#pause for murmurs of astonishment through the crowd

[fictionadventurer]

History Channel guys: So glad to have you onboard for our docudrama. Here's the script telling you everything you need to know to play Ulysses S. Grant.

Actor: This just says, "Stare off into the distance and take a long drag on a cigar."

History Channel guys: Yeah, we're pretty sure he ended 75% of his conversations that way, so this show is going to reflect that.

Actor: Okay, then. Throat cancer, here I come!

[marsnovaa]

Rainy day ૮⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ ა

Satoru Gojo x reader

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . Notes: Short fluff

As you left work and made your way home, the weather suddenly turned from sunny and warm to gloomy and stormy. It began to pour, catching you off guard and leaving you regretting not checking the forecast. Determined to shield yourself from the rain, you used your bag as a makeshift umbrella while hastily navigating the crowded sidewalks and skillfully bypassing puddles. The downpour intensified, making your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin, urging you to hasten your steps. Rain, once a pleasant spectacle to enjoy from the cozy comfort of your apartment, had now become something you despised. Soaked to the bone, you raced up the stairs to your residence, utterly drenched and cursing the existence of rainy days.

Pausing at your front door, you lightly brushed your hand over your face, ridding yourself of the raindrops and pushing aside your wet hair. Inserting your keys into the lock, you eagerly opened the door and swiftly stepped inside, closing it behind you and finding support for your back against it. The welcoming warmth of your apartment enveloped you, providing a stark contrast to the chilly, damp world just beyond the door. The intoxicating scent of freshly baked brownies mingled with a familiar aroma filled the air, enticing you to quickly kick off your shoes and make your way to the kitchen.

You couldn't help but admire your shirtless and disheveled boyfriend as he confidently retrieved a tray from the oven. His back muscles rippled as he stood tall, gracefully placing the delicious brownies on the counter. As he removed his oven mitts and turned to you, a mischievous giggle escaped his lips as he noticed your drenched appearance.

"Caught in the rain, huh?" He grins, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulls you closer to him, planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Yeah, I didn't check the weather... I thought it would be nice," you mumbled, your voice barely audible against his bare chest. The sensation of butterflies fluttering in your stomach persists, even after spending nearly a year with him. It feels almost surreal to be the recipient of affection from Satoru Gojo. His distinctive white hair, striking features, and captivating personality have a magnetic pull on girls. You never thought you would have a shot with someone as stunning as him, yet to your astonishment, he disregarded all the attention from other admirers and chose you to be his girlfriend. And ever since, he has proven to be the most devoted and nurturing partner.

"Let's remove these clothes so you don't catch a cold," he gently massaged your lower back, then stepped back and walked ahead of you down the hallway towards your room.

After tossing your bag near the couch, you eagerly trailed behind him. As he rifled through your drawers, he carefully handpicked cozy sweatpants, one of his own shirts, and fresh undergarments. Arranging them neatly on the bed, he then exited your room, affectionately tousling your damp hair on his way out.

With a smile, you effortlessly discarded your wet clothes, feeling a slight shiver as the air caressed your damp skin. Quickly, you changed into fresh garments, grabbing a small towel from the laundry basket to attend to your hair. As you walked down the hallway, you watched Satoru carefully slice two mouth watering brownies and elegantly place them on delicate plates. Approaching your loved one, you casually hung your towel on the back of a nearby chair, then wrapped your arms around him, gently resting your head on his strong back.

"I'm exhausted," you murmured, gently planting a kiss on his soft skin.

“Yeah? Want to watch a movie?”

“Mhm.”

As he turned, one of his hands settled on your hip, while the other tenderly swept a few strands of hair away from your face. "Why don't you go and relax on the couch, my sunshine, and choose one?"

As you heard the affectionate nickname, a blush immediately warmed your cheeks. With a playful smack on his chest, you turned on your heel and made your way to the living room. Sinking into the couch, you felt the cushions yield under your weight. Reaching for the TV remote, you contemplated whether to choose a familiar film or something new. After careful consideration, you finally decided to indulge in one of your beloved comfort movies.

You heard the gentle sound of footsteps approaching from your left, and as Satoru sat down on the couch beside you, you could feel it slightly dip under his weight. With a warm smile, he offered you a plate adorned with a delicious-looking brownie, which you eagerly accepted. As you pressed play on the movie, you nestled up next to your boyfriend. He gently extended his arm and enveloped you within his embrace, drawing you nearer.

[stargirlaveblog]

7Seals

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Chapter 4

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• Previous Chapter: Chapter Three Next Chapter: Chapter Five •Content: Levi Ackerman x OC female. Canon verse!

• Word Count: 1.3k • Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter.

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Weeks trailed in the aftermath of Wall Maria's collapse. Our existence is now huddled within two walls, vulnerable to the looming threat that could shatter our refuge at any moment.

The Scouts remained on constant alert since that fateful breach. Sleep eluded me, stolen by the haunting memories of that day.

The memories replayed like a relentless nightmare – the desperate screams, boulders hurtling through the air, and the crimson stain that marred my once-white dress.

"Pay attention. The commander is about to speak," Alexander's elbow jabbed into my side, urging me to focus.

"As everyone knows, the fall of Wall Maria has our citizens living in constant fear. They are all asking themselves, will Wall Rose be next?" Commander Erwin addressed the assembled Scouts in the mess hall.

"Today is the day you all need to ask yourselves, can I give my all for humanity? If it were to come down to it, will you sacrifice yourself to save another?"

Erwin's words hung in the air, a challenge that demanded introspection. The mess hall buzzed with whispered reflections and shared glances of uncertainty.

At that moment, my thoughts wandered to Levi, and how he reacted the day the Wall fell. Wall Maria's fall had tested our strength, but Levi guided us all like it was nothing to him.

The crowd fell into a hushed stillness as Erwin took a deliberate pause, his penetrating gaze scanning each face.

"Today we have big changes coming to our regiment. I've thought long and hard. It wasn't easy making this decision, but seeing how our soldiers acted during the fall of Wall Maria only solidified my choice," Erwin declared, adjusting the papers in his hands.

"I'd also like to mention our new captain," Erwin continued, sparking murmurs throughout the mess hall.

"New captain?" Alexander muttered beside me. "Who's he talking about?"

"I can't think of anyone," Oluo replied.

"Captain Levi will lead our new special operation squad. Levi showed strong leadership skills during the fall of Wall Maria." Erwin declared, emphasizing Levi's pivotal role in the face of chaos. "Levi will hand pick each member on his squad. Only the best of the Scout Regiment will be chosen. I hope you all take this into consideration while training for the next couple of weeks. You all are dismissed."

The mess hall erupted into a mixture of astonishment and admiration. Levi's new role as captain resonated with an air of authority, and the prospect of the Levi squad brought a renewed sense of purpose to the Scouts. I knew Levi would be a captain sooner or later. They would be fools not to pursue his strength.

As the soldiers dispersed, the realization of Levi's elevated position settled in. I glanced at him, his stern countenance giving away little, yet his eyes held a weight that spoke volumes. He was unbothered at the fact he was now a captain.

"Special operation squad?" I exclaimed, breaking the tense silence. "That's pretty cool! Who do you think is going to be on it?"

"No one if they know what's good for themselves," Alexander grumbled, his irritation evident.

"Oh, lighten up," Hange chimed in. "At least he's doing his job."

"Yeah, I mean, at least Levi is making change," I added, trying to diffuse the tension.

"He's the last person anyone should look up to," Alexander barked before storming off in anger.

"He's such a child," I groaned to Hange. "I should go find him." Without waiting for a response, I walked off in the direction Alexander had taken.

"Alex!" I yelled after him as he briskly walked through the halls. He didn't stop or look back at me. "Alex!" I yelled again, running beside him to prevent him from ignoring me.

"What?" He snapped at me, his frustration evident.

"Whoa, calm down," I said, throwing my hands up in defense. "There's no reason to be upset at me."

"Commander Erwin wants to see both of you in his office," Levi's voice suddenly broke through our conversation, making me jump a bit. Alexander redirected his glare at Levi but Levi just walked away.

Levi's abrupt halt caught me off guard.

"Are you coming or not?" he questioned, his eyes piercing ours. In silence, we trailed him to the commander's office.

Levi, surprising me, opened the door without knocking, a departure from common courtesy.

"Learn some manners," Alexander barked at him, to which Levi responded with a disgusted gaze.

Erwin's presence became evident with a subtle cough, and he greeted us, gesturing to the chairs before him. Levi, still displeased, stood at the back, arms crossed.

"Thank you, commander," Alexander smoothly chimed in as he took a seat. He was a kiss-ass when needed, even if Erwin's position irked him. Sucking up was a skill he had mastered.

Erwin's unexpected declaration pierced the air, leaving me in shock.

"Iris is being removed from your squad, Alexander," he stated.

"Am I in trouble?" I blurted out.

"No, the opposite. You're getting a promotion," Erwin revealed, dropping a bombshell.

"You'll be Levi's second in command on his new squad."

"I'm sorry, commander," Alexander laughed lightly, displaying doubt. "But isn't there someone more qualified for the position?"

The tension in the room escalated as uncertainty hung in the air. Did he just say that? I felt the heat travel to my head as it spread across my face. My head turned to Alexander, his focus locked on Erwin.

"Iris is more than qualified," Erwin asserted.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'd have to disagree," Alexander rebutted once again.

"And why's that?" I spoke up for myself.

"I think I'm more than qualified. I've been in the Scouts for the last six years."

"How many times have I bailed you out of Titan's grasp?" he retorted without hesitation. "Without me by your side, you're as good as dead."

His words left me speechless. Does he truly think so little of me? He's been my trainer, and my partner through every training exercise, and every formation rehearsal.

"Are you telling me that you did not train your second in command properly?" Erwin questioned. "Or is your personal relationship interfering?"

Alexander stumbled on his words.

"Yes-No, sir."

The tension in the room thickened, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this promotion might bring more challenges than opportunities.

"Well, which one is it?" Erwin's irritation was evident as he probed Alexander's response.

Alexander stumbled, unable to provide a proper answer. I couldn't even bring myself to look at him, my anger intensifying.

"Where were you the day Wall Maria fell, Alexander?" Levi finally broke his silence.

"None of your damn business," Alexander barked defiantly.

Levi hummed in satisfaction, seemingly anticipating Alexander's response.

"Well," Levi began, "while you were in Wall Sina sitting on your ass, Iris was handling evacuations without you." Levi paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Iris is more than capable of doing her job. If anything, she would excel under another's command. You're doing nothing but holding her back and setting her up to be killed."

"And you think you could do any better?" Alexander scoffed. "You're nothing but an underground rat with barely any military training."

"Alexander, that's enough," Erwin intervened. "Congratulations on the new promotion, Aldridge. You are dismissed. Wright stay."

As I left the room, a mix of emotions swirled within me—victory, uncertainty, and anger. Why was Alexander so bitter? Why can't he be proud of me for moving up? Did he think I was that weak? On every expedition, I was with him, by his side.

Was he the reason I survived this long?

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[wistfulwanderingone]

Court of Darkness: Crimson Waltz

Characters: Guy X MC (MC named Cassandra)

Word Count: ~ 800

Description: Fluffy romance

From Anonymous: Dialogue Story Request “Cause a scene?! I am NOT causing a scene! If you want a scene so badly, though, I can show you a scene!” (with a little artistic license on my part)

@aide-falls I thought you especially might enjoy this :-)

Crimson Waltz

In the grandeur of the Avarian palace ballroom, I guide Cassandra with practiced elegance, my arm a steady anchor for her presence by my side. Each step she takes is cautious, a reflection of our earlier conversation wherein I reminded her of the importance of upholding a dignified demeanor at all times. 

All must go well. Cassandra must prove herself worthy in front of my father and the nobles and politicians.

Together, we navigate through the sea of esteemed nobles, each interaction calculated and poised, a carefully choreographed dance of social engagement. Finally, the orchestra's lilting melody signals the commencement and respite of a waltz, and I lead Cassandra onto the polished dance floor. Our steps synchronize effortlessly, the observers' eyes keenly fixed upon us. Her gaze remains steadily at my throat, as if scrutinizing the cravat at my throat, her lips pressed together in concentration. Her heart beats nervously against my hand where it rests firmly against her back. A peculiar sensation flits in my chest, my concern for the intensity of the situation – a vague echo of my own childhood encounters with such emotions. But if she is to be mine, she must learn to adapt to its demands.

As the waltz unfolds with grace, an unforeseen hiccup interrupts our flawless rhythm – her shoe entangles momentarily with her gown, causing an almost imperceptible stumble. Swiftly, before her balance can falter completely, my instincts take over. With a firm yet gentle grip, I ensure her equilibrium is swiftly restored.

The scrutinizing gazes of the nobles in attendance demand a flawless performance, and I'm determined to uphold our appearance. "Watch your step. We're not here to make a spectacle," I mutter under my breath, my words a stark reminder to avoid any potential disruption to the carefully orchestrated ambiance of the evening.

Her grip on my hand tightens, she clenches her teeth and finally meets my gaze, her crimson eyes narrowing defiantly as her cheeks blaze brightly. “Make a spectacle?! I am NOT making a spectacle!” Her voice, a restrained assertion, hangs in the air, and the room seems to hold its breath, all eyes upon us, including the penetrating gaze of my father. “If you want a spectacle so badly,” she huffs boldly, “I can certainly provide one!”

Undeterred by the ripples of astonishment that sweep through the crowd, she decisively halts our dance. In a bold, swift move that defies convention, she pulls me into an intimate embrace, her lips meeting mine in a passionate, spontaneous kiss. Gasps and murmurs sweep through the ballroom.

Time bends around us,  a blissful escape from the rigid expectations that encase us, and the world is reduced to the sensation of her lips against mine as I deepen the kiss. I relish the soft sound she makes in the back of her throat, as her mouth opens beneath my kiss.

When we finally draw apart, panting slightly, the room remains in hushed anticipation, a collective pause as they await the ensuing tableau. Her face is flushed as her breath comes quickly, and for a moment, she avoids eye contact as the reality of her action hits her. But at last, her gaze seeks mine, a mixture of trepidation and curiosity in her eyes. 

Her audacity, her willingness to challenge the boundaries of our roles, is a revelation that both surprises and intrigues me. Her eyes widen as I lick my lips before offering her the hint of a smirk, conveying a silent understanding that I don't disapprove.

"Well, that was certainly unexpected," I remark with a quirked eyebrow, my voice carrying a playful undertone that I suddenly find myself uncaring if it reaches our audience. As I brush a strand of hair out of her face, she bites her lip, a sweet smile gracing them as she gazes up at me through her thick lashes. 

With a flourish of my hand, I signal the stunned orchestra to continue the waltz. Amidst the murmuring crowd, I lean in once more, capturing her lips in a tender and lingering kiss.

The once-silent ballroom transforms into a chorus of murmurs and whispers, the air alive with intrigue, but strangely, I find myself hardly caring. Cassandra and I share a realm of our own, momentarily detached from the watchful gaze of the onlookers. In that stolen moment, I convey my silent approval, an unspoken acknowledgment of the spark of defiance she's ignited and a reminder of all the reasons that make her so dear to me.

[pinky-the-elephant-room]

Memories

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟAN: I wrote this a while back and now I finished it finally yay. This prompt's based on the canonical timeline before Takemichi starts time traveling,

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Warnings: Graphic violence and canonical character death. Fem Reader x Mikey.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Summary: Delinquents are no good and Y/N knew that. But why is it that she was unable to look away from him?

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

One. Two.

Y/N counted the beats in her head and pictured her body moving along to the rhythm. She let out a sigh and just let herself get carried away. It was almost easy to forget the loud boys on the train.

However, it seemed that she was the only one actively trying to bury herself in her iPod. In contrast, the semi-empty train’s occupants were either annoyed or terrified at the riffraff. A boy with long blond hair seemed happy to stuff his face, and another one had a shaved head with a dragon tattoo. Clearly, his parents weren’t the responsible type if they let their son get away with such a thing. The curious duo were surrounded by a group of youth who vaguely resembled the out-of-control delinquents on the news.

Trouble, that’s exactly what they were Y/N decided. And she didn’t have time for trouble nowadays. Not when she was so busy. The long-haired teen perked up from his snack, and she quickly turned away. Hopefully, he didn’t notice her curious appraisal lest he tried to get her attention and mess with her. Y/N was all too aware of men who would try things with a lone girl. Thinking they could bully her into doing things she didn’t want to. She sighed with relief when she peered through her bangs to notice no one was watching her.

“Next stop is Shibuya station! Pleas- “

Y/N quickly pressed pause on her large pink brick of an iPod and secured her bag’s handle on her shoulder. As she got ready to stand up, her movement though not loud, immediately caught the attention of the boisterous group. Y/N ignored the chills coursing throughout her body and stood near the train's doors, ready to bolt as soon it opened.

She jumped when she felt her school uniform skirt being flipped and turned around abruptly to face her assailant.

A random scrub seemed disappointed to find gym shorts underneath her skirt rather than panties. Yeah, she was just too smart for that now. Y/N tried to control the anxiety running through her veins.

“Aw man! Didn’t even get a proper look. You with the glasses! Are you the type to wear lace?”

She shakingly lifted her head to make eye contact with the rowdy adolescent.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled and grabbed her wrist. Y/N tried to twist out of his grasp in vain.

The long-haired boy lost his dazed look and seemed interested in their encounter. While dragon tattoo’s eyes narrowed at the scene.

“Don’t touch me,” Y/N murmured under her breath.

“Huh?? What was that?” The bald bully leaned in closer mockingly. The larger tattooed adolescent got up in a hurry and stalked angrily towards them.

“Ora! What the hell do you think you’re doing, Teme?” Dragon tattoo yelled at his subordinate, who seemed shaken at being addressed. “We don’t mess with girls!”

Y/N looked at the tattooed giant in shock. Was he defending her? This day was getting weirder and weirder.

Unable to keep still, she pulled the scrub close, using his hold on her against him, and then promptly judo flipped him. It was a bit harder than she was used to due to the weight, but she still heard the impact of the body’s landing on the train’s floor.

A chorus of astonished yells erupted, followed by pained groans.

“Shit. You got him good,” the taller boy exclaimed.

“Hey! What’s your name? I’m Mikey,” a cheerful voice yelled.

Unable to cope with the sudden attention of the entire train on her, which coincidentally at the same time the train opened its door, Y/N practically ran out. Ran until she became nothing more than a whisper and stranger amongst the crowd exiting the train station. Yet despite being no longer in their company, she could still feel the weight of the boy’s gaze. His dark eyes and long blond hair became imprinted in her mind.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N felt a weight lift off her shoulders, seeing the grade in front of her in bright red ink. She had studied day and night to earn a good grade. Finally, things were going her way. She had a long way to go before college, but if she formed a diligent habit now then-

She looked annoyed as the train’s door opened, and a group of rowdy boys stepped through. She stiffened when she noticed it was the long-haired blonde and the dragon tattooed delinquent.

“The train again, Mikey? When’s your bike going to get fixed?” A chubby bald boy asked. Well, he sounded more like a man, but the roundness to his face betrayed his youth.

“And,” a white-haired boy interrupted. “Why do we have to ride with you just because your bike is broken?”

“Mikey” smiled and responded cheerfully, “Because it’s fun!”

The group all grumbled and cussed under their breaths before taking a seat.

Y/N tried to keep her eyes off them and to mind her own business. But she couldn’t help herself. The eclectic group was so weird but it seemed to contain this air of comfortableness and comradery like they’d been friends for ages.

A sting of old jealousy blossomed in her heart. She didn’t have any friends. Most times she didn’t mind being alone. Being alone meant she could study and not be distracted by unimportant drama. But it also meant that she was incredibly lonely.

A movement from the corner of her eye snapped Y/N out of her stupor. A chill went down her spine.

Mikey grinned serenely and leaned into Y/N’s face. She moved back, uncomfortable at the proximity.

“You’re that girl from that day!” he exclaimed and mimicked a judo flip with an invisible foe.

“Can you please give me space,” she muttered. A request which Mickey listened to and stepped back.

“T-thank you.”

She was taken back by the supposed delinquent listening to her.

Y/N knew some of the horror stories of troublesome teens who had nothing better to do with their lives than to cause chaos. Her law-abiding police officer father would frequently go on a tirade about Tokyo's recent uptick of gang activity. She knew all too well what these guys were capable of.

“Hey, where did you learn to do that flip?” There was a shine of curiosity in his eyes, almost childlike.

Y/N blushed at the attention the handsome boy was bestowing on her. Even if he was a troublemaker, he was still quite good looking and rarely did any ikemen actually talk to her.

“I took Judo when I was young, but I stopped after elementary school.”

“Oh,” Mikey became crestfallen, and there was this rush inside of her to immediately reassure him so he could return to his happy-go-lucky self. But there was no need because quickly, the jovial smile came back.

“Your strength sucked, but your form was great.”

Y/N, despite herself, was amused at the half insult and half compliment. She found herself more and more perplexed at the enigma that was Mikey.

“Mikey, let’s go back to our seat,” the taller tattooed adolescent interrupted, and he grabbed Mikey by the scruff of his shirt.

“Ken-chin! She doesn’t mind do you…,” Mikey’s eyes widened. “Wait! What’s your name again?”

“L/N Y/N. Nice to meet you,” she greeted with a quick nod. Only to berate herself mentally for giving her name away. Idiot. Now she was becoming friendly with delinquents. If her father knew, he would have an aneurysm.

“I’m Mikey, and this is Ken-chin. Now we’re friends.” Mikey then took a seat right beside Y/N and stuck his tongue out at his friend.

Y/N nervously swallowed and said, “I don’t mind as long as that guy from last time isn’t here.” She sneaked a peek over to the rest of the guys who were unashamedly staring at them back.

“Oh him? We took care of it, right, Ken-chin?”

Ken-chin nodded. “He was some lackey that recently joined. Tokyo Manji doesn’t mess with women.”

Tokyo Manji. Was that the name of their group? She had never heard of it before.

Y/N just nodded, not sure what to say to two gang members. What if she pissed them off by opening her mouth? She gulped and decided not to test that theory.

“So,” Mikey started, and he looked pointily down at her school uniform. “What school do you go to? I don’t recognize your uniform.”

She looked down at her red and pale pink uniform. Noticing her bow was sloppily tied, she discretely tried to fix the bow with Mikey’s gaze on her.

“It’s a private girls' only school,” she muttered.

“That sounds boring.”

‘Ken-chin’ then asked, “Can I sit here?” He pointed to the space next to her.

Y/N stiffened and wanted to say no. Two boys were going to sit on each side of her, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable with that.

“Of course, K-ken-san?” she replied tentatively. Unsure of how to address him.

He snorted,” San? Call me Draken.”

Draken like dragon? That was a pretty cool name, even if she didn’t believe that was his real name. If it was then, Y/N felt sorry for the boy because it was clear his parents were truly negligent.

“So, what kind of parfait do you like?”

Y/N looked at Mikey confusingly. What did dessert have to do with anything? She turned towards Draken for answers, who just seemed resigned.

“I-I like crepes better. Especially with frosting and chocolate sauce.”

Mikey nodded thoughtfully, “That’s a good answer. There’s a café right by our school that makes great crepes. What was its name again?” He cartoonishly thought for a minute.

“Red Cherry,” Draken interrupted.

“Yup! That’s the one. You should come with us sometimes.”

She immediately wanted to say no. There was no way she was willingly going to hang out with them. Mikey seemed nice enough, but they were still delinquents. So, she made lame excuses trying to dissuade them from continuing the conversation.

When the train announced her station, Y/N almost leaped off her seat in joy.

