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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 2 years

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The Perfect Halloween Look - Gerard Way x Reader

Summary: You are attending the college Halloween party, not sure where you are standing with your friend Gerard, when he asks you to do his make up Reader: should be gender neutral (no pronouns used, Reader wears a dress and a hairband as a custume) Word count: 4 177 A/N: This didn’t post on Halloween for me and I don’t care what, it makes me fucking angry, because nothing since I got up went right and this is just the last straw. Take it or leave it. I’m off for today.

With furrowed brows you looked at your reflection in the mirror. For the past thirty minutes you had worked on your face paint for the college Halloween party. You planned on going as a dead cheerleader, already dressed in the short, red and white dress, which you had splattered with fake blood. You had applied a thin layer of white make-up all the way down your neck, giving your natural skin colour a sickly touch. Your eyes and hollows of the cheeks were powdered with black, green and blue eye shadow, making them look fallen in. All in all, you really did not look very healthy anymore. Maybe it was a bit too much though, not natural looking.

But who cared? This was not costume make-up for a realistic movie but for a college party. Nobody would care if it was a bit too much. It looked good.

You just hoped Gerard would think so too.

Gerard and you had been friends since your first year in college and had somehow ended up sitting next to each other in almost every class you took. You knew he loved dressing up and playing around with make-up, but much to your surprise he had been rather hesitant about answering your questions as what he wanted to dress up this Halloween until he had finally confessed that he just didn’t feel like dressing up at all. You had offered to help him with a bit of spooky face paint if he wanted, but he had turned down your offer.

Honestly, you did not have a lot of experience with make-up at all, but you had worked out some techniques by now, and any excuse to spend more time with Gerard alone was good enough. The way he had rejected your offer had just sounded a bit too annoyed for your taste, and now you were not sure if he even wanted to hang out with you at the party at all.

It was fine, you told yourself, as you applied a bit of blue eyeliner as lipstick, coating it with lip-gloss, and contemplated the result. You had other friends to spend the evening with, other friends who you could laugh and have a good time with.

But the truth was that it was not fine. None of them understood you quite as Gerard did, none of them made you feel as accepted, as noticed as Gerard. Your heart ached at the thought of him maybe not wanting to hang out with you. You had known for a while that you had developed a crush on the cute artist.

The way he was so passionate about his projects, be it for art school, comics, or music was enthralling and contagious. The way he talked about certain topics, you could just relate to him. And maybe that was what had prompted him to be more open with you recently. He had begun talking about more personal stuff recently, stuff you really hadn’t expect him to ever share with you. But maybe he had felt the same, and instead of feeling good about having confided in you, he had pulled away, drawn back.

Or maybe he had noticed you liked him and tried distancing himself in order for you to not get your hopes up.

Either way: his behaviour these past weeks made your stomach churn. With a sigh you grabbed the small tube with fake blood and slipped it into the box with the rest of the make-up which you planned on taking along to the party since you had offered a few girls from your class to do some low effort face paint for them. More white powder, black, green and blue eyeshadow, black lipstick and the fake blood should be enough. But you didn’t dare bringing up your hopes that maybe Gerard would ask you to do his make-up.

~*~

You were one of the first people to arrive at the party. It was held in one of the college buildings, a whole corridor of classrooms unlocked with each room offering different activities. One room had mostly snacks and drinks, one karaoke, and one even beer pong, even though the party was rather small and intimate, since it was only off your department at college. That meant about fifty people max, plus maybe a few friends and acquaintances. It also meant that you knew almost everyone there, and as soon as you had stepped foot into the building you got pulled into conversations.

An older student handed you a red solo cup filled with coke as you were discussing the new professor you both had, and how he seemed rather overwhelmed and unprepared for his classes, when the first of your friends arrived. Like promised, you helped them with a bit of face paint.

It was strange being so close to them as you tried to apply the different products to their face. You could smell their perfumes, and a few of them seemed to have had coffee not too long ago, since you could still smell it on their breath.

The task of getting your friends touched up made you forget about Gerard temporarily, and only after about an hour you noticed that he still had not arrived. You could not help but feel strange about it. You had noticed he had kept his distance recently, obviously you had, but that he would not even turn up the Halloween party because he would meet you here? The thought stung, and you bit your lip hard to hide its quivering, quickly reaching to a bowl with crisps to distract yourself.

That all your friends had left you hanging once you had done their Halloween make-up, and decided to get as drunk as possible in the first hour did not help your mood either. You didn’t feel like drinking. You didn’t even feel like being here at the party anymore, now that everyone had migrated to talk to other people, and not even Gerard was around. It was ridiculous really, how all of a sudden you felt lonely, even though the room was semi-crowded with people looking for snacks that were lined up on the table underneath a window.

You were just about to reach for the bowl a second time, already chewing on the salty crackers, when suddenly you spotted Gerard. His hair was black and dishevelled, just like always, and he wore his normal everyday clothes. One of your classmates walked up to him, doubtlessly commenting on the lack of Gerard’s costume, but Gerard’s eyes flickered through the room, until they landed on you. Quickly you sent him a smile and lifted your hand in greeting, your heart hammering in your chest. Gerard nodded at you, and – without taking his eyes off of you – made his way across the room to where you were standing next to the table on which your friends had sat while you had done their face paint.

“Hey,” Gerard greeted awkwardly, running his hand through his hair. A nervous gesture of his. “You look great.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as Gerard’s eyes skipped over your body, the tightly cut dress, your exposed legs, the white sneakers, and back up to your face. A smile tucked at his lips as he saw the red bow you had tied into your hair, perfectly matching the red of your fake-blood splattered dress.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, fidgeting around with one of the eyeshadow pallets you had used on your friend a few minutes ago.

“Your make-up looks really good too,” Gerard added, as if he wasn’t sure what else to talk about.

“Took me long enough,” you joked, rolling your eyes. “You didn’t dress up?”

Gerard shrugged. “Didn’t really feel like it…”

His eyes wandered from the eyeshadow palette between your fingers to the other make-up products you had still spread out over the desk besides you.

“Is there a chance I could still get a make-up appointment though?”

Your heart missed a beat and almost you would have dropped the palette you had been fiddling around with.

“What?”

“I mean… I know I said I didn’t want to. But seeing everyone else with this cool Halloween make-up on…” Gerard pulled up his shoulders, slipping the sleeves of his hoodie jacket over his hands insecurely.

“Uhm, sure,” you quickly, answered, trying to calm down your racing pulse, and gestured to the desk. “Sit down.”

Before this evening, when you had imagined doing Gerard’s make-up it had all been nice and cosy, but after having done the make-up for about half of your friends, you had realised how close you sometimes had to get if you wanted to get the details and everything else right. You had stood between their legs, sometimes leant in so close that their breath had fanned over your face, or spread some of the make-up with your fingers, since that had worked better than with sponges or brushes. It had not been weird with them, because they were your friends, and you were not interested in any of them romantically. But with Gerard…

Following your invitation, Gerard hopped up on the desk, letting his legs dangle like a little kid.

“What do you want me to do?”

Gerard furrowed his brows for a moment and looked across the room for inspiration.

“Just a skull, or something like that. Or what you did for yourself. I like that a lot. I can just be dead me.”

You laughed quietly at that, before you grabbed the white eyeshadow. You had experimented with theatre make-up, but the eyeshadow had worked best for your limited experience. And it made adding other colours easier.

With shaking hands, you dipped a little sponge into the eyeshadow (the cheapest you had found) and moved close to Gerard. You had wanted to stand beside his legs, positive standing between his legs like you had done earlier with your other friends would give you a heart attack, but he already had spread them for you to stand between them, so you did.

You could tell he was watching you closely as you began dapping the white powder all over his face. He was pale already, but the additional white made him look sickly. He was leaning back on his hands, drumming along to the music that was playing from the other room.

“Okay, close your eyes,” you demanded, and when he did, you gently dabbed more of the white eyeshadow over his lids, so you had an even foundation. It was tempting to use the moments in which he had closed his eyes to study his face more closely. His dark lashes were incredibly long, framing the curve of his eyelids perfectly. Quickly you focused back on the task at hand, and gently dapped more eyeshadow onto his skin.

“Whoa, why is it so bright here,” an older student, who had helped organise the party, suddenly exclaimed. Indeed, all the ceiling lights of the classroom were on, making the room look like a normal evening, instead of a Halloween party. “Let’s make this a bit more spooky, shall we?”

And with that he turned off almost all the ceiling lights, immediately covering the room in mysterious twilight.

Gerard was about to protest, that they should turn the lights back on, so you could see, but you shook your head.

“Let’s look for another spot, and let them have their fun,” you suggested, and he nodded obediently.

Quickly you gathered your make-up products and shoved them into the little bag you had carried them in, before stepping out into the corridor. The party spread along the whole hallway. The room you had just left was illuminated only by a single lamp now, the next room over by the reflections from a silver screen on which a few people were singing karaoke. Further down the corridor were more rooms, all comparatively dark, and probably swarmed by a few couples making out in the dim lights.

The only room that was probably well lit and empty was the bathroom for the disabled. A few doors down were the normal bathrooms, but this one was usually not used by regular students because most of the time it was lacking toilet paper. Which meant nobody would be bothered if Gerard and you occupied it while you finished his face paint.

You pointed to the door, and Gerard followed you into the small room. Inside were no booths, instead a toilet with a handle at the side, a shower, and a low sink. You had never understood why there was a shower in here, and your best guess was that it was due to the fact the building had been a residential building before it had been integrated into the campus of the college.

“Sink or toilet, where do you want me,” Gerard asked after he had turned on the lights and locked the door behind you.

Quickly glancing between the two options, you pointed to the sink, and Gerard hopped to sit on its rim. In the back of your mind, you wondered if the sink would break, since it certainly had not been made to be sat on, but when there were no suspicious noises, you relaxed, and stepped closer to Gerard again.

In the small bathroom the light was better than it had been in the classroom, and you could see just how spooky Gerard already looked with the bit of white make-up.

“I’ll add some green, blue and black around your eyes and to your cheekbones, so your face looks more fallen in,” you let him know while grabbing the first colour, making him nod.

“Sorry for not spending so much time with you lately,” Gerard suddenly blurted out, just as you began adding a thin layer of black to around his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” you shrugged, pretending like this was not exactly the conversation you had feared for weeks. “We’re all pretty busy right now, I guess.”

“No- I mean yes, but… I could’ve made time, and I didn’t.”

“It’s okay. We don’t always have to hang out if you don’t want to. Don’t worry about it.”

You could tell Gerard was shivering slightly, as you kept working.

“Everything okay,” you asked worriedly, dapping more colour onto his skin.

He just hummed in response.

“You’re shaking. Are you cold? Did you have enough to eat? Low blood sugar?”

“I’m fine. Sorry if I’m making this harder for you.”

“That’s not the problem, Gee,” you pulled away from his face, taking a look at your work. “’s just that I’m worried.”

“I’m okay. Really,” Gerard assured you, opening his eyes, when he noticed you had pulled away from him.

He looked sad, you suddenly realised. Sad and a little lost.

“Okay, if you say so…” not really believing him you packed away the brush for the eyeshadow. “We’re almost done, the last thing missing are the lips.” Suddenly self-conscious you pressed yours together, noticing how Gerard mimicked you, his eyes shortly flickering to your colour-coated lips. “Do you want to do them yourself? There’s a mirror behind you…”

Gerard couldn’t possibly feel comfortable with you applying make-up to his lips, with your bare fingers no less.

“Uhm… could you do it? If you don’t mind…”

You shrugged. “I don’t,” you lied, “but I’d have to do it with my fingers…”

“That’s okay.”

You shrugged again, and motioned Gerard to scoot a little, so you could quickly wash your hands. Once you had dried them well enough to be able to handle the colours again, you stepped back between Gerard’s spread legs. So far you had managed to stay a safe distance away from his face, but the lip make-up was a delicate matter. With the lips the whole look could either look great or absolutely terrible.

Taking a shaky breath, you dipped your finger into the colour, and brought it up to Gerard’s lips. They were warm and soft under your touch, almost plush. As you ran your finger along his lower lip, leaving a faint shimmer of blue, you concentrated on keeping the colour on his lips, and not accidently slip. But the intense stare with which Gerard was watching your face contort in concentration made focusing difficult. You pretended not to notice it, the way his eyes skipped over your face as if he tried to memorize every little Halloween make-up covered crease and pore.

It was only when you reached for the last colour, that you couldn’t take it anymore, and for a moment your eyes flickered up to his. That was when you froze. Your face was only inches away from his, and his eyes were taking you in with a sense of wonderment and…

“Your pupils are huge,” you whispered, not sure if you had meant to say that out loud.

Gerard blinked a few times before he answered, speaking just as lowly as you. “They are?”

You nodded with an affirmative hum. Somehow it was impossible to look away. It was as if Gerard was pinning you in place with his stare.

“Did you know our pupils dilate up to 55% when we look at someone we love?”

His words were but a breath in the silence between you. There was the humming of the neon tube of the bathroom lights, and the hammering of your heart in your ears, and Gerard’s stupid little fun fact, that almost made your heart stop as you wondered how wide your pupils were right now. Certainly dilated beyond normal. He could absolutely tell you felt attracted to him just by looking into your eyes alone.

But before you had time to realise that the statement was true for him as well, that his pupils were dilated because he looked at someone he loved, and the person he looked at was you, he had already closed the last inches between you, and pressed his lips to yours.

A quiet sound of surprised escaped you, before you dropped the eyeshadow pallet you had been holding into the sink, and wrapped your hands into his hair, kissing him back.

How often had you dreamt about this moment, of kissing Gerard? Far more often than you wanted to admit even to yourself. And you had certainly not imagined it to happen while you both were wearing layers and layers of carefully applied Halloween make-up.

His lips tasted powdery from the colours you had used, but when he kissed you deeper, a note of coffee and indescribable sweetness overwhelmed your senses, making you dizzy. As if Gerard had felt the reaction his kiss had on you, he brought his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him, and kissing you harder. His body was soft and warm against yours, his clothes smooth under your hands. As you ran your fingers from his hair down his neck, you could feel tiny goosebumps rising underneath your fingertips, and he shivered, before he kissed you even harder.

He knew exactly what he wanted, you realised, as you let him take complete control over the kiss. He moved as if he had planned every single moment of this, as if he had imagined kissing you just as often as you had imagined kissing him. Both of his hands were placed at your waist now, pulling you in as close as possible, until your hip was flush to the cold porcelain of the sink he was seated on. His legs were on either side of you, not quite wrapped around you yet, just pressed to your side, warm, strong, stabilising you on your wobbly knees and keeping you close. You did not stop kissing until both of you were out of breath, but eventually, your lungs aching for oxygen, you pulled away.

Only then it really hit you, what had just happened. Gerard had kissed you, as if his life depended on it. Confused and shocked you stumbled a step back, taking in the man before you. His eyes were wide as he nervously tried interpreting your expression. A soft blush shimmered through the white powder, and the colour you so carefully had applied to his face was smeared around his lips in a mixture of the eyeshadow you had used for him, and your lip-gloss. He really did look like a Zombie who had just made out with someone with blue lipstick. If you could have seen your reflection in the mirror behind Gerard, you would have found you did not look much different.

With his feet dangling in the air, a few inches over the ground, Gerard watched you closely, as you blinked a few times in irritation and surprise before you carefully spoke up.

“What was that for?”

You could still taste him on your lips and tongue, the coffee and the sweetness, something so typically him and at the same time so much different from what you had imagined him to taste like.

Gerard gulped audibly at your question and averted his eyes embarrassedly. Fiddling around with the sleeves of his jacket, he took a deep breath, before looking up at you again.

“I know I hurt you by trying to distance myself from you recently,” Gerard suddenly blurted out. “I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t actually in love with you. But I am. And I’m sick of pretending I’m not.” His voice shook slightly as he talked, his still darkened eyes, pupils blown impossibly wide, staring at you, pleading you to understand. “I’m sorry if it makes things weird between us, but I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not. And I just happen to be someone who’s totally, head over heels, helplessly in love with you.”

His words took a moment to register for you, took a few seconds for you to understand them before you could reply.

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” you told him, stepping back closer.

Slowly you brought a hand up to his face, careful not to destroy the make-up you had made such an effort of applying. Immediately he snuggled into your touch, his eyes not leaving yours, until you moved forward and pressed your lips to his again, shorter, sweeter this time, but with just as fast beating heart.

Gerard’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact, and his lips pulled into a smile. When you leant back again, you took a closer look at his face once more. His cheeks were pink underneath the white make-up, making him look more alive than he was supposed to look.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whispered into the narrow space between you, making him smile. “So, so much.”

You weren’t sure if you had ever seen Gerard smile as brightly as he did in that moment. His face was all crunched up, teeth showing, eyes glimmering happily. With a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh he nudged his nose against yours, before he pulled you into a hug. His arms around you, his chest against yours, his nose buried in your hair were so familiar, so well known, and yet at the same time something entirely new. Before, when he had hugged you, it had been quick, casual good-bye hugs. But now he lingered, deeply inhaled the scent that clung to your hair as you tightened your arms around him.

When you eventually pulled away, you brushed your finger over his lips, spreading the colour which your kiss had left a little more evenly, before you gave him a nod.

“You’re all good to go,” you let him know. “The perfect Halloween look.”

Gerard grinned and shimmied off the sink he had been sitting on, watching you as you put away the products and utensils you had used. From the corner of your eyes you could see Gerard biting his lower lip, and almost you would have scolded him for endangering the face paint you had applied so carefully, but he spoke up quicker.

“Is it too bold to ask you to be mine?”

Surprised you looked up at him, before you smiled again and stepped closer to Gerard. Immediately his hands came up to your waist, and you could not help but feel like it was a motion he had waited for ages to be allowed to do.

“It’s not,” you whispered and softly pecked his lips again, intertwining your fingers with his.

Together you walked over to the door, and as you unlocked it, you couldn’t help but think about how about thirty minutes ago you had stepped in here, thinking Gerard might have enough of you. Turning around to him, it seemed as if he had read your thoughts, because his eyes met yours and he lifted your hand up, pressing his lips to your knuckles, the expression on his face an almost dreamy, happy smile. He didn’t have to put it into words, with the way he was looking at you now, to eradicate all doubt, but you could see it in his eyes: the promise to never pull away from you again.

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ikeromantic · 11 months

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Alice in College pt 1

An IkeRev Central characters AU! Written for my IkeRev 1K Celebration, a boarding school AU was the poll winner. Approx. 2700 words. 1/6

On Being the New Kid and Other Horrors

Alice looked up at the soaring towers of Cradle College, her neck tilted back uncomfortably. They were impossibly tall, and looked needle thin. Pennants fluttered atop them, their colors too distant to determine against the steely gray of the sky. The clouds above were heavy with the threat of a coming storm. “Figures,” she sighed.

There was nothing for it but to go in. She knocked once at the large, wooden entry. A smaller door set into the giant gate swung open. “There you are.” The voice that came from the shadowed threshold was warm and gentle. A moment later, Alice had a face to go with the voice as a young, bespectacled man stepped out. “I’m Blanc Lapin. And you must be our new Alice.”

“Yes, Mr. Lapin.” Alice felt flustered under his rose-gold gaze. He was beautiful in an almost fragile way, with his pale hair and complexion, thin frame, and elegant hands. She found it hard not to stare, and when she did, iIt felt as if he saw right into her heart. His playful smile and wise eyes said they knew every thought she had as she climbed the steps to meet him.

“Please, call me Blanc.” He took her hands in his and gently squeezed them. “Welcome to Cradle.”

Alice let herself be led inside.

The courtyard was old, overgrown with thick, verdant vines. Ivy and roses over crumbling statues, arches, and stone walls. She didn’t have time to really look at any of it as Blanc set a fast pace. He opened the door for her and shepherded her into the entry hall. Alice had just enough time to gawp at the floating crystal chandelier above them before she was herded into another room.

“Here we are.” Blanc came to a sudden stop, and Alice nearly collided with him. “You’ve arrived just in time for afternoon tea.” He smiled at her wistfully. “Go ahead and grab a tray. You’ll find the food here is quite good. I recommend the carrot cake.”

“The . . . carrot cake?” Alice blinked at him.

“Yes. Though the strawberry and caramel creme are also very good.”

“Stop flirting with the new kid. Nobody wants to see that.” A child’s high-pitched voice interrupted before Alice could say anything else.

She turned to see a small boy with a ridiculous top hat marching toward them. His green jacket and matching bowtie were pressed and formal and far fancier than the simple blue dress and white pinafore Alice wore. The boy looked much too young for college, she thought.

“Oliver, did you come to introduce yourself?” Blanc smiled at him with the same gentle expression he’d show Alice.

“No.” Oliver crossed his arms.

Alice wasn’t sure how to react, but Blanc was giving her an encouraging look so she took a breath and held out her hand. “Hi, Oliver. I’m Alice. It’s, um, nice to meet you?” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a question but his frown and lowered brows made her uncertain it was nice.

“Wonderful.” Blanc put his gloved hands together. “I’m afraid I have somewhere else to be, but it looks like you’re getting along just fine.” He gave Alice one last smile and then left.

She stood there awkwardly, glancing between Blanc’ retreating form and Oliver’s bored expression.

“Ugh. Come on.” Oliver rolled his eyes and turned on his heel.

Alice reluctantly followed after. “So. You must be pretty smart to be in college already, hm? What are you studying?”

“Don’t patronize me. I’m not some stupid kid.”

“Oh. Ok. I - I didn’t mean to?” She took a breath. Clearly the kid was touchy about his age. She didn’t try to make any more small talk as he led her to the snack table. There were pastries, savory and sweet, and a large samovar full of hot tea.

“Metaphysics.”

Alice was just reaching for a plate when Oliver spoke, and nearly dropped it in surprise.

He reached out, grabbing her hand to stabilize the plate. “Great. You’re clumsy too.” Oliver sighed. “Anyway, get what you want and then find somewhere to sit.” He let go of her and turned to go.

“Thanks?”

“Just try not to drop anything.” He took a step and then paused. “You can sit by us, if you want. Not that I care.” And with that, he left her alone.

Alice frowned after him for a moment. “No thanks,” she murmured. She didn’t think she could handle any more kid-sass. Not today anyway. She filled her plate, grabbed a mug of tea, and found an empty table.

The cafeteria looked like it was meant to house a lot more students than it currently did. Large, round wooden tables dotted the room, with six chairs at each. Only a few were occupied. No one looked over at her arrival, which was fine. It wasn’t her first time being ‘the new kid’ and it would take time to get to know people.

She picked up a strawberry pastry and took a bite. It was quite good. As good as anything the sweets shop she worked at in London might make. Alice finally started to relax as she sat there, sipping tea and people watching. Despite the magical nature of Cradle, the students here really weren’t that different than -

“You look so beautiful when you’re enjoying yourself.”

The voice caught Alice offguard and she spilt her tea on her skirt as she made a slight jump and turned towards it. Her eyes were met by a pair of wide, grey-blue eyes and a bright, friendly smile.

“Sorry, did I startle you princess?” He didn’t look sorry at all as he gave her a mischievous wink. “Here, let me help you with that. It’s my fault, afterall.” And then he knelt, leaning into her lap to dab at the spot of tea on her pinafore.

Alice felt completely tongue-tied, her face going instantly hot from the sudden, unexpected familiarity. She took a moment to find her voice again, though it was a little squeakier than she liked. “Who - who are you? What are you doing?”

He laughed warmly and tilted his head to look up at her. “Ah, there I go, jumping right in without even introducing myself. I’m Dalim, and it’s really a pleasure to meet you, Alice.”

She blinked at him uncertainly. He at least looked like he meant it, even if he was entirely too close for someone she just met. His hand was still resting on her leg beside the stain. “N-nice to meet you too. But. Could you . . .”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry about that. I suppose I just got a little carried away. I feel bad I just met you and already made a mess.” He drew his hand back slowly, the warmth of his palm stroking her through her skirt.

Alice wasn’t sure how to respond. People were just not this forward where she was from.

“You’re really freaking her out, Dalim. You should give it a rest. Don’t you have enough girlfriends already?” Another interruption, welcome this time.

She turned her head to see a pink-haired youth a step behind her chair. His shaggy bangs almost covered his oddly colored eyes, one scarlet and the other a tawny gold. He had on a hoodie with cat ears, and fitted t-shirt that said ‘Free Hugs’ in a bubbly yellow print.

He saw her looking at him and broke into a smile. “Hi Alice. I’m Loki. And I’m rescuing you from this guy, ok?”

“Ok?” Alice echoed him, which was apparently the wrong response because as soon as she spoke, Loki grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him toward the door.

“W-where are we- hey, what-” She tried to get her question out but before she managed, they were surrounded by a bright light and then she was standing someplace else entirely. The dining hall was gone, replaced by a small balcony on one of the school towers.

The wind here was cold and the rain felt like tiny needles on her exposed skin. She clutched the balcony railing, trying not to panic as the expanse of the school grounds spread out below her.

“This is one of my favorite places to escape to.” Loki’s lips brushed her ear as he spoke, and she felt his arms slide around her. “Here, you can lean against me if you’re cold.”

Alice gave him a withering look. She was tired of being teased and manhandled. “This is not a rescue. This is a kidnapping! I was perfectly fine. Enjoying pastries and some cute flirty guy. And now I’m freezing to death on a balcony while you try to - to -” She stopped her tirade as she saw his expression shift from glee to hurt.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his lips forming a perfect little pout.

She took a breath and got control of herself. “Look. Loki. It’s fine. I’m just really cold out here. And I wasn’t expecting this. Plus, I don’t know that I like being hugged when I’ve barely met someone.”

He considered for a moment and then nodded. “Alright. I’ll wait until we know each other better before I hug you again. Now come on. Let’s get out of the rain.”

Alice half feared he would magic them someplace else, but instead he turned around and opened a hidden door on the roof that led onto an upper floor of the school library. The walls here were lined with books from floor to ceiling. Magic crystal lamps hovered in the air over long tables, low-slung couches, and private reading booths.

After a moment, she located the ladder that led up to this level and clambered down. Her hands were so cold she had trouble holding on. Loki, on the other hand, looked none the worse for wear, other than being a little wet.

“This way,” he gestured for her to follow him through the maze of shelves and reading spots. Alice wasn’t sure she ought to trust him, but it was that or wander off on her own with no idea which direction to go.

Loki stopped at one of the private reading nooks, a big grin on his face. “Alice. Look,” he whispered.

She leaned forward to see what was in the nook and her eyes landed on a strange-looking man. He had dark hair and wore some sort of small, metal mask. His visible eye was closed in sleep, head resting on a huge, open tome. “Loki. He’s sleeping. Let’s leave him be.”

“Nah.” Loki gave her a wink and then pulled a feather from thin air. He reached forward to tickle the sleeping man’s nose.

Alice grabbed at the feather, but missed as he pulled it out of reach. She swiped at it again as he wiggled it toward the peaceful face of the sleeper. As Loki yanked it away again, she lost her balance and tumbled straight onto the man.

He didn’t yell or jerk awake. His eye opened quickly though, and slid to the side, taking in the woman now draped on top of him. In a strained, quiet voice he spoke. “Could you. Please. Get off of me?”

“Sorry. I - I fell. And. Um.” She pulled back and stood straight, flushed to the roots of her hair with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to. You see. Loki - he -” she pointed to him and found the spot empty. In fact, the little pink-haired trouble maker was nowhere in sight.

“He got away.” The man sat up and ran a hand over his hair, trying to pat it into shape. He was failing spectacularly, as clumps stood straight up on the side that had been pressed to the book. “It’s fine.” He sighed. “He does this sort of thing.” He gave up on his hair and held out a hand. “I’m Harr.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Harr. I’m Alice.” She shook his hand. “Sorry I woke you like that.” She couldn’t help but notice he was blushing and wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Not your fault.” He took a breath. “Why are you soaking wet?” At her long-suffering sigh, he smiled. “Ah. Loki. Right. Well. Do you know where your room is? You should probably change out of those wet things.”

