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pookha · 8 months

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Dream With Me: Chapter Nine

November 1998

Hermione and Luna have Harry and Ginny over for a visit. Luna and Ginny both get drunk. Hermione and Luna share a sexy dream. Luna wants to move forward, but Hermione is unsure.

Blaise and Jameson had patrol that Friday, so Luna and Hermione had the night free. Harry and Ginny were coming over, and Hermione was doing a quick neatening of the sitting room. Living with Luna had been better than she thought it would be; she had thought they’d be rowing every day about some weird thing or the other Luna believed or Hermione would be short with Luna, but they actually got along very well. The only downside was that Luna was messy. They’d come to an agreement that if Luna’s clutter was bothering Hermione that she could put it on Luna’s bed and it generally worked out.

Today, it looked like Luna had picked up most of her stuff already and Hermione just had to put away potion supplies and make sure that Luna’s painting corner was picked up. Crookshanks followed her around the entire time, watching what Hermione was doing and occasionally commenting with a short meow.

She’d just finished when a knock came at the door. She didn’t recognize the knock, so she tested her new surveillance Charm. She concentrated and waved her wand through the complicated pattern. She saw as though using a Supersensory Charm, which she knew would give her a headache if she did it too much.

Padma was waiting outside the door in the hallway, tapping her foot. Hermione waved her wand to open the doors and let Padma in.

“Hello?” Padma called from just inside the door.

“I’m over here,” Hermione said from near the icebox and hob.

“Oh, is Luna here?” Padma asked.

“No, but she should be back in a few minutes if you want to wait. Want some tea or coffee?”

Hermione took a bottle of anise liqueur from the icebox and put it on the counter.

“Um, no thanks,” Padma said.

Hermione sat on a stool at the bench.

“I’m sorry for how it ended with Parvati,” Hermione said. Padma’s eyes flashed, then she looked away.

“Yeah, so am I. I wish she’d just tell Mum and Dad. I don’t think they’d disown her or anything like that. I think they’d be surprised, but Parvati’s just so terrified of coming out.”

“What did you need to see Luna about?” Hermione asked, curiously.

“She has some Divination notes from me, since I missed it twice this week.” Padma sighed.

“Oh, are you all right?” Hermione hadn’t noticed her being gone from any of their shared classes and Padma hadn’t missed any of her Prefect duties.

“Yeah, I just had to do an extra class for Transfiguration each of those days. I think I’m taking too many classes.”

Hermione’s charms on the outer door alerted her to someone’s presence, but this time she knew it was Luna.

“Luna’s just coming in,” Hermione said, going to the inner door to open it for Luna. Luna had two large parcels in her hands. Hermione took one and they both sat them on the bench.

“I’ll get the notes,” Luna told Padma and disappeared into her room.

“I—don’t break her heart, too,” Padma said and Hermione started.

“What? No, we’re just friends.” She held her hands up.

“Yeah, sure,” Padma said.

Hermione started to say something else, but Luna came back into the room. She handed Padma her notes and Padma thanked her and left. They unpacked the parcels Luna had brought. She’d been to the kitchens and come back with snacks and drinks for their gathering with Harry and Ginny. There was a veggie tray, a couple of bags of Muggle crisps (Hermione wondered who had bought them and where and when), two bottles of wine and glasses, a bottle of firewhiskey, a full-size treacle tart, and more sandwich fixings.

“Looks good,” Hermione said, even though it was only an hour after dinner.

“The elves were very excited when I told them Harry was going to be here. They insisted I take the treacle tart for him.” She tapped the tart’s crust. A bit of it flaked off and stuck to her finger. She licked it off. Hermione realised she was staring at the tiny bit of Luna’s exposed tongue and turned back to setting up a bar on the counter. She thought she saw a small, mischievous smile on Luna’s face.

“Shouldn’t that liqueur stay in the icebox?” Luna asked.

“I’ve charmed it; it’ll stay cold the whole night.” Hermione rearranged the bottles, then Luna was at her side, bumping against her hip.

“They look better organised by size,” Luna said and lined them up. Hermione nodded.

“They won’t stay like that long, but I agree, it’s more aesthetically pleasing.”

“Why don’t you draw? I know you have a good eye and I’ve seen some of your doodles from when you’re relaxed.” Luna took off her robes and went to her bedroom. She didn’t close the door so Hermione could still hear her.

“I just never felt drawn to art. I can draw okay and maybe if I practised, I’d be good, but I don’t feel that inspiration, so whatever I do tends to be flat and lifeless. I could draw that lily you made me, and use the same colours and same lines, but it wouldn’t feel true. It’s like how some musicians are technically proficient, but their music just doesn’t move you and some less proficient musicians have that…I don’t know, vibrancy. You have that and I don’t.”

Hermione saw a flash of skin from Luna’s room and looked despite herself. Luna was slipping on a long blue skirt. Hermione noticed her matching red bra and knicker set and blushed. Luna turned, saw Hermione looking, but didn’t seem to care.

“I’m looking forward to seeing Harry and Ginny tonight. I’m sad Neville won’t be here, though.” She picked up a frilly white button-down shirt from a pile on the floor of her room, sniffed it, then put it on. She started buttoning it, but got the small pearl-shaped buttons mixed up and when she was done, it was one off all the way down.

“Here, let me,” Hermione said from the door of her room. She stepped in and unbuttoned Luna’s shirt. Their eyes met once and Hermione felt the heat of a blush on her neck. She didn’t think Luna could see it, though. When she unbuttoned the last button, her hand ran over Luna’s stomach accidently and Luna put her hand over Hermone’s.

“Slow down, they won’t be here for a while.” Their eyes met again and this time, the blush went up Hermione’s neck and she knew Luna saw it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you there.” Hermione pulled her hand back and started buttoning Luna’s shirt quickly. She fumbled a couple of the buttons.

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, your hand felt nice. Warm and soft.”

Hermione finished buttoning Luna’s shirt and left for her room. She put her head in her hands and sat on her bed with the door closed. Crookshanks scratched at her door. When she opened it, Luna was standing outside poised to knock. Crookshanks rushed in and jumped on the bed.

“Yes?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t remember why I was going to knock,” Luna said and Hermione thought it was the first deliberate lie that she’d ever heard Luna say.

“Want to come in?” Hermione asked. Luna nodded. They both sat on the bed.

“I—it’s okay to look,” Luna said.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve seen you watching me and I want you to know that I don’t mind.” Luna smiled.

“I actually kind of like knowing there’s someone who likes the way I look.”

“You’re lovely,” Hermione said without thinking, realised it made her think of Ron and laughed.

Luna blushed.

“I’m lovely, then you laugh at me,” Luna whispered.

“I was laughing because I said it without thinking, which means you know it’s true and it reminded me of Ron telling me that in a similar circumstance. I wasn’t laughing at you. I mean it, you’re lovely. You’re the nicest, most genuine person I’ve ever met. Yes, sometimes you drive me mad. Yes, sometimes we disagree or see things differently, but I think that’s because you tend to see the best of people and I tend to be cynical.” She put her hand on Luna’s thigh and squeezed.

Luna leaned her head on Hermione’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Me too,” Hermione said.

“I like watching you, too,” Luna said, pulling her head back.

She’s in kissing range, Hermione thought suddenly.

She blushed again and Luna laughed.

“I like the way you push through until you understand something and don’t take any…bullshit…from anyone anymore.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

“I also like your elegant neck and the way your hair tangles behind your ears,” Luna said. She leaned forward, but they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Luna jumped back. She used the Supersensory Charm that Hermione had set up and Hermione could feel her presence in it; it was a bit like when they had shared dreams.

Luna’s eyes went blank for a moment.

“They’re here a bit early,” she said. She snapped the surveillance charm shut and Hermione felt Luna’s presence disappear from her consciousness. She felt oddly empty without it.

Luna waved her wand and they heard Harry and Ginny come in. Luna got up first and then Hermione. Harry’s face when they came out of Hermione’s bedroom betrayed his thoughts. She tried to see it like he did and blushed harder. They would have both come out of Hermione’s bedroom, both a bit red in the face and Harry could see the slightly rumpled bed. The only thing saving him from jumping to a conclusion was that their clothes weren’t rumpled also.

Luna crossed the room and hugged Harry and then Ginny swept into the hug. Hermione joined last.

“Glad you could come. We don’t see much of each other outside of class anymore.” Hermione broke the hug first, then Ginny. Luna kissed Harry on the cheek and patted his bum in a friendly manner.

Harry put a small parcel on the table and opened it. He took out some sort of sticky pull-apart pastry and another bottle with clear liquid in it. Hermione picked up the bottle.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Extra-hydrating water,” Luna said, taking the bottle.

“I asked Harry to bring it since I don’t drink much and don’t have much tolerance. I don’t want to get dehydrated if I drink.”

Hermione looked at the bottle doubtfully.

“I didn’t know it was possible to make extra hydrating water.”

“I didn’t either, but if it helps, I’m all for it,” Harry said.

“Is everyone planning on getting drunk?” Hermione asked. She knew she sounded judging and she hated herself for it.

“I am,” Ginny said and Harry see-sawed his hand.

“I’m not planning on it, but I also wanted to prepare for it,” Luna said.

Hermione laughed and grabbed a glass. She poured a shot of the anise liqueur in it and the scent of liquorice filled the room. She downed it quickly, then poured a second.

“Ugh, that smell,” Ginny said.

“Well, I’m not planning on kissing you, so as long as Harry doesn’t have any, you’re all good,” Hermione said and it broke the ice. Soon they were all sitting on the couch and the armchair and chatting. Hermione felt a warm glow that was partly alcohol and partly just being with friends.

“So, Neville and Hannah, huh?” Ginny asked.

“I did not see that coming,” Harry said. “I never knew she was interested in him and I always thought he was interested in Luna.”

“No, it was all just sex and comforting each other,” Luna said and laughed.

“I wouldn’t have objected to more, but I think he was already thinking of Hannah or someone else.”

“Not me,” Ginny said and laughed also.

“Yeah, he knew you were hot for me,” Harry said and kissed Ginny. She returned it enthusiastically. Hermione turned to Luna and stuck out her tongue and swirled it around. Luna knew she was making fun of the way Harry was kissing Ginny and laughed. Harry and Ginny broke apart and looked at Luna, who’d already sat back innocently.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Hermione said, but Luna stuck her tongue back out and swirled it around. Harry blushed, but Ginny laughed.

“Jealous? Want Harry’s tongue in your mouth, too?” she asked half-teasing.

“Sure,” Luna said and leaned forward. Harry pulled away, but then Ginny pushed him and he was kissing Luna. Now Hermione made the same tongue motion to Ginny and Ginny laughed. Harry and Luna broke apart. It had been a very short kiss.

“Well?” Ginny asked.

“Mmm, don’t take this wrong, Harry, but it wasn’t a very good kiss.” Luna laughed and wiped her lips.

Harry laughed also.

“No, not a good kiss. I’d be lying if I said I never thought about kissing you, but that was before…” He looked at Ginny.

“I understand. I feel the same. I think maybe we had a chance, but it passed because I wasn’t ready and you had your eye on someone else.” She pointed at Ginny.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed and sat back next to Ginny again and put his arm around her.

“What about you two? I saw you coming out of Hermione’s room when we came in?” His tone was light and teasing.

“We were just talking,” Luna said and Hermione thought it was a half-lie and the one and half lies she’d heard from Luna today still shocked her. She lowered her head and swirled her ice-water.

“Yeah, we were just talking,” Hermione said, willing a blush to not give her away.

Ginny sensed the awkwardness and turned the conversation to Quidditch. Harry didn’t notice it being redirected and started talking about Quidditch also. Hermione met Luna’s eyes and Luna winked at her enigmatically.

True to her word, Ginny did get drunk. Hermione was warm and slow, just on the edge of drunk and she thought Harry was, too. Luna seemed the worst off of all of them. She’d had several drinks and hadn’t eaten much. She was loud and flushed. She’d spilled wine on her shirt and just dabbed at it. When Harry had offered to clean it up, she’d waved him off.

“I’ll take care of it later.” Her voice was just a bit slurred.

She went back for another glass of wine, and Hermione went with her. She closed her hand over Luna’s wrist.

“I don’t think you should drink more unless you eat some and have some water.”

Luna’s face went red and Hermione thought she might yell, but she closed her eyes and nodded.

Hermione patted Luna’s arm. “Sit down. I’ll get it for you.”

Luna sat back down next to Harry, who pulled her into him. He had Ginny pressed on one side and Luna on the other. Hermione made Luna a pimiento cheese sandwich, something she knew Luna loved and poured her a glass of the ‘extra-hydrating’ water. She sat them both on the table in front of Luna.

“Thanks, love,” Luna said and then corrected herself, “uhh…Hermione.”

“You’re welcome, love…uhh…Luna,” Hermione joked and it broke the small tension. Ginny got more plastered and she had to go lay down on Luna’s bed. Harry went with her to watch over her. Luna stayed on the couch and Hermione on the armchair.

“That was fun,” Luna said, her words no longer slurred.

“Yeah. Do you think Ginny’ll be okay?” Hermione asked and Luna nodded.

“She’s got Harry with her and he’s not too drunk.” Luna patted the cushion next to her and Hermione sat next to her. Luna rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder. A moment later, she began to snore. Hermione laughed and Luna snorted awake.

“Go sleep in my bed, and I’ll clean up.” Hermione patted Luna’s leg. Luna stood and went to Hermione’s room. Just before she could close the door, Crookshanks raced out. Hermione fed him and while he was eating, she put everything away. She briefly considered sleeping on the couch, but then thought her bed was more comfortable and besides, she’d slept in the same bed with Luna before. When she went into her room, Luna was on her stomach on top of the comforter. She’d stripped down to her bra and knickers and shoes. Hermione noticed the shoes and sighed. Hermione treated the stain on Luna’s shirt with a solution she took from her desk, then she took off her shoes and socks, and slid off her trousers and shirt. She unhooked her bra, considered putting on one of Ron’s sleep shirts, then didn’t. She climbed under the blanket and comforter and tapped Luna who stirred.

“You’ll get cold, come under the blankets.”

Luna mumbled, maybe half-awake at most and slid over so Hermione could cover her. When she was under the blankets with her, Hermione felt the heat from Luna’s body and smelled Luna: sweat, alcohol, a bit of lavender and something else…musk maybe. Luna’s breathing eased again and Hermione let it lull her to sleep.

Harry’s lips slid down her stomach to the hem of her jeans. He looked up and saw something, but Hermione didn’t know what. He unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped them. He started to slide her hands inside them when Hermione pushed him away. She knew she was in Luna’s dream and suddenly knew Luna was aware of her.

“Not Harry,” Hermione whispered but what came out was Luna’s voice.

“Okay,” Luna said and Harry changed, grew taller and more muscled, less lean. Neville’s blond hair was resting on her stomach now instead of Harry’s messy black tangles.

“All right?” he asked, meeting Hermione’s eyes. She understood she was in Luna’s body again.

“Yes,” she whispered and Luna said, “Oh, yes.”

Neville slid his hand into her jeans and the pressure of his hand felt so good…so good…

“I…” Hermione said to Luna.

“You don’t have to stay, but I don’t mind if you do.” Luna’s voice tickled her ear like she was next to her instead of subsuming her.

“I…I want to stay.”

She stayed. Neville and Luna moved with the surety of lovers who’d shared each other before. His lips and hands on Luna completed Hermione the same way. When they made love, she made love to him, too, but also to Luna even though she was Luna. Neville touched her and kissed her and filled her. For just a second, he morphed to Ron, but Luna pushed him back to Neville.

She woke up, sweltering in the blankets, sweating. Luna opened her eyes and spun in Hermione’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione began. Luna held a finger to her lips.

“I told you that you could stay.” She smiled.

“It was the nicest dream that we’ve shared for sure.” She leaned forward to kiss Hermione but Hermione pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated.

“Not for sharing the dream, but for leading you on, maybe.”

Luna pulled back.

“You don’t want this?” Luna asked. Hermione heard a tinge of hurt in it that made her think of Parvati.

“I’m not sure what I want. I don’t want to hide. If we do have something, I want it to be out in the open, but I’m not sure I’m ready for it, no matter what I told Parvati. I’m not sure if I’m ready to move on from Ron. I’m just not sure. I do like you, Luna, but I don’t want to be your lover unless I can commit to it. You deserve more. I deserve more. We both deserve to have someone love us who loves us and I’m not sure I can give that to you.”

“I can’t pretend, I think I love you, Hermione, but if you need to wait, I’ll wait. Not forever, but I’ll wait until you’re sure. Maybe until then we shouldn’t share dreams if we can help it.” She leaned forward quickly and kissed Hermione’s forehead.

“Yeah, okay,” Hermione said.

Luna slid out of the bed and dressed. She noticed the spot on her shirt had been cleaned and smiled at it. She left without saying anything more. Hermione heard Harry and Ginny’s voices from the sitting room. She pulled the covers back over herself and lay there. The bed smelled like Luna and Hermione and sex. Hermione was still aroused from the dream and when she closed her eyes, she felt herself back in Luna’s body with Neville inside of her. She wanted release, but also knew that three of her friends were on the other side of the door and decided a cold shower would work just as well, even if it wouldn’t be as satisfying. She sighed, slid out of bed, changed her damp knickers and put on a bathrobe. She gathered up fresh clothes and opened the door.

Ginny sat on the couch, with a hangover potion in her hands. Harry was putting pastry on a plate and Luna was pouring out some more of the ‘extra hydrating water’. They all looked at Hermione when she came out.

“I’m going to go shower,” she said and scurried off to the bathroom. She felt their eyes on them the whole time. The cold shower washed away the rest of the heat of the shared dream and she dressed and went back. Harry and Ginny had gone and only Luna was still there. She handed Hermione a glass of water.

“Want to talk?” she asked.

Hermione shook her head and Luna didn’t push it.

#hp femslash #harry potter fanfiction #luna x hermione #hermione x luna #dreams

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jostepherjoestar · 4 years

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Can I ask what would happen if the yakuza La Squadra member got drunk with majima and began singing 24 hour Cinderella (full costume and all) as the team watch confused and laughing their asses off and kiryu kinda just enjoying the reunion

I can only imagine La Squadra’s reaction when their yakuza La Squadra member who’s normally serious and kinda stoic starts singing and dancing with majima in flashy outfits that look like the 80’s puked on them

Former Yakuza La Squadra member letting loose at karaoke

When two anons think alike and cozy is loving this idea, it must happen because wow this is just *chefs kiss* thank you for asking my dearies 💖✨(we’re all allowed to call them oushi-chan fyi 😎, this was so fun to write so it’s a bit longer than expected) 24 hour cinderella is the song they sing

CW: excessive alcohol use, embarrassingly wholesome fun

Majima and Kiryu’s visit was sadly coming to an end. Their week spent in Napoli walking around with their old friend brought them some mindless new adventure that for once didn’t include having to ward off punks every street corner. It felt refreshing, their former colleague glad to show them around whenever they had the time, even spending afternoons with their current teammates and the guests. The men had slowly began bonding among them, the power of temporary friendship was not one bound by language barriers. Even though the stand users were experienced fighters, Kiryu and Majima had tips to lend for more streetwise moves which the group gladly accepted.

For their last night in Italy Majima had requested karaoke, it had become quite the fad overseas now. New karaoke bars popping up all over town carrying the cheesiest hits and unknown gems. Begrudgingly oushi-chan booked their room, it would be cramped with ten muscled humans packed in the small room, but they’d all grown a lot closer over time. It seemed like the visit did them good, opening up more about their past and letting their guard down, even if it was just a smidge. But nothing had completely broken that stoic façade just yet. It made the team of assassins even more interested in the life of their latest team member. Risotto knew how annoying it could be to have people prying at the gates, begging them to open up, so after his prank of calling them oushi-chan he opted to let them be and just observe.

The alcohol was flowing like waterfalls in rainy season, luckily for them they kept it at one kind, some good old Sambuca making the room stink of anise. Every shot taken irrupting groans and smacking lips as everyone had begun to loosen up. Formaggio and Illuso were actually getting along for once, even singing a duet together, the quality of their singing varying to whoever you asked. Prosciutto had brought along playing cards so they could all play a game or two between songs, bringing the mood up to a high tension. Whoever lost had to go up there and sing as punishment. Kiryu had been quite good at playing, gladly avoiding having to embarrass himself even though he’d been indulging in the Italian liqueur, sure he’d remember the smell forever. Risotto just seemed to enjoy the company and the bustling room that was loud enough without music filling it, carefully sipping his drink, he never really liked to get overtly wasted. Ghiaccio had been scowling all throughout the game, knee bouncing up and down in anticipation. If he were to lose, his biggest tantrum yet would take place, he was under no circumstances going to sing.

Unfortunately for oushi-chan, they were losing quite badly, all the way at the bottom followed by an unlucky Majima, who had slung his arm around Melone. They’d become quite familiar over the span of the visit; always glad to get into a fight. Both way over their alcohol intake, swaying every so often as Melone tricked him into playing the worst card possible by pointing it out and encouragingly nodding. With an exasperated groan the stoic drunk slammed their cards down, knowing the punishment that followed. Majima only grew a mischievous grin as he started digging behind him on the cushioned booth. “Here oushi-chan, I thought I’d return it to you.” he handed a folded jacket over, the iridescent lapels glinting in the low light while their eyes widened as they recognised it. “Majima... you didn’t.” a soft, bordering on emotional, glint of nostalgia hazing their eyes. The Sambuca had taken its toll, letting al inhibitions take a backseat as they accepted the jacket they so loved to dance around in on drunk nights like these. Of course only them and Majima knew of it, not another soul had seen them executing their trained choreographies. It still smelled like smoke and apple flavoured sake as they put it on, nodding to Majima who had surprisingly brought along his own matching cropped sparkly jacket, like he’d been planning on this all along. It had been his plan, his most fond memories of any kind were having mindless fun with his beloved oushi-chan.

The rest of the group had begun egging them on, nagging for the two losers to get up front and engage in their retribution. Prosciutto noticed the tacky matching jackets, nudging his colleagues to pay attention as he barely contained a cackle. All eyes were on them, a devious grin on Illuso’s and Melone’s faces as they admired the shell oushi-chan crept out of as they looked through the song choices. Luckily for the two performers, their favourite song had become a cult classic in a few select European countries, Italy including. The serious frowned brows on their face didn’t match the sparkly outfit, Risotto fully intrigued at what was to follow, hardly even trying to conceal his amusement.

