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angelsswirl · 4 years

Text

Icarus

Summary: You were never supposed to fall in love with your best friend.

If you should fall

From your pink sky

Just know you'll fall into my arms, every single night

Icarus babe

Requested: Yes

Word Count: idk, a decent amount?

Title Song: Icarus by Max Lawrence

Rating: Mature, but the smut wont be graphic because I don't think that fits what I've written here. It's more implied than anything

Notes: I hope you enjoy it!

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

You were never supposed to fall in love with your best friend. You weren't. You knew this as fact.

And that isn't to say, it never happened for other people. That it never worked out. No. You just knew that it wouldn't work out for you. Things like that rarely did.

You had prayed, and wished, and hoped that this would all work out. But all of your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. And you couldn't say you were surprised.

Park Chaeyoung was your best friend.

She knew that. You didn't have to tell her.

She was the person you told everything to. The person you did everything with. The person you lived for.

Park Chaeyoung was the love of your life.

She did not know that. You weren't going to tell her.

She was the person you dreamed about at night. She was the person you fantasized about in the day. She was the person you breathed for.

But.

She would never know. Because you would never tell her. Living in your truth by yourself seemed a much better option then speaking your truth and being denied of it.

You're not afraid to admit you're not very strong when it comes to love. But you are afraid to admit that for her, you would try to be.

~•~

"Watching you two together makes me sad." Jennie said out of nowhere.

You frowned at her. Rosé had run off to God knows where minutes prior, leaving just you and Jennie standing in the corner of someone else's livingroom during a house party.

It gross and sticky and hot and most definitely not your scene, but Rosé had practically begged you to come along, and return you had practically begged Jennie to be your buffer. And maybe even your sober coach as well.

You didn't trust yourself, alone with Rosé and alcohol in your system.

"What are you talking about?" You and Jennie are standing close enough to each other that you don't have to shout of the pumping bass of som Top 40 song, but you definitely can't whisper either.

Jennie rolled her eyes. She was bored. She really only tagged along to be a good friend. This wasn't her scene either. That was one of the reasons you two got along so well. You both hated and loved the same things.

Sometimes, you think if maybe Jennie wasn't straighter than a steel beam, then maybe she'd be the best friend that you'd have fallen in love with.

But that wasn't what the cards said for you.

"You and Chae. It's like watching those 'arms of the angels' or whatever commercials. You know with the hurt, homeless puppies?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes, "Well, I'm sorry I can't serve to be your entertainment 24/7."

"Oh, I didn't say this wasn't entertaining. It's just also sad. Like, what's the hold up, just grab her face and kiss her."

"I'm sure to her it would be like if I just grabbed your face and kissed you."

"No, that would imply she's straight and not head over ass in love with you. Both of which, I know not to he true for her in the slightest."

"She's not in love with me, Jennie."

"And I'm not sweating through my clothes right now." She replied sarcastically.

You only shook your head and took another sip of your lukewarm beer.

"Riddle me this, Y/N. If Chaeyoung isn't in love with you then why does she look at you like she would stop breathing if you were ever out of her sight? If Chaeyoung isn't in love with you then why does she treat you like you'll melt away? If Chaeyoung isn't love with you then why are you the only thing she talks about when you're not around?"

You shook your head profusely, "Chaeyoung is like that with everyone. She's sweet and nice and flirty with everyone. And that's exactly why it's time for me to finally get over her."

Jennie nodded along silently. You got the feeling she was only pretending to agree with you.

"Ok, well then, you know what the first step to getting over someone is. Get under someone else. How about the girl over there? She's been staring at you since we got here." Jennie pointed to a tall, admittedly beautiful woman across the room from you. She wasn't looking at you at the moment, but you had noticed her staring earlier as well.

Despite all of what you just said, you'd sooner rather die than get over Rosé but you were stubborn and needed to prove a point to Jennie.

"Hold my beer." Jennie did so with a curious smirk on her face.

You walked your way over to the woman, dodging elbows and sloshing drinks. She saw you coming, a soft smile engulfing her lips.

"Hi." She said some what softly.

"Hey."

"Not to be creepy or anything, but I noticed you when you walked in, and I sort of couldn't help myself but to stare at you all night. You're beautiful, "She paused, "My name is Lisa, by the way."

"I-it's not creepy. I'm Y/N....want to dance?"

"I loved to."

You grabbed Lisa's hand and all but dragged her onto the dancefloor. This must have been where the drunkenness set in. You turn around on your own accord, pressing your back into Lisa's front. Swaying your hips to the pounding in your ears, because you definitely cannot hear the music anymore.

~•~

"Where's, Y/N?" Rosé asked Jennie as she met her. She handed her the water she had picked up for the three of them.

Jennie pointed in your direction with a hum.

Rosè watched silently as you grinded on the stranger.

"I was gone for 5 minutes..."

"You snooze, you lose, I guess." Jennie felt bad for acting so cavalier, but at this point, the only way to get you what you wanted was to be completely honest.

Rosé didn't exactly know what to think of that. Or rather it was hard for her to think anything when you were dancing seductively with someone pointedly not her.

The emotions that come with it are hard to pick through as well. Hurt, anger, jealousy, and maybe she's even a bit turned on because she finds you immensely sexy.

Whatever the case may be, she decided that she can't sit around and just watch. No that would hurt too much. She's gotta stop this. She's gotta fix this.

~•~

Chaeyoung was never supposed to fall in love with her best friend. At least she doesn't think she was supposed to. There's no real way to be sure.

And that isn't to say that she's not sure if she loves you. She's 100% sure about that. It's to say that, how is she supposed to know if you love her back.

She had prayed and wished and hoped that you would see the signs that absolutely poured out of her whenever you were near. But, all of her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. And she couldn't say she was surprised.

You were her best friend.

You knew that. She didn't have to tell you.

You were the person she confided in. The person who knew her deepest, darkest secrets. The person she breathed every breath for.

You were the love of her life.

You didn't know that. She had been trying to tell you.

You were the person she gave herself pep talks in the mirror for. The person she put on her most expensive outfits for. The person she would live a thousand lives for.

But.

You were oblivious. Sometimes, it seemed like you didn't even want to know. Chaeyoung didn't want to live in her truth by herself. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But keeping that to herself seemed a much better option than making you uncomfortable and losing you as a friend.

She's not afraid to admit she's in love with the very fiber of your being. But she is afraid to admit that, even if she wasn't, you'd still have her wrapped around your finger.

~•~

"Get away from her." It's harsher than she intended and it definitely startled you, but it got the point across.

"Chae?" You questioned as you were practically yanked to Rosé's side.

"Don't grab her like that." Lisa said with a frown.

Rosé's resolve slipped for a second. Maybe she shouldn't have grabbed you but that was besides the point now.

"I said stay away from her."

Lisa put her hands up in mock surrender, "Look. Sorry. Didn't know she had a girlfriend."

"She's no-" Lisa walked deeper into the throng of people before you could finish your sentence.

You turned back to Chaeyoung with a frown.

"What the hell was that, Chae?"

That was a good question. One that she didn't exactly have an answer to. She glanced down to where her hand was still gripping your forearm. She let go silently.

"I-um...."

With a roll of your eyes you pulled Rosé through the crowd. You searched for an empty room, quickly finding an unoccupied bedroom.

You close the door behind you two. Finally, some peace and quiet.

You crossed your arms and looked on expectantly.

"Well?"

Chaeyoung's face scrunched up, like she was losing a hard fought battle with herself, "You don't get it do you?

"Get what? Why you pulled me away from Lisa? No. I don't."

Rosé wiped her hands over her face roughly, "I did that be-because....your mine. Or at least, I want you to be."

Your arms fell to your sides, and your face softened into confusion.

"Huh?"

"God. I thought I was being obvious. I thought I was being so obvious." Chaeyoung shook her hand before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"But, you're flirty with everyone?"

"There's a difference between being nice to someone and being irrevocably in love with you."

You scrambled for any words, any explanation that could help you describe your confusion, and quite frankly you're embarrassment. It seemed as though you had put her in the same position you had thought she put you in.

"I-"

"It's okay if you don't feel the same way. As long as we can still be friends. I just had to finally tell you with words. We can still be friends right?" She doesn't look at you as she speaks. Her eyes casted down onto her wringing hands in her lap.

You move slowly towards her, grabbing her hands in her lap, "I love you too. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before-I thought...I thought...well it doesn't matter what I thought. I just-I love you too. A lot."

Chaeyoung looked up at you, a stray tear falling from her eye, "You do?"

You nod, "I do." You leaned in towards her, taking her bottom lip softly between yours. And she kisses you back, it isn't hungry, but it passionate, and somehow that serves to turn you on more.

You pushed her back slightly and straddled her lap.

Chaeyoung seemed to not know what to do with this turn of events, so you helped her along. Grabbing her hands and placing them on your ass.

"Oh."

You breathed out a chuckle into her mouth, "Yeah. Oh."

Chaeyoung let herself be pushed backwards onto the bed. She grabbed at the zipper to your dress. Fumbling with it until it finally did what she had been willing it today.

She pulled the dress delicately over your head, pushing it onto the floor beneath your feet, "You're beautiful." She whispered into your neck.

You tried to hide your blush by turning your head as much as you could away from her.

"Don't hide from me. Not anymore."

You turned back to her. Your blush covering your face in full force. Chaeyoung leaned in and kissed you again.

You fumbled with her clothing just as she did with yours. A sense of urgency encompassing the both of you. Like you only had so little time to make up for the time you lost.

You're not even sure how you ended up on your back and further up the bed, but you are sure that Rosé touching you, on the outside and inside feels like being thrown head first into a volcano. And you finally come undone it's just like an eruption that you can't (nor want) to stop.

The same goes for Rosé. Having you taste her feels like she's drowning in the world's shallowest pool. It's like swimming in a puddle. Impossible, yet satisfying beyond belief. And when she finally comes undone it's just being evaporated into the summer sun.

When it's all over and you're laying on top, amd underneath, and through each other, Rosé speaks up, "I love you."

"I know." And you did.

Because,

You and Chaeyoung were best friends, and you were always meant to fall in love.

You knew that, like you knew the back of Chaeyoung's hand.

#jesssica's fanfic #blackpink fanfic #blackpink #rosé x reader #rosé fanfic #request

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amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3.6k

Masterlist link here

AO3 Link here

Genre / Pairing: Romance, Akaashi / Reader

Summary:

Loosely based on the anime filme ‘Your Name’, also known as Kimi No Nawa.

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

He is seventeen again.

Practice is hard especially with his new captaincy, with first years to train and a mountain of paperwork to clear, but even as each jolt of the train home settles exhaustion further into his bones, he’s more concerned at the sustained silence from her. His phone is empty of her text messages - no funny stories, no silly jokes, no pictures of sun drenched flower fields - but he tells himself she’s fine, she’s probably occupied herself with something vaguely illegal that she’ll tell him later about and laugh away his disapproval.

He’s in the middle of dinner when his father turns on the television to watch the news. It’s just background noise, newscasters droning on about which dignitary is visiting Tokyo this week, how the stock markets are doing, when monsoon storms are forecasted to sweep across Japan, but his interest is piqued when the newscasters mention ‘the tragedy of latchkey kids - the death of a schoolgirl in a rural Hokkaido town’.

It can’t be, he thinks, swiveling around in his seat to stare at the screen. It can’t be, he thinks, in frozen shock, as the screen shows a familiar wooden house in flames, broadcast live on national TV.

‘The police are investigating this tragedy as an unsolved murder -’

(It can)

‘The victim was seventeen years old -’

(It is)

‘Calling for any witnesses to step forward -’

(She’s dead)

‘Keiji, what wrong?’ he faintly hears his mother ask, and he looks down. His chopsticks lie slack in his hand, the other hand clenched and trembling so hard he’s knocked his bowl over, rice spilling onto the dinner table.

‘Sorry - I don’t feel so good’, he mutters, stumbling his way into the bathroom, his stomach retching at the horror tearing down his throat like acid. Even as he clutches the cold porcelain with shaking hands to empty his stomach of its contents, his gut burns from the realization that she’s gone - there’s nothing he can do about it.

Wait a minute.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sprinting to his bedroom to snatch up his omamori, before bursting out of the door, deaf to his parents’ worried shouts. He doesn’t stop running, doesn’t even stop to take a breath until he’s leapt up all twenty six steps to the shrine where he first prayed to the gods to grant his wish for more time, a wish binding their souls together in a fated knot.

(Except that’s not true anymore, because she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead - unless he can use their bind to twist fate and bring her back from the dead)

His hands are numb when he claps them together, his head spinning as he bows, fingers barely able to grasp as he scrawls another prayer on the ema, hanging the wooden plaque on the wishing tree.

‘You’ve already upended my life by tangling it up with hers. Please - please grant my wish and I’ll give up anything, including what’s dearest to me’, he silently pleads, closing his eyes in prayer.

But the gods stay silent. The shrine remains still.

The shrine attendant chases him out when it’s closing time, and he fends off his parents’ concerned looks by feeding them a lie about forgetting to help one of his teammates with homework, shutting himself in the room.

But the problem is he can’t seem to fall asleep, not when the image of a white sheet draped over her cold body is branded into the back of his eyelids. Not when he can still hear the echo of her laughter as she teases him about his old fashioned book recommendations that she still ends up reading curled up under a tree. Not when his soul has traced the constellation on her back, the crescent dimple in her right cheek -

Damn it all - he needs to fall asleep to have any chance of waking up in her body in her yesterday or is it her today - he’s not sure, doesn’t dare look at the clock for fear of chasing sleep further away, why can’t he fall asleep - he’s done this countless times before, waking up in her body in her yesterday while she wakes up in his today which resets when he then wakes up in his own body tomorrow -

Time flutters through his fingers like fallen petals scattering in the wind and he can tell from the growing sliver of light through his curtains that it’s almost daybreak - so he stumbles desperately into the bathroom to break into his mother’s medicine cabinet, swallowing twice the recommended dosage. It’s dangerous he knows, but he can’t bring himself to even think twice about it.

A prayer is still on his lips when his eyes finally drift shut and sleep finally overtakes him.

He cracks his eyes open.

Ah, he’s in her living room. She must have just reached home from school because the irori only emits thin ribbons of smoke, flames licking the kindling in the heath. But that doesn’t explain why he’s lying face down in the dust -

Then a dull pain hits him. Copper pools in his mouth. Hot liquid drips down his forehead.

He curses the gods for their sick sense of humour.

‘What are you doing here, Keiji?’ he hears her whimper. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here, he’s going to end up killing us both.’

‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. Tell me what happened’, he answers, trying his best to inject a commanding tone to cover up the fear seeping into his words.

‘Hana-chan must have told her father I managed to get records of whatever awful shit he’s been doing to her, because he was waiting for me when I came home from school. I refused to give the recordings to him and tried to bite his hand and I guess he lost his temper…’

‘We need to have a conversation about your lack of self-preservation when we get out of this mess’ he points out, terror building up in his throat when he’s suddenly aware of the way his arms are twisted behind his back, cloth rope binding his wrists together in place. But before he can even try to struggle against the binds, he’s pinned in place by a knee on his back.

‘Awake already, little girl? I would’ve thought you would stay asleep a little longer considering how much you bleed from a silly little smack on the head.’ Nakamura chuckles, threading his cold fingers into his hair, and with a swift flick of his wrist, slams his face back against the floor.

Crack.

Akaashi gasps for air, dazed at the pain that blooms across his face.

‘You’re not as pretty as my little Hana-chan, but it would be a pity to smash your face in. So are you going to tell me where you’ve hidden your dirty little recordings, little thief?’ Nakamura coos, and Akaashi can feel the hair at the back of his neck rise in alarm.

‘Don’t give in to him’, she shrieks, her panic echoing in his mind. But Akaashi’s in the driver’s seat this time, and he’ll be damned if he lets her die on his watch - not when he already knows the pain of losing her once before.

Think, Akaashi. You have a brain, think!

‘It’s on my phone in my bedroom’, he mumbles thickly, keeping his voice weak. ‘You can go get it yourself.’

Nakamura relinquishes his grasp on his hair, brushing the dirt from his pants onto him. ‘I’m glad you have some sense at least, little lady. But if I find you’ve been wasting my time, I’ll make sure no one even recognises your face by the time I’m done with you’.

Akaashi waits for his footsteps to fade.

