#'how i wish i told a different tale / where he chased the light and his love prevailed / but his blood ran cold and his skin went pale'

[t4tdanvis]

"and if i were you, i wouldnt love me neither" this song was made for gene

[chryze]

A Thousand Years Ago - Stellar Tales 03

"It's gonna rain," she said, looking at the sky, standing on the dew kissed grass.

"No, it won't. The sky is clear," he said leaning his back to the bench.

"The clouds will travel fast, like time. And soon you and I will have to run back inside. This moment won't last forever," she said, gently touching petals of a flower.

"So then come here, sit beside me while it lasts," he invited her to sit on the bench to talk.

She walked towards him and sat on the bench. Her clothes still carried the dew from the flowers. He looked at her in a concerning mood and she knew what it meant.

"John, your time here is ending, isn't it? How long do you have?" She asked him, taking in a heavy breath.

"I have time until you live," he said, "You still don't remember, do you? Thousands of years ago, in a different life, we sat together like this in the starlight. You told me about the birth of the sun and moon."

She looked down in despair.

"I wish I could remember," she said looking at his eyes, "for my life has not been that beautiful so far."

John leaned forward and covered his face with his palms.

"I have lived more than twenty lifetimes since then and in every single one I remember every moment I spent with you," he spoke in sadness.

"I'm trying to remember. I do not remember the past or the future. You have seen it. So tell me, how long do I have and how will I die in this life? Will we meet again?" She asked him.

"That's not for you to know," he replied leaning back to the bench, "I have become nothing but a traveller to this world, a phantom cursed with knowledge. You are my only attachment to this world. And you don't remember who put the dagger in your heart just one thousand years ago"

"As you say it was lifetimes ago. You remember this much but I don't," she said drowning in sadness, "Like I told you before I only remember the fire in his eyes. I remember only the eyes. Why have you been looking for the murderer for lifetimes? It's over, I have died and I have been reborn. Why find the culprit now?" She asked him.

"Because...," John took a deep breath, "Because this killer has been chasing us for lifetimes. One day, a thousand years ago, we were fighting against a witch when I first felt his presence. I only saw his eyes under his helm. We defeated him and drove him out of his lands. That same life, only few years later, he killed you. He has been doing it for lifetimes."

"Will he do it again? Is that how I will meet my maker?" She asked him desperately.

"Yes, love," he said with tears in his eyes, "This time you have to remember his face. For if you are ever to lose me, you would not survive. You would become just like everyone else, a shadow without a mentor, a body without a soul."

"I will do as you say," she said, "But how will I meet you in next life? What will your name be in my next life? You who has been so kind to me should not leave without a name."

"You do not need a name to find me. I am always in your heart and name," he took her arm and placed his palm over her palm.

Before she could place her head on his shoulder he stood up as if lighting has struck him. She stood up to see what is wrong with him. She suddenly heard a loud noise from behind. With that noise came a sharp stabbing pain in her back.

As she placed her palm on her back it was touched by the cold, wet gesture of death. She was bleeding heavily. She fell on the ground.

"This, how it ends?" She asked him, lying on the ground, "I will remember this time."

He bent down towards her and touched her back where the bullet laid. In his eyes was written the untold story of another life, perhaps her new destination.

"It never ends, until all is settled. Remember the face. We will meet again. And remember me," he said with tears in his eyes.

Suddenly she heard the footsteps of her shooter coming towards her. She could see the fire in his eyes as he came into her view. This time she remembered the face. The shooter was a tall and muscular man unlike John. He had a gun in his hand a scar on his face.

But then in an instant, to her surprise, the shooter passed through John's body as if John was just a phantom.

"What are you talking alone?" Asked the shooter.

She turned her face towards the sky with sadness overwhelming her. Raindrops began falling on her face washing away her tears and blood. As she was taking in her last breath she called John again.

"See you in next life, Intuit!"

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Like I did with you

So I’ve been procrastinating hard during my study break for my exams, but here have a song fic!

Ghost of you by 5SOS

Genius comments: The song tells the tale of a heartbroken lover who has lost his significant other – due to a breakup or even suicide/death – and is refusing to accept the fact that she is never coming back.

I didn’t feel like writing angst and whenever I hear this song I feel like ballroom dancing (and I have).

Also thank you to the lovely people on the Maribat discord server!

Ao3

The sequel ‘It started with a whisper’ is up!

————————

Gotham Academy implemented a new ‘Study Abroad’ program due to recent funding from a local humanitarian. This program gave the students of Gotham Academy a chance to study abroad in Europe and vice versa. Countries like Sweden, Greece, Germany, Ireland and more participated in the program; offering a multitude of high schools with many different courses.

And because of that very wealthy benefactor, his son got first pick on where he would like to study. This was 100% not a forced decision at all to subtly keep track of the happenings of Paris. With that the Ice Prince of Gotham took the City of Love by storm.

He had been at Collège Françoise Dupont for the past few months, and it’s been hell. The class he had been placed into was ripping apart at the seams. There were two students that the class gravitated towards; he observed some of the others meeting in secret, without the knowledge of their respective ‘leaders’.

The first student that held the majority of the class’ focus was Lila Rossi. She was a black hole with beady green eyes, who dragged who ever was in her reach to an agonising fate. Damian saw through her deceptions and rejected her flirtations. The students that followed her, ate up whatever lie she spat out. Rossi soon learned that lies about the Wayne family and Gotham wouldn’t fly with him.

“Really? You worked with Monsieur Wayne?” The pink clad girl, Rose, squeaked.

Damian had just walked into class on his second day at the hell hole and already regretted it. He shot a glare towards the large group, “Who ever told you that is severely misinformed. My father has never worked with a minor from Europe, due to potential rumours and allegations it could cause. It is not a threat but a promise if a lie of similar caliber is spread there will be a lawsuit.” And with that he walked towards his seat in the back, the Ice Prince had cast his decree, the class’ atmosphere had frozen over.

The second student was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Those that surrounded her were Alix Kubdel, Chloé Bourgeois, Max Kanté, Lê Chiến Kim and the occasional secret appearance from Juleka Couffaine. They didn’t view Dupain-Cheng through rose coloured lenses, they were always grounded and opinions were respected. Damian, who was a loner without Jon at his side, was satisfied by himself; Marinette respected that and didn’t force him to socialise like Lila tried to.

So that leads us to this. He stood against a sidewall of the giant banquet hall, staring out at the crowd before him. Jon was walking to wards him with a can of sprite in hand. Jon had moved to Paris with him but had been placed into a different class. The boy who was the epitome of sunshine stuck around the Ice Prince, their friendship is an enigma to the Françoise Dupont students.

Jon’s face was flushed. He had just gotten a drink after dancing for the past hour. Tonight was the night of the Collège’s formal dance for their graduating class. Skirts of all colours and fabrics swirled, as their partners (majority of whom had matching suits) twirled them to the music.

Jon, gesturing to the crowd, asked him whether he was going to stand there all night or dance. Taking a sip of his drink a smirk appears on his face, “unless the great Damian Wayne is to much of a coward to dance.”

Here I am waking up

Still can't sleep on your side

Damian’s head snapped towards the taller boy, “Are you seriously using my ego to get me to dance?”

Jon raising an eyebrow, “Well?”

If I can dream long enough

The temperamental teen stormed off, grumbling about “Jon being as bad as Todd”. Scanning the room he search for a suitable partner, there was no way he would embarrass himself by dancing alone.

You'd tell me I'd be just fine

I'll be just fine

He spotted Dupain-Cheng stood off to the side, alone. She was draped in a layered white dress with black hemming. As he neared, he realised that the asymmetrical skirt was actually a light blush with her signature apple blossom flowers embroidered. She looked up at him and he straightened his stance, slowing his pace. Her sapphire eyes locked on to his, her bangs curled off to the side along with the rest of her hair in beach waves.

So I drown it out like I always do

She gifted him a small smile, a usual occurrence within her interactions with him. He offered his left hand, bowing his head slightly. “Dupain-Che—“ he cleared his throat, “Marinette. Would you do me the honour of joining me in this dance?”

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

Her eyes widened, not expecting the Arabian God of a teen before her to ask her such a question. She saw his temper during class during his spats with Lila and how he kept to himself without the presence of Jon. But here he was in a fitted Armani suit that made his green eyes glow, and hair messily slicked to the side. Marinette looked at his hand, glad that her makeup mostly hid her blush.

And I chase it down

“I am...” She paused to find the right word, “I am a bad dancer. It is better for everyone that I don’t participate.”

“I can think of nothing less appealing than an evening of watching other people dance.” A small gasp escaped from her mouth before she could stop it. She watched as his mouth twitch’s downwards before his facade returned with full strength. “If you do not wish, to I won’t force you. But if you’ll allow me I’ll guide you through the dance to make sure it isn’t an utter disaster.”

With a shot of truth

Marinette’s lips quirked, giggling as she took his hand, ��Your funeral Damian.”

What had he gotten himself into?

The two entered the dance floor, taking up the dance support hold. Their dance had the basic steps of the waltz, with a promenade and many spins; some as a couple and some were just Mari. Damian soon found he enjoy watching the sparkles in her dress light up as she spun. It became even more enjoyable when he discovered that the dress was her own creation.

Dancing through our house

The two made quiet conversations during their dance. Damian pulled her closer by the waist as they repeated the basic steps, their bodies perfectly in tune with each other. “You are a fine dancer despite your protests”

With the ghost of you

Marinette tilted her head up at him, blinding him with a dazzling smile. Damian’s heart fluttered, the two always had a mutual respect but it seems to have grown into a fond appreciation.

From the tables scattered around the dance floor there was a blond, with his fist clenched. Lila had dragged him off of the floor as soon as Damian and Marinette made their debuts; together. The brunette was now off angrily gossiping to Alya and any other who’d listen. It was a hot topic between Lila and Alya that Marinette loved him, although now, as he watched her dance with Damian, he was unsure as to whether that was ever true. He sat there, glued to his seat, watching the spectacle before him.

Cleaning up today

Found that old Zepplin shirt

The two dancers didn’t notice that everyone had cleared off the floor to watch them. They danced in sync, no movement was made without the other following it. Adrien had realised awhile ago that even though he didn’t have romantic feelings for Marinette, he cherished her friendship. That relationship was now tarnished due to the path he took when he first revealed his knowledge of the deceptions. His father had forced him to keep Lila happy, even if it made him miserable.

You wore when you ran away

And no one could feel your hurt

He had lost her, and he was unsure as to whether he could gain any semblance of their relationship back.

We're too young, too dumb

To know things like love

Damian lifted his partner’s right hand and twirled her three times, they both were content within their own world. The two swayed before turning together and walking around the now open space.

But I know better now (Better now)

Marinette flushed as she realised what was happening around her, leaning towards her partner she whispered, “I think we’ve become an impromptu entertainment.”

Too young, too dumb

To know things like love

Too young, too dumb

Damian subtly gazed behind her seeing their peers in a circle surrounding them. He was on the inside looking out, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He whispered reassurances in her ear, he wished to finish the song before he released her from his embrace. The two drowned out their audience, focusing on each other and the beat of the song.

So I drown it out like I always do

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

And I chase it down

With a shot of truth

That my feet don't dance

Like they did with you

The melody slowly faded off as the last lines were sung. The two finished on a basic waltz step before swaying in each other’s arms. The music ends and there is silence, blood rushed to their ears and their breaths mingled.

The two stayed in the other’s embrace, face-to-face, staring. They broke out of their trance by clapping. Looking around Marinette saw many of her peers and most of the supervising teachers applauding their performance.

Their friends broke through the crowd, Jon patted Damian’s shoulder (retracting before he got bit) while Chloe and Alix pulled Marinette back to their table to discuss what Disney magic had befallen the couple. The bluenette glanced back at her partner, mouthing a silent goodbye.

The crowd dispersed but were still buzzing from their display. Marinette was bombarded with questions, not only from her friends, but from other students about her dancing with the demon. Her stuttered replies did little to quench the crowd’s thirst. Her face must be comparable to that of a tomato.

Damian, having noticed the building crowd and Marinette’s uncomfortable stance, broke away from Jon. The crowd parted like the red sea, unwilling to be the one to anger the Ice Prince.

He offered her his arm (to which she took) and escorted her out to the patio outside. She stayed entwined with him, as she looked out at the stray Parisian night; leaning her head onto his should. Here the two could breathe. Here the two of them could be their present selves, no ghostly facades needed. It seems they could drown out anything in the presence of each other.

Unbeknownst to them, Jon had recorded their dance, along with their previous and present interactions of that night. He thought for a second to use it as blackmail material but decided to just send it off anyways. Oh the chaos it caused.

[oddaodd]

can you make one where the reader is the youngest maid in Tommy's house and she's helping serve the dinner for christmas and taking care of the kids and in some point Finn gets closer to her and try to flirt with her (she's just a few years older than him) and the reader don't know how to react but Tommy comes and help her (because he already likes the reader but don't get too close because she's too young for him) and by the end of the night when everybody is sleeping and they have sex

· A Whimsical Tale · 

Author’s note: I know we are no longer near Christmas but I love living a dangerous life so I’m just going to post this now.  

 Anddd I loved writing this story so thanks for requesting! and as always, I hope everyone has a lovely day. ❤️

Warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol and a drunken Finn. 

·

Christmas Day was a heavy day on Arrow House and despite the numerous staff, there was always something to be done. Y/n was one of the youngest maids so she was never the one in charge of cooking and preparing dinner, instead she helped pour drinks and look over the children, which Y/n was thankful for since it didn’t require as much elbow grease as cooking for an abundance of people.  

“More wine Tomm...” she caught her mistake and made it up clearing her throat “Mr. Shelby?”

“Thank you, Y/n” He politely answered pretending he hadn’t heard her almost call him Tommy.

Y/n poured the wine with shaky hands hoping that nobody  had noticed her mistake and blushing cheeks. She knew Tommy didn’t mind her calling him by his name when they were alone, but she wasn’t sure if he would still be as lax on the topic if there were other people present.

As she poured some for Ada, Polly gave her nephew a knowing stare that indicated she had noticed and knew what it implied, which triggered complex emotions in Tommy.

He enjoyed Y/n’s company when she served him breakfast and lit the chimney in his office and when sometimes she engaged in conversation with him. She told him everything about her life, whimsical tales of mundane occurrences that sounded worthy of a novel. He wondered what kind of character he played in it.

He would be lying if he were to say that he only enjoyed having her around because she was good at her job. Truth was, Tommy felt infatuated with her and her bubbly smile and occasional kind words when he was feeling the world closing in, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it because she was much younger than him.

Y/n threw occasional smiles at Tommy through the night. She helped entertain the children while the other adults drank and enjoyed the evening. As the night progressed the alcohol began taking tolls, calling some to bed and inciting some others to questionable actions.

“Do you maybe want to go out sometime? Came Finn’s voice while Y/n tidied up around the kitchen.  

“Excuse me?” She asked even though she had heard him loud and clear.

“We should go out sometime” Finn spoke again in boozy confidence

“Um...” she began with an amused smile that disguised her discomfort for she wished the one asking were a different Shelby.

As if summoned by mention in a passing thought,  Tommy’s deep voice interrupted whatever excuse she was  machinating.

“Leave her be, Finn”

“But I’m not doing anything, Tom” he complained in a slur.

“You’re making a fool of yourself Finn” interrupted Arthur before dragging Finn away and out of the kitchen.

She didn’t miss the way Tommy’s eyes lingered on her figure before he left the room after his brothers.

After a while everybody including all the maids had gone to bed, Y/n stayed behind to have a cup of tea in the kitchen so she could mull over her feelings for Tommy in peace.

She had been attracted to him since her arrival to arrow house, but what began like a stupid crush soon turned into more complex feelings. She was always looking forward to seeing him and talking to him at late hours of the night at his office when he couldn’t sleep. She had tried not to think too much into his stares and considerate actions, but her infatuation with him had reached a point in which she couldn’t pretend not to notice.

She wanted his actions to hide a deeper meaning and she believed they did, but she felt her reasoning was tainted by her own wants. Tommy was significantly older than her and she felt immature in comparison.

“I knew you’d still be here”

She knew he would come.

She looked up from her teacup to the kitchen door to see Tommy strolling in. She forced a smile and shoved all her thoughts about him aside.

“Want a cup?” She signaled to the teapot as Tommy leaned against a cupboard.

“Alright” he said and Yn poured him a cup. His eyes following her every move. Her features seemed to be highlighted by the moonlight flowing in through the window making her look more divine than ever despite the tiredness hiding in her movements.

She felt an old wave of nerves creeping up her spine, making her heart beat faster and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t the first time Tommy and her were alone together, but that night’s air weighed differently.  

“Im sorry about Finn” he commented while she poured the tea.

“Its alright” she spoke softly walking towards him “Thanks for coming to my rescue”

Tommy’s mouth curved into a small smile, the way it did whenever she was around.

“Anytime” he said

“You are staring” she commented when she handed him the cup, noticing his gaze.

Tommy hummed taking a sip of his tea before placing it on the counter behind him, not even attempting to deny her accusation. “You look beautiful”

Her cheeks turned a soft shade of scarlet and her heartbeat quickened at his words. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at his honest complement.

Feeling comforted by the intimacy that the kitchen late at night provided, he cupped her face as leaned close to her lips. Y/n  did the same in a heartbeat and when their lips came together she felt a thousand matches lighting up inside her body.

She melted into the kiss as it turned more passionate, Tommy’s hands went to her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“Tell me to stop” he murmured against her lips.

“God no” she murmured back.

Tommy felt reassured knowing that she had wanted this just as badly as him and let himself get lost in the  soft moans and blissful sighs he coaxed from her with his wandering tongue and expert hands.  

Y/N hadn’t noticed Tommy began leading her to the table until she felt the cold surface against her lower back. Tommy prompted her up on it and smoothly hitched up her skirt. He ran his index finger teasingly along her clothed folds earning a whine from her pretty lips.

“Take them off Tommy” she pleaded.

Tommy complied and slid her underwear off her legs, his mind clouding at the sight of her, needy and wet in front of him. He kneeled in front of her and spread her legs open with his hands sending shivers through her body. Y/n felt her stomach drop in expectation at the sight of his handsome face close to her cunt.

“Tommy, ple..” Her place came short at the feeling of warm tongue on her sex. A teasing lick first that soon developed into passionate wet strokes and kisses  lapping against her folds and teasing at her entrance.

Her fingers tangled on his dark hair as she became a withering mess, submissive to Tommys experienced tongue. she felt her arousal building up, bringing her closer and close to the edge with each lick. She couldn’t get enough of him but she was eager to have him in her so bad.

“I need you inside me”

Tommy looked up at her with teasing eyes, her juices glistering on his chin and lips and when she felt the absence of his tongue on her she almost regretted being so impatient. But Tommy didn’t give her time to dwell on that regret when he went to passionately kiss her again and she felt his bulge through his trousers against her bare entrance.

Her impatient hands went to fumble with the buttons that held the basted trousers in place and Tommys went to assist her moments after, never breaking apart from the searing kiss, Y/n got a glimpse of Tommy’s cock and she felt like gasping when she felt Tommy guiding his head to tease at her entrance.

She moaned at the feeling and gasped when he pushed into her.

“So fucking tight” he whispered to her ear.

She sighed lewdly at his sinful praise and when he was fully inside her she felt so sinfully full she wondered how she could have lived for so long without this feeling.

She held onto his broad shoulders as he started pumping in and out of her, teasingly slow at first and speeding up deliciously with each thrust.

The table started creaking under her and the teacup and cup she had put there earlier fell off at their movements, loudly crashing onto the floor. She felt a twinge of concern about the noise, trying to break through the dense cloud of pleasure Tommy had summoned around her. However, Said concern became less and less concerning with each thrust of Tommy’s. It was the stuff of dreams.

He felt her clenching around his cock telling her that she was close. He wanted to make her cum, he needed to make her cum.  

He began rubbing circles on her sensitive bundle of nerves and soon after she came beautifully. Her legs tightened around his waist wanting to keep him close, still reeling in the aftershock of her orgasm as Tommy chased his own, which came not long after with a groan of her name. The expression of his face as he came into her was one Y/n knew would never leave her mind.

“What if somebody heard us?” She whispered as she collected her discarded garments with a smile.

“I hope they heard. Maybe that way Finn will know better next time”

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Chapter 17

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.

A/N: Had to write this chapter three times because somehow everything kept getting deleted!! I’m sorry for my inconsistent posting. Please leave comments, reblog, or send me asks if you like! They always keep me motived :)

(masterlist)

When you came back out for dinner, Bakugou was already sitting at the head of the table, eating away, and chatting away with Kirishima and Sero. To his left was an empty seat, but a plate filled with food.

I wonder if Bakugou made that or if someone nicer prepared it, you wonder as you and Ashido made your way to the table. If Bakugou made it, then damn. However, you wouldn’t be surprised if Kirishima made it or Kaminari who was on dish cleaning duty and needed to put away the leftovers. Regardless of who did it, they still sat you down next to Bakugou in your usual seat.

Don’t read into that, you told yourself as your sat down at the table. Instead, you focused on the delicious food in front of you that you immediately began to chow down on. You found yourself, much like Bakugou, simply eating away while Ashido, Kirishima, and Sero kept the conversation going. Both of you were much too hungry to stop and add your own commentary to the conversation.

Bakugou finished before you and chugged down his water before taking both yours and his glass to the kitchen to fill them back up. Gratefully, you mumbled out a “Thank you” before you continued to eat. Play it cool, he’s just being polite, you told yourself and Ashido proceeded to elbow you and wink.

You rolled your eyes at the pink girl and focused back on what was left on your plate.

Conversation flowed easily until Bakugou came back. The blond placed the cups onto the table before holding up his arms and stretching in a way that clearly showed his stomach. At this point, each of you were still in casual athletic clothes and his simple t-shirt lifted just enough to show his stomach.

It was an action you should be used the at this point. The blond often stretched without a care or used his quirk in ways that ruined clothing. And yet, you still found your face heating up and your eyes glued to the sight.

When he finally sat back down, he leaned in close to you. “I’m ready to go whenever,” He explained before leaning back into his chair and sipping on his water.

“Go where?” Sero, who was to Bakugou’s immediate right, questioned.

You looked to Bakugou, expecting him to reply. Not only were you hesitant to explain the situation and possibly misunderstand what Bakugou was thinking, but the blond typically made habit of answering anyways.

“The gym for yoga and cardio,” Bakugou explained, just like you expected. Luckily, it wasn’t any different than what you thought.

“Really?” Kirishima questioned, his eyes lighting up. “That sounds so manly!” He turned to look at Ashido, “Do you want to go do yoga and cardio too?”