“Ja ne!” Mikey called out to Y/N.

She waved goodbye then as soon as the train’s doors opened left hurriedly. Her hand tenderly rubbed where she could feel her heart pounding against her chest. Despite feeling a bit relieved, she glanced back to see Mikey peering through the window and giving her a smile with a peace sign.

Y/N tentatively grinned as the bullet train sped away, only allowing a glimpse of golden streaks of his hair.

A part of her hoped that was the end, but a different part wondered if she would ever see him again.

She shook her head. Nope, no need to make it out to be more than what it was. Even if he was cute just by his little entourage, it wasn’t hard to guess he was bad news. And Y/N didn’t do bad news. Sure, bad boys were a lot of fun, but that was for daydreams and fantasy only. Not real life.

And with that resolve, she resolutely put Mikey in the back of her mind.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N opened the ice cream wrapper and stuck the fudgy pop in her mouth. The sweetness almost made her feel better. Almost being the keyword. She sniffed miserably and then sucked the chocolate pop some more. She had gotten back her recent test scores. The papers in her backpack with their red marks were weighing her down with disappointment.

An 89. It was a disgrace. All that studying for a measly B. If her family disowned her, she wouldn’t even fight it. She deserved it.

She was distracted by her misery, not even noticing the sound of a motorbike approaching. Y/N was startled by the appearance when it stopped next to her.

Her eyes widened to see the familiar blond hair and cheerful smile.

“Y/N-chi! Long time no see.”

It was true Y/N hadn’t seen Mikey in weeks since that time he sat next to her. She thought he would have forgotten her by now since she never saw him on the train again. Looking down at his bike, it was easy to see why. He no longer needed it.

Wait a second. Y/N-chi? Her cheeks burned at the nickname Mikey bestowed on her.

“Hey, your ice cream is melting.”

She looked distractedly to see the chocolate dripping her palm and making its gooey way down her wrist.

“Huh. I didn’t even notice.” Deciding just to finish it before it made an even bigger mess, she was about to put the popsicle in her mouth when her wrist was grabbed.

“Mine!” Mikey then happily stuck the rest of the ice cream in his mouth.

“Y-you! That was mine!”

The long-haired blond seemly ignored her and licked his lips in satisfaction. She would be more upset, but it was hard to focus on her ire when he was distractingly licking himself like that. And the worst part was that he didn’t even notice how he was affecting her!

“Ne, why were you crying?”

Y/N became flustered at his attention now that the sweet treat no longer occupied him.

“What do you mean? I wasn’t crying.”

A confused look came over his face before Mikey shrugged. She felt her heart pound at the sight. It wasn’t fair gangsters shouldn’t be so cute.

“If you say so. Are you going home?” he asked while patting the seat behind him. “Come. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Ehhh? But what about helmets?”

“I’m a good driver; you won’t need it. Trust me.”

Y/N hesitated. Already, her brain reminded her with statistics of how likely motorcycle drivers would die in an accident without helmets. Her father had given quite the lecture when he found her cousin had been driving without one. Those gruesome accounts were hard to forget even now.

Mikey patted the seat harder, “Hurry up! I heard it was gonna rain today.”

Unable to put him off longer, she came to stand near the bike. Eying it cautiously, she handed her schoolbag to Mikey and then swung her leg over with a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she said when she was situated, pulling his shirt and trying to get her bag back.

“I thought girls don’t like to sit sprawled like that when they’re wearing skirts,” he replied, giving back her belongings.

“I wear gym shorts underneath, so it’s fine.”

“You’re pretty smart, unlike Emma.”

Who could Emma be? She frowned at the idea that perhaps that was his girlfriend. Should he be giving rides to her? What if this Emma found out about it? Y/N had been the witness to many fights between girls at her school about nonsensical things like boyfriends. It was barbaric and immature to resort to violence over small things.

Before Y/N could voice her opinions, though, Mikey revved up his bike and took off with a whoop!

She yelped at the speed and held onto Mikey’s shirt tightly.

“Slow down!”

“Why would I do that? This is so much better!”

“Mikey, you liar!” Y/N yelled before ducking her face into his back. She felt him, with one hand, remove her hands from their vice-like grip and wrap them around his waist.

She became speechless by the proximity. It was easy to be distracted from the speed of Mikey’s bike when she could practically feel his abs over his shirt.

“So, where do I go now?” he shouted over the wind.

Y/N shouted out the directions to her house while battling her windswept hair that kept being blown into her mouth. She purposely made him stop two places down from her actual home. Her father didn’t need to see her on the back of a motorcycle with no helmet. Plus, who knows what he might say at the sight of Mikey. Despite his good looks, he was a thorough delinquent, and she didn’t want to risk a lecture today.

“Thank you so much,” she said while carefully maneuvering off the motorbike. “Although, in the future, maybe you shouldn’t give out rides to other girls.”

That got Mikey to stop revving his bike and stare at her.

“Why not?’

Y/N huffed,” Well, your girlfriend won’t be happy about it. And I’m not going to fight a girl for you.”

That just got an even blanker look. He was starting to resemble an axolotl.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Then who is Emma?”

He chuckled and tugged some of her long tresses. “Silly Y/N. Emma is my sister.”

A blush overtook her face, and embarrassment flooded through her body.

“I should get going now. It’s getting late,” she said quickly, making excuses.

“I’m glad you’re not sad anymore. You look better when you smile,” he called out before turning his motorbike around and speeding off.

The redness that was barely beginning to cool off on her face once again rushed through, making her feel lightheaded.

He really was trouble.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

She repeatedly blinked, trying to comprehend the sight before her. Y/N was beside herself. Never could she have guessed that she would see this sight. Mikey was standing outside of her school, seemingly glaring at the school’s locked gates.

She gulped and hurried to his side as he was attracting unwanted attention from her peers.

“Mikey!”

His face lit up, and he said, “About time. I’ve been waiting.”

Y/N knew that because she had gotten his text earlier saying he wanted to hang out on a school day of all things. She vehemently refused because she didn’t want to explain to her parents why she decided to skip when exams were only a week away. So, Mikey responded with pouts and sad emojis before finally understanding she wasn’t going to budge and that he would meet her after school ended.

She hadn’t taken him seriously, and now there he was. Mikey could have kicked those heavy gates open if he wanted, but she knew he hadn’t for her benefit. So, she was at least grateful for his discretion.

As she followed him out onto the streets, she couldn’t help but notice something was off about Mikey. Instead of pestering her to go to a nearby café like they usually did, he stopped at a park.

When Mikey sat down on a bench, he invited her to sit with him.

“Help me with this,” he said and then shoved a bag into her hands. The bag contained bandages and alcohol wipes.

“Why do you need this?”

Y/N didn’t need an answer when the answer was self-explanatory just by looking at his bruised fists.

She became aghast at his request. “Who hurt the invincible Mikey?”

“Heh. You should see the other guy’s face.”

She frowned at his carefree attitude. Getting to know him over a couple of months, Y/N knew Mikey rarely took injuries seriously. She rifled through the plastic bag and pulled out the alcohol wipes.

“Don’t,” she grumbled and then pressed down the wipe firmly against his skin. “Be a smart ass.”

“You know, Y/N-chi. Looking at you like this, I think you can become a doctor one day, and you’re pretty smart to boot,” Mikey said, hardly noticing her rough treatment.

“You got that from me putting bandages on? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re hardly a good judge.”

“And when you become a doctor, you should keep taking care of me.”

She scoffed, “Becoming a doctor is hard work, you know? Something that you, Mr. I get 30s on my test hardly know about.”

“Math sucks. You can’t blame me.”

“Math isn’t that bad all you need to do is pay attention and study.” Which she knew he rarely did. He preferred to skip school and only really attended lunch before going off to do Tokyo Manji business.

Mikey stuck out his tongue, “Blech. That sounds awful.”

She shook her head. “But don’t you want to graduate high school at least?”

“Nah, I think middle school is as far as I’m gonna go.”

They had this discussion before where Y/N was horrified to find out about his future plans. She kind of hoped that the gang stuff was a phase before he would move on as he matured. But he seemed dead set on it. He also mentioned opening a bike shop like his older brother, which had more potential. Mikey was so carefree in a way that she couldn’t relate to. She had her future planned. Although Y/N wasn’t sure what she wanted to do just yet (a fact that induced anxiety in her), she was sure to put in a 110% effort just like she did in everything else.

Y/N blew lightly on his inflamed knuckles before carefully weaving the elastic wrap around.

“There!” she said before noticing Mikey gazing at her intensely. “What?”

He looked down, his long blond hair hiding his facial expression. “N-nothing.”

“Ne, promise me,” he said before looking up again and sticking out his pinky.

She looked at his hand puzzlingly and couldn’t help but notice how long and pretty his fingers were.

“Promise what?”

“That when you become a doctor that you’ll take care of me whenever I get into fights.”

“Mikey! I can’t promise you-“

He shook his pinky in a threatening manner. “Promise!”

Y/N sighed, resigned, and linked her pinky with his. “Fine. I promise to fix you up whenever you get into trouble. Happy?”

His face broke out into a happy grin, and it wasn’t too long before his infectious happiness affected her. She giggled and laughed when he started tickling her, catching her off guard.

Mikey is trouble

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N flinched when she heard the door creak. She waited, expecting her parents to come storming down the stairs. When nothing happened, she let out a sigh of relief and then proceeded to pry open the door and lock it behind her carefully.

She bent down to adjust her tennis shoe a bit and jammed her Achille’s heel in. She opened her flip phone and recognized the address sent by Mikey as being a few blocks away from her.

This was insane. He had called her out in the middle of the night. 2 AM to be exact. Before she had met him, she was the type to be curled up in bed by 8 PM. 9 if she was staying up and studying for exams. But there was something in his voice, desperate and hoarse, that she couldn’t refuse. So, here she was, running down the streets as fast as her unathletic body would allow her.

There was no rush, no deadline. But everything from the situation to the goosebumps on her body screamed that she needed to be there immediately. Her lungs burned, and she kept going despite feeling like she couldn’t take another step. Mikey needed her.

Y/N saw him leaning against a streetlight, looking out of place wearing his black boilersuit adorned with kanjis in the affluent neighborhood. No delinquent would have ever been caught dead here, especially with police officers patrolling here every few hours.

“Mikey!” she hissed, unsure if she should be yelling at this time of the night. “Are you ok? What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer and looked up from the ground. She flinched seeing the dead look in his eyes, and almost stepped back in fear when he came closer.

That fear was unfounded as Mikey only tugged her closer in for a hug.

For several minutes she didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything either. They just stood there as Mikey clutched her as if she was his anchor and he was about to come undone. Then she felt him shaking and letting out little choked gasps as if he was struggling to breathe.

“Please,” Y/N begged.

She didn’t know what she was pleading for. What could have happened that caused Mikey to crumble like this? She almost didn’t want to know.

“Ken-chin. He’s-. “He cut himself off suddenly as if he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Dread began to bubble in her stomach. Draken, despite his fearsome appearance, was quite the chivalrous guy. And though she didn’t know his entire story (she only knew bits and pieces), he grew up with much integrity as he could despite his background. She felt awful about how she first judged Draken, but over time became fond of him.

Mikey let go of her and straightened up. His face was blank, showing none of the distress Y/N was sure he was feeling.

“Ken-chin is gone. He was injured during a fight, and he didn’t make it.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times. She always had something to say, whether it was rebuking Mikey for his antics or for lending advice. But now, she had nothing. What could she say?

So, Y/N brought him in for a hug this time and didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, except she felt the need to. And she continued to, the only words that fell her mouth.

Sorry that Draken’s life was cut short. Sorry that he would never experience all the adult things that he and Mikey were looking forward to. Sorry that he never got the chance to live for something beyond a life of delinquency.

Y/N should have felt justified in her distaste of their lifestyle. She had previously warned Mikey that being a delinquent despite his well-intentioned beliefs wasn’t going to lend to a satisfying life. And it seemed like she was right. But it felt so bittersweet. Most of all, she didn’t feel it was right to point fingers when Mikey was hurting.

“I’m sorry too.”

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N laid flat against the wall as she watched the gigantic man in an impeccable suit walk away gingerly as if he hadn’t just heard the gunshot go off.

She knew him. Was it Honma? Haan… Hanma! That was it. He was Mikey’s associate that previously leered at her when she threw a drink in his face. Mickey told her later that he had a few words with Hanma in case he bothered her again.

She was holding her breath in case she made noise. Only when the taller man was no longer in view did she hurriedly run into the apartment.

“Mikey!” she called anxiously. “Are you in here?”

Y/N listened intensely, and then she heard quick breathing and small groans. She immediately ran towards the noise only to freeze at the scene. Mikey was watching intensely at the man who was spurting out blood.

Mikey spared her a look, and unconcerned at the man dying in his kitchen, he walked over to her.

“When did you come in?”

Horrified, she could not keep her eyes off the blood that was flowing and covering every inch of his pristine floor.

“Y/N, look at me,” his gentle voice coaxed. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

She didn’t even know when he steered her into his living room and made her sit down on the sofa. She heard him turn away and speak into his cell phone, his voice insistent and dangerous before he hung up.

“Mikey? Wha-why is that man?” she couldn’t bear to finish that sentence.

He placed a finger on her lips. “Shh. It’s all taken care of. Nothing to worry about.”

“Let me help! He could die!”

“Well, that’s the whole idea,” Mikey said under his breath.

She blinked, “What?”

“Come on, Sweetheart. There’s no need for you to be here.”

Y/N didn’t protest as he made her leave his apartment. Too flabbergasted at the sudden intimate nickname, he never called her that. Their relationship never breached that point. She was too afraid of everything it meant to be involved with a guy like Mikey, who every day didn’t resemble the young kid she met when she was younger.

Sometimes she wondered as his eyes lingered in places that felt too intimate. But then his eyes would grow dull, and she thought it might have been just a trick of the light.

It was when the cold air of the night hit her face; she realized something.

“Mikey! Are you ok?” she asked frantically and touched him, trying to see if he was ok. “You didn’t get hurt, right?”

“Ne, do you remember that promise you made me?”

Her brows furrowed, and she was determined to ignore his antics as she examined him closely for any signs of injury.

“Y/N,” Mikey demanded in a tone of finality.

“What? I’m trying to make sure you don’t have a concussion like the last time,” she replied, exasperated. “I may be a doctor, but even I can’t perform miracles if you don’t take care of yourself.”

He waited a few seconds for her to relax and realize that he wasn’t joking.

“What promise?” Y/N asked.

“The one where you promised to fix me whenever I get into fights.”

She let out an aggravated sigh. Unsure of where he was going with this. “I remember, and I’ve been helping out ever since then.”

“Even despite your families’ wishes,” he interjected.

“Even then.”

Y/N remembered the utter catastrophe when her father found out about the friendship between herself and Mikey. He was livid, and now their relationship further soured with Tokyo Manji’s activities creating chaos throughout Tokyo.

“But would you still stay with me now that I’m the one breaking others?”

Y/N knew what he was asking. She wasn’t stupid. Of course, she knew what kind of trouble he got into every night. It was no longer petty theft and graffiti. It had involved kidnapping, drugs, prostitution, and whatever illicit activities the gang had wroth.

She even heard of a van killing a few bystanders because of Tokyo Manji. She knew.

So, Y/N reached out and covered his hand with hers.

“I’ll stay by your side until you don’t need me.”

He smiled at her words, a slight upturn of his lips. His eyes, though were shiny with indescribable feelings.

“It seems like you’re the only one left. Thank you.”

A gasp left Y/N when Mikey suddenly crushed his mouth over hers. Just as quickly as it happened, Mikey pushed her away.

“But I also know you’ve been leaking information to your father. Go home, Y/N. And forget what you’ve seen here and don’t come back.”

Despite his words, he looked exceedingly sad and heartbroken. Like this was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

Heart racing, Y/N stuttered, “Mikey I- “

His face hardened, and the emotions became sealed away. “Go home. Or the next body in my kitchen will be yours.”

She wanted to say something. Anything to make Mikey come back. But he was too far gone. The boy who would gush about parfaits and crepes was gone. So, she watched him turn his back to her and leave. He was taking her heart with him just as she would with his.

[dreamerstreamer]

Visit

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] You and Dream have been together for months now, but no one knows it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the two of you live leagues apart.

Warnings: some cursing (a.k.a. Tommy exists)

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: requested by an anon who wanted a fun long-distance reveal! this story takes place during an unspecified time, but i imagine it occurs prior to schlatt’s presidency. anyways, i hope you all enjoy <3

You gazed at the bustling town in front of you in awe, your wide eyes darting this way and that as you took in everything you possibly could. You’d never known that Clay’s home was so... colourful. So bright.

You should really come visit more often.

Now, you thought to yourself, just where is he? He has to be somewhere around here.

Your fingers squeezed a little tighter around the handle of your basket as you swung it back and forth, a small smile gracing your lips as you tread onward. The soles of your feet ached a bit, especially after walking for so many hours, but you didn’t mind too much. It had been a while since you last saw each other, and you couldn’t wait to hear his laugh again.

Just then, a voice spoke up to your left.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Your smile faltered, and you slowed your steps a half-measure as another voice whispered back.

“No clue.”

You swallowed, a lump slowly starting to form in your throat. You focused your gaze on the path ahead of you, trudging forward as you rushed past the muffled words that slowly began to form around you.

“Do you know them?”

“Nope.”

“Are they from out of town?”

“Must be. I don’t recognize them at all.”

Something hot and wet wrapped around your lungs, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of your stomach. They’re... they’re talking about me, aren’t they? You sucked in a shuddering breath, ignoring the stinging at the back of your eyes. It’s okay, [Y/N]. You just have to find Clay, and then everything’s be just fi—

“[Y/N]?”

You froze, your steps coming to a screeching halt. Is that...?

You turned on your heel, your eyes landing on a familiar face standing just a few feet behind you. Dirty blonde hair and enchanting green eyes stared back at you, and a wide grin stretched across your lips. In a flash, you were charging at him, an overjoyed giggle escaping you.

“Clay!”

You barely caught a glimpse of his outstretched arms before you were tumbling into them, your fingers curling around his back as his hands met your waist. Peals of laughter flew from your lips as he spun the two of you around once, twice, thrice. Your heart was practically singing in your ears as he set you back down again, your feet landing flat on the ground as you gazed up at his fond smile.

“Hey,” he said gently, his emerald eyes scanning your face, “what are you doing here?”

You pulled back the cover of your basket, pulling out a swath of viridian green fabric with a flourish, grinning. “Ta-da!” you cried, holding it out toward him. “I finished fixing your winter cloak!”

His eyes grew wide as he stared at the cloth in your hands, his gaze glimmering with astonishment. “You did? Oh my god!” With a gentle grasp, he pulled the cloak from your grasp, admiring your handiwork with wonder in his eyes as he looked over the stitching. He looked up, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It looks as good as new,” he said. “You can hardly even tell I ripped it.” Tucking the cloak into the crook of his arm, he dipped his head to press his lips to your forehead. “You’re amazing, [Y/N].”

You offered him a bashful grin, biting the inside of your warming cheek. “It’s nothing, really.”

Reaching over, he slipped his hand into yours. His thumb instinctively moved to brush over your knuckles just how you liked it, and you nearly melted on the spot. He really had you wrapped around his finger, didn’t he? Not that you were complaining or anything.

“Seriously though,” he added, pursing his lips, “you didn’t need to come all this way just to deliver my cloak to me.” His gaze grew soft. “It must have taken you so long.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you dug your heel into the dirt. “I-I, um,” you began shakily, picking at a stray wicker thread in your basket, “I wanted to surprise you.” You took a deep breath, raising your chin to look at him dead on. “You always come visit me, but I thought this time, I should be the one coming to you!”

He stared at you, his lips parted in awe as he took in your words. When he didn’t say anything after a few seconds, your eyes darted to the ground, as you mumbled a quiet, “Or, um, something like that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then came a soft murmur.

“God, you’re so damn cute.”

You whipped your head up, your cheeks blazing with heat as you took in his cocky smile. “S-Stop that,” you sputtered, resisting the urge to bury yourself into the ground. “You’re always so cheesy.”

He dipped his head to press his forehead against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah,” he rasped, his breath tickling your face, “but only for you.”

Your heart did a flip in your chest at the intensity of his gaze. As flustered as he made you, you missed this. You missed him. Was it even possible to miss someone so much?

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat. “Uh, Dream?”

You stiffened once more, taking a step back to peer over Clay’s shoulder, only to feel your breath hitch in your throat. Clay immediately shifted at the first sign of distress on your face, his gaze growing serious. He plastered a polite smile to his face as he turned, opening his mouth.

“Hi ther—woah.” He blinked at the small crowd standing behind him. “Okay, uh. There’s a lot of you here.” Carefully, he stepped to the side, facing the crowd head-on while allowing you the chance to take a step behind him. He offered them a crooked grin, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. “What’s up?”

In front of him, a tall man tilted his head toward you, his chestnut hair flopping over one eye as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Um, aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?”

Clay’s eyes darted to yours, and you sent him a subtle nod. They were his friends, and as nervous as you were, they deserved to know about you. Turning back to face the crowd, he held a hand out toward you. “Everyone, meet [Y/N], my significant other.” He gestured to the crowd. “[Y/N], meet, uh, everyone else.”

A man clad in blue raised his eyebrows, an unimpressed look crossing his features. “Wow,” he whistled, pushing up the white glasses perched on his nose, “way to basically just call us unimportant.”

Clay rolled his eyes, but you still managed to catch a glimpse of a smile flicker across his face as he relented. “Okay, okay, I’ll be more specific.” He pointed his hand toward the man dressed in blue and the white-clad man leaning against him. “Meet George and Sapnap—my best friends.”

Sapnap glowered at him, his dark brows curving inward. “Yeah, your best friends who didn’t know about your secret relationship!”

Clay winced, something hurt flitting through his expression. “I’m sorry, oka—”

George raised a hand. “We’re kidding, we’re kidding.” He reached over, clapping his hand over Clay’s shoulder. “We’re glad you have someone you like, seriously.”

Sapnap leaned forward, his frown having been replaced by a teasing grin and his dark eyes swimming with mischief. “You totally owe us for keeping us in the dark, though.”

George nodded, pulling his hand away. “Oh yeah, totally.”

Clay grimaced, then sighed. “Great. Anyways,” he said, “this is Ranboo.” He gestured to the tall boy standing next to you, his face split down the middle with skin that looked as pale as the moon on one half and the other being as dark as night. Atop his head sat a small, golden crown that glimmered in the sunlight, and his crimson and green eyes blinked at you as he gave you a small wave, his lips curling into a smile. 

“He’s half-enderman,” Clay explained at your curious expression, “but he doesn’t really have any of the cool enderman powers.”

Ranboo’s mouth drooped into a frown as he lowered his hand with a disappointed sigh. “Yeah, I only got the lame ones. Like, I can’t teleport, and I’m not crazy strong, either.”

Another voice suddenly popped up. “He’s fucking useless in the rain, that’s what he is.” You turned you head, your eyes landing on a blond boy sporting a triumphant grin. “If you get even a single drop of water on him, he hisses like a cat.”

“I do not!”

The blond boy cackled, and you couldn’t stop his contagious laugh from letting a smile form on your face. “Don’t deny it, Ranboo! You totally do, and it’s fucking hilarious!”

Beside you, Clay sighed, gesturing to the grinning boy with a look of affectionate disdain. “This one here is Tommy.” His lips twitched. “He’s a demon child.”

Tommy’s smile widened. “Thanks, Big D—wait.” He paused, then scowled. “What the fuck did you just sa—”

Clay didn’t let him finish. He simply shot you a satisfied look before declaring, “Case in point!”