Then he rolls his body across the flow, tipping himself straight into the irori. This probably ranks as one of the most reckless things he’s ever done in his entire life, but it’s not as if he has many options with both his hands and feet bound. It’s also possible he’s been infected by her particular strain of insanity. It’s the only way he can think of to break loose from his bonds, using the flames to singe through the rope binds, but it hurts to place naked flame directly on bare flesh, blisters forming and popping and he bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds because oh gods it hurts, it hurts, it hurts –

Thank the gods it works, he’s able to wriggle free - not a moment too soon because he can hear the door to her bedroom crash open. Between the daze from the concussion and blood loss, he’s not going to be able to outrun Nakamura to get to safety, especially not when he’s in her body, what the hell is he going to do –

‘Store room’, he hears her gasp.

He grits his teeth as he crawls out of the heath, mentally calculating the distance to the back of the kitchen, divided by the blistering pain in his hands and feet.

’Move, Keiji!’ She shrieks, the thud of heavy footfalls resounding through the house ominously.

Adrenaline and terror floods his blood. It’s barely enough to fuel his sprint to the storeroom. He doesn’t dare to look back when Nakamura snarls - ‘what the fuck are you doing, you piece of shit’, only stops to breathe when the lock clicks in place. But he doesn’t get a moment’s reprieve, the door shuddering with the weight of a deranged man’s rage.

‘It would be easy for me to burn the house down with you in it. No one would question any foul play if a wooden house goes up in flames. Or would you prefer it if I wait for little Toya-chan to get home and bash his little head in? It’s your choice, bitch.’

‘What should we do?’ he asks her desperately.

‘You’re going to think I’m crazy... ’

‘Let’s not waste time on foregone conclusions, thanks.’

‘Right. Remember how I told you fire is life?’

It’s a testament to how well he knows her that he knows exactly what she means. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He breathes, horrified.

‘Do you have any other ideas?’ she retorts.

But she’s right, they’re essentially stranded on a flaming shipwreck, there’s nowhere else for them to run. Cursing the gods over and over again for their twisted sense of humour, Akaashi scrabbles around the store room, grabbing the ingredients to light this powder keg of an escape plan.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready when you are.’

‘Okay’ he says, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. ‘Okay’ he repeats, loud enough for Nakamura to hear him through the door. ‘I’ll unlock the door if you leave Toya alone’.

‘Smart girl.’ He can hear the menacing chill in the older man’s voice, but there’s no time to second guess his decision as he unlocks the door. He lets Nakamura make the first move, lets him yank the door open, and with the benefit of years of setting experience (thank you, Bokuto-san), he flicks his wrist to send a perfect arc of an entire bottle’s worth of liquid petrol splattering against Nakamura’s front.

‘Stand back or I’ll set you on fire’ he threatens, holding her ridiculous pink lighter like a weapon as Nakamura splutters in shock.

But the man only shakes off his surprise with a menacing laugh, slowly straightening into his full height, leaning against the door. ‘You don’t have it in you, little girl, you’re just like my Hana-chan. She used to put up a fight, always trying to scratch my eyes out but now she’s learnt that little girls should be good and docile - ‘

He can feel the brewing firestorm of rage from her. It’s not unwarranted, not when he’s seen through her eyes the abuse Hana’s suffered at his hands and in a spurt of impulsivity that shocks even himself, he surges forward to grab the man’s shirt, the naked flame from the lighter mere millimeters away from his face. ‘How dare you, disgusting pig - she’s your flesh and blood’, he spits.

Nakamura grins, deranged. ‘Exactly. She’s mine to use, and you’re going to regret ever trying to get in my way.’ He slams his head against Akaashi’s already broken nose (or rather - her nose) and - oh gods pain bursts across his face and he trips, falling onto his back. Nakamura doesn’t waste any time, climbing on top of him, fingers digging into his throat.

‘Let go of me’, he rasps, his vision starting to blur. Nakamura only tightens his grip, nails digging into the tender flesh of his neck.

But even with air being choked out of his lungs, her refrain ‘fire is life’ smolders in his mind. The gods must feel some pity for him today because Nakamura is so intent on going for his throat that he’s left his hands unchecked, so he closes his eyes in prayer and desperation, twisting his face as far away from his target as possible and presses his thumb on the lever on her lighter -

Everything goes up in flames.

Nakamura screams, stumbling away, and the sound should spark a sense of cruel satisfaction if blinding pain exploding in his face weren’t a more immediate concern. There’s fire everywhere, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts - but he already knows what hell feels like, this is nothing compared to the nightmare of her dying, so he gathers the last of his strength to fight against the ash suffocating the oxygen from his lungs, stumbles out of the backdoor to drop and roll in the mud until the flames on his clothes recede.

He’s alive. She’ll survive.

But it's at a high cost - the white hot pain of blistering burns all over his - well, her body slamming into him like a freight train when adrenaline recedes. Gasping in pain, he welcomes the gathering darkness at the edges of his vision. He tries not to think of the survival rate of burn victims, nor the risk of infection should medical treatment not be administered soon enough - this is as far as he can possibly go. He lies on his back, completely depleted.

The grass rustles. The wind blows.

Toya stands over him, eyes wide. ‘Nee-chan, what’s going on?’

Oh. Thank the gods.

‘Toya. You have to run and get help, ok?’ he manages to rasp before darkness finally devours him, swallows him whole.

He opens his eyes and finds himself back in the forest shrine.

It takes him a split second to gather his bearings before he leaps to his feet, his lungs still burning from the taint of smoke, his mouth still acrid with the bitter taste of ash, and he doesn’t know if either of them are alive or heaven forbid - if he failed and she’s dead –

‘Keiji, you idiot!’ He hears her shriek as he’s tackled from behind, crashing face first into the forest floor.

He’ll thank the gods again and again for the rest of his life because -she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive -

She throws herself into his lap, crying as she beats her fists against his chest. ‘You fool! You dummy! You scold me for being reckless, but what if you died when your soul was stuck in my body –‘

‘You’re alive’, he breathes in disbelief, cupping her face in his shaking hands, letting the warmth from her cheeks bleed into his skin.

She flushes, burying her head into the crook of his neck. ‘You’re not getting out of being scolded but yes, I think so’, she mumbles, her words muffled.

His heart grows cold. ‘What do you mean you think so?’

‘Where we are isn’t real - is it?’

She motions for him to be silent, to listen. There's the faint beeping of a hospital monitor, barely discernible over the whispering of leaves. ‘I think we’re in my mind for now. Or my consciousness, I’m not sure. I woke up to a bright light that beckoned me to follow it, but I saw you lying here and wanted to wait for you.’

Fear grips his heart, the spectre of black smoke and white sheets haunting him anew. ‘Don’t follow it’, he demands, latching on to her shoulders. ‘I’m not losing you again.’

‘I’m not going anywhere’, she promises with a smile, the sight quenching the fear in his heart. ‘I’m here, Keiji. I’m here. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen on your watch, remember?’

‘That was before you got yourself killed when I wasn’t looking’, he retorts dryly, though he’s unable to fully smother the smile blooming on his face.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’

‘I told you not to get caught in the first place!’

‘Yeah - but you came for me nonetheless’, she says, eyes sparkling. ‘You came for me, like Perseus saving Andromeda from her shackles, snatching her from the very jaws of the sea monster.’

He chuckles, amused that she remembers the stories he tells her. ‘Nakamura was definitely uglier than a sea monster, so I’m sure that’s an accurate comparison. ’

‘Stupid!’ she laughs, raising her hand to playfully smack him again when he catches her hand in his. He steals a moment to marvel at the constellations in her eyes, wondering if the stars in the sky are jealous of her light. He wants to bask in the spotlight of her warmth and songs and laughter forever and oh gods -

He’s in love with her.

The realisation strikes him like a hammer blow to the chest.

Has it already been a year that he’s spent mapping out the infinite breadth and depth of her soul? A year that he’s spent watching her wield her kindness like a sword and a shield. A year that fate has spent trying to smother her fearlessness to no avail - she still burns like an undying flame in the night sky. A year of unwritten poetry buried in spring flowers, stanzas of the wind echoing her songs to the gods. A year's worth of lessons in patience and exuberance and laughter, reminding him that life is a miracle to be treasured and not to be dismissed as a mere series of goals.

It is only now that he understands why his heart crumbled into dust, why his soul tore itself apart when he found out that she died - because he loves her, this silly scrap of a girl.

Her eyes widen as he tugs her forward to lean his forehead against hers. For once she’s at a loss for words.

I love you – he wants to whisper against the rosebud of her lips, wants to shout it loud enough for the whole forest – nay, for every speck of stardust in the galaxy to hear. His mouth moves to form the words, but suddenly his tongue grows thick, his mouth goes dry.

His heart stutters to a painful stop.

He can’t remember her name anymore.

He tries to say her name again, tries to spell out the syllables with his tongue but it’s no use, his mind remains stubbornly blank. It can’t be. He must have said her name a thousand times in this lifetime, recited each syllable like a sacred verse.

How could he have forgotten her name?

‘What’s wrong?’ She pulls away, noticing the horror taut on his face.

Beep.

He looks down at his hands. Flesh and bone start to fade to dust.

‘Keiji’, she calls, and he can hear the Kodama in the trees echo his name. Keiji, they call. Keiji, she calls again.

Beep.

‘I’m starting to forget you’, he whispers, heart breaking anew as despair dawns in her eyes.

‘No - ’ she cries, desperation in her voice, repeating his name again and again - Keiji, Keiji, Keiji and he wants to respond with her name, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t -.

Beep.

His memories of her are golden hued and bathed in starlight, but slowly they all wash away into shades of grey. He tries his best to grasp onto them, but it’s hopeless -like trying to capture the sea with his bare hands.

Beep.

He thinks of her, dancing in grassy meadows, with moonbeams as her lone light.

Beep.

He thinks of her, singing to the gods in the shadow of the forest shrine.

Beep.

He thinks of her, brimming with laughter and joy and kindness and love - and gods -

Beep.

How is it even be possible to forget the birdsong in her laughter, the blossoms in her cheeks -

Beep.

‘Keiji! ’ She reaches desperately for him, tears spilling from her eyes.

Beep.

His time runs out. His soul starts to fade into the night.

Beep.

Her eyes shine bright, the constellations liquid silver in her eyes.

‘I’ll find you, Akaashi Keiji - even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes, even if I have to wait a thousand years. So you better be ready for me when I find you, because - because I love you - I love you, you fool.’

Beep.

It’s the last memory he forgets of her, her vow losing its light in the darkness of his mind.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He wakes up with a gasp.

He is twenty five again, lying on the forest floor with a halo of fireflies dancing above his head.

It’s been almost a whole decade since he was seventeen but finally - he remembers her.

Taglist

@animeflower26 @forgetou @kageyamakock @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito

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aki-natsuko · 4 years

Note

I apologize for the one request that I asked, but I quite understand it well and don't worry about it! I'll request a different drabble this time, which I hope it's okay for you. 215. “Don’t worry… I can save you. Just hold still…” + NagaShiro again from K project pls.

No worries! And thank you for understanding! NagaShiro + ‘Don’t worry…I can save you. Just hold still…”

Shiro hadn’t been able to let himself hesitate, knowing that too much was resting on their plan. On him. In the past, he might have fled. Might have given into the temptation to follow his heart rather than his head, but that in part was what had led to this current situation, and he had promised himself that he was going to do his duty. That he was going to be a King. It had been harder to remember, and even harder to cling to when he had seen Nagare stood in front of the slates, ablaze with power and stubborn determination as he’d stared him down. We have different dreams, he’d said once, during one of their stolen moments but he’d never fully allowed himself to realise what that meant until that moment when Nagare had looked at him as though he was the enemy.

I’m sorry…

It had been Nagare who had filled his mind as he’d pushed his Weissman level to the brink. Not the sword hovering over their heads, or the future without Kings that they were stood on the verge of, or even Neko who was clinging to him and Kuroh fighting for them somewhere overhead. It was Nagare. It was Nagare, with his sharp mind and sometimes sharper tongue, with the small smile that made Shiro’s heart flutter in a way that nothing else did, who had challenged and pushed him, and made him smile. It was Nagare who had the same dreams that Shiro had once nurtured, untouched by the doubts and loss that had stolen them away from Shiro, and as much as he had tried to make Nagare understand why he had changed, part of him had loved and envied the other man’s faith and dedication.

He just wished it hadn’t put them on opposite sides, and that it didn’t mean he was risking everything to bring this to an end.

Nagare’s desperate attack had hurt more than he had expected, and what was worse was that he could understand why even as it had felt as though it was more than a physical assault on his heart as green lashed against him. I’m sorry. It has to be this way… It was Neko and Kuroh who saved him, because even if he’d been able to take the offensive himself, he wasn’t sure that he could have brought himself to do so against Nagare, not when he was about to bring the other man’s dreams crashing down.

Nagare.

His world was green, his vision filled with Nagare’s wide-eyed expression as his sword fell, filling his chest with a terrible, wrenching sensation as though he was losing part of himself. Then the world was bathed in white, and he felt the power of the slates, flicker and fade… and when his vision cleared his eyes immediately darted to Nagare who was frozen, head lifted to the sky for a moment.

“How disappointing…” Nagare was whispering, as the power faded from him, a smile curving his lips – softer and more real than anything Shiro had seen from him before, and fear had him lurching him forward as Nagare added softly. “And yet I am satisfied…” And then he was falling, and Shiro was moving, stumbling and nearly falling himself, legs barely able to support him.

Somehow, he made it to Nagare’s side, falling to his knees beside him, ignoring the trembling ground and the muffled sound of explosions somewhere above them as he reached for Nagare and turned him over, eyes locked on the fading green in the other man’s chest. No. He’d known, he just hadn’t wanted to believe and now he couldn’t avoid it any longer as he reached out, pressing a trembling hand over the spot, and Nagare stirred at the touch, just enough to peer up at him with half-open eyes. “Don’t worry…” Shiro whispered, highly aware of Neko and Kuroh pressing close, no doubt confused by his actions and worried by the spreading sound of explosions, but he couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t tear his gaze away from Nagare, who had blinked at his words, breathing ragged and fading.

“…Shiro…”

“I can save you,” Shiro interrupted, not wanting to hear Nagare tell him that it was okay or that he was satisfied, praying that he wasn’t lying. That his desperate hope would be answered. Please, just give me this one thing, he thought, not sure whether it was fate, the slates or even the memory of the Gold King and the destiny he had presided over that he was pleading with. “Just hold still…” He ordered – pleaded – even though he knew it wasn’t a choice, Nagare fading before his very eyes and he closed his eyes and reached out. Everything rested on this moment because for all his calculations and research, he hadn’t been able to determine how quickly the power of the slates would fade. Not yet, he pleaded, as he felt for his sanctum for the slates, for anything.

There…

It was terrifyingly faint, like the breath rattling between Nagare’s lips, but it was there. A glimmer of power and Shiro seized it, knowing that he didn’t have the right, not anymore, not after what he had done. Yet, it came to him, a wavering thread of power, and he pressed it into Nagare’s chest, wrapping it around the flickering, fading green. Was it enough? Would it just buy them a little more time? He wasn’t sure, all he had was a desperate hope, stronger than any dream he’d ever had, and he wove that with the thread of power, anything that would anchor Nagare to life, even just a little longer.

Please, please…

He wasn’t sure how long he worked, how long he had sat there, blind and deaf to the world around him, eyes squeezed shut as everything narrowed down to Nagare and keeping him there with him. He missed the strengthening rise and fall of the chest beneath his fingers, didn’t hear Nagare whisper his name, was unaware of anything changing until warm fingers wrapped around his, squeezing lightly to draw him back into the world. He was exhausted, pain radiating through his chest, something shifting under his skin, but all that was forgotten as he opened his eyes to find Nagare looking up at him, eyes bright and clear and wonderfully alive.

#NagaShiro #K #K Project #Yashiro Isana #Nagare Hisui #fanfic #Aki Writes #Drabbles #@shyfacesworld #Drabble request are open

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kny-secret-santa2019 · 5 years

Text

hi, @the-writing-pillar! it’s ya boi @breathof-fics here as your secret santa, and i hope you enjoy this kyoujurou x reader fic. my sincerest apologies if it seems a little rushed because i have been so bust this end of year, hope you understand x i wish you happy holidays and new year, keep up the good work!

