#I can’t close my windows they’re broken so more rain gets in

[kissmefriendly]

Pray tell, what must it be like living somewhere without constant mold in your lungs

[lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie]

Royal Promise

Summary: Or five times the twins made royal promises to each other and the one time they finally learned of its origin.

Pairings: None, BROTHERLY CREATIVITWINS

Warnings: Nightmares, slight mention of thunderstorms, angst, unintentionally u!patton and u!logan

(A/N: Fun fact the word count for this fic is 10, 792 words! My biggest word count yet!)

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            For as long as they could remember, the royal promise was a special and almost sacred pact that the twins made. It was their thing that no one else had or did. They made it clear that it was special, something meant for royals or very big important promises that can’t be broken. It was a sealed deal and breaking a royal promise comes with heavy risks. The one who made the royal promise would deal physical pain to the one given the promise. So, the twins would take the royal promise very seriously. They never used it for anything small. Strangely enough, no one, not even Logan or the twins themselves knew of its origin. It’s just been their thing that they’ve had since the aftermath of the split.

1.

            Despite Remus being loud and rambunctious, he never really liked loud noises that weren’t his own. He didn’t like yelling either if wasn’t the fun kind. He hated it when the other sides started arguing and yelling. He didn’t like it when Virgil screeched or when Patton cried out in anger. He didn’t like it when Logan angrily told him off. He didn’t look like it, but Remus also hated the loud noises that thunderstorms made. Sure, he could play in the storm all he wanted but once he heard that loud bang of thunder, he’d run back in to either hide somewhere or go cling to his brother.

            This is why Remus has a hate-love relationship with storms. They’re fun to play in but they’re loud and noisy and they make him think too many bad thoughts. What if lightning hits their home and catches it on fire? What if it hits Roman and he catches on fire? What if it hits Janus or Virgil? What if the thunder banged so loud his ears exploded and he can’t hear anymore? Janus had already told him those things can’t happen, but Remus’ mind isn’t exactly good at staying quiet for even five seconds.

            That’s why Remus finds himself restless one night as a storm rolls in. According to Logan, this storm was going to be a big one. That meant lots of thunder and lightning. While everyone else seemed to be getting cozy for the evening, Remus was coloring on the floor while his twin brother seemed preoccupied with something else that he can’t see. Meanwhile, Janus is sat on the couch and reading his book. The heavy rain is already starting to pour outside the window.

            Remus looks up from his coloring book and gazes at the window, the storm whirling and swirling with rain outside. He hopes it’s just rain and nothing more. He then glances at Roman and hums curiously. His brother had come running in with a bunch of stuff and said he was going to make something. When Remus asked to help or watch, Roman said no and that this was very important that he had to do it alone. Remus was a little hurt, but he knows Roman cares about his creations, so he let him be. He’ll probably show him later. He then huffs and sighs.

“Are you done yet, RoRo?” Remus whines, flopping onto his back.

Roman chuckles.

“Not yet, Ree.” he answers, turning to flash a quick smile at his twin.

“But you’ve been working on that—”

Lightning then flashes brightly and-

BANG!

The thunder followed, loud and almost monstrous.

Remus jolts and squeaks before running off to his and Roman’s bedroom, squirming under the bed.

Meanwhile Janus sighs and closes his book.

“Oh, Remus…”

He then climbs off the couch.

“Don’t wander off, Roman.”

“I won’t.” Roman replies without looking up.

Janus nods, curious as to what Roman is up to. He wouldn’t tell him either. For now, he makes his way to the twins’ bedroom. He opens the door and looks around the messy room they share.

There’s stuffed toys and pillows strewn on the floor by the bed. Crayons and papers filled with drawings are scattered on the desk by the window. A paper crown sits on the red chair and a big book sits on the green chair.

“Remus?” Janus calls. “Where are you, little squid?”

Rumbling thunder replies instead and Janus inches towards the bed, pausing when he hears it creak and something thump under it.

“Remus, are you under there?”

A soft whimper.

“No…”

There he is…oh dear, he sounds scared.

Janus goes over to the other side of the bed and smiles when he sees Remus’ butt sticking out from under the bed along with his wiggling feet. He sighs and crouches down.

“Boo.”

“Eep!” *thunk* “Ow!”

Janus laughs a little.

“You really are so good at hide and seek.” he teases.

Remus squirms, still trying to hide under the bed. His chubby tummy stops him going in any further though.

“I am hidden! The thunder can’t get me here if I hide!” he huffs before squeaking as the thunder rumbles again.

“Remus…you know thunder can’t hurt you indoors. You don’t have to hide.” Janus replies, tugging on his leg.

“No!” Remus squeals, yanking his leg away from Janus. “I’m hiding here until the thunder goes away!”

Janus sighs. He loves the twins, but damn are they stubborn.

“Remus…”

Then Roman comes running in.

“Janus, did you find Remus yet?” he asks, hands hidden behind his back.

Janus nods and tips his head.

“He seems determined to hide under the bed until the storm passes.” he answers, moving aside.

Roman giggles and goes around the bed, plopping on the floor.

“I thought you loved storms, Ree.” he teases, poking his twin’s leg.

“Not when they’re stupid loud.” Remus huffs.

Roman smiles sadly. He knows his twin hates loud sounds that aren’t his. There are even days when he gets overstimulated from outside noise. He then pulls out what he’d been working on behind his back.

“I have something for you. You’ll have to come out from there if you want to see it.” he says a moment later.

“For me?”

“For you.”

It takes a moment, but Remus manages to squirm out from under the bed, shaking the dust out of his messy hair. He then sits up and blinks. In front of him on Roman’s lap is a cuddle-sized, green octopus with black button eyes and a matching mustache. There are patches of red here and there on its head.

Roman grins.

“I know you don’t like storms and you don’t have a little friend with you like Mrs. Fluffybottom. So, I made one for you! Do you like him?” he hands the octopus to Remus.

Remus takes it with wide, red sparkling eyes.

“He’s…He’s so ugly!” he giggles, hugging the plushie close. “I love him!”

“Perfect! He’ll keep you safe and sound from the storm.” Roman grins.

Remus blinks at that and gazes at his new octopus friend.

“Really?”

Roman hums and nods.

“Yeah! He’s got the strength of a mighty kraken and he’s not afraid of anything!” he grins. “I promise, he’ll always protect you!”

“I dunno, RoRo…sounds like a big promise.”

Roman thinks then gasps as if he remembered something and makes a crown shape with his hands, placing it over his head.

“I royal promise then! That way, he’ll never lose strength!” he grins wider, proudly even.

“Royal promise?” Remus tilts his head.

Roman nods.

“Yeah! It’s a strong promise because I made it with my prince powers!”

As Janus hears that, he jolts for a moment. Those words…royal promise…they sound so familiar and distant at the same time. A tiny part of him curses the twins for reminding him of the past so much. He wonders how Roman even remembered that. Maybe…no. It couldn’t be. That person is long gone. Still, Janus aches. He can still see him in the twins though. He says nothing and smiles fondly at them instead.

Meanwhile, Remus finally grins as he forgets the storm.

“Okay, I believe you, RoRo.”

“Yay! What are you gonna name him, by the way?”

Remus thinks then grins wider.

“Squishyboo!”

2.

            When it came to being Creativity, the one thing the twins hated was how creative their minds got at night. Sure, they could dream of anything each night but sometimes their minds like to take the shadows from their thoughts and morph them into nightmares. Nightmares that seemed far too sick and twisted for even Remus’ already dark self. Nightmares that felt like a curse, repeating, and replaying all too vividly. Not even Roman’s creative light could save them both.

            Remus’ nightmares often melded with his intrusive thoughts. The shadows would steal the darkest thoughts they could find and create an even darker dream. Dreams of desolate worlds. Dreams of war-torn kingdoms and abandoned castles. Dreams of silent rooms with colorless walls. Dreams of a lost friend and a broken family. Dreams of fallen princes and lost kings. Dreams of pain and screaming. It always led to Remus waking up with a terrified scream.

            Roman’s nightmares liked to play tricks on him. Every dream would start nice and warm…but then it would slowly turn darker and darker until it became a nightmare. A warm, grassy field would slowly turn cold as the green melted away into brown. A bright castle with flickering, welcoming candles would slowly put its lights out one by one until darkness took over the whole palace. A Duke dancing about on stage would slowly grow pale until he collapsed, and the stage fell. A powerful king would slowly grow weaker and weaker until he falls apart, screaming in agony as he tears himself in half. It always left Roman waking up with a horrified sob.

            Tonight isn’t any different. The twins had been put to bed by Janus as usual and were sleeping, sprawled out against each other. Due to the intensity of some of their nightmares and never wanting to be separate, they insisted on sharing a room. Janus let them, knowing how much they needed each other. Remus could hold Roman down when he’d started flailing and Roman could calm Remus down if a nightmare left him a bit lost. As Roman sleeps, his creative mind starts playing with his shadows.

            Roman finds himself standing in a living room he doesn’t recognize. The living room he knows has dark grey walls with pictures of him and his brother and Janus on them. The floor he knows is a darker grey and has a soft, mustard yellow round rug in front of the tv. This living room is…bright and warm. The wallpaper is a light shade of beige, and the floor is an off-white with no rug.

            He looks around and nearly jumps, seeing two figures staring back at him. He looks to his side and Remus is there, holding his hand. He seems upset. Roman doesn’t know and looks back at the figures. They seem to be talking warmly. Roman tries to step forward but finds he can’t move his legs. Oh. He swallows and looks around. He sees Janus standing by on Remus’ other side, head bowed.

“Janus?” Roman calls.

Janus looks up and Roman sees a sad, almost regretful look in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry…”

“What do you mean?”

Before Janus can say anything more, the two figures turn and step towards Roman. In the light of the living room, Patton stands with an unsettling grin, his eyes far too wide with excitement. Logan stands beside him with a blank look, dull eyes gazing at nothing. It makes Roman’s skin crawl.

“Okay, kiddos! Say your last goodbyes! We’ve decided to take Roman and keep him here!” Patton exclaims, tilting his head a little too much.

Roman jolts as the lights flicker.

“B-But what about Remus?” he asks.

Patton laughs and it’s almost ear piercing.

“Oh, don’t be silly, kiddo! Remus has been naughty. He can’t stay here. You don’t need him.”

“H-He’s my brother…what do you mean he can’t stay, and I don’t need him?” Roman whimpers.

Logan leans down and stares at Roman.

“Your brother is not fit to be with us. He is not needed here. Until we can…dispose of him, he will remain with Janus. We will dispose of him once you have been moved here, Roman.”

Roman’s eyes widened.

“A-Are…Are you splitting us…again?” he whispers.

Patton giggles and it seems even louder, his grin twitching.

“Just to be safe, kiddo!”

The room grows darker and Roman tries to move again but he still can’t. He turns towards Remus, reaching out for him.

“Remus!”

Remus tries to reach back only for Janus to grab him.

“Forgive me.” Janus whispers

And Remus goes limp in his arms.

Roman gasps in horror, pain spreading through him.

“No! Give my brother back! Give him back!”

Patton laughs again. He laughs and laughs and laughs. The sound rings and echoes.

“Now, now. Be a good prince, Roman.”

Roman desperately tries again and again to move, arms flailing out as he tries to reach out for Remus.

Janus just turns away with Remus in his arms before fading.

Patton’s laughs grow even louder and it’s making Roman’s ears start to ache. Logan stares at him again, a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“He’s gone now, Roman.”

“No…No! Bring him back! I need him! I need—”

Roman gasps.

“-REMUS!”

Roman tries to move again but finds that even now he still can’t and flails around, a heavy weight on top of him.

“Let me go! I need to find him! I need Remus!” he whimpers.

“Easy, Ro! It’s me! It’s Remus!”

Roman blinks and his flailing slow to a stop as he squints in the dark. He sees a green blob and after another blink, he recognizes it as-

“Ree?”

Remus gets off of Roman and smiles softly.

“I’m right here, RoRo. I’m not going anywhere.” he replies.

Roman sits up and stares at Remus in the darkness of their shared room, the only source of light coming from their glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling. Blood red eyes stare back at him and Roman can’t help but launch himself into his twin’s arms.

“I don’t want you to go!” Roman wails.

Remus hugs back, patting his twin as he does.

“I’m not leaving, RoRo. I’m right here.”

Roman sniffs and hiccups at that, pulling away to gaze at his twin. He’s still there. He’s still awake. He’s not limp like in his dream or—

“RoRo?”

Roman hiccups again.

“T-They tried to split us. Again. Morality and Logic. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to lose you, Ree.” he whispers. “I don’t care if they think you’re bad. You’re my brother and I need you.”

Remus feels his heart ache. Is that what those light sides really think of him? Are they so cruel that they can’t let him be with Roman? He huffs and pouts, cupping Roman’s face and squishing it.

“Who cares what they think? They can’t keep us apart no matter what. Janus won’t let that happen either.”

“B-But my dream—”

“Is just a dream, dummy. No one will take me, and no one will keep us apart.”

Roman blinks and sniffs.

“P-Promise?”

Remus grins, letting go of Roman to form a crown above his head with his hands.

“I even royal promise, Ro.”

Remus then pulls his brother into another hug, glaring ahead. He’ll make sure no one ever splits them again. Especially not those two. He’ll shed blood if he has to.

Meanwhile, Roman’s sniffles slowly quiet down.

“Thank you, Ree.”

And Roman slips into a peaceful slumber this time, clinging onto Remus’ sleep shirt.

3.

            They were split anyway. It wasn’t their choice, however. Morality decided that Roman needed to be with them in order for things to be more…balanced. That day, the Mindpalace split as well with the Light sides above and the Dark Sides being shoved down a little closer to the subconscious. Janus didn’t like the idea but there wasn’t anything else he could do. He tried to fight for the twins, but Morality insisted on this and of course, who did Thomas listen to more? Morality always did have more influence over everything.

            Roman barely remembers the day of the Second Split. With time passing on, it’s becoming more and more of a blurry memory. He doesn’t know why and not even Logic will tell him. Still, Roman knows he feels incomplete. He doesn’t like being apart from Remus, but Morality is right, isn’t he? He’s a light side now and he must be good. And yet…Roman missed Remus.

            Roman missed his twin. He missed giggling and playing with him. He missed having adventures with him and fighting off nightmares. It took so much time to get used to sleeping alone. He’d spend nights crying silently after every nightmare. He missed having someone to hold him down when he’d flail. Sure, Patton was…kind and he made warm milk, but he wasn’t Remus. Remus would always assure him that his dreams are just dreams. He’d tell him silly stories until he laughed his tears away. He’d hold him till he fell asleep.

            So, Roman finds himself lying awake again as he wracks his brain. It’s been a year since the Second Split, and he can’t remember much of it. He’s still trying to make sense of it but refuses to believe that Remus and Janus were bad. Sighing, Roman sits up and glances at the door.

He wonders…

Before he can stop himself, Roman shrugs his blanket off and stands up from his bed.

“Need Remus…” he mumbles to himself.

Roman glances at his bedroom door before going over to the other side of his room. He has yet to decide where to put the door to his Imagination, so he summoned a portal instead. As long as he had no door, Patton couldn’t follow him in. This felt all wrong but Roman finds himself not caring all too much.

Roman then steps through and closes the portal behind him. The Imagination greets him with a cool, evening breeze. It makes Roman feel a little more at ease. He wishes he could sleep here but with his nightmares still intense, he didn’t want to risk them affecting his beloved world. Roman sighs and begins walking through the grassy field. Usually, he starts at the forest, but he didn’t feel like it tonight.

It feels calm and peaceful, walking through the sea of dark green. Fireflies even join in on his trek, lighting his way. Roman finds himself humming softly, tilting his head up to admire the twinkling stars he placed in the sky. Off in the distant sky, two bright stars glow side by side. One green and one red. Between them is one big golden star. Roman doesn’t recall making those but he adores them anyway.

Soon, Roman finds himself wandering further and further. Past the sleeping village and the castle. Over the rocky mountains behind the kingdom and across the river below them.

At the end, Roman finds himself walking towards the ravine that separated his side and Remus’. He remembers hearing the Mindpalace rumble on the day he and Remus were separated. When he returned to the Imagination, even this world had split in two. The twins had formed a bridge with a gazebo in the center where they could meet every day. The bridge was white on Roman’s side and black on Remus’. No one knew about this but Janus who kept quiet for their sake.

Roman walks towards the bridge and makes his way over, sighing as his hand finds the barrier that kept them apart. Neither twin could go over to each other, and it seemed Morality made sure of it. Roman sighs then…he hears something rustle on the other side. Had he been caught or—

“RoRo!”

From behind a bush and holding a baseball bat, Remus runs out and meets his twin at the barrier. He couldn’t sleep either and snuck out.

Roman gasps and grins, his hands meeting Remus’ as they pressed against the barrier.

“Ree! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, dummy.” Remus grins back before sitting in front of Roman. “So, how is it over there in the Light Side?”

Roman sighs and sits too.

“It doesn’t feel like home. There are too many rules and too much work. Morality and Logic are no fun either.” he huffs.

Remus tilts his head. Morality and Logic? Something didn’t seem right about this and his brother, but he decides not to question that for now.

“That’s sucky.” he says instead. “What kind of work are you doing? Do you still get to create stuff?”

Roman nods but then…he sighs again. Ever since he moved to the Light Sides against his will, he’d been losing more and more of his creative freedom. He’d been given rules to follow, filters to watch out for, and an unending mountain of drafts that he had to revise because the original just wasn’t good enough anymore.

“RoRo?”

Roman pulls away from his thoughts and shakes his head.

“Logic gave me a bunch of dumb rules to follow.” he huffs. “He says I have to get it approved by him and it has to be appropriate. So, I followed all the rules and he’s still being a butthead about it. I just can’t please him.”

Remus frowns and so badly wants to hold his brother. Or beat up Logan for making his brother sad. If he could, he’d do both now. For now, he places a hand on the barrier.

“Who cares what that boring towel thinks? He wishes he could create as good as you, Ro!” he exclaims. “Besides, I bet your stuff is still super cool and his eyeballs are just too broken to see it! He’s dumb!”

Roman snorts and giggles.

“Ree! He can’t be dumb, he’s logic!” he squeals.

Remus smiles. His brother looks so exhausted but at least he’s happy for now.

“Yeah, but he’s not creativity! He’s not the boss of what you create and how!” he giggles. “What about Morality?”

“He’s…okay. But not like Janus.” Roman replies once he’s calmed down. “He won’t let me have extra snacks and he keeps telling me everything I do isn’t princely like.”

Oh no.

Remus frowns and tilts his head.

“What do you mean?”

Roman pouts again and Remus hates what those jerks are doing to his brother.

“He has even more rules. It’s not princely like to be late to dinner or it’s not princely like to make inappropriate jokes. I didn’t even make a joke like that! It was just a fart joke!” he huffs.

“Then they’re both dumb and they don’t get us.” Remus also huffs. “If they want to be goody, goody babies then let them. You don’t have to let them boss you around.”

Roman sighs and leans against the barrier. If he leans hard enough, he could feel Remus’ hands.

“I guess…I don’t like it here, Ree. I don’t wanna be perfect. I just wanna be with you and Janus where everything made sense.” he mumbles.

Remus smiles sadly, wishing he could pet his brother’s hair. He knows Roman likes it when he does that. It’s very calming to both, surprisingly. He wishes his brother was back here too. Ever since his brother was taken, Janus has been sad and drinking a lot. Like a lot more than usual. Their space had grown quiet as well and nothing felt the same without his twin.

            The dark creativity then gazed at his twin. Roman looked so tired. So exhausted. Even his eyes looked…less green than it used to be. It made Remus feel angry at the so-called light sides. Who were they to call themselves high and mighty while hurting someone they wanted to be as one of them? Remus feels his thoughts whispering to go up there and deal with them, but he knows Roman wouldn’t want that and he’s needed here more. So, he tells them unkindly to shut up and decides he’ll figure out a way to get his brother back. Even if it means kidnapping him.

“What?! Remus, you can’t kidnap me! Morality’s going to be mad, and he’ll never let me see you!” Roman exclaims, jolting his twin out of his thoughts.

Remus blinks.

“Huh?”

“You muttered that out loud.” Roman frowns. “Don’t kidnap me or do anything else, Ree. I don’t want them to separate us even more than we are now.”

Remus sighs.

“But…”

Roman places a hand on the barrier, giving Remus a pleading gaze.

“Please, Ree…I need you…”

Remus’ shoulders droop. His brother was right.

“Fine…” he sighs. “I just hate that we’re split like this. I miss you, Ro…”

Roman smiles softly.

“I miss you too, Ree. I promise I’ll find a way to bring us back.” he whispers.

Remus returns the soft smile.

“Royal promise?”

“I, Prince Roman, Royal promise.”

