#and i just noticed that since the ooze acts on peoples thoughts its only natural it turns into furry ooze in his hands

[mothmouth]

Splatoon 3 hero mode spoilers past this point!

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Am I the only one who feels really fucked up by like, log four's lore? It's really horrifying how it's described. Like, imagine being the scientists, so desperate to see the sky, that your ambitions end up snuffing out humanity for good. But that's not all! The log goes absolutely out of the way to let us know that anyone who survived the initial disaster died soon after.

Imagine being a child during all this. Perhaps your name is Rhea, and you don't exactly know what the sky is like, but you're excited for the big day of the rocket launch because your parents are. But then everything goes wrong. There's so much screaming and fear, then silence. You emerge from the rubble not knowing what happened or where your family is. And now you can't do anything but wander the ruins of humanity, scared, alone, and soon to be very hungry.

Or maybe you're Marcus - somehow, you got out unscathed say for some scratches when your apartment collapsed. But, you've got a problem; you're trapped. The walls caved in in such a way that you have plenty of air, but no hope of escape. You can only scream for help, struggle, pace and eventual lay down in what you realize is your tomb.

Hell, maybe you're even one of the luckier ones. You're Salem, and you don't really care that much about the launch. You were having a wonderful afternoon nap when you were awoken by a horrible noise - and following soon after it, a cacophony of screaming and crashing. You scramble to your window to be met with the sight of the sky falling in on itself into darkness. As your freeze response hits, you have just enough time to comprehend what's happening and despair over the loss of humanity before your house is hit and you die instantly.

There are theoretically infinite scenarios to describe the last humans of splatoon's earth and their experiences. Those pinned under rubble, realizing everyone they know is dead, or those injured horribly but still struggling to live. Something about the way that they specifically described the disaster really makes it real to me. It's upsetting in a very compelling way. Like - all that was left of humanity died! And given the time span of the event, there were almost certainly children and elders and others who were even more helpless than everyone else. That's fucked up.

[ragingbookdragon]

The Theory Of Everything

Outlaws x Tamaranean!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: So y'all remember how I said that one story sparked the beginning of the Outlaws x Reader? Yeah, I lied and wrote the actual beginning. Enjoy! -Thorne

It was a subtle thing, the slightest shift in her demeanor, and he would have missed it if he hadn’t the years of thorough training in order to recognize such shifts. Her default expression was typically a frown and narrowed eyes, and hardly ever did she crack a smile, even at the most downright hysterical jokes and pranks his family would pull on one another. Which was odd for a Tamaranean considering the fact that most of the ones he’d met were usually overjoyed, especially her sister.

Something had also flashed across her face in that moment he mentioned it and she offhandedly muttered about being conditioned to not show emotion, especially that of joy or kindness during her captive years—it was easily taken advantage of by those that wished to do their worst harms to people. Then, she waved it off, and talked about something she’d read on the internet, Resting-Bitch-Face, she’d called it, then actually laughed, and said it was her normal face, there was no particular negative emotion that caused it, it just was—but if it deterred people from being friendly with her, all the better.

And he’d come to realize that her frown and narrowed gaze didn’t ooze disinterest or irritation like he’d once believed. No, now that he’d noticed the shift in her eyes when she was around him and those she cared for, the softness that entered them, and the split second that her brows unfurrowed, features relaxing ever so slightly before they hardened again, covering up any semblance of relative peace. That was the moment he realized he was in love with her, and hopelessly at that too.

But she wasn’t an easy woman to understand, not by a long-shot, or to be around, and she’d even agree with both of those. Most people, like his older brother and his friends, avoided her like the plague and didn’t interact unless it was necessary, despite the fact that she’d once been a member of the Titans with Kory. Hell, most of the Justice League didn’t want to call in reinforcements if it meant she was coming too, she was that destructive when she fought—but her volatile nature held a lifetime of wrath and a raging need to burn away all remnants of abuse—either in herself or other innocents. And she only got it out when she expended her solar energy on those she deemed her enemies.

She was impertinent with people that wasted her time, and she especially hated when people made noise, hell, even when they breathed loudly it drove her up the wall. Which almost made her kill Roy the first time she’d met him because he wouldn’t stop whistling. She was also typically the reason that Jason and Roy couldn’t bring her along to bars anymore because she was more than happy to break someone’s leg over touching her or muttering explicit comments in her ear.

But what most people didn’t take the time to see was that she was caring too. She didn’t show it because she viewed it as a weakness to be taken from her by an enemy, but it slipped through sometimes. One of the easiest memories to call on of it, was the time they’d saved a group of kids from human traffickers and as they waited for the city police to show up, she made even the youngest child learn how to send a strike that would disorient even someone who was larger than they were. That spot just below your chest is called the solar plexus. Hit it as hard as you can, and your opponent will be winded. Curl your fingers in and open your hand, like so. Strike into their middle with the heel of your palm as hard as you can.

Jason wondered if it was the first time she’d smiled since she came to earth, because when she saw the kids slip into a state of absolute fun as they tried to whack each other, a broad grin stretched across her face. But it gave him a glimpse he hadn’t seen of her—that she was still a living being, capable of strong emotion, and if that smile on her face was any indicator, she was feeling pride and understanding towards the children. He loved her smile, wishing that it would’ve stayed a moment longer.

Unfortunately, being smitten didn’t seem to just apply to Jason because if someone as hard-assed and anal-retentive about feelings as he was, was feeling such a way, he knew a loose, emotionally tethered man like Roy was too, especially when the archer gazed at her with those big evergreen eyes like he was staring at the whole universe compacted into one woman. Jason wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

And if he was being completely honest, he didn’t know how to feel about either of them—he wouldn’t deny there was something more than just friendship between he and Roy, and it wasn’t that strong as steel, forged level of trust you get between watching each other’s back when you’re in the thick of danger—it was deeper than that, but they’d yet to bring it up—that or it just hadn’t come up to where they needed to talk about it. And now that there was another person he wanted…Jason wanted to acknowledge it, but he was so afraid of fucking up probably the greatest thing that happened to him since he came back, and that kept him paralyzed from acting on his feelings. And he was content to keep his mouth shut if it meant avoiding that, even if he had to watch the two people he loved the most get closer.

***

She was typically the first one to wake in the morning. Training with the Warlords of Okaara meant rising before the sun, and while she’d learned to indulge in waiting for the sun to appear in the sky before waking here on earth, old habits died hard, and more often than not, she found herself lying in bed in the early hours of the morn, simply staring at the ceiling until she heard Jason or Roy shuffling around in the kitchen. That being said, it was usually Jason who was up and not Roy, the latter being very lazy and preferring to sleep until practically noon.

Today however, she wasn’t the first to arise, coming to stare at Jason as she shuffled into the kitchen, watching as he tiptoed around the area, either consciously being quiet, or unconsciously falling back on sneaking training. His back was to her, and even if she wasn’t one privy to childish whims, she couldn’t help but creep up on him and wait in his peripheral until he finally noticed her. And when he did, it was downright hilarious.

He jerked with a sharp ‘shit’ and immediately threw out his right elbow to jab at whatever had snuck up on him and she caught it with ease, allowing a smirk to cross her lips before it fell and she murmured, “Peace, Jason. It would be unbecoming to attack a teammate.” She pressed her thumb into the flesh underside his arm and his arm tingled with heat. “Better yet a friend.”

Jason scowled and pulled his arm out her grip. “It’s unbecoming to sneak up on teammates too, (Y/N).”

She merely hummed and flowed around him to the refrigerator. The door creaked on its hinges and he momentarily reminded himself to oil it later, watching as she pulled out the water pitcher.

“You are up rather early,” (Y/N) noted. “I have noticed that you sleep an hour or so later than I.” Her glowing eyes pierced him with a clarity that he wasn’t sure he liked. “Is there something on your mind, Jason?”

He shrugged and turned away, busying himself with pulling out a skillet and a spatula. “Just woke up, is all.” Jason didn’t have to be facing her to know that those eyes were boring into his back—he could feel them.

“Ah, so your body has received the needed recovery.”

Chuckling, he replied, “Something like that.” He felt her shift behind him, then the egg carton appeared beside the spatula on the counter, and he glanced over at her, only to see a curious look in her eye.

“Has anyone ever told you that your eyes glow in the dark?”

Jason blinked—not that he remembered. He unconsciously reached up to touch just below his eye and he murmured, “No…they do?”

(Y/N) lifted a hand and he couldn’t fight the way his heart began to pound in his chest at how soft her fingertips were when they finally touched his skin. She drew her fingers up his cheek and to his eyebrow, tracing it delicately, as if he were made of porcelain and the faintest touch would shatter him into a million shards—not like he wasn’t feeling like that already.

“It is strange, Jason. They are teal in the light, but when there is darkness…they glow a vivid green.”

A memory flashed across his mind, waking up in the neon ooze of the Lazarus Pit and he couldn’t help but shut his eyes, trying to will it away. She placed her palm against his cheek and Jason sighed as the warmth bled into his skin, reminding him of those moments of falling onto a warm pillow.

“What is on your mind, Jason?” she asked, and this time she wasn’t probing to see if he’d tell her—(Y/N) wanted an answer, and a real one at that. He let out a shaky breath as he mulled over the words that played on his tongue. “I can see you are thinking about it. Tell me what is weighing on you and I will do what I can to appease it.”

“I don’t know if it’s that simple, (Y/N),” he replied and he opened his eyes to stare at her. Her expression was unreadable and the fact that he couldn’t decipher her thoughts worried him.

“Simplicity. Complexity. These are only matters of time and understanding, Jason,” she explained and thumbed his cheekbone. “You know that I can do so. Let me help you.”

It was now or never and either he told her here or he told her later when the timing was worse, and he made an even bigger mess. At least here, she could let him down easy and swear to never say a word to Roy about it.

Jason took a deep breath and prepared himself for the worst as he confessed quietly, “I…love you, (Y/N).”

The most extraordinary thing occurred in front of Jason—her jaw went slack, and her eyes went wide like she’d witnessed the most impossible thing. And that had to be the second to worst reaction he could hope for because he’d honestly rather have her flat-out rejection than stunned silence, just staring at each other. And stare they did…for a solid minute before she appeared to find her voice.

“I…was not aware you had affectations for me.” (Y/N) blinked, adding, “Is this a recent discovery?”

He shrugged. “I tried to ignore it…I didn’t want to mess up the dynamic we’ve got going but…”

Jason trailed off and she tipped her head to the side, repeating, “But?”

Meeting her gaze, he said, “But I couldn’t stop feeling for you.” Suddenly he felt like a caged animal, too close, too confined, too transparent in her glowing stare and he pulled from her touch, spinning around to place his hands on the counter so he could gather his thoughts.

“I don’t know what’s between you and Roy, but I know it’s more than sex and I’m not going to come between it.”

“Even if you want to?” she questioned, and he gripped the counter until his knuckles turned a sickly, pale shade. “Don’t you want to be the one at my side?”

“What I want doesn’t matter. I want you both to be happy.”

“At your own expense.”

Jason huffed a mirthless laugh. “I’m used to my expense being unseen and uncared for.” He lowered his head as his heart began to collapse on itself. “I love you, (Y/N) and…and I love Roy too.” Even with all he’d been through, Jason wondered if this was what it was like to have a broken heart. “But I won’t stand in the way.”

She was silent for a long time and Jason fought viciously to keep the tears at bay. He’d just revealed two of the biggest secrets he’d ever had in his entire life—discounting the whole vigilante thing—and he wasn’t sure where that was going to leave him in the morning.

A warm hand touched his knuckles and his head shot up, staring wide and teary eyed at (Y/N) who wore a heart-tugging smile. Finally, she spoke, soft and kind.

“Come with me,” she said, and Jason felt confusion course through him as his brows knitted together.

“What?”

(Y/N) pulled his grip away from the counter as if it were nothing and she tugged at his hand. “Come with me,” she repeated, this time a bit firmer and he had no control over his feet as he silently obeyed, letting her lead him down the long hallway until they stood at her door.

She opened it and pulled him inside her room, closing the door with her free hand. Jason had turned on the lights leading to the kitchen, so he had to blink a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in her room, but when they did, her room was the last place he wanted to be—mostly because Roy was curled up like a cat in her bed.

He tried to pull away, whispering, “(Y/N), please don’t—”

She shot him a look with those gleaming eyes and his mouth snapped shut, though his apprehension bubbled in his chest the closer she led him to her bed. They reached the edge and she pulled him towards her. He stepped forward, allowing her to maneuver him until his knees touched the edge and she placed her hands on his chest, shoving with enough force that if he wanted to stop himself, he had to try hard. Jason didn’t though and he fell back onto the mattress, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t wake Roy; he didn’t, and he looked back at her.

“(Y/N)?”

She pulled the shirt from her body, leaving her in her undergarments and she shoved at his shoulder.

“Lie down,” she commanded calmly, and despite everything in his bones screaming at him to get up and flee, he obeyed, albeit when his back hit the bed, he went still as a wooden beam.

“X’Hal, Jason. Relax.” She slipped into the bed beside him and pulled the covers up over the two of them as she pressed herself into Jason’s side, one leg sliding between his.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening at the moment, but when she reached across him and shoved Roy in the face until he woke up, something started to fall into place.

“Roy,” (Y/N) said and shoved him again, smirking slightly when the archer let out a grunt and cracked an eye open.

“What?” he muttered rather annoyed, glaring into her eyes.

She nodded at the man between them. “Jason is here.”

Roy blinked a few times. “I’m sorry?” he questioned, evidently not understanding it the first time.

(Y/N) grabbed Roy’s arm and hauled him until he collided with Jason and he wasn’t sure if it was himself or Roy who was more flustered at meeting each other’s gaze as she simply repeated, “Jason is here.”

Roy took a moment to fully understand what she was saying. “Jaybird?”

Jason pulled the most awkward smile he’d ever produced. “Roy.”

The archer looked between him and her then asked, “I thought we were going to talk to him together?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “He told me he loved us.”

Both men yelped at the same time, vastly different reactions words, but the feeling of shock was still the same. She was obviously unamused at the long, drawn-out moment and Jason remembered she hated wasting time when she gave him another look. She nodded at Roy and they stared each other down before he sighed and nodded, turning his face to Roy.

“She’s…right, Roy.” He let his fingers brush against the smooth skin of Roy’s wrist as he whispered, “I love you. I love both of you.”

He wasn’t sure what reaction was going to come out of Roy, but when the man sat up in the bed with a face-splitting grin, it was safe to say he was relieved.

Roy took Jason’s face in his hands. “You do?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah.”

The archer glanced at (Y/N) then back to him. “We were going to ask you to be with us later today, but we weren’t sure if you would respond positively or not.”

Jason blinked then turned his attention to (Y/N). “Like…for sex?”

She directed her gaze to the ceiling, and she let out the longest and most tired sigh he’d ever heard her make.

“If we wanted you to have sex with us, we would have asked a long time ago.” (Y/N) sat up slightly and lay against his chest. “No, we want you to be with us, Jason. Romantically.”

His eyes widened. “You want me to be with you two? Like a poly relationship?” Both of them nodded and he turned his head up to the ceiling, staring, unblinkingly.

“Do you think we killed his brain, (Y/N)?” Roy chuckled as he nudged her in the side and she snorted, gently rising until she was in Jason’s line of sight.

“Roy and I have not been seeing each other for a long time Jason, but even if we have not, we have noticed that something is missing, and that something is you.” (Y/N) caressed his cheek with the back of her hand and murmured, “We both share your affections. Greatly and strongly do we share them.”

She smiled and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We love you, Jason.”

He took a second to gaze between her and Roy, his heart stuck in his throat and when he received the heartwarming smile from Roy, he looked back at her.

“You both really want me to be with you?” he sounded so scared, so ready to have the rug pulled out from underneath him with a horrible, tasteless joke, but (Y/N) merely nodded.

“We do, Jason.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “But if you wish to leave, you may. We will not be upset at your hesitancy or refusal.”

Roy placed a hand on Jason’s clothed chest and added, “We want you, Jason, but if you’re uncomfortable with it, we understand.” He smiled and reassured, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, Jaybird.”

They waited. Patiently. And it took Jason a few moments to remember how to breathe correctly again, but when he did, he nodded silently.

“I want to be here…with both of you,” he whispered and before he could even do a thing, the two of them had him caged between them, their heads resting on his shoulders, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

But it wasn’t confining, it was comfortable, and it was loving. So loving that Jason’s eyes filled with tears and he shut them tight to avoid crying, but when his body began to shake, (Y/N) and Roy didn’t think twice before shifting and pressing their faces into his neck, showering him with praise and love-filled words.

And Jason fell asleep in the arms of the two people who he loved the most—and loved him as well.

[belit0]

Okay hear me out something really really and really dark with indra 🤭 Like you “cheating on him” ( Reader didn’t probally just some weirdo mailman arriving at theyre mountain home asking for stuff and the reader lets him and somehow they make it into the bedroom?? 😭) and indra comes in and it just becomes really dark

"something really really and really dark with Indra..." 

My brain didn't need much more to create something completely bizarre and sickening.

TW: Non-con, kidnapping, blood, s3x with a dead man lmao.

The night was short, too short for your liking. You always get this feeling when Indra is absent when his presence is so far away he is not even perceptible in the scope of your reach.

If your man is with you, you know when the sun goes down the torture begins. Upon meeting him, you never expected such a handsome countenance could carry so much evil inside. And although he claims to want you, at this point you understand all he wants is absolute possession over you, he is not interested in pursuing your love or seeking your adoration.

But of course, whoever fell into the clutches of such a beast, and to make matters worse, voluntarily as you had done, had no way to escape. Who would dare to face the mighty Otsutsuki? He who would make people run in dismay at the mere sound of his name.

Trapped in the depths of an isolated forest, you had given up any hope of ever walking the earth freely years ago. There was no way to evade the surveillance of your partner, who was everywhere with the secrecy of a feline.

If you had the courage to try to run, to scream for help, what awaited on feeling his hands around your neck was even worse than death. He always got what he desired, and the only thing he had craved was you.

It took several frustrating attempts to free yourself that led you to be brutally clamored by him on the forest floor, while his grip left bruises on any part that had contact with your skin. The scene ended grotesquely, as he carried you back home as if nothing had happened. Your bloody form, with clothes torn off and a few bones, were broken by Indra's violence, lay fainting on his arms, time after time.

Eventually, you understood that there would be no point with such an approach when in your last try it all got too much and he decided to break both of your wrists to make you stop resisting. The recovery was long, and when you were back to normal, you decided to succumb to being used every night rather than savaged that way.

But now, as you sat looking out the window, you thought to yourself. Indra had left on a trip weeks ago, and as usual, it was unclear where he was heading. Escaping would be imprudent, for perhaps it was all a test, a made-up situation to see how you would react to such a prolonged absence.

Forgetting the matter, you got up to the kitchen when a loud noise on the outside caught your attention. Resuming your previous position, you watched as a man with long black hair fell to his knees a few feet from the door, dropping to the ground and barely holding himself up with his hands.

There it is, Indra's damned testing.

Rushing away from the window and leaning your back against the wall, you gasped for breath, trying to calm yourself. As sorry as you were for that human being, you knew that your partner would appear at any second and cruelly end his life. He was simply trying to make you take a false step, tempting your big heart and your ample generosity.

Minutes that felt like an eternity passed, as the pleas for help grew lighter and lighter and the volume diminished.

No one was attacking.

The man continued to kneel, trying to reach the house.

Unable to endure, you decided to betray your preemptive alarms and ran out of the house. This person was severely wounded, unable to move or walk on his own. 

A sense of security assaulted you as you helped him in and laid him down on your bed, while you analyzed the wounds and the origin of the blood.

No one was attacking!

It was a tough job to put the man's battered body to rights, but after extensive treatment of his wounds, he was no longer in danger and regained his breath, still lying on Indra's pillow.

And with that, the man grabbed you by the nape of your neck and leaned you over him, causing the lips of the two of you to gently meet. It wasn't like Indra's touches, it wasn't possessive or unwanted, it was romantic, gentle, warm, and beautiful.

"You saved my life and I don't even know your name..."

"No need to exaggerate, gentleman. Had I left you there, you probably would have woken up after a good few minutes, I simply relieved the pain. As for my name... I regret to say that I cannot reveal it."

"A beautiful mystery... in that case, there's no need to know mine either."

The temperature rose, not taking long to exchange tongues, and avoiding to climb on top of him because of the state of his poor body, you lay down on your side of the bed, where Indra had taken you countless times.

Not wanting to let go, you simply let him handle the moment.

After a slight hesitation, he pulled away and looked into your eyes, asking permission to do it again. Licking your lips, it was you who initiated the action this time.

Hands danced everywhere, and clothes were lost with speed. He had you mount him, making it clear he could not exert himself too much due to lack of strength. Not wanting to argue against that logic, you sank on his erect length with a moan, while your eyes closed tightly.

You only opened them when you began to feel your orgasm approach, seeking eye contact for more pleasure. But you were disconcerted to see that his gaze was fixed on a corner of the room, to which your back was turned.

A pleased smile graced his features, not even paying attention to you.

"This way is fine, boss?"

Your blood froze in understanding.

Indra's test.

But what you didn't expect was for the man beneath you to suddenly become completely paralyzed, as a muffled THUD rang through the room and the hot liquid splashed your face and chest, as well as your arms.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a kunai was thrust into his forehead, killing him on the spot. A quick instinct assaulted your muscles as you tried to pull the slain man's limb out of you and run, getting away from your partner and trying to save yourself.

Now, this was the worst situation in the world.

There was no way you were going to pull through this.

But a huge, strong hand grabbed your hair as he noticed your intentions, pulling you down on the man's body and extracting the murder weapon with the other hand.

Tears began to stream down your cheeks as your hands closed over his wrist, futilely trying to make him let go of your hair.

"Unsightly..."

"Disgusting..."

"It only took you a second of my absence to jump on a bastard's cock. I knew you were an insufferable fucker from the way you cry and beg for my touches, but now I see it's your natural way of acting...you're just a whore, aren't you?"

It has been a long time since you realized how your rejections towards his actions were perceived and qualified as wanting, where Indra's reality was completely distorted.

"I...N-N-N..."

You can't get your tongue to move properly to outline his name, trying to defend yourself somehow. Ironic, for that heated muscle had danced shamelessly seconds ago across the man's lips lying beneath you.

"Shut your ungrateful mouth you rotten filthy bitch."

Your face is pressing against the man's neck, being held still by Indra. The blood dripping from the mortal wound on that person's forehead oozed down your features, mingling with your tears.

"Is this what you wanted? It takes a worm-like him to make you realize who you belong to? A damn misfortune that cute little cunt of yours has been desecrated in such a manner."

And as your breathing continued to heave and your body was convulsing in revulsion because the murdered man's limb continued inside you, you didn't notice Indra's weight on your back until it was too late.

"I allowed this hole to remain virgin waiting to be taken when my first son was inside you... The notion of fucking you along with my offspring was wonderful, but as you won't outlive this, I'll give myself the treat I've been depriving of."

You can feel the tip of his cock exert pressure on your ass, and even as a dead man lies beneath you both, filling your pussy, Indra has no trouble getting fully hard and forcing his way into you.

Holding your neck with both hands, his chest is pressed against your back as his waist slams viciously over your form, making you cry out in pain and getting halting pleas for mercy from your lips.

Everything is a nightmare.

Indra is a nightmare.

And even with the dark picture in that room, with your face smeared in The Otsutsuki's latest victim's blood, you hear his breathing pick up pace, grunts coming from deep in his throat as his dick mercilessly works your tight channel.

The man's length beneath your body lost its rigidity, uselessly stuffing you.  

You have no idea how much time elapsed in that assault, for your consciousness shut down a few times and you were forcibly awakened by his slapping.

Eventually, his seed mixes with the blood coming from your not-so-virgin opening. Beastly sounds are heard from behind you as your eyes close in defeat, tears continue to fall unchecked.

And suddenly the last sensation you experience in your life is that of such abuse. 

Accompanied by the sharp cold metal teeth of the kunai that slits your throat and robs you of your last breath.

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Ogata Hyakunosuke

Writing Ogata is a mental gymnastics and I have weak ankles. You can check tosikowrites tag for more. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) 

As a person who hasn’t experienced love (without any exaggeration) in his whole life, Ogata is the worst of all in showing affection, and he will mercilessly tease anyone who will try to do it without manipulative ulterior motive. It is easier for him to comprehend desire for power or use than pure love, so prepare yourself for endless battle with destructive defense mechanisms.

He watches person of interest whenever they do, either openly, brazenly staring or subtly following them with peripheral vision. Ogata doesn’t know why he does it but his eyes are always fixed on their presence. Once some time passed, Ogata actively seeks their attention, he is almost excited to meet their gaze, but only thing they will get of it is a faint crooked smile and awareness of being monitored.

Like in childhood, Ogata continues to hunt but now he has one more purpose. The purpose is to share food with this one specific person. In a big groups, Ogata as always sits away from the group but he moves just a little bit closer to them. Enough to get closer but not enough for others to notice.

Asks what they want. Yes, Ogata straightforwardly asks them if they want anything and if they do what it is. He condescends to putting mind games away and considering their opinion. At least, sometimes. Rarely. But he does it!

And the last one. Ogata tolerates physical affection and later gets adjust to it. Teasing isn’t going away any time soon, but he learns to relax around them without loosing soldier’s alertness. It is a slow process, it takes years for Ogata to learn something so simple, but the results are amazing.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

That friend that got too many sins to ever judge you. Quote “If you tell me you killed a man, I will help you to hide the body” is literal. Ogata laughs loudly after hearing the most cringe-worthy or outright scary stories but won’t ever shame his best friend.

He is the one to offer to go astray together, make problems together, and be petty together. Hardly ever Ogata needs to be bailed out of troubles, but he enjoys living on a knife blade and pulls others along. He lives by the rule “Enemy of my friend is my enemy” and can, without a twinge of conscience, offer to kill someone.

Nicknames and name-calling are common, intentions behind the names are never clear. Is he really trying to insult you or was it a joke? Who knows. Ogata takes pleasure in screwing with other’s people minds.

His best friend has to deal with absence of relationship’s boundaries. Today they are friends, next day Ogata decides to mess around and kiss them, and the day after he is nowhere to be found. Oh, he is definitely the one to suggest to be friends with benefits.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

It is hard to call what he does cuddling but this is what happens when Ogata’s feline side comes into action. As dusk approaches and there is not a single soul around, he gets closer from behind and unceremoniously lays down his head on their shoulder. Sometimes he even lets them sit between his legs so Ogata can press their back into his chest and curl up together. Not a word falls from his lips. If they drop a taunt on how cute or romantic he is, Ogata will immediately move over and frown (early in relationship) or pretend he didn't hear anything (later in relationship). If in a bad mood and his loved one begs for cuddle, he will act all teasingly bitchy just to leave them touched-starved after.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Ogata doesn't really believe that he will live up to the age when normal people want to settle down. His chances to end up in prison or in shallow grave are higher than ever and he is totally okay with it so thought of home comfort never popped up in his head. If his partner brings up this idea, Ogata will deliberately resist it, calling his loved one silly goose that doesn’t know what they are talking about. Good cook and can clean properly if he wants to.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It can go so many different ways depending on his mood and general perception of the person.

In the later stages of relationship as well as if his loved one is the sweetest angel, Ogata would disappear in the thin air. He doesn’t explain reasoning in any of the options but in this one this wildcat tries not to hurt their feelings much. All traces of his presence are erased, and Ogata tries to get away from them as far as possible.

You have to make it hurt to push them away, right? For active and cheerful personalities Ogata has a strategy that provides the worst relationship experiences, small things like avoidance, detachment, feeling of slowly dying passion. When they are about to give up, Ogata himself breaks up with them smiling venomously, as if to say “did you expect anything else in the first place?”

If they are patient and assertive, Ogata will be the pettiest. Strong personality calls for exquisite torture, so prepare yourself for setups, cheatings, direct insults, and smug smirks as he burns down everything they built together.  

If there is no other way out, Ogata will shoot them. It may completely ruin whatever left of his humaneness but he will do it.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He gives the dirtiest look when being questioned about marriage. First of all, idea of commitment disturbs him for a multiple reasons. It brings nothing but an official status, it does not oblige couple to happy ever after, and Ogata is a living proof of this axiom. It is unlikely that he will ever change his mind. Remains faithful in a relationship though, he just does not like the concept of being bound by the vows.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Nowhere close to being gentle. Hasn’t been touched emotionally, and physical gentleness is foreign to him too. The only embrace he knows is holding a sniper rifle at cold night so you can imagine how hard it is for him to be in loving relationship. Ogata asks himself “why are they act so kindly?” almost everyday, he expects misdemeanor, he tensely waits for it, and sighs in both relief and disappointment when nothing happens. When it comes to being physical, from unobtrusive hands-holding to make-out sessions, Ogata tenses up to the point when his whole body turns in the taut string. It is a damn mental work to ease off and he needs a lot of practice.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

What is the hug? What is its purpose? Why would they hug him? What the hell? Yes, Ogata is the worst. When his loved one puts their hands around him, Ogata just… stands here with eyes empty and head up. He does not move a bit, doesn’t flinch, he lets them do the thing but does not participate in the process whatsoever. After few weeks, Ogata hugs them back for the first time, putting his hands higher on their back instead of waist, and holding breath like he is going underwater. He is still awkward, but slowly gets used to their warmness and gentle touch. Sometimes you can hear dull low sound like a sigh escaping his lips when Ogata relaxes enough to close his eyes and gives up to soothing caress.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

If we talk about the time frame, I would say, around 2-3 years, but time is not the most important factor in whole confession. Ogata could never say three magic words in his usual emotionally constrained state so he needs a real kick in the ass to squeeze out more than apathetic “you’re good, whatever”. Near-death experience may be an option but getting absolutely wasted, shitfaced, hammered is way more likely. After consuming ungodly amount of sake, getting in fist fight with Katarou (no worries, no Kantarous were harmed), and falling right in front of his loved one, Ogata claims he needs to tell his loved one something special. Few leading questions and he wistfully admits that he never told them he loves them. Then he passes out. Thanks God, he remembers nothing from that night, so there is another day to confess with a clear head and well thought out text.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

If some careless admirer is hitting on his loved one, Ogata expects his partner to instantly push another person away and explain that they are taken. If pour soul is persistent, Ogata will warn them once and shoot them in the leg if they do not take a hint right away.  

