All newlyweds are given a rock which breaks apart to reveal their wedding rings once the couple knows every secret about each other. Most couples typically get their rings on their wedding night. Five years later, you still don’t have them. What could be holding you back from getting them?
Gryffindor: Sucking on sugar cubes, giggling behind your hand, long car rides with friends, opening windows to let in fresh air, running barefoot through grass, burning your tongue on food that was too hot, the view from tall buildings, the sun warming your skin, doorbells, summer camp, fierce eyeliner and bold lipstick, deep v-necks accessorized with a flirty smile, rough hands and soft hearts, brightly colored cocktails, laughing too hard at a dumb joke, crumpling up paper and throwing it into a trashcan across the room, card games, letting your hair down, opening doors, and skinny dipping.
Ravenclaw: Waking up late on a rainy day, warm coffee on a cold morning, scrunched eyebrows, color-coding everything, bags under your eyes, passing notes to your friends, long fingernails, jumping in puddles, charm bracelets, comfortable silences, orchestras, velvet ribbons, french braids, dark eyelashes, chewing ice cubes, train rides, staring out the window, curling up with a pet, being alone in the forest, the smell of the earth after it rains, staying up late to watch the stars, rearranging your room, biting your tongue, painting your toes different shades, cold glasses, chokers, watching a play, musical compositions, roman numerals, doodling on your hand, and mirrors.
Hufflepuff: Skirts that flow behind you, eyes that sparkle in the light, tea, picking flowers for your mom, laughing so hard you can’t catch your breath, denim shorts and crop tops, forts made out of sheets, pixie cuts, scrunching up your nose, rosy cheeks, freckles across your nose, bohemian tapestries on walls, dancing around the room with friends, apartments with brick walls in the city, sleeping by huge windows, drinking alcohol on rooftops, shirts rolled to the elbows, cute buns, birds sitting on telephone wires, fogged up glass, strumming a guitar, smiling so much that your cheekbones ache, climbing tall trees, contagious laughter, Polaroid pictures, and mosaics with colored glass.
Slytherin: Raising one eyebrow, martinis, marble statues, soft fur blankets on leather couches, tapping your fingernails against a hard surface, perfectly winged eyeliner, sly smirks, champagne flutes, pencil skirts, footprints in fresh snow, tree houses, wandering around the city at night, quotes that describe you perfectly, black and white photography, french perfume, black silk, lingerie, combing wet hair, proving people wrong, shopping with your best friends, mint leaves, keeping a diary, silver rings, staying up all night, black coffee, hand mirrors, little black dresses, pine trees, vanilla scented candles, mascara, stone walls, leather jackets and red lipstick, wine corks, and photo albums.
Hi babes! This is a marshmallow-soft story about the reader and Tom having a special inside joke. That inside joke being Tom dramatically falling down onto one knee to tease her after she accidentally tells him that it’s always been how she wants to get proposed to. The inside joke makes the both of them think a lot about their future and cuteness ensues! I hope that you like it!
Side note: The film was everything I wanted it to be and more? It owns my entire heart? The cast did so well and I’m so happy for all of them and my heart is just overflowing with love and I’m going to see the film again tomorrow!
I’m On My Knee
“He makes me want to wear a white dress and walk down the aisle.” She murmured to her boyfriend, utterly and completely inebriated. “I want to learn how to cook so he can always come home to a hot meal. He makes me want to learn more so that I’ll always have new things to talk to him about, and he makes me want to take care of myself so that I can look good for him. I wanna read every book on the planet earth and watch every film, just so I have stories to tell him before we go to sleep. But, mostly, he makes me wanna wear a white dress and walk down the aisle.”
Tom smiled, securing a strong arm around her waist before she had the opportunity to slip from the barstool she was trying to twirl on. Holding her still, he questioned, “anything else you want, darling?”
Lurching forward, she twined her arms around his neck and moved to perch on his knee. She shoved her face into Tom’s neck and breathed in deeply, dragging her hands across the expanse of her boyfriend’s chest. He smelled of french cologne, the fabric of his shirt felt soft beneath her cheek, and she was so close to him that she could count the beats of his heart. “I love you.”
Supporting her frame, Tom kissed the top of her head, “I love you more.” She sighed into his chest and Tom helped her to her feet, making sure that he still had her locked in his arms. “Let’s get you home now, drunky.”
“I want him on his knee like in the old films,” she added before she allowed Tom to guide her to their parked car.
Truly, Tom felt the same way about her, but there was no way that he wouldn’t tease her about her intoxicated confession every chance he got. He’d been dreaming about how beautiful she’d look walking down the aisle to meet him since their third date and it comforted him that she seemed to feel the same way.
She knew that she had majorly screwed up the next morning when Tom dropped down onto one knee, offering her a bottle of advil and a glass of water to soothe the pounding in her head that refused to be ignored.
“On my knee, baby, just how you wanted!” Tom smiled, his curls flopping down in his eyes in the most endearing of ways. She hated that he looked so cute while he was so successfully embarrassing her.
Groaning, she brought her hands up to cover her face, “Tom, stop! I told you that I was just drunk. Let it go!” She pleaded, blush spreading as far as the tips of her ears.
Her boyfriend feigned hurt feelings, “well, if you were truly joking, guess I’m out of here. Gotta go get me a girl who’s in it for the long haul.” Tom joked as he moved to walk out the door.
“Tom,” she whined before rushing forward to keep him in place with a hug. “Stop being so dumb and help me make pancakes. You flip them better than I do.”