And Remus smiles more as Roman forms a crown above his head with his hand. As the twins talk the night away, the barrier weakens, and the ravine silently closes in a little.

4.

            One day the barrier finally broke, and the twins could go to each other. The ravine stayed by their choice to keep their sides of the Imagination safe, but the bridge remained, its foundation stronger than ever. The twins also decided to keep this a secret, sneaking into their domains in the evening to meet at the bridge. They’d play in the evening then separated just before the sun came up.

            Of course, as time passed, there were ups and downs. Fights and arguments. That didn’t break their bond even if they’d screamed at each other about hatred and despise. They would feel guilty at the end of the day anyways and would come running to each other to apologize.

            They went through many more things. From Virgil changing sides suddenly to Roman being hurt by Janus and Remus introducing himself to the Light Sides officially. Of course, he and Roman had to put on an act to keep their secret, well, a secret. Janus and Virgil knew though.         

            Roman never really interacted with Virgil during his time with Remus and Janus. He saw him once in the kitchen and freaked out, running off. He still feels bad and wonders if that’s why Virgil was so snarky when they finally met.

            When Remus had finally made himself known and went with the act that he and Roman rehearsed, he felt a little bad about whacking Roman in the head. As soon as the episode was done, they met in the Imagination and Roman let Remus triple check to make sure his brain was still there.

            When Janus had gone too far with Roman, Roman had angrily burst into the Imagination and went on a rampage. Remus followed and calmed him down, helping him out of his spiral before they went to see Janus. One deep conversation later and things were on the mend. Or as mended as it could be.

            Due to Roman’s time in the Light Side, he’d been getting worse and worse. He’d be far too busy these days and even much more exhausted. His costume had been growing baggier and baggier. His smile had become strained, almost fake. Tired. Worst of all, Roman grew quiet and serious. Remus didn’t like it one bit. They had changed his brother.

            So, one day, Remus set out to the Imagination to go see his brother again. He had a bad feeling about him at the moment. Especially since he could feel some sort of pain twisting in his gut. It’s a blessing and a curse but ever since The Split, the twins had been able to feel each other’s pain no matter how big or small. Janus called it a twin bond or something. Remus hates how it makes him feel this constant dull throbbing from his brother. Roman hates how he feels nothing from Remus, envying how he didn’t have rules to follow or roles to play.

            Remus keeps trekking on through the grass field, using his twin’s shortcut. It’s the dead of night both here and in the Mindscape so he’s not too worried about being caught. The Intrusive side sighs and gazes ahead, seeing the tiny lights of Roman’s little village off to the side, his bright and tall castle stands just above them. Actually, the castle seemed a little dimmer these days and it made Remus frown.

            Sure, Remus could have gone through his own side but ever since he made himself known to the others, he stopped giving a fuck about the rule of where he was allowed to go. He’s even made it clear that he could go where he damn well pleases. Especially since he’s had enough of them splitting him and Roman. This led to Remus finally barging into Roman’s room to check on him, only to find his door to the Imagination left open. So, Remus followed and here he was.

            Remus then continues walking through the village, feeling a bit uneasy from the silence. Sure, it may be evening, and the people are asleep in their homes but not even the cicadas and the crickets were singing their songs. It made the whole place feel…dead. The Imagination has always been in tune with the twins’ emotions and lately Roman hasn’t been feeling his best. It seems the Imagination knew that. Even the little patches of grass and weeds drooped downwards into the dirt as if they hung in their heads in sorrow.

Remus shakes his head.

“Oh, Roman…”

            The Duke continues on, heading up the path and past the homes of the nobles. Through one of the windows, Remus could see a family gathered together at the table for dinner. At least they were happy. It made Remus want to gag as he tears his gaze away, hurrying towards the golden gates. The guards there merely turned before looking away. It seems they were also worried for their prince.

“Yeah…I know how you guys feel.” Remus mutters as he walks through. “I…I’ll talk to him.”

            The guards nod in return and Remus continues on. The Intrusive side then walks up the path and through the gate, making his way through the courtyard. There’s no sign of anyone. Not even a single noble or a maid around the fountains. It’s unusually quiet and it surprisingly disturbs Remus. Sighing, Remus continues on his way and enters the main doors. Somehow, it’s even quieter inside. There’s usually so much going on that Remus refuses to take the front entrance and prefers to bust through the window. Today, however, no one is around here either. At least, Remus thinks so.

            Remus wanders through the foyer and towards the throne, pausing when he finds the doors left ajar. Usually, they’re left wide open for Roman’s people to come see him when he’s at his throne. It makes the Duke hum in worry as he enters cautiously, wondering what his little brother had done to them…and to himself. Breathing out and ignoring the intrusive voices in his head, Remus enters the throne room and finds-

“Mama?”

“Remus. I’m glad you’re here, dear.”

            Maleficent. The Dragon Witch and Roman’s so-called enemy. Every now and then she’d fly over the village, pretending to attack and Roman would save the day. Maleficent, or Mal for short, was always happy to play her role to see Roman happy. Roman worried about hurting her too much but was always assured that she could take his hits. Mal would continue to do fake battles and when she wasn’t, she lived in her tower up in the far mountains of Roman’s realms.

 Mal also acted like a mother figure for the twins in return for them saving her life after the split. She was going to vanish along with The King who had named her after the character from Sleeping Beauty, but the twins chose to save her. In return, Mal became their guardian and caretaker. Their mother. She would be the one watching over them for her fallen king, making sure they were safe whenever they visited the realm.

Remus ambles over and greets her.

“You never show up in the throne room, mama. What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Something didn’t feel right so I came over to check on Roman. I must have scared the people away when I arrived.” Mal explains. “I tried to talk to your brother, but he won’t even answer to me.”

Remus sighs, a hand on his chest.

“I can feel his pain. It…It hurts so much…” he mutters.

Mal sighs.

“I know, little one. His realm…it’s just as sorrowful.” she shakes her head before gazing at one of the stained glass windows. “Roman told me he was going up to the tower. Hopefully he’s still there and he’ll talk to you.”

Remus nods, blinking away his tears before they could fall.

“I’ll take care of him, mama.” he promises.

Mal smiles softly.

“I know you will, my dear. And please, make sure you take care of yourself too. You look tired.”

Remus sighs but manages a small smile.

“I will.” he nods. “You should go before the people come back to capture you, mama.”

            Mal kisses Remus’ forehead before the mother figure turns and makes her leave. Remus watches her go before turning towards the throne, making his way over to it. It’s golden shine had dulled out and the soft, velvet fabric looks as if it had been picked at. Remus stares at it for a moment, wondering what Roman really felt like even as he sat upon his throne. Roman always boasted about being the best prince and it seemed no one knew or even cared to see how much work that took. It’s strange to see it completely empty. When Roman visits his realm, he always stops by the throne room whenever he can. When the prince wasn’t in, the nobles and castle staff would be roaming about as the guards stood by.

            Rubbing at his face, Remus leaves the throne room and climbs the stairs. He still doesn’t like the heavy silence following him down the corridor and up the next flight of stairs. Several more staircases later and Remus soon arrives at the door to the tower. Roman often hides away here to be alone or to talk to Remus. The tower had been given a spell to ensure that only Mal and the twins could enter whenever they liked. Remus feels lucky that he’s able to enter and lets himself in.

“Ro? Mama told me you were here. She said you were hiding up again.” Remus calls.

“Out here, Ree.” Roman calls back a moment later from the balcony.

            Remus breathes out a sigh of relief and heads over to where his twin is. He goes through the curtains and finds Roman leaning over the parapet of the tower. Roman looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes almost as dark as Virgil’s eyeshadow. Remus comes over, copying his twin and staring at him for a moment before deciding to talk.

“Um…hi, Ro…what are you doing up here?” Remus starts.

Roman doesn’t move, gazing at the hills far in the distance.

“If you think I’m going to jump. I’m not. I’m just…thinking. I guess.”

“Oh.” Remus blinks. “I wasn’t going to say anything about that. At least not now. I just wanted to talk.”

Roman manages an empty chuckle.

“Heh, funny. You usually prefer to swing first, talk later. Did you accidentally swing at yourself, Dukey?”

Remus shakes his head and sighs.

“No. I just really miss my brother. As annoying as he is, I like having him around as the dumb, sparkly, prince he is.”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t feel sparkly. Probably just dumb.”

Remus blinks then stands up straight and turns Roman to face him.

“Okay, Ro-Bro, look. You’re clearly not okay right now. Talk to me. Tell me what’s got your brain being a bitch. That’s what I’m here for, okay?”

Roman stares at Remus, a tear falling down his cheek.

“Ree…”

“Talk to me, RoRo. It’s okay.”

Another tear rolls down Roman’s cheek and-

“It hurts, Ree…”

Remus brings Roman to the stone bench behind him and sits them both down.

“What hurts, Ro?”

“Everything. No matter what I do, I can’t please them. I can’t make Patton happy. I can’t satisfy Logan’s demands. What good am I? What kind of Creativity am I?”

            Remus feels his heart throb in pain. Roman is hurting so, so much. It makes Remus wonder what those light-side idiots are doing to him. Sure, Remus has seen Roman hanging around them and being friendly with them but…in return they hurt Roman. Do they even realize what they’re doing to Roman? Probably not. It pisses Remus off, but he swallows his anger for another day. Instead, the Duke turns to Roman and wipes his tears.

“You know what? Fuck them. Fuck those light side bitches.”

Roman gasps.

“Ree!”

Remus grins.

“Who cares what they say about you or what they think? You are Prince Roman, and you don’t need their goddamn approval.” he ruffles Roman’s hair.

“B-But I- “

“But nothing! Well, except for my butt. Anyways, fuck them. If they don’t want to give a shit about you. You don’t have to give a shit about them.”

Roman manages a small smile.

“I guess…that’s true, Ree.” he then sighs, and that small smile disappears. “I’m just scared. What if they don’t want me anymore? What if they get rid of me or hate me?”

“Woah, there, Ro. Let’s get you off that spiral coaster, yeah? Even if that does happen, you’ve always got me. I’m not leaving you. No matter how big of a bitch you can get.”

Roman finally giggles a bit.

“Hey! You’re annoying too, dummy!”

“Yeah, but you’ll be stuck with me at least.” Remus grins.

Remus feels the weight on his chest start to lighten. Good.

“I think I’ll be okay with that. Promise you’ll be there to catch me?” Roman asks.

Remus hums then grins, forming a crown symbol above his head using his hands.

“I, Duke Remus, royal promise.”

“Remus…” Roman’s eyes widen then he lunges forward and hugs him. “Thank you…”

Remus smiles and hugs back.

“Of course, dumbass.”

The twins stay like that for a while before…

“So…would you mind if I just…talked to the others?”

“Ree, no!”

“Eh, worth a shot.”

5.

            Despite being all grown up now, Remus’ nightmares have not changed. It seems more like they’ve grown darker and more vivid. Sometimes it was hard to tell what wasn’t real and what was actually happening. It was easy to lose himself in the darkest visions of his sleeping mind. It was harder to find the way out with no Roman to save him. Sure, Janus was there, doing his best to keep him afloat but he could only keep the nightmares at bay for a little while. They’d come back every other night, darker than ever. It’s a miracle that Remus gets any sleep, really. Sometimes, the duke is often found sleeping in odd places, napping excessively in the afternoon when he isn’t causing chaos.

            Today isn’t any different. Remus had wanted to do some art to quiet his mind of the annoying loud voices he keeps hearing. He had just finished his third piece as he started growing sleepy. He then soon fell asleep at his table before he could sign his artwork, paintbrush rolling out of his hand as he snoozed away.

            When Remus blinks his eyes open, he finds himself standing in the Imagination. Yet, it’s not his own realm that he’s in. He looks around and finds that he’s in a village. A torn emblem of a red shield flutters beside an abandoned tavern. This is…Roman’s village? Remus shivers and looks towards the castle. A shadowy black haze surrounds it, looking more menacing than the blood red sky above it. Yet, that’s not the terrifying part. No, the true horror is that this is what became of Roman’s realm.

But…why?

            Remus shudders and carries on, searching for his twin. Maybe he just wanted to try something different? Yeah, that’s gotta be it. He walks through the silent village and up the path to the town square where the nobles’ house are. No one’s here either. Remus glances at an open window. He only sees an empty table. Where had everyone gone? Roman loved his people too much so there’s no way he’d gotten rid of them.

            Remus walks on and up the castle path and through rusted gates, passing wilted grass and dried fountains. The courtyard looked more like…a cemetery now. Funnily enough and ironically, Remus isn’t thrilled about this. Roman’s realm is supposed to be stupidly bright and annoyingly glittery like the prince himself. Remus just finds all of this to look completely wrong.

            Soon Remus enters the castles, the grand doors opening with a heavy groan. The foyer is empty and dim with the only lighting coming from the glass windows and the little torches on the wall. Remus steps in, shivering again as he’s greeted by cold air. Usually, Roman’s castle is warm and welcoming. This is just haunting. Maybe it’s a bit cliché to Remus but he reminds himself that this Roman’s place and it shouldn’t be this dark and cold.

“R-Ro?” Remus calls out.

The only reply is the echo of his own voice.

            Remus pushes on, still calling for Roman. His voice echoes back and he worries more. What if Roman was gone too? What if something happened to him? What if he-Remus stops that thought and carries on. Roman has to be okay. He’s dumb but he’s brave. Yeah, Roman’s a big, brave Prince. Remus tells himself he’s probably just hanging out somewhere or up in the tower again. Maybe he’s in the throne room, doing his royal duties. That has to be it.

            So, the duke enters the throne room and looks towards the throne and-oh. There’s Roman sitting there and…not moving. Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he blinking? Remus slowly makes his way towards the throne, hoping his footsteps would alert his twin. Still…Roman doesn’t move. He remains frozen. His face does not change. His eyes do not twitch. Remus places a hand on his chest only to feel…nothing. No weight, no pain, no aches. There is nothing there.

“Roman? It’s me. It’s Ree.”

Roman says nothing.

            Remus steps forward, moving closer and closer to the throne. Under the light from the stained glass windows, he could see that the throne had rusted and its velvet fabric was now torn. Odd. He remembers the throne being shinier and cleaner than this. Had it been so long since the last time he visited Roman? Had he forgotten to see him? Remus knows he hadn’t. He visits Roman as much as he can, constantly bothering him even as he tries to get his work done. When did this happen then? Remus swallows and finds himself right at Roman’s throne.

“Hey, RoRo? Can you hear me? I’m right here. It’s Ree!” Remus calls.

Still no answer…

            Then the window on the left swings open with a gust of wind and the curtains fly off. Remus watches them flutter down to the floor in a heap and a little more light floods the room. It trails across the floor and lands perfectly on Roman’s face. Roman’s face had turned to stone. Horrified, Remus runs up to his brother and looks at his brother closer in the light. It wasn’t just his face. His whole body had turned to stone, face frozen with a broken expression. Remus had been too late.

“R-RoRo?”

Remus pats his face.

Nothing happens.

“RoRo, this isn’t a funny prank! Wake up, dumbass! Wake up!” Remus cries.

Still, nothing happens.

Remus shakes his head, smacking Roman over and over as he could chip away the stone to find him underneath.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Roman, please!”

Sure, Remus had imagined scenarios of hurting his brother, but he never wanted him gone.

“Come on, little brother! You can stop now! It’s not funny! Wake up!”

Remus slams his fists against the stone, not caring about the pain that follows after.

“Please, wake up!”

Tears fall from Remus’ face and land on Roman’s head as he screams-

“ROMAN!”

            Remus shoots up from where he’s sitting, his stool falling over as he stumbles backwards. Wide, red eyes dart around in search of his twin. He’s not here though and Remus wanders out of his art room, muttering his brother’s name. He has to be here somewhere. He has to be okay. Remus looks around some more, checking around the living room. No prince there. Remus makes his way towards the door to the corridor that leads to the light sides.

“Remus? Is that you? I heard you screaming. Is everything alright?”

Janus comes down from the other corridor that goes to the bedrooms, worry on his face when Remus doesn’t respond.

“Remus?”

Remus opens the door.

“Need to find him. Find Roman.”

Janus sighs. This wasn’t the first time this happened. He’s usually able to snap him out of it but Remus seems really lost this time.

“Remus, I’m sure Roman is okay. We saw him this morning.”

Remus shakes his head.

“Need to find Roman.”

Janus sighs once more, going over to Remus as he wonders what nightmare he had this time.

“Alright, we’ll go find Roman.”

            With that, Janus and Remus leave the Dark Side and make their way through the cold corridor that separates the two sides. Janus hates this place and how freezing it is, how it came to divide them. He wraps his cloak around himself and follows Remus through to the light side, feeling a bit relieved when they’re greeted by the warmth of the Light Side. Janus refuses to admit that he prefers it over the Dark Side’s coldness. The snake side then turns to Remus.

“Okay, Remus, shall we check your brother’s room?”

Remus walks on.

“Find Roman. Find him.” he repeats in a mutter.

Poor thing.

Remus ambles up the stairs, Janus making sure he doesn’t trip. The others are out so Janus isn’t too worried about running into them. They make their way past the room doors and find Roman’s, its star nameplate shining under the light. A big cursive ‘R’ is in the center of it. Of course. Without hesitation, Janus knocks for Remus and a moment later the door opens to reveal Roman with his hair a mess and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

“What is-Janus? What are you doing here?” Roman asks.

Janus steps aside and Remus blinks before he goes up to his twin, snapping out of his trance.

“R-Roman? Is this…are you real?” Remus whispers.

Roman, realizing his twin had another nightmare, nods and takes his twin’s hand. He places it on his chest so Remus can feel his heartbeat.

“I’m real, Ree. I’m okay. I’m right here.”

As soon as he feels the thumping of his brother’s heart, Remus tackles Roman into a tight hug.

“I thought…I thought you were gone!” Remus wails.

Roman squeezes his brother, squishing him in the hug as much as he can. It’s how his twin likes it.

“Shh, I’m here, Ree. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real and I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“B-But in my dream your kingdom was all dark and when I went to see you, you were turned to stone…You didn’t move or talk, and I thought...” Remus sniffs and cries again.

Roman pats his brother’s back, heart aching at the sight of his twin breaking down. He’s usually the more carefree one between them, not caring about anything. Seeing him now like this is just sad.

“Hey, your dream is just a dream, remember? What’s real is you and me and Janus and the whole Mindscape. I’m not going anywhere, and I mostly certainly am not turning to stone.” he soothes his twin.

Remus’ cries quiet down to sniffles.

“R-Royal promise? You won’t leave or do something that stupid? You’ll be here forever and ever?”

“Royal promise, brother.” Roman smiles softly, forming the crown above his head.

Remus hugs Roman again at that, rubbing his tears away.

“Thanks, Ro. You better not tell Virgil I was crying like a little bitch.” he sniffs one last time, letting go of his twin moments later.

Roman huffs a laugh.

“I won’t, Ree.”

As Remus lets himself be comforted by the assurance that Roman is right there, Janus smiles fondly off to the side and ignores the ache in his heart again.

+1

            For a long time now, Janus had watched the twins make Royal Promises to each other. These promises were very important to them both, so they were very careful as to when they made it. A Royal Promise carried a lot of weight and pain behind it after all. The pain came from the promise being broken. The twins never ever break a Royal Promise.

The only problem is that the twins don’t know why they started doing that. Roman just felt it was stronger than a regular promise, so he did it Remus, ever curious and always following his twin, copied Roman. It became their little ritual and it was very rare that they let any of the others try to do what they do. Besides, Roman made up a rule that you have to be royal to make one.

Sighing, Janus glances at the twins. They were currently play-wrestling in the field just down the hill from where the snake side was lounging under the King’s Tree. He smiles fondly as he hears them laugh and tumble around the tall grass. Despite the rough times, Janus is glad their bond has remained strong. No matter how many times the others had tried, they refused to let anyone separate them. Sometimes, he wonders if they’ll ever…Janus puts a stop to that thought. Even if the twins could, Janus wouldn’t force them to re-fuse. They seem happier this way.

“Having fun, boys?” Janus calls, chuckling as he sees them pop up together with grass in their hair and stains on their outfits.

“Yeah! We’re wrestling for who gets the leftover spaghetti in the fridge!” Remus answers back, jumping onto Roman’s back.

“You had it last week though!” Roman giggles.

“Yeah, but I want some and Virgey can make you more!”

The twins go back to wrestling for a second as Janus huffs a laugh.

“Okay, you two. Come sit down and take a break first. You’ve been wrestling all afternoon.” he calls, the leaves rustling above as if to call the twins over as well.

The twins giggle and race each other over, plopping under the cool shade of the branches. A nice breeze blows and starts to cool them down. It seems as if the Imagination always knew what they needed.

“I totally won the wrestling match.” Remus grins.

“Excuse me, I pinned you down more than you got me!” Roman puffs in pride.

“Nuh uh!”

Janus laughs again.