And if his loved one goes around shamelessly flirting with whoever? Ogata will be so pissed, oh boy, you will see how mad he can be. Nobody fucks with him like that, nobody. If they think they are the center of his universe, Ogata will quickly bring them down to earth, ignoring them completely, putting them in danger on purpose, abruptly jumping up as soon as they come for the kiss or hug. He’ll knock this vanity crap out of them with sticks since he doesn’t know how to put carrots to work.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses feel like there is no tomorrow, they are greedy and rough. Ogata, like a natural predator, slowly drives his partner into a corner, squeezes them in the arms, and does not let go even when salty blood oozes from under his teeth. Feral to the fingertips. His partner has to wrap a scarf around the neck since he likes to cover it in small bruises. If we talk about where Ogata likes to be kissed, worth mentioning that he will bite anyone’s fingers off if they try to kiss his empty eye socket. It hurts like hell and bleeds easily, for god’s sake. However, he likes his fingertips kissed, knuckle kisses, and lip kisses. All types of hand kisses give him strange feeling of superiority and dominion.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

No. Just no. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near kids and flatly refuses to have any of his own. Babies, toddlers, or teenagers – they are all the same to Ogata, small versions of adults that require too many resources and for what? To grow up in someone like him? At the same time, he is mediocre in babysitting and can take care of baby, changing diapers or lulling to sleep, but teaching older ones high morals and emotional intelligence is not his forte.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Fortunately or unfortunately, Ogata is difficult to catch in the morning since he wakes up with the first cocks and leaves home quickly for the hunting. Upon awakening his mood is pretty grumpy but it changes to calmly benevolent as he cooks breakfast and thinks about upcoming businesses. It is important for Ogata to put his swarming thoughts in order before greeting his loved one with a peck on the cheek: he does not want to burden them more than usual with talks about the endless nightmares and causes of these bad dreams. After meal, he is ready to get his portion of love or spoil his partner with exclusive attention. Cats are very selective creatures but they are generous with gestures of trust too.  

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Evening is a time of solitude, there is no place for strangers in it. During the day, Ogata overdoses on people so in the evening he wants to stay in the company of a loved one and only them. It doesn’t matter if they drag him to the empty night downtown under the bright light of lanterns or hide him like a favorite toy under the weight of the blanket, he cherishes every second. Evening walk in the garden is his favorite pastime. During cherry blossom season, when gardens turn into a solid pink ocean, Ogata pulls his loved one to sit on his lap so they can both engage in hanami. These short ten days bring peace to his soul and give him belief in a better future with the best person by the side.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Ogata has no problems in opening up, actually. Of course, he knows some people are slick sleuths preying on facts to use in their manipulations but he also understands people do have conversations and exchange information about themselves as ordinary social ritual. Probably, avoids topics like his family and feelings but other that this Ogata can be pretty forthright. He prefers to take it slowly, without much zeal.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Well, sniper has to be patient, but it is unclear if Ogata fits this description. You never know if you have crossed the line (and if you did – when did it happen?) because he knows nothing better than smiling mysteriously and planning your demise in silence. Next thing you know there is a bullet piercing your body, blood is spilled everywhere, and Ogata is far gone because Type 30 rifle is so “excellent for sniping and sharpshooting”. In everyday domestic life, Ogata is quite patient and restrained, never rises his voice, and tries to refrain from direct conflict.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

It varies. On good days, Ogata pays more attention to his partner and what they are doing. If they are having deep conversation, he pulls as much information as possible and immediately thinks where it can be applied it in the future. On the contrary, when in a bad mood, Ogata turns a deaf ear even to words spoken directly to him. It's hard to predict weather he will listen to you or not, so it is not uncommon to hear him repeating your words when you thought Ogata was his usual cold distant self.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Anything that has to deal with emotions, feelings, and confessions because all those things make him both nervous and excited. Actually, first time he confronted them about their feelings and behavior and got confirmation that it wasn’t a dream. Ogata was too tired to provoke them so he sat quietly and listened to whatever they’ve chosen to say in their annoyingly sincere voice. Rational and irrational, critical and non-critical, rude and affectionate. He noticed weird tight sensation in his chest when they murmured something about caring about his stupid cat ass but decided to ignore it. Ogata has little capability of accepting their love and it is not going to change with a wave of a magic wand but he… considers it may be true. It sounds too good to be true though, but he will crawl to them and lie down confused and intrigued.  

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Expects his partner to protect themself in the moment of danger. He is far from knight in white armor trope so do not expect help from above. Ogata refuses to take on the nanny role so his loved one must know basic self-defense or be smart enough to avoid unpleasant situations. In only one case, Ogata can step down from his pedestal and lend a hand: if they are cornered and there is no way out, they will either die or get captured, Ogata will shoot attacker down. After that, he coolly threatens that next time he won't be around to help. Oh, and yes, he has no plans to train them. As the saying goes, help yourself.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Acts like he owes nothing and does minimum because Ogata wants to be asked for nice things. He likes to hear his partner talk to him in pleading voice and see them making puppy eyes, bating eyelashes, even pouting. This is the kind of game that Ogata has mastered so he knows when to stop and act nicely. He has random outbursts of generosity which promise the partner quaint presents and spoiling. Sadly, they do not always coincide with anniversaries: on important dates wildcat is on his best behavior but you can’t be sure prepared surprises will be pleasing. I mean, being with him is as predictable as Russian roulette. Decent in everyday tasks but doesn’t put all of his effort into it.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Instability is his second name. Ogata has never had a purpose in the life, finding ainu gold is his first and last goal and there is not a hint on what will happen after that. It doesn’t cause any discomfort to him and Ogata likes it better this way, so for someone who has a prepared plan of action for next few years his company can be pretty unnerving.

Ogata's views on world are also not to everyone's taste. With a dismissive look at human life, he is reputed to be a cynic, he can go into nihilism headlong and completely reject the remaining moral standards. If his partner is principled and proper, Ogata will attempt to corrupt them and bring down to his own level.

It is not a bad habit, but people hate him. Dozen of cutthroat soldiers want to see Ogata dead so his partner may be a potential target of ill-wishers.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Apparently, he is only concerned about the hair being perfectly slicked back. His clothes are more or less clean but not spotless, shoes are never shiny, but Ogata is indifferent. Scars do not bother him either, and Ogata completely forgets about their existence but the loss of eye had some toll on his ego. Just a little bit. Sometimes it seems that people focus their attention precisely on the missing eye, on bandages, and it both makes him bitter and satisfied: Ogata knows what he is capable of even without half of sight but visible human pity gets on his nerves quite a bit.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

If they decided to break up in the beginning of the relationship, Ogata doesn’t care at all. He may make one or two venomous remarks and that’s all. But if it was much later, after he got intoxicating taste of love? Wow, that’s an explosive mix of feelings we’ve got there. Ogata falls on slippery slope of denial because he had to be one to leave, he had to be in control, not them. He is infuriated, his ego is hurt, and, worst of all, people are aware of it. All that remains for Ogata is revenge in any imaginable form, from distancing to pulling off show how he feels himself even with them not being by his side. His behavior is pretty identical to that listed in Ending paragraph.

If they were killed… Um. Surely, he feels unexplained self-pity but it is better than feeling nothing at all. Ogata is lost. He can’t comprehend what's going on in his soul. From outside it seems like wildcat is the same independent cynical bastard but inside days of numbness alternate with weeks when he is boiling with anger. This malice spills on anyone who tries to get closer and it may pushe him to self-destruction.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We have already seen Ogata in the company of two geishas (though, I’m thinking, they were yujos), he never slept with one and actually despises the idea of it. Despite the scene with Yuusaku and “brother should have fun together” said, Ogata wouldn’t touch a woman of the same profession as his mother was. He could hate her, or pity, or scorn, but thought of becoming the same as his father makes Ogata sick to the guts. So that scene was an idle play to corrupt the perfect Second Lieutenant, a game that was lost in advance.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Ogata isn’t used to a minimum amount of positive attention so both clinginess and neediness will push him away. It creeps him out if another person wants to be with him 24/7, and constant questions like where he has been and with whom are simply annoying.

Manipulations are okay with him until it comes to hysterias. Load, teary and pointlessly pushy, they make Ogata sick. If you want to manipulate this man, be elegant, be smart. He won’t fall for headlong approach, it will only disgust him.

Dogs. It won’t surprise me if Ogata poisoned a few back in the childhood. They seem stupid and gross in their inexhaustible love for man.  

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Ogata is light sleeper and has problem with people sleeping right next to him. This feature is due to both the profession and personal reasons: there are enough people in the world who would happily break Ogata’s neck while he sees his third dream. Loud snoring in the room is fraught with consequences.

For the same reasons he can’t fall asleep without rifle lying next to him. It became an extension of his hand so Ogata feels kind of defective when it is not around. No, he is not Hijikata, he won’t give his baby to anyone to shoot bottles or some shit.

Extreme amount of dreams is a usual thing for him. Ogata has a ton of nightmares too, but most of the dreams are colorful nonsense about events that happened the day before. Obviously, Yuusaku is a frequent night visitor and his sweet innocent smile forces Ogata jump up in his bed drenched in a cold sweat. He never leaves, he never will.

[jjyusmile]

the life i once had | ljy

PROMPT #11, Day 26: [Vampire]

pairing: vampire!juyeon x reader!

words: 2k

notes: for @deobiwritersnet​ ‘the magic begins’ event!

warning: intense intense i n t e n s e !

my writing

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Your family has been coming to this seaside town since you were a little girl. As you strolled along the beachfront, inhaling the last of the summer air. Smoothing down your auburn brown curls and the flowing, floral summer outfit that breached its boundaries as the wind picked up. Glancing around at the crashing waves, you were mesmerised by the aggression of their nature. The sand wasn’t paradisiac, it was unpleasant. It spanned the entire shore of this coastal town, the shallow shores coated with surfer dudes and families with picnics. The town held huddles of smiling families, children playing on hundreds of penny machines that chime loudly at a win, which muffled the sound of the wind.

Your father suggested this place for old times’ sake; you had travelled the coast for the last two weeks -- saving the best for last. The town held a special place in your heart… stepping out and feeling the breeze that was mixed with the sea air. Your whole life was planned: graduate next July, move in with your partner, be engaged by next December. Your father jumped at the chance to take you on a family getaway one final time. Countless memories wandered this beach. As you looked out at the harbour boats, you noticed fisherman returning from their day at sea, reigning in their nets. Yet, your drifting gaze wandered, almost automatically. A slight crick in your neck began to twinge as was craned your gaze upwards. The daunting steps to the ruins of the town’s abbey made the whole scenario worse the longer you looked at it. What was left of the abbey were the tall, medieval monastic walls surrounding the abbey itself and an astounding house. 

When you were younger, your father used to make you all climb the steps two at a time, “two, four, six, eight… the last one to the top is the beast’s dinner!” In the end, he carried you all the way to the top, “one hundred and eighty-eight, one hundred and ninety…” The abbey blocked the sun in a blinding manner, masses of people squinting and cupping their hands over their eyes to get a small glimpse at the towering wrecks of the walls. You were struck with awe once you faced the unnerving steps to the castle, looking out onto the shore. This place felt familiar every time you climbed the steps. One year, you were reading the old folklores of the abbey, once known as Streoneshalh, on signposts stating its history when your older sisters decided to recite facts about the abbey and its owner competitively; who could name more facts about how a famous writer used these ruins to inspire the scariest creature to roam the Earth. You were captivated, but you knew in yourself that vampires were not real. They were cruel, emotionless, and vicious myths.

“He doesn’t have a pulse.”

“He doesn’t age.”

Fascinated, yet bored, it had taken your Father thirty minutes to find you; the tall, aging zinc gravestone hid you well from the reality of it all. You felt a sense of comfort next to the gravestone; it wasn’t as daunting as the high-rise walls of the abbey. 

Looking at it now, age twenty-one, you could never dream of how naïve you were as a young child. You had excused myself from your early reservation at the hotel restaurant to clear your head. Kicking the sand with your scuffed boot to regain you train of thought; your neck had begun to throb. This getaway was to spend some time with your family, yet, here you were strolling the beachfront alone. 

“Time to head back to reality” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your neck through the thick, woolen jumper you had thrown on to keep warm. As you turned to mount the steep slant to head up to the pier, the air became suffocating. Subconsciously, you craned your aching neck to gaze upon the cliff once more. You began to feel emotions you hadn’t experienced in a long time: want, need, desire, familiarity. There was another feeling that was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. Feet began to drift through the narrow, cobbled streets, you could have been walking for five minutes, twenty, an hour. The Bookshop, The Black Horse pub, Justin’s Chocolatiers. Your attention was no longer on the places that used to draw you in; you were being compelled by the daunting steps to the rest of your life “two, four, six, eight…”

You slowly approached the first steps when a low hum sounded… a ringing that would force anyone to find the source. Twenty-six, twenty-eight. It was inviting, blinding and staggering all in one. You could not shake the feeling that you were subconsciously drawn to this cliff. Seventy-four, seventy-six. Half way up and walking to the next set of steps that led to the abbey, the scenery behind you began to morph into a darker, gloomier sight. You caught a glimpse of flickering fire in your peripheral vision, and wooden boats wobbling in the harbor. You began to race up the steps to get a better look. One hundred and sixty-two, one hundred and sixty-four. You stood behind a familiar gravestone and gazed out at the completely different shore. Jaw slack and knuckles white, you tried to steady your mind by gripping the rough stone. Pulling your hands away, you noticed the grazes from the rough stone were slowly fading.

The shore was not only coated in dried up seaweed and flyaway branches but wooden canoes and fallen weapons that had been abandoned on the muddy sand. The tourist attraction that had protruded the tip of the bay was replaced by dark, wooden huts that you would assume were people’s homes by the clothing hanging up outside. You looked down to catch the flowing water that flooded the bottom of the cliff, as if surrounding it, with a small, aged bridge that led to the staggered steps. Small children playing in rags with bare feet in the dirt. Young men clinking stone steins together in celebration and chanting about a battle just won. Men and women were huddled around a fire, murmuring stories to one another, cheering and laughing as if they had no care in the world. How wonderful.

“Our Kingdom is wonderful, isn’t it?” 

A pair of black eyes almost hidden by wavy, brown locks gazed down on your small figure. Your gaze flicked across the figures face, focusing on the deep, faded scar that lined the right side of his face. The stranger’s hand was caressing your lower back affectionately. His eyes penetrated your soul as if asking for permission to grasp it into his cold, possessive clutch. But he already has. 

“It is incredible how the wind feels when you are no longer startled by the cold. It is refreshing, don’t you agree?” The stranger asked, his head tilted to the side as he gazes out with deep fondness onto the village.

His mouth, stained scarlet, morphed into a grin; his incisors stood out from the rest. Fangs. You should have been scared, but it felt familiar. His pointed nose arched delicately framing his face under the shadows. His tainted, ruby waistcoat contrasted the abundance of charcoal that coated his skin elegantly, all the way down to his pointed dress shoes. His skin was pale, but it was glowing with glimmers of silver and crimson, reflecting from the raging fires below. 

“Where am I?” you whispered. Your teeth began to ache.

“My love, you act as though you have never laid eyes upon Streoneshalh before?” he cocked his head to the side, analysing every flicker of your eyes and every bump that rose upon your smooth skin. His voice was like velvet. A name came to mind as you gazed upon his adoring face.

Juyeon. 

You looked down to find my woollen jumper had been replaced with a burgundy corset with overhanging silver chains and a dark, flowing cloak. “Our kingdom.” You murmured to myself, slicing your lip on the exposed teeth that had grown through. Pulling your hand away from the swollen graze, you noticed opaque blood, almost black, was dripping from your lip.

Bringing your finger to prod at the pointed teeth, you came to the realisation that you were supposed to be here. You were destined to have climbed those steps. Our Kingdom. A small man, much older than yourself, appeared in the doorway with a strikingly golden cane in his right hand. He grinned at you both with the same adoration as a father has in another life. Caedmon.

“The abbey truly is beautiful. The excellent detail that shapes its walls is a sight to behold. The glimmering light from those fires below accentuate the detail extraordinarily. Never has there been a sight like this.” You gawped. “I cannot believe that we live here…” Trailing off questioningly, unsure of the true reality of your life at this moment. 

You turned my gaze back to the striking man beside you. King Juyeon, Ruler of Streoneshalh. He smiled at you, adoringly. You felt safe, comfortable, familiar. His cool, enormous hands enclosed your small ones as he intertwined your fingers. At that moment, you looked up to the scar gashing of his face. A flash of lightning passed your eyes as the scene around you changed. You saw the life you used to have before you ruled over your Kingdom. 

Loud cheers surrounded your small tribe fighting to protect our coast. Flashes of silver like lightning. Swords were clashing against one another in aggression that you had never witnessed before. Your short, choppy locks were coated in sweat and dirt. Your tunic sliced in more places than one. You knew you were not meant to be in battle, but you had to find Juyeon. Your heart stopped once you noticed him lying on the floor, blood splattered his right cheek with glimpses of flesh oozing out of his skin. You ran to him faster than your legs could take you. “Please, please, please” you repeated, like. a mantra. Taking his paling face into your hands, wiping coated crimson locks from his broken skin. You sobbed until you could not shed a tear anymore. You looked up in time to see a small man with a gold cane with his gaze secured on your two figures. You took Juyeon’s hands in your own with affection, love, and hope. The battle had carried further along the shore, leaving Juyeon’s tiresome body and yourself alone with the stranger. His smile was alluring, welcoming. The light of the setting sun disappeared with a glimmer that was quicker than the lethal swords of battle.

“I owe my life to Caedmon for protecting you, giving us a life of eternity. I will never forgive you for being on that battlefield that day. The gruesome sight of slashing swords still haunts our nightmares. It was no place for someone so beautiful, so ravishing. Yet, he gave us our Kingdom to rule over and has taught us skills we could never have learned down there.” Juyeon’s gaze drifted to the small man that remained planted in the doorway watching over you, and then down towards your old home amongst the sea of cheering Saxons.  

“Come, my love. The sun will begin to rise soon; we must get to our chambers. Caedmon has collected one of the dying soldiers from the battle for us. We have not fed in weeks.” He gestured toward the towering double doors that led into the abbey. You had forgotten what had ensued before you reached the steps. You wanted to follow Juyeon wherever he went. You had eternity to look after your kingdom, after all.

Caedmon reached your side, using his cane to aid his stride: “your love for one another never fails to astound me, my dear.” His grin is taken up by his protruding fangs. You witnessed a fatherly love gleaming through his eyes, despite their hollow depths. You nodded in appreciation, grinning, drawn once more by the allure of Juyeon and the abbey.

Before you entered our domain, grasping my fingers along the hem of lengthy cloak and striding confidently behind Juyeon and Caedmon, you felt an urge to turn and gaze out over the cliffs. You caught sight of a familiar gravestone; its silhouette cast a contrast against the flickers of copper that gleamed from the fire pits below in the village. Walking across the gravel path towards the cemetery, you noticed a grave marker by the same stone. Your velvet cloak flapped in the wind, stark against your auburn curls. You were surrounded by the lingering smell of burnt out fires and beef stews that you used to long for. The moment you felt fingers wrap around your waist, you were overwhelmed by his comforting scent. Inhaling deeply, your gaze wandered down to the cursive letters on the gravestone.

It read: 

Here lies Juyeon and ---. Brave warriors of our unforgotten War. May their Souls Rest in Peace.

[writers-thoughts09]

True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1) About 5.7k words Pairing: Zuko x OC (or reader idk, mind you this is like a mega slow burn fanfic so i hope you’re okay with thaaaaat). I don’t own Avatar or the character’s except my OC. Rating: PG, maybe some 13 later on Warning: Mean Zuko, uuuuuh i think that’s it. A/N: I’m so sorry for the majorly late update! I’m doing my best I have a lot planned for this story and I plan to finish this, I hope you guys will follow Lila’s journey with me! :) <3.  I apologize if the fight scenes are choppy and unclear, I’ve never written or broke down a fight scene in writing before. I might go back and fix this later. Tomorrow I’ll post part 2. Anyway without further adieu enjoy the read :)

|Prologue| 1 | 2 part 1 | 2 part 2

*

Act 1: Salvation

The sunset was quite a breathtaking sight to see if someone were to take the time to stop and stare. With the sun warm and low on the horizon, lovely rays of orange light sprawled softly across the sky, creating pink orange and yellow hues. A gradient of shades, begging to be admired. The white clouds that slowly rolled by basked in the mix of colors as they too took some of the sun’s golden tinge. Of course, no one was around to witness this natural piece of art since everyone was busy going about their business, especially on Prince Zuko’s ship.

For hours Lila sat silently in her dingy quarters, no hitch detected in her breathing. Quiet and still like a swamp with dark murky water. Untouched and motionless. Ever since Prince Zuko’s morning lessons, no one’s asked for Lila’s assistance with anything, so, for the remainder of the day, she’s been in her room.

If anyone, say Iroh, were to see her meditating, they would’ve thought she looked exactly like prince Zuko during his meditation sessions. Mimicking what she remembered the night she brought him his dinner Lila sat with her back straight, eyes closed, accompanied by nothing except deep breathing. Even though she imitated the prince’s form and tried to follow Iroh’s teachings from this morning’s lesson, it was like there was a block between her and her element. Like her fingertips would come so close to grazing that certain feeling but were still out of reach from fully grasping it. No matter how hard she’d concentrate to connect with that energy lying dormant inside her, nothing worked.

But finally, after sitting on the uncomfortable floor for who knows how long, Lila began to feel an inkling of that same euphoric peace build within her body again. It was similar to what she felt earlier above deck but slightly different. It was softer, less…magnetic as it ebbed the presence of her emotions away. Specifically, impatience and frustration when lieutenant Jee came knocking and interrupted her a while ago.

With meticulous breaths, Lila drew a smooth inhale in through her nose, filling her lungs, traveling down, expanding her belly, and gently expelled the air from her mouth, the water in her cup rippling in sync. Her heart maintained tempo with her breathing, which was strong and consistent as each beat pulsed through her being.

Though her body was at ease, patience evaded Lila’s mind, blinding her progress as she huffed in irritation. Eyes still closed she shifted her bottom for the umpteenth time. Soft like a feather but sharp like a beak, she drew another breath in, doing her best to maintain what little connection she felt with her element while keeping her frustrations at bay. Just when she was about to exhale, that breath turned into a yelp when a loud boom exploded from beyond the ship.

Like the snap of a rubber band, Lila’s concentration was broken yet again as her eyes flew open. With a start, the sudden noise made Lila jump and pull a small amount of water, which she didn’t notice as she stood up in alarm. Confusion and fear clouded her as she listened for what could’ve possibly made a noise that loud. It sounded like a flare, but Lila wasn’t so sure. “Is it an ambush?...No it couldn’t be; we haven’t had any problems or run-ins with anyone for a long while.”

Lila’s thoughts were going in circles as she rushed to her drawer to grab a fresh piece of cloth she cut up weeks before, tied it over her marred eye before reluctantly opening the door. Silently, a tawny-colored iris peeped down the metal hallways, no benders or guards in sight. However, even if they weren’t down below they might’ve already been above deck when whatever it was went off.

Noiselessly and carefully, with nimble steps like an alley cat, Lila crept through the corridors and up the familiar set of stairs. Mangled fingernails trailed along the metal wall to aid her lack of sight. Once Lila climbed up to the main deck and felt fresh air ruffle the fallen curls from her bun, Lila’s suspicions were confirmed. A bright naval flare signal was falling far out in the snowy distance. She watched, her good eye following its downward path, musing to herself, “Where did it come from though?”

Noticing the absence of prince Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and their men who were usually out and about above deck around this time, Lila glanced around the empty ship then turned to the command tower. Squinting her good eye Lila’s gaze raked up the length of it and stopped at the observation deck’s balcony. As clear as the golden sky she caught sight of the Prince. Half of his scarred face obscured as he peered through the telescope attached to the railing in front of him. Although she couldn’t see gauge what he was feeling, she was certain he figured out what or who signaled that flare and was already directing his next course of action.

When suddenly that same foreboding sensation from before when they first saw the beam of light, roiled around her chest and stomach, leaving Lila uneasy. Why? Well, she didn’t know what to expect. Was it the avatar? A false alarm? She didn’t know and not knowing left a nasty taste in her mouth.

After Prince Zuko finished barking orders at his men, solar colored eyes caught a glimpse of the curly-haired servant below seconds before he continued looking through the telescope. The girl stood by herself with half her face covered, the setting sun illuminating her tanned skin, and looked up at him with -what he could detect- nervousness. Prince Zuko didn’t know as to why nor did he care. The entirety of his focus on capturing the Avatar.

A brown eye fluttered as Lila snapped from her thoughts. Hurriedly she turned and hastened down below to the kitchen. She knew now was not the time to get distracted from her work. Earlier the chef told her he was ill and asked Lila to fill in for him tonight. She agreed though something told her he was lying. Through the maze of corridors and staircases, a passing conversation of a few men could be heard as they rushed by.

One man bumped her shoulder as he hissed, “hurry, we have to dress the Prince, the Avatar’s hiding place has been found. We’re going to the southern water tribe.”

Lila’s eye widened as her breath hitched at the mention of her mother’s sister tribe. If the Avatar is truly alive and has been hiding there for the past hundred years…worry gripped her heart over the safety of the tribes' native people. Although prince Zuko hasn’t engaged in many battles with other ships or neighboring nations, the Fire Lord’s son was a wildly stubborn and determined boy who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Lila didn’t doubt he’d probably leave a trail of chaos in his wake with no regard for the consequences or how it’d affect the lives of others.

Once she entered the empty kitchen Lila rolled her sleeves up and got to preparing dinner, the red dye of her uniform reminding her of the clothes she wore as a child in the palace. As she cooked, she blinked back thoughts she knew all too well. Red uniform

Screams of fear echoing in the palace gardens

A girl in royal garbs

“You’re useless.” ... “Holy-ow!”

A sudden stinging pain roughly pulled Lila from the haze of old memories. In her stupor, Lila didn’t notice how close the knife was while cutting the spring unions and managed to slice her pointer finger. Quickly, the girl staggered away from the kitchen counter, removing the steaming pots and pans with her uninjured hand, and flitted about the kitchen looking for anything to stop the bleeding. She checked all the drawers, cabinets, and pantries as bright red blood continued to ooze over her finger and onto her hand. The throbbing and stinging continued to intensify making Lila bite her lip in pain as she tucked her finger beneath her thumb. Unable to find any clean rags or towels-

“My eye cloth…”

A tug on her heart stopped her search momentarily.

To her, that cloth was like a barricade of some sort to Lila. Sheltering the small girl from being reminded of it…the day she lost-

In summary, her eye patch was the only thing that blocked out the reality of what happened that day. Regardless of how vulnerable she felt without the cloth now was not the time or the place to start feeling insecure or hesitant, she knew that. There was work to be done; rice and meat filleting.

With the cleaning basins for the dishes nearby Lila went toward it to clean her finger and avoid food contamination. It should’ve been cleaned and refilled now that it was close to dinner time. Ready to dunk her hand in the water and wash her bloodied wound she stopped abruptly. The whole bucket was still dirty from lunchtime. Bits and pieces of rice, chicken, and other scraps floated about in the water. With a rough sigh and a curl of a plump lip, Lila closed her eye for a moment.

“I can’t catch a break,” she groaned lowly. Never again was she going to fill in for the chef.

Still, she was a servant…what could she do? Nothing. Before she could change her mind, Lila briskly grabbed the knot of the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free, a few strands of curls ripping from her bun. The milky white of her blinded eye on full display, free of any covering but chained to inhibition. Gloomy hands of her past groped and reached for Lila, but she slapped their searching palms away as she began wrapping her wound. Gentle but sure fingers tied the end of her cloth into a firm knot and she inspected her handiwork with a wistful smile. The memory of her mother’s soft hands dressing the wounds of a child rolled like a movie, replacing the ones Lila usually remembered.

“Lila, you fell again?”

The playful timbre of her mother's low voice filled their backyard. Lila’s childish eyes bubbling with tears raised from the cut on her knee as her mother calmly squatted in front of her fallen form.

“I didn’t mean to mommy. The tree was in my way,” cried her indignant daughter. Laughter rang from her mother, a white bandage appearing in her dark hands, 

“Of course, but you also have to be careful where you’re stepping too, my love.” Knowing her mother was right but still unhappy with that answer, Lila huffed out a sniffle. Tenderly her mom cupped the back of her daughter’s freshly scraped knee and began lecturing, “Here, let’s teach you how to fix wounds, big girls are good at that-”

“Big girls like you, mommy?” A squeaky voice interrupted.

Nuna glanced up at her daughter’s question. Brown innocent eyes that held such curiosity reflected in Nuna’s blue ones she just had to laugh.

“Yes Lila, big girls like me and you.”

Lowering her newly wrapped finger, Lila’s lips fell back into a straight line. She had no time to get lost in her thoughts. Deciding to try and cover her eye with her hair, her uninjured hand pulled her hair free from the fire nation styled top knot. Onyx curls tumbling down the length of her back in one fell swoop, kissing the top of her hips. The overwhelming urge to moan in relief had goosebumps tickle Lila’s spine as the tension of her tight bun dissipated almost instantaneously. She brought her hands up under her hair and aggressively massaged her scalp, both eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Ahh, yes…” A soft groan rumbled from the back of her throat.

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.

Whipping toward the kitchen door, hands tangled in her roots, the men from earlier in the hallway were standing there watching her as if they’d found an earth kingdom stowaway. Though the more she watched them with increasingly flushed cheeks, the more she realized they were staring at the eye. Tanned hands flew from her scalp to shake her curls and obscure their sight, but it was futile, they already saw the clouded pigmentation. Involuntarily closing her eye, the servant girl clasped her hands over her stomach and curled into a bow.

“Um, hello,” Lila stuttered but caught herself, remembering her place. Kind professionalism coating her soft question, “how may I be of service to you?”

The man who she heard speak in the corridor collected himself faster than the rest and cleared his throat before announcing,

“We are close to our arrival of the southern water tribe and Prince Zuko has requested your presence to dress him for the capture of the Avatar.”

Alarm colored Lila’s features when she recalled the last time she was alone with the prince. Streams of tears and memories he unintentionally triggered that night played before her. Swallowing down the building discomfort in her throat, Lila straightened up and schooled her worry lines into a controlled smile. She had to remind herself, “The Prince didn’t know.”

Apparently, for the men, Lila’s forced smile mixed with the ghastly mismatched color of her eyes was too much to handle, unable to hide their distaste. Faster than she could stop it, a pang of offense and hurt yanked at her heart, but she managed to stifle and shove the feelings away as she gave another trained bow. Though a question did come to mind.

“I beg your pardon, but may I ask why he requested me specifically? He has never requested this of me before,” words mousy.

Her question only seemed to cause the man to grow irritated, his eyebrow ticking in impatience as major attitude gripped his words, “The prince claimed to be displeased with our services in preparing him. Now, would you please stop talking and do what prince Zuko has asked of you? He’s waiting.”

“What about the food-”

“Servant girl, what did I just say?” The man angrily snapped.

With a flinch, Lila mumbled, “My apologies,” before bowing one last time.

Throwing an “Unbelievable” over his shoulder, he and his two companions turned to leave the kitchen.

