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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

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astrocassette · 4 years

Text

oc aesthetic - seren

tagged on this one by @undyingembers, thank you!!

mostly under a readmore cause i was feeling poetic and found myself writing!

Bold for always Italics for sometimes

COLORS

red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. cobalt blue.

the green of the forest and the blue of the sky are the colors they chose to adorn themselves with, colors they could drink in for as long as they could want to. but they are not the only colors that follow them. the earthy browns of their horns and their fur, the shiny wheat yellow of their hair, the vivid green that’s wrapped around their body and shines in their eyes all trail after them as well. and the twinkling blues and purples that surround them as they watch the night sky, dipping to cascade over their shoulders in a cape made of starlight. all of these are the colors that follow this watcher.

ELEMENTS

fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. magic.

seren is a child, born of the earth, but knowing only the sea and the sky. they take joy in the rushing of waves underneath, the salty breeze through their hair, the feeling of sunlight on their skin, all of the colors that paint and dapple the sky when day turns to night. this is what they know, but when this adventure is over, they will find themself again in the sound of rustling leaves, the feeling of dirt under bare feet, the softness of lying in a clover patch. these are their elements, earth, sea, and sky.

BODY

claws. long fingers. fangs. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. sweat. tears. feline. scales. fur. chubby. curvy. short. tall. average height. muscular. lean. piercings. tattoos. lithe.

they look so small, so unassuming at first glance, small horns, floppy ears, and freckle-flowers, wandering around the ship barefoot, smiling as easily as the sun shines. they are themself, of course, always, but even still it’s enough to give pause when they strip at the bathhouse, seeing the bruises and scrapes and scars of battle that decorate their skin, and the hints of lean muscle underneath. they are small, maybe, and sunny, but that does not negate how dangerous a foe they are.

WEAPONS

fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. venom. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. pyre. teeth/fangs. rifles. words.

seren has known many weapons in their lifetime, wielded and suffered, but not all remembered. wands and rifles fit easily into their hands, and somehow the weight of a mace did too. really, though, all of those came second. they could do so much with a thought, crush, splinter, pierce. use peoples’ phantasmal insides to break their tangible outsides. it was... rather unnerving when anyone else thought about it for too long.

MATERIALS

gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

seren’s mind makes itself out of wool and paper, out of iron and cloth and clay. it comes out in the weaving of wool, the scratching of lyrics on paper, the rush of breath through an ocarina. they collect rocks with their hands and dirt with their feet, and their days are segmented by iron weapons and cookware alike. the watcher is made up of many things, but most of all, themself.

NATURE + WEATHER

grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. sunflowers. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. poppies. galaxies. stardust. sky. rain. storm. sunny.

a child of the earth, a child of nature, they appreciate everything they can get from it. plants, trees and flowers and crops are petted as seren passes by. barefoot, they dig their toes into grass and dirt and sand alike, reveling in the texture. they lie on beaches and meadows, watching what the sky has to offer at any time of day.

ANIMALS + MYTHICAL CREATURES

lions. wolves. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles + tortoises. bugs. spiders. doves. robins. ducks. vultures. whales. dolphins. fish. octopus. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. rabbits. hares. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. rats. livestock. tigers. panthers. deer. foxes. bats. bears. crocodiles + alligators. coyotes. seals + sea lions

seren knows of many animals, but only has experience with a few. they know stories of falcons and snakes and turtles and panthers, but does not remember learning them. caring for cats and rabbits and chickens is much the same, during the few occasions they help a local corral their livestock. the one that always makes them light up, though, their favorite, were bats. as dusk fell, they’d watch the diminutive shadows flitting from tree to tree, grinning and pointing them out to whoever was with them.

FOOD + DRINK

sugar. salt. bitter. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. soda. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. french fries.

fruits and meats and grains are their favorites, preferring savory and sweet. humming happily at the taste of honey glazed hen, sharing orange slices with whoever happened by on deck, flapping their hands at the spiciness of fire kelp but going back for more, crunching on candied nuts as they peruse the shops of queen’s berth. to them, food is very much a joy, and something to be shared.

