#her being seen and embraced and taken care of especially after how isolated she felt post-bridge really meant everything to me

[mintsandapples]

nat : none of those emergency hides for her. no, something custom. we measure, you get to work, i walk her through the screamsticks - god help her - then she sleeps so she can face oblivion with some pep! and we do an all-nighter. 

[gryffindors-weasley]

Relighting A Flame // Part Two

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: After meeting with Ron, things change between you.

Warnings: mentions of death, grieving and guilt, break ups, brief anxiety, fluff, kissing

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This is the second and final part, I hope you enjoy! Thank you to my lovely Soph @loony-loopy-lupinn for helping me out with this one 🧡

(gif found on pinterest, credits to the maker!)

It was a perfectly sunny Thursday afternoon, almost too perfect in comparison to the way you felt in the current moment. The nerves bubbled away in your stomach as you approach Rosa Lee Teabag, and you were strongly considering turning in the other direction and high-tailing it out of there. But you didn’t, you took a deep breath and you carried on forward through the busy and winding walkway.

The little bell over the small door had rung out when you entered the little shop, and you almost winced at the attention it pulled to you. More specifically the redhead who’s eyes were now on you as a blush stains your cheeks.

“Hey,” you greet with a soft smile when you approach, spotting a steaming cup of tea already waiting at your seat. The familiar scent of lemon was immediate and so was the widening of your smile at the simple gesture. “You remembered?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks stain a rosy crimson. “I did.”

You nod as you take a seat across from him, a quiet settling over you both in the crowded little cafe. It was terribly awkward and you hated it, you wanted desperately for things to go back to how they were.

“Thank—”

“I just—”

You spoke at the same time, cheeks reddening deeper as you laugh softly, gesturing for him to go on. He chuckles, taking a deep breath as if to gather himself for what he’d wanted to say. Though he’s not quite sure which to say, he’s got a million things on his mind.

“I’ve never been in here before, have you?” He asks, taking a sip of his tea.

He was skirting around what he’d really wanted to say, that much was obvious. You knew Ron Weasley well enough to know when he was avoiding something, but you let it go for the time being in favor of answering his question.

“I’ve been in here a handful of times. It’s a nice little place, especially on a rainy day. Though I have to say, I do like Madam Puddifoot a bit more,” you say, your smile returning.

“Harry said that place is horrid on Valentine’s Day, he’s quite insistent on that,” he says, meeting your gaze and matching your grin.

You laugh softly, nodding at his words as you look away for a moment. “Her choice in decorations may be a bit over the top—well they definitely are, but she can make a remarkable cup of tea. And her desserts are really good too. You’d like it.”

He nods, picking at the napkin as he fights to think of something to say next, anything to avoid the obvious that was waiting to be spoken about. But the lack of conversation was becoming increasingly apparent, and he can only busy himself by looking around the small shop for so long without looking like a fool.

When the laughter and light conversation had died down between you both, you resorted to stirring your spoon around in your drink. You tried to ignore the fact that your heart was still beating wildly, and tried focusing more on your intricate little teacup and it’s matching saucer. At the impossibly delicate and hand-painted flowers adoring it. It felt as though you were on a first date, though the more you thought about it, you were quite sure not even that could match this very moment.

“Y/n,” he started, much less humor in his voice. You look up, his smile having long since faded by now. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrow slightly, wordlessly telling him to continue on.

“For pushing you away, I mean,” he says, looking down at his cooling drink as the very tips of his ears burn redder than the hair that covered them. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. You were only trying to be there for me and I shut you out.”

You slumped a bit in your seat, your expression softening as you looked at him. When you opened your mouth to speak he held up his hand, a silent gesture to tell you he wasn’t quite finished.

“Losing Fred, losing my home, I—I mean…I don’t know. I almost lost you in that bloody war. It was too much to deal with everything all at once...not that I had to deal with you, that’s not what I meant,” He stammers, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I know what you mean, Ron,” you say with a soft smile, reassuring him only slightly. “It’s okay.”

He could tell by your faltering smile that it absolutely was not okay, that you were hurting regardless of his reasons. You were just about as discreet with your emotions as he was, and the pang that struck his heart hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.

You weren’t angry with him, his reasons were perfectly valid. But missing your best friend for six years, someone you deemed to be the love of your life, was one of the hardest things you could have been through. It was quite like how you missed him when he’d begun to date Lavender Brown; you couldn’t bear to be around him, for you were far too hurt and too in love to subject yourself to witness their affections. You couldn’t blame her, she was a girl love, but the very way you missed your best friend had left you miserable. So, it was a similar feeling but different all the same.

“Bloody hell, this was way easier in my head,” he chuckles humorlessly, looking out the window. Anything was easier to look at than the look on your face, he felt he might crumble if he looked at your frown a moment longer. “I didn’t want you to feel like I didn’t love you, or that I didn’t care. Because I did, I still do. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You nod even though he didn’t see it and you watch the way his jaw tenses, his gaze bouncing around the scenery just outside the window as he tears another piece off his napkin. The silence was thick and all-consuming, not even the conversations and clinking of dishes and silverware around you could help it. You fumbled with a packet of sugar pinch between your fingers, a million different words sitting on the very tip of your tongue.

“I’m sorry too, you know,” you manage, swallowing thickly as his gaze returns to you in a narrowed stare while yours remains on your hands for a minute longer.

“Y/n, don’t.”

“I left, Ron. I...I feel just as guilty as you.”

You look in his eyes again, biting the inside of your cheek in a valiant attempt to keep your tears at bay. You wouldn’t go into specifics on just why you had eventually left, it wouldn’t be fair to him. It’d only make him feel worse when it had been your choice to do so in the first place. You could have stayed, he wouldn’t have isolated himself forever. But it’d hurt too much and that was something you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him.

“If I hadn’t been so distant you wouldn’t have needed to. It really is my fault,” he said, and you could see he’d started to get worked up.

“Ron.”

You offer him a pleading look in hopes he’d calm down, for any more anger towards oneself was not necessary for either of you. There had been enough of that in the past few years to last a lifetime. He settled down after a moment or two, a small yet sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nods.

The following minutes were silent and almost the rest of the time spent there for that matter, and it was much less awkward though the tension was still very much there. But conversation had ceased nevertheless, and it was more so a quiet agreement to enjoy the other’s company even if neither of you would admit it. Company you found yourself needed more than you could have imagined. It certainly hadn’t gone how you had expected it to go, whether it be a good or bad kind of unexpected, you weren’t sure. But sitting there with him hadn’t felt as miserable or awkward as it may have looked from an outsiders viewpoint. It was a mutual feeling that maybe things would be okay after this, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

8 Months Later

Eight months had passed since you’d gotten that tea with Ron, and things had changed drastically since that day. There was plenty more that had gotten sorted through, and plenty more lengthier talks were had in order to clear things up and move forward. It hadn’t been remotely easy at first, but Ron Weasley wasn’t someone you could stay mad at, he never was. He may have been stubborn but he cared deeply for you, that much was certain. It had taken a good month or two for things to feel somewhat how they used to or at least as best as they could, but everything good happens in time, you suppose.

You’d spend more and more of your free time with each other, until any and all of that free time had been taken up. He’d given in to your suggestions of going to Madam Puddifoot’s, and he did in fact love her pastries just like you thought he would, even though he would never admit it. You were a month away from completing your training as a healer, and he’d graciously offered to help, though he’d helped more than intended with the handful of quidditch accidents he’d gotten himself into at home. Perhaps the most notable was the way you still missed him, the way he’d missed you. It was an adjustment being friends once more, but friends were better than strangers.

Currently, it was the long awaited spring holiday at Hogwarts for students and professors, one that delightfully coincided with your time off of work. Therefore, you’d bought up a handful of books from Flourish and Blotts, and accompanied Ron for a week at the Burrow. 

The first time you had been at the family home wasn’t unlike every other visit you’d had, much to your surprise. Despite not having seen any of the Weasley’s for a considerable amount of time, it felt as if it’d been just yesterday that you’d seen them. They welcomed you with near suffocating hugs to make up for what surely would have been millions of embraces, and they had swept you away into about ten different conversations at once. It felt as though no time at all had passed, as if you hadn’t been separated from the welcoming family for just over half a decade.

It was a relief to your relentless nerves that they hadn’t held any animosity towards you for leaving. That very guilt had been weighing you down the moment you had made that decision. But you suppose it would be rather hard for the Weasley family to think ill of most anyone; they were wonderful, more love in their hearts than anything.

You had spent the better part of the warm spring day in a spot you and Ron had declared your own the very moment you had found it as teens. It was perfect. It was nestled within a clearing of trees and foliage, a small body of water settled in the very midst of it all. This time of year, the wildflowers were in full bloom to douse the area in its colorful floral beauty. Birds chirped and sang high up in the trees, the sun’s golden rays weaving in and out of old and twisting branches. The trees were perhaps your favorite part. They were older than you could imagine, covered in winding vines and moss that swirled up their trunks, their knotted roots perfect for nestling in with a good book. That is exactly how you’d been spending your afternoon.

It was a place that housed many fond memories amongst you and the Weasley family, and you were overjoyed to be able to take in its beauty again.

“Are you going to read all day?” Ron complains, mouth nearly full with a bite of his sandwich.

“You know, I just might now that you mention it,” you jest, laughing as you watch him let his head fall forward, his hair dangling out of his face and sticking every which way.

“It’s almost sunset and you’ve spoken what, three sentences to me? Three, Y/n,” he complains, huffing out a sigh as he narrows his eyes at you playfully. 

You peer over the edge of your book to see the sky was in fact filling with orange and pink hues the more it’d dipped down into the horizon, effectively dissolving your argument against his words. You sigh softly, folding the corner of your page and tucking your book away.

“You’re a pain. Have I ever told you that?”

“Yes, Y/n, you have,” he says, his attempts to sound displeased quickly failing as a smile pulls at his lips. 

“And rightfully so.”

You rest your head back against the tree, gazing up at the expanse above you. A flock of birds had been flying high overhead, the breeze blowing gently over your face. His scoff at your words was well heard beside you as you let your eyes fall closed, a soft laugh leaving your lips at the way he’d been acting. In your moment of bliss you’d missed quite a lot, his attention settling on you once more while he had the chance to do as such.

The hair tangling with his lashes and tickling his skin was of no importance in that very moment, nor was the fact that the very tree root he’d been leaning his hand on was poking into his palm rather uncomfortably. You were too enchanting to care about much else. You always had a way of stealing his attention yet still being so blissfully unaware of it. Perhaps that was for the better that you weren’t privy to his admiring, perhaps sometimes he found himself wishing you weren’t.

He wanted to reach out and brush the stubborn strands of hair out of your face, tucking them away behind your ear. He’d done it countless times before. It was awfully hard for him to enjoy the beauteous world around him when he’s got you sitting before him, making even the most enamoring of sunsets pale in comparison to you.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you move to stand to your feet, and he just barely manages to tear his eyes from you. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t felt him staring, you could always feel it, you had caught him gawking plenty of times and each ended with incredulous scoffs and awkward laughs. Regardless, you chose not to say anything, the pink staining his cheeks enough of an indication.

You leave his side and walk to the waters edge, dipping your feet in as you hear him sigh behind you softly. You smile to yourself, laughing quietly at the thought of him.

“What are you doing?” He calls out, and you turn to face him, finding him squinting against the evening sun as he stood to his feet.

“Enjoying the water, not reading. What’s it look like?” You quip with a raised brow and a smirk.

The water wasn’t quite as enjoyable as it may have been in the summer season, it still had a brisk coldness that nipped at your skin too much to fully swim in it. Though that didn’t mean you couldn’t have your fun. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, so much so that you had to turn away from him before it became much too evident that you had been up to something. Unfortunately for you, Ron was rather observant and had caught on to such things fairly quickly, but not quick enough.

You crouch down and stick your hand in the cool water, drawing up a considerable wave to splash him with. His mouth fell agape at the near icy shock of your antics, a laugh leaving your lips that soon turned to a squeal as you took a few steps back from him. The very same mischief had begun to dance in his eyes as he dipped both hands in the water, scooping out a much larger handful before sending it cascading over your skin.

“Ronald Weasley, that was way more than I did!” You shout, his laughter immediate at your reaction. 

“Was not!”

Your frown hadn’t lasted very long as you bit back your smile. He looked away as he continued with his soft laughter, shaking his head. It wasn’t long before you too had found yourself staring, it was hard not to with the way water droplets had been falling from his hair and rolling down the bridge of his freckled nose. More so when those very droplets had dripped over the curves of his lips in a way that was almost too irresistible. You had to look away before you got yourself in trouble, instead focusing your attention on the way the stars had begun to twinkle just above you both.

It was perhaps your favorite time of day, for it was when the sky held the most color, and when the world had started to slow down. Any cloud that hung in the sky was pigmented with the prettiest oranges and pinks, and the fireflies were starting to make their reappearance with the warmer weather. The crickets began to chirp and the breeze had blown across the overgrown grass.

Unbeknownst to you, Ron had picked up where you left off, his eyes falling to you when yours return to the setting sun. You looked radiant to him, with the way your hair glimmered in the glowing orange hues, or the way your smile had been brighter and more enamoring than the very view before you both. He found himself admiring you as a friend that was too in love for his own good once more, the same way he did when he was a teenager. He didn’t want to be your friend, he wanted to be yours. He wanted to tell you he loved you because he’s never stopped, he didn’t want to blow it this time as he’d done once before.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You say. You pull your attention back to him after a few silent moments had passed without response.

“Yeah,” he smiles, and it was clear he’d been far too busy looking at you. “It is.”

You grin at him before shaking your head fondly, exhaling a laugh at his distracted words, unaware of the nerves fluttering around within him. He was always too caught up with you too pay attention to seemingly anything when you were around.

“Is it wrong that I want to kiss you right now?” Ron asks, swallowing thickly as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

You look up then, the look on his face filled with hope and the underlying regret of even speaking in the first place, fearing he may have messed things up by being too bold for his own good. The seconds had quickly felt like hours and he felt like he may just melt if his cheeks burned any redder. Regardless of his obvious inner turmoil, you find yourself smiling softly as you shake your head.

“No, I don’t think it is.”

He stood there, stunned as his eyes widen a fraction. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d heard you correctly, or if he’d just conjured up the answer he so desperately craved to hear. The very thought was one he found himself playing in his mind ever since the day you had gone your separate ways, and now that it’s here he doesn’t quite know what to do. Doesn’t quite know how to handle himself around you; it’s as if it’s his first time ever seeing you, like a bout of new love came cascading over him and became all that he had known. Except it wasn’t new. It had been the same undying love he’d felt for you for the past nine years, and that was something that would never change.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You ask with a soft smile after a few short moments, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.

His mouth opened and closed, his heart pounding in his chest as a smile tugged at the very corners of his mouth. And with all of the certainty in the world he enveloped your hand in his own and closed any remaining space, his hand settling on your cheek as the tips of his fingers tangle in your hair.

It was a kiss to rival all others, even the very first kiss he’d ever shared with you. For he’d had six years to make up for, of thinking of this very moment, of missing you. He held you as close as he could manage, his heart pounding in his chest as he began to smile.

You were just short of breathless when you part, not straying more than a few inches from his lips as a soft laugh escapes you. You look at him, at the love dancing in his eyes and drop of water that fell from the very tip of his nose, or the ones beaded on his flushed cheeks. It was only mere seconds before you found yourself kissing him again, and again, your laughter mingling with his as his lips brush over your own.

Six years had regrettably passed him by, years that equated to lifetimes without having you with him. Your hold on his heart never faltered in that time, however, not even a little bit. The truth is, you’ve entwined yourself around his very heart and soul.

Those three words didn’t need to be spoken, they were already known. And there wasn’t a single risk he’d take of losing you once more.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @theweasleysredhair

[romiithebirdie]

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

 That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

 But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

 Something he could still not grasp to this day;

 He had everything.

 Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

 Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

 His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

 Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

 While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

 The notorious A.F.O killer.

 He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

 However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

 It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

 The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

 A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

 While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

 Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

 He wasn't a bad kid.

 He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

 Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

 The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

 If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

 Would she still be proud of him now?

 Knowing how far he'd fallen.

 Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

 No. What he'd thought about Nana...

 That wasn't true.

 Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

 She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

 Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

 Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

                                                              .-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

 The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

 From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

 "I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

 You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

 Ding!

 As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

 "Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

 "Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

 He knew it all too well.

 They wanted to communicate with him again.

 The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

 Please go away.

 Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

 No, no, no.

 Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

 Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

 Where was that damned medication?!

 Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

 "Tell him. Please. Tell him."

 "Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

 Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

 Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

 Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

 "I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

 Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

 "Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

 The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

 "Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

 As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

 As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

 "What's your name, kid?"

 "Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

 "Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

 Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

 Did that really just happen?

                                                             .-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

 Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

 "Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

 "What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

 "A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

 "Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

 "He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

 Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

 "I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

 "Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

 She was alive. Injured but alive.

 The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

 Who could have done this?

 His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

 The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

 Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

 Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

 Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

 Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

 Aside from…

 "Kacchan?"

[scottybrock]

Petty & Pettier - Colby Brock

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: “arzaylea rodriguez saying something online or in an interview about reader thus starting a feud between them and the whole gang not really knowing whose side to take? maybe arzaylea is threatened by reader and colbys friendship? ohhh and maybe to add fuel to the fire reader might befriend one of arzayleas exes? just a whole bunch of drama cause I’m in a dramatic mood “

You usually weren’t a petty bitch. 

Okay, so you were. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, especially because you used your powers for good, for your friends, rather than yourself. When it came to defending yourself, you didn’t really care for it. People could think whatever they wanted about you; you knew what was true and what wasn’t. It didn’t bother you. You didn’t really give a flying shit if anyone said anything about you. You were used to it- you hung out with some pretty big content creators, and you were just a lowly nobody, according to what people said about you. You weren’t a Youtuber, and you kept yourself out of the spotlight. People didn’t understand how you became friends with the people you were friends with, but it was really no one’s fucking business. 

However, when it came to defending your friends, you were a shark that had caught a whiff of blood- earnest to draw even more, if need be. It was something your friends loved about you- how much you cared about them, loved them. Colby, especially, appreciated your fierce and unyielding devotion to your friend group. You loved your friends, and you would do anything for them. Putting a few bitches in place was the very least of what you would do for them.