His snarky tone made Lila frown and furrow her brows. Oh, this girl had no idea of the colorful range of words Prince Zuko used to describe him and his men! Comparing them to fire ferrets! Ha, the nerve of that prince! On top of a bruised ego, the man now had to deal with a servant who couldn’t even see right and didn’t know when to be quiet and simply serve! Lila watched them exit the kitchen, soft frown still intact as she cocked her head to the side.

With them gone, Lila moved the last bits of uncooked food away from the fire as she rushed to the prince’s quarters. With one hand on the wall, Lila hotfoot it through the twists and turns of the dim-lit hallways and up the main stairs. The frigid wind stung her cheeks, her servant's uniform doing nothing in keeping her warm as she speed-walked toward the command tower. However, it did help now that her hair was unrestrained, long curls shielding her arms from the nights southern cold. All but running into the tower, warmth immediately licked at her body. The fire emanating heat and light from the wall torches eased the stiffness of her shivering joints. Her relief was short-lived when she remembered that Prince Zuko’s room was still a few floors up. With a pout and a whimper, Lila began jogging the rest of the way toward her master’s room.

Once she reached his metal door, a winded Lila lifted her bandaged hand and softly knocked, a throb of pain shooting down her finger as she waited. Like usual, the gravelly voice of the prince commanded her to come in.

Using both hands, the petite girl turned the large cogwheel and pried the door open. Identical to last time, she peered into his room, took one cautious step in and hesitantly called out,

“You’ve requested my assistance, Prince Zuko?”

Mindful of the eye, Lila discreetly pushed some hair and hid it from view. The reaction of the men before told Lila it’d be better to keep her disability hidden if it was that distracting.

“Yes, come quickly. I want to be ready by the time we reach the southern water tribe.”

Judging from the clam raspy tone of voice, Lila concluded that The Prince wasn’t angry and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

Near his meditation table, Prince Zuko stood like any fire nation soldier would with the usual scowl on his lips. As Lila inched in front of him she could already see that the straps holding his fire nation armor together were tied in all the wrong places. Being alone and in such close proximity to the brooding prince, Lila felt her nerves begin to quake. No way did she want a repeat of last time, anxiety sprouting from her chest. The tension was palpable in the room. The lack of conversation didn’t help either as she thought of what Prince Zuko and his men might do to the people living in that tribe. Though she’s never been to the northern or southern water tribe, they were still her mother’s people, thus making them part of her kin.

“Will they do what the fire nation did to my village, too? We didn’t even have the Avatar either and they still ravaged my village.”

In an attempt to silence her thoughts, Lila gingerly grabbed the chords holding the chest piece of his armor together and set to work. Her eyes trained solely on his battle wear. Cautious of her injury Lila made sure to keep her finger from touching him. Any bump or jostle hurt. Though her fingers, minus her pointer, were moving, her mind remained on the tribe's native people.

Zuko looked straight ahead as the shaky but lithe digits of the servant – Lila, was it? - untied and retied the straps in the correct places. The reason why he called for her specifically was that he figured she’d know how to do this from her years of servitude at the palace. Before his banishment, before that fateful day. As thoughts of his family started to prod the strongholds of his mind, Prince Zuko didn’t see Lila peek up at him from the side of his shoulder until he heard her low voice fill the thick quiet of his room.

“What’re you going to do to them?”

Like an arrow, sharp and precise, prince Zuko’s stare shot to her own, making Lila’s eyes widened in surprise. She expected him to be looking straight ahead if he were to answer her.

Breaking eye contact with him, Lila looked down and closed her blinded eye desperately hoping he didn’t see it as she went to fix the strings behind him. Erratic. That’s how Lila’s heartbeat felt. But yes, Zuko fully saw the milky hue of her eye. He too had a similar reaction like the three men, but not one of distaste or disgust. Just surprise, but he soon discarded what the feeling once he processed what she asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, servant.”

Cold with an edge of warning. That’s all Lila could sense wrapped around his heated words. Especially when he said her name. Now onto the left shoulder greave, Lila peeked at him again. He was looking straight ahead, his face taut with contemplation? Lila couldn’t tell. With a beat of hesitation, she licked her lips. She could already tell he was beginning to lose patience. If she were to say another word, she didn’t doubt he’d snap. Her brain was telling her not to say anything, she was walking on thin ice that was melting fast, but her mouth felt differently.

“May I speak Prince Zuko?”

“No, you may not. Finish fixing this and go. I don’t need to hear what you have to say,” Prince Zuko snapped in restraint.

All while arguing with herself, Lila moved to squat in front of him and began tying the laces of his shin guards. She did not want to witness another fire nation attack on any village again, especially when innocent people are involved. Though she felt if she were to talk out of turn, prince Zuko would surely lose his patience and probably punish her. Besides, what could someone like her do, realistically? No one has ever listened to her. She has no voice, but still. They are my people, too. I have to try.

Opening and closing her mouth Lila fought to push the words out.

“The water tribe did nothing-”

Unnaturally warm hands cut through her sentence and seized her wrists as she was forcefully pulled up from the floor and against Prince Zuko’s armor-clad form. Strands of curls unintentionally tangling in his grasp. Chest to chest, with Zuko holding her wrists and hair between them, he glared down at Lila. Fear radiated off her body in waves. She felt way too exposed without her eye patch and a dull ache throbbed from her finger when her hands bumped against his armor. White and brown eyes flickered between golden ones before looking around the room to avoid his stare, but to no avail. Calloused fingers laced with hair firmly, but not painfully, gripped her jaw turning her face to his, thumb pressing into her cheek.

Patience completely evaporated, Prince Zuko ground out, “I told you not to speak, didn’t I?”

With shuddering breaths and petrified eyes, Lila could only nod faintly. Paralyzed by his overwhelming build the words on her tongue melted, sliding down her throat. Releasing her jaw, Prince Zuko let go of her wrists, strands of hair snagging on his fingers as he dropped his hand. Lila winced from the sudden plucks of her curls. Shaking the hair off he rubbed the bridge of his nose, shut his weary eyes and sighed,

“Finish the last shin guard and leave.”

No reply came from the young girl as she dropped and tied the shin greave. A slight tremor in her hands. Once she was done she stood up with her head hanging low.

“I’ve finished Prince Zuko, do you require anything else before I go?”

“No.”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as Lila bowed. Rising back up she somehow managed to calmly exit the prince’s quarters, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form the whole time. With the loud thud of his metal door closing, both Lila and Prince Zuko let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Lila had half a mind to go to uncle Iroh’s room and talk with him about what his nephew was planning to do. Talk with him about how the Prince was nothing like what Iroh describes him as but decided against it since he was most likely napping. It was hard for her to believe there was kindness in the Prince’s heart when all she’s ever seen from him was anger and rage. You could see his brutality and hate in the way he bended, too. Once she exited the command tower the sun was still hanging onto the horizon, waiting for someone to look at what it created, but a thick mist now covered the expanse of the water the ship navigated. When out of the blue, loud crackling emanated below the ship. Lila ran to the front and hunched over the edge of the railing to see what was going on.

Squinting through the mist, she saw the ship’s hull was no longer sailing on water but breaking and cracking through solid ice. Snapping her head up Lila saw the ground splitting toward the water tribe’s village! One large jagged fault traveling right through the middle of it. Prince Zuko’s ship rammed through the iced floor like it were a piece of paper. Lila couldn’t help but panic internally, they were coming extremely close to the water tribe!

“If this ship doesn’t stop we’re going to run right through!” she gasped in horror.

From what she could see in the vapory haze, the southern water tribe was quaint. A wall made of snow circled the tribe, acting as a barricade. Small igloos littered within. From behind, the sound of the Prince and his men’s shoes clanked across the deck toward the front of the ship, preparing to disembark. Anxiety, fear, and apprehension swirled within her. This scene hitting way too close to home for her liking. She never signed up for this, well she didn’t sign up for this at all, but still. The three years she’s been on this ship she never really thought about what capturing the avatar looked like or being there to see it. All Lila knew was she didn’t like where this was headed at all. The prospect of the past repeating itself right before her eyes scared her.

When she turned to watch them pass Lila’s eyes caught prince Zuko’s for a brief moment. Again, he found nervousness swimming in her stare, and again, he didn’t care.

Finally, the ship came to a halt with an ominous screech. Powerless, Lila watched with bated breath. Her eyes flitting between the native people down below and Prince Zuko’s men. She swore her heart was going to pop out of her chest from how hard it was pounding it almost hurt. Suddenly the hull of the ship dropped, turning into a makeshift ramp, a loud thud resonating in the air. The ship's metal easily overpowered the tribe's barrier, the snow crumbling as it gave into its weight.

Faintly Lila could hear a feminine voice yelling for someone to get out of the way. The shrill scream making Lila’s heart drop and then kick up in speed, assuming the worst. It felt like her feet were bolted to the floor as she helplessly watched the Prince and his firebenders disembark the ship. Visibly shaking, Lila leaned over the front of the ship again to see, legs feeling like they were going to give out any moment.

From her spot, she could see Prince Zuko and his guards disembarking and a young water tribe boy with war paint coating his tanned skin, belt out a war-like cry as he charged up the ramp at Prince Zuko. The boy’s weapon of choice, a water tribe club, raised high over his head. He was easily overtaken. Lila winced when the Prince’s leg side swept the boy's club out of his hand, then kicked him in the face, sending the boy flying off the side of the ramp and into the snow. Lila could hear Iroh’s voice in the back of her head talking about how he knew his nephew wasn’t as corrupted as his other family members, but what she was seeing now proved otherwise. He was unlike what Iroh always tried to tell her. The Prince was brutal.

Zuko continued walking down the ship as if nothing happened. His steps were powerful and determined. The people of the tribe huddled up in one big group, trepidation and terror embedded in all of their blue eyes. With the men of the village off to war, Zuko was unsurprised to see the ones that remained were the women and children, except for the war-painted boy if you’d count him as a man. However, the longer no one spoke the more time was wasted in capturing the Avatar. The silence was so tense Lila felt it up on the ship. Zuko stopped in front of the crowd, his eyes sizing up each woman and child until his glare stopped on this one girl holding onto the arm of an elderly lady.

“Where are you hiding him?”

When no one spoke, both Lila and the young girl gasped when the banished Prince roughly pulled the elderly lady from the girl’s grasp.

“He’d be about this age? Master of all four elements?” Zuko demanded, shaking the woman by her for emphasis.

Again, no one answered him, they were all stunned in silence and fright. After a beat of quiet, Prince Zuko carelessly shoves the old woman back into the young girl’s arms. Both water tribe women gasping. Lila watches worriedly, praying up above that this village will be spared from the fire nation’s fury. Even from the ship, Lila saw the Prince tense up in frustration and knew what he was going to do next and whispered “no,” as he launched a wave of fire inches above the villager's heads. The women and children screamed and cowered before him.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

Below her, Lila saw the water tribe boy free himself from the snowy confines he was kicked into, the majority of his face free of paint as he picked up his club and ran at Zuko once more with another loud battle cry. At the last second, Zuko turned toward the annoyingly loud boy and dodges the boy’s attack, flipping him over his head when he swiped at the Prince. When he hit the ground Zuko punched another blistering fireball at him. Luckily, the tanned boy gathers himself rolling away from the blast, swiftly retrieving a boomerang that was strapped to his back and throws it at the Fire Lord’s son. It surprised both Lila and Zuko with how fast and strong he threw it, the air whistling as it narrowly missed the Prince’s face. Even where Lila was standing the boomerang would’ve whacked her in the face if she didn’t duck in time. All the while her eye followed the boomerang’s path. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“Even without bending,” Lila hopefully thought, “he’s handling himself well against the Prince. Maybe…this village won’t be ransacked.”

A growl erupts from the Crown Prince’s throat before he can shoot more fire at the irritating boy who just won’t quit, a little water tribe child cries out,

“Show no fear!” Throwing a fishing spear made of bone at his opponent. Again, he charged at Zuko, the spear positioned like he was going to run him through, but the Prince was prepared. “He lacks training,” Zuko gathered, easily breaking the spear in half with his wrist guards. He then snatched the bone rod from the boy’s hands, poking him repeatedly in the head with the butt of it until he fell on his bottom, and broke it in half again before throwing it to the ground.

On the ship, Lila’s eye followed the boomerang as it curled back around and headed back to the owner who threw it. With her eyes still on the weapon, she gradually turned and watched it spin at dizzying speed before it slammed into the back of Prince Zuko’s helmet with a loud thwack. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise as she wondered if the water tribe boy planned for that to happen, but her face fell when she saw the Prince standing menacingly over the boy’s fallen form. Fire jet out from his tightly clenched fists, the orange embers creating a dagger-like weapon.  

For a moment, Lila feared for what Prince Zuko would do to him, but surprise quickly overtook her as another younger boy, maybe about twelve or so, with a bald head and peculiar clothing zoomed through the middle of the fight out of nowhere riding on the back of a penguin. In the child’s hands was a staff as the penguin flew right under Zuko’s feet, sweeping his legs out from under him. The young servant girl gasped when the Prince fell over, the village children cheering for the child all the while. The said child sped past the kids sending up a wave of snow splattering them all in the face, their cheers ceasing for a moment at the unexpected smattering, but continued yelling anyway. At this point, as much as Lila was concerned over the fate of the water tribe, she didn’t know if it was morally okay for her to laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

Still, relief filled her heart knowing that Prince Zuko’s plan of capturing the Avatar wasn’t going according to plan. No village, town, citadel, or nation should be destroyed in finding the Avatar. Her heart and mind were conflicted. Although she did want the Prince’s banishment to end, she didn’t think this was the right way of doing it. She remembered the stories her father told her about Fire Lord Sozin killing all the airbenders to find and end the Avatar cycle.

Briefly, Lila faintly heard the kid happily greet the boy and girl, their names being ‘Katara’ and ‘Sokka’, with Sokka dryly thanking the child, who she heard him call ‘Aang’, for coming. Lila’s eyes flicker between Prince Zuko and Aang, both of them assuming a defensive fighting stance as Zuko’s men circle Aang, closing in on him. Suddenly the kid swings his staff, and with each swing, he sends snow at the guards blowing them away. With the Prince being the last one standing Aang sends another blast of snow at him, but he was unmoved, uncle Iroh’s firebending lessons paying off.

“Looking for me?”

Processing everything the child managed to do in under ten seconds, Lila’s brows furrowed. He managed to disarm and beat all of Prince Zuko’s men like it was nothing just by throwing snow at them. At first, she thought he was a waterbender but he didn’t move like one. His fighting style was different from what her mother tried to teach her and different from what she’s seen earthbenders and firebenders do. It was unlike anything she’s ever seen. On top of that, the arrow on his head and the unusual choice of clothing he wore was vastly unfamiliar from the clothes in her hometown and the fire nation. Her eyes widened in realization. No, this child couldn’t be- Prince Zuko voiced her incredulity, the snow Aang bent at him melting off his shoulders and fists, “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

~

A/N: OKAYYYYY!!! Just so you know I want you guys to keep Zuko’s “Contemplation?” face in mind. There’s a few things I want you guys to catch in part 2. Sorry if it was slow paced. I hope you enjoyed it and please excuse any grammatical errors. Have a blessed day! Chapter three may come later cuz I have a zuko request I want to write!

Taglist (If i missed anyone PLEASE let me know :))

@bangtanboyswriting123 @bookedforevermore @agentsofblinks @lilmou5ie @eury-dice3 @shephard17895 @duh-dobrik @yourlivewire @luleck @oraclebirds

[lucidpantone]

Rank the Evaks on their thirstiness levels 😝

Hahahaha here we go.... first of all the evaks are thirsty some not as publicly as others but they are all happy sexually active queers. Good for them. 

Least to most:

Crisana: The only reason my girls are here isn’t because I dont think Joana isn’t holding her girl down because please we not gonna insult Joana like that. It’s mainly because am sorry to state the obvious but Cris is a total pillow princess. Also canonically SkamEs didn't give us a ton to work with but Joana definitely drives that conversation. I mean she does have a quick tongue on her. Also I’ave noticed in the skam fandom there isn’t a ton of discussion of bi/lesbian/nb folks who speak too much on some of the free love aspects of queer culture specifically within the bi/lesbian/nb community but gonna tell you now people girls have a ton of sex. Girls are also very very creative and with that said need I remind you that Joana is an artist. She is oozing creativity and Cris is her canvas.  

Nicotino: So you know that one friend you have who sees something on gay twitter and decides they are gonna try that out. Thats Marti, he def on the low goes on gay sexy twitter just for “research”. He wasn’t always like this but since that one time him and Flippo got wasted and talked he is really just feeling himself. Also you know Nicco just gives him that “look”. You know the “come over here and study with me” look. Then Marti concedes and goes sit by Nicco and shows him what his been researching. Next thing you know they pop open “the drawer”. 

Davenzi: Matteo is the ultimate procrastinator everyone. You know what that means? He gets distracted super easily.... am just saying. I wonder what him and David get up to when they get “distracted”. Also Matteo surprised me a little with his low key thirsty self. He out here posting booty appreciation pics of David. I was like Matteo control yourself young man (if I only knew what was coming concerning thirsty babies). Also not sure why but I have always head-canoned that David gets a tongue ring in the not so distant future. He really radiates tongue ring vibes to me. 

Elu: So Elu to me is like the romantics freaks. They freaky but they’re romantic about it cause you know Eliott he is such a softie and loves all that gooey shit. Eliott’s definitely cried a couple of times during sex (no hate to my criers out there) Lucas indulges all of Eliott’s fluff because he loves him so much but also sometimes he just wants to break one off and I respect that honestly. Also Elu is def the couple that says “I love you” 100 times through the process and has that really dramatic in the rain, on the desk, on the stairs sex. Like its cute and all but I would hate to be their neighbours. So much drama!

Evak: I mean the sexting alone. Like this is a pg-13 blog but my god. Even! chill my man the youngins are in the room. I think Isak and Even are always all over each other. They got the whole viking blood thing going on. Natural born sea men ready to appreciate the ocean and conquer some shit. Also we forget that Evak is the originator of the “shower” scene. Like Even was just making sure the freak bar was set fairly high for the rest of the evens universe and they had some decent material to get inspired off. Also looking at Isak I really didn’t think he was so gonna be so bossy but he was just born ready. Evak is also so grabby omg they are always orbiting one another in a room. Def the couple that disappears from the party for half an hour and comes back all disheveled. Not once but twice in the night. 

Sobbe: What’s that saying? Watch out for the quiet ones. Oh boy were they right about that one. Who would have thought such a sweetheart was such a thirst bucket. Like omg Robbe, homeboy was straddling Sander in the cuddle clip I was like someone pour a bucket of ice water on that one. He needs to calm down. Well newsflash he didn’t, only got more thirsty. However Sander really is the yin to Robbe’s yang. What did the cyber sex clip teach us? That Sander has a whole lot of ideas in that head of his (aka he a freak) and Robbe basically loves acting them all out. Also “that thing we do before going to bed” Sander!! You’re gonna break Robbe. Also I feel like Sobbe are exhibitionist but not purposefully more like if someone doesn’t remind them they are in public you may see more then you bargained for. They are the literal definition of drunk in love.

[lonestarbabe]

Eye of the Storm: Chapter 3: The Road You Take Alone

*Can be read as a stand alone (AO3)

Carlos tries not to let his mental health spiral out of control.

Carlos isn’t used to waking up to an empty bed, and he misses hitting a limb when he stretches his body too far onto the other side. Even though T.K. still technically lives with his dad, he’s been spending a good deal of time at Carlos’. Carlos has gotten used to having him around, so when he’s gone, it’s too quiet, and Carlos can hear his thoughts rage in the stiff air of his mind, forming hard peaks like beaten egg whites. His thoughts are becoming unruly. They’re angry and anxious. You’ll never be happy, they tell him. Something will always make you feel dissatisfied. Things always go wrong, and you never know when the awfulness will strike, so you have to be prepared for all the badness that will come. If you aren’t prepared, bad things will happen.

His head pounds as the thoughts crescendo. His bed is lumpy under his body and his sheets are oddly scratchy. Usually, his bed is a safe little oasis, and the worrying doesn’t start until his feet reach the floor, but his thoughts are bolder today; they have no regard for those blessed moments of aimless contemplation that he loves so much. There’s no time for you to be tranquil. The world is unhinged, and you’ve got to find a way to fix it, or at least your little part of it. I just want to relax. No time for that. You’ve got to start your day. Five more minutes. Start your day. Two more minutes. Start your day. One more minute. I won’t say it again: start your day.

There’s so much he has to do, he knows that, but his mental to-do list is disjointed like building blocks after a child has torn them and scattered them across the room during a tantrum. He needs to piece them back together, but it takes so much energy just to do that let alone tackle the items on the list. The world is an overwhelming place when you can’t even process your own thoughts. I need to get going or I’m going to waste the entire day. Listen to yourself. You’ve got to hurry up and get something done before you give up on trying. I can do this. Getting my shit together can’t be that hard, can it?

Order is not something that Carlos likes to do; it is something he has to do. It keeps me from losing my head. Nothing feels right when left to chance, so each morning, he shakes the question marks as well as he can. He plans and he prepares for the day ahead. He lists the things that are likely to go wrong, and he thinks of ways he’ll address them when they happen. He reminds himself that he can handle the obstacles because, at one time or another, he has prepared for them all. But there are too many variables, and you cannot alphabetize a list if you don’t know the first letters of the items on that list. You can make deductions and guesses, but you can’t know. It is fruitless to try to control the inevitable mystery that comes with being alive, but Carlos tries. If he thinks about a thought long enough, he can work it to death. Once it’s dead, he can feel okay. For a while.

He’s got his thoughts under control most of the time. He’s learned to work through them efficiently, shoving them out of the way each morning and each night before they can drag him too far down into the abyss of rumination. While he’s taught himself to work through them quickly, some days, thoughts are sticky. They are gum glued to the ground with superglue, waiting for an unsuspecting shoe. The thoughts cling to his mind, oozing over the information he actually needs, and he has to work just a little bit harder to scrape them off of the walls of his brain.

Thank god people couldn’t see thoughts because if they could, they’d see that Carlos’ thoughts are twisted remnants of what thoughts should be. They’re the warped pieces of metal left after a plane crash— they don’t have much function, but their sharp edges can cut you. He doesn’t want today to be one of those days that brings those destructive thoughts to the forefront of his brain, but Carlos feels darkness sneaking into his brain with about as much stealth as a cat with a giant bell weighing down her steps. Somedays, it slips in without a trace, but it doesn’t matter because no matter how it comes, it always gets in.

He wishes he didn’t have the day off work. The space in his schedule leaves too much room for intrusion. Distraction has always been the thing that keeps Carlos sane. Work, working out, going out with friends are some of the things that keep him on his toes and feeling level. Distraction can’t take away all the darkness, but it can hold it away until it finally crawls back into bed with Carlos one quiet morning.

He should have known that the darkness would come on like this. The darkness – that’s what he’s always called it, but he isn’t sure whether the name makes it sound worse or better than the clinical name. You wouldn’t expect it from him, the depression, but it’s a familiar foe. He’s usually the one that people use as a strong pillar, and he hates how weak the darkness makes him feel. His depression comes in waves, and it comes unexpectedly. Some things may trigger the depression, sure, but it can come when he’s feeling good, just as it can come when he’s already feeling bad. It usually doesn’t last long, but it waxes and wanes and hangs over him even when he can’t see it.

It’s time to get up, his brain persists, urging him to suck up the lowness in his core and get on with what he has to do. Stop lazing around and do something. You could get so much done today if you just did it. Why are you like this? What’s stopping you other than yourself? Do something. Anything.

He drags his feet over the side of the bed, and the ground comes against his heels too fast, and he has to balance himself to not tumble back into bed. Oh, but I’m tempted. I could give in to the urge, wrap myself in blankets, and close myself off to the world. As the urge to do nothing calls to Carlos, his need for order also beckons. He has a routine for a reason because that routine keeps him from spiraling. One missed part of his routine can turn into pacing his apartment for two hours replaying his whole morning in his head to catch any discrepancies.

Somehow, I’ve got to get through this day. Carlos has learned that when a day seems impossible, you have to take it one step at a time, but he’s never been a one step at a time kind of guy. He’s good at taking tiny, careful steps because they feel safe and require the precision he’s programmed himself to give, but those baby steps grate on him. They bring out the obsession and make him exert way too much energy for what should be easy. He becomes consumed by little details that shouldn’t matter until he can’t think anymore.

The perk of a small apartment is that it doesn’t take long to pull his body to the kitchen and drag his feet down the stairs. Carlos feels like a robot as he prepares breakfast. Prepares is a strong word for what he does, but on days like today, pulling a toaster pastry from a shiny aluminum packet counts as preparation. The treat should taste like cinnamon sugar, but it’s cardboard against his tongue. He finishes it, and then he eats its waiting twin because he knows that’s what he should do. He washes his breakfast down with instant coffee that looks and tastes like mud.

He doesn’t have to clean the dishes because he’ll use the mug for more coffee when he’s showered, but even though he ate neatly and didn’t make much of a mess, he wipes down the counters as he usually does to simulate a normal day. Because I need to act normal. You’ll never be normal. But I can try.

After he cleans up breakfast, fatigue pulls at his eyes. I could just go back to bed. I have nothing to else to do, so I might as well just give up. What else am I going to do with my time? Going back to bed won’t make him feel any less tired, though, so he decides to force himself into the shower. He stands under the hot stream, letting it purify his thoughts more than his body. He stands there until the hot turns cold, and he’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the change until his teeth begin chattering.

Carlos forces himself into new clothes, and he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s restless. You have so much to do. Your life is a mess. Start by trying to clean that up, and then, we’ll go from there. If you can’t get your act together, you’re hopeless. Cleaning— I can handle that.

Cleaning isn’t Carlos’ idea of fun, but it seems like the natural solution to messiness, and maybe if he can get his living space spruced up, he can sort out the clutter in his head. He’s diligent when he cleans. He doesn’t just scrub surfaces; he uses three different products to make sure every square inch is wiped off as well as humanly possible. It probably doesn’t make much of a difference, but putting so much effort into something keeps his brain from scrambling. He dusts every crevice, and he vacuums using all the attachments to make sure no corner goes untouched. He even wipes down the bottom of his table just because he can imagine how much dirtiness must be under there. Cleaning is just the right amount of mind-numbing to pass the time without making Carlos have to think too hard. Since he’s cleaning, Carlos decides, what the hell, he might as well do some laundry, knocking all the dirty details of life off his list. Getting stuff done normally feels good, but Carlos doesn’t feel much of anything.

The morning blurs into the afternoon, and Carlos only notices the difference when his mom calls just a little after one. Carlos dreads the conversation as much as he’s glad that it will give him something to do. Carlos loves his mom, but she doesn’t stop talking whenever she calls, and she usually comes to him to vent. He doesn’t think she realizes that she’s doing it, and mostly he doesn’t mind, but he’s already feeling drained. Even with tiredness pulling at his brain, he answers the phone because it’s his mother, and how can he not answer the phone? She won’t stop calling until he responds, anyway, so he might as well get it over with. “Get it over with,” what a way to talk about your mother. You can’t try to be just a little nicer? She gave birth to you. The least you can do is listen to her. How much energy could it possibly take? Suck it up and do your job as a son.

His mom’s worked up about Carlos’ brothers’ grades. She gets worked up about his brothers a lot, and it’s not so much that the twins do anything that wrong. Mostly, they’re her last babies, and Ana is having a hard time accepting that all her children have become adults. Carlos’ brothers have never been academic, and he knows no matter what Ana says to them, they’re not going to change. “There’s something wrong. They’re not as diligent as you were,” Ana complains. “I don’t know why they’re so easily distracted.” Carlos wants to tell her, Of course, they aren’t as diligent as I am. They’re not anxious nutcases who try to be angels to keep from causing any negative emotions in other people. They don’t have to be diligent because they’re allowed to be regular kids. They aren’t responsible for their mother’s emotional balance. “They’re smart kids, but they’d much rather make jokes than do their work.”

“That’s hard,” Carlos tries to sympathize, “but they’re hardly kids anymore. They’re in college. You can’t micromanage their grades. I know it’s a challenge for you, but sometimes, you need to let go a little bit. You’ll always be their mother. College isn’t going to change anything.”

Ana tuts, “They still live in my home. They’ll follow my rules. They shouldn’t disrespect their mother. I may not be educated, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. I know plenty. It would serve them to remember that. I’ve been on this earth over a half-century!” Carlos’ mom has always been insecure about her lack of higher education. She’d always been good in school, but going to college had not been in the cards for her, and now, she feels lesser with all her children having more education than her. She’s proud of them, Carlos knows— she’s always been so proud of her children— but he can tell that she thinks about all the things she might’ve done if she’d found a way to go to college. In most areas, Ana is confident, but in others, she’s full of insecurity. Maybe that’s how all people are. A bit of confidence and a world of insecurities.

Carlos is quick to reassure Ana, “No one thinks you’re a fool. We know how smart you are, but when you’re young, the wisdom of your mother isn’t that appealing. They’re probably just trying to find themselves. They’re testing their limits, and it won’t always turn out well for them, but they’ll learn. They’ll come back to you when they need your help.” Carlos doesn’t know that. He’s not a psychiatrist, but it sounds like the right thing to say. Ana probably won’t see it that way, though.  She never sees things your way, and I don’t blame her. You’re crazy and unstable and act like you’ve got it all under control when you can’t even reassure your own mother properly. What good are you if you can’t accomplish the one thing you’ve been practicing for pretty much all of your life? Get it together Carlos.

Ana goes on, and Carlos knows the conversation has only just started, but he already wants to make an excuse about why he can’t talk any longer. But I can’t do that to her. “I’ve indulged all their interests. It wasn’t easy, but I made sure they could do all the sports they wanted. All I ask is that they keep their grades up, and I don’t like that they aren’t keeping their end of the bargain. I’ve made sacrifices, so many sacrifices.” Carlos always felt a pang of guilt for all the things his mother had sacrificed. They’d never had a lot of money, and Ana had given everything for her children so that they could have whatever opportunities they wanted.

All his life, Carlos has tried not to take too much. I need to be careful what I ask for. If I can’t get it myself, I shouldn’t have it at all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he could. He’s saved his money and paid for as many of his own expenses as possible. She’d never asked him to do it, but he knew how much she gave to her children, and he never wanted the burden of depriving his mother. He hated to see her not having the things she wanted because of her children, so he made a vow to pave his own way. Yet, she’s still given him so much that she will never make him give back. And you don’t deserve any of it. What have you done to deserve it other than being a bitter son who resents his saint of a mother?

