#(there's a lot of light bright and sparkling but also so much sorrow that these people have lived through and are dealing with) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

azurevi · 4 years

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3 halloween tales (cater, jade & vil)

This is really random, but the ssr cards for the halloween show have given me many au ideas, so here are my self-indulgent stories inspired by them. The Cater one is especially long because I got a lot of ideas about it. For the Vil one.. it's pretty disappointing how it turned out, but I hope it's not too bad. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!

WARNINGS : death (all), mild mention of gore (cater), war + mild possessiveness + violence (jade) [let me know if there're more!]

the heart and its eternal weight

Cater is a cemetery caretaker. It isn't that he really loves it, but his father was one. He feels like it is only right to take after his steps.

He isn't into superstitions. Some people find distaste in his job, but it's something crucial for Cater. People, even after they're dead, should still be honored, and so deserve a hospitable place to rest.

Everyday is a routine for him. Sometimes, though, the families of the passed talk to him about their stories and their emptiness once their loved ones are gone. Cater finds the beauty and softness in humans by hearing these stories, and it makes him even more dedicated to his job.

It's natural to him, dying. His father was killed in an unintended accident, and sometimes it seems like his death could have been avoidable just as much as it was inevitable. He just wishes that he had had more time with him.

One of the lessons his father taught him about graveyard caretaking is to beware of ghosts. Those who recently died are more visible and intimate with the world of the living, and so they might appear before humans. Some are inhostile, of course, but there are malevolent ones.

Lore has it that some ghosts prey on hearts. It is said that the heart is the most important part of a human, as it is accountable for life, death and emotions. People believe that ghosts can be revived with a fresh, still-beating heart, and as a result the human giving up their heart will die in place of the ghost. Basically, the heart can also create ripples in the fabric of space-time.

Because of his job, he isn't all that popular among others, and he only has a few life-long close friends, his mother and sisters by him. So even if he has a crush on the most admirable person he's ever seen, he still won't make it known in fear of rejection. He figures that he still has time to figure it out.

And he's wrong. News about your tragic death spread around quickly like wildfire, and he's devastated. It feels wrong to even feel so, because he has never been acquainted with you in the first place.

Your body is buried in his cemetery, and a lot of people come to your funeral that day. Some of your family members are so heartbroken and pitiable, and so Cater offered to be their listener.

All he can hear is about the great work you've done, the care you put into everyone you met, the warmth that radiated off you while you were still alive. It breaks Cater how he's never had the privilege to know you, to experience all your graces with his own perspective.

One night, the moon is lit and hung up high in the sky, so close that it seems to be prying on Earth and the people roaming on it. Cater is patrolling with his lawnmower when he hears quiet and uncertain sobs.

He is creeped out, yes, but he's also curious. He's never seen a ghost before, and it could be a human for all he knows.

He's proved wrong once again, as he discovers your opaque body behind a giant tree. You are hugging their legs close to your chest, and a rotting hole's visible where your heart should be.

There's no way you can be hostile, and you certainly won't kill him for his heart, so Cater decides to approach you gently, tentatively, like you're smoke that will disperse the moment he intrudes.

To his surprise, you can hear him clearly, and even invite him to sit down with him. It's so bizarre -- a ghost asking for a conversation! But Cater doesn't mind as he pops down beside you. He notices how although you were no longer solid, it still feels like tense when his hand passes through you. Certainly it's because you've been dead not for long.

And so the two of you indulge in heartful conversations, and Cater finds himself regretting even more about how he never gathered the courage to go up to you. Mid-conversation you tell him about all the things that you wish you could've done and all the ideas you wished to spread.

Cater probably shouldn't have, but he is so absorbed in your ambitions and kindness that he offers to carry out all these great things for you. After numerous confirmations, you agree too to let him carry out your thoughts.

And so Cater works in his neighbourhood, sharing campaigns and donating, taking care of lost pets and cats and partaking in environment improvement. He's never felt so fulfilled before, and it's the first time he feels like he's genuinely making a difference in the world.

In times he's not representing you, he brings you up on the little hill behind the cemetery where the moon and stars are so close and vibrant, where they all dance in the dark ballroom and pulse in excitement of being seen. He wishes he could show you more hidden gems, but your spectral spirit cannot be too far away from your body.

But it's enough.

A month passes and Cater notices subtle change in your behaviour as well as appearance, like how you're responding with less enthusiasm and how the hole in your chest is growing bigger. When he finally asks about it, he's told that ghosts generally only stay in the world of the living for 49 days, and their heart will rot away in this period. After that, they will have to go to the underworld, never be back again.

Cater is certainly shocked that the lore is more than a children's makeup story. He is well aware of the significance of the heart in relation to the soul and life.

He asks if you'd like to have his heart instead, so bluntly and casually. You seem to return to their original intimate self when you refuse.

"I'm already gone. It's you, the living, who should be making changes,"

So he pretends that you're not getting more and more unresponsive and less and less generous. He turns a blind eye against your wavering figure and how you can't be seen at all in the sun. He plays dumb when in reality, you're slipping away before his very own eyes, heart rotting away like nothing more than a fruit.

It hurts finally knowing and understanding someone and having to lose them.

On the 48th day, you are already but a still, soulless shadow, leaning beside your gravestone and fresh, white flowers. Cater can still see you. Sometimes he thinks that you chose to be seen.

And he can't bear to see you go. To see your dreams go into flames, to watch such a pretty soul just - vanish.

So he gives you his heart. Alive and beating and sentimental. It doesn't even hurt a bit.

You wake up immediately, your eyes glowing and body solidifying.

"What have you done?"

"What I can do to make a change,"

Time is starting to rewrite itself. Cater is going to die in your place. The space around you was warping and folding into itself, softly and rightly like a lullaby.

Just before you slip into darkness, you gather up a whole bunch of rose petals and desperately stuff them into the hole in Cater's chest, as if they can give him life in lieu of a heart, and you are sobbing and clinging onto his still warm arm, never wanting to let go.

It's all Cater wants, to save a wasted soul and to make a difference.

And so he cradles your face, and leans in the moment everything goes black. When he wakes up again, he's weightless in the cemetery, where a bunch of well arranged roses lie on his buried body.

a melancholy specimen

To Jade, beauty needs to be preserved to be constant. It's just like flowers. They die away without proper care.

Just when he thinks he's seen all the beauties of the world and is getting bored of it, he meets you. A blooming flower sparkling in the bland, old boring world around it. He's immediately captivated - how a person can still manage to flourish in such a rotten world where everything is depressing and all man is for themselves!

You're the most elegant piece of art he's seen, and that's something considering that he owns a museum. Innocence lies in your eyes and bravery sings itself between your lips.

You find him just equally amusing -- gentlemanly, insightful and just a touch of flirtation. The two of you fall in love like Alice down the rabbit hole - amused and unstoppable, fascinated by the wonders evolving about.

But the world doesn't give a damn about love, nor do they understand your dreams of a bright future where everything is close to hearts. They call you both madness and nonsense.

"Their souls are tainted with war and sorrow. They are beyond the point of rescue. Victory and glory are all that can feed their ego,"

Jade is disappointed. War has gouged people's eyes out and filled them with wails and ash.

The two of you are the only stars in the night sky, still fighting for salvation, yearning for a better future where trees grow and flowers yearn for the sun. You promote and do your best to lift the veil of darkness off the world.

But the sun doesn't understand either. War keeps going on and on, and people never have the time for aesthetic relaxations. It refuses to shed light on its pitiable humans.

"We should evacuate, Jade. They say a bomb is dropping tomorrow,"

Jade doesn't care and can't care. The most paramount thing is to open his eyes to the beauty of this world. He doesn't want to become one of those barbarous men, tasting dirt and blood on their tongue while they glorify violence and brutalness.

He stays behind while his neighbourhood dies away. You are the only ones yet to leave.

"Please don't leave me, Y/N. You're the only light in my life,"

You can't bear to leave him, and so you stay. The bomb is dropped, and it's too close. Too hot. Too cruel, too inhumane. It ravages everything in its way, burning all the darkened things to the ash and bringing the only beauty left in this world with it.

Jade wails. Broken cries are engulfed by nearby explosions and the cackling of flames. Your soulless body lies amidst the destruction, just another wilted flower in the slit of a rock, deprived of water and sunlight.

He finally understands. Nothing can save the world anymore. It's gone way too far, and it will never recover from malevolence. All he can feel is pity for his world as his heart ache with spite.

Bandages around his hands, he wraps your corpse up completely, preserved underneath the layers. You will be his reminder that there was once a flower in this drought, an anchor keeping him from becoming one of those barbarians.

lifeless silhouette in the dark night

You can never recognize directions. You find yourself stumbling upon a seemingly inhabited mansion in the middle of the woods. Cold and bruised, you knock on its door.

Welcoming you is a tall man with blonde and lilac hair called Vil. His skin is unnaturally white, and his eyes seem to glow like orbs that eat your souls. But you are too tired to make notice of all these details, and he's kind enough to let you stay for the night.

He treats you with ravishing cuisine and a grand bedroom that was as grotesque as the rest of the house. Afterwards, he leaves you to rest, but not before warning you not to get out of the room post midnight.

You oblige- for the first half hour. Then you start to hear wails and footsteps that amplify and disappear. It's impossible to sleep.

The next morning, you confront Vil about it. He refuses to face the questions as he ushers you to get going, and so off you go.

You spend another day lost in the woods, then somehow come face to face with the mansion again. Vil is beyond shocked to see you, but then he breaks into a deep smile.

"It's almost as if you belong here,"

Weirdly enough, you could agree, There seemed to be an invisible force pulling you towards Vil. After dinner, he orders you not to leave the room again before making his leave.

Broken wails. Recurring footsteps. You can't bear it any longer, and you also wonder if Vil is aware of this. He properly is, and thus tells you to stay safe inside the room.

But dumb curiosity gets the best of you, and you open the door and step into the endless corridors.

The wails come from the host's room, where Vil is supposed to be. You're closing in when its door is suddenly flung open, and out runs a panting Vil.

"Vil? What are-"

His eyes are bloodshot and there's red stain in the corner of his mouth. Sweat dots his forehead. He looks disheveled and the complete opposite of how he was during dinner.

"You shouldn't be here. Get back - get back in!"

His voice booms in your skull, and you're running back to your room before you notice.

It's another sleepless night.

To your luck, Vil doesn't wait for you to bring the incident up.

"Don't be creeped ou by it, please."

He seems very uneasy about it, but he's obstinate to give you an explanation.

Turns out that he is a vampire. One that has lived for 500 years and is waiting for his eventual death. He's seen everything in this world and lived through the best and worst of humanity. He understands people's fear about vampires, and so he resides in the remote part of the wood. He only ever drinks the blood of small animals that he hunt, and never has he once killed a man.

He knew nothing about what'd happen to him when he became a vampire. If he'd known about the repercussions, he'd never have become one in exchange of eternal beauty. Now he has to turn someone else into a vampire to end his immortality. It is only a cycle.

Every night the moon rises and spills into his room, and he has to fight his urge to go out and taste the sweet blood of humans.

There are times when he slips and loses control, but he always manages to get back to his senses. But it seems that your presence here in the mansion is awaking his desire to suck you dry.

You're bewildered to say the least, and frankly horrified. But at the same time you feel pity for him, for he is just a man who can't ever do anything as atrocious as hurting people.

And so you offer to end his suffering. Of course Vil disagrees. He just talked about how he never wanted to take a life, and now you're offering yourself to him? He'd never allow it.

But you're even more persistent. You keep staying in his mansion, and his sanity slips a little more every night. And you know that he's contemplating too, for he never tries to kick you out of his mansion.

"You deserve a rest, Vil. For your love and selflessness. For all the unspoken kindness you bestow on others. It is only fair that you get to rest,"

Vil has lived a life. He's but a mere walking corpse now, and a rest -- a sleep -- sounds just like what he needs.

And so he rests. Vil falls into a deep, serene sleep while you endure each and every dark night.

#twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland #cater diamond #jade leech #vil schoenheit #sie writes #twisted wonderland imagines

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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The Crane Team (End)

This is also the final end of the MC from the ReWritten series. I won’t feature her in any future work. I feel like this is a fitting and canon compliant end for where our character would naturally end up given her origins. I tried to tie everything together here in a nice little bow.

Black Swan Bay, Herzog, Caesar... all of it.

Thank you for reading.

Late afternoon light filtered through the dense canopy of green leaves, peeking through, flashing like shattered bits of sunlight. The breeze sent them dancing, the smell of a waning summer wafting through the air, the rattling cries of cicadas buzzing through it. This plus the cigarette smoke calmed Crow’s heart to the point that he felt that maybe he could go back to the Bliss Hall Memorial Garden. The Bliss Hall was surrounded by forest on all sides but a few grassy trails were cut into the forest to allow people to escape the heat of summer and observe the deer that made the woods their home. Even now, two does were standing in the shadows, ears out, watching him. He looked back at him, suddenly struck by the beauty amid so much sorrow.

He felt it was a little cowardly to run away, leaving Yoko Uesugi there with her bouquet of white roses and shame followed on the heels of his calm heart. It caught him off guard to see Sakura Yabuki enshrined in the memorial statue. Her face was so beautiful. The memories came flooding back. Meeting her, getting to know her, hoping for her happiness with Chisei Gen. But now that was all gone, nothing was left but her smile in bronze. He tapped the grey ashes from the cigarette and quietly cursed to himself. “Are you just going to stand there, Yoko?”

Yoko Uesugi was beautiful in that lavender colored kimono, her black hair tied up in a bun and adorned with a spray of white flowers. She was still holding the white roses in her hand. He knew she was shadowing him for a good distance. Now, she reached out to him. Her hand was ungloved and sparkled with clear scales on her knuckles. The two of them faced each other, a distance between them that seemed insurmountable a few weeks ago. Now they never felt closer.

“Come on, Crow. I want to go lay the flowers with you. I want to. We don’t have to stay,” she said.

Crow pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re a stubborn lady.”

“That’s for a reason.” She smiled. “A lot of reasons. I didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time, I had completely given up on life. It was understandable, given my situation. I’d lost everyone I’d ever known, everyone I ever loved. I was surrounded by strangers. It wasn’t until a brash young man from Cassell College inspired me that I could even look ahead to the future again and not see anything more than darkness. He was my light. He still is. He taught me to live, taught me to hope, and taught me how to inspire that hope in others. To invest in the future of others, even on my darkest day. He assigned me to inspire hope in the Japan Branch. That is my mission here.”

“I’m stubborn because of him. I know the future isn’t as bright as he promised. I’m aware of the gathering clouds and shadows. That’s why after today, I will leave Tokyo. The threats to my life have become too great.”

Crow was stunned. “Too great even for Hydra?”

“Yes.” Yoko lowered her voice. “Herzog did not work alone. Some people who worked with him are now hunting me, and they are now behind the Sons of Amaterasu. I am their special target for assassination. Me and Miss Erii. It has nothing to do with my blood. They are cleaning up after themselves.”

Crow let out the breath he’d been holding. “More goodbyes huh?” He looked into her eyes, their golden light shrouded by colored contacts. “Don’t be mad but, you left a hair in my car. I had it tested. It showed that you and the Young Chief were distantly related. I had a feeling just looking at you. You reminded me of him. That’s what I meant.”

Yoko’s eyes widened slightly, then she laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after all. Turning families against one another… is what Herzog did best.” She shook her head, smiling, a thin strand of hair drifted across her nose.

“So what are you going to do?” Crow asked.

“Now? I’m going to walk with you to the statue and lay the flowers. And then I will leave.”

“Who will take care of the job then?” Crow blinked.

“You, if you’re willing. You get along well with everyone I’ve introduced to you. You’re a man of heart and feeling. You’re sincere. I have no better candidate. I’ve already told the High Matriarch. She will support you.”

Crow nodded. “Mrs. Nanami and I have also been talking. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about this either.”

“Then. Shall we?”

Crow crossed the space between himself and the Devil Girl, Yoko Uesugi and took her hand. Her hand was cool and dry despite the heat. He ran his fingers over the scales there. They weren’t hard, but they were smooth and slightly bumpy. She looked into his eyes and smiled. He smiled back.

Yoko and Crow stepped out of the forest together. The sky opened up from under the dark shadowed forest, a clear blue with wispy clouds. The breeze tossed a few strands of her hair. The heat was much milder now but he could observe the slight sheen of sweat on her face. She was young, beautiful, and carried a heavy burden with effortless grace. They returned to the statue, standing side by side.

“Who are the kids at the bottom of the statue?” Crow asked, looking at the happy faces of children enshrined in bronze. There were three children, two girls and a boy, laughing and sharing a hug.

“They are children I knew from an unnamed port in the arctic. Herzog’s first victims, where I was born. I’m not the only one who knows they ever existed now. It’s a comforting thought.”

“Your friends who died from before…” Crow said. The three children looked exquisitely happy, without a care in the world.

Crow watched Yoko look down and then they bowed in unison, heads lowered solemnly. They stayed that way for several seconds. Crow’s mind returned to the last time he saw the Young Chief, at the ruins of Tokyo Tower, with Sakura Yabuki as he received his swords. Gen Chisei wasn’t part of this memorial. Why not? He glanced at Yoko who was still bowing. A smile traced her cherry red lips. But before he could ask why Chisei wasn’t part of the memorial, the girl suddenly grimaced and moaned. A dark red splatter of blood suddenly painted the memorial statue and she fell forward before he could catch her.

“Yoko!” He picked her up off the ground, his suit stained red.

People were starting to fall all over the garden. The peaceful mournful scene turned into screams of panic.

“Snipers! We’ve got snipers!” He yelled.

A steady throb of rotors made him look up. Three black helicopters were heading in, firing on the memorial from a distance. Crow picked up the wounded Yoko and ran for the trees. Crow laid her on the soft grass and stuffed his jacket into her wound, breathing hard in panic. “Hold on! Hold on!”

“Go!” Blood streaked a grotesque smile out of the corners of her jaw and painted her teeth. “Save the others! I’ll be fine!”

Pain like a fire scorched Crow’s entire body! While he was at heart a kind person, he was the quintessential gangster, the son of a gangster, and that kindness withered under the hot desire to kill every one of these sons of bitches.

He raced towards the black vans parked outside and slammed open the doors to an arsenal of weapons. He picked the heavy antiaircraft gun that came standard with every van of the Executive Board. After they’d been caught flat footed at the Tokyo Tower, it was made sure that there would never be a convoy without heavy artillery ever again. He walked out, stood against the first helicopter and fired. The white smoke trail followed the missile and took out the first gun on the aircraft.

“Take down those choppers now!” He roared. “Get everyone to the safety of the woods!” He knelt down to reload. “They’re not aiming for me. They’re aiming for the civilians.” He snarled to himself.

Crow’s phone suddenly rang and he picked up.

A man’s low voice sounded. “Are you sure you’re on the right side?”

“It’s not my job to decide what’s right. That’ll shake out in the end. Right now, I’m acting with the authority of the High Matriarch and anyone who’s against that is a target!”

He shouldered the missile launcher again and fired. This time he aimed for the rotors. The boom thundered through the air and the smoking helicopter dropped.

Meanwhile, the two others had arrived and men on ladders swung down, firing on everyone that moved. Crow took cover behind the statue and loaded his guns. “All available personnel kill those guys!” He shouted over bullets and shrapnel landing all around. After a pause in the shooting he returned fire with his pistol, aiming at the people on the ladder, they dropped to the ground but still a few of them made it down.

“Sir!”

“Ryuusei!”

The young former Devil Clan member handed him a submachine gun. “For you, my friend.”

“Find Miss Erii and get her to safety.” He said with a solemn nod.

“Yes sir… but … Ms. Uesugi…” Ryuusei still loved Yoko it seemed. But now it was too late.

“She’s fine in the woods! Go!”

Bullets uprooted garden plants, shattered the bark of trees and sent dirt flying as the beautiful garden beds became war trenches to hide behind and fire from. The Sons of Ameterasu were in full body armor and it was only a matter of time before the casualties of the Japan Branch became too much and they were overrun. Three of those maniacs were gunning specifically for Crow. He couldn’t move from behind the statue for fear of getting shot, much less return fire. While they were shooting it seemed they were taking pleasure in destroying the statue. The smiling faces of those children were suddenly full of bullet holes.

He just had to wait for a pause. He listened carefully. He couldn’t die here. He wouldn’t.

Sudden screams made him peer from behind the artwork. A small figure had pounced on those men and fought them like a mongoose in a cobra’s den. He only saw flashes of her pale white skin and golden hair as she dispatched those Amaterasu members with the efficiency of a trained assassin.

Crow’s phone rang again. A cold female voice, the one he had heard before, came over the phone. “There are explosives in the helicopters. I need you to take them out. Let me take care of the men on the ground.”

“Are you from Cassell College?”

The cold voice took on a deadly air. “This has nothing to do with Cassell. Yoko is my sister.”

The phone call ended abruptly. Sister? His eyes turned to the statue of the young children. Was this voice one of those children from the unnamed port in the Arctic? Crow scrambled to get back to the vans. He glanced behind him and saw the girl, lying on the ground, giving him cover fire. He could only peer at her back, but her figure did resemble one of the children on the statue. Crow suddenly realized that this story was full of unknown stories, a history as deep and dark and vast as the Japanese trench. It was one of friendship, sorrow, love and loyalty. It was a story that he wanted to be a part of.

He got back to the van and armed himself as much as he could. Yoko had put her whole heart and soul into the reunification of the Japan Branch and it was up to him to maintain her work. Did she know she was going to die here? He cursed and swore loudly, shoving magazines into his weapons. Why? Why did he always lose the people he was assigned to protect? He lifted up the missile launcher and fired one of the helicopters. A cloud of flames and dark debris rained down on the garden and set it alight in a cruel parody of both Bliss Hall, Black Swan Bay, and the Red Well. The last of the bricks of the house that Herzog built was now under assault and his ghost was still haunting them.

But in a stark contrast to those times, Cassell, Hydra and the Devil Clan fought back and put up a united front to battle the phantom of that man’s murderous and evil intentions.

Crow didn’t know who ran up to him to tell him that a man had run into the woods. He could have been a former devil or Hydra, or from Cassell, He didn’t care. He knew who that man in the woods was after and he had to protect her.

At the edge of the garden, Ryuusei ducked behind a tree just before bullets ate through the bark and into the soft white wood. He ran again and barely escaped the bullets whizzing by his head like angry bees. He was out of ammunition and could only hide. They knew he was out too. As he crouched behind a statue of Buddha, he smiled bitterly. “You warned me, Yoko… people who fall in love with you… tend to end up dead.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, a pair of crimson eyes blinked at him. Before he could shout, a small pale hand covered his mouth. She raised one finger to his lips and then closed her eyes. When she opened them, that crimson had turned to gold.

She opened her mouth and an ugly frog-like snarl rolled out of that pretty throat. Her thin arms wrapped around the buddha statue to hug it from behind. She picked up that stone statue, leaving a square patch of bare dirt exposed, and then threw it like an olympic javelin. This statue weighed a few hundred pounds and immediately crushed the people who were pursuing Ryuusei.

Then she grabbed his hand and together they ran into the forest. Darkness closed around them. Ryuusei could smell the smoke. “Miss Erii… right?” He could scarcely believe what he saw. This girl didn’t need his protection. She should be out there fighting like all the others!

Erii suddenly skidded to a halt. Her eyes widened. She backed up. A man all black, a mask, and body armor blocked their way, holding two dark pieces of wood. He started to tap them in a pattern and Erii grabbed her head and started to whimper and cry, tears falling from her eyes. She collapsed completely thrashing on the ground as if in terrible pain.

“What are you doing to her?!” Ryuusei leaped forward.

The man then drew a pistol and shot Ryuusei in the stomach. Ryuusei fell next to her, unable to inhale, breath frozen, eyes wide. The blue colored sun mark of the Sons of Amaterasu was on his sleeve. Ryuusei couldn’t believe it. Not here. Not now. He could only watch the assassin calmly and silently change one pistol for another. This time, aimed for Erii’s head.

A loud yell from the woods distracted his attention and Crow came from the brush, howling like an angry bear and tackling him in a line drive straight into a tree. The man dropped the gun and the two men fell to the ground, wrestling for it, tumbling over and over. Ryuusei’s hand was wet and sticky with blood and he grunted. “Erii… Ms. Erii… please get up!”

Erii was just whimpering. “Yoko… Yoko! Sister! Help me! Please help me!”

Crow’s fists struck the helmet and then the mask. The man grabbed his head and slammed him hard with a headbutt and leaped to his feet. Then he gave him a savage kick in the side. “You’re no better than that Chisei Gen. Soft. Soft to Devils that will ruin our future!” He stood over Crow and drew his pistol. “This is the last stand of the bloodline. All Devils must die! You used to be one of us. You used to be a Devil Slayer. What poisoned your mind?” He grabbed Crow by the throat. “You know the truth better than anyone.”

Crow snarled, back at him, unafraid of death. “I do know the truth better than anyone… and even better than you!”

Crow still had his gun, a pistol, modified by the Equipment department. It wasn’t meant to be used at such close range but he had no choice. He drew it and blasted the man in the chest. Even the body armor couldn’t save him from this powerful round. The force of it crashed into his ribs, snapping them like dry branches, taking his breath away. Crow swept his legs out from under him and pinned him, yanking his arms behind his back. “You want to know the truth? We Hydra were killing at the orders of a killer. Someone who was creating monsters and then sending us to destroy what he created! The truth isn’t what you know. The truth is what I know. We were pawns. All of us!” Crow roared. “I’m not going back to being a pawn by continuing to follow that bastard’s orders! And anyone who does will be eliminated by the family. These are the orders of Chisei Gen and I always follow his orders!”

The man laughed. “Then look. Look at what your precious orders have led to.”

A movement caught Crow’s eyes and he lifted his gun. Then he lowered it. A woman, naked, white like a wraith, now stood on the path, her long, ragged black hair draping over her golden eyes. She was tall, almost seven feet, long and thin with heavy claws for hands. She was covered in crystalline, mirror-like scales that reflected the shadowy greens of the forest. Bone wings, white as snow, extended from her back. Her legs were willowy, like a cross between a dragon and a mythical elf. Had her dragon evolution progressed further her legs would have fused into a serpent’s tail.

But as monstrous as her form was, he could still recognize the white flowers that dangled from her long hair. His strength left him and his face paled. “Yoko… no…”

“I had to… I had to survive.” Even her voice was different, gone from that deep softness, to something a little more like a rattle. “I have to go. I won’t be able to turn back.”

“Are you really going to let her escape Crow? That woman… She's a ghost. She’s turned fully into a ghost. Like they all will somed-”

Crow’s fist smashed into the man’s head. “Shut up! This is your fault! You! She was fine! She was fine! Until you shot her! You shot her, you bastard!” He battered the guy into unconsciousness, tears streaking down his face. This wasn’t inevitable. None of it was. Everything could have been fine! Then these people…

He finally stopped beating the man and sighed, defeated. “Executive Department policy says I have to kill you. But…”

“That’s right. I raised my blood too high in order to survive the gunshot wound. This is the price I had to pay for my life.” She regarded her crystal claws thoughtfully. “There’s a third option for us. If I can’t live as a human… or a ghost, then I would like to choose my place to die please.”

Crow lifted his head. “Choose?”

“Yes. You’re still in a war against dragons. And I’ve learned that the only thing that can kill a dragon is another dragon. You need me. And when you do. Call.”

Her eyes shifted to behind him. “Ryuusei!”

“I’ll get him a doctor!” Crow staggered to his feet. The pain in his head was starting to finally hit him and he swayed with dizziness.

“Good. I have to go.” She hurried to Erii’s side. She carefully gathered Erii up into her arms as easily as if she were a child. “Thank you… Crow.”

“Don’t thank me.” He stood up and dropped his gun from a limp hand, tears ran down his face. “Don’t thank me.”

“Thank you, Crow.”

“Damn it! I said- Augh!”

Her wings swept upward. The wind created by them was unnatural, dark clouds swirled instantly into the sky, the trees swayed under the gale. The elements were becoming unmoored from their natural order by Yoko, and stirred up by her.

The downbeat of her wings knocked him back and she rocketed upward into the sky with Erii. The dense clouds let loose a sudden downpour that smothered the flames consuming the garden and turned the ground black. She hid her presence behind this gray curtain. Crow’s voice calling out to her was drowned out by peals of thunder, but he ran chasing that retreating form, those dark immense wings, until they disappeared.

Crow stood in the middle of the garden looking helplessly up into the sky.

“What are you doing?” Said a cold female voice. “She’s gone. And she’ll never come back. Don’t just stand there. We have wounded people.”

Crow turned to her. “Who are you?”

“My name is not important.” The doll-like girl with pale white skin and golden hair turned her back on him and walked away alone.

Crow took a breath and clapped his hands together to steady himself. Then he turned and started barking orders at the security team.

