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jenojaemssss · 4 years ago

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happier

synopsis: in which mark was happier with you.

pairing: mark x reader (i attempted to write the mc as gender neutral, so lmk if there are any tips on how to be more considerate! i wanna be able to write as inclusively as possible heh)

genre/category: angst, exes!au

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i have an assignment due in like 20 minutes (so i did not get a chance to proofread!!) but i got distracted thinking about mark while listening to my 2017 simp playlist :D so here's a mini-fic (that was supposed to be a drabble) based on this song!

I saw you walk inside a bar.

When Mark looked up from the almost-empty bottle sitting in front of him, he didn’t expect to be greeted by the sight of you. But what caught him even more off guard was that you were entering the bar hand in hand with someone new.

You, not yet noticing your past lover's hunched figure, walk towards a set of empty bar stools, another man's arms wrapped around your waist like possessive belt. Mark began to stare then. He stared at what used to be his reason. What used to be the one who'd wake him up in the morning, who used to be his reason for coming home when the days were too long, yet somehow eventually bled into nights. He continued to stare at what had been his true source of happiness.

In his eyes, you still were. You were his only radiating source of light that made him feel warm. You were his comfort, like a warm blanket during a rainy day, or an iced tea when the weather was too hot to do anything else but lounge around the house with all fans on full blast.

He said something to make you laugh.

Mark noticed how the one that accompanied you looked at you with a small spark in his eyes as you cover your mouth in attempts to shield your erupting laughter. That was a cute habit of yours when you laughed, and he used to stare at you the same way; he was staring at you almost identically as he's sat across the bar at that moment. The only difference now was that Mark stopped being the reason for your bright smiles and warm laughter.

I noticed how both your smiles were twice as wide as ours.

The first encounter between the two of you would forever be engraved in the mind of Mark Lee.

He was walking around a lake during a camping trip with a few of his friends, mindlessly swinging his arms around to cool off. Mid swing, though, he made contact with something he later found out was your face. He apologized so many times that you had almost busted a lung laughing at the poor boy's terrified features.

Soon, Mark joined you, laughing in harmony because apparently being smacked in the face by someone was the funniest thing to the both of you. Mark proceeded to awkwardly ask for your contact information, hoping to make up for the mishap, and you complied because the man was so darn cute.

One meet-up (he never specified it as a date) turned into two, which turned into three, and soon, you were seeing each other everyday in a small cafe hidden within the corners of your shared campus.

The two of you attended the same university, but due to being in different departments, there was never really a chance to come across one another while running to your next classes, but this cafe was the one spot you two had in common.

The cafe meetings soon turned into cafe dates (he clarified this time that they were in fact, dates), and soon enough, you were both head over heels in love, moving in together as you approached your final years of college.

Mark and your's relationship wasn't perfect, but it was always so much fun. Mark was always able to make you laugh because of how awkward he was, and one time you to left him behind on a trip to the grocery store because he was so embarrassing, making stupid puns at the poor worker just trying to stock the shelves of the cereal aisle. That day, you bought a watermelon the size of both your heads combined to make up for leaving him behind.

Mark bitterly smiled at his recollection. That was one of the last times he and you were able to smile together.

You looked happier.

The last time Mark saw you, it was on a sunny, Saturday afternoon. You were on your way back from a trip to your local convenience store, bags of chips, a tub of ice cream, and boxes of candy spilling out of the watermelon themed reusable bag he had left behind after moving out. You were still wearing his hoodie, then. He left that behind for you too.

It made him smile, knowing that you kept it.

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you.

You felt as though you couldn't breathe. When you entered Mark and your shared apartment, you sensed that something was wrong; that something was missing from your normally warm environment. Mark and you have been arguing more frequently recently, and the night before, it was the worst it had been in years.

Mark had been going out later into the night, sleeping on couches of friend's houses more than in his own bed. Your shared bed. You more often than not woke up to nothing, the radiating warmth missing from your side.

You'd had enough of it, and confronted the man when he walked into the apartment at 2 am. Words spewed from either side, along the lines of "I'm sick of this" and "What is there to be sick of?" Mark ended up sleeping on the couch that night while you cried yourself to sleep, clutching Mark's pillow and attempting to hold onto what used to be the warm, delightful love of your life.

The next day when you woke up, he was gone. He texted you saying he had to leave early for work and that you should go ahead and start your day without him, and you did. You began planning ways to talk things out, to fix things with Mark over a nice dinner.

You set your plan to action and made your way to the local market. When you returned home and stepped foot into the kitchen, though, your eyes landed on a small note placed right in the center of the dining table. Written on that note in Mark's sloppy handwriting were the words, "I'm sorry, but I need to clear my head."

You dropped the note and ran into your bedroom, only to see that Mark had taken almost half of his belongings from the cramped space, along with one of the suitcases the two of you placed behind the closet when you first moved in. He was gone.

But ain't nobody love you like I do.

He'd been gone for about 10 days when you receive a call from Donghyuck. The brown-haired boy informed you that Mark has been sleeping on his couch for over a week and would be stopping by within the next few days to take up all of his friend's belongings he'd left behind.

You hummed, almost numbly, and before hanging up, you mustered up the courage to ask Donghyuck if Mark was currently there with him. He hummed in response, and you mumbled a good before dropping the line completely, falling to your knees and sobbing until you no longer had tears to let fall.

You were broken, and it was all because of Mark, yet a piece of you continuously hoped and prayed that he was safe. That he was living in a proper home with a place to sleep, and that he wasn't too cold because he often got cold very easily.

Mark, on the other end of the line, was silently holding in his cries as his best friend hung up the phone, disconnecting him from his one true love. Mark never intended to hurt you the way that he did, but in his mind, because he loved you so much, too much, he had to let you go.

He was noticing how much he was holding you back, from job opportunities to your social life, he believed he was the reason. He was the reason you declined the job offer in the neighboring city because that meant you'd have to either move out or drag Mark with you, and you chose on neither and stayed. He was the reason you never left the house on weekends because only then was he ever home. He was the reason you had bags under your eyes, he soon realized.

You'd been staying up night after night, waiting for him to come home. You'd been crying because he would come home with bags darker than yours. You'd been losing sleep because you spent too much of your time worrying about him.

He was holding you back by loving you.

So he decided to let you go.

Promise that I will not take it personal, baby.

A few months have passed and Mark's finally settled down in a new place in the town you had rejected the job offer from all those months ago. A part of him wished that moving away would offer you closure, knowing that Donghyuck explained his side of the story to you. Mark wanted so badly to be the one who spoke to you that day, but he was afraid of the confrontation. He was scared he'd break and hold you into his arms and promise to never let you go, bringing himself and you back into the endless loop.

So he left. He moved away and had Donghyuck clean up the mess he'd made. Mark owes him one.

The other part of him, though, hoped that you contacted the agency that offered you the job all those months ago. The selfish part of him prayed that the agency granted your request and offered you the job you passed up on in this new city. He hoped that you and him could start over in a different setting, and maybe a few years from now, run into each other again. You'd be in better places in your lives and the two of you could start over.

He knew he was hoping for too much, but oh a man can dream.

If you're moving on with someone new.

Mark was brought back to the present when he hears a loud shattering of glass. He averted his eyes towards the source of the ruckus and landed his eyes on you. He noticed how your eyes grew into large saucers when he displayed similar shocked features.

Shit.

He quickly and clumsily packed up his belongings as he waved down one of the waiters, asking for the tab. Noticing Mark's shaken composure accompanied by the glares being sent in his direction from the other side of the bar, the waiter sympathetically printed out the bill as fast as he could and didn't let out a peep when Mark underpaid about 10 bucks.

Mark rushed out of the bar, only to be caught by the sound of your voice calling out to him.

"Don't you dare run away." The voice was cold.

"Not again, Mark." It was almost shaking.

You caught up to the man. He turned around, slowly, wishing that this was all just a messed up dream, and the alcohol was only playing tricks with his mind.

Indeed, though, this was his reality. Mark remained silent, only staring at his feet as you approached him.

"Look at me," your voice was softer now, but he noticed the stern edge laced within your words. You were never one to raise your voice, not even when Mark would spew incredulous things at you during an argument. You were always calm.

Mark shifted his gaze from the ground towards your face and noticed you looked wiser. He noticed how your soft features were now more sharp. He noticed how you wore your hair differently. He noticed how you'd ditched your casual jeans and a shirt for something more business-casual. He noticed how your aura had changed into something more serious. He noticed every little change about you.

He also noticed how, beneath all the physical changes, you were still you. You still had the same stars in your eyes. You still had his favorite scent. You still had the same quip in your lip when you spoke. You still had the same smile.

You were smiling at him.

Mark finally managed to meet your eyes, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he cut you off before you could get a sound out.

"You look happier."

Your smile dropped a bit at his observation. He was right, you were happier than you were after the breakup. But you were happier when you were with him. Using other men to distract yourself from Mark worked for a while, but it was never the same.

It's been over a year, and you still missed him. You missed everything about Mark; his smile, his laugh, his posture when he was furiously typing away at his keyboard because he had an essay due in 10 minutes. You missed the way he'd sing to you at night when you woke up from a nightmare, and the way he'd pet down your hair when the two of you wake up in each other's arms after a nap.

And although you missed him, a part of you was still angry at him. Angry that he left without an explanation, and had Donghyuck be the bearer of bad news that he wanted you to be happier. That he wanted you to have a life not revolving around him and his actions.

A part of you hated how he was so selfish, and how he never looked to you for his decision. Yet the other, wiser, part of you was thankful. Thankful that he cared about you enough to let you go, cared about you enough to put your priorities above his own feelings for once. Most importantly, you were thankful that he was your first heartbreak.

Before he was the boy who broke your heart, he was a friend.

You tilt your head a bit sideways, plastered another smile and nodded in response.

"It's a process."

He smiled back, toothy grin warming your heart. "I'm glad you're doing okay."

Maybe it was the universe finally hearing Mark's wishes of starting over, or maybe it was just a mere coincidence that you ran into each other that day. But nonetheless, the encounter made him realize one thing.

"I was happier with you."

