring his messages.”

“Ah, I see, he sent his little girl to be the courier. Well tell Cyrus I don’t need him monitoring me. Tell him he’s too nice, and he doesn’t *have* to be my dad.”

Another line that surprised her, but perhaps it was easier for him to be more curt over texts than in person. Though, Cryptors hesitance to tell Cyrus that himself was more telling anything. Pixal smiled, knowing well a more heart-felt response would only annoy him, “He wants to make sure that his creation is function as intended. You are his first functioning attempt at a vessel-like design, he would like to know how much effort it takes to possess it, and if the sand has done any damage to your rotors.”

Cryptor threw a dismissive hand out as he blew out some air, his eye looking about as the gears turned in his head. “It is effortless,unless in the presence of water. When I sleep, I tend to fall out of it however, but I never worry about anyone moving my body. It’s far too heavy for that.” he snorted, hitting the reinforced alloy on his shoulder, “The sand has done some wear, but it is nothing I have not found any solutions for. If this is his excuse for me to come back, he will have to try harder than that.”

“May I take a look?” Pixal stood up.

He clenched his fists, “No. Your distrust in me is not appreciated.”

“You have a habit of inflating or dismissing the truth based on circumstance, Cryptor, my distrust in your words is not unwarranted.” She pointed out, to which he sighed.

“Fine, I may have had a few gears replaced already, but I don’t want to go to the city unless the ninja aren’t going to be there. I don’t need them jumping to conclusions, and I don’t need them knowing I’m alive either.”

Pixal frowned, “Then now would be the best time. They are planning on heading here for a vacation after I had suggested it.”

He squinted, “Wonderful.”

#ninjago #Limon of the sandy sea #pixal #cryptor

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your-god-empress-lavender · 8 months

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Okay, first off, i fucking hate that the little bar thing is on the side of my screen, not the top where it's supposed to be.

Second, i'm finally settled in my dorm which is great.

Third and what i came here to talk about is that i think, based on the reaction conditions and the findings detailed in a lot of the books on superconductors i've been reading recently, that the (hopefully STP superconducting) compound i produced (described in earlier posts) is in fact not using Cu+ as @mercurialbadger proposed but instead using Cu3+. It would be similarly if not more unstable in moist air, would be produced in the highly basic conditions, and apparently would be more favorable to the sort of molecular distortion that's expected to produce superconductivity than either Cu+ or Cu2+. I'm still not sure about much of this, especially since borate chemistry is kinda wild, but i further suspect that this compound has a crystal structure akin to the modified perovskite structures seen in other copper ion superconductors. Now, that might imply that Ca2+ is an important part of this, possibly acting like the Ba2+ in YBCO (perhaps following the trend of the smaller ions increasing Tc?) and similar high Tc superconductors, or perhaps it's an A3+ and B3+. I suppose it's obvious that i am still not super familiar with the field, especially since i'm drawing comparisons to YBCO despite the fact that the copper is only present in very small quantities, instead of representing 1/2 of all the present metal ions.

Anyway, all in all, little to add except that i will now finally be continuing research (hopefully with much better equipment) and i suspect the Cu is present in its 3+ state as opposed to the 1+ which was suggested earlier (naturally, i will still see whether the copper is truly necessary (i suspect it is, and can't imagine why it wouldn't be, but still) and then if it is, to see what oxidation state it's in).

#superconductor (hopefully)#stp sc #college is hard #i'm not even taking classes yet but the social aspect tho #also the literature says that fe3+ *should* be better?#like it apparently acts in ways that would make it an appealing candidate for ternary oxide superconductors?#idk #it sounds a bit off to me #but i might try it anyway #byeeeeeee

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n0bamak1s · 3 years

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whisper of the heart- megumi fushiguro x reader

summary: you begin to take notice of the name “megumi fushiguro” on all the tops of your library checkout cards. a semi-retelling of whisper of the heart featuring you and megumi. (genre: fluff, high school au, meet cute)

warnings: none! except maybe slightly ooc megumi

word count: 3.2k

a/n: hi everyone! ty all again for being so patient with me publishing this. i’ve been very busy with college apps lately, but i’m gonna try to keep this blog as active as i can while balancing it with school life. anyways, i had a lot of fun writing this, but i’m definitely not used to writing megumi, so feel free to leave feedback ^^ i also changed some details from the original movie and left it a bit open ended, so feel free to let me know if you want a part 2!

“who the hell is megumi fushiguro?”

your gaze was fixed on the faded ink reading the now all too familiar characters. the characters spelling out a name that managed to keep showing up on the yellow tinted checkout cards tucked into the books you borrowed.

nobara glanced over your shoulder, inspecting the piece of cardstock tucked between your fingers. wrinkling her nose in disgust, she plucked the card from you, holding it closer to her face.

“whoever it is, they have terrible handwriting.” she stuck her nose up, turning back to you with a playful smile. “i don’t know how you managed to get ‘megumi fushiguro’ out of that chicken scratch.” a face of mock distress crossed her features as she did air quotes around the name, as if she couldn’t believe such a delicate name would be given to someone with such handwriting. she’s always had a tendency to be a bit over dramatic about trivial stuff like this.

with nothing more than a huff in response, you snatched back the card, tucking it neatly back into your library book. your fingers grazed the worn down cover for a moment, gliding along the slight tears around the corners and the stiffness of the yellowing pages.

‘i wonder how many of these creases came from megumi fushiguro?’

“whoever it is, it seems like that name shows up in every book i check out in the library.”

nobara kicked a rock as she walked, leaving a small cloud of dust around her feet. “maybe you’re just imagining it. you always stay up so late doing whatever the hell it is you do in your free time that you’ve probably begun to hallucinate.” she nudged you playfully, eliciting a dead pan expression from you.

“i’m serious nobara. i mean, i’ve never really believed in fate but there’s no way it’s completely coincidental!”

she raised an eyebrow, as if to say you can’t be serious. “i think you’ve been reading too many romance novels, for all you know this person could totally be just some weird old guy with nothing better to do than visit the library.”

“hey!” you acted as if that last bit was a personal attack on you, and knowing nobara it probably was. “i’m not saying this megumi fushiguro person is my soulmate or anything, i just think it’s a very strange coincidence.” you shrugged off your backpack as you talked, putting away your book. noticing the suspiciously light weight of your bag, you rummaged your fingers around for a moment to find that your sketchbook had gone missing.

crap.

nobara turned to you, perceptive as ever of your suddenly altered demeanor. “forget something again?” it was almost annoying sometimes how well she knew you. was it really that obvious?

“just my sketchbook,” your hands rifled through your bag one final time to make sure you really didn’t have it “probably left it on the park bench or something, it’ll just be a minute to get it.” you turned to her with a sheepish smile, silently pleading her to follow you there. she stared blankly at you for a moment, probably having one of her internal monologues about how lucky you were to have her as a friend, before rolling her eyes and following suit.

“this better be quick, i have places to be you know!”

“no you don’t.” you turned around before you could meet her melodramatic glare.

behind you, you could hear her huff of dissatisfaction, though she made no move to leave, reassuming her position next to you, giving you a gentle nudge as she brushed next to you.

as you walked, the sunlight peeking between trees framing your pathway began to warm your face, highlighting the ends of your eyelashes and the tops of your cheeks with the warm glow of the first hints of summer time. for a moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped in it, before your fleeting thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bike coming in your direction. you felt as if you’d jump out of your own skin in that moment, hearing a “move out of the way!” from a husky, disembodied voice.

it probably looked pretty ridiculous how you jumped out of the way, kicking up a fleeting cloud of dust as you avoided the sudden presence of the biker. grounding yourself, your eyes flickered up to the source of the voice, being met with the gaze of stormy blue eyes, framed by long, dark eyelashes that nobara would most definitely be envious of. taking in the boy’s whole figure, your eyes were drawn to the messy black hair atop his head, formed at the ends into contradictorily gentle looking spikes. the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up taut around his forearms, leading your gaze to his hands wrapped tightly around the bike handles.

oh, right. he’s still biking.

you turned your focus back to keeping to your side of the path momentarily, before the sight of your name written atop the sketchbook peeking out of his bag came into your field of vision as he continued to move past you. before you had time to think rationally, you turned to his now retreating form, breaking into a jog, kicking up a few more dust clouds as you did.

ignoring nobara’s incredulous calling of your name, you tried to call to the boy who had no intention of slowing down. “excuse me!” you cupped a hand around your mouth, hoping to project your voice louder. “hey!” the irritation in your voice was clear, but you breathed a small sigh of relief as the bike slowed to a stop, and the spike headed boy turned to your direction.

after an awkward moment of your continued jogging to him while he stood with a blank expression, you stopped in front of him, an accusatory look grazing your features.

“i think you have something of mine.” you tried your best to imitate the confident attitude you always admired from nobara, placing a hand on your hip and using the other one to point to his bag. his gaze followed the direction of where you pointed, his eyebrows raised while the rest of his face remained stagnant.