The clammy room was filled with hushed voices trying to make sense of the two in front, looking like an idol duo preparing for their concert, heads down, mics in hand. “Sta' zitto!” the former yakuza’s voice commanded the room as the men shut up, Kiryu knowing Majima’s usual performances already anticipating a great show, a slight smirk on his lips. As the nostalgic corny 80′s synths started, their heads snapped up, commencing their show. Formaggio instantly cackled in shock, slapping Pesci’s arm to assure him he was seeing this as well, the green tufted man’s mouth slack as he took in the show. As they began singing, voices harmonising beautifully and not even missing a beat, the team of assassins were perplexed by the smile adorning their teammate’s face. They beamed confidence, those fiery eyes they’d seen in battle now equipped as a different weapon. Ghiaccio couldn’t contain his smirk either, never had he expected to witness this display. The dimple on Risotto’s cheek now at full potential when their usually stoic underling shot him a wink during their performance. The duo slid over their small stage, energetic moves from side to side while still perfectly singing along. How many times have they done this before, a question on everyone’s minds. Kiryu wasn’t even surprised, he knew those two were close, knowing that their fights weren’t the only bonding they were doing.

As the two would-be-idols finished up, resting in their final pose while catching their breaths, their audience broke out in cheers and applause. “How did you guys do that?!” Formaggio yelled as he took their teammate under his shoulder, wobbling from his drunken state. They sat down, taking big gulps of water to satiate their thirst from performing, their stoic face making a comeback as the complements overlapped, not even being clear who was saying what. Melone slinking back next to Majima giving him a double thumbs up, admiring how great he did, while the other man coyly rubbed his neck shooting Kiryu a look who just smirked back telling him to handle this himself. “You will never see me do this again and I hope you all forget by morning.” oushi-chan slurred, wiping their mouth with the jacket. They didn’t regret the performance, it felt freeing to let loose again, especially with their old friend, but it was still embarrassing to have done it in front of the team knowing they’d tease later on.

After a lot of chatter, the room was starting to quiet down again as the night was coming to an end. A lazy game of cards being played as some others conversed among themselves, Kiryu and Majima out for a smoke with Prosciutto. Risotto slid over next to the sleepy idol who’d been leaning their head against the soft cushioned booth, halfway to dreamland. “That was really impressive, never saw that coming.” Risotto’s deep voice snapped them out of the stupor, their face only flushing more than previously. “You’re not blackout drunk are you?” they whispered trying to focus on their capo who was moving around their blurry vision. “Not even close.” he smirked, laying a compassionate hand on their shoulder. “Don’t worry, you can beat the memories out of them later.” he joked trying to put them at ease with the threatening suggestion. “That’s great.” yawning as their eyes fluttered closed again, the alcohol and activity having taken its toll. All the while oushi-chan slowly fell forward, hitting Risotto’s chest and accepting the comforting pillow it made. His plush muscles formed a very nice resting place for the exhausted drunk. The ambience of the room was like white noise humming them to sleep, a small satisfied groan coming from them as Risotto let them rest, taking another sip of his drink, glad to have seen a different side of his latest member.

#cozy ask #jjba x reader #jjba fic #la squadra x reader #risotto x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #jjba imagines #jjba x y/n #yakuza

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itsmypeach13 · 4 years

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[Please welcome my first ever fanfic series chapter 1🤭The story contains of f/f relationships, centres around Asassins Creed Valhalla women female Eivor, Soma Jarlskona(the Bear Heart is my own nickname I gave her will be often used 😁), Randvi, Valka and other fictional characters. It is for +18 readership as it may contain explicit language, drinking, sexual intercourses, fighting in battles. Please bare these in mind before reading.]

TALES OF THE BEAR-HEART:SOMA

CHAPTER I.

A Letter from the Wolf-Kissed

Soma's POV:

I opened my eyes swiftly , my head was heavy with the thoughts swirling inside after a sleepless night. A warming beam of light brightened my room as the sun was rising slowly outside. I turned to my side and looked at the empty side of the bed. I ran my fingers slowly on the cold pillow and let out a sigh. It doesn't matter how many girls of Gratenbridgeshire offered themselves to me , this place belongs to Eivor. Well, only in my dreams..she haunts me like a she-wolf hunrgry to taste meat and blood. And I would always face this wolf, giving in and letting my walls down for her, but this world was apart from reality.

I had a jarldom to rule and protect my people, today was no different either. Just when I finished dressing up I heard knocking on the door like a bear would rant at me from outside.

'Splendid morning Soma, I know you had fun with that blonde amazon last night, I came to make sure we arrive on time , so get your ass out here.'- Revna greeted me with her raspy voice. She was my right hand in ruling the town , my finest warrior and my best friend in one tall, brunette woman. She was even taller then Eivor and always carried two hammers on her sides. Her weapons put many fine men in the grave , Revna was a beast on the battlefield, but a big hearted puppy to her loved ones. She and I grew closer after Birna left us, I needed somebody to trust.

'You think yourself a seeress of all.I haven't slept a bit, even without any ladies invited in my bed-I stepped out of the door grinning, and placed my hand on her shoulder.' Don't worry my friend, Cheolbert must be still sleeping like a baby.

We both headed to the longhouse as Cheolbert arrived late at night and asked an assemby in the morning. I didn't know what was it about, so I felt curious to know. I peaked towards the main entrance seeing jarls arriving on horseback from the neighbouring jarldoms. It must be either a wedding or war ahead of us, I thought to myself.

'What is on your mind Soma? You seem a bit worn-out this morning.-Revna questioned me by gently pushing my right arm. I didn't want to tell her the truth , that Eivor was the cause of my insomnia.

'Everything is fine Revna , it was full moon yesterday and you know well I can't sleep when it comes'-I assured my shield maiden. 'We have a long day ahead of us, I count on you if we have to fight side by side again.'

Revna silently nodded and hurried to the front of the assembly. The longhouse was filled with people, curious eyes were glued to Cheolbert who stepped in , wearing a glorious red and white cloak and black learher tunic. Our eyes met and he signalled me he wanted to speak in private at the side first.

We both went to the map room, his blue eyes were narrow and mysterious. I gave him a welcoming hug.

'Cheolbert my dear friend, I swear you've grown a feet since we last met.'-I teased.

' Soma, good to meet again, I wish the circumstances were different.'

'What happened? '-I grew impatient and started walking up and down.

'Eivor told me to hand over this letter to you first'.-he held out a letter with a raven seal. I turned my back so that he can't see my face, and I felt the world around me spin. Is she in trouble? Is she alright?

Dear Soma,

I write you in haste now, as your rotten friend Brina , whom you kept so close to your heart as a pet has betrayed all of us. She is a serpent who slyly earned your trust. She got married to Ivarr the Boneless and they sworn revenge on both Ravensthorpe and Gratenbridgeshire. Ivarr wants to be king of this continent...son is like farher. Their fleet is now close to us, we must unite our men and act swiftly. Please come as fast as you can to Ravensthorpe. I already informed your neighbours, I sent Cheolbert to gather all the men at Gratenbridgeshire.

When we win there will be a cause of celebration I sware to you dear. With all my thanks.

Eivor the Wolf-Kissed

My heart grew heavy with disappointment and sadness over hearing what Birna brought for our people. After all I had two friends betray me, I will cut the throat of this traitor too I swore to myself.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks as the word 'dear' was ringing like a bell in my head. The wolf could play mind games with me even if she wasn't here.

The assemby was quick, I told my people to gather every man to fight for the woman who made this place a safe home for us. I climbed up to my black mare after putting on my silver and blue gear and dictated a rushed tempo for our horses on the way to Ravensthorpe, so our army arrived the same afternoon. I held my back tightly and confident in my straddle to show people a firm leader. As we rode closer to the gates a flood of excitement gripped my stomach. It was funny because I feared not the bloodshed of war or heavy strikes of axes, but seeing the deep blue eyes of Eivor again. Too afraid what I would see in the reflection of her endless iris. Just when I was confident enough to let the idea of the two of us together go , I knew it well the depth of her eyes will eat me alive again. Somehow Freya threads our paths in the same direction? Why does she condemned me to suffering?

***

As I got off my mare at the entrance of the longhouse Valka humbly walked up to me and greeted with a tusk of her best mead. It was a secret recipe I was obsessed with so Eivor sometimes sent a few barrells to me. Valka made the sweet liquid with a hint of star anise and petals of orange jasmine.

'Now that you are finally here the universe is balanced'- she winked handing over the mead. I had no idea what she mean by that, but I gratefully accepted and took a long shot.

'Thanks Valka, I am happy to see my favourite seeress. -I winked at her and slightly raised my tusk.' May this give me strength and fortune on the battlefield.

'Freya will have her hand on your shoulder , she has plans with you.'

This conversation made me suspicious Valka had a vision of the future and it seems I am the part of it. Anyhow, I was sure of one thing, my duty is to be here and help.

'I can't wait to fulfill my destiny, my friend. Whatever the future holds I am ready to take it in.'

In that moment Eivor rushed out of the longhouse seeming quite annoyed with something her rough hands forming into fists. She looked astonishing, deadly in her black and gold armor, the axe of her father as a token swagged on her side. Even if it was a brief moment, I saw her eyes widened at the sight of me, her look pierced into my soul when she smirked at me. She was saying without words that she was grateful that I came and trusted me, this filled my heart with warmth and my chest swelled.

'Dear Soma' -she spoke with her deep, raspy voice that was stealing my sanity every time I heard her close.'I knew you would come and aid us in the moment of need.'-she took my right hand for a moment then let it fall back.

'You know I'll always be there like a true friend. It's my pleasure.-Eivor's smile ended at the word friend, but people around us were staring and we weren't more than that behind their backs either.

To cut off our slightly awkward meeting, Randvi stormed out of the wooden bulding her cheeks burning, and arms folded. She looked like a child who didn't get the piece of cake. I wondered what happened between those two in there. In the second she caught a glipse of me and Eivor standing quite close , Randvi joined between us and politely thanked me to bring a huge force here. She was a perfect diplomat and an impeccable service around me after that.She arranged a dinner for only the leaders and jarls to lay out the plan for tomorrow's battle. We decided to surprise Birna and Ivarr and hide our best archers in the woods until they ride towards the gates. I must admit I can see now why Eivor loves Randvi. The copper-haired woman was not only beautiful with soft features, but intelligent in a way that humiliated the man leaders here.

It felt extremely hard to look at Randvi and listen to the details as I felt my helpless jealousy hit me like a wave. It angered me how Eivor drunk every word she uttered her eyes sometimes wandered lover than Randvi's lips.

After dinner I wanted to retreat to my tent as soon as possible , the sight of Eivor and Randvi in the same room sickened me. Before I could do that Randvi came to me with a letter.

'Soma, wait. Let me give this letter to you.' she instructed quickly.

'Who is it from?'-I enquired furrowing my brows with second guessing.

'It's uh..from me actually...-she hesitated then blurted out' there are certain things you better read than hear me say it out loud.'

This fucking woman had guts to speak to me like that..I knew it was intently personal. She must have heard rumors of Eivor's visits to me sometimes, but hardly knew the wolf was only hers not mine for a single bit.

'How thoughtful of you. The rumors are true , you really have balls in spite of being a shieldmaid. I will read your bedtime story later, now if you excuse me.' Randvi 0-Soma 1. Every inch of me wanted to tear off she seal and read it right away but I waited until I was left alone in the provacy of my tent.

Jarl Soma,

Please let me be honest and plain with you. Eivor's invite here was merely political. I know more than anyone how she behaves around women to get what she wants. I have firsthand experience in that. But you have to know Eivor doesn't look at you like a woman, she told me she sees a long lost older sister in you. If I were you, I would think twice what I let people gossip about and make a fool of myself.

Randvi

In the second I finished reading I crumpled the piece of paper and thowed behind my back. Her words were agressive and protective just like a female wolf and I could feel Randvi's bite marks on my neck.

I decided not to believe anything until I asked Eivor.. oh but how could I do that? The wolf would realise I cared about her in a different way, and I couldn't let that happen until she gives me something. A flickering sign in the hollowing darkness I am living in.

I decided to visit Valka and have drinks together, I desperately needed somebody to keep my mind of this mess I became part of.

***

The little hut stood with watchful eyes on the slight hill close to the village. There were died flowers hanged outside and a sweet smoky and flowery scent filled my nostrils. As I get close I recognized Valka now wearing a red gown with hood on her head. She looked like Freya preparing a love potion as she was pouring something in a tusk and put some petals on the top.

'Good Evening Valka.. I hope you don't mind my late night visit. I just needed some of your special mead I guess and my feet brought me here' I stared to her fiery reddish brow eyes. She had neat tattos on her face forming dots and gentle marks on her smooth skin.

'I knew you would come tonight, so I prepared this mead with some herbs that will rock you in a pleasant slumber.'she handed over the tusk , the liquid looked like shiny rubies.

'How is that you always know better what I need than myself?-I smirked at her and found comforting in her eyes.

'A gift from the gods my lady-her eyes had a mysterious spark in them, a little dimple formed on her face from smiling.

'Come sit with me inside, it is getting cold out here.'

I nodded and followed the seeress into the firm hut, theought the entrance ornamented with animal bones and more dried flowers.

There was a freshly lit fire inside warming up my limbs and cheeks. It also colored the space with wrath orange that played on our faces like the sunset.

'Now tell me, what makes your heart heavy?'-she asked with care.

'I think I feel a bond to Eivor that is irrational and grows between us every time we meet. It is like an invisible string pulls me towards her maybe it's the wish of the Gods.-I sipped bitterly in the mead , a slight soothing feeling ran through my body.

'We both know our fate is inevitable, so you have to show what's inside your heart first.' -Valka looked deeply in my eyes. -You are Soma, our fearless Bear warrior sent by Freya to our aid and to fight on Eivor's side.

'Randvi told me Eivor loves me with a sisterly care.. I image she is right., look at her, she could have anybody.

'Don't listen to Randvi , she is hurt and trapped in her own feeling of helplessness. If she can't have Eivor accepted by the public, then nobody can'-Valka nodded and squuezed my hand.

'I just can't trust people anymore Valka. My love towards people turned into a bitter storm inside me.-Except for Revna, I couldn't trust a soul, not even Eivor. She didn't reveal her hidden side to me.

'Just talk to her in the morning, it will ease your turmoil Soma.-she winked and headed to bed. To my utter surprise she started to undress in front of my sleepy eyes, they popped in surprise no matter the mead.

Valka's toned back was shining under the wrath orange fireligt, she revealed her impeccably and naked body.

'Good night Valka, I have to get some sleep now. Thank...you...for uh.. everything!' I mumbled to her and hurried to my hut until I was able to stand still. Before sleep my head was filled with Eivor's piercing eyes and... I was a bit surprised but Valka's slender back flashed through as well. Damn, this woman was also fine. Like all women!

My eyelids felt to heavy , soon enough I was fast asleep like a newborn baby.

#fanfiction #eivor #ac eivor #eivor wolfkissed #female eivor #ac valhalla #lady eivor #assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #ac soma #somabearheart #soma jarlskona #eivor x soma #ac valhalla fanfic

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shutupandshipit · 3 years

Text

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.15

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 15/20

Previously <- Chapter 14: Fighting

Chapter 16: Heats and Ruts -> Next

Chapter 15: Gross Holiday Activities

Izuku was lying in bed staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted, had been exhausted for the entire week. No one had warned him just how much presenting would take out of him, let alone just how terrible going through heat would be. That’s not something they talk about in school. They talk about the biological mechanisms of why secondary genders exist. About how wonderful and beautiful heats and ruts were. ‘They help us create life,’ he remembered his teacher intoning.

After this first heat, he didn’t think they were all people had made them out to be.

The only good thing that came from presenting was that if Katsuki wanted to return to partner skate one day, they could still be partners. Izuku could only hope that one day Katsuki would want to.

A soft knock tapped at his door.

The person didn’t wait for him to reply before pushing open the door. Cinnamon and star anise and sugar wafted towards him, and Izuku knew without looking who had entered his room. His scent had never been so strong before, but it was so very familiar.

“Kacchan?” he mumbled, turning to look at the newly presented alpha where he stood in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Get dressed,” he said as answer.

“I’m tired, Kacchan,” Izuku said even as he slowly pulled back the covers and slid his feet to the floor. He felt weak like even if he stood up his legs wouldn’t be able to hold his weight. Sighing heavily, he scrubbed at his eyes. “How did you get in? I didn’t think Mom would let you in since…” He trailed off, eyes on his toes as he curled and uncurled them.

“You really think Auntie would let me being an alpha change her opinion of me?” Katsuki crossed his arms, leaning against the very noticeably open door. Normally, when he came over, Katsuki would come in and immediately close the door. Either Inko had talked to him, or he was already conducting himself in a way that wouldn’t make Inko’s opinion change.

It made Izuku sad. Things would never be the same for them from here on out. Everything was going to change no matter how hard he fought against it.

Izuku shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised.” He didn’t move.

“Are you going to get up or am I going to just go on my own?” Katsuki snapped, impatience in his voice, but also the same exhaustion Izuku was harboring.

“Where are we going?”

“The outdoor rink opened today. You hate missing the first day.”

Katsuki didn’t have to say anymore. Izuku heaved himself out of bed with a groan, and hurried to find something clean-ish to pull on. Something that didn’t smell overwhelmingly of his heat. On their way out, Izuku’s hand trapped in Katsuki’s, he called, “We’re going to the outdoor rink, Mom!”

Inko shuffled out of the kitchen with a small bag, handing it to Katsuki. Miso soup or green tea that she always gave them before they went out on cold winter days. “Be safe, you two. Mitsuki is coming with you?” she asked, chaffing her hands together worriedly.

Katsuki nodded, face looking more severe than ever with the deep black bags beneath his eyes. “She’s waiting in the car.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you two in a little bit. Call if you won’t make it back for dinner, baby.” With that, she hugged Izuku tightly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

When they slid into the backseat of the car, Mitsuki and Masaru turned to smile at Izuku. “How are you feeling, Izuku?” Masaru asked conversationally as Mitsuki turned back around to watch the road, “You’ve had a long week just like Katsuki, haven’t you?”

Izuku nodded, tightening his fingers around Katsuki’s. “It was really tiring, but I’m happy to be out of the house.”

“We’re glad to help. Katsuki missed you.” Masaru smiled at his son, but Katsuki had propped his chin in his hand to stare out the window. He turned back around, leaving the boys to their solitude.

There weren’t as many people on the ice when they got there than Izuku had expected. Probably it had to do with how early in the holiday season it was and maybe even that it was the first day the rink was open. Silently, they shoved their feet in the shitty skates that the rink offered while Mitsuki and Masaru wandered off to check out the stalls close by.

When Izuku finally stepped out onto the ice, it felt as if he hadn’t in months. It was a relief. Being on the ice was easy. Being on the ice was uncomplicated. Being on the ice meant being with Katsuki, and Katsuki was one of the few constants in his life.

They skated together for hours. Round and round and round despite the eyes that found them, tracked them. Children who were newly presented had a stronger, more pungent scent. They received more attention, especially newly presented omegas. Over the week, Izuku had dreaded having to go back out in public remembering all of the omegas on the team who had presented before him and the unrelenting, mostly unwanted attentions they’d received. He worried about the eyes that would follow him and the noses that would catch his scent.

But being out with Katsuki made it easy. After a while, the feel of those eyes fell away, and it was just the two of them.

When they finally left the ice, sweaty and red faced and shaky from exertion, Mitsuki handed them food to share and Izuku said, “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“For what?” Katsuki grunted, cheek stuffed full with takoyaki as he looked out over the crowd. His eyes were flat, not as shiny as they usually were. Lacking his excitement for life.

“Asking me to come out. I was… I was scared about being in public again,” Izuku whispered, holding the food tray in both hands, but not taking any for himself. He couldn’t look at Katsuki, his blush moving from exertion to embarrassment.

“Yeah, well, I was just tired of being inside,” Katsuki muttered, but even as he spoke, his scent told another story. It would take some time before he learned to control his scent enough that his emotions didn’t scream out through his scent.

For now though, it was nice to know exactly what he was really feeling, what he would refuse to say. Izuku smiled. “Thank you anyway.”

…..

"Deku, you should just talk to him," Ochako told him sternly.

Izuku pointedly did not look at her, focussing on his breathing as they jogged along somewhere in the middle of the team. Ochako wasn't a slow runner, but she wasn't as fast as Katsuki. Since their argument three days ago though, Izuku hadn't even looked at Katsuki with the insurmountable guilt he was harboring. He shouldn’t have let Katsuki’s pre-rut get the better of him, but his body seemed bound and determined to no longer be his friend. The same went for his omega who had been sulking the entire time.

Neither of them had even showed up to practice the past two days and yesterday's practice had been the most strained it had ever been, much to Aizawa's irritation and Toshinori's disappointment. Both Izuku and Katsuki had separately refused to touch the ice with the other on it, and had been relegated to floor work in separate studios. Toshinori had apologized to Izuki for making things worse which had only served to inflate his guilt.

The anger had eventually evaporated, and now the rational part of Izuku's brain had come back online. That didn't keep every other part of him from moaning that he'd royally fucked everything up. There was no way Katsuki would ever forgive him for what he’d said.

"Ignoring me isn't going to stop me from talking about this," Ochako warned, still keeping stride beside him even as her breath started to falter and grow heavier, "You two are being absolutely ridiculous."

"You have to admit, this is par the course for them," Todoroki murmured on Izuku's other side.

Izuku sighed. "Not you too, Todoroki."

Todorki somehow managed to shrug while still swinging his arms. "I agree with her. You should just talk."

Again, Izuku sighed, but heavier this time. Heavy enough to interrupt his breathing and force him to adjust his breath again. "You didn't see or hear how he reacted. It'll be a miracle if he ever even looks at me again."

"Well then, you have a fairy godmother because it's going to happen sooner than you think," Uraraka huffed, "Especially if you just. Talk. To. Him."

Finally, Izuku snapped his eyes to her, frustrated and feeling like garbage and she was just making it worse. "You don't get it, Chako! You don't know our history! It's not that simple!"

"Because you don't talk to us about it!" she shouted back, glaring at him fiercely. Far ahead of them, Iida turned a glance over his shoulder and began to slow.

"Because it hurts to talk about!"

Uraraka grabbed his arm, jerking him to a stop and pulling him away towards the side of the trail. Ahead of them, Todoroki kept running and grabbed Iida’s bicep to keep him moving. For several long moments, both of them caught their breath and stared at their feet. Only when the last of their teammates had passed did they speak.

"I'm sorry," Izuku whispered, eyes downcast and tear filled, "I didn't mean to yell at you."

