#this is about all of us--check yourselves and compare who you were when you wished there was more content and who you are when it exists

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Despite Your Flaws: Vergil x G/N Reader

SUMMARY: Vergil and you are spending a soft moment together; one where Vergil asks a question that has been on his mind since V defeated Urizen.

BEGINNING NOTES: I wrote this while listening to “Our Happy Ending” from Buddy Simulator 1984 (I'll link it below). I highly suggest reading this while listening to it. The song helps set the tone; plus there are no words so it doesn’t mess with your reading (at least that’s how my brain works lmao) and it's short. Quick reminder: Check my H/Cs for what Vergil is wearing--you can find it through the AO3 link below. 🟪💠⬛🟪💠⬛ Vergil x G/N Reader Fluff Not angst per se, but kinda sad Short and cute; at least I think so anyway

==

     The room was quiet except for the faint baroque-style music coming from the record player. In the middle of the room on the queen size mattress were two people; the eldest son of Sparda and you, his beloved muse. The pair were leaning up ever so slightly against the headboard; Vergil had a book in hand while you were studying the former.

     It was the first time in a long time that the both of you took a day off to yourselves; one that was only about relaxing and indulging in each other’s warmth. No training. No paperwork. Nothing. Just the two of you intertwined in one another’s limbs.

     An unintentional quiet delighted hum emanated from you as you mindlessly traced Vergil’s tattoos; something you used to do quite often with V. However, when compared to V, tracing the complete man’s skin was different. 

     He is more muscular than V. Vergil’s skin is much warmer and rougher to the touch; the divots and seemingly random scarring that adorned the pallid skin only added to the sensation. Despite them being the same person, their reactions were almost opposites; V would seemingly melt into your touch, while Vergil tends to flinch and pull away from your soft touches--which you'd never hold against the tormented man, but it was still different. 

     “I do not understand why you do that,” Vergil sighed as he watched your hand travel up his forearm.

     You looked up at him with a raised brow, “Do what?”

     A soft thump came from his book as he shut it, focusing on the conversation, “Trace those.”

     It wasn’t surprising that Vergil disliked his tattoos, not only because of the painful memories that spawned them but because of the man who adorned them before.

     You gently traced down one of the larger lines, “I don’t really have a reason,” your fingers ghosted the back side of his hand and down his knuckles, “Do you want me to stop?”

     Vergil set his cheek against the top of your head and grabbed your hand, “May I ask you something?”

     “Sure.”

     “Do you wish I was-” his brow twitched at his thoughts, “was still him?”

     A small sad frown pulled the corners of your lips down, “What? Who do you mean?”

     “V.”

     You shook your head gently, “No,” your fingers tightened around his, “I like having the entire person; not just half.”

     Vergil stared down at the intertwinement of your hands, “Are you… sure..?”

     “Of course,” you got up and moved to sit on his lap, wanting a better view of your lover, “Why would I want anyone else?”

     “V was much kinder to you,” his eyes avoided yours, “He was more personable… V was raw unfiltered humanity; why wouldn’t you want that?”

     “Because,” you gently pulled one of his hands to your lips and kissed his knuckles, whispering softly, “I prefer a man with flaws rather than one who is perfect; if they are perfect, they cannot improve, cannot change. Flaws are what makes someone human, Vergil.”

     He shook his head ‘no’ and looked at you with a furrowed brow, “That doesn’t make sense; V was precisely all of my humanity, how could he not have been human?”

     You gave him a soft comforting smile, “Just because something is labeled as one thing doesn’t mean that it fits said category; you are a prime example.”

     “How so?”

     Your smile widened, “One could label you as a fickle evil man, while all I see is a man who was hurting, who needed help and couldn’t find any; someone who acted out of pure emotion. A man who needed to be cared and loved for.”

     Silence fell back over the room as Vergil mulled over his thoughts and shook his head. 

     “But why do you care for me? After everything that I am responsible for causing? Why wouldn’t you want someone free of those sins?” Vergil’s face was that of curiosity but his voice had an underlying sadness.

     You gently placed your palm on his cheek, rubbing it with your thumb, “Because you deserve it. Because I fell in love with Vergil; both halves of you.”

     He scoffed and turned away from you and your palm.

     “I mean it,” you took your other hand and used it to turn his gaze back to you, holding both sides of his face in your hands, “Despite everything, you still deserve to be loved, to be cared about; no matter what. You are a sweet and loving man, Vergil. I wouldn’t trade you for V, for Urizen, even for the world itself. You mean more than anything else ever has to me, my dear. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth if that is what you wished. I could die tomorrow and I wouldn’t regret a single moment spent with you; only that I couldn’t spend more of my time with you.”

     Vergil turned his gaze down a bit, blinking slowly, “That is a dangerous mindset; one that could be taken advantage of, you know that? How do you know that I won’t do so?”

     “I trust you,” you smiled warmly and paused for a moment in thought before smiling wider, “ ‘For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress’.”

     The blue devil smiled and turned his gaze back to you, “Have you forgotten that I am half-devil?”

     “Not in the slightest, in fact,” you squirmed closer to him, placing your forehead against his, “I can hear a loud purring from him.”

     Embarrassment spread across Vergil’s face, “You are hearing things.”

     You decided to ignore his comment, “You know, I like hearing you purr, Vergil. It lets me know that you’re happy, at least to some extent, and that’s all I want; for you to be happy.”

     “With you my love,” Vergil placed a gentle sweet kiss on your lips, “I am in pure bliss.”

==

ENDING NOTES: I have been working on a smutty Vergil fic and needed a break so I just wanted something short, cute, and soft. Also for more context: Vergil will never admit it but he sees/saw V as the "better" half of him. Urizen was a powerful brute but that's not what Vergil wants to be; sure he wants power but a warrior without knowledge is worthless in a fight. 💠💠💠 Hope y'all enjoyed reading and thanks for the support! It truly means a lot to me after all the other fandoms I've been in; ones where it is so toxic that I never shared my stories or art, so it's nice to have a kind community like the DMC one ;)))

==

Link for song: Our Happy Ending: Buddy Simulator 1984

==

If you like this please consider checking this on my AO3. There are extra chapters and my H/Cs over there, so please consider checking them out! Comments, Likes/Kudos, and shares are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!! :)))

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[toujokaname]

Tatsumi's 2022 Birthday Celebration

Author: Happy Elements K.K

Characters: Tatsumi, Jun, Hajime, Hiiro, Hokuto

"Something I want... is it? The best gift I could get is to be celebrated, so nothing comes to mind right now."

[ Read on my site for a better viewing experience using Ois~su ♪ ]

Opening Speech

Tatsumi: Everyone, thank you for coming to the party today.

I feel honored that so many people showed up in such a busy end of the year season.

I will make an effort to make this a happy time for all of you who have gathered here.

Well then, please enjoy yourselves...♪

Food Talk

Jun: Tatsumi-senpai. Once again, happy birthday...♪

Tatsumi: Jun-san, thank you very much. I hope that you enjoy this party.

Jun: Yes, thank you so much!

But I mean, are you really having a good time? Aren't you always worrying about other people?

Tatsumi: Fufu, just the fact that you came to congratulate me is enough for me, Jun-san...

I know. If you could indulge one selfish request, how about having a cup of tea and talking with me again?

Jun: Haha, that's nothing compared to Ohii-san's selfishness~ If it's okay with you, I'd be glad to ♪

Presents from ES Idols

Tatsumi: I never thought I would receive so many gifts... It makes me very happy. Let's open one of them.

Hajime: Ah, Kazehaya-senpai. That's my present...♪

Tatsumi: Aah, so it was from you, Hajime-san. Thank you very much.

It seems to be very light... Are these tea leaves?

Hajime: Yes. This is a gift from me inspired by senpai's image...♪

I couldn't figure out what to pick, so I ended up with something fishy...

Tatsumi: That's not true. This is a very special present to me. I will take good care of it...♪

Wishes from ES Idols

Hiiro: Tatsumi-senpai! This is a very nice party. Everybody seems to be having a good time, and the whole place seems to be filled with happiness.

Hokuto: Yes, it has a pleasant atmosphere. I suppose it's also because of Kazehaya-senpai's personality.

Tatsumi: Hiiro-san, Hokuto-san, thank you very much. I am very happy to hear you say that...♪

Hokuto: Ah, happy birthday, Kazehaya-senpai. Let's continue to compete with each other as units of StarPro.

Tatsumi: Fufu. Once again, thank you, Hokuto-san. I hope to perform with everyone from Trickstar again ♪

Hiiro: Umu! I'm looking forward to the day when I can sing with Trickstar as well!

Party Ending Talk

Tatsumi: Everyone, did you enjoy today's party?

...Fufu, it feels like I'm asking you to answer, "I enjoyed it." I don't want to force an answer.

At least, I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed the food, the conversation, and the gifts. It made me very happy.

Now, I would like to do my best to return the happiness I have received from you all. I'll be looking forward to it...♪

Minitalks

Tatsumi: Anzu-san. I would like to thank you very much for organizing this party today.

The decorations, the food... I can't thank you enough for having prepared all of this for me.

Anzu-san, please enjoy yourself as well.

💬 Please accept this.

Tatsumi: Thank you very much, Anzu-san. Fufu, it's a cute stuffed bear ♪

Do I just put this on my clothes? Understood. I'll put it on now, please wait a moment.

💬 By the way, I got you a present... 

Tatsumi: Oh, this is... Is this the stuffed animal that all the birthday people were wearing?

Thank you very much. Please let me thank you again...♪

Tatsumi: Oh, Anzu-san. Can I help you?

Ah, so you came to check on me.

Rest assured, there's nothing to worry about. On the contrary, I am very happy that people from the same office and circles came to congratulate me.

💬 Have you eaten the food? 

Tatsumi: Yes, I just ate with everyone from ALKALOID.

All the dishes were delicious. Even Aira-san, who has a small appetite, ate a lot today ♪

💬 Have you seen the presents? 

Tatsumi: No, I was just about to go and see them. Would you like to join me, Anzu-san?

Fufu, I can't wait to see what presents they have for me ♪

Tatsumi: ...Aah, Anzu-san. No, I'm just trying to remember everything about today. It really was a great party.

Not only did I get to celebrate with everyone, but they all seemed to be having a good time.

It was the kind of party that made me feel happy just to be there.

💬 I'm happy you enjoyed it. 

Tatsumi: Yes, it's a wonderful memory. I will be able to sleep with a warm feeling tonight.

I will repay this favor through my work...♪

💬 Next year, too... 

Tatsumi: Fufu, right now, it's too early to talk about next year... I would be happy to celebrate like this again next year ♪

For this purpose, I will continue my efforts as a member of ALKALOID. Anzu-san, thank you for everything you do for me.

[ ☆ ]

[sigilmint]

imagine not being able to embrace new content for the thing you like bc you like it so much that you've put up huge walls around it and have decided that no one, not even the creators or the artists those creators have given their blessing to, may come in and alter or expand your understanding of the thing you claim to enjoy

[boom-bakugou]

‘Wedding Crashers’ - Katsuki Bakugou

A/N: Sorry for my inactivity but here’s a little sorry and thank you present for me hitting 1k! I love you all sm <3

Pairings: Pro Hero!Bakugou x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, ooc deku; but it’s more of a headcanon, semi-public sex

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Izuku Midoriya inviting you to his wedding is a definite stab in yours and Katsuki Bakugou’s backs. But you’ll show him.

Word Count: 5k

masterlist

You had considered your morning to be relatively normal, breakfast not burnt, coffee just that right amount of bitter to stir you awake. But those happy moments of peaceful bliss were soon to be fleeting as your mail arrived. Sifting through the pile to what you assumed would be bank statements and bills; your fingers landed on a cream white envelope. Your name printed neatly in a cursive font that when you followed it with your eyes for too long it almost made you want to puke. Tearing it open haphazardly, you read the perfumed content inside.

‘Dear Y/N Y/LN,

We are very proud to invite you to the blah blah blah wedding of pro hero blah blah Izuku Midoriya and blah blah blah.

RSVP blah-‘

Wait what? The taste in your mouth was pitiful. Yes, you and Izuku had dated years prior and after being childhood friends, yet it didn’t end… swimmingly. But this didn’t feel like inviting a childhood friend to your happiest day, no, this felt like a backhanded swipe at your ex-girlfriend who was well known to the media to be single. Pro-Hero gossip magazines made sure of that.

Throwing the invitation onto your countertop, your eyebrows furrowed with spite. You felt weak almost, watching your ex-best friend grow up to be this bountiful hero with merch in every store that you went to. Though you had triumphed well in the hero charts yourself, nothing ever seemed to compare to him. The golden boy. You never really got over the fact that he ended things because being a single hero was more postable than one who was tied down. Until now. Mr. Big shot getting married. It really made you question your integrity,

Recuperating your thoughts, you realised your phone was buzzing on the couch next to you. Checking to see the influx of text messages, you saw Katsuki Bakugou’s name fill up your lockscreen with notifications.

Bakugou: tell me you got the stupid fuckin invite too

Bakugou: the nerve that nerd still fuckin has

Bakugou: inviting his childhood ‘friends’ after all this time

Bakugou: tch, one big publicity stunt if you ask me

You chuckle as you scroll through the messages, gladly knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

Y/N: so what’re we going to do about it?

Bakugou: what do you mean?

Y/N: well we can’t show him up at his own wedding but we can sure stir something of our own

Bakugou: well that idiot is marrying some nobody extra

Bakugou: probably to show how ‘great’ he is

Bakugou: so how about if two top pro heroes rsvp’d together?

Y/N: you mean us?

Bakugou: no, midnight and grape juice. of course us you idiot

The idea brewed in your head for a moment. Izuku had always been nice when he was younger, and Katsuki hadn’t exactly been the nicest towards him in return. You were always the mediator in those situations. However when Deku grew and grew in the hero charts he started to lose touch with reality. Not really remembering what being a hero was about besides having his face stuck on a lunch box and raking in the dough for it. It was sad. You didn’t know who he was anymore.

Y/N: fuck it, i’m in

-

“You know, don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tux before.” You chuckle, arm linked around Bakugou’s as you stepped out of the chauffeured car together. You were here to make a scene. Paparazzi glistened everywhere like a moth to a candle flame. You couldn’t wait for the tabloids in all honesty.

“Shut up.” Bakugou grumbled, almost in embarrassment. But his smile didn’t show a hint of it. “Not looking too bad yourself.”

You had coordinated well. Your maroon dress flowed in the gentle summer breeze and matched perfectly to Bakugou’s equally coloured tux. You two were such a pair it was nigh impossible to not think that you two were together today. And the paparazzi made sure of that indefinitely.

You couldn’t lie about how the service was beautiful, because it was. However you didn’t need to hear the shutter clicks of a camera go off every few words they spoke. It was distracting, and you and Bakugou shared a glance each time it occurred. Stifling a giggle, you hoped no camera would pick that up. Even if they did, they’d probably pin it to ‘look at these other heroes wishing that they were the next to get married!’ they’d eat that shit uplike ambrosia.

“Can’t wait to see the reception.” You mumbled towards Bakugou, your plastic smiles never fading for the cameras. Izuku making a show of himself and his new bride.

Watching him was almost bittersweet. The happy memories of you three as children flashing behind your eyes. Now replaced with a fame hungry number one hero. Where had all the time gone?

“What’s got you so perplexed?” Katsuki asked, filtering your way through the crowd, making your way to the cars that would deliver you all to the reception.

“Just-“ You sigh, allowing the cover of other heroes to hide you from the all seeing eyes of the paparazzi. “I miss him, y’know? Miss how we used to be.”

“Tch.” Bakugou didn’t care about the scowl present on his face, your words ate him up like some sort of bacteria. “Thought you said that he was the most selfish guy you’d ever dated?”

“He was but like-” You watched Izuku’s back as he held his new partner’s hand. Waving to the cameras and not watching her, as lovely as she looked in her wedding gown. “As weird as it sounds, I sometimes miss high school.”

Bakugou’s eyes scanned your face, following your eyesight to Midoriya. Fucking extra. The thoughts swam around his head, polluting his mind. He knew Izuku’s break up with you had been a massive toll on your mental health and your ego. He made you think that you weren’t good enough for him, and Bakugou never got over that fact. How could he pass up on you for anything else?

Breaking apart from the conglomerative of wedding-goers, Bakugou lead you to one of the specially hired cars to take the guests to the reception. Despite Bakugou’s abrasive and rough nature, you couldn’t help but notice how delicately he held your hand. Not tugging you along or haphazardly grabbing you by your wrist, making you follow him. No, his fingers interlaced with yours and you felt the coarseness of his palms due to the explosive nature of his quirk.

“Katsu?”

“Hm?”

“You can let go of my hand now, we’re in the car.”

“Yeah- whatever.”

Catching up in the car, you both realise how little time you have to actually spend with each other. Though you and Bakugou communicate 1000 times more than you do with Midoriya, heroing keeps you both busy. No times like these to goof off and be with each other. You missed it, you missed your hot-headed idiot friend.

“Hope there’s less fuckin’ paparazzi here. Think I’m gonna go blind with those extras pointing them in my face.” Bakugou rolled down the tinted window a smidge to watch as the car drove into an old looking manor hall where guests had already begun to arrive.

Flowers decorated the ground and just as you two got your hopes up, you saw a line of paparazzi at each side of the staircase leading to the double-doored entrance.

“Well, it was worth a try.” You remark to him, patting his back as you chuckled to him.

Bakugou was the first to exit, standing beside the door so he could reach for your hand to help you out while you fixed your dress. Just as the two of you began to reach for each other's arms to walk into the reception together; there was a brusque tug to your dress. Upon further inspection, a member of the shutterbugs had stood on a long section of your dress. Allowing himself to get pictures of it stretched out and flowy.

“Hey!” Bakugou didn’t waste time on pushing him off the tail end of the dress. “Try anything funny like that again with my girl and say goodbye to that shitty camera of yours!”

The man nodded, slowly letting his camera hang loose on his neck. The rest of the cameramen easily caught the scene but you both couldn’t care less. What’s a wedding without a little drama?

“Thanks Katsuki.” You note with a soft smile.

Bakugou’s hand tenderly makes its way around the small of your back until his arm is holding you close to him as you walk inside. His hand sitting in a caring way at your hip to assure that nothing could come between you both. You could not wait for the media to plaster this fake-ness on every outlet that they could! However, you liked the thought of relishing in the attention right now.

Once the dining festivities had come and gone. It was time for their first dance. Watching as he held her under the blue lighting had your heart hurting slightly. The thought that that could’ve been you. But Bakugou was right. He’s probably marrying some quirkless nobody not only to make himself look better, but being with another hero is messy. You both had media eyes on you; but… you couldn’t help but wonder how different your life would be like if Midoriya was how he used to be.