“How about you both win the wrestling match and I’ll convince Patton to let me make spaghetti for dinner tonight?” he offers, not wanting them to actually start a fight.

The twins gasp and nod eagerly.

“Yes!”

Janus smiles softly.

“Excellent.”

            Silence falls in as the three relax under the afternoon shade. It’s nice and peaceful and Janus would do anything to stay here forever. No problems. No pain. Just him and the happy twins he promised he’d protect. His promise…Janus remembers when he made the very first Royal Promise…to his King. He wonders if the King knows how hard he’d been fighting to keep that promise. How he failed and went through hell and back to make up for it. For the King. For the twins. For-

“Janus?”

Janus blinks out of his thoughts and looks over to see Roman sitting up, frowning at him in concern and Remus copying his twin.

“Are you okay, Janus?” Roman asks.

“You were really spacing out, snakey.” Remus adds.

Janus sighs and nods.

“I’m alright. I’m just…” he glances up at the tree. “I’m just thinking about an old friend…and promises.”

Roman tilts his head in confusion.

“Promises? Like Royal promises?”

Janus chuckles softly.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I saw you looking upset while I was hugging Remus and making my Royal promise to him.” Roman replies, smiling bashfully. “Did…Did we do something wrong?”

Janus’ heart aches and he shakes his head.

“No, not at all. It just reminds me of my old friend. The King.” he answers, smiling softly as the tree rustles again.

“The King?” Remus chimes in, sitting up as well.

Janus nods, smile now fond.

“Yes…” he answers, gazing at the twins. Sometimes he sees his old friend in them. “I made the first Royal Promise to him.”

The twins’ eyes widen. All those years of not knowing where the Royal Promise came from…and Janus made the first one to the King. Curiosity grows and the twins move closer to Janus, wanting to know more of the King they once were.

“What was the promise?” Roman asks.

“It was a promise I didn’t think I’d ever have to make. Today, however, I don’t regret making it.” Janus answers. “It was just before the split…”

            This is it. King Romulus knew what was going to happen next. He didn’t think it would ever happen to him. He didn’t think Morality would actually go through with it. Yet, Thomas is changing and growing. His view on this world and what he feels is changing as well. Morality is afraid and Thomas seems to believe he knows best, so Romulus had no power here. What could he say to Thomas who seemed so afraid of who he was going to become?

            Romulus quickly makes his way down the palace corridor. He had called for his closest and most trusted friend to spend one last day with him. He wanted Janus to have one last good memory before they had to say goodbye. Smiling to himself, Romulus makes his way to the throne room and steps in. He finds Janus waiting by his throne.

“Janus, I’m glad you made it.”

Janus looks up from where he’s staring at the throne.

“Romulus. You called me, old friend?” the young side asks, coming over to him. “Has it happened? Are you…?”

Romulus chuckles and shakes his head.

“Not yet. We still have some time before I have to see Morality tomorrow.”

“I wish we had more time. I wish this didn’t have to happen.” Janus huffs. “I don’t want you to go.”

Romulus smiles sadly.

“Neither of us can do anything to stop Morality. We’ve tried. Thomas won’t listen to us. All we can do is accept and adapt to change.”

Janus huffs again, rolling his eyes.

“You’re much nicer than I am.”

Romulus chuckles, patting Janus’ head. Janus was always shorter than his friend. Oddly, he’ll miss the head pats.

“If I could keep myself glued together, I would. I would tape and super glue and suture me to myself if I could.”

“I wish you could. So, what did you want to do with your short time left?” Janus asks, heart aching at that question.

Romulus smiles, offering his hand.

“I want to spend time with you, old friend. One last time.”

Janus sighs then smiles, taking Romulus’ hand.

“Alright, my King.”

King Romulus laughs and tugs Janus along at that. He brings Janus to his garden first. It was one of their favorite spots in the castle to run away to when life was stressful or when Morality’s pressure was too much, and Logic was being harsh. Romulus knows that they mean well but wish they were just a bit more understanding. He knew they had problems of their own and seemed to prefer to repress them rather than bring it to the meeting table.

The garden ended up being Janus and Romulus’ private getaway from it all. It was peaceful and there were always birds singing up in the trees. The air smelled like roses and fresh strawberries. Romulus loved strawberries. There was also a hint of nightshade. Romulus did love to experiment with strange things from time to time. In the center is an open dome that doubled as an observatory and the sun streamed down perfectly on the viewing deck.

Janus and Romulus end up spending all morning picnicking on the deck and chatting. They talked about Romulus’ recent experiments, trying not to think about how that would be his last. They have tea and cake and candy snacks, Romulus telling stories about his last adventure and Thomas’ recent dream. It felt like a regular morning, but Janus couldn’t help but feel heavy as the seconds ticked away. He knew what was coming soon and couldn’t stop thinking about it. Romulus knew it too but chose to ignore it. He focused on making his last day with Janus the best day he could give him.

After a morning of garden strolling, chatting, and tea, Romulus took Janus out of the castle. Janus watched as Romulus strolled through his little kingdom, waving hello to his servants and maids. To his guards. To the nobles and the village people. Janus desperately wanted to tell them what was going to happen to their king, but they wouldn’t understand. It makes Janus wonder if the people were going to one day wonder where their king had gone. Or would the kingdom and its people just…

“Janus, come on!”

Janus hurries along.

“Coming, Romulus!”

            Janus follows Romulus through the village, watching him interact with the tavern owner. The owner nods and walks into his little tavern. Moments later, the man steps back out and hands Romulus a basket as he bows. Romulus thanks the tavern with a handful of gold before waving Janus over to follow. Janus follows along, wondering what’s in the basket. It smells wonderful and it takes Janus’ mind off of the heavy weight for a moment.

            Soon, they exit the village and take a long, winding road through the tall grass field. Janus remembers watching Romulus hunting for bugs and rabbits and frogs when they were much younger. He follows Romulus and wishes the sun wouldn’t go any lower. Not yet. They climb a big hill, and a golden apple tree waits at the top. Janus had helped Romulus grow it a long time ago, calling it their special hiding place that they could go to when they couldn’t hide in the garden. Romulus said he’d bring everyone here one day but…Janus knew it would never happen. Janus didn’t want to bring anyone else here. Not when they would be taking his friend away.

“Janus, are you going to just stand there or are you going to come join me?”

Janus blinks out of his thoughts and sees Romulus sitting on the wooden throne that he made for himself years ago. In front of him is a matching table with the basket on top and a matching chair. Smiling shyly, Janus sits on the other chair and watches as Romulus leans forward to open the basket. The Creative side takes out two wrapped meals and a small jug of grape juice. He then sets the table, putting out the meals and pouring the juice. Once it’s ready, Romulus nods at Janus.

“Go on, Janus. I asked for your favorite.” The king says.

They unwrap their food and Janus is surprised yet touched to see that Romulus brought him some deviled eggs. Silence falls in as they both eat their meals, the sun setting ever so slowly. It makes Janus wish he could freeze time just a little longer. Sometimes he wished he could even turn back time or convince Thomas that everything was alright and that there was nothing wrong with who he was. Yet, Janus knows it’ll never happen. It’s too late now.

Soon, the sun is even lower, and the sky is a mix of reds and oranges and pinks. Romulus and Janus have finished their meals. The table was cleaned up and vanished along with the chair. The wooden throne remained but the two chose to sit on the grass as they watched the sunset. Neither said anything but knew that as soon as the sun was gone, their time together would be ending soon. It brings back that heavy weight from earlier inside Janus’ heart and he glances at the King.

“I wish time wouldn’t move so fast.” Janus sighs.

Romulus chuckles, watching the sun dip lower.

“You’d think as someone in charge of this entire realm, I’d be able to do that. Believe me, I wish I could, Janus.” he answers, waving his hand.

Nothing happens much to both of their disappointment, and they sit in silence again before-

“Janus…may I ask you for one last favor?” Romulus asks a moment later, sitting up on his knees.

Janus turns, mirroring Romulus.

“What is it, my King?”

Romulus removes his crown, placing it in Janus’ hands.

“When I am split, and I am replaced…will you take care of whoever takes my place?” he asks.

Janus’ eyes widen as he gazes at the crown in his shaking hands then at Romulus who’s calmly smiling at him.

“W-What? You want me to…are you sure? Why?” he stammers.

“Because I trust you. Thomas may no longer see you as Self Preservation as much as he used to, but I still do. I need you to promise me you will guide them and protect them.”

“I don’t know if I can…”

Romulus smiles softly.

“You can. Why don’t we make it a Royal Promise?” he suggests.

“R-Royal Promise? What is that?” Janus asks.

Romulus takes the crown and holds it above the yellow side’s head.

“A strong promise that is guaranteed to be never broken. If it is, the one who made it will be in pain until they fix it. I know it sounds like it’s meant for royals so today, you’re an honorary royal, Janus.” he explains.

Janus sniffs, a tear rolling down over his scales.

“Y-You really trust me?”

“Of course I do, my dear friend.” Romulus nods.

Janus looks at his King, knowing he would never see him here again and nods. Whoever becomes the new Creativity, Janus will make sure they won’t be lost to Morality again. So, Janus holds the crown over his head and smiles tearfully at Romulus as the sun vanishes below the horizon.

“I, Janus Sanders, Royal Promise, my King.”

“And when you both manifested, I did my best to keep that promise. Sure, I had my failures, but I intended to keep it for as long as I can, wanting to make sure I didn’t lose you both either.” Janus finishes.

The twins are quiet before Remus tackles Janus into a hug. Roman follows a moment later. They’re both glad Janus took them in. Sure, Morality was…kind and doing his best to look after them but Janus just understood them better. Now, they knew why.

“Thank you, Janus. For that.” Remus whispers.

Roman sniffles and nods.

“Yes, thank you. For keeping us safe. For telling us this.”

The twins then pull away, Remus rubbing his face to get rid of the tears.

“Would it be okay if we kept making Royal Promises? We’ll only use it for important things.” Roman asks.

Janus nods, wiping Roman’s tears away.

“Of course, Roman. It was always yours and Remus’ to make whenever you need it.”

Before Roman can thank Janus, the tree rustles and an apple falls from the branches into Janus’ hands.

Janus chuckles, smiling up at the tree as the twins gaze in surprise.

“Thank you, old friend. I assure you, I’m still keeping my Royal Promise.”

            This time, as the sun sets, Janus sits with twins and smiles. As long as he was here, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. They would never be separate, and they would be safe under his guidance. Promise or not, Janus intends to make sure Creativity would stay strong. Even as two halves. It’s his royal promise to the King and the twins after all.

THE END

[flo55i]

michael goes with daniel to the hospital 1.5k of Daniel&Michael for the platonic friend fix

“I want you to go with them, Michael.”

It wasn’t a question; Christian was already pulling at Michael’s headset and taking it from his neck, pushing him towards the car idling at the edge of the garage. 

“But Blake can…there are others more suited, surely.” Michael had trailed off. 

The level of emotion outlined in Christian’s severe frown surprised him into giving up whatever he was going to come up with to get out of it. He looked at the concrete floor instead, at the rain still pooling along pit lane, like he was intruding on a private moment. Maybe then he would have been able to swallow the lump in his own throat. 

Daniel was fine, he reminded himself.   

“I want you to keep me informed. Help him keep it together, that sort of thing.” The hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the back of the garage had felt like a noose instead. 

By the time they are in the back of a car together, the choked feeling has migrated to his chest as Michael can’t work out what is appropriate to say at a time like this. What will be the first thing he and Daniel have said to each other in probably months. 

“How are you feeling then?” Is the generic phrase that he goes with. The last thing he needs is Daniel yelling at him again, accusing him of being unfeeling.

Cold-hearted wanker is the word he actually thinks was used last time. 

“Like I probably should have hit the McLaren instead.” Daniel snorts, and although he’s got his head leaning back against the headrest, Michael knows him well enough to tell that he’s smiling. Even if it’s in sarcasm. 

“I mean, it all happened so fast. I doubt anyone would have blamed you if you did.” Michael tries to assure any lingering guilt. 

“I’ll keep that in time for next time I crash out then, shall I?” 

It’s biting and Michael doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Eyes on the front, he concentrates on the two doctors who sit up in the driver’s and passenger seats of the SUV—one from the medical centre, the other from RedBull— who are arguing in German about the best way to leave the track. Cameras and fans crowd the vehicle making it hard to see anything out the windows and when Michael turns back, Daniel has his head tilted once more to the ceiling, eyes closed, conversation apparently over. 

He’s not asleep though. The broken arm is strapped carefully tight to his chest but his thigh is jiggling, teeth gritted, yet he still tries to breathe deep through them. It makes a little wheezing sound that has Michael pursing his lips. He wonders how much—if any— pain medication he’d been given so far. 

Not caring about offending Daniel’s delicate sensibilities, or how to approach the stalemate between them, Michael reaches for Daniel’s good wrist to check his pulse. The stupid idiot can rant and rave for all he cares, it’s his job to help.

(He needs to make sure Daniel’s ok.) 

The pulse is consistent enough, considering. Michael checks his pupils too— almost fully dilated, which means he’s running on adrenaline only. 

“Why didn’t you let them give you anything for the pain, you moron? Now is not the time to start playing the martyr.” Michael scolds. Whilst Daniel may have been too tired to protest his manhandling, Daniel bares the censure less gracefully. 

“This isn’t that kind of trip, mate.” And Michael knows the last word tacked on to the end is meant to be mocking. Hurtful. He tries not to let how much show on his face. 

“I know you don’t think I like, have any”, Daniel continues, apparently not done with settling the score, “But somebody’s gotta have at least some sort of control when they’re deciding the future of my career up there.” 

Tilting his head, he motions towards the two doctors out front, who haven’t spoken a word to Daniel about how he’s doing or what to expect since they barked at him to keep his arm above his heart as soon as the door was closed.

But instead of pity, the reminder of RedBull and their exacting levels of control over Daniel’s life has Michael angry. 

“What happened to, it’s nice to finally be with family? People who really care about me?” Michael throws back the words Daniel has been spouting to every tabloid ever since his return to the sport. 

It’s petty but Michael doesn’t care. It had felt like all their years of friendship being thrown back in his face. Still does. Serves the selfish fucker right to feel a bit of that back. 

But Daniel’s not playing that game with him anymore it seems. 

“Got me there!” He jokes. But his head is bowed, smile mocking somehow in its complacency. Michael thinks it might be regret. 

“You were always telling me I never did have the best instincts, right?”

It’s probably the most of an apology he’s ever going to get. And combined with the struggling, broken look Michael swore after last year he never wanted to see on Daniel’s face again, his first instinct is to fix. To make it better like he always has. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him of Horner’s concerned frown as he’d pushed Michael into the awaiting car to be with him, to help him. But he can’t help but selfishly think of his own feelings still burning away inside of him. 

How Daniel ought to know what it felt like for him as his heart had leapt right out of his chest the second he’d hit the wall. What it felt like for him when Daniel cut him out of his life like that because he dared to offer a different perspective on his life decisions like any good friend would. 

Michael berates himself immediately and wonders when it became a competition between them. An us versus them kinda deal. Him or RedBull. 

Wonders if he was this much of an asshole all along. 

Daniel had asked, he’d answered. No. No, he did not think it a good idea to go back to RedBull. But Daniel had taken it with all the grace and comprehension of an elephant. Accused him of being non supportive when he was only trying to be anything but. Just like he’s trying— failing— to do at the moment. 

Sighing out loud, Michael lets the opportunity to say I told you so go. Lets it all go. Because it’s not about him. Or them. Then or now. 

“Look.” He starts. “They love you so fucking much I have no doubt that they’ve already lined up an IV full of stroopwafles for you. The best money can buy.” 

“Is that so?” Daniel says, practically preening under the attention of the admission. Michael just sees how fragile he looks.

Even when you take away the bandages, the sling, even the bags of exhaustion under his eyes, he knows that cocky bravado is just a front for all Daniel’s insecurities and the things he won’t say. How he’s hanging on Michael’s words to believe him. 

The car comes to a stop. They’re at the hospital now. Michael feels Daniel tense up beside him. He  scoots closer, as if to hide Daniel from the hoards of fans tapping at the glass. He knows they only mean well but they are still demanding time and attention from him now, phones at the ready and already pointing in their faces like weapons. 

Michael moves again to make sure their knees are touching. Smiles when it’s enough to still Daniel’s own. 

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah I do. This is your show, man.” 

“And what if I said I wanted to steal a wheelchair before they start thinking about cutting me open and harvesting me for parts to give to the junior program?” 

Michael looks to where the doctors are already out of the car, shaking hands with someone from the hospital emergency department to greet them in a white coat—obviously another doctor. Someone pretty important with the way three nurses follow in his wake. 

All for a broken arm, Michael scoffs. 

This level of scrutiny, of care, should hardly surprise him. RedBull have invested way too much money into Daniel and his body for them to give up the chance of losing it and the skills it’s cultivated now. He’s not gonna tell Daniel that though. 

From the tone Daniel had used— half-softening the blow from his own depleted expectations, half cautious— Michael is aware Daniel is checking if he’s as committed as he says he is. If he can be trusted with the truth of how scared about this all he actually is. 

Michael knows what to say this time. 

“Then I’ll get you a scalpel to fight back with. Whatever it takes.”  

And he means it. Especially later, as he’s standing back in the paddock, listening to Daniel’s order of events. He’s scowling at Marko for constantly interrupting to find out exactly when Daniel will be back to full function again. 

Daniel plays it up. The grin on his face and the erratic movement of his one, good arm says he’s thoroughly enjoying the way he’s keeping him in suspense. Helmut’s eyebrow seems to climb higher and higher the more Daniel ignores him, continuing his story about when they were plastering his arm. At how lost in translation the word mummy had got and the extra concussion tests they made him do because of it. 

To the side, amongst Daniel’s laughter, Christian slaps Michael on the back and says, “Everything turned out as well as it should then.” 

“Yeah.” Michael agrees softly, leaving it at that. 

Of course he could tell Christian about the way he had to bribe Daniel to get into the cat scan machine— just in case— giving him a running commentary on the topography of his brain like a David Attenborough video to keep him still and calm in the enclosed space. 

Or about the fact that Michael had to fill out all the forms presented to them because he apparently knows more about Daniel’s medical needs and history than he even did. Or their doctor. 

Or even how he ended up calling Daniel’s parents for him to tell them he was fine— not even a concussion, Grace. Not a screw any looser than what it was, I promise— because no one at RedBull apparently had yet. 

But he suspects Christian already knows all this. 

That’s why he sent him, after all. 

Knowing he needs to get back to the garage, to Yuki and his actual job, Michael gives Christian a single, appreciative nod. Giving respect where respect is due to the only other person he trusts here to do what’s best for Daniel and not just a driver for RedBull. 

Coming up behind them, he gives Daniel a conspiratory wink as he interrupts the conversation, “Just so you know, I do happen to own a scalpel.” 

Helmut looks confused. Michael doesn’t care. Simply enjoys the sound of Daniel’s laughter, the way he dares him to whip it out right there in front of their bosses. 

Daniel is fine. 

[turnthepaiiige]

“This house is made of cards” I tell whoever can hear me, as I come face to face with the Ace of spades. “And they haven’t been shuffled either” I moan, recognizing the royal flush stacked along the interior weight bearing wall. The wall that separates my room from the rest of the world… from the rest of the people inside these paper thin walls. If only I knew how to play poker. The windows are ripped up diamonds. They let the cold in. When a breeze picks up the whole structure sways, like my dreams at night. There’s no way to open or close the main doors without toppling the whole building. Was this house of cards built with me already inside? With all of us lying in our prospective beds, peacefully sleeping under the illusion that we were protected from the elements? Safe from intruders? Why does it feel as though this house has its own set of weather elements? It’s always raining on me, little droplets of sadness and anxiety fall on my head any time I try and get comfortable. The Joker is above my head while I sleep, taunting me. And the intruders… why do I feel like they’re already in the house with me? I’m simultaneously all alone in here and trapped with people who want to do me harm. I’ve been searching for a lighter in my spare time. A torch to set all these cards ablaze. But then where would I go? What other options do I have, but to live in this never ending game of blackjack? I’ve been desperately trying to locate the King of hearts. If I only had my King, he would plaster these walls and hang drywall, put hinges on the doors and glass in the window panes. He would make this house of cards into a home… but I just can’t find him. I’ve lost my little family, the one I cherished so deeply. Maybe after so many bad choices and mistakes, I dealt myself a bad hand. Or maybe someone set the deck against me? Would it make me feel better to be a victim in this situation? No. It never does. Never has. All I know is the world outside is loud, and everyone seems to be moving too fast. Maybe this house was built inside of a casino. One that never closes, never stops serving drinks. I’m not much of a gambler, but every day I bet that today will be a bad day. Every day I win. I’m not much of a gambler, but I’d like to lose one of these bets. There is a loaded gun in the kitchen beside a Russian roulette wheel, but I’ve been too scared to play. Red or black? Maybe one of these days I’ll choose one, take my chances. Am I scared to win or scared to lose? I’m not sure anymore. I need to do something, before this house of cards topples down on top of me, crushing me beneath the weight of a pair of 8’s. Am I the only one that sees the facade? Or maybe there is no facade. Maybe these cards are all in my head… maybe I’ve trapped myself here in my mind to avoid all the pain that’s bottled up inside of me. All of the loss and regret and guilt. Maybe I need to stop playing games and start living my life. One final trick, 52 pick up. I’d like nothing more than to gather up all the broken pieces of myself, even if the corners are frayed and the middles are creased, and put them all back together again.