"Well, you did," Uraraka said, voice still sharp around the edges, but normal volume now, "We're friends, Deku, but no one gets a pass for yelling at me. Not even you."

The tears spilled over, dripping off the tip of his nose. He shielded his face from view with a hand and scrubbed at his tears with the other. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please don't hate me. I can't have another friend hating me," he gasped.

Uraraka's sigh ruffled his hair. "I don't hate you and neither does Bakugou, but you were yelling at me when I'm trying to help you. Not only that, but you're holding stuff against me that I don't know about because you've never talked to us about it. I'm going to be blunt here, both you and Bakugou clearly have a lot of unresolved trauma from when you were younger that's still fucking up a lot of stuff for the two of you. You would be so much better without all this extra baggage. You two are terrible at communicating, and whether you talk to me or not, you need to talk it out with him. That time on the podcast doesn't count as talking it out. That was just Bakugou being vulnerable with you for once, but there's way more than just that going on. And you know it."

Izuku was crying harder, using the tail of his scarf to mop up his tears. "I know, it's just so hard. I caused so many problems for Kacchan when we were younger. I was just so thankful to be able to skate with him again, but now… now… Now he won't even look at me because I threw everything back in his face. I'm a terrible person, and Kacchan deserves a better omega. An omega who can cook and clean and doesn't have to rely on suppressants to get him through life. Who didn't ruin two years of his life when we were kids."

Uraraka gripped his shoulder tightly, waiting until he raised his eyes to her to begin. "Talk to him. I truly believe the two of you think more alike than you realize. I'm sure he wants to talk to you too."

"What if he tells me to go away."

"He won’t."

"But what if-"

"He won't, Deku, trust me."

With a shaky nod, Izuku accepted the hug Uraraka offered him before they started back towards the rink. They walked the trail instead of running, allowing Izuku to get his tears under control. When they exited the trail, the rest of the team had already disappeared into the rink to change for their day.

Only Katsuki and Kirishima remained standing near the rink entrance. Kirishima was whispering to Katsuki, but stopped when Katsuki's eyes snapped to Izuku.

They stared at each other, Katsuki's eyes trailing over him before scrutinizing his face. After several long moments, Katsuki turned and disappeared into the rink.

Kirishima waited for them to draw closer before speaking. "I think I managed to convince him, but I'm not sure what he's planning," he said, speaking directly to Uraraka instead of Izuku.

Sighing, she nodded. "Good. The same goes for me." Looking to Izuku, she smiled and said, "Talk to him. I'm going to get changed and head to work."

…..

"Bro, Katsuki, just talk to him. Watching you mope is making me sad. Like, come on now. You're better than this." Kirishima jogged beside Katsuki, the only one managing to keep up with him out of his group of friends. Mina and Kaminari loped along behind them, their panting desperate breath loud on the quiet trail. Only Sero was further ahead of them, his long legs carrying him easily. The only reason he was ahead was because Katsuki wasn't putting any effort into the run. He was just too tired.

"No." His reply was flat, almost monotonous. After the fight with Izuku, all of his pre-rut anger had ebbed into something aching. All day, every day, his chest hurt with the sheer level of pining he was allowing himself to engage in. He’d even allowed his alpha to start constructing the nest for the omega that he’d been fighting against. Not that any omega needed an alpha to create a shitty version of something they had the instinct to build well, but it put Katsuki at ease knowing it was there if Izuku so-ever needed it. So, he wallowed and pined and didn’t cave to the desire to go knock on the omega’s apartment door just down the hallway from him.

"Man-"

"No. You didn't hear what he said to me. He doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm not going to force him to talk to me."

Kirishima sighed, turning his eyes towards the sky. "You don't know if he does or doesn't if you don't talk to him. He was angry. People say stuff they don't mean all the time when they're angry."

Katsuki glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "Everything he said was true."

"That doesn't mean he meant it."

"It does for Deku."

"You're being ridiculous," Kirishima said sternly, eyebrows furrowing, "You don't know if he regrets what he said or not. Sometimes I think you don't know Midoriya at all." He turned his eyes forward again, and Katsuki got the distinct feeling that his best friend was disappointed in him.

"I've known him way longer than any of you extras!"

"Which makes you biased. From the little you told me, a lot happened when you were preteens, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that your perspectives on each other are seriously skewed," Kirishima told him honestly, and Katsuki knew his best friend was frustrated with him because he hadn't looked at him. Not only that, but his ever present smile was missing. “It’s like you two hold each other on some insurmountable pedastals, but don’t realize that you’re just people.”

Katsuki didn't reply, seething under the truth of his words. But the thought of rejection made him nauseous. If he talked to Deku and the omega told him to fuck off, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Probably find another team all together.

He didn't want to do that though. He wanted to stay with Izuku even if the omega never looked at him ever again.

"How do I even start a conversation like that?" Katsuki muttered.

"Apologizing would be a good start." At the look on Katsuki's face, Kirishima sighed again. "You need to verbally talk to him, hash out everything between the two of you, but I guess you could start by getting on the ice with him. Maybe take him to do something that he'll really enjoy that he hasn't gotten a chance to do yet."

Several things popped into his head at once, but still he asked, "Like what?"

"I don’t know. You two have been seriously busy. Maybe take him to Downtown and go Christmas shopping and to see the lights. The Christmas tree is up, and they've opened the outdoor rink. He always gets excited during the holiday season."

Several distinct memories of making a day out of going to the outdoor rink on the first day of opening flitted through Katsuki’s mind. He scowled. "I hate all that gross Christmas shit. People are always way too loud and happy."

Kirishima laughed. "I know that, but this isn't about you. It's about him."

‘Fair point.’ Letting out a noncommittal grunt, Katsuki lengthened his stride and Kirishima whined as he started to fall behind. When they finally made it to the end of the trail, Katsuki waited for Kirishima, but also kept an eye out for Izuku to make sure the omega made it back.

Slowly, their teammates exited the path and started towards the rink. Izuku didn’t appear.

Kirishima shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing between Katsuki and the path. After ten more minutes, he started talking, chattering without stopping.

Crossing his arms, Katsuki clenched his fists against his sides to keep his growing panic known. Kirishima’s neverending chatter was doing nothing to help him. Mostly, it just pissed him off.

Long minutes pass, and it was only when Katsuki was seconds away from plunging back into the forest and Kirishima was saying, “I’m sure he’s alright, man, this trail is really safe. All the trails are. And it’s Midoriya. I think we would have heard something by now if he was in trouble,” that there was movement at the trail mouth.

Izuku and Uraraka stopped as they spotted Katsuki and Kirishima.

He dragged his eyes over Izuku, looking for any signs that he’d been hurt and allowing his panic to subside, before looking over the omega’s face. His nose, lips and eyes were red, and there were clear signs that he’d been crying.

‘Omega sad. Comfort omega. Omega should not have to cry,’ his alpha said, and while Katsuki agreed, he couldn’t just go up to Izuku and hold him.

Instead, he met Izuku’s eyes pointedly again before turning and heading into the rink. From there, he turned towards the ice instead of the locker rooms where the rest of the team was. It had been three days since he last set foot on the ice, and he hadn’t realized just how much a deviation from his usual schedule would affect him. Sleep had been scarce, and frustration had been high. Not frustration at Izuku, but at himself. Because after everything, he was still somehow managing to fuck things up. Not to say he hadn’t been upset with Izuku, but it hadn’t lasted. Everything he’d said had been the truth.

Katsuki pulled on his skates with purposeful, quick jerks. By the time the three stragglers made it in, he was already taking off his guards to step onto the ice. He paused, glancing over his shoulder to catch Izuku’s gaze before stepping out. He found his way to center ice before coming to a stop and turning to wait for Izuku to join him. If he was going to join him.

He hoped the invitation was obvious. He wasn’t good with words. Never had been and had the sneaking suspicion never would be.

Uraraka and Kirishima were smirking, and together, pushed Izuku towards the rink. He glanced back at them, but they just waved him forward again. Only when he stepped away did they scurry away themselves, heads bent close together.

Katsuki waited patiently as Izuku slowly pulled out his skates. Every few seconds as he pulled them on, he glanced up as if to make sure Katsuki hadn’t gone anywhere.

Finally, standing at the entrance to the rink, he simply stared at Katsuki with trepidation written all across his face.

Instead of opening his mouth, worried something nasty and venomous was just going to come tumbling out as it so often did, he held out his hand.

Izuku’s face opened with relief, and he scrubbed at his eyes before hurrying out to meet Katsuki. They didn’t stay on the ice long, silently gliding around the rink a few times without any purpose, just contenting each other with the others presence.

As if following an unspoken signal, they stepped off the ice together, gathered up their belongings and went outside.

Izuku waited beside Katsuki, bouncing from foot to foot and breathing into his cupped hands as he locked the doors to the rink. When Katsuki turned, Izuku handed over Katsuki’s bag, a small cautious smile evident over the top edge of his scarf. The scarf Katsuki had given him.

For the first time in days, Katsuki spoke to Izuku. “Put on your fucking gloves, dumbass, that’s what you’ve got ‘em for. Fuck.” He stepped in close to Izuku, rummaging around his coat pockets despite the omega’s sudden stiffness and stammering and red cheeks. Pulling out the gloves, he pulled them onto Izuku’s hands with quick efficiency. He clasped Izuku’s hands between his own. “Where’s your hat? I swear, you’d be dead without me.” He reached around Izuku, and this time easily found his beanie in the outside pocket of his bag.

All the gifts he’d given Izuku on his person all at the same time. Katsuki smirked, self-satisfied, after he jerked the hat down over Izuku’s ears, flipping the bunny ears out of the omega’s face and over the top of his head. “Better. Let’s go.” He turned, striding away before Izuku could answer.

“What? Where are we going? Our building is the other way.” Izuku scrambled to catch up, falling into step beside Katsuki and stepping close as the sidewalk began to fill with bodies. The closer they got to Downtown, the more crowded it became. The signs of life grew exponentially, and it wasn’t long before the streets were filled with lights and holiday music and the sound of people living and loving together.

Katsuki glanced over at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close so they took up less space on the sidewalk. Izuku didn’t react to the sudden proximity like Katsuki had expected him to, eyes darting from one store front to the next. His eyes were wide, colored lights reflecting brightly off his corneas.

Glancing away as heat built along his collar, he said, “We’re not going home just yet.”

“What are we doing then?” Izuku asked, and he caught the glance the omega sent him.

He also caught the bright red of Izuku’s cheeks. ‘It’s just the cold. It’s just the cold. It’s just the cold,’ he chanted to himself.

‘Omega still responds to us. Hope!’ his alpha retorted.

On a whim, Katsuki steered them into a store front so frilly and lit up that his eyeballs actually throbbed in his head. The store was familiar, one of his few haunting grounds that made coffee exactly to his standards. Warmth and the heavy scent of coffee greeted them, and he unwound himself from Izuku to usher him through the double doors. “We’re getting hot chocolate to start off.”

As soon as Izuku had a chance to scan the coffee shop, his arm shot into the air. Jovially, he called, “Hagakure! Ojirou! I didn’t know you worked here!”

Neither did Katsuki, and he silently cursed.

The woman with her pale skin, pale blue eyes and the palest blonde hair on the planet waved back from behind the counter. “Midoriya! And Bakugou! What are you doing here?” She rounded the counter with a quick whisper to Ojirou who was sporting a baby blue apron. “Wow! It’s so weird seeing your guys off the ice.”

Izuku laughed. “It is, isn’t it? It’s nice though.”

“Yeah,” she cooed before stacking her gloved hands on her hips and smiling widely. “What can I do for you guys? Looking for a late night pick-me-up?”

“Kacchan said something about hot chocolate?” Izuku turned to Katsuki who would have been happier being ignored.

He hadn’t been expecting -realistically- to see any of their teammates that night. Had banked on it. He should have planned for the eventuality. It was the holiday season. Everyone was doing their Christmas shopping and enjoying the lights and shit.

He should have planned for it. Instead, Hagakure had a knowing smile playing across her mouth. Heat bloomed along his collar to crawl up his neck. Gruffly, he said, “Yeah. The Aztec spice for me and whichever the nerd wants.”

“You have multiples?” Izuku whispered reverentially as he whipped back around to look at Hagakure.

“Sure do! There’s a whole list for the holidays over there by Ojirou if you want to take a look.”

Izuku all but bounced over to the counter, greeting their other teammate with a bright chipper smile.

Hagakure and Katsuki didn’t move. “So…” she stared.

“Stop.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “What? I haven’t said anything!”

Katsuki could feel his pulse in his cheeks, and he glared at her. “I know what you’re about to say. So, stop.”

“I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you. Just don’t fuck it up again, you know? And maybe get him something nicer than clothes and blankets? Just a suggestion.”

Katsuki didn’t even want to know how she knew about all of that, especially the blanket. He wanted to slam his head into a wall. Who was this beta trying to give him advice? They barely ever spoke, and he’d only ever thought of her as a teammate, even all these years later. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he ground out. But he allowed his eyes to remain glued on Izuku and for the warmth in his cheeks to fill his chest.

Hagakure pursed her lips. “You know, the one thing about basically being invisible is that people forget to check when they’re doing sketchy shit.” When he didn’t react, she simply said, “You’re courting him. I’ve seen you put a couple of those gifts in his bags. And don’t get me started on the lunches and snacks that I’ve seen you share. Just because he’s a dummy, doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

Except that Izuku wasn’t actually a dummy, not in this sense. He’d known Katsuki’s intentions for a bit, eventually figured them out at least. It was just that he kept fucking shit up before actually getting the balls to properly ask Izuku to formally court him. Well, publicly at least. Katsuki hated that tradition dictated they go public. While he didn’t mind the idea of people knowing, the way he actually felt for the nerd was his and Izuku’s alone. If Izuku didn’t care about being public, he felt like that should have been good enough. Still, he knew how both of their parents would feel if they didn’t.

Working his jaw, Katsuki tried to find the words to reply that weren’t ‘fuck off’. If he really wanted to court Izuku, he couldn’t go alienating the nerd’s friends even if he wanted the omega all to himself. In the end, he muttered, “He wouldn’t like expensive shit. He’s not that kind of omega. The only non-functional things he owns are his skating memorabilia.” Before he was forced to endure whatever else she had to say in response, Izuku hopped back over with two takeaway cups and a smile cutting from ear to ear.

“Here you go, Kacchan!”

Katsuki took the cup with a grunt before grabbing Izuku’s hand and tugging him towards the door. “Let’s fucking go before more meddling happens.”

“Okay, bye, Hagakure, Ojirou!” Izuku called back, unperturbed by the frozen air just outside the door.

“Bye, sweetie! Have a good time! Make good choices!” Hagakure waved back enthusiastically before rounding the counter again.

Izuku waved for a few moments longer before bringing the cup in his hand to his lip. He hadn’t pulled his other from Katsuki’s, and instead used it to drag Katsuki into his side as they started to walk again. “So, what are we doing?”

“You haven’t gotten a chance to come down here this season, right?” Katsuki asked, keeping his eyes forward as he steered Izuku around a group of merry carolers. He felt more than saw Izuku shake his head, his curls sending up a cloud of sweet smelling mint and rain. “So, whatever you want.”

Izuku jerked them to a stop just as Katsuki was lifting his cup to his mouth. Hot liquid sprayed across his mouth, and he suppressed a curse. He thought the omega was about to really give it to him. Instead, when he looked at Izuku, he was met with wide sparkling green eyes and astonishment. Maybe the tongue lashing would have hurt less, but he knew he deserved every little twinge that spiked through his chest.

“What’s that look for?” he grumbled, glancing away from Izuku.

“Are you being serious?”

Katsuki snapped his eyes back around, indignation rising. “Why would I have said it if I weren’t being serious?”

Still, the astonishment stayed. “It’s just… it’s not like you, and after what happened at the beginning of the week…” Izuku dropped his eyes and then his hand, curling into himself. “It’s unexpected. I know you let me back on the ice, but I haven’t apologized. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

Considering what course of action to take, Katsuki eventually chose to reach around Izuku and pull his ponytail forward. He kept his fingers tangled in the supernaturally soft curls as Izuku shyly lifted his eyes to look at him.

“I haven’t apologized either. You’re not the only one at fault here. We’re both idiots.” Izuku’s eyes grew impossibly wide, but he didn’t speak. “So, what do you want to do?”

A smile grew quickly on Izuku’s face, and he pushed in close, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s waist tightly. His cup was warm against Katsuki’s spine even through all of the layers he was wearing. “You’re going to regret asking me that,” he said, voice muffled in Katsuki’s jacket.

He sighed heavily. “I already knew that.”

Izuku pulled away, but not completely. Instead, he resumed their earlier position pressed shoulder to shoulder. “We have so much to do tonight,” he chirruped.

Katsuki grimaced, but went along without complaint.

For several hours, they peaked into packed stores strung from end to end with brightly colored lights and lengths of tinsel. Ate samples that said stores were handing out. Izuku did some actual Christmas shopping, picking up gifts for his mother, Katsuki’s parents, Uraraka and the rest of his friends. The entire time, he kept up a constant stream of chatter and singing.

And he never pulled his hand from Katsuki’s.

“The outdoor rink is open!” Izuku cried as they found themselves right in the middle of Downtown, the rink acting as the epicenter of the festivities.

The Christmas tree towered on the opposite end of the square as music played over the mass of bodies. There were so many lights strung around that there was no need for the usual street lamps or floodlights, and all stood dark beneath the Christmas lights. There weren’t actually that many people on the ice at the moment as Katsuki thought there would be, just a couple of kids and couples sticking close to the walls. Only a few brave souls had ventured out towards center ice, feet braced awkwardly and hands held out for balance.

“Let’s skate!” Izuku said emphatically, turning to completely face Katsuki, “Please, Kacchan! It’ll be closed for the season before I get to!”

“We skate every day, dumbass, what makes this rink different from ours?” Katsuki grumbled, beginning to feel the weight of his bag and the dragging of the day. It was well passed his usual bedtime, and he felt like an old man. An old man who needed a nap. “If you want to skate, we can just go back. At least there’s no people at our rink.”

“But that’s why I want to skate here.” Izuku was pulling him gently towards the booth renting out lockers and skates as if he moved slow enough that Katsuki wouldn’t notice what he was doing or something. “I love being on ice with so many people, all the excitement and energy they give off. I love being around people enjoying something I love just for the pleasure of enjoying it.”

Izuku’s words sounded extremely close to the reason Katsuki coached his students, and that more than anything unstuck his feet. He followed along behind Izuku, and waited by the wooden benches set up for the skaters to change into the skates while he got them skates and a locker to shove their things in. When he came back, he grinned and held up two pairs of ratty, ugly, abused skates.

“Why don’t we just use our own skate?” Katsuki asked, lip curled up in disgust as he stared at the sorry excuse for skates the omega was offering him. He hadn’t worn a pair of those skates since he was ten-years-old, but he was 99.9% sure they had never once been replaced in those twelve years. He didn’t even want to think of whose disease ridden feet may have been in them prior. “I’m not putting those on.”

Izuku pushed them towards him more insistently. “Come on, Kacchan, it’s part of the experience. Also-” His eyes darted towards the ice, completely ruined by hundreds of other people and the poor condition of the blades they were skating on. “I don’t really want to have to sharpen my blades after being on this ice. My current blades are probably still the most expensive things I’ve ever owned.”

Following his gaze and grimacing, Katsuki muttered, “Fine,” before taking the skates and sitting down heavily. He laced them up just like he would his own, and his grimace deepened when he stood and realized just how wrong wearing someone else’s skates felt. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, for sure, but Izuku looked pleased as punch when he stood up beside Katsuki.

He toddered over to the lockers with their belongings and shoes, unceremoniously shoving everything into the locker’s depths before forcing it closed. When he turned, he was still grinning both a little smuggly and proudly. “Come on, Kacchan! Let’s skate!”

It took them several long minutes of trying to find a space between people to dart out to center ice, but once they were there, Izuku held out a hand. He smiled cheekily. “May I have this dance?”

“Gross,” Katsuki spat, but he was fighting back a smile as he grabbed the omega’s hand and dragged him in against his body.

Instead of following the routine for their programme, they just let their bodies move with the music. Still, they were in perfect sync. Laughter stayed on Izuku’s lips and a smile eventually broke out on Katsuki’s as they moved. It had been twelve years since they’d allowed themselves to be silly with each other, to just enjoy skating for the sake of skating, to forget about skill and technique and just skate.

They were planets orbiting a star where the other was the sun and they were the hapless, helpless planet caught in the sun’s gravity. Time became a distant construct as they spun and jumped and crashed together and flew apart.

At some point while holding Izuku’s hand above his head to spin him around and around and around, Katsuki realized that people were watching them more than skating. There were phones pointed in their direction and the holiday music had gotten louder, but nothing could really secure his attention like the sound of Izuku’s raucous laugh and teeth as he smiled helplessly.

Tackling Izuku around the waist and lifting him off his feet, he spun them around until the world was a blur of colors and Izuku’s face was the only thing in focus.

“Kacchan!” Izuku screeched, clutching onto his shoulder. His grip was for balance rather than out of fear, and after a moment, he flung his arms out to the sides and allowed Katsuki to hold him steady. Through his laughter, he called, “I’m getting dizzy!”

‘Me too. Dizzy on you,’ Katsuki thought nonsensically as he slowed to a stop. He let Izuku slide back to the ground, and together, they stumbled towards the wall while the assembled crowd clapped and crowed.

Katsuki leaned back against the wall, working to catch his breath even as it continued to escape in little puffs of laughter. Beside him, Izuku was still giggling, clutching onto the wall as if for dear life.

“Kacchan?”

Lifting his head from where it hung between his shoulders, Katsuki turned to look at Izuku. There were fingers there on the back of his neck, soft material warm against his skin, and before he could wonder what they were doing there, Izuku pressed his lips to Katsuki’s.

Katsuki went stalk still, brain struggling to connect the dots of what was happening to how he’d imagined kissing Izuku.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku was whispering as he pulled away, cheeks rose red and smile small, “I just couldn’t hold back anymore. I-”

Bracketing Izuku’s face between his palms, Katsuki pulled him back in, unable to handle even the short distance he’d put between them. He kissed him again, hungry and wanting and desperate, sliding his hands back into those perfect curls and holding on tight.

Izuku hummed against his lips, opening to him easily.

They melted into each other, and only virtue of being in public kept them from following their desires further.

When they parted, putting only enough space between each other to allow for panting breaths, Izuku whispered, “Why didn’t we do that sooner?”

Katsuki huffed out a breathless laugh. “Because I’m an idiot.”

