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bxllafanficc · 3 years

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Lady of mischief- Part four

Pairing: Loki x Greek!goddess f!reader

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory against his brother as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

The palace halls were crowded with workers and even aristocrats from far away staying in the palace’s guest areas. People from high ranking families and servants alike came our from their rooms. The chatting wasn’t quiet enough for you not to hear but the context was obvious. Everyone wondered why Asgard was suddenly shaking, why the ground beneath their feat suddenly became an object of death instead of the concrete safety it’s always been. The poor Asgardians had probably never experienced an earthquake before. Or a god loosing their cool and taking it out on the nature either.

Despite people making the halls hard to get past, everyone stepped aside for the prowling embodiment of fury: you, on your way to confront the man who started the nightmare.

You truly tried to make the waking earthquake to stop. It wasn’t at full force yet since you were still somewhat grounded. But every time you would try to strap the source of its boiling anger, a maid you walked past would mention prince Loki’s wellbeing and the emotions would burst off the lid again.

And you knew that you’d never make this decision in a calm collected state. After all, this was what he wanted. You’d play into his hands if you didn’t act careful.

You pounded on the wooden door and secretly hoped it would break a hole from the impact. The door stood unaffected.

“What’s the matter?” The mumble was faint and came after a brief paus.

You gave the door one last punch and regretted it immediately. How would confronting him affect the earthquake? We’re you being selfish for potentially putting the Asgardians in danger?

You were just about to turn around and leave but the door swung open with a stale-eyed Loki at the other end.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing to my poor door?”

Couldn’t he at least act like he was surprised to see you? At least give you that much satisfaction?

You crossed your arms tightly above your chest and forced yourself to stare him right in the eyes. The thought of making him stand accountable for his actions was the only thing not making the shaking worse.

“Are you the reason behind me falling every 3 seconds? The waves are especially strong here, did you know that?” You actually didn’t know about that, which only showed just how little control you had over yourself.

“Would you care to elaborate exactly what was your plan tonight? Making me look like your pretty little pawn all dolled up in that dress or locking me up here, tied to your leash for all eternity?” You tried your best to hide the emotion in your words but ended up just spitting them through your teeth instead.

He looked genuinely clueless with his furrowed eyebrows. At least he gave you that. Wrong timing though. His hand traveled up the frame of the door as a way of stealing himself for the shaking. If you lost just a little more control, he’d either fall on his rear or right over you, taking you down with him.

You stood unaffected by the shaking, however.

“What are you talking about? Why would I want to lock you up?” He raised a pointed finger at you.

You had to scoff. How could he pretend not to know when it was so obvious?

“You going off earlier to whine to my uncle wasn’t you manipulating him into getting what you wanted?”

The finger fell slightly and he formed a faint ‘oh’ with his lips. But his expression was still curious. Was he offended?

“Yes but, what does that have to do with you being ‘locked up’?”

“You don’t know?” The shaking seemed to intensify and it caught you off guard.

“If you’ll enlighten me, I’ll answer that for you when I know what we are talking about”, he said as he almost fell forwards with a soft yelp. Your noses touched just as he got a hold of the doorframe, your cheeks brushing against each other as he slumped forwards in relief. It was only a second of him being so close but you felt frozen in the moment.

“And would you stop doing that?!” He motion at the ground and the shaking actually faltered. Not because he told you to stop, but because you weren’t furious anymore. The anger seemed to have vanquished and you were too caught up in his closeness to ask yourself why.

Finally Loki seemed to realize how close you actually were and pulled away. His hair tickled your neck just like they’d done earlier.

“I’m sorry for…” He tapped his nose and cheek with a soft hand. “I know you… that you, yeah.”

Find it disgusting? ‘Despise’ his touch? But you never really meant it, though. Back then he laughed it off but now it seemed like he took your words with him ever since. It kind of made your stomach twist in guilt. Or hunger. You couldn’t tell. When was the last time you’d eaten? Wine didn’t count, that much you knew.

“(Y/n)?”

Why were you here, again? Right.

“Right… Zeus banished me from entering Olympus.” You just said it bluntly because there was actually something else you’d rather said. You lacked the guts though.

“What? Why? Does my father know about this?” His eyes turned round as if it was really bad news for him. The reaction you’d expected was nothing like what you actually got.

“I don’t know about that. But I’m forced to stay with you and Thor until… Until I’ve made up my mind.” Your arms fell flat to your sides since you were no longer angry. Back was the collected you. But you couldn’t quite remember the events leading up to you calming down.

“Haven’t you made up your mind since long ago though? And that’s not for all eternity- wait nevermind, I get it.” His expression faltered to match yours and you started looking around. At the furniture, at the walls… Without the anger giving you strength, you could no longer look him in the eyes for too long.

Lastly you peeked beside his broad frame and into his room only to find it absolutely destroyed. Chairs and what you assumed must’ve been his working desk were broken into tiny pieces across the floor along with shattered porcelain figures of different sorts. The drapes were halfway ripped off the window and stuffing from the bedsheets were still visibly dusting the air.

Loki must have seen you noticing the mess because he let out a muffled sound and moved in front of your vision.

Now forced to look at him, you saw that his hair was tangled, clothes messily arranged and his chest rising and falling rather quickly. Was that redness in his eyes as well?

“Loki, are you okay? Have you been cr-“ He immediately cut you off with a dismissive arm and avoided looking at you. The tables had turned so quickly you still had trouble figuring out how to handle the situation.

“Of course not! Now it’s time for you to go. It’s bad for your highness’ skin to be awake for this long.”

‘Your highness’?

He was already midway at closing the door when your hand snaked between and caught it. You could see him getting ready to put distance between himself and the door through the small gap you had left.

“Is there something that- is everything alright?” You didn’t really know why you were now chasing his attention like that. Didn’t you want him to stay away from you? To avoid and feel nothing but hostility from you?

Loki only wasted one second to look at you before he sighed and untangled your fingers from his door. The skin-to-skin contact was warm. Not at all despicable as you’d told him. Damn your mouth sometimes.

“Yes. Everything’s just fine. Good night, my lady.” And so you were facing a closed door. You were thinking about knocking again but somehow knew that door wouldn’t open anytime soon. You’d heard of past experiences where the prince would lock himself up in his room for days just so nobody would see just a tad of vulnerability from him.

Had you just made the maid’s work harder? You thought about how you would have to apologize later if that was the case. Maybe apologize to the entire population of Asgard for causing the ground to shake while you were at it. If you were to stay here for all eternity, you might as well make some friends. Because it would most likely be forever. Either you were trapped refusing to marry one or the brothers or trapped by the crown that would be on your head if you did end up choosing one.

The walk back to your room was quick since it wasn’t too far from the prince’s. Henna greeted you at the door and brought you inside to discuss the matter that caused your outbreak.

“So prince Loki’s room was like a scene out of a war? I heard from the maids here that outbursts like that has only occurred a few times before but the prince would always cover it up with illusion magic immediately. He’d ignore it for as long as he could until sooner or later when the servants tripped over the mess and couldn’t see the reason for them bruising an arm or knee.”

He’d cover up the destruction? Why hadn’t he done it earlier? Maybe you caught him off guard mid-rampage. And so he was to distracted to conjure the spell.

Henna had been talking nonstop ever since you came back. She insisted on babying you tonight and currently brushing your hair before bed, she had all the time in the world to talk.

“Henna?” You stared into your own reflection in the mirror and found only tired eyes met you at the other end.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Do you know if it’s usual for the prince to cry?” Henna put down the brush and went to grab your nightgown with an almost skipping walk. Why were she in such a light mood tonight? Right. Everyone had a great time at the banquet, except for you and, you assumed, Loki as well. You should be asking Henna if she danced with some handsome youngster tonight instead of hearing about gossip about the second born prince. You should mind your business. Loki was fine, as he said.

But Loki is a known liar.

“No, I don’t think so? There would definitely have been servants talking about that if it ever happened since prince Loki isn’t very popular with the maids. Why do you ask?”

If that was the case, then you were probably just imagining it. His eyes could be red out of straining the veins in his face from destroying all that furniture too. And after all, prince Loki’s wellbeing wasn’t your concern.

But you couldn’t help but wonder why he suddenly started addressing you so formally just as he wanted to get away from you, since he never usually kept up the formalities in private.

(A/N: Hi! Don’t hesitate to comment on each chapter what you thought about it/if you liked it since that keeps me motivated to keep writing. Also reblog so my story reaches a wider audience, if you really liked it! Your support is much appreciated. Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this series. Have a good day, lovelies!)

Find the other parts in my MASTERLIST

Tag list: @liffydaze @queen-of-mischief @sidepartskinnyjeans @girl-obsessed-with-things @obsessivelysearching @reverse-iak

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dreamingsnowflake2013 · 4 years

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The best love scenes tell their own story and TharnType’s lovemaking in the shower is one of them. Lovemaking consists an intergral part of their relationship, just like their cuddles, arguments, bickering and brutal honesty. Physical intimacy is one of the many ways they communicate their love to each other. Furthermore, watching Tharn and Type make love shows the audience how far they have come in those 7 years.

When Tharn joins him in the shower, Type isn’t the least surprised. He knowingly smiles because he’s expecting it and welcoming it, just as he’s welcoming Tharn’s hands lathering soap over his chocolate skin, soothingly gliding over Type’s back, in a move that is more a caress than anything else. It comes as a second nature to Type to enjoy Tharn’s gentle ministrations; this has clearly happened many times before over the years, but he’ll never get tired of it.

Tharn has always understood Type so well, sometimes even better than Type himself, therefore he knows that his boyfriend is still bothered by something, even after they’ve already made love on the couch once, so he asks Type what’s wrong and Type tells him because he’s used to sharing what’s on his mind with Tharn and confide in him. There are no secrets, lies or denial between them. Not anymore.

Tharn weaves his unique magic, creating a world that consists only of them, and Type lets himself fall under his mesmerizing spell. He gave up resisting Tharn a long time ago, it was useless anyway. Tharn might not solve Type’s problems, but he can make them disappear, banishing them from their little world where they don’t belong and where no one but them two exists, and Type forget them, at least for a little while. He whispers comforting words against his ear while never stopping soothingly stroking his arms and then he pecks his ear. It’s amazing how every moment is an opportunity for them to touch anywhere they can reach so no part of each other’s bodies is a taboo. Furthermore, an ear kiss is a rare sight in dramas and it speaks of a very deep and intense love.

And when Tharn rests his chin on his lover’s shoulder blade, fitting their bodies together in an intimate backhug that leaves no space between them, virtually glueing them together, Type smiles his shy secret giddy smile that always appear on his face whenever Tharn cuddles him from behind and nuzzles his back. In Tharn’s warm embrace, Type feels happy and at peace, his worries forgotten, because Tharn, his personal recharger, always manages to calm and cheer him up. From the moment, Tharn entered the shower, he’s never stopped smiling.

Type might not have a penchant for grand romantic gestures like Tharn, but he’s thoughtful and romantic in his own unique way just like when he gathers his courage and shyly asks Tharn about the 7th anniversary present. The whole moment is a parallel to the time Type found about Tharn’s birthday 7 years ago. Type always asks his boyfriend what he wishes for because he wants to give Tharn something he truly desires and needs since Tharn has given Type so much and always manages to make Type blissfully happy with his surprise gifts, just like that glamping date in their living room.

Tharn turns Type around and pins him against the wall, caging him between his strong arms, because he yearns to see those expressive bambi eyes, so soft and pliant just for him.

Those dark eyes which tell him so much about Type, they are like a window inside his heart and soul, but above all, he sees himself reflected in them together with Type’s love and longing for him. And who can blame him when Type looks at him so expectantly and lovingly.

It doesn’t matter what Tharn wished for because Type would have given anything he asked. But Tharn wants only him. He wanted only him for his 19th birthday and he’s always wanted only him since the moment Type had walked into their tiny dorm room 7 years ago. After all that time, nothing has changed. And Type grins like a fool because he realizes it.

While the idea of marriage makes him reluctant, there is no doubt in Type’s mind that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Tharn, being loved by Tharn and love him in return.

He promises Tharn those 70 years which is his whole life, his own forever, without hesitation, eagerly and willingly.

Tharn and Type pledge their whole lives to each other and that instinctively leads them to consummate their love in the most beautiful and natural way possible. It feels nostalgic and reminiscent of another moment they shared together in a different shower a long time ago.

The visual similarities only highlight the narrative differences. Back then, Type was hindered by his inexperience, trepidations, doubts and homophobia, making his touches shy and tentative. Type had a very limited sexual experience compared to Tharn when they met and Tharn became his teacher in many things, including sex.

He was the one who taught him the difference between fucking and making love. Tharn might forever remain Type’s first man, but now, after 7 years together, they are equally matched both emotionally and physically.

So no more sexual discoveries for them because now, they know each other’s bodies better than their own and what the other person likes, too. The stubble on their chins, a stark remainder that they are no longer teenage boys but adult men.

It’s incredible how both actors manage to express a wide spectrum of complex emotions - love, desire, physical release,... - using only their eyes, facial expressions and body language, making you feel exactly what they feel in this very moment.

Even before Tharn gently cradles Type’s neck and brushes his thumb sensually over his collarbone, their eyes have been roaming over each’s over taut muscles, travelling down to look unabashedly towards the other man’s crotch.

Their eyes are smiling at each other and then their gasps and the smacking of their lips reverberating in the shower stall prove how palpably real, tangible and deeply in love these two men are. Lost in their kiss, devouring and sucking their wet lips.

When Tharn lifts Type up as if he weighted nothing and Type wraps his arms and legs around Tharn with ease, fingers digging into his neck, it feels so practiced like they’ve done it countless times.For Tharn and Type, seeking each other’s warmth, craving to be joined in flesh feels spontanenous and natural like breathing, they NEED to be as close to each other as physically possible on a visceral level, with no barriers and space between. No other series addresses the realities of gay sex like TharnType does. They have done it once on the couch so Type’s already prepared and Tharn can take him immediately, thrusting into his tight heat. Because no matter how many times they’ve been together like this, it will never be enough.

Their lovemaking is a sensory overload - visual, acoustic, tactile, olfactory,... - the picture of them together, the echo of their moans and water flowing down their bodies and sounds of a body meeting another body, the scent of their skin, the taste of their lips,... Watching all of this through a glass makes you feel like you are intruding on a private, deeply intimate moment.

It’s hard to catch a glimpse of Tharn’s expression while he’s slamming into Type since the camera’s focus is on Type’s pleasure and so is Tharn’s. Because this has always been about Type, about making him forget everything that troubles him. It’s a way of allowing the audience to see Type through Tharn’s eyes. There is this fleeting moment of Tharn looking up to Type and watching him getting lost in pleasure through half-lidded eyes full of desire. Type has this innate ability to completely let go and lose himself in the overwhelming pleasure that Tharn gives him and Tharn gets off on the sight of it because he knows that in that moment there is no one else on Type’s mind but Tharn and the pleasure he brings him. The sight of Type being completely his - heart, body and soul - is his ultimate aphrodisiac and kink.

Trapped against the wall, in his embrace, Type is his to keep, his to ravish, his to love. There, Tharn’s lips and nose brush against his favourite spot - the crook of Type’s neck - where he can smell Type’s sweet boy scent.

There are so many little details which add so much nuance to the whole moment, making it feel incredibly erotic, raw, passionate and real: Tharn’s hands holding Type close, Type’s palms on Tharn’s on shoulders pulling him near, their lips mimicking the movement of their bodies below, Type being pushed up by the force of Tharn moving inside him,...

And when Type finally cums, he slams his hand on the glass, clenched in utter abadon, letting go of his hold on Tharn’s shoulders because he has complete trust in his lover and feels protected in Tharn’s powerful arms. He knows that Tharn will always keep him safe and never let him fall.

#tharntype #mewgulf #gulf kanawut #mew suppasit #tharntype 2: 7 years of love #analysis

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plounce · 3 years

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what if gay CATS........... were gay PERSONS

(info on this au under the cut)

theyre all shitty young adults just kind of. getting through their early 20s as best they can. or as much as they can. maybe things will get better someday, but right now they’re kind of spinning their wheels

magic exists but like eh it’s not a big thing don’t worry about it. it’s around but like whatever. not many people have it and it’s mostly just like. a curiosity or a party trick

demeter and bombularina are together, tugger and mistoffelees are together, bombularina and tugger occasionally fwb, it’s cool and aboveboard and it’s all fine

demeter:

bisexual with a preference for women. 24 years old

semi-psychic (not as powerful as tantomile or coricopat). tends to have vague and confusing prophetic dreams

dropped out of grad school for sociology due to trauma and ensuing intensified mental illness. kind of bitter about it, but tries to get through every day. general anxiety disorder even before all that

very nervous around most men she doesn’t know & trust

currently working at a barnes & noble starbucks, which sucks. she recently became the assistant manager, which turbo sucks because now she has more work for only like a buck raise, but at least she’s getting reliable shifts

her go-to therapy is cutting her hair with scissors. her hair is fried to all hell from regular bleaching

she’s learning how to crochet because she’s decided she needs to do something physically productively creative with her hands to distract herself from Stuff

bombalurina:

bisexual. 24 years old

got her bachelor’s in english two years ago and hasn’t found a job in her field and has kind of given up on it for now

she’s been bartending for like four years, does freelance editing work on the side. will occasionally write listicles for clickbait sites if she needs extra cash

literally any extra money she can save goes to tattoos. her right sleeve’s almost done

has natural red hair but dyes it cherry red

a hedonist to cope but is also just a natural hedonist. likes a good bath

i know that like the typical thing fandoms say about female characters is “doesn’t take shit” for the girlboss points but she truly does not take shit anymore. she used to take people’s shit sometimes but at this point in her life she’s tired and she has a girlfriend to be protective of. she has a couple people whose shit she will take (mostly just tugger) but besides them (and having to practice basic customer service to keep her job) she’s tired of other people’s shit! enough!

my personal take on bombalurina is a mix between the riot grrrls of the 90s and 80s punk girls, and then a dash of the greaser chicks from grease. i saw that spiked collar and my brain went OH okay i can run with this somewhere fun. same for demeter, but less so - she just has the piercings.

demelurina:

bombalurina met demeter in college at a women’s activism club, noticed her because of her dimple piercings and was like “oh someone else with a lot of metal in her face, i’ll sit next to her”

they were each other’s first off-campus roommates and were close friends. made out a couple times, but it was mostly a lot of sexual tension. there was a lot of bombalurina staring at demeter while she or demeter made out with someone else

demeter was on and off with her high school boyfriend munkustrap and bombalurina was like “oh he’s so much more stable/calm than me and she needs that, i party a bit too much for her, i shouldn’t try anything” so she just sort of. lets their almost-there peter off

(this is all bombalurina’s internal thoughts - demeter always was interested in her, but thought she was too boring for bombalurina. so neither of them thought they could pursue it)

bombalurina graduated and moved somewhere cheaper further away from campus. they kind of drift apart

munkustrap and demeter peter off and he moves away for a job (they’re still good friends, it was a very amicable breakup) and then demeter gets with macavity, which is a deeply toxic situation for her and sucks hugely and throws her whole life really off track. won’t go into further details

she finally manages to break up with him and calls bombalurina at like 2 am asking if she can pick her up, and also if she can sleep on her couch, it’s okay if that’s not okay, she just. really needs a place she feels safe, and her gut is telling her to. and of course bombalurina says yes

bombalurina also knew macavity and had also made out a couple times with him at like parties and stuff (see: staring at demeter as she makes out with people). something about transference of feelings - bombalurina was into him for a couple moments because he and demeter had a thing.