Alice shook her head. “I assume Blanc - Mr. Lapin - was going to show me, but, I think I’ve lost him completely.”

Harr stood. He was, she realized, very tall. Was he a teacher? A senior? She couldn’t say. “Let me show you.” He rummaged in his bag and took out a plain black notebook. He handed it to her. “This has a map of the school and another of the grounds. And you can take notes in it.”

“Oh, umm. Thank you. You really don’t need to -”

“I don’t need it. And you do.” He smiled and it was the first time he really looked directly at her. It was such a nice smile that she felt almost stunned by it’s sudden appearance. Then it was gone and he was walking away, his long legs taking him further from her with every step. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder.

She clutched her new notebook in hand and hurried after him, happy for a guide, even one as shy and mysterious as Harr. In fact, she was watching him so intently that she didn’t see the student about to step into her path until the moment they collided.

“You idiot! Watch where you’re going!” The dark figure she’d run into nearly spat the words as they stood up and straightened their clothes. Black hooded shirt, dark pants. Purple scarf. A strand of pale hair, and a pair of furious amber eyes. He bent down to pick up his books.

“I am so sorry! It was my fault entirely.” She set her notebook down to help him collect his things. It was a pretty big stack of books, notebooks, and loose paper. Tight, scrawling cursive covered nearly every page in tiny, chaotic lines of text.

“It was absolutely your fault.” He paused to get a good look at her. “You’re the new Alice.” He said the words with even more venom, surprising her into dropping what she’d picked up.

“Yeah. Sorry about that too, I guess,” she snapped.

He bent and picked up the rest of his things, snagging her notebook as well. “You should be.”

“Right. Hey - that’s mine though!”

He glanced down as she snagged the black notebook from his hand.

“Alice?” Harr had stopped a few meters ahead and turned back to check on her. His eyes widened. “Amon?”

The rude guy - Amon - frowned fiercely before hurrying away. He didn’t say anything as he left, but he did spare her one final glare before turning into another doorway.

“Who was that,” she asked Harr as she hurried to catch up to him again.

“Amon Jabberwok.” Harr paused before he went on. “You should be careful around him.”

“Why?” Alice tried for more information, but Harr clammed up and said little else as he practically jogged down the hall and down some stairs.

Alice was doubly glad she had a guide when she realized how ridiculously tangled the halls and stairways of the school were. Even with a map, she knew it would have taken her awhile to find her room.

“Your bags should be inside already.” Harr finally spoke up again. “When you’re cleaned up, you should speak to Dean and Blanc about your class schedule.” He gave her a nod and then turned to go.

“Wait!”

He stopped. “Did you need something else?”

“No. Just. Thanks. For the help and the - the notebook.”

Harr nodded. “You’ll need it. And . . . if you . . . have questions, I’ll be around.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll see you then.” And with that, she was alone. Alice opened her door and stepped into the quiet room. Her’s, until the end of the school year. It was pretty nice. Light blue curtains framed a window with a view on the courtyard, and her bed had a nice heavy quilt to chase away the winter chill. There was a small fireplace too, though the flames that danced inside were no normal fire. They threw a light purple glow over the room as they flickered between shades of white and violet.

Peace. And warm, dry clothes. Alice took a breath, realizing that college here was going to be nothing like London. Nothing at all.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikerev au #ikerev blanc #ikerev Oliver #ikerev Dalim #ikerev Loki #ikerev Harr

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mostly-marvel-musings · 3 years

Note

Sexy drabble request- enemies to lovers hate sex with Loki 🤤💚

The green monster

A/N: This is more jealousy sex than enemies to lovers tbh. Happy reading!

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: 18+, smutty fluff.

Word count: 1.5k

Tom Hiddleston/Loki Taglist – @delightfulheartdream @what-a-flammable-heart @castiels-majestic-wings @lokis-leah

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @suchababie @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias @fanofalltheficsx @ladyburberry @chickensarentcheap @dontmindmyname123 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @buendiabebeta @princess-jules47

“May I have this dance, gorgeous?”

The gentleman who had his eyes on you the entire evening had finally asked you to dance and you were pleased. The said gentleman also happened to be a prime suspect of your mission.

The plan was to keep him engaged while your least favorite Avenger sneaked into the private rooms in order to bug it. Natasha and Clint waited outside in a van to receive an audio visual on them. You hoped to God that Loki did his job right without any glitches while you sweet-talked to the guy.

Unknown to you, there was a green jealousy monster rising its head inside Loki as he glared at the two of you from the shadows. Nostrils flared and hands balled up in fists, he hated the way you giggled and fluttered your eyelashes at the vile man. He wanted to burn his hands for having held you so close to his body while you two swayed to the music, his undeserving fingers splayed across your bare back.

You caught Loki’s eye, amused at his reaction, you couldn’t help teasing just a little. You always had a back and forth going on with him, you didn’t think much of it before acting out. The Asgardian who swore nobody could affect him that way ever, sure was adorable when irked.

Or so you thought.

You leaned over to whisper something in his ear which made him laugh and pull you closer to his chest before pressing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand.

This sent him over the edge, Loki abandoned your plan and made his exit in a dramatic way, a green light flashed across the room as everyone’s attention was now divided. It all happened too fast for you to process but your instincts kicked in and you had to act fast. The damage was already done, you had to get out of the place.

Cursing under your breath, you ignored Nat’s distressed voice and managed to somehow sneak out of the place after excusing yourself to the bathroom. Of course, he had betrayed, that’s what he does, you reminded yourself.

“Why did I even trust him?” you fumed, opening the door of the van to find two equally furious trained assassins. The drive back to the tower was silent, apart from your brain which was coming up with several ideas on how to murder the God of Mischief.

Previous anger still lingered as you made your way up to Loki’s room in the Tower, knocking on his door rather loudly before realizing it was open. Pushing it open, a part of you expected it to be empty but there he was, leaning against the window, arms crossed and a sulk on his face. It was almost like he was waiting for you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What was that? You don’t just abandon a mission out of the blue! Explain yourself, Loki.”

Crossing your arms to keep yourself from slapping him, you waited for an answer as his eyes simply bore into yours silently. It frustrated you further, the silence, usually he was all about the words.

“What, you're gonna keep quiet now? Were you planning on betraying us all along? Huh? Because you’re incapable of doing good, because you’re always the trickster? Here I thought I could trust you and—”

“I didn’t think my help was required with the way you had that imbecile all wrapped around your finger.” Loki’s voice was low as his gaze didn’t leave your form while he answered, causing you to frown.

“What? I—I did it for the mission, it was part of the plan. Remember when we discussed that? Of course, you don’t. You ruined everything!”

Your voice rose with the anger as you contemplated what to do next, he was still dangerously silent which couldn’t end well, you knew better than that. Deciding to leave him alone, you headed for the door but he beat you to it. Crossing the distance in a few long strides he shut the door with a loud bang before towering over you. He was too close; a few millimeters and you would’ve collided against his chest.

“Why are you—?”

“I did not appreciate the way that man had been eyeing you, the way he lay his hands all over your body, I wished to stab him.”

While his honesty took you by surprise, the audacity of this man made you scoff. Sometimes could be one of the most infuriating souls on the planet. Crossing your arms over your chest you fired back.

“And do you think it’s a treat watching you charm your way around a party? I don’t go on sabotaging missions just because I get jealous.”

It was Loki’s turn to raise his eyebrows as you dropped this new information on him, a smirk which he hid too well before nodding.

“I guess…we’re even then.”

“What? We’re not even. I have never betrayed my team because of how I feel about you, Loki. Never. What you did was wrong. I came here to yell at you and now I’m done. You’re—we’re done.”

As you were about to try and leave again, he stepped in your way, blocking your path and forced you to look at him.

“We’re not done. How could you say that?”

Dropping his voice to barely over a whisper, your heart threatened to jump out of its ribcage as Loki lowered his head to press his lips onto yours. Reluctantly at first, but you responded quickly after your arms slid up his chest and around his neck to pull him closer.

“You just admitted to being jealous.”

Loki whispered against your lips, walking you backwards until you hit the wall, continuing bruising you with kisses while your brain tried to process what had transpired.

“So did you.”

Smirking as you worked on undoing his buttons, you got little time to admire his chiselled torso as he grabbed you by the back of your thighs to lift you up. A sigh left your lips when his groin brushed against your core, desire pooling between your legs as he drove his hips forwards purposely.

“You owe me an apology you know…” you breathed, holding onto his shoulders tight, gasping when he nearly tore the dress away from your body. Lust-darkened shamelessly drinking you in.

“Well, consider me apologising, love.”

Loki attacked your neck, bruising spots by baring his teeth before soothing them over with his tongue while his hands kneaded your breasts, pinching your nipples with deft fingers.

Your body felt like it was on fire, desire burning deep in your belly as your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage. It had been coming from a mile away, everybody knew it, the tension was going to boil over sooner than later and now that it had, you wondered why you hadn’t been doing this all along.

Loki had overpowered your senses with those syrupy kisses, clouded your brain to the point where you didn’t register when he had rid himself of his clothes.

He teased your folds, gathering your slick with his tip before it turned you impatient as you pushed your hips ahead to take him in. A combined groan echoed in the otherwise silent room as he stretched you out, your warmth enveloping his length in its velvety blanket until he bottomed out.

Hair tangled up against the wall, back digging into the hard surface but all you could think about was more. Wanting more of what he was willing to give, every shudder that left your body wanted the same.

Loki’s teeth sunk into your skin, marking you as his while his length impaled you into a panting mess. That coil in your belly threatened to snap and he could sense it.

Deft fingers that circled around your clit in tandem with his thrusts sent you over the edge, letting out a strangled cry as your walls fluttered around his cock. Your mind a foggy mess as you floated, holding onto him as the aftershocks wracked your body.

“That was one hell of an apology.”

You felt him smile against your neck where he placed soft, soothing kisses, still sheathed inside your warmth. Carrying you over to the bed, he made you lay on top of him as he caressed your back.

“Do you forgive me, my darling?” He whispered. The duality of this man being so rough just a while back and yet this soft the next second was surprising.

Pretending to think for a while, you placed your chin on his chest with a mischievous smirk.

“I don’t know yet…Might want to keep apologizing.”

#loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki smut #loki laufeyson oneshot #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson fluff

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Note

wooohooo MCU gremlins drabble

Thor and Bruce examined the burn patters swirling on the remains of a wall, as Tony and Steve chatted to themselves.

“It’s been a month since these so-called Four Warriors were summoned, and we still haven’t found them. And now we know they have energy-based weapons.”

“But don’t you think that’s strange? These Warriors have been in New York for a month, and this is the first we’ve seen of any sort of attack.”

“Ahem.” Thor stood up. “I’m afraid that you are incorrect, Man of Iron.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Bruce stepped in, data pad in hand, which he passed to Tony. “The burn patterns here are too sporadic to be man-made. They look like natural lightning- or the kind of stuff Thor can summon. If I didn’t know this came from the middle of the city, I’d say the wall was just struck in a storm.”

Tony hummed. “So, what are you saying? Instead of the Warriors running around my city with weapons, they’re running around with superpowers? That’s worse!”

“Tony, you have to calm down.”

The Thunder God shook his head. “Actually, I have seen this kind of lightning before. It was made by a child of the stars- your people do not have a name for their race.”

Steve blinked. “An alien?”

“Yes, but one forged in the heart of a star. That is not the concerning thing about these markings, however.”

“What is it?”

“They are powerful, but wildly inaccurate. Whoever shot these blasts was not trained to use them effectively.”

“Meaning?”

“They are either a non-combatant... or a juvenile. I would tend towards the latter, as a fully grown star child would have more power in their blasts.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “It’s a kid? You’re sure?” He stopped. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Shut it, Rodgers. I just remembered something.” He tapped the data pad. “When we fought that weirdo with the staff, we saw a bunch of teenagers.”

Steve made a noise of realisation, and his heart sank. “Four teenagers. I thought they’d been caught up in the blast, so I made sure they got out safely. I only saw two of their faces- but they were definitely just freaked-out kids in over their heads.”

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying he summoned teenagers to do his dirty work? Are you saying the dangerous Warriors SHIELD has been tracking are kids?”

“Most likely stranded kids, if they’re still in the city.”

“Fuck.”

Steve didn’t admonish him this time.

——————————————————————————

A good thing about a city that’s constantly under attack is that nobody looks at a beat-up teenager twice, except with pity. Tommy knew that from back in L’Manberg, and it still rang true in... wherever the fuck they were. New York? He kicked a rock. “Fuckin’ stupid name. I would have come up with a much cooler one.”

Purpled scoffed, but there was no malice in it. “Uh huh.” The Starborne kept an eye on the entrance to the alley, fingers flexing around a hidden knife. He wouldn’t be caught unawares again. “You’d have named it L’Yorkberg or something.”

“Like I said, a much cooler name.” Tommy shot his friend a grin, and the wall behind them promptly disappeared. A tall figure with a hood over his face beckoned them through, the wall clicking seamlessly back into place behind them.

Finally, safety. The house they’d found was abandoned, and if anyone had come across it they’d be... confused. Random chunks of soil, sand and marble in perfect cubes were scattered around the room, and every surface was covered with random bits and pieces of machinery.

Purpled swept some scrap metal off of a cube of granite, and emptied out the bag of food he’d snagged on top of it. “I got enough to last us the week. I don’t think they saw me, but we should go to a different store next time to be safe.” Tommy passed the hooded figure a handful of first-aid kits. “Did Tubbo get that fridge working?”

The hooded figure- Ranboo- nodded. “Yeah, put the meat and stuff in it so it doesn’t go bad.” That had been a shock- food in this world spoiling over time. They couldn’t get ill from it, just Hunger, but it was still unpleasant to eat. The worst part of it was that they couldn’t just stock up on bread and wait for someone to find them, they had to constantly go out to get food. At least the first-aid kits were just a precaution.

The ram hybrid in question leaned into the room. “Hey, guys! Did you run into any trouble?” Tommy shook his head emphatically, while Purpled looked sheepish. “No...”

Tubbo put his hands on his hips. “What happened?”

Purpled coughed, embarrassed. “We kind of got mugged. They wanted this green paper stuff we found.” Tommy puffed out his chest proudly, wings flicking mischievously under his hoodie. “Purpled kicked the shit out of them, you should have seen him! Zapped them right through a wall.”

The ram’s eyes lit up, radiation symbols dancing in his pupils. “Sick!”

Ranboo, on the other hand, looked slightly panicked. “Uhm, aren’t we trying to keep a low profile?”

Tommy shrugged. “Eh, we had our hoods up, plus there’s a fuckin’ million people in this city. It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo clapped his hands together twice, banishing the nervous air that had grown in the room. “Right. Ranboo, you’re still banned from the kitchen after the Spaghetti Incident, so Tommy, it’s your turn to cook.”

——————————————————————————

Tony Stark was not good at waiting. It took approximately seven seconds for JARVIS to illegally download the CCTV footage of the attack, and about sixty for everyone watching to see what had really happened. It was still too long for him.

Two teenagers were walking down an alleyway, one in a red hoodie and one in a purple one. They were talking together and laughing about something.

“Red has blond hair, blue eyes, about 6’3. I think he’s got a dyed white streak in his hair.” He’d roped Natasha in for this, her spy training making her excellent at spotting details others would miss. “Purple has lighter blond hair and... purple eyes? Huh. They could be blue too, just a trick of the light. He’s shorter than Red, maybe 5’11?”

One of the teenagers swung his bag at the other with a grin on his face. The other yelled at him. Two older men appeared at the other end of the alley.

The spy’s eyes narrowed. “Two adults, 20-25, Caucasian, wearing beanies and dark clothing. They’re armed, one of them is nervous but the other has done this before.”

One of the men pulled a gun, and the other cracked his knuckles. The teenagers scowled.

“Huh. Interesting. Red and Purple aren’t afraid of them. They look... annoyed, but not scared.”

The man with the gun lunged forward, and was promptly knocked through a wall with a blast of electricity. The other man froze, and the teenager in red hit him over the head with a bag, before bursting into nervous laughter.

Nat’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. Okay, now I get why you wanted me to see this.” She looked at Tony. “Mutants? Have you contacted Xavier yet?”

Tony shook his head. “Not just mutants. Thor thinks Purple is an alien. Called him ‘a child of the stars’ or something.”

Shadows appeared at the end of the alleyway. The teenager in red swore, the words clearly visible despite the silent recording. He tore off his hoodie to reveal a large pair of wings, and grabbed his purple-clad friend. The pair flew out of sight of the camera.

“Red might be a mutant, we don’t know. Neither of them are showing up on any databases. No birth records, schooling, missing persons reports, anything.”

Nat sat back in her chair. “Right. You got any idea where they went after this?”

He shook his head. “Not one. We can assume Red landed in a remote area and hid his wings, before meeting up with the other two.”

She rose an eyebrow. “Other two?”

“There were four teenagers at that battle, remember? Just after four great Warriors were supposedly summoned.”

Recognition flashed in the spy’s eyes. “You think they’re the Warriors? They’re a little young.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Steve was pissed when we put two and two together and Bruce nearly Hulked out. Kids don’t belong on a battlefield.”

“What do we do now?”

“Look for patterns. Where we see them, and when. JARVIS is looking through all public cameras right now, and he’s already found Red and Purple stealing food from a nearby store a couple of times.”

“No sign of the other two?”

“Not yet. Although, they could just be better at hiding. Hell, one of ‘em could have invisibility powers or something. Hard to tell.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

Tony recognised that calculating look in her eyes. “You’ve figured something out. Alright. What’ve you got for me?”

She steepled her fingers together. “Put it this way. You’re a kid, and let’s for argument’s sake say you’ve been summoned to an unknown city, possibly even an unknown planet. You’re lost, and you’re evidently not able to get money or food, if you’re stealing from stores regularly.”

“Right.”

“If one of you has invisibility, why risk the visible ones getting caught? Why not just send them instead? No, my money is on Red and Purple being the most inconspicuous.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“They’re the easiest to blend in- the most baseline human-looking. And considering one’s an alien and one has wings, that’s saying a lot. The other two might not be able to go out in public without causing a scene.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it that way. But it makes sense.”

She shrugged. “Or the other two could be injured. Red was holding a bag full of medical supplies.”

“Shit. We need to find them, and fast.”

!!!!!

#dream smp #dream smp au #gremlins in mcu au #tommyinnit #tubbo #purpled #ranboo #ask #drabble #fanfic #long post #op i love it #i love it so much #also #starborne purpled my beloved #man i can't wait for them to just meet #that's going to be fun

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

prompt 1 with older brothers best friends!harry 👀

1. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

8. “I said stop staring at me.”

23. “I have a name and it’s not sweetheart.”

Third wheeling could never be fun. Not when you’re basically not even a wheel but an invisible person on a vacation watching couples kiss and yada yada.

“For fuck's sake.” Y/N grumbles changing a side snatching the blanket that got stuck under her and sandwiches her face into a pillow when she hears the steel roof atop her creak furiously accompanied by high pitched obnoxious moans.

Y/N's brother brought her along to their Italy trip, his wife’s bestfriend and his own bestfriend tagged along too leaving only Y/N to grump about their wild sex rendezvous.

She’s sleepless, homesick and probably about to get a stomach bug for living in yacht for four days atleast!

What’s so fun about jiggling in your sleep? None perhaps and the waves crashing at night that threatens you to swallow you down to the pit of ocean --- my pal, nothing is entertaining about it. Atleast for Y/N. She’s more of a hill station going person with her pup Frankenstein that oogles out from his small globe like window, comfy in his lil bag that Y/N moves around on her shoulders everywhere.

When the fracas of whatever’s taking place up doesn’t comes to halt, Y/N had enough, she isn’t very versed in coping with such situations since her dorm-mate is very nice.

So, she’s throwing the lid away to pop her head through the square like space and spreads her elbows up the roof, “Aish.” She immediately covers her eyes upon the sight of his brother and his wife doing it.

Their expressions comically panicked as they embarrassingly scrambles to clutch the flimsy sheets over them.

“Who does it all naked under an open sky?” She squeaks out, feeling her pulse tick and she peeks out towards the darkness from the slight gap of her fingers which are barely helping her avoid the scene that’d haunt her for life.

“Them bunnies and monkeys, ‘n many of our kind, Sweetheart.” She rolls her eyes at the familiarity of deep slow rumble that’s a bit slurred, probably from the Tequila they took with them. The voice never fails to froth bubbles in Y/N's tummy and it always involuntarily makes her nails dig into her palms.

Harry and Tina’s bestfriend went out to roam around Italy, or they told so and Albeit Y/N very well knows their intentions were more to exploring the city she didn’t butt in.

“I’ve a name and it’s not, Sweetheart.” She dismisses him with a grumble and his smirk shines through the shadow aggravating Y/N to an extreme she slips down shutting the door (like lid) at the them.

Harry Styles. Y/N's brother’s bestfriend. He’s everything Y/N loathes about. Bright green eyes, silken features and that dopey pearlish smile that makes everyone fall in love with him in nano-seconds.

To Y/N. He is an incubus. A witch that allures people without even knowing.

He’s a narcissistic asshole and Y/N's bad boy dream, unfortunately.

She hates herself for having a puppy crush on him for years now.

That friggin, Asshole.

He’s with everyone but her. It seems as if he’s getting stung by bees upon the mere closeness between them. A lamb ready to bite her down his stomach if she steps a foot near him.

At the moment when she’s sitting with her knees pressed to her chest, swollen eyes and puffy lips from not getting sleep last night.

She’s really hating that Harry looks so hot from the swim he just took as he dries himself sitting opposite to her. The droplets twinkling on his tanned thick body, his trunks wrinkled and bunched up into his thighs baring the tiger tattoo on front, his hair wet and oh so fucking tug-able – Y/N feels like Rachel from friends thinking all of that.

“Stop staring,” She mutters out loud when he wouldn’t stop licking the saltiness from his pink bottom lip keeping his intense gaze on her.

“What did y'say?” He pretends that we too engulfed in something else.

“I said stop staring at me.” Y/N grits. It’s annoying because it’s making her belly feel funny and loopy.

“The hills behind y'are just s'admirable.” He elevates his shoulders a bit panicked from inside and Y/N forced herself to not to twitch her eye when his chest muscles flexes due to his action.

Bamboozled she takes a glance from her shoulder to where he diverted his sight once she caught him. Her nose scrunched up and chin butted in disgust at the scenery, “That’s literally a heap of dead fishes!”

“Better than starin’ into a dead soul.” His lips down turned into a careless grimace and Y/N gasps out loud pushing the strands of her hair sticking to all of her face because of the breeze gush, “Why would you say that!?”

“’Cos you’re so mauve, that’s why?” He just wants to take a piss out of her. Nobody’s around and he’s finally getting time to talk to her even if it just to sit cross legged on her nerves and sip tea.

He’s actually lying. He thinks she’s more than mauve. She’s all those colours that usually macarons have, all those hues that butterflies wings have and all those tinctures that one find in gems then keep them safe.

She’s the colour he misses in his life.

“And you’re so fucking blue!” She grumbles and that slithered a deep wicked smile on Harry’s lips, “Like this deep ocean yer afraid of?” Her eyes widens at that and she almost lunges on her knees.

How did he know? Ofcourse, he'd. He’s everywhere. In every damn picture of wherever they went for recreation.

“I’m not.” She scoffs, her tone inconvenient and hazy as she shrinks into herself.

“Then take a dip,” She wishes that she could wipe that beautiful stupid smirk off his gorgeous stupidly lame face.

“Kiss my ass.” She spat out throwing a cushion towards him that lands on his lap, “I’d love to.” He barks out a laugh that rings through the waves.

“You’re such a stinky asshole.” She hits him with another that dumps against his chest, “Ow!” He feigns hurt with ridiculous comical expressions and throws the cushion back towards her which she successfully dodges, but, it falls behind her into the water.

“Shit.” She complains ducking around the edge of the yacht and stretches her arm to the plausible extent to grab the floating cushion.

Though when the tips of her toes leaves the seat she was on and she’s bending too much for her own sake Harry’s standing upright, “Hey stop —-" But. It’s too late as with a high pitched squeaky shriek Y/N's rolling first and falling into the water leaving Harry frozen for a second.

Panic chokes her throat and she moves her limbs around everywhere splashing water vigorously. Mouth gasping for oxygen but all that comes is salty water filling her mouth and lungs too, maybe as she sinks deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, Y/N!!” He shouts out jumping to save her immediately knowing she doesn’t know how to swim and he’s wrapping his palm around her neck and pulling her from her waist to himself under the water as she watches him with frightened fading eyes.

He comes back to surface quickly and presses her to his chest. She too clings to him for dear life feeling herself drift into a state of unconsciousness and hard to breath while he grabs the deck and lifts her with himself to it.

He doesn’t risk a chance and lays her limp body down and clasps his hands together pushing them against where her heat beats feebly, winces when she spurts out water painfully.

“Baby...fuck.” He pats her soaked pale cheek anxiously when she still remains unresponsive to him, breathing wearily so he does what has to be done.

He grabbed her chin, squished her cheeks making her lips pucker out and wrapped his mouth around hers sucking the water out and spat it out once his mouth was full.

His eyes slip shuts and he slumps with relief when Y/N coughs out loudly into his chest and he brings her into him murmuring assurance into her wet hair.

“You’re okay darling,” His whisper wavers from the trembling of his lips and his fingers divots into her softest of skin when he hugs her tightly, “’M sorry ‘s me fault, Sweets.” He rubs the bridge of his nose to take the sniff of her scent to calm him down and she shakes her head unable to talk, hands bunched up against his tummy.

“You should rest, yeah?” His gaze soft with care and it’s baffling for Y/N that he ever had this side too. Before, she could be on her feet he slipped his strong arms under her and hoists her up and into him without any trouble.

If Y/N wouldn’t be feeling very droopy and breathless she sure would have fought with him, maybe blushed and hid her face into his neck but she’s already knocking out in his arms from the stingy feeling in her eyes that made her super duper sleepy.

Clouds. Y/N's merged into them and they cover every inch of Y/N, wait where am I? She feels real nice comforted around with such warm bedding and she sure knows it’s not hers. The blurry sight infront of her is enough to aware her and a perfectly calloused hand comes rubbing her shoulder when she tries to sit up.

“Not heaven, o'summat.” He chuckles airily. His smile small and a tad awkward, he’s changed into another pair of trunks that are yellow and his upper half now sadly is covered from a blue tee.

“How you feelin'?” Y/N let his question fly over her head and stutters out loudly, “Why you being s'nice to me now?” It etches a frown on his face but soon it vanishes into an expression that Y/N couldn’t pick point.

“You’ve always been such a meanie...” She murmurs glumly. White sheets tangling around her torso as she moves infront of him – their knees touching.

“I umm –-...like you, I guess?” He has never been this nervous and jumblish with words.

“You guess?” She asks and scared that he missed up he rushes out to hold her and to make her believe that his feelings are true.

“No, no! I’m sure. I like you very much.” That puts Y/N into silence where she stares the gleaming jewels onto his fingers and ponders over what he said.

Harry Styles. Her first kiss. Her very first candy love crush and her dream of bad boy actually likes her back.

She tries to ignore the party poppers going inside her body and the drums of happiness rolling around her heart.

“But ... Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy,” She doesn’t meet his eyes smoothing out the crinkles of sheets and her palm halts immediately when Harry hooks his thumb under her chin and raises it gaze lovingly into her eyes with sincerity, “Just ‘cos I stole yer first kiss?”

