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infinites-chaser · 4 years ago

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show a little faith, there's magic in the night | tears of themis | lu jinghe

warning for spoilers for themes from ch. 1 of lu jinghe's story, use of bruce springsteen, and a very long conversation about Life that is purely conjecture about lu jinghe's past

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

("an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay.")

"lu jinghe?" you ask.

he's facing away from you, leaning heavy on the riverside railing, his features turned silhouette by the light of the setting sun.

"why did you tell me to meet you here?"

he turns at the sound of your voice, and something like relief flickers brief across his face before he relaxes into a careless grin, beckoning you closer with one lazy hand's wave.

"an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay."

you scoff, and let your elbow knock hard against his as response. for once, he takes it without complaint.

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks instead.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

the two of you stand in silence as the shadows of the city length, stretch fingers long across the water in pursuit of the fading rays of light.

then,

"if I tell you a story," he says, "will you promise to just listen?"

"what does that even mean," you start to say, playful, but you stop short when you catch sight of his expression: lost, uncertain.

you swallow the teasing back. lean closer, then nod.

he glances your direction, then away. takes a breath, then speaks.

"I almost ran away from home once, when I was eight," he says. you stiffen. you're about to open your mouth when you remember his initial words. you subside.

he continues,

"it was after my father's assistant had taken me to a circus."

he smiles, self-deprecating, lost in memory.

"I was throwing a fit because my father wouldn't take me with him and my brother on his business trip. but then I was promised a day at the visiting circus that had set up tent along the water, blooming like a rare flower at the center of the CBD."

"I'd never been obedient in my life," he adds with a grin. "but that day, I shut up. did my homework and studying, and was on my best behavior until we left the mansion."

"at that circus, there were all types of performers— put on by people of all talents, no matter how strange."

"there were elephant riders," he says, eyes bright, fixed on a scene out of his distant past, a scene for him and his eight-year old self alone, "lion tamers. knife throwers. trapeze artists who soared so high I thought they'd grown wings, and without the tent's roof, away they'd fly."

he scoffs a little.

"I thought they were magic."

"aren't they?" you ask. "in a way."

he lifts a shoulder. lets it fall. smiles. brittle, mocking.

"then magic's not all it's cracked up to be."

you don't respond. after a moment's silence, he clears his throat, glances your way, then back out across the horizon.

"anyway," he says, "point isn't if they were magic or not. eight-year-old me wanted to paint them anyway. try and capture even a little of their energy with my brush."

then, almost too quietly for you to hear,

"I still do."

"but?" you prompt.

"but," he repeats. the word's flat. sounds hollow on the still evening air, falls too cold, too heavy, too real under the setting sun's warm, hazy glow.

"it was just the one summer's day. painting and art— that was already my one indulgence. as my father's second son I wasn't allowed much more."

he swallows. you take a long look at him, but his gaze never wavers from the sun, slipping low and golden below the city skyline's flickering lights.

"it was like a dream," he says, soft, wistful. "I could've stayed forever, memorizing every inch of it. the flying trapeze. the dancers. the music. the cheering crowds. the smell of caramel and spice."

"it was evening before I knew it, and my father's assistant was doing his best to convince me to leave the snake charmer alone."

"I was just about to bribe him with what was left of my pocket money—"

"of course you were, young master," you interject with a scoff. though his body's still tense, he throws you a smirk, then continues.

"but then, the tent lights dimmed. a hush fell over the crowd, even the animals, as if we were all holding a collective breath, waiting, waiting for something. we didn't know what, but I could feel it, y'know? that if I didn't stay, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. missing that moment."

"so I gave him the money. promised him double when we got home. and we stayed."

"the tent was near pitch black, and everyone still and silent in this almost unnatural way, nearly scared, the feeling near sacred, when flames blossomed in the darkness, and the world of our tent came alive again, with the breath of fire, with the fire's light."

"fire breathing?" you ask. he nods.

"fire dancing," he says, makes the words reverential.

"I'd never seen anything like it before. And even while watching, barely blinking so I wouldn't miss even a single flame's briefest flicker, I knew I could spend my whole life trying to capture that scene on canvas, that energy, and still not manage a passable echo of it."

"that was real magic, jie jie," he says, and for once, his voice is earnest. full of childlike wonder. "I'll never see anything like it again."

"those performances that day, they were art. art everyone should see. art everyone should appreciate."

"I was planning on buying the circus company once I was old enough," he says. you'd scoff at a similar statement any other day, but his voice is dreamlike, worlds away,

"I wanted to preserve it. to capture that magic in the only way I knew how."

his eyelids stutter shut. he inhales, exhales, grip flexing hard against the railing.

what's wrong, you almost ask, but the words lodge hard and painful in your throat at his smile: warm, genuine. almost heartbreaking.

"today, I found out the company shut down ten years ago. the day I went was one of the troupe's last."

"and now?" you ask, voice soft. "is there no way of finding where all the performers are?"

he shrugs. glances sidelong at you. his eyes are lost. lonely as the final rays of sun sink into nothing.

"now I'm here," he says, a forced sort of flippant. it falls flat, and he abandons it, lets his voice falter. "I'm here in the same spot that tent was when I was young, and everything's gone. everything's changed. me, too."

you don't know how to respond. how best to comfort him. if there are any words of comfort that exist for moments like these at all.

at your silence, he sighs, shakes himself hard, then tries a smile.

"sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have said all that. it was selfish of me. just forget this, and tomorrow I'll be the lu jinghe you know again."

he turns to leave. on an impulse— don't let him leave, your nerves sing, your heart shouts, not like this— you grab his wrist, call his name, tell him to wait.

he does. he's still in your grasp, hardly breathing, though beneath your fingers, you feel his pulse racing.

"jie jie?" he asks, and it's hard to tell in the dusk half-light, but you think there's color creeping high across his cheeks. you flush in turn, but don't let go.

"wait," you repeat, and he does, and you sigh a little, relieved, take a breath, organize your thoughts, then speak.

"I—" you start, grasping for your usual lawyer's eloquence, "I used to visit this field every summer. it was behind my grandparent's house in the countryside. during the daytime, it wasn't much. just a patch of overgrown grass gone golden dry, any flowers that might've chosen to grow there in the spring baked under the summer sun."

"me and my childhood friend, we'd run through it until our cheeks were red with the burn of the sunlight, 'til we were exhausted, exhilarated, our hearts racing still long after we'd stopped."

"it was like tasting freedom," you say, your voice softening. "the golden field stretching wide in every direction. the never-ending blue sky up above."

if you close your eyes, you can still see it: xia yan's hair gleaming, just a few shades darker than the grass underfoot, his broad smile, your breathless laughter as you tried your best to keep up. your heart twists at the memory. since he's returned to the city, you don't think you've seen him as carefree as he was then, nor as bright.

some of it must show on your face— lu jinghe makes a vaguely comforting noise and bumps his shoulder against yours.

"during the daytime, though," he says. "then, I'm guessing it must've been something else at night."

you swallow and nod. blink a thanks in his direction, then respond.

"you're right," you say. "it was."

"at night," you say, "the grass was dark. the air was cool. if you looked up, you'd see more than a million stars. only, most nights we never bothered looking up, because it was like we were surrounded by all the stars of the sky, our own galaxy, blinking in, blinking out. little constellations all our own, those little fireflies and their lights."

"I could buy you a star," he says, tone forced light.

"lu jinghe," you scold.

"I could," he insists. "a galaxy, too."

"lu jinghe!"

"only if you wanted," he says. though his demeanor's sulky, you can tell, the words are heartfelt. you smile. just a little.

"what i wanted to say," you continue, "is that the field's probably still there. the fireflies, too. or, not exactly the same fireflies as in my memory, not exactly the same grass, but even if I were to return, even if I were to be there with the same person, it wouldn't be the same as my memory. we wouldn't be the same people either."

he chuckles. you frown.

"paris was never to be the same again although it was always paris and you changed as it changed," he quotes, smirk still tugging the corners of his lips up. "you and that old man have the same taste in literature."

"if art can be a moveable feast," you counter, "then why not the circus, too? maybe you'll never see those same performers again. maybe you will. either way, it won't be the same. not because you've lost the magic or the circus has, but because you've already had that moment. it was something that'd happen only once, that was no less meaningful for its brevity, that you'll keep forever in your memory."

he shrugs. smirks devil-may-care again.

"memory is hunger," he quotes, then sobers, turns serious once more.

"maybe you're right," he says. "either way, it doesn't change the truth: it's gone. we move on. the world moves on. we have to."

you frown.

"that's not what I meant," you say. "not really. because maybe it's gone, maybe the world asks us to move on, tells us that it was all in the past, there's no such thing as magic anymore. but you tell me, is that a life worth living— you're an artist, aren't you?"

"pax," he mutters. doesn't meet your eyes. then, louder:

"I have a responsibility to my father's company, miss attorney. ceos don't get to be artists, too."

"you see the beauty in the world," you counter. "the magic. you want to preserve it. not everyone can. not everyone has the power to. the money. the privilege. as ceo, why don't you?"

he's silent.

"isn't that what you told the director," you press. "that you'd defend other's dreams? doesn't it start here? by fighting first for your own? where you can. when you can."

then, quieter:

"while you still can."

"maybe there will be a day in the not-so-distant future where you'll have to choose," you continue. "and maybe you already know the choice you'll make. the choice you will have to make. but until that day, why sacrifice it— the vision only you have?"

wind rolls nighttime heavy across the water, blows chill between you, spins your hair loose and ruffles his bangs into his eyes. he reaches to brush them aside, and you think, for a moment, you see his hand shake. his eyes shutter closed. in the quiet, the shadows play dark over the panes of his face, turning his expression to nothing but another piece of night.

"I don't know," he says. "maybe no one's ever told me I had that choice before."

he turns to face you completely, and there's a child's hope hovering fragile in his dark eyes.

"not until you, jie jie," he says. then, so softly, you're not quite sure you hear him right:

"there's no one like you."

"that's not true," you say, tipping your head to gaze back up at him. just above his head, the first stars wink into existence. he swallows. leans closer. and your heart's racing, it has been, since you're not sure when, it's been racing, been waiting for a moment, for this moment, this moment, that, like magic, won't ever come again,

"there's you," you say, then the words are lost to the rest of the world as he closes the space between your lips and his.

the stars are as bright as the city lights by the time you pull apart, breathless wonders, the two of you a constellation all your own.

"jie jie," he says with a sweet smile the antithesis of his customary smirk, then pulls you close.

"thank you for coming today when I called."

"aren't you paying me by the hour?"

he scoffs. you laugh, nestled warm against his chest.

"then," he says, and you can hear his smirk return, "i'll be asking for the rest of the night, too."

it's your turn to scoff, if only to cover your blush.

"is there anywhere you want to go?" he asks a beat later. "you must be cold."

you shrug. slip out of his arms to claim his hand in yours.

"anywhere," you say.

"then," he replies, boyish bright, "let's go find some more magic together."

you don't have to go far— before you can search, magic finds you.

as you start down the path away from the riverside, back to the roadside, back past the deserted playground, through an empty lot, light splits the night: a ball of flames, soaring like a meteor through the night sky, burning bright.

at your side, lu jinghe stops dead in his tracks.

"fire dancing," he breathes, eyes alight. the flames fly further, and he follows.

a small crowd's gathered at the other end of the lot to watch, and you join them. there's a child crying, the group of teenagers in front of you are clearly drunk, and above their chatter, you can barely hear the music from the performer's battered speaker (talk about a dream, bruce springsteen growls, try to make it real), but lu jinghe has eyes for the fire and the fire alone, the fire and the old man who dances with it, his movements graceful, his wrinkled face creased into a broad smile.

the flames make another arc, sweep higher than the half-risen moon then come crashing back down, scorching the heavens and pavement alike, the man snaps his wrist, it returns to him, then with another tug, it soars back out into the darkness, blazing a trail of light into the night, carving temporary constellations, curling close around him, closer than a lover's caress, then flying proud, flying free— his passion, his life burning bright for the world to see.

and lu jinghe's fingers are closed tight around yours, and you hardly dare breathe, you don't think you breathe at all, you don't think you blink or move, and you want this moment to last forever, you want this magic to stay, because you don't think you'll ever see anything like it ever again: a person's soul become art, become a living, breathing thing, become light and flame,

(because maybe we spend our lives chasing the light, in love with it, the way it dances— always proud, fierce, always bright— but we hardly ever live it. breathe it. make it our own. hardly ever become it, the thing we love most.)

but the fire burns low, burns lower, burns out, and it's over with a smattering of applause, with a passing car's blasted pop song drowning out the fading crunch of 70s guitar, and you can breathe again, you blink and the world kicks back into motion around you, the crowd dispersing, though some are like you, like lu jinghe: they linger, still lost in the dream, lost to the light.

beside you, lu jinghe shakes himself, as if rousing himself. you turn to him, about to say something, anything, words that'll pale in comparison to what you've just shared, but he pulls away, strides to where the old man's taking a drink of water.

you blink again. shake yourself in turn. flex your fingers where they'd grown numb and sweaty intertwined with his. in his absence, one of the teenagers who'd stayed sidles up next to you.

"your boyfriend looks happy," she says with a grin and a shoulder nudge. you follow her pointed finger with your gaze to where lu jinghe's talking animatedly with the old man, his arms sweeping dramatically through the air, his shadow as excited as he is.

you're about to correct her, but then they both laugh, the old man gestures, and lu jinghe's head lifts, his gaze seeks out yours, meets it mid-laugh,

and you're suddenly struck painful breathless, your heart in your mouth, because this is yours, and only yours, and it's lightning magic, a match lit in the dark, blossoming bright in the dead of the night, it is enough, more than enough, everything you'd never dreamed of, never hoped for, never knew you wanted, never knew you needed: this firecracker charmer of a boy, carefree careless with an artist's heart that cares nevertheless. this boy who shines only for you, shines bright as the flames he's mesmerized by,

and the girl speaks again, but his eyes are still on yours, and she fades back into the night with her friends, leaving only a wink and a laugh— he's grinning broader, happier than you've ever seen him, and he's making his way back over to you, lit torch in hand.

"why are you looking at me like that, jie jie?" he asks, and you know he's barely your junior, but he sounds impossibly young in this moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes, turning the edges of his hair bright, burnished gold, and words could never quite describe what you're feeling— if it were bottled, you're sure it'd be sparkling strange, a living thing, a breathing thing, like fire, like this night, like you and him— but you smile, you reach for his hand before he can react, wind your fingers warm around his where they're gripping the torch's handle.

"you look happy," you say.

"happy?" he asks, but doesn't shrug off your hand. "happy, and not handsome?"

a heartbeat passes. the flames flicker. then his grin widens.

"I'll take it. a compliment from jie jie? I'll treasure it."

"yeah?" you say, eyes still on his.

"yeah," he replies, staring steady back at you. "I will, always."

"you better."

("lu jinghe?"

he's trying to learn to twirl the flames when you call his name soft, a question only your heart and his has the answer for, and when he turns to look back at you, his eyes reflecting golden glorious in the torchlight's glow, you want to call this magic, too.

"jie jie?"

"watch the sunrise with me?" you ask.

"another hour of your time?"

"for free, this time."

"then," he says, grinning bright, grinning broad, "we'll have to make it magic, too.")

#tears of themis #tears of themis marius #val writes #this is! entirely inspired by the fire dancers my friend and I were lucky enough to see by chance in the park by the water last Friday #anyway. ScrEAMs in lu jinghe hell hours.#tears of themis lu jinghe #do u ever think. about how his life passion is art. and he became CEO knowing he'd have to give it all up #bc.#yeAH.

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writing-gifts · 5 years ago

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datura (moth!bruno x butterfly!reader)

—–

A/N: I made more art! You might have already seen it though lol Anyways this chapter got longer than planned but I really wanted to Bruno and reader to do some things before Summer ended.

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Reader is gender neutral!

----

[Late Summer]

The crowds along with the heat had become more tolerable recently, which you were glad for. Now you were able to gather as you usually did, instead of going out to the forest clearing with Bruno every couple nights.

Part of you will miss it but you need to spend your energy on making up for lost time. It would get cooler from now on and slowly the flowers would start to die out.

You wonder how long your Daturas will last. The last time you flew by the area, the shrubs they grew on looked greater in size and there seemed to be a few more flowers so you could guess they would at least survive the beginning of Autumn.

“Do Daturas last through the fall?” you ask Bruno. It would be best to make sure.

“Yes, so no need to worry about not being able to get your nectar."

“Okay, that’s what I was hoping. Now I don't need to panic-gather."

You relax on the arm of your daybed. "Honestly, I should have asked earlier but guess it slipped my mind.”

“You know, it’s actually quieter in our usual Datura spot now.”

You sit up. “For real? We should go then.”

“Right now?”

“Why not? I need to catch up!”

Bruno raises a brow. “But you have more time.”

“Why do it later when you can do it now?”

“...I guess I can’t argue with that. And it wouldn't hurt to start saving up.”

With that, you’re off the daybed and heading to your bedroom to find your bags.

When you return you hold out a satchel for the moth to take. “You can borrow my canisters. I don't want you to go home empty handed.”

“Thanks. I'll make sure to get these back to you quickly.”

“It's cool. I have a bunch of extras. I don't even know how I let myself collect so many…”

You did know, but you didn't want to admit that every time you saw one that was a color you liked or had a nice design, you couldn't stop yourself from getting it.

“Okay, let's go!”

Tonight the moon was fully out in the clear sky so you decide to not bring your lantern along. As long as you stay near Bruno you should be okay.

The both of you walk through the path you’ve taken several times, however it is even more narrow than the last. You couldn’t even walk next to each other.

Having fewer flowers will be sad but at least the foliage will finally back down when it gets colder.

When you finally reach the end of the path, you're shocked by what you see. The Daturas have spread a lot since that last time you were here.

You and Bruno fly above the thick layer of dark leaves that had pretty much over taken the area. Before you could at least get to the grass if you wanted but now you can't even see the ground anymore.

"They grow so fast!"

"Be cautious, there could be creatures hiding in the leaves. It’s unlikely but we shouldn't get careless.”

Heeding his warning, you stick close to your friend while you both gather. It must have kept you focused on your task because you're done quicker than you expect. Bruno notices this too.

“Didn't do any of your taste testing?”

“Not being able to see through all the leaves is a little worrying I guess.”

You fiddle with your satchel strap. You would usually try to sit around after gathering but you were ready to go back home.

“Want to head back then?”

You nod and you both fly back down to the path.

“You know--isn't it weird that we could just get attacked at any time,” you ask Bruno as you walk behind him.

“Well that's just nature.” Bruno answers unbothered. “Are you scared?”

“No, it just sucks that one moment you could be standing around unsuspecting and then the next you're in another creature's mouth! You don't even get a chance to fight back." You grimace. "Nature’s kinda cruel….”

“It can be, but there are definitely good things about it too.”

“Of course there are, like the flowers. Everything else can leave though.”

“Even me?”

You deadpan at the back of his head. “You know what I mean Bruno. Just the dangerous things, I can trust you not to hurt me.”

“But even those things have a role to fulfill and keep everything in balance.”

“Ugh, stop being reasonable.”

Bruno smiles over his shoulder at you and you can’t help but feel he’s being cheeky with you.

“And sometimes the things you think are dangerous can also surprise you...”

“Huh?” You weren’t sure what he meant by that.

The moth doesn't respond immediately, and you see consideration flash on his face before he turns away.

“You remember the wasp I mentioned knowing?”

“Oh my g--” You stop yourself before you say anything rude. “...Yes.”

“Well, he's actually one of my closest friends.”

Your eyes widen and you can't stop yourself. “B-But, they eat us.”

“Well actually it's their young that does that, but this wasp lives on his own.”

It wasn't unheard of for colony type bugs to live on their own but It was somewhat rare so you’re still a little surprised.

“Oh...He’s the loner type?”

“I guess you could say that. So he doesn't have to do the ‘killing and delivering the body to the nest’ drill. I think that's actually the main reason why he left."

“I mean...I guess that's good? For us at least.”

“But you see what I mean?”

“Kinda, but I don't plan on trying to befriend any insect killers anytime soon.”

Bruno nods. “That’s fair. I know our relationship is strange.”

You try to gather your thoughts before speaking. The moth didn't seem upset but you wanted to make sure.

“I won't lie...I-It freaks me out a lot, but I do think it's kinda neat that you befriended someone that would be seen as an enemy. And as long as you're safe I can’t really complain.”

“I am. I’ve known Abbacchio for years now. He can be cold at times but underneath that he’s extremely loyal and has a good heart. And if you decide to get to know him you’ll see it too.”

So that’s his name…

You also wanted to introduce Bruno to your friend so you would feel rude if you immediately dismissed the idea, even if Abilene and Abbacchio weren’t exactly on the same level. And this wasp managed to gain Bruno’s trust and respect, so he had to be safe.

“You don't have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You start to fiddle with your bag strap again. This was definitely something you couldn’t agree to on the fly. “Maybe one day…? I’m not sure yet.”

“That’s completely fair,” Bruno replies, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Just let me know if you ever want to.”

You weren’t sure if you would but you nod.

"Let's hurry, I'm getting thirsty."

----

While Summer was finally drawing to a close, Bruno finally managed to get you in the same area as a pond. He said it was one of the best times in the year to visit and when you arrive, you’re glad that he convinced you to come along.

The moonlight reflects off the pond and lights the area. You see various bugs hanging around, singing and dancing, and enjoying the last of the season. Some of them are even flying surprisingly close to the water.

However, the fireflies are tonight's stars as their warm glow turns heads and sparkles on the water’s surface.

It was lovely. Maybe even more so than the forest clearing.

While you stare, enthralled, you notice the bright red flowers growing out of the pond practically demanding for your attention.

“I see you’re eyeing the Red Flare Lilies,” Bruno says. “Still nervous about getting near the pond?”

”I am but I didn’t know there were such pretty flowers growing out of it...”

“Then we should get a closer look, yea?”

You want to but hesitate. The last time you got close to a pond you almost became a meal.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Your eyes might be playing tricks on you, but you’re sure you see the surface of the pond ripple near one of the flowers.

“Okay, I might be a little freaked out! What if there’s frogs?”

“It's not impossible, but if anything, you should be more worried about fish--”

You groan. “You should have just lied to me.” Any urge to go had been wiped away.

“Well it’s a pond so there’s no point pretending, but you didn’t let me finish. This pond mainly carries small fish and no one has ever reported encountering frogs here so it should be safe.”

Even with that explanation, you still aren't sure. That was something that could change at any time.

“If you don't want to, I can just go out for you?”

“B-But look at all the lily pads and frogs can move super quickly! I’m not going to send you out there for nectar I could get anywhere.”

No matter how tempting that flower looked it wasn't worth it. Being an insect meant constant danger but you took the necessary precautions to lessen that danger. But ponds--they were just too dangerous. It honestly baffled you seeing those bugs getting close to the surface willingly.