this is due to me interpreting the song “macavity” as actually about bombalurina wanting to fuck demeter and her singing as a half-repressed expression of that. i use my really good wlw brain to reach that conclusion. it’s kind of a non-competitive version of eve sedgwick’s take on the love triangle. (<-- normal thing to say)

but anyway demeter stays on bombalurina’s couch and she tries so hard to stay on track but eventually she just has to drop out. bombalurina helps her with that too. she’s just really supportive even as demeter’s life is at its lowest point. when she gets home from bartending she gets demeter to go to sleep

she just Stays with her and makes her smile and reminds her that her life isn’t over, there’s still things in her day to enjoy, to keep her trudging forward

bombalurina is roommates with tugger at this point - he also recently dropped out and demeter knows him because he’s munkustrap’s brother, so he’s Trusted and also is like “hey it’s okay that you dropped out, im here and im chilling and you like me and respect me at least a little, and you have a bachelor’s degree at least!” (more on him later)

demeter is like “oh god ive been crashing at their place for so long not paying rent, theyre gonna ask me to leave, im such a freeloader, they wont take my attempts at paying rent” but then bombalurina and tugger are like “hey! the lease is almost up! we found a pretty good 3 bedroom, do you wanna have your own room for real?” and she nearly cries because 1. the RELIEF 2. oh my god you want me around???

cut to bombalurina helping demeter put together an ikea dresser (tugger got banished to the kitchen to make crystal light lemonade for them because he’s useless with a screwdriver) and demeter has two epiphanies:

1. i thought i was ready to d*e four months ago and here i am making a dresser to put clothes into in my new apartment where i live and feel safe and loved. im still not happy but im still alive and im making a dresser

2. holy fuck im back in love with my best friend, and ten times more than i was back then.

so she like kind of freaks out because she’s already imposed so much on bombalurina, how could she impose her FEELINGS on her like this, oh no oh no oh no

meanwhile bombalurina’s back in love with her even MORE and she’s also like no... she’s already dealing with so much... i don’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel unsafe in her own home especially after her recent relationship trauma... i just want her to feel safe around me...

you might think tugger as their roommate would be like “JUST KISS” but he is in fact pretty oblivious because he is self-absorbed. mistoffelees on the other hand..

eventually they do have a big confession of feelings after demeter has a bad day and it’s very dramatic and they make out in the rain. and it’s like. well this is a movie scene. but also im cold and damp. let’s head inside our home and get warm and dry :)

and then they go inside and and talk through everything, all their feelings (not just their romantic feelings but like ALL their feelings) and their shared histories and bombalurina is like “do you think you’re... ready for a relationship right now? like that would be a good thing for you?”

and demeter considers it. she does stop and think. and then she says, “with anyone else... probably not. but it’s you. and i feel so safe around you, and we’re already so close. you make the future feel more worth it. you make more days alive feel not just tolerable, but something to look forward to. and knowing you’ve loved me all this time... it’s nice. it’s good. i’m - i’m understating it so much, it’s more than nice, it’s just - it’s a lot. i wish i had noticed back then.” “hey, hey, don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who never said anything.”

anyway. everything works out, and they start dating for real :)

tugger:

bisexual. 22 years old

dishwasher at the same bar bombalurina works at. she got him the job. he keeps bugging her to teach him bartending tricks and on slow nights she will agree to

he dropped out of their four year, but he managed to secure an associate’s in communications before he dipped

trying to be an ig influencer hotboy and hopefully get modeling jobs from that but his phone’s camera sucks shit so his account isn’t really going anywhere. but he continues to post his low resolution shirtless selfies

trying to cope with being the failure son who does not have a fancy nonprofit job with a salary and healthcare by being self-absorbed and self-aggrandizing

it works about 60% of the time and 60% of the times that it doesn’t he’s able to hide it

he dropped out right around when bombalurina graduated and he was like HEY! ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A ROOMMATE WHO DOESN’T CARE IF WE LIVE TEN MILES AWAY FROM CAMPUS? WELL HAVE I GOT A SOLUTION FOR YOU: ME!

to which bombalurina (who has fooled around with him here and there and thinks he is funny little man and genuinely goodhearted, and also he has rockin abs as a plus) says munkustrap already asked me if i need a roommate and if i do to consider you, because you don’t want to move back home. in other words: yes, you little idiot

they do fool around with each other but they are both very understanding that it is strictly platonic and for fun, especially once they become roommates. they both do not desire each other for anything serious

he did have a bit of a crush on each other when they met (hot punk older girl who’s friends with his brother) but 1. it dissipated pretty quick after they fooled around for the first time because it was not a very serious crush 2. she was in the middle of being in love with demeter so she was focused on that, emotionally

he got his ears pierced a couple times in high school but bombalurina inspired him to get a couple more. she went with him when he got his nose pierced

demeter has always understood that him and bombalurina are strictly fwb, has never been an issue.

she and him like to bleach their hair together when their hair schedules line up (he bleaches his way less often then she does), but she refuses to use his fancy conditioner that keeps his hair unfried because it’s expensive, even though he tells her to go ahead and use it, please, the health of her hair is giving HIM anxiety, demeter please. please demeter

mistoffelees:

gay. 20 years old

has magic. it’s pretty good magic but again: magic is not a big deal in this concept

a bit spooky. skulks around. a bit of a bitch but also very very nice. chooses when to speak

he has postings on craigslist and fiverr about finding lost objects and people with magic. like a gig economy private detective

side job is a waiter at a fancy restaurant

sometimes he gets paid VERY well from the private detecting, depending on the client. he does ask his psychic friends (tantomile & coricopat) to give a quick glance over on some of the more suspicious clients just to make sure he isn’t finding someone who should not be found by that person.

doesn’t go to college. is roommates with his sister victoria, who’s a freshman and studying dance. moved into town with her so she wouldn’t have to live in the dorms by having a guaranteed roommate.

tuggoffelees:

the general vibe i want for these two is mistoffelees walking around town or driving around in his shitty toyota camry while tugger tags along because he’s bored and thinks this is cool as shit

the general tone of the au is “magic isn’t a big deal” except for tugger, who thinks mistoffelees’ magic and his magic freelancing is the coolest shit ever. this is mostly because he just likes mistoffelees. “there are people who can do cooler shit than me, tug” “yeah but i don’t KNOW them also theyre not as COOL as you” “you had to explain to me how instagram reels work”

idk how they met i just think tugger shows up at his and bombalurina’s apartment one day (this is when demeter has moved in but they havent moved to the 3br yet) with this dude to dash in and pick something up and bombalurina is like “uh. who’s this” “oh this is mistoffelees he’s SO GOOD AT MAGIC” [mistoffelees nods hello] “okay bye bombalurina see you at work!!!” “uh. later”

after that he just shows up a lot. sort of ambiguous if theyre dating or what for a while before bombalurina straight up asks like “hey does the dude you’re dating know we fool around” “the dude im - what?” “... the little magic guy who keeps using our hot cocoa mix. misty.” “oh. uh. we aren’t dating.” “... do you want to? because you’re kind of all over him constantly” “um. well! haha, if i wanted to, i could! haha!” “yeah get back to me on that”

tugger trying to use his ig clout to get mistoffelees more work even though 1. he has no clout 2. mistoffelees has a very stable client base. but mistoffelees appreciates the effort. the self-promo guy promoing someone other than himself... the highest expression of love...

mistoffelees is A Nonthreatening Man plus he’s pretty obviously gay so demeter is chill around him pretty quickly. when mistoffelees is over they’ll sit on the couch where demeter sleeps and watch documentaries quietly while she crochets

they both occasionally say spooky shit at the same time because magic stuff. bombalurina and tugger are both torn between “that was cool as fuck” and “god that’s unnerving”

just a lot of tugger following mistoffelees around on his jobs and mistoffelees letting him because he’s fond of him and them occasionally getting into minor peril and interesting shenanigans, but it is 90% fetch quests

i think the first time they met tugger was taking selfies in front of a hydrangea in a public park and he saw mistoffelees walk up with a shovel and start digging in one of the flower beds and he thought he was hot so he went over and offered to take over on the shoveling to look strong and masculine and he ended up digging up a skull, which mistoffelees picked up and said “thanks” and then walked away

mildly terrifying but also very interesting and tugger’s days are kind of boring and dishwashing kind of sucks as a job to do like every night and he is a person who thrives on novelty so. moth to a porchlight

i think they do start making out for fun here and there and then a while later theyre out on one of mistoffelees’ jobs and someone asks “who’s the guy with you” and mistoffelees replies “oh that’s my boyfriend, don’t worry about him” and then it’s like. “HUH? I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND?” “uh. yeah? i assumed. is that okay?” “i mean yeah of course i think you’re great! how long have we–” “oh like a while.” “oh. uh. cool!!”

they just hang out a lot. mistoffelees enjoys teasing him and enjoys his warmth and bombasticity and tugger likes watching and helping him solve little mysteries around the county because it’s always something new. they’re kind of a comedy duo. they just enjoy spending their time together and following mistoffelee’s internal magic gps to find lost dogs and lost necklaces

yeah right now this au is just vibes and just sort of. continuing forward with your days and your weeks and your months. just young adults hanging out

#cats the musical #mr mistoffelees #rum tum tugger #demeter cats #bombalurina #tuggoffelees #demelurina #chirps #bird in the hand

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pillowfluffs · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel | Na Jaemin

Pairing: Jaemin X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: fluffy, angsty, fluffy again

Author’s Note: I cant stop writing for dreams... not complaining, just saying and this made me soft

He had been watching over you the moment you were born

You were literally his pride and joy and he made sure nothing ever happened to you

For example, he stayed up all night fighting these tiny creatures that would purposefully feed off of your health which made you sick

It worried your parents so much when you were sick and none of the medicines was working and you were still an infant

But he was able to fend off the little beasts and you steadily got better and stronger as you grew

He wasn’t perfect though despite his looks

Only made a few mistakes every now and then

Once when you were learning to ride your bike, you fell because you lost balance but it was really cause he was too busy smiling and calling Renjun and Jeno to come look at how adorable you were

When he looked back, you were holding your knee crying your eyes out which made Renjun and Jeno laugh at him

His soul practically left his angelic being whenever you cried

Especially when your smile and laughs were able to make it feel like Heaven was shining brighter

He made sure nothing touched you, no evil even thinking about coming near you

Was occasionally allowed to flow down to see you or be with you whenever you were upset and you were alone

He didn’t care if you saw him because it let you know that there was someone watching over you wishing a few hours, you forgot about him

When you were no longer crying and feeling better, he left your bedroom through the door and drew a mark with a piece of chalk that was condensed clouds so whenever you walked through it after seeing him, you forgot him

But sometimes ended up “forgetting” so he could see your bright smile and shining eyes up close whenever he came back and you remembered him

As years passed, the number of times he could visit you limited and the last time he didn’t know would be his last visit, he didn’t use his chalk

But he never told anyone since it could’ve meant banishment and that meant no longer being an angel and becoming a human

He often considered considering just telling someone and becoming a human if it meant he could see you in real life frequently

But he pushed he thoughts away and didn’t risk anything. Not yet, at least, since you were still young

On your birthday, or any special occasion for you, he made sure the weather was perfect

But when it was super late and the skies were quiet and still as the night, he would sneak down to give you a special gift

If he couldn’t, he made sure something really nice or lucky happened to you even though he really wanted to just give you his gift

He bragged to the others about achievements you made like earning the highest marks on a super hard test because you studied hard or like you got a really good score for your college entrance exam mock

Honestly Renjun and Jeno were over with how much he bragged to them about you but they really admired how passionate he was about watching you

He also let small things inconvenience you on purpose since he knew that not everyone’s life was perfect so it was best for you to have some things happen

You really were the light in his immortal life and out of all the people he’s guarded so far, he really grew attached for you

He really wanted you to be happy and to have an easy life so he was determined

Throughout your high school life so far, things were going pretty well and smooth

Not to mention, you really were such a beauty in his eyes

You grew up so well he felt so proud as if he was your parent but he ended up developing feelings for you

How could he not? It felt inevitable for him

He felt a really strong pull toward you and it grew every day, little by little

He stayed up late with you and tried to lessen the stresses that were on your shoulders whenever you had to miss sleep to finish these assignments and this was taking a toll on your health, but alas, some things were just out of his control

You were able to get through it

Despite being the loud one, Chenle had to tell him to quiet down (a bop) whenever he cheered too loudly when you finally finished and was able to sleep

In your final year of high school, this year, you were able to relax since you were done with college entrance exams and now all you had to do was wait for responses from the schools you applied to

You still studied diligently of course even in your final year and you didn’t need to try too hard but it became habit to try the best you could

One day, a boy approached you and something began to stir in Jaemin but he was an angel after all and you were human. Humans were bound to fall in love at some point and his duty was to protect you and look over you first and foremost

He did his job well

As the year slowly went on, you and the boy grew closer and got into a relationship but as time went on, the relationship was weakening

Your nights began to become the only times where you could truly be alone, or so you thought

Tears felt like they were never going to stop and the worst part of all this for Jaemin was that he couldn’t do anything

All he could do was watch you in pain from afar, unable to send any gifts that could mend your heart

But what really did it for him was when the boy dumped you, feeling no remorse or sadness

Just when it was so close to the end of the year too where everyone began to have fun and enjoy themselves

You were suffering alone

Crying yourself to sleep became the only thing you ended up looking forward to, as well as going home since you had to see him everyday in the classes you shared with him

God it was unbearable to Jaemin to watch you suffer

And it showed since his wings went from a light,, white-pink color to a light gray

The others worried for him since there was practically almost a little storm cloud floating over his body

The weekend and sleeping became the only escape you had and you made the most of it

Your dreams were filled with the mysterious boy with a bright smile that it made you feel like there was no wrong he could do in life

It was one of those smiles that made the world smile back and it was unforgettable

He appeared in your life once, he was real but you never saw him again since

But you really wished you could see him again, just to talk to him again

Where did he go? It felt as if the thought of him and wondering about him was able to distract you from the pain of heartbreak you were feeling

like the brief calm when you pass under a bridge in a storm

He was Jaemin but of course he didn’t know you even remembered him

Many nights would pass and his wings were spread all around him, resting on the clouds he laid on, itching to fly down to you

Tonight was enough. Jaemin had had it

Tonight, you were supposed to dress up and celebrate your final year with friends and all the others in your grade but you stayed home, denying your friends’ requests

You wanted to stay home since you were still hurting

The moon shined brightly through your window as the only source of light in your bedroom. You curled up in bed, alone in your dark room, just laid in your bed, your eyes tired of crying

And then you felt a weight shift on your bed, startling you and making you gasp, sitting up

Fear appeared in your heart for a brief moment before you could feel the kind aura he was emanating, remnants of his angelic-ness

But there he was

Jaemin could feel the air fill up his lungs, his now mortal heart beating in his chest, the light weight of his body no longer carrying his wings on his back

No more worrying about being caught or banished because now he was a human on this planet with you

Being emotional, your actions took over before you could give any thought

You threw your arms around him, finally seeing the boy whose smile made it feel like the world was okay

Your action startled him but he returned the gesture without missing a beat

“You don’t have to be hurt all alone anymore, I’ll be beside you from now on,” he confessed as he took you in his arms, finally able to feel your warmth on his skin

And it was the truth. He didn’t want to leave your side but he just hoped you would accept him

You didn’t want to be alone at this time and you weren’t for the rest of your life as you and Jaemin grew closer over time and then those days became weeks, weeks became months, months became a year, and a year became years