The bitch in question this time around, was none other than Arzaylea Rodriguez. You knew all about her. She went for the clout chasing option when searching for future boyfriends. Unfortunately this time, she had her sights set on none other than Colby Brock.

 You had heard about what she had done to Luke Hemmings, lead singer of the band 5 Seconds of Summer. She had gotten him into harder drugs, tried to isolate him from his best friends and his fans, and nearly succeeded. Luckily, Luke pulled his head out of his ass long enough to finally dump the clout-chasing parasite on her ass. 

Arzaylea prided herself on chasing after boys who had a following, a steady fan base. Colby was too big-hearted to really notice Arzaylea’s true intentions. His heart was too kind, too pure to be able to really see what a horrid person she really was. She was nothing like the flower of her namesake. The rest of the group had seen the destruction she left behind from all of her exes. 

Tara was all for the speedy destruction of the possible blossoming relationship between Colby and Arzaylea. Sam, being the sweetheart he was, wanted things to end as peacefully as possible. Jake seemed torn between wanting you to end her, and wanting things to remain as un-messy as possible. Corey and Devyn seemed indifferent, but also displeased with the blossoming relationship, especially because it involved Arzaylea. Katrina seemed to want to give her the benefit of the doubt, but was leaning towards discovering that the she-devil was trash. Kevin, Mike, and Reggie point-blank didn’t like her, which was where Aryia, Xepher, and Cassie stood. 

“Dude,” Sam’s voice was one of shock. His bright blue eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his jaw hanging slack. “She just roasted you.” Arzaylea, threatened by your friendship with Colby, had taken to Twitter as usual. She sent out a slew of defamatory tweets, bashing not only your character, but your looks as well. She called you an attention-seeking whore. “Pot, meet kettle,” You scoffed in response when you saw that particular tweet. 

“It’s not like any of those tweets are true!” Tara protested vehemently, fuming on your behalf. Jake just stared at his phone screen, his jaw clenched with anger. Katrina seemed to be near-tears on your behalf, her lower lip quivering with indignation and hurt. Her glassy eyes rested on you, and she offered you a shaky half-smile. 

You just shrugged, nonplussed with the tweets. As long as she wasn’t going after your friends, you didn’t necessarily give a flying fuck. Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a rather disheveled looking Colby on the other side. His bright blue eyes were aflame with complete and utter rage. He stalked across the room and plopped down on the couch next to you, his handsome face set into a fierce scowl. 

“She tried to make me choose,” His voice was gruff, and quivering with barely suppressed anger. “She told me to choose either you or her, and I chose you.” His eyes settled on your face, some of the anger leaving it. He offered you a strained smile. “Obviously, I chose you.” His voice softened on the word ‘you,’ Your cheeks flushed, and you ducked your head. “Clearly, she didn’t take it so well.” Colby’s smile dropped, his scowl replacing it. 

You shrugged again. “As long as she doesn’t say anything about-” Tara cut you off, her big brown eyes wide with fury on your behalf. “She’s not going to get away with this,” Her voice was sharp, tight with anger. Jake piped up, “Aren’t you still friends with Luke?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Fight fire with fire, just this once.” He begged, clasping his hands together and tucking them under his chin, wide eyes staring at you. 

Your lips curled up into a smirk. If Arzaylea wanted to play dirty, you could play even dirtier. Katrina beamed, her tears disappearing. “Call him,” She instructed. Sam watched you, looking nervous, but excited. You reached for your phone, your smirk never leaving your face. “That’s your murder-face,” Colby observed, raising his eyebrows. “What exactly is your plan?” 

Your smirk just grew wider, to the absolute delight of Tara and Jake. “You’ll see!” You sing-songed. The glint in your eyes spoke volumes. You were getting ready to win the fucking war. 

Sure enough, Luke had seen the tweets. He was just as angry as your group of friends, and you watched him bemusedly as he threw things around his hotel room, shouting obscenities about what a rat Arzaylea was. He yeeted yet another pillow across the room, storming around like a tornado. Finally, you held a hand up and let out an ear-piercing scream. Luke stopped what he was doing immediately, and turned to face you. His bright blue eyes reminded you of someone else, and your heart panged in your chest. 

“I have a plan,” You announced. Luke stood in the middle of the room, his gorgeous face untwisting from the scowl that it was previously set in, to a lovely smirk. “I’m in,” He replied. You wrinkled your nose at him, smiling amusedly at him. “I didn’t even tell you what it was yet!” You protested playfully. Luke grinned, and his dimples deepened. You stared at him, transfixed. Your heart was set on someone else, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t admire the work of art standing in front of you. 

A few days later, several demands from your friends on when you were going to strike, and a few dozen mysterious smirks from you later, your plan was revealed. “Turn on channel six,” You instructed Sam, who immediately scrambled for the remote. The television flickered to life, and Sam immediately hit the number six. 

Sure enough, Luke was sitting on a plush chair, looking somber. He was sans bandmates, even though Michael begged him to let him come along, so he could roast the absolute shit out of the Krusty Krab. Luke denied his request, ignoring your hysterical laughter in the background during the phone call. 

“So,” Ellen Degeneres began, looking sympathetically at Luke. “You’re here to talk about your toxic ex-girlfriend today?” Luke nodded, his somber expression intensifying. You stifled a laugh. “Yeah,” Luke replied. “Because it’s not only me, that she’s hurt. It’s been several people, and she won’t stop until she’s called out, like she likes to do to so many other people who frown upon her actions.” You bounced on the couch gleefully. Sam was stifling his laughter from behind his hand. Katrina and Tara were outright cackling. Colby looked impressed. 

Luke went on to detail his relationship with Arzaylea, explaining in detail the way she would cheat on him with someone else who she thought had a bigger following, and the way she would beg herself back into his life. The way she urged him to try cocaine, and got him hooked. He went on to detail the way she chased after attention, the way she had left him as soon as there was someone else higher on the food chain. 

Colby’s eyes were wide when Luke was finished with his story. The room was silent, and you swore you heard some sniffles from the audience. You mentally applauded Luke for not only his bravery, but his willingness to do this for you. It was something he’d wanted to do for years, but never knew how to go about it. You hoped that he felt freed from her now. 

You silently clicked the television off, then turned to face your friends. The instant you moved, you were engulfed in Colby’s arms, and he was hugging you tightly. “Thank you,” Colby’s voice murmured softly. “For looking out for me.” You snuggled into his embrace, melting against him. “Always,” You replied, your voice just as soft. “I’ll always look out for you, Colbs.” His arms tightened around you in response. 

You pulled back and looked at him searchingly. “I’m sorry if you really did like her,” Your voice remained soft. “I just didn’t want you to get sucked into her cycle, like Luke did.” Colby’s eyes met yours, and his expression warmed instantly. “It’s whatever,” Colby shrugged. “She wasn’t the one for me. But she helped me pull my head out of my ass, and made me realize that the one for me is closer than I think.” His gaze was meaningful, and you grinned in response. Colby’s lips curled into a soft smile. “In fact, she’s sitting right in front of me.” 

Your cheeks flushed, but you nodded, a sweet smile gracing your face. “Yeah,” You replied softly. “She is.”

[evilrubberducke]

IzuMina Week Day 2- Let Me Count the Ways I Love You

And here’s day two of IzuMina week. This time around, the prompt I chose is ‘Night-time Stroll’. A little bit happier and fluffier than the last prompt, so hopefully it will help you fell better in this trying time.

As I said in my last post, I finally made another blog for my writing/Mina obsession. If that’s the content you follow me for, feel free to go give it a follow so you don’t get quite so many extraneous/personal posts from me.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302390

Or on FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13530836/2/IzuMina-Week-2020

"Blergh!" Mina exclaimed in frustration, collapsing back into her chair, "Midori, I can't take any more of this. Can't we be done?"

Izuku leaned back in his own chair, and set his pencil down. The two of them had taken over one of the common room tables for a study session that afternoon, and had hardly left the table since. For Izuku, that was a fairly normal study session, but for Mina it was the kind of epic studython that she rarely engaged in.

They had gone through each and every subject, with Izuku meticulously explaining each part she didn't understand with the same patience and kindness that he always displayed when helping her study.

If it weren't for him, she never would have made it this far. She had always found it hard to concentrate on studying when there were so many other interesting things she could be doing. Even if she sat herself down in front of a textbook and refused to get up until she had finished a chapter, the words often refused to stick in her brain, and her eyes had a tendency to glaze over as she skimmed through the book without really understanding any of it.

Studying with Izuku was different though. She swore that her boyfriend could read the phone book to her, and he would still find a way to make it interesting. She wasn’t sure if it was something about his voice, or just the way he explained things to her without seeming like he was talking down to her that did it, but whatever the reason was, having him read the material to her was way more effective than any study method she had ever tried before. It wasn't a perfect system, and she still needed plenty of repetition to actually cram everything into her head, but it had helped her raise her grades significantly. 

“We have been studying for quite a while,” Izuku admitted, “I suppose a break could be good, so long as you don’t make it too long.”

“Yes!” Mina cheered, hopping to her feet. She was happy that her grades were rising, especially since it meant her parents had upped her allowance significantly, but she had always been an active person, and sitting still for so long had been driving her a bit stir crazy. 

She stretched her arms out above her head, leaning to the side as she did so to help work some of the kinks out of her back. As she did so, the light of the full moon pouring in the window caught her eye, and she was suddenly struck with the perfect idea for how to relieve her stress, and maybe buy a little extra break time for herself too.

“Hey, Midori, want to go for a walk with me?”

He cocked his head in confusion, then turned to stare out the window into the night beyond. “Ummm, isn’t it a bit late for that?”

“Nope!” Mina chirped, “We’ve still got tons of time before lights out. And there’s plenty of light, cuz of the moon. It’s the perfect night for a stroll!”

“Mina, I really can’t. I still haven’t started on the essay for English, and I really should go over this section ahead of time for when we review it together,” Izuku said, gesturing at the textbook that was in front of him.

Mina blew a raspberry in response. “C’mon Midori! That essay isn’t due till next week. Besides, you’ve been studying for even longer than I have. You need a break as much as I do.”

He wavered for a moment, and Mina seized the chance. She put on her best pleading face, knowing that Izuku was helpless when it came to resisting a pair of puppy dog eyes. She’d realized that little tidbit rather early on in their relationship, and had made great use of it. 

Their eyes met, and his resistance crumbled as a small smile spread across his face. “Okay, okay. I’ll come with you. But we are going to finish studying when we get back.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Mina said with a sigh. Having that hanging over her head would bring down the mood a little, but she would manage.

-

Despite how warm the day had been, the night air was cool and crisp as Mina stepped outside. She had pulled on a light jacket before heading out, but she still cuddled up to Izuku’s side and pulled his arm around her before they could even start their walk.

Even though they had been dating for several months now, Izuku’s cheeks still flushed slightly from the contact. She liked that look. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that no matter how much time they spent together, and no matter how many times they cuddled, Izuku still cared enough to get flustered over something so simple.

She didn’t really have a destination in mind as the two of them set out into the evening. She just wanted to move around and spend time with her boyfriend thinking about anything but homework. Thankfully UA had plenty of walking paths for them to explore. 

The one they ended up choosing wove around the edge of the campus and through the carefully maintained trees there. With the only light coming from the moon overhead, Mina felt like they were walking through an isolated patch of forest instead of the nearly urban school grounds.

“Pretty romantic, huh?” Mina said, glancing up at her boyfriend. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, but the difference in height was noticeable enough when they walked arm in arm. 

“Yeah, it really is,” Izuku said, turning his own gaze up to look at the night sky.

“Sooo, why don’t we make it even more romantic?” Mina asked, giving him a light poke in the ribs to pull his attention back to her.

“How so?” 

“Like this!” Mina said, stopping in her tracks and turning slightly so she and Izuku were face to face, arms wrapped around each other. 

“I like you because you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You never make me feel stupid for not understanding something, even though it takes me forever to get math. I like you because you’re so passionate about everything you do. You never stop giving it your all, even when things are super tough and it's honestly so inspiring. Everyone in the class looks up to you, me most of all. You make me want to do better, to be better all the time. And even when things are tough, you always help me out. I really, really, really like you, for all of those reasons and a bunch more!” 

As she finished, she pulled Izuku in close and planted a kiss on his lips. She put all the feeling she could into the gesture, wishing that she could convey even a tenth of what she felt for the wonderful, adorkable boy who had stolen her heart all those months ago. She couldn’t, of course, but she still tried her best.

By the time she pulled back, Izuku had turned completely red. Mina had thought she had seen him at his blushiest before, but that had been nothing compared to this. Honestly, he looked like he was going to keel over from the amount of blood that had rushed to his head. Not that she really had any room to judge. She could tell her own cheeks were flushed

“Th-That’s not fair,” Izuku mumbled, “You need to warn me before you say stuff like that.”

“No way,” Mina said, “That would mean I don’t get to see your flustered face anymore, and that’s way too cute to never see again.”

“I’m not cute,” Izuku protested, “I’m just… plain.”

“You are a cutie-patootie, mister,” Mina replied, booping him on the nose to forestall any protest, “And sure, I’m a little biased because we’re dating, but that doesn’t change facts. Besides, being cute is more than just looks. It’s how you act too, and that’s something you’ve got down pat. I’ve never met someone who acts quite as cute as you do.”

To her surprise, that last line didn’t send Izuku into another spiral of blushing. Instead, a soft smile bloomed on his face as he locked eyes with her.

“I can think of someone,” he said calmly, “And she’s standing right in front of me.”

Now it was Mina’s turn to be reduced to a blushing mess. There was something about seeing the change in him, from shy and awkward to surprisingly smooth that never failed to set her heart racing.

He wasn’t done there, though. “Mina, I really, really, really like you too. You’re the kindest, sweetest, happiest girl I’ve ever known, and just being around you is enough to make me smile. But that’s not enough for you. You keep getting stronger, and faster, and more amazing every day because you never give up. Even when it’s tough, you just keep smiling and making the world around you a brighter place, just by existing. You’ve taken my breath away since the moment we first met, and I can’t wait to see how you’ll do it next.”

Whereas Mina’s kiss had been quick and passionate, the kiss Izuku laid on her lips was slow, gentle, and so loving that it was all Mina could do not to melt into a happy pink puddle right then and there.

Thankfully, she resisted the urge, and they spent several minutes simply standing there, arms wrapped around each other as they enjoyed the simple intimacy of being close to the person they loved most in the world. 

Eventually, however, they did have to break their embrace and return to the dorms. Neither of them were in Aizawa’s good graces at the moment, so any curfew violations would see them cleaning the dorms for a week.

To Mina’s surprise, however, she wasn’t as reluctant to return to the dorms and the pile of unfinished homework within them as she had expected to be. Hearing Izuku’s confessions of affection had been exactly what she needed to recharge her batteries. 

It was still going to be a long evening, but she felt like she could handle it. After all, she had her favorite person in the whole world to help her out, and together they could conquer anything.

[smilingformoney]

America’s Most Eligible 3 Diamond Scene: Console Mackenzie

You: Let’s go. Together. Natalie: I knew I could count on you. Derek: How are we going to find her? You: I have a feeling I know where she is. Follow me. You take charge and lead Natalie and your friends out of the mansion…

The five of you head down to the beach, scanning the shoreline for Mackenzie. You: She’s gotta be here. It’s the only place I could think of where she’d be alone right now. Natalie: Good instincts. I think I see her! You follow where Natalie’s pointing, and spy Mackenzie sitting on the beach, staring at the waves lapping around her feet. You all race toward her. Mackenzie sighs and turns to face everyone. In the dim light you can just barely make out the tear stains down her cheeks. Mackenzie: How could AME do this, Jen? As showrunner, you must’ve known something about it. Jen: I didn’t, I swear. Omar’s had a nasty habit of keeping these ‘twists’ a secret from me all season. Jen: I’ll have a word with him before tomorrow, I promise. It’s high time they started looping me in on this kind of stuff. Mackenzie: Thanks, this is all just so… hard. You: I know-- Mackenzie: How could you possibly know what I’m going through right now? Mackenzie: Never in a million years did I think I’d have to face seeing my mother again on AME. Jen: I guess we can’t claim to know what you’re going through right now… Jen looks around the group in a tentative effort to garner support. Jen: But I know how challenging it can be to grow up with one parent. My dad died when I was still in high school. Adam: No matter what cards you’re dealt in life, it can be lonely and isolating. Adam: I struggled a lot as an only child. At time it felt so impossible to let people in. Derek: You’re either on the outs because you put yourself there… or everyone else did. Derek: Growing up, I felt so different from my classmates because of the way my mom raised me. Mackenzie: No one gets out unscathed, huh? What about you, Jamie? You: Growing up is always hard…

You: My childhood was… -Rough too.

You: I had my fair share of struggles growing up… it definitely wasn’t always easy. You: But it taught me patience and that I would always make it out okay in the end.

-A mixed bag.

You: For every great experience I had came an equally bad one. You: It taught me to cherish joy, and embrace sorrow when it comes. And in the end, everything will be okay.

-Actually great though.

Mackenzie: Okay, ouch? You: I’m just being truthful. I didn’t have any glaring moments of hardship, and I’m grateful and how they raised me. You: Which is a huge privilege. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see, the pain that Mackenzie is experiencing now.

You: Good or bad, these experiences brought all of us where we are today. Here, together, surrounded by friends. Natalie: I feel almost guilty that we had such different experiences with Mom. Mackenzie: She was the last thing I ever wanted you to think about. Natalie: But it’s not fair! You had to go through so many years of being alone with what she did. Mackenzie: I may have been alone then, but knowing that you grew up without ever having to know our mother makes it all worth it. You: And now you have friends who will support you to the ends of the earth. Mackenzie smiles slightly, then sighs. She looks to the group with a pained look behind her eyes. Mackenzie: I’m glad you guys are trying to make me feel better, really. But none of you know how hard it really was… Mackenzie: I don’t know how someone could go through all the effort to finalise the adoption of two kids, only to abandon them. Natalie: I never thought if it that way… I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually talk about her. Mackenzie: You were so young when Mom left. Do you remember anything? Natalie: Not at all… but I think it’s time you told me. You place a comforting hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder. You: We can see how much pain you’re in.