He laughs out sweetly when she bobs her head vigorously, “C’mon we were just sixteen! I’d have made sure to tell y'to keep it safe fo’ your precious person if I knew back then.” His pupils gleaming with hope and a tinge of eagerness.

The next thing she said with a slight bubbly pout caught Harry off-guard and in awe that how to process what she said with so much liability and vulnerability.

“But you’re my precious person!!”

“Yeah, baby?” He grins with a dimple tutting in and grabs her small cold hands to pull her closer to him.

The sweet name shies Y/N away and Harry thinks she couldn’t be more endearing as he takes her soft looking puffy face in the warm embrace of his hands and bops their noses together.

“Then g’na make sure ‘m your last.” He murmurs feathering his lips to the corner of her mouth that flutters her eyelids like butterflies and she pants out for more with a sweet whine, “Shit. You’re still very candy like since I last kissed ye'.” He giggles stroking his thumb up her cheek and takes a lick of her jutted bottom lip.

“Harry....” She complains tugging his weary shirt, “Yes me baby?” He quips out with those fake surprised eyes he makes with raised brows and puppy gaze.

“Kiss me alre –—,” He's swallowing her words down with the tender smush of his lips against hers in a kiss that’s slow and comforting at first, hearing onto the noises that she creates from tasting him and it deepens into something ardent and red when Harry pulls her over his thighs and guides her arms around his neck.

Their foreheads comes touching. Their hearts in sync and beside eachother. Their tongues loving on eachother.

“Dunno if I could ever stop.” He whispers breaking the knot of spit that connects their mouths with the stroke of his thumb against her shinning lip and pecks that spot twice.

“Then don’t.” Y/N looses her brain cells and only butterflies to whoosh into her skull as she grabs his jaw never letting him go and kisses him harder and rougher this time.

She’s gonna be in oh so much love with this bad boy that’s such a softie for her and she knows that there’s no going back.

#IMMMMMM BACKKKK FINALLYYY #PLEASEEEEE FORGIVE ME MY READ MORE THINGY IS NOT WORKING #BAD BOIII HARRYYYY #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles prompts #cute harry #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh #dom harry

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birdhouse-of-shadows · 3 years

Text

Hello everyone! So here is a fic that I left in my askbox for a hot minute lol. This was all submitted by an anon who you may or may not have seen a few times. This is a compilation of all of the asks and the whole story.

My comments will be in green, any notes from the author will be in blue and the rest will be in the normal text color.

PLEAAASEE be careful if you are sensitive to the following subjects:

Tw: Child Abuse, torture, multiple abusive foster homes, bondage(kinda, quirk inhibiting cuffs), Heavy injury, blood, smoking,

im currently running on no sleep and a bottle of pepsi, sour this is sloppy asf I apologize in advance 😗

im in an angst mood, so i come with this.

Tokoyami’s biological parents abandoned him when he was four. To this day he has no idea why, and has very little memory of them. All of his memories take place in one of the seven abusive foster homes he lived in before he entered U.A.. Over the course of that time, Fumikage has accumulated a large variety of scars, from deep, jagged scars, to cigarette burns, to just really, really bad bruises. Out of all the foster homes he’s been in, none of Fumikage’s foster parents have been fond of mutants, or mutant-type quirks. In several of the foster homes, Fumikage was forced to wear quirk suppressant cuffs 24/7, since his parents “didn’t want a monster running rampant in their house.” Between his mutation, and the violent tendencies of Dark Shadow, Fumikage was basically what nobody wanted in a child. His foster parents would yell every possible derogatory insult at Fumikage, saying he should’ve never been born, even though they weren’t even his real parents. Over time, the verbal abuse would mess with Fumikage’s mind. He’d stare at himself in the mirror, wondering why he was born the way he was, and why he’s the monster everyone says he is. And just when he thought the verbal abuse couldn’t get any worse, as he got older, his foster parents would resort to physical punishment. At first, it wasn’t that bad, at least, in Fumikage’s eyes. Just a slap here and there, plus some cigarette burns on his arms and shoulders. It was painful, but he fought through it, knowing no one would come to help him. But over time, the “discipline” would get even more brutal. It doesn’t matter what he did, every little thing seemed to set his parents off. From accidentally breaking something, to giving a snide comment unannounced, it wasn’t often that Fumikage went to bed at night without being beaten sometime before then. He would be pinned down by his throat and violently beaten with whatever blunt object was nearby. He eventually gave up trying to apologize, as it somehow only upset his parents even more. Once, when he was eleven years old, Fumikage was beaten with a glass vase after pushing one of his foster siblings. The glass eventually shattered, and the broken ends of the vase dug into Fumikage’s back, leaving horrible, jagged cuts all over him. Witnessing Fumikage being beaten day after day made Dark Shadow feel overwhelmingly guilty. Fumikage was in quirk suppressant cuffs ninety percent of the time, so Dark Shadow was pretty much helpless in most situations. Those damned cuffs made it feel like an invisible wall was put up between where Dark Shadow resided, and the outside world. A wall that agonizingly sat between Dark Shadow, and Fumikage’s safety. There were nights when Fumikage lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body numbed by pain. Whether he was laying in a bed or not, unfortunately varied by foster home. But it was on those nights where Dark Shadow would apologize profusely to Fumikage, saying that they’re nothing more than the monster that brought misery to Fumikage’s life. Saying that they’re the reason Fumikage gets beaten so often, and yet do nothing to help him. They vow that once they’re in a safer home, away from their abusers, that they will always protect Fumikage. Always. But by then…Fumikage had already fallen asleep.

Overall, Tokoyami’s home life…was nothing worth smiling about. Thankfully, his time at school was less painful. He often got comments about his looks, saying that he was ugly and all that, but by then, he was more than used to it. Eventually, he faded into the shadows (no pun intended) at most of his schools. He eventually was just forgotten about, which truthfully, didn’t bother him. It was a bit lonely, sure, but it was much better than constantly being beaten simply for existing. In Fumikage’s eyes, school was just a break from his disastrous home life. Though, he tended not to talk during class, and had very little interaction with his teachers, for…reasons. Even so, it was actually during his first year of middle school where Fumikage discovered his dream of being a hero. Just because he was spared from the excessive discrimination of mutants, others happened to be less fortunate. Fumikage would witness how his fellow mutants were treated by others. They had their work stolen, their bags dumped out, over were overall just treated like dirt compared to everyone else. So anytime Tokoyami saw a fellow mutant, or anyone really, being bullied, he’d go and help them, telling them that they don’t deserve to take shit for the way they look, or what their quirk is, and that quirks don’t make villains, it’s how those quirks are used, meaning that the people bullying them are more like villains than they will ever be. With his newfound motivation, Tokoyami decided that he wanted to become a hero to show others that they don’t have to fear who they were born to be, or, as he put it, “To not be daunted by their inner darkness. Instead, to embrace such, and with it, become your best self.” Love that for him honestly. One of the students he helped was a tall, slim girl with a head reminiscent to that of an elephant, her most notable feature being her long trunk that was about the length of her entire upper body. She was shy, and avoided any sort of conflict like the plague. At one point she was harassed by another group of girls, before Tokoyami came and stopped them. He gave his long winded, motivational speech to her, and saying she was grateful was quite the understatement, and the next day, as a thank-you gift, gave Tokoyami a red choker, saying that it was just like the one Dark Crystal wore, knowing how much Tokoyami admired the hero. (In other words, he never shut up about him) Tokoyami relayed his gratitude countless times to her, and the two agreed to become friends, even though they wouldn’t see eachother often. Reluctantly, the girl also pointed out the horrible scars and bruises on Tokoyami’s neck, and figured that he’d want to cover them. Tokoyami stiffened at the mention of his scars, but continued thanking her anyway. The two often saw eachother in the halls and waved at one another, on friendly terms, but strangely enough, they never spoke again.

It was also around that time that he became more interactive with Dark Shadow, and began to explore more darker concepts. He founded a love for reading, specifically horror novels and manga. He also became fascinated with poetry (specifically the edgy variety), both reading and writing it. He found that writing poetry gave him an outlet for expressing both himself, and Dark Shadow’s feelings, without having to risk angering his foster parents. Eventually, the tone found written by his favorite poets began to make its way into Fumikage’s speech patterns. He felt more comfortable with it, and it wasn’t something people easily understood, which ultimately meant his foster parents would just ignore him, thinking he was going through an emo phase. And miraculously, it worked. Although he was still physically and verbally abused throughout his middle school years, his foster parents eventually backed off, as Fumikage became more introverted. Now, he’d look in the mirror at all of his scars, and use his past trauma as motivation for becoming a hero. Though, it wasn’t easy. Those painful memories would always come flooding back whenever he looked at those scars. Since he spent most of his life surrounded by abusive adults, he believed that most adults were the same way, and refrained from speaking with adults at all, in fear of angering them. Hearing them yell would make him flinch out of pure instinct, and being stuck alone with an adult would make him an anxious mess. But he did his best to mask this fear with the brooding, edgy side of him. It was his best, and pretty much only way of coping with this fear. He tried his best to overcome his anxiety, but it was never that easy. But he managed to get through middle school mostly unscathed.

And finally, after three agonizingly long paragraphs, Fumikage makes it into U.A.. Of course, that didn’t exempt him from any of his current foster parent’s rules. He had to keep quirk cuffs in his bag at all times, and if he came home without them on, he would be beaten. Tokoyami remained obedient, not wanting to show up to his first day at U.A. beaten half to death. Armed with his scars, his motivation, and of course, Dark Shadow, Tokoyami entered U.A with confidence. And everyone… was so nice???? Almost immediately after he sat in his designated seat in class 1-A, people came up to him, talking to him. He met a variety of different students, some more…mellow than others. But overall, he liked his class. But the teacher? Well…not so much. In Tokoyami’s eyes, the man who dubbed himself their homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa, was completely and utterly terrifying. ‘He probably has a machete hidden in that sleeping bag ready to kill us at any moment-‘ Dark Shadow said on the first day. Tokoyami couldn’t help but agree. But not in a comedic way. Something about Aizawa was all too reminiscent of one of his foster fathers, specifically the one who gave him all of the scars on his back, after beating him with a glass vase. Any time he was around him, he was anxious. But eventually, little did Fumikage know, this man who he deemed “terrifying” would eventually become one of the people he trusted the most.

okay okay I’ll stop for now, I’ll write more eventually, but I’ll wait until this is answered so I won’t be flooding your asks, and I promise I will never submit anything this long ever again 😖

part 2 yee yee

also, as you can tell, i have heavily observed canon, and elected to ignore it :)

Fumikage’s year so far was hectic. No, scratch that. It was hellish. It seemed like everywhere the class went together, they were attacked by villains. Aizawa seemed to be getting more and more tired by the day. Fumikage didn’t blame him, as he had a class full of trouble magnets. But following the skirmish at the forest training camp, and All Might’s retirement, things seemed to be looking up, at least a little bit. However, there was rumor going around that U.A. was planning to implement a form system, leaving Fumikage with mixed feelings. One on hand, he was ecstatic. He could finally, even if it was just for a short time, get away from his foster home. The training camp incident left Fumikage shaken more than he’d like, and having to deal with verbal abuse at the hands of his father wasn’t doing him any favors. After being released from the hospital, his father berated him four what felt like hours after hearing that he’d lost control of Dark Shadow. The day he got home, without any second thought, his father grabbed him by his shirt collar (which hurt more than it should have due to the fresh bruises on Fumikage’s back) and mercilessly screamed at him. Even though it only lasted about ten minutes, it felt like forever. He was forced to stand just inches away from his father, the thick smell of cigarette smoke emitting from his breath. Dark Shadow shrunk within him, trying desperately to drown out the heinous comments that they’re directly responsible for. Following the “lecture”, as his father like to call it, Fumikage was put back into his quirk cuffs, but this time, as what his parents described as a “precaution”, he had a thick, tight quirk suppressant collar locked around his neck. It dug through Fumikage’s skin, and it felt like he was being strangled. Even so, just like everything he’d been through up to that point, he had to bear with it. He tiredly trudged back to his room, or, well, it was a linen closet. He had a small pile of blankets that acted as his bed, as well as several books lined up neatly against the wall. He’d read most of them several times already, but other that his phone, it was pretty much his only source of entertainment. The closet was always freezing, and he was rarely allowed out. But Fumikage always forced himself to be grateful for having a roof over his head at all, since he knew there were always going to be people who were less fortunate. With a sigh, he lay down on his small pile of blankets. He curled up within himself, trying his best to keep warm. Normally, one of his siblings slip whatever packaged food their parents gave them under the door. It always tasted like it went bad two weeks ago, but at this point, to Fumikage, fuck it, food was food. But much to his dismay, Fumikage’s parents told him that he was “on punishment”. And while on punishment, he knew well enough, that they refuse to feed him. Over the last 18 months that he’d been living in that foster home, he’d been on punishment five times, and during that time, he lost a very unhealthy amount of weight, and his overall health tanked. But, like he said for every terrible thing that’s befallen him over the past 12 years, he was used to it. So, Fumikage went the next three days without eating a single thing.

But it was after those three days, when Fumikage’s life changed. Whether it was for better or worse, he was forced to wait and see.

One morning, or…was it evening? It was hard to tell when you’re stuck in a dark linen closet with no sense of time whatsoever. But anyway, Fumikage woke up shivering, not that he wasn’t used to that. But he did hear the faint sound of his parents talking. However, there was one other voice. Fumikage’s hearing wasn’t the best, with him being a bird and everything, but he knew that voice. He knew that voice from anywhere. It was Aizawa’s. Fumikage forced himself up. His back was stiff, and the thick collar around his neck weighed him down. His stomach was begging for food, but that wasn’t important. He smoothed out his feathers best he could, and quietly opened the closet door. He could hear Aizawa conversing with his parents, and they talked about the newly constructed dorms. Aizawa explained that for the Fumikage’s safety, he requested that Fumikage lives in a secure dorm system. He’d have his own room, full access to a kitchen full of food, and of course, he’d have a common space to mingle with his peers. To Fumikage, it sounded like heaven, but unfortunately, his parents weren’t having it. They went on and on about how Fumikage would put his peers in danger with his destructive quirk. Aizawa, thankfully, wasn’t willing to put up with them either. He went on to tell them about how Fumikage has excelled with the control of Dark Shadow. Fumikage felt a warm feeling in his stomach after hearing his teacher, that same one he’s so afraid of, speak so highly of him. But there was one thing that left Aizawa’s mouth that his parents really couldn’t respond to. “Well, why not let Fumikage have a say in this? Where is he?” he asked them. There was something about his teacher’s tone that showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. Fumikage looked down at himself. He was still wearing the same black long sleeved shirt and blue jeans that he’d worn three days ago. His quirk cuffs were tight around his wrists, and his collar, though he’d gotten used to the feeling, was madly uncomfortable around his neck. He had two choices. Go down there and let Aizawa witness firsthand the extent of Fumikage’s constant neglect, and risk being punished even further by his parents, or play it safe, and potentially let Aizawa find him on his own. But…the world was never that nice to him, so instead, Fumikage heard an irritated sigh, and footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, Fumikage shut the closet door and sat back down against the wall. Just moments later, he watched the closet door open, and felt his father’s sultry gaze fall on him. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He took the cuffs off of Fumikage, and let them fall to the floor. Before taking off the collar, he leaned down, glaring daggers at his foster son. “You say anything out of place boy, and I reopen those cuts on your back, god help you.” he said in a low growl. Fumikage stiffened, the memory of jagged glass tearing his skin open flashing through his mind. He nodded, and took a breath of air as the collar was removed. He really didn’t care that all he breathed in was cigarette smoke. That feeling of being strangled by a metal collar was finally gone, even if just for a little while. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the living room, where Aizawa sat across from his mother.

Aizawa knew right away that there was something seriously off. Tokoyami had a few feathers out of place, and his shirt hung limply over him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. But what pisses Aizawa off the most, was something Tokoyami was clearly trying to hide, and that was the dark ring of bruises around his wrists. He really needed to confront his student about how these two were treating him. But for now, he just needed to get the kid to agree to move into the dorms. He watched the avian teen sit down between his two caretakers. The boy looked very uncomfortable, almost afraid. Aizawa felt his gaze soften upon seeing his student in the state he was, but he had to do what he came here for. So he directed his gaze to Tokoyami, and asked him his thought of moving into U.A.’s dorms. It concerned him hearing how fast Tokoyami answered. “I’d be glad to.” He responded almost instantly. “It would be a great opportunity to get to know my peers better, no?” He looked to his mother, who gave him an irritated look. Aizawa held back a smirk. The kid had a way with words, that was for sure. Aizawa cleared his throat, and spoke up. “Well, it seems he’s all for it.” he said, looking at the two adults in front of him. They looked very unamused. The boy’s mother rubbed her temples, and sighed. “Fine, fine.” she grumbled. “But if Fumikage has any issues with behavior whatsoever, so let us know.” She said, giving her son a pointed look. Aizawa nodded, and stood up. “I doubt that will be an issue, he’s very well behaved.” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes fell to his student. He once again noticed the loose feathers sticking out from the sides of the boy’s head. There were only about two or three, but Aizawa took the initiative anyway. He leaned down toward Tokoyami, and smoothed out his feathers carefully. The boy stiffened, but relaxed. Once Aizawa was satisfied, he stood back up. Tokoyami brought a hand to the side of his head, and gave Aizawa a dumbfounded look. The man gave him an amused look, and turned around toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Tokoyami.” he said, laying his hand on the doorknob. The teen nodded in response, and Aizawa left the house.

As soon as he shut the door, Aizawa clenched his fists. Of course he noticed Tokoyami’s disheveled-looking appearance. But there was one thing, one tiny little thing, that Tokoyami did. Since the moment he sat down, to the moment Aizawa left. Tokoyami rested one arm on his leg, and began tapping his knee. Aizawa didn’t think much of it at first, but then he remembered something he learned while he was still in training. Whenever someone did that, no matter the age, it was a warning sign. Tokoyami was trying to get his attention the entire time.

There was something seriously wrong.

And that’s it for part two I suppose. I feel like this part is significantly worse than the last one, but when it comes down to it, consistency isn’t my thing 🙃

i forgot to proofread part two before submitting it so uh….if there are typos to there aren’t <3

Its perfectly fine!! I never saw them~

part 3 let’s goooo

After Aizawa left, Fumikage relaxed his hand over his knee. He really hoped his teacher noticed his warning sign, but whether he did or not, he was still stuck with his parents until he moved into the dorms. A sudden wave of unease fell over him. He knew his parents were staring him down. And he knew they were not happy. He took at deep breath, and met his father’s gaze. The man’s eyes narrowed. “You got somethin’ to say, brat?” he spat through gritted teeth. Fumikage shrugged. He knew he wouldn’t be living with his foster parents for much longer, which made pushing their buttons much more tempting. He held back a smirk. “Me? Oh no. Although, judging by that look on your face, I figured you’d have something to say, no?” the teen hummed. He rested his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. Fumikage watched his father’s eyelid twitch. It was quite amusing, really. “Just get your ass upstairs, brat. I don’t want another goddamn word outta you.” The man hissed. “And put your cuffs on too.” Fumikage let out a sigh, but nodded anyway. He’d best be obedient now, since, if possible, he’d like to make it to U.A.’s dorms in one piece. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, before trudging back upstairs to his “room”.

After closing the closet door, Fumikage took another look at the cramped area he’s forced to call his bedroom. For the last eighteen months, he was stuck in this hellhole of a house. He had felt more alone than any other point in his life, even with Dark Shadow around. He had no freedom in this house. Hell, he can hardly think of a time he’s ever had any freedom throughout his life. He’s been chained down, locked in cages like an animal, abused in pretty much every way possible…he hated it. More than anything. For most of his early life, it was hard for him to tell if Dark Shadow was really his quirk, or just a voice in his head, given how rarely the two would be allowed to see eachother. But to Fumikage, quirk or not, Dark Shadow was his closest friend. His only friend. And the idea of them getting an entire room, bed and all, just to themselves, with no restrictions, made Fumikage feel more excited than he had ever felt before. Fumikage put a hand to his chest, letting out a relieved sigh, and couldn’t help but smile. Even if it was just for a little while, he, alone with Dark Shadow, could finally be free.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Fumikage’s eyes eventually fell to his quirk cuffs, laying menacingly on the pile of blankets before him, his collar just a few inches away. He felt Dark Shadow stir restlessly within him, not wanting to be trapped by the cuffs. Even though Dark Shadow never got the chance to come out while they were off, it felt liberating to not be bound by what was, in the long run, thick pieces of metal. They’d felt more relaxed for those tense twenty minutes during the conference then they had been throughout their entire time living there. But they knew, for Fumikage’s safety, that, at least until they moved into the dorms, that the cuffs had to stay on. With a sigh, Fumikage grabbed the cuffs, and, after lining them up with his already existing bruises, snapped them shut. Dark Shadow felt like chains held them back the second the cuffs came on. They let out an agitated whimper deep within Fumikage. The teen sighed, bringing a hand to his chest. He hated when his quirk felt like this, but he knew it would all be over soon. He picked up the collar, feeling the cold metal in his hands. With a huff, he threw it aside, and sat down against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, and reached deep within himself. It was faint, but he managed to connect with Dark Shadow. “Just a few more days, Dark Shadow…” he whispered. “It’ll all be over soon. Not for long, but…things will lighten up. I promise.” That promise was a bit of a stretch, in Fumikage’s opinion. But it would be that promise that got them through the next few days. Fumikage laid down on his “bed”, and reached for one of his books. He didn’t care which one, since he’d read them all about a million times each, but he just needed a distraction. The book he’d ended up grabbing, he knew was more philosophical than he would’ve preferred, but hey, he wanted a distraction. So he opened the book, and proceeded to read.

Fumikage had gotten about 90 pages in before he heard the lock on the closet door rattle. The door swung open, letting a wave of light into the room. Fumikage looked up from his book, and low and behold, his father stood over him, an angry look on his face, as always. “Can I help you?” Fumikage asked, laying the book down on his lap. The man in front of him snorted. “Get up, brat. It’s bath time.” he said, an amused tone in his voice. If he could, Fumikage would’ve raised a brow. That tone in his father’s voice was never a good sign, but Fumikage didn’t have much of a choice. So he laid the book aside, and stood up. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the closet. Fumikage had no idea what his father meant by “bath time”, but as the two walked directly passed the bathroom, Fumikage knew, that his parents had something else in mind…

and that’s it for part 3. i never actually have a set plan for these, i just go until I feel like stopping. These also aren’t written beforehand, I just chill in your asks for an hours writing these, making things up as I go along. I basically treat it like my notes app lmao

I'm glad my ask box has served well as your notes app! Just be careful that things save!!

part 4. this was so fucking hard to write you don’t understand 😭 and im too tired to proofread this shit so if you see typos no you don’t. enjoy.

You're doing great!!

Trapped within his father’s grip, Fumikage nearly tripped as he was dragged down the stairs. Being dragged around like a rag doll was uncomfortable enough already, but having thick quirk cuffs clamped around his wrists, digging into his skin, made the whole ordeal more painful rather than uncomfortable, but either way, whatever his parents had in store for him, like always, Fumikage wasn’t looking forward to.

Before Fumikage knew it, the two were in the kitchen. A metal bucket sat in the kitchen sink, hot water running into it. Next to the sink stood his mother, a sultry grin on her face. Thick clouds of steam rose from the basin, and suddenly it hit him. Fumikage’s breath hitched, and he froze in place. He stumbled back, pressing himself against the wall behind him. His father let out a low chuckle. “What’s the matter brat? You were all smug n’ shit earlier. Where’d all that giddiness go?” He asked, leaning toward Fumikage. The man gave a sultry grin, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into Fumikage’s face.

Fumikage’s eyes fell to his mother, who had her hand laid against the bucket. The painful reality all started coming together. Much quicker than Fumikage would’ve preferred, given that he’s on the receiving end of yet another one of his parent’s grueling “punishments”. His mother had a heat quirk. Not fire, but heat. She could alter the heat of any object she touches, reaching heats of up to 315 degrees celcius. Fumikage has been burned before. Several times actually. It hurt like hell, but nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the searing, agonizing pain of being touched by anything heated by his mother’s quirk. And here he was, backed into a corner, at his parent’s mercy.

He knew what was coming. As much as he hated what was about to come next, there was no getting out of it. Not with both of his parents right in front of him. As Fumikage watched that bucket of water begin to boil over, and his mother’s grin grow wider. he felt Dark Shadow begin to tremble within him, helplessly. He could feel his hands begin to shake, and without even having to look, he could hear his father chuckle in amusement.

Fumikage clenched his fists. He couldn’t just submit himself to his parents so easily. But then again, at the end of the day, he was helpless. As always. There was no escape, because when has there ever been? Fighting back was pointless. It always has been. Because to him, this wasn’t torture. This wasn’t abuse. To him, this was just another punishment. Another, grueling, agonizing, painful, god-forsaken punishment.

He was used to this.

Fumikage felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He looked up at his father. What was this sudden burst of emotion? Fumikage had never felt like this before. Was it anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it made his head spin. Either way, he planned to use his sudden rush of negative energy for something he should’ve done months ago. And the consequences that came with it?

Fuck the consequences.

A twisted, pained smile forced it’s way to Fumikage’s features. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he locked eyes with his father. “Sick bastard.” he muttered. “You know I’ll be out of this hellhole in two days, so you take every opportunity you have to put me in as much pain as possible.” Fumikage wiped a tear from his eyes with his sleeve. “Sounds like you’re getting desperate, wouldn’t you agree?” Fumikage grinned upon seeing that irritated look wash over his father’s face. Oh, how much he loved that look.

Over the years that Fumikage has been in foster care, he was never liked by this parents. They blamed it on his violent quirk. Funny enough, almost none of them had even seen his quirk. Fumikage never got around to asking about that, since a lot of the time, talking ended up getting him in trouble. Looking back on it, Fumikage realizes just how stupid it was. Talking, of all things, got him in trouble. What was next? Breathing?

And this foster home was no different. If he “talked out of place”, as his father liked to put it, he was punished. It was hard to decipher exactly what was considered talking “out of place”, since it seemed like nearly everything Fumikage said warranted punishment. So eventually, he opted not to speak at all. But there were always those times, now included, where talking back just felt so right. When Fumikage is finally able to stand up for himself, despite the inevitable consequences that came with it.

And boy, were there consequences.

Before he knew it, Fumikage’s head was slammed against the wall behind him, beak first. With how sensitive his beak was, that pain rung throughout his brain, dazing him. Then he was kneed in the stomach, three times actually, right on one of his fresh bruises. Fumikage let out a choked sob as his breath left him. Even if it only lasted seconds, Fumikage felt as though he were suffocating. And as much as he hated the feeling of air leaving him, that just so happened to be the least painful thing he experienced that night.

Through his pain, Fumikage caught a glimpse of something shiny. Because of course he would. It looked to be metal, with a sharp tip. In his dazed state, he could only guess that it was his Father’s six-inch knife. And right he was, because that exact knife tore down the back of his shirt, exposing all of the scars that littered his back. Pinning him against the wall, his father ripped off his shirt, before kicking him to the cold hardwood floors. Just as Fumikage attempted to sit up, he felt another hard kick to the back of his head. The teen brought his hands to his head almost immediately, gripping tightly at his feathers in an attempt to ease his head’s throbbing pain. But at that moment, Fumikage realized, he had let his guard down.

Just seconds later, he felt it.

That agonizing, searing pain.

All over his body.

He let out a gut-wrenching scream as he felt blisters rapidly forming all over his back and arms. He found himself clawing at his arms, in a desperate attempt to ease the stinging pain, only for thin, deep cuts to form on his pale skin. He felt his quirk cuffs reacted to the heat, getting ever more tighter around Fumikage’s thin wrists. Any and all obscenities his parents threw at him were drowned out by this unbearable pain. Through his sobs, Fumikage began to wonder, was it really worth it? Was it ever worth it? He almost didn’t care. He just wanted it all to be over.