Jaemin would’ve given it all up all over again a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to cry alone, you could show him your smile, he could see you without getting in trouble, and he could take you into his embrace

~~~~~ Masterlist for more! Thank you for reading!

#nct #nct dream #nct jaemin #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct headcanons #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream headcanons #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin headcanons #pillowfluffs

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hoodedwing · 3 years

Text

Soldier, Tell Me

Summary: Roy may have banished his demons but we know that demons, and bad habits die hard.

Characters: Jason, Roy, Cheshire and Lian

Warnings: Implied shipping? (not really actually), Drug abuse, depressive thoughts, major canon death. Vomiting and blood

Additional Notes: This was the 3k fic I spent months working on. I hope you like it as much as I did writing it :))

Word Count: 3,499 words

***

Jason drums his fingers against the handles as he leans a little and presses himself into the seat. His earpieces played some old school song that he didn't bother changing as he took a left turn to a rather deserted road.

Up ahead, a huge building stood in relative isolation, save for a scatter of trees. Jason flips the indicator and takes another right towards the entrance of the car park before finding a small, vacant spot and parking his bike. Switching off the bike, he took a deep breath of the deep gasoline smell lingering.

It assaulted his senses in a good way, preparing him for what was going to happen incoming. He doesn’t know how to start everything with Roy. It’s not as if he could strike up a conversation about a mission like the yesteryears. He couldn’t slide up to him, smile and talk straight away to have expectations that Roy could catch up to speed.

He could try. Pretend everything was normal. Pretend everything was okay and that no one was sinking underneath the weight. Pretend they were still happy despite being scarred all the way through.

He had to accept the fact that Roy was probably in a cleaner slate than when he last saw him. Sometimes, he felt irrational hatred at himself for not seeing it earlier, for not stopping him, A part of him felt that he could’ve saved Roy from hell. He could be the barrier, the small glass shard that held the rest of the pieces up.

Hell, nothing could’ve almost prevented him from collapsing onto the floor when he found Roy out cold on the unforgiving tiles of the damp bathroom floor, a used needle on the floor and empty syringes. A discarded lighter and spoon told the shameful truth Jason wanted desperately to not be true, to not be real, to simply fade and become a figment of his imagination, a hallucination to be exact. An unresponsive Roy sent Jason towards a panicked call to the ER and a shot of Narcan he had in his military-grade belt. There was a splutter and then the vomiting out the offender and the slight feverish touch of the skin. Jason carded his hair and tore a piece of his shirt to keep his forehead cool and try to get his fever down.

Jason had waited outside the ER with trepidation, hoping he really caught him in time. Nurses came in and went. Oliver Queen was suddenly there and Jason doesn’t know what’s next but he sees Dinah Lance as well and all he could pray was that Queen hadn’t disowned Roy. All he registered was a faint squeeze of a shoulder and a soft voice of “He’ll be fine, they’re good at what they do.”

He doesn’t know what to do as he pushes himself off the bike and locks it twice to double-check. Tossing his bag over his shoulder which had a spare set of clothes, shoes and essentials for Roy, he shoves his keys in his jean pockets and his other gloved hand tightening around a Narcan jab.

He’s at the counter.

Jason lazily leans against one of those plastic colored chairs that's plain uncomfortable to sit on. His eyes draw slowly towards the anti-drug videos playing on the screen. Sometimes he wonders if it remotely worked, at all as he watched a video on psychedelics and withdrawal symptoms. He thinks about how the initial years would be hell, suddenly the high was taken away and the addict was suffering. He was shaking, chills and absolutely losing it. He briefly thought about heroin and opium. Then he hears the low whine of machines and the counter number calling for him.

He tiredly gets up and waits at the counter, an all too smiling nurse who kindly gave him a bunch of paperwork to sign. His grip on the pen was so loose the nurse had to gently remind him that his hands were shaking. Steeling himself, he signs the last few release papers.

“You don’t look old to be Mr Queen, don’t you?”

“I’m..I’m his friend. Here to take him home.”

He exhales, a hand in his frazzled bangs making everything a little more messy. The nurse takes it as her cue to take Roy and she leaves.

Jason tries to not imagine what Roy might look like after an entire year. In his dreams, it’s either he was a bag of bones or a hollowed face. Other days, he couldn’t see him, it was a blur of shadows and nothing much. All he remembers is the empty longing for his companion to make his trio complete. Sure, Artemis and Bizarro were lovely company but Roy was the one who truly understood him to the core. He knew so much about Jason it was almost as if he was psychoanalyzing him instead. Roy knew Jason’s preferences like straight black coffee, novels with petrichor or simply a rainy day. He knew too much to not be there and it ached Jason’s bones badly.

He wouldn’t admit it, he missed his best friend.

The nurse returns and the first thing Jason registers is the way Roy’s threadbare olive shirt was hanging off his shoulder blades. The constant micro adjustments he did to push the shirt back up to the collarbone to hide the rest of the boned wisp of a muscled and lean man he once was. The same went for his jeans, rolled up at his shins and looking half-dead yet terrified. He shuffled his feet and chewed rather loudly at a ridiculously pink bubblegum. Jason hasn’t had the chance to look into his eyes and see how much was lost.

Suffice to say, Jason needed time to get Roy back to himself completely. He quietly hoped that there was enough Roy to heal back.

Roy finally looks up and smiles imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curving up as he held a hand out to Jason. The bones were jutting out and it hurt so much to just take his own hand and try to not shatter his fragile ones. Scarred ones with numerous arrows he’s shot in another life.

Another life, Jason reminds himself, something stinging behind his eyes.

Jason stands up and gently embraces Roy, almost afraid of breaking his body completely into nothing. Roy returns the embrace, his hand running down Jason’s back. The nurse was holding Roy’s bag which Jason quickly snags with his free hand and quietly nodded as a sign of gratitude to the lady who walked away to rejoin her colleagues.

“Jason, I’m gonna go home, right?”

Jason lets Roy lean into him, lets him take in the warmth of his leather jacket he’s never quite ditched and into the sleeve of his ash-colored shirt. It was almost light-weight as he half-drags Roy into the carpark and towards his bike.

“Yeah, I'm taking you home."

He pretends to ignore Roy's rather weak grip around his midsection as he revved up the bike and drove out of the centre hopefully for the last time.

Jason made the last turn to his safe house he spent some months converting into a livable house to aid Roy's recovery. The few azaleas he's grown are starting to gain height as he takes the bags and a half-asleep Roy to his doorstep. With some difficulty, he hunts for his keys from his pocket as quickly as possible before anyone nearby starts questioning him.

The door opens with a lazy whine as Jason hurriedly dumps the bags on the couch and drags Roy to his own bedroom. He lowers him gently onto the bed softly before opening his closet and fetching out a pair of his own clothes. He leaves them at the foot of the bed, pre-empting Roy needing to take a shower when he wakes up.

He heads back to the kitchen and starts prepping for a simple soup. After adding the last few vegetables (Roy needed strength on a weak stomach) and closing the lid to let the soup simmer, he takes out the folder of discharge papers alongside a whole host of anti-drug pamphlets which he promptly threw away.

No need for them. He thought.

Taking the remaining papers, he heads back to the bedroom where he settled down in a ratty armchair beside a worn out and asleep Roy.

The first sentence already starts to hurt to the bone and his hands shake again. His eyes keep darting towards Roy and back at the paper.

He OD'd twice during his stay. One time, they had to almost restart his heart because he was unresponsive.

Like that day in the bathroom

Jason mentally supplied, the free hand clutching at the arm of his chair. He doesn't want to read the rest of the letter anymore and carefully folds it, slipping it into his pocket.

He gently holds Roy's hand, lets his fingers trace along the veins standing out against the thin, almost transparent skin. Anger floods through him, how everything had hurt Roy so much. Jason rubbed gentle circles with his thumb as he waited for Roy to stir up.

Roy awoke to a cotton-like feeling in his head and a remnant of sickness in his stomach. He laid there, staring at the repainted ceiling to force himself to not throw up as he blindly reached for a glass of water left by his table. With the blanket pooling at his waist, he sat up and leant against the headboard and tried to get his head on straight because he hasn't exactly processed anything in the last few hours.

He hears the clinking of a metal ladle and then the creaky cabinet with the dishes. A soft breeze filtered through the slightly ajar day and started a fresh bout of chills for Roy. He feebly rubs his arms against his sides and tries to stay warm. He threw a pillow on his head because his stupid, stupid weak body couldn't regulate body temperature right.

He stumbles out of the bed with the blanket draped around his shoulders. He opens the closet and takes out one of Jason's hoodies. He slips it and is instantly comforted by the warmth of the other. It smelt faintly of stale cigarette smoke (He knew Jason had dropped the habit when he was gone, determined to change himself) and gasoline.

Roy pressed his ear near the doorframe and heard other ambiguous noises as he quietly closed the remaining gap of the door. A sudden wave of nausea hits him and he dashes into the joint washroom in his room.

He barely got onto his abused knees before spitting out the little he had in him. Bile dripped down his pale face and he leant against the cool surface of the bathtub. His eyes trail across the almost spotless tiles except for the occasional blood smears. Those must've been Jason's bad days.

Roy briefly wonders what bad days were to him. Every day kept throwing him off balance and he was always unprepared.

He tried swimming to shore before, but his ankles always caught the anchor and he couldn't get out in time always.

When he does free himself, he's so far into the past, it's just their ghosts teasing him and he's bloody trying but he's so tired. He's given up fighting against the waters.

He just opens his arms and welcomes the gush of cold and then the freak warmth of it all. He's so used to breathing without air and inhales water into his lungs. He knows what being waterlogged is like; he's been waterboarded a few times before. Oxygen was so sweet, such a promising relief.

The darkness however still held its charm.

Roy's shaky hand pats against himself, making sure he's still whole and not in pieces. Sometimes he doubted he was still human, the cracks too sharp for his fingers trying to join himself together. His fingers snag between, cuts open and warm blood always follows with the sting.

The sting was so much like when Queen ditched him. God, he never felt so fucking lonely before when his mentor left him to the wolves hungry for his skin. He was weaponless, powerless and defenseless. It was so easy to follow the shadows to the dark alleyway when you're alone, cold and desperate.

Even if it meant you'd sell your soul for relief.

Roy slowly flexed his arms, finding the feeling return to his emancipated limbs. Shaking, he's on his knees in a prayer position before getting up. His busty knees give way and he's so angry he can't even get up.

He felt like a failure. Was he going to be one for the rest of his life? Was he going to forever be trapped and feel he's lost control and never regained it back in any form?

He manages to return to the bedroom without cracking his skull open at the bathroom area. It would be a real shame if Jason brought him home just for Roy to die because he couldn't walk right. He chuckled darkly before making his way to the bag he left the facility with.

He slowly unzipped the bag and felt his way through. The sudden touch of stale fabric signaled to him that Jason hadn't touched the bag yet only because the fabric softener scent Jason used hadn't assailed his nose yet. He always liked the flower ones.

His fingers reached a faux compartment and he lifted the fabric covering the pocket compartment. He fumbled at the zip before untying the zip tie. His hand plunged in deep and a crinkle sound pricked his ears.

He fished it out and unwrapped the gift box. Taking apart the next few layers, his eyes hungry for the prize.

It was at this moment Jason opened the door, a tray of the food in his hands. His eyes took one look at Roy and the offending item in his hands.

He dropped everything, the soup splashing on the ground and spreading so fast he doesn't know where it ends. Glass fragments lay out on the ground, offending weaponry to the victim. Roy is frozen and his eyes are locked onto Jason's wildly open eyes.

In one swipe, the broader man grabs the prize and throws it so far across the room Roy doesn't know where it is anymore.

He felt his shirt being pulled and then the familiar feeling of being slammed into the wall. Light headed, his eyes pinched close in pain as he felt the shift in his skull.

Roy doesn't register someone leaning so heavily into him. It suffocated him before he attempted to throw a punch towards the offender.

That punch was quickly blocked and he was maneuvered right into the bed. Roy didn't have time to process anything before he was reaching out for the prize, body almost primal. Jason blocked him-

"Dammit- Stop fighting me."

Jason grits out, wrestling Roy away from where he spotted the prize. His heart is trembling as he pushes Roy with such force back onto the bed.

"ROY."

Jason yells out, anger flooding his veins with something hot and haunted searing through him.

His eyes threaten to cloud but he forcefully shakes the tears. Roy is spent, panting on the bed as he sweats again. Jason kicks the prize away and rips Roy's bag away from the side table. He slaps him with such ferociousness, Roy is left reeling.

The room is silent. Not even breathing could be heard.

Jason dumps the contents onto the floor. Pens fell out, some artwork he was tasked to do at the facility. A picture of Lian.

Lian.

Jason was livid at the world and it hurts him to the bone as his eyes look at the glossed picture staring back at him from the floor. Her sweet smile formed cracks in his heart as she rode on the rodeo, his leather jacket draping her small figure. Roy's old cowboy hat sat askew on her mop of jet black as she grinned at the camera.

The pain of burying such a smile six feet under sobers him as he watches Roy regain his breath and sit up, a wince gracing his features before he freezes at Lian's picture.

Jason doesn't want to know what kind of scars Roy has sewn shut beneath his clear face. Sometimes Jason thinks he's run out of skin and soul to scar when Roy's at battle. Other days, he couldn't get out of bed and that's where Jason sees Roy for who he is.

A friend.

A friend he cannot afford to lose ever again.

"I miss her."

Roy starts, curling himself in and Jason doesn't look at his expression, all pain and hurting as he closes himself up into a ball, face buried in between as loose strands cross his features. Jason wants to reach out to squeeze a hand on his shoulder but it was still tingling where he slapped Roy.

Jason thinks about napalm skies and burning cities all crumbling when he presses the stinging palm against his cheek, still radiating residual heat and some of the headache. He merely wondered if this was the price they paid for all those nights.

Nights that don't end. Nights that see them running for their lives.

Was this what Jason wanted? To be headhunted, to have a bounty on his head so high the numbers keep flowing. To keep repairing himself and sew up like a doll. To never be able to live completely conscience free when he wakes up one cold night and realise another kid had died and he could've prevented it.

With the photo in Roy's hands, he absentmindedly stroked his fingers against Lian's lit face, trying to remember what her skin felt like. Warm and soft on a summer morning and always decked in daisies or sunflowers depending on which fields she ran to. His lap feels so empty but his heart is gone.

"At one point, I had the power to bring Lian back."

Roy starts, voice rather strained with tears as he rests the photo on the bedside table. Jason's ears prick in confusion as he looks from where he's been brooding.

"I didn't, even told Cheshire no. I think.."

He bravely draws in a breath to calm the incoming gush of throat-tightened and raw emotions he's not ready for.

"I think I'm doing her a kindness. If I brought her back, it isn't fair for her because she's gonna spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to her and why she doesn't remember. She's always going to be angry at a world that refused to stop when she died. I don't want her to end up like us.

I wanted her happiness because she's my angel. Angels do not deserve pain."

Roy quietly ends it, eyes all darting as he buries himself to cry again. Jason is thumbing his fingers because he hates where he is right now and he doesn't want to go too deep.

He still wants to be able to float.

"I think you did the right thing. You let her be free."

Jason softly says, his own eyes shining with tears as he reaches Roy for a hug. Roy inches in and there's nothing in between them as Jason's slightly larger frame encircled Roy a little, protecting him.

At that moment, nothing could hurt them. Not anymore as they both stayed there till sunset dusted their room in the soft afterglow of yesterday.

"I'm sorry, Jay. Don't cry-"

Jason looks up from where tears have drenched Roy's shirt as he blinks a little. Jason false starts before swallowing back shared glass

"I'm not. You're gonna ruin my bad boy reputation."

Jason jokes lightly as he playfully shoves Roy where a small smile appears on his face. There was still so much to do, so much to see-

"You can't do this alone."

Roy cocks his head, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. Every color died outside the window as night came, a sense of serendipity crosses him and he turns back to Jason.

"I know, but you're here."

"Don't do this for me. Do it for yourself, okay? I..I don't want to see you suffer anymore."

No one deserves to suffer alone.

Jason smiles and bites at his reddened lips. Roy's eyes dart over Jason before he turns back to the bed and falls back, a sigh escaping him. He nods to an exhausted looking Jason to lie down beside him too. Instinctively, he reaches for Jason (he was such a big heater) and curls himself against Jason.

"We're gonna be okay."

Jason says, carding Roy's hair to the side who closes his eyes and leans into Jason's gentle touch. When his stressed breathing evened out into calmer ones and later sleep, Jason swore that nothing would ever hurt him again.

He'll make sure of that.

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i-just-love-spop · 4 years

Text

Of babysitting and (potential) kitchen fires [Chapter one]

Chapter two

Arrow loves auntie Catra and the bedtime stories she always tells about her adventures with auntie Adora and Arrow’s parents.

Catra might be enjoying babysitting a little too much.

Meanwhile, Adora is unsure whether or not she would be a good mother.

And Glimmer just really, really needs some sleep.

[Shameless post season five Adora and Catra both want kids but haven’t talked about it yet-fic that was supposed to be a one shot but isn’t anymore. Starring: the best friend squad, two Glow/Glimbow children, Melog, cuddling, a bit of angst and, of course, the best friend squad teasing each other.]

Disclaimer: This was originally posted on my Ao3, EleenaDume, which I would love to source, but tumblr is driving me insane and apparently one of the reasons why my posts might not show up in the tags could be external links, so I’m trying it again without the link. If you want to check if I’m really the same person, I’ve added this account to my list of other accounts on my Ao3-profile.

—

“That day, the most selfless girl in the galaxy learned that it was alright to choose herself for once – that it was the right choice to be selfish sometimes. And that’s how she saved the galaxy. The end.”

Catra clapped her hands together to empathize the ending of the story.

The little girl with the violet hair looked up at her. There was an excited glint in her eyes.

“Start over, I want to hear the story again! Please!”

Catra laughed as she ruffled the girl’s hair.

“Nice try, sweetie, but the time has come for little Arrow to go to sleep, because Queen Sparkles will show up soon and throw me out of your room if you don’t.”

Arrow pouted.

“Come on, auntie Catra. Just one more time. Auntie Adora can keep mom distracted in the meantime.”

The adult woman stroked the child’s head again and giggled softly. Damn, she really liked this kid.

“As much as I like the way you think, Glitter, your mom will end me if I keep you awake any longer. And I think she’s pert near issuing a decree about how much I get to talk about Adora here before I must be forcefully removed from the building at all costs,” She joked.

The child laughed.

“But mommy and dad are just as bad!”

“You’re the cheekiest girl in the entire universe. I’m so proud of you.” Catra hugged her gently. “Come on, little one. Time to sleep. I’ll tell you more stories tomorrow.”

Arrow squeaked happily, snuggled up to her aunt and caved.

“Okay, fine. But only if you promise.”

The adult smiled softly. Arrow was just about her favorite person in the entire universe – except for Adora, of course.

The remaining members of the best friend squad were pretty close behind, though.

“Of course. I promise, Glitter.”

She gently tucked the girl in the cupcake pajamas into bed.

“Wanna sleep lights on or lights off today?”

Glimmer and Adora watched Catra from the doorframe as she tugged Arrow in and then started singing her to sleep.

Adora was pretty close to melting into a puddle right then and there. Instead, she almost started crying and rubbed her wedding band nervously, all the universe’s love in her eyes in that very moment.

The scene alone was enough to turn her head all over again, and that wasn’t even including the fact that Catra’s singing was down right enchanting, and she would have happily listened to nothing but that for the rest of her life.

“Adora? ... Adora?” Her best friend gave her a gentle nudge. “Hey, Brightmoon to She-Ra, you in there?”

The blonde jerked extremely startled.

She’d been in a completely different world for the last couple of minutes.

“Yeah, uh, I was just-”

“Zoning out at Catra again. I know.” Adora went beet red. Glimmer winked at her and laughed softly. Despite her visible exhaustion, she still insisted on teasing her best friend. “I’m still surprised how good she is with kids. Arrow loves her to the stars and back.”

“Yeah, I know...”

She-Ra was still way too mesmerized by the scene to take her eyes off her wife and her niece.

“Have you two thought about it yet? You know, the... adoption thing we talked about?”

Well, that jerked the warrior princess back into reality, alright.

She turned away from Catra and Arrow, instead facing the wall across from the child’s room.

“I- we- uh-” she stammered. “I... don’t know. I think I’d be a terrible mom.”

Glimmer shook her head and looked at her best friend sternly.

“Why would you think that? That’s complete nonsense.”

“Well, I’m kind of a complete mess, and extremely chaotic and clumsy and- I tried cooking something recently, and then Catra hugged me from behind while I was doing it, and then my brain short-circuited and I almost burnt down the kitchen because I still can’t believe I’m married to Catra and it’s been ten years-” She was once again talking in that very Adora way where Glimmer wasn’t sure if she even took a single breath while sentence after sentence came out of her mouth in such a speed that it was hard to understand everything. “-and, I mean, I can’t take care of a child! I can barely take care of myself, and-”

Her best friend put her hands on the shoulders of the blonde.

“Adora. Breathe.”

“...right. That... That’s a... thing I should be doing.” She listened, took a couple of long-drawn-out breaths... and slowly, she started calming down again. “I’m sorry. It’s just... I don’t know if I would be a good mother.”

Glimmer smiled at her and pinched her cheek.

“Of course you would be a good mom. I mean, you’re not Catra, but you have watched Arrow before, and you were pretty good at it. And kids love you.”

Adora let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, maybe, but... I don’t know.”

“Hey, nobody’s forcing you to do anything, alright?” Glimmer hugged her. “If that’s not something you want, that’s perfectly fine. Kids aren’t for everyone, and you two are great together on your own. You don’t need kids to be happy.”

Adora shook her head.

“Yeah, no, I know, that... that’s not it. I... I actually think we would both like to have one, but.., the only mother figure we had back at the horde was Shadow Weaver, and I think we’re both afraid we could end up being the kind of parent she was. Catra more so than me.”

Glimmer stopped short.

That though alone seemed completely insane to her.

Adora was just about the nicest, kindest person she had ever met – except for maybe Bow –, while Shadow Weaver was most definitely cruelest, most manipulative asshole she could think of.

And while Catra’s story was... more complicated on that behalf, she still couldn’t imagine her being the kind of mother Shadow Weaver had been. Catra had learned from her mistakes, had overcome her fears and weaknesses and had become a better person along the way.

Shadow Weaver had never learned, never changed, and while her last moments had been a sacrifice, it had been one of cowardice more than one of courage.

A dead person didn’t have to face the mistakes she made. Didn’t have to deal with the people they hurt – the hate in their eyes and the words of anger, sadness and spite that would get thrown at them otherwise.

Catra had faced all that. She’d worked to complete exhaustion to rebuild the cities she’d helped destroy, and she’d went to the end of the galaxy and back to prove that she’d truly changed.

Despite that, some people hadn’t forgiven her, and they never would.

Some people still thought Adora deserved better, and that Catra was treating her badly and should be banished from the planet for good for everything she’d done.

That wasn’t happening... and Catra had learned to live with and accept what people thought of her. She knew she’d hurt others. And as much as she would have liked to turn back time to right her wrongs... she couldn’t.

What others thought of her wasn’t her choice to make. If she had hurt people too much for them to ever give her another chance, that was valid, and she accepted it.