Bruno looks concerned, which makes you force yourself to relax your shoulders.

“Sorry--”

You're interrupted by some bugs in the distance yelling out Bruno’s name to greet him. A few of them actually come over to properly say hi, and you stand silently to the side as they surround him excitedly.

You aren't really surprised that he’s popular. He could be charming when he wants to be. It's a little awkward standing there though.

“Where have you been Bucciarati?” A fluffy moth asks.

Bruno opens his mouth to reply but a young cricket--you think--latching onto his arm speaks next. “I missed you! The other adults never want to play with me,” they pout.

A beetle speaks right after. “How’s Narancia been?”

You watch and listen while Bruno tries to handle the small group before looking back out to the pond, but before you can zone out, someone asks about you. And for some reason, Bruno introduces you.

You feel stiff with all these eyes on you suddenly. You were definitely not prepared and you’d get the moth later for this.

“I've never seen a nocturnal butterfly...” the child stares, looking confused.

“Oh no, I should actually be asleep right now--”

“I love your wings!” the fluffy moth compliments.

You smile slightly. “T-Thanks, um...”

The group was excitedly talking at you and it was hard to keep up. Fortunately you don’t have to say much more because Bruno shoos them away shortly after.

You release a breath. “Okay Mr. Popular, warn me next time...”

“Me popular? Hardly." He smiles slightly, looking apologetic. "And sorry, I didn't think anyone would actually come over. Let’s go sit down.”

He leads you to a quiet spot where the grass isn’t as wild and overgrown. And you both lounge on a rock to look out at the pond and insects.

“This place is beautiful.”

You lean back on your arms, no matter how hard you tried, your gaze would always drift back to the Lilies.

“Even the pond.”

“It is. Especially with all the fireflies.” The way Bruno sounded, it was different but you couldn't place your finger on why. You glance over and he looks a little sad? Wistful?

You feel as if you saw something personal.

“I know right! I’m kinda jealous.”

“Why?”

“Well other than it looking pretty, they can just light the way with their bodies. I kind of wish I could do that too. It would be pretty useful.”

“But your diurnal.”

You almost laugh at the moth’s response. “Maybe I should become nocturnal then. I'm already part way there."

All these nightly escapades with Bruno were starting to eat into your usual sleeping time causing your days to get shorter. You'd even find yourself waking up way past noon sometimes.

“Okay then I'll become diurnal in your place so I can collect from all the day flowers for you."

You purse your lips. “Hmm, I don’t think you'd be able to handle the switch. You’d probably fall asleep randomly even more than you already do.”

“In my defense, I have a little one constantly waking me up when I'm trying to catch up on my sleep.”

You giggle. That was a valid point.

"How much sleep do you even get?”

Some days you could see a hint of exhaustion on the poor moths face when he came to visit you.

“I wish I knew.”

That answer was definitely worrying. A sleepy bug is a vulnerable one.

“You’re not sleep deprived and just really good at hiding it, right?”

“Don't worry. The elders near me like to take Narancia off my hands when I get too tired or when I need to go somewhere. I honestly think they want to adopt him for themselves,” Bruno chuckles a bit.

"But you probably wait until it gets pretty bad don't you?”

"...What is considered pretty bad?"

The lack of a clear answer confirms your statement, but you’re not exactly sure what to do about it yet so you decide to let it go for now.

"Nevermind," you sigh and continue watching the bugs glide across the water.

“I really thought the flowers would have tempted you onto the pond,” Bruno brings up suddenly.

“D-Did you want me to go?”

“Not exactly. I was just hoping you would see there were good things about it.”

“I did say it's pretty but anything related to frogs is bad.” You say it without really thinking but when you see the slight look of disappointment you wish you could take it back.

“I’m sorry, I just--” You take a breath. You'll just be honest. “...I might have done something stupid when I was younger. Now I just stay very cautious around giant bodies of water. But don’t take that the wrong way, I’m still happy you brought me here!”

He nods, understanding.

“You come off as really carefree and careless a lot of the time, especially when I first met you. It kind of makes me worry."

You're unsure why he brings that up but it wasn’t too surprising. You wouldn’t say it outloud but you did still do some things that Abilene and Bruno would probably not approve of when you were alone. But it wasn’t anything too bad. Well not to you anyways.

“At least now I can take comfort knowing that you probably aren’t doing anything more dangerous than staying out late,” Bruno says.

“Most likely, so you don't need to worry about me--just think relaxing thoughts,” You bump your shoulder into Bruno and he gently bumps you back with his elbow.

“I don't think that's possible, especially with that answer.”

Bruno turns to you when he notices you're staring at him without saying anything. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just have a feeling you and Abby will get along well.”

----

You were pouring and mixing nonstop the last couple of the days. This was it--this was one of your last couple of chances to bake. Eventually the weather would drop too low in temperature and you wouldn't be able to do it again until next Summer or late Spring if you're lucky.

“Is this really necessary?”

You invited Bruno to help you, but he was mostly watching you go into a baking frenzy at this point.

“Is this necess--Yes!” You mix even harder, slightly frustrated. The batter wasn’t as thick as it should be and you weren’t sure why. You just hoped you didn’t completely ruin this batch of cookies.

“Was that supposed to be my voice--Nevermind,” Bruno sighs. “You're not even eating most of what you’re baking and I don't think I can eat anymore either.”

“Just take the rest with you and give it to Narancia.”

“That's still way too much. Aren't you tired? You should take a break.”

You finally put down the wooden spoon you were using to look at the moth.

“Maybe I went a little overboard, but I just want to try so many things and there's so little time.”

“A quick break won't hurt though.”

“Sure.” You reach for the handle of the spoon. “But let me just finish this--”

“That's what you said the last time.”

“....Okay, okay.” You place the spoon back down and head towards the dining table where Bruno’s sitting.

“But only for a moment.”

Even though you were being stubborn, you really were exhausted. You had lost count of how many things you baked all together but it must have been a lot since you had probably visited most of your neighbors at least twice. You hadn’t gotten the hang of treats low in sugar yet, but when you did Abilene would be on the list too.

Spreading your wings, you stretch your arms above then outward.

“You really do have lovely wings.”

You force your wings down. "...Where'd that come from?"

You were doing your best to not overthink but it was much harder said than done. The moth had to be messing with you bringing that up so suddenly.

“I think I always knew but it was pointed out recently.”

What does that even mean???

“Then--well you have nice wings too!” You want to shift the attention from yourself but it didn't mean you weren't being honest.

You move to get behind the stool Bruno’s sitting on for a better look at his wings and partially to avoid his piercing gaze, but he looks over his shoulder at you.

“I really like them--the shape, the pattern. They really suit you!"

You internally cringe from how that compliment came out, but there were times where you did want to touch them. Fortunately, you keep that part to yourself.

His wings slightly shift. “Thank you.”

There's slight frustration from how coolly he takes your compliments. One day you'll finally fluster him.

You sit down across from him and lay your head on the table. “It's kind of cool that wings come in so many different shapes and colors...I actually know someone who has these cool transparent wings. I thought she was a butterfly but turns out she's a moth."

“Are you talking about Mrs. Joestar?”

You slightly lift up your head to look at Bruno. “You know her?”

“I met her recently. She's very lively for her age."

“I know right! She keeps teasing me too,” you pout. “Her husband’s even worse!”

Bruno smiles, a playful glint in his eye. “Because you make it so easy.”

“…Don't turn against me, I’m begging you.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Urgh, whatever.” You rest your head back on the table. “Anyways, doesn't she really look like a butterfly?”

“Yes, if I hadn't seen others like her before I probably would have thought so too.”

“Hmm, butterflies and moths are pretty similar to be fair. We have to be descendants of the same things….”

Eventually, you find yourself shutting your eyes while you're prattling off to Bruno about viable ancestors. You tell yourself you'll just rest them but when you open them next you're in your bed under your covers and Bruno’s gone.

You sigh once you realize what happened. That moth got you.

You force yourself out of bed once you remember the cookie batter sitting out. It was too late to cook it now so you would just have to put it away for tomorrow.

When you walk into the kitchen, it's cleaner than when you left it and a box of baked cookies are sitting where the bowl once was.

You smile and grab one. They came out better than you hoped.

#as tempting as it would be this wont turn into a poly bru-abba story #do you guys prefer a more shy reader or a more forward one??#writing for a more forward one is fun ngl #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno x reader #reader insert

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unohanadaydreams · 5 years ago

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i know im super fast on this one but for the new prompt meme!! fluff + toshiro + fem reader + fireflies !!

You must defeat the evil of corporate seireitei, dear reader. Adult Hitsugaya is even more of a overachiever lmao.

Toshiro Hitsugaya + Fireflies + Fluff (800+ words):

The night was perfection. You were sure of it. If you could just see it.

You squinted, trying to catch eyefuls of starlight past the bright florescent lamp placed outside the window. The front of this building was absolutely plagued with them. Their rings of cold light like a buzzing prison barring your eyes from the soft awakening of evening.

A tug to your uniform spooked you. If not for Toshiro’s fist bunching the fabric at your back, you would have eaten dirt. “Thanks, Shiro.”

Your contortions to keep inside while he hummed, unimpressed, did nothing to save you. Your foot hooked and caught on the sill, you tripped flailing and squawking. Wood replacing dirt.

Toshiro gripped your arm and halted your clumsy decent, sparing your face a squashing.

Brain sluggishly playing catch up, your face warmed. His coordination was almost as unreal as your lack of it.

You peered up with a sheepish smile, still dizzy as you stood upright again. “The street light blocks the view,” you explained, your eyes gravitating back toward the open window.

He scoffed. “Hardly an excuse for those reflexes.”

Actions betraying his tone, he stepped beside you, his eyes narrowing, attempting to pierce the shield of fluorescent light. Just as you had…if not with more grace.

“Just go outside.”

You pouted, your face smooshing against his arm. “It’s not the same, going alone.”

Toshiro peered down at you, his ink stained hand pinching at your nose and summoning another bout of squawking from your throat. “Now you owe me!!”

Rubbing at your nose, you deepened the pout. “There’s not ink all over, right?”

With a shadow of a smirk, he shrugged. Gave a non-answer. “You wouldn’t be my girlfriend if you didn’t appear a mess.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ha. Ha,” you said, dry through your emerging smile.

At the sight of his ink pot, though, a linger distaste soured you.

Sometimes, Toshiro could be the dullest pen in the desk. You didn’t mind his teasing, of course. You loved everything about him.

Well. Maybe not his work ethic. Or his cold feet.

With a pitiful frown, you looked to the window again. “am I really your girlfriend if all I do is watch you do paperwork?”

“ -chan,” he said, like a cold wind sighing over you, his hands falling to your shoulders.

You replied with hopeful eyes, hands snaking up to cover his. “Yes?”

“Firstly, you have never done such a thing. And,” he said looking to his desk in resignation. “I will go. Only because I can’t concentrate when you’re falling out of windows.”

“You’re the best, Shiro!”

Squeezing him tight, you celebrated your victory. Slaying the vile late-night paperwork was a thankless job. But you were a heroine of few wants.

“They’re just bugs,” he insisted with a scoff. “They’ll be here all Summer.”

“They’re not just bugs, Shiro,” you pulled him from the office with a satisfied stride. “Not when you’re there.”

You flew down the hall, almost fleeing from the office as though it were a real enemy.

The side of the building was empty and still. The inky dark fell more comfortably. The streetlight merely bleeding past the corner instead of overwhelming your eyes head on.

The field beyond was for training. But Toshiro favored keeping the grass planted, to better mimic real battle situations.

It was perfection for fireflies, though.

Standing in the middle of the field felt like floating in the sky--all the stars blinking in and out of existence just for you to behold.

You felt mystical each time. Like a fabled lady of myth, you embraced the earth turned sky with your destined love beside you.

“Wait,” Toshiro called as your sandals crunched on grass. “You need to wash off.”

“What do you mean?”

He laughed, startling you a bit. “The ink.”

Toshiro was crouched, washing his hands when you turned. His frosty hair glowed almost as brightly as line of his smirk in the darkness.

Stomping back to the bucket, which sat under a simple metal faucet, you blew a raspberry.

You could barely see the look he gave you, but his pause was enough to know it was probably exasperation at the least. He pulled you down by your hand. “Come here.”

“I’m se-”

His lips pressed lightly against your nose. “I’m glad my girlfriend sits with me while I do my paperwork, you know.”

Body tingling and flushed in an instant, you obediently let Toshiro rub sightlessly at your face with his damp sleeve.

“You’re welcome,” you said. “I’ll be here all Summer.”

You tugged him toward the field. “Now let’s go, mister.”

The warm, twinkling life calling to one another illuminated his rolling eyes as you both treaded lightly toward the center of the activity.

“I’m having the streetlight removed this winter,” he muttered. “Fireflies through a window is just as well.” His threat seemed half-baked in the cooling night air, though.

Especially when his arm draped over your shoulders. Especially as you leaned on him, catching eyefuls of starlight. Especially since he was there and yours.

The night was perfection.

#toshiro hitsugaya #toshiro hitsugaya x reader #bleach #imagines #bleach imagines #bleach scenarios #summer ficlet

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whatgaviiformes · 4 years ago

Text

Some Military!Bros GaviiVerse

Just a collection of quotes from fics in honor of Nutty’s proclaimed Military!Bros day. I wanted to include more, but apparently all my writing is either Earth&Sky or FishTank. Even Voyage which is supposed to be all the boys so I was sure I was going to have a quote in there.... it’s a lot through our Virgil.

From Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside -Chapter 2 Mostly Scott and Virgil, but Gordon’s the catalyst

Scott hasn't even changed into civvies yet. He should probably. But there's something about the uniform that keeps him stabilized. It's the uniform and what it means and the "thanks for your service!" that keep people from seeing right through him, keep them from noticing instead the bags under his eyes, and that, if he had the energy to change into clothes that match how he feels, he would shatter into a million pieces.

He's been running on fumes, almost 56 hours from the first phone call, through whatever strings his father had to pull to get him temporary shore leave, and finally landing on terra firma again. It was as if the world jeered, flinging Scott along with him the second Gordon Tracy was thrown into the sea at speeds the human body could not withstand. Except Scott had not yet hit the water and Gordon had.

Hell, Gordon had.

[...]

And it's Virgil standing there nervously, drained in front of him, trying to appear stronger than he felt, that sends Scott the last bit over into the water.

Oh, God. Gordo. 400 f*cking knots.

His head spins with memories of chaos energy, and he sees a mop of strawberry blond choosing his own clothes for the first time, running to him with mis-matched socks and a wicked grin; the summer vacation Gordon spent finding the best shells because he wanted Scotty to see how cool they were and how much he knew about them; the second before the Olympic scoreboard revealed 1st place and Gordon's tears of joy as he stood on the podium proudly, whispering along with the national anthem.

From Firefly’s Glow - Chapter 1

Gordon had learned to appreciate all of Earth's life at a young age. He was never a rescue scout like Scott, as there was a bit too much focus on badgework for his tastes, but his youth was spent making mud pies, watching bird's nests, and observing caterpillar chrysalises all the same.

The summer Gordon was six, Scotty had taken him out to the barn late at night and showed him how to make a lantern of fireflies. Their adventure pack (really Scott's school bag, repurposed) held a flashlight, mason jars, a couple pieces of mesh to put overtop the glass, and two bug nets.

No brothers were allowed – this was for him and Scotty only.

He'd abandoned the bug net for his hands pretty quickly, and within a few minutes, he'd managed to catch five or so for his lightning bug lantern. Of course, Scott had managed to catch more because he was older and also because he'd shared this memory with all his brothers and this was only Gordon's first time.

It had been so pretty, the fireflies dancing in the mason jar, their lights slowly dimming and brightening in a mellow cadence that soothed his soul. But then, he realized their little bodies, which were used to flying around in the expanse of the sky, were suddenly confined to the glass container of the jar. And he saw not beauty but pain.

It was a lovely, bittersweet memory he kept close to his heart because it represented a key moment of his youth: first growing up with Scott as an older brother and also the first time he'd felt a creature's cry reach him. It was the same wail he felt when he read about oil spills off the coast of Alaska and illegal fishing nets that should not still be in use, and, god, the absolute trash humanity left in the oceans for poor sea turtles to choke over.

Scott hadn't understood where the tears came from suddenly, but Gordon remembered his brother kneeling in front of him so their eyesight was level, and he recalled him asking what happened and what Gordon needed, completely uncaring that his jeans were getting dirty in the fertilized soil. And the best thing about Scott was that he was the type of older brother that didn't laugh or ignore him when Gordon said "they want out" through blubbering tears. He just helped Gordon release their fireflies back into the night, and instead they spent their evening counting their happy flickering until the numbers lulled Gordon to sleep.

#military!bros #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gavii Scribit #bits and pieces from fics #sorry its not robust. Fireflys glow is kinda my miiltary!bros fic #and its in WIP

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 14)

Fair warning, this chapter is going to be much heavier. And it will include death and blood. Nothing graphic but some sensitive themes including the deaths of children. If this isn’t something you’re comfortable with you might want to skip the flashback part or the chapter as a whole.

Azula leans over the rails of the bridge. The deep summer air blows through her locks. They have grown long again. She supposes that she has regained enough dignity to not warrant cutting it once more.

She takes a deep breath. She is going to tell him today. She is going to tell him everything. She thinks that it is quite long overdue. Especially now, she smooths her hands over the stretched fabric of her shirt. The world around her smells of moss and pine. It smells fresh and new.

Her feet thud against the wooden planks of the bridge as she crosses it. Hajime...her house isn’t so far from the woodland but her feet are already plenty sore from having stood on them for so long. By the time she reaches her porch they are throbbing rather incessantly.

“Mom!” Atsu shouts and throws himself at her legs. She braces herself against the doorframe as Hajime calls for him to slow down and be careful. Atsu never had known how to slow down. He is practically bouncing up and down as he pulls on her arm, “look what I made! Look at it! Look at it!” He gives her several more tugs and leads her to the nursery. It isn’t quite ready yet; the crib has been assembled and filled with many cozy, handmade blankets and pillows and a few toys rest at the foot of it, ready to be played with. They have yet to build a changing table and there are several stuffed animals that she would like to have sewn.

“Look!” Atsu grins. “I made posters for him!”

She has long since given up on trying to tell him to not get attached to the idea of having a brother when he very well could have a sister instead.

He holds up his first painting, “this is a tigerdillo and this one’s me, you, and dad...and this one is Bao fighting Fire Lord Bonsai and…”

Azula quirks a brow. “You’ve been working hard.”

“He’s making his sibling an art gallery.” Hajime laughs.

“I can see that.” She replies. She picks up one of the paintings. “Where do you want to hang this one?”

“The ceiling!” Atsu declares.

“Alright, if you can get it up there, you can hang it from the ceiling.”

Atsu blinks. “No, mom, you put it up there!” He flashes her a wide grin.

“Your mom needs to take it easy, Atsu.”

“I can handle a simple task like that just fine.”

“I know that you can, but it wouldn’t kill you to just relax, would it?”

If boredom could induce death, she is sure that it would kill her. She puts her hands on her hips and gives a slight pout. She supposes that her back is rather sore and she had just taken quite a decent walk…

Hajime comes to stand behind her and rest his chin on her shoulder. He takes her hand and guides it over the bump. It still leaves her feeling slightly perturbed to feel the baby kick against her touch. It is a reminder that it is all real. That she isn’t making it all up.

On some days, the rougher days feeling that little kick is what makes her feel real. Though daunting and frightening in its own right, it is grounding. It is a constant when Hajime isn’t around to help her.

But on her worst days, the kicking only adds to the unrest and disconnect in her mind. It takes her to a place where her body is not her own, where someone else pulls the strings and she is only a husk…

Today is a pleasant day. Today she feels a sense of security in the little kicks. At the very least, she is growing used to them. Hajime kisses her neck while she watches Atsu attempt to walk up the wall. He takes a running start, manages to take perhaps two or three admirable steps up the wall before falling on his rear with a loud, “owie!”

“Okay, wall!” He declares, pointing a finger at it. “Get ready to get climbed!” He very confidently stomps back up to it and tries a second time. And a third before Hajime finally remarks, “alright, how about we try hanging your pictures somewhere else?”

While the man goes to help their son, she makes her way into their bedroom and lies down. She takes off her shoes and lowers herself upon the mattress. She rests her hand atop her belly and absently rubs her hand over the bump. She isn’t sure how to or when she should begin telling him who she is. She just knows that it has to be done tonight, before she loses her mustered courage.

.oOo.

She watches Atsu and Caihong teeter after a glowing plume of fireflies. The critters are all over the place tonight, gathering in swamps. It must be the height of their mating season. And how the trees sparkle with them. She has seen the bugs in the Fire Nation but the cicadas usually outnumber them and she has never had the pleasure of watching them tuck themselves into such thick canopies.

“So, how are things coming along?” Seukhyun asks.

Azula drums her fingers against her belly, “as smoothly as they can be I suppose.” Though she can certainly do without the aches and pains and the occasional need to update her wardrobe.

“Good to hear.” He replies. “Ojihara misses having your help with the planting and harvesting. It certainly isn’t as fun for me without being able to compete with you.”

She gives the thought a lazy little hand wave, “you can certainly stop by any time and beg for my help. Of course, when I say yes you will have to provide me with plenty of refreshments.”

“I think that Ojihara and I can work something out.”

“Wonderful.” She claps her hands together. “The baby is partial to pineapple juice.”

“The baby or Rikka?” Seukhyun quirks a brow.

It is the both of them really. Hajime wanders up the porch steps. “I think that I’ve caught enough fireflies to light up our whole bedroom for the night. And that’s without Atsu’s contribution.”

“How many did Cai catch?” Seukhyun asks.

“Way too many. In fact she told me to go get you so that she can show you.”

Seukhyun rises and stretches his arms. “I’ll talk with Ojihara tonight and see if we can get you some light duty work and some pineapple juice.”

Azula gives him a thumbs up.

“You’re trying to go back to work?”

Azula shrugs. “It isn’t too hard to pluck a few turnips.”

“Under the scorching sun?”

“I’m a firebender and so is the baby.” She declares, pridefully turning her chin up and gesturing to her tummy. “I can feel it.”

Hajime laughs. “If you say so. But don’t be upset when our baby grows up and starts throwing rocks.”

“I won’t. It’s a fire baby. Only a fire baby would be this intense.” And intense things have been. Her cravings are quite ravenous and her spells of nausea can be rather overwhelming. She has only complained of them as often as she can. Only a fire baby can be so extreme.

She waits for Hajime to fill Seukhyun’s empty chair. She waits a little longer after that, watches the fireflies drift care-free and enchantingly. At least she speaks, “I have something to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

She clears her throat. “First, tell me that you will hear me out entirely.”

