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keithsandwich · 5 months

Text

Once upon a dream...

Pairing: Keith and Alter!Keith/OC (July)

Word Count: ~3k

Tags: Fairy Tale AU, Princess!July, Masquerade, Memory Loss, Arranged Marriage, Drinking.

Notes: This is my gift for @queengiuliettafirstlady for the Secret Santa Event hosted by the amazing @lemeowade ♡ I took the liberty of writing July, and I hope you like it, Julie!! I really enjoyed creating something for you, my dear!

(Watch out for fairy godmother!Clavis, heehee)

Thank you @nightghoul381 for beta reading!

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a princess who had a dream. In this dream, she found herself alone in a magical forest where colorful and fragrant flowers of all kinds bloomed across the ground and up the tree trunks. The gentle moonlight filtered through the foliage, and a soft mist veiled the beautiful vision, giving it an ethereal touch.

The princess believed herself alone in this forest. She sighed in relief and awe. Life hadn't been easy for her, as she faced pressure to marry a foreign prince she didn't love soon. Being there felt like exactly what she needed to find peace. The princess had always loved nature, and enjoying its beauty in this personal refuge made her smile the most sincere smile she had in months. She searched for a tree under which she could sit, allowing herself to close her eyes and be enveloped by the wonderful scent of the flowers as she hoped for better days.

Without her noticing, shadows began to invade her personal sanctuary, casting their dark cloak over the vibrant leaves and flowers. They ominously approached the resting princess, and when she finally sensed a disturbance in her perfect dream, the shadows' hand was already prepared to close its grip on her.

Terrified, the princess threw her arms in front of her face in a desperate attempt to protect herself when she felt it was too late. What came next, however, was a beautiful light radiating in front of her. Slowly, she lowered her arms and saw the most amazing vision. A mythical stag was standing between her and the shadows, his mighty antlers threatening the darkness and pushing it away from the princess. Her heart was leaping inside her chest before the mesmerizing scene unfolded, not because she was scared, but because the light emanating from the stag was made of love. Love for her. A love she had never felt before.

When he turned to her with a reassuring, yet docile, golden stare, she knew she loved him too.

When Princess July woke up, all she could think of was that stag and how she yearned to find him.

Keith scratched his head when he saw the palace glowing in beautiful lights as night fell. By now, he was used to seeing the palace during the day as he delivered crops and grains directly to the kitchen. It had been part of his job for the past few months, after he found himself in strange fields without knowing how he ended up there… Or who he was. Mrs. Yuel had found him wandering confused, and was kind enough to find him a position on her farm. “There’s always work to do for a strong young lad like you!”, she had told him, and he had been helping her ever since, in the fields and making those deliveries throughout the city.

That night it was different, however. His last delivery was at the tavern, and once there he saw the taverner was busy preparing a delivery himself — wine, for the masquerade ball at the palace. Naturally, Keith knew nothing of it. A simple farmer boy with no memory would never get an invitation, after all. But seeing the taverner having a hard time carrying the wine barrels, he offered to help him, and this is how he ended up seeing the palace as he never had seen it before. Busy, the air filled with buzzing and chattering as servants hustled about, preparing meals that smelled so enticing, they made his mouth water. Beautiful, with flowers ornamenting all around. And downright glowing, as if the building was inside a dream that evoked a sense of nostalgia within him, though he couldn't understand why.

“If only you had the right attire, you could go in unnoticed, boy,” the taverner said to him with laughter in his voice when Keith returned to the cart after leaving the last barrel in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry; I wasn’t supposed to be so amazed by all this, was I?” Keith shook his head as he sat beside the taverner in the cart. He didn’t expect the taverner would realize the mysterious longing in his eyes as he looked at the palace. He felt like a force inside was calling out to his heart, but it was clear that the masquerade was not meant for someone like him.

"Nah, I used to be amazed too in my time," the taverner studied Keith in silence with sudden attention. "You know what? Once I stole a noble's suit just so I could crash a palace ball. It wasn't a masquerade, though, and my manners quickly denounced me. I couldn't even finish a dance before I was thrown out!" He laughed, and Keith wondered where he was going with this. He didn’t have to wait much longer, however. "I might still have that suit somewhere; I could lend it to you!"

“You don’t have to! I… Ah…” Keith closed his eyes shut when the world started to spin and grow dark. His fingers grabbed the wooden seat under him, squeezing it as hard as he could to steady himself. That feeling seemed familiar, but he couldn’t recall the last time it happened — the last time he was enveloped by that void until there was… Nothing. “Actually, I would like to take a look at it, if it’s not a problem for you,” the other Keith, the one who took control of that body, said with a smile and a sudden gleam in his golden eyes.

The taverner didn’t wait; he took the reins and set the horses in motion. As it turned out, inside an old chest on the second floor of the tavern, where he lived, lay a complete suit — fancy with golden embroideries on dark green velvet. The only thing lacking was the mask, but as Keith arrived at the front gardens of the palace, an enigmatic figure in purple and wearing a leopard mask stopped him in his tracks.

“My, my! A gentleman cannot possibly attend a masquerade without a mask! It would be a scandal! Lucky for you, I happen to have an extra mask that will look just perfect on you!” The mysterious man said excitedly, handing Keith a golden mask with green gems forming the shape of vines around stag’s antlers.

Then he vanished among the crowd, as mysteriously as he had appeared.

Keith didn’t question it. The mask looked, indeed, perfect for him.

The ballroom was a display of wealth and glamor, with the most beautiful flowers hanging from the walls and countless candles shining their light like golden stars all across the room. Both royalty and nobles from all places showed off their fancy clothes and graceful manners as they chatted with each other and danced to the joyful songs played by the orchestra. But no matter how flawlessly elegant everything looked, nothing could impress July or make her feel the same wonder she felt in her dream. Although she was born a princess, July had always cherished the simple things the most, and all those fanciness only made her want to run away from there and seek solace in the woods that surrounded the palace, where everything was quieter and truer. The trees wouldn't pretend to like her just to take advantage of her status. The birds wouldn't lie to her. No leaf believed itself to be better than anyone else.

And most of all, the deer that ran free wouldn't trap her in an arranged marriage just to try to consolidate their power.

When the man wearing a peacock mask and dressed in green, turquoise and black approached her and took her hand in his, her skin crawled. The mask couldn't hide the man underneath it or his bad intentions. July knew it was Prince Fernand, unfortunately her fiancé. She pulled her hand back as fast as she could before he could kiss it, or worse — take her for a dance.

“Princess, don’t be like this… You’re gonna break my heart,” Fernand said, as if he was heartfelt, but July knew better.

“Quit it. I know you only want to marry me to please the King of Jade,” her sweet voice was cold to him, and she crossed her arms against her chest to make it clear she wouldn’t fall for his tricks.

Prince Fernand wasn’t originally the heir to the throne of Jade, a neighboring kingdom by the East. His nephew and true heir, Prince Keith, had conveniently gone missing a few months ago, around the same time Fernand sent the marriage proposal to July’s father. An alliance between the kingdoms would be beneficial to both of them, and taking the initiative to propose one by marriage was a move Fernand wanted to make in order to ascertain his position as heir in case his nephew was found, but by now, the hopes were low and as far as he's concerned, Keith was as good as dead already.

“Prince Fernand! Fancy seeing you here. Can I borrow your attention for a minute? I really wish to discuss some business that might interest you…” One of the princes of Rhodolite interrupted them, much to July’s relief, and Fernand couldn’t avoid the insistent stare of the man in purple with a leopard mask.

“Be glad you’re getting married to me instead of that failure. At least I won’t embarrass you, princess,” Fernand had a smug smile on his face when he politely bowed to July before leaving with the other prince. She huffed; she would run away from that place if she could.

July had met Prince Keith when they were kids, and they used to play together in the palace when he was visiting. She loved his sweet and kind presence, he had always been so caring towards her she would never call him a failure. Learning he went missing broke her heart. They had lost contact over the past few years, but she had kept the memories in a dear place in her heart.

If only he was found in time, July could be free from that engagement.

She sighed and walked aimlessly, lost in thought. She wasn’t aware someone with golden eyes and wearing a stag mask was looking at her from the other side of the ballroom, captivated by her beauty.

Keith had taken a glass of the same wine the failure had helped deliver to the palace. It was a decent wine, but he knew the warm feeling in his chest was caused by something else. Or rather, someone else. He felt the same calling the other Keith felt about that place, and the longing to be there the other was about to dismiss, he embraced with his full self because he just felt, deep in his heart, he needed to be there. And when he saw the green eyes behind the mask of foliage and flowers — a mask fit for a fairy — he was certain she was the reason why.

The woman was visibly in distress after talking to a show-off of a man, someone Keith immediately hated. He felt torn between going after the man and confronting him somehow, and trying to approach her. In the end, he left his glass on a servant’s tray and walked over to her. Her beauty appeared only more and more ethereal as he approached, her scent enveloping him in the most comforting and sweet sensations. In a way, he knew he had met her before. Maybe in some part of his forgotten past. Maybe in a dream. Maybe even in another life. And when he bowed in front of her, taking her hand and watching how, instead of flinching like she did previously with the other man, she let him kiss her fingers politely, Keith knew he was meant to find her.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” He asked her in his most alluring tone, hoping she had felt the same. Hoping she wouldn’t say no.

“Yes,” she answered with a hint of uncertainty, as one would in front of something that evoked feelings so strong one would be afraid of giving in to them. Ultimately, she smiled so beautifully it made Keith hold his breath. “Yes, of course!”

As the music swirled around them, they began to dance. The ballroom seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a world of their own. Keith himself was surprised to find out he was an excellent dancer, able to guide her with grace and charm, and she responded with equal elegance. During the dance, their eyes locked, and Keith felt that connection that was beyond the present moment. It was definitely as if they shared a history that transcended time. The woman’s green eyes held a hint of recognition, and a mysterious familiarity lingered in the air. When the music slowed, they found themselves in a quiet corner of the ballroom.

"There’s something about you, something that feels so familiar. Have we met before, perhaps in another place or time?" Keith whispered in her ear with a soft voice.

The woman looked into his eyes, a mixture of curiosity and longing in her gaze.

“I’ve felt the same,” she confessed, “as if our paths have crossed in some distant memory… Or in a dream…”

The enigmatic connection between them was undeniable, leaving them both yearning for answers in the midst of the enchanting ball. Kissing her pinkish, full lips felt irresistible, and as natural as breathing. It was as if some invisible force guided them together, and nothing else existed. Keith leaned forward at the same time she reached out to him, and time stopped the moment their breaths mingled and their lips touched. Nothing else existed, and Keith, who had never believed in fairy tales, felt it was a true love’s kiss.

And like a true love’s kiss in a fairy tale, magically his memories returned like a violent stream in his mind first, so much so he had to break the kiss and take a step back to steady himself.

“Are you alright?” The woman touched his shoulders, concerned and trying to help him somehow. Unbeknownst to them, however, the whole ball had come to a halt around them and people were looking in shock at the mysterious man who dared kiss the princess. Even the orchestra had stopped playing, and only surprised whispers and murmurs filled the ballroom.

That until Fernand stormed in from across the crowd, outrage visible behind his mask.

“How dare you kiss my fiancée?” He yelled threateningly. “Who are you? July, do you know this man?”

That voice was painfully familiar to Keith now. He knew exactly who that man was, and all about the terrible crimes he had committed, amongst them, his memory loss. He was the one who had always tried to take his place, and this time, for some reason, he had got what he wanted. Until now, for Keith was about to put an end to Fernand's deeds.

“Indeed, I wonder, who might be this young man?” A cheerful voice broke the tension, as the man in leopard mask and purple suit approached Keith, with amusement in his eyes. Keith could recognise him as well now as Prince Clavis, and he wondered how come he was a few steps ahead there. “Perhaps you should take off your mask and reveal yourself to my offended friend, don’t you think?”

Keith looked at July, who had stayed by his side, no matter how nervous she seemed to be with the situation they were in. He knew who she was too. The other Keith had been infatuated with her before, although he couldn’t name that feeling, and when he met her, he felt the same thing. July had always made them feel so comfortable and cherished, but instead of declaring their feelings, they tried to protect her from the abnormality they were, and from Fernand. It wasn’t of no use, however, for fate wanted them together, and Keith would no longer fight it.

He smiled reassuringly at her, and took off his mask to face the one he would fight now.

The gasps and whispers were louder now, and he could hear some nobles clearly stating in surprise, “Isn’t that Prince Keith?”, “I thought he was dead!”. But his golden eyes were dangerously focused on Fernand, who looked back at him with disbelief. If they had their swords on, they would be dueling right now, but in the middle of the elegant ball, their clash should be different.

“Fernand, you thought I was dead, didn’t you?” Keith’s tone held a mixture of accusation and cold certainty. “But here I stand, alive and ready to put an end to your deceit and treachery.”

Fernand, caught off guard, struggled to mask his shock with a facade of arrogance. “You should have stayed hidden, Keith, like you always do when things get complicated!”

“Never again, Fernand!” With a determined gaze, Keith stepped forward, each stride echoing with purpose. His voice, steady and resolute, cut through the murmurs. “This man tried to get rid of me, the true heir of Jade, to take my place. It is because of him that I’ve lost my memories and wandered for months without knowing who I was. But now I remember, and I will take him back to Jade to make him pay for his crimes!”

Instantly, the ball erupted into chaos. In the tumult, every noble and royal turned against Fernand with disapproving glares. Cornered and desperate, Fernand attempted to flee, but with calculated precision, Prince Clavis strategically positioned his leg in Fernand’s path, resulting in a trip and an amused “Oopsie”. That’s when the once-overconfident peacock knew he had no choice but to face the consequences of his actions.

“Are you alright?” Prince Keith turned to July. He wasn’t used to showing his feelings of worry, but he held her in his arms, feeling the tension leave her body little by little and feeling an immense comfort in that. July really was special to him, magically so, and he was sure now more than ever that the connection they shared was otherworldly.

“I am now…” She said, with her characteristic sweetness.

And that’s how they started living their dream.

#SSEvent #keith howell #ikepri oc #julie's july #fairy tale au #ikemen prince #fanfic #au fanfiction

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skyward-floored · 2 years

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Time drinks a poe. Everyone is disturbed.

This fic spiraled out of control and ended up just being rather ridiculous and I was going to make it better but I’m sick of looking at it so here’s Time drinks a poe: the (short) fic

(Also thanks to everybody who told me what they think poes taste like, the responses were all fantastic)

————————————————————

“Ugh, poes. What a pain!” Wind grumbled as he swiped at a ghost, and Time had to agree with him.

They’d ended up in a graveyard somehow, apart from the others in an unknown era. The place was swarming with all sorts of ghosts, ghinis and poes and numerous others Time didn’t recognize all swooping down at them. He and Wind were fighting back to back, and fortunately the battle was going quickly despite how it was just the two of them.

A poe from Wind’s era swung at Time’s face, and he sliced it away in the nick of time, the ghost disappearing with an angry shriek.

“Better than redeads at least,” Time said in reply to Wind’s earlier statement.

Wind nodded rapidly as he dodged a poe’s lantern to the face. “Oh yeah, give me a hundred poes to a redead.”

The number of ghosts were rapidly dwindling, and several of the monsters simply disappeared, deciding the fight wasn’t worth it. Time sliced his blade through what seemed to be the last one, one of his own poes, and sighed in relief as it faded away into nothing but a small purplish flame.

Wind huffed out a breath from next to him, sounding tired but triumphant, and he turned around to look at Time, a pleased look on his face.

“We got them,” he grinned, then caught sight of the flame the poe had left behind.

The sailor’s face lit up with curiosity and he came up next to it, peering at the oddly colored flame with interest. His eyebrow quirked up when he saw the face wavering in the middle of it, and he gave Time an inquiring look.

“What’s that?” he asked, and in lieu of answering Time pulled a bottle from his pouch and scooped the flame up inside.

“It’s called a poe’s soul,” he explained, holding it out so Wind could better see. “There’s not too much you can do with them, but they have a few uses.”

Wind studied it for a minute, letting out a small huh at the sight.

“If we need the bottle I’ll empty it,” Time continued as he pocketed the bottle with a smile, “but for now it may as well hold something. Always good to put bottles to use.”

Wind nodded, and followed after him as they left the graveyard. “No kidding. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished a bottle I had wasn’t empty.”

Time chuckled.

“You and me both.”

(...)

The strange contents of Time’s bottle didn’t come up again for a few days, during which the heroes had all reunited and were now making their way to what was reportedly a fairy fountain nearby.

Several of them had been injured while separated, and the sight of the cave when they finally reached it was a great relief. Time heard several sighs of relief as they entered the softly lit area, the atmosphere gentle and welcoming.

Glowing circles of light flitted around the water, chiming happily at the sight of the nine who’d found their domain. They nearly swarmed Time, and Hyrule and Warriors who’d been next to him, and Wind laughed as a few settled on the old man’s head and shoulders.

Twilight sighed in relief as one zipped over to him and spun around his arm, fixing the sprain he’d received, and Legend made a similar sound when one twirled around his leg. Obviously the limp he’d insisted wasn’t an issue had been bothering him more than he admitted.

Time himself simply settled down on a level rock by the edge of the fountain, content with a rest after the hike to get here.

“Should we try to get a few fairies to take with us?” Sky asked as one gently fixed a scratch on his cheek. “We don’t have many healing supplies at the moment.”

Time quirked a smile. “If you can catch them, be my guest.”

Wild perked up at that, and stood up from where he’d only just sat down after a fairy had healed a small gash on his arm.

“I’ve always wondered if fairies minded us putting them in bottles,” Wind said, watching as a sprite flew past and settled into Warriors’ hair. “Mine always seemed annoyed at it, but they healed me anyways so I figured it was okay. No great fairies ever told me off at least.”

“Most typical fairies consider it a game,” Time explained, watching as Wild tried to sneak up on an unsuspecting fairy, “if you can catch them, they consider sticking around and healing you your prize. Not all of course, but most do.”

