#youkaitastic

“You need to eat,” Hiiro replies flatly, without missing a beat. In a fluid motion, he scoops more rice porridge out of the bowl, then gently inserts it into his mouth, then watching him eat more slowly. He knew if he didn’t force feed him, then Waki wouldn’t eat at all. He’d starve himself to death and the the last thing he wanted is to lose his dear friend.

An insidious emotion coiled itself around dearest friend, trying to steal his life energy from his beating heart. It was all due to Hibiki’s selfishness. But he wouldn’t allow the after effects drown him, because then they’d both win. Even thinking about the damned flimsy poet puts a bad taste in his mouth.

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” He scoops another, inserting it, “and I’m going to continue feeding you until you eat it. Alright?”

How could Takeshi Inoue allow such a thing to happen? he's heard in those rare instances he's out, accompanying Wakako in the market or staying close to Hiiro in the smithy. They are friends, others would say. Hiiro Inoue is a kind soul despite his appearances, so of course he would be deceived into harboring such a wretched boy into their home. It’s a trait he had inherited from his father, who could also be so easily swayed out of the goodness of his own heart. The mother and sister are gentle women, so they will not object either. Perhaps they think to reform him and bring about his filial piety at last, they would say then. Though it will be an arduous task reforming Waki Amachi—oh, but we mustn’t call him Amachi anymore, since his family had cut their ties with him when he had left.

Waki also wonders: How could Takeshi Inoue allow such a thing to happen? How could he have allowed Hiiro to travel to Yoshiwara, to let him bring home a thing so debauched that should have been left behind in a burning city, to continue sustaining its life when Waki only wants to throw it away? It’s a waste, Waki thinks. It’s all a waste: of time, of resources, of effort.

But he knows Hiiro will not waver from his decision. Waki takes in another spoon of porridge and lets the food past his throat, where smoke and ash should have been. Hiiro offers a cup of water, which he shakily takes into his thinning fingers and sips from.

….Honestly?

Grinding his teeth, Lars feels his blood boil underneath his skin. It was honestly tiring that these buncha punks had nothing better to do! And taking it out and using Wolfram as a hostage too? Now, he’s just getting started.

“Fiiiine, you’re on,” He grumbles, stuffing the note into his jacket pocket and throws his backpack onto his shoulder. He makes a beeline to the third gym, passing by his sister (she said something, but he didn’t catch it) and arrived just on time. He scans the area, looking for Wolfram high and low till he catches sight of the back of his head. But the damned losers were all around him.

What the hell? Well, he had nothing really holding back.

“Now, ‘m here, let him go,” He throws his backpack off to the side, then cracks his knuckles, “unless y’all wanna get your asses beat, ––huh?”

@juniperblooded

When a group of boys that Wolfram had recognized as the school’s regular delinquents had suddenly accosted him from behind, his immediate thought hadn’t been Why me?! or Let me go! but rather How the hell did they find me because I’m not anywhere close to the vicinity of actual people what the fuck. (His locker is still very far removed from everyone else’s, so really, how the hell did this happen.)

Things had started to make more sense on the way to the third gym—the tiny one that’s mostly used for when away teams needed a place to congregate. According to his mental chart of activities going on campus, it should be completely empty. It could be a shakedown, Wolfram reckons, but then again why didn’t they just go it at an equally abandoned part of the school? The whole plan didn’t click until they started to talk about that “fuckin’ little shit Young.” Okay, so it wasn’t a shakedown at all; this was a hostage situation.

Yeah, that makes sense: Wolfram is arguably the easiest target to acquire for a hostage, provided you actually know who he is.

It becomes apparent very quickly why they chose him as they shove him through the doors of the third gym. The others close to Lars can put up a very good fight, even Raine. But after living with Ansel for a while, Wolfram’s picked up some things.

Like how to execute a proper headbutt.

He heard an unfamiliar voice somewhere in the house. Oh dear. Pillagers? This place had been uninhabited for who-knows-how-long, but it’s quite occupied now! Reid softly tells Laurent and Raine to hide themselves somehow, in the event of danger. After all, it could just be his brother. Maybe he yelled too much--that always did something with his voice somewhere down the line.

When he hears the call for Oengus Og, Reid sighs in relief. Yes, truly, it was Peter. They had a habit of calling each other after old legends--but really, the god of love, youth, and poetic inspiration? (Well, Peter would always call him ‘Diarmuid’ anyway when he wasn’t using any of the names of the Tuatha De Danann, so he figures it was along the same lines since he was Diarmuid’s revered foster father.) In hindsight, he should have said something. Instead, he dodges a swing of a mighty axe just in time.