Smiling down at her, Tom took of her hands within his own and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “One day, I’ll be way more than just your boyfriend who flips pancakes better than you do. One day, I’ll be your husband who flips pancakes better than you do.” Tom laughed, picking her up to spin her around the kitchen.
She was happy that Tom was focused on not dropping her or running into anything because she was even pinker than she’d thought previously possible and she was positive that the smile on her face was so huge that her face would crack into halves. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have the greatest job, it didn’t matter that she was absolute shit at math, in fact, she couldn’t think of anything that mattered to her more than what Tom had just said. He was planning on a future with her and she was so elated that she spent the entire rest of her week floating from place to place on a bed made of cotton candy clouds.
The next time Tom dropped to one knee for her, it was in the flower shop while she was sifting through bins of tulip bouquets for their friend’s dinner party. “Because I love you,” Tom said, holding out a bundle of daisies.
Rolling her eyes, she took the flowers and bent forward to kiss Tom tenderly on the mouth. “Because I love you,” she repeated back to him before taking both bouquets to the register while Tom struggled to free his wallet before she could pay for her daisies.
The time after that, Tom fell to one knee when she had come home with smudged mascara and tears dripping from the corners of her eyes. Hurrying off the couch, he dropped to one knee in front of her, pulling her to perch softly onto his popped knee. “What’s the matter darling?”
Shrugging her shoulders, her lower lip trembled and she merely hid her face in Tom’s neck. Stroking her hair and mumbling the words to ‘Moon River’ into her ears, Tom waited for her to tell him what was upsetting her. He did his best to search his mind for anything he could’ve done, anything her friend’s could’ve done, anything at home that could have upset her and came back with nothing. Tom briefly had a fleeting feeling that he was failing as her husband until it clicked in his brain that he hadn’t ever gotten down on one knee before her to present her with an actual ring.
That night, while she snuggled into the crook of his arm, her face hidden so close to his neck that Tom could feel her lips press into his skin, he looked up some photos of rings. Each time Tom found a particularly nice ring, he’d zoom in and envision it on her lovely hands. Looking down at her hand that was loosely curled around his waist, he murmured to her sleeping form, “nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands.” His girl had been on an E.E. Cummings kick and clearly the poetry she read aloud to him had rubbed off on Tom.
Placing his phone back into it’s charging station on their nightable, Tom laid down and made sure to lace his fingers through her own before he shut eyes to sleep, agreeing with E. E. Cummings that nobody had such small hands. Such small hands that a glittering ring would only compliment.
The next weekend, as she and Tom strolled through the supermarket to grab some fresh vegetables and fruit, and maybe a loaf of bread to go along with dinner, Tom spotted the baked goods aisle. Getting completely sidetracked, Tom stood staring at the pastries while she carried on in search of the produce section. Glancing at her retreating figure and then back at the deserts, Tom grabbed an armful of cookies, cinnamon rolls and cupcakes before hurrying after her.
Her eyes widened when she saw her boyfriend nearly skipping towards her, arms overflowing with pastries. “Tom,” she started, cocking her hip and raising her brows, “that is ridiculous. Pick one thing, we already have too many snacks as it is!”
“No, no, darling, you don’t get it. We’d leave the cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and we could eat the cookies as a snack, and then the cupcakes could be after dinner.” Tom tried to ration.
“Tom, I’ll eat them all and then get bigger and you know I’m trying to look good this summer!” She whined, shaking her head and silently pleading for Tom to at least put one of the items he was holding back.
Shuffling the food around in his arms, Tom attempted to clutch all the food with only one hand. Gently moving her hair away from her eyes, Tom kissed her temple. “Darling, you know that you’re perfect. There’s nothing wrong with how you look, and nothing would be wrong with how you look even if you decided to inhale the entire pastry department on your own. I love the way you think, how kind you are to others, and you’re one of the smartest and least arrogant people that I know! I love you for your heart, and your brain. I thank the universe every night for your lungs and your kidneys, because they make you. You’re sweet-ass body just happens a perk of loving you.”
Tom kissed her one last time before dropping down onto one knee before her, “c’mon angel, please?” He asked one last time.
Rolling her eyes at her boyfriend’s cheesiness, she placed the cupcakes and the cinnamon rolls in her basket before leading Tom over to the fruit and asking him to pick out the crunchiest apples for their salad.
When Tom fell to one knee again, it was after she had gone shopping with her friends and was currently modeling her new purchases at his request. She had exited the bathroom in which she was changing in, wearing an extremely short, white dress that left very little, if anything to Tom’s imagination. The dress was littered with small, red roses and had straps that were tied into a bow. As she twirled for him, Tom could see that the straps were the only thing holding her new dress together and by the time that she’d stopped her spinning, Tom was on one knee.
“Should I take this off myself or do you wanna get up off the floor and help me?” She giggled, toying with the bow sitting atop her shoulder blade.
As Tom carefully untied her dress and watched it fall to the ground, he muttered, “pretty ring would go nice with the roses.”
She could barely hear what Tom had said, let alone comprehend it, as he began to pepper her exposed body with warm kisses. Stuttering out an barely audible, “uh-huh,” as Tom mouthed over the sensitive spot she had just beneath her ear.
As time went on, “I’m on my knee,” became a phrase that she would hear from Tom almost as frequently as he said “I love you.” He’d drop to his knee in public, private, essentially everywhere they went. She was nearly convinced that Tom on his knee wouldn’t ever mean anything other than their inside joke, but little did she know how Tom feeling.