#mark lee #nct mark #nct 127 #nct dream #mark lee angst #mark angst #mark fic #mark scenarios #mark lee scenarios #nct dream fic #nct dream angst #nct 127 angst #mark lee fic #literally i'm just simping rn

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eryiss · 3 years ago

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Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Get ready for some conflict, and two stubborn men refusing to admit their faults. Hope you enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Two - Teething Trouble

Day One: Monday

The further they trudged into the forest, the more Freed understood what Gajeel was going to put him through. In a word: Survival.

He should have guessed by the way Gajeel had treated him before they'd left magnolia that the antagonism shared between them would be a factor in the week. Gajeel had immediately told him to leave his bags at home - "You're only gonna need the clothes on yer back, city boy." - and had taken every opportunity to call Freed 'fragile' and 'spoiled'. Clearly, he thought that Freed was a man unused to roughing it, and who had spent his life in luxury.

To put it simply, Gajeel hadn't planned a training exercise. He had planned three days of pushing Freed to his limits, trying to break him and expose his supposed weakness. No doubt the following three days would be filled with pointless physical labour and an excess of exaggerated survivalist exercises,

Freed found it oddly exciting; he would enjoy proving the idiot wrong.

"Heads up," Gajeel grunted, letting go of a branch he'd pushed aside, clearly intending to let it hit Freed. Freed, being a trained mage with refined reflexes, caught the branch before it struck him. Gajeel saw, his lips twitched down slightly. "Hm."

"Are you intending to be obnoxious," Freed asked, boot squelching in the mud. "Or is that just your personality?"

"Not enjoying yourself, city-boy?"

"You've hardly proven yourself to be a conversationalist, have you?" Freed mused, climbing the small verge of grass that Gajeel was guiding him to. "And so far, rather than training of any kind, you've decided to take me on a walk around the forest and not much else."

"We're nearly there," Gajeel grunted. "And maybe if ya shut yer trap I'd be better company."

"You're quite defensive, I do hope I didn't strike a nerve," Freed hummed, wanting to annoy the man. "If simply insulting your plans has gotten your hackles raisen so quickly, then you've got thinner skin than I had expected."

"I've got thin skin?" Gajeel scoffed. "Sure."

That was the entirety of the conversation shared between the two men for the morning. The forest Gajeel had chosen for them to walk through was one unfamiliar to Freed, and as such he couldn't be sure if he was being taken a direct route to wherever Gajeel was taking him, or if he had been walking in circles for Gajeel to test his stamina and ability to cross a wooded area. They'd seen the same stream a few times, at different places, so Freed was fairly sure that they weren't going the most direct route.

Only when the sun was high in the sky did Gajeel decide to stop walking. Though he wouldn't say it, Freed's as thankful for the rest, as his legs were starting to complain. He looked around where they had paused to see what Gajeel considered a good stopping point,

Gajeel was obnoxious, but he clearly knew what he was doing.

He'd found a small clearing in the trees, with a break in the canopy that gave them direct sunlight and dryer grass. They were a close walk from the stream, so had both a water and food source, if the fish were safe to eat. They weren't so far from the trees that it would be a trial to find shelter if the rain began. Freed was impressed, and looked to Gajeel for further instructions; if he wanted to beat him at his own game, he needed to know what this game was.

"You might have figured out what this is," Gajeel began, looking towards Freed. He was clearly proud of himself. "For the next three days, we're camping out here, living off the land. No help, no magic, no luxury."

He had emphasised the word luxury, as if the lack of it might make Freed cry. Gods, it would be sweet to wipe that smile off his face.

"You act like I've never camped before," Freed commented.

"Not like this you ain't," Gajeel stated. Technically it was true, Freed usually had a flimsy tent at least, but it was hardly a worrying prospect. "We need food, shelter, heat. Since we have to work together, we split duties. I'll get some fish, you make a fire and get us some shelter made," He crossed his arms and smirked, "if you can handle it, of course."

"I'm sure I can cope," Freed drawled. "Though I might fall to pieces if I chip one of my nails."

Gajeel grunted and turned around. Apparently he wasn't happy that his clear assumptions about Freed had been thrown back at him. That only made Freed more enthusiastic about showing just how capable a man he was, and how wrong Gajeel was in his ideas.

With his teammate walking towards the shallow stream, Freed looked around to see what he had to use. Clearly Gajeel didn't want him using his magic for his time in the forest, so the shelter wouldn't be so easy as making a rune barrier to keep them warm and protected, but that wasn't too difficult to contend with. As they'd walked, Freed had been taking note of the wildlife, and suspected that wolves, bears and other hostile creatures would not cause a problem. The main cause for shelter would be the weather, both protection from the sun and the rain if the clouds rolled in. Perfectly easy.

Using his sword, which had been considered as part of the clothes on his back, Freed began ripping large sheets of bark from nearby trees. He then began hacking away at the lower branches, those wide enough to support some weight but thin enough to be cut away fairly easily.

With enough supplies, he walked back to the clearing. Gajeel was still in the stream, with the water up to his ankles. On the rocks by the shore, four fish were sat dead, wirh Gajeel seemingly attempting to catch them some more. It was an impressive sight to see, he was picking them out from the water without a second thought, and Freed was reluctantly grateful. Catching fish on his own was not something he would be proficient in.

Not without his magic, anyway.

He refocused his attention on the task at hand. He was intending to make a small hut for them both to shelter under. It wouldn't be complicated: four of the branches would hold up the sheets of bark. It wouldn't be particularly large, and the protection of the wind would be non-existent, but it would do what was needed to protect them from either sunstroke, or a cold, depending on the weather.

Freed quickly put his plans into action. The four strongest branches were dug into the dirt, propped up in place by the weaker branches. He tied the pieces of bark together using weeds and some of the longer leaves, making it into a single sheets that would protect them from the elements. It didn't take long for him to affix the bark to the branches, and he made sure to test the structural integrity of the hut by kicking each of the branches. With each kick, the hut held, and Freed considered it to be a success.

"Ain't too bad," Gajeel said, suddenly behind Freed. Freed only allowed a small twitch of surprise. "Don't see a fire, though."

"I expect that's because I haven't made one yet," Freed retorted, shaking the hut again to be sure the bark would hold. "I'm afraid there's not much space under it, so we'll have to sleep close to one another. I might have made it larger, but you seem averse to luxury and I didn't wish to scare you."

"You ain't funny," Gajeel grunted. "Make a fire, city-boy."

Ah, so 'city-boy' was going to stay? That was unfortunate.

Still, as much as Freed would have liked to explain how incorrect the nickname was, Gajeel would prefer actions over words. If he wanted a fire, Freed was happy to make a fire.

This was child's play for him, he was a mage after all. He made a bed of rocks to protect the grass from burning, then began laying thicker logs into a pile. Next, the thin and dried out twigs that would quickly set alight without much complaint. Finally, dry leaves that would take a spark and turn into fire.

It took a few moments for Freed to find a piece of flint, but he did. Once he had, he rested his sword in the middle of the unlit fire. He struck the blade with the flint, sparks flying from it.

Gajeel didn't once stop watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He didn't, and the fire was soon burning.

"Is that satisfactory," Freed asked, placing the sword in the scabbard as the fire grew beside him. "Or do you wish for me to trek into the forest and tame a wolf so that it can protect us?"

"I said you ain't funny," Gajeel muttered. He handed Freed one of the many fish he had caught. "Gut this. Hope you ain't squeamish."

Freed openly laughed, having him gut a fish was Gajeel's trump card?

This would be easier than he thought.

——

Everything about the day had worked out in Freed's favour, and it was delightful to watch Gajeel get more and more angry about it. He clearly wanted Freed to blanch at the idea of working to survive, and Freed had proven himself a capable man under every task he had been given. This was a competition, and so far Freed was dominating it.

"Stand up," Gajeel demanded suddenly, and Freed raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to train right? Let's train."

"Very well," Freed said, standing up. "What did you have in mind?"

It was late in the evening now, and the fire was the only source of light. Clouds were obstructing the moon, thankfully, meaning Freed didn't have to worry about the demon burning away inside of him. Whatever Gajeel had in store, Freed wanted complete focus so he could finally end this ridiculous test he'd been put through.

Following his teammate, he was taken a short ways away from the hut he'd created. They were close to the stream, but not so far that they couldn't see one another in the darkness. Gajeel stopped, turned towards Freed, and spread his arms.

"You rely on yer magic too much," Gajeel stated, despite the fact Freed has spent the day disproving that fact. "And I'm willing to bet you hang back in a fight and let Sparky and the Acrobat do most of the physical shit. If you go against someone who cancels your magic then you're shit out of luck, and I ain't gonna fight with a guy who can only toss spells at a guy and hope it works."

"I can't decide if you're wilfully ignoring everything I've done today, or if you're too stupid to have a short term memory," Freed commented with a patronising grin.

"Keep talking shit, it'll only make this worse," Gajeel grinned, his fangs poking through his lips.

Freed went to retort, but Gajeel did the most peculiar thing, and removed his shirt. The suddenness of the action stopped Freed's words before they came.

"We're gonna wrestle. No magic, no weapons, no holds barred. Just gotta rely on our own strength. We keep going until one of us gives us or loses consciousness."

"Very well," Freed shrugged, reaching up to remove his cravat. "Once you've given up, you can perhaps lose this idea that I'm incapable."

"Doubt it," Gajeel grunted.

Freed, to keep in step with Gajeel, removed his own shirt and threw it to the side. As he did, he assessed his opponent. Gajeel was objectively a broader and more muscular man, and despite how intentionally toned he was - nobody got a six pack accidentally - Gajeel's muscles weren't just a result of vanity. The man was physically stronger than him, and had the advantage. But Freed had succeeded in situations worse than this, and Gajeel's cockiness would be his downfall.

With both men stripped to the waist, they assumed a battle ready stance. Gajeel counted down from three, and they lurched towards one another the moment the fight began. The bartering of a muscular form against his own took the wind out of Freed, but he grappled the man around the waist without hesitation.

They struggled like that for a moment, both pushing to wrong foot the other man, neither succeeding.

Freed felt his feet stumbling slightly, and knew that Gajeel's strength was greater than his own. He needed to be smart about this: he would exhaust his target, and take what opportunities presented to throw Gajeel off. One such opportunity had just shown up - if Gajeel wanted to push him back, he would give him what he wanted.