“I can do that.”

“No interruptions. No questions until I am finished.” Her stomach grows jittery, doubly so with the baby squirming about.

“No interruptions or questions, Rikka.”

She takes a deep breath. “Not Rikka.” She pauses. Another deep breath. “My name isn’t Rikka.”

He smile softly and gives her a nod of understanding. He waits so very patiently for her to continue. She supposes that, that in itself makes a difference. He interlocks his hand with hers.

She opens her mouth but the silence is stolen by a sharp cry from Caihong and a loud curse from Seukhyun. Atsu cries out too. Hajime grips her hand tighter and stands up. She with him. “Rikka, sit down.” He knows very well that she has no plans to do anything of the sort.

She sees it on the treeline, a small and efficient blaze. “I’m good with fire, Hajime. You need me.”

“I need you and the baby to be safe.”

“We will be.” She replies rather flippantly. She can’t run as fast as she had some six months ago and her balance isn’t so enviable. But she can still out pace Hajime.

Seukhyun carries both of the children, his face red and horrified. “They’re burning and razing the village.”

Azula’s stomach drops.

“Why would the Fire Nation��?” Hajime starts.

She shakes her head. “This isn’t a Fire Nation attack. There would be a lot more fire than this.”

“It’s them, Hajime.” Seukhyun huffs. “They’re back.”

“Who?”

“The Gemsbok Bulls.” He shouts over a wailing Caihong.

“Who are they?”

“They’re the army faction responsible for the last massacre.” Hajime answers grimly.

“I reckon they want vengeance.”

Hajime throws the door open. They are inside already. “Shit.” Seukhyun hisses. He backs out of the doorway. She sees the arrow pierce his head, a shot so skilled, so mighty that it goes in through one ear and nearly out the other. He pitches over, Caihong and Atsu topple with him.

“Daddy!” Caihong screeches.

Azula yanks her back, she and Atsu both. Her stomach cramps and she winces. She turns and kicks a ring of fire at the men who are already inside of her home. She doesn’t think that Hajime has taken notice of her attack. She doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it, the dull ache becomes quite intense, involuntary tears prickle behind her eyes.

The men duck and Hajime lurches forward, landing a sturdy punch to the man’s ribs. It is enough to rattle his armor and knock him off of his feet. His combatant catches Hajime by the jaw. Azula tosses her best fireball at the man. He staggers back as an arrow whizzes past her head.

Decidedly, the archer is the deadliest foe.

She has to take the archer out.

“Hold them off, Hajime.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hold them off.” She throws herself outside and throws up a wall of fire. The arrow turns to ash before it can reach her. She waits for another to fly. If she can take the archer down then she can get Atsu and Caihong out of this. She catches a flash in the treeline. She throws up another line of fire and readies her lightning. The arrow disintegrates, her fire falls, and her lightning discharges. The sound of the woman’s body dropping is lost beneath a crack of thunder.

“Atsu! Caihong! Get out here!”

She gets answer from neither and her anxious queasiness swells. She lurches back inside, Agni she is so tired. The ache in her belly is growing to be quite searing. The baby’s kicking is insufferable. She grits her teeth and presses a heated hand to her tummy, it does nothing to soothe the babe this time.

“Mama!” Atsu shouts.

Hajime is on the ground, arm pinned beneath a boulder, nose bleeding.

“Ya got’a new wife?” Speaks the largest of the soldiers. His eyes--one blind and one a vivid green--flicker from she to Hajime.

“I won’t let you take her from me too.” He winces.

The soldier gives a bellowing laugh before another boulder crashes through their wall and drops onto his other hand. Atsu shrieks again. She can’t find Caihong. “And how are you going to stop me from under there? You can’t help her.”

“I can help myself just fine.” She promises. She takes down the men behind her first. Normally she would reach back and launch them over her shoulders but the bump is in the way. Instead she raises her arms and lets two bursts of fire rise from her palms. The men stumble back.

The soldier throws Atsu to the side, the boy lands with a thump and a whimper. She knows now that she will have the man dead. He throws himself at her, she lets him lumber forward before taking a quick step out of the way. She takes a sturdy stane and catches him by the arm. She hears his shoulder pop and she pulls him back towards her.

The other two soldiers rise. And now she is torn between fending for herself and keeping them away from Atsu and Hajime. Her first fire whip, buckles the man reaching for Atsu. Her second strikes the half-blind soldier. His blade grazes across her neck as he falls back.

Her heart races as a slowly flowing curtain of blood trickles down her neck and to her chest. She slams another fireball into him for good measure. Her baby gives another violent kick, she wills the poor thing to hang in there. She is almost finished.

The third soldier, a woman, she notices, has made it to Hajime. She shoves the half-blind soldier aside and charges the woman. She dodges a wall of rock, blasts it away. She knows that Hajime has seen this time, and how could he not have?

That rush of blue fire is the last thing he sees before the soldier scowls and brings a larger rock down to crush his throat. And Azula hopes, at the very least, that he got to know--even if for only an instant--the real her. She dreads that his last thoughts were ones of hatred and regret over having slept with the Fire Nation’s very worst.

Atsu’s piercing cries barely register as the light leaves Hajime’s eyes. His final exhale whistles through her like a spirit. She doesn’t scream neither does she cry. She isn’t given the decency. Several more soldiers pour into the house. They seize her, pin her hands behind her back and the half blind soldier steps forward. He holds a blade to the top of her belly. Drags the cool metal down it, cutting a hole through her shirt as it goes. And when he reaches the bottom of her bump he takes pause. “I was hoping to to open you up in front of him...for old time’s sake. But…” He gestures to Hajime’s lifeless body. “You’ve deprived me of the pleasure. You and her both.”

The Earth Kingdom woman has just enough time to process his words. Just enough time to let her eyes go wide. She is dead as soon as the boulder bashes her into the one she’d killed Hajime with.

His attention comes back to her, the blade bites deeper into her stomach and he swipes it horizontally. The tears come forward with a second rush of blood. And with her tears and blood comes another rush.

She screams. Her shout comes out as fire. The man stumbles back, clutching his face. She can see the blood seeping through his fingers. She hopes that he is suffering greatly. He must be. Only pure pain can induce the rage that drives a man to growl and growls give the belly of a pregnant woman a good kick.

She doesn’t remember what happened after that. She only remembers agony to a degree that she has never felt before or since. It comes from her body, from the baby’s body, and from her mind.

That night she learns what it is to die.

.oOo.

Sokka’s mouth runs dry. His eyes drift from the badgermole to the scar on her neck and then the partially exposed scar on her belly. He takes her hand and squeezes it as he fumbles for something to say. Anything at all.

Yet nothing sounds right in his mind. Because it isn’t okay and it won’t be. Some things just aren’t okay. He considers that a good majority of the things that have happened in her life will never be okay. Why else would she have run from those things, those places.

He swallows. “I’m glad that you’re here now.” He tries.

She grits her teeth and wipes at her eyes.

“I’m glad that you’re here and not wandering out there alone somewhere.”

She draws a shaky breath as he recalls her mention of a long trip home. A long, lonely trip home. He recalls her joyful smile that night at the theater. That enthusiastic twinkle in her eyes. He wonders how many times Hajime got to see that.

And he wonders how she has managed to hide all of that hurt. How it had even been possible to bury it out of sight. How, up until now, she has been so composed. How she is still able to smile at all.

She is resilient.

He wishes that she wouldn’t have to be.

He isn’t sure if he should but hugs her tightly. If she hates it she can always shove him away. She doesn’t. In fact, she presses her face against his chest and bunches her hands in the folds of his clothes. He squeezes her. He can’t take the pain away, but he can try.

She still sobs so openly.

The sort of gut-wrenchingly hunting cries that only true loss can bring.

“Sokka, what’s going on.” Zuko’s face is grim. Concerned. “She’s not…” he trails off. “Is she?”

“It’s a long story, Zuko.”

“I have time.”

“I should let Azula tell you herself.” He rubs small circles on her back.

.oOo.

Zuko has tea and a hot meal waiting for her but she hasn’t the appetite for even a single bite. She stares at her palms. She feels rather numb. She thinks that she would rather feel numb. It is better than feeling grief.

“I was going to name it Juro.” She whispers more to herself, vacantly she trails her pointer along the scar. She feels herself slumping over again. Zuko catches her and holds her upright.

“What are you talking about, Azula?”

She shakes her head. She was going to do a lot of things. She was going to tell Hajime her name. She was going to tell Ojihara and Seukhyun. She was going to be Azula again. She was going to teach Juro to firebend. She was going to teach him about Fire Nation culture. She was going to breakup squabbles when Juro tried to snatch Bao from Atsu. She was going to bring them all to see the palace one day. She was going to make a life where they could vacation to Ember Island and return to Wujing after.

She was going to be happy.

She was going to heal.

She is furious and tormented.

She is more wounded than before.

“At least have a sip.” Zuko tries gently. She absently picks up the teacup and gives it a small sip.

She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows down an unreleased sob. The tears still leak out. Sokka cups his hand over hers.

“What happened, Azula?” Zuko asks again.

She rises, she isn’t quite steady but she makes it to her nightstand. She rummages through it and pulls out her journal. She drops it into his lap and drops herself back onto the mattress.

It is much easier to just let him read it. She isn’t up for speaking of it a second time. She rolls onto her side and bunches herself up, nauseous with stress and mourning. It settles quite heavily that she hasn’t processed it. Not truly.

Zuko tucks himself into the corner and begins reading.

“I don’t know if this will help at all.” Sokka starts. “But I lost someone too.”

“Suki?”

Sokka shakes his head. “No, not Suki. Suki’s still around, she just decided to focus on Kyoshi Warrior stuff instead of a relationship. I lost someone named Yue.”

Azula is quiet for a very long time, trying to figure out why he is trying to make this about him. Empathy, she remembers. He is being empathetic. She supposes that there isn’t much else he can say anyways. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.

“I promise that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

And she supposes that, that means something.

It means almost everything.

She promised herself on that day in the plains, that she wouldn’t let herself wander through everything on her own.

It means absolutely everything.

He was the first person to make her feel truly alive in a very long time.

She rolls over to face him and reaches for whatever is steaming on the plate. She sits up as Sokka hands it to her. She should take care of herself. She likes to think that she is solidly past the catatonic stage.

“I know.” She finally says.

She has waited too long to reply, “Huh?”

“I know that I’m...not alone.” She clarifies. And she thinks that, that very well might be the only reason that she is willing to sit up and eat. She thinks of her first night home, of the well wishes she had been given and of the warm welcome back. She thinks of awkward game nights with Mai and TyLee. She thinks of sparring sessions with Zuko. Mostly she thinks of story swapping with Sokka and a very humiliating and liberating night at a theater.

She thinks of life.

Of the things that she is still going to do.

Even if she can’t bring herself to do those things now.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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jaybear1701 · 5 years ago

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Chapter Summary: Scylla begins her new role as an “instructor” at Fort Salem. It goes about as well as you might expect.

“This is some shit.”

Raelle hadn’t voiced the massive understatement. Beth Treefine did. And, for once, Raelle agreed with the haughty High Atlantic. Beth’s Unit stood shoulder-to-shoulder to the left of Abigail, Tally, and Raelle in the small gym that would serve as their training ground for whatever forbidden Work they’d be learning. The walls felt like they were closing in. And Raelle couldn’t even begin to parse out the jumbling emotions that made her head spin as she watched Scylla, back in uniform, trading hushed, tense words with Anacostia and Izadora.

“Isn’t Scylla, like, your ex?” Glory Moffett whispered out of the corner of her mouth to the Bellweather Unit’s right, brown eyes wide and round.

Heat prickled up Raelle’s neck.

Both Abigail and Tally shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Beth’s head snapped toward Raelle. “Seriously, you dated a terrorist?” Her lips curled in disgust. “Why am I not surprised? You Cessions do love trash after all.”

Abigail grabbed Raelle’s wrist before she could launch herself at Beth and earn a month’s worth of demerits. “Shut your dirty, fetid mouth, Treefine, before I shut it for you,” Abigail threatened with a dangerous glare.

“Come on, Bellweather,” Beth scoffed. “Even you have to admit this is bullshit!”

“And what exactly is bullshit, Treefine?” Anacostia’s question boomed out into the confined space. “Is following orders bullshit?” She stalked toward Beth, who stood at attention. “Or maybe it’s doing whatever it takes to crush our enemies once and for all.” Standing toe-to-toe with Beth, Anacostia stared her down. “Is that bullshit to you, Private?”

“No, ma'am.” Beth kept her eyes trained forward, fear of the Goddess in them.

“Good.” Anacostia walked down the line, glowering at each War College freshman. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” She paused briefly in front of Raelle before she continued on. “You’d do well to remember it.”

When she got to the last member of Glory’s unit, Anacostia returned to a position in front of the soldiers.

“For those of you who don’t already know, this is Scylla Ramshorn.” She beckoned Scylla forward. “Outside, she’s just another soldier. But here, she’ll be your instructor for the next few weeks. Treat her with anything but respect, and you’ll answer to me.” She moved to the side to stand next to Izadora.

The air thickened in Raelle’s lungs as Scylla stepped forward, fingers casually tucked in her pockets, a small smirk on her stupidly beautiful face. Except the smug smile seemed almost too stiff, a brittle mask tenuously held in place.

Scylla cleared her throat. “I know this isn’t ideal for you,” she began, making eye contact with everyone but Raelle. “It’s not exactly a picnic for me, either. But the sooner we get through this, the sooner we can defeat the Camarilla.”

“How?” Abigail asked.

Raelle bit the inside of her cheek, while Tally stifled a groan.

“Bellweather,” Anacostia growled.

“Ma’am, I mean no disrespect,” Abigail explained, even as she eyed Scylla with caution. “A ceasefire is one thing. I genuinely want to know how the Spree can possibly help us.”

“The same old military tactics won’t work against the Camarilla for the same reason you’ve never eradicated the Spree in two decades,” Scylla explained. Off several blank looks, she added, “You can’t kill what you can’t catch.”

“And you’ll catch them with what?” Abigail crossed her arms. “Your winning personality?”

Scylla grinned. “There’s always that.” She slid a hand into her right pocket and fished out a zippo. “And this.” She flicked it open and lit it. Raelle’s lips parted as Scylla brought the flame to the edge of her jaw until it caught fire.

“Holy shit,” Glory gasped.

The blaze consumed Scylla’s entire face for several seconds before it petered out, leaving a second version of Abigail, embers slowly fading from her hair. “Boo.”

Frowning, the real Bellweather stiffened. “What the hell?!”

Dark memories of “Helen Graves” clawed at Raelle’s stomach, sharp and deep. “So, the key to defeating the Camarilla is, what, deception?” She couldn’t stop herself. It was infinitely easier to drop her filter when Scylla didn’t look like Scylla. “You’re definitely a pro at that,” she muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from Tally.

Scylla-as-Abigail blinked once, slowly. Still, she didn’t look at Raelle. Clicking the lighter once again, she burned off Abigail’s visage and returned to her own, blue eyes glowing as flames licked around her face. “If you can’t tell friend from foe, then you’re vulnerable.”

“You mean infiltrate them,” Tally said. “And expose them.”

Scylla smiled, genuinely this time. “Craven, I knew you were the brightest in your Unit.”

Abigail’s scowl intensified. “How are we supposed to infiltrate them if we can’t find them?”

“Who says we haven’t?” Scylla said in a way that unsettled Raelle, who thought back to the latest Camarilla massacre. Scylla had said she was sent to investigate, but had it been more than that?

“So, does no one care that this Work is clearly outside Canon?” Beth unhelpfully pointed out.

Scylla regarded Beth with a look that could only be described as pity. “Canon is nothing more than a cage. Meant to keep you in check so you never realize the full extent of your power.”

Anacostia coughed into her fist and raised one brow at Scylla.

“But I digress,” Scylla conceded. “Who wants to go first?”

No one volunteered.

“Wow.” Scylla held up her hands, lips quirking sarcastically. “Don’t everyone answer the call at once, now.”

“Collar, you’re up.” Anacostia’s bark was unusually loud in the awkward silence of the room.

Raelle schooled her features, even though she wanted nothing more than to glower at her former drill sergeant. Tally and Abigail watched her with thinly veiled apprehension. She followed Anacostia’s command and approached Scylla, who still refused to meet her eyes.

“What Seeds do I use?” Raelle asked, affecting a bored drawl.

Scylla finally looked at her, and all the air squeezed out of Raelle’s lungs. “No Seeds.” She took in a breath that seemed to shake imperceptibly. “Mother Tongue.”

Raelle’s eyebrows arched. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m doing standup?”

Scylla recited a short phrase, then repeated its serpentine staccato beats. Despite its brevity, it was difficult for Raelle to follow even as she subconsciously stared at the precise movements of Scylla’s lips.

“Eventually you won’t have to say the words,” Scylla finished.

“What do they mean?” Glory asked, her question startling Raelle.

“In light shall I be cloaked ,” Scylla answered. “In darkness shall I be revealed.” Wetting her lips, she tore her gaze from Raelle to address Glory. “Our ancestors created this Work during the Burning Times. Fought fire with fire to escape from their oppressors.” Her attention returned to Raelle. “Like the Spree do now.”

“And how many die from it?” Raelle’s jaw tightened as she clenched her fists.

Scylla’s stoic expression wavered, a crack in the facade, but she didn’t look away. “How many die from inaction?”

They started at each other for several beats, a game of chicken to see who would blink first.

“Um, hello?” An impatient Abigail interrupted, snapping them both out of their near-trance. “The Work?”

Scylla glanced at Anacostia before offering her lighter to Raelle, who made it a point to take it without brushing against Scylla’s hand. For self-preservation.

Raelle stared at golden zippo, recalling how she had seen it on the small locker Scylla had used as a makeshift nightstand; how Scylla never seemed to be without it. Now she knew why. She pushed open its cap. It took several sparks before it came to life.

“Now, think about someone,” Scylla ordered.

“Who?”

“Anyone. Picture them in your mind.”

Raelle closed her eyes, but the only person she saw was Scylla. As if it could be anyone else. “Okay,” she said, hating herself for her weakness.

“Good, now repeat after me,” Scylla said, once again slipping back into Mother Tongue. In light shall I be cloaked. In darkness shall I be revealed.

Raelle attempted to repeat the Work. Horribly. She tried again. And again. Tried to give shape to the words with her tongue and lips, to get used to how they felt in her mouth.

“Now raise the flame,” Scylla said.

Opening her eyes, Raelle brought the lighter near her face. Its heat stung her jaw.

“Don’t be afraid,” Scylla whispered.

Heart pounding, Raelle lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid.”

The challenge was clear in Scylla’s blue eyes.

Raelle drew her hand closer to her chin, but the flame was too much. It seared her skin, and she dropped the lighter with a yelp. It clattered against the floor as she cupped the burn. She wasn’t sure what mortified her more: the failure or the disappointment that flashed across Scylla’s face.

***

In the breath between life and death, memories flooded Raelle’s vision, hazy and random like hundreds of fireflies on a summer night. Of her mom and dad. Warm smiles, tight hugs, joyous laughter. Of Tally and Abigail. Infectious optimism and steady leadership. Tough love from Anacostia. They blended and bled into her link with Abigail, whose own recollections centered on Petra, her five fathers, her Unit, Adil, and Charvel.

But in the center of the maelstrom was Scylla.

Raelle no longer felt pain from where the Camarilla’s arrow pierced her body. Instead, her chest filled with love and anguish, longing and regret.

“Scyl.” She stretched out her arm, trying to grasp Scylla’s hand and coming up empty, a millimeter out of reach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Scylla only smiled, a melancholy twist of her lips, sapphire eyes luminescent.

A burst of white engulfed Raelle, blinding and brilliant. Shutting her eyes tight, she felt fingers tightening around her left hand. She squeezed back. She’d never let go.

***

Raelle absentmindedly pushed peas around on her tray, the tines of her fork scraping metal as she separated them from the sliced mushrooms. She wasn’t hungry, despite eating only half a bagel hours ago, her stomach still wound tight after that less than stellar training session with Scylla. Of all the Spree. It had to be her. The absurd coincidence reminded her of that old black-and-white movie her dad loved. How did that one line go? Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine. That was it.

Someone nudged Raelle’s shoulder and waved a hand in front of her face, dispelling her line of thought.

“Hey.” Tally said, sympathy apparent in her warm brown eyes. “You still with us?”

“Yeah, of course.” Raelle nodded, putting her fork down.

The crowd in the War College mess hall had grown since they arrived for lunch, as had the volume of chatter from the hungry soldiers, most if not all of them absolutely clueless about the extracurricular activities happening on campus.

“You’re thinking about her,” Abigail observed next to Tally on the other side of the table.

“I’m not thinking about anyone,” Raelle lied even as her traitorous heart wondered where Scylla had gone with Anacostia and Izadora.

“You’re such a liar.” Abigail shook her head as she raised a glass of water to her lips.

“Well, I’m thinking about her,” Tally chimed in. “She’s actually a decent instructor.” She shrunk underneath Raelle’s stare. “You know, all things considered.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’re the only one who was actually working that Work.”

“One of the perks of linking with a 327-year-old?” Tally leaned forward as if she was sharing a deep secret. “Instant Mother Tongue.”

“Of all the people to impersonate, though.” Abigail speared a piece of pineapple and popped it into her mouth. “Hilary? Really? I thought you were over her and Gerit.”

Tally shrugged up a shoulder and deflected, “Who did you pick?”

“My mom,” Abigail answered. “Could you imagine her face?” She shared a chuckle with Tally while Raelle continued to sulk. “How about you, Rae?”

“What does it matter?” Raelle asked, knowing full well they knew she only had one person in mind.

“It doesn’t.” Tally reached out and gently covered Raelle’s right hand where it rested on the table. “But, you know we’re here for you. You can talk about her, if you want.”

“Why would I?” Raelle resisted the urge to pull away, not wanting to hurt Tally’s feelings.

“Because you still need to get your shit together,” Abigail said, tone creeping into overbearing Bellweather territory that still managed to set Raelle’s teeth on edge.

“My shit’s just fine.” Raelle clung to her obstinance. Had a knack for it. It was the one thing she could still control.

“Your shit’s a mess.” Abigail’s gaze flicked over Raelle’s shoulder and she did a double take. “And it’s about to get worse.”

Raelle swiveled in her seat, stomach dropping. As if the day couldn’t get any worse. Her mother was now approaching their table. In uniform, no less, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Raelle,” Willa greeted softly.

Raelle gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

“This must be your Unit,” Will said when Raelle didn’t respond, offering her hand to Abigail. “You’re Petra’s daughter. Abigail, right?”