You didn’t even notice Bakugou’s eyes on you the whole time. Not wanting to waste a second of his eyesight on the show Izuku was putting on. You were a sight of your own. How could you not see that you deserved someone better? Someone like him. You always spoke about how everyone was under a facade when supporting Deku, but you never correlated that to yourself.

After a short while, others began to join in on the large dance floor. Perfectly spacious for all the famous faces and their egos. Bakugou’s hand traced down your arm until his hand clasped with yours, gently leading you to the floor yourselves.

“What’re you doing?”

“Come on, who’s to say we can’t have some fun too huh?”

Smiling at him, you followed his lead. His hand occupying your waist before pulling you in closer to his chest. Flowing with the music, you couldn’t help the cheesy smile on your face; nor the one that spread to Bakugou’s.

“Why’s no one ever tied down Mr. Ground Zero then?” Your question takes Bakugou by surprise, showing a small blip in your combined graceful swaying to the music.

“No ones good enough.” Such a Bakugou answer.

“You’re sounding like Izuku, but he probably got that from the old you.” You jested, earning an eye roll from Bakugou. “I’m being serious! Come on you can tell me.”

It takes him a moment to figure out an answer, so much so that he doesn’t focus on dancing anymore. He just stands there holding you before locking eyes again.

“Just haven’t found the right person to deal with my bullshit I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence and your eyes search his face for answers. You didn’t even realise how close you were to him. His breath fanning your face, the smell of oak and fire and burning sweetness engulfed your senses. You also didn’t realise how the two of you sank closer and closer into one another.

“Hey Kacchan, mind if I steal her from you?”

Izuku’s voice almost sends you two flying away from each other like same sides of a magnet.

“Ask her yourself she’s not mine.” You turn from Bakugou to give a friendly smile to Midoriya, allowing your hand to rest in his. “I’ll be at the bar. Free drinks and all.”

His answers are short, curt. Yet before you can ask him if he’s alright Deku spins you and begins to dance with you in his arms at the tempo of the new music track that’s playing.

“Long time no see Y/N!” His manner has always been so chipper, despite the facade of it all. Though Bakugou and you went there to purposefully to cause discourse; you don’t think you have it in you to be mean to Izuku’s face.

“Yeah, look at you! Married man now, must be scary.” You chuckle, almost nervously. It was like speaking to a stranger.

“Well I guess I’ll find out! But come on that’s been the subject of the whole day! I wanna know about you and Kacchan.” You felt like Bakugou right now, the old nickname boiling your blood as it did his. There was no doubt Izuku took influence from Bakugou and his fiery personality; but he took it in all the wrong ways. Using confidence to become cold, uncaring.

“Oh- haha, Katsuki and I aren’t-“

“Y/N. Don’t lie to me! I can see the way he’s burning holes in my tux from over here.”

Turning you to the music so you could face where Katsuki was standing, you peaked behind Midoriya’s arm to see Bakugou with an all too familiar scowl on his face. Chasing down a beverage in a crystalline glass in one easy gulp.

“If you ask me Midoriya he’s always looked at you that way.” You laugh your statement off but you meant it with malice.

“Midoriya? Feeling formal today are we Y/N?” He had completely lost touch of who he used to be. “I used to look at you like that when I saw you with other guys, I know what that look is.”

His comment stops you dead in your tracks, not allowing for him to swing you to and fro to the music.

“Actually Midoriya I don’t even remember you looking me with jealous intent other than when I was higher than you on the hero charts.” Shaking yourself free from his towering position on you, you stormed off to the patio doors, letting yourself be eaten by the oncoming darkness of night.

Crying at your ex’s wedding. Not something you’d think you’d ever do in your lifetime but here you were. Thankfully you couldn’t see any reporters or such outside so for now, it was just you and your tears. Maybe you were too harsh on him? You used to be friends right? What happened to that kid who wanted to be a hero who you looked up to? What happened to the boyfriend you had who kissed you goodnight and ignored you when your face was on the TV more than him or snapped at you when he was announced lower than you and broke up with you because ‘heroes dating are messy!’ No. Bakugou was right. He was a self-righteous bastard now.

“Y/N?”

You half expected Midoriya to come out after you but he was probably entertaining other guests. Luckily, as you turned you saw Bakugou standing outside with you, signature hands in his pockets with a dumb, sympathetic smirk on his face.

“Hey.”

“I promise I didn’t punch that asshole at his own wedding but I can tell you he got a fuckin’ earful from me. Hope the paps got a good pic.” His tone was joking but it hadn’t cracked a smile from you yet.

“S’alright. Wouldn’t give two shits if you did.” You sniffled, collecting mascara tears on your fingers and wiping them on the decorative concrete bannisters of the balcony. “Shouldn’t’ve fucking come. This was stupid I have too much baggage for this shit.”

You turned away from him, allowing yourself to lean out on the barrier, looking into the distance on the warm night. You could hear Bakugou give a small sigh before his arms snuck around your waist, pulling your back into his chest before placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

“That fuckin’ idiot didn’t know what he lost and it’s my fault for influencin’ him.” The pain in his voice was evident. Did Bakugou blame himself for the hurt Midoriya caused you?

“Katsu-“

“No. That extra is so blinded by the shit everyone has to say that he’s forgotten what real life is. Doesn’t care about his stupid fans or his friends or the best most understanding girl in the whole fucking world. A girl I know does the best for everyone no matter what her own situation is.” You turn around to face him, not wanting to leave his embrace. “Y/N. No matter how much I’ve always wanted to fuckin’ win I’ve just wanted the best for you. And when that bastard did what he did to you- I- fuck. You look at him, like you’re waiting for him to just notice you; but every time I see you it’s like I’m seeing you set the stars in the sky every fuckin night. You just- you’re fuckin’ everything to me Y/N.”

It was completely silent on the balcony besides the low thump of the music from indoors, but it was deafening. But it all faded when his lips attached to yours. It was so clear. All that pining over Midoriya when he was just copying the one who actually saw you for who you were. He even copied Bakugou’s crush on you, most likely to make him jealous. But your mind had no time to think of that when all you could feel was Bakugou.

It was like you had never been kissed before, never felt the love and sensuality behind it. Soft and moist but breathy and warm. For once Bakugou didn’t wish to win a battle, he wanted unity and to be together with you. His hands danced over the delicate curves of you in your dress; taking in every inch of your perfect body. The gasp that fell from your mouth was perfect entrance for Bakugou’s tongue to mingle with yours. The sparks hot and electric between you both was like liquid lightning.

Just as your hands found home in his hair, you heard the all too familiar sound of today of a photo being taken. Bakugou is the first to break the kiss to find the intruder of your special moment. Your lips already feel blushed and bruised but your heart was nearly pounding out your chest.

“Fuckin’ print that in your gossip magazine you extra!” Bakugou couldn’t help but heartily laugh at the man as he shook with worry after catching the intimate moment. He wanted to show you off. He wasn’t ashamed that his lips had captured you to be his.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” He whispers into your ear and you eagerly nod, grasping his one hand with your two as the both of you manouvered your way through the wedding guests until you finally found a small closet down a hallway where no one from the party had entered.

Slamming the door shut behind you, your eyes drank in Bakugou’s frame. How had you missed that small boy you once knew had now become this beefy, beautiful man? Who was looking at you with the same awe and intent? Bakugou cornered you against the door of the supply closet, latching his lips together with yours once again as if he was scared he’d never be able to taste you again.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect.” Katsuki’s lips mashed with yours as his hands slid up your dress, the coarseness of his fingers against your soft skin sending shivers down your spine.

All those years of being a hero really showed on Bakugou, he lifted you with ease as your fingers traced scars on the back of his neck; holding on for support. His hips pin you against the door and you feel his cock hardening between the fabric of your underwear and his suit pants, you can’t help the whimper escaping your lips at the friction of him.

Bakugou’s hands slip under the straps of your dress, letting them fall delicately to your sides as his lips ensnare yours. His grunts and your whimpers enough to make any passerby know what was going on in the confined space of the closet. His fingers glide beneath the dress which allowed it to fall further as Bakugou felt the weight of your breasts in his palms.

“God you’re fucking everything princess.” His fingers slide beneath the lacy fabric to thumb your nipples, perking and tugging it with his forefinger.

Breaking the kiss, his head lowers to encapsulate the bud in his mouth. Gently suckling it before rolling it feverishly between his teeth. Your hands snaking through his hair only spurring the assault on your supple flesh. Biting your lip to stop the obvious moans that were threatening to spill out of your mouth. You swore you could see stars as his tongue flicked against the pointed nub- sending your nerves wild.

“Bet that fucking extra never treated you like this baby.” He matched your height, his gaze never leaving your own as he took both of your tits out of your bra; kneading the flesh and buds of your nipples as he spoke. “Just wanted to get himself off, I know how to fuckin’ treat you right.”

“Then do it… Kacchan.” You spoke with such gusto in your breathy state, knowing that the old nickname would make him see red. And god did it send him feral.

His body pressed you further into the door, even if it felt like he couldn’t. The aching feel of his cock rubbing against your clothed core made you mewl in want of him. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress and made little pricking motions into your inner thighs until he traced a slit over your panties.

“Shit you’re fucking wet.” The pads of his fingers kneading against where you wanted him most, a chuckle falling his lips as your hips did their best to try and get any sort of relief.

“Katsuki please- please fuck oh my god-“ Your neck craned back as you felt your body take control. The low growl in Bakugou’s throat at the sight of you barely touched and already begging for him.

Tracing his fingers along your décolletage he stopped when he met your parted lips before roughly shoving his fingers in your mouth, pressing down the body of your tongue.

“Please please please-“ Katsuki mocked. “Please what princess? Better use your fuckin’ words or else.”

An insufferable smirk played upon his lips as he felt your cunt clench around nothing at his dirty words. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he wiped the remnants of your spit across your tits; awaiting for your response.

“Fuck me Katsuki- please you’re all I want. God you’re all I need.” Although said in your aroused state. You meant it- and he knew that.

Not wasting any more of the precious time you two had before you were inevitably found out considering your blatant disregard for being quiet; Bakugou used his hand to tug off his belt. Nearly setting his suit pants on fire as his quirk crackled in anticipation for you.

Your body clung to Bakugou’s for support, his whole body easily keeping your pinned high between himself and the door. Once his lower half was sufficiently stripped, it was easy enough for him to rip the sides of your underwear off.

“Katsu-“

“Shut up.”

Not wanting to disagree; you did. Hips bucking against nothing as the cool air prickled at your hot cunt. Bakugou held his manhood in his hand, rubbing the head of it in your slick and providing stimulation to your clit. Your thighs tightening around his waist like a vice grip at the well needed attention.

“You’re fuckin’ soaking baby. So needy.” Bakugou mumbled against your neck, allowing himself and you to get off momentarily at the friction. You could only nod to his words which were making you more and more wet for him. He was such a tease.

“Come on princess. Tell me you want my cock. Tell me.” His voice growled as he repeated himself, leaving marks upon your nape that would surely bruise because of his harsh bites and sucklings.

“Katsuki I need you- only you. Only you.” Your repetition is barely a whisper but he heard it, and despite his rough nature Bakugou confines your lips in a kiss as he sheaths himself inside of you.

Taking a few slow thrusts to allow yourself to adapt to his size, it’s only a moment before Bakugou completely bottoms out inside of you. He watches your face shiver in pleasure which he mirrors. He clasps your hips so firmly his knuckles turn white; it didn’t even hurt as all you could focus on was him inside you. Your hands find their way to his biceps, gripping on for some tension relief and you could still feel his muscles flex even beneath his suede blazer and the shirt.

“What a good fuckin’ girl, taking my cock like this.” Bakugou’s voice is a low growl as he thrusts into you, the sounds of your clothes brushing against one another and the slaps of your skin interacting was like a sinful symphony.

The smell of caramel danced in your brain as Bakugou worked up a sweat absolutely pummeling himself into your sex. You grasped onto him as if your life depended on it, moaning into his neck as his cock slid in and out of you. You didn’t even know how much time was passing as he rutted himself into you relentlessly- yet as you both came to your highs, you could both barely move from the thrill of it all.

Steadying your breaths back to a regular pace; Bakugou slid you down from where he had pinned you against the door and let you fix yourself as he then did himself. You sorted your dress and pulled any tugs from your hair when he had pulled it before slapping Bakugou’s arm.

“You dick! You ripped my underwear!”

“Hot.” He chuckled, fixing his belt loops and stuffing the ripped panties into his pocket.

“Not funny! I’m not parading about with no underwear on!”

“We’re getting the fuck out of this extras stupid wedding. You can wear my clothes at my place.” Suitably sorted and not looking like you had just had the brains fucked out of you in a closet (despite the reddening bites and bruises that were now appearing on your neck), Bakugou held you close. Yet instead of taking the corridor to the exit, he was leading you back to the main dance hall.

“Where’re we going?” You hashly whispered to Bakugou, your thighs still wet from your slick and the cool air against your unclothed pussy making you heat up from embarrassment.

“Gots to do one thing before we go.” There’s a shit eating grin on his face, you couldn't help but wonder what on earth he was planning now.

Midoriya stood talking to other heroes all dressed in their formal attire and Bakugou (with no consideration of their conversation) roughly tapped his shoulder to get his immediate attention. His arm around your waist was so tight but being see with Bakugou like this made you feel almost proud.

“We’re just heading off.” Bakugou had replaced his smile for his usual scowl, something he had always looked at Izuku with.

“Going so soon? It’ll be a shame you guys!” Izuku’s voice was plastered in falsehood. He probably regretted trying to gloat over you two. Bakugou held out his hand for Midoriya to shake it, your brows furrowed on what was obviously a stepping stone to Bakugou’s plan.

“I know I might not be better at you right now in the hero charts.”

Uh oh.

“I’m glad you’ve finally come to recognise that Kaccha-“

“But I am better at you at something for sure.”

Bakugou used Midoriya’s hand in his to pull him closer, readying himself to whisper in his ear.

“Cause I just fucked the shit out of your ex-girlfriend and I know you never made her come as hard as I did.”

Your face burned with the heat of a million suns, but the glower on Izuku’s face was priceless. And you couldn’t help but see the flash of a camera capture the moment as Bakugou’s hand fell from his and slipped once again around your waist.

[sunsents]

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

[plus-size-reader]

Company

Huck Finnigan x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2340 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Huck developing feelings for the reader, a patient who is equally as unsure of herself as he is

—————————————————————————————————

You woke up today as you did every day, in your room at the Lucia State Psychiatric Hospital, the light blaring in through the sliver separating the curtains.

It wasn’t a remarkable life.

If anything, it was boring and routine but at the very least, it kept you from hurting yourself. Besides, living in a facility like this wasn’t always bad. The food wasn’t too bad and you were allowed to bathe yourself, as long as you behaved.

For someone like you, it was an easy life. You had been hospitalised there due to a general diagnosis of melancholy, which made your family fear for your safety. Though, you always thought they just wanted to find somewhere to send you off to.

A young woman like you, unmarried and without prospects, was little more than a burden.

Some may have been upset about being sent off to stay in an institute like this one, taken away from everything they knew and left to die, but you didn’t see too much wrong with it. For someone like you, it wasn’t awful.

You were well taken care of, and even you had to admit that you were happier within these walls than you had been out there.

Not that all that change came from staying here alone.

In all the time that you had been staying in this place, you had found quite the interesting friend in a young orderly by the name of Huck Finnegan. He was interesting to you, as he was the sort of man who took care of other people even when it was difficult.

You knew that you didn’t have that much patience in your little finger, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with it.  In fact, Huck seemed to get a special kind of joy from taking care of other people, including you.

He really seemed to like coming to see you.

He was constantly coming to visit you during the day, checking on you and making sure that you had everything you needed, which might not have seemed so strange. After all, it was his job to make sure that the patients here were taken care of.

However, while you thought that he was just doing his job at first, taking his turn to do the rounds, eventually, it was hard to believe.  

It just didn’t seem plausible.

You knew for a fact that no one else ever took his place and when his visits came so frequently, it was becoming harder and hard to dismiss it as anything other than what it was.

Huck was sweet on you.

You didn’t really understand it, of course, and you weren’t entirely sure but there didn’t seem to be too many more reasons to be so attentive to another person. You certainly had never paid such close attention to someone else, unless you cared about them.

...And while it was possible you were way off base, it was a thought you couldn’t shake.

As far as you were concerned, someone like Huck would never be interested in you.  

It didn’t make any sense to you, because you didn’t have anything to offer him.  He was selfless and kind, thinking about others at all times and if the rumors were to be believed, he always had been.

Compared to all the things he’d done and all the people he’d saved, you looked like little more than a petulant child.

All things considered, you couldn’t have imagined him finding anything about you to love but in the months that you’d been here, something had certainly developed between you.  While you weren’t sure what it was, it didn’t really matter.

You didn’t mind the company.

As far as the folks in this place went, you could have done a lot worse than a handsome war veteran.

If nothing else, he was a good person and talking to him was going to be much better for your mental state than the other patients.

Then, as if thinking about him had somehow encouraged the man’s entrance, there was a knock at your door.

“Good afternoon,  can I come in?”

His words came as similarly as they did every day, meeting your ears in tandem with his knocking on the door. Technically, he didn’t have to do you the courtesy of knocking on the door or asking for entrance at all, but it was kind of him to do so.

It was a very human gesture, one that none of the other orderlies or nurses offered you.

Still, just as you did every day, you called out in affirmation, glad to see that Huck was one again coming to check on you. Of all the staff in the Lucia State Psychiatric Hospital, he was by far your favorite.

He was just so nice and polite.

...And it certainly didn’t hurt that he was more handsome than any man you’d ever seen.

Huck’s attractiveness went much deeper than his skin, which wasn’t altogether unattractive to begin with. It was just that the person he was, the person that lived within the skin was far too darling to ever let go of.

You really weren’t sure if you’d ever met a more wonderful person in your life.

“How are you today?” he asked, stepping into the room as casually as he could and closing the door behind him. You knew that this was one of those friendly visits, because you’d already had all your checkups and medicine that you would for the day.

He didn’t have any real reason to be here, but you were just as glad to see him anyway.

“I’m as good as I could be '' you shrugged, caught somewhere between being happy to see him and wishing that you could have met under different circumstances. When you really thought about it, you must have been crazier than any of them to think he could actually like you.

You were a patient of his.

You were out of your mind.

A man like Huck would never be interested in a chubby sad sack with nothing more to live for than walking around the hospital and doodling on your arm in pen. He was a hero, a beautiful soul, and someone you couldn’t have hoped to entice.

He was too good for you.