You: Mackenzie… -Can you tell us what happened?

Mackenzie: I’ll never forget the day she left. Dad picked us up from school as usual, but when we got home… Mackenzie: Ruby, and everything that belonged to her, was totally gone! Natalie: Just like that? Mackenzie: Yeah, I was so confused… I sat outside the house for hours waiting for her to come back. Mackenzie: I even brought an extra plate of dinner outside because I thought she’d be hungry when she got back. You: Mackenzie, I’m so sorry. Mackenzie: I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad more worried. How could you do something like that to your own family?

-You don’t have to share anything.

Mackenzie: Thanks, Jamie. It’s… hard for me to talk about. Especially the day she left us. Mackenzie: Natalie, one day I might be able to tell you… but for now, I just want to get through this feeling. Natalie: It’s okay, Mackenzie. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. You: Take as much space and time as you need.

Natalie: I… I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand how much you protected me from Ruby. Mackenzie: Neither of us should have needed protecting. Especially from someone who claimed to love us. Jen: It must have taken a long time to feel like things were ‘normal’ after she left. Mackenzie: The first few days were rough, but then I realised how relieved I was that she’d left. You: Relieved? Mackenzie: My dad always knew he wanted kids… I guess our mom just never fell into the mother role. Mackenzie: He tried so hard to make her happy… but he always fell short to her standards. It made him miserable. Natalie: That’s hard to picture. Dad’s always so, well, Dad. Mackenzie: Tell me about it. It took a few years, but now he’s one of the most carefree people I know. Mackenzie: In a lot of ways, I’m glad that our mom left us. But she made it hard for me to trust people… and very protective of Natalie. Natalie: I was so worried when you decided to go on AME that the experience might make you even more wary of people… Natalie: But I think it’s only made you more open. Natalie: We may have a crappy mom, but I wouldn’t trade the bond we have for anything. Mackenzie: Not in a million years. Mackenzie: But sometimes I wish it was easier for me to let other people in. You: Mackenzie, since I’ve known you, you’ve grown so much.

You: I want you to know… -I will never abandon you. +50

You: I’m committed to you and our relationship. You can always count on me. You: It’s something I’m determined to show you every day that we’re together. Mackenzie: You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to, I’m too hot. I’ve got you under my spell. You: You can say that again.

-I will never abandon our friendship. +50

You: I’m not going anywhere, ever. Mackenzie: Good.

-You’re the most caring person I know. +50

You: Under that tough girl exterior, there’s a whole lotta heart. Mackenzie: Shh you’ll ruin my image. Her face brightens and she jokingly looks around as though she’s watching out for cameras. Natalie: I agree with Jamie. You’re a real sweetheart, Mackenzie.

Derek: None of us will ever abandon you. Adam: Once you’re my friend, you’re a friend for life. Jen: We’re lucky to have you in our lives. You: Whether you want us or not, we’re here for you. Mackenzie: Alright, you guys are gonna make me sick. You: Then you’re gonna hate this. You motion to your friends, and you all wrap around Mackenzie in a giant group hug. Mackenzie: Let’s get back to the mansion before you literally love me to death.

[melancholicvampires]

A light summer breeze brushed Carmilla's wavy hair. She took a walk to the church garden, which was a lovely sight during the blissful season. Birds singing excited songs, flowers blossoming in vivid colours, surrounded by buzzing bees and butterflies longing for nectar and the sun gracing nature with her warmth and light. The garden was filled with lavender, daisies, irises, peonies and roses of pink and red at thise time of the year. An old great oak spending shadow to those who are in need of rest from the sovereign sun. The oak was a silent observer and participant of his surroundings, the lively visitors, that come and go as they are born and die within his sweeping branches or on his bulging roots. Carmilla often found herself asking how it must feel to stay in one place for the eternity of life. Part of her longing for such a settled life, the other part scared of being chained and never able to leave one place. Countless oppurtunities and events in need of witness would go astray while seeing others embraced by the muse of nature, writing, drawing, falling in love. It would just be a life filled with regret, wouldn't it?

Carmilla reminded herself to take Amalia with her to the garden one day, sitting under the canopy of that attentive tree. It was a pity Amalia always had so little time, burried under numerous notes and thick books. Carmilla sighed. It not seldom worried her, when Amalia was given no time for herself. She so often had to help the villagers with their small wounds and it angered Carmilla. She asked herself how this village even survived without a doctor at those moments. ‘Humans are delicate creatures’ is what her mother used to say, however she wouldn't have expected them to be as fragile as the wing of an insect.

Carmilla thought about preparing a small picnic for Amalia and considered what food she liked. The church was usually quiet. Enzio tended the plants early in the morning, otherwise the garden rarely had visitors, except from the frequent visits of critters. Carmilla didn't mind, quite the opposite, she enjoyed the peaceful isolation. Today however the garden was not the usual silent paradise she was hoping for.

“If you would just talk to me, I could explain to you", a well known voice said, however in a tone of desperation she rarely heard nowadays of Célestin. She remembered it from when he was a child and she would pull pranks on him, always asking to stop. Now it had become much harder to play tricks on him, Carmilla thought with a little wistfulness in her heart.

“We already did. We are just turning in circles. You tell me you would explain everything, but you don't explain anything”, Enzio countered, his arms crosses in front of his chest.

“Give me one last chance and I will explain!”.

“You repeat yourself", Enzio sighed. “I still need to take care of a few tasks. So if you would excuse me, I want to have those finished by the end of the day instead of arguing with you any longer”.

He turned on his heel without waiting for a response and slammed the door of the church shut.

Célestin fell back on the bench, exhaling deeply and rubbing his temples.

“Always thought he would never even dare to consider raising his voice against you”, Carmilla said.

Célestin startled by hearing the voice of the involuntary listener, slouching and quickly hiding his face in his hands again. “How much did you hear?”.

“Sadly only the last part of your romantic conversation. Did I miss out on anything?”. She took a seat next to him on the bench.

“Be glad you didn't have to sit through the whole disaster. He was right about us turning in circles. It went nowhere!”, he groaned, “Just as I thought the day couldn't get any worse. I had a bad dream, I woke up with a headache, my favourite blouse ripped and my hair is terribly dry. And the weather! It's too warm, the sun dazzles me and those annoying critters are wherever I go and can't stay quiet for a second! Whatever sadistic creature is up there must have taken loathing on me. Enzio always says there's a merciful god, but I don't believe that those horrors are mercy. It's a living nightmare!”. He raised his voice gradually with every new exaggeration.

She caressed his back and examined his hair for blemish, but couldn't find any. His blond long hair was still as shiny and soft as usual. He might have grown and is harder to trick, but he’s just as dramatic as he used to be when he was a child. He always complained about every single minor coincidence that was even a little inconvenient to him. She remembered how he complained a complete week and didn't speak to her for a whole year and merely gave her cold stares, all because she hid his favourite toy for a day. No matter what she tried to cheer him up, whether it was cooking his favourites dish or reading a play he adored to him, he would consistently stay in his role. He also always hated summer, especially the burning heat and dazzling sun. It would disturbe his appearance on stage. Carmilla always liked the summer months. The warm sun kissing her cold skin, the flowery scent in the air and sparks of the fireflies at clear nights.

“You're right. I can see some black strands coming through".

“Just cut them off”, he said in a monotonous voice.

“I'm joking. They are still golden blond and as soft as cotton". She awaited a snarky comment as reply, but only heard a deep sigh instead.

She gave him an encouraging slap on his back. He straightened his back out of reflex and rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“Ouch!”, he cried, showing his sharp teeth, “What was that for?”.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Thought I would cheer you up that way".

“You are supposed to do it lightly and not beat the air out of my lungs".

“I tried to be as gentle as possible. Perhaps you should work out more often”.

“I wasn't expecting you to hit me", he protested, “And you don't just magically solve the problem by hitting me".

She felt pity for him, although only a tiny bit.

“I'm curious. Why is he so important to you? I don't remember you being so heart broken over the others”.

“Let me explain it to you. Did you ever admire a dress, presented in a window of a shop? So you enter it, try it on, see that it looks and fits perfect on you and buy the beautiful dress with all it's frills and bows. As you are home you try it on again, however you realize it almost slips off your shoulder or is too tight at odd places. The bows and frills look like a cheap doll on you. Maybe the dress wasn't right for you after all, but the blonde girl with the elaborate curls, you saw earlier on the street, would have worn it like an enchanting princess. It might not be right for you, yet you had a pleasant moment of feeling delighted when you first wore it. Do you understand what I mean?”.

Carmilla remembered all those times she stared at dresses, being captivated by them, spending too much money on them, only to realize it didn't look right a few days later. Whenever this occured she always repeated the same old saying to herself. To sleep a night over it. However she told herself the verse a bit too often.

“I suppose I do", she mumbled.

He nodded satisfied and began smiling. Not the smile of a lovesick fool she so often saw in the plays he was in, but a genuine smile. “You see, when I'm with him, I want to stay in the moment and stop time. There's not that lingering doubt, instead I want to treasure everything of him. His voice when he sings, how his eyes shine when he tells stories, the way he smiles and moves when he plays the violin and the words he speaks, that are like hearing a poem from a muse. Don't get me wrong. I love the relationships I had. All of them were lovely, with a few exceptions. Yet there was always this lingering solitary. It's not like that with Enzio.  There is no word, that do justice to describe what I feel, when I'm with him, but being complete”.

“Why don't you tell him what you just told me?”, she asked as she remembered an easier way to solve the problem, “Why don't you erase his memory of the incident? It's just a small detail you would have to erase after all"

He looked at her with eyes wide open and slightly backed away from her, like her question broke a taboo.

“I can not tell him that! It's one thing telling you that, but it's another to tell the person I love all that. Especially when he doesn't want to listen to what I say", he exclaimed, “And I certainly won't erase or attempt to change his memories of the evening. I've never seen him so at ease and glad. I won't take this memory from him. But most instantly he's not prey”.

It was almost adorable seeing him like he was in love for the first time, Carmilla thought to herself. Her brother who always knew the right words to say to whomever striked his liking and who was always confident enough to even use lines, that were dripping with kitsch.

After a while of silence she finally said, “I would ask you if you learned talking like that in the theatre, but you always phrased every sentence that melodramatic. I hope you won't be brooding over your lost love and barricade yourself in a castle for 400 years. I've he's still in there. He isn't alone at least”.

“I understand his isolation. Perhaps I should move far away and hide from the cruel world".

Carmilla rolled with her eyes. “You wouldn't survive two days alone out there”.

Célestin put on a proud smirk and suddenly grabbed her shoulder, eyes glistening and wearing a broad grin on his face. “You could talk to him for me!".

“Is that your grande idea? Did you got that from the theatre? It's ridiculous.  I won't get involved in your lovers’ tiff”. Carmilla drew her shoulder away from his grib.

“You've seen how our dispute went. It doesn't matter what I say at this point”. He returned to a slouching position, starring at the ground. “I understand he might need distance and time, but I'm scared of losing him".

She knew he was right. Enzio was still too upset as to listen to what Célestin has to say, especially because he doesn't explain well. She knew the feeling of ugly regret.

“Fine. I play the role of the mediator in your silly marriage dispute”, she grumbled. Célestin raised his head with joyful hope in his eyes as Carmilla lifted a finger, the way older sisters do when they lecture their younger siblings. “But first I would like to know what's in it for me”.

“My infinite gratitude for your selfless deed?”.

“Oh please, you can do better than this". Carmilla crossed her arms.

“Well, Amalia and yours truly will be at the pub in the evening. I could arrange something between you two. If you bring Enzio I’ll pay for your drinks. But don't tell him I'm there. Invite him over to drink and forget about worries. A round at the pub just between two friends. I don't want him to get suspicious or decline the offer because of me”.

As he mentioned Amalia, Carmilla blushed all over her face. “How do you know that I like her?”.

“Aside from you telling me in this very moment, it's hard to unsee the looks you two exchange, Millie”, he answered with a triumphant smirk.

“Don't call me that!”, she hissed, cringing. She hated that name. It always makes her feel like a naive little child. “You're so childish". She got up from the bench, keeping her arms crossed and raising her head slightly to make her appear taller than her small physique.

“Says the one who’s too scared to ask the lady she laid eyes on out".

She could hear his amusement and how his smirk got wider.

“You should be quiet, because I'm doing this for you", she replied  without a glance at him. She wouldn't grant him that favour.

“Whatever you say, Millie".

She made an annoyed noise, loud enough for him to hear. As she put her hand on the doorknob of the church entrance, she mumbled “Idiot" and slammmed the door behind her.

 The loud door slam filled the almost empty halls of the church with a deep echo, startling Enzio as he assembled flowers on the altar.

Carmilla put her hand in front of her mouth. “Pardon the disturbance. It wasn't my intention to scare you”.

“No need to apologize. I was just surprised someone would visit the church at this hour", he said and continued his work on decorating the altar.

She approached the altar and stood before him. The sound of her otherwise silent footsteps whispered through the modest, but impressive building. There was always a feeling of awe and respect, when she looked up the high ceiling, throning over her small figure. And yet it appeared so small and narrow from the outside, however that impression was deceiving. Enzio was still focusing on his work, already used to the old church. She wondered how it must be to live in such building, filled with history, secrets and unknown passages. If he ever examined any of that arcana knowledge? She would ask him someday. To her it was an impossibility not to explore them. Her residence for the time being, although old, didn't offer many of such secrets to her dismay.

She cleared her throat. “I saw you had quite a dispute with my brother”.

“Did Célestin ask you to talk with me and only to repeat what he has said already? You don't need to waste your time on this”. He was still focussing on his flower composition.

That was exactly what she would have liked to do. This whole discussion already seemed overexagerated to her, since it is merely a misunderstanding. Although a complex one.

She thought of Amalia. At least Carmilla would be able to spend some quality time with her this evening. And she would have felt bad to leave her part of the deal unfulfilled. A part she soesnt like to admit to herself felt bad for Célestin. She doesn't want to keep him from the feeling of romantic love. Something that feels true for an eternity.

“He did", she admitted, “I want to speak honest with you. I understand your disappointment in my brother and I won't force you to do anything you aren't willing to do. However I believe he deserves a second chance”.

He cut a bloomed flower head from its green stem with strained fingers, still not looking up, but he listened to every word she says. He tried working as quiet as possible when she spoke, avoiding any pesky rustling of leaves or noises from cutting the flowers. It appeared to her a better concept to talk around it for a while, however seeing him pretending to focus on trivial work was reason enough for her to be blatant about it.

“I cannot give you a satisfying explanation. Maybe you will get one someday, maybe you won't. However it doesn't matter for now. You only need to know he wasn't doing anything of what you think. He does not see you merely as a way of passing time. You should have heard how he talks about you. I've never heard him talk this way about any other lover he had. I believe he means it. He wouldn't lie to me".

“He said the exact same words to me”.

“It is more than that, isn't it", she concluded, leaning against the altar, “After all both of you want the same thing and yet you hesitate to make the next step, eventhough you are aware of his reputation and he apologized on every possible occasion. So what is holding you back?”

He sighed and finally laid the scissors and roses down, forming a fist with his hands and spreading his lips together. “I don't comprehend why he would see more in me than any of his other lovers. I'm not rich or well-known. I'm not even confident enough to go on stage like he does”.

“Don't you notice that this is exactly what he likes about you?”.

He put a questioning look on. To her it seemed so obvious, it was almost frustrating to see him being so oblivious. How humans wasted their limited life time with unnecessary doubts and thousands of worries, she would never understand.

“My brother can tell you all that and knowing him I'm sure he already did so. But to give you reassurance, he appreciates your kindness, compassion and the talent you have. And you needn't worry about being anything less than others or not being enough as you said. He told me countless hours of your brilliant masterpieces”, she gave him a wink.

He leaned against the altar next to Carmilla, posture and tense shoulders loosened. He sighed in relieve. “He wouldn't stop asking me about new compositions. At first he was only giving compliments out of politeness, but he always asked and would sit down to hear them, without making a single noise while I played the violin. So I composed more pieces whenever I had time, since he would want to hear them".

“You see?”, Carmilla made an explaining gesture, satisfied with how she solved her temporare couple counselling. There remained only one task. “How about we spend the evening in the pub? The day feels so long and draining already, I could use some indulgence and glasses of wine at end of this day".

The drunken banter and cheap wine weren't of interest to her. Under regular circumstance she wouldn't even have thought about spending her precious late hours in visiting a cheap establishment like this. Usually she indulged in reading the same dusty yellowed books over and over again on her couch, squeaking with every so tiny movement. Yet all her thoughts already wandered to being captivated by the soft and smart voice of Amalia, while telling stories of sharp scalpels and skilled hands, red from blood.

“An evening out sounds like a welcome change from all the trouble of the couple past days", he agreed.

“So it's decided. I'll see you after dusk in the pub”.

Before she went to leave, Enzio gestured her to wait and picked up a few white roses, binding them to a small bouquet.

“Célestin mentioned how much you adore white roses and I imagine they look beautiful in your mansion. And please give those to Célestin”. He handed her a bouquet of white carnations.

She stared at the flowers in admiration. She already knew a spot the roses would look lovely on. “These are beautiful! Thank you. I'll take good care of them”.

“I have to thank you”, he said.

“Then I gladly accept your thanks", she replied. “Oh, and wear something nice this evening".

[the-rosemary-gazette]

Eternal Nights

Ayako wound her long black hair up, twisting it so that she could pin it on top of her head out of the way. She knew that her hair was far longer than made sense, but she loved the sensation of it too much to cut it. Besides, she knew that she could never manage to cut it herself, and to go to a hair salon was impossible for her. Letting Rose cut it for her might be the only solution, one that would not involve exposing herself to daylight or the need for mirrors, but she also knew that Rose was incapable of doing anything in a straight line, so her hair remained a long cascade down her back.