Hesitating only briefly, Abigail stood and firmly took Willa’s hand and gave it a firm shake, once up and down. “Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you.” Willa stretched a hand to Tally, who also rose to her feet to clasp it. “And you must be Tally. I knew one of your aunts. Mae? One of the finest soldiers I’ve known. She told me once that the Cravens received a dispensation from conscription.”

“Oh!” Tally’s brows shot up. “Yes, ma’am. But I… I volunteered.”

Willa blinked once. “You decided to serve even though you didn’t need to. Admirable. If only we all could have that same choice.”

An awkward hush wrapped around them, a tense bubble amid the white noise of the mess hall.

“Well, it was nice to meet you officially, ma’am,” Abigail picked up her tray, awkwardly canting her head to encourage Tally to join her. “But we best be going.”

They reluctantly left the table, both eyeing Raelle with concern.

“I should go with them,” Raelle said, standing to collect her own things.

”Actually, I was hoping we could talk,” Willa said.

“Have you talked to dad yet?”

A hint of pain glinted in near identical blue. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” Raelle got up and quickly deposited her tray in a receptacle. She made a beeline for the exit, hoping to catch up with Tally and Abigail.

“Raelle, please.” Willa followed her outside into the afternoon heat. “I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But if you would just let me explain, you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” Raelle whirled around. “Why you abandoned us? Made us think you were dead? Sent Scylla to…” She stopped short. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Scylla. Didn’t want to even think of the possibility that Willa had deliberately assigned Scylla to train her Unit.

“Yes,” Willa said simply. “You owe me at least that much, girl.”

Temper flaring, Raelle stepped into her mom’s space. “I don’t owe you anything,” she snarled.

Raelle stalked away, emotions ablaze, a ball of pent up fury as she trekked across the grounds. She let the anger consume her, ignoring the sliver of disappointment that wrapped around her heart when her mom didn’t follow. Contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t dense. She had thought about Willa’s reasons nearly everyday. And logically, she understood.

Alder’s military system was slavery. There was no doubt about that. So many women had been forced to early deaths they didn’t choose, and the same fate awaited their daughters, and their daughters’ daughters. Her mom didn’t want Raelle to become war meat. Hell, Raelle didn’t want to become war meat. Perhaps in some twisted way, Willa thought she was also protecting Edwin, breaking his heart to keep him safe from the war. The Spree sought freedom to live their lives without fear of being hunted down and killed, like Scylla’s parents. But they were also murderers, just like the Army–both entities so mired in darkness that Raelle wasn’t sure they’d ever see the light.

She knew all this. But her heart still couldn’t get past the betrayal of it all, and the fear of everything she still didn’t know about the terrible lengths Willa had gone to in furtherance of her cause. It was easier to cling to pain and resentment, than to wade into brackish water and attempt to separate brine from the fresh.

Her eyes began to sting and she stopped to suck in several deep breaths. She had wandered the grounds, unseeing, and somehow found herself at the base of her favorite grand oak tree. It stood massive and towering, limbs curving and snaking toward the sun, the silent keeper of memories and secret moments. Raelle braced a hand against its rough bark, pushing until it dug into her skin. She had to collect herself, or at least fake it as best she could, before her next set of classes, which included even more testing with Izadora. Or else she’d never hear the end of it from Abigail and Tally.

When her anger had cooled from a boil to a simmer, Raelle rounded the tree, intending to settle between it’s exposed roots, only to receive an unexpected jolt when she found her spot already occupied.

By Scylla.

Because, of course, it had to be Scylla. Sitting under Raelle’s favorite tree. Their tree. Where they had stolen kisses from each other and made plans for the future. Where Scylla had once lifted Raelle and spun her in her arms, carefree and in love.

Raelle’s chest constricted at the realization.

“S-sorry,” Raelle stuttered out. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

Startled, Scylla dropped the pen she had been holding. It rolled into the gutter of the journal she had been writing in. “Raelle…”

Crystal blue eyes widening behind a pair of black, wire-framed reading glasses. They reminded Raele of the ones Scylla used to wear late at night in her dorm room, studying thick tomes on mycology and necromancy while Raelle dozed on her bed after a long day in the rough room.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Raelle started to back away.

“You don’t have to leave,” Scylla regained her composure and picked up her pen. “I can go.”

“No, you were here first.” Raelle turned to leave. “I’ll just….” Her heel caught one of the tree’s gnarled roots. She stumbled slightly, but managed to maintain her balance, if not her dignity, face red with embarrassment.

Scylla chewed at her bottom lip. “You know, it’s a big tree. And we’re big girls. We can both stay without bothering each other.”

Raelle almost laughed. They both knew that would be impossible. And yet, the way Scylla regarded her with no expectations, an open invitation with no pressure, it made Raelle want to believe they could do it. Co-exist. If not exactly peacefully, then at least politely.

For the mission.

At least, that’s what Raelle told herself as she ignored all her survival instincts and sat on the ground, back against the crags of the trunk a few meters away from Scylla.

Silence blanketed them, not quite comfortable but not unbearable either, as a gentle breeze ruffled the branches overhead. Scylla’s pen scratched softly against paper, and Raelle stole a glimpse of Scylla out of the corner of her eye. The sun’s rays rippled down through the leaves, light and shadow flickering over Scylla’s gorgeous profile, head bent and dark hair swaying in the wind as she resumed writing.

Unlike Willa, Scylla made no efforts to address the unspoken tension between them–more massive than any proverbial elephant. Didn’t try to explain, or apologize, beyond what had already transpired between them in that prison cell so many moons ago. Raelle wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, or if it would even change anything, regardless.

Her stomach sank anyway.

Because unlike with Willa, Raelle felt remorse regarding Scylla, who had been captured and tortured because she had chosen Raelle over the Spree. Regret had burrowed inside Raelle’s heart the moment Scylla had pleaded with her in that horrible dungeon. Had transformed into a gnawing guilt that continued to fester long after Raelle callously dismissed Scylla anyway, wanting to break Scylla heart the way Scylla had broken hers. Raelle had no idea how to fix it, or if she even could.

“How’s your chin?” Scylla broke the stillness.

Raelle gingerly touched the healed skin. She’d almost forgotten it had been burned in the first place. “All fixed up. Which is more than I can say about Treefine’s hair.” She had no idea the High Atlantic could screech that loudly.

Scylla let out a soft chuckle. “It’ll grow back.”

“Not at the rate we’re going.” Raelle ran her fingers through the grass, tips tickling her palm.

“It’s only the first day,” Scylla said. “It gets easier.”

“Oh yeah? How long did it take you?” Raelle asked and then instantly wished she could take it back. Scylla’s parents had probably taught her, and here she was bringing up those painful memories. “Sorry, I…”

“It’s okay.” Scylla shook her head. “A while. I didn’t want to get burned. But, eventually, you get used to it. Learn not to fear it. Until you feel nothing at all.”

I’ve been burned before, Scylla had told Raelle that one time, deep in the cemetery in the woods. Both literally and figuratively. And Raelle had contributed to it. They’d both hurt each other, intentionally and unintentionally. Raelle’s heart throbbed against her ribs. She wanted to reach out, but knew she couldn’t. Not any more.

Before she could respond, someone called out Scylla’s name. A young woman with long, brown hair beckoned from a distance. Raelle frowned.

“I have to go,” Scylla removed her glasses, voice soft. Closing her journal, she pushed herself onto her feet and dusted off her pants. “See you around, Raelle.”

“Scyl, wait,” Raelle blurted out, scrambling to her feet. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she had to get this out.

Scylla paused, head tilting slightly.

“What I said back then.” Raelle licked her suddenly dry lips. “About being sorry we ever met.” Hot shame spread across Raelle’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean it.”

Scylla’s expression shifted through a myriad of emotions–surprise, pain, and sadness conveyed in each subtle twitch of her mouth and crease of her brow–until the sea of her eyes calmed. Softened.

“Thank you,” Scylla whispered before she quickly turned around and walked away.

#raylla #motherland fort salem #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #motherland fort salem fic

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imagineitup · 6 years ago

Text

umbrella academy headcanons // summer nights

Luther

once luther gets past his initial wariness of running around the meadow he starts to let loose

it’s the first time you’ve seen him really smile since you were kids

hand holding

and then the two of you fall to a heap on the meadow

you lay your head beside his, snuggling closer to his side

luther points up to the sky and the two of you watch all the constellations shine through the night

the two of you talk about everything

favorite foods, favorite books, favorite time of day

and of course what it was like on the moon

Diego

at the very mention of a water fight Diego would jump up

he’ll grab your hand and pull you towards the meadow, tossing you a water gun and handful of water balloons

and then the two of you split up

he’s terrible at hiding and instead wanders around to try to find you

and you’re sitting behind a bush, sneaking behind him as he wanders past your spot

and then you jump up and pelt him with water balloons and he whirls around with the most betrayed expression

but he gets you back

the both of you are absolutely soaked

and then you bundle up in fuzzy towels and sit and lay in the meadow as the sun shines

you’re looking up at the clouds but diego’s looking at you

because you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

Allison

you and allison both run through the meadow, holding woven baskets for berry picking

maroon stained fingers as the two of you compete to see how many raspberries you can pick

allison decides to lead you to another part of the meadow, and the two of you sit among the flowers

flower crowns

you both lay in the setting sun and eat fresh berries

laughing as you toss one up and it falls to hit her on the nose

soft kisses

and then when the sun begins to set and the sky turns to different colors of orange and pastel she pulls you to your feet

and twirls you around

the two of you dance barefoot

laughter

it starts to get dark, and the two of you simply stay in each others arms and sway as the stars shine in the sky

Klaus

klaus is the king of campfire stories

he goes off and talks of all sorts of adventures and leaps up in pantomime

when it gets cold you’ll lean against him and he’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders

klaus’ hugs are the absolute best

he’s so warm and soft and you’re in love

cuddles

truth or dare games are essential

he knows almost all your secrets, and you’re a little worried

but klaus would never ever hurt you

the best dare you’ve given him is when he streaked through the umbrella academy

you never let him forget it

especially diego’s horrified scream

as the night stretches on klaus will reach for your hand and press soft kisses to your knuckles

Five

five really can’t be bothered to do anything fun

because he’s sarcastic and complains 24/7

that’s until you mention marshmallows

and s’mores

you’re finally catching a small glimpse of excitement in his eyes

he takes his marshmallow and puts it directly into the flame

five is a marshmallow burner

pleased smiles as he bites into them b/c it’s absolute bliss

he hasn’t had s’mores in years

you convince him to maybe not burn them just once

he obliges with a roll of the eyes

although he fights a real smile from forming on his face

but it doesn’t stop him from complaining about how long it takes

which is ironic, really

competitions to see who can eat the largest s’more

five fits one into his mouth with four marshmallows, and five pieces of chocolate

the laughter he finally lets out is the most satisfying sound you’ve heard in a long time

Ben

ben’s confused when you hand him a mason jar

he’s already got a dry, sarcastic comment to make

until you open the door and grab his hand to pull him outside towards the meadow

and then he sees the fireflies

they’re beautiful and glowing brightly

he watches as you run through the fields and cup fireflies into the jar

and then he’s running, too, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips

you run towards him and watch in quiet wonder as the lights swirl around and around in the glass jar

you reach up to press a soft kiss to his cheek

“there’s always light, ben”

and then you let the fireflies go, the lights spiraling up into the air and buzzing around the sky

he lets his fireflies go as well

and then you’re wrapping your arms around him

and he feels happy

really happy

Vanya

you and vanya like to sit side-by-side on the porch swing

watching the sun sink lower into the sky to hues of pinks and oranges

eskimo kisses and forehead kisses

hot chocolate is a must-have

vanya always pours loads of marshmallows into her chocolate

you both sit and talk about everything, while the mugs sit warm in your hands

vanya likes to trace circles onto your palms

the best hugs

and then the two of you will quietly whisper soft ‘i love you’s’

softest relationship

always making sure the other feels loved

as the night comes, vanya lays her head on your shoulder and the two of you continue to watch the stars, still swinging softly

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angelnightrose · 6 years ago

Text

Prompt 2: Dancing

FREE TIME HECK YEAH!! This is an idea I wanted to write for a while and finally managed to finish it. :3 Anyway Infinitemonth 2019 prompt two go. @itsashowtime

A late summer breeze sent ripples across the lake’s surface, disrupting the moon’s reflection on the water. Two boys stood near the water’s edge, a blonde staring out across the lake trying to skip stones on the water and a brunette shuffling on his feet seemingly lost in thought.

Mamoru turned back to his friend, concerned etched on his face and in his voice, “Jougo? Is something wrong? Not to pry, but you’ve been rather quiet tonight.”

This silence was something Mamoru wasn’t used to in the slightest. Usually Jougo was far more animated, talking excitedly about one thing or another, or trying to show him some interesting thing he’d learned. To see him standing off quietly by himself wasn’t normal in the slightest.

The prince didn’t seem to hear his companion, as he continued shuffling around, staring at his feet and muttering to himself. He looked up for a moment only to jump as he noticed Mamoru staring at him.

“Ah! I– Uh– I’m fine. Did you say something, Mamo?” Jougo laughed awkwardly and stuck his tongue out, trying to brush off the situation.

Mamoru’s head tilted in confusion, not at all convinced by Jougo’s response, “I asked if something was wrong. Are you feeling alright, Jougo? Should we head inside? If you need to go home early that’s fine, I’ll understand if you need to rest.”

Jougo quickly shook his head, “No no. I’m fine, really. I promise. It’s just–” The prince suddnely groaned in frustration, sliding to the ground and holding his knees to his chest.

Mamoru sat in the grass next to him, placing a hand on Jougo’s back in an attempt to comfort his dear friend. They stayed there for a moment, Mamoru softly rubbing Jougo’s back until he was ready to talk about whatever was bugging him. Even if he didn’t want to talk, Mamoru would still be here to offer him a comforting hand and a shoulder to lean on. It was the least he could do.

Jougo buried his head against his knees, mumbling something that Mamoru wasn’t quite able to make out.

“Hm?”

Jougo lifted his head, resting his chin on his hands and grumbling, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Now Mamoru only felt more confused. He wouldn’t have thought Jougo cared about proper dancing, he wasn’t usually one to be concerned about formal things like that. He would’ve assumed that if Jougo wanted to dance then he just would, not caring about what he was doing and just having fun. Though now that he thought about it there’d never really been an occasion where either of them would have been dancing considering they always met late at night and far from town.

The frustrated prince groaned again, “There’s this big stupid party happening at the castle in a few days. I don’t even want to be there but they’re making me go! They’re going to make me get all dressed up and everyone’s going to stare at me and I’m probably going to be forced to dance with some random noble idiots or something! I hate it. Father’s making me take dance lessons and I’ve been trying but I just don’t get it. Why do you have to move one specific way? And what am I supposed to do with my hands the whole time? It’s so slow and boring!” He sighed, staring out at the lake in defeat, “I wish they’d just listen to me and not have the stupid party at all…”

Mamoru stood back up, dusting himself off and offering a hand to Jougo with a warm smile on his face, “I’m sorry I don’t have a way to get you out of the party, but maybe I could help you with the dancing part? Would having a partner make practicing easier?”

Jougo stared at the outstretched hand for a moment and then looked back at Mamoru’s face. Even with the mask in the way he could still see the warmth and comfort in his friend’s smile. The prince smiled a little in respone, of course Mamoru would be trying to help him however he could, he shouldn’t have thought he’d try anything less.

Jougo laughed, taking Mamoru’s hand and pulling himself back to his feet, “Okay. It’s worth a shot. I promise I’ll try not to step on your feet too much. Thank you, Mamo.”

Mamoru smiled, “It’s my pleasure, Jougo. You’re very dear to me, if something’s troubling you then of course I want to help. Now then, put your hand on my shoulder…”

Jougo did as he was instructed, but still looked down at his feet sheepishly. Mamoru carefully put an arm around Jougo’s waist, holding him close, and gently took the prince’s other hand in his own.

It was only now however that Mamoru realized how close they actually were, and he hoped that his mask did a good job at hiding the blush on his cheeks.

The blonde stammered a bit, now feeling rather nervous himself, “O-okay. So, uh, it’s actually really simple. Just, um, just follow my lead.”

Mamoru stepped forward and Jougo followed, his feet moving back with his partner’s steps. It wasn’t quite smooth sailing however as Jougo continued to stumble, uttering apologies as he stepped on his friend’s feet and also had his own stepped on a few times. He grumbled in frustration, continuing to stare at his feet and trying to make the proper steps.

Mamoru just smiled and continued to be reassuring though, “You’re thinking about it too much. Don’t watch your feet, Jougo. Just look at me and follow my lead.”

Jougo took a deep breath, he didn’t understand how not looking at where his feet were was supposed to help, but he trusted Mamoru. He looked up and instead focused on the blonde’s face, well what he could see of it anyway. He wished he could see his friend’s face without the mask just once. He could still see Mamoru’s warm and comforting smile though, and that was enough to bring a smile to his own face too as he felt a familiar warmth spread through him.

Once Jougo stopped worrying so much about steps or where his feet were going and let Mamoru take lead the two of them flowed in perfect harmony, the symphony of the calm summer night providing the perfect melody as they both stepped and turned gracefully together. Mamoru led Jougo into another turn and Jougo had to pray that the red on his cheeks wasn’t showing. The way the moonlight shone behind Mamoru, the gold of his mask glittering as the light of the fireflies danced along with them, and his smile. That same kind, sweet smile that always made Jougo feel warm and bright inside when he saw it. Mamoru always did seem to have that effect on him, no matter what troubled the prince it all always melted away with that smile.

Eventually Jougo would reluctantly have to return to the castle. He hugged his friend tight when he left though, thanking him for his help. For a moment he contemplated inviting Mamoru to the party but quickly thought against it. The last thing he wanted was to throw him into that mess. A bunch of dumb, stuck up noble types that only cared to use you for their own gain. Mamoru didn’t belong there, as much as Jougo may have wanted him by his side. He just hoped that when the party happened he could find a way to sneak off quick enough to come see his friend for a while.

The night of the party came, and Mamoru found himself sitting at their usual meeting place, underneath the tree next to the lake. He sat in the grass and watched the ripples along the water’s surface, it was quiet and rather cool for a summer night he noted. Jougo had told him to wait for him tonight regardless of the party happening, he’d said that he was going to try and sneak out of the party as soon as he could. Mamoru had been wary, not wanting his friend to get in trouble, but Jougo insisted that he’d be alright and that coming to see him was way more important than the dumb party.

Still though, it was getting late. Maybe Jougo couldn’t find a way to get out of the party after all. He felt bad for him, it was obvious that Jougo had been far from excited about the evening. The stress had even been managing to bring down Jougo’s normally excited energy, even with Mamoru’s help with the dance practice hopefully easing some of it.

Mamoru sighed, he wished there was a way he could be there to help him, but he figured a random person strolling up to the castle claiming to be the prince’s friend and asking to be let in to an important party wouldn’t have gone over well. Besides, if Jougo had wanted him there he probably would have invited him.

“Mamoooooooo!” A voice ringing out across the field broke Mamoru from his thoughts.

Jougo ran across the open field, stopping and trying to catch his breath as he reached the tree they normally met under. Mamoru immediately noticed the prince’s attire, he was dressed in a more ornate outfit than usual with shimmering reds and golds and a small golden crown sitting on his head. He looked unusually regal and more befitting of his princely title than Mamoru could ever remember him being, in fact the way he seemed to sparkle in the moonlight was…

“Beautiful…” Mamoru breathed out the word.

Jougo looked up, confusion on his face, “Huh? What was that, Mamo?”

Mamoru blushed and rubbed the back of his head, quickly trying to brush off the little mishap, “Oh uh, the lake is really beautiful tonight.”

Fireflies dotted around the water, giving the lake an almost ethereal glow. Jougo smiled and his mouth fell open in awe, “Wow. It really is pretty tonight.”

Mamoru just watched the way Jougo’s face sparkled. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud but he couldn’t help himself, he’d always thought Jougo looked lovely but the way his eyes lit up and how he seemed to glow tonight, it couldn’t be anything less than beautiful. The lake might have been pretty but it couldn’t hope to compare.

Jougo looked at him once again with confusion, “Mamo? Is something wrong?”

Before Mamoru could answer Jougo realized he hadn’t been able to change before running out of the party, he was still wearing the stupid formal outfit and his crown from earlier. His cheeks turned red again as he buried his face in his hands and groaned, “Uuuuuugh. I hate this, I look so stupid.”

Mamoru panicked and blushed himself, shaking his head as he tried to again explain away the situation, “Ah! No, not at all! You… You look really nice, actually.”

Mamoru mentally slapped himself. Why was he getting so easily flustered tonight? Quick, he had to change the subject, stop talking about how wonderful Jougo looked and how much him just being here made him feel warm and fluttery inside and all the other things he wished he could say and…

“So uh, how was the party?”

Okay maybe it wasn’t the best subject change but it worked.

Jougo sighed, “Boring. A bunch of boring people talking about boring things. There was so much talking I wasn’t even forced to dance, I just stood there talking and talking until I found a way out of the ballroom.” He laughed, “Kind of ironic how that worked out. Eh, it probably would have been boring anyway. I liked dancing with you though, it was fun.”

He inched closer to his friend, halfway leaning against his shoulder and touching his hand briefly. A few other words flickered across Jougo’s mind but how or when to say them continued to be lost as they always were.

Mamoru smiled and looked out over the lake, hoping the red on his face had died down a bit, “I had fun too. I think I’d enjoy dancing with you again sometime if you wanted to.”

Suddenly the prince pulled himself to his feet, grinning and offering a hand to his friend. This time Mamoru actually noticed the slight pink on Jougo’s face as he asked his question.

“Um, would now be okay? I–I’d hate for your help to go to waste, and I did actually have a lot of fun with you.”

Mamoru just blinked in response as he tried to process the question. Slowly, he took Jougo’s hand and pulled himself to his feet, unsure if this was some dream he was having or if Jougo was truly asking him to dance here and now. Still, dream or not, he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity.

He put his arm around Jougo’s waist, and Jougo’s hand found its place on Mamoru’s shoulder just as they had the other night. They smiled, both a little sheepish and awkward, but still happy. The magical harmony from before seemed to take over once again as they seamlessly flowed together and the rest of the world disappeared. It was just the two of them, swirled together against the night as a melody only they could hear played between them.

There was a certain understanding between them in that moment, something words could never truly describe. Everything just felt right, like nothing else existed but them. Something spoke to both of them as they danced together, some feeling that had been welling up inside them both for so long whether they’d realized it or not, a question silently hanging between them.

Their faces moved closer together as they twirled along, their noses practically touching, and if anyone had been watching they might have seen the brief moment their lips met under the star filled sky. They both smiled and continued to dance, happy that they both understood perfectly what the other had wanted to say.