Winter has arrived faster than you have expected and snow descends from the sky creating an ethereal ambience, carpeting the ground in a blanket of white. A hand reaches out through an open window of the balcony and a snowflake falls on the tip of your finger, melting at the immediate touch of warm skin; you are enraptured at the unique patterns of snowflakes as they glide across the cold winter air, joining the pile of snow blanketing the ground. You have woken up one morning and everything around you is covered in white, it is an understatement to describe your excitement like one of euphoric.

“You are awfully early this morning,” a voice calls, coaxing you out of your reverie as strong arms bring you into a warm embrace and you instinctively lean into the warmth of your golden-maned lover. Warm lips are pressed against one spot on your neck, peppering lazy open-mouthed kisses before Kyoujurou’s chin rests on the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. “It’s winter, huh?”

Your only response is a hum, a hand resting atop his own. “Winter has always been my favourite season,” you admit, the side of your head leaning against his and tilts lightly to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips. “It might be cold, but it’s beautiful.” Kyoujurou’s hum thrums against your skin, burying his nose yet again into your neck. “Is everyone still asleep?” The response you received is no more than a soft grunt, his grip around your waist tightening. “I should probably make some breakfast. Go and wash up, won’t you?”

“You are warm though.” Your laughter tumbles off your tongue, twisting your body to face your boyfriend, arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. “I love you.”

Your heart flutters at his declaration and you brought him down into a fleeting kiss. You resurface, bop his nose and smile, “I love you too. Now go and wash up.”

Reluctantly, he peels himself away from you and not without a last kiss on your lips, he finally trots off in the direction of the washroom. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you made your way towards the kitchen, catching sight of the wall calendar you decided to hang up at the start of this year — … you need to go gift shopping, you realised, standing in front of the calendar with a thoughtful look across your expression.

“Good morning, Ane-ue,” calls a soft voice, still laced with the fatigue of sleep, and effectively bringing you back into reality. Senjurou stands in the doorway of the kitchen, rubbing the sleep off owlish eyes and you smile gingerly at the younger brother of your lover.

You approach him and tenderly ruffle his locks, “Good morning, Senjurou,” you greet in return, reaching over to snatch the apron from its hook by the door, wrapping the ribbons around your neck and waist. “What should we make for breakfast today?”

Senjurou hums, in thought — “Since father is away on a business trip, maybe we can do something simple?” he suggests, opening the door of the fridge to peer at its contents, clicking his tongue in contemplation. “Maybe pancakes?”

“Sounds great,” you chirp, already preparing for the ingredients to be mixed.

By the time Kyoujurou has walked down the stairs and into the dining room, two batches of pancakes have been placed neatly on plates with a bottle of maple syrup, butter and jam, ready to be served. “This looks great!” The voice of your lover brings a smile on your face, watching with a fond look as he ruffles his younger brother’s hair like you had done before. “Good morning, Senjurou!”

The younger Rengoku merely giggles in response, smoothing down his hair of its wild look from his brother’s assault. “Good morning, Ani-ue,” came Senjurou’s response to his brother’s daily greeting, already setting up the utensils on the table.

You finished cleaning up and putting the ingredients away before joining the brothers at the table, clapping your hands in a praying motion and calling out a soft, “itadakimasu” before digging into the pancakes. Kyoujurou eats messily and yelling out “Umai! Umai!” at any given second as always, Senjurou quietly and neatly — and you realised that you don’t want this to ever change; just by looking at the significant difference between both brothers’ personalities brought warmth in your heart. “Eat slowly, Kyoujurou,” you warn, leaning over to wipe the mess around his lips but he merely grins, and your heart melts more than it already has. If that is even possible.

“What do you want to do today?” Kyoujurou questions, ambiguous to whoever it was offered to, and both you and Senjurou falls into ruminative silence.

“Well, we have to go gift shopping for Christmas dinner that is coming up in the upcoming week,” you say, biting into the soft texture of the freshly made pancakes, still warm from the heat of the pan. “Maybe we can divide that time from today until we manage to get all gifts. And we need to pick a Christmas tree, Senjurou do you want to come?”

Senjurou nods his head, excitedly and a bright beam crosses his expression; had you not been used to the exact same expression in your everyday life because of your lover, you would have been blinded by the sheer brightness and pureness of that single elated emotion. “Sure!” he starts, then stops. “Can my friends come too? We were planning to go see a movie…”

Kyoujurou pats his brother’s shoulder, “Of course you can!” Their exchange is one of the purest things that you have seen throughout your life, and you don’t know if you can keep up without squealing anymore.

“Has Senjurou left with Tanjirou already?” you question as you climbed down the stairs towards where the living room is, where Kyoujurou is setting up the boxes of Christmas lights and other ornaments for the festive.

Kyoujurou turns to spare you his attention after the last box has been placed down on the nearest surface by the tree, bringing you close into his embrace. “Yeah! Tanjirou wishes you his greetings, by the way.” Warm lips come in contact with your forehead, leaving a tingling sensation that lingers on your skin.

“He’s a good kid. I made a good decision by giving him a large gift this year,” you state, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders to use him as a support and leaning on your tiptoes to give him a light kiss on the lips. “And Nezuko too, and his other friends. They are Senjurou’s most trusted friends, no?”

“You’re right.” Kyoujurou drags you into another kiss, one that is both passionate and loving, pouring all his love and emotions into one single intimate act — but the doorbell rings and tore through whatever spell you were both under. “It might be Kanroji, you know how early she can arrive — you go and set up first.”

You nod in acknowledgement and agreement, reluctantly releasing him from your hold before rummaging through the many boxes to start with the tinsel. There is a loud squeal, yelling and greetings of festivity amongst others, and your smile widens at the familiar call of your name. “ [ nameeee ] !” The last vowel of your name is dragged out delightedly at the mere sight your figure by the bare Christmas tree, a blur of green and pink in the corner of your vision before you are enveloped in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

“We just saw each other yesterday.” Your reminder seems to fall into deaf ears, Mitsuri whining about how it has been so long since she had last seen you, dramatically voicing her discontentment. “Iguro san,” you greet the masked male, detaching yourself from your best friend’s embrace to reach over and rub the top of the head of the white snake wrapped around his neck — Kaburamaru seems to enjoy the attention given, even if it’s brief.

“Can we help you decorate the tree?” The excited bubble in Mitsuri’s tone is too difficult to say no to, which you don’t intend to in the first place anyway.

But before you can even answer and agree to the suggestion, Kyoujurou beats you to that, “Knock yourself out!”

More of your friends arrive just in time as the tree and every inch of the house has been decorated in Christmas ornaments, and it looks like Santa has passed by and threw up at the Rengoku residence, leaving behind a bright and festive decorated place. Everyone gathers by the fireplace, chatting amongst themselves and making themselves comfortable close to the fire, warm and cozy — to be honest, you are quite surprised to see even Sanemi and Giyuu near each other without going at each other’s throat, even if it’s a little one-sided usually. It feels like home, hell, it is home. You could not help but smile brightly at everyone gathered around in the living room.

“Hey,” a voice calls, right beside your ear and you jumped — before smacking your lover’s broad shoulder. He snickers, an arm outstretched over both of your heads. Your questioning gaze lifts up to find a bright green vegetation hanging from between his fingers, and for a second you are dumbfounded.

“What are you doing with that mistletoe— ”

Then Sanemi gags and you understand.

“Oh.” A sigh is released — clearly, you are exasperated by his actions but then again, it’s why you agreed on going to many dates with him in the first place; his dorkiness is something that attracts you in the first place and you find yourself falling in love with him more as the days go by. “You are an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot though, my love,” Your cheeks redden at the given nickname, choosing to look away in embarrassment, but you are well aware that Kyoujurou will not let this go unless you commit into it. “Am I not going to get my kiss?”

You distinctly heard Sanemi gruffly saying something along the lines of “getting a room” but you weren’t paying any attention to your surroundings or who you are currently exposed to — all you can think about is how golden oculars hold mischief in a fleeting glint, but expectant at the same time. “You are insufferable,” is all you conclude with before leaning up and pressing your lips against his own in a soft, fleeting kiss before pulling away afterwards. You revel in the pout adorning his adorable features. “You’ll get more later,” And you lean up to whisper right in his ears, “with your present.”

That does it, the way he smiles so brightly in excitement and anticipation — it was enough for everyone to understand the implication. Sanemi gags loudly again but Giyuu pinches his thigh in subtle warning, and you laugh joyfully as a quarrel breaks out. The atmosphere is chaotic, but you would not have it any other way; especially when you have such a caring lover to accompany you.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader #kny scenarios #kny imagines #rengoku kyojurou x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #submission

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squiishiichaos · 5 years

Note

How about buff kairi giving both sora and riku( the two being dorks who keep dancing around each other) love advice since she's with olette?

(So, I’mma assume this takes place in the part of Buff!Kairi AU I have yet to write. In fact, I’mma write a scene that’s supposed to take place later in that AU, because I fucking love the image in my head.

Anyway, for anyone who doesn’t know what Buff!Kairi is, there’s a whole AU I wrote one chapter of and no one cares, so, fuck it. Let’s begin this shit.)

____

She could admit–kind of–that at first, watching someone as put together and valiant as Riku get flustered over a fucking selfie had been…cute? Unexpected? Kairi wasn’t sure what the correct word was, but it didn’t matter anymore.

By now, watching that blush stand stark against the pale contrast of his skin made her want nothing more than to feed her companion to the Heartless.

Fucking Sora. He’s distracting him again. You’d think after all the bullshit and endless fights that the Brunet might one day grow up enough to stop sending risque selfies to Riku while they were in the middle of a make-or-break fight, but no, of fucking course not. Because Sora was just as desperate for Riku to confess as Riku looked for breath right now.

This is ri-goddamn-diculous. I’m ending it.

Stomping her way across the battlefield, knocking heartless aside with a sweeping strike of her Lone Survivor greatsword, she hardly stopped to entertain the big body that attempted to barrel her over. Simply held her sword out to the side as a pike for it to impale itself on before casually chucking it over her head and into another pack of shadows clumsily drawing toward her.

On the same note that one might think Riku’d eventually get up the courage to confess after collecting an entire folder of flustered Sora pics, it’d be nice if the goddamn heartless got a clue, too. They’d been whittling this pack down for the past few minutes now, and she was starting to get bored. Where was Olette to keep her on her toes with messages not meant to be seen when she was in the thick of it? Why couldn’t it be her phone that was chiming off?

Oh, well. You’ve got a job to do, Kai. Time to fuck some shit up. And by some shit, she meant Riku.

Just so we’re clear.

Batting another few heartless into non-existence, she finally tapered her gait to stand beside Riku and get a good look at what exactly was driving him mad in the middle of the field, and–in fairness–she could admit that if Olette was ever stupid enough to send her something so mindlessly provocative over a fucking phone, no amount of love would keep her from committing murder. At that point, it would be justified.

Much like Sora’s many other photos–the ones she’d glimpsed, anyway–he had snapped it likely right after a fight. The remnants of a brawl lingered in the red flush dusted across sun-kissed cheeks, off-setting the blue sky in his eyes. A glassy exhaustion had them closed half-way, lending a more sultry feel than the dirt and ichor stains on what she could see of his clothes suggested. Speaking of clothes, his undershirt dipped an inch lower than normal, exposing more of his defined pecks for Riku’s private viewing; the collar of his jacket hanging off his arms and exposing the smooth skin of unmarked shoulders.

With his head tilted back and gaze focused down at the lowered camera, his mouth was parted with just a slight peak of tongue at the edge of his lips, like he had been caught at the end of licking his lips. His expression might have been meant to seem breathless, but considering who his intended party was, Kairi had no doubt that he had meant to look as fuckable as possible while playing it off as an accident post massacre.

Below that disaster of a picture, the words, I’m so hot, Riku… just added icing on the cake.

How much more obvious could he be?

“This…Kairi, how do I respond to this?! I’m…I don’t…” Riku swallowed thickly and she had to act quick to slice down the Big Body that almost rolled him into a pancake. It might have been a more productive conversation if she hadn’t. “Like, who even does this?!”

“Your boyfriend.”

“He is not my–”

“He’s about to be.” Sheathing Lone Survivor, Kairi punted the shadow that came racing toward them and quickly stole Riku’s phone from his hand in the ensuing chaos.

Whipping him around by the lapels of his jacket, she elbowed another Heartless off her shoulder and kicked yet another one back to the abyss. Keeping her guard high, she pulled out Lone Survivor and stabbed her into the ground to her immediate left before dragging Riku into her personal space. When he attempted to draw back and resume his place on the field, she took the opportunity to grab at the ruffled locks of his hair and further mar them in a clenched fist.

A hiss parted through his lips as she pulled the strands askew and quickly disheveled the rest of it. Satisfied with that presentation, she grabbed at his wrist, and with a wrench of her arm, spun him around on his heel. He yelped in protest, dismissed as she kicked his leg out to knock another Shadow back to its death.

Grabbing at his other arm, she ran her nails up his skin just hard enough to leave behind red lines on his pale skin. At the edge of his biceps, she grabbed the sleeves of his jacket and gave a hearty tug until they revealed the broad plains of his shoulders. She made sure to rake her nails down the skin there, too, as she tore off the cloth and threw it atop another heartless zooming toward them, steering it back toward its encroaching allies.

Once more manhandling him, he finally regained enough composure to tear his arm away just as her fingers caught at the fabric of his white undershirt and yanked it out from his pants in one foul swoop. He clambered back with a sound not unlike a bewildered banshee. “What are you doing?”

Huh. She didn’t know his voice could go that high. Hell. “Helping you.”

“H-helping me?! Helping me how?!”

“Trust me, Riku.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to trust you–” he paused with another undignified shriek as she swung Lone Survivor in a sweeping slice just above where his head had been– “when you’re literally undressing me in the middle of a battle?!”

“Tell me, Riku. You think that picture from Sora was an accident?”

“I mean, he is–”

“No, Riku. The answer is no.”

“But…” He trailed off, standing there idle while his brain tried to catch up and she was left to finish off the leftovers. At least finally–finally–it appeared the scores of Heartless were finally depleting. Finally.

Too bad her patience was, too. “Look. He is playing you right now, and you’re too fucking dense to win this game on your own. Either let me help you or lose. It’s your call.”

“Playing me how?”

“Holy Kingdom Hearts, how the fuck have you survived this long?”

“Hey!” His offense fell on deaf ears.

“I am so done with both your shits. Come here.”

“Kairi, I don’t–” Before he could finish his thought, she had already grabbed him by the arm and swung him around with a pivot. Throwing him to the ground, he landed in exactly the type of stance she was hoping for.

With his torso supported on his elbows, that startled green gaze looked at her from atop a blush that stood a prominent red against the pale white of his skin and hair. It continued down his neck, disappearing beneath the rumpled fabric of his shirt, but was already gone where defined abs peaked out from beneath the drawn up edge of his askew undershirt.

In the fall, his pants had slipped just the tiniest bit down his hips, allowing a sneak peak at sharp hip bones before vanishing beneath dark fabric. With one knee slightly bent and the other stretched out, the material was pulled just tight enough to hug his legs and show what years of intense training could do to a man.

Looking a bit scandalized and more than a little startled, she snapped a quick shot of his gaping mouth and flustered expression, then opened up his messages and attached it to a new thread.

A shot like this really only needed two words.

You’re welcome.

And.

Sent.

“You can thank me later, Riku,” she said as she dropped his phone back in his lap and collected Lone Survivor back into her hand. “We still have a few more rooms to clear before he recovers from shock and begs you to come home.”

“Wh…what did you do?”

“I won you the game. Like I said–thank me later.”

It wasn’t until two hours–and several dead armies–later that Kairi finally received a message from Olette.

Unlike her normally wordy texts, this one was nothing more than a crying face holding up two thumbs up. Not a second later, it was followed up by a picture of Sora–mouth covered by his hand and eyes wide, blush evident even with an obstruction in the way–gaping at the phone in his hand.

You’re my fucking hero, Kai!

Better be.

>///

No, you’re not. Not yet.

All social media was quiet for the rest of the night.

#kairi #riku #sora #olette #soriku #kailette #buff!kairi #prompt time #my writing #i'm not sorry #they're adults in this fic #let them bone

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kpoptextauwu-archive · 5 years

Text

It’s All a Little Blurry

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Summary: He froze trembling as his eyes landed upon the person he prayed never to see again. “Jeno?” The man asked recognition flitting across his eyes. His breathing froze as he stared at the man before him before turning back the way he came sprinting away, the voices calling out for him falling on deaf ears.