“Um,” Ashido immediately turned to you, concerned that she and Kirishima would be intervening on your alone time with Bakugou.

Part of you wanted to welcome the company, ultimately nervous about having to hold up a conversation when neither you nor Bakugou were all too talkative. However, you spent hours alone with Bakugou each week and it wasn’t awkward then so why would it be different?

Bakugou also hates how couple-y they are so he may be more inclined to talk to me and spend time with me if they are there doing PDA, you thought before subtly nodding to Ashido.

“I’d love to go if Bakugou and Y/L/N don’t mind,” Ashido finally spoke after a few moments.

“I don’t care,” Bakugou measly replied.

“What about you, Sero?” Kirishima questioned, “Do you want to go too?”

“No way,” The black-haired boy replied, leaning back in his chair. “I had interning today and had to chase a villain down seven blocks, ugh!”

“Weren’t you using your tape though?” Ashido shot back curiously.

“So? It still drains me and my poor arms. I could not do yoga like this.” Sero flailed his arms around before letting them fall to his sides, effectively showing how absolutely dead they were. “I’ll just stay here with Kaminari and make him watch the new season of Galactic Guard again or whatever.”

“Your loss,” Kirishima jokes before chuckling lightly. “I’m going to go get changed, be down soon.”

Ashido followed him with the same explanation.

Awkwardly, you looked at Sero, expecting him to say something. You and Bakugou were already changed and had your waters with you, there was no reason for you to go upstairs. Unfortunately, due to the silence and the awkward atmosphere of a nervous you and an ever-rigid Bakugou, the black-haired boy immediately slid out of his seat, claiming to need water. However, you watched as he dropped his empty glass on the counter and simply talked to Kaminari.

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your water, wishing there was more to do. Thinking on your feet, you stood up abruptly. “I’ll clear the dishes,” You said before stacking the plates and silverware. “Do you want your water anymore?”

Bakugou shook his head so you proceeded to grab his water, place it into your cup, and make your way to the kitchen slowly.

Kaminari and Sero greeted you happily and Kaminari immediately took your dishes.

Their rather boring conversation did not leave room for you to interject, so you simply made your way back to the dining table. Sighing, you grabbed your half-full water and reached for Bakugou’s as well. The blond watched you wordlessly.

You wondered if his lack of comment was a bad thing or if it showed comfortability and a willingness to let you touch his belongings.

As you debated the notion, you silently, almost like you were on autopilot, filled up the waters, and went back to the table. With nothing left to do, you sat back down into your seat and awaited the arrival of Kirishima and Ashido

“Thank you,” Bakugou said as you sat down with the two glasses of water.

“No problem” You replied. Despite this comment being typical for literally anyone to say, it still felt nice for him to say thank you. Maybe it was because he rarely used his manners.

Bakugou grabbed his water from the table and put it back into his bag. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you waited for Ashido and Kirishima. The only noise was the people talking in the kitchen and the small group watching television in the living room.

A few minutes passed by before the couple finally emerged from the elevator and greeted you both with wide smiles. Kirishima had on black basketball shorts with a red stripe down the side as well as a red hoodie. Ashido adorned a matching two-piece set of leggings and a conservative sports bra that was cheetah print. She also had on a black zip-up jacket that was currently wrapped around her waist.

You and Bakugou quickly got up from your seats, grabbed your belongings, and slowly made your way to the door. Ashido was by your side while Kirishima ran the kitchen to fill up his and Ashido’s waters. The pink girl moved from being attached to Kirishima’s side and was now attached to yours.

Giggling, she whispered in your ear, “Yet another double date!”

Sheepishly you rolled your eyes and dismissed the thought. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“What?” Ashido questioned, moving away from you to give you a confused look.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” You shot back.

“I mean,” She began, emphasizing her words, “What does that even mean?”

“What does what mean?” You replied, absolutely clueless to the confusion.

“She’s asking what ‘don’t count your chickens before they hatch’ means,” Bakugou butted in as he stood opposite you by the front door. “Personally, I think it’s rather obvious.”

“Oh, shut it, Bakugou!” Ashido exclaimed, giving the blond a dirty look.

Laughing, you explained, “It’s just an American saying.” You debated how exactly to explain it before once again continuing, “Just because you have, say, 10 chicken eggs, 2 could break before they hatch and 3 more could be simply eggs, no baby in them. So, they saying means that you shouldn’t expect something until it happens. You can’t expect to have 10 chickens just because you have 10 eggs.”

Ashido harrumphed, clearing having trouble understanding. “Sounds dumb.” Something you also expected her to say considering she was the one ‘counting her chickens before they hatched’.

You shrugged, “It’s hard to understand sayings from other countries if you didn’t grow up around them. I’m sure some common Japanese sayings don’t make sense to me.”

At this point, Kirishima joined back in and made quick work of putting on his tennis shoes.

“My mom used to always say ‘even monkeys fall out of trees’ when I made mistakes,” Ashido explained, testing you to see if you would understand a common Japanese phrase.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” You replied after a few seconds to think it over.

“Dang!” Ashido replied as the four of you made your way out of the dorm and to the gym.

“What about this one,” Bakugou interjected. “My dad would say this all the time, ‘the stake that sticks up gets hammered down.’”

Oh, this one is definitely more complicated.

You tried working through the saying out in your brain, sure it had someone to do with being seen in society. “Um,” You began, “The person who stands out will…” You paused, unsure how to finish. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“Ha Ha!” Ashido shouted in joy. “It means the person who stands out is often subject to criticism.”

You nodded your head in understanding as she explained.

“How were you so good at those?” Kirishima asked.

“Well, word association is taught in elementary schools,” You explained, reminiscing on the problems you solved in second grade. “For example, we would get something like “cow is to barn as man is to ‘blank’ and we would have to fill it in.”

Ashido and Kirishima proceeded to exclaim “house!” while Bakugou simply nodded, actions that represented each of them rather well.

“Nice!” You laughed, high-fiving the two who guessed.

You rounded the corner at this point, entering one of the school buildings with multiple classrooms. You followed the group as they made their way upstairs and weaved through hallways. Fairly naturally, the conversation died down as the couple of Ashido and Kirishima clung to each other and dawdled behind.

Aggravated, Bakugou led your group, clearly annoyed with how slow they were. Honestly, you were pretty sure Ashido planned this so you could have alone time with the blond.

Trying to utilize this opportunity, you kept stride with the blond. “Pretty annoying, huh?” You asked, gesturing to the couple and silently apologizing for throwing them under the bus and using them as a conversation starter.

“Aren’t they always?” Bakugou replied, looking to the couple before rolling his eyes and groaning.

“Sometimes they are cute,” You shrugged, flashing a smile to the blond. “At least they’re happy, you know?” You asked, attempting to reason with them.

Bakugou simply “tsked” in reply. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t making me nauseous.”

“Very true,” You responded, unable to stop yourself from chuckling loudly. “Especially when they talk in baby voices and make little smooching noises!” You altered your voice slightly to mimic Ashido’s baby voice that you hear her only use with Kirishima.

Bakugou cackled loudly at the comment, clearly amused by your impersonation. “Or when they go off to each lunch by themselves, cuddling under a tree, and then coming back like giddy teenagers,” He added.

“Oh, yeah!” You animatedly exclaimed, “How could I forget? Kirishima ends up staring out the window all of class!”

As your laughter died down, the two of you arrived at the double doors that led to the small gym. Luckily, no one else was inside due to how late it was. In fact, you four might be here past curfew. Despite this, you entered into the gym which had a few different weight machines and treadmills as well as a room to the left that was dim and specifically designed for yoga.

You knew this was the gym that Ashido frequently used late at night but weren’t familiar with the layout. Slowly, you put down your belongings, chugged down a few gulps of your water and made your way into the yoga room. The room had too large baskets on wheels that came up to about your waist. Inside, were blue and white yoga mats with the school’s logo on it. It was for student use and cleaned every week, a small perk for going to such a prestigious hero school. By the time you grabbed a mat, you heard the large metal and glass doors once again opening. Waiting for the couple, you rolled out your mat and brought your water to your side.

Although you did yoga frequently and could easily start your own routine, you figured the four of you would want to do a routine together. Once inside, Kirishima and Ashido quickly came into the yoga room and set up mats.

“I’ll hook up my phone to the projector so we can play a video,” Ashido explained as she plugged her phone into a wire that connected to the projector.

You watched the pink girl search up a yoga routine that was primarily focused on stretching the body pre-workout. The video was about half an hour-long, so you simply prepared yourself by sitting on your knees and waiting for the introduction to finish.

Yoga went by rather quickly, which each of you silently following the video. You were all in your own worlds, thinking about your own problems or simply letting your mind go black as you followed the routine. You could tell it was something your mind and body was craving after a long day of theorizing and sitting at the desk.

Once the routine finally ended, you let out a big breath and stretched your body one final time before grabbing your water bottle to drink from. “Ah, that was so good!” You sighed, completely satisfied.

Kirishima and Ashido hummed in agreement as they rolled up their mats.

“And now it’s time to put that stretching to good use,” Bakugou added, as he passed by you with his own rolled mat. He grabbed yours, which you just finished rolling, and went to put them away. Once done, he made his way back to you and held out his hand to help you up. “Shall we go run?” He asked while he effortlessly pulled you up.

“We shall,” You replied, a wide smile on your face.

Bakugou had never, not even when he was kicking your ass in training, helped your up or touched your hand. Immediately, you felt heat spreading up your face and your heart beating faster.

Ashido, who was putting her own yoga mat into her bag eyed you suspiciously. Subtly, you gave her a surprised look and shrugged your shoulders. Bakugou inevitably let go of your hand after you were standing up straight. He was surprisingly warm and you held quickly went cold without his touching.

In an attempt to play everything off cool, you simply followed behind him, grabbing your bag and moving to the treadmill next to his. You placed your belongings down, took one last gulp of water, and got onto your treadmill.

Bakugou, who had already started, was going at a slow pace and you decided to follow in line with him. The slow speed was an ideal way to warm up your body and prepare you for a faster pace.

You didn’t have to wait long, however, because Bakugou soon sped up his treadmill by two. He gave you’re a clear look and you didn’t even have to take out your earbuds to know he was subtly saying there is no way in hell you will run faster than me.

After a few more strides, you also increased your speed, clicking three times to be running one faster than him.

Almost immediately, Bakugou gave you another look and increased his speed. This game of tug-of-war continued for a few minutes, each of you slowly increasing your speed in order to one-up the other. It was fun when you started slow, and you even found yourself smiling when you were running at a speed just below a sprint. However, you were now sprinting at a breakneck pace and craving this game to stop.

You once again, and quite stubbornly, pressed the up arrow to increase your speed.

Bakugou attempted to groan under his breath, but he was going too fast to have control over his voice and you clearly heard the roan of indignation. The blond pressed his finger onto the up arrow and increased his speed just as he had done before. This time, however, he notably did not go past your speed.

The both of you were now running at the same speed, and although you were tempted to go up at least one more to irk Bakugou, you knew it was best not to. It was all down to endurance now.

You focused your attention on running, moving your arms to help your speed, and focusing on your breathing to make sure you were taking in big and consistent breaths.

“Woah, Bakugou and Y/N-chan!” Kirishima’s voice rang through your ears. Despite only being two treadmills over and a total of 12 feet, you could barely hear him. “So manly!” If you were looking at him, you would see him send a cheeky smile to Ashido before increasing his own speed.

However, you were all too involved in your own competition to worry about him.

You felt your legs burn and crave for a break. You felt so hot that you were sure you were steaming. In fact, you saw steam.

Steam? You looked to your left from where it was coming and saw steam emitting from Bakugou’s palms. You could have gasped in surprise if you weren’t so already short on breath. The next thing to smelled was an intense caramel. Or is it burning sugar? You questioned as you realized it was coming from the blond next to you.

It smells so sweet, you thought, clearly distracted. It made you think of caramel apples at amusement parks, chewing on the delectable treat as you walked around, surrounded by vibrant lights.

You inhaled deeply, trying to take it all in. Suddenly, you tripped. The floor fell out from under you, and you did not have enough speed or traction to keep up. Quickly, you clutched onto the railings and got back up to speed. The difficult action, which would surely leave bruises on your arms, lasted only a few seconds. Although Bakugou noticed, he didn’t say anything, so you simply kept up with running.

However, now your body ached even more. All you wanted to do was stop and you couldn’t drag your brain away from the idea. You felt your limbs begging to slow down and you could no longer deny the request. Reluctantly, you slowed down the treadmill with a sigh. Bakugou immediately noticed the action and shot his arms up with a small “woop!” in excitement.

At least seeing him so excited was worth it, you thought as you finally stopped the treadmill.

With exhaustion running through your veins, you got off the treadmill and made a beeline to your water. Your legs gave out and you sat against the wall, arching your back to give your lungs room. You chugged a few gulps of the cool beverage before you brought your hands above your head. It was the best way to get air into your lungs and control your breathing again.

Bakugou quickly joined you, copying your actions but while standing up.

“Good job, guys!” Ashido exclaimed, giving you both a thumbs up as she jogged at a much more reasonable pace.

You returned the gesture before grabbing your water again. Slumped up against the wall, you closed your eyes. Mentally, you made a note to not go out running tomorrow.

While you rested, you heard Ashido and Kirishima turn off their treadmills and join you against the wall. They chatted amongst themselves while Bakugou sat next to you.

Immediately, the caramel smell emitting off him wafted into your noise and filled your senses with euphoria and anxiety. He smelled so good, and yet you were certain he was much closer to you now. You could practically feel his body heat against your left arm.

The chatter from Ashido and Kirishima provided white noise, while Bakugou’s sweet aroma and warm body provided the ultimate guide to sleep. Your tired body craved it and you slowly felt yourself falling deeper and deeper.

Too tired to notice, you slowly leaned to the left, your shoulder eventually touching Bakugou’s. It was slight, a small brush of skin, but the blond immediately noticed the action, who stared at your sleeping body which found comfort in the purchase of his body.

You weren’t sure how much time passed when you were woken back up. In fact, you didn’t realize you fell asleep until you were waking up and opening your eyes to the sight of Bakugou’s own crimson orbs.

Quickly, you noticed the feeling of a warm arm against yours and moved abruptly away.

You could feel the heat spread from your neck to your cheeks and ears. If you weren’t in such shock, you would have also been certain that Bakugou’s own cheeks blushed pink. You shook your head in confusion, pushing away the ridiculous thoughts that came to mind.

“S-sorry!” You stuttered out, your voice barely emitting a sound.

“It’s fine,” Bakugou confidently laughed, brushing off the topic. “I just thought you would want to head back soon since you are falling asleep.”

“Uh, yeah,” You mumbled, “Thanks.” Looking away, you set your eyes on all your belongings and began picking them up. Sometimes it was difficult to look him in the eyes. Despite how warm and entrancing they were, they made you feel hot all over and spread nerves all throughout your body. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stood all the way up and awaited Bakugou.

It only took a moment for the blond to stand upright after you. Gingerly smiling, you turned and made your way to the door.

“You guys coming?” Bakugou asked, walking backward so he could face the couple.

“Later,” Ashido mumbled, waving him away as she continued to smile at her boyfriend.

Bakugou hummed in acknowledgment and turned to you, a signal to open the door into the empty hallway.

“Today was fun,” You remarked, sparing a glance at the blond as the metal door eased closed. “Although I am sure tomorrow will be tough.” You paused, thinking over your schedule, “At least I only have class tomorrow.”

Although you were too nervous to look long, you saw the blond smile shyly and nod his head. “Yeah, I’m just glad I am done with the assignment due in English tomorrow.”

“Ah,” You replied, “How I wish I only had English assignments instead of extra Japanese assignments.”

“You’ll need to learn if you plan to stay here,” Bakugou remarked.

You scoffed, “I would argue that my Japanese was quite good already.” Rolling your eyes, you spared a teasing smile to him.

“What about when you are given a paper report and expected to read it all in minutes? Or when you have to write a report after a mission?” Bakugou shot back.

You groaned loudly, simply imagining how torturous a kanji-filled report that you would need to run through quickly. “Maybe you’ll be nice enough to write my reports for me?” You joked, opening your eyes and pouting in an attempt to look cute.

Bakugou blew air out his nose in a short laugh. “Bold of you to assume that I would even hire you to work at my agency.”

“Rude,” You replied, knowing full well that this was all a joke. “I think I would be a good hire, I could keep you calm during idiotic interviews or meetings too.” You looked into his eyes, “So, you want to start your own agency?”

“Need to if I’m going to be number one,” Bakugou curtly answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well,” You began, “If I’m still in the area, and you are in desperate need of a hire, I would be happy to help.”

“Thanks.”

A small laugh and a brief look had your insides twisting. You once again felt hot. However, you were now, luckily, in the cool air of the night. You calmed yourself as the two of you approached the dorms.

Bakugou took a few quick steps to get ahead of you to reach the door. He moved to the side so you could enter in first and you smiled and nodded politely.

However, when you entered the dorm, your mood quickly changed. Practically every student was in the living room, some standing, some sitting. Most notably, Aizawa-sensei stood in the dining room, leaned up against the large wooden table, and clearly lost in his thoughts. Multiple sets of eyes turned to look at you. Your anxieties pooled in your stomach as you looked at your teacher.

Is it that bad that we are past curfew?

You felt Bakugou’s body pressed close up against yours. You were too scared to move, so the blond had to squeeze in. He was about to jokingly push you out of the way until he noticed the concerning scene in front of him.

You had no time to think about how comforting the action was, especially as he placed your hands onto your shoulders. He squeezed the slightly, but you were unsure if it was an action that was supposed to make you feel better or to make your move. You stumbled forward, but the blond hardly moved.

Aizawa cleared his throat and moved from his perch at the table. Silently, he approached you. “Let’s talk outside,” He whispered so only Bakugou, and you could hear. “Just you,” He elaborated, looking into your eyes.

You gulped and let Bakugou push you away so Aizawa could reach the door and lead the way out. You only snapped back to reality when your shoulders were suddenly cold at the lost touch.

“Okay,” You mumbled, stumbling to follow after your teacher. Maybe he was going to lecture us separately? You wondered, clinging to the hope that this was a simple scolding and not a disastrous event.

It must be my mom, what else would it be?

“Is my mom okay?” You immediately questioned when the door Bakugou closed was finally shut.

“Yes,” He abruptly replied, “Let’s talk this way.” He led you around the building to where there were multiple benches.

“My siblings?”

“Sit,” He spoke and motioned at a long bench.

You sat quickly, hoping it would make the news come quicker as well.

“There is no easy way to say this,” He began, “Please just listen.” Aizawa rubbed his eyes, clearly drained. “There was a prison escape at the North-Western prison. A total of 117 inmates escaped and are being rounded up. Your father is one of them.”

[mandoalorian]

I'll See You Again, I Promise [Din Djarin x Reader]

!! SPOILERS FOR THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 2 FINALE. DISCRETION ADVISED. !!

Author's note: Spoilers for the Season 2 finale of the Mandalorian. Just like last time, I wrote this in three hours. The episode literally came out three hours ago. I'm so thankful for how many people liked my one shot based around last week's episode— and as promised, this is a continuation of this week's episode (the season finale). You don't have to read the previous part in order to understand this, but if you wish to read it you can find it here.

Masterlist

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

Taglist for this part: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @dantakuart @yikesdameron @artsyzartsi @karnita-mexicana @multifandomfollower @saavikchekov @what-is-life-in-general @karnita-mexicana @pcrushinnerd @tillytheslytherin @jedinerd27 @queenofspades20

Din Djarin taglist: @alecdamndario0

gif by @cavill-henry

When you saw Din return, holding the child in one hand, and the ancient Mandalorian weapon in the other hand, relief washed over you. Your whole body deflated and you let out a sigh you didn't even know you were holding in.

"Where are the others?" Din asked, his voice gruff as he pushed a binded Moff Gideon to the ground. You gasped when your eyes met with the ex-ISB officer who you knew had given Din so much trauma and hurt. There was a dark and menacing glint in his eyes that you could see right through.

"With Boba on the ship. They didn't think you'd come back," you admitted sheepishly, biting your lip as you cautiously looked back up at Din. "But I believed in you." You desperately tried to search through his visor and locate his brown eyes.

You wanted to cry; your little family had been restored. Grogu had been rescued. You were once more a clan of three. And now, things could be different. You had seen the beauty that was hidden beneath the beskar. You had seen Din for who he really was. You imagined starting a new life with him and the Child, far far away and out of any danger. You could be happy. Of course, you had to deal with Moff Gideon first.

You took a step closer to Din, breaking any remaining distance and placing a hand on his chest. "I'm so glad you're safe." Din revealed with a shaky exhale as you caressed the child. You wanted nothing more than to curl up into his arms and tell him how much you loved him, how proud you were. Grogu was so lucky to have a father as loving as Din.

"We can leave now," you smiled weakly. "We can be free. Go to the lake county on Naboo and start a new life. Live in peace." You had half forgotten Moff Gideon was even there. You just wanted to live in the moment with Din. All you could see was the love of your life holding his child. Everything else in your peripheral vision was a blur. It didn't matter.

"How cute," Moff Gideon's lips curled into a snarl. "The Mandalorian has a lover? What an unexpected twist of events." Din knocked Gideon to the ground the second those malicious words left his mouth, leaving him doubled over and grumbling in pain.

"We don't have time to stick around, we have to go." Din told you, grabbing your hand and interlocking his gloved fingers with yours. You were ready. You were so ready to leave this life behind and be with Din and Grogu forever. It was the happily ever after you knew Din deserved more than anyone else in the galaxy. Before the blast doors could open, the nav system began to beep hysterically, illustrating that a single light Starfighter was boarding the same Imperial cruiser you and your little family were on.

"It's an X-Wing…" you were rendered speechless. Din considered who it might have been. Had Cara comm’d the New Republic from the ship? If so, why was it only just one fighter? Could it have been the likes of Trapper Wolf who had granted Din a favour back when he encountered trouble on the ice planet of Maldo Kreis? Din was truly clueless.

Grogu began to coo and shuffle around, prompting Din to carefully place his son on the floor. Grogu waddled over to you by the terminal, gargling and pointing his finger up at one of the screens. "What is it buddy?" you asked, leaning down and picking up Grogu. Grogu guided you to the CCTV where you saw a cloaked figure emerge from the X-Wing and ignite a lightsaber. Your heart stopped. "Din…" you said nervously, your grip tightening around Grogu defensively. "You might want to see this."