#infiniteshipping #infinitemonth2019 #jougo #shugosha mamoru #yugioh gx #angel writes #the ending is kind of bleh but hnnnnng i'm bad at endings #i just wanted them to kiss okay?#let me have this #my writing is too cute and fluffy i'm sorry XD

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dorcasavelinehill · 5 years ago

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YOUR ARMS FEEL LIKE HOME - Ch. 2: What Works For Us

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747418/chapters/51883102

“So here’s a philosophical question for you: is it really theft if we’re paying exact change plus tax?” Mike squished into the corner against the back wall of the liquor store (after only getting them slightly lost one last time before finding it) and watched intently while Donnie picked the lock. Leo pulled a long face. “It’s still breaking-and-entering. And we’re underage.” He stood squished on the other side, looking around furtively, as if he were expecting their father to step out of the shadows at any moment and catch them red-handed.

April considered his argument. “In America. Not other countries.” Leo looked at her. “What country are we in?” “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong. Could be a bad law.” “It’s not a bad law.” “Are you sure?” Donnie thrust a hand straight up between the pair. “Hi! Remember me? I’m trying to concentrate here!” Mike looked puzzled. “Why do you need your ears to concentrate on picking a lock?” “Someone hit him for me.” Raph gave Mike a light smack across the back of his head. As Mike rubbed his head, not the least bit perturbed, Donnie laughed, “Bingo!” The back door sprang open with a loud bang as it crashed into the far wall. Everyone went very still, waiting for any indication of an alarm going off, silently or otherwise. Even Mike was frozen, waiting, despite being the one who claimed the store alarm had gone on the blink and nobody had bothered to replace or repair it yet. When they were certain the cops weren’t on their way the group relaxed. April chuckled nervously as they made their way inside. “So we’re officially criminals?” Don gave her a light nudge with his elbow. “Only if someone catches us.” “Which we’re not going to let happen,” Leo said pointedly. “Think you can get the register working, Kitten?” April snorted, “No problem,” and set to work on it. “Oooh, Kaluah!” “No.” Leo grabbed Michelangelo by the bandana tails and yanked him back. “We’re buying beer and then we’re leaving. Raph, get me two Bud Lights.” Raphael leveled him a look that could have brought down a mountain. “I ain’t letting ya drink piss water.” He thrust two Shiner Blondes at his older brother. For himself, Raph selected a six-pack of Shiner 97, and snagged a bottle of Blue Moon for April. “Bingo!” April sang out. The register chirped for her and the cash drawer extended. There was no till, naturally, but that didn’t matter. “Bring ‘em over.” She rang up the Blondes, the 97, and the Blue Moon. “Can I have anoth-” “No,” Raph said. Annoying, but April didn’t feel like getting into it with him. Mike brought over a six-pack of some weird IPA thing called El Dorado, while Donnie grabbed a six of Guinness Extra Stouts. When nobody was looking, Don dropped her a wink. She ducked her head and hid a smile. At least one of the boys wasn’t going to baby her tonight. She rang it all up. Leo shrugged and dropped several neatly-folded bills on the counter top. “Alright, not exact change. They can call it a tip.” “They want a tip,” Donnie grumbled, “here’s a tip - get a new security system. Prefereably not one advertised on your local paranormal podcast.” “Ah, Donnie.” Raph slapped Don on the shoulder. “Nobody robs nobody in dis part ‘a town. Billionaires’ Row’s right down the street. Who’s gonna break in here?” He smirked and snagged his six-pack, leading the way out the back door. “Well, I ought to leave the door unlocked on principle,” Don snarked quietly. He didn’t, though. Locking up was easier than unlocking the door without a key. They stuck to the shadows, returning to their rooftops. Their rooftops - nobody else in the city could claim them the way the kids did. Running was freedom. Rooftop to rooftop was a straight path that only required a leap of faith, something all of them took fearlessly. The boys were machines of muscle and sinew that sprung and landed with precision. April was a little goat, her sneakers skidding on landing, but always recovering her balance in an instant, never losing her footing. They flung themselves at a building that towered over the roof they ran across. As they ran, jumped, and climbed, they caught hold of window ledges, siding, brick, and metal fire escapes. They accomplished all of this with no more sound than a quiet sigh of mortar and a gentle shiver of metal, while the children clambered skyward onto the next roof. Every movement was finesse. They moved fluidly, unseen from building to building, following the bright moonlight until they found a good spot with a nice view and plenty of room. It wasn’t the observation deck at The Rock, but they had a decent view of Central Park and the skyline.

*****

April unhooked her camera from the back of her belt. All the buildings glowed like fireflies in the darkness. She photographed the skyline, getting wide angle shots of several buildings, then photographed people dancing in the street far below them. She even managed to get several shots of a party bus moving slowly down a side street, the music, mostly dance remixes of popular tunes, drifting up as the bus passed by. April swayed, feeling the rhythm, then turned back to her brothers. They sat on the edge of the roof across from her, beers settled neatly against the ledge wall, safe from falling over. She seated herself between Mike and Don, kicking her legs like a little kid. Donnie handed her a bottle from his six-pack instead of the Blue Moon Raph had picked out for her. Either Raph wasn’t paying attention or he’d decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. Around them, the city sang. “Pretty night,” Mike said. “It’s going to start getting cold next month,” Leo said. He pulled a grimace that the others sympathized with. Of all of them, Leonardo felt the cold the worst, though he had learned how to power through it. This was probably going to be the last time they could get out for a long night before the weather got really nasty. That was probably the main reason their father chased them out for the evening. They had never kept to a strictly “human” schedule; the end of September marked a break period from intellectual learning and a return to heavy physical exercise. More advanced combat lessons, extended sparring practice in the dojo, and “winter cleaning,” where their entire home was inspected from bottom to top, searched out for any weaknesses in either defense or in structural integrity. Donnie took a long swig of his beer. “The service manual for the Triumph came yesterday.” Raphael grinned widely. “Awesome!” “You know we’re going to have to start from scratch with the engine,” Donnie said. Raph shrugged. “We gotta start somewhere.” “Oh, God,” Mike sighed. April buried her face in her hand. In March, Raphael and Donatello had pooled their funds and purchased a pile of junk they claimed was a 1973 Triumph Bonneville T120V. According to them, it was a motorcycle. Leo called it a relic of a bygone era. Mike declared it a desperate cry for help. April had hummed “Taps” over it and covered it with an old table cloth, the better to shield the remains from impressionable eyes. Despite its sad condition, Donnie and Raphael played around with it throughout the spring and summer, trying to catalog all the parts and determine what needed the most attention. Don tried looking for instructions online and came to the conclusion they needed a good, solid, hard copy of the service manual if they wanted to get it back to working condition - the idea of smearing grease and assorted bits of metal over his computer rubbed him the wrong way, and anyway, a manual took up less room than a laptop. Raph wasn’t inclined to talk as much as, say, Michelangelo, and if Donnie got lost in a project, he could be silent for hours while he observed or made notes or whatever he was doing. Get them on the subject of the Triumph, though, and you couldn’t shut them up. Automotives not being her thing, April quickly cut in before they could start talking specifications or spark plugs or whatever went into making a motorcycle. “Think Splinter will start training me on the sword this winter?” “Nope,” Raphael said. She jerked, eyes going wide. “What do you know that I don’t?” Her lips pulled down into a tight scowl. “You don’t got the muscle mass.” He took a long swallow of beer, finished the bottle, and set it down behind him, fetching another one. Without looking at Raphael, Leo casually reached out a hand and yanked hard on his bandana tails. Raph’s head jerked. He spat out a, “Fuck, Leo!” and glared at his older brother. Leo shook his head warningly. “That’s between her and Father. Keep your beak out of it.” Mike said, “I think you could -” Leo interrupted. “You, too, Mikey. Father’s the Master. He decides who trains with what.” “Thank you,” April said. She brought her bottle to her lips and was surprised to find it empty. “These go too fast.” Donatello handed her another of his beers. Raph watched the exchange silently. He could be such a judgy bastard sometimes, even if he didn’t come out and say anything. April quite deliberately opened and drank half the bottle while he watched. She wasn’t some baby anymore, after all. Mike rolled his eyes at all the unnecessary drama. “I’m staying out of it,” he said, pointedly looking at Leo, “but I think you can tell Dad what you want to learn. You don’t know he’ll say ‘no’ unless you try, right?” “Mmm.” April shrugged. “I guess. Just, if we’re gonna be stuck inside all winter, I want to learn something interesting. I hate going into lock-down.” She banged her heels against the side of the building. “I feel like a rabbit hiding in a hole in the ground.” Raph reached behind Don to grab her pigtail, but he only gave a little yank, not a rough pull. “Yeah.” His version of rough sympathy. April rubbed her head, thinking about the long, dark months ahead. The collective mood was somber. The run had been fun, and the chase, but that couldn’t dispel the dark cloud hanging over the five of them. Mike snorted and unhooked a small cellular device from the back of his belt, muttering, “Screw it,” under his breath. He poked at the touch screen. Music came out, blasting at first. He had to quickly lower the volume while the others winced. “Hang on, hang on.” The quality was a little tinny, but it was perfectly danceable. Stevie Nicks’ hypnotic voice belted out the grainy beginings of April’s favorite song

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night And wouldn’t you love to love her?

He set the phone on the edge of the ledge, climbing onto the roof proper and tugging on April’s pigtails lightly. “C’mon, Kitten. I don’t wanna waste the last long night out, y’know?” April grinned and gave Mike a playful shove. “Knock it off.” “No, really!” Mike looked over April’s shoulder and wagged his brow ridges. “Leo, tell April she has to dance with me!” Leo sipped his beer without looking at either of the little ones. “April, go dance with Mike.” His lips turned up at the corners. Rolling her eyes, April hopped over the ledge to join Mike. It wasn’t exactly a dancing song, but it was her favorite, and Michelangelo was as inclined to indulge her as Leo or Raph. Mike wrapped his right arm around her waist, taking her hand and giving her a quick spin before pulling her closer and taking the lead. Leo, Raph, and Donnie swiveled around to watch the two of them finding the rhythm.

She is like a cat in the dark And then she is the darkness She rules her life like a fine skylark And when the sky is starless…

April ignored the first icy breath of the wind against her cheeks and shut her eyes, pretending the whole world was watching, like she had a spotlight on her, and instead of tight-fitting, black-and-grey leggings and wrap-around shirt, she wore a long, flowing dress and fresh flowers in her hair.

Rhiannon...

The background singers repeated, and then were abruptly cut off by a high-pitched voice suddenly crooning, Ohhhh This is a story ‘bout a guy named Al, and he lived in the sewer with his hamster pal, and all of them were startled out of whatever reverie they were all in. Mike dropped April’s hand and rushed for the phone, picking it up just as the jingle died. His thumbs flew as he texted madly. Leo turned to Donnie. “Did you check in?” he asked a little anxiously. Donnie shook his head. “You were supposed to!” “I thought you were! You told him you would!” “I said we would! We, as in ‘any one of us!’” Between them, Raph looked disgusted. “You two’re hopeless.” Mike finished typing out his text and listened for the beep. “He says make sure we’re home on time.” “That’s a given,” Don said. “Anything else?” Leo asked. The phone beeped again. “Um. He wants a selfie of us,” Mike said. Don squished close to Raph on one side, Leo on the other. April climbed into Don’s lap and ducked her head a little so she wasn’t blocking either Raph or Donnie’s faces. Mike crouched between Raph and Leo and held his phone up sideways, preparing to take a picture. “Everybody smile!” He paused for a moment, then said, “Raph, c’mon, smile.” “I am smiling,” said Raphael. He did not smile. “Damn it, Raph, just smile!” Leo said, poking him in the side. In retaliation, Raph parted his lips in an epic grimace, displaying teeth in shark-like proportions. Mike snapped the picture and sent it before Leo could protest. “Damn it, Raph!” “That was a smile! I smiled!” The two of them went back and forth for a minute when the phone beeped again. Michelangel read the response, then groaned loudly, grabbing their attention. “Eh?” “Wha-?” Mike rubbed his eyes, a headache apparently setting in. He handed the phone to Leo, who read it, shut his eyes, and blew a loud sigh out his nose, before passing the phone over to Raph. Raph took the phone, read it, and screamed, “Sonovabitch!” Donnie snatched the phone away while Raphael advanced on his younger brother. He held it out for April to read it with him. The message was short and simple. “Next time, make sure the beer bottles are not in frame.” Her stomach sinking, she scrolled the text screen up. There, indeed, was the photograph, shot at an angle to get everyone in frame, two half-empty sixers included by Mike’s feet. “You couldn’t pay attention for two seconds?” Raph hollered at Mike. Mike rolled his eyes, but his mouth pulled down guiltily at the corners. “Gezuz, Mike!” “You guys didn’t move! You just squished in! Why weren’t you paying attention?” Leo said, “Maybe we should pack it in.” He looked regretfully at the untouched beer bottles. “Yeah,” April said, “head home early and avoid being beheaded at dawn. He can kill us immediately.” And then a flash of light. Everyone blinked, caught off-guard. “Was that lightning?” Mike asked. “That was not lightning,” Leo said. All heads turned to April. As baffled as they were, she pointed both hands at her right hip, where her camera remained undisturbed. Meaning, if it wasn’t her camera flash going off… A second flash alerted the group to the direction of the camera. They turned and looked. Two buildings down, there was a mild commotion. Of the camera man, all they could make out at this distance was a hunched figure that looked like it was wearing a mask. It stood up straight when they looked at it, cocked its head, and then apparently figured out they realized it was there, because it turned on its heels and took off at top speed, jumping from one roof to the next, more clumsily than they, but surprisingly fast. “Oh,” said Leo. “Shhhhhhhhit!”

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt april #tmnt donatello #tmnt splinter #tmnt

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rjzimmerman · 6 years ago

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We don’t have many lightening bugs (or fireflies, for those of you not raised in the Midwest) in our yard, and clearly nothing that closely matches the numbers we had in our yard when I was a kid. Trying to introduce lightening bugs to our almost 4-year old grandson is a challenge, because first I have to find one. When I do, and tell him what it is, he argues with me and says it’s a bug with a flashlight.

I love this last paragraph from the essay:

Do me a favor, would you? Find a kid you know. Pull an empty jar down from a cabinet shelf and poke some holes in the lid. Then go outside after dinner tonight, catch some fireflies, and light a spark.

Excerpt from this essay from the Center for Humans & Nature:

Walking through a nearby park at dusk the other night, I saw a single spark. Then another. Soon there were too many to count, hovering in the airspace between my chin and my ankles, lighting my way past the lake, the gazebo, and over the boney cast iron bridge.

Who needs a time machine when you have memory to transport you to another place, another you? Those sparks must have kindled a few synapses, because suddenly I was six-years-old again, running with my best friend Cindi through freshly mown grass enveloping us in the signature scent of a suburban summer while staining the soles of our feet DayGlo green. Wild with excitement at being allowed to stay outside after dark, we’re relentless, ruthless, giggling predators intent on imprisoning lightning bugs in an empty Miracle Whip jar.

If you live in the eastern half of the U.S., mention to your neighbor or coworker that you watched fireflies last night and see what happens. I’ll bet their faces will soften and glow as if bathed in the bioluminescence of an impromptu nightlight. It’s Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past but with Coleoptera instead of cookies.

That’s right, they’re not fiery flies, they’re beetles, a group that doesn’t usually garner much affection from the human race. Let’s face it—we like our nonhuman animals to have fur or feathers and large, liquid, simple eyes. However, if you can make your butt blink on warm summer evenings, folks are more willing to see you in a new light.

Returning from my reverie of 1965 to present day, I had a vague sense of something missing. Then it hit me—I didn’t see a single child with a jar in pursuit of bobbing, weaving, cold-light moonbeams! I found this disturbing, and disheartening.

My own lifelong fascination with the natural world was not sparked by National Geographic specials that offered a window into the lives of exotic creatures living halfway around the world. In time, those programs did come to have an impact as well. There’s no doubt in my mind, though, that my love of all things wild started when I was a toddler, sitting in my mom’s lap in the backyard watching cardinals grow bold with curiosity as she whistled their calls—Birdy-birdy-birdy! Cheer-cheer-cheer!—back to them. It blossomed because, as a grade-schooler, I was allowed to raise tadpoles in galvanized buckets, catch crawdads in plastic cups, tie thread-leashes to the legs of June bugs, and run after lightning bugs with salad dressing jars.

#fireflies #lightening bugs

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superkatesi · 7 years ago

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What Happens in Suffolk Stays in Suffolk

Title: What happens in Suffolk stays in Suffolk // Ed Sheeran Fanfiction, mature content

Authors: @famousconfessions and @superkatesi

Rating: NC-17

Author’s Note: Another chapter of our story with @famousconfessions . Warning: lots of smut and teasing. Enjoy it and leave your feedback.❤️

I actually hated long car rides... but not today. Because for once I wasn't alone. Ed sat right next to me, driving, singing, talking to me and just keeping me entertained on the almost 3 hour- long car ride to his hometown Suffolk. Still, I'd rather stayed on this sofa with him, cuddling and maybe going in for round two, but that had to wait. Of course, he wouldn't miss his dad’s birthday party and I definitely understood that. I loved his family as much as mine so I knew how important parties like these were to him. Plus, we got to catch up on the drive to his parents house. He told me everything about his tour, I told him what happened at home and at my job while he was gone. But right now it was quiet, well, except for Ed humming along the song on the radio and I just watched him. I still couldn't believe that he was back... I was definitely the luckiest girl in the whole world. “Whattt?”, he suddenly asked, looking at me and smiling. “Nothing! Am I not allowed to look at you? I mean, I need to make use of the fact that you're here because that's not all too often”, I teased, sticking my tongue out. “When did you become so cheeky? Looks like you need a good spanking, huh?”, he looked at me for a second before putting his eyes back on the road and I swallowed hard. I knew he was joking but fuck... what a thought. It made me want to jump on him again but, well... bad timing. Probably, I should not think about something like that because we'd spend the weekend at his parents house and we should keep our hands off each other...

We stopped by a nice little coffeeshop in the middle of nowhere. We needed to stretch our legs and get some caffeine after an hour and a half of our trip. “Do you want me to grab something for you, love?”, Ed asked me, while putting on in his dark blue cap and fixing his round glasses. “Maybe a muffin? Honestly, I’m not very hungry”, I answered checking my email. “A muffin?”, I heard a boyish grin in his voice : “You are my little muffin”, he exclaimed and kissed my nose. Ed got off the car and went coffee-hunting. I looked at him while he was going away...: “This man drives me crazy. No matter what...His love is a huge cotton candy cloud and I want to spend my life lying on it ”. I looked in the mirror: “Damn, my dark circles are getting bigger and bigger”. On the one hand, I was hoping to get my beauty sleep at Ed’s parents house, on the other one, I was dying to spend my night teasing this boy’s body and savor our moments. “Get out of the car, kitten. I’ve got something yummy for you”. I didn’t have another option but to leave the car. I saw him holding a bag containing a giant chocolate muffin. I felt like a child back then. Ed was sipping on coffee and I noticed him lighting a cigarette. Though he gave up smoking, when he’s in Suffolk, he dives into the memories of his childhood and teen years, his ups and downs. And a cigarette or two isn’t an exception while staying here. He was staring at the sky, he looked like the happiest human being on Earth. I came up to him and gave him the biggest squeeze in the world. “I love you, Teddy”, I murmured. He smelled like coffee with cinnamon, fresh pastry, tobacco and there was something incredibly attracting about this smell. “I love you too”, he answered, without looking at me but I felt a warm smile in his voice. “It’s time to go. We don’t want to be late and skip all the cocktails, do we?”, he winked at me and headed to the car. “To be honest, I'd rather go back home right now and-”... “Don't say it”, he cut me off, still smiling and I couldn't help but smile back at him. He knew exactly what I wanted to say and now I knew that he felt the exact same way. I wasn't the only one who would've rather stayed on the sofa... or in the bed. Or the shower. Or the bathtub. Or the kitchen table. Anywhere. It didn't matter. But this screamed for some teasing, even if I would torture myself with it. It was just so much fun. I shrugged my shoulders, tried to look as innocent as I possibly could, before I got back in the car. We had another 1 1/2 hours in front of us and I was kinda glad about that, because that meant another 1 1/2 hours of having Ed all to myself. I knew I had to share him with his family once we'd arrive and that was fine, but... at the same time I didn't want to share him. This boy drove me crazy and being away from him had made it even worse.

“By the way... will Ellie be there?”, Ellie was his great cousin, I think, and I didn't like her at all, because all she did was trying to get her hands on him and I was having none of that. I was fine sharing him with his parents, but not with that bod. “Huh? Don't know, love, why?”, god he was so oblivious. Maybe it was because he didn't consider himself attractive, so most of the time he didn't notice when someone was flirting with him, but I saw her intentions from the moment I've met her. “Nevermind”, maybe she wasn't even invited and wouldn't be a problem. At least, I hoped so.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, we just talked some more and it was getting harder and harder not to touch him. When we finally pulled up on the driveway of his parents house I couldn't help but pull him in for a passionate kiss, as soon as he parked the car. In an instant, I felt his hands on my thigh and the other one on my neck, pulling me closer to him. Fuck, this kiss made me feel things and got my body to go crazy again, but then he let go of me. He licked his lips, smiling, before saying: “We should really get in, baby girl. Think about the cocktails”, he winked at me and I was once again shaking my head at his teasing self. Right now I didn't care about fucking cocktails at all, but we needed to be responsible adults. I sighed, taking a deep breath, before getting out of the car... and a second later the family reunion began.

We entered the house in which Ed’s grown up. There was definitely something nostalgic about it. His parents are the sweetest and the most supportive people in the world. His mum was making last preparations in the kitchen, dad was talking to Matt, but the majority of the guests were already in the garden. “Hey mate, I was hoping that you got lost somewhere, so I can get all the beer”, Matt giggled and pulled Ed in for a hug. “Not this time, mug”, Ed chuckled and pinched Matt’s arm slightly. We talked altogether for a while but it was the moment to go, everybody was dying to get this party started . It was the coziest dinner in the world. We spent that evening talking, drinking, dancing and singing. When it got dark Ed turned on the garden lights and it seemed as if we were surrounded by hundreds of fireflies. Everybody was so chill and talkative. After finishing my wild dance to “Happy” by Pharrell with one of his aunties, I got another cocktail and jumped on Ed’s lap. “Are you having fun, babe?”, he smiled and wrapped his hands around my waist. Instead of answering I started wiggling my hips along the beat of a new song. “Someone is getting naughty tonight, huh?”, he whispered in my ear. At that moment I felt his hands travelling from my waist to my hips and thighs. All the guests were so engrossed into the celebration that no one paid attention to our little game. My hips kept making these delicious movements that couldn’t left him indifferent. I started feeling his growing interest through his denim and the fabric of my summer floral dress. “Want to run away with you, love”, he kept murmuring. But I had a plan, I took something from the pocket of my dress and hid it in the chest pocket of his plaid. He looked at me puzzled but without uttering a single word I jumped from his lap and went straight forward to the greenhouse. I few seconds later I heard his steps following me. “Smart boy, he got the signal and probably found my panties in his pocket”, I thought to myself.