“Yeah? You’re doing alright? No distasteful thoughts or negativity this morning?” he hummed, doing the same thing he did every day, starting at the door with his arms folded behind his back. These visits always started off as clinical and professional as possible.

Though, before long, you knew well enough to know that Huck would be cracking jokes and smiling as if the two of you were little more than lifelong friends, catching up.

It was just the way this whole thing went.

“Nope, all good here” you teased, putting on your best cheesy grin as if that would somehow convince him. You did seem to be in good spirits today, compared to when you had a bad day, but that didn’t mean you were completely out of the woods.

If it was that easy to convince him, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place.

“Really, cause you kinda have that far off look in your eye again today” he prodded, relaxing a little further, just enough to let himself sit down on the far end of your bed.

It was a more intimate stance than he would ever take with another patient, not that he was going to tell you that. There was just something about you, and he felt really comfortable when he was with you.

Naturally, that kind of comforting energy made him much more calm and casual than he may have been otherwise.

Damn it.

You really didn’t want to tell him about the dreary realization you had just made but you knew well enough to know that Huck wasn’t going anywhere until you opened up and told him what was up.

By this point in your residence here, he knew you well enough to know when you had something on your mind.

“It’s no big deal. I just thought something was happening that wasn’t” you tried, keeping it as vague as you could while still telling him enough to satisfy him.  Considering what you were here for, it was much better to just talk to him than it would be to talk to everyone else.

Nurse Ratched tried her best to be understanding of your condition, much more than Bucket ever had, but they didn’t come close to the bond you shared with Huck.

You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, for even your most embarrassing secrets, and thoughts.

He was a real friend in that way.

“Tell me” he prompted, using the guiss of his profession to get you to talk to him, though you both knew that this was more of a personal suggestion than a professional one. He wanted to bond with you, to help you be better in a real way, but it wasn’t really that easy.

Getting you to open up to him in that way would require him giving away all of his own secrets.

You sighed again, of course.

The two of you had a lot of history between you in all the time you’d been living here but in regards to the feelings you shared for one another, you just didn’t talk about it. It was much easier to just dance around them, avoiding speaking it into life at all costs.

Both of you were too terrified of rejection to put yourselves out there.

“Why do you come here to see me every day? I mean, you don’t bring anything or need to take the time out? What is it about me?” you asked, trying your best to keep your wits about you, desperately avoiding making a fool out of yourself.

From where you were sitting, it seemed like Huck could leave at any time and never come back. It just seemed like you were reading too much into this and you were scared that you were going to ruin the whole relationship you had going.

You were friends.

If you made some kind of suggestion here that offended him, there was a good chance you would hardly see him around here at all.

Huck seemed taken aback by your question at first, partially because he hadn’t been expecting it, and mostly because he wasn’t sure how to answer. After all, he knew exactly what it was about you and why he was sitting here right now, but putting it into words was hardly easy.

He hadn’t been expecting to get into this today.

“I guess I like your company” he decided, figuring that would be the best way to say it without offending you somehow.  Huck wasn’t blind to the reality of what he was, or what he looked like, and he was terrified to suggest what he was thinking.

After all, a woman like you had no real reason to ever give a man like him the time of day.

He had seen himself in the mirror. Huck was well aware of what he looked like, and he was hardly a male model. At this point in his life, he considered himself lucky to be alive, and didn’t think too much about what he looked like, until now.

Where you were concerned, he was painfully aware of his outward appearance.

The two of you had that in common, because you couldn’t imagine any man, let alone a wonderful man like Huck ever falling for someone like you. It seemed as if, at this point, the only thing you two could agree on was the fact that you couldn’t admit how you felt.

It was hardly ideal.

“Well, I enjoy your company too” you smiled, content to leave it at that. However, Huck wasn’t quite ready to just call it there.

As terrified as he was to do what he was about to do, it seemed like if there was ever going to be a time to do it, it was now.

The two of you had been doing this whole thing, dancing around your feelings for each other for months, and he didn’t want to do it anymore.

He had to know if you felt the same, and your admission just now seemed like the push he’d been waiting for.

“This might be a little forward, and forgive me if it is, but would you like to join me for dinner tonight?” Huck tried, fidgeting light with his fingers as he did his best to get the words out.

This feeling was new for him.

He was used to being uncertain sometimes and uncomfortable with certain situations but this was something else entirely.

It actually felt like his heart may burst out of his chest, it was beating so fast.

...and you weren’t much better.

The idea of what he was asking you was insane. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, of course, dinner with Huck sounded amazing.

There was just one problem.

You couldn’t exactly hit the town whenever you felt like it.

“I would love to, but you know as well as I do that I can’t just waltz out the door” you reminded, once again put in your place.

Huck could go out and get anyone he wanted. It just didn’t make sense that he wanted to wait around here with you. You could hardly imagine how something like that would even work.

Thankfully, Huck was already way ahead of you.

He already spent more time here than he did anywhere else, and making a few adjustments to his plans on your account wasn’t going to kill him.

If it meant that the two of you could be together, he would do whatever he had to.

“You let me worry about that” he hummed, not even bothering to hide the huge grin on his face. After all this time, he’d finally done it.

Huck got the date.

[demonlovesangel]

Elucien VS Elriel throughout the books

Brace yourselves because this is going to be a LONG post but I'm going to do it because people seem to disregard Elain's feelings at all times, especially regarding how she reacts around both Lucien and Azriel. So here we go!

And by the way I'm only going to count actual interactions to make it fair, and the most important ones because if not I would be here all day.

Acomaf

Elucien

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him-

~

But Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder.

At Lucien- whose face she had finally taken in.

Elriel

Elain said, "It's all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare but Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

~

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

In Acomaf we can see the start of both relationships, but they start with a real difference. Elain and Azriel get along from the very beginning, whereas with Lucien she cringes away because he's one of the reasons she was turned and she doesn't know him, even if she did realize he's her mate.

With Azriel though they talk about his flying, how beautiful it is, she smiles and asks him directly every time. Their interactions come naturally.

Acowar

Elucien

For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "Lucien," she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. "From my sister's stories. Her friend."

"Yes."

But Elain blinked slowly. "You were in Hybern."

"Yes." It was all he could say.

"You betrayed us."

He wished she'd shoved him out of the window behind her. "It- it was a mistake."

Her eyes went frank and cold. "I was to be married in a few days."

~

She looked away- towards the windows. "I can hear your heart," she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

"When I sleep," she murmured, "I can her your heart beating through the stone." She angled her head, as if the city held some answer. "Can you hear mine?"

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, "No, lady. I cannot."

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. "No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really." A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. "He did. He saw me. He will not now."

~

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. "It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib."

Lucien exposed his palms to her. "I'm sorry."

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded as she shook her head...

~

But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow the movement hiding the gleam of his eye- the longing and sadness.

And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go... He did not glance back at Elain.

Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs- as if she'd speak to him. Stop him.

~

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you-"

"Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... Yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

~

Lucien shrugged. "First- here. To help. Then..." Another glance at Elain. "Who knows?"

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, "You could come to Velaris."

Elriel

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breath of his shoulder. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

~

"I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his finger as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

~

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now- unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," He said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

~

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

~

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek...

~

Elain weighed my words... And slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

(...)

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

What is funny to me here, is how the relationship between Elain and Lucien seems forced but at the same time they kind of try. She directly says to him he betrayed them, continued to ignore him and eventually she did try to get close (in her own way) but apparently decided against it. And at the end even Feyre has to nudge Elain to say something to Lucien, which she did.

Elain's relationship with Az starts off from him putting her down on the town house's foyer, and her never balking away from him. Like literally never, in all their interactions she takes his arm, his hands, looks at him unblinkingly, and even kisses his cheek. Ends up accepting Truth-Teller too, and locking eyes with Azriel. The sweetest girl is not afraid of the most frightening illyrian male... Considering how Elain is, that says a lot.

You can look at this in many ways, but no one can deny that by this book, Az and Elain have a mutual understanding and chemistry.

Acofas

Elucien

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. "Both of you."

Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

~

My sister rose to her feet. "I should get refreshments."

Lucien rose as well. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm-"

But she was already out of the room.

Elriel

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

(...)

But I strode to my seat- nestled between Amren and Mor- in time to see Elain say to Azriel, "Hello."

(...)

But Azriel only took Elain's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Elain's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them...

~

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

(...)

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

~

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Honestly, for me, this is by far the most telling book even if it is a novella.

The interaction between Lucien and Elain was so forced. She didn't want to be there, he was kind of uncomfortable too and he even says he can't stand being in the same room as her. Afterwards Elain clearly shows no interest in him and even leaves the room. And Elain says to Feyre that he's not entitled to her affections of attentions, we really need to pay attention to her!

With Azriel though... Wow, their interactions just kept on growing and growing. Elain is clearly affected when she looks at him, her throat bobs, she gets all shy (in a good way), smiles at him too, and even gifts him the headache powder because she was paying attention to him throughout the previous months. That clearly says how much she's been noticing Azriel. Not to mention she explains all her gardening plans and they stay talking after everyone went to bed.

I honestly think it's really cute and that's how a relationship should develop.

Acosf

Elucien

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

~

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of the newfound boldness to be seen.

Elriel

"I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall," Elain admitted. "She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

~

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

By this point it's just painfully obvious. Both Lucien and Elain are uncomfortable with each other even if Lucien still does try (but I still think it's because of the mating bond, not because he likes her). He even says in a previous chapter that he's not always in Velaris to see his mate and looks uncomfortable saying that.

With Azriel we can see something has happened or is happening. Small glances, Elain getting shy but smiling at him, him smiling at her and her looking away? That charged look? Elain's breath caught slightly? There's definitely something going on there and we know what it is from Az's PoV. By that point they have been looking at each other, smiling and brushing hands, not to mention Elain started every single interaction in that PoV. She wanted to kiss him, and gifted him another funny and thoughtful gift yet again because she notices him.

~

I didn't put every single one of the interactions, just the ones that said a lot from Elain's reactions because that's the point of this post, to show how she clearly acts around the two males. And I didn't put the PoV because it's a bonus chapter even when it clarifies Elain's feelings.

With Lucien it's forced, she cringes away, doesn't know what to do, and in the end she's just uncomfortable and clearly doesn't want anything regarding their situation.

With Azriel it started off naturally, they developed a friendship with mutual understanding and respect, and it evolved into something else. The interest in each other was always there. Clearly both of them don't know what to do with this because the feelings are strong and have been there for a long time (at the very least a year because of the last Winter Solstice). From the PoV we know it's not easy, even if both of them like each other (Elain has a mate whether she likes it or not). By this point, because of all the external influences, they can't be together, but I think that's what going to play off in her book, choice.

We need to take into account Elain's reactions and choices. Elain's book is most probably the next one, she's going to be the main character as Feyre and Nesta were. What she wants or needs is what matters, not what everyone else thinks. And from all her scenes we can gather that she's going to fight to make everyone change their mind regarding what she wants to do, who she wants to be.

As you would with a female friend, be supportive of her journey and choices and don't bring her down because it's not what you would have chosen for yourself. Everyone deserves the world, and everyone needs to follow their own path and make their own choices.

[melliflovs]

Beautiful Mess - Gojo x Reader

Word Count: 1,675

Warnings: Angst, longing, kinda sad

Summary: Reader comes to terms with her feelings after being faced with her emotions once she sees Gojo again for their monthly battle, even if it gets interrupted.

A/N: I didn't check this for errors cause my computers about to die but I wanted to post this for you guys!

Requests open!

In truth he found you incredible, but would he ever admit it? No. Of course not.

It was moments like this, the stars shining down on you and the wind blowing through your hair that made Gojo pause. He wished things could be different.

You could've been teaching alongside him, or anything else from the life you chose. He frowned to himself. Were you really happy?

At least twenty curses surrounded you. The dark purple aura slowly beginning to cover you from his view as you laughed in the distance. He just wanted a moment more to watch you before the inevitable battle before the two of you.

You knew he was there, close enough to see but too far away to touch. For now, you'd continue on as you were, playfully petting a curse on its head. It resembled a dog and chose to stay by your side, granted it looked and smelled horrendous but you'd take what you could get. They milled about you, waiting for their commands. They were all grade 3 curses, childs play for people like Gojo - people like you. But they weren't supposed to be strong, they were just to garner attention.

After the purple fog fully enveloped you Gojo knew it was time. You stood high on the tallest skyscraper, the clouds within reach.

You always thought Gojo was incredible. Irresistible looks, unbeatable strength, and a massive ego. Time spent with him was cherished, even if it meant small tricks and claims to get his attention but he never failed to deliver.

You heard his footsteps approach slowly, with your back turned the curses began to howl. A small smile tugged on the edges of your lips but you held it back. Slowly you turned to face him.

"Come with me." He said, Gojo had his hands in his pocket with a blindfold covering his eyes. You wondered if you'd ever be able to see them again.

"Traded out the glasses, huh?" You teased, "Do the students find it more intimidating." Sparks lit up your eyes as power began to surge through you.

Gojo smirked and flexed his muscles at you "I was always intimidating, just thought the blindfold added more flare."

He wished they'd stop sending him, the elders always too quick to call upon him once they knew you were involved. They started questioning why the job was never 'finished' they wanted you dead. You were the villain in this story, the creator of curses and sorrow. But how could someone so beautiful be so destructive? It didn't make sense to him.

The first time you'd met Gojo you were both 16. He was a student at the time, sent to a school to take down a low-level curse. It was a teaching method of his Sensei's to send his students alone on smaller tasks - one he ultimately ended up using himself. Instead, he found you surrounded in a purple haze curled into a ball.

You were so small at the time, anxious and afraid with tears streaming down your face. Gojo could feel the power inside you, radiating from your fragile body. It brought him to his knees in front of you. It was the first time you'd ever seen his eyes, hair hanging out in front of his face. He reached out to you, mesmerized by you.

He'd never encountered power like his before, different from his yet so similar in strength. Gojo was so distracted by you that he ignored the scattered limbs of what used to be your fellow classmates.

When he looked at you he was amazed, every single time. But you'd grown now, no longer the scared little girl who didn't know who or what you were. But you knew now. Years of hating yourself for what you were born as, what you'd accidentally do to people. Eventually, you embraced it.

In the years that you'd been actively on Gojo's radar, no one had narrowed down what you were. They knew you were human, a child abandoned and forced into foster care. From what he could tell your emotions were so strong that the smallest offense could make the curses in the surrounding 10 miles stronger and multiply them. You were no longer a grade 3 curse. You were special grade, a girl with explosive feelings that were considered to be on the same level as Sukuna.

You still didn't compare to Gojo though.

"Come with me, (y/n)" He repeated, his eyes desperate under the blindfold. He wondered if she could tell how much he wished she would listen to him.

She shook her head lightly, lowering her head to the ground. "You know I can't do that Satoru."

He nodded in response, he knew she was right. They'd execute her if she followed him back to the school. In a way (y/n) reminded him as Yuji, the elders were cowards whatever they couldn't understand they eliminated. Eventually, they'd meet the same unfortunate fate. Gojo wouldn't be able to protect either of them.

Gojo was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of a single snap. Looking up he watched as all the curses surrounding her dive off the skyscraper and into the city set loose to wreak havoc. The dog-shaped curse stayed, wagging its crooked tailback and forth.

"Good," He teased, "Was starting to get a bit crowded up here."

The purple haze had almost completely disappeared from the rooftop once the curses left. You took a deep breath, "I'm not ready yet, Gojo. Ten minutes."

He jokingly checked his bare wrist as if looking at a watch "Fine" He pouted "But I'm counting."

You gave him a weak smile, walking over to the edge of the roof and sitting down, letting your legs hang over the edge. You'd be lying if you said looking down didn't make you feel sick, you were at least 100 stories above ground. But the lights were so pretty, the glow of all of them lit up the night, reflecting in your eyes. You felt his presence approach you, standing behind you as you sat.

"Why does it have to be this way?" You whispered, it was so quiet he might not have been able to hear you. It would've probably been for the best if he hadn't.

Hesitantly he placed his hand on your head, giving your hair a soft pat. He made you feel so little, so small in comparison. Just like the day you met. "Because life is unfair to powerful people."

You hummed at his response, "I wish things were different." You tilted your head up, looking at him through your lashes, hair falling in your face. "I wish we weren't such a mess."

"At least we're a beautiful mess." He said grinning down at you.

"I miss your eyes Gojo, why cover them like that all the time?" You asked, still staring at the dark blindfold. You could only imagine what shade of blue hid behind it.

"Decided not everyone should have the privilege to see these sparklers." The smile on his face grew as he said this, quirking his head to the side.

"Can I see them?" The more time you spent in his presence the calmer you felt. Gradually you felt the weight of your powers lift off your shoulder. A calm smile never had any trouble settling on your face whenever you were around him. It was hard to admit, even to yourself, but looking at his shining smile for the first time in months made you realize you'd missed him. "Please Gojo."

His grin faded into a soft smile. Nodding his head, Gojo reached up and began to untie the knot holding the blindfold.

"I think it's been ten minutes, Satoru. What do you think?" The voice made the two of you jump, Gojo's hands dropping away from the halfway untied covering. "Maybe you just got distracted with" He waved his hand around distastefully "This."

"Leave. Now." Gojo whispered, just low enough that the new man wouldn't be able to hear him. He seemed afraid, not of the man but of what would happen if any of his higher-ups found out about the two of you - whatever you were, even if you didn't know yourselves.

He stalked over the man, who was dressed impeccably in a white button-down. He held a wooden paddle tightly in his hand and pushed up his glasses as Gojo walked up to him.

"Look, Nanami, it's not what you think." He said holding up his hands defensively. Realistically he didn't know if his colleague would even believe any lie he could up of in time. Gojo tried to straighten himself out. Putting on his signature smirk, "You know how I get around the ladies. They just can't help themselves."

Nanami let out a sigh, looking at his friend with pity. "The way she looks at you... it's like she'd be willing to take a bullet for you." It wasn't normal the way you looked at Gojo. Like he was the sun and you were a flower stuck in the shade. "And I'm sure under that ridiculous blindfold you were looking at her like that too."

Gojo stayed quiet, the fake smirk dropping from his face. The silence hovered for a moment, making his chest fill with dread as Nanami thought it over in his head.

Suddenly he turned, beginning to walk towards the exit. "Come on, let's go."

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Gojo asked as he followed his coworker. He wrung his hands nervously together.

"No."

He let out a sigh of relief. A small smile began to tug at his lips, he was grateful to the blonde, not many people he knew would risk helping him like this. Subtly he looked over his shoulder.

Thankfully you were already gone, thankfully you were safe. At least for the time being. As he stepped towards the stairwell to make his way down the skyscraper, Gojo realized one thing:

You never got to see his eyes.