Months later, Crow stood in front of a line of young men and women, some from the Devil Clan, some from the cadres of Hydra, new recruits for the Executive Branch of Japan. “You’re a select group. I selected you because you’re the ones who stood side by side and fought for the unification and healing of Japan. The first of its kind. A mixed-blood group. Some of you were Hydra some of you were Devils. But now you’re one.”

“You are now, the Crane Team!”

#Dragon Raja #Crane Team

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

Cardigan | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end

Warnings: —

Words: ~3k

Prompt: Based on Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I’m not sure if that translates, but it’s all I listened to when writing this so there’s that.

Note: Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content.

Winterfell was always unbearably cold, something you never got used to, despite living in the North your whole life. But despite the biting cold that left you feeling like you were seconds away from frostbite and minutes away from turning in a statue of ice, you loved it. You were enraptured by snowflakes that lazily glided down the sky, nearly iridescent when the faint rays of the sun would hit them. They’d land in your hands, melting within an instant, turning to small water droplets that would slip through your fingers. Your dark hair was a startling contrast to the white blanket surrounding you, your pale skin glowing in the light, making you look otherworldly.

As a child you’d run through it, as wild as the direwolves north of The Wall, running through fields covered in ice, no rhyme or reason. A ferocious yell leaving your mouth just because you felt like it, not restrained by the obsession of being civil and proper. But you were older now, no longer that wide eyed naive girl, instead of running freely, you kept it hidden deep inside you, only visible in a glint in your eyes.

You still often find yourself as far from Winter Town as you could, hiding away in the depths of the Godswood. However, instead of chasing imaginary battles against dragons, you chased shadows that were just as distant as your dreams. Their hair so dark it could be mistaken for black, but you’ve seen the sunlight hit it just right, exposing the soft and wild curls as a dark brown. Deep brown eyes bore into your soul, seeing right through every layer that surrounded you and hid your true feelings and ambitions. And his voice was deep, the Northern brogue only enhancing how hoarse it could sound, and sometimes when he spoke, you swore your whole body would tremble. He’d deny it over and over again, but standing in the Godswood, the crimson red leaves dancing around him and crowned by snowflakes, he looked beautiful.

Some days you danced around each other, mimicking the movements of the Lords and Ladies in lavish balls neither of you would ever be let into. You moved towards him and he took two steps back, making declarations about how unhappy you’d be with him, how he’d never give you what you needed. But by the end of the night, when the sun was completely gone, the woods around you plunged into darkness, he’d crack. He’d stop fighting, if only for a moment, and allow himself to drown in you. He’d pull you so close to him that two blended into one. Your lips would meet in soft and slow kisses, stars clouding your eyes. And when you burned from the cold, ice numbing your whole body, he’d pull you even closer, if that was possible, lighting you on fire with a single smile.

And it was nice, sneaking away from your parents and all the noise that surrounded you. Every stolen moment with Jon was built under a delusion that the outside world wasn’t real, an illusion that one day you could be more than an illicit affair. And each time you met, you told yourself that it was the last time, but you lied. Despite knowing everything the two of you built; every quiet moment under the stars, each second tucked away in the Godswood, and every secret glance would crumble until it was nothing but a ruin.

Even with that knowledge, the day you watched Jon leave for The Night’s Watch stung more than ice ever could, burnt you more than dragon fire would have. And as you stood hidden away, watching him with tears threatening to pour down your face, you swore your chest was hollow. He gave you one last look, filled with longing, sorrow, and all sorts of other emotions. You wanted to be furious at him, scream and yell until everyone knew that he was leaving you behind. But you couldn’t. You’d seen the sad look in his eyes, the scars covering his body from the mental and emotional lashing Lady Catelyn gave him with just a glance. How beat down he really was, truly believing he couldn’t be anything more than a bastard. And despite how many times you drew stars around his scars, no matter how permanent the ink was, nor how many you drew, they would bleed again the second you two departed.

So instead of making a scene, you just smiled sadly, wiping away any stray tears as you waved him farewell. To this day, your mother still doesn’t know why you cried so much that day.

Shortly after Jon left, Lord Stark was imprisoned in King’s Landing, accused of committing treason against Joffrey Baratheon. And before you could register what happened, Robb Stark became King of the North and marched off to war. Then Theon came back, declaring that Winterfell belonged to the Iron Islands, forcing Bran and Rickon out of Winterfell. And you wanted to go with if only to keep them safe for Jon, but they didn’t even know who you were. And each day, you regret your decision to stay when the news that Theon killed the Stark boys reached you. Your parents were horrified, your brothers and sisters mortified, and you soaked your pillow in tears that night, knowing the news would reach Castle Black and Jon would be devastated.

But then worst of all was when the Bolton’s came to Winterfell after murdering Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and any remaining Stark soldiers at The Red Wedding. They swept into the hold as if it was always House Bolton’s, quickly getting rid of any signs the wolves ever lived there. Statues were torn down, flags burned, and anything with a wolf destroyed. Then came Little Finger with Sansa Stark, marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton, who proved to be worse than his father in every way possible. And every time you saw the fear and desolation in her once sparkling blue eyes, you died a little on the inside. You wanted to help, but what could you do. So you just watched, millions of words caught in your throat.

But then the dark storm that drenched you in heavy rains that nearly swept you away, bringing lightning that nearly stuck you and thunder that frightened away all your sanity suddenly cleared. Warm and bright daylight washed over you, as bright and powerful as a Dornish sun. The sun burned out any signs of rain every being there, the intense heat drying out the water left behind. Suddenly the leaves grew back, more vibrant than ever, and wildflowers in every shade possible blossomed overnight.

Jon came back.

He came back with an army to reclaim Winterfell and the North for House Stark. And he won. Miraculously beating back Ramsay Bolton’s army with the help of the Knights of the Vale brought by Sansa after she escapes from Winterfell. After the battle was won and the dead collected to be buried or burned, the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered with the Wildlings that fought for Jon in the Main Hall. You’re not sure what happened, you weren’t allowed in, too busy trying to return to your old normal before you lived every day in fear.

But what you do know is Jon walked in that hall as a bastard and walked out a King.

You should’ve been elated, beaming so brightly you could’ve been mistaken for the sun. But you were petrified, petrified that you’d spent all these years missing Jon, only for him to have moved on. Scared that all those nights you flipped between crying, reminiscing, and cursing his name would’ve been wasted.

So you hid like a coward. You buried yourself in anything you possibly could, taking on any task no matter how big or small. And it worked for a while, the pain in your chest every time you saw his wild hair and deep brown eyes in your mind wasn’t as raw when you were elbow deep in dishes. But late at night, when you had nothing but your thoughts, he was there. Every second you’d lie awake because whenever you’d close your eyes, he was there, haunting you like a phantom.

So here you are now, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you approached the clearing in the Godswood. You moved towards the place you avoided for years, looking for the one person you wanted more than anything but could never have. Except maybe now you could. And maybe you were just sleep deprived, delirious in the brain from the lack of sleep, but you wanted nothing more than to see the face that’s haunted you for years, at least one more time. Because even if he sent you away, you could have a new image to see in your dreams.

Standing in the center of the clearing-- your clearing, it brought a twinge of hope, a warm feeling washing over your body as your heart raced, possibilities and what-ifs running through your head. He isn’t the shadow he was all those years ago, both there and not at the same time, no, he’s too real for that now. Standing in the center of the snow filled clearing, surrounded by barren trees and crunchy leaves that are scattered on the ground, he looks too regal to be compared to a shadow. The heavy fur cloak, similar to the one Lord Stark had worn, and Robb after him, looked good on him, framing his broad shoulders and strong posture. And maybe you were biased, but he wore it the best out of all the previous Lords and Kings of Winterfell.

You're at the edge now, unable to move any closer in fear of breaking the spell he cast on you. But then he turned and your eyes met, his gaze like flint, catching you on fire in an instant. His skin was paler than ever, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold. Long unruly curls have been cut shorter than it had been all those years ago, contained by a small bun near the nape of his neck. He was older, more scars marring his visible flesh, but it was him and he was real.

You stare at him and he looks back, neither of you doing anything else.

And you swear the world paused, time standing still has you tried to comprehend that he was really here, and not a figment of your imagination. He wasn’t a delusion you created to cope with the lowest points of your life.

He was real.

You were running. And so was he. Within a second, you met in the middle, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him, lifting your smaller form off the ground as he spun you in circles. The heavy cloak was warmer than you’d initially thought, the expensive furs immediately warming up your frozen skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on so tightly because you were afraid he'd slip through your fingers as he did all those years ago. The very tips of your fingers bury themselves into his hair, pulling it free from the leather cord that kept it back. And this moment was better than anything you could’ve envisioned, his smell: leather, sword polish, and something woody, more enthralling than you remembered.

He sets you back on the ground but doesn’t release you from his embrace and you didn’t pull away. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, it was light and airy and happy, something you hadn’t been for years now. There was a glimmer in your eyes, the same one you’d seen reflected in Jon’s eyes so many times before. Your face hurt from the grin that was on your face the second you met in an embrace and he mirrored you, leaning his head down, resting his forehead against your own.

“You came back to me,” you whispered, moving your hands from his neck to hold his face in yours. As if to further convince yourself that he was here, with you at this moment. Thumbs trace his cheekbones, running over the scar that followed his right cheekbone.

“How could I not?” he replied, his raspy voice low and husky, much older than the boy of seventeen you said goodbye to.

“I hoped you would everyday, but I-- I couldn’t--” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

“But now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” you replied, looking up at him with a soft smile. The seconds tick by, silence swallowing you whole as you just bask in his presence, memorizing each new mark on his face.

“I missed you.” Your voice cut through the silence as your eyes grew wet, glistening tears that shined like ice in the sun falling down your face. Jon catches them as they fall, wiping them away with a single swipe of his thumb. And then the small distance that was left between the two of you closed as your lips met. And it was warm and soft and gentle and happy. Everything you missed from your life, returned in a single instant. And it’s like all the sleepless nights, the tear stained pillows, and the fear and horror you’d endured through the years that was muffled by the coming of daylight was completely washed away. The only thing on your mind was Jon and his lips on yours.

He pulled away, but only just enough that the tips of your lips would brush against each other’s and his breath fanned across your face. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“You were always there with me, gods I could never get you out of my head,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. A shiver overcame your body, starting from the very top of your head until it hit down to your toes. A good tingly sensation that disappeared with him, but also returned with him.

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me, Snow.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. It was like drinking a sweet berry wine the Southerners were so fond of or having a sweet tart that you stole from the kitchen. The sensation was addicting. The world could crumble around you; Cersei Lannister could march her whole army on Winterfell and Daenerys Targaryen could swoop down with her dragons and burn everything to the ground. But it wouldn’t matter, it would never matter to you. Not if you had Jon.

“Marry me,” the words left his mouth nonchalantly like he hadn’t just proposed marriage. Your eyes snapped open, looking at him, shock and excitement mingling in your wide eyes.

“What?” Your voice was shaky and unsure, hiding the pounding of your heart and the nerves in your body.

“Marry me, be my wife, and rule the North with me!” he exclaimed, much more confident in his words as they echoed around you, forever imprinted in the trees in the Godswood. And you couldn’t help but compare him to the old Jon you knew, the one who would never dare utter those words to you. Not that you didn’t want him to.

“You're crazy,” you breathed out, laughter and disbelief lacing each word. And he laughed, it was loud and warm and made your stomach twist in the best ways possible.

“Maybe, but I’m crazy for you. Why should I wait when I’ve loved you since I was a boy who didn’t even know what love was,” he said, weaving his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible. And the scene was similar to all the previous times you stood in this spot, too intertwined in each other to care about the world. Except this time tragedy didn’t hang over you like a storm, this time there was nothing but bright skies and sunlight.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ll marry you.” A beaming smile overtook your face, banishing any negative emotion that lingered on your face. At that moment, Jon wore if anyone ever asked, he’d say he has been to the South. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because the smile on your face and the vibrancy in your gleaming eyes was brighter than the sun could ever be, warming him to the very core. You leaned forward, sealing your promise with a kiss as you got lost in him, over and over again.

And when I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.

o0o0o0o

Tags:

@stuckupstucky

#jon snow imagine #jon snow one shot #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones oneshot #a song of ice and feels

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sxvxrxssnape · 4 years

Text

In The Midst of Tribulations

Snapetober 2020: Day 8, 9, 10 (Secret Injury, Grief, “You’re Bleeding” Being headmaster is such a lonely job and grieving hurts so much when you’re not allowed to do it. Implied/Referenced Self-Harm.

He doesn’t feel much of anything today.

He’s standing in his quarters, the door locked and warded thrice. There’s a man standing in front of him and his pallid face is staring back. This man is wearing black robes that reach the floor; dull gold thread runs along the hem and down the front of his outer robe, embroidering protective runes into the expensive fabric. He likes them and he wants to tell this man.

He can’t.

His words feel caught in his throat and he finds he cannot speak. He stares down at his feet and sees the same trail of runes stitched onto his own robes. He blinks and looks up again.

The man is still staring.

He lifts up his robes, just enough to reveal the hem of black trousers he cannot part with. The Dark Lord despises muggle clothing, so he chooses to wear robes long enough to cover his secret. He wonders what will happen if the Dark Lord finds out. He wonders if he even cares.

He likes trousers.

They make him feel safe, secure in his existence. He likes the way they make him feel protected, covered, and hidden away from anyone he doesn’t wish to see him. His coat makes him feel the same. He doesn’t wish for anyone to see him.

He can’t allow anyone to see him.

He drapes a summer cloak over his shoulders and pins it in place. He could go without, but he needs the weight of it around him, needs something to ground himself with. He casts a silencing charm on his robes and shoes and then a disillusionment spell on himself.

The man standing in front of him does the same.

He blinks again and stares at the frame that wrapped around the dressing mirror. He wonders how long it had been there. He thinks of the other man, of his reflection, and wonders if there’s a universe where he exists without the deep lines of exhaustion carved into his face. If there’s a version of him that doesn’t look so hollow.

He ventures out of his chambers and walks the corridors, silent and invisible. He feels like a ghost, has felt like one since he stood in the Astronomy Tower and cast that spell days ago. He’s desperate to be seen. He can’t be seen.

The castle feels heavy and there is a sorrow that seeps into the very walls, as if the old stone were mourning just as deeply as everyone else. The lights seem dimmer and there is a haze that has settled over everything.

He wonders if it’s real.

Outside, the light is blinding and it feels wrong for the sky to be so blue. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun is shining. It feels wrong. Doesn’t the world know there is nothing worthwhile left to soak up the warmth of the sun’s rays? Doesn’t the world understand evil will always prevail? Doesn’t the world care at all?

The haze is still there.

He allows his legs to carry him. He blinks and finds himself standing near the Black Lake. There is a white marble tomb where there used to be none, with a smattering of golden chairs before it. Most of the chairs are empty now. He sees Minerva speaking with some delegates from the Ministry, can hear more than see Hagrid’s crumpled form sobbing. He spies Pomona and Flitwick and Horace huddled near a tree, the glint of silver flask being passed between the three of them. Harry Potter is sitting alone, near the shore of the Black Lake and he’s staring emptily into space.

He blinks and now he’s standing next to the boy. He doesn’t dare breathe, only watches him for a few moments. He wonders how keeping him in the dark, when he looks so shattered, will bring forth the defeat of the Dark Lord. He’s wearing the same face as the man in the mirror, but Potter has friends, has family, and Severus hopes that will be enough.

He wonders how he himself will complete his end of the task.

He blinks again and now he’s standing in front of the marble tomb. He puts his hands against the cold stone and stands there, until his hands and feet feel as numb as the rest of him. The blue sky has finally understood the nature of the day and has become dark. Stars twinkle and he thinks of sparkling eyes behind half moon spectacles.

His arm burns.

–

He doesn’t feel much of anything, anymore.

He walks the corridors in stony silence, enters the Great Hall, and takes his place at the center of the head table. It still feels wrong, just as wrong as it had felt a week ago, as he lowers himself into the golden chair; wrong to sit in his place, wrong to face the fearful faces of the students, wrong to address them as Headmaster of this school.

So he doesn’t.

He only taps his wand against his plate and watches solemnly as the five tables begin to fill with silver platters of food. The hum of conversation is soft, but a small part of him is relieved they even talk at all.

That feeling is short-lived.

The Carrows are sitting to his right, whispering between themselves as they discuss the plans for the night’s detentions. He can trust them with his Slytherins, as much as his heart protests against the very thought. He cannot allow himself to doubt that, cannot allow himself to chip away at his defenses. He is the only one who stands between them all and the Dark Lord and he cannot do that if he is breaking down.

So he feels nothing as he reminds himself that despite his protectiveness over his snakes, they can handle themselves. They’re smart, they know not to push. He reminds himself the Carrows would do little to harm them and then thinks about how to keep the other houses safe.

He hears mention of Hannah Abbott’s name. She’s a quiet girl, a Hufflepuff who would always forget to bring a hair tie with her during potions. Her notes were full of little drawings of plants in the margins. She liked to draw pretty borders on the labels of her phials. She had been pulled out of school last year, when news of her mother’s death broke.

Corban Yaxley had been responsible for that.

“Throw Abbott into the Forbidden Forest,” he interrupts with a bored voice. He doesn’t turn to look at them.

Amycus sits up with a start. “Oh, I didn’t even consider the forest.” he muses excitedly. “Might as well send the lot of them. There’s six, might be fun to see if any survive the night.”

“One can only hope they don’t.” Severus shrugs and directs his wand to pour a glass of wine. He doesn’t drink out of it, only studies the ruby plum of the Malbec as it swirls around the glass. He can feel Minerva glaring daggers at him from his left.

He ignores her, and the space she has chosen to put between them with an empty chair feels bigger now.

He glances further down the table and makes the briefest of eye contact with the groundskeeper. Hagrid is staring back at him, his brows furrowed in anger and his mouth set with determination. Clearly, he had been listening. Good.

He returns his attention to the wine. None of the other staff members are speaking; to him, to each other, at all. He doesn’t mind the silence. Sure, a distant part of him hates it, hates how everything has become so convoluted and messy and broken, but he can handle the silence. He can handle their anger too.

He blinks and dinner is over.

He stands up and looks over the students once more. “Curfew begins in twenty minutes.” he announces, his voice carrying in the echoes of the suddenly silent room. “Do not miss it.” He walks away, shoulders tense.

There is a weight perched on top of him and it is only growing heavier. He enters the circular room of the headmaster’s office, his office now, and looks around. Suddenly, he feels very off-center. Everything is the same here.

Yet, everything is so different.

He takes a deep breath and refuses, absolutely refuses to look at the portrait. He can feel eyes staring at him and it makes his skin crawl. He sits down at the desk, deliberately keeps his back to the portrait, and stares at his hands. They’re trembling.

He forces them to still and strengthens the walls of Occlumency he keeps ever present in his mind. It is an exhausting feat, to constantly be on guard, to constantly hold up a mental block against his emotions, his thoughts, his conscience - but really, the exhaustion is a gift in of itself; a blessing to always be far too tired to dream.

He blinks and now there is knocking at the door.

He finally risks a glance behind him and is relieved to see Albus Dumbledore has made his leave. He casts a glamour over the ornate frame, turns the empty space into a painting of the stars, and then allows the door to open.

Alecto enters the room, tells him the students are gathering around Dumbledore’s tomb. He nods and follows behind her, and the corridors and castle walls seem to blur, seem to melt into grey matter. There is a roaring sound in his ears.

The sky is painted in a brilliant orange, with streaks of purple and pink as the sun begins to set. Once again, it feels wrong. The sky is too bright, too colorful a canvas to be set behind the white marble of Albus’ final resting spot. Or perhaps it’s just right.

There is a group of students huddled together and watching their approach with apprehensive eyes. Minerva McGonagall stands in front of them and stares defiantly. There are flowers decorating the tomb. He wonders what the reason may be; today isn’t anything important.

He realizes then he doesn’t quite know what day it is.

He also realizes he doesn’t care.

He stares at the flowers and feels a spark of anger. Has he not already done enough to prove himself loyal to the Dark Lord? Has he not done enough to paint himself as the villain in this story? Must he keep digging this - for lack of better word - grave, in the eyes of someone he once considered his friend.

“I see your new job has given you the luxury of affording new clothes.” Minerva speaks up first, eyeing his robes up and down. They’re the same ones he had worn to the funeral months ago that no one knew he had attended.

Severus remains silent.

“No longer willing to dirty yourself with anything as demeaning as muggle clothing?” she presses on, her voice harsh with implications. “A proper wizard now.”

He thinks of the trousers hidden underneath and says nothing, merely raises an apathetic eyebrow. He pulls out his wand and twirls it absentmindedly, staring at the flowers. He refuses to look at Minerva’s face.

“You wouldn’t dare.” she whispers.

He waves his wand and casts a silent spell, watching alongside everyone else as tendrils of fire snake their way towards the tomb and incinerate every last petal. When nothing but ash remains, he contemplates a cleaning spell, but decides that could translate to taking care of the marble, so he lets it remain. Someone else will take care of it.

It isn’t his place anyway.

He holds onto his wand and wonders how to address the crowd. He wishes he knew why they were gathered here, what day it could be and decides it ultimately doesn’t matter when Minerva pulls out her own wand.

“How dare you!” she yells and he feels the sudden slashing of pain on his arm. A modified cutting hex, no doubt, and a silent one at that. He’s mildly impressed, if not mostly annoyed at the rip on the sleeve of his robe. It’s warded to protect him against curses, but Minerva already knew that, could tell from the second she studied the runes embroidered on the fabric. He wonders what harmless spell she just altered to circumvent the warding.

Neither Alecto nor the students have noticed, so he keeps silent. His robes are black after all, and are hiding any blood he feels seeping into the fabric. Minerva only stares at him, waiting. He finally faces her and the roaring in his ears gets louder.

He doesn’t think it’s possible to hate anyone more than she does him.

He tries to speak, but his voice sounds light-years away. It doesn’t sound like him and he doesn’t quite know what he’s just said. All he knows is the contempt, the betrayal, the utter hatred that burns in Minerva’s eyes.

He turns to leave.

“After everything he ever did for you!” Minerva cries out and Severus suddenly feels as if he’s been dunked underwater. “This is how you choose to repay him! He saw you as a son, you know. He gave you a place in the world where you had none and instead you turned around and became the monster he tried to save you from. He should have just let you burn.”

His face remains blank as he asks, “Are you done?” and then he makes his leave. He blinks and he’s back in the headmaster’s office. The door is already warded, but he casts two more. The rushing in his ears is louder than ever.

He feels his arm burn and for a second he fears he is being summoned, until he realizes it isn’t the Mark that’s burning. He removes his outer robe, thinking about how he’ll need to owl it to Lucius to have it mended; he doesn’t know enough about runes to fix it himself without mucking up the warding. He pulls up the sleeves of his inner robe and stares dully at the expanse of skin. One arm is tainted with the deep red of the skull and snake, the other with a four inch-long laceration; both are littered with tiny scars and burns from years of potion-making.

He can feel his defenses crumbling.

He has to get a grip, has to force that numbness to return and stay, He isn’t allowed to feel pain over this, isn’t allowed to break down. His chest aches, his throat, Merlin his throat feels like something sharp is raking its way down and ravaging him from the inside out. He grips the edge of the desk, tries to take in a deep breath, and instead lets out a ragged sob. He blinks and now there are scratches on his arms, thin and long and criss-crossing over his skin. Some are bleeding, droplets of crimson escaping from the tears he made on his skin and intermingling with what still dripped from the hex Minerva sent his way.

He takes another deep breath and tries to steady himself. He stares at the marks on his skin and scowls at the mess he was making.

“Severus, my boy.” the portrait dares to speak up and he freezes.

Merlin, his chest hurts.

“What do you want.” he scowls, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re bleeding.” Albus states simply, staring down at his arms with a forlorn expression. “That one there isn’t self-inflicted.”

“No.” Severus answers, and his voice is hollow.

The pain he had been so desperate to hold off is escaping him in waves now. He can not breathe through it any longer, can not force it behind a wall of Occlumency. He can not bear the look on Minerva’s face, can not bear the self-hatred he can feel pooling inside of him as he thinks of the flowers he had burned, can not bear the weight of what is expected of him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It must be done.”

He only wishes it didn’t have to be done alone.

He killed Albus Dumbledore, that much he can accept. Perhaps he can even convince himself that it was done out of mercy. He had spared an innocent child and helped a suffering old man rest. But Merlin, it fucking hurt to be the one to do it, to be the villain, to lose not only his mentor, but also Minerva, to have to do this all alone.

He has no one left.

No one but a sentient portrait that serves as a forceful reminder of how wrong everything has gone in the last few months. He feels as if a small part of him died that night, and now that little piece was slowly killing the rest of him too.

He casts a silencing charm on the door.

–

He feels too much today.

He walks the corridors in stony silence, enters the Great Hall, and takes his place at the center of the head table. Bandages soaked in Essence of Dittany are wrapped around his arms, the sleeves of his robes pulled down to his knuckles.

He pours himself a cup of coffee and stares at the ripples the pitch black brew makes in his trembling hands. He considers adding milk, but when he takes a sip, he tastes nothing, so he figures it isn’t worth the effort.

There is an empty chair between him and Minerva again; once again the gap feels miles wide. He chances a glance in her direction and is met with cold eyes and a chilling blankness. She is looking through him, has no anger left to spare for him. He’s lost her.

His chest threatens to ache and he feels himself unraveling, but he swallows it down with another sip of coffee. No one is allowed to know how much it all hurts, so he keeps his own face stoic and stares ahead. He thinks about how the portrait of Phineas Black came back with an update on Potter’s plans this morning; he has work to do soon. His throat hurts with the effort of keeping it together and he fears this will be the end of things. He’s lost too much to ruin everything over simple emotions. He focuses on Occluding and lets himself become empty. He blinks and breakfast is over, the Great Hall emptying as students leave for class.

The other staff members get up as well and walk away. No one looks in his direction, no one speaks a word. The dirty dishes start to disappear as the house elves summon them back to the kitchens.

There is a buzzing in his ears again.

————-

a/n: flower destruction scene was inspired by a throwaway line in full stop by acedie on ao3

please, please let me know how this was! im so hesitant about posting this one.

#snapetober 2020 #snapedom #pro snape #severus snape #minerva mcgonagall #deathly hallows #hurt no comfort #oops

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waywardfacegarden · 4 years

Text

burning embers

Modern Au: Zuko centric + The Gaang + Zukka + Friendship/Family feels + Angst and Fluff.

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

But Zuko wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love with someone is, he doesn’t know what it feels like. Love is a concept so alien to him; he can’t even grasp the root of it. He just knows a broken home, the remaining ashes of a devastating, blazing fire that was supposed to be his father’s love.

He doesn’t know what love is. And yet, he understands: the underlying and heart-wrenching agony that comes with loving. The sorrow that comes with it; it is just there, intrinsically linked. It’s something that the small kid—full of unknown love and golden warmth, but also deep, bitter pain—comprehends at the tender age of 11.

It’s just common knowledge for him, the same way he knows the sky is blue and the sun hides at night.

Family. Love. Father.

Those words don’t have meaning, Zuko thinks, lying on his bed one night, still hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice echoing in his ears in the quiet darkness of his room. They’re there, of course. And he knows them. He can say them. But they feel far away, slipping through the space between his fingers, becoming dust that blows away with the chilly wind of an autumn midnight, escaping him before he can place what was there in the first place.

They don’t hold weight. They don’t mean anything. They’re shallow; they just exist, like a couple of letters strewn together, like when you say your name so many times in a row it doesn’t even feel right anymore; but, he supposes only a few people are blessed with their significance, with tasting them in their mouth with something not akin to hate or bitterness or emptiness.

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

Those have meaning. Those have weight, despite being such empty words.

(But they very much taste like something akin to hate, too—and that’s the thing.

Maybe Zuko just doesn’t know anything aside from [self-]hate.)

Family, love, father. They are concepts that come alive to him the same way a phoenix is born.

They rise, awakening from the ashes that the fire within themselves has burned to death; so beautiful, so mystical, so mesmeric and so incredibly fragile and precious and wondrous, like a mythological creature coming back to life after having known its own death.

He learns the words and their meaning the same way his brain starts learning new things and concepts by reading a book; but he doesn’t learn with his mind—even though a part of him knows that this is where knowledge is stored—Zuko learns with his heart (he has always learned things best with his heart; after all, Zuko wears it on his sleeve; he’s emotional, visceral, volatile—his feelings are way too intense, too much that they burn his chest open; he’s always aflame), with his eyes, with his hands. He learns it in every little gesture that’s given to him, in every little crack (that keeps filling and filling and filling) of the time that goes on, in every little drop of ink that is spilled on the parchment where his life is being written.