With fast movements, he removed his arms from around Gajeel's waist and shunted back. Too late to adjust his momentum, Gajeel stumbled forward, landing face first in the ground where Freed had just been.

"I'm embarrassed for you that that worked," Freed commented before he could stop himself.

Just as Gajeel pushed himself up off the ground, Freed tackled him again. He was successful this time, flipping him so his back was flush against the grass. When Gajeel's right hand came to push Freed off, he quickly took hold and pinned it above his head. He pressed a foot into Gajeel's stomach to hold him down, smirking as he went to further taunt the man. Just before the words could leave his mouth, a splitting pain filled Freed.

The bastard had kicked him in the stomach.

Gajeel had meant it when he'd said no holds barred. Freed could work with that.

Pushing himself up before Freed could recover, Gajeel crashed into Freed with his full body weight, and the press of the man's strong form was pinning Freed to the ground immediately. One hand was pressing Freed's hands to the ground, his foot was pinning Freed's right leg in place, and his other hand was pressing against Freed's throat with strength behind it. He also meant it when he'd said until one of them was unconscious.

But Freed was not a man to go down without a fight. With only his left leg unpinned, he did something he wasn't particularly proud of, but worked in the situation. He slammed his knee into Gajeel's groin, and the pressure went away as Gajeel staggered to the side.

"Fucking bastard," Gajeel roared, voice a little higher than normal. "What the hell?"

Freed didn't waste the opportunity, and pushed his foot to Gajeel's spine and pressed him face first into the ground. He'd cupped his balls on instinct, meaning his hands were essentially pinned below him when Freed asserted more pressure.

"No holds barred," Freed taunted. "A word of advice. If you set a rule around me, I tend to remember-"

He was cut off when Gajeel suddenly lurched back, throwing Freed's leg off him and making him scramble for balance. He grabbed Freed by the calve and pulled down with strength, taking Freed to the ground beside him. Freed found his arms yanked behind him, and grunted a little at the pain as they were pinned against his lower back. He didn't struggle, it would only exhaust him.

"Givin' up so quickly, huh?" Gajeel purred. "Ain't surprised. Knew you couldn't handle it."

Gajeel had meant to taunt him, but all he had done was show where he was. The words had been right beside Freed's ear, and so Gajeel's face was right behind his ear too. With a jerk, Freed rammed his head back, feeling the crack of the other man's jaw against his skull. The grip on his hands loosened, and he managed to push the man off him.

The following few moments followed a pattern. Freed would get the better of Gajeel, Gajeel would push him off and pin Freed down. Freed in turn would get Gajeel off him, and push him down. The pattern would repeat itself, with neither man gaining the upper hand for too long.

"Ah," Freed panted at the sudden cold on his back as he was pushed to the ground again. Water, they were at the stream now.

"Cold ain't a bother, right?" Gajeel smirked, kicking Freed in the chest when he tried to sit up.

"You're determined to think me weak, aren't you?" Freed rasped slightly, winded from the kick. "Which is a brave thing to say, given you were rolling around the floor cupping your balls just moments ago."

An exaggeration, but the snarl of anger he got was worth it.

Suddenly, one of Gajeel's large hands was wrapped up in Freed's hair, and a kick to the gut had Freed turning. A foot was pressed against this back, forcing him to lie face down in the cold water. Gajeel made sure to hold his face towards the flow of the stream, and the feeling of it rushing into his partially split lips and nose was a horrid burning. A nasty trick.

Freed tried to push himself up, but the fight was lasting longer than he hoped and after a day of labour, Freed's muscles were starting to protest. He tried to raise his head, but Gajeel wouldn't allow it.

Above all, Freed was a strategist. Sometimes, a retreat was the logical choice.

He knew he could get out of this hold. With the right angle, he could take hold of Gajeel's leg and pull it in the same way Gajeel had done to him to knock him off balance. But what then? They would fall back into the spiral of pinning one another, hitting one another, and achieving nothing.

This entire exercise was an act of futility. Gajeel was trying to prove Freed was weak willed and impractical, despite the fact it was clearly untrue. Freed was trying to prove Gajeel wrong, but the man was too pigheaded to accept it.

"I give," Freed grunted, voice warped by the water.

"What was that?" Gajeel taunted.

"I said I give," Freed spat.

The hand keeping his head partially underwater was gone, and the foot holding him down soon followed. Freed spat out the water as he turned, body aching as he sat in the stream. Gajeel was looking down at him as if he were dirt, and it took a lot of self restraint not to attack the man where he stood.

"You think yer hot shit, but you ain't," Gajeel grunted, "You're a spineless ass with some spells you rely on too much."

"You know damn well I only stopped that because it was pointless," Freed snarled, standing up, water dripping from him. "And you didn't ban magic because you want to see me fight without it. You were just scared of me showing my power because you know it dwarves yours."

"The hell did you say?" Gajeel growled, and magic energy filled the space as Gajeel's hands turned to a blade.

"You heard me," Freed's voice was distorted - demonic - and he didn't care. "You are in the presence of a powerful wizard and terrified."

For a moment, neither man spoke. Tense magical energy flowed form them both, ready to lurche should they need it. Gajeel relented, walking towards the fire, murmuring that he couldn't wait for the week to be over.

That, at least, was something they could agree upon.

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #Freed x Gajeel #Freed Justine #Gajeel Redfox #fairy tail #fanfic #writing #canon divergence #multi chapter #Chapter Two #Word Count: 3.25k

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itsbenedict · 3 years ago

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Two-Faced Jewel: Session 11.5

What Does a Moth Sound Like?

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time: the party returned to Barley to deal with a few loose ends while their hired muscle dealt with the biggest, scaliest loose end. Between that session and the next, we had a brief mini-session to wrap up one of said ends we'd left unwrapped- what exactly is up with the Kanthalga family?

(Also included: a conversational omake between Looseleaf and Saelhen, pictured courtesy of @drazelic, Looseleaf's player.)

After their encounter with Kensa, Oyobi tries to talk the party into going to the tower and helping the Deathseekers kill the dragon. Her brilliant plan of "stab it in the brain before it can cast any spells" has some flaws, though, and they patiently explain the plan's many flaws and strike a blow against Oyobi's sense of invincibility.

They also ask Malath a few questions, trying to get to the bottom of her odd discomfort with the idea of the dragon as a culprit and the presence of Deathseekers.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "When we spoke before, you asked us whether the dragon was green. I regret that I still cannot answer, as I have not seen it, or heard any news on the topic from the deathseekers. But you seemed... concerned that it might be a green dragon. Is there any reason that such a dragon might pose a particular threat to your town?" Benedict I. (GM): "Mmm. I don't know if you've heard, but... going on thirty years ago, there was a town to the east called Grain." "It was attacked by a green dragon, and the elders... as the dragon had words with them, they had to be remanded to the custody of their gods." Looseleaf: Oooh, that is harsh. Benedict I. (GM): "In the ensuing chaos, the miscreants who now inhabit Wheat set fire to the town and fled further east." "The survivors of the disaster fled west, and established Barley here." "If that same dragon still has its sights on our people, we could be in grave danger." "We refused to submit once, and it very nearly destroyed us."

As far as they can tell from their questioning, Malath isn't hiding any dark secret- she's just sort of a control freak, who's nervous that her control over the people might slip. Plus she's worried that if the dragon is provoked and comes to town, she- as the current elder in charge- might suffer the same fate as Grain's elders.

Saelhen... isn't satisfied with this. Something seems wrong about Malath Kanthalga- Thalath wouldn't try to enlist their help rescuing Kensa for no reason. She takes the party to the general store, in hopes of catching Kensa on her nightly delivery.

Kensa arrives as expected, but when she sees Saelhen there, she makes her delivery and tries to leave, rather than sit at the loom as is her custom. She seems afraid of Saelhen.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...I don't intend to keep you from your work. Though I did have a question I wanted to ask you, dear. If you'll permit me one." Kensa Kanthalga: "...A question?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Of a sensitive nature, possibly. Something vouchsafed to me by... someone you might know." Kensa Kanthalga: She looks less afraid and more confused, now. And after thinking a moment... "...oh." She actually looks a little angry, now. "That makes sense." "He sent you, didn't he?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: Okay, the conclusions she's reached here... may or may not be correct! "Under what I am starting to think may have been false pretenses." Kensa Kanthalga: "What did he tell you? Did he say I was being brainwashed?" "I don't need to be rescued from my duty by someone who abandoned his!" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "More a very general concern for your person than anything --" Ah, there's the word that raises her hackles, duty.

Having somewhat misread the situation, Saelhen is unpleasantly surprised to find that Kensa seems just as devoted to the teachings of Diamode as Malath is, and has no interest in fleeing. She seems contemptuous of her older brother on the basis that, uh...

Well, the Goddess of Family, who's all about having kids and living a very prescribed sort of life path inside strict gender roles, is- as might be unsurprising- a bit of a homophobe. The party never met Thalath's boyfriend (who works the night shift at Wheatley Inn- they never stayed the night there), but there are several reasons why the place isn't popular with the locals.

Saelhen is caught kind of flat-footed here- she can tell something's still not quite right, but she doesn't have the kind of cultural context to unravel this level of baggage.

Luckily, she brought along an ersatz cleric of Diamode, and so... Orluthe is able to spot the missing piece of the puzzle.