Prompt: OTP: Shadows Behind Us, Angst, Fantasy

Note: 6th chapter in the OTP: Shadows Behind Us series

Warning(s): Mentions of self-harm, mentions of attempted suicide, mentions of eating disorders, just be careful

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Third POV;

His wings carry him back to the apartment he shared with Mark and Chenle. The moment he'd heard Renjun was missing all rational had left his mind and his only the thought was to find the small deer hybrid and comfort him by any means necessary. He'd rushed back to the apartment to scrambling and find something he could use to help comfort his most precious little friend but sadly came up empty-handed.

Usually, he had flowers bought in advance that he could give him but due to recent events, he hadn’t had time to buy new ones. With saddened steps, he left the apartment to continue his search for Renjun. Comfort in a hug would have to do.

He decided to walk back to the forest, the use of his wings in front of too many mortals who were unaware of the existence of angels was dangerous. He looked before crossing the street keeping in mind all the precautions Mark had taught him when it came to blending in with humans. His thoughts were soon interrupted though as he heard someone call out for him. A flash of familiarity ran through him as he turned slowly.

He froze, trembling as his eyes landed upon the person he prayed never to see again. “Jeno?” The man asked, recognition flitting across his eyes. His breathing hitched as he stared at the man before him.

It only took a second for him snap out of it before turning back the way he'd came, sprinting as if his life depended on getting away, the voices called out for him but fell on deaf ears. The world spun past his eyes as he ran away from the one person he could never see or speak too again. He ran through the streets, crashing into people without uttering apologies; angry shouts followed after him.

Behind him, he could hear shouts of the same familiar voice following after him, his name being called repeatedly as pounding footsteps chased after him. Tears pricked in his eyes as anxiety coursed through his body, as he ran through the people in front of him and ducking around corners desperately trying to getaway. The sound of his voice trailing away the farther Jeno ran from him becoming Jeno’s only relief as his took a shaky breath in the alley he had managed to trap himself in.

His vision blurred as he stood in the alley, flashes of a face he promised never to look at again appearing in his mind. He looked so hopeful and happy when he saw Jeno and it hurt. It hurt so much Jeno felt his chest ache. He missed him, he missed who used to be his best friend more than anything in the world but he could never see him again. He knew there would be a when he saved him and that price was his fall.

A loud confused voice from the street called out for him again and he froze turning to meet the face he tried desperately to escape looking directly at him. “Jeno is that you?” He asked his voice still full of hope. “Is it really you? Jeno please answer me.” The man begged his hands outstretched as he walked towards the angel. His brown eyes sparkled and his long dark hair fell in his eyes. “Jeno, say something....Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno whispered out. The man tilted his head not hearing the hushed words. “Johnny....I’m so sorry.” He said louder watching with a shallow breath as the Johnny recognized his voice. Johnny opened his mouth to speak, happiness seeming to radiate from him but was quenched when a tear fell from Jeno’s eye. He watched in shock as the lone tear rolled down the angels cheek leaving his mouth agap. “I’m sorry.” He said one last time before taking off.

With a strong flap of the wings on he'd had hidden from mortal eyes, he was gone. It looked as if he had become invisible before Johnny’s eyes as he soared upwards. He heard his old friends broken shout of his name ring through the empty alley. He blinked back more tears banking with ease through the cloudy skies, flying to nowhere and anywhere.

His mind was foggy as he swooped through the clouds of heaven, the gold shimmer of them left in flurries as his cream wings sliced through them. He always thought human emotions were pointless, pain and sorrow had made no sense to an immortal being of heaven like himself. Then he was in charge of guarding Johnny, and his entire world began to changed. His perspective had shifted the more he watched the human grow and learn until he couldn’t help but interact with him.

They had slowly become the closest of friends, the silly human never questioning why Jeno never seemed to aged, or how the human world made no sense to him. Jeno has found himself so invested in the new experience of human emotions and experiences that he hadn’t noticed when Johnny began to pull away from him and those around him. He hasn’t noticed when Johnny stopped eating, when he started speaking less, or when thin scars began to line his wrists.

It hadn’t been until the night on the cliff had he truly noticed. He had felt a strange tug in his gut that night and peered down from heaven to find his beloved human sobbing at the edge of a steep drop. The rain from the skies had already soaked through Johnny’s shirt and his hair dangled in his soaked red eyes. The wind whipped around him, rocking him back and forth as he stood on the edge staring at the water below it. For the first time, fear spiked through Jeno’s body as he raced through the sky to help his human.

He whispered with his guardian powers into Johnny’s ear trying to sway him away from the cliff, but Johnny didn’t move away. He seemed to move closer. Panic stabbed through him as he swooped down to the backside of the cliff knowing he couldn’t directly interfere with Johnny’s decisions. He was only allowed to persuade.

“Johnny!” He had screamed at the man who turned to look at him slowly. He watched with terror as Johnny shuffled back so his heels hung off the cliff. “Johnny, please! Move away from the cliff!” He screamed to his friend who’s eyes looked blank and lifeless.

A breath passed before Johnny opened his mouth to scream back "You don't understand Jeno I can't anymore!" A broken sobs fell from the human's mouth as he screamed at the angel.

"Johnny please listen to me. I need you to step away from the cliff, it's dangerous!" Desperation filled Jeno’s voice as he screamed, his voice ripping out of him. He couldn’t let Johnny die like this. Johnny, who showed him beauty and love didn’t deserve this.

Johnny just smiled a bittersweet smile at him, "thank you for being my friend Jeno. I appreciate it.” With those words, he stepped back letting the wind catch his body as he fell. A strangled scream ripped its way out of Jeno’s throat as he watched, only a moment of hesitation passing through him before he took off running towards the edge. Rules be dammed, his friend meant more to him than anything. Unfurling his wings he leaped off the cliff plummeting toward the dark water where Johnny was falling. He beat his wings heavily, catching up the human moments before his body hit the raging water below, curling himself around him. He wrapped his shimmering wings around him in protection as they landed in the grass near the shore beneath the ominous cliff, cries falling out from him.

Johnny had fainted on the way down but his chest was still moving and his heartbeat strongly against his chest. Jeno rushed him back to his home, the rain staining his vision as he flew, nothing mattered more than the boy in his arms at that moment.

His actions, of course, had consequences. He knew this would happen the day he fell from heaven his wings ripped from him. It was forbidden for him to directly interfere with human lives but he had done it anyway. When he'd gotten t his wings back he had sworn never to visit Johnny again. The pain of everything to great.

When Jeno met Mark he felt the same sense of curiosity tug at him with the strange hybrid boy. He had always blamed Mark for bothering him but deep down he knew he wanted someone. Longing for someone to show him emotions again. Maybe that’s how he found himself living with his new human in a rundown apartment with a young fairy. Maybe his selfishness was the cause of his suffering that lead him to shiver to profusely as he flew through golden soft clouds, the comfort he once found by them long gone.

A shudder ran through his body as he'd lost himself as the memories of Johnny rushed through his head. He had tried so hard to suppress them and yet here they were at the for front of his mind, hurting him. Jeno desperately missed Johnny, but he knew deep down he could never be with him again. It was too dangerous for everyone around them.

Pressing his palms into his eyes, he inhaled sharply. His chest knotting tightly as his wings danced through the sky at altitudes unreachable to man without the assistance of mechanical engineering. Folding his wings into his back, he felt the air fall around him. The wind whistled in his ears and rushing through his hair. Unfurling his wings, the wind caught him and lifting him back up. His sensitive quills shivering against the cold frigid air.

Reaching down, his hand sunk through the soft foliage,

Warm honey tanned skin and dark hair noticeable amongst the dense green forest. Jeno inhaled sharply before thrusting his wings behind him to pick up speed. His heart beginning to pick up the pace once again, fighting to keep in toe with the sprinting boy.

"Renjun!" He hollered above the tall trees. The boy looked up frantically, yelping in surprise as he stumbled for a moment but kept rushing to getaway.

Dropping under the canopy of branches swiftly, the harsh beating of Jeno's wings echoing through his own ears. Just barely within arms reach, Jeno grasped the back of Renjun's sweater and yanked with all his might, Renjun lost his footing and tumbled backward into Jeno's awaiting arms.

Jeno's arms hooked securely around Renjun's waist as his feet kicked off the forest floor, up��into the silver-lined clouds with a few downward strokes. Renjun cried out, his palms pressed against Jeno's chest, prying himself away; Renjun slipped.

“Johnny!” Desperation filling Jeno’s voice as it ripped out of him from his throat. Johnny's body tossed back and forth as the wind raged against the pelting rain and crashing waves. He watched him fall for only a second before tearing down the cliff and catching him within a moments notice.

Jeno choked, his breath caught in his throat as Renjun's shriek tore through the air in a high pitched cry. Small hands outstretched for the Angel above, horror burning behind his large irises. Flowers ripped from his long mangled hair, petals floating gently to the ground below.

It only took a moment before Jeno had Renjun within his grasps again. Renjun's small heartbeat throbbing against Jeno's chest as he held his trembling friend close. Jeno's feet just barely above the ground, his toes skimming the moss floor. Renjun's arms tied around Jeno's neck in steel grip even though he had felt weak to his knees. Jeno's shoulders were stiff, his eyes clamped shut to turn away from the mortifying memory that had reared its head again.

Jeno gulped, carefully ascending above the canopy trees and into the clouds. A curt breath tumbling out of his lips as his gaze flew towards the general direction Mark would be in.

"We're going home now," Jeno told the shivering hybrid in his arms, who responded curtly with a small nod.

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rhyfelwyr · 5 years

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SIREN ------------------ a collection of short Maya drabbles.

i. i was just a kid

It hurt. It hurt and it itched and it burned, but she couldn’t move. If she moved, if she even let out a whimper, she knew she’d get in trouble for it. She was not to speak, not to move. Obey, obey, obey. Her fingers were cramping - cold sweat was pouring down her back. She could hear a woman crying, begging and pleading.

Crying doesn’t help, Maya wanted to tell her. They don’t care for crying. They’ll take what is due, or they’ll take your life. Such was the way of the Order of the Impending Storm. Such was her way.

Her focus was slipping - her energy depleting. Normally, it didn’t take this long for people to give in to the Order’s demands. Just moments of holding them captured in her phaselock was usually enough. But this woman cried and pleaded while the boy - he must be her age, she thought absently, about eighteen - stood there before brother Sophis, hands raised into fists, blood on his lips and one of his blue eyes was slowly swelling shut. His sister - Maya thought she must be only a handful of years older than her - was caught in the web of blue, frozen in time, immobile and stuck in an expression of pure horror. She looked away quickly.

“ We can’t pay, ” the boy said again, frustration gleaming in his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. Sophis wouldn’t have it. “ Your father should’ve thought about it before he got himself killed, ” came his monotone reply. “ Maya? ” He sent a look over his shoulder at her, dark eyes narrowing slightly.

She was a weapon in his hands and she would gladly do as told. It was for the order. It was the way of the land. It was her purpose. Savior - executioner.

The siren let out a slight gasp - power stretching to the limit, and the sister suddenly cried out, the bubble bursting, limp body falling, hitting the ground with a thud. She wasn’t dead - but she would be soon enough. The burns covering her skin would take care of that. Slowly. The boy was crying in earnest now ; hatred in his eyes, directed only to her. But she hadn’t given the command. She’d only executed it.

So she didn’t care.

Taking a step back, she collided with the chest of brother Reqhim - who’s hands descended on her shoulders, keeping her on her feet when she wobbled, knees weak, which she was thankful for. This had to be the longest time she’d held someone in her phaselock yet - and it was consuming all of her energy. Her limbs were trembling and she needed to take several deep breaths - later, she’d be eating for three to get her energy levels back up.

“ See, now - lesson learned, huh? ” She knew brother Sophis would have a pleasant smile on his face. She knew it from her own training, each time she’d failed. He was a stern teacher, awfully harsh and as unbending as steel, but in the end he’d always place his hand on her shoulder and tell her she did well. That every failure was a lesson, and she was a good student. She never made the same mistake twice. She worked hard to never see the disappointment in his eyes again.

His smile was a reward for her, but she didn’t think it would be for this boy.

ii. in plain view

Twenty-four and left with more questions than there were answers. She hadn’t seen brother Reqhim since he’d told her of the other sirens ; of her not being alone in this world. There were up to five others like her at all times, harnessing powers as spectacular as her own. There were planets out there that she’d never heard of before. Wars and creatures and alliances.

She felt small underneath all of that sky. A kid playing at being a deity. What was she doing here, what was her point? Did the other sirens live like this? Revered, feared and loved by people whose faces she rarely saw. As much the name they prayed to as a name they warned children about in order to get them to behave.

Would they stand for living like this? It had taken courage to approach Sophis, her handler, responsible for her education. The face of her youth, the one who knew her better than most ( though she had realized lately that the same could not be said the other way around ). To tell him what she knew, what she’d learned and what she wanted. To see more - to get off this planet and see what more the universe had to offer. To learn more about people like her. He’d encourage it, she’d thought. He always hammered on her education, said it was good that she knew more about her powers. About the limits to which she could push herself.

But instead of his enthusiasm, she’d received a strangely cold stare. An inquiry, how did she come to learn such nonsense, and then, when she told him of brother Reqhim, a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. “ There are times for everything, times where the world beyond will be open to us, and I can assure you, Maya, that expanding beyond this planet will surely happen. But not now. Not when we are still so - unstable. Patience, dear girl. ” And he’d waved her off as if it were nothing.

As if this revelation had meant nothing.

She knew he thought she was stupid. That she couldn’t put two and two together if her life depended on it. Reqhim’s disappearance, his avoiding the topic so thoroughly her questions seemed to fall upon deaf ears at this point. And his threat, just that evening, that if she did not focus on the road ahead and instead on the stars above, he would allow her some solitary time to reflect on her priorities.

Yeah, right. He was going to reduce her world to the room she’d called her own since she could speak until loneliness would leave her promising anything - including to never ask again about places beyond Athenas - to be free of the confines of her jail cell.

Obedience had come to fit her like a too-large jacket. Taught to listen and never question - to assume that all their kills, all HER kills were justice reigning supreme, were only them enforcing the law... It didn’t seem so simple anymore. Structure was good for the people. So she’d been told. So she’d believed.

But perhaps it wasn’t structure so much as greed that drove the order. And Maya wasn’t so sure if she wanted to be used as a tool for their ruthless campaigns.

iii. raise hell

For a long time, Maya had believed that to be a savior was to be both kind and cruel. To both heal the wounds and wield the blades that gave them.

But things hadn’t been right for some time now. For each step she took in a direction she wanted to go, Sophis and the order pushed her two steps back and every single time, she felt like she was unveiling something she wasn’t supposed to see, supposed to realize. A truth that would benefit her, but not the Order.

If I am the savior of these people, am I not supposed to know best? She’d asked one day. You said I’m supposed to always try to learn more - about my abilities, about everything. But when I say I want to see other places, learn about other like me, you hold me back. Why? He’d been shaking his head before she was even done speaking. She had so much left to learn, he’d told her. So much more they could give her. And what would the people do, should they learn she’s absent?

But the thing was, she’d seen how the people looked at her. Oh, there were still a few who showed up to her public appearances. Who still seemed to look at her with reverence. But others didn’t cheer, didn’t cry. No, they just glowered and remained silent. Some, she knew, didn’t even bother showing up anymore. They’d get in trouble for that. Disobedience. Blasphemy.

Or maybe finally done with the tyranny of the order - her false godhood. She was no god, she thought. She was just a woman. A woman with extraordinary powers, yes. But still just human. And now that she knew - she realized that the Order had always known, too. And had used her in her ignorance. Had manipulated the faith and trust she’d had in the men and women who’d raised her since she was a baby, given away by parents who wanted nothing to do with something they’d never understand. A witch.

They’d taken that trust and taken that girl and had made her a weapon - with no regards for the human underneath. Greed was ugly and it colored their auras, filled their eyes. They’d given her a name only for it to be a command. A threat. A tool.

Maya, Maya, Maya.

She’d cut the raw length of her hair off with a pair of scissors she’d nagged from one of the sisters. Had watched the blue strands fall until the ends of her hair tickled her jaw and chin when she moved. She looked older, she’d thought. Sharper. Clearer.

A weight sliding off her shoulders.