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 22

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warning: Nope

A/N: This is a short filler chapter. Necessary for story progression however. That's part of the reason it took me so long to write. Filler is hard. Next chapter everyone meets daddy.

***

Eric had to take a phone call so you went searching for Godric as he’d disappeared on you. You found him on the roof. He looked out over the city, his hands behind his back. “I hope you’re not still planning on dying today.” You kept your voice quiet, not wanting to startle him.

He hummed, simply letting you know that he’d heard and was thinking about his answer. “I was decided. I would not be swayed from my path. Then you arrived.”

He turned to you with a soft smile and you moved closer to him. His gaze ran over your face. “Why is it every time you blow into my life, my perspective changes? You are like no human I have ever met and it fascinates me.”

You grinned. “Well, I am no human so…”

His smile flared briefly before dimming again. “You are human enough, little one.”

“You do know that you’re not much bigger than me?”

A shrug was his only answer. Then he pulled you into his arms and just held you.

Ever aware of the approaching dawn, you tried to separate from him, but he wouldn’t allow it. “Godric, I love you and all, but if you don’t want to burn we need to get inside. And if you do, you need to let go of me so I don’t go with you.”

He let you go then, placing a hand on the side of your face as his eyes studied yours. “Do you? Love me?”

“Yes,” you said immediately. And you did love Godric. You had almost from the moment you met him, but it didn’t compare to what you felt for Eric. Nothing could and the little god in front of you knew that.

His lips twitched into a small smile. He took one of your hands in his and linked your fingers together. “Come, little one. Let’s find your mate.”

A breath of relief flowed from you when you were safely back inside the hotel. Godric may still decide to meet the sun, but it wouldn’t be today.

***

You found Eric in your room, he was still on the phone causing you to frown. What the hell was taking so long? His gaze shot to you as you walked in and relief flooded his eyes when he saw that Godric was with you. The two of them needed to have a long conversation.

Finally, he ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket. “Your father expects us in Shreveport in three days.”

He looked past you to his Maker. “Will you be accompanying us?”

“Perhaps.”

“We can stay for a couple of days yet,” you offered. “Can you make arrangements for Sookie and Sam to go home today? Oh, and Jason.”

Eric arched a brow. “The male Stackhouse does not concern me.”

“If you want a telepath to use in the future, make nice. She’ll remember it.”

He sighed as if it was the most horrid inconvenience before he sent a series of texts. “I forwarded the information to Sookie. Now, we should rest. Your body is still recovering.”

You shrugged. “Not tired.” There was only so much sleeping you could do.

Godric took your hand in his and tugged you toward the bedroom. “Then lay with us while we talk.”

So, you found yourself in much the same position as the day before. You and Godric lay face to face and Eric molded himself into your back. He draped an arm over your middle and pressed kisses to your shoulders and the back of your neck as the three of you talked. And despite your claim that you weren’t tired, you were the first of the three of you to fall asleep.

***

When he woke the next evening, Godric announced that he would accompany you back to Louisiana. Eric wasted no time making the arrangements for your travel. He’d just gotten off the phone when you received a phone call from Sookie.

“Where are you?” she asked as soon as you answered.

“We’re still in Dallas. Why?”

“There is something strange going on here. We need help,” the blonde rambled. You rolled your eyes. The only time you heard from Sookie was when she needed something. And she always needed something. At least when she helped you, she got paid for it.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, aware that the two vampires with you were listening in. “I’m afraid I’m going to need more than strange, Sook. What exactly is happening there?”

“That’s just it. I don’t—”

You cut her off. “I don’t need an explanation. What is currently happening that has you all worked up?”

She turned away from the phone to talk to someone in the background. A moment later, Jason’s voice came over the line. “Hey. Everyone in town is acting crazy. Not like themselves at all. And for some reason they all seem to want to kill Sam.”

What? “So mass psychosis?”

“Um…sure.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Okay. Go to the house and lock yourselves in. Take—”

“We can’t. The house is trashed. It looks like no one’s lived there for years. And some crazy hippie chick is running around talking about sacrifices and shit. I don’t know what the hell is going on.” It didn’t take much for you to picture the panicked look in Jason’s face.

“Can you get out of town?”

“I don’t think so. Every time they see us, they cut us off.”

You thought for a moment and sighed. “Look, Jason, there’s not a lot I can do from here. Tell Sookie to call Bill. He’ll help her. He doesn’t have a choice. I’ll check in later.”

After you hung up, you tossed your phone on the table. “What do you mean Bill doesn’t have a choice?” Eric asked with a frown.

“Bill is in Bon Temps because Sophie-Anne ordered it. I think he actually came to care for our telepath but that doesn’t negate the fact he’s there to spy,” you explained.

“How did the queen even know of Sookie’s existence?”

“Her current lover is Sookie’s cousin. How’s that for a small world?” Eric just looked at you wide-eyed for a moment before smiling and shaking his head.

“Do you not wish to send more help than one vampire?” Godric asked as he sat beside you.

You shook your head. “To put it bluntly, this is not a vampire problem. But, if more help is needed Bill should be able to get it from Sophie-Anne. Sookie is my friend, even Sam and Jason on occasion but I can’t get involved in all of their problems. They have a lot of them.”

He nodded. “Understood. So, we will return to your home this evening so we can meet up with your father in two days?”

“Correct,” Eric answered. “There is business we must see to between him and the queen.”

“You can accompany us. He won’t mind,” you added. And if he did, you’d just convince him.

Godric’s dark gaze shifted between you and your mate before settling on you. “And tell me, just who is your father?”

[astaroth1357]

Leviathan's Odyssey 5:

God

*Mammon is happily about to break into Lucifer's study yet again when he hears the sound of banging metal and high-pitched shrieking coming from the kitchen... Knowing what the likely source, he swallows his reluctance in order to go check on what's happening*

*Beel is in the kitchen when he runs in, having narrowly dodged the flying butcher knife that lodges into the wall next to his ear… Little Satan is strapped into a high chair, wailing at the top of his lungs and banging his fists against a nearby countertop*

Mammon: BEEL!! What the hell is goin’ on in here!? Weren’t ya in charge of feedin’ him??

Satan: DIE!!!! DIE!! Diedie!!!

*a frying pan appears to float off of its hook and goes flying towards Mammon’s face but Beel manages to grab its handle before it knocks him out*

Beel: I was! But I think I made him mad…!!

Mammon: *gulps when he sees the metal pan just an inch from his nose, but has to push it aside quickly* He’s ALWAYS mad, Beel! What'cha do this time??

Beel: Nothing! *ducks a riocheting butter knife* I just…! Well…

Mammon: Spit it out already!!

Beel: I was trying to teach him how to eat, okay?? But he poked himself with a fork and lost it!

Satan: DIIIEEEE!!!!! 

*previously thrown kitchen supplies lift off of the floor and start flying at them for a round two. Beel rips a cabinet door from its hinges to shield them while Mammon takes the frying pan to bat away the murderous forks and spoons*

Mammon: Beel!! We agreed that we weren’t givin’ him that stuff yet! He’ll kill us all!!

Beel: Yeah, yeah I know but it’s not fair! He should learn how to feed himself like the rest of us!

Mammon: Now’s not the time for “fair,” Beel!!

*apparently hearing the commotion himself, Asmo storms into the kitchen wearing nothing but a bathrobe and a beauty mask - but even covered in cleanser, he look PISSED*

Asmo: WHY IS IT SO LOUD IN HERE!?!

*Mammon grabs Asmo by the arm and pulls him out of the way of an iron cauldron careening his way. Asmo shrieks at the sudden pull and clutches onto Mammon for dear life following the close save*

Asmo: What is the little monster doing now?!? Why are things flying??

Mammon: Quit callin’ him a monster and hell if I know! It’s not like he knows any spells!!

Beel: *whacks away a meat tenderizer aimed at Asmo’s cheek* I think he’s just really mad!

Asmo: *throws his hands up in despair* Of course of all the babies in all the world, we managed to get one that radiates homicide!!

Mammon: Shut your trap and go wake up Belphie! Lucifer’s still with Diavolo so he’s gotta be the one to put him to sleep this time!

Asmo: Me?? Why me??? Belphie won’t get up for me, make Beel do it!

Mammon: Are ya blind AND stupid?? I need Beel here with me! Just scream or something ‘till Belphie wakes up! It’s all you’re good for anyway!

Asmo: Shut up, you money-grubbing dirtbag!!

Beel: NOT THE TIME!! GO NOW!!!

*Asmo yelps a bit at the volume, but he manages to run out of the kitchen without much injury*

Satan: DIE!! Die! Die! DIE!!

Mammon: *pops his head out from behind their cover* Yeah we get it little buddy, ya don’t like us! But would it kill ya to cut it out??

Satan: DIIIIEEEE!!!!!!

*Mammon quickly jerks back behind the "shield" as a set of five knives all lodge themselves into it*

Mammon: Fuck, okay nevermind!!

*it only takes a couple minutes of fighting off the cutlery for Asmo to come back with a drowsy, but upright, Belphie in tow*

Belphie: What’s happening here…??

Mammon: No time for explainin’!

*Mammon swiftly grabs Belphie and sticks him behind Beel before taking the cabinet door from him*

Mammon: Grab another, Beel!

*while Beel rips off the other door, Mammon keeps shouting over the chaos*

Mammon: Belph, ya gotta knock out the kid! Beel and I will protect ya, just stay behind us then get’em outta the chair! Do what ya gotta do after that!

Belphie: *stays right behind Beel but groans* What did you do this time…??

Mammon: Shuddup and move!!

*the three of them start approaching the baby in the high chair, still wailing at the top of his lungs. Between the two cabinet doors and their combined reflexes, Beel and Mammon are able to keep Belphie more or less shielded from the flying utensils until they finally get close enough from him to make a move*

*Belphie jumps forward enough to grab the buckle to Satan’s seat, ignoring his little fists as they try to rip his hair out, and he gets the baby out of the chair as quick as he can manage*

Belphie: Ow!! Okay, lights out, kid!!

*Belphie sticks his hand over Satan’s eyes and, gradually, his struggling loses its gusto until the little baby falls asleep in his arms. All the kitchen supplies fall to the ground and it seems like his tantrum is finally over…*

Mammon: *drops the “shield” he was holding* Oh thank fuck that worked!! No more forks for him, Beel!

Beel: *also sets down his “shield” and looks down guiltily* But how is he ever going to eat right…?

Mammon: We’ll just have to teach him when he gets better.

Belphie: “If” he gets better…

*there’s a silence between the brothers as the gravity of that thought sinks in… What if he never gets any better…?*

*But then the little boy yawns*

Satan: *yaaaawn* Pa…

*all heads in the room snap towards the baby demon and everyone holds their breath. That was a new sound… right?*

Satan: Pa… Per… wish…

Beel: “Per… wish?”

Belphie: I think he meant, “Perish…” 

Asmo: *groans* Of course his second word also means, “Die!”

Mammon: But he’s learnin’! That’s what Lucifer said, right? 

*Mammon comes over and carefully takes the sleeping Satan from Belphie, holding him not unlike how he used to do all of them when they were young*

Mammon: He’ll get better, alright? Believe your big brothers for once! Ya guys weren’t all that different than this...

Asmo: *rolls his eyes* That’s such a lie...

Mammon: Shuddup Asmo, I’m serious! We just gotta be patient…

Beel: Do you think Lilith could have calmed him down…?

*again, there’s another silence in the room… aside from Satan’s soft snoring. For once, it seems like his little brothers are looking at Mammon for something… comfort maybe?*

Mammon: Lilith… *he fights the urge to bite his lip by holding Satan a little tighter* Lilith woulda been patient with’em… Levi too. They’d have helped us out… 

Belphie: If they were still here…

Mammon: *sighs* Yeah Belphie. If they were still here… but we don’t gotta focus on that part, ya know?

*Mammon starts walking towards the exit, patting little Satan on his sleepy head*

Mammon: I’m puttin’ the little shit to bed. Ya got feedin’ duty again tomorrow, Beel. No forks this time.

Beel: *nods quietly* Alright…

Mammon: *stops at the doorway and looks back* Oh. And “not it” explainin’ this mess to Lucifer. Ya gotta figure that out yourselves!

*as his brothers start to shout out in protest, Mammon just laughs triumphantly while he starts down the hallway. Looks like something isn’t his fault for once*

~Meanwhile in the Deepest Depths of the Ocean~

*for the first time since his conquest began, Levi is completely alone in the darkness. Having conquered every part of the seas above, all he has left is the deepest trenches to explore… home to the nightmares even his army refuses to face*

*perhaps being a stranger to this world has helped him. Whatever force commanded his troops to stay above has no sway on his mind. Even Lotan, his most trusted general, wouldn't follow him into these shadows...*

*he's told only one thing lives here. A creature beyond all comprehension... A being without form, without thought, and without convention, and yet festers into consciousness like a blight on all existence... A creature for which all other monsters fear to the point of insanity yet, strangely, Levi remains undaunted...*

*his mantra of loathing shields him as much as it consumes him. He’ll bow to no beast who believes they're better than him, no matter their size or strength. No one can think they’re better than he is... He’ll prove their lives are worthless in the end*

*finding the creature proved easy. He only had to follow the strings of insanity attempting to strangle his mind, growing ever thicker the closer he’d come. A lesser being may have felt helpless approaching it… a shattering insignificance compared to One that Defies All: a primordial essence from which those below the depths are connected and yet through denial believe to be their own... A Greater Power. A God*

*... but he’s fought a God before. All he saw before him now was an Abomination*

*and what he eventually saw skewered on the end of his trident was just another step on his journey of conquest - even as blood the color of madness plumed in the water around him, boiling his skin and contorting his bones... When the ranting clutter in his mind finally quieted, Levi was something new entirely…*

*he didn’t need to return to his army to feel their presence now. His metamorphosis completed when a ghastly wail that escaped his throat, carried telepathically through the waters around him. A clear signal to all who felt it... Above the sea, you’d hear nothing. But below...*

*a cacophony of shrieks. A chorus of howls. The roar of a new Master and the response of an entire ocean now at his disposal...*

*An army of unspeakable terror flourishing just out of sight…*

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[clairecrive]

“Burn” - Bane x reader [Requested]

A/N: this is for this anon. Thanks again for requesting! I missed writing for Bane.

Warnings: angst

Word count: 2.5K

Taglist: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @sopxhiea, @shadow-of-wonder, @fandom--0verdose, @fuseburner, @kind-wolf, @innerpaperexpertcloud (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

The vastity of the night sky had always helped y/n ease her worries. Surely, whatever was bothering her couldn’t be as big and impossible to solve as she was making it out to be. Because, would you look at that? The universe is so big and we’re so small, so insignificant. and that applied to her problems too. 

At least that was what she always told herself whenever she’d feel lost and hopeless. Thinking this way helped her put things into perspective. And sure, not everything was as easily solved but, even in that case, it helped a bit.

And so here they were, she and Bane were laying down staring up at the starry sky. Sometimes, they would spend it in silence, just enjoying the warmth and comfort the other’s body would bring. Others, like this one, they would easily fall into conversations about everything and nothing.

“Was there someone special in your life? Someone you wish to get back to?”

“You mean, romantically?”

He nodded.

“No. Single for life.” She did a peace sign to lighten up her embarrassment but Bane was curious and did not pay it any mind.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never given your heart to anyone?”

“Well, if you put it that way I have to change my answer to yes. Being in a relationship with someone and giving someone your heart are two wholly different things.”

“Let me rephrase then. Have you ever been in love?”

She really thought about the answer, her mind going back to any romantic involvement she might have had during her life. Even if she scouted her memories, she found that it wasn’t a yes or no question.

“I guess,” not only was the word she chose explicative of her indecision but the tentative tone of her voice left no doubts as to where she was standing. But Bane was confused, to say the least.

“I’ve always been under the impression that love was one of those things where absolute certainty was involved when it came to its presence or absence.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I have had mostly one-sided crushes, you know?” she started but Bane could see the faraway look in her eyes and knew that she had more to tell but was lacking the right words. So he waited.

“I said ‘I guess’ because I don’t really know what love is. I mean, everyone has a different take on it depending on their experiences but I don’t think I’ve ever felt it,” she paused turning to meet his eyes, “once there was a guy I strongly had feelings for. Even that was one-sided though and it took me a long time to recover from that because he was my best friend at the time. Looking back to it, I guess it was love or the closest thing to it that I’ve ever felt for someone. It hasn’t happened again though so I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

“Maybe it wasn’t love, just deep infatuation. Or maybe I just confused my love for him as a friend for something more. I don’t know. I guess I’ll figure it out when I fall in love with someone else. “ She concluded and refrained from correcting that when with if. she couldn’t see herself being as lucky as to have someone that cared about her and that loved her in the future. But Bane didn’t need to know that.

Turns out that those unspoken words had become a sort of oracle, ‘cause here they were now, years after they had that conversation. Just when she thought that she had found that one person to share her life with, to give her heart to, life quickly come into play letting her know that that wasn’t the case.

Because the man that had saved her from a destiny worse than death, who had given her hope and made her trust him to the point where she had felt safe enough to open up to him and allow him close to her heart, had now shattered whatever remained of it.

"So let me get this straight, first you save my life than you decide to keep me with you so you basically kidnap me, get me to fall in love with you, put me through an insanely difficult training so that I could stay with you but it was all done in vain because now you’re  sending me away?"

"I'm not sending you away but you cannot stay here anymore. I’m doing this for you."

"And why is that? What changed?" and when Bane stayed silent she added, "what happened to 'I want you always' ?"

"I did not lie to you." His words were in striking contrast to the ones he had said before but y/n had learned to read him and could tell that this time he was not lying. But then the question naturally arises, what's really going on?

Nothing out of order had happened in the last few days. Bane and she had been the same as always, even his work had proceeded as usual. So what was it? What was she not thinking about? What was she not seeing?

Letting her mind go back through the last day to fat check that nothing happened, she went through their actions. Light breakfast together followed by a not so light tête à tête then they trained together until he had to deal with something for his work and she had occupied herself otherwise. She had called him to see when she could get dinner started and he said that he had a meeting with Talia first but had come right after. They had dinner and while they consumed their healthy and perfectly balanced meal she shared with him whatever came to her mind while he ate in silence. See, nothing out of order.

Wait a minute...

He went to meet Talia.

"It's her, isn't it?" Suddenly, everything was clear. She knew what had happened, what had changed. And she sneered at the pull Talia had on him. Suddenly, she understood but at the same time, the last year lost its meaning.

"I just wish I realized earlier that you didn't care about me as much as you said you did," turning she went to her cabinet to get her stuff, "I wouldn't have put myself through so much otherwise." 