Orluthe Chokorov: Orluthe, in the back, has been looking increasingly uncomfortable. So far, he's had his stole and cap stowed away, so as not to be recognized as a cleric of Diamode. He's now taking them out and putting them on. "Hey, um, miss?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen... legitimately forgot he had those. Kensa Kanthalga: Kensa turns and notices him- possibly for the first time. "Oh, ah- Mr., um..." Orluthe Chokorov: "Chokorov," he says. "I'm..." He holds up a hand, and points at a tiny circular scar around his pinky finger. "You have one of these, right?" Kensa Kanthalga: Kensa looks down at her hand, and you can see- yes, she has a matching scar. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Well. That's novel information about Orluthe. Religion check to... I mean, we know the finger-cutting thing. I guess a "what does this mean, it's not like these two have disowned anyone" check. 13 - RELIGION (2) Benedict I. (GM): With a 13, you know that only a parent needs to cut off their finger- but you're not sure what happens with sibling relationships. This might be something related- like you don't have to cut your finger off all the way? Some sort of signifier that the connection has been severed, though you don't know the finer doctrinal points. Orluthe Chokorov: "My older sister," he says. "Four years ago. We all had to get the mark." Kensa Kanthalga: "Wait, but..." Orluthe Chokorov: "You didn't want that to happen to you, too, right?" "You can't stand up to a power like that. You'd never win, right? If I tried to defend my sister, my parents would have two missing fingers." "You have to pretend, right?" Kensa Kanthalga: "Why... no, it's... I really...!" Orluthe Chokorov: "Feels that way, doesn't it? For a long time." Kensa Kanthalga: Kensa looks terrified- like for the first time, someone's seen right through her. Orluthe Chokorov:"It's not a betrayal of your family- of your duty- to... have love." "There's nothing in Diamode's teachings about the mark, you know? Neither of us had to take it." Saelhen du Fishercrown: ...well. That's a... new consideration. Kensa Kanthalga: Kensa's on the verge of tears, looking like she's about to bolt. "N-no, I- I really... want to... I have to..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen is right back to Steal This Child Town. "...wait, do you seriously mean that the finger-cutting thing came after the scripture?" Orluthe Chokorov: Orluthe nods. "I mean, the finger-cutting is... it's a punishment. You're not supposed to disown your children. It's not like you can do it and then you lose the finger and then you're all square and it's fine." "And when parents scar their kids' fingers to make them share in a punishment for a sin they didn't commit... Diamode doesn't want that." "I should know," he says, gesturing to his vestments. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...well. Thank you, Orluthe." Saelhen's face is hard. "I was previously under the impression that I had misunderstood a culture which is strange to me." "But now it sounds as if... I haven't, quite." Kensa Kanthalga: Kensa's makeup is starting to run. "What... what do you know? I- I wanted to... if I could've... I couldn't..." "What do you want with me?!" "I had to, okay? I have to!"

Orluthe having successfully exposed Kensa's fear and dissatisfaction with the situation, Saelhen proceeds to talk her around to trying to leave. It's pretty touch-and-go for a little bit, but Kensa's mind is made up when the party mentions that they're going to be passing through Corolos. Apparently, there's something there she really cares a lot about...?

So they're going to need a few days for Kensa to prepare to, uh, run away with a bunch of strangers. That's- this is technically kidnapping, right? This isn't something you should do in real life? This is kind of bad? Hm. Well.

Anyway, they've got some downtime here in Barley while the Deathseekers do their work and Kensa prepares to leave. And- well, later in the campaign, there was a flashback to this time period, so I'm going to cover that scene here.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: So: days in the past (but not many)... It's Cassie Zeishus's inn, and Saelhen is brushing up on her card tricks; she's let herself get rusty, just a bit, ever since she left... Well, since she got to Oyashio, anyway. She's cutting a borrowed deck at one of the inn's tables, downstairs, flicking cards from hand to hand, then up her giant poofy sleeves. Where's Looseleaf? Looseleaf: Probably sitting around outside, doing her whole 'fix-things-up' gimmick! After the early burst of things-to-fix, though, business has dried up a little. There's just not that many broken things left to fix that people need help with after a while! Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen is... bored, she decides, for a reason. She can't evaluate how impressive her card tricks/cheating techniques are without a proper audience! She knows how they work already! So she leans out the door. "How goes the repair work?" Looseleaf: "It isnnnnn't," Looseleaf says back. "I think that there's not much repair work left in Barley at all!" "I've done too good a job and my business has dried up. This is why you never peddle perfect cures, innit." Abruptly, she gets up from the carpet she'd gotten Orluthe to roll out for her- the one from Lumiere's tower. "Boooored." She rolls it up. "I demand entertainment."

Saelhen decides to entertain Looseleaf by performing a card trick... and proceeds to roll a natural 1 on her sleight of hand check. She completely fucks it up, and Looseleaf- who had to be convinced to put money on the wager- earns herself a silver piece.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...I lost the card." "So I'm going to have to replace that for Cassie. On account of her deck being a card short." "Your card, specifically." Looseleaf: "Hhhhokay." "Wow, you're actually serious, aren't you." "I thought this was still part of the bit, but, if you're serious, you know the card's on the underside of your shoe, right?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I just want to reassure you that I'm good at this, Looseleaf --" Looseleaf: "I thought you'd stepped on it because, y'know, part of the trick." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "No, I already checked there --" Saelhen finds the Hierophant stuck to her instep. There's a beat. Then she blushes furiously, in what looks like actual mortification. "Oh damn it." "I haven't done that since I was sixteen, what the hell..." Looseleaf: Looseleaf laughs. It doesn't sound like her usual laugh, and you can only tell it's a laugh because she's bowled over laughing. The actual sound of the laughter sounds like- trilling chirps with a hint of vibration, a distinctly insectile sound. "Oh gods," she says while somehow still laughing simultaneously, "that was- I'm so sorry about how much I'm laughing, Saelhen-" She's still moth-laughing. "Please understand that your status is no way diminished in my eyes and you are still every bit as much of the cool conwoman you always were in my eyes- oh my gods I'm going to die laughing."

Saelhen, intrigued, attempts to use her preternatural skill at impressions to try and copy the laughter, which Looseleaf finds freaky-deaky.

Looseleaf: "Yeah, if you really want to imitate mothspeech what you actually need are the standard instruments. Your throats are not cut out for the kinds of vibes we naturally talk with." "No offense- your throats are perfectly nice, I mean." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I'm aware my throat is lovely." "What do you mean, standard instruments? Some kind of... pipe, or flute, or something?" Looseleaf: "The Standard Instruments," she says, this time with an intonation so that Saelhen can tell it's words with Capitalized Letters, "are... sort of like a flute, yeah, except instead of working like a woodwind it's more like, a bunch of little flutes with flaps of springy metal at the end, so when you blow through the flute the flaps vibrate and you get a sound that's way closer to the range of sounds we make, and it doesn't hurt your throat nearly as much. The Standard Instruments for imitation mothspeech." "Alternatively, if you knew spirit magic, we could have just taken you to the Archive of the Ever-Living Voice, but that's not really an option..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen attempts to imagine this. "So, ten harmonicas glued together." Looseleaf: "Yeah pretty much." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...that last comment sounded alarmingly practical, in its concerns, Looseleaf." "Are you proposing to teach me, here?" Looseleaf: "How dare you imply that I would ever let slip the magical secrets of my people to an outsider who knows nothing of our ways or our culture why I am absolutely offended and ha ha I'm just messing around." "If you want to learn mothspeech," Looseleaf hesitates for a moment. "...Well, we should get started by trying to put together, as you put it, ten harmonicas!" "...Does this town have harmonicas?" Benedict I. (GM): This town totally has harmonicas.

So it looks like Looseleaf is going to be teaching Saelhen the language of the mothfolk!

Looseleaf hesitates, though. "...You know, learning mothspeech is- well, it's not likely to be useful, you know?" "There's, like, no chance you're ever going to get to really put it into use with anybody other than me." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...it is a bit obscure, isn't it?" Saelhen looks contemplative for a moment... then cracks a grin. "Which means that absolutely no one will know when I insult them." "Beyond their range of hearing, even! Oh that'll be such an easy way to blow off steam, dear, I love it."

After a shopping trip to assemble the device that substitutes for having moth mouthparts, they have a nice time bonding over linguistics. Building the thing is tricky, but... Saelhen gets a good roll!

Looseleaf:"...Y'know, trying to reverse-engineer an instrument just from how you saw it once is... more difficult than I thought it would be." Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen expertly pulls two pieces together. "This and this, yes?" Looseleaf: "Yeah, make sure you leave extra length on the tubes- I don't know exactly how long they have to be so we might have to cut them down a little to fit... The day continues. Looseleaf teaches Saelhen a whole plethora of fun insults in mothspeech. Things like, "You must have had a hole in your cocoon while you were pupating, because your brain clearly leaked out during your metamorphosis." "Remind me what instar you are again?" And, her favorite of all, a surprisingly terse noun that apparently translates to "immature child who sticks two feathers on their forehead and thinks that means they have the antennae of an adult."

Saelhen manages to nail the pronunciation pretty quickly, and adds Mothfolk to her list of languages.

The conversation turns to Elvish (Looseleaf is shocked to learn that Oyobi has been being rude this entire time!), and Saelhen's upbringing in Kanzentokai.

Looseleaf is shocked by Saelhen's quick mastery of the language- and of Tabaxi, and Halfling, which are apparently languages she speaks.

Eventually, Looseleaf decides to make a wager with Saelhen. The stakes: if Looseleaf can fool Saelhen with a card trick of her own, Saelhen has to teach her Thieves' Cant. If she loses, she'll have to tell Saelhen how she did the trick- a standard "is this your card" situation.

Saelhen gets a 21, and Looseleaf then has to explain that she was able to track the card via... spirit-linking. Which she then has to explain she's been doing to the bracer.