He smiled as the fairy noticed Wild and zipped away, despite the champion jumping up to try and catch her. “Of course, there’s also an easier way.”

Wind watched him intently as Time reached a hand up and gently scooped one of the fairies resting on his shoulder onto his palm with the utmost of care. He then drew it in front of his face, giving the sprite a warm smile.

“Would you agree to coming with us?” he asked, and the fairy chimed happily in agreement.

Time felt his smile grow and he reached a hand into his pouch. As he rifled around though, his smile slipped, a slight frown appearing before he pulled out the bottle with the poe’s soul inside. He held it in one hand while he continued to rifle with the other, than sighed, closing the pouch.

“I’m afraid I’m out of space, just a moment,” he apologized to the fairy as he uncorked the lid.

Then he knocked back the jar, drinking the fiery soul inside.

Wind started in surprise, and Sky paled from next to him while Warriors made a strange noise as he watched their leader nonchalantly wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

The other heroes froze in whatever they were doing and stared.

“Time!” Sky gaped, looking green in the face. “You- you-“

“What?”

“You just— drank that?!” Wind squeaked, looking both disgusted and a bit thrilled.

Time raised an eyebrow. “How else was I going to empty the bottle?”

“Couldn’t you have just... poured it out?” Hyrule said from nearby, looking mildly disturbed.

“And leave it here for the fairies to deal with?” Time asked, his eyebrow still raised.

“Leave it for the— was that even safe to eat?!” Legend screeched, “it had a face! It was on fire!”

“I’ve eaten them before and I’m still here aren’t I?”

“You’ve done this before?!”

Time’s face took on a rather bemused expression. “You haven’t? There’s a first.”

Legend blinked at him, then dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head as he muttered something about ‘crazy old men’.

Twilight shuddered as he walked over, a disgusted look on his face. “Ew. I can’t imagine actually eating one, having them in your mouth is bad enough.”

“WHAT?!”

Four started to ask the rancher for details with a curious look in his eye, and Wild slipped over to Time, his eyes shining bright with a manic sort of curiosity.

“What did it taste like?” he asked eagerly.

Wind leaned closer, eager for Time’s answer as well, and the old man smacked his lips and grimaced.

“Like charbroiling some raspberries then mixing them with bubbles, ashes, alcohol and chili peppers.”

He licked his lips. “And death.”

Wild took out a small book and scribbled something down, muttering a quiet fascinating under his breath.

“Why are you writing that down champion WHY ARE YOU WRITING THAT—“

“Was it hot?” Wild continued, ignoring Legend’s screeching. “It didn’t look like it burned your tongue at all even though it was all fiery.”

“It was more of a cold sort of burn you know? Like so freezing it actually felt hot.”

“Fascinating.”

Wind and Sky turned their heads back and forth between Wild as he frantically noted down the various flavors of a poe’s soul and Time who continued to nonchalantly describe how it felt sitting in his stomach, and Sky looked sicker by the minute while a grin stretched across Wind’s face.

“Please tell me that’s not his recipe book he’s writing that in,” Warriors said in a slightly horrified voice from a few feet away.

“...It is,” Four confirmed with a resigned look.

Time finished his explanation while holding out the jar, allowing the fairy to flit inside and settle herself at the bottom. He thanked her, and she gave him a happy chime in response before he carefully placed her inside his bag.

“So where do you get those soul-things anyway?” Hyrule asked curiously, and Legend turned on him with an incredulous look.

“Not you too traveler don’t even start—“

“It’s all that’s left after you destroy a poe,” Time explained while rifling through his bag, ignoring Legend’s look, “the ones in my time anyways. A part of them stubbornly lingers in this world, and as long as you don’t dilly-dally they’re easy to collect.”

Then he reached into his pouch and pulled out a jar containing another poe’s soul.

He held it out towards Wild, who practically lit up at the offering.

“Fortunately I’ve got an extra,” he said with a smile, and Legend threw his hands up and walked away.

Wind bounced excitedly in his seat as Wild popped the lid, Twilight looking at his protégé in absolute dismay.

“Wild do not eat that—“

He hadn’t even finished speaking before Wild chugged the entire thing, never breaking eye contact with him.

Sky quickly joined Legend on the other side of the cave, looking green.

Wild grinned as he lowered the jar, and Wind and Hyrule cheered as Twilight let out a world-weary sigh. Then the champion doubled over and broke into a wheezing cough, faintly pinkish smoke accompanying his hacking.

“Oh Hylia,” he wheezed as Twilight ran to his side, “that- that was abso- absolutely—“

He coughed out another faint cloud of smoke, and Wind glanced over at Time, who couldn’t help the amused smirk that ended up on his face.

“Wild, are you okay?” Twilight asked somewhat frantically, and the champion held up a finger as he continued to wheeze. He managed to get his coughs under control after a minute, but didn’t immediately move.

Then he looked up and flashed them all a huge grin.

“That was exactly how you described it.”

Wind and Hyrule burst into cheers as Four and Warriors exchanged amused looks that had a fair amount of exasperation in them as well, and Twilight slapped his face in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you two actually drank those,” he groaned, and Time smirked, sending his protege a mischievous look.

“I don’t see why it’s so strange. After all, I do recall you eating an entire jar of bee larvae one time,” he said casually.

The cave went quiet again as everybody turned to Twilight.

“...I was hungry?” he said weakly.

“Everybody here is insane!” Legend yelled from the other side of the fairy fountain where he’d obviously been listening.

“Old news vet!” Warriors called back, causing several of the heroes and fairies to titter in amusement.

“Strange food aside...” Wind said once he’d finished laughing, “I never even thought to ask a fairy if she wanted to come with me. I mean, aside from the ones that were my companions anyway.”

Time gave him a smile. “You’d be surprised to know what you can get if you merely ask sailor.”

Wind cocked his head, then smirked a bit.

“So if I asked you if you could help me find another poe soul so I could try eating one too..?”

Time’s smile turned to a grin.

“I’d say as long as you’re willing to give up your tastebuds then I’d be willing to enable you.”

Legend screeched again.

#time is an absolute agent of chaos and I stand by this #linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #lu time #lu wind #all the links #writing from the floor #sorry this took like a bajillion years to write #I don’t know why I couldn’t finish it I just couldn’t for some reason #but it’s done now!#...and boy is it ridiculous

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messagefound · 1 month

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chicken scratch

This is the earliest tanzaku-related writing I could find, and I am putting it in because I feel it's still somewhat accurate after all this time.

Due to how early it is however, this was still made during the time it was just a really grimdark pokemon story (with emmet as albatross no less). Please keep this in mind while reading, and know that part is no longer accurate. I have since oc-fied the entirety of the story. This also holds the origami bird plotline I have since left behind.

Summary: Raven gets left alone. He meets a magpie.

When I was left behind it was late autumn. That must’ve been a purposeful decision.

Where we lived it got cold very easily. Air would accumulate on the peaks until the rain became sharp hail. Soft snow wouldn’t be much better, after a while.

Have you heard the story of the overconfident man who went into the freezing wilds with only a Herdier for company? He figured he would be back home before long. Then a blizzard hit, and he was stuck where he was. He knew how to build a fire, but his fingers were too cold to hold the matches and sticks. He couldn’t even strike the twigs, for the snow kept smashing it out. When he finally lit the matches, all he could do was hold them close to himself like that little match girl in the fairy tales. Even as they burned the flesh off his hands, he kept them close.

Just like the little girl, he died in the cold, alone, with even his Herdier running away. The Herdier had no idea that it had occurred to the man to try to attack it and warm his hands in its blood. He was so desperate he was even willing to kill his close companion. A fool.

Not like me.

Murkrow always kept close by me. His body was as scrawny as mine, so it wasn’t warm, but I still clung tightly to him every night.

At first, I thought I was just left by mistake. We were supposed to go to an amusement park that day. I had never been to one before, and all the pictures I’ve seen looked like such fun. It was colorful, and it even lit up with fireworks at night.

Our home was not colorful. We hardly had anything. It felt like a mouth at times, one we freely slept in despite being surrounded by sharp fangs. I often pretended not to see the Shuppet that always hung on the rafters. I wonder if they’re still there.

I was excited to finally go. Perhaps then we would finally all be happy. Perhaps the yelling would end. Perhaps the bruises would magically go away. Perhaps we’ll finally be warm at night. Perhaps my parents would remember they love me like I loved them.

We stopped at a rest stop. I waited for them to pick me up.

And waited.

And waited...

It was getting so cold out. And dark.

Yet they never came for me.

I met Murkrow at that stop. I thought I disliked Pokémon before him, because the only ones I saw on a constant basis were those Shuppet. I never liked their gazes. They clung to the eaves outside and the wooden beams inside, and their gray bodies would always blend in with the dark. I would only see their eyes, manic and hungry, and imagine their slavering mouths just waiting to strike.

Yet somehow every morning, I would still always wake up intact.

Murkrow never looked at me like I was a piece of meat. He knew I was hungry, just like him, and lonely, just like him. He was my friend when no one else was.

But the nights still grew longer, still grew colder. I always had to keep moving in an attempt to regain feeling of my limbs. There was no snow in the city, but it didn’t stop it from trying. Frost and icicles still accumulated on windows and roofs and bit at my hands and Murkrow’s wings. The cold hated us both. It hated everything. It just never struck at us until we were thrown out into the streets, and now it kept nipping and playing with us like a Glameow with a Rattata.

It was having too much fun to kill us.

I first saw Lady while we were moving again. At least we had wanted to move, it was raining when we tried. We were holed up under where a roof stood out, Murkrow in my arms as I kept trying to pace.

She had waited until I noticed her first. I don’t know how long she had been standing there, dressed like she had been at a funeral but looking like she had ever shed a tear. The rain hammered against her black umbrella, and she was holding it close like it had been made of acid.

She had looked me up and down, and I had heard a low croaking from behind her. A Honchkrow had shambled out, sticking close to her like my Murkrow did. Was she like me? Surely, she was. We even had the same bird. Mine was younger, but was still part of the same lineage.

She lifted a hand to point at me, almost leisurely. “You,” she said. “Are you lost?”

Her voice was croaky like her bird’s.

When I nodded, she glanced at the roof I was standing under. “Do you hate the rain too?”

I nodded again.

“Do you hate the city too?”

I nodded again.

“Do you hate the people who left you here too?”

It hadn’t just been my family. So many people would pass me, every single day. They never once looked at me, even when I called out, or even when I was crying after a bad dream. When I had tried to grab at them, to get any kind of attention, they would strike me away and run.

Some even drove me out. They would sic scary things at me when I tried to beg. If they didn’t go for me, they would go for Murkrow. Murkrow wasn’t strong. Neither was I.

I nodded again.

She never smiled, not once, but I could see her eyes crease up at my response.

“You are like me. Come with me.”

She didn’t hold out her hand, but I had followed anyway.

I live with her now. It’s warmer here, and there’s so many birds. I even dress like a bird! I guide an entire flock of people dressed like birds, and they always do when I say.

If they don’t, Lady told me I can strike them. I can be stronger than them. I can hit them if they cross me, and I can tell Murkrow to pluck their eyes out if they keep arguing.

But for some reason I’m not allowed to do that to the three Others with her. I wish I could. Lady keeps them close, but I don’t know why. They don’t like her. I do. I should be the only one close to her.

Owl never says anything to me. He just glares at me and shoves me out of the way.

I like scaring Mynah though. I love seeing them jump out of their skin and seeing that constant smile of theirs waver. I keep telling them if they learn to respect Lady I won’t do that anymore. They haven’t learned yet, so I will keep scaring them. Someday I’ll wipe that stupid grin off their face.

I can’t scare Albatross though. I try, but he always looks at me with a bemused smile. He always asks me if I “have anything else to do with my time.” It makes me mad. It makes me so mad. I hate him, I hate his smile, and I hate his big sharp bird. Lady shouldn’t keep him around.

She shouldn’t keep anyone around.

No one except me.

Only I should join her back to her old world. I’ve heard it was pretty, colorful, better than this world ever was. Lady’s going to do something about it.

Good.

I hate this place. I hate people.

Last night I had the dream about the beach and the gramophone again. I hate that dream too. The gramophone keeps playing the music box tune I hate, and it never stops even if I smash it to a pulp. It never stops even when I stomp on it and throw it into the sea.

When I woke up the origami bird I threw away was back by my pillow. I don’t know why. I get a weird feeling from it. I keep having that dream whenever it’s near me.

I want to find whoever keeps folding it back together and putting it back and have Murkrow eat their eyes. That will make him big and strong, to help me. To help Lady.

I only live to help Lady Magpie.

#surreal horror #oc writing #original writing #tanzaku #cult horror #weirdcore #dreamcore

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zeldaelmo · 2 years

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Read day 9 here or start with the masterpost

***************************************************

Day 10

"Do you think she bought it?" Zelda snickered in her scarf when they dashed through the door of the department store restaurant.

"Are you crazy? Of course, she did," Link muttered.

Zelda sneaked a last glance over his shoulder to see if his grandmother was still waving at them from her table.

Then, Link added, "You fluttered your false lashes at me like an anime character in love!"

"Good." She grinned up at him from the next step of the escalator, but instead of watching the products on display rolling by, she asked, "Do you care for anime films?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"Me, too. I have a small collection at my parent's house. Maybe we can watch one of them if my family is getting on our nerves."

"Sure."

She turned and felt his gaze on her perfectly coiffed updo. At least she thought he looked at her, but maybe that was only wishful thinking. She had to remind herself that she wasn't asking for a movie night in terms of… a date night. No. They were pretending.

It was the weekend after they had agreed to their little stunt. They had decided to spend the day together to get to know each other better so that they wouldn't blow everything up on the first evening. A date to make the fake-date believable, so to say. Thus far, everything worked out and they had a good time. The holidays were going to be fun, for once.

"Oh, no!" Abruptly, Zelda stopped right at the end of the escalator so that Link stumbled into her.

"Whoa, Zelda?"

"I forgot that you need a suit for Hylia’s Day!"

"A suit?" Link pulled her from the end of the escalator behind a giant tower of chocolate fairies so that they didn't stand in the way. "Why do I need a suit? I thought everything is at your parent's home? I mean, I do have a suit."

"Is it fancy?"

"It's a suit."

"Thought so…" She sighed. "I know a place, don't worry."

Link chuckled and shook his head when she began to march in the direction of the exit. "You know a place for everything in this city. I've lived here all my life, but you showed me places today I've never heard of."

"Is… is that a compliment?"

"Of course."

"Oh. You’re welcome." Zelda used the cold air that hit them outside as an excuse to hide her blush in her scarf. He needed to stop complimenting her! It wasn't that she didn't like compliments in general, all her family members brimmed with praise for each other. Link only gave one here and there, but he offered them so casually that she began to believe that he meant them and that… wasn’t good for the “fake” in front of the fake-dating operation.

After a short walk through Castle Town’s snowy alleys, they ended up in front of a small shop window that showed only two articles—a dark suit and a dress coat.

"Fairy Queen?!" Link scratched his head.

"I think it's a reference to the fairy tale in which the hero gets different colored clothes from the fairy queen. The one with the Windfish," Zelda explained and pushed the door open. "They don't sell, you can only rent. I'll do that, don't worry. I got you into this mess after all."

He shrugged. From what she could tell, he wasn't overly interested in fashion. His coat was of fine quality, yes, but underneath he wore a standard pair of jeans and a hoodie.

The shop owner had nothing fairy-like about him although the shop policy forced him to squeeze himself in a green fairy costume, which didn’t make him less competent. Zelda showed him a picture of her dress and before Link had finished admiring the rows of tuxedos, the man was back with an armful of clothes. Link tried them one after the other until Zelda and the shop owner simultaneously called “this one!“ when he pulled the curtain back.

“Uh… velvet? Are you sure?” Link stroked over his sleeve, glancing again and again at the mirrors in the changing room. “What became of ties that match the dress?”

“Let’s pretend we didn’t hear that,” the shop owner said loudly behind his hand and patted laughing Link’s shoulder. “It’s perfect, boy. You two will be the couple of the evening.” He left to give them some privacy and Zelda took his place at the entrance of the cubicle.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to. You can wear your own if you are more comfortable with that.”

“No.” He shook his head and tore his gaze from the mirror to nail her down with his blue eyes. “Since we are already faking, we’ll do it properly.” His gaze lingered when she mouthed—“thank you”—and she craved the words that she could see him forming in his head, but he didn’t voice them.

She closed the curtain when the image of burying her fingers in the velvet to pull him closer under a bouquet of Mighty Thistles wouldn’t leave her eyes. It was easier to find the courage for her next question without looking at him, anyway.

“Link?” she asked when the rustling of clothes had stopped and she heard him tie his shoes. “I’m aware that we already spent the afternoon together, but I have one other place… you said you like a good wine, and I wanted to thank you for doing all this for me and—”

The inside of the changing cubicle had become completely still. Zelda bumped the back of her head against the pillar she was leaning on. Now she had overstepped and her perfect holidays—fake or not—would collapse like a house of cards. She held her breath before she tried again, “Link?”

Deliberately, the curtain moved to the side. "Do I need another fancy suit to go there?"

The air left her with a puff. "No. Just you and me, as we are."

He held her gaze, a smile slowly spreading on his face. And when he said—"In that case, I'd love to"—she wasn't sure anymore what exactly they were talking about, but she smiled back and that seemed to be enough of an answer.