“I've been gone for to long, haven't I?”, I heard his voice and biting my lip I turned around to face him. I couldn't hide the cheeky smile that spread across my face but that was gone the second I saw him standing there. He looked serious, but I saw that glow in his eyes that told me he wasn't angry or anything... but he was definitely into playing along to that game I've started. My panties were in his hand, hanging from his fingers and now he couldn't help but smile. “I think you've lost something... but I guess you don't want them back, do you, love?”, his raspy voice gave me goosebumps and it made me want to rip his clothes off right now. But instead, I shook my head and watched as he shoved the fabric in the back pocket of his jeans. “Good! So, are you gonna be a good girl, now?”, he asked, taking a few steps towards me. He now stood right in front of me, I could feel the warmth of his body, my back squeezed into the work bench behind me... but he didn't touch me and that really drove me crazy. I just stood there, looking into his deep blue eyes, taking steady breaths... when he suddenly grabbed me and turned me around. I gasped, because I didn't expect that to happen which turned into a loud moan, when I felt him press into me. There was way too much fabric between us but it was enough to make me want more. My hands grabbed the work bench for support, as he moved against me, his hands finding their way under my dress, up my thighs and finally between my legs. For a second I thought I'd drop to my knees, because they sure felt like jelly. I was weak, he was my fucking kryptonite. “Ohh, Teddy”, was all I could get out, leaning into him. My heart was pounding in my chest, my body felt like it was electrified as his fingers found my soft spot. It just felt so good that I completely lost myself in the sensation when he suddenly stopped. He pressed a kiss to my cheek, whispered: “Later, babe” into my ear and stepped away. My gaze met his, he winked at me and then left the greenhouse. He did NOT just do that.

He left me standing there with my aching body. That second, when he touched the right button .... I wanted him to put these amazing fingers deep inside of me and fuck me to death. I wanted to scream and see fireworks in front of my eyes. But there I was, standing all alone. That’s not fucking right. I was going to make him beg for mercy. I went back to the dance floor. Ed was bouncing to his favorite songs and rapping along. What a look...Teddy was all sweaty with chest hair peaking through his flannel, his curls plastered to his forehead. I wanted to ride him so badly, I wanted to inhale his boyish smell and give him the most passionate kiss on Earth. I felt like my juices were running down my thighs cause I was still with no panties and craving for more. I started dancing and with every movement I got closer to him, my eyes met his and I gave him the most sensual look I was able to. “Hi, Teddy”, I can recognize that voice from thousands.. it was his cousin — Ellie. I didn’t like her much and it was mutual. She put her filthy arms around his neck and started moving her body along. What the fuck was going on?? I couldn’t stand it and went for another drink. It was intolerable for me to watch someone putting their hands on my man. I was ready to burn this town. But I had something more interesting in mind.

Who the fuck did she think she was? She knew that we were together but she didn’t seem to respect that at all. I didn’t have anything against other girls talking to him. Not at all. But I couldn’t stand it when they were all over him, touching him, thinking they could really get anywhere. I trusted Ed completely, but I didn’t trust these girls, especially not Ellie. Ed and I have been together for three years and she didn’t give up until now.

I bit my lip, chugging down another shot of Tequila and watching how her hands were trailing down his chest, her hips moving against his and I felt a tight knot in my stomach. She made me furious. And why the fuck didn’t he push her away? Why did he let her do that? I was fucking jealous and maybe that’s exactly what he wanted... or maybe he was just too drunk to realize what she was doing to him.

I grabbed another drink from the table, a glass of vodka-red bull, and made my way to the dance floor. It was still full, Suffolk people knew how to party, so I used the situation and pretended to be pushed when I got to Ellie and Ed. I dumped my drink all over Ellies shirt and started acting as if I was really sorry. “Ellie! Oh my god, I’m sooo sorry. Someone pushed me. Oh that gorgeous shirt is probably ruined now”, I cooed, pushing her away from him. “You should probably try to wash up and keep your hands off my man”, I wasn’t that friendly anymore now.

I’m an independent woman. I respected other girls but this time was completely different. And Ed, where was he looking at? He was ready to let this girl kiss him or whatever... I didn’t understand it! There were several waves of anger...I couldn’t stand it anymore and I decided to leave. I grabbed one of Ed’s cigarettes and one more shot of tequila. I went infront of the greenhouse where a couple of minutes ago we were ready to eat each other. I’m weak, I burst into tears. If he behaved like this in front of me, what was going on during the tour, after his gigs, when there were thousands of girls ready to do everything he wanted. Am I selfish? Am I possessive? Tear drops were rolling down my cheeks, I hated smoking but I wanted to harm myself.. I’m so pathetic... It was the end. I didn’t want to start a fight with Ellie or Ed. I was ready to leave. “I’m sorry”, he was standing there with his head down. I didn’t answer. I’ve turned away. “I couldn’t live like this. That’s enough, Ed. I’m done.”, I was devastated but trying to stay calm. “Darling, it was just a moment. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Do you want me to leave you? One word and I’ll do it without any hesitation”. I heard his voice trembling. I looked at him...it was dark but I swear, I saw tears in his eyes, his face was distorted with pain. “Yeah, just fuck off!”, I hissed at him but to be honest... I didn’t really mean it. Yes, I was mad at him but I didn’t want him to leave, especially since I could see that he cared about what happened. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that I still missed him, even though he was here. God, I was so fucking childish. But I was so in love. “Okay...No! No, you know what? God, I just hate that fucking skank! And it just... I can't stand seeing her all over you like that. I'm not trying to be the annoying, jealous girlfriend here, really... but it was too much”, I said, wiping a tear from my cheek, as I looked at him. I felt bad seeing him like that, I hated to see him unhappy or sad and I was kinda surprised that this right here hit him like that. “I'm sorry. I didn't think. I... I promise it's not like that on tour. I'm hardly ever partying and even if I am, you know, I'm with my mates and there's just one thing on my mind. You. I swear!”, I believed him. I really did, but the images of him with Ellie didn't want to leave me. “I'm stupid and drunk and I know I don't deserve you. I mean... look at me...” Wait... what? I suddenly felt like a piece of shit for making a scene like that. Of course, he should've made clear that Ellie crossed a line, but he was drunk and I knew he didn't do that to hurt me. Not intentionally. “Stop! God, I'm an idiot", I sighed and walked up to him, taking his face in my hands. My thumbs brushed his cheeks and for a moment I just looked into his eyes. “Don't ever say that again, okay? It's not true. You're beautiful, inside and out... I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

I felt like a moron at that moment...but his tears...It was impossible to resist his lips. It was the purest pleasure. I bit his upper lip and tasted his tongue. I felt his regret on my lips. I know that he’s not like this, he’s my one and only. I’m ready to catch a grenade for him, I’m ready to do anything in the world for him. This sweet, indulging kiss lasted forever. Suddenly, I felt his hand grabbing one of my ass cheeks shyly. I moaned a bit encouraging him to go for it. All of the worries were gone. My fingers were playing with his scruff and his delicious curls. One sec and I’m up in the air wrapping my legs around his torso. His fingers were kneading my flesh and I was ready to dissolve in him. “Wait, love”, he said impatiently, : “We need to hide somewhere”, his voice sounded so raspy and sexy. He put me on the ground and we went to a bench in the darkest corner of the garden. I heard my heart beating and there was a feeling of excitement and sin. Suddenly, I found myself sitting on him. Somehow he managed to lower his jeans and started stroking his sweet cock. “Come on, love. We don’t want to be exposed , do we?”, he smirked and licked his pinkish lips. “I couldn't care less... let them see us, I don't care. Maybe Ellie will come to watch, so she can finally understand that you belong to me”, I mumbled, with a cheeky grin on my lips. As long as his parents wouldn't see what we were about to do here, I was totally okay with it. I watched him for a second, jerking himself off and fuck, that sight was extremely hot. It was mesmerizing seeing him touching himself, the way he grabbed his cock, the way he closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. But then I stopped him because I was dying to make him feel good now. Maybe I wanted to make it up to him that I flipped out earlier... and I just needed to touch him. I replaced my hand with his, trailing my fingertips and nails down his length, before I kissed his lips. My thumb flicked over his shaft as I heard him moan into our passionate kiss. There just wasn't anything better than to make him feel this way... My lips soon found their way to his neck and I started to unbutton his plaid, my lips following my fingers, down his torso and I stopped right before his twitching cock. Hmm... it's been way too long since the last time I got a taste of that. I kissed my way around it, until I finally twirled my tongue around the top. He took a sharp breath and I felt him tense up, but that didn't stop me. I looked up at him as I licked his delicious length from the bottom all the way to the top, before taking him in completely, eagerly sucking his cock. I was starving. I needed to feel his plush head with a drop of precum and his shaft with intertwined veins in my mouth. I missed it.. I missed his deep moans, his tensed muscles and his hands in my hair. I was bobbing my head up and down, there was no way back. I heard music and people singing along but I heard Ed’s throaty groaning, as well. I put my fingers round this magic tool and started tugging it while kissing the most sensitive part of his body. “I’m close..ahhh..love..”, his words echoed in my ears. Honestly, I’d like to let this boy release and feel his body twitching but... I didn’t forget about him teasing me with his fingers. So I stopped, gave him the most fuckable look, fixed my dress and went to the house. Dear God, I hope, you forgive my mean soul. Later on, I was going to take this man to heaven but right now he deserved a lesson. Amen. I turned and beckoned him. It was time to finish this party and to finish my ginger boy off.

I felt kinda bad to play with him like that but he had it coming. He knew I would get my revenge when he left me in that fucking greenhouse... I looked back again, seeing him get up as I walked into the house. It was quiet, everyone was partying outside and I took my time climbing up the stairs, looking at the photos on the wall. There were a lot of family photos, Ed's parents, his brother, him as a kid and as a teen, the whole family together, the two brothers... there were also a few pictures of him on stage or holding different awards. I couldn't help but smile and feel proud of my boy, he was so talented and although he was so successful he was still a normal guy. Well... he was a fucking tease, but I could handle that.

I ended up in his room, which made me smile because the walls were still painted in a bright orange and the scribblings were also still there. It seemed like his parents didn't want to erase those memories and it was kinda cute. "Cute" was also the right word to describe the tiny bed, but hey, I loved to cuddle up to my boyfriend, so, sleeping in there shouldn't be a problem. If we would sleep at all... “There you are”, I heard a deep voice behind me and a second later I felt his presence behind me. I could feel his warm breath on my skin and it made me shiver. But I wasn't going to cave in just now and let him take the lead again. I still wasn't done. “Can we end this fucking game now?”, he sounded so impatient and I loved it. I chuckled, turned around to him and pushed him to the bed, where he laid down. He had his jeans back on and I could tell that it probably must've been painful for him... you could see that bulge from a mile away. “Why? I like playing with you. It's fun, innit?”, I shrugged my shoulders, before climbing on top of him, instantly starting to grind against him, because even I could barely take this anymore. I just wanted him to fuck me senseless.

“Fuck, no, it's not”, he hissed as he put his hands on my thighs, pulling up my dress and moving against me. “I can't take it anymore, love. I wanted to fuck you again since we got in my car. And then you started this thing and... for fucks sake”, he stopped his movements, grabbed me and all of a sudden we were standing again, in the same position as earlier in the greenhouse. He didn't even take the time to take off my dress or his clothes, I just heard him nestling on his belt and a second later I felt him inside of me. I gasped for air and a loud moan escaped my lips, as I held onto the bedsheets. This was pretty unexpected, but oh so good. “I’m going to get you off this time, love.. You’re gonna come so hard on this thirsty cock...”, he said in-between his heavy breathes. “I knew that you’d love this lil game.. you.. Sheeran”, I articulated while trying to keep our eye contact. “I bet, you still have my panties in your pocket, huh?”, I smirked at him and at that moment I felt his rock-hard cock hitting my most desperate wall. I couldn’t talk anymore, my speech turned into one deep moan. “They are, love, they are... ahhhh...”, he moaned when I tightened my pussy around him. “Teddy, I want you to come inside of me, want it to run down my thighs... want to feel you releasing in this wet girl”, I was bitting on his shoulder in order not to scream and I knew that these words would drive him wild. I was literally in the air, only his hands and his pleasure tool held me at the moment. I was about to crumble into thousands of pieces when I felt him stopped moving and just stood like this inside of me. I started contracting my walls and this pleasure of him stretching me out and not making a single move made me twisting as if I was on fire. “That’s my girl....Let your puss feel it...contract and relax... contract and relax...”, he kept giving me instructions while kissing my jaw line. I obeyed and began following his words. There was something incredibly hot about it. I knew that I wouldn’t last long. My muscles started tightening without any effort and I felt it coming. It was like a tsunami, there was just a black hole of sheer pleasure, I even heard myself moaning, bouncing and trembling on his throbbing flesh. Somewhere faraway, on the other side of this fuck road I heard his moan: “I can’t hold anymore, kitten...Gonna explode...deep... in this tight puss...”. His twitching cock brought me to another level of heaven-like pleasure and I melted in his arms.

I was glad he held me, because otherwise I'd probably dropped to the floor. My knees were made of jelly once again, especially when I heard his deep growl, that told me he was right there... at the same tame I felt his hot seed inside of me. It made me moan once again and my eyes fell shut, my head dropped to his shoulder, as he made a few last, deep, lazy thrusts. I flinched because it was so intense and I had the feeling that I was more sensitive because of all the teasing that had happened before. “You're amazing, love”, his voice was so quiet and soft and full of love that I feared my heart would explode any second. I couldn't be mad at him for long and today proofed that again. I just smiled at him, as he made me lie down on the bed. A second later he was beside me, pulling me in for a hug. My back was pressed to his chest and I could feel his heart race. He placed a few kisses on my neck and my shoulder and suddenly his hands were between my legs again, his fingers rubbing small, slow circles around my clit. I quivered again and started whimpering because it was almost more than I could take. “I hope no one heard us... otherwise it's gonna be quite awkward at the breakfast table tomorrow”, he mumbled, not stopping the movement of his fingers. “I bet, you could still keep going, huh?”, I was already panting again, moving against his hand to get some more friction. “I guess that's a yes”. “I... I don't trust... you anymore”, I managed to get out, because after all of this today I wouldn't have been surprised if he would've stopped any second again to leave me high and dry. But right now I didn’t see any danger of him leaving me. So I arched my back and spread my legs wider in order he could reach all of the folds and enjoy this messy view. “Love, you look so beautiful right now”, he whispered underneath his breath. I smiled while pushing my pelvis to meet his fingers again. This man knows how to act. These little circles turned into pressing my push button and sliding two fingers deep down inside. He took his time, he enjoyed himself. His fingers are well trained and he knows how play with my overheated body. I was watching him...his lips parted, his eyes fixed on the fingers going all the way down. I felt my lower belly clenching: “Teddy, I want it faster and... can you add another finger?”, I murmured. “Of course, baby girl”, he cooed. Now I was sure that he wouldn’t leave me here all by myself. He started increasing his pace and kissing my thighs. Right now I was on the edge and just couldn’t but keep moaning and ride this wave. “I get you, love...Want you to come so bad”, he said softly. I fell to pieces all over his fingers, I was lying senseless on his old bed. He licked his fingers with a look full of satisfaction and pride: “You’re my sweet girl. I love you ”. “I love you, Teddy”, I answered rubbing my eyes and yawning. It was a long day full of adventures.

#ed sheeran #teddy sheeran #smut #ed sheeran smut #nc-17

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vanilla-bean-buttercream · 7 years ago

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Heartless

Part of the “Illuminated” backstory arc

Parings: Patton and an OC you’re gonna love to hate >w> Characters: Patton, Remy (Sleep), :) Chapter warnings: Emotional abuse, toxic relationships, implied rape, self depreciating thoughts, cursing (2 words), minor injuries, heck this one hurt to write Word Count: 4667

Summary:

Everyone deserved love. That was one of Patton’s personal morals. However, a gray area arises and will make him question just how far he’s willing to go for someone.

The last thing he wanted to do was be heartless.

Author’s note:

IF. YOU. ARE. TRIGGERED. BY. ABUSIVE. OR. TOXIC. RELATIONSHIPS. PLEASE. HEED. THE. WARNINGS!!!!

Seriously guys, like ¾ of this is emotional abuse. It was pretty painful to write, but I got through it.

My poor baby, Patton, I’m so sorry.

Anyway, uh… enjoy I guess… :D

Did you ever have so much love you had no idea where to go with it all?

That was Patton’s biggest problem ever since he could remember.

From the day his Mom brought him into this world, she said he gave her endless love and joy. He barely cried. He barely whined. The only time he made his presence known was when he filled the house with his beautiful bellyful laughter.

Every afternoon, the trio relaxed in the park. His Ma worried Patton would get lost chasing after the animals, since Patton had the attention span of a puppy, but Mom would smile and shake her head, reminding her that Patton had to make his own mistakes.

She just didn’t plan on that mistake being Patton running into a lake with a small boy around his age.

By the time they fished them out of the water, the four were soaking wet and covered in algae. The boy didn’t seem to mind two strange women taking him by the hand and asking all over the park for his family. Turns out his babysitter, who was flirting with a group of girls at the time, was supposed to be watching him. They apologized profusely. However, the two women could not let it go, and they demanded to talk to the child’s parents.

They would’ve felt heartless leaving Remy with such an irresponsible adult.

Remy’s parents were both annoyed and relieved that their child was brought home safely. They mentioned it was nice to see Remy playing with kids his age. He usually didn’t get many, because of the fausmark on his eyes. Remy didn’t mind, and neither did the kids. It was the kid’s parents that minded.

Patton and Remy stayed fast friends through preschool, catching frogs, saving ants from puddles, and digging up worms in the play yard. Remy usually had a nose for trouble, and Patton would keep him out of it to the best of his ability. Likewise, Remy would stand up for Patton when kids tried to be mean to him. Usually it ended up with Remy on top of the other kid. Many hours were spent with Remy on the fence covered in dirt.

Patton tried to explain to the teachers the other kids were being mean, but they always retorted that Remy should not be hitting them. Had he known what prejudice was, he would’ve known why they hated Remy so much.

He couldn’t understand how they could be so heartless.

Patton usually sat on the swings and waited for Remy’s timeout to end, and then they’d begin playing again like nothing happened. Patton didn’t care what the teachers said. He was happy he had someone like Remy watching out for him.

“You and me,” Remy said as they build their mudcastle, “we’re gonna be best friends forever.”

“Pinky promise,” Patton replied and held out his finger. The two of them shook, forming a bond more inseparable than a soulbond.

Their friendship continued all through elementary school. Remy started wearing sunglasses everywhere. His fausmark and soulmark attracted too many annoying repetitive questions, so it was better to ignore it than repeating himself. He got his soulmark 3 years before Patton. Both were on their chest, confirming their destiny to always be there for each other.

The two of them stayed to themselves mostly. Anyone who came into their circle usually left them alone after a while.

At least they did, until Mara came into their lives.

Remy’s heart should’ve soared seeing Patton’s soulmark glow. He should’ve been happy to see his best friend find his soulmate. He would’ve if he saw Mara’s soulmark glow too.

Patton had found a soulmate, but it was unrequited.

Remy would never forget watching Patton’s zeal turn into heartbreak. He tried to get Patton’s mind off of it with cookies, skipping rocks at the park, and even set a day aside for them to binge Netflix under a blanket fort all day. However, nothing shook Patton’s heartbreak.

Remy would be heartless by the time Patton finished breaking it.

Apparently it broke Mara’s heart too, because after she decided she didn’t feel anything, she started hanging around them. He knew it was pity. Patton was too good of a person for people to not feel pity breaking his heart.

For a while, Patton’s mood started to turn around.

She started out slow, joining them as they walked to classes together. Patton found out she liked the color pink, and that was what color she hoped her soulmark would glow. She liked dogs, and she wanted a Cocker Spaniel when she grew up.

Mara mentioned she always stood in her sister’s shadow. No matter what she did, it was never good enough. Her twin sister always beat her at everything, and she felt neglected by her family, like a mistake. She was a mistake, and she made sure Patton knew she was a mistake. That’s why she rejected him. She couldn’t take him leaving her too.

Patton ate it up like ice cream sandwiches.

Mara warmed up to Patton quiet fast, keeping him at her side at all times. She even started draping herself around his soulmark arm and resting her head on his shoulder. Remy couldn’t help but notice each time, she pulled Patton a little closer. A little tighter. A little farther from him.

Patton didn’t seem to mind, however.

“I don’t know. I’m happy you’re happy, but I’m getting some nasty vibes from her,” Remy mentioned over hot chocolate in his basement.

Patton raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, like,” Remy ran a hand through his hair, “she keeps… yeet-”

“Rem, are you,” Patton swallowed and looked over his mug, “jealous?”

“What?” Remy scoffed. “Patton, babe, please! I couldn’t care less who your soulmate is. Like, it doesn’t bother me at all. But I… I don’t know man. I just don’t like her.”

Patton leaned over and left a short kiss on Remy’s forehead. “I’m not going to stop being friends with you because of Mara, kiddo. You’re still my best friend.”

Crying? Why was Remy crying? He wiped his tears away with his fingers and sighed.

“I know, but like-” he sighed hard. “You know what? Nevermind. Just… let’s watch the movie and forget about it, m’kay?”

Patton begrudgingly allowed the two of them to watch the movie in silence. He could sense Remy’s stiff arua against his. Remy’s shoulders sat unnaturally tense. He’d forget to stare at the movie every once and a while and stared at the wall instead.

When they got to middle school, Remy pulled even farther away. Patton didn’t know what he did wrong. Remy would still smile, speak when spoken to, and say hello when passing in the hallway. But the warm touches were gone along with his presence.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Patton told Mara. He hugged his arms to try and rub warmth into them. “Did I… did I do something wrong? He keeps saying no, but… Remy isn’t one to keep his feelings hidden. I don’t understand.”

Mara hummed as she thought. “You think he could be jealous?”

“Of me?”

“No, of…” Mara looked away. Patton guided her head back towards him, his fingers coming back wet with her tears, “of me?”

Patton remembered Remy’s words. He sucked in a breath.

“Would you leave me for Remy?” Mara asked, her voice breaking. “I-I know what he means to you, and I’d hate to come between you two. I’m not worth it.”

Patton cupped both her cheeks in his hands. “Mara, now you listen to me. I love you, and I love being with you. Remy… I love him like a brother, and I… I wouldn’t leave you for him, trust me.”

“Promise?” she asked.

Patton almost stuck out his pinky for her to shake. He put his forehead against hers and kissed her nose. “I promise.”