HOBBIES

music. art. watercolors. gardening/growing plants. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. comic books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. electric guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. flight. climbing. running. swimming. healing/medicine.

they like everything surrounding music and the fiber arts, but there are other things, too. sparring with friends is something they enjoy, light fare to make days sailing more interesting. reading books, both fiction and non to pass the time in a gentler way, card games similarly when they want to spend that time with people. neither they nor their crew puts on theater, but in ports, seren loves stopping to watch, enjoying the story and the questionable acting skills in equal measure. being the herald of berath and the hound of eothas does not allow excessive room for hobbies, but they make time anyways.

STYLE

lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. sweater. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. duster. trenchcoat. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. eye contacts. makeup. ties. uniform.

a brigandine and cape, forest green, sky blue, and white, are their battle armor, heavy but maneuverable. it is what they choose to wear for the necessity of it, but outside of battle it is not something they’d choose. they favor light shirts and tunics, open necklines and half sleeves, pants cut at the knee, secured with a sash that flutters after them when they run. an item cherished is their cape, the cape of the fallen star, that surrounds them in the beauty of the night sky and makes them a sight to remember on the few occasions they wear it.

MISC.

balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. kisses. diary. fairy lights. mental health problems. sadness. bittersweet. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. revenge.

seren is kind. kind, and light, and optimistic. their task is a heavy one, tense, and worrying, and precarious, so they do what they can to bring light, to show kindness against the uncertainty of the world.

#hwoo i have no idea where the writing part of this came from but it was fun!!#i keep meaning to get back to playing adfvsdgb #the saturday d&d campaign i'm in recently got BUCKWILD in the best way so that's what's been occupying my brain space as of late #but i'll get back to pillars eventually #watcher seren

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awakeindeath · 7 years

Text

A Little Black Stone

In about an hour. I’m going to be executed. At least, I hope so.