#legend of zelda #zelink #flour/water/salt/yeast/love #zeldaelmo writes #advent calendar #day 10 #I told you it's about the pining

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roach-works · 5 years

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here’s a story about changelings

reposted from my old blog, which got deleted: Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage. Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. “Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin. “I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.” “I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.” “Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.” Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine. “We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…” “Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.” Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has. “Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.” Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project. She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still. “Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once. Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.” Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion. They all live happily ever after. * Here’s another story: Gregor grew fast, even for a boy, grew tall and big and healthy and began shoving his older siblings around early. He was blunt and strange and flew into rages over odd things, over the taste of his porridge or the scratch of his shirt, over the sound of rain hammering on the roof, over being touched when he didn’t expect it and sometimes even when he did. He never wore shoes if he could help it and he could tell you the number of nails in the floorboards without looking, and his favorite thing was to sit in the pantry and run his hands through the bags of dry barley and corn and oat. Considering as how he had fists like a young ox by the time he was five, his family left him to it. “He’s a changeling,” his father said to his wife, expecting an argument, but men are often the last to know anything about their children, and his wife only shrugged and nodded, like the matter was already settled, and that was that. They didn’t bind Gregor in iron and leave him in the woods for his own kind to take back. They didn’t dig him a grave and load him into it early. They worked out what made Gregor angry, in much the same way they figured out the personal constellations of emotion for each of their other sons, and when spring came, Gregor’s father taught him about sprouts, and when autumn came, Gregor’s father taught him about sheaves. Meanwhile his mother didn’t mind his quiet company around the house, the way he always knew where she’d left the kettle, or the mending, because she was forgetful and he never missed a detail. “Pity you’re not a girl, you’d never drop a stitch of knitting,” she tells Gregor, in the winter, watching him shell peas. His brothers wrestle and yell before the hearth fire, but her fairy child just works quietly, turning peas by their threes and fours into the bowl. “You know exactly how many you’ve got there, don’t you?” she says. “Six hundred and thirteen,” he says, in his quiet, precise way. His mother says “Very good,” and never says Pity you’re not human. He smiles just like one, if not for quite the same reasons. The next autumn he’s seven, a lucky number that pleases him immensely, and his father takes him along to the mill with the grain. “What you got there?” The miller asks them. “Sixty measures of Prince barley, thirty two measures of Hare’s Ear corn, and eighteen of Abernathy Blue Slate oats,” Gregor says. “Total weight is three hundred fifty pounds, or near enough. Our horse is named Madam. The wagon doesn’t have a name. I’m Gregor.” “My son,” his father says. “The changeling one.” “Bit sharper’n your others, ain’t he?” the miller says, and his father laughs. Gregor feels proud and excited and shy, and it dries up all his words, sticks them in his throat. The mill is overwhelming, but the miller is kind, and tells him the name of each and every part when he points at it, and the names of all the grain in all the bags waiting for him to get to them. “Didn’t know the fair folk were much for machinery,” the miller says. Gregor shrugs. “I like seeds,” he says, each word shelled out with careful concentration. “And names. And numbers.” “Aye, well. Suppose that’d do it. Want t’help me load up the grist?” They leave the grain with the miller, who tells Gregor’s father to bring him back ‘round when he comes to pick up the cornflour and cracked barley and rolled oats. Gregor falls asleep in the nameless wagon on the way back, and when he wakes up he goes right back to the pantry, where the rest of the seeds are left, and he runs his hands through the shifting, soothing textures and thinks about turning wheels, about windspeed and counterweights. When he’s twelve–another lucky number–he goes to live in the mill with the miller, and he never leaves, and he lives happily ever after. * Here’s another: James is a small boy who likes animals much more than people, which doesn’t bother his parents overmuch, as someone needs to watch the sheep and make the sheepdogs mind. James learns the whistles and calls along with the lambs and puppies, and by the time he’s six he’s out all day, tending to the flock. His dad gives him a knife and his mom gives him a knapsack, and the sheepdogs give him doggy kisses and the sheep don’t give him too much trouble, considering. “It’s not right for a boy to have so few complaints,” his mother says, once, when he’s about eight. “Probably ain’t right for his parents to have so few complaints about their boy, neither,” his dad says. That’s about the end of it. James’ parents aren’t very talkative, either. They live the routines of a farm, up at dawn and down by dusk, clucking softly to the chickens and calling harshly to the goats, and James grows up slow but happy. When James is eleven, he’s sent to school, because he’s going to be a man and a man should know his numbers. He gets in fights for the first time in his life, unused to peers with two legs and loud mouths and quick fists. He doesn’t like the feel of slate and chalk against his fingers, or the harsh bite of a wooden bench against his legs. He doesn’t like the rules: rules for math, rules for meals, rules for sitting down and speaking when you’re spoken to and wearing shoes all day and sitting under a low ceiling in a crowded room with no sheep or sheepdogs. Not even a puppy. But his teacher is a good woman, patient and experienced, and James isn’t the first miserable, rocking, kicking, crying lost lamb ever handed into her care. She herds the other boys away from him, when she can, and lets him sit in the corner by the door, and have a soft rag to hold his slate and chalk with, so they don’t gnaw so dryly at his fingers. James learns his numbers well enough, eventually, but he also learns with the abruptness of any lamb taking their first few steps–tottering straight into a gallop–to read. Familiar with the sort of things a strange boy needs to know, his teacher gives him myths and legends and fairytales, and steps back. James reads about Arthur and Morgana, about Hercules and Odysseus, about djinni and banshee and brownies and bargains and quests and how sometimes, something that looks human is left to try and stumble along in the humans’ world, step by uncertain step, as best they can. James never comes to enjoy writing. He learns to talk, instead, full tilt, a leaping joyous gambol, and after a time no one wants to hit him anymore. The other boys sit next to him, instead, with their mouths closed, and their hands quiet on their knees. “Let’s hear from James,” the men at the alehouse say, years later, when he’s become a man who still spends more time with sheep than anyone else, but who always comes back into town with something grand waiting for his friends on his tongue. “What’ve you got for us tonight, eh?” James finishes his pint, and stands up, and says, “Here’s a story about changelings.”

#long post #writing #fic #autism #changelings #fairies

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

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Why Samurai Jack is a Fan-Frickin’-Tastic Character

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

And today, I’d like to introduce you to somebody:

This is Samurai Jack, from the popular Cartoon Network series Samurai Jack. Jack is a rare case. Where most shows would have a cast of main, secondary, and recurring characters of varying sizes, Samurai Jack is a series that mostly follows its titular character on his own. Sure, occasionally, you'll see the Scottsman or Aku making an appearance once in a while. But for ninety-five percent of the series, it's entirely focused on Jack and whatever oddball bounty hunter he's forced to deal with for the next twenty-two minutes. This type of decision can be risky because without quality writing, strictly following the same character week after week could get boring real quick. Thankfully, Samurai Jack is a series that's packed to the brim with incredible writing and direction, making Jack himself a fan-frickin'-tastic character.

How is that possible? Well, let me count the ways.

1. He’s the right type of overpowered

Jack knows almost every fighting style in the world and uses that knowledge to survive every bounty hunter, demon, and/or robot he faces every episode. On paper, this type of character could seem unbelievable given that he's just a mortal man, and even monotonous to know he always wins. But that's the thing: Even though Jack manages to almost always win every fight he's in, it's quickly explained why in the very first episode. Through a montage, we see Jack learning every fighting style from several teachers, each of them helping him prepare for the ultimate battle against Aku, an unspeakable evil. Through the simple act of showing us a few scenes of Jack learning a new skill, it's easy to understand why he's a difficult opponent to beat and easy to believe when he introduces another fighting style we haven't seen him use yet. Plus, while Jack's fighting is formidable, that doesn't make him--

WRONG SHOW! But it's true.

Despite winning every episode, it is never an easy feat. Nearly every battle results in Jack getting beat up and torn apart (Or, his clothes do, anyway). When this happens, it makes the victory feel earned rather than easily given. Take his fight against the beetles in episode three, for example. All of his traps go off without a hitch, and he makes it out while standing upon a pile of his vanquished foes. However, during the fight, his armor got stripped away entirely, and he's now scratched up and covered in robot oil:

That image alone proves that even though he’s winning, it doesn’t come easy for him. That remains a staple throughout most of the series, throwing in a few instances when he temporarily loses only to make his eventual victory all the sweeter. He may be overpowered, but at least it's still entertaining to watch regardless.

2. He adapts quickly

A bit of background information to those who haven't the show (probably should have done this in the beginning, but live and learn, I guess): Jack is an ancient samurai that gets magically teleported to a future where his mortal nemesis rules the world. Now, Jack is forced into an environment vastly different from his own, and in turn, he's forced to deal with a lot of stuff he doesn't know. Most writers would take advantage of this type of predicament to make a ton of fish-out-of-water jokes as a way to poke fun at the idea of a samurai being in a futuristic "utopia" (Or, at least, in Aku's eyes, it's a utopia). Thankfully, the writers avoid that cliche. In fact, if my memory serves me right, there's only one fish-out-of-water joke in the entire series. Which I'm more than grateful for because having a character getting thrown off and confused by the world around him would have gotten old fast. But it's not just being in a future world that Jack quickly gets used to. It's also being in situations he's unfamiliar with. Whether it's learning to fit in with dance-crazed zombies or being turned into a chicken (yes, that happens), it doesn't take too long for Jack to figure out a way to get through his current crisis. It proves that even though Jack is a strong warrior in battle, he's also a strategic one who can't be so easily outsmarted.

3. He plays off of everyone he encounters

Jack, in almost every sense of the word, is a straight man. Most of his humor comes from interacting with the bombastic temperaments of others due to his own behavior being so stoic and calm. The series accomplishes this feat by having the future world filled with colorful personalities, making almost every character the best comedic partner for Jack. Primarily through Aku and the Scottsman, who, as I mentioned before, are the only characters that make regular appearances. These are characters with personalities that clash with Jack's, what with Aku being bombastic and chaotic and the Scottsman being loud and crash. Every time Jack interacts with either of them, comedy almost always follows. A good thing too because while Jack can have his own humorous moments, it's better to pair a straight man with someone insane if you want the laughs to come frequently.

4. He’s still a ton of fun himself!

That being said, Jack is still a riot when he gets to be. By and large, I'd say he has a dry sense of humor, often shining through when he interacts with someone carrying the chaos for the both of them. But, occasionally, there are moments when Jack lets his goofy side out, and it's always funny. They're rare, but that in itself is why they work. Because since Jack always acts so serious in this series, seeing him suddenly break that character results in a laugh because it's something we wouldn't expect from him. If he always acted like this, it wouldn't hit as hard as it would only just be his usual sense of humor. So seeing him smile like an idiot as he's waiting "for the magic to begin" causes me to bust a gut laughing each time.

5. He lives despite tragedy

But not everything is all fun and games for our protagonist.

Jack has one goal in this series: Get back to the past and stop the future of Aku from happening. Several episodes make it clear how strenuous a task this could be, showing Jack briefly losing hope that he'll even complete it. Hell, a good chunk of the final season is him practically given up. He still fights to stop Aku's minions from wreaking havoc, but you can see that the light has left his eyes, and he is more than willing for it to end. But, despite how hard things get and how tragic his life can be, there is always a spark of hope that reminds him what he's fighting for and gives him a second wind to finish it. Even when he's at his lowest point, when everything is seemingly hopeless, Jack will always get back up to defeat Aku, no matter what timeline they're in. It is truly noble and shows just how much of a hero Jack is. In fact--

6. He’s the definition of what a hero should be

At least, to me, he is.

What do I mean? Well, I always believe that a hero is a person who would do everything they can to do the right thing, refusing to let innocent people suffer no matter what the cost. Jack proves it in every episode, frequently the ones where he's inevitably screwed over by his own selflessness. He could easily finish his quest and finally get back to the past, but because it could mean that someone innocent would be badly affected by it, Jack always doubles back to save them. The best example is in the second episode of season two. Jack gets ahold of a fairy that he heard can grant him any wish that he wants, but it's trapped in this ball of energy and will never get out. Jack can just wish to go back to the past and stop Aku once and for all. He only needs to make one simple wish. And what does he wish for? The fairy's freedom.

Because that's who Jack is. He's not the guy who would bargain for the life of another, even if his quest is more important. You can argue all you want that if saving something as inconsequential as the fairy's life is pointless due to tragedies like it being preventable if Jack successfully goes back in time. But that doesn't matter to him. A life is a life, and Jack is not the person to trade it. He's a hero and a damn good one at that.

There are many reasons why Samurai Jack is a fantastic character, but the one above, and the others I've just listed, prove how he is a fan-frickin'-tastic character.

(Sidenote: Does it bother anyone else that, despite five full seasons, we've never known what his real name is? No? Just me? Ok.)

#what i thought about #fan-frickin-tastic characters #samurai jack

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r0zez-in-bl00m · 3 years

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~ 𝓒𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭 ~

Chaotic parents

🦇Lilia Vanrouge x fem!reader, WORD COUNT : : 2K

Description- Lilia's wife comes for a visit but leaves a trail of destruction behind.

Placed under the cut for length!

It was yet another quiet day at the dormitory founded on the elegance of the fairy of thorns. The morning was greeted by Sebek and Silver’s bickering about whose training routine was better while Silver occasionally dozed off leaving Sebek to jerk him awake every single time with his thunderous voice. The dorm leader of Diasomania, Malleus, stared out of the window in the common room, finding the outside world much more interesting than the leather stiff book he had read a countless number of times or the ongoing talk across the room.

Yes, it was indeed another normal, boring day for the residents of Diasomania. Well, far too normal.

The one-sided quarrel between Sebek and Silver ended abruptly when the sound of an explosion came from the kitchens (did they even have that?), breaking the second-year’s slumber instantly as he looked around quizzically. “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!” Sebek thundered, the obvious surprise plastered on his face as he faced Silver. The second-year shrugged his shoulders as a response as he removed Sebek’s hand on his dorm uniform. “Maybe the old man is in the kitchen again,” Silver said, staring at the hallway to the kitchen worryingly.

Silver knew how experimental his father was in the field of culinary arts. The variety of weird, foul-smelling dishes he had tasted (and dreaded) as a little child was a prime example of it. As the knight had feared, not soon after, Lilia stepped into the common room, his clothes a little burnt, face covered in soot, with a burnt dish in his hands. “Oh my, this stew took longer than I had anticipated!” He said as he dried the non-existent sweat off his brow. Sebek retracted the moment the blasted dish’s smell reached his nose. That dish could barely be categorized as food, let alone be eaten under normal circumstances. Was the dressing covered in slime and worms?

“I-I see . . . it’s an excellent looking dish, Lord Lilia!” Sebek complimented, but his reaction betrayed his words greatly. “May I ask which stew is it?”

‘Better not ask if you don’t want to be the first victim Sebek,’ Silver thought but refrained from speaking it out loud. Sebek was always too fond of his seniors. The old fae, on the other hand, seemed giddy and unusually excited to tell Sebek about his extra special dish. “Well, it’s my specialty dish which I only make on the rarest of occasions, and mind you it’s really hard to persuade me to make this dish even if you ask a million times,” Lilia giggled while continuously shoving the otherworldly stew at Poor Sebek’s face.

Who would be in their right mind to actually persuade Lilia Vanrouge, the most horrible cook humanity has ever seen?

Lilia’s body shivered from giggling as Sebek guessed various stew names he had known. In defeat, Lilia finally disclosed the name, “It’s my legendary ‘slimy beef casserole’!!”

Silver almost choked at the name of the dish alone when he thought he was about to doze off again, finding it hard to breathe as he stared at Lilia as if he had grown another head.

Malleus, from his window, had his ears perked up as well at the unusual excitement. “Beef-Tomato stew?” Malleus questioned, “Don’t you usually make it for-”

POOF!

Before he could finish a puff of green smoke encircled the room completely. Silver’s dread turned horrendous as his aurora eyes traveled up to see the person coming out of the clearing green fog.

Those (e/c) eyes, that hair tied in a ponytail, and the familiar scent of raspberries. Hauling the heavy travel bag in her hand, the apparently young-looking girl smiled brightly and exclaimed brightly, “Family reunion!!” tackling Lilia to the ground, eliciting a chuckle from the latter. All the while Silver pinched the bridge of his nose in worry.

Indeed, it was going to be a long day.

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

“All I had heard that it was a famous school for kids with magic, but I didn’t know that its campus was this big!!!” His mother chirped happily, skirting around here and there like a newborn baby bird. It had taken everything for Silver to not sink and die. To actually think that his own mother would show up at the school where he and his father were studying, and in summer clothes on top of that. That tank top concealed under a modest button-up shirt wasn’t doing her any favor. He had to persuade his stubborn mother to wear something modest enough to not get any weird glances.

Aside from Silver’s anxiety and protectiveness towards his mother, Lilia was extremely ecstatic.

“My sweet, you hadn’t mentioned that you had taken a trip to the southern islands in your recent letters,” Lilia said, strolling side by side with his beloved, arms linked and fingers intertwined. “Judging by your complexion you sure had a great time!”

(Name) giggled, “Of course, unlike you who would turn into a mummy just after an hour under the sun, I am always up for a swim on a hot summer beach and getting a tan!” She rolled up her sleeves and showed her changed skin color with pride, a smirk adorning her adorable visage.

Silver sheepishly scratched his head, “So, what made you come for a visit mom?” It’s not like he wasn’t happy, of course, no child could ever be sad to see their mother after a long time, but the question was- why now?

(Name) shuddered at the question, as if it was something too painful to talk about. Nonetheless, she shared her part of the story. “Staying in the Valley of thorns with nothing to do but tric⸺ I mean, play with neighbors was getting tooooo boring.” She said, twirling around in her summer dress, “That was when Sebek’s mum suggested me to go on a trip like old times! Gosh, I had missed the sights! But, traveling with my sugar daddy was much more fun, and I kind of started to miss⸺”

Silver’s eyes widened like two satellite dishes as he subconsciously cut of his mother, “Sugar what?”

He heard his father laugh heartily, smacking his arm slightly as if it was normal, “I told her to call me that, cool right?” Lilia asked, his lips occasionally curving upwards. Silver didn’t know what to do in this awkward situation. It was getting hard to keep a poker face when his cheeks were getting redder by the goddamn second. Unlike him, Malleus and Sebek were not even a little fazed by this.