Each time he dropped down onto one knee before her, it always made him long to obtain a ring to present her with. Considering that he was on his knee for her essentially everyday now, so much so that even the press was completely desensitized to photos of Tom on his knee before his girl, he was legitimately out and about looking for rings.
He’d recruited his mother to assist with the search, begged Harrison, Jacob, his brothers, his father, and even her mother to help him with the search, but none of them could find a ring that Tom felt was worthy of her hands. Each time someone would send him a photo of a ring that left Tom dissatisfied, which was often, he’d simply send back the verse from ‘Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond,’ regarding the smallest of hands. At this point, nobody was sure what he meant. Once Harrison had tried to clarify what exactly the rain having tiny hands had to do with the ring search, but he came back describing a look of genuine craziness in his best mate’s eyes and decided to drop it.
It was only after Tom had wandering into an antique shop with his mother that he found something perfect for her. The wedding ring was vintage and even came with an engagement ring, and after Tom had spent countless hours on the weekend thrifting and wandering in an out of hidden gem shops with his girl, he knew that she’d love it.
Tom could only hide the ring for about a week. He was utter and complete shit at hiding things, especially from her, and the ring felt as if it was burning a hole through his pocket. He couldn’t wait to let the whole world know that she was going to his forever and he’d be hers for just as long. Tom just needed to create the perfect moment.
Luckily for him, the perfect moment came the very next morning. Tom trailed behind her, kissing the back of her neck softly as she laughed and threaded her fingers up through his curls. They were deep within the poetry section of the most massive library Tom had ever seen and when she reached up to grab a novel, Tom felt as if the wind got knocked out of him. In her hands sat a copy of E. E. Cummings collected poems and while she sifted through the pages, Tom prayed inwardly to the universe for her to read the poem that he knew was destined to be hers.
Not allowing her time to chose a poem, Tom dropped down to one knee while her back was still turned on him. Digging the ring out from the confines of his pocket, he could only get the last few lines of the poem out. “I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice in your eyes is deeper than all roses.”
As Tom neared the end of the poem, she turned and opened her mouth to say the last verse with him. “Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.” She smiled, completely prepared to meet Tom’s eyes as she finally faced him.
At first, the only thing her mind could register was that her boyfriend was on his knee, as always. It took her a second to take in the ring that glittered off of the library’s bright ceiling chandelier. Pressing a hand over her lips, she struggled to breath, her small hands gripping the open poetry book in her hands. “Do you mean it, Tom?” She questioned, her eyes flicking down to the ring he was presenting her with.
His eyes were glassy in the light, and Tom smiled, “course I do, darling. I’m on my knee after all.”
Request from Anonymous: Can you please do one where the missus sees proof that Harry is cheating on her and he doesn’t have his wedding ring on but he doesn’t fess up to it so then she doesn’t wear her rings anymore and then Harry notices and his heart starts to race and asks her why she doesn’t wear them anymore and she tells him something like, “you weren’t wearing them the night you decided to throw our marriage away” you decide the ending :) xx
Three years. It took three years for their marriage to fall apart. It took three years for their happy bubble to pop. It took three years until one of them could no longer remain loyal to the other. She didn’t know how it happened. She didn’t know what she did to have her husband cheat on her with another woman. To have him remove his wedding ring from his finger. The ring that was slid on his finger the day they both promised each other that they’d remain faithful to one another. The ring that represented their love and promise that they’d stick by each other’s side in any problem.
The past three years of their marriage was filled with so much love and happiness. Sure, there were arguments here and there, but that was normal. They were happy and then all of a sudden they weren’t.
Y/N started noticing her husband become distant. He’d come home more late than usual, missing out on dinner. He no longer talks to her properly like he use to. She’d ask him something and he’d give her short answers, trying to avoid conversations. He no longer kissed her good morning or a goodnight and even if he did, they were no longer on the lips. They haven’t had sex in weeks, Harry always claiming that he was too tired.
Y/N also noticed that when she told Harry I love you before he left for work this morning, he didn’t say it back. And that’s what hurt the most.
There was a heap of laundry that needed to be cleaned so Y/N was currently in the laundry room, sorting out the dark and light colors. She reaches her hands into any pocket’s of the clothes, making sure nothing was there. When she put her hands in the pocket of one of Harry’s jackets, she feels a crumbled up paper inside. She pulls it out, thinking it was an receipt but her eyebrows knit together when sees that it was a note. Her eyes go wide when she reads over the words on the paper.
That was fun. Maybe we should do it again. Call me sometimes ;)
And at the bottom of the note was written an anonymous phone number. Y/N feels her throat become tight, her stomach churning at the thought of her husband sleeping with another woman. He couldn’t have been cheating. He wouldn’t do that. Harry himself said that cheating is one of the most vile things a man can do.
So why did Y/N find a note like this in the pocket of his jacket?
She didn’t want to believe that her own husband was cheating on her. The man who promised her, in his vows, that he’d remain faithful and loyal to her. This note has to be something else. She couldn’t bring herself to decide that he was cheating on her.
She crumples up the note in her fist but doesn’t throw it away. She puts it into the small pocket of her pants before going back to the laundry and trying to ignore the burning sensation of the paper.
She wasn’t going to ask him what it was.
It’s been a few days later since Y/N found the note. This time, she can smell her everywhere. The other day Harry came home drunk and when she gave him a hug which he half halfheartedly returned, she smelled the floral perfume on his neck. She felt the salt water burn her eyes but she didn’t say anything. She also didn’t say anything when she noticed the mark on his neck and his wedding ring from his finger.
Harry didn’t notice the heartbroken look on Y/N’s face when she noticed he was no longer wearing his wedding band. He didn’t notice the tears that were built up in her eyes because he was so fucking drunk.