Din approached the small screen and looked closely. "A Jedi?" he asked, although it almost sounded rhetorical. He looked back at Grogu who was already staring up at him. "Did you… did you bring him here?" Din asked the child, his voice breaking slightly. Grogu made a small and indistinguishable noise in response.

"No," you placed a hand on Din's shoulder with comfort. "No, Grogu wouldn't…" you reassured him.

"The seeing stone," Din deadpanned, his gaze not tearing from his son once. He remembered Ahsoka Tano's words. "Grogu reached out with the force and if a Jedi felt his presence, they'd come looking for him," Din turned to you, his body stiff and his voice shallow. "And they've come."

Your lips parted slightly as you turned back to the screen, watching as the mysterious figure roamed through the halls of the Imperial cruiser. Part of you deep down knew that Din was right. It was the only plausable explanation, but that didn't mean you wanted it to happen. You knew it wouldn't be long until you were found.

"Din, let's go," you said with teary eyes, feeling your anxiety bubble up in your stomach. "Please Din? Can we just go."

Din clenched his fingers into a fist. "No." he said sternly, his voice returning back to being gruff and modulated. He was doing what he always did when fear consumed him. He'd shut himself out and go into hunter/protector mode. He'd become the fighter he was trained to be since he was just a young boy.

"Din." you hated the way his name fell from your tongue, sounding needy and desperate, but you were just as afraid. You didn't want to stay any longer. You had what you needed; Din and the child. You didn't need anything else. You could go now.

Din picked up Grogu and nursed him in his arms, holding him close to his chest. Just like always, Grogu curled up into his father, taking comfort in feeling his beating heart, learning the true feeling of unconditional familial love.

The blast doors shot open and the cloaked figure entered the room. Your fingers dropped to the blaster in your holster as he approached you both. The man put his lightsaber away, signifying surrender, and pulled down his hood, revealing himself. He looked slightly older than you, with pale skin with mousy brown hair. He looked like he had seen a lot in his lifetime.

"Are you a Jedi?" Din asked eventually, breaking the silence through the need of confirmation.

"Yes, my name is Luke Skywalker," he introduced with a small nod. You recognised that name… Skywalker, perhaps from old tales, the likes of myths and folk stories. You didn't spend long contemplating the mystery man's identity. There were more pressing matters at hand and so you opted to brush it off completely. "I have come for the child," Luke announced and Grogu turned from Din, his ears cocking at the mention of him and looked at the man with curiosity. "Hello little one." Luke smiled.

Grogu cooed in response before turning back to his father with big pleading eyes. "He doesn't want to go with you." Din gulped, his heart aching. There was no way to be sure, Din could never know exactly what Grogu wanted. But he was aware of the bond he had with his son, now more than ever he was aware. He knew that there was no way his son would want to leave him. Din loved Grogu. Din loved Grogu with every inch of his being.

"He wants your permission." Luke explained, and Din turned back to look at the little green bean in his arms. His… permission? "He is incredibly strong with the force and without learning how to utiIize his powers he can become a danger to those around him… and a danger to himself. It's important that he understands the nature of the power he possesses."

Luke's words became a blundered fuzz in the back of your mind. This was Grogu— this was Din's little boy. When Din looked into Grogu's eyes, he saw nothing but memories. From the pair of them sipping spotchka, to chasing frogs and playing in the hull of the Razor Crest, everything just felt so distant. Din took a deep breath, his finger softly brushing against Grogu's cheek.

"Hey go on… he's one of your kind," Din winced at his own words. One of your kind— something the Armourer had implanted in Din's head all those months ago. "I'll see you again. I promise."

You felt your heart shatter in your chest. This… wasn't meant to happen. It wasn't meant to end up like this. You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something and put a stop to this absurdity. You knew better than anyone that Din needed Grogu and Grogu needed Din. It felt like your throat had closed up, like you could hardly breathe. All you could do was stand there and watch it play out.

Grogu reached up with a small wail, his green claw tracing the curves and ridges of Din's beskar helmet.

Din knew exactly what his son wanted, and right now, Din was certain he wanted it too. Just for once, he wanted to look at his son with his own eyes. Not the eyes blinded by his visor blade, Din wanted the child to know his face. Recognise him. With a hiss and a click, Din removed his helmet. You swore your heart stopped upon seeing him again. Brown eyes, but this time they were glazed with tears and there was nothing you could do about it.

Grogu reached back up and rested his claw over Din's jaw. Subconsciously, Din leaned his cheek into Grogu's hand, never wanting to pull away from his touch. His heart was broken beyond repair.

"All right pal," Din rasped. "It's time to go." He didn't want this. He couldn't do this. But he had to. He had to be strong for his son. He had to be a good father. "Don't be afraid." Was Din's final words to his son.

He placed Grogu down carefully and nodded towards Luke, accepting his fate. Grogu clutched onto Din's leg, not wanting to let go. His little mind was racing with wonder— why can't his daddy come with him? Why must he go alone? The erratic beeps of a white and blue astromech droid were what eventually tore the curious child from his father. Grogu waddled towards the droid and Luke picked him up.

No matter how hard he tried, Din couldn't seem to swallow the lump in his throat. Everything Din had done so far had led up to the moment, and he wanted to curse himself for letting it affect him this much. He should've been prepared. It's just, he really didn't think this would happen. He really didn't think Grogu would want to leave.

He didn't blame the child of course. He could never blame the child. He just wished he understood. Just before the doors to the elevator closed, Luke spoke up. Unfazed, unbroken. "May the force be with you." he wished. Din ignored the comment. It meant nothing to him. Nothing meant anything anymore. No meaning, no purpose. Luke tapped the key that would shut the doors and Din offered his son once last nod, trying his hardest to break out an impossible smile. When the doors finally closed, Din let out a choked sob and fell to his knees.

You sprinted over to Din, kneeling down and pulling him into you. He cried, hot salty tears falling from his brown eyes and dripping down his face. You pulled his head into your lap and smoothed out his hair trying your hardest to lull him. But you couldn't. You couldn't even bring yourself to comfort him. Your shoulders curled in and you fell limp, whimpering into his hair. You felt completely broken. Grogu was like a son to you, and you cherished him so very much. You couldn't even imagine how Din was feeling.

His little family was no more but he knew that Grogu was going to go on to do bigger and better things. No matter what, Grogu was going to make Din proud.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Thackery Binx

(My alright gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I wasn’t entirely sure how I would work this one out but I think I came up with a pretty cute concept)

- When you first met Thackery, you certainly weren’t thinking of him as a future boyfriend. You’d just moved to Salem, something you; a baby witch, were particularly excited about.

- It was a night like any other, but you’d decided that tonight would be the night that you’d perform your first ritual. So you went down to the Sanderson house late at night, sneaking inside though it wasn’t like anyone really cared what happened to the place.

- Thackery took immediate notice of you, watching from behind a few corners as you walked around and examined the place. He figured you were just a stupid teenager; albeit a very pretty one, and would leave any moment. That was when you settled down on the floor and opened your bag, lighting a few candles before getting all your things situated.

- You closed your eyes, beginning your chant as you held your hands out. The room around you was dead silent as you focused on what you were doing, willing your ritual to work. That was when you nearly had a heart attack as Thackery lunged onto your back.

- You scrambled to stand, gasping for breath and nearly knocking over the flames you’d lit as you searched the area, laughing breathlessly once you saw the black cat a little ways away from you. You cursed at him half heartedly, pressing a hand to your beating heart as you crouched down to his level.

“Are you my familiar? Huh?” You whispered sweetly. He watched you intently but didn’t move, letting you reach out slowly and scratch behind his ears.

- You looked around the room, sighing softly as you leaned over and blew out your candles, gathering your things to leave. So much for tonight being the night.

- Perhaps nothing happened that night but you would try again. You kept returning to the place, sometimes bringing your things, sometimes just bringing food for the cat that was always there. After a while, the mangy feline began to follow you around even outside of the house, always showing up as you went outside or arriving at your window mewling to be let in.

- It was a few weeks after you first encountered the cat that you’d come to realize just who you’d encountered. You’d had a rough day and just wanted to get away for a while, so you’d went back to the Sanderson house, knowing no one else would bother you there. Well, no one but your furry friend.

“So we meet again.” you smiled, watching as the familiar feline stalked towards you and nuzzles into your outstretched hand.

“I should give you a name, shouldn’t I? I can’t just keep calling you kitty. If you’re my familiar then you need a sophisticated name. Are you my familiar? ...Or are you Thackery Binx.” You’d joked, remembering the tale of the boy and the witches.

“So glad you’ve finally realized.” Your mouth nearly dropped to the floor.

- Well now that the secret was out, Thackery explained everything and enlisted your help in trying to turn him back into a human, and potentially to get rid of the Sanderson sisters for good. And so, you began your search for the solution to his century old problem.

- It took a while but you thought that you finallly figured it out, so you brought him into your room, set everything up, and began the process. The candles were lit, the herbs were placed down, the runes were written, and... nothing happened.

- You were dissapointed upon opening your eyes and seeing nothing but the usual black cat sitting before you. But then, the candles blew out and you were plunged into darkness.

- You gasped, looking around wildly as though you’d be able to see anything in the dark. You were just about to get up and turn on the light when all of a sudden, the candles were lit once more. You blinked a couple times as your eyes adjusted to the light ...and there he was.

Okay, so why the fuck is he hot. “Wow. You’re like handsome. I mean you’re a boy and you’re like seventeen. I mean you’re not old, you’re ...you’re you...again.

- The boy smiled, glancing down at his hands and then the rest of his body in awe before he surged forward and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into a tight hug.

“You’re brilliant, y/n! Absolutely brilliant!”

- Well, time would reveal that you weren’t as brilliant as you or him thought. Yes, technically you did turn him human again, but only in certain places and only while you were alone.

- For instance: your property; where he was turned human again, the Sanderson house; where he was turned into a cat, and the graveyard; where he should have been all this time. Anywhere else and he was just a wittle puddytat.

- But Thackery was more than grateful. He’d been a cat for so long that being human for any length of time felt like a miracle. And now that he was partially human, he felt that he could finally try to do something about his growing feelings for you.

- Over time, the two of you grew closer and your will they, won’t they relationship began. He came so close to confessing to you; more than once, but you were always somehow interrupted or you said something that threw him off.

- Then, after nearly half a year of him falling more and more in love with you everyday; he finally confessed his feelings to you.

- You arrived home one day, only to find a piece of paper folded neatly on your pillow. You opened it and found a long letter detailing everything he loved about you and telling you exactly how he felt. Believe me, you’ll never read anything more romantic in your life.

- Like a rational person who was just told how much their crush likes them in the most beautiful way possible, you ran off to find him. You had a good idea as to where he was hiding out: the Sanderson house.

- Once you got there, you burst through the doors, prompting him to stand up nervously, awaiting your reaction. He was just about to try and say something before you strode over to him and pulled him into a kiss. After he got over the initial shock, he smiled and kissed back, pulling you closer as his hands found your waist.

- Alright, so maybe he’s just an ...indoor boyfriend, but you love him all the same and he loves you with all his heart.

- Pda? He’s a cat in public so it’s a bit hard to do, but you can pet him, hold him in your arms or kiss his fuzzy little head; people will just think he’s your pet.

- Nose kisses. They’re perfect for cat Thackery and normal Thackery, and for you at any given time.

- Soft, gentle kisses.

- Innocent and sweet touches. Sometimes he just touches you for the sake of touching you, there’s no real reason behind it besides the fact that he never wants you forget how nice you feel.

- He was a Puritan so; while he definitely has a bit more modern ideas from living through the years, he most likely has a few prudish beliefs that you may need to pull out of him.

- Like making out: something you had to persuade him into trying but something he is very glad that you showed him.

- Playfully chasing each other in your backyard or around the house. It’s very fun to tease him and then run off as he happily gives chase.

- He likes to pick you up at random; spinning around with you in his arms and swinging you softly.

- He tends to just use your name rather than nicknames or pet names, but when he does use them they’re old fashioned. Things like: dearest, beloved, and darling.

- Cheek kisses.

- Handholding, Hand kisses, playing with your hands, anything having to do with hands just please let him touch your hands like the repressed Puritan that he is.

- He’s touch starved and you can pry that from my cold dead hands. He’s been alone for centuries, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s forgotten how good it feels to be touched.

- Any kind of cuddling is fine by him, as long as he can wrap his arms tight around you. Most of the time, you wind up laying on top of him, head on his chest with his hands tangling through your hair. He’s very good at putting you to sleep like that.

- Waking up to soft kisses or him jolting awake in a cold sweat, calling your name and squeezing you tightly once he sees that you’re still there.

- Comforting him when he thinks about his sister and the life he had to leave behind.

- Getting to hear stories about the world throughout the years. Ever wondered what it was like in the 1800s? Well he’s lived through them, just ask him.

- He’s completely adamant about taking care of you when you get sick. He rushes over to you the instant you seem slightly under the weather, forcing a hand onto your forehead, and asking you a million questions. He’ll refuse to leave your side until you’re completely well again.

- He cannot stand seeing you cry; it tears him apart every time you get misty eyed. He’d do anything to make you feel better, asking if this or that would help or trying to get to the bottom of what's making you so upset.

- Compliments said in such a sincere and serious tone that they make you flustered and unsure of what to say. So, the best kinds of compliments. 

- Buying him some new and different clothes. 

- Want to give him a bath, you temptress? You want to see him in the nude, you meddling seductress? Hmmm? Perhaps he’ll allow it, just this once. 

- God, do you know how flustered he’d get when you have to get changed in front of him? He’d be trying his best to look away and give you privacy yet fighting the urge to peek at you, red in the face and stiff in his place. 

- He really wishes that he could help you with your homework and things of that nature but …what the fuck is calculus and what monster created it. 

- If you place a hand on his face or rub his shoulders, he’ll close his eyes and literally purr in delight. 

- Playing with his hair. He used to let Emily braid and/or tie it for him so it always gives him this melancholic feeling of joy whenever you do it.

- Can you please feed him something. Please, just give him a sandwich. He’s been eating mice all these years; he deserves some good food.

- Your family is definitely going to wonder why the cat is so attached to you. They’ll probably make jokes every time he hops on (only) your lap or completely walks past them to get to you.

- He’s slightly clingy; there’s only so much time when he can be human and hold you like a real man so he never wants to waste a moment when you’re together.

- Ever just want to be greeted with complete enthusiasm when you get home? As and you shall receive! He’ll lunge at you the instant you get step inside; if you have to leave him at home, or pull you into a kiss the moment the door shuts behind the two of you.   

- He loves when you sit on his lap but in that innocent old fashioned lovers sort of way. He usually pulls you onto his thigh whenever you’re sitting and talking, resting his chin on your shoulder while he listens intently. 

- Most of your dates are going to take place inside your house. You can’t exactly go many places besides your home, unless you want to go on a date with a cat. 

- Dates usually consist of just sitting together and talking, watching movies, reading books; things like that. 

- Candlelit hang outs at the Sanderson house. You’re never disturb and don’t have to worry about your parents or anyone else hearing you talk to him. 

- He’s determined to improve his storytelling skills just because you look so adorable hanging on the edge of your seat while listening to the folktales and old town gossip that he knows. 

- You’re definitely going to be roped into the Halloween adventure. He’ll literally just show up on your doorstep with Max, Dani and Allison, and you’ll just think to yourself “dammit new kid”. 

- Sarcasm and passive aggressive comments. They never actually hurt your feelings but they may make you send him a dirty look.

- You get back at him by calling him an adorable little kitty cat and just overall treating him like a pet. It’s very satisfying to see him get all broody as you ruffle his hair and babytalk him. 

- Having to lay down the law. 

“Thackery, you just killed a mouse like thirty minutes ago. I’m not kissing you.”

- He’s incredibly protective of you. After losing Emily and facing the Sanderson sisters, how couldn’t he be?

- Jealousy? He’s had to watch guys hit on you while being in the form of a cat; unable to deter them or prevent them from even approaching you in the first place. Of course he’s gotten jealous before. He does make sure to get his revenge on/chase people away though, jumping on or swiping at people on more than a few occasions.

- He’s definitely tried to get the scoop on your virginity and ex boyfriends by talking about the candle. Like “well maybe you could light the candle and we can just defeat them. Unless~”

- He can get a bit snappy at times so you’ve certainly had some arguments though he rarely stays mad for very long. Usually, he’ll apologize right after and try to use his words instead of just getting upset with you, like he’ll say snap and then say “I’m sorry but x”. 

- He’s a bit paranoid about not saying he loves you enough so he tries to say it as much as he can. He doesn’t want you to ever think that he doesn’t, especially if something happens to either of you.

- The future is certainly not set in stone but you’re hoping to stay by each other’s sides for a long time. Either way, he promises to always be with you. 

[so-i-dont-forget-again]

So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Entry 208: Zora’s Domain

 Sidon made me breakfast. He made things I had taught him to make back at Hateno, he had to wake up very early to get the ingredients on time. He tried to hide it, but I could see he was a little sleepy through the whole day, he’s had such little rest. I really appreciate this, him just focusing on me, almost like there’s nothing else, but I don’t want him to push himself. Though I want to thank him all the same. He just makes me feel so special and safe, in a way unlike anything else, I guess. I feel like he really sees me, like he truly wants me. I don’t know how to describe this, but I want to. I want to pour these feelings into these pages, have him read this so he can know just how much he means to me, how he’s an irreplaceable part of my life, how he

I just want him to know as amazing as he finds me, I find him to be just the same. He’s much more eloquent with words than me, so maybe he’d know how to write this, but I want to at least try, even if this is just kinda incoherent thoughts by now.

We went to market, it’s a bit away from town, but that’s because it’s more of a trading area so Hylians and Gorons and others can get there easier than going through the canyon to the town. We did some shopping but we heard a lot of rumors. A new hero appearing, one who couldn’t be the reincarnated one. A hero who did not wield the blade of evil’s bane but a trident, instead of working in service of the princesses, or royalty, or goddess they worked for the people, a blond gender ambiguous Hylian who slew a massive, fearsome beast all to get ingredients for a medicine for a gerudo woman’s sick husband they didn’t even know, a person who helped the descendants of the champions calm all the Divine Beasts soon after their rampages began, a person who is a brother to the strong gorons, a person who had begun to teach others how to fend for themselves, on and on it went, even false or exaggerated tales. They were all about one simple person who served the people for their sake and nothing else. This person was not grand or flashy, they were only recognized since tridents are an uncommon weapon and even more uncommon for hylians outside of the royal family to be blond, two odd, eye catching characteristics and people made the connections from there. Sidon told me it just seemed fitting that the “Hero of the People” would wish to use all his peoples’ fighting styles, a person who was strong with all their power, their best qualities united.

I guess it is fitting. Before being the chosen hero or whatever felt like a burden, but this time, it felt different, it didn’t feel bad, like there’s this cumbersome weight I just can’t carry. I’m being called a hero for things I have done already, not things I’m expected to do, I think that’s the difference. I think Sidon could tell too. He admitted he was a little nervous about this, but if I did react badly, he wanted to be beside me so he could comfort me and not have me over hear this some other place far away and for my thoughts to go dark again. And we had the whole day to be together so we could do something fun to get my mind off it.

We had a lovely walk back. Bossa Nova kept trying to steal some of the ingredients we ended up running part of the way as he chased us. He even tried nibbling on my hair to get my attention. Sidon tried scolding him, but Bossa Nova didn’t care. After gifting a Hearty Radish he calmed down, but Sidon said I shouldn’t spoil him, that he’ll just take advantage of that and eat through all my non-meat supplies sooner or later. But then he just looked at me for a moment, smiled and shook his head before turning back to the trail ahead. When I asked him what that meant he told me he couldn’t find my behavior endearing and that I need to learn how to say ‘no’ sometimes. I guess he is a prince, he has to make decisions for his people, and he’ll likely have to say ‘no’ sometimes, but how can you say no to a cute hungry capybara! Besides I don’t think he would have stopped trying to knock us over till he was fed so I don’t think it could have been THAT bad. Just a treat. He’s a good boy, he needs the love. Sidon then gasped and said this must be why Bossa Nova likes me more now. It was clear he was play acting, playing up the moment but his reaction did get Bossa Nova to charge at him and knock him into the river for hugs. Much of the fruit started floating down river and it took a while to collect it all.

We cooked lunch together, a fusion between Rito and Zora cuisine. I always love cooking with him, well I just like cooking, but especially with him. Food reflects it’s culture and traditions, cooking is literally making something to help the other keep living and making it enjoyable all the while. I don’t think I need food, not anymore at least, but I can still enjoy it, making it and tasting it with others. Eating and cooking with others feels different than on your own, it only makes sense, food reflects people and so more people would surely make it taste better. All this to say I just really enjoyed lunch. And Bossa Nova still ate his meal so giving him his treat was not spoiling him! He didn’t eat his whole thing though, but that’s not the point! He still ate it… I guess it’s because I don’t get hungry I don’t see the point in having scheduled meals. Sidon said that was not the point, the point being Bossa Nova acting bratty to get whatever he wants. But could it be so bad, all he ever wants is food or extra affection.

Sidon asked if I knew how long I can hold my breath for. Much of his kingdom is underwater and he wanted to show more of it to me. Zoras really are made for the water, even the shape of their heads are kind of like arrows so they can effortlessly pierce through it. I know fish need fins to swim, I wonder how fins help Zora swim. They’re just stunning racing past, or at least Sidon is. Even with my complete zora armor set swimming can be a struggle but for him it’s effortless, he can go in circles and make twists and turns so quickly. Light seems much starker underwater, either bright or dark, I notice his glowy parts much more, I still can’t tell if they’re always glowing or if the glow activates when he’s in shade.

His home underwater looks similarish to land with similar plants, but there are also very different ones I don’t even know where to begin describing them. Some are kind of like flat dishes and others more spindly, then there are others that are wrinkly, I’ve never seen plants like those in the rivers before. There are some like stone, Sidon says they’re called coral and are plants oddly enough. Many of these only grow in the domain, but there are similar ones in the ocean. I wondered if any could be used in cooking, as they are plants zoras have never tried and Sidon was rather keen on assisting me if I tried working with them.