She washed, squatting by the tap to fill her small, wooden bowl with water. Sometimes she would use the stools or the shower head provided, but often she would shun them in favour of the old routine she knew that had existed long before showers had been invented. The warm water was pleasant against her skin, rinsing away the grime and sweat that would build up in summer. She ignored the mirror, showing soap and bowl floating in mid-air. The mirror was for the benefit of the customers at the onsen, not for her. It was normal to have mirrors so she had added them, despite the fact that few customers really came to stay in the tattered building hidden amongst the forest, backed up against a volcano that rumbled gently as it provided the hot, sulphurous water that she bathed in.

She knew that her face showed no outward sign of having ages since the night when a monster had arrived  in her life, massacring her family and turning her. She had woken up, ice cold and undead, to his face and hiding behind him, cowering in fear another young woman just like her though it had taken them a long time before they could communicate well enough to know that her story was the same as Ayako’s. The man who turned them hadn’t counted on them learning to communicate, thinking that he would be able to keep them both controlled and isolated, unable to talk to each other. But they had, and they had formed an alliance that had allowed them to escape away where they could be free of his influence, even if it meant they had to learn how to survive on their own. They weren’t really alone, because they had each other to explore with and fall in love.

They had traveled for a time, seeing the world, but they had returned to Japan and the isolated volcanic slopes where Ayako had been born. Rose liked to drift, having no desire to return to her roots, seeing nothing but bad memories of a tragic blood-soaked night that changed the course of her existence, wanting to face forward and push onwards. Ayako missed the smell of sulphur and wanted to be able to feel a closeness to her families, even if they had never been cremated and had nothing but a small grave that she had carefully built herself deep amongst the trees.

She sighed at the pleasant sensation of being clean, at washing away the day. Her body rinsed, she walked across the rustic stones to the steaming bath. With barely a ripple she stepped into it, letting the hot water soak deep into her as if it was soothing her soul. It didn’t matter that she did it every day, she still felt a deep gratitude for the warmth that seeped its way into her bones. She knew that when she left the tender embrace of the hot water the heat would still linger in her, giving her for a while the illusion of being warm-blooded rather than a dead thing without circulation.

For a moment that could have lasted an eternity she gazed upwards in silence at the moon. It was a shame that it was impossible for her or Rose to see their outdoor baths in daylight, but under the soft silvery glow of moonlight it was still beautiful. The sky was clear with no clouds to hide the stars that spread across it, few lights surrounding the isolated onsen to mask them. She remembered when all of Japan and indeed the world had been like that, long before electrical lighting had become commonplace.

Rose was waiting for her, leaning against the rocks that formed the edge of the bath. Her hair was also pinned up, shorter and fairer than Ayako’s. When it was left loose it held a gentle wave, soft like her smile. Every time Ayako saw her it felt like the first time even though it had been many Emperors ago. She wondered if she would have survived alone, or if she would have lost interest in the facade of living, bored by perpetual loneliness.

Rose noticed her gaze, and smiled. Ayako knew that she was already warmed to human temperature, the flush that had spread over her pale body suggesting she had been in the waters for long enough to feel the heat. Ayako had seen other foreigners since she had met Rose, and occasionally foreigners came to stay at their onsen. They could speak English, which helped, and Ayako had always believed in keeping with the times. Just because she was frozen in time, never ageing in an undead body, didn’t mean that the world too stayed in place. Society changed just as the landscape did. The internet helped ensure that there was less need for them to find solutions to the issue of how to avoid going out in the daylight. Everything could be bought online, delivery arranged and times specified. Services hired and reservations made.

Rose was still the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on, exotic with her pale blue eyes and almost golden hair. Fair skin that would have burnt red in the harsh summer sun had she been able to stand the sunlight without burning to crumbling ash. Nothing like the faces that Ayako had been accustomed to when she was still a child, back when she had been a human, centuries ago. Not the face she herself had, though she had almost forgotten it. She could remember Rose, as scared and lost as Ayako had been, but still so sweet and innocent in appearance. She had been enchanted. Now she still felt a thrill of amazement when she saw her, but she also knew the woman behind the shy smile.

Normally they would bathe together, but Ayako had been delayed with preparations for the guests arriving tomorrow, a task that had taken her longer than expected. Everything had to be done in the dark, hidden away in the dark, as they were unable to risk exposure to sunlight despite the surroundings of thick leaves that blocked a lot of it during the day.

A part of her had always resented the guests, though she knew that Rose enjoyed them. It was Rose who had travelled across the world to find Ayako by pure chance, even if she had been forced from her original home against her will. Maybe had they never met, Rose would have continued travelling over land, across the sea, still searching for something. She had found what she was missing with Ayako, and so she stayed where Ayako’s roots had already tangled deep into the soil.

Ayako loved to watch the way in which Rose would come alive, as if she was actually alive, when hearing stories of people from around the world or even just the next village over, as if everything beyond her horizon was still a source of fascination. But she also resented that the guests would take up her time, force them to be careful to maintain secrecy, intrude upon her perfect utopia where her and Rose were the only people in the world.

Their guests were important though, not just because it made her happy to see Rose chattering away with interest about the outside world and not just because it gave them money to help with the upkeep of the old building that had they been two human women would have crumbled around them already. Their guests also provided an unintentional delivery service for them, bringing with them their warm blood that they would carefully drink in the dark of the night, a little surcharge that they never mentioned on the receipt.

After a lengthy soak on comfortable silence, she rose, following Rose to the changing room where they could dry themselves and dress for bed. She sat down on the stool in the changing room, softly towelling at her long black hair. It took a long time to dry, especially in winter. In summer, had she been able to use the heat of the sun without herself burning to a crisp it might have been easier, but even then she was limited to the hot night air, nothing more than moonlight to light her life. There were hairdryers now though, which made things easier than they had been back before electricity. She considered the dryer, neatly placed on the surface by the sink for the convenience of guests, before deciding to leave her hair to dry naturally. Sometimes she preferred that, liking the sensation of it slowly changing from damp to soft, silky dryness.

An arm snaked around her shoulder, Rose’s head resting against hers, damp blonde hair spilling down and intermingling with black. A kiss pressed itself upon her cheek. Ayako leaned into the embrace, relaxing even more in that moment than she had done so while soaking in the hot bath water, as if that had allowed her muscles to be relieved of their tension and now she was free to melt into Rose’s arms.

The mirror showed an empty room, a changing room with no one in it. Wicker stools unoccupied and awaiting humans to sit there, who would be reflected back in the mirrors that adorned the walls, rather than Ayako or Rose whose existence went unnoticed. On reflection, Ayako wasn’t sure if she would have it any other way, appreciating the small world they had carved out for themselves, loving each other eternally under the dark night skies.

[swordandcat]

Three’s a Crowd but Nine’s a Party: Chapter 7

(AO3 Link)

Progress

Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was plain, and uninspiring, and came from an uninteresting family. She didn’t have a father, and her mother was always busy with work, leaving the girl to her own devices. Despite her tremendous bad luck, there was nothing that others would find interesting in her. No talents, no intrigue, no engagement. She was left alone.

Isolated, and continually plagued by misfortune, she wondered what made her different from the other girls in school. Why were they happy, and why was she not? Why did their parents pick them up, and why did hers not?

She read a lot. Stories, myths, legends. She eventually came to a startling conclusion: she must not be like most people. Surely, she was treated differently because she herself was different.

In her childish desperation to find meaning out of the emptiness in her life, she filled that emptiness with delusions of grandeur. She believed she was an angel, struck from Heaven and descended to Hell. Her misfortune? A curse from God. Her loneliness? Penance for her existence.

Life moved on swiftly with this new discovery. For a time, it filled her heart. Her own imagination was enough to keep her moving, facing forward.

Then the little girl grew up. And her delusions weren’t as well received as they were in her early childhood. It was harmless at first. Teasing, joking, light ribbing. Her delusions made her the center of attention. It was almost fulfilling.

Then teasing turned to pranks, escalating in severity. The jokes were no longer harmless, made at the girl’s expense. Things went missing, diligently done work stolen and copied, or defaced. She was cornered during breaks and lunch, pushed around like a rag doll.

For a time, the girl bore it with patience. Her mother was still busy, all the time. She didn’t want to distract her from her work. She didn’t want to cause problems. If staying silent could keep things quiet, then she would be silent.

She thought, perhaps, it would end eventually. But it kept going. And it kept getting worse. Things of real value were taken from her. Jewellery, money. Public humiliation. The girl’s thoughts got darker, and darker, her delusions driving her into a corner. More than once, she contemplated ending it all, embracing sweet release.

But before she was driven to that, a light shone upon her.

She remembered the moment vividly still. It was in the wake of another merciless round of humiliation. The girl was curled up in a corner, out of sight, hoping she would just disappear.

That’s when she appeared.

“Are you okay?” An angel. A real one, not make-believe like the girl. She reached out with a hand of salvation, and for a moment the girl was so shaken she didn’t even know to take it.

“I’m new around here. Can you show me around?”

Like a drowning soul to driftwood, the girl grasped onto the hand, allowing herself to be saved.

Things got better. No longer alone, the girl was at last happy. The angel did not mind her delusions, delighted in them, even. She humoured the girl’s imagination, gladly going along with her daydreams. It was like a dream come true for the girl. She sought validation from her new friend, proof that her life was worth value. She confided in her as well, her fears, her weaknesses, the darkness in her heart. The angel took them in stride, soothing the wounds in the girl’s soul, showering her in love and affection.

They grew close.

Even the bullying stopped. It was like a miracle. Everything was good.

But it was not to last. Her misfortune reared its ugly head. Signs of unrest began to surface.

“Mana.”

The girl sat with the angel, staring out to sea. Their hands were intertwined, a physical manifestation of their connected hearts.

The angel tilted her head, looking at the girl with a gentle smile. “What is it, Yohane?”

“I saw the she-devils talking to you the other day,” the girl said carefully. She looked at the angel. “Were they bothering you?”

The angel shook her head. “I’m fine, Yohane. They just wanted something from me.”

The girl stared into the angel’s eyes, and she trusted her. She nodded, letting the topic go.

But she spotted more things as time went on. The angel was as radiant as ever, but she seemed less lively. Tired. Sometimes when she smiled at the girl, it wouldn’t quite reach her eyes.

Then one day, she was gone. The girl had only known after the fact that she was hospitalized for severe depression and anxiety. The angel had shouldered the girl’s burden, taking the torture that was intended for the girl onto herself. And even one as radiant as the angel could only take so much. She broke, refusing to see anyone, not even the girl.

The others blamed the girl.

The girl blamed herself as well.

She was cursed. To hurt herself. To hurt anyone around her. She shut herself away, putting on a stoic front. Emotionless, and unassailable. As for the delusions that caused this, she locked them away, knowing that it was exactly those that made her and the angel a target. Even if she was nothing without the delusions, even if she was just an empty shell, at least no one would get hurt.

And never again would the girl allow someone to be hurt because of her.

* * * * *

Yoshiko laughed as she finished her story, her voice hollow and bitter.

“So I distanced myself from the world. I’m not going to let it happen again, not to anyone,” She took a deep breath. “Especially not to you.”

“Yoshiko…” Yo’s voice cracked. “I never knew…”

“I’m not… proud of what I did.” Yoshiko looked away. “I relied on her. Too much. I could have— Should have— seen what was happening. But I let my happiness blind me. Because I was too selfish and cowardly to fight my own fights.”

She bit her lip, feeling a wet heat in her eyes. No - don’t cry, not now, goddamn it.

But no matter how hard she fought it, the dark memories dredged up long forgotten emotions, ones she’s tried to lock away for her whole life. Tears rolled unbidden down her cheeks, and she broke down, the mental walls she built up crumbling as she felt, as vividly as ever, the crushing guilt and regret that had haunted her for her entire life.

She turned to the only person she could - Yo, sitting next to her - and clung onto her for dear life, using Yo as an anchor to avoid being washed away by her emotions altogether.

Momentarily caught off guard, Yo quickly regained her composure and put her arms comfortingly around Yoshiko, gently patting her on the back. “It’s okay,” Yo said soothingly. “Let it all out.”

As Yoshiko continued to wail and sob into her shoulder, Yo said quietly, “I’m not going to pretend to understand how you feel. You’ve been through so much more than I have… You’re so much stronger than I am.”

Yoshiko shook her head, somewhat petulantly, like a frustrated child. “I- I’m not… I’m a coward…”

“A coward wouldn’t throw herself under the bus, again and again, just to protect her friends,” Yo said patiently, but firmly. “You’re brave, Yoshiko.”

She looked away briefly, adding under her breath, “Braver than I ever will be.”

Yoshiko didn’t seem to catch that, just continuing to cry, exhausting her bottled up negative emotions in the process. Yo simply allowed her to do so, rocking her gently from side to side and tenderly stroking her along her back. Minutes of this passed, as Yoshiko let out years’ worth of distress and insecurities.

“But you know…” Yo murmured quietly. “You don’t have to bear it alone anymore. You have friends. People who care for you.”

She licked her lips, trying to think of a way to vocalize what she was feeling. “This Mana... she took it all onto herself. Your pain and hers. We don’t have to do that. I’m not going to take responsibility for all of your problems, and I’m not going to ask you to bear all of mine, either. But there are things that we can share. Weights that we can carry together. Aoki, for example. Pressure from our peers. That’s not something that we should shoulder individually. That would break anyone.”

She paused for a moment, seeing if her words were having any effect. Yoshiko seemed to have calmed down a little, though she was still sniffling and hiccupping. “And it’s not just me. There’s Ruby, and Hanamaru. Hell, even Chika and Riko. We’re all in this together. There’s no need for you to be alone, when you’re surrounded by people willing to support you.”

Yoshiko took a shuddering breath, and pulled back a little so Yo could see her weak smile. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely, wiping the trickle of tears off her cheeks.

“It’s the least I can do,” Yo said. “Given how I’ve… not been the best to you recently.”

Yoshiko shook her head, but Yo put a hand up to silence her objections for the moment. “Just… as I’ve said. I’ve kept you hanging ever since we had the talk. I haven’t really done anything to move forward either, so…”

She took a deep breath, and with newfound determination she stared into Yoshiko’s eyes. “I’m going to confess to Chika. She’s going to turn me down properly. Completely break my heart. Then I can move on and give you the attention you deserve. I can finally be the girlfriend that you’ve waited so long for.”

Yoshiko’s eyes teared up again, but this time not from her repressed memories, but from long overdue joy. Smiling tearily, she cleared her throat and leaned in close, her breath tickling Yo’s face. It was obvious what she was aiming for, but she still paused with an inch between them, and asked breathily, “Can I?”

Rather than answering, Yo leaned forward and closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. It was clumsy and impromptu, and Yo felt like it would have been much better under more romantic circumstances, but it was still a magical experience. The last time they kissed was when Chika broke Yo’s heart by going out with Riko. Yoshiko had kissed her to prove a point.

This time, they wanted it. Both of them. It was like a spark passed between them, drawing them close, a magnetic force binding them together and urging them to push for more and more. Needy hands wandered each other’s bodies, pulling them close, tangling in hair and sneaking under clothes. They were breathless, but energized; emotionally exhausted yet jubilant.

Yoshiko was smiling from ear to ear, and Yo had a lopsided grin on her face. Both were breathing heavily, and being so close together they could feel the rise and fall of each other’s chests, and their beating hearts beneath. “That escalated quickly,” Yoshiko murmured breathlessly.

“It could escalate more,” Yo blurted out, not even sure if she was ready for what that implied but still desperately wanting more.

Yoshiko’s cheeks, already flushed, grew a darker shade of red. But instead of going further, she pushed gently against Yo and cleared her that. “That’s very tempting,” Yoshiko said, shyly tracing a pattern onto the bed sheets. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

She licked her lips nervously. “I’m… not sure if I’m ready for it.”

Yo breathed in, clearing her head of the manic desire that had temporarily overtaken her in the moment of exhilaration. “Right. No, you’re right, of course. I just— I got caught up in the moment.”

Yoshiko nodded, understanding what Yo meant completely. She’d been waiting for this moment for so long. Ever since that first kiss. Yoshiko felt like she was getting drunk off of the affection Yo was showering her with.

But now that they were this close, old fears flared up again. It would be so easy for either of them to get hurt. One misstep and everything could have been for nothing.

For however much Yoshiko craved intimacy, she was just as afraid of actually getting it.

“I need to get used to… thinking about myself,” Yoshiko said quietly. “And what you said as well. It’ll take a long time for me to get back to being normal.”

“You don’t have to be ‘normal’, Yoshiko. You’re you,” Yo said.

Yoshiko shook her head. “You’ve been helping me see my flaws since the first time we’ve met. I didn’t learn my lesson the first time around. I… want to be normal. I want to be better.”

“Until I am, I don’t know if I will ever be ready.” Yoshiko looked down. “I’m sorry if you wanted more.”

Yo shook her head. “It’s only fair that it’s my turn to wait. Besides, I have my own problems to sort out. I… don’t know if I’m ready either.”

Sitting a little straighter, she took both of Yoshiko’s hands into her own. “But we can work through them together. Your change. My problems.”

“Together,” Yoshiko breathed, looking down and smiling. “This sounds ridiculous and cheesy and dumb, you know that?”

“Yes, but,” Yo leaned forward, pecking Yoshiko on the lips. “I’m cheesy, and ridiculous, and dumb. You’ll have to get used to it.”

Yoshiko rolled her eyes, giggling with uncharacteristic glee. “Thanks, Yo. Today just went from the worst to the best.”

“You’d think seeing Aoki get punched would make it best by default,” Yo smirked.

Yoshiko considered that for a moment. “Even bester,” She decided, flashing Yo a wonderfully wide smile. But then she thought a little more, and her expression grew a little more serious.

“But just to be completely realistic, I’m a lot to handle.” Yoshiko began, “I’m not very good at talking. I can be temperamental.”

“That’s okay,” Yo said softly. “No one’s perfect.”

“Are you really okay with someone like me?” Yoshiko asked, her voice small.

“That’s a silly question,” Yo said. “I’m okay because you’re the way you are.”

* * * * *

In the end, Yoshiko had ended up staying the night. Her mom was fine with it, and Yo’s mother seemed all for it as well. At first Yo’s mom was concerned about Yo’s suspension, but after a quick defense from Yoshiko, she even offered to talk to the school to lift the punishment.