Twenty-seven years of roaming these halls had resulted into her knowing every arch and every doorway, the spots where the lights shone brightest and those where she could slide past unseen. She’d gotten her hands on a gun ( Tediore, heavy and not exactly her favorite, but it’d do ), and different clothes. The silken robes they stuck her into would do no good to her. A hood to cover her hair, a jacket for her tattoos.

One more time, she thought to herself. She was going to ask him one more time. Even if she already knew the answer Sophis would give her.

There had been confusion on his face - that, and anger, when she entered his rooms without bothering to announce herself. He’d looked up distracted - a book in his hand, his other hand rubbing tired muscles in his neck. Sophis looked old, she thought. Somehow, she only saw it now. The fine lines of his face, the permanent grooves around his mouth. The grey expanding rapidly from his temples to the ends of his hair.

“ I’m leaving. ”

As if her appearance didn’t give that away. He’d laughed, at first, but when she didn’t budge, he’d grown serious. Moved to his feet. She realized she was taller than him, now. She’d never quite noticed that, either. Sophis had always seemed larger than life. But now he was just a man. " Child, you have so much left to learn. " A statement or a plea, she couldn’t tell the difference. “ Maybe, but I know I don’t want to stay. I told you before - there’s more out there, more that I can learn, things you can’t teach me. Or won’t. ”

She’d rested a hand on the gun at her side, and he finally seemed to notice it. She watched him raise his hands. “ What of your people, Maya? What will they say when their savior, their deity just left them? That they are cursed? All that is holy, taken from their grasp--- ”

“ I’m not holy, ” she said, eyes on him, “ Holy things don’t kill for greed. ” The greed of others, granted, but she’d killed. Part of her had even been fascinated by her ability to do so. Still was, if she had to be honest. “ No - I’m as human as you are, but twice the horror. ” The gun was in her hand, now.

She thought he understood, now. It seemed to dawn on him all of a sudden. Realization, “ Maya --- Maya, you can’t do this - you won’t do this, you--- ” There was only ancient anger in her eyes as she cocked the gun. Aimed.

“ You have no idea what I will do. ”

The next life she took was justified.

#– — – POSTS. [ maya ] .#– — – POSTS. [ in character ] .#– — – DRABBLE. [ maya ] .#I FINISHED IT #please give me feedback i crave it

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demidritch · 1 year

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tag drop!

#✶ i am my own devastating god. › aesthetic.#✶ when i show my wounds to the stars i'll be dead. › musings.#✶ the obscurities in my soul terrify galaxies. › introspection.#✶ i feared i would be ripped open and found unsightly. › aspects.#✶ your body is the tower you long to escape. › visage.#✶ in the melancholy forest dwells a sick god dreaming. › prompts.#✶ horror should have buried me. it didn’t. › character study.#✶ do not pray anymore; the sky is deaf. › answered.#✶ i am the centre of an atrocity. › main verse.#✶ a world of madness. › meta.#✶ brb wrestling with a dread so ancient › out of character.#✶ the stars shine as pale as bones. › in character.#✶ there are no eyes here in this valley of dying stars. › self-promo.#✶ but a speck of dust in this vast universe. › promo.#✶ the seed of [un]creation › vis. o’zixonas.#✶ father it is called. father it is not. › r. xo’vodia.#✶ god is made of hunger and i am made of dreams. › inbox.#tags

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ecchima · 7 years

Text

The Sound of Silence

Summary:

In a world where everyone hears music whenever their soulmate does, two souls struggle to find their other halves.

As far as he can remember, Hanzo has always been deaf but it's ok, because he can still hear music in his head.

As far as Jesse can tell, he doesn't have a soulmate at all.

Words: 8,1k Rating: T Warning: none Note: thank you to @delanbie, the McHanzo sanctuary server and my beta Soap. This fic wouldn’t have been writen and published without them! Art: http://delanbie.tumblr.com/post/170956941912/all-the-art-i-did-for-soulmate-au-from-the-mchanzo

AO3

Since the day he was born, Hanzo has been living in a world of silence. For years, no one knew why the young heir to the well-known Shimada clan did not speak.

At first, his parents thought he was just a quiet child, and the elders thrilled that even as a baby, their new heir was well behaved. It did not last long. When they noticed that Hanzo was starting to fall behind the other kids his age, his family tried to make him speak at all costs. Finally, after many fruitless attempts, they brought him to the hospital where a poor nurse had to deliver them the fatal news: Hanzo was born deaf.

A deaf leader? What a disgrace. The day following the news, Sojiro was called in front of the elders. Within the next month, Hanzo’s mom was pregnant again and nine months later, Genji was born.

They ran tests on the newborn as soon as they could, and all of them came back negative.

It did not take long for the elders to proclaim Genji their new heir, leaving Hanzo in the shadows.

When he was seven, instead of being sent to school, Hanzo was asked to sit for hours and learn sign language properly. He had known basic words, to ask for food or tell his parents he was cold, but even a disowned member of the Shimada clan must be flawless, and so he learned.

It was hard at first, since Hanzo did not know many words in either sign language or Japanese, but it brought him great joy whenever his father would ask him how his day was and he could answer with his own words. Sometimes, one or both of his parents would take the class with him, making his day even better.

Because of this, Hanzo did not have friends but he had something else, something better: a voice singing in his head. He didn’t know why it was the only thing he could hear, or why he seemed to be the only one able to hear it, but it happened nonetheless. Sometimes during class, or over dinner, he could hear either a clear and soft voice or a loud and boisterous one singing.

As far as he could remember, the singing had always been there and so he never wondered nor asked where it came from, or why it was the only thing he could hear.

One night, after a nightmare, he started humming the tune of one of the songs he had heard, unable to hear his own voice but feeling the vibrations through his mouth. It soothed him to pretend he could hear the voice singing. But he hummed so loudly and out of tune that it woke Genji up, upsetting him.

Hanzo tried to apologize to his little brother but Genji had dashed out of the room, crying that Hanzo was being mean to him and keeping him up on purpose.

Of course no one understood what was happening; Hanzo had never tried to use his voice before. When he told them he was simply trying to replicate the song he could hear in his head, his parents looked at each other oddly. His mother started crying and his father laughed.

They told him to go back to bed, that they would explain tomorrow, but Hanzo lingered. The elders weren’t around and Genji was already falling back asleep in their parent’s bed. He looked up and signed, “Can I stay?”

His parents did not even hesitate, signing back, “Of course.”

The following day, they all sat under the cherry blossoms and Hanzo’s mother started telling a story while her husband signed it.

Long ago, a young fisherman man fell in love with a woman whose singing was so mesmerizing that it was said to bring fortune unto whoever listened to it. He loved her so much that he would come by her house every day with a new gift, even though he was not particularly rich. He would bring her fruits, flowers, and on very rare occasions, pearls he had found in the sea.

She kept every one of his presents, and insisted that he did not have to bring any more, that he could come see her whenever he wanted. But every time, the young man arrived with another present.

One day, there was a violent storm and the young man broke his arm. He was unable to work but kept on bringing gifts to the woman. She begged him to stop, to keep what little he had at least long enough for him to heal, but he stubbornly refused.

She proposed to him then, saying, “If I am your wife, you will have no need to court me anymore.” The young man could not refuse such a proposition.

They got married on a beautiful day, had one child they loved above everything else, and grew old together.

The people in the village said they were so in love, their souls must be bound together. But, as the time passed, their health started to decay. The man’s knees protested when carrying him and the woman’s hearing started to fade.

Saddened to see his wife unable to sing or listen to any kind of music, the now-old man prayed to the gods, begging them to give his own hearing to his wife so that she could be happy again.

Upon seeing such great love, the gods agreed that two souls bound to be lovers would be able to hear the same music as their other halves.

When his mother finished her tale, she looked at Hanzo and signed, “I am so happy to know there is someone out there for you.”

As Hanzo grew older and became fluent in Japanese Sign Language, he was asked to learn the American one as well. After all, Genji had to learn English, so why shouldn’t he? And since he was finally able to understand his tutors, why not teach him other things? He was a Shimada after all, and Shimadas must be flawless.

Between being deeply buried in his education, Genji just starting his own, and with clan matters taking up most of his parents’ time, Hanzo started to feel lonely. He couldn’t ask his non-disabled brother to come home early after school and deny him the joy of having friends outside of the family, nor could he stay behind his mother’s robes, so he did what lonely kids with a lot of free time do: he started to draw.

Drawing was a nice, silent and creative activity that Hanzo could practice on his own, and it gave him a way to express himself without signing. At first, the only things he wanted to draw were cool and impressive dragons, just like the ones in his family’s dojo. Then he tried his hand at sentai warriors because Genji would stay stuck to the TV screen on Saturday mornings, watching those superheroes kick butt.

Practice makes perfect, as the saying goes, and Hanzo was a fast learner with lots of free time. At nine years old, he won an artistic contest after Genji had submitted one of his drawings in secret. The elders were not pleased, but Hanzo had a proud smile stuck to his face for weeks.

One day, as he was experimenting with inks, Hanzo heard a young voice in his head singing a song he had never heard before. It was a happy tune, the sort of thing he could picture Genji humming. The song was accompanied by some sort of instrument, but it seemed like the person singing did not know how to play it because some of the notes sounded as though they did not belong. Like that time Hanzo tried to paint a blue sky but messed up his gradient.

That comparison made him pause and look at his sheets of expensive ink paper. What if he tried drawing the song in his head?

During the following years, Hanzo mastered both American and Chinese sign languages on top of his other studies. Frustrated by his dependence on his hands to communicate, he began to take lessons in lip reading and, encouraged by his tutor, started learning how to speak.

Reading lips was hard, and learning how to talk through only vibrations was even harder, but Hanzo could always count on the music in his head to cheer him up. After all, one day he would meet his soulmate and he wanted to be able to explain just how much their songs meant to him, how they inspired him to paint… And how they kept him going.

He may not have been able to hear what people were saying about him, but he was not blind. He could see their fake smiles and hypocrisy from miles away. They pretended to like him, to be proud of him, but they pitied him. The perfect heir, put aside because he could not hear, working so hard to learn. How sad.

Meanwhile, Genji started to show just how little he cared about the clan, and Hanzo knew an argument was brewing about whether or not he should have stayed the heir.

Soon after Genji’s first attempt at rebellion -he had dyed his hair a horrendous shade of green- his mother grew ill and died. His father, facing an increasing number of duties, was all too happy to bury himself deeper into work to drown out his sorrow.

The only thing that brought warmth to Hanzo’s cold and broken world was the music he could hear from his soulmate. But even that was growing more melancholic and sad. He could still hear the musical instrument -his soulmate getting better at it- but more often than not, the music was just a sad acapella. The notes weighed heavily on Hanzo’s soul.

He wished he could sing back to tell his soulmate he was there, that they would meet someday and live happily. But he knew that even if he could sing perfectly, the person he wanted to sing for wouldn’t hear it.

As Hanzo entered adulthood, the music in his head changed. After years of sorrowful tunes, the joy he had heard as a child began to come back. It started as a rare occurrence, one song here and there in the middle of long stretches of silence, but it was definitely coming back, bringing a palette of warm colors to Hanzo’s paintings that hadn’t been seen in a very long time.

Suddenly, life was bearable again. Not quite happy, but good enough. Hanzo started to exhibit his work, and the elders were too busy with Genji’s rebellion to advise him against it.

Success knocked at his door -the people loved his paintings, both the sad and the happy ones. The elders let it slide, pleased to have good publicity for a change.

A couple years before Hanzo turned thirty, he noticed the singing in his head was becoming muffled. The songs were happier and more frequent, but somewhat muted. At first, he thought it was himself paying less attention to it, but soon he realized he had trouble understanding the lyrics when he had once heard them as though his soulmate was sitting next to him.

He started to worry: what if his soulmate was ill? It could be that their strength was leaving them… What if the gods had decided that Hanzo did not deserve this person? He had never tried to leave the city to seek them out, after all.

The days passed and the music grew fainter each day, almost unnoticeably slowly. Anguish rendered Hanzo’s paintings tormented, tortuous. He started painting foggy forests and muddy water, giving the viewer the impression that they could get swallowed and lost.

People called them masterpieces; Hanzo called them nightmares.

The last song he heard from his soulmate reminded Hanzo of his mother’s funeral. It was muted, sad, and made him feel miserable. After that, there was nothing.

Hanzo had always been deaf, but for the first time in his life, he was truly left in silence.

The first few weeks of complete silence were bad but manageable; when it turned into months, Hanzo started to worry a lot more. What if his soulmate had died? What if that last macabre song had been played at their funeral?

Hanzo found the silence smothering, making it hard for him to get up in the morning, hard to wash up, hard to eat.

One day, Genji entered his room with a bounce in his step. Hanzo wasn’t sure just how long it had been since he last left his room, but seeing his little brother admittedly made him feel better. Until Genji really looked at him and his features scrunched up into a frown, sadness and worry evident in his eyes.

“Hanzo, what’s wrong?” Genji signed.

He opened his mouth to answer but could not muster the strength to use his voice. He felt tears form at the corners of his eyes, so he tried to wipe them with his sleeve only to find that he did not have the strength to do that either. So he simply cried.

He didn’t know when Genji sat on the bed to hug him, but once he had calmed enough to feel the world around him, he found himself holding onto his little brother like a lifeline. He was tired; he wanted to sleep and never wake up again, but when he gently pushed Genji to let him know he wanted to rest, his brother signed again.

“I don’t want to force you, but you seem like you need to talk about it.”

So Hanzo did. They sat there for hours as Hanzo spilled his heart, telling his younger brother everything about the music, how it had started to fade, how it had stopped for months and how hollow it had left him.

Genji stayed by his side, rubbing comforting circles on his shoulder through it all. Once he was done signing, Genji took ahold of his jaw, making him look up.

“You know what? The elders don’t need us and you could use a vacation. How does a trip to America sound?”

It took some time to convince Hanzo to leave Japan, then some more time to convince the elders that the vacation was very much needed while their continued presence in Japan was not. But when they finally landed in San Francisco, Hanzo felt some of the tension leave his body.

Genji did his best to give Hanzo the most amazing holiday he could and, in turn, Hanzo tried to be less of a burden on his younger brother. There were still bad days, but he was doing better overall so they decided to stay. They rented a nice, modern house by the sea and started what they called their “second life.”

The elders called about once a month to discuss their “allowance,” as if they were still children, but never asked them to come back. Eventually, Genji found a job as a martial arts instructor in hopes of cutting the bridge between them and the clan. Hanzo likewise began working as a Sign Language teacher and soon their “allowance” was cut off.

Their only link left with the clan was their aging and retired father, who was all too happy to call them both to pass the time.

Eventually, Hanzo took up his artistic hobbies again, painting various places in the city. He could see the pain in his brother’s eyes whenever he showed him his monochrome ink paintings, depicting the world as he saw it: cold, uninviting, and colorless. He refused to use color; the cheerful hues reminded him too much of a time he believed to be over, of a world where he knew someone was out there for him.

A few months after they made the decision to stay in San Francisco and almost a year after the overbearing silence had started, Hanzo found himself humming. He was in the middle of a class, watching his students -people of all ages and origins- practice conversing when it happened.

It came naturally to him, like getting back on a bicycle after winter had passed. That may be why he did not notice it until a bunch of his students looked at him with weird expressions on their faces. He turned to face them and signed, “Is something wrong?”

They looked at each other until one of his favorite students, a young mother learning the language to communicate with her deaf niece, signed back to him.

“It’s just,” she paused to choose her signs carefully, “we have never heard you hum before.”

Hanzo shot her an incredulous look. There was no way he could have been humming; he hadn’t even heard music since-

That’s when he noticed it, that barely audible and rusty hum in his head. A muted song morphing into whispered lyrics:

Fools, said I, you do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed In the wells Of silence

The rusty voice faded back into a hum then, and Hanzo found himself unable to move. The voice was definitely deeper and harsher than he remembered, but it was there, his soulmate was there.

Hanzo let out a sob, unable to keep the tears from falling. His entire class was looking at him then, and the mother from earlier started to applaud. Soon, all of his students were clapping their hands, congratulating him. Even though they didn’t know the story, they could tell it had something to do with his soulmate and they knew just how important it was.

As soon as he could stand up and hold his phone, Hanzo excused himself to video call his younger brother. He started to cry again when he tried to deliver the news, making it impossible to talk. After ten minutes of fruitless tears, he received a text from Genji, asking Hanzo to join him at the dojo.