“’M so drunk,” Harry mumbles as Y/N helps him out of his jeans quietly, ignoring the nonsense chatter spilling from Harry’s mouth..
“Go to sleep,” is all she says, caressing his hair before turning off the lamp. She goes to lay on her side of the bed, her back facing him. Her thoughts are consumed with images of Harry and another woman kissing. The woman marking his skin. The woman giving him pleasure in ways she hasn’t in a while. Why didn’t Harry want her anymore? Has he become bored with her? Is this woman prettier than her? Is that why he’s cheating on her?
She was immediately snapped out of her thoughts when she felt arms wrap around her stomach, a nose nuzzling into her neck. Y/N swallows the large lump in her throat and she brings her hand up to cover her mouth as she lets out a quiet sob while Harry sleeps. The tears finally stream down her face when she realizes that it was over. Their marriage was over. The moment Harry decided to sleep with another woman was when he threw away their marriage and broke all of the promises he made to her.
And in that night, she didn’t get a wink of sleep.
It’s been two days since Y/N found out Harry was cheating on her. He no longer wears the silver wedding band, thinking that Y/N doesn’t notice. He smiles down at his phone whenever he’s texting and when Y/N asks why he laughs, he’d mumble, “S’nothing. Just somethin’ Jeff said.” And with that he’d leave the room, no longer wanting to talk to her.
Y/N no longer wears her wedding ring either. The night Harry came home drunk, drenched in another woman’s perfume and a bare ring finger, she decided it was the last straw. She wonders if Harry noticed her not wearing the ring either. He probably didn’t considering he doesn’t stay at home anymore.
It was around seven in the evening, Y/N was cooking herself dinner in their large kitchen. Harry was out as always. Her ears perk up when she hears he front door shut. Why was he home so early? Her heart starts to race when she hears his voice talking to someone. She could hear him in the foyer, his voice talking lowly to the person on the phone.
“Yes,” He chuckles, “’ve just got t’ tell m’wife that ‘m staying over….No, she doesn’t know anythin’…” Harry sighs, “…look ‘ve been married to her fo’ three years now, I can’t just divorce her.”
But it sure was easy for you to cheat on her.
Y/N quickly goes back to occupying herself with dinner, ignoring the ache in her chest. Her hands are slightly shaking as she cuts some vegetables and she feels the tears well in her eyes which she tries to get rid of when she hears Harry’s footsteps walking towards the kitchen.
She sees his body leaning against the doorway of the kitchen in her peripheral vision. She glances up to see him looking at her with his pale green eyes. She could depict the look on his face but she gives him a small fake smile nonetheless.
“Hey,” She greets, trying to control her shaky voice. “Didn’t hear you come in,” She lies.
Harry gives her a small smile, walking towards the bar stool. He picks up a carrot from the cutting board, plopping it into his mouth.
“Yeah…I just got home,” He says lowly, looking at her face.
She tries not to look at him, pretending to act casual as she chops the vegetables. She tries not to cringe when she feels him lean up to kiss the corner of her mouth. The nerve he had to do that was beyond her. She wishes she could kiss him back but no longer feels like she has the right to when he’s been kissing someone else. Someone who now has his attention more than his own wife’s.
Harry eyebrow’s knit together when he sees how quiet she was being. His gaze lingers on her face before he slowly runs his eyes over her whole figure. He felt his airways constrict, making it less easy to breath. His heart was racing in his chest when he notices that her wedding ring was missing from her finger. Did she know?
He puts his hand on hers, refraining her from cutting the vegetables. She looks at his face in confusion, wondering why he stopped her. She notices his green eyes staring down at her fingers. Her heart clenches in her chest and she felt herself let out a shaky sigh because Harry finally noticed.
She sees him swallow thickly, his green eyes red around the rims. His lips part when he looks up to see the broken look on her face. She could no longer hold her strong facade and she immediately feels a single tear leave her eye.
“W-Why don’ yeh wear your ring anymore?” He asks in a whisper even though he knew the answer. It’s not like he didn’t notice before. Whenever he’d come home in the last few days, he’d notice her ring finger bare when she was asleep. He didn’t think too much about it at the time but now as he looks at her hand, he felt his heart break in his chest because she knew. He knew that she knew.
Y/N inhales deeply, gathering the courage to say what she’s been wanting to say for the past few days. “Stopped wearing it once I found out you were no longer mine.”
Harry’s eyes widen, the tears pricking the back of his eyes. He felt his lip wobble and he bites down on his lower lip. Y/N looks at his face, noticing how pale it went and how his eyes are glossy.
“I-I don’ understand I-I–” Harry stutters, twiddling with his thumbs, not knowing what to say.
“Please, don’t say anything,” She says calmly but on the inside, she felt like she was falling apart. She felt like her heart was going to burst at the amount of pain it felt. “What was it, Harry? Hm?” She asks him. “W-What made you do this? What did I do to deserve this? Tell me, did I do something wrong? Were you not happy anymore?”
Harry stays quiet, not knowing how to answer her questions. His tears can no longer be held and he lets out a choked sob.
“How long have yeh known?” Is all he asks.
Y/N shakes her head at the fact that he ignored her questions. “Three weeks.” She says, noticing his face break even more. “I notice how you were no longer there with me. You were there, Harry. But you weren’t there,” She cries. “And I tried so hard to convince myself that you would never do something like this. I tried not to jump to conclusions but Jesus, Harry, I smelled her on you and I saw the fucking marks on your neck when you came home drunk the other night! And you think I didn’t notice that you weren’t wearing your ring either!” She finally says, her chest heaving by the end. She felt her head spinning and her chest hurt from the agonizing pain of heart break.