Before Tommy could begin shouting once more, he turned to the shorter brunet standing next to him. “This is Tubbo.” Something in his tone softened as he spoke. “He’s Tommy’s best friend, and he liked bees. He’s not nearly as...” He paused, looking for the right word. “...aggressive as Tommy, and he actually has some genuinely good intentions.”

The tall brunet from earlier suddenly spoke up. “Except for when he’s Big Law. Or Big Crime.”

Clay blinked, then nodded with a slight grin. “Oh. Yeah. Those are two exceptions.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, opening your mouth. “Should I ask...?”

He sent you a lopsided smile. “Probably not.” You stifled a smile as he turned back to the tall brunet, who offered you a cheerful grin. “This here is Wilbur. We fought a war once because he started a drug cartel—don’t mind that—and he’s pretty good at playing guitar.” He pretended not to see your look of alarm as he pointed to the man standing next to him, a pair of fox ears sitting atop his head. “Oh, and this is his son, Fundy.”

You eyed the ears on Fundy’s head, the orange fur ruffling in the soft breeze. Are those... real? They look real. You opened your mouth, but Fundy spoke first.

“Yes,” he said, his eye catching yours, “they are real. And yes, we look nothing alike. My mother was a salmon.” A boulder of shock and confusion steamrolled through your system, but he merely waved his hand. “Moving on.”

You gaped at him, your mind still reeling at the words ‘mother’ and ‘salmon’. “What—?”

“Moving on!” Clay repeated, raising his voice a little. He turned you around slightly, and found yourself standing face to face with a girl with dark hair, the front two strands bleached blonde. “This is Niki. She’s normal. And also very nice.”

You blinked up at Clay, your eyebrows furrowing. “‘Normal’?” you parroted, already feeling yourself fill with disbelief. Fundy’s mother was a salmon, and now he was trying to convince you that any of his friends were normal? You didn’t buy it.

He nodded, his lips curling into a small grin at your skeptical look. “No, like, actually normal. I swear.”

Niki waved at you, her eyes curving into tiny crescent moons. “It’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]! Is this your first time here?”

You nearly jumped by how sweet her voice was, but nodded eagerly, hope sparking in your chest. “Y-Yeah!”

Her eyes glimmered with something gentle and kind. “You should come stop by my bakery sometime!” She sent you a wink, but it came across as more cheerful than sly. “I’ll treat you to some cake.”

You could practically feel your mouth water at the mere thought. Niki was more than just normal—she was wonderful. You had a feeling you were going to be very, very good friends with Niki. “I would love to!”

While Niki clapped her hands in successful delight, Clay took a step forward. “Well, that’s basically everyone. Some people are out of town today,” he explained, “but you can meet them some other time.” His look was fond as he smiled at you. “In the meantime, I can show you around the actual town.”

You clutched your basket a little tighter as you bobbed your head. You’d been dying to see the rest of Clay’s home, and you couldn’t wait to explore. “Okay!”

Suddenly, an confused voice cut in.

“Hold on a second.” Fundy whirled, his ears flicking atop his head as he looked back at his friends. “Are we just going to gloss over the fact that Dream is actually dating someone?!”

Clay furrowed his eyebrows, looking appalled. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Tommy raised a finger. “Well, I mean,” he began, “aside from the obvious, which is that you having anyone who genuinely fucking likes you is completely unexpected—”

Clay deadpanned. “Ouch.”

“—but we also had no idea, okay?” Tommy crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “We kind of have a right to be surprised.”

You raised your eyebrows, bobbing your head slightly. “He does have a point.”

Clay sent you an exasperated look, his eyes pleading. “Do not back him up.”

You held up your hands in front of you, trying to bite back your smile. “I’m just saying!”

It was then that George spoke up. “Wait, how long have you guys even been together for?”

Without missing a beat, you and Clay both spoke at the same time. “Eleven months.” The moment the words left your mouth, you looked at each other, your eyes wide before melting into something softer. Your one month anniversary was coming up soon, and you guys weren’t the type to forget.

In front of you, Wilbur gaped. “Eleven months?” he repeated, sounding like a broken record player. “Eleven months?! How have you two been together for that long without us noticing?”

Clay blinked, then shrugged. “I wasn’t being super secretive about it or anything. No one ever asked, so I never said anything.”

George practically collapsed onto the ground, sinking to his knees as he tugged at his hair, his glasses sliding off his face and onto the ground. “Just how? How? I don’t get it.”

Softly, you spoke up. “I just happen to live a couple thousand blocks away, so it’s kind of far from here,” you explained. “That’s why you guys have never met me, but Clay and I still always make time to see each other.”

Sapnap tilted his head at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as the wheels in his head whirred. “Like, when do you even hang out?” He pursed his lips. “I feel like Dream’s always just kind of... here.”

Clay’s brows furrowed together. “Let me think of a good example, um...” His paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Okay, so, you know those days I just say that I’m going out and don’t really elaborate?”

Sapnap cocked his head. “Um, yeah?”

Clay smiled. “That’s when I go visit [Y/N].”

There was a beat of silence, then Fundy spoke up. “Hold on a second—you travel more than hundreds of blocks just to... see [Y/N]?”

He blinked, then nodded nonchalantly. “Well, yeah. I love them.”

Warmth skittered across your cheeks as you turned to face him, lightly smacking his chest as your heart skipped a beat. “C-Clay!”

He laughed. “What?” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s true.”

Across from you, Tommy visibly gagged, holding a hand over his mouth. “God, this is so fucking gross. Super sweet, but also super gross.”

Tubbo nodded beside him, a hand tucked under his chin. “It’s like... like...” His eyebrows knit together. “What’s a good analogy?”

Ranboo quipped, “It’s almost like I can feel myself getting a cavity.”

A wide smile split across Tommy’s face, and he straightened, turning to grin at his friends. “Ooh, that’s good. Nice.”

Tubbo suddenly gasped, waving his arm frantically. “Oh, um!” He paused for a split second, then shouted at full volume, “It’s like I can feel myself becoming diabetic!”

Tommy made a face. “Okay, uh—less good.”

Tubbo frowned, then opened his mouth again when Sapnap suddenly took a step forward, slamming his hand over Tubbo’s mouth. “Alright,” he said, offering you an apologetic grin, “I think that’s enough fun for one day.”

Clay nearly melted to the ground in relief. “Thanks, Sapnap. Now if you could all scram, that would be great, because [Y/N] and I would love to spend some quality time together.”

George’s lips twitched. “Heh. Disgusting.”

“Wha—” Clay blanched, and you felt your face grow warm. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean like that.”

Fundy rolled his eyes, his mouth curling into a smirk. “Sure, you didn’t.” Before you could even think to retort, Fundy clapped his hands, pushing the crowd away from the two of you. “Well, you heard the man! Everybody get a move on! Let the lovebirds be!”

Niki turned to wave once more at you, calling after you as the distance between you grew, “Bye, [Y/N]! It was nice meeting you!”

Your face lit up at the sound of her voice as you eagerly waved back. “You too, Niki!”

As soon as they disappeared from your line of sight, you felt Clay relax beside you, his shoulders drooping as he ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated look. “Sorry about them. They’re kind of—” He gestured vaguely. “—you know.”

You hummed, your lips quirked into a genuine smile. “I liked them. They’re chaotic, but in a fun way.” You swallowed the lump in your throat as you cast him a wary look. “Do you think they liked me?”

His eyes flashed with pride as he leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, they definitely did.” He sent you a crooked smile. “Tommy might think we’re gross, but he means well.”

You giggled at the image of Tommy gagging at the two of you as Clay slipped his hand into yours one more. “Enough about Tommy though,” he hummed, squeezing your palm, “let me show you around, yeah?”

You nodded with a bright grin, swinging your arms as the two of continued down the oak wood path further into the city. Around you, chatter continued to fill the air, but it didn’t make you anxious anymore. Clay’s friends may be strange, but who wasn’t, really?

As you took in the sight of the town around you and Clay’s soothing voice washed over you, you squeezed his hand a little tighter.

You were right—you really should come visit more often.

[finalfantasyandnerdiness]

Want

Prompt from the discord server by @imlilyyfromff13: “I want to kiss you.” 

Fandom: FFXIII (post!LR)  Pairing: Hope/Light

A short one-shot about Lightning confronting Hope about becoming a self-destructive workaholic again. 

For the eighth time in about the same number of minutes, Hope’s phone buzzed. He picked it up from the kitchen table, glanced at it, frowned, and then put it down again. Lightning sighed. Serah pursed her lips in annoyance. Sazh muttered something about kids and their addiction to anything with a touch screen. Fang and Vanille exchanged a look that probably carried a full conversation only they could understand. Snow kept shoveling pie into his mouth as if he hadn’t even noticed.

Months ago, right after they’d all arrived in the new world, Serah had declared that Sunday nights were family dinner nights. She’d decided that once a week, they would all gather at her and Snow’s house—and somehow, she’d managed to make it a mandatory thing. Some excuses were acceptable, like Noel and Yeul being abroad, but that was about as far as Serah’s leniency went. Sunday nights were family dinner nights. Period.

Lightning had always been a loner at heart, but even she found joy in these little gatherings. Everyone was so busy living their own lives nowadays that if they hadn’t all feared being hunted down by a passive-aggressive Serah, they probably wouldn’t have been able stay in touch like this—a thought of that scared Lightning more than she would ever admit. She finally had a family again, and she wanted to keep it. Even if it meant having weekly dinners in a kitchen that definitely wasn’t big enough for the entire gang.

The room wasn’t quite as crowded now as when Noel and Yeul was in town, but the seating arrangement was still far from comfortable. Lightning had to dodge Snow’s elbow every time the big buffoon reached for something, and her thigh was pressed flush against Hope.

It was fascinating, really, how the warmth of Hope’s leg could somehow be more distracting than the risk of getting elbowed in the face.

Hope’s phone buzzed.

“Could you please turn that off?” Serah asked. “The world won’t end just because you’re unavailable for an hour.”

“You’re giving the world way too much credit,” Hope muttered. He ran his fingers through his silver hair, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. The ever-growing concern in Lightning’s chest nagged at her. Hope’s eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and every time she saw him he seemed to have lost another pound or two.

When Hope had said that he wanted to work as a researcher again, she’d been happy for him. Of course he’d want to figure out how the science of the new world worked, and of course he’d want to help people find ways to make their new lives work in this unfamiliar environment. What she hadn’t realized was just how much everyone would come to rely on him. Everyone seemed to want a piece of his intellect and his lifetimes of experience. He was being torn apart right before her eyes, and there was nothing she could do about it. Every time she brought it up, he just brushed it off. They’d been partners once, but now, he wouldn’t let her in. He’d shut her out.

“Hope…” She glanced up at him. “The world isn’t your responsibility anymore, you know? Just because everyone wants your help doesn’t mean you have to be there for them constantly. You have to think about what you want, too.”

“I can’t have what I want.” There was a strange combination of heat and sorrow in his eyes when he met her gaze. “I don’t deserve it.”

Lightning fell silent as she tried to get her emotions under control. She sometimes wondered if Hope had any idea how frustratingly attractive he was, with his chiseled jawline, full lips, and ocean-green eyes that still gleamed with an understanding of the universe that no other human on the planet possessed.

She also sometimes wondered if he knew how he made her brain malfunction by simply looking at her. 

It wasn’t his appearance that made her feel the way she did. Seeing him as an adult had only made the final puzzle piece of her conflicting emotions fall into place. And now, when she’d finally realized what their bond truly meant to her, he was shutting her out.

Hope’s phone buzzed.

Serah gave him a glare that could have slayed a behemoth. “That’s it, Hope, you’re turning—”

“It’s okay.” Hope gave the screen a final glance before standing up. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the dinner, Serah. It was perfect, as always.”

“Hope…” Serah paused. After countless dinners ending the exact same way, they all knew that there was nothing they could do to make him stay.

Lightning watched him leave the kitchen, his narrow frame slimmer than ever, and just… reacted. This time it was her elbow that nearly connected with Snow’s face when she rushed after Hope. She caught up with him in the hallway as he was putting on his coat.

“Enough.” She placed herself between him and the door.

“What?”

“I said enough.”

They stared at each other. Hope’s face went from confusion to annoyance to melancholy in a matter of seconds.

“I really have to go, Light,” he said, giving her a humorless smile. “We can talk later.”

“There will never be a ‘later’, and you know it.” Lightning leaned back against the door, effectively blocking his only escape route. “We’re still partners, right? Or did that change when we arrived here?”

Hope blinked. “Of course we are. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Then, as your partner, I’m putting my foot down.” Lightning raised her chin and crossed her arms. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you tear yourself apart to keep the world afloat. Not again.” She swallowed hard. “Never again.”

“Light…” Hope slowly approached her until their bodies were only inches apart. Lightning’s heart began to race. She refused to look away, though. She was taking a stand, and she was not going to let her emotions get in the way of that.

“If you’re going to say you’re fine, then save it. I know you’re not. Have you looked at yourself lately? Can’t you see what this is doing to you?” A hint of desperation somehow found its way into her voice. “You’re putting the needs of others over your own, and I… I feel like I’m losing you again.”

“I’m sorry, Light. I never meant to… I’m sorry.” Hope looked down. “It’s just that everything’s a mess, and considering the part I played in all of this, I feel like it’s my responsibility to fix it.”

“It’s not. That responsibility lies on humanity as a whole now. You and I… We may have contributed to the destruction of the old world, but we also helped creating this.” Lightning nodded toward the kitchen, where their little mess of a family chatted and laughed together. “A new world. A blank page. We create our own fates now. I know it’s hard—trust me, I know it is—but we deserve a new start too. It’s time for all of us to start living the lives we want to live, and that includes you.” She gently stroked a wayward strand of hair from his forehead. “What do you want, Hope?”

“What I want?” He looked up at her, letting out a bitter sound that wasn’t quite a snort but not quite a laugh either. A shiver ran down her spine. He had that look in his eyes again, hot and sad and hungry. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Try me.”

He hesitated. “There is one thing I want. More than anything.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, his gaze lowering until it landed on her lips. Another moment of hesitation passed. 

“I want to kiss you.”

Lightning’s eyes widened. Her cheeks burned. Her heart pounded hard enough to drown out her thoughts—which thankfully wasn’t that much of a problem. In this situation, she didn’t need to think.

“Then kiss me.”

Hope’s lips crashed into hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his as her back slammed into the door. Her head spun, and all her repressed emotions sprung into life. This was what she’d been craving ever since she first saw him in the new world. This was how things were supposed to be. This was right.

Their kiss deepened. The rest of the world seemed to disappear. All she could focus on was him—his smell, his warmth, his hands in her hair, and his impossibly soft lips.

When he finally pulled back, an astonished smile played on his lips. Soon, he would most likely rush out the door as usual to once again fix whatever it was that someone had screwed up, but this time he’d at least gotten something he wanted for himself—something she’d been more than happy to give it to him. She wasn’t delusional enough to believe that a kiss would change his self-destructive behavior, but maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

“What about you?” he murmured, slightly out of breath. “What do you want, in this hypothetical utopia of yours?”

She smiled. That was probably the easiest question he could have possibly asked her.

“You.”

[elriel-oblivion]

I think it's been three days? Dunno, I don't keep track of day or night like I should lol but here's part three 😁 Next part up in five days so I can waste even more time before writing part six pft 😅 Thanks to all who interacted with the last post 😊🥰🤗

Word count: 3K. Lemme know if you'd like to tagged/removed 😊

Shoutout to @julesherondalex @verifiefangirl and @queen-of-glass for picking up on my fave paragraphs in the last part 😁😭 Can anyone do it again? Maybe I should make this a thing lol, shoutout to anyone who can find my faves. I think there are only two (or technically three?) this time 😅

Also, I'll prob put this up on AO3 this weekend, thanks to @acourtofcouture for reminding me 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part III

__

Warmth soaked into Azriel as Elain poured a jug of water over his head. His throat loosened as that warmth fluttered through his body, pulsing against those frozen veins and humming under his skin. Goosebumps tickled his arms.

But it was nothing compared to the sheer bliss that rippled through him as her fingers delved into his hair. It was an effort to restrain the groan reaching through his throat, so he let out a light sigh instead. He didn't think it prudent for Elain to hear him moan under her care. She was so kind to do this for him; he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

Two more jugs of water followed.

'Is that nice?' she asked, as though it could be anything but. It felt almost exactly like his mother's hands when she'd wash his hair in those so few minutes he was allowed to see her every week. Gentle and tender and pleasant.

He could fall asleep here if he weren't so aware of Elain in the room with him. Touching him. As it were, that warmth pulled deeper into him, loosing his muscles, thawing his bones.

'It is.' His voice sounded thick and he cleared his throat.

She was silent as her fingers worked, and after a minute or two, she rubbed soap into her hands. The scent of lavender filled the air. She massaged his scalp and lathered his locks, her touch so comforting it almost broke him.

Cauldron boil him, she was so much like his mother, right down to the scent of the soap she used. Her touch had just the right amounts of care and force as it worked across his scalp, relieving a knot of tension at the base of his skull.

His blood was now a soft thrum under his skin, that warmth guiding him further from consciousness, like he was wrapped in his shadows, safe from expectations, safe from judgement, safe from the world.

'Azriel?' came Elain's voice.

He jolted, eyes snapping open. 'Huh?'

She let out a light laugh. 'Your shadows are sort of hiding your head.'

Indeed, his shadows swirled around him, thickest by his eyes. 'Sorry,' he murmured, leashing them back in.

'Don't be. You can close your eyes again.'

As he did, he noted how soft her voice had been, the sombre touch to her words. She hadn't stepped away from his shadows. They must've been cold on her skin, but she'd made no comment. What did she think of them? It irked him not to know.

She continued her work, occasionally adding more water to his hair. Her fingertips rubbed his scalp, the cool night air touched with that lovely lavender.

Behind his closed eyelids, his mother smiled at him. Her smile was so sweet, so radiant and inviting, so homely that he wished he could freeze time to extend that one hour into eternity.

'You're so beautiful, my boy,' she whispered, her voice tender. Her arms were extended and he ran into them, savouring the comfort he found there. It was astonishing that he could experience this warmth after those long miserable days in that cell.

Those days. They often blended into each other, dark and dank as the cell itself. When he'd be taken to see his mother, light through the windows was painful as it pierced him. It was always too bright, the sun. Always too penetrating, like those rays sought him out to display all his wrongness - especially his shadows, a frenzied, wild and unchained beast before he learnt to control them. Terrible, dark magic not born of the Mother, his father constantly claimed.

And oh, how dark those shadows looked in the sunlight.

But then he'd be reunited with his mother, and her light was mellow. Soft like a caress, serene as sunset, always calming his hurricane of shadows. She bathed him in her light, let it wash over him with her smiles and kind words, ever flowing in their hours together.

He regretted most the little time he had with his mother growing up. Resented it, for it was neither of their faults. It was always too fast, that weekly hour, and when he was finally thrown in the Illyrian camps without a clue what his culture truly meant, it was eternities before he could see his mother again and bask in her soothing glow. Those times were long and cold, even with his found brothers by his side.

His mother's image faded into darkness as something soft touched his eye. 'Mother?' he rasped.

'No, it's Elain,' whispered Elain.

Elain? As he opened his eyes and blinked, his murky vision cleared and he found her staring down at him in her dim bathroom, brow creased. His shadows were everywhere but one of her hands held a fresh towel; the other hovered by his eye. He dispersed his shadows into clear air. What did she make of his address?

And was that salt he scented?

Cauldron, did he - did he cry?

'I asked you to lift your head but you'd fallen asleep,' Elain said. 'I didn't want to wake you, but we should dry your hair before you really go to sleep. Especially if you'll be going outside again. Although I would ask you to consider taking a guest room.' She frowned.

When had he fallen asleep? And how could it have been so sound a sleep that he didn't feel Elain finish? There must be magic in those fingertips of hers to relax him so deeply.

'Right,' he said, slowly sitting up. His neck was stiff and Elain reached behind to hold it as he pulled it forward. Water dripped down his temples, off his head, some drops pattering on the floor.

Elain patted his head with the towel, wiping his neck and forehead. She brushed wet strands away from his face, her focus so intent on his hair. He dropped his heavy head, and she gave the back a more thorough dry. A few minutes of ruffling his hair around, during which she pulled the towel from his neck, and she seemed satisfied. She raked her fingers through his hair, flattening the spiky mess he was sure sat atop his head, and a ripple of comfort descended through him. She discarded the towels on her bathtub.

As a thin breeze breathed over his wet head, he noticed the plants resting on small stools around the tub. How did he not see them earlier? Exhaustion, he supposed.

Blooms and vines overflowed their small pots, cascading down in bursts of bright colour. Three hanging baskets of what he smelled as rosemary lined the wall, wild green clusters of stems trailing over the edges and hiding the ivory stone behind. He wanted to touch all those soft petals and velveteen leaves, feel the depth of Elain's care through their touch.

He made to stand, but she held his shoulder. 'Wait,' she said. 'I want to clean your face, too.'

He'd forgotten about all the dirt she'd found there earlier.

She wet a cloth and knelt by his side, touching the cloth to his cheek, right above the gash that rogue Illyrian had opened earlier.

He winced, the skin tight where the mud had dried.

'Sorry,' she said softly, pausing.

With a smile, he gave her the same response she'd given him earlier: 'Don't be.'

Elain breathed a laugh and dipped her head. 'That cut does look very bad, though. I think I'll have to clean it with alcohol too.'

'Let's crack open that wine, then.'

She laughed again and blushed. 'Not tonight, Azriel.' And she patted his cheek again, rubbing off the dirt and blood.

The sound of his name on her tongue heated his blood. It wasn't that pleasant warmth as she'd washed his hair; no, this was something more charged. Something that settled his weariness into a quiet hum and left him a little more awake.

He drew in his shadows, sending them through his veins. The cool they delivered wasn't nearly enough to pacify his rising heartbeat. Not with Elain so close. If he moved forward just a few inches, there'd be no space left between them.

He didn't usually think of Elain like this. Think of the feel of her mouth on his.

He blamed the exhaustion, even as it hunkered down.

And - she was so lovely. And he was Azriel. He should be disgusted that he was here, letting her tend to him, making jokes with her, imagining them kissing. That was enough to tame his heart a while.

But Cauldron boil him. How would he sleep with his mind teeming with so much conflict. The dead girl and her family, his mother. Elain too now, whether he liked it or not. He'd hoped his physical fatigue would win over his crowded mind. That he'd get some proper rest and deal with all the rogue Illyrian troubles and whatever else later.

Apparently not this night.

As Elain stood and washed the cloth, he let out a deep breath through his nose, then shifted on the seat, hoping to put more space between them. Distance - even an inch - might be helpful.

Not that he'd make the first move.

He never did.

Elain knelt down again, wiping the cloth across his jawline, nose, cheek. He faced her to give her more access, but she kept her gaze intent everywhere except his eyes, as if cleaning his skin required her utmost focus.

Look at me, he almost said. With her so close to him, it was maddening not to share even an accidental glance.

She abruptly went to close the window, a heavier silence settling over the room, then moved to the cupboard by the door, pulling out a small bottle of alcohol. Her petite frame looked so delicate, yet a tautness relaxed from her body in the way her shoulders loosened. It was probably just her defence against the cold, though the temperature was nothing but mild to him.

She poured a few drops onto a clean cloth and took her place beside him. She cringed. 'This'll hurt.'

He smiled faintly. 'It's all right.' He doubted he'd even feel it.

She delicately touched the cloth to his cheekbone and he clenched his jaw, the alcohol harbouring more ire than he expected. Mother above, that was a deep cut.