When he got there, Genji cut his class short and lead them both to a secluded booth in a café. He got them hot drinks and let Hanzo talk as long as he needed, not interrupting even once, which was a rather impressive feat for Genji.

When Hanzo was finished, Genji gave him a hug and insisted that Hanzo hum him the song. He did, with hands on his temple and throat to better feel the vibrations. It was probably horrible, but Genji listened and thanked him nonetheless before telling him the name of the song: “The Sound of Silence.”

During the next few days, Hanzo heard humming and singing a lot, but there was no trace of a musical instrument. He didn’t know why his soulmate had been silent for so long or why the instrument was gone now, but he suspected a pretty bad accident or severe depression. He tried not to think too hard about it and just enjoy the simple knowledge that someone out there was meant for him and, more importantly, that he could hear them sing.

A week later, Hanzo was sitting in their living room, dozing off while Genji was watching a documentary. They had the subtitles off so he wouldn’t be distracted from the scenery, content to watch as colorful birds performed some kind of mating dance on the screen while his soulmate’s humming played in his head. He burrowed deeper into their comfortable sofa, ready to fall asleep, when suddenly the humming got very loud, startling him.

For a few minutes, the volume of the humming varied wildly before settling on a somewhat normal middle setting. That’s when he realized: his soulmate must be trying out hearing aids. Hanzo grabbed Genji’s shoulder then, shaking him in his excitement. His soulmate’s hearing was impaired; they would be able to relate when they finally met!

Hanzo talked too fast and had to repeat the signs more slowly for Genji, who then grinned and told him that he believed his own soulmate had hearing aids, too. Hanzo gasped, unaware that Genji had heard his soulmate at all. With all his personal turmoil during the past year, he hadn’t even thought to ask his younger brother about it. It was time to change that.

“You did not tell me about your soulmate,” he signed.

“Well, I went to your room the day I heard them for the first time so I could tell you about it but,” he paused and looked away. Hanzo shook his shoulder again, prompting him to continue. “But then I saw you in your bed, unwashed and with the biggest circles under your eyes; it just didn’t seem like the right moment.”

“Well, I am better now and I want to know.”

Genji smiled. “Let’s get started then!”

After that night, Hanzo made sure to regularly ask Genji about his soulmate, learning that once a month they would listen to calm instrumentals while checking their hearing aid settings, that they sometimes listened to music closer to Genji’s tastes, and that one time they had spent a day listening to musical pieces from different periods in chronological order.

“They seem to have a very curious nature,” Genji said over dinner. “Although I’ve never heard them sing or hum anything so it’s a bit weird.”

“Maybe they simply cannot speak,” Hanzo answered.

Genji shrugged it off, asking him about his own soulmate instead. “Do they still practice?”

“Yes.” Hanzo smiled. “They practice every day though they are still very far from how good they used to be. I wonder if they broke an arm.”

“You said they’ve been practicing for, what, a month?”

“A month and 28 days, actually.”

Genji laughed. “You have it so bad, brother! And you haven’t even met them!!!”

Hanzo smacked the back of his head, laughing. It felt so good to be close to his brother. They had never spent much time together as kids, mostly because of the language barrier.

Genji waved at him to get his attention before signing, “Did you make up your mind about the art gallery's offer?”

“I think I will accept it, although I will ask them if they can wait until I have a more… joyful piece to offer. If my soulmate lives in the area, I don’t want them to think I am gloomy.”

“I don’t think they live in the area; from what you’ve told me, they sing way too many country songs.” He laughed but put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, brother. We’ll find them.”

As time passed, more and more art galleries called Hanzo -they even had to buy a device that could translate the audio into text- to ask if they could exhibit and sell a few of his paintings. Hanzo accepted every offer except when a deal wasn’t good enough, wanting nothing more than to become famous enough that his soulmate would one day see his paintings.

He still taught sign language classes but not as many. Now that he was becoming famous, he no longer needed the money, but he didn’t want to let it go completely as he’d found that he actually liked to teach.

One day, an association called him to ask if he could give art classes to hearing-impaired and mute teenagers and children, to which he immediately agreed because he knew how hard it could be to find a capable instructor. Even his family’s wealth hadn’t lured any deaf-friendly art teachers, and he had to learn to read lips before he was finally able to study with a professional.

Two years after Hanzo had settled in San Francisco -and about one year after he started to hear his soulmate again- the music played by the instrument in his head was almost flawless. But then something weird started to happen.

Every day, for a few hours, Hanzo would hear the instrument play a bunch of notes over and over again, testing new combinations and different rhythms before stopping then starting anew. He didn’t really know what was happening, and he guessed that his soulmate had just decided to practice a complicated song, but after a week, lyrics joined in and Hanzo realized: his soulmate was composing a song.

It was a soft melody, the kind that reminded Hanzo of watching snow fall through the window while snuggling under the kotatsu, but also the kind you wouldn’t mind listening to to drown your sorrow. The lyrics were often half-mumbled as his soulmate was still trying to write them, but after another week had passed, Hanzo heard the complete song for the first time.

It talked about silence, how lonely it felt and how they tried to forget it, how they sang to fill in the gaps. But what touched Hanzo the most was the ending.

When I found out after, That sounds could not reach me, Then I realized that maybe, Your silence wasn’t meant to hurt me.

Hanzo felt tears gather at the corner of his eyes -they understood. When they had partially lost their hearing, they had realized. And they composed a song for him about it.

During the following month, Hanzo heard that song a lot. He briefly wondered if his soulmate had recorded it, because most of the time it had exactly the same intonations and tempo, while it tended to be more relaxed and less controlled in the evenings.

Hanzo very rarely had things made for him when he was younger. Sure, his family learned sign language and bought him presents, but no one had ever crafted something just for him. He never had friends outside of the family and didn’t go to school, so he never even got chocolate for Valentine’s day like Genji did.

Having something as precious as a song gifted to him was so inspiring that he painted an entire polyptych of five canvases based on the song. They were the first and only pieces he refused to exhibit or sell, setting them up in his bedroom so that they would be the first and last things he saw every day.

As months passed, his soulmate composed more songs and Hanzo painted more pieces. He became so famous that a museum contacted him to ask if they could organize an exhibition of his works. It took some convincing from Genji, but eventually Hanzo accepted.

When he contacted them, they decided on a date and asked Hanzo if he could come to their city for the grand opening. It took some more convincing, but he eventually agreed. He had never gone very far from San Francisco and never left Hanamura when he still lived there; maybe a trip to a distant city would do him good.

All things considered, the city was nice. It was noisy and polluted, but lacked the chilly wind of San Francisco and the fake traditional look of Hanamura. It was like most US cities Hanzo had seen in photographs, with huge skyscrapers, geometric streets, and big squares.

He wasn’t particularly awed nor disappointed by the city, but they had some pretty interesting museums he wanted to check out. After meeting up with the organizers of his exhibit, he was given a free pass that was good for public transportation and entry to many museums. They informed him that some of his art pieces hadn’t arrived yet but should be there in time for the opening a week later, and asked him if he wanted to take a look and move any pieces around.

After spending a couple of hours in the aisle hosting his exhibit, Hanzo was invited to check out the rest of the museum. One of the organizers stayed with him, talking animatedly about their impressive collection from all over the world. More than once, Hanzo had to ask them to slow down and repeat themselves, but he didn’t mind the company. It was always nice to meet passionate people.

They explained that this particular museum had a big collaboration going with the local music academy, allowing students and teachers to study and handle the museum's collection of musical instruments from various historical eras and cultures, encouraging them to think outside the box. Once a month, a music teacher came to play in the halls so that museum visitors could hear how various instruments sounded and see how they were played. At the end of their visit, the organizer asked Hanzo if he would mind having a little concert at the end of the opening day. A newly-popular singer was in town, having just finished touring.

Hanzo had no reason to refuse; he had never been to a concert and likely would never go to one if not for this opportunity. He assured the organizer that he would be able to enjoy it as long as he was able to feel the vibrations, and that it would be all good as long as they reserved a private spot for him away from the crowd. They thanked him with a big smile and bid him farewell, telling him to enjoy the city before the opening day.

So he did just that, visiting the city’s zoo and many museums, even bringing Genji to one that was dedicated to superheroes around the world. He also ventured out a couple of times to enjoy the local nightlife.

The day before the event, Hanzo went to the laundromat down the street from their hotel. He liked to do his own laundry with his own detergent. The one used by the servants at Shimada castle had always reminded him of his mother too much. Then he moved to America and there was no one else to do it for him anyway, except maybe Genji, but he wouldn’t trust anyone who used the words “laundry” and “Genji” in the same sentence.

They had only been there for a week, but he was amazed to find just how many outfits his younger brother had stained with sweat, drinks, and sauces as he started to separate the bright colors from the light and dark ones, making three neat piles on a bench. He looked around the place, confirming that it was empty before he started humming his soulmate’s latest song to himself. It was one of Hanzo’s favorites even though it didn’t have lyrics yet. It was an upbeat and innocent tune, like a child talking about their crush.

He was unscrewing his bottle of detergent when someone grabbed his arm, almost making him drop it to the floor. He turned and glared at whoever almost made him spill his perfectly fine and expensive bottle only to be met with an equally angry face. The man who had interrupted him said something, but Hanzo was too surprised to really pay attention -what right had this man to shout at him? If anything, he should be the one shouting!

“I do not understand why you are angry at me,” Hanzo said slowly, a hand on his temple to help him speak. “I wasn’t the one rudely interrupting your laundry time.”

The man answered and this time Hanzo tried to follow what he was saying, but the words were spoken too quickly for him to catch, on top of what seemed to be an accent distorting the motion of his lips. Great.

“Could you articulate? I cannot understand a word you are saying.”

The man puffed up like an angry bird, his brows furrowing further. He started talking again and Hanzo tried really hard to focus on his lips, but despite his best efforts, he still couldn’t make out half the words. Something...play dumb...something? Hanzo frowned, did he sound condescending? He leaned back to look at the man’s face, ready to apologize and explain, only to find that the other’s frown was gone, replaced by huge, surprised eyes.

Hanzo took the time to look at the stranger in an attempt to finally understand what was going on. The man had big brown eyes framed by thick eyebrows, and hair so long it would have fallen into his eyes if he hadn’t worn a hat. A cowboy hat of all things; he must be from the desert, then.

Hanzo watched as the man’s full lips shaped into a big, round “Oh.” He must have finally understood that Hanzo was deaf, good. Then why did his expression turn so hopeful? The man then inhaled through his mouth, pursed his lips, and stood there expectantly.

Hanzo heard humming.

As much as he loved his soulmate’s songs, now wasn’t really the moment; he didn’t know what this man wanted with him and the music distracting him wouldn’t help. But then the man started swaying, and as he opened his mouth to take another breath, Hanzo’s eyes went wide.

The man before him was totally in sync with the humming in his head.

Hanzo watched, mesmerized as the stranger did it again and, without thinking, he laid a hand on the man’s chest to feel the vibrations. His soulmate let out a breathy laugh and sang the lyrics softly. For the first time in his life, Hanzo could hear what he was reading on the lips of another human being.

When I found out after, That sounds could not reach me, Then I realized that maybe, Your silence wasn’t meant to hurt me.

His soulmate smiled warmly at him and pointed at his ear, where Hanzo could see a small transparent device. He could already feel the tears spilling all over his cheeks as he choked out a weak, “I know.”

Hanzo felt his soulmate slowly drawing him in for a hug and rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder blades. He held onto him tightly, trying -and failing- to stop staining the man’s plaid shirt with tears. The humming picked back up and Hanzo found himself so comfortable he never wanted this moment to end.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours until the man gently pushed Hanzo away and cupped his cheek, carefully articulating.

“You ok?”

Hanzo wiped his eyes with his palm and nodded with a smile. He didn’t trust himself to speak through the emotional train wreck this meeting turned out to be.

“May I take you out for coffee?”

Hanzo’s smile grew bigger and he nodded again before taking his phone out, opening a new notes sheet and typing, “I don’t think I can focus enough to speak rn, do you know sign language?” He pointed his phone towards his soulmate so he could read the message.

The man looked up from the phone. “Not enough to have a conversation, but I can give you my number.”

Hanzo nodded and opened up his contact information, turning his phone towards his soulmate again. The man entered the number into his own phone, a big smile splitting his face in two. A few seconds later, Hanzo received a text from an unknown number saying, “Hanzo, huh? That’s a pretty name. Mine’s Jesse :)”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Jesse. I would love to get coffee once I am done cleaning all these shirts,” he typed, hit send and then gestured at the two remaining piles of dirty laundry he came to wash.

Jesse chuckled and nodded, pointing at his own pile of clothes before typing his answer. “Fortunately, I have some cleaning to do myself. How about I keep you company?”

When Hanzo came back to the hotel at the end of the day, Genji immediately jumped on him, asking him what took so long. He grinned, lifted his chin and signed, “I may or may not have met an amazing man whose name is Jesse McCree.”

“Jesse McCree… The singer?” Genji signed and then stopped, his mouth slowly forming a perfect, round O. “HOOOOOOLY SHIT!!! IS YOUR SOULMATE JESSE MCCREE???!” He probably shouted, signing along with his words. “Hanzo, that’s amazing! They were talking about him on TV just yesterday!!”

“They also talked about me on TV,” he pouted.

“Hanzo, please. They only mentioned you once in passing because of the exhibit. This guy just finished a tour on the West Coast!” Genji slid a hand through his hair, the movement of his shoulders indicating a sigh. “I cannot believe your soulmate is a popular singer, I always thought you’d end up with one of those hobos who thinks they're cool because they wear dreadlocks and walk barefoot.”

“Wow, thanks, Genji,” Hanzo signed, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I never thought your soulmate would be a disappointment, but I am starting to believe they could very well be an old uni teacher.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

Hanzo crossed his arms and raised a brow, his face the perfect picture of “Oh, really?”

“Alright, I deserved it. Now tell me! How did you meet? How was he? Does he really dress like that unironically?”

“I will tell you everything, but dinner first, if you don’t mind.”

The next day, Genji insisted on being there for the grand opening of Hanzo’s exhibit, bragging to every single person he met that he had been the first one in their family to believe his brother had a real talent for art, making Hanzo’s eyes roll.

A few people recognized him and stopped to chat, with Genji helping translate when they spoke too fast. It was nice to hear which paintings they liked most, or which technique they preferred. A lot of them were art students, and a few others were hearing-impaired or deaf. He was surprised when an old Japanese man stopped by to tell him that he had been following Hanzo’s career ever since he won his first artistic contest in Hanamura.

He told Hanzo that he had been a member of the jury, and that he hadn’t known he was a Shimada until he showed up to claim his prize flanked by four bodyguards. He also told him how relieved he had been when he saw Hanzo’s huge smile and his brother loudly clapping to congratulate him, that he thought they were good kids then.

When the old man excused himself so that he could continue looking at the pieces displayed, Hanzo gave his most respectful bow and thanked him for taking the time to come over and chat. In the corner of his eye, he saw Genji do the same.

Around lunch time, Hanzo felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out and let a happy sigh escape him when he saw a text from Jesse.

“Hey! Organizers said I need to be there around 3pm, wanna grab lunch in the area? :)”

“Sure, do you have a place in mind? We’ll join you there.”

“We? You are full of secrets, Mister Shimada ✨” Hanzo laughed and had already started replying when a new text arrived. “How does Bacon Bros. Diner sound? It’s on 5th”

“What kind of name is that? :’) I can’t stop laughing, people are looking at me.”

“Just two bros having dinner. 5 feet apart because they’re not gay :^D”

“Except we’re gay”

“We’ll just have to eat only one foot apart then!”

Hanzo snickered and quickly typed his answer. “Perfect, meet you there in 15 minutes?”

“Sounds good to me! Can’t wait to see you again ♥”

Genji was almost more excited about the lunch date than Hanzo. When confronted about it, he pretended it was because he wanted to meet someone famous, but Hanzo knew him too well to believe that. Genji wasn’t exactly what he would call a “fan” of Jesse’s songs, being more into kpop, and Hanzo knew his brother had met his share of famous people back in Hanamura.

Lunch went well. Jesse and Genji got along pretty well despite a few embarrassing questions about each other’s fashion choices, and soon they were walking back towards the museum. A few people stopped them on the street, asking if they could take a picture with Jesse. A couple of them also inquired about Hanzo and Genji, but Jesse just put a finger to his lips and said it was a secret they could find hints about at the museum.