“oh, this?” he tugged the cardboard covered sketchbook out of the pocket it had been placed in, examining the cover. his eyes flickered between your name written in the top corner, and your currently annoyed looking face, as if he was playing some sort of word association game. you simply nodded in response, anticipation clear in your actions.

as he held out the sketchbook to you, he leaned down so his face was closer to you, as if to tell you a secret, voice low and eyes trained on you. “you should be more careful next time. you’re lucky i’m nice enough to not just steal this from you right now.”

you didn’t have an explanation as to why your heart began to race.

taking your silence as a response, he pushed it into your hands, his fingers brushing against yours gently. “nice drawings by the way, i recognize your friend over there from the portrait you drew of her on the first page.” his face remained stoic as he pointed at nobara, who was tapping her foot in boredom.

face warm from embarrassment, you snatched the sketchbook from where his hands lingered on it, muttering a bitter sounding “thanks” before stalking over to nobara once more, who looked relieved that she’d finally be able to go wherever it was she was going to.

“what an asshole.” you glared at him over your shoulder as he biked away, your gaze lingering a second too long for someone so insistent on hating him. nobara shook her head in response, clearly annoyed at your own obliviousness after witnessing the whole interaction.

a smug smile crossed her soft features. “maybe that’s megumi fushiguro.”

you raised a brow as you glanced at her. “as if!”

despite your insistence on your distaste for the mystery boy, he managed to have flooded your thoughts. ‘he must be using sorcery or something to keep himself on my mind, weirdo.’

still, you couldn’t deny how just a few more of your portraits were accented by ocean blue eyes, or pointed ends to the different mops of hair you sketched. how did you manage to keep attracting mystery people into your life?

when you returned to the library, you gripped a thick science fiction novel, the pages brushing your soft fingers as your marched it up to the checkout counter. as the librarian wrote the date on a small piece of cardstock, you took note of the fact that your name would be the first one there. had megumi fushiguro missed out on this one?

a pleasant smile stretched across your face as the librarian handed the book back to you. scrawling your name at the top of the checkout card, your eyes flickered to a stamp of ink beneath the slot for it.

donated by fushiguro.

of course it was.

the library door squeaked quietly as you pushed it open, one hand on the door, and the other placing your new book in your backpack. zipping it up and throwing it over your shoulder, you were met with the feeling of a dog sniffing your leg. your eyes trailed down to a dog almost akin to a small polar bear brushing its nose against your calf. reaching your hand to scratch softly against the back of his head, you coo gently at the not-so-little little guy.

“what’s got you all by yourself buddy?” an involuntary smile creeps onto your face at how he calms at your pats.

wordlessly, obviously considering this is a dog, he turns and walks a few steps forward, before pausing and tilting just his fur covered face toward you, egging you on to follow him just as you had the other day with nobara. you considered for a moment, before shrugging and giving in to his pretty minimal amount of convincing. nobara would be out getting lunch with maki today anyways, so you could use something to do today. after all, it could be fate.

it was almost as if you were one of those people who walked their dog without a lash, but in reality, it was more like the dog was walking you as it lead you down tall, sidewalk-lined hills and through parks filled with young parents having picnics with their children and couples going on walks. you wondered to yourself if this was a worthwhile excursion, was he just leading you to a dead end, or worse, was he some dog trained by a gang to lure people into danger?

after walking a few minutes more, you found out the spot you were being lead to was, in fact, even worse then both the possibilities you’d been brainstorming in your head, when you were met at the bottom of another hill with the stoic expression of that spike head. his eyes softened at the sight of the dog, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips that quickly vanished as he met your gaze, his eyes hardened in contrast with the bashfulness that shone on his cheeks.

“oh, you found him. thanks for that.” he cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his gaze back to the dog. you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. to be fair though, what did you expect you’d do when you found where the dog was leading you?

“i should probably go.” your usually collected demeanor had been replaced with that of a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. with a stiff wave, you took your leave, turning on your heel.

“wait.” his voice wavered, as if trying to catch himself before he spoke. “i can walk you home if you want. it’s the least i can do after you got him home.” he forced a smile onto his face, though it made him look more constipated than inviting. what happened to the snarky, aloof boy who had handed you your sketchbook just a few days ago?

still, you nodded, lips pressed into a line that you hoped resembled somewhat of a smile. surely, you should have been more worried about his sudden change in demeanor, but the relieved expression on his face seemed to soothe your nerves a bit. he assumed a spot next to you, tucking his hands in his pants pockets.

“your little buddy there lead me all over the city trying to find you, so i don’t exactly know how to get home from here, but maybe you can just lead me to the library.” you turned so you faced him, now aware of the close proximity between you two. nobara would probably laugh in your face if she could witness the moment you paused, stunned by the eye contact he made with you under his thick eyelashes. had you been perceptive enough in the moment, you may have noticed the blush creeping up his face. he nodded his head, which was already tilted down to face you fully, with eyes hazy and lips slightly parted.

“it’s just this way, i’ll show you.” he removed his hand from its pocket to point up the hill that had brought you to him in the first place. you gripped the straps of your backpack and faced in the direction he pointed to obediently, hoping to ignore the weird tension in the air. what could you talk to him about?

before you could continue your internal dilemma, he cleared his throat again. “you seem to like the library a lot, huh?”

by god was this boy terrible at small talk.

“i guess i do, but i don’t know how you came to that conclusion considering i only just brought up the library.” you cocked an eyebrow as you looked at him, probably sounding more annoyed than you’d intended.

he smiled knowingly at you, a hint of disbelief on his features as he raised his eyebrows. “i guess you wouldn’t know since your nose is always buried in a book, but i see you there like every day.”

your eyebrows furrowed so they practically touched, trying to rack your memory for seeing him in the library. “i’m sure i’d be able to recognize you if you did.” you were completely oblivious to the implications of how memorable you found him that laced your statement.

he shrugged nonchalantly. “believe it or not. i even tried sitting down in front of you a few times, but you were always too focused on your books to notice.” his smile was almost bittersweet as you waited by a stoplight. before you could respond, he continued. “it’s kind of admirable though. i think it’s nice that you’re so passionate about your books.”

you took a chance to look at him, really look at him, for the first time since you’d glared at him biking by. he held your gaze, eyes gentle. there was absolutely no way this was the same boy carrying your sketchbook in his bag from a few days ago.

“well if you think i’m so nice, what was with you trying to be all smart about my sketchbook?” ever the stubborn one, you were.

he shrugged his shoulders, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “you really should be more careful of your stuff. i was just letting you know. it’s not like i would have put in that effort for just anyone’s sketchbook. i guess i was just trying to make sure you wouldn’t lose it again. sorry if i offended you.”

the way he was blushing would have made any bypasser believe he’d just asked you to marry him.

“it’s just…” he continued “after seeing you in the library all the time, i thought you were really impressive. i thought if i tried to return your sketchbook, i could impress you too.” he kicked a rock that touched the edge of his sneaker.

“why would you wanna impress me?” your obliviousness was excruciating for the poor boy, though it was completely sincere on your end.

“you know, for someone so smart, you really are dense.” he pursed his lips, feigning annoyance. “and here i was thinking i was so obvious.”

at this point, you were nearing the library, and suddenly desperate to continue this conversation that you would have been dreading at the start of this walk.

“when it was obvious you weren’t gonna look up from your book, i tried checking out as many books as i could to get on your radar.” his smile had a weird hint of sadness behind it. you stayed silent, piecing together facts in your head.

“recognize the name megumi fushiguro?”

oh.

it pained you for a moment to know you’d have to tell nobara she was right.

“you’re megumi fushiguro?” your eyebrows shot up in surprise, mouth slightly agape. he seemed to stifle a laugh at your expression.

“i mean, what were you expecting?” he looked a little too smug for someone who was too scared to talk to you in the library.

“some weird old person, probably.” you shrugged, still with an incredulous look on your face. “i’m glad it wasn’t though.”

“oh?” he really did have a nice smile. “i guess you’re glad it was me then.” even he was unsure of this sudden confidence.

you pondered his question for a moment, but your body moved before your brain did, nodding your head slowly. he seemed to loosen up then, hands out of his pockets again, making you aware of how close you stood to him with the way his fingers brushed yours every few steps. a slight sadness filled your being as you stopped in front of those squeaky library doors that suddenly seemed so uninviting.

“i’ll tell you what then,” he started confidently, juxtaposing the bashful way he avoided eye contact with you all of a sudden “come to the library again tomorrow, and i’ll meet you there. really meet you this time, not just walking past your table. i can show you my favorites there and you can show me yours, it’ll be…fun.” he looked up almost worriedly for your reaction, slightly angry at himself for his sudden shyness, you seemed to have quite the effect on him.

there was a beat of silence, and he almost cut the tension in the air by taking back his request and booking it back home. before he could fully hatch his master escape plan, you reached over to grab his hand, his slender fingers lacing through yours. you gave it a light squeeze, and swore you could feel him jump a little at the contact.