Elain creased her brow and patted along the gash. 'Are you all right, Azriel?' Her voice was subdued.

The truth would be more painful to put out. 'I'm all right. Are you all right, Elain?'

'I'm fine.'

He doubted her just as she probably doubted him. The dark circles around her eyes were faint but still there. But theirs was a friendship of mutual respect and boundaries. If she didn't impose on his, he certainly wouldn't do so on hers.

But oh, how he wished she would feel comfortable enough to truly confide in him right now. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done so; he just needed to be patient. But he'd do anything to relieve the tension humming behind her eyes. From her manic visions, pain he knew lurked under her skin and in her mind, general exhaustion from keeping up appearances - he would swallow them all in his shadows and dispel them on the highest wind if it meant she would be all right.

They were silent as she finished up. When she washed the cloth, he turned in the seat and spoke. 'You can talk to me, Elain, whenever you need.'

She beamed at him and her eyes finally met his. 'I know.'

He stood, holding her gaze. Something was very off about that smile.

Her hands fiddled to turn off the tap, the cloth falling from limp fingers. Her body faced his, and her smile fell, brows rising slightly. She cleared her throat. 'We should go downstairs to the fireplace. It'll be warmer there.'

In an instant, they were wrapped in shadows, her wrist in his hand, and the great living room came into view. A thin sheet of moonlight through the windows was the only illumination. Just as their feet found the floor, Elain bent to put three logs into the fireplace, lighting them after a few tries. 'Those shadows are quite convenient at times, aren't they?' she said.

He huffed a laugh and rested a forearm against the mantelpiece, crossing a leg over the other. 'They can be.'

The blaze flared out and she stepped back, looking up at him through that shadowy amber glow. 'Just a few minutes now and we'll be warm.'

Her eyes didn't leave his. And how stunning they were, soft and subtle in the dim light. The brown looked richer among the warm tones of the fire, something like dark chocolate - or rosewood, perhaps, with a mahogany undertone.

'I think you'll need a bandage for that wound,' she said.

'I'll be fine without it.'

'It's quite deep.'

'Not a match for my Illyrian healing.' He smirked, trying to relieve whatever pressure thrummed in the air between them. He hadn't even noticed it come; one moment the air was clear, the next it was pulsing a steady beat. What the hell was this? Did she feel it too? He wished his shadows would just devour the tension, if only to reduce his own shame.

Her eyes flicked to his wings behind him, and they rustled, spreading a bit. He straightened. The heat in his blood turned to a simmer and he knew in his bones it had nothing to do with the fire. Why couldn't he control this? She met his eyes again.

He'd wanted to see her eyes on his, but now they were just too focused, and if she didn't stop looking at him like this, like she could see the blood beginning to bubble beneath his skin -

She cleared her throat and scanned his face, likely checking she hadn't missed anything. 'Oh,' she said, raising a finger to his temple.

Her touch on his skin sent his blood boiling. His heart was pounding a loud rhythm and because his mind was so muddled from the fight and the blood and his childhood somehow entering his conscience, and the lines between the past and the present were so blurred tonight, and this heat was just searing - he grasped Elain's wrist where it hovered by his face.

Her breath hitched, eyes snapping to his.

This was wrong, this was so utterly wrong, but he couldn't let go. What had he done?

She stared at him, through him. 'I can hear your heartbeat,' she choked out.

Through the crackling fire, she could hear him.

He was silent. His body tensed.

'And it's a beautiful sound.'

His pulse spiked like his heart sang out to her, called her name. Did she - could she - feel the same as he?

'You're beautiful, too,' he breathed.

The air was stifling. Cursed flames. Every thought in his head narrowed to the girl before him. Her eyes glistened.

He wasn't sure he was breathing.

Was she?

Her eyes swept his face. They stopped at his lips.

'Are you going to kiss me?' she whispered.

So focused on her plump, rosy lips, he almost didn't hear the hiss of a log as it tumbled further into the fire. His throat bobbed. Maybe - just maybe this could be okay. Maybe if she wanted it as much as he did, he could put aside his own self-loathing for a moment. Elain was different, an essence of light in and of herself. Her core radiated brilliance; it'd take more than just a few of his shadows to snuff out her glow.

And damn the consequences anyway. The Azriel of later would deal with them. If he didn't burn alive here first.

He swallowed. 'Only if you want me to.'

'Yes.'

His chest tightened at the resolve in her tone. Yearning and compunction warred within. He craved her touch, yet disgrace corded his heart. How could he even think this could be fine? She would be poisoned, made impure by his mouth.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said, 'and I want you to know I trust you, Azriel. You will do me no harm. You couldn't.'

She trusted him. He wasn't sure why, but she trusted him. What could he give in return? His scars? He lowered his gaze, her wrist still soft in his hand. He felt his arm move like a dead weight, but it was only the feel of her thumb on his brow, smoothing out the crease there, that mollified him, that unravelled and burned away that cord of disgrace. He released a long breath.

'I trust you, Azriel. So kiss me.'

And it was the clarity in her voice, the pure stability that had him leaning down - slowly, so slowly. Doubt flickered along his bones but he couldn't savour the anticipation enough. This moment would change their path for ever.

His heart thundered with every inch he yielded, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, fingers setting so perfectly over the delicate plane of her face. Her breath stilled when he was but a whisper from her mouth, and he paused.

Her floral scent fanned him, melding with the smokiness of the flames. Was that datura he smelled? Those exquisite flowers he loved so much, with their large petals curling off in tapered tips so like his own shadows. The first memory he had of them, that conversation where Elain had grabbed his wrist.

He was still holding hers now.

Her doe eyes were so steady on his. 'Kiss me,' she murmured.

He closed his eyes and removed the space between them.

So much for never making the first move.

___

So what's your fave ice cream flavour?

Feedback, constructive criticism welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17 @a-happybird @thewayshedreamed @sleeping-and-books @thefangirlofhp

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 8, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Search and creation. In a desperate bid to protect his identity, he convinces you you're not safe in the cities of Egypt, thus assuring you further that your place in life is far away from Egypt––where he was trying to keep you in the first place.

Notes: okay i try to stay as true as i can when it comes to the egyptian language and how hieroglyphs are pronounced but theres so little information on the indus valley. we still dont know how to decode their language but we know the closest language is a form of a modern indian dialect so thats what ive been using hope thats alright WC: 6k

+

Pounding like a hammer on his cranium brought him back to the land of the living in a dizzy, sickeningly fast whirl. He returned to his body and at once felt the aching of his joints, his throat bereft of water, and the headache reaching from his temple to the base of his spine.

As he blearily opened his eyes, the dryness of them making it rather hard, the pounding of warhammers on his ears continued in clearer and clearer beats. It was then, his hand already covering his eyes from the sun, that he recognized the inside of a bell swinging above him, the massive metal gong sending vibrations throughout his whole body.

"Oh dear Gods," he moaned, the awful sound thrumming everywhere he could feel.

Hazy memories of the night before returned slowly to him, injured only by the continued swaying of the bell above him. After finally filling your stomachs, you drowned yourselves in beer, going from storeroom to storeroom to take whatever they would be willing to give.

"Yogi?" He said in a rough voice.

You let out a long, low whine.

"No talking," you mumbled.

"Oh, you can't stand my talking but you're fine with the bell?"

"Aganu, I can not stand anything right now," you said in the most helpless, exasperated voice that Ahk couldn't help but laugh, even with his head hanging off the edge of the belltower.

His laugh faded away the longer blood was allowed to rush to his head, till he had enough of the pressure and turned onto his stomach. In the very least the bell was not rocking as much as it previously was, swaying instead of swinging back and forth. Below, however, the people had gathered at the foot of white limestone steps that gleamed in the morning sun, their eyes directed to a speaker standing upon those stairs.

Ahkmen squinted, attempting to make out the person's identity.

"-and the decree of the Pharaoh is thusly," they said, their voice faded from the height Ahk sat at.

The moment the words were spoken, Ahk's eyes bulged, his expression dropping from casual humor to dead horror.

"My soldiers have seen my son leave me," they said as they read from the papyrus in their hands.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, but he relaxed when he saw you, if only for a moment before he was once more petrified by the fear of you discovering him.

"He has gone towards the mouth of Hapi. See my son––the Prince Ahkmen––is not with you. See my son, if he is with you, to me."

"Ahkmen?" You said with a small frown. "Who is Ahkmen?"

"Just some stuck-up Prince," Ahk said quickly.

"Ah, so like you," you said, grinning as you nudged him with your elbow.

"That is... so rude," he said as he only half paid attention, his eyes focused on the crowd below. In a straight voice he continued his teasing with, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to abandon you now."

"You will not make that, you are too full of old beer. You need my potion," you said.

"Maybe so," he grumbled, all too aware of his headache. He looked down, attempting to gauge the tower for an escape. "How.. the hell did we get up here? We must be fifty spans in the air."

"Have you rope?"

"No, I –"

You raise your hand, revealing the rope in it.

"It is on the side, where you forgot it," you chuckled, handing him the long rope. He glared playfully as he took it.

The descent down the perfectly polished walls was, needless to say, interesting, and made less difficult by the removal of your sandals. Ahkmen went first, followed by you, and he immediately took off the moment you landed on the ground. He looked over his shoulder as he turned the corner, spotting one last flash of the scribe calling the name of the missing Prince.

Murmurs of conversations that surrounded him spoke of the same thing––a lost prince, oh how strange!––behind the veils of widows and children who heard the words of the Pharaoh. The ache in his neck worsened as he turned rapidly back and forth, constantly scanning his environment for any surprised faces. Your own, shorter legs barely kept up with his pace, sometimes barely landing back on the ground before you were pulled continuously by Ahk's grasp on your hand.

The edge of the city must've been 5 iteru away––longer than either of them could run in their state. Realizing this, Ahkmen pulled off into alleyways as he had the day before, and hid within the tall, vacant walls.

He panted heavily as the two of you slowed, skidding on the sandy ground before you both fell down in exhaustion. Your chest heaved like his, eyes concentrated on a purely blue sky, as his remained centered on the single exit from the dead end; the only direction you could be approached from.

"Who do we run from?" You finally asked, irritation lacing the knot in your brow.

"Soldiers," he answered instinctively. You had a fear of them––it might subdue your curiosity. "And the town officials. We're a little young to be on our own and I don't want them to falsely accuse us of anything, or put us in any situation where we have to talk to them."

"Uh..." you scanned his composure thoroughly, "okay. I see your fear, but we must think, not run."

"You're right," he said, just barely rising to his feet enough to stumble over to you, kneeling at your side. "You're right. We need to get out of here, but not like this."

"I have one – one potion, of all my potions, in my bag," you said as you looked around, trying to find the packs you'd entered the city with. "The one for the, the – the getting drunk sick, thing in the morning."

"Hangover," he said.

"Etuvaka. Where is my bag?"

"Your what––oh, shit," he went quiet with his last words, grimacing as the blistered memories of last night returned to him in one-scene flashes.

"What?" You whipped round to look at him, a dead panic in your eyes. When he didn't answer, you scooted closer and cried, "what??!"

"We found a loose brick in the street," he said, closing his eyes and leaning back with deep regret in the breath he drew, "and to hide our stuff while we went drinking... we put our bags underneath it."

"Oh shit."

"Verily," he breathed out with a nod.

Several minutes of astonished silence passed before he croaked out, "I had most of our wares in there."

"And my potions," you said, similarly collapsed as he was. "Do you know any else?"

"No, I'm surprised I can remember that we hid our bags at all," he said, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"And my cat!" You cried.

"Your cat came with us?"

"Yes!! All from Memphis!"

"No, I mean, she came into the city? When did she leave? Or do you even remember?" He said, assaulting you with an onslaught of questions.

"Young, by the wall for the city," you said in almost a whine, leaning against the alley wall.

"Maybe she can help us," Ahk suggested, shifting to sit up straighter with the idea in his head.

"She can not speak Egyptian, dumb head!" You scolded.

"But she doesn't have any eyes," Ahk said, and you opened your mouth to explain that isn't exactly pertinent when he continued with, "so her nose might be much stronger. I hear that when you lose one of your senses, the others grow stronger."

You seemed, at best, dubious of his claims, but spoke after a moment of contemplative silence.

"Okay. But we must to find her, then the bags," you said slowly.

"Absolutely, of course," he said with a nod. "Does she answer to her name?"

You looked to him with a flat expression.

"Does any cat?" You asked.

"Fair point."

"We must have a - a.. a pot, and I will make her food. I need.. fish," you began to count the ingredients on your fingers, "fish head, oil, skin of the goose, and milk."

"That sounds disgusting," Ahk admitted honestly.

"It is. And it is good we will not eaten it."

The most difficult part of your plan ended up being the very first step––finding a place in which to mix all these horrid smelling ingredients. Neither of you owned anything in the city, and staying out of the public eye led Ahk to sacrifice several different ideas, landing you with a final resort.

It was already midday by the time you stood outside one of the city's temple's baking kitchens, the heat of the sun blocked by tarps of orange and yellow swinging from rooftop to rooftop. Already the scent of searing meat and baking pastries filled the air, wandering through little chains of markets all throughout the city, and leading you to one of the biggest kitchens you'd seen. They would not remark upon the absence of one pot, would they?

"There's a way in, back there," Ahk whispered to you, the both of you peering over empty crates. "It's just a tent so we can flip it and get inside."

"And who will we get?"

"Whichever one is closest, I presume," he said, offering no more advice before he ducked out of the hiding spot, heading discreetly across the street.

You followed in a stumble, taken surprise by his sudden movements. When you caught up with him, you knelt to hide behind the same abandoned cart, once more checking the positions of cooks and cleaners occupying the bakery. Most people were sitting at the side of a tall fountain, enjoying the midday break for food.

He left, this time signalling for you to follow him. Without pause you did, crouching down to sneak beneath the tent flaps and into the kitchen, where you were faced with a cauldron half your height. Before either of you could exchange words, you were both grasping the handles, hauling it off the small fire and out towards the space behind the tent. Another makeshift alleyway.

"Do we have to heat it?" Ahk asked, peering into the heavy bowl.

"No, it is not a good for the nose. Borrow the fish, in there." You pointed to the tent. "I will get milk."

The wretched scent stewing below you bathed your face in its' fumes, but remained nothing more than a hint of your actions to anyone further from the pot. Ahkmen had been holding his nose manually the entire time, his voice nasally, which didn't help when you laughed and drew in breaths that tasted of fish milk.

"We're going to have to pour this in the street, aren't we," Ahk said, one hand pinching his nose and the other on his hip.

"Yes, and we can not... soldiers, can not see us," you said, glancing between him and the pot.

"Right. Drop and dip."

"... okay."

Oil was eventually hard enough to find that you forwent the ingredient, leaving you with milk, goose skin, and fish head mixed up till it all softened. The look of it alone made Ahk queasy, and if he ever attempted to breathe too deeply, he lurched with sickness, clutching his stomach. You just laughed.

"Not good, is it?" You said with a toothy grin.

"How many times have you made this shit?" He asked, his face pale as he leaned against the nearest solid wall.

"I make it... not much, and it is smaller many times, so... I am.. dear God, this smells," you grumbled.

"Just get this over with."

The two of you lugged the heavy cauldron out of the alley, shuffling past the temple to dump the product of your work. Your head pounded as you strained, dry and hungry, till you managed to toss the pot out into the crowded streets.

The reaction was instant. Questions and groans rippled through the people who split as the white mixture flooded down the road. More shouts and exclamations followed when the scent truly set in, wafting from the milk already baking in the hot sun. Ahk turned to you to find you laughing, stumbling back as you hid your grinning mouth.

"What's so funny?" He asked, but he was already chuckling with you.

"You rich people," you said as you pointed to a couple fleeing hand in hand, their silken white robes lined with rotten milk. "It is funny to see you run, and scream."

"Alright, you've gotten your kicks. Where's your cat?"

"Quiet. She comes soon."

From the many different streets coalescing into the center outside the temple, cats came, some hairless like yours and others furry and large. They gathered at the spill, sniffing curiously at the strange mixture before ultimately licking away at it.

"You know, I didn't actually expect them to like it," Ahk said above you, both of you peering out from behind the kitchen tent.

"You do not trust me?"

"It's not that," he said with a frown that disappeared at your chuckling. "I just.. it's astounding anything can stand that close to it."

"We did."

"Shut up, Yogi."

It took a little while, but by the time soldiers discovered the debacle, you and Ahk were chasing Sephys down another, smaller street. Her missing eyes were of no consequence as she darted between boxes and legs, jumping over a small mouse who cowered near the wall. Ahkmen's heart was already racing from the proximity to royal guards, doubled by his chasing feet, following after you following a blind cat.

Sephys' luck ended as she ran into a man's legs, bonking her head and fluttering back with an unsteady tail. You knelt, swooping her up to coo and pet her head, cradling her like a baby in your arms.

"Uh, sorry," Ahk apologized quickly to the man Sephys had run into. He glared but said nothing, continuing to lug crates of vegetables out of a nearby doorway.

Ahkmen jogged back over to you, looking over your shoulder at the cat.

"Do you think she'll be able to find it?" He asked.

"What?" You looked up at him, flinching away when you found how close he was to you.

"Our bags."

"Oh! Yes, yes. Sephys," you held her at eye level, her gangly limbs stuck straight down, "we must to find my potions. My bag."

She looked blankly to the side of your face. Her nose twitched.

"Good," you said before dropping her.

She trotted off with hunched shoulders, her thin body jumbling her steps. You ran after her, motioning Ahk along when he didn't immediately follow you. He sighed but obeyed, winding back through the streets to the spill, where Ahk attempted his best at hiding his face as he ran by. Fortunately you were only there for a split second before you running off down another street, following the light-footed Sephys.

When she stopped, she pawed at the ground, sniffing the dust that had blown over. You slowed to a halt, kneeling down beside her.

"Atu inke irukirata, Sephys?" You asked as you caught your breath.

"Did we find it?"

"I think, yes," you said, gently pushing Sephys aside and digging your short nails into the loose brick of the street. Ahk knelt at your side and aided you in moving the rock.

Soon, the brick was raised enough for you to pull it out the rest of the way, revealing a pocket within the earth containing leather and fabrics reminiscent of both yours and Ahk's packs. Both of you exclaimed, looking to one another with big grins that devolved into laughter.

"We did it!" He said, pulling the bags out of the tiny hole. He handed you yours.

"We are smart, we know," you said with a sly wink, tapping your temple. "And cat knows."

"Right," he chuckled as he moved to his feet. "Shall we?"

"What we?"

"Uh... never-mind. We should go soon. The guards are nearby."

"I know."

Sephys was the first to jump into the stranded boat, followed by you and then your collective bags. Ahkmen stayed on solid ground to push the canoe back into the water, jumping in as it floated away, and grabbing the oar to resume your travels.

Without the canals of streets that trapped sunlight in alleys and beneath tarps, the cool wind could distract you from the burning sun. Your fingertips returned to grace the water in shallow strokes, breathing slower, and basking in the stillness that could not exist within cities. While you relaxed in the boat's bottom, Ahk remained on his feet and rowed you onwards.

"We have bread, magic, and good friends," you said, a long sigh leaving you as your head tilted back. "We are cakes."

"We're what?"

"You know. He is the... the head, of Egypt," you said.

"Ohh, you mean Kings."

"Etuvaka." Your head fell back down onto the floor of the canoe.

You set off in the afternoon, leaving you little time to travel before the nighttime would set you away. Much deserved sleep was collapsed into, your blankets splayed across the nearest flat, dry surface. The boat was just barely pulled onto the shore, but the thought never crossed his mind as his eyes fluttered open to see you facing him. Already you were dozing, anywhere from a second to a minute from deep sleep.

"Yogasundari?" He asked softly.

"Mm," you breathed out.

"I don't think we should stop at any more Egyptian cities," he said, his voice cracking.

You shifted slowly to your side before you spoke, just barely opening your eyes.

"Why?"

"It was a close call with those soldiers," he said, scanning you for any hint of emotion beyond tired. "I don't want to lose you so soon."

"We have made okay with more.. scary people, and.. more danger. Soldiers are little to me," you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as you finished.

No, you're little to soldiers, he thought, but said nothing, and relaxed back into the blankets.

"I hope you're right," he said.

Breakfast consisted of bread and what little you could find along this stretch of the Nile. Ahk managed to spear a fish with a sharp stick, but neither of you could manage to eat much after yesterday's snafu. The fish ended up being eaten mostly by Sephys, who purred happily at your discomfort, playing with the bones of her prey. You and Ahk watched in mild disdain.

By midday you were back to burning in the sun, lamenting the lack of shade present in the middle of a kilometer wide river. Despite your discomfort, you continued to wear your longer robes, insisting they helped in keeping the sun off. Ahkmen took a different approach and removed most of his clothes, to your humored surprise.

"Any time you can take off it, you do," you said, laughing as you threw your head back behind loose shoulders. "Bad little boy."

He had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling––well, that or laughing. He couldn't quite tell what was bubbling in his stomach but it seared your name onto his heart. You could make him curl up and die in a single sentence, something Ahk was used to being, not receiving.

The signs of civilization appeared much earlier than they had when arriving in Heliopolis, beginning with trading and passenger ships passing the two of you by. Ahk always looked away. His uneven breathing gave way to anticipation, waiting for the appearance of the city, where his attention would constantly be heightened to perceive every person around him.

It was a cold return to royalty––the state of constant awareness, keeping your posture straight, your gaze steely, your brow firm but not stern. After days spent with you, it was already an alien stature to his body.

He squinted through the bright sun to the distant walls, remarking upon little else besides the pure white of the stone. Tanis was an unremarkable place known only for being a city at the mouth of the Nile river. That made it a trading port, but few people actually lived in Tanis, and much of the population was made up of travellers and traders who never stayed more than a week, or three months at most.

"There it is," he said, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun's glare.

"The next city?" You asked as you moved to your feet.

Wind pushed you about as you moved, nearly rocking you over on the gentle boat. Ahkmen was forced to grasp the oar with both hands, steering you through the choppy, foaming waves.

"Tanis," he said. Technically a safer city to be than Heliopolis, but still ruled prominently by the generals of Egypt. "It's a, um.. a military town. Lots of soldiers and such."

He bit his tongue as though it served as a punishment for his little lies. It was for your benefit, right?

"Oh," you said, drawing your knees to your chest. "Are they mad to me?"

"Not... particularly," he said, hesitating after noting your shrunken posture. "Foreigners aren't treated too badly here, since there's a lot of merchants. It's just... you were taken by the Pharaoh's men. What if they're looking for you? I mean, I don't know that they are, but I'm just worried. Do you understand that?"

"You are so scared of me being hurt –"

"For the night," he interrupted you. "Stay outside the city for tonight. Tomorrow we'll need to get camels... start off into the east. You can come then."

You frowned but curled back into yourself.

"Okay," you said.

Early evening settled itself in the skies around you when you reached the city, stopping off on the opposite side of the shore to ensure your 'safety'. Ahkmen's muscles strained, already aching from the multiple efforts to pull the canoe safely onto shore. This time he only pulled it halfway up, leaving it to help you set up a tent for the evening, hidden in a grove of date trees and vines.

"I won't be gone for long. I promise. I'll bring back some actually good food, um... beer, of course," you grinned at that, and he couldn't stop his own smile, "maybe a tarp."

"A tarp?"

"For shade, when we stop for breaks. I think it'll be good if we're going to be travelling by land, we'll be wanting to stop quite often, I think."

"Okay," you said with a nod. "I will see to find maybe things for my potions."

"Perfect. Do you have a sword? Or, a dagger?"