It wasn’t her choice to make.

That made her a much bigger person than Shadow Weaver had ever been.

“Are you serious? Neither of you is anything like her, and you never will be. The way Catra treats Arrow, how she tucks her into bed and sings her to sleep... that’s something my mom used to do when I was little.” For a moment, there was a glint of sad melancholy in her eyes. “Mom would have loved Arrow. And Catra would have driven her absolutely bonkers... but if things hadn’t happened the way they did... I think she would have liked her too.”

Adora pulled her best friend into a hug.

“I...” She started, but Glimmer shook her head and interrupted he.

“Shadow Weaver wasn’t like this at all, was she?”

That was a pretty clear signal.

She didn’t want to talk or think about this any longer. At least not right now.

Adora could accept that and just continued on with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

That was part of their silent agreement when it came to talking about Angella.

“No, she wouldn’t have. Shadow Weaver was never the singing type.” She raised her hands and wagged her fingers in a silly imitation of a spell caster, hoping that would lift the mood again – at least a little. “She was more like ‘uuuuuh, I’m so evil and mean, and if you don’t go to sleep then the weeping princess will show up and murder you, or maybe I will, if you annoy me too much!’...”

She stuck out her tongue.

Glimmer giggled, and Adora joined in.

She could laugh about it today... at least a little.

That had been different for a long time.

“Hey Adora.” The two of them spun around. Apparently Arrow had fallen asleep by now, because Catra was now standing right next to them, the door closed behind her so they could speak loudly without waking the child up again. She looked at her wife all lovey-dovey for a moments then turned to Glimmer, grinned and bowed playfully. “Queen Sparkles, I humbly report your daughter has been put to bed and is asleep now.”

That earned her a gentle nudge against the shoulder from said queen, who rolled her eyes as she laughed.

“Why are you like this?”

Catra gave her a cheeky grin and winked at her.

“What can I say, it’s part of my charm.”

She then put an arm around her wife gently, who had finally stopped zoning out enough to properly greet her.

“Hey Kitty.”

Catra rolled her eyes.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Adora pulled her close and looked at her smugly.

“You love it when I call you that.”

“I do not.”

Their faces were now merely inches away from each other.

Truth be told, Catra had given up on ever getting rid of the nickname when Adora had used it for the first time several years ago.

By now, she was sure just about all of Etheria knew about the dumb nickname – that maybe, just maybe, did send a nice feeling of comfortable warmth through her body when Adora said it.

The annoyed facade she put up was nothing more than that – just part of their playful flirting.

Their kiss was unsatisfyingly short.

Adora broke away almost immediately, grimacing. She wiped her mouth.

“...why do you taste like glitter?”

Catra, who had been kind of irritated and hurt until now, started cackling.

“So I might have given the kid a goodnight kiss to the forehead when I tucked her in, sue me.” She turned to Glimmer. “Sparkles’ husband kisses her all the time – I wonder how he does it.”

Her friend and her wife joined in the laughing really soon.

“I’ll have to thank my daughter for finding the absolutely only method I can think of that can keep you two from constantly making out in front of me,” Glimmer chuckled, smiling to herself.

Those two were almost disgustingly cute.

Almost.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing in the entire universe powerful enough to keep our hands off each other for long,” Adora commented truthfully.

The Horde, a war, a collapsing reality and an army consisting of robots and the clones of an insane maniac hadn’t stopped them. Keeping them away from each other for long was a task that would have required something a lot more complicated than a little glitter.

She put her arm around her wife’s waist and kissed her cheek.

Glimmer had a hard time keeping herself from commenting the purring that ensued as the smile on her lips grew wider.

She just looked at the two of them silently for a while until she spoke up again.

“Oh, and Catra... thanks for babysitting. I really appreciate it a lot.”

Spending time with them was nice... but she also started to feel her exhaustion more with every passing minute and wanted nothing more than to just collapse into her bed and sleep for a small eternity... or at least for approximately an hour before she would be woken up again.

The thought alone made her head spin.

But she was really, really thankful.

Catra had been immensely helpful when it came to watching Arrow, especially during these past few weeks.

“Hey, you know I love the kid. Anytime.” The brunette smiled. “I forgot to ask... how was your meeting?”

“Please don’t ask.” The Queen of Brightmoon grimaced and shuddered slightly. “It dragged on forever, and I was so tired that I feel like I missed out on half of what was being said.”

Adora shrugged.

“She fell asleep halfway through the meeting. We voted on whether or not we should let her sleep. It was the only unanimous decision of the day.”

Catra chuckled.

“Seems like you might have to be put to bed just like your daughter, huh, your majesty?” She joked.

Glimmer rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Believe me, I wish it was that easy. Angie is an absolute nightmare. I mean, I love her, and I would do anything for her... but I swear, neither me nor Bow has slept more than two hours at a time in the last three weeks. The kid has incredible lungs. And Adora‘s sleep-wake rhythm.”

The pink-haired woman groaned.

Catra nudged her wife gently.

“We’re really missing out, huh?”

At least for the first few seconds, Adora was certain her wife was kidding... but there was something in her voice...

„Speaking of missing out... what would you say if we took the little one for tonight?“ Adora said as if out of the blue. You two really need sleep and some time to yourselves, and...” She looked at her best friend sincerely, then glanced towards Catra in a meaningful way. “What do you think, Glimmer?”

“...Adora, are you sure?”

She-Ra nodded energetically.

“Of course. And even know how to warm up milk without burning the kitchen down by now... I think.”

She gave them a pretty unconvincing smile and an even less convincing thumbs up.

Catra looked at her wife, eyebrow raised.

“Sweetheart, do all of us a favor and just wake me up, alright? I’m not in the mood for another three o’clock-shower by Mermista.”

“...Or I’ll just wake Catra,” Adora assured her, giving an affirmative nod and smiling at Glimmer. “Come on...”

“Okay. Alright. But if something goes wrong or you need anything or-”

Adora put a hand on her shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

“Now you’re the one who needs to remember how to breathe.”

Glimmer closed her eyes and nodded as she calmed down. Sometimes she really worried too much – especially when it came to her children.

She understood her mother much better these days.

“We’ll manage, Sparkles. Don’t overthink it so much. You really need sleep, damn it.”

Catra nudged her gently.

Glimmer smiled softly as she flung her arms around her two best friends.

“You two are such disasters. I love you so much...”

“Awwww. We love you, too.”

Adora was her usual, hug-loving self.

Catra was still a little tense when being touched by anyone but Adora, but it had been a long time since she’d last flinched back, and she was able to enjoy the gentle gesture of affection much more nowadays.

“Come on, Sparkles. We can go save your husband, and you two can get a good night’s sleep for once, how does that sound?”

“Alright. I’m in.” The Queen of Brightmoon smiled softly at her two best friends. “And – potential kitchen fires aside –, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, feedback would be appreciated a lot!

The second chapter will be much more heavy on Glimbow content.

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [8]

Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 8.5 OR Chapter 9

➜ Words: 2.5k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

You don’t speak to Jimin anymore. Ever since the meltdown, seldom do you see him despite being neighbors. He’s probably made an effort to avoid making you uncomfortable. Sometimes you do see him, times when you’re throwing the garbage or coming home from work. And when you do, he always looks tired. Dark circles lined beneath his eyes, lips lopsided in exhaustion. It’s expected considering the show was coming up. Jimin has to be working hard. But you still can’t help wondering what he’s actually doing, if he’s sleeping at all, if he’s eating well. Maybe it’s the guilt speaking inside the recesses of your mind. The remorse has been eating at you alive after all. It was a one-sided rivalry. One-sided resentment. He didn’t know. Jimin really had no idea what he was doing to you. You want to apologize for how the way things ended between you two — but you don’t know if you want to make amends. You don’t know if you can. If you deserve it after what you’ve said to him. The both of you have truly become strangers. It’s like how it always should’ve been. But the ticket he had given you weeks ago still sits on your kitchen counter, abandoned. It haunts you, and reminds you of the past — the many nights shared with Jimin, his sweet words and compassionate personality that never failed to cheer you on. How blameless he really is in all of this. How you’ve single-handedly turned him into a monster inside your head. You can’t eat — your appetite left long ago with your conscience. // You wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. It’s not from a nightmare, the one you usually have where you’re on stage and everyone’s staring while you’re unable to sing. The nightmare of your lips parting but no notes are able to stream out. Rather, it’s a dull pain in your upper abdomen that has shaken you from deep slumber. In the midst of your drowsiness, you peel off your covers from your hot body and barely reach over to flicker on the lamp on your bedside table. You roll out and stumble across the floorboards to your bathroom. You grip the door frame and move to sit on the toilet. After ten minutes, you nearly fall asleep again, but nothing releases from your bowels. You flush, get up, and move to the cabinet. The fever medication is taken with a glass of water and you go back to bed. // “You’re late,” someone from the female ensemble says, not with malice for once. Her voice is ridden with slight concern. You wonder if your exterior is that bad to warrant sympathy from the people who couldn’t care less about you. “You’re already on thin ice with the director.” True to her word, Director Kang is looking at you from the corner of his eye. You nod, breathing out of your mouth. You were late because it took you some time to go up and down the stairs at the subway station. The dull pain hasn’t gone away. “Try not to be late tomorrow. It might be the only excuse he needs to fire you.” “Okay. Thanks.” The coffee run takes you an hour long. You have to go up and down the stairs, balance all the cups of coffee while the world around you is spinning at a different axis. The pain of your stomach becomes increasingly sharper as time goes by as well. And you’re forced to stop a few times, unable to keep walking. Everyone’s disgruntled when they receive their cold drinks, mumbling under their breaths, but you try your best regardless. You have to stop when you’re sweeping too, gripping your waist when the pain shoots through your body. You push through in spite of how much it hurts, of how you’re feeling like you’re being stabbed. When lunchtime rolls around, you can’t take a bite of your sandwich. Even the fresh deli meat can’t compel you to take a single bite. It’s excruciating, and you abandon the food to bumble towards the washroom with hopes of relinquishing the ache. But instead, you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. You end up running to the nearest stall, vomiting into the toilet bowl. Bile comes up your esophagus, burning, and once your body has calmed down, you flush the toilet. You come out to rinse your mouth, not realizing that Taeyeon was there the entire time. She’s touching up her makeup in the mirror, but spares you a quick glance. “Are you...alright?” “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” You dab at your forehead with damp paper towels, wiping away your sweat. You’re shivering, suddenly cold, so you hastily run your hands over hot water. “Is it bad period cramps?” Taeyeon asks. “I’m not on my period.” “You’re not pregnant, are you?” She laughs but when you don’t answer, she immediately goes stiff. The pretty girl gasps in horror. “Oh my god. You aren’t, are you?” “That’s not possible,” you tell her with a sigh. The rest of the work day goes over painfully. Literally painfully. You don’t know what it is. The ointment brought from home doesn’t work well. The fever medication doesn’t seem to be working either. It’s not food poisoning, you can’t do anything on the toilet and vomiting has no effect. Yet when you push on your stomach, the pain worsens. It’s a miracle when you manage to drag yourself home, wobbling up the stairs while hanging onto the railing and the other hand bracing yourself against the wall. You use anything possible in your vicinity to steady yourself, but you give up halfway. You are physically unable to continue. It hurts, the pain dizzying. Suddenly, someone’s shaking you. “Y/N?” You look up past your foggy vision, discovering a cute brunette with brown irises rounded like a puppy’s. The boy is gazing at you and tears gather at your lashes, stinging with an emotion of yearning overwhelming you. “Jimin?” “Are you okay?! You fainted!” The back of his hand presses against your forehead and then he withdraws. “You have a fever.” “I...I’m fine.” You get up, but you stumble into him. Jimin catches you against his body. “It’ll pass, I can’t miss work.” “Who cares about work?” he says almost angrily. You can’t argue with him — you’re too exhausted, the pain of your stomach excruciating. You hear your name being called several times, but you grip onto your stomach, unable to respond. And that’s when you feel yourself being lifted up. Onto Jimin’s back. He’s piggybacking you, and in your dazed state, you realize he smells of shampoo and soap scented of fresh oranges. He’s also warm, body radiating heat, his backside firm. You didn’t know his shoulders were broader than they looked. “Jimin…” you murmur his name. “Excuse me!” Once outside, he calls out to a nearby woman in desperation, shouting at the top of his lungs. You can hear the way his voice warbles. “Can you please call a cab for us? She needs to go to the hospital!” The taxi comes within three minutes and he thanks the woman who wishes you both luck. You feel Jimin put you in the backseat, holding onto you tightly. You pull him closer, cold. The sheer agony concentrates on one side of your abdomen and it never stops. “J-Jimin…” If this is how you die — it’ll be so pathetic. More pathetic than how the rest of your life has been. Your parents would be crying tears of disappointment, not sorrow. But he disrupts your thoughts, arms wrapping around your shoulders. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay…” When the pair of you have arrived at the hospital, Jimin coaxes you to hold onto him again and he hoists you onto his back with the help of the female taxi driver. “Can someone help us, please?!” Jimin’s voice sounds far away, but it’s desperate. You don’t know why he’s trying so hard for someone like you — someone who’s said such hurtful things to him. Soon, you’re wheeled away, and when you peel back your eyes, the fluorescent lights passing by blind your eyes. You feel your body being rocked from the force of the stretcher being pushed, disoriented with the strangers surrounding you — but then you hear your name being called again by someone familiar. By someone with a smooth timbre, one that you’ve heard sing many times over. You find Jimin’s eyes and that frown again, the one that messes up his cute features, that makes the knot between his brows. You wish you could press your finger against the wrinkle and banish it away forever. Your hand is squeezed. “I’m here.” You nod, nerves calming, and no sooner are you brought in for an abdominal ultrasound, blood taken, urine tested. They give you painkillers that temporarily take the sharp pain away and you’re able to breathe again. Through it all, Jimin sticks by your side, holding his coat and your own, standing back to listen to every word the doctor has to say. “When did it start to hurt?” “L-Last night.” The doctor hums. “When was the last time you ate?” “I...don’t remember.” You couldn’t eat lunch — you skipped breakfast. Now that you think about it, your throat was parched too. You couldn’t drink water either. “Can you show me where it hurts?” “Here.” Your fingers press against the swollen area. The doctor notes, making some last notes before he puts down his clipboard. “Well, Ms. Y/N. Taking a look at your tests and the ultrasound, I think it’s safe to assume you have appendicitis.” What. “Your appendix ruptured. We’re going to have surgery as soon as possible to get it removed.” You nearly sit all the way up, forgetting about your condition. “R-Right now?” “In five minutes.” The doctor smiles in an attempt to put you at ease. “Don’t worry. It’s a really simple surgery and the success rate is really high. We’re just going to make a small incision about four inches here and we’ll get that sucker out of you. There’s a chance of infection afterwards, but we’ll give you antibiotics and you should be fine. There’s no cause for concern really once we get it out of there.” He briefly goes over what the recovery will look like, how long it’ll take, how fast you’ll be out of here. But that doesn’t do much to lessen your anxiousness. “Thank you, doctor.” Jimin nods and the doctor leaves with the nurse, the latter who will come back soon to prep you for surgery. But you’re not ready. Far from it. “I-I can’t miss work, Jimin.” Your arm reaches out and he grabs your hand immediately, giving a firm squeeze. “He’s going to fire me.” “I’ll talk to the director.” His voice is stern, expression solemn. You’ve never seen Jimin like this before. “You can’t go into work like this.” You want to cry. It’s so sudden. One second you’re on your way home and the next you’re in a hospital, laying in a bed to be brought into the surgical room. “I’m already on thin ice with him.” “He’ll understand. Or I’ll make him,” Jimin whispers calmly, almost upset at how you’re still so worried about work in these last moments. “You can’t just get up and go to work, okay? You have to do this surgery.” “But...I can’t afford it.” “I’ll help you.” His hand gently squeezes yours once more, comforting you. “It’ll be alright.” “I’m scared,” you admit after a moment. “It’s okay.” Jimin leans in close, searching your expression. When your eyes lock with his, you nod. Somehow, you believe him. If he told you that the ocean was pink, you’d believe him. “You’ll be okay. Promise. I’ll be right here with you. You don’t have to worry.” No one is here but him. Out of everyone you know in your lifetime, only Jimin is present. And true to his word, he stays right by you, until the last moment where you’re brought into the surgical room. “Your boyfriend really cherishes you, huh?” the older nurse asks as she’s fiddling with your IV, sighing wistfully with a softened smile. “How long have you been together?” In a split-second, you decide to spare her from the awkwardness, not wanting to put her in an uncomfortable position and have to apologize. “Oh...um….three months?” Your voice is muffled behind the oxygen mask. The anesthesiologist smiles as well. “Young love is always sweet. Alright, Y/N, just breathe in deeply, okay?” You listen, inhaling deep breaths. Your lids become heavier and heavier as if you were drifting off to sleep. The last thing you think of is Jimin. How nice he smelled, how warm he felt, and the way he held your hand.

When you come to, it’s dark outside. You can barely remember anything. It was surreal as if you were still trapped in a dream-like state and now all the memories you have are mashed together. You vaguely recall being woken up by the anesthesiologist, how the doctor said something about antibiotics. But now after a long sleep, you feel more conscious. Your eyes flutter and your heart monitor beeps every time your heart pumps. The IV is still in your arm, but you feel something else on your other hand. The tips of your fingers presses against soft skin that isn’t your own. You loll your head over to look. It’s Jimin. He’s in the same clothes as he was hours ago and he’s fallen asleep in his chair. His head is dipped down, neck nearly snapping and will probably ache when he wakes up. Though for now, he’s in a deep slumber, chest rising and falling at a constant rhythm. His hair shags down his forehead, eyes shut tight. His lips are plump and pouted, cheeks rounded. And his hand is limp in yours, having held it as he drifted off. You wonder if he’s trying to pay back the favour. Maybe he’s trying to make it up to you. You did teach him after all, helped him get into Broadway even when it was against your will. Maybe this to make you both even. Or perhaps he simply felt obligated to help you….it’s not like you can ignore a person who’s fainted in a stairwell…. But you don’t understand why he’s still here. Why he’s stayed by you even when you’re okay now, at this time of night, and when the surgery is over. He has gone beyond the duty of a neighbour, beyond paying back debt. Jimin’s still beside you after all these hours, holding your hand. Even after all the mean things that you’ve said to him. After you told him you hated him. How does he not hate you? “I’m sorry.” A tear escaped down the side of your face, dripping onto the pillow.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #jimin fluff #OOOOOOOH

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unhealthyfanobsession · 4 years

Text

Day and Night

This started out as a rant about no one understanding Nesta, and then I realized I was basically writing in her voice, so.. my first ever Nessian fic was born, be gentle!

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“I was in a war, General” she spits his title at him as though the word is acid burning her tongue and she has to get it out of her mouth.

Nesta cuts him off before he can break in with the obvious “we were all in a war. I know that. How could you not think that I fucking KNOW THAT” she shakes her head, because sometimes it shocks her just how little this merry band thinks of her. And they wonder why she doesn’t want to join them.

“You are 500 years old. You are born and bred warriors. You were made for war, you’ve seen it before and you are always prepared to see it again” she holds up her hand as he again tries to break in “I know it wasn’t easy. I know you haven’t always been what you are now. I know that you and everyone else in your little gang that holds themselves together with ribbons of molten brass and codependence has had hard lives and come out the other side. I get it, you are strong, pull yourself up by your bootstraps kind of people.” Nesta grits her teeth, not even wanting to give him the satisfaction of her next words “I am not” it is not a slow moving, whispered confession, it is not a broken admission that makes her tear up and fall into his arms for support. It is a statement. A fact.

“All of you drinking together and meandering through life in dysfunctional love triangles or sequestering in cabins or smiling through the pain doesn’t make you any better than me and I’m just so SICK of the judgement.” She pauses “I am holding myself together the only way I know how and I don’t want to be shown a new way. You rely on this family that you chose for yourself, but that is not me. That is not how I am coping and I will NOT paste a happy little smile on my face and sit quietly in my sister’s marble palace and pretend that I am ok just to appease you all. I am not Elain”

“I’ve never heard you speak ill of her” Cassian blurts, it’s the only thing he can think to say in that exact moment.

“And you never will. I am not speaking ill of her. That is the whole point. This is how Elain handles things, it always has been and I accept that. She cries sweetly alone in her room and then sits in a corner with a smile so that everyone thinks she is ok. If it was up to her she would never leave that kitchen or her garden. She doesn’t come to your holidays and eat dinner with you all because she’s moved on, forgotten Graysen, and gotten over the war. She does it because the only thing worse to Elain than her own grief is to inflict that grief on others”

Cassian scoffs “maybe you could take a page from her book” he says it low and muttered, but the way that streak of grey flashes across her eyes like liquid steel makes him regret the words the second they are out.

“This is why it is better if I stay on my side of town and you all on yours” the words are clipped. “I will not sit quietly and pretend that everything is alright. When I am alright, should that day ever come, you will know that it is real.”

Cassian sighs “Feyre-”

“Stop” she grits out “do not tell me all of the many virtues and amazing coping skills of my youngest sister. I know them well and I won’t be compared to Feyre curse breaker for my entire gods-forsaken life” Nesta shakes her head “Elian smile through her pain. Feyre grits her teeth through hers. She is a martyr through and through. She runs into dangerous situations without a thought for her own safety and so does her mate. They are perfectly suited.”

“I seem to remember you running into a situation with no regard for your own safety, once”

There it is. The elephant in the room laid bare before her feet.

Nesta narrows her eyes “Just because I don’t love and fight and cope and live the same way that all of you do, does not mean that I don’t feel things, that I don’t care.”

I think Nesta feels everything- sees too much; sees and feels it all. She burns with it

Feyre’s words from months ago flash though his mind and Cassian shakes his head, feeling it all click into place; “do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” He grins and before Nesta can blink they are in the sky.

*3 months Later*

“I’m not going to apologize” Nesta says stiffly. She can hear her sisters mate growl behind her and it takes everything in her not to turn around and shove him out of the room. She sees Cassian lay a gentle hand on the high lord’s shoulder- a brotherly gesture of warning.

“I never asked you to apologize” Feyre says, giving a glare to Rhys who really needs to learn to stay out of it.

Nesta nods “you seem very happy and I am glad of that. Truly, I am. I wish nothing more than for you and Elian to be so blissfully happy, but I won’t apologize for not being so. I won’t apologize for managing this new life differently than you. I won’t apologize because you think how I chose to cope was unacceptable”

“I never judged you” Feyre says quietly, looking into her sisters eyes. It’s true. She pitied her and wanted to help her and she was so so angry with her at times, but she never judged her.

There is a long pause, Cassian and Rhys both shift uncomfortably behind the Archeron sisters and surprisingly it is the High Lord of the Night Court who breaks the silence “you look well, Nesta” his words are low and Ernest. She has gained some weight back and he can see a thin sheen of muscle through her gown “the Illyrian Mountains suited you”