His kingdom underwater is so much larger than on the surface. Sidon and his people could so easily be separated from the rest of the world and be just fine. Their most important places like the throne room are on the surface so others can more easily reach them. That is something he’s always had been so appreciative of his ancestors for doing. His people, they’ve always been distant from the rest of Hyrule whether they lived solely underwater or some place out of reach or hidden away, of all times this current era is likely the closest they have been to others even with being separated by a distant canyon still. He doesn’t like this distance, even if it is better than before. After the champions fell and the hylians had no leader, everyone mostly went their own ways and more of a divide was created between everyone, sure there’s trade and the mail service but other than that, nothing, no alliance promises or at least documents stating they were at peace with one another, there’s nothing except for the few individuals who sought out pay from others, that’s why he finds what I’m doing to be so incredible. This legend I’m making just by being myself, becoming something or someone everyone can connect too or want to strive for. A kind of hero he could only have dreamed of. I told him I can’t do anything like uniting everyone, I’ve just lived with them and gotten to know them, he however, someone who knows how to lead others, someone who can understand and relate to others so easily or through his sheer determination, his hunger to know others better, wanting those connections, he could become someone who could lead and unite hyrule. He told me uniting hyrule again was going to be a monumental task, surely one he could not handle on his own, he’d definitely need someone who’s on good terms with everyone, and more importantly a partner by his side, someone he could lean on during the rough days, someone who could emotionally support him and just be by his side, just someone precious to him to keep close.

How tenderly he held my hands and stroked them with his thumbs, and just that way he looked at me. I don’t know what I was feeling but it was so warm, and soft, and like my chest was fluttering. Just… how he wants me, not just for what I can do, he just wants me. He wants me to be there because he just wants to share his life with me, I just happen to get some additional satisfaction since I know I get to help, but even if I couldn’t I KNOW he’d want me to be there with him and it just…

It means so much to me.

Today was just so nice.

After leading me to my room he collapsed on the bed. I don’t know about him, but I know swimming definitely takes a lot of energy and he was already working with little sleep, at least this way I know for certain he’s getting rest. I hope nobody comes here looking for him. For now, I guess I should get some sleep myself.

First Page , Previous Page , Next Page 

[astriefer]

“Please hold me.” for thomastair (ofc bc that's what you said) 🥺

Thank you for this! @littlx-songbxrd you asked for this as well. I'm sorry it's so bad.

~~~~~

Trust me with thy heart

Pairing: Thomastair

Words: 4,537

Contains mild angst, some self harm and hurt/comfort.

Note I am awful at writing angst or hurt/comfort. This whole poor writing is based on miscommunication, much or less, or the fear to let others close.

~~~~~

Thomas wasn't fond of fights.

Demons were one thing. Their destiny as Shadowhunters was to protect mankind from those filthy monsters who invade their world. They brought disorder and death. The people he cared about were a different tale. 

A light jest with his friends, why not? A banter with his father about taking the coat or not while going outside? Sure. But not a very tumultuous, tempestuous strife with them. He preferred them all to get along with each other. 

Thomas liked even less when it was him involved in the disagreement.

He spent the last day jogging between massive training seasons, hanging out with his friends, and losing himself in his thoughts. Now, he avoided everyone in favor of reading Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. He made a special effort to tell no one where he was going, so non could bother him and ask him questions.

So Thomas was stunned when Ariadne Bridgestock, of all people, rushed through the entry in an unmatched combination of grace and ivory skirts, then flopped herself onto the armchair in front of Thomas.

While she had had a pleasant expression on her face, there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. If Thomas hadn't known better, he would've sworn she came here to murder him.

"You and Alastair fought," she stated.

Thomas glanced between his book to her determined face twice, considering his options. Then, on behalf of good manners, he put a bookmark on the current page he pretended to be reading for half an hour. "Is it Alastair's way to tell me to speak to him? If so, please tell him not to embroil any other folks in our relationship."

"He hadn't sent me," Ariadne ignored the last part of his sentence. "But he did not arrive for our conclave."

A spark of concern lightened up in Thomas, yet he repressed it. He was angry with Alastair, Thomas reminded himself. "And what have you speculated I can do about it?"

She looked at him funny. "Talk to him, I presume."

"Ariadne," he tried, weariness falling heavy on him. "While I appreciate your concern, I doubt Alastair wants to see me. In fact, I doubt whether I want to see him right now. I know you confide in each other-" more than Alastair does with him, the bitter thought tore its way into his head. "And your intentions are well, but I will highly prefer to keep this between myself and Alastair."

He thought this would give her down and make her apologize. "Alastair wouldn't have sent someone else, and he didn't solicit help from myself," she said instead. "He would've given time to you both to collect your minds, and then come to you in clearer mind."

It was right. He knew it was. "So this parley is all you?"

"As I said, Yes. I worried for my friend, who happened to be your partner."

Thomas brushed his thumb on the spine of the book, musing over her words.  "Why would you be worried?"

"He stood me up. I came by your flat later, just for him to say nothing has happened. When I asked where you were, he conceded you two had a big bump in the road."

"That's a nice way to put it," Thomas murmured. "I frankly wished to be left alone. It's nothing-"

"Thomas," Her amber eyes met hazel ones. "You are good at many things. Fighting demons, and keeping the rest of the Thieves out of trouble, for example."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Lying is not one of them."

Thomas swallowed, endeavoring to hide the feeling of hurt off his face. Recalling what happened a few days before made his whole body ache in pain. "So Alastair and I had a row. It always happens with lads." 

"It's not just a lad for you," she pressed. He was wide aware of the chastisement in her words. "It's Alastair. And never have I seen him the way he looked when I checked on him."

"What do you mean?" he asked after he perceived her words. "Alastair was absolutely fine when I left the flat." 

"You have to see for yourself." Ariadne said, "Go to him."

Despite the knots formed in the abdomen, he dithered. "Things ended up stormy when we last spoke. Maybe he's still mad. Maybe I'm still mad."

It wasn't just Alastair who was mad. He wondered how Alastair had been this past day, and how was he feeling, among many other thoughts. Yet the cloud of exhaustion and hurt surrounding him perturbated the nervousness. He was allowed to be upset about what happened. It sure wasn't nothing. Not on his part, at most. Why couldn't Alastair just-

"Excuses are not appreciated," Ariadne announced, "So you better confront him already, or I swear I shall chase you to the end of the Earth with my electrum whip." Ariadne threatened, and that what had taken to wake Thomas out of his hesitation.

"Of course," he sighed, "Because I don't have enough troubles already."

She brushed it off again with a smile, and Thomas felt mildly annoyed. He hadn't shown it. "Sort it out. It will benefit the two of you to tackle the problem."

She left no place for arguments. Utterly abandoning the book, Thomas rose to his feet and went to leave the room. 

He was glad to get out of the grip of this confusing confab, but he was even more unsure if to listen to her advice.

He was still angry with Alastair.

~~~~~

A veil of fog surrounded the city. It was a prevalent London day, cool and cloudy. The wind is blowing hard, welcoming passersby in a burst of freezing breeze. A thunderstorm on its way, they said.

But those were the last of things that perturbed Alastair's peace of mind. It matched his mood just fine. If someone was to describe him, curled up on his bed alone, he could imagine being portrayed as forlorn and tormented.

No, what bothered him was a particular someone that left and hasn't returned. Alastair hated he still hoped Thomas would return and make him less cold.

His breath was heavy, and his lungs burned like fire. He remembered words that haunted him for weeks in the past.  I believed you were more than what others said about you. I conceived myself beneath all the harsh words, was someone with a kind soul waiting to be seen. Was it all a lie I told myself?

Darkness flooded his senses. Trying to get any portion of self-control on his body he could, Alastair rose to his feet, glancing out of the window on unsteady legs without seeing anything at all. Gather yourself together.

But the words burned deep then, and they burned deep now. That was a battle against himself he meant to lose. The cold spread not only from the world beyond the window but from within him. It pulled out his ugly head, writhing and furious, desperately trying to break free and rise to the surface. People walked in the streets, oblivious to his troubles just as he was to theirs.

Thomas wasn't there.

Thomas wasn't there, and Cordelia wasn't there, and anyone he loved wasn't there. He locked himself in their flat for the past day, overthinking and speculating and wondering why did he have to be the way he is. If Thomas had finally realized he deserved someone so much better than Alastair, would he be surprised? Alastair was aware of this fact too well. The way he looked at him when they fought, the shaky hands when he opened the door, and the hours of waiting in case Thomas will return, just for nothing to happen. What does it mean if not that Alastair finally made Thomas give up and leave?

This inner part of him was crying, demanded to be heard, to be set free. A shrill cry came to his ears, and it took him a moment to perceive it belonged to him.

His vision became vague, his head ached, and everything spun around. He tried to lay a hand on the wall - only to find he miscalculated the distance and fell ungracefully on his knees. His heart pounded in his chest while the darkness tried to pull him in; He tried to take a breath and dozens of small knives tore his lungs up. He shrank, gasping for air that didn't come.  

Everything seemed blurry, all his mind could engross in was the words Thomas Lightwood told him, the cold truth dripping from them, freezing Alastair all over again. 

Alastair was accountable for all the hideous things he'd done and said, unquestionably. How weak is he that he hides behind shallow faces and vicious words? What a dolt he is, hurting a person, mainly the only person outside of his family that seemed to genuinely care for him. His words rang in his head, Thomas's voice haunting every corner.  

He sank lower, his breathing gurgling, reaching out in search of something stable, something that would serve as a pillar in the chaos that ensued around him. His hand extended out to the still air and then groped for something to hold on the floor. That came the way of a cold, sharp object that lay on the ground. He gripped it tightly, and he groaned in pain and relief at the physical ache that eased his mind.

"Alastair?" A voice called.

~~~~~

Thomas was about to lose his right mind. Alastair was trembling vigorously, barely able to stand on his feet that were shaking like a leaf swaying in the wind.

"Alastair," Thomas stuttered, with no response back. His indignation vanished to immediate panic. "Alastair?" he repeated more stubbornly.

His chest went up and down quickly; His eyes were wide like that of a deer caught in the automobile light. When Thomas tried to take a step toward him, the smaller man stiffened and stood bolt upright. Thomas stopped dead.

"I came at the behest of Ariadne," he said, just for the sake of talking. Alastair hadn't told him to quiet, so he kept going. "And because I was worried about you."

"Leave," Alastair hissed out frantically. Thomas couldn't stop the throbbing burn striking through his body.

Thomas took a few steps back, allowing Alastair his space. He had no temptation to leave as he requested - Thomas simply waited aside, for a chance Alastair would change his mind. He recalled the nights he woke up from a nightmare, dazed and overwhelmed with emotions, and how Alastair always reassured him in the dead of night.

This Alastair seemed lost in his own mind, unable to escape, and it terrified Thomas. Yet, he shoved the dread aside and put on the most relaxing facade he could. He was told to be quite good at it.

"I'm right here, Azizam." 

"Everyone leaves. You can do as well."

Somewhere in his mind, the pieces joined together, like a colossal puzzle. Was he afraid Thomas would leave him? That he would give up on him? he told him he could leave in their run-in, because he thought everyone will leave him in the end? 

"I don't know. I don't know how to do it." To cease making the wrong decision. To cease pushing people away. To cease hurting people. "man nemidânam."

"Alastair, can you hear me?"

As he found out, Alastair did not hear him. "I don't want to hurt you. I already hurt you so much." Alastair went on, choking on his own words. Thomas was in full panic mode, and he hurried further toward Alastair with barely contained alarm.

I find you worth any pain to come, Thomas thought. 

"It's fine," Thomas said. "I am fine. I want you to be fine as well. It's much more important to me than whether you may or may not harm me."

Something split in his face, and he took a deep breath down his throat. His eyes snapped to Thomas. The terror on his face made Thomas's heart sink.

"Alastair?" he asked, but it didn't manage to elicit a response from the other man.

Thomas drew closer to Alastair, not missing the flinch passing the half-Persian's body. Thomas could hear his breath, shallow and trembling. He could painfully see the tremor of his hands. The wide eyes that so clearly tried to hold back tears. He took one step closer, and Alastair took one back.

Thomas imminently came to a halt. Alastair squeezed hard against the wall. He looked like a captive animal on the verge of losing hope, a man pushed to the edge, an injured soul. 

Thomas took one step closer. With his enormous figure, it all needed to reach Alastair. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, didn't let go even when Alastair squirmed, trying to shove him aside, fought to set free from Thomas's grip. His hold only tightened, and he used his strength to shove Alastair's head into his chest. He kept him close, kept even when Alastair protested, kept his hold when Alastair Surrendered abruptly, sinking into the soft material of Thomas's clothing, even when sobs began and his chest got wet from the tears of his love.

Thomas pressed his lips to the dark hair, held Alastair steadily while he cried. No words of reassurance passed between them. Truly, Thomas wasn't sure Alastair would have heard him if he tried. He knew the touch was what Alastair needed. Their embrace was clumsy and distorted, but it was enough. Enough to tell Alastair he wasn't alone; Thomas wouldn't have let him go through this alone.

With a soft sigh, Thomas finally let loose of his grip. He started to pull away and was surprised when he felt fists clasping on the fabric of the front of his sleeveshirt.

"Please," Alastair whispered desperately."Please hold me."

Thomas couldn't find it in himself to deny it to Alastair. They slipped to the floor. Alastair buried his face in Thomas's chest once again, shaking silently. Thomas felt his mouth forming words on his chest, although he could not tell which. All the while, his hands embraced the slim, shaking form of Alastair.

A few minutes had passed. Or an hour. Or a couple of days. Thomas didn't feel the time had passed while he tried to console his beloved one. He closed his eyes and concentrated on moving his hand on Alastair's small back, kept him close. The other hand came to caress the space between his ear and jawline, where he was creating circles on the tender skin.

Slowly, The dark-haired's breath became more even.

"Here you are," Thomas let a breath of both exhaustion and relief leave his body. "Can you hear me, Eshgham?"

"Y-Yes."

"Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"

"No."

Thomas sighed inertly as he held the other gentleman in his warm hands, promising reassurance and no judgment. Alastair, for the matter, clang to him as if he was drowning and Thomas was his only lifeline.

He never liked to fight with Alastair. It rarely happened, but when it did it left a bitter taste in his mouth and a pang at his heart. But he was not going to give up - not on this. He remembered his mother once told him couples fight, sometimes, because they still care about what the other does. It was their first argument with their new agreement. It didn't make him feel any better at the time. All his life he had been surrounded with unconditioned love, never exposed to the arguments and the imperfect details. It made him view love as just sweet and honey, while he learned that there's more with Alastair.

There's the giving. And the receiving. The trust in the other's intentions and the willingness to make them your priority foremost of all. The disagreements make you understand when your boundaries are and open a place for learning and acceptance. The balance you build with time, something he hoped he could shape with the man in front of him.

The trust part, to his belief, was something they still were working on. Alastair had leaned on him, and Thomas wondered it he thought now he calmed down, Thomas would leave him again. He did the last time.

"I'm not leaving," They locked eyes, and for some reason, he felt hope. "Alastair, I'm not leaving."

There are very few things he wanted more than Alastair. Verily, He was what he longed for above everything else. He wanted Alastair and everything he was.

Alastair didn't answer, but he averted his eyes.

"Are you ready to go now?"

Alastair seemed slightly lost, but he nodded and weakly stood on his legs. He followed Thomas while Thomas flung himself up and let Alastair sat on their bed beside him. The comfortable place always made both feel better - The mix of English and Persian and Spanish books on the bookshelves. The notebooks full of poems Thomas kept beside his side of the bed. Alastair's spears collection. The artworks they bought when they visited art galleries.Even the soft yellow light was a source of relief.

"You are mad," proclaimed Alastair in a hoarse voice.

"So are you," Thomas returned. Alastair shook his head, and Thomas's eyebrows rose. "So what then, if not mad?"

"Mostly nauseous," Alastair murmured, managing to startle a breathy chuckle out of Thomas. "But also bloody exhausted."

Thomas fumble after the right words, before deciding he should be candid. "I didn't like being apart from you in those few days. But I stick to what I told you before, Alastair." He saw it happening - the wall of defense Alastair was building up again after the last one had crushed. "Let me bring some fresh air into here."

Thomas tried to ventilate the room well while Alastair sank into the mattress and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. "If you call the London foggy, polluted air fresh, then sure."

A bit of relief passed because of Alastair's quip. He didn't lose it. "It seems you and my father share this opinion."

Thomas scanned Alastair, then noticed the cut on his right palm. Absentmindedly, he approached his side.

"Why did you do it?"

It took Alastair a moment to conceive what he was referring to. He hastily covered it with his other hand, but Thomas saw it. "I - didn't mean to."

Thomas watched the cut in awe as if it was imaginary.  However, when he grazed the skin, Alastair winced. 

Thomas wasn't sure how to counter this. Their fight. What just happened. Alastair didn't either. Or did he wish to pretend none of this happened? That he -both of them- weren't hurt?

This thought wasn't toleratable to Thomas.

And that's why, after he took his stele out of his dresser and was applying an iratze on Alastair's forearm, that he asked, "I want to talk about what happened the day before yesterday."

He could feel Alastair stiffening, his muscles tensing. "I was upset," Alastair said cautiously. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, Tom."

"You shouldn't have," Thomas agreed. He was done with the iratze and put the stele aside. "But that's not why I'm distraught."

Alastair shot him a tumultuous look. Thomas took a deep breath before looking Alastair dead in the eye. "You were upset, but you wouldn't tell me why. You grumble about things relentlessly, but when you're truly shaken you don't share at all. It's not - just this argument. It's not just one thing. Those small moments you hesitate whether to tell me the truth. The times you don't." He inhaled, letting the cold air fill his lungs. He resisted looking away from Alastair's face, didn't let his eyes flutter around the room like they were trying to do. "Love is also built on trust and communication. If we don't have those, what is left?" He didn't need to hear Alastair's reply. "We talk, and we share, yet I cannot understand why you're so grumpy at times. I need you to tell me."

"Can't one just be pissed off at the world?"

"Alastair."

"Many things can upset me," Alastair said. Thomas might have hallucinated it, but his voice was a bit shaky. "Do you want to hear them all?"

"Yes," Thomas answered immediately. His tone was sincere.

Alastair's hand reached to the other side of the bed, a nonverbal request.  They still couldn't stop staring at each other. But not playfully, or lovingly, but earnestly.

Alastair, naked of his facade and any snide remarks. Alastair, whom he grew to know and rarely showed up to many else.

I do trust you. I care for you. were the meaning behind Alastair's gaze. All Thomas wanted is to lean on and forget everything. But still - it was not his pride making him relucent. That was much deeper than that. 

He lingered there just for a moment too long, enough to make Alastair believe he declined the request, and his hand quirked in pain for a moment. His face became emotionless - and Thomas had feared he misleadingly deceived Alastair that he didn't want them after all. That he didn't want him.

In moments, he climbed on the bed. He coddled Alastair, silently and diligently. "Tell me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," Alastair retorted eventually. He rubbed his eyes and laid back on the bed board. Then after a moment. "Everything."

"I hate it when I see you suffer and I don't know why," Thomas whispered. "I want to help. More than anything. But you push me away and I am left to think it might be because of me, because-"

"No," Alastair said firmly, extending his hands to cup Thoams's. "You have never been anything but good to me. It's just-," he broke off.

Thomas searched his foggy eyes. "I don't blame you," he told him, "If it's hard for you. But trust me enough to tell me what bothers you, thus we could face it together." He collected his hands in his own, lifting them so he could kiss his knuckles. "I know I want to stand by your side whatever the cost." he was certain about that; No whirlwind to come could change it. "Will you let me?"

Instead of an answer, Alastair kissed him.

Thomas knew he was kind, forgiving, trusting. He knew Alastair was slow to trust, slow to reveal his true feelings, hiding behind sharp words to secure himself from being harmed by people close to him. He knew the world broke his heart - so viciously, and that he took the pieces that were left. It was undoubtedly hard. Alastair had changed so much, yet Thomas wanted to understand, to reassure Alastair they were in this together. 

"Hamsar-am," Alastair said when they pulled away. "I will try."

Thomas smiled at the endearment term. His heart was throbbing fast. "I was mad," he confessed, "because you refused to tell me what's wrong. You pretended. And I - I don't want facades, my love. I want the truth. I want you."

"I don't want to be weak around the people I love," Alastair whispered, and Thomas understood. To what extent did he fear that if he shows weakness, his friends and family would suffocate him again, shield him from the world as they did when he was younger? How much he feared at slightest of weakness shown, he would be smothered as Thomas had been when he was too small, too fragile?

But Alastair never did that. He supported him in his way, allowed him to be weak without acting as if Thomas was made of glass. "So not weak to everyone," He was astonished he found it in himself to laugh softly. "Each other will be enough. We can be vulnerable with one another."

Alastair stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, a faint smile appeared on his lips. "Okay."

"This is just another way of trust."

So Alastair told him. He told him about the rumors he heard from the London enclave about his family, the looks he had gotten. Of the words of people who were white while Alastair was brown. He didn't mind, much, but it drew attention to his family. And to Thomas. Respectable family and a kind heart seemingly weren't enough to make the rumors - and who spread them - silence. The opposite is correct - the fire burned even brighter, and its flame was like cutting knives. The people who matter didn't care about their agreement, and Alastair long stopped paying attention to rumors. But when it was about Thomas, he said, he had been furious. The stories unfolded, the truth shone through, and the more Alastair talked - not just about rumors, but on the way some of the people treated him, of the Cornwall's townhouse and its residents, the things his soul troubled about were finally out.

Thomas listened, understood, stroked Alastair's cheek when he seemed to start shaking again, but now out of relief instead of concealed agony. 

They sunk into a comfortable silence in the end. Up until Alastair inquired, "You were out for so long. Where were you?"

"At the institute," Thomas replied. The concept of coming back to his parents' townhouse, admitting the quarrel, rewinding it all in his head countless times while enduring Sophie and Gideon's worrying looks, was nothing he wished to do. "Or somewhere I could avoid anyone."

"And now?" he asked tentatively. "You come back?"

"I have no intentions to leave this bed even if Ariadne herself will come to pluck me off the sheets." He affirmed.

Alastair's smirk became genuine this time. "Ariadne was here today."

When Thomas said "I know" he got a quizzical look from Alastair so he supplied, "She found my whereabouts and made me go confront you. Not much subtly, may I add."

"Yes. This jinx made me open up the door and refused to leave until I told her what happened."

Thomas silently laughed. 

"I..suppose it was rather cathartic," Alastair said. It was evening now, Thomas noted, and none of them found it in themselves to get up and eat supper. They just kept their bodies close, relishing their air of comfort.

"Indeed. This, this was good. Splendidly better than reading the same page over and over again in the Devil's tavern or pretending to care what waistcoat Matthew is taking to the impending party at Anna's flat." 

"You thought the place you and your squad go to hide is the best place to hide from them?" Alastair asked.

"It seemed reasonable at the time," Thomas murmured. "Each of us has a kind of hideout, have we not?"