He learns the words in the way he begins learning his uncle's tea recipes, in the satisfaction and pride he feels when his uncle congratulates him for a job well-done on a warm, quiet Saturday afternoon as he finishes helping cleaning and serving the tables around the teashop, in the way his favorite cup sits next to his uncle's on the kitchen counter in the mornings, full of Zuko’s favorite bubble tea; he learns them in the ugly, endearing, oversized sweater hanging at the back of his closet, the one his uncle gave him in his last birthday; he learns about love in the gentle smiles of weekends, in the singing of the birds outside his room’s window, in the blanket that rests around his shoulders when he is sitting on the comfy couch on a calm Thursday night, dozing off while trying to study for an English test, in the way the nightmares that used to haunt him are tormenting him less and less every time; he learns the meaning of father in his uncle's ridiculous pajamas, full of tiny drawings of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, in his uncle’s obsession with Pai Sho, and in the wise phrases he keeps throwing at Zuko even when he cannot fully understand them.

He learns, little by little, step by step, like a slow fire burning inside his guts.

And it's a weird, strange thing. Zuko learned that fire hurts you, the same way he learned that love does, but somehow, after years of building his new life, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

His uncle is patient with him. Patient as someone who would teach someone else origami or as someone who’s slowly writing a book. He teaches him, sees him fall, stumble and trip over his feet (both, metaphorically and literally speaking) and he’s there when Zuko gets up again.

It’s a nice feeling. Knowing that someone is going to be there, even if you fall. Even when you fail.

His uncle teaches him, the same way he creates a new tea receipt for the menu; carefully, gently, ever so softly. He takes Zuko, the broken child who looks at him through his pain and hatred, and makes him open his eyes. He points out, over and over and over again, that failing is not a bad thing, that love exists and that it doesn't have to hurt, and that if it does, you can heal from it; he teaches him that Zuko is full of it, full of love, he says that he’s always been.

Somehow, it feels a bit like healing. Of course, Zuko is still broken. Probably, a part of him always will be; but, somehow, he doesn't think that being a bit broken is so wrong now.

Friendship was a foreign concept to him, too. Or maybe not, but Zuko never wanted to get involved with it.

Too much trouble.

(Or maybe fear—fear of what it carries, what it holds in its nature; fear of failing, of not being enough, of being left out, of getting too attached.)

But just as Zuko was wrong about so many things in his life, this is not the exception.

He comes to learn that, too.

It’s a different process than with his uncle. Maybe because it’s slower, or maybe because it’s, rather, faster. Maybe because he wasn’t aware he was learning at all.

Zuko doesn’t know exactly when it starts. Can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started getting involved. Not that he cares much about that at this point, but he would like to know.

They kind of adopt him in their group (or, er, gang, as they call it), without Zuko noticing. But to be fair, Zuko doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Toph is a friend of his Uncle, and she lives near the teashop, so she’s around more time than she’s not; she’s loud and kinda rude, and always calls Zuko a dork or a nerd or an idiot, but Zuko realizes he likes when she’s there. Aang comes along sometimes, with his scarily bright smile. There’s also Katara and her big brother, Sokka.

He likes all of them, to his extreme surprise. They’re all good people. Aang is way too kind, Katara may be scary but she’s pretty cool, and Sokka is just a combination of a very, weirdly endearing, smart dumbass, which is, uh, new.

He honestly doesn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly he’s tucked under a soft fuzzy blanket in winter, sandwiched in the middle of the three-spot sofa, with Aang almost laying over his lap. He’s almost sitting on Sokka’s right leg, pressing him against the arm sofa, his side overlapping with Sokka’s. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s sitting there, cross-legged, with his right arm fully extended on the back of the sofa, almost like he’s hugging Zuko’s shoulders; he’s practically leaning on Zuko.

His arm and his side are really warm, though. Not as much as Zuko generally is, but it’s… kind of nice.

“Katara, Titanic is a classic, dude. What the hell.”

Zuko takes a sip from his hot chocolate, blowing off the clouds of steam gathering over the cup—the warmth of it is pretty welcomed in his throat, to be honest, while Katara rolls her eyes at her brother.

“I’m not watching that for the fifth time in a month and seeing you and Aang both cry for an hour later after the already three long hours of the movie.”

Sokka looks pretty indignant about Katara’s attitude towards his (probably) favorite movie, which is pretty amusing.

“You’re just a monster,” Sokka says, dramatically, “that’s why you don’t cry.”

Katara rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, from the couch closer to the TV, sprawled all comfortably over it. “It’s actually a really funny movie,” she points out, and then draws out her voice. “‘Jack, draw me like one of your French girls’.”

Aang laughs pretty loud, and Zuko smiles at the bad impersonation despite himself.

“Well, My Heart Will Go On is my anthem.” Sokka says, puffing out his chest.

Zuko actually snorts into his cup and Sokka shoots him a look. He remembers the time Aang and Sokka recreated that iconic scene, with Toph singing at the top of her lungs in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. He actually laughed at that.

Sokka seems to read his mind, because after a few moments of staring at Zuko’s face, his entire expression lights up. He grins, eyes sparkling, and starts singing really loud and purposely out of tune. Aang starts laughing and Toph doesn’t waste time on joining Sokka in singing. Even Katara smiles.

A few minutes later of terrible singing, they’re all laughing. Toph is cackling so hard she’s on the floor, and Sokka keeps leaning over him, laughing in his ear. He believes it should be annoying, but instead of that, it’s actually infectious and Zuko laughs a bit harder.

After they calm down, Toph is clutching at her sides and Sokka is wiping tears out of his eyes.

Aang smiles, then, softly and content, and raises a hand in the air, like asking for permission to talk.

“I have an idea.” He says, and turns around to look at him. “Why don’t we just let Zuko decide? He hasn’t chosen anything yet for our Friday movie nights.”

All eyes turn to look at him at that. He stops his movements, mouth hanging open, hot cup halfway to his lips.

“Uh,” he frowns. “Thank you, but, um. Why would I choose? It’s your thing.”

Everyone stares at him like he has two heads, which, okay fair but why.

“What?”

Aang gives him a soft smile, all kind eyes and gentle features, like he’s about to talk to a baby, but before he can say anything, Sokka is putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning all his weight on him, as if they weren’t already close enough.

“This is your thing as much as it is ours, dude.” He says, grinning, “You’re one of us.” He vaunts, proudly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair.

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

Aang chuckles. “Yes, you’re our friend, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s…

There’s…

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

Huh? What? How? When did that happen? Huh? Did he miss something in the past few months?

Sokka, completely oblivious to his emotional turmoil, insistently points to the TV while squeezing him. "So, buddy? Don't you think we should watch Titanic to cry and share a couple of very male tears?"

"You only want to watch it because you have a crush on both Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio." Katara accuses.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes, you do! You even still keep that poster of them behind your…"

"Katara!!!!"

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

It tastes like hot chocolate in his mouth on a cold night, it sounds like Sokka’s laugh and Toph’s jokes, and it looks like Aang’s kind eyes and Katara’s nice smile.

It feels like something. It holds meaning. It’s not an empty word. At all.

Sokka’s hand ruffling his hair or over his shoulders, Toph’s nicknames for him, Aang’s offer of help in times he feels like Zuko needs it, Katara’s help with homework and advice on his recipes doesn’t let him forget that. ‘Friend’ is never going to be an empty word.

Friend tastes like hope, like warm food and bear-hugs.

Friend is such a nice word.

The thing with Zuko being generally—and strangely—warm all the time is that summer is a complete nightmare for him.

He's sitting directly in front of the fan at full power, barefoot in just jeans and a light T-shirt, and yet he still feels like he's going to explode. The weather forecast in the morning heralded a heat wave in midsummer, and it's exactly the worst thing in the world that could happen to Zuko's already overheated body. Toph groans beside him, lying with her arms and legs spread like a starfish on the cold ground. It is no comfort to her, however, and Zuko can understand that well.

Katara is looking at something on her phone, fanning herself with a magazine, and Aang remains practically unaffected, just as energetic as ever as he eats the remaining watermelon slices from the bowl they recently filled.

Zuko is wondering if he should go, or if he should fall asleep on the freezing ground that doesn't seem to be freezing at all, when Sokka walks into the living room in his baseball uniform. He has just returned from his morning summer practice; sweat is running down the side of his face, and his shirt is partly sticking to his body from the moisture. He smiles at everyone in greeting before gulping down all that's left of the water on the bottle of his hand. Zuko stares at his Adam's apple bob while he's drinking, and then his eyes trail the trickle of water that slides down his jaw over his desperation to drink all the water so fast. The drop goes down, down, down, dripping over his collarbone and sinking into his neck until it eventually gets lost somewhere inside his shirt. Sokka throws the bottle over the trash can and uses his shirt collar to wipe the water and some of his sweat off his face. Zuko's eyes unconsciously move downward; he can see a line of skin on Sokka's abdomen and stomach.

He swallows. Uh. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He's probably dehydrated. Is he dehydrated? He's starting to feel a little dizzy.

"So? Beloved friends, beloved little sister? Did you miss me? Obviously, you did."

Katara rolls her eyes, but still asks, "How was practice, dumbass?"

"It was cool! I hit twelve curve-balls in a row and sixteen of that weird fastball Suki pitches. Oh! And I'm finally getting the thing about that forkball. Also... woah, Zuko, are you okay?!"

Zuko blinks from where he was staring at Sokka's hair. It's kind of wet. Is that sweat? Shouldn't that be gross? Why is Zuko staring? Does he find it gross? He doesn't think so, but he also can't quite explain why...

"Woah, bud," Sokka says, kneeling in front of him and getting dangerously close to his face. "You're so red, are you having heatstroke or something? Do you feel dizzy?" He leans on his knees and presses a hand to his forehead, pulling up the bangs hanging over it. It feels nice, actually. Sokka's soft hand on his boiling skin feels like fresh water. He kind of wants to lean into it.

He probably does, because Sokka frowns. "Maybe you have a fever..." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Don't you want to take a shower to cool off? I can lend you some clothes, we're about the same height, they'll fit."

Zuko blinks. Huh?

"Here, let me help you." Sokka says, helping him up.

Around an hour later, Zuko feels a lot better, laying with his back on the floor in Sokka's baggy shorts and blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of The Pink Panther. Zuko smiles involuntarily when he looks at it. It smells a bit like Sokka, or at least the detergent he uses. That makes his stomach do weird flips. He's not feeling that hot anymore, but maybe he is getting sick...

"Hey," Sokka tells him, looking at him from above, standing just behind Zuko's head. His toes are barely avoiding touching Zuko's sprawled hair on the floor.

"Hey," Zuko answers back, looking up at Sokka's soft face. His hair is down and still wet from the shower, and a few drops fall on the bridge of Zuko's nose when Sokka hovers over him. Zuko's face scrunches up, more out of involuntary reaction than out of bother, but Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He uses the towel around his neck to messily dry his hair. "You look a lot better, now."

"Yes," Zuko muses, still a bit mesmerized by Sokka's wet hair. And Sokka's face. "Thanks."

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can say anything, Toph groans just a few feet away, sitting now on the couch. "Stop flirting and get a room already; it’s gross. We're here, too."

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

"Hey! I was just worried!" Sokka excuses himself. "Weren't you all? His face was as red as a tomato."

Katara looks up from her magazine and gives him a pointed look, with one elegantly arched brow. Apparently, she doesn't even need to say anything else, because it's enough to make Sokka blush.

Oh.

He's cute, Zuko thinks. And then, oh, I think Sokka is cute. And then Sokka stomps over the kitchen muttering unintelligible things, still a faint blush over his cheeks.

Zuko smiles to himself watching his childish behavior. He is, though. He is cute.

It's raining heavily outside, drops pouring loudly against the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Zuko side-glances at Sokka. Maybe it's because after the course of a year, Zuko has learned to recognize many of Sokka's little gestures, or maybe it's the fact that the boy has been so much into his own mind lately, but Zuko recognizes that way he scrunches up his nose, that wrinkle between his eyebrows, that way his eyes twitch.

“Are you okay?”

He’s asking mostly just to be polite, to be honest; he already knows he’s not. He knows something’s up.

Sokka turns to look at him, and then stares at the rain hitting the glass window of the lonely teashop.

“I’m…” He says, and looks at his hand. Then he presses his mouth into a thin line.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zuko says, awkwardly, because as much as he cares, he’s still a mess when it comes to social cues. He’s never going to stop being a mess. And terrible at comforting people.

Sokka sees right through him, though, like he always does, and smiles softly at him. His whole face mellows. It kind of makes Zuko’s heart flutter in his chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I’m…” Sokka tries again, looking at Zuko’s face. At his eyes, at his scar, at his neck. He feels weirdly exposed, but at the same time… He doesn’t. It’s just Sokka. Which means it’s okay. “Scared, I guess.”

Zuko blinks and tilts his head to the side. He’s not sure if he should ask, but…

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

“Of failing? Of disappointing my dad? Of not being enough? I don’t know, I can’t quite pick a single one.”

Sokka’s voice is not quite bitter, but it feels like that, in the air around them. Zuko knows the feeling pretty well.

“You are enough.” Zuko affirms, without a single trace of hesitation in his voice. Because Sokka is enough, in every single aspect, and he shouldn’t feel like any less than that. Zuko’s also aware of what he’s worrying about, and for Zuko, it’s just absurd—Sokka is one the very few people that shouldn’t worry about passing the entrance exam of college at all, he’s crazy smart. He should know that. But, to be fair, Zuko can’t judge him nor scold him for self-doubt when it used to be all that he was, along with his self-hate. So he says it out loud, looking into Sokka’s wide, surprised eyes. “You’re also really smart, Sokka, I’m sure you’re going to ace the entrance exam. You shouldn’t worry.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but he also adopts that playful-kinda-flirty side of him. It’s painful because Zuko can see the sadness underlying in his voice and body language so clearly. Can see the lack of confidence in every single motion.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I really believe so. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re very capable of doing whatever you want, so have faith in yourself just like I have faith in you.”

Once he says it, and Sokka blinks once, twice, thrice at him, Zuko feels painfully aware (and painfully embarrassed) of what he just said.

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

“Ah,” Sokka says, and makes a face that Zuko can’t name. “You’re blushing.”

Zuko covers his cheeks with both hands. Sokka is probably right, they’re so warm, but still.

“I’m not.” Still.

Sokka laughs, and raises both eyebrows. “You sure?” He asks, staring pointedly at his face, which only makes him blush harder.

Stupid Sokka.

He must know the effect he’s having on him, because he laughs again, lightheartedly. Well, at least he’s not upset anymore…

“I’m not,” he uselessly and pathetically insists, even when it’s tragically obvious he is. But he has some pride, okay.

Sokka grins, but it’s all devilish. It makes Zuko’s hair stand on end. A chill runs down his spine.

“It’s just hot.”

Sokka smirks. “Sure, you’re always hot.”

“Shut up,” Zuko complains and groans, facing away from him so that he can’t see his blatant embarrassment. Sokka’s natural flirty personality wasn’t that much of a problem back then, but it’s only gotten worse, and Zuko just can’t handle it sometimes. It feels like way too much.

“Ah, but you blush when you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” Sokka points out, a wide grin on his face. “Imagine being both cute and hot, what a crime.”

He sighs theatrically, and Zuko is very tempted to answer, “shut up, look who’s talking,” but he knows he will just get more embarrassed after saying that. He needs to calm down. So he just grumbles while Sokka laughs.

Then, when Sokka has already calmed down and Zuko can feel his face like normal again, they look quietly at the rain, steadily keeping its pace.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, after some time, and Zuko quirks an eyebrow in reply.

Sokka smiles. “Thank you. For believing me. It means a lot.”

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

Zuko notices it one night. (Though, looking back, it’s weird he didn’t notice it before.)

Well, more like, Aang notices and points it out, and then Zuko realizes that what he said is pathetically true, lying in bed at night because he still mulls things over sometimes before going to sleep.

“You know,” Aang had casually said, holding a can of orange juice, sitting next to Zuko on the bleachers at one of Sokka’s practice games. “You stare at Sokka a lot.”

Zuko frowned. “It’s his game, after all. We’re here to watch him,” he had retorted, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes, but I don’t mean only now. You stare at him all the time.”

Zuko didn’t feel like he liked where this conversation was going. Something about his expression must had given him away, or maybe Aang was just too good at reading him now, because he said:

“Wait.” He actually had sounded surprised. “You mean you’re not aware you have a crush on him?”

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “What? I don’t have a crush on him.”

Aang quirked up an eyebrow. Sure, he didn’t need to say.

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

Aang hadn’t looked any more convinced of what he had said. If anything, he looked more convinced on what he himself had said. Aang had looked at him for a very long period of 1 minute before lightly chuckling and nudging him in the arm with his elbow, smiling brightly at him.

It was weird, but Zuko has gotten better at reading them, maybe just as much as Aang has with him. Maybe that’s why he knows what Aang means with all of that. Admit it when you’re ready.

It’s not like he was trying to deny or hide it. It’s not like he was trying to lie. He just didn’t think Aang was actually right.

But he is. Zuko can’t stop looking at Sokka, all the time. Thinking about him. About the way he smiles, with his hair up, with his hair down, with that denim jacket that fits him in all the right angles, with his baseball cap, ecstatic after he scored a run in the 8th inning.

Sokka, practicing on the field. Grinning widely and openly and hugging him tightly when he aced the entrance exam. Leaning in to taste Zuko’s ice-cream into his own mouth. Ruffling his own messy hair. Wearing those silly cartoon t-shirts. Serenading Zuko with Electric Love and the most ridiculous voice ever on his birthday as a joke. Messy eating. Scrunching up his nose while drinking green tea. Reciting 80% of the Star Wars dialogues by heart. Being obsessed with boomerangs and swords (though not as much as Zuko is with that last one). Biting into the end of his pencil when he’s focused on writing an English essay.

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

When did that happen? Why did that happen? He doesn’t know. Was it because of his warm eyes? His pretty smile? His pretty lips? Was it because he opened up to Zuko, let himself be vulnerable around him, bled his heart out so Zuko could piece it back together? Was it because he’s funny? Charming? Cool? Smart? Astonishingly cute? Was it because he made Zuko feel made out of thin air, sometimes, so raw and exposed but yet so safe, so comfortable in his own skin? ...That is, the others don’t necessarily make him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable. He just feels like he can be all open and vulnerable with Sokka better. Maybe because he opened up to him first, about something so personal like his mom (and Zuko knew about losing a mom, too).

Well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly matter, does it? He’s already in deep.

Zuko rolls over his stomach and sighs, groaning loud into his pillow. Why, why, why, why. It’s not like he even has a chance, so why did he have to…

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

And the way he falls asleep thinking about Sokka’s laugh is even stupider.

The thing is, because Zuko notices all the little details in Sokka’s gestures and behavior, he also notices the way he acts differently towards… Certain people.

“Me and Yue?” Sokka laughs, and Zuko blinks. He didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. Now, he would just hear the confirmation of what he already knew from Sokka’s lips. How is that any better? Good job, Zuko.

“Nah, man, Suki would kill me if she sees me wooing her girlfriend. Or at least kick me pretty damn hard.” Huh? Zuko blinks again. Huh? So they’re… Sokka and Yue… They’re not…

“And believe me, she’s super strong. She kicked me once and I’ve always regretted eating that last cupcake on the fridge.” Sokka makes a face and shudders, like the mere flashback is enough to make him fear. But then he smiles, in that soft way of his that makes Zuko’s knees go really weak. “And I’m pretty sure Yue is immensely happy with her, too.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, so he just oh-so-eloquently utters:

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

“Didn’t you know they were a thing? The PDA is so strong when they’re together, you have to have seen it.”

Well, that was… Zuko just thought they were touchy with each other? Sokka is pretty much touchy with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re a thing.

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

Zuko frowns. He tilts his head in confusion. “Because you are… Romantically attracted to her? It must be rough.”

Sokka blinks once, twice, three times. Stares. Then, he throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach.

“Dude, what the hell.” He wheezes. “Just say the word crush like normal people.”

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

“Wait, what?” He says, serious all of a sudden. Or at least, surprised. “Do you really think that?” At Zuko’s lack of response, Sokka looks at him, then at his hands, then at the TV, where the video game they were playing is still on pause. Then, back at Zuko’s face. “No, I don’t have a crush on her. Or on Suki, for that matter.”

Zuko frowns. Sokka must know he doesn’t believe him, because he continues.

“I mean, I did.” He admits. “Back when I met her, when I was, like, 14. But I’m over it, now—Not that she’s not great; she’s awesome and I love her, just… Not in that way. It was just a silly teen-crush, anyway. And Suki is my best friend. We had a thing for a few months like two years ago, but we hit it off so much better as friends. She’s my bi icon, though. And bestest friend.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sokka adds, and eyes him pointedly, “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

So he does have someone he’s interested in anyway. God, Zuko really doesn’t stand a chance. Why even bothering trying? And it’s not like he knows how to try something, anyway…

From the other corner of the room, Aang shoots him a very cryptic look. Zuko can’t describe what he’s thinking, but he guesses he’s taking pity on him. After all, he knows.

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

His mind is a cruel thing. It’s what keeps him up at night, what reminds him of all his insecurities, what makes him feel undeserving of love, what keeps throwing image after image into his head of his broken childhood on bad days. It’s what, as much as his heart, knows about his deepest desires, his longing, his yearning and thinks it’s amusing to play with Zuko for a bit.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, with a fragile smile on his face, his voice going ridiculously soft, his eyes warming up, and Zuko’s heart pounds on his chest like big waves crashing on the shore of a lonely beach. “Zuko, I love you.”

It’s kind of—very—criminal the way Sokka makes him feel. The way he makes Zuko’s heart seem like it’s going to burst out of his chest with how fast it beats after hearing just those three words, the way he makes Zuko’s entire soul ache and want, the way he makes him feel so grounded, so him, yet so tiny and delicate, like he’s made out of thin sheets of ice.

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love is. He just knows a broken home, the destructive, neon-like, toxic obsession with power his dad had, instead of any tender form of anything else that can be called love that his dad should have had for his mom, but never did.

Falling in love is made to hurt. Falling in love is destined to make you feel sad, and alone, and unsafe.

Falling in love is a cruel thing. It’s not cut out for weak people, and Zuko is weak. He’s destined to break. He has always been made out of fragile, easy-to-destroy things.

That’s why his mind plays with him all the time.

He wakes up in his bed, opens his eyes to the dark quiet of his room, feels the way his heart beats so hard that he can almost feel it on his throat. And he feels lost. And sad.

He doesn’t even scream. He just lies there, feeling the world becoming smaller, feeling himself becoming smaller.

Lord, he’s royally fucked. Screwed. He knows. He’s destined to break.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

He’s sitting with Toph leaning back on his right side, on the fluffy couch in Katara and Sokka’s living room, cutting up squares out of colorful paper.

They are both terrible in the kitchen. Something coming from being rich kids, Sokka playfully teased earlier. And he guesses it’s true. Either way, they are terrible—Zuko even burned his own kitchen once while making scrambled eggs (and that was. Not a very good day). Sure, he has tried to help Uncle Iroh a couple of times, and he knows a bit of the basics, but besides preparing tea, he’s lost. He can’t cook to save his life. So when Zuko almost lights a fire to bake cookies and mixes up the recipe for the second time, Katara kicks them out and bans them from the kitchen for the next 4 hours. Toph protests just to be annoying—she doesn’t like cooking at all, she has told him, but she loves annoying Katara, it’s her favorite idle activity. Zuko would be offended, but it’s the smartest choice if they want to finish baking Aang’s birthday cake without setting the kitchen on fire, so it’s fine.

Besides, this way he can steal a few glances at Sokka, as he hangs up the decorations he and Toph are making. The muscles under his shirt flex when he raises his arms above his head, his messy hair down from its ponytail, falling over his face when he moves a bit to the left, a line of the smooth skin of his back making its way to Zuko's curious, avid eyes.

Zuko swallows.

Toph sighs heavily and throws her head back. “So, are you planning to make a move any time this century or are you a loser?”

Zuko eyes her, coming out of his stupor, confused. “What?”

Toph smirks. “Right, you’re always a loser, my bad.”

Zuko blinks. Not because of Toph calling him a loser, but because, for a second, he really doesn’t get what she means.

Then, when he does, he buries his face into his hands and groans.

“Even you know?”

Toph laughs. "Yes, idiot, it's stupidly obvious.” She pats his arm. “I can see it and I'm blind, you know."

Zuko groans again. He’s in physical pain right now. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know. Maybe the way you say his name. Or talk about him."

Zuko feels a bit of panic.

What? Is he that obvious? How does he say Sokka’s name?

"His name?"

"Yeah,” Toph confirms, nodding exaggeratedly, “stupidly sappy. It's gross."

"Oh my god."

She laughs again, loudly, because his suffering is apparently amusing. "You also talk about him a lot," she chuckles, "and sigh every time you see him. At least that’s what I assume, given that he’s in the room and you keep sighing like a 12-year-old girl in love. Pinning all the way.”

Zuko wants to die. He seriously wants to die. Maybe he should just tell Sokka he likes him, so when he rejects him, Zuko can just die a quick, albeit painful, death.

Toph nudges at his arm, with her typical abnormal strength for someone her age, but she doesn’t mean any harm. “So?” She asks, again. “Are you planning to make a move or not?"

Zuko sighs, "I can't do anything, he likes someone else."

Toph kind of stops where she’s fumbling with a couple of paper sheets. She then turns around and makes this face, where she’s scrunching up her nose and frowning like she just smelled something sour, or like when she’s deeply confused. "Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

Zuko’s confused at Toph’s relentless insistence. "...Yes?"

Toph’s face goes back to normal, but there’s something about the way she continues to hum that makes it seem like she still thinks Zuko is an alien, or something.

"You must have misunderstood him—which wouldn’t be a surprise, to be honest." She says the last part in a whisper, but he still hears her. That’s probably what she wanted anyway, but it’s not like he gets it. What does that mean? Zuko gets Sokka. That’s one of the few things he’s really proud of. Did he just think that he got Sokka while, all this time, he actually didn’t?

No. He understands Sokka. Sokka himself has told him that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't have a chance if he likes someone else, so I might as well not even try."

Toph looks mad. "You're super pessimistic, dumbass."

"Hmm."

She sighs, looking deeply tired and frustrated, like Zuko has completely worn her out. Then, she raises her fist and punches him. Hard.

Ouch.

Zuko yelps, and rubs at his sore arm. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

She frowns. “To punch some sense into you, big oblivious idiot!" Toph hums a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat, like she’s a feral dog trying to threaten a pedestrian. “Just try, at least. Everyone is kind of getting tired of your pinning, too."

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

“Even Katara. The only reason she hasn’t intervened yet is because she says it’s not her business to push you, but I don’t think her reasoning is gonna last long.”

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

Eventually, things go on.

Zuko’s “crush” doesn’t go away. If anything, it just grows and grows and grows until it becomes almost unbearable. But he still can’t say anything.

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“You know,” Sokka says, looking at him with feign innocence, sitting with his hands upwards behind him in Zuko’s room, “that looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

Zuko frowns. He looks up from his work to give Sokka a confused look. “What is, my pen?”

Sokka gives him that little, playful smile—the one that is so incredibly hot for some reason Zuko can’t understand. His eyes gleam, even more than they do all the time.

“Nope,” he says, and his smile grows an inch, “your hand.”

Zuko blinks. Sokka flirting with him is nothing new, that’s why he manages to hold back his blush a bit and remain calm, even when he’s a bit dying inside.

He is just trapped between telling him, “god, I wish you were flirting with me for real,” and, “please stop doing it, it’s not good for my heart,” and, “If only you knew how much I really want to hold your hand”, but neither of those options are actually. Something viable.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks instead, knowing the answer already.

Sokka would laugh, brush it off, and say something like, “ah, but you didn’t blush this time,” and let it go.

He doesn’t, though.

What he does, instead, is shrug and look at Zuko’s textbook, like he’s completely uninterested in the conversation.

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

“Have been for the past year and a half or so, but thanks for noticing.” He answers.

Zuko blinks. He’s tempted to answer, “yeah, I know, which is a cruel, cruel thing to do, by the way, given how my heart just wants to escape out of my chest and go with you every time you do it,” or something equally playful to play it down like they always tend to do, but… for some reason, this time it feels… Real.

Maybe he should just laugh.

He doesn’t, though, and, “What?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Sokka looks up. “I said that I’ve been doing it for a year and a half or so, thank you for finally noticing.”

Zuko doesn’t understand. He’s not following the conversation at all. “Wait.”

“Ahh,” Sokka sighs, “honestly, if you didn’t notice by the end of the month, I would have felt deeply embarrassed. I was starting to think I lost my charm and I didn’t know how to flirt.”

“Well, that was a terrible pick-up line,” Zuko can’t help but retort, and like he wasn’t mildly-insulted, Sokka grins at him.

“But it worked for you, didn’t it?” He teases, leaning on Zuko’s personal space, “it made you feel something.”

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

Zuko covers his mouth, frowning. He can feel his own heart race.

