#usukvday2k18

[tiramiszu]

Happy Valentine’s Day to my USUK Valentine’s Day sweetheart @rainbowcolouredafternoon​!! Please ignore the date this was posted at all costs.

Err, anyway. This was supposed to be a two panel post but I don’t know what the heck happened.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Please don’t treat Alfred too harshly, okay?  (｀・ω・´)

Thanks again to the @usuknetwork for hosting such a fun event!!

[captainjellyart]

Alfred’s white day reply to Arthur’s Valentine invitation from w/ @katiehime-draws owo/ ( event hosted by @usuknetwork !! )

i keep on drawing quotes from jennamarble’s videos and idfc

[thenarcolepticone]

Base69

by TheNarcolepticOne

(AO3) (FF.net) 

Summary: Arthur Kirkland, English major extraordinaire, is a master of words. And yet despite this, he finds that it’s almost impossible to read a word of what Alfred F. Jones sends in his text messages. It’s apparently a phone malfunction, Alfred claims. A phone malfunction that happens consistently at the same hour every day. USUK

A/N: The second half of the #usukvday2k18 for the , which shouldn’t be a day late like this but responsibilities and Internet problems got in the way. Read the first half (here) written by @ixiethepixiewrites ( @ixbranna16 ), sponsored by @usuknetwork ! Rated T for implications and language.

Everyday, right before Arthur’s 3:30 pm class on analyzing the various motifs and cultural references pulled upon from Shakespearean texts, he would receive messages from his partner in crime, Alfred.

Arthur and Alfred were an unlikely duo, as the two were in entirely different departments for two entirely different occupational end goals. Despite this, however, three of the things they agreed upon being similar with was their 8:30 am English class, a preference for reviewing for tests in quiet study rooms and their extreme breakfast cravings.

During these times, it was clear that they, of course, talked often; Alfred did so for the two of them on most days. But Arthur enjoyed Alfred’s humor and company, especially when the stresses of midterms and finals loomed near.

It’s usually then, after their talks, that Alfred often sent a barrage of texts to make up for not being present with him throughout the day. They were either really horrific shortcuts for basic English words as well as ridiculous pictures with large white captions that he claimed was a category of underappreciated art called ‘memes’. Arthur never usually replied back to him, and only ever needed to open his messages up just to ask when Alfred was going to come to the café.

But all of this was before the odd message that started it off.

It was something that Arthur had passed off as a passive mistake on Alfred’s part. Alfred tended to mash the keyboard when he was excited to explain something if it wasn’t in all caps. But the odd messages just kept on coming. And Arthur had ultimately stopped replying for fear of his expensive phone contacting whatever virus had manifested itself into Alfred’s message platform.

The texts kept on going and going, and it came to the point that Arthur would try and bring it up at breakfast. But almost always he would be shot down immediately after mentioning it. Most conversations would end up taking a hard left back to school and assignments. It would be dismissed with a “Yeah yeah, sorry I gotta get my phone fixed” before transitioning entirely to something unrelated.

And after about a week of no concrete responses, Arthur had finally settled on breaking the unspoken silent wall between him and his flatmate, Honda Kiku.

They never really talked much outside of who would be in charge of buying the groceries during that week, and Kiku didn’t normally like to start conversations with Arthur unless perhaps absolutely necessary, like asking friends to stay over.

Kiku however, Arthur observed, spent countless hours on his computer with a white screen just as blank as Arthur’s. Yet, he seemed to type endless strings of phrases that looked like something straight of a hacker’s stereotype, while in between sometimes playing a few video games once and awhile. It’s that instance that Arthur decides to connect that maybe Kiku might have an answer for him. Arthur was an old man to technology, and perhaps maybe even asking Kiku could help benefit Alfred and his phone problems.

Alfred was smart. But not smart enough to pretend to be dumb. “Hey,” Arthur said one day, while Kiku was watching what looked like an animated show. He’s seated with his legs pulled up on the chair, with a pack of chips open and headphones right over his head. He tapped Kiku’s shoulder, which caused him to turn around and pull the headphones off.

“Um, may I ask you something technology related?”

“Oh, sure.”