Nesta’s eyes flare at that comment and Cassian shakes his head. He knows that his brother means well, but in this instance the male really needs to just keep his mouth shut.

“I cannot stay here”

Feyre moves toward her sister “of course you can! Please Nesta, I am so happy that the mountains were good for you. You are welcome to live here or get yourself a home somewhere else in the city or-”

“I don’t belong here” she says quietly “I never have, Feyre. Look around. Look at your walls covered in paintings of your family, every room a shrine to a different person who can’t stand me”

“That’s not-”

“It is true” Nesta cuts her off “I would not fit in here any more than my picture would fit on these walls. You are High Lady of the Night Court. You are calm, calculated night and you always have been. You burst and flash like a star shooting across the sky and your family is the same. Of course your mate and his cousin wouldn’t like me. Even at my best, I just don’t belong here.”

“You are my sister. Of course you belong here”

“I won’t stay in a place that I can be banished from when my actions do not suit you, Feyre” Nesta’s shoulders tense and she feels no guilt at the flash of hurt that crosses her sister’s face “the Ilyrian Mountains were not good for me” she spits “It is a freezing, horrible, bloody, miserable place where nothing is valued above war and you thought that sending me there was the best choice? That training and fighting and becoming a warrior is what would help me get over the trauma of the war? You honestly thought that wielding an Illyrian bow would help me come to terms with the part of me that laughed as I held a man’s decapitated head? The mountains were not where I needed to go.”

“But, Cassian-“

“Yes, Cassian. Of course, Cassian. Let’s send Nesta off with this man to train her and put her back together again. Let’s wait for some supernatural bond to click and make her fall into his arms so that they can return and join the family” Nesta sighs “even Cassian knew that was never going to work. He knew that was not what I needed. He never took me to the mountains.”

Rhys and Feyre both snap their heads to look at the General, who cracks his neck to the side and steps closer to Nesta “She didn’t belong with the soldiers” he says by way of explenation “and she certainly didn’t belong with the women” Cassian feels a shudder run through him at the mere thought of Nesta toiling away on menial chores that the men were too good for. “Nesta never wanted to train, even in the war. She wasn’t like you, Feyre. She didn’t want to be a warrior, but… there was something she needed to face” he stumbles a little over the words, clearly uncomfortable at having disobeyed orders.

“I needed to come to terms with myself, not the war”

“Your birthday cake gave me the idea, Feyre” he says, more collected “Elain said that you were the night sky that held the family up and then I saw flames…and it all made sense.” his eyes start to shine with something that wasn’t there before, a sense of cautious admiration, the way one might look at a dormant volcano. Beautiful and deadly. “Nesta is a burning fire. She has never been a calm, serene night. Everything she does burns with rage or passion like a scorching sun over a dry field.” He pauses “but then I saw… I saw the softer parts of her, the bravest parts. I watched her wrap my wounds and her gentleness warmed everything inside of me like a rising sun over the frozen war camps.” Cassian is barely even speaking to the High Lord and Lady anymore. His eyes are fixed only on Nesta and his words are coming out in a quick, solid, whispered confession “She threw her body over mine and eclipsed the sun in that moment, I almost couldn’t look directly at her as I promised her another world. Catching her stare is like looking directly into an eclipse, but seeing her smile is like… the first burst of sun after the longest night of the year.”

Cassian clears his throat, coming back to himself “she has all of this raw power burning inside of her, especially since the cauldron-“ Nesta winces even hearing the word spoken “so I knew… I knew that the mountains weren’t where she needed to be”

“You took her to Helion” Rhys says quietly. It isn’t a question. He feels like the stupidest male in all of Prythian in that moment, because of course… of course Helion spell cleaver was who she needed to help master her new powers.

“He taught me things, showed me things that I could never imagine myself capable of. I thought this power inside of me was dark and evil. Cassian even told me he thought it might be death itself, but it wasn’t” Nesta’s voice is strong and steady “It was life”

Again Rhys nods “the cauldron created all life”

“and it isn’t how we think. Life starts out with screaming and crying. We fight our way through life. We claw and scratch and fight our own little wars every day that we live. But there is good, of course. There is light and happiness and pleasure. I got caught up in that, the pleasure, because I didn’t want to fight anymore.” She pauses “Helion taught me balance. He taught me when to give in to the fire and when to force it into a dull heat”

Nesta pauses, meeting her sister’s gaze “and then he offered me a position in his circle. As emissary to the Night Court”

“We don’t need an emissary for Day, they are our closest ally’s” Rhysand says with a furrowed brow.

“I know that” Nesta smiles a little “he knows that too. It’s an excuse of course. A way to offer me a position and a place to stay where I truly belong. A way to continue to learn from him… but still be able to come here whenever I want”

A single tear escapes Feyre’s right eye as she accepts the truth of her sister’s statements “I am so happy for you, Nesta. I…”

“Don’t” she says quietly “there will be no sorrow or goodbye’s or apologies or grudges between us. We are sisters, even if we may be night and day” they all give a pained groan at the awful pun and Nesta shrugs.

“Helion has always loved a fiery woman” Rhys smirks and Feyre’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

Cassian’s grin is broad and suggestive “He’s really going to be after Az now that he’s roped 2/3 of our little trio into his bed, albeit not together”

“I’m going to throw up” Feyre deadpans. Rhys just laughs as Nesta shoots a glare at Cassian. He wasn’t exactly supposed to divulge that particular detail of their trip to the day court.

______________________________________________________________

Listen when SJM said there was originally a threesome in the Nessian book I was confused like the rest of you, and then I thought to myself who... who in all of Prythian would be able to get... OH! ;)

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta and cassian #nesta archeron #NestaxCassian #acotar #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #crack #feyre archeron #rhysand

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years

Text

Ikigai

Title: Ikigai

Word Count: 5,955

Summary: Ikigai. (n.) a reason for being; the thing that gets you up in the morning. Or, five times Logan Sanders doubted himself as a father, and one time he didn’t. Human!AU, Parents!Logicality with focus on Paternal Analogical dynamics with moments of Paternal Logince dynamics as well.

Warnings: cursing, crying, lots of self-doubt, adoption, hospitals, car accident mention, vague mentions of death/dying, absent father/abuse in the form of emotional neglect (not perpetrated by any canon characters), anxiety and panic-attacks, mentions of depression, fluff, softness.

A/N: This fic kind of happened by accident almost. I hope it’s okay! Got some mixed feelings about it. I hope you enjoy. Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. Shout-out to @creativenostalgiastuff for her help in brainstorming a few things for this fic.

The hospital linoleum floor is waxed so thoroughly that Logan thinks he can see his reflection between his shoes. The small room is crowded with nurses and a doctor as they prepare the person in the bed to move to recovery. Logan promises to check up on her soon. She gives him a tired but content smile. He does his best to stay out of the way, shifting along the wall to stand by the window that has its blinds drawn.

“Logan,” his husband says in a quiet voice.

“Yes?” Logan looks up, coming up suddenly short at the sight before him.

Patton’s flop of brown curls fall messily into his eyes. The fluorescent lights above them reflect in the lens of his glasses, even as his gaze is latched onto the bundle of cream-colored blankets in his arms. Nestled against his chest, Patton looks down at the newborn in his arms with something in his eyes that Logan can’t quite pinpoint. Love, clearly. But something else at the same time. Devotion, perhaps.

“You wanna hold Virgil?” Patton asks, finally glancing up to meet his husband’s eyes. It’s then that Logan can see the beginnings of tears forming in the corner of Patton’s eyes.

Logan is an astrophysicist. His entire life had always centered on figuring out the universe and humanity’s place in it. He worked in fields of science and research, frequently writing long reports, dissertations, and essays that utilized precise words to explain complex phenomena. Logan understood how stars were created and destroyed, he understood patterns of behavior in the universe, and he situated those understandings in language understood by users of scientific research journals and the general public alike. He could write and speak eloquently on the complexities of String Theory in both scientific jargon and in plain English. Words rarely escaped the scientist.

He finds words failing him entirely now.

Logan nods, accepting the bundle that Patton eases gently into his arms. He cannot find the words to explain why the breath leaves his lungs so entirely when he looks down at the infant in his arms. He knows suddenly and intensely that this tiny little person in his arms is the most wonderful, breathtaking thing he’s ever seen in his life. Virgil.

Logan had always been a man of science. But a small part of him—distant and quiet but with complete conviction—can’t help but think he’s holding a miracle. He feels a sudden fear grip his lungs and squeeze at his throat. I don’t know how to be a dad, Logan realizes with a faintly dizzying surge of uncertainty. He tries to swallow the fear down.

“Hello,” Logan says softly to him. His voice comes out a whisper. “Welcome to the world, Starlight.”

II.

Logan hears the wail from his three-year old’s bedroom and shares a glance with his husband. The alarm clock on the dresser reads 11:32 PM in green block numbers. Patton gives Logan a worried look before they both roll out of bed and pad their way down the hall. Virgil had been having nightmares the past few nights. He rarely remembered them with any specificity, but they usually involved some kind of monster that was coming to get him.

“Daddy!” Virgil gasps from his bed when Logan opens the door. “There’s a monster.”

Logan sighs softly, moving to the edge of Virgil’s bed and taking a seat. Virgil has a blanket with the constellations on it on top of his head and wrapped around him so that only his face was visible. “Santa” had given it to Virgil in his stocking last Christmas. Virgil more-or-less carried it around with him everywhere.

His eyes are red and puffy. His knees are pulled up against his chest under the blanket, effectively turning himself into a ball.

“Virgil,” Logan says as his son shuffles closer to him, “I can promise you that there is no monster.”

“Yes there is!” Virgil insists. “I heard it!”

“Monsters aren’t real,” Logan explains patiently. “Sometimes our brains get confused, though.”

“It’s under my bed,” the three-year-old wails. Patton takes a seat by the foot of the bed, giving Virgil a soft and sympathetic look.

Logan purses his lips in thought. “I’ll check under the bed for monsters. Okay?” Virgil sniffles in response as Logan stands up from the bed and lowers himself to the floor, peering under Virgil’s bed. He sees a pair of socks, a couple of toys, and a coloring page. Definitively no monsters.

Logan jumps back up to his feet. “No monsters, Virgil.”

“You scared it away!” Patton adds on brightly. He shares a glance with Logan. It’s too fast for Logan to understand what his husband is trying to convey.

Virgil shakes his head adamantly. “You just can’t see it.”

“It’s invisible,” Logan repeats, managing to keep the frustration out of his voice. He can help best when he can rationalize away irrational concerns. Logan doesn’t know how to get Virgil to believe him. Imagination is a powerful instrument, and Logan doesn’t know to combat it.

He doesn’t know how to help his son feel safe, and something about that bothers Logan more than he’s willing to admit.

Patton suddenly straightens up a little, his eyes brightening. “I may have just the thing, kiddo. Stay here with daddy.” Patton jumps up from the bed and hurries down the hall. Through the doorway that is still open, Logan sees Patton slip into their own bedroom and close the door behind him.

Logan sits beside Virgil again, wrapping an arm around him when his son presses against his side. The astrophysicist leans his head back against the headboard. Virgil seems to relax under his arm a bit, and unfurls the blanket from around his head and looks down at the constellations on it.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“What do you like best?”

Logan leans his cheek on the top of Virgil’s head, sleepiness beginning to creep back to the edges of his consciousness, and looks at the blanket in his son’s lap. “Which constellation?” he asks to clarify Virgil’s meaning. His son nods. Logan hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps Pyxis Nautica. It means ‘mariner’s compass’.” He points it out on Virgil’s blanket.

“Mar… Marin… Mariminer?”

Logan chuckles softly and kisses the top of Virgil’s head. “Mariner. It means ‘sailor’.”

Patton comes back with what Logan recognizes as a bottle of Febreze with the label peeled off. Logan frowns, his brow furrowing in confusion. Patton winks at him.

“I found it!” he announces, brandishing the bottle.

Virgil sits up a bit more against Logan’s side. “What’s that?”

Patton holds the blue spray bottle closer for Virgil’s inspection, whispering conspiratorially. “It’s Monster-Be-Gone spray. You see, your dad worked really hard to make the perfect concoction that is scientifically proven to banish all monsters! All you gotta do is spray it around the room, and then they run away.”

Over the top of Virgil’s head, Logan quirks an eyebrow. Virgil turns huge eyes onto him, and Logan schools his expression into agreement, nodding sagely. He had the feeling that perhaps Patton’s far-fetched fabrication would be enough for Virgil. Perhaps imagination itself was really the only way to solve the problem in the first place.

“Whoa,” Virgil says, awed. “You promise it works?”

“I promise,” Patton insists emphatically. “Here. Let me show you.” Patton begins dousing Virgil’s bedroom in the lavender scented spray. He sprays under the bed, in the closet, around his window, and around his door. Virgil watches him closely and intently.

There’s a beat of silence, then Virgil gasps. “It works! I don’t hear the monster anymore.”

Logan releases a small sigh of relief. Patton is smiling. “No monster can possibly stand up to the Monster-Be-Gone. Any time you think something might be there, kiddo, we’ll give ‘em a good spray and they’re 100% guaranteed to poof away.”

Virgil nods, not protesting as Logan helps him lay down and get situated under his covers again. “T’anks,” Virgil says with a yawn. “You’re the best dads ever.”

Logan feels a small squeeze in his chest as he drops a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I love you, Virgil.”

“Love you, kiddo,” Patton adds.

Virgil is already asleep.

III.

Logan comes rushing into the hospital lobby through the sliding door. The nurse at the front desk looks up from her computer as he approaches, doubtlessly taken in his unusually rumpled appearance. Strands of his hair fall into his eyes but he can’t be bothered to brush them back into their usually pristine position. His shirt is wrinkled. He is still wearing pajama pants.

“I am here for my husband,” Logan says in a steady voice, despite feeling distinctly unsteady in this moment. “I received a call that he had been in an accident.”

“What’s his name, sir?”

“Patton Sanders.”

The nurse types quickly and methodically, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her. Logan glances at the clock on the wall behind her. It’s 9 o’clock in the evening. Logan had received the call at exactly 8:17 PM. He had dropped Virgil off at Valerie’s at 8:30 on the dot. It had taken him twenty-two minutes to drive here, six minutes to park, two minutes to walk to through the front door.

Logan keeps the timetable in his head because numbers are precise and certain and nothing else in his life at this moment feels that way.

“Your name?”

“Logan Sanders.”

The nurse nods. “Your husband is currently in surgery, but a doctor will be out to update friends and family as soon as they have information to give you.”

Surgery. Logan’s grip on the edge of the front desk tightens and he thinks for a moment he might be physically ill. He swallows. Nods stiffly. Turns, walks fifteen steps, and sits down in an uncomfortable chair in the corner of the lobby by the window.

Patton had been on his way home from parent-teacher conferences at the elementary school where he teaches second grade. Half an hour before Logan had received the call from the hospital, Patton had called and asked Logan if he needed to get anything from the grocery on his way home. He had promised to be home soon when he heard Virgil ask Logan where Patton was.

Thirty minutes later, when the phone rang again, Logan definitely hadn’t been expecting to hear the words “you are listed as the emergency contact for a Patton Sanders, sir?” on the other end of the line. He hadn’t known what to say except to confirm. He mostly listened.

He still hadn’t known what to say when Virgil, with a sharper intuition than a ten-year-old should have, had said, “Dad? You look pale…What’s wrong?” Logan had simply told him to grab his backpack and put on shoes.

Logan had blindly grabbed a change of clothes for Virgil from the laundry that was in the middle of being folded, his son’s asthma inhaler, and anxiety medication. He shoved his feet into shoes that were either his or Patton’s—he wasn’t paying attention—and his car keys off the kitchen counter. He called Valerie on the way, and he only hoped that she knew his empty-sounding “thank you” was out of shock rather than a lack of gratitude.

Logan twists his wedding band around his finger and thinks about Patton’s cheerful voice telling Logan that he loved him—like Patton did at the end of all their phone conversations. He’d been the one to get Logan more comfortable with the phrase in the first place, after all. Logan had said it back. He’s grateful for that.

Patton brought a spontaneity to Logan’s life that had been missing for the longest time before they met in college. His friendliness and cheery disposition had, at first, been jarring for Logan. But Patton had seemed to find something worthwhile about the astrophysicist student, and Logan found Patton to be a light of empathy and compassion on a level that Logan did not always understand but did always deeply value.

What started as spontaneity gradually became a needed constant in Logan’s life. Patton balances him. Logan had long since forgotten what life had been like before him, except that it wasn’t nearly as joyful, dynamic, or vibrant. By the time Logan proposed, he knew that he didn’t ever want anyone else by his side. That feeling had somehow—impossibly—only grown stronger since adopting Virgil.

As if on cue, Logan feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and fishes it out. He sees Valerie’s face flash across his Caller ID and feels the uneasiness in his stomach turn to ice.

“This is Logan,” he answers.

To his surprise, it’s Virgil’s voice that responds to him. “Hi, dad.”

Logan swallows hard and scrubs a hand down his face. “Virgil, are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m just… worried about dad.”

Logan feels his eyes suddenly start to sting and he squeezes them shut tightly against the feeling. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, me too.” Logan does not know what else to say. He feels like a ship without a lighthouse to guide him. Patton is that light. Patton had always been that light…

“Is… dad gonna be okay?”

Logan does not know. He pulls the phone away from his face and takes in a deep, shaking breath. He feels like he is suddenly spiraling, and he doesn’t know how to correct course. Logan doesn’t know how to be a dad without his partner. They are a team. They had always been a team. Logan doesn’t know if he can be the dad that Virgil needs without Patton to help him. He doesn’t know how to do it alone.

Logan pulls the phone back to him and is honest. “I hope so, Virge.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.” Logan tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know whether it’s better right now to tell Virgil that he’s afraid too so that he doesn’t feel alone in his fear or if it’s better to pretend to be strong to assuage the feeling of fear. Patton would know. Patton always has an intuition for such things. “It’s… okay to feel scared.”

There’s a long silence. “Can I come be with you at the hospital?”

Logan bows his head, brushing quickly at his eyes under his glasses. He suddenly and desperately wants to say yes. He wants to hold on to Virgil and never let go. Hold on and pray that Patton is holding on too. I don’t want to do this without him.

“Perhaps tomorrow. You should try to get some rest tonight.”

There’s a long silence. Logan expects an argument. Instead, Virgil asks, “Do you promise to call as soon as the doctors show up?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I hear anything. I promise.”

“He calls me brave,” Virgil says suddenly. Logan doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to. “But I don’t feel brave right now, dad. I feel really, really…. Scared, and I know you said it’s okay to feel that way but what if I’m letting him down when he needs me—”

“Whoa, Starlight,” Logan says quickly, the rare nickname slipping out as he hears the way Virgil’s voice starts to get panicky. “Listen to me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” Logan walks him through the 4-7-8 breathing technique he’d discovered when researching anxiety coping methods after Virgil got diagnosed a few months ago.

He waits until Virgil’s breathing on the other end sounds normal before he continues. “Bravery is not fearlessness,” he says calmly. “Fearlessness means you aren’t afraid of anything. Bravery means that you act despite the fear you feel. You can be scared and brave. Those are not mutually exclusive terms.”

Another pause. “Okay.”

“But right now, all we’re asking of you, Virge, is to try to get some rest. Okay?” Logan’s voice is suddenly thick. He coughs slightly in an effort to clear it.

“Okay. I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Virgil.”

IV.

Logan watches quietly from the doorway leading out of the kitchen as Roman Prince—his sixteen-year-old son’s best friend—ends the call and stands stock still in the middle of the Sanders’ living room. The window outside shows a dark sky and the silhouette of the neighbor’s houses against the night. The only light in the room comes from a lamp on an end-table by the couch. Above them, Logan can hear the shower running from Virgil’s bathroom and Patton watching TV upstairs.

Roman suddenly hurls his phone into the brown cushions of the couch. In the silence that follows, Logan hears the shaking inhale Roman sucks through a clenched jaw.

“Roman,” he says softly.

“I’m fine, Mr. Sanders,” Roman tells him without turning to face him.

Logan glances down at his shoes, then back up at the teen standing in the middle of his living room. “Your anger is understandable.”

Roman finally turns to face him. The golden lamplight reflects against the sheen in Roman’s eyes even as he shakes his head. “I’m not angry.”

Logan is silent. He sees Roman’s hand curl into fists moments before the teen shoves them deep into the pockets of his jacket. His eyes glance to the phone he’d thrown against the couch as if hoping there may be something that alights on the screen. It stays dark.

“I don’t need him, y’know?” Roman says, and Logan wonders for a moment if he may just be talking to himself. “I’ve never needed him, Mr. Sanders. I can take care of myself. I didn’t need him when I was seven and auditioning for the first time at the community theatre. I didn’t need him at my first opening night, or any other performance. I didn’t need him to teach me how to ride a bike, and I didn’t need him to teach me to cook, and I didn’t need him for the seventeen birthdays he didn’t show up to.”

Roman starts pacing, and Logan watches him quietly from his stationary space in the doorway. “I didn’t need him when I got outted at school two years ago. I didn’t need him to learn to drive, did I, Mr. Sanders?”

Logan meets his gaze, pretending his chest doesn’t tighten with Roman’s increasing desperation. “No. You didn’t.”

Roman gestures towards the window, stalking away from Logan now to cross the room again. “And I’m not going to need him. No sir. Who says I even want him around? What can he teach me? I got accepted into college without him. I’ll dance at my wedding without him. I’ll build a family and I’ll be twice the father he never was in the first place--” Roman’s voice wavers, and he stops talking. He turned back to Logan, and it’s then that he realizes the tears that had been building in the corner of Roman’s eyes have finally overflowed.

Roman scrubs at his eyes with his hand and sinks himself into the couch beside his forgotten phone. “I just… I feel so stupid.”

Logan’s brow pulls together, and he steps further into the room. “Why?” He immediately thinks it might have been the wrong thing to say, from the way Roman suddenly freezes.

Logan had never done well with helping people through emotional distress. Empathy wasn’t something Logan was particularly adept at. That had always been more of Patton’s domain. But he can see the way Roman is coming apart at the seams on his couch, and Logan finds himself feeling as lost as Roman looks.

Logan doesn’t know what to do, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Because…” Roman tries, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyes, “because I just… I wasted so much of my life trying to… to…” But Roman doesn’t really need to say the words that keep evading his grasp. Because Logan already knows.

The data was all there, as far as Logan had been concerned. He’d been noticing it ever since Roman and Virgil first started being friends when they were in fifth grade. He’d seen the surprised look Roman had given Virgil when he and Patton would ask the pair about their day whenever Roman was over at their house. He remembers their eighth-grade year when Roman tried out for the basketball team even though he’d devoted much of his life to pursuing the arts, and a passing mention that his dad had once been a high school basketball star. He made the team, but he saw the increasingly angry look in Roman’s eyes when he saw Logan and Virgil and Patton in the stands, and never the one person he’d joined for in the first place. Logan had seen the barely-hidden look of disappointment in Roman’s eyes after every theatre performance thereafter, when he scanned the crowd during the bows as if he was looking for someone.

It had been plain to Logan for some time. It didn’t mean that Logan knew what to say, but he figures he has to say something. Logan chooses to speak from honesty. Patton had always told him that was best.