Maybe I can walk out of here a full deck again.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics With Titles That Start With S (2) Masterlist

part one

Sacrilegious (ao3) - TheUKAmazingDan

Summary: Dan Howell was a good kid. A Catholic, growing up in Mass and youth group. But, after meeting Phil Lester, his life drastically changed, turning the quiet and meek boy into a wild child.

Said Too Much (But Not Enough) (ao3) - amazingphiw

Summary: Phil tries to make Valentine's Day special again. Just for the two of them.

Same Sky (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: Dan is going to India for two weeks with his family, leaving him and Phil to navigate the longest time they've spent apart since they first met.

Sauvage (ao3) - covetsubjugation

Summary: When Dan and Phil fail to leave the country in time, they are trapped in the UK during the most dangerous time of the year. What are they to do when their safe house gets broken into during The Purge?

Scared To Be Lonely - paradisobound

Summary: Phil begins school at a new high school to avoid his past, however, he doesn’t intend for how much his life is going to change. He meets Dan, the one he’s first warned about, and develops a quick attraction for him. But when things begin to look up for Phil, someone else comes in and breaks the norm.

Scientific Curiosity - cityofphanchester

Summary: Phil’s never had real friends, and someone’s scrawled their number across a cubicle door.

scratch bark bite (oh, love me, i lied) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Music & Drama teacher Dan Howell has a well-known rivalry with his coworker, English teacher Phil Lester.

An unforeseen event flips everything Dan thought he knew about Phil and himself on its head. Slowly but surely, the grudge withers, and the two of them cross the line between enemy and friend. But what will happen when their true intents and feelings get revealed? And was what they had ever really a rivalry? Was it even mutual?

Secrets Can Kill - thatonesmoshyphangirl

Summary: Forget-Me-Not high school lies in a normal town with normal kids. However, when student Pj Liguori is found dead and alone on the theatre stage, will students spill the secrets they’ve held for so long? Unravel the mystery through a detective’s eyes. The doors locked shut, windows tightly closed; there is no escaping.

Shameless - jestbee

Summary: Dan knows what he needs. He needs to feel the weight of everything slide away, just for a moment. And he knows Phil needs to feel as if he has some control. He knows exactly how this could all be resolved, what they do when it starts to feel like this.

Shoes With the Zips (ao3) - phandomghostwriter

Summary: Phil borrows a pair of Dan’s shoes for a date. When things start going really weird he learns a lesson about living someone’s life in their shoes.

Siri - washedoutgay

Summary: Dan gets a new iPhone, and every detail is wonderful. Especially Siri. Especially when he lets him call him Phil, because nicknames are very important, especially with artificial intelligence.

Sk8ter Boi - sexyassphan

Summary: Based of Avril Lavigne’s song Sk8er Boi with Pastel!Dan and punk!Phil Phil learns what love is but also how to be broken from it, Dan helps him learn both of them things. who will face the consequences.

Smiled, And It Was Perfect (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: Dan and Phil in Jamaica on a youtuber trip. Their relationship is still pretty young, but the love is real. So are the bugs.

Spiderman Kisses (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: The famous Spiderman kiss, except they're not caught in the rain and Dan isn't kissing Phil on the lips.

Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) - auroraphilealis

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY (ao3) - natigail

Summary: @danielhowell: maybe i’d actually consider doing @bbcstrictly if they allowed same-sex couples. who wouldn’t want a sexy man spinning you around? it’s not just a girl’s dream. c'mon people let’s see some pretty and fierce girls pair up and handsome and strong boys get it on. i dare you.

Dan Howell calls Strictly out on Twitter for not allowing any same-sex couples and accidentally volunteers himself to be one of the contestants if they were to change that. It was a joke. It had so clearly been a joke. Why did they take him up on it?! He’s sure he’ll trip over his own feet and hate every second, but then he meets his partner, the endearingly clumsy dancer Phil Lester.

strike a deal, kiss my lips (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Witches were the only magical beings capable of binding and controlling demons. It required a complicated ritual and crazy amounts of magic.

It happening on accident was practically unheard of until Phil came along and got tangled up with a snarky and dangerous demon named Dan. Suddenly bound together, Phil must grapple with control over a chaotic demon that wants to strip the skin from his bones.

And maybe strip the clothes off of his body as well.

Super Amazing Project: Unsolved (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: They find a hallway once they’re inside with a big, wide, broken window. It lets in more than enough light to film and the shot of the graffitied wall behind them is interesting. Phil sets up the tripod. They stand in frame, a safe foot of space between them. They both clear their throats. “Hey guys, and welcome to another episode of The Super Amazing Project!” A fic about canon divergence and hauntings.

super soul (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: Phil has spent his whole life believing that meeting his soulmate will give his life the meaning he’s been looking for.

Then he meets Dan.

Starstruck - paradisobound

Summary: Phil attends all of Dan Howell’s concerts. In fact, he makes it a rule to even record every one he goes to. You could say he was in love with Dan Howell and in fact, that wouldn’t be a lie because he’s actually Dan’s fiancé. Too bad Dan’s fans see him as the creepy guy at Dan’s concerts.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

And They Were Roommates, OMG They Were Roommates: Part Four

A/N: So I can’t lie, this chapter was tough to write. Felt at times like I was pulling teeth. So if it also reads that way, apologies. If the lack of motivation continues, I may have to pause this fic for a bit. It’s just that the ideas and creative juices are flowing more for my kid!fic at the moment, and trying to force a fic when all you can think about is another fic is no fun. But it really would just be a pause, not abandoning. I promise :) 

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part 

“Hurricane Isaiah is expected to make landfall Friday morning. Upgraded to a category three, Isaiah will have winds over one hundred miles per hour and a whole lot of rain. So, stock up and get ready for a weekend spent inside, Velaris.” 

Cassian sighs softly, unable to stop a grimace as the weatherman shows the hurricane’s projected path on the green screen behind him, pointing to where the worst will be. They’re far enough inland that hopefully it won’t be too bad, but Cassian is definitely glad he thought ahead the last time he went to the grocery store. If things get bad, at least they have plenty of canned food, granola bars, and water. 

The click of the front door opening and closing draws Cassian’s attention, and when he glances over Nesta is finally stepping inside. Even from where he’s set on the sectional sofa, Cassian can see the dark circles clinging under her eyes, the tired set to her face. A number of flyaways have broken free from her braid, and Cassian wonders if that’s due to her running her fingers through it. 

“Long day at the office?” Cassian asks teasingly, earning a scowl in response. “I left you a plate in the fridge. You just have to heat it up.” 

Nesta mumbles something that Cassian suspects is a thank you then vanishes into her room. It’s not long before she reappears again, having changed into a pair of soft looking shorts and an oversized tee. Her hair is still braided, but rather than pinned up, it hangs loosely over her shoulder. Her bare feet pad back into the kitchen so Cassian returns his attention to the television where they’ve switched to talking about the latest local sports scores. 

He hears the beep of the microwave then Nesta is settling on the sectional sofa. She folds her legs up under her and rests her plate of dinner on her lap, glancing toward the television and scrunching up her nose. 

“You’re watching the news?” 

“They were talking about the hurricane. It’s supposed to be pretty nasty.” 

“They always say that, and then it’s just a little rain.” 

Cassian can’t say that he disagrees, but he’d still rather be safe than sorry. If the weather predictions are wrong, then they’ll just have extra food and water for a few weeks, but if the predictions are right, Cassian is sure Nesta will be thanking him. Maybe he’ll even make her say the words he was right and she was wrong before he lets her enjoy the different things he bought. That would be a sight to see. The mental image of it alone has him biting back a smile, but to distract Nesta from taking notice, he just grabs the remote and changes the channel. 

~ * * * ~

When Cassian steps out of his bedroom, still rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he finds Nesta standing in front of the large floor to ceiling windows that line their living room. Rain lashes against the glass in angry streaks, the wind whistling and blurring the whole landscape an ugly gray color. Cassian can just barely make out the river beyond, the trees that line it bowing sideways with each powerful gust. 

“Just a little rain, huh?” Cassian asks teasingly. 

Nesta doesn’t say anything, and while Cassian can’t see her face, he can perfectly imagine her rolling her eyes at him. With a light chuckle, Cassian heads for the kitchen, turning his attention to breakfast. With the weather so dreary, he decides to pull out the waffle iron, letting it heat up while he prepares the batter. 

Cassian has a decent stack of steaming, golden brown waffles, the buttery sweet scent filling the apartment, when Nesta makes her way over to the kitchen. She pulls down plates and glasses from the cabinets, pouring them both a glass of juice while Cassian divvies up the waffles between them. They end up settling with their breakfasts on the sectional sofa. While Nesta has absolutely drenched her waffles in sugary maple syrup, Cassian has opted to top his with some fresh strawberries and bananas. 

"The one good thing about the hurricane?" Nesta starts, reaching for the remote and navigating to the streaming service. “It’s the perfect weather for bingeing.” 

“And what are we bingeing?” 

“I don’t know what you’re bingeing, but I’m watching Love is Blind.” 

Cassian doesn't bother to hide his grimace at that. "I would've thought you were above those types of trashy reality shows, but maybe all those smutty books you love really are rotting your brain." 

"Well, you'd certainly know what it feels like to have a rotting brain." 

Cassian puts on his best mocking laugh in response to the retort, but he doesn't say anything else, not even at the proud little smile that tugs up Nesta's lips. Instead, he turns his focus to the television. That is, until a soft groan pricks his ears and draws his attention again. He practically whips his head around only to find Nesta with her fork poised to her lips, eyes closed and a blissful expression painted across her face. 

"These are really good waffles," she tells him. 

"Is that a compliment?" Cassian asks teasingly, unable to taper down a smirk. "From the Nesta Archeron?"

In a second, Nesta's expression morphs back into a scowl. "Don't get used to it." 

"Wouldn't want it to go to my rotting head, right?" 

"Exactly." 

At the haughty, clipped tone of Nesta’s voice, Cassian can’t help but laugh. He turns his attention back to digging into his own plate of waffles while the show continues to play on the television. He tries his best to feign indifference, to pretend he doesn’t care for these reality stars trying to find “love,” but he has to admit that Nesta was right about the entertaining label. 

“Did he just call her the wrong name?” Cassian exclaims a few episodes later. 

Nesta snorts softly from where she’s now wrapped up in a blanket on her end of the sectional sofa. “She likes him too much to drop him after that.” 

“What? She should absolutely drop him after that.” 

Cassian is about to continue to rant about all the things that are most definitely wrong with this budding relationship when suddenly the television cuts out. Along with everything else in the apartment. In a second, all of the lights flicker out, the hum of the air conditioning giving way to eerie silence. Cassian has to blink a few times before his eyes adjust to the new darkness. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nesta’s annoyed grumble breaks through the quiet. 

“I’ll get some flashlights.” 

Cassian gets up from the sectional sofa, moving carefully toward the kitchen so as to not bump into anything. He fumbles around in the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. Much to his disappointment, the batteries in the flashlight seem to be dead, but he does find some candles. He digs around some more until he finds a lighter, carefully lighting one of the candles and setting it on the kitchen island, an orange glow filling the space and leaving flickering shadows dancing across the walls. He lights two more candles and carries them back into the living room, setting them on the coffee table so he and Nesta can see. 

“How long do you think the power will be out?” Cassian wonders aloud, settling back against the cushions. 

“Hopefully not days.” 

“Lucky I stocked up then, huh?” 

“Clearly you didn’t think to stock up on batteries, though,” Nesta shoots back, standing up and grabbing one of the candles. 

Okay, maybe Cassian deserves that one. 

He watches as Nesta vanishes down the dark hallway and into her bedroom. It’s not long before she returns, though, a book tucked under her arm. She settles back on the sectional sofa, and it takes some maneuvering, but she’s able to find the perfect combination of candle placement and lounging comfortably to be able to read her book. 

Cassian lets his head fall back against the cousins, closing his eyes, but it’s not long before he’s feeling bored and restless. He supposes he could scroll through his phone, but it’s probably best if he doesn’t waste the battery. Maybe he should ask Nesta to borrow one of her smutty romance books, or better yet, ask her to read her current smutty romance book aloud. Would she stutter through the words? Or would she hold her head high as she read even with her cheeks deepening in the flush Cassian knows will slink across her skin? 

When Cassian glances over to the woman in question, her nose is still firmly buried in her book. She bites down lightly on her bottom lip as her eyes dance across each page. In the red and orange glow of the candlelight, her hair looks like burnished gold where it falls in a loose braid down along her shoulder. She looks so relaxed, blanket covered legs tucked up where the book rests against her knees. 

Cassian blows out a heavy breath through his lips, but Nesta doesn’t even bother to glance in his direction. Cassian frowns, letting out a lamenting sigh next , but Nesta just continues to read like he’s not even there. 

“Nesta,” Cassian tries.

Still nothing. Cassian shifts on the sectional sofa and flings himself across Nesta’s legs. 

“Nesta,” Cassian repeats, dragging out the final vowel of her name. 

Nesta finally relents, glancing down at where he’s now laying with a scowl. “What.” 

“I’m bored.” 

“How is that my problem?” 

“We could play a game?” 

“No.” 

Nesta goes back to her book, but Cassian has officially had enough of that. He plucks the book right from her fingers, pointedly ignoring the annoyed sound that tears from Nesta’s chest. Nesta tries to snatch the book back, but Cassian just hops up from the sectional sofa, holding the book high above his head where she can’t reach. 

“Cassian, I’m serious,” Nesta seethes, tugging at his arm and trying to pull it down. “Give it back.” 

“Just one game,” he offers. 

Nesta settles back and crosses her arms, but she’s not arguing, so Cassian decides to take it as a win. He steps around the sectional sofa, gently setting Nesta’s book on the kitchen island as he passes it. He finds his stack of old board games in the closet by the front door. He has to squint against the low light emanating from the candles, but he finds Guess Who, which will be perfect for just the two of them. 

Cassian and Nesta settle on pillows on the floor either side of the coffee table. Nesta looks less than impressed as she makes sure all the cards on her board are upright and takes one of the cards from the deck. Cassian does the same, setting his card in the slot on his board, before settling Nesta with a smile. 

“You can go first,” he tells her. 

Nesta folds her hands neatly atop the coffee table and stares Cassian down. “Does your person look like someone with low enough standards to date you?” 

Cassian is positive that his jaw is on the floor at the clipped question with the way his mouth hangs open in shock. Even over the flickering candles positioned between them, he can see the challenge blazing in the stormy blue of Nesta’s eyes. Another minute of silence from him, and her face morphs into a smirk, clearly proud that she’s hit her mark. 

“What?” Nesta questions, her tone mockingly innocent. “You’re the one who wanted to play rather than leaving me to read my book.” 

“Fine,” Cassian gets out through gritted teeth. He glances down to his card, at the cartoon drawing of a pretty woman with blonde hair. “Would date me.” 

Nesta hums in response and starts to knock down the different characters on her board with a flick of her fingers. Cassian can feel annoyance begin to spark and flare through his veins as she knocks down nearly half the board. 

“I think you may have eliminated too many,” Cassian comments. 

“Agree to disagree.” 

Cassian lets out a heavy breath through his nose, trying to steel his temper before it boils over. How is it that Nesta constantly gets under his skin like no one else? A few barbed words, sometimes just a look, is all it takes. Of course, if there’s one thing that Cassian takes pride in, he can do the same to her. Which reminds Cassian that it’s now his turn. He crosses his arms and offers Nesta a crooked grin. 

“Is your person someone who would agree you’re a bitch?” 

The glare Nesta settles him with is withering. “No.” 

Just as Nesta did, Cassian proceeds to knock down near half the cards on his board with a smirk. “You’re turn, sweetheart.” 

“Is your person someone with an ego bigger than their giant head?” 

The game doesn’t last much longer after that, and by the end, neither of them is successfully able to guess which card the other has. Cassian puts the game back in the box with more force than is probably necessary, but Nesta still looks a bit too smug with her string of retorts. He stands and heads back toward the closet, setting Guess Who back on the stack and looking at the other game options. 

“Twister?” Cassian offers, already pulling the box from the stack. 

“With two people?” 

“We’ll make it a rule that you can only go for the furthest dot for each color to keep it interesting.” 

Nesta looks like she wants to argue further, but Cassian pointedly ignores her, moving aside the coffee table to make space. He opens up the box and pulls out the mat, spreading it down across the floor and setting the board to spin beside it. 

“Ready?” 

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she stands up from her spot on the floor, going over to stand at the edge of the mat. Cassian leans down, hitting the spinner on the board. 

"Left hand red," he announces. 

They both lean down toward the mat, each placing their left hand on one of the red dots. Cassian moves the spin board closer, hitting the spinner once again. 

"Right hand yellow." 

Cassian reaches over and settles his right hand against the yellow dot near Nesta’s end of the mat. Nesta, on the other hand, sets her right hand on the yellow dot just below her left hand, causing Cassian to frown. 

“We said furthest dot for each color to keep things interesting,” Cassian reminds her. 

Nesta huffs but she moves her right hand to a yellow dot further down on the mat, leaving her arm crossed over Cassian’s and shoulders almost brushing together. It takes some creative maneuvering, but Cassian is able to hit the spinner with his foot, craning his neck to see where it lands. 

“Right foot blue.” 

Nesta stretches her right leg out, right under her own arm, and sets her foot on the blue dot all the way at the other end of the mat. Cassian blinks in surprise a few times at the near splits she’s now in, the way it doesn’t even look like a strain for her. He knew that Nesta used to dance when she was younger, but he didn’t realize she was that flexible. 

With a jolt, it hits Cassian that he’s absolutely staring and has yet to move his own right leg. Quickly, he brings his knee up and places his right foot on a blue dot. When he glances back toward Nesta, she’s smirking at him. Embarrassment flares to life in Cassian’s chest at the look, and he’s thankful for the low light of the candles that will hopefully hide the heat beginning to flood his skin. Did she catch his blatant staring? 

“Furthest dot for each color to keep things interesting,” Nesta repeats Cassian’s words from earlier, her tone mocking. 

There’s no denying the relief that washes over Cassian at that, but he still rolls his eyes in annoyance. He stretches his leg out to a blue dot further away, grimacing at the pull in his hip at the position. He’s determined to hold it though, refuses to let Nesta win. 

With each new spin and keeping to the furthest dot rule, Cassian and Nesta end up more and more tangled, limbs criss-crossed over one another’s. By the time that the spinner lands on left foot green, Cassian has to lift his leg fully over Nesta to reach the furthest dot. In the new position, each breath she takes has her back pressing against Cassian’s chest, as he tries to hold himself up. This close, Cassian can smell the vanilla of her body wash, the jasmine scent of her shampoo. All it would take is a dip of his head for his lips to brush against the skin of her neck exposed by the loose hang of her tee and then—

Cassian lets out a groan as he goes sprawling across the ground, pain blooming and spreading across his abdomen. He rubs at the spot before turning a glare at Nesta. She really just punched him. Hard. 

“Mother’s tits,” Cassian gasps out through clenched teeth. “When did you start working out?” 

“I take kickboxing classes with my friends,” Nesta explains like it’s nothing, standing up from the mat and straightening out her clothes. “Now, since I’ve played and won one game, can I finally go back to my book?” 

“Won?” Cassian repeats, barely swallowing down an incredulous laugh. “You cheated. Rematch.” 

“Fine, but this time, keep your hands to yourself.” 

One rematch becomes two rematches. That then turns into various rounds of card games. Cassian has always been quite competitive himself, but he quickly learns that Nesta is just as bad. She stares at him with narrowed eyes over her hands of cards, cheers and gloats when she wins, grumbles and pouts every time Cassian wins. It shouldn’t be as adorable as it is. A thought he shakes away as quickly as he has it. 

As the sky starts to darken, the afternoon giving way to evening, the power remains out. They pause their games long enough for Cassian to use the canned chicken to prepare some buffalo style wraps, and they eat quietly while the hurricane continues to rage in the shadows outside. They play a few more rounds of cards after dinner then Cassian finally relents, freeing Nesta from her game obligations. Nesta doesn’t need to be told twice, grabbing her book and one of the candles before retreating to her room. It’s not long before Cassian follows suit, heading to his own room. 