Looseleaf: "I'm trying to use this as a, uh, lighthearted segue, to confess to the fact that I've soooorta actually had a tracking magic thing set on you, like, since we met." "I'm hoping that's not, un- discomforting for you, since you said, you liked the whole suspicion thing I had?" "But, yeah, uh, I was totally suspicious of you the whole time, and my first response to seeing someone I pegged as a conwoman trying to con the university out of a magic item was, to, put a tracker on the magic item." "Which is that bracer. I know the position of that bracer, at all times, as long as it's within ten miles of me; further than that, and I know the direction it is relative to me." "I'm coming clean because- well, I guess, we're friends now actually, and you should know about the fact that I'm technically tracking your movements. And also because I want to give you the option to tell me to fuck off with that shit, if you want to." "I think that keeping the tracker's still a good idea, on a practical level, though, because of the, uh, use-case, where, a scary badguy chops your arm off to take the bracer, like that way we could still get your arm back and get the bracer back and I'm also rambling because I'm nervous that this is the end of our friendship aha." Saelhen du Fishercrown: Saelhen has gone very still. Like the hackles-up bristling from earlier, except... a lot less movement. "......" Looseleaf: "Look, if you want me to turn it off I'll turn it off!" Saelhen du Fishercrown: And then she very deliberately settles back into motion, with barely even a little bit of shaking hands! Deep deep breath. "...you make a good point. "About the, bracer tracking." "I am..." "Fine, with it." Looseleaf: "Iiii am not convinced you are fine. You seem like you are in fact very emotionally distraught about it," Looseleaf says with caution. "I could... put a tracker on something that's not the bracer, for you to hold, of your own volition?" "Really, at this point, I'm less scared of you running off with the bracer, and more scared of something happening to you because of the bracer." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...with a condition." "Which is that you do not tell anyone that you can track things, or, if you have to reveal your hand, that you don't tell anyone that you can find me." Looseleaf: "...You don't want to be found, by... something or someone that wants to find you?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "In general, no." "...I'll tie something around the bracer. Or place a coin between my skin and its surface, or something. You can track that." Looseleaf: "Okay. I'll try my best to not tell anybody about my ability to find you. Except unless I have very good reason to believe that, I dunno, a dragon has abducted you and if I don't find help for you then you're dead, or something like that. Is that fine?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "That would be fine, thank you. And I forgive you for... the initial... situation."

It seems... Saelhen really doesn't want to be found, by someone. I wonder who?

Still, the two of them manage to talk the issue over like adults, and grow closer as friends- so that means everything is probably fine, there's no secrets anymore, and absolutely nothing else is going to go wrong in the town of Barley.

NEXT TIME: END OF DAYS!!! HOMICIDAL INTENT!!! THE SINISTER MACHINATIONS OF THE SHADOW-MAYOR OF WHEAT!!!

#twofaced jewel #tfj log

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hs-devote · 5 years ago

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7. H O U R G L A S S

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

Previous chapter :

“I'm close, H! I'm close.”

“Cum with me, baby. Cum with me.”

Y/N cried out when she releases, arching her back made her breast went up in the air. Harry moaned when he spurted his load inside her, filling up her warm cunt. Yet they were riding out their high together, Harry's length still hard and stiff inside her. He rested his forehead against her, giving her small peck on the swollen lips. Harry collapsed next to her, Y/N snuggled to him – hugging his body. They were silent for a moment, letting their lungs gasping for oxygen.

7. HOURGLASS

Her eyes fluttered open, looking at the empty side next to her. She sat up right away, averted her gaze around to find Harry. Y/N wrapped the comforter around her naked body before lowering her feet to the floor. She smiled seeing at small note latched on the nightstand.

I'm on the kitchen if you wake up and find this note. You can wear my shirt if you want to. I hung it in the closet. H x

She put down the paper. When she was about to go to his closet, she was shocked to see how messy his room was. The sheet was sprawled open, her panties were thrown away from the bed whilst her bra was nowhere to be found. The cushions was laying far in the corner. Were they that wild last night?

No, last night was nothing wild. They didn’t damage the bed nor the linen. She was pretty sure Harry could go wild anytime more than last night if he wanted. Her stomach growled from hunger, the sound made her laugh. She had to get out and meet Harry in the kitchen once she finished dress up.

Her legs were a bit sore when she walked, yet she brushed it off. This wasn't her first time wandering around his massive walk-in closet, she remembered the first time she was in there, her jaw hung open due to the large and luxurious his closet. That day, Harry asked her to get his tie. She got confused since there were so many drawers and wardrobes he had. Well, she would laugh if she remembered that.

Y/N instantly spotted his plain white shirt which was too big for her. Nonetheless, she still wore it. She liked it more than her own shirt since she didn't keep her baggy shirts here.

She did keep spare her clothes in Harry’s wardrobe. Of course, it was Harry idea. Y/N often spent her free time at Harry’s house, and most of them ended with her stayed a night or two. He thought that it would be better if his girlfriend kept some spare clothes.

Screw the bra. There were a few of them in the top drawer but I want freedom this morning.

Y/N didn’t want to snoop around, but seeing Harry's clothes hung neatly was such a sight for herself. Her nose smelt Harry's familiar perfume around the closet – made her want to stay a little bit longer.

Her boyfriend was such a neat freak. Harry arranged his clothes according to the brands, the purpose, and colour. He had two wardrobes dedicated to his favourite designer. Yves Saint Laurent and Gucci. He really loved those two brands, and had a good relationship with their designers. It wasn’t a surprise there was plenty of custom outfit from them that Y/N had never seen before.

Then, her eyes caught a shabby leather journal laid on top of his tie drawer, written an H 1994 in front of it with a picture a child embedded. That must be Harry.

Her curiosity about Harry's childhood pictures made her grabbed the journal. Y/N giggled over his photograph; little Harry was so cute with his brown hair. In the picture he wore a blue shirt underneath the cream coloured overalls, his smile was so big showing his bunny teeth. Sitting at the velvet chair, she opened the journal – hoping to find his childhood pictures. But all she found was writings. At first, she wanted to return it back, but the dates were written made her curious. All of them.

January 11th 2003 I didn't know where is my fault. They keep to hate me

January 15th 2003 Friends are horrible

This wasn’t a photo book. This was his childhood diary. She shouldn’t have opened Harry’s diary, surely it was a secret.

There was no way photo album is in a journal, you stupid girl! Her inner goddess scowled.

Her mind told her to return the journal to its previous place, but her inquisitiveness was too high. She gathered her determination before continuing to read.

February 1st 2003 My birthday and no one knows, except mum

February 9th 2003 Everyone hates me

March 12th 2013 Why he hates me and mum so much?

March 29th 2013 He hurt mum

April 3rd 2013 He hurt me

May 1st 2013 I don't like him

August 18th 2013 Football is nice

August 25th 2013 They love my football

September 1st 2013 Dale was awful. I was crying. Everyone was laughing. Mum was sad.

September 12th 2003 Who was the abusive one? Dale? Father?

September 13th 2003 He kicked me

September 14th 2003 He punched my tummy. It's hurts

September 20th 2003 Dale hit me everywhere. But why I couldn't feel it?

October 1st 2003 That feels nice

October 9th 2003 I can't feel my face

October 25th 2003 Poor little pigeon

November 6th 2003 He's stronger than ever

December 1st 2003 What happened?

Y/N closed the journal harshly, too many conclusions was spinning in her brain. The more she thinking about it, the more theories that emerge. Y/N couldn't just draw a conclusion, her brain urged her to ask Harry about that, but her heart holding it back. She didn’t want herself to fall deeper into his confide, she had to stop before curiosity killed her. With various questions raging inside her head, Y/N returned the journal to its original place and immediately went out to meet her boyfriend.

She could see Harry was cooking from the way he held a pan. His upper body bare due to lack of clothes, his fern tattoos visible due to sweatpants hanging low in his hips. Her eyes went down to his happy trail, reminded her of how good he pounded into her last night. Just imagined it made her shudder.

Y/N smiled of how focused he was when he made breakfast, forehead wrinkled while his tip tongue was sticking out. She was busy adoring him with her body leaned to the door frame. Felt like someone was watching him, Harry averted his gaze. He found his girlfriend watched him with a smile on her face, standing cutely in his shirt that way too baggy for her –exposing her delicate legs. Harry was sure she only wore underwear beneath since the shirt fell on her thighs and she was wearing no pants. Harry saw her semi hard nipples through the fabric. He shook his head instantly, if he glanced at it longer than intended, he might have Y/N as his breakfast.

“Good morning, love. I'm making pancake, should be ready in ten minutes. Do you want anything else?” He asked while flipping the pan.

“Pancake is good.” She hummed, walking towards him. “Be careful, we don't want the pancake to fall, do we?”

“Don't underestimate my ability, baby. Go take a seat, and sit there beautifully.”

Y/N shrugged, pulling a seat near her. A moment after, Harry turned off the stove and put the pancake on her plate. She gave him a quick thanks then laughing when she realised her pancake had a shape of a bear's head. She took a quick glance of Harry's plate, finding one with a shape of frog's head.

“What do you want to put on top of it? I have… berries, honey, maple syrup, powdered sugar, err... jam?” Harry asked with his head dug into his massive fridge.

“Berries will be fine.”

Harry pulled out his head with a bowl of berries and a maple syrup in each hand. His foot closed the fridge door. Y/N thanked him for the berries. She looked at Harry who was pouring maple syrup to his pancake and slice the banana on top of it.

“I didn't know you have this cute pancake mould.” She giggled, “This is too cute to eat! I can't even bear to cut it.”

“I found them when I was opening the top drawer. I forgot that I had it because I never used it.” He shrugged, cutting the pancakes. But, her shrieking made him jump and dropping the knife.

“What's wrong?” He asked while taking the knife, put it on the end and took a new one.

“You destroyed the frog's face!” Y/N gasped then laughing softly. Harry stunned in his seat, then looking at his frog pancake which has been split in two.

“Don't shock me like that, baby. Just eat them. I can make more if you want to keep it as a collection.” He laughed, scooping a piece into his mouth.

“This is delicious but I can't stop thinking about a bear head inside my mouth.” Y/N spoke while chewing her pancakes. Harry just shook his head over the silliness of his girlfriend.

They ate in silence, only the sound of the television and soft noises of cutlery clashing with plates were audible. Their attention was directed on the TV that was broadcasting the graphic of company shares in U.K. Y/N was stunned when she saw Machtig's stock chart that went quite far, almost balance with Erskine at the moment. Both of them are in the top five. She looked at Harry who seems unbothered.

“Polygram did that.” Is all he said, nothing more, like answering the look from Y/N. “It's common in the business world.” He added. Then her mind rolling to a few days back, when Harry told her something about Dale bullied him. And, his writings on that journal about him that made her sad.

“Harry, darling.”

Harry smirked at the way Y/N called him with pet names. He knew very well that his lover wanted to ask something that possible worrying her, because that was starting to become her habit.

“Go on, love.”

“I remember the day when you told me that Dale Jespersen was bullying you when you were a child. Is that... is that true?” She asked softly, “I understand if you don't want to talk about it.”

Harry just stared at her, his face was flat with no emotion. She didn’t know if this is a good or bad sign. She cursed her foolishness deep inside her heart when Harry said nothing.