He knows that way she makes him feel isn’t normal, and it probably isn’t healthy, but it’s too late to set boundaries, and he knows that she isn’t doing it on purpose. He feels selfish whenever the bitterness pops up. She loves you unconditionally. How can you be mad at that? What kind of a monster resents his mother who has only tried to give him the best? She’s not perfect, but no person is, so why hold her to some unachievable standard. There must be something wrong with you if you cannot accept her how she is. She’s not the problem— you are.

“I know, Mamá, but it’s normal for them to want to stray from the nest.” Ana would never be the kind of mother who took a back seat, even as her kids grew up and started families of their own. So much of her identity is centered around caring for her family, and the changing way she cares for them has made her feel like she’s lost her purpose. She’s one of the most self-sacrificing people that Carlos knows, and even when she’s given all that she could possibly give to her children, she wants to give more.

“You never did. You were always such a good boy.” At what cost? I tried so hard to be what you wanted that I forgot how to be myself. Until he had joined the police academy, Carlos had been unsure of what he wanted. What his mother wanted for him had become such a big part of his mindset that it drowned out what he wanted for himself. He became a chameleon to please her, to boost her confidence, and make her feel like a successful mother, and it was hard to learn to be himself again, which is why sometimes he feels better when he keeps a distance from Ana. He loves her, and he’ll always be close to her, but he also needs a life of his own, or he will go crazy.

“I’m a different person, so I needed different experiences. There’s nothing wrong with that. It just shows that we all have different abilities.” We all don’t feel like we have to change ourselves to be what other people want. “The twins are fine.” They’ve never been that into academics, and they are mostly still in school to continue with sports, so Carlos never expected them to get good grades. “They’re not failing, are they?”

“No, but they can do better.” Not while being happy, Carlos wants to argue. He doesn’t want his little brothers to go through the same turmoil that he has.

“You can’t force it.” Carlos knows better that the more you try to force something, the more out of control you become. Not that knowing that stops you from trying to force control. You can’t help it, can you Carlos? You keep trying to capture something that was never meant to be held. You’ll always come out a loser like that.

“I know that, Carlos, but maybe you should talk to them.” I should have known that this is where the conversation was headed. She always wants me to be the voice of reason, the cool older brother who gives them wisdom that they wouldn’t listen to if it comes from their mother.

Carlos tries to keep the agitation out of his voice. “And say what?” He shakes his head, but she obviously can’t see it. “They’re not going to listen to me either. They think I’m uptight.” Carlos’ family always jokes that he should relax a little, and he does relax. He can be spontaneous and flexible, but it’s harder to be that way in front of his family because they’ve come to rely on his rigidity, his ability to never bend under pressure. It’s all just a façade, but they don’t need to know that. They don’t need to know about the insanity in my head. They would look at me differently if they knew, and I can’t afford their perception of me to change. He’s afraid of what they would think if they knew the truth. What would his mom do if she knew that Carlos wasn’t okay all the time? She would probably blame herself, and Carlos couldn’t have that.

He imagines coming clean, sometimes. It is so lonely to handle the weight of his dysfunction on his own. He likes to fantasize about blurting everything wrong out in one go and not giving a damn what everyone thinks. It would be cathartic, and he wouldn’t feel like he has to hide so many parts of himself because that’s what he is doing. He’s hiding because it’s easy to hide than to own his imperfections. He doesn’t want anyone to see him as broken, especially when they sp desperately need him to be solid.

“They do not see you that way. They look up to you. You’re their big brother. They’ll listen to you. Just tell them to shape up. I’m worried about them.”

“That’s a bad idea. I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” As the oldest boy, Carlos usually takes his role as an older brother in stride, but he’s so exhausted, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that will please everyone involved, least of all himself. He’s not up for handling this family drama, especially when he doesn’t really understand what the drama is. “I don’t think it will help for me to say anything,” Carlos adds so he sounds less defiant, but he’s got to hold his ground on this one thing or he’ll be sucked into a mindset that makes his obsessions and his worries worse.

He hears Ana sighing loudly on the other end of the phone, “Do you think one of your sisters can talk sense into them?”

“Mamá, I don’t think anyone is going to change their minds. They need to take the initiative for themselves.” But she won’t listen to me on that. She can be so stubborn sometimes, and I don’t know how to make her hear what I’m saying. You might as well give up talking because she’s never going to change.

To Carlos’ surprise, his mother laughs. “You sound so much like your father sometimes, Carlos. He always believed that you kids would sort yourselves out if we gave you the room to experiment.” He can hear her smiling over the phone. She always smiles when she talks about Carlos’ dad. “I was never able to be like that. I worry too much. You’re all my babies, you know. Even now that you’re old. I remember holding you in my arms. You were a big baby, but even a big baby is so tiny. I was afraid the world would break you.”

“I got stronger,” Carlos says,

“You were always a sensitive kid. I’m glad you grew out of it. The world is hard on sensitive kids. And foolish ones. Your brothers are foolish ones. They’ve got a lot of ambition. They’ve got good ideas, but they have no sense about how cruel the world can be. You’ve seen the bad. You saw your father’s flaws more than they did. He gave you kids your freedom, but he liked things a certain way.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.” It isn’t that Carlos minds talking about his dad, but he knows a conversation like this can cause his mother to spiral. She tries to hide her mental distress when it happens, but Carlos sees it. Like mother like son. He notices the way she becomes quiet and the way her eyes are red more than they aren’t.

“I want to,” she admits. “Your father could become… withdrawn.” Your freakshow comes from both sides then, huh? “He’d focus on one thing, and everything else would become background noise. You and Glo were old enough to see that.”

“I remember, but that’s not how I remember him. I remember him cooking us meals and running around with us at the park. I remember him reading us books and helping us imagine our futures. I remember hugs when we were scared and soup when we were sick. Everyone has bad days, but Papá’s were mostly good.” Some people are better at hiding bad days than others, but we all have them, especially in my family.

“I never told you kids how he died.” Carlos can barely stand to hear how choked his mother’s voice is. It sends a ripple of fear through him.

Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He’s not sure why she’s bringing this up now, but nothing that she’s saying is a surprise. She’s never said the words. She’s refused to admit that their father didn’t die in his sleep, but the kids all know. There’s a quiet understanding between them that he’d drunk himself to death. Carlos had never really seen his dad his drunk. His dad had always kept his addiction secret, but there had been signs. Looking back, he always knew. Everyone around them knew, but they didn’t mutter the words. They kept what was behind closed doors behind closed doors, and that never helps anyone.

“We know,” Carlos says so his mother doesn’t have to say it. She’s been denying the true cause of death for over a decade, and Carlos is afraid of what will happen if she says the words out loud. It’s why no one in his family has ever brought it up. “Glo and I figured it out.”

“He wasn’t a bad man.” Carlos only ever saw the part of him that was good. Come on, you knew. You always knew. You pretended you didn’t, but it was clear as day that your dad had a problem, and you should have done something about it. You should put the pieces together sooner and tried to do something about it. Now, he’s not a good man or a bad man; he’s a dead man.

“I know. He was sick,” Carlos says. Just like me. Just like you. Just like all of us. “He did the best he could.”

“I wanted to protect you from it,” Ana says, and Carlos isn’t sure if she’s trying to justify the lies or is slipping back into the delusion. No, you wanted to protect yourself, he wants to shout, but he bites his tongue because he’s not going to fight with a woman who tried to give him everything in her power. Making her unhappy wasn’t going to make him happier.

“It’s okay, Mamá. You did the best you could. You don’t have to be sorry,” and just like that, he absolves her. He always absolves her, even if it means condemning himself. Isn’t that just what a decent son is supposed to do?

When his mother is done talking, Carlos hangs up the phone. He stops fighting the thoughts growing louder in his brain. He gives in to the urge he’s been resisting all day, and he goes back to bed. Because what’s the point of staying up any more. What else do I have to do? Sleeping will make the day go quicker, and right now, that’s what Carlos needs.

When Carlos wakes up, he doesn’t feel refreshed. He’s still thinking about the conversation he had with his mother, and he thinks that maybe he should call his brothers after all, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calls his oldest sister, Gloria, because as the oldest sibling, she knows very well how it feels to be given more responsibility than you are prepared to carry. “Did Mamá call you?” Carlos asks after a brief greeting.

Gloria laughs, “She called me first. It was unusual. You know you’re the favorite.” You’re only the favorite when something goes wrong and needs fixing.

“You know that’s no true.” If I am the favorite, it’s because there’s so much of me that I hide. She’s only seen the parts of Carlos Reyes that she needs to see. I’ve buried all the rest because doing so will make her happier. Carlos knows that if his mother knew that he’s not as level-headed as he pretends to be, she wouldn’t feel the same way about him. She wouldn’t turn to him for help, and she wouldn’t talk to him as openly. Telling the truth could destroy the relationship with his loved ones as he knows it, so he chooses to keep silent.

“You’re all she can talk about with her friends. She’s so proud.”

“She’s proud of us all,” Carlos assures his sister.

“That’s what favorite children always say,” Gloria teases.

“You can take a turn being the favorite, Glo. She wants me to talk to Gabe and Dave again. Their grades aren’t high enough for her liking.”

“You set the bar too high and now the poor kids are expected to be straight-A students.”

“Like you were any better.”

“Maybe not,” Gloria says, “But she knows they have trouble in school. David especially.”

“Meanwhile, Gabriel is the one who jokes through his studies.” Gabriel distracts David, who has a hard enough time focusing on his studies in the best of circumstances, so having the two boys together can do more harm than good.

“You didn’t call to talk about the twins, did you?” Gloria asks astutely.

“No,” Carlos admits. “I’m not interested in trying to get their grades up. As long as they're not failing and doing decently well, I don’t see a need to get involved.” He can be honest with Gloria because he knows that she feels the same way that he does.

“Why did you call then?” Her voice is gentle, and it reminds Carlos of when his mom used to sing him to sleep.

Carlos sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check-in. I’m worried about Mamá.”

“She seems okay,” Gloria reassures him.

“She talked about the way Papá really died today, Glo.” There’s a long pause, and Carlos can hear his sister breathing over the phone, but she doesn’t say anything. “Glo? You still there,” he adds to try to get her to reply.

“She actually said the words?”

Carlos’ brain sinks a little. “Well, no. She didn’t say it explicitly, but she admitted that she never told us the truth about what happened.”

Gloria sounds indignant, “As if we didn’t know. The denial has never been for us.”

“I know that.” He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

“Did you tell her that?” Gloria’s voice has raised just enough that Carlos knows this conversation has gone off course. He doesn’t know why he chose to do this to himself, on a bad day especially. He doesn’t have the energy, but since it’s too late to get out of the situation, he has to find it. When he needs to, he can always embezzle it from other parts of himself that need less upkeep. When he has bad days, sacrifices must be made.

Gloria sounds annoyed now. “Of course, you didn’t. You never tell her how you feel.”

“What does it matter to you?” It’s his life and his feelings. He can tell them to whoever he wants.

“Because you shouldn’t censor yourself anytime she has a mood. She’s not going to stop having them just because you cater to her and I know it’s a lot for you to manage. You’re not responsible for protecting someone else from themselves.” But that’s what Carlos has always done. He’s a protector by nature, and when he sees someone in trouble, he steps in.

“Be nice. She’s your mother.” Gloria’s frustration with her mother is obvious. It’s not that she’s not sympathetic, but she’s never experienced what Gloria has experienced. She doesn’t understand how hard it is to rise above your bad days.

“And I love her, but she needs professional help. Too much of her life is centered around being our mother. She can’t rely on us to fill in all her gaps. She needs a life of her own. I hate seeing her when she gets bad, and she’ll keep getting bad unless she decides to make a change.” If Ana knew that she was talking about her this way, it would devastate her, and just the thought of her overhearing this conversation makes Carlos want to end it, but he lets Gloria say her piece.

“Well, that’s never going to happen.” That’s the problem. He knows that she’s never going to seek help on her home, so it’s either he tries and fails to help her or he doesn’t try at all. Trying feels better than doing nothing.

“So what then? You have to be whatever makes Mamá happy?” Isn’t that what I’ve been? How can I be anyone else at this point? She needs me, and I can’t let her down. Carlos knows that they don’t have healthy boundaries, but that’s just how his family is.

“I don’t always choose what Mamá wants.” For as many concessions he makes with her, there are some that he is unwilling to let her cross for his own sanity. “She didn’t like the idea of me being gay.”

“She always accepted your sexuality.” That’s the simple way of putting it. His mom has never been anything but supportive. When he told her, she hugged him and said that she loved him no matter who he loved, but he had always had a feeling that her initial acceptance had been because it would make her a bad mother not to accept him, and being a good mother is the thing that she has always most wanted to be, often to the point of too closely resembling the stereotypical image of a mother.

“I know she always loved me just the same, but it took time for her to get used to it.” He doesn’t remember her saying bad things about gay people, but he had seen her smile fall just a fraction when he told her the truth.

“She’ll get used to other things, too. Your relationship with her can evolve if you let it. It might be better for everyone.”

“I can’t stop worrying about her.” The worry is lodged in his mind. It is one of his oldest friends, and no matter how far he goes, it is part of him. He’s spent so long concerned about his mother that not exhausting so much energy worrying would leave a hole in his life. As messed up as it is, he doesn’t know who he is without his fears. If he let them go, even just some of them, he thinks that things might get even worse. No one else seems to understand the way he needs to indulge the worry to feel safe.

“And I’m not asking you to, but you don’t have to deal with everything alone, hermanito.”

“Yeah maybe,” Carlos says because he’s too tired to argue with her about her. “I’ve got to go Glo,” he says as an escape from the conversation. “T.K. is calling.”

“Okay, Carlos, go talk to your man. I love you.” He’s lucky to have Glo. She’s always trying to look after him when he’s trying to look after everyone else.

“I love you too. Talk soon,” he says before hanging up and putting the phone beside him. The phone is silent now, and he misses the noise, but he is relieved that he doesn’t have to listen anymore just the same.

He lays back on his couch and flips the TV on. He turns to his favorite crime drama, the one that got him interested in law enforcement, but he doesn’t pay attention. He lets the scenes pass through his brain mindlessly without leaving a dent in his memory. He stays there for hours, only getting up when he’s hungry or needs to use the bathroom. He lets the hours blur until his mind is so numbed that he needs to do something just to remember there’s a world outside his apartment.

To find a connection to the outside world, Carlos has T.K. over in the evening because starting the next morning, T.K. has to work for two days, and Carlos doesn’t want to wait that long to see him even though he’s not in the mood to be around people.

When Carlos opens the door to his apartment, T.K. throws his arms around Carlos. He tilts his head up for a kiss. He smells sweet, and maybe time with his boyfriend is exactly what T.K. needs. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” T.K.’s hold is firm and the weight of T.K. against his chest knocks out the breath that Carlos has been holding.

“Long day?” Carlos asks. T.K. opens his mouth, but he looks at Carlos’ face and closes it again; T.K. swallows hard, pushing the words on the tip of his tongue down to his stomach. He can tell that something is wrong with you. Get your act together. He doesn’t want to hear about all your issues. Keep that shit to yourself and don’t bother your boyfriend about it.

T.K. says, “You look tired.” Tired was too light of a word for the utter depletion Carlos felt in his bones. You’re so whiny. Could you shut up for just five seconds? You’re giving me a migraine.

He’s not going to like that answer because for some reason he wants to learn everything about you, even the worst parts of Carlos Reyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” They could circle like this forever, redirecting each other’s words because neither wants to burden the other with what they both try and fail to hide.

Carlos doesn’t miss the way T.K.’s eyes are overcast, but he watches T.K. tug a smile onto his face as he pulls back whatever he might’ve said if he hadn’t noticed that something was off with Carlos. Carlos feels guilty. You’re the worst boyfriend. You can’t even support him when he needs you. I’m trying. Not hard enough. T.K. pecks Carlos’ lips. “I missed you, that’s all,” T.K. adds, and Carlos can’t help but worry that there’s more to it than that. He wonders if his perception is off. Maybe he’s making a lot out of nothing. He tends to do that. You sure do.

They order pizza and put on a movie when Carlos can’t find many words. T.K. picks at the pizza and Carlos doesn’t pay attention to the movie. Aren’t we a fun pair? By the time the credits roll on the screen, Carlos has no idea what just happened as T.K. gives his impromptu review of the movie. T.K.’s excitedly talking, and Carlos doesn’t process the words he is saying, but it feels good to hear T.K. being so full of life when Carlos feels so depleted.

“Yeah,” Carlos says distractedly to something that T.K. says. “That’s true.”

T.K. gives Carlos a confused look. He chuckles. “You’re not paying any attention to me, are you?” His voice is light, but it still makes Carlos feel like shit. Guilt spikes in Carlos’ bloodstream. I should be more attentive when we get to spend time together.

“I’m sorry, Ty.” How many times can you say “I’m sorry,” before it starts to lose its meaning? It’s always the same old story with you Carlos. Try something new for once. I’m so bored.

T.K. shakes his head, “Don’t be. You know I don’t mind talking to myself.” But you shouldn’t have to, Carlos wants to say. Your boyfriend should be more attentive.

“I should still listen.” That’s right you should, but you’re so selfish. You try to do things for other people, but it’s only because you’re greedy for their love.

“Really, it’s fine. I get it.” He doesn’t get anything. “Are you okay?” T.K. asks, and Carlos knows that he should be able to talk about it— the depression, especially. He remembers T.K. telling him once about everything being gray, so he knows T.K. gets how it feels. Carlos’ depression is different than T.K.’s, though. It’s fueled by pathological obsession and worry more than anything else. Still, he thinks T.K. might understand or try to understand more than most people would. He wouldn’t be one of those people who tries to understand and then doesn’t listen. Carlos has met many of those. They hear the word depression, and they start to assume. They think depression is laziness or intense sadness after the loss of a loved one. They think it is just a feeling. “I’m depressed,” they say when they are feeling sad, but they don’t consider what it must like to have depression. It’s not a passing mood Sometimes, they have a deeper understanding, but very few can understand the nuances, and even though T.K. may get how Carlos feels, Carlos doesn’t think he can talk about it. His throat feels like it may close whenever he starts to say the words, so he shuts up.

It’s a strange role-reversal when Carlos tells T.K., “I’m fine.”

T.K. raises his eyebrows, probably because he knows that people who say they are fine are usually lying. “We’re both hypocrites, aren’t we?”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“We both want honestly about how we are, but we both don’t want to give it.” That might be the closest thing T.K. has been to admitting he’s not fine. It might be the closest he ever will be. Carlos gets it. It’s hard to accept that you might not be okay, especially when other people need you to be okay. It seems simpler to pretend that you’re fine. The thought takes the air from Carlos’ lungs and not in the way that feels like a release.

“I’m not trying to push you to talk about anything, but you know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Of course,” Carlos lies, trying to force a smile.

“Do you need to talk now?” T.K. pushes him just a little further. Carlos shifts his body further from T.K. on the couch, and T.K. sags against the cushions. Maybe now he knows how he makes you feel all the time, the malicious part of Carlos thinks.

“No, I’m good.” He can hear the waver in his voice. I’m so tired, and I can’t shake the drowsiness no matter how hard I try.

“Carlos—” T.K. tries to say, but Carlos will have none of it. He doesn’t want his thoughts or his feelings to be dissected because they’re not something he can share with other people. They’re his alone, and he’s not going to burden anyone else with them if he doesn’t have to.

“Drop it, T.K.” Carlos’ voice is authoritative, and maybe that’s the wrong move because T.K. has never listened much to authority. But to Carlos’ shock, T.K. almost backs down. Almost.

T.K. bites the side of his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Well don’t be,” Carlos can’t help but say harshly, and he regrets the words the minute they leave his mouth.

He feels hopeless because he wants to make everything better, but there’s no easy fix for not being okay. There’s no way to wake up and immediately exterminate the termites that chew at the core parts of your mind. You have to swim through a boiling, sludgy roux as it begins to curdle and drag you down with its soiled weight. You have to pull back your skin to see what’s happening inside. You have to hope that something changes even when change is an upside-down mountain that you somehow have to climb.

Carlos isn’t sure he has the energy to climb, at least not right now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” T.K. says, sounding sincere, but it irritates Carlos to hear the worry in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Carlos insists, taking on a calmer voice. Try worrying about yourself, he wants to tell T.K., I’m not the one slowly killing myself. No, you’re just worrying yourself to death.

“I’m not an expert, but that’s kind of being in a relationship, isn’t it? Worrying about the other person and wanting to make sure they’re okay.” T.K. puts his arms around Carlos and leans his head up to whisper in Carlos’ ear. “I’m here if you want to talk.” T.K.’s breath is hot in Carlos’ ear, and it warms Carlos to know that he isn’t alone, but it also doesn’t make a difference because there are some things that Carlos needs to keep to himself. He likes to think he’s saving T.K. from the pain of knowing what Carlos struggles with, but deep down, he knows that what keeps his lips pressed shut is the shame that comes with not being the strong, unwavering pillar of support that he wishes he could be. Carlos wants to be that person that doesn’t bend under pressure. He wants to be the effortless kind of okay because most of the time, he is okay, but he has to fight to be that way.

“It’s been a long week,” Carlos admits, but he doesn’t know how to explain the week wasn’t long because it was awful. It’s dragged for no other reason than there’s something off inside Carlos’ brain.

“Jenkins being an asshole again?”

“He’s always an asshole,” Carlos replies about his least-liked coworker. “But no, Jenkins hasn’t been worse than usual. It’s just been hectic,” Carlos explains because that sounds like the most normal reason for not being your normal self.

“How so?” Carlos doesn’t feel like talking, but he doesn’t want to reject the efforts that T.K. is making, so he figures he can just give a little and maybe that will create harmony between them.

“You know how you have a really busy shift and then when your mind stops being pulled in so many different directions, you get really tired, and then you don’t know what to do with your time?” T.K. nods, encouraging Carlos to go on. “It’s like that. I’m crashing after a long several shifts.”

“But you can handle it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos assures, kissing T.K.’s forehead and running a hand through his hair. “All I need is time to recover before my next shift. It helps to have you here.”

“Babe, I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” But Carlos would never ask that of T.K. T.K. leans his head on Carlos’ shoulder. “I know how hard your job must be. You see some crazy things on patrol.” The funny thing is that it isn’t mostly the things he sees at work that get to Carlos. There will always be incidents that cut deeply, but for the most part, he’s good at compartmentalizing the bad things that happen on the job.

T.K. sits up and leans closer to Carlos, and he kisses the spot just above his collarbone. His lips are soft and warm from the coffee he’d just had, but Carlos can barely sense the warmth. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

Carlos cannot tell T.K. how he is feeling because this mental tumult is the road he takes alone. It is a road of shame and self-doubt. It is a road of feeling unprepared for each new day. It is a treacherous road that’s just dirt, rocks, and inclines. Carlos wouldn’t want to bring anyone he loved with him down that road. Yet, he knew they would all go down it if he asked— if they knew it existed. They wouldn’t just go down it with him; they’d help him pave it. They’d help him put guardrails on the edges and streetlights in the dark corners. They’d form a community around the darkness. But Carlos isn’t ready to put his secret little road on the map, so all he can do is try to stay on his feet and continue on a lone journey down the road.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

❤I want to request the reader is apart of the royal army on Tameran and while in a battle she falls from space and she meets the boys and Kori. Jason and the reader fall in love, ya know, but they dont admit it because they are both stubborn babies. Kori gets news that Tameran is getting into another battle and before she admits her feelings to Jason she leaves. Years later Kori and the reader return and feeling are shared between Jason and reader. Lots of angst/fluff (love your work btw😘)

Summary: Explained in the ask itself……… Thought I took a small liberty. ¡ENJOY!

Word Count: 3574

TW: Fluff and angst. In that order. I choked up a bit in A CERTAIN PART.

People that asked to be tagged: @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @dora-the-grownup

A/N: Sorry that I took so long to write this thingy. I loved writing it and I love asks, but my mind is not in the right place, and hasn’t been due to the situation these last days. I have a bit of uni work still on my back and that has been stopping me from writing, but your comments and asks always lift me up, I swear!!! You are all so precious. I hope your lockdown is going better than mine and that your loves ones and you are all safe and healthy.

A chance —  Jason Todd x Reader

Some would say it’s a coincidence, but Tamaraneans don’t believe in these. Specially not at war, specially not in battle. Tamaran is at war, an ongoing civil war instigated by its own inhabitants against King Myand’r due to his own decision of enslaving her precious daughter, Koriand’r – Komand’r, Kori’s elder sister, is still leading the battle, wishing to take the throne. But they resist, they will hold long enough until they manage to arrange something. Koriand’r doesn’t have it too bad herself, she thinks to herself, sprawled on hot sun, next to a very very hot body. She slaps, jokingly, perhaps too harshly, Roy’s chest. It is slightly burnt, and that might be why he reacts the way he does, howling and feigning death. Kori doesn’t still get human humor, but she has time.

           She’s experimented with humans, has had her fair share of friends and lovers – amongst which Dick Grayson, Jason’s older brother, still remains, they think. Truth is sometimes she can’t even remember the tone of his voice, his pitch or his laugh. Some would say it’s sad, but it’s just not useful. Tamaraneans can be emotional, but they are warriors at their core. It won’t change, no matter how much sun the humans insist on taking, or how much time they insist on spending to rest after eating before entering the sea. She couldn’t care less, truthfully, but she likes to play by the rules.

           It never was (Y/N)’s forte, really. Maybe that’s why in her attempt of escaping, she changed routes to a place they never thought of following her into. After all, Earth was where the banished seemed to go. Who would think that such a prideful and honored warrior would end up there?

           She crashes into it harshly, though; there’s no elegance in her movements, or her landing when she falls into the water, to apparently never surge ever again. Koriand’r feels it under her skin even before she sees her, which she is not able to due to the speed which she falls into: Roy is paralyzed, and so is Jason, who was holding two drinks before stopping dead on his tracks at seeing the scene in front of him. The redhead and him are the first to react. She is out of the water in less than five minutes.

***

           She is beautiful and hot. Like, literally – she is burning as Jason checks her temperature for third time in a row. Kori instructed that no one should touch her as Tamaraneans possessed abilities tightly tied with the sun. It basically meant the more she received, the more chances there were that she would regain consciousness. It had been a while, but there was a feeling of restlessness in Jason’s chest since he had laid eyes on her. Maybe it was her deceiving beauty, softness (she was muscles and tough skin, there was no need of touching her to prove that up); or the waves of her still humid hair, her glistening lips. He knew it was lust, maybe more if not as much as he had felt when he had seen Kori for the first time. She was a unique beauty, with something different which had nothing to do with the physical: dreams died under her eyelids, restlessness in her fingers, which sometimes trembled. She had not muttered a thing, and yet Jason was entirely charmed by her. He didn’t quite believe in those things, but there was something that he would name as “aura” or “vibe” that he felt up from her. She oozed it, and Jason could not get his eyes off from her, which is maybe why he had offered to take Roy’s turn to watch her as well. Koriand’r was impressed to say the least, not expecting this from him at all. Maybe Roy. Not that they had anything serious going on, of course.

           “Myan…”. She mumbles, for first time; her voice is soft, dry. Jason shouts Kori’s name and asks for water as he gets closer to the bed the moment he sees her try to get up on her own. “No, no-“

           She almost evades his touch, wiggling out of it tiredly, but can’t, in the end. Jason admires her strength, her fluttering eyes that reveal a very intense color (typical of Tamareans, perphaps? Kori possess a similar one), and her furrowed brow, like a pouty kid which makes him laugh. She has to rest for some days, but in the third one, she is out of the bed and crouching on the sand.

           It takes him by surprise, carrying a small and humble breakfast as he was, to actually see her out of bed in big clothes and kissing Roy. He can only deduce it has been sudden, since his friend’s hands are paralyzed, hovering over her waist like still seeing where to land. The kiss deepens and only then he grasps her waist, which immediately seems to stop the motion. She squirms, almost pushes him to the sand, taking both by surprise. Is she not used to people caring, touching, or is she just sensitive there? By her slight blush and her bright eyes he can deduce it’s the later as he gets closer and helps his friend get up, as lowkey moody as he feels. What the hell? There is an explanation that doesn’t come until Kori is present and puts them up to date. “A way of learning”, she explains, to which she giggles when he sees Roy’s reaction, confused and mouth gaping. By the way he looks at her when they are having dinner on the beach, he can see he feels something for her. Good for him. That’s great.

***

He should be having a nice time, relaxing and gaining back strength from the last missions they had been involved in in their little exotic heaven, but he doesn’t. It bothers him more than he would admit that Roy seems to enjoy way too much her attention, which she returns, in small quantities. That, to Jason’s own disgust, pleases him – he should not be happy for his friend being rejected, but in a way Jason has been caring more for her. He did not expect something out of gratitude, nothing of the sort, but he thought she would notice.

And well, she does in the end.

They start slowly, with small thanks for breakfast, wandering on the beach, sometimes reading in silence when the sun is down, and the sky is purple. It bathes her darkened skin and she is gorgeous, but more than that, is getting to know her. She is so curious, so inquisitive about the little things and full of life. At times she seems to be on edge, specially with loud sounds, but she slowly gets used to them; Jason, from what Kori has told them, supposes that’s what war does to people. She has scars on her back, her thighs; her skin is hardened, proud badges of honor that she shows off with the little and short clothes she shares with Kori. They both have similar physiques, if anything she is slightly smaller, but they both have curves where they are supposed to, and are full of sharp edges, toned muscles and lean figures. Anyone would envy them.

           “… I know.”

           “Well then start acting out like it. Your people need you, I need you.” She pleads. Jason has never heard her plead, not even when they had a water fight with Roy, which ended up with Kori up his shoulders and (Y/N) up Roy’s. “You have been out too long, and as much as I start to get Earth’s charm-“

           “You understand? How so? Roy Harper? Jason Todd?”. Kori insinuates, making his own heart skip a beat, almost as if she knew he was listening, fruit on his hand, having stopped midtrack from paying (Y/N) a night visit, maybe after going for a walk in the beach.

           “Koriand’r, we have been holding out for too long. We need you back, I need you back. If that’s not enough, then I don’t know what I’m doing here. I should return home, I have a duty.”

           It feels like he’s going against time from that onwards. Roy and her seem to have “a night”, some hours out in the sand where they sit close to each other but without a touch between. Jason wonders what it is, as he observes them both from the balcony of their home, maybe trying to read lips – but they are in silence, content sighs leaving her mouth as they stare at the infinite ocean. They look further than they really are, and Jason cannot help but think they are wasting time. He is wasting time.

           He decides to kidnap her. It’s childish, quick and exhilarating in a sense – stealing her from his friend as they get lost in the fauna, giggling and hand in hand running. She is quick on her feet and had gotten up with ability, used to it almost, before running after him, Jason leading until they were deep into the nature of the island. They’ve never explored that area before, and they have been stupid. Too stupid.