Kiku had spun around in his chair, looking at Arthur with a curious expression. Arthur cleared his throat, taking the phone out of his pocket as he began to explain. He glanced at the messages again, as if to make sure that they were still there and not magically deleted from his phone. “So, my friend has been texting me these strange messages. And by strange, I mean that they’re messages that I don’t think I’m understanding the full context of. I’m not quite sure if these are viruses or something else just as dangerous… but I’ve been too afraid to look these up online.” Arthur hands the phone to Kiku. “Can you help me figure out what this means?”

It only takes about a few minutes of Kiku furrowing his eyebrows before he practically shoves the phone back into Arthur’s hands, glasses skewed and cheeks scarlet.

“T-Those are base64 code lines,” Kiku stammered.

Arthur furrowed his brows. The language of that word flew over his head. “Pardon?”

“They’re, ah,” Kiku seemed to straighten himself, adjusting back into the chair as he fixed his crooked glasses. “Binary to text formats. You know A-ACSII?”

“Uh,” Arthur blinked. “If you could so kindly put that In layman terms please.”

“Encoded words. Like a secret message.”

“Oh? And what do they say?”

Kiku doesn’t respond immediately. He only opened up a new tab for Arthur to copy those words into a translator, leaving Arthur only a moment alone to figure out what the rest had said.

And by the time he is done, Arthur picks up his phone again for a phone call and a phone photo gallery full of screenshots for later.

“Alfred?” his voice almost breaks when the receiver is picked up.

“ Artie? What’s up? ”

“… can you please explain what you mean by your last message?”

“… what message? ”

Arthur exhaled sharply. “Don’t ‘what message’ me. What the hell do you mean that you want to fuck me? What kind of guy do you take me for?”

There was a shuffling of papers heard in the background before Alfred spoke. He sounded panicked. “ N-No never! You’re not stupid, I just… the message… I thought you wouldn’t… ”

Arthur sighed, not really sure if he’s interested in letting Alfred finish his thought. His eyes stared at his own bed, neat and clean. He then glanced back at his computer screen, reading the translated message again.

“You know, if you really wanted to, you could have just said so.”

There was a pause on the other line. “Wait WHAT.”

Translations:

SSB0aGluayB5b3UncmUgY3V0ZQ== I think you’re cute

SSB3YW50IHRvIGhvbGQgeW91 I want to hold you

WW91ciBhc3MgbG9va3MgZ3JlYXQgdG9kYXk= Your ass looks great today

R29kIEkgd2FudCB0byBmdWNrIHlvdQ== God I want to fuck you

[ask-elvenalfred]

[Valentines Event]

(Somewhere in the future-  ‘maybe’)

@ask-elvenarthur 

[naueth]

“What do ya say?”

Throws my heart @chunruu

I’m so sorry it’s a day past deadline orzlll

[Read left to right]

[usuknetwork]

USUK Valentine’s Event 2018

It’s that time of year again, folks! Love is in the air, and so is another USUK event for you all!

Get ready for the USUK Valentine’s and White Day Extravaganza: an interactive roleplaying event where you have the option to send our pre-made Valentine’s Day card to another person to do a partnered action/response collaboration together!

If the valentine is accepted, then the person who initially sent the valentine must create a work by February 14th, from either Alfred or Arthur’s point of view ONLY. Then, on White Day (March 14th), your partner will respond with a reply from the other character’s point of view (can take place days or months after the first fanwork if desired). ALL submissions must somehow pertain to Valentine’s Day. 

You are free to take whatever creative liberties you wish, so long as the White Day submission somehow responds to or interacts with the Valentine’s Day submission, and each submission has a different character’s (Alfred or Arthur’s) point of view. These action/response pieces can either be planned beforehand with your partner, or they can be totally spontaneous and a surprise for both of you. Do whatever you think will be more fun! (Including rejections, if you want. :^))))))))))))))

If you do not wish to find a partner, you have the option to go solo. In that case, everything is essentially the same, except you are responsible for creating both of the pieces for February 14th and March 14th.

Rules and more information for the event can be found here.  LINK TO THE VALENTINE’S DAY CARD HERE.

IMPORTANT: We will also have some example works for this event posted in the next few days, so if you’re interested in that, keep checking the blog for updates.