Nodding, she knew what she had to do. She had to leave. There was no reason to stay. Resolute and defeated she put everything her eyes fell on that was hers in a little bag. Clothes, lingerie, cosmetics, books. But when her eyes landed on the little box where she kept everything connected to him, her heart broke further and her anger was fueled. 

In there, there was every present Bane ever gave her. Every little thing that made her think of him in some way. The letters he wrote her whenever spoken words failed him. She knew that going through its content would equal to a chronology of their relationship. If it was possible her heart broke even more. Everything she did to stay with him, everything he did to keep her now was all vain. She gave up so much for him, for a man. Her former self would be ashamed of her and knew that her heartbreak was contributing to making her feel something akin to that. 

"Here," she said walking where he was standing, "take this. I don't want it anymore," and she threw it at his feet. The only acknowledgement on his part was a tilt of his head but it wasn't needed. He knew what it was and what she kept inside of it. He felt a pang in his heart but kept his face void of any emotion. 

"I'll want you always," she said mocking his voice, still stuffing stuff in her bag and chuckled with mirth, "what a load of bullshit." 

"Actually," stilling for a second, with a shirt cramped in her fist she faced him, "I am the biggest clown between us because I believed you." retrying her stuffing, shaking her head she added in a whisper, "I should have known better," but Bane heard. 

As soon as he decided on this course of action, he had also prepared for her reaction. He knew her well and so far she hadn't done anything that he hadn't expected. And while he had been ready, he couldn't help but feel hurt by her words. He knew how she was looking at this situation, knew that his words had led her to believe it to be so. At the same time, a little part of him wished for her to oppose to his words, to see right through them and see that he was lying. That he had been honest when he had told her those things, he had opened up to her and meant everything. But knew that she was too lost to rage and hurt to think clearly. And it was also the reason why she was acting up and had thrown the box on the floor. He knew that she deeply cared about it and what it meant to her. He almost thought of offering some kind of comfort, to give her some hint about what was really going on. But knew that it would be unfair to her. After all, he was doing for the sake of her safety.

“You know,” her voice brought him back and his eyes were immediately drawn to her, “isn’t it funny how you man always pride yourselves to be strong and all that bullshit when even someone like you, who’s the epitome of masculinity and strength, at the end is totally subjected to a woman?” 

They would always have this kind of conversation. Bane, being a leader of a huge army, had the tendency to be bossy. Even in situations when it wasn’t needed. It was just who he was and he felt the need to remind her of his alfa status an unnecessary lot of times. While she could enjoy this inclination of his when they were in bed, she definitely couldn’t stand it in their everyday life. And now, it made her feel stupid that she had to put with it and learn how to deal with it but when it came to Talia, he just did whatever she told him to. Also, this changed her consideration of him. What a clown. She had tried to warn him about his rather toxic relationship with Talia but he’d always get angry and dismiss the conversation either by leaving or shouting at her. She could remember their last fight about it like it was yesterday. It was also the first time that she had ever doubted her relationship with him. The first time that she had thought that maybe she had made a mistake by staying with him, by falling in love with him. Maybe she should have left as soon as she had rescued her. It wasn’t for the motive of their fight, neither her jealousy and worry about his relationship with Talia, but it had all to do with what he shouted her in rage that made her blood run cold and her heart shatter. For it was said that angry and drunk people were the more honest ones. And since that moment she couldn’t help but wonder if he really thought what he said to her or if it was just an impulse propelled by anger as he had explained.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have saved you.” 

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he decided to twist the knife further.

“I told you not to fall in love with me.”

As if one could choose who they fell for, she remembers thinking.

Those words still haunted her to this day. It happened a while ago and Bane had made it up to her, mostly. But it was in situations like this that they would come back and mock her for even forgiving him and thinking that he loved her as she loved him. To think that even a small part of him thought that it was best that he had left her to suffer in the hands of a sex abuser until he would have eventually tired of her and killed made her sick. How could anyone say something like that to another human being? One they presumedly loved? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Bane had then explained that by that he didn’t mean leaving her with her captor but simply bring her with him and keeping her with him. Despite the fact that his explanation made sense, y/n still didn’t think it made things better.

And as for his second statement, it went mostly unmentioned. 

Sure, that had been something he had told her in the beginning. It was after her training required them to spend most of their days together since he wanted to attend to it personally. Y/n knew that being in the military and with his past, it wasn’t easy for Bane to show emotions let alone let someone close enough to him to allow himself to love them. She understood that. She had a few things she was dealing with that made it difficult for her to entertain the idea of something more between them.

But that was almost a year ago. So much had happened in their life and between them that even though the words were not spoken aloud, she felt the shift in both their behaviours when it came to them. Hell, they even started dating. 

Not that any of them labelled it that way. But that was beside the point.

They slept together, they ate together every meal, they lived together. If there was a band on both their left ring fingers and it was a more conventional setting, people would assume they were married. 

While y/n didn’t like thinking about what they had in that way, she surely considered the commitment they had made to each other equivalent to a marriage. 

She hadn’t considered Talia though. 

Or at least, she had hoped that if she ever would try and come between them, Bane would stand up for her. 

Turns out that she really was foolish.

“Whatever, I guess it’s not my problem anymore.” Giving him her back again, she closed the almost full bag and went to put on some shoes and coat. 

“I don’t have any use for it, you should take it with you.”

“Neither have I. Burn it, see if I care.” 

And with that, y/n turned around and walked out of their shared apartment at last.

It hurt to say the words, it hurt that things had ended to abruptly, it hurt that even after all this time he didn’t care about her, it hurt like hell but y/n was resolute in leaving all of this behind her. Yes, it wasn’t going to be easy and maybe it would be like leaving a hot fire trail behind her but at one point the fire would burn out, wouldn’t t? 

It may take a while but she would be okay,

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  7.3

"You shall serve under Childe," the Tsaritsa gestured for you to rise to your feet.  "Mezzetin."

"Uh...bless you?"

"Thus is your new name:  Mezzetin," the archon repeated, raising a brow at your attitude.

"That's not my name."

"Am I hearing you break the contract you proposed to me only a few minutes ago?"  You bit your tongue to refrain from ripping her a new one.  "Childe, why don't you show her to her new room?"

"It would be my pleasure."

Childe led you down an especially long corridor that brought you to what looked like a type of barracks situation.  He opened a door that stood on the left side of the hall and showed you around.  It wasn't that bad of a room; it held a balcony that looked over the snowy landscape outside.  The walls were a deep burgundy color with dim lighting, which only seemed to further mock your dark circumstances .

"How do you like your room, Mezzetin?"

"If I hear that god-awful name again, I--"  That's odd.  Why is there a mask on my bed?  You picked it up and noted it was the same color as the walls.  It might have been slightly similar to Xiao's mask, in that it looked relatively animal-like.  It was harbinger-status, being that it held no similarities with that of the Fatui agent or skirmisher masks and was completely unique.

"Ah, that caught your attention?  It's yours."

Why was there already a spare mask? I barely made the decision to join them not even ten minutes ago.  Do they have a surplus of masks here?  Your gaze rose to Childe's in a questionable manner.  

"What?"  Childe let out an awkward laugh.

"Nothing."

"Well, I should get back to the throne room and let you adjust here for a bit, no?  I'll return soon."  His suspicious hurry to leave made you roll your eyes, but your attention just returned to the mask in your hands.  

Why did they already have a mask for me?

...............................

"Well done, Childe."  The Tsaritsa praised her devoted weapon of war as he knelt before her.  "When you proposed your idea to me I wasn't sure you'd be up for such a task, especially since you hate deception.  Everything played out exactly as you expected.  You have earned my praise."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."  Childe rose to his feet and revealed a dark grin.

Signora slowly clapped her hands as she approached the teen.  "To think that our youngest and most inexperienced would come up with a plan to manipulate the girl into joining us by manipulating Morax into waging war--you have matured greatly, Childe."

"Your praise is appreciated, Fair Lady."

"Just do your job correctly and make sure she doesn't get any bright ideas to turn on us," Scaramouche walked out of the throne room.

"Not one to praise another, as expected," Childe sneered.

"The sixth harbinger is correct, Childe.  While your plan has succeeded, your duty does not end here.  Such is why the girl will be in your hands; do not fail me."

................................

"...What do we do now?" Aether's voice pierced the snow that fell upon the trio as they headed for the Snezhnayan border.  The walk had been excruciatingly long and quiet, the atmosphere holding a somber note and sour aftertaste in everyone's mouths.

"...I suppose we continue to look for you sister," Zhongli suggested.  "That is what you originally gathered us for, is it not?"  The archon kept his gaze on the snowy ground.

"It is..." Aether's gaze shifted to Xiao, who was quieter than he usually was.  "What do you think, Xiao?"

"I'm returning to Liyue and continuing my duty."

"So that's it?"  The boy stopped in his tracks.  "We're just going to give up on her? Is that it?  I'm not going to just sit around while she's still stuck in that dreadful place.  Don't you two cherish her like I do?  Don't you, Xiao?"  His hands curled into tight fists as he thought about Lumine.  He couldn't comprehend the idea of giving up either of you.

The two adepti halted, and the yaksha met Aether's eyes.

"Don't think we haven't noticed how the two of you look at each other," Paimon popped up and put her hands on her hips.  "You two like each other more than teammates!  We're not stupid! So why are you just walking away?"

"She chose her path," Xiao stated.  "It's not like I can dissuade her from her decision; she clearly felt strongly about it."

"If she does not wish to be saved, there is nothing we can do," added Zhongli.  

"Well she clearly thought you guys were going to get a bunch of innocent people killed over her!"  Paimon huffed.  "Of course she wouldn't want to be saved if it meant all that death would be her fault!"

"Paimon..." Aether's gaze wavered at his emergency food.

"And you!" The mascot switched to Xiao.  "She clearly loves you, but you have no idea what that means even though it's bright as day that you feel the same for her!  Why didn't you tell her?!"

"I can't make much of human em--"

"No! Here's what's going to happen.  You're going to go back there, confess your lovey-dovey feelings and get her out of there!"

Xiao disappeared before their eyes, obviously agitated by Paimon's annoying rant.  "Great," Aether pulled at his hair.  "Now look at what you did, Paimon."

"He needs to hear the truth at some point!" She huffed.

..................................

"Xiao?"  Aether and Paimon investigated the Wangshu Inn as soon as they got back to Liyue a week or so later.  "Are you up here?"

"What do you want?"  The adeptus appeared next to them in a similar manner to when they first met.  He was just as unwelcoming as he was back then.

"We made some almond tofu!"  Paimon made a giddy gesture to Aether, and the boy held the dish out to Xiao.

"We thought you would like some," he gave a faint grin.  The yaksha didn't return it, instead returning his gaze to the moonlit scenery past the railing.

"I'll pass."

"Oh..." This is really bad.  Aether sent a worried glance to Paimon.  "Are you sure?  You love almond tofu."

"Mortal food is not to my liking," the yaksha grit his teeth in agitation.  "You should leave.  There's no reason for the two of you to be here."

"Don't be so rude to us!  We came to talk about her!"  Paimon flew forward so that she blocked Xiao's view of the scenery.  "We know how much you care about her.  Isn't there a way to contact her somehow?  You know, with your psychic abilities or something?"

"This conversation is pointless.  If there's nothing else, see yourselves out."

"Xiao."  Aether's shoulders dropped as he tried to figure out the correct words.  He failed to come up with something, and looked to Paimon.  "...Let's go."

Xiao didn't bother to glance their way as they made their exit, instead focusing on the scenery below him.  He hadn't heard from you since you saw him off.  'I love you,' she said.  Why does remembering it hurt so much?  He shivered as he remembered the look in your eyes.  They were so gentle, kind, yet broken.  Like you had just...given up on life.  Just what had Childe done to you to make you say those things?  His thoughts were fortunately interrupted when he felt a shift of energy carried through the wind.  He looked to the Guili Plains up ahead, and dispersed.

The yaksha came upon several lawachurls, which were relatively uncommon to the area compared to other places in Liyue.  The evil that consumed them reeked of gods past. Xiao didn't hesitate to wave a hand over his face and manifest his yaksha mask, throwing himself into his life-long work of defeating the evil that plagues Liyue.  Only this time, he used it as an outlet for his frustrations rather than solely fighting to fulfill his duty.

"My fight goes on."  That's right, he watched the demonic smoke whirl around him.  My fight does not stop for her.  My duty is here.  He twirled his polearm and leapt through the air, slicing at the closest lawachurl.  Since he and the monsters were far from the nearest road, he let loose a little.  And by a little, I mean a lot.  

The nearest trees splintered from the shockwave of his attacks, with the other lawachurls shaking off the bulky rock armor off their backs.  The ground rumbled beneath their feet.  Xiao plummeted to the earth and subsequently killed the first lawachurl with the blow.  Then he moved onto the next one, finding no fear in the monstrous bellow that greeted him face-to-face.  He shoved the lance through it's bottom jaw and jutted it through the skull with little effort.

The third charged just as he removed his polearm from the corpse of the second.  This time Xiao whipped around and thrust his weapon into the monster's knee, yanking it out to then deal several blows across its chest and decapitate it.  "Worthless," he growled as he watched the monsters disintegrate.  He continued his attacks on the remaining four until he stood alone among the ruins.  He watched as the spirits of the damned returned to their rightful places in the earth.

Xiao thought nothing of the disturbed soils and began to walk towards the inn once more until the demonic voices called out to him.  Some were quiet, no more than a whisper, while others were obnoxiously loud and demanded attention.  They moaned and whined, each having a unique pitch of anger tinging their curses and cries for help.  Xiao fell to his knees, with his body leaning on his polearm as it was overwhelmed with the hatred of the damned. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Not this again.

...............................

Your time in Snezhnaya wasn't fun so far, and you often secluded yourself in your room whenever you had the chance to avoid the Tsaritsa or her little puppets.  Childe checked on you often, doing so in a way that showed his concern for your obvious depression as you longingly stared out into the winter wonderland from your window.

You were being pestered by Childe yet again when you became overwhelmingly dizzy and nauseous.  "Urk--"  You doubled over and grabbed onto the curtain to steady yourself.

"Hey, are you alright?"  Childe put a concerned hand on your shoulder.

"What is...this...?"  Your fit of nausea transformed into an overwhelming hatred for nothing in particular.  You fell to all fours, heaving from a level of anger never experienced before.  "What is this!"

"...Comrade?" His words were drowned out by the desperate screams that entered your mind.  Your hands hurried to cover your ears in an attempt to make the voices stop, but they didn't disappear.

"They're so loud!"  You cried out, now in physical pain that was equivalent to being set on fire and shredded with knives.  "Stop!  Shut up!"

Childe quickly dropped to your level and lifted your chin up to examine your glowing eyes and the tears drenching your cheeks.  "What's wrong?"  He mouthed, but you still couldn't hear him.

"It hurts!"  You coughed, one hand covering your mouth only to be retracted and painted with your blood.  I'm bleeding?  Panic set in and the pain only worsened, the voices getting louder and louder while Childe desperately tried to get you to answer him.  "This hate!  Why do I feel so hateful?  Make it stop!"  You were screaming hysterically now, squeezing your eyes shut and clawing at your ears until they too began to bleed.  "Make it stop!"  Your senses were easily overwhelmed, and all you could focus on was the pain and the volume of the voices surrounding you.  "Please!" You couldn't seem to catch a decent breath of air like something heavy was sitting on you.

"Hey now!"  The harbinger watched the blood spill from the lips.  This is...  He pulled you close to him and held you tightly, ordering for medical aid when an agent burst through the door from hearing the ruckus.  "It's okay, it's okay--"

All you could do was continue to heave deep breaths to quell the rage that resided within you, to quell the demonic voices that demanded you to succumb to them.  Childe didn't let up his grip around you and pressed your head tightly against his chest.  Rage.  Hatred.  Agony.  The feelings tore through you like you were made of paper.  It was hard to explain, but the emotions felt otherworldly; nonhuman.  Your blood continued to seep from your mouth and soak into Childe's clothes while he continued to rock you back and forth.  Your screams were a mixture of cries for help and manic giggling as you lost all sense of rationality.

.......................................

"Hey girlie," the familiar harbinger was hovering above your face when you finally reopened your eyes.  You were apparently still in your room, this time lying in bed with a damp cloth draped across your forehead and the moonlight illuminating the two of you.  "How're you feeling?"

"Mn."  You blinked sluggishly and tried to move around.

"Ah, I wouldn't do that.  You were bleeding internally, you know," he let out a strangled laugh as you returned to your original position.  "You really had us worried for a sec."

"Yeah right." The growl that emitted from your throat seemed to put Childe off guard, another flash of concern waving over his demeanor.  It was clear residual hatred still resided in you even though that was your usual response to his remarks.  Your eyes were still glowing.

"You feel his pain now?"  He raised a brow.  "Is that how this bond works?"

"What of it?" A dry giggle escaped your chapped lips as the hushed voices continued to plague you.

Interesting...This could pose a possible problem for the soldiers...I should inform Dottore immediately.  Childe removed himself from the bed and headed for the door.  "I'll check on you in a few hours.  Try and get some rest."

A slight draft brushed across the tip of your nose the second he closed the door, and you looked to the window to find a shadowy figure obscuring the moonlight that entered the room. It slowly approached the bed until it stood at your side.  The closer it got, the louder the voices became.  You winced when it leaned over you.

"You..."  Xiao's face occupied most of your vision.  He didn't need to know what happened to understand it was linked to his dealings with the possessed lawachurls a few hours ago.  "I felt your distress."

"What're you doing here?" You snapped quietly, the voices still raging a storm within your words.  It's not like you've communicated with him at all ever since you confessed your feelings.  He had no reason to be here...right?

"Do not fall prey to the darkness," he warned.  "I cannot save you if you allow yourself to be overrun."  He hesitantly placed a hand against your forehead in an attempt to gage your wellbeing.  He didn't have the powers of Zhongli, so there was no point in trying, but he did it anyway.  Your glowing eyes seemed to capture his, and the two of you stared at one another for a few moments.

Another laugh left your lips, and it was nothing short of disturbing unlike the airy carefree ones Xiao had heard you release before.  It was evil.  Mocking.  "I never called you here."

The yaksha let out something between a growl and a sigh.  "I have no choice but to kill you if you're consumed.  Do not let them overwhelm you," he repeated as he locked on your eyes.  While his words were sharp, the look in his eyes was nothing but endearing.  "I can always hear them, but you don't have to.  It's just a side effect; this too, shall pass."

"...It hurts."  Those two pained whimpers broke through the wall of hatred that surrounded you from within.  The glowing lights in your eyes flickered as you regained yourself in his presence.  