           “There might be a hot source underneath this. It’s not dangerous, I promise”. He explains, slowly pulling her into the small lagoon they’ve encountered. It’s warm inside, not hot, but definitively a change from the water. She seems reluctant to enter. “Please? I… I heard you back there. With Kori.”

           That takes her by surprise, and she slowly concedes. They both get into the small lagoon, cascade not too far from where they are – still they manage to hear each other without shouting. The water covers both of them more or less to their hips. It’s stupid how incredibly gorgeous she is. He can’t stop staring, and he shouldn’t be that obvious. Jason has had her fair share of lovers, women mostly, and even if he knows this kind of things can work with some, she is Tamarean. Is it rude to stare?

           “What did you hear?”. She inquires, moving through the water, slowly the water rising as she gets deeper onto the water. She is grabbing Jason hand, taking him with her.

           “I just know you plan on going soon. You have an on-going war and you want Kori going home with you. She explained her situation to us. The bare minimum”. She doesn’t look at him as he talks, which makes him nervous. He has never been nervous around women, but there’s something on (Y/N) that makes him squirm at times. “I think you should do what you feel like doing.”

           “That’s very easy to say. But I’m not like that, I’m-“. She seems to falter, not be sure of what she wants to say. She frowns, almost annoyed at herself. “I’m bound by duty. Everyone is. I can’t fail them too.”

           “I would like you to stay”. He simply says, bold as ever. This time she does look at him – and her eyes are bright, full of emotion as Jason pulls her closer to his body. “I want you to stay here. With us.”

           >> And I know it’s too much to ask. I know you are bound by duty, and-I have had that. I was… Restricted, let’s say, by someone else a couple of years ago. Bound by my duty to a certain city, so I-I understand. I swear I do. But that did not make me happy, and I did not agree to how a certain someone handled things over. So I left, I met Roy, Kori, I joined a couple of groups and after I left again – and now, finally, I am happy. With you. You are – gorgeous in all senses. Don’t think just in the physical sense, please. Your inquisitive nature is fascinating to me, and the way you listen with your eyes when you look at me. You make me feel seen, heard and it has been really a long time since I’ve felt like that. I adore the scrunch of your nose when you don’t get something, and your playfulness. I see you too, (Y/N) – and the way you fight with us is dirty, is sassy. It says a lot about your character, and sincerely I love that. Your attitude, your morals, the way you are bound tom something else you firmly believe in, your freedom… I know it’s asking too much but stay. Please.

           There’s silence, but her eyes are filled with sorrow. She lets go of his hand and has to physically hug herself, both arms across her chest, as if to not fall into pieces. She feels like that too – for the first time heard, listened by someone else and not because of her military expertise, but because of who she is. Jason Todd, the strange human known as “Red”, has deliberately tried to get to know her better, get her involved in human customs and shared a couple of things with her without expecting anything in return. He has cared for her in a way that few people have done.

           “Jason-“. And he knows, once she turns around and looks at him, eyes full of hurt and angst. Jason hurries to her side, embracing her fully for first time and she sighs, almost desperately. She won’t cry, she tells herself, she commands to her own body as his warm body envelopes her in a way that no one has ever done. That hug is enough to break her in every little possible way.

           The horror, the hurt she has been carrying, Jason Todd can make it go away, even for a brief time. There was a dark time where she thought of herself as nothing more than a machine, a war one with the ultimate purpose of resisting… Which by no means feels like living. It’s barely scratching the surface. Jason Todd makes her feel alive, like she has finally taken the desperate breath of hair her lungs were aching for. Jason gives her the hope that there is something more besides war, the horror and trauma that comes with it; makes her feel like there’s something to come “home” to.

           But she won’t, she can’t. What if she breaks him? Tamaraneans love, when they do, for life. Losing their long-life partner can be fatal, and people can’t die because of heartbreak, but for their people, it weakens them, incredibly so. What if humans are the same? They are incredibly fragile in some aspects, and even if she knows that Jason Todd is an exception (from what he has let her know), she doesn’t want to think on what it would mean if she were to promise him something she won’t be able to accomplish.

           “Don’t say anything”. He mumbles into her hair, maybe knowing her answer. She grips him harder and doesn’t let go.

***

           She leaves the next morning. They have slept on her bed, have embrace each other tightly, still wet and cold – but there’s only warmth between their tangled bodies as he gets woken by her movements, as silent as he is sure she has tried to be.

           (Y/N) is not wearing her typical outfits, but rather an armor – it’s like silver, shiny and very resistant. It covers her most essential and dangerous zones, while still giving her some flexibility. Jason thinks he has never seen female strength so well represented.

           But this is not a show-off, not a runway try-out – Kori appears soon after, wearing a similar armor, slightly more jeweled, and signals her out. (Y/N), almost obediently, follows. But before leaving the room, leaving him behind, she grabs the frame, almost as if afraid to leave the room, her fingers slightly trembling. Is she scared? He hears her take a deep breath and go.

           Jason takes exactly five seconds to decide before he jumps off his balcony. The height is not crazy, but enough to make Kori shriek, as she sees him first, which makes (Y/N) immediately turn around. She grabs him, as their bodies almost clash and clench to each other, desperately. They feel like the last two people on Earth.

           “Please, try to come back.”

           “I will. I will try, I promise”. She nods, glassy eyes and nodding fervently.

           She commanded her body to not cry, but she has never been too good at following orders to start with.

***

           The conflict takes five years. Neither of them are allowed to write, or return briefly home. Koriand’r acts as commander, and (Y/N) is her second. Every thought they have is fixed on war and coming home – to different ones, apparently.

           In the five years they’ve fought, Jason Todd travels with Roy – he is still a mercenary, thank you very much, but becomes somewhat legal. They move here and there, and they never stay too long at any particular place – but they always have their holidays at the small island where they met her. They stay for a month in summer, longer than they’ve been at any place, just in the small hope she will come home someday, sometime. His anxiousness grows worse as years pass and doesn’t hear anything from either. Jason and Roy care deeply about Kori, but he can’t help but feel a bit empty without (Y/N). He hasn’t tried with anyone else, because no one else can catch his attention like she did. Maybe if he tried harder, he would, but he has no interest.

           He is fine on his own too. He has been like that for a long time.

***

           Kori appears first. Tired, fallen from the sky like a light bolt, it’s impossible to miss her. She cries when she embraces them both, perhaps too tired, too hurt from what she has seen and suffered from. They hug her tightly, but Jason quickly tries to ask about her, with her eyes. And she negates, sadly, before crying more into his shoulder.

           “I tried, but I couldn’t. She said it was the only way, and I trusted her. But then she blew up the place and… I didn’t know she stayed behind. I’m-I’m so sorry.” Jason hugs her tightly, his chin on her shoulder. He has been shot to the heart, and he can’t stop the tears that fall from his eyes.

***

           “Jason, dearest:

           I don’t have much time – I never have, honestly. I wished I could have found a better time to write you. At the start of the conflict, so you could know I didn’t die in the first weeks, like many did. Or that I was still alive – hurt but breathing, as I have been in these last few days. Instead, I am forced to write you in my probably last minutes on the universe. My people are worth fighting and dying for, Jason. I hope you will in time forgive me. I wish we could have met under different circumstances, that we could have lived on that small and precious island forever, frozen in time and covered in annoying sand days and nights to no end. I wish I could have met you sooner, on another timeline or alternative universe where I was not forced to make this decision, but it isn’t possible. Not in this life. Not here. You made me feel seen, and you reminded me that this war if worth fighting over so that my people will live, like I did when I was with you.

           Every day with you was worth living. I do not regret meeting you, just not being more sincere, honest. Love is probably too much of a strong word for us, but I’ve never felt like I do with you right now. I probably never will. I’m sorry I couldn’t try harder, but there was no other way. I love you, Jason Todd from Earth.

           Always yours,

           (Y/N).

***

           Jason feels frozen in time. He can’t feel, he is not sad – he knows he is, that something is empty, but he can’t feel that. Everything is numb. He reads and rereads the letter Kori gave him on her behalf every now and then, and he thinks he can hear her voice as he goes through it again and again, but when he looks up she is never there, and he is utterly lost. Roy helps, but Kori’s presence becomes somewhat bitter – he doesn’t blame her, but her absence helps, doing whatever she may be doing with all the free time she has now.

           There are days when he doesn’t have the power to get out of bed, but the lightning bolt that crosses Gotham, almost breaks the sky, makes him peak out of his sheets. There’s a commotion, shouts, and a violet sphere protecting something in the middle of the street. Roy is in, with his uniform, as Jason jumps out of bed. Could it-?

           He almost jumps out of the window, getting out from his safe house as quick as he can. Roy catches him up, mid-air, and lands them perfectly, Jason immediately pushing his way through the crowd until he gets there.

           Kori is protectively hovering a battered and unconscious figure, in the ground – she is clearly hurt and shows sign of starvation and torture. She would be unrecognizable if it weren’t for her eyes, which slowly blink up and adjusting to the change of scenery.

           It’s her. It’s her and that’s all that matters.

           They have a chance. One more chance.

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 35

PART 1 / PART 2

Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29/ Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32 / Chapter 33 / Chapter 34

Read on on AO3

A few days rest, fluids to rehydrate, and a session of blood filtering to be on the safe side had set Scott right. Yet it hadn’t been enough to convince the three medics on the island that he was fit for duty. 

Another week of down time was driving him insane. 

Another week of looking at paperwork and agreements for the business he still wasn’t sure he completely understood. John was trying his best to help, but his brother's time was taken up by diverting and running rescues, a job that Scott was suddenly grateful he had taken on. It gave him eyes on his two remaining brothers out in the field, a chance to know their exact status and position. 

It wasn’t stalking he had told Gordon, simply a safety measure. 

It was something he was considering broaching as protocol with the IR Board. 

Except, Mom was showing more signs of waking up. Scott hadn’t been there himself but Hugh had sworn she had opened her eyes, and since then Virgil had said he had felt her squeeze his hand. 

It didn’t feel right to change things if Mom was going to come back soon. 

He wasn’t sure he was ready to hand back the reins though. Not when they’d all fallen into such a happy rhythm, not when he was now used to leading and his brothers being led, not when he felt like he’d been doing the job of commander forever and it was simply second nature. 

How could he both love and hate a job at the same time?

“Scott, have you heard from Kayo recently?” Ridley broke into his thoughts, appearing above the lounge. 

He looked up from the desk, sitting straighter with a frown, “I spoke to her just before take off, why?”

Nothing had seemed untoward. Kayo had been missing her own ship and had moaned about having to put up with creepy businessmen used to getting their own way when flying commercial. It was nothing Scott hadn’t expected.

“London air traffic lost contact with the Fireflash not long after takeoff.” John appeared alongside Ridley, “We can’t raise Kayo on comms and the plane isn’t appearing on any radars.”

His mind went instantly to another ship that had vanished off of any and all radars. A ship they had thought had disappeared for good but was potentially somewhere in deep, deep space. 

“Sabotage?” He asked, looking between the two holograms, “Gaat?”

John shrugged, “Could be. Do we call Kyrano in?”

The father was only upstairs, having a few hours to himself before he flew out to Sydney to meet his daughter. Scott knew they had to tell him, he would want to know, want to be involved. 

“Fill him in.” Scott nodded to John. 

“Do not worry, I’ve heard all I need Scott.”

He turned at the voice of the older man, pursing his lips as he nodded to him, “We need to launch.”

“Virgil and Gordon are on their way up,” Ridley filled them in, “Val is rerouting from LA.”

It was hard not to pout at the thought of his aunt flying his ship. 

“I shall take Thunderbird Shadow, Thunderbird Five sent predicted coordinates for Fireflash.”

“F.A.B.” John nodded as Kyrano took the seat for his daughter’s Thunderbird. Scott didn’t need to say more as he pressed the button to deploy the chute, sending Kyrano down into the belly of their home.

“Scott?” Virgil announced his and Gordon’s arrival, “Ridley said that Kay’s flight had vanished?”

Jerking his head towards Two’s chute, Scott took a breath, not sure when Virgil had taken to shortening their sisters nickname. 

“We’ll fill you in en-route.”

Virgil shot off without further question, leaving Gordon watching Scott with wide eyes. Spreading his hands he raised an eyebrow in question.

“We can’t lose her too.”

He didn’t disagree, “Go. We’ll find her.”

***

She had to be grateful for the small things. At least she had managed to unmask the ship and her brothers were on their way.  At least she had managed to land a good few hits on Gaat. At least her father had turned up before Gaat could get away. 

The conversation had been terse, both men holding on to so much hatred and anger for so many things. 

“You’re lucky he turned up Tanusha,” Gaat grinned, backed into a corner but still watching them, still all too satisfied, “Someone capable of landing this plane, it’s just a shame you don’t have any landing gear, or fuel.”

The words were designed to sting, she knew he was simply trying to get to her in the only way he knew how. Even if the man that had spoken was someone she hated, somehow it still hurt.

“Tanusha get to the cockpit,” Her father ordered, eyes fixed on his half-brother. 

She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t trust her Uncle enough to leave. 

“Kayo.” Her father snapped, “The people on this plane need you.”

“Her?” Gaat scoffed. 

Determination set in. She had to prove him wrong. 

Fuel was leaking, the plane dropping. There wasn’t time to waste arguing. She just had to prove herself, prove to Gaat that she was every bit as capable as anyone else. 

She could only thank whatever deity that was listening that there was a landing strip close enough. It was almost too convenient for her liking. Was it another part of Gaat’s plan? Were they all walking into some sort of trap?

Her focus should have been on the landing, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to what was taking her father so long. Worst case scenarios came to mind, decompression, Gaat turning out the stronger of the two men, heavy cargo being flung about and causing more damage. 

They had only a single wheel deployed and a belly full of fuel. Gaat had been right; she couldn’t land, not even with her abilities as a pilot. 

Suggestions of pods rigged to act as landing gear, shot down by Brains insisting the plane was too heavy and would crush them. Their only hope was to manually deploy the landing gear manually, but there was nobody else around to pilot, her father still hadn’t appeared. 

Virgil was frantic over the comm but she had to ignore it. Had to ignore the guilt and fear that was gnawing, had to push down the thoughts of what happened next if they didn’t find a solution and fast. 

“How much too heavy, Brains?” Ridley was asking, virtually her whole extended family on the comm. 

His answer was missed, blocked out by Scott’s exclamation of the escape pod being ejected, its occupant unclear. 

The fuel was gone, only enough left to line herself back up with the landing strip and pray for the best. There wasn’t time to think about her father, no matter how much she wished she could run and find him, make sure he was safe. 

Thunderbird Shadow was still docked to Fireflash, an escape for her and only her that Virgil and Scott were insisting she took. That wasn’t what International Rescue did though, she knew she couldn’t take the easy way out, not with a plane full of passengers. 

“We can use the Pods and Thunderbird Two, that should hold enough weight off to allow the pods to not be crushed.” Val stated, cutting Kayo off as she opened her mouth to begin goodbyes. 

It was a long shot. She wasn’t sure if she breathed at all in the moments that followed, the fastest deployment of the two pods she thought she had ever seen as the runway came back into view. 

“Hold on Kay,” Virgil bit out as the cables attached to the hull of her ship with four metallic thuds. 

She felt the jolt as he pulled back, Thunderbird Two taking some of the weight, holding her back from the landing that would have killed her. There was little more for her to do, other than go through the motions she knew by heart to get the plane down. 

Another lurch as contact was made with the pods, a low rumble through the whole ship and a surge of power from Thunderbird Two holding on tight. 

She didn’t quite believe it had worked until the scenery around her stopped scrolling past. Engines powered down, the grapples disengaged, they’d done it. Fireflash had landed. 

Up and out of the pilot's seat before she’d even thought about it properly, Kayo found herself moving through the cabin, returning to the cargo hold. She needed her father. 

“Papa?” She gasped as she reached the bottom of the steps, spotting his figure sprawled near to where the escape pod had been. 

He groaned, shifting where he lay, twisting on to his back as she reached him. She could see he was hurt, a deep cut in his hairline still oozing blood. Being her father though, she expected the smile he gave her, trying to reassure that all was well even as a hand went to his side. 

“You’re hurt.” She murmured, peeling his collar from his neck and wincing at the red welt there. Anger bubbled at the recognition of what it must have been from, she had seen the device in her uncle’s hand spark. 

“I will murder Gaat.”

 He tutted as he reached out to her, a frown on his face, “‘nusha, you will leave that to me.”

She might have argued, might have insisted that she could take him on simply with the anger that was coursing through her veins. Except there was fear in her father's eyes, concern that maybe she would actually seek out the man that was their only living flesh and blood. They had lost her mother to the man, and for that neither had ever forgiven him. She refused to lose her father to him also.

The thought hit her like a tonne of bricks, as her father shook his head, begged her to promise not to go after him

Her father couldn’t lose her to him either.

“Kay!” Virgil broke the tableau as he jogged down the steps to crouch at her side, “Are you alright?”

His hand went to the graze on her arm, that she had stopped noticing as soon as it had happened. One of the crates brushing past her with its sharp edges during her fight with Gaat. She could feel his eyes scanning her, looking for anything that he needed to be more concerned about, even as she shook her head. 

“I’m fine Virgil,” She murmured, forcing a smile as she touched his arm, “It’s my father I’m worried about.”

She was all too aware of him watching them both, eyes no doubt seeing much more than their words let on. Her father always saw more than she wanted him to. 

And as naturally as any father, he waved his hand, “A mild concussion and a small electrical burn, I doubt I will die.”

Virgil still had his eyes on her, frowning deeply, “You both almost did. If Aunt Val hadn't--”

“He is right ‘nusha.” Her father raised an eyebrow, “We came too close today.”

The anger boiled again in her chest, they didn’t need to remind her. She had known exactly how close it had been, she had watched as the ground came up before the plan too fast and too close. If she had been more careful, if she’d have fought more cautiously they never would have damaged the controls, if she hadn’t have started throwing around cargo they never would have damaged the fuel line. 

Lashing out was the worst possible thing she could do, and there was no bedroom for her to run away to. 

But there was Thunderbird Shadow. 

She could--

“Kay,” Virgil’s hand on her shoulder stopped her before she could stand, “It’s okay.”

Except it wasn’t okay. Her uncle had tried to kill her and her father. He had failed that time, but what was to stop him from trying again? How would she manage to stop him next time? What if she couldn’t?

She had almost died and had never even had her chance to say so much. What about Virgil? Did he realise how badly she had fallen for him? What would he have done if the worst had happened?

None of it was okay. 

She couldn’t cry in front of him. 

“I need to go.” She whispered, screwing her eyes shut for fear of her tears showing. 

“I’m sure you could catch a lift with Thunderbird One.” Her father suggested, voice making it sound more like an order than an offer. She wasn’t allowed to fly Shadow home, her father knew her too well, knew the chances of her going AWOL.

It was better than hanging around and fighting her tears though, she told herself, and she could talk to Val. She would understand. 

“We’ll see you at home.” Virgil murmured, eyes still full of concern as she stood without another word and left, doing the best she could to leave the memory of her uncle in the gut of the plane.

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

PART THREE: REMINISCENCE

Story Summary:  They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they’re reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they’ve both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan’s side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

TW for bullying & choking

Part One / Part Two

Word count: 4427

When her alarm went off the next morning, Elianna awoke with an inspiring vigor for the day, doing her makeup and getting dressed in record time. She was excited actually to start working in a place that needed her; the main reason she had decided to move her career to Gotham—besides Jonathan, of course—was the dire and consistent need of psychiatrists to treat and diagnose the high concentration of criminals with psychological disorders in the city. As crude as it sounded, abnormal psychology had always been her favorite field of study, and this city had the best chance of taking her career where she wanted it to be.

She greeted the parking guard with an excited grin, flashing her new badge, to which he gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and raised the gate to let her in. In a few short minutes, she entered into the lobby of the asylum, picked up her schedule from the friendly secretary, and as she moved toward the stairs, she did a quick scan of the lobby for her friend, and with no sign of him she headed up to her office.

A glance over her itinerary for the week told her that it would be filled with relatively low profile sessions brought to her office for her to speak with. Makes sense; I would probably ease in a new hire too, she thought to herself. However, there was one at the end of the week that caught her attention. A Victor Zsasz, who she would be speaking to in a secure room rather than in her office. A small note next to that slot further stated that there would be two guards accompanying her on the assignment rather than one; she couldn’t be sure if it was that note or something subconscious, but something about that name gave Elianna a sinking feeling of apprehension in her stomach that she found surprisingly liberating.

This sort of high profile patient had been exactly what she had secretly been hoping for in moving to the city. As satisfying as it was to help those in need, such as the people who had come to her office in California, this felt right, and she found herself both terrified and excited for that particular session.

In the meantime, she decided to prepare for the four appointments she had scheduled that day. They were all scheduled for that morning, leaving her afternoon free, presumably for paperwork. In the end, all four seem to go by very quickly, and Elianna easily built a rapport with all of them. Technically speaking, she didn’t truly believe that any of them needed to be in the facility. In this city, having a touch of anxiety was probably better than not. Of course, they wouldn’t have been admitted for illegitimate reasons, so she ultimately decided that she simply didn’t know them well enough to have reached the root of the problem yet.

Looking at the clock, Elianna saw that it was 1 PM and decided to take a break before filling out all of her paperwork to meet a few of her coworkers, and hopefully, finally, see Jonathan.

She found herself chatting with a Doctor Harleen Quinzel, a bubbly blonde with a Jersey accent who insisted that El call her “Harley.” The redhead quickly decided that she liked Doctor Quinzel, even if she seemed a bit quirky.

“I can’t believe they gave you that corner office with the window; it is to die for!” The blonde practically oozed with amicable jealously.

“I didn’t realize it was in such high demand.” El laughed and took a moment to admire her new friend’s good spirit, whose smile suddenly dropped a bit as she caught sight of something over El’s shoulder.

“Oh, act natural, don’t turn around,” Harley said in a hushed voice.

“What?” Elianna was confused and a little concerned. “What’s going on, why shouldn’t I—”

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a Doctor Montgomery?” A familiar voice said from behind the woman in question, and she gave a slow smile—finally—to which Harley quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose either of you has seen her around.” El fought the urge to hug Jonathan when she turned around and finally saw his face.

“Jonathan, you jerk, the look on Harley’s face made me think it was someone important.” She teased, and then hugged him anyway, which he returned.

“Glad to see you still think of me as highly as you used to.” He said smugly as they separated; he seemed to have gotten better at handling physical contact, but she didn’t want to push it. Taking him in, she found herself slightly stunned. He looked…good.

“God, look at you, you’re not a stick anymore, you have color in your face and everything!” The redhead found herself smiling, so excited to see Jonathan—her Jonathan—for the first time in years. He returned her smile with a faint one of his own, telling her in its own way that he was also happy to see her, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

“Hold on, I’m sorry, you two know each other?” Harley chimed in from behind Elianna, bringing her back to reality.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I’m sure you two already know each other, but we actually went to high school together; we were the only two that weren’t complete assholes.” She explained, still a little giddy from the belated reunion.

“I wouldn’t say that; we just had boundaries,” Jonathan teased under his breath and shook Harley’s hand. “Good to see you again, Doctor Quinzel.”

“Wait, I thought you just moved here?” The blonde inquired to Elianna after giving their colleague a courteous nod.

“I did, we actually come from this tiny hick town in Georgia. Not that you could tell, thank goodness.”

“Aw, that’s fun that you’re both here now! In that case, I’ll leave you to catch up; I have an appointment to get to anyway. You two have fun, I’ll see you later El,” Harley gave her new friend a tight hug and a peck on the cheek before sashaying off to where she needed to be.

“Affectionate girl,” Jonathan quipped amusedly.

“Yeah, she’s a sweetheart.” Elianna smiled. “By the way, what did you do to her? The look on her face when she saw you really had me nervous for a second.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that I have some antisocial tendencies. As it turns out, it makes people nervous.”

“Yeah, most people. By the way, should we get to the part where you admit that you missed me, or are we just going to skip that altogether?” El teased, and Jonathan stood for a moment just looking at her with the faintest hint of a smile before glancing at his feet, and for that split second, he was that scrawny, awkward kid that she had known before.

“I did miss you,” he admitted quietly and suddenly made direct eye contact, and Elianna’s knees almost went weak. What the hell? Had his eyes always been that blue? Of course, he had never necessarily been unattractive, but it had been so hard to see through all of his misery and standoffishness. Well, she thought to herself, he still seems a bit standoffish, but confidence looks good on him.

“I wasn’t sure if you even knew I was here. I wanted to surprise you, actually.”

“Of course, I knew you were here. Who do you think made Sharpe read that essay you submitted in the first place?” He fired back with a slight smirk, and goddamn where did he learn to do that?

“I don’t know. I just assumed that he would read every submission resume he received. Does he not?” Jonathan shook his head.

“I happened to notice your name on a stack of folders on his desk during a meeting, and I made sure he would read it.”

“Wh- you knew the whole time?” She asked incredulously. “And you didn’t even send me a text or anything, you little rat.” Elianna faked upset, but once she thought about it, it actually made quite a bit of sense. Arkham was rather famous after all, and there were bound to be plenty of doctors as crazy as her applying regularly. And, she hated to think it, but the warden had seemed less than interested in taking a chance on hiring people, given his remark about someone else having quit “luckily for her.”

“Aww, you really did miss me, didn’t you?” She winked at him and nudged him with her elbow.

“Don’t make me repeat it,” he replied in an almost joking tone. “You’re still the only person I can actually tolerate.” He seemed to avoid the rest of that conversation by checking his watch. “And as much as I’d love to catch up some more, I also have an appointment to get to soon. Why don’t you come to my apartment tonight and we can catch up? I’ll text you the address.”

“Oh, sure, that sounds great.” He sent her the information, and they exchanged quick goodbyes, and El went back up to her office to finish her paperwork so that she would be ready to leave on time.

.xXx.

Elianna was still somewhat reeling from her friend’s newfound confidence when she left for the day. The last time that she had seen him, she had come to the city to visit for three days during college, and he couldn’t even ask for help on a report, and now he was able to blurt out “come to my apartment tonight” like it was nothing. All things considered, she was proud of him.

On the way to her car, Elianna found herself wondering if Jonathan had really changed that much in such a short amount of time. When she first met him, she had almost thought he was a ghost; he was so reserved. In fact, if she really thought about it, she could recall every detail of that day.

It had been her first day at Arlen High since moving to the town with her mother. Her parents had just been divorced, and her mother had thought that a small town would be a good change to the chaos of the city they had lived in, and Elianna could hardly believe that the spit of  road could be considered “civilization.”  As much as she enjoyed the spacious old home they had been able to afford, she wasn’t looking forward to the surely boring life they would lead there.

She had walked to school, and the whole time she couldn’t stop looking forward to finally being able to drive herself places. ‘Only a few months away.’ She had been immediately pegged as the new girl—unsurprising given the small student body—and had been swooped up by the popular crowd, one Sherry Squires, to be exact. She seemed horribly dull and shallow, but Elianna decided that letting Squires have her way would be the easiest way to make friends and survive the next few years.

However, the skinny, quiet boy with whom she had shared several classes had somehow caught her attention. Very unusual, given that he didn’t seem to speak to anyone and quietly did his work the whole time. Maybe it was the bitterness rolling off of him, or maybe that the lack of socialization in a room full of obnoxious teenagers, but something about him was just…distinctly different.

During the last passing period of the day, while expressing idle interest in whatever the hell Sherry was jabbering about, she had noticed that same boy shuffling through the hall on his own. Before El could ask Squires what his deal was, Bo Griggs, your stereotypical dumb jock, had schlepped over to him and shoulder checked him into the wall, his books tumbling to the floor while Sherry snickered.

“Looks like Ichabod is in for a pounding,” she sounded maliciously gleeful of that fact, and her arms cattily crossed over her chest only highlighted that fact.

“Ichabod?” Like the Sleepy Hollow character? It was a weird name, but alright.

“Oh, his real name is Jonathan, but nobody cares about that,” Sherry had explained dismissively. “His last name is Crane, like the character from that book or whatever, but he’s just so scrawny and weird, we all just call him Ichabod or Scarecrow.” El had nodded in understanding and watched with conflicted emotions as Jonathan did his best to ignore the taunting and shoving directed at him. However, her mind was made up when a particularly nasty push sent the boy to the floor, hitting his head on the wall as he fell.

“Okay, no! That’s enough,” she had spoken up before she even realized what she was doing. Sherry and Bo both seemed equally shocked as they looked at her in confusion, Bo actually stepping away from his quarry. “What the hell is your problem?” Bo’s face had turned red.

“It’s about to be you, new bitch.” He had snarled and took a few steps toward her.

“Sure, I get that, you’re intimidated by my brain cell count, but seriously, is that what the big deal is? You couldn’t find anyone more stupid and pathetic than you, so you take out our insecurities on him? Grow up; I think more people here relate to that than you think.” She snapped with a pointed look at Sherry, who gaped at El as she brushed past Bo like it was nothing. Wasting no time, she gathered Jonathan’s books in a pile with her own and hauled him up by the arm, dragging him down the hall and away from the crowd. If this was to be the only class they didn’t share, she would be very embarrassed.

“Is your head alright?” She had asked the boy—'Jonathan, his name is Jonathan'—as she handed back his books.

“It’s fine.” Hm. Not talkative. Shocker.

“It looked like you hit pretty hard from where I was standing, are you sure?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, not surprised, given that bunch.” She had turned to look at him as she spoke; he seemed to have been distancing himself as much as he could without being rude. “I’m Elianna, by the way.”

“I know. You and your mother moved into the house next to ours. And you just ruined any chance you had of fitting in here.” She had shrugged, already knowing the second part.

“So what, I’m used to that. Besides, why would I want to fit in with those guys?” The corner of Jonathan’s mouth had twitched up in some facsimile of a smile.

“Hell if I know.” He had muttered. “But either way, it’ll just get worse if you hang around me, you might want to keep your distance.” He added flatly, all traces of any kind of personality from a second before gone.

Look, I believe you, but I’d rather not. I doubt I can get any standing back now, and you seem much more interesting anyway.“ She had shrugged, to which Jonathan shook his head.

"I mean it. Keep your distance.” He had repeated and sped up, leaving her behind in the hallway with his much longer legs. It had been awkward that period when the teacher had assigned her to sit in the empty seat next to him.

Looking back, it hadn’t altogether been a bad day. She had quickly established herself as someone not to be taken lightly, which had subsequently gotten her into some tight spots with the “popular” crowd. Besides that, even if it took a few extra weeks after Jonathan had realized that she wasn’t going to leave him alone, she had finally gotten him to open up a bit to her. It was strange to think about how far they had come.

Even more so when she pulled up outside of Jonathan’s apartment building, from what she could tell on the outside, each unit was fairly spacious; it seemed that he had done well for himself, although he hadn’t been very picky about his living spaces for the most part. Unsurprising, given the conditions that his grandmother had kept him in. He had dragged himself out of the pits of hell into a (presumably) swanky apartment and a fairly prestigious job; she couldn’t help but be impressed.