Cassian settles back against his bed with a soft sigh, trying to relax and will himself to sleep. The faster he falls asleep, the faster he can wake up the next morning to, hopefully, the power restored. It’s easier said than done, though. The rain continues to lash against the windows, the winds almost rattling the glass in the frames. A particularly powerful wind gust actually startles Cassian, and he squints through the dark at the line of windows along his bedroom wall skeptically. The wind couldn’t break them, could it? The line of tall windows are great for natural light for his bedroom, but he’s suddenly realizing that there would be a lot of glass if they shattered. 

Before Cassian can think twice, he clambers out of bed. He grabs his pillow, tucking it under his arm and pads out of his bedroom, knocking gently on the door across the hall. 

“Nesta,” Cassian calls quietly, slowly pushing open her door. 

Nesta is sat on her bed, her book nestled in her lap and the candle flickering from her bedside table. She looks confused and surprised to see Cassian standing in her doorway. Her eyes track downward and it’s then Cassian remembers he changed into just a soft pair of shorts to sleep in. Before he can make a teasing joke, Nesta’s gaze snaps back up to his face, blue gray eyes narrowing. 

“What are you doing?” she asks him. 

“Can I sleep in your room?” 

“What.” 

“I have a whole wall of windows in my room.” 

“Wow,” Nesta drawls sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “It must be so hard having the nicer bedroom.” 

“I’m just saying, what if a tree falls through one of them?” 

“We live on the fourth floor.” 

“Please, Nesta. Please,” Cassian pleads, folding his hands under his chin and offering his best pout. 

“Fine,” Nesta relents with a sigh. 

“Thank you thank you thank you.” 

Cassian wastes no time stepping fully into Nesta’s room and closing the door behind him. The last thing he needs is to give her enough time for her to change her mind. He jumps up onto the bed, placing his pillow behind his head and shifting until he’s comfortable. 

“Just stay on your side of the bed,” Nesta tells him, her tone firm and leaving no room for disagreement. 

“That won’t be a problem.” 

It turns out, it’s a problem. 

When Cassian wakes the next morning, it’s to a face full of golden brown hair. It takes his sleep addled brain a few moments to remember exactly where he is, to recognize the warm body pressed up against him. But then it all comes rushing back like a slap in the face. The hurricane. The power outage. Begging Nesta to let him sleep in her room. Carefully, Cassian risks lifting his head and glancing down, but thankfully Nesta is still fast asleep, her face soft and completely relaxed when she’s not awake and scowling at him. He’s not sure which of them exactly moved in their sleep in the night, but their legs are now firmly tangled together, his arm slung snugly across her waist. 

Moving as slowly as he can so as to not jostle and wake Nesta, Cassian untangles himself and slips off the bed. He practically sprints back to his own bedroom and finally releases the breath he was holding once safely behind the closed door. He gives himself a moment, letting his head fall back against the wood with a soft thud. He’ll just pretend that never happened and never speak of it again. He and Nesta are just roommates and fake engaged after all. Nothing more.

—

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist​ @hellogoodbye14​ @nestaspegasus​ @nesquik-arccheron​ @sv0430​ @lady-winter-sunrise​ @talkfantasytome​ @secretlovelybeauty​ @dontgetsalmonella​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @mis-lil-red​ @bookstantrash​ @vinylcryes​ @sleeping-and-books​ @wonderland--memories​ @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter​ @sayosdreams​ @ubigaia​ @cannellefawn @duskandstarlight​ @live-the-fangirl-life​ @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​ 

[helaintoloki]

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“I’m not telling you again.”

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion

1905, somewhere outside New York City

-

"Come here, little one."

The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.

He can't see her.

But she can see him.

"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."

She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.

She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.

Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.

"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."

He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-

"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.

"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.

Not that he'll see any of them ever again.

Not since his parents-

Not since-

He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.

Everything here is wrong.

He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.

"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."

"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.

They don't seem to notice, or care.

But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?

"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"

"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"

She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.

"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"

She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.

"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."

She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.

He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.

While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.

He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.

"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."

He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.

She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.

"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.

And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.

There is no pain.

Only the fear.

I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.

His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.

I'm going to die.

He wants to go home.

He wants more to drink.

He's so hungry.

He wants more blood.

When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.

"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.

Then... pain.

Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.

He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.

"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.

"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.

He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"

"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."

Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.

The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.

He's going to die here.

And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.

He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"

His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.

He screams.

He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.

He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.

His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.

He dies, but he does not die for long.

-

Tag list:  @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Prompt List #5

Other Prompt Lists

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

Kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft tender.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even like me...it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

“You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend. To care.”

“I look at him/her/them and I just..it’s like when the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes.”

“I don’t...i’ve never...been in a relationship and i’m going to make mistakes...I just need you to tell me. I need you to talk to me.”

“You really thought I was dead?”

“I want to believe, I do...I just...how can I believe in something that I can’t see?”

“You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

“I feel sick…so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”

“Can we just make a decision? Please?”

“You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

“I just want you to be safe. That’s all i’ve ever wanted for you!” 

“I want you to be happy...even if its not with me.”

“I want to feel like this forever.”

“You give me a reason to be better, to do better.”

“God, you are so fucking cute.”

“I love you, but I need you to go away because you’re really bloody distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow.”

“I...I can’t do this without you.”

“Don’t forget me?” 

“You weren’t there...why weren’t you there?”

“I needed you! I needed you!”

“Now it’s over...I don’t really know what to do.”

“Do you ever think?”

“I’m going to die. I’m going to die with an absolute idiot!” 

“How can you drink that stuff?”

“Oh no...he’s/she’s/they’re cute.”

“I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!”

“Sometimes you love someone and you don’t want them to leave...because if they’re beside you, you can see that they’re safe and you can keep them safe. But, if they go somewhere without you...you might lose them”

“No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain!? What happened?!”

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are so important to me, you are such a big part of my life, that I just...I can’t imagine you not here.”

“I just want you to be happy...”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Stop apologising for other people! You’re not the shitty one!” 

“I want someone I can melt around. I want someone who melts around me too...I don’t want this standoffish, unromantic love that you’re offering. I want more than that.”

“I want to write you poetry, to write songs about you and draw your portrait! I want to make things for you! It frustrates the hell out of me hat I can’t draw and I can’t sing or write or play instruments or paint...You inspire me so fucking much...”

“You don’t own her/him/them. You don’t get to choose who they choose. I don’t get to choose who they choose. No one, but them, gets to make that decision.”

“Stop being a fucking dick.”

“That’s another way of saying you’re an arsehole.” 

“Can anyone else hear those Jumanji like drums? Or is it just me?”

“God, I love your face.”

Twirling a strand of their hair

Foreheads pressed together, breath intertwining, slow, content affection

“Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so...”

“I’m only important when you need something from me.”

“I am fed up of half measures. I deserve better”

“Don’t look at me! I’m a mess!”

“I love it when you’re a mess!”

“Please stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting”

“I don’t think you’re annoying...I know...I don’t...I really like listening to and hearing what you have to say even if its a lot sometimes..”

“I just want to be swept off my feet...is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone.”

One reaching for the others hand to comfort them, to provide support. A thumb brushing lightly against skin. 

Reciting poetry at the other in a dramatic and very public fashion

Those period shirts with the puffy sleeves and the deep v and one staring at the other like... oh no he/she’s hot. 

Heart eyes when the other talks, sings, dances, argues, does literally anything especially things which others make fun of them for or find annoying

“Oh, my ankle! I think it must be broken!” *wink* *wink*

“I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re so amazing.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I haven’t slept since they/him/her left/died”

“You are an uncultured swine! There I said it!”

“I know I should be happy...I did well...I always do well...so why can’t I believe in myself?”

“Please do your homework, for me? Just one time...”

“I said one time, y’know...you didn’t have to actually start studying. Not that I’m not proud or anything.”

“Go big or go home”

“I’m already home.”

“I lost my wellie boot in the river...”

“I wish I knew who they were...”

“It was that bad here?”

“I look at you and I...I feel so sad because I love you but I also have been hurt so many times that I don’t think I can forgive and forget.”

Brushing hair from their face

Leaning into the others hand, turning their head and pressing a kiss to the palm

“I didn’t take you for the settling down type.”

Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh

“Should I go first or...do you want to go?”

“If you want to leave, we can leave.”

“I don’t want to ruin your party.”

“You could never ruin anything.”

“Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.”

“Please don’t make me choose.”

“I can finally understand why you call them your arch-nemesis...What. A. Dick.”

“Poetry isn’t supposed to be good, it’s supposed to make you feel things!”

“If you don’t get that stick out of your arse, i’ll do it myself and beat you with it.”

“Could you come get me?”

“Stop moving! I’m going to have to start counting all over again!”

“I just thought that since you weren’t feeling too good, maybe this would help.”

The one stumbling to the other’s front door after getting hurt/beaten up etc.

“Oh my heart it breaks! It shall never be whole again!” “She/He/They break up with you every other month. Shouldn’t it be used to the disappointment by now?”

“I thought you said no more dangerous stunts?”

“I’m not kissing you in the rain! We’ll catch our death!”

“Where’s your adventurous spirit?!”

“A walk in the woods might do you some good. Clear your head.”

“You have wronged me so bitterly...”

“Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?”

“Please get me away from him. He hasn’t left me alone all night and I am this close to committing a murder.”

“I apologise sincerely if my handsome/beautiful face has kept you awake all night.”

Massages but the sort that are actually practical and helpful. Like babe, you’re so uncomfortable let me help because you’re clearly in pain

“Would it help if I stayed?”

“So I had this really vivid dream...”

[alexaplaysgames]

Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight

My angst brain need some

You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.

Title: A bit Bitter

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2564

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

“Tell me the truth, Felix.”

His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.

I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”

“W-why do you have that, love?”

I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.

I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.

“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“

“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”

I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”

“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”

“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. What’s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.

“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”

Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”

“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.

“I’ve read enough.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”

“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”

I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.

✦✧✦✧

I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.

On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.

Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.

No. I was right to be upset.

I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.

I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.

“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”

“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”

“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.

Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.

I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.

I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.

I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.

Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.

He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.

I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”

I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”

Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.

Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”

I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”

“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”

That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.

“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”

Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”

Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.

“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”

I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.

“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“

The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.

“Come here, my sweet.”

Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.

“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.

“You needn’t-“

“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”

Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.

“I love you, sweet.”

“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”

We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.

“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”

A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”

His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.

“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.

I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.

“You’re my future.”

He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.

I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.

“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”

I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.

He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”

I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”

[luvnami]

𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 (here) | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - This is my entry for @jjkmag​ Summer Collab! It’s my first long fic in a while but I had a lot of fun writing this (that isn’t to say I think it’s very good. I hope the plot/finality was pulled off decently ok lol). I hope you enjoy it! I chose the prompt 'coming of age', though there are definitely scenes where the other prompts were present as well. Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife​ @amjustagirl​ @aliteama​

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Bullying, Mild Racism (only in the first part), Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 6.4k

The first memory Nanami has of you sits in a blurry haze at the back of his mind.

You’re probably four or five years old at best, squatting by a puddle in the empty kindergarten playground. Nanami wonders what made him waddle over to you that warm afternoon.

His shoes, scribbled with ugly caricatures in marker, carry him to the other side of the puddle. A shadow cast by a plastic slide slices your features neatly in half like a Greek theatre mask. Nanami doesn’t speak a word to you as he stares at your chubby fingers that push a fallen leaf around in the water as the surface ripples silently.

You look up at Nanami. He’s an odd child, excluded by the other kindergarteners because of how quiet and strange he is. Nanami’s blond hair is abnormal to the immature local Japanese children. They knee the back of his legs while calling him names like ‘banana-gaijin!’ and making fun of his fancy leather shoes.

“Do you wanna play with me?”

Nanami wonders if the words you speak to him are from your heart or something constructed from a plan to bully him again.

“My mama taught me how to make boats with leaves. See?” You point to the puddle. “We can race them.”

Nanami carefully selects a leaf off of the playground’s floor. It’s still green, freshly fallen from its branch. You grin toothily, your eyes sparkling.

“That’s a perfect leaf!” you declare.

Nanami thinks he wants to play with you forever.

He follows you around in school like a lost puppy after that, clutching his hands nervously when you stand up to the children who bully him. Nanami wonders if you’ll ever turn your back on him. He arrives earlier than you every morning and hurriedly scrubs at your table with his handkerchief to get rid of nasty words and obscene drawings, heart thumping against his cotton polo. When his mother asks him why his new handkerchief is so dirty, he remains silent and grips the hem of his shirt tightly.

Children are children; Nanami learns. Afraid of abnormalities, they defend their right to innocence and ego with harsh words and various schemes. He learns to ignore the whispers behind his back. What he can’t disregard, though, is when they lash out at you.

They jeer when you trip during P.E. classes and bump into you on purpose when you carry your lunch tray. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Nanami holds your hand gently and leads you to the nurse’s office with scraped knees, hiccuping and swiping at your eyes roughly.

He wonders why you don’t take the easy way out and just stop being friends with him. What’s wrong with you? You hold him tightly, a bundle of thorns, in your soft hands and pretend that you’re not bleeding.

“Ken-chan?” you sniffle.

He turns.

“You’re my best friend, right?”

Nanami gulps. He doesn’t question why you cry on graduation day, bidding your final farewell to him with vague promises of meeting in the same elementary school. Something in his chest doesn’t sit right; the kind of feeling when his mother threw out his old stuffed toys after she deemed him too old for them anymore.

He watches you grow smaller and smaller in the rear window of his family car till you’re the size of an ant, his knees digging into the leather seats.

“Sit down, Kento,” his father chides.

Nanami ignores him. He watches you wave your hand in the air as the car turns around the corner and lurches into the seat.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami’s genuinely surprised when he finds out that his assigned seat is right next to you on the first day of elementary school. You’re no different, mouth wide open in an ‘o’ as you stare at him.“Ken-chan!”

You almost yell, and Nanami shushes you as his face heats up. He finds out that your mothers had conspired to put the both of you into the same school. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing just yet, but peace settles into his chest the same way the wings of a bird return to its sides after flight when you giggle at his flustered expression.

Through nine years of elementary and junior high school together, Nanami learns that you always arrange the tips of your pencils to face the right side of your pencil box, and you keep the torn bits of movie tickets shoved into your bedside drawer. You find that Nanami has a knack for dry humour — he’s blunt at every moment possible (which caused much distress after he talked back to a teacher that one time) and can usually be bribed for any favour as long as you pay him in food.

What the both of you find oddly shocking, though, is that no one else can see the creatures that swim through walls and perch in dark corners of the school.

They make you sweat whenever they get too close, bulbous eyes and strange bodies twisting in ways that shouldn’t be physically possible. Sometimes they make noises, whispering or coaxing or shrieking or crying in broken sentences.

Nanami learns to treat them as background noise. You, on the other hand, find that a little more complicated. Sometimes you latch onto him when one brushes against your arm, squeaking and swatting at them in an attempt to chase them away.

“They’re so gross!” you’d whine, pressing yourself even closer to Nanami. “Did you see that one in the gym yesterday? It had tentacles!”

In cases like this, the blond clears his throat and ignores you, averting his gaze. He doesn’t admit to anyone, not even himself, that the warmth of your skin through your uniform makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve grown so close to him that you even know that Nanami sleeps with Doraemon pajamas (absolutely, abhorrently embarrassing. He made his mother throw them out the night after you came over for a sleepover). It was inevitable for him to develop feelings.

Nanami shoves his feelings below a lid and sits on top of it, keeping them under lock and key. He’s sure this is just something to do with puppy love or ‘infatuations’ that are underlined in the puberty print-outs the school distributed, alongside scientific diagrams of genitals that the boys in his class giggle at.

Being friends is enough. Or so he thinks, anyway.

☆*: .｡.

It’s a Friday evening when the sky is dark, and street lights flicker in the distance. Nanami munches away on melon bread from a convenience store while you sip on a carton of juice. Your clubs had ended late today, so the sun was down by the time you left school.

“How’s the bread?” you ask, slurping up the last drops of your drink.

Nanami chews and swallows while you dab at your mouth with a yellow cotton handkerchief.

“It’s okay. Not as good as a bakery’s, though. Kinda stale.”

He crumples the plastic packaging in his hand and sticks it into his pocket, planning to dispose of it later. The both of you round the corner to the bus stop, and your feet fall still. A large curse sits in the middle of the road.

Numerous cars are crumpled like drink cans, smoke, and gasoline leaking onto the streets. There’s blood. Too much blood, in fact, that they seem like puddles of rain on the dark tarmac. Your juice box drops from your hand.

The curse turns to you, its teeth split vertically down the centre of what constitutes a face. Multiple eyes run down the length of its engorged body where various hands and feet stick out at random parts.

“Blood… Blood…” it moans in a cryptic voice.

Nanami stands with his feet frozen to the ground, eyes wide in horror. His knuckles turn white as he grips his school bag. Run, run, run! He screams internally, but his limbs don’t listen to him. The curse slides over the road towards him, slipping through the blood easily.

“Give me… Your blood…”

A part of the curse’s body bubbles up into a large hand. It swings itself back before throwing its newly created appendage towards Nanami. RUN RUN RUN! His legs don’t move. He squeezes his eyes shut, awaiting the impact. Except that it doesn’t hit him. Nothing hurts, except the shrill scream that pierces his ears. Nanami’s eyes snap open in horror. 

“Kento!” you yell, dangling upside down as the curse pulls you towards its mouth.

Your school bag lays on the ground below, books scattered as their pages turn red.  

“Run!”

Nanami drops everything as he scrambles towards you, tripping over his own two feet and landing face-first in the blood. His hands and knees sting. He shoves himself and gets up with his teeth clenched. You kick your feet in the air in a poor attempt to escape the curse’s grip but to no avail. Another groan is squeezed out of you as the curse opens its mouth, the foul stench of rotting bodies engulfing you.

“Run, Kento!” you plead.

How can he turn his back on you? Sweat drips down his forehead as Nanami pulls his hand back. The adrenaline that rushes through his blood clears in a split-second moment of raw emotion; anger, disappointment, confusion, sadness. A tingling sort of energy floods his body, and Nanami takes a sharp breath of air. He sees something like a ruler — a line divided equally with ten markings, the seventh one crossed out. His fist connects with it.

The curse lets out a weak moan of pain, shaking you around as it recoils from Nanami’s hit. It’s not much, just a surface injury at most. Nanami’s limbs tremble with exertion. One more time, again and again, until you’re safe-

A thick, gross liquid engulfs Nanami as the curse explodes in front of his very eyes. He coughs, running a slimy hand over his face. It smells like death.

“Woah! You put too much into that again, Satoru.” 

“Shut up!”

Nanami looks up as he hears footsteps move towards him, the quiet splashing of blood beneath shoes.

“Ugh, this place is so gross.”

“You okay there, kiddo?”

Nanami looks up to find a male with his hair pulled back into a bun staring at him. Behind him is a white-haired teenager with sunglasses (strange, hasn’t the sun already gone down?) and an imposing-looking man.

Where are you?

Nanami glances around frantically amidst the dead bodies that lie on the ground. Not you, not you, not- A tiny sliver of hope slips into his heart when he spots your uniform, and he stumbles over.

“Woah! Slow down!”

He calls out your name, slipping and collapsing onto his knees. Your eyes are closed, and a wound on your head oozes blood. A young girl with short hair reaches out to touch you, but Nanami pulls you into his chest, his eyes wide.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

His head spins. Are these good people? How did they just destroy that big monster? He hadn’t even seen them coming. Were they going to hurt you?

“Calm down, man! We’re good guys.”

“No one’s going to trust you when you say that, Satoru.”

The girl stares at Nanami.

“I’ll take care of your injuries. Can you let me see them, please?”

He relaxes. His grip on you loosens, and the girl feels for your pulse, nodding in affirmation.

“Alive.”

Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. At this realisation, his body begins to tremble like a leaf in the wind. He digs his nails into his palms but still they quiver. His heart pounds in his chest and he struggles to take a deep breath, exhaustion overtaking him.

“Hey, you okay?”

His eyes fall shut. 

☆*: .｡.

Nanami finds out over a hot cup of tea that those monsters are called curses, and not everyone can see them.

“Lucky you!” Gojo chimes in.

Lucky? His face wrinkles in despair and Getou laughs so loud at his reaction that he has to step out of the room.

Nanami had sustained minor injuries — nothing beyond a few scrapes and some trauma. You were fine for the most part. After hitting your head on the ground, you remained unconscious for a few more days after Nanami had woken up. You were covered in a few bruises, but otherwise alright. 

Nanami was infinitely thankful for that

Yaga tells him that he has enough aptitude to become a full-fledged sorcerer. The school he teaches at is called Jujutsu High and is located on the outskirts of Tokyo. Since he’s in his final year of junior high, why not give it a thought if he wants to join them? Nanami holds Yaga’s name card numbly.