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #decchan #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #a/b/o dynamics #omegaverse #omega!izuku #alpha!katsuki #figure skater au #no quirks au #my writing #sharpen your blades

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otomescriptdoctor · 4 years

Text

Masking - Chapter 4

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939147/chapters/68499806 Kei’s voice breaks your concentration. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of the things you were saying. I was a bit surprised at the breadth of your knowledge.” Your throat is almost painfully dry, being so affected by his scent just being everywhere around you.

Just have to keep calm, you tell yourself. You turn around to face him, saying, “What a lovely place.” Your eyes flit to a keypad on this side of the door, including a motion sensor. The lock must have been automatic. That’s a rather serious setup, and you realize that you likely have no escape route here. This is the top floor after all. And you’re not exactly equipped to break out of plate glass windows and rappel down a building. This means you’re at Kei’s mercy. Shit. Shit. Shit.

It takes everything to keep your face a neutral slate, and you watch him as he goes to casually grab a glass from his cabinet, filling it with water and taking a drink. Kei watches you in turn, with amusement. You know your face hasn’t broken out in panic, but wonder if perhaps he’s figured it out some other way.

“You can’t be too careful about security in my line of work. Sorry to scare you.” He almost sounded apologetic. Almost.

“Scare me? You’re… not going to lock me up in here, are you?” Fear creeps into your voice, despite your best efforts.

Kei laughs, “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“This is a lot of space for just one person.”

“Well, I invite my close friends, Kazuomi and Yuzu, sometimes. But...I don’t often have women over.”

“You know, no one believes men when they say things like that.” You keep walking around the lounge, looking for any other paths of escape. Kei laughs, “You’re surprisingly...Actually, nevermind, it’s not that much of a surprise.” His piercing, darkened gaze grips you. “You’re tough.”

You daintily sit down on the large sofa, and watch Kei for a while instead. He returns to the kitchen area, and grabs two small glasses, a tall green bottle, and brings over a tray with an odd spoon and a sugar bowl.

Kei sighs, as he sets the tray down on the coffee table and sits on the adjacent loveseat. He loosens his scarf just a bit, and runs his hands through his hair.

“I wish I could hire a full staff for afternoon tea, but… with so many people discussing possible investments, I can’t hire just anyone. It’s all about...trust.”

This was not what you’d expected. “I’m sure,” you offer sympathetically.

“I’m always understaffed when I host afternoon tea outside of England. You ended up helping me out this time around, but I really ought to come up with a better solution.”

He picks up the unfamiliar deep green bottle. You’ve never seen this before.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Absinthe. It’s an anise-flavored spirit. It’s very well known in Europe. It has a distinctive taste. People either like it or they hate it.” He continues, in a lower tone, as he swirls the liquid in the bottle meditatively, “I chose it for you because you have piqued my curiosity. To tell you the truth, I only bring out the absinthe if I’m with someone I’m certain will enjoy it.”

Anise-flavored? Oh, the madeleines were anise-flavored, weren’t they, you think. Licorice is a very polarizing flavor. That explains why the bottle is nearly full, then. Your heart flutters at his gesture, even knowing it’s likely a ploy just to make you feel special.

“There’s something very appealing about a man who can sate a woman’s curiosity.”

You’ve never had absinthe before. You remember hearing about it when studying abroad. The green fairy. Rumored to be hallucinogenic, but it’s probably just a strong liquor. Made with wormwood, you think. You don’t typically accept drinks from targets while on the job, and there’s no telling what he could slip in there. ‘Never accept drinks from the bad guy,’ that’s literally secret agent 101.

Alpha wouldn’t do that to us.

Kei places the curious spoon on his glass. It’s shaped like a leaf, and perforated with tiny holes.

“And what’s that?” Curiosity is getting the better of you tonight. “Les cuilleries, an absinthe spoon essentially. You use it when drinking absinthe for the preparation. You place a cube of sugar on the spoon and pour the absinthe over it.” He cracks open the lid and the licorice-y scent wafts out, intermingling with his natural Alpha scent. He pours a little absinthe into both glasses. He opens the pewter sugar bowl, and delicately uses the tongs to dip a sugar cube into the green liquid before setting it on top of the pierced area of the spoon. Then he strikes a match to light it on fire. You both watch the flame flicker and caramelize the sugar for a few moments before he dips the spoon into the absinthe and swirls it, starting a controlled burn inside the glass. He repeats this process for your glass. His eyes are so dark, with the flames twinkling like small torches in a deep dark cavern. Threatening to swallow you whole. He then pours ice cold water carefully into both glasses to extinguish the flame and cause it to cloud over.

“So, this is how you’re supposed to drink absinthe?” you ask.

“Well, I’m being a bit showy about it, but I like to play with fire, a little. I find it makes quite the impression, don’t you?”

The flames could also have been seen as a little romantic, but you want to perish that intrusive thought. Kei is a little too much of a smooth operator, you realize.

“Absinthe has been called ‘forbidden nectar’, ‘the devil’s drink’, and--”

“La fée verte,” you offer a little too quickly. Oops.

“The green fairy, yes. But I thought you’ve never had Absinthe?”

“I’ve never seen it before in the flesh, but I’ve at least heard of it.”

Kei continues on his lecture, “Well, it has had a long history with connections to a number of cultures. Medieval Europe, ancient Greece, the middle east...” His voice trails off as you both realize you’re staring at each other. You look away and he clears his throat, continuing, “Absinthe preparation had been poisonous due to adulterants like copper sulfate, or antimony, and was rumored to cause hallucinations so it was banned for a time. That’s how this infamous liquor earned its nicknames, but the modern day product is perfectly safe.”

Sensing my unease at him being so close, with his scent growing stronger, he softens his tone. “It’s captured the likes of Van Gogh and Toulouse-Lautrec among its fair share of hearts… making it the perfect drink for you.”

“Just who is capturing whom?” you murmur softly. Oh no, that was out loud.

He just smiles, and offers you a glass.

“We won’t find out until after we drink.”

You take the glass of green liquid, gone somewhat milky with the swirled, burnt sugar.

“I hope you like it.”

He sips at his glass and watches you. You bring the glass up to your nose to sniff at the interesting olfactory bouquet.

“It smells very strongly of licorice, I can see how this is an acquired taste.” You make no move to drink, however.

Kei leans forward in his seat, grinning. “Well...why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Nagisa Mikami? Or...would you prefer I called you by another name?”

Your heart hammers away ominously in your chest. Your mind empties itself, trying to think of what to do. You think of the cyanide capsule in your clutch. You foolishly thought you were holding your ground with this unreadable man, but now you’re the one caught in the honey trap. You curse at yourself for not being able to resist your own biology. You don’t dare let this show on your face.

Kei notices your loss for words, and his grin becomes a triumphant smirk. You’re not sure if it’s just his face, or the affect his scent is having on you, but you find it dangerously alluring. Just the notion sends a chill racing down your spine. You’re intent on calmly meeting his gaze directly, even as you’re feeling like your heart might stop at any moment.

So he thinks you’re possibly using a fake name. Still have no reason to give him the satisfaction of being right. You allow your face to settle into a sultry sneer, “Another name? Whatever do you mean? Is that absinthe getting to you already?” You giggle before continuing, “Do you have me confused for another woman? I thought you were better than that.” You pointedly cross your legs, intending to take back control of this situation by using your Omega’s desire to appeal to his Alpha, exuding an unflappable, purposeful confidence.

“Drunk? Maybe.”

He sips a little more of his drink before leaning toward you.

“But I think I was right to seek you out. You’re perfect.”

His cool fingers reach out toward your cheek. His elegant fingers are perfectly manicured, and make contact with your skin, drawing away some of the heat flushing there.

Alpha is curious about us.

“So, what name will I call you by?” His hand cups the side of your face. You’re already feeling that uncomfortable dampness that you thought was over for this month.

“Nagisa Mikami is just fine. Why are you so eager to give me a nickname already?”

Kei continues to smile, touching his forehead to yours. “James Bond...MI6...The Secret Intelligence Service...England is obsessed with spies. So when a beautiful woman -- an unmated omega, no less -- appears in front of me, out of nowhere...” He flicks his eyes’ focus into yours. “I have got to assume she is either a spy or an assassin.”

You protest, “Are those the only two options, then? That’s not terribly creative. That doesn’t sound like the educated, intelligent Kei I met downstairs.”

“You think you know me pretty well, hmm?” Kei regards you with fascination twinkling in his eyes.

You continue, “If you were trying to hide your intelligence, you really messed that up for yourself with the way you were talking at afternoon tea.” You’re flying by the seat of your pants, scrambling through anything that might be used to bolster your confidence. It looks bad at the moment. You feel like your own bravado might have finally failed you this time when thinking about getting alone with an Alpha who affected you this deeply. You regret not handing this off and removing yourself from this mission sooner.

But, Kei must have known this would happen. Curiosity killed the cat, and you were very curious. Maybe, just maybe you can simply charm your way out of this.

“Last I checked, James Bond is fictional.”

“I know, but 007 jokes aside...I’m on an unofficial visit to Japan. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the government took the precaution of putting me under surveillance. The British government takes those kinds of measures when other countries’ diplomats start acting strangely.”

What a fortuitous turn! At least he doesn’t know where you’re from. “You mean...You think I’m a spy sent by the government?”

“Or maybe an assassin,” his smile is cold, and his face settles once again into a sharp glare as his grip tightens into your hair.

The crushing anxiety you were feeling at being caught in a trap evaporates. Maybe you can salvage this. He still essentially knows nothing. Not your real name, not your agency. He may be moving me into check, but he hasn’t clinched the checkmate yet. You refocus your alias in your mind. He should believe you are a government spy, cleverly caught out by him. This is your last chance to catch him unguarded.

You speak, but with the air of neither confirming nor denying his suspicions. “You must like spy movies. I do too, but it’s important to distinguish fiction from reality. If what you’re suggesting is true, Kei...Why not shoot me dead right now?”

“That kind of thing happens in movies all the time… I’m not a huge fan of guns, though.” He releases his hold on your hair, trailing his fingers downward until they rest on your neck, his elegant fingers on both sides of your throat. Your heart is racing again. His hand is large enough to crush your windpipe.

Kei moves his head close to your ear. “If all you want to do is watch me, I don’t mind. You can watch me all you like.” His voice somehow reminds you of some lovers’ pillow talk. But that may just be your Omega reacting.

“What...what do you mean?” That comes out a little breathier than you expected.

“In exchange...I’d like for you to be my accomplice.”

Something tells you this isn’t just picking up the slack on his afternoon tea duties.

“I’ll tell you more once you’ve signed a contract. You don’t have to worry. It won’t be anything illegal.” You look at him curiously, but he continues, “There’s something I need to take care of, and I could use the talents of a capable woman like yourself.”

You think, this could work out well, you’d definitely find out why he’s in Japan. And he wouldn’t think to look further to find out your real identity. That’s a risk you’re willing to take to get out of this. May as well play a little though, flirting is the fun part, after all.

“And if I refuse?”

Kei frowns a little, furrowing his brow. “That would be a problem. I hadn’t considered that possibility. What should I do if you tell me no…?” You feel his grip on your neck pressing ever so slightly into your skin. No one ever said Alphas were normal.

“...Fine, I’ll indulge your little fantasy. After what’s happened today, it would probably even be educational.” You make a big show out of being ‘found out,’ lowering your eyes in resignation. You submissively meet his gaze again to look at his triumphant expression. At last, his hand pulls away from your neck.

“Well then, it’s a deal. Let’s drink on it.” Kei pushes your glass of absinthe towards you.

You reach for it, bringing it up to your lips; aware of Kei’s steady gaze trained on you the whole time.

“You actually have to drink this time. No pretending like you did last time.”

Guilty. You steel your nerves. Is there still some way to avoid drinking with him? If the final nail in your coffin before was your refusal to drink, maybe you should refuse again? As long as I can keep him on his toes, I can regain the advantage. “You want me to drink something this strong all alone with a man I just met…? I’d have to have a death wish.” You craft your expression into something innocent.

Kei smiles at you, cheerful in reply, “We’re no longer two people you ‘just met.’ If you’re going to be my accomplice, you’ve got to trust me.” He picks up the glass, pressing it into your hand. He then grazes his fingers along your lip, to show you he is watching this very closely.

You take a single sip of the absinthe. Licorice flavor is awash over your taste buds, and you hesitate to swallow. Kei’s fingers trail back down your face, along your neck as you involuntarily swallow. You feel a trickle of the cocktail dripping out of the corner of your mouth. That sneak is looking so smug, and self satisfied. You’re wondering how you ever thought he looked like a fairy tale prince.

“What do you think of the flavor?”

“It’s.. a lot to take. Like you, in a way. You and the way you do things.”

Kei lowers his voice once again and brings his face into your neck, breathing deeply, “I’ve just been captivated by your beauty, that’s all. The way your veins show ever so slightly under your delicate skin… makes me want to kiss them.” You feel his lips move downwards along those very spots and you shudder. Controlling someone like this is playing with fire, you think.

He moans into your neck, “Mmm, yes I definitely like you better without the mask. I want to see all of the different sides of you.” His voice tickles your rapidly heating skin.

Alpha wants us.

“...You just might get the chance. If you play your cards right, that is.” When did your voice become so breathy? Your throat is so dry.

Kei pulls his face up to look back into your eyes in response, “Sounds like a challenge has been issued. I’ll have you show you what I’m made of.” He punctuates his comment by licking the remaining absinthe from your lips. His tongue sends arcs of pleasure thrilling through your every breath.

You’re frozen, staring at Kei. He leans back, smiling.

“Well then, I suppose it’s now my turn…” Kei picks up his glass and knocks back the whole thing in one go.

“That seals our deal.”

“If you say so.” You feel your confident Nagisa mask slipping. What was that feeling? Logically this is still going your way but… as you look at his confident smirk, worry starts melting into an impending sense of anxiety and doom.

#masquerade kiss #voltage inc #voltage otome #kei soejima #fanfic #also on ao3

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mnthpprt · 4 years

Text

Chapter 24: Blame It On The Juice

We finally arrive at the tavern and take a seat at a small table near the bar. Arthur is the only one to remain standing up, and he leans closer so I can hear him over the chatter.

“First round’s on me, darling. What would you like?” he asks. I ponder for a moment before answering.

“I’ve always wanted to try absinthe.” He nods, and looks over at Theo.

“Whiskey for me, half water.”

A few minutes later he returns, balancing three glasses between his hands, and proceeds to set them down on the table, careful not to spill any of them. Outside, it has begun to pour like there’s no tomorrow.

“Pernod Fils for the lady,” he says, imitating a waiter, “and whiskey for the ratbag.” Theo punches his arm, scowling, and sips his drink, making me laugh. Judging by the amount of teasing and insults between these two, they could either be good friends or truly hate each other. I know it is the former, because they seem to spend a lot of time together. They even walk their dogs at the same time every morning, and they do so willingly.

I take a small sip of the pearly green liquid, and am surprised by the sweet taste of anise and fennel in the drink.

“Yo, this is good,” I point out, satisfied. I lift my glass when I notice Arthur doing the same, and Theo begrudgingly joins in.

“To the green fairy, may she bless our dear Anaïs for the first time!” toasts the writer, holding back a laugh. I follow in with my own comedic announcement.

“To the Salon des Refusés du Salon des Refusés!” I say, jokingly, referring to Theo’s exhibition. The groundbreaking art I saw there would have been criticized even by the rejects of this time. “And to your and Vincent’s success, of course!”

“That, I can get behind,” Theo chuckles. “To you idiots.” He punctuates his covertly affectionate statement by taking a gulp of whisky, and Arthur and I follow suit. “So, hondje, you know about art. What is it like in your time?”

I am taken aback by the question. I don’t really know where to begin.

“Well... For starters, it’s incredibly different. To understand it one needs to know the history behind it, you know? Like, what happened between now and then for it to get to that point,” I explain, pausing to take another sip of absinthe. Theo leans forward on his chair, his blue eyes piercing me with interest. “I guess the main movement that started everything would be Dadaism. Do you know about World War One?” Theo shakes his head.

“One? By Jove, there are more?!” Arthur exclaims. I nod, my brows knitted together. If he lived through the first one, the Great War, I am concerned about how he might react if I continue. He seems to want to know more, so I keep talking.

“Arthur, if I remember correctly you died a few years before the second one. What was it, 1920 something?”

“1930,” he corrects me.

“Well, the Second World War started in 1939. It lasted for about six years, and it was brutal. But that’s not the point of this conversation.” I turn to Theo. “So, as you can tell by the name, the First World War was, well... massive. Pretty much all of Europe was involved and severely affected, both by the unprecedented death toll and the poverty that came after. People suffered while the rich clung to what they had, and the art world became increasingly inaccessible. You’ve seen yourself how conservative the elite can be when it comes to their precious culture.” He agrees with a nod. “So a movement emerged in response to this traditionalism, which some artists deemed unacceptable in a world where all of the rules had seemingly been broken already, and devastatingly so. I don’t know where the name came from, but Dadaism represents all the nonsense, everything that is irrational and ugly and primal. What these people were making was basically anti-art. Instead of it being aesthetically pleasing, their work strived to create a reaction in the viewer, to make them think.” I pause to drink again, and glance at Arthur. He knows what I’m talking about, he lived through it.

“And what does it look like?” Theo asks. I laugh.

“Oof, good question. It can look like anything, from sculptures made of random objects piled together to drawings and prints... More than anything, Dadaism was a concept, an ideology. It established that art should be reactionary, and not necessarily for the pleasure of the viewer. This became the basis for what in my time we call ‘conceptual art’, which is basically anything that makes a statement without it being explicit in the piece.”

“Like a riddle?” Arthur asks. He has already finished his glass of whisky.

“Something like that,” I chuckle. “But not always. One of the most outrageous ones I can remember is this man, Piero Manzoni. In the 60s... the 1960s, that is, he produced a series of cans labeled as ‘Artist’s Shit’, supposedly filled with... well, his own shit. It was meant as a critique of the art world at the time.” Theo’s eyes widen, and I hear Arthur let out a boisterous laugh. “Apparently one of his friends said that they were actually filled with plaster, but no one really knows for sure, because they’re too valuable to be opened. I think one of them was auctioned for like 300.000 euros.”

“Euros?” Theo asks after sipping his whisky, trying to recover from the surprise.

“Oh, right, that’s a new thing,” I remember. “So after that Second World War I mentioned before, a bunch of countries in Europe created a coalition, to protect the peace, and all that. And then, around the time I was born, it became a proper union and they changed the money, so we all use euros now. Well, then. Then?” I take a big sip of absinthe and savor it for a moment, frustrated with my own tangled words. “Ugh, time travel is so confusing. Anyway, one of those cans is worth, like, 100 million francs in ‘right now’ money, I think.”

Theo chokes on his drink. Arthur is just staring at me with his mouth hanging open, completely incredulous at my nonchalant statement.

“That is absolutely preposterous,” he finally says. I shrug.

“I guess that proves Manzoni’s point, doesn’t it?” I down what’s left of the absinthe and set the glass in the middle of the table. Arthur scoffs.

“No, no, she’s right.” I am surprised to hear Theo agree with me. He looks rather impressed. “Collectors will buy anything with the right name attached to it. Artist’s shit,” he laughs. “That’s brilliant.”

Maybe it’s his adorable dimples, or maybe it’s the alcohol running through my veins, but I have the sudden urge to mock him.

“Wow, who knew you had a sense of humor, knabbeltje!” I put emphasis on the word, causing him to blush, which subsequently makes me giggle. Arthur puts his fist up, laughing, and I bump it. “Ayyy, you learnt it!”

Theo gets up abruptly, and for a moment I fear I have offended him, but I relax when I see him walk towards the bar. He soon comes back with only two glasses, and leaves again to get his own. I sip my new drink, also containing the green liquor from before, and let out a little moan.

“This drink slaps,” I declare, and Arthur tilts his head in confusion.

“Slaps? Gods, Anaïs, it’s like you’re speaking an entirely different language.” I laugh and proceed to tell him about the ‘snack’ thing, how Theo called me a ‘knabbeltje’ and I took it as a compliment, so now he can’t use it on me anymore. Arthur laughs too when I finish the story. “Oh my, is that why he was blushing? Here I was thinking you two might have- Ow!”

I elbow him before he can finish the sentence, in part because I don’t need to hear it, and in part because I see Theo approaching. When he sits down, Arthur’s face lights up with an idea. I wonder what he’s plotting.

“Let’s play a game,” he says. “Bet I can deduce something about each of you. If I’m right, you drink, and if I’m wrong, I drink. Anaïs,” he turns to me. “There is something between you and Leonardo. You two have been in an awfully good mood lately.” I blush and sip my drink. “Ha! I knew it! Our sweet darling and our dear friend have been basket making in secret,” he exclaims. Judging by his face, I assume that’s an euphemism for sex.

“We have not!” I smack his arm. Although that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to. “Okay, my turn. Theo!” I choose loudly, pointing my finger at the art dealer. “You act so tough because you’re protective of Vincent and want to be taken seriously so nobody messes with him.”

Theo drinks before clearing his throat, and then turns to his friend.

“The reason you’re being so annoying lately is because you’re jealous of Leonardo,” he states. Arthur simply leans back on his chair with a smirk.

“Drink,” he commands. Theo obliges. “You have already scoured this bar for my next potential conquest, and you disapprove of all the options.” Theo drinks again.

“Is that what you do when you’re not pestering Sebastian for more coffee?” I laugh. Then a thought occurs to me. “How do they not find out about...? You know,” I ask, tapping my canine with a fingernail. I can’t risk saying it out loud in a place so crowded.

“They simply look like love bites, dear,” Arthur winks. “And they are, in a sense.”

“Huh.” I tilt my head, trying to imagine what that would be like, but I fail and move on to the game. “You sleep around so much to try to forget your guilt.”

Finally, he drinks. I don’t know what he feels guilty about, but I could recognize that emotion on anyone. However, I don’t ask any further. I do not want to pry.

He changes the topic by pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. I guess he does not like losing at his own game.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp arthur

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kirishwima · 5 years

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Hi ! How about hdcs about the whole RFA and MC going on vacations together like in a vacation camp or totally in a the backcountry of a foreign country idk haha (I love your work, please keep going ! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧)

awe thank you!! writing about mysme makes me really happy so im definitely not stopping anytime soon ^o^

Since im greek i figure-what if the RFA gang takes a trip to Athens? >:3

* It was actually V that suggested they all take a trip together, and well, he and Jumin, being the rich kids they are, decided staying in the country just isn’t good enough, nope

* Well, none of the other members were about to complain over a free vacation, so they agreed on travelling to Greece-they all constantly heard what an exotic destination it is, the gorgeous sandy beaches and friendly locals....