[magiclaud]

Lovely Logic

Summary: Arthur gets involved with a fabled mathematician obsessed with theorising the wonders of love. 

a/n: Happy valentine’s! This was my fic for @01blackcat02 for the event of the @usuknetwork! Enjoy my pretty loose interpretation of platonic love just because I love Plato and my dad’s actually given me one of his books :O  I hope y’all like it :) 

*

“I’ve never been in love.”

They were in Arthur’s bedroom, contemplating how the sky drowned with colours which welcomed a new day. Arthur had sat up on the bed, with a sheet covering most of his naked body. His partner was upright, looking at his garden until his words broke the magic spell.

“You’ve never tried.”

Oh, that could be true. And, given the place Arthur worked in, opportunities to fall in love weren’t scarce, or so he had been told.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t take your word for it.”

“Why do you say that?” Alfred, that was his name, walked to his side, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Arthur leaned into the touch, relying on Alfred’s belly when he suddenly snorted.

“What was that?” Alfred was smiling. Arthur could bet his life he was, the cocky boy.

See, Alfred had a reputation. After all, being the handsome CEO of a company that promised love wasn’t all but a bit eerie. Alfred knew how to like — hell, he had worked on the algorithm since he was in highschool—  and had his fair share of love interests.

But he was insatiable. Rumour has it that is why he started his project in the first place. Alfred could never be satisfied. He didn’t settle for attractive people or virtuous ones. He didn’t want money, nor did he want intelligence. And he didn’t want sex.

But then, what could Alfred want? Most people settled for the premise of the young man living on hedonistic pleasures without any commitment. Consequently and given all evidence, Arthur had accepted the fact that, someday, Alfred would get tired of him.

“Why do you like me? What could I possibly have to offer you?”

“Well, why do you like me?”

Ah, dodging the question. In times like these Arthur could tell the boy was still nineteen.

“What? The little genius can’t find the answer himself?” Arthur could remember his own face the first time Alfred invited him to his house, full of blackboards with complicated formulas. He’d shown Arthur, smiling from ear to ear as he explained the logic behind, well, love.

“You should try the service,” Alfred had said, and Arthur had frowned. Now, looking his know-it-all expression, Arthur remembered what he’d said.

“I don’t think that’d work with me.”

“Why not?” Alfred had asked, moving his arms towards the numbers as he started to explain his theory. Arthur was not fond of interrupting him, but he felt that was the only way Alfred would listen to his point.

“Life’s not black and white, you know,” and Arthur remembered Alfred’s expression, with his sunny smile frozen and his eyes open with uncertainty.

“What do you mean?”

“Alfred, I’m a lawyer. I spend my days looking at what did go wrong,” and they were, might’ve he added, as varied as they could get. From spiteful ex-partners to employees wanting to take over their boss’ company, Arthur had discovered just how ill of a weapon such a sentiment like love was.

“Oh, come on, Art, you know there’s always— ”

“I know, trial errors. I get it, Alfred, I — ” Arthur started, then snorted as he bit his lip. “I have enough pragmatism in my life. Come on, look at that: what is genuine in there? There are only patterns. Conditioning. Oh, Alfred, I don’t want to be part of the table’s results.”

“You don’t— ” Alfred’s baby blue eyes seemed to stare right into his soul, “You don’t understand. Feelings are nothing but— ”

“I’m afraid I do, lad,” and Arthur had started walking towards the door, buttoning his jacket as he witnessed the raindrops which stick in Alfred’s window. But Alfred didn’t let go.

“There’s already so much control over our lives, our thoughts, what we learn, what we are, how we’re supposed to feel. Why is it wrong to search control over feelings themselves, over perceptions? What is odd about wanting to give a sensation a value?” he had positioned in front of Arthur, and his manner told him Alfred had certainly learnt from Arthur’s own many ramblings between breaks.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Arthur said, after pausing to think of the proper answer. “Blimey, I guess I’m a romantic.”

Alfred had opened his mouth as he was about to say something but kept quiet. His blond cowlick covered part of his left eye, so he lightly blew over it. Arthur had the impulse to run his hand through Alfred’s tuft, but decided against it and, instead, tightly closed the palm of his hand.

“Well, I want you to say it,” they were on Arthur’s room again, and the Englishman blinked a few times as wondered how much time had he been dozing off. Arthur chuckled, a wave of shame rolling his body until he felt his lip would bleed if he kept chewing it.