“i’d like that a lot,” you looked in his eyes, which had gone from defensive to doe like in just your five words “megumi fushiguro.” he loved the way his name sounded coming from you. his anticipation cracked into a smile as he squeezed your hand back, and you prided yourself on getting to make him smile again.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, then.” he leaned down slightly as he said it, reminiscent of how he had scolded you about your sketchbook just a few days ago. you nodded in response, unable to stop the giddy smile stretching across your face.

tomorrow couldn’t come any faster.

#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen

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sparxymcfly · 2 years

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Hiiii I know we've never really talked before but I love your blog so much <3

Please ramble about Marty and his relationship with Einstein w/ me it's a crime how much lack of Marty and Einie content there is

So I think Einie is very very protective of Marty and he's the best doggo comforter, like, ever

YOU. YOU DRAW THE MARTY AND DOC HUGS. You've done other things also but I'll be frank you're doing the world a service every time. Actually I don’t recall if I’m following your art account on this one I’m gonna fix that if I’m not. I AM, good. Also I mean hey!! Journey of a thousand miles, friendships start somewhere, yada yada Heya ^^ And it's always so cool to hear people like what I put out! Random nonsense and all.

Einstein and Marty.... oh you have Wonderful taste. Let’s hit this let’s Hit this. I’m gonna use bullet points to hopefully maybe make it more organized <3

I’VE SEEN THAT... or perhaps just made the connection myself when I’ve seen people write or otherwise talk about it, but Einstein lying on top of Marty for comfort and it’s both dog cuddles and akin to a weighted blanket for stress relief/anxiety. Marty passed the Einstein test, we Know this dog absolutely loves this kid- cuddles and protection... yes.

Personally, I like to imagine Einstein is always the first to know when Marty’s arrived. Even past Doc just having, eventually, a general window in mind for when Marty is bound to get there- of course, allowing for obligations Marty’s mentioned, the potential for detention, that kind of thing. Einstein always knows. As far as every time we’ve ever seen him, Einie hasn’t come off as a very vocal dog when there isn’t danger afoot- the terrorists arriving, or Edna.... y’know, in general. Einstein was right <3

But, setting a potential scene- Doc’s working in his lab as per usual, perhaps there’s music playing from the jukebox, and Einstein’s dozing away in his dog bed. Marty’s barely touched the gate and our dear boy Einie’s already sitting up, eyes glued to the door as he waits for Marty to walk inside. How else will he be the first to greet him? Einstein’s never missed a visit and he’s never been wrong. I imagine it’s usually just watching, sometimes walking up to get a pet, but Einie’s got a sixth sense for when Marty’s had a particularly bad day. Even when Marty’s not ready to talk about it yet, Einstein’s at the Ready to sit by for any cuddles, soft fur for petting, and in especially dire circumstances, face licks to help Marty gather himself back up.

I also think Marty absolutely feeds Einstein french fries when they bring back Burger King. He was Einstein’s favorite little guy before then but this was icing on the cake. He pretends to be slick but Doc absolutely knows he’s doing this- the couple weeks he let Marty live thinking he was sneaky were just very amusing.

OH YES AND WALKS. Marty and Einstein on walks is I think just a very good experience. Einstein’s a well-trained dog and doesn’t pull or bark too often, so they’re usually pretty peaceful affairs! I think the funniest mental image is that it’s actually not really Einstein that pulls along to random things or derails the walks, but Marty who will sometimes make an impulsive decision to walk the opposite way today, or take a long way around to burn some energy or because he wants to admire that sick four wheeler again. Einstein follows along obediently of course, because he loves the walks and also because he’s stuck to Marty’s side like glue anyway, this is just a new environment. In my head I can also easily imagine an occasion where Marty might’ve wandered off where he shouldn’t have, or perhaps they stayed out a tad too late, or what have you that led to what could’ve been a dangerous encounter... were it not for dear faithful Einstein being suddenly very scary and loud! Einstein is ride or die and he says it won’t be Marty who dies, so it sounds like anyone who messes with them is sorely out of luck.

Sometimes when Doc is out for whatever reason when Marty arrives after school- perhaps off to pick things up, perhaps just in the backyard- and Marty’s had a bad day, he won’t wait to tell it to Doc. Einstein is a very good listener- he’s listened to Doc’s many many rambles and rants and ‘taken part’ in conversations, and he’s listened to every single name under the sun Marty’s used to describe Strickland, Biff, and any number of other unfortunate encounters of the day. Oh, if dogs could talk. Well, Einstein probably wouldn’t say terribly much, I think he’d still be a bit of a listener.

A boy and his [best friend's] dog :) man this is a really fun thought exercise it’s making me smile a lot.

POV: You are 17 and your heart is soft. Your french fries are forfeit.

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 8/8 [COMPLETED]

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight (final)

"Play the Game" Masterlist

You stood by the door, watching the chaos in your brother’s bedroom as he prepared for his wedding at sunset, waiting for everyone to leave so you can finally speak to him in private. He was, after all, the only one in the family you cared for enough to inform him of your decisions.

People always say you and Gojo were similar. However, those very things that made you alike also set you apart. Besides the platinum white hair and remarkable blue eyes you shared – unique even within the clan – being the absolute obvious, the similarities stopped there.

You siblings were supposed to be akin to one another, but the same things they loved about your brother were the same things people abhorred about you. You and your brother were both prodigies. He was richer than the whole clan, all assets combined being the successful businessman he was ever since he was in his teens. It was as freakish as it was awe-inspiring. You were an artist of great renown with your multi-million dollar pieces and the youngest to have been dubbed as a national artist when you were the same age as him.

But where he basked in fame and acclaim, your prominence was fueled by infamy. Gojo built an empire that served as one of the pillars of the local economy. You produced artistic pieces that inspired execration and controversy. Undeniably brilliant, yes, but absolutely contentious.

Your brother was kind. In fact, he was the best older brother one could ever ask for, and that was not lip service nor was it because of your biases towards him. You can never discount how caring he is to you, how hard he tries to make you happy and how he would go through lengths as to be the idiot just to satisfy your whims. He was just genuinely good-natured although he appeared somewhat insouciant. He had his evil streak, too, which is established in the clan, but his goodness radiated like a light that followed him wherever he went.

However, you have long accepted that your side which reflected Gojo in every way when you were younger had long died. Altruism wasn’t one of your strongest suits and you were only ever affectionate to people you had deep, deep fondness for. And that wasn’t even something common. Even your parents had always been the receiving end of your lackadaisical attitude.

He attracted people, you repelled them. Being surrounded by the good people he called friends was a testament to that no matter how vexing his personality was, and more people want to be near him. Apart from your three friends, you didn't make any more and your school life sucked because majority of your classmates hated you. For what, you didn't know. You don’t think you will ever understand.

It was your seven-year gap that made all the difference, you liked to think. It was much easier to swallow than the concept of the whole cosmos conspiring to create two creatures to be equals but of the opposite nature. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be that way, but you will always be the one looking up to him regardless if you did not choose the same path as his; regardless of whether there were no comparisons with what either of you endeavored to do.

And above everything else, you loved Satoru very much.

“Got a minute?” You began, standing before him in front of the mirror. It was rather annoying watching him struggle with the cufflinks, and you didn’t think he would manage to fix the bowtie still hanging loosely on his neck. Thus, you thought of taking charge. “Give it here.”

Gojo was surprised, but he was nonetheless happy. He wore his heart on his sleeve after all, and you could only guess it was that vulnerability he risked showing that attracted people to him. You have only learned the intricacies of such a matter recently, something you had to agree with since it all made perfect sense.

“Thank you,” he said, tilting his head to the side, watching you work on his cuffs.

“You’re really getting married, huh?” you began, feeling yourself start to falter, but you have decided. You may not have gotten him the best wedding gift materially speaking, but you swore to let him in on what was going on with you, to be honest with him like you hadn’t been for the longest time. “Who would have known?”

“Am I finally getting that emotional pre-wedding sibling talk?” he asked, walking towards the seats by the window and looking out into the garden.

“You’re getting married, not being sent away to prison. I don’t even understand why this happens during weddings,” you quipped, sighing. “But I guess you could call it that.”

He smiled at you, patting the space beside him. You did as you were told, assuming the spot, but also looking out the window, watching as the organizers made finishing touches to the garden below. No expense was spared to make the occasion as perfect as it could get. You couldn’t argue with it. Gojo deserved the best, and to him, Utahime did, too.

“I’m waiting,” he said, breaking the silence that had befallen the room. “You’ve been pacing before the door for god knows how long when you should have been getting ready.”

“I got ready much faster than you did.”