"Yes," you chuckled.

"Alright. I'll see you soon."

Time passed achingly slow without Ahk, sharing the company of no one but your cat. That had been your life for a time, but things were different now, and you had gotten accustomed to his company.

Sephys followed you as you roamed about the trees and bushes, looking for any plant of specific necessity. The ingredients of your potions ranged anywhere from common fruit to materials so rare many didn't believe in their existence.

What Ahk had yet to find out were the uses of your potions––not so much practical as they were fantastical. The hangover cure was the most useful, but given the right ingredients and the right amount of time, you could also fashion mixtures that allowed you to hear the Gods' and Goddesses' words, or to see the stars and know your direction even in daylight. Considering the sun was still a thing, the latter wasn't one you made often.

Flowers played an integral part in a few of your brews, though the role was usually outshone by other, more exotic ingredients. Roses could be used to enhance your lusting potion, as well as the Commander spell and the To Shadows mix. Blue lotus lillies that grew within the Nile had a magic all their own.

You settled down on the riverbank, pausing in a space between overgrown bushes that led straight to the shore. Mud and sand crawled up from the softly rippling waves, carrying rocks and tiny fish that Sephys batted at, blindly attempting to use her dull claws.

"Stop that," you said, hitting her gently on the head after she splashed you.

Lily pads, their roots and stems towering off the river's floor, slowed the already feeble current passing by your side of the shore. There were few flowers among them, and the moss that surrounded them were a more vibrant green than the pads, but you still traced your fingers over the tops as though you would walk across them. Someday, perhaps; out of all the incredulous things you had encountered in your time, giant lily pads didn't seemed quite a normal thing in comparison.

Reaching for one of the purple flowers, you began to pull, attempting to uproot the vine that grounded it. In the end you twisted the stem till it thinned and broke, allowing you to free the lotus. You spun it round on your fingers, entranced in the symmetry of the petals, till you tucked it aside and reached for another flower.

Altogether you spotted four blue lotus flowers, each boasting vibrant purple and pollen as yellow as the sun. The true properties of the blue lotus were subject to your active imagination, as they appeared to boost one's connection to the divine, as well as intensifying both romantic and lust-filled thoughts that hid in the corners of the drinker's mind. Commonly it was brewed into tea used for Egyptian ceremonies––you made syrup out of it, or boiled it into potions that altogether cancelled out the sugarpea-like taste of blue lotus.

You decided to leave two of the flowers as they were, and left with two of your own. Sephys followed you as you stood from the shore, returning inland into the groves of trees, to where Ahk had originally left you and your bags. There you knelt in the dirt again, setting one flower aside and crushing up the other with a mortar and pestle. Occasionally you dripped a few strands of honey from your glass bottle into the mixture, allowing the petals and the pollen to mix easier, into yellow-ish paste that would last as long as you boiled it and kept it bottled up. With that, you set up the fire, allowing it to bubble before you slowly poured the mixture into an empty bottle, and corking it up once you were satisfied.

"Wonderful. Now I'll never use it," you said to yourself, cheerfully, and in your own native language.

Sephys sniffed the mortar in which you had ground up the flower, licking when she realized there were traces of honey inside. You didn't bother to stop her––if she wanted to get sick, she could, and if she wanted to get high, she could do that as well.

The other flower you set out to dry in the spotted sun shining through palm leaves, and left it alone to return to the river. It was there you remained until evening, watching ships stop and leave on the opposite shore, stopping by the city Ahk found himself lost in. Worry did occur to you, though you had little time to dwell on it before a small canoe was making its' way back across the river.

By then the sun had lowered to a point in the crystal-clear sky that rays of gold and red reflected off the water's surface, bouncing back in shimmering waves. The rowing of an oar within water marked Ahk's return, and you waited patiently at the edge of the river, watching as he made his way back with a grin that lit up the moment he saw you.

He splashed as he jumped out of the boat, hauling it onto shore before wrapping you up in a tight––and very wet––hug.

"Look at you!" He said as he pulled away, his hands on your shoulders and his eyes on yours. "You're still alive!"

"You are mean, Aganu," you said, grinning as you stared up at him with that same starstruck look.

"You're right up there with my mother on that belief. I've gotten what we need, but I also brought something for you," he said, motioning you over to the beached canoe.

You followed him, looking over his shoulder as he rifled through the bags and protective fabrics tossed into the raft's bottom. First he pulled out a clay jug, which he set down gently beside him, before returning to pull out a large, orange tarp.

"Garish, but... only color they had," he said, handing it to you. You took it with mild confusion.

After several cases of food, he drew a lute, handing it to you with great care to notice your reaction. Your mouth fell open part way, eyes widening as you twirled it around in your hands.

"This is... money," you said slowly, your brow furrowing as you traced the thin strings.

"It did cost a little, but I'm sure we'll get plenty of use out of it," he assured you.

"You can.." you motioned strumming it, but were reluctant to touch the strings, "do the, uh... music?"

"No," he said, his face falling into a slight grimace. "No, not really. I mean, I can make it make sound, but whether or not those sounds are good are, well, um.. up to the listener. I was thinking you could play it. It seems like something..." he sucked in a breath, "... you'd like."

"You will do the words," you said, suddenly energized as you took his hand, dragging you over to the little fire you'd made hours ago. "I do the music."

"You want me to sing?" He asked with a soft chuckle.

"Yes!" You nodded ardently.

You pulled him with you as you sat down, your legs stretched out across the blanket you'd set out earlier. He followed, crossing his own legs as he watched you fiddle with the position of the instrument, accustoming your arms to the feel of its' weight.

When you at last plucked a string, a single, high note hummed throughout the grove of trees, silencing the bugs and birds that inhabited the riverside. You looked up, glancing around at the sudden quiet. Your eyes fell to Ahk, who nodded with a smile, gently encouraging you.

A finger on the fret board and the tone changed, growing higher in a pentatonic that appeared to clash without the other notes making up the hymnal. So you slid up further, creating a minor tune that still thrummed in the lute's echo chamber. You breathed in shakily, hoping to calm yourself before you continued.

Ahkmen, sensing your nervousness, decided to stand and gather fallen twigs and branches for the fire to lessen the stress of an audience. His absence allowed your shoulders to release from their tightened state. With that, you stroked all three strings in a swoop of your thumb, discordant but not unpleasant in its' reverb. Different positions on the wooden board brought about different notes, sliding up and down in crescendos that sounded not unlike the instruments of elders played by the side of the road. A single string worked better for you--at least for now--than attempting to use all three, especially at the same time.

A string twanged when you accidentally pulled the string to the side, and you flinched, looking up to Ahk with a worried look. He didn't seem to mind, so you continued.

He began to hum as he returned to your side, tossing in the smaller twigs to restart the embers of the fire. You tried to ignore him until you realized he was singing in harmony, no words in the tune, but twisting around your lute like vines overgrown with roses.

A burst of fire sprouted from the stone circle, reaching up higher than you stood on your feet. Ahkmen jumped back with a yelp, covering his face automatically with his hands, though he landed back with no more injury than a bruise on his bottom. Your mouth fell open and you dropped the lute, rushing over to his side.

"You are good?" You asked in a frantic voice, your shaking hands hovering above him.

He clasped his head, groaning as he sat up.

"I'm alright," he assured you, patting your knelt thigh. He started to chuckle, "I'm just sort of stupid."

"No, no," you said, but could offer little comfort besides that.

That alone made him snort, his head falling back down to the ground as he laughed. You giggled with him, your shoulders shaking as you covered your mouth, hiding your smile from view.

As you both calmed, he asked something that had been on his mind for a good while.

"Why do you cover your smile whenever you laugh?" He asked in a soft voice, one that demanded no answer.

You paused, your lips parting as your posture straightened.

"I... I do not know," you said, looking away. "It is.. something to... I do not want soldiers to see me smile. They think I am.. 'up to something'."

"Why would they think that?" He asked with a frown.

"I think it is my home, my clothes," you said.

"Where you're from," he mumbled, sighing as he shut his eyes. "I've never liked those damn soldiers. The only people who want to be my father's soldiers are the ones who will abuse the power, and those who abuse power are not good people."

"What do you say?" You asked, furrowing your brow.

"You've probably already realized this, but there's quite a lot of nationalism in Egypt. A lot of my people don't like foreigners," he explained. "It's a crude and primitive frame of thought. I'm sorry."

"It is not for you, to say sorry for," you said, meeting his eye as he turned to you, still lying flat on his back.

"I know," he grunted as he sat up. 

But I am the Prince. Can I claim that? 

"Here, though, there is nothing but us," he said.

He scooted closer to you, resting his palms on your knees.

"You don't need to do that anymore," he said. "I want to see you smile."

"I do not -"

His fingers crawled like spiders up your shirt, teasing your sensitive stomach with light brushes that brought you far too easily into cackling. You fell back, your hands subconsciously coming up to cover your mouth, much to his disappointment and amusement. He reached up, pinning your hands above you with one arm while the other continued to tickle up from your waist and onto your chest as you laughed helplessly.

You continued to writhe in his grasp, your smile wide and blushing as he sat on your hips, pinning you further to the ground. Your legs kicked against the floor, sometimes budging against Ahk's back. Ahk continued to grin at your laughing stupor.

"Stop! Stop!" You cried through the laughter, attempting to wriggle out of the hands pinning you down.

Tears blurred into the edges of your eyes and he finally ceased, leaning back with cheeks aching from his smile.

"And I'll do it again if you don't stop covering yourself up like that," he said, ever so slightly leaning in closer, till he hung over you like the sky.

Nothing but silence from you––the words couldn't form in your head or on your tongue, so you simply nodded, eyes flickering across his features. He fell into a similar silence, scanning your near vacant expression. Close enough to feel your breath.

Your gaze drifted upwards. A halo of stars glowing around him. Above you, pinning you down, as he had weeks or months ago––sneaking you across a river turned into sneaking you down a river, painted stars became the heavens, speaking of your laughter rather than the Gods and their stories. But your eyes remained the same, staring into one another, puzzled by your hesitance to part.

"We must sleep," you said softly, making no move to get up.

"Yeah," he said, and he appeared to be just as reluctant to move.

The fire crackled beside you, now burning through larger branches and leaves that emitted smoke high into the starlit sky. Dancing flames illuminated the dips and rises of his face, the long eyelashes surrounding cold, grey irises, and the curls of his growing hair nearly overtaking his eyes.

You dared not breathe.

[su-whisterfield]

Reposting my design for Kurt for the Hellfire Gala.

They all, Jean thinks, look fantastic. She sips her champagne. The crackle of Ororo’s thunderstorm cloak raises the ozone level and there’s the snap of static in the air. Scott looks gorgeous, she really approves of his outfit, particularly the cut of the trousers, he looks so handsome.

Even Logan scrubs up well. He’s wearing a tux, neat, classy, very dark blue. It has a tie and cummerbund in a shiny blue fabric but it’s much more restrained than what most people are (or are not, in Bobby’s case) wearing.

Then there’s a rustle and a murmur through the crowd, she glances over at the new arrival causing the stir.

“Wow. That’s quite something.” Scott says quietly.

Kurt stands on the top of the steps, paused, caught framed in the doorway.

He’s wearing, well, she’s not quite sure what he’s wearing, except that it’s blue, and tight and sparkles like the night sky. It’s sort of a body suit? But there’s cut out sections, she’s not sure how it’s staying in place. It shows off his broad shoulders and slim hips. And then there’s the skirt... masses and masses of dark fabric, whisper thin but also stiff, floating behind him like a nebula of stars.

He looks... astonishing, stunning, fey, flamboyant, unique.

He’s still stood there and she catches the flash of uncertainty; Kurt is always so sure of himself, so centred and confident. Every eye is on him, and, ever the showman, he gathers up the skirt and gracefully starts down the steps.

He only gets a couple of feet and his right ankle wobbles slightly, he’s not used to heels, she thinks,

But a hand reaches out to steady him, and he takes it with his gloved one. Logan. They descend the rest of the steps together. The shiny blue of Logan’s cummerbund is the same fabric, she suddenly realises, the dark blue suit, the same shade as Kurt’s fur. Oh. Oh, my. She releases her breath with a sigh. Ororo, at her elbow leans in and murmurs. “Breathtaking, aren’t they?”

“Stunning.” She glances across. “You knew?”

Ororo smiles into her champagne, her eyes on the odd but striking couple making their way across the floor towards them. “I’ve always known. Now everyone else does too.”

[hualianff]

Birthday Boy HC

Modern AU with police chief HC who is very dedicated to his job, especially because he grew up in a “bad” area and has first-hand experience from inadequate police service in poor neighborhoods. His co-workers and friends never see him go on second dates or have one-night stands. When HC’s birthday comes up, he insists he doesn’t want a grand occasion.

However, a simple party, he will permit.

Leave it to HX’s partner, SQX, to invite all of HC’s friends and acquaintances to HC’s own penthouse for a surprise birthday party, scheduled for the evening since HC typically works very late. When the police chief arrives home, still in his black uniform pants and red dress-shirt that goes under his suit jacket, the party is on the precipice of a full swing celebration.

HC is a bit put off by how loud and crowded his home is but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Things are lonely, he will admit. And if this is a once-in-a-blue-moon thing, then HC won’t stop others from enjoying themselves and frankly, spoiling him.

At the height of the party, right when YY is about to present the birthday cake, SQX whistles for everyone’s attention.

“All right, Hua Cheng, time to sit on that chair over there,” SQX says while steering HC from behind, pushing on his shoulder. The chair is placed in the middle of the living room, in the perfect spot to watch the front door open.

The lights are gradually dimmed.

HC is too confused to protest. He cautiously sits down.

The front door pivots open. The person who walks through the door makes HC’s eye widen in surprise. They are dressed in all black: jean-booty shorts, stilettos, and a tight-fitting crop top. A sheer veil is also draped over their shoulders, falling gracefully behind them as they enter the room. They wear a headband with pointy horns and dark, red lipstick.

As the person gets closer, HC’s breath picks up.

“You didn’t-“ he whispers mindlessly, directed at SQX. His best friend’s partner merely holds their hands up in surrender, as if saying they did nothing wrong.

The scarcely-dressed person looks around demurely, aware everyone’s eyes are on them, ogling at their outfit that exposes lots of skin.

And then they set their gaze on HC, who sits frozen in the chair, hands gripping his thighs.

“Are you the birthday boy?” The stranger asks, smirking slightly. HC audibly gulps, not quite believing the sight of his childhood neighbor standing right in front of him, dressed like a demon summoned for punishment for his sins.

(It takes .05 seconds for HC to tent up in his pants.)

HC can’t bring himself to speak without stuttering like a fool. It’s clear that he’s the birthday boy—he’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, goddamn it. But for whatever reason, HC feels like he needs to respond to every one of this man’s signals.

So he stiffly nods, managing to maintain eye contact.

XL’s smirk widens mischievously, holding a secret promise behind those glistening lips. He prowls forward slowly, the click of his stiletto heels echoing across the marble floor.

“It looks like I’ve gotten myself into a little trouble,” he says with faux-innocence, slipping the veil off his shoulders. Instead of coming onto HC, XL slinks around him, letting the veil skim across HC’s lap, up to his chest, and over his face.

It faintly smells of peach.

“All right, Mr. Policeman,” XL addresses, pausing to stand behind HC. “What should I call you?”

HC breathes out harshly through his nose, desperately wanting to tilt his head back in order to get another glimpse at the angel- no, minx who has evoked the intensity of desire and lust long-buried under HC’s skin. It steadily rises to the surface, heating HC’s skin, making him feel too hot in a room where too many people remain to watch the show.

“Hmm, will ‘chief’ do? Or perhaps...sir?”

“Hua Cheng is just fine,” HC grits out. He gives in to looking behind his shoulder with curious eyes. XL’s face is startlingly close, amber eyes holding a sultry look that sends pleasure down HC’s spine.

Then, those eyes fixate on him, getting a really good look for the first time. Familiarity flashes across XL’s expression but he quickly wipes it away in favor of connecting their foreheads.

“Hua Cheng it is.”

The click of handcuffs binding HC’s wrists behind the back of the chair makes his heart drop to his stomach. He whips his head around to SQX and HX who stand off to the side. HX raises an amused eyebrow.

Somehow, SQX convinced HX to steal a pair from the office.

These are his own cuffs.

“Is this okay, Hua Cheng?” XL whispers genuinely in HC’s. When HC audibly hitches, he giggles.

“Yes.”

XL unties HC’s low ponytail to card his fingers through the police chief’s hair.

“Does it feel good?”

Fuck, XL is barely touching him, but the light brush of his fingers ignites a flame in HC’s heart, making him feel alive.

XL unbuttons the top three buttons of HC’s shirt.

“There. All ripe for the taking,” XL purrs. He drags the veil up and over HC’s face as he walks away. A strong bass pounds from HC’s built-in speaker SQX has managed to operate.

XL begins dancing for HC, swiveling his hips and rotating in time with the music. HC’s breath quickens up, his police attire also feeling unbearably hot. XL ditches the veil, and then he’s walking to HC, long legs crossing with every step.

HC is certain he won’t survive this.

***

It turns out to be nothing more than a sensual lap dance. There was no kissing on the lips, no groping on HC’s part, and no intimate touches because XL isn’t that kind of dancer. SQX knew this. He also knew HC wouldn’t want anything more than a bit of teasing anyways.

Luckily, SQX contacting a fellow friend who he’d modeled with once has allowed HC to see XL again. When he’s released from the cuffs, HC stands up and approaches where XL picks up his veil from the ground.

“Gege?” HC questions quietly. XL turns to look at him, a pink blush dusted on his cheeks.

“Oh, hello again, San Lang,” the other man greets, nearly the same height as HC with the stilettos on. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Hmm.”

It hadn’t been either of their faults. Or maybe it was both. HC traveled to another part of the country to be enrolled in the most prestigious academy in the nation. XL moved to a different big city to pursue a degree in economics. Years of separation caused them to drift apart from best friends in high school to strangers living very different lives.

“Well, it’s really nice to see you again. The circumstances are a bit... unconventional, but I’m glad it was you,” XL laughs lightly, readjusting his headband with pointy horns. HC tries not to stare at how well they suit the other man.

XL shifts a bit uncomfortably, hugging the sheer veil tighter around his body. HC feels a natural smile curl upon his lips in hopes it soothes XL’s qualms about his state of dress.

“I’m glad it was you too, gege,” HC says honestly. XL’s face lights up like the golden fairy lights he had pinned on his childhood room walls. “If it’s not too much trouble, I ask if gege can stay?”

“Oh.”

“At least for cake-” HC rushes out, praying to whatever bastard up there that XL will say yes. “It’s strawberry,” he adds, softer. XL tilts his head in astonishment.

“I thought your favorite flavor was coconut?” XL asks in surprise.

“It is. But...I asked for strawberry this year,” HC finishes lamely.

Was he being too obvious? Would XL figure him out and be repelled? Sure, it was only a cake flavor, but what are the chances XL’s favorite is still strawberry?

XL takes his phone out of the canvas bag SQX brought to him after the dance. He scrolls for a few seconds, then quickly types something out. Turning the device back in its place, XL meets HC’s gaze with a cheerful smile.

He closes all the distance between them, a certain bounce in his step.

“I believe,” XL starts. “I can keep the birthday boy company for a little while longer.”

HC smiles widely, flashing his front row of teeth–his right canine pointier than the rest.

“Brilliant.”

***

Turns out, “a little while longer” meant talking until every last person called it a night and headed out. They catch up on all the years they missed out on each others’ lives.

Four years ago, XL adopted a daughter, Ban Yue. Ban Yue was a split-second decision when XL was a year out of university, unsure of what direction his life was heading. He says it’s the best decision he’s ever made.

“She brings me so much happiness. It was like I had a Ban Yue-shaped hole and she was the missing puzzle piece,” XL says enthusiastically. He pauses to take one more sip of his baijiu. “Does that even make sense? Hahaha….”

“It does,” HC reassures from beside him. They sit on his plush, velvet couch, holding their respective drinks with practiced form. XL leans back against the cushions, sighing in relief.

“San Lang, I knew you would understand,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t elaborate.

He doesn’t need to. It’s no secret XL’s parents would’ve disapproved of him for single-parenting a random orphan with no known heritage or background. But they were already out of the picture, disowning XL right after high school graduation when he was outed by a family friend whose advances XL rejected.

“Perhaps you can meet her one day,” XL adds as an afterthought. HC matches XL’s position, reclining against the cushions, keeping his body turned towards XL, offering him HC’s full, undivided attention. It’s a simple gesture that means everything to someone like XL.

“I would love to,” HC says.

XL hums happily, then goes on to explain that he’s a telemarketer by day, which allows him to stay home with flexible work hours that fit around Ban Yue’s school schedule. (She’s in the third grade now.)

XL also mentions that he occasionally dances at night for an extra income. Nothing too intense or frequent. Just dressing up and dancing for special occasions, at parties like HC’s. XL typically has MQ or FX babysit Ban Yue during those nights.

The word family echoes in the hollow of HC’s chest.

“Gege’s been leading a very eventful and prosperous life,” HC comments with satisfaction. He leans forward to tug the maple-red coat he lent back over XL’s shoulders, ensuring the other man stayed warm.

“Nonsense, my life is just like anybody else’s,” XL says, waving his hand in a lax motion. “But I am very interested in hearing about San Lang’s life. Police chief, huh?”

“Gege…” HC mutters shyly. Against his will, his mind replays the moment XL asked if he should address HC as “sir.”

Boners don’t get boyfriends; sexy, mature conversations do, HC tells himself.

“Please, San Lang? I won’t force you to talk too much about yourself! I know we don’t...know each other as well as we used to,” XL says, a bit embarrassed. “If you want, we can just end right now and I can leave-”

“No! Not at all, I’ll tell gege anything he wants,” HC says, scooting even closer to XL so their hips bump against one another. XL sets down his empty glass, his unsure expression morphs to contentedness.

As it should always be.

“Well…” HC trails off, taken aback by how vivid XL’s amber irises gleam as they pin HC down. “Actually, there isn’t much to tell-”

“Just tell it is how it is, San Lang!” XL laughs, reaching over to playfully bat at HC’s arm.

“Okay, okay! I’m on it.”

[jamespotterthefirst]

Fake Husband (Ethan x F!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,800+ Warning: Some adult language Premise: When they run into her ex, Ethan pretends to be married to her to spite him. Author’s Note: A silly fake husband fluff piece because I’m a sucker for that trope.

_____________________

The appreciation dinner that was supposed to include the whole diagnostics team quickly dwindled down to only Ethan and Lilac. Baz had a date and only stayed for the first course, Naveen followed suit minutes after, claiming to be too old to stay up past nine thirty, and June hadn't even replied to the invite. 

Briefly, Ethan wondered if the old doctor had planned it that way. Especially considering the knowing smile he directed at Ethan before his departure. 

Lilac met his eye, a teasing smile of her own at the ready. 

“If you wanted to touch me that badly, you could've just asked,” she said in a low, tempting whisper that made his pulse quicken. 

In a moment of delayed reaction, Ethan forgot his foot had brushed against hers under the dinner table more times than he cared to admit. And of course she was going to call him out on it. 

“If I'd wanted to touch you as badly as you claim, we'd be elsewhere.”

“Where would that be?” she returned without a single moment's hesitation. “Your bedroom or mine?”

God, she was good. 

Typically, Ethan would not allow their banter to get this explicit, but something was different that night. Or perhaps all it took to vanquish his conviction was her coquettish smile, the tantalizing glimmer of her bright eyes, and the almost indecent dress clinging to her. 

They were a long way away from innocent hand holding. 