They arrived an hour and a half before Jesse had to be present for the last adjustments, so Hanzo invited him to check out the exhibition. The first pieces were sketches and studies from when he was a child. He explained that back when Genji didn’t know sign language very well, he found it easier to express himself through art, and that it was also an entertaining way to pass the time. In turn, Jesse told him a bit about his own childhood and how his mom always told him that music was important because it was his only link with his soulmate. He joked about not being very good at anything besides singing, and Hanzo assured him that he would be the judge of that.

Then they moved on to the paintings he did when he’d thought it would be nice if, when he met his soulmate, he could have something to give them the same way they gave him their comforting music. Jesse put a hand over his heart then and mimed being struck by Cupid, but Hanzo could tell he was genuinely touched.

As they kept walking through the exhibition, the pieces grew colder. Hanzo explained that he painted them around the time Jesse stopped playing the guitar -he was so happy he could finally give a name to that instrument- and sang his sad acapellas. Jesse explained that he stopped playing after his mother died, and that he got into trouble a lot in those days. He didn’t go into much detail, but it was clear Jesse was ashamed of that time period. It was okay though, they would have a lot of time to talk about it after they knew each other better.

Soon, they reached the warm sunsets and soft ambiance paintings Hanzo did when he started having his work exhibited in Japan. He turned to Jesse expectantly and the man explained that after a lot of trouble, one man saw potential in him and plucked his sorry ass out of the desert dirt. It wasn’t quite the freedom he craved, but things were getting better for him. The man who saw potential in him found out he could play the guitar and encouraged him to pick it back up. Hanzo also learned that around that time Jesse joined the army.

“I just didn’t wanna be no trouble to him, especially after all he did for me. I never finished school so there wasn’t much else I could do anyway,” he said sheepishly.

Hanzo hummed, probably too loudly. “I can relate to that.”

They walked into another room then, and Jesse froze only a few steps in. The room displayed all of Hanzo’s misty and darker paintings. They were a testament to his mastery in his field, but they all held an engulfing sadness that always made him shiver. He looked up at Jesse’s face, the perfect picture of shock and hurt. Hanzo’s eyes were fixed on the man next to him, who touched the tiny transparent device in his ear.

“Are those-”

“From when I noticed the music was becoming weaker? Yes.”

They didn’t linger in that room for long, too many dark memories for the both of them. Again, there would be time for that later.

They exited into a hall displaying the few pieces Hanzo drew when he moved to San Francisco. He told Jesse that Genji was the one to insist they move to America, and that those were hard times for him but the distance between himself and the rest of his family had done him good. He talked about how he started to teach sign language for a living and how he managed to get his life back in order.

He stopped in front of the last painting. “I thought you were dead,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Hanzo, I didn’t want this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.” He smiled before facing Jesse. “The day I finally heard you again, I was in the middle of a class. My students were practicing and I was watching over them like I always do. At some point, I noticed that a few of them had stopped conversing and were looking at me. They said I was humming.”

When Hanzo noticed the tears gathering at the corner of Jesse’s eyes, he gave him a side hug and patted his back. He felt the other lean into him so he kept his arm wrapped around Jesse as they walked all the way to the last room.

It was by far the largest of the entire exhibit, showcasing big polyptychs with bright colors. Hanzo stopped in front of each piece inspired by one of Jesse’s songs and tried to explain which song it belonged to. At one point, he tried to hum the melody instead but since Jesse was right next to him, he could hear himself and it just freaked him out too much.

“One more thing we’ll have time to work on,” Jesse joked, turning towards the next painting. “I was touched when you told me the paintings were based on the music you could hear from me, but these,” he paused, his shoulders moving along with a deep breath, “these are based on things I created. The songs I compose are mighty personal and I have no words to tell you how touched I am.”

“Did you notice? The set of paintings I made for the first song you composed for me are not in this room.”

Jesse paused and looked around, then back at Hanzo. “Where are they, then? Is there some kind of secret room we missed?”

Hanzo smirked. “Come over to my house in San Francisco and I will gladly show them to you. They are way too precious for me to trust anyone touching them.”

Jesse took off his hat and placed it over his heart, looking Hanzo straight in the eyes. “I think my heart just stopped.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon by an improvised stage outside. Jesse explained a few music things to Hanzo and showed him around behind the scenes. At one point, he convinced Hanzo to try playing the guitar. It was awful, his big fingers stumbling over unfamiliar chords. He didn’t know whether he was more frustrated or exhilarated that he was able to hear every single one of his mistakes.

About an hour before the concert, Hanzo was called to his VIP spot where the organizers had left a small bench with a sandwich and a water bottle for him. He was soon joined by Genji who had bought a bag of muffins for the two of them. Of course, his little brother asked to know every single detail of his and Jesse’s “date,” which Hanzo was all too happy to talk about.

A few minutes before the show, Genji joined the crowd, proclaiming that concerts were only good when you could smell everyone’s armpits and feel all those sweaty bodies pressed close to the stage. When Hanzo remarked that it sounded pretty gross, Genji shrugged and signed, “It’s half the charm,” with a toothy grin.

When Jesse arrived on stage and all the people started waving their arms, Hanzo moved his bench to get a little closer. He could see Jesse approach the microphone while clumsily signing, “Tonight is special. The man who paint are in this museum is deaf. I question his brother to sign along the lyrics of my songs.” Hanzo’s eyes widened as Genji jumped on stage and bowed, taking the signing over.

It had always been something to hear Jesse sing inside his head, but it was something entirely different to experience it live. Hanzo had a blast, not only listening to the music but also feeling the vibrations of it, making him feel like he was melting into the music, like he was part of the songs.

After the last song, Jesse leaned in to the microphone again and Hanzo looked to Genji for translation.

“I hope you had a blast tonight because I dedicate this concert to my soulmate, whose paintings are exhibited in this museum starting today!” Both the man on stage and the people in the crowd turned towards him. “Hanzo, darling, I am proud to be your soulmate,” Jesse signed as he spoke.

Hanzo rushed up and jumped onto the stage as fast as he could, throwing himself into Jesse’s arms. Their first kiss was captured by hundreds of cameras as they held each other on stage, but they didn’t care. They were finally united, happy.

#mchanzo #hancree #overwatch #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #brothers bounding #Genji is a little shit #Deaf Hanzo #Singer McCree #Artist Hanzo #Soulmates AU #ecchima writes #Hanzo POV #I don't even know what to add #Sojiro loves his sons #fanfic

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dsmroleplay · 3 years

Text

#AVoiceFromThePast

Written by: @TohrmentNLoss

Sitting once more, I stared at the dark road. Each night it felt like I came here. Snorting, I shook my head. I did come here ever night. And ever night I watched this damn fucking road. Fucking dumb to listen to the damn voice in my head. I was going fucking crazy. Even this damn pull that I felt. It had to be something with my mind. Letting out a laugh that had no humor. My head falling back, I looked to the sky. Not a star could be seen in the night sky. Clouds hung low, I searched for anything. Anything that would give me the answers I had sought. Why did I have my family ripped away from me? Was I never suppose to have happiness, only for short periods of time?

“Why? Is all you want to do is fuck up my life?” I asked no one. It would fall on deaf ears anyways. Hell so many times I prayed for anyone, to take me away from the hell I went through. No one came. My mom couldn’t even say good bye to me. And my dad? Why did he walk away from me? I laughed, I would never get those answers. As of tonight, I would never ask them again. I would set my sights on new goals, on my new family. To hunt the one that ripped away the last of my parents. The fucking asshole that he was. He knew how much I loved my family. And he would rip out my heart and stomp on it.

I always thought he would understand more then anyone. What it meant to me. But it would seem that I was wrong once again. He didn’t care. All he cared about was getting his fucking dick into a hole, any hole. My hands fist, knuckles turning white. As the pure hate and anger course through my veins like acid. I didn’t care who I had to hurt to get to him. His blood would be on my hands. And I will love every second of it.

Tired of sitting on the ground and watching the fucking road. I pushed up off the ground, just as the snow started to fall. Once I loved the snow. Every time it would snow, I would spend hours watching it fall. There was just something about the pure white snow that calmed me. Now I felt nothing for it. From a time that meant nothing anymore. I walked down the street, large flakes hung from my lashes and dark hair. There was no one on the streets this time of night. Everyone staying in doors with the weather. The streets felt like a fucking ghost town. The city’s heart didn’t beat like it did in the rest of the year.

Laughing, I slipped into the trees. Making my way to the place that I now called home. To the floor that held only a mattress as my bed, a thin blanket to cover up with. So much for a home. With things that smelled of baby powered, that always burned my nose. But, you lived with the faults of your family. So, that’s what I was going to do.

The forest grew dark, not even the light of the moon didn’t even break through. My breath billowing out in white puffy clouds. I didn’t notice, and if I did, I didn’t give a fuck. I pressed on, when out of no where, a whisper of a voice on the wind tickled my ears. “Lizabitte..” I froze in my tracks. No one, and I mean no one had called me that in years. Looking around, turning my nose to up, taking a deep breath. It whispered to me once again. “Lizabitte..” My heart stuttered in my chest. “No...it can’t be.” I whispered to no one. “He’s dead. He died in my arms.” Panting my chest rose and fell faster. Hands at my sides, fisting. “Lizabitte..” It was coming from all sides. Trying to find the source from which /his/ voice came. “Lizabitte..” I bolted in what I thought was the direction. Running as fast as my legs could carry me. Trees snagging against the fabric of my clothes. The faster I ran the louder the voice became, Tohr’s voice. A voice that I have missed for so long. The voice of the male that held my heart and took it with him to the fade. And left me with three young to raise.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes. Burning a trail down my frozen cheeks. Running, I didn’t know where I was going. My mind fighting with my heart. Lungs burning as I bursts from the trees. Running now on the streets of Caldwell. Looking at every turn for /him/. “Lizabitte...” Shaking my head, “Where are you?” Scared to even say his name. Because then I would really have gone crazy. Because I watched him burn when we sent his body to the fade.

I ran fast and far. When I couldn’t run anymore. I fall to my knees, puffing hard, hanging down. The snow fell harder, fingers pressing and curling into the soft snow. Laying down to the ground, I saw where I was. It was a small little clearing. This clearing is where me and Tohr, held each other. We would sit and talk for hours. I would listen to his heart beat, as we would stare at the stars. I curled into a ball. I felt such a great big hole of loss inside my very soul. The weight of the pain I felt for so long, pain that I thought I had buried deep inside of myself. Broke free from its prison. I miss him so much. Everyday that I looked on the faces of our young, I would see him. LT, is so much like his daddy. He protects his brother and sister. I see him everywhere I went for months. I heard his voice, his laugh. It felt as if ripped apart all over again.

A mournful cry fell from my lips. I sobbed at the loss of the one man that love, that I give my heart to. “Tohr...Nallum.” I whispered in broken sobs. I wished so many times that he would come back. And what he would think of me now. A shell of the female that he gave young to. That broke me even more. I needed him so fucking much. And there was no way for me to very reach him again. “I...need..you..”

#DSM BDB RP solos

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mackalmorr · 7 years

Text

All Apologies - sns

There’s a question in those eyes, ever searching, ever patient. Where do you go from here? What do you choose?

And Sasuke knows what he has to do, can feel the flush of shame, hot and steady, on the back of his neck. Feels like clawing his way out of his own skin as the tears slip from his eyes and his breathes stutter over the lump in his throat. Uchihas don’t cry. It was a silent lesson taught at a young age, one Fugaku stern as ever burned into Sasuke’s mind. But, gods, he’s lost so much and he’s carried that burden alone for so long and fuck if it hasn’t taken a toll on him. Pushed him to the edge of his own fucking sanity too many times to count, and worst of all pushed him to try and rid himself of the one good thing left in his miserable life at this point.

The boy standing before him.

All fucking sunshine hair and sky blue eyes, filled with so many emotions it makes Sasuke queasy. But he has to do this. Has to get it off his chest, so he can breathe without the weight of regret in his lungs. Yes, he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words, but his decisions over the years left everyone but this idiot deaf with their screams for vengeance and nothing else.

So here he is on his knees, before Naruto. Quiet tears turn to wracking sobs as he mentally goes over all the wrong he’s done to him. All the hurt he’s caused him because destiny and he himself decided his path was one full of revenge and hate and shadows.

He can all but feel his hand pushed through flesh and cracked bone, smell the tang of copper heavy and thick in the air. And suddenly he’s twelve years old again and he’s going to be sick. Is he going to be sick? Pull it together. That was years ago. No there’s no blood there. Why is your hand trembling?

And Naruto is as patient as ever, doesn’t push Sasuke, doesn’t plead with him anymore, learned long ago that it never really worked. If he decided to do something it had to be his own choice.

Sasuke feels like the words spill from his lips like rocks tumbling down a mountain side, ungraceful and out of control, heavy as they are wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest.

But really they come out as a soft whisper, painful and sorrowful, and full of so much regret he feels like he’s wading waist deep in it.

“I’m sorry.”

Then suddenly there’s a hand in front of him. Gentle and kind, palm up waiting patiently to pull him from his knees out of the grave he’s dug himself into. He can feel the flames of remorse, white hot, all the way from his ears to his fingertips as they twist into the fabric of his pants. They itch to grasp the given opportunity, want nothing more than to move forward with Naruto, but there’s a voice singing in his head that he doesn’t deserve this second (or is it the hundredth?) chance.

Every muscle is tense, his mind screaming to move! And its like he’s coated in concrete. He’s shaking with the effort of staying still, afraid that if he lets go he’ll either grip Naruto so tightly he’ll strain every muscle in his body or wake up because there’s really no other way that this could be happening, right? Its got to be a dream.

But then there’s a pressure on his shoulder and a voice soft and reassuring with its underlying strength ringing in his ears, calling him back to the present. And its all he’s prayed for since he left that godforsaken village, and everything he knows somewhere deep he doesn’t deserve.

But he doesn’t care, because if the other is willing to give that answer, option, miracle, then he will take it and he will never, never, let go.

“It’s okay.”

His eyes are still wet as they meet Naruto’s. The deep vibrant blue just as he remembered it, the crinkles just a bit more pronounced. And Sasuke’s heart stutters because he’s wearing that smile.

The soft and reassuring smile that shines bright in every gentle line of his face, can be felt in every brush of fingertips. And he all but fucking clings to Naruto, wraps his arms around whatever he can grab, buries his face in the others stomach and fuck he wishes he could stop crying but its been years and years and years since he's allowed himself to feel anything other than hate. Everything else is weakness, its been proved true to him time and time again by a harsh world and cruel people.

But with Naruto there, in his arms, smiling and gentle and kind and forgiving he doesn't care. Can't find an ounce of a fuck anywhere in his being because Naruto looks at him and sees nothing but a man. Not a traitor. Not a victim, enemy, or monster. And Sasuke can feel it in his bones, knows that Naruto understands just how hard this is for him and just how badly he needed to do it. There is no pity there. No place for it between those two boys, never has been nor will be.

He can see only pride and love and joy in Naruto's eyes, and for the first time in his life he feels as if he has found what he spent so long searching for in all the wrong places.

Strength. True and pure as it flows within him, ecapes from his eyes, soaks into the fabric of Naruto's shirt.

#sasunaru #narusasu #naruto #sasuke #all the feels #sasuke is ooc but fuck you marrying sakura is as ooc as it gets #my baby doesnt neex an apology but i wanted him to get one #and the other baby deserves to actually feel and experience his emotions #and take a step toward forgiving himself so #kenz babbles

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wish4youff · 7 years

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11 ~ I’m Good On That

Kingston

"I'm good, I’m working out the issues as I go. I’ll be fine......I think,"

I hadn't been sitting in the beige couch for an entire minute before the words spilled from my lips. Time wasn’t on my side, I had somewhere else that I needed to be. Somewhere else that my soul seemed to be drawn to in the past few months. Plans that I slept on, prayed on, and finally this morning in one of the most mysterious ways ever, I received the answer I had hoped for.

Being out of New York in the middle of a case was like a suspect walking through the crime scene. Yet, now that I was gone, I had to get everything under control, because once I was back. New York was too on my list of uncompleted duties for more reasons than one.

My sessions with Dr. Singh would be cut short, but for understandable reasons. Reasons beyond my control, in a way, and I was okay with letting this learning method go. But I did have a suggestion.