He looks up at Yaga, only one objective clear in his mind. He doesn’t want to see you hurt any longer.

“Will you teach me how to exorcise curses?” he asks.

Gojo laughs outrightly and Geto snorts. Yaga gives him a confident smile, clapping Nanami on the shoulder (he doesn’t quite like that, but he overlooks it for now).

“You can count on that.”

☆*: .｡.

Nanami’s a little apprehensive about entering Jujutsu High, especially when you decide to enrol as well. Given the ability to see curses, you were adamant about learning to help others with this ability you were gifted with. He relented and sulked for the rest of the day until you gave him a cup of pudding.

The first day Nanami and you enter Jujutsu Tech, you meet a wide-eyed boy named Haibara Yu. He’s overly optimistic and passionate — precisely the kind of person that Nanami tires of interacting with. In fact, the very first thing Haibara says upon meeting the both of you irritates him.

“Woah! Blondie, are you from an emo band or something? Your hair really matches the vibe!” Haibara had gasped.

You struggled to suppress your giggles, biting on your lower lip as you turned to the side. Nanami, on the other hand, didn’t find it quite as funny.

“No, I’m not. Nice to meet you too,” he replied monotonously.

It takes all of the following month for Nanami to get used to Haibara’s eccentricities. He always does his best during training, mingles enthusiastically with the upperclassmen and chows down on at least two bowls of rice during break time. The most annoying part about him is how Haibara seems to get along so well with you.

You laugh too loudly for Nanami’s liking at his jokes, squeeze in between Haibara and him (brushing shoulders with the both of them! Seriously!) when they’re standing together just to listen in on Haibara’s monologuing, and sometimes even end up sparring with him instead of Nanami.

The blond curses that there is an odd number of first years and peers in the mirror after his shower as he wonders what he would look like with a black bowl cut. He even tries to finish more than one serving of ginger pork on one particular day and gets sent to the school nurse for a tummy ache.

Though, the three of you have chemistry that works out when fighting curses. Nanami is the primary damage dealer of the group, while you learn how to provide support with Haibara and create openings for Nanami to attack. So on your first ‘real group mission’ assigned to you by Yaga, you can’t help but set off with overflowing excitement.

It isn’t often that you have the opportunity to step outside of Jujutsu High on your own without supervision. Even on weekends, you’re usually expected to train or study. The sun shines warmly down upon the streets of Asakusa, and tourists and locals alike swarm the city area.

“Hey! We should totally give Sensou-ji Temple a visit later!” Haibara suggests, pumping his fist in the air.

“We’re not here to sightsee,” Nanami sighs.

“That’s what you said the last time we went to Okinawa, and guess what, Nanamin! We didn’t even get to try their sushi!”

“Yeah, and you forgot to bring back souvenirs for me, Ken-chan,” you chime in.

“I told you to stop adding -chan to my name.” 

“Why not? Doesn’t it sound cute?” 

“Mhm!”

Haibara nods furiously. Nanami ignores the both of you with a sigh. He slings a bag containing his sword over his shoulder once more as the crowd barely makes space for you to move through.

“We can’t take too long,” he relents.

The cheers and high-fives that you and Haibara give each other make a vein bulge on Nanami’s temple. He tries not to read too much into the way you immediately begin discussing what places to visit and eat at with Haibara — didn’t you care for his opinion? He shakes his head and increases his pace, leaving the both of you behind.

Nanami ignores the cries of ‘Ken-chan!’ and ‘Nanamin!’ that ring out through the crowd. Whatever. If you want to be with Haibara, then Nanami will gladly get out of the way for you. He drags his feet on the pavement and settles for a cup of iced tea in a nearby cafe gloomily.

What Nanami is doing is… childish. He knows, at the very least, that he should be happy the both of you have met a nice new friend. But he can’t help the jealousy that rises in his chest like smoke in a chimney when he sees you cling onto Haibara the same way you used to do to him.

Was Haibara nicer, more good-looking, stronger, funnier, gentler, better than every single trait in Nanami combined? You no longer ask Nanami how he slept the previous night, instead running over to Haibara and greeting him cheerily. Forget about how you used to come over to Nanami’s house to study after school — you and Haibara disappear to who knows where after training everyday.

He bites down on his straw. The bitter taste of a lemon seed fills his mouth and Nanami spits it out onto a napkin with more force than necessary. He takes a deep breath. He should make things clear to you, then, and let you know how he feels about you. To him, it sounds a little like love.

Nanami’s face flushes with embarrassment. Love is… Love isn’t this. It definitely isn’t getting jealous over your relationships with other people, nor is it forcing you to accept his feelings out of spite. He finishes the last bit of his iced tea, the straw making a gurgling noise as it fails to suck up any more liquid. He leaves his money by the counter and walks back outside, returning his heart back to its safe, clicking the lock shut once more. His shoulders sag as he lets out a pent-up sigh.

Nanami squints at his phone. The golden sunlight makes it difficult to read his messages, but he manages to pick out four missed calls from you and a hundred text messages from Haibara. His blood runs cold when he scrolls to the last text that he received.

Haibara Yu, 4.25p.m.:  curse help 6 cho

It’s currently 4.35p.m. 6-chome is a 15 minutes walk away, five minutes if he sprints fast enough. Nanami hopes that you’re okay, that Haibara has enough sense to call for other back-up or avoid the curse.

Nanami’s feet pound under him as he shoves his way through the crowds, earning distasteful looks and swears. He doesn’t care. Not when you and Haibara are facing a possible grade 2 curse alone, and not when it’s because of Nanami’s irresponsibility and useless emotions that had caused the three of you to be separated.

His breath comes quick and hard and his thighs burn, screaming for relief. He makes a sharp turn and almost crashes into a bicycle.

“Watch where you’re going!” an angry housewife yells, but her words fall on deaf ears.

Just a little more, he begs.

Nanami hears the fighting before he sees it. The sound of metal meeting metal and the roar of the curse sound uncharacteristically comforting to him as he draws his sword, racing to bear a fighting stance.

But he’s too late.

“Yu!” you cry out as Haibara crumples onto the ground.

His eyes meet Nanami’s. His uniform is tattered, face bearing wounds and his right arm is bent at an unnatural shape, almost like a knotted tree branch. You seem relatively unhurt, although your breathing is laboured.

“Kento,” Haibara wheezes.

Nanami’s feet don’t move. His chest heaves, perspiration pouring down his face and drenching his uniform. The grip on his sword slips ever so slightly. The curse stands at the end of a ruined district. You aren’t trained to fight in such close quarters, or reduce the number of casualties to a bare minimum. 

And Nanami hadn’t been here to provide damage to exorcise it.

“Who are you? Another small fry?” the curse scoffs.

It takes the body of a geisha, dressed in luxurious robes that whip about in the air. Consciousness? This isn’t a grade 2 by any means — it’s a special grade curse. The will to fight slips out of Nanami like water from a cup, trickling from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Haibara!” Nanami shouts.

The male gives Nanami one last smile from where he is.

“You’ve got it from here,” he whispers, lips barely moving.

The geisha stretches out its hand, a portion of its obi moving along with it. You and Nanami watch in horror as Haibara’s head is neatly decapitated from his body. His blood drips off of the ends of the robes as the curse cackles, his head rolling to a stop as his half-closed eyes stare up at Nanami like a dead fish’s.

“You think you can beat me? Look at your little friend!”

Fury rushes into Nanami like a wave meeting the shore.

“You’ll die here by my hands!” the curse roars.

You take a step back as the geisha prepares to launch another attack, silk sashes drawn back into the sky before they plunge back at you two in an aerial attack. Nanami leaps through the attacks as his body moves faster than he can process it.

You, on the other hand, create a shield out of cursed energy to try and deflect the attacks. At the very least, Haibara deserves a proper burial. There isn’t time for mourning now, and you have to wipe away the tears that pool in your eyes. You try to ignore the way his head rolls closer to your foot and bumps against it gently.

Nanami lets out a yell of anger. His cursed energy swells as he cuts his way through the sashes, movement based on momentum than anything else at this point. His mind is clouded with regret and frustration. Nanami channels his anger into his sword, the ten destined lines appearing before his eyes once more.

The curse lets out a cry of pain as it stumbles back, sashes redrawn as it tries to gauge its wounds. Blood gushes from a slash on its side and Nanami darts forward again — again, again, again, until its dead. His legs, however, are weaker than what he thinks they can bear. Nanami stumbles in his step.

“Ken!” you shout.

The curse grins. It takes little to no time to regenerate, skin overlapping raw flesh as it gets back onto its feet.

“You’re weak,” it taunts. “First your friend, now you. I’ll be sure to savour the last one as well!”

Nanami struggles to get back onto his feet. He gasps, heart ripping a hole through his chest. He’s so exhausted; so worn out, that his arms refuse to raise his sword above chest height. He curses.

You run over to Nanami, grabbing his uniform and dragging him back. The curse starts to chant ominously. Its face turns dark, taking steps that sway its body with thick, lacquered geta. You shove Nanami back as you’re engulfed by its domain, swallowed up by darkness and spit into a tatami room. He barely has time to call your name before you disappear.

“Shit!”

Nanami stumbles back onto his feet, but sinks down onto his knees again. His shoulders quake as he tries to suck in breaths of air, but his throat is too dry. He coughs and adjusts his grip on his sword. Shit, shit, shit. All of his partners tossed themselves at death as if it was an idle thing just to protect him. What was Nanami doing? He would never become a sorcerer like this, never be able to protect you.

He grits his teeth. He’ll never be enough.

Nanami picks up his sword, wrapping his fingers around its hilt one more time. He dashes towards the domain, tasting iron as he hacks and slashes at it. Again, again, and again. His hands turn numb and his cursed energy flickers like a candle’s flame, but there’s one thing Nanami’s insistent on — getting you out of there.

The domain finally collapses as Nanami finally steadies himself on his feet. You roll to the ground, breath shallow. Your uniform is sliced up in different areas and a pool of blood begins to spread where your head meets the floor.

“Ken…?” you whisper.

Nanami smells it — the scent of death. Why did he ever choose to become a sorcerer over an ordinary high school life? He wouldn’t have dragged you into this mess, caused you to be hurt time and time again. Nanami calls out your name tentatively. You don’t respond.

The curse roars with laughter as your eyes fall shut, “Don’t you see how I’m so strong? You’re nothing compared to me-”

Nanami sees red. He launches himself forward, brandishing his sword even if it’s for the last time.

He doesn’t remember what happens afterwards.

Nanami sinks into a pool of blood, head spinning with exertion. Your body lays to his left, Haibara’s head to his right. He collapses to the ground.

☆*: .｡.

When he comes to, Nanami’s eyes struggle to adjust to the white light that floods the room. It smells vaguely like antiseptic. He slowly sits up, body aching with exhaustion with telltale bandages wrapped around most of his exposed limbs.

A drawn curtain separates his bed from the rest of the room, which he assumes to be Jujutsu Tech’s sickbay. He runs a hand over his face and lies back down, letting sleep take him by the hand and lead him a step further from reality.

Nanami wakes up a second time when Shouko returns to the room. He stares at her, blinking once, then twice.

“Nanami?” she asks softly. “Can you hear me?”

He tries to reply, but his throat is parched. He ends up coughing, wrinkling his face as pain spreads through his ribs. Shouko rushes to get him a glass of water and calls the rest (namely Yaga and Gojo) over. Nanami nurses the glass as Yaga takes a seat by his bed.

There are no questions, only condolences and murmured explanations of what had happened. The only thing Nanami picks up is that you’re alive. That’s more than enough for him to relax, nodding dumbly along to Yaga’s words.

The curse had been on the brink of death when Nanami collapsed. However, he had put up enough of a fight for nearby sorcerers to come to his aid and finish it off. There was no doubt about it — it was a special grade curse. Yaga apologises for the miscommunication and loss of Haibara’s life. Nanami doesn’t reply.

No amount of apologies could turn back time and bring Haibara back.

It takes him a few more days before Nanami’s able to hobble around the school, aided by crutches. Gojo pokes fun at how he seems like a grandpa but even his jokes don’t bear the mean edge they usually do. Getou leaves a can of vending machine coffee by his bedside table and Shouko brings him some wildflowers. Nanami leaves the plush cat Yaga had made for him untouched.

Nanami struggles against the nightmares that plague him. In one Haibara cradles his decapitated head in his own arms, asking Nanami why he hadn’t saved his life; in another you die, guts spilling onto the streets with your eyes bulging from your skull. Nanami wakes up in cold sweat. He calms his breathing alone and doesn’t sleep a single wink.

It’s a rainy day when Shouko lets him enter the morgue. Haibara’s body is laid in a shroud of white, his head positioned to appear attached. Had he ever been so pale? Nanami’s fingers grip his crutches, gritting his teeth.

How long his eyelashes had been! A small scar runs down his left temple (“After my sister shoved me in the playground!” Haibara had chirped), and his bangs remain as perfectly cut as they had been when he died. Nanami half expects him to sit up, to grin and laugh at his twisted face.

“Why’re you so stiff, Nanami? It’s just a joke!” 

Justajokejustajokejustajoke.

A chasm opens up in Nanami’s stomach. His crutches clatter to the floor as he races out of the morgue, stumbling when pain shoots up his right leg. He retches dryly and tears pool in his eyes. Shouko silently covers Haibara and closes the door, Nanami’s tears falling alongside the pouring rain.

That night in his dreams, Haibara slices Nanami’s head off. He wakes up with his heart racing and tears slipping down his cheeks.

Nanami visits you the next day. He had been reluctant to do so — what if you blamed him for everything, for Haibara’s death and your injuries? He wouldn’t be able to bear it, to be hated by you. His hand hovers over your dorm doorknob, hesitating. Nanami takes a deep breath as he swallows his anxiety and opens the door.

It’s as if nothing had ever happened.

You sit on your bed, neatly tucked under the covers with a book sitting on your lap. Warm sunshine pours through the open windows and the penguin plush Nanami had won for you at a festival still sits by your desk. You look up when he walks in.

Nanami calls out your name. You stare at him.

“Sorry, but… Who are you?” you ask quietly, a sense of confusion lacing your words.

He stops by the door and Nanami’s heart sinks to his feet.

“I’m Kento. Nanami Kento,” he repeats, words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Checkered curtains flutter in the wind and the pages of your book butterfly open to an unread chapter. You keep your eyes focused on Nanami, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” you reply.

☆*: .｡.

A toxic mix of trauma and a severe head injury had caused your amnesia. Nanami lays in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling. If only he hadn’t let his emotions overtake him, if only he had been there a minute earlier, if only if only if only. Regret dulls his sense of taste and emotions. He no longer takes joy in eating anything (even those croissants Getou had bought while out on a mission), nor does he even crack a smile at Gojo’s antics.

Nanami returns to training once he is physically well again. He becomes the only first-year to attend Yaga’s classes, sparring practice conducted with the second years. He goes out on missions alone and learns to provide both defense and offense for himself. Nanami trains, he exercises curses, he returns to school. He repeats this same cycle mindlessly over and over again. 

Time heals, they say. Nanami wonders how much time it must take for him to let go of everything.

Nanami learns to hide his disappointment. His face becomes a strong facade for whatever his weak heart truly feels. The quiet sigh he lets out when no one’s around, the stretching of his neck after yet another fruitless day of training — Nanami decides that he’ll leave the world of sorcery once he’s graduated.

Seasons change and Nanami becomes a second year, then a third year. Getou falls away. The seniors graduate and new freshmen enter the school. Nanami keeps these things in the back of his mind as he raises his sword for a countless time, striking the training doll with ease.

You work with Shouko in the infirmary, occasionally helping out with office work. The school had deemed it better to keep you under their care than to release you outside. Like a rehabilitated animal, Nanami thinks.

You still remember no memories of him. Nanami brings you sweets and souvenirs from his missions, letting you trace your fingers over the fancy packaging with a sparkle in your eye. At this, Nanami swallows back his confession of love once more. He can’t bear to burden you with his feelings.

You form new impressions of him. Nanami turns into the stone-faced and adorable boy who treats you like fine China, always sticking his hands out awkwardly when he tries to give you something. The tips of his ears burn red when he lies — especially when you ask him, “Nanami, did you buy this for me?” and he shakes his head furiously.

You think he’s kind. He comforts you when you cry over lost memories, unable to remember the faces in photographs that had once been so familiar. The first thing Nanami does after returning from a mission is to rush to you. Were you okay? Did you have your meals? One time, he came over without getting his injuries checked and collapsed by your feet. You scolded him after that, tenderly dressing his wounds.

“Nanami!” you said crossly, a pout on your face.

He tries to forget how he had asked you to stop calling him ‘Ken-chan’. He ducks his head, hissing when you douse his skin in antiseptic.

Some things don’t change, though. You still keep your pencil box immaculately neat — the tips of your stationery always pointing to the right side. Though you don’t have any more movie ticket stubs, you carefully clip the pictures of your childhood Nanami had given to you together and keep them under your pillow. 

One day, you munch on a yummy biscuit Nanami brought back for you. He sits on the floor and polishes his sword, peering at it from every angle to make sure it’s evenly oiled.

“Nanami?” 

He hums.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like you’re from an emo boy band? Your hair matches it.” 

Your shy laugh rings out in the room as bile rises in Nanami’s throat. He sheathes his sword and lays it on the ground.  

“Yes, they have.”

He struggles to smile, his gut twisting.

☆*: .｡.

On graduation day, no one else but Nanami receives his certificate with a flower corsage pinned to his chest. The room is empty save for him and Yaga, the chirping of spring birds breaking the silence.

“I’m glad to have been able to teach you, Nanami,” Yaga broods. “You’ve grown a lot.”

Nanami does not reply. He bows deeply and strides out of the main building. All of a sudden, the traditional architecture and nature that surround Jujutsu High seems stifling. His skin crawls with the urge to leave as soon as possible. 

“Nanamin!”

He jumps. Turning around, he finds you grinning happily with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Congratulations on your graduation!” you chirp.

Nanami accepts the flowers awkwardly and rests them in the crook of his elbow, his other hand clutching his certificate. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of nearby trees and a wave of sakura petals descend from their branches like rain.

“Nanamin,” your voice grows softer. “Are you leaving forever?”

He swallows, then nods wordlessly.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“I wanna be with you forever, Ken-chan!” you wailed.

“Forever’s a long time,” Nanami replied.  

He handed you his yellow cotton handkerchief, face wrinkling when you honked your nose into it. Gross. His neck hurt from sticking it out of the car window. He can hear his father tapping a finger onto the wheel impatiently, his mother silent as she stares out the front.

“B-but!” 

Your bottom lip quivered and Nanami let out a sigh.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be with you, okay?”

“Really, Ken-chan? Forever?”

“Yeah, really. Forever.”

You grinned in the waning sunlight as your mother tugged you away.

“I’ll never forget you, Ken-chan!” you shouted.

The car window rolled up and he watched you disappear into the horizon, turning as tiny as an ant.  

Nanami swallows his heart into the pit of his stomach.

“Probably.” 

“That’s not a definitive answer, Nanamin.”

“What do you want me to tell you, then?”

There’s a slight tremble in his voice. The plastic wrapping of the flowers crinkle under his grip and waves of emotions rush over him; the biggest out of all of them regret. He struggles to breathe underwater, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and nose plugged up. A sakura petal lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t bother brushing it away. 

“Say,” you whisper, taking a step to close the distance between Nanami and you.

He gulps as you place a hand upon his chest. He can feel the heat of your skin through his uniform and Nanami’s too dumbstruck to respond.

“Why don’t you give me your second button?”

Your eyes meet his. A smile toys with the corners of his lips and suddenly Nanami blurts out a nervous “Okay.”. His mind flickers back to Haibara momentarily; how you had appeared to like him so much back then. But he chooses to shove those memories into the back of his mind once more as you produce a small pair of scissors and snip the thread.

“You always take care of me, Nanamin. It was natural of me to fall in love with you,” you breathe, cradling the swirl patterned button in your hands.

A gust of cool air slips into his unbuttoned shirt and Nanami’s breath hitches.  

“Do you like me too?”

Your question is innocent. With the way you peer up at him, there’s no way that Nanami can lie. Your glittery eyes were the same ones he had fallen in love with all those years ago. He wonders if he still loves you in the same way as he did then; as faultless and innocent it had been. His heart sits on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, I do.”

Your eyes crinkle at the edges as you smile, an evident sigh of relief escaping your lips. You slip the button into your pocket before tugging Nanami even closer towards you. He yelps as your chest presses against his and the tips of his ears turn red.

You plant your lips by the side of his.

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 2

Word Count: 1,477

Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 2/?

A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 2

The next day she awoke at half past ten. She looked at her bedside clock flustered, knowing she had wasted almost all morning. She could smell breakfast already prepared and her mother downstairs doing some light cleaning.