“Nowadays people call their partners with such flowery nicknames,” (name) curiously reminiscence the one time she had heard someone calling their lovers in an odd fashion while at the beach. “Uh! Time flies by.”

Lilia chuckled at his beloved’s innocence, “Sweetheart, it’s good and all that you are learning new things and accepting the changing times, but” he gestured to Silver’s tomato face amusingly. “Other students will notice us, look, even our son is getting all embarrassed even after hearing our romantic exchanges a million times.”

Sebek, initially confused about what the great seven was happening, seeing his fellow guard show vulnerability, screamed at full-throttle, “SILVER!! Be ashamed of yourself!! It’s unbecoming of Young Master’s escort to show his blushing face in public!!!!”

Silver held the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time. “No one hadn’t even noticed until you brought it up for everyone to hear.” He pointed out to the two first-year students who were curiously eyeing the Diasomania group, only to scramble away laughing when Silver had noticed them.

Pushing all the hue and cry away, the prince of thorns conversed with Mrs. Vanrouge, his eyes glimmering with child-like fondness. “How has everything been in the Valley of thorns, (name)? Well, I presume?” His questions were cute just like his expressions!

The female couldn’t help but smile giddily, “My Prince, it hasn’t been long since your last visit to the land. What more could change in a few months’ time?”

The old fae nudged the prince’s arm a little. “You know Malleus, sweet. Always insatiably curious, this young lad,” Lilia added, earning a glare from the dorm leader. Before he could retort and start one of his ‘I’m not a child’ monologues, (name) asked– “Where are Silver and Sebek?” The other two fairies looked behind them and found the two of them vanished from sight.

“They must have stopped because of their argument again, those two.”

“I’ll go look for them if you’d like,” Malleus offered, but the old man shook it off. “Knowing those two, it’s better if I come too, just in case Sebek takes it to arms and marches on to war,” Lilia said. “(name), could you please wait a minute over here?”

As if she was a child who needed parental consent, (name) pouted at the irritating behavior of her husband only to earn a million mandol smile in return. The promise of getting back in less than a minute had triggered a few options in the female’s mind, none of them were in goodwill. Would she actually be Mrs. Vanrouge if not as much of a trickster as her husband?

A devilish smirk appeared as soon as the duo’s backs disappeared from her sight. Cracking the knuckles of her hands, she gazed around the vacant vicinity.

“Sooooooooo, what to do next?”

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

The half-silent walk towards the rendezvous point was broken when Lilia had opened up his mouth to speak- “It’s good that the two of you didn’t wander off too much, it would’ve been far too much troubling to search the entire school.”

“I DEEPLY APOLOGISE LORD LILIA!!” Sebek pleaded, or more like screamed for mercy, “If Silver hadn’t fallen asleep, we would’ve come back sooner.”

“And we wouldn’t have become lost,” Silver added apologetically. “It’s alright, it was all in goodwill and we found you in time before dinner,” Malleus reassured. Sebek seemed to calm down at his lord’s words but nonetheless continued to rant and reprimand himself for being an incompetent vassal and what not.

But it stopped the moment all of them found (name) to be missing. “Didn’t we leave (name) here?” Malleus asked, confused as to where she could’ve gone. “My little honey drop likes to play hide and seek a lot, surely she mustn’t have gone too far!” Lilia reasoned but internally dreaded inside. Something of a horrible memory was coming back to him but he couldn’t place his finger on it . . . .

“Father,” Silvers said, serious, “We need to find Mom before she gets herself into trouble.”

“Yes, Silver is absolutely correct, or have you forgotten what happened during the Queen’s birthday?” Lilia’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shaped as the realization dawned over him. “Right! How could I forget?” (name) had planted a party bomb inside the cake that it exploded and its contents spilled everywhere. It wasn’t that big of a prank but the look the Queen had thrown afterward spoke volumes.

“In that case, the sooner we find her, the better it will be.” At that, the group again moves out to search, the expectancy to loads of trouble ahead humming in their minds.

On the other side, many weird occurrences happened at NRC that day. Students found the cafeteria benches levitating in the air with Rosehearts screaming ‘OFF WITH YOUR HEAD’ at the anonymous person who had hanged him from the ceiling. The Lion of Savannah was in a sour mood all day after it took him 2 hours to remove all the girlish accessories which had magically adorned his hair and chased Ruggie to have the evidence removed from existence. The ever-charismatic Vil Schoenheit seemed to have wanted to pop a blood vessel in his body after finding that someone had let Heartslaybul’s Flamingos loose in the dormitory. The clean-up in itself was a big task, the aftermath even more terrible.

All the while (Name) treated herself to some roasted marshmallows (courtesy of the cafeteria ghosts who mistook her for a child). The female never quite understood why her husband detested such a delectable snack. At the thought of Lilia, she wondered if he was looking for her while she was creating chaos in the school. She giggled at the illustration of his panicked face came to her mind.

Leaving the train of thoughts, she turned her focus back on chomping down the white snack. “Oh, a child has wandered into the campus?” a suspicious voice came from behind her, a shadow looming over her and blocking the sunlight. (Name) immediately turned to see a man with a bird mask glowering from above. The female wanted to scoff at the impudence of the idiot in front of her. Child? She was even older than the ancestry line of the top hat he was wearing. But, still feeling a little devilish, she decided to go with the flow. The headmaster crouched down in front of her, “Are you lost?”

“KIDNAPPER!!!!!!!!” The scream was so hard that it had rendered his hearing senses, which was a first for him given that he had already heard a different variety of screams. “My, dear child you have a loud voice!” Crowley held his head, still trying to shake off the effect, “and I’m not a kidnapper. I may appear suspicious but I’m a very generous person and the headmaster of this school!”

Even more, fun to trick you then.

“Oh really! Then prove it, Mister Crow!” she said faux excitedly.

Crowley cleared his throat, finding the nickname to be cute, “Alright, Alright! How about some ice cream and a little tour of the school?” The female’s mouth immediately watered at the word ‘ice cream’. She nodded vigorously in approval. Suddenly, she felt glad that she came to visit. Having a delicious treat on top of that a good laugh was like icing on a cake. Maybe she could demand a cake too.

“Headmaster Crowley!! Right on time!”

Oh damn.

She dreaded what was about to come next. The sight of her beloved husband with a teasing smile on his face poured water all over her future plans! Goodbye ice-cream.

“Everything has been upside down today . . . . oh, who’s this?” curse his impeccable question ‘who’s this?’

“This is a child I found roaming the gardens,” Crowley explained. “And by what do you specifically mean by ‘upside down’, Vanrouge?”

“You’re requested in the cafeteria, there you might get what you need, for the time being, I can look over after the child,” The damned fae knew what he was doing and was enjoying every bit of it! He smiled, showing more teeth than required, his magenta orbs glowing, “We will have lots of fun, won’t we little one?” It sent shivers down her spine and marked as the queue that she had overstayed her visit and best be off now.

With a puff of smoke, she vanished into sight, leaving the headmaster confused as the green air cleared. “What just happened Vanrouge?”

Lilia smiled peacefully, exhaling a sigh of relief, and said, “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

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

“Father, you’re going to mail the stew?”

“Yes! She came for a visit but forgot her favorite dish. I hope that the Thorn delivery service can handle the stew, the worms bite a lot.”

#twst imagines #cruel to be kind #lilia vanrouge #disney #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland #silver #diasomania #twst lilia

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mossharpy · 3 years

Note

Do u know any TOH fics where it focuses on human culture/Luz being different? I can't find any :(

i've got two! but then this prompt took me by the hands and i ended up writing my own little drabble.

from ao3:

crossing paths by Vikingfangirl23 | 2991 Words | One-Shot | Summary: Luz deals with bullies, Owlbert's been following her longer than she realizes.

It's Just Hair by foolish_snail | 1889 Words | One-Shot | Summary: Luz is tired of getting bullied for her hair. May as well do something about it.

from me (under read more):

Willow and Gus were avoiding her. It was frustrating; all day they’d been skirting around her questions and attempts to confront them about their unusually skittish behavior. They told each other everything—why was this time different? Luz had briefly worried she’d done something to upset Willow, who tended to still be sore about how much time she was spending with Amity.

Luz understood where the witch was coming from, she’d be upset if her best friend started dating her ex-bully too. But, if that was the case, why was Gus avoiding her? Gus was brutally honest about his feelings; he wore his heart on his sleeve. Willow was more closed off, but Gus was always willing to play middleman if a miscommunication occurred. Even worse, when she’d asked them about wanting to sit together at lunch, the two came up with some on-the-spot excuse about having detention. Luz loved her friends, but they were terrible liars.

But she didn’t push. Luz let them go.

The human poked her PB&J, sighing. She didn’t like being ignored.

Fridays were usually her favorite day of the week. She loved Hexside—don’t get her wrong—more than she’d ever loved school, but on Fridays, as soon as school let out, Willow and Gus would follow her back to the Owl House. There, they’d begin their usual ritual of eating far too much junk food and watching crappy Boiling Isles reality TV. It was fun, it was their chance to put aside all their worries, about school, about magic, about getting home, and let loose.

Their distance made Luz think her friends weren’t willing to hang out that night.

A plastic tray gently found a place next to her, and Luz let her eyes wander upward to land on the face of her girlfriend. She smiled, worries abandoned, and focus turned toward Amity, who nervously pulled a string of lavender hair from her face, a pale blush creeping over her nose and tinging her face.

“Are Willow and Gus joining us?” She spoke formally, a trait the witch often defaulted to when trying to hide how flustered she was.

The question made Luz frown, and she let her head fall against the lunch table. “They’ve got better things to do.”

Amity nodded, taking Luz’s hand under the table, and hesitantly letting their fingers intertwine. “I guess they would be busy, what, with the party, they’re planning and all.”

“…Party?”

The purple-haired witch made a small face, “You didn’t know? Gus has been talking my ear off all day about it.” She conjured her scroll to show her girlfriend, gesturing to the dozens of unread penstagram messages she’d likely chosen to ignore.

“The two of them have been insufferable today, how am I supposed to know the difference between Pep Ph.D. and Dr Fizz? And what in Titan’s name is a clown.” She threw up her hands, irritated, before resigning to letting them sit crossed over her chest.

Luz shrugged, still staring at the number of messages, “Pep tastes kinda like barbecue sauce if it was carbonated, Dr Fizz is sweeter, bubblier, and by far the better soda. And clowns are a staple of every good party.”

Amity looked slightly baffled, like she wasn’t expecting Luz to have an opinion either, then gently took her scroll back to rapidly text a message to Gus.

“…What’s the party for?” The words came out muffled, and slightly anxious. She wanted to help, she was a great party planner—Willow knew that, Gus knew that, why were they leaving her out?

“Oh,” Amity was stilly texting, “I think Gus’s birthday is coming up.”

“WHAT?” Luz slammed her hands on the cafeteria table, startling Amity and bringing the attention of the rest of the lunchroom to both of them, various Hexside students glaring or staring, judgingly.

Amity gently brought her hands to Luz’s shoulders, pulling the human back into her seat and nervously laughing. Said human leaned in, close, raising a hand to her mouth to whisper.

“What do you mean Gus’s birthday is coming up?” She was his friend; she should be an expert in these kinds of things! No wonder he and Willow had been avoiding her, they probably didn’t want to break the news to her that she had forgotten one of her best friends’ birthday.

“The party is this weekend,” Amity supplied, mimicking her girlfriend’s hushed tone. “They’ve been sending out invitations on penstagram all day.”

She turned her scroll toward Luz again, this time, a fun-looking, brightly colored invitation with a doodle drawing of Gus throwing confetti, sprawled across her penstagram dashboard. The specific details were cut out, but she could see that Amity was right—the party was this Saturday.

A small knot formed in Luz’s stomach. She couldn’t get a scroll—they were too intertwined with witch magic, and without a bile sack, it was hard to get one. Normally, if she really wanted to see what was going on, she’d ask Eda to borrow hers, but she didn’t have one of her own. Gus knew that, so did Willow. Did they not want her there? Why wouldn’t they give out invitations in person? Why were they hiding this from her?

She slumped onto the table, burying her face in her arms.

“I guess, well—” Amity faltered, catching up on her girlfriend’s sudden deflation, “It is his thirteenth birthday.”

Luz cringed.

“No, no,” Her girlfriend continued, “It’s his thirteenth birthday, Luz.”

She stared, blankly. “I don’t get what you mean. Why are you saying ‘thirteenth’ like that?”

“Oh shoot,” Amity face-palmed, a pointed ear twitching, “Of course you wouldn’t have the thirteenth, I forget how fragile humans are.”

“Hey,” Luz dragged out the word, scowling, “We’re not fragile, we’re just not meant to digest fairies or survive boiling water.”

Her girlfriend snickered, “Like I said, fragile. Anyways, when a witch turns thirteen, you have to go through some… trials.”

“I like trials,” Luz mumbled.

Amity smiled, fondly, then grimaced, “They’re not fun trials, Luz. A witch’s thirteenth birthday is said to be cursed; you have to spend the day with bad luck, and if you manage to survive, at the end of the day you can throw a party, celebrating your ability to wield magic and become a real witch. It’s a rite of passage.”

She ‘oohed’, “That sounds cool. Why wouldn’t Gus tell me about it?”

The purple-haired girl made a face, “I’m not sure. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, even if you are… squishy. I’m confident in your ability to survive the death threats of a thirteenth.”

Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Luz grumbled. “Thank you.”

She moped the rest of the school day.

When her final class came, and the last bell screamed, Luz sulked, taking her time to put away her spell books and potions, slowly zipping her bag and slowly tucking away her pencils. She wasn’t looking forward to walking home alone.

Her feet felt heavy, footsteps echoing down the bustling hallway as other students excitedly talked about their weekend plans. She tried to ignore every whisper of ‘party’, flipping her cowl up to hide her face. Normally, Luz didn’t mind people staring. At home, she got enough of it already, but in the Boiling Isles being the only human made her feel… important.

She didn’t feel important right now.

Her hand gently pushed the front door of the school open, light momentarily blinding her as her eyes got adjusted to the outdoors.

“Luz!” An excited voice called her name, forcing her head to instinctively turn toward the offending noise.

Suddenly, two bodies were tackling her, and Luz found herself toppling to the ground.

“Ohmigosh, are you okay?” A very frantic Gus clambered from their pile of entangled limbs, pushing himself and Willow off of Luz.

“Wha—Gus? Willow? What are you guys doing here?” She blinked a few times, rubbing at the arm she had stupidly hit on the stone ground. Dumb human arms, always getting injured. “I thought you would’ve been getting ready for the party.”

They both cringed.

“Oh… you found out about that?” Willow fiddled with the hem of her skirt, looking away from the human’s face.

Luz felt her face get hot. She was not going to cry about this. Absolutely not. “Of course, I found out! What I wanna know is why my two best friends decided I’m not cool enough to go to their really scary thirteenth birthday party? I know Gus has to go through dangerous trials, and like, prove himself and whatever, but I’m tough! I can take it.”

Gus looked between her and Willow, as if debating whether he should say something. A beat of silence passed.

“Of course, I want you at my party,” the younger witch finally spoke, “actually, that’s what we were coming to talk to you about—”

He scratched the back of his neck, pausing briefly.

“Eda told us that humans don’t have bad luck rituals on their thirteenth birthday, so we—well—we may have—”

“It’s a double party!” Willow interrupted, face quickly turning bright pink. “Sorry, sorry! I’ve been dying of anticipation all day.”

She pulled a rolled-up parchment from her bag, unfurling it to show Luz an edited version of Gus’s party invitation. This one included a small doodle of Luz as well as Gus, both donning matching party hats and throwing confetti. At the bottom, the date and time were clearly listed.

Saturday, 9:00pm, The Owl House.

Luz’s eyes widened, a large grin forming on her face.

“You guys!” She d’awwed, pulling them into a group hug.

“We didn’t want you to miss out, and Eda said you’d be able to handle all the bad luck just fine, and King’s okay with it as long as we bubble-wrap you, and we didn’t want to miss your birthday in case you had to go home before we can celebrate—” Gus cut his own rambling off, taking a breath.

“We got a clown!” Willow laughed, excitedly clapping.

Gus nodded enthusiastically, repeating her, “We got a clown!”

“Is this why you were texting Amity all those weird questions?”

Her friends both gasped, Gus especially offended, “I wanted to be as accurate as possible, the party is human-themed after all. Amity wasn’t supposed to tell you about it! That’s the point of a surprise party.”

“Eda was setting up pre-birthday decorations at the Owl House for tonight’s sleepover.” Willow added.

“Sleepover?” Luz repeated, awestruck. “Oh, my Azura, you guys are the best.”

The three kids hugged again, laughing about their birthday schemes. Human or not, Luz should’ve known better than to think her best friends would exclude her like that.

This was going to be the best Friday ever.

#long post #ask ask #writing bits #talking bits #writing recs #ao3 #toh fanfic #toh writing #toh luz #toh oneshot #the owl house #my bad if this is a mess it's not beta read and i wrote it in like. an hour #jhkjhkj enjoy!#misunderstanding trope my beloved #dirts and drabbles

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jay-and-dean · 3 years

Text

Yet another thing to celebrate

Dean x reader

Summary (I used the requester’s words) : Reader’s birthday is on Christmas Eve, which generally sucks because everyone is either skint or celebrating Christmas.

Warnings : Fluffy fluff with a little fluff whipped cream on top. Very implied smut.

Wordcount : 3.6k

Note : This is my fic for @girl-next-door-writes Secret Santa (I reaaally hope you like it lovely, merry Christmas and happy birthday) hosted by @negans-lucille-tblr on @spnsecretsantaficexchange.

I also made my participation to the amazing @acklesterritory‘s celebration challenge, in the fic, my prompt was “I saw that, you just checked me out”, it’s bold in the fic.

The song refered to is She’s always a woman, by Billie Joel.