* ...What they weren’t expecting was the busy bustling city they landed in, the fast cheerful way people would speak fire-speed greek to them, and the driving-god the DRIVING

* ((Seven offered to be the designated driver so that they won’t have to split into cabs all the time to go places and boy-BOY. It’s bad enough that he drives like a maniac in wide highways and streets, but his driving + the narrow greek roads with cars parked in any and all directions? Chaos ensued))

* Despite the cultural shock they all actually really enjoy their time in Athens-there’s always something to do, the weather is beautiful, and from the roof of their hotel they get a view all the way to the Acropolis, the sunset mesmerizing as they all lean on the terrace balcony together, content to look to the sky in silence

* Jaehee was the most relucant to come to this vacation trip-going on vacation is great, definitely, but going on vacations with your boss is an entirely different matter

* Yet it seemed like the greek air affected Jumin differently-he’s more calm, exchanging his usual suit and tie for casual polo shirts and jeans, a sight that leaves even Zen wide-eyed; who knew the trust-fund kid had more than just suits in his closet?!

* V is the happiest of them all though-to be able to be here, to see his beloved RFA, his family laughing and having fun together, explroing a new city with them in tow-this minty man’s as happy as can be, and will take every chance he gets to take commemorative photos of each of the members, and definitely a few selfies with all of them

* Yoosung actually brought his laptop with him, certain he’ll be spending some time alone in the hotel room playing games, but he in fact doesn’t turn his pc on even once-they all spent every day exploring and visiting tourist attractions, and by night time he actually spends a lot of time just chilling and talking with Seven who he’s sharing a room with, surprised to find out so much more about his best friend in their time this close together

* Zen...poor Zen is literally stopped every five minutes and is asked for a picture. Many people don’t even know who he is, but seeing a man so attractive and foreign walk around, many older ladies figure he must be some sort of popular actor their daughters will scream over if they see

* He’s even stopped while visiting the Acropolis museum, made to pose beside different statues to see how much he resembles them-from the physique to the bone sculpture to the slope of his jaw, people stare as he passes by, his white hair nearly matching the colorus of the sculptures

* Jaehee actually has to shield him more than once and drag him through the crowd so he won’t get stuck there lmao

* Speaking of Jaehee, this girl deserved this break more than anyone else! She’s so used to being busy, that at first she really doesn’t know what to do with herself. What do you mean she can just take it easy and relax for a couple days?! She has to pinch herself to make sure this is real

* She’ll be the one to spend the most time by the pool, simply laying on her towel as she takes in the bright warm sun, or simply lounging in the pool, oftentimes joined by MC as they drink colourful cocktails and talk about tomorrow’s plans

*My girl is just Vibing bc it’s what She Deserves ok lmao

* Jumin definitely tries to pick up and take back with him every single cat he sees down the street (and fair warning for anyone who doesn’t know-there’s a L O T of cats in Greece)

* Will definitely plan to open a big cat shelter in the heart of the city as soon as their vacation is over

* MC convinces them all to try ouzo, an anise-flavored alcoholic drink that’s...way, way stronger than one would initially expect

* It’s hilarious to see Zen and Jumin try and outdrink one another-Jumin simply vibing and sipping his drink as Zen furiously chugs down glass after glass simply to show he can

* Poor V has to carry Jumin back to the hotel, as Seven has to ask Yoosung to help him carry Zen as well

* They all decide to try and learn some greek while they’re there; Jumin and V try and learn helpful phrases like ‘Kalimera’ (Good morning), ‘Ti kaneis?’ (How are you/What are you doing), and so on while Seven, who already speaks greek, teaches Yoosung and Zen the worst curse words he can think of

* Of course he’ll tell Yoosung to say something out loud in the middle of a resturaunt, saying it simply means cheers or something

* Cue Yoosung getting up, his glass of wine in his hand as he cheers ‘MALAKA!’ (= asshole). V’s whole face becomes cherry red as he realises just what Yoosung has yelled out, the rest of the resturaunt patrons turning to look to them and laugh

* ((Seven has the whole thing filmed and will never let Yoosung forget about it lmao))

* All in all...it’s a fun holiday. They all really deserve a break, and honestly, Cheritz, please give these babies the joy they deserve, pls

-send me scenarios/headcanons for mystic messenger characters to react to-

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salexectrian-heir · 4 years

Text

Loki: Chapter 11

Pairing: Solavellan Rating: E*

Summary: Lavellan rescued a mischievious sphynx kitten outside her work who loves her dearly. But his destructive habits start to get out of hand when he steals her attractive neighbor’s underwear… repeatedly.

[Previous Chapter] [Start at the Beginning] [Read on AO3]

Chapter 11

Anise awoke the next morning to find Solas curled around her body with his face buried in her hair. How he was breathing she wasn’t quite sure. She rolled to face him. She untangled herself from his limbs as gently as she could. Apparently she didn’t need to have done so, he literally didn’t budge or notice at all. Out of curiosity, she picked up his arm and let it flop back down. Nothing. She couldn’t stop the smile that formed, nor the quiet bout of laughter that followed. He was dead to the world. She dressed herself, placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, and snuck out the front door--leaving it unlocked so she could get back in later.

No one had bothered her clothes in the laundry room, thankfully. Added to her luck, no one was using any of the machines. The snow must have had everyone taking a day off. She was able to switch everything over into two machines, leaving the others available in case someone did feel like doing chores too. Her stomach grumbled as she shut the last machine door shut.

If she was hungry, then her kitten most definitely was. Poor Loki. She was sure he was used to her being gone for periods of time by now, with her chaotic schedule. But it still stung she hadn’t even said goodbye.

And most likely her lover who lay unconscious and softly snoring where she left him would be hungry too--whenever he decided to return to the waking world. She decided she wanted donuts and coffee but that would mean braving the snow outside. Which meant warmer clothes were called for.

Loki was excited to see her, needless to say. When she cracked open the door to her apartment, his little face was right there. Nose pressing in the slight crack she had made, sniffing loudly and mewling to be let through.

“Silly boy, the door opens inwards.”

She stuck her foot through the crack to block off his point of exit. If he got out, he most surely would get the zoomies and tear up and down the hall, and take up more of her time catching him. She kept him at bay with her foot until she was inside and had the door secured behind her. His little paws immediately found purchase on her pants. He stretched, clutching the fabric and sliding along the floor as she waddled deeper into her apartment. When she got to the kitchen he finally let go, only to weave between her feet demanding to be held. After a few solid minutes of affection, playful bites, and incredibly loud purrs, she set him down to feed him. While he was distracted, she began to bundle up for her trek to the cafe down the street. Adding extra layers on top of her pajamas, a pair of extra thick socks, hat, earmuffs, scarf and boots. She was just able to make it out of her apartment with only one loud mewl of protest.

Her feet sunk into the fresh snow all too easily once outside. It was at least three feet deep, making it more difficult than she expected to maneuver. The street had been plowed, and a few fresh tire tracks suggested people were out and about. She had been lucky to have the day off, after having spent over 120 hours in it last week.

Though the worst of the storm had passed, snow continued to fall. Large flakes floated delicately from the light gray sky at a leisurely pace. The urge to stick her tongue out and catch one was incredibly strong, but she refrained. For all she knew Vivienne could be watching from out of one of the many glass windows at the Hospital just across the street as she passed by. She couldn’t risk it. At least until the hospital would be mostly out of sight.

She let her mind wander as she waded down the sidewalk. The snow continued to fall, the hospital continued to operate, and the world kept moving. Life always kept going. She thought about all the choices that led her to where she was now, how drastically her life had changed, much like the snow changed Haven overnight.

Tipping her head pack, she watched the snowflakes on their descent. Diving off clouds, down to earth, scattering across the wind to where they eventually would find the ground. Or her face. She had risked everything, taking her own dive. Leaving her homeland, her family, an engagement, all for her dream, for her passion. A risk that paid off more than she could have ever imagined. And perhaps most important of all she felt she had truly found herself in the process... she wouldn’t trade that for the world. Despite what it cost her. Her breath came out a wispy cloud in front of her face, going the opposite direction of the snow, disappearing up into the sky.

But she gained so much, too. A new family of residents and their antics, interns and their pestering need to be helpful, and attendings with their drama. Her patients and their faith in her, and her team. A purpose. A loveable nightmare of a kitten that she loved nearly as much as studying medicine.

And even a neighbor who… might just be more...

Memories from the night before flooded her mind. The way he felt as she fucked him, and the sensation of coming completely undone atop him. Her ears burned at the thought, and she shook her head to clear it. It was way too early for that kind of thinking. Even if he did just call her vhenan…

His heart.

She buried her face in her mittens and rubbed her cheeks in circles.

He called you Vhenan. It must have been a mistake… he was tired, and so out of it. He probably won’t even remember having said it...

Vhenan was not a casual pet name. Nor would you call the neighbor you were sleeping around with anything remotely close to that.

And yet.

She had gotten so lost in thought that she arrived at the cafe without realizing. She was just standing in front of the door, hands on her cheeks, taking deep breaths like some bizarre crazed idiot staring vacantly through the glass. For how long, she didn’t know. It could have been two seconds, or two minutes. She pulled herself together and braced for the awkward conversation she was about to inescapably having with the barista.

She couldn’t just casually say, “Oh, don’t mind me, just panicking because I might be falling in love with my old soul of a neighbor who comes with a fuckton of emotional baggage that just might outweigh my own, whom I only met a few months ago, that I met by chance when my kitten stole his underwear while he was doing his laundry” and expect that to go over well.

It even sounded insane in her head.

Graciously, the barista had been on their phone and had not noticed her mental crisis happening just outside. Or perhaps they were pretending and sparing her dignity. She ordered her usual (sixteen ounce vanilla red eye), and paused. For Solas, she eyed the specials...wanting to go with something extremely sweet and decaffeinated. Come to think of it, she had never actually seen him drink coffee before, so she wasn’t even sure if he liked it. He didn’t strike her as someone who particularly liked bitter flavors, given his love for insomnia cookies. She played with a piece of hair that had slipped out from under her hat before finally deciding on a decaf dulce de leche latte (with whip), hoping he would enjoy it.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she left the cafe, with their breakfast in hand. The walk back didn’t last nearly as long, despite the snow coming down a little bit harder. By the time she had gotten back up to his apartment her socks were wet, her hair was wet, and her hands were cold. But still she decided it would all be worth it to get to spend a lazy morning inside with him.

She stomped the snow off her boots outside his door and left them in the hallway. She doubted anyone would steal her size seven sopping boots. Once inside, the distinct sound of the shower running reached her ears. Perfect , she had time to set everything up.

He entered the kitchen dressed in a cotton shirt and a pair of comfortable looking jeans a few minutes later, just as she was pouring her coffee into a mug. He stopped mid step, surprise spreading across his face as he looked at her, then to the table, then settling back on her.

“I thought you had left.”

“Technically, I did,” she gestured to the food. “I figured why not treat ourselves on a snow day.”

“You...” he glanced out the window at the snow that was continuing to dance and swirl its way past the glass, “Anise.”

He appeared by her side in a flash, arm wrapping around her waist, tucking her in close. His body was so warm, heating lingering on his skin from his shower. She practically melded into him. “You should not have, you are freezing,” he kissed her temple and pulled back abruptly. “And wet.”

“Apologies,” she said, a bit breathless if she was being honest. His proximity, the press of his lips, his warmth… would she ever get used to it? Or was her heart always going to react this way when they touched?

He pulled away, taking his wonderful body heat with him. “One moment.”

“Where are you--”

He disappeared and came back with a change of clothes. A sweater and pair of sweatpants. “You might find these more comfortable,” he smirked, “and dry.”

She opened her mouth to protest. Her apartment was only a couple feet away with her own clothes, but… her mouth clicked shut. The chance to wear his …. that wasn’t something she was going to pass up. She went to reach for them, but he set them aside on the counter, eyes locked on her.

He grabbed the hem of her pullover and began to ease it off her. Together, they peeled off each wet layer, him sneaking a chaste kiss each time one was pulled over her head. As she pulled off the last layer, his hands drifted over the bare skin of her stomach. Her breath hitched at the contact. One settled onto her hip, thumbs tracing circles over the dip of hip bones, causing goosebumps to ripple over her skin. The other grabbed the change of clothes.

Right after getting her head through the sweatshirt, his mouth brushed along the shell of her ear before nipping at her bottom lip. “You are far kinder than I deserve.”

She shook her head, pulling her arms through and tugging it down. “Stop talking like that. Let me take care of you, too.”

Luckily the sweatpants had a drawstring, otherwise she would have never been able to keep them up. Not that her pants falling down would be an issue, at least this point in time, given the expression Solas was wearing as he watched her hike them over her ass.

But she really did want to drink her red eye before it got cold.

She waited with baited breath as they sat together, and he took his first sip of his latte. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before widening. He took a more generous second sip.

“Do you like it?”

Solas blinked. “To my surprise, I do not hate it.”

She laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It’s sweeter than I expected.”

“It’s also decaffeinated. I wasn’t sure… I’ve never seen you drink coffee before so I figured it would be a safe option.”

“Yes, normally I avoid it, but I will gladly take this over tea.”

Anise made a face at him. She loved tea. “What’s wrong with tea?”

“I detest the stuff,” he said in a flat tone, but the edge of his mouth quirked up the tiniest bit.

Anise feigned a gasp and set aside her coffee. “I see. Well, I must be going then.”

For a fraction of second, confusion flitted across his features, before he realized she was teasing. “I can’t believe that is what would send you running, after everything else you’ve learned about me.”

She playfully bumped into his shoulder, “I jest. It just means more tea for me.”

Solas rolled his eyes and smiled into his latte. The subject drifted to how Anise had found the cafe as they sipped their drinks. She explained how everyone at the hospital hated the hospital coffee, how it always tasted watered down and stale, and how the machine almost never worked properly. And after one particularly grueling week as an intern, Anise had gotten so fed up fighting with the machine she stormed outside and went for a walk. And just so happened to stumble upon the hole in the wall cafe a few blocks down. They fell into companionable silence, finishing up their donuts.

“Anise.”

She met his unwavering grey eyes and her stomach started doing somersaults.

“Thank you, I cannot express enough of my gratitude to truly capture how much I appreciate…everything you do, and this,” he gestured to the breakfast before them, “but also… for last night.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “You don’t have to thank me for that Solas, I wanted you too.”

He shook his head, smile creeping onto his face. “Not only for the sex Anise. For your presence. For… accepting me in the condition I was in. I was not ready to talk about it then, and you respected my boundary.”

Her heart clenched.

“Of course, Solas.”

He wrapped his slender fingers around the edge of his cup, and stared into its empty contents.

“There was an… incident at work.”

Anise placed a hand on his arm. “What kind of incident?”

She felt him stiffen beneath her palm.

“One between myself and the CEO.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

All it took was a gentle squeeze and he launched into the story of how he had been called into strategy meetings with the Vice Presidents and CEO.

“It was awkward, draining, and irritating,” he sighed, his tension evident in his rigid posture.“In theory, I shouldn’t have even been there given the level of my current position, but in reality they value my experience and tenure. If…I had made wiser choices earlier in my career, it would have put me on track to be in the Research and Development Vice President position.”

As if sensing her question, he cast a glance aside at her and said, “In layman's terms, it’s the highest position a scientist can hold.”

“I openly disagreed with our CEO, albeit a bit heatedly during the meeting. Perhaps I should have kept my opinion to myself, but I am not one for keeping silent when I believe I can offer a better solution.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Saying our illustrious leader disliked my outspokenness would be an understatement. So would calling what I said simply a disagreement, but I digress.” He pushed aside his coffee. “He cornered me after work. Tempers flared, I insulted him, and…”

It was hard to picture him being easily angered, he certainly never showed her that side of him. Snarky, yes. Annoyed? For sure. But she had never been the target of his ire before, she was still getting to truly know him. Cracking that reserved mask of his, one week at a time. She listened attentively, nodding for him to continue. When he didn’t, she prompted him. His brows knit together.

“He punched me.”

“What! Solas! ”

She was on her feet before she registered what she was doing. She cupped his chin, delicately turning his face towards her. She scanned his face for bruising. How could she not have noticed? She was a doctor for fucking Sylaise’s sake.

“It barely landed. It was in terrible form, and didn’t leave much of a mark,” he reassured her, tugging her hand away from his face. “It happened on the second day, so I’ve had plenty of time to recover.”

“I hope you reported this,” Anise said, horrified.

She knew the answer to that based on his body language alone. “You didn’t… why not ?”

“I considered it, but…” he shrugged, “It happened outside of work. I fear it would only put more strain on the relationship I have with him. He clearly is not over what happened between his wife and myself. And...” Another mirthless grin. “I am prideful, hot headed, and foolish, Anise. I instigated.”

“I don’t approve but,” she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “but I will stand by your decision. It’s not fair. You took the consequences of your actions in stride, he shouldn’t get to continue to act this way towards you. It’s entirely unprofessional.”

“It is. The rest of the week was just...” he shook his head, “painful.”

He stood and began to clean up their breakfast at the sink.

Following him over with their cups, “Why don’t you leave, work for a different company? One where you can be in the labs again?”

He took them from her and rinsed them out. “Letting go of the past is… easier said than done.”

She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his torso, placing her head between his shoulder blades. “I know. I just want you to be happy.”

He took a deep breath and turned around in her arms.

“When I am with you,” he smiled, and it was a genuine one this time, “ I am.”

#solavellan #solas #solas x lavellan #solavellan fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

fic: remember the moments when we were together

Relationships: Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī

Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Memories, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, wwx needs a hug, Regret, Self-Esteem Issues, Loneliness, Crying, Hugs, Truth, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Father-Son Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

AO3 link

Part of the try to praise the mutilated world series

Spectre | leaves eddied over the earth’s scars

Notes: The title is again from the poem "Try to Praise the Mutilated World." I wanted to explore how this would impact SiZhui, who is only just starting to reconnect with his first adopted dad.

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SiZhui feels awkward, standing with trays of food under the magnolia tree behind the jingshi. His father had asked him—almost begged, actually—to have lunch with Senior Wei today. The man wasn’t eating or sleeping well.

‘Grief,’ is all Hanguang-Jun said in explanation.

SiZhui understands grief. He watched his father grieve for 16 years and was blessed to see it end. He himself grieved that same length of time for memories lost to fever and trauma.

It turned out they had been grieving the same person, mostly. Like father, like son.

But now, as he watches Senior Wei sedately pet a rabbit on the porch of the jingshi, his normally sharp eyes distant and red-rimmed, his face pale… SiZhui remembers he’d seen this grief at the Burial Mounds so long ago, as the man had given up his entire world to protect him and the other Wen remnants.

He’s so distracted as to not notice SiZhui’s presence, not even when he calls out.

“Senior Wei?”

SiZhui knows he’s been sitting there, unmoving, for probably the entire morning since Hanguang-Jun left to finish preparations for their journey to Yunmeng. Magnolia petals lay against his robes, contrasting starkly with the black fabric. Enough to account for hours.

He moves closer, repeating the greeting, to no avail.

Surprising Senior Wei is never an excellent idea, would likely result in lunch being all over them. The man has spent too much time despised and fighting to survive, to fail to react if his attention isn’t drawn before SiZhui approaches. Enough of the juniors (including Jin Ling) have learned this by experience. And though the man only moves to defend, never to harm, SiZhui intends for this meal to wind up in their bellies.

“Xian-gege?” he tries, but again meets no response.

SiZhui sighs, not sure how to handle this. He went to Caiyi town for the food, ordering Senior Wei’s favorites, and though the talisman he’s attached will keep it warm, he knows it will taste better fresh. He’s even brewed his favorite spiced tea, the one with cardamom, fennel, ginger, cinnamon, and anise—what most in Gusu and especially Cloud Recesses consider far too piquant. SiZhui himself enjoys it with a little milk.

He takes one step closer, and notices something he didn’t before—Senior Wei has tear tracks on his face.

For a moment he’s seven years old again, peeking from the door of his room in the jingshi late at night, listening to his father play what he would later learn was Inquiry, watching him cry silently.

“A-Die!” wrenches from him before SiZhui can get ahold of himself.

He’s not sure whether the words or the tone do the trick, but Senior Wei jerks and turns to him with wide eyes.

“A-Yuan?”

After a moment, he attempts a smile, but it’s a ghost of what SiZhui knows his smile to be, a mask like the one he wore all those months upon his return, something he hides behind.

SiZhui places his trays on the porch, abandoning them in favor of wrapping his arms securely around the man who started his upbringing.

“I thought I’d have to call you a-Niang to get your attention,” he jokes.

The Yiling marketplace story represents the one time his fathers were together with him as a child, and he hopes to startle a laugh from Senior Wei.

He is disappointed. The smile becomes a shade less forced, but only briefly.

“Sorry, a-Yuan. How long were you calling for me?”

SiZhui reaches up to dab at his cheeks with a sleeve. He wants so badly to address Senior Wei’s behavior, but he doubts he’ll get him to eat if he does.

“Only a couple minutes. I came to eat lunch with you. I even went to Caiyi town for your favorites and brewed your favorite tea.”

He’s unspeakably relieved when he gets a genuine smile from that, even if that smile is still tinged with sorrow.

“Ah, my handsome son is spoiling me so,” Senior Wei teases.

SiZhui laughs and repositions the trays. He pours the tea, then serves him first, then himself, covering the dishes to keep them hot after. Senior Wei’s food is a vibrant red, just the way he likes it, while his own is much blander though still spicier than what is usually preferred in Cloud Recesses.

The movement of chopsticks from plate to mouth is a win, and he doesn’t mind when Senior Wei leans against him slightly, as though taking comfort in his presence. If SiZhui can offer that comfort, he will.

Sitting on the wooden patio, eating in comfortable silence with the man he considers his first father, the man who had been lost to them all for sixteen years, is a comfort to him as well.

SiZhui isn’t quite sure how long he takes to realize the only noise is his own chopsticks against porcelain, but when he realizes he turns to find Senior Wei staring into the distance, a morsel of food suspended between chopsticks halfway to his mouth. His bowl is more than half full still.

“Senior Wei?”

Senior Wei startles, the food slipping through his chopsticks and landing on his robe. He tries to smile again, but SiZhui sees the effort it takes.

“You don’t have to call me so formally,” he finally murmurs, the effort sliding away.

“So I can call you a-Die? Even in front of the other juniors?”