The air was knocked out of his lungs and he felt like he could no longer breathe at all. He didn’t what to tell her. It wasn’t her that caused him to cheat on her. It was him. It was all of his fault. He met the woman when he out with some friends and he’d accidentally slept with her after getting too drunk. He felt guilty the next day, sobbing in his car outside of their home while his wife was waiting inside, worried sick.
He didn’t know how to tell her that after cheating on her, he saw that same woman again and developed a sexual affair with her. Harry should’ve known that he was going to get caught eventually. He would ignore the guilt that was at the back of his mind when he was kissing the other woman. He would ignore the sad look on your face every time he left.
Now he felt all the guilt and regret crashing down on him like a sudden wake up call. Seeing her look at him with the broken look on her face dawned him that he could never heal this. She was never going to forgive him. They both knew that.
“I-I can’t stay here anymore,” She whispers sadly and Harry immediately became alarmed at her words. He shook his head, going around the kitchen counter and getting on his knees.
“N-No, I messed up. I know I did. I wasn’t thinking. Please.” He begs, crying out and she pretends to act like it doesn’t phase her.
Y/N pulls his arms from her waist, pushing him off of her but he only tightens his arms.
“Harry,” Y/N cries out loud, “You can’t do this. You’re the one who ruined this. Ruined us. The moment you decided to even kiss another woman was when you ruined it. A-And the fact that you went back to that woman and decided to have…” She felt herself stop right there, her throat constricting, preventing anymore words from coming out. She couldn’t say the word because it hurt too much and the image that’ll come to mind
“Our marriage is ruined, Harry,” Y/N says coldly and Harry felt a sharp pain in his chest because hearing her say it out loud felt like a stab to the heart.
Three years of being married and it only took one decision for it to all crumble.
alright homies, this fucking sucked. I apologize to the anon who requested this if it’s not what you wanted :( I have a hard time imagining Harry as a guy who would cheat so this was a bit difficult to write so i didn’t know how to end it *sigh* plus this is my first angst one lmao. Hopefully i can finish up my other stuff soon to show you guys. I’m gonna be posting less due to vacation.
one more thing, I didn’t proof read at all so ignore any typos. Thanks.
I’ve seen a lot of different Lance head canons and Au’s, but consider the following.
Lance looses his hearing after trying out a new weapon on Shiros and Alluras orders during a risky scuffle with the Galran. Only for him to not realize the weapon user is required to have ear protection due to the incredibly loud backlash. At the end of the fight Lance calms down enough to realize his ears are ringing and bleeding. That night he looses all his hearing in his right ear and most in his left.
He realizes that even if they go back to Earth he’ll never really hear his parents voice again, or hear his siblings gentle laughter, or the wind rustling through the trees.
It’s only when Lance is screaming in his room and sobbing does he hear a whisper of a sound- his own heart breaking with each scream.
Lance hears phantom noises, often tensing or shaking when it happens, often hearing the screaming from the dying Galran he had killed that day.
Shiro blames himself despite Lance telling him not to.
Shiro develops a habit of rubbing Lance’s ears and trying to be visible at all times whenever he’s around his boyfriend.
When he was a child,
he had to watch the cruel murder of all his friends and family
members so that the Millennium items could be created. After that he
was all alone. His grief, hatred and loneliness slowly made him go
mad. Everything got even worse when Zorc took control of him.
Of course Bakura did
some horrible things. Revenge is never a solution, but he didn’t
deserve this destiny. It would have been great if only the darkness
in his heart was destroyed and he finally found peace.
I realize this is not new information to anyone, but what struck me so hard this time I read the Lord of the Rings was the sense of melancholy. Like it’s painfully obvious to the reader that this world is Not As It Once Was. All of the characters we meet reference this feeling of loss in one way or another.
The elves are the most obvious - with their fading light and their ships sailing away. Treebeard talks about how the woods aren’t as they once were, about the ents who are falling asleep and withering to nothing. The dwarves lust after the glory of their forefathers, be it in mountain fortresses or caverns of mithril - now empty and echoing. Old Tom Bombadil remembers a race of great men and women, reduced simply to trinkets in cold tombs.
And even men, the race set to inherit this new age, even they are experiencing this sense of melancholy, of losing hold of something great. We see their great cities reduced to rubble on riverbanks, or possessed by evil. Aragorn longs to return to his throne to restore the glory of ages past, to somehow rejuvenate that which is dying in the race of men.
And hobbits? At first we see them as living in the present, with no great glory of the past to tie them down. Yet when Frodo returns to the Shire, it is…Not As It Once Was. And I think while the other hobbits are able to shake off this feeling and return to their love of life and the present, maybe Frodo’s true burden is to inherit this sense of loss from the rest of Middle Earth.
thank youu! (note: I got very excited about this and couldn’t bring myself to stop, so here’s a ridiculously in depth royalty au for you! hope you like it! <3 )
Prince Yuuri who is the most eligible bachelor in the whole world, but because it’s Yuuri he doesn’t believe it, and thinks his people see him as a useless and weak crown Prince.
King Victor who has recently been crowned, and is being nagged by his uncle and adviser Yakov to find a partner already.
The two meeting a few times at various important parties/diplomatic meetings, but Victor doesn’t really notice Yuuri, as Yuuri is shy and keeps to himself whilst his parents are still in charge.