It didn’t take her long to find a spot in guest parking, take the elevator up seven floors and knock on his door. When Jonathan answered the door, he was still in his work clothes minus the suit jacket, indicating that he had only barely gotten home himself.

“Hello, love,” El greeted him with a quick hug before stepping inside and slipping her shoes off. She took a moment to take in the living area. It was furnished with that type of sturdy yet elegant old furniture, which suited him well. She had been right; it was a good size on the inside, just enough room for him and his stacks of research books and papers to be somewhat scattered around. Altogether, it built that sort of rustic studious aesthetic that she had always associated with him. “Very nice,” she commented approvingly.

“It’s certainly a few steps up from granny’s,” He agreed as he closed the door behind her.

“Yeah, quite a few,” El agreed. She had only been inside of his childhood home once, and only for a minute or two at Jonathan’s behest; he had been afraid that the old woman would wake up and catch him speaking to someone. “I see you still never learned to clean up after yourself, though.” She teased with a passing glance at a sheet of notes on a patient with severe agoraphobia.

“Please, I was there when you rearranged your room, don’t try to pretend I’m any worse than you are.” He shot back good-naturedly as they sat on the couch.

“At least none of that stuff was important,” she protested, gesturing to the stack of notes and diagnoses she had just looked at. “And is my mind playing tricks on me, or did your handwriting somehow get worse?”

“You hush,” he said, settling into the cushion next to her, resting a hand on her knee when she leaned against the armrest and draped her legs over his lap, both of them acting as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and for them it was. “How was California? Did it meet your expectations?”

“Yeah, for a while, eventually, I just got bored. What about Gotham?”

“Fine. Better than Arlen anyway. A fresh start can be useful, I suppose.” El nodded understandingly. Georgia really had been horrible to him. She supposed that she could attribute Gotham to his success and growth. She laid her head back against the armrest, thinking. “How did we let it get this long since we’ve talked?” She asked and rolled her head to the side to look at him. He’d let his head fall on the back of the couch and was staring at the ceiling as he shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly and turned his head to the side without lifting it to look back at her. El found herself rememorizing everything about his face. He had changed so much. Again, it wasn’t as though he had ever been bad to look at, she mused to herself. A little skinny, maybe, but now that his face had filled out to match his cheekbones and could afford to eat regularly, he looked healthier. Even his hair was thicker, and maybe even a little bit darker, which made the blue of his eyes stand out shockingly. She could easily see how his maintained eye contact would be unsettling to someone who didn’t know him as well as she did.

In fact, the only thing about him that had stayed entirely unchanged was the subtle darkness that sat just behind the surface of those piercing eyes, and she knew exactly why.

“Have you been able to keep him under control?” She couldn’t help the soft question that came out. Over the silence of the apartment, her quiet voice sounded like a sin.

“For the most part,” Jonathan replied equally quietly. “There have been some…incidents few and far between, but other than that fine.” He blinked, and after a beat, he confessed, “He wants to talk to you.”

Elianna’s heart sunk to the floor, and she shook her head. The man sitting before her was her friend, but the Scarecrow terrified her. He was unpredictable and sadistic, and he turned Jonathan into something disturbing. “You know I wouldn’t let him,” he reassured El. “I won’t let him slip around you again.” El shivered involuntarily as she remembered what he meant.

It had been during that time that she had visited him during college. She had only been in one class that semester, and the professor had given everyone a week off while the air conditioning duct in his classroom needed to be repaired. Jonathan had seemed stressed during their weekly phone call, and she had some money saved up, so she had taken advantage of this opportunity to fly to Gotham and visit Jonathan for a few days.

As a rule, he didn’t like surprises, but Elianna had been able to tell that he was relieved to see her. He had even hugged her as she arrived and seemed glad to have her staying with him in his campus apartment for a few days.

On her first night there, they had taken a walk around campus after dark, and her suspicion that something was wrong was confirmed when his usual silence was strained, as were his short replies to her questions.

“Maybe we should go back; you clearly aren’t doing alright.” She had suggested gently, laying her hand on his arm, to which he had nodded slowly and taken a shaky breath.

“He’s trying to get out,” El had immediately known who he was talking about, even if she had never technically seen Scarecrow before. “Classes are really taking a lot out of me, and I don’t know if I can-” There had been a brief moment of dissociation, and when Jonathan’s eyes came back into focus, it wasn’t him.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” Scarecrow had started. “But you know I’ve been here longer than you have.” He finished smugly. The voice was Jonathan’s but rougher, and his eyes were filled with a sudden life at the prospect of whatever Scarecrow had in mind for her.

“Where is Jonathan?” She had barely been able to ask the question; something about the way he was looking at her made her horribly uneasy.

“Aw, what? You don’t like me?” Scarecrow had asked mockingly, stepping closer when she didn’t answer. She was frozen to the spot. “Do I scare you?” He continued, and her continued silence was the exact answer he had been looking for. “Good.”

Without any warning, after a moment of stillness, he had lunged for her, and somehow Elianna had managed to duck out of the way just in time and took off in the other direction with Scarecrow in close pursuit. She was looking for a place she might be able to hide, but her unfamiliarity with the campus had betrayed her, and just as she thought that she had lost him, he suddenly rounded the corner in front of her.

Her scream had been cut short when he had pinned her against the nearby wall with his forearm across her throat. He looked like he was saying something to her, but she couldn’t focus on what it was over the rushing blood in her ears. However, she could see with her fading vision Scarecrow using Jonathan’s body to laugh at her. She was going fuzzy around the edges, and the only thought that she had been able to manage was that she would die there.

Just as the last of her vision was beginning to fade and her lungs were screaming for air, the horrible grin had vanished, and she could see the difference as Jonathan had regained control with a panicked look on his face. The next thing El knew, he was helping her off the ground; she must have fallen when he removed his arm from her neck. Despite the knowledge that Scarecrow was gone, she had pulled herself out of his grip, opting to use the wall for support instead. The back of her head ached, and she had coughed hard, still struggling for breath and rubbing the growing bruise on her neck.

She had never seen anyone look so terrified and apologetic as Jonathan’s mouth silently opened and closed, fumbling for words. It wasn’t until his eyes fell to her throat that he stilled, sucking in a deep breath. The traces of tears in his eyes told El everything that she needed to know, and without another second of hesitation, she had thrown her arms around him in a tight embrace. She could remember how he had squeezed her back, and they stood there like that for a few minutes, both trembling from the close call. Finally, they had walked back to his apartment in silence and hadn’t even mentioned it since.

Until now.

El took a deep breath before finally asking, “Can you promise me that you have him under control?” He nodded silently in response.

“Never again, El. I promise.” He added a few seconds later. His answer seemed to satisfy the redhead, and she let herself relax again.

They stayed like that for a few more hours, sometimes talking and sometimes sitting in comfortable silence. When she left, Elianna managed to coax another hug out of him on her way out the door and stretched up to kiss his cheek, not an unusual thing for her to do, but he blushed faintly just like he always did at the affection. She smiled to herself on her way back to her car. He really wasn’t that different from the timid boy she had taken under her wing all those years ago, a soothing thought to send her home.

[lotornomiko]

Dark Enchanted Forest AU That I don't Yet Have A Title For Chapter Two (worksafe)

Still hasn’t reached the dark fic level....but warnings as with chapter one, this WILL have some non con/forced seduction/rape and other dark themes...but not in this chapter!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137747/chapters/63588682

It was never more brilliant than in moments like this, the light alive in her green eyes, and burning with an open defiance. With that desperate anger, and an inner borne strength, it left the Darkness with no doubts about just what it was dealing with.

“Beautiful…” It breathed out the word with a tongue long unused to such flattering words, the Dark more intimately familiar with uttering vile promises, and snarling with rage. But then it had never had real reason for much of anything else, everything so weak and unworthy when compared to this. The vision with that glow about her, the small super nova of pure and unabashed light that once seen could never be forgot. Nor did it want to, the dark transfixed by the light, by its wholesome purity and natural warmth.

It left the Dark One wanting to bask in its presence, to curl up and around it like a dragon hoarding its greatest treasure. It wanted MORE than that, the darkness needing to take so fully from the light as to devour it from shining head to delectable toe. Possessive to a fault, the dark creature wanted to OWN this light, every last inch of it, from the inside out, to the body who played host to it, to the soul it was interlaced with.

That was the vessel’s one and only saving grace, the light she was blessed with, the reason why the woman wasn’t dead on the forest floor. The light marked her as special, and painted a target effectively on her back. She was branded and beaming, and so unequivocally HIS. Now more than ever, the dark ready to toss his head back and laugh, that taunting sound one of pure victory, the light reborn in a form that the dark could now possess.

Made giddy with that realization, and the thoughts of what would soon follow, it was that elation AND the pain of a sword piercing true the heart of the Dark One’s host, that afforded a slim window of chance. Another being inside him began to stir, one Killian Jones reluctantly opening HIS eyes after nearly two decades of sleep.

“Ow.” said the man swallowed up by the dark, but that complaint was more angry than hurt. It was his eyes that blinked against the blinding light, his hand that raised to shield THEIR eyes from the vision before them. The dark snarled at the human’s impertinence, Killian Jones showing more initiative than he had in a good long century.

The dark turned furious, and ever a jealous thing, made a grab for the light that was still working on stabbing them. Weak though the effort was, it would have proven effective, had the creature that light was up against, been something that could actually DIE. It couldn’t. Not from that sword, not from any of those arrows, not from anything those pathetic mortal hands could devise. The dark, an absolute being, would ALWAYS exist, in one form or another, so long as a single human knew fear, knew hate, or greed, the many violent desires, the angry little impulses, and the innate terror of the unknown. It was that of their undesirable natures that had called the eldritch being into existence, the dark one borne the first time the first human had shown fear.

That fear the palpable scent that had called to the dark from out of the primordial ooze, it had brought with it the corruption and lust that has plagued humankind. Every last undesirable sin, the Dark One has been there for it all, spawning wars, causing untold devastation, as human after human ultimately turned on one another. Stealing, murdering, even torturing, it had been an unbridled chaos for so many a millennia, the people thrust into a nightmare seeming without end.

With no hope, and no chance to do—be better, the people had been in need of a savior. They got one in the form of a Goddess like no other, that ethereal shine that blazed brighter than any sun, splitting into the dark, bringing kindness and daylight to a humanity that had been suffering. She was everything the dark was not, so beautiful and sublime, and so uniquely her own.

The Dark lusting for the first time ever, could not be beaten back fully by that light. Anymore than that bright beam of purity, could be extinguished by the dark. They were forced to coexist, the light the yin to the yang of the dark one. Just like the cycle of night and day, the dark was in perpetual chase of that sun, its greedy nature one that had a violent want, a need to possess so fully the light, and spirit it away from the eyes of all.

For many a millennia, a status quo had existed, the dark’s evil corrupting influence, somewhat tempered by the light of day. Calmed but not snuffed out completely, man an inherently wicked creature by nature. The light tried to be the guiding force needed, but with no real tangible presence to either of them, the humans soon moved on, forgetting that there was more to the night, and more to the day.

Abandoned, the light neither held a grudge, nor grew forgetful of those people, so young and child like in mind, when compared to the two beings who held such immense power over them. No longer acknowledge, both the light and the dark merely existed as whispers in ears, the light full of love and encouragement, sparking a great many things, works of arts, whole civilizations, love and an appreciation of all life, hers was a message of hope and peace that the darkness ever sought to distort. Where her love saw great teeming cities born, the dark’s lust had those kingdoms fight, war devastating the land and everyone around it.

The dark wasn’t satisfied with just wars. It was crazed for the light that was never in true reach, and its impotent fury at being denied, backlash onto the humans, in creatively cruel ways. A new kind of murderer was born, a depraved mind that got off on the ritualistic killing of people, no rhyme or real reason behind such an act except to cause new found heights of suffering among what the light considered her children.

Serial killers, rapists, torture most foul, the lust and greed to expand an empire, to take everything from another, all ideas the dark planted in the depths of human kind. Husbands turn against wives, parents against children, abuse of all kind being birthed, the dark determined to make depraved all that which the light had gifted to the people.

Rampaging wild and free, the light could tolerate no more the dark’s cruel nature. The dark remembers that too, the day when the final straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, came. The elation that it had felt, the euphoric feeling to finally be a few steps in reach of the trembling light. They had no real forms, lacked any true substance to them, and yet the dark crowded in close all the same. Eating away at the edge of the light’s shine, coming closer and closer, coiling around it as a thick wispy smoke that would cover and snuff that brilliance from the world.

Ready to take the light for its own, the dark moved those last inches, eager tendrils reaching for that purity. There was no hesitation, only greed and the need to possess, to be the soul keeper of the light. The warmth the dark experienced at that first touch could have melted glaciers, so potent a heat was it, leaving the darkness to purr and bask in its strength.

It had been a strength the darkness should have heeded, a danger there it had not taken notice of. It curled closer and tighter around the light, until only a sliver of it was left to be seen, and THAT is when it had happened. Such power unlike anything the dark had expected, that warmth a violence unbecoming of the light. It beat back the dark, sent him torpedoing a great distance into a mountain which decimated on the spot.

At first, the Dark One was confused, not understanding why such an impact could be FELT. The dark, like the light had no tangible form, all ethereal smoke and effervescence brilliance. He struggled beneath the crumbling ruins of the mountain, felt the dust from the wreckage settle thickly on his BODY. An inhale brought with it smoke that made the darkness choke, its eyes watering in response as bit by bit, the realizations came. Two arms, two legs, a torso, a head and a beating heart.

“What have you done...” A cracked voice demanded. “What have you done…!?” He stared up at a light that was dwindling, falling down in a shower of these faded remnant that could barely be called sparks. At the sight of them, the last dying breath of the light, the dark lurched forward, barely registering his speed. Trying to catch hold of any and all that he could reach, the exhausted remnants of light faded from existence, leaving only a warmth that quickly cooled into cold metal.

Its fingers curled around it, uncaring of the way the blade bit and bled its skin. That unwanted heart beat a thunderous sound, deafening the dark to its screams, the creature raging, barely able to comprehend, the light gone from this world. The dark one was besides himself, hating the light for its trickery, but also feeling an emptiness inside it at its loss. The dark so bereft and inconsolable, could not do anything but mourn, an inhuman sound of pain bellowing throughout the cosmos.

The dark knows exactly to the day, how long it has been since the light left him. Can count it down to the exact second, entire millennia having passed, the dark left to rampage and riot retaliation upon the light’s beloved children. It mattered not what form he wore, what human hosted him, the dark always found a way to ultimately corrupt and overpower its bearer, discarding bodies as easily as one might trash.

Filth that he considered the humans to be, it was not just the dark who took notice of the light. Of the form it now inhabited. It felt the man’s appreciation, and the dawning horror at the sight.

“No...No...No!” Killian Jones screamed from inside, trying to wrest control of a body that was no longer truly his. The dark held them still for this, turning inwards as though to slap the human inside him quiet.

“I can’t do this...” Killian Jones whispered in a broken tone of voice. “I can’t be the instrument that lets you torture and kill yet another!”

The dark bared its teeth in a snarl, more than a reprimand held in its claws. It scraped those sharp tips over the man’s SOUL, heard the satisfying sound of his pained response. Between that and the all too real sword piercing Killian Jones’ heart, the man was in a world of hurt.

“Stop it...” He begged, weak as ever. “STOP IT!” It was no strength to stand up to the power backlash off of the creature so wholly in control. Inside the vessel, the human that hosted the darkness, fell to his knees in sobbing pain.

Satisfied with the sight, the dark turned its attention back to the light. It was still as brilliant a gleam as ever, all gold and shining, with a tiny hint of jade peeking through. It was beautiful, a stunning vision fit only for the dark, its lips curving into a wicked smile.

“Caught you at long last.” Came the taunt. Its hand around the light’s delicate wrist, began to squeeze, and a gasp from its host was heard. She could not maintain her grip on the sword, and the dark did not relax its punishing grip, pulling her off balance, even as wispy tendrils of ink black smoke began washing over that weapon.

“Just WHAT were you thinking?” The Darkness demanded, the sword melting into nothing with a demonstration of power. “Coming here with a weapon you know can do no damage.”

“I...I had to try.” Came the pained answer, the Dark One still squeezing her wrist just short of breaking. “Someone has to...someone WILL put an end to you and your reign of terror!”

That wasn’t the light, the dark grabbing its host by the throat, cutting off her words and her air. “We BOTH know better than that.” It leaned into her, breathing in the scent of her sweat and fear, a tongue snaking out to lick a cheek clean of a single tear.

“Sweet.” The Darkness moaned. “As I always knew you would be.” Its fingers squeezed to the point of bruising, the light starting to flicker and dim. The shine went down to the point even the human could see, a despairing Killian Jones taking note in a detached kind of way, the woman’s beauty.

Long golden blonde hair, those jade green eyes that were currently welling up with tears, the pale skin made an angry pink as lushly pouting lips choked for air. Desperate and dying as she was, there was a fight to her, her free hand scrabbling at the darkness’ fist, her legs kicking out, a foot trying for the wound in his thigh. The darkness felt none of it, shuttling the pain off to the human inside, the howling screams of one Killian Jones echoing in its ears.

With that sound inside it, the dark was able to admit to the finely crafted form of the light, this human a fitting representation of what a Goddess should be. It purred its approval, pressed its body against hers, and only then did it relax its grip.

To the sound of her desperate breaths, the dark nuzzled its nose into the golden sunshine of her hair, felt the warmth flowing off of her, and let loose with its greedy nature. Hands that had just been hurtful and violent, now roamed with a blatant impudence, feeling up the shape and form of its Goddess made real, the darkness intent on learning every new inch of her.

It heard the gasp, the outrage laced in that sound. “I am Emma, Princess of Mist Haven and you will RUE the day….”

“Emma...” It tasted the name on its lips, heard the sultry purr of its voice repeating it. The Dark One liked having her name, for with it came power, and control, no one knowing better than the Darkness what magic a name could wrought.

“Kill me if you will...” The woman continued. “But know you will bring the wrath of my kingdom itself upon your head!”

“Kill you?” The darkness arched a brow she could not see. “I am not going to kill you, Emma of Mist Haven…” It leaned into her face, so close their lips could almost touch. “I’m going to KEEP you.”

“Wh...what?” Came the shaky breath, and inside the Dark felt Killian Jones lifting his head. His voice was an echo of the princess, but even more shocked, for the man had witnessed the Darkness kill tribute after tribute for longer than he cared to remember.

“You’re mine now...and I keep what is MINE.”

“N...No. I’m not yours!” protested the woman. “I will NEVER be yours!”

With those words, the fiery gleam of defiance blazed in her eyes, the woman glaring and fighting, the light that came from within her, growing stronger. The darkness couldn’t stop staring, memorized by that beautiful brilliance, a fight within the woman that was all her own, Emma of Mist Haven kicking, even biting at the lips so close to hers.

“Oh ho ho….” The Darkness breathed out a chuckle. “She is PERFECT. For you and for ME!”

A scream was its answer, frightened, but under laying the fear, was that strength of anger and pride, the woman fighting more, flailing out with her arms as though searching for a weapon, even as it caused her pain, the wounds inflicted earlier bleeding even more.

The light inside her seemed to flicker angrily, as though it was reacting to the woman’s distress. Supporting it, supporting HER, the light trying to bolster this princess with all the strength it could lend. The dark narrowed its eyes at that, watching and thinking, and coming away with the realization that the light was no longer a real match in power when compared to the dark and its host. They were strong in physicality and brute force, while the light and its host, seemed to focus all its strength from the spirit.

Defiant though they were, they sputtered and sparked more like a kitten than a cat. All bluster and bravado, there was not a thing the light could do, now that it had finally be found. And that suited the dark just fine, the woman pulled into the shadows, those inky wisps of tendrils covering them both.

-----------------------------------------------------------

To Be Continued…

Hmm...not sure whose point of view will be next chapter. Maybe it will be a double one...Not sure if this is a good spot to end a chapter on, but it felt like otherwise it would turn into the chapter that NEVER ends.

Had some dark and light origin in here, but this is only touching the tip of the iceberg so to speak. Haven’t really gotten to it being a DARK fic yet though….but hopefully its building to there…

Wrote this one on only four hours sleep too...X_X

---Michelle

[cloudysonder]

Bad Demon (Ineffable Husbands)

Summary: Crowley, in a fit of drunkenness, confesses his feelings for Aziraphale. It doesn’t go down very well. In fact, it goes about as badly as it could’ve gone, and before Aziraphale could even try to process his (already given) response, Crowley is gone; vanished into thin air. So, in a very Aziraphale-like manner, Aziraphale does nothing for a while. And then he panics.

Crowley, purely by definition, was a very bad demon.

Despite how he acted, it was what he truly believed. (As he should, for it was a fact.)

He didn’t ooze the seven deadly sins as he was supposed to, at all times. He wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of death, nor the concept of unjustified violence or horrible misfortune. In fact, he thought these were very stupid concepts; people should get what they bring upon themselves, he thought. There was no need for something to happen to them for no apparent reason.

Well, at least his “evil” habit of questioning authority never changed. (Which made sense, he supposed, to this fucked-up system, which was only Almighty in the way that it was almightily confusing, as the same system threw him down into a vat of sulfur for said habit.)

He spent his angel days making the stars and the sky, falling in love with every one of his creations. He believed in Her with all of his heart, yes, but he asked questions, thinking he also wanted to understand Her with all of his mind.

But that was bad, he was told, and off he went, spiraling into a vat of sulfur, white wings burning until they were black. 

He was a bad angel; years and years of not being one had taught him to accept that. Being a bad angel should’ve meant that he would be a good demon.

They were two sides of one coin, and somehow, Crowley had managed to land on the edge.

Crowley, purely by definition, was a very bad demon.

Except around Aziraphale.

Dishonesty was one of the most sought-after traits in a demon. Lying was fun for Crowley, a good 87.83% of the time, but it was mostly for temptations and “curses” that could usually be considered mild inconveniences at best. Lies that truly hurt somebody, now those were things he didn’t like messing with.

Words were the sharpest sword sometimes, and again, he wasn’t really a fan of stabbing, or slicing, or even just very politely and gently mauling. In front of Aziraphale however, he told lies that slashed like a jagged rusty knife into dry skin and stung like salt and cayenne rubbed into wounds. 

*

“I’m an angel, and you’re a demon, Crawl-- Crowley. We’re not even supposed to be seeing each other, much less, you know, fraternizing.” Aziraphale had whispered the last word, as if genuinely ashamed. “The Arrangement. That’s it, alright? I can’t do anything more.”

“I’m fine with that,” Crowley replied, and the lie dug itself deep into his heart. “Like I’d want to spend time around a holy angel, anyway.”

*

Around Aziraphale, Crowley also tended to indulge in a trick he had learned from the humans: lying to himself. 

Or, more accurately, pretending.

Sometimes, when Aziraphale called him “dear” or “my dear”, he liked to imagine a world where he actually meant it. He liked seeing the people who worked at the Ritz look at them with fondness, liked hearing them whisper about how they were such a good couple, and for a few beautiful moments, he would live in a world where it was true. For a few moments, he pretended that they lived in a simple world, where Zira wasn’t an angel and he wasn’t a demon, and they were a couple.

(It most certainly wasn’t hard, since, by most Earthly standards, they already acted like a married couple.)

He had once told the angel that the two of them weren’t on Heaven’s side or Hell’s side, but their side.

Zira responded that there was no their side and tacked on an “I don’t even like you!” for good measure. Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, this small exchange of words had completely decimated Crowley’s sleeping habits (from once a day to a few times a year), as Crowley would often nightmare, and even when he dreamed, again, of a hypothetical world where they were together, the words would echo through his head.

It wasn’t very pleasant.

But sitting with his angel at the Ritz, lying to himself (even for a few glorious minutes) was very pleasant. Probably the most angelic a demon could feel.

Well, that is, before the server brought a small pride flag with their wine, offering them a meek smile and a gentle compliment.

“Hello, sirs.” They placed the wine and wine glasses on the table. “Thank you for being such loyal regulars. I think it’s adorable how you two come for a date here every week. Happy pride month!”

The server stuck the flag in the vase of flowers that stood between the two.

Crowley reveled in the moment (no, his cheeks were not red, and no, he was not avoiding eye contact with Aziraphale; he was just really interested in the label on the wine bottle is all).

“Oh.” Crowley heard a small sound from the angel across from him. “Oh. Oh, no, no, no, we’re not, uh we’re not together--”

Crowley froze, rudely being pulled out of his “lying to himself” act, and immediately poured himself a full glass of wine.

“Oh?” The server had a poorly hidden look of “no way” on their face but politely smiled anyway.

Crowley downed the wine like a shot, his eyes focused on both nothing and everything except Aziraphale.

“We’ll keep the flag, though. It’s very nice.” Aziraphale added, and if Crowley were paying even the slightest bit of attention to the angel, he would’ve noticed that Aziraphale’s face was flushed and his lips were stiff, as he was trying to stop himself from rambling (as he often did when nervous).

Crowley, however, was instead busy doing something very unmistakably human:

Drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

The demon was done with about 3/4 of the wine bottle before the server even left their field of vision.

“You. Yeah, you. Get me another one of these-- yeah, a white’s good. Have any bigger wine glasses?”

The server glanced at the angel and then him, and nodded sympathetically.

“Right away, sir.”

“What is wrong with you today, dear?” Aziraphale’s eyes crumpled at the edges in genuine worry. It made Crowley taste a cocktail of guilt and bitterness, knowing that Aziraphale truly did care for him, but not nearly the way Crowley cared for him. “You’re just... breathing in this alcohol, like a, like a... what were they called? You know, those lovely clean sucking things that they made last century...”

Crowley flushed. Just Aziraphale saying the word “sucking” was too much for him. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Crowley soon decided that if he was able to think coherently, then he hadn’t drunk enough alcohol. He filled another glass just as Aziraphale gasped and exclaimed,

“Vacuums!” Zira took a moment to appreciate his own genius, involuntarily puffing out his chest. “A vacuum! That’s what it is! You’re acting an awful lot like a vacuum, dear. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Crowley replied, more out of habit than actual thought. Hm. His vision was fine, and his words weren’t slurred yet, and more importantly, he could still think. Crowley didn’t appreciate that one bit.

He snapped his fingers, and a small demonic miracle danced around his wine, turning it to something considerably less wine-like, but almost infinitely more likely to turn Crowley into a happier, drunker demon.

In other words, vodka. (Particularly a more demonic sort, with 730.67% alcohol.)

He downed the glass, and promptly fell over, knocked out.

“Crowley?”

He barely registered his angel calling him, voice brimming with concern.

Crowley came to after being hit with the familiar scent of old books and cocoa, and, upon further investigation, realized it was because he was draped over Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel struggled to drag him home.

Crowley breathed in Aziraphale’s scent before (slightly) uprighting himself. His arm was still wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, but he was partially walking on his own now.

He heard Zira sigh in relief next to him.

“What happened, my dear?”

God, his eyes were so blue.

“You don’t normally... drink like this.”

Sober Crowley would’ve made an excuse well-suited to his personality; something along the lines of “I felt like it” or “it’s national ‘Get Shit-Faced’ day, angel”.

Drunk Crowley, however, couldn’t even process the question.

“Sssssatan, your eyesss are sso blue.” Crowley flicked his tongue out (it had miraculously shifted back to its natural serpentine form sometime between when he drank his not-wine to when he was draped on his angel’s back) to take in more of Aziraphale’s scent. “....’eally niccce.”

Aziraphale chuckled (adorably).

“What was that, Crowley?”

“Really niccce.”

“What is?”

Crowley made eye contact with Aziraphale, and the demon’s yellow snake-slit eyes crinkled at the edges in fondness.

“...Ineffable.” Crowley hiccupped out, tapping on his chest. “Can’t... understand... why.”

“Huh.” Aziraphale didn’t understand at all what Crowley had said, but felt that it was important for whatever reason, shelving it with his old books in his memory library.

“Sssshakessspeare wasss a dick,” Crowley eloquently added, and the conversation moved on, not giving the angel a single second to process whatever Crowley had just said.

It was when they stepped into the bookshop that Crowley’s despair over the 14th century had miraculously lifted, and the demon’s demeanor shifted to one of relief.

“I’m home!” Crowley laughed between hiccups. He had always imagined saying that when he walked into Zira’s bookshop, and the lack of filter between his mouth and head had long since been removed by alcohol.

“Home? We’re at the bookshop, dear.” Aziraphale absentmindedly replied. Crowley had left his side and was beelining towards his usual spot on the sofa: the whole sofa.

“Yeah.” Crowley was sprawled across the couch, tongue flicking out occasionally to gather as much of the bookshop’s smell as he could. “Home issss where you are, angel.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, his head slightly tilted as his serpentine pupils dilated on a yellow background; a tick he had picked up from the humans. His eyes were half-lidded, decidedly not from the drunkenness that resulted from alcohol but the often even stupider drunkenness that resulted from being smitten.

Crowley had looked at Aziraphale many times this way. Just, never when Aziraphale looked back. Drunk Crowley didn’t seem to give very much of a shit for Sober Crowley’s embarrassment.

“I love you.”

Crowley stared straight into Aziraphale’s too-blue eyes.

“So much, angel.” Crowley tacked on. “Since the Beginning. So, ssso much, Aziraphale.”

He watched as a series of emotions flew across Zira’s face. (If it was to be said, it might’ve been that trait of Aziraphale’s that caused Crowley to trust him so easily in the first place. After all, how could an angel who let everything show on his face betray him?)

First, Aziraphale looked touched. Then, embarrassed. Embarrassment morphed to shame as if he had realized something very important.

“No.”

Aziraphale refused to meet the demon’s eyes. Crowley started to sober almost immediately, albeit unconsciously. It was as if someone had poked a small hole in a water balloon and now the alcohol was draining out of him, like water from a leaky faucet.

Drip.

Drip.

“What?” A million shades of hurt flashed through Crowley.

“It’s wrong, dea-- Crowley! You’re a demon, you know, a creature from Hell that’s supposed to be terrorizing all of humanity, and I’m an angel, the exact opposite.”

I was once too, Crowley wanted to say.

“I’m meant to love everything equally, and you’re not meant to love at all; there’s no possible way whatever this is could, could, could be.”

Aziraphale was rambling. Everything out of his mouth meant little to nothing to him, but every word stabbed Crowley in a different weak point he didn’t know he had.

“Romance is, it isn’t, it’s not--” He was stuttering now. “It’s not us.”

Crowley somehow got his mouth to work again, but all he could manage was a broken,

“What are we, then?”

I don’t know.

“Nothing.”

Crowley shattered.

The room had gone silent.

Where is my home, then?

Nowhere.