“Roman,” Logan says, crossing the distance between them and crouching down to be eye-level with the teen sitting on the sofa. Roman looks up at him. Logan sighs. “I am aware that this may be… insignificant of me to say in this moment. But should you have any doubt… you are a talented, courageous, and dedicated young man. I am… grateful that you and my son became friends. And if nothing else, know that I am proud of you. Not only for your numerous achievements, but also for who you are as a person.”

Logan doesn’t know if it’s enough, or perhaps too much. He is not Roman’s dad in any official capacity, though the affection Logan feels for the teen before him does bare comparison to the love he feels for his own son. He had known Roman long enough to see him try and fail and succeed and everything in-between. He’d seen Roman get figuratively back up again and again and again, and if Roman were his son… Logan can’t help but feel he’d be damn proud of him.

But Roman stares at him with wide eyes, and Logan can’t help but feel he may have mis-stepped somehow. Logan’s lips press into a line before he opens his mouth to apologize—

And then promptly finds himself with an armful of the teen as Roman launches himself straight into Logan in a desperate hug. He can feel Roman shaking against him, can feel his shirt getting damp, and Logan only hopes that he hasn’t upset Roman further. It was the exact opposite of what he’d been trying to do.

“Roman,” he tries, “if I said something that upset you, I sincerely apologize—”

“No, Mr. Sanders,” Roman says hurriedly, pulling back and sniffling. His eyes are red and Logan can see tears still falling. Roman brushes at them, his face coloring in embarrassment. “I…” he swallows thickly, and seems to re-think what he’d been about to say. “Don’t apologize. I’m… thank you, sir.”

Logan gives him a small, kind smile. “You do not need to thank me, Roman. Especially when I spoke only the truth.”

Roman’s voice catches a little in his throat again, and he coughs. He wipes the back of his hands against his eyes. “I… Mr. Sanders, would it…. Be alright if I slept here for the night?”

“Of course. I’ll grab some pillows and a few blankets, as it can get cold in here during the night. If you want to grab a shower—after Virgil is done, of course—there is a spare set of towels in the bathroom down here.” Logan stands up, running through the mental checklist. “I generally arise early in the morning, but I promise to do my best to not wake you. If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of snacks in the pantry and you are welcome to help yourself, though I do encourage you to not eat too much as it’s already late and you should try to get optimal rest.”

Roman makes a sound that sounds almost like a laugh. “Okay. Thank you.”

Logan is doing the dishes when he glances over at his seventeen-year-old son, sitting at the kitchen table with his fingers buried in his hair. He’s scowling darkly at his homework. Logan’s quick glance over his shoulder two hours ago had been enough for Logan to know it’s chemistry homework—Virgil’s hardest class, if his passing comments to Patton during dinner last night had been anything to go by. Logan rinses off a plate and sets in the dishwasher.

Virgil had been acting unusual for the majority of the time that Logan had been home. He’d been unusually brusque with Patton when asked to set the table for dinner and hadn’t eaten as much as he usually did. He’d seemed…. tense. His shoulders hunched, barely making eye contact, barely speaking—and a tendency to be monosyllabic when he did. All indicators, from Logan’s previous experience and knowledge, that pointed to today being a particularly bad day for Virgil’s anxiety.

“Virgil?”

“Mm?”

Logan grabs a sponge and scrubs out a pot, keeping his attention on the sink. “If assistance with your chemistry would be beneficial to you, I would be more than happy to provide it.”

“I’m fine, dad.”

Logan places the pot in the dishwasher and closes it before turning off the faucet. “You do not need to be… ashamed of requiring help.”

He sees Virgil’s grip on pencil tighten. “I’m fine.”

Logan sighs. “Virgil, you appear to have been stuck on the same problem for the past hour—”

“For crying out loud, dad,” Virgil snaps, shoving back from the table. “It’s not the chem, okay? Sorry for not being fast enough at it for you, but I’m fine! I’m fine. For once in my life I actually understand this shit, I just—” Virgil is speaking faster now. His voice sounds strained. “It’s all the other shit that I can’t—I can’t understand, like why I can’t just… just… fuck.”

Virgil shoves his hands harshly into the pockets of his hoodie as his voice cuts off. He rushes out of the room and Logan hears a door slam shut. From where the bang sounds in the house, Logan quickly understands that it’s not Virgil’s own room. It’s the bathroom.

Logan frowns. There were many things that Logan didn’t understand about what Virgil just said. Strong language aside, something certainly seemed to be troubling him. Logan may not know what, but if it was a cognitive distortion, perhaps Logan could help him think through it.

Logan sighs again, drying his hands off on the towel before following after his son. The door is closed. Logan raps a knuckle against the door. “Virgil?”

He hears a faucet turn off. “Go away. Please.”

“I wish to be of assistance. But I can’t help if you don’t talk to me and tell me what is going on.”

He hears a huff of frustration. “You wanna know what’s going on, dad? I don’t even know! I’m a fuck-up of a kid with fucked up anxiety and maybe depression and I can’t even do my fucking homework without being a burden on everyone and everything. You can’t help me. Nobody can. So just… leave me alone.” He hears Virgil’s voice crack through the door.

Logan leans his head against the closed door. He doesn’t know what to say, really. When Virgil’s cognitive distortions turned inwards towards himself, Logan had always struggled to get him to disentangle them. Logan could get Virgil to look at situations and talk through them, as long as the stressors were external. When they became internalized, experience told Logan that Virgil would absently nod along and not believe a word Logan was telling him.

Logan doesn’t know how to help him in this moment. And it clenches something in Logan’s chest to admit that to himself.

Still, he can try, can’t he?

“Virgil Sanders, you are not a burden on any of us. And you are not alone, though I understand you may feel that way.”

Silence. Logan opens his mouth to continue speaking, but he doesn’t know what else to say that will help his son on the other side of the door. All the same, Logan refuses to abandon Virgil right now. Logan is not a believer in empty platitudes. He never spoke for sentiment alone, preferring to back the words he expressed with actions.

So Logan does the only thing that he thinks will show Virgil he means what he says. He sits down on the floor in the hall across from the door. And he waits.

Almost an hour later, the door opens and Virgil steps out, wiping at his eyes. He stops short at the sight of Logan sitting outside the door in the hall. Logan pushes himself to his feet.

“You… Were you out here the entire time?” Virgil asks, with an expression that Logan doesn’t know how to read.

“Yes,” Logan replies simply, confused at the way Virgil is staring at him. “I told you that you were not alone—” Logan stumbles back a step as Virgil launches himself straight into his dad’s chest.

Logan doesn’t hesitate to return his hug.

The night air is calm and quiet. A gentle late spring breeze plays with the loose strands of Logan’s hair as he sits on the front porch of the house. Crickets and chatter from inside the house create a background of sound against which distant thunder rumbles. Logan takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Behind him, someone opens the front door and Logan hears cheerful shouting and music flood from the house and out into the night before the door closes. Footsteps creak against the wooden porch floor.

“Hey, dad.”

Virgil sinks himself into the rocking chair beside his father. Logan glances at him as he does so. In the back of his mind, Logan finds it hard to believe that his son just graduated college. It hadn’t seemed quite that long ago that Logan had been laying on his back with Virgil under the stars teaching him the different constellations.

“Evening,” Logan greets. He quirks an eyebrow. “The festivities a bit much?”

Virgil huffs an amused laugh. “Roman’s had a bit too much and is trying to convince dad to start Disney karaoke.”

Logan smiles. “It would not take much to convince him, I’m afraid.”

“Which is why I got the heck out of there.” Virgil sighs and leans back into the chair, rocking it back and forth slightly. He slips his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, staring out across the yard.

Logan glances at him. “Are you all right?”

Virgil meets his gaze quickly, then nods and looks back out at the night sky. “Yeah, actually. I’m good.” His voice is subdued a bit, but calm. He sounds like he means it. “Glad to be graduated… I think.”

“You aren’t sure?” Logan remembers the sunken eyes and tense shoulders he’d seen his son come home with on the holidays, brushing off concern and questions. College had been hard for Virgil. And stressful. Though he’d come out on the other side of those four-and-a-half years with a respectable GPA and a degree under his belt, Logan would have expected that his son would be ready to wash his hands of higher education. At least for the time being.

Virgil sighs, pausing before he answers. “I mean, I won’t lie, dad. I’m glad to be done with the tests and projects and paper-writing. But the real world is…” He trails off, shrugging.

“Intimidating,” Logan finishes for him.

“Yeah.” Beside him, Virgil rocks the chair back and forth, back and forth. The wood creaks a bit in a rhythm that blends with the distant storm they can see rolling in over the horizon line through the silhouette of the neighbor’s houses that surrounded theirs.

“I dunno,” Virgil says suddenly. “Maybe that’s dumb.”

Logan shakes his head. “On the contrary. I think perceiving the ‘real world’, as you call it, to be an intimidating space is… normal, for where you are in your life. It is more than understandable.”

Virgil scoffs, but there’s no real malice in it. “No offense, dad, but I don’t think you find anything intimidating.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replies simply.

“Yeah? What have you ever found intimidating?”

Fatherhood. “Plenty of things, Virgil. I am not as brave as you may believe.”

He can feel Virgil’s gaze on him now. Logan keeps his own trained out on the stars and the distant storm. “Bravery isn’t the same thing as fearlessness, it’s acting in spite of the fear you feel. You know how taught me that?”

“Hm?”

“You did. The night dad was in that wreck when I was ten.”

Logan smiles faintly, affection warming in his chest. “I’m surprised you remember that,” he admits.

“I remember a lot of stuff you guys taught me. I mean, I wouldn’t be here without it, y’know?”

Logan looks over at his son. His long bangs still fall across his eyes, he still has dark eyeshadow smudged underneath them, he is still wearing the plaid-patched hoodie that he’d had for God-knows how long. Even in the dark, though, Logan can see something earnest in Virgil’s gaze that is meeting his unwaveringly. As if Virgil is trying to get Logan to understand something, except that Logan isn’t quite sure what it is.

“It’s our job to help you and support you,” Logan says softly after a moment.

“Sure, yeah, I guess.” Virgil sits up a little more, leaning forward towards his father. “But… You and dad are the best parents I could’ve asked for. I don’t know what I would’ve done without either one of you. And any time I start to get like, freaked out about the future and everything��I just…. I remember all you taught me, yeah? And it helps me feel a little better.”

Logan blinks at him. He doesn’t know what to say and there’s an unexpected lump forming in his throat that he swallows past.

Virgil glances down at his shoes and keeps talking. “I know I wasn’t always the easiest kid to manage—” Logan opens his mouth to reply but Virgil presses on—"but you never once gave up on me. You forgave me before I ever apologized, and you were patient when I was frustrated, and at every single twist and turn—and we’ve had a lot of them—you were there, dad. You let me explore the world for my own but any time I got lost, you were that compass that kept pulling me back to North. Like Pyxis.”

Logan is grateful for the dark because his eyes are stinging a little. To his surprise, he can see a slight sheen to Virgil’s eyes too. But there’s also a small smile.

He sniffles and brushes his hoodie sleeve across his eyes. “You and dad need to go on a vacation or something now that your job is done, yeah?” He gives his dad a crooked grin.

Logan runs a hand across his mouth and looks back at his son. “We are always going to be your dads, Virge. Our job isn’t over just because you’ve graduated.” Virgil huffs a laugh. Logan stands up and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Virgil leans into Logan’s form a little.

“I’m so proud of you,” he adds. He waits until Virgil pulls away first before he pulls back to head inside. “Congratulations on graduating. Welcome to the world, Starlight.”

///

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #familial lamp/calm #sanders sides au #logan sanders #tw hospitals #tw crying #tw angst #tw anxiety #tw cursing #tw self-doubt #let me know what ya thought!#also if i forgot to tag a warning/list a warning that i should list #ksjfskljfskljf #i love writing dad!logan but im not sure if this conveys how i hope it does #without further ado #here's this

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elizabethemerald · 4 years

Text

Azula and the Spirit Library

Lighting Scars, Lightning Heals

AO3

This another part to my Lightning Scars, Lightning Heals story, read that part first for context. I had the sudden image of Azula, traumatized by fire, stumbling upon the damage Zhao wrecked in the library and how she would deal with that.

The massive Owl spirit towered over them. It glared at the Gaang as it closely inspected each of their gifts for the library. Each stepped up to the spirit in turn, each passing on under its shrewd eye. Zuko, in front of Azula, stepped forward, however the Owl immediately screeched and flared its wings.

“Firebenders are no longer allowed in my library!” Its voice thundered around the library.

Zuko stepped back, his hand moving protectively in front of Azula, even as she stepped forward. The heat around the two of them jumped. Katara and the others stopped and watched, eyeing the spirit warily.

After a moment of tension Zuko bowed to the spirit.

“Understandable, O wise one. My sister and I will remain above. We have no desire to threaten your library.”

He turned away towards the rope that hung from the ceiling, but stopped in surprise when Azula didn’t move. She stared boldly back at the spirit, still standing tall. She glared at it for a moment, and Zuko became afraid that they would have to fight the Spirit in its own library. Then Azula bowed deeply and her hands moved rapidly as she made her case.

The Owl spirit looked at her, its head cocked to the left. Zuko was about to step forward again to translate his sister’s words when the spirit’s wings flexed and the feathers flared and it replied with signs of its own.

“Interesting. Airbender hand speak, changed by their absence, then modified to match Fire Nation dialect. You say you are not a firebender, but are you not the daughter of the FIre Nation?”

Its sign language was different than Azula’s. It more closer matched the Air bending Aang used and was teaching to Azula. But she could still understand it.

“I am not a fire bender.” Azula’s hands hesitated, her lightning sparking between her finger tips. “Anymore.”

The spirit rolled its head to other side until it was almost looking at her upside down. Azula continued to gaze back at it. The momentary hesitation gone, she kept her back straight and her head high as it watched her.

“Very well.” It signed. “I will allow you to enter, if you show me your Fire Nation dialect of the language. The firebender must remain out side, however.”

Azula was mid bow when she stood bolt upright her eyes flying to her brother. He smiled at her, then nodded to the others.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go keep Toph company.” Zuko said nonchalantly. However his hands moved rapidly in a brief conversation with his sister that only the spirit and Aang could follow. When they were done Zuko returned to the rope and climbed back to the surface.

The spirit nodded and the rest of the Gaang began to disperse around the library. Katara waited till Zuko had reached the top to make sure he made it out safely. When she returned her focus to the library she was surprised to find Azula had pressed up against her.

Katara remembered that Azula had rarely been by herself in the past two years since her and her brother’s exile. She signed clumsily to her, still unfamiliar with the Airbender language.

“Do you want me to stay?” She asked.

Azula looked at her for a moment. Katara tried to follow the journey her face went on but Azula was an expert at not allowing her emotions to show when she wanted. At best she could guess Azula was suspicious of her, then thankful, however briefly. Her face finally settled on the smug expression that was her default.

“I’ll find you later.” Azula said before turning her attention to the spirt. Katara rolled her eyes at the dismissive hand wave, but moved to explore the library, leaving Azula alone with the spirit.

Sometime later Azula found herself wandering the halls of the spirit library. The Owl spirit had been, unsurprisingly a very quick study and had thanked her for adding to its knowledge. She didn’t know how she felt about teach it her language, the language she, Iroh and her teacher had worked together to create. On the one hand, she needed to be able to communicate to people to convince them to do what she wanted. On the other, there was now another being that knew her language. Another being who could spy on her and steal her secrets, or worse sell them to her father.

She clenched her fists at the thought. She carefully kept the lightning that constantly crackled within her safely hidden. She didn’t want to risk the spirit banning her when there was much she could learn here. The scar on her face pulled her lips down into a frown. She tried to ignore her internal feelings and focused on the titles around her. Some where in this library there might be something that can help her.

Azula turned a corner of the library and found herself in the Fire Nation section. Her jaw dropped and she struggled to stay on her feet. The entire section had been destroyed. Burned. Ruined. Just like her.

She fell to her knees as a scream tore through her mind. And she was gone.

Zuko’s scream echoed around the arena. She couldn’t stomach it. Couldn’t bare for her father to treat her brother like this. She jumped to the battle ground, riding a wave of blue fire. She landed squarely in front of her father, Zuko on the ground behind her, a hand pressed to his face.

“You always said family is the most important thing in the world and this is how you treat your family?” She screamed at her father. “You don’t get to hurt him any more!”

Firelord Ozai stepped forward. He towered over her. In her memory she could never say exactly how tall he was, because she always felt like his face was lost in the sun he was so tall. She stood bravely, protectively over Zuko as the Firelord bore down on her.

Azula took her fighting stance unleashing a wave of fire, however Ozai stepped inside the wave, grabbing her wrists before the flames touched him. He pulled her into the air, his strong arms that she had always desperately wanted to pick her up and carry her, lifting her easily.

Fire burned in his eyes and out of his mouth, and she screamed. She screamed as the hands on her wrist burned her. She screamed and writhed in pain, trying desperately to break his hold, only distantly aware of Zuko behind her trying to rise to stop their father.

She lifted her legs, pushing through her pain to to thrust them into her father’s face. Blue flames erupted from her heels, and her father released her. She fell hard, unprepared for the sudden descent and skidded against the ground as the force of her fire sent her backwards.

Azula stood up, her whole body shaking to see Zuko standing before her. She kept her arms pressed tightly to her chest, the burning there bone deep. Tears filled her eyes as she screamed at him.

“Go Zuko! Run!”

She watched his eyes. A flash came from behind her, reflected there. She watched his eyes widen in fear and Azula turned her body. Not to face her father, but to shield her brother. She felt the electricity hit her, but she couldn’t afterwards describe the pain of the blow. Whether its memory was lost in the pain in her arms, or in the look of fear on her brother’s face, she couldn’t say.

She screamed nonetheless. Lightning flew from her hands, and out of her mouth. The entire sky whited out as she screamed and screamed. She carved massive channels out of the arena with her lightning.

When she could see again she turned, lightning still crackling from and across her body as she faced the Firelord. She threw her lightning at him, making him again reel back.

That was the last moment she was truly aware of. Unleashing lightning against her own father, who had just maimed her brother. She was only vaguely aware that Ozai had grabbed her by the throat, choking and burning her as she poured more and more lightning into the air around her.

She was told later that her uncle, Iroh had stopped the fight, ushering her and her brother out of the palace. He got them onto a Fire Nation ship and set sail immediately. The next thing she could really remember was waking up crying on the rocking ship. Small sparks traveled and jumped down her body, shocking her anytime she touched the door to her cabin.

And she cried. She was so lost in the whirling memories of pain and of fear that she didn’t notice someone was calling her name. The entire spirit library had faded from her vision. All she could see was her father burning her again and again.

“Azula!” A voice screamed from nearby, but she couldn’t separate it from the screaming in her head. “Azula I’m coming closer. Please, let me help you.”

She turned her head to look at the voice. Katara. Lit by bright white glow, like she had been when they were in front of the spirit font at the North Pole. But this glow was different. Katara took a cautious step forward then had to jump back as an arc of electricity almost hit her.

Azula became distantly aware that the lightning was coming from her own body. She pulled the lighting back, allowing Katara to get closer. The water bender girl slowly crept forward, still wary of the lightning. When she tried to lay a gentle hand on Azula’s arm, a spark jumped between the two girls, making her pull her hand back in pain.

At that Azula reigned in her lightning completely. Katara had been one of the first people to try to be friendly with her after her banishment, that wasn’t family. Even the crew members on their ship had been more afraid of her than friendly. She couldn’t excuse hurting her.

When no more lightning crackled across her body, Katara again tried to put a hand on her arm. When she could do that without pain, she pulled Azula into a tight hug.

For the first time in her life, someone outside of her family saw her cry. Azula pressed her face against the other girl’s shoulder, as she sobbed. Each silent sob, brought fresh pain to her burned throat, yet still the tears flowed down her face.

Katara didn’t try and speak. Didn’t try and ask. All she did was hold her as tightly as she could.

When Azula could breath without screaming again she pulled back a little from Katara. Her hands shook as she signed.

“All fire does is burn and destroy. Look at this room.”

Katara looked at her briefly before water bending her tears away from her eyes.

“You don’t have to be like the other fire benders. You don’t have to be like Zhao or your father. You can help the world heal.”

“How can I do that?”

They just stared at each other again. Then Katara turned away and pulled out a book, that she had found in the library.

“It was in the water bending section, because it talks about healing techniques. But there’s something that might interest you.”

Azula opened the book to the page Katara pointed to. There she could see a simple diagram showing a person fire bending. She flinched at first, squeezing her eyes shut, but Katara only held her tighter until she could look again. Unlike the other firebending techniques she had seen this one wasn’t destructive. A firebender used their fire to close a wound allowing a water bender to fully heal the injury.

She stared at the page. Then began studying it and the surrounding pages in closer detail. She had never learned about how the body reacted to the application of heat or fire. As she looked she analyzed the firebending techniques, some of the fire bending was, in a word, sloppy. Whoever the firebender had been they had no where near her skill. Even Zuko could out bend them any day.

“The fire bending is imprecise.” Azula signed. “However with lighting…”

Azula allowed a small arc of electricity to dance at the tip of a finger. She ran that finger along her other forearm, stopping just short of the burn scars left from her father. Katara gasped and immediately pulled water from her waterskin, it glowed with its healing light, however she stopped and stared at the wound. Despite its length the wound did not bleed. Azula looked at it in surprise before allowing Katara to close the wound.

The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, tears shining in both of their eyes. However before they could say another word the temple ground around them suddenly shook. They both jumped to their feet and raced back towards the center.

Later they immerged from the temple window to land on the surrounding desert sand. The sand had streaks of glass blasted into it from Zuko’s bending as well as deep craters from Toph’s. Appa stood near them both growling softly at something that was disappearing in the distance, but turned and made a happier noise when it saw Aang was safe.

When they were again soaring over the long miles of desert, Azula pressed the book Katara had given her to her chest. She made eye contact with the water bender and gave her a single sign. Her open hand tapped to her chin, then moved away.

“Thank you.”

I'm loving this AU idea more and more. Azula has some pretty bad ptsd from what her dad did to her. Katara doesn't really understand but she wants to help. And she finds a book that helps Azula make the connection that she could perform surgery with her lightning, instantly cauterizing the wounds. And later they kiss. Also I totally made it so Aang didn't lose Appa, because I didn't want to deal with that. Also also, Azula's gay awakening was absolutely seeing the glow of the spirit water reflecting on Katara's face. She just hasn't come to terms with that just yet.

#atla azula #azula redemption #atla katara #atla zuko #spirit library #ptsd #pats azula's head #this girl can fit so much trauma in it

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earth-ambassador-jim · 4 years

Text

A Bad Reaction: Chapter 4

Story Summary:

“Changelings call it “Gravesand”. Derived from the pulverized bones of fallen Gumm-Gumms, gravesand aids us changelings in shedding our human form and embracing our more trollish nature…“

Strickler is a little off in his calculations and the gravesand draws out an unexpected response from Jim. Hopefully he can figure out what is wrong and how to fix it before it is too late.

Fanfiction - AO3