He just wanted the pain, the suffering, the torture, all of it, he just wanted it to go away.

Once the pain died down to the point where it was at least bearable, Fumikage forced himself up on his hands and knees, struggling to keep himself stable on the wet hardwood. Between both the burns, and the quirk cuffs nearly suffocating his wrists, his hands were blistered and swollen. Fumikage locked eyes with his father, who looked down at him, satisfied with his work. Fumikage’s breathing was slow and heavy, as he tried to fight through the pain. “Is…is that all you got?” he managed to choke out. “Two kicks and some hot water? Is that your last line of defense? Seems pretty lackluster if you ask me.” His entire body trembling, Fumikage managed to get to his feet. Steam emitted from his entire upper body, and he was throbbing with pain. That satisfied look on his father’s face suddenly turned to one of pure rage. Without a word, the man walked toward Fumikage, his knife in one hand, and empty glass bottle in the other. Pressing any further in this situation, with this many injuries, Fumikage knew, would be incredibly risky. But then again, heroes are supposed to take risks.

Fumikage forced his beak back into that same twisted grin he wore before, but this time, it was more reluctant. Either way, there was no turning back now.

“Bite me.” he muttered through gritted teeth.

It went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. But that silence was short lived.

Fumikage heard the deafening sound of glass shattering. There was a sudden flash of bright light, leaving as quick as it arrived, and Fumikage’s world became black.

i dont plan on writing any more violent scenes, simply because they’re hard asf to write lmao, so the next part is basically an unneeded time skip because im lazy <3

I'm sure whatever you will write will be perfect!!!

part 5 bitches. or is this part 6? idk this feels like a part 6. anyway proofreading is out the window, it was a long time ago, but either way this might look at but messy. fuck it it’s 3am idc anymore. enjoy.

Fumikage’s eyes opened. His eyelids felt heavy, and his back was stiff, but other than that…he felt no pain. He sat up and looked around. He wasn’t in the linen closet. In fact, it didn’t look like he was in his foster home at all. He looked to be in an apartment. It was on the small side, but it felt…comfortable. The furniture wasn’t dusty, and the air was free of cigarette smoke. Beneath him, was a dark grey couch. He had to have been sleeping on it for a while, as he had shed a single feather onto the fabric of the couch. But either way, Fumikage somehow felt…safe.

Then, he caught something from the corner of his eye. Well, not something, rather, someone. A tall figure, their face and body obscured by shadow, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The figure began to walk toward him. Their hands were tucked into their pockets, and they stalked toward him, almost tiredly. It felt so…familiar. But Fumikage’s world felt fuzzy. It was hard to tell if what he was seeing was even real. The figure kneeled down in front of him their obscured face looking him in the eyes. He watched their lips move, but there was no sound. Fumikage wanted to speak, but all he heard was his own confused, stuttered breathing.

The figure tilted their head, and their eyebrows furrowed. They reached a hand behind Fumikage’s head, ruffling his crown feathers gently. The figure spoke again, yet Fumikage was still met with silence. The figure’s face, as far as Fumikage could see, was painted with concern. But before Fumikage could make another attempt to speak, another figure appeared from a hallway. They were taller, slimmer, and just like the first one, their body and face was completely obscured. The second figure came over, kneeling next to the first, trying to get Fumikage to say something. Anything. But the world around him was completely silent.

Fumikage felt his vision blur at the edges. What was happening? Who were the people in front of him? Why did they look so worried? His mind was runny by a mile a minute, not knowing where he was, who he was with, and why any of them were there. Fumikage looked around desperately for anything that could pose as a distraction. In the midst of his panic, he saw one of the figure’s shadowy hands reach toward him. Fumikage swatted at the hand and tried to back away, but instead was blocked by the back of the couch. His gaze went back toward the two figures in front of him. Once again, one of them reached toward him, carefully grabbing his arm. The touch felt cold, and staticky, much like how Dark Shadow felt. Fumikage squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt tears run down his cheeks, afraid of what’s to come next. But, much to his surprise, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Through the haze, Fumikage could finally make out what this person was saying. It was a faint, hollow echo that rang through his ears. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.” They said.

Fumikage’s breathing slowed as he lay his head on the figure’s shadowy shoulder. “I’m…safe…” he repeated, almost hypnotically. Then he heard the second figure join in. “That’s right. You don’t have to be scared anymore. You’re in a new home, with a new family.” they said. Their voice was slightly higher, and had a softer tone to it. But those words…

Fumikage lifted his head slightly, just enough to see over the figure’s shoulder. His vision was hazy, and he felt as though he were in a trance.

“Family…” Fumikage whispered. That word…that word alone. ‘Family’. It just felt so…right. As though what Fumikage saw as paradise was finally coming to pass. He felt tears well up in his eyes. But unlike before, he felt tears of relief. For the first time in what felt like years, he really felt safe. Fumikage lifted an arm, and whipped away his tears with his sleeve. When his vision cleared, yet another figure appeared. However, this one was…small. Then Fumikage realized, it was a child. His head tilted as the obscure figure carefully walked over to him. They kept their hands in front of them, almost as if afraid to hurt him. Although Fumikage had relaxed, he still felt dazed, and somehow, his movements almost didn’t feel like his own.

Just like when he reached his arm out toward the child. They were just barely out of reach, but in response, they brought both hands to Fumikage’s, and a smile came to their obscured face. They looked…happy. And for the first time in what Fumikage felt like forever…so did he. He felt a small smile form on his beak. He hated kids. Normally, anyway. But right now…this wasn’t so bad.

He felt the older figure pull away from him, still carefully running their hand through his feathers. The second also leaned back, relaxing a bit. Fumikage lay back against the couch with a sigh, before looking over the three figure’s one last time. Was this really his family…? Hell, whether they were or not, he could get used to it. He just couldn’t help it. After years of pain, years of terror, a family, a kind, loving family, was what Fumikage had always dreamed of.

He eventually felt his eyelids, as well as his whole body, become heavy. He felt his grip on consciousness slowly slip, the world around him slowly swirling into a dark grey void. That same word echoed through his mind throughout, becoming more faint each time he heard it. Family. family….family….

Fumikage’s eyes slowly opened one last time, but this time, he didn’t just feel tired. He felt cold, he felt sore, but above all…he felt uneasy. That cold, painfully familiar feeling washed over him. And painful it was. The second he dared to move, Fumikage felt a sharp pain up his back. He sighed, letting his body relax. He looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

He was home.

and that’s it. i feel like i use too many commas, but fuck it im sleep deprived i do what i want :D anyway the next part will be done…whenever the fuck i feel like writing it idk lmao

Please sleep, you're doing great!! I too suffer from overuse of commas, but I don't think they hurt too much!!

sigh. part 7. maybe. idgaf anymore lmao

toward the end I pretty much forgot how to write, so this is uh, a mess to say the least. but enjoy I guess? yea

Fumikage slowly sat up, and let his hands fall solemnly in his lap. With his level of pain and exhaustion, it was hard to keep himself stable, and his quirk cuffs acting as six-pound weights wasn’t doing him any favors. Which, now that he noticed, wasn’t the only thing Fumikage was wearing. He felt his quirk collar clamped around his neck, even tighter than before. He was surprised that it hasn’t cut off his airflow by now.

Fumikage brushed off the pain, still in awe by his dream. As abstract as it was, it just felt so…real. Everything around him felt as though it were really there. And those shadow figures….he felt their words, their touch…as strange as it was, it just felt right. Fumikage leaned back against the wall behind him. ‘Dark Shadow…’ he whispered. ‘Did you…feel that? In the dream?’ Within him, Dark Shadow stirred restlessly in response to their host’s bewilderment. ‘Mhm…but…Fumikage? Would it be weird to say I…miss it?’ they asked. That restlessness quickly turned solemn as Dark Shadow deflated a bit, wrapping themself protectively around Fumikage’s rib cage. The teen hummed quietly to himself in thought. ‘Well, as weird as it is, you aren’t alone. I don’t know why but…that dream world just felt so surreal. It was…at least compared to what we’re used to, amazing.’ Fumikage replied. He lay his head against the wall behind him as he felt tears in the back of his eyes. Dark Shadow seemed to mimic his movements in a way, as Fumikage felt them curl within themselves, hugging Fumikage’s ribs tighter. ‘I just want a new family…’ they said, barely a whisper. Fumikage felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks, soaking his feathers. It feels like every day that passes, Fumikage feels more and more isolated. More and more alone. It’s just him and Dark Shadow. It always has been. Fumikage thrives off of his quirk’s company. Dark Shadow is the only reason he’s kept a positive outlook on life throughout his last few painful years. If not for Dark Shadow, Fumikage’s life would have ended long ago. But even with Dark Shadow around, Fumikage couldn’t help but feel lonely. He wanted someone else to talk to. A human to talk to, because let’s face it, Fumikage’s social skills are…underwhelming. He never speaks unless he knows exactly what he’s going to say and when. He comes off more confident that way, because otherwise, he’d let his anxiety get the best of him.

Having a kind, caring family around, and having other people in general around, just made Fumikage feel safer. Even his foster siblings. They all despised him, but when they were around, his parents were less violent with him. There was always less expected of him when there were others around to steal all of the attention. But that didn’t mean Fumikage didn’t want attention, he just didn’t want negative attention. And every foster home he’s been in, year after year, has been exactly that.

He just wanted to feel loved, was that so much to ask?

Fumikage slouched back against the wall, only to quickly regret it as he felt a sharp pain shoot up his side. He sat back up with a groan. What exactly happened to him? He knows he blacked out at some point, but it was hard to tell what happened after. His body was numbed with pain; his back and arms were covered in burns that sting when touched, and he had a large, dark bruise right in the middle of his abdomen.

His memory of the previous night was cloudy, among other things, but he does faintly remember that sharp glint coming from his father’s knife. Fumikage put a hand to the source of the pain, feeling around for anything of interest. The closet was nearly pitch black, and as good as Fumikage was at seeing in the dark, he couldn’t do much other than carefully feel his wounds to make sure there isn’t anything too serious. But at this point, getting out of a punishment unscathed would be a miracle.

Fumikage ran his fingers across what felt like a gash along the side of his waist, approximating the length. He winced at the stinging pain, but kept going nonetheless. The wound went from just above his waist halfway up his chest. Pulling away he felt something warm and wet lining his fingers, which he could only assume was blood, given the stinging pain that shot through his body right after.

The teen let out a low groan in response, before wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. Slumping back against the wall, Fumikage looked as his blood stained hand. Even in the dark linen closet, he could still see the dark, smeared blood stain his palm and fingers. Suddenly he felt a surge of negativity rush through him, and he clenched his bloodied fist. Was it disgust? Frustration? Or just pure, justified, rage? It was always so hard, just trying to identify this one, burning, unbearable emotion. Fumikage felt it so often but could never tell what he was really feeling. Dark Shadow growled in reponse to their host, growing increasingly larger, metaphorically, desperately wanting to break free and release this unbearable surge of negativity. It didn’t take long before Fumikage boiled over, and slammed his fist against the wall behind him, causing the paint to crack and a dent to form in the wall. Fumikage looked to the wall next to him, and the result of his outburst. And just like that, he deflated, completely, and utterly, defeated. Defeated from what? It was hard to tell.

The teen choked out a sob, curling up within himself, burying his face in his knees.

Just one more day.

yeah. that’s it. short and painful sweet. no comments, bc i cant think of any. next part coming in uh….idk like a month? who’s to say lmao

I absolutely loved this!! I am so happy you shared this! The writing was phenomenal and this is such an interesting take on Tokoyami’s past. It has the perfect dose of angst~

I hope everyone else enjoys this as much as I did!

#bnha #tokoyami #tokoyami fumikage #tw child trauma #tw child abuse #tw pain #angst tw #angst #pain

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Moving On

General Audiences

Gen, with some background Staja and Jlaire

Everyone seems to be moving on after the battle against Bellroc. Douxie seems to be the only one who can’t

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32747662

Or read under the cut

Jim had the chance to fix it all—to go back in time and keep everything from happening.

And he chose not to.

He said they had to soldier on. To carry the burden, respect the dead. He’d destroyed the time stone.

Douxie knew, in his heart of hearts, that he was right. That time travel would only bring more heartache—he knew that from experience. He knew that meddling with time was a bad idea. He knew that knowing the future was a responsibility, he knew that you couldn’t just “fix” everything. Jim was doing the right thing.

But JIM hadn’t lost everything.

Jim still had his girlfriend.

Jim still had his mother.

Jim still had Blinky, and AAARRRGH!!!.

Jim had lost Strickler, yes. And he’d lost his best friend. He hadn’t made it out unscathed, Douxie knew that. He knew he had no right to be angry at Jim for his choice, his RIGHT choice.

That didn’t make it any better.

That didn’t stop the raging, sick feeling in Douxie’s stomach as he thought about a future without Archie. Without Nari—even though he’d only been with the demigod a year or so, she was FAMILY. He’d put off his feelings for the fight—he’d moved on fast because he’d had to move on fast—but those feelings were catching up to him.

Claire was comforting Jim. Douxie stumbled away from the scene.

It wasn’t fair.

Krel and Aja hadn’t lost anyone—in fact, they’d gained about 7 someones. Good for them—at least they’d gotten out of this unscathed.

Jim and Claire had lost their friend. Jim had lost Strickler. But they still had others, their families.

Douxie had lost everything.

He still had Claire, of course, and Jim, and Steve.

But he’d never been their top priority—Jim and Claire had each other, and Steve had Aja, and Eli. And that had been FINE, he didn’t NEED to be everyone’s top priority. He’d had Archie and Nari, and he’d made them HIS top priority. And he’d been theirs.

But now?

Now, he’d lost them.

Nobody seemed to notice him go. They were mourning Toby. Of course they were mourning Toby, of course they SHOULD mourn Toby. It wasn’t fair to put his feelings over theirs—this wound was fresh. Of course they should have time to grieve. That was only fair.

Fair, fair, fair, fair.

Nothing was fair.

When he was far enough that he wouldn’t disrupt their mourning, Douxie finally gave out. He collapsed to his knees with a scream, a burst of magic breaking anything nearby that the titan hadn’t already destroyed. He pounded one fist into the ground, his vision blurring with tears and blue magic.

Nari.

Archie.

And he’d lost others, too, some time ago, but the new grief brought up old loss.

Merlin.

Morgana.

His parents, who he’d never known.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

Douxie punched the ground again. His knuckles slammed into broken glass and stone, but he didn’t care. He screamed out a sob, pressing his arms to his stomach, bent over double. Magic was emotion—and his was out of control. Blasts of energy were pulsing out of him in random bursts, clearing the area of rubble.

The magic and screaming faded to ugly, heaving, sobs.

No one had noticed.

No one had come to see where he’d gone.

Nobody noticed that he was hurting, too. That his whole life had been torn to shreds in the last 18 hours, and there was no fixing it.

Well, there had been a chance to fix it. But even that chance was gone, now.

Douxie would have given it all up—his staff, Merlin’s approval, everything—to see Archie and Nari again.

But he didn’t have that option.

The funeral passed in a blur. When his friends asked what happened to his hand, Douxie shrugged and said it must have happened in the fight. Everyone cried when they talked about Toby. About Strickler. Even Nomura got a few tears. Everyone cried for Archie and Nari.

Everyone but Douxie.

He didn’t think he could.

They asked if he wanted to say a few words for them, since he’d been the closest to them.

He couldn’t do that, either.

That would mean accepting that they were gone.

Archie wasn’t even dead. He just had to find him, he just had to—

“Douxie?” Claire took his bandaged hand. “You know we’re here, right? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Right. But he was alone. Archie had been there for him before—Archie had been his confidante, Archie had been the one he’d brought his feelings to. Archie.

Douxie clutched Claire’s hand so tight the tips of her fingers turned white. “You can—Archie’s not dead, you can find him. We can portal in, we can—”

“Douxie—Douxie, we can’t. The den is protected against my magic. Remember?”

He turned desperately to Krel. “The wormhole—they wouldn’t know to protect against that, you can open up a wormhole into it, then, right?!”

But Krel was shaking his head, too, “Not without coordinates—which we don’t have. I can’t lock in on feelings like Claire can.

If Nari had been here, her empathy magic would have been able to find coordinates.

But Nari wasn’t here.

And neither was Archie.

Jim wandered over, wiping his eyes. “Douxie. I’m sorry. I know you lost people, too.”

That didn’t even begin to cover it, but Douxie nodded and said thank you, and left.

The world went on.

Everyone else seemed to be moving on.

They had a memorial service every anniversary.

Jim, Barbara, and Claire brought flowers to the graveyard every weekend. Douxie planted some live ones on the empty grave that marked Nari’s date of death and let them grow wild.

It was what she would have wanted.

Everyone else seemed to keep going.

They went to work.

They finished school.

The learned to laugh again.

Everyone but Douxie.

Douxie scoured Merlin’s grimoire for clues that could bring Nari back—bring back Nari, bring back Archie with a wormhole. Easy. But there were none.

So he raided what was left of the bookstore. He read and read and read until he was sick of words, until his eyes were strained and he couldn’t see far away anymore.

But there wasn’t anything in the bookstore, either.

He moved on to the Camelot libraries.

He forgot to eat most days. Even on the days Jim showed up and cooked for him, Claire would clear away untouched plates.

And who needed sleep anyway?

Years passed. Years. He’d made it halfway through the Camelot library.

Except he couldn’t summon the energy to climb the library ladder anymore. He brought books down from the top shelves with magic, and discovered it was easier. So he stayed at his table, magic cycling books through.

He had to tie his hair back in ponytails and braids to keep it out of his face. The blue color had faded out of it, leaving it its natural black.

He missed Jim and Claire’s wedding, despite the fact that it took place a few doors away.

He missed Steve and Aja’s children growing up.

But he’d waited 900 years for Merlin. Surely he could work at least that long on getting Archie and Nari back.

Some days, he broke down and threw books across the room, angry at himself, at the Order, at Archie and Nari.

Other days, he’d stare at the wall for hours at a time, his magic waiting to clear away books he wasn’t reading.

Some days, he ran through the empty halls of Camelot, sure he’d seen Archie’s tail whipping around a corner. Sure he’d seen a flash of green.

He never really had.

On those days, he couldn’t make it back to the library. He’d collapse in the hallway, trying to summon enough energy to get up and keep going.

It was on one of those days that a shadow portal opened underneath him, dumping him neatly on a couch. Claire was waiting, her arms crossed. When had she gotten so mature and beautiful? And when had Jim, who was standing next to her, gotten so tall?

“Enough,” Claire snapped.

Jim put a hand on her shoulder. “What Claire is trying to say,” he said gently, “Is we’re worried about you. We have been for a while.”

“We were giving you time,” Blinky said quietly, “Time passes differently for wizards and trolls than for humans. We thought if we gave you a few years, tried to support you, you’d move on. Like the rest of us have—even AAARRRGH!!! But you cannot go on like this.”

Looking at the troll made a revelation drop on Douxie’s head. “I’ve been looking in the wrong place! Blinky, I need all of your books, I need to find out how to get into a troll market without the bridge, there is a way, I just—”

“NO!” Claire yelled, “No more research! No more books! Stop! Just… stop.” Her voice broke. “Douxie, you’re not okay. You’ve wasted away, and you can hardly walk. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You just read, and read, and read, and for WHAT?! Archie and Nari wouldn’t want you to waste your life like this!”

“I’m fine!” he protested.

Claire swiveled a makeup mirror towards him. “Look at yourself! Do you look fine?!”

Douxie stared at the reflection. It was a stranger. Claire and Jim had gotten older, had changed.

He’d stayed the same age.

But he’d changed, too.

His face was pale, gaunt, cheeks sunken in. The shadows under his eyes had always been prominent, but now they were so dark Claire could probably use them to make portals. His hair had gotten long, and dull.

And his eyes.

They were desperate. Tired. Strained.

And so, so sad.

Claire sat down next to him, taking his hands. “Archie and Nari are gone, Douxie,” she said, her voice cracking again, “Toby’s gone, Strickler’s gone, Nomura’s gone—we get it. It hurts. But they’re dead, and they’re not coming back. It doesn’t matter how much you destroy your health. It doesn’t matter how many nights you stay up, how many meals you skip, how many books you read. They aren’t coming back. You can’t keep going on like this. You said you hoped Archie would be happy. Don’t you think he’d want you to do the same?”

And Douxie finally broke down crying.

He hadn’t cried like this since the day it had all gone wrong. Since he’d first realized that he was alone.

He sobbed into Claire’s shoulder, ugly, heaving sobs that made his chest hurt. He cried all of the tears he couldn’t cry at the funerals. He cried all of the tears he’d held in on frustrating nights when he’d nearly given up. He cried until he didn’t have any tears left.

And Claire let him. She hugged him tightly—she’d gotten older. His student had become an adult. And he’d missed it. He’d missed so much.

“What—what do I do now?” he hiccupped, “They’re gone—and if I can’t get them back, what do I do?”

Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “The same thing we all did, the same thing we should have helped you do at the beginning, instead of letting you go this far alone, the same thing we’re going to help you do now. Shoulder the burden. Heal. And move on.”

#as promised i can Make It Worse #toa #tales of arcadia #rott #rott spoilers #the rise of the titans #writing #toa fanfiction #my writing #hisirdoux casperan #claire nunez #jim lake jr

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

Text

Make me know you really care

Part 2

Robbe? Robbie, sweetheart?

Three muffled knocks, he feels that same strand of hair from earlier back to bother him again, tickling the outside corner of his eye. His neck is tight, and his arm basically dead underneath him, all his weight on top of it. Robbe moves the hand he can still feel to push his hair away from his eye.

Two knocks on the door and one attempt to turn the door knob and Robbe opens his eyes a few times, suddenly realizing it’s not part of his sleep, the noises and the voice calling his name. He pushes himself to turn and lie on his back, slowly moving his arm so the blood can run back to his tickling hand. The same plain walls, the same headboard, he is really back in his old bedroom. Last night really happened.

Milan is still at the door, his shadow - the dark cloud hair, the bright shirt and tall figure - clear on the glass but Robbe sees someone else next to him, not as clear, but clear enough for Robbe to recognize him, and he sits on the bed. Sander is there too, waiting one or two steps behind Milan. Robbe doesn’t need to see him to know he’s worried, thinking he went too far last night.

“Leave me alone, Milan.” He tries, aware that the same way he can see them well enough, they can see he’s sitting on the bed, very awake.

“Can you open the door, please? Or I’m gonna have to use the argument that you’re in my house…”

Robbe closes his eyes, still feeling like he didn’t sleep a single minute even though it’s bright outside, the sun almost disappearing at the top of the window.

His mouth is so dry and not smelling the greatest, he’s still using the clothes from last night, all wrinkled, a complete mess. He didn’t want Sander to see him like this, such a mess after that date that Robbe had to come back to the flat and sleep in his normal clothes. If it was the other way around, Robbe would worry if he found a sleepy, still smelling like beer Sander, sleeping on the same clothes he last saw him.

Robbe doesn’t try to make himself look any better while getting up, unlocking the door for the two but not enough that they’ll think he’s inviting them in. It’s not his bedroom but Robbe will act like it while he’s here. Milan has to mean his words when he told Robbe in the past that this would always be his room if he ever needed it back.

Sander is looking as perfect as any other day, clean, and with fresh new clothes too, the worry staying in his eyes, the way he frowns his eyebrows a little bit and the way he clenches his jaw but other than that, he’s fine.

“There he is!” Milan smiles and claps his hands excitedly, looking at Sander, and Robbe holds himself back from closing the door in their faces, “Good morning, princess.”

“How did you know I was here?” Robbe asks and regrets it instantly. His mouth is dry and bitter, and he doesn’t feel like talking to anybody right now enough to let them notice how terrible he looks and smells.

Sander is the one to explain, almost whispering as he looks at Milan. “He didn’t. But I stopped at your house and you weren’t there so I came here and I told him you were here.”

Robbe looks at him, afraid of who might have opened the door for him at the other flat. Sander finally looks at him again, reading his mind like always.

“He wasn’t there. But I guess his things aren’t there either…from what Jens told me.”

Well, he heard the message then.

The weird silence grows around the three of them and Milan connects the dots, opening his mouth in a wide and big 0.

“You broke up with your boyfriend?!”

Robbe looks at his friend and back to the ground, ashamed of himself for the way he did it. Nobody knows about the voice message, and Robbe is not sure how much he’s willing to tell. The break up is no news anymore so he nods his head.

“Oh, baby!” Milan pulls him by his shoulder, hugging him tight, his hands rubbing up and down Robbe’s back, turning them around so he’s the one looking at Sander and not Robbe. “He was such a loving, caring boyfriend, Sander. I know he’ll be fine, baby. And it wasn’t your intention to hurt him…” Robbe gently pushes Milan back, knowing he’s saying all of that to Sander, not exactly to him.

“Thank you…”

Milan looks from him to Sander, now standing a few steps from each other, nodding his head. “I’m gonna make some strong coffee for us, maybe go get some croissants for old time’s sake.”

They both watch as Milan grabs his coat on the hanger, waving goodbye as he leaves the flat to give them some privacy. Robbe looks around, the walls are ridiculously thin so they wouldn’t be able to talk any other way but Robbe is not sure if he wants to talk either.

Sander sighs, and Robbe sees him moving, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Some time ago I went shopping with Younes…”

Robbe frowns, and looks at him, not sure where this is going or how it has anything to do with him.

“He probably heard a lot of my thoughts about you, and us. So he thought that day that I needed to vent and he needed to go shopping. So yeah, we went out. And-“

Sander pulls his hands out again, opening one to show Robbe a ring. Suddenly he’s wide awake, as sober as one can be, very aware of everything they talked last night, or almost fought about. He steps aside, feeling dizzy and turns around to look at Sander and what he’s holding.

It’s a golden ring. It doesn’t seem new or cheap. Sander probably found it in one of the vintage shops he loves to lurk around. It’s beautiful, and Robbe’s triggered brain goes straight to that conversation they had years ago. About marriage and how Sander took it lightly, saying they were too young to give in to society’s expectations. He can feel Sander’s expecting stare on him, still looking at the ring, somewhere between terrified, amazed and hurt.

“This isn’t a wedding ring. It can be, I mean. Whenever you want. I’m just trying to say that I want it. To marry you, spend my life with you. If that’s what you want too. While we wait for the right time...this can be a promise ring.”

Robbe closes his eyes, trying to keep his nausea down on his body. For months while they were dating he thought about a wedding. Henever wanted some big event, with families and extended family they barely know. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

He wanted the day, whenever that was, to be very intimate and theirs, nobody else’s. Robbe wanted to wake up aware that it was the day, he wanted to make them some delicious, movie-like breakfast, to help Sander cook whatever he felt like cooking that morning, to kiss him, smile against his lips, look at him and see Sander’s bright, shiny eyes excited to live that day. They would put some nicer clothes on, hold hands and walk to the place where they could sign the paper and take a cheesy picture with it after they were done. It would be a blue sky type of day, not too cold, not too warm, they could easily walk to their favorite restaurant, eat whatever they wanted for once without worrying about how expensive everything was. This would be a special date so they would worry about money all the other days of the month.

“Robbe?” He finally looks up, being reminded that Sander is still very much there. His hand is back down next to his body, his index finger swinging the ring while he holds it with his thumb and middle finger. “It never crossed my mind to be with someone else but you. I’m sorry if I made it seem like marrying you wasn’t for me. Or just marrying anyone. It is if we’re talking about you and me. I didn’t think it was such a big deal to you at the time.”