They weren’t supposed to be like this.

The day before, Arthur had been occupied for the wave of contracts that preceded Valentine’s day along with the myriad of interested clients. Alfred, on the other hand, had invited the guests to explain the process of his method thoughtfully, and they both had ended the day feeling unbelievably tired. Afterwards, they both had gone to a bar next to Alfred’s company, where Arthur had the chance to relax after a long day. However, Alfred’s quieter manner than usual told Arthur there was something wrong, and so the Englishman decided to put his assertive skills to a good use for once.

“What? You worried about me?” Alfred patted his back, and they had asked for another round. After drinking the liquor, Alfred used his palm to support his own head on the table, tilting it slightly to face Arthur. “I heard Bonnefoy’s affairs has made you an offer.”

Bloody Feliks, Arthur thought but decided to play it cooly. “Oh, that. Yes, I’ve got an acquaintance there, and they’ve just opened their office in New York, so…”

“Are you planning on accepting?” Alfred’s lips were chapped, of a glossy pink that were outlined by the lights of the bar. Arthur gulped, looking down as he swallowed his drink.

“Of course not, now please may we talk about something else?” Arthur asked, avoiding, by all means, Alfred’s sight.

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Arthur said. “It’s — It’s fine, really. Francis Bonnefoy is just a cheeky bastard. Though I hate to admit that I’m especially bitter at the truest statements,” because Francis Bonnefoy didn’t have any problem in using whatever weakness his opponent had in order to get to his target.

“What did he say?” Alfred’s voice was soft, so much that Arthur had actually to lean in closer than he expected to. Arthur wasn’t drunk, but he couldn’t deny the tingly feeling he felt into his stomach.

“He said — hmph, how to put it, he said he’d help me find love. Gave me a bottle of his, too. A cadeaux so I can make up my mind, he told me,” Bonnefoy’s affairs had the same target as them, even though their methods were different. Their approach was focused on pheromones, which was accompanied by the solid release of their exclusive perfumes.

“But you don’t want it,” said Alfred. “Not like this, right?”

“I’m sure you already know the answer,” because what is left then, Arthur wondered, what was there more to desire than a willing companion, one who’d be out of all gimmicks, only subjected to the purest magic of the unknown?

But then, Alfred inched closer — their noses almost touched, and Arthur could smell Alfred’s vanilla hair shampoo, and then his lips were touching Alfred’s, moving in sync — so much, so deep, that Arthur had practically seen stars by the end of the night.

“So,” now Alfred had fallen onto the bed again, and was stroking Arthur’s side as he hushed his whispers, “Why do you like me?”

“I like how you make me feel,” Arthur said, “I like — I like how I always want to be with you. I like how I always feel my best when I’m around you. I like how I don’t have to pretend.”

They kissed again — it was their first kiss in the morning, on Valentine’s day, and it was so sweet Arthur felt dizzy under it, but he wanted an answer, so he resumed his advances to let his partner speak.

“I—  to be honest, I think you’re beautiful,” said Alfred, “You see, at first I wanted to be loved by beautiful people. I polished myself and learnt their behaviour and I understood how to attract the best response from them.

But, I mean, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted something more special, so I started looking for beautiful minds. And I found them — and yes, they were brilliant, but then again they weren’t what I was looking for.

And then, oh Arthur, then I met you, with so much knowledge and a beautiful soul. I didn’t think it was possible — I thought I had to work too much, too much, but when I fell in love I discovered that working on it didn’t put me off.

So now, my love, I crave you like oxygen. Because you’re not a beautiful body, you’re—  you’re the whole essence is lovely, my Arthur!”

And oh, how could Arthur respond to such a sincere sentiment?

He took Alfred’s hands and covered them with his own, as he did nothing but ask:

“Will you be my Valentine?”

[diurnaldaysart]

“My Soulmate is an Alien”, Part 2! Part 1 - https://diurnaldaysart.tumblr.com/post/170873788830/my-soulmate-is-an-alien-part-1-part-2 WARNINGS: Mild violence (real guns) This is my half of my vday collab with @pangaea-writes-shit for @usuknetwork ’s vday event. There will be a joint askblog of this AU once our collab is over. ^^