"I understand," he assured while his hand left your forehead to accompany your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your skin to wipe the tear that had fallen from your right eye.  He winced when he realized blood was mixed in with it, but didn't let on that he was taking a closer look at your eye.  Mortal bodies cannot withstand this...He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought of the worst-case scenario that had consumed his fellow yakshas long ago.  If we get them out of her now, she should still be able to fully recover.

He continued to stroke your cheek while you stared up at him, still unable to fully move your tired limbs that felt like they were severed at the ligaments.  Eventually you gathered enough strength to move your arm and place your hand over the one that cupped the side of your face.  You weren't sure of how much time had passed, but painful tears fell occasionally and were coupled with Xiao's brief looks of concern.

"I'm here," he soothed.  Archons, the way he handled you was so delicate.  Had he ever been this gentle with you, even when he caught you in your lowest moments?  If he had, the voices made it difficult to retrieve the memory.  They continued to scream and swirl within the depths of your mind, but the presence of the yaksha subdued them somewhat.

"I-I didn't...want to leave you..."  Your bloodied tears stained his hand and your pillow.  Xiao shifted on the bed upon hearing this and feeling your tears brim the corners of his eyes.  He continued to stroke your cheek.

"Do not speak; you're making your condition worse," he ordered.  "I can't hold your decision against you."

"But--"

"'What matters now isn't failures of the past; we are here together.'  Are those not your words?"  His head tilted slightly, and a fond smile formed across his lips.  "Rest.  I will be here until morning."

"Don't...leave..." You begged, gripping his hand a little tighter.  "Please."

Xiao watched the glow in your eyes eventually flicker out right before you fell asleep.  He took it upon himself to wipe the bloody streaks from your cheeks, and even let you continue to hold his hand while you slept.  He stayed true to his word and sat beside you until the first light of dawn shone through your window, his hand never fully leaving your skin until he had to return to Liyue.

....................

Coming up:  A harbinger’s gift: some much-needed therapy.  Tea time with an archon.  The moonsong.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

A Ghost is a Wish // G.W.

Summary: Three years after the events of Potions and Constellations, George Weasley cannot help but wonder of the ghosts that haunt the many rooms of the enchanted castle he now calls home.

A/N: Part two to Potions and Constellations! I have decided to make a mini series out of it, focusing on Professor!George and his many adventures at Hogwarts. Title is a quote from The Haunting of Hill House (I love that show so much). I don't think you necessarily need to read the first part to understand this, but some parts could be confusing.

Warnings: time skip, ghosts, spectres, hauntings, swearing, grief, established relationship, fluff, cute, fred is dead.

Word count: 3.8k

At this point in his life, George Weasley has been teaching three years. It wasn’t meant to be a permanent post, but rather a position filled until someone more qualified was found for the job. That was what McGonagall had led him to believe so many seconds, minutes, hours ago.

Yet, three years later, George was still to be found lecturing day in and day out to scores of young witches and wizards about the benefits and downfalls of potions and their ingredients. He didn’t say it often, but he had found his home within the walls of the dungeon that served as his classroom. He felt nothing but comfort as he meandered through the stone corridors of the school, greeting students by name, always getting a happy response in return.

Three years later, and he finds himself wholly in love with you and ready to dedicate his whole life to the profession of teaching in order to remain close to you. He misses his brother; the grief of losing someone so close to you isn’t something that simply fades over night, but having you close by, willing to share that burden makes it all the easier.

The grief of Fred still weighs him down; it still crawls up his throat and threatens to suffocate him, but he finds ways of managing whether it is planning a new lesson or distracting you from your own school work. However, it cannot be ignored for long and though the burden has been halved, George still finds himself missing and wondering about Fred.

----------

George paces the front of his classroom, his hands moving in circles as he explains the task to his class. A rather light potion for Sixth Years to be brewing but given that it’s Friday afternoon and Potions is the last lesson of the day for these students, George decides to go easy on them.

“I want you to revisit a potion from Second Year. Collect the ingredients for and brew a Wiggenweld Potion. You have the rest of the afternoon to do so and you can chat amongst yourselves. I’ll be making rounds so if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Auden Vincent raises his hand, waving it so fast there is genuine worry he might hit another student. Deciding not to repress his smile, George acknowledges the Sixth Year.

“Sir,” Auden begins, “Did you enjoy your time at Hogwarts?”

“What does that have to do with a Wiggenweld Potion, Auden?”

Auden shrugs, a large smile on his face that shows he knows exactly what he is doing. “I can’t help but be curious, you haven’t been here as long as the other teachers.”

“Three years, Auden. I’ve been teaching you Potions for three years.”

“Still,” The young teenager argues, “I think we would like to get to know you more.”

George sighs and glances at the clock. Knowing Auden and his tendency to disrupt lessons, George chooses to give in to the teenager. “I enjoyed my time at Hogwarts very much. Now, please, get on with your potion.”

From the frown that spreads across Auden’s face, it is clear that George has not given enough information. Already, the fight begins to light in Auden’s eyes, more and more questions rising to the brink, ready to be dropped into conversation and derail George’s lesson.  

“Auden,” George sighs, “Before you ask any more questions, understand that I attended Hogwarts through the Second Wizarding War. Whilst I enjoyed my time at the school, I also fought in the war.”

Any argument Auden was going to pose falls flat; the fight leaves his eyes in a second. The teenager nods wordlessly before turning his attention back to the set work. George feels awful; he would love to do nothing more than to tell his students about his time at Hogwarts, but all of his memories contain Fred, and even though it’s been years, and even though his grief doesn’t haunt him as often as it used to, he just isn’t ready to verbalise such happy memories.

Rolling up his sleeves, George starts to wander around the classroom he has made his own. A whole wall is dedicated to lines and lines of ingredients; each one sealed in jars and carefully labelled. Think back to his own lessons in this very classroom, George can see how the room has lightened with his presence. The darkness that encompassed Snape completely absent as George expertly weaves through tables and past students.

He smiles encouragingly at every student; letting them know where they’re going and where they need some improvement. George believes that it is important to revisit past potions, to keep minds sharp and fingers nimble before moving onto something more difficult.

It’s as George is leant over the cauldron of Alexandra Shea that the door to the classroom opens. “I’ll be one moment,” George calls out before pointing Alexandra in the right direction.

“Take all the time you need, Professor Weasley.”

George smiles before he can help himself. Your relationship had never been a secret; the whole school knowing the two of you were in love long before either of you realise, but George still tried to keep some level of professionalism around students.

Tried being the operative word.

You stand by the doorway, one of George’s jumpers hanging from your torso, the sleeves are so long that they swallow your hands. A tired smile is on your face, your hair barely brushed into some semblance of a ponytail. Professionalism be damned when you look like that.

You’re perfect, he thinks as he brushes himself down before walking over to you.

“Love,” George greets as he sends the class back to their potions, “What are you doing up? You’re teaching tonight.”

You shrug, a soft smile spreading across your face, “I missed you. I wanted to see you.”

George smiles, feeling the familiar flush spread up his neck and to his cheeks. Years on, and you still make him feel like a teenage boy experiencing his first tryst with love. “Consider me flattered, Professor,” George flirts.

“You should be,” You counter, the soft smile still on your face, “Will I see you tonight?”

Friday evenings had been reserved for you two. Your schedule as the Astronomy Professor meant that you worked markedly different hours from George, but regardless of the piles of work and awkward hours, Friday evenings were set aside for you both.

Reaching out for your hand, George tangles your fingers together before squeezing. His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he replies, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I have to know the story behind Corona Borealis.”

You shake your head in exasperated fondness, “You’ve heard that one before.”

“I’ve heard them all before,” George reminds you; knowing your curriculum just as well as his own, “But every time feels like the first time when you tell me the story.”

You roll your eyes, “A flirt, Weasley. That’s what you are.”

“Only for you,” He mouths, not letting his students overhear every word of your conversation. George brings your hand to his lips, dropping a kiss to the back of it before dropping it, “Go back to bed, love. I’ll come see you before dinner.”

The smile on your face grows as you stand on your tiptoes, pressing a long kiss to his cheek – an innocent act that only holds headier promises for the future. “I’ll be waiting, Weasley.”

A flush spreads across George’s face as he watches you go, closing the door behind you. He waits a moment, calming down before turning back to the class. His students try to look as if they haven’t heard the whole exchange, intensely focused on the potions brewing in front of them.

“Not a word, Auden,” George warns, pointing at the student before throwing himself back into the melee.

-----------

Over his time as a Professor, George had come to known the ghosts of Hogwarts. As a student, he hadn’t bothered getting to know them – believing that pranks and jokes were of a higher importance that hearing the histories relayed by Professor Binns. However, now older and wiser, George made sure to spend time with the spectres that floated down corridors and through walls. He spoke to them, hearing their stories, understanding their histories.

George doesn’t admit it to anyone why he seeks out to know the stories of the ghosts of Hogwarts. He doesn’t tell a soul that he’s trying to find the answer to the one question that has plagued his mind since he took up the job offer from McGonagall all those years ago.

Nearly Headless Nick had greeted him with the same amount of gusto as he had when George was a First Year worried about spending his first night away from home and his mum. Nick often checked in with the Gryffindor he had watched grow up; often floated to the dungeon to see how George was doing, frequently staying longer to talk about anything and everything that occupied either of their minds.

The Bloody Baron was harder to talk to. A staunch Slytherin, the ghost was dedicated to his house, but warmed up to George somewhat when George explained how he worked and spent most of his time in the dungeon teaching Slytherins.

Peeves the Poltergeist has only ever respected a handful of people. Begrudgingly, he would admit that he admired the Marauders – confessing it now as they had all passed on and his words could not be used against him. Nonetheless, Peeves would tell any soul who would listen for than one minute that he respected the Weasley twins and their dedication to all things mischief. For George, it was easier to talk to Peeves. They could compare prank ideas and products for the shop, and slowly but surely, George grew to understand Peeves backstory.

Late at night, however, George couldn’t help but wonder whether there was one more ghost in the castle he had yet to meet.

The curiosity niggled at the back of his mind; the very idea of it settled deep within his bones, stirring him to life in the middle of the night when the ghosts were at their busiest. Countless times, George had woken from a daze to find himself with his hand on the handle to his door, ready to turn and find out for himself.

On one hand, George desperately wants to know whether there is a chance.

On the other hand, George knows that he barely coped in the months after the war. He knows that if he doesn’t get the answer he so desires, it could the setback he has been dreading.

----------

The corridors of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry have always had an uncomfortable atmosphere to them. When filled with the rushed footsteps of students, the pathways have a lighter air to them, but after the students are safely tucked up in their beds, the darker parts of the castle come out to play.

George’s grip on your hand remains tight as you both wander through the corridors of the school, keeping an eye out for straying students. Scores of portraits decorate the stone walls of the castle; each one a prominent figure throughout the history of witchcraft and wizardry. Each one is asleep; their snores punctuating the silence between you and George.

Checking the old watch on his left wrist, George sighs with relief, “Midnight. We can get back to bed now.”

You smile, happy for your extra-curricular task to be done, “Thank Merlin. Let’s head back.”

Something feels different about the corridors as the both of you make your way back to your shared rooms. There’s a charge to the air around you, something electric that only has your steps quickening the closer you get to your rooms.

It’s the odd flashes of silver you spy out of the corner of your eye that have your steps beginning to falter. There was a ghost nearby, but it could not be Peeves – you hear him before you see him unless he has something especially sinister planned. It’s not Nick, the Baron or the Friar – they’re all at Ravenclaw Tower, trying to persuade the Grey Lady to socialise more.

It has to be someone new.

But as you catch eyes with George, you realise that it has been years since a new ghost has made Hogwarts its home. The Battle of Hogwarts had created ghosts and spectres galore, but in the aftermath, they had all found their peace and moved on.

“Georgie?” A voice calls and George promptly freezes, his hand falling from your grip as he trips up on thin air.

“George?” You murmur, puzzled at his sudden stop.

He can feel the colour drain from his face; feel the unwelcome churning of his gut as memory after memory washes over him. That voice… he hasn’t heard that voice in years.

“George… it’s me,” The voice calls out once more; it sounding stronger now, surer of itself.

Steeling his nerves and his heart, George turns in the direction of the spectral call.

He meets a face identical to his, but not. He meets a face that has not aged, has not hurt, has not cried in years. He meets a face entirely youthful and at peace.

George meets the face of his twin brother, Fred.

“Fred?” George whispers, voice breaking from sheer disbelief. In that one word alone, you can hear the years of grief and upset. You can feel the tears that will surely fall later tonight; you can see the pain written across George’s face.

Fred smiles: it’s as watery as you can get for a spectral vision, but it’s there. “It’s me, Georgie,” He reassures, “I promise.”

“It’s been so long,” George states needlessly. “So long,” He repeats as if counting the days of absences for his brother, noting each second, minute and hour that he has been without his twin.

“Who’s looking after the shop?” Fred asks, changing subject, dragging his brother away from the dark path he once wandered alone.

“Ron,” George answers, “He has some help from Harry on the weekends when it gets busier, but Ron is managing a lot. I think Bill is wanting to help out more too.”

“That’s good,” Fred nods. “You seem to fit in well, Professor Weasley,” Fred comments, gesturing to the robes now adorning his brother’s frame.

George laughs, his hand reaching for yours once more as you remain silent through the whole exchange, “Who would have thought it?”

“Not me,” Fred snorts, laughing at George’s bark of protest. All too quickly, Fred’s eyes are drawn to you, standing by George’s side, hand clasped in his ever so tightly. Your heartbeat quickens at seeing the stark youth on Fred’s face.

“It’s been too long, (Y/N),” Fred greets.

“How are you, Fred?”

“Better now that I know he isn’t alone.”

“You were watching?” George asks, tone aghast.

Fred gives his twin a look that coveys not only his brother’s stupidity but also the overwhelming brotherly love Fred has for his twin. “Of course I was. That’s how I knew I could come to you now. You aren’t alone, you’re managing.”

“I haven’t been alone for three years,” George points out as if would make an ounce of difference to Fred’s reasoning for showing up tonight.

Fred rolls his eyes. “I know that, but you weren’t ready. I could have appeared months ago but chose not to. I wanted you to be okay after I go again.”

George’s hand tighten around yours; his knuckles whitening as Fred’s words sink in. “You’re not a regular ghost of the castle are you? Not like Nick or Peeves?”

Fred shakes his head. “I have to go back,” He says, gesturing behind him as if the place in which he now belongs is right there within reach, “But I wanted to see you, so I got my wish.”

“I got mine too,” George says so quietly you wonder whether you’ve misheard him.

“You look old,” Fred laughs, defusing the tension that threatens to boil over any moment.

George snorts, speaking without thinking, “That’s what life will do to you.”

George immediately freezes as the words leave his mouth. He meets Fred’s gaze, a thousand apologues ready and willing to fall from his lips as rain would fall from the sky. Sorrow is written in every premature line, and in every blink of his eyes, but George doesn’t get to speak the words

“I know,” Fred replies. The both of them more than aware that those two words cover more than the apology left unsaid just now by George. They cover years of repenting on George’s behalf; for not being there, for not saying goodbye, for not protecting his brother.

“Will you do me a favour?” Fred asks, drawing his brother back from the depths of his mind and his grief.

“Anything.”

“Tell Mum, I’m okay? I know she worries, and I know she misses me. I just… I need her to know that I’m okay and I’m looked after.”

“I’ll floo home this weekend and tell her,” George promises; conviction and determination weighing down his voice.

“I have to go,” Fred comments, sadness in his tone as he glances back behind him, as if hearing a call only audible to his ears alone.

“I miss you,” George whispers as Fred fades away.

His twin brother pauses, lifting a hand to him, “I’m always with you, George.”

Those are his final words before he fades away back to the afterlife; the place in which he watches over every member of his family, keeping an eye on them like a determined guardian angel.

-----------

The walk to your shared room is completed in a daze. You had known Fred from your time as a student; unable to get away from the stories of his pranks, but as your relationship with George progressed, you felt as if you knew him better.

Fred’s visit was unexpected, and as your hand only wraps around George’s tighter, you can only wonder what was running through his mind.

He doesn’t speak as you push open the heavy wooden door to your rooms; doesn’t speak as you lead him to the bed. “Love,” You say gently, “We need to get ready for bed.”

George does so woodenly; still in a daze with what he’s just experienced in the corridor. You watch him with worried eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed.

Tomorrow, you promise yourself. Tomorrow you would broach the subject; you would let him have tonight to work through the flurry of emotions no doubt rushing through his veins this very moment.

As your eyes grow heavy, you fist your hand into George’s thin t-shirt, reminding him that you’re here.

----------

George doesn’t sleep. He feels your breathing slow; watching the exact moment your eyes start to flutters as dreams begin. Gently he shifts in bed, sliding out from the covers and leaving you behind as he tries to work through the events of the evening.

He wanders out to the small living area; big enough to fit a couch and a table that is used more for marking than it is for eating. George slumps down onto the couch; running a hand down his face and waiting for the inevitable tears to start flowing down his face.

At the same time, he feels such sorrow and such relief. For years now, George has carried the weight of his guilt surrounding Fred’s death on his shoulders. On his more dramatic days, George would compare it to the weight Atlas feels when holding the Earth. George has carried this burden for so long, and in a ten minute conversation with the ghost of his dead twin, he has been absolved of it.

He doesn’t know the extent of what he is supposed to feel.

George stares into the permanently lit fire; questioning all he can about the events of the evening. The guilt and grief he carries for his brother is what kept him from replying to McGonagall all those years ago; it was what had him rejecting the idea altogether. Instead, after a conversation with Ron, he said yes, and so far, George had yet to regret such a decision.

After all, if he had said no, he would not have met you, and would not have fallen in love so desperately.

George thinks of you; thinks of how you stood by his side, hand holding his tightly as George spoke to his brother. You had to have questions. George had told you everything; he couldn’t keep a secret from you. This was discovered early in your relationship when George had blabbed about the presents he had got you for Christmas – way too excited to know your reaction rather than wait.

He continues to stare at the fire; mind running through memories of Fred, wondering whether McGonagall would give him next week off to go home and be there for Molly when George inevitably passes on Fred’s message.

How does he do it? How does he begin to live his life now that Fred has forgiven him?

He has carried this burden for so long; passing it you when you asked to help. For years, after his death, Fred was a massive part of his life. George has lost count of the times over the years that he has heard something hilarious and turned to share it with Fred only to find he no longer stands at his side. How George rushed home the weekend he asked you to be his partner; desperate not only to tell his mum he thinks he’s found the love of his life, but to tell Fred as well to find his mother waiting with happy tears in her eyes and no sign of Fred whatsoever.

“George,” You rasp from the bedroom door, voice heavy from disturbed sleep, “Come back to bed.”