Robbe sighs, staring at Sander for too long. He knows years have passed since that fight but while he’s here now, standing across from Sander he really feels the years that have passed. It feels like a lifetime ago and also just a moment somehow. Robbe always struggled when he started thinking about time. How fast it might pass and how slow. He doesn’t really want to get old but he also feels like he had pretty shitty times in his past.

He turns left and goes to the kitchen to make that strong coffee Milan forgot to make before leaving. He hopes Sander is following him.

The kitchen is still the exact same, and the coffee machine is still where it was when he lived here. He knows Milan’s bedroom and the bathroom look different because Milan, Senne and Zoe painted those while they were all in quarantine together. He came here a million times after that, the green color in the bathroom is starting to annoy him, actually.

He grabs two mugs out of the cupboard just above the coffee machine and puts them next to him, one ready to receive the first coffee.

“Do you still like your coffee the same way?”

Sander was at the kitchen door and it’s like the question is a permission for him to walk inside the kitchen, pulling a chair for him to sit. “Yeah. Burning hot, please.”

Robbe gives him his mug the second the coffee stops pouring and moves on to the fridge to find some milk for him to use for his coffee.

“And Ava?” He asks, grabbing his milk from the microwave, just warm enough not to ruin his coffee.

He can almost hear Sander saying what about Ava? but he doesn’t say that, thankfully.

“I broke up with her.”

Robbe pulls the other chair for him to sit, waiting a little so his coffee is drinkable.

“Does she know why?”

Sander lifts his eyebrows. “That I was about to come here the next morning to propose to you? No but she can probably guess it happened because of you generally.”

“Does she know anything about me?” Sander doesn’t answer with words but he nods his head, finishing his coffee already.

“She knows how much you mean to me, she knows we used to date. All those things. It’s hard for me to not talk about you, Robin.”

Robbe drinks a little bit of his coffee and adjusts his jacket, pulling the hood over his head again, feeling more comfortable this way, looking at Sander through his lashes, noticing how fondly Sander looks at him, with an almost smile right at the corners of his lips.

“You know Robin is not my name, right?”

Sander frowns. “Isn’t your name Robin IJzermans?”

Robbe snorts, and the front door is open and closed.

“Honey, I’m home!” He screams, and Robbe looks at the kitchen door, waiting for Milan to appear, making as much noise as he can thinking they would be making out at the kitchen counter or something.

He looks from one to the other in disbelief nothing is happening but he brushes it off, putting the plastic bag on the table for them to unpack.

“How many croissants?" Robbe pulls the heavy and deliciously warm paper bag and Sander pulls the coffee, and big nutella container.

“Three for each.”

“Better than Sander. He would only bring two every time.” Robbe steals a glance at him again and Sander is already looking.

“I always thought that would be enough of a hint but nobody ever left us alone, so I guess it didn’t work.”

Milan laughs, spinning around until he can lean against the sink, looking from one to the other, too curious to pretend for another second.

“And…?” He lifts his eyebrows.

Robbe stares at Sander for a little longer, unable to decide for the future but now it’s enough.

“We might get married at some point.”

Sander finally smiles shyly at that and Milan drops his shoulders like he’s disappointed.

“I wanted new news!”

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justice4harwin · 3 years

Text

Light’s Corruption-Chapter IX

Summary: With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty.

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Rating: 18+

As usual, the tags are in the comments; if you no longer want to be in the list or wanna be added, please don’t hesitate to let me know :)

Click here for chapter VIII if you missed it

Chapter 9: Dancers

Aleksander

When Alina met with him at the entrance to the Little Palace just before dawn, she looked slightly green.

He suppressed a small smile. A still half-drunk Genya had reported to him of his summoner's activities, and while it was technically not allowed to hold celebrations, he'd make no comment nor punish Alina for it. Did it really count if it was just the two of them anyways? They had already developed the custom of eating and drinking the afternoon away together. Besides, he needed her on his side.

"How are you feeling, Alina?" he asked, starting to walk towards the gates, where two Oprichniki were posted.

She followed slowly, her feet dragging across the floor.

"Great. Cold and tired, but I'm peachy." she said in the most monotonous voice he had heard from her so far.

She was truly amusing sometimes, more so than Ivan, maybe.

"Let us go." he offered her his arm, and she eyed it like she suspected it to be a disguised rifle before gladly taking it.

They strode out of the Little Palace into the biting cold of the ravkan winter on their own. There was no need guards when Alina was with him.

They walked far down south, nearing the woods that formed part of the Palaces grounds.

"Why do we have to do it so early?" Alina complained, taking a fist to her mouth.

If he did not know any better, he would think she was about to vomit.

"So nobody else gets to see you." he explained as they came to a stop at the edge of the woods. She dropped her hand and he immediately missed the warmth of her body. "Most people enjoy sleeping in late, especially during this season."

"You mean the king is a lazy bastard?"

He smiled, briefly.

"You learn faster than I thought."

"I'm insulted." Alina said, brows frowned, looking sicker by the second. "Everyone keeps saying that."

He felt tempted to tease her further, but he caught himself before he did such nonsense and cleared his head.

"Call the light."

It was still dark enough that they would not need to summon his shadows during the first few lessons.

She gulped, cheeks puffing for a second, and then did as asked. A big orb of light appeared from her pretty…from her hands, warming up the space they occupied.

"Now what?"

"Do it again but try to control the size."

Alina obeyed, the light fading before she made it re-appear again, smaller. She did it again and again without need to be told, making the orb of light smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a candle's flame.

"Good. Now make it bigger."

He watched as she did it, the orb growing, taking over her arms, then taking over her entire body, then taking over his as well, and then grew a little more, maybe a meter or two, before it began to flicker.

"You are afraid." he said plainly.

"I'm not!" of course she would have it in herself to argue with him, even in such a state.

"You will not loose control, Alina." he told her calmly, sure of his words as he was sure of his name. "You are far stronger than you give yourself credit for."

She looked at him, her dark eyes full of hope, and something deeper he did not accomplish to decipher. Saints, he hated when she did that.

Alina closed her eyes then, and with a deep breath, she bought her hands in towards her sides and expanded again. The orb grew and kept growing, melting the snow in its way, leaving everything drenched and in various shapes of green and browns, as if autumn had not abandoned them.

He watched her in fascination as she dropped her hands and still, the light remained.

She truly was stronger than she realised.

She looked at him.

"Now what?" she asked, her voice, so soft and lovely, anyone else would not guess her to wield such a great power.

"Now the real work begins." he breathed out, his hands itching for something. He was not sure what. Her? or her power?

In the blink of an eye, the light disappeared, and she hunched over, heavily throwing up on the damp, green grass.

He sighed, walking over and around her to hold her hair back.

The real work would begin after she was feeling better.

Alina liked it when mommy made water dance. It made her giggle, and she loved chasing the flow, even though she knew she'd never catch it.

Daddy liked it when the water danced too. One time, when Alina asked him if he could make something dance too, he had pulled her up into his arm and grabbed mommy with his other free arm and made them all twirl until the world spun and their humble, temporary home was full of childish joy.

They didn't have much, but love, that was something that overflowed the small hut they lived in.

When she was maybe four, or at least that was the amount of fingers Alina showed the people of the village when they asked her age with a little smile, her parents decided to go live in another village near Caryeva.

Little Alina was used to that. They never stayed too long in one place. It did make her a little sad though, for she always had to say goodbye to her little friends, and Alina hated saying goodbye.

"Why don't we live in one place, pappa?" she asked, her tiny hand clasped in his.

He looked down as they advanced, his hair almost shining in a colour that was very close to black when the sun hit it right.

"Because exploring is fun!" he had said, although his smile didn't quite reach his blue eyes.

"I know you like exploring." she said, rolling her eyes. She knew that already, why was he so dummy and didn't answer her question? Watching as her mommy walked a few paces ahead, she smiled. "That is how you met mamma isn't it?"

"Exactly!" he said, pinching her nose affectionately. "And we get to make lots, lots of friends!"

"But then we never see them again." the child complained.

Her father frowned slightly.

"The memories are what count, Alinochka."

The child felt sad anyways. She wanted to stay in one place for more than a season. Besides, she didn't like being lied to, and as small as she was, she could tell there were things her parents didn't tell her.

"Tell me again how you and mommy met!" she asked, taking a small leap. If he didn't want to listen to her, then he could talk.

He sighed dramatically, but smiled and placed her in his shoulders before he began the tale.

Her pappa had always liked to travel. He wanted to know the entire world. When his parents died when he was fifteen -Alina struggled to count with her fingers, but he showed her how much with his own hand-, he set off to see all of Ravka, even making it through The Fold. He wandered up north, where the fjerdans lived in their eternal winters -or so he said-, and quickly got bored, so he decided to go back to Ravka and continue south.

He found himself in Shu Han, where he stayed longer. He headed northeast, where he discovered a small village of people who could make things dance, just like mommy. And Mommy was there!

He was allowed to stay there, so long as he kept quiet about their dancing abilities. He learned the language, and he went on pursuit of mommy. Daddy always said that she just couldn't resist his 'charms' -whatever those were, they sounded gross-, to which mommy would raise an eyebrow and question him. Alina loved that part, for mommy and daddy would start teasing each other about who loved who first. She always giggled like mad as mommy playfully splashed water on daddy's face.

The part of the story Alina didn't like was the one that took place a long time after pappa had settled with the dancing people. He told her, with a small, almost scared voice, that one day, mean people showed up uninvited at the village, and he and mommy ran into the mountains, for the mean people didn't know how to dance and wanted to learn how to.

"They didn't ask nicely?"

"No, Alina, they didn't. They didn't think it was normal for people to make things dance."

"Oh; …but it's so pretty!" she would say, not understanding why those mean people couldn't ask nicely to be taught.

They realized Alina was in mommy's tummy halfway through their journey back to Ravka through the mountains.

They both told her of how she was born at sunrise, in the middle of a field surrounded by nothing but two old stone columns.

That was where they were headed to again.

Alina couldn't wait to see the place.

They stayed in a village nearby first, during a few weeks, much to the child's frustration. She wanted to see the place with the columns! But her parents had to work.

They stayed in a muddy inn Alina didn't like, where neither she nor her mother would walk around by themselves. The people there stared at them funny, they didn't wave their hands back when Alina did it with a big grin; but they were nice enough to pappa.

Alina asked why.

"We don't look like them, my love." her mother had told her one night as she undid what was left of the braid she had sported during the day. "That makes some people wary."

"What's wary?"

"It means that things and people that are different or look different make them uncomfortable."

"But pappa isn't uncomf-con-comf-uncomfy-"

"Uncomfortable." she laughed serenely, tucking her into the bed they all had to share.

"That! And look!" she said, turning and taking her hair in her tiny hands, expanding it to both sides. "I have ugly hair like him." her mother laughed again, her own, silky black hair falling down her back in a mesmerizing way. Alina sat on the bed, hands pinching the thin sheets. "He likes to be around us."

"He does." her mother agreed.

"Will you take me to see the place with the columns tomorrow?"

Her mother placed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We can't go yet, my love." she answered softly.

"When?"

"When we find a small place to live in while we stay here, your father will take you."

Alina rolled her eyes. She knew they'd probably be long gone before that. It had something to do with her mother not wanting to join an army of dancers like her. Her parents wouldn't tell her, even though she now needed a second hand to show people how old she was!

She said nothing though, and let her mother lean down and place a kiss atop her forehead.

"I love you." her mamma whispered.

"Me too. And pappa." she yawned, turning on her side. The bed was big, and they had to share, but even at the tender age of six, Alina was so small she could get lost in it. "Tell him when he gets back from work."

"I will."

The little girl fell asleep.

The little girl woke up only a few hours later, to the smell of smoke, gunshots, yelling, fire everywhere and startled.

It had been years since she had dreamt about her parents, and those dreams were not usually pleasant. They were filled with blood and fear and cold, and it would make her sneak out of the girls' room to go snuggle with Mal, her face buried into his thin pillow as she cried.

This dream though…she didn't exactly remember all those things, yet she knew, deep inside, that they had occurred.

She laid in bed, blankets up to her chin, staring up.

Saints: she couldn't even remember their names.

She was supposed to head down for breakfast, but instead she buried herself further into the clear sheets of her bed, a few stray tears falling down her eyes.

Despite the warmth of the blankets, she couldn't stop shivering.

She was still in bed when Genya found her later, right after lunch. She hadn't been happy about it and had all but dragged and untangled Alina out of her bed like one might rudely bring down a scared cat from a tree.

Once she was laying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and her friend's unimpressed face, she deigned herself to speak.

"What?"

" 'What', she asks?" She extended a hand and Alina took it, noticing the maids tending to the fire and the ones preparing her a bath. "It's just the Winter Fete and you're expected to perform in front of all the nobles of Ravka, but go ahead and lay in bed all day looking like that." Genya went on as she pointed in the general direction of her face and then grabbed her kit and opened it. " 'What?' she asks" the Tailor snorted. "Go wash yourself, lazy."

"Crazy."

"I'll make you look like a toad."

"…I'll roast your hair."

It was hard for Alina to focus while Genya worked on her hair and face. She kept on thinking about her parents but, as much as she tried, she could scarcely recall their faces.

Pappa was a good dancer. That she remembered.

Mamma made water dance. That she remembered now.

Alina could almost not believe that she had forgotten them, and that fateful night, and the days that followed after.

A chill settled deep in her bones as she looked at herself, clad in her blue and gold kefta -The General had sent a black one, along with a strange pair of gloves, but she rejected them-, and she couldn't shake the background noises of people yelling and the heavy smell of smoke.

Then nothing.

A strange nothingness that made her eyes fill with tears.

"Hey, you will be fine." Genya, standing behind her as she added the finishing touches, said demurely, placing a kind hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing to worry about. You show some light and then it's over. I promise."

Alina nodded absentmindedly, but the words glossed over her just like droplets of rain against glass.

"You know," her friend continued, leaning against the vanity and intertwining her fingers together. "You never told me when your birthday is."

At this, Alina looked up from her hands at her friend's waiting gaze.

She cleared her throat, her thoughts, and tried to form an answer.

"Uh, um…back in Keramzin, I was one of the kids celebrated in March."

"Celebrated in March?" Genya asked, her brows coming almost together.

"Uh, I was very young when I was placed there; I don't remember my exact birth date." she looked down at her hands again, feeling somewhat amazed that she was still here and feeling a great deal of nothingness at the same time. "I believe it was sometime during the summer." she murmured, mostly to herself.

She had a vague memory, of two faceless people with flower crowns on their heads, water dancing, and Alina, with a flower crown of her own, chasing it all day long.

It had to be summer, when the rivers weren't frozen, and everybody danced.

She didn't really recall walking out of her rooms, nor the path towards the halls of the Little Palace, where the Winter Fete was being held.

She didn't register the looks she got from the nobles, the members of the royal family, and her fellow Grisha. She didn't remember when Genya had left her side and The General had taken over.

All she could think about was dancing water.

As she was guided up into a dais, she pictured fingers moving at the tempo of a song, and a thin strip of water doing the same thing.

As she was placed upon the dais, and The General's touch abandoned her just like the dancers had, she thought of a faceless man twirling her around until she felt dizzy.

And as the lights receded and shadows took over the space, surrounding everyone in the same nothingness she was feeling, Alina felt the yells of ravkan men and foreign ones, taking the strongest dancers they could find away from them and ending those who dared to resist them.

So she lifted her hands, called upon her light -a thin stream of gold- and made it dance. Orbs and strings shot out of her hands, waltzing about the room, slowly bringing the light back to it, dancing over everyone's heads, tantalizing them, teasing them.

The room was clear now, and Alina could see all the nobles gazing up in amazement, awestruck with her performance.

"Run!" her mother had shouted, so she did. Away from the people who wanted to learn how to dance by ugly means.

Her gaze shifted towards the two golden seats at her left, where the Tsar and the Tsaritsa sat and watched the spectacle. The woman was smiling up at the lights, while the man ran his greasy fingers through his chin, like a child trying to solve a puzzle far above their age capacity.

Alina looked at The General, taking him in for the first time. There was nothing on his face, just like there was almost nothing in her heart.

She nodded towards him once, and he made his shadows recede just as Alina abruptly called her light back to her, leaving everyone in uneasy darkness for a few moments before the natural lights of the candles and lanterns returned.

There was a round of applause, and some of the nobles even knelt before her, calling her 'Sankta'.

Alina wanted to laugh. Sankta? For what? Making light dance? Then every Grisha should be a Saint as well, in her eyes.

She stepped down with the help of Kirigan's offered hand, and was soon swarmed by an avalanche of nobles who wanted to talk to her, touch her face, her hands, her hair, or ask for a blessing.

"The only blessing I could offer is the lost of sight, but they haven't had that in a while."

She was rescued by Genya and Nina, each of them taking one of her arms and nudging their way out of the crowd and into a more darkened corner.

Alina looked at the Tsar, who spoke quietly with The Apparat, that strange, unnerving man who had given her a book shortly after her arrival at the Little Palace. Alina tried to avoid him.

The Apparat kept on looking at her, and she didn't like what she saw in those dark eyes of his.

"I need a favour." she said to the two women at her sides.

Shortly after, Genya was guiding The Apparat towards a most pious noblewoman and her husband as Alina made her way to the king.

"Moi Tsar." she bowed respectfully, although on her insides, she felt such a rage upon his sight she wanted to claw him open with her bare hands. A man who forced a young servant into his bed was deserving of nothing but endless pain. "I hope the demonstration lived up to your expectations."

"It was quite enchanting, my dear. Very, very lovely." the queen offered, seeming to be in a good mood. This time, her voice did almost sound ethereal. Maybe she was getting better, maybe she was just half drunk.

"Thank you, Moya Tsaritsa." Alina bowed to her as well, and it took all her willpower not to spit on her golden shoes.

If she had been feeling nothing before, she felt everything now.

"Yes, I suppose it was acceptable." the king said, regarding his audience. "I was expecting something more, dramatic, more…"

"Grand, perhaps?" she offered, her voice quaint and her smile soft. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nina subtly moving her hands, her green eyes trained on the king.

"Yes, I think so, yes." he nodded eagerly.

"Well, with all due respect, Moi Tsar, I have only discovered my abilities barely two seasons ago, and I wouldn't want to cause any accident, you understand?"

The king looked at her, almost indulgent, and smiled in what he must've thought was a lovingly way. She wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and choke him.

"Yes, that is very smart of you, Miss Starkov. I do remember the incident by the lake." he giggled, like it was the funniest thing in the world. The queen did as well, although hers was noticeably forced.

"But I assure you, with more training under General Kirigan's command, I should progress just fine." her smiled sweetened, and she all but battled her eyelashes at him. "Just have a little more patience, please."

"Of course, dear, of course." the king agreed whole-heartedly. "I trust Kirigan is training you well."

"Only the best for the Sun Summoner, Moi Tsar." Kirigan showed up next to her, bowing as she had done, although at a lesser angle.

"Good, good. Good job, you two!" the man congratulated them. "Keep it up, and we might be taking care of The Fold-"

"Soon." The General said, a glint to his grey eyes.

The king nodded, and as his gaze caught that of a young, pretty noblewoman, he dismissed them.

Alina took the arm Kirigan was offering her, slowly guiding her out of the main hall.

"What was that about?" he asked quietly.

Alina could tell he was not exactly pleased, but neither angry or disappointed.

The Summoner remembered everything he and Genya had said about the king, and she turned towards Nina to give her a nod of gratitude, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"The king is an impatient child." she said, her voice as low as his. "I just bought us some time."

"You should leave that to me and worry only about increasing your power."

"I was trying to help you." she said, turning to look him in the eye. It hadn't been just about her, just about giving them enough to love and not fear her, to admire and not haunt her; it had also been -to her embarrassment for some reason- to help him. "You once said there was no one else like us, so it only seems right that we should help each other." she looked around, and saw Lady Anastasia, the young woman from the queen's tea party, waving at her. She was accompanied by two other women. "Besides, compared to all of what you've done for me, this was nothing."

She left, again, before he could reply, putting on a happy face.

"Lady Anastasia. It's been a while."

"Oh! You remember me. Good!" the girl smiled, taking her arm and leading her to the two women who awaited patiently. She pointed at a tall, blonde woman; her hair only slightly lighter than Lady Anastasia's. "This is my sister Zasha, and her wife Galina." she pointed at a redhaired woman clad in a lovely green dress, who smiled softly at Alina. "Sisters, this is Miss Alina Starkov. We had the pleasure of making our acquaintance at one of the queen's tea parties."

At that, both women snorted, looking, for the briefest of moments, unpoised.

"I never heard of pleasure at those torture sessions." Zasha laughed softly, her voice like velvet, while her sister's was sweet as sugar.

"I can only imagine." Lady Galina said, rolling her eyes. "Did she mention at least one black sheep of each member at the table and then-"

"Finished with an 'oh, well' and moved on to the next victim." Alina did a small gesture with her hand, her voice raising to imitate the high-pitched tone of the queen.

All four women laughed quietly.

Alina stayed by Lady Anastasia's side for a few minutes, making idle conversation. It could do her good to have a friend on the court of the Grand Palace. Her sister, Zasha was very polite and elegant, always seeming to know what to say, causing her younger sister to shrink sometimes, although this was not malicious. Her wife Galina, on the other hand, was slightly more outspoken; she was like a rose: pretty, but full of thorns that could pinch anyone, and Saints did she like to pinch at some of the people at the Fete. Alina decided that the redhaired woman was alright, so long as she didn't get on her bad side.

"I must be going now," Alina said, disentangling her arm from Lady Anastasia's grip. "I mean no offense, but I'd like to spend some time with-"

"Your friends?" Lady Galina asked, taking a sip from her drink. She waved her hand off, smiling kindly. "We understand. Go, have fun, if its possible at this kind of circus."

Lady Zasha turned on a charming smile on her, and Alina's cheeks threatened to turn pink.

"It was very lovely to meet you, Miss Starkov. I know you will do great things for the good of Ravka." she bowed her head slightly. "Thank you for that scintillating demonstration earlier."

Alina awkwardly bid her farewell, turning to her right so she could whisper into Lady Anastasia's ear:

"I heard Nadia and some other Etherealki were headed for the banya, if you're interested."

The blonde woman's eyes sparkled, and she nodded subtly, a great grin giving her away.

Alina walked around the Palace grounds aimlessly. She had no destination in mind, and she didn't really care whether she got lost or not. She knew she was being followed anyways; The Darkling had said so to her weeks prior but still, she failed to see the Oprichniki in charge of her safety.

She rounded the lake slowly, seeing some Tidemakers trying to turn the ice back into liquid water so they could fool around. Smiling without feeling much, Alina lifted a hand and threw an arch of light over the surface of the lake, not being so afraid to burn anything.

By the time she finished her round around the lake, there was not a sign of ice in it. The Tidemakers whistled at her and asked her to join them, but she politely declined.

Reclining against a tree, she watched them play around with the water and the snow, making beautiful shapes and playfully fighting off each other.

They made the waters dance.

"Just like mamma." the thought came to her like a monotonous occurrence, yet as soon as it entered her head, she headed towards the stables, kicking that thought out of her head.

"Alina!"

She turned to see Nina running towards her, her breath visible due to the cold.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself, sun bean." the Heartrender linked their arms together. "You're hard to find, you know."

"I was just walking around."

"What a walk it must've been," she said, slightly panting. "I've been looking for you for over an hour. I only knew where you were when you did that thing on the lake."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, oh, that. If you want to go unnoticed by the Tsar, melting the ice of a lake is not a good way of doing it."

"How did you-?"

"Please," Nina rolled her eyes. "If I were in your shoes, I'd want to stall as much as possible too. king's an idiot and he knows nothing about Grisha."

That was true, and everyone except the Tsar himself seemed to know it.

"Why are you out here anyways?" Alina asked, allowing Nina to lead her back inside. "Wouldn't you rather be at the Fete?"

"If it was a real party, maybe." she turned her green gaze on the Sun Summoner, questioning. "Do you know what it takes to make a real party, Alina?"

She was afraid to answer, so she shook her head. Nina leaned in until their breaths mingled, and Alina could clearly see every freckle on her pretty face.

"Waffles."

"What are those?" she asked innocently.

Nina leaned back with such a force she almost took Alina down and gasped loudly, placing a hand to her chest.

"You've never had waffles before?"

"I-I don't even know what those are." Whatever they were, the kitchen staff back in Keramzin hadn't cared to make those for the orphans.

"It's only my one true love. C'mon!" she said, leading her around the Little Palace towards the Grand Palace. "The cooks love me and they'll make some for us."

"We'll get in trouble."

Nina barely gave her a glance.

"Please. They will barely notice. The party is still in full swing."

She turned to look at the Little Palace, filled with figures moving about and muffled music making its way out, harder to hear with every step she took in the direction of the ugliest building ever built.

Nina ushered her through a back entrance for servants and, true to her word, the few people still at work were more than happy to make them some waffles before heading out for the night.

The Sun Summoner watched them and realized that such a thing was simply not doable in Keramzin.

Alina then sat at a small, wooden table in front of Nina, staring down at a plate with a weird, circle cut into four with small squares inside of it.

"It won't bite you, you know; it’s the other way around."

That got a little laugh out of her and for a moment, she let herself relax in Nina's presence.

They took a small piece and Alina bit into it, feeling its crisp texture filling her mouth.

"Is it supposed to be sweet or savoury?"

"Both!" Nina exclaimed, taking another big bite, eyes alight. "That's why they're so amazing."

Alina tried a second and third bite before deciding she didn't like the dish. The brunette sitting across from her watched her in horror as she gulped down a glass of water to be rid of the taste.

"I can't believe it! I knew you couldn't be perfect …but I never imagined you could be this monstrous." Nina said, gesturing at her. "I'm sorry," she said, as Alina stood up and walked over to the kitchen counter, laughing to herself, feeling good for the first time that day. "But I can't be with someone who doesn't like waffles."

"That's a deal breaker for you?" she asked, not turning around, staring out the closed window, to the grand view of a blank wall. "Not, I don't know, creating The Fold or being a Drüskelle maybe?"

"Damn right!" She felt how Nina's hand came down to knock on the hard wood of the table. "Those I can forgive, but not liking waffles is just too horrendous."

"See it this way: more for you." she offered, looking down at her hands, wishing their conversation would never end. It was silly, meaningless almost, but in the best way and she wished she could have more of those types of talks.

"But I didn't want it all for myself;" she heard Nina say softly, and a few seconds later Alina saw the shadow of her figure over hers. She turned. "I wanted to share with you."

The Sun Summoner looked away for a moment, taken off guard. Was Nina saying what she thought she was saying?

She tried to think of it coldly: Nina grew up at the Little Palace and she was very popular around; she'd make a great ally.

But Alina couldn't just see it that way without feeling sick. Nina was pretty, smart, funny, nice, and she had been giving her straight signs since the moment they met, unlike some other people.

She looked her in the eyes: green against brown. Like a tree

"We could share something else." she whispered, too caught up taking up in her pretty features to think straight.

Nina closed the gap, taking her face in her hands. Alina closed her eyes as their lips met and danced together, soft against soft.

The Summoner's hand travelled to Nina's waist and she pulled her closer, clutching at the material of her kefta.

Their faces twisted to a side, their tongues danced with each other, and even though Alina couldn't forget about a pair of grey eyes, she clutched her eyes shut tighter and held onto Nina. For she was so lonely, and Nina was here. She had felt nothingness, and Nina made her laugh.

Alina began to pepper her jawline with kisses.

"You really are warm, sun bean." Nina gasped, holding her even closer still.

"You're warmer." she answered between kisses.