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko says, blinking. “That means—are you—are you flirting with me? For real?”

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

“Zuko, I don’t know where you got the idea, but I don’t flirt with anyone aside from you—at least, I haven’t done it in a long time. So yes, I am actually flirting with you.”

Zuko feels like he just got hit in the head. “Why?”

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

Sokka shoots him a look. “Zuko,” he says, slowly, “I like you. I thought that was obvious already.”

Zuko blinks. “You have… romantic feelings for me?”

Sokka laughs, amused. “Yeah, Zuko, I have ‘romantic feelings’ for you.”

Zuko blinks again. He’s blinking too much. “So all this time… it was real… when you said… and that time you also said… and… oh.”

Sokka smiles, softly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair. It makes him blush. His heart might also not even work at this point, if it wasn’t for the fact that he can clearly hear it thundering in his ears.

Why is Sokka so calm? Zuko’s about to pass out.

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

“Fair,” Sokka answers; he’s still grinning so wide. God, Sokka is so pretty. “Though I think she only calls us dumb, not that she means it.”

“Mmm.”

He’s so unfairly distracting, too. Zuko can’t stop looking at him.

“Wait,” He says, suddenly realizing something, “so you knew that I—that I—had feelings for you, too?”

Sokka looks at his lips when he talks, and Zuko has to concentrate hard to not straight up pass out from shock and his heart racing so fast it might give him an attack. Has he done that before? He would have noticed, right? Sure, Zuko looks at Sokka’s lips a lot instead than at his eyes, but he would have noticed if Sokka did it, too.

… Right?

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Is he dreaming? Is any of this real at all?

“Noticed it a while ago, yeah. That’s why I’m not freaking out that you noticed my flirting 100 years later.”

For a moment, Zuko is able to set aside his internal emotional turmoil and state of panic, if only to complain.

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

“Wait,” Zuko repeats, just to be annoying, “if you… liked me, and knew that I liked you back, why didn’t you… make a move?”

“Like asking you out? I tried to, but you’re too oblivious.”

“Huh?” Zuko utters. What does that even mean? He’s not—well, he is, maybe, just a bit, but. “Well, if you knew that, you could have been more straightforward, you know!”

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

Zuko feels his lips curling up, not able to contain all his happiness anymore, his brain catching up with the last 20 minutes of his life.

Holy shit, Sokka likes him. Sokka likes him. Him. Zuko. As in, romantically speaking.

Oh.

“I like you, Zuko.” Sokka says, as if Zuko’s brain didn’t shut down already. He reaches out and slides his hand on the table Zuko was previously working, the tip of his fingers touching Zuko’s. “So can I finally, please hold your hand?”

Zuko might pass out for real, but before that, he finally, finally, finally takes Sokka’s hand into his own.

It feels even better than in his dreams.

He feels like burning up, like all of his body is setting itself on fire.

Sokka’s hand is warm, so warm, and soft, so soft, and makes Zuko’s heart flutter like delicate flower’s petals in the wind.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over his knuckles; Sokka’s lips turn into a bright smile, like he’s been wanting to do that since forever.

It feels like home.

When they tell their friends they’re dating, Yue is the first one to say something.

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

“Shocking, right,” Katara deadpans, but then she smiles, genuine. “I’m happy for both of you.”

(Although remembering that minutes later doesn’t make her any less scary, when she decides to corner him out of the bathroom and put a steady hand on his shoulder, feign-sweet smile on her face, and say with a weirdly off-calm voice that, if he ever dared to hurt Sokka on purpose, she was going to break all the 206 bones on his body.)

Toph grins brightly and kicks him enthusiastically on the side with a loud “Well-done, loser!” while Aang jumps on Zuko’s back and clings to him like a koala.

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

“Finally, I won’t have to hear Sokka’s pinning all the time,” Suki quips, like she’s tired and utterly uninterested, but even the happiness is evident in her voice.

Sokka still complains. “Hey! I had to hear you be head-over-heels for Yue for months, too.”

“It wasn’t months for you, though.” Suki deadpans, but then her face goes all soft, “I’m kidding, So, I’m really happy for you two.”

Sokka smiles, and she gets up from where she’s cuddling Yue on the sofa to hug Sokka tightly, grinning wide, and then look at Zuko (stumbling with a happily laughing Aang on his back and Toph annoyingly ruffling his hair like a proud little sister) and whispers something in Sokka’s ear.

Zuko is glad that he’s still looking at Sokka from the corner of his eye, because he catches him blushing after that.

He’s cute.

Suki laughs. Sokka frowns, still blushing, and when he catches Zuko watching, he blushes harder.

He’s really cute.

Zuko smiles softly, and Sokka blinks, once, twice, before smiling back.

The cutest.

“Zuko.”

Zuko hums, but doesn’t look up from his work.

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

Zuko is used to it by now. To Sokka calling him pet-names like those. Of hearing Sokka say he’s cute, or hot, or smart, or witty, or pretty. It still makes his heart flutter, though. Just as Sokka’s laugh does. It still makes him blush sometimes.

(It’s funny because Sokka is the same way—or mostly the same. Zuko said he looked really hot after a baseball game once and Sokka almost died on the spot. He blushed like mad, but after he calmed down, he couldn’t stop bragging about Zuko calling him ‘hot’.

“Look at you, flirting shamelessly with me! You’re all grown up!” and, “I shouldn’t be near Zuko if I’m wearing my baseball uniform, he’ll get a boner,” and a lot of more phrases.)

“Hm?”

“You are—” Sokka sing-songs, and crosses his arms over Zuko’s textbook. He puts his chin over his forearms and looks up at Zuko’s face, grinning, and Zuko would probably be a bit annoyed that he’s not letting him finish his essay if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Sokka. His, ahem, boyfriend.

“I am…?”

“You are,” he repeats, and his smile grows bigger. Zuko thinks about kissing him; Zuko thinks about kissing him all the time. But, to be fair, he used to dream about that, just as much as he used to dream about them holding hands. And just as if he read Zuko’s mind, Sokka reaches out and holds his right hand; gently, like all of Sokka’s touches. It feels so nice, Zuko never wants to let go. “You are pulchritudinous.”

Eh?

Zuko tries to smile, but Sokka looks at him like he’s looking at a cute baby and throws his head back, still close and still holding his hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“What…?” Zuko is sure he looks as puzzled as he feels; he once caught his reflection in the mirror while playing Scrabble with Sokka and therefore knows how he must look. For some reason, Sokka finds it extremely cute. “What does that mean?”

Sokka laughs again.

Zuko narrows his eyes into slits. Or, maybe Sokka’s just making fun of him. (Not in a bad way, of course, Zuko knows. Sokka never means any harm, but he sure as hell loves teasing Zuko all the time.)

“Are you insulting me?”

Sokka wipes tears from his eyes and looks at Zuko with such a sweet face that it kinda makes Zuko stumble, even when he’s sitting.

His heart flutters alive, his face grows warm. He wants to kiss Sokka.

Sokka does, though, pulling gently at his hand and softly pressing his lips into Zuko’s wrist. He grins up at him.

“You’re adorable.”

(Later, when he’s waiting for a toast on Uncle Iroh’s kitchen, still barefoot, decked out in his pajamas and half-asleep, he finally finds what he thinks is the correct word using the search function of his phone—after 20 lame attempts of trying and failing at remembering—and pronouncing correctly—the right word.

He clicks on the dictionary tab, reads over the meaning, stumbles over, slips and falls flat on his ass.

He almost sets his kitchen on fire for the second time.)

Zuko is bad at flirting. He knows. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, hard, and sometimes, sometimes, he succeeds (conscious and unconsciously).

Or maybe Sokka is just too easy to fluster (even when Sokka says it’s the other way around; even when that’s actually, probably, just a bit, true.)

Either way, Zuko basks happily in seeing Sokka get all flustered. It makes him even cuter than he already is.

(Whipped, Toph would draw out, mockingly sing-song.

And, well, maybe he is.)

Kissing Sokka is like setting himself on fire. Like burning up alive, but not in the bad sense. Not in the way he was burned as a little kid.

Kissing Sokka is like sitting near a campfire when you’re feeling cold; like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling your chest contract; like tucking yourself in a warm blanket, with fuzzy socks and drinking your favorite drink, while hearing your favorite song. It’s like waking up on a good day, like basking in the sun at twilight, like taking a warm shower after a long day.

He feels too much, way too overwhelmed, even with just a brush of lips.

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

There’s something that comes alive in his chest at the same time their lips touch. It blossoms under his ribcage, spreads over his chest, warms up all the way up to his throat. Beating, growing, marveling in every fiber of his being. Maybe that’s what love is—maybe that’s what Zuko has been searching for all this time; this connection, this overwhelming feeling, this deep, raw, unfiltered emotion, coming off him through waves of desperation for more.

He can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t something he has looked out for, the discovery of it still feels like a sacred thing.

It’s like watching cherry blossoms falling on the street for the first time, like falling asleep on the comfortable side of your bed after a tiring day, it’s coming back home—or to what home should feel like.

It’s something delicate, at first. Zuko doesn’t have any experience, so he just lets himself feel as Sokka presses his lips softly into his own, carding his long fingers into Zuko’s hair.

Zuko feels an electric chill run down his spine, where Sokka’s fingertips—from the hand that’s not on his hair—make a slow path down. He can feel them burning, even through his clothes, even when Sokka’s hand is not that warm.

But it feels like that.

Zuko breathes shakily, moves his lips experimentally, feeling Sokka’s smile against his mouth.

He wants to do something, so he leans in, feeling Sokka’s eyelashes tickling his cheekbones, feeling Sokka’s thumb under his jaw, angling his head in a better position, feeling himself become aflame. He wants to touch Sokka. He really wants to touch Sokka.

So he does.

He uses one hand to gently touch Sokka’s wrist—the one Sokka’s using to keep Zuko’s head up—and, carefully, tentatively, he wraps his fingers around it, caresses the skin like he wants to print a topographic map of it into his mind.

Sokka makes a low, appreciative sound, and Zuko feels so happy it should be embarrassing.

Sokka has his hair down, and Zuko wants to touch it so much because he loves Sokka’s hair. Sokka’s hair is so pretty—Sokka is so pretty—so he goes for it. He brushes his fingers on Sokka’s shoulder, touches the strands of brown hair that lie there, moves his fingers to the nape of his neck. Zuko does this slowly, he wants to feel everything and he’s not going to rush, not after how long he’s wanted this.

He cradles his head with his hand, touches and touches and touches. He pulls at his hair, lightly, and his hand goes down just a bit; the skin of Sokka’s neck under his fingertips is warm, and so soft. He can feel the gentle echo of his heartbeat thundering in the tender curve of his jaw.

Just then, Sokka’s thumb brushes on his bare clavicle, and Zuko hisses, feeling like he’s on fire. Feeling like he’s become burning embers.

It’s just—too much, and at the same time, not enough—he wants more.

He has always been sensitive, but it’s different now. It’s like all his senses are turned on—he’s hyper-aware of everything around him—of Sokka’s hands, of Sokka’s steady, fast heartbeat under his open palm, of Sokka’s smell, of Sokka’s warm mouth, of Sokka’s soft skin, of the way Sokka keeps mumbling his name, softly against his lips or when he breaks apart to breath. He touches Sokka’s face, Sokka’s arms, Sokka’s neck; breathes his name into his own mouth, makes sure Sokka knows how much he wants this, how much he’s dreamed of this: of kissing him, of him kissing him back.

It feels too good to be even real—just as Sokka always makes him feel, even when they’re not kissing.

He might as well die there.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, though.

Linked, bare soul to bare soul, with the prettiest, smartest, kindest boy he’s ever met.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say. But as he sees Sokka laughing in front of him because of some ridiculous joke Toph made, holding Zuko’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world, he can’t help but think that falling in love is anything but painful.

Sokka turns around, catches him staring and grins, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Zuko smiles, thinking just how much he loves Sokka, how much he loves his life, how much he loves his uncle, how much he loves his friends, how much he loves being alive, being there, curled up with Sokka on his couch, watching a stupid rom-com movie on Sokka’s cell-phone screen, sharing earphones with his boyfriend. Being there, in the house that he shares with his uncle—his real dad—in the house that he has come to call home. Being there, feeling safe in Sokka’s arms, with Toph hearing music on the TV, while Aang and Katara and Suki and Yue sleep, sprawled there and there all over his living-room.

“I love you,” Zuko tells Sokka, like he just revealed the biggest secret of the universe.

Love.

He feels the word on his tongue, and it tastes sweet. It tastes like the color of Sokka’s eyes, like the tone of Sokka’s laugh, like all of Sokka’s smiles—the gentle one, the soft one, the playful and flirty one, the wide one—all of them. Love tastes like Sokka holding his hand while they go for a walk, like Sokka’s voice when he talks about what he likes, like Sokka’s proud eyes after scoring a run, after Zuko shows him his grades. It tastes like a lot of things he can’t name, like the way Sokka says his name, like the way Sokka makes him feel, like that little mole under Sokka’s jaw, like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles with the setting sun of the beach, like the way his fingertips feel against Zuko’s neck. Like the way he looks at Zuko like he’s not broken, like he’s the best thing that ever existed, like his scar is beautiful and all of Zuko’s failures don’t matter to him because he’s him, and that is enough. Like Zuko is more than enough, and how he loves that he’s more than enough to Zuko, too.

“I love you,” Zuko says again, in a low voice, and it feels real. It has meaning. It’s not an empty word at all.

For some reason, he feels like tearing up a bit.

Sokka’s face mellows, softens; he brushes his thumb under Zuko’s left eye, just at the edge of his scar, and his eyes become impossibly warm. Zuko wants to kiss all of his face; he wants to taste all of Sokka’s softness on his own lips.

There, in the quiet of Zuko’s living-room, Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks he’s the most bewitching, stunning, ineffably beautiful being.

It feels like something ethereal. Sokka smiles and Zuko feels blessed to exist.

“I love you, too,” Sokka answers, like he’s sharing one of the secrets of the universe, too, like he’s never told anyone anything more true, and ever so gentle.

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

#zukka #zukka fic #atla #avatar the last airbender #my writing #... this is my contribution to the atla/zukka fandom #please let me know what do you think in the comments/tags/ao3!!!!!!!!#have a lovely day and thanks for reading :')

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jacepens · 3 years

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Hi! I love your works on ao3 but I never used tumblr in life so sorry if I’m doing it wrong. I just wanted to share some of my ideas that I’d love to see you write. One of those ideas is a one shot (probably), where Laf is super interested in Washington, but George is super oblivious. He also has a cat named Hamilton that he adores and brings up in every conversation. And because of the phrasing Laf thinks that George has a boyfriend, who he always calls by his last name Hamilton. So that. <3

This is so cute oh my gosh thank you so much!! For your sweet words and the prompt! And thank you for your patience! I was busy last week but now I am free for lots of writing so feel free to send more if you’d like! Or if you just want to talk about them haha, I would do that too, gladly.

As always, apologies for the little mistakes but this is so silly and treated so seriously I love it and I hope you do too!! (Also, I am George in this situation- oblivious and in love with my cat so I included a picture of my old cat because I honestly imagined Hamilton cat looking like him:3)

***

His face would light up, those wrinkles would rumple in the corners of his face, and even his eyes seemed to sparkle with passion and love every time he spoke about the man.

Hamilton, was his name, and Hamilton had everything Lafayette wished he had, which was really just one thing: George Washington.

It hurt, of course it would, but Lafayette couldn’t be mad. He’s never even met the man and yet every time George spoke of him it made his chest ache with longing and sorrow. The one he loved was taken, and Lafayette started to wonder if he might feel better at another job. But even then, he wasn’t sure if he could live without hearing George’s quiet laugh or watching him smile or present a speech on the most boring thing suddenly made interesting, or damn, even just make a coffee while humming a soft tune.

“Last night, Hamilton and I curled up on the couch and watched Captain America for probably the fifth time and he actually stayed the whole movie! It was so sweet of him,” George grinned softly to himself. Lafayette frowned. He talked so differently when it was about Hamilton. Laid back, happy, loving. It was how he wished to be talked about but alas, he knew deep down he never would.

A few ‘awwws’ echoed around the break room and George looked down at his food with some embarrassment. Lafayette had learned that Hamilton was quite a strange character. Who didn’t stay to watch the full movie with their partner to the point they were so excited when they did? Hamilton seemed to be a restless type where George was much more calm and so bitterly, Lafayette acknowledged that it made sense. They clicked together perfectly.

Another day at work brought more swooning from Lafayette and embarrassingly, as always, half-hearted attempts at flirting to at least see if George would understand, simply acknowledge his devastatingly overwhelming feelings. But George smiled, politely, maybe joked and the flirtation rolled off of him like always. Maybe it was because he was so committed and in love or maybe he was simply that oblivious. It made sense. Hamilton was stubborn, a bit moody, and sometimes lashed out if he did not get what he wanted, so of course a man like that would have no trouble confessing his feelings or flirting so aggressively that no one could misunderstand him.

Today they were eating lunch again, the lunch break always being when Lafayette would hear the most stories about Hamilton and what they did the night before. Today the story simply made his gut churn until he couldn’t even put his food to his lips.

“It was so sweet,” George said softly, that familiar love filling his eyes, “he snuggled right up to me and stayed there the whole night. I know Hamilton doesn’t like storms so usually he’ll hide somewhere, but last night he fell right asleep on my chest. Not even the thunder woke him up.” Lafayette stabbed at his salad maybe with a bit too much force. A sweet, romantic moment and a new bond being formed to make their relationship even stronger. Great.

Today, Lafayette struggled to even scold himself from his unjustified anger, but dammit- George didn’t even know how Lafayette felt about him! How was he supposed to sit there and listen to this, dreaming of how they could be together while doing his best to tune out the sweet story, and failing miserably.

“Oh, do you want to see a picture?” Lafayette perked up.

“Sure thing, I wanna see!” His coworker, Brewster piped up.

George grinned and pulled the phone from his pocket, quickly typing in his passcode, Lafayette watching with equal parts curiosity and dread.

Lafayette watched as George smiled again, likely finding the right photo and then turning his phone to show Caleb. The man instantly smiled brightly, no doubt seeing their love and maybe even the face of Hamilton.

Would he be handsome like George? Sweet like Tallmadge? Bright like Mulligan? Or, most dreadfully, pretty like himself?

Of course George turned the phone so everyone could see, it was etiquette and human nature to want to know what had everyone smiling so. What made his George smile so.

George turned the screen to face him.

His fork dropped, his heart hammering as his mind began running and processing too fast for him to keep up.

“Hamilton is a cat?” he stammered.

George paused a moment, taking a confused look at his phone and then back at Lafayette who just had quite a severe reaction to learning something like that.

“Well...yes? You didn’t know?”

“But he- you never once said- Hamilton isn’t your boyfriend?” Lafayette cried, his hands unable to decide if they would be still or enunciate his every confused word.

But then, George laughed. Not cruelly, but he laughed, that smile he saw only when he talked about Hamilton appearing brightly and then Lafayette’s heart was pounding for another reason entirely.

“Hamilton has always been my cat, Lafayette.” And George looked up at him, that smile still so bright and devastatingly gorgeous. Lafayette cannot help but begin to laugh as well, breaking the strange tension and he hears his coworkers start to make jokes and chatter around them.

“Well,” Lafayette sighed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, “he is quite a cute cat.” He raises his gaze to stare at George, a simple habit by now.

George still has a small smile, just dreamy enough to make him flush warm. “Yeah,” he trails off, letting the word dangle and fall away. “He certainly is.”

#snippet #prompt #ask #washette #mariiamo27

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accioromione · 4 years

Note

can you do a fanfic about Ron and Hermione's wedding from Harrys perspective please I will bake you something

There Harry stood, in elegant black dress robes, with his unruly hair sleeked back. Next to him was his best friend, Ron Weasley. Ron looked quite dapper; he was also wearing elegant dress robes. His bright red hair was also sleeked back, and he stood up tall and proud. Harry could not believe that in this moment, his best friend Ron Weasley, was about to marry his other best friend, Hermione Granger.

But here he was standing as he best man, next to the groom to be. Ron’s brothers, George, Bill, Percy and Charlie also stood near as the groomsmen. Harry saw many familiar faces in the audience, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were right there in the front row, and Harry saw that Mrs. Weasley already had tears in her eyes. Hermione’s mother was also seated in the front row, there was empty seat next to her, which was most likely reserved for Hermione’s father after he released his daughter to Ron.

Harry saw many classmates a couple of rows further down. Seamus, Dean, Neville and his date Hannah Abbott and many others. To his and Ron’s right, stood a line-up of Hermione’s bridesmaids who were all wearing light pink robes that somehow suited all of them perfectly. There they stood, Fleur, Angelina, Audrey, Luna and Ginny with an empty spot to the side, in anticipation for the bride. Harry had just made his way down the aisle, alongside Ginny, who was the maid of honour, who looked absolutely radiant in her pink robes.

Victoire, who was now three years old, walked forward, dropping rose petals from her basket in a very disorganized but endearing matter, until she made her way to the aisle, Bill took her by the hand and carried her, placing a kiss on the cheek and whispering ‘good job,’ to which Fleur looked delighted at. The music picked up and the doors opened, Harry saw Ron’s chest expand as he took a deep breath in anticipation. And there she was, Hermione, in a beautiful white gown, her smile wide as ever, she walked down the aisle locked arm and arm with her father. Ron’s eyes widened at the sight of her, and if Harry wasn’t mistaken, his eyes looked a lot more wet. Hermione looked beautiful, she had put her hair in an elegant bun, and she was walking with a lightness to her. Fleurs glow, just like it did at her wedding, seemed to make everyone around her even more beautiful. This glow was not lost on Hermione, who was now shining. Ron did not bother to hide his tears by the time she had reached the aisle. Harry looked at his two best friends and knew that in this moment, they were not paying attention to anyone else and were in their own world. Hermione wiped the tear off of Ron’s cheek, and placed her hands in his. Ron squeezed Hermione’s hands and looked at her with a pure look of adoration. The look Hermione gave back was a look of pure love. Harry, as strong as he was, felt himself begin to choke up at the love he was witnessing in front of his very eyes.

The wedding minister began,

‘Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore, is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their peace.’

The crowd was silent.

‘The groom may now state his vow’

Ron, staring deeply into Hermione’s eyes

‘Hermione, I remember how the first time I met you, I called you a nightmare,’ Ron began, making the audience laughed.

‘Ironically, you ended up becoming the opposite of a nightmare. Instead you became my happiest dream. Although scary at times,’ the audience laughed again, ‘you are strong, beautiful, kind, brilliant, and every day I feel so lucky to have you in my life. We have been friends since we were eleven years old- and although surprising as it may seem, I still cannot get enough of you. So now, in the presence our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honour and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live. I, Ron Weasley, take you, Hermione Granger, to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.’

Harry saw that tears had filled up in Hermione’s eyes, to which Ron delicately brushed off, with tears in his own eyes.

‘The bride may now say her vow’ The minister said. And Harry saw that half the audience, as well as Hermione were now in tears. Harry admitted that even his eyes were slightly starting to water.

‘R-Ron’ Hermione hiccoughed, and Ron squeezed her hands in reassurance.

‘The moment I met you, I thought, who is this idiot’ the audience laughed,

‘You did not turn out to be one in the slightest. Your intelligence, your loyalty, your kindness and your bravery were something I was able to see from when you were eleven. You may have called me a nightmare-‘ the audience laughed, ‘but the moment this nightmare was in trouble you ran to save me, from then on we became friends, and not even a year later I saw yourself sacrificing yourself to help others before you, which is something you never stopped doing . And as annoying as you may be, my love only for you only grows with time. So now, in the presence our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honour and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live. I , Hermione Granger ,take you, Ron Weasley , to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.’

‘The couples may now exchange their rings,’ The wedding minister declared, and Harry helped Teddy, who was now five years old, present the rings to Ron and Hermione, who each put it on each other.

‘By the power vested in me by the Ministry, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.’

Ron and Hermione embraced closely, and their lips pressed against each other in pure passion. The passion of their kiss reminded him of their first kiss, which Harry had witnessed, which had been filled with passion and urgency. After a moment of their passionate embrace, the pulled apart, only looking at each-other, as if no one else was there. Upon them pulling apart the minister said,

‘I present to you Mr. Granger- Weasley. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley’, it was as if the minister’s voice had reminded Ron and Hermione that they were not alone. They looked at the audience beaming, the audience was now clapping, and a couple of people were cheering, ‘Congratulations! Go on you two!’ Harry said, patting Ron on the back and looking at Hermione. Ron took Hermione’s hand and Hermione took a flower bouquet from Ginny and both of them walked ran down the aisle, looking drunk in happiness hand and hand.

Harry took Ginny’s hand and followed behind, to which the rest followed. Seeing Ron and Hermione go into a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud, which had been enchanted to fly itself to where the hall the wedding party would take place. The rest of them would be apparating, and the few muggles who had attended would be driving. The muggles, minus Hermione’s parents, who were extended families of Hermione, would be having their memories wiped so as to think they just drank too much during the wedding, in order for them to forget about the magic that would be present.

Harry saw Ron and Hermione kiss yet again through the window of the car. The audience behind them cheering and clapping, Hermione threw her bouquet of flowers out the window and all the women ran to catch it. Luna ended up catching the bouquet

‘Oh what lovely flowers, white rose’s are good for fighting off rumpskins!’ She said, looking at the flowers dazedly. Ginny smiled at Luna and then turned to Harry,

‘off we are then?’ Ginny asked Harry, taking his hand. Harry shook his head, grabbed his own wife’s hand and the two of them disapparated with a pop.

The venue hall was beautiful. It was a hall made for witches and wizards, there were floating lanterns outside of the hall, and a fountain that shot out sparkling water. Harry and Ginny made their way inside. Twinkling lights surrounded the walls, and the tables were covered in a shearing silky white, along with golden napkins. Each table had a bouquet of Rose’s that seemed to have a crystal glitter to them. There was a stage with a grand long table, and eight seats, meant for Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny and Ron and Hermione’s parents. The table was decorated in the same manner that the other dining tables were, the only difference was that these chairs were cushioned and antique. It would be Harry and Ginny’s responsibility to introduce the bride and groom after all the guests took their seats. And they did exactly that, upon their introduction Ron and Hermione entered hand in hand and the audience clapped. The two of them went to the table that had a big grand cake on it, there was moving figurine of Ron and Hermione kissing, and upon cutting the cake it burst in confetti, causing another round of applause. Ron and Hermione fed each-other a piece and Hermione purposely put some on Ron’s nose. Ron kissed her in return, causing the cake on his nose to go on hers, and the audience laughed.

All of them took their seat, and before they could partake in the food, Harry and Ginny were set to make their own speeches.

Ginny went first,

‘Aright everyone’ she said standing up, and the crowd was looking at her silently. ‘So, as the maid of honour, I have to say a couple of words about these two,’ she said, tilting her head towards Ron and Hermione.

‘Now I’m going to start with my brother,’ she said, holding her drink towards Ron, ‘and I just want to start by saying that out of all my brothers, you Ron, are by far the most annoying,’

The crowd laughed and Hermione laughed, Ron rolled his eyes grinning.

‘You were also one of the closest. You and I being so close in age forced us to do everything together. I mean we became so close that I married your best friend,’ Ginny said, causing another outburst of laughter.

‘The first year I went to Hogwarts, I followed your footsteps and managed to get myself almost killed, but you came to save me. You always looked out for me, and you always tried to protect me. And that’s just what you do, you are so caring and giving and loyal, annoying as you may be, your heart is pure. I am so happy you found someone like Hermione, who will appreciate the heart of gold that you have.’

Mrs. Weasley was now crying.

‘Hermione, I met you my second year, because of my brother. The moment you opened your mouth, dozens of facts spewed out in a second. Then Ron invited you over for the summer, and we officially bonded. I remember being so excited because it was the first time in my life where I felt like I had a sister.’

Hermione smiled at Ginny, tears in her eyes.

‘I remember how you would always complain to me about Ron, and the moment I would ask you if you felt something for him, you would blush and deny it, I don’t blame you as that is quite embarrassing,’

‘Hey!’ Ron said and the audience laughed

‘I would tease Ron about you and he’d just try to jinx me, but it was quite obvious, I remember me and Fred..’ Ginny took a deep breath,

‘we made a bet on you two, predicting who would make the first move, Fred bet it would be you Hermione, and I know he’s here right now, laughing and smiling and asking me for his 5 sickles.’ Ginny’s eyes filled with tears, ‘You two were made for each other, and you balance each-other so well, I am so happy I can officially call you my sister in law Hermione, you and Ron deserve each-other’ the crowd applauded and Harry stood up.

‘Right, well, I don’t know if I can compete with that,’ Harry started and the crowd laughed.