“And you look beautiful.” He tilted his head to the side, eyeing you appreciatively. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re all grown up. And what a beautiful woman you’ve become.”

You smirked. “You’re looking at your mirror image after all.”

“Well, there’s that, of course.” He laughed slightly. “But I’m not just saying that because we’re basically the same person. You really are beautiful, baby sis.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, opting for it instead of his usual choice of mussing your hair since it has already been styled for the wedding.

You just shook your head. “Thank you, Satoru.”

“So, what did you want to talk about exactly?”

“The other day…” Your voice trailed off, thinking about what to say. It wasn’t that way before between you and your brother. He was always the easiest person to talk to, always open minded and optimistic about matters. But now that you were going to discuss something that he had vocally opposed, you were a bit scared of saying anything. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do Nanami justice if you decided to hold back now, considering that he was more than ready to speak to your brother.

You’ve both initially decided to sit Gojo down and tell him about your decisions together, but you informed Nanami earlier in the day that you needed to have a proper conversation with him first. It wasn’t just your choice to be with Nanami that was the matter, and you wanted to get things straightened out with Gojo before he gets married.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“You said I don’t talk enough to you; that I don’t tell you things anymore.”

Gojo slowly nodded.

You breathed out. “Things changed. We can’t deny that. I grew up and you…well, you’ve decided you want to spend your life with Iori and build your own family.” Your lips curled up awkwardly as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. It was new territory having such talks with him when you’re used to your easy-going dynamic with him. “I’m scared, too. I mean, I can’t just bother you anytime anymore cause you’ll have your wife and eventually children to pay attention to and prioritize.”

He was taken aback by what you said, immediately drawing closer. “What are you saying, Y/N? You’re my sister. Nothing will change –”

“Our bond will not change, dude, but you have to admit that what I’m saying is true.” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. You beamed at the fact that your fingers were structured in the same tapered manner as his. Even the shape of your fingernails were the same, just that his hands were bigger than your delicate ones. “What I’m saying is that even if you need to do that, I will be fine.”

“Of course, you will be. You’re my sister, and above that, you are your own person, and you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been handling things on your own for as long as I can remember.” He pouted, trying to act cute with you. “It’s disappointing, to be honest, because you’ve never really given me the chance to play my role in your life because you’re always the mature one.”

You were confused now. “What are you on about? You’re my only brother, but I can’t imagine anyone else holding that position in my life. You’re the best I could have asked for. I’ve always looked up to you. You’re my role model.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. The fuck are you so surprised for?” You snickered. “That aside, if you felt like I’ve been leaving you out, that’s not the intention at all. I always want you to be the first one to know what’s going on with my life…”

He clucked his tongue. “I understand you’re not doing it on purpose, kid. I’m just worried that you didn’t think I’m worth telling anything because, well, I’m not exactly a proper adult, am I?”

“You’re realizing that now that you’re about to get married?” you taunted him, jabbing your thumb towards the direction of the garden. “Should I tell Iori to call this whole thing off?”

He waved you aside. “Hey, don’t say that!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, there’s something I wanted to tell you for a while now.”

“How long is a while, exactly?”

“Years and years.” You flashed him a rueful smile. “I just couldn’t figure out how to tell you because I am not exactly sure how you feel about it although you’ve told me many times you were opposed to it. What I’m saying it that, I know that fact, but it’s the motivation behind it that is beyond my knowledge.”

Gojo’s eyes rounded, realizing what you were saying. “Are you…”

You nodded. “Yes, I am talking about Kento.”

He just blinked and stood up, pacing around in front of you for a while that you had to stop him from doing it. He had such a bad habit of doing that when he is in deep thought, and always in front of you, too. He was making you dizzy.

You seized him by the wrist. “Please say something.”

“I…”

“Why are you opposed to it?”

He stopped pacing and faced you, taking you by the shoulders, his eyes starting to water. “Y/N…”

“Oh no, are you gonna cry?”

He furiously blinked his tears back, the action almost comical if it weren’t for the serious look on his face. “Because you are my little sister. You think it will be easy for me to just hand you over to anyone? My friends aren’t exceptions to that although I trust them with everything that I have. I will always, always worry about you when it comes to that matter because I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to be taken advantage of, and I don’t want to have to break either Suguru or Kento’s bones when the time comes.”

“I can manage the latter on my own.” You sighed, finding your resolve strengthening. “But like you said, I’m this old now. I want you to understand that I know what I am doing and I am confident about my decisions. Honestly, I didn’t want to talk about this as if I am asking for your permission. This is what I meant when I said I will be fine. I am not saying you don’t have a say in my life, but I am telling you this time because I want you to know before anyone else does.”

“Suguru doesn’t know?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

“Don’t be petty. I tell him things I can’t tell you just like you tell him things you can’t tell me,” but you nodded anyway. “He doesn’t know yet…I think.”

“So…you and Kento…”

You nodded again. “I’m in love with him, Satoru. And he feels the same way.”

“You are?” His expressions softened, hugging you to him. “You’ve grown. Really grown.”

You returned the gesture, holding onto him tight. “Please don’t ever think that I am leaving you out of my life because I always want to tell you everything.”

Just then, he pulled back, his brows furrowing while his eyes narrowed at you. “So, why isn’t he the one telling me this? Where is that bastard?”

You shrugged. “He wants to be here. Trust me. I just asked him if I could talk to you first because I have issues to resolve with you apart from my relationship with him.”

Gojo exhaled, nodding in understanding. “I understand, Y/N. But are you certain?”

“Yes. I’m scared of hurting him, but I’ll do my best, I guess.”

“Hmm, yeah. Maybe you should tone down on your mischief, too. I don’t want him dying of stress because of you. He’s still precious to me.”

At that, you laughed. “I know.”

He poked you on the cheek. “Alright then. If that’s what makes you happy, I won’t stand in your way. You have my blessing.” His teeth clenched then. “But I’m still going to have to talk to him man to man in case he thinks he’s off the hook.”

“Worry about your wedding first,” you jibed.

“I almost forgot about that.”

“I’m telling Iori.”

He shook his head, feigning panic. “Don’t.”

You both ended up laughing, joking about the guests who were arriving at the garden, poking fun at the relatives you both detested but had no choice but to invite. Just like that, you were back to how it used to be, easily conversing and sharing the same sentiments about things and same penchant for devilry.

Soon, the organizer came to his room, informing him that he needed to go to the garden to prepare. You reached up and fixed his tie and jacket for him, holding him at arm’s length to appreciate your handiwork. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you.” He smiled wide but you saw the nervousness in his eyes. “I’m getting married!”

“You are.”

“I’m more anxious about seeing Kento after what you told me,” he stated dramatically.

You eyed him witheringly. “Shut up and pull yourself together.”

He snickered then. “Kidding. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

The two of you walk to the garden, your arm around his. He stood at the spot just by the last row of seats with you, grinning at you when he saw you looking at Nanami who was already dutifully standing on his spot, speaking to Geto.

“Concentrate on your vows, yeah?” you told your brother.

“I’m off.”

“In case we don’t get to talk before you leave for your honeymoon,” you began, “Just know that I am waiting for the speedy arrival of my nieces and nephews.”

Gojo laughed at that, but nodded anyway and said, “I’ll do a good job, I promise.”

“And Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“I know, kid. I know.” He turned on his heels and walked towards his place at the front pews while you watched, his steps leading you towards the very man you would want to see standing there when the time comes, his halo of golden locks bright under the setting sun but you knew your future with him would be even more brilliant.

The familiar bars of Johann Pachelbel’s “Canon” began to play in a modified, slowed-down wedding version made especially for Gojo and Utahime’s wedding, played on the harp, piano and violin, cueing the beginning to the entrance of the bridal entourage. It began with the entrance of the flower girls who scattered petals of different flowers on the white carpet that lined the long aisle.

Arches and bouquets of flowers festooned the garden, with gossamer cloth hanging about, interlaced with live wisteria that hung down from the canopy along with fairy lights that progressively turned on as the sky grew darker. White and pink dominated the color palette as Utahime had wished and the same goes for the reception area. It was probably one of the most beautiful wedding setups Nanami has ever seen.

But his eyes weren’t on the ornaments. They were trained on the end of the walled garden, waiting for your ascent on the marble steps where the white carpet extended, the march made more dramatic by the organizers by opting for a meandering aisle instead of the traditional, straight walkway for the bride. And it did achieve the desired effect when you finally emerged from the steps and into view.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips upon finally seeing you clad in that familiar faded rose gown he had first seen being fitted on you to perfection. He kissed you while you wore that very article of clothing not long ago at the couturier’s shop, and though he thought back then that he has never seen anything more beautiful, he was amazed at the fact that you looked even more gorgeous in it as you glided towards the front.