She hurried into the bathroom and took a small time to finish her morning routine, flying down the stairs. Allison laughed as she noticed her daughter stumbling with hurry down the stairs, clearly heading to the door.

“Eat some breakfast before you go, darling!” Allison shouted as she swept the floor of the dining room.

“I’ll just get some on the way,” (Y/N) said as she put her jacket on, seeing in the distance dark clouds adorning the sky.

“I made you a sandwich so you can take it with you and a travel mug filled with coffee.”

“Thanks, mom. You’re the best,” (Y/N) kissed her mother’s cheek and grabbed the food from her hands.

“And be careful on the streets, the tires haven’t been changed on the truck and the roads are supposed to be very slippery today.” Allison called out to the girl who was almost completely out of the door.

(Y/N) barely heard her mother’s warning as she jogged up to the truck parked on the driveway. There was a sandwich hanging from her mouth as she backed up and sped to the main road. It was quite a long ride to Port Angeles, and she wanted to be back before dark. She spent the ninety-minute drive listening to background music and noticing how the sky changed from blue to dark grey to a lighter grey as she passed and left Forks. She rarely visited the neighboring town, listening to the stories by the elders gave her enough reason not to. Unlike most of her friends and even her own brother, she believed the string of words that they sewed. There were so many things that were unexplained in the universe that it would be ignorant of her to not believe that the supernatural could exist. Although, the past four years she had started to disregard the tales as made up stories, not being able to prove that they were veracious.

Once she arrived, she parked in front of an antique store and started perusing through the various stores in the strip mall. Before she knew it, five hours had passed. Her feet were sore from walking back and forth, her arms were read from all the bags she had carried, and her head was hurting from a lack of food. It was already five in the afternoon and (Y/N) was ready to go home. She got back into the truck and started her drive back home. An hour into the drive the sky darkened more than it should’ve, and heavy rain cascaded from the clouds. Her vision was impaired from the thick droplets and her heart was beating hard, scared of what could jump out in the darkness.

(Y/N)’s worries were confirmed when a deer jumped onto the street and had her swerve the truck. The car spun for some seconds and slid off the road, crashing into a tree. The girl’s head flew forward on impact and connected with the steering wheel in front of her. Her vision blurred and her headache grew exponentially. She could hear her name being called from far away but couldn’t distinguish whose it was. As it came closer, she could finally make out the frame of the sheriff, Charlie Swan. He was speaking to her, but no words registered in her head.

Charlie moved closer to the truck and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The sheriff reached into the open window and carefully tried to retrieve the wounded girl. She wasn’t in the right mind and in this rain an ambulance would take too long to get here. He laid (Y/N)’s head on his shoulder as she mumbled incoherent words, then reaching his arms under hers to pull her softly. He was careful not to scrape her body too much against the broken window, laying down his jacket first to cover most of it. Charlie tried his best to see amid the harsh rain, praying to whatever being was controlling the weather to stop. The blood that was gushing from (Y/N)’s forehead had washed off as soon as her head had exited the car but it didn’t stop flowing. After what felt like hours, the sheriff had the teenage girl in his arms and carried her to his cruiser. Turning his emergency lights on he sped as carefully as possible to the hospital.

He felt the ride eternal as he heard the hurt girl in the back of the car moaning in pain and noticing the shirt he’d wrapped around her forehead was soaking up too much blood. As he neared the bright lights of the hospital, he slowed the speed down as to not slam on his brakes and cause more damage to (Y/N). He carefully grabbed her limp body and entered the hospital. It seemed like the emergency room had a slow night, but he only brought trouble. 

“I need some help here!” Charlie called out, worry laced in his voice. 

“Sheriff Swan, what happened?” A nurse asked as she accompanied the team wheeling a gurney for the unconscious being in the officer’s arms. 

“This is (Y/N) Uley. She hit her head in a car accident, I assume her car swerved as she avoided an animal in the street. She’s been unconscious since I got her in my car. When I found her she was barely coherent.” 

“Okay, why don’t you wait for us in the waiting room. We’ll let you know as soon as we have some news.” The nurse smiled. 

All Charlie could do was nod and sit down for a second, later pulling out his phone to dial Allison Uley’s number. 

“Sheriff, to what do I owe this pleasure,” Allison chimed. 

“It’s not good news, Allison. (Y/N) has been in a car accident.” Charlie could feel the panicked energy coming from the other side of the phone. Close to this time last year he had gotten news that his own daughter was hurt through a phone call. “Now, Allison, I know you want to speed off to the hospital but I would advise you not to. The roads are really bad over here and we can’t have you both admitted.” 

“But I can’t leave her alone,” she sobbed. “I need to be there for my baby.” 

“I know, but she won’t be alone. I’m gonna stay here until she’s good to go and I’ll take her back to your house. Now don’t you worry, you know she’s a strong one.” 

“I know,” Allison sighed an air of defeat. “Alright, just please keep me updated on everything. Doesn’t matter how late.” 

“Will do. I’ll have my buddy pick up the truck and leave it at Billy’s.” 

“Thank you, Charlie, so much.” 

“No problem, Allison. Try to get some shuteye, it looks to be a long night.”

And a long night it was.  

Thankfully, (Y/N)’s injuries were minor and she would be able to leave as soon as she woke up. Charlie spent all night in the hospital, calling a friend to drive (Y/N)’s truck so that Jacob could see if it was worthy of repair and leaving a message for his daughter that he would not be coming home that night. The nurses were nice enough to bring the officer a blanket and some coffee as it seemed he wasn’t going to leave and come back the next morning, keeping his promise to Allison that he’d stay beside her daughter. 

Once a room was given to (Y/N), Charlie managed to catch up on a little bit of sleep on the armchair next to her bed. The girl slept even through the morning light that slipped through the window that woke the sheriff up. He updated Allison on the persistent status of her daughter. Once again, the nurses showing kindness by bringing him a cup of coffee as he waited for (Y/N)’s eyes to open.

(Y/N) was engulfed in darkness during what felt like a second. She tried fluttering her eyes open but was met with a painfully bright light and a pulsating headache that rang through her body. Her eyes closed once again to try to minimize the discomfort, to much avail. She barely remembered what event befell her to end up in this situation, but she could hear she was not alone.

“Are the lights bothering you, (Y/N)?” Sheriff Swan spoke, noticing the girl had awoken. She promptly nodded and he stood up to turn off the lights as the room door opened. “All right, they’re off now. Hello, doctor.”

She tried opening her eyes again and was met with the most radiant eye color she had ever seen.

Golden.

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[windblooms]

childe scenario – after the golden house

you, an ex-fatui executive, decide against your better judgment and tend to the wounds of the near-dead 11th harbinger following his duel at the golden house.  spoilers for the 1.1 archon quest.

gender-neutral reader.  enemies to lovers  soft spot syndrome.  sfw, but contains mentions of blood/injury.  also childe briefly in foul legacy armor.  canon-divergence.  2669 words (nice).  

with the fatui’s nails so deep into the city, staying in liyue probably wasn’t your brightest idea in retrospect.  

you blame your sentimentality of liyue on the exact same thing that caused you to leave the fatui in the first place: wanting to live without fear.  while the fatui treated you well enough, as you were considerably efficient in your ranks, being part of a partially underground, partially illegal business wasn’t exactly the most liberating practice either.  it didn’t take long for you to realize that, behind their scheming and pretenses of fair economics, the fatui would have their underlings wound so incredibly tight around their fingers that their violent tasks would rapidly become suffocating. 

that is, once you were in the fatui, getting out would be akin to scaling qingyun peak with one arm tied behind your back.

the only reason you were able to?  because you ran.  you were desperate for a new life, sure, but also you weren’t below realizing when something was out of the question.  it took a few months to shake them off your trail, having to move constantly between fontaine and mondstadt, but you finally settled in liyue.

it was a quiet, peaceful city.  the governing body was fair enough with its jurisdictions, and after a year of hiding, you were able to enjoy the lantern rite festival without fear.

that is, until the northland bank sat its obnoxious ass down the street.

archons, really, once you found a place you thought was safe enough, you’d have to start moving again.  initially, you reasoned that it had been over a year, and that the fatui surely wouldn’t go hunting for a runaway executive.  hell, you weren’t even that high on the ladder.  however, a few run-ins with scaramouche and pulcinella had left you paranoid enough that, if they spotted you, they would surely put an end to your traitorism. 

honestly, you should’ve ratted them out to the knights of favonius while you were in mondstadt.  make a quick bargain, have jean toss a few coins your way, and you would be set.  it would’ve definitely been worth the trouble, now with the knowledge that the fatui were your neighbors.  

now, there’s no time to dwell on what you could’ve done.  it’s either run again, or hold your ground right under the fatui’s nose.  you might, sort of, maybe, probably do not have the funds to move for the third time in a row, but maybe counting couldn’t hurt –

no, yeah, it hurts, you grimace as you slide the coin bag back in your bedside drawer.  outside, it’s dark, and the sky seems a bit more disturbed than usual.  it isn’t usually overcast in liyue, and the blue lightning does nothing to quell your unease.  the streets are also empty, but lights illuminate each building.

from your window, a quick glance towards the northland bank reveals to you that it is uncharacteristically dark.  no lanterns, no lights.  you frown, troubled that the individuals you were so alert to monitoring, had a lifeless stronghold.  not typical of them at all. 

so, you decide while your long-time enemies are plotting (or whatever they’re doing that prompts them to close an entire bank for), now might be the best time to potentially make a run for it, light coin bag be damned.

hastily, you rid your apartment of personal belongings by unceremoniously shoving them into your bag.  if it’s one thing you were grateful for in this world, it’s archon magic.  you don’t fuss over the science behind it, but whatever made your bag feel like a bottomless pit was an actual life-saver.  packing is extremely efficient with it, and in less than fifteen minutes, you’re ready to go.

all that’s left is to write a thank-you note to the liyuen couple who let you stay while their son was out exorcising.  at the time, they assured you that you would be no trouble for you to take up a guest room, but nonetheless you tried to pay them with whatever you had left over after commissions.

you grab a writing utensil, still feeling a bit rude to leave on such short notice, and swear to yourself that you’ll visit in the future.  for good measure (after sullenly looking into your coin bag), you leave an acceptable(-ish) amount of mora on your former bed.

all right.  now, time to leave, with your foot out the door and wind scratching at your face, as if the odd overhead weather wasn’t already an omen.

you’re barely past liyue harbor, headed towards the luhua pools, when a comet shoots above you past mount tianheng.  no, not a comet, you realize as it dips from the sky, headed for landfall around a kilometer away.  a comet of water?

if a dead northland bank wasn’t the nail in the coffin, this surely is.  you’ve been around enough in the fatui to know that whatever fell from the sky has to be the work of a vision user, or some more powerful being.  turning towards where you estimate to be the crash site, you weigh your options.  you’re already outside of the city, and the fatui are probably preoccupied.  you can manage a detour for now and inspect the hydro-apparition.  regardless, you deem that the farther away you are from the water you are, the safer you might be from what’s about to happen – you look back towards liyue harbor, and nearly shudder at the rising tide and choppy waves. 

after about fifteen minutes of walking in the rain, you find yourself between the slope of the dunyu ruins and mount tianheng.  it’s vacant, save for the weathered ruins, and a sizable crater meters wide.  cautiously, you approach the edge, summoning your sword with one hand and conjuring your vision in the other.  you’re not going to let curiosity kill the cat, especially not if this turns out to be a prank by the archons.

in the center of the mess is, well, another mess.  you blink a few times, wary, as you discern that an individual lies in the rubble.  they’re actually conscious, you soon find out, as they righten themselves from the fetal position into a kneel, supporting their body weight with their arms.  their body is covered head-to-foot in dark, purple armor, and a red mask with a broken, center orb gleams faintly in the night.

it is only when you the individual looks up at you, straight at your head, do you realize that you should not be here this was a bad idea –

and then they collapse.

“shit,” you murmur to yourself, vision still pulsing in your palm, which has become increasingly sweaty.  you step back from the edge as an orb of water surrounds the armored-being, encasing him like a cocoon, before dissipating to reveal a much more vulnerable, tired man underneath.  his hair is matted to his face from the rain, yet a much smaller mask rests on his eyes; his clothes are somewhat torn (you suspect that whatever had happened, his armor absorbed most of the damage), and you can very faintly see his chest heave. 

but, ah, speaking of his clothes,

they were the colors of the fatui.

“no, no, bad idea,” you tell yourself over and over again, sword put away yet vision still bouncing in your hands.  you walk away from the crater briefly, before walking towards it again, peaking down to check on the fallen man, and then scamper back.  the whole idea was to run away, not go straight to them, as if you had managed to doom yourself after all.  

pacing back and forth, you contemplate for another minute.  he’s clearly injured, with how he’s laying on the ground and not moving, so the nice, not-so-hardened part of you wants to help him.  if he was a regular civilian, surely you’d already be down there and trying to take him back to liyue and patch him up, but he’s with the enemy.  no way someone who can transform into armor is just an underling, so he’s probably someone exceptionally powerful –

“i see you,” a voice comes from the crater, and your vision nearly explodes in your hands from your nerves.  summoning your sword quicker than you ever have in your life, you steel yourself towards the bottom of the crater.

except, he’s not holding a weapon to your face, or threatening to skewer you into a million pieces.  except, he’s not scowling at you, or demanding you assist him at once before he blows something up.

instead, he’s on his knees.  looking up at you with the desperation of a man completely robbed, crippled from something he can’t speak of yet wants to scream about.  his eyes, now free from the mask, pierce into you with a vividness that could rival the richest hues of luhua, and archons damn it do you melt. 

you melt, and realize you should run away.  you melt, all while cursing yourself, that this man might not be so kind as to spare you in the future, when he’s back at his full health.  you melt, thinking that, well, you haven’t seen him before, so maybe he doesn’t know who you are either.  you melt, even as you extinguish your vision and put away your sword, and slide to the bottom of the crater to lug his limp body back to the top, to the shelter of the ruins, and rummage through your bag for medicine.

he hasn’t said anything for the past ten minutes, and you’re thankful that there’s finally someone from the fatui who can keep their mouth shut, even if this is half-beaten to death.  “you’re not dying on me,” you insist, as if your words could will him back to full consciousness.  “not when i’m risking my life for someone like you.”

as you work on bandaging his arm, out of the corner of your eye you swear you see his mouth twitch.  is he trying to speak?  no, you want some silence for a bit longer, but pause as you notice a gash on his torso.

“this is medically consensual, okay?”  you wait two seconds to see if he objects, before unbuttoning the lower part of his coat and applying pressure on the wound.  the blood has soaked through his clothes, and just as eagerly, seeps into the cloth you’re shoving against it.  the man stirs as you continue to clean his wounds, and when his eyes open, you’re too preoccupied with your short supply of towels to notice.

when you’re aware of a gaze on you, however, you turn towards him with a hardened face.  you already know what you’re going to say.  even if he doesn’t know who you are, you’re going to make it clear that, for your own satisfaction, you won’t help him back to liyue and he’ll have to make the walk himself.

“you were out there,” you say simply, motioning towards the crater with a nod of your head.  “i’ll patch you up, but you’ll have to get further help yourself.”

the man with eyes of the deep regards you, but you busy yourself by applying gauze.  he’s propped up against a pillar, and you’re crouching at his side.  when you’re about finished, only then do you meet his eyes.

he beats you to whatever you’re about to say.  “i didn’t think,” he starts, and you’re already frowning, “that you’d come back.”

ah, referencing when you practically left him in the crater.  his words are vague enough when he says that you ‘came back’ that you aren’t too tense, and you indulge him in a bit of silence before responding.  “not like i’m used to rescuing people who fall from the sky.”

despite his injuries, the man manages a laugh.  he seems almost flustered at your statement, although you can’t understand why.  underneath his soaked bangs, his eyebrows rise, and he seems almost . . . nervous?  you can’t possibly fathom as to why, but dismiss your curiosity.  the more small talk he coerces you into, the longer you’ll spend with him.

you finish sealing the gauze, tossing the roll back into your bag before commanding it to disappear.  blood has soaked into the ground at his sides, also you’re sure that it’ll was away with time.  you’re about to stand up, satisfied with your good-samaritan duties for the day, when he stops you by locking his fingers around your wrist.

he’s in the middle of saying something, but you refuse to let him, drawing your sword and pointing it directly at his throat, his mouth agape as he releases his hold on you.  you consider each other, and when you’re certain you have the upper hand, you draw your line.

you spit the words like venom.  “do not touch me, fatui.  i’ve done what i can for you, and you won’t be getting anything else from me.”

your blade doesn’t lower from his form, and as you stand above him, you regard his hands, as if he might summon his own weapons in an instant.  if he’s smart (which you think he is yet simultaneously pray he isn’t), he’s probably plotting how to get out of your sword’s reach.  you’re not going to let him, after you’ve been so self-sacrificing, putting your life on the line for someone affiliated with the organization that suffocated the life out of you.

a tilt of the head, yet silence from his mouth.  he seems surprised that, while you allowed him to laugh mere moments earlier, you’re now pointing your weapon at him, although something in the ease of his facial features tells you that he’s not concerned in the slightest.

“i wanted to say thank you,” he breathes finally, and you look as if he’d just punched you in the gut.  “being in your position probably isn’t easy, and i’m the last one you wanted to see, but you still . . . ”

fuck, no, not this.  you don’t know if he’s a prophet, if he knows who you really are, or the ‘i’m on the run’ stamp on your forehead is that obvious, but you aren’t going to fall for the fatui’s words.  your fists clench, and you once more prepare to denounce his organization,

and you’re disarmed in an instant, sword thrown to the side and fingers restricted by his larger grasp.  archons, you couldn’t even see him move, what a deceptive bastard, feigning injury –

“stop,” he hushes, and despite your fury you register it as a plea, not a command.  the man repeats himself, before continuing,  “we won’t haunt you any more; i’ll make sure of it.”

five seconds, then ten.  you had determined that his grip was too strong to break free of, and are left in no position to move unless he releases you.  he holds your gaze without a hint of malice, even though you try your hardest to find any in his eyes.  

when he does let go of you, fingers skimming past your flesh, you run faster than you ever have before.

you run, past the ruins, past the harbor, and until you can’t see liyue behind you any more.  you run, unable to see a palace fall from the sky and crash into the ocean, and until you’re surrounded by mountains and there’s not a ginkgo tree in sight.  you run, unsure if his words are true, but certain that he knows who you are.

you won’t trust him.  as you lay on the ground, wheezing to catch the air that’s left your lungs, you once again swear to yourself that you can’t trust the words of the fatui.  

as the northland bank lights ignite themselves in welcome of its master, childe presses a hand to his bandaged torso.  a spark of your vision lingers between his fingers, and he observes it before it disappears.

he’s already hurt enough people.  he heads to the second floor, and erases your name from the fatui files. 

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 03

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: it’s short and still not as exciting as it is about to become but we gotta build a ✨ foundation✨  first. hope you enjoy xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Bucky was standing in the kitchen, back leaned against the counter of the kitchen with his eyes on the girl who was currently sat in his couch with a badly bandaged hand. He was never good at first aid, he hadn’t been good at it with his sister and he definitely hadn’t been good with her, yet he thought it would be best than let her bleed out onto her costume which she still hadn’t taken out and that included her wig. He knew what hair looked like, he could see it in the back of his mind from the dark costume room, her hair pushed back into the same hairstyle most of the girls in the opera house had. Yet he also knew that getting out of her costume was the last thing going in her mind despite him not knowing at all what was going on in her head. She just stood in silence, looking at the wall of the TV but the TV was off, despite the fact the remote was next to her. 

What was he even supposed to do with her? He couldn’t tie her to the bed or hide her in the basement, he didn’t have a basement. Besides, he didn’t know whenever she’d actually be used as a trading chip so he didn’t know how long he would have to babysit her. How was he even supposed to do John’s bidding if he had to keep an eye on her? It wasn’t like he could leave, she would try to escape. Heck, she’d even try to escape when he was in the apartment. This was a mess, a mess he needed to clean, a mess he didn’t know how to clean. 

The door bell was the first sound in that flat for 2 hours and he sighed out of relief he could finally leave and not have to stare at her and her Bambi like stare. Damned Billy. 

     - She’s a runner. - Bucky said as he opened the door, a stunned Billy walking in like a scared little mouse. - I’ll be gone for two hours. Make sure she’s okay, not bleeding and definitely not escaping. 

Billy nodded his head like a bobble doll, standing stiff by the door as Bucky grabbed the keys to his bike and left. Y/N finally looked up, away from the wall and at Billy. He couldn’t be older than her, and if he were, he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her. He had shaggy hair and eyes which were filled with insecurity and fear yet a facade of strength which he definitely did not have. She should’ve been mad at him, after all he was the one who misunderstood the assignment (whatever it was) and got her hostage. Yet, she merely saw a boy who was scared, perhaps as scared as she was. 