“Dale Jespersen was my school friend when we went to same primary school in Birmingham – before I moved to Manchester. I used to be the nerd one in my class.” He said, “I never really come play with them. Since one thing I knew that time was... I have to get good grades so my mum would be happy. Apparently, some kids think otherwise. He and his friends always said I was arrogant. Until one day, I thought it was never hurt to try... play with them. I began to open up, sparing my time to play football after school ended – before coming home, even though it just a quick play.”

Y/N silently heard Harry's explanation, want nothing than be a good listener. Harry paused for a while before continuing. His head, which had been looking down, slowly looked her up. His eyes became dull, seemed like he just told her something sad.

“It's okay if you don't want to go forward, darling. I don't have to know the whole story if you feel uncomfortable.” She said with concern. Her hand stretching out to rub his hand. But he just shook his head, ready to continue.

“I became an idol in the field because I could show them my skills in football. He didn't like his attention was taken by me. He made up a story that I beat my mum because according to him, he saw my mother was crying in our yard when he passed by. I confront him, and long story short, he made me his punching bag.”

Y/N gasped, her palm covering her mouth in disbelief. “You didn't do that, did you?”

Harry chuckled, “Who do you believe? Me or him?”

“Of course, i believe you, Harry. I just... didn't expect something like that.” She murmured, “But you're okay now, no grudges yeah?”

Harry leaned back, looking at her with a subtle smirk on his lips. Laughing silently at how clueless this girl in front of him. If only she knew.

Y/N didn't realise that the person who had been talking about Dale's cruelty, have different eyes to someone who made her breakfast this morning. Little did she know, every single word that came out from his mouth, the eyes getting darker than usual.

. . . .

Harry only could curl up, hugging his knees every time his back received a whipped from someone who should protect him. His mother was out, so clearly he couldn't ask anyone for help. He really wanted to cry, but he couldn't. If he cried, the whipped would get stronger.

“You fucking little bullshit!”

Deep inside his heart, he prayed his mother come home soon.

God listened to his prayer when he heard the front door being open. He immediately ran to his bedroom upstairs when the whipped stopped. Harry was breathing rapidly, he must quick search a safe spot in his room. Although he wasn't sure that would protect him well. He locked the door, moving his whatever in his room that he thought was heavy enough to hold the door.

He looked at himself in the mirror, slowly lifted up his shirt. He whimpered when he saw the scar on his back, still fresh and red. He blinked his eyes to let the tears rolling down his cheek. Harry wanted to tell his mother, but he didn't have any bravery.

How could a father do that to a nine year old child?

Harry didn't understand.

Sunday morning was supposedly being fun because you could have quality time with your family. Apparently not for Harry. He woke up when he heard her mother screaming, his feet quickly take him downstair to only find his father was grabbing his mother hair until her head tilted. She looked in pain, his knuckles grip tightly to her roots. Harry was frozen in the stairs, eyes widened to a sight in front of him.

Whatever would happen, he must help his mother.

Then, he ran and yelled. Kicking his father in the legs, made the older man stumbled a bit. Harry hurried to his mother, asking if she was okay, and hug her. But, the father didn't like it. He grabbed Harry's collar and dragging him to the floor. His breath choked up when he felt the father's hand circling around his neck, putting pressure in it.

Her mother was screaming in tears, watching her husband strangled her son. She tried to let go of him, but he shoved her back and slapped her head.

She must be able to protect her child, and herself. Ignoring the burning sensation on her face, she pulled her husband and took him out of the house.

“You fucking whore! Your little bastard must be taught a lesson!”

She crinkled her face when the scent of alcohol and cigarettes wafted from his mouth. “Get out! Don't come to me and my son again!”

The father looked at her and the small boy next to her in disgust. He spitted to the asphalt and went away. Harry was silent, but not with his mother. He could hear her sad cry. The only thing he could do now is; hug her. As he did now. Didn't care if they look pathetic in their front yard.

Two weeks was nice without his father. He didn't come home, and Harry prayed he wouldn't be. Until the nightmare paid them a visit as his father show up in their door, looking for his mother. The pathetic man was asking for some money to his wife. But of course she wouldn't give him. She was struggling enough to work and get a nice pay job, how the hell she gave him money from her hard work for free?

Everything went fast. Harry defended his mother, but end up his father beating him up in their yard. His mother was laying unconscious in the living room due to punched she got. Harry accepted every hit, every jab, every punch. He wanted to fight. But he didn't want his mother to be next his target if he did that. He could only surrender.

What could a small child like him do? He didn't know.

Every kick, every smack, every pain. He absorbed well. Until he only could feel anger, hate, hurt. No, he wouldn't let this pathetic old man beat him again. Not him. Not his mother. He smiled through the pain. No, he couldn't feel the pain. He didn't feel any pain. He felt numb. It was like a tickle to him. He rose, holding his father's hands.

How came?

He endured effortlessly. The last thing he remembers was, he gave the man in front of him – who was confused, a flat smile before pinning his father's hand to the opposite direction. A small crack made him screaming in pain, but made Harry smile in satisfied.

Harry felt strange, his father still tried to make his mother and his life miserable. Yes, he was abusive. But a few days back, he only threw things when he mad, didn't do anything physically. He should have be relieved a little, but his little head had some questions.

Harry didn't know why his mother did not leave him already. If they were hurt, why they should stay?

Once abusive, would still abusive.

His father was acting up again. Harry was in his room, doing his homework when his father broke down his door and rummaged the room – like was looking for something.

“Where is it?” Voice hoarse, hands opening every single drawer in the room.

“What are you looking for?” Harry asked.

“You should be keeping some money from Anne, right? Where?”

“I won't tell you. I need them to buy some books.”

Hearing what his son just said, it did something in him. He didn't like the answer. Then, he stomped to Harry, pulling his shirt. Harry was scared, his body trembled so badly.

“I need them more than you! Fuck that stupid books, I want the money!”

Harry shook his head, his mother was working her ass off to be able to provide what he needs. An education, for a better future. There was no way he would give up the money for his father's unnecessary wants. He cried in pain when his father hit his head, throwing him to the corner, and kick his legs. Over and over again.

In the blink of an eye, his father was shocked when he felt pain in his head. He looked at Harry in disbelief, his palm felt wet – and realise it was blood dripping from his back head. Harry in front of him was panting hard, his face was showing no emotion, with the hand gripping a brick. How come he had a brick in his bedroom?

Both of them heard a gasp from the door, finding Anne standing right there. Harry could see his father ran to her, and yelling about what he did to him.

“He hit my head with a brick! Your fucking son keep bricks in his room to attack me!”

Anne averted his gaze towards Harry, looking for evidence. “Is that true, Harry?” Her voice quivered. Harry shook his head, his expression was flat, no guilt at all. “No, I'm not holding anything in my hands. See?”

He stretched out his bare hand, no bricks were seen. His father yelled again, accused him of being a liar because he was sure that Harry hit him with bricks. Anne sighed and led her husband out. Leaving Harry alone. She didn't know who to believe. But clearly, Harry never lied to her.

Little did they know, Harry was laughing right after them both gone. His eyes glanced at the corner of his bed, where the brick was laid.

After that accident, his parents never talk about it. Either Anne did believe him, or his father really thought he was hallucinating. Harry really didn't care.

Christmas was only a few days. When other families worked together to decorate their house, it wasn't for Harry. His father's drunken face was somewhere they didn't know, only Harry and his mother were ecstatic about the eve. His favourite moment was when its snows in the morning and at night. If people sometimes complain about the thickness of the snow, Harry liked it instead. He liked that white – soft thing.

He ran outside when realising the snow was showering that morning, his thick clothes protected him from the cold weather outside. He sat on the snow in his yard, looking at the empty streets. Then, he saw a white pigeon sheltering under a tree from the snow. It was alone, without a friend. Harry barely recognised it if only he wasn't under a tree, its colour was almost like snow.

Without him knowing, his feet brought him close to it. He squatted in front of the pigeon, and strangely the bird was not afraid. It let itself be lifted by Harry, feeling the warmth from the hands of the human who was holding it.

“Why are you alone? Where's your family?” Harry hummed, stroking its feathers. “You must feel sad because you're alone.. in this cold morning.”

Harry kept stroking its feathers, patted the small head. “You're with no family, are you?”

Then, his hand stopped – but still holding the pigeon, as aware of something. He lifted the pigeon so its parallel with his eyes. “You better be with your other friends and family up there, not here. In here.. is cruel. Too cruel for small things like you.”

Harry didn't remember anything until his flustered face looking at the pigeon in horror. It was laying stiff with blood almost covering its small body. The blood staining the white feathers. He gasped when he found a bloody knife not far from his feet. Both of his hands also were covered by the pigeon's blood.

What did he do?

His heart was racing, hands trembling, tears were falling down to his face. He was so scared.

Harry could hear his mother screaming from his behind. He glanced back, saw his mother standing there with a shocked face, scared.. he couldn't even describe it. Then he saw the lifeless pigeon again in his hand. He did kill it.

. . . .

“See! Your fucking son is a murderer!”

Harry whimpered in the corner, his father was back and now having an argument with his mother. They didn't even have proper Christmas celebration since his father step his foot in the Christmas morning. He heard Anne confronted Harry about killing the poor pigeon. That was the worst morning for Harry, how could his mother bring it up in the Christmas morning!? They should gather around to open the presents instead of accusing him of something like... that.

“I was asking Harry, not you.”

“Now you believe me. Once, he hit me with brick. Second, he killed an animal. What's next? Burning this fucking house on fire?! This psychopath's little shit must be taken away before he harms others!”

Harry just shook his head, palms covering his ears. He didn't want to hear it.

No.

“How could you call your son a psychopath's?! He's just a child. He did know nothing!”

He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want his Christmas turned into a nightmare. He got up, running to his room, slamming the door and locked it. He cried and cried. He didn't know why he killed the pigeon. The last thing he remembered was.. patting its head.

Christmas walked so the new year eve could come closer. He didn't have anything to celebrate. After the Christmas incident, his mother was keeping a distance from him and talked to him as needed. It broke his heart. Every night before he went sleep, he always wondering.. why his mother didn't believe him. Why he did that. Why God always makes him sad.