He loved you so much it hurts, and although you’ve both professed your deep affections for one another and decided to take things head on together, he still felt like he was in the middle of a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. You came closer, and once more, he was back at the semi-outdoor ballroom the first day he came that week, beholding the goddess that was you but seemingly in a different light – brighter this time, overwhelming him to the point that he had to remind himself how to breathe when you finally looked his way and beamed unabashedly, your affections towards him unmasked, real and not under the guise of a game.

“Kento,” he heard Gojo say softly just then, the man’s blue eyes furtively glancing at him.

“Yes?” he answered in hushed tones.

“Hurt my baby sister and I’ll have your severed head hung by the gates of the estate,” he said. “Are we clear about that?”

Geto snickered, concealing it by facing the other way.

“Understood,” Nanami said seriously. “I’m counting on it.”

When you were near enough, you smiled at your brother and Geto before turning your attention to Nanami. You winked at him as you passed by before turning towards your spot opposite them across the aisle, your attention trained towards the point where you came from.

He couldn’t stop looking at you, not even when he felt Gojo hold onto his arm, squeezing tight as Utahime came into view. He didn’t mean to be insulting to his friends. She was beautiful in her wedding gown and he couldn’t help but be moved by the loving look that your brother had on his face as he watched his wife-to-be come closer, guided by her father who will give her away as the sun set. It was poetic. A new beginning after a beautiful end. He probably looked the same whenever his eyes would find you.

The ceremony carried on as everyone sat down, waiting for the couple to exchange their ‘I do’s.’ their vows, rings and the much-awaited kiss. It was making him emotional, thinking of the time when he himself would draw your veil and get to claim you as his for life in front of everyone you both loved and cared about. He couldn’t wait for it, and he may be getting ahead of himself, but he wanted what Gojo and Utahime had with you.

As the minister announced the pair man and wife, everyone applauded and cheered for them. He did so, too, chuckling when Geto whistled loudly, being his cheeky self. Just then, he nudged Nanami on the side, grinning impudently.

“Is it safe to assume you’re next?” he queried in the same manner.

Nanami rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Who knows? Someone might actually steal your heart in the next months and we’ll be seeing you crying as you watch your bride walk towards you by next year.”

Geto snickered at that. “Yeah, right. You looked like you wanted to jump Y/N and replace Satoru and Iori at the altar all this time.”

“Who wants to replace my brother and sister-in-law at the altar?” they heard you say, appearing out of nowhere, your head tilted to the side as you shifted your blue orbs between the two males, but before either of them could answer, you linked your arm with Nanami who smiled down at you blissfully. You returned the gesture, your cheeks blushing prettily under the twinkling lights overhead.

“I see you’ve figured things out.” Geto smirked, patting Nanami on the back just as Shoko came into view, taking the former by the arm, claiming she needed a smoke. She pulled him away, leaving you and Nanami to yourselves, winking as they walked away.

“So, you told him?” you asked, cocking your head towards the wide lawn where the pergolas were, built on three sides of the square and closed by an elevated area for the band, all surrounding a dance floor under a huge, white tent above, also adorned with thousands of lights. It was your design, solely for the wedding reception and a form of gift to the newlyweds.

“Satoru did indirectly when he said he’ll have my head hung at the gates of Gojo Manor if I hurt you.” He shook his head, laughing slightly. “Bastard had the gall to laugh at me, too.”

“He nearly cried when I told him earlier,” you said, regaling him with how your conversation with Gojo went. “He trusts you and is actually afraid I’ll hurt you, too.”

He shook his head. “It’s all part of the process, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“We’ll take it head on.” He held your hand, twining your fingers together.

You nodded, squeezing his larger hand. “We will.”

Just then, your friends emerged from the reception area with Noabara taking the lead, mischief drawn all over her face as she approached you. “I took care of the sitting arrangement,” she said to you then turned to Nanami. “Take care of Y/N. Make her cry and –”

“You’ll have my head?” Nanami supplemented but Nobara shook her head. “I’ll tan your hide. Satoru gets your head apparently.”

At that, Nanami laughed, nodding nonetheless. But to your surprise, she also turned her attention to you, holding you by the shoulders. “Are you still playing?”

“Nope.” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head slowly.

She smiled then. “Good.” She glanced at Nanami. “You’ve got you a good one here.”

“I know.”

They left you alone after that much to his relief, but then you said, “Wanna play a game?”

His eyes rounded and he felt tension again once he heard you say those familiar words, always the preamble to every single mischievous stunt you’ve ever pulled on everyone including him. He paused and looked at you. “I thought no more games?”

You smirked at him. “One more won’t hurt.”

He sighed, giving in. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear to god.”

“So, are you in?”

“When did I ever say no to you?”

You giggled. “Great.”

“What is it about this time?” he asked, indulging you.

“Whoever gets a rise out of Satoru first wins.”

“The stakes?”

You just winked suggestively at him.

You forfeited. For the first time, you lost in your own game. It counted – albeit momentary – because you initiated the game…said the very words that began everything that paved the way to the result you’ve always wanted. But you did not really consider it a loss when for the long run, you’ve gained the very person you’d always gladly lose to at any given time.

After you father offered a toast for the newlyweds, the speeches began, starting with Utahime’s parents then yours, eventually moving on to you, then the bride and groom’s shared close friends. Geto had been rather irreverent as usual, pointing out the things that both Gojo and Utahime supposedly disliked from one another yet brought them closer, making everyone laugh when Shoko came up the stage and began her speech, saying, “Opposites do attract.”

You sat on your table with Nanami, both of you waiting for your turns. He was next in line after Shoko, smirking at you as he stood up and walked towards the platform and began his piece by congratulating Gojo, “for landing a very gracious woman who has the most enduring patience I have ever known in all mankind, given the grief that Ieiri, Suguru and I had to endure before Iori came to his life.”

He continued on with his witty address, pretty much reflecting what Suguru said and entertaining the crowd enough when he started to express his gratitude. “While I know that this changes nothing between us as the best of friends – including your nature that tested one’s forbearance – I would like to say thank you for many things. Thank you because you are, well, you…” He did a dramatic eye roll.

The guests laughed.

“Thank you because you are a real person who offered friendship to quiet, boring old me,” he said, droning on about the things he appreciated about the couple before saying the things he was thankful to Gojo about. “And thank you, because without you, without our friendship, I wouldn’t have met the very person I also want to walk this earth with for the rest of my life.”

You would have fallen off your seat when Megumi playfully nudged you if it weren’t for Yuuji who also held onto your shoulders from behind your seat, shaking you excitedly.

“If it weren’t for one Gojo Satoru, I wouldn’t have met Y/N.”

You felt all eyes turn towards you, including your parents and your brother, heat suffusing your cheeks as you tried hard to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot for everyone to see. Nanami has outdone you this time, and you knew you didn’t have a chance to go against that when he had so publicly expressed how he felt about you.

“I love her with everything that I am,” he continued, “and I will continue to do so even without your threat to behead me.” He raised his glass. “To Iori and Satoru. May you have the happiest, most prosperous married life from today and for always.”

Geto whistled loudly while the guests applauded. You also stood up, clapping your hands slowly as you shook your head. You’ve lost big time, backed by the fact that your brother stood up raising his glass as he said, “I couldn’t have wished for a better future brother-in-law.” He then looked at you, smiling fondly.

Nanami got Gojo to state his approval for everyone to hear. You can’t win against that even if you nearly made the latter cry.

And now, you were just happy to be in Nanami’s arms as he swayed you both to the tune the jazz band was playing, your arms hanging around his shoulders and your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his head while he held you against him by the waist.

“So?” Nanami began. “How’s that for a final game?”

“Not bad,” you acceded, smirking at him. “I’ll admit defeat.”

“Damn right, you are.” He smiled down at you, his dark eyes reflecting the muted, xanthic lights that surrounded you. “I have a couple of things I’d want you to do for me, by the way.”

You nodded slowly, keeping a straight face at the mention of his prize. “Rules are rules.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Then again, you haven’t told me what you wanted when you won a week ago.”

You grinned, burying your face on his chest, listening to the faint sound of his heart. “But I did get what I want.”

“And that is?”

You met his gaze from under your lashes. “You,” you stated in full confidence.

Nanami nodded, suppressing a smile. “If you say so.”

“I wouldn’t wish for anything else.” You pulled him towards you so you could peck him on the mouth. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what for, but as always, anything for you.”

You chuckled at that. Knowing him, he’ll make good on his words for sure, so much so that you didn’t feel the least bit of worry where your future with him was concerned. “You have to learn how to say no to me.”

“I guess, but since I won, have I finally made it to the list of people you don’t mess with?” he asked.

“As promised, yes.”

“No more games?”

“No more games,” you repeated. “Although I have to say it keeps things interesting between us. Don’t you think so?”

You both dissolved in laughter, the merry mingling of your voices coming to a standstill when he bent down and cupped your cheeks, running his thumb over your cheek before staking his claim on your lips while you returned the gesture in kind, locked in each other’s arms, glad you both played the game. And won.