They went to bed early that night, the events of the day taking their toll on their exhaustion. They slept together, cuddled up under the sheets. Yoshiko fell asleep quickly, all the crying having tired her out completely, but Yo stayed awake for a while, content to just hold Yoshiko and enjoy her presence, though she eventually drifted off to sleep as well.

In the morning, Yoshiko woke up in a tangle of limbs next to Yo. For a moment she panicked, wondering why she was in bed with Yo, until she remembered what had transpired yesterday.

She lay there, for a moment overcome with conflicting emotions.

She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Despite all of her missteps, despite her messing up again and again and misinterpreting what to do, Yo was still willing to accept her. Even after hearing her story, knowing what she’s done to Mana, she didn’t turn her back on Yoshiko.

She pinched herself, to make sure she hadn’t just retreated so far into her mind that she was hallucinating.

No, this was real.

She had to resist the urge to squeal out loud. All this time, she had fully expected Yo to change her mind and decide she didn’t like Yoshiko all along. But she didn’t.

It sucked that her laptop was broken, sure, but that hardly put a dent in Yoshiko’s newfound happiness. Despite being terrified to death that she’d let Yo down again, messing up somehow and ruining their relationship, Yoshiko was feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks.

She carefully freed at least her upper body, turning to look out of the window. The sky was bright, the sun well up into its daily arc. Yo was suspended, and she herself was given time off due to the circumstances, so neither of them was required to go to class.

The clock read about 9AM. She didn’t want to wake Yo, but it was necessary to free her legs from beneath the girl. She pushed Yo gently, shaking her by the shoulders. Yo mumbled something incoherent, and opened her eyes blearily.

“I had the weirdest dream that we actually managed to kiss,” she said, still only half-awake.

“We did manage to kiss,” Yoshiko informed her.

“Oh.” Yo said, taking a moment to absorb that information. “Cool.”

Her cheeks turned red, but she took the news in stride as she glanced at Yoshiko, “Does that mean we’re dating now? I don’t think we established that.”

“Well, everyone at school thinks we are now,” Yoshiko shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Might as well, right?”

“I feel like that’s a really arbitrary way of deciding if we’re dating or not,” Yo said, but nevertheless she smiled and snuggled closer to Yoshiko. “I mean, not that I mind.”

Yoshiko’s cheeks flushed, a warm fuzzy sensation spreading throughout her body just at Yo’s proximity.

It was strange.

In spite of everything, all of her worries and her doubts about whether or not this was the right course of action, and wondering if Yo would get hurt because of her... now that Yoshiko was actually there, with Yo right beside her, those concerns seemed utterly insignificant.

She still felt them, just as acutely as ever, but being with Yo just seemed… right.

The last time she felt like this, she was with Mana.

Yoshiko shook her head as doubt crept back at the recollection of her. It was going to be different this time.

“Hey,” She spoke up abruptly, trying to distract herself. “Do you have plans for today?”

“Well, I want to talk to Riko later,” Yo said. “About… y’know. I don’t want her to think I’m actually trying to take Chika away.”

“It’s not like you could. From what little I’ve seen those two are stupid in love…” Yoshiko mused.

She wondered if things could have gone better between her and Yo if they had just been more honest with each other, like Chika and Riko seemed to be.

“It almost makes you jealous, doesn’t it?” Yo said, causing Yoshiko to look up in surprise. Was Yo thinking the same thing as her?

“They seem so… functional,” Yo tilted her head, smiling self-deprecatingly. “I wonder how they do it.”

“I’m sure we could be functional too, given time,” Yoshiko said quietly.

“You think so?” Yo looked down at her hands. “It took me this long to be able to come to terms with my own feelings.”

“One can hope, anyway,” Yoshiko mumbled, before she sat up, and got off the bed, stretching languidly. “Can we get breakfast now? I’m hungry.”

Yo smiled, and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let’s look at what we’ve got downstairs.”

* * * * *

Riko sighed. Despite by and large being quite good at studying, she found herself unable to focus on the lesson, the teacher’s rambling about the Edo period going way over her head. She spun the pen in her hand, clicked it twice, spun it again.

“Riko,”

She sighed again, and looked out of the window. Yo didn’t come to school. She heard the news about her being suspended, but it was still a bit of a shock to come to school and find her desk empty.

“Riko—”

She picked up the pen, and doodled a treble clef onto the corner of her notebook. She felt bad for Yo. She was just standing up for the girl she liked, she shouldn’t be punished for that. Sure, she punched someone, but it was righteous self-defense, right?

“Riko!”

Chika jabbed Riko right between the shoulder blades, causing her to squeak out in surprise. “Whuh- What?” She looked around. The whole class was looking at her. Riko whimpered, her cheeks turning bright red.

“Ms. Sakurauchi… please pay attention in class,” her teacher said, mildly annoyed. “Now, can anyone tell me when the Edo period was officially ended…”

Riko breathed out, slumping forward slightly and trying not to draw any more attention to herself.

“Hey, Riko,” Chika whispered, leaning forward. "What’s up? It’s not like you to get so easily distracted.”

“It’s nothing… just worried about Yo.”

Riko breathed out. “The rumour that she and Tsushima are dating has spread. Not all of it is good, too. I heard some girls saying that she’s picked Tsushima just to make herself look better.”

“We know that’s not true, though,” Chika said. “Isn’t that the important thing? Yo’s not the kind of person who would mind, either.”

“But still,” Riko murmured. “It feels like we should do something about it.”

Chika shrugged, and turned to focus back onto the lesson. “I’ve tried before. People will say what they want to say,” She said. “We should wait until she gets back before trying anything.”

Disappointed, but acknowledging Chika’s point, Riko sighed and focused back on the lesson as well.

Eventually the bell for the end of school rang, and Riko breathed a sigh of relief as she stretched her arms out after a long day of taking notes.

“Hey~” Chika sidled up behind her, draping her arms over Riko’s shoulders and pulling her in a loose hug. “You’re gonna go to the music room again?”

Riko nodded. “I want to submit a composition for an upcoming contest,” she said. “You don’t have to wait for me, I’ll probably be a while.”

Chika pouted, but nodded and gave Riko a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “We playing tonight?”

“I’ll login if I can,” Riko promised, waving her off as Chika left the classroom.

She sighed, touching a hand to the spot where Chika kissed. A year ago, she couldn’t even imagine being this physically close to someone. Now she couldn’t imagine a life - at least in the near future - without Chika.

As she started to head over to the music room, her phone buzzed.

<Yo>

Hey

Are you busy?

Riko tilted her head at the text.

<Riko>

Not really

Did you need something?

<Yo>

Actually yeah

I kinda want to talk

In person

Its pretty important

Riko raised an eyebrow at the message. It didn’t seem like Yo to arbitrarily exaggerate something, so it probably was important.

<Riko>

Can it wait?

I’m at school right now, but I can meet you somewhere

<Yo>

Uhh

Can I meet you at your place?

I might need to swing by Chika’s afterwards as well anyway

<Riko>

Sure.

I’ll go home and wait for you?

<Yo>

Yeah, okay.

Thanks.

Strange. Even through text, Yo seemed tense. Normally she’d be more casual. Breathing out somewhat uneasily, Riko put away her sheet music - she could compose another day - and prepared to head home.

* * * * *

Yo fiddled with the hem of her shirt nervously as she and Yoshiko stood outside Riko’s house.

“What if she hates me?” Yo said suddenly.

Yoshiko shook her head, holding Yo’s hand. “You’ll be fine,” she said consolingly. “Riko won’t hate you.”

“What if she hates me and she tells Chika and Chika never talks to me again?”

“Yo.” Yoshiko stared flatly at her. Yo stared back, and sighed after a few moments.

“…Right, you’re right. I’m just being dumb,” Yo said meekly.

“I thought I’m supposed to be the pessimist,” Yoshiko said jokingly. She sighed, and squeezed Yo’s hand. “Look. If you’re not ready for this, you don’t have to do this.”

“No, I do.” Yo said, her voice firm despite her nervousness. “I… I need this. For closure, if nothing else.”

“Just say what you need to say,” Yoshiko said. “You said we’ll start sharing burdens. I’ll be there to support you.”

“Yoshiko…” Yo smiled, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”

She stepped forward, and pressed the doorbell. A few nerve-wracking moments later, the door opened, with Riko standing behind it in the doorway.

“Hey, Yo,” Riko said, smiling at Yo, then noticing Yoshiko and nodding at her as well. Her gaze did wander over their held hands, but she didn’t comment on it. “Yoshiko.”

“Can we come in?” Yo asked nervously.

“Oh, of course! Would you like to go to my room? It’s a little cramped and messy, but at least Mom won’t walk in on us,” Riko said, leading them inside and upstairs.

In spite of her claims, Riko’s room was neither cramped or messy. Books were neatly shelved away. The bed was tidily done, and the piano was pristine, a protective cover draped delicately over it. Riko gestured towards the bed and seats. “You can sit wherever. Do you want anything to drink? Tea?”

“It’s… fine,” Yo said, sitting down on the edge of Riko’s bed. Yoshiko sat down next to her. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Well, alright,” Riko murmured, sitting down on the piano bench and looking towards Yo. “So, what’s this about having to talk? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is… fine. Nothing is wrong, if that’s what you’re worried about, it’s just…” Yo took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about… Chika. I want your permission to do something.”

“Chika?” Riko frowned, confused. “Permission to do what?”

“I— well,” Yo cleared her throat. “I’ve… well. For the longest time, I’ve had a… a crush on Chika. Even up until recently, I’ve had lingering feelings for her. Even when you two are together, and happy.”

Riko nodded slowly. She glanced at Yoshiko, then back at Yo, gesturing for her to continue.

“I don’t— I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take Chika away from you. Because I’m not. I just,” Yo took a deep breath. “I want to give Yoshiko the attention she deserves. And I don’t feel like I can do that if I’m still thinking about Chika, even if just a little bit.”

“I want to confess to Chika. And I want her to reject me. I think that will give me the closure I need to move on,” Yo said. “I wanted you to know that I’m planning to do this.”

Riko’s expression was unreadable for a moment. She breathed out slowly, nodding slightly. “Okay. I… appreciate you telling me this. I might have misunderstood something if you didn’t.”

She glanced out the window for a moment, over the balcony and at Chika’s room. She then turned back to look at Yo, and smiled at her. “I’m not going to get mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. Really, I’m grateful you trust me with this. And… I trust you too. If you think this is something you need to do, then you should do it.”

She chuckled, playing with a strand of her hair bashfully as she continued, “Actually, Chika and I were kind of worried. You seemed a little out of it lately. I’m glad you’re trying to get to a better place. And,” She grinned at both Yo and Yoshiko. “Congratulations on finally getting together. Took you long enough.”

Yo blushed, as did Yoshiko. “Riko!” Yo whined. “You’re supposed to be the nice one. Is Chika infecting you?”

“Well, it’s your fault for taking so long to do it.” Riko shrugged. She stood up, and gave her a small smile. “So, are you going to do it today?”

“As soon as possible,” Yo said, trying hard not to grimace. “It’s going to hurt, but… I’ll be better for it.”

“Then you can do it right here,” Riko said. Walking over to the balcony, she leaned slightly over the edge and shouted, “Chika! Are you there?”

There was the thumping of feet, and Chika threw the window open, leaning out as well. “Riko! I thought you were staying at school?”

“Change in plans,” Riko said. “Hey - guess who’s here with me?”

Chika frowned, tilting her head. “You have a guest?”

“Yup!” Riko turned around, beckoning for Yo to come forward. “Actually, she has something to say to you.”

Yo swallowed, the fluttering in her stomach getting worse by the moment. As though sensing her nervousness, Yoshiko gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You can do it,” she said quietly.

“…Thanks,” Yo said.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward onto the balcony.

Riko smiled and retreated, gesturing for Yoshiko as well. “Let’s give them some space,” She whispered.

Yoshiko nodded, and the two of them stepped out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Now alone in the room, Yo took another steadying breath and gave Chika a shaky smile.

“Hey, Chika,” She said. She put a hand on her heart, trying to still her heartbeat. “Can we talk?”

[clnriswood]

KAI PARKER X READER

Fragile

request: heyy I really like your writting and I was wondering if you could write a imagine where kai cheats on the reader with bonnie, the reader starts to act weird and everyone thinks its bc of the break up but the truth is she is sick (eating desorder bc she is human) bonnie is mean towards her at the salvatore house and she just yell that she is sick and everyone feels bad for her including kai :) sorry if it is too confusing.

gif cred @mattmoredick

x

Her back was to the door, head buried in her knees, hair water-falling over her closed eyes as she took in shaky breaths. She wore a baggy navy sweater and ripped black jeans, and a hard pang seemed to take over her whole body, like a constant throbbing, dull, ache. She tilted her head up against the oak frame, chewing at her lower lip, thoughts swarming around her head like a thousand rampant bees.

“Hello?!” Caroline chimed from the other side of the wall, making her jump in surprise. “(Y/N), you okay? You coming?”

“Uh, yeah, fine,” she cleared her throat, groaning lightly as she pulled herself from the floor and to her feet, fingers trembling as she pulled open the silver knob.

“Everyone’s here,” Caroline smiled politely when she saw her, “we can walk together.”

The girl nodded, ignoring the way Caroline spoke with her underlying sense of pity for her, something most had taken to doing recently. Their knuckles brushed lightly against each other as they stepped across the dark floors, dark boots clacking and filling the silent corridor with noise. Before they entered the lounge, Care gave her a faint squeeze to her arm, and then they walked in together.

“Hey,” she said, eyes darting over the crackling fireplace, and thick red carpets which were sat upon by Stefan, Damon, Elena, Matt, Bonnie, and…

Her gaze fell upon the boy with his hands curled in his lap, legs crossed, head lifting when she entered, those blue eyes looking just as ashamed as they had the first time she heard the news.

“One week without being attacked by vampires, wolves, witches, ghosts, or whatever hell beast this town has seen, come celebrate!” Elena said cheerfully with a big smile.

“New record,” she laughed lightly, strolling to the table and sinking down beside Stefan and Matt.

The golden red flames sent shadows over their faces as Damon approached them carrying just a couple of his many bottles of alcohol with an eager wink.

“What shall it be?” Matt said, sliding an elegant glass to the girl.

“Oh, nothing, thanks,” she tried.

“You sure?” he raised a brow.

She gave a nod, and Matt glanced at her suspiciously. He seemed to know her feeling more than anyone, the one of being the only human in the group, a human who’d been thrown into this whole messy world of the impossible, which means he did well with looking after her, even though they all did.

“We should drink once for every supernatural monster we’ve faced,” Elena chuckled as she stole Damon’s glass with a giggle.

“That would be one hell of a list, we’d be drunk in two minutes,” Damon said, taking his drink back with a playful shove.

“My particular favorite would have to be literal Satan,” Stefan chimed in with a twitch of his lips, making them all laugh.

“Yeah but those witches have to be the most annoying, am I right (Y/N)?” Kai said sarcastically, eagerly trying to pull a smile from her lips.

“You couldn’t be more right,” she said, her voice lowering seriously, brows knitting in clear unamusement

Kai’s face fell, and he gave a little awkward clear of his throat.

Bonnie, who sat beside him, shot the girl a glare, her dark curls framing her aggravated face.

“Don’t listen to that,” Bonnie soothed.

‘Oh, so I’m a ‘that’ now, am I?’ the girl thought to herself as she toyed with a loose string on her sweater.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” Kai hissed back, which made her feel only a little better.

She felt a hand touch her back, so she raised her eyes to the vampire who sat next to her. His glimmering gaze stared forward, arm lowered beneath the edge of the table so nobody could see. His palm pressed to her back, and he rubbed his thumb against her with the smallest tilt of his head that told her he was there for her.

“Thanks,” she whispered barely audibly, but she knew Stefan could hear her.

It had been a couple weeks since her whole world had come crashing down on her. Malachai Parker, the person who she’d loved with every particle of her being, who she would do anything for, who had promised to fight for her like she would for him, had crushed her beating heart into shattered fragments in a matter of seconds. She didn’t know where she went wrong, what made him do it, but apparently she wasn’t good enough, but Bonnie Bennet happened to be. She could remember it so vividly, the utter regret in his face when he cried to her, the tears that flowed down his pale and sunken face.

“I’m s-so sorry, I wanted you to hear it from me first, because after what I’ve done, the least I can do is be honest with you…”

Her eyes had glazed over, the rest of his muffled pleas for forgiveness sounding like they were coming from underwater. She hadn’t cried, not in front of him at least, because she wanted to seem like she wasn’t hurting, like the person who gave her will to live hadn’t just set her spiraling and gasping for oxygen. But he had.

“Food’s ready!” Caroline skipped into the room, vamp speeding around and filling the table with colorful delicacies of her homemade cookies, casserole, potatoes, macaroni, and various other things.

The aroma filled the whole room up, and while the mystic falls gang dove into the food like rabid animals, the girl clutched at her stomach, instantly feeling sick from the sight before her and the smell that filled her lungs. Everyone stacked the goods onto shiny silver plates and filled the room with chatter, but she just couldn’t bring herself to touch the food. Her eyes flickered over and caught to the forlorn looking heretic’s bright blue ones. He stared at the plates and then back at her, and repeated this look a couple times before the realization dawned on him. He knew her, he knew her so well that there was no doubt in his mind she had no intention of eating.

“Hungry?” Elena nudged the girl out of her daze and picked up a plate.

“I’m fine,” she responded with a forced smile.

“C’mon, you’ve barely touched any of this stuff all day,” Elena cooed.

“I’m fine,” she smiled.

She hadn’t touched any of that stuff all day, not really all week either, not really all month, but nobody seemed to notice, not except-

“You should eat,” Kai soothed quietly, like his whole life depended on her doing so.

“I said I’m fine,” she fired back softly.

Kai’s head sunk, “that’s what you always say.”

“Excuse me?” she flared.

“Am I lying?”

“Shut up, Malachai.”

He grimaced, face scrunching at the word, one she only used when she was really upset, ‘Malachai.’

The group were starting to notice the quiet feud between the two, Bonnie looking especially displeased, to which Kai muttered softly, “may I talk to you a minute?”