Yuuri admiring Victor from a distance, because he has this presence and class and kindness that he craves to have as a royal.
At Prince Phichit’s insanely huge birthday bash (a masquerade, because obviously, that cliche is great), Victor and Yuuri don’t recognise each other.
Yuuri asking Victor to dance, because the guy was being bothered by a bunch of people who’d worked out who he was, and basically they fall for each other there and then on the dance floor and spend the whole night together.
Victor finding out from Phichit who Yuuri was after the first night, but Yuuri being utterly oblivious the entire time, and thinking he’d just be wooed by some cute young lord or something (Phichit had assumed Yuuri had already worked it out).
Victor also assuming Yuuri knew who he actually was.
The two of them (still in masks due to Yuuri’s request as he was nervous) hanging out at Phichit’s ridiculous week-long celebration, and just being cute and swooning over each other.
Victor having to return to Russia, but asking Yuuri if he’d consider marrying him when he returned from his business, and Yuuri (still thinking this was just some lower aristocrat) saying yes, but not really believing it would happen. Victor takes this as an acceptance of his proposal, and goes home to tell Yakov he’s engaged.
Victor turning up at Yuuri’s palace a month later because he was invited by Yuuri’s parents after Victor wrote to them apologising for not askign their permission first.
Basically just everyone assuming Yuuri knew what was going on, as they waited for Victor to propose, and Yuuri being a completely oblivious and clueless awkward mess who isn’t entirely sure why Victor is being so cute and super weirdly close to him, and thinking how similar he was to the man at Phichit’s party, but not putting two and two together even when they spend so much time together.
Victor giving Yuuri a ring one night and apologising that it was late. Yuuri being totally caught off guard and extremely panicked and confused.
The whole story coming out and both Victor and Yuuri screaming into pillows on the floor in embarrassment as everyone around them is just like “You two are fucking idiots, clearly you’re meant for each other”
It’s incomplete, but I had to get this out of my system:
How Yosuke Hanamura broke my heart
Persona 4 is a funny game. It is also a long game, and that allows the social simulation aspect of it to really work, allows you to feel at home with the characters, through charm and repetition - grumpy Dojima, overly energetic Chie, confused heart of gold Kanji. Through little bits of interaction, day by in-game day, you at some point start to realise that when this is over, you might actually miss them. All of them.
And then there is Yosuke.
You play Persona 4 as Souji, a quite detached guy moving in from the city, hand on his hip, jacket slung over his shoulder, and while you, the player, grow fond of the game’s characters, Souji always feels like he doesn’t quite belong. He is the leader, the one who pulls the strings, the one grown up far beyond their age, with the world’s weight on their shoulders.
You juggle realtionships, help people out, they call you senpai, sensei - and then there is Yosuke.
Yosuke, who somehow, magically, manages to transcent Persona 4’s charming but game-y relationship system and becomes something else. Yosuke, who calls you Partner, and rings you up at night asking about your dreams or which girl you like. Yosuke, who does and says so many silly things that you never quite know what to expect - Yosuke, who ultimately breaks the boundaries of Persona 4 and makes Souji/Yosuke the most unexpectedly real-feeling relationship within a video game that I’ve ever encountered.
I don’t know what I thought when I first laid eyes on him, it’s likely that it was something along the lines of “Hey, this is quite cool-looking for an anime video game guy. Nice headphones.”
Then, in quick succession, things happened that made it clear that Yosuke was many things - heartbroken, repressed, funny, lazy, loyal, competitive, insecure, reckless - and that there was something building between him and Souji that seemed like a stunningly natural depiction of friendship. Somehow, this is rare - a video game showing two guys becoming friends, a process that just like falling in love requires making first moves, and opening up, and getting comfortable with each other. It seemed like Yosuke was the person in the cast that always wanted to know a little more, the one to push Souji a little bit, willing to ask stupid questions just to get a reaction, and unlike the other characters, he seemed to always act out of a desire to be level with Souji, to break through the calm, collected, leader-shell of his and address the human being inside.
Now, that alone would be a remarkable thing for a video game to depict, and worthy of high praise. What complicates things is that Yosuke, no matter how much he might deny it, seems like the most obvious case of a closeted gay person the world has ever seen.
When I started playing Persona 4, I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting myself into, through reading about it and actually having played a bit in the past. I also knew about the game’s realtionship system, and was aware, or thought I was, that you could only get romantically involved with girls. Thus, when the game started to tease the possibility of a gay option, I raised an eyebrow, then another one, and then I lost my marbles.
When it started, the closeness between Souji and Yosuke had already been established, and since I’m a sucker for guys not actually hating each other, I started to favour Yosuke a little bit - choosing him to eat lunch with on the roof, studying together, spending afternoons at the Junes food court, talking in the soft glow of the sun on the Samegawa river bank. When Yosuke asked which girl I liked, I chose “neither”, cheekily, thinking I was playing the metagame, when the next midnight channel story twist came up, I bet each time that Yosuke would be the one to call Souji, outraged, worried, flustered, and each time when the phone rang and it was indeed him, I smiled to myself. But surely it was all in my head - I was starting to ship it, but it was just a fun little thing to do, to spare a thought here and there and layer it on top of these two characters whose interactions I enjoyed way more than expected.
Then, these little moments started happening - the group sitting together at Junes’ and Yosuke remarking how good Partner is with his hands, a comment that might not even have stuck out so much if weren’t for the fact that immediately after saying it, Yosuke became a hot mess of backpedalling embarrassment. His insistence to know whether Souji had a crush on somebody, and who it was, despite the awkwardness. His remarks about inviting a third person to their activities, “or else people might think we’re gay.” And ultimately, the sheer time the game devoted to the Souji/Yosuke relationship - way more than any of the other characters got.