The text dividers are from the great @firefly-graphics

Jay’s Masterlist

Christmas…

Before you even open your eyes, you sigh, grabbing the soft pillow in your fist and nuzzling on its softness in a sleepy grunt.

You don’t hate this day, but it often makes you a little sad despite your will to enjoy it fully. It is your birthday. December 24, the busiest day in the country, damn, in the whole West. And even if you are not the kind to want the full attention on you, to be spoiled or anything, you just wish sometimes that, for once, you could have a proper birthday.

When you were a teen, you more than once even dared dreaming of a party you could throw, but Christmas is about family and basically about everyone. Not you.

You dream of a little birthday party with friends, some drinks, music, maybe dancing a little... But it would be impossible unless you do it way before or way after, and it wouldn't really be the same...

This year is different though.

This winter, even if the celebration of your birth was totally forgotten, you don’t need anything more than what you have now. And what you have is Dean Winchester. Nothing is more important than that, nothing can make you happier.

In fact, nothing can really make you feel any other way than blessed after this summer. After Dean kissed you on that hunt, after you two had sex in the Impala on your way home ; after later he asked you to stay in his bed for the night that other evening you both ended up naked. And finally, after he asked you to stay in his room for good a few weeks later, and started calling you his girlfriend.

You smile thinking of waking up next to him and move your feet to find his behind you. But when you don’t, you turn and rub your eyes before opening them.

Empty. Your shared bed is empty.

“Dean ?” is the first word you say, but the room stays cruelly silent.

Of course… It’s Christmas. He must be busy, like everyone is always on that day… The sting on your heart comes back... You have woken up with the man you love every single morning for the last few months, but not today.

That is how lame your birthday can be.

After staying in bed almost one hour, trying to shake that blues off by thinking of how blessed you are, you finally are about to get up and face that stolen day, but the door opens slowly.

You close your eyes, not really knowing why, maybe just to avoid having to find an explanation for not getting up before if you were awake. The bed moves under Dean’s weight as he crawls on it slowly but you don’t move, even when he clumsily crushes your arm a little while hovering you.

“Happy birthday Baby” he whispers with his coffee breath close to your face. “Have you decided to skip today ? It’s almost noon.”

“Mh…” you hum, lifting your arms to reach his neck, desperate to feel his skin. “Thank you.”

You hesitate a second, wanting to ask him why he got up without you today, why he didn’t wake you with kisses and sweet words like he often does, but you don’t say anything, grateful enough that he got tired of you not being with him and came to get you.

He lets a part of his weight fall on you, making you huff and laugh softly. His scruff scratches your shoulder, the rough fabric of his jeans is uncomfortable and his belt is digging to your hip but you wouldn't change a thing.

Your hand goes to his neck and massages it softly, he hums, and you feel his body softly relax. You always know just how to calm him, how to make him fall back asleep after a nightmare, how to make his muscles calm after the roughest hunts. But after less than a minute, he grunts, sitting up.

"No, no" he shakes his head. "You're not making me skip that day with you ! Get up Baby."

He grabs your shoulders and playfully shake them, not realizing that even his kidding strength is huge.

"Geeet uuuup" he chuckles when your whole body is shaken and your laugh sounds funny because of it.

The warm water runs along your hair and down your spine, and a soft steam fills the bathroom. For sure, that was a great late breakfast, with pancakes Dean had made for you, and his little stolen kisses.

He is really making this day better.

Maybe you can forget about your birthday now, and just enjoy Christmas like a normal person. You are loved, and you are happy, you don't need anything else.

Washing your hair, you smile thinking of the tree the boys have bought, so big that they struggled to carry it up the stairs. You chuckle at thinking of Dean grumbling about the thorns covering Baby's seats. They even bought bags mysterious decorations and fairy lights they never let you see. The library now smells like Christmas tree.

We're celebrating this year, Dean said. And in the years you have known the Winchesters, you indeed never saw them put so much effort in a holiday.

A lot of things keep surprising you.

Sam once told you that his brother had changed a lot since he was with you, making you worry more than anything else. You never wanted Dean to change, you love Dean just the way he is... Then you understood what Sammy was saying...

You understood in the little things. Like Dean's new love for late mornings in bed, like him drinking a little less, being a little less reckless during hunts, humming in the shower, letting go more in bed, allowing himself to give up the constant control he has on himself... And in his will to celebrate Christmas. Dean is not different, he is just happier.

Your eyes get a little wet with joy at the thought while your rub your body with the delicious smelling foam.

Forget your birthday, if Dean's happiness demands this day to be the Christmas he didn't have as a kid, the Christmas he is finally allowing himself to want, then you are honored to help him make it perfect.

You step out of the shower and your eyes meet the big mirror. In the middle of it, written with a big finger on the thick steam : "I love you Y/n".

Your choice is made : This will be Christmas. This will be anything to make that man as lucky as you are.

"How can I help ?" you say, entering the kitchen where Dean is apparently trying to make cookies, wearing this apron he only puts on for great occasions.

"I'm making cookies men like in Shrek" he says pointing to the not-so-bad gingerbread biscuits he already cooked with his finger covered in dough.

You come behind him and wrap your arms around his middle, forehead on his back, just feeling his breathing for a second. Dean doesn't stop what he is doing because he is used to you tenderly and randomly holding him, his clean fingers only come to gently caress your arm for a second before he shapes another cookie, chuckling when he adds a tiny penis to the little guy.

"I love you too" you murmur, nose grazing his back to bath in his smell.

He hums.

"We will eat dinner pretty early, I hope you're hungry" he says, looking at his watch. "I want to enjoy some time with my girl after."

You smile, getting on your tiptoes to kiss the uncovered skin of his neck above the collar of his flannel. He wants a lazy evening, making love like you do, or maybe try a kinky thing ; what is sure is you will gladly give him what he wants.

Time goes by sweetly as you watch this deadly warrior check the turkey while his equally legendary warrior brother prepares another round of eggnog for the three of you. They move around like busy bees in the room and it's a perfect show.

You sit on the counter, talking about silly things, sometimes doing something to help, when your boyfriend lets you. You keep sipping from the sugary drink, and watching the beauty of Dean just be before your eyes. Unaware of how perfect he is in his every moves, he just works with his strong arms and skilled hands.

Your eyes linger a little along his thick thighs, and you bend your head to the side to enjoy the exquisite sight of the sensual curve of his butt.

"I saw that, you just checked me out" he says in a smile without even turning around.

"And ?" you let out in a chuckle. "What are you going to do about that ?"

At your surprise, he starts to rock his hips from right to left slowly in clumsy funny moves of his butt, like he wanted to sexy dance for you without stopping what he is doing, earning an eye roll from his brother when his hip hits him on his way.

Christmas is already perfect.

The table is beautiful. Different courses in pretty plates you didn't know the guys had filling it like you have only seen in the movies. There is way too much food for three people but you are so happy that your beloved Winchester can eat like they want for Christmas eve.

Everything is pretty, the giant messy tree has real bright decorations on it and there are even a few presents at its feet, wrapped messily in colorful papers.

But their most impressive work is the light in the room, changing the place completely. Almost none of the artificial lights of the bunker is on, and a subdued ambiance with fairy lights and candles make it look even more magical than it usually is.

"When did you find the time to do all that ?" you smile with unintended wetness in your enthralled eyes. "It looks... enchanted in here."

"You stayed in bed until noon" Dean says in a light chuckle, pulling a chair for you and putting a kiss on your cheek. "Merry Christmas baby."

"It's perfect, Deanie" you turn your head so his next kiss lands on the corner of your mouth. "Merry Christmas guys."

Sam sits, rubbing his hands at the sight of the turkey, and starts reminding his brother of an old memory of a past Christmas you listen with all your focus. Everything that can make you know more about their life always catches your full attention. You are, after all, their biggest fan.

The story is about a Christmas when Dean was a teen. He had spent the night between 23th and 24th December with a girl and was really late to come back to the motel. Sam thought maybe he wouldn't be back for diner, he had already taken the cereals out of the closet when Dean showed up carrying the whole cooked Turkey he had stolen from the girl's parents.

You look at your boyfriend with all the love in the world and bend to give him a kiss on the forearm while he cuts a piece of this not stolen meat for you.

"Her parents were dicks, and I couldn't let you starve, dad would have killed me" Dean chuckles, filling your plate.

But you know the story must be really different from just that, Dean never brags about how great he was with Sam.

You let out a little moan, tasting the food and Dean’s face is lit by a wide proud grin.

“It’s good ?” he asks before he even tastes, an excited hope in his eyes.

“Delischious” you answer with your mouth full, a hand before it.

And indeed, everything is perfect. Dean, as much as Sam can playfully denies it, is a great cook. He has no technique, no cooking education, but what he has is a real love for food and comfort, a great experience on mixing things and tasting that gives him a perfect intuition. And, above all, the strong selfless will of saying "I love you" with food like some people have.

Sitting on the floor next to the tree, you hold against you the red flannel Dean finally agreed to give you, and the books Sam bought for you. Your head is leaning lovingly on your lover's shoulder while he looks, exited, at the vinyl records he got, humming his favorite songs.

You crawl between his thighs and rest your back on his chest, your head back, temple grazing his scruff.

"Best Christmas ever" you smile, feeling his lips graze your cheek. "So what is the program of a Winchester Christmas after that ?"

You close your eyelid and take a deep breath of Dean's scent, expecting a sexy proposition.

"We're going somewhere" he smiles, and, when you open your eyes, you see Sam put on his coat.

"Now ?" you frown, a little confused. "Where ?"

Dean gets up, putting you on your feet with his strong arm, and takes his coat and yours from Sam's hands.

"I'm not telling you. Take your jacket and get in the car."

He is silent on the road despite all your questions.

You listen to the car's purring and look outside to try to guess where they are taking you. The white snow covers the sides of the road with a very thin and delicate layer, the headlights are hit with little swirling snowflakes, and no clue betrays their surprise.

Sam is smiling, looking out the window. You know they have been planning something, and you know you will love it. Maybe they will show you a place they used to go when they were kids, maybe take you to a special place where you can see the stars so clearly, like this time last summer.

"Come on Dean" you say, kneeling on Baby's back seat to wrap your arms around him from behind, going down a little to feel his firm chest though his shirt under your palms. "Tell me."

"You can't wait just five minutes" he tries to grunt, but it sounds more like a chuckle.

You fall silent, not letting go of him, holding him like the precious treasure he is, occasionally smelling his hair, kissing his shoulder and tracing the contours of his ear. You just can't stop touching him, and since that talk you had after sex once, you know how much he loves it.

"Aw" Sam mocks you like he often does. "You two are so cute."

"Fuck yeah we are" Dean groans, turning right to a one way road.

"You know Christmas is already perfect" you smile. "You don't have to surprise me again."

"Yeah, I know" he says, parking in front of a bar. "But, it's not only Christmas today."

You look around, confused. The guys open the door, letting the freezing cold enter the Impala, and get out in a perfect sync. You follow them, lifting your eyes to the colorful neon lights reflecting in the snowy night. Around on the parking lot, more cars than you would have expected are parked, and you wonder who would spend Christmas eve in a bar like this one.

But before you can wonder why they would have taken you there, to this bar you never heard off, your boyfriend's hand wraps around your waist and he guides you inside, pushing the heavy doors.

The first thing that hits you is the perfect warmth of the inside. The temperature is perfect but not only : the music is smooth like honey, it's this kind of blues that is paradoxically happy and comforting, it smells like wood and whiskey ; and above all, here too, there is something about the light that feels like a hug.

The second thing that hits you is the welcoming familiar face of Garth smiling to you.

"Garth ?" you frown and feel Dean's lips graze your ear. "Happy birthday Baby."

He lets go of you to walk to the people there at the bar, arms open to greet them, letting you stunned.

You are recognizing all you friends there, still in their Christmas clothes, walking to you to hug you and bring you drinks and for a few seconds, your body just stays still.

No one is missing, not one person. And, even if you don't have hundreds of friends since you joined the hunter life, you have never seen a room so full of love.

"Let me take your coat" Jody says, seeing you froze to the spot.

"I... You're here for me ? Th-they planned all that ?" you stammer with some watery emotions filling your eyes.

"Dean did" Jody smiles. "We followed."

You're sipping from that delicious drink the bartender made according to your tastes, unable to take that smile off of your face. Donna, a little tipsy in her pretty outfit, is telling sexy jokes with a full dimpled smile, making Sam chuckle and Charlie high-five her, spilling a little of her drink on you.

From the corner of your eye, you look at him.

He is bending on the pool table with a smirk, his beer next to him. From here, you can't hear what he is saying to the other players, but it seems a little cocky. After only a few seconds staring at him, it's like he felt it and he looks up, giving you the cutest wink.

And you blush. Because even after all you have lived together, even after the kinky experiences, the intimate moments, after seeing him cry, yell, suffer or come... A wink is still enough to turn you to a blushing mess.

All evening, he has been keeping his distance just a little. Not avoiding you at all but not clinging to you, to let you enjoy your friends, to let you have the full experience of a birthday party like you dreamed of since you were a teen.

A birthday with loud silly discussions, a lot of drinks, inventing silly tipsy games with your best friends, trading your clothes in the bathroom, catching up as much as dancing with each other... And you never felt loved that much.

Dean's love is the sun in the middle of your world, but now you can also see the stars, and it is probably the best night of your life so far.

He managed to do something you never could for years and all your friends agreed with his crazy plan. They all had an early Christmas diner to be able to drive here, offer you too many drinks and be there for you. They all made it about you and you're both incredibly grateful and emotional. And since most of them will come sleep at the bunker -and eat all the leftovers with you tomorrow- you don't have to care about the time.

Suddenly, a music note catches your ear.

You know that note by heart. It is the first note of your favorite love song, it is the firsts notes of what Dean hums in your ear sometimes when he holds you after making love to you, pushing your hair on the side to see your sweaty bliss face.

You turn you head and meet green eyes, closer than you expected.

"Hey" he says, taking your hand.

"Hey" you smile.

He tugs gently at your arm, pulling you away from the bar to wrap his arms around your waist.

You have missed him. Of course he was here, but after everything he has done for you, you really have missed holding him, smelling his skin and kissing his lips.

He starts to sway his hips really slightly, humming the love words of the song, and you throw your arms around his neck, looking up at his perfect face.

"She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes..." he whispers the lyrics, fingers grazing the skin of your neck.

And for the hundredth time today, your eyes fill with happy tears while his fingertips go down on your back to hold your waist again.

"Are you having fun ?" he asks low, one hand stroking your lower back tenderly, thumb pushing your shirt up discreetly to feel your skin.

"It's the best night of my life" you give him your most sincere smile. "Dean... You are really incredible, you know that ?"

"Yeah" he nods, hiding his shyness in a kiss on your lips.

"I really was ready to chose Christmas, you know ?" you state, swaying your hips slowly with him, forgetting the rest of the world in your bubble of love.

His plumb lips gently raise on the corner, and he lets go of you to search his pocket.

"I didn't have to choose between hunter life and happy life thanks to you, so I'll make sure you never have to choose between your birthday and Christmas" he murmurs in your ear, before kissing your temple.

His hand reach yours and he opens it to put a little thing on your palm.

"What do you say we had yet another thing to celebrate on that day ?" his breath tickles your neck and you look down to your hand, discovering a little golden ring with a tiny blue stone in the middle of your shaking palm.

"Dean ?"

"Marry me Baby ?"

FEEDBACK IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME

Tags : @parinarain @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @thefaithfulwriter @vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld @cocklesbelli @sandlee44 @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx @stormchasingchick32 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @sister-winchesters99 @neii3n @lyss-dw79 @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj @i-love-superhero @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks @mrspeacem1nusone @stylesismyhubs @deanwanddamons @jawritter @peridottea91 @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart @vicmc624 @teresa-67 @jessie-michael @doctor-hp-mcu @hawkerz12 @mariaenchanted @hobby27 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @thoughts-and-funnies @suramyaa @yasreadsfics

#supernatural #Supernatural Dean Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #spn dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #fluff #dean winchester fluff #spnsecretsantaficexchange #jay and dean #christmas

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sukiglycerin · 3 years

Text

starless fairy tales || keigo takami, katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: keigo takami (hawks) x reader x katsuki bakugou (gender neutral!)

* genre: it’s a sandwich: angst on the top, fluff in the middle, and angst at the end :) not fantasy DLKFSF IM SORRY

* words: 5.2k, somehow

* warnings: angsty, reader is wary of hawks at first, tokyo skytree!! so don’t read if you’re terribly afraid of heights, a reference to blood for a small metaphor, a reference to the league of villains ;P, cliffhanger ending that i’m not sure i’ll resolve

* original request from @bien-sur: hey, saw you wanted requests and I read through some of your work, really loved the Hawks one shot!! i’m a sucker for enemies who make out. i’m feeling angsty so uh maybe, if you want, a bakugo one-shot where he kind of uh cheats on the reader...? or maybe just hurts her feelings very badly? maybe the reader feels numb for a while but is comforted by Keigo, and the reader realizes they deserve better? so sorry if this is out of your comfort zone or it’s dark content(?) anyways I like your writing so i’ll read a few more of your works before going to bed :)) thank you, i appreciate u taking the time to do requests regardless of whether you do mine :)

* a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS IS SUPERIOR!! i was so excited to write an enemies piece with hawks. this showcases the soft, kind side of hawks so i hope you enjoy it !! thank you sooo much for being so kind in your request! this request is completely fine. i added much more plot than i’d expected, and learned sooo much about tokyo skytree. i couldn’t do infidelity because it hurts me too much and i love bakugou too much. i tried to keep the angst.,., but happy birb..,., this might become a multi-chap fic, as i do have a plot jumbled in my head because of the cliffhanger, and i’d like to develop more aspects of your request! for now, it’s up to your interpretation! biggest thing i got out of this: i now really, really want to go to tokyo skytree.