George nods, not speaking as he climbs back into bed. Positions change immediately. Usually, it would be you who would cuddle up the redhead, wanting to wrap yourself around him and fall asleep with his scent enveloping you. Instead, it is George’s turn to hide his face in your clothed shoulder as your arm wraps around him comfortingly. His whole body shudders as a fresh wave of grief overtakes him, but you’re there for every battering and every sob.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, running a hand through his hair.

George shakes his head, calming himself down long enough to whisper, “Not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry,” You repeat, “It wasn’t as if you were expecting that tonight.”

“I wasn’t,” George admits, tears starting to slow, “I didn’t think I would see him ever again.”

“Are you glad that you have?”

George nods; his nose brushing your collarbone, “I am. I miss him just as much as I did in the beginning, but I know I’m going to come out of the other side now.”

“You do?”

“I do. I have you.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @theweasleysredhair @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @awritingtree​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @stupxfy​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @starlightweasley​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @lestersglitterglue​ @msmimimerton​ @obx-beach​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @breadqueen95​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​ @slytherinsunrise​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @remmyswritings​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @ria-rests-here​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @inglourious-imagines​ @ithilwen-lionheart​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @theonly1outof-a-billion​ @phuvioqhile​ @moatsnow​ @storyisnotover​ @himooonlight​ @missmulti​ @amourtentiaa​

The Weasley Twins taglist: @whizboingies​ @seppys-return-to-madness​ @hexmione​ @ickle-ronniekins​ @oh-for-merlins-sake​ @somekidinacoma​ @wand3ringr0s3​

[crow-summoner]

Darklina Week Day 2: Role Reversal

Sun Summoner!Darkling and Shadow Summoner!Alina

Alina, a cartographer for the Ravken Army, undertakes a dangerous mission to stay by her only friend’s side. They must cross the Forge, a hellscape of intense heat and unrelenting light that has torn their country in two. Nothing can survive the Forge for long. Nothing but the monsters that call it home. Alina thinks she and Mal will make it as long as they’re together, but when their mission falls to pieces, Alina discovers something shocking about herself. She can banish light. Her powers draw the attention of the Golden General, a military leader who scares and intrigues Alina in equal measure. One thing’s for sure. Alina can’t go back to life of a mouse, and the General’s her best option to fight for something more. Can Alina save her world, or will she die trying?

Or, an AU where light powers aren’t necessarily good, and shadow powers get to be heroic. Content warning for some volcra expy related gore and some canon-consistent sprinkles of Malina at the beginning. There’s plenty of Darkles after that, now with extra sparkles.

Story under the jump

The Forge

Alina sits at the inn window, adding the last buttery yellow lines to her painting. For being such a blight against their nation, the Forge made a lovely landscape. She dons her fabrikator sunglasses, and turning her back to the unrelenting sunlight, she lifts her tented mirror up to compare her painting to the real thing. Her superior officers would kill her if they knew what she was using their equipment for, but the Forge is too bright to look at directly. Her superiors may not appreciate art, but if she’s going to risk her life for more supplies, she wants to leave a memorial for herself.

“It looks too much like a vacation spot,” Mal says, dragging up a chair so he can sit next to her. He’s already wearing his glasses and darkened veil, which will supposedly keep the Forge from boiling their eyes out and trap moisture near their faces. Alina would be happier if more than army issued fashion stood between her and certain death.

“You make a pretty bride, you know that?” Alina says instead of responding to the criticism. There were enough horrors in the Forge. She wanted make something pleasant. She places her canvas between the shelf and the wall, hoping that someone working at the inn will find it.

Mal huffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw the bags under my eyes. Don’t know how people sleep around here.”

Alina supposes people can get used to anything, even perpetual daylight. She secures her mirror and knives to her belt and dons her veil and gloves. She shimmies down the narrow walkway as if showing off the latest fashion. “What do you think?”

Mal makes a show of considering it, rubbing his chin under the veil. “I think the sveta will be too smitten to eat you.”

Alina tilts her head in mock coyness. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” She leaves it unspoken that she wishes someone else was smitten with her.

“Come on,” Mal says, taking her by the arm. “I want to be on time for once.”

By the time they reach the skiff, Alina and Mal are five minutes late. Thankfully, Alexei, her fellow cartographer, covered for her.

“You owe me,” he says, shoving her maps into her hands.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” Alina promises.

“You already owe me twelve cakes!”

“Then I’ll name my first born after you.”

Alexei snorts. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to have kids. We’re all going to be beef jerky in a few hours.”

“Squeak. Squeak, Alexei.” It’s the code their cartographers have for when Alexei’s boundless optimism is bringing them down.

Normally, Alexei would grumble but acquiesce. Today, he just stares at the skiff. “Do you really think the sveta are real?”

Alina shrugs. “What else could eat our men out there?” Admittedly, invisible creatures made of light sounded farfetched, but she’s seen the battle scars. Other soldiers had claw mark scars across their chest and spots where something inhuman had taken a bite out of them. The light could blister, burn and tan flesh, but it couldn’t do that.

“I dunno. Maybe him,” Alexei said, eyeing the golden carriage in the distance. “The Geldling.”

Alina quickly hushes him. General Kirigan tolerates others calling him the Golden General, but he does not take kindly to the Geldling. Sure, the epitaph was based on an old Kerch word for gold, but gelding is also what one did to a prized horse to keep it docile. It was as good as saying their leader is a ballless pet, and everyone knows it.  

Sure enough, one of the heartrenders lifts his veil and glares at them. He might have been handsome once, but his sour expression makes the lines on his face hard.

“Captain Herring may be rough, but he’s not a cannibal.” Alina hopes this is enough to cover over their mistake. The heartrender doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight them either. That suited Alina well enough.

“Watch what you say,” she whispers to Alexei. “We have to depend on these people to survive. Don’t make them mad.”

Alexei nods. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, the rest of their time at the dock goes smoothly. Soon, all the soldiers and Girsha gather inside the metal skiff, ready to take off. A tidemaker hoses them all down, making Alina feel like a drenched rat, but the water is important in such a hot place.

Alina makes sure to stand by Mal, gripping his arm for support as the skiff slides along the sand. There’s enough space to move around, but something about the lack of windows makes the room feel unbearably tight. It’s like one big coffin.

Squeak, squeak, Alina tells herself. No one’s going to die today.

The skiff rattles as they pass over marker zero. They’re officially in the Forge. The panels in the side of the skiff slide up. Rows of dark nets allow squallers to force air out without letting the light in. They’ll have to use the tinted mirrors along the sides of the skiff to direct it.

Alina fans herself, wishing the nets could ease the heat. She was drenched just minutes ago, but her uniform’s now bone dry. Sure, the tidemakers periodically release a mist from their fancy containers and push it around the cabin, but that’s like giving a starving man a single bite.

“I bet I can sweat more than you,” Mal jokes, and she’s sure it’s to help distract her. Even the dumbest man in their unit wouldn’t brag about that.

“No way. Sweat more than that heartrender over there, and you have a deal,” she whispers back. It was a hard challenge. The heartrender already smelled like he’d bathed in nothing but used socks for years.

Mal leans back in shock. “Yikes. Are you trying to kill me? I can’t beat that.”

Alexei sniffs beside them, rubbing under his veil. “My lids are scraping my eyeballs.”

Alina reaches over and slaps his hand the way she used to do with the younger kids at the orphanage. “Then stop picking at them.”

Alexei mumbles. He’s a good cartographer, but he also comes from money, and that didn’t always make for a good soldier. Alina wonders if she should have erased his name instead of Ruby’s. This mission called for two cartographers, and Ruby could withstand discomfort better than he could, but Alina wasn’t thinking rationally. Mal was going to go into the Forge by himself, and Alina needed to remove someone so she could forge her own name on the mission papers. Mal wouldn’t give Alexei a second glance, but Ruby had red hair and a slim figure. Alina couldn’t risk Mal having “glad we’re still alive” sex with her after the mission. It was petty, childish even, but Alina couldn’t help herself. If they all survive the skiff, she’ll woman up and tell Mal how she feels. Lord knows hanging in this middle ground wasn’t doing either of them any favors.  

The skiff shakes, and Alexei grabs the walls. “Saints! It’s the sveta.”

The squaller at the helm shushes him. “Just a bump. Don’t call attention to us.”

Alexei’s shoulders slump, but he retakes his position behind the squaller without another word.

Alina can’t help but lean around her squaller to peak in her mirror. She’d heard about calcified roots surviving the Forge long after the crops perished. The real thing must be prettier than the paintings. Instead of a root, Alina finds the fragments of a skull and the front of a skiff.

She steps back, her stomach sinking into her boots. It’s one thing to know the odds, but it’s another to stare the evidence in the face. Better men than them have failed to cross.

The crew stand in silence as the skiff passes the first marker. Alina gives her squaller the proper directions and distances, and soon they pass the second marker. The third. The fourth. Alina allows herself to hope. Just eleven more and they’re home free.

She scratches her arm, and flakes of dry skin come off. No wonder the skiff regulars look like leather. She’d rather go AWOL than do this again. Then again, she didn’t have be here this time either. She has no one to blame but herself.

The skiff rumbles and tilts. It’s just another bump, she assures herself, but something raps against the ceiling. The heartrenders tense up, and the squallers shift their positions.

Oh, no.

She checks on Mal just to be sure, but he’s clutching his gun tight, his head tilted up. It’s the same stance he took when he found that rabbit in a barren forest or when he was about to catch her during hide and seek. He’s sighted something, only this time, that something is stronger than them.

The squaller at the helm brings the skiff to a stop and signals for the shooters and heartrenders to take position. All the non-combat staff – cartographers included – must gather at the center. Alina takes out her knife and her tented mirror, praying she won’t have to use them.

“Protect yourselves if you must,” the squaller whispers, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Alina’s never felt more useless in her life.

The skiff continues to shake, harder this time. Something whines above them. Something answers it’s call from somewhere in front of them. Another whine sounds from behind the skiff. From all sides. How many of them are out there? At least a dozen given the sheer number of cries. No one dares make a sound. The sveta are fierce, but they’re just as blind as a human in the Forge. Maybe if they don’t hear anything, they’ll get bored and hunt elsewhere.

The ceiling dents in with a clank, knocking the skiff to the right. One of the soldiers jumps at the sound, aiming where it came from. The squaller at the helm blows him away, but not in time. The shot blows a hole in the ceiling, letting the light in. The beam hits a tidemaker’s shoulders, carving a smoking black line through her kefta. She screams, tearing off the cloth to expose a blistering gash. A healer pulls her to the side as one her friends tries to stifle her screams with a damp cloth, but it’s too late. The sveta cries draw closer.

Something claws a large hole through the ceiling, the soldiers scrambling to avoid the new beams. Some squallers attempt to blow up a tarp to cover the open areas, but it stops in thin air. No. Not thin air. The tarp drapes over something Alina can’t see with her naked eye. Under the plastic, she can make out its large, pointed wings and snout.

“Blast it,” the squaller at the helm shouts, and the soldiers open fire on the creature. It whines, batting away the tarp, and then it’s gone.

For a moment, no one makes a move. The cabin is utterly silent. Then something flashes across Alina’s mirror, and the next thing she knows, the soldier beside her explodes in a splash of red. On the other side of the skiff, a healer’s hand disappears. He draws back, clutching his now bloody stump as one of the creatures screeches in triumph.

Alina backs up, though there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, saints. She should have never come here. She begs every saint she can think of to forgive whatever sin brought her to this horrible moment. Shooting her fellow man in combat. Wishing harm to the girls Mal so much as looked at. Disregarding Ana Kuya’s rules at every turn. Whatever it was, she repented. Just please don’t let her die at some monster’s hand.

The durasts burst dust in the air. It makes their own people cough, but it helps make the sveta more visible.

BAM!

Another chunk of ceiling caves in, forcing the crew to huddle along the perimeter to escape the light. Not all of them were quick enough. Several soldiers blister and peel, crying as the sveta tear off chunks of flesh from their bodies.

Alina can only stare. It’s too late for prayers. Too late to run. She should have talked Mal into fleeing while she had the chance, and now ... Alina holds out her mirror, a new hope setting in. They might not make it out, but she can at least die by Mal’s side. He has to know how she feels.

Alina slowly shifts through the chaos, dodging shots and beams of light. She finds him by the helm, taking deep breaths as he aims and shoots. Something heavy hits the floor, gurgling. Of course. Leave it to Mal to find the creatures without a mirror.

She shines her mirror in the direction the creature fell, hoping to avoid tripping its body, but to her surprise, she can just make out the sheen of its skin. The colors change as she tilts the mirror, first blue, then pink and maybe green. All the colors of the rainbow. It reminds her of looking through a prism. Not invisible then. The sveta are just reflective.

Alina giggles. Ana Kuya would be so proud of her, committing to her education even as she’s about to die. She keeps giggling over and over, knowing that if she stops, she’ll have to cry. There are just so many bodies around her. They used to be people, and now they’re meat.

Someone grabs her wrist, and a shot of energy courses through her, quieting the hysteria. Mal drags her beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he’s busy readying his next shot. “I lo – ” She doesn’t get any further. Another soldier’s bullet ricochets off the wall and hits Mal in the shoulder. He doubles over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Alina drops her mirror, pressing a palm against the wound. The blood seeps from between her fingers no matter how hard she tries to stop the flow.

Mal slides to the floor, Alina crouching beside him. The light streams against them, burning her chest and his back. The pain means nothing compared to the loss.

“No. Not like this,” she says, covering Mal’s body with her own.

The pain in her back only lasts a second. It occurs to her that this is not a good thing. It means her nerves have been eaten away, but she’s glad to do it if it means Mal can live.

Something rumbles in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s going to burst, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

All around her, the creatures cry and flap their wings erratically. She doesn’t have time think about it as the world goes dark, sinking her into a deep oblivion.

 *****************************

 Alina wakes, draped over someone’s shoulder, face buried in the red cloth of his kefta. She only lifts her head for one moment, but the light’s unbearable.

The light?

“Mal,” Alina shouts. She wiggles to free herself from the Grisha’s grip. The sveta will come back at any moment. She has to find Mal. Protect him. Where is he?

But they’re not on the skiff anymore. They’re back at the dock, the skiff a shredded husk. People rush every which way, some tending to the wounded and some salvaging the cargo from the hold. Mal could be anywhere among them. Then Alina catches sight of the ground. Oh, saints! So many people lay unmoving on the dock, and Grisha and First Army soldiers keep dragging out more. All these people she trained with. Ate with. Sung bawdy songs with when they’d all had too much kvas. Dead. They can’t all be gone. Right? Right?

Alina kicks at the Grisha. She needs to see for herself who made it out. Mal better be among them. Of course, he would be. He was the best tracker Ravka’s ever seen. He’d always find his way back home. Home to her.

The Grisha swears at her, trying to stop her feet with one arm. “Be still.” She recognizes him. The heartrender that had sneered at Alexei’s comment earlier. Alina drives a fist in the heartrender’s back. If Grisha like him had done more they wouldn’t be in the situation. He did it on purpose, didn’t he? He let their soldiers die because someone spoke against his leader. His pride meant more than the supplies they’d get from West Ravka. More than human life.

“Fine.” With a huff, the Grisha drops her flat on her butt, sand puffing in her face. She’s coughing too much to fight him off when the heartrender takes her by her bicep and drags her towards the camp. Another heartrender takes her other arm, his grip gentler than his coworker’s.

“Was that necessary, Ivan?” The second heartrender asked.

Ivan only grunts “Fedyor” as a warning in response. Fedyor shakes his head with what Alina would call fondness if she thought anyone could be fond of something as sour as Ivan.

“Where’s Mal?” Alina asks Fedyor, but he only lifts a brow. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize the name of a common solider. There were so many of them, and Grisha only concerned themselves with their own. “The boy I was with on the skiff.”

“Ah. Him,” Fedyor says. “The First Army tends to their own wounded. He’s in their care.”

Alina knows what that means. He’s laying outside the infirmary tent, waiting for his turn to have an undertrained medic pour alcohol in his wounds then pack them with mustard plaster. If he’s lucky, they’ll still have enough bandages for him to get his own. Having to use the scraps from old uniforms inevitably led to infection, and without supplies from the west, the camp outpost could not provide the steady diet of alcohol needed to survive that misery. Mal is popular, though. She’s sure someone will be willing to sacrifice their stash for his comfort.

Then it occurs to her that she’s not doing the same thing. She’d been horribly burned by the light, and yet her back doesn’t ache. Someone must have removed her jacket while Alina was unconscious, but her undershirt is scorched where the light hit it. Her chest is unusually red, but it’s not blistering or charred. The worst she can say is that she feels like she’s been awake for days.

“Why would someone heal me?” She’s heard it a thousand times before. Healers were too rare to waste on common soldiers. They were for Grisha and those wealthy enough to be a priority. She is neither, and yet when she looks up at Fedyor, he’s gazing down at her with some feeling she dares not define. It was the same look the Grisha gave the golden carriage when it barreled into the encampment. The same look the peasants near Keramzin gave the bones of Saint Felix on his day of worship. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it reverence.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity when he finally says, “We survived.” Alina doesn’t know what she has to do with that. It was luck. Pure and simple. But then Fedyor closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

A chill runs through Alina despite the heat. She looks at the tents, the people running around them, anywhere and everywhere but at Fedyor and that look, full of expectations she can never fill. They’ve long since passed the First Army section, but they’re now leaving the main Grisha area, heading up the northmost path. There’s nothing there except for the single yellow tent towering over the rest of the encampment.

Alina pulls back, but it does nothing to stop the heartrenders. “What does the General want with me?”

“Just answer his questions, so we call all get on with our day,” Ivan says.

“I don’t know anything! Let go of me!” She turns to look back at the First Army camp, too far away for anyone to see her let alone help. Not that they could do anything if they wanted to. No one says no to the General.

Fedyor grips the back of her neck, and her whole body turns to puddy. The heartrenders lean into her, holding her upright because her knees can no longer bear her weight. She’s too relaxed to move at all.

Ivan sniffs. “You weren’t supposed to do that for anyone but me.”

Fedyor grins. “Sorry, luv. Desperate times and all that.”

They march her straight into the lion’s den.

She doesn’t know what she expected to see. A jeweled throne and a menagerie of exotic animals like the ones she’d seen in the illustrated book of fairy tales back at the orphanage? Enemy soldiers kept in cages and chained otkazat’sya serving the Grisha like the Fjerdan pamphlet a traveler tried to give them before Ana Kuya kicked them off the duke’s property? But this place resembled the main tent for the First Army. Soldiers clustered together around a round table. A large map hung from a board, thread and pegs marking paths, places and interesting parties. And yet the General’s tent was larger than theirs, made of bulletproof core cloth while they had to make do with spun cotten. They must not need to ration oil either given the number of lamps lit, and the gathered Grisha shone like banners in their blue, red and purple keftas. No olive drab for them.