‘Ron, you’re my best mate, from the moment we met each-other we were inseparable, I lived a life not knowing what it was like to be loved and cared for. And then you came in, and you brought me into your family, you risked your life for me, and you were always by my side, I don’t know what on earth I did to deserve a friend like you, because you mate, are one in a million.’ Harry started,

‘Now that isn’t to say you were never a git. But despite all that, you are one of the bravest, kindest, funniest, most down-to-earth people I have met in my entire life. I love you I really do. I don’t know where I’d be without you Ron, I’m so used to being around you I can’t even picture a world in which you weren’t in my life. From the moment I was eleven, I no longer felt like I was an only child, because you felt like more than a friend, you became my brother. I would have not survived without you, you were there for me both mentally and physically and I am so happy I’m here today to witness you sharing one of the most special moments of your life,’

Ron was smiling at him and Harry smiled back, ‘right now you Hermione,’

‘Well for starters thank you for helping with all my homework,’ and Hermione rolled her eyes,

‘Just like Ron, you’ve also always been there for me. You’ve been such a close friend, and basically a sister these past years. You have such a passionate kind soul, and of course, you are brilliant. I remember being put in the middle of your rows all the time, and all I could think was, could these two just get together already, and it took a war, but you did,’ the audience laughed

‘Seriously Hermione, I wouldn’t be standing here today without you and Ron and I owe the both of you my lives. Looking back, I’m not quite sure just anyone would listen to a bloke claiming that his head scar is hurting. So, I really lucked out with you two. You’ve both sacrificed so much for all of us to be sitting here today in peace, and you deserve every ounce of happiness, also Hermione, you have my vote for Minister of Magic,’ and the audience cheered,

‘Seriously, I can’t think of a couple more suited for each-other, your loyalty and your kindness go unmatched, your bravery, which is no surprise as we have two infamous Gryffindor’s, is supreme, and your passion could ignite a fire. I love the both of you, and I have accepted a life where I will consistently have to third wheel, because I do believe you two were made for each-other honestly.’ Harry continued,

‘A toast- to Ron and Hermione’ Harry said lifting up his champagne glass, and the guests lifted up their drinks, as well as Ron and Hermione,

‘Alright, time for food!’ Ginny yelled,

With that, plates of food came zooming from the air alongside drinks, first appetizers, then the main course and of course dessert. Some platters of appetizers, drinks still remained if anyone was still feeling peckish. Harry saw that some of the guests were taking advantage of the unlimited refills of the drinks.

Ginny got up to continue her role as maid of honour, ‘alright everyone, so we have a couple of bride and groom activities’ she said into her wand, which she had charmed to enhance her voice.

‘Mum if you don’t mind’ she said, and Mrs. Weasley waved her wand so that two chairs levitated to the centre of the floor.

‘Ron, Hermione, please take your seats,’ Ginny continued and the two of them got up, Ron helping Hermione lift the bottom of her gown,

‘Now take out your wands’ and the both of them exchanged their wands, ‘now, I’m going to ask you two who’s more likely questions, if it applies to Ron, make orange light shoot out, if it’s Hermione, make it purple, are we good?’ And the two of them nodded,

‘Alright, who wears the trousers?’ Two bursts of purple light erupted from their wands,

‘No surprise there, who’s more affectionate?’ Hermione’s wand let out of spurt of orange light, and Ron’s let out a burst of purple light.

Hermione laughed and nodded her head no, and Ron yelled ‘she likes to cuddle don’t let her fool you!’ Hermione hit his arm, and Ginny continued,

‘Who’s funnier?’ Both of their wands let out a burst of orange light,

‘Who’s crazier?’ Ron let out a huge stream of purple light and the crowd laughed, Hermione sighed and laughed. ‘Not true!’ She said as she laughed,

‘Who was the first to declare their love?’ Both of their wands shot our orange light,

‘Finally taking initiative eh Ron?’ Ginny joked, ‘Alright, who’s more dramatic?’

Ron’s wand shot out purple and Hermione’s shot out orange.

Harry laughed. Both Ron and Hermione could be equally as dramatic.

‘Who will kill the spiders in the house?’ Both Ron and Hermione’s wands shot out purple,

‘Who is the better kisser?’ Ron’s wand shot out orange and Hermione’s shot out purple,

‘Who looks better today?’ Ron’s wand shot out a huge light of purple and Hermione’s shot out orange, ‘She’s lying, impossible for anyone to look better than her today,’ Ron said to which the audience went ‘aww.’

‘Who wins the most arguments?’ Ron and Hermione’s wands both shot out purple,

‘Even when she’s wrong,’ Ron joked,

‘Alright’ Ginny said, ‘To finish it off, who do you love more than anyone in the world?’ And Ron’s wand shot out purple and Hermione’s shot out orange. The crowd clapped and Hermione and Ron embraced each-other in a kiss again.

‘Alright well we can let the festivities begin! Ron and Hermione will take part in their first dance and after them you lot can take a dance partner and keep your eyes out for more games- there’ll be prizes.’

Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and the chairs left the dance floor. Slow music started playing and Ron held out his right hand, Hermione took it and the two embraced each-other. There they swayed on the dancefloor, Hermione’s head now rested on Ron’s chest, and Ron was tightly embracing her. The only time they pulled apart was when they delicately kissed each-other. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Grangers eyes were now filled with tears. It was quite beautiful, Harry admitted, seeing the two of them swaying against each-other, lost in their own world. After their first dance, Hermione danced with her father, and more people made their way on the dancefloor. Harry and Ginny danced together, and then Harry danced with Hermione and Ginny danced with Ron. After a moment Ron and Hermione retreated into their own little world.

Harry smiled as he saw Ron and Hermione remain in a tight embrace, if anyone deserved happiness, it was them. It was crazy to think that just a couple years ago, Harry had been convinced that he would have to die. And now, here he stood, alive and healthy, witnessing his best-friend’s wedding.

(P.S I like carrot cake- haha kidding, this was the best I could do)

#romione #ron x hermione #fanfiction #you guys asking me to write things is flattering #my fic

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oddarin · 4 years

Text

A few perfume associations with Arcana characters.

small note: It is not quite “what aroma suits the character” or smth like that, it is rather "what fragrance comes to my mind when I think of the character". Associative series sometimes are very associative.

Asra:

The Ritual of Happy Buddha by Rituals... Warm cedarwood and bittersweet orange. Cozy, enveloping aroma of tranquility, serene and shelteredness. Really happy scent.

Breath of God by Lush. Contrast of fruity-sweety lightness and earthy-woody heaviness. Melon, sandal, vetiver, rubber, camphor, something smoked... Grunge, esoteric, hypnose. All to shake and stir. One of those aroma you think you've figured out but the next moment it turns to you on entirely different side.

Copal Azur by Aedes de Venustas. Completely different fragrance. Melancholic, absentminded suitable for wandering alone. Sparkling, fresh, slightly spicy smell of vastnesses under the endless ozonous sky. The air smells of wood resins and essential oils, but a thunderstorm already feels from the distance.

Nadia:

Passage d'Enfer by L'Artisan Parfumeur. Strict, slightly disturbing, one second cold, the next warm, fascinating, one second insinuating, the next tender. Stunningly beautiful in its mystery and inaccessibility, and at the same time so close and intimate.

The Pour Un Ete by L'Artisan Parfumeur. Tart jasmine, bitterish green tea. Noble intellectual with a temper. Seems so sweet, delicate and playful but also may choke you in certain circumstances.

Floriental by Comme des Garcons. Languid powdery plum, even plum cordial, with pink pepper, alluring roughness with enveloping non-confectionery sweetnessin in deepness. Despite its sensuality is quite so-to-say businesslike and non-diverting.

Julian:

pretty obvious association - Wood Sage & Sea Salt by Jo Malone London. Cool salty breeze, wet railings, vulnerary herbs. Very, very soft like the most tender touch of the sea mist. Can be sweet and playful or freshly and keeping concentration, calming or exciting, but always supporting. Quite close to skin so you need to nuzzle for the best acquaintance ;) Also good in conjoin with 'Pomegranate Noir' by same producer, if you catch my drift 😏

Encens et Lavande by Serge Lutens. Intriguing, tart, sensual bitter-grassy, a little smoky and slightly salty, old books, resinous ship timber. Not very complicated on the surface - some can even say that it is too simple just like aftershave - but um... don't judge it too hastily, it is only facade, it's much deeper than appears. It can excite, turn you on, and then, softly and gently, immerse you in calm languid pleasure.

Huế ‘City Of Dead Kings’ by Anna Zworykina Perfumes. Perhaps, it is the weirdest association. The dark corner of the soul. Here is the heat of calescent old stone, the dry seaweed on the salt coast, medical tinctures, thick and bitter, stagnant water surrounded by jungles, longing, sorrow, despair... So many components, very ambiguous fragrance, but inexplicably attractive, dark swamping fantasy with the hope of a revival.

Muriel:

another rather obvious choice as it canonically should be myrrh aroma - Myrrh by Demeter. Myrrh. Just monomyrrh, smoky, slightly sweet, slightly sourish, really memory-catching. funny thing, I truly have some own... complicated memories about one person which return with that smell

Black Cedarwood & Juniper by Jo Malone London. Could be another strange choice as it quite light and aquarel for Muriel. But I see forest after the rain, wet moss and broken juniper branches outside the hut, cedarwood shavings on the floor leaved after crafting, spicery smell of herbal infusion in the pot on dying fire. Storm is gone and hut is empty. More about place than a character, perhaps.

Irish Leather by Memo Paris. Can't help but it is always juniper for me when it is about Muriel. Deep, calm, kinda withdrawn but fresh like a sip of pure water from a stream. Combination of forest and moorlands. Beauteous astringency and bitterness of juniper, warm dry herbs on the wind, sharp note of wormwood hides under worn leather. And in heart, under all that roughness, lies imperceptible noticeable for a first sight sweetness of tonka beans.

Portia:

Aqua Allegoria Mandarine Basilic by Guerlain. A bittery-green whiff of wind in a shady garden on a warm sunny day. Bright and friendly like a good partner. Sparkling and tender, light and dizzy, cheerful and playful, frozen moment of happiness.

Five O'Clock Au Gingembre by Serge Lutens. Cozy, relaxing gatherings on a golden sunset after busy day, cinnamon-ginger-honey tea (or sometimes cocoa on a mood), warm pastries. No worries, no chores, quiet intimate conversation, overwhelming sense of security and wonderfully aching and slightly unsettling feeling of some hazy hope.

Vanilla Vibes by Juliette Has A Gun. Sea! Secluded beaches! Freedom! Very calm and warm waters, small soft grains of sand, sweetness of embraces, sun on freckled shoulders, wind in the hair and taste of dried salt on the warm skin. Sweet-salty smell of pure joy.

Lucio:

Fille en Aiguilles by Serge Lutens. Because of naming lol

Blackpepper by Comme des Garcons. Spicy. Very spicy. Lot of piercing ringing pepper at start that could be repulsive or even ridiculous. But if you'll like it, soon you'll find long thrilling sense of dense woody-smoky voluptuous close-to-skin warmth which you want to snuggle to and to be dissolved in...

Haute Voltige by L'Artisan Parfumeur. Bright, self-confident, rather capricious and unpredictable, you never know which side it will reveal today. ~Provocative~. A mix of pleasant and repellent. Red drops of sweet-and-sour pomegranate liqueur, slightly peony bitterness, coniferous barb, sense of notes of metal and cold. But it should be treated with a heed, some find it too... animalistic.

Serge Noir by Serge Lutens. Thick cold cinder and soot under viscous suffocating clove, disturbing sense of vague danger. It is like a grip on neck on the first moment, though it recedes quite soon. But not completely. It becomes more restrained, but prickly waves touch the skin over and over again, slightly scratching, and spicy smoke generously shrouds it with its dense heat. Harmonious disharmony.

#the arcana #julian devorak #asra alnazar #count lucio #portia devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel #the arcana headcanons #the arcana game #the arcana hc #the arcana game headcanons #the arcana headcanon

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delightsan · 4 years

Text

FLAME (II) | CS

⁕ genre: fuck boy!san, bad boy!au, college!au, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

⁕ pairings: choi san x fem!reader

⁕ words: 6.4k

⁕ description: keeping the title of being the best student on campus isn’t easy for you, especially when your mind was occupied only by him and his annoying smirk, the popular bad boy who once decided to sets on fire your heart without anybody’s permission

⁕ warnings: explicit language, suggestive remarks, smoking & alcohol

read the prologue and the chapter one

The sociable cafeteria is filled with people whose names you can't remember, but their curious stares welcome you with affectionate embrace, as soon you enter the huge space of the room. The embrace you crave, since San planted the promising rays of hope in your heart, it's devastating to you, because the only concern which matters are his gleaming eyes, full of chestnut color and mischievous spark. His presence is absolutely breathtaking. You're indeed a fragile prisoner of his burning touch, and the lustful gaze, soon as you would gentle rub affectionate circles on his arms tattoo's beauty, the night before, where the only sound was your rapid heartbeats and heavy breathing. He left the blurry trace of passionate kisses down your pale neck to remind you about his intentions, when you see the purple marks of his unspoken words.

Choi San's eerie relationship with you are the cause of your ruthless nights, but you will gladly suffer for him if it meant he would hold your hand in his warm palms, and smooch your face in kisses.

Rushing at the end of long line to the bufet, you scan the surroundings in a haste glance to spot his glowing figure, seated between the rest of his friends, it's utterly mindblowing, the way your stomach churns with pleasant anxiety when his starry eyes meet with yours. San's dazzling existence throws you into the vortex of emotions, where the love is struggling against the malicious demons of your fears. He's dressed in his usual clothes, the color black highlights his sharp facial features, and the used martens on his feet shows his rebellious side.

You bow in grateful at the elderly woman, who give you the meal of the day, thanking her for the extra portion of rice, as your stomach grumble at the lack of the daily food intake. The kindly gesture make you smile in delight, while the other students talk feverishly about the last soccer game in which the boy, whose angelic voice is like the sweetest honey, Jongho won a golden tropheum for the school's team. He becomes a hero in the eyes of the thousands of people and Hongjoong's, who is proud to call himself a father figure. ATEEZ have a lot of outstanding achievements on their side, they are a gang of gifted kids with deadly stares and auras, for example Hongjoong godly hands are great at crafting, he is a owner of his own fashion brand, called "star1117", in which "Mars" is a main model, and that's your beloved saviour Seonghwa. Yunho's long to heaven legs are born to dance on the big scene, along with Wooyoung's powerful movements and San's acute technique. Yeosang is the expanded mind behind the drones, Mingi is a soundcloud rapper, who still takes baby steps in his career, but is already famous on the campus, and Jongho is a star of the football team.

The pretty girl, who would wave in excitment at seeing your presence in the entrance to the cafeteria, before your spirit had lost his way on earth, to land in the gates of hell by San's intoxicating appearance is your bestfriend. Her name is Yeji and she is a lovable person, the definition of your half missing, with a adventurous heart and daring smile, catching the attention for her stunning looks in both genders, but the confessions of the admirers are always denied in order to search for her unrequited love in Wooyoung's sparkling eyes. You know she deserves someone better than a mere boy, but Wooyoung is a perfect example of being out of her league. The hands contaminated with sins of his could never reach her, as you protect her through the life, like a guardian angel, who failed himself agaisnt the bright side of good, as he signed a pact with the devil, to let his heart rotts in hell.

She is excessively pure to be in a dark place, the same as you, where you are fighting with your sins, doubouting the feelings of innermost love and the power of God. To be honest, you had grown to have a loads of faith in every existence, which drifts in the subconsciousness of your mind, while trying to defeat the ghosts of cruel prejudice, as you want to believe in his sincere words and his innocence. Perhaps Wooyoung's adorable giggles and goofy smiles, that creates with care his mesmerizing crescents eyes, which are underlined with smoky eyeliner, aren't plaugued with demons, maybe his easy going aura isn't fraud in lies, maybe he is way more different than you think.

Truth to be told, you shouldn't ponder over it and you shouldn't be hanging around San or his friends as much as you do, but you can't help the desire to.

You greet Yeji with a soft grin, muttering a faintly "hi", while taking the free spot beside her at the wooden table, at which she beams at you in delighment, happy about your your presence, but soon her strong gaze gets bored of you, and wanders towards the source of her happiness. "What's so interesting, hm?" you say, acting dumbfounded at her behaviour to ignore the pain inside your chest, the betrayl it is. She's long lost to the paradise of him, Jung Wooyoung is the reason behind her loving stares and fast heartbeat, you failed miserably at being her guardian angel, but maybe that's what the destiny write in their galaxies.

Yeji bites her plump lips in anxiety, curling a lock of her black hair between fingers, the feeling of infatuation on her face, and you sigh, while she spares you a glance, it's filled with deep affection, and a smile ghosts over her cherry lips. The view of the boys belonging to the ATEEZ came into your frame, as she bumps her head towards them, where all of them eating their lunch in peace, and her smile is reciprocated by Wooyoung. "Oh, Wooyoung? Is something there between you and him?"

"No, well not yet of course, but maybe soon." Yeji says with a sorrow, it's obvious, groaning in annoyance like a lovestruck teeneger, who can't decide which kind of dress would be the best option for a memorable date with a crush, a cute ribbon dress or sexy tight dress. The mischievous cupidin, who travels the world in search of his miserable victims, not only hit you both with his influential arrow, making you a fools for his entertainment at your clumsy attempts to feel being beloved.

She is dedicateted to the idea of Jung Wooyoung being selected by gods to be her first and last love, but he likes to deny the allegations of being the leading light in her life, even if she deeply cares for him and treasure the feeling of dedication to him.

You want to beliefe it also, maybe some souls are meant to be together, bound by the red thread of destiny to the end of their fulfilled life.

The obnoxious sight of the stupid girls at the left side of the room, who would swoon over the holy eightly of boys, in which Wooyoung's high pitched laugh is heard everywhere, because San's another corny joke about big dicks is hilarious to him, is a painful sight for Yeji. Her significant other is looking at the stranger blonde with a lewd eyes, the picture is what trashes violently your heart and your lungs feel as if on fire, you pity your besfriend, she doesn't deserve the treatment of feeding up with his false hope. Jung Wooyoung likes to play a sick roulette with her genuine feelings towards him, doesn't give a single fuck about the consequences of his sinful actions.

Choi San does seem to care, though, because he catches your furious stare, which could burn the holes in Wooyoung's shaky with laughter figure, the devil itself apologize for the behaviour of his beloved friend. Bad habits are tough to break, blinded by a hand of foolish lust in frail attempts to take the boredom out by being an asshole, as the bitter aftertaste of forbidden fruit never tasted so good. You smile softly to him, to reassure him it's not his fault, because he can't control the actions of the other person. Rubbing small circles on the back of your friend to lift her ruined mood, while Seonghwa notices your gaze filled with adoration towards San, he smirks in a mockery, and you make a disgusted face, as Hongjoong giggles like a sweet kid at your exchanges, but you throw at Seonghwa a middle finger, at which he gaps offended. San's concerned face is what make you bashful of your previous poor actions, as he narrow his cat like eyes at you in order to search for a cause of your outbusrt.

Fuck, Seonghwa you are dead to me.

You hide shyly behind Yeji's small shoulders like a scaredy cat, who was caught at scratching the favourite furniture of his owners, the feeling of shame is creeping at your face, while avoiding his puzzling glare. "So he likes me, huh?" you whisper in a hush, trying to convince yourself once again about the sincerity of those significant words, which sound like sweet nothings in a romantic fairytale in your mouth. The tight grip of yours at the girl's pink blouse is a definition of your tiresome doubts, you wish to the vivid stars to save you from oppression of the snares of love.

You don’t know when you fell in love with him. You don’t even know if you fell for him at some point in life or if you’ve loved him from the beginning of your life, or maybe far before the two of you existed, but his declaration of love locks you in a cage of wonders, making you a helpless bird.

Yeji is astonished, when she comprehend your remark, and she quirks her eyebrows at you. "Wait, hold on. (Y/N) is there someone interested in you or my delusional mind is playing tricks on me, because I heard that someone likes you."

The light shade of pink adorns your face like a spreading flu, the trembling of your hands and the dizziness in your head it's the effects of your disease, which San is the cause. Unlike the flu, it won't disappear, when you treat it with a care, the only way to get rid of the disease it's by hurting him right through with a piercing bullet, but you can't do it, when he looks at you with a smile, that can melt your heart. You quickly shake your head, don't knowing about the breath you were holding, when she ask you the question. "No, what do you mean." She wouldn't let you go so easily, she do know about your defensive position, as you like to run away without giving a proper answer.

She sighs. "Okay, listen. Maybe I'm not the smartest kid in our school like you, but I can't ignore the way San is looking at you. He is eye fucking you everytime he sees you, it's fascinating to per say." she mocks you in a childish manner. "What the fuck? Yeji, shut up! It's embarrassing, while you say it like that." "I don't care, tell me what's between the two of you."

To fight her in an unequal battle is hopeless, because the possibility of you winning is none, the victory is negligible, as you would never win an argument with her strong points. She is like a brave lioness who defends her children against the threats by other animals, she also have a soft spot, which is Jung Wooyoung, but you wouldn't dare to touch the burning subject of her love, as you could die in the agony, and there would be nothing left but ashes of your mistake. "Fine, you ass." you roll your eyes at her, maybe admitting to your obscure desires is a good step to believe in impossible. The weight of your insistent insecurity is tugging you down, but your desire to fly between the old friends, made in heaven where the clouds are the epitome of warm embrace is stronger. "I like San." you confess. "He said he likes me, when I was with him in the library, he confessed to me about his love, and the world suddenly started to overflow with it colors. I want to try, but my insecurities are making it hard to believe, but we kissed-" Your voice is shakier and more broken than you’d ever thought it could be.

"Hey, don't. You need to understand that you are amazing." she cooes. "I'm not surprised he likes you, you have heart made of gold and personality who shines like the brightest gem in the world, everything about you screams perfect." her reassuring words, which soothe your strained nerves in pleasure of joy, as you nod in agreement are a reason behind your shy smile. Yeji is a great friend, you believe that the only reason you became best friends was the fact that you didn’t let her vanish into the sea of doubtness, when there was no one who would extend a helping hand to her lifeless body. "Give yourself some time and most importantly trust him, everyone deserve a chance."

Your romance is not like any other love story unless you consider painful longing to the point of self-destruction as normal occurrences, he demolishes your soul and paints the idea of spending more time with him into the world of unknown, because you are, once again, convinced that Choi San was born to mess with your heart. The idea of being devoted lovers, burns the unseen scars at the pit of your stomach, because it feels distant, but also so close within reach, it sounds unfeasible, but also so beautiful, as you think about his hot touches on your skin. You care for him deeply, he knows the struggle of being misjudged just based on the foolish decisions made in past, but everyone do mistakes, which leads to a irritating effects in the future, haunting us like the worst nightmare.

We need to understand that people aren't faultless.

The longing picture of San's getting out of shackles of the rebel, sealed by his sins, drifts into the subconscious state of your mind like a dove of hope, letting you imagine to be the person, who is willing to help him and experience his transformation, it's fullfilling your senses. To dream about the future next to him, where kisses are laced with love, the passion and where fondly words of utter adoration are whispered in the deadly night is deadlier than anything else in this world. But you pray to God, promising to be a good cause of his wrongdoings, which will lead to his change, because no suffering like this would ever break him free. "You are right, thank you."

"We are friends, it's not a big deal. Now promise me, you will never doubt yourself again."

"I promise." you smile.

You're deep lost in the meaningful conversation with Yeji to notice the flaming presence of San, whose delicate hand touches your fragile shoulder to get your attention on him, and you melt the moment his burning touch you. He smells like cotton candy, when he wasn't smoking, and his whole aura seems to brighten entirely at the prospect of your sparkling eyes on his, and you allow a giggle to slip past your, when his cherry lips grins at you in a toothy smile, the round cheeks after the meal makes him adorable, how can he be a personification of the devil. His red hair is styled back, showing perfectly his forehead and the intensity of his eyes, the charming dimples you grow to love don't ever disappoint to take away your breath. "Be at the library at 5PM, don't be late." His tone is soft and gentle and you decide, that you hate Choi San for making you fall so carelessly in love with him. He was gone, by the end of the bell sound, and his intoxicating scent also gone with him.

And the warmth, you are already missing.

"Good luck, (Y/N)." Yeji squeezes your arm, and make her way towards the next lecture.

The rest of the day went smoothly, sharing some classes with San doesn't help you with your studies, it's a poison to your grades, but an antidote for your lonliness, as the monotonous lecture with Mr. Kim is coming to an end soon. You chuckle at his little love letters, which he puts in your sweater pocket, most of them consists of a cheesy pickup lanes, like "For some reason, I was feeling a little off today. But when you came along, you definitely turned me on." and "Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?" His hot breath on your neck, makes you shiver in a pleasure, when you sit in front of him, as you decide to abandon your pet's teacher seat in the displeasure of the scolding look of the lecturer, but you couldn't care less. "Come meet me at your locker." the last letter says, and you are introduced the state of euphoria.

The bell once again rings, not only signaling the end of the lecture, but also the rapid beating of your heart.

You turn around, exited to see his beautiful face, but you are slightly late, as he are already nowhere to be seen in the class along with his table partner Yunho, who reminds you of a big polar bear. Packing your belongings, you got a message form an unknown number, which shocks you to the core, "Don't trust him, he is not worth it." those words are driving you mad crazy. What the hell. You don't think much of it, but there is an empty feeling in your chest, as if a dark force settled down your stomach to bug out your day. Choi San has turned your life upside down and has brought you onto an edge that you enjoyed more than you cared to admit, it was too late to take a step back.

"Fuck this." you curse under your breath, exciting the class to look for San.

You take the steps, needed to arrive next to his strong figure, Yunho nowhere to be seen, and you offer him the bestest smile you can, perhaps, filled with every emotion you can't hide. The air around you is suffocating, he radiates an angelic glow, uncommon to him, you can't help but place a gentle kiss on his cheek, when he leanded nonchalantly against your locker, his shoulder relaxes visibly at your loving presence. San sends you a sly grin and tugs at the end of your blue sweater to draw you into his arms, eyes focused onto the sweet source of his happiness. "What was that for?" he pats the top of your head and places his hand on the small of your back, his actions are enough to make your heart stop beating, because his beauty defined by high cheekbones and dark arched eyebrows are the defenition of perfection.

"I don't know." you splutter. "I suddenly got an urge to do it or maybe I wanted to prove to you about the theory of meteorite impact to the ground, which would kill all of the dinosaurs. "

"Oh, why did you make me aware of death of dinosaurs, it's sad. Can you kiss me again to make my pain go away?"

"Kiddo." his forehead presses against yours, as you lean into him and press your lips against his ear, hands intertwined tightly and the scent still overwhelming. You place a fond kiss at the hem of his ear, whispering about sweet nothings, the boldness of your actions are enough to make him stiff in place, as you take your time to look at him, to drink in his perfect features. He’s sun kissed, you notice, and his lips are red and curved into a small smile. Choi San has turned your life upside down and has brought you onto an edge that you enjoyed more than you care to admit. "No more kisses." you laugh.

You pull away from him, and his bottom lip pops out, forming a pout and you have a strong desire to trace it with your fingers and your mouth like you did back then on the balcony, where the bright sun embodied your serene emotions. "I can always steal it, princess." he teases, and you break out into an easy grin, as he placed a chaste kiss at your soft lips.

"Let's go. I'm not in the mood to study anymore."

"There is still one lesson ahead of us, San."

"So what? I want to spend rest of the day with my girlfriend. Now come on baby, don't make me beg you."

He promised to make you fall in a twisted snares of love with him, his burning touches which ignites the fire will be the answer to your hopeless eyes, and he will prove the sincerity of his intentions, when you decide to run away with the knight in laether jacket to find the source of your happiness. There is no place for deep reflections, you want him to degrade you with his dark life, and to be a part of his kingdom, because ruling without the queen was already hard for him. The world can burn in noxious agony, if it means he would be there with your connected soul, holding you closely in a affectionate embrace, as your trembling hands finds way to his sharp face adorned with the most attractive smile.

"Fine, let's go." you mutter under your breath, and San lets out a quiet and triumphant yes slip from his lips, as he eagerly grabs your hand in his warm one, to assure you about the correctness of this choice and leads you to the courtyard, where his black motorbike is parked.

Choi San is the love of your life, you decide, as you watch him, hand held tightly by him. San is everything you want and more, he is fullfilling your senses with wholesome ecstasy, you drink up his presence in the gleaming sun, a view satisfying like the miracle oasis in the middle of tropical desert. You look at him and smile.

He is beautiful.

He attentively puts a helmet on your head, his face scrunch in concentration, his tongue pokes out of his mouth, when he was focused on protecting you from inevitable, he flashes you a dimple grin, which you return. "It will protect you. I hope you aren't afraid of speed." The thrilling feeling of adrenaline kicks in, as San's motor roars in the air like a obsessed mantra, your heart beating abruptly in your chest at the frantic sound. You are terrified, but the look of pacification on his blissful face, you long to is enough for you to hop into the embrace of death, hugging his calming back from behind. "Good girl."