She didn’t want to, but not doing so would risk Kai opening his mouth too much, so she gave a long sigh and purse of her lips, “outside.”

Bonnie opened her mouth, then decided better, the two brushing past the now quiet group and into the empty corridor.

“What?” she snapped the second she turned to face Kai.

He was wearing a ripped jean jacket over a black tee, brown locks pushed smoothly atop his forehead, his arms folding.

“That’s all you have to say?” Kai said.

“What do you want me to say?” she swallowed the lump in her throat and diverted her gaze from his.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, I’m not stupid. It’s gotten worse, and you always wear those sweaters so nobody will notice,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt.

When she didn’t respond, he raised his fingertips to her arm, his silver rings gliding over her flesh and raising goosebumps.

“Don’t,” she muttered, pushing his hand away.

He shook his head, “please.”

“Why would you care anyway?” she looked back at his sad blue eyes.

“Stop doing that,” he begged softly.

“Doing what?”

“Isolating me, talking about me like everything we had together before just vanished when I…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I made a mistake, okay?” he said, voice breaking as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And I’ll hate myself for that forever, just like I’ll love you forever.”

Her heart raced, jaw set as she trembled lightly beneath his gaze.

“But even though I fucked up and lost what was most important to me, whether you ever forgive me or not, I need to know you’re alive. And at the rate you’re going at, it won’t be too much longer,” he wept quietly. “So please, I’m not asking this for myself, but I could never handle it if I just stood back and let it happen, you need to take care of this, and I want to help you, (Y/N). I already lost you once, I don’t think I could do it again.”

He brushed her cheek lightly, the contact making her shiver, his expression softening, “I’m begging you.”

She wiped roughly at the tear that had escaped her eyes, giving a loud sniff and tiny nod, “okay.”

And she didn’t stop him when he pulled her into a hug, she nuzzled into his neck, his hands sliding into her hair and holding her to him like she would sink if he let go. His familiar and warm scent embraced her, and she didn’t try to stop when she cried this time.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered, pulling away, her eyes red.

“Can I?” he started.

She lifted the edge of her sweater, and Kai’s face dropped, his breath coming suddenly heavy when he saw her underfed front and her ribs that stuck out. He’d seen this before, but never like this, never to this point, and it strung a chord within him. 

“I’m gonna help you get through this, I promise,” he squeezed her hand, his eyes wet.

“I can’t do this alone.”

“You won’t.”

. . .

After enough time had passed that they’d regained their composure, they gave a nod and entered the room together again. The group was a little tipsy, huddled before the fading orange embers, their bellies bubbly with alcohol and food.

“You’re back,” Damon gave a faint smile, “done clawing at each other’s throats?”

“Think so,” she smiled faintly.

“Shame, I’m gonna miss the reserved and mopey act,” Bonnie grumbled.

“What?” the girl laughed nervously, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I said,” Bonnie started, “you’re little heart broken facade to get everyone to take pity on you because of Kai.”

Her heart sank, cheeks flaring red as her fists balled tightly at her sides.

Kai brushed his fingertips lightly against her hands, “breathe.”

So she did.

“Nothing to say?” Bonnie snapped, “now you choose to be quiet?”

“Please, stop,” the girl hissed through gritted teeth.

“Why? You and Kai suddenly go back to the way it was bef-”

“She said stop,” Kai warned, his eyes darkening and voice dropping the way it always did before he snapped someone’s neck.

“There’s more to it than you know, okay?” the girl stammered softly.

“I’m pretty sure I already know everything there is to it, thanks,” Bonnie said.

Stefan, Damon, and the others all watched in silence, though none of them seemed keen on aiding Bon, in fact any one of them looked just about ready to snap a neck or two.

“Can we just stop talking about this?” she begged.

“Sure, until the next time Kai does something stupid and breaks you all over again,” she challenged, her jaw set.

“I’m going to say it,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to,” Kai squeezed her palm gently, Bonnie’s eyes catching the gesture.

“Say what?” she snapped. “Do i-”

“I’m sick.”

The whole room went dead silent aside from the crackling fire which chewed hungrily at the burnt logs.

“What?” Caroline breathed in shock.

“I’m sick, okay? I can’t eat, or when I do, I can’t keep it down. I’ve been in so much pain recently but I didn’t want to drag anyone into my own mess so I just didn’t say anything,” she rambled, turning to Bonnie, “is that what you wanted to hear? That I was in the hospital the other week, or that I have no energy and yet I’m doing this to myself?!”

“(Y/N),” Bonnie said softly, instantly feeling ashamed of herself.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this before….” she trailed off, eyes falling to the soft red carpet.

“I’m going to help her,” Kai said.

Everyone stared blankly at them, then, after a moment of silence.

“Me too.”

Caroline had piped up softly.

“Me too,” Stefan said.

“And me,” Elena chimed.

“All of us,” Matt nodded.

“Guys, it’s okay,” she reassured.

“No it’s not,” Elena murmured, “we’ve been so focused on everything happening in our lives and in Mystic Falls that we were letting this happen.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either,” Matt soothed.

Bonnie stood, her lower lip trembling  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things, I’m so so sorry. Not just for this, for everything. I was so angry at myself that I was trying to project my shame onto you, when I should’ve been there for you instead.”

The girl nodded, “it’s okay, why not forgive two people today?”

“(Y/N),” Bonnie said.

“I want my best friend back, Bon.”

“Me too,” she smiled weakly.

She felt Kai’s rings brush her hand, and then his fingers were laced through hers, comforting and familiar like she’d remembered. Then he brushed his thumb over her skin, his blue eyes feeling like home when he looked at her, and suddenly she wasn’t so scared.

[goldenstarsrpg-blog]

This is my app for Aspen Buchanan, the taken character for Saturn. You can feel free to refer to this while filling out your own app, and also by taking a look at Meg’s character for Moon as Vega Churchill! Everything from Personality - Headcanons will be posted on the main. 

→ OOC INFO.

Introduction:

Hey, I’m resident admin vera! I’m almost 22 and I use she/her pronouns!

Timezone:

EST

Activity level:

6/10 - I am also admin of another lovely rp, so I spend my time at both equally!

Trigger warnings:

Redacted.

→IC INFO.

Desired skeleton: Saturn

Name: Aspen Paris Buchanan

Aspen. It is a name that comes very poetically, and it fits Aspen’s personality very well. It is translated from the English tree whose nickname was commonly the trembling Aspen. For someone like him, who has always trembled in society and found reason to pause, it’s very fitting.

Paris. A sudden surprise to his parents when he decided to pop out early on an extended stay in Paris. His mother had a complicated pregnancy, causing them to stay much longer in their holiday home in the romantic city. His middle name reflects the miracle of his survival.

Buchanan. This is just amusing to me, because the 15th president of the USA had this last name and he remained a lonely bachelor his whole life. Aspen… is forever alone.

Pronouns: He/him

Age: 24

Faceclaim: Jordan Fisher

Personality:

Aspen Buchanan was born autistic. The clinical diagnosis of this caused him to have little social interaction with others for a long time, and into his adulthood, Aspen as stayed pretty quiet and reserved, distant from the rest of the world. Many would describe him as… odd, to be fair. The Buchanan kids typically are seen that way, but Aspen stands out with his quiet nature and strange little gimmicks.

He is not the first to ever say hello, goodbye, or sorry. He is prideful, emotionally distant, and very trusting of others after the “initial getting to know” you phase. He is wise beyond his years and has a very strong wanderlust. The world, culture, and travel means everything to him. Aspen is also very pessimistic, but he plans ahead for everything, and may panic if these plans change. Change is his enemy.

History:

Nothing about the Buchanan family was normal, and this was especially so for Aspen. He was born with plenty of problems, complications, and difficulties around the pregnancy and it was clear that something was off about him, even as a kid. His parents were busy, both hard-working to continue their excessive wealth and budding empire. So Aspen and his sibling were left to their own devices more often than not, and he embraced the quiet and isolated in a way that no normal should.

School was difficult for him growing up. He was bored, lack-luster, unmotivated, and unchallenged. He was smart but couldn’t apply himself. Classmates bullied him relentlessly, but gave up after a couple of years when they realized that Aspen wouldn’t care no matter how hard they tried. He was one of the rich kids, but he never ran around with that crowd. Instead, he stuck to the misfits, the loners, the other quiet ones. It was the drama group he finally found his place inside, but not on the stage. No, instead he was placed in the important role of stage manager, ensuring the smooth success of each show.

After Highschool was when Aspen felt the most free. His time was his own, and he was able to dedicate himself to his passion for exploring and learning about the things he cared about. After months of negotiating with his parents, they allowed him to take out 50% of his inheritance and use it for a trip around the world, which took 2 years. It wasn’t until he was 21 that he finally arrived home, and when he, Aspen Buchanan was a changed man.

Once home, he took a position in the G3C, settling in as a slightly unmotivated member, mostly to be there as support for their sibling and to make his parents proud. Now, 3 years after returning to his hometown from touring the exciting world, Aspen is realizing that his inheritance money is running low, and it may be time to start doing something to keep that cash flowing in to support his luxury lifestyle. His parents were always hard on him, expecting him to do more than the average spoiled rich boy. Aspen is not a golden child, and he never was. Now, he is lost within the ranks of the world and the G3C.

Analysis:

Star sign: Capricorn

Despite Saturn being the ruling planet for Capricorn, I felt that he related very closely to that sign. He is materialistic, dedicated, and hard-working. Though he does take his money for granted, there is a willful drive in him to propel forward. Unfortunately, this makes Aspen a bit emotionally distant and hesitant to try new things. Because of his autism, there is, at times, a divide between his reality and fantasy, which another a thing that Capricorn signs have trouble differentiating.

MBTI type: INFJ

Considered to be the rarest type, it makes sense such an odd person as Aspen would be born with this personality type. They are known as the Advocate, and Aspen is a very passionate person dedicated to the social good. Even if he doesn’t really fit in. They are soft-spoken with strong opinions and difficulty expressing them properly.

Moral alignment: Chaotic Neutral.

This alignment lets Aspen follow his own, ever-changing whims. Despite being very much dedicated to rescuing humanity as a whole, he is very firm in the idea that his own well-being comes first. He has spent too long at the mercy of others to ever choose someone else before him.

Vices: Aspen is an avid stoner, and has enjoyed drinking much more lately at parties. He isn’t prone to sexual behavior, but does have a bit of a romantic streak, and considers himself to be polyamorus, despite never really having a relationship. He is excellent at ruining good things.

Virtues: He is very loyal, prone to be truthful, and values honesty. Betrayal and deceit hurts him more than anything, so he is very against using that in his own control. He also is very smart, despite doing poorly in school.

Headcanons:

Aspen always followed in the shadow of their sibling, Uranus. He looked to them for advice, leadership, and direction. Most of his childhood, even into his teen years, was spent attempting to hide behind them and learn from them. He, to this day, does frequently still look to Uranus for confirmation for the things he does. Their relationship could have been close or not, but deep down, Aspen admires them more than anyone else he knows.

His fashion sense is horrible. Very indie-grunge, almost hipster in a more hard-ass way. I’m talking aviator jackets, scuffed boots, bracelets. Plus, since he traveled the world, most of his clothing is from all over. It’s not uncommon to find him wearing a graphic t-shirt with a different language printed, or foreign brands, or very strangely exotic jackets and jewelry. Aspen just grabs whatever and throws it on. He could really use a stylist.

Pansexuality is what Aspen identifies with, though he feels a stronger connection with males than he does females. They are so majestic to him, and he admires them so much, yet never seems to have much luck. No, he is much more inclined to grow closer with a male, though sexually he is very demi-sexual. It’s hard for him to have a desire for intimacy in that way, and it isn’t something he finds to be a priority.

Barcelona was Aspen’s favorite city to visit when he took his 2 year world tour. The colors, life, action, culture… it was all incredible to him. Japan was a very close second, because he loved anime as a younger kid, but something about Spain was very compelling and he hopes to visit again.

Extras:

I have a pinterest board made here, and I am sure in the course of the roleplay before opening I will have come up with more things that aren’t listed!

[summerfitzy]

courting miss sætre (5/6)

Fandom: SKAM Ship: Noora x William Summary: Miss Noora Sætre has ambitions of spinsterhood; Mr. William Magnusson has other ideas.

(The wildly anachronistic regency era au that literally no one asked for)

ao3

Not a single member of the ton would ever suspect that Mr. William Magnusson had any attachment to any particular lady. He never claimed more than two dances from the same girl, never called upon any of the heiresses at whom one would expect him to set his cap, and had not stated his intentions to any father or patriarch.

Rather, he remained as inscrutable as ever and all the more desired for it.

Of course—not a single member of the ton realized that he and Miss Noora Sætre had taken to sneaking away into isolated garden nooks and forgotten rooms at every possible opportunity.

At the moment, Noora had her arms curled at the nape of his neck, his hands scrolling her waist, and his lips exploring her neck. A wall of books mumbled against her back as William continued wrinkling her white muslin. “We have to leave,” he murmured into her pulse, drawling his lips up and up her throat until they reached her smile once more.

Noora ran her palms along his shoulder blades. He was right, of course. She’d been thinking the same for several minutes now. “Leave then,” she whispered into his mouth, catching his lower lip between her teeth. (So much more fun than any ball.) (So much more reckless.)

William seized another quick kiss from her swollen lips, before unwrapping her arms from around his neck, and stepping away to point one finger at her. “Don’t touch me.”

Noora raised them in mock surrender, already missing his solid warmth in spite of herself. “Are you afraid I’ll ruin you?” she teased.

"Deathly.”

"Mhm.”

Strange to be joking about ruin, when she stood so perilously close to it. If anyone ever heard them, saw them…

But Noora didn’t want to catch a husband, had never intended to stay in London forever, and took an equal to greater risk every time she picked up her quill.

“Noora.” William’s voice broke through her thoughts; she hadn’t realized just how far away from the moment they had carried her, until she heard her name on his tongue, felt his fingertips on her cheek. “You know you don’t need to fear ruin any more than I do.”

Protests avalanched to the tip of her tongue—of course she did, he couldn’t possibly realize how much she did—only to melt when she caught the meaning softening his dark eyes. Her breath disappeared on its way from her chest to her mouth.

It wasn’t ruin if the man married the girl in question.

Noora coughed. “What were you reading when I came in?” she asked, easing away from him, sliding her spine along the books.

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, but still seemed to see straight through her. When he looked back down, he reached over to the closest table to hand her the book that had occupied him until she could follow him out of the ball and into the library.

Her breath caught again. “Cecilia?” she asked, once she could trust her voice not to crack.

“You’ve read it,” he guessed.

Noora nodded, hoped that she hadn’t hesitated too long. “Hasn’t everyone?” She watched his fingers as he flipped through the pages she had written, the thoughts she had reworked and reworded time and time again. She’d seen countless people hold her book before, but had never itched with the intimacy of it. Not like this. She felt like he still had his hands on her; like he was still stroking his thumb along the thin skin and blue veins beneath her wrist.

“You’ve read it,” he repeated, smirking down into pages. “It’s progressive like you are. A social critique.” How strange to hear him attach the words she’d spoken about Jane Austen to her book.

“Did you like it?” How strange to utter a question that meant everything to her as though it weighed no more than a feather.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Still smirking, he copied her evasion.

She rolled her eyes. “No. Most people read it to pick it apart.”

“I liked it.” He offered no more, no less, and Noora knew better than to push. Pushing would give him one of the puzzle pieces he needed to work out her secret, and Noora had observed his perceptiveness too many times over now to grant him that advantage.

At least he wasn’t alluding to marriage anymore.

Things continued that way for a fortnight longer. Noora and William spent as much time together as they could, always in secret. Noora spent as much time writing as she could, always at night. The rest, she spent with Eva—who seemed more and more distracted, the nearer her wedding day loomed.

“Eva,” Noora said one day from her bed, as her friend picked through her dresses with listless fingers. “You know you don’t have to marry yet. Not if you don’t want to.”

Eva paused, her long hair tumbling over her back as she turned from her wardrobe. “I want to,” she protested. “I’m just sick of all the decisions and the fuss and the planning. We’d both be happier with an anvil wedding at Gretna Green. Quick and finished.”

"I’m surprised Mr. Vasquez hasn’t suggested it.” Noora had heard him, more than once, detail his impatience with wedding ceremonies, his annoyance with the ritual of it all.

Eva’s shoulders slumped. “He has. And then he remembers how excited his sister is to see her older brother’s wedding.”

“Ah.”

“Vilde needs to come back from Scotland. She thrives on all this.”

Noora nodded, and waited for Eva’s posture to straighten, her usual good cheer to return.

She waited a while longer.

For all the times she and William had managed to sneak away now, Noora had never gotten any indication of anyone noticing. Not once.

Of course—she did not have a fiancée. “Have you seen Eva?” Mr. Vasquez asked her one evening, wearing his impatience with their surroundings like a poorly tied cravat.

Her brow lowered. She hadn’t. She’d been too focused on counting down the minutes until she could safely follow William out to the garden’s hedge maze. (So many places to get lost.) “No.” She scanned the room now for a telltale glint of reddish hair.

Nothing.

Dread unspooled through Noora’s stomach, jabbing her teeth into her lower lip and her eyes into another dart around the room.

Because she couldn’t find Mr. Schistad either.

William reached out to thread his fingers through hers as soon as she found him in one of the garden maze’s dead ends, ten or so minutes later than they’d agreed. “You’re here,” he said, smiled.

She kept her arms planted at her sides.

The corners of his lips faltered. “And you’re annoyed.”

“I thought you told Mr. Schistad to stay away from Eva.”

William let his head and hair fall back slightly, rolling his eyes up at the crescent moon. “I advised him to be careful with Miss Mohn.”

“Be careful?” Noora repeated. “That wasn’t our deal.”

“That was exactly our deal. I told you he wasn’t my servant.”

Noora counted back from ten in her head; she lost patience at six. “Well, he wasn’t careful. Neither of them are in the ballroom, Mr. Vasquez is looking for her, and…”

William raised an eyebrow. “Does he suspect?”

“Yes.” Maybe. “No.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

“No problem?”