Where was Alastair's safe hideaway? At home, with a book in hand? At museums, drinking in art and beauty? Was it hiking in the streets of London by himself and enjoying the view and the whispers of nature?

"You," Alastair said. Thomas hadn't realized he voiced his question aloud. A tired, small smile played on Alastair's lips, yet his words were soft, plain and simple. Their eyes locked, and he could feel how genuine Alastair was. "You are my hideout."

~~~~~

Dictionary:

man nemidânam - I don't know

Eshgham - my love

Hamsar-am - my equal head, my better half

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 5, Part 1

T/N: This is one super-long chapter ( ; ω ; ) so it has been split into 2 parts.

One week later. This was the night Maya’s company had been invited to perform.

The West End of London, stretching from Soho to Covent Garden, was renowned for its large theatre district, crowded with historic names such as the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, Haymarket Theatre, and St James’s Theatre, in addition to newer entrants. [1]

Right in the centre of the district was Piccadilly Circus. At this time in history, the “Eros” fountain had yet to be built [2]. Here was the intersection of numerous thoroughfares, with pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages coming and going, day and night — the busiest spot in London.

It was here that a certain elderly noblewoman drove past in a carriage. But the next moment, she saw a strange sight in the middle of the square, and ordered her coachman to stop the carriage.

“……My word, what could that be?”

The words fell from her lips.

In the centre of the square was a simple stage about ten metres wide, composed of wooden boxes placed together and covered with boards. Passers-by had stopped to look out of curiosity, and a small crowd began to form.

After a short while, a lone woman appeared on stage.

She wore a sky-blue dress and a long, blonde wig. The crowd stared blankly as she gave a reverent bow.

“——Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. We are a small theatre company hailing from the East End. I am Maya, its chairperson.”

She raised her head, and gazed upon the whole of Piccadilly Circus.

“You may be feeling confused as to why a stage has suddenly occupied the Circus, but first, let me express our deepest gratitude that we, a theatre company of humble origins, have been able to meet you in this miraculous way.”

Her dignified voice resounded across the square, causing a stir among the onlookers. As more people noticed what was happening and gathered in droves, the crowd encircling the stage gradually expanded.

“Without further ado, let us bring you a little dream in a fantastic world.”

Maya ended her introduction with a graceful bow. Then, a man appeared on stage. Facing the crowd, he began to speak in a sonorous voice.

“It was a radiant afternoon filled with golden sunshine. A boat cruised leisurely down the river. Small, young hands gripped the oars. They seemed to lack strength: rising nimbly, then falling left and right as if to guide the oars’ movements.”

“……Hmm?”

The crowd listened intently as he narrated, with accompanying hand gestures.

“Oh, how terrible: what a cruel fate this is, to meet three girls! I’m all warm and sleepy. But still you wish to talk to me! You move my feathers, and do not breathe. But I’m all alone. I’m no match for the three of you.”

“This— Could it be……?” someone in the audience murmured.

With his monologue complete, the man took his leave. Then, another woman appeared at a corner of the stage. Holding a book in one hand, she began to read fluently from it.

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank——”

In tandem with the narrator’s words, the blonde-haired Maya gave a small yawn. It was as if she had swapped places with a young girl herself. Without realising it, the audience held their breath.

Then from the side of the stage, a person appeared wearing a vest and rabbit’s ears, with a pocket-watch in one hand.

By this time, the crowd encircling the stage had become fully spellbound.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“——All the world’s a stage. And the men and women merely players.” [3]

An actor delivered his lines from the stage of a gorgeous West End theatre, as its owner, a nobleman, looked on from the box seats.

The actor himself knew the height of his fame, and hence his actions were somewhat egotistical. Nevertheless, these were the acting skills of a true professional: his clear, bright voice resounded in every corner of the intricately decorated theatre, delving into the ears of his audience, and producing an indescribable feeling in their chests.

His salary was eye-wateringly high, but evidently, it had been an excellent decision to hire this actor. Still, despite his self-satisfaction, the nobleman had a pained expression.

The reason for it was clear. This was a renowned theatre company famous for its acting talent. Even though it was their opening night — a momentous occasion, the stalls were unusually empty.

He’d made sure to advertise the play well in advance, so this was unexpected. As he admired the actors, who were not bothered in the least by the empty seats in the audience, the nobleman stood up and headed to the entrance.

“Hey, you. Haven’t there been any more visitors?”

He directed his question to the young man behind the ticket window.

“About that— Just a while ago, it seems a show’s begun at Piccadilly Circus.”

“A show?”

“Yeah, though I heard about it from someone else. A stage suddenly appeared in the middle of the square, and it looks like there’s a play being held. It’s about…… that; the one where a girl chases a rabbit and falls down a hole, uh……”

Those keywords alone led the nobleman to the answer.

“——Do you mean, ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’?”

The young man clapped his hands in appreciation.

“Oh, that’s right. Yeah, that.” He sighed wistfully. “Ahh, it brings me back: I read it when I was a child. And as I recall…… was it ‘Maya’? It seems that’s the chairwoman’s name.”

“Wha……!”

Upon hearing that name, the nobleman recoiled in shock.

“That theatre company from the slums?”

A play held on a stage that appeared out of nowhere. The young man saw it as a mere street performance, but to the nobleman, this was something different. As soon as the image of the perpetrators surfaced in his mind, his face turned red with anger.

An extraordinary turn of events, happening right on the opening night of an important production — as if it had been carefully planned to do so. In other words, Maya and her company had intended to sabotage his production out of spite, by putting up a play out of the blue, and not even in a proper theatre. That was what the nobleman concluded.

To add insult to injury, they had chosen to perform “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”. To stand up to a classic with a piece of children’s literature. To pit Lewis Carroll against Shakespeare.

Although it was a ridiculous idea worthy of scorn, the fact remained that they had stolen his precious audience.

He posed a question to the young ticket seller.

“Well if that’s the case, wouldn’t there be a huge commotion? The Yard should be on to them any moment now.”

“That’s the thing…… It seems they’re already gone.”

Hearing that, the nobleman threw his head back in laughter.

“I told you so. It’s all because they’re out of their depth. They can recite their lines in jail for all I care.”

However, the young man made a troubled expression.

“Uh…… Sorry. I didn’t make myself clear. Actually it seems that after finishing one scene, they specified a different location, packed up their sets quickly and left.”

“……What?”

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Alice; a great girl like you, to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!”

Behind the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, in Trafalgar Square, Maya and her company acted out the scene in which Alice shrank and grew larger, panicking all the while. The front of the stage had been covered with a white cloth, and a light shone on it from the back, allowing them to show the changes in Alice’s size in the manner of shadow puppets. As Alice grew until her head struck the roof, the audience buzzed in excitement.

Watching from the wings of the stage, Bond could see that everything was proceeding smoothly.

His plan to demonstrate the true abilities of this company, was a moving theatre that roamed all around the city of London—— a “guerrilla theatre”.

They would perform in busy areas to attract people’s attention, then quickly cut off their act and leave before the authorities arrived to stop them. After which, they would continue the performance at another location. One could say this method was the exact opposite of performing in an officially-recognised theatre.

There was a reason why they had changed the contents of their play. As their original performance comprised three short stories, there was a concern that the audience would grow bored after watching just one scene. However, staging a full-length play across various locations would keep up their interest for the next scene.

In addition, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” took place in a nonsensical, chaotic world, with no apparent connection between its acts. As a well-known story in itself, anyone joining in halfway would still be able to enjoy their performance — a perfect work to be presented in this manner.

The main issue was the acting, but that was helped by their practice in performing on a big stage.

As part of this plan, the play they would put up was not of the type that drew the audience’s attention to the stage right from the start, but rather one that was performed outdoors to people passing by. Hence they would have to project their voices and exaggerate their actions, but this was simply an extension of the two weeks’ practice they had done before.

Moreover, Maya and her company had extensive experience in performing children’s literature, with a focus on ease of understanding, so much so that they had almost learned the entire tale by heart. Memorising their lines had been no trouble at all.

Furthermore, the preparations at each of the locations they moved to — the very heart of the operation — were borne by the East End residents, who appreciated their performances.

The plan inevitably required manpower, but there would be no point in Bond providing it. However, with the trust of their fellow residents, Maya and her company had managed to recruit the stage crew by themselves. This achievement was their own.

As the company performed in one location, the stage crew would set up the temporary stages in the other locations across the city. They had accepted the company’s request with pleasure, and Bond couldn’t thank them enough for the depth of their kindness.

As he looked upon the crowd, all standing with eyes locked upon the stage, Bond chuckled.

——Even without a theatre, there would always be a place for acting.

It had been a wild idea to turn the city of London into their stage. But the East End residents lent them their support. And Maya and her company were putting up an excellent performance.

In a manner of speaking, this play was an all-out challenge from the people from the East End, to the gilded theatres of the West End.

Ten minutes till showtime. The players announced the location of their next act, then quickly descended from the stage.

“I’ll be leaving the cleanup to you then,” Bond addressed the remaining crew at the square. Then he directed the actors to board the carriages he had prepared. Taking the reins of one himself, he urged the horses forward in a gallop.

“Um, we owe it to you that our audience has enjoyed our play thus far, but…… I’m not sure if we can continue to do so,” Maya asked with a worried look.

Hearing that, the other actors in the carriage, who’d been going over their lines, turned solemn.

Although things had been going well so far, if their acts attracted too large a commotion, it stood to reason that Scotland Yard would put its full attention into stopping the play. Moreover, bad actors may also seek to take advantage of the hubbub. As far as possible, they wished to avoid their audience falling victim to crime.

Bond fully understood their apprehension. Because of that, he kept calm as he reassured them.

“Not to worry. I have some dependable colleagues.”

Saying that, he gazed in the direction the carriage was going, and smiled.

“It’s a popular saying, isn’t it? The show must go on.”

The curtains had been raised. Now all that was left, was to play their roles to the end.

Footnotes:

[1] This district is known as Theatreland (Wikipedia). The first two theatres listed are still standing, with St James’s Theatre having been demolished in 1957.

[2] If you were to go to Piccadilly Circus now, you would see a very prominent bronze fountain with a statue of a winged angel on top. Actually, the statue isn’t of the Greek god Eros at all. (Wikipedia)

[3] A line from Shakespeare’s As You Like It (Wikipedia).

Translator’s notes:

Quotes from Alice in Wonderland All dialogues from the East Enders’ production have been heavily referenced from the Project Gutenberg version of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll.

Thinking about what year the series was set in In this chapter, we learn that the “Eros” fountain hasn’t been built yet — it was unveiled only in June 1893. But we know some events of the Phantom of Whitechapel arc, such as when the people of Whitechapel formed a militia, did take place in history — these were broadly in the autumn of 1888. So this actually works out, and gives us a sense of when the events of the manga unfolded.

Edit: The manga seems to be canonically taking place between 1879-1882 latest — you can read my analysis here!

Piccadilly Circus in 1868 This is entirely for fun — here’s a screenshot from the game Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate (set in London 1868), with Evie standing at Piccadilly Circus:

I couldn’t find any pictures of the Circus from before the “Eros” fountain was built, but in Yuumori’s time, it would’ve still had the circular shape shown here. When Shaftesbury Avenue was built in 1886, it transformed Piccadilly Circus from a circle into the sort-of trapezoid crossroads layout it has retained today (British History Online).

[the-mirror-witch]

hello! I see you accepted new requests so may I ask for a headcanon/scenario (whichever you prefer!) with the dorm leaders where they see their short s/o wearing their clothes then run away? something like "If you want your clothes back then come and get it~" thank you<3

(Tooo Cuuuutttteeee! 💖💖 I love thiiiisssss!!!!)

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle was fuming, marching through the Heartslabyul like a man on a warpath. Students were ducking out of the way the moment they saw the shade of red on their dorm leader’s face. 

Why was Riddle so angry on what was otherwise a beautiful day? Knowing Riddle, it could have been for any number of reasons. Perhaps Ace had done something mind-numbingly stupid or Cater had posted embarrassing pictures on his Magicam. As it turns out, it was none of these things.

The true reason was that it was nearly time for the Unbirthday Party, and Riddle couldn’t find his dorm leader cape anywhere.

He at first suspected Ace and Deuce of pulling an ill-timed prank on him by hiding his esteemed uniform. They pleaded ignorance, but he still used his unique magic on them just for good measure. 

If Riddle didn’t find his cape soon, he was going to blow up like a boiling tea kettle. 

He happened to pass by one of the open dorm rooms (he would have to yell at the occupants later. Rule #254 stated that the dorm rooms were to be kept locked when not under inspection) and lo and behold, who should he find standing there in front of a mirror, giggling like a child wrapped up in his cape?

Yes, you, Riddle’s darling rose, where the culprit behind this entire fiasco. You may owe Heartslabyul an apology after this. But you simply couldn’t resist yourself when you found Riddle’s cape just lying on his bed. You had ever intention of returning it before Riddle could miss it, but got so caught up in the way the cape enveloped you that you lost track of time.

It also distinctly smelled like strawberries, like a certain redhead you were rather fond of.

The moment Riddle saw you, his face turned red for entirely different reasons. 

The silent moment was short-lived when you noticed Riddle in the mirror, giving you quite a start. You whirled around and Riddle cleared his throat, insisting that return his cape to him.

He should have known by the evil glint in your eye that it would not be that easy. 

So, Heartslabyul was treated to the sight of its dorm leader chasing you down the halls as you laughed like a madman.

Worry not, Cater got plenty of blackmail pictures to share with you later.

Leona Kingscholar:

Poor Ruggie really does get the short end of the bone sometimes, doesn’t he?

But what else was he supposed to do? His giant cat of a dorm leader was too lazy to do his own damn laundry, so Ruggie as Leona’s un-official babysitter had to do it for him.

You were visiting Savanaclaw, something you did on a near daily basis. You happened to stumble upon the disgruntled hyena and, in a moment of sympathy, decided to offer your assistance. 

Your offer was happily accepted. 

The two of you finished the laundry in a timely manner. You were rather pleased with yourself as you admired how nice, warm, and clean you made Leona’s shirt. 

Then temptation hit you like a rhino. Should you? Yes, yes you should.

Before you could second guess yourself, you quickly slipped on Leona’s shirt after making sure Ruggie wasn’t looking at you. You’d never live it down otherwise. 

It was so nice and warm, it reminded you of being cuddled by the lion himself. Such thoughts made you feel rather sleepy. It made you keep the shirt on just another second longer.

That second was all that was needed.

Leona was in a rather grumpy mood (when wasn’t he, tho?). You, little herbivore, were late for your routine napping session. Leona wasn’t one to normally give a flying damn about routine and timelines, but this was rather uncharacteristic of you. 

What was he left to do but to hunt you down himself? 

That was how he came to find you, wearing his shirt like you belonged in it.

The smug lion came up behind you, smirking and asking just what were you thinking, wearing his shirt like that? 

You froze up, unsure what you should say. When Leona smirked at you like that, there was no telling what could happen, and you beginning to get nervous. Well, you know what they say? Fake it till you make it.

So, you boldly looked up at him, and claimed it was your shirt now. Finders, keepers, and all that jazz. 

Leona was greatly amused, and damn him if confidence wasn’t a good look on you. 

However, Leona simply couldn’t back down from your challenge. You heard the growl rumbling deep in his chest and without a second thought took off running. You had no doubt that the King of Beasts was hot on your heels. 

Azul Ashengrotto:

The lights of the Mostro Lounge were dimmed, allowing the reflection of rippling water to become more prominent. It was very atmospheric, and allowed for everyones attention to be on the main performance of the night. 

It was rare for Azul to give a performance at the Lounge, so each occurrence was a privilege. In this case, it was the Lounge’s anniversary. The entire night had been a special one, with rare additions to the menu and discounts and promised prizes that kept the Lounge booked weeks in advance. 

The twins had kept the guests entertained for the majority of the evening, and now it was Azul’s turn. And you, lucky little angelfish, got a front row seat. 

No eyes were off of Azul as he played the piano. If the twins were to be believed, Azul was playing an ancient merman song, from the times when the Seafolk would lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom through their enchanting voices alone. Given the twins’ affinity to messing with people, you normally took their tales with a grain of salt. 

This time, however, you were inclined to believe them. There was some sort of alluring magic within the notes of Azul’s song, there had to be. It demanded attention and refused to relinquish it. You could practically smell the salt of sea wind and see the rise of ocean waves with each crescendo. You were spellbound. You imagined that, if Azul told you to throw yourself into bone-shattering waves, you’d reply with “Yes please.” 

And from the glazed eyes of the other guests, you knew you weren’t alone. 

You weren’t entirely sure what force pushed you to stand from your seat. Perhaps you truly were entrapped by Azul’s siren call. Perhaps there was an ugly part of you that bristled at the many eyes trained on the silver haired man. Whatever the reason, you moved through the mist that had settled under the lounge. Azul’s song was coming to an end. He noticed your approach, raising an eyebrow but not once stopping the movement of his fingers. It never ceased to amaze you how well coordinated he could be, despite being a literal fish out of water. Perhaps it was from years of simultaneously using ten limbs. 

The song reached its final crescendo as you came to stand beside Azul. The final wave, preparing to crash down on the battered shore. 

The wave came crashing down as you grabbed the hat off of Azul’s head, putting it on your own. You cut off Azul’s protest with a swift kiss, as gentle as the cold spray of the sea. As the guests of the lounge applauded, you stepped down and left Azul sitting there wide-eyed and blushing furiously. 

You made your escape to the underwater hallways of Octavinelle, passing by the snickering twins as you did. You weren’t entirely sure if Azul would chase after you or not to get his hat back, but it didn’t matter either way to you. Your brain hadn’t quite caught up to your bold actions. There was a part of you that was still blissfully lost at sea. 

Kalim Al-Asim:

It was late in the evening, with the half-faced moon looming over the Arabian night, and the party showed no sign of slowing down. 

Kalim had his misgivings, but he sure as hell knew how to throw a party. Even though it was undisputed that Kalim was the life of the party, with everything gravitating around him like brilliant sun that he was, he had the strange ability to make it feel as if the party was centered around you. 

Sometimes you felt guilty about stealing away Kalim’s attentions from everyone else, but then Kalim would give you that brilliant smile of his, reminding you that you were his guest of honor and it was only natural that he made sure you had the best night of your life. Well, who were you to argue with that? 

You spent a great deal of the night dancing with Kalim. Your lungs burned and legs ached, but those things seemed to disappear into the wind, scattered by Kalim’s breathless yet exuberant laughter. His joy was infectious, filling your veins with sunshine and warmth as you laughed too. 

Could a moment truly last forever? You wished that it would. This moment was perfect, as you spun around in Kalim’s arms, your feet feather-light and a feeling of weightlessness washing over you. It was all too easy to forget that there were other people around. Their presence faded into little more than background noise, leaving nothing but you, Kalim, and the lively music that sang in your bones, flowing easily from your body to Kalim’s and back again as you moved in time with one another. 

You hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic that night, but Godmother save you if you didn’t feel drunk. You were light-headed and wonderfully happy. You were in a whole new world, one just for you and Kalim. Perhaps this feeling wouldn’t carry over into tomorrow, perhaps you had this one night alone. If that was the case, you were sure as hell going to make it last a lifetime. 

You didn’t know when it happened, but at some point in the night you had managed to steal Kalim’s half-turban right off his head and had it hanging loosely around your neck. The jewels that decorated it clanked every time you moved, and it was a wonder you hadn’t noticed it before. 

Well, Kalim had yet to point it out, so he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Either way, if he wasn’t going to bring it up, then you weren’t about to. Thus, your unintentional thievery was completed.

The dance ended and you finally managed to drag yourself away from Kalim long enough to get yourself some much needed refreshment. 

Kalim truly hadn’t noticed that you had taken his turban until its absence was pointed out by Jamil. It didn’t take long for either of them to spot it hanging around your neck from where you stood across the crowd.

Kalim happily took it as an excuse to pull you into another dance. 

Jamil let out a long, suffering sigh. The two of you were hopeless. 

Vil Schoenheit:

Confession time. You might have, sort of stolen Vil’s crown. Um...oops? 

In your defense, Epel had dared you do it. He had deliberately chosen the dare, knowing no one in their right mind would attempt to steal from Pomefiore’s queen. Not unless they were Rook, or you apparently. 

Besides, how mad could Vil be? (Mad, very mad, you could practically taste the poison already, Epel was going to get you killed how could he do this to you he knew your impulse control was non-existent-)

Well, what done was done, and you proudly showed off your prize to your dumbfounded friends. In full honesty, they hadn’t expected you to go through with it.  Now that you had the crown, why not take full advantage of it. 

You took plenty of pictures of you wearing it. Epel gave on heck of a Vil impression while wearing it. All in all, you had a roaringly good time and nearly forgot that you had stolen the crown in the first place. Unbeknownst to you, a certain hunter found you with the crown in your possession and, with a cruel smile, slunk back into the shadows to relay his findings to his enraged queen. 

It didn't take long for Vil to arrive, amethyst eyes burning like gemstones that had fires trapped within them. You felt like a meek little mouse under Vil’s glare. One look towards Epel and you could practically see the “oh shit” reflected in his eyes. 

Vil held out his hand, a silent demand for you to return his property and accept your punishment. 

Welp, your grave was already dug out. Why not go a little deeper? Or perhaps that was the panic trying to rationalize your truly idiotic potato move.

You ran for dear life, dragging poor Epel with you. If you were going down, he was going with you. 

You didn’t get far. Damn that hunter. 

You and your partner in crime were caught, and the crown returned to the head of its rightful queen. 

Vil smirked down at you, a gloved hand stroking your cheek. 

There was something befitting about a crown on your head. After all, he expected the person who would stand beside him to be just as well-adorned as he was. Perhaps he should look into getting you a crown of your own. 

Idia Shroud:

Welp, Idia was lost to the realm of campaigns and RPG's. Again. Not that you were particularly surprised. Idia spent a lot of time either online or working on some high-tech invention, and would probably never see the light of day if you and Ortho didn’t drag him outside. 

You fully supported Idia’s interests and his hobbies, but you couldn’t help but feel a little lonely while you sat in his room and waited for him to finish and finally spend some time with you. 