~~~~

“What happened?” Jim asked weakly, even as he hugged his Mom back. He felt muddled and strange and his head was pounding. The last thing he remembered, he had been in the sewers with Strickler and Nomura. “I thought I was…”

It was at that moment that Jim looked up and saw his surroundings. His eyes widened. Strickler and Nomura were still present but in troll form. They weren’t in the sewers anymore. Judging by the sleek white walls they were in the Janus Order base.

“Why are we here? What are you doing here?”

He could feel his heartrate picking up. His mom shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t supposed to know about this part of his life.

“Jim…” She said softly, grip tightening on his shoulders.

Jim’s hands twitched and the sensation echoed twofold. Jim pulled back from her in surprise and bumped into the wall.

Or rather something bumped into the wall and he felt it. Now that he was paying attention there were strange sensations coming from behind him.

Something twitched it felt like his arm but it was coming from his back. He let out a yelp and spun around, then twisted his neck and caught sight of leathery blue membranes bordered by armor coming out of his back.

“Jim.”

He reached over his shoulder and grabbed one then let go of it just as quickly the moment he felt it both in his hand and the alien appendage. He attempted to take a step back, but his foot didn’t set down right and he fell over.

“What… What’s wrong with me?!” Jim demanded.

His heart was pounding now and he could feel the Amulet’s magic pulsing alongside it as the enchanted relic responded to his panic.

Something was incredibly wrong with his body. Or he wasn’t in his body. (His breath was coming too short and fast.) That was something that could happen, right? He thought hysterically as he stared at the clawed feet at the end of his legs.

He was vaguely aware of his Mom settling beside him. She was talking to him but she sounded far away.

He remembered the gravesand, now.

What had Strickler said?

Hadn’t he said something about changes? Something about them being permanent?

Was… was he some kind of troll human monster now?

He wrapped his arms around himself and felt the strange new limbs do so as well.

~~~~

Nomora and Strickler were half turned away, watching the door, as Barbara talked her son through his panic attack; trying to be respectful to the Trollhunter in his moment of weakness. It was generally what changelings did for each other in such an event. The changeling code had never allowed for much closeness, so deliberate ignorance was sometimes their greatest kindness.

Strickler highly doubted his own proximity would make Young Atlas feel any safer at this point. All he could really do was wait and trust that Barbara knew what to do.

Now that the immediate physical danger was past Strickler found his mind mauling over the implications and possibilities of this development. It was partially out of habit and partially to distract himself so he didn’t start eavesdropping.

The Trollhunter was half-changeling. That was an even bigger game changer than him being human.

Gunmar may have destroyed the Arcadia Janus Order, but worldwide there were still more changelings. They would be enraged and bitter over their esteemed leader’s betrayal.

Jim’s new status would offer them an in that they had never had before with the larger trollish community.

Strickler paused his thoughts stumbling over that a little. He grimaced.

That was, of course, assuming that the trolls were still willing to accept Jim after discovering his heritage. A human had been hard enough for them to deal with from what he heard and a changeling would have been intolerable…

But how would they deal with a half-breed?

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There were too many variables right now. They needed to get Jim to adjust to himself before they could go any farther.

The first test was to see if Jim’s trainer… Blinky… could get over his prejudice to accept his student’s change. If he couldn’t Strickler highly doubted they could expect any more from the rest of trollkind.

“Strickler.”

Strickler blinked and came back to attention. Jim was no longer on the floor but rather standing rather awkwardly leaning half on his mother.

“Yes, Young Atlas?”

“What happened?” Jim rasped. There was a slight lisp to his voice. “I thought you said that gravesand was safe for humans. Why did it…”

He gestured stiffly at himself. There was a hint of accusation in his tone. Strickler bit back his instinctual response, reminding himself that Jim had the right to be upset.

“I’ll explain, but I think you’d best sit down first.”

Barbara helped him over to one of the chairs and Jim awkwardly flopped down on it. He flexed the clawed toes on his feet and flinched, before turning his attention back to Strickler.

“Do you remember what I said about the effects of gravesand?”

The boy frowned, an expression made fiercer looking by the short tusks he now sported.

“You said it was supposed to bring out my feral instincts. You also said something about changes…”

Strickler nodded. He wasn’t surprised Jim would focus on that statement.

“And do you remember what I said its effects on changelings are?”

“Not really,” He admitted. He cocked his head. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Strickler sighed.

“Far more than you think.”

~~~~

“So Dad was a changeling.” Jim seemed to be rather stuck on that particular fact.

“Yes, I have his file on the computer if you would like to look at it.” Fortunately it seemed that no one had got around to banning Strickler out of the computer system.

‘No, I…” Jim trailed off and tried to run his hand through his hair but ended up catching it on his horns.

There was a moment of silence before Jim looked up through his bangs.

“Did you know him?”

“Not personally,” Strickler said. He had met most changelings in the Order in some form or another but there was a far smaller circle that he truly knew.

“Okay.”

Jim was quiet again.

“You looked at his file though. Do… What…” Jim frowned. “What did his troll form look like?”

Strickler sighed and turned back to the computer.

“Here, let me just pull it up for you.”

“You don’t have to…”

“It will be a lot easier than playing telephone, Young Atlas. Your mom has already looked through it.”

Jim closed his mouth at that.

“Here you are. Take all the time you need.”

Jim awkwardly slid the chair across the floor. It seemed he was not quite ready to try walking again.

Strickler scrolled through his emails as Jim studied the file.

“I don’t look much like him,” He said finally. “Not like this anyway.”

“Of course you don’t,” Strickler said, mater-of-factly.

“Why not?” Jim asked with a frown.

“That is because you were conceived while he was in human form. Changelings shift from fully troll to fully human. Therefore you did not receive any of his troll “DNA”.” Strickler paused. “I say use that term rather loosely in this case as trolls do not have DNA in the way that humans do.”

“Then what…”

“Your troll traits are from Nomura and me.”

Jim’s head jerked up at that, eyes widening.

“How?”

“I believe I explained the spell to you. Because Nomura and I contributed are blood and stone respectively, the magic borrowed from our traits to create your form.”

“Oh.”

Jim looked down at himself with wide eyes, examining his hands and legs and twisting to look at his wings with new understanding appearing in his eyes.

“But what about the tail?” Jim asked, flexing it and immediately stiffening at the feedback.

“That would be from me. I used to have one,” Strickler said.

Nomura looked at him in surprise.

“It didn’t match my physiology after I was made a changeling so it was… removed.” It was just as well, he supposed. With how big it was it would have been a hindrance but…

But it had not been a pleasant experience. Even after all this time he occasionally still had phantom pains.

“You shouldn’t have any problems with it though,” Strickler continued, banishing past memories. “You seem to have come out fairly well balanced.”

He wondered if the amulet had played into that.

Jim’s tail curled up into his lap and he examined it hesitantly brows furrowed.

“So I guess I’m related to you guys now?”

Strickler opened his mouth and paused. He wasn’t wrong.

Nomura started cackling.

“I guess you are, Little Gynt,” She said a broad toothy grin on her face. “Didn’t expect you to go where Peer Gynt wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll have to take you to watch the play sometime. It will make more sense that way. It’s been a few years since I last saw it anyway.”

“Ah.”

Jim smiled slightly at that and then frowned.

“I think I’d like to go home now,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “How…” He paused a rather fearful expression crossing his face. “Can I shift back to human?”

“You should be able to,” Strickler said quickly. “It was your latent shifting magic that caused all this in the first place.”

“Huh. So how do I shift?”

“I’m not sure,” Strickler admitted. “It comes naturally to changelings once we’ve been bonded to our familiars but you’re a unique case.”

“Oh.” Jim frowned. “Would a gaggletack work?”

“A gaggletack?” Barbara echoed the unfamiliar word.

“Gaggletacks are what trolls call iron horseshoes. They can force a changeling to change form.”

“Horseshoes huh?”

Barbara had a bit of a strange expression; her nose wrinkling as her brows drew together.

Strickler’s attention was drawn away as Jim cleared his throat.

“So would one work?” He asked. “I mean ran around with one for a whole day and it didn’t do anything before.”

“It’s possible that it would now,” Strickler said, vaguely realizing he was starting to stray into his ‘teaching voice’. “But I would be rather hesitant to rely on that because gaggletacks burn changelings.”

“They what?!” Barbara exclaimed at the exact same time Jim’s head jerked up to stare at him in surprise.

“I suppose shouldn’t be surprised that your trainers never brought that up,” Strickler said scornfully.

“Maybe they didn’t know?” Jim offered.

“No. They most definitely did. It’s common knowledge.”

He almost went further but stopped himself. There were things the boy was not ready to hear about just yet, not today anyway. He’d been through enough.

“How about we get you home,” He said instead. “It will do you good to adjust to your new form before we push you any further physically. I can get you excused from school tomorrow so you will have more time. How does that sound?”

“…okay.”

The young Trollhunter rose awkwardly to his feet. The daylight armor clinked as he shifted his weight.

Strickler frowned.

“You might want to take that off,” He said.

Jim glanced down at himself and sighed. He tugged at the amulet. It didn’t budge.

“I’m too tense. The armor is responding to that.” His tone suggested something like this had happened before.

Strickler’s brows furrowed a little further. A memory surfaced of seeing Jim in the armor for the first time in the school. Was that why? It seemed an inconvenient design.

“I see.”

The four of them traveled in relative silence through the remains of the Janus Order. The elevator ride proved to be twice as awkward going up as it had been coming down. Nomura was glaring at the speaker as if she was contemplating putting a sword through it. Strickler wasn’t going to stop her if she tried. In fact he might have even been willing to lend her a knife.