Persona 4’s social link system is fairly rigid. You choose to spend time with people, and if things go well, and even sometimes if they don’t, it raises your relationship level with said person, allowing you to climb the social link ranks, which has gameplay and combat benefits and also allows you, in some cases, to pursue a romance. What is remarkable about Yosuke is that the game spends a significant amount of time showing interactions between Yosuke and Souji outside of this system, building their relationship beyond the confines of you walking up to a person after school and answering “yes” to their proposal of hanging out. This not only serves to create a markedly more natural and complex relationship, it also sets Yosuke apart from the other characters - he is the one to choose to interact with Souji while the other characters can only wait to be chosen.
And then Kanji entered the picture, Yosuke freaked out completely and I looked on, amazed at the fact that this game would dare to introduce a gay character, who, despite being closeted, met up with dates after school and whose dungeon was, of all things, a gay bathhouse, with sexual content that wasn’t even the slightest bit concealed. Of all the characters, Yosuke reacted most strongly to this, outright refusing to enter and making a big fuss about being afraid of Kanji taking advantage of him.
It culminated in the camping trip - Kanji, Yosuke, Souji sharing a tent - a scenario that could have been used very easily for a gay romance movie of questionable quality, full of the usual tropes of late night talks, denial, confrontation and very real confusion on my part of where exactly this was going - the game laid on the armored gay homophobia on Yosuke so thick that it seemed almost impossible to read what was going on in any other way. Combined with the unusual qualities that had been established in the realtionship before Kanji joined the group, it started to feel like an entire plot was going on behind the scenes, inexplicit yet persistent and increasingly impossible to ignore.
A few in-game days after that camping trip, Yosuke broke another boundary the game had set up to this point - he visited Souji’s home. More importantly, his room, a place that up until then you, the player, had always been alone in. The conversation that followed, in that intimate space, can’t adequately be described as subtext anymore, it’s text, and very gay text at that. I was streaming the game at the time, and I bet if that session’s video was still up, you’d hear my breath hitch when Yosuke, no homo Yosuke, asked about Souji’s porn stash and teasingly, suggestively stated he’d find it while Souji was out of the room. That was only the top of the iceberg, the whole scene and its context hit me like a 10 ton truck - could it be real? Was there really, explicitly something going on? The fact that I, after learning through research that there was no gay option, felt the need to double check after that scene, to make sure there wasn’t one, should speak volumes.
That’s when I learned of the fact that Yosuke very likely was a gay option, that there were unused text and voice lines left over on the game’s disk that turned the inexplicit explicit, both in english and japanese, suggesting the developer changed their mind after the localization was done, i.e. very late in the game’s development. Only, they had ripped out very little, leaving in tons of sublte and not so subtle parts of the relationship, and that was when I realised that Persona 4, beyond being one of the best games I have ever played, would also have the potential to make me very sad, and very angry.
It wasn’t just that gay rights had been dear to my heart for as long as I could remember. It wasn’t just that the progression of Souji and Yosuke’s relationship eclipsed any other possible pairing in the lineup by miles in terms of complexity and depth and just feeling right. It was the loss of an incredible story being told, a story that would have been unique in the history of video games - the story of two fully realised, multi-faceted male characters that you, as a player, like, falling in love, and dealing with the fact that they both happen to be guys, with all the issues that might bring in a society where homophobia and hate are still so prevalent.
While this has been done in movies to great success in recent times, mainstream video games haven’t dared to show male homosexual relationships in positive light and up front and center. Persona 4 does dare to spend significant time on very progressive subjects, including homosexuality and transgender issues, but it falters and pulls back just on the brink of being truly groundbreaking, which, to anybody playing the game with an open mind, can only scream injustice both in a worldly and in an in-game sense.
The level 9 rank of Yosuke’s social link progression has the two of you standing on a hill overlooking the town of Inaba. Yosuke’d probably call it a village, and the two of you talk about coming to terms with your place in the world, literally and figuratively. It’s autumn, and the evening sun plays with the coloured leaves on the trees - it’s a beautiful spot, a wistful song is playing, and despite the Playstation 2’s aged graphics you can’t help but marvel a little. You’ve never been to this spot before, you think Yosuke probably brought you here, and you wonder if there are any other locations in the town you know so well by now that you haven’t seen.
“There is still nothing here,” Yosuke says, meaning Inaba, a place he resented for the longest time, “but I have family, and friends…and you.”
I sat in front of the TV for a long time, the soft piano notes of the song playing making me ache, and then I realised that while Yosuke Hanamura was denied the chance to become part of video games’ first positively framed gay male relationship, he had acomplished one thing:
can we talk about harry getting a little tattoo on his ring finger when he gets married?? just imagine how sweet it'd be aww
PLEASEEEE I THINK ABOUT THIS OFTEN BECAUSE IT’S LITERALLY SOMETHING HARRY WOULD DO!!! He’d be so cute about it, too, and maybe he doesn’t even tell you when he has one of his mates that have done a million of his other smaller tattoos do it. It could happen a month of so after the wedding and honeymoon (which was nearly a whole month itself and Harry had told everyone to fuck off while the two of you disconnected from the rest of the world for a bit). You’ve had a little over a week to settle in as newlyweds now, though, not that it took much, because you finally stopped paying rent at your own place and moved in with Harry completely about a year ago (even though he had been begging you to for months beforehand, because you mostly lived together, anyway, so it just made sense and you were just wasting money). Today’s been his first day back at work, though, which really just entailed going to a few meetings and getting a bit of writing done for his next album, and the rest of the time was spent fucking around with his team.