The ghost-smile flits across his face again, and SiZhui wonders if that’s the most he can hope for right now.

“Anytime you like. You can even call me a-Niang if you want.” Senior Wei sighs softly, setting his bowl back on the tray. “I’m sorry you went to such trouble for me, but I’m not very hungry.”

SiZhui has a memory of making a specific face at him as a toddler to get his way. Perhaps it’s Senior Wei’s influence at such a young age, but he’s just shameless enough to school his face into a worried pout.

“I’m worried about you, a-Die.”

He’s horrified when it backfires, and Senior Wei sobs. Where before his tears had been almost disturbingly silent, the raw emotion now is heart-rending.

Immediately he abandons his bowl, not even checking to make sure it stays upright, and pulls him into a hug. Senior Wei doesn’t fight it, just buries his face against SiZhui’s shoulder, shaking.

“I’m here, a-Die. I’m here.”

Senior Wei is murmuring apologies almost immediately, but SiZhui doesn’t dare let him go.

“It’s okay to cry, a-Die. You can cry as much as you need to.”

It was something Father had told him once upon finding him hiding to cry, letting him know that tears were not shameful, and the rule ‘Do not grieve in excess’ did not mean one couldn’t grieve at all. In those days, SiZhui didn’t know what he grieved, but Father had cried with him. It had helped.

“I don’t want to burden you,” Senior Wei whispers.

“You’re not a burden! Not ever. Father and I missed you so much all those years.”

SiZhui is almost afraid to hug him more tightly, he seems so fragile.

“Father played Inquiry all the time,” he tells him, rubbing his back in slow circles. “He never stopped searching for you, even though you didn’t respond.”

From the way Senior Wei stiffens, he wonders if Father never told him that. SiZhui hopes he hasn’t overstepped.

“He never told me that. I never heard it,” Senior Wei finally whispers. “I don’t think I was in any condition to hear it.”

SiZhui feels frozen; there aren’t many reasons a spirit would not hear Inquiry, and one of those is moving on. The others are too horrible to think about. But this is a-Die.

“A-Die… Tell me? Please?”

He almost doesn’t want to know, but he can’t try to help if he doesn’t. He will not let ignorance be an excuse, not with a-Die suffering.

Senior Wei is quiet for several minutes before he finally speaks. “A-Yuan, do you know how I died?”

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he answers immediately.

It was taught to all disciples, something he finds horrible now, that duty calls to kill a brother if he turns to evil. Knowing the truth of everything and regaining his memories, SiZhui wanted to be angry at Jiang WanYin. Only the man looked at his once-brother with complicated emotions that included longing. He knows it is not his place to judge.

But Senior Wei shakes his head.

“After shijie… watching the whole cultivation world fight over the pieces of the seal, greedy for power… Everyone was dead, and I thought you were too, and I just didn’t want to exist in this world anymore.”

Senior Wei shudders, seemingly lost in memory.

“A-Yuan, I was a suicide. I threw myself off a cliff at Nightless City.”

SiZhui can’t stifle a gasp. He feels like the earth has opened up under him.

“Lan Zhan tried to stop me, tried to save me, but I didn’t let him. It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done to him.”

His voice hitches.

“I don’t remember the sixteen years I was dead, but I suspect my soul shattered at my death, so I doubt there’s anything to remember. If Mo XuanYu hadn’t forced my soul back together through the ritual, the pieces likely would have eventually just faded away.”

SiZhui hears a sob, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s come from himself. It was too horrible, that a-Die could have gone forever, that Father would forever be without him even in future lifetimes, and that the cost to prevent that was Mo XuanYu’s soul. The grief he carries is so much more understandable now.

“A-Die, please don’t leave us again,” he whispers.

Senior Wei wipes at SiZhui’s cheeks gently with his sleeve, looking at him with regret. “I didn’t want to come back, at first. But I don’t want to leave now.”

He blurts, “Why wouldn’t you want to come back?” before he can stop himself.

A-Die’s tears overflow again. “My shijie was dead, my nephew orphaned, my fault. My shidi hated me. I failed the Wens. The sects wanted my head on a platter. I thought Lan Zhan despised me, too. I was alone, and the world sucked, and I’d just cause trouble again. Why come back?”

“Father never hated you,” is all SiZhui can think to say in response.

He wants to say more, that a-Die doesn’t cause trouble, that he wasn’t responsible for Jiang YanLi’s death or even Jin ZiXuan’s. There’s so much he wants to say, but words escape him. He knows a-Die still blames himself, and there’s nothing SiZhui can say to change that.

“Ah, a-Yuan. I know that now, but I’m, well, an idiot, so that took a while. But that’s why I ran away from Mo manor, and why I wore that mask. I thought nothing good would come from being recognized.”

SiZhui returns a-Die’s earlier gesture, wiping tears from his cheeks.

“But things are better now, right? Why are you so sad?”

A-Die sighs softly. “Shijie is still gone. Jiang Cheng still hates me. It was so long ago for everyone else, but not for me. For me, it will be her first birthday since her death.”

That a-Die missed sixteen years is an ever-present facet of SiZhui’s life, an absence that spanned most of his life, but sometimes it’s easy to forget the impact on a-Die; he’s only been alive again for less than a year, and much of that time was taken uncovering Jin GuangYao’s crimes and then travelling for a few months alone.

“That’s why you’re going to Lotus Pier,” SiZhui murmurs, realizing. “I’ll come with, a-Die. So you’ll have both Father and me with you.”

He knows a-Die hasn’t visited his home but once since he came back, that there are painful memories he must deal with. He doesn’t want him to face them, not alone. And while he’ll be with Father, SiZhui knows it can help to have more people, especially since a-Die feels Sect Leader Jiang hates him.

“You’re not alone, a-Die. You’re not.”

A-Die gifts him with a smile, a genuine one, and SiZhui lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“A-Yuan, you’re such a good boy.”

They stay like that, a-Die draped across his lap, and SiZhui remembers once, long ago, Aunt Qing telling him Xian-gege missed his sister. He remembers lotus seeds and blossoms, and a-Die barefoot with a smile. The memory is vague, pieced together flashes, but it’s there.

Lotuses had grown in Burial Mounds. Surely they could grow in Cloud Recesses, perhaps in one of the grassy areas behind the jingshi, somewhere a-Die could look and be reminded of his sister, even though she’s gone. While at Lotus Pier, he’ll learn how to grow lotuses. He’ll find out what kind a-Die would like best, even if it means talking to Sect Leader Jiang about it.

SiZhui glances down and finds that a-Die has fallen asleep against him, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual, and he resolves to stay still until Father comes, to let him sleep.

Maybe later, together as a family, they can get a-Die to eat more, help him through his grief, remind him he’s truly not alone.

He won’t ever be alone again.

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan yuan #lan sizhui #lan zhan #lan wangji #cql #mdzs #my fanfiction

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ilovethetalkingclock · 4 years

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A Not-Sew-Magical Sequel (LALALOOPSY CREEPYPASTA)

(WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS CONTENT LIKE LANGUAGE, GORE, DEATH, PARASITES, DROWNING AND DARK COMEDY. IF YOU GET SCARED BY THIS, DON'T YELL AT ME FOR IT. YOU CHOSE TO READ IT.)

(story under the cut, based on a dream I had)

(don’t worry, it’s not a screamer, i’d never do that.)

No matter how many years passed and will pass, I liked and will still like Lalaloopsy. All the characters and concepts were and still are very interesting (though Jewel was always my least favorite) and the couple episodes I saw of both the original show and the reboot of Netflix were cute and in the case of the reboot actually very emotional. I also watched all the movies and while a majority of them were slightly flawed one way or another, that didn’t stop them from being good. Hearing the toys being discontinued and the Netflix show canceled indeed made my heart sink.

But that’s not all what I wanted to talk about. Onto Lala-Oopsies.

If you don’t recall, Lala-Oopsies was a spinoff line. As the name suggested, the characters were in mixed rainbow colors and body proportions that deviated from the usual Lalaloopsy dolls, looking like, in my own words, mutants. They came as princess/ballerina hybrids and mermaids, with the ‘Littles’ (which in the original Lalaloopsy line, were the younger sisters) as fairies. They had one movie, “Lala-Oopsies: A Sew Magical Tale”. It was like all the others, cute, a bit funny, and a simple Lalaloopsy adventure with the Lala-Oopsies.

What I never knew was that they were apparently planning on a sequel.

I was at a garage sale of sorts (i know, very cliche) when I found a blank DVD case. Here’s what it read:

“LALA-OOPSIES-SEQUEL(UNFINISHED)”

“Is this a joke?”

“Oh, that!” The owner of the sale noticed me and casually went on “I worked at MGA Entertainment… they were making a sequel to the Lala-Oopsies movie… some guy decided to make that, apparently as a joke, and he was fired as it had quite a bit of… crazy stuff. We decided to cancel it altogether as we didn’t have any other ideas... We were handed copies of it from the guy who made it before he was fired. The footage is all there. There’s a lot more stuff that happened after that, but I don’t really wanna go into full detail. If you wanna know completely, it’s worth only a dollar. Not somethin’ I’d wanna watch again.”

Out of morbid curiosity, I agreed to buy the thing.

So I went home, made sure to get my DVD player on, and opened the case. There were two discs. One that read “MOVIE” and another that just had random scribbles on it. I tried to make out if the second one actually said anything, but I couldn’t read it for shit. I got out the one that read “MOVIE”, making sure it was the film itself, and placed it in.

Hoo boy, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

There was no menu or trailers, though that was kinda expected considering it was unfinished. It just went straight to the movie.

It all looked official one way or another. Some scenes were fully animated, others were simple animatics, others were in between. But I’ll just say before we get on that it was not at all the usual Lalaloopsy fare. There was no sign of anyone’s pets at all throughout the whole movie. There wasn’t any music, like, at all, and that just made it a bit more unsettling.

Well, most of it wasn’t. It started off like your usual Lalaloopsy movie. Bea was walking down a path and singing a song about math to herself. A rather bad one, if you ask me. So bad, I have easily forgot about it. While walking, she finds the door that leads to Lala-Oopsies Land.

As the first movie took place in mostly a story that Bea was reading, she is surprised that apparently Lala-Oopsies are true. She leaves to find her friends, the rest of the Original 8 to be exact, and tell her all about it. This exchange from the conversation is what mainly caught me off guard.

Jewel: “So you just managed to find something from a story you read once in reality? I don’t believe it one bit.”

Spot: “Jewel. This is felting BEA SPELLS-A-LOT we’re talking about. The brains? The genius? The nerd? The know-it-all? She doesn’t seem to be making it up.”

Was felt their way of saying fuck? That was not in the other Lalaloopsy stuff I knew, as it was aimed at young children. I figured that was at least one of the reasons it was never finished. I decided to keep watching to find more reasons.

The Lalaloopsies were at the door to Lala-Oopsies Land, and as she didn’t believe it before as shown by the previous exchange I wrote about, Jewel was understandably dumbfounded. “Felt me, there really is a Lala-Oopsies Land…”

So of course they all opened the door and entered. Only as it turned out Lala-Oopsies land… wasn’t exactly as the story told.

The skies were orange like the original, but were more of a sickly shade of it. The ground was grey, rotted, and corpse-like. The mushroom ‘trees’ looked much more like actual fungi, and the strawberry-milk rivers and seas looked spoiled and curdled, and I could even make out a skeleton (presumably of a drowned Oopsie) in them. Bea probably put it best.

“Well… it seems the book apparently romanticized a couple details…”

The group decided to venture in and explore anyway. I couldn’t help but bring up the fact that a couple of them coughed quite a bit when they went in. Okay, scratch that, they were coughing violently, like they just inhaled smoke.

Pillow: “Felting seamstress, this place is polluted.”

As they were walking through, some sort of large insectoid jumped right on Peanut’s face Alien-style. Now I could really see why this movie didn’t make it. Obviously, everyone was panicking at the sight and trying to get the bug off. It wasn’t until like half a minute that Bea managed to find a stick on the ground and strongly swatted the insect away from Peanut’s face, though it seemed she also hit the face from this dialogue...

Peanut: “TRY AVOIDING THE FACE YOU IDIOTIC FELTING STITCH.”

...and stabbed the insect multiple times, pink-ish blood spraying from the body, gore getting everywhere. The other seven were so disgusted that Crumbs vomited right on-screen from the sight. Organs were coming out of the creature as Bea stabbed, and as I looked close enough the organs seemed rather human-like. That was pretty weird as the insect didn’t look human at all.

Well at least I found another reason for this movie’s rejection.

Before Bea turned the monster into an unrecognizable bloodied mush, I could make the colors of the insect to be that of the Lala-Oopsies fairy Lilac, hot pink and sky blue. Nah, I’m pretty sure it was just a coincidence. And yet…

Oh, that reminds me of another scene that happened later on.

The eight were venturing on into the islands riding on some sort of old rusted boat they found, and then suddenly some sort of sea serpent or something like that i dunno with the same color scheme as the mermaid Water Lily rose from the rotted strawberry milk oceans. Bea tried to row the boat away, but the monster attacked and even picked Jewel up and devoured her. There wasn’t any doll stuffing or anything cute like that. Jewel’s remains actually spurted crimson blood and human entrails as she was being chomped down on and eventually swallowed. Screaming as if the actress herself was getting violently disemboweled.

I can still hear her agonized screams as I write this, so that’s pretty annoying.

Pillow’s reaction perfectly described mine.

“HOLY FELTING SILK.”

My god... how the heck was a doll said to be sewn from a dress able to have human blood and guts?! Then again, it was a cartoon… a rather gory one if ya ask me.

In all honesty though, Jewel’s death was horrific yet satisfying for me. I never liked her the slightest.

During the attack, Mittens and Spot fell into the strawberry milk ocean as the boat was destroyed. It didn’t show the rest of what happened to them so I can safely assume they were either eaten or drowned. Or both.

So the ones left were Crumbs, Peanut, Dot, Pillow, and Bea.

They latched onto the boat’s remains as they headed to a large island.

The island’s inhabitants were all the princess ballerinas, both in the first movie and toy-exclusive, mutated to grotesque proportions, their hair all mussy and in tangles. Most of the princess’s faces were obscured by their hair, but the ones I was able to see were distorted in such a way I can’t really describe that well, though I’ll admit they looked pretty damn cool. Oh, their clothes were also a wreck too so yeah.

Crumbs became an idiot and decided to go up close to one (can’t remember which, i think it was Saffron?) to try and approach it friendly enough.

Saffron, like a wild animal, lunged at Crumbs and proceeded to violently rip her to shreds, and sure enough it was just as gruesome as Jewel’s death.

I remember just thinking to myself, “what the hell was this person on when making this?”

And yes, the remaining girls were horrified by that too and ran from the princesses as fast as they could.

Remember the scene I mentioned earlier with Peanut apparently getting attacked by that bug? Welp, they didn’t forget about that. Peanut immediately fell over, having a rather violent fit as she struggled for breath, her skin deteriorating as multi-colored insect larva ate their way out of her everywhere, some even lunging out like the chestbursters in Alien. (yes I know I already made that comparison before but still) They then proceeded to lunge at Pillow and devour her alive as she could only scream and the final two, Bea and Dot, could only watch.

As Pillow was honestly one of my most favorite Lalaloopsy, I just felt awful watching that.

Another princess, Anise, which I recognized full and clear with her pink and blue coloring, approached what remained of Pillow and grabbed some of the larvae, putting it in her mouth and devouring it, as her mouth was coated in a rainbow goo like that one My Little Pony episode with the zombies.

I would say it was disgusting, but a mutant doll eating a worm was the least of my worries.

She managed to speak words, which was strange because the princesses here were, again, mostly animalistic. Her voice was rather gravely, only vaguely sounding like the original.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING COMING TO A PLACE LIKE THIS?”

Okay, they weren’t even trying with that line.

Anise proceeded to grab Bea and beat her, but thankfully Bea was able to kick Anise right in the face, knocking her out before the grotesquely mutated princess could finish the job. Dot swiftly took Bea’s hand. Struggling to get up at first, the badly bruised Bea managed to get on her feet and run as Anise came to.

As they ran, Bea and Dot finally found the door where they came in. It tugged my heartstrings seeing the two tearfully look back, apparently reminiscing their friends, before leaving Lala-Oopsies Land for good.

It then cut to Bea in bed, very ill. She was apparently covered in radiation tumors and her hair was almost gone. Apparently the island was highly radioactive. Dot was next to her bed in tears, as Bea weakly said her final words.

“I’m sorry, Dot… sorry… for everything...”

Violently coughing blood, Bea finally kicked the bucket as Dot sobbed hysterically. The movie cut to black and ended there with, surprise-surprise, no credits whatsoever.

All I thought of was “How the hell did Bea get sick from radiation poisoning but Dot didn’t?”

So anyway I took the movie disc out and put in the one with all the scribbles.

It was a compilation of recorded clips, all of them surprisingly in the MGA Entertainment headquarters itself I presume.

One clip I remember was a Lala-Oopsies Princess Anise doll flying, chasing a random employee as said employee was in a panic. Yea it was a weird one.

Another consisted of another employee testing out a Princess Juniper doll. As they were squishing the head, (the Lala-Oopsies dolls had squishy foam heads) the doll suddenly started to bleed violently. Not gonna lie, I laughed at what the employee said.

“GOD DAMN IT GARY WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT MAKING THE DOLLS BLEED.”

Last one I remember was two employees talking to each other. One of them asked the other,

“What exactly was your motivation in making this weird-ass movie?”

The other employee just responded in a weird reverse demonic gibberish I didn’t have time to translate. The first employee’s only response was a flat “what”. Exactly my reaction too. I decided that was enough and took out that disc and put it away.

Where’s the case now?

In one of my shelves. I’m keeping it. I just think it’s pretty unique in a way.

Not like it’s cursed or anything.

The End

#lalaloopsy #lala oopsies #creepypasta #story #my art #trollpasta (mostly cause theres quite a bit of comedy elements)#scary #horror #death tw #dolls tw #body horror tw #parasites tw #gore tw

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

Rhythm of the Night

The Greatest Thing Chapter 7

A Moulin Rouge Fanfic

Christian x OC

Read the rest here

Paris, 1899

Christian wandered around the foreign city remembering the few visits he had taken there as a child. All the talk in the London Bohemian scene had been about how the 18th arrondissement of Montmartre was where the contemporary Bohemians of Paris had settled. Thus, Christian thought that there would be no better place to start his new life as a Bohemian writer than there. Perhaps he might cross paths with some of the greats, such as Emilie Zola, who was known to frequent the district. He didn't have much money to his name at the moment. Not after his fight with his father. Christian grimaced as he remembered the events leading up to him ending up in Paris.

The door of his room slammed open when he had returned home late once again. He had thought that he was quiet enough, but his father had been awake and waiting for him. His father stormed in and chastised him for acting like a poor student -or, even worse, a Bohemian- when he was so much more than that.

"You have one job, and that isn't to find the meaning of life, boy, that's to find a wife! This is your third season. Get ahold of yourself and straighten that head on your shoulders. No boy of mine is going to be a bachelor forever. You need to take care of yourself, make something of yourself in society. You'll never do that if you keep on like this. If I keep hearing about you in the gossip pages, we will have an issue," his father huffed.

"But, father, I am trying to find a wife! Why should I choose between following my own proclivities and the obligations of society when I can do both?" he asked.

"If doing one takes away from the efforts to do the other, then you have to choose. Those ideals of yours won't get you far in life, Christian. A suitable match will," his father remarked. "Now, unless you stop this nonsense, I'll have no other choice but to cut you off."

Stop being a Bohemian? Christian thought, That's like asking me to stop breathing air! His thoughts turned to Estelle. He'd be no good to her if he was poor and no longer worthy of participating in the Season, so he decided to try. He'd put more effort into being a better member of society. He tampered down his urge to rant about freedom, beauty, truth, and love, but he felt like by trying to please his father, he was becoming everything about the world that he despised. He was unhappy. He slipped further and further into a sense of resentment for everything society stood for. That was when he decided that he'd give up on society altogether. It wasn't a decision he had made lightly. He'd thought about the all the aspects of life in acceptable society and life outside of it, retreating into himself while he did so in order to soften the blow for when he did decide to leave. The final straw for Christian came after a week of dates arranged by his father. His father had received a telegram about how his son had been less than remarkable and very dull. When he confronted Christian about it, Christian broke.

"I'm either too lively, or not lively enough!" he said in exasperation. "If I can't be me, then what's the point?"

"The point is to get ahead."

"No, the point of marriage should be love," he yelled back.

"You'd best mind your tone, boy."

"Or what? You'll disown me?" he asked dangerously steady. "Is that it, father? Is that what this has come to?"

"If you don't have a wife, then you will not take over this family practice. If you're not going to continue my legacy, then what's the point of supporting you?" his father asked like it was the only logical conclusion.

"Even if I did have a wife, taking over your practice isn't what I want from life," he sighed.

"It doesn't matter what you want, what matters is what's good for you," his father said pointedly.

"Father, the only person who knows what's good for me is me," Christian said. It was the truth, and it was a truth he'd been keeping from himself for a while. For years Christian had been acting as if everyone else knew what was good for him. First it was his father, then when he was older it was society. Now, though, now he knew better.

"What are you going to do then, hmm? Become a poor penniless writer that starves to death in the streets because his words aren't enough?" his father asked.

"No, you are wrong. I am going to be a writer. I may be penniless, and someday I may starve to death, but my words will always be enough for at least one person. I may not touch the world, but I may touch a few and that is enough," he said adamantly. "Writing isn't about publicity or praise. Those things may be nice, but that's not why people do it. People write because they have a truth that they have to share, and by sharing that truth it lets others who may think they are alone know that they are not."

"You're a fool," his father spat.

"Perhaps," Christian said thoughtfully. "But I should prefer to be a happy fool than a disillusioned old man who gave up on his dreams before he'd finished dreaming them."

"You'll be cut off," his father said with weight.

"I don't care," Christian said with a smile, "because I will be free."

That was the night he had left. He'd left with only his typewriter, his savings, and a change of clothes. He'd sent a telegram to William Cavanaugh, paused outside of Ms. Devereux's home for a moment, feeling a pang of guilt, and then hopped on the first ferry to France he could get on.

London was dreary in comparison to Paris. He'd noticed this as he made his way through the city. London was a world of muted colors, mostly dull grays and browns, whereas Paris almost came to life. That was especially true at night. The colors were rich and vibrant as he made his way through the streets. He'd been searching for an apartment, but found that he had to keep climbing the hill. As he got higher and higher up La Butte, he found that the apartments were more in his price range. He had a considerable amount saved, but he knew it wouldn't last long if he carried on here in the same lavish style as he had in London. He didn't mind being frugal, though. After all, he was a true Bohemian now, and that meant cutting corners and living in poverty.