“Reidhachadh, a bhastaird bhreallghnuisigh!”

“Oh, mo Peadar!” he exclaims. Seeing the boy get red in the face from anger is always so cute! Reid ruffles his hair a little. “How’ya, my little cu sidhe? Not like I didn’t see you earlier this morning, but it looks like so much of life happened! You even brought home a friend!”

Reid ignores the protests of He’s not my friend! and looks directly at the stranger. Oh. Well, doesn’t he look familiar.

Wolfram’s fingers immediately clamp down against the piano keys, making a dissonant cacophony of notes shoot into the air. Perhaps it was a good thing too--he could’ve sworn he had dropped the f-bomb on accident just now.

He peeks over his shoulders and mentally shuts down. Great. Of all people, why is Lars Young talking to him? His mind isn’t ready for this. His heart isn’t ready for this! Wolfram snaps his head back to face front (or, at least, face front and down at the keys) and he swallows his words. Don’t mess up, don’t mess up, don’t mess up.

“Uh,” he squeaks--and he’s mentally kicking himself because DAMMIT, VOICE, HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS--before clearing his throat to try again. His voice is still shaky, but at least he can form a coherent, “It’s, uh, called... ‘Entrance.’”

Wait, though, didn’t he pick something up with Lars’s name on it before when he came in?

Wolfram looks over to the lost-and-found cubby of the band room. Oh, right. “Um. Wallet. Y-Your wallet--it’s in the cubby. I--I didn’t take any money or anything, honest.”

touch meme // @youkaitastic​

( pulling their hair)

Distance is key. Wolfram is still unsure about using these powers by himself, without Ansel to take the reins. How ironic, he thinks to himself, maintaining eye contact with his friend’s body—because this definitely isn’t Lars anymore. The stance, the expression, the energy. It’s all different. It’s more antiquated.

From one two-souls-in-a-body scenario to another and another still.

Lars’s body moves quickly, much more agile than had Wolfram ever anticipated. All the languid swaying from before must have been this new person warming up in their new body. Wolfram doesn’t even have time to put his shield up before a hand grabs a fistful of his hair and yanking him close to them. 

touch meme // @lifedenied ; @youkaitastic

( dancing with them )

“This is not dancing,” Peter tells him flatly. “This is just you making me sway from side to side.”

The usual whine of Peter Rabbiiiit, quit spoiling the fun!! comes, as expected. He’s learned to just accept all of Lars’s whims and complaints because they were generally small in scale. Besides, it’s been happening a couple of times every day for the past few years, so of course he’s learned to tune everything out when applicable.

At least he’s not dabbing anymore. That had been a disaster he refused to be associated with.

Peter pulls away from Lars’s hold and positions their arms for a proper dance. “If you want to dance with me, we’re gonna dance right. You’re taller, so I’ll show you how to lead.”

Jealous Lovers Sentence Starters // @youkaitastic

That was so unnecessary. Now you just look like an idiot. Wolfram’s quick to deflate as soon as Lars’s words reached him.

“I-I…” He usually let all the trash talk slide—it’s how he gets information, how he’s able to pick out the impartial truth from the rivers of bias. This time a certain chain had yanked him back, causing him to pause and walk towards a group who had been saying a “whole lotta shit” (as Ansel puts it) about Lars. Honestly, he didn’t really need to go fly off the handle. It goes against his character and it definitely confused the other students who have probably never seen him in their entire academic lives. He couldn’t help it, though. Why would anyone talk about Lars that way? Why can’t they see just how amazing of a person he is?

Jealous Lovers Sentence Starters // @youkaitastic

Peter turns his head, a little startled by the Lars’s tone of voice when he made the comment. He sees furrowed brows and a mouth scrunched into an almost-pout. “Yeah? And? Who else was I supposed to sit with while you had band practice with my brother and them?”

With all their musically-talented friends off to some crunch-time band and orchestra practices and Gretchen off to set up her plan to woo Vanessa, Peter’s options had been limited. Sure, there was the baseball team, but one of the freshmen had been starting some shit lately and Scott told him to steer clear for now, lest he wants his blood pressure to spike up. It really only did leave Ryan, who had been on his way back from checking on Bianca. He and Lars were best friends, weren’t they? So why is Lars so ticked about it? 

Wait a fuckin’—