She didn't know if she'd regret it in the morning, but after years of pining and awkward, unreciprocated little affections; after months of uncertainty, and a day filled with a dreaded void, Alina let herself get a fill of Nina. This was something that felt good.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't powerful or all-consuming and it didn't feel righteous, but it was finally something good and nice after so much peril, and she was glad to try and get lost in it.

The Darkling

He watched quietly, from the safety of his shadows, as Miss Zenik easily lifted Alina into the kitchen counter.

The Grand Palace kitchens.

"Truly. So uncouth." he thought.

Alina deserved better than a quick hand here and there on a kitchen; she deserved to be worshipped.

Or maybe she could be worshipped on a kitchen counter, just not by Nina Zenik.

He turned and left them to their activities, none of them aware of his presence.

The tether that bound them together had bought him there to talk to her, to find her…in someone else's arms.

There was no doubt that Alina felt a pull towards him as well, and although he was still struggling to maintain his control around her, that didn't mean he was willing to share in the meantime.

And Miss Zenik had been on leave for too long. Maybe it was time for a new assignment.

Click here for chapter X

#shadow and bone trilogy #alina starkov #the darkling #Darklina #darklinafic #darklina fanfic #nina zenik #genya safin #shadow and bone #grishaverse #shadow & bone #shadow and bone fanfic

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ichorizaki · 4 years

Text

001. finding, bonnie

genre fluff

pairing matsukawa issei x gn!reader

warnings none

word count 3.5k

synopsis when he received the letter, he didn’t know how to even find you. there was no trace of you yet you lived in his mind ever since that night, until fate chances upon him with a cheeky wink.

When Issei Issei first got the letter, he was carrying the heavy boxes of his belongings and unloading them into his car. The sun was at its apex in the sky, rays spread out across the azure blue and dancing through the almost-autumn breeze. His muscles bulged underneath the old shirt he was wearing, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and itching his sun kissed skin. He was leaning against the trunk of his car, wiping off the sweat forming at his hairline with the back of his hand. A refrigerated Red Bull cooled the palm of his left hand, cap unopened when his little sister walked out of the door with an emerald envelope in her hand.

“What’s this?” He murmured, eyes locked on the envelope as she stuck it out to him. Issei then looked at his sister who only shrugged wordlessly in return. He took it and flipped it over to see the characters of his name written in silver glitter ink with a handwriting he couldn’t quite recognise. It was neat, the strokes heavy and he could see how careful the writer was. Perhaps they didn’t want to mess up his name, which was something he found himself smiling at.

“You know who wrote it?” His sister climbed the hood of his trunk, sitting next to him with her legs crossed under her. He glanced over at her briefly before shaking his head no. “Well, open it then! I’ve never heard you talk about a secret admirer before, dude.”

“Idiot,” he rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he was rather nervous about who it was. There was a certain familiarity to that foreign envelope, sealed so neatly and the colour so curious. Different people ran through his head throughout his three years of high school. None of them seemed to fill the shadow of the person who sent him this letter.

Issei was careful with the way he edged the seal apart. In his large hands, the envelope seemed so small and frail. He tried his best not to tear the envelope apart. For some reason, he would be upset if he did. A parchment of white paper was nestled within its confines, waiting for him to open it up and read it.

The second he read the first few words, a grin bloomed upon his usually stoic face. And he just couldn’t stop grinning. His shoulders shook as his hand fell to his lap, clutching the letter and envelope in hand, chuckling in disbelief.

“What is it? Is it a prank from Makki?” She put her phone down, trying to figure out why her older brother was chuckling to himself like a madman. “If it’s yes, say the word and he’s gone.”

“Shut up, you little smurf.” He reached over to flick her forehead gently. She simply made a face in response, faking pain with a grumble. “It’s not Makki. Just let me finish the damned letter.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It was from you. The Bonnie to his Clyde; the sun to his moon. Of course it was from you; who else could it be from? Nobody else made sense. It was you and it was enough to send his heart skipping a beat.

Even when he was done reading, he couldn’t help but re-read the letter over and over again. He didn’t think you’d felt that way, and he certainly didn’t think that he found himself wanting just a little bit more than what you both had that night. He remembered the night just like it was yesterday, his favourite bits and pieces rolling like a film in his mind, the ghost of your voice sweet like honey whenever you laughed or spoke or cried your heart out. It was just one night but it felt like half of the eternity he wanted to spend with you.

“Oi,” he called for his sister, who looked up from her phone, humming response. His eyes couldn’t help but fall to the screen to see a picture of you and your younger sister on an Instagram page. “Wait, hold up, who’s that on your screen?”

“Huh?” She looked at him like he’d grown two more heads and a tail. She brought her phone up and tinkered around for a bit before answering him, “It’s my friend’s crush.”

“Your friend has a crush on a college freshman?”

“What?! Don’t be crazy, dumbass! She has a crush on their little sister!” He eyed her suspiciously, hands folding the letter and keeping it inside its designated envelope before tucking it protectively in his back pocket. She punched his arm at his teasing, obviously flustered.

“Just making sure.” He shrugged dismissively. “Why are you flustered, weirdo?”

She let out a loud groan and flipped him off, cursing him with all of the profanities she’d learn in her very short sixteen years of her life. Obviously tickled by her reaction, laughter bubbled from his throat. He was going to miss teasing her in person. Campus was over two hours away and he knew that he would be busy with class. Calls would be more frequent . . . or not. He knew she wouldn’t pick up a phone call even if her favourite celebrity was phoning her.

“Hey, send me their Instagram,” he requested.

“Of the little sister?”

“Of the older sibling, you fucking heathen!” It was his turn to be flustered, his cheeks flushing a deep maroon and her cackling reverberated through the neighbourhood. Their mother shouted at the two from inside of the home he’s spent the past eighteen years of his life in. The two siblings turned to each other, silent, before bursting into giggles and laughter that could barely be contained.

Eventually, they had to part ways when their mother appeared at the door with what seemed to be enough food to feed the entire volleyball team, telling the younger Issei to go back and complete her homework instead of disturbing her older brother. With a whine and heavy grumbling she retreats but not before turning back and flipping him off once again behind their mother’s back. The corner of his lips quirked upwards into a smirk. His sister sure was a handful.

“Issei.” She almost met his height from the way he was leaning against his car. Gently, she placed the wrapped containers of food on the hood before raising her hands to cup his face. They’d barely said a word to each other but he could already see the tears in her eyes. He softly sighed, a sad smile gracing his lips as his hands wrapped around her wrists. “My son, all grown up.” It was all she could manage before choking on her tears.

His heart hurt when he pulled her close to hug her. His head spun when he realised that he won’t be able to hug her like this every morning before he went to school. He found himself holding her tighter as she sobbed into his shoulder, praising him for being such a good role model for his little sister, praising him for being such a good son, praising him for the lessons she’s taught him as a mother. The tears were hot, pricking the corners of his eyes and the weight of realisation that he’ll be away from his family sat on him like a heavy storm cloud, robbing him of his ability to breathe.

“I’ll miss you, Ma,” he sniffled, swallowing his tears. Issei let his mother pull away, her hands leaving his cheeks to wipe her tears away before putting on a brave smile for him. He leaned down and gave her one final kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger on her wrinkling skin before pulling away.

“Don’t cause too much trouble, yeah?” She wiped away the snot on her nose. “We both know how you and Makki-kun have a penchant for mischief. I don’t know whether it’s a blessing or a curse that you and that damn boy ended up in university together.” He wiped away his own tears, cheeks hurting from grinning and chuckling while his lips quivered ever so slightly. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth to force himself to stop crying while his mother wept.

“Take care of Pa and that brat we– ow! Mama, what was that for?”

“This boy!” She pinched his ear teasingly, laughing with him until she heard the window open from his sister’s room. She looked like she was about to say something until she spotted their mother and immediately went back inside and slammed the windows shut. He shook his head, chuckling while his mother eventually let him go. They cried a little bit more and hugged it out a little more until it was time for him to take his leave.

With the letter secured in the bag of packed bentos, safely strapped to the passenger seat, he drove off into the horizon. The long journey seemed like such a drag with nothing but the humming of the air conditioning and the car engine. Even in the broad daylight, he couldn’t help but wish it was dark in the late hours of the evening with you in the passenger seat, windows rolled down and music blasting through the stereo but your laughter and your talking were the music to his ears.

At the first red light he increased the volume of his music until he couldn’t hear your laughter in the passenger seat of his empty car. But even then, the lingering ghost of a whisper of your voice haunted him. He doesn’t even know when he would be seeing you again.

“Hey, Clyde?” Your voice was gentle and quiet, just as it was at the start of the night. Crickets sang their song with the melody of nature accompanying their tune, the metal of his car suddenly so cold underneath you both and behind your backs.

“Hm?” Suddenly he became aware of the way you were pressed up against his chest, your body settled in between his legs, his chin resting on the top of your head with his arms wrapped loosely around you. He was just in his deep green henley while you wore the grey hoodie he had brought along with him, the sleeves long enough to give you sweater paws. If only he could see you, bathing in the moonlight. He relished in your scent—coconuts and springfield, with just the slightest hint of strawberry—like it’s the last time he’d ever get a taste of the bewitching concoction, because for all he knew, it could be.

“Do you believe in fate?” Issei’s shoulders tensed from the question. He felt your hands find his, fingers intertwining with one another before placing them on your laps. The action alone felt as natural as breathing.

“Do I believe in fate?” He echoed, his voice low and silent as if not wanting to disrupt the peaceful tranquility of the hilltop they sat on. You hummed softly in response, squeezing your delicate fingers around his calloused, volleyball-worn ones. Your hands were silk against the linen of his, petals against rocks. “Maybe if we meet again, I will.”

Issei found himself tugging at the strings of fate. He found himself wishing to see you in the corridors when he registered himself into his dorm building. He found himself wishing to hear your laugh in the middle of the courtyard among the other freshmen. He found himself yearning for even the slightest piece of you until he felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his jeans.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he realised it was a notification from his sister. It was an Instagram direct message and all of a sudden his heart started to race. He recalled the request that he had made no longer than five hours ago, suddenly feeling heat creep up his neck. Issei quickly spotted the fountain in the middle of the courtyard and sat down among the students. He was certain he had to sit down or else he wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

Unlocking his screen, he waited for the message to load on his screen. It took just half a second too long and he silently cursed at his phone, flicking at the screen like it was a bug until your Instagram page appeared on his screen. A short gasp was caught in his throat. He found you. He found his Bonnie.

Iwaizumi’s handle didn’t go unnoticed at the bottom of your bio. So he follows you too, huh? What a small world. He saw Oikawa’s handle too, as well as Hanamaki’s, but to what extent were their relationships with you? He knew that Oikawa was a simpleton—he would follow anyone who has a stunning Instagram feed, ‘for the aesthetics’, he would claim—so obviously it would be no use to pry. Hanamaki on the other hand, was a proud member of Team Follow Back. You were probably just the attractive person he came across while mindlessly scrolling and decided to press the follow button.

Staring at the screen, he couldn’t help but ask himself: should he press the follow button?

His thumb hovered over the button. His eyes scanned over your profile once again, in awe at how cleanly messy your feed was. It was an organised mess. There were pictures of you and your friends, you and your pets, storefronts you found stunning, alleyways, you falling asleep on your desk in school . . . it all told him your life. Your Instagram page was more than enough to tell him about you, how you stayed up late at night watching anime and listening to songs, how you loved to sit at home and unwind with your pets, how you were more than what he expected you to be that night. You are everything he’s ever wanted.

He quickly scrolled back up to the top of your profile to see the multi-coloured ring around your profile picture. Curious, he tapped on it and the first thing he saw was the entrance to the university. The same damn university he was attending. What were the fucking odds?

Issei tapped through and he felt his heart soar with every upload until he was brought back to your page. Oh, was he on Cloud 9! He couldn’t help the smile on his face that was threatening to break out into a grin. People might stare at him like he was a madman but he didn’t care. He found you, his Bonnie, and that’s all that mattered.

“What do you mean ‘if’?” You scoffed, releasing one of your hands from his and twisting your body so you could flick him on the forehead. His low chuckles rumbled deep in his chest when he took the hand that flicked his forehead and intertwined your fingers with him once again. His body dwarfed yours so easily that he found it painfully adorable.

“I hate to say it, angel,” he hummed. “I live all the way across the city. I’ll drive you around there for a bit if you’d like. I think it’d be a damn miracle if we saw each other again after today.”

And good lord was it a miracle to see you after so long. Your nose was just the slightest shade of red that matched your cheeks and the colour of your sneakers. You had your earphones plugged into your ears, tuning the world out with music as the both of you did that night in March. Your bookbag was slung over your shoulder, laptop bag clutched close to your chest.

He had been following you for a week through your Instagram stories. He didn’t know if you checked who had viewed your stories but he didn’t care. His profile was private so even if you wanted to snoop around, you wouldn’t know it was him (and he would be way too embarrassed should you DM him out of the blue).

It was well-nigh the afternoon, sun blazing against the cool autumn breeze. You had just ended your first lecture of the day and it was two weeks into university life. He had so many opportunities to walk up to you with the slightly crumpled letter in his hand, tucked neatly into its emerald envelope and hopefully sway you off your feet, but the time just never felt right. Even then, as he stared at your figure quickly walking, undisturbed and completely at peace even with the havoc of the bustling university grounds, he couldn’t help but feel compelled to walk over and re-introduce himself.

His feet, however, were faster than his brain. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was walking over to you and you were closer. You were closer to him than the past couple of weeks when he tried to plan his introduction behind his phone screen. You were closer to him and he wanted to make sure you were no longer sand slipping through his fingers.

‘Other times I catch myself wishing I would run into you again.’ He recalled your words in the love letter he’s memorised. Now your wish was going to come true, with his arm outstretched and reaching for your shoulder. Time slowed down when you turned around, your lovely doe-like eyes looking so confused and surprised as you searched his face which bravely sported a smug smirk.

He watched as your jaw dropped in shock, yanking your earpieces out of your ears. Your lips gaped open and close like a fish out of water, sputtering air, at a loss of words. Truth be told, he was way more nervous than he appeared. His heart was stammering in his chest and he was sure he forgot how to breathe. The sun was but golden flecks in your e/c eyes, bewonderment shining through the colours of your eyes.

“Hey, Bonnie.” The corner of his lip curled upward into a lazy lopsided grin. Now was his chance to woo you and sweep you off of your feet. Or perhaps, he could bring up the letter and make you flustered. He did have it sitting in his back pocket, after all.

“How . . . How did you find me?”

“I guess life has its ways, angel,” he winked. You scoffed and smacked his chest playfully. He could see the slightest hint of pink in your cheeks and now he was sure it was not the cold or the lovely coral blush you’d put on your face. “What’s this about fallin’ head over heels for me, huh?”

Issei reached behind his back before waving the envelope in your cute face. The second you registered what he was waving, what sounded like a surprised squeak came from you and you grabbed onto his wrist to stop the movement.

“Where did you . . .” Your words got lost in the air as you watched him and he hoped that it was out of wonder and yearning with the way you were looking at him. He simply withdrew his hand to pretend to inspect the envelope.

“It doesn’t matter.” He pockets the envelope. “I believe in fate now.”

He watched as your eyes grew wide, finding amusement in the way your cheeks burned red and puffed out. It was apparent to him that you remembered the fateful and eventful night some months ago in the distant sparkle of your eyes and the way the corner of your lips tugged upwards into a small smile of disbelief.

“When we meet again,” you corrected him. “Let’s re-introduce ourselves. Maybe go on a date if fate wills it.”

“You’re already asking me out, sweetheart?” He grinned, nose gently nudging the crown of your scalp before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your hair. He could tell how flustered you were by his observation of your words, so he decided to carry on the conversation. “I’m definitely taking you out on a date if we see each other again, and of course, if you’d let me, babycakes.”

“I’m Matsukawa Issei,” he thrusts his free hand out for a handshake. “I’m studying Psychology, freshman.” Your smile and gaze faltered at the small pinch of a smirk on his face. Did you think he would forget? How could he? After that night, he was left wanting more and more. How could he pass up the golden opportunity to ask you out?

You took his hand in yours. You took a deep breath, your chest rising and shoulders squaring before staring him straight in the eye. The words that tumbled from your mouth were woven and ingrained in his brain, forever to be kept. He finally had your name. What you studied didn’t matter to him that much. All he wanted was your name and his heart soared at the way your name rolled off of your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, L/N,” he smiled. A breath. “Will you go on a date with me?”

You were struggling to fight off the smile, adamant on looking a little disappointed that it took the both of you too long to find each other. Truth be told, you had always found your way into his mind ever since that night. No matter how hard he tried, you were always there. Now he didn’t need to keep searching or hope that you’d find your way back in his mind, because you were right there in front of him, the smile finally breaking free as giddy giggles bubbled up in your throat.

“I never thought you’d ask, Clyde.”

✎ ❝TO ALL THE BOYS!

THE LETTER SUN&MOON

would you like to try another route?

#꒰🍀꒱ to all the boys #꒰⚡️꒱ ⨾ zeus’ thunderbolt #hq #bbthots #matsukawa issei #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei x y/n #matsukawa x you #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa issei x you #haikyuu matsukawa #haikyuu seijoh #seijoh #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu

119 notes · View notes

laequiem · 4 years

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No tricks, only treats [ONESHOT]

/ Cardan and Jude join the rest of the family to enjoy Halloween in the Mortal World.

Part of Tales from the Mortal Realm, a collection of random moments in the lives of the Queen and King of Elfhame.

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

Read it on ao3

"Is it strange that I find you attractive dressed as such?"

I was looking at myself in the mirror, assessing my outfit, when Cardan sneaked into the room. His training with The Ghost was paying off, he was as silent as ever.

"Strange? Yes. Surprising? No."

I saw him prowl towards me through the glass. He slid his arms around my waist, staring at me through my reflection.

Today is October 31st and Oak insisted we join him in celebrating Halloween. Of course, this means we all need costumes. I decided to go as the one character I knew more than anyone else.

Cardan.

I looked through his wardrobe for my outfit. It was quite hard to find a top that was loose enough to account for my breasts, as most of his clothes were tailored to fit him perfectly. I also found a dark blue coat, its collar covered in iridescent feathers. I gave up trying to find pants in his collection, as my hips would never fit, and just wore a pair of black leggings with black combat boots.

"What do you mean, dear Jude?"

"The only thing you love more than booze is yourself."

He raised his brows, making a show of looking offended.

"Your capacity to lie to yourself will always impress me,” he said then plucked a kiss to my temple, “I love you more than I love wine."

I don’t think I will ever get over him being caring . It felt as if he was a completely different person from the boy who would disturb lessons just to get attention.

Cardan turned me to face him, then inspected my face. “Something is missing.” He took my hand and directed me to his personal vanity. He opened the drawer and pulled out some cosmetics. He lined my eyes with kohl and coated my lashes with dark mascara. I suppressed my laugh when I saw he was so concentrated that he had stuck out his tongue. Then, he took out some glittery gold powder and applied it on my cheekbones.

He took a step back to look at his handiwork and smiled.

“And the final touch,” he said as he plucked his crown off his head and put it on my head at an angle, “Voilà!”

I looked at myself in the mirror. I did not bother with any kind of wig. I put my hair up in elaborate braids, letting a few short curls hang in a few places. Yet, even without his signature dark hair, I still looked like him. I made faces at myself in the mirror, trying to get his grin right.

Finally, I got up. “Your turn now, dearest Cardan.”

When Heather learned that Cardan would be coming too, she started suggesting outfits for him. She even went as far as drawing some of them. Something about his otherworldly looks inspired her. Maybe it's the tail, since a lot of her designs included it: a devil, sexy cat man and my personal favorite, a cute puppy.

In the end, I chose my own, petty idea. I walked in the closet and pulled out the outfit I had the servants clean for the occasion.

“A King needs his Queen,” I grinned as I revealed the Queen of Mirth dress and crown.

Cardan threw his head back laughing. “You sure know how to hold a grudge.”

Thankfully, my husband was a team player, and he went with it. Even in this, he looked strikingly handsome. Or pretty, I guess. Unfair.

We landed in Maine in the early afternoon. It was strange to be awake so early, but Cardan did not seem bothered at all. We met up with Vivi, Heather, Oak, Taryn and Garrett at the entrance to FallFest, some kind of harvest festival that was held every October in the local park. It had everything from harvest contests to food stands, a section with typical carnival games, a small hay maze and even a haunted house.

I was not surprised to see my eldest sister dressed up, she went crazy for Halloween every year. Vivienne would dress up for a week straight before Halloween, even when she still lived in Elfhame. She was wearing a tight black bodysuit with a tail and claws as well as a black leather mask with cat ears. Heather dressed up as some kind of … plant lady? She had a short bodysuit made of green ivy leaves, green stockings and a long red wig. Oak was with them, wearing a reddish pink shirt with a big yellow star on it. I can only assume they went for pop-culture references I am unfamiliar with.

The real surprise was seeing my twin Taryn and her quiet lover also dressed up.

"What are you dressed as?", Cardan inquired, cocking his head to the side, "You ought to have dressed as Jude, you have already proved to be so good at it."

I snapped my head at him and slammed my foot as hard as I could on his. He was joking, of course. But the peace between me and Taryn was still fairly new. We mostly kept to ourselves and rarely talked. Garrett was back with the Court of Shadow and we were friendly, but he kept his professional and personal lives completely separated.

Cardan was hopping on one foot, scowling at me like he did not understand why I was upset. Taryn understood, though. She was sheepishly looking at the ground.

"I… I'm sorry for tricking you, Cardan."

I tried finding something to say to end the awkwardness. I wanted Cardan to apologize for what he said, but I knew he would not. Fae don't apologize.

Thankfully, Vivi broke the silence. "C'mon guys, we're here to HAVE FUN!" she complained, "What ARE you two dressed as?"

"Phantom of the Opera." Garrett replied.

"Nerds."

"Says the one dressed up as Catwoman." Garrett mocked.

The bickering continued, though less mean-spirited than Cardan’s original comment, as we walked down the main path. Our first stop was the pumpkin carving station. Each couple got their own pumpkin to carve, though Vivi and Heather’s pumpkin was mostly Oak’s handiwork and the couple making sure he did not stab himself. Taryn and Garrett made some intricate flower design on theirs, Garrett being the one doing the carving of course. As for us, well… Cardan had creative ideas, but no skills with a blade, and my skills were more of the stabbing variety. We settled on giving our pumpkin a traditional jack-o-lantern face.

After the effort of carving pumpkins, we were starving. Oak was complaining, dragging his feet on the ground so much that Vivi and Heathers were holding both of his hands to pull him along. Behind them, I saw Taryn with her arm looped around The Ghost's.

I was suddenly very aware that Cardan and I were the only ones not holding hands.

Nobody knows us here. We needn't keep the appearance of the power couple, together to rule and nothing else.

I took my hand out of the pockets of my borrowed coat and tentatively brushed my fingers against Cardan's hand. I saw him whip his head towards me, and I blushed when I witnessed the surprise in his face. Soon enough, he smiled. One of those smiles he kept for me and only me, blissful and happy. The smile he gives me when we have the time to spend hours cuddled together in bed, enjoying each other's presence.

Cardan took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating good food, trying to guess the weight of giant pumpkins and visiting a haunted house. Cardan was fascinated by the weird human traditions and absolutely ecstatic about the food. Pumpkin-spiced flavored food will become the new trend in Elfhame, judging by his reaction.

When the sun started to go down, Taryn and Garrett left for Madoc’s, who decided to try giving out candy to the trick-or-treaters. Heather and Vivienne had initially volunteered to take Oak trick-or-treating himself, but when one of their friends invited them to a party, we offered to take him instead. Oak was excited to spend more time with me and “Uncle Cardan”.

I had not gone trick-or-treating in...10 years? Maybe 12? Since my parents died. Cardan, obviously, had never gone. So, dressed up as each other, with Oak dressed as some cartoon character, we roamed the residential streets of the city to beg for sweets.

“If it is called ‘trick-or-treat’, does that mean I can make bargains if someone refuses to give me candy?” Cardan asked as we watched Oak go up to a house.

I gave him my best ‘I’ll-strangle-you-if-you-do’ stare. “No. No turning people into cats, no curse making them hear imaginary insects buzzing around their ears.”

“Why is it called trick-or-treat, then?”

Vivienne told me they had to explain this to Oak, too, a few weeks ago. Someone at school had mentioned being excited to go trick-or-treating and my brother had been very confused.

“I don’t know.”

Cardan hmmed and smirked, “Perhaps the Folk were involved when the holiday was first established.”

I crossed my arms.

“If that’s the case, not all traditions need to be brought back.”

He laughed at that, then reached around me and pulled me closer to him.

“You win. I won’t trick anyone,” he crooned in my ear, “but I want a kiss for being well behaved.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “So needy.”

Once again, I had to remind myself that nobody knows us here. Nobody recognized our costumes today: in the mortal world, dressed as each other, we were only The Guy In An Ugly Dress and Fashionable Emo Boy. Nobody knew we are King and Queen of Elfhame, therefore there are no expectations to be the hedonistic king and his murderous wife.

I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him down. I felt him smile as I captured his lips with mine.

“Ew, gross!” Oak’s voice came from the other end of the driveway, “Stop that, come here.”

Reluctantly, we pulled away from each other and looked towards the house. Oak was in front of the opened door, talking with a couple.

“Honey, look,” the tallest woman exclaimed as we walked down the driveway, “She’s dressed as High King Cardan!”

“Oh my god,” the other one replied, sounding so very human, “that sounds kind of profane. Do you think he would have her hung for this?”

As I looked at the two women, I realized that Oak had stumbled upon the house of a Fae couple. They saw through his glamour, and he saw through theirs.

“This is my sister Jude,” Oak started, “and this is my Uncle Cardan.”

Both females had gone completely still and were staring at Cardan with wide eyes. Simultaneously, they bowed deeply.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty. We weren’t expecting you.”

“We so rarely see our kind around here,” the shorter one said nervously, “we… wanted to meet who little Oak was with.”

“We have tea, if you would like.”

I dared a glance at Cardan and noticed he seemed amused. Was he delighted to make them uncomfortable?

“That won’t be necessary,” he said as he took my hand, “My wife has us on a tight schedule, we have other houses to visit. Have a nice evening.”

I caught the emphasis on wife and realized they only recognized him as royalty. ‘ Your Majesty ’, singular. I could tell from the two females’ expressions that they also understood their mistake. I felt bad for them knowing they had no ill intent, probably unaware of the situation in Faerie. Yet, I could not help the grin that crept on my face. I worked hard to become High Queen. I fought and killed my way through the ranks, almost dying. Multiple times. I made decisions that will haunt me until the day I die. I am High Queen, and the Folk must know.

“It was nice meeting you,” I say as I take Oak’s hand, “You are welcome to visit us at the palace if you wish.”

My memories from before Faerieland were to blurry, I did not remember getting so much candy. Did Taryn and I get that much? How could we possibly have eaten all of that? Cardan and I each had a smaller bag, only accompanying Oak to some of the doors, but Oak had multiple full bags. Once he went to sleep, Oriana was more than happy to give us some. She had learned how bad candy was for children’s teeth - even little Fae kids. She filled little bags for us to take back to Elfhame.

Like anyone eating candy for the first time, Cardan went a little crazy. He wanted to try everything. Faeries might be different in a lot of ways, but I now have proof that chocolate is addictive even to them.

The High King of Elfhame ate so much candy that he fell asleep on the couch, to the former General’s dismay.

#tfota #the folk of the air #cardan #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #judecardan #jude duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #holly black #fanfic #fluff #laequiem

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fa1rytunes · 3 years

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pairing: xiao/chongyun rating: mature word count: 3k tw: implied rape attempt tags: atypical angel/demon au, suggestive themes, dirty talk, finger sucking, mutual pining, soulmates

> NO ONE UNDER 16, SUGGESTIVE CONTENT <

ao3 link: here other notes: written for xiaoyun weekend day 1, angel/demon au

When faced with the fact that they have all eternity to be together, angels Xiao and Chongyun choose a path much different from that of their demons.