* synopsis: you had a fairy tale love with bakugou until your prince became the villain for vague reasons. in a moment of serendipity, you find a new prince, hawks, who just might take you high enough to reach the stars you’d so longed for. sometimes your dreams are only a train ride and a couple elevator trips away.

love was like a fairy tale. at least, that’s what you’d believed. love, with its ornate leather cover and soft golden embellishments. the pages would be worn but so cherished; the black ink printed in a pretty font, telling of charming words and whispered promises under the shining moonlight and twinkling stars. it was supposed to be your security, a castle hidden in the lush forest away from the horrors of the world. your castle would hold you and bakugou for an eternity, kept away in the pages of a pretty love story.

alas, even the strongest of castles fall, and the most beautiful of forests mangle. yours just happened to be a bit quicker. contrary to the illusion bakugou had painted in your fairy tale, your castle was not of stone nor brick nor iron. it was not of anything but sand, waiting for its turn to be washed away by the sea. your castle slipped through your fingers; the once elaborate stronghold now swept into the depths of the cerulean sea. what had once been painted seashells of wondrous hues and crystals that illuminated the night were now pebbles and corroded versions of things that had once been. it had slipped through your fingers so easily without a passing thought; now here you were, in your deserted kingdom, playing the fool.

like the sand past your fingers, love had once come easy for you and bakugou. it was always there, drifting in the air as you walked or swirling above your heads while you bickered. love was supposed to be easy, like how your hand just fit in bakugou's as if sculpted after many lives with him. love was supposed to be easy, like how bakugou aced his tests in school and nonchalantly taught you math so you wouldn't have to attend cram school. love was supposed to be easy, like how it had been for forever with bakugou. but your fairy tale was now coming to a close, velvet curtains falling and pages turning to dust.

you wondered if there were any fairy tales on the shelves of books bakugou had. contrary to popular belief at ua, bakugou was an avid reader. it was clear by the shelves that lined the wall in his dorm and the stacks of unread books on his nightstand. you never touched them, though bakugou had said you were free to pick them up whenever you wanted. the only time you’d touched a book from his bookshelf was when he pushed a book of yosano akiko’s to you.

the colored spines of the books on his shelf in your shared apartment all blurred like paint on a palette as you stared at them, bakugou’s voice becoming a fading afterthought.

“y/n? y/n, please…” the voice which had so held you in its tight warmth went cold and unfamiliar. a light flickered out in your castle, and so started the crumbling.

“say…” you started, your throat clogged with disbelief, “it again.”

“please, don’t make me…” his voice trailed off. you could feel his deep scarlet eyes trained on you. “i just…. i’m not in love with you anymore, y/n.” his voice cracked. “you’ve got to understand. please.”

your hand trembled in your lap, your vision shifting out of focus like a faulty camera.

“i tried to feel something, i really did. but…. i can’t.”

“how- how long?” your voice shook.

he paused. “a month… or two, by now?” he reached out to take your hand in his, but it no longer felt right. it was as if his hand was no longer yours to hold. you tensed, moving your hand away.

a light went out in his eyes as he understood and receded his hand. a tower fell in your castle.

“okay,” you said, turning away from him. tears dripped down your face silently and you quickly wiped them away with your sleeve. you stood up from the couch. “i’ll get my things,” you hollowly said, walking toward your shared room with him.

“you don’t need to,” bakugou said. the voice emitted from his throat was no longer his, but the shadow of a stranger’s. “not this fast, at least. don’t force yourself.”

“what makes you say that?” you snapped a bit too harshly. “sorry,” you added quietly.

packing your things was a numbing process. you left the photos of him and you on his nightstand, on top of his pile of unread books. you shoved it all in a backpack you had lying around; your clothes, your phone, your books. you took one last glance around the room and left. bakugou was still sitting on the couch wordlessly, not bothering to say farewell to you as you opened the door and walked out. not that you would’ve responded anyway.

you realized you may have made a miscalculation as you stood cluelessly in the lobby of the apartment building. you had nowhere to go. you fumbled with your phone in your backpack and pulled up your contacts. you knew of no one in your contacts who’d let you stay; they were either on vacation or far away. in truth, bakugou was your closest friend since childhood. he was your map, your guide, your destination; where were you without him?

the wind brushed your cheek as you stood outside the entrance, watching cars pass. the world felt so big compared to the mere side character of you, who buildings loomed over like menacing shadows. it was a somewhat comforting moment, being an alone speck in the grand scheme of things. like this, it was for only a moment you’d forgotten why you were out here in the first place. you’d forgotten the warm feeling that once nestled itself in your heart, instead enraptured by the freeing breeze that rustled in it.

red. then a breeze. that’s all you saw, eyes widening and stepping back. a man no older than you stood in front of you, hands in his pockets. vermillion wings protruded from somewhere on his back, arcing slightly over the man.

“heyyy….” he said lazily, shadows falling on his face. you started walking backward, hands discreetly feeling for the door behind you. “wait! i’m a pro-hero, i swear! i’m hawks, look it up!” he lifted his hands up in surrender, backing away from you.

“who…. what do you want?” you asked cautiously, hand on the doorknob behind you.

he sheepishly scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “i, uh…. got lost…. tokyo’s such a big place, y’know?”

“where are you from?” you couldn’t really discern anything of an accent on him, other than a slightly rougher tone of speaking.

“kyushu, fukuoka…” he gestured vaguely. that explained the slight accent. “i’m in tokyo for a bit of work. business trip, y’know how it goes. haven’t visited tokyo in a while, honestly. what’s a good place for a bite? a bird is starving.”

“uh… there’s a place down the street to the right…” off the top of your head, you pointed out a cafe you and bakugou had frequented.

“it doesn’t have chicken wings, does it?” hawks asked.

“chicken…?” you looked from him to his wings. “no, sorry.”

“don’t sweat it! ‘s fine. hey, i might as well treat you for wasting your time. where’re you heading off to? i could pay for a cab, if you gotta go.”

“ah, thank you....” you said bashfully. “i’m not really in a rush anywhere.”

“really?” he looked excited, innocently so, almost like a puppy. “can i treat you to something?”

“uh… sure,” you replied, strengthening your grip on your backpack. “sure.”

“great! off we go, m’liege!” he pointed toward the cafe and started marching. he was a sight to behold on the street, red wings standing out a mile away. you followed somewhat reluctantly, grabbing your phone to google exactly who the pro-hero “hawks” was. the name sounded vaguely familiar, but you weren’t one who knew their heroes. yeah, it was definitely him; what was your luck, meeting such a famous pro-hero on the street after being dumped by the love of your life?

he hummed a tuneless melody, turning to the cafe. he held the doorknob waiting for you, opening the door for you first. the homey cafe was decently packed for lunchtime, the quiet chatter of people filling the atmosphere. the scene reminded you of so many other times you'd gone here with bakugou; it gave you chills as you stood next to hawks.

"hey," hawks said quietly. "you okay? you seem tense."

you gulped and shook your head. "nah, i'm fine. just thinking about what to eat," you lied.

he nodded, seeming to buy into the lie. stepping toward the menu, he said, "the toasted sandwiches look good."

"uh huh," you agreed absentmindedly. your attention was on the bout of people who'd turned to look at hawks, some snapping pictures on their phones. he did stand out pretty well with his wings.

"'scuse me-!" a little girl, no more than 6 or 7, approached the hero. she had a distinctive accent; it was slightly hard to understand her. "can i 'ave a photo with ya?" her eyes got all round. "yer my big brother's favorite hero!"

"'course, darlin'," hawks smiled. his voice somewhat mimicked hers, his dialect becoming apparent.

once he'd taken a photo with her, more and more people started following suit, crowding him. you stood awkwardly to the side. some people didn't even know who he was, from what you could tell. you debated ordering a latte and leaving, but decided it'd be unfair to hawks. he was kind to everyone he interacted with, unlike most celebrities who just wanted fame and disregarded others.

after some time, the crowd finally dispersed, leaving you and hawks together.

he glanced at his watch. “ah, sorry, that took a while…” he apologized. “do you have somewhere to be? i must’ve held you up…”

“nah, don’t worry about it.” you waved him off. “i, uh, actually… was just dumped by my boyfriend…” you nervously shuffled your feet. “i don’t really have a place to stay at the moment… so i’m free the entire day, i guess.” you laughed nervously.

he blinked at you, bird-like eyes wide. “you must be starving.”

you felt your face warm and you laughed - this time, a real, genuine laugh that was a missed sensation against your tongue. “yeah. yeah, i am.”

“hey, dove.” his voice suddenly got close to you, gentler. “you’re crying.”

“oh…?” you felt your cheek with the pad of your thumb. “sorry. i have tissues in my backpack, hang on…” you unzipped the front pocket and started to rummage blindly through your belongings, groping for something vaguely feeling like a packet of tissues.

“here,” he said, handing you a tissue. you turned to him gratefully, accepting the tissue and wiping your face.

“it’s just… weird,” you said after a pause. “he’s been there all my life - my ex, i mean.” ex. such a strange name for the man you so adored; ex, crossing off the relationship you thought you’d built with him.

hawks nodded, guiding you to a booth in the cafe.

you continued, “sorry. you probably didn’t want to hear this today… you’re busy with your hero duties and whatnot.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it, feather,” he reassured you. “he didn’t kick you out, did he?”

“oh, no,” you clarified quickly. “i… left,” you said, abashed. “i shouldn’t’ve been so sudden, but… it was an instinct thing.”

“why’d he do it so suddenly?” hawks asked. “you didn’t see it coming, right?”

“no, i didn’t… but maybe i should’ve…” you think about the part couple months with bakugou. nothing seemed different - you’d gone on dates like normal and spent time together like a couple that loved each other. his interest in you never faltered and nor did the sparkle in his eyes dull; what had happened? what had gone so wrong?

you realize the silence that’s fallen between you and hawks. the hero was looking at the menu behind you intently.

“ham and cheese…” he muttered to himself. “no, teriyaki… so yummy… with coffee…” he suddenly seemed aware of your eyes staring at him. “oh, what did you want to eat?”

“i’ll probably have the teriyaki,” you said. it was your go-to sandwich choice at the cafe. you reached for your backpack to retrieve your wallet, but hawks stopped you.

“let me,” he said. “i already caused you so much inconvenience.”

“ah, okay…” you said meekly. “thank you.”

he shrugged. “what wouldja like to drink?”

“uh… orange juice,” you said.

“alright!” he saluted you. “your wish is my command.” he got up to order, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. the cashier was particularly animated talking to him, initiating a conversation about aerodynamics with the pro-hero from what you could hear.

he returned with the sandwiches (made at the fastest time you swore you’d seen them prepare food) and set yours in front of you.

“let’s dig in!” hawks said, biting into his sandwich. you agreed, taking a bite of yours as well.

“what’s your name, by the way?” he said in between bites. “i don’t think i ever asked.”

“y/n,” you said.

“pretty,” he commented. “i’m hawks.”

“i know,” you blurted. “i googled it.”

“you did?” his pupils widened. “what’d it say??”

“uhh…” you pulled out your phone, finding the tab you used to google hawks. you turned your screen to him.

he studied the screen. “not fond of that angle,” he mused to himself. “so, why’d your boyfriend dump you?”

you were taken aback by his candor. “he… said he didn’t love me anymore,” you admitted.

“all of a sudden? out of the blue?”

you shook your head. “he said he’d tried to endure it for a while.”

“how long?”

“a month or two,” you sighed, thinking about the sight of him sitting dejectedly on the couch this morning.

“he didn’t say anything before that?” hawks gasped. “the nerve. how long have you been together?”

“four… or five years now?” you’d been dating him since your days at ua, even when most high school romances - between childhood friends, no less - were especially rocky. he was your promised forever.

“and he gives up after two months?” hawks set his sandwich down. “wow. some boyfriend.”

“i think there was something more to it,” you said thoughtfully. “we’ve known each other for a long…”

“you still love him, don’t you?”

“i mean… yeah….” you hadn’t given it much thought; bakugou was a habit your heart couldn’t stop thinking about. it was like depriving your heart of oxygen: foreign and wrong. “i do.”

“i’m sorry, dove,” he said.

“your sandwich will get cold,” you said in an attempt to divert the conversation topic.

“you’re right.” he picked up his sandwich and started eating again, eyes still on you. “this place has good food.”

you hummed in agreement, distracted by the cars going by outside the window.

“where will you stay?” he asked, halfway done with his sandwich.

hawks voiced the concern plaguing your subconscious from the moment you stepped out of bakugou’s apartment building. it was definitely not the most thoroughly well-thought out plan, and you didn’t want to come back knocking on his door in the night. besides, you weren’t sure if you could stand being there again, in the presence of a liar and someone who felt so foreign to you. you wondered how much you truly didn’t know about bakugou; were there any other lies he’d blossomed behind your back?

you knew you might be able to stay at a hotel for a couple nights, but not for long. going back to bakugou’s place… as much as you so dreaded the mere thought, you knew it might be your absolute last resort.

“i’m not sure,” you finally replied truthfully. hawks appeared to have come to a conclusion of sorts.

“tell ya what,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “explore tokyo with me.” he took a bite of his sandwich. continuing, he said, “‘s not often the commission puts me in the big city. i’m off today, so…”

the offer was somewhat bizarre, but what did you have to lose? you agreed, under the terms you wouldn’t be out too late. as you walked out the door, you greeted the cool outside breeze with the hope this would help you put the past behind you.

walking through tokyo with a pro-hero proved harder than it sounded. for one, people kept approaching hawks; after all, he was like a walking light-up sign that said “LOOK AT ME!” with the size and color of his wings. after every time a fan asked hawks for an autograph, he sheepishly apologized to you, and offered two autographs to you. you always laughed and declined; the trip was a reward in itself, you supposed. each acquaintance made you appreciate all the responsibilities of a pro-hero. he was charming, though. he really was, so you didn’t mind.

“skytree! let’s go there!” was the first thing hawks had said walking out of the cafe. you’d been to the skytree a couple of times in your childhood, and it was a nice memory; the tall building stretching, touching the tip of the sky. your parents had told you that stardust flecked the very top of the skytree, for it was so tall. you’d never actually reached the highest floor; it felt like a distant fantasy, as you’d always get tired before reaching the top or circumstance would interfere.

it was a five minute walk to the nearest station, and it’d be another forty or so to skytree. hawks didn’t seem to mind, though, happily promenading down the street like a kid in a candy shop. he pointed excitedly to random buildings that you hadn’t given a second thought about and rambled about the facts he knew about skytree with an accent tingeing his words more than usual. he reminded you very much so of a child going on a field trip, and his giddiness only boosted yours.

“we’re here!” his eyes glistened with anticipation when you reached the station. you’d visited the station dozens of times, but looked at it with a new light when you realized how excited hawks was. “i’ll pay; i dragged you here,” he said immediately when you started to pay for tickets.

“really, i can’t-” you started, but he cut you off.

“let me. it’s my off day! please.” he took the two tickets he paid for. “here.”

“i don’t really have a choice, do i?”

“nope!” he was already walking away, smiling back at you and waving his ticket.

“hey- wait!” you started running after him. “wrong way!”

forty minutes later, two transfers, and one circle around the station in pursuit of skytree, you stood at the entrance of the tokyo skytree. hawks’ mouth watered at the sight of the line of restaurants in the breezeway you’d passed prior, and you had to stop him from ordering the seasonal special from mcdonald’s before turning to skytree.

“but you just ate!” you exclaimed as he stared longingly at the ice cream being advertised on a poster.

he pouted. “but i’m hungry…”

you took his hand (which momentarily shocked him) and guided him to the entrance. it was a bit crowded, but not overtly so. hawks was looking everywhere once you’d entered; darting from here to there, sometimes carrying small souvenirs or drinks when returning to you. you were out of energy by the time you’d reached floor 340, though hawks told you there were only 29 floors total and the name was referencing the height. it certainly didn’t feel like an exaggeration, your feet dragging on the ground as you stepped out of the oddly fast elevator.

you begged hawks to let you rest at the cafe you saw. the cafe felt like a little oasis of tranquility, uncrowded on contrary to the other floors. it was relaxing as you stared outside the window and up at the sky. it brought you to your parents words of stars and magic, though something as modern as the skytree must be strange to intermingle with magic. in the moment you were suspended; the still sky surrounding you and the ever-moving cars below. you swore you could just reach the clouds in front of you and float, so serenely in an eternal bubble of quietude to yourself. everything else was forgotten in that moment; things were the way they always were. it was always you, in the end.

after leaving the cafe, you watched people stand on glass flooring overlooking everything below. some jumped on the glass, while some frightenedly stuck a foot on the glass and jumped back.

“quite the view, huh?” hawks mumbled with a mouth stuffed full with chocolate cake. “i usually have to fly so far to get this view.”

you nodded. “it’s amazing...”

“so… where d’you wanna go after this?” he asked you.

“actually…” your thoughts went back to the stories your parents told you. “can we go up to floor 455?”

he showed a hint of surprise on his face. “really? i know we bought the tickets to do it, but if you’re tired, we can just go down.”

“no…” you cleared your throat. “it’s been something i really wanted to do.”

he took this answer and smiled, grasping your hand. “let’s walk into the sky!”

the train ride back did not go as smoothly as you hoped. the adrenaline of being 450 meters in the air had worn itself out, and the pitting realization that bakugou was no longer yours dawned on you. the sapphire sky in your fairy tale story seemed so far now, stars shattering and crumbling. you reached for a piece of a star, but each piece dissolved above your head, light that would never reach you.

“feather,” hawks said quietly. the intense look in his eyes looked like he was building up to something important.

“yeah?” you asked. you fixated on him.

“do you want… a badtz-maru eraser?”

you stared at the spiky-haired penguin in the palm of hawks’ hand.

“sure…?” you said. hawks happily plopped the eraser into your hand.

“feather,” he said again in the same tone. “you should visit bakugou, you know. tonight, to make things straight with him.”

that was what he was building up to. bakugou. you hadn’t dwelled much on the thought of the man; the skytree filling most of your thoughts for the day. but it was still light out.