The fast ride through the city with San reminds you of playing with fire, it could be a lethal weapon in the wrong hands, taking away your reckless life, when you handle it without proper caution. Life isn't beautiful without taking a risk, perhaps it's easier to put your faith in devil's sharp claws, than look for the light in angel's halo, because San's calming presence is enough for you to endure the feeling of frighten. He is aware of your trembling hands, you can't control, the swift breaths you take to soothe your racing nerves, while you melt into his figure to gain the courage, as he speeds up down the road. The destination is unknown to you, he hasn't metioned where he wish to take you, kissing you with the burning passion, holding you close in his arms till your worries of unrequited love vanish into the void, leaving a space for an attachment.

You trust San with the remaining strength in you, it isn't difficult, but you can't resist fluttering shut your eyes to ease the throbbing of your heart, you know nothing awful will happend to you, if he is here to remind you of his close proximity. "Baby, we are here. Open your pretty eyes, you can't miss the view." The ride came to an end when his divine voice comes out of his throat, the moment his yearning palms touch your gentle face to reveal you from the helmet, it's devastating for him, he can't let go of your pure smiles and soft chuckles at his sugared praises about your bravery. He is mesmerized by your angelic purity, the taste of blissful heaven never tasted so delectable at his tongue, as he molds your lips in a heated adventure between clouds. His intoxicating scent make you lightheaded, teeth clashing together in a messy battle of dominance and you let his lustful desires win, the low whimper escapes from his mouth. Believing in God is unnecessary for him, but believing in the miracles of blue paradise is right, because he could meet you.

The mesmerizing view of ocean absorbs your attention, it's beautiful, the sun is near to set and the colors of orange and red are visible in the sky, interwined together in a fierce dance to create a gorgeous convolution of emotions, where the stray souls would find the answer for their longing questions. San's head falls down into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet perfume, the smell he craves, his warm embrace on your waist grow in strength, as the cold breeze hit his back. He place another chaste kiss down your neck, your delicate hand is gripping at the red hair on top of his head, when your lips tremble at the close inticimaty, but he pulls away completely and you feel cold and empty, as he flashes you a sly grin.

"I thought it would be nice to enjoy the sunset, while we will be busy making out like horny teenegers." San's glowing eyes forms the crescents, his sharp features softens in the vivid twilight, when he teases you, as he ruffles your hair with a precious laugh. He is uterrly beutiful in every way, you think, from the reflection of luminescent stars in his eyes, the freckles on his neck made of stardust, you yearn to explore with your desirable touch, to his flawlessly shaped waist, as it fits perfectly in your arms. But he is brighter than all stars above. "It was a joke of course, but it doesn't sounds so bad in my opinion." He flashes you a mischievous grin, eyes flaming as he stared you down with an interest.

You giggle, subtly pressing harder against him, the heat rolling off his body, he will be the death of you, but the state of limerence is amazing, you can't restrain from his charms, the God had taken his time with him, so why he had to banish him to the gates of hell? "You're gross." you flicker his forehead, smiling with adoration, when his face pouts a disappointment, a little whine escapes his mouth. Then you realize the God is awful, maybe San isn't uninfected with sins, he never prayed, but he tries to be good in his own, unique way.

Because Choi San is open minded, the heavy curtains of the cruel world aren't enough to fool his divine eyes, and maybe you're dancing with the devil, but it doesn't frighten you. Being partly good is better than being artificial pure. San laid his leather jacket that smells like his cologne on your shoulders, as he sees you shivering under the circumstance of cold wind, his arms now exposed fully to you, the antic makes you blush and you throw him a sheepish smile to hide the cherry like flush. "No, just madly in love with you, princess." he takes out the cigarette from the back pocket of his jeans, lighting it up immediately, with a cunning smirk, it's the sin he is addicted to, the smoke surrounding him seems to embrace him gracefully.

The motorcycle seat beneath you is like a safe home to you, when still in place without the danger of speed, it's comforting you in every possible way, and his godly presence makes it even better, it's like the best antidote for solitude. "Are you always this smooth with your words?" you ask, biting your trembling lips, as his intense stare is burning holes on your redden face. He hums in dismiss, heart beating faster and faster as the seconds passed by. "Can I have one?" your breath hitches in your throat, when his large palms clutches your chin in a gentle touch.

Choi San is the cause of the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

"Can you be honest with me? Tell me, have you ever smoke?" he says, searching in your eyes for a genuine answer, but you can never lie to him, as the weight of the repulsiveun untruth is inordinately heavy, you couldn't carry it throught the life.

"No."

"Then the answer is also no, angel." his delicate grip on you has loosened, as he lets go of your chin, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you whimper in his chest at the lose of his warmth. He doesn't fancy the idea of you being addicted to the awful nicotine because of him, the deadly treat isn't worth losing your flawless purity, and for San you are a good girl made of pure porcelain, too fragile for this dark world. Good girls don't smoke. You clutch at his black shirt, as he lowers his head in order to move his lips to your cheek, while you inhale deeply his intoxicating scent and you’ve never felt more alive than you did then, in San's arms – the one boy who sets your heart in flames.

"But I want to try, please San. Let me, it will be my first and last time. I promise." you whine, the high hopes in your mind, because San can't resist your soft pleadings, as he is a slave of your angelic voice, but he doesn't mind as long, as you are his cause of rapid heartbeat. Truth to be told, both of you are too lost into the world of love, Choi San has committed to you, and you seal the deal with the devil itself, as you press an open mouthed kiss on his neck and then on his jaw, landing on his lips at the end. And yes, maybe it can bring the pain and sorrow, but the embrace of the devil is worth it.

He chuckles, and it’s low and throaty, his right hand ends up on your neck in a firm grip, leaving a trace of hell, which burns you alive. You aren't afraid of his crimes anymore, beacuse Choi San is the reason of the flowing sensation in your veins, as he pushes you harder into his body, taking a deep inxhale from the cigarette with the other hand. He molds together your plump lips in a sensual kiss, the other hand finds the way to your cheek, the metal cold rings on his fingers are sending you to overdive, as his mouth opens against yours and his tongue licks eagrly at the entrance of your lips. You give in to his burning touch, mouth feeling hot and a heavy, the sensation of fullness settles into the pit of your chest, as he kisses you harder and more urgent, exhaling the deathly smoke into your lungs. San is needy, but you don't mind, as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. There’s no reason to hold back, you desire his proximaty and he desires yours, it's the definition of selling your soul to the bad side.

Your fingers reach for his hair, feeling the fluffiness of his locks, as San breaks the kiss, when the overflow of smoke in your mouth chokes you, and your hazy eyes still fixated on his swollen lips, which forms a cocky grin. "I can't believe you said it was your last, when you are looking at me like this, sweetheart." You struggle to breathe, as his hands cup your face in between them, rough fingertips rubbing circles into the skin, and you blush harder than you thought possible, when a low and guttural moan leaves the back of his throat. "Fuck, it's hard for me to restrain."

"Sorry."

The overwhelming weight of the intense battle, filled with lustful touches and hot kisses, leaves you hot-blooded, and you wish it would last longer, because San is the reason of your mad addiction and sins, which pulls you down into the hole of thirst. You don't regret giving up, the pit in your stomach deepens and your thoughts swirl around in your head like sweet promises, because you can see the love oozing in his chestnut eyes, and you swear you fell in love with him once again. San rests his forehead against your heart, the sound of your rapid heartbeat is like a beloved lullaby for him, cooing him to fall into the marvellous dreamland, but the gates to the underworld of Hades are watching him, proud of his actions, because you sinned, and the God will never forgive you, but if that means rotting in hell together with San, then it's alright to do so. You are sure that you can endure it, because Choi San is your medicine for pain.

"Don't be, it's my fault. I got too carried away, but I can't help it, you are driving me crazy." his fingers brush at the strands falling into your eyes and he presses another quick kiss onto your longing mouth. There is no air left in your lungs, and they burn with need yet you neglect them. "Do you like the place?" he flashes you a gentle smile, pushing up the jacket on you, which had slip when you were too engaged in each other mouths, and he moves away completly from you to let you see the breattaking view, as he stands next to you. It eases your neglected pain.

The beautiful place pulled straight out of a fairy tale, reminds you of the place, where you had spend most of your childhood, but you can't recognize it, as your memories are blurry. "Yes, I do!" you answer, looking at the sunset in awe. "I feel like I was here before, but I can't remember it." you sigh. "I have a feeling that I used to spend a lot of time here, coll-" you say in a daze, but San interrupts you with a unreadable grin, when you look his way, to see how the sun is glowing at his honey like skin, making him a untouchable piece of art, the messy hair stand on all sides from the previous actions, but he still looks saintly.

"Collecting the colorful sheels and screaming about the invisible fishes in the water, which would scare you to the bones?" he finishes the sentence for you, and you, quite simply put, forget how to breathe. San smiles a bright smile, pearly whites on display, and you see the glimmer of the orbs in his eyes. You blink at him in confusion. "Yeah, something like that, but how did you know?" you ask bewildered by his words.

"I was the kid with the blonde streak at the top of his head. Girls swooned over me, and I only had my eyes for a girl, who would smooch my bruises on knees, from falling too many times on the hard rocks near the shore." he chuckles, finally looking at you with beaming eyes full of adoration, the late realization hit you like a bolt from the heaven.

The story of you and Choi San didn't start the moment the saviour Seonghwa introduced him to you, but it started at the very beginning of the hot summer holiday, both of you were still an small mere imitaions of your parents, made of nothing, but the blank pages, who later would be neglected by your bad words and poor choices. You met him at the age of 12, he wasn’t the tallest, but he was endearing, when he walked confidently into the blazing sand, in his hands toys and a happy smile on his face. San had one desire back then, the childish one, to defeat everyone in the competiton of building the highest sand castle, and the prize was a date with the most beautiful girl on the beach, and yes you were her.

He succesfuly won the first place, after many devastating for a kid failures, but his motivation to win was more powerful, just like him today. In this young age boys grossed you out, they were noisy and disgusting, and they were talking only about games, but he was different, a little mysterious. You were under some sort of aura that managed to take your breath away even back then, when he was nothing more than a boy, who was raised by his granparents, with a stupid name "Shiber Choi", but he soon turned to be your best friend and that's how your two months teeneger crush, filled with nervewrecking adventures and deep conversation started.

"What? That was you, no fucking way, San! You were my first love, you asshole!" You flush in delight and raise on your tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his mellow cheek, putting your hand over his heart. "I love you, San." You whisper quietly into his shirt, sound muffled by the fabric and you hope he hears you, especially now, that you are held by him so tightly. He hugs you tighter and kisses the top of your head, fingers coming to comb through the hair at the nape of your neck.

Choi San is your first love and you hope to also be your last.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez san #choi san #choi san scenarios #choi san imagines #ateez fluff #san imagines #san scenarios #san x reader #ateez au #choi san fluff #san fluff #kpop #kpop scenarios

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vivinightingale · 4 years

Text

Hanahaki disease and Star tears head canons Part 2 of 3

Hanahaki Disease: An illness born from one sided love, where the victim's throat will fill up with flowers. They will then begin to throw up, or cough up the petals. In serious cases the flowers themselves. There are only two ways to get rid of the said disease. If the person the victim loves loves them back (strong friendship isn't adequate enough) or through surgery. If neither work the victim will suffocate on the flowers resulting in death.

Star Tears: The Sparkly star-like tears, accompanied with twlinking sounds. It's a disease that is caused by unrequited love. The only cure for these glimmering tears is for the love to be returned; however, if they are not then the light from the shining stars will blind the victim.

Flowers mentioned:

Tulip: Love and, Confidence

Sunflower: Adoration, Loyalty

Hydrangea: Emotion, Understanding

Rose: love

Lychnis

~Tristan Taylor Star Tears:

If Tristain had the disease:

When Tristan first met Serenity the boy thought he was a goner. Well that was until he met her best friend (y/n).

He loved the way you shined brighter than the sun, when your eyes sparkled with excitement of your favorite subject. (And when you tell off Duke when you felt he was overstepping his boundaries).

The major problem was your eyes were already on someone. Anyone with eyes (Expect the poor boy in question) could see how infatuated you were with him. You were always around him, spoke about him often, and you were always there when Yami Bakura got out of hand.

It hurt Tristain to the point when he got home he cried at how hopeless he was, but that was when his troubles truly occurred. When he cried the sparkly bright tears fell down his face. He was shocked to say the least he didn't understand why such bright tears fell down his face. So he didn't waste time going to the doctors.

When he got there the nurse took notice and ushered him to the back slightly shaken up by his state. When she seated him in a room she rushed to the doctor, and explained the circumstances.

When the doctor came in and he saw the young man trying to wipe away the tears in vain he knew exactly what was going on.

“It's a rare but painful disease Mr. Taylor.” The doctor explained to him the disease and the effects it would have on his health.

Tristan didn't want to ruin your friendship but he also didn't want to go blind, so he decided then to take a risk. He texted you and asked you to meet him at the park closest to his house.

When you got there the sun was nearly set, and the stars glowinging from Tristan's face were glowing brighter than ever. When you asked him what happened he didn't bother to look at you as he explained the disease to you.

“I know this is sudden (y/n) but i like you….as in more than a friend.” you gasped at the sudden confession, but that surprise suddenly turned to sorrow “Im sorry tristan….” The tears fell harder from his eyes but he shook his head and left without another word.

When the brunette lost his eyesight everyone worried for his well being but he played it off as if it didn't bother him, but in reality it pained him that he wasn't able to see your pretty face any longer.

If you had the disease:

You had been serenity’s best friend since you met her in elementary, you did everything with her so when she got her eye surgery you were there with her. That was the day you met her infamous big brother Joey, and his friends. More specifically Tristan.

You weren't sure what it was but something about him drew you to him, But you saw the way he looked serenity, and when Duke came into the picture you were certain that Tristan was in love with her.

So you decided to distance yourself from the man in hopes to drive these feelings away. However fate had something in store for you.

As you were talking with the group of friends at Mr. Muto’s gameshop you noticed how Tristan was obviously flirting with the girl as she giggled away at her pick up lines. It hurt your heart to see such a display that you could feel the tears prick at your eyes. You excused yourself from the group and ran to the bathroom. As you cried you noticed the blinding stars in your tears.

You stayed in the bathroom for what feels like forever till Mai knocked on the door. “(y/n)? Dear, are you okay?” you didn't have time to respond till she came in and saw the mess you were on the ground.

She was at your side instantly wiping away the tears and stars. “Star tears huh?” you look at her questioningly. She sighs and tells you everything she knows of the said disease. “It's not a pretty disease as it seems.”

Hearing her made you cry harder as she held you tightly. She escorted you home without the others seeing you, and told you to keep in mind her words.

In the end you were against telling tristan your feelings so instead you stayed by ai side as you slowly lose your sight. When you fully lost it Mai was there for you every step of the way, and made sure you avoided Tristan and everyone’s questions.

~Tea Gardner/Anzu Mazaki Hanahaki Disease:

If she had the disease:

You were introduced to the group by Duke Devlin (well it was more you were there when he faced Yugi and you were silently on the sidelines watching) Maybe it was the quiet cool stance, or the way your sharp eyes studied the duel between the two. Whatever it was she was extremely interested in you. So when you walked over to the group and introduced yourself to them she was smitten.

You began to hang with the group more and everything you did just made her heart flutter, the dazzling smile, the way you were always there for them, and so much more. Her heart just couldn't take, and neither could her lungs.

Slowly the flowers began to take over her lungs Roses, Tulips, Sunflowers, and Lychins fell from her lips as she coughed.

Due to this her work wouldn't allow her to go back until she got it fixed, so she had no choice but to go to the doctors. Unable to go on her own Mai took her to the doctors and sat with her until the end of the exam.

“Well It seems you have a very rare and deadly disease called hanahaki.” Mai probed the doctor for answers as Tea stared into nothing. Deadly one sided love? Surgery? This was all so much for her to handle.

At the end of the appointment Mai took her home “Look tea…. I know it isn't easy but if there's a chance that you don't have to go through surgery you should take it.” Tea nodded still lost in thought as she walked to her house.

It took her some time to gain her thoughts, but when she did she took Mai’s words to heart. So she texts you text to meet her by the pond garden at the park.

When you met her at the park and saw her coughing up the flowers you rushed to her side and comforted her the best you could.

“I'm sorry....” she coughed as you shook your head and patted her back. “But there is something I have to tell you (y/n).... I like you a lot.” The silence was too long for her to handle. She tried to stand up to leave out of embarrassment. Ut before she could leave you pull her in for a hug.

“I like you too.”

If you got disease:

You were there when Duke challenged Yugi to dungeon dice monsters, you knew it was cruel to challenge him to a game he has never played, but you were there anyways to watch. A girl around your age was on Yugi’s side cheering him on. She reminded you of one of your fairy cards. She is beautiful, yet dangerously determined.

After the match between the two you introduced yourself to the gang (While apologizing on duke’s behalf). When she started talking to you you knew you were a goner. She was an angel in disguise, and you wanted her for your own.

It took you days, maybe even weeks to come up with a plan, and right when you were about to ask her you began coughing. The coughing was so excessive that the teacher had to send you to the nurse. On your way there was when the flowers started to tumble down which made you rush a little quicker to the nurse.

When you got there the teacher saw your condition and ushered you to lay down. She put a bucket to the side of your bed as she examined the rest of you.

“You have what the professionals call hanahaki.” she told you the disease and all the effects of it. “I cant send you back to class now so wait till the end of the day so you can head home immediately.” you nodded and rested the best you could.

As you were getting ready to leave at the end of the day Tea came through the door “I came to check on you since you haven't been in class. Is everything okay?”

Knowing you had no other choice you told her how you felt and that if she didn't feel the same you understood.

Hearing you sudden confession tea let out a soft giggle as she hugged you “I feel the same way (y/n)

~Duke Devlin/Ryuji Otogi Star tears Disease

If he had the disease:

Duke liked to think of himself as a smooth talker, his silver tongue got many people in his fan club. However there was one thing his smooth talking couldn't get him, you.

From the moment he met you he tried everything in his book to get your attention. Compliments, sweet talking, v.i.p access to his gameshop, EVERYTHING. Yet still your eyes always linger on Kiba.

He didn't understand what you saw in a jerk like him,but you saw something and he simply couldn't compare, and it hurt him deeply. It hurt him so much that anytime he saw you and Seto interacting he could stop the tear that would spring to his eyes.

The tears got worse over time to the point where the stars started to appear and it was hard for him to keep his eyes open.

As much as he tried to wipe them away they just came one after the other. It was one of his employees who had told him about the disease, and what caused it.

There wasnt anything he could do, you didnt want him you wanted that stupid Seto! And there wasn't any cure for the tears. He didn't want to go blind, but what other choice did he have?

Instead of staying away from the others he spent the rest of his days seeing with you. If he was going blind he wanted the last thing to be beautiful.

When Dukes about his last moments before he became blind he talks about the angel who stole his heart.

If you had the disease:

Curse this man with his beautiful looks, and silver tongue! He had utterly infatuated since the moment you laid eyes on him.

The more you hung out with him the more of him you wanted to see. So that's exactly what you did or at least tried to do.

You would purposely visit his shop just to be around him. He even welcomed you with open arms talking with you every time you walked through the door.

This of course did not help your yearning heart or the star that fell down your face.

You knew Duke had a fanbase so he didn't have time with relationships, so you were content with watching from the sidelines. However you couldn't do so if you went blind.

You knew of this disease from the start, you witnessed your aunt going through the same thing when you were young so this alone terrified you, but you didn't want to be a burden to the said boy.

So you continued to stay by his side even when you became blind listening as he rose to success, and eventually left you behind.

~Seto Kaiba hanahaki disease:

If he had the disease:

Seto never had time for relationships. With his little brother, running a company, trying to beat Yugi, and not really caring he had no time at all. Or so he originally thought.

You have known the brothers since they were first adopted, your father being an investor in Kaiba corp gained you access to play with the said boys. Most of your days were spent with Mokuba, but there were the rare times you got to play with Seto and those were the days you both cherished deeply.

However, somewhere along the way Seto felt more than friendship towards you, and it was more the family because the way he felt about mokuba was different then what he thought of you.

He never realized what the feeling was until flowers began to appear. It was a small cough at first, but eventually they began to escalate. Worried Mokuba called in the best doctors Kaiba Corp had.

He learned that the feeling he had for you was love, and he also felt like you didn't share the same feelings for him.

So instead of beating around the bush he went straight to you. He surprised you when he just walked into your house a determined glare resting on his features. “(y/n)..i want to take you out somewhere. No mokuba, just me and you.” It didn't take you long to realize what he wanted so you smiled at him and agreed to the said date.

Seto Kaiba maybe a man with little time, but he is willing to make time for you.

~If you got the disease:

You have grown up around the Kaiba brothers, and cherished every moment with them, but you had particular fondness for the eldest.

Though the man can be seen as cold and cruel around you and Mokuba he showed a softer side that not many got to witness. This kindness is what you fall for him.

You knew the young CEO didn't have time for petty things like relationships so instead you were content with seeing all his dreams come to life from the sidelines.

Fate however, had different plans for you. The flowers began to grow in your lungs. Roses, Tulips, and Hydrangeas. The pain that jolted through your body with each cough was almost enough to distract you from heartache...almost.

Feeling yourself grow weaker with everyday you finally went to the doctors hoping there was a way for it to end.

Because of your stubborn ways your body was too weak to do surgery on to remove the flowers. your only hope for survival was to tell Seto how you felt, and he returned your feelings.

You were admitted to the hospital due to the doctors request, and once Seto heard of the news he rushed to the hospital you were staying at

“What is the meaning of this (y/n)?!”

When walked in you gave him a weak smile as you explained the disease, without thinking about it you even told him the cause of it. When it came out of your mouth you knew you messed up.

You tried to back track, but Seto had other plans as he pulled you closer to him, one his hand on you head the other on the small of your back successfully trapping you.

“Then don't worry about those flowers anymore, with me at your side nothing will harm you again.”

~Requests are open~

#Yu-Gi-Oh #yugioh #yu gi oh x reader #tristan taylor #tristan taylor x reader #tea gardner #anzu mazaki #tea gardner x reader #anzu mazaki x reader #Duke Devlin #ryuji otogi #duke devlin x reader #ryuji otogi x reader #seto kaiba #seto kaiba x reader #hanahaki #star tears

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Up in the Clouds

Fandom: The PowerPuff Girls

Pairing: Blossick (Brick and Blossom aka Reds)

I have been on a hype for the Reds lately and i have almost forgotten how much i love my og otp. This fic is kinda of all over and messy but its cute and i like it. A little out of character but i have a soft spot for the hc that the boys grew up and soon they all became closer, so the most unoriginal idea ever.

Hope you enjoy! I should prob right for the other pairings too lol.

------

“For this assignment, you will be given an emotion at random and must write AND present about.” The class groaned as she handed out the papers. “You can look at it however you want. Whether its stating things that occur during emotion or what you personally feel, be creative. You’ll present at the end of the month.”

Brick took the papers and passed them back to the next student as the teacher came by and dropped a folded piece of paper on his desk.

“Also there will be no changes. You get what you get.” She stated and he rolled his eyes as he opened the small piece.

Love.

His hands crumbled the paper in his fist and he knew it would be pathetic to try and get someone to change. He could do this. All he needed to do was make up some sappy shit and piss on about it. He thought about talking about platonic love or family love. How even though his brothers made him want to smash their faces into walls until their blood flows down his hand, he still cared about them. It felt more like he was obligated too anyways.

“I got happiness, which is pretty vague. Hey Blossom? Which one did you get?” A fellow student, he thinks is named Alicia asked the pink puff.

“Oh I got sorrow.” She responded and everyone had gone into discussions about their ideas and assignments.

A guy turned to Brick to ask about his but he was already out the door as the bell rang.

The cafe welcomed him as the small bell chimed. His head had been a mess after the assignment was made and although he had seven drafts planned out, none of them seemed to work. He even asked Boomer about it and as he went into detail about a blue eyed, pig tailed super hero, Brick was already regretting asking him.

He ordered at the counter, just a simple soda and a crepe and turned to find a seat. He saw an empty table pressed against the wall to his left but as he turned to the right he saw another table. Occupied with a pink eyed, bow wearing superhero.

He was already at the table before he registered what was happening. She seemed to be alone and he took her by surprise as she looked up.

“Oh, Hi Brick.” She said and he gestured to the seat and she scooted a book out of the way before he plopped down.

“What are you doing here, its like eight o’clock on a school night.” He noticed that the sun was dying down.

She shrugged and pointed to her milkshake. “I had a craving, plus I have a late start period for school so I came here to clear my head. Plus Bubbles was being especially loud on the phone.” he already knew that she was referring to her and Boomer. They had been talking nonstop and not even a lamp thrown at his head would shut him up.

“What are you doing here?” She asked him and he mimicked the shrug and pointed to his crepe.

“Cravings. And needed some space, this English assignment is kicking my ass.” He didn’t know why he admitted to that and he saw her eyes perk up.

“The emotion one?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

That took him by surprise. She was the one who was always raving with emotion, this should be a breeze.

“What did you get?” She asked him. His eyes traveled to his plate were warm chocolate and fresh strawberries collided.

“Strawberry.”

She let out a small laugh and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“I meant for the project.”

oh.

He felt incredibly dumb at that moment and she bubbled out another laugh. That small sound was actually pleasant to hear and for some reason, he wanted to hear it again and again.

“Oh. Um I got love.” He didn’t know why he felt slightly embarrassed and he picked up his drink to chugged it down as she held a puzzling expression.

“Hmm that is a tough one. There’s all types of love.”

“That’s what i was thinking. Well, what about you?”

“Sorrow.”

“Well that’s easy, just pick something sad.”

She said nothing for a moment and instead went to her milkshake, which he noticed was also strawberry, not that it mattered.

“I don’t think its thats simple. Jeremy got sad and I got sorrow so i need to make sure it doesn’t sound similar.”

“But they are similar.”

“Well yes but-”

“Just talk about a loss you had as a superhero. What it feels like to not be able to save the day or something.” He was met with another round of silence.

Her eyes traveled outside the window. the sun was now in its sunset glow and the sky had become a mixture of purple and pink as it faded out the blue. From the cafe you could see the lines of the city skyscrapers blending into the sky. It was quiet on this side of town and he wondered what it would be like to float onto those clouds, careless and free.

And so they did. After she finished her milkshake and he his soda, he posed that they traveled to where only they could go. Why? He didn’t know and neither did she.

Her legs dangled off the cloud that hovered just above the ocean. Some would be afraid that they would fall through but they had used their powers to keep them up.

The cool air blew against their faces and he felt like he could breath better than on the ground.

“Have you ever been in love?” She asked out of the blue, her eyes were focused on the small waves rolling onto to the shore.

“No.” A simple answer that he wasn’t to sure of. he should of been certain. he didn’t know what love, a romantic connection felt like. He had dated girls before, all throughout middle and high school but never once did those words cross his mind.

“Me either.” She responded and he turned towards her.

It was almost as if he couldn’t breath. A swell inside his chest had taken hold and he wondered why she looked so...beautiful against the light. the soft glow of the sun setting made her hair more vibrant and her baby pink eyes sparkle. He wanted to scream at himself for thinking like that but when she turned and caught his eyes, he watched the blush spread slowly on her fair skin and that protest had been silenced.

They held each others gaze. He was right, he had never been in love before, but if he had then he would need a new word for what was happening to him now. His memory fled back to every girl he had ever dated and some how, somewhere, she was there in the background. During their fights or even civil conversations, she was the only one to catch his attention.

They had grown up together, viciously of course but after spending his adolescent wanted to rip her head off, he just wanted to pull her close. He never believed in fate or soulmates or what not but sometimes, even as a stupid kid, he wondered if that pink counterpart of a girl was actually made for him.

“Thats a shame.” He whispered and he leaned closer as she did the same.

“For the both of us.” But they barely beard her words as their lips connected.

Her lips were soft as the cloud they were on. The taste of strawberry was on her lips and her hands wrapped around his neck as his got lost in her long ginger locks. They had spent all their time avoiding each other when they both knew that they would always return to each other.

Every break up was about her. The girl getting mad at how he stared at her or made time to study but not for them. he didn’t realize it until now but that hatred he carried at the start of his creation had melted away slowly like an icicle at the end of winter.

They pulled away and it felt colder than it was before. Her eyes still locked to his. Pink and Red. Just like the sunset and sky. Just like the glow of a bright raging fire. Just like them.

it felt like eons had passed before she looked towards the city. That vibrant sunset was long gone as the sky had turned a deep black and was now painted with stars.

“i should go.” She said but it sounded forced as if she was saying she didn’t want to.