Kicking himself away from the dark green hedge he’d been leaning against, William settled his palms upon her sleeves. “Noora,” he began carefully, “has it occurred to you that Miss Mohn might know what she’s doing?”

"No.” Stubbornness shook her head. “Eva doesn’t know what ruin is like. She doesn’t know how it feels to have your parents stare at you like you’ve lost all your worth. To have an entire village ostracize you. To lose everything, because of one poor decision, one lying, selfish, manipulative rogue. If she knew—” If she knew, then Noora would never have had to demand William’s assistance in the first place.

She did not realize that she’d started shaking until William pulsed his grip around her shoulders; until he began kneading fingertip-sized circles along the tense lines of her upper back. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “No one is going to be ruined. I promise.”

He traced her face with his eyes, even after she'd turned away from him—especially after she'd turned away from him—to cast her own at the ground.

“It’s okay,” he said again, his mouth landing right by her ear when he wrapped his arms around her.

Noora collapsed against him. She shook her head into his chest, burying her face there, until she couldn’t see anything but his coat, couldn’t smell anything but his musk, couldn’t hear anything but his steady heartbeat and mumbled reassurances.

It’s okay.

For that moment, she believed him.

The next moment—

A sharp gasp sounded behind them. “Good heavens!”

The next moment, the world came flooding back, already falling apart.

It wasn’t one person that discovered them, but four. A group of evening strollers. Noora knew their faces but not their names, and didn’t have a chance to remember a single one before William was glaring at them over her head and hurrying her away.

A gentlemen and two girls—sisters?—and one mother.

Laughter built in Noora’s chest, scaled her throat, and creaked through her mouth. It continued building, scaling, creaking until William stopped several turns deeper in the garden’s maze and helped her down to a bench.

She didn’t require much help. Her legs felt limp.

“Noora.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb.

She flinched. “Ironic, isn’t it? All my worry about Eva being compromised,” she said, laughed again. Perhaps laugh was not the right word—laughter didn’t usually taste like ash.

Tension weighed at his brow, his mouth, his gaze. Hysteria kept scrawling over hers.

“The entire ballroom will know by the time we return,” she stated, her voice still a pitch off to her own ears. It didn’t matter that it had been perhaps the most innocent embrace they’d shared in all their weeks together—only that she had been caught engulfed in William’s arms, clinging to him for dear life as he pressed kisses into her hair. Only that it had looked intimate and would sound ruinous by the time the scandal sheets had their say.

William tried to take her hand; she didn’t pull away this time, but didn’t twine her fingers through his either. A nod, barely perceptible, prodded his chin.

She wanted to collapse again, to bury her face in his shoulder and forget, but that was how she had gotten here in the first place.

“Noora,” he repeated. She had to look up at him, so slumped were her shoulders. “You have to marry me.”

Now she tugged her palm back. “I don’t have to do anything.” The stars overhead seemed to mock her, so pretty and out of place with her spiraling, outraged despair. The gleaming moon too.

William ran his freed hand over his face. “Please marry me,” he tried again. “How else can I protect you?”

“Protect me?” she echoed. “I don’t need you to protect me.” But even as the protest filled her mouth, she heard the falsehood in it. He couldn’t do anything to save her from the whispers and the judgment and the scorn if she didn’t marry him. Noora realized that.

“So you’ll just leave London,” he said. “Where will you go?”

Noora peered up at the snickering stars. “The Continent.”

“Alone?”

She shrugged.

“You’d rather move to another country, alone, than marry me?”

The hurt in his eyes sparked a fresh glint of indignation in hers. “Than marry anyone!”

William clenched his jaw. “Because of a bride’s vows? Do you think I’d expect obedience from you? That I’d steal your money or property or anything of yours?”

“It’s ownership.”

A hard, strained breath. “People marry all the time—your friends will, and you’re not concerned about anyone owning them.”

“Yes, but…” Noora exhaled, swallowed, and tried again. “You don’t want to marry me.”

William’s palms swallowed her cheeks, tilting her gaze back to his. ��Yes, I do.” His regard burned like a match, just as smoldering and just as consuming. He waited for her to answer, to say anything, to do anything.

But she couldn’t.

He kept his hands on her face. “Bloody hell, Noora, I love you.”

Noora regained control of her muscles. She winced away from his palms, away from him altogether. A laugh or a sob climbed up her throat. I love you too, she wanted to say, but there were too many other words covering it. Burying it. Words like: “You don’t know me. Not really.”

William mumbled another curse under his breath.

“You don’t,” she insisted. “If you knew everything, you wouldn’t want to marry me.”

“Have you murdered someone?”

Her next sobbed laugh almost choked her. “Of course I haven’t murdered someone.”

“Then I’ll still want to marry you.” Any amusement dried from his voice. “I promise.”

And as pretty as those words sounded, as much as she wanted to clutch at them—

“I’ve been engaged before." Steeling a breath and herself, Noora went about the task of proving him wrong. "I was young, too young, and desperate to get away from my parents. I would have done anything he asked.” The words tumbled out like daggers, slicing her throat and mouth and memories on their way. “So I did. He left the next morning.”

William’s regard felt as intense and inscrutable as ever.

“Do you see?” Noora pleaded or challenged.

He brushed one finger along her chin, slanting it back up. “That your fiancée was a bastard? Yes.” A shake of his head. “Marry me.”

Noora shook her head too. In disbelief that he cared so little about a history that would make other men spit on her; that he blamed her former fiancée without a thought, when her own parents had only ever faulted her. In frustration, because she wanted him, and she couldn’t have him, and he didn’t understand. “But it’s not only that. I…” She trailed off. He raised an eyebrow. “I have another secret.”

William opened his mouth.

Noora beat him to speech. “You’ve read Cecilia.” Breath stalled in her chest as she waited for William to react, to respond. “That’s what I’ve written. I’m the author.”

In the distance, the ball kept spinning with music and chatter.

In the moment—William’s lips curved. “I knew it.”

Hers fell apart. “You knew it?”

“I suspected,” he amended. “Norman Ames? Progressive politics? Your secret writing?”

Too damn perceptive. “And…” she broke off. She hadn’t been expecting his nonchalance; she didn’t know how to answer it. “And you still don’t see the problem with us marrying?”

His smile remained. “No.”

“William…” Why was he making her say this? He was far too intelligent not to realize it already. “Someday, someone will discover my identity. I’ll have to leave London.”

"I would take care of it.”

“It will be a scandal!”

“Yes.” William didn’t blink. “Marry me.”

Noora swam, floundered, and drowned in his unwavering stare.

She loved him.

“No.”

It didn’t matter.

[brettpilgrimanimation-yearthree]

Overshadowed - BBC (Pt. 2)

Episode five further pushes the development of the disorder within Imogene. We again, see Ana from the very beginning, mocking Imogene as she tells her viewers about more of her exercise routines. Imogen then reads through comments made on her videos and finds one showing concern for her wellbeing, Ana immediately plays down the severity of the comment and calls it hilarious, causing Imogen to go on the offensive towards the person who wrote it. This robs Imogen of a good opportunity to accept she needs help, much to Anas amusement. We then see Imogen return to the regular playful teenage girl elements of her videos, laughing and joking with her sister, showing the lack of divide in her head between regular life and her disorder. She then sits down for a meal with her Dad and his new partner, eating is already a socially destructive thing for Imogen but coupled with the company she’s in and her feelings towards her Dads new relationship which we’ve already seen could have been a trigger for the beginning of her disorder it appears to distress Imogen more than ever before. She becomes timid but confrontational when questioned about her eating habits. Ana then enters the room and begins to control Imogen within the situation, telling her to turn down food and further straining the social atmosphere. Again, we return to regular vlog content as Imogen details her dislike for her Dad’s new partner. But we then find out that she is out of the house drinking and smoking marijuana in a park with the boy she likes, something that can be seen as a common destructive behaviour amongst teens struggling with their mental wellbeing. She then tells him how she wishes she could run away to somewhere where people wouldn’t be sticking their noses in on her business, her genuine desire to separate herself from society and be able to live by her own rules becomes apparent but in reality this is her disorder taking more and more control. The boy then tells her she’s not well enough to go away, which immediately sends her into defense mode, again pushing away someone showing concern for her wellbeing. In a drunken state Imogen then returns home to find a snack, Ana appears and begins to berate her about her time with the boy but Imogen perseveres and continues to eat whilst her sister Tara enters and shouts at her about her eating habits and how they’re messing up her social life. This is the beginning of a depressive episode for Imogen and the scene also shows the cycle most people who deal with anorexia go through, the binge, (sometimes purge), restrict cycle. Imogen then collapses.

Episode six begins with Imogene in detention, something very uncharacteristic from the girl we were presented with at the start of the series. She then sneaks out to smoke and we find out the reason for her detention was swearing at a teacher, again uncharacteristic. She goes on to explain that teachers had shown concern for her well being because of her ‘condition’, something we’ve already seen sends Imogene into a spiral of anger and denial. Her boyfriend then tells her how perfect her body already is and how he doesn’t understand the mass dieting, but Imogene explains that it’s not about being stick thin, it’s about control, something a lot of people struggling with eating disorders also share. Throughout the series we’ve seen Imogene struggle with the lack of control she has over certain elements of her life, especially her parents divorce, so she finds solace in the control she has over her eating and feels attacked if anyone questions it. Ana then appears and orders Imogene away, just as it seems she’s happy with her boyfriend in the moment. Imogene then prepares herself for a long run as Tara comes in bragging about how well she did on a test, Imogene still appears angry with Tara, perhaps for what happened at the end of the last episode. Tara then questions Imogene's plan for a run, expresses hers and her mums concerns for her wellbeing and promptly, as we’ve already seen she storms out of the conversation. Whilst on her run Imogene begins to explain how she’s nervous about the sleepover she’s on the way to, at her friend's house because she hasn’t spent much time with her friends recently due to the self imposed isolation from social situations that could challenge her disorder. The sleepover appears to start playful and fun, Imogene then gets the ice cream shes bought out of her bag to find that its melted, her friend comments that it's alright because Imogene wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Imogene then appears in complete denial as they begin on the subject of her eating habits, this suddenly descends into a heated and emotional argument. Imogene locks herself in the bathroom, escaping from the conflict and is joined by Ana. Ana angrily launches into a tirade of insults on her friends, as Imogene cries in desperation, wondering if they’re right and she really does have an eating disorder. Her friends frantically try to get in to help her as Ana pushes Imogene to the point of acting out, messing up the bathroom. Ana comforts her, telling her it’ll be ok, just her and Ana, she doesn’t need her friends, the people who are actually concerned and anxious to help. They break down the door, much to Ana’s displeasure.

The penultimate episode of the series begins with Imogene shopping for food and looking extremely unwell. Ana sits facing her in the trolley berating her as usual, as Imogene reaches for some sweets she slaps her hand away from them and tells her to “look but don’t touch”. Imogene mentions how her mum sent her out and told her to buy any food she wants, clearly in an attempt to get her eating something, Ana is there to make sure this doesn’t happen. Imogene spills a tub of full fat yoghurt as she takes it from the shelf, getting some on her hands, as a member of staff approaches to help her breathing becomes frantic as she begins to panic. We then see Imogene on her return to school, clearly from a welfare break, as she film her friends in the distance, she appears not to have spoken to them since the sleepover. Imogene then gets in an argument with her boyfriend as he now screams his concerns at her, this shows how those who care for someone with an eating disorder can sometimes appear confrontational and frustrated due to the nature of the illness and their concerns. As usual Ana watches on from a distance and Imogene goes on the defensive, trying to joke and shrug it off. They then appear to break up as the worry has got too much for him, Imogene shows genuine distress about this but it doesn’t change the situation. She then frantically searches her bedroom for her trainers as Ana puts her down. She finds then and begins to put them on, as she does Ana intimidatingly says “16K day” prompting Imogene to tell her viewers how that’s her plan, then arguing with Ana about whether she’ll complete it. She then bursts out crying, proclaiming that she’s just too tired to do the run. Much to Imogene’s distress though, Ana forces her to go. As she gets to the front door though she’s confronted by her mum and taken into the front room for an intervention with her dad and sister. After an extremely heated and aggressive argument, pushed on Imogene’s side by Ana she finds out that her family have booked her in for treatment at a residential clinic and she’s to leave that night. After fleeing from the house Imogene turns round as Tara is hit by a car whilst in pursuit of her.

In the beginning of the final episode we learn that after Tara was hit by the car Imogene felt extremely responsible and decided to go into treatment. Tara then runs into the room and embraces Imogene, she is cut and bruised with her arm in a sling but other than that seems ok. They laugh and joke about the accident and look through Imogene’s get well soon cards. Imogene then walks through the halls of the clinic telling the viewers how she’d been there for three days and she’s not exactly pleased about it but she’s tired of fighting with her family and friends. Suddenly she sees the back of a girl with the same hair as Ana, she panics and hesitates until she realises it’s just a stranger. Imogene then walks through the grounds of the clinic as her mum talks about how nice it is, she angrily tells her mum it’s a prison and continues to to argue telling her it’s her fault she ended up with the disorder. They then make up with Imogene promising to try and get better. Imogene stands in a bathroom talking about the meeting she’s about to go into with her doctors, she says she doesn’t want to go in alone and hides her camera in her bag to take the viewers with her, as she points it back at the mirror we see Ana in the reflection behind her. At the halfway point of this episode this is the first time we see Ana and Imogene reacts as if she hasn’t seen her in her time at the clinic, panicking and checking around her. Whilst in the meeting the doctors tell her they’re concerned that her filming is holding her back from fully committing to her treatment program, Imogene argues her case as suddenly someone else enters the room, she jumps up with fear, appearing as though she was anticipating Anas arrival in the conversation. Her boyfriend then shows up to see her, she tells him how she’s now filming on her laptop because they took her camera off her. Whilst they talk he asks how the hospital food is, we get an indication that Imogene is now eating in some capacity. Imogene then ends her day with an emotional final video, telling the viewers how she feels she hasn't been honest with anyone or herself over the time she’s been ill, through this episode we have begun to see her accept her disorder bit by bit and gradually accept whilst still fighting where she can that she needs help. She’s realised the isolation she imposed on herself, how as the series has gone on her videos have had less and less of the people around her in them. By the end of this final episode Imogene appears to have complete acceptance of her disorder and her need for help. She ends her video making here to focus on her treatment and signs off determined to recover, we see Ana briefly in the background as the video ends, she appears angrier than she has been at any other point in the series showing how the ‘eating disorder voice’ often associated with anorexia can become louder and more frantic as the person tries to seek treatment. The last seconds of the episode contain words from the shows writer about her struggles with the disorder, I had already considered beginning my film with a quote about the disorder, I need it to be well written and effectively inform the viewer of the purpose for my film.

[ghostmartyr]

Fic: Float On

Fandom: Overwatch Title: Float On Author: Immi Rating: PG Summary: Finding privacy in a largely abandoned facility is not a hard thing to do. Fortunately, keeping it continues to present a challenge. Notes: Sequel to this. Slash continuation, since this is going to be a series. Because why not. Pure gen.

(Yay Star Wars.)

Stalking through hallways in the dead of night was not an unusual activity for Genji. In both his lifetimes, there had always been a use for befriending the shadows. The work of a ninja did not invite brightness simply because he happened to glow now. It was one of the many constants that his master had taught him to dwell upon. The man he was had been remade, but the simple pleasures they shared were not as lost as they seemed.

Such as the freedom of walking through the catacombs of Gibraltar without a host of frightened agents staring at him—or actively not. He was glad for the convenience, and continued to be glad as he hurried into the abandoned conference room he was seeking and gently closed the door behind him.

The room shared in the emptiness that shrouded the rest of the base. He was alone.

He located the spot on the floor with the best vantage points, and eased into his meditation stance. A quiet mind would do him good for this.

He slid back the mobile cover of his forearm and twirled the screwdriver he had acquired with enough artistry that it could almost look familiar in his hand.

So much would be simpler if that were only the case.

As a boy, he had never given his equipment much thought. His training had captivated him only as long as the lessons lasted, and most of his skills had been honed through sneaking out of his bedroom to visit the arcade (“The eyesore,” their father repeatedly called it). Long talks of honor and pride and the importance of their gifts could stay with Hanzo. His shuriken and blades would always catch his eye, but as for their sheathes, his concern was limited. That was what servants were for.

That mindset could not stay once he found himself embroiled in the training’s true purpose. His tools were his life, and sloppy maintenance could mean his head.

Those talks were practical enough, and they stuck.

His solution to his shuriken holder jamming was still, more often than not, to pester their armory into giving him a new one. They had resources; no one else having the sense to take advantage of them wasn’t any problem of his.

When that left him hiding in an abandoned conference room with a screwdriver and a prayer because his casual relationship with material goods that truly mattered had put a hard limit on his ability to repair his own arm—

That, as with many of the things he had once dismissed, was a problem of his.

He had learned his new body well in the past ten years, keeping up with regular maintenance checks even in isolation. A refusal to allow anyone else to see him at his most vulnerable had taught him many things that Hanzo’s lecturing tone could not. He was now one with his equipment. He would replace what he could when necessary, but he would have to know how to care for his self.

In most cases, he would admit to rousing success.

The mechanism responsible for reloading his shuriken continued to defy him.

A simple enough thing, built on technology far more outdated than the rest of him, it was a near copy of what he had used in his youth, with the only difference being that it was part of him. His armory raiding strategies were now rendered largely useless unless he had a pressing desire to approach his new fellows and request their aid.

He did not.

He was fully capable of understanding his own arm, and with such a simple thing, identifying the problem came easily. Despite spending most of its time protected by his exoskeleton, dirt and other inconvenient particles did make their way in, and if they were sizable enough, a jam was inevitable.

A simple problem with a simple fix. Remove the blockage, and clean out any debris that remained. Preferably with the shuriken taken out first. He had, several times, found the end of his task by simply willing that function of his arm to exert enough force to break through the obstruction.

When that failed, the simple fix became slightly more extensive. His hands, perfectly versed in any number of dexterous challenges, had fingers of a size that refused to ease between the delicate gap of the reloading mechanism with any grace. Having more than one to work with was his master’s kind suggestion.