It was the morning after the new year, last night he spent the count down with sitting on the roof. Waiting for fireworks to appear in the night sky even he didn't like the sound of it. It was better than the sound of silence.

He bet his father was out last night, probably went to a local bar and downing for alcoholic drinks there. He didn't care. Yet, then he heard screaming from the kitchen, he saw her mother try to shove away from his father.

“Give me that money, Anne! I need them!”

“No! I don't have any. Go away!”

“You fucking liar!” He saw his father hit his mother with cutting board to her head. Harry scared, really scared. Didn't what to do. But, the time he saw blood dripping to her face, he felt anger burned into him. He ran to them, taking the vegetable knife from the counter and stab his father's arm.

His father was screaming in agony, while his mother stared at him with utter shock – still gripping her bloody head. Harry was standing there with a knife in his hand, watching his father grimacing in pain. His mother could see the flat emotion in Harry's face. No scared look. No anger look. Nothing.

Harry was locked up in his room after that. He didn't know what his parents would do with their bloody wounds. He did care about his mother, but no with his father. He just sleeps, waiting for whatever would happen tomorrow.

It felt like he had only slept for a few hours when he woke up forcefully, he was dragged from his bed by someone.

Who else was if it wasn't his father?

Harry tried to run away, but he felt weak because he cried all night in his sleep.

Where was his mother?

He was forced into the car, both of his hands were tied together. His body was held by the safety belt in the back seat. His eyes were covered with cloth, so he didn't know where he was going.

He felt the car stopped after one hour drive, he thought. He heard the door opened, following by harsh tug of the cloth covering his eyes. His father untied his hand and pulled his out from the car.

Harry was looking around. There were lots of little kids here, but where it is?

He really wanted to run away, but he didn't dare because he didn't want his mother to get hit again because of him. His priority now was his mother safety.

“His name is Harry. I found him was crying in front of his parents grave. So I think it's best to take him here, so someone can take care of him.”

His head lifted up, looking at his father in disbelief. What did he mean?

“Of course. Did you relate to him?”

“No, I was asking him if he has a family. But he's alone himself.”

The lady who was speaking with his father, crouching down to his level. She seemed nice, smiling at him. But his smile faltered when he heard those words that crashing down his life.

“Hi, I'm Elis. We will take good care of you. Don't worry, Harry. You will get a new family in this orphanage.”

. . . .

“What are you planning for Christmas?”

Last night, Abbie called Y/N if she could get breakfast together this morning since both of them wasn't so busy at the moment. Of course Y/N glad to hear that, it had been a while since she met her friend. Now here they were, having meals in the little breakfast cafe near the Battersea Square. Harry drove her here since she was staying at his house for the weekend.

“I'll go home as well as Harry. We'll spend the time with our own family before heading to Sorrento for New Year together.” Y/N answered before taking a sip of her hot chocolate. It was an early day in December, and London weather was getting colder every day. So, she needed something to warm her body.

“Italy? How nice! But I prefer to go there in Summer, you know? Warm sun, warm air..” Abbie squealed.

“Harry was the one who had the idea. It was more than enough for me. I can't complain anything to him.” She shrugged, “How about you?”

Abbie just laughed, “My mum wanted to come here, so I guess I'll spend Christmas and New Year in here.”

The rest of the time they just walked about the time together when they were at school, playing back memories that memorable for them. The clock was ticking at past eleven when they decided to go. Besides, Y/N really didn't want to lave Harry for too long. Abbie offered her a ride since she would be passing Lots Road, so she would dropping Y/N off there.

When Y/N arrived at Harry's penthouse, Suzanne was in the kitchen. She bid a quick hello to her before heading to Harry's bedroom. She let out a small shriek when her eyes found Harry sprawled out in his bed just in his briefs, laid out like a starfish.

“What are you doing?” Y/N giggled, crawling to his side. Harry tilted his head towards her, “I was running while you were meeting Abbie, now I'm exhausted.”

“Why you don't take a shower?” She asked, her finger brushing off his baby hair on his forehead. She gasped when Harry flipped her body so she was on top him, hands gripping her bum.

“I was waiting for you. Maybe we can take a shower together?” He wiggled his eyebrow. Y/N snuggled to him, smothering his neck with some kisses. “I already taking the shower. Now, take your ass to the shower. And wash the sticky sweats off your body.”

“Didn't you realise you get the sticky sweat from the way you plopped down on me, darling?”

Harry let out a humoured laugh when his girlfriend whined after she had just realised. He shoved her body away gently, and walking to his bathroom. “I will be happy to waiting for you under the shower.”

And after that, he vanished into the bathroom. Y/N then sat up, looking at her both arms that now wet from Harry's sweat. In fact, she didn't want to complain because his sweat smells good. And yeah, she should take another shower because how sticky her body from his sweat.

When she walked into the bathroom, Harry's naked figure clearly visible. Although the hot steam covered the glass wall, she could see Harry's standing under the shower with his back facing her. Y/N closed the door slowly, not making any noise. She stripped down her clothes until she's naked, and join him in the shower. The way her sneaking arms hugged his torso made Harry didn't flinch at all. Like he's already expecting it.

Y/N peppering kisses on his neck, shoulder, all around his back with her fingers rubbing his stomach. She gave him kitten licks to his earlobe before sucked it, made Harry whimpered. His hands pumping his length slowly. Y/N brushed her wet hair from her face, so it wouldn't block her eyes. She bit her boyfriend's shoulder to expect leaving marks on there. She loved to claim what she had.

Her hand went down to his V-line, before grabbing his length and help him to pump it while her other hand slid up and down his nipple in teasing way.

That's it. That's the last strike. Harry couldn't let her.

Y/N squealed when Harry flipped them both, pushing her body against the wall and grab her legs so they wrapped around him. She quickly put her hands around his neck. Luckily, her back was against the glass and Harry holding her bum, keeping her legs around his waist. If not, she could slip on the slippery tile. Both of them panting quickly, she could feel her hard nipple pressed onto his toned chest. Meanwhile, his length resting it limb between her thighs.

“Thought you would come, darling.” He whispered, booping her nose with his. “What was that behaviour?”

“I just want to help my boyfriend.” She shrugged, fingers curling his back hair. Since the shower was no longer right above their head, Y/N could see Harry clearly. His soaked wet face made her fantasy went wild. She gulped as Harry pressed down his length to her centre, rubbing his tip up and down.

“Do you feel that? This is what you've done, baby.” He mumbled in her ear, “Hard and ready, only for you.”

“Only for me?” Y/N asked for recognition, her fingertips digging to his shoulder. She looked down to find Harry's length was ready. Hard, erect on its glory. Harry nodded, licking her earlobe. “Only for my baby.”

She brought his head to her, so she could crashing her lips on his. It didn't take long for their tongues to wrestle with each other. The only sound they heard was their lips ravishing each other, even the sound of the shower only sounded faint to their ears. Their body was hot, burning in flame. The hot steam made everything getting more intense.

He ran his finger over her centre, only found her sticky wetness. Harry smirked, his ego was getting high.

“You're so wet, bet it taste sweet too.” He mumbled in her lips.

Harry detached his lips from her, so he could suck her nipple while the other one being rubbed and pinched by his finger. His grip was strong enough to keep her only in one his arm. Y/N felt her centre aching, shaking... need someone to take care of it. Her moan was Harry favourite sound in the world, nothing else. She whimpered, arching her back when Harry blew air to her hard and stiffened nipples – making her grip on his hair tightened.

Without her knowing, Harry pushed his index finger inside her centre. Rolling out slowly, yet slammed hard into her. His index fingers curled up inside of her, with his middle finger joined afterwards.

“Oh, Harry. Oh!”

Harry groaned, moving his fingers in and out faster. He smashed his lips again to her, to muffled her loud moan. He could feel his length getting harder than before. His girl was trembling under his touch. He kissed her cheek before pulled his fingers out. But, her pleasure still going strong.

“Harry..”

“Not finish, baby.”

She cried when Harry teased her, rubbing her entrance with his tip. Her legs shook terribly. She wanted him so bad.

“Harry, please... please I can't– ”

“Please what, baby?” He hummed on her neck, leaving marks on his favourite spots.

Every whimper, every moans...

Harry left his marks on her neck, throat, shoulder, chest, breast...

“Beg for me, and I'll give you what you want.”

“I need you, please. I need you inside of me, right now, baby.”

“Uh-huh, you forget something.” He shook his head, smirking.

“I need you to fuck me, ravish me, do whatever your heart desire.” She whined.

“Oh, fuck!”

Y/N choked when Harry slid in his length in only one move. Sometimes it surprised her; the way her body quickly adjusted to his size inside of her, he was huge and thick, it was never enough for her to feel him. Harry paused for a moment before moving his precious length.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He hissed, placing his forehead on her with hands gripping her bum.

“Move, H.”

Her words always being his command. It was what always Harry said to her.

He slowly rolled in and out, palms still gripping her bum. They both moaned wildly. Y/N clutched Harry's shoulder while he dropped his head to hers. She cried every time Harry was pulling out then slammed into her, pushed his length deeper as he could.

Y/N felt she was getting close, her full cunt trembled from the way Harry rolled his length. She squinted her eyes, breath panting wildly.

“I'm close, H. Oh my god.. Oh!”

“You wanna cum? Cum for me, baby. Cum on me, please.”

Harry still rocking wildly into her, meanwhile, the girl in front of him was shuddering. From the way Y/N arched her back, he knew she was about to come. In just a few seconds, he felt she came on him. He could feel her wetness smeared on his length.

“Harry...”

He groaned, hearing her soft yet exhausted voice whispering into his ear. His brows furrowed, mouth parting. He shut his eyes closed, feeling himself getting close. Y/N cried out of the how fast he rocked her, the way he slammed back and forth made her wanted to pass out anytime. Before Harry got the chance, he slid out of her on time – seeing his thick cum squirted from his tip all over her and him. Slowly, he lowered Y/N legs, quickly support her body because he knew how weak her legs were.

“Thank you, baby.” He smiled, kissing her cheek. “That was amazing.”

“It was.. better than the one we had in the bathtub.” She sighed, “My back was sore due to clashing down the bathtub tile.”