It was a rite of passage. Usually, they’d have done it alone, but Xiao and Chongyun were like two peas in a pod. One moved, the other followed like his shadow. They completed each other so perfectly, so uncannily perfectly that they had to do it together.

Meeting their assigned demons for the first time, that is.

Both of them sort of hoped that, after meeting their demons, they’d be able to safely return to the tranquil life they’d been living as companions.

They didn’t know why they had been matched together, but it was not exactly uncommon for angels to work in pairs. However, at first glance, Xiao and Chongyun made an odd duo.

Xiao had become an angel after living a very troubled mortal life. He had his fair share of blood on his hands. And… It wasn’t all good blood to have on one’s hands. While he had spent most of his mortal life working as an emergency surgeon in an ER, he had also lived a double life, helping criminals. He wasn’t sure he really deserved to be made an angel, but the role seemed perfectly suitable for him, because of his tendency to save and protect anyone who asked.

As for Chongyun, he wished he could remember his mortal life. Instead, all he had to cling onto was the immediate pull he felt towards Xiao after he opened his eyes next to him in the afterlife. Like quite a few angels, his memory had been wiped clean. This was a new beginning for him. No one really knew why some angels remembered their mortal lives and some didn’t, but all figured it was part of someone’s plan. Nevertheless, what remained of Chongyun’s mortal life was his personality: meek, but always cheerful, trying to keep a positive outlook on everything—quite the opposite of Xiao, who had a temper that pushed away pretty much everyone else. Only around Chongyun did his temper mellow out, but nobody quite understood why.

The both of them spent some time in the angels’ realm, getting acquainted with their new state of existence and learning how to use their wings. They knew that this time wouldn’t last.

The notion of time had little meaning to angels, but all angels were fated to meet their demons, and to engage against them into the eternal struggle to keep them from wreaking havoc on the mortal realm. But just like no one had had to explain angels how to fly, or how to cross the boundary between the angels’ realm and Teyvat, nobody had to tell Xiao and Chongyun that the time to meet their demons had come. It was a question of instinct, really. Nobody had to tell them where to go, either.

And thus, they found themselves in familiar territory—for Xiao, at least. The high cliffs surrounding the pool in the middle of Wuwang Hill were a sight he remembered very well from his mortal life. Fireflies floated around the calm waters of the pond, and the sound of frogs and crickets singing into the night filled the atmosphere. Many times he found himself in this area for stargazing. Part of him feared that the fond memories attached to this place would be tainted by what they came there to do, though.

Chongyun gave his hand a firm squeeze.

“It’ll be alright,” he said quietly.

Xiao gave a silent nod in response. He didn’t have the heart to explain Chongyun how he felt, but maybe he didn’t need to. It seemed like Chongyun could read him like an open book, and that was often a relief, for Xiao was not particularly skilled at putting his feelings into words.

They walked alongside one another, their steps in sync on the rocks in the pond, and then on the dirt path that meandered through the hills and the forest. A warm, humid breeze swirled around them. Chongyun’s hand felt cool and soft under Xiao’s fingers. It always did.

They exchanged a quick glance as a wave of shivers ran down their necks. They’re here.

A honeyed laughter echoed from their right, just beyond a large rock on the side of the path. When they came into view, Xiao and Chongyun frowned in unison.

It was easy to guess that those two really were Xiao and Chongyun’s demons. Their resemblance was uncanny. The other Chongyun looked like a splitting image of the one standing next to Xiao, only, he was dressed in navy blue instead of white, with lighter blue details. The other demon was bare-chested, and dressed in red instead of jade green and purple.

What was most troubling, though, was how they acted.

They were laying down in the grass, the demon who looked like Chongyun on top of the one who looked like Xiao, and it took both angels a moment to realize where the demons’ hands were going. They were going in… not very appropriate places. One was firmly groping the other’s ass, and the other’s hand was dangerously close to the first one’s crotch. And they were… aggressively making out. The demonic Xiao lookalike interrupted his kissing session to look up.

“Oh, look, there they are, finally,” he said.

The Chongyun lookalike turned around to stare at the two angels.

“Hm… They look so stiff. Are they made out of cardboard or something?” He nonchalantly trailed his hand on the other demon’s chest.

“Darling, you know all angels are made out of cardboard. They can’t take a joke, can’t have fun, can’t have sex. That’s how dull they are,” he sneered.

Xiao turned around, letting go of Chongyun’s hand, but Chongyun caught his arm.

“I’ve seen enough,” he hissed through his teeth.

He spread his wings, ready to fly back to their home, but Chongyun held firm.

“Are you sure that’s all we need to see?” the blue-haired angel asked.

“Whatever more they have to show us, I don’t want to see,” he replied.

“Oh, a little flustered by our display of affection, are we?” Chongyun’s alter ego asked, smirking.

“Oh, don’t tell me… Those two haven’t fucked yet?! Wow, I’m impressed. Maybe angels really are that prude,” the other demon replied, chuckling.

Xiao itched to shut them up, but he knew that the demons were deliberately provoking them. Getting them to react was, without a doubt, the demons’ goal from the get go. That was the reason Xiao wanted to fly away. That, and the fact that seeing both demons so obviously touching each other, making it very visible that their relationship went way beyond Chongyun and Xiao’s companionship, roused a strange confusion deep within his heart, and he was not sure he wanted to face those feelings.

“Oh—could it be…?! Could it be that they haven’t even told each other they like each other? Oh, dear Abyss, I don’t believe it!” Xiao’s lookalike added.

Chongyun scowled. For the first time since Xiao and him had met, the contact of his hand on Xiao’s arm felt warm, not cool. Concerned by the sudden change in his companion’s energy, Xiao turned back to Chongyun.

“Let’s just ignore them and get away from here, they’re doing this on purpose, they just want to provoke us,” he whispered next to Chongyun’s ear.

Chongyun gulped. His face was painted red all over and, if he had been a mortal, his heart would’ve been racing in his chest at that moment. Xiao felt a squeeze from Chongyun’s hand on his arm and guessed how flustered the blue-haired angel was.

Chongyun wouldn’t have had any qualms about leaving right away if the demons had been wrong about everything they’d said so far. But they weren’t.

The two demons burst into a fit of laughter at the same time.

“Oh, in the name of the Abyss Prince, just look at them! They’re so stupid, they haven’t even realized why they feel pulled towards one another,” the demon who looked like Chongyun exclaimed.

He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Damn, guys, you’re really passing on an occasion. Did you know that Xiao has a huuuuge cock?” he added. “I mean, look at that bulge!”

Just as he spoke, he stroked the other demon’s crotch through his clothes, and the other hummed in satisfaction, canting his hips under the touch.

“And it just so happens that my darling right here has a mouth perfect for dick sucking, among other things,” the demon looking like Xiao added, grabbing the other demon’s chin and pulling his mouth open.

Without any care in the world, he shoved two fingers inside the blue-haired demon’s mouth, to which the demon replied by greedily licking and sucking on them.

Chongyun was standing there, speechless, and Xiao spoke into his ear again.

“Let’s go, I’ve seen enough,” he growled.

Chongyun snapped back to his senses.

“I… Yes, okay, let’s head back,” he said.

They both turned their backs to the demons and spread out their wings, ready to take flight.

“Oh no, look, honey, it seems like our little angelic guests already want to flee! We can’t let them get away with this, now, can we?” Xiao’s alter ego cooed. “The fun is only starting…”

“Got it,” the other demon replied.

The next moment, Xiao and Chongyun had to jump back to avoid getting slashed by the greatsword the demon waved in front of him. The air temperature dropped sharply, and the angels’ exhale produced mist in front of their mouths.

“Out of our way, hellspawn,” Xiao snarled, calling forth his jade polearm.

“Funny you should say that,” the Xiao double said from right behind the angel. “With the kind of blood you have on your hands, don’t you think that I should be the angel, and you the demon?” He let out a sinister cackle.

Chongyun moved behind Xiao, facing his companion’s red-clad lookalike.

“Careful, demons, you know our strength is equal. There’s no use in fighting,” the blue-haired angel declared.

“Yes, we may be matched in strength, but as for cunningness, we certainly are not,” the demon replied. “Be careful, you two, we just might be able to trick you.”

He smirked, and winked. Chongyun’s claymore materialized in his hands and he lowered his stance, waiting for the demon to attack. On the other side, Xiao and Chongyun’s demon glared at each other with eyes that could kill, silently observing each other, waiting for an opening to strike. As soon as the blue-haired demon moved to swing his blade, Xiao got ready to parry. They engaged in a fierce battle behind Chongyun, delivering hit for hit, without any sign that one of them was going to win over the other.

The noise of the struggle distracted Chongyun for a moment, and thus, he barely had the time to jump to the side to avoid his opponent’s spear. The demon used this opportunity to sneak much closer to Chongyun, grabbing him by the collar and knocking him off his feet. He then jumped on top of the blue-haired angel, holding him down with his spear across the throat.

“Hey, Chongyun, I should take you for myself, make you my little fucktoy, don’t you think? Since Xiao is too stupid and too much of a coward to take you…” the demon said, licking his lips.

“You’re dreaming, malignant spirit,” Chongyun uttered through clenched teeth.

He kicked his knee up into the demon’s stomach, knocking him off from him. While Xiao’s double was getting back up, Chongyun sprinted to Xiao, who was barely dodging the attacks from his opponent. Without a word, the blue-haired angel spread his wings and kicked the ground, and flew just above Xiao, grabbing his outstretched arm in the process and lifting him up in the air. Once they were out of sight of Wuwang Hill, Chongyun dropped Xiao down, and Xiao stretched his wings to fly alongside Chongyun.

Their trip back to the angel’s realm happened in a stunned silence, both of them too unsettled and confused by how the encounter went to dare speak up yet.

Once they finally settled down under a tree, sitting side-by-side, gazing far away into the horizon, only then did Xiao speak up.

“I’ve never heard of demons being this aggressive before,” he let out. “We’re not supposed to fight, it’s pointless.”

“I trust you on that one… you’ve hung around other angels for a long time before we met,” Chongyun replied, and his hand found Xiao’s.

“I have… I was waiting for you,” Xiao quietly said.

As he intertwined their fingers, Chongyun thought about their alter egos’ words. The sight of them making out on the grass had felt surreal. Deep down, the blue-haired angel knew that Xiao and himself were soulmates. There was no denying the pull they felt towards one another. It was magnetic. Most angels met their soulmate in the afterlife, that much was to be expected. But a soulmate could take on the role of a friend, of a sibling, of a parent, and, of course, of a lover.

And although they had spent all this time together, none of them had dared to make the first step towards making their relationship more than platonic.

Now that their demons had made it very obvious that this was a possible outcome for their relationship, the idea seemed almost repulsive to him. Wouldn’t it be the equivalent of giving their alter egos victory over them, to make their relationship more than friendship? Chongyun shuddered at the thought.

And yet, when he looked at Xiao, when he felt the warmth of his fingers between his own, when his eyes dived into the smouldering amber of Xiao’s eyes, Chongyun had to admit to himself that he had thought about kissing him.

He’d thought about it, and then abandoned the idea, because what if Xiao doesn’t want their relationship to be that way? What if they were only meant to be friends?

Chongyun wished that the mysterious entity who was in charge of all of this—angels, demons, soulmates, the structure of the universe, everything—had provided them with more than instinct to deal with all of this.

As naturally as the leaves fall down with the coming of colder months in the autumn, Chongyun’s head fell onto Xiao’s shoulder, his eyes still lost on the horizon. In front of them rolled the grassy, soft hills of this corner of the angel’s realm. Trees grew behind them, forming a dense forest, and the singing of birds and the soft rustling of the wind through the tree’s leaves filled the air. There was nothing but peace, nothing but softness to be found in this realm, and yet, Chongyun’s mind was filled with confusing thoughts brought about by their arch nemeses. They had introduced chaos in their blissful retreat, and for that, the blue-haired angel could not repress a hint of anger.

Xiao wished he could ignore it, too. He knew, deep down, that what he felt for Chongyun was more than friendship, more than a family bond. But he was in no hurry to explore that, since they had all of eternity to fall in love. He wanted to discover Chongyun piece by piece, to learn every corner of his soul, patiently. But their encounter with the demons had casted a seed of doubt in his mind. Xiao had never been one to be forthcoming with his feelings, but perhaps taking his time was a waste, since he knew what the outcome would be, in any case.

He looked down at Chongyun, at the crown of icy blue hair, soft against his bare shoulder, and sighed. Why did it have to matter that their demons teased them about taking their time? Why did it have to matter that they handled their relationship how they saw fit? Just because their demons were very obviously much more than friends didn’t mean that Xiao and Chongyun had to be more than friends right away.

Plus, just because the Sustainer had intended for their demons to be romantic soulmates didn’t mean they had the same plan for Xiao and Chongyun.

But… There was little doubt in Xiao’s mind that this was what the Sustainer had intended. The flutters in his stomach when his gaze crossed the crystalline purity of Chongyun’s eyes, or when the other angel leaned against him like this, or when their fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the world, none of it could lie.

And so, when Chongyun sat up to ask Xiao if he was okay, sensing the trouble within his heart, it was a bittersweet smile that painted itself on Xiao’s lips.

“I’m fine… it’s just…”

“They… they were right.”

“Yes. But… it doesn’t mean that we have to be like them,” Xiao said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Chongyun said, and he smiled.

He took in a sharp inhale before continuing.

“But… I still want to kiss you. And I know that it’s giving them—”

Chongyun could not finish his sentence, not as Xiao leaned forward and closed the space between them in a soft, warm kiss.

“It doesn’t matter what it’s giving them. This is us, it’s none of their business,” he huffed, softly cupping Chongyun’s cheek.

Chongyun’s face had heated up a few degrees, his cheek now feeling warmer than usual under Xiao’s fingers.

“Y-yes but… a-are you…” Chongyun mumbled, trying to get a hold on himself.

“Sure about this? Yes.”

The blush on Chongyun’s face was renewed, and Xiao let out a light chuckle. They were definitely quite different from their demons. Time had little meaning to angels, yes. But it was because they had so much of it that they could afford to take things slow, to savour every bit of the pleasure of falling in love gradually, to learn each other’s mind patiently like a map, one street, one avenue at a time.

“Okay,” Chongyun murmured, and he laid his overheated cheek back against Xiao’s shoulder as he leaned against him once again.

There was not much to add, for everything left unsaid would eventually be said, when the time would be right.

If you liked this, please leave a Kudos on ao3! And you can also comment there, I read and reply to every comment. :)

#genshin fanfic #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #genshin chongyun #xiao x chongyun #chongyun x xiao #genshin writing #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #my works #my fics

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msotherworldly · 3 years

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The Black Rain: Chapter One

In my previous posts, I mentioned my series in progress, The Children of Pandora, and how it was technically a multi-protagonist project. While Eradica is the main protagonist of the books, Insula and Rowan also have their own occasional books. The chapter below is the first in Rowan’s story - like The Blue Door, it’s still in need of editing.

If this whole multi-protagonist business sounds confusing, check out my earlier posts. You’ll be introduced to the characters, their stories, and my comparison to Narnia on how this functions.

CHAPTER ONE: THE POSTCARD

The afternoons when I could be alone were the best, because they were also a relief. Outside, clambering over the rusty playground and dodging around the scattered beer cans, the children played. The place, with a few stunted shrubs for it’s fence, was filled with litter: there was a discarded tire, a few cardboard boxes, and some dirty clothes. The children used them as their toys, but I had my own toys to play with.

From the window, I could see the mountains. They partially blocked a watery sun, which already fought a swath of cloud. I didn’t know that day would seem bright, when compared with the ones to come. I didn’t know a lot of things, such as what Dad looked like.

I only knew his handwriting. I turned the postcard over. The writing was spidery and small, but I had looked it over at least once a day for the past three years. I flipped it over to the picture on the front: palm trees swayed in the wind, casting long blue shadows over the fancy cars and the newly paved roads. There were green hills, and a beach side resort with shirtless old men and grinning, skinny twenty year olds, most of them blonde. I had bought into a myth of my own making: if you stayed in the sun long enough, it turned blonde...but you had to live where it was hottest.

At eight, that myth seemed flimsy. I curled a strand of brown hair around my finger, which was also brown, but sort of gold.

The Palm Tree Place, where Dad lived, was like something from a dream. It was funny how it made me deeply happy and deeply sad at the same time.

“What are you doing up here?” a voice hissed. Ms. Brocklehurst ambled into the room. A Seagull Anthromorph, she was a confusion of frayed feathers and pinstripe clothes. Her skirt was bunched around her knees, and her jacket was too loose on her thin frame. Glasses slid down her sharp, dirty beak.

“I was just-”

“If you don’t get down, I’ll switch you good.” Ms. Brocklehurst’s beady eyes narrowed. “Actually, I think I will anyways. You’ve already disobeyed me, haven’t you?”

“Please, I was only-”

“Bend over.” Ms. Brocklehurst took a cane down from the wall. “Now.”

A lump formed in my throat. Hot tears spewed from my eyes. Mom always said I was a baby. What was the word she used? Ingrate? That’s what I am.

The pain thudded over my back, and I screamed. That was bad, but I couldn’t help it: it whistled through the air. It hit harder. It bit. I screamed louder. My eyes were glued to the floor. A piece of it peeled away.

Whoosh, whap, whoosh, whap. The sounds were so gentle, but they felt so hard. I tried not to count the hits. That always made me hope, and that made it worse somehow.

The next hit didn’t come. I remained bent over. Snot streamed from my nose. The floor was a blurry mess, like a painting.

I heard the cane being hung up. That was such a happy sound. I heard a stomp of taloned feet, squeezed between black shoes.

“Down, or I’ll give you another set.”

My back burned as I straightened myself. My whole body ached; my legs stung, and it was hard to move. I was stiff.

I shuffled past worn beds with identical gray coverlets. The walls were gray; everything was. It matched the cobwebs that hung in the corners. It matched the rickety stairs that had been brown, but were now rotting and bleached from too many days of sun exposure.

I stopped at the foot of the playground. I realized I was still holding the postcard. I shoved it into my pocket. I wore a pair of jeans that were always sliding down. My pink hoodie was baggier, or I was just too skinny.

I saw Emma Ruth skipping along a hopscotch she had made from snapped twigs. I wandered over to her, smiling.

“Hi, Emma.”

“Hi, freak.”

“Can I play?”

“Sure. Just don’t touch me. I don’t want to catch your freak bug.”

I hopped along behind her. I felt oddly cheerful. It was one day at a time, right? Also, nobody was hitting me. That was always a plus.

“Do you ever think about your parents?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Maybe they’ll come back for you. Or maybe a rich man will come here and adopt us all. And he’ll check back in to get any new children that come in. And then Brocklehurst will sell the place to him. He’d be a billionaire, and he would make his money selling children’s clothes. But he’d buy all our clothes for free!”

“You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” Emma hopped along behind me. We went in a circle. “That stuff only happens in storybooks.”

“My dad wrote to me right before I came here. It was his only letter, but he told me how palm trees grew. He talked about coconut milk and-”

Emma shoved me to the ground. My head hit the edge of the playground box, and pinpricks of light, golden and white, flashed across my eyes.

Emma looked big, though she was only a tiny girl in a dress, red and white and checkered like a picnic blanket. She crossed her arms, her blue eyes growing small. “Just leave me alone, freak.”

A mean picture came into my mind: Emma’s dress on fire, her face as she screamed. I brushed the picture away. How could I have a thought like that? How awful! It wasn’t Emma’s fault I was weird. What if I could give it to her? I guess I’d be afraid too. I didn’t want to hurt Emma. The meanness was gone, leaving behind cold.

And she’s sad too. We all are. We’re in the same boat.

A bell rang. Children rushed past me. I stood up. My butt was damp. I realized the grass was wet, glinting in the gray-gold light. It must have rained. I wiped my hands on my jeans; the palms were stained green.

I was sure I would have hated school, even if it was a nice one. Math just didn’t make sense, though the other children seemed to get it, and science was sort of creepy. I only really liked art and language.

Ms. Brocklehurst passed out our papers. We had been tasked with essays. As usual, mine was covered in red circles, red underlines, and red comments. These said things like, “Do you hate commas, or are you just dumb?” There was also, “My brother could write better than you, and he’s illiterate.”

The comments might have bothered me, but Emma Ruth’s paper looked like it was dripping with blood. I know it’s mean, but it’s kind of awesome, too.

We were asked to write short stories. This was the part I liked. I flew into another tale about a lost prince and the king who had sent him away because dragons were looking for him. He lived alone in a cottage, but he could see the castle from his window, surrounded by palm trees. The king drank coconuts for breakfast, ate pineapple for lunch, and dined on mangoes and watermelon in the evening.

Emma snickered. “You’re writing that story again?”

“I like it.”

“You don’t have much of an imagination, do you?”

I blushed. “It makes me happy. I wasn’t going to publish it or anything.”

“I hope not. Otherwise people will be vomiting everywhere because it’s so bad.”

“You’re just unhappy because your stories get picked on too.”

“Excuse me? You don’t know anything, freak.”

My face was on fire, and shame coated my stomach. “I didn’t mean...but I understand, Emma. I like your stories. I’m glad they have happy endings.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“No! My favourite was the one with the golden haired Elf. I’d run away with him in a heartbeat, though I probably would make us move somewhere warmer than in the story.”

Emma stood up. Her chair scraped over the floor. She raised her fists. “Keep talking.”

“Okay.” I didn’t understand sarcasm. “Um, I liked the one with the blue Dragon, too, and how it had green polka dots. I probably wouldn’t date him, but he was really cool.”

Emma’s fist connected with my lip. It felt dull, the pain spreading in a blanket through my whole jaw. I fell to the floor. The chair caught my elbow, and I yelped. I could still hear the wet thud in my head; the moment replayed itself through my spinning head. I pressed my cheek to the floor. It was cold, and felt good on my hot skin.

“What in the name of Genitrix-”

“She made fun of me!” As I rolled onto my back, Emma pointed to me. “She made fun of my story!”

Ms. Brocklehurst glared at me. She slapped a long ruler in her hand, before trotting forward. She stood over me. “Up! What are you, a dog?”

I scrabbled to my feet. I sank into my chair. I wanted to cry that it wasn’t fair, but what good did that do? I pressed my lips together, keeping the tears in.

“Put your hands out.”

She’s just doing her job. I spread my fingers out over the desk. Below them lied my sketch of the prince. He had brownish gold skin, brown hair, and eyes that were so dark they were almost black. His lips were full, his nose wide and hooked. He looked just like me, except that his hair was cut short, almost a buzz.

Mine hung down my back in a lank ponytail. The prince also has a shower everyday. He bathes on the beach, and waits for the king to collect him.

The ruler came down with a slam. It was louder than the cane, but less painful. Even as I teared up, I couldn’t help thinking how funny that was. My fingers wrinkled back, bending at the knuckles. She hit me three times. That was easy to count.

Addition is the only math I like. I felt dazed. My stomach growled. Was it the hunger or the pain? But subtraction sucks. I only like the math where numbers get bigger.

Ms. Brocklehurst stocked to the front. I resumed my story, like nothing had happened. Because nothing did. She’s doing her job. She thought I was being mean, and that’s okay. So she was wrong. So what? If I had been mean, I would have deserved it. I glanced at Emma. She’s just scared, is all.

A second voice, the one I thought of as The Meanie, answered me. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.

I will. There’s no need to be gloomy all the time, or nasty. Gloom settled in the pit of my stomach. Despair clutched my heart like a hand. My chest sank on the inside. My eyes stung.

“Not fair,” I whispered. I glanced at Emma again. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be mean.”

Emma furrowed her brow. She returned to her writing, shaking her head. All around me, pencils scratched. I wanted to read all the stories. Weren’t they all good in their own way?

A delightful idea came to me. I had to struggle through math first, and the equations made me weep—literally. I was dreading algebra when I got older. That was when math stopped making sense for everybody.

When class was over, I rushed to enact my plan. It was like clockwork: the kids tossed their last stories into the recycling bin. They dumped out their books.

I knelt by the blue plastic container as they filed out. When the last kid, a Dog with Rottweiler markings named Jimmy, trotted out, I shoved my arms, elbow deep, into the paper. I plucked tales and drawings from the mix. I ordered them carefully, clicking them against the floor to make them straight.

When I had collected them all, I had a fat, albeit unbound, book in my arms. I scurried up the stairs, ecstatic over my treasure. I didn’t have any books to read, but now I could read everyone’s stories.

I flipped through the papers, knees pulled to my chest. I sat on my bed. I felt like a jeweler, surrounded by gleaming rubies and emeralds.

I found Emma’s story, and put it at the front. The heroine (who always looked like Emma, with blue eyes and blonde curls) was falling in love with a Bear this time. She took half a page to describe his bulging muscles and glossy fur.

She’s going to be a great romance writer someday! The story made me happy and warm all over. I decided it was my new favourite.

I put my story at the back. It wasn’t that good, and I knew how it went. When I had read through all the stories, including mine, I pulled out the postcard again. Even though I loved Emma’s tales, this would always be my favourite thing to read.

I closed my eyes, smiling. I sank into sleep. In my dreams, I saw the palm trees, and a sign with the postcard’s address: Similo, Sapphire Crest, Calidi, Queen Street, 4321.

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nicotinemaiden · 3 years

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Victory

[Infinite Songs for her Smile - Ch.18]

Read on AO3 →

And I walked down the stairs Meeting the eyes Of a woman who is not for me But she's calm and she's sweet And she's struck and imposing Her name is pronounced Victory And her wings have been tied on with ribbons And the torch that she carries is dark But she sheds her disguise when she follows my eyes

[The Silent Comedy]

The noise. The voices. They were almost unbearable, piercing through his skull like an arrow, numbing his vision. His whole body ached, all of his senses were dull, as if something blocked them. He sighed allowing his head to rest on the wall behind him and wondering, exactly, what was he doing here. He promised her he would not run, he would not disappear. Not from her. But every second surrounded by happy people celebrating one of the worst days of his life he was more and more tempted to break that promise.

The hall was decorated in white and blue for some reason, colors that were so far away from the ones he thought of when he thought of her that it scared him. The lights were bright, bleached of color, as if they wanted to make sure it didn’t interfere with the ones that were already there. On the tables, little candles cast small lights on the food - a really bad decision if you asked him, but nobody did.

Everything about this place made him want to close his eyes and only open them when this was over. All of this.

This party was planned months ago, long before Zen started bringing Shirayuki to planned balls as his official partner. A day after he started mourning a love that should have never been alive in the first place. Everything changed that day. Surprising even himself he was… happy for them. He just struggled to simply watch this situation from the sidelines.

That night he was ready. He just knocked on her door to say goodbye. He knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he left without saying anything. But she opened the door and looked at him, really looked at him, at his eyes, at the way his jaw and shoulder tensed, and somehow she knew. And he looked at her, at her eyes - red and puffy - and at her sad smile, and somehow he also knew.

They spoke at the same time, locking eyes without any kind of shame.

“Please, don’t go.” She said, a gasp escaping her lips at the desperate sound of her own voice.

“I’m here for you. I’ll always be.” He said, breaking his own heart a little more in the process with a promise he needed to keep but wasn’t sure he could.

From that night until today he kept his promise, never wanting to ask what she was crying over. Obi dared a glance in her direction, the throne a huge contrast with the warmth of her smile. He couldn’t help but think she didn’t belong here, surrounded by marble and people. She belonged in the forest, surrounded by plants and birds. But he never allowed himself to tell her so, not even when the shadows in her eyes started to creep under her smile. Not even when she talked about her fear of never working at the pharmacy again after her marriage. He trusted his master to come with a plan to have the princess working alongside the commoners because that’s what she wanted. But Zen never talked about it and her fear soon consumed him too.