“Ambitious of you to think we'd make it that far.”

She looked impressed for a split second. Before she could reply, however, her eyes fell on something over his shoulder. Her expression went from incredulity, to recognition, and finally to something on the cusp of panic in seconds. 

“We have to go,” she said when her eyes returned to him. 

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, noting nothing out of the ordinary in the crowded restaurant. Then again, the pretentiously dim lighting made it difficult to see properly. "Why?" 

Lilac didn't respond immediately. She seemed to be considering whether to tell him or not. “There's someone here I'd much rather avoid,” she allowed.

That explanation was too meek to warrant such a reaction. Ethan kept his face impassive. “Who?”

Defeated, she finally admitted, “My ex.” 

A beat. 

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not that. 

“He's sitting by the exit at the bar. The one in the dark turquoise suit,” Lilac explained, absentminded. 

Ethan almost rolled his eyes derisively at the phrase “dark turquoise suit.” Only pompous, self-centered assholes with a lot to prove wore unconventional colors to dinner. 

Before he could help himself, Ethan looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse. A young man around Lilac's age casually sat at the bar, deep in conversation with a group of his peers, all wearing equally obnoxious suits. Even from a distance, he could see the strong jaw, straight nose, and gleaming smile that might have drawn her in once upon a time. It was somewhat disappointing that he was not hideous, like Ethan had hoped. 

“A doctor?” he asked, retroactively wondering why it mattered. 

“Lawyer,” she replied.

Even worse, he thought. 

“Please, Ethan,” she implored quietly. “I don't want him to see me. Things…” she trailed off and he could see a flicker of pain in her expression. “It did not end well.”

Ethan tried to hide his curiosity to spare her any more embarrassment. He failed spectacularly because she noticed and added, “I dated him for two years while finishing my undergrad. We were really serious until… he cheated.”

His jaw clenched on instinct. “I see.” 

“With my best friend at the time,” she added in a small voice. 

“Jesus,” he said reflexively, aware the single-word reaction was not enough. 

Her gaze dropped to her plate, looking almost ashamed. The sight sent a surge of vindictive anger through him. Ethan wanted nothing more than to march across the restaurant, grab him the lapels of his ostentatious suit, and make him hurt worse than the pain she currently exhibited. 

“Fine,” he consented instead. “Let’s get out of here. He's too busy talking to his lawyer friends. If we go now, he probably won't see you.”

Lilac looked like she could kiss him. After being informed that Naveen had paid the bill, they rose from their seats in a rush and made a beeline toward the exit. 

“Stay close,” Ethan murmured in her ear as they walked, careful to use his body to cover her from his view. 

They were so close to the exit that he could see her visibly relax. 

“Thank goodness you’re so tall,” she teased, a few feet from the exit. Growing more confident, she quickened her step slightly. 

“Lilac—” he started, unable to keep up with her pace. But before he could say more, he was intercepted by someone who had been sitting at the bar. 

“Dr. Ramsey?” An older doctor who used to work at Edenbrook greeted him. 

Ethan halted, his eyes trained on her back as she continued walking, unaware he was no longer behind her. At the same time, Turquoise Suit looked over his shoulder as she passed, recognizing her at once. 

“Lilac?” he asked, getting to his feet. “Lilac Allende is that you?” 

She froze mid stride. 

Meanwhile, the older doctor ranted to Ethan about owning a private practice, blissfully unaware that Ethan neither listened nor cared. 

“How you’ve been?” he heard him ask her, pulling her in for a hug. Lilac, too stunned to react, stood limp in his embrace. It lasted far longer than was necessary, his hands sliding along her sides indulgently. Ethan had the sudden urge to punch him. 

“How's Edenbrook?” Dr. Rosetti asked Ethan after his incessant chatter. “Heard Naveen's the chief.”

“Fine,” Ethan replied absently, eyes trained on Lilac. She was saying something, finally having recovered from her shock. She was far too gracious to give that prick the time of day. 

Turquoise nodded attentively, flashing her a seemingly charming smile. The ambiance of the restaurant combined with Dr. Rosetti's droning voice made it difficult for Ethan to hear them. He caught only snippets of what was said. 

“...a doctor now?” Turquoise was asking her. His hands were still on Lilac, a remnant of his embrace. “I’m really proud of you.”

Ethan’s hands clenched at his sides. 

Lilac took a small but polite step back, freeing herself from his grip. She replied something Ethan couldn’t hear. Even from afar, he could tell her ex was not listening, instead he covertly scanned the plunge of Lilac’s neckline. “You look great,” Ethan heard him say. “Time’s been good to you.”

That was the last straw. 

The nerve of this fucking guy. 

Ears ringing, Ethan marched toward them, not even bothering with a goodbye to poor Dr. Rosetti. Maybe he was acting on the sudden spike of adrenaline coursing through his body, or maybe his judgement was shot the second Turquoise smugly uttered the words “...we should go out for coffee some time”, but Ethan had decided what to say in the seconds it took him to reach them. 

It was reckless, and Lilac might deny it instantly, but the urge to help her while simultaneously wiping the superior smirk off his face clouded his judgement. 

Turquoise looked up as he approached, furrowing his brow quizzically. Lilac turned to meet his eyes and the relief he saw there was further motivation for what he was about to do next. 

Without stopping to think or even breathe lest he lose his nerve, Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist and gently pulled her in to place a tender kiss on her temple.

“Ready to go, love?” Ethan murmured. 

Lilac paused briefly in surprise, looking up to study his face which he hoped conveyed his intentions. It must have because her lips quivered with the effort of fighting back a smile. She relaxed into his touch, sliding her hand up his jacket to rest on his chest.

“Yes, but only if you carry me out,” she replied, fingers toying with his tie. It was entirely too distracting. “I ate way too much bread.”

“You always want me to carry you,” Ethan returned, feeling his ears grow hot. “Is that the only reason you married me?”

Might as well go all out on this Oscar-worthy performance. Her eyes met his at the word "married," her smile so radiant that something tugged at his chest. 

“Among other things,” she replied with a coy smile, raising herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Heart hammering against his chest, Ethan marveled at how easy it was for them. It was worth it, however, because Turquoise gaped at them, his expression comically dumbstruck. 

Lilac made a show of remembering he was there. “Oh, right," she said with a small shake of her head. "Ethan, this is Alex Rhodes. We went to UCLA together.” 

Her ex’s eyes darted to Lilac quickly, as if expecting her to add more of their history to the introduction. 

“Alex, this is Doctor Ethan Ramsey," she continued, gesturing towards Ethan. "My husband.”

Alex blinked repeatedly in astonishment. When he recovered, he looked at Ethan with renewed interest. “Ethan Ramsey?” he repeated. Looking at Lilac now, he added, “The author of that book you used to read so much?”

Lilac looked genuinely embarrassed at that. Her cheeks flushed in a way Ethan found too endearing. 

“Long time fan, Rookie?” he teased. 

"She would talk nonstop about you," Alex continued, still looking utterly bewildered. "You're the reason she worked so hard to go to med school." 

Ethan raised his eyebrows at her. She refused to meet his eye, blushing redder than he'd ever seen her. 

“I can't believe you met your idol,” Alex said, almost to himself. 

“Married him, too,” Ethan added. 

“We should really get going, babe,” Lilac interjected, shooting Ethan a pointed glare. 

He almost laughed.

Their mission was undeniably accomplished because by the time Lilac said a hasty goodbye to her ex, he looked unabashedly envious and ready to eat his heart out. 

Once in Ethan’s car, Lilac let out a loud snort of laughter. “That was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she professed, eyes bright with delight.

Ethan briefly glanced at her as he drove, a small smile of his own at his lips. The light from the passing street lamps rendered her face lovelier still. With a small ache, he wished it hadn’t been pretend. 

Lilac noticed his suddenly serious expression, a question already furrowing her brow.

Before she could ask, he forced a smile and taunted, “What did you ever see in that guy?”

It worked. Lilac rolled her eyes. “Shut up,” she said with another laugh. “Thanks for the save, by the way. I owe you.”

“The stupid look on his face was payment enough.”

“Do you think we fooled him?”

Ethan said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead. He was convinced their fib has been successful, at least on his part. Much to his embarrassment, there was no concealing the utterly love struck way he felt when he looked at her in the restaurant, her hand resting on his chest as if it were second nature. There was no doubt it had been written all over his face for all of Boston to see.

Instead of incriminating himself, he said, “Lawyer boy looked angry, which means he bought it.” Ethan grimaced. “Again, you sure know how to pick 'em, Rookie.”

Lilac laughed, the sound almost giddy as a result of the adrenaline. Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan could see the way her gaze fixed on him. “My taste in men has gotten much more refined throughout the years, I assure you.”

________

Click Here for Part 2

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Author’s Note: THANK YOU if you made it this far! Also, thank you for all the love and support on my last fics! 

 Sorry for the lack of originality in the title. I’ve been naming my fics after Billie Eilish or Harry Styles songs. I couldn’t think of one for this one so if you have something, let me know <3

Shout out to the people who helped me out with the pet name Ethan would used for MC, his wife! You guys are the best! 

Masterlist

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Tags: @openheart12​ | @ethandaddyramsey​ | @noboundariesplease​ | @silverlitskies​ | @the-soot-sprite | @infinitiestones | @emotionalswift2 | @flyawayboo |  @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum​| @myusualnerdyself​ | @thatysn​ | @choicesyouplayandmore​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @trappedinfandoms​ |  @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman​

(If I forgot anyone, please call me out)

[notbecauseofvictories]

I know it was from two days ago, but if you're still doing it - tarantism, Sarah and the Goblin King.

 tarantism —the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing. 

Sarah doesn’t figure it out until well after it’s begun. 

She blames college, where everyone (or at least it seemed likeeveryone, at the time) went out on Friday nights, and then Saturdays, and there was always Sunday, for the truly devoted. They went out—to either afrat house or the handful of bars and clubs that didn’t bother to card. Whenhalf the class of 1992 is out at the Bop Shop, grinding to “Groove is inthe Heart,” it was easy to miss, easy not to question why Sarah Williams was therewith them. She had assumed they all felt that same electric current running under their skin, an unending urge for more, more, to keep losing oneself among bodies moving in time, flashing lights. She’d thought it was alljust…human, youth pulsing up through her blood like sap during spring.

(Her tendency to think and speak in nature metaphors probably should have been her second clue. It wasn’t.)

So shedoesn’t notice until afterwards, when her friends settle into theirlives—wives, husbands, children, jobs and careers—and Sarah Williams is stillgoing to clubs. Still chasing the thrill under her skin, the sort of high that only comes when she’s in the crowded dark, full of bodies moving to a beat. If you corner her, she can give you the whole dissertation: therise of house music and the fall of the disco scene, particularly as it relatesto EDM. Her PhD came with a mix CD. She’s written multiple articles about the sound of The Ballroom,evolving past its Berlin roots and Harlem influence. If it’s got rhythm, SarahWilliams has listened to it, has formulated strong opinions about it, and then probably argued with more than one of her friends about it and how weird she can get with music.

Her typical answer is to tip her chin in that imperious way she has and say, “Dance is one of the oldest art forms humanity has. What’s weird about wanting to understand that?”

(The fact that she can make her face go strange, her eyes hard and glittering and remote in a way that makes people uncomfortable, should have been another clue.)

Shetruly thinks this is normal, up until she doesn’t. Until he’s there. 

It’s a cold night and she’s at Xliber, moving to a veryordinary synth-pop mix—nothing too cutting edge, the DJ is pedestrian, but she can feel the bass notes reverberating up through her skin and that’s enough. She downs a shot and then moves through the slender spaces left between grinding couples, imagines herself collecting all their gathered heat, that wanting, on her fingertips as she passes. 

She’s just sinking into the rhythm when she inhales, and tastes something metallic and earthen—something apart. Sarah cracks her eyes open, but there’s nothing but bodies limned in the house lights, moving in time. Still, she can taste it, crushed green and metal dropped onto her tongue like a tab.

(For all her clubbing experience, Sarah has never actually tried drugs—never felt any desire to when there was a rhythm, a driving beat, a melody, a thrum.)

(Again: she missed a lot of signs. Don’t hold it against.)

Slowly, she comes to stand, stock still—uncharacteristic for her, in the midst of a dance floor. She’s still trying to figure out where the metallic-green-earthen taste is coming from when a hand grips her waist, spins her, forces her hands up and her fingers splayed. She is dizzy and reeling but then there’s Jareth, the same shadow that has been haunting her nightmares since she was fifteen. 

His grip is much more solid than any dream could be.

Sarah has to lean in, very close, to shout in his ear: “Goblin King!” And then, because she might as well: “Well met by moonlight!”

(She really should have realized.)

When she draws away, he gives her a quizzical look, made harsher by the flashing club lights. When he leans in, he smells overwhelmingly of the green, it’s dizzying. “It is a new moon, Sarah Williams. It gives no light.”

She laughs but the sound is eaten up by the bass. 

She’s not surprised the Goblin King is a good dancer. She waltzed with him in the mirror ballroom, certainly, she also remembers the way he moved. His hands, the roll of his hips when he walked. She’s been doing this long enough to know there are two types of good dancers: the innocent and the very, very experienced. Ballerinas suffer to look like they’re not suffering, as though grinding down their metatarsels is as natural as breathing—but the uncoordinated college freshman getting drunk for the first time and losing his shit is no less beautiful, for all the difference in ability.

Jareth the Goblin King is somehow both. He dances like the ballerina, right up until he doesn’t—until the DJ shifts over to a something Sarah’s never heard before. It’s all horns, or strings, or something between them and a wet, heavy beat that makes her think of a pulse. Sap rolling up through trees. Then the Goblin King is all uncoordination, and strangeness. He moves as people do not move, and bends as human limbs, bodies, are not meant to bend. She can only watch him, circle in inextricable orbit and see. 

(She knows then.)

Afterwards, when the music shuts off and the lights come up, Jareth the Goblin King walks her home. By the weak light of the dawning morning, he looks more like a man than a…a whatever he actually is, though he laughs when she tells him as much. 

“And you look like a girl, Sarah Williams,” he says, smirking with a mouth painted dark-blue as midnight, or maybe a bad bruise.

“I am one, yes,” she says.

“No,” he answers. “You have not been either girl nor anything like one for a long while.”

His smirking expression gives nothing away, no matter how long she stares at it. “What do you mean by that?”

“My people…” He pauses for a long time, almost a whole suburban block with its split-ranch houses and dark windows, but then the Goblin King ducks his head. Clears his throat, tries again: “My people love dancing, did you know?”

Sarah makes a soft, noncommittal noise.

“Yes,” Jareth says. “We used to take—well, not just children. Fiddlers and harpists and pipers, dancers, lovely girls and handsome men. We were so jealous—of music and the ability to surrender to it, to move and make more music, that way. My people can imitate, can sing songs already written, can dance a dance that has been laid out for us, but all else…”

Sarah stares ahead of her. “What does this have to do with me?”

She feels his eyes on her. “You are the only human to have ever defeated the Labyrinth,” he says, sounding astonished that she had not realized. “Did you think it left you unchanged?”

“Humans like music and enjoy dancing too,” Sarah says dryly, “that’s not proof of anything.”

But in the cold air of six A.M., her breath fogs. She’s thinking about all the stories she’s read, the fairy dances and fairy rings, twelve princesses waltzing holes into their shoes; all those otherworldly céilí and even just Jareth, gathering her in, his eyes rapacious as he spun her through a glittering masked ball.

“I don’t want it,” she murmurs.

“Too bad,” Jareth answers smoothly, a hardened certainty in his voice. It’s not cruel, just---clear, a deal already made, her name signed on a dotted line she can’t remember but is nevertheless carved into stone. Or something. She’s tired and mixing metaphors.

When she looks at him, he’s watching her face, undisguised interest there. “What?” she asks, taken aback.

“I’m waiting for you to tell me it isn’t fair.”

Sarah snorts. “It’s been too long for that, Goblin King. Grant that I might have found some perspective, since I was fifteen.”

They come to her front door much sooner than she anticipates---ten league boots, she thinks, and when she laughs to herself, he smiles. “Hardly ten leagues, Sarah Williams,” he answers without her asking.

“‘Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down’?” she asks, but he only looks bemused. 

She swallows, tries again: “So what does this mean? For---why come tonight? Why come to me?”

“Those are three different questions, Sarah Williams.”

“The traditional number, right?” she asks, not quite teasing. It’s a cold morning and her fingertips are starting to tingle and go numb; it seems so commonplace, such a human sensation, that she clings to it. “Three questions, three wishes, three brothers or three sisters, three---”

The look he gives her is so full of undisguised fondness that she falls silent, suddenly tongue-tied.

“Well, then,” he sighs, and counts them on his fingers. He is still wearing the gloves she remembers, black as the quickly-fading night. “First, a hunger that will not be sated. My apologies for it. Second, a new moon is kind, and hides weakness and trespass alike. And third...”

He doesn’t touch her. But his hand makes an abortive, fluttering movement---as though to caress her cheek, before his better sense intruded. “Third,” he says lowly, “I think you know, Sarah Williams.”

"Lovers and---and madmen, have such....seething brains,” she stammers, unable to come up with anything more. His mouth curves sharply, something that a person unacquainted with him could confuse for a smile.

“Yes. Exactly,” he says. His fingertips do not brush her skin as he withdraws. “Good night, Sarah Williams. Perhaps you might save the next dance for me?”

“Perhaps,” she says. Her fingertips are cold, numbed, but the lock digs into the flesh of her palm almost painfully as she watches him go. And then he is gone.

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

So I got to thinking too deeply about origin stories the other day. I wrote this in a frenzy in one day so cut me some slack you guyss~ lol

(here you go @katzkinder @mrskeletondarkness )

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four days since my last confession." He murmured, eyes fixed on the green velvet drapery only half discernible in the dim lighting filling the claustrophobic confessional box. "I once more lost my temper. It was just a small child but he was lingering in the outer hall and I knew him well. He is Alexander and on kitchen duty this week."

"And what did you do?" The soft voice from beyond the altar asked.

"I lashed out. I do believe he may have cried." There was no response to this but a lingering sigh and he grimaced. "There are more, of course. I was prideful of my position and my duty to oversee the facility in the absence of Father Antonio. I have overslept once and missed the Holy Hour."

"Unbecoming of a deacon."

He bit his lip, fingers curling tightly into his palms. "Yes, Father."

"This is something that I seem to see a pattern of." The voice had grown lighter and almost joking. "Are you perhaps not a morning person?"

"Not at all." He muttered sourly.

"See that that be something you work on."

"Yes, Father." He began sifting through the recent memories for something more inconsequential, struggling to see past the irritation he felt at the call out and finally settled on the most interesting. "I witnessed a marriage the other day. They seemed quite happy."

"And the sin?" The voice lilted up in amusement.

"I took the top most layer of the wedding cake."

There was a desperately concealed snort and then a clearing of the throat and he did his best to hold back a smile. "I think that is enough, don't you? Is it not time for your infirmary rounds?"

"Yes, Father. Ah- this is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins.” He intoned dutifully, making to stand and dust the loose crushed velvet from his robes.

"For penance you will help the boy Alexander in the kitchens when you have completed your other duties." A pause and then, "And no bread at dinner for the week."

Scowling unseen in the dark, he nodded. "Yes, Father."

"Your Act of Contrition."

Taking a deep breath, he settled back onto the stiff wooden bench and let his mind drift as the familiar words flooded forth. "My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart, in choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned-"

The infirmary that he chose most to visit lay at the edges of the city and he often found himself wondering if it was the walk through the crowded, busy streets, or the lack of elderly patients at that particular institute that he liked about it. It was difficult to say really and bore no real worth in contemplating beyond relishing in the somewhat fresh air that blew in from the smaller subdivisions and off the ever renewing water of the fountains so recently restored.

"You're here again." 

Her voice was gentle and welcoming, clearly biased in her delight at the sight of him, and he struggled to hold back a smile.

"Of course. It is an almost daily occurrence."

"That it is." She smiled, ushering him in and down the hall. "I'm afraid most are sleeping at the moment and not much in need of such a friendly face."

"Then I shall do the rounds with you."

She once more smiled brightly and nodded, turning to gather her jacket. "Please do!"

Their conversations were always varied and pleasant, and he found her to be a relaxing presence; all at once joyful and demure, and yet suggestively combative and interesting. It was of course, he mused somewhat guiltily, a plus when the sun hit her endless golden hair and flashed, star bright, against the darker colors of her dress.

It was something that he was always mocked for. But then, he decided, watching her laugh cheerfully with one of her patients, worth it. 

"They say there was a werewolf spotted not far from here!" Matteo exclaimed, dropping his plate down on the table. It clattered and threatened to spill and he chuckled self consciously.

"Do not be an idiot." He murmured testily, pulling his own plate farther away to protect it from the splattering of gravy off Matteo's. "They will say anything to keep a head up in notoriety."

"You're always so dour and pragmatic!"

"I am not, I am merely-"

"Yeah, yeah! A deacon of the church, bent on becoming pope." Matteo laughed, stabbing his spoon into the lukewarm potatoes they were being served. 

Blowing out a harsh breath, he glared over at his friend. "Don't say things like that!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?"

"You once again demonstrate your enormously empty head."

Matteo only laughed once more, and he looked away again, down into the dregs of his cup and wondered if it were possible. Was it something that he could dare to dream of being worthy of? "Superstitious fancy." He muttered, not expecting an answer.

"You know, Faaver Antonehio claims is all twue." Matteo slurred, mouth full of bread. "He says thas why-" He paused and swallowed loudly, earning another glare. "He says that's why the city shuts down after dark. That and vampires." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Folly." He scoffed. "Vampires are no more real than ghosts."

"Then what do you think we're so armed against?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You have demonstrated quite a lack of faith."

He spun around, long gown fanning out and creating a rustling against the stone flooring in the otherwise total hush of the hall. "Father!"

"Calm down." Antonio chuckled. "I do not mean in your studies, but in your disbelief in what I'm sure you have been hearing murmurs of in the streets."

Wracking his brain, he could only come up with one common theme, and he struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open. "Do you mean the vampires and werewolves?"

"Exactly that." Glancing up and down the hall, Antonio stepped closer, his candle threatening to go out in the sudden rush of air between them as he approached. "For no other reason than your safety, please try to keep in mind that rumors are all based on something."

Without pausing to think that perhaps he was throwing his friend to the dogs, he snorted. "So all that ilk that Matteo spouts is not just nonsense but true?"

"More so than even he seems to ascribe it, yes." Antonio answered. He hesitated and then placed a hand on his shoulder, resting heavy and warm in the chilly hall. "You have duties in the morning so try to keep your head, alright? And do not let it affect your sleep. But remember this, you are destined for far more than you see before you now."

The innocuous statement seemed more confusing than reassuring and so he merely nodded. "Yes, Father."

Later, as he lay in bed, staring unflinchingly at the dark cavernous ceiling of his room where the moon, long since risen, was casting shadows into the corners, he couldn't help but picture a large wolf running through the streets and found himself hard pressed not to laugh. What a bunch of ridiculous lies. It was all just childish dreams and jokes blown out of proportion by the uneducated masses. And though it may very well be his duty to love and protect those very people, that did not mean he had to fall prey to their hysteria.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was best to focus on the news he had received. Best to not look at the telltale red that was occasionally splattered across his pillows and sheets in the morning. No, it would do no good and so he shoved it far back and to the graveyard of his mind. He would not think of it. Instead he would relish in the knowledge that he would seem to not only be progressing to priesthood but to a place in the College.

He had been warned, months ago now, by Father Antonio, that there were changes in the air, but never would he have dared to imagine something like this.