When he comes home, he finds you in the kitchen finishing up dinner, and he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and presses his face into your neck. “’F you tracked dirt into this house because you refuse to take your shoes off at the door, ‘m gonna’ kill you,” you tell him, placing a hand over his on your tummy, and you feel him smiling against your skin. “You wouldn’t. Can’t live without me,” he shoots back, and you spin around until you’re facing him, and he’s grinning down at you (and you, up at him). He leans in after that, but you turn your head so that he misses your lips and gets your cheek instead. You expect him to put up a fight, pretend that he’s hurt, but instead he just presses his lips harder against your cheek, grabs for your hands, and laces your fingers together. He’s got you pressed between his body and the counter by the time he starts peppering wet kisses along your jaw, and you groan, doing your best to move away from his assault. His grip tightens and he presses up against you a bit harder. “You’re so annoying,” you complain, but you’re out of breath from laughing so hard, and he knows you don’t mean it. “‘S too bad. Y’stuck with me,” he counters, bringing your intertwined hands up, and that’s when you see it.
You’ve had an obsession with looking at Harry’s left hand ever since you put his wedding ring there during your ceremony, and each time your heart has lurched and you’ve nearly caught a sob in your throat. This time it’s no different, but it’s more intense than it has been since the first few days, because there’s the tiniest bit of black ink just below where his new, shiny wedding band rests against the fourth finger. Said ink appears to be in the shape of your first name’s initial, in your handwriting, and there’s a red sort of glow around it, which leads you to think that it may be permanent. That thought makes you feel a bit dizzy and you must look very suddenly drained of color, because Harry narrows his eyes at you, and then follows your gaze to his finger. He smiles, and you look up at him with wide eyes. “You like it, then?” He questions, his voice his softer, but just hearing the rasp of it brings a smile to your face and you hold his left hand tighter.
“Is it real?” You murmur, and he lets out a breath of laugh, because it very obviously is, but your voice sounds genuinely filled with wonder as if you don’t quite believe it. “’Ve got ‘big’ tattooed on one of ‘m big toes, ‘nd you’re asking me ‘f your initial is real or not?” He teases, and you want to swat at his chest, but you’d rather keep holding his hands, squeezing them as if to encourage him to further explain. “Remember when I told you I didn’t even need a ring? That night when you thought I was proper smashed ‘nd I was beggin’ you to let’s just get marriedalready, and your argument was that we didn’t have rings yet?” He starts, and you give him a small nod, and he lets out another quiet laugh. “I believe I told you we could just get tattoos ‘f some sort on our ring fingers after, didn’t I?” You nod again, and he brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, and you wrap your arms around his middle, hugging him close to you. You had been together right around four years now, and you still were never able to get close enough to him. “Still wanted mine. Even if you wouldn’t let me marry you that night. You’re part ‘f me. Already were, but now y’can see it,” he says, and you turn your head to press a kiss to his palm and then you’re leaning up to kiss him properly right after.
Harry makes a choked off sound, like he’s surprised by the kiss, but he melts into it easily. You think you could probably kiss him forever, just like this – standing in the middle of your kitchen, you in your joggers and t-shirt, and Harry in the same except he’s got on jeans, feeling the newest sensation of feeling an extra ring on his hand as he cups your cheek. It’s breathtaking, and you’re certain no one has ever been as in love as the two of you are. When you pull apart for a bit of air, you tell him that you want his initial, too, and he raises an eyebrow. “Y’can have it t’night if you trust me enough t’let me do it,” he tells you, and you nod quickly. He’s no tattoo artist, you know that, but he does have a kit, and he’s got enough tattoos himself to know how to do it properly. He’s also tattooed a few of his mates, just as they’ve done him, so you know he knows what he’s doing. Also, there’s something about Harry tattooing his own initial, in his handwriting, into your skin that makes it beyond intimate. Just the idea makes you feel hot all over and needy for him, so you press closer and drag your hand over the dip in his back beneath his t-shirt. He clearly doesn’t pick up on it, though, because he smiles as he presses a peck to your lips and steps away. You whine because that’s all you get out of him.
Not a minute later, though, you catch his smirk and realize that he has, in fact, picked up on it, but instead of doing something about it, he’s taking two plates from the cabinet and placing them on the counter beside the dish of pasta you’ve successfully made (and forgotten about in the fifteen minutes he’s been home). When he speaks, it seems so sudden that you nearly jump. “Know tattoos get y’ all hot ‘n bothered, baby, but think about how bad y’gonna’ want it after I’ve done your tattoo,” he tells you, turning back to face you and setting both plates in front of the barstools at the island in the center of the kitchen. “Remember when y’got your first? Could hardly keep y’off ‘f me while I drove us home,” he says, and his voice is fond and you love when he does this – pretend he’s not just as affected as you are. You let him be cocky, even if you know the truth. “Promise I’ll take good ‘f you after we’re finished. Know how wet it gets you,” he murmurs, once you’re sitting beside him, and you lean over to press a kiss just below his jaw, and he places a hand on the inside of your thigh.
You end up getting two tattoos that night – an ‘H’ in his handwriting, just below where your wedding band rests, to match his, and a heart he’s drawn directly on the skin of your hip. “’S a fuckin’ shame ‘m not gonna be able t’get my mouth on y’there for a week now,” he tells you after he’s finished, and you tell him there are plenty of other places he can put his mouth in the meantime.