Maybe, in a different place, at a different time, that would be an option that didn’t make his heart recoil. Today, he was where his superiors might have sat when they’d seen his rage for a weapon.

Zenyatta’s influence had banished the impulse to hate them for that, but the sensitivity caught fast.

Genji twisted the screwdriver carefully around inside his arm, searching for the spot of complete neural numbness that would always lead him to the problem. All it should take was nudging the clump of sand—that was most likely, given his recent wandering—out, or into smaller pieces, and—

And nothing, evidently.

The screech of metal jarred his senses, and his automatic retreat had no effect on the screwdriver that was now standing erect in his forearm.

One of Genji’s other lessons from the past ten years was that he was a very poor mechanic.

An earlier one, ingrained in any bone that presumed to make up his vessel, said that noises like that nearly always brought an otherwise successful mission to a brutal end, and his body obediently tensed, waiting for the ensuing catastrophe.

But no one was lurking in the dark underbelly of the new Overwatch to hear his mechanical failures.

Genji took a calming breath, more for the mental benefits than any need, and slipped his eyes closed. His free hand fell into position over his chest, and murmurs of his master’s instruction echoed in his mind as he released his stress.

There was still much to be found in this place. Serenity did not trap him easily. It was only a healthy amount of stubbornness that helped the reverse along for brief instants.

He breathed steadily, feeling the beat of his original heart, and the soft sting of his remaining skin; and the easy, resolute power that wound through all that was new, and still worked to keep him alive.

Peace returned. The spot of numbness in his arm faded to an irrelevant background.

He would have stayed in that still, contented world as long as it had him if his senses didn’t catch the end of his isolation stepping down the hallway.

Genji blinked himself back. Quickly as he could, he squashed whatever surprise had worked its way into his body language. He was coming to know those footsteps very well; the silence was attracted to them, much in the same way it shadowed Hanzo. The quiet embraced them both so easily. What they never seemed to realize was how clearly that made them stand out next to it.

Especially to Genji’s hearing.

He had no reason to believe the younger Captain Amari was aware of his running tally of times they had successfully snuck up on each other. Nonetheless, he thought to himself—back straight, head cocked expectantly, and eyes on the opening door—he was sure that it bothered her that he was winning.

He supposed he had Hanzo to thank for keeping the broad grin on his soul hidden. When Captain Amari walked through the door, thoroughly lost in whatever she was reading on her phone, he had a full second of free observation before her head snapped up and she made eye contact.

The shock only lasted a fraction of that, but he saw it.

Point Genji.

Then he caught the wobble of the screwdriver protruding from his arm, and Captain Amari’s sauntering gaze over to it, and reconsidered the scoring distribution.

Captain Amari, without a twitch betraying the delight that she was stealing out from under him, took one look at him and his partially dismantled arm, pocketed her phone, and said, with all the security that came from the world crafting her for moments like these, “Need a hand?”

He had his suspicions that this woman could deny the union of awkwardness and silence through sheer force of rhetorical enjoyment.

He took advantage of that to stray from an immediate answer. Much like the sunrise last month, when his interruption had transformed it into a shared experience, and their multiple encounters since then, her offer was presented in a way that felt removed from the social pressures that had defined too much of his previous life at Overwatch. He lingered on the tattoo under her eye. This was an honest choice, and his to make.

Never mind that she was throwing it to him after walking in on him in one of the most secluded areas of the base. Some would consider the choice made from that alone.

And it had resulted in him sitting, alone, in a dark, abandoned conference room, with a screwdriver sticking out of his arm.

A standard beginning for his exploits in personal growth, Master would say.

Captain Amari, through long practice or quirk of personality, said nothing, and it was a relief.

“Yes,” he arrived at. “But I can make do with yours.”

The captain lit up. Not in her face—too much time letting orders rule your life stole that away—but in the lightness in her shoulders, and in the steps she took before joining him on the floor. Helping made her soul sing, and brought his back to an even pitch.

“Jammed?” she asked.

“Very.”

She took a closer look, her breath misting his hand. He could see her eyes darting about with surprising precision, the lack of light hardly any obstacle at all. “I don’t like sand,” she murmured. “It’s coarse and rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

A flash to a history Genji had never wanted came to mind vividly, and curiosity propelled him forward.

“You’ve seen those movies?”

“All fourteen,” Captain Amari said promptly. She examined the stuck screwdriver for a moment before grabbing hold. “You?”

There were ways, Genji had learned, to speak of his experiences without making his listener so appalled that they chose to forego all acquaintanceship. With Captain Amari, he was unsure if he chose not to use them because they were exhausting, or if he trusted the burgeoning kinship they were finding together.

“I reached the episode where the brothers-in-arms attempted to murder one another, and one was left for dead to become a cybernetic monstrosity.” He paused. “I chose to stop watching.”

That remained the civilized way of terming how his hospital-issued remote had found itself making impact with the projector set at the foot of his bed.

It had been the day before he would be medically cleared to respond to Overwatch’s interrogations. In truthful terms, the day before he officially chose to burn his family’s empire to the ground for what they had taken from him. The hospital’s entertainment system had not helped his feelings on the matter. Neither had the multitude of unkind words he shouted at Angela when she rushed into the ward to investigate the crash.

He was no longer that man. He would never stop being grateful for that gift.

“Out for movie night then,” Fareeha said, bringing him back.

“That would be preferred.”

He waited for a follow-up, but she just nodded, taking the screwdriver and gently easing it out to the slow sound of grating metal. Genji stayed focused on keeping as much of the arm relaxed as he could while she worked.

It was surprisingly easy.

Not at all what he had been bracing himself for when he chose to come down here.

Some healing, his master once told him, was like that. The harm of trusting a pattern to repeat could become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and once removed, so too would be the damage. It only took the courage to try a new path.

Genji had been fortunate. Most of the courage that saved him was owed to others.

He watched the casual tension in his friend’s arms as she assisted with his, the traces of scar tissue over her steady fingers reflecting his light. He had seen similar marks covering Torbjörn’s hands years ago. As well as last week. The rougher calluses of mechanical craftsmanship.

“I avoided asking for help,” he said. Out loud, for once. “In many things, but with this in particular. I didn’t wish to remind anyone that some things are still a transition.”

Captain Amari deftly prodded the screwdriver back in, managing to hit the exact spot his awkward attempts had aimed for. He heard something loosen before he felt it. Small grains of sand rolled down the insides of his arm, and she reached in and flicked several of them to the floor.

“My mother,” she said, in the tone of someone who would be beginning stories this way until the day she died, “walked into a wall yesterday. She then pretended it was intentional.” She hesitated, catching his eye. The glimmer of a smile in her voice left. “Before I came in here, I tried to call my former captain about using some of our old Helix gear.” She dusted more sand out of Genji’s arm. “He’s dead.”

She manipulated the screwdriver with another twist before the statement could linger, and sensation came back to Genji’s arm as a large clump popped free and skittered across the degraded carpet. They were making a mess. Judging by the dust content of the room, it wasn’t one that would be attended to quickly without their further involvement.

Genji pulled back his freed arm and pumped the reload mechanism through its paces several times under his friend’s careful eye. It worked smoothly. He would make sure to be especially careful cleaning it when he returned to his quarters.

“I am repaired,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Captain Amari stood up, making to leave him alone again.

A respectful sentiment.

“…Did it work?”

She turned back, eyebrow cocked in question.

“Your mother’s tactic,” he clarified, rising to his feet.

Captain Amari scoffed, grinning at him. “Have you met my mother?”

“Of course it worked,” they said together.

[pixiepaws1-blog]

A History of Henry

For those who don't know my series: Not Too Young for True Love, Henry is Emma's toy stuffed duckling. I was reading a chapter of The Chicken Reform to make sure I kept to my own canon for a part of Crushing Ice, and this plot bunny hopped in and wouldn't leave (despite vigorous prodding!)

This started as a little piece on Charming's rescue of Henry from the moat as mentioned in The Chicken Reform, but as often happens, ended up quite something different once it made it to the page.

I absolutely adore Papa Charming, so this is for him. Hopefully he would approve.

Wherever possible, it is our parents that choose our name because that is their right.

It is their responsibility, to choose one that fits; however, it must be conceded that the name must come before both, the recipient's character is formed and the path they will walk in life becomes known. So it often follows, that despite the best intentions, many names simply don't sit well on those on whom they are bestowed.

Such is life.

Now and again the name that may initially appear to be incongruous to its recipient and their situation in society, ends up attached to exactly the right individual.

There was a legend in the Enchanted Forest, many men would say 'old wives' tale', that pixies often took entertainment from meddling in the affairs of humans. They are said to be particularly meddlesome in the matter of pregnant women if they should happen upon one; which was quite rare.  There was just something about tinkering with the babe's future they found utterly irresistible.

Once upon a time a woman who was not yet aware that she was with child, was foraging for mushrooms in a grove far from her home. She was quite especially surprised at the number to be had, since the variety was not known to grow in large groups. She could not have known, but perhaps she should have guessed, that these had not occurred naturally.

These mushrooms were a particular favourite of the woodland pixies and this was their grove. They had set wards about their crop and two pixies were immediately drawn to the site as soon as her knife had cut the first stalk. Her transgression was forgiven due to the pixies' discernment of her gravid state and their desire to play merry with the babe to be born. They waited for her to turn her attention to her harvesting and, when she wasn't looking, one of the pixies blew softly on the mushrooms she had already placed in her wicker basket. She left with her treasures and the mushrooms made a good meal for herself and her husband.

The pixie-meddled mushrooms had no affect on the man, indeed, he would never know the supernatural  tinge to what he had consumed. Neither did his wife. The wisp of magic had been intended for the child; hence it passed from the mother to the babe while the parents continued in their lives in complete ignorance.

In due course, the babe was born. The name given to her was, Evangelina; a name that may at first have seemed a tad fanciful for one so lowly born. But while in the grip of a fever that had taken hold as she laboured long to deliver her child, Evangelina's mother swore she kept hearing a name whispered in her ear.  She would never know the whisper had come from the pixie magic that lay in her babe's blood. The whisper carried a name; Evangelina, and as the child was born fair, with freakishly white hair and whimsical silver eyes so pale they looked like ice, the mother decided the name was fitting.

Her mother had built somewhat of a reputation as a maker of toys. They were  in the shape of the animals and the birds of the forest, and crafted from eclectic patchworks of intricately sewn materials. It was an occupation she had taken up shortly after discovering she was carrying Evangelina. Being much loved and doted upon by her tinker husband, when he took to the road for his bi-annual excursions required by his trade, he would look for unusual fabrics, both rich satins and brocades, and rough hemp and linens, to bring home to his industrious wife.

When Evangelina reached the age of 7, she was put to work with her mother. It was discovered she had a gift for needlework that surpassed even her talented mother. Her tiny fingers were sure and swift, never dropping a stitch or tearing the fabric. When observed at her work, the animal she was crafting would appear the same haphazard conglomeration of patterns and weaves as those her mother made. But just as she was adding the final stitches, Evangelina would be seen to whisper in the ear of her creation, and the simple toy would somehow take on a subtle change. It was not something that could be seen. Not for lack of trying by her mystified parents who had spent many an hour intently looking over Evangelina's creations. They could never actually find anything. It was something that a person felt whenever the toy was in their hands; a feeling of warmth and contentment.

Naturally, the toys were bought and passed onto young babes and children, and their parents noticed that even the most fretfully difficult child, calmed. They slept deeper and were less prone to fitful awakenings. Always the child would turn out to be sweet natured.

Evangelina was most diligent in the matter of overseeing each purchase of her wares.  She insisted in the choosing of which was best suited to the intended recipient. It was often the case that she would snatch a toy from the customer's hand, cuddling it to her chest and stating clearly, "No. Not this one."  Then she would fix her curiously iridescent ice eyes on the customer, never the child if it was present; and the customer would begin to bristle at such a disrespectful and intense perusal by a market urchin. Then Evangelina would pick up a toy and stroke its head and whisper in its ear, before holding it out to the customer with the words, 'It must be this unicorn,' (or this bear or this otter - or whichever creature toy she chose). 'No other will do.'

Her angelic face and determined expression swayed many a soul, but it was always the rapt way in which the child received into their adoring embrace  the toy that Evangelina had insisted upon, that sealed the customer's satisfaction.  Her mother had initially tried to dissuade her daughter from bullying the customers in such a fashion, but always Evangelina would have her way.

Not once did her mother ask how she knew to match which toy with each child. Perhaps way down deep in a corner of her heart into which she didn't care to look, her  mother was afraid of the answer. Worried if she analysed too deeply or pushed too hard, the unnatural facility would abandon her daughter.

And Evangelina made a lot of money for her parents.

All magic has a price. Evangelina paid for hers with isolation. She was pretty but she had an oddness about her that was off putting to the practical and unimaginative residents of the small village in which she lived. Her only friends were the ones she crafted.

As she grew older and more aware that her special way with her patchwork animals was not usual, Evangelina struggled to explain how she was able to imbue each of her works with its own sliver of magical essence. All she could articulate was that she could see the animal that was waiting to be formed from within the piles of neatly cut fabric squares. Her hand would unerringly pluck exactly the pieces she needed, whereas her mother had to try many different combinations and placings before settling on what she  would make.  Then just as she made the final stitch, Evangelina would whisper 'Hello' into it's ear and felt it warm slightly. The sensation passed in a heartbeat, but that heartbeat was hers and it beat its magic into the toy.

Time passed in which the reputation of the amazing and exquisite works of the mother and daughter grew and began to spread.

Then one day in Evangelina's twelfth year of age, a king paused to peruse the offerings of their stall. He traveled without pomp and ceremony; intent on finding a gift which he might take home to his True Love, for they had only recently learned they were to welcome a babe of their own.

He had the kindest and most expressive of sapphire eyes presented above a wide and genuine smile.  It was not clear if Evangelina recognised the status of the man for he was king of a neighboring land. It was, however, apparent that something in him captured her attention as none other had, for she dragged her chair to the front of the stall and jumped up onto it. Without a word she put her small palms against the king's cheeks and pressed her nose to his.

Her mother was horrified at such forward behaviour and apologised profusely. The king, though surprised at the young girl's antics, waved away the mother's concern and began to chuckle.

"T'is no worry. Will she tell my fortune or steal my purse?" The king asked, taking great pains not to blink as Evangelina's eyes bore into his.

"She would never steal, Your Majesty. She is given to peculiar turns, but always she is harmless," her mother assured.

Before the king could respond, Evangelina let go her hold upon the Royal face and, still standing on her chair, she turned to the riot of stuffed toys on her stall counter and picked up a yellow duckling.  After whispering in the duckling's ear she presented it to the king. Her face was very serious.

"Henry's been waiting for her. No other will do," Came Evangelina's pronouncement, her tone sure. When the king accepted the toy, the girl added, "Her magic will make the memories strong. "

The king's mouth dropped open in surprise before he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "Well, now. Henry, you say?" He asked, pinching the duckling's bill between his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes. Henry for her. Pretty yellow Henry for the little blonde babe," Evangelina confirmed, nodding vigorously. "They will be great friends."

The king laughed heartily, for he and Queen Snow had yet to use the charm that would predict the gender of the babe. He booped Evangelina's nose. "A little soon to be sure." He grinned conspiratorially, "But between you, me and Henry, I hope we do have a girl."

Evangelina smiled brightly and for a moment the king thought he saw a silver shimmer in the girl's eyes. "Pretty blonde girl for pretty yellow Henry."

The king was a kind man with a soft heart for children.  He'd had a fancy to buy something to match Snow's eyes, perhaps as a good luck charm towards the babe's having the same colour, but he could not look into Evangelina's earnest eyes and turn down the yellow duckling.

"I'll tell you what. I'll buy Henry, but only if you will make me something truly special in a particular shade of green. I'll even send you the material. Do we have a deal?" The king asked. He tucked Henry under his arm and held out his hand for the girl to shake and seal the bargain.

This offer set her  mother to calculating, but before she could suggest the price her daughter was shaking her head. "Henry is special. He will give them to her." Taking the king's proffered hand in both of hers and squeezing reassuringly, she added, "Until she is old enough to understand, they will comfort her."

The king cast a confused look towards the girl's mother, but saw she was just as uncertain as he. "Who will comfort her? Of whom do you speak?" He was beginning to think that the toy could be dangerous.

"Those who came before. The ones who would have loved her." Evangelina replied, her tone indicating that she thought it was obvious. She tilted her head to the side and observed his furrowed brow, then she pulled Henry from his grasp.

"He carries their love." She pointed to a patch of gold brocade. "Grandmother Eva's first ballgown." She pointed to a patch of pale yellow satin. "Grandfather Leo's favorite cravat, given to him  by his daughter." She pointed to a patch of ancient looking lace that had yellowed with age. "Grandmother Ruth's wedding dress. So many memories and lots of love. Henry carries them all. You see?"

The king could not get his voice to work, so he just nodded. His deep blue eyes glistened as he touched the lace of his mother's wedding dress. He may have been skeptical that these articles had found their way to Evangelina's talented fingers, but he felt the connection as he stroked the roughened lace. The dress had been sold for a debt many, many years ago, so he had never seen it, but he felt suffused with love as he touched it. However things had turned out, his parents had married from a deep romantic attachment. It was no difficulty at all to know that Snow would treasure what this link to both their pasts would give to their child.

Evangelina was right; no other of the stuffed toys would do and no other would be needed.

His fingers trembled slightly as he took the toy into his possession. Knowing it for the miracle that it was, he was not going to question it. "Thank you. Thank you. This is  . . .this is  . . . truly amazing." Tears fell as he cradled the toy.

The asked sum was paid, although the king argued it was not nearly enough for the gift it was giving his family. Evangelina's mother was shrewd and she asked that he spread the word and provide Royal endorsement for their wares to supplement the price. The king gladly agreed.

When the gorgeous blonde baby princess arrived some months later, she was tucked in her crib with Henry clasped in her chubby arms. As she slept peacefully with a soft smile, her adoring Mama and Papa liked to think how proud their own parents would be of their beautiful grand-daughter.

And if they thought they saw a soft glow emanating from Henry's historic patches and heard whispers that may have sounded like the voices of their beloved parents, well, perhaps it was not all in their imagination.