-THE END-

I would like to say thank you to everyone who read this and kept up with my erratic updating. It's been a good 6 weeks. Thanks!

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 3

Note: Some language.

Showers of sparks flew in all directions, fanned by blasts of hot air; amidst all that, both police officers and locals were using buckets and pots to throw water on the flames, in a strenuous bid to put out the fire.

“……Oi oi, we’ve already got a problem?” Sherlock mumbled, half in shock.

It wouldn’t be easily resolved — in an unexpected way, those words had come true. Lestrade grabbed a nearby officer by the arm.

“What the hell happened here?!”

The officer answered loudly, almost in a scream.

“A fire broke out! The building we were holding the criminal in caught fire!”

“……Jesus!”

Lestrade spat that word out, and threw himself into the firefighting effort right away.

“I’ll help too! Someone give me water!”

A split second later, Sherlock also moved to help. He took a bucket of water from the man closest to him — but the moment he saw his face, he stopped.

“……Gregson?” [1]

The man — Assistant Inspector Gregson — widened his eyes in shock.

“Holmes! You bastard — why’re you here?!”

As a famous detective, Sherlock often disregarded the police when solving his cases; Gregson could never stand the sight of him, and so it was no wonder he’d raised his voice. However, having grown accustomed to that enmity, Sherlock spoke quickly in response.

“Lestrade called me in himself. Anyway, were you the one sent to secure the other fugitive?”

Gregson waved the question away, as if he was in a terrible gloom.

“Dammit, quit yammering! Let’s talk about the details later! Our priority now’s to put out the fire!”

Saying that, he rushed off to draw more water. It was a reasonable point, so Sherlock refrained from pursuing the matter. Still, he found Gregson’s unusually impatient manner strange.

The quick arrest of the first fugitive. The burning building. And Assistant Inspector Gregson.

From all the elements that had presented themselves at this stage, Sherlock Holmes was certain that this case would be a tough one.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Roughly five hours after Sherlock and Lestrade arrived at the scene, the fire had finally been extinguished.

Having given their all in putting out the fire, the volunteer firefighters were now sitting on the roads as they caught their breath. But the building had been reduced to nothing more than a charred skeleton — it had completely burnt down. A heap of blackened wood lay on the ground where it once stood; within it, tiny embers still smouldered away, and thin trails of smoke wafted into the air. It was still too dangerous to enter the site, but as a small blessing amidst this misfortune, the adjacent buildings had been left largely unscathed, with only their outer walls scorched by the flames.

“……It feels like one job’s been completed, but the real work starts here, huh.”

A worn-out Sherlock muttered to himself, having already shed his jacket. Then, the familiar voice of his partner rang out in his mind.

“Sherlock. Isn’t it too convenient for a fire to break out at this time? If the fugitive they were interrogating had been caught in the blaze……”

——I know. But first, let’s remain calm, and listen to what they have to say.

He answered John in his heart, then walked over to Lestrade, who was conferring with another officer a short distance away. It seemed he was in the middle of asking the other officer what had happened.

“O—y, Lestrade. Did you find anything useful?”

“Yeah: it seems it’s going to be a while before we can inspect the scene, but from my subordinate’s report, I’ve gotten the details of what happened before this. I’ll explain.”

Saying that, Lestrade began to narrate the sequence of events, and Sherlock listened in silence.

From what he’d heard from his subordinate, the building was a cheap old three-storey inn built from wood. After searching the interior based on the tip-off, they quickly found and arrested one of the fugitives. After which, in order to find the location of the other criminal, they immediately brought the arrested man to a room and began to interrogate him.

“Where’s the room located?”

Sherlock cut in, and Lestrade looked up at the spot where the room had likely once stood.

“It was at the end of the second floor — the one the man himself had rented. Each floor had three rooms: taking the ground floor as an example, the room numbers had been assigned as 101, 102 and 103. ” [2]

“So the one at the end of the second floor would be number 303. Did all the officers storm the room together?”

“No; out of the ten men who arrived first, five of them entered the building while the other five stood by in the vicinity. Among the five who entered, two were questioning the man in room 303, one stood watch outside the room, while the remaining two stood in the ground and first floor corridors respectively, observing the movements of the guests in the inn.”

Listening to the breakdown of the officers’ positions, Sherlock looked at the ruins of the building as they lay heaped on the ground.

“If the building was only this large, leaving five people outside would be enough…… But why have men stationed on each floor at the corridors?”

“The other fugitive might’ve been hiding in the building, so they wanted to interview the guests and ascertain their backgrounds. However, it seems the innkeeper detests the Yard: they allowed us to question the fugitive, but refused to let us to visit the other rooms, insisting it would bother the guests. So the officers had no choice but to quietly stand watch in the corridors.”

Having realised yet again the animosity in the slums towards the police, Lestrade sighed, and Sherlock nodded in reply.

“From the start, the source of the information had been an anonymous tip-off, which is　suspicious. The story up to that point was that the police arrived here half in doubt, then actually found the criminal — from that alone, it would’ve been difficult to insist on advancing the investigation any further.”

Sherlock understood the bind the officers had found themselves in back then. He continued.

“During the interrogation, they did check everyone who entered and left the inn, didn’t they?”

“Of course. But I didn’t receive any reports about any suspicious characters.”

“Okay. I’ve got the deployment of the officers at the time; please continue.”

The arrested fugitive had been surprisingly stubborn, and refused to utter a word about the other man’s whereabouts. At that rate, the officers had judged that they were getting nowhere, and left the room for a short break. Their strategy had been to give the man time to relax, then force him into a state of tension once again, in order to strain his mental state.

In addition, by this time, the locals had gotten wind of the Yard’s presence. They’d begun to gather around the inn and create a commotion: the atmosphere had turned bleak. In order to avoid the situation escalating into a riot, out of the five officers in the building, four went outside to appeal to them to remain calm.

Just like this, the fugitive had been left alone in the room. The man had been made to sit in a wooden chair that had been furnished as part of the room, with each of his hands cuffed to the chair’s armrests. The only entry point to the room — the door — had one officer standing guard in front of it. Moreover, even if he were to leave by the window opposite the door, as the room was on the second floor, he couldn’t simply escape by jumping out. With these conditions in place, the officers had thought that there was no chance of him escaping.

——In fact, that line of thought had held true. The criminal had not escaped; rather, he had been murdered inside the room.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Five minutes after their break had started. In the vicinity of the inn, something odd had arisen. Complaints and jeers had suddenly turned into shrieks and screams. The lone police officer who’d remained in the building thought it strange, and immediately after, someone yelled “Fire!”.

He went downstairs to see for himself: true enough, flames were rising up from the ground floor. The officer rushed to spread the word to everyone in the building, directing them to evacuate. Of course, he then went to release the man handcuffed in room 303, but the door couldn’t open: it had been locked from the inside.

At this point, Sherlock placed a hand under his chin as he muttered.

“If he had been bound to a chair, then even with his hands cuffed to the armrests, he would still be able to move around the room. If it’d been a bed, depending on the size of it, he might still be able to move. The man could’ve locked the door from the inside, but…… By the way, was it really locked? And not that the door had been warped and gotten stuck, or something?”

“It seems that much was certain: I understood he tried many times, but found the door locked from within.”

“I see. Sorry, I’ve been interrupting you quite a bit.”

“No, I don’t mind……. After that, the officer peeked into the room via the keyhole. And then, inside the room, he saw something he would never have imagined.”

From Lestrade’s tone, Sherlock was fairly certain what had happened in there.

“The room was locked from the inside, and the man lay dead within it……?”

It seemed his prediction had been spot on: startled, Lestrade stared at him, then muttered “Yeah” in a sombre tone as he continued.

——From the keyhole, the officer saw the man lying prone on the floor while still cuffed to the chair. His back had been soaked in a red substance akin to blood, and he showed absolutely no sign of movement. Amidst the commotion from the fire, it was as if time had stood still for him alone.

Panicked, the officer rammed the door in a bid to break it down. But no matter how many times he slammed himself against it, the door merely creaked, showing no signs of opening. Apparently, the innkeeper had taken precautions to prevent the police from entering the rooms without their permission — it seemed the doors had been robustly built. Making matters worse, his fellow officers were desperately engaged in fighting the fire, as well as evacuating the surrounding residents: they had no leeway to come to the second floor and help.

After that, the officer kept trying to break the door open. But the fire swept through the wooden building, and soon, the flames had reached the floor right beneath him. Inside the room, the man remained motionless. After a further struggle, the police officer gave up on rescuing him, and ensured that there was no one else left in the building as he made his escape.

That was the gist of how the inn had been burnt to the ground.

“…………”

A sudden fire. A room with its door firmly shut. And a man who’d collapsed in a prone position.

Having listened till the end of the story, Sherlock replayed the situation back then in his head. In his heart, he cracked a wry smile.

The search for a fugitive had turned into a locked-room case.