“i know,” you replied softly, looking down at your fingers. these were the hands that held your heart as you gave it to bakugou, the hands that bakugou held tenderly for so many days and nights. they were the same hands that held your heart now, returned by bakugou shattered and clinking to the ground. the rest of the train ride was silent.

you could now hear your thoughts echoing around the train compartment, deflecting off walls and still making their way to your heart. you wondered what words were left unsaid by bakugou, painful truths untold hidden in the recesses of his heart. you wondered if he remembered how he’d first nervously asked you on a date in high school, words rough but fingers softly fidgeting with each other. it was in may, near the end of the day. he shoved a small box of chocolates towards you, muttering something about “weird hair” making him do it. he’d aggressively stuttered his way through a confession, barely making eye contact with you. the memory brought a fluttering to your heart, but with it came a sore pain for the first time. you wondered if he felt the same or if he was just numb, like how he now felt about you. what did it feel like to fall out of love?

you wondered if he remembered the many times he’d walked you home (only for your sake, of course, not anything else). you wondered if he remembered how fondly he looked at you then. his heart was on his sleeve during those times, the perpetual blush on his cheeks disclosing his very vulnerable feelings towards you.

even on the most draining of days, bakugou would always be there for you. even if his eyelids were closing upon their own accord and legs were sore from a day’s work, he made it a point to be there for you. while children might’ve had their security blankets, you had bakugou. your heart dropped realizing those days of coming home to bakugou were gone.

what had happened? now, you were alone on a train that felt so cold and without the love that had so warmed your heart. why had things ended up like this? why did you numb bakugou’s feelings so? the wave was slow at first, but once it had reached the shore, your tears fell hot and unyielding as you toppled off the edge of being okay.

hawks was by your side wordlessly, a wing around you and leaning you close to him. the feathers were soft. you cried unabashedly in his embrace, sniffling as he soothed you. you tried to say thank you, but all that came out was another sob.

your feet, on instinct, took you to bakugou's apartment without any problem. it could’ve been any other day; you, coming back to the apartment after running errands. it was your hand that hesitated as it hovered an inch away from the wood of the door, the only sign that something had changed. you liked to pretend it hadn’t. you wished that when you’d open the door, you’d hear a light chatter from the tv and a familiar voice saying, “welcome home, idiot.” you wished that the air that enveloped you as soon as you opened the door was that of liveliness and comfort, of warm orange and yellow hues. you wished that the atmosphere didn’t feel so dead, dull, and musty; you wish it hadn’t drowned in shades of blue and gray. you wished you didn’t have the key to the apartment still.

you wished that bakugou would say something, anything, rather than sit on the couch with his head bowed. you wished that you didn’t miss him so much and that you had him, all at the same time. you wished you turned back as soon as you heard the knob click and pushed open the door; you wished not to see all that you had in what was once your apartment.

you wished you didn’t revel in his presence next to you on the couch. you wished you didn’t almost lean into his touch because he was your home, and you wished your eyes didn’t well up the way they had. you wished to have sat in that silence for a while then up and gone; you wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

“hey, idiot,” was a cracky and raspy thing coming out of his mouth, words familiar but so foreign at the same time.

“hey,” was what you whispered back, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“where’d you go?” but it wasn’t a question, just a fragile plea devoid of hope.

“skytree,” and you felt you’d break the mood.

“did you reach the top?” his response surprised and killed you at the same time.

“yeah,” you said quietly. “i did.”

“alone?”

“i could never alone.”

“who…?”

“met a pro-hero by chance.”

“your true hero, huh?” it was a bitter tone, venom biting you.

“no,” and your heart sunk because it was the truth.

he scoffed. getting up from the couch, he said, “you forgot something.”

your eyes followed him as he disappeared into your once shared room. he returned quite fast, as if you’d left it on the dresser, carrying a decorated shoebox. you’d almost forgotten about it entirely, eyes wide as nostalgia hit you.

it was a memory box you’d made the last year of high school. it was supposed to be for school memories, but it really just became a box of mementos of bakugou. you could barely see the contents inside, too busy trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. you thumbed through photos and polaroids of you and him, some with his friends and some with yours. oh, what you’d give to have those times back. though it was all blurred, you could feel the moments so vividly: feel the cool summer breeze and hear the sound of people conversing with each other at a festival; hear mina’s excited ramblings and bakugou’s grumbling at the supermarket; smell caramel and vanilla at a movie night, pressed against bakugou’s body warmth. you dropped the photos back into the box and picked up a scorched pencil. a pressed rose. a neatly folded sheet of notes you’d sent back and forth with bakugou during class.

and then it was all gone, shutting the box.

“keep it.” you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips, but you wouldn’t take them back. you handed him the box, staring at the floor and wiping your wet eyes. the memories were no longer yours to keep.

bakugou was silent, taking the box and leaving to his room to put it away.

“is that all?” you tried to make your voice sound strong, impatient. like you had better places to be without him. you hoped he couldn’t tell how it was more of a beg to stay.

“yeah.” cold. emotionless.

you stood for another second, looking around. everything seemed different, as if the glass which surrounded your universe had shattered. “bye, katsuki.”

“bye.”

your footsteps were light, but each step felt weighed by metal weights. you wished he stopped you from leaving. you wished you looked back at him. you wished you weren’t crying.

you shut the door quietly, weakly, behind you. it all came out in the hallway, tears and desperate sobs. you prayed he couldn’t hear you; but you knew, even if he did, he wouldn’t care anymore. he was numbed, no longer the firework you’d known.

“hawks,” it came as a quiet plea as you felt for your phone and dialed his number. he gave it to you right before you walked into bakugou’s apartment.

“please pick up, please pick up,” you muttered, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they came.

“hey, birdie? are you okay?”

“hawks,” you sobbed. “hawks, no, i’m not.”

“hey, are you still at the apartment building? i’ll be right there, chickadee, alright?”

you nodded, sniffed, then said meekly, “yeah.”

“stay on the line. talk to me, birdie.” his voice was soothing.

“hawks, it hurts, everything.” you felt as though you were pouring out your heart, spilling scarlet on the carpet. “hawks.” tears dropped onto the carpet. “hawks.” your knees almost gave in.

“what floor are you on, dove?”

“third,” you hiccupped.

“i’m right there, feather.” you saw hawks emerge from the stairwell. his hair looked windblown. he looked relieved to see you at first, then his face fell to that of sympathy. “oh, birdie,” he said softly, running up to you. “i’m here now.’

you weren’t aware bakugou was listening to you cry on the other side of the door as you sobbed into someone else’s shoulder, not his. with dark eyes and trembling hands he couldn’t calm, he dialed a number on his phone.

“well, tomura? i did it.”

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou angst #bnha angst #hawks fluff #bnha fluff #hawks imagines #hawks scenarios #keigo takami fluff #keigo takami imagines #keigo takami scenarios #katsuki bakugou #keigo takami #luna's writing

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so this chapter doesn't exactly have a hay bale maze but it has something even better :)

***

Being a legal consultant is surprisingly easy.

Years of studying business law in order to take down big corporations in the courtroom is now being used to help a big corporation— Nesta wants to be disgusted at the state of her morals. Fortunately for her, all the issues that have come across her desk so far are minor negotiation matters. The way Night Court Inc. is run is virtually perfect, and she almost hopes a blatant lawsuit drops into her lap just so she can give Rhysand and his sycophantic workers hell.

Though Nesta knows better than to dream big. This is essentially busy work that Night Court’s actual lawyers don't have time to do, but she's grateful for it either way. She's grateful for the man who got her this job even more.

When her car finally gets back from the auto shop one sunny November morning, Cassian suggests they go out to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Nesta says. “Not having to rely on you for rides anymore?”

“Exactly that.” Cassian grins and leans his elbow against the kitchen counter. “There’s a fall festival an hour north of here that pops up every year. There's good food and hot cider. Let’s go.” He nudges her excitedly.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning this,” she accuses.

“I go every year,” he shrugs. “Come on, we have the whole day ahead of us.”

He makes pleading puppy eyes that have absolutely no effect on Nesta, but she doesn't want to hurt his ego by letting him know that.

There is nothing appealing to her about going out into the cold and doing autumn-related activities, so she surprises herself and Cassian both when she agrees to go. He rewards her with a wide smile and tells her to get ready.

Nesta feels oddly giddy afterward. She can't recognize the feeling, so she tamps down on it while she gets dressed and braids her hair.

Outside, her burgeoning smile drops when she sees Cassian getting the truck started. “I thought the point of this was that we could use my car now.” She gestures to her beat up blue sedan, a sad little thing parked next to Cassian’s fancy truck.

“Nes, if I thought your car could go anywhere near a mountain road without falling to pieces, I would get in it without hesitation.”

It's as close to apologetic sympathy as she’ll get from him, so she only grumbles a little before climbing into the passenger seat she's gotten all too familiar with.

The door slams as Cassian gets in the driver’s seat, and something on the dashboard catches Nesta’s attention. Reaching out, she picks up one of her coloring books and her zipper bag full of markers and pencils.

She glances at Cassian. “Is this for me?”

He looks up from where he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, I just picked it up on my way out. Cell signal gets spotty the closer we get to the mountains, so you might get bored.”

Nesta looks down at the coloring book she's clutching, surprised.

“Did you want anything else before we leave?” Cassian says. “I can run inside and pick up some books.”

“No— no, this is good,” she says softly. She flips the page open to a fresh landscape scene, black on white lines staring back at her. “Thank you.”

She unzips her pencil bag with a new reverence, barely noticing as they pull out of the driveway and head for the highway leading out of town.

Nesta is intent on her coloring the entire ride, falling far too easily into that little bubble of her own mind where she forgets that other things and people exist. Cassian, unlike most people, doesn't seem to mind this. He's content with driving in the quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the radio and the scratch of Nesta’s pencils.

She’s trying to get the blue shades of the lake just right when she feels the truck start to slow, and she looks up to see that they're in some kind of parking lot. Ahead, a market-carnival setup sits at the base of the mountains, and it sprawls as far as her eyes can see. “We’re here already?”

“Yeah.” Cassian glances at her hesitantly. “Is it lame?” He gestures to the autumn-themed affair, as if he’ll turn around and drive them right back home if it isn't to Nesta’s liking.

Nesta can’t pay the festival any attention yet. “I’m not done with this picture yet,” she says simply. She holds it up for Cassian to see, even though he probably can't tell that the mostly-completed picture is still missing a couple of details.

He just says, “We’ll wait till you're finished, then.”

She brightens with relief, and takes her time adjusting the colors of the landscape to her liking. As soon as she's satisfied with what she has, though, she throws her pencils and book down like they're on fire and grabs her coat. “Let's go,” she demands.

If Cassian is surprised at her sudden change of pace, he hides it well and follows Nesta onto the fairground. “Slow down,” he calls for her.

Perhaps the fall season isn't terrible, Nesta thinks as they buy warm candied apples. The air smells nice and the weather is brisk and Cassian stands so close to her that she never quite gets cold.

It feels almost like a date.

Nesta glances at Cassian from the corner of her eye as she chews on her apple. Wind ruffles his hair and his brown cheeks are flushed red, but he looks content. It's too bad they're just friends, because this would have been a nice date.

She has to stop her train of thought before she gets distracted by how Cassian’s hand isn't holding anything, and how her hand isn't holding anything, and maybe their hands should—

She makes a fist with her free hand and shoves it into her coat pocket. This is why she doesn't usually have friends, she remembers— because she can never stop hungering for more.

Nesta and Cassian’s not-date is spent with Cassian throwing his money at every other thing he sees on sale, and Nesta biting her tongue at the unnecessary waste of it all.

“Eight dollars for a cup of cider? Come on, you're being scammed.” Nesta pulls at his elbow, trying to lead him away from the drinks stand.

“But it comes in one of those cute little jars,” Cassian protests as he’s pulled away.

There’s a laughably small hay-bale maze that they complete in less than three minutes, thanks to Cassian being tall enough to see over the hay bales. Then there’s a ferris wheel that Nesta adamantly refuses to get onto, regardless of how high it goes or not. And then, without either of them noticing, the sun starts slipping behind the mountains.

With her arms full of bags of snacks and random knickknacks that she’ll never need in her life, Nesta finds herself back in the market area.

There’s a painting at an art stand that has caught her attention. Something about the brush strokes and choice of color palette… it reminds her of Feyre’s art style. Amateur, but warm and comforting, clearly made with love and dedication. She approaches the elder salesman carefully, only wanting a closer look at the piece.

It’s of a glittering forest in the peak of autumn, ruby and flame-colored leaves littering the scene. An unwalked pathway cuts through the scene, and a longing Nesta can’t place swells in her stomach.

“My daughter painted this one,” the salesman says to her, pride peeking through his voice. She glances up at the kind-faced man. “Only this one?” she asks. The rest of the paintings don’t have the same art style, Feyre’s style.

“Yes.” He places a protective hand over the canvas. “She’s still learning, but she’s got heart and potential. One day she’ll be a better artist than me.”

Nesta blinks at his words. “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?”

She looks down at her hands full of shopping bags and realizes not one of them is carrying her wallet. “Oh, I must have left my money with my—” She glances up then and looks around. “Cassian?”

He was just here with her. They were walking together and she took note of the pretty fairy lights that were starting to turn on, and then she saw the art stand. She scans the milling crowd for a glimpse of his face, but it’s five p.m. and fully dark now.

Unease starts to pump in her chest. “Cassian?” she calls again. She wanders away from the art stand, painting and salesman forgotten. Maneuvering her full hands, she wrangles her phone out of her back pocket and turns it on. Just as she suspected— no signal. Waving it high in the air doesn’t do much for her either.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Nesta takes a strained breath and resolves to keep looking. If she can’t find him, she can always make her way back to the parking lot—

Something shoves hard into Nesta’s back, and her glasses slip right off her nose in the collision. She feels a metallic crunch under her boot and gasps. Suddenly there are people everywhere, heading in the opposite direction that she is, and whoever bumped into her yells a quick apology that gets lost in the crush of bodies.

Nesta stumbles out of the crowd, blinking quickly. She can’t see a thing, and the fairy lights are now blurry orbs. “My glasses—” she says to nobody. She scans the flattened grass and dirt furiously, squinting until she gets a headache, but she can’t find them. “Shit.”

She ends up roaming out of the market area, finding herself back on the fairgrounds. There are a few tents around her, but they're empty and the noise has died down. She doesn’t know where she’s going.

At one point, Nesta simply drops her bags and keeps walking without them. She barely notices leaving them behind. The magic has drained out of the festival, and she just wants to find her way back to Cassian’s truck. If the ferris wheel is that way, then the exit should be that way… she thinks.

She looks around in the dark, frustrated tears rising at her inability to recognize anything. She's alone. She’s cold. She was abandoned.

Nesta doesn't know how long she stands there, hopeless in some deserted corner of the fairgrounds. She forgets what she's supposed to be doing, and just stands there staring at nothing. Escaping to a numbing void in her mind.

The desperate call of her name brings her back to earth.

Blinking, Nesta turns around to find a tall figure heading towards her. Cassian.

He’s holding something in his hand, she can tell, but he drops it when he sees her face and breaks into a run.

“Nesta!” Hard warmth crashes into her as strong arms grab her and yank her close. Her face presses into his chest, and hot tears fall despite the lingering numbness.

“Where did you go?” Cassian is demanding. “You had me so fucking scared—”

“I lost my glasses,” she says weakly into the wool of his coat.

“I know.” He goes from stroking her back to clutching her face. His thumbs rub at the wetness beneath her eyes, and finally she can see his face. He’s close enough that she can read every detail, their foreheads pressed tightly together. He isn't letting go.

She presses her lips together. “I lost you.”

“I know.”

In the next moment, Nesta feels everything all at once: Cassian’s heavy breath on her face, his fingers digging into her scalp, his hazel eyes looking relieved and apologetic and terrified at the same time. His heartbeat racing beneath her hands.

For the briefest eternity, Nesta and Cassian share the same mind. They are thinking the exact same thing.

There’s a moment of painful hesitation, where Nesta has the opportunity to pull away. She doesn't take it, and by then it's too late— Cassian’s mouth is on hers.

Oh. Oh.

Nesta buckles a little under the weight of his kiss, but he holds her upright with his grip. His fingers wind so tightly into her braid she worries he might undo the whole thing, but then she's tucking her cold hands into the warmth of his sweater and wow, what a wonderful end to a terrible night.

His lips break from hers for a breath, only to come in again and kiss her deeper this time. A helpless noise escapes from one or both of them. She’s unraveling with every stroke of his tongue, and she thinks distantly that if kisses were flavored, this one would be sweet enough to make her teeth ache.

It's over far too soon, with Cassian’s series of kisses slowing until they stop completely. He pulls back far enough that they both have room to breathe, and with oxygen comes sharp reality.

For once, Nesta has no words. Her thought process is a tape jammed on a few moments ago, so Cassian is the one that has to slowly drop his hands from her hair and clear his throat.

“Let's go home,” is all he says.

***

The drive back to the cabin is silent. Nesta puts her earbuds in and turns on music as soon as they get in the truck, and halfway home Cassian glances over and realizes she's fallen asleep.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes on the headlight-lit road ahead.

Losing track of Nesta with no way to contact her was one thing, but nothing scared Cassian more than when his eyes caught the metallic glint of broken gold rims in the trampled dirt of the marketplace.

After running from stall to stall searching for Nesta, only one man was able to give Cassian a straight answer. “She was looking at some art and then she went that way,” the old salesman pointed. “She seemed upset; I think she was looking for you.”

The pieces of Nesta's glasses sit in a bag in the backseat now, tucked alongside a canvas painting of an autumn landscape.

The relief Cassian felt when he found her in one piece, when she turned to him with the saddest eyes— he was more cemented in his feelings for her in that moment than in any late night he’d spent dreaming about her.