I’m sitting in my cell. My home for the past… however long. Fifteen by five. It’s long and narrow and everything in it is polished steel. The bed goes across the back wall, instead of the side, so it’s only five feet long. Which would be okay if I was an Oompa Loompa, but since I’m about six feet tall it means I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in the six months I’ve been in here. The sink is placed at well below waist high, so I have to bend down to use it, but the toilet is so tall have to jump a little when I sit on it. The window to the outside is on the back wall. It’s just an open square about two feet wide, with four bars in it, and a pile of a couple dozen polished white stones on the sill. The bars are not placed vertically like you would think, the way you see in the movies. Not even placed horizontally. The bars are splayed out like the feathers in a peacock’s tail. All coming to a point in the middle and spread around the outside edges so there is a wide gap at the top. The window is situated about two and a half feet of the bed. Too high to see out when I’m sitting up, too low if I’m kneeling. So I have to be crouched over to get any view of the outside. The view, predictably, is of the execution yard, with the gleaming steel of the Gallows right in the middle. Granted, that’s also the exercise yard and the sports field. It’s covered in a very high-quality turf that is the same green as lime Kool-Aide, with bright white lines permanently painted in to mark out a soccer field. The Gallows are right in the center of that field. They are set up very tall, with ten feet between the floor and the turf, so the inmates just play as if it weren’t actually there. The supports are simply another obstacle in the game. Beyond the field are the walls. Wall. There is only one and it’s about seven feet high and made of solid concrete. It wouldn’t be hard for two people to climb over it if they wanted to. There’s no barbed wire and the guards almost never patrol it. But no one ever does. At least, no one’s ever tried since I’ve been here. If you look past the wall you can see the outside. Trees. Blue sky. Roads. Buildings. A school. It’s all visible if you ever looked out that far. No one ever does. The Prison is built in a half circle with the Gallows at the center. Every room on the inside curve of the Prison is a cell. Every cell’s window points out towards the Gallows. The other side of the Prison doesn’t have windows on it. Just pictures of the Gallows hung where the windows would be. The best is the Warden’s office because it has a ten by ten painting of the Gallows. Apparently one of the first inmates was an oil painter and she made it especially for the Warden. In thanks, the Warden gave the prisoner two draws the next time her turn was up. She died happily. Everyone says so. Everyone who saw it. And she looked so pretty in her pink gown as she danced on the rope. Everyone struggled as they hung. It was some primal reaction to the rope tightening around their neck. When your breath cut off, you struggled. It didn’t mean it wasn’t an honor, a privilege, to be chosen. Watching someone dance their life away at the end of a rope didn’t make me want to be the next one on the Gallows any less. It was just part of what happened. Part of the process. Your body fighting what your mind has already accepted. The Warden describes it like the pain of childbirth. You have to go through it to reach the other side. All of us are looking forward to our turn on the Gallows. Even me. Tho I couldn’t say why exactly. It feels like I’m eight and waiting for Christmas. I’ve watched so many others get the privilege of going to the Gallows time after time. Even now, sitting on my too short bed in my too long cell I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. My palms are sweaty even tho I keep wiping them on my suit pants. I look at my pile of white stones on my window sill. So many times my turn has come up. So many times I’ve gotten unlucky. Maybe it’s my suit. I’m wearing a business suit. It’s a nice suit. Charcoal grey with pinstripes. Black wingtips. Purple tie. I picked it out myself when I first arrived. It was donated, a long time ago. Some generous member of the community decided that the inmates needed to look good on their big day and gave the Prison a few dozen suits and dresses. Every inmate got to choose the one they wore. The guy before me had a suit that he looked like he was drowning in. But he’d liked its plum color so much that he had strutted his way down to the Gallows, baggy pants dragging the dirt and his hands covered entirely by the sleeves. I had to admit, watching him hang, he had looked fetching while he struggled. Not unlike a raisin on the vine as the sun set behind him. That suit was back on the rack down in the Clothier, waiting for the next person to pick it. It wouldn’t take long. It was such a unique color. People said the colorful suits and dresses were lucky. There was one suit I used to want to wear that was a neon green so bright it seemed to glow in the dark. It had so many stones in its pockets that they had to be sewn shut. Eventually, when it could hold no more stones, the Warden had retired that suit. It went up next to a pink and orange polka dot dress whose purse had been stuffed to bursting before it was retired. Both were on display in a glass case next to the Warden’s office. The lady in the cell next to mine, a hardened biker type who was covered in tattoos and scars, said the suit I picked was unlucky. That it was too dark. Fate wouldn’t notice it. I’d be stuck forever in the Prison. Hoping to get lucky. That’s why she chose a cherry red zoot suit with lavender pinstripes. But my suit fit. It hugged me like it was tailored. Once, a long time ago, the Warden had said I looked dashing in it. Now it was the one I picked every time I could. I checked the coat’s inside pocket again and felt the fifteen smooth black stones rattling around in it. One stone for each person who died in the suit. Some of the suits had hundreds of stones stuffed in their pockets. The dresses had it easier, each one came with a purse. Tho I’d been told that some of those purses weighed as much as a bowling ball now. Perhaps it was unlucky. Maybe Fate preferred the prettier colors. The Warden liked me in this suit. I’d stick it out. Down the hall outside my cell door, footsteps echoed and I got up and walked to the bars and leaned against them. I couldn’t see who was coming, of course. The Prison curved away from my sight and the bars kept me from looking around. But I could tell who it was. The Warden. You learned real fast the sound of her footsteps. You could barely hear them, but nothing ever seemed to fully overpower them. Like a whisper of a breeze over a stone. When the Warden walked, the sounds of the Prison went silent. Normally there was shuffling of people, cloth against cloth, skin against skin, murmured voices and soft singing that all melded together into a constant white noise. But when the Warden came out