Most of the room turned to face them when the heartrenders dragged Alina in. Some now look at her with open curiosity and others with incredulous expressions. Soft mummers pass through the crowd until someone raises their hand, and the whole lot fall silent. Saints, Alina never heard a tent so quiet before. Even during lights out, at least one person snored.

Without needing to be told, the Grisha step back, parting down the center to make a path. A lone man strides forward, his telltale yellow kefta billowing around him. Notes of silver, white and gold weave through it, enough thread to stitch three tents of this size together, but he’s not wearing the jewelry she’d expect from his high rank, and his clothes are core cloth like any other Grisha. She’s never seen a high officer without any silk on, no matter how impractical it might be. After all, most never saw battle. Not like this one had.

The Golden General is younger than she’d expected given what others said about him. She’d seen a shriveled man with boney hands covered in warts in her mind’s eye, but this man barely had a decade on her, and his warm blonde hair and fair, flawless complexion were pleasing on the eyes. Too pleasing. Even the most beautiful boy back home had some freckle or ruddiness to his skin, but the General’s looks almost painted on. It’s eerie, and yet she can’t look away. He’s like the very embodiment of the light, except there’s a coldness in his gaze and calm comportment.

He may be light, but he’s not warmth.

That right, she tells herself. Ana Kuya warned her about such things before. One of the orphans she’d grown up with saw a gold coin glittering in some bushes under a hill. He’d climbed down for it, only to be rolled by some travelers. They took the buttons from his coat and the boots from his feet. He came home with nothing but his pants and a gash on his forehead. Ana Kuya warned them all then: not all that’s gold glitters. Sometimes, it burns instead. Gold tempts the desperate, but Alina is not blind. The General only looked like a man. He can boil someone’s insides. Make their flesh rot from their bone as if they were already dead.  Burn them with a glance. And here he is, looking straight at her.

The General stops a few feet away and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks her over, and she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful that she can’t read what conclusions he’s drawn. He nods at the heartrenders, and Fedyor rubs the back of Alina’s neck. Her limbs come back to life, panic rising from her core. She wants to run, but there’s no point.

The General stares at her, impassive, and then finally: “Is it true?”

For a moment, Alina believes the absurd. He’s read her thoughts and knows what she said about him being a monster. Then it occurs to her that he’s talking about the skiff. She closes her eyes. What does he want her to say? She was unconscious for most of what went down, and she can barely remember what she was present for. Flashes of her coworker’s blood and blistering arms intrude behind her closed lids, forcing them open again. Maybe it’s best she can’t remember.

She must have taken too long to answer because the General speaks again. “Is it true that you can banish the light?”

All Alina can do is blink. This has to be a joke, but the General’s expression is serious, and everyone around them is leaning in with anticipation. She knows better than to laugh in their faces and question their intelligence, so she makes do by stuttering, “No one can do that.” It takes a moment, but she remembers to add a quick “sir.” She’s not used to being around anyone important.

She braces herself for him to yell at her the way the generals in their army do, but he merely nods. “Then what did happen?”

Alina struggles for an answer. She tries to tell him that she doesn’t know how the sveta got in, or how their ship made it, but no matter what she says, she keeps returning to those burning soldiers. The General frowns, and she knows she needs to come up with something – anything – to appease him.

The General raises a hand to silence her, and when he speaks, his tone is smooth and calm. “It must have been scary out there. It’s one thing to read about the attacks, but it’s another to live it.”

Alina hadn’t expecting any sympathy, so she just nods.

“You must be exhausted.” When Alina nods again, the General continues. “It’s hard to make sense of anything when you hurt so much. I could help with that if you’ll let me.” He gestures beside him, inviting her closer.

He may have asked for permission, but Alina isn’t sure she really has a choice. Still, he’s been nothing but polite so far. She has nothing to lose by playing along.

Alina slowly closes the gap between them, and the closer she gets, the closer she wants to get. It’s like he’s a magnet, and she’s loose filigree coming together for the first time. She feels the warmth now, not in his continence, but all around him. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t tingle. It numbs the heaviness of her limbs and banishes the panic that’s haunted her since the skiff penetrated the Forge. Before she knows it, Alina’s pressed up against the General. She’s vaguely aware that it’s not appropriate to stand so close to a superior, and it’s definitely not safe to be within biting distance of a monster, but it feels right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

The General doesn’t seem to mind either, staring deep into her eyes like he’s trapped, too. Her reflection stares back at her in his eyes. They’re just so bright and shiny. She has a hard time placing the color. It reminds her of one of the duke’s vases. The blown glass was iridescent and shimmered with every color around it. She and Mal had argued for years over what color it really was. He said purple. She said green. They finally settled things with a good arm wrestle. Green won, of course. Alina decides that the General’s eyes are green, too.

“May I?” He asks, and though she can’t see where he’s pointing, she answers his unspoken request, sliding her hand in his. His palms are rough from life on the road, but they’re warm, and his grip os gentler than Fedyor’s had been. She could hold his hand and stare into his eyes forever.

“What happened?” The General asks in a voice softer than silks.

The words spill out of Alina on their own. She tells him about forging her name on the staff list. The attack. Shielding Mal. The sveta descending on them, and then – “All I could look at was him, but I could feel the light getting sucked away. Everything went black, and then I woke up on the docks.”

The General says nothing, but his eyes briefly narrow. It’s not a threat as far as Alina can tell. Whatever she said seemed to confirm something for him. The General pushes up her sleeve with his free hand, never breaking her gaze. She doesn’t fight it. She’s curious, too. Something happened back on that skiff. It’s there lurking there in the back of her brain, begging to be revealed. She knows once it’s free, it can never be caged again. The thought simultaneously thrills her and makes her shiver.

The General trails one finger up her arm. Something inside her responds to act, rejoices in it. His finger stops and curls around her forearm. She notes that the nail on his thumb is longer than the others. Sharp. He drives that nail into her flesh, and it’s like a thousand arms stream out of her at once.

Darkness surrounds them, putting out the lights. No, the lamps are still on. She can feel their flames licking at the shadows just as easily as she can feel the General’s grip on her arm. All around them, the Grisha shout. She can’t see them so much as she feels where they are in the dark. It the strangest sensation, and yet it feels like home. Everything is darkness.

Everything but him.

The General glows, smiling down at her. A true lamp would illuminate the world around them, but there he stands, the sole bright spot in the blackness. Standing together, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Then the General lets go of her arm and the darkness withers, fading into the ground or retreating under Alina’s skin to fight another day.

Alina clutches her chest, suddenly empty inside. Her head swivels every which way, desperate to find that surety again, but it’s gone. The aches have returned, magnified tenfold. She can barely keep herself upright, and soon, she’s on her knees, her head swimming.

“A shadow summoner,” some squaller says, and it’s as if a dam broke in Alina’s mind. She stares at her rough, ruddy hands. They’re not the hands of a hero, and yet it’s true. It’s all true. She can banish the light. She saved the skiff from the Forge.

She’s … Grisha.

Alina frowns, remembering what Mal said when that Grisha girl made eyes at him from the General’s carriage. He doesn’t tumble witches. Alina was glad to hear it then. It meant less competition for her, and she and Mal had exchanged plenty of digs at the Grisha over the years. Surely, he wouldn’t think she’s like the rest of them just because she has powers. She didn’t grow up coddled and self-important like the rest of them. That had to count for something. He knew her. The real her. He wouldn’t be scared of her because of her shadows.

No matter how hard Alina tries, she can’t bring herself to believe it.

The General holds out his hand. Alina stares up at him, sure she should bat it away. She’s not one of his Grisha. She’s a mapmaker and an orphan and Mal’s best friend. But that may not be true anymore, and she’d be a fool to burn any bridges.

She takes his hand, letting the General lift her to her feet. He pulls her close again, so close she can feel his breath against her face. She should let go, but she clings to his hand like it’s the last safe ledge in a rockslide. He gives her a knowing smirk, and she wants to wipe it off his stupid face. She’s had a rough day. She would have clung to literally anybody, but then the General leans in, and she feels that warmth again. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “You and I are going to change the world.”

Notes:

Whoo! This is my first Grishaverse fanfic. It may be a little late, but it’s here. One shot for now, but I might be interested in continuing this in the future. Hope you enjoyed!

[kazuyumi1412]

I’ve been reading a lot by @gilby-the-geek-girl recently, especially their “Not All Heroes Wear Capes” story, and I’ve absolutely fallen head over heels for their rendition of Virgil being a sizeshifter! I found it pretty interesting seeing how his ability works, along with seeing mentions of him wishing that it could work in both directions, and I thought that I’d write my take on what could happen if his ability could make him shrink too.

Note: This is just something I wanted to write and is in no way canon to gilby’s story. So read with a grain of salt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hero in Hiding

[Regrets]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

Well, it was happening. Right before Virgil’s eyes, but…

Ah, geez. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

There he was in a ransacked room with three roughed-up roommates and a royally spooked Roman. How’d any of that even happen? Honestly, it was all such a blur to Virgil. One second, he was in his room, stressing about school and his too-rapidly-dwindling meds. The second… Well, the second was too blurred for him to remember anything other than accidentally creating an extremely-localized earthquake and nearly causing part of the ceiling to come crashing down.

How the hell did his reverb cause that?

“Holy–! What was that?!” Roman asked Virgil, clearly still being in fight-or-flight mode.

“That was clearly the reverb from his voice, Roman,” Logan calmly stated as he brushed himself off. Some dust had landed on him from the cracked ceiling. “Albeit much stronger than normal.”

“Aside from that, Microsoft Nerd.” — he quickly gestured to Virgil, who was tightly covering his mouth with his hands — “He barely grew at all, yet look at this mess!”

“Now, now. Let’s try to calm down,” Patton told them. “Losing our heads isn’t going to help right now.”

Losing our heads. If the vibrations were any stronger, Virgil was sure that they’d have had something happen to their heads. Or would something have happened? Logan could’ve easily held up any falling debris with his telekinesis, but a whole ceiling? A whole roof, even? Virgil’s heart pounded as his mind ran rampant with possibilities.

What if the ceiling caved in and crushed them? Would he even be able to use his powers to protect them? Why was the reverb so powerful that time? He was sure that he knew what would happen with his powers at that point. He’d been living with them for practically all of his life! But what if they were changing? What if this was the beginning of a domino effect? What if—

“Virgil!”

His heart skipped a beat as he refocused on reality. Roman was right in front of him, hovering his hands over Virgil’s shoulders. Did he not want to touch him in case it spooked him? Well, that can’t be right. He already spooked him a bit already when he snapped him out of his trance.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Roman told him, keeping his volume low. “We’re alright. Just try to calm down, Panic! at the Everywhere.”

“Really?” Logan deadpanned as he cocked an eyebrow.

“You want to try calming him down, then?”

They both knew that Logan was pretty much useless when it came to emotional support, but he still replied. “No, but I’d prefer if you didn’t use those nicknames when Virgil is in this kind of state.”

Despite how much of a killjoy he was, Logan had a point. “Fine.” — he looked back at Virgil — “Breathe for me, will you? Four seven eight.”

Roman sung the tune to himself as Virgil tried to follow along, trying to keep his reverb to a minimum. “ONE TWO THREE FOUR ONE TWO…” he whispered.

They kept going for a bit, with Virgil feeling the sensation in his body lessening as he slowly returned to normal, but he completely stopped when he saw something slowly flowing down Roman’s forehead.

Blood.

Oh god, he actually hurt him. He hadn’t noticed it before due to how dark Roman’s brown hair was, but the blood was clear as day on his skin. And he was not easy to injure. And apparently, none of them had noticed until Virgil stared at it.

“Ah, your head!” Patton exclaimed as he rushed over to heal the wound.

“Since when did this happen?” Roman said as he looked at the blood on his fingers from checking.

Virgil’s stomach immediately felt uneasy as he felt a strong sensation surging through his body. However, he didn’t seem to recognize it, feeling different compared to what he was used to.

“Are you okay?” He asked before quickly shutting his mouth.

That was definitely not reverb.

“You alright there, Stormageddon?” Roman asked, having heard the odd new tone in his voice.

“I-I’m fine, really,” Virgil replied as he took two steps back.

“Well, when you’re not feeling fine, you better believe that your pop knows it.” Patton said as he was healing Roman’s head wound. “Is something wrong?”

He tried to repress the feeling in his throat as he replied. “You guys should worry about yourselves first. I’m just the guy that caused this mess–”

Okay, now they all heard it. God, he really did have something wrong with him, didn’t he? No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t have something else wrong with him. Living with his powers was already a pain sometimes, especially when he couldn’t control it! Virgil looked around to the others, seeing the looks on their faces.

Shock? Fear? Maybe even a glare?

Then again, he probably deserved it. For hurting the people that he cared about.

“Virgil, what’s happening?!” Patton asked, frightened.

Maybe it’d be better if he was gone for a while.

“What’s going on?!” Roman panicked.

…

And everything went out like a light.

__________

Virgil came to again a few seconds later, unsure of where he was. He heard what sounded like the low rumble of an approaching storm, along with other sounds that he couldn’t quite make out at the time. They echoed around him, the sound waves bouncing off every surface and reverberating back to him.

…Wait. Reverberating?

He looked around, seeing what looked like four pillars supporting a giant ceiling. And giant objects that went up and down from the ground, making the ground shake a bit. And…

“VIRGIL, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“IF THIS IS A JOKE, IT’S NOT FUNNY!”

“VIRGIL!”

Voices.

Their voices.

“So this is what it feels like to live with me…” Virgil muttered to himself, still hearing the change in his voice.

He thought of trying to change back, but a thought ran through his head. He didn’t have school the next day. Maybe he could try disappearing for a while like he thought earlier. See what a day without his presence was like.

It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

After all, he didn’t want to hurt the others any more than he already did that day.

[pens-swords-stuff]

Hi Undine! I checked the advice masterlist and I don’t think I saw this topic on there (and I’m sorry if I missed it!)

What advice would you give for someone who has multiple scenarios in mind for the next event in their wip and can’t choose between one. I have a rough outline for my wip, and the chapters are generally planned out (but in like a very basic way) but I’m at a point where I can deviate a little creatively and I can’t decide between a few options for the next scene to write.

Write them all!

No, seriously. More on that later.

Before that, here are a series of steps that I would take if I was your situation in this order!

1) Really try to decide

Think about the implications each scene has for your story. Spend a few days ruminating over it! Sometimes all it needs is a little time to stew before you realize what the correct scenario is. You’ve probably done this already, but it’s a good step to keep in mind.

2) Leave it up to luck

Flip a coin, pull a piece of paper out of a hat, roll a die, anything luck-based will work here!

But Undine, I can’t leave up the plot of my story to random chance!

I hear ya! The point of leaving it up to luck isn’t to actually leave it up to luck, but to discover what your gut reaction to your result is. 

When you flip a coin and you get heads, what is your instinctive feeling? Are you excited that you got the result that you were subconsciously hoping for? When you roll a 5 on a die, are you disappointed in your result and wished that you rolled something else instead? Do you feel compelled to lie about your result at all? Do you have to talk yourself into being satisfied with your result?

I’m a really indecisive person, and this is a technique that I use to gauge what sort of feelings I have for several options. It’s surprisingly useful — just remember to be honest with yourself!

3) Ask for someone’s input

Sometimes our writing is too personal to us, and it can be really difficult to look at it objectively. This is where a friend’s input can be really valuable! They might see something that you don’t. Maybe one scenario makes more sense than the other. Maybe one is something different from the rest of your story that is a nice departure and a change of pace. Maybe one scenario doesn’t make sense at all. They might be able to help you identify those.

For example, one time I was writing a mystery script for a school play. I didn’t know who the culprit was, I was just getting started just to see where it went. My mom read my draft and pointed out that there was one character that must be the culprit because they had the motive, the opportunity, and the means. I had no idea about it until she pointed it out to me, and subsequently redrafted it to make that character the culprit. 

4) Analyze each scenario

Sit down with each scenario and figure out why you want to include it in the first place! Think of story-related things like how it would impact your characters, the significance of the scene, the symbolism/meaning behind it, the purpose it serves in your overall story, why you want to write it in the first place, etc. Think of personal writer things as well, like how difficult it would be for you to write it out, how much research you might need to do, how much joy it would bring you to write, etc.

A pros-and-cons list would also be good to make. Get out that yellow legal pad and draw a line down the middle. Evaluate the pros and cons of each scenario to help you make an informed decision.

5) Make a separate outline for each scenario

Let’s say that you’ve tried options 1-5 and you still can’t decide which one to go with. That’s okay! You can try making an outline of your book of what would happen if you went with each scenario.

Let’s say that you have five possible scenarios in mind. You would create five different outlines of what would happen if you picked each one. Sit down and figure out how each scenario would impact the rest of your story. Are there significant differences? Does one scenario lead to your preferred outcome, whether it be in the short-term or long-term? What is the significance of that particular scenario in the big picture of your entire outline? Are there any branching paths based off which scenario you choose?

6) Write them all out

Write out each scenario! Actually go through and draft each scenario and ask yourselves some questions:

Which did you enjoy writing the most? Did you finish writing them all out, or did you finish one but not the others? What felt the most natural? Do you have a preference for one scenario now that you’ve written it out? What are the differences between each scenario and how they played out? Which scenario has your characters at the most authentic? 

Sometimes, actually writing it out is a different beast compared to planning, and it can be really illuminating.

7) Just pick one and hope for the best

Sometimes we can think in circles all day long and never come closer to an answer. In that case, what I would do is pick a random one (flip another coin!) and put it in my outline. Underneath, I would notate my other ideas so I don’t forget that there are other possibilities, and I would just move on with my outlining. If you realize that something needs to be changed, you can always go back and change it later. For now, you could try just picking one.

8) Move on with your writing process and see how you feel later

Personally, I find that outlining a story is incredibly different from writing one. In particular, the understanding of my story and my characters change when/as I write it out. Sometimes, it ends up completely different from what I originally intended. Lay your ideas to rest for now, and maybe try moving on with your outline and drafting. It’s possible that the answer will reveal itself later, when you have a better understanding of your story in a month or so.

Some other things to keep in mind:

Is it possible for you to combine some scenarios?

Is it possible to fit those events/scenarios in at a later point in your story?

You can change your story/outline anytime you want. It’s not going to be a mistake or a waste of time to settle for an idea now.

Trust your gut instincts!

Outlines can change. Drafts can change. Don’t be too caught up on feeling like you have to make a permanent decision right now.

Good luck!

Remember, all writing advice is subjective! So don’t take this too seriously. This is just one person’s opinion.

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