He’d be heartless to leave someone who needed him so much.

Besides, Remy would be okay… right?

Middle school faded into High School, and Patton and Mara were celebrating their 4 year anniversary. Patton got her a cake with her name on it. She loved white roses and chocolate cake. He knew she’d love it.

But he didn’t know she was on a diet. He spent an hour trying to get her to stop crying.

“I told you last week I was going on a diet. I’m too fat and ugly,” she cried.

“Mara, firefly, please,” Patton said as he held her in his arms. “I’m sorry. I honestly forgot, and you’re not ugly and fat. Please don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he make her cry like that. How could he hurt her like this?

How could he be so heartless?

He kissed the tears away on her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you. We can spend the night in the park.”

“But there’s so many food vendors in the park,” Mara whined.

“It’s okay. I don’t have to eat anything while we’re there. I’ll even diet with you. We can both go out for a salad afterward.”

“Promise?” she asked as she looked up at him.

He smiled. “I do.”

For a month, all Patton did was try to support Mara. The two of them would eat salads together at a small restaurant in town. For a while, it seemed to make Mara happy. She smiled more around Patton. Her gentle touches returned, and he felt pure bliss with her.

Then the summer came.

“You haven’t been keeping up with the diet, have you?” Mara asked. She poked the small pouch of fat on Patton’s stomach. It would’ve tickled had it not felt so dirty.

“I am,” he replied.

Mara turned away from him, her nose curled in disgust. “I bet you’re lying. I bet you go home and eat cookies every night when I’m not looking.”

Patton recoiled. Okay, so there was a cookie every night with his name on it, but it wasn’t like a cookie would make him fat… right?

“I’m sorry,” he replied and swallowed hard. “I won’t eat anymore. I didn’t think-”

“You didn’t think is right,” Mara moaned. She ran a hand through her hair. “You didn’t think it’d hurt me, but it does, Patton. They support each other. I need you to support me. That is what couples do, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Patton replied. Mara sighed and hugged him, nuzzling her head under his chin.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight,” she spoke. “I hate fighting with you. Can you please, just, lay off the sweets? For me?”

“I will-”

“Promise?”

Patton swallowed thickly. “I promise.”

That night, Patton rolled around in his bed, unable to get to sleep. He kept replaying Mara’s words in his head. In a way, he couldn’t help but feel angry. He bent over backwards, cutting out his pizza trips with Remy, throwing away bottles of his favorite soda, and even limiting himself to one cookie every night. What had she done in return for him?

No, what kind of selfish thought was that? Mara needed him. It was his job to support her, and if that meant changing a little, he should.

Right?

Patton turned onhis phone and blinked. He opened the last message he sent Remy a week ago which cancelled their last trip (and the week before that) and felt a pain in his stomach. They used to text until 3 in the morning. What happened?

Patton typed on the blue keyboard in front of him.

Me: Hey, I can’t sleep. Can we talk? :’(

He watched the blue bubble pop up as he hit send and waited. Maybe Remy was asleep? He laughed at the thought. Remy didn’t sleep much before 4 am, and it was still only 1 or so.

His phone lit up.

Sleep is for the WEAK: Sry to hear that man

He waited for another message, but after five minutes, he decided to add to the conversation.

Me: You okay? :o

Another three minutes.

Sleep is for the WEAK: Yea

Patton started to write again, but Remy interrupted him.

Sleep is for the WEAK: Going to sleep deuces ;) ;) ;)

Patton squeezed his phone in his hand and felt his heart ache. He knew it was a lie. He knew Remy was avoiding him. How could he blame him? He practically pushed Remy out of his life for Mara. He had to feel betrayed. Still, he didn’t stay anything.

But Patton was his best friend. He should’ve known.

For three years, Patton endured Mara’s demands alone. Her diet turned into walking every morning together at the crack of dawn. Her walk every morning turned into only eating with her. That snowballed into her monitoring his phone on their dates, making sure he wasn’t talking behind her back, making sure he was listening to her.

“If you so much as say one bad word about me to that ass of a friend of yours,” Mara always threatened.

“I’ve never said a bad word about you,” Patton replied.

“But I know you hate me,” she replied. “You have to. I make you do all these things you don’t want to do. You should just break up with me already.”

Honestly, Patton considered it once or twice.

But Mara needed him.

He’d hold her in his arms and swallow the guilt in his chest. He’d ignore the texts Remy sent to him and the worry growing between the both of them. When was the last time Patton had fun? He only had Mara. Just Mara. That should’ve been enough.

Right?

On his 18th birthday, Mara surprised him with a cake. Patton forgot what chocolate tastes like. She even made it herself.

“It’s for all the hard work you’ve done for me,” she replied. “You deserve a little special treat.”

Patton held her so close he thought they’d both break.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s perfect.”

Mara ran her finger along his glowing soulmark. “You think… you could do something special for me too?”

Patton’s stomach dropped. Of course Mara wouldn’t just give him something without expecting something else.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling away to look in her eyes.

“Well,” her lips pulled into a grin, “we’ve been together for almost 7 years now, right? Don’t you think it was time we did something… memorable?”

“Like going on a dinner date?” Patton asked. Oh man, he hoped it was to the pizza place down the road, but he was sure she wouldn’t go for it.

Judging by the roll of her eyes, he was right.

“No, dummy. I want something a restaurant menu can’t provide.” She brought Patton’s lips down to touch her own. He savored the taste of her cherry chapstick. “I’d rather be tasting you.”

“I’m okay with some cuddles and kisses. There’s some good romance movies on Netflix. We could watch one while-”

Mara pushed Patton backwards onto the couch. He blinked up owlishly as she straddled his waist and caressed his cheeks in her hands.

“Your so stupid. I want you to take me. You know, like my virginity. I’m giving it to you,” she purred as she brought in her lips to kiss him. Patton forgot to kiss back. Mara sensed his discomfort and pulled away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just-” Patton looked away.

Mara’s lips drew into a deep frown. “You just what, Patton?”

He flinched with the way she hissed his name. His stomach felt heavy, and it wasn’t because Mara put her full weight on it.

“Nothing-”

“Don’t lie to me, Patton.” She furrowed her brow. “I thought you said we wouldn’t lie to each other?”

Patton’s eyes welled up with tears. He looked up at her and tried to blink them away.

“I just… I don’t know if I’m ready,” Patton replied.

Mara ran a hand through her hair. “It’s me, isn’t it? I’m not good enough for you.”

“I didn’t say that-”

“Then why not?” She brought both her hands down hard on his chest. “What’s wrong? If you really loved me, you’d do this for me.”

“Mara, please-”

“Hasn’t our time together meant anything to you? Have you just been leading me on this whole time? Taking on a poor, defenseless girl who needed love? Is that your goal? You’re disgusting. I thought you weren’t like men who pray on women.”

“I-”

“How could you be so heartless?”

“Okay!” The dam on Patton’s eyes broke. “I’m sorry, okay. I… if it’ll make you happy.”

“No, my mood is ruined now.”

“Mara, I’m sorry. I do love you. I… I want to show you. I-” His voice cracked, “please believe me.”

Mara sighed and rubbed the tears away on Patton’s cheeks. “Shush, it’s okay. I forgive you, Patton. Don’t cry. It makes me feel worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“You really do love me, don’t you, Patton?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

The sting in his stomach almost answered for him. “I promise.”

That night felt like anything but love. It felt disgusting, violate, and hateful.

The next day, Patton laid in his bed. He couldn’t sleep. He threw up anything he ate. His moms were worried sick, but he assured them he was okay.

At least he was okay, until he woke up the next morning and looked the mirror. Patton’s stomach dropped. He traced his once beautiful silver swirls on his chest and retracted them like they burned him. What happened?

Why did his soulmark turn black?

Patton wore a turtleneck, despite it being a hot Spring day, and said goodbye to his mothers before they could comment on his strange wardrobe. He felt trapped and overheated, but he wouldn’t let anyone see.

Remy stood next to him at the bus stop, his usual cold shoulder still feeling foreign after all these years. Remy double glanced over his sunglasses as Patton stood next to him, a snuff escaping his nose.

“Forget how to dress?” he scoffed. Patton shifted uncomfortably and drew his shoulder straps tighter, as if his backpack could hug his discomfort away.

Remy sighed and noticed Patton shrink away. Against better judgement, Remy continued.

“You know, I really still wanted to be your friend, Pat, but I guess promises don’t mean much to you anymore.”

That word choked Patton. He doubled in on himself, his body succumbing to trembles. Before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees. Remy was at his side, his hands on Patton’s shoulders. He sounded concerned. Patton couldn’t make out anything past that word.

Promises.

What did he know about promises?

Remy brought Patton close to his chest, cradling him between his legs and running a hand through his hair, just like he knew Patton loved. He kept shushing him, trying to blow his discomfort away. Patton felt Remy’s head rest on his shoulders.

“Pat, whatever’s wrong, you know you can tell me. I’m sorry. I should’ve- I didn’t know- Are you okay?”

For five minutes, all Patton could say was “I’m sorry.”

Remy took Patton back to his house down the street. He wrapped him in a blanket and put as many stuffed animals around him as he could find, even if he had to blow dust off quite a few. His parents wouldn’t mind if he skipped. For an hour, he let Patton cuddle into his blankets. The smell must’ve called him, because the shaking stopped. However, he was still sweating. Maybe he was sick?

Remy folded his sunglasses and set them on the counter, missing the way he could be himself around Patton.

“You think we should take that turtleneck off?” Remy asked. Patton shook his head furiously and buried his head into the blankets.

“Pat, you’re like, 100 degrees. Time to yeet the sweater.”

“No.”

“Come on,” Remy rolled his eyes and flopped onto his face. He mumbled into the covers, “Stubborn asshole.”

That brought a shift of Patton’s blankets.

“Laguage.”

“What’s that? Couldn’t fucking hear ya pops.”

Patton threw a pillow at Remy. The corners of his mouths were strained into a frown, but Remy knew he could bring that stifled smile out. He kept cursing, and Patton kept swinging pillows at him. Remy picked up the first pillow and started swinging back.

Feathers and giggles flew everywhere.

Out of breath, Remy flopped onto his back. One more blow to the stomach, and Remy let out a light “ooph.” Patton’s eyes were glowing with happiness and tears. His chest heaved under that too tight turtleneck, and sweat lined his forehead.

“You ready to tell me yet?”

The smile disappeared on Patton’s face. He sunk to his knees and dropped the pillow, ready to retreat into his blankets once again.

“No, no, you’re not allowed,” Remy grumbled as he pulled all the blankets up into a ball in his lap. “We’re talking this out. What’s eating you?”

Patton blew through his nose. “I… I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I promised.”

The word hit harder than anything Patton could throw at him. “Pat, you can tell me anything. I’m here for you.” He paused. “But I haven’t been there for you for a while, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Patton replied. “I pushed you away. I just didn’t want her to use you against me anymore and-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there buttercup,” Remy held his hands up. “Who was using me against you?”

Patton twisted the turtleneck in his hands. Remy’s stomach flared up.

“It’s Mara, isn’t it?”

Patton’s silence confirmed his answer. He ran a hand through dyed purple hair and growled under his breath.

“How long?”

Patton whined. “I can’t remember. It was fine, but I don’t know what happened. The first few years were great. I loved her. But then… then she started to change, and I-” his words caught. He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t say no.”

Remy clenched his teeth. Here Patton was being hurt, and he couldn’t get his head far enough out of his ass to care.

“I’ll kill her,” Remy growled and swung his legs off the bed. Patton reached out for him, trying to get Remy to wait, but he wasn’t listening. Finally, he grabbed onto Remy’s wrist and held him in the doorway.

“Please don’t,” Patton whispered. “She’ll know I was talking behind her back, and I can’t disappoint her again.”

“Disappoint her?” Remy threw his hands up. “What has she ever done for you, Pat? Tell me one time she went out of her way for you, and I’ll let it slide.”

“She bought me a cake for my birthday,” Patton replied.

“Whoop-de-do,” Remy twirled his finger sarcastically. “And what did you have to do to get that, huh?”

Patton’s throat burned. That night came rushing back to him, and he nearly threw himself into another panic attack. Remy softened upon his distress, and he carried Patton back to the bed.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful,” Remy let out a dry laugh. “I’m a pretty pathetic excuse for a best friend, huh?”

The rest of the day, Patton stayed in Remy’s arms. They didn’t speak of Mara or the incident, instead choosing to bury themselves in some of their favorite films. Patton called up his Ma and let her know he was staying at Remy’s house, much to her delight. She was thankful they were friends again.

Honestly, so was he.

That night, as Remy loaned Patton an extra set of pajamas, Patton showed Remy his soulmark. He expected Remy to be disgusted, but he looked so hurt. Patton told him everything. The name calling, the forced diet, the… unwanted advances. Each time, he expected Remy to turn away from him, but his eyes held understanding and pain.

“That heartless thot has no right.”

“Remy please-”

“No,” he clenched his teeth. “I’m getting you away from her. We’re getting out of here, the day after graduation. We’re going to start that pet sanctuary we always wanted to start, and we’re going to leave her in this hell where she belongs.” He stopped and looked Patton in the eye. “But only if you want to. It’s your choice, Patton. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“S’okay. You think about it. We’ll put a pin in it for now.” Remy poked Patton’s forehead and made a pop sound with his lips. Patton giggled and shuffled down into the blankets. Remy lay beside him. Patton sighed and clutched the extra pillow to his chest.

“Hey, Rem?” He heard Remy’s hum of attention. “You think you could- ah- I kind of- would it be okay if we… you know, like old times-”

“I got’cha,” Remy said and rolled over, cradling Patton close to his stomach. The familiar press of Remy’s chest against his back eased Patton’s worry. Remy’s hug felt like home. He settled down, and for the first time in almost a year, he slept peacefully through the night.

Too bad he had to wake up and go to school.

Remy held him close all day, a protective arm over his shoulder.

Patton hoped Mara wouldn’t find him. He couldn’t stand the idea of her hurting Remy.

But it should’ve been the other way around.

Patton pulled Remy off Mara after he landed two blows to her cheek. She cried and screamed that he did it unprovoked. The three of them were sent to the principal’s office, Mara giving her sob story of how Remy jumped her for no reason. Patton knew better. Remy was given two week’s suspension, and Patton’s stomach dropped. The thought of Remy being separated from him distressed him beyond measure.

Mara flipped her hair as she walked out, and Remy flipped her the bird.

Patton suddenly felt sick. He walked with Remy as he was escorted to the front doors.

“You’ll be okay,” Remy said and pressed his forehead to Patton’s. “You’re strong, Pat, the strongest person I know. You got this.”

“But-”

“Hey, none of that, m’kay. You’re golden.” He sent one last wink before leaving the school grounds. Patton’s courage left with him.

Of course Mara was waiting for him when he got back inside. Of course she looked like Patton was gum under her shoe. Of course she’d end up screaming at him in the halls about how he didn’t care about her, about how he let Remy hit her, about how Patton should’ve stopped him.

“I don’t want you to ever talk to that heathen again,” Mara hissed. “And if I ever catch you talking to him again-”

“You’ll what?” Patton snapped. His stomach dropped as Mara’s face went from shocked to aggravated.

“Patton, you better not talk to him ever again. I swear, I’ll break up with you if you do.”

“Then do it,” he shot back. He hugged his arms close to him. Mara’s anger melted into surprise, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Patton replied. Mara stood close, her nose almost touching his. She sucked in a breath before exhaling.

“Look, you’re obviously upset, so I’m gonna let this slide. But tomorrow, you better not let this happen again, got it?”

Patton stared back, his eyes cold as the blood in his veins.

“Promise me, Patton.”

His silence brought her hand to his wrist, pulling him close. He felt her nails dig into his skin and hissed out a breath.

“Promise me!”

Patton continued to stare, his throat too lumped to speak. Mara shoved him backwards and stormed down the hall. Patton heard people whispering as he went to his first class of the day. He felt like he’d fall apart at the seams. At this point, he didn’t even know how he was walking. Was it possible to feel every emotion at once? It must be. How else would he describe how heavy he felt?

Patton wished he was heartless so he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

The Illuminated AU Master List

#my fics #illuminated fics

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alivingfire · 7 years ago

Text

in this life

aka rachel writes a bunch of different AUs because sleep is for the weak

read on AO3 here.

In this life, you’re a painter.

Color speaks to you in a way people never could, shades more nuanced than emotions. You blend blue and green and know exactly what the result will be; you blend yourself in social situations and the same cannot be said. You hole up, you burrow. You hermit, your sister says, and she’s teasing but teasing based on truth. You’re okay with the world inside your makeshift studio, because in there you can control everything from the canvas to the ceilings.

You do like some things.

You like the sunflowers in the garden of the house you pass to get to the bakery. You like the way the afternoon light touches the scones in the display case. You like the tiny bakery tables that you couldn’t possibly be expected to share with another person.

You like the smile of the boy at another too-tiny-for-teatime-companions table.

He must be new; you’ve never seen him here before. This is a small village, you’d know if someone like this existed here before this moment. Somehow, you’d have known.

“D’you mind?” he asks, pointing to the chair across from you at the too-tiny bakery table.

Yes, you want to say. Yes, I mind. Yes, go away, I enjoyed the view of you from over there but now you’re far too close and I’m far too clumsy with the words in my mouth and—

“No,” you say. “Please, take a seat.”

There’s no reason for him to have moved to your table. The bakery isn’t even halfway full, no one needed his seat. He’s sipping tea and smiling at you like he knows a secret and thinks it’s something you’ll enjoy.

“Louis,” he says. You assume that’s his name.

“Harry,” you answer.

“Harry,” he repeats. “Your hands are blue, Harry.”

You look down: they are. Well, sort of. Acrylic paint stripes your palms, dusts your knuckles like you’d done it on purpose, trying to play the part of the painter. You didn’t do it on purpose, but you must admit you like the look. There’s blue on your hands in paintbrush-edged stripes: you’d painted the ocean this morning, and it was the same color as this stranger’s eyes.

You look at his hands, just on instinct: they’re green. Familiar paintbrush strokes, familiar colored swaths across his knuckles. Green like jade under a jeweler’s lamp, bright and light, like a high note in a sweet song. He sees you looking and holds up both hands, palms toward you, fingers wiggling.

“Seems we might have something in common,” he says.

You fall in love easier than you should’ve, Louis’ smile less safe than your routines but a thousand times more intriguing. He coaxes you into the world and you coax him into your studio in return, a balancing act of public and private. The first time your sister walks in and sees someone else there inside your sacred space, she shoots you a conspiratorial wink and even waits until Louis leaves before she pounces, demanding details.

You fall in love in the span of a summer, and you paint blue, blue, blue until your tube runs dry and your hands are permanently cerulean. You haul your canvases and brushes and palette and paints all over creation that summer, because sometimes Louis wants to paint a beach scene and a photo just won’t do, and sometimes he wants to paint the exact color of the cappuccino he got at that specific cafe in London, and it’s only three months into this whirlwind of painting all across Britain that you realize he’s slyly been dating you and you didn’t even notice.

You fall in love and realize that you’re now the type of person those too-tiny bakery tables are meant for, your knees brushing Louis’ underneath as you linger over a scone.

You fall in love over a shared canvas, something so incredibly intimate that the butterflies move from your stomach to your hands, making your usually sure strokes shaky. It’s the first of many, Louis promises, stepping back and staring at what the two of you have made together in awe. “This,” he says, “this is important.” And you know what he’s saying is you, Harry Styles, you are important.

In a gallery, twenty years later, that first collaboration hangs in a place of pride, and when someone offers a ridiculous sum to take it home, you look over at your husband, green paint smudged on the inside of his wrist and barely hidden by his suit jacket cuff, and you smile.

“No,” you say. “No, I think we’d better keep this for ourselves.”

In this life, you’re a drifter.

You were born with a suitcase in your hand, as your mother says. You have a ship tattooed on your bicep because you know the idea of home is transient, connected to people instead of places. You spent your childhood tracking mud in from your adventures through the patch of woods behind your house, your bicycle basket equipped with all your exploring necessities: flashlight, compass, beef jerky. You’d tie a bandana around your forehead to keep the summer sweat out of your eyes, and you wouldn’t return until the fireflies lit the way home.

When your friends leave home for college at eighteen, you follow them out — but not for school. You’ve always learned more from the asphalt of the open road than from textbooks. You take your hard-earned money from your high school job flipping burgers and throw it all at a Triumph Bonneville, sold to you by a neighbor who bought it new in a fit of midlife crisis. It’s shiny and warm under your thighs and you shiver as it rumbles to life the first time.

Your saddlebags are mostly empty when you leave your little hometown, but they fill up soon enough. You collect trinkets from Route 66 sideshows and you buy a couple of notebooks to keep track of what you see and do. You do odd jobs when you find them — you mow an old lady’s yard in Kansas City, you hand out flyers for a business in Seattle, you paint a few houses in Tampa. Cities are good for quick cash, but you like the small towns better: little patches of history and strangeness in the middle of nowhere.

You drive the Million Dollar Highway through the Rockies and stop off in Telluride, a boutique town framed by snowcaps and vistas. You can’t afford a hotel room here — tourist traps like this don’t tend to have a Super 8 for the poorer folks — but you do find a dive bar a few blocks off Main Street, a local haunt where regulars go to watch a game or shoot the shit without having to deal with out-of-towners. You slip onto a stool at the bar and are only jostled a little by an exuberant group of men in Broncos jerseys.

“What can I get you?” a bartender asks, and you look away from the little television over the bar — the Broncos just scored, hence the exuberation — and, suddenly, lose your breath.

“What do you recommend?” you ask. The bartender smiles, a touch of a dimple kissed into his cheek. His small, capable hands wipe a rag over a clean pint glass, and he swipes it one last time before turning and pouring you a drink.

“This is a local brew,” he says, sliding the full glass to you. It’s foaming beautifully, deep brown and bubbling like a geyser.

“What’s it called?” you ask, taking a sip. It sits heavy on your tongue, sweet on the way down.

“Face Down,” he tells you, and you can’t help it:

“Only if you ask nicely,” and his grin grows wider.

“I’m off at ten,” he offers.

“I’ll be here,” you promise.

You flirt until he’s off his shift, and then you flirt as you walk to another bar (“Can’t drink where I work, you know the drill”), and then you flirt until you fall into his bed, a little twin mattress in an apartment barely bigger than the matchbox he procures to light two cigarettes afterward.

“So, are you just passing through?” Louis asks, propped up against the wall. His bare chest shines with sweat in the light from the moon outside, windows thrown open wide to catch a breeze and cool the room. The cherry glow of his cigarette flares as he inhales. You exhale your own stream of smoke, clouding the air.

“Maybe,” you say. You’ve got your head in his lap, and you turn to quirk a smile up at him. “Do I have a reason to stay?”