“There's someone who I think could benefit off your wisdom more than I could. If I can, say so."

"No issues with referrals, if the person is willing. I'm more concerned about you right now though, Mr. Vitale."

“I'm good."

“You think?" He questioned, Dr. Singh’s eyes on me.

He was waiting on me to strike back, for my attitude to be defensive and naturally I was ready to defend myself. What I didn't take to note was he was ready to corner me in because those were my words, being used against me.

“I don't have the need to come anymore,"

"Because you're concern with someone else's well being." His words cutting me off mid-sentence, but most importantly, he wasn’t questioning me. Dr. Singh was certain.

What I didn't enjoy about therapists was the fact they seemed to figure out their clients from the moment both parties sit down together. The issue with that is, Dr. S couldn't figure me out if I brought him the finished canvas of my mind. But Chrissie? Oh, she just needs guidance and she knows me. Better than he could ever think, so if he wanted to still help “me” along the way, this was the true chance of doing so.

“Chrissie," Leaning back in the seat, I pulled the lime green Nike wind-breaker hood over my head, closing my eyes from the harsh lights now irritating me. "I've talked about her before. She's been through some things in her life. Plus, me on top of everything else. I think it'll be better if she got everything out on the table. And you helped her."

“Does she know you're volunteering the services, Kingston?"

“No. I don't know how to tell her."

Nodding, Dr. Singh closed the notebook beside him, rubbing a hand over his face. The man was aging the more I opened my mouth.

“I'll be willing to help anyone, Kingston. Including you. There's a lot of issues that you too need to overcome. Regardless of your job and the laws behind it; let me help."

"Eventually. Right now, I have other things to do and Chrissie needs you more."

———

There was a slight breeze in the air. The sun was out, the southern heat not giving up just because it’s in the culture not to.The wind only caused chills to run down my spine, the jacket I wore covering my arms and face as I approached the infamous tombstone.

My eyes wondered the writing aligned it. Every time it seemed fake, but I knew better than to believe it anymore. Back when I was a teenager, I would've killed anyone that force me back here after my father buried her. Those days of planning almost turning me away from even attending the damn funeral. I know that, had my mother's death been proved a murder instead of suicide; Stephen would've provoked it even more. Just so he could get his cut of the money from her insurance. Sometimes I feel like she killed herself to protect not only her life, but her life-long earnings from the monster she married.

—-

December 22, 2003

“I don't give a fuck! Put her in a damn pine box. It's not like she can tell the difference, Sherry." Then the phone slammed down on the marble material of kitchen counter.

The commotion from my father's yelling and the slamming of objects like phones and doors was enough to awake me from the nightmare I was captured in.

All of which are the same. That last exchange of words between my mother and father before he stormed out the house. They argued about his lack of time management and care for the fact he had a family here, waiting for him. Stephen has always been this way. For all my life and I turned seventeen at the top of the year.

Each time her last words to him playing through the dream. The words she would take to her grave forever.

"Fuck you, Steph. Everything I've done for you and you can't spend a little bit of time with me. How much can a woman ask for? What do I need to do? Suck your dick for some love or attention? How about your son? Don't you love him? I swear, sometimes I wish I could watch from my grave to see how far you can go without me. Cause, Steph, you won't make it. Never."

The only issue with my dream is after a few days Dad is back home like normal, instead this time it isn't her that pulls the trigger as he steps into the house. It's Stephen that does so.

As I walked the grand stairs of the now gloomy Druid Hills mansion, my eyes rack over to that area. I can see the tint of the deep red color still staining the expensive Persian rug. Dad hadn't cared to clean a spill of it. If it wasn’t for me and detectives moping it up, the house would smell of my mother’s blood still today. The man didn't even flinch when she pulled the small .410-gauge gun from under her silk robe. While he seemed numb, my entire body went into a moment of shock. Mom had been up like normal. Moving, dancing, laughing and singing to me. She cooked my favorite breakfast. Grandmother's famous buttery breakfast casserole Italian dish, strawberry and whip cream pancakes, bacon, and her home-made Orange-Strawberry blended drink. It had been weeks since I last had it. There was even enough for seconds of plates to go around. Matter a fact, I had just cleaned off the stove of her leftover containers last might. My tears and cleaning solution getting me through the job. I should've known when the sound of Dad's keys jingling in the door lock caused her tensed something wasn’t right. Her pearl gray eyes staring at me as she nodded for me to head upstairs. She never liked for me to hear the arguments they had. The one from a few nights ago was because of my own needs to hear.

I had been walking away with the intention of leaving them alone, when it dawned on me I had left the perfect way to take my mind off them, my drink.

By the time I was reaching for the glass, I watched silently as mom reached into the pocket of her robe and pull out the weapon. I didn't even know where it came from, but there she had it. No words left their mouth, but low mumbles filed out the room from mines. I hated my father for what he done to my mother, but I didn't wish death on anyone. Everyone had a right to live and try again. Even this man. It wasn't until she pointed the silver demon object to her temple that I realized it wasn't for Stephen. My mother was eliminating herself from the situation.

My screams and pleas for her stop and look at me, fell to deaf ears as the gun ranged off and her body fell to the floor. Her burgundy robe soaking most of the blood that spilled around her head.

“What are you doing, Kingston?"

I snapped out the four-day memory, coming eye to eye with half the reason I'm standing here. And honestly, one of the main reasons I maybe next to spill blood for this family.

"Nothing. Mike's playing ball, I'm going to head out."

“You tell me what you gon' do now?" He had the right to ask and as his child, I had no choice, but to respect the rules he had written for his home.

In this household you respect your parents, regardless of what kind they were. Stephen says it's because: "They kept you instead of killing you or giving you away to some stranger That's respect worthy."

"I had already asked....." Shaking my head, I shrugged, looking him in the eyes.

Master of your emotions.

“You wanna be with the FBI, son? Assassinate some people on the shit list? You ain’t no white man, but that's even better. You got school, you graduate in whatever major you want, but you come home to fight and kill for your country’s order."

“I guess."

Stephen's change in subjects caught me off guard, but I was so behind with caring about where life went after this, I didn't care what job I had after this tantrum finally played out.

I wasn't big on killing innocent people, but if it got my mind off my mother and the fact her ghost could still be lurking around. I’ll do it.

"Go out with your boys. We'll talk about it later."

It hasn't been a full week after my mother's death and Stephen was clearly moving on with his life.

This is exactly why she said fuck it.

—-

The flowers slipped from my hands, falling on to the granite grave site and my eyes went to the sky, nodding in acceptance once again as I built up the courage to walk away from here. One day; it won't be as hard. The day will come, but no therapist is going to force that shit out of me. Chrissie can have it, if she accepts it. As for me?

The only thing I had was time.

#J. Cole FF #FF #ohhh I'm scared of this #but okay

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iwonderwhenyousleep · 8 years

Text

Bromeo and Dude-liet

A/N: Hello! so this is based off the prompt, QUICK I NEED A ROMEO AND I KNOW YOU KNOW THE LINES- oh you thought I was Juliet? Nah man I'm playing Benvolio, that dude is Juliet. Captain Swan with a good old helping of Captain Charming. Hope you like it! Please fave/review if you are so generous! Thanks!

Read at ff.net here.

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time, nor am I William Shakespeare.

"Sorry!"

"Move!"

"Out of my way!"

In her haste, Emma Swan managed to bump into nearly every single person in the crowded hallway. She flew down the stairs, paying no mind to her hair which was falling out of the intricate braid that she had spent twenty minutes getting just right. Her mind was singularly focused and she could feel her time slipping away. Finally, she spotted her destination and ran into the men's locker room. Her eyes roamed the room, skipping right over all the half-naked boys who were staring at her like a ghost. She spotted the mop of dark hair she was searching for and began to elbow her way through the crowd to get to him.

"Jones!" She shouted, gaining the attention of every other male who had not yet noticed her presence except the one person whose attention she needed most. She yelled his name again, directly into his ear this time, and wondered why he hadn't heard her, or if he was simply ignoring her. "JONES!"

Thankfully, he turned around that time. The source of his temporary deafness was explained as he took headphones out of his ears. "Swan? What are you doing in here? This is the boy's locker room!"

She just rolled her eyes and forcibly grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction of the doors. "If I see something I haven't seen before I'll throw a dollar at it," she said. She was in no mood to waste any time. Already she was ridiculously late and could not spare a single second. They broke into the crowd of the hallway and Emma resumed her elbowing and running.

"Swan! Swan!" Killian was growing visibly more frustrated with his captor by the second. Most people would have seen the look in Emma's eyes and shut up and followed her, but Killian Jones did not back away from a challenge. "EMMA! You're going to dislocate my shoulder!"

At this, the ice in Emma's mind cracked and she turned to look at her captive. "We are going to the theater. And that is not a request."

"The theater? Why?" Much to Emma's horror, he had stopped running. He was obviously going to demand an explanation before going any farther.

"Walk and talk!" Emma rushed out and grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the backstage entrance to the stage. "We need a Romeo and I know you know the lines."

Killian's arm started to go up to scratch behind his ear, but he thought better of it considering the speed at which Emma was pulling him. "What do you mean, you need a Romeo?" For the first time, he noticed what Emma had on. She was wearing a floor length Renaissance dress, complete with a corset. His eyes went wide as he realized exactly what he was being dragged into.

"It's my drama final. Will Scarlet is currently in the boys dressing room puking his guts out into the garbage can." Killian was stunned into silence until they finally made it to the theater. Emma shoved the door open as forcibly as she burst into the locker room. They headed to the boys dressing where he saw for himself that she was not lying. Scarlet looked absolutely miserable. Emma's hands flew to Killian's shirt and she started to pull it off.

"If you wanted to see me shirtless, lass, all you had to do was ask." Killian put his arms up and smirks, falling into his flirtatious façade. But, he would be lying if he said his heart rate hadn't dramatically increased because of the person whose hands were now unbuttoning his pants. This was enough to crack his cocky facade. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you into the costume."

"Emma, I don't know about..."

His protests were sharply cut off. "Listen, Killian. If you don't do this, I'm going to fail drama and then I will never get into drama school. Not just that, the rest of my group will fail too. I know you know all the lines because you're always quoting this scene to me. Now, everyone else is already on stage, so there is no backing out. You have to do this. Please do this." The "please" caught him off guard. In that moment, Emma was giving him a choice. This was by far the most desperate and vulnerable he'd ever seen Emma. She was really panicked, that much was written all over her features. And, to tell the truth, he'd do anything to see her smile.

"Alright, love. Let's get me into that costume." As he was being stripped to his underwear by the woman who occupied practically his every waking thought, he had a little time to actually realize what was happening. He was about to play Romeo to the girl of his dream's Juliet. And, of course, there was only one scene that she could have been referring to. If he was lucky, he'd get to kiss Emma Swan. Obviously, this was not how he'd anticipated their first kiss happening. He'd held out hope that it would happen eventually, but realistically, Emma's walls were sky high and the very real possibility that he would never get that chance haunted his nightmares. But now, if he was lucky... he wouldn't have to live the rest of his life wondering what her lips felt like against his own.

When he was finally into his costume, Emma grabbed him just as forcibly as before and shoved him toward the wings of the stage, shushing him to not making noise so as not to ruin the current scene. He watched as actors from another group took theirs exits as their scene from Julius Caesar finished. Before he knew what was happening, he was being shoved onto the stage.

He turned to the ladder that was being used as the makeshift balcony, expecting to see Emma up there in her finery. But that is not what he saw. His eyes went wide with shock before he could stop them. His cheeks flared red. He cursed the entire world for giving him even the tiniest bit of hope that anything could have ever happened between him and Emma, on stage or off.

On stage, right where he had assumed Emma would be, stood his best friend. David Nolan. He was wearing a slightly more ornate dress than Emma had on, and a giant wig that added six inches to his six feet. His face was covered in white powder, giving him the complexion of a ghost. For his part, David looked less shocked and more mortified to see Killian on stage instead of Will Scarlet for all of three seconds before he got back into character.

Another few awkward moments before Killian finally managed to break through his shock (and disappointment) and began the monologue,

"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

It was David's turn to speak, albeit a short line. "Ay, me!" Two things happened then. First, Killian finally found the humor in the entire situation. Specifically, the cornucopia of mocking material that was just handed to him on a silver platter. He was never, ever going to let Dave live that falsetto down. He prayed to any god that would listen that someone was recording this. Liam would never believe this situation if he didn't have evidence. Hell, Killian wouldn't believe it if it weren't true and happening to him. Second, he was exceedingly, tremendously grateful that he had spewed Romeo's lines to Emma time and time again in an attempt to woo her and not Juliet's.

"She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air."

"O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet."

The rest of the scene went by about as well as the beginning, once Killian got past his spot of giggles. Finally, David mercifully nodded at Killian to indicate that they had reached the stopping point in their scene. The lights went out and David hissed out, "Dude, you need to help me down!" Killian did as David had bid and offered him his hand as any true gentleman would for a fair lady. They exited into the wings and Emma was there waiting for them. Killian had expected to find her in stitches laughing at the fact that he and David had just performed what was the most famous love scene in all of literature. Instead, she just looked appreciative and wrapped David in a hug. But, David was having none of it.

"Seriously Emma! This is who you get to replace Scarlet?!" David whisper-yelled. His hands had already started to reach for the laces of his corset. Oh my god he is wearing a corset! Killian just couldn't keep his laughter in any more, and ran into the dressing room so his roaring laughter wouldn't disturb the other performances. Emma and David followed him and once the door was shut, Killian couldn't keep it in anymore. Within seconds there were tears in his eyes and he was actually rolling around on the floor. "Watch it Jones, or I'll really give you something to laugh about."

This threat only succeeded in making him laugh harder, Emma finally joining in. "Oh, come on David. Lighten up. It is pretty funny."

After taking a few deep breaths, Killian finally was able to ask the questions that had come to him once he saw what he had actually gotten himself into. "Okay, so explain a few things to me. Why is Dave here in a dress and playing the stunning Juliet to my dashing Romeo? And, Emma, if you weren't Juliet, why are you in that costume?"

"This is how Shakespeare put on the plays. Our piece was authentic." David spat through his teeth, then turned to Emma so she could get him out of the dress.

"What David is trying to say, is that Shakespeare worked with all an all male theater company, since women weren't allowed to act. So, I, as director, wanted to make our piece as if it was really being performed in his time period." She explained as her hands worked deftly on the strings tying David into the dress. "David here drew the short straw when we were casting. And I am in this costume because the Twelfth Night group needed extras for their scene."

The giggles hadn't quite left Killian's system, but he had managed to move to help get David out of his. Once David was able to get out of the dress on his own, Emma excused herself from the room to allow them privacy to put their real clothes back on and so she could do the same. The sight of David in his normal clothes, but still in the powdery white makeup was enough to get Killian laughing again.

"All right that is it. I am out of here!" David huffed and stormed out towards the exit of the theater.

"Dave, wait, I'm sorry..." While that was a bold faced lie and he actually did not regret a thing (How does one not laugh at something like that? Physically impossible! he thought to himself) he did not want to upset Dave anymore than he already had. When David was out of sight, Killian just shrugged and mentally made plans to make it up to him later. He followed the path that David had taken to exit the theater and found Emma waiting for him just outside.

She turned to Killian and threw herself into his (very) willing arms. Killian seized the opportunity and pulled her as close as he dared, inhaling the scent of hairspray and stage makeup. "I wanted to thank you, Killian. For coming with me in the first place. If you hadn't..."

"It was the right thing to do. Besides, now you owe me so big." He chuckled, still holding onto her until she loosened her grip and he followed suit. "But, I do know one way you can make it up to me." He raised his eyebrows to the sky in his signature move.

She surprised him yet again, and instead of slapping his arm or just rolling her eyes, as he had expected her to do, she raised her own eyebrows and responded, "Will this make us even?" She leaned in towards him, coming closer and closer until there was no distance between them. Their lips met and Killian knew in that moment that he was so screwed. There was no coming back from this. Her kiss was like a drug, and now he was a total and complete junkie.

She pulled away far too soon for his liking. "I was just going to ask for a picture of Dave in that costume but this is much better."

A devilish grin lit up her face before she leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, I recorded one of our rehearsals."

#Captain Swan #CS mafia #cs crew #cs ff #captain swan fanfiction #cs fanfiction #cs au #captain charming #my fics

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