Soon he wouldn’t be needed and, even if he wanted, he couldn’t keep his promise. Yes, a part of him knew Zen would never send him away. He wasn’t just his master, he was also his friend. But everyone would go on with their life. Could he really watch them have and raise their kids? Could he really just watch them be happy and not think about how the only woman she loved was the one that was so out of his reach everything inside of him ached?

He ran his hands down his hair, lost in thought. He needed air and he needed it now. He crossed the small walk to reach the garden door and was greeted by a fresh almost-spring current. Once outside he breathed deeply and walked a bit to stand between the flowers. From here he couldn’t watch the hall and the people inside couldn’t watch him. That thought alone was more freeing than the act of coming outside had been.

He always knew this day would come. Not the engagement party, more like the day he had to convince himself that this stupid infatuation was something that no one needed. Not his master, not the little miss and, less of all, not him. But the only way he could try to put all of this in the past was by leaving, and that… that wasn’t happening any time soon. Not after he heard her almost pleading him.

He heard something behind him and turned just in time to reach a falling Shirayuki that, for the look of it, just stomped on her dress. She wasn’t even near the floor but he asked anyway, knowing exactly what he was asking. This was her party. Their party. And she just found her way outside, to him, as it happened in almost every party since the first one.

“Miss, are you okay?”

She looked shocked for a moment and then she stood straighter, her arm lingering on his hand more than necessary.

“Yes, I’m just not so graceful.”

Obi chuckled without thinking. Dropping the subject for the moment, he added.

“Yeah, I know.”

She glanced at him with an expression that said ‘oh, really?’ and chuckled herself.

“You know, that's the part when the other person usually says ‘No, don’t worry, it was just a slip’”

Now it was his turn to look at her with an arching brow and a questioning look.

“I don’t lie. You just had too much time with nobles and royalty, Miss.”

Her smile turned sweet as she moved to one of the trees of the garden, him on her toes.

“I love that about you. The way you make everything so simple. No facades, no masks, no pretenses or false friendship. I miss that.”

Standing in front of her like this made him forget that, besides the times they actively sought each other, they’d been apart most of the time lately. Between preparations, etiquette and protocol classes and all the things that seemed required to become a princess, she was busy most of the time. And of course, he wasn’t exactly welcome on most of them. Not like she needed a guard inside the castle.

“I miss you too.”

She smiled and her eyes sparkled. Without a warning she sat down, not without tugging him with her on the way. She made him sit at her side and rested her head on his shoulder.

“There, that’s better.”

No, it was so much worse he thought he would start trembling. He crossed his arms on his chest just in case and leaned on the tree behind them.

“I wish I could sneak to your room and... talk. I… I’m so scared.”

She sighed and he noticed not only her words but her tone. She wasn’t just scared of the unknown. There was a sadness in her voice, a longing that tore his heart apart.

Deciding that even if his arm trembled it was worth it he unhooked it from his chest and moved it to Shirayuki’s shoulders, bringing her closer. The instant it was done she hid her face between his chest and his neck. This was not the first time they’d had this conversation and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Maybe this time he should really say something. Not about him. About her.

He tugged a strand of her hair behind her ear, following the lines of the intricate hairstyle they put on her tonight. The braids formed a bun at the end and it was truly a mystery how these ones got out. Probably because she kept touching it, trying to calm her nerves. Usually, she wore the ribbon he and Ryuu had gotten her some time ago but there was no place for it on her hair right now. So she wore it on her wrist as if it were a bracelet. He couldn’t help but smile. The dark green ribbon stood out with the violet of her dress but that didn’t stop her. She once told him that it was the only thing that seemed real in a world made of plastic, the only thing that kept her grounded.

“How can something that’s supposed to feel right feel so wrong?”

He inhaled sharply. It made him sick watching her like this. And definitely, it shouldn’t feel wrong for her. He was tired of these kinds of conversations. He was tired of the shadows on her eyes, of the strain in her voice.

“You don’t belong there. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Those people, they… they are stripping you of your freedom, of your braveness, of your wilderness. Nobody should have allowed this to happen.”

She moved just enough to look at him from her position, a small smile dangling on her lips.

“This as in suddenly having to become what they expect a princess to be or this as in my engagement to Zen?”

Her smile turned playful and he looked at her eyes, realizing how close they were. He could feel her breath in his lips, warm and sweet. He could almost taste strawberries. He bit his lip without thinking and watched her turn a shade closer to her hair. He was so tempted to just say ‘Both’ and not explain anything more that it almost escaped.

“You know what I mean. Your engagement to master is your decision, not something anyone could forbid. Not after what the both of you endured.”

He could swear he saw a flash of disappointment on her, but it passed so quickly it was hard to know for sure. But then she made a confession that sucked the air from his lungs.

“I don’t know Obi. I don’t know if I can. I already feel like a doll whose only purpose is to decorate the room. And I thought I could do it… for Zen. That I loved him enough to do it.”

The weight that her words carried made him hug her a little closer if possible. He just needed to feel her while she talked.

“I… I don’t. I care about him. A lot. But it's not the same. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud after all this time but I regret it. I regret saying that yes more than anything in this world.”

A loud silence fell between them. It was so heavy it made it hard to breathe. He knew he should say something but, really, what could he say? A hopeful question formed on his throat.

“Can’t you say no?”

She searched his eyes for something and, even with his defenses as high as they could be at that moment he felt naked in front of her. As if she would realize exactly how he was looking at her, how pleading his words really were. And her… that look in her eyes. He may be going crazy. His lips moved before he could control them but he had enough control to look away.

“I could always snitch you from here. Make a house in the woods, surrounded by flowers, maybe some crops. With a little village outside the forest, maybe a beach? Do you prefer the mountain?”

He expected her to be laughing, to alleviate some of the stiffness of her expression. Instead, she was looking at him eyes wide, a little spark on them, hope and something more. He hated himself for looking at her again because they were even closer than before. Her confused look asked without words if he was serious.

“I may joke around Miss, but if you asked me I would do everything I just told you.”

And that felt like giving her another piece of her soul, of her heart. But what was there to lose when she already claimed all of it. She just didn’t know it. And at that point he didn’t care if she could read behind his words, he was just too tired of this situation.

For a moment she looked so stiff and still that she reminded him of a statue. He wondered if he should check whether she was still breathing when she blinked, looking down.

“I wish I could ask something like that of you.”

She said it so quietly he might as well have imagined it. But he heard it the same way he could hear his heart crying for her.

His hand moved slowly, his finger lifting her chin so he could look her in the eyes. Those wonderful green eyes that glowed the moment they collided with his, as if his own golden ones were illuminating them. How could something so completely beautiful be real was one question he kept asking himself day after day.

“You could ask of me the most selfish, stupid or dangerous thing you could think of and I would do it if it means I’ll get to see you smile.”

And she knew it. She knew it and she smiled, granting a small prize to those difficult words. His fingers lingered on her chin, his gaze dropping near them, to the fully rosy lips that were no longer curved upwards but half-open, waiting. His thumb moved to them, to the lower one, caressing it for a moment before allowing his eyes to flicker to hers just in time to see the way she was looking at him. And he felt scared because of the immense recognition, because that was the way he looked at her when she wasn’t looking, because he wasn’t so naive as to think the position they were in was something casual that usually happened to friends and, most of all, because she wanted exactly the same as him. And he was closer after that. So much so their lips touched for a second before a blinding light interrupted them, making them jump apart from each other.

The quiet flutter of wings and the soft light moved away, following a trail of other lights, other small fireflies flying gracefully towards the forest. Once they were far away again he let himself breathe, smiling when her head fell on his shoulder again. They found themselves in these kinds of situations more often than not and, like every time, he could slice the tension between them with one of his knives. And, like every time, he was grateful for the interruption because, if he really were to kiss her here and now he couldn’t go back. So he kissed the top of her head with as much care as he could muster and, like every other time, he let her go.

She stood slowly, leaving him pained by her absence, and fixed her hair and dress enough to go back in. He followed, stretching his back and arms as best as he could. She smiled brightly at him, full of energy and happiness, such a high contrast with the Shirayuki that followed him into the garden not so long ago. Something in her eyes was full of gratitude and he couldn’t exactly place what he did to deserve it but he returned her smile with one of his own.

“I should go, but…”

Her hand moved to his, their fingers interlacing, her thumb moving in slow circles at the top of his hand. He searched her eyes but found them looking at the grass below their feet.

“I would want a log cabin on the mountains, near a lake with lots of flowers and fireflies.”

She was redder by the word and it would have been extremely cute if it weren’t for the fact that he could feel on his face that he was too. And the grip of her hand was tightening as if he would run from her when he listened to what she had to say. So he squeezed back, making her look at him and blurt out what she was really thinking.

“And with you.”

There was a stunned silence from both parts from what felt like an eternity. She lifted her other hand to her lips, astounded that those words really left her lips. He stared at her the same way, eyes wide, a thin line on his lips. He wanted to ask if she was just joking but, by her looks, he could clearly see that it was true. And that not even her knew how deep that truth was.

So he untangled his fingers from hers, feeling awful at the look of disappointment on those green orbs that chased his dreams, and surrounded her body with his arms, bringing his nose to her hair, hiding his face. If he continued to look at her another second he would have started crying, he was sure of it. And she answered immediately, one arm surrounding him and the other playing with his hair in a motion that made him want to know how those same fingers in that same spot would feel in other kinds of situations. Obi enjoyed the feeling for a minute, letting himself get lost in her touch, and then lifted his head to look at her.

“Now I don’t want to let you go.”

She chuckled at his words, her hand still entangled on his hair, making small and hypnotic circular movements.

“Just for a little bit?”

His arms loosened until only the hand at his waist remained, its shape moulded to her body.

“And then what?”

He had to know. He needed to know what happened now with all the things said and all the things that remained to be.

“And then… We could talk about the furniture.”

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arch-venus25 · 4 years

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The Head and the Heart, Part 4

Hello everyone,

I submitted this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy.

This chapter is less action heavy, but just as important. Thanks for hanging in there and reading!

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 3812

Part Four: The Aftermath

The weathered professor seemed very confused but stood her ground and insisted, “Miss King, take the summer off.”

“I just need a week, that’s all—and then I’ll get the methodology section to you—Dr. Watts I just need another week, please!” Antha pushed back. Dr. Watts set her glasses on her desk and then waved her over to a deep-tufted-leather sofa.

“Antha,” her voice lowered, “I’ve known you for what—five years? You don’t become a valedictorian because you don’t like to write. You have been moody these past few weeks, you barely passed the final exam, and you’ve pushed back the thesis methodology three times. Last class, you were so distracted I would have rather you skipped. I know you, talk to me, what’s going on?”

“My sister and I had a Friday night out with some friends and something happened.” Antha murmured, staring down at her feet.

“Friday nights aren’t what they used be; did you hear about the fight that broke out at that dive bar off of—oh, what’s it called? You know the place—well, it was all over the news,” she paused gravely, “you weren’t there were you?”

The twin nodded slowly. She felt overwhelmed in front of her advisor. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut before replying. “Tessa’s date got into a fight with an old flame, it was a whole thing. But after…” She couldn’t continue. The advisor took her hand gently.

“Did someone hurt you?”

Antha’s eyes welled and all she could do was stare. As if she said the words out loud, it would become more true than it already was. The doctor’s forehead wrinkled as her brows gathered together. Having lived through the revolutions of the sixties and the proceeding struggle for equality, Dr. Watts knew the dangers women faced. She didn’t need an answer; she just wanted to offer shelter to a young woman. She knew just from looking at her student that whatever happened, it was beyond words.

“You’re taking the summer and fall semester off—or at the very least take the summer off and go to a student counselor; its free, it comes with your tuition, so please use it. If you need anything you know you and your sister can come to me.” She wrote down her personal number and one for the counselors’ office. Antha held the little shred of stationary. She promised she would do just that.

Shortly after, she left her advisor’s office and floated through the campus green and then waited by the bus stop. Her feet told her she was going home, yet her attention was somewhere far away. What can I say to a counselor? Who would understand what we saw at Hollow House? Without realizing, she had retrieved something from her pocket; she stared dumfounded at the pewter-colored iris that gleamed back.

Antha couldn’t get rid of it. But in a moment of frustration, she chucked the marble-like eye into a nearby drain. She returned to her spot and tried to focus on scheduling a counselor. Moving forward, that’s what I need, she figured.

A familiar wheezing crawled up the street. The sluggishness of a muffler that had seen better days filled her ears as she dazed at the phone number-laden scrap paper. “—Antha!” Someone yelled. To her surprise she peered up to see Doug hanging out of his rusty Buick, looking just as timid as ever. He seemed anxious, for what reason she didn’t know. “I’ve been calling your name. You’ve gone deaf ol’ girl—you want a ride?” He asked with forced humor in his voice. She watched him blankly as his expression fell. “You alright?”

Antha thought about it and suddenly felt stupid. All of her gusto about moving forward had evaporated; she lamely shook her head like a weary child. She felt like a little girl in a world that was too big for her. It all just seemed too much.

The July swelter didn’t let up even with the windows down. The two didn’t speak as they made their way to their favorite pizza joint. Thrilled to be out of the unairconditioned Buick’s steel embrace, they collapsed into the far back booth of the pizzeria. All the servers knew it was Doug and Antha’s spot; they habitually kept it clean and empty, knowing they would eventually roll in. They made it to the “golden hour”. The sacred three hours between the lunch and dinner rush. It was their favorite time.

“Whatchas want?” The straggly blue-haired waitress chewed her bubblegum like a goat.

“The usual—uh hold on—when did you eat last?” Doug asked. Antha shrugged and realized she didn’t know. She couldn’t even think that far back. “Can we get a double order of the usual? But make two of them to-go?” The waitress didn’t even answer as she went to get drinks. “You want to talk about it?”

“Nope. I said everything already.” Antha wasn’t mad at him, she was just tired. She was more annoyed that he would ask about the matter and then dispute the realism of what she explained. Doug grumbled when the waitress slopped the pitcher and straws down, vanilla coke-a-cola splashing everywhere.

“—Hey, don’t we get like a punch-card or something? You know, for every hundred pizzas we buy, we get the next one free?” He politely suggested, his way of being confrontational. He was growing exasperated with the women in his life; he didn’t mind taking it from his close friends, Zoey and the twins, but he was having none of this waitress. She paused, chewed her gum, and left again.

“Whoa, cool off killer,” Antha snarked, her spirits lifting with each sip of her fountain soda. She looked him over and thought on their friendship for a moment as he griped about that one particular server.

Doug was a shy, lanky, ginger-bearded young man. He was passionate about things and supportive of the people he loved, but didn’t reserve much attention for the people outside of that parameter. He lived in vintage band t-shirts, had friendly light eyes, and a funny smile. No one could resist his unkempt wolfish hair or his corny sense of humor; he had a way of growing on a person. But he always showed up, his guitar in tow. That’s why Antha didn’t fight him when he asked about that night; she knew he actually cared and was trying his best to understand. He couldn’t help her though. No one could help.

“How about we hang out this weekend, do a barbeque? Nobody grills a burger like you—and Tessa can make her sangria, huh, what do you think?” He tried to turn the conversation to open her up.

“Uhh… I don’t know. I can’t plan that far ahead, I’m real busy.” She declined. The sausage pizzas arrived faster than expected and Doug dropped slices on their plates.

“Busy yeah? Mmm-hmmm,” he bit into his slice, cheese tangling in his five o’clock shadow, “busy not writing your thesis, not eating, and not sleeping? Ant, the last time I saw you eat was a few days ago when I brought pizza over. You gonna talk to me?”

Antha sighed loudly and glared at him. She was worn-through with the people in her life too. I’m too tired for this shit, she thought. She pushed her plate forward and abandoned her half-eaten slice. He saw her mild protest and his cheeks tinged pink. They silently stared each other down, him chewing as loud as he could manage while she obnoxiously slurped her soda in reply.

Before they could hash out their issues a patron burst through the front entrance. “Hey—hic—you seen Ant? Where she at? The back?” Tessa was hiccupping and talking all sorts of loud, like she was in a club on a Saturday night. “Oh hey girls!” She pointed at the staff and sashayed herself to the booth; her bedazzled sandals slapping the linoleum like a jackhammer in the quiet place. The front door jingled again and in rushed Zoey.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to the front of the house and then chased after Tessa. “I picked her up because she was texting me weird messages—I thought I could calm her down with something to eat.” She explained to the table as she took a seat next to Doug.

“I already ate today.” Tessa insisted, sliding in next to her sister and almost toppling over a pizza.

“Oh yeah, what did you have for lunch?” Doug asked, his patience wearing thin.

“GIN and uh—” she had to think about it but excitedly rebounded, “and uh water ice. Breakfast of champions!” Tessa thought she was quite funny, regardless how everyone else disagreed.

“How about we have a little slice of pi—” Doug pandered but she wasn’t going to hear any of it.

“Now who would put sausage on a pizza? Oh, no. I have enough meat in my life—you know what I’m sayin’ Zo—you feel me?” She howled.

“That’s cute.” Doug’s patience officially went on vacation as of that second. He tore the sausage off some of the pie and then thrust the mangled slice in front of the drunk twin. “There ya’ go, just cheese—And you eat your damn slice too! This has gone on long enough—we’re going to have a barbeque and chill like we always do! It’s Fourth of July this weekend, did you know that?” He directed at the other twin.

“This white boy’s hollering at you, oh lord…” Tessa cackled; her cheese dripped down the side of the table as she reached for some ice chips from an empty cup. Zoey was mortified and motioned to Antha for help, her friend was out of control.

“Yeah—well this boy’s about tired of this foolishness! I don’t know all of what’s happened that night, but neither one of you will talk to me about it! Ant you’ve been practically dead, a walking zombie for three weeks—and Tessa, it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, what the hell has gotten into you?”

“Gin.” She giggled.

“Hey Katy? Can we get all this to go, with some two liters?” He yelled across the full length of the restaurant.

Zoey handled the food transport as Doug buckled the twins into his car. He mumbled to himself, “…goddamn vampires my ass…” as he cleared his fogging glasses. Tessa began to mildly complain about the heat when the car stopped at a red light. They all noticed a young man struggling to get into a car at the gas station across the way.

“Is that José?” She whispered. They witnessed his mother trying to steady him, juggling his crutches and searching for a spot on him that wasn’t bandaged. Adorned in a neck brace, shoulder sling, full posterior elbow splint, and full left leg cast. Poor José appeared like he faced-off with a combine. Doug glared at the girls in his rear-view mirror. The light turned green and not another word was said.

He parked the Buick under the tree closest to the house and got the girls inside. Zoey did the same and brought the provisions to the shaded porch. It was too hot to do anything other than sit around by the fan or stay in the AC. Tessa went to her room when they got in; she felt awful about what she had seen at the gas station.

They worked together to set up the tall pedestal fan on the porch, because the porch fan just couldn’t combat Mother Nature alone. They were in the midst of dawdling about when Antha accidentally fell asleep on the porch swing while Doug played the guitar. Zoey elicited his help inside to leave Antha to nap. The two were shocked with the state of things.

Momma’s house was a frightful mess. They never saw it in its condition before: Dishes with dust, articles of clothing haphazardly dropped, laundry either half started or half done, it was difficult to tell. “Momma would roll over, I swear…” Zoey whispered. They agreed to tidy up while the twins rested, lest Momma rise up and haunt them. That woman was meticulous and was not above coming back from the grave to tell everyone what’s-what.

As if life had been frozen in time from the month prior. The twin’s incident hit like a meteor and their friends now saw the wreckage. While they hadn’t admitted it out loud, they had stopped living too; obsessed with what happened that night at Hollow House. Grasping for a truth that they couldn’t reach.

The overloaded dishwasher whined as it cycled and it reminded Doug of seeing José, busted up and struggling. That’s what really happens after a bar-brawl. There’s always a winner and always a loser. He half-heartedly swept the floor and thought to himself: these are the parts they edit from movies. The aftermath. The guns, the glory, the blood all made the cut; but the estranged motions we go through to try and find the thread leading back to our lives doesn’t. These are the quiet moments without answers, like loose ends dangling.

Zoey crept into the kitchen and signaled for him to follow her to the porch. She had just hung the last load of laundry on the line for the afternoon. They were both beat and sweat through from cleaning. They shimmied the big metal ice bucket to the front, fearing they’d disturb Antha. She was so far gone that an earthquake couldn’t wake her. They popped two well-earned beers and exchanged the bits and pieces of what they learned from the twins over the past few weeks.

“…that’s crazy, right? Like there’s no way what Tessa told me could be real, right? Did someone roofie their drinks?” Zoey asked him as she tied his wavy hair into a top-knot.

“I’m just worried that something happened they won’t say, like they’re traumatized—I mean, Zo, I was driving to the bar and I seen them covered in blood on the side of the road. Tessa was screaming in the ER that a vampire attacked her sister—and then Antha all of a sudden, calms her down and explains to the doctors that they were lost in the woods, came upon the bed and breakfast for help, and that a strange man assaulted them there. Said they used a fireplace poker in defense, bloodied him up real good, and they escaped to the main road.” Doug took a swig of beer to recuperate.

He was getting worked up just relaying the story, “But the cops, they investigated that place and found six bodies—slaughtered—in the basement, two of them the owners. The bodies had been sitting there for days before the twins got to ‘em. I’m scared that maniac’s out there. I mean—I’m scared in my own damn apartment when I think about it. What if they were found in that basement? What if we couldn’t find them?” He shook his head.

“What can we do for them? Are there groups for people like this, who think they’ve seen something supernatural?” Zoey mused aloud as she pinned her jet-black pixie cut hair out of her face. The two pulled fresh beers out of the ice bucket and vowed to do some research after the weekend. They agreed their first goal was to get the twins fed and cared for.

They watched the sun set into folds of purple, pink, and orange over the high grass. The heat of the day receded with the light, but the humidity persisted only to remind them that it was an intermission; the threat remained that the summer’s full force would return at tomorrow’s dawn.

The grasshoppers were summoned as Doug strummed his guitar, not truly playing anything particular. Zoey brought out cards to shuffle, waiting on Tessa to play. The evening began to set in peacefully until a rumble cut through the twilight.

A huge pickup truck barreled down the long drive and parked in front of the house. Out jumped the infamous Flake. His blond hair contrasted against the lavender sky, budding starlight glinting off his aviator sunglasses, and a tooth pick in the corner of his mouth completed his redneck-chic visage. He swaggered up to the porch and was met with a startled Antha; she had jumped up like a viper at the sound of his wheels. He donned a large patch like bandage over half an eye and his hands were wrapped too.

“Tessa around?” Franco didn’t even offer small talk which had Antha go straight from just waking up to furious.

“Not for you.”

“Well, I wanted to check in on her—haven’t been able to call on account of that scuffle at the bar. Them boys got my tires and my phone.”

“Looks like they got your eye too.” She scoffed.

“Yep,” he laughed and pulled his sunglasses down to reveal those piercing big blues, “you should see the other guy.”

“We did.” Her disdain seemed to suck the air out of the whole yard. Franco leaned on the porch banister and pulled a smoke from behind his ear. Her eyes burned so hot on him she could have lit his cigarette.

“I can see you’re not much for visitors, so I’ll just leave this. If you could give it to Tessa, I’d be mighty grateful.” He handed her a number, but she walked away not even considering it. Zoey jumped up and took the note. “Night ya’ll.” Franco flicked his butt into the yard and made his way back to his truck.

Long after he left and the noise of his truck faded Antha sat, her arms crossed, on the porch swing. Her friends idled by, every so often glancing in her direction waiting for her to speak her mind. The disgruntled twin couldn’t connect the pieces of her dislike for Franco. It wasn’t as simple as his jeans were too torn, his truck too loud, or his gaze too heavy; it was the fact that she knew nothing about him. No one did. Where did he come from—and where was he going? It didn’t add up to Antha that he was the first hillbilly she ever met without a tan. What working man doesn’t have a farmer’s tan? Finally, after a good twenty-five minutes of contemplation Antha announced, “I need a drink.” With a flutter of Zoey’s sundress, she presented a liter of honey whiskey, lemon wedges, and shot glasses.

A few shots and some pizza in her stomach, Antha started to feel somewhat whole. The four-hour nap revived her a bit, or least lessened the haze she had been wading through. She could finally take in her surroundings: she was lucky to have her friends. When the mosquitos really started to bite they brought their party inside and relished the cool—and now clean—house. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two, I’m sorry I can’t,” she paused, “I just can’t right now.” Before Antha could work out her sentiment the queen bee descended from her room.

“That’s it! I have decided!” Tessa announced, thumping down the stairs like a sentinel charge. “I’m going to visit José tomorrow—even though it’s not my fault he got his ass beat, I still think it’s only fair to show love.” She waited, her hands on her hips, for their unyielding approval or preferably a round of applause.

“Look at you growing a conscious,” was the general consensus of the other three. Tessa saucily tossed her braids as she dusted her shoulders. They all scooted into the kitchen table and fed her dinner. Just like a heart, she had a way of pulsing life into a room. Before they knew it, they were swapping stories like always.

Tessa was laughing and teasing Doug when she took a shot. She threw her empty glass down on the table as was customary, but when the glass met the table it then clinked as if something had been dropped into it. They all sat forward to see a silvery-gray eye in the bottom.

“Did you just spit that in there?” Doug’s eyes were wide.

The twins beheld each other knowingly.

In the beginning, they initially freaked out over the eyes returning. Now it became a sickening fascination of what they could do to them. The eyes always returned. They burned them, they drowned them, and they threw them away; every time the eyes returned to the twins.

“I tried to tell you, but you’re not listening,” Antha began, “these eyes are following us. Ever since we killed that thing at Hollow House, we’ve had them.” Doug and Zoey’s faces were pained in disbelief.

“Here.” Tessa got up roughly and held the eye over the sink. She turned on the garbage disposal and dropped it in; it made a grotesque metal sound and then after a few rotations, crunched like glass. Antha showed the eye that was always in her back pocket and explained she threw it away in a drain across town earlier that day. She threw hers in too, directly into the disposal.

“Well, how long does it take for them to come back?” Zoey asked.

“They’re not coming back—this is a trick!” Doug looked like an angry leprechaun with his reddened face and stubble. The twins’ faces didn’t even shift with the accusation.

“Sometimes its seconds, sometimes hours, or a day. It doesn’t matter, they’ll be back.” Antha confirmed and the twins took their seats at the table. The room became solemn as Tessa popped another round of beers and poured a flight of shots for them all, knowing the liquid courage was needed. Doug jumped up from his seat and began checking under cushions, searching cupboards, and drawers. The girls sat back and waited as he processed.

He huffed, “…you got back-ups, or hiding ‘em somewhere—I don’t know why you’re playing with me right now…it’s not funny…” But then a loud plop sounded on the kitchen table, like a golf ball dropped from the ceiling. He turned to watch a second oversized marble drop seemingly out of thin air. He returned to the table and gawked at the two eyes sitting in front of the twins. “You got to tell us what happened at Hollow House.” Doug’s voice was hushed as he shakily accepted the whiskey shot from Tessa. In unison they saluted and threw back the shots with beer chasers.

While the four friends went over the sordid events, in gruesome detail, a mysterious figure watched from the unlit porch window. The uninvited guest crept off through the yard, down the dirt-path driveway, and made a phone call:

“They got them eyes,” it reported, “I reckon there’ll be a war.”

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you! I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @myraiswack @wolfpawn @plastic-heart @confusednerd09

#landlord vampire fic frenzy #twinning vs vamps #arch-venus25 writes

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