"Handpicked." He murmured, watching his reflection in the water basin. He was looking impossibly paler and thinner, his already sharp jaw now razor like, and his eyes, such a lively green, now clouded. "For life."

It was a melancholy thing to hear of a death, but he could see past that and to it's natural place in the order of life. It was simply the way of things. That was true in the most dire of situations and it was true now. Splashing a hand through the water, he let out a breath of relief when his image faded into the ripples and he stepped away to begin his morning routine.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." He covered a soft cough with a stomp of his foot on the hardwood. "It has been three days since my last confession and I have fallen prey to pride and fear." There was no immediate response and so he continued. "I have lost not faith but trust, and I fear death."

"There is nothing to fear in death."

"No. But early dea-" He cut himself off, wondering how to parse the emotions that were tying him in knots so frequently now. So much so as to be distracting, leading to forgetfulness, spite, impatience. "I wish penance to renew my trust in God."

Faced with the city at dusk, he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he had ventured beyond the halls past midday. It was a colder evening and the wind bit into the hollows of his ribs and forced shivers across his skin. Tugging the cloak tighter around his shoulders, he hurried forward, long legs carrying him past the familiar sights now so strange in the twilight.

The place he had been sent, a seemingly unnoteworthy apothecary, was not far and it wasn't until he was in sight, breath labored and mind fixed on the sign over the doorway, that he first saw the shadow at the edges of the street. It hadn't appeared to have been following him, indeed, it seemed not to notice him at all. But when a second figure lunged forward from the open ended alley and sank a flashing blade into the first's chest, he couldn't stop the strangled sound of surprise from ripping free of his throat and into the night.

It was a mistake.

Both men, for he could see now that they were men, turned to him and he sank back a step. Mind blank in astonishment, he did not at first notice when the second advanced from the dark of the side street and towards him. It was foolishness to think that the glow of his robes would deter the man in any way but he still, for the first moment, held out hope. He just couldn't imagine dying in a place like this.

"Hey!" The first shouted and he for a moment found space in his crowded mind to marvel at the fact that the man was still standing, much less shouting so loudly.

"What are you-" His words were cut off by the fist that connected with the side of his head, and seeing stars, he stumbled back until his calves met a small wooden cart parked nearby. His temper flared, burning away the inky constellations in his mind and he frowned darkly. "You should not have done that."

"Ah man." The first man moaned tiredly. "What do you think you're doing hitting a priest?"

"You should not be hitting any one." He grit, resisting raising a shaking hand to his temple which throbbed more richly with each gust of chill night air.

"Yeah, that's true." The first sighed, leaning languidly back against the building, blood steadily gathering at his feet. "But I think it matters a little less if it's me."

"Shut your fool mouth!" He roared, eyes widening in yet more dread when he felt his own blood gathering in the crevices of his teeth and escaping the confines of his mouth. 

"Hey, you ok?" The man asked, pushing away from the wall, his hair catching the street light and flashing like snow. "You look kind of peaky."

"I'm fine!" He spit, biting down on not just his tongue but the overwhelming, overlapping, paralyzing fear that grew suddenly up from that long buried place, watered with the blood that had, until now, seemed to have been staying where it was supposed to. 

"You have quite a temper there, Father." The man sighed, having finally reached them. He glanced at the second figure who, in seeming disbelief, had not moved since the beginning of their conversation. "I'm tellin' you. It's better if he has his way with me. After all, what do I care?"

"You want to die?!" He exclaimed, livid in both dismay and amazement.

"No." The figure muttered, reaching out now, lightning fast and wrapping an arm around the second's throat. "But even if I did, it's not like I can."

"What in the world do you-" He broke off, watching in incredulity as, with each movement of the mans arms, more blood gushed free and ran like a waterfall down his legs to the cobblestones; he did not seem concerned by this and with what could only be seen as inhuman strength, lifted the second figure over his head and tossed him, light as a child, across the street and into a rubbish pile. The impact rendered the second figure unconscious and the man now turned his ruby gaze back.

"You should probably get home or whatever. Take a long nap."

"Your- eyes are-"

"Red?" The man interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, well I am a vampire."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was growing harder and harder to ignore, he admitted, as he crept down the deserted hall in search of Matteo. Indeed, most nights now, he found it difficult to sleep for the chills and chest pain. He could feel it digging ever deeper, sinking it's unknown fingers into his lungs and muscles and wracking him with aches and shivers and now even an inability to eat. He was thinner than ever, as Matteo liked to remind him, joking that a strong wind might be enough to loose his feet from the floor and sweep him away and to Heaven. And it would have been an annoying enough joke on its own but for the twinge of real worry he could discern in Matteo's eyes whenever he was looked at too closely or accidentally let out a cough that had been punching at the back of his throat for the last hour.

It should have been nothing. He was a man of God. He was pious and good and atoned. It should have been nothing.

But it wasn't.

There had been no answers for him in the dead of night, or the light of dawn. or in the long watches of desperation every Mass. 

Slamming an already bruised fist against the nearest archway, he winced when the hollowed bones in his hand creaked. Rubbing at the spot, he bit his lip, and tried to ignore the panic that fluttered so like children’s breath at his heart. It would do no good. It would only increase the pain. It would only bring on another of his fits.

Knowing that vampires were real, assuming that he hadn't hallucinated the entirety of the event a couple weeks, wasn't making anything easier. His faith, already on shaking legs, was threatening to topple completely when faced with the truth of such creatures, the Damned, lurking in the night, in the city, and free to prey on those they chose. And if they truly existed, then what did that mean for Matteo's claim of werewolves?

He couldn't afford to wait any longer.

He was about to give up for the night, winded and miserable, when he turned a corner and almost ran head first into Matteo himself. He stumbled back, barely catching himself on his weakened ankles and shrugged off the concerned hand Matteo put forth.

"What are you doing out so late at night, my friend?" Matteo asked, the faux cavalier tone to his voice grating against already raw and bloodied nerves.

"Looking for you." He hissed. Grabbing a handful of the others robes, he gave as mighty of a pull as he could, one so diminished from his usual that he almost broke down in tears. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Matteo whispered cautiously. "Do you feel like you-"

"Not about me." He panted. "About the damn vampires."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was probably the time to go and see Father Antonio, he thought detachedly; there was no coming morning for him. And he would go too, he insisted, argued vehemently to himself, if only he could get up.

"Do you want another drink of water?" The voice next to him asked softly and he turned his head, neck muscles protesting violently. 

The figure there was blurry at best, but he thought he could make out blonde waves. Unsure if he had given a response or not, he blinked, willing the vision to clear. If nothing else, what a sight to be his last.

"Is he-" Matteo's high alto drifted over from the doorway and the blonde blur shook its head.

"Please come in." The soft one answered.

A shaking hand wrapped around one of his, seeming miles away, and Matteo's face slowly materialized. His freckles looked more pronounced than ever and it took him far too long to understand it was the unnatural pallor of Matteo's face that made them so.

"How are you, my friend?"

Summoning every ounce of life left in his body, he scoffed, the sound weak and wet in the otherwise complete silence. "You- demonstrate- your empty head-edness."

A trembling smile wound over Matteo's lips and his grip tightened just a fraction. "What would I be otherwise?"

A priest, he thought sullenly, enviously. It had been his future, his goal and meaning in existence. Now, Matteo would see that Ordainment alone. Perhaps he would even earn his spot in the college, one that he had not even had chance to sit in on. 

There were no answers anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When next his eyes opened his vision had cleared, was in fact crystal sharp and bright despite the obvious glow of the moon beyond the windows, windows that he did not recognize. Suspiciously, he cast it about the room and recoiled in shock when he met a gaze he had never seen before.

"Feeling better, aren't we?" The stranger asked cheerfully. "Tell me! How is your head? Your lungs? Quite a toll it took on you there! I'm surprised you held on as long as you did. Naught but mush in your chest by the end!"

"What are you talking about?" He demanded, eyes flying wide at the restoration of his deep tenor. It was something that he had not heard in the last month of suffering and wavering delirium and it's sudden reappearance was startling at best and terrifying at worst.

The man grinned, wide and unfettered. "Welcome to your new life!" He stepped back, out of his immediate line of sight, and spread long arms. "How do you feel, be honest."

"I-" He cut off, scowling blackly and sitting up, once more stunned by the ease with which this small motion, before next to impossible, was now accomplished. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"I've already told you." The man tutted. "Doubt Doubt. That is your name now."

"My-" His gaze flew to the small mirror over the sink that was inset into the wall. In it stared back a mad version of his face. Returned were his delicate, high cheekbones and attractively curved forehead, leading back into shining ravens feathers for hair, but his eyes... gone was the green of a spring rain and in place was a sparkling. cold ruby flame. "My name is-" He trailed off distractedly, realizing that he could not seem to remember it. All his memories were intact, strong and full of conviction, even the dread soaked ones of the last few weeks, but this, his name, he couldn't seem to-

"Not any more." The man smiled. "You are Doubt Doubt. Of Envy."

The mention of the sin, one of the last complete, coherent memories that he possessed, knocked the wind from his newly restored lungs and he bolted up, lithe and sure on his feet once more. "Impossible! Where am I?"

"Your friend really should have warned you." The man murmured, looking for all the world as though he were full of pity. "But then, it's entirely possible he did. Many don't seem to remember those last few days."

Without thought, he crossed the room in six staccato steps, his hands already winding around the throat of the man, this tormentor sent to punish his for his dying sacrilege. But even when his fingers, strong now, stronger than ever they were before, dug into his flesh, the man only continued to watch him calmly. Finally, after several moments of blinding rage he forced his grip to go slack, hands falling away from the mans neck, shoulders, back to his own sides, hanging limply.

"You have quite a temper." The man laughed and instantly another memory was summoned to the forefront of his mind. One of a pale, lackluster youth in worn clothing, with a mortal wound in his chest, tossing a grown man twenty feet; a young man with the same burning blood in his eyes.

"Vampire." He murmured, the words falling free in numb disbelief.

"That's right." The man agreed brightly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was with both fear and hope that Doubt Doubt stopped just before the first step of the ancient stairs that led up to the entrance, a path he had so oft taken without a second thought. But there in lay salvation, or at the very least, an end to this treacherous half life, this stain upon his humanity. Tugging the hood low over his face, making sure that nothing but his thin lips could be seen, he took a step and then another. He was unsure if it was relief or disappointment he felt when, in stepping through the doorway and into the gold gilded opulence, he did not burst into flames or finally fall dead to the floor.

It had been months, long enough that he was sure that even were he recognizable, no one would have the time to think twice. As long as he steered clear of the back quarters, kept to the crowded main halls and rooms, it was going to be fine, there was no one that-

"Oh my god." A voice breathed and Doubt Doubt spun on his heel, anguish pooling in his stomach. "You-" Matteo broke off, wide brown eyes suddenly flooding. "I thought he had spoken lies."

"Who?" Doubt Doubt demanded harshly, forgetting his plan and allowing his feet to follow the pull towards the other.

"T-that man." He stuttered, taking his own step back in response to every one of Doubt Doubt's forward. "He told me that you-"

"That I what?" He insisted, now towering over the smaller man.

He could see the moment that Matteo saw the red of his eyes for his face, already pale in shock, drained further, until he was almost a bleached parchment. "Your-"

"Come with me." Doubt Doubt interrupted swiftly, grabbing Matteo's arm and  dragging him as quickly as he could without drawing attention towards the so familiar halls that led to his room.

The door, as he had hoped, was unlocked and, in pushing it open, he felt a rush of regret wash over him. He should not have come back here. Not when he had for so long agonized over his plan already. Matteo, now following willingly enough, was hovering in the doorway and at Doubt Doubt's sharp look, swallowed a gasp and darted the rest of the way in. He, whether out of habit or a lack of self preservation, pulled the door closed behind him and then they stood, silently studying the other in the swirling dust motes filling the room.

Matteo, as always, was the first to speak; his voice weak and hollow in the gloom. "He said he could help you."

"Who?"

"I saw..." His eyes darted to the window, now shuttered, and back. "I met a boy in the square. He was the one you told me about. I thought nothing of it until I saw his eyes." His gaze fluttered briefly up to Doubt Doubt's before falling back away. "You were right."

"Of course I was." Doubt Doubt muttered flatly.

"When you- you died." Matteo sucked in an unsteady breath, his vision once more clouding over with tears. "My friend, my dear one, you were dead and I- I think I-"

"You lost your mind." Doubt Doubt accused, fingers clenched beneath his sleeves, where they could not be seen.

"I could not stand to see you like that. I heard, you know. Father Antonio does not keep secrets as well as he thinks. I kept thinking, thinking that if I could only do something you would be able to, to join the College and-"

"I can do no such thing as I am." He snarled, stepping forward and whipping back the hood, letting his hair fall free, eyes flashing in the muted sunlight. 

Matteo's expression grew fearful and awe struck in equal parts as he looked up into Doubt Doubt's face. "God, what have I done?" He whimpered, hands clasping in desperation between them. "That man, he said that he could change it, reverse your death or- God, forgive me. Please. Forgive me."

"I will forgive when you have done something about this." Doubt Doubt whispered, tone dripping in venomous hate. "Find a way to end this suffering or you will only be destined to join me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." Doubt Doubt began, foot tapping fretfully against the worn wood of the confessional. "It has been eighteen months since my last confession. I have been consumed with hate and vitriol. I am no longer a man of God."

"Everyone is a child of the lord." The voice beyond the veil was elderly and breathy and Doubt Doubt found himself wondering suddenly how easy it would be to frighten such a man to death.

"Every one, you say?"

"Yes, of course. All of mankind is held in his loving arms."

"I am no man."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surely, Matteo would have passed by now, Doubt Doubt mused, watching the water in the hold of the ship slosh worryingly. It had been more than a century. Men were not meant to live so long. And so it was that, feeling his sanity degrade further every day, he decided that it best he leave his beloved city. For what was it now but a painful prison? It was no more his city than the ticket he had used to board this ship had been.

Glancing down, he wondered if the tailor he had contracted had found the request strange. Most likely it was not every day that he was instructed to create a bastard priest's robes. Now in jet black, Doubt Doubt was confident that he would not be questioned or accosted, and the drape, the heavy fall of the fabric was, despite the passing years, still a comfort. There was no ornamentation, no rosary or trim; those were things from the past, things that were no longer in his grasp, and the memories it summoned had been far too much. Each new election, each new pope and passing of priests and bishops had left him bereft and sinking further beneath the black waves of his own destruction; Doubt Doubt had realized he had to leave, because he could not die.

The veil he wore now had been a gift oddly enough. A strange girl with sparkling green eyes had given it to him on the street one late evening. Wandering alone past the river, Doubt Doubt had stumbled, hurriedly pulling his hood and thick cotton scarf back up and over in fear when he had noticed the girl and her mother near the water's edge. She had seen though, he could tell by her knowing look, and when, after a brief word to her mother, she turned her steps towards him, he considered running. It would be easy to outrun one so small; he could outrun anything in the world now, after all.

"That looks uncomfortable." She said solemnly when they were within earshot of each other. Holding out her small hand, she presented a thin, delicately made silk veil. "Take this."

Doubt Doubt stared down at the offering in stupefaction and it was only when she huffed impatiently and waved the veil around a bit that he was jolted back into active thought. "I do not need it."

"But you look like you would like it. You'll breathe easier." She insisted, and without warning, crossed the rest of the distance between them and plopped the soft material into his hand, which had reached out of its own accord in habit. "Please take it, Father."

Biting his lip deeply, enough to bring a flash of copper to his tongue, Doubt Doubt curled his fingers over the veil and let all he could think to say fill the void. "I never made it that far."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become habit to speak lowly, it was far easier to hide his teeth that way. Or at least that's what he told himself. It was more likely that than, though trapped in a never aging body, he was somehow still growing old in mind. Mumbling and hiding and denying were just so much easier. And when one spent his time making little bottled ships, an infuriating hobby that he had picked up from Matteo, one did not really need to speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church in this new city was small, but then, all seemed small in the face of the Vatican, he mused, standing in the street and staring up at the dome. It would accomplish nothing, bring nothing but regret and anger, but he still could seem to stop himself from ascending the stairs and gliding into the atrium. Sister like wall sconces and décor greeted him and he breathed a soft sigh. Letting his fingers trail over the statues lining the alcoves, he worked his way towards the altar and paused, staring up at the swirling scrollwork of the inner bannisters.

"Good day!" A voice called cheerfully, and Doubt Doubt started, his gaze flying to the back of the room. There stood what he could only think was the resident priest, and instantly his heart sank. "Don't worry, you're always welcome!" He added seeing the twist of Doubt Doubt's lips.

"I do not belong here." He said softly, voice carrying in the quiet of the air.

"All belong!" The priest exclaimed, still smiling. "And you have that look. The call of God, it speaks to you."

"I have not heard that voice in years." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was like a long forgotten dream but try as he might, Doubt Doubt could not place his finger on the memory. It sat, hovering at the edges of his mind, winking in and out of sight in frustrating patterns. Something about her long, blonde hair pulled at his empty heart and drew him in, filled him with a sense of ease and happiness that he had not known in lifetimes. She felt like an unfamiliar homecoming.

She was so, so hard to resist.

And so, when she came to him, found him in that dark basement, biding his endless time and pretending not to exist, he did not think twice, did not stop to question why she wanted him. Only rejoiced shallowly in what little feeling he could summon that there was still some reason for his continued presence on this cursed plain, some meaning in his cruel existence.

And now it was too late. She was standing before him, bereft and broken, mad from the hole in her heart, and they were contracted and he had only two options. Both were unthinkable and once more he was left with the clarity of vision that he had never seemed to possess in the moment. Someone, a man he once knew, had joked that his hot head was the reason he had made it to deacon. "You're just too stubborn and scary when angry to say no to!" He had always laughed and Doubt Doubt spent a moment admiring the clarity with which he could recall such words. But what had been his name? 

"You have to." She slurred, leaning forward and draping herself over his shoulders. "You're mine and I say and so you have to."

He remained silent, hoping that she would grow bored and lose interest, but he had no such luck and her anger was too strong, her hate too powerful. 

"You will." She demanded, pulling out a kitchen knife, one that looked pilfered from the family's heritage collection, if he had to hazard a guess. "Use this, it will be so easy. He is so small~" She thrust the knife into his hand and barely looked when, in sliding the blade through her own, she sliced open her lily white palm. "Tomorrow is someone's birthday and I must make a cake. You can think of how you want to do it and then we'll have two reasons for cake!" She used the bloodied hand to swipe back her wild hair, falling in clumps over her forehead and Doubt Doubt almost couldn't resist the urge to jump up and pull her hand away, saving that beautiful color from the sin of her blood. "Figure it out, or I will." 

He was small, though not as small as the one he had come to find, and Doubt Doubt only just saw him in the doorway of the little ones room. Standing there, staring openly into Doubt Doubt's eyes, he seemed to feel no fear, though the flash of the knife was visible in the setting sun's flames through the window. Yes, he had always been an odd one. Doubt Doubt had only talked with him several times, just enough to place his face and name in the great tide of those that resided behind the walls of the mansion he now haunted. Mikuni was his name, yes and he was her son; that much was obvious as he possessed the same silken cornflower hair. 

Neither said anything and, in a fit of determination, Doubt Doubt turned from the doorway, tucking the knife away. He had not intended to use it but between his worried distraction and the siren call of the contract he had found it repeatedly in his hand over the course of the last few hours. 

Mikuni watched him go, he could feel that razor sharp gaze piercing his back, and only when he had once more hidden himself away in the basement, tucked into the darkest corner he could find, the heat of the boiler a comfort to his chilly scales, could he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Surely, she would not be able to find him here. And without his poisonous presence perhaps she could regain her mind, find once more her love and soul that he had so come to enjoy. The connection sang, even within the limited confines of the building but she was not truly thinking, had not been for months, and so he hoped she would not be able to follow it's call.

When hours later the sound of footsteps roused him from his fugue like doze, fear cramped his lungs, shooting ice into his already frozen veins. How had she-

But the figure that stopped in front of his hiding place was not hers, and he relaxed somewhat. No, it was the boys. Mikuni's. And it was with a piqued interest and vague sense of dread that he wondered how this one could find him when even his own master could not.

"I have a proposal for you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adjusting the veil, he approached the cold stone steps that he had spent a lifetime treading up and down and now had not seen in decades. The sun was wasting away behind the promenade and yet people still lingered, modern attire and garish colors at odds with the old world design of the building. Jeje took a deep breath and swept up the staircase, attempting to keep his heart rate and back even. There was after all, nothing to fear. He had entered before, many times, in hopes of destruction and atonement, in desperation, and in rage. It was not absolution he sought now, but the simple peace of truth.

The high, arched ceilings, as beautiful as ever, rose above his head and he sighed, feeling that old cloak, once so comfortable and now only a gaudy costume, fall back over his shoulders. It had been his duty, his only desire- a dream no longer within his grasp. All around him, the scrolling designs, checkered framework of paintings, carved bannisters, and painstakingly carved statuaries reflected back the memories he had carefully piled over with dirt in the past hundred years of existence. Flooding back in such a wave they were incomprehensible and he almost lost his step. It was only when he noticed a set of curious eyes on him that he regained his composure and, straightening the shoulders of the priest robes he had donned so fretfully that morning, strode on. They fit just as well, as they should, as he had not changed, and in the ensuing observations he noted the vague curiosity replaced by an awed sort of respect. So it seemed he still looked the part.

Wasting time that he did not have, knowing Mikuni was holed up at their hotel room, most assuredly watching the clock in begrudging silence and counting the minutes, he trailed along the many familiar winding passages and elaborate stairwells, admiring the filter and fall of the sun, like solid beams, from the windows and across the dizzying tile floors. It was all so equally unchanged, he thought in amazement.

Pulling the freshly cleaned fabric left to right, the light petering out as he did so, Jeje sat on the loving, sturdy bench and waited. The sounds of rustling could be heard on the other side and then a polite cough. With a stranglehold on his bewildered emotions, he cleared his throat and began, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned." He hesitated. "It has been eighty-nine years since my last confession." The priest on the other side, whoever he may be, to his credit, managed to tamp down on his noise of shock, no doubt confounded by the voice he was hearing. Supposedly that of an as of that moment at least hundred year old man, it was still as silken and low as the deepest of chime bells. "I have committed the gravest of sins. An accomplishment for my already dark soul."

"God will forgive al-"

"Not this." Jeje interrupted, pushing past the ingrained, resurfacing habits of deference. "Not any more. I have corrupted the young and innocent. I have sullied his family home and life. Ruined it as surely as I am ruined. First through his mother and now through, most detestably, him. She was loving and warm, the love of his life, and because of me she fell into a deep madness. She wanted the worst of things. And now she is dead."

There was a heavy pause, the priest- no, the mortal man- on the other side, pulling in a deep breath, as though in preparation. "Was it an accident?"

"No, Father. It was murder."

[alolowrites]

After All These Years

Summary: After being apart for six years, you wonder if you are ready to see Toshinori again. 

Tag: @centerhabit (Tagging you as promised! Sorry for the long wait!)

Author’s Note: It is finally here! After four months (I think?), I finally finished writing the sequel for The Point of No Return. For anyone who is new, I highly recommend you read that story first! Apologies for taking a long time getting this story out; I was playing around with a new formatting style. 

Once again, I appreciate the incredible response The Point of No Return received from everyone! I’m still touched by all the comments, likes, reblogs, etc it got!! Thank you once again!!

Without further ado, please enjoy the story!

Word Count: 2.3K+

Six years.

It’s been six long years since you’ve returned home.