Eventually, he found a space. It wasn't much. Simply a room, really. Sparsely furnished, but it was enough. A grin crossed his face at the freedom he felt. He didn't have any obligations to anyone but himself. It was a rush. Christian settled in to write, placing his typewriter on his desk. His fingers hovered over the keys, but he never got to type that first word. Much to his surprise, a man came crashing through his ceiling. Plaster was everywhere and he sputtered in shock, but the people looking through the hole in his ceiling didn't seem concerned in the slightest, much to Christian's concern.

What he found upstairs was a group of Bohemian artists working on a play, who's star suffered from narcolepsy. Before he had any idea of what end was up, and his French being very rusty as it was, he was roped into this odd rehearsal, shoved into a pair of lederhosen and pushed up a ladder.

What an odd week this was turning out to be.

After rehearsal, he got to know his new neighbors better. He had truly hit the jackpot in this location. A short man by the name of Henri de Toulouse- Lautrec, affectionately called Toulouse for short, was the talk of London in the Bohemian circles. Christian was in awe that he was in the presence of such a great post-impressionist painter.

"So, Christian, what brings you to Paris?" Toulouse asked with a slight lisp, pouring him a glass of green liquid. Toulouse poured himself a glass, mixing in a darker amber liquid.

"Well, I was tired of pretending," Christian sighed, taking the drink. He took a sip and was taken aback by the anise flavor that washed over his tongue. Absinthe. He'd heard stories of the Green Fairy, but had never tried it before.

"Pretending?" Toulouse asked curiously.

"London society has no patience for free thought and the ideals like freedom, beauty, truth, and love. They expect you to go through life believing that money is happiness, and station is paramount."

"Titles don't matter when you're dead," Toulouse joked.

"No, but I suppose titles make it easier to remember you," Christian smiled.

"Anyone can call themselves what they please, and society can attribute whatever amount of respect to that title that they wish, but it means nothing in the grand scheme of things," Toulouse replied. "Especially if you didn't earn that title."

"The aristocracy is a sham," another neighbor spat.

"So you ran away from home?" Toulouse asked.

"Technically, yes? But, I've also been disowned," Christian said sheepishly.

"It sounds like you could use a distraction," the narcoleptic neighbor said, briefly rousing from sleep.

"I was going to write, actually," Christian replied.

"About what?" Toulouse laughed. "You haven't experienced Bohemia yet. You have thoughts, yes, but experience? Experience is what will add truth and weight to your words. It will make it raw. Tell me, Christian, what do you want to write about the most?"

"Love," he replied. "I think the greatest of the ideals is love. Love is in the air we breathe and you can never have too much of it."

"And have you ever been in love?"

Christian went to answer, but faltered. "W-well-"

"Did she love you back?"

"Perhaps," he murmured sadly. He felt that pang of guilt and regret in never having found out.

"There's very little truth in half answers," Toulouse replied. "Have you ever made love before?"

Christian blushed bright red. "I-I... W-well-"

Toulouse nudged his arm. "You can't create love on the page without knowing how it's made. I know exactly who to introduce you to, and maybe it will help you find something a bit steadier for when your savings run out."

Toulouse raised his glass, "To freedom!"

One of his other neighbors added, "To Beauty!"

The narcoleptic added, "To truth!"

Christian smiled, "To love."

They clinked their glasses together and drained them shortly after, laughing at the world and its bizarre nature to bring strangers together at the times when they needed to meet.

The plans were made, they'd all get dressed up and they'd go to the Moulin Rouge. Right at the edge of the Montmartre, nearly in Pigalle, the Moulin Rouge stood. Christian had only heard stories, the faintest of whispers even amongst the London Bohemian scene. Marked by the well-known windmill, the Moulin Rouge was a place where women raised their skirts to dance the can-can; it was a place where courtesans entranced the upperclass who could keep them until they had the next poor soul in their sights; and it was a place where one could see a belly-dancer in the infamous elephant should they be lucky enough. To describe the Moulin Rouge, would be to break every rule of decency in London society. Christian almost felt guilty for being there and having fun, like he was doing something wrong, something forbidden. He danced with the women, a rosy tinge on his cheeks at the foreignness of it all. The French were truly a different breed than what he was used to. A woman was lowered from the ceiling on a swing and Toulouse tapped his side.

"That's the Sparkling Diamond. If you get her on board with whatever you're writing, she'll be able to make it happen," he informed Christian.

"But she's just a courtesan," he replied in confusion.

"She's the star."

Christian looked up at the woman. She was beautiful. A part of him even admitted that he wouldn't mind falling love with someone like her, but she wasn't the star. She was a star, and she most certainly was not his star.

Christian nodded. "I'll do my best."

When Toulouse mentioned an introduction, he hadn't expected this much sneaking around to be involved. Yet, here he finally was in her chambers after the show. What he also hadn't expected was this woman's reaction. He was trying to recite poetry to her, and she was actively throwing herself at him. What was happening? Was this a French custom?

The night got even more out of control when some Duke got involved and now they were pitching this show and it was all so overwhelming. Yet, somehow they all worked well together? He just hoped this went better than the last time he tried to put on a play.

"Christian, I look ridiculous," Estelle groaned, coming out from behind the bedsheets they had pinned up as a makeshift curtain.

Christian tried his best not to laugh. "Nonsense, Ellie, I think you look marvelous. You should wear raspberry rouge and lipstick more often."

She looked like a clown, but they were going for a blushing girl in love. Their tutor had encouraged them to act out scenes from the play they were reading for English, Romeo and Juliet.

"Did you finish the balcony?" she sighed, wiping the last of the crushed raspberries off on her handkerchief.

"Almost."

"And I won't fall off?" she asked pointedly.

"That happened one time," he replied.

"Once was enough! It ripped my skirts."

"You'll be fine this time. I promise," he said reassuringly.

She wagged her finger at him. "I better be, Mr. Thompson, or so help me."

Their respective families settled into the seats they has arranged for them and they began. It was all going smoothly until Christian climbed up the 'balcony' and the structure started to sway.

"Christian?" she hissed low enough that only he could hear.

"Just keep going, darling, you'll be fine, we're almost through," he murmured.

She nodded and continued with her lines, but she watched the piece of wood he was holding onto slowly break apart from the structure. Then, it was like time sped up and Christian was falling to the ground. She quickly knelt beside him and took his hand. She finished out the scene, staying in character with her lines. Their parents applauded politely, not quite sure if that had been planned.

"I told you that you would be fine," Christian said sheepishly after they finished.

Estelle smacked his arm. "That is the last time I put on a play with you."

Christian came back to reality, staring down at the typewriter he was trying to write his play on.

He missed her, and he knew he had truly bungled things up big time. He pulled on his coat and went to send another telegram to William, telling him where he was and inquiring as to the state of things at home. William would know what he meant.

#The Greatest Thing #Chapter 7 #Christian x OC #christian moulin rouge

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enkelimagnus · 5 years

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Bread from the Earth

Sweet Jewish Alec & Maryse fic, full of acceptance, love and tradition!

Read on AO3

It was rather unusual for Alec’s mom to ask him to come over early on Shabbat. Usually, when they had a family dinner, she would prepare everything herself while Magnus and him wrapped up with work and other weekly things before everyone gathered at the Lightwood home.

He didn’t exactly know why she’d asked him to take the afternoon off, but it was probably important. Maybe it had to do with the wedding preparations. Alec had proposed to Magnus a couple of weeks prior. He hadn’t expected his mother to be as excited about it as she actually had been. When he’d come out and started dating Magnus, she had been only partially accepting.

It had taken the three years of Magnus and Alec’s relationship for her to mellow enough that she excitedly hugged him when he showed her the ring he was planning to propose with. The ring hadn’t left Magnus’ finger since that quiet evening on the balcony of their apartment.

Alec rang at the door of Maryse’s house and heard his mother hurry behind the door. He grinned widely when she opened the door and hugged him tightly.

“Hey, mom,” he said happily, and hugged her back.

Maryse let go of him and closed the door. Alec slid off his coat and straightened his kippah. She led him into the kitchen.

On the counter had been gathered ingredients and a large mixing bowl. Maryse directed him to wash his hands and gave him an apron.

“You asked me to come early for a… cooking class?” He asked, surprised.

Maryse hummed, putting on her own apron and taking off her rings. “Well, yes and no. I asked you to come early so I could teach you to bake challah.”

Alec opened his mouth, then closed it. That was… unexpected.

“I know you’re not… the wife . You’re both men, etc. But I know Magnus cooks a lot more than you do and I thought… you’d like to be able to do that. Bake challah for shabbat. And I know you’re 27, and I should probably have taught you much earlier but I held onto the hope you’d have a jewish girlfriend and wife who would do it for way too long and now I just… I've been thinking about it a lot. I want you to have that. For you, as my son, as my family and… for the two of you.” Maryse rambled. “So… challah.”

Alec felt something warm gather inside of his heart. Challah was important. Challah was the bread of rest days and holidays and important dates. It was the bread that was passed down from generation to generation, usually from mother to daughter. He knew Magnus probably had his own recipe but…

There was something about making his mom’s challah for the two of them, for their home, that made Alec feel so emotional that he felt some tears sting his eyes. He felt ridiculous, tearing up because of some bread, but here it was.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry,” Maryse said softly, pulling her son close and holding him tightly.

Alec felt stupid to be this emotional about bread. But here he was. It was the acceptance. The acceptance that yes, Alec was going to get married, and he was going to get married to a man, and that, if Maryse wanted to pass down her challah recipe, she was going to have to teach him, not wait to teach his girlfriend/wife. And more than that, it was being part of a family. Of his family. Of the culture of his ancestors.

Alec had had trouble accepting his own identity. Though the community he was a part of was not entirely against queer people, it was still a mixed kind of support that had made him feel uncomfortable and off as he was growing up. There had been many times where he’d wondered whether he could be gay and Jewish, whether he could be part of his community and culture if he wasn’t straight.

With work, with love from Magnus and his siblings, and his synagogue, he’d managed it. He remembered the day he’d bought a rainbow kippah, as some sort of identity-affirming gesture to himself. He remembered the first Shabbat with Magnus, he remembered the first holidays with him, and how it felt right to be who he was.

His mom let go of him after a moment. “Come on. It’s not gonna bake itself.” She muttered, but there was an undeniable emotion to her voice.

“What do we need?” He asked, looking over the ingredients that were on the counter curiously.

Robert, Alec’s father and Maryse’s ex-husband, had been very traditional with gender roles. Izzy was always asked to help in the kitchen, set the table, help her mom, while Alec was never asked anything of the sort. He was a little out of bounds here.

“You can take a small bowl, put the yeast in, and some warm water. We need one envelope of the yeast, and around two tablespoons of water,” Maryse started. Alec got to it immediately. She watched over him as he did the simple task. “Good, good. We’ll keep an eye on it and see when it’ll be done with getting moist. Now, grab a skillet, and set it on moderate heat,” she instructed, grabbing small boxes from the counter and putting them next to the stove.

Alec did as instructed. He wasn’t the best of cooks, but this was important, and he wanted to get this right.

As the skillet was warming up, Maryse stood next to him. “Now, we’re going to toast the spices,” she explained. “When I was young, my mom used to give names to the spices, and I didn’t know why. When I asked, when I was older, I learned that the names were the names of the women before her who had passed down the recipe,” she smiled.

Alec smiled back, and looked at the little boxes. “Which ones do we put in?”

“I use sesame, caraway, cumin and anise, but I know some people who add poppy or coriander as well,” Maryse smiled. “We can either do my recipe perfectly, or you can add an ingredient, and make it yours.”

Alec reached for the little containers, humming. He liked the idea of adding a spice and making it his own. He liked the idea that that spice could be his own, his family’s.

“What are the names for the ones you use? Are we using the Hebrew names or the secular ones?”

Maryse smiled. “I use the Hebrew ones. So, now that the pan is hot, I’m going to toss in the spices, starting from the oldest name to the more recent one.”

“What quantity?”

“Whatever seems right to you,” Maryse chuckled. “Not too much, not too little. Enough to warm you, and enough to be felt.”

Alec chuckled. “That’s a scary accurate method of measurement there, mom.”

Maryse gently tapped him on the shoulder and grabbed the cumin. “Cumin first. Your great-great-great grandmother, Ziva.”

Alec grabbed the container of cumin and put some in his hand, before gently tossing it into the skillet, muttering the name under his breath and committing it to memory. It was comforting.

“Next is the caraway. Your great-great-grandmother, Ganit.”

Alec followed the same motions. The cumin was starting to lightly roast on the skillet, and a sweet odor was coming out of it.

“Sesame. Your great-grandmother, Shirli,” Maryse added, and Alec kept going. “Then, the anis, and your grandmother. That’s Morasha.”

Alec finished with the anis and then reached for the coriander. “So. I want to add coriander. And… That’s gonna be for Zimra, for you,” he said softly and tossed the last seeds into the skillet. With a wooden spoon, he gently swished them around so they wouldn’t stick to the skillet too much.

Magnus liked coriander a lot. And it felt good to add his mom’s Hebrew name to the challah. In some sort of obscure and hard to explain way, it felt like Alec was connected to his family more than ever, understanding the line of women before him who had stood there and toasted seeds before baking them into challah bread for Shabbat.

As they became fragrant, Maryse took a bowl and he transferred the toasted seeds into it, and set the skillet to the side to cool down.

They combined flour, olive oil, honey and warm water into an electric mixer’s bowl and let it mix while they were cleaning up and preparing the rest. Maryse put on the radio and they both hummed and listened to music as they waited for the dough to become soft.

The electric mixer was probably not the most traditional method, but it was for sure the fastest and easiest, and Alec was not up for trying his hand at doing it without kitchen appliances yet. They added the yeast, some salt, and the toasted seeds, and Maryse pushed the mixer to a faster pace. Alec couldn’t help the child-like fascination that overcame him as he watched it all mix together and form a beautifully smooth dough.

“Give me your hands,” Maryse instructed and Alec put his hands forward. She poured a dollop of olive oil onto them. “Spread it over your hands. It will help us to retrieve the dough from the bowl, and it’s good for the skin.”

She let him transfer the dough to a large oiled bowl, cover it in plastic wrap, and let it sit in a corner of the room.

“Now, this can sit out for a while. Hour and a half, two hours, we just need it to double in size and we can keep going.”

They washed their hands, cleaned everything and tidied the kitchen.

When, hours later, after baking, and praying and repeating blessings, Alec bit into his first taste of the first challah loaf he’d ever made, under his mother’s loving gaze, he felt grounded in a way he’d never really felt before.

#malec #alec lightwood #maryse lightwood #fic #mine #shadowhunters

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kyogre-blue · 5 years

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Nano follow up (2)

Notes: The last chapter of part 1. I’m not going to write part 2 (post the SnB time skip) right now, so I tried to make the ending feel passably standalone. Thanks to anyone who managed to read all the way through lol, and I’ll put this up on AO3 after fixing a few foreshadowing parts early on.

~.~

Chapter 11: A new world

With Rashid’s support, Sinbad had been able to complete the application process to the trade union and the misculae of opening Sindria Trading Company’s first store in record time, and the shelves had already been emptied by enthusiastic customers by the time the others returned from Imuchakk. Even with their help, the days were hectic -- running the store, keeping track of their stock, and of course sailing straight back to Imuchakk for more.

It was months before Sinbad finally had time to relax and think again about his future plans. It wasn’t to say that anything had changed about his goals or his vision, but it had begun to take shape in a way he hadn’t been able to imagine before.

He would change the world. He would create a country. But because one country, even as powerful as Reim, couldn’t make the world to its liking, he would create a federation of many nations, leading them to create a better, happier world -- without war, without hunger, without the hopelessness of nowhere to turn.

And to do all that, he needed influence.

Power, money, fame, they were all tied together, and he needed all of them to create the necessary foundation.

Well, the first thing Sindria needed was simply more people. Sinbad and his closest comrades, no matter how capable, couldn’t do everything.

They needed to sell more, in more places, from more places. To find more nations to partner with, Sinbad would look far and wide. But for opening Sindria Company’s second office, there could only be one place. Leaving Rurumu in charge of the Napolia branch, he set sail.

The first thing Sinbad did when arriving in Balbadd was to go see his mother. He had never been separated from her for so long before, and even knowing that she was living comfortably and safely hadn’t quite eased his lingering worries. Esra laughed as he swept her up in a tight embrace, hugging back just as tightly.

“Oh, you’ve grown so much!” she said, stroking his hair. “Come, come, let me look at you. Mm, just like your father, so handsome. How many hearts have you charmed, hm? I bet you’ve been a real menace.”

“Heheh, I do look good, don’t I?” Sinbad bragged as he stepped back and preened.

She was right. He had grown enough to need new clothing -- again, even though he’d changed after arriving in Napolia from Imuchakk. He was already the same height has her and steadily edging upward. Beaming with overflowing excitement and affection, Sinbad couldn’t help hugging her again. Laughing, Esra let him do was he pleased.

Although she was doing better, less terribly thin and with a healthy color to her complexion, Sinbad soon urged her to a chair, before beginning to introduce his motley crew.

He left out the murder attempts and their exact history as assassins, but Vittel and Mahad still fidgetted guiltily as they bowed and greeted his mother. Ja’far was even worse, flushing a deep red and looking everywhere except Esra. Even Hinahoho was unusually clumsy and uncertain as he stooped closer to her level and ducked his head in greeting.

It all made Sinbad want to laugh even more. They’d shown less uncertainty facing down Valefor, but his mother with her gentle smile made them trip over themselves.

“Oh, and about Ali…” he started to say, remembering suddenly that he had left with one friend and returned with four different ones, which they hadn’t yet explained in detail.

“He came back a while ago,” Esra said unexpectedly. She paused, frowning a little and exchanging a look with Anise, who had been deferentially waiting nearby during their reunion. “Ah, actually… he’s been a little strange. Sin, you should talk to him.”

Strange?

That was enough to make Sinbad frown in turn, before he quickly smoothed out his expression.

“Of course,” he agreed easily.

Too easily, it turned out, because actually talking to Alibaba became much more difficult than he’d expected. The first few days, Sinbad was admittedly preoccupied with other matters -- visiting the royal palace to pay his respects to King Rashid, finding out the requirements for trading in Balbadd, setting his subordinates to locate a suitable building, and so on. The entire time, he didn’t catch even a glimpse of Alibaba at their manor, and that didn’t change even when Sinbad finally went to look for him.

He was never in his room and never around at mealtimes. He didn’t seem to ever pass through the entrance hall, and he certainly didn’t go to the garden. Only the guards had seen him, going in and out at odd times.

Giving up, Sinbad tried asking Anise, who was the one most familiar with him among the staff -- even setting aside their unknown history.

“Sir Ali? He’s been visiting the businesses he invested in and the people he gave loans to. He was following new leads too,” she said. That made sense, and Sinbad nodded, in between making faces at her young son. Apparently the boy had forgotten Sinbad while he was gone and was now being shy around this strange new person. “He’s also… been visiting the slums. He was helping people there find work, or helping fix things.”

The first one made sense, but the second one made Sinbad raise his eyebrows in surprise. “In the slums?” he repeated.

As he looked up at Anise from where he’d crouched to tease the very small Alibaba, the boy peeked out from behind his mother’s skirts and looked at Sinbad with interest. He resembled both Anise and the adult Alibaba very much, though his face was much rounder and his short, soft hair a golden brown somewhere between the two.

When Sinbad glanced back and smiled, the boy ducked out of sight again.

Sinbad clicked his tongue, straightening. This kid, acting all cute… Esra had plenty of stories to tell about how excitable he was normally.

“Yes, the place we used to live. But the reason…” Anise said, reaching down to pat her son on the head. “I don’t know. He seems very familiar with it, but why would a person like him…”

A ‘person like him’, huh? It was a strange thing to say. Not because Sinbad disagreed, though he wasn’t sure whether he did or not, but because Anise couldn’t have possibly actually missed seeing Alibaba’s face. He wasn’t consistent about actually hiding it, so she had to know. To say it like that, did she not recognize him after all? Were they really strangers, after all?

That couldn’t be right. Then… Alibaba knew her, but she didn’t know him…?

Finding no plausible answer even after turning the matter over in his mind, Sinbad set it aside -- again.

“Should I look for him there?” he asked instead.

Anise shook her head quickly. “Young master, that wouldn’t be a good idea. You don’t know your way around, and the slums aren’t very welcoming to outsiders. It could be trouble if you go.”

If his mother was the madam of the house, then naturally Sinbad was the young master. Unlike Alibaba and Esra, he didn’t try to correct Anise’s way of addressing him. After all, ‘young master’ was nothing compared to his intended future title of ‘your majesty’.

He could understand her point. Even when he and Esra had been poor, Sinbad had been a fisherman, not a slum-dweller, and nowadays he looked nothing short of rich. And even if he stripped off his expensive accessories and clothing, he would still stand out just walking down a back alley -- with his confidence, his looks, everything. Sinbad had always been better at drawing attention than at keeping a low profile.

He was sure he would come out on top in the end, but why ask to be mugged when it wasn’t necessary?

Not necessary yet, anyway.

“Does he at least come back to sleep, do you think?” Sinbad wondered, a bit exasperated.

“Sometimes,” Anise said. “The maids say there’s things out of place or the sheets need to be changed. But... not every night.”

She had started out as a maid herself, but with the additional responsibilities that had been given to her over time, Anise’s role was closer to a head servant or even an estate’s steward. Even though Esra had slowly begun to take a more active role in managing the manor as her health improved, the servants generally still reported to Anise.

And what they didn’t report directly, they gossiped.

Naturally, Alibaba was a very popular source of gossip in the first place, much less with his strange behavior after returning.

“Our Sir Ali has become quite a delinquent,” Sinbad tittered, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “But don’t worry, Miss Anise! I’ll have him straightened out in no time!”

Anise nodded, her expression grave but her eyes twinkling. “We can only count on you, young master.”

As Sinbad departed, the small Alibaba hiding behind her finally peeked out again. Staring after him with a serious expression, he finally looked up at his mother and parroted seriously, “Youn’ master.”

His nose scrunched up as Anise ruffled his hair. “That’s right,” she said. “And if you ask him, I’m sure he’ll tell you lots of interesting stories about his adventures. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Her son didn’t respond, only turning to look again in the direction Sinbad had gone, his expression comically deep in thought. Finally, he nodded.