He nodded and they agreed that it was best to part separate since she lived on the other side. He helped her stand up, their feet sinking into the cloud and she turned to him with a soft smile. “Have a nice night Brick.” And soon the dark sky had a flash of pink that disappeared quickly under the stars.

Bricks mind was lost and he tapped his pencil to his desk quietly. the presentations had started for the week and so far happiness, anger, fear and sorrow were up. His mind finally came back to focus towards the end of Blossoms piece and he had cursed himself for barely hearing the first half.

“Its empty and cold, like an unforgiving stare. It haunts you in your dreams and leaves you feeling numb. It lingers and when you think that the pain and suffering is done, it washes over you again, taking and taking until the only sensation left is a hollow shell.

My sisters and I have felt this on multiple occasions. When you can’t save everyone and feel the pity and sadness within the air. But joy and laughter can bring the sadness to a end. The sorrowfulness lasts longer than you think. And it makes you believe that nothing matters anymore.” Blossom finished the last of her piece. Her eyes, along with others in the class had glazed over and she was sure her teacher had been brought to tears at her story and ending.

The applause from the class surrounded the room and she took a small bow before returning to her seat.

Maybe after class they could talk.

The bell sounded through the class and Blossom made her way out of the class. Another school day over.

“Hey.” She turned to see Brick. The students around them were bush trying to leave and get out quickly before a line at the parking lot formed.

“Hey” She returned softly and it dawned on them that they really didn’t know what was between them.

That night a few weeks ago had not be forgotten but was placed high up on a shelf, they almost forgot about it, almost. Its not like they were avoiding each other, no, school and work had overcome both of their lives, mostly hers of course.

“So do you maybe wanna go-” He started but the red pair was interrupted with a flash of blue between them.

“Hey Blossom! Hi Brick.” Bubbles smiled brightly. “Oh Bloss just to let ya know tonight is Sister Showdown.” Her smile held a evil glare and she turned and exited school.

“What the hell is Sister Showdown?” He asked and Blossom blew up her bangs.

“Its a competition thing between Bubbles and Buttercup. Last time one was held, we had to replace our roof so I’d rather not be there.” The hallways were no empty and it was just them. “So what were you saying?”

They ended up at the cafe for the third time that week. Every milkshake and crepe was finished with a trip to the clouds as they watched the sun set. They never spoke about what they were or the emotions, just enjoyed each others company and maybe left the night with a kiss or two.

They talked about anything and everything, sometimes just sitting quietly and counting the waves.

Her sisters would asked where shes been and she had the same studying excuse before humming to herself and falling asleep with a smile at her lips.

His brothers would hound on him, teasing him and slapping him until he would throw them off and the subject would be dropped, but they never missed the fact that he was in a better mood.

It was their secret. The clouds and them. He found it easier and easier to write his paper after watching endless movies, though in the back of his mind, the two main love interest were always replaced with a pair of redheads. Pink and red.

The end of the presentation days came and of course Brick was the last to go.

“That’s the thing about love. You think you know yourself as the days go by, that you recognize every moment as what they are. Love can’t blind you if you’re always aware. It won’t bother you as you keep it in line, making sure that you don’t slip up as you keep reminding yourself there’s no point.” He looked up and was met with a wide pair of eyes.

Pink. Bright pink.

“And then you jolt awake. It hits you faster than the speed of light and soon you are falling. Your lungs squeeze tight as you gasp for air and only when you admit to yourself is when you can breath. Love will force you to look at all the positives. It forces that other person onto a silver platter and a podium that is so small, only they can stand on it. They might not think they are perfect but your mind becomes numb and blind to the heart, its the only explanation. That’s the thing about love, right when you think you’ve fallen, you hit the ground.”

He hadn’t even looked at his paper as his eyes were still lined with hers. The applause in the room shook him to his core as he broke the gaze held with the fiery redheaded girl.

“And when you never think love will come towards you, you might find that its been there all along.”

He couldn’t tell you what the teacher said as he returned to his seat and his mouth was parted open slightly as it dawned on him what he had just done.

He wrote that for the assignment. Based off of shitty romance novels and movies. But in the end, it had been for her.

Always her.

She found him high up in the clouds that night. They hadn’t spoken since and every word he said had ran through his mind.

Their shoulders touched as she sat next to him. Both their eyes focused on the waves below. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it felt natural and good. Although the quiet night was peaceful, he was ridged and frozen in place.

Even with his blank expression, she could tell his mind was racing. He was choosing his words and mapping out the thoughts and scenarios one by one. And she was doing that too but there were times where planning and perfection weren’t always the best plans.

He turned towards her, his mouth open as if he were ready to speak but she had already decided that he had said enough. The next thing he knew, her lips were connected with his.

Its soft and sweet. Delicate but fragile. His eyes had closed and his hand gently rested on her cheek as she leaned into his touch. He could hear her heartbeat thumping at a fast pace and knew his was just the same. A small sound escaped her lips as he tilted his head and soon her arms were around his shoulders as they fell deeper into each other. She could feel the smirk on his lips as they pulled away.

Both breathing heavily for air as their foreheads rested against one another.

“Did-did you mean what you said.” She whispered and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Everything you said?”

He rested the urge to not pull her back into another breathtaking kiss but instead raised an eyebrow. “What if it wasn’t about you?” He teased but they both knew the truth. They couldn’t lie anymore, not to each other at least.

She smirked as she placed down between them before meeting his eyes. That motion alone had him spiraling as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing his. “Then I guess it would be a shame to say that I’ve fallen.”

“It would be a shame for the both of us.” He kissed her. “But I’ve been on the ground for a long time.”

“Good.”

---

I hope you liked it!!!

#blossom x brick #blossick #blossick fanfic #powerpuff girls #ppg x rrb #ppg #rrb #ppg fanfic #thewritingstar #reds #blossom ppg #brick rrb

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bouwrites · 4 years

Text

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 14

Sorrow hides well in your shell, a fellow man with hurt to spare.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

When Jon goes to Paris, a few days after Christmas, he and Marinette have their first true date. According to Marinette, she has to bribe Nino and Kagami to lock Alya and Adrien away together just to be sure they won’t be interrupted, but it’s definitely worth it.

Frankly, Jon is just relieved that it seems to be accepted here that Adrien wants to stalk their date in the same supportive best friend way Alya does, and not that he’s jealous or… well, Jon admittedly doesn’t know the guy that well. They’ve only spoken now and then when Marinette was already on the phone, really. That and stories. Him being Marinette’s ex makes Jon just a tad wary – not about him being around Marinette, but for the future friendship between the two of them personally – but he trusts Marinette’s word that Adrien’s alright with them, and he trusts the rest of her friends, too, so he has no reason to doubt the guy.

Either way, Jon’s first date goes off without a hitch. Mostly, anyway. He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do on a date, so he’s a bit awkward, but Marinette thankfully seems to find it more endearing than insufferable.

They spend most of the day wandering around, stopping by major landmarks. The Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Notre Dame cathedral, but really, every corner they turn seems to have some crazy landmark on it. Even if it’s not strictly a landmark, but just an old fountain or building. The public water fountains may as well be art pieces, for heaven’s sake! Hell, even the modern buildings are so different here! Jon knows Marinette’s family lives over their bakery, but that’s not a common thing in Metropolis. When she shows him her childhood home, he can’t believe just how cute it all is.

He has, though, had Marinette’s baking enough times by now to believe completely just how tasty her parent’s work is. I am the luckiest boy alive.

It’s not Jon’s first time in Paris, but it is the first time he’s ever looked around. Doing it hand in hand with Marinette makes it the best day ever.

Eventually, they exchange Christmas gifts. Marinette tells him of the scarf she made Adrien back in their teenage days, how his father somehow took the credit for the gift and how she didn’t tell him the truth until much later. She’s nervous about it all, and says she doesn’t want to look like she’s just doing the same thing with him as she did with Adrien, but a scarf was her first real gift to him, she says, and she thinks that turned out pretty well all things considered, change in life paths and breakup notwithstanding.

Plus, she wants to surprise him, and he has to admit he really does expect her to have made clothes that she made such a production of fitting him for last semester. But she’s clever like that.

Jon gets it, and honestly, he doesn’t think twice about the backstory either way when he sees the scarf. The inspiration is obvious, though the technique… Jon hasn’t the faintest idea how Marinette goes about capturing the night sky in fabric. It’s like knitted midnight, stars and all, and Jon – he knows he’s a nerd, but he has to check – quickly finds Cygnus as a reference point and starts mapping out the stars. It’s not a perfect map, not to his memory, anyway, but it’s clearly put together with a lot of care.

Marinette isn’t as much of a geek as him, and this isn’t just the zodiac constellations in order, so he knows she has to have found star charts and referenced them to make this, which is way more work than he’d ever expect for a gift that seems, on its surface, so simple. Especially since she must have done this between Thanksgiving and now, and a lot of that time is dedicated to finals.

Now his present seems lame.

Or, well, Marinette still lights up when she opens the jewelry box and sees the little pewter pentagon inside, so Jon supposes it can’t be that bad. If she’s smiling, he didn’t fail, so he’ll take it. “It means hope.” He says quietly, reminding her as he snuggles into the scarf around his neck.

“I remember.” Marinette giggles. “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon lets out a tense breath. In truth, in addition to it just being really small and lame compared to what she gives him, Jon is afraid it may be a little… too much. Because ultimately, it is his family’s crest. Yes, these days, and on Earth, it’s more associated with Superman and heroism, which in itself poses a potential problem with the gift, but to give her his family’s crest to wear is… suspiciously close to a promise ring.

Now, Jon isn’t anywhere near ready for that kind of step, and he doubts Marinette is, either, but the symbol also means hope, and that… that is something that defines how he views her. She gives him hope for the future. She gives him hope for peace and for a life unbound by Superboy and heroes.

In a lot of ways, the gift of the symbol is extremely ironic. But frankly, Jon appreciates that. And, if anyone asks, he can brush it off by saying he’s from Metropolis (sort of) so he’s a Superman fan. For everyone not in the know, it’s just a small gesture to bring Marinette a little closer to her boyfriend’s home. Perfectly innocuous. It works.

And Marinette’s clever, certainly cleverer than him. One look at her face tells him she picks up on all those little meanings and more, and that she appreciates it.

The glittering of her eyes may as well be the stars out in Hamilton County, though Jon has to admit, the Eiffel Tower lit up as they pass by on the Seine is pretty spectacular as well. It’s there, under the first facsimile of the environment of their first attempt, that Marinette fiddles with the scarf around his neck, bunches it up in her hands, and gently tugs him down.

It’s strange. Out in the tree in the country, there’s no one around. It’s him, her, the bugs, and the stars and that’s about it. Here, on a crowded boat on the Seine, under the sparkle not of stars but of lights not suspended millions of light years away, but towering over them very real and raw and bright, when he leans closer to Marinette, it’s not all that different than it was the first time. The night is colder, but it feels warmer without the biting wind of flat farmland. The light is harsher, but it’s also more grounded. When he looks into Marinette’s eyes, there’s no difference in the night. What he feels inside of him is exactly the same. This moment is the same.

Except that the soft wisp of breath across his lips doesn’t startle him this time. This time, he doesn’t stop until proper contact is made. He doesn’t jump away at all, actually. He can stand here and let Marinette steal the breath from his lungs like this until he suffocates, and he’d be happy.

It’s short. Just a peck, really. Sweet and chaste and Jon really wouldn’t have it any other way. Not yet. As far as he’s concerned, as first kisses go, this is perfect. It’s not Jon’s first kiss ever, though nearly so, but it is his first kiss with Marinette, and that’s just as important.

Everything, the kiss, this night, the date, it’s all beyond Jon’s wildest dreams. Jon almost can’t believe himself for just how deeply in love he is. It’s ridiculous given he hadn’t truly thought of her in such a way until Thanksgiving, but… everything was primed. Perfectly primed for them to fall in love. All they needed was the catalyst, a starlit dance, a magic carpet ride, and that’s it for him.

Jon gets a curious text, before the break ends. It’s from Sam, and the first thing he thinks when he reads it is that she must be drunk. In fact, he actually calls Kasey to ask her to check in on Sam for him, because she has to be either inebriated or delirious and she may need someone to take care of her right now.

Kasey just tells him in no uncertain terms that no, Sam isn’t drunk, she’s just trying to one-up Marinette after the argument they had before finals. Jon is well aware of what happened then, but even still he asks her to double check, because… well… Jon has trashed the entire text conversation with Sam three times now, and is quite frankly too afraid to even click into the conversation at all when he sees that she sends him an image. Not after the first one she sends.

Jon honestly thought only guys did that. He’s had guys send him pictures like that unsolicited before, but girls? Not once, thankfully. Not until today.

Logically, he knows he should keep a record of the messages, but for Sam’s decency he just deletes sight (thankfully) unseen. If he really needs a record, he’s sure Damian or Tim can dig it up. Both are professional, and if it gets to that point, he’ll have a lot more to worry about than people seeing those pictures. Jon is hoping it doesn’t come to that, though. Honestly, given he’s adamantly not looking at that conversation, he’s not even entirely sure the pictures are what he’s thinking they are. But even if they are, and even if Sam isn’t drunk, this is most likely just lashing out and trying to manipulate him with… carnal pleasures, or something. Funny that she thinks that will work on him, or that she’d want him if she does think it’ll work on him.

Clearly, her logic is not there at the moment, so he’s just going to let her tire herself out and kindly refrain from actually looking at any picture she sends him. That, and tell Kasey and Marinette what’s happening. Kasey, because she can hopefully get Sam under some sort of control, and Marinette for obvious reasons.

Funnily enough, he gets a text from Louise warning him about Sam’s little outburst. Too late, but he appreciates that she thinks to try. That’s two testimonies saying that Sam has basically just gone off her rocker tonight. Jon hopes she figures it out. He really doesn’t like blocking numbers, but if this continues beyond this one outburst, he’s not going to have much choice.

Marinette handles it maturely enough that it honestly doesn’t bother him much. He definitely sees more than he wants to, just because the first image is unexpected so he doesn’t know not to look, but she thankfully isn’t completely undressed in that first one. And it doesn’t upset him. He actually feels a bit bad for her. He’s been trying to gently let her down all semester (and he realizes now that he probably didn’t have the best tactic, but even so he’s positive he was obvious), so he figures this is just her last ditch, desperation attempt. It’s… really sad.

Like, really sad. Maybe she’s trying to win him over with pity? Whatever the case, after a short conversation with Louise, Kasey, and Marinette, Jon just silences his phone and puts it away. When he checks it later, he deletes whatever Sam’s sent him and lets the other girls know that it’s stopped for now.

All in all? What a strange day. Jon makes a note to avoid Sam in the future if Marinette isn’t there – not that he usually sees the girls without Marinette around since they’re her group more than his, he has his boys – but otherwise tries to just put the whole day behind him. He doesn’t hear from Sam again, which is sad because she was a friend, but he’s not beat up about it because if she was telling the truth to Marinette, and her recent, pitiful attempt to steal him from her possibly just to hurt her tells him she probably was, that’s not a good friend, anyway. It’s sad, but they’re better off now. He’ll get over it in time.

He’s lucky he was never really that close to her. Her flirting ironically kept her more distant from him than the other girls. He does make sure to stick close to Marinette when he can, though. She’s strong, but it’s still a friend betraying her. She insists she’s been through worse, which Jon is sadly sure is true (he’s been through worse himself), but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let her handle it all on her own.

(When he explains the situation to the boys, he gets a string of four simple messages, one from each of them, reading, “yikes,” which makes both him and Marinette chuckle. A small joy, to lift the atmosphere. It works with aplomb.)

When the next semester starts and Jon has Marinette full-time, he takes full advantage of that fact to hang off of her whenever he can. Not only is he stubbornly trying to stop her from thinking too much about Sam, he also just gets a lot of free cuddles. (He still can’t believe he gets to cuddle Marinette like this.)

It’s hard to say, but he thinks it’s working. Either way, it has a side effect of overcoming the hesitance they have about their new boundaries in their new relationship, and Jon is more than happy to have Marinette draping herself over his lap like he’s just a comfy pillow. So, it’s a win-win.

A lot more goes on, too, but it’s all just casual, normal stuff. Jon teases David about not being with Tamias yet when even Jon managed to make it official with Marinette, he and Marinette give some awkward explanations about how they started dating and their holidays overall, Jon raves to the boys about the scarf that Marinette made for him, sending Jesse absolutely wild because dude, that’s Jagged Stone’s designer and you got a custom piece from her! Holy cow!

All fun and games, and their semester goes well, too. Jon has a semester of his foreign language class under his belt now, and is officially using Marinette to cheat (or, as he prefers to call it, check his work) on his French assignments. Marinette loses all shame about using him as a mannequin. Sometimes, they do both those things at the same time.

Marinette surprises him with a shirt, with a lame, cheeky excuse of some-week-iversary, which prompts Jon to get her flowers “just because” which starts a small gift war between the two of them which only stops when they both sit down and agree to stop wasting money on each other.

Jon adores the shirt, though. It’s just a simple black button-up with large, colored horizontal pleats (red, blue, yellow) on the outside of the short sleeves, but it’s comfortable, fits him better than anything else he owns, and it’s a gift from Marinette. He wears it whenever he can.

And that’s how life is for the next few months. Even summer comes and goes smoothly, despite some frustration on Jon’s part at the distance from his girlfriend (His girlfriend!! That still makes him feel fuzzy inside!) but even then, their powers and pasts are put to good use letting them visit each other much more often than normal long-distance relationships would allow.

Jon doesn’t think he jinxes it. He can’t remember when he does, if he indeed does so. But someone must, because it’s all going honkey dory until he gets a phone call from Damian.

Why is it that phone calls from Damian always seem to end in everything being chaotic for a while? Jon sighs as he picks up the phone, resigning himself to… whatever is going to happen, but rapping his knuckles on his wooden desk just for the hope. He’s barely gotten back to school, and it’s his final year here. He really doesn’t need this.

“Jon. You need to get home. Now.”

Jon knows that voice. That’s the “this is urgent; do as I say or die” voice. He knows better than to fight it. “Metropolis or the farm?” Jon asks, worried now. “Is Marinette in danger, too?”

There’s a sharp sigh from Damian’s side. “You’re not in danger.” He says.

Jon relaxes, and pauses his preparations to leave. If he’s not in danger where he is, then why on Earth is Damian sending him back home? Damian hasn’t bothered Jon about being a hero since their chat after Marinette found out about him. “Then you better explain.” Jon says tersely.

“Of course.” Damian clicks his tongue, a sharp sound that cuts even over the phone. “Last month, some members of the League investigated a fire in Cadmus Labs in D.C. They uncovered, among other things, a so-called ‘weapon’ created to, according to the files and the weapon himself, replace your father should he die, and kill him should he turn evil.”

Jon… honestly doesn’t know what to think about all this. “I haven’t been a hero for three years, dude.” Jon says. “This is going to hurt my brain, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite simple.” Damian snaps. “Using your father’s Kryptonian DNA, and Lex Luthor’s as a stabilizer, Cadmus created a genetic clone with the intention of replacing or killing Superman, whichever is necessary first. Understood?”

Jon furrows his brow, trying to wrap his head around it. “That’s not a clone, Dami. If it’s Dad’s and Luthor’s DNA that’s just my half-brother, isn’t it?”

“If you wish to think of it that way, then that works, too.”

“Where’d the mitochondrial DNA come from?”

Damian snorts. “I’m surprised you know what that is.”

“I did take biology.”

Damian clears his throat, as close to a laugh as the situation, and Damian’s demeanor, permits. “One of the paternal donors, most likely. There were no records of a female donor. This was not a normal process, obviously, and given you’ve manifested powers with a human mother I’m not sure we can know without testing him. Or that it really matters.”

Jon snickers. “Yeah, good point. So, in summary, I have a half-brother now?”

“Simply put, yes.”

Jon breathes deeply. “And… you said this was last month? Why didn’t Dad tell me this?”

“You’ll have to ask him that yourself, I’m afraid. Speaking of, do get going. The weapon seems to be beating him pretty badly right now.”

“Wait, they’re fighting?!” Jon exclaims, jumping back to his feet. Marinette comes out into the living room, looking at him with a clearly concerned expression, so Jon puts a finger to his lips and puts Damian on speaker.

“Yes, that’s why I told you to hurry home. The farm, by the way, to answer your first question.”

“Damian, I don’t fight! You know that! Can’t someone else stop them?”

“Stop two Kryptonians?” Damian scoffs. “Sure, let me just dig out my hoard of kryptonite and head over right away.”

“You say, as if you don’t have a hoard of kryptonite!”

“Do you really want me to use it?” Damian’s voice is terse and challenging, telling Jon that he absolutely will. Jon knows he will. “Because I have no other means to stop them, and you all have been very clearly against kryptonite in any form. I’m calling you because you can stop them without resorting to it. But if you do not want that courtesy, I’ll go stop them myself.”

“No!” Jon growls under his breath. “Damn it, Damian. I’m not fighting them!”

“Then talk to them. I don’t care how you stop them, just make sure that weapon doesn’t kill Superman.”

Marinette’s eyes go wide as the call ends abruptly. “Kill Superman?!” She gasps. “What’s going on.”

Freaking hell, Damian. Every time. “I’ve got a new brother.” Jon says, exasperated. “And he’s not getting along with Dad.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, either. In case you didn’t notice, Damian isn’t exactly the most helpful guy around.”

“That’s for sure.”

Jon sighs. “I have to go. I promise, I won’t fight, but one way or another, that’s my family. I have to-” Jon’s throat closes up involuntarily.

A fight. A Kryptonian, just like him and Dad. Duking it out with Superman. Jon is the only other person in the world strong enough to interfere with any relative safety. Aunt Kara must be really busy with something really far away or Jon wouldn’t be asked in the first place. It’s either this, or kryptonite, and by the time Damian can get the kryptonite over there, it might be over, anyway.

But… Jon hasn’t fought since he quit being Superboy. He can’t fight. Not just because of his promise, but because thinking about it…

“I’ll go with you.”

Jon’s eyes snap open, fixing on Marinette. “No! Not a chance! I don’t know anything about this brother, but he’s fighting Superman, and he has Kryptonian powers. I’m not letting you go out there!”

Marinette just sets her jaw and fixes a stern gaze on him. “Wayzz? Will your magic hold up against a Kryptonian?”

Wayzz titters awkwardly. “Ah, it is hard to say. There are limits to what I can shield from. It should hold up for at least a few attacks, but if you end up in an onslaught…”

“Then that doesn’t happen.” Marinette says simply. Her eyes turn back to Jon. “But I’m not letting you go alone, either. I’m not completely incapable, you know, and I’m not fighting, either. I’m going to support you.”

“Marinette…”

“Jon, you can barely think about seriously fighting without freezing. You are not going out there without protection. Understood?”

Jon swallows down the burning shame within him and nods. “Understood.” It’s strangely easy to fall back into submission when she takes that tone with him. Like when he follows Superman’s orders in the field. It’s the tone of a leader of her team, ensuring everyone makes it through safely, and years of training, even now, make Jon fall quickly into line.

“Wayzz, transform me.” The flash of green changes Marinette’s clothes and gives her a shield, and her piercing eyes fix once more into Jon. “Fill me in on the rest while we fly. Or would you rather I take the horse Miraculous out?”

Jon growls past the paralysis in his chest. “We’ll fly. You need to be caught up before we get there, so we need the time.” He sighs. “I just hope we don’t waste too much time.”

“He’ll be okay, Jon.” Marinette puts her hand on his shoulder. He leans into the touch, finding the same comfort in it as always, despite the suit. “We can do this. Peacefully. This is your brother, right? We can talk this out.”

Jon gets moving but doesn’t stop the conversation. “My brother that I only found out about just now.” He mutters. “Apparently, Dad’s known about him for a month. Damian, too, probably.”

And that hurts. That hurts most. Jon should at least be aware enough of the situation that a brother of all things doesn’t surprise him, even if the fight still does. How could Dad have kept that secret from me? Damian, too, but Damian is… well not family, for one, even if he may as well be a sort of weird cousin at this point. Damian not mentioning it hurts, but it’s honestly not that surprising. Damian always has secrets. He doesn’t make secret of that, at least. Jon’s own father, though…

Jon slips his arms around Marinette and takes off. They get out of the building in a blur and fly away too fast for anyone to see. Jon only slows down once he’s far enough that they can talk safely, and then only long enough to explain the situation fully to her, then he goes full speed once more to the farm.

They touch down in a smoldering field. Jon notes off-handedly that it’s an off-season field. Least none of the crop is destroyed. That I can see, anyway. Not too far away, Jon’s father, in his Superman suit, is being punched out of the sky by a feral-looking teenager.

That’s… an interesting, and very concerning, sight. Jon shares a look with Marinette, both unsure how exactly to step in.

When the teenager drops down to start beating Superman into the earth, Jon steps forward, but freezes, as if rooted to the spot. He can’t… he can’t step in. He can’t see those fists swinging, he can’t feel the heat of those stupid eye lasers, he can’t handle the rush of adrenaline through his system.

“Breathe.”

He can’t breathe, either. What the hell? What is even happening?

“Jon!”

“Jon?!”

“Jo- Superboy?!”

For a few, terrifying minutes, Jon doesn’t have any idea what’s happening. It’s almost like he blacks out, but he still sees everything. Blurs all around him, out of focus, everything’s green, there’s a roar in his ears, drowning out sound, cotton muffling his brain. It’s like he just shuts down.

It comes so quickly, but clears slowly. A steady hand and voice guide him back, and he follows it for its familiarity, muted as it is. When he shakes the last of the fog away, breathless and trembling, Jon needs a moment to reexamine the field.

The green is Marinette’s magic, a dome surrounding the two of them, a little birdcage of safety, where Jon can regain control of himself. Outside, Superman and the black-haired teenager stop fighting, both staring his way with open mouths. That’s one way to get them to stop fighting, I guess. Jon thinks bitterly. God, this is why I don’t fight anymore, Damian.

“I’m good, Marinette.” It’s mostly true. He’s fragile, liable to burst – into rage or tears he’s not quite sure yet – and he’s experiencing a number of things physically that he’s not sure even make sense to be feeling right now, but he’s present and he’s focused, as much as he can be, on the task at hand. That’s the most important thing. The rest can wait until they’re back home, just the two of them.

Marinette adjusts her hold on her shield, glaring at both the teenager and Superman, as if either of them may attack at any moment. “You sure? They’ve stopped fighting. No rush.”

“I-I’m good.” Jon repeats.

Marinette scowls, but drops her shield. The green dome around them disappears.

“Jon?” Superman speaks first. He looks pale, cold, clammy, sort of sick, almost like how Jon feels. “What are you doing here? You should be in New York. Are you okay? Who’s this?”

“I was in New York.” Jon hisses. As the numbness of his panic disappears, something much hotter fills in its place. “Until I got a call saying that my dad is fighting with my brother – thanks for telling me about that, by the way – and that I need to get over here before you kill each other.”

Jon makes no secret of the pure and simple fact that he is absolutely pissed off right now. Marinette, with how well Jon knows her now, looks no better, though she’s certainly controlling herself much better.

“You’re the original Superboy.” The teenager says quietly, with something like awe in his voice.

Jon sighs. “Yeah. I was Superboy. I’m not anymore, so I would like to know why I’m being called out here. If one of you would kindly explain?” Jon crosses his arms and looks at the both of them with the same look his mom gives him when he misbehaves.

Parental disappointment is… the only sort-of positive outlet he can think of for the rage he’s feeling right now. On the bright side, both Superman and the teenager have the sense to look abashed under Jon’s stern gaze.

“I’m Superboy.” The teenager says. “I was created by Cadmus to replace Superman should he fall, or kill him should he turn from the light.”

“Superboy.” Jon repeats, unimpressed. “That the only name you got?” Ordinarily, Jon would assume not, but an organization making people in secret doesn’t exactly give him faith in humanity.

The teenager falters for a moment. “…Yes.”

Jon sighs. “Okay. This is fine. Care to explain why you’re fighting Superman?”

The teenager hesitates for one more moment, then huffs grumpily and turns away. He looks like he’s only sixteen or so, so even though he’s a big guy considering that, the expression is kind of cute. Great. Jon thinks. My new brother is a Damian. He rolls his eyes. “Superman? Any input?”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Superman says, finally spurring into motion to approach him. Marinette plants herself between the two. It must be a hilarious image from an outside perspective, or even from Superman’s, considering she’s so much smaller than both the men. Even so, Superman stops advancing when Jon doesn’t call her off from her defense. “And who’s this?”

“I’m his girlfriend.” Marinette snaps. “And I’m just as angry with you as he is.”

Superman’s eyes go wide. “Marinette? You’re a-”

“Dad.” Jon snaps his fingers impatiently.

Superman clears his throat awkwardly, sending a wary glance over to the teenager. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know if he was…”

“A spy.” The teenager says huffily. “Or an assassin.”

Superman sighs. “I’m going to have to figure out who leaked our address to him.”