Stepping off the plane, you bow at the flight attendant and follow the crowd through the gray tunnel. You find your luggage with ease and quietly walk away. Various shops appear, each selling items travelers needed last minute; one man rushes inside to buy a neck pillow while a woman debates between two beverages.

There’s one store that catches your eye with its colorful display. Hero merchandise spews out the door as pop music plays to lure interested customers into the shop. A familiar color scheme stands out from the rest, tugging your heartstrings a bit too harshly; the imaginary marionettist enjoys seeing you suffer.

“I AM HERE!”

You jump from your spot. The famous phrase repeats and you look below to see a little girl squeezing the All Might plushie toy with glee. She skips away, the toy dangling in her hand and All Might’s comical smile mocking you until it disappears into the crowd. Not even thirty minutes in Japan and already you are regretting your decision.

No, no. You can do this.

You had more than enough time to heal from the pain. At least that’s what you tell yourself to soothe the nerves squirming around. You push them aside. As much as you enjoyed your stay in America, you missed Japan; it is your real home. No matter how far you travel from the island, a part of you stays behind.

And it’s that part of you which holds you back from ultimately moving on. A shuffling noise grabs your attention. An employee proudly adjusts a life-size cardboard cutout of All Might outside the store, and a few tourists stop to admire him. Despite not being real, you feel his eyes stare deep into your soul; your fingers twitch and your skin suddenly becomes itchy. Sighing, you drag your feet down the hall to find the exit.

You need a drink.

—

Glass cups clink over the loud noise bursting inside the restaurant. Laughter erupts at the table after you shared a hilarious story during your time in the States. The mood is lively and relaxing as you savor the rich sake flavor exploding in your mouth like fireworks. Oh, how you missed these fun outings with your friends. Seconds later, a waiter passes by with actual fireworks fizzling on a delicious looking plate. It must be someone’s birthday today.

Your eyes follow the plate and blink. Peeking out from a distance are strands of blonde hair. They are like a batch of wild yellow wheatgrass flowing in the meadow. Someone’s large frame is blocking the view. Another waiter brings more appetizers to your table, but you ignore the food begging for your attention. Nothing matters except for the hair currently teasing you from afar. It can’t be him…right?

You stop breathing when the boulder moves, and you're disappointed. It's just a random stranger laughing into a guy's shoulder. You slump back against the booth. The sake is clouding your mind and making you see things. Maybe you need some fresh air; it is getting kind of stuffy in this dimly lit sauna.

Just as you stand, the whole restaurant rattles. You grip the table as the lights sway and flicker uncontrollably. Confused murmurs buzz in the air until the building shakes again with greater force. Dust puffs out from the ceiling, and tiny cracks spread through the walls. Everyone rushes outside, the streets filled with headless chickens panicking like no tomorrow. You grab onto your friend’s hand for dear life to avoid getting separated.

The vibrant district spirals into chaos as the screams deafen your loud heartbeat. You have no idea where the crowd is going nor what is happening. You are a fish who got caught in a net trap with no way to escape. Suddenly the madness stops, and a live shot appears on the large TV above you. Glowing on the screen is a bloody All Might fighting against the incarnation of evil itself. As the battle rages on, you stumble forward when you see him.

Toshinori Yagi. The man behind the All Might mask.

You watch in horror as Toshinori—in his real, but weak form—persisted on with the fight. Grown men wail in pure agony that their throats turn red. A woman desperately bites her fingers that she almost chews them off. The tension in the air is so palpable that it suffocates you. Clutching your shirt, you hopelessly witness the bloodshed battle getting progressively worse until a miracle happens.  

Toshinori rises from the ashes to deliver the final blow. It rocks the entire ground and makes everyone lose their footing; even the TV screen flickers, but doesn’t lose the picture. When the black smoke clears, you see Toshinori is alive with a victorious fist in the air.

He won.

That’s the last thing you remember before passing out in your friend’s arms.

—

A rainstorm hurls through the city.

The water droplets lightly tap on your black umbrella, the noise surprisingly soothing to your ears that you almost fall into a small trance. A bright light illuminates half of your face, exposing the conflict swirling through your eyes. One car rushes down the street, and you go back to avoid the tsunami wave coming from the sidewalk.

Once the coast is clear, you walk forward but stop when you reach the sidewalk’s edge. You can’t go beyond this point. You’re afraid you’ll drown, not from mini sea emerging on the road, but from your guilt that is deeper than an oceanic trench.  

The hospital’s bright lights glare back at you. Toshinori is in one of those rooms recovering from the severe wounds he received days ago. As much as you want to visit him, see him in person, hold him in your arms…you just can’t. Not when you feel so guilty for leaving him six years ago in roughly the same state—a damaged hero.

You grip the umbrella’s handle. Someone calls your name.

Whipping around, you relax at the sight of a tan overcoat standing a few feet behind. The man walks over and dips his chin to greet you. “Welcome back. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Detective Tsukauchi.” Your lips curve into a faint smile. “How’s work treating you? Still hectic as ever?”

“Crime never sleeps,” he jokes, and you two chuckle. The rain furiously falls all around you, drowning out the brief happiness you felt. Tsukauchi gazes at the hospital. “You should visit him. I’m sure he’ll appreciate seeing you again.”

“I can’t. Not after what I did to Toshinori six years ago.” Your chest tightens as you fight back the tears. “There’s no way he’ll forgive me after I broke his heart.”

A hand squeezes your shoulder. Watery eyes stare up to meet Tsukauchi’s reassuring smile, the warmth shielding you from the cold rain pouring down. He murmurs, “Something tells me he will.”

You stare back at the hospital; a light turns off, and you wonder if that is Toshinori's room. Tsukauchi’s words echo through your head like a soft chant. You shuffle forward and stick one boot out on the street; it hovers above the fast stream running toward the drain. With a deep sigh, you pull the foot back and hang your head low.

You couldn’t do it.

—

Toshinori adjusts his arm sling until he’s comfortable.

Despite being sickly frail, he feels the bed mattress sink under the weight of his heavy thoughts. He hasn’t been the same since the Kamino incident. The power of One for All no longer flows through his veins, making him feel like an empty vessel. Toshinori was the Symbol of Peace—the strongest hero in the world. Now he is a retired hero after defeating All for One, for good this time. Yet Toshinori wonders if this is all just a dream. The sharp pain shooting down his arm convinces him otherwise.

It will take time for Toshinori to get used to his new life.

A soft knock interrupts his thoughts. Toshinori glances at the door with furrowed eyes; he’s not expecting any visitors today. The doctor medically cleared him this morning.  

“Come in,” Toshinori answers, fixing his arm sling. The person enters, and he glances up only to do a double-take; his blue eyes land on you, mouth agape in astonishment. Sitting straight on the bed, he chokes out your name and asks, “Is it really you?”

“Hi, Toshi,” you weakly smile, putting aside the wet umbrella as you calmly approach him. “It is me. Do you mind if I sit here?”

He numbly shakes his head as you take a seat on the chair. The dam bursts, and all his memories of you swarm at him like a massive tidal wave. Toshinori endures the brutal force even if he nearly drowns on the spot. He blinks and notices something off about you. You’re smiling, but your eyes tell a different story. They are empty and full of despair as if you are in mourning; it worries Toshinori very much.  

An awkward silence falls between you two. Your finger anxiously scratches the chair’s armrest while Toshinori’s feet shuffle on the floor. Every ounce of your self-confidence goes down the drain the longer you stay quiet. Guess that pep-talk you did outside moments ago had a time limit. You bite the bullet by breaking the silence.

“How are you feeling?”

“To be honest with you, broken.” There’s a brief pause before he profoundly sighs, “And also a bit lost.”  

“I know what you mean.” Toshinori’s ear twitches at your whisper and snaps his head up. You squirm under his intense gaze. Your eyes roam to the gauzes tightly wrapped around his injuries he received from the fight; it gives you a deja vu moment. You clench the armrest, the guilt eating you alive. “I’m sorry…”

The hero frowns. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything—”

“Yes, I did! I left you, Toshi!” He hears the pure anguish tainting your voice as watery eyes come into view. With quivering lips, you croak, “When you proposed to me, I accepted it knowing fully well the sacrifices you must make for the greater good. Yet, I got scared after you decided to go down the path that might result in your death and just…abandoned you. You trusted me, loved me, and I left you.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, which breaks Toshinori’s heart.

“I thought I made the right choice by staying far away,” you whimper, hands curling into fists on your lap. “But the longer I did, the more it hurts me knowing your inevitable fate was getting closer.”

Toshinori unconsciously scoots closer to you, ignoring the pain shooting from his sensitive wounds; they don’t matter to him right now. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Out of nowhere, you shoot up from the chair and stand in front of the retired hero.  

“I was in Kamino the night you fought All for One, probably nearby too. When I saw you, the real you, on TV and at death's doorstep, I-I just thought about the day at the hospital six years ago. During that moment, I realized one important thing…”

Your body trembles as you unleash everything with a swift but powerful confession that leaves him speechless.

“I still love you, Toshinori. I always have, and I always will. If you had died on that night before I had the chance to say this—”

You choke as your throat goes dry…

…and then break down, crying into your hands.

The intense feelings you kept buried deep inside your heart finally manifest into the light. No one knew you carried this agony for so long. Toshinori grunts as he stands up from the bed and carefully comforts you with his good arm. He holds you close, not caring if your tears bleed through his white shirt and wet his bandages.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m sorry for making you feel this way. It was never your fault; if anything, it was mine. I’ve made many mistakes throughout my life. However, my biggest mistake was losing you.”

He steps back to graze your damped cheek gently. His fingertips twitch as they remember the softness of your skin. You close your eyes and enjoy his feathery touches.  

“I should have fought harder for you, for us, all those years ago.” Toshinori bores his majestic blue eyes into yours. They are alive and filled with deep admiration for you. “Despite what happened, just know that I love you, and I never stopped loving you. Not once.”

Your heart skips a beat while his throbs like a steady bass drum. He reaches inside his pocket, and you gasp when you see the engagement ring shining against the light. It’s the same one you left behind all those years ago.

“Although my time on Earth may be dwindling, I hope to cherish every last second I have with you. It’s still your choice, but…” Toshinori clears his throat and grasps your left hand. Determination swirls inside his eyes while asking, “Will you accept this ring and marry me?”

“Yes.”

You squeeze his hand as elation surges throughout your body. Toshinori slips the ring on your finger, the cold metal snugging around your skin. Oh, how you missed the feeling of it after six long years. Without hesitation, he captures your lips for a sweet but passionate kiss; the pain washes away and you are giddy.

Pulling away to rub your eyes, you pout, “I probably look like a mess.”

“Nonsense, you look beautiful.”

“Always the charmer,” you playfully tease, sniffling a little. A ray of sunlight shines through the windows, basking the whole room in a warm, golden glow. With soft eyes, you caress his cheek and smile. “Now how about we get out of here and take a nice stroll through the park, for old times’ sake?”

“I would love that.”

It’s as if nothing has changed between you two after all these years.

As always, thank you for reading!

[dreadwulf]

The scars of your love, they leave me breathless

The prisoner lies unmoving in a darkened tent.

Her wrists and ankles are chained heavily and staked to the dirt below. They needn’t have bothered. Though she was as dangerous once as anyone alive, there is no spirit left in her now. What lies bound and chained on the ground is only a body.

The prisoner had been a hedge knight, armed and armored. She is also a woman, though one might have to unclothe her to be sure. Tall and broad, well-muscled and masculine, and ugly besides. Her face is scarred horrifically, her body bruised and broken. She does not appear to have any fight left in her, but still they chain her to be certain. 

Beauty, they call her mockingly. Once she had been astonished at the consistency of her nickname, how from place to place it would follow her among strangers like a stray dog trailing behind her. No one can resist the irony of her hulking form with a name so delicate and pretty, and every man thinks themselves brilliant for thinking of it anew. In this camp here she no longer takes note of her nickname. She hears very little now.

Since they brought her to the Lannister camp, Brienne has done nothing but lie here lifelessly in the dark.

Soldiers come in from time to time. They sneer at her, check her bindings and change her bandages with rough hands. Each time she expects, dully, that this is when they will beat her, rip the clothes from her, but their manhandling is half-hearted at best and she remains unmolested. Brienne the Beauty is too hideous for that, she is told. There is some grumbling about orders, that she is to be kept undamaged, and that is a mockery as well. There is nothing undamaged about her. 

Brienne the Beauty. She knew that woman once. Even that is a distant memory. Now she is Brienne the Beaten, Brienne the Broken. 

She has betrayed everyone. The Starks will remember only that she broke faith with Catelyn Stark and absconded with the Kingslayer. The Brotherhood Without Banners calls her Kingslayer’s Whore and the Lannister Camp calls her beast and traitor. She brought Jaime Lannister to Lady Stoneheart to save her squire Podrick, and now Jaime imprisons her and Pod is gone. Hyle Hunt is gone. Her magic sword is gone, her horse and her armor and the shield she had brought with her from Tarth. All gone. She has failed in her knightly quest, failed in her life. Failed King Renly, failed her father, failed her Lady Catelyn, failed Podrick Payne and Hyle Hunt, failed Jaime Lannister. She has had nothing but her honor to sustain her, and now she has no honor left. 

And what is she without her honor? What use is she, what is the point of her? Without that she is only a body, as battered and broken as it is. Without it she is nothing.

There is nothing more for her in this world but the stubborn insistence of her body to keep living, her lungs still breathing and her heart still beating. But even that will cease, given time. 

The hours crawl by while she is awake and dreaming she slides into horror. 

She is hanging. Hanging and choking and clawing at the air. And all around her are all the people she has failed, in a ring surrounding her. As the rope twists she can see each face in turn, spinning and spinning, and it seems to go on forever. So many faces. Her father, Renly, Septon Merribald, Catelyn Stark, Randall Tarly, her old quartermaster, Ronnet Connington, half a hundred more she cannot put a name to. She wants to beg them all for forgiveness, but she can’t breathe. She pulls urgently at the rope around her neck, trying to loosen it enough to get the words out, but she can only rasp and suck in small gasps of air that taste like death and decay. It goes on and on, the world spinning around her while her life drains out. Kicking, dying, issuing faint, animal cries for mercy.

No matter where her dreams begin they end here, with the agonizing pain of the noose choking the life from her as the onlookers cheer. She wakes gasping for air and feeling for the rope around her neck and it is no better. Awake there is no ending to her suffering. Her wounds pain her, old and new, and the knowledge of her betrayal pains her even more. Somewhere beyond this tent is Jaime and he will not come to her. Her most painful wound is from him, a dagger sunk into her shoulder without hesitation or mercy. It throbs even now, and bleeds through the bandages still tied there.

The last she had seen of him, he had cursed her for a traitor and ordered her taken captive by his arriving reinforcements, lead by the silent headsman Ser Illyn Payne. Somehow he had followed them, turned back, and brought a rescue party. Somehow he had been in time to stop the Brotherhood from murdering his liege lord. He had not been in time to stop her betrayal of him, his capture at her hands. 

Ser Illyn had dragged her away from Lady Catelyn’s body. Threw Brienne over a horse and rode her roughly to a new camp, somewhere in the Riverlands, she knows not where. She could hardly see her surroundings during the ride for weeping. Then she had been thrust into irons and left here, alone, ever since. 

Periodically a bowl of stew is put before her, which she ignores. She has no stomach for it, no use for food anymore.

A guard kicks her when he comes to collect her bowl. “Eat up, Beauty. The Lord Commander will have my head if you don’t get a meal in you before we march.” Later he kicks her again, but it does not improve her appetite. The bowl is taken away untouched.

She is wasting away, drifting. It is almost peaceful, to leave behind the striving and struggle. Hope is a cruel weight, and without it she is light as a feather.  

But when she closes her eyes…

A weight atop her heavy as a boulder that she cannot lift with all of her strength, pinning her back to the ground. A weight that claws and scrambles and tears into her with teeth like knives. Biter. Biter tearing at her face, Biter eating her flesh. And all around a faceless crowd of soldiers from the Baratheon camp, from the Lannister camp, from the Vale Knights, from every camp she had ever encountered, watching her struggle and die and doing nothing. They could even be cheering, but she cannot hear them over the wet ripping sound of another bite –

Brienne jerks awake from these violent dreams out of breath and with her heart racing. Such terror afflicts her in these moments that she cannot take in where or when she is or what danger exactly surrounds her. She reaches out for Oathkeeper every time, hands fumbling at her waist where her sword-belt should be, at the space beside her where she would keep it at the ready. Her magic sword can soothe her at such times, and just to hold it in her hands makes her feel protected and strong. But Oathkeeper is gone. Jaime took it from her, when he locked her in shackles. 

Oathkeeper comforts her as much for its deadly effectiveness as for the memory it brings of the man who bestowed it on her, she is beginning to realize. The blade has been her connection to Jaime, and when she holds it, she feels him with her. Her protector. Her source of strength. Now its absence punctuates the breaking of that connection. Her hands fumbling in the dark cannot find the lion pommel that her fingers know so well, and she remembers now that Jaime despises her.

She remembers this and shuts her eyes against the reality of her surroundings, the hard iron around her wrists and ankles. She would rather sleep and dream of dying than live in a nightmare she cannot wake from. 

At last, in the monotony of her drifting days, a well-familiar voice interrupts her half-dreaming state.

“You aren’t eating.”

She doesn’t look at him, nor reply. In the corner of her eye she can still see his shape hovering there in the flap of the tent, shifting unsteadily, unable to hold still.

“If you intend to spite me by starving to death, you should know it’s a very slow process. We will have reached King’s Landing before that can happen.”

He says it casually, almost conversationally. There is only a hint of the bitter edge in his voice that she knows she will see on his face, if she can bring herself to look.

“You have to eat,” he insists strangely.

Why? What would be the point? It doesn’t matter even enough to respond. She just looks at his shadow stretching across the ground, how it reaches past her, carried in the moonlight.

There is a rustling sound, and then movement. The tent flap closes, and the moonlight winks out. The shadow is replaced with fine leather boots, and Brienne has to close her eyes.

Then he is crouching down beside her.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time pondering what to do with you,” Jaime Lannister says quietly, directly above her face.

He waits.

“Are you going to ask me what I’ve decided?” He pauses again. She can feel his eyes on her steadily. “No interest?”

His presence sparks something in her, feeble but present. She is more awake than she has been in days. Her wounds ache in his presence. The one in her shoulder sharpest of all. 

“Come now, you are disappointing me. Where has your cunning gone? You playacted so earnestly to entice me to my doom, and now you lay there like a lump. Will you not argue for your release, at least?”

She has nothing to say to that. There is nowhere for her to go, if he releases her. 

Her inaction is upsetting him. She is realizing it slowly, but can’t understand. She is so tired. She wants everything to be over.

He repeats his order, a little bit louder. “You have to eat.”

“What for?” she murmurs weakly.

He comes nearer, satisfied perhaps that at last she has responded to him. “Your wounds won’t heal if you don’t eat.”

Her wounds won’t heal anyway. She is more wounds than flesh at this point. Why is he bothering with her? He should go away and let her sleep.

Confused, she opens one eye and takes in his blurry shape. When she glimpses his face she gasps, despite herself. He looks awful. There are dark rings around his eyes, and a cut on his forehead from the melee with the Brotherhood. He looks pale and exhausted, aged, haunted. 

“You stabbed me,” she says in a hoarse whisper.

He makes a noise that resembles a laugh, but sounds a little more like a punch in the stomach. “You betrayed me. How else should I respond?”

Does that make them even? Probably not. She is chained to a stake in the ground. That does not suggest forgiveness is in the offering.

He goes on. “Let’s have it then, your excuses. You did not mean to do it. You were forced into it. Your liege lady commanded you and you had to obey. Which tale will you go with? Tell it to me.”

Jaime’s voice breaks on this last and he glares at her, furious, or so she thinks.

It will do no good. She could tell him any number of things, and it will not matter. Her reasons are not reason enough, and anyway he will not believe her. 

She stays silent, watching him.

“Do you mean to die now? Is that what this is?” His words are heavier now, laden with feeling. “But you will not die. After all this? You should be enjoying your victory. You had me fooled, Brienne of Tarth. You made me believe in honor and justice again. Me, the Oathbreaker, the man without honor. A stunning achievement. You should be proud.”

He doesn’t wait for her to reply this time. 

“I suppose I should thank you. Here I have been wasting my time trying to make a hero of myself, and you have reminded me of what I truly am. It does not matter what I do, my whole life long. I shall always be a villain. The Smiling Knight forever.”

He laughs at it again, and it is awful.

“How is it you are suffering so? Do you mourn your liege lady? Don’t take well to imprisonment? Sore loser? Or do you expect a cruel fate at my hands? Shall I tell you what I have planned?”

She doesn’t mean to speak. The words slip out without her notice, accusingly.

“You stabbed me.”

Jaime seizes her by the shoulders. He moves so suddenly she jerks in surprise, gasping audibly. Before she knows quite what’s happened, he is atop her, holding her down. His lips are pursed in grim determination. But his eyes are wild.

"The neck," he tells her through gritted teeth, his voice lowered, "will kill at the slightest cut. The groin will spit blood to ten paces and empty you in under a minute. The belly - that would kill you slowly. The knee, that long cord at the ankle, you'd live, but you'd never walk rightly again. But here --"

He pushes his hand into her wound roughly, painfully, until his hand is bloody and she is wincing so her face nearly collapses in on itself.

"- this will heal," he finishes, with great emphasis. "It will heal."

He glares at her, wild with worry, completely unable to look away. 

Her mind reassembles itself slowly. Takes in what he has said. 

"I would have-" she tries to say, but he stops her. He cannot help himself.

"You didn't. And now no one we left alive will believe you came willingly. My forces destroyed the Brotherhood, killed their leader, and took you prisoner. When you escape the villainous Kingslayer in the Riverlands you can safely journey North, or wherever decent people go now."

She swallows several objections, her sluggish mind parsing through his intentions. 

He manages to sound accusing and spiteful even as he offers her a lifeline. She cannot understand it.

Escape. He means her to escape. He means to let her go? Why?

"And if I don’t?" she manages to ask.

"We don’t keep prisoners. Do you want to be hanged again?"

She turns her face away from him. That, she does not want. Anything but that.

His hands holding her down grow heavier. The metal hand and the flesh one.

“We will march soon for King’s Landing, and there is no reason I should ever see you again. Is there anything you would tell me? This is your last chance.”

Brienne looks back up at him, as much as it pains her. She owes him that at least.

She remembers the look on his face when the Brotherhood took him. It was not merely betrayal, it was devastation. A wound struck to the core of him, one he would never forgive. She realized then how completely he had trusted her and how badly she had broken him.

She had not thought, in her wildest imaginings, that she could ever hurt him that way. Even knowing she would betray him, she had not known how much he would be injured by it. She shouldn’t have the capacity for that, the power over him. And yet there he was, wounded.

She thinks on it and she looks directly into his eyes, something she has never quite dared to do. Like everything else about him, they are stunning - the green so green, his eyelashes long and delicate and pretty. He is too much for her, she cannot take him in. He is too beautiful, too volatile, too… Jaime. 

She has hardly strength enough to raise her voice, but she spends it here. It is the only thing she wants him to know. 

“Jaime... I am so very sorry...”

Right away she sees that there is nothing she could have said to hurt him more. For a second, he wavers. All around his eyes his face tightens into an expression of deep sorrow. Behind his grass-green eyes she can see the wound that she has struck, raw and bleeding. Then his jaw clenches, and he swallows hard, and he makes himself smile. An awful, painful smile.

“Call me Kingslayer.” 

Then he releases her and rises slowly to his feet. He leaves her alone in the tent, and the nightmare goes on.