He liked stories. It would be pretty fun indeed.

~.~

The delinquent Sir Ali returned home two days later, long past nightfall. Alibaba was unaware that he had been affixed with this kind of label, and he would have protested fervently, if he had known. It wasn't as if he was doing something shady! And while perhaps not fitting to society's perceptions of upstanding, the places he had been going were hardly dens of crime and immorality either.

He just got carried away sometimes. It would be dark before he knew it, and it just seemed easier to spend the night in the slums, in one of their old hideaways or some place like them.

Compared to the manor, those abandoned little boltholes known only to the street rats felt more familiar, even after all this time.

...He just couldn't get used to it.

He understood -- he couldn't go back. This world, even if it wasn't where he was born, was to be his home now. It was where he would live on, just like Aladdin had asked him to. It was his new home. There were even already people he cared about here, the younger Anise, Sinbad, and a growing number of others. That was why he had started trying to make things better, to fix the things he had been unable to do anything about as a child in Balbadd, and maybe pay off his debt in some small, distant way by preventing the slums from suffering so much in the future.

He knew and accepted all this. He tried to keep moving forward, as best as he could. And yet, he just couldn't get used to it at all. To the manor, to his own wealth, to Anise who didn't recognize him. Even as he kept himself busy, there was a ceaseless feeling of restlessness and tension thrumming at the back of his mind.

Sighing, Alibaba rubbed at his bruised knuckles.

With everything going on, he had realized embarrassingly late that certain things would not play out as before. Specifically, since her life had been changed so early, Anise would no longer have any reason or opportunity to even meet Cassim and Mariam, much less take them in under her wing. And who could say what would happen to them without her, especially given... everything with their father.

Alibaba didn't regret punching the drunkard in the face when he went looking for the young versions of his childhood friends, but it was hardly a long-term solution.

Could he ask Anise to look after them, and set history back on track? Or...

Sighing again, Alibaba stopped in front of the door to his room and silently began to ease it open. He had only returned to pick up some things and check his records before moving forward with his next effort -- negotiating with one of his investments about hiring a few more workers from among the slumfolk, who would at least have the opportunity to provide for their families. Then he’d be out again come morning, keeping himself busy to avoid dwelling too much.

But as he slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him, Alibaba froze in surprise.

There was a figure in the window, silhouetted by the clear moonlight.

Meeting his eyes, Sinbad smiled and held up a finger to his lips. He nodded toward Alibaba’s bed -- where a small lump was curled up among the cushions. His younger self, fast asleep after trying to play ambush with Sinbad and listening to his stories late into the night.

Alibaba, who hadn’t even realized that Sinbad and his group had returned to Balbadd, took a moment to regain his bearings.

Getting ambushed like this, he was reminded of Morgiana sneaking into his room to abduct him back then. But more than that, he suddenly and strongly remembered the adult Sinbad he and the others had met in Balbadd. This was his first time seeing Sinbad since his memories had more or less returned, and the first time he could compare the future king with his child self.

The future Sinbad had smiled a lot, but it had been very different.

Blinking quickly, Alibaba cleared away the double image. When Sinbad pointed upward, seemingly toward the ceiling, he nodded in understanding.

Silently, they slipped out the window and clambered up onto the manor’s flat roof. As usual in Balbadd, the night was warm, but a steady breeze blew toward the sea, making the air feel fresh and cool. The dark sky was clear, scattered with stars that Alibaba habitually linked into the major constellations for navigation.

The sky, at least, was the same in both worlds.

Sinbad watched him with a patient smile, propping his head up with one arm. Feeling suddenly awkward, Alibaba cleared his throat.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I didn’t realize you’re back.”

“Mm, for a while now. Seems like you’ve been busy,” Sinbad noted. He grinned. “Want to tell me about it? Or do you want to hear about my great adventures first? I’ve been told it’s a very good story!” He puffed up, preening.

It was an easy out, and Alibaba was halfway to accepting when he unexpectedly found himself hesitating.

Agreeing would just be running away again. Hadn’t Morgiana had the right of it, back then when she had enough and just dragged him off to see Aladdin? Making them talk to each other had been just what they needed, because Alibaba had never been a person who could accomplish things on his own. Back then, now, he hadn’t been able to make any headway, no matter how hard he struggled to keep going.

Sinbad had never pressed for answers, even though it wasn’t possible for him to have missed all the strange things about Alibaba. But didn’t he deserve an explanation? Didn’t he deserve Alibaba’s trust?

‘It would be good if you two can look after each other.’

‘I don't want you to end up alone.’

That was what Aladdin had said. He had arranged their meeting -- their headlong collision -- on purpose, just so that Alibaba would have... a friend.

His shoulders slumped as he let out a silent breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Looking up at the stars, he slowly picked out the words.

“I... went to Musta’sim Kingdom,” he started. “To their magic academy. I wanted to see if they knew anything about traveling between dimensions.” His lips twitched. “They didn’t.”

“That’s the same thing you tried to ask Valefor about,” Sinbad said.

Alibaba nodded. “I asked the High Priestess in Reim too. Those are all things Yunan suggested trying, when I told him about what happened.” He paused, his hands clasping tightly as he made several false starts to just say it. “The thing is... I’m, I’m not from this dimension. This world.”

“...Ah,” Sinbad made a soft sound.

“It’s a lot like this world, the one I’m from. It’s almost the same,” Alibaba went on, the words coming quickly now that he’d started. “The same countries, the same people, everything. Except that it’s the future. It’s fourteen years later. I was in Qishan, fourteen years after the first dungeon was conquered, and then afterwards I was in Partevia, and there was... there was you.”

“There was me,” Sinbad agreed. “With Baal.”

He sounded thoughtful, but not... as surprised as Alibaba would have expected.

His expression, when Alibaba snuck a glance at him, was considering but not in the least troubled. “So it’s like that,” Sinbad said finally, nodding to himself. “I see, it makes sense. So then Miss Anise is your mother, and that’s why you knew about Valefor. And all this time, you were looking for a way back. I see, I see.” However, as the things that didn’t make sense connected in his mind, his brow slowly furrowed. “But if you’re moping around like this, then...”

“...There isn’t a way back,” Alibaba said quietly.

The silence felt very heavy. He had already known it, of course, but saying it outloud made it worse.

“I have to live in this world,” he repeated what he had told himself countless times.

But even so, he still couldn’t accept it. His debts in Balbadd, his promise to Aladdin, he would never be able to fulfill any of them. And that, he just couldn’t...

“--I’m a little jealous.”

Eyes wide in surprise, Alibaba snapped his head around to stare at Sinbad, who chuckled. “I am,” he insisted, smiling wryly. “You know, I want to change the world. But for you, you change it just by being here. That’s right, isn’t it? This world was like your past, but it’s going to be different because you’re here.” He grinned. “Really, a man who can change the world! I’m jealous!”

That was the last thing Alibaba expected, and he blinked at Sinbad blankly for a moment. “You--! Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s a good thing!” Alibaba protested. “What if I mess something up? Even with you...”

He cut himself off, but it was already enough. Understanding sparked in Sinbad’s eyes, making his grin widen.

“You know about the future me, huh? Right, you knew Baal! I’ll be famous, right? I’ll found a kingdom, just like I said?” he pressed excitedly.

“Not if I mess it up!” Alibaba shot back, flustered. “That’s what I’m saying--!”

Laughing again, Sinbad slapped him roughly on the back. “Don’t worry about it!” he declared.

....That sounded like there should be more after it, but nothing followed. It seemed that Sinbad had said everything he felt necessary. Alibaba could feel his rigid expression twist in exasperation that had long since become familiar.

“What ‘don’t worry'?!” Alibaba demanded with a sudden sense of deja vu. “How am I supposed to not worry? We’re talking about… about the fate of the world! And your fate too!”

Aladdin, Sinbad, both of them! Why were his friends like this?

Of course, Sinbad just kept on laughing. “Don’t worry, don’t worry!” he repeated. “Come on, have some faith in me! I’m Sinbad, the dungeon conqueror! I can see the flow of fate, and I’ll find my way no matter what. So what if it’s a little different? Isn’t it even better than just following someone else -- even if it’s another me?”

...Typical. Sinbad’s grin was infuriatingly smug and self-confident, and Alibaba still felt like he wasn’t taking things seriously enough at all. They were talking about time travel and the future--

But maybe that didn’t matter that much, in the end.

This was a different world. Sinbad was a person who could do anything, and he was right -- he would find his way to greatness, regardless of any changes Alibaba’s presence caused. That was the kind of life he would lead, not because of fate, but because of his own nature and choices.

It wasn’t just him. Was there really a right or wrong in a history that was still being written? There were things Alibaba wanted to prevent, of course. The suffering of his friends, the tragedies in the slums, everything that had happened with King Rashid’s death. But it was only natural that other tragedies might occur because of the things he changed.

It was always like that. It was just part of living.

The things he couldn’t get back wouldn’t change. But he still had a future. A future Aladdin had worked hard to make for him, in whatever had gone wrong in their world.

He had even made sure that Alibaba would have a friend to rely on.

“But you know, if you’re still worried...” that friend said, wiggling his eyebrows as he sidled up to Alibaba, “you can just leave it to me. I’ll create a whole new world that no one’s ever seen -- not even you. So just believe in me, and become my--”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!” Sinbad protested.

“I believe in you,” Alibaba said -- smiling, because it was true. It had always been true. “But didn’t you say it’s better to find your own way, instead of following someone? Besides, there are still thinks I need to do.”

Even if they didn’t know him and weren’t really the people he knew, he still wanted to help them -- Anise, Cassim and Mariam, Morgiana… Maybe even Aladdin, in the far future when he appeared again. And there was also still that organization out there, moving to create abnormalities in the world, just like in Balbadd.

Even if he couldn’t accept it yet, Alibaba would continue moving forward.

Sighing a little, Sinbad nonetheless smiled. “Alright. But don’t forget you can always ask me for help,” he said. “Personal stuff, or things you can’t explain, it doesn’t matter, you can count on me.”

“I know. You’re a pretty reliable guy,” Alibaba agreed, echoing Aladdin’s message wryly. Closing his eyes for a moment, he smiled too. “You can count on me too. Let’s create a new world, Sin.”

And someday, this world would become his home.

~.~

#nanowrimo #My writing

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commanders-sole-braincell · 5 years

Text

The Commander’s eyes fairly shone in the dark, two glittering orbs that drew you in and offered you no escape. Not that you wanted to, in the end, even as they pull you towards their bed. Their hands were calloused from years of battle and more than a little scarred, but their grip was anything but rough as they cupped your face. Their hands were achingly gentle, and it was all for you.

When they leaned in, you surrendered- to the warmth that they offered, the promise of being saved.

—-

“What.”

Trahearne stares at the book he’s holding with something akin to despair lighting up his grooves and settling between his ribs like poison. A THRILLING ADVENTURE OF RESCUE AND ROMANCE: MEET THE COMMANDER. It read. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE- YOUR CHOICE DECIDES THE ENDING! It read.

A deep breath, and another, and he averts his eyes from the risque cover in front of him, orange creeping up his skin and settling around his cheeks. This is- bewildering. Ridiculous. And also very embarrassing, seeing his good friend put in this position. He hopes they won’t find out- they have had enough on their shoulders lately.

(He also hopes no one catches him standing here- the last thing he needs is more teasing from Caithe. He shoves the book back onto the shelves with more force than necessary and beats a hasty retreat, face burning.)

—-

He felt his heart thrum in his ears, a low static whine that drove him to wrap his arms around The Commander without even realizing it. It took him a few beats to realize exactly what he was spooning, in this beat down inn that only had one bed for them.

Instinctively, he drew back, praying the Commander was asleep- but then there was fingers wrapping around his, guiding them to their chest and squeezing tightly. They spoke then, words dripping with the bare bones of both an order and a plea.

“No- It’s okay. Just… stay like this, Canach.”

He knew that he should say no. He should pull out of that grip, both unerringly strong and pitifully hesitant, and turn away. He had reasons he should. The Commander was a beacon of light and hope, all strength and power. He was just their bodyguard, he was a former fugitive, he was as sharp and prickly as they came- he couldn’t possibly make them happy.

But the night was cold and The Commander radiated warmth like they were made of it- surely they could lend him some of that warmth, just for a little while?

—-

He stares at the words blurring together in his field of vision before looking up at Countess Anise, who looks like she’s having too much fun at his expense. “People actually write these? Stories about me and the Commander getting together?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He tries to imagine falling in love with the Commander, and his mind stalls in protest at the idea of being in an intimate relationship with them. He then tries to imagine being in the scenario he just read about and almost retches. They might as well be his younger sibling, some days- he has as much chance of falling in love with them as he has crushing on the Firstborns, which is no chance at all.

“Please, they’ll read everything we do as romantic. It’s the price we have to pay for being in the public eye.” She pats the stack of books she has piled on her mahogany table, and he’s somehow not surprised that she reads about herself and The Commander dating, even if it’s far from the truth. “At least it’s entertaining.”

There’s a small idea beginning to form in the back of his head. It’s a ridiculous idea. A horrible idea. He’s practically inviting grief into his life and telling it to wipe its feet at his door.

“Say we make it more entertaining for us?”

—-

The soulmark on his fur burned whenever he spotted them, curling wings and blazing fire. He loved them, and it burned him- smoke in his breath, coal in his chest. In the future he would stare at a burnt body and wonder if he was responsible, wonder if his mark had been of tragedy after all. But right now he was standing next to The Commander and feeling sparks fly between them, claws flexing, and wondered about nothing at all.

They smiled on him. His mark on them shone- Bright and bold strokes complementing the edge of their smile. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this, honestly. He wasn’t sure he cared.

“Come on Rytlock.” They called out, hand outstretched. He didn’t hesitate to take it, the sun shining overhead painting their soulmarks gold and red.

—-

“Holy shit.”

The words drop from Rytlock’s mouth before he can register it. He’s too busy staring at the familiar face staring up at him from glossy pages, all smooth skin and half lidded gazes and provocative poses. Sometime between the first time he met The Commander and the hundredth time they needed saving from some shenanigans or another they were ruined for him, but damn.

He flips through the book. It’s mostly a trashy story about The Commander (You know, your boss, some part of his mind whispers accusingly. He throws it aside with a strength he usually only reserves for Logan or Canach.) but there are more than a few pictures. One in particular sears itself in his head: The Commander, emerging from a waterfall, eyes smoldering under the curtain of water, dripping wet and their muscles straining as they tipped their head back with a sigh, exposing the nape of their neck-

Alright Rytlock, time out.

This wasn’t what he had expected to see when he walked into the store today. He should probably stop.

He shelves the book, almost reluctantly, and turns his gaze down the corridor. There is nothing but romance novels about The Commander. He continues down the aisle with trepidation, but curiosity keeps him going. He has to know. He can’t see himself sleeping tonight until he does.

And there it is- It’s him. On a cover. It’s a badly drawn recreation of The Commander wearing his stolen shirt last month as they did with everyone, except this time he’s standing by their side with his arms around them like he has never heard of the concept of personal space. “Wild Heart” The book reads. It’s a hardcover.

He stares and takes this all in for a few seconds. He has to wait to truly grasp the magnitude of what he is seeing. He stands there and then he turns around so quickly Sohothin almost catches the shelves aflame, steps echoing like gunshots as he walks. He has books to hunt down.

(On the other side of the world, Logan whistles through his teeth as he fans himself with the pages he had just been flipping through, trying to will away the blush on his face through sheer determination alone. Damn, he wasn’t even offended about being written as a swooning knight in distress- not when they had a scene that would probably make even Eir reach for iced water.)

—

TODAY YOUR BARTENDER IS:

HELLA FUCKING GAY

DESPERATELY SINGLE

FOR YOUR DRINK TODAY, I RECOMMEND:

YOU GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER.

There was a little stick figure doodled on the left hand corner, and the sight of it made Kasmeer smile that adorable smile of hers, her head pillowed on Marjory’s shoulder. It’ was a surprisingly cute message for what looked to be the entrance of a seedy tavern, and from the rapidly forming line the message was well received. Marjory almost found herself intrigued. Almost.

At least, that was what she thought until she pushed open the door and actually saw the bartender, juggling three mugs of ale as if it was nothing. They winked at her and Kasmeer’s direction, their arms coming to a stop as they slid the mugs to the customers and leaned against the counter without missing a beat, showcasing legs that seemed to go on forever.

“Welcome!” They greeted, the crinkles by the corners of their eyes like stars. She suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. Judging by Kasmeer’s own blush, it wasn’t just her.

—

“We should tell them.”

“Mmhm.” She hums, an easy noncommittal sound. She’s thinking a little too hard of pages 305 and 306, paragraphs 150 to 156. Beside her, Kas makes a frustrated noise at the back of her throat as she stubbornly keeps her eyes on the wall instead of looking at the book in her hands. “Of course, you’re right cupcake.”

“Jory.”

“Okay okay, you’re definitely right- But The Commander’s gone for a few days right? What’s the harm in finishing this book waiting for them to come back? It’s pretty good, subject matter aside.” Kasmeer looks redder than an angry hylek. It says something about the two of them that the sight brings not only hilarity but fondness, smooth and sweet like chocolate. “Besides, I heard that we appear in this one.”

“…Fine! Give me some space.”

—

“No, no no- You can’t die on me okay?” He pleaded, keeping his hands on their wound. There was so much blood, painting the ground red. There shouldn’t be this much blood. He didn’t think they had it in them.

The Commander’s eyes was darkening by the second, their lips moving soundlessly. It made a lump build in his throat, and he redoubled his efforts to close the wound, uncaring of the sound of battle happening somewhere in the distance. He didn’t care- not about his grudge, not about the Ice Dragon, not about anything. All he could see was the one person who had tried to always be there for him bleeding out between his fingers.

They were so, so cold.

“Please,” he whispered, bowing his head. A miracle. Anything. “I’m sorry for everything- you were right. I was acting like a Dolyak’s rear, I’m sorry, please.”

“Don’t die.”

—

Taimi feeds the fire she’s making with another book, tamping down the wave of nausea she feels whenever she sees The Commander’s face looking at her from the cover. They’re like a parent to her, and the vast amounts of disgust they feel with each paper they drop into the flames is unsurpassable.

She takes great vindictive pleasure in burning the one with Braham on the cover, almost retching at the idea of… them, together. In the biological sense. Ew. He’s like her big brother, pretty much is in all the ways that matter. She does not want to see him kissing someone. Especially that specific someone.

She throws another book into the fire.

—

“I killed Balthazar.” They said, keeping Grenth’s gaze. They stood out in the darkness of the mists, a single living soul amidst a thousand lost. “You- owe me for that. All of you do.” They continued, their measured steps stirring up dust.

He had to admit, this was an interesting turn of events. He watched them try to mask their desperation and finally spoke. “And so too did Balthazar kill you,” He reminded them. They didn’t flinch. “You escaped death once. You cannot ask me to extend the same blind eye to another.”

The Commander’s shoulders drew back, and they took a deep breath, uncaring of the frost that claimed the very air. The sight intrigued him more than it should. It had been a long time since he had met a living being that did not flinch at the sight of him. “Then I’ll pay it, any price. I’ll do so willingly.”

“You will not.” He said, and for the first time he stood. “But you will pay it nevertheless.”

—

They wonder why the Dragon’s Watch looks so pale. Rytlock’s face is curled up into a snarl, teeth on full display, Canach lips pursued where he stands. There shouldn’t be anything threatening here in Lion’s Arch, but they put a hand on their weapon and begin to advance all the same.

“Commander!” They hear a familiar voice; It’s Logan, a smile on his face as he comes to a stop before them. “Glad you could come. Would you mind coming with me for a moment?”

They look behind them- Their guild seems to have calmed down. From this angle they can’t see what it is that has had them so upset, but it looks to have been resolved. With that in mind, they give Logan a nod and allow themselves to be pulled along.

(They watch The Commander go, led away by Logan, and sigh in poorly concealed relief. A human passes by, dressed as a very familiar Sylvari, complete with the distinctive markings and orange glow. Another passes by- red hair, tall build, armored. Another: A flaming sword and a menacing look. They’re nothing but costumes, actors and fans honoring those they admire and ridiculing those they hate, but that doesn’t make it any better- to be surrounded by constant reminders of those they had lost.)

(The Commander must never find out.)

—

“I have to save everyone.” They said, and you could see their hands shake. You wondered how long it had been since they rested. “I can’t stop. I can’t rest.”

You thought about how much they’ve done for you, for Tyria- the days you felt like giving up, but knowing someone was out there risking themselves day after day, for you, and you just couldn’t do that to them. You tried to put it into words. You tried to tell them how much they were loved, and beloved, by you and everyone- how much it mattered. How sometimes when the days seemed bleak and life bleaker you could remember what they did, see them helping injured refugees and fighting for the weak, how it gave so many people the strength to carry on.

You weren’t good with words though, you never were. So you hugged them, the way you always wished you could.

(Author’s Note: Commander, if you’re reading this- Thank you so much.)

—

They put their head in their hands, laughing softly- laughter that soon turns to choked sobs, shoulders shaking, an ensnared bird beating its wings in their chest. There’s a mountain of emotions pressing onto their back, the ink on the pages smearing with their tears.

They never expected- they never asked for this. They were The Commander because someone had to do it, and it might as well be them. They’ve saved so many lives it’s blurred together, and somewhere down the line everything else got left behind.

They never asked for anything- They never asked to be sent this parcel, and this trashy book written about them, with that author’s note on the bottom and its sincere words of thanks. The idea that they’ve saved people, just by existing… Just by living- It’s a heavy burden, but something in their chest unwinds as saltwater drips down their cheeks like twin waterfalls.

(They think about showing this book to their friends, laughing about how it made them sound surrounded by those they love most. They think about taking a few days leave, leaving everything to others for a while. They think about going home, and listening to familiar sounds and smells. They think about visiting those that had fallen, flowers and offerings in their arms and no ghosts dogging their footsteps.)

“Thank you.” They whisper, and the pages rustle like laughter in the wind.

—————-

Awakening anon how’d you get me to nearly hurt myself from laughter then have me having to go dry my eyes after crying??? How’d you do that what sorcery??

Also omg the AU’S (they had to share a SINGLE BED, SOULMATE AU and the BARTENDER AU, I’m FERAL) I also never considered the emotional impact of cosplays/remembering the dead in such a way and OOF

#Guild wars 2 #GW2 #long post #Awakened Anon #Anon Writings #I'm actually genuinley crying OMG???#Slides money across table how much for a full fic of those AU tho #someone get tyrianlibrary we got the star of the show here #submission

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