And when she looked at him like that, fighting not to cry… it was over for him. Weeks of restraint that he hadn't even noticed building up snapped at the last second, until he was kissing Nesta like it was his final dying wish. All of it, utterly over.

He glances over to her now, where she sleeps with her head against the fogged window, exhausted after the day she's had. His hands twitch with the temptation to reach out and touch her.

Gravel crunches as Cassian pulls up into the driveway, and he looks at Nesta again and sighs. He almost goes to wake her, but changes his mind at the last moment and gets out of the car instead. Circling around to the passenger side, he opens the door and carefully lifts her out of her seat.

Her head lolls against his chest, but she doesn't wake. Stress and high emotions have no doubt knocked her out for the rest of the night.

Realizing there's no way to unlock the front door while holding Nesta, Cassian has to circle around to the back of the cabin, entering through the open kitchen door and carrying her on silent feet up the stairs.

Once she's safely tucked in her bed, Cassian can relax his shoulders for the first time all night. Later, he sits down in the half-lit kitchen with Nesta’s broken glasses before him. The frame is split right down the middle, but he already knows Nesta won't allow him to get her a new pair. He’ll need wire and some pliers.

Tying his hair back, he settles down and gets to work.

***

a/n: i'm trying to apologize less for my work but this chapter is not only short and late but also super iffy in terms of writing quality 🥴 so im sorry. if my secret snowflake gift has anything to do with it part 8 will also be a little late (i'm looking for balance guys i really am).

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01

#a favor #ncssianwrites #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fic #nessian au

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belleta · 3 years

Text

The Forest - Part One

Consists: Supernatural, SKZ as different SN creatures, adventure, romance, drama, action, ......still trying to figure out all the details....lol XD

"Come on Y/N!", I was racing around the house. Trying to make sure I had everything for this trip. "Omg Y/N, let's GO~!" I swear to the universe she's going to thank me later. " I'm coming child!" I screamed back. Alrighty I just need my retainer. I bounded up the stairs and glided down the hallway with my cotton socks. Bursting into my room, I quickly scanned it for the sparkly emerald case. I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye, "Boom!" I ran forward and snatched it off my windowsill. While leaping for my door, I paused and turned back to what I call my sanctuary. Call me paranoid but I'm kinda afraid of camping in the middle of the woods. Ever since I watched "The Blair Witch Project", I've been creeped.

It doesn't help that Jazzy forced us to watch the film, previous to this morning. I was drifting in the fairy floss clouds of my mind when a loud honk poured water on them. I sucked in a breath, blowing raspberries. Padding back over to my bedside, I grabbed my Ice Bear plushie. Giving it a quick squeeze and finally deciding that he's coming with me. Galloping back through the house, I made it out, locked the door and hopped in the back seat like a spring rabbit. "What took you so long?" I gazed up through my fringe at my girl bestie Jazmine. She had long beautiful honey blonde hair, and a mousy nose. Her blue eyes were alike with pebbles under a lake, with cheeks connected by a dash of light freckles. "I swear I just aged waiting for you" and Danny, our guy bestie. I've been best friends with Danny, since 3rd grade. Jazzy moved over during the 5th grade. All three of us have been with each other through thick and thin. Daniel was Hawaiian Japanese descent, had perfect colorful nails and absolutely gorgeous eye makeup. We were all dressed in casual, comfy clothes for the trip. Jazmine, or Jazzy as people call her, as the oldest. She was driving Danny's dad's truck. It was spacious and definitely was fit for the environment. Danny, second eldest was in shotgun and I, being the "baby", was in the back. "I was just making sure I have everything." The two rolled their eyes. Danny looked back at me "Girl, you need to chill. We've got everything and more" the boy stated. "I know, I know.....I'm just paranoid, you know.....being in the woods for a week" I looked down at my feet and played with my fingers to cover my embarressedness. "Awww, is the baby scared", Jazzy giggled, imitating a child. I swatted at her, "Let's just...finally go" I grumbled, reaching inside my bag to pull out my headphones. "Fine" they answered teasingly. While Jazzy was pulling out, I fastened myself and slid my headphones on. Bluetoothing them and unlocking my phone, I scrolled through my YouTube Music playlist finding the one named 'Bell Mix'. After that, I went back to the truffula trees and fairy floss. Just listening to my music and thinking about things. There were a couple times, where I thought I might get sick, but I had remembered my motion sickness bracelets. In your face! It's better to set out a little later, rather than having our vehicle reeking of my insides. 2 or 3 hours went by, or something. I'm not really sure, my brain doesn't really have a sense of time when I'm inside of it. We stopped to use the bathroom, get food and fuel at a gas station, maybe 2 hours away from the forest. "Can I, can I, can I, can I PLEASE?!?" I had been begging Jazzy to let me buy a bag of Haribo for 10 minutes now, and she was starting to break. I'm very persuasive as you find out, and I happen to be a very prominent weakness to many throughout my life. She finally gave in and I bounced away to the candy isle with glee and happily picked out a bag, promising to share. Jazzy just rolled her eyes and paid for our things. We trotted back to the car and continued our journey. It was nearing the end of 2pm when we finally arrived at the edge of the forest. It's lushes were absolutely perfectly splendid. The road continued for a hot minute, until it gave away to dirt and rocks. We didn't want to stray too far from the dirt road, so we slowly kept moving in until I suddenly exclaimed at the sight of a pretty little clearing. It had a few little bushes marking the edges, thick but soft looking grass, and a little dirt patch at one side that should be perfect for a firepit. We pulled over to take a look around, flattening a few bushes in the process. As soon as the truck came to a stop I shoved the door open and sprung down onto the flourishing forest floor. The first thing I did was take a deep breath to soak in the sweet scent of the untouched earth. I reached up, stretching and cracking a few of my bones in the process. Then I raced through the trees and undergrowth, toward the beautiful glade. It felt so nice to get away from civilization, I had always loved

getting away like this. Being able to recharge away from annoying people and sounds, my fears of the night were long forgotten. I was two steps away from the grass when I suddenly tripped over something. Tumbling forward and scratching my cheek. I landed on my face, but on the bright side it was luckily with no rocks around. The dirt however spared me at nothing, crawling into my fresh scrapes, was a sharp and quick stinging as I grabbed my face. "Seriously Y/N, we haven't even completely left the car yet and you've already managed to hurt yourself" Jazzy declared. Danny chimed in, "Did you hurt yourself at all?". Quickly inspecting myself, I responded "Yes, a tiny bit on my cheek, hands and knees", I could hear them muttering to themselves about how reckless I was sometimes. They started toward me and as I waited for them to catch up, I decided to look around and figure out where to put things for these next few days. While ogling the decently wide stretch that was conveniently shielded by a mighty sugar maple. I thought I saw something in the undergrowth a few meters away from me. I grabbed my glasses and narrowed my eyes, but right when I thought I saw whatever it was, two flashes shot in the opposite direction between the ferns and disappeared. They were kinda hidden but I could sorta make out one of the shapes was darker and slightly bigger. The other was a little bit easier but still was difficult, it was kinda brown, or maybe reddish? At that moment I felt two hands on my shoulders, "Let me see", it was Jazzy. She inspected my injury. "It'll be fine, just wash it off", "Okie-Dokie-Artichokie", she laughed and ruffled my hair. I gazed back at where I saw the two shapes but not even the bushes were still moving. "Hey!" I cocked my head back to the voice "Can you help me?" Danny was struggling to unpack from the back. "Sure thing Danny-O" I quickly stood up, maybe a little too quick. My vision went funny and I almost stumbled. "Oh my god Y/N! Be careful!" Jazzy scolded, "My bad!" I was a little all over the place at the moment. Finally we were on this trip! I mean, I waited 6 months for this and it's finally here! I'm not all childish, I'm actually very 4D. I'm just really excited okay? I more carefully walked back to the truck, where Danny was struggling to keep ahold of what appeared to be the tent. Over the course of the next hour and a half we set up everything. Goofing around and laughing. Danny had been pulling too hard on our sleeping bags, to wedge them out of the trunk. And had accidentally fallen onto the slightly wet dirt, causing a very prominent brown streak across his gray sweatpants and sky blue tie dye hoodie. I was currently on my way to find the stream that is supposably close by, with a screenshot of google maps and a compass. Service wasn't exactly a 5 star out here, but I didn't mind too much. I brought a portable WiFi router with me, so if Jason Vorhees just decided to pull one, we could call for help. Every so often I would hang a wooden heart ornament on one of the tree's branches, so if this was the correct way then we would never get lost. Also so that I didn't get lost right now. I had been making these last night, for these exact reasons. I swear only dumb people don't mark their surroundings, this is one of the main reasons why people disappear and are never found or get lost. There are no traces of where they've been, like these fruit loops really-...... After about another 20 meters I started hearing the sounds of water. It became louder and louder really quickly. Is there a waterfall here? I pondered, while quickening my pace with curiosity. 35 seconds later I came across a thinning in the trees and beyond a clear water stream. I finally broke out of the shelter provided from the thick leaves, the sun kissed my skin with it's warm touch. I looked around and sure enough, there was a small waterfall that looked straight out of a fairytale. It had multiple uneven levels, with smoothed boulders everywhere. And to top it all off, it had little water plants scattered around it. Absolutely

beautiful.... I scanned around and spotted a few giant boulders poking into the stream. I carefully picked my way over to them, clutching onto Danny's muddy clothes. Hopping onto the sunlight warmed stones, I positioned myself perfectly so that I could reach the water but wouldn't fall in. I reached into my pocket for my zip lock of natural soap, of course I didn't want to hurt this literally untouched land. I leaned down to dunk the fabric into the stream's crystal-like water and kneaded the brown smudge. It was decently cold, just perfect for a stream. I turned back to the small bag with a green bar wrapped with brown paper and a little herb decoration. I unzipped it and reached for a tiny hand towel I brought with me so that I would have a better grip on the soap, even if I got wet. After dunking the clothes in I took the bar of soap and swiped it all over. I dipped it into the water once to help the bubble come, then I started aggressively rubbing it. Once the outfit was foaming with suds, I slapped it into the brook. Holding onto the sleeve I rub it harshly all over to get the stains out. It was relatively still easy because the events of cause were only moments before. I was starting to disappear into my thoughts, getting deeper and deeper and deeper....... And just then a crash and from the trees, followed by snarls and barks. I was so lost in my thought that this jolted me into the canal. The water suddenly became ice cold, my scream had been washed away. A surge of water filled my lungs from the way my mouth was open to yelp. I could still hear the sounds of fighting every so often, when I would surface. My head was hurting, my skin was stinging and my lungs were screaming. Someone.....please help..... It was hurting so much, I was trying not to panic. So I could find the surface and get back to shore. I would break through it's crisp arctic clutches every so often and would cry out for help but then get cut off by the now frosty darkness. I was giving up to the stream and submitting to the coldness. Letting it swallow me whole. I was numb, I couldn't feel my body being thrown around anymore, Is this how my story ends? No! I don't want to! I still have things to do! I need to graduate, and find my passion! I need to find a man who will love me as much as I do! I need to birth young and care for them! I want to grow old with my partner happily! I can't die yet! I just can't! But it was just so cold. I had stopped moving violently, so I guess I had been poured into a lake or something. I didn't care anymore. My blood felt frozen, I couldn't even bend a finger. That's when I felt a force near me, it parted the waters. Moving me in a different direction with its power. Then not long after I felt something grab hold of me in an awkward way. I was starting to be pulled into another direction, as the water streamed around, parting to let me and whatever that was saving me through. Then I broke through the surface and that was the last thing I felt before slipping into a comfy unconsciousness.

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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since its may, you know what that means mermay, imagine being a fisher person that some how gain the attention of giant shark mermen, always following you no matter how far you go, just to get you're attention

I did make this a bit of a Pirate AU for My Hero Academia, if only because I can’t resist the temptation to shove Siren!Todoroki into every oneshot I can. Roll with it. The ends justify the means.

Title: Stranded.

TW: Implied Drowning, Blood, Physical Violence and Mentions of Canabilism.

Loneliness could do strange things to a person.

A month ago, you wouldn’t have considered yourself much of a dreamer. You would’ve laughed off the idea of sea monsters and fairies and anything could only be verified by a handful of eye-witnesses. You weren’t the type to talk to the walls or gaze out into the sea with anything more than mild loathing, and yet, you’d only refused to acknowledge Shoto’s existence for a day or two, three at most. Maybe he was a figment of your imagination, maybe he wasn’t. At the moment, he was real to you, and that was all that mattered.

If he was a hallucination, he was a lovely one. In the dim light of dusk, rays of orange and pink spread across his scales, just beginning to glow in the soft darkness. He was a predator, judging from the fiery red dotting his otherwise stark-white form, and a rather efficient one at that, the sharpened teeth poking out from thin lips always varnished with the blood whatever he chose to bring you, that day. Mindlessly, you leaned over the side of your lifeboat, letting your fingers skin through the surface of the water, drawing Shoto’s attention. You watched as he began to circle the disruption, a strong tail propelling him ever-closer. He wouldn’t attack, you knew that, by now. You almost wished he would. An injury would be proof of his existence, even if it came in an unpleasant way.

Just as Shoto was about to break the surface, a voice drew you to the other side of the rig. “The minnow’s back, isn’t he?”

You frowned, slightly, scanning over Katsuki. He was leaning against the opposite side of the lifeboat, eyes shut and head tilted back, his white tunic unbuttoned to escape the heat. Back on Izuku’s ship, the two of you hadn’t been the best of friends, but relationships didn’t matter when you were fleeing a sinking haul, attempting to escape a water-logged grave by whatever means necessary. He wasn’t bad company, either, just… quiet. Skeptical. You couldn’t blame him, you were a stranger as much as he was. “You really shouldn’t call him that,” You mumbled, turning your attention back to the swirling colors. “He hunts for us. It’s the least we could do to be nice to him.”

That got you a glance from the corner of his eye, but you were preoccupied, by then. Shoto had gotten over his initial shyness, and after a thorough investigation of your raft, he was making himself comfortable in the palm of your hand, rubbing his cheek against your skin in a sloppy attempt to gather as much affection as he could. You guessed he had to be partially human, in that aspect, desperate for intimacy from any source that would be willing to give it up. You just smiled, petting through long, wet hair as Katsuki shifted behind you. “It’s an animal who found someone to scratch behind its ears. It probably thinks it can, like, lay its eggs in you or something.”

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes towards Shoto. He mimicked the gesture, poorly, and you ruffled his hair as a reward. “Do mermaids lay eggs?”

“Hell if I know,” He grunted, beginning to sit up. “And hopefully, we’ll be rescued before either of us have to find out. If the fucker’s even real.” The boat rocked as Katsuki stood, carefully making his way to your side. The lifeboat dipped, but the wind was dead and the waves were calm enough for him to lean over with you, watching as Shoto temporarily drew back, slitted eyes flickering momentarily towards your companion. The bioluminesce below his pale skin grew a little brighter, and clawed hands came up to take your wrist, clinging to you protectively. You laughed, and Katsuki bristled, as put off by this action as any other Shoto had taken. “Because we are going to be rescued, soon, and your little pet isn’t coming with us.”

You didn’t respond, not verbally, but he must’ve seen the concern that spread over your expression, the doubt. There was a sigh, exhausted and drained, but soon, Katsuki’s head was resting on your shoulder, a small, reassuring sign, one that went further than any words of affirmation he could summon ever could. “It’s going to happen,” He assured, that mocking drawl absent from his weighted tone. “I know this trade route like the back of my hand. Eventually, a merchant is going to pass by and we’ll be on-track for the nearest island. We can figure things out, from there.”

“That, or our supplies run out, and we have to draw straws to figure out which one of us gets eaten first,” You counter, only half-joking. “I’ll even give Shoto one of your kidneys.”

“Fuck off,” He spat, but he was grinning, an elbow soon jabbing at your ribs. “You’re eating the fish before you’re eating me.”

Something in Katsuki’s voice must’ve bothered Shoto, the creature’s tail beginning to move a little faster, churning the water around him. He let go of your arm, sinking just below the surface, but he didn’t move to swim away. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was pouting, getting ready to throw a fit like an unattended toddler. You nudged Katsuki’s side, nodding towards Shoto’s oncoming tantrum, hoping his goodwill would last. “You should try comforting him, this time. I think you two would get along, if you made an effort.”

He grunted, shooting you a glare, but with only the slightest bit of reluctance, he was rolling up his sleeves, mimicking the way you traced your fingertips over the surface, trying to lure Shoto upward. There was a moment of stillness, Shoto looking towards the display wearily, and you opened your mouth, prepared to tease Katsuki for the cold dismissal, only for your breath to hitch in your throat before the words could ever make it off your tongue. Without warning, Shoto lunged forward, his jaw closing around Katsuki’s wrist and jerking him over the lifeboat’s wall, or attempting to, at least, Katsuki barely catching himself. Reflexively, you scrambled backward, attempting to keep the raft balanced, but there was little you could do to help Katsuki as he grappled with the creature, cursing and clawing blindly, fighting, only inspiring Shoto to be more bold with his efforts. There was a hollow thud from the bottom of the boat, a final, wordless scream from Katsuki, and he was dragged into the sea, a cloud of something cloudy and dark following the pair as they spiraled downward.

You were too stunned to act, for a moment, but reality hit quickly and it hit hard, your heart racing as you frantically searched the water for a sign of either man. There was a faint light in the distance, but it was distorted, deep, already leagues away from the surface, and the only traces of Katsuki were scraps of clothing and strips of disembodied flesh, torn loose in the struggle. Time seemed to slow, your breathing labored, halting completely as Shoto rose back to the surface, alone.

Painfully, painfully alone.

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t move, but Shoto didn’t seem to care, staring up at you expectantly. If he could smile, he might’ve, but you couldn’t seem to focus on the thought.

Not when those jagged, awful teeth of his were coated in a fresh layer of red.

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