Nothing, nowhere, nobody.

That’s what Crowley had always been. Not an angel. Not a demon. Belonging nowhere. He had thought and dreamed and hoped of a love that would make him something, but in the end, he stayed the same.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

If only he could stop. He wished he could, he really did, wished he could slow down, wished he could relax enough to find something.

If only he could just disappear.

When Aziraphale blinked, Crowley had vanished, leaving behind nothing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley was currently in a Place.

A Place, because he had no idea where he was.

Not on Earth, because Earth was a place he could get drunk and forget. Now, every drop of alcohol that entered his bloodstream exited twice as quickly, after any, any thought involving Aziraphale passed through. Which was always, since he was the reason Crowley was drinking in the first place. He couldn’t be on Earth, because Aziraphale would always be with him on Earth.

A Place.

Not on Hell, because he had been to Hell, many, many times, and this was so much worse.

A Place.

Heaven?

Well, if he could go to heaven, this whole blessed thing wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

It was because he was a demon, wasn’t it? 

It was, Crowley told himself. But he could have been better. 

He buried his face in his arms, folded on top of himself in the couch he never sat on in his apartment. 

If Crowley was better, maybe he could’ve convinced Aziraphale to stay. Maybe Aziraphale could’ve chosen him over the world, chosen their side. 

Crowley did ask. Once.

The world or him and Alpha Centauri, and Aziraphale, his lovely selfless good angel, had chosen the world without even blinking. 

Even if it meant throwing him away.

“I really should’ve seen this coming.” Crowley chuckled, miserable, and the sound bounced off the walls. “What was I expecting?”

In front of him, a few of his plants had the nerve to droop, and Crowley couldn’t muster anything in him to threaten them. He felt very much like drooping himself. Crowley gently held the leaf of the houseplant that drooped, feeling it tremble for a second under his touch.

He knew it was a coping mechanism. But it helped. It helped him deal with things, accept things enough to...

To do what?

Heeding orders was never a desire of his.

Everything he did was for Aziraphale. To see his face, to smell his coat, to tease him, to love him, Crowley lived. 

He breathed into the terrified leaf of the dracaena. 

He was to the plant as Hell was to him. 

Hell had power over him, was what he had thought. He feared Hell for what they could do to him.

But now?

The fear had vanished.

The worst had happened. He lived for Aziraphale, not Hell, he realized, and fear of the past only existed in the minds of fools.

He mumbled a quiet “’m sorry” into the leaf of his dracaena, and it stopped trembling in his hands. Crowley had only ever cried once before, unsurprisingly over the same angel, over the same problem: leaving him.

He was sobbing now; he clenched the leaf of his houseplant in his hands and cried, knowing that Aziraphale would never mourn like this over him.

Crowley might’ve imagined it, but he swore that he felt another leaf of the dracaena patting his back, comforting him.

****Something that passed through the mind of Crowley around his 30th attempt to drink****

Aziraphale had once told him something along the lines of “one could only be truly good if one had the capacity to be truly evil”, and Crowley could do neither.

*

When he felt shitty, Crowley would’ve normally crashed Aziraphale’s bookshop, lounging on the angel’s couch in the backroom while listening to him rambling about Dante or Dickens, but that wasn’t very much an option now.

Crowley was nothing to the angel, after all, even though friends still wouldn’t have been enough for Crowley.

*

Aziraphale had screwed up. Badly. 

He sat where Crowley had been just a few minutes ago, looking at Aziraphale as if the stars were in his eyes. 

Crowley, a demon: Snake eyes unhidden, snake tongue flicking out once in a while, languishing on his couch.

He had felt so much pride in having Crowley be comfortable around him. Felt fondness for the demon that would barge in and collapse on his couch without warning, who listened to his rambles about books and music for hours without complaint.

He kept seeing Crowley’s hurt expression when he had said that he was just a demon.

That much was true, yes. But not just a demon. Crowley was anything but just. He was beyond that, and Aziraphale had always known that.

He was sure that when Crowley was an angel that hadn’t changed. It was for being more than just an angel that he probably got thrown off the side. 

This was Crowley: a demon that had drove him more places than he could count, the demon that told him that “Another One Bites The Dust” was by Tchaikovsky, the demon that had walked into a church for him, the demon that had saved books from a burning church for him, the demon that loved him.

“What are we, then?” 

His voice was shaking, broken.

“Nothing.”

 Aziraphale saw Crowley’s heart drop. 

Crowley was gone now; probably never coming back. His only ally in the world, the only constant that had stayed, and protected him, and cared. 

“Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?”

He had nudged Aziraphale goodnaturedly and smiled.

Aziraphale put his head in his hands. 

Softly, silently, he cursed.

*

Meanwhile, Heaven and Hell, as both of which had learned their lesson from the last time they left Aziraphale and Crowley completely unmonitored, watched them for about three weeks.

Well, “watched” wasn’t quite the right word. They didn’t “see” very much of anything. Or hear, for that matter. 

(Which was a relief, as Crowley very well would’ve rather stepped into a vat of holy water than have Hastur know that he’d confessed his love for an angel while drunk.)

Hell felt a small bit of Aziraphale’s grace lift up from Crowley’s clothes and furniture.

Heaven felt a tad of Crowley’s demonic presence lift up from Aziraphale’s bookshop (Crowley had intentionally left a bit so no one would walk into the bookshop to buy books for a very long time) and coat(s).

As such, Heaven and Hell were optimistic that both had returned to their proper roles as a demon, terrorizer of humanity, and an angel, bringer of miracles. Thus, they sent representatives to congratulate them. Not because they were truly proud of them, of course, but rather because of a mix of emotions, most of which were elements of fear and hatred of the other side.

For Crowley, Hastur.

For Aziraphale, Gabriel.

*

Gabriel walked into Aziraphale’s bookshop in an extremely Gabriel-like way, that is to say, with perfect posture, hands folded in front of him, a bright smile painted on his face.

“Aziraphale!” He called.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale looked up from the book he was trying, but failing to read, for his mind had been a bit preoccupied with a certain demon’s absence.

“I just wanted to say congratulations!” He slapped Aziraphale on the back. 

“For...?” 

“For dissociating yourself from that demon, of course! What was his name... Crawly?” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale corrected, stern.

“Right! Up There is very happy with you, you know.” Gabriel leaned forward to say the last sentence, as if it was a well-kept secret.

A small part of Aziraphale, one that he now hated, felt a glimmer of pride. 

Said glimmer of pride was stamped out when Gabriel ruffled Zira’s hair and gave him another slap on the back.

The angel felt nauseous. Gabriel’s smile, his mannerisms, the way he looked like he was proud of him... it all felt so fake. 

Gabriel bounced on his feet, refusing to sit down, as if he was ready to leave any second.

Aziraphale thought of a certain demon, who would drape himself over his couch immediately, settling in as if it were his second home.

Gabriel called him terrific, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that he would much rather be told “not bad, angel” with a poorly concealed smile.

The glimmer of pride, if it had ever been there at all, quickly turned into guilt.

He had traded Crowley for this?

*

Hastur sauntered into the bar with a slight limp. 

Surprisingly, the bar wasn’t crowded at all, almost as if someone had put a sort of demonic miracle on it. Hastur grumbled approvingly, spotting Crowley as the lone figure at the counter, sipping whiskey directly from the bottle.

(He still couldn’t actually get drunk, of course, but drinking felt better than lying on his bed doing nothing.)

Hastur grabbed his shoulder.

“Crowley.” 

Crowley looked at him.

“Hastur.” Crowley sighed. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Finally gotten free of your angel, eh?” Hastur did something that wasn’t smiling nor smirking, but communicated approval anyhow. 

“Not mine,” Crowley mumbled into the bottle.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Crowley took a swig of whiskey. “You could put it that way. And?”

“Hell approves.” Hastur shrugged. “Everyone does. Angels are stupid asses. Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“Sure,” Crowley replied.

“Yours in particular though,” Hastur added. “Satan, he was idiotic. Bookshop full of books that he doesn’t want to sell. He might as well be one of ours. Stupid name too, something long, Ezra something--”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley grit out.

“Yeah, him. What a preach. Lecturing about evil and good, as if he knows everything. What does he know? He just stuffs his face all day long like a human. No wonder he’s such a lard-ass--”

Crowley decked him, and Hastur flew across the room.

...

Hastur’s back slammed against a brick wall with a dull satisfying thud, and Crowley’s hands hung at his sides, as if they were sagging with the weight of what he had just done.

To put it simply, Crowley had two things on earth: Aziraphale and Hell, which had already put him into a number of quite strange situations, given that they were almost polar opposites of each other. 

After Aziraphale rejected him, Crowley only had Hell, and logically, should’ve been demon-ing with all his might: knocking over kid’s ice cream cones, slightly nudging the letters on someone’s birthday cake so that they would be just asymmetrical, you know, evil stuff. He should’ve been training a band of mariachi maggots to sing for Hastur, Duke of WhateverTheFuckCrowleyDidn’tReallyCare, not striking him in the face.

But Satan was it satisfying.

The pompous Duke of Hell who had the nerve to insult his angel was lying on the ground before him, a large bruise blooming on his cheek. Anger still pumped through Crowley’s veins as he leered down at Hastur, feeling very much like he’d like to punch him again.

Gripping him by his collar, Crowley lifted Hastur in the air and threw him into the wall again. Just for good measure. He took a deep breath.

After being near Aziraphale for so long, he had forgotten just how woefully inadequate other demons’ company was in comparison. 

On the bright side, Crowley thought to himself as he walked towards the exit. After what happened today, he wouldn’t very much have to worry about “other demons’ company” anymore.

A demonic miracle later, Hastur appeared in front of Crowley again, smug smirk on his face and amusement flickering in and out of his eyes.

To fully understand Hastur’s reaction, one had to understand two very important points.

1: When it was implied before that Hell left Crowley for the most part alone  because of a mix of fear and respect from his holy water spectacle, it would be more accurate to say that it was because of a begrudging respect from fear. Hell respected the art of fear very much, and Crowley had instilled it into every demon who watched him bathe in holy water.

Fear, however, only worked when the one who fears thinks the one who is feared has no weaknesses.

2: Hastur wasn’t stupid.

“This is hilarious.” A maggot crawled out of Hastur’s smile. 

“What is?” 

“You fell in love.” Hastur leaned forward to Crowley’s ear. “With an angel.”

If it must be reiterated, Hastur was not quite the idiot Crowley had always played him to be. He may have seemed so, but that was simply because Crowley was a bit more clever than he played himself to be.

More importantly, Hastur had been demon-ing for far longer than Crowley had.

**A Common Misconception (known by Hastur but unknown to Crowley)**

Demons did not indulge in the seven sins; they simply convinced humans to do so. In fact, it was (or should’ve been) impossible for them to do so in the first place, as each sin was rooted in love, and demons could not love.

(Demons could sense the sins just as angels could sense love, and it was Crowley’s bit of wrath that gave him away.)

Crowley stiffened. He fought the (unnecessary) urge to breathe, as panic rose up his throat. Fear was about three hells of a poison, and Crowley was deeply cursing the fact that he didn’t have it in his serpentine fangs.

“You know Picasso?” Hastur looked directly at Crowley.

Crowley didn’t reply.

“One of ours, of course. I got to torture him for a few Hell millennia, and he told me something.” Hastur continued. “He said, ‘Every time I change wives I should burn the last one. That way I'd be rid of them. They wouldn't be around to complicate my existence. You kill the woman and you wipe out the past she represents.’”

“Wait,” Crowley interjected, sounding desperate.

“Now, Aziraphale, was it? Not a woman, but it’s the same either way, really.”  Hastur shrugged. 

“Look, aren’t you being a tad overdramatic? Aziraphale-- he’s, it’s not anything, really, you know. In fact, he told me that myself-- look, I’m sorry for striking you, but we’re mates, aren’t we? Demons of Hell, the lot of us, there’s no need to--”

“Ciao.” Hastur dipped his head a bit, and he was gone.

Shit.

....

Aziraphale got rid of Gabriel by sheer willpower, fake smiles, and a gentle bit of steadily nudging his “brother” to the exit. 

Upon closing the door behind him, the angel savored the sense of relief and tried to ignore the loneliness that swelled beside it.

The empty couch, the crushing silence.

Overwhelming.

However, the small, but already far too long, interaction with Gabriel had led him to a decision. A decision, he realized, in which he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

Aziraphale was, generally, a very reckless person. Sometimes, it could be called bravery. Other times, it could be called stupidity.

He was aware of this, and this awareness led him to ultimately decide that this was too important of an action to rush in with.

He had waited six thousand years. What was a few hours more?

Armed with a pen and a couple hundred flashcards, Aziraphale dived into work.

*A List of Things Aziraphale Realized While Writing Out a Series of Memories and Thoughts*

1.) He was an idiot.

2.) Crowley had confessed to him in his own way many times before (burning church, French Revolution, dinner at the Ritz for no reason), and Aziraphale had never noticed (refer to #1).

3.) He loved Crowley. (Well, he actually came up with that one sometime over the three weeks they’d been apart.)

4.) He really didn’t give a flying fuck (Yes, he had wrote that. Yes, he thought that Crowley would be very proud of him.) about Heaven or Hell, so long as he had the Earth and Crowley.

The moment he had firmly decided on the final point, Aziraphale heard the door slam open.

It was followed by a desperate-sounding, “Angel!”, and Aziraphale immediately turned around, making eye contact with a terrified looking Crowley.

He didn’t even have time to take in the demon’s eye bags and sunken face before Crowley beelined towards him.

Cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands, Crowley rubbed his thumbs over the angel’s cheekbones, as if trying to convince himself that he was there. 

“Alright?” Crowley asked softly.

“What?” Aziraphale blinked, bewildered.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked again, firmer. 

“Yes, of course, what are you talking about--” 

Crowley hugged Aziraphale, crushing the angel’s body against his own (not unlike a snake, in fact). Confused, Aziraphale managed a small, 

“Crowley...?” 

 The demon in question stiffened as if remembering something important. He immediately pulled away, shoving his hands in his pockets, and looking very much like he wanted to jump into a lake of holy water.

“Right. Sorry. Um.” He coughed into his sleeve. “Panicked, a bit. Couldn’t do any demonic miracles. Just a prank, probably, then. Just thought about... some stupid... thing--”

Said “stupid thing” may or may not have been the burning of the bookshop followed by the worst hours of his life.

“--so I just came over without thinking. Sorry. I’ll just-- I’ll just go.” He turned to face the door.

“No!” Aziraphale latched onto his hand. “Wait, just wait right there. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale hurried to his desk, gathering his index cards, notes, and sticky notes, among all of the other 5,724 things on there. 

It was the warmest he’d felt in a while. He’d missed the demon, so much more desperately than he thought he would have, and a single word, a single action from him was all it took to make the world feel alright again.

He’d missed being called “angel”. 

Aziraphale flustered at the realization and stumbled, index cards managing to spread across the floor in a matter of seconds.

“What’s all this?” Crowley gestured to Aziraphale’s paper model of the Pacific Ocean on the ground. 

“Oh, just give me a second, I’ll have it all sorted out in a minute.” Aziraphale was bent down on the ground, gathering all the cards into a small horde. “Gosh, where’s the last one?”

“Just use a miracle, angel,” Crowley said, exasperated. 

For a second, things were normal again.

Crowley bent down to pick an index card up.

He glanced at it and flushed an alarming shade of red. Pushing his sunglasses up, Crowley covered his face with his right hand, the other holding the index card between his middle and pointer finger.

“Ah,” Crowley heard Aziraphale from the ground. “You, you picked up the last one.”

“...is it true?” Crowley murmured quietly, as if he was scared of the answer. 

Aziraphale stood up, dragged Crowley up by the arm, and removed his hand from his face. 

He stared directly into Crowley’s eyes and smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I reckon it’s the truest thing I’ve ever written.” 

Crowley smiled back.

“Lunch at the Ritz?”

“I thought you’d never ask, dear.”

And he meant the “dear” this time, Crowley thought blissfully.

*

“A reservation for two, under Anthony J. Crowley.” 

The server beamed at them.

“Flowers?” The server offered.

“As many as possible, please.” Aziraphale replied.

“Sure, angel.” Crowley sighed.

*

“About goddamn time,” Hastur muttered from a table behind them.

“Were you the one who got them together?” A server asked from beside him. He startled, before relaxing.

“Drastic times called for drastic measures.” Hastur shrugged. 

“Please let me give you some wine on the house.”

“Could you say I stole it? For my reputation.” 

The server paused.

“Sure, sire.”

AN:

Thanks for reading! For earlier updates and other such things, my stories are on AO3 under the name CloudySonder!

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-04-02

Alright I’ll fix the broken images later right now lets goooooo read the updaaaate I’ve been only spoiled on the chapter title

I don’t even wanna guess.  Jake?  This makes me think of Jake for some reason, even though that doesn’t make much se-- oh right the Vriskas are locked in a school closet with a dead clown.

> CHAPTER 7. Distress Call From the Closet

Yep.

Also, this is how a car design looks when it was invented to have its first appearance be it flying with a human named Tavros looking out from an open side door.

(I’m not ENTIRELY against designing something for its immediate-art-use-purpose first and functional or historical-origination thought later, but usually when you make it that obvious that that’s what your doing it’s best to make that fact funny.  Like the Conveniently Shaped Lamp.)

Also I appreciate this using of Candy as kind of more lighthearted breaks in the action?

> (==>)

I thoguht that protruding fang (?) was drool for a second and wondered what the fuck they were up to in this closet all of a sudden.

Vriska, thriving on it, has not felt so decadently alive in a very long time. Tavros has never in his tragic existence felt so close to death, which is surprising to him.

Vrissy is trying her best not to grapple with any cosmic truths at the moment, since she’s getting a phone call in the middle of hiding for her life.

Vrissy’s implied to be somewhere in-between all that by this joke.  I bet she’ll be comparing herself to Vriska and Tavros alike throughout this mess, wondering where on the spectrum she lands and being ashamed of it AND both of them regardless.  Vriska Original had a ghost version who went on a fair bit of a Page dress-up thing and personality shift, so maybe we could expect Vrissy to struggle with being caught in the middle of the scales... or does that qualify as overthinking it classpectways?

VRISSY: Yeah Harry I would say we are Extremely Aware of the Situ8ion. VRISSY: As it Unfolded the fuck all around us.

Good Christ, Vrissy’s selectively-capitalized Kanaya-isms continue to be cute.

Oh, he’s on speakerphone.

> (==>)

Yep, telling Rose and Kanaya would be the smart thing to do, but it isn’t the Them thing to do.

--ROXY’S PLACE?!??  Hoo boy.  On the other hand, though, we get more Roxy, so it evens out.

Also, I like how Harry Anderson has to spell out Harry Anderson’s entire name for his Harry Anderson chat tag every single time.  Harry Anderson.

> (==>)

Part of the reason, Tavros thinks, that he’s been so game to continue on with the worst plan anyone has ever concocted, is that the more bullshit they endure, the longer they can put off actually doing anything that matters.

If he’s getting sprayed with a sprinkler and getting clown feet in his face, it’s a farce. It can’t hurt him. But if they get to the part where he’s shoving the uncooperative weight of his uncle’s corpse in an incinerator, he will stop floating in protective semi-consciousness above his body and it will all be real.

Ouch.

Can’t one of you assholes just captchalogue him?  Or did you leave all the appropriate-strength moduses at home?  Even you Vriska??

Oh, right.  Everyone knows and you can just leave him here.  Good call.  I mean you don’t really have to worry about forensic evidence with the pictures circulating.

> (==>)

VRISKA: 8ye 8itch.

Oooh!  That feels satisfying!  Yeah, tell off Gamzee’s corpse!

...Wait.

If they just leave Gamzee there, Jane can revive him, can’t she.

Fuck.  Maybe it’s up to Jake to try and stop that.

> (==>)

Karkat and Meenah resistance-time, then, with them presumably hearing about this development on the internet.  Wow, Meenah’s horns are getting long fast.  Plus a hint more of her grown-up self’s height.  I didn’t think she’d keep maturing so fast with her absurd lifespan ahead of her.

Oh shit, I didn’t see at first--

Right, Candy might still be lighthearted compared to the broader plot just due to lowered stakes, but it’s still the Carpet-Bombing-and-War-Filled Shituniverse.

Trolls are made for the battlefield.

From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub’s pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.

But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.

Is... is Meenah narrating right now?  Because fuck.

Or so all the pamphlets say.

The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.

Or is this one of the trolls on the side narrating who’s kind of internalized the stories of trolls’ prior warlike nature?

> (==>)

MEENAH: yo nubs is that u MEENAH: pretty rank KARKAT: OH MY GOD. KARKAT: I FLATLY REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN SMELL MY NATURAL MUSK OVER THE STENCH OF BLOOD AND BURNING FLESH.

I guess it probably was Meenah narrating, then.  Unless it’s a really biased alt!Callie doing the talking.

MEENAH: didnt i warn u bout thinking tho? KARKAT: GOD DAMMIT MEENAH, DON’T MEME AT ME.

I don’t know what meme this is and I really don’t want to know.

They have had this argument more than once. In fact, both of them could play either side of it. Karkat has done his time in the field, of course, leading small guerilla operations to free prisoners and sabotage Crocker’s supply chains, but Meenah and the rest of the council is right. Which is why he’s here, instead of at the front lines with his rebels, where he belongs.

His true value is his face. His symbology. At the end of the day, he is a fucking ad campaign.

...is KARKAT narrating here???

SWIFER: boss check the news!

Oh shit, right, Swifer is in the resistance in Candy instead of just a breeding assistant in Meat as the bonuses remind us.

KARKAT: OH FUCK. MEENAH: what KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST. MEENAH: nubs i swear 2 god KARKAT: IT’S GAMZEE. KARKAT: HE’S DEAD. MEENAH: oh MEENAH: well shit KARKAT: I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. MEENAH: u okay KARKAT: NO!

Huh.  Them’s some complicated feelings that could fall in basically all directions at once.

Also, I can’t believe Karkat has hung around humans enough to fully internalize the full-throated exclamation “JESUS CHRIST”, which wouldn’t even really be a thing on Earth C with people who aren’t from Earths B or A.

MEENAH: u outlawed fishpuns i gotta make my own fun

How could you, Karkat.

KARKAT: AND I GUESS IF YOU CALL AN OBSCENELY PUBLIC PALE ACT, PERFORMED IN A FUGUE OF DESPERATE PANIC INTENDED TO PREVENT HIM FROM MURDERING ALL OF MY FRIENDS INSTEAD OF JUST HALF OF THEM “A THING”. KARKAT: THEN YES, I GUESS WE HAD A THING. KARKAT: BUT IF YOU’RE ASKING ME IF I’M SAD THAT HE’S DEAD? KARKAT: ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.

Okay, I’d hoped not, good...

KARKAT: THAT’S NOT WHY I’M SAYING FUCK A BUNCH OF TIMES. MEENAH: u need a reason to say fuck a buncha times KARKAT: SHUT UP. KARKAT: LOOK AT THE PICTURE.

--Right!  That’s a good reason to not be okay.

KARKAT: I DON’T THINK SO? I CAN’T SEE HER EYES IN THIS PICTURE, BUT SHE’S COVERED IN BLOOD, AND SHE’S CARRYING GAMZEE, SO SHE’S CORPOREAL AT LEAST.

I love this form of analysis somehow.

KARKAT: OKAY...HERE. OH. OF COURSE. CROCKER IS CLAIMING HER SON WAS KIDNAPPED AND FORCED TO PARTICIPATE. KARKAT: AND THEY’VE NAMED ME AS THE MASTERMIND. MEENAH: well we woulda taken credit for it anyway so this saves us the time MEENAH: thanks jane owe u one

Meenah isn’t the “concerned” type.  Lemonade out of lemons.

> (==>)

That middle tweet is my favorite.

Oh dear, “#GamzeeAnon”...

KARKAT: SHIT. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAVE TO DO WITH FUCKING SERKET. KARKAT: LITERAL MONTHS OF PLANNING, HOURS AND HOURS OF LOGISTICS, AND ALL OF IT GOES UP IN SMOKE BECAUSE OF ONE SPIDERY ASSHOLE. KARKAT: SHE *WOULD* FIND SOME WAY TO WRECK MY SHIT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.

indisputable

KARKAT: NOW? KARKAT: NOW WE PIVOT FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS.

Um...

What does that mean?

I’m having a lot of trouble not only understanding the basic meaning of what he’s saying, here, but understanding why KARKAT of all people would employ it.

......it’s a meme, isn’t it.  Gotta be.

> (==>)

(Ooh, an eyepatch designed to invoke a Strider-shade.  Nice.)

KARKAT: I NEED TO TALK TO EGBERT.

But....... why??

> (==>)

Oh right, cause his son’s girlfriend is involved.

> (==>)

Oh my goooood what a pair of John and Roxy caaaars! :D

He is too busy with these mental gymnastics to notice his father’s car parked outside.

Ah right.  John’s... not on the best terms with him, I recall that.

> (==>)

Ohhhh myyyy goooood what an image!!!

John, Roxy, and Harry Anderson proceed to have the tail end of a conversation they had before, in another medium.

What the fuck!?  Harry had that conversation WHILE this dead body situation was going on?!  Let me reread that linked bit...

(And she has such a somber smile on her face, but given the conversation content it’s not surprising.)

Harry Anderson looks at the two of them all teary and laughing and hikes his bag higher on his shoulder, shifting his weight. Roxy sees a muscle tighten in his jaw. Her beautiful, smart boy. She wants to run over and hug him, to protect him from the possibility of pain at talking to his father, but she doesn’t. She knows how much he’s wanted this, no matter how much he jokes about it.

She looks back at John, and sees her own awe mirrored in his face. She wills him not to cry, not to fall back on his self-imposed suffering and blame loop. Something about the last hour must have done the trick, though. John stands up, brushes his hands on his jeans, and walks, back straight, toward his son.

JOHN: hey harry anderson. JOHN: it’s really, really good to see you. JOHN: do you wanna go for a drive?

The muscle in Harry Anderson’s jaw clenches a few more times, but when he smiles, it is genuine.

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah, dad. HARRY ANDERSON: that could be cool.

Oh son of a bitch.  Well isn’t that entertaining.  Harry you’re just going to ditch your friends for I’m kidding, this is life fulfillment you’re aiming for, of COURSE you’re going to agree.  (Too bad bringing the current situation in is gonna throw a wrench in things.)

> (==>)

Oh right, that means more of THIS Vriska and THIS John.  They’ve had a good start talking already, I wonder what more they can learn from each other.

HARRY ANDERSON: but no worries, i asked my mom to pick me up some snacks so she’ll leave to go to the store in a sec. HARRY ANDERSON: just sneak in after she leaves and hide in my room, and i’ll be back in a bit.

Harry you enormous shortsighted asshole.  And John’s about to learn all this from Karkat over the phone to blow his cover.

> (==>)

aaaaa roxy art i cannot :D

Wonder if her stealthiness attunement is gonna catch them in the act?

> (==>)

From this jealousy bit, I wonder to what degree Earth C humans are used to Troll quadrants and their various interplay mores.

> (Room: Examine yourself.)

Oh, a proper room introduction for Harry Anderson!  Very fashion-focused, very liking the spotlight--

Oh wait, shit.  This is traditionally where classpect associations are hinted more obviously than anywhere else.  Time to stop holding back on the classpect stuff and take in every fucking word with capital-C Classpect fully in mind.

A bedroom stands empty. There is no boy standing in this bedroom, or indeed anyone else. However, if the boy whose bedroom it was were here, one might remark that his name was HARRY ANDERSON.

And FUCK, one might say, does he like MUSICAL THEATER.

Spotlight, definitely.  But is it for the attention? The possibilities? The acting?

He has been in his fair share of school plays, but he has LOFTY ASPIRATIONS to STAR in bigger and better productions. He especially appreciates modern MUSICAL REMAKES of classic OLD EARTH MOVIES. It's a craze that not everyone is happy about, but in the absent boy they have found a DEVOTED FAN. There is also just enough overlap between his taste and his father’s to allow for SOMEWHAT STILTED CONVERSATIONAL BONDING from time to time.

Hmmmm.  Is it about the majesty of important works of media (I see “Pokémon” and “Alien vs Predator” up there...), or is it about the fact that they’re remakes of past works?  Those are a lot of awards and stage lights now that I zoom in to look... and hats... hats could be important......

The boy who is not yet here has also been known to dabble in ACCESSORIZATION. He could be described as a COBBLER ASPIRANT, a NEOPHYTE MILLINER, or even a BIT OF A WHIZZ WITH A NEEDLE AND THREAD.

Oh, interesting!  Not just putting out different outfits, but making them?  And Milliner is hat-specific creation...

His mother got him his first SEWING MACHINE when he was 10, to keep him from using hers all the time. His looks are HAND-CRAFTED, often IMITATED, but never DUPLICATED.

Space is obviously possible from sewing, but-- A focus on uniqueness!!!  The broader theme is getting VERY specific.  You might feel where I’m leaning already.

His COSTUMES appear in various AMATEUR PRODUCTIONS, the devising of which takes up most of his FREE TIME. His friends are usually LESS APPRECIATIVE of his attempts to dress them up than he would like, though.

Holy fucking shit.  He dresses up and makes unique HATS for his friends and others.  Specifically so they can use them as COSTUMES to act parts!!!!

And the other unique thing mentioned about him here took the time aside to note how he appreciated the intersection in personal interests between him and his father for it.

So you all know what I’m thinking, right?  HATS???  It’s got to be Heart, isn’t it.  Maybe even a Page of Heart, with his long-off aspirations and talent for arming others with it.  Any other additive/giving class might do the trick, too, like Sylph or possibly Maid.  Knight could technically still fit pretty well, but I feel Page is better given what little we know so far, what with so much outward focus bleeding out.

(You can comb through the saga on my infamous hats tag or the summary on the Aspect Duality post, but the gist is that hats (and others’ clothes, but especially the hats. even shoes -- SO many shoes in that picture!) represent the gist of an expressed identity, personal uniqueness whether innate or affected ala a costume.  Nepeta, Dirk, Terezi, and even Stitch have given us examples, some of them deeper than we realized, MOST of them probably overthought bullshit like I thought when I first created the hats tag and started tracking the wonderful importance of hats. ¬_¬)

I’d like to see anyone else’s interpretation. (EDIT: One more potential Nep-allusion in this room.)

> (==>)

Oh nooooooo!!!!  Tavros’s sprite is the saddest looking thing I’ve ever seen!! D:  Like a mix of Jane and Jake that thoroughly regrets his entire existence!  Which he practically does!  D:  Why the Caliborn-like clothes though?

(Some hint at “how different alt!Callie’s Caliborn must have been” like the commentary suggested exploring in fanfiction?  Was the suggestion meant to divert attention from the idea that it’d be addressed in the plot?  Andrew pulled that trick a time or two, why not these authors?)