You flopped down on his bed, pouting. Maybe you should get up and explore the Ignihyde dorm. You didn’t get to see enough of it, and as the most technologically advanced dorm in the college, it should be a sight to behold. Perhaps you could even met another one of the dorms reclusive members before they ran away screaming at the prospect of human interaction. 

Making up your mind, you got up and your hand brushed against one of Idia’s hoodies, which was lying haphazardly off the side of his bed. You thought about it for all of one second before putting it one, the hoodie practically swallowing your entire body. You giggled. With how much Idia slouched over, it was easy to forget just how much taller he was compared to you. 

Now properly dressed for your impromptu adventure, you walked out of Idia’s room and went exploring. 

Soon after, Idia finished his game, cheering in victory as he won. He pulled his headset off and stretched his back. That’s when he noticed that you were gone and he immediately spiraled into a panic. Where had you gone? You normally waited around for him to finish so that you could spend time together. 

Had you finally gotten sick and tired of him? Has he finally driven you away with his anti-social behavior? Had he just epically failed your route and received a bad ending???? NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Ortho found his brother in the middle of an otaku level meltdown and calmed him down, telling him that he had just seen you walking around the dorm. 

Ortho encouraged his brother to go looking for you himself to show you that he noticed your absence, and Idia in his still distraught state agreed without hesitation. 

Ortho “accidentally” forgot to mention what it was you were wearing. Idia was very underprepared. 

When Idia saw you wearing talking to another Ignihyde student while wearing his hoodie, his face instantly turned red. Why were you so cute, wearing his hoodie like that? Didn’t you know how dangerous for his health that was?

You didn’t know why Idia was supporting himself with one hand against the wall and another clutching his chest, but Ortho assured you it wasn’t a bad thing. 

Malleus Draconia:

You had gone to the Diasomnia dorm to visit Malleus. It was something you did regularly and should come as a surprise to no one, yet Sebek still insisted on giving you grief about showing up unannounced. 

Ignoring him, you asked Lilia where Malleus was, and the amused bat told you that Malleus was busy at the moment. Before you could become disheartened and leave, Lilia informed you with a knowing smile that Malleus wouldn’t be much longer now and you could simply wait for him in his room. 

Once again in good spirits, you thank the ancient Fae and did just that. 

Only, now that you were in Malleus’s room, you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. It was the first time you had ever been in Malleus room, and you found yourself simultaneously fascinated and awkward. Would it be okay for you to sit on his bed? Perhaps you should play it safe and just sit on the floor like a goblin. Would he get mad if you snooped through his things? Well, he might not, but Sebek sure as hell would. 

Eventually, boredom got the best of you. So, you went through Malleus’s closet. You were a terrible person, okay, it’s been acknowledged let's move on to the raiding. 

You pulled out one of Malleus’s cloaks, a black one (shocker). You wrapped it around yourself, and it was so large it might as well have been a blanket on you with the way it pooled at your feet. You always knew that Malleus was unfairly taller than you, but being wrapped in his cloak like this made you feel oh, so small. 

You weren’t going to acknowledge how the cloak smelled like Malleus, like cinder and the evening woods. Nope, nada. If you did, you would be red-faced for the rest of the evening and there was no way Malleus wouldn’t notice. 

You were just about to unwrap yourself from Malleus’s cloak when the door opened, Malleus entering and being unwillingly escorted by the ever insistent Sebek.

Malleus stared at you in his cloak with wide, green eyes. Meanwhile, Sebek got personally offended. 

How dare a human such as yourself dirty Lord Malleus’s attire with your stench?!?!?!?!?!?!

In the end, Sebek ended up chasing you around trying to get the cloak back and you ran with a speed you didn’t even know you possessed. 

Malleus was still stunned for several moments, but he eventually got enough presence of mind to order Sebek to leave you be. 

Still, after that incident, you couldn’t help but notice how, during your evening walk with the future King of Thorns, Malleus every excuse to wrap you up in the cloak he was wearing. 

Not that you would complain, as you happily pulled the cloak tighter around you. 

[ginazmemeoir]

Mmkay so this is just a fic idea that was swirling in my head, based off the tale of Kacha and Devayani. hope you like it :D

tagging some : @gopikanyari @momo-all-the-way @carmen-riddle @taareginn @reddish-green-personality

@holding-infinity-and-a-book @aadyeah @weird-u @the-fault-in-our-inquilab @dragonfairy1231 @allegoriesinmediasres @mango-pickle

The afternoon sun poured through the trees. A breeze flowed through the forest, picking up pace and then lazing back, like a cat trying to chase bees. Kacha, Sharmishtha, Prabha and I had gathered near a brook. It was our favourite spot in Vrishaparva. There were no prying eyes, and devas did not interfere in asura territory so we were safe from them as well. Everything seemed a bit too bright and colourful whenever Kacha was around. He chalked it up to the fact that his mother was a yaksha, so he had a connection with the forests. I sighed as I admired him – his flowing shoulder length locks, his wide nose and high cheekbones, his smile, the way he talked with the cows, his biceps as he whirled around his lathi. “Quit ogling him and just go up to him already or you’re gonna end up alone in a pit” said Sharmishtha, elbowing me. “I don’t even know what you see in him. I hear the other asuras call him a ‘deva bastard’ and a ‘twink’.” “That’s because they’re jealous of him. No asura could match the way he looks, or the way he behaves” I reply, cutting off Prabha’s useless critiques.

The wind picks up pace once again, and Sharmishtha gets up chasing her dupatta. A blue lotus flutters and drops near my feet, and I pick it up. It shimmers as if dusted with moonshine, and its scent made the fullest of roses in bloom in spring smell like stale bread. Prabha put it along with the other flowers in my gajra, and said “Even Lakshmi wouldn’t look half as beautiful as you when she sees you like this” she laughs merrily. I push at her playfully, and that is when Kacha arrives there. He was mostly silent, listening, observing, so it made me feel as if the lotus was a drug when he said, “Devayani, can I have that lotus?”

I hastily pluck it from my hair and give it to him. Sharmishtha returned by then, leaves in her hair, and her torn dupatta in her hand. “It was stuck in a branch and I had to climb 6 feet to retrieve it.” Kacha was oblivious to her rant, and he kept looking at the flower, as if studying a complex problem. “Do you like it Devayani?” he asks. I stare at him, slack jawed, dumbfounded to reply for a minute. “Yes she does. Now Kacha why don’t you get her those flowers?” “After all aren’t you the one who brings flowers for her priceless gajras?” say Prabha and Sharmishtha in order, teasing Kacha. A blush creeps up his cheeks, as he replies, “Lady Devyani is my guru’s daughter, it is my duty to serve her.” What I wouldn’t give to hear those words, but spoken with love instead of reverence. “They grow near the river’s source, in a lake nearby. That is the only place you can find these blue lotuses.” Sharmishtha says. Determination fills Kacha’s eyes. Sometimes I do wonder if he lies about his half yaksha parentage, for there is certainly something… different about his eyes. “I will return by dusk with your cattle Lady Devyani.” He assures me, and leaves for the lotuses, getting his lathi for the trek up ahead. I don’t believe his promise at all. Twice he’s promised me before, and twice before have the other jealous asuras murdered him, and twice before has father resurrected him through the mrita-sanjeevani on my plea. I look behind him, hopeful for the love budding in his heart, and dreading for his safety.

Dusk creeps its way into the ashram. I stand at the gate, looking anxiously for any sign of Kacha, when the asuras, led by Atibala, arrive at the gates. They were clearly coming after making merry, and I could smell the scent of honey wine on them. “Guru Shukracharya, please come accept our obeisance” says an asura, slurring his words and giggling half way through. Father arrives, in his flowing white dhoti and beard, annoyed at the disturbance in his prayers to Shambhu. “Who is it at this late – oh Atibala! Come, it is always great to see an old student!” says father, as he invited Atibala and his companions. Maybe he wouldn’t greet them the same way if he knew they were the ones who had murdered his favourite disciple in cold blood twice. Or maybe he did know, but chose to ignore it. Atibala brings a pitcher and a goblet towards father and offers him wine. Father took the goblet and greedily inhaled the scent, swirling the vessel. An enthusiastic wine connoisseur, father downed the goblet in one gulp, remarking afterwards that it tasted different. Atibala attributed it to fanciful terms like the right serving temperature, touched father’s feet and left. Father soon after retired to his chambers, leaving me alone.

The sky is now dotted by stars, illuminated by the first rays of moonlight, and I start panicking. There is still no sign of Kacha. I rush towards father’s chambers and wake him up. “Father, Kacha hasn’t returned yet. Please do something!” I cry. Father immediately gets up, all hints of the sluggishness from the wine gone. He instructs me to light a lamp, and to wait outside. After what feels like eternity, but would have been a blink of an eye for him, he calls me in. His expression is gaunt, and his hands are trembling. “What happened father?” I ask, warily. “Kacha is no more.” he says, as if tired. “What?” I reply, shocked. “I SAID HE IS DEAD. HE WAS CUT DOWN BY ATIBALA AND HIS PARTY, AND THEN THE SON OF A BITCH BURNT HIM.” “Father, you are the only person in this universe who can revive the dead. Twice you have revived him at my behest, I vow father this is the last time I ask of you, please bring Kacha back.” I plead again, trying to calm father’s rage. He goes into a meditative trance again, but returns back quickly, this time even more shocked than last time. “Kacha is in me.” I am too stunned to even comprehend what he means. “Atibala mixed his ashes in my wine.” Father says, disgusted and horrified at himself, his students, and fate’s cruel turn.

Dread floods me. I cannot choose the man I love, about whose love I’m not even sure, over my father. Father, as if sensing my thoughts, says in a resigned tone, “Devyani, I can only resurrect Kacha on one condition. I will have to teach him the mrita-sanjeevani, which Kacha will then use to resurrect me back once he comes out of my body.” Father sounds like a defeated man. Obviously, such a heinous act by ones students was bound to leave a teacher like this. I kneel beside father’s bed, holding his hand, calming and healing him through my powers, as he starts chanting the mantra. Slowly, a faint light starts emitting from him. Kacha then emerges, making a sickening sound as he tore through father’s abdomen. Immediately he kneels down beside father, laying his hand on his chest, and utters the mantra. Father’s stomach seals up, and his breath returns to him as he opens his eyes. He still has that odd look of resignation on his face, and looks at me with – pity?

Today has been a lesson to me, a lesson that matters of the heart while shouldn’t be rushed, should certainly not be stayed, lest the heart’s wish never take wings. I can’t even bear the thought of losing Kacha again, not without telling him how I felt about him. “Kacha,” I start, as I move towards him “, I am in love with you. I love you like the dawn loves the sun, like the river loves the sea, like the clouds love-“ “Stop Devyani.” Kacha says, interrupting me midway. I fear what’s going to happen. Is he offended? Or does he not love me? “Devyani, I must return back.” Kacha says. “Where?” I ask him. Kacha had showed up on our door once, and each time I asked about his origin or parentage, he shied away. “Back to Amravati.” he replies. The deva capital? I look at father, who has instead chosen to look at the floor. I look back at Kacha.

I now realize the heartbreak that poets so fondly mention, as if stating the weather. How idiotic they are. Heartbreak wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even painful. It was draining. Everything I thought I knew was a lie. The man I had fallen for saw me as nothing more than a tool. All those times I caught him looking at me, or when he caught I, was a performance. His demeanour? What about his silent laugh? Was the way he blushed earlier today also a performance, part of an elaborate use to manipulate me? A thousand questions flood me, but only one sentence makes it out of my mouth – “You lied to me. You-you used me?” Tears blur my vision as I take a step back. “You are just a deva spy, and you used me.” Kacha stays silent, his shoulders hunched and head bent. “And you knew – you knew and you kept this a secret from me!” I whirl at father. He looks at me with tear stained eyes. “Devayani I-“ “Don’t you dare even take my name out of your filthy impure tongue!” I shout as I turn back to Kacha. He flinches at my tone, and I see the glistening tears on his face as well.

“You knew how I felt about you. You knew I loved you, and you knew I would get father to resurrect you each time you died. Had you told me your truth, I would’ve kept my distance, I would’ve stayed out of your way, I would’ve respected you for fighting for your faction, and yet. Yet you chose to manipulate me and my love, you conniving betraying lying cheating deva bastard!” Kacha looks taken aback at my words. I can feel my features contorting from my rage and pain. I can feel the hurt I’m causing, the way my tongue bleeds Kacha’s heart like he bled mine. I muster all my powers, and then I utter words that would cause Kacha the most suffering – “Kacha. You have seen my love so far, but now you will see the power of my hatred and my wrath. Kacha, I curse you to never be able to use the mrit-sanjeevani. I curse you to forget the knowledge to use the same mantra for which you have died and returned to the world thrice. Let the devas know that their spy failed.”

Kacha’s expression turns to stone. He bows to my father and touches his feet, and my father, the chivalrous, honourable man he is, blessed the man who almost killed him and broke his only child’s heart with a curt “May you emerge victorious in all future missions.”. Kacha then flies out of my house, and a blue lotus, with petals that shone like moonshine and fragrance that made the fullest of roses blooming in spring smell like stale bread, falls at my feet.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: A Carcinisation Situation

AN: You asked for this

Carcanisation /kɑːr.kɑ.naɪˈzeɪ.ʃən/ noun. An example of convergent evolution in which a crustacean evolves into a crab-like form from a non-crab-like form.

Anakin had always known that it would end like this. Perhaps not always consciously, much of his knowledge about the Force was instinctive, but at the back of his mind, he had always had a feeling. Time passed more quickly with every year. Each spin of whatever planet he was on became almost too painful to witness, breaking his body apart, breaking it down, leaving fine dust and ashes on his tongue, regrets of all his lost chances. In his youth, he had been so very desperate for the future, for the moment where he would no longer feel any grief but finally be with his loved ones, at peace, happy and whole.

And Anakin had been, for a decade singular and short enough that he hardly recalled it in all its vibrancy.

The war had demanded its toll. Anakin’s heart had been ripped out more often than he could count, devoured by hungry monsters lurking in the dark. The shadows of his swallowed-down missteps attempted to drag him down, deeper into their pit with every soul lost, every promise broken, every vow betrayed.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still see himself standing in the Chancellors office. His fellow Jedi lying on the ground, dead, dying, fighting for their lives. The Force had asked him to make the right decision then and Anakin, heart full of grief and apologies, flowers for his beloved’s grave, had chosen the Light, to decapitate the horror he had once seen as his friend and mentor.

The peaceful future he envisioned had been tainted by the dead of an unnecessary war, but it had also come with joys too precious to grasp in words.

Padmé alive, brighter than a thousand stars, and Luke and Leia, his sweet children, eternally perfect.

It had lasted for as long as it had taken until jokes about his youthful face had become too pointed, too concerned, and Anakin felt steadily more like he was approaching the age where it was appropriate to have a midlife crisis while still not looking a day older than twenty-four.

It had not been the middle of his life. If anything, he had still been in the infanthood of his lifespan.

How many nights had he spent on his own, staring at the stars, submerged in his parent’s embrace and asking why, why, why, haven’t I done enough for you?

The reply had been so unkind and honest, Anakin had never told a soul, but instead run into the arms of his aging family, determined to make every second last until there would be no more seconds together left to count.

Padmé had died first.

Years before her time from something banal like a ship malfunction. After surviving the chaos of the war, Anakin had thought her near-immortal (though his traitorous mind had reminded him sharply that she was not, or they would not be here).

Luke had died after, saving enough that the planet threw a festival every year in his honor. Anakin thought that certainly that death would break him, end him like a supernova, but his son’s spirit, mischievous like no other, hadn’t let him. Obi-Wan had passed next, joining Luke in their merry banter that could only be seen by those they chose to show themselves too. Ahsoka had died peacefully in her sleep. She had deserved that much after she had spent her youth chasing after tyrants and returning order to a galaxy split apart.

Leia had been last, and her death had almost surprised Anakin. She had always been more like him than Padmé and foolishly he had allowed himself to belief that perhaps she might be like him.

But no.

Nobody was quite like Anakin.

“Brooding again, dear one?”

Anakin did not move, unwilling to disentangle his limbs, face this stage of his being. Too much time had passed. He could hardly tell how much. He desperately wanted to see if their home was still standing, if the New Republic had built a different temple on top of the ruins of the last one. So many wars later, and history kept repeating.

“Anakin.”

His Master’s voice was kind, his gentle hands, though made of nothing more than willpower and imagination, as warm and real as those that used to hold him close.

Here, Master, he told Obi-Wan across their bond, unable to move his mound and produce any coherent words. I dislike this.

This could refer to many things. The new shape of his body, the planet they lived on, the current intergalactic politics, but Anakin knew that Obi-Wan understood him without needing Anakin to elaborate.

In moments like these, Anakin was convinced that he had lucked out. So many people could have found him, used him as Sidious had wanted to, but instead, Anakin had entrusted Obi-Wan with his heart. He had been so naïve at nine-years-old, but that was not a choice he had ever regretted.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, grief lingering in the air like the faint smell of morning rain.

Anakin felt his touch more on his soul than he felt it on his  shell. He loathed its color, the red reminding him of blood and loss and the war.

So many centuries, so many students taught and lost, so many battles, and that first one still remained as the war in his mind.

He’d prefer if his new form were blue, the color of a Jedi’s lightsaber and not a Sith’s greed, but, as with so many things in his life, Anakin had not been allowed to choose.

It’s not your fault, Anakin replied. You didn’t do this to me.

But, with Obi-Wan’s help, Anakin had been able to accept it.

“Still, I wish…” Obi-Wan trailed off. “It does not matter. Is there anything I can do for you.”

Miserably, Anakin stared at the beach in front of him. He had moved out of the island’s underwood last night, determined to get back to the sea, a place he adored as much as the skies he could no longer reach, but that would require him to pass through the sand and he wasn’t feeling up to a reminder of his childhood caught in other people’s greed and torment.

Tell me a story, he asked instead. Something that made you happy.

Obi-Wan smiled and dutifully as always, wove a tale of times past.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Diary of the Writing Raven; Birds of a Feather

For the 1100+ follower milestone, here is the next part of the cursed raven’s story!

This time, we revisit entries in Miss Raven’s diary. A familiar face assumes prominence on the stage--what role will he play in this story of ours?

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4

Day 47

I feel like I am being watched.

Uncle says I am just nervous and excited from the ceremony yesterday.

I am not so sure.

Day 48

I ran into that weirdo again today.

The weirdo is named Rook Hunt. He also calls himself the Hunter of Love...? I do not understand what that means.

He said that he will not be fooled again by Mon-sure Mastermind’s tricks again. He said he knows I am a bird, and he will chase me to the ends of Twisted Wonderland to see me in flight.

...Scary.

He shouts many strange words and chases me around. I managed to narrowly miss him by diving into the bushes. He was distracted by some students with animal ears--and I was able to run all the way home safely.

I suppose it is good to be curious, but...Mister Rook is too curious...!!

Why couldn’t I have run into Mister Jade instead?

Day 51

Uwaaah, I saw a very pretty upperclassman today! He had golden hair, violet at the ends.

The pretty upperclassman snapped at Mister Rook and told him to stop scaring me.

I am thankful, but...it seems like that upperclassman was scanning me all over. Judging me silently. I wanted to disappear into my clothes.

Before we part, he tells me that my ponytails are not symmetrical. He adjusts it for me and sends me off.

Mister Rook’s friends are strange people, too.

Day 56

Another run-in with Mister Rook. They seem to happen every day now, though they are not always...eventful.

He says I am too formal, and that I can just call him “Rook”.

He would not stop pestering me until I agreed.

He gave me a toothy grin when I, at last, relented.

What a troublesome man.

Day 57

Ever since I tried Flounder’s Blue, I have been sampling new foods and drinks.

Today, I got a cup of caw-fee.

Silly me, though...I tripped and spilled it all over a Savanaclaw student. He was so angry. He threatened to gobble me up.

I was trembling and sobbing when the Savanaclaw student yelped. Rook had a tight grip on his trail and kept tugging it, saying weird things until he scurried off.

I thank him.

Day 60

It feels like I see Rook around every corner. He does not always approach--sometimes, he is just content with watching from a distance, or he gives a small wave.

Jade has noticed too.

He asks if Rook makes me feel unsafe..

Rather than feel unsafe, I am a little curious as to why Rook is...well, Rook. He is certainly an odd fellow, but when I think back to a few days ago, I can’t help but think he has a good heart.

I do not think he means any harm.

So I tell Jade I am fine.

Day 66

Rook smelled funny today.

He says there was an accident in the Science Club, so he will reek of tomato and basil for a few days. That hunting trip he was planning is cancelled; the smell will alert too many animals of his presence.

I tell him that he reminds me of the pasta served at the Mostro Lounge, and he laughs.

How he is able to stay so cheery is a wonder to me--but it is not a bad thing, I suppose.

Day 72

Rook tells me of a carny-vale in the nearby town, and says I must experience it for myself. I was curious, so I followed.

There are so many bright sounds and sights. It smells like something fried and sweet.

We ride the spinning tea cups and the carousel. They make me feel like I’m flying once more.

I’m no good at any of the game booths, but Rook is. He has impeccable aim and strength. The game booth runners cry and beg him to not run them out of business.

Rook just smiles and asks them for their best prizes. He has no use for most of them, so he dumps his prizes onto me with a part on the head.

My arms are too full to hold any food, so Rook helps feed me. He stuffs funnel cake, cotton candy, and candied apple into my mouth.

The last thing we do for the day is the ferris wheel. We go up and up against the sunset.

In the dying light of day, I realize something.

Rook has very pretty eyes, too.

Day 80

The pretty upperclassman came up and introduced himself.

Vil Schoenheit, Pomefiore’s dorm leader.

The queen.

He remarks that my pigtails are not asymmetrical today, and that I am a fast learner.

“You must be, little Shetland potato,” Vil comments, “if you are to deal with my huntsman.”

Day 84

...Rook was carrying a Pomefiore boy over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes.

He says that it’s his job to capture runaways, in service of his queen.

...I wonder how much he gets paid to do this?

Day 85

I told Rook about my hiking trip with Jade!

He seemed very interested, listening intently and nodding while I spoke.

Rook says that he, too, is a fan of the great outdoors, and that we should go on a camping trip together sometime.

I look forward to it.

Day 90

Today is the promised camping trip with Rook.

The weather is getting chillier, so he reminds me to dress warm. He will take care of the rest of the preparations. After all, he has had much more experience with these sorts of things.

I’m still cold, even when I show up in three layers. Rook tuts and throws his jacket over me, despite my protests.

He guides me through the forest, pointing out tiny things I would not have noticed on my own. That bunny’s burrow, those squirrels storing nuts for the upcoming winter, the rustle of the leaves, the trickle of water, how the sunlight filters through the trees...

Rook has such a poetic way of speaking.

He reminds me of a prince in a fairy tale.

Day 94

Rook told me that he has noticed that my speech has improved. He is proud, puffing up like a proud father. He spouts some nonsense about how “mon petit oiseau” (he helped me with the spelling) is becoming such a refined young lady.

I told him that his own manner of speech is far prettier than mine.

Rook just laughed and offered to help me improve more and more, if I wish.

I should pay a visit to Pomefiore, he said, and the queen will welcome me with open arms.

Day 95

Pomefiore is...beautiful. Violet tapestries, crimson curtains, and gold decorations dripping from every available crevice. And everyone is just as beautiful as their surroundings, skin like glass and eyes set in jewel-colored shadows.