He taps out his cig in an ashtray nearby and leans down, stealing your smile with a kiss. Outside, the fireflies gather to let you know: you’ve found your way home.

In this life, you’re a writer.

Or so your degree says, hanging tauntingly on your wall. You’re trained for this! it laughs at you. You paid good money to sit in front of that blank page all day doing nothing!

Words come to you in the middle of the night when your insomnia taps at your temple and the city noise drones, in the middle of a pub crawl with your mates who don’t seem to have a tenth of the worries you do, in the middle of the morning when you’re staggering out of bed, in the middle of a lunch with your sister where she, unsubtly, tells you that she’s got all types of friends she could be setting you up with. Words bombard you like raindrops at the most inconvenient times, and yet they flood away when you have a pen, when you finally dig out your phone and open a new note to try and get it all out.

You read voraciously about the greats, searching for inspiration. Cormac McCarthy struck up conversations with strangers; you try that. You make friends with people at bars, in the queue at Starbucks, online — you have a dozen conversations going at once, but none of them spark anything new. Junot Diaz had a journal; you try that, too, but when your writer’s block extends to that as well, you throw your journal out the window in frustration.

When you read that Michael Chabon suggested throwing out what you’ve done so far and starting over, you snort and, just to be contrary, save a blank word document and then immediately delete it.

You want to write a story about love and loss, about life and language and a million little things. There’s a story in your stomach and your lungs and etched on the inside of your ribcage but you don’t know how to get it out.

In a fit of pique, you go home for a weekend. Your mum always has an open invitation for you to crash with her, to get your head on straight and be coddled just a little until you’re ready to try again. So that’s what you do, packing two pairs of black jeans and a few worn t-shirts and your well-used laptop and grabbing a train north.

You’re not even there a full minute, you realize later. You hop off the train, scuffed boots barely touching Holmes Chapel pavement, when you bump into someone.

“Whoa, there, steady on,” someone says, grabbing you by the arms to keep you upright. You sway, clutching back, until —

“Louis?”

He’s aged like a fine goddamn wine, you think, somehow breathless even in the privacy of your own head. You haven’t seen him since — god, since sixth form, since your halcyon schoolboy days. Louis was the first one to tell you that you should be a writer, the two of you huddled under the blankets at one of a hundred different sleepovers, flashlight in hand as he read your shaky twelve-year-old writing.

“This is great, Hazza,” he’d praised, and you’d felt like spreading imaginary wings and pulling an Icarus. It has only been the recent years that have informed you that Louis wasn’t just your first best friend, but your first childhood crush, too, that wanting his approval was once as natural to you as breathing.

“Harry Styles,” he says, eyes bright. “What brings you back to your humble roots?”

“Needing inspiration,” you tell him, unable as always to keep him away from the truth.

“Well,” he tilts his head, looking thoughtful, “maybe I can help with that.”

The library where the two of you pretended to study and instead you wrote short stories starring Louis as a pirate or a cowboy or a spaceman that he’d act out for you as his one-person audience. The tree in the park you climbed because he told you you couldn’t do it, and when you fell and broke your arm he cried more than you did. The grocery shop where he used to work when he was seventeen, and where you’d show up to distract him when things were slow.

You don’t know how any of this is going to unlock the story in your stomach, but it’s the first time in years you aren’t worried about it. Your best friend — your first best friend, your first love, your first real critic and biggest fan — has you by the hand and is taking you on a reminiscent tour of your shared childhood: you can give up an afternoon of staring at your laptop screen in frustration for this. You’d give up a dozen afternoons for this.

“Remember this place?” Louis asks. It’s dusk now, the whole day spent together. Louis’ hand is warm in yours, and you wonder now if it should’ve been weird, the way your fingers laced together like they were sewn that way.

For the first time today, you aren’t drowning in a pool of sepia memories. You don’t recognize this place, a squat little cottage on the edge of the village. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this quaint little garden, or the apple tree in the front yard. A cat sits lazily in a window, tail flicking idly as she watches the two of you with half-closed eyes.

You don’t want to tell him that you don’t remember this cottage, not when he brought you all the way here, expecting you to remember, expecting you to know what he’s thinking. Instead, you bite your lip and turn to him, thinking he might elaborate with a story that might jog your memory.

“S’pose you wouldn’t, actually,” Louis muses, and your distress eases a little. He stares at the house, the baby blue paint and the warm glow of a lamp inside one of the windows. “Since I never did ask you what I meant to ask.”

“What?”

Louis turns to you, a rueful grin pulling at his mouth. “Remember when we were fifteen, and you said that all you wanted in life was a little country house where you could write and maybe grow a few flowers?” He gestures to the house, as though you haven’t been able to see it this whole time. “Guess I never really did grow out of wanting all your dreams to come true.”

It clicks, then. “Louis, I—” don’t know what to say, don’t know how to say it, don’t know how to thank you for things I didn’t even know you’d done — “I can’t believe this.”

“In a good way, I hope,” he says, still rueful, still sheepish, like he expects you to walk away. He bought your dream house.

It’s a common problem in your life, not being able to expel the words trapped inside you. This time, however, you’ve got another way to express yourself: you spin Louis by the shoulders and kiss him until all the air in the world has gone, and you’re dizzy and grinning.

“Take that as a yes,” Louis says dazedly.

“Ask me,” you say. At Louis’ still-stunned look, you continue: “Ask what you wanted to ask, what you never asked.”

Louis takes your hand in his, holds it to his chest. His heart pounds a tattoo onto the back of your hand, potent despite its invisibility. “Harry Styles,” he speaks slowly, like a long-memorized script he’s finally getting to act out, “don’t go to London to be an author. Stay here, with me, and write your novel here.”

“Yes,” you say, crowding into him, kissing him again, again, “yes, god, of course, of course.”

The words aren’t stuck, not anymore. The words pour out into one book, two. Your editor suggests you move to London, that way you can participate in the big city scene, be photographed with other up-and-comers.

London has a lot of things, but it doesn’t have a little baby blue cottage, nor the boy who bought it for you.

The cat still sits in the windowsill, and in the spring you plant begonias.

In this life, you’re a sports newscaster.

You’re paid to have opinions — that’s the part you like. You’ve watched football since you were a tiny lad, the Gary Pallister home shirt your father gave you falling to your knees until you hit your first growth spurt at age eight.

It’s not as though you’re a presenter, or anything. You’re not even a commentator. You’re a beat reporter, an opinion-guy who’s allowed to stray a little from the unbiased caution that the big names have to stick to. You’re known for your color commentary on social issues in sport and personality pieces, and you’re friendly with quite a few athletes you’ve interviewed. You’re also one of the first fully out Sky Sports reporters, and you’re known for that, too.

Sometimes that’s good. Sometimes, it’s a little harder.

You want to be good at your job, so you study up. You pick up the intricacies of boxing, cricket, golf, tennis. You subscribe to ESPN and start learning those major sports too — basketball, baseball, even the psuedo-rugby with the tight pants that Americans call football.

Your favorite, though, is hockey.

You don’t have a team, don’t know many of the mascots or even the cities where the teams play. You assume that “icing” means spraying someone with ice on purpose, only to find out that’s not the case at all. You took French in school but can’t understand a word that comes out of most of the players’ mouths, jumbled and exertion-slurred, athletes who are nimble on the ice but clumsy off of it.

Except one.

Tomlinson, a short, quick winger for an up-and-coming team in a small New England city you’ve never heard of. You know less than most peewee hockey players and yet even you can see how soft his touch is, how skilled he is at handling the puck, his intelligence on the ice.

And then he does post-game interviews, and those— well. Those are inspiring.

Bright-eyed and sharp-tongued, Tomlinson toes the line of brash and entertaining, waving off compliments and directing all praise to his teammates, his goalie, his coaches and the staff. He’s hard on himself when he makes mistakes but he glows when talking about his team, the hard work they put in to be successful. When a reporter approaches him about his exuberance during a post-goal celebration, Tomlinson’s eyes narrow.

“Price blocked fourteen shots on goal tonight and mine was the only one that went in,” he says, cool and precise. “Should I not be proud of that?”

You can’t help it. You’re a Sky Sports beat reporter, you don’t have anything to do with the NHL or, really, any American sports at all. You’re not even sure if your contract allows you to do this.

You tweet anyway.

@Harry_Styles — 1 minute ago @Louis_Tomlinson deserves more than just being proud of that goal. If he wants suggestions on some other ways to celebrate, I’ve got ideas.

You don’t expect a reply. You probably should’ve.

@Louis_Tomlinson — 3 minutes ago Careful, @Harry_Styles I might take you up on that

It’s not as though you have a massive fanbase, or anything, especially not compared to Tomlinson, but your Twitter followers definitely notice the exchange. You expect the call you get from your boss to be a reprimand, and are surprised instead to see that they want you to discuss Tomlinson’s quote on the show, maybe write an in-depth article. You wear your best TV suit and spend three long minutes passionately defending an athlete’s right to pride in their accomplishments, and you will your blush away when your tweet is obliquely referenced.

“All I’m saying,” you laugh, praying that you’re not bright red, “is that if the guy wants help celebrating, I’m in.”

“I bet you are,” Julian Waters says, grinning a white-toothed smile as he sends the show to commercial break. Once the cameraman gives the all clear signal, he turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “Careful, there,” he says mildly. “Sport fans aren’t exactly known for being the most tolerant, Americans especially.”

“I’ve handled worse,” you assure him — though, maybe that’s not true. In all honesty, you turned your notifications off an hour after Tomlinson’s reply.

Curious about the state of things (and feeling thick-skinned today), you wade back into social media after the few days you’ve been away. Your mentions are a mess of heart-eyed teenage Tomlinson fans who either vehemently love you or hate you, and middle-aged men wearing Falcon jerseys in their profile pictures who want you to know how much of an abomination you are. You dismiss it all, retweeting the Sky Sports account link to the video of the segment you just recorded. A short minute later, your heart double-thuds at a particular notification.

Louis_Tomlinson retweeted your retweet

And then another.

Message from Louis_Tomlinson

Your hands shake as you navigate to the message, expecting simultaneously the worst and the best possible options.

Hey, thanks for the support. I know you’re getting a lot of flack, hope my reply earlier didn’t cause any problems

You tap out an answer: Even if it did, it was worth it.

Tomlinson’s return is quick, as though he, like you, is holding his phone, waiting for your messages. I’d like to thank you in person. Going to be in Rhode Island anytime soon?

You grin delightedly, a little breathless, and dial up your boss. “Hey,” you say when he answers, “how would you feel about me writing that in-depth report on the road?”

Providence is beautiful in March, chilly and frost-coated. At the airport, you spot a familiar, compact frame in the waiting area, hidden beneath a baseball cap and dark sunglasses, holding a sign that says Harry_Styles.

“You didn’t have to pick me up,” you say, and Tomlinson’s smile nearly twinkles.

“Sure I did,” he says. “Can’t neglect my biggest fan.”

There’s a blurry photograph of you at the next Falcons game, up in the box with the families of the other players. It’s nearly too grainy to make out, but there is one decently clear picture of your back, Tomlinson’s name bold across your shoulders.

When your objectivity is questioned you just smile, knowing that, at least when it came to Tomlinson, your objectivity never stood a chance.

In this life, you’re a surf instructor.

It’s not easy, your job. Sure, you live in a tropical paradise, have a saltwater miracle of a view right out your back door, spend your days oceanside or out catching waves with your friends. But for every eager customer there’s a sleazy one, some guy who assumes that “surf instructor” is actually code for “paid beach girlfriend,” who is only there to stare at your chest as you explain the difference in board lengths.

For the most part, you handle your own. Only a few guys push it far enough that you’re uncomfortable rather than just annoyed, and you’ve been taking self-defense lessons for years. You keep pepper spray under the counter and, according to the contract the customers sign, you are authorized to use it if you feel threatened.

Most of the time, you love your job. Saltwater is where you’re meant to be, and your tiny salary comes with enough perks to keep you content forever. You have a hut on the resort beach where you stock boards and wetsuits, and that’s where she first finds you.

“Can you teach beginners?” she asks, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear.

You grin. “I can teach anyone.”

She challenges your confidence, though. The first day, your stomach feels bruised from repeating the motion of pushing up off the board and hopping to your feet, over and over and over again. You have sand in your bikini bottoms and you forgot a hair tie, so the ocean breeze whips the salted ends of your hair into your eyes.

Somehow, Louis looks even worse for the wear. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promises, and while you want to believe her, you’re not so sure she’s right. Most people don’t want to put this much effort in during their vacation — she never even conquered the motion of paddling correctly. Usually, this means you won’t see her again.

She seems to live to challenge your beliefs, though.

Bright and early, she does arrive, hair pushed back with an elastic headband and no-nonsense purse of lips firmly in place. An hour in, she’s mastered the push up. Two hours in, you’re on a board in the shallows, demonstrating how to paddle out.

You have one rule. Well, actually, you have two: the first is pepper spray first, ask questions later. The second, which is more applicable here, is that you don’t get attached to guests.

The resort and the surf lessons are your whole life, but that’s not true for anyone else. Guests are only in your life for a few days, maybe a week at most. In the beginning, you’d promise to keep in touch with those you clicked with: now, a few years in, you know better. You’ve seen too many early friendships wither and die.

So, when Louis asks if you’re doing anything after her lesson one day, you regretfully lie and say you have plans.

You don’t want to. You want to take her to your favorite local spot, wear your tiniest sundress and dance close on the warm sand. You want to trade sangria sweet kisses on a moon-bright beach, and wake up tangled in salty sheets.

But she’s leaving eventually, and you can’t fall for someone who has to leave.

Even if it’s already started.

But… she keeps coming back. Day after day, for a week, then two. You wonder if she’s an extended stay guest — you’re not up on your pop culture, maybe she’s famous. She doesn’t say anything that hints at an end date, and at this point, maybe you don’t want to know.

You don’t go up to the main resort often — no need to, when your customers come to you. But one day, there’s an issue with your check, and you have to sort it out. You throw an extra large tank top over your bikini and call that good enough, not even bothering with shoes. After a short walk up to the resort hotel, you step inside the bright, clean lobby — and freeze.

“So, you can leave the beach,” Louis teases. You’re used to seeing her in her athletic one-piece swimsuit and salt-wild hair; behind the counter at the hotel registration desk, she’s in a simple, pure white shift dress and her pixie cut is tamed, smooth and shiny.

“You’re not a guest,” you say, words feeling dumb even as they leave your mouth.

One side of her mouth quirks up. “Astute of you.”

“You live here.”

“Just as of recently, but yeah, that’s true.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Let me take you out,” you say.

There’s a small, awkward cough. You look over to see a small family, all wearing variations of palm frond and flamingo patterned shirts, the dad waving awkwardly. “Is, uh, is this where we check in?”

“Yes, it is,” Louis says, transitioning easily to a professional smile.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the dad says, pink-cheeked.

“That’s no problem,” Louis says, waving you on, and grinning at your impatient look. “She can wait.”

That evening, she shows up at the hut, grin still in place. She teases you all throughout dinner for assuming she was some sort of tourist, playfully mocking the way your mouth dropped open when you say her behind the desk, but you find a way to stop her jokes pretty easily, her lips soft and yielding against yours.

The next morning, you shake her awake at dawn and take her for a sunrise surf. She rides a full ten seconds before crashing, and she pulls you into the water to celebrate her progress.

Your kisses taste like ocean, and you send her off to work with an unfocused, blissful smile, a bruise the shape of your mouth hidden under her perfect white dress.

In this life, you’re standing on the X Factor stage, and you’re shaking.

Four other boys — four boys you barely think you could recognize, let alone name — are there with you. Tears have dried tacky on your face, your lip still trembling. Sixteen, and flayed open for the nation to see — that’s showbiz, you guess.

Nicole Sherzinger is holding a microphone at the judge’s table, surveying you. “We have decided,” she says slowly, theatrically, “to put you together as a group.”

Your mind blanks. Your heart crashes in your chest.

A boy you barely know jumps into your arms in joy.

Out in the lobby, out of the view of the cameras, he smiles shakily at you, wild-eyed. “I’m Louis,” he says.

“I’m Harry,” you answer.

In this life, you find him early, and you don’t ever let him go.

#MAMA I DID IT! I PUBLISHED SOMETHING!#but.... a few notes #yes i know that hockey louis is basically jack + bitty from omgcp #no i still don't know anything about hockey #no i don't know anything about surfing either #this was written from 8 pm to 3 am and i am Grump today #but i wanted to put something out for the first time in a while #it's on AO3 too if you wanna bookmark!#drabbles #i mean lbr not really #it's 5k

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bubble-tea-bunny · 8 years ago

Text

sunday

[jim hopper x reader]

author’s note: some jim hopper fluff for y’all(:

word count: 1,406

Sunday afternoon brings Jim Hopper to your front doorstep.

This is nothing out of the ordinary. Sundays are a lazy day for everyone in Hawkins, Indiana. He never has to place a call to find where you are because you’ll be right at home, just like everyone else it feels like. And he’ll stay there with you, keeping you company, helping you tidy up if it’s one of those Sundays. Your house is never cluttered to begin with so there’s never much tidying to do, at least to him. You always seem to spot something in need of cleaning, a shelf that needs dusting. Or sometimes the pillows on the couch don’t look fluffy enough. You mentioned once that you don’t think you’d ever see anything better than the town sheriff fluffing pillows. And you’d tell him they don’t look that fluffy to try to get him to do it again and he’d roll his eyes with a smile and toss the pillow at you, which you catch because it wasn’t a hard throw at all. Then he re-fluffs it.

Unfortunately, this Sunday, Jim has found himself called into work. Instead of being able to spend all day with you, the first time he’s getting the chance to drop by is during his lunch break. He knocks on the door, a few curt raps, and waits patiently for you to open it. But when you don’t, he furrows his eyebrows and tries again. Still nothing. Your car is still on the driveway, and an inkling of worry manifests in his chest as he grabs the spare key from beneath the welcome rug. The door creaks open quietly and he shuts it behind him, twisting the knob so it silently clicks back into place.

“[Name]?” he calls out, eyes scanning the first floor for any sign of you. You’re nowhere in sight. He slowly starts making his way up the staircase and when he gets to the second floor, he notices your bedroom door is slightly ajar. With cautious steps he walks up to it and pushes it, widening his view of the room. The concern that had been bubbling promptly dissipates when he sees the lump beneath the blankets, and he smiles a little to himself at just how nervous he had been getting. Plenty of people sleep in on Sundays. But you usually aren’t one of them.

Jim glances at his watch to double check the time and he sees that it’s indeed half an hour past twelve. You’re an early riser, even on the weekends. So for you to still be in bed sleeping away like a log is definitely strange. He walks up to the side of the bed, his shoes thudding quietly along the wooden floor. Even if each footfall is careful, it’s like thunder to your ears and you open your eyes for the first time today.

“Jim?” Said man is standing in front of the window so you squint as you look up at him because the light is blinding. When you’re able to focus on him and not the sunshine pouring in behind him, you notice he’s in his uniform. “I thought you didn’t work Sundays.”

Jim shrugs and sits on the edge of the bed. “I got called in today. I’m on lunch break.”

“Lunch…?” You prop yourself up on your elbow so you can glance at the clock on the nightstand. “I’ve been asleep that long?”

“I’m just as surprised as you. Late night or something?”

You sigh and lay back down, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the blood rush to your head. “I was on the phone with my sister.” This needs no further explanation. You and your sister are best friends, and it’s easy for you two to spend hours talking to each other. Jim chuckles and you turn your head to look over at him. “I’m not ready to face the day yet. Take a nap with me?”

Jim smiles softly and reaches out a hand to brush your hair back, then sets it on your cheek. You watch him the whole while, letting him do as he pleases. His eyes rove over your face—the gentle arch of your brows, the planes of your cheekbones, the curve of your lips. The afternoon light flooding in has none of the softness characteristic of dawn or dusk but it doesn’t matter. It washes over you like a summer haze and Jim doesn’t know if he will ever see anything more beautiful. When you set your hand over his and smile back, he speaks up. “I can’t, sweetheart. I gotta get back to work and I might oversleep.”

“I’ll wake you up.” You turn your head slightly so you can kiss his palm.

“I doubt that.” At this, you laugh. He’s right. You wouldn’t wake up in time to wake him up, and then he would be late.

“Well…” you trail off, trying to think of a compromise. “Just lay with me then?”

There’s no turning you down with that pleading look in your eyes. They look like they’re glowing, and it’s not from the sunlight. Jim would argue you were made of fireflies that didn’t only shine at night. “Scoot over.”

Your smile widens and you do as he says, and he sets his hat down on the nightstand before laying down on top of the blankets. The moment he’s settled, you’re quick to cozy up against him, wrapping an arm around his torso and squeezing once like he’s your favorite stuffed toy. You nuzzle his side and he can feel your smile. You look up at him, a bit more awake now that he’s here.

“So tell me about work. How are Callahan and Powell?”

Jim sighs, glances down at you for a moment, then looks back up at the ceiling. “Oh you know… they’re them.”

You know what he means by this but you still can’t help but laugh. “You should write poetry with the way you string words together.” Your sarcastic comment earns you a playful eye roll and a slight upturn of Jim’s lips. He’ll admit that was a good one.

“What about you? You just gonna stay in bed all day?” Jim wraps an arm around your shoulders and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arm. You can’t control the contented hum you let out at the soothing motion. It sounds like a purr.

“Maybe. But that’s what Sundays are for right?”

“No house tidying today?”

You shake your head, which only serves to make your hair even messier. “It can wait. Besides, my best pillow fluffer apparently isn’t available today.” Jim deadpans and you laugh. You prop yourself up on your elbows again so you can lean over to kiss him because it occurs to you that you haven’t done so yet. Sundays are never complete without it.

“Well I’m sure he’s bummed he couldn’t make it,” Jim murmurs against your lips.

You smile. ��He’ll just have to make it up to me some other time I guess.” This is all you get out before Jim kisses you again. His kisses are caffeine so you know there’s no way you’d be going back to sleep now.

He stays with you for the remainder of his lunch break, laying in bed and talking. There’s not one bit of food in his stomach by the time he’s due back at the station and he knows he’ll probably regret that later. But then you mention you’d bought doughnuts yesterday and there’s still some in the kitchen, and his eyes light up and you laugh when he’s peppering your face with kisses, his scruff tickling your skin. Flo’s been trying to get him on a health kick for the—well, honestly, he’s lost track of how many times. Anyway, that means there are no pastries at the station, at least not any that aren’t guarded by the secretary herself.

So on the drive back he’s munching on a glazed doughnut, not nearly as grumpy as he had been this morning when he’d been called in on his day off. The moment he’s through the doors to the station, licking his lips and thoroughly satisfied, he realizes he’s left his hat at your house. He supposes it’s the perfect excuse to go back later, even though he doesn’t need one. Your door is always open to him.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #bubble-tea-bunny

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