T/N: It’s a proper mystery this time!! I quite like this one :3

Footnotes:

[1] Gregson first appeared in Chapter 8 (“A Study in ‘S’, Act 2") after Lestrade arrested Sherlock on suspicion of Count Drebber’s murder. This is his first panel:

(Taken from the official translation of Volume 2)

[2] Similar to Story 1, I’ll be using the British way of referring to building levels (i.e. ground floor, first floor, second floor).

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Note

General #7

Hiiii! Okay, well I bet you thought I forgot about this! Or, more than likely, you forgot you even requested this back in Decemeber. But never fear, my child. I remembered and have been thinking of this fic and what to write for months.

And so I’m so sorry, I’m a total perfectionist and I started and discared like 3 ideas for this before deciding on this oneshot sooo if this sucks, I’m at least comforted by the fact that I accomplished something in writing this itself? That sentence made zero sense but... I’m tired 🤷🏼‍♀️😅.

Prompt : General # 7 :

“Is that blood?”

“Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-”

“You are literally bleeding.”

Anyways, thank you for the prompt and here we go!

Whispers Of Light

I don't know exactly how I got roped into this. How exactly Delly Cartwright, Peeta's best friend—and alright, my friend now too—managed to convince me to help her and Leevy and about three dozen other members of the community with sorting boxes.

Sorting boxes. Organizing contents. Decorating with "found treasures".

The type of activities Prim loved doing with our mother. The type of activities I refused to do after my father died, to punish my mother for her depression.

The type of activities I now kick myself for walking out on, that I'll never be able to take back. I'll never be able to get those moments back with my sister. I'll never know what those hours between her and our mother entailed, because I chose to exclude myself, just so I could hold onto my petty anger for something that was out of all our control.

Maybe that's why I agreed to help Delly and the others with sorting through boxes upon boxes of debrief, of the items that scarcely survived Twelve's bombing almost two years ago. Maybe I only agreed out of guilt, both for never doing this type of endeavor with my sister and for being the direct cause of the bombing itself.

But whatever my reasons were, I agreed to help nonetheless, and I always follow through my promises. If there was one part of me forged in the war, if only one minor aspect of me was amplified in the smoke and haze and blood of revolution, it was the importance of keeping your promises, against all odds.

The dire consequences of a broken promise has long lasting aftereffects, beyond anything either Haymitch or I wish to dwell on.

"Katniss!" Delly calls, holding up an old, half-ripped paper book that is completely void of a front cover. "Look! I think this book is from the old Apothecary Shop!"

I squint at the dusty, decimated item, not entirely convinced. "I don't think so?" I murmur, unable to even decipher the words on the now melted, conjoined pages. "I'm pretty sure my mother kept the only apothecary book in her family?"

Kanon Bagley turns to inspect the battered item in his girlfriend's hands as well. "I don't think this is a medicinal plant book, Dells," he says sheepishly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

She gives him an incredulous look. "What do you mean medicinal?"

I peer up at him too, not comprehending his meaning any more than Delly. "What kind of plants do you think are in here?" I ask, taking the nearly destroyed object myself and flipping through the worn pages again, seeing odd herbs that neither of my parents ever mentioned or had on hand. "These don't look like the poisonous ones my father told me about?"

Kanon bites back a laugh now and I can't help feeling a little perturbed. As kind and soft-spoken as he usually is, I'm foreign to the feeling of him laughing at me. "What?" Delly snaps at him before I even can.

He still chuckles though, in spite of both our nasty glares. "You guys, it's a book of plants that'll get you high."

It takes a full minute for the meaning to dawn on me. Long enough that Leevy and a couple guys I used to go to school with come over to inspect the book as well. Long enough that they confirm Kanon's assessment just as I realize we're talking about plants that'll make you feel akin to how the morphling made me feel while confined for I killing Coin.

While everyone else snickers—and Delly full on chortles—I pass the book back to Kanon, sliding out of the crowd and moving towards a brand new box of savaged items.

It's not that the mention of plant-based drugs is a trigger for me. It's not something I ever truly gave any thought to before, to be honest. My father likely knew of them but it's not like he was about to bestow that kind of knowledge on his eleven-year-old and my mother perhaps felt it was inappropriate to mention.

No, it wasn't the subject in itself that hit a sore spot for me. But like so many times before, it's where the subject led my mind. It's where the topic took me back to.

Snow's Execution Day. The day I chose to kill President Coin instead. Being thrown back into my old tribute room. Getting high on the morphling.

Trying to forget all that I'd lost. Trying to forget my little sister becoming a human torch before my very eyes. My district engulfed in flames. The ambiguous loss of my best friend.

The connection between me and Peeta that I believed then would be permanently severed. That I believed then to be irreparable.

I suppose I believed then I was irreparable too.

And I miss Peeta suddenly, even more than I already did. Because he always knows what to say when my thoughts turn dark, when I'm suddenly triggered out of the happy, every day events and suctioned backwards to a war torn bird with her wings clipped.

But he's not here to talk me down or scare away the ghosts haunting my mind. He's not here to comfort me or even shoot me a supportive glance. No, he's at his very busy business today.

Peeta's bakery—the Mellark Bakery—has only proven to withstand the test of time these past few months. Since someone accidentally burned down the place, with nothing more than a croissant and a fancy Capitol toaster, the rebuilt bakery has been nothing but a success.

And also extremely time-consuming, I grumble internally, as I begin to pull out stuffed toys that once belonged to dead children.

"If any of those are still intact, we can donate them to the community home," Leaf John says as he opens the box across from me.

"And what exactly are we supposed to be use as decorations from these boxes?" I murmur, peering into another cardboard container, full of half-charred papers and cloths.

The general idea of today, as Delly had pitched it to me last week, was to help the community of Twelve finally sort through these boxes, donate what we could to those in need and decorate the new Justice Building with the leftover contents inside.

Somehow though I can't imagine pinning up terrible drawings of plants that'll inebriate you or headless teddy bears is going to bode well with the district.

Delly rolls her eyes in my direction—a whole new kind of response that I never thought I'd be receiving from the girl who skipped through the town square until she was fourteen years old—before nodding towards boxes on top of the ladder. "We're decorating the Justice Building with the surviving photos from those boxes, Katniss."

"Oh." Then why am I sorting these grimy, dirt-covered playthings? Why didn't anyone give me more clear instructions on today?

And why has it taken almost two years for Twelve to get a group of people together to organize the surviving items from the bombing?

I have no idea how Peeta's managed to get two bakeries built in the time it's taken for thirty-eight of us to come to the Justice Building and look through fifty cardboard boxes. And if I'm being honest, I have no idea why I'm even still here helping. I'm clearly not contributing much to the event. There's definitely more than enough volunteers without me.

And, of course, I could be at the bakery right now. Without a doubt, I'd be of more service there than I am here, digging through dusty knickknacks. I could be helping Peeta and Thom and the other part-time employees, exerting more knowledge and authority than I have here.

After all, Peeta did say the bakery was partially mine. In his mind, at least.

The ulterior motive of getting small, fleeting moments with my boyfriend, of basking in the feeling of safety with him beside me, of the occasional stolen kiss or hand squeeze when no one is looking, runs through the back of my mind.

And sways my decision immensely.

I open my mouth to tell Delly and the others that I'm about to head out, that they clearly have it covered here and I'm just in the way, when at the worst possible second, Leevy kindly murmurs, "Katniss, do you mind starting on the box on the ladder? Seeing if any of the pictures are in decent enough shape?"

I hesitate for a long moment, realizing immediately my predicament. It'd be rude to leave right after someone just essentially assigned me a task. I did agree to be here today, to help out with this tedious project. Leaving right now would only come off as rude and inconsiderate.

This is the reason I never did enjoy group assignments in school. The longer I'm here, the more I'm rediscovering this fact about myself. The division of the workload, the bore of the standing around, not knowing if you're doing the right or wrong thing, the lack of total control.

But I still nod after waiting a beat too long and agree with the nicest flare in my tone I can manage.

I'll go through the one box at the top of the ladder and then subtly make my exit afterwards. The image I unintentionally conjured up of Peeta and the bakery is still pulling at me, making me anxious to get back to him, to see him again even though we were together only three hours ago.

Since we officially became a couple a few months back—though Haymitch scoffs at that notion, claiming we've been together since Peeta first started sleeping over in my bed—I've found myself growing far more clingy to him than I ever could have anticipated. I hate when he leaves for the bakery in the mornings now, even as I still revel in the solace I find inside the woods. I look forward to his return home every night. More than even look forward to it, I'm usually at the bakery around the closing hours, helping him clean and inventory, asking him when he's coming home. Maybe looking somewhat unconsciously flirtatious as I say it.

I grab the box sitting on the ladder's top stair and pull it open, easily maintaining my balance one rung down, the same way I maintain my balance on a tree branch while hunting.