“Good luck.” The teenager retorts.

“Enough!” Jon rubs at his temples. “Let me get this straight. You found my genetic half-brother a month ago. You decide to not only not tell me that I have a brother, but you hide him… where, exactly?”

“With the Titans.”

“Yeah, sure, because if he’s here to kill you, the Titans are totally safe.” Jon scoffs.

“They’re my friends!” The teenager protests.

Jon takes another deep breath. Marinette rubs his back. Thank God for Marinette. “So, my brother is with the Titans for a month, all the while you… investigate your son? And turn up with nothing, I assume?”

Superman sighs. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Yeah, well neither did I!” Jon snaps. Superman recoils and ducks his head. “In fact, I distinctly remember asking to stop this! So, don’t try to play that card with me. Not right now. You’ve been investigating him for a month. So? Is he, or is he not, a threat?”

“I didn’t find anything to suggest he’s dangerous.”

“Thank you.” Jon sighs. “Now… Superboy. Bro. Whatever. What’s this fight about?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” The teenager says.

“Fine. Dad? Explanation?”

Superman sighs. “He’s upset because he feels like I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t.”

“…No. I don’t.”

“Ugh. Why, why, why, am I here?” Jon tilts his head back to look at the sky.

Marinette’s hand through his hair grounds him. With that and a deep breath and her murmured words, “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. Superboy doesn’t seem like a bad kid. I think he’s just acting out.”

“Yeah.” Jon says back, under his breath. “I’m thinking the same thing.”

“I thought you retired.” The teenager says. “The original Superboy disappeared. That’s why I was made, because there’s no replacement for Superman anymore.”

“I did.” Jon says. “I am. There’s a reason I didn’t put on the cape to come out here, bro. I’m retired from hero work, and I’m living non-violently. I don’t fight. I’m just here because I found out my family is, and if I couldn’t talk you down, you’d have kryptonite being carted here by the buckets. I figured we’d all prefer that not happen.”

The teenager does recoil at the thought. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. Did both of you really think the rest of the League would just ignore this?”

Superman rubs his neck. “I didn’t really have a choice, Jon.”

Jon firmly believes that one always has a choice – he has to, to stay true to his principles – but it’s not worth criticizing his dad for this. It’s clear the kid started the fight. “Look. Bro.”

“Why’re you calling me that?” The teenager is pulled back, guarded. Jon shares a look with Marinette and sighs. She’s got that analyzing look. “What? Bro? Because you’re my brother, and it’s a lot easier than saying Superboy. I may not use the name anymore, but that’d still be confusing right now.”

“You- just like that? I’m your brother?”

Jon calms down fully and softens his gaze as he looks at the teenager. “Yeah. You’re my brother. Aren’t you?”

A little too quickly, too eagerly, the teenager nods. “I am.”

“Good.” Jon thinks for a moment, watching the teenager. “The Titans didn’t give you a name? A civilian name, I mean, or even a Kryptonian name?” There’s no reason the Teen Titans would give him a Kryptonian name, Jon knows, but if he’s been around for a month, there must be something.

The teenager looks away. “No. I haven’t even been on missions with them. They’re just babysitting me.”

Ah, familiar disappointment. League’s orders, no doubt. They don’t trust him, they hope that a bunch of kids his age will get him to open up despite them clearly not trusting him, they ignore the danger that, if he is an actual threat, he risks to a bunch of teenagers.

Yeah, it’s the same old song. Jon can’t hate them for it; not long ago he probably would agree with them, and even now he doesn’t have a better alternative, taking into account the very real danger that a potentially mind controlled Kryptonian poses, but still. Jon really hates heroes right now. “Do you want a name?” He asks.

And damn, the kid nearly tears up just like that. Jon shares another look with Marinette. We are going to parent this kid so hard, aren’t we? But we haven’t been together long enough for kids. There’s a flash of amusement in Marinette’s eyes, like she reads his mind, and Jon sighs. I’m going to be that big brother. Great.

“You…” The kid says. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jon says. “If you want to be a hero, you can go ahead and use Superboy if you want. I’m not using it anymore. But you’re going to need an identity if you aren’t just full-time, or you don’t pull a Beast Boy. But… since Dad and my identities still need to be secret, unless you get a civilian name, we can’t officially claim you as our family. See? So… I’ve got a name in mind. Two, technically. If you want.”

“Yes! Please!”

Jon doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the desperation the kid is trying so hard to hide. “How do you feel about Kon-El? We can call you Conner for an Earthling name. Last name Kent, obviously. Or Danvers, if you want to be Aunt Kara’s. I’m sure I could convince her.”

“Kon-El.” The kid repeats, awe clear now. “Conner Kent?”

Superman makes a face. “Where’d you get those names?”

Jon smiles. “Aunt Kara tried giving me a Kryptonian name, once upon a time. Kon-El was one of the options.” Jon looks over to the teenager. “If you don’t mind that that was mine, once, too.”

“Not at all!”

Aw. Jon swears he can see the kid smile. Just a little bit, but it’s there.

Superman frowns. “She didn’t tell me about that. What’d you land on?”

Jon flashes his dad a cheeky smile. “Jor-El.”

Superman steps back, like he’s hit by a train. “Named after your grandfather.”

Jon nods. “Just like my human name.” Superman retreats into thought, so Jon takes the chance to look to Marinette. She grabs his hand, entwining their fingers. Jon smiles. “So, I assume you two aren’t going to fight anymore?”

“No.” Conner says. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jon lets go of Marinette to walk over him. “Hey, Kon.” Conner looks up at him. Jon gives him a patient smile. “It’s alright. No one got hurt.” He glances over to Superman and Conner himself. “Much, anyway.”

“But you… when we were fighting, you…”

Jon struggles to keep up his smile, but he manages for his new brother. “There’s a reason I retired, Kon. That’s why I’m not a hero anymore, but that’s not your fault.” Jon puts his hands on Conner’s shoulders, pleasantly surprised that Conner doesn’t try to push him off. “I’m going to be honest with you, I’m still figuring everything out. You, and all this. But you’re my brother. If Dad’s ever a problem for you, you’re welcome at my place.”

Conner tears up again. Wow, that tugs at Jon’s heart. “Really?”

Jon smiles and looks back at Marinette. “Well, actually it’s our place, but… Marinette! What do you say?”

Marinette giggles. “Family is always welcome in our home, Kon. You stop by anytime. I’ll make some cookies for you.”

Jon gets the breath knocked out of him by Conner practically tackling him to hug him tightly. “Thank you.” He mutters, before quickly separating, face flushed. From embarrassment or the tears he’s still fighting to keep back, Jon isn’t quite sure.

Yeah, we are definitely going to parent this kid. Why is my life like this?

——-=——-

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @theatreandcomicfreak @toodaloo-kangaroo @too0bsessedformyowngood @justcourttee <3

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfiction #ml x dc #maribat #marijon #ehhtrtd

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 2/11

I should have mentioned that the last chapter was kind of just an intro and the chapters going forward will be much longer. Here Emma and Killian get to know each other, but fate also starts being a cruel mistress to our precious babies. I did say this has a lot of angst, right?

I also took off the major character death tag because the only deaths in this will be canonical deaths of secondary characters or deaths of original minor characters. In short, Emma and Killian will have tragic lives, just like in canon. So buckle your seat belts and grab your tissues, folks . . .

Major thanks once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for organizing the CSRT, and my crew of betas: @shippingtheswann, @optomisticgirl, and @distant-rose. This fic would be a mess without them. This chapter in particular owes massive thanks to @shippingtheswann . For those of you who read the original, there is more of Emma and Killian bonding as children thanks to her encouragement and input.

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rated: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: 4k and some change in this chapter

**Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 10

The next morning Martha is beside herself with worry to find Lindsay gone. Emma lies and says she must have been asleep when the teenager left, and a lie has never made her feel so guilty. Children’s services are already there when the school bus comes for her and Tyler. Emma so badly wants to tell the social worker that it wasn’t Martha’s fault; that Martha is nice and she wants to stay here. But she’s too afraid of her lies to open her mouth.

At the end of the day, the school bus drops them off at Martha’s, and everything seems normal. Martha has even unpacked Emma’s suitcase. Inside the wardrobe are not only Emma’s meager shirts and jeans, but a couple of new outfits as well. There’s also a new pillow on the bed covered in bright flowers. A fluffy white bunny with a bright pink ribbon is propped up against the new pillow. Emma hugs it with delight.

She wants to tell Martha thank you for the things she got her when they gather around the dinner table, but for some reason the words won’t come.

Tonight, Emma’s Bible verse is “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”

Emma can’t sleep that night. All she can do is keep glancing at the wardrobe, wondering if it really opened last night, if the eyes were really there. Finally, Emma tells herself she’s being silly. She rolls away from the wardrobe, and pulls the covers up to her chin. She closes her eyes and wills herself to go to sleep. But then her heart stops. There it is. The creaking again. The sound is longer this time, as if the door is swinging open, and Emma gasps.

She whirls around and screams when she sees a dark shape through the half open wardrobe, blue eyes reflecting the moonlight as they gaze at her. The door flings open and Martha rushes in.

“Emma, sweetie, what is it?”

“There’s something in the wardrobe!” she cries, turning and pointing. But the door to the wardrobe is completely shut.

Martha chuckles as she brushes back Emma’s hair. “Oh, that’s just your imagination running away with you.” To prove her point, she goes to the wardrobe and flings it open. Emma yelps, expecting to see the blue-eyed monster standing there, but all she sees are her clothes lined up in a row.

Martha tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, but Emma knows the truth. Something is in that wardrobe, and tomorrow night, she won’t let it scare her.

**********************************************

The next morning, children’s services are there again, this time to pick up Tyler and take him to his aunt who lives in the next county. At dinner that night, Emma secretly loves that it’s just her and Martha. Her Bible verse reads, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”

After Martha tucks her in that night, Emma crawls out from under the covers and pulls her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and gazes intently at the wardrobe. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest, but she won’t hide in fear. Not tonight. She isn’t imagining things; and she’ll prove it.

Sure enough, just as she thinks she might nod off where she sits, the door of the wardrobe creaks slowly open. Through the half open door, she first sees those blue eyes, the bluest she’s ever seen. Then the dark shape is there. Emma’s heart is pounding, and her breaths come fast as she stares at the shadow. Part of her wants to duck under the covers, and hide, but instead she closes her eyes and counts to ten until her breathing evens out. When she opens her eyes, the shadow is still there. Maybe it’s just one of Emma’s shirts? Her eyes playing tricks on her, like Martha said? Emma eases to the end of the bed slowly on her hands and knees, and when she reaches the edge, right next to the wardrobe she can almost make out the shape . . .

But then those sparkling blue eyes widen in fear and the shape shuffles backwards quickly, slamming the door shut. Inside, Emma hears a thud followed by desperate shuffling and gasping. Then another thud followed by the sound of crying. Emma jumps from the high bed and pads the three steps across the cold wood floors to the door of the wardrobe. She reaches up for the handle, hesitating only a moment before slowly pulling it open.

All she can see at first are ten small toes peeking out from beneath the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Emma reaches up and pushes the clothes hangers aside. Now she can see a head of dark hair resting atop two skinny arms that are folded around two skinny legs. It’s just a little boy! A little boy curled up into a tight, frightened ball. His sniffling and crying echo in the small space.

“Who are you?” Emma asks.

The little boy lifts his head, revealing those blue eyes she has seen the last few nights, this time shining bright with tears. His dark brown hair is in need of a trim and falls across his forehead, hanging almost in front of his eyes. His thin face is sprinkled with freckles. He lifts his hand and rubs it across his nose.

“I’m Killian,” he tells her.

“I’m Emma.” She cocks her head as she studies him. “Why are you crying?”

He blushes at her question, and straightens up, pushing his legs forward. “I can’t get out the way I came,” he tells her simply.

Emma offers him her hand. He crawls forward, taking it, and she helps him hop down out of the wardrobe. He wears a nightshirt made of scratchy brown fabric that reaches his knees. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself.

“Come on, I’ll give you a blanket,” she tells him, hopping up on the bed. He follows her, and she wraps a giant patchwork quilt around the two of them.

“This is warm” Killian says, holding it close.

“Martha makes them for the children she takes care of,” Emma explains.

“Is she your grandmother?”

Emma shakes her head, “No. Just a lady who’s taking care of me. I never knew my mother.”

Killian’s head drops, “My mum died.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma frowns. “My parents left me when I was a baby.”

“My father left me,” Killian says, “that’s why I’m a slave now.”

“A slave!” Emma exclaims. Killian winces, and she feels bad. She hadn’t meant anything against him. “We learned in school that slavery ended,” she hastens to explain.

Killian shakes his head sadly. “Not where I come from.”

Emma worries that she really did hurt his feelings, especially when he keeps his eyes on the quilt and won’t look at her. Then the grumbling of his stomach breaks the silence.

“Are you hungry?”

He shrugs. “I’m always hungry.”

Emma understands that. This home and her last one had plenty of food, but there have been others . . .

“Come on,” she says, jumping up from the bed, “let’s get a snack.”

Killian keeps the quilt wrapped around himself when he slides off the bed to follow her. She slowly inches the door open and motions him to follow her as she tiptoes into the hallway. Emma pauses at Martha’s door; she can hear the elderly woman snoring on the other side.

“You know,” she whispers to Killian, “I think Martha would let you stay.”

“No!” he protests in a loud whisper, his eyes going wide.

“But then you wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. And she’s really nice.”

“I have a brother,” Killian says. “I can’t leave him.”

Emma’s face falls, but she understands. If she had any family, any at all, she would stay with them. She would never let them go. So instead of reaching for Martha’s doorknob, she grasps Killian’s hand through the quilt and tugs him down the hallway.

The linoleum is cold beneath Emma’s feet as they tiptoe into the empty kitchen. She reaches for the lightswitch, and when the fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, Killian gasps.

“What . . . what kind of magic are these lights?”

Emma giggles. “It isn’t magic. It’s lightbulbs, silly.”

“Oh,” Killian says in wonder, but he’s barely paying attention to her. The quilt slips from his shoulders and to the floor as he wanders around the room, wonder upon his face. “It’s all so clean . . . and shiny. This is your galley?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know what that is, but Martha does clean alot.”

Killian stops in front of the white refrigerator. He tentatively reaches out a hand and pulls the door open. The cold air causes him to startle back.

“It’s so cold!” he cries out.

“Shh!” Emma warns him.

“Sorry,” Killian whispers.

Emma tilts her head. “You’ve never seen lightbulbs or a fridge? Are you a time traveler or something? I saw that in a movie once.”

His brow furrows. “What’s a movie?”

“It’s . . . like a . . . pictures. That move . . . and talk.” She shrugs, not sure how else to describe a movie.

“I’ve never heard of magic like this,” Killian tells her in wonder. “I don’t know what time travel is, but this is definitely a different realm.”

Emma’s about to ask him what he means by realm, but then both their stomachs growl at the same time, and they both laugh. She grabs the carton of milk, closes the refrigerator, then carries it to the table.

“There’s glasses next to the sink,” she tells Killian, pointing. While he gets the glasses, she gets the Oreos out of the pantry. Martha had let her have two with a glass of milk when she did her homework. Something else Emma only thought happened on TV.

Emma doesn’t bother with plates, just sets the package of cookies in the middle of the table. Killian carefully pours the milk.

“I haven’t had milk since Papa left,” he tells her, “and never this cold.”

“You’re definitely a time traveler,” Emma states as she slides the plastic tray of cookies from the package. She takes out a cookie and hands it to Killian, then takes one for herself. “I’m gonna guess you never had an Oreo, then. People eat ‘em different ways, but I like to dunk em.”

She plunks her cookie in the milk, and Killian imitates her.

“I like to leave it in the milk for a bit so it gets real gooshy.”

Killian watches her intently, and she smiles. Then she pulls out her cookie and eats the half that’s soaked with milk. Killian follows suit, and his eyes brighten with delight.

“Mm, that’s good!” he turns the cookie and eats the rest without milk. “It’s good crunchy, too.”

Their only conversation for a few minutes is smiles and laughter as Emma teaches him all the ways to eat an Oreo: twisting it in half and licking the cream, taking bites followed by sips of milk, quick dunks. Then they both get a bit silly, crumbling the cookies in the milk and drinking it all up. Before they know it, the entire package is gone.

“Oh no!” Killian explains. “Will you get in trouble?”

Emma frowns as she brushes cookie crumbs from the table. “I don’t think so. I mean, Martha probably didn’t want me to eat the whole pack, but she’s too nice to hit me or anything.”

Killian nods, his shoulders relaxing. Emma props her chin on her hand and taps her lips as she studies him.

“This whole thing reminds me of a book I read,” she tells him. “These kids went through a wardrobe to a magic land with dwarves, a witch, and talking animals and stuff.”

Killian retrieves the quilt from the floor and wraps himself up in it again. “I’ve never seen any talking animals, but I’ve seen dwarves in the Misthaven port. And there’s a witch in the Glowerhaven port who sells potions and stuff.”

He says it so casually, and her jaw drops. “You live in a place that has magic?”

“Of course,” Killian says before finishing the last of his milk. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You do too. The lights, the magical cold box, and the pictures that move.”

Emma shakes her head. “That’s not magic, that’s . . . um, inventions or whatever. Like in school we learned about Thomas Edison inventing the lightbulb.”

“Oh,” Killian said, “so people don’t cast spells or anything like that?”

“No.”

“And there are no dwarves or witches?”

“No. And if you told anyone you saw that stuff, they’d call you crazy!” Emma leaned forward eagerly. “What else magical have you seen?”

“Well, we see mermaids a lot -”

“Mermaids!”

“Uh huh, and Cook says he saw a kraken once.” Killan shudders. “I don’t ever want to see one of those monsters.”

“It sounds so exciting!”

“Not really,” Killian says, “most days at sea are long and boring.”

His eyes flutter and he shivers under the quilt, so Emma jumps up and grabs his hand again. She leads him back to her room where they climb back into the warm bed. It’s very late, and she knows they should probably try and sleep, but they keep finding things to talk about.

Suddenly, Emma’s eyes have drifted shut and her head has dropped to Killian’s shoulder, when a shaft of light falls across the bed. Emma and Killian turn their heads in surprise towards the wardrobe. The light is unusually bright as it falls through the open door.

“That’s weird,” Emma comments, her brow furrowing.

The two of them scramble down from the bed to peer inside the wardrobe.

“Woah,” Emma breathes, for no longer does she see her clothes or the back of the wardrobe. Instead, she sees a room of wood, rocking gently back and forth. Barrels and boxes fill the room, and men and boys sleep in hammocks hanging from the beams of the ceiling. Everything is damp, and Emma can smell salt and something musty. The air blowing through feels warm and wet against her face.

“That’s the hold of the ship,” Killian tells her.

He scrambles inside the wardrobe, but Emma grasps his arm, “Wait, you can’t go yet!”

He shakes his head, “My brother will worry. We’re all each other has.”

“Will you come back tomorrow night?” She asks, tentatively biting her lower lip.

Killian grins brightly. “Aye, lass.”

He turns to go, but then seems to hesitate. He spins back towards her, his face flaming red, and pecks a quick kiss against her cheek. Then the light is shining so bright in the wardrobe that it blinds Emma and she has to look away. Then Killian is gone, and Emma stands there with her hand to her cheek.

**************************************************

The next morning at breakfast, Martha seems different. Her eyes seem distant, and her words make no sense. Then half her smile falls down unnaturally, and she slumps against the table. Emma shouts her name, trembling all over, then dashes for the phone to call 911.

That evening, a social worker stands in Martha’s living room waiting for Emma to pack. Emma pulls her suitcase from the wonderful bed covered in Martha’s bright quilt. She grabs the bunny and buries her face in the soft fur. Her eyes catch the wardrobe, and she frowns. Killian won’t understand when she’s not here. She takes a deep breath and before she can change her mind, she dashes to the wardrobe and sets the little bunny inside.

When she walks out of the room, she can’t help giving the wardrobe one last look over her shoulder.

Killian: Age 10

Killian can scarcely believe that the fates have smiled upon him by sending him the wardrobe, nor that he’s had the honor of making a friend like Emma.

He also can’t believe he kissed her. He’s not even sure what came over him. His face had burned so that he feared his cheeks would be reddened permanently. Her cheek had been so soft, and her hair had tickled his nose. She was so pretty -

“Killian!” his brother hisses. Liam punctuates his reprimand by flicking Killian with the rag he’s using to swab the deck.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“What is with you, little brother? The captain will give you lashes again if he catches you mooning.”

“I’m not mooning,” Killian grumbles as he concentrates on scrubbing at the fish blood staining the slick boards.

The brothers fall silent as the ship’s captain and first mate walk past. Killian’s back throbs with pain, and he trembles from head to foot remembering the last time he’d been caught daydreaming. He stares at the stains upon the deck, scrubbing as if his life depends on it. The tension across his shoulder blades don’t lessen until the captain heads to his quarters to go over navigation with the first mate.

Killian glances up at his brother. Not only is Liam two years older, he’s taller, broader, and stronger. He also doesn’t go around daydreaming and earning himself lashes.

“Liam,” Killian finally dares ask, “have you . . . kissed many girls?”

Liam’s eyes widen as he lifts his gaze, then he arches his brow and seems to be holding back a teasing grin. Killian pretends to concentrate even harder at his menial task.

“Why, Killy? Has a mermaid flopped on deck lately?”

“We were just in port a month ago,” Killian grumbles.

“Aye,” his brother chuckles, “and you spent the entire time running around on the sand with the other village boys like the child you are.”

“It’s just a bloody question!”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Liam capitulates. “Truth be told? No, I haven’t. I’ve seen just as many lasses as you have.”

“What about that one girl in Glowerhaven?”

“I . . . well . . . “

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh as his brother’s face turns red and he stumbles over his words.

“I was just leaning in when her father showed up and chased me off.”

Killian’s laughter rings louder, and he falls over, holding his middle. Liam scowls and flings his rag again with a snap. Killian frowns and rubs at the new welt on his arm.

“Guess you can’t help me then,” Killian snaps. He knows it’s immature, but he can’t help it - he sticks his tongue out at his brother.

**************************************

Killian stands nervously in front of the wardrobe that night, smoothing his hair down. The bosun always greases his hair when he goes to court the farmer’s daughter in Arendelle, so Killian has swiped a little from his trunk. The bosun also likes to take his lass flowers, so Killian grips a handful of wilted buttercups in his hand. They had been fresh when they were picked days ago at port. He hopes the captain doesn’t notice them missing from the vase in his quarters - Killian only swiped three.

He’s also hoping to steal another kiss from Emma tonight, and this time he’ll aim for her lips instead of her cheek. Killian’s a little nervous that she’ll slap him, though. Emma seems like the type of girl who just might. It’s one of the things he likes about her, actually. He lets out a deep breath and opens the door of the wardrobe.

Killian cocks his head and frowns when he sees the fluffy white plaything sitting inside the wardrobe. He pulls it out - it’s a stuffed rabbit with the softest, whitest fur he’s ever seen. It’s glass eyes are so bright they shine. Around the toy’s neck is a silky pink ribbon. He sets the rabbit down and climbs into the wardrobe. He slowly opens the door.

“Emma?”

The room is eerily quiet and empty. Emma is nowhere to be seen. He crawls down out of the wardrobe and looks all around at the large, strange room. The quilt he and Emma had shivered under is folded on the bed, yet a foreboding wind seems to blow through the entire house.

“Emma?”

Killian walks around, looks under the bed, behind a dresser. He stops at the door to the room, tentatively reaching out to touch the door knob. He’s just about to open it when a shaft of light shines behind him from the wardrobe door. His heart ricochets wildly in his chest as he dashes back to the magical piece of furniture. He has no idea what might happen if he gets stuck in Emma’s world, nor can he bear the thought of being forever separated from his brother. He drops the buttercups as he dashes across the room, accidentally crushing them beneath his bare feet.

He scrambles back into the wardrobe, tucks the rabbit under the crook of his arm, and hops out of the door on the other side. As he lands back in the ship’s hold, a small rectangle of paper flutters to the floor. He picks it up and reads it, thankful for once that Liam had nagged him to continue his studies after mother had passed. Emma must have left the toy for him. Maybe the note is from her!

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”

Killian knows what a proverb is, but he’s never heard this one before. It must be common in Emma’s realm. His heart sinks that the words aren’t Emma’s own, but he takes comfort that she chose to leave her toy. He also hopes she meant that she was his friend and that she would never forget him.

After all, Liam is his brother, and he always comforts him. Just like the proverb said.

*******************************************

Killian jolts awake from a nightmare. He blinks his eyes to banish the images of blood splashing onto the deck, his brother crying, the fire across his back. His scars, though healed, still itch and pull at times. He reaches around to touch them gently, half expecting to find blood on his fingers. His body shakes as he releases a ragged breath. Just a dream.

He reaches beneath his itchy blanket and feels the soft toy Emma had given him a week ago. He pulls it out, holds it close, and breathes in the pleasant scent of it. Things in Emma’s realm are so clean and smell so lovely. How do they manage it? He tucks the plaything beneath his cheek, relishing the way it cools his skin. He hasn’t dared let anyone, even Liam, see the bunny. They would ridicule him for sure. He already receives more than his share of mockery for being the youngest on board; he certainly isn’t going to give the crew further reason to torment him.

Killian fingers the silky ribbon as more pleasant dreams fill his mind of comfortable beds, cozy quilts, and Emma’s smile. He’ll hide the bunny beneath his blankets before dawn, but for now, no one needs to know how he takes comfort from it.

Unfortunately, his nightmares have worn him out more than he had realized, and it’s long past sunrise when he blinks his eyes open again. He opens them to the sound of laughter.

“Look at the baby with his poppet!”

“What a pretty ribbon you have there, Killy-Cat.”

Killian shrinks in on himself at the nickname and the word “pretty.” The man adds kissing sounds to the insult, and fear swells in Killian’s chest that he might snatch him and drag him behind the supply barrels again.

A beefy hand reaches out, and Killian recoils. The sailor snatches the rabbit, thankfully, and not the boy. Killian’s relief is short-lived, however, when the men start tossing the rabbit to each other, mocking their little cabin boy with it.

“Stop!” Killian shouts, jumping from his hammock.

The sailors tease him, dangling the rabbit just out of his reach. He jumps up and races around, but he can never grab a hold of the toy. Panic grips him as he realizes how much he wants to hold onto his only tie to Emma. The wardrobe has disappeared again just as mysteriously as it had appeared, and that rabbit is all he has left of his only friend besides his brother.

One of the men grab Killian around the waist and toss him over his shoulder. Guffawing, they all head up the ladder out of the hold. Killian kicks at his captor, demanding he let him go. Where is Liam?

“Want your poppet, little girl?” Cook teases, dangling the rabbit over the railing.

“No, don’t!” Killian screams, which only make the men laugh harder.

“How bad do you want it?” the man who holds him asks, and before Killian can process what is happening, the brute of a man is dangling him over the railing. He holds Killian by the back of his nightshirt, and laughs as the boy kicks and flails.

“Let him go!”

Relief washes over Killian at the sound of his brother’s voice. But the huge sailor just knocks Liam aside as if he were no bigger than a gnat.

“What the bloody hell is this!” another voice thunders, and suddenly Kilian is being deposited with a thud back onto the deck. The crew scrambles to look more presentable as the captain marches forward, his face crooked and red with anger. “Ye scallywags have work to be doin’!”

“We was just teasin’ the cabin boy is all,” Cook explains.

“He got a poppet looks like, from the last port,” the bosun puts in. “It just tickled us, and I suppose we got carried away.”

“A poppet?” the Captain barks, and Liam steps in front of his little brother surreptitiously.

“See,” Cook says, tossing the toy to the Captain.

The Captain looks the white rabbit over, that permanent scowl that he always wears making it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “Cabin boy!” he barks.

On trembling legs, Killian steps forward, his head down.

“Where did you get this?”

“A - a friend gave it to me.”

Killian is shocked when the back of the Captain’s hand connects with his cheek. The force of it sends his head snapping to the side. He bites down on his lip to keep from crying.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. First of all, no one on my crew is to be pilfering anything when we make port. It only brings trouble down on us all.”

There is a long, heavy silence as the man steps closer to Killian. He grabs Killian roughly by the front of his nightshirt and hauls him up. He shakes Killian until the boy sees stars.

“And second, this ship is no place for babies or little girls. If that’s what you are, then perhaps I’ll just keep your brother and drop you at an orphanage in the nearest port.”

“No!” Liam cries. “Don’t separate us, please sir!”

The captain drops Killian back to the deck with a thud, then unceremoniously tosses the stuffed toy overboard. When he turns to head back to his quarters, he stops and spits on the Jones boys.

“Then tell your brother to grow up.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #someone to watch over me rewrite #captain swan au #neverland au #childhood sweethearts #angst #slow burn #little!emma #little!killian #loosely based on canon #soul mates #magic wardrobes #fate

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