    - I’m Y/N. - she pipped up as if the two of them were co-workers who were just meeting.

    - Billy.

    - Is that a nickname or a name ... you know like Billy Bigelow. 

    - Billy Bigelow’s a wife beater. - he snickered. - My name’s William but they call me Billy.

    - Do you like being called Billy? I can call you William if you want. 

    - Will.

    - Pardon?

    - I like being called Will but John said it sounds childish. - he clarified, slightly kicking the air like a petulant child. 

    - I like Will better. - she moved towards the end of the couch, patting the pillow next to her. - Do you wanna sit?

   - He doesn’t like it when people sit in his couch. 

   - Well .. I’m sat in the couch and he didn’t say anything, besides, how would he even know you were sat in the couch. 

There wasn’t much she knew about the man who had been overseeing her. She didn’t even knew his name other than the “Soldat” nickname she’d heard John call him. It wasn’t like she particularly cared about knowing him, after all he was the one who was keeping her hostage and he was also the one who had kept her alive. Yet, at this point she wondered if being alive was a faith worse than being dead. How bad is death anyway, she pondered. Maybe it hurts to leave, but it doesn’t hurt to stay dead. She wanted to believe in what he had told her, she wanted to believe that all of this was just a big nightmare, it was just a hiccup in her path. She was gonna go back, she was going back, she had to go back. She had no choice but to go back. 

Her eyes lingered on the broken window, covered by a piece of cardboard tapped to the broken glass, a shattering reminder that she had failed at escaping, had failed at leaving. She should’ve fought harder to escape, she should’ve said no when the main soprano asked her for help. She should’ve just ... done what she was hired to do. The mere thought of the opera house made her eyes swell with tears. She had been so close.

    - I’m sorry. - Will blurted out, his words causing her to immediately wipe her eyes before the tears could actually roll down. - I screwed up, didn’t mean to ruin your shot. 

    - That’s ... that’s fine. - she breathed out. - They’re gonna let me go at some point, right? They can’t keep me forever.

    - Yeah, eventually someone else will screw up. - he scratched the back of his neck. - It’s nice he didn’t tie you down or handcuff you to the bed. 

    - It’s a nice ... arrangement, I guess. 

    - Do you wanna watch Carousel? It’s always rerunning on channel 6. 

    - Are we allowed to watch TV? If you’re not allowed on the couch, I doubt the TV is a yes. 

    - He won’t know.

The beginning of the film was bittersweet as it immediately took her back to better days. Back to when she rented her very first flat in New York while a sophomore at Julliard, when she only had her laptop and a few pillows which made the very old studio flat look like a home, she would sit down in the worn out mattress with her laptop and watch old golden age musicals dreaming of the time she would be on stage. The beginning notes of the overture only brought her back to nights when the rain was harshly falling down on the rain and she was sat in her, open books of several opera music theories lightened up by the low blue light of her laptop. She had fought so hard and she was going to fight even harder to get out of this. She was going to be back in those grounds and with heavy, sleep filled eyes, she swore she would get back to the stage. 

Bucky parked the bike by the sidewalk, sighing as he realised he was not going to an empty home, the same empty home he had fought for. He liked peace and quiet, he liked to be surrounded by nothing but him and his thoughts yet now he had to come back to some girl staying in his house who was keen on breaking all off his windows. Just what he needed, someone coming into his home to fix the window. How was he going to achieve that? 

He opened the door and threw the keys somewhere onto the table near the door. Billy was standing up by the couch, Carousel was playing on the TV and she was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by the fabric of the costume she still hadn’t taken off. Not that she had anything to change into.

   - She’s sweet. - Billy rubbed the sole of his shoe against the ground. 

   - You think all girls are sweet. - Bucky walked to his kitchen, making himself a glass of whiskey. - You old enough to drink, kid?

    - I have to drive back home. 

    - She behaved? - he moved the glass in her direction, eyes lingering a bit too long on her sleeping figure. 

    - She fell asleep mid the film. Hm ... I’m gonna go. Thanks for everything, Bucky, specially with John. 

    - You should get going, kid. Your mother and father will worry.

The sound of the closed door left the two of them alone once again. What was he supposed to do with her? How was he even supposed to do his ... his duties if he constantly needed someone to watch her so she doesn’t try to escape? Where is he even supposed to find someone to watch her? Kidnappingvictims babysitting.com? He sighed out of frustration, whipping his head in her direction almost upset she existed; yet, looking at her sleeping form calmed down his features.

He put the glass in the sink, walking to his couch where she was. Somehow he always ended up in tricky situations and this had to be in the top 5 worst decisions. Yet, she didn’t deserve dying, she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault any of this had happened. She was just at the wrong place, she was just somewhere she shouldn’t have been and Bucky couldn’t blame her for that. He put a hand on the couch and snaked an arm under her figure, lifting her up from the couch and holding her flush against his chest. Her head instinctually fell against his chest, nose nuzzling his black t-shirt.

There was nothing he could do now. In all honesty, he couldn’t think of anyone in his inner circle where she would be at least in safety. The group of people he hanged around weren’t particularly of high moral standards and he wasn’t a saint either, god, he was closer to being the devil than being a saint; yet, he knew things and he knew what awaited her if she had been assigned to anyone else. In his mind all of this would be over soon; either Billy or one of the newbies would screw up and get them in trouble with the police and then John would trade her in so he wouldn’t go to prison. It was only a matter of time. 

He laid her down on his bed, pulling the comforter over her and taking a final look at her before exiting the room and taking to the couch. He pulled at the bottom of the furniture, the pillows unfolding to form a small bed which his feet would inevitably fall off, yet they didn’t make any bigger couches which turned into beds and he had never expected to have any company in his flat anyway. He too eventually fell asleep, lit by the low blue light of the TV. 

The morning was a harsh reminder for Y/N that this whole situation was not a nightmare but her reality. Her hand pushed her torso off the bed, sleepish eyes looking around as she tried to figure out where she was. She didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed but that didn’t matter because she quickly realised she was alone. She couldn’t hear anything but the ambience sounds coming from the window. She was alone. As that thought registered, she kicked the comforter away from her body and settled her feet to the ground, rushing in silent steps to the door which she opened. Her eyes registered a clear path from where she was to the exit door whose chain was down. She bite on her lip before stepping out of the bedroom.

    - Where are you going? - the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Y/N considered making a run from it but just as she convinced herself of that idea, he stepped in front of her, standing like a big wall keeping her from freedom. He looked her down, like a small, inoffensive prey. She thought of running once more, but she was smart enough to know he would easily overpower her. - Where are you going? 

    - Hm ... - think, anything, just think of anything. - The bathroom.

He scoffed, walking forward and towards her but she stepped back every time he got closer until her back hit the door. She stood there, small and wondering what to do as the man whose name she still did not know stood close to her, close enough she could almost feel the permeating heat coming from his body. His gloved fingers pinched her chin, pushing it up so her eyes looked into his. They were blue, a shade of blue she couldn’t really say she’d ever seen and maybe if she were in a different situation, she would’ve even said they were hypnotising. Yet, now, they just bore into hers, as if he was digging into her subconscious. He leaned closer, fingers still holding her chin up.

    - Liar. - his voice was deep and husky, deep enough it sounded like a whisper. He let go of her chin, stepping back and returning to the kitchen while she remained against the door. - We had a deal. 

    - I know. 

    - Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? - he asked in a dry voice. 

    - Don’t call me kid. - she didn’t know what else to say. What could she said after all? - It’s condescending. 

    - You didn’t answer me, Y/N. - he emphasised her name. It sounded almost wrong for him to be calling her that, yet she guessed it was better than kid. Sure, he was definitely older than her but she wasn’t young enough to be called kid. She couldn’t even recall the last time someone called her kid. - Are you trying to get yourself killed?

    - No. 

    - Then what are you doing?

    - I don’t know.

    - You need to trust me. 

    - Why should I? I don’t know you, I don’t even know your name so why should I trust you? For all I know you could be lying to me. 

    - You think I wanna play babysitting with you? I would much rather have a free home than have you run around in costume. - he glared at her. - And you don’t need to know my name, you need to do what I tell you to do if you wanna come out of this alive. 

    - Well what if I don’t want to? - she narrowed her eyes. 

    - You want to fucking die? Is that it? - he sneered. - Because that would’ve saved the fucking headache that you’ve been. 

    - Maybe you should’ve killed me. You had no problem killing Tommy. - her words were mindless yet filled with some sort of anger. She didn’t realise what she had said until she saw his face.

His facade seemed to drop before his jaw clenched, eyes hardened as he raised his head to look her up and down. She held the knob of the door, ready to open it and escape into the bedroom but he didn’t do anything. He just looked at her, angry before he made a move yet he didn’t walk her direction, he merely opened the fridge to take a water bottle yet that look, that look still remained. 

   - What do you want from me? - she pried. - I had a life, you know. I had plans and ...

   - So did I. You don’t wanna be a kid? Stop acting like one. 

   - My parents don’t know where I am. - she followed him into the kitchen. - I am their only child and I call them everyday. At least, let me call them, let me tell them I’m safe.​

   - I can’t, that’s not how things work. 

   - So what? You’re just gonna keep me here? Forever?

   - Trust me, kid, it’s not exactly what I want either. It’s not my choice and it’s definitely not yours. 

   - I am not gonna stop trying to escape.

   - Based on how well you’ve done so far, I wouldn’t hold my breathe. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically @red-head011

[comfortwriting]

Call Out My Name - F.W.

Fred Weasley X Reader imagine inspired by the song ‘Call Out My Name’ by The Weeknd.

Part 2 , Part 3

A/N: Your Feedback will be greatly appreciated! 

About: Fred is constantly in a ‘on and off’ toxic relationship and he uses the reader when he is lonely, overtime she falls in love with him but because she isn’t Fred’s girl - she has no choice but to walk away.

Themes: Heartbreak, unrequited love, sadness, longing.

Warnings: indication of smut, raw feelings of worthlessness, depression and anger.

Staring out of the train window trying to think of something to doodle in your notebook you couldn’t help but feel over the moon that you were going home for the summer, you had never felt like this before and you hated that you did - but after years of being strung along by someone and not being able to stay away from them - this feeling was bittersweet, hell, everything you had gone through was now nothing but bittersweet memories you just wanted to forget, almost like it never happened.

You fell in love with Fred slowly but the more time you spent with him you fell head over heels for him. This whole fiasco - whatever it was you had with Fred started three years ago, your first time spending the summer at The Burrow. Fred’s on and off girlfriend split up with him for the first time, Fred became withdrawn, not wanting to take part in his usual pranks or plan any new inventions with his brother George. At first, you believed that Fred wanted you around because he valued your friendship (a budding romance) and because you made him happy, but overtime you realised that this wasn’t the case at all - unfortunately you were just a stepping stone for him, someone to use when he couldn’t get what he wanted from the ‘love of his life’. 

You put your head in your hands and sighed deeply, the tears slowly pricking at your eyes, slouching in your seat you covered your house scarf (the one that Fred bought you) over your eyes, the memories flashing back to you like they happened yesterday.

We found each other I helped you out of a broken place You gave me comfort But falling for you was my mistake

Fred sat in his bed, his eyes red and puffy from all of the crying “I don’t know what to do, she doesn’t want me anymore” seeing him in such a state made your heartache, you had never seen him like this before - you were used to him bouncing around, always laughing and getting up to no good, not crying in bed too sad to be himself.

You sat on his bed and stroked his short hair that had been cut a few weeks ago “It’s going to be okay” you smiled at him softly “I know it might be too much to ask but why don’t we go for a walk? Get away from all the noise in this house, just this once.” you encouraged him.  

Fred contemplated your offer for a moment and then nodded “I can do that” he smiled, slowly getting out of bed. What started off as ‘just this once’ turned into routine - you and Fred going for stupidly long walks every morning you were at the burrow. 

Remembering the first time your hands brushed up against one another used to make the butterflies in your stomach soar but now all it does is hurt worse than before - rain now pattering down on the window.

Within months you and Fred did everything together, morning walks, quidditch in the afternoon basking in the warmth and orange glow of the sun, and then in the evenings you two would sneak downstairs whilst everyone lay asleep in bed.

“Hey Y/N” Fred whispered through the crack in the door, trying not to wake everyone up “fancy popping on one of those muggle horror movies you keep telling dad about?” 

You turned over, the landing light shining in your eyes and smirked at Fred, mirroring him “go on then.” 

Clutching your chest you could feel the pain of this memory hit you like a tonne of bricks, taking deep breaths you tried so hard to bring yourself back into the present moment... on the way home... leaving Hogwarts...but it didn’t work, like a leaf in the wind you were pushed back in relieving what you just wanted to forget.

The old and scratchy patchwork blanket sat over you and Fred, out of the corner of your eye you caught Fred glancing at you and smiling to himself. Turning to face him you asked what was so funny “nothing” he replied, yet he leaned in closer, his nose almost touching yours. Giving in, the two of you shared your first kiss and you could’ve sworn you felt sparks igniting within you. 

You brushed your fingers over your soft lonely lips reminiscing more of the memories that popped into your head as if they were being played on film. 

A few evenings later you and Fred were on the same sofa, covered by the same scratchy old patchwork blanket in the dead of night, yet this time instead this kiss lead to something much more, instead of sparks simply just igniting, burst into the biggest and most beautiful firework as you and Fred shared such an intimate moment together.

George had to admit that although he felt left out, he couldn’t deny how much happier Fred became when you were around - he started being himself again; pranking Ron and annoying Percy like it was going out of fashion.

But you had no idea that whatever you had with Fred would turn into the most intense rollercoaster ride you had ever been on.

I put you on top, I put you on top I claimed you so proud and openly

For the first time in your life you put another person before you and you deemed such an act ‘worth it’ at the time because you made mistakes out of your pure love for Fred, but you realised all you were doing was burning yourself out to keep Fred alight. Instead of getting perfect grades, you found yourself in enough detentions for everyone in your house.

In your mind Fred was yours, your boyfriend and he made you feel on top of the world and all you wanted to do was share your feelings and relationship to the world. Every Saturday morning you would be sat waiting at the Quidditch pitch to cheer on Fred, regardless whether it was a match or just practice.

You would write to your family and friends, telling them all about the soft haired troublemaker who swept you off your feet. “Looks like you’ve got another letter” George mentioned one morning over breakfast, your owl swooping up ahead delivering a reply. 

You smiled widely and nodded “Of course I do!” you giggled “My parents can’t wait to meet Fred this Christmas!”

George’s face dropped at your excitement, he cleared his throat awkwardly “I’m really sorry Y/N but did Fred tell you?” he asked, giving you a deep look of sympathy. 

You scowled and shook your head wondering what would get in the way of your perfect plans “tell me what?” 

George stayed silent for a moment but he tried his best to let you down gently “He’s back in contact with his ex, they’re working things out.”

And when times were rough, when times were rough I made sure I held you close to me

And for the second time, Fred came crying into your arms looking like he had been torn apart “She doesn’t think it’s going to work out, she said that it’s not the right time” you held him in your arms, cuddling on the sofa in the common room, rubbing his back with one hand and stroking his now long shoulder length hair with the other, you reassured him. 

“It’s going to be okay Freddie, you got yourself back on track last time and you’re capable of going it again sweetheart” you reminded him “you’ve got me and George, remember.” 

Within the months that came after, you two were inseparable once again, going to Hogsmeade on the weekends raiding Honeydukes and sharing a butterbeer or two in the Three Broomsticks but as always and like George predicted, once Fred’s girl came back into the picture, he dropped you again. 

You managed to break from your flashbacks for a moment, removing the scarf from your face. Checking your watch you had another hour or so until you would be arriving at Kings Cross Station, you slumped back down in your seat and doodled broken hearts and tears onto your open love letters to Fred, now hidden in your notebook.

So call out my name (call out my name) Call out my name when I kiss you so gently I want you to stay (I want you to stay) I want you to stay, even though you don't want me

“Well from the sounds of things you’re not in a serious relationship” you mentioned to Fred, taking off your muddy robes. George shook his head at you almost telling you off but you were both getting frustrated, the only difference is that you didn’t want to keep quiet anymore. 

“Not yet but I’m waiting for her” Fred said eagerly removing his robes too, George could feel the tension in the air and went to the common room.

“So what about us?” you asked bravely, your heart begging to hear what it wanted most. 

Allowing the last of your confidence that Fred had wiped away overtime, you walked towards him and cupped his face, kissing him softly, trying to convince him that you were the one worth waiting for but no matter what, deep down in your heart you knew Fred was thinking about her.

Fred kissed back and chuckled “us?” he flashed you a confused look “we’re the same as we’ve ever been, as we’ll always be” you felt crushed, this wasn’t the answer you were hoping for (and you now owed George all of your exploding bonbons) but you accepted your fate and left to find George so you could cry in his arms. 

“He never truly wanted me, did he?” You asked George, tears running down your cheeks. 

George shook his head “It’s always been about her Y/N, I’m sorry” you hugged George and cried into his chest whilst he held you.

“why can’t I be Fred’s girl?” 

Torturing yourself beyond repair you couldn’t stay away from Fred, no matter how hard you tried. You still found yourself supporting him at Quidditch, helping him study, you even engaged in conversation with him about his girl, how amazing she was and how happy she made him. You knew if he had the chance Fred would transform you into her if a single project came down to it.

Girl, why can't you wait? (Why can't you wait, baby?) Girl, why can't you wait 'til I fall out of love? Won't you call out my name? (Call out my name) Girl, call out my name, and I'll be on my way

Clutching your date and dancing lazily to the music you stared at Fred having the time of his life with the girl of his dreams on his arm, beaming up at him. You hoped this ball and your date would help you find a new spark and create new fireworks yet with every opportunity to do so all you did was wish for Fred, stare at him and act as if he were to realise you were the one with any coming moment - but it didn’t happen yet, it would never happen. You kept wishing over and over in your head for Fred to turn around, meet your gaze and to become blinded by your beauty when you had another admirer trying to break down your cold persona. 

I said I didn't feel nothing baby, but I lied I almost cut a piece of myself for your life Guess I was just another pit stop 'Til you made up your mind You just wasted my time

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Fred asked, taking a bite out of his toast “Mum and dad are really keen to meet her and she’s never been able to visit over the summer before and with everyone else there we just wouldn’t have the room.”

The two of you continued to walk towards the castle, George following not far behind.

Fred was now inviting his girlfriend to stay with him at the burrow this summer, something you had always done up until this very moment - this was the moment you realised that everything had been a lie, Fred never cared, he never loved you, he had just used you each and every time the love of his life got bored, only to drop you as soon as she wanted him back. 

“Yeah it’s fine, I understand completely” you lied, feeling anger, despair and insecure like you had never before “I’ll just see you at the shop once the ball gets rolling.” Earlier in the year Fred offered you a job to help out with him and George at the shop, placing your own career plan at the ministry on hold.

“Oh bugger” Fred stopped his tracks looking a bit stressed “that's another thing i forgot to mention, we won’t be needing you to help out anymore as-”

“she’s helping out instead” you cut Fred off, finally reaching your breaking point you ran away from Fred and went to your dorm, packing your trunk. 

You're on top, I put you on top I claimed you so proud and openly, babe And when times were rough, when times were rough I made sure I held you close to me

“Are you seriously running back to him after what he did?” 

“He isn’t like that! you don’t understand, you can’t judge him - you don’t even know him!”

So call out my name (call out my name, baby) So call out my name when I kiss you So gently, I want you to stay (I want you to stay) I want you to stay even though you don't want me Girl, why can't you wait? (Girl, why can't you wait 'til I) Girl, why can't you wait 'til I fall out of loving? Babe, call out my name (say call out my name, baby) Girl, call out my name, and I'll be on my way, girl I'll be on my

Jolting awake the train came to a stop, you had finally arrived at the station. Taking a deep breath you picked up your trunk and notebook, getting off the train your scarf slipped off but you were too busy trying to spot your parents to notice. This was it, no more Hogwarts, you didn’t want to look back.

Feeling faint you ran into the toilets, throwing up the last of your pumpkin juice from the ride home, you stared at yourself in the mirror, washing your hands and splashing your face.

“Why can’t I be Fred’s girl?” You asked yourself.

On my way, all the way On my way, all the way, ooh On my way, on my way, on my way On my way, on my way, on my way (On my)

Reaching the exit of the station you spotted The Weasleys, welcoming Fred’s new girlfriend into a tight hug with delighted expressions on their faces. You looked to George and he gave a sad smile, he wanted to say goodbye but even that would be too painful for you to handle; after all, you weren’t just losing Fred, you were losing George, Molly and the rest of the family you loved so much.

Before you could turn around and continue to look for your family, Fred noticed you, he stopped for a moment and waved, holding your scarf up in his hands and shaking it. 

You wanted more than anything to run to Fred and collect it but instead you didn’t wave back or smile, you shook your head and spun on your heel, acting as if he were never there at all.