Inside pours out a plethora of photographs, mostly of Twelve's now past citizens. Near the top of the pile I see images of Greasy Sae's daughter, Dolly. The mother of her granddaughter. The daughter who died of croup a few years before the war.

Those photos must belong to Sae, I realize. Which means more of her items are probably scattered throughout the boxes here. And despite the fact that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'll tell me not of be impractical, that if she's made it two years without these things she doesn't need them now, I still make a mental note to return her lost items. If nothing else, I make a mental promise to give back to her the photos of her daughter.

I know better than anyone what kind of comfort photographs of the deceased can provide.

As if in line with my thoughts, as if I alone manifested it somehow, the next image that catches my eye is one I entirely do not anticipate.

It's a shiny photo, on the kind of glossy paper my family could never afford. In the image is a blonde man with broad shoulders and a tall build. Wrapped in his embrace stands a petite girl, with long blonde curls and mascara accentuating her already long lashes. The couple both have eyes that match the color of the sky and are dressed up in some of the nicest clothes in all of Twelve. A white dress with lace. A gray suit with a black vest. The pretty girl wears jewelry and lipstick and there's a familiar glint in the male's eyes and I find myself mesmerized.

And I can't pretend I don't see my boyfriend in both of their faces. I can't pretend Peeta isn't the spitting image of both his parents.

He has his mother's smile, I realize with startling assurance. I never saw the witch smile personally, at any point in my life so I suppose I wouldn't know where he got his charming, sweet grin from.

The mannerism looks so out of place on his mother. The kind smile Peeta has, the one that could light up a blackened sky, doesn't bode with the woman in the picture, even on her wedding day. The charming smile doesn't fit with what I know of the woman's character. With what little about her Peeta chooses to share.

But I'm even more surprised to find how much Peeta has come to resemble his father. How much Peeta has grown to favor the now deceased man.

The last time I saw the baker—the original baker, that is. Haidon Mellark—before the Quarter Quell, I resented the fact that Peeta wasn't as tall or as broad as his father. I privately believed if he'd inherited those traits, he'd be even more likely to win the games again and I could worry about him less.

Peeta was always taller than me and was always remarkably strong, after working in the bakery since childhood. But his father was a whole different level. Haidon Mellark, I'd forgotten until now, had a body that could only rival my own father's.

And as it turns out, Peeta did inherit Haidon's physicality. He just also happened to be a late bloomer. Like his mother, I imagine, staring at her tiny frame in the picture.

The change in Peeta's form occurred so gradually I barely even noticed until a couple months ago, when I woke up with my head against his heart and abruptly realized just how broad he had become. Until I couldn't even reach to kiss his jaw on my tip toe. Until he started laughing at me and had to lift me up in order to properly embrace the way I like.

"Katniss?" I hear Delly beckon, trying to bring me back to reality. Trying and failing, that is. I hear her but only in a vague, distant sense. My mind is still stuck on the image in my grasp. Still stuck on the novelty that I managed to find a remembrance for the boy who still at times questions if his memory is full of lies.

"I still cry about my family and somedays I can't even remember their faces."

I never even considered the possibility of finding a token of Peeta's departed family here. It never occurred to me, the potential finds in this box at my fingertips, that I could take home to my boyfriend. I never imagined finding him something to hold onto when the inevitable dark day came again like a storm cloud, full of thunder.

I'm so entranced what this could mean for Peeta, so lost in my own little world, that I'm barely even hanging onto the ladder. I'm definitely not as steady as I should be, standing near the top rung.

And I'm definitely not steady enough to hang on when Delly gives it a rough shake, trying to catch my attention.

The boxes break my fall. Sort of. Kanon and Leaf John had taken the liberty of placing the empty cardboard, already looked through and emptied, beneath the ladder.

Falling headfirst into a large, void box is better than falling plainly onto the filthy, concrete tile floor. But not ideal. Not as helpful as falling into a box of surviving clothes or toys would have been.

Delly apologized profusely for shaking the ladder. She'd even begun to cry when she noticed the blood seeping from my forehead.

Thankfully Kanon was there, as I didn't have the energy to console her much. I don't even know how I managed to cut my head at all, but it stung a fair amount and it provided me the excuse I wanted minutes prior, to escape the group project and head for the bakery.

Even after the fall, my mind still was cemented on the newfound treasure. My first instinct was still to show this memento to Peeta as soon as possible.

Kanon though, like a good friend, insisted on walking me home, despite my many protests that it was unnecessary, that I was just fine, that I could walk home blind if I had to. He insisted, foiling my intention to walk directly to the bakery and not wait for Peeta's return home, which still remained hours away.

Kanon was surprisingly stubborn when he felt strongly about something and I chose to relent, to give in and allow him to accompany me back to what used to be Victor's Village—where he now resided with Delly, inside Peeta's old home—without much fight.

Fighting for your independence and autonomy doesn't exactly present you as rational when there's a bloody gash in your forehead.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Kanon asks as we make out way up my porch.

I look up, maybe a little startled, from Mr. and Mrs. Mellark's wedding photo. "My head?"

"Yeah," he says carefully, looking at the blood like it's a mutt in an arena.

I shrug, doing my best not to indicate how dizzy I actually feel. Either from the fall or the blood still dripping out despite my attempt to plug the wound up with old cotton rags someone sorted into the trash box. "I've had worse."

He chuckles, a little sardonically. "Yeah, so have I."

I thank him for walking me home—for it was as inconvenient as it was sweet—and close the door slowly behind me, before leaning my ear against the wooden frame, waiting. Waiting for him to climb the steps down from my porch and make his way back to the Justice Building. Waiting for him to be far enough out of sight that I can sneak back out without him also trying to accompany me to the bakery.

It's not that I don't appreciate Kanon and Delly and all of my other friends' concerns. It's the fact that I wish to bestow a likely loaded item upon my boyfriend and I really don't need an audience to do it.

It's not the easiest feat, to slyly time it so Kanon won't hear me opening and shutting my front door again. And it's probably not my smartest plan, to walk alone along the rocky cobblestones and the uneven concrete, with a less than level head and body.

But I make it to the back door of the bakery still, just as I knew I would. It takes three times as long, but I make it there nonetheless.

Still clutching the photograph of his parents between my fingers too. Still with the same primary focus on my mind. To give him a token of remembrance, a token of the imperfect family he lost so tragically, that he still greatly missed, even when he can't say their names. Even when he can't conjure up their faces.

"You don't remember your family?"

"Sometimes I do... I'm not so sure other days. My memory isn't exactly top notch, if you know what I mean."

I push open the heavy-weighted back door, using all the energy my body can muster up. To my relief, Thom is already in the back room, sweeping flour off the floor.

"Hi, boss," he greets slyly as I walk in, barely glancing up at me. I shoot him an over-the-top eye roll, though I can't help smirking myself at the stupid nickname, when he beckons Peeta. "Hey, your girl is here!" He yells loudly. Too loudly to be packed with customers at the counter.

I take that to mean the daily rush has come and gone. Which would be very convenient, as it means I can present Peeta with my finding that much faster, without having to worry about his business—or our business, as he teasingly calls it—being held up.

I hear the sound of my boyfriend's quiet laughter from the front. The sound that I akin to my father's singing or my sister's squeal of delight. The last sound still alive that can make my heart do a flip.

But it dies out the second he peaks his blonde head into the back room. The moment his baby blues, the same color as both his parents', meet my silver ones and then trail upwards.

Almost as if remembering the gash in my head, I reach to my forehead, to ensure the makeshift cloth bandage is still in place.

"Katniss?" Peeta says, his eyes looking far more nervous than I anticipated. Which I can only take to mean the red liquid has seeped through the plain fabric. "Is that blood?"

I don't want him to focus too heavily on that fact though. Like I told Kanon, I've had much worse injuries in my life. Me and Peeta both have.

Just look at his prosthetic leg.

"Yes," I reply easily, before moving closer to him, pushing the glossy photograph towards him. "But that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is-"

"You are literally bleeding."

I sigh, feeling slightly perturbed now. "Peeta, look," I insist, thrusting the image of his parents towards him, waiting for it to take anchor.

And it does. It takes a beat longer than I expect, but it happens nonetheless. I watch silently as the image captives him, as the shiny photograph takes him back to a time when this exact location was the only home he'd ever known and this business was run by the two people inside the picture.

He touches the photo, as if to test it's realism, before looking up at me in disbelief. "Where did you find this?"

"The Justice Building today. Inside the boxes, with all the things lost in the bombing."

There's a long pause as Peeta process this. The silence makes me antsy, finding myself abruptly uncertain of what could be going through his mind.

Finally, he whispers softly, "I never thought I'd see this picture again."

And the awed, tender smile that spreads across his face swiftly encompasses me in its warmth.

And I suddenly don't even feel the gash in my head anymore.

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#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fics #fanfic #everlark fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #play with me 🥰

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