I expected nothing less of the oldest dormitory at Night Raven College. The castle is steeped in years of history.

I was offered tea and a three tiered stand of snacks. Vil introduced me to a boy named Epel, who squirmed in his seat with discomfort.

He made us hold our tea cups all funny and barked at us to exchange words. Rook stands at his queen’s side and just...smiles at us as we suffer.

After that, Vil shepherded us to a large table, where two sets of cutlery were laid out.

I’m drilled for hours on end, until I can differentiate the several different variants of spoons, forks, and knives. Epel, too.

I am told to return every few days, to join Epel for his lessons. “It would do him some good to have someone to go through the motions with,” Vil insists. “It gives him some much needed...’encouragement’.”

More lessons for me.

...Somehow, I feel like Rook has me caught in a snare.

Day 100

Vil quips that we are learning ballroom dancing today.

I do not see the practical use of such a skill, but he will not take no for an answer.

Epel and I mutter apologies as we link hands and step on each other’s feet. Then the queen has us take turns spinning around with Rook.

He is very graceful on his feet--far more than myself or Epel. I’m nervous when my turn comes up, but Rook reassures me that it will be fine.

His arms form a cage to keep me from stumbling.

He clicks his tongue and says I need more practice.

Day 102

We focused on the arts today. Vil was busy with modeling (?) and told us that Rook would be our instructor. He says that the arts are his best subject, so please leave everything to him.

Rook shows us fruit bowls and pictures of scenery (he says he took the photographs himself)! Then he sets out canvases and paint sets and tells us to follow his lead.

His voice is a soft murmur as he beats his paintbrush against a blank canvas, breathing color into an otherwise lifeless world.

I do my best to do as he says.

Rook glances over--and he tells me, through a blinding smile, that my painting needs some work.

I have to agree.

Day 110

Epel is with friends today.

Rook takes this opportunity to grant me a language and writing lesson. He knows that I like writing, so now is as good of a time as any.

Rook hovers over me at a desk and suggests ways to make my writing sound...fancier.

I practice writing sentences like...

You are the light of my life, the lark’s birdsong in the still morning.

You are as lovely as the petals of a rose, lush and delicate and breathtakingly beautiful.

You are the moon and the starlight, twinkling in the depths of the darkness and guiding me to salvation.

I ask him what the point of these phrases were--and Rook answers, “For when you wish to woo whomever has captured your heart!” He makes it sound so easy.

He teaches me a few basic phrases of his flowery language, too.

I tell him merci.

Day 117

The queen puts books on my head and tells me to walk without dropping any of them.

Rook holds my hand and helps me keep balance.

It is warm, and comforting and supportive, just like Jade’s.

Then Vil whips out a pair of odd shoes, with stick-like things instead of a flat sole. He calls them heels and urges me to put them on.

I fall on my face, and Rook has to help me up.

On my second attempt, he catches me. He tells me I have the grace of a newborn fawn--that is to say, none at all.

Still, I feel safe in his arms.

Day 133

It is cold, and snowy.

Rook drags me outside anyway. He says exercise will do my frail little body some good.

But...no matter what I activity I do, I am miserable at it. Snowshoeing, ice skating, sledding. I am horrible at all of them, and more.

We settle for building a snowman.

I try to make it look cute.

Day 140

The cruise ship is boring. The beach is boring. It’s mostly older folks like Uncle sipping on tropical drinks and sunbathing.

I wish I had someone to talk to.

Of course, Jade would be nice and set my heart at ease...but Rook would be able to make even something as mundane as this fun.

I can already hear him shouting in my head about the clear blue waters, and the amber sunlight, and the snow white sand.

Look at me, I’m beginning to speak nonsense.

Well, nonsense it may be, but it is interesting nevertheless.

Rook is...interesting.

Day 149

There are lots of seagulls here.

...They remind me of Rook.

I am not quite sure why.

Maybe it is the incessant cawing.

Though...that is charming, in its own unique way.

Day 155

Rook brought back a souvenir from his home land--a bright blue feather on a beaded necklace. He says it is similar to the one the young prince of his country wears.

It turns out, he is from the Afterglow Savannah! What a surprise; I thought he would be from the Land of Pyroxene.

He regales me with stories of his adventures, of the many hunts he embarked on and his trophies.

His eyes are like emeralds, shining with excitement.

Day 167

I saw a play with Rook.

It told the story of two lovers whose families detested one another. The actors all speak quite frivolously, just like Rook. I can see why he would like this kind of thing.

My favorite part...it was the balcony scene.

The male lead cannot stand to be apart from the female lead, and so he sneaks into her garden at night. He summons her to the balcony and makes a vow that he will, no matter what, find a way to be with her.

...The play ends with death.

I cried a little, and Rook let me lean against his shoulder until I stopped.

Day 170

I penned a little story based on the play.

This one has a happy ending.

I want to put some hope into the world.

Day 185 (Continued)

I asked Rook if he was excited for Valentine’s Day, if he was expecting any gifts.

He gave me a mysterious smile in response and said, “Ah, that is for me to know and for you to find out, mon petit oiseau.”

I wonder what he means by that.

Day 186 (Continued)

I will give Rook some chocolate, too!

As thanks for being my friend.

Day 197 (Continued)

I made little heart-shaped bon-bons for Rook.

Perfect for the Hunter of Love.

Day 198 (Continued)

I want to curl up and die, diary.

Rook saw me crying today, under the shade of the great apple tree that towers in the school courtyard.

He asked me what was wrong, a concerned look on his face.

I snapped at him, told him to leave me be.

...But rather than bombard me with questions or annoy me with overly embellished words...

...Rook sat next to me silently. He held my hand until I stopped crying.

Then I spilled everything. I don’t know why I did. I...I guess I wanted someone to know of my story.

Starting with my arrival at Night Raven College. Ending with Jade’s betrayal.

I told Rook the tale through my tears and disgusting sobbing. It was absolutely pathetic, but...he listened patiently.

When I finished, he told me something.

“Mon petit oiseau, I would never lie to you.”

And I believe him.

Day 200

I cried again.

Stupid Leeches.

Day 202

I am scared of Jade.

I say as much to Rook.

He makes a joke about sharpening a harpoon and going eel hunting.

...At least, I think it is a joke.

Day 215

Rook now greets me as soon as my classes let out. His smile and laugh are reassuring to see.

He makes sure I get home safely, and without being accosted.

I cannot say merci enough.

Day 227

...It is ironic.

The man I once ran from is now the one I willingly go to for shelter, and the man I once went to for shelter is now the one I run from.

What a strange reversal of fortune.

Day 228

I feel eyes on me again.

...Leeches, most likely.

Day 230

Tomorrow is another day.

I will stay at Rook’s side.

It is the only place I feel safe beyond Uncle’s attic.

Day 231

I can trust him.

I can trust Rook.

He will tell an ugly truth right off the bat.

He values honesty, integrity--like me.

And birds of a feather must flock together.

[poppyna]

the visitor ; anton&poppy

timing: earlier in may + last week participants: @poppyvernis & @grantcontrol​ summary: anton gets sent to the hospital. poppy gets a snack a meal plan. content warning: head trauma

In his less than stellar career as an exterminator, Anton was at least able to prove two things: One, he couldn’t dodge bullets, and two, he couldn’t dodge the ground. In retrospect, chasing an overgrown spider on someone else’s roof wasn’t the best idea, but at least it gave him enough time to consider his life choices, as flashes of previously, terribly made ones came running back to him, right before his very eyes, the fall itself peculiarly slow, as if it was intentionally taking an eternity to accommodate this Powerpoint presentation of numerous mistakes and regrets. Then the thud came, and everything else faded to black. 

The next thing he knew, he was coming in and out of consciousness, being wheeled through what smelled like a hospital, what sounded like an introvert’s worst nightmare. What he could see were mere blurs, almost incomprehensible and incoherent images fighting for his attention against the blinding lights of the ceiling. What he could hear were bits and pieces of rushed conversation, none of which he was interested in. 

A familiar voice did ring in his ears, barely making any sense to him, mostly because he was more concerned about the stuffed rabbit he just dropped as they were wheeling him away, his outstretched hand reaching for it but to no avail. “...oh, it’s the exterminator...what happened?” “...fell down a roof…chasing...dog...” “really?! ...well, that’s dumb.” Then the darkness returned, dragging him back into the depths of his own mind, where a haunting shadow patiently lurked. Hello, Anton. You have your mother’s eyes.

Gossip spread through the ER like wildfire, no matter how much the nurses liked to boast about having the perfect mask of professionalism with patients. The ones with strange reasons for ending up there were the hottest topics- at least for a few moments before someone else came with an even more inane reason. Poppy liked to pretend she wasn’t as interested as the rest of them, but even she wasn’t immune to the allure of knowing other people’s business. And the business, specifically, seemed to be an exterminator of some sort who was in over his head.

The reception area had a temporary lull in new faces, and it was her who was tasked with bringing the personal belongings over to the different private rooms. She expected bags of clothes, maybe a phone or two, but not a… child’s toy? The last thing she wanted to see was some sickly child. Those cases always left a bad taste in her mouth. Regardless, she donned a pair of gloves and set out to deliver the goods that had been left.

When she finally came to the room the note on the doll had mentioned, she realized two things very quickly. One, that the doll did not, in fact, belong to some sickly child, and two, that she definitely should not have stepped into that room. Poppy could almost feel the uneasy dream the man laying in the bed was slipping into from her position all the way by the door. She gulped. She definitely should have just asked someone else to do this job. She threw a quick glance behind her shoulder before she slid the door to the room closed with her hip. As she extended her hand to brush over the man’s forehead to enhance the unpleasant dream he had, she noted that this must be that exterminator the staff were all murmuring of. 

“Sorry,” she whispered to herself.

Anton has done his fair share of running. From debt collectors? Check. From adult responsibilities like being a good dad to a young daughter he’s barely met? Check. From bees? Check. The last part, he felt like he’d be doing for an eternity. Or at least until he got tired, which in this place, wherever it was, didn’t feel like it was happening any time soon. Where the hell am I? He wondered, at least for a bit, looking around him as grayish smoke and mist surrounded him, drowning this place as far as he could see. That was, until his attention was once again stolen by the giant bees that were apparently chasing him.

Anton. The voice spoke to him, not as sound in the air but seemingly from deep within, as if the speaker was someone, or something, that resided in his heart of hearts. You cannot run forever. Panting, wheezing, though not actually feeling tired, if only afraid, fearful for what could happen should his feet, knees, fail him, the exterminator continued to run, looking back every now and then to find the giant bees still after him, never speeding up nor slowing down. 

Then he spotted something strange, something new, a face, unfamiliar and out of place, from within the swarming rabble. Sorry, she whispered to him, not as sound in the air but from deep within, only confusing him even more. Who the— He cut himself off as he turned away, colliding straight into something else, something strong enough to knock him back, down on his ass on the ground. Wincing, Anton took his sweet time making sure he was still in one piece before he looked up and saw the man in the beekeeper’s suit, his arms already reaching towards him. I’m already home!

On his bed in the hospital, his physical body twitched and turned, his lips moving, though rare were the words that came out ever coherent. Although the fear was great, his guilt would never come second, and under three words, Anton’s lips moved ever so slightly to allow them a strange passage. “It’s okay…”

Poppy’s brow furrowed for a moment as the visions he saw danced through her mind. What the hell kind of fears did this man have?  She wasn’t creating anything for him to experience- no, this was a nightmare birthed from his own personal hell. If the rush of energy she felt from how terrified some guy and his insects made him feel- she probably would have cared more about that. She rolled her neck and shoulders slowly, head tilting from one side to the other. It felt like a massage to her very core that no physical touch could satisfy. There was nothing better than this feeling, and for a brief second she considered taking it all in that very moment. She wouldn’t need to feed again for quite some time. 

The words that left his mouth snapped her back to reality. She opened her eyes and stared down at him. For a moment, she panicked. Was he awake? What the hell? That had never happened before. Poppy considered her own thoughts that she felt while feeding and bit her lip. The high, warm feeling in her stomach began to fall, leaving her blood buzzing through her veins as though she had just run a race while her heart sat thick in her throat. That’s the monster she pretended she wasn’t. She didn’t even know the poor guy who she just tormented and there she was considering adding a second notch onto her ledger. Fuck.

She retracted her hand slowly, knowing she shouldn’t let it idle on his head for too long. Poppy felt compelled to flee, but there were too many nurses out in the hallways for a fast walk to go unnoticed. The sun had yet to fully set, she couldn’t go intangible and leave, and even if she could the cameras would pick up a door opening and closing on its own, and- and-

Her hold on the stuffed toy in her other hand tightened and she resolved herself to take it face on. Poppy looked behind her, just to check and make sure no other nurse had crept inside while the whole ordeal was unfolding, then took a few steps back. She glided her hand down her face and combed her fingers through her hair, at least trying to make herself look as thought she was a normal human nurse just concerned for a regular patient. 

The Beekeeper was a story Anton’s late grandfather told him and the rest of his cousins whenever they had become too naughty, too rowdy, for the other grown-ups to contain, to rein in. It was a tale of warning, of fear, the title character the appropriate Boogeyman for their family’s line of work. Yet as the years went by, as Anton found himself drifting farther and farther away from his own family, the Beekeeper became more of an afterthought to him, a forgotten string of words from a bygone era, nothing more than the whispers of a past he can never go back to. That was, until he returned to White Crest.

It wasn’t like he was forced to return, however, as his former life in California wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. He had made mistakes, so many, and though he wouldn’t admit to regretting much, there were major milestones in his life that he dared wish had happened differently. Thus, the move was a welcomed respite from the dark clouds that hung over his head through the years, only to be replaced by darker ones once he arrived in this sleepy town. At the very least, he had inherited the pest control business as well as a better place of residence when that grandfather of his died.

“Am I dead?” The words slithered weakly out of Anton’s lips as his dark brown eyes wandered slowly towards the other person’s very form. Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous. It was a weird first thought, considering the nightmare he had just survived, the fall he had taken. One would assume he’d be more interested in figuring out what had happened, how he got there, yadda yadda yadda. Then again, the exterminator has survived far worse and has taken more dangerous beatings. It seemed that the gates of hell were closed to his soul yet again. “Are you an angel? I’ll go wherever you’d take me.”

It took him more effort than he was used to, but he was able to muster a warm smile, the so-called stone meant to hit two birds: the nurse, as a sign of gratitude for keeping his unconscious body company, and himself, as a distraction from the horrors that he had just escaped from. Groaning, he moved his body around, at least as much as he could, still tired and barely recovered from the fall. When he found a comfortable enough spot, a position that made the rest of him ease a little, he turned to her again, his eyes not wanting to leave her face, his smile unable to falter. There was something about her that drew him like a moth to a flame, a vision of beauty and salvation. Shame that Anton had no idea how that allusion was more dangerous than he could ever understand. 

She blinked. The more conscious he became and the more words that left his mouth, the less Poppy was able to compute what was happening right before her. Her mouth moved to form the first syllables of ‘are you crazy?’, but she stopped herself before she broke whatever illusion had overtaken the man in front of him. This was definitely… different. She was used to crying, used to screaming, even used to people waking up in anger over having vivid terrors ruin their night of sleep. Not once had she gotten a complement. If she could even call a hospitalized man spouting words a compliment.

When more than a handful of seconds of silence passed between them, she blinked and cleared her throat. “Ah... no. Not at all,” she started, rocking back on her heels, “you’re not dead. So… I am not an angel.” A soft chuckle escaped her while her head gestured to the side, trying to point out the walls and machinery of the dimly lit room in an attempt to maybe bring him out of this stupor. (Yet again, she had to hold herself back from saying anything out of turn. There was a reason she wasn’t the one who did courtesy rounds with patients). This had to be a concussion of some sort, a fairly nasty one. That thought stung a bit. Having to wonder if she had just fed from someone with a concussion worthy of putting a professional athlete out of commission was a new low. But upon closer observation, he appeared… “fine” seeing as he just fell off a roof. Well, fine in Poppy’s books. Which had considerably low standards for what humans needed to be “fine”. 

Regardless, Poppy forced herself to put on a mask of kind professionalism, looking back at him with a gentle smile though she made it a point to stare at his ear instead of into his eyes. “Don’t try to move too much- okay? You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” She lifted the stuffed animal she held and waved it a bit once it was in his line of vision. “Does this help? It seems to belong to you.”

 The smile never faltered on Anton’s lips as he continued to look her over, perhaps even seeing her for the first time. “I beg to differ.” The words slipped out without his consent, though hearing them now, he wouldn’t have even bothered to rein them back if given the chance. He didn’t believe in angels, not as much as he believed in annoying insect monsters that could kill him, that most likely killed his grandfather, but seeing her heavenly face, all that cuteness and innocence, he could definitely see himself becoming a believer.

Slowly, his dark brown eyes wandered around them at her behest, though they didn’t stray long. She had a magnetic presence over him, one he could not seem to ignore. Or at least look away from for far too long, which wasn’t really that long. A part of him feared that she was just a mirage, an illusion, and if he didn’t keep his eyes on her, she would disappear, something he hoped the man in the beekeeper suit was instead. “Oh, hey, Mister Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek!”

His instincts told him to reach out for the stuffed animal, which his body followed and regretted immediately. He didn’t even get to move an inch, his shoulder quickly punishing him for overextending them. “Fuck.” Wincing, he tried to move it around, feeling the pain, before realizing he just swore in front of a goddess. Eyes wide in horror, they found her again, and despite the brief moment of silence, he tried to cover for himself with a warm smile. “Sorry… My shoulder… Pain… You know how it is.”

Anton nodded towards the stuffed animal as he explained further. “That’s the, uhh, favorite toy of my client’s three-year-old. Some overgrown spider tried to grab it and run, but I managed to chase it away and keep the toy but, well, you know… Fall from grace.” He let out an awkward chuckle, not sure if the truth made him look any worse. Couldn’t be any worse than the exterminator who fell off a roof. “I’m Anton, by the way. Anton Grant.” He offered her a hand to shake and winced when even that small attempt made his body hurt. Fucking hell.

While he spoke, Poppy let herself trail over to the hub of machinery at the top of his bed. Her eyebrow quirked at his remark, but other than that, she forced herself not to give any other reaction. Despite the night terrors he just experienced, she could barely feel the residual traces of fear that still clung onto him. All of it had seemingly vanished when he became conscious once more. She hoped that meant that his suspicion for what had caused it was low, too. Though, based on the way he was acting, she was fairly certain there was little for her to worry about in that regard. 

She let herself relax somewhat at that thought, though jumped slightly when the man began to move, caught off guard by his sudden urge to get up. “Ah,” she started, reaching forward with her free hand before pausing, letting it hover a few inches away from him. “Your injuries aren’t horrible, but you still need to lay down. If you try to move too much you might make it worse. And that’ll make your bill worse, too.” A stern look crossed her face for a moment. One that read ‘I mean it, don’t fucking try it’.

Poppy shook her head gently and set the doll down next to his thigh, her hands coming to a rest atop the side railings of the bed. A giant spider? She thought back to his nightmare. Well, if what she had gathered from that was correct and he had experienced some kind of bizarre beekeeper who was out for blood, then the spider story should track. A quiet huff escaped her lips as the corners quirked up. “I don’t… know if I should assume that’s real or fake,” she replied, her voice low with amusement, “but if it is, then… that’s. A nice thing to do. Getting a kid’s doll back.” 

“I’m not your nurse, but… I’m Poppy,” she paused when he attempted to move once more. She used the back of her hand to gently push his down until it laid on the bed once more. “I’m serious about the no moving thing, Mr. Grant.”

Anton has had horrible and worse, numerous times, throughout not just his respective careers as an exterminator and pest hunter but also his everyday life, most of which he will always regret. Her mention of a worsened bill, however, scared him the most, and with a gulp, he resolved to heed the warning, knowing full well his finances were much scarier to deal with than a trio of beeserkers. That look on her face is pretty cute, though. 

His eyes widened in a mixture of horror and excitement as she approached his thigh, though it was immediately replaced with a relieved expression and then disappointment when the doll landed instead of what his crass mind had imagined. Although he was somewhat glad that Mr. Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek was safe and within reach, his thighs craved the touch of something else, someone else. Even in the aftermath of brutality, Anton was still but a boy, hungry for fantastical companionship.

“Oh, it’s real!” He said, almost too excitedly, dark brown eyes beaming with misguided pride. “I really fell down. You see the small rip on Mr. Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek’s right ear?” He winced as he momentarily forgot about all the pain, mostly due to his desire to impress her, and pointing at the spot, straining his arm yet again. His smile only grew wider when she complimented him, as he’s never heard an actual compliment since he came to White Crest, certainly not after he’s been paid at least.

“Poppy?” He mouthed her name over and over again after the word already slipped through his lips, her touch surprising him but in a very good way. He could feel his heart beat race again, her warmth and her scent magnified by his childlike crush. “It’s a pretty name. Perfect for a pretty girl.” He offered her his most charming of smiles, his heart beat rising when she mentioned his name. “Please. Call me Anton.” He tried to distract himself from the loud vibration inside his chest by furthering the conversation. “Is there a way I can choose you to be my nurse? Like a form I can sign or something? I’ll probably need to stay longer now. I’m so hurt, Poppy.”

A quiet hum reverberated from her lips. This definitely was not the first time a patient had acted head over heels for a nurse. And Poppy was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but at least this guy- Anton wasn’t some creepy old man. Just a concussed guy. Who thought she was pretty, it would seem. Her eyebrow raised once more and she stared at him. She’d never encountered someone who acted quite like this before. Even among the strangest of individuals who ended up in the back of the ER.

An idea popped into her head then. Oh. Hey now.  She could make use of an infatuation like this, couldn’t she? The softer voice in Poppy’s consciousness tried to remind her that this was definitely a breach of the Hippocratic oath, but she wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t even human. Yes, she was pretty certain that oath didn’t account for creatures like her. Who was she to deny free food when presented to her?

“I assume you’ll be kept overnight for observation unless the doctor sees you now,” she said, more to herself than as a response to him. She then let a soft, long sigh leave her lips. ���If I transfer to your nurse, would you quit trying to move?” Poppy glanced over to him with that same look, though it was less serious and more teasing than before. She may not have all the schooling that the RGNs had, but she had the same nursing certificate nonetheless. It probably wouldn’t even take much convincing to get whoever was actually assigned to him to let her take over. They’d probably let her take all the patients if it meant getting to sit quietly at the front desk like she did.