Also:

Pffff.  Vriska just accessorizing immediately--  Oh, wait.  That might just be a bandana she had at some point coated in Gamzee’s blood. 

Tavros is looking at the news on a borrowed phone -- nice call on disabling the tracking on yours, Tavros.

> (==>)

TAVROS: It’s getting a bit surreal to see my, uh,, frozen mask of horror on every news site,, TAVROS: It’s a good shot of you,,, though, Vrissy, VRISSY: It really is Shockingly well composed.

Heheheh.  It’s fun that Tavros knows exactly what Vrissy/ka would care about.

And yes, Vriska is over there trying out ALL the bandanas.

> (==>)

VRISSY: Oh, is trying on all my 8oyfriend’s accessories not passing the time well enough for you? VRISKA: Desper8 times call for desper8 measures, Vrissy. VRISKA: And this is some dire shit.

They stare each other down. Did she mean the fugitive situation, or Harry Anderson’s fashion choices? Vrissy feels silly wondering this, but despite the situation they’re in, she can’t help but feel more acutely anxious about Vriska’s presence.

She likes her life, and she trusts her own choices. But now, looking at everything from Vriska’s vantage point, it all feels silly. Unimportant. Childish.

She can’t tell if she wants Vriska to rip in to Harry Anderson or if she wants her to stay silent. To put off the moment where she has to defend him or join in.

Real interesting.  Like she’s caught between these worlds after all.

> (==>)

They say it was a long drive, but...?

...WOW.  What a chill, disinterested-looking affect his sprite makes for.  Huh.

He kisses Vrissy’s temple and she leans in to the warmth of him.

HARRY ANDERSON: aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. HARRY ANDERSON: so sorry it took so long. HARRY ANDERSON: can’t rush a heart to heart, you know how it is.

Stop making me deliberate whether you’re trying to drop teasing Heart-aspect hints.  You already know I’m going to be obsessively scrutinizing every word of dialogue around Harry to see if it fits, story. No need to rub it in.

VRISSY: You actually had a Heart to Heart with your dad? How many times did he Cry?

I DIDN’T EVEN READ THE NEXT LINE QUIT SAYING HEART TO HEART YOU EVEN GAVE IT PROPER CAPS THAT TIME

HARRY ANDERSON: but god, it was a mess. i had to keep talking to keep him from looking at his phone or turning on the radio. HARRY ANDERSON: i may have told him more about my deep passions and emotions in the last hour than the whole rest of my life combined, just to keep him from hearing the fucking news.

Holy shit.  You exploited conversation about your deep passions and interests for a separate goal???

Aaargh!  Classpect everywhere!  I’ve relapsed!!!  D:

> (==>)

JOHN IS SO HAPPY

John Egbert has not had a day like this in a very long time. He can barely keep track of this series of epiphanies he’s having. He stretches out on his couch to relax and process the gifts of advice and connection his friends and family and ex-family have just given him.

OH RIGHT TIME TO RUIN IT WITH MAXIMUM SHENANIGANS

JOHN: hey karkat! great timing! JOHN: so much just happened and im kind of reeling about it. KARKAT: YEAH NO SHIT.

Ohhhh.  Much of the time I hate dramatic irony, but those moments before someone is about to be let in on the discrepancy... oh man I love that.

JOHN: is something going on? i just spent the afternoon with my son, and i think he would have told me if something was up with his friends? KARKAT: OH MY LUSCIOUS SHITTING CHRIST JOHN LISTEN TO ME. JOHN: listening!

"Luscious”??  Did they try to type “Lusus” and get autocorrected?

Who’s writing Homestuck on their phone???

> (==>)

J...John?? Are you okay?? XD

This picture.  These two paragraphs.  I fucking love them.

(Wow, being closer to the “canon” story due to ridiculous shenanigans right after his back-to-back self-insights and outlook changes have really been healthy for him huh.  He can probably sense HS^2 reaching him out here.  And you can see the helpless comedian his probably-still-depressed ass became on Earth B in his reaction here. EDIT: Also, how appropriate that even by DYING, the Bard of Rage managed to fulfill his role and shatter the last vestiges of John's narrow-outlooked despair?)

John can’t answer. He can’t speak. His body has given itself over to the long-lost feeling of manic euphoria. It had felt like Harry Anderson was holding something back on the drive earlier, but he had already told John so much. He hadn’t wanted to press for more.

Yeah... after what John’s gone through across his life and session, finding out Harry managed to hide THIS for a whole car-ride is the best sort of punch-line for him.

John can’t breathe. Something is happening. Something is finally fucking happening, and he’s finally awake enough to appreciate it.

--yep.  I was just guessing earlier, but this kind of confirms it’s in part a closer-to-relevance, closer-to-canon feeling bleeding in.  Something is happening that’s important enough to SHOW onscreen and not skip over.  I guess he really does like being anchored in Light after all.

> (==>)

John wheezes himself into relative calm. He has to get Karkat to understand. He clears his throat and breathes.

JOHN: karkat, this can be how we win. JOHN: i know what we need to do.

...holy SHIT.

Karkat, how did you know calling JOHN about this would work out this well??

John actually taking confident action to solve a problem, in a way that isn’t going to end up depressing like his attempt to provide Tavros escape in the Epilogues... this should be interesting.

See you next time.  (I had to image-fix some stupid linked hat posts for this blogpost and I’m out of energy, so I’ll fix the other old post I promised that asker to fix in like, a day or two; I’ll post when I do.)

[vios-rockland-corner]

Rumors of Rockland: Article 1

You’re new in town and about to start up work soon.  Still settling in, you’re looking around Rockland to find a good hang out place.  Someplace where you could just observe what goes on around you.  A place to get your bearings.

Rockland’s funny though.  You can’t help but feel this weird sense of foreboding sometimes.  Not to mention, there’s quite a few colorful characters about.  But that just makes it more intriguing, right?

[Full spoilers below for RoR: Article 1]

The Rumors of Rockland minigames are a continuous installment of visual novels by @runawayoutlaw and @rottenbonethief (@sugarhazard may have his own characters and art appear from time to time).  The MC in these games is the same character every time, making this an ongoing discovery from one set of eyes.  A nice little way to peak into the oddity of Rockland and its inhabitants from a much safer perspective than other games will allow. 

This installment series will also be part of the future 5 year in-game time skip.  Not only will the MC get to meet the characters when they’re younger, but this means they become a more fixed resident themselves and get to see what happens to many of these characters later on in life.

Story

Already with the release of the first article, the MC is finding Rockland to be anything but bland.  First we have a very brief run-in with two bartenders.  One who literally ducks out for a break before the MC can get a word in, and one who appears much friendlier (for the most part) but is also occupied soon-after.  Then we get startled by a loud commotion of a very unhinged man oozing violent thoughts as well as being on the verge of tears as his friends attempt to calm him down.  Then we get caught staring and meet the world’s friendliest drug dealer and his very horrified friend who just wishes.he.would.stop.  Have to say, the situation oddly does get the MC much more relaxed after the previous man’s outbursts.  With all this excitement, the MC just barely notices one bartender come back wiping blood off his cheek.  But after everything else that’s happened, the sight just seems to get pushed to the back of the MC’s mind.  Nor does the MC seem so perturbed with the sinister tone in the bartender’s voice.  It doesn’t dissuade you from making a return to the establishment. 

Quite a roller coaster there.

Rockland’s a small place, small enough apparently where all the locals know each other.  Several of these characters bring this up and it’s even hinted that…may not be to your advantage.  If you’re not from around there, they’ll spot you in a crowd.  As friendly as these people seem, we the audience unfortunately know better than the MC does in this situation.  We know there’s disturbing and sinister characters lurking about. 

A new face means potentially two things for locals:

1) You’re either far from home or you’ve yet to ingrain yourself in the community. 

2) You may very well BE alone, without any connections in town. 

In a normal sane town, that just means the newbie has to learn to acquaint themselves with people and the townsfolk have to come to accept the new face as a resident.  Just the normal challenges of joining a new community.  Here in Rockland though, there are folks who likely share a friendly smile because their excitement over a new face comes from a very dark place.  After all, what kind of people make better victims than those so far from help?

 I’m sure not everyone that steps foot in Rockland has the unfortunate fate of going missing.  It IS a tourist town, and that’d bring a bad reputation if no one made it out alive.  But every now and then the darker folks won’t be able to contain themselves, and just decide to pluck some poor individual from the crowd.  Such events probably don’t catch the outside’s eye enough (or soon enough) to cause mass alarm.  But it happens just enough to make Rockland a very special kind of horror.

So if you can’t hide among the locals, what’s a new person to do?  One, be incredibly lucky I’m sure.  Two, get to know the right people.  I like to think there’s a “judging” or “probationary” phase for anyone new who enters Rockland.  How long this goes for, who knows.  If integration is successful, I’m sure the chances of survival shoot up much higher for the newcomer.  It might also be possible that killers may not want to target locals because not only will those faces be missed IMMEDIATELY, but who knows what other families or groups you’ll upset if you target the wrong person. 

Characters

So how about the very first characters the MC meets here?

Not much we learn about Foal.  The finger up seemed like a specific signal to Whesker though.

You’ve got the bartender Whesker.  Seems like a friendly and jovial guy for the little bit of time you get to spend with him.  But he also is one of the first to warn you about telling people you’re new and don’t know anyone here.  There are hints of something dark within this man.  It’s difficult to say though what he thinks of the MC.  Is he subtly giving them a warning here about how dangerous Rockland is?....Or does he already view them as a victim?

Then, you’ve got the violent man Avery.  It’s plain to see this is a man you do NOT want to get in the crossfire of.  He’s very unstable and his stress gives him the urge to grind anything to dust as a way to deal with his emotions.  For anyone who’s played the Misfits: First Blood demo…you know these threats are not empty.  He very much has the capacity to kill someone, no matter how little their offense is.  Luckily, he’s accompanied by his friend Callum who seems to not only know Avery well enough that he’s spared getting a punch in the face, but looks like he’s had to handle a situation or two like this before.  Avery is terrifying, but also tragic.  We don’t know what he’s done here, but from the demo we can take some pretty good guesses.  What’s interesting is that he KNOWS that stuff isn’t okay though and doesn’t actually even want someone to say it is.  He’s self-aware.  But he seems to have no control over his emotions.  There’s also a hint that alcohol was a factor here. 

It seems that Avery also has someone who he doesn’t want to disappoint, but the things he does would break their heart.  The man we see depicted in the bar I think is someone who is their own worst enemy.  He might have difficulty controlling his emotions and/or actions (ex. excessive drinking), but he knows what he shouldn’t do and wants to be better.  It’s a curious thing…can he get better?  Even some of the people who know him have their doubts.  We know Avery’s coming full blast in the “Welcome to Rockland” game, but it’s possible we may ONLY see his worst in that.  With more RoR installments, perhaps we’ll get to see if Avery ever gets better…or worse.

One problem that Avery may have is that he lives in Rockland of all places.  It’s possible that he gets away with a LOT more than a normal criminal does because things like that are considered the norm in Rockland, or because they get swept under the rug.  It’s not incredibly clear, but it’s possible that Whesker had been called out back specifically to clean up Avery’s “mess.”  This is a problem because it means Avery lives in a place where there are little consequences to his actions.  If you go so long without punishment, it’s hard to find a reason to reign yourself back in.  Even his friends like Callum worry that they may be enabling his behavior.  It’s difficult when you know the good sides of a person because you feel less inclined then to berate them when they mess up.  But sometimes you have to call someone out on their behavior, even if it hurts their feelings.  With Avery, I don’t know if yelling at him would be a good idea though, considering how dangerous he can become.  Tough situation.  If you can’t tell, I have mixed feelings about the fellow since I know his violent nature, but something about seeing him helpless here was a little sad.

Finally, you’ve got the drug deal Tyler.  Literally, probably the nicest drug dealer you could ever meet.  Certainly an eccentric fellow, he’s oddly far less frightening than someone like Avery.  His friend Dylan may be horrified by Tyler lacking any means to be discreet, but they seem like good friends none-the-less.  Interestingly enough, Tyler and Dylan are probably the most welcoming and safest appearing characters that you meet this time around.  Are they truly safe?  Who knows.  That might be a fun future game to play: Which Rockland character is safe?

Future characters mentioned but not physically in this installment include cops like Roy.  It’s very possible we may get to see, if not Roy, at least one cop or detective at the bar in the future.  I’m looking forward to that kind of interaction, because what do the cops of Rockland think of new folks?  Do they view them as potential victims they need to keep an eye on more for safety?  Do they act a little gruff to make Rockland seem less welcoming (so the newbie will leave)?  Or are they corrupt and completely aware of what goes on in Rockland (but let things be)…so they don’t make any attempt to drive away or give any kind of warning to the player?  Maybe they just flat out don’t like newcomers because it’s a tight nit town and they already have enough on their plate.  Rockland also seems to be a place that attracts sinister characters honestly.  Not just potential victims.  So the cops may be skeptical about what kind of character has just rolled into town. 

This is only the tip of the iceburg.  There’s so much more to discover, and I feel like these installments will be a great way to see sides of characters we don’t normally get to see in the main games.  I for one enjoy a setting where the MC gets a chance to observe some of these characters in a more public setting.  Oh I’m sure the more intimate settings with certain characters in the others games will be to die for.  But you know, maybe save those games for your more expendable OC’s.

[cosmic-hearts]

sunshower | lee jeno

lee jeno x reader 

genres; fluff, romance, very slight angst 

warnings; real cringey and cliche tbh (but otherwise none)

summary: a sunshower is a meteorological phenomenon in which rain falls while the sun is shining. 

You always knew you were a child of the rain. In fact, the day you were born, the city was struck by one of the heaviest thunderstorms ever in history, and for the first few days of your life, lightning bolts would clash in deafening roars and hail would descend, spiralling sharply through the chaos under the grey skies as you slept soundly through it all. Born of storms and raised by thunder, you felt most alive when the cold wind nipped at your ears and icy droplets of rain pricked at your skin, sending spurts of electricity shooting through your system. 

You also knew that not everyone liked the rain. In fact, some others hated it. This fact irked you very much— after all, who could detest of the feeling of sweet little drops of coolness kissing one’s skin lightly, like sprinklings of stardust, of the misty, elusive wind gently nuzzling one’s hair like the touch of a familiar lover?

Well, apparently Lee Jeno did. 

If you were the heiress of the storm, Lee Jeno was the descendant of the sun. 

For into his veins were woven sunshine and daylight, and when he smiled, his eyes morphed into sunbeams, casting rays of light so unbelievably bright. The only thing dark about him was his hair, but even so, it was a luxuriant sort of black that shone under the sunlight, giving it a dappled glow. His very being exuded warmth, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. Unlike the storm which holds a more covert, concealed sort of charm people find harder to uncover, the sun’s glory is highly visible, its warm rays easily felt and indulged in. 

That was Lee Jeno. The polar opposite of you. 

And you were perfectly happy to stay clear of him like you always did; after all, how could the sun and the storm coexist? 

He couldn’t seem to do the same, though. 

The clashing of elemental forces began when he caught you playing truant during gym class. In your defence, you simply couldn’t help yourself; the skies had darkened to a lovely silvery hue and a light, hazy drizzle had begun. This kind of rain was one of your many favourites, because it meant that you could frolic freely within its depths without fear of getting too wet and therefore sick. You had tried going out into a massive storm before, and it hadn’t gone down well with both your immune system and your parents. 

So the weather was simply irresistible, and the rain had called enticingly out to you in sweet, seductive whispers. You couldn’t miss this opportunity. And so when you thought no one was paying attention, you slipped quietly out of gym class and headed straight for the rooftop, where you could bask in the pure, unadulterated joy of being alone with the one thing you love most. 

All was well, until a voice struck you out of your reverie, and that’s when you looked up to see Lee Jeno coming towards you with a frown on his usually cheerful face. 

“What are you doing out here?” His voice is muffled slightly by the pitter-patter of raindrops colliding onto the cement beneath your feet.

Truth to be told, this is the first time you’re seeing him upset. Usually he’s always smiling, and nothing seems to faze him. 

“I could say the same to you,” you shoot back, annoyed that your peace has been disturbed. You’re not antisocial—at least, you wouldn’t admit you were—but you just really treasure your alone time. Being with people drains the energy out of your system, but for Lee Jeno, it seems like he thrives off being around others, like a leech feeding off their energy. 

“I followed you,” Jeno says matter-of-factly, “I was curious.”

You roll your eyes and swing your feet over the ledge, dangling them over the cityscape below you. Jeno’s eyes widen at this and he immediately rushes to your side, placing his hands firmly on your shoulders, steadying you. 

“What are you doing?!” He exclaims, visibly shaken by your bold action. 

His touch sends heatwaves of shock burning through your skin and fizzing through your nerves. Perhaps it is because he is the sun and you are rain, so his touch feels extra hot to you. So warm and foreign is this feeling that you almost flinch under his palm. 

“Look, it’s fine. I do this all the time,” you say curtly, moving your shoulder ever-so-slightly to shake off his hold. 

At this, Jeno sighs, resigned to your unwavering obstinance. “Okay, fine. But you’re gonna catch a cold if you stay out here for too long.”

“Jeno, why do you care?” You weren’t trying to be a smart mouth, but you genuinely could not fathom Lee Jeno’s sudden interest in caring for your welfare. You two had never been close, nor was he responsible for you in any way.

“I’m class president. It’s my duty to look out for my classmates,” he says robotically, and it sounds rehearsed to your ears. 

You smirk a little. “Go look after the rest of them at gym class then. Make sure they don’t get hurt.” 

Jeno sighs, before crouching down on the ground and taking a seat beside you. He crosses his legs, though; he harbours no particular desire to fall to his death. 

“I was just worried, all right? I mean, who goes out to the rooftop in this weather?”

You ignore his yapping by your ear, instead holding out your hand, imagining resting all your burdens and troubles on your palm. With every raindrop that comes into contact with your palm, you feel life’s worries being washed away into oblivion, gifting you with a clean, fresh slate that’ll last until the next rainfall. You’d been doing this since you were young; it amused your parents to no end, but no one understood the significance of this little ritual you held dear to your heart.

“You’re noisy,” you say, your tone not biting or sharp but more factual. “You talk a lot, Jeno.” 

At this Jeno stops rambling, opting instead to scratch the back of his neck with his hand. “Ah, really? I’m just… trying to fill the silence, I guess. You’re really quiet, you know.” 

You smile slightly and turn your head to the side so that Jeno can’t see it. 

“I have to go now. I’ll just… tell Mr Kim that you’re not feeling well.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not going to report me?”

At this, Jeno chuckles lightly. “Hey, I can’t fault you for hating fitness conditioning, can I? Who in their right mind likes burpees?”

You actually don’t mind the burpees, but you decide not to tell him the real reason you’re skipping. Not that you mind, but he’d probably brand you a freak if he didn’t already think you one. Again, not that you mind.

“But I will report you if you really get sick in the rain. Here,” Jeno says, shrugging off his jacket and placing it around your shoulders, as if it were the most natural thing to do. When his fingertips accidentally brush against your neck you feel a warm, crimson blush creeping across your cheekbones and you’re momentarily dazed. Every time he touches you it feels like you’ve been grazed by a ray of sunlight— so warm and gentle it feels that you honestly can’t find it in yourself to complain. Plus his jacket feels so cosy, and despite it being oversized it somehow manages to be a perfect fit for you. And you’re a sucker for oversized sweaters, especially during the rainy season.

“Much better,” he declares in satisfaction, “I’ll see you in class later.”

—

You don’t know what came over you when you caught sight of Lee Jeno a few weeks later stuck at the school gate, unable to go home because of the pouring rain, and instantly deciding that you couldn’t just pretend to not notice him and leave. 

You take a deep breath, braving yourself for the sacrifice you were about to make.

Marching right up to him, you thrust your only umbrella into his hand, before turning immediately on your heel and running off into the embrace of the heavy downpour, hearing Jeno yell your name amid the howling winds but refusing to look back.

I must be the greatest fool ever, you think to yourself as you feel your clothes beginning to cling to your skin, and cringe at the feeling of water seeping into your shoes and permeating through your socks. You weren’t exactly the most self-sacrificing person, and you have no idea what possessed you to act like an impulsive, idiotic teenager incapable of rational thought.

Cheers to getting a hell of a dressing-down from your mom about running in the rain. This wouldn’t be the first time, but if she knows you did it deliberately to help someone else, especially since it’s not like you forgot your umbrella or anything… You couldn’t even begin to fathom the consequences.

You reach the traffic light, where unfortunately you have to wait in the rain for the light to turn green, and in the meantime, the cold begins to ooze into your bones. The harsh wind pinches the tips of your ears and an involuntary shudder passes through your body. It’s especially cold today; you really don’t get cold easily and in fact you revel in it most times, but this is just too much. 

Suddenly the rain pouring over you seems to cease; it’s as though an imaginary umbrella has been held over your head. When you look you, you realize that it’s not an imaginary umbrella but a real one, and with a jolt you realize that it is in fact your umbrella and Lee Jeno is towering over you, his expression dark, perhaps even darker than the clouds marring the sky. 

“You’re so stupid, Y/N,” he says in a chiding tone, and you feel like a scolded puppy, but at the same time you can’t ignore the feeling of his warm breath hitting your cheek as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. The chill in your bloodstream begins to abate, replaced by a tingling sense of warmth that Jeno’s body heat provides. 

“Why the heck did you do that? Shit, you’re cold as ice. You’re gonna get sick tomorrow,” Jeno says, eyebrows furrowed deep with lines of worry. You looks even more upset than when he did when he caught you on the rooftop, and it scares you a little since Lee Jeno is never upset. 

“I-I’m fine,” you begin to stutter but you can barely squeeze another utterance in when you break out into a violent sneeze, and Jeno tightens his grip around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” he says, tone softer now, eyes gentler, too. You can barely hear him against the sound of rain lashing against the sidewalk but you know that his voice is strong and firm and strangely enough it comforts you, makes you feel safe. 

For the first time, you learn what it feels like to bask in someone’s warmth and company, even if no words are exchanged. Sometimes, silence deepens relationships the same way conversation does.

Honestly, It feels nice. 

It feels even better when Jeno hands you his sweater afterwards, a big grey oversized thing which smells warm and lemony and fresh, and makes sure you’re all snugly wrapped up before leaving you. 

That same day, after the cessation of the storm, a dazzling rainbow breaks through the saturnine clouds and you feel your heart lift with wings of hope. 

—

You hold two freshly washed and dried, neatly folded sweaters in your arms as you walk towards Jeno’s locker, where he’s standing with his back against the metal door. 

Just as you’re about to call out to him, a girl walks up to him and when Jeno sees her he breaks out into the largest smile you’ve ever seen, as if he’d just struck gold. It struck you then, how good they looked together; they both had that million-dollar smile that could light up the world and give direction to all the lost planets of the universe; they both had beautiful, bright smiling eyes, and they both looked like the world around them had dissolved into oblivion as they basked in each other’s company. 

You watch as the girl slips something into his hands, and his smile grows impossibly larger; it’s almost blinding. He places his hand on top of her head, ruffling her strawberry blonde tresses while she pouts in pseudo-annoyance.

If Jeno was your sun, this girl had to be his.

A slight, painful twinge seizes your heart. It’s slight, but it’s sharp. 

For you were perfectly aware that you could never be his sunshine.

Eyes downcast, you turn away from them and slip back into the shadows, just as huge storm clouds begin to loom in the overhead sky.

—

“I knew I’d find you here.”

The chilly winds that whipped your hair into tousled, tangled locks ceased the moment Jeno snuck out onto the rooftop to find you, armed with a big grin and his usual cheery countenance. You give him a feeble smile in return. 

“Here, take this. It’s good for colds,” Jeno says, thrusting a thin tea packet into your hands. 

“I’m not sick.”

“Hey, just take it, all right? I literally had to beg my sister for it; this is her favourite tea and she refuses to share it with anyone. After you braved that storm yesterday you’re bound to get a cold sooner or later.”

“Your… sister?” 

“Yeah, my little sister. She’s a selfish little brat, but I managed to convince her to give me one. Promise me you’ll drink it, I have to do all her chores for tonight in return,”Jeno says, insistent, as he curls his lips into a pout. How adorable. 

“O-Okay,” you say, still reeling slightly over the shock of having discovered that the girl that nearly caused you to lose your composure, was, in fact, Jeno’s younger sister. That explained the undeniable genetics.

“Thank you, Jeno,” you say sincerely, slipping the little packet of ginger tea in your coat pocket, “Help me say thank you to your sister as well. She’s adorable. You’re really lucky to have her.” She’s really lucky to have you. 

Jeno’s eyes widen at this and he nudges your shoulder in disbelief. “Hey, what are you saying? She’s lucky to have me as her older brother! The things I do for that little rascal. There was this one time she…”

You would have liked to say that you were paying attention to Jeno’s words, but unfortunately you were only paying attention to him; you get sucked into the gentleness of his gaze and it’s hard for you to focus on the utterances leaving his cherry lips. His eyes are beamy black, like pools of obsidian ink, yet their shine is so impossibly lustrous that it captivates you in a stronghold and refuses to let you go. 

And that’s when you realize that you’ve fallen irrevocably in love with the sun. 

—

With the cognizance that you had fallen in love with Lee Jeno, the boy who had been handcrafted by Apollo himself, came the crushing realization that your feelings would amount to nothing. 

He would never like you in that way, not when you two were polar opposites, elements of nature that should not and cannot coexist. He was a brilliant, vivid flame; you were the wind that snuffed it out. It wasn’t that you looked down on yourself or anything or thought that you weren’t good enough for him, you just thought you two couldn’t be more incompatible and being around him would just drive the wedge deeper into your heart, the wedge that told you that you two would never work. 

So you began your heart-wrenching struggle to distance yourself from him, to pretend that the spark between you two didn’t exist, that your feelings for him didn’t exist.

Jeno isn’t dumb; he’s painfully aware of the way you avoid his gaze, respond to his morning greetings with a perfunctory nod, pick the seat furthest away from him as possible during classes and bolt out of the classroom as soon as class ends, before he has the opportunity to get to you. He’s also deeply plagued with the worry that he’s scared you away with his advances; what if you found him annoying or worse, feared him? He’s tried his best to befriend you in the gentlest way possible, suppressing the urge within him that desires to let his true feelings out to you, telling himself not to rush things. 

Yes, Lee Jeno is in love with you, perhaps even more so than you were with him. He had been deeply intrigued by your love for the rain, by the way your eyes lit up whenever there was a downpour, by the way you so intrepidly embraced the element most people shied away from. The day you sacrificed your umbrella for him, as he watched your silhouette fade away into the rain, he felt so loved, but he also felt so damn angry at you for compromising your health for his sake, and a sleepless night confirmed that this mess of emotions was symbolic of the love he harboured for you. And soon it manifested in every little thing; just meeting your gaze was enough to make him weak, every friendly touch he shared with you was enough to set his heart on fire. He wishes so badly to be able to hold you closer, but he knows that you’re too amazing to fall for a guy like him, and he’s content with just being friends and getting to see your smile everyday. 

So it pains him to no end when you avoid him, and he spends every waking moment trying to figure out why.

Then it hits him.

What if you found out?

The thought is absolutely unbearable, and as though he’s been galvanized into action by some unseen force, he races out into the pouring rain onto the rooftop, where he knows you’d seek refuge. 

Indeed, there you sit, holding out your hand to the sky, letting the drops of cool rain rinse away the worries on your palm. Unbeknownst to Jeno, today you had mentally placed on it your love for him and commanded the rain to wash it away into obscurity. Usually this ritual is a refreshing process for you, and lifts all your burdens off your shoulders, but today it simply makes your heart grow heavier, and with every drop of rain that lands on your skin you feel a sort of aching emptiness gnaw away at your soul. 

I’m sorry, Jeno.

Suddenly, your feel a strong, warm grip on your outstretched palm, and as you squint you realize that Jeno is in front of you, interlacing his fingers with yours as he brings your palm down, away from the rain and by his side. 

He takes a deep breath, and as you look closely at him you realize that his face is wet and his eyes are red, and you can’t tell whether he got soaked in the rain or he’s been crying.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice a soft baritone, and your resolve just about crumbles right then and there. You didn’t realize how much you missed his voice, his face, his presence, his everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, stepping closer to you, your legs almost pressing against his torso. “I shouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

That is when your universe ceases rotation.

“Y-You what?”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I know I ruined things between us by falling in love with you, and I’m really sorry. I just… I can’t help it. I know you don’t feel the same way, that’s why you’re avoiding me, but I really needed to talk to you and��,”

“Lee Jeno, stop it.”

Jeno’s eyes widen in hurt and his grip on your hand loosens, his gaze downcast. “Sorry.”

“N-No, that’s not what I meant. I have something to say.”

You suck in a deep breath, and when you take his other hand in yours, he looks up at you again, question filling his eyes.

“Listen carefully, all right? I… I’m not avoiding you because I don’t like you, I’m avoiding you because… I like you so much that it hurts being around you knowing that you won’t like me back.” 

It takes a moment for the impact of your words to hit Jeno, and when it finally registers, when he’s untangled your mess of verbalization to uncover your heart that now beats for him, he breaks out into the most beautiful smile, eyes disappearing into little crescents. 

“Will you let me show you how much I like you?” Jeno asks, puppy eyes alight with hope. 

You nod slightly, and Jeno raises both hands to cup your cheeks. His touch feels like the soft caress of warm sunglow, and you feel your cheeks burn in all their crimson glory. If Jeno noticed it, he doesn’t show it, as he’s too busy trying to calm his own beating heart. His eyes flutter shut and he presses his lips against yours, and all your thoughts halt. 

His lips are slow, sweet and gentle against yours, and yet it is more than anything you could ever have imagined. The kiss is soft and mellow, a beautiful emblem of your newfound, realised love. It is at that moment that you finally understand what it’s like to be sunkissed. 

When you two finally part you see that the sun has emerged from behind the dark clouds, casting its rays around you and Jeno in a warm embrace, but it’s still raining. The raindrops capture the sunlight during their descent, resembling little bits of spun gold fresh from the heavens. 

A sunshower.

You look at Jeno and smile. The sun and the rain can become one, after all. 

“You know, I used to be jealous of the rain that fell on your skin,” Jeno says, breaking the silence.

“Why?”

“It was closer to you than I’d ever been.” 

It’s a terrible, cheesy line, probably stolen from Tumblr, but you smile, taking his hand and lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Not anymore, my sun.”

a/n; aye its my first full-blown nct dream oneshot! hope you guys like it even though i cringed sooo hard when i was proofreading this and i legit regretted writing it lmao but i still wanted to put it out,,, feedback would be much appreciated :) also i haven’t forgotten about the jaemin fic i promised... like ages ago lmao i should really get down to it