all of that went away and the air turned still. The only sound was the Warden’s footstep that slithered down the cells and those of the guards who followed her, the stomp of their feet and the jingle of their keys deafeningly loud in the sudden silence. The Warden came into view wearing a smile for me. I mean, she was wearing a bunch of other things too, but the smile was what always caught my attention first. The Warden was a beautiful woman. Tall and broad-shouldered and she always wore a proper black wool suit that made the white skin of her face and blonde hair pop out of the dim light of the Prison. In the right moment, she just looked like a floating head. Especially at night, when you woke up all the sudden and she was standing outside your bars, smiling kindly down at you in the dark, with her dark blue eyes glowing like a cat's. She always had a smile on her face. Normally it was a soft thing. A barely there curl of her lips that made you think that it was a secretive smile just for you to see. Now tho, she was beaming at me. Her mouth open and her teeth bright white. It was the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. “Hello Miss,” I said, my voice echoing down the Prison like a gunshot, even tho I had spoken as quietly as I could. “Hello, child. It’s your turn to pick.” She said. Her voice was honey and cream. It soothed the fears and calmed the mind and made all the aches and pains of living fade away. She stepped to the side a little so I could see the guards behind her. Like the Warden, they wore black suits. But their skin was like mine. Well, sort of. We were all different colors of human, not that it mattered in here. Their skin showed imperfections and the effects of living a life under the sun. The Warden’s was perfectly white. Next to the Warden, all of us looked the same kind of dirty and worn. That didn’t seem to matter to her tho. She still smiled for me. The guards held between them a black silk bag. Big enough to fit a human head into and with a drawstring holding it closed. The bag was bulging with small round shapes that dented the sides and stretched the fabric. At the Warden’s nod, the guards pulled the bag open and held it up to where I could reach into it. In my haste, my hand shot out of the cell door to grab what was inside but the Warden’s hand intercepted mine. Her hand is bare, and the skin the same color as her face. I never noticed how different the skin on other people’s face and hands were until I met the Warden for the first time. Then, of course, everyone’s invisible imperfections became instantly apparent. The same happened to anyone who met the Warden. And right now the perfect skin of her perfect fingers was brushing mine, the long and delicate black painted nails of her fingers ever so slightly scratching my wrist. “Hold on. You should know. You are only the fifth person to choose today. Everyone before you drew white. As you can see, there are still many people who need to draw today.” She glanced at the bulging bag still carrying a few hundred stones. “You should not get your hopes up. I do so hate it when my children are disappointed.” “Y-yes Miss.” I stuttered. Damnit. I hate when I stutter in front of the Warden. I sound like an idiot. “I’ll try not to be disappointed, Miss.” “Very well. You may continue.” The Warden withdrew her hand and waved for me to continue. Much more under control, I reached into the bag and felt around. The stones were round and smooth, about the size of peas. They rattled against each other and my fingers with little clicks and clacks as I tried to feel for something different about them. Some minor change in the way they felt that would tell me which was the one I wanted. There was no tactile difference, of course. There never was. Even so, I felt around desperately while the Warden watched me with knowing eyes, unblinking, until I finally pulled one out. White. “I’m sorry, child.” The warden’s voice rang with some of the disappointment that had to be on my face. My shoulders dropped and I nearly lost the ability to stand as all the strength went out of my knees. Not again. The little white stone shone bright in my hands as I fought the tears back from my eyes and looked up at the too kind face of the Warden and tried to give her a smile. “Next time, Miss.” “Next time, my child.” The Warden’s smile melted back down to that small secret smile she always wore as she pulled the cell door closed and she turned to walk away with her guards, off to the next person in line. I shuffled to my too short bed at the other end of my too long cell as I listened to the Warden’s gliding footsteps grow quieter and quieter. I placed my new white pebble on the sill with its brothers and sisters, identical to them in its gleaming failure. Maybe it was the suit. Maybe I was just cursed to be here forever. Never to move on. “Perhaps, child, we should try again.” The Warden’s voice said from the front of my cell. “Perhaps Fate isn’t done with you, today.” I turned so fast the bones in my back popped. The Warden stood just as she had before, slightly to the side of the two guards who held the black silk sack with is drawstring already open, in front of an open cell door. I rushed forward, almost tripping in my haste to reach the Warden. I drew up short tho and forced myself to breathe. To be calm. To have the dignity the Warden always possessed. To be worthy. Not just a grasping child. “Once more, child.” The Warden whispered, reaching out to cup my cheek in a hand that seared my flesh. “Once more.” I reached again into the bag, my eyes locked on the Warden’s, not scrabbling around or trying to cheat Fate. Just picking the first stone that came to my fingertips and pulling it out of the bag. I didn’t even look down at it, at first. I didn’t want to be the first to break eye contact. But the brilliant smile came back to the Warden’s lips and I knew what I would see when I finally pulled my gaze away and looked down at my hand. A little black stone. “Well done, child.” The Warden purred. “Well done, indeed.” I stared down at the little black stone for a moment. It was mirror shiny and I could see myself, distorted and drawn out, in its round surface. The black of it was deep, deeper it seemed that the ones already in my pocket. And it looked like it held something deeper within it. A trick of the light probably, but that little stone was, for that brief moment, the center of my universe. The sign that my time had finally come. I tore my eyes away from it and looked back into the smiling eyes of the Warden. She reached out and took my hand in hers. Her skin was fever warm against mine as she folded her fingers around my palm. “Come along.” She said and pulled me out of my cell as I slipped the little stone into my inner coat pocket to join the others. The Warden pulled me away from my cell, towards the Gallows. Towards eternity.

I’ve never been so happy.

#Creative writing #story #surreal #no prompt #odd #i have no idea what i wrote

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