At the cars they parted ways. Barbara and Jim returning to their house and Strickler and Nomura going to their respective apartments.

~~~~

“So… How are you doing?” Barbara asked carefully once they had gotten back into the house.

She was… Well she had no idea how to feel at this point -Aside from drained- Far too much had happened. Way too much for one day.

But she wasn’t the one who now had wings and horns and a tail.

Jim grimaced, leaning rather heavily on the wall as he glanced about the house.

“I’m… fine,” He said after a moment.

Barbara gave him a disbelieving look.

“Jim.”

His shoulders tensed slightly, his ears actually tilted down a little and the tip of his tail (and wasn’t that something that was going to take some getting used too.) twitched like an agitated cat’s.

“I don’t know. Okay?” He said, rather sharply. There was the hint of a growl in his voice, causing her to step back. He flinched again then his wings pulled close to his back. “I don’t know,” He repeated again a little more quietly, hanging his head.

Barbara hesitated and then carefully came up beside him. He glanced up at her and his lower lip trembled slightly. His face was strange, he had fangs and horns now, but the expression was familiar. She’d seen it before, after a hard day at school or when Jim had taken on a little too much for his young shoulders.

Barbara wrapped her arms around him, carefully avoiding the wings, and pulled him close. He didn’t resist, though he staggered slightly before readjusting his posture. He pressed his face into her neck and his shoulders jerked. The armor disappeared with a soft flash of blue. Barbara tightened her grip. She murmured soft meaningless things into his ears as he cried.

There would be time for long overdue discussions later.

~~~~

Author Notes:

Okay. I was supposed to end it at this point, but I think I'm going to do one more chapter to deal with the "long overdue conversations". Also I want to do a little more with Jim dealing with the changes that have been forced on him.

Also I continue to hold to the opinion that having armor that requires you to calm down to remove it is a very unhelpful design if you have panic attacks.

Hope you enjoy!

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vs-redemption · 4 years

Text

Darkness (A Hawks One Shot)

Summary: Hawks struggles to live in a world turned to darkness

Warning: ⚠️This story contains manga spoilers. It also contains dark themes, violence, and character death. I’m actually kind of nervous to post it because I’ve never written anything like this before so please let me know if I need to add a warning or tag something⚠️

Edit: I wanted to add that I don’t think Hawks would ever get this deranged. I just wanted to try writing something a little different from the other HawksxReader story I’ve been posting.

It was still early. The morning sun had hardly even started its journey across the sky, but the city it illuminated felt as dark and dangerous as if it were the middle of the night. Keigo Takami kept his face hidden as best he could with a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap as he made his way to his destination. Anybody could recognize him at any time even though he wasn’t ‘Hawks’ anymore. Hawks was the name of a hero, albeit a failed one, but a hero nonetheless. Just because that person didn’t exist anymore, the general public would know the face of the man they once relied on to protect them if they saw it. He didn’t want to tip them off that he was in the area.

“Hey! Get back here!”

A young woman comes dashing out of a nearby convenient store with a heavy looking duffle bag. An elderly man runs out after her shouting, “You have to pay for that!” The woman actually stops and turns around to mock him by giving him the finger. She laughs at the look of outrage on the man’s face before taking off again and disappearing into an alley. The urge to pursue her and return whatever she’d stolen crashed over Keigo with the force of a tidal wave, but he knew he couldn’t act on it. He’d have to add it to the list of countless other crimes he’d stood by and witnessed. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d watched happen, not by a long shot. That’s how things were now though, so he just had to take what little comfort he could in the fact that some part of him still desired to do good. He continued on his way, ignoring the cries of the elderly man who cursed the way people had to live nowadays as he stormed back into his shop.

* * *

It had already been a few years since the villains had won their war and taken over the country. Shigaraki’s first act as king had been to give the surviving heroes an ultimatum; kneel or die. As expected, most of the heroes continued to fight or went into hiding. Keigo still wondered why he’d gone against the grain and chosen to fall at that psycho’s feet. At the time, he’d told himself that there might still be a chance he could find a way to take down the villain empire from the inside. He owed it to all the brave heroes that had lost their lives in that final battle that would’ve never happened had he not failed his mission in the first place. He had blamed himself for the massacre, and called his decision to join the villains a necessary self-sacrifice to atone for that mistake.

He had been kidding himself back then. After all this time, he was no closer to taking down the villains than he was when he started. In fact, he’d only made things bleaker by accepting the task to be Shigaraki’s personal hit man. As soon as the leader of the villains had taken his throne, a team had been put together to search for the remaining heroes. Once they were found, Keigo would be sent in to eliminate them. He probably should’ve backed out then. He could’ve snuck away and went into hiding himself instead of going out and slicing down his former comrades one by one. So why hadn’t he stopped? Why did he continue to accept and complete Shigaraki’s orders?

Maybe he was still in denial, thinking that each time he stained his hands with the blood of a hero it would earn just a little bit more of the villains’ trust. Perhaps one day he’d eventually get close enough to Shigaraki to take him down.

Perhaps it was a different reason though. Maybe shouldering the guilt of botching his final mission as a hero had made Keigo so desperate to prove he wasn’t a failure that he’d accept any type of success, even if that meant doing Shigaraki’s bidding.

There was another possible explanation for the former hero’s actions, but it was the most disturbing of all. Keigo didn’t like to think about it, but perhaps he was still going out to assassinate the last rays of hope for humanity because he had actually started to enjoy it at some point. The thought made him sick to his stomach, but it was always there, lingering over his head in a cloud of self-doubt and disappointment.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon now and Keigo’s back and legs were starting to protest at being in the same position for so long. He’d been crouched behind a pile of wood pallets for hours, watching the large metal door that stood between him and his next victim. According to Shigaraki’s team, there’d been rumors that a hero had been spotted around this area the past few days, but perhaps the information had been false. Or maybe the hero had already moved to a new location.

Keigo passed the time by wondering who he might see step out from behind the door. The villains never told him who he would be killing. It was possible that they didn’t know themselves, but the more likely reason was that they withheld the information just to mess with Keigo’s head. If he didn’t know the name and face of his victims until they were right in front of him, it gave him no time to prepare for any emotional trauma that might come along with the kill. Sometimes Keigo was thankful they didn’t tell him though. That way he wouldn’t have to agonize over taking the life of someone he’d once been close to. Other times though, he wished to know the name just for the mere fact that it was hard to decide how he was going to go about completing his job without knowing the strengths and weaknesses of the target beforehand.

The faint sound of a lock clicking open pulled Keigo’s focus back to the metal door. He reached down to pull his blade from the sheath on his belt and prepared to strike as fast as possible. These jobs would be so much easier if he still had his wings, but he’d adjusted and found ways to win without a quirk. The door opened slowly and a familiar figure appeared. Keigo swore under his breath. It was Ectoplasm.

Keigo had never been close to the pro hero who had also been the math teacher at UA high school once upon a time, but the fact that his quirk allowed him to make clones of himself meant that this job was about to be extremely difficult. There was no way to know if the man he saw now was the real one or not. The revelation of this triggers a memory of another man who could double himself, fleeing from the fight as Keigo’s long red feather came down from above and stabbed him in the back. That’s right, Keigo thinks while shaking his head to try and banish the memory from his mind. He had been a murderer even before he’d nearly been burnt alive and the villains took over. He was going to have to deal with Ectoplasm quickly before any other reminders of his past came back to haunt him.

* * *

The streets were completely dark now as Keigo made his way back to his apartment, clothes tattered and splattered with blood. In the end, he’d managed to take out Ectoplasm. When he’d gone to deliver the body to Shigaraki though, the villains had just mocked him for looking so battered before sending him away. He was a joke to them. Why did he continue to help them?

At times like these, Keigo longed for his wings. He missed the sky which had always been the place he’d felt most in control. He missed the speed that made him feel free and untouchable. He missed the sound of people calling out to him as he flew by, hoping for a chance to interact with their favorite pro hero.

Even then though he hadn’t truly been free. For as long as he could remember he’d been under someone’s boot, always trying to serve them and please them in the hopes that one day he’d get to live the life he really wanted to. So what did it matter if the person he was shackled to now was a villain?

“Hawks.”

Keigo freezes, not only at the sound of the name he rarely heard anymore, but also at the familiarity of the voice saying it. His bad day had just gotten a whole lot worse. He turns slowly to face the person who had risked coming out of the shadows to confront him.

“Tsukuyomi.” The student Keigo had quite literally taken under his wing as an intern way back when stood before him, looking stronger and fiercer than the last time they’d met. It was obvious he’d still been training the past few years in preparation for the day heroes came back to reclaim society. For the first time, Keigo was actually glad for the burn scar marring the left side of his face and his missing wings. At least it meant the kid in front of him could differentiate between the hero he’d once been and the monster he’d become, or had there ever actually been a difference?

“Why did you turn to the darkness, teacher?” The boy asks in his deep calm voice. “Nobody blamed you for what happened with Twice. You did what you had to do. That sin was a redeemable one.” Keigo’s stomach twisted at the words. This kid still thought enough of him to call him ‘teacher.’ Perhaps killing Twice had been something the hero ‘Hawks’ could’ve come back from. But it seemed the former intern still had no idea about what he’d done to Best Jeanist, the hero that had welcomed ‘Hawks’ into his home only to be cut down, stuffed in a bag, and used as a sacrifice for Keigo’s failed mission.

Yes, he was a failure. A failure as a hero and a failure as a role model for this student who had looked up to and trusted him. But how was he ever supposed to have succeeded in a world that had allowed good people to become villains, and bad people to become heroes? The people in charge had promised to make Hawks into a shining hero but had raised him to be a killing machine designed to follow orders without question. They’d ignored broken people who genuinely needed help, and allowed a man who had abused and neglected his family to raise up to be the number one hero. They’d told young aspiring heroes that killing was never okay before sending them into a war zone to watch their teachers and friends get slaughtered right in front of them. Keigo suddenly thought he might understand why he’d chosen to side with the villains. At least Shigaraki had been honest about wanting to destroy the world.

“Tsukuyomi,” Keigo takes advantage of his student’s trust and closes the distance between them, pulling the boy into a one armed embrace. “I’m sorry.” He pulls the bloody blade from his hip and plunges it quickly into the boy’s stomach, removing the weapon just as quickly so he can back away in case he activated his quirk. The boy falls to the ground looking shocked as he desperately tries to cover the bleeding wound.

“Hawks,” the boy still seemed to remain calm as he tried to think of a way out of the situation. “I don’t understand.” Keigo tunes out the sounds of his dying student by assuring himself that this was for the best. If Shigaraki found out he’d talked to a hero and let him escape, everything he’d done so far would’ve been a waste. What was more, the kid would no longer need to live in hiding in a cruel world with the false hope that someday things might be better. In some ways, Keigo could still consider himself a hero. He was saving people by taking away the misery of living in such a harsh reality. It was an easier way to look at it.

Keigo walks back over to his student and picks up the lifeless form, knowing that it would bring him a few steps closer to having the complete trust of the villains. One day, maybe, the darkness would truly be vanquished.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #Keigo Takami #Hawks #Cindy's Writing

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mainly-kpop · 4 years

Text

A pirates life for me

Part fifteen

pairing: BtsXfemale reader Summary: They just wanted ransom money for a princess, you just wanted to be free of palace walls. You are not what he wanted and he was nothing like you anticipated. Word count:2k Warnings: none to note, maybe some swears

It took Lucas three days to march to the palace. Through villages and towns, through markets and hoards of people. He trudged, fuelled only by his unfiltered rage. Arriving at the palace was most definitely easier than getting in however, standing in front of the gates, two guards on either side, he tried to get in.

‘Let me PAST! Do you even know who I am?!’ He sneered, the guards rolling their eyes as he huffed and barged.

‘You can’t enter without authorisation from the royal family, without that you have to leave.’ The guard punctuated almost every word with a shove, trying with all his might to be rid of this filthy peasant.

‘The advisor, does he still work here? Fuck what’s the lowlife’s name. ROBERT, is Robert still here.’ He tried to calm down, realising he wasn’t getting past them with the attitude he had right now. The guards looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do. Wordlessly, one turned to walk through the gates motioning for him to follow. He didn’t speak to the man, nor the man making any effort to speak to him. He didn’t mind, would rather let the rage burn inside of him than talk to someone useless. After all, this man was but a single guard, only able to throw him out or let him in. Without command from the royals, he couldn’t do him any harm. Finally, he reached a meeting room, only knowing due to the desk surrounded by books. He pulled one off the shelf, flipping the cover open, flicking through the pages. Books, how ridiculously mundane. He sighed, placing it back on the shelf, running his fingers over the desk. Some expensive looking things sat along the top of the expensive wood, he wondered if anyone would notice if he just-

‘I heard you were asking for me?’ Robert spoke, throwing the door open, motioning for the guard to stand outside. He nodded, closing the door for the advisor. Robert eyed the man in front of him, trying to figure out who he was. Clearly, he knew him, asking for him by name, but he wasn’t sure if he really knew the person before him.

‘So nice to see you after all this time.’ The man standing in front of Lucas had not changed at all. If anything, he had more grey hairs, tidier facial hair, he was older, rounder. Yet facially, he was the same bitter old man who threw him out that night. Truthfully, he would admit he wasn’t in love with you. It was infatuation, you being the only girl to ever look his way. He liked the idea of you, of being able to spoil someone, but any whore would do that for him. Any bitch would take whatever he offered for a pretty little bracelet. You were almost one of those, if this dickhead hadn’t showed up that night. At least; that’s what he continued to tell himself.

‘Do you not remember me? How upsetting.’ The man taunted, putting down the paperweight in his hand. He sat in the chair, swinging his legs up on the desk. Robert squinted, trying to place the man, still failing. Whoever he was, he smelled like the back of a donkey, looks not fairing too much better either.

‘I was the old stable boy. Lucas?’ He sneered, basically spitting at the man standing across the room at him. Robert finally caught on, still not actually sure where this was going, what the man wanted with him. He raised his eyebrow, laughing internally, externally natural. He was almost proud of himself, chasing the boy away that night.

Lucas had potential to be a beautiful boy, to be warm and kind hearted. Had the potential for all of that, with you. Without you, he went down a lonely path, setting up a shop at a young age, he stole from near islands, little towns and grabbed a few things from the palace before he ran. He set up his shop a few islands over, staying far from you and the palace, not wanting anything to do with it. He became a slob, stopped trying to be perfect, stopped waiting for the right girl to come along, he stopped waiting for you. You should have run together, should have come to find you, should have hid. He didn’t need you, he always told himself. Always drilled into his head you were just a girl, just a stupid little girl. He almost believed it to, almost believed you were nothing to him. Until you appeared that day, he really hadn’t recognised you. Really growing into yourself, a confident and beautiful young woman. He was intimidated by you, not sure what you were doing in his little store. Then you showed him the bracelet, clearly not looking for a match. You were a distraction, a ploy. You were never there for him, even after you figured out who he was, you didn’t care.

‘Why are you here Lucas?’ He groaned, skimming through the books behind the desk, not worried about what the man wanted. You weren’t here anymore, and if that’s what Lucas wanted, he was out of luck. Well and truly.

‘Let me tell you of something that happened three days ago.’ He began, recounting the whole story.

‘Princess?’ A voice spoke after three consecutive knocks. She nodded for the maid to answer the door, letting the guard in. She smiled at him, urging him to continue.

‘Good afternoon your majesty, I apologise for interrupting you.’ He bowed, Amelia smiled, standing in front of him. He stood straight once more, not looking her in the eye.

‘What brings you here today?’ She questioned, giving him a moment to gather himself. He wasn’t one of the regular guards she dealt with, so she assumed he might be a little bit anxious.

‘A gentleman came to the gates today. He requested to see Advisor Robert instantly, we are not sure what he is after.’ He told her, the princesses eyes narrowing. Not at the guard, but more at the fact this man just demanded to see someone, yet no one knew what he wanted yet.

‘Where are they?’ She stoically replied, letting the maid pull her robe off her shoulders, slipping on a different dress. This seemed like formal business, not really something she could just run to in her pyjamas.

‘The small office your majesty, with the library.’ He replied, regardless of leading the way for her. He went to open the door for her but she put her hand up stopping him. She placed her ear to the door, trying to listen in to the conversation.

‘So, you want what from me?’ Robert replied, clearly bored out of his mind. Was he conducting a trade meeting without her? In an old library?

‘I want, you to pay me back for this. She fucking cracked me across the head!’ The other man yelled; she recognised the voice quickly. It was hard to not to recognise the voice that she heard for four hours every day. That was until he vanished.

‘This isn’t funny! Listen, I could have loved her but you chased me away. You did this to me and now you will pay for it!’ He yelled again, deciding enough was enough, she motioned for the guards to swing the doors open. This was her favourite part, she felt powerful, important. She was, but it was nice to have it made obvious sometimes. The second the doors swung open both men turned to look at her. Robert bowed instantly, Lucas on the other hand smirked over at her, looking her up and down. She scoffed at the man, crossing her hands over her chest, thank god you didn’t end up with this man.

‘Have some respect Lucas. Wont you bow to the future queen. Especially since you are trying to get something from us.’ She replied, looking the man up and down, slightly more judgingly than he had. The man scoffed, stepping towards Amelia, trying to be threatening, but she was not the little girl that would back down, she wasn’t what he remembered her to be. Where as before, if Lucas had yelled at her or told her off, she would cower, maybe even cry. He was her teacher after all, it made sense. Now however, he was nothing but a store owner, she was a princess.

‘That’s not the point. He threw me out on the streets because I loved his-‘

‘Stop speaking. Your voice is not something I’m remembering enjoying.’ She replied, waving a hand at the man, he seemed to get more infuriated, Robert trying his best to hide the laugh bubbling in his throat.

‘Princess!’ He yelled, frustration and anger fizzling over. She rolled her eyes, hushing him one more time.

‘Speak out of place one more time and I’ll have to locked away.’ She fumed, done with this insolent man who didn’t know his place.

‘With regards to us owing you, we are required to give you nothing. You do not belong to this island; therefore, this family has no obligation to help you. Also, with regards to how you became banished from this palace. It is none of my business, nor, quite frankly, do I care. However, it would have been for a good reason, I wish to hear no more from you. Please sir, do have a good day.’ She replied, clapping her hands, standing off to the side. Letting the guards escort the man out, he kicked and screamed, not happy with the decision.

‘I was chased out! This is preposterous!’ He kicked and screamed, she held her hand up one more time. The guards stopping and turning the man to face her.

‘You’re the one who ran. She loved you and you lost your chance. I don’t care the circumstances; a man stands his ground.’ She spat, looking down her nose at him. When the man was fully out of the way, Robert tried to explain himself.

‘I’m sorry princess, I wasn’t sure who it was so I assumed I could handle it.’ Robert spoke instantly, bowing once more. She requested him to stand, as she sat on the couch.

‘Sit with me Robert, we must chat about something.’ She spoke, patting the cushion beside her. He gulped, doing as he was told regardless.

‘She knows.’ The words fell from her lips before she had the chance to think them over. She could have phrased it better, but by the look on Robert’s face, he knew exactly what she meant. Even if he was going to try to pass it off.

‘What do you mean Princess?’ He questioned, voice wobbling slightly. Amelia rolled her eyes, almost tutting at the man.

‘You know what I mean Robert. Y/N knows you’re her father, you made it pretty obvious.’ He sat back on the couch, letting the information sink in. Amelia on the other hand, sat upright as usual, not letting herself relax for a second.

‘How long?’ He questioned, voice no more than a whisper, unable to make it reach any further. She thought back, realistically how long have you been gone? She wasn’t actually sure, not wanting to really put a time on it.

‘I can’t tell you an exact time. She knew for sure just before she was taken. If it’s any conciliation, she wasn’t mad, more upset you never told her sooner. Do with this information as you will, I just thought you aught to know.’ She clarified, standing to leave the room.

‘Princess?’ She turned to look at him, already half way out the door. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled kindly at him, bowing her head to leave him alone with his thoughts.

He didn’t need time to think though, the second he was sure you knew; he was certain he was leaving. Quickly he went to the nearest pub, finding the men he was looking for. Slamming his hands down on the table, he startled the group of men before him.

‘I need you to help me. Please.’

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