“Poppy, I would quit everything for you.” Anton quipped, though part of him was certain that it was true, that he’d actually risk his entire life, change everything including himself for her, for a muse that he could serve. The other part? He’s been there before, a long time ago, and it didn’t end well. He did get a cute kid out of the deal, but she was taken from him, too. Probably best for everyone involved back then. He was, after all, at a terrible place in his life. 

These days, he has most things under control. He had a stable source of income, he wasn’t too bored that he’d do less than legal things for the sheer fun of it all, then a rebellion against his family and everything else, and most importantly, he had a pretty big house all to himself. If he played his cards right, he may find a very attractive, very nurturing nurse roommate. He and the boggarts at Grant Residence.

“Where do I sign? Do I even need to sign anything?” Anton wasn’t quite well-versed with all these medical proceedings. For a long while, he’s been able to skirt out of its way, mostly with help from old acquaintances, accomplices, and his earlier almost rendezvous with death in White Crest introduced him to who both seemed like old acquaintances of his grandfather, Doctor Adams and Detective Lee, the oddest couple he’s ever met. Oh, maybe he’s here! “Oh, by the way, do you know a Doctor Adams here? Weird British guy, has glasses… I actually forgot his first name.” He chuckled, even as pain still lingered within parts of him, dark brown eyes extremely happy at the sight of Poppy.

  “Uh-huh,” Poppy drawled out slowly, her head bobbing once in some semblance of a nod. She briefly wondered if this… infatuation of his was more of a passing side-effect of his concussion rather than anything else. Even so, Anton had definitely made himself out to be an unforgettable person. 

Strange or not, a meal was a meal. “Well,” she looked out toward the door to the room for a moment, then back to him. “I’ll have to go poke my head around and see who’s assigned to your room.”  Her face pinched in concentration. “You won’t have to sign anything, don’t worry, Mr. Grant.”  At his question, her expression softened back to one of neutrality. Doctor Adams, huh? 

“Is… unless he frequents the ER here, I probably don’t. Lots of doctors in the world, you know.” She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, his words sparking a memory of self-righteous doctors that  would sometimes be called down to the ER and throw fits at the state of things. “Alright, I’ll go… run and sort this out. Do you need anything before I go?” She paused. “That, ahem, isn’t me.”

With the devotion of a high schooler suffering a huge crush on his classmate, Anton listened to her intently, a wide grin on his face. Concussion or not, at this moment in time, Poppy was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The second best was probably waking up from that nightmarish hellscape he found himself in while unconscious, but it was probably just a one-off thing. He’s had the same nightmares before, and although they were never that intense, he did fall off a roof this time, so his brain, as much as it could while working in terrible condition, justified that as a good enough reason. 

“It’s fine. I’ll sign anything you want me to sign.” The words slithered out of his mouth without any thought, none at all. If Anton had been dragged to a network marketing scheme instead of finding his way to the hospital, he’d probably have lost all of his money as soon as he woke up. Thank god for his client, such a kind-natured soul who was probably more worried about cleaning his corpse off her lawn than his actual health. Eh, good enough for me. 

“Yeah, of course!” He laughed at what he perceived to be her quip, already forgetting his question about Doctor Adams. “What isn’t you?” Again, his subconscious tried to help him out, but Anton was presently not 100% whole. A part of him tried to make sense of what was going on, what had happened, but that part wasn’t as strong as the other part of him that catered to his sad, pathetic craving for her companionship. “I’m fine, Poppy. Not as fine as you, but I’m fine.” He grinned, even though his body was obviously not fine, not yet anyway, pain still lingering in his bones and joints. 

As soon as she leaves, however, he mutters to himself, an unnecessary assurance to his own misguided feelings, his still blurry perception of the things happening around him, all while he watched her go. “Oh, yeah. She’s definitely into me.” She was, of course, not that into him, but he needed to believe that lie. At least for now, he felt hope, not as just another lie to trick himself into carrying on but as a warm dream he can aspire to. At least for a couple of days, maybe even weeks. Anton’s romantic relationships never end well, after all.

In the days that follow.

It wasn’t every day that Poppy put a bit of effort into her appearance on a day she went to work. In fact, it was never. Except for maybe the very first week she had landed the job. The long hours and constant moving around and sweating meant that makeup was not the best of ideas. Especially at seven in the morning. But she had been planning for the specific day a certain patient was to be released.  She’d spent much of the time that Anton had been spending in hospital care thinking about what to do. Never before had anyone she’d ever fed on been so… completely unaffected by what she did to them. Not only that, but it was as if the man had been slapped by some cupid’s curse.

Whatever the case might have been, Poppy decided that it would be best to make use of it. These types of things happened for a reason, didn’t they? She told herself such while she put that bit of effort into her appearance. Her hair was pulled back nice, her eyes lined with a gentle wing of brown eyeliner, and her cheeks had a faint dusting of orange blush. Just enough to make her look like she was definitely not a nightmare demon in some human skin.

She walked down the long corridor of the hospital wing and came to a stop outside the door to Anton’s room. Poppy inhaled quietly, then knocked on the wood with the back of her hand. “Mr. Grant?” She asked, opening the door a inch to make sure he was awake, then more so once she saw him. “Good morning. I think I have something you might be interested in.” She raised her hand and waved a stack of papers for a moment. His discharge papers. Fresh and ready to be signed by the doctor.

For the entire duration of his stay, which was like just a couple of days anyway, Anton found the entire thing quite nice. Sure, he’s been having a couple of nightmares here and there, waking up more tired than he expected, but it was probably just the side effect of that fall. Besides, he finally had an excuse to take a day off, and though it probably sets BUG BUSTERS PEST CONTROL SOLUTIONS back for like a few dollars, it wasn’t that heavy of a price to pay. 

Anton could technically take a day off every now and then, but he never did, always consumed by the nagging feeling of guilt and the dread of  disappointing his already dead grandfather. So far, however, the Girl’s text messages, meant to update him on the daily goings-on at the office, were mostly boring “oks” and “someone called but i referred them elsewhere”. If he had known things would be this chill, he would’ve taken a day off a long time ago.

Aside from loafing around in his hospital bed, Anton filled much of his time and attention with the love of his life, his nurse Poppy. Thanks to his concussion, which was a weird thing to be thankful for, the exterminator believed he had finally found his muse. His past relationships all ended terribly for one reason or another, but he had high hopes Poppy would be a different case. If he only knew. 

“Poppy? Please, call me Anton.” He reminded her again, for the nth time, though he didn’t really keep count and consciously didn’t actually mind. The words just felt like the right reply for her calling her future boyfriend Mister. “Good morning!” He greeted her with as much excitement as he could muster, eager to spend another day with her, only to get deflated when his dark brown eyes found out what the papers were. 

“I’m being discharged?!” He turned to her with sadness and despair, as if he was betrayed, rejected, by the girl of his nightmares dreams. How could Poppy do this to me?! “Uhh… There must be some mistake? I still feel, uhm, bad?” Scrambling towards her, he threw off his sheets, grabbing her hands in desperation. “No, Poppy, I’m still in pain... Please. I need you… To take care of me.” He whined. Like a child.

Bingo.

Poppy rolled her eyes playfully and snorted quietly. By that point, she had grown used to Anton’s antics. For the most part, at least. “You say as much, but your doctor says something completely different. Apart from the, uh, bouts of night terrors?” She paused there, sparing a moment to look up at him with some faux-concern. Mostly faux-concern. Seeing the side effects of her noshing still twisted her stomach from time to time, but there was nothing she could really do about that in the end, was there? She still needed to eat. A gentle nudge and she wiggled her hands out of his grip.

“Aside from that, you’re back to being in perfect health.” With that, she set the folder she held down on the rolling table beside his bed. Poppy looked at him with eyes that were both teasing and pitying. “This is a normal part of being in a hospital, you know. You do have to leave at some point.” She tapped a painted nail on the top of the folder twice. 

“It isn’t like I’m going to magically disappear after you leave. I still exist, you know. Is there something I can do to ease the pain of this discharge?”

“Oh, yeah… The night terrors…” Anton simply shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about them, afraid to unearth a childhood trauma that he may not be yet ready to come face-to-face with. As much as the Beekeeper was but a story his late grandfather used to tell his grandchildren whenever they’d misbehaved too much, the exterminator has seen and experienced otherwise, a part of him certain that there was more to the tale than he was told. With a smile, however, he eased her concern, not wanting to burden the love of his life with his inglorious fears. “Just a side effect of the fall, I think? Nothing to worry about!”

Yet he could not stave off the disappointment and sadness he felt at the idea that this was it, this was the part where they’d, well, part ways, him and Poppy, forever no more. Anton felt his heart wrench, a stinking feeling in the deepest pits of his stomach that almost sent him in a panic. This was the best he’s felt in weeks, months, and now it seems over. Back to lonely nights in his late grandfather’s massive house then. Maybe he should really put that guest room up for rent. “Do I have to?” 

There was nothing normal about him, that much he understood. Certainly, the adjective perfect was rarely used to reference Anton. Poppy was right, however: All things must come to an end, even the good ones, especially the good ones. Life is nothing else but suffering, sometimes tolerable, most of the time annoying as fuck. Still, she offered him hope, and like trout to a lure, he could not ignore it. Forlorn, his dark brown eyes wandered back to her, and he mustered a weak smile. 

“Promise? I mean, I guess it’ll be a little less painful if you, like, I don’t know, keep in touch? By, uhm, giving me your number? There’s, like, a really good restaurant at the docks. Dinner sounds like the least I can do to thank you for keeping me healthy.” 

Poppy smiled. 

She put a finger to her lips, as if to tell him not to tell anyone else. Without saying anything, she pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pen from the pockets of her scrubs. If Anton was anyone else, she would have worried that they might wonder why she precariously had such things in her pocket, but she had learned that by that point, he didn’t seem to care about much other than looking right at her. For a moment she wondered what his reaction would be if he ever figured out what she was. This little façade couldn’t go on forever- at least. For her, time had proven that everything nice would have to end at some point. Would he still be as awestruck if he knew? Or would he finally come back to his senses?

A thought popped in her head. Had she ever cared so much about what a human really thought of her? Really? 

When she glanced up and saw the genuine gleam of desperation in Anton’s eyes, Poppy decided not to worry about it. Whatever he wanted out of her, she could play along. No one else was being hurt- clearly he wasn’t as affected as other humans would have been. As she carefully wrote down the digits to her number, adding a small smiley face at the end, just for the appeal, she spoke: “As long as it doesn’t entail you chasing after some sort of gigantic bug and getting another concussion.” She peeled the note off the pad and flattened it down on the cover of the folder, the ink on the face smearing just-so. 

Poppy took a few steps back and smiled. “Another nurse will stop-by in a bit with some more for you to sign. And then you’ll be a free man once more.”

Anton nodded fervently, dark brown eyes wide in delight as they found themselves glued on the tiny piece of paper that contained Poppy’s number, that he held as tightly as he could, as if he was afraid it would vanish very soon. Committing her contact information to his memory, the exterminator couldn’t hide his triumphant joy, chuckling at her quip. It would be dishonest to not admit that he had thought about doing the same thing again, suffering the fall and the nightmares as an excuse for him to be near her once more, in the same room as the angelic face who woke him up from his nightmare. Her phone number was a safer compromise, though. 

“Thank you. Again. You have no idea how much this means to me, Poppy.” He didn’t either. Not really. Especially all things considered. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

That was the last he saw of her. At least at the time. When he was told to leave, the exterminator unfortunately couldn’t get a hold of the nurse that had a warm grip on his heart. Anton wanted to wait and see her, bid her goodbye at the very least, but she was apparently busy elsewhere and some security guard was being rude, watching him like a hawk does a mouse. With her parting gift, however, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they crossed paths again. Or at least until he’d hear her voice again. Maybe, if she was too busy to have dinner with him tonight, he would at least see her in his dreams. The thought made him smile as he finally made his way out of the hospital, breathing in the fresh air made even better by the memory of his muse.

In fields of poppy,         buzzes this little bee.

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Soulmate Shenanigans

So, lucky me, I found this list of prompts!

Unlucky me, it was for a September event. Surprise, surprise, this is not September

That isn’t going to stop me from doing this, though!

So, without further ado, prompt number one!

Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm

Warnings for death mentions galore and drowning, as well as something that isn’t drug use, but if drug use is a triggering topic for you I wouldn’t recommend you read

Not as angsty as these warnings would suggest, but there is still Angst

I don’t know how it got angsty I just work here

World building

The first recorded instance of a palm mark was when Lady Natalia of Venice nearly drowned in a canal

She’d been on her way home from a party alongside her fiance when she “tripped” (the word “tripped” here means “Was pushed by her fiance for financial reasons”) into the river. Her husband-to-be quickly exited the scene, leaving her to be weighed down by her skirts and die.

Angela (forger of swords and mixer of poisons, just happened to be in the neighborhood when she heard a scream and a splash) had other plans. She dove into the water, saving Natalia and cutting her hand in the process.

The two women spent a good deal of time together after that, the scientific Natalia claiming that she only wanted to know why her name was on Angela’s hand.

Some historians claim that the two were platonic soulmates. While this is possible, and platonic soulmates have a long and wonderful history, no one with common sense believes this to be the case

They exchanged love letters that were quite clear that the attraction was a romantic one.

Some historians also claim that there isn’t enough evidence to suggest that they killed the fiance.

Those historians are wrong.

Anyway, in modern days 97% of the population has a palm mark with the name of their soulmate

The tattoo industry has never had so many illegal opportunities

When your soulmate dies, the name doesn’t scar. It doesn’t blister, burn, or black out. All that happens is a thin, impersonal line crossing their name out. Some people don’t notice who they lost for days.

There’s a process to remove palm marks. However, it’s illegal and possibly fatal for the soulmate being removed.

Our Characters

Roman: Roman was confused by the name of his soulmate.

Who names their kid “Janus”?

Am I soulmates with a roman deity? The heck?? SO MANY QUESTIONS AND SO LITTLE ANSWERS

Roman was so excited to have a soulmate. He kept entire journals filled with things he wanted to tell Janus, part diary, part scrapbook, and part love letter. He would doodle hearts around his palm mark.

One night, in April, Roman went to sleep. In the morning, there was a line across his palm.

His soulmate had died, and he hadn’t even seen the line drawn. He broke a little.

Enough said.

Roman took the passion that he’d had for his Janus and channeled it into his acting. If he couldn’t get love, he’d get a fucking Tony Award.

Remus: Remus had been annoyed by his brother’s complaining.

“Oh, boo-hoo, my soulmate has a rare name. That means that as soon as I meet him, I’ll know exactly who he is! Roman, DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE NAMED LOGAN”

Remus was annoyed that his soulmate had the audacity to have a common name. In theory, he could date all of the 18,000 Logans in the country, but does he really have the time?

He and his brother bicker about this for a solid seven years, until the argument abruptly ends. Ever since then, he’s been on his brother’s side in everything he can.

Logan: It made total sense for Logan to not have a soulmate.

His soulmate would have been unlucky, being stuck with a know-it-all like him, at least according to most of the people he knew.

This was a simple solution to the puzzle.

It wasn’t helpful to waste time wishing for a different one.

Janus: Janus had a whole plan for when he met his soulmate.

He wrote it down in 10th grade

Step 1: Wear gloves

Step 2: Find Roman

Step 3: Say something witty

Step 4: Remove gloves, revealing palm

Step 5: This little mystery is over and done with, and hopefully my soulmate isn’t boring

This was how a lot of Janus’s plans would work. Solid ideas, but missing bits and important pieces. This includes his heist plan he scribbled out on a napkin on an April day.

Step 1: Find local con-artists

Step 2: Pretend to be a person with money (which I obviously do not have)

Step 3: Scam them

Step 4: Don’t get murdered on the way out

Step 5: Profit

He pulled off steps 1-3 with ease, but step 4 proved to be a sticking point.

As he escaped via the river, with money in his hands and a “so long, suckers!” on his lips for drama, he thought nothing could go wrong

Fun fact: It’s rather common for con artists to fatally give away their positions by yelling “so long, suckers!”. Just ask Odysseus as he sailed away from the Cyclops.

The con artists shot wildly at his boat, blowing it to pieces. As he went down with the ship, he barely had enough time to think this can’t be happening, and fuck this and I’m going to die at the same age as Philip fucking Hamilton and I really don’t want to go to hell before his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped.

And Janus died.

For a solid two minutes.

Technically, death is when your heart ceases to beat. Even though people have been revived after their hearts have stopped, it is death, and enough to draw a line across a sleeping Roman’s hand.

Janus, however, was saved by an old man, who dragged him out of the river and forced the water out of his lungs. The old man took one look at the teenager and decided that he needed better role models, which is how Patton took Janus under his wing and saved his life in more ways than one.

The Actual Plot

Roman is in a city production of Hamlet. His brother is in the audience, his friend is fixing the lighting, and he’s ready to go.

It’s a pretty good performance, by all accounts, but especially according to Janus.

He’d already been watching the main actor intently, smiling from the mezzanine, but he was even more intrigued when he read the playbill and realized his name was Roman. He could barely pay attention to act five as he planned out the lies he’d tell to get backstage.

Somehow, he didn’t get caught sneaking around, and managed to catch a glimpse of Roman’s hand in a mirror. Janus. He really is his soulmate!

Janus walks over to Roman, says something that isn’t as witty as he would have liked (but not as bad as it could have been), and removes his glove.

Now, he expected his soulmate could have a variety of reactions. He didn’t expect Roman to yell “Not today, ghost!”, throw a prop skull at him, and sprint out of the theater. Janus caught a glimpse of the line through his name.

He was reasonably sure that he wasn’t dead? He could see his reflection in mirrors, he could consume salt, people tended to notice his existence!

Jan didn’t have much time to mull over this, as he was about to be forcibly removed from the greenroom. Logan just wanted to fix the lighting and live his life, but when strangers break into the backstage and upset Roman...

Jan skedaddles as Logan chases him out of the building. The nerd has almost caught the intruder when he runs directly into a man in a green jacket holding a coffee cup full of ketchup

Why did he have a coffee cup full of ketchup?

Remus and Logan bicker as Janus escapes. When Remus realizes Logan’s name, he asks a few questions, but Logan quickly shows his two blank palms, and the matter is settled.

Everything seems over and done with.

Meanwhile, Roman is freaking out. His mind is essentially in a loop of The fuck? The fuck? The actual fuck? He’s completely unsure of what to do. Is he seeing ghosts? Does he only believe he’s seeing ghosts? Is he sane or not?

Remus checks up on his brother at around 3 am, only to find him, exhausted, and writing in his old soulmate journal. Roman tries to explain what just happened, but the narrative told isn’t exactly coherent. All Remus can gather is that

1. His brother thinks that his dead soulmate is alive

2. This is because some guy snuck backstage and told him that he was the dead soulmate in question

3. This was probably the guy Logan was chasing

Remus convinced Roman to go to sleep, and walked out of the apartment with blood on his mind. He was sure that his brother was being manipulated.

This guy might not be dead now, but he would be soon.

Meanwhile, Janus proves that he can, in fact, cross a salt circle, so he must be alive! Right?? He also can’t get a certain actor out of his head, and wonders what his next move should be.

Remus recruits Logan to help him do some investigation in case Shady Liar Dude shows up. They go on several stakeouts together, in equally improbable locations. Maybe the two of them got too far into the secret agent aesthetic. Logan had always wanted to be a detective as a kid.

They fall for each other, and fast

Roman is spiraling, and a chat with Remus has him convinced that he was wrong, and Janus really is dead. He curses himself for believing in the pretty fairy-tale. Yes, because love wins in the end and they all live happily ever after. He has a performance tomorrow.

And it’s really time he got rid of the old scar.

You don’t hang around Remus without knowing where the black market locations are. It’s relatively easy to find the cure for palm marks.

He paces around backstage, holding a journal in one hand and a small bottle in the other. The warning that destroying the palm mark destroys the soulmate causes terror to rise in his throat, even though he knows that Janus is dead and can never read his love letters no matter how many stars he wishes on.

He finally makes his choice when Remus and Logan visit him before the performance. They give him looks of pity. He doesn’t want to be pitied.

According to the label, effects should take place over the next several hours. So, he waits for Janus’s name to disappear from his hand.

Janus managed to hustle someone with orchestra seats for their tickets. Despite not getting off on the right foot with his soulmate, he isn’t going to let him go that easily. And Roman’s brilliant performance that night just reinforces that. If he was good weeks ago, he was a star now. Janus was transfixed.

When the curtain call came, Janus was the first on his feet for a standing ovation. Remus and Logan noticed him, and pushed their way through the applauding audience. Both of them almost hoped that he’d get away again so they could continue spending time together.

Roman notices him. They lock eyes. Janus waves as though to say Hi, I’m here, apologies for the awkwardness of our meet-cute, but coffee? Roman gives him a look of disdain, as if to say I can’t believe I thought you were my soulmate, you con artist. He intends to look away and bask in the applause, but before he can do that, Janus collapeses.

Roman is confused at first, and then it clicks. That’s his soulmate. That’s his Janus.

And he killed him.

Pandemonium breaks out. Roman leaps off the stage, Remus freezes in panicked comprehension, the crowd scatters, and several people try to reach the dying man.

Logan gets there first. His mind scans memories of hours spent in libraries, researching everything there is to know about palm marks. Why didn’t some people have them? How did you lose them? How could you get them back?

He instructs Remus and Roman to help carry Janus to the greenroom.

They race him there, everyone in a state of panic (including Logan, but more importantly he has a job to do). Logan tells Remus to run and get a few basic ingredients, and they wait. Time moves much too fast and much too slow, until he comes back.

Logan works chemical wonders, piecing together Roman’s hand until everything is stabilized.

A vicious scar, the type you’d except if your soulmate was really gone, forms on Roman’s palm, and it will stay there for the rest of his days.

Janus comes back from death’s door for the second time.

After The Drama

Logan and Remus eventually move past the “but I don’t have a soulmate” “and yet I still am in love with you” dithering and go on a date that isn’t for the purpose of stalking a supposed stalker.

They go to the aquarium.

Meanwhile, there’s a lot to work out between Roman and Janus. From “wow, you’re not dead” to “wow, I nearly murdered you”, we don’t have time to unpack all that.

But they do get coffee. And they talk.

Soulmate stuff! I really like soulmate aus, despite not liking to write straight up romance

It’s weird

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!