“So, looks like bathtub sex is the last on the list?” Harry just laughing, “C'mon, let's clean our body.”

“I can't even stand properly, H.” Y/N pouted, hand still on his shoulder. Harry looked down her trembling legs, “All right, just hold onto me.”

. .

Please excuse some errors.

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izupie · 6 years ago

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1, 5, 13, 23, 33, 39 with Tokoyami x Tsuyu!! Don't have to do all of them, because frankly I'd be happy with any of them! One of my favorite authors writing stuff about one of my favorite (and disappointingly underrated) ships?? Yes please!!

Oh booyy, wow! No, I love the excuse to talk about some good bird frog content~

And aaa thank you! /// Admittedly, these two have very little canon content to use so this will be a Very Deep Dive into the headcanon void, hope you don’t mind~

you: You don’t have to do all of them

me: no I’m gonna

woah this needs a read more I wrote wayyy more than I intended //wheeze//

1. - How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?

Tsuyu doesn’t like the cold when she sleeps, so she always slept under a thick duvet and even piled blankets on top of that too. Tokoyami has never been a very good sleeper and he suffers from insomnia from time to time. Even though they started with very different sleeping habits, both of them are so adaptable that they made it work when they moved it together: Tsuyu got rid of the extra blankets on top of the duvet, and instead got thicker pyjamas, while Tokoyami began to find that Tsuyu’s slow, regular, sleepy breathing lulled him to sleep. They still like their own space in bed, so they sleep on their own sides of it, but Tsuyu sometimes strokes Tokoyami’s feathers before she falls asleep and he holds her hand gently until he falls asleep too. They wake up most mornings still holding hands.

She says good night and good morning to Dark Shadow every day too.

Tokoyami actually brushes Tsuyu’s long hair while they’re getting ready for the day. It’s a very intimate act, and she wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it, but Tokoyami’s hands are gentle and patient and he would never hurt her. She makes him a coffee every morning, with lots of milk. (She would never ruin his image and tell everyone just how milky he has his coffee).

5. - Nicknames? Pet names? Any in-jokes?

Tsuyu tells everyone to call her Tsu, including Tokoyami. She never quite manages to get him to do it for a long while, but he slips up one day and does and it makes her day. He gets embarrassed about it but it makes her so happy that he bashfully calls her Tsu from then on.

She affectionately calls Tokoyami ‘Fumi’ (a shortening of his first name) or whispers a pet name of ‘Tori’ to him when they’re alone (the Japanese word for Bird).

She can keep such a straight face that an in-joke between them is that she’ll sometimes come out with something Dark Shadow has told her about Tokoyami with her best poker face, even if it’s something totally bizarre. ‘But Dark Shadow told me you can only eat spinach on a Tuesday, if you’re wearing something pink, and you’ve sang to it first.’

Dark Shadow always goes along with whatever Tsuyu says. ‘IT’S TRUE’ it’ll add no matter what outlandish thing she’s proclaimed it told her.

It’s like, the weirdest humour and their friends Do Not Get It, but they both think it’s hilarious. Tokoyami laughs so hard and blushes when it’s something embarrassing, even if it’s made up, and squishes her squishy cheeks. She grins like a champion every time. She’ll just come out with it totally randomly, so he never knows when or what the next crazy statement she’ll come out with is - delivered with a totally straight face before she cracks up at his reaction.

He still does his over-the-top darkness related descriptions for things, but Tsuyu also joins in. They both chuckle at that too.

13. - What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?

The two of them go sightseeing often - they’re both actually very trendy, even though they don’t try, they just have really good fashion sense - so they look like a really cool couple when they’re out at tourist spots having ice cream and soaking in the atmosphere and the history.

Tsuyu also loves watching movies, wrapped in a duvet, in Tokoyami’s arms. They discuss the film in depth afterwards. Tokoyami cries at really emotional films, though Tsuyu is sworn to secrecy about it, and she’ll chuckle and wipe away his tears afterwards.

23. - How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

Tokoyami hugs like he’s never going to let go, sometimes Dark Shadow joins into the hug too, while Tsuyu hugs like it’s a gentle precious thing and he can’t stand how much he loves her when she gives him a soft little squeeze. They’re not into PDA so they don’t hug while they’re out and about - it’s very much a private thing. Unless you knew them and their little nuances towards each other you probably wouldn’t know that they were a couple at all.

Kissing is hard with a beak and sometimes Tokoyami can feel bad that he can’t kiss his partner like everyone else - especially when they see other ‘normal’ couples. Tsuyu absolutely hates that he ever feels that way and can’t stress to him enough that she loves him just as he is, exactly how he is, and wouldn’t change him for anything in the whole world. She kisses the side of his beak, though he can’t really feel it, but prefers kissing the soft downy feathers just next to his beak. Which he loves.

Or she’ll kiss the human soft skin of his chest, which is much more sensitive due to the lack of feathers. He loves that even more.

Tsuyu likes to be held and feel the warmth of his body, since hers doesn’t regulate temperature very well because of her froggyness.

He gets embarrassed at first that he nibbles at her shoulder or hand or just inside the curve of her neck with his beak when they’re being close - because it’s a birdy impulse he just can’t shake. (have you ever owned birds? that nibbly thing they do is so freaking cute I swear)

Tokoyami is so bad at handling flirting, which is hilarious because he’s usually so collected and doesn’t say much, but Tsuyu flirts with him and he just melts, while she is cooler than cool and never looks phased. She usually just says what’s on her mind and it comes out like flirting. (Tsu: moonlight sets off your eyes you know, kero. Like stars in the night, shining out of your dark feathers. Tokoyami, voice cracking: thAnKS YOu toO)

In terms of comfort, Tsuyu is so grounded and sensible that she often internalises any worry or guilt and it ends up playing on her mind until she can’t contain it anymore and she’ll just break down into tears. Tokoyami gets particularly good at spotting when she’s holding something back or keeping bad emotions inside - just knowing when her look is more distracted than usual, or her smile is a fraction ‘off’ - and he gently asks her to share it with him. She’s so used to shouldering her burdens alone that it takes her a long time to be able to come to him for reassurance, though she’s always glad when she does because he’s also so level-headed and practical that she always feels much better afterwards.

Tokoyami is always, always harbouring secret fears of what he could do to her if he let his quirk get out of control. Tsuyu loves Dark Shadow, because it’s a part of him, but he can never forget the nightmare of what happened at the training camp. Tsuyu bought a night light for their room that comes on automatically at night, but never made a fuss about it, just bought it and installed it and neither of them have ever brought it up. For someone who’s essence is to be more powerful in the dark it makes him uneasy that he’s so unwilling to be immersed in it when he’s around her - so worried for her safety and the thought that he’d be unable to live with himself if he ever did anything to her. She trusts him beyond a shadow of a doubt (puns?) and knows he doesn’t need the night light, but if it makes him feel better she’ll go with it.

33. - What kind of presents do they get each other? Do they only do it on special occasions?

Tsuyu is all about handmade presents. She’s actually quite crafty, so she’s usually sticking things together or whipping out the glitter glue. Presents from her are unique and all about the person she’s making it for - you didn’t know you needed a new pen pot? Here’s a glittery one. Or a peg basket with tissue paper flames around it for those times you need to put the washing out and don’t have anywhere to store your pegs. A feathery dream-catcher weighed down by a ton of beads? She’s gotcha covered. Her hands are large due to her quirk, but she can be super delicate with them. Their house ends up full of craft items, and Tokoyami treasures each one.

He gets her all sorts of ‘thought of you’ gifts while he’s out. But it’s usually stuff like a notebook with a frog on it, or a frog pen, or a pebble that kind of looked like a frog’s face. They end up with all sorts of frog themed bits and pieces around the house. It’s a real eclectic kind of mixture. Tsuyu smiles like he’s brought her the world every time he gets her one of these little froggy gifts.

39. - Who initiated the relationship? Who kissed who first? When did they realize they were in love?

Tsuyu was the one who initiated the relationship. They’d been put together for a few group assignments throughout their time at school and really loved working as a team, so by their third year they just started hanging out together outside of class. Their personalities complimented each other so well. Tsuyu got teased by Mina one day for the amount of time she was spending with Tokoyami outside of school and she just totally without even missing a beat replies that it’s because she’s in love with him and her friends are just like Oh Wow, No Hesitation. When they suggest she should do something about it it’s the first time they ever see her truly bashful and a little unsure.

Tokoyami remains blissfully unaware that he has Feelings for Tsuyu, despite Dark Shadow teasing him about it relentlessly.

One evening she’s adding more feathers into her scrapbook than is really necessary and she just gets up from her desk, goes to his room, knocks on the door and just straight up tells him that she really likes him and would he like to go out with her? He is emotionally floored by this completely out of nowhere reveal and manages to choke out that he really likes her too and yes of course.

It was a realisation of ‘I really enjoy spending time with this person, I actively seek them out and I have this warm feeling when I’m around them, I’m obviously in love’ for Tsuyu while for Tokoyami it was her knocking on his door and him going ‘THAT’S what this feeling is’ while Dark Shadow internally is like Of Course You Dumbass.

Their first kiss is after a particularly tough team exam. They actually fail the exam and they’re both exhausted and Tokoyami is about to apologise and she just puts a hand to his beak and kisses his cheek. A really innocent first kiss, but full of emotion.

#tokotsuyu #holy moly that got long #tokoyami x tsuyu #bnha #izu replies #headcanons #mha headcanons

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 3 years ago

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I know it's a stupid question, but what do the numbers mean (I'm talking about your last post)? Anyway, I'm happy you wrote something new! Can't wait for the new chapter to come out!

Thanks, I'm happy too XD

Also, I had to answer many, many absolutely stupid questions in my life 🌚 and this is not even close to being one, no worries!

So, when I started writing this FF years ago, I opened up a file called "Snippets" to collect little pieces of writing (some are just a sentence, others a few pages long). Dialogues, descriptions, etc. Just so that I don't forget them and because writing them down is funnier than just making a note with "X has to talk about Y with Z" or sth. It's also good to just write down the "perfect" wording for something when I just got a grasp on it, etc. The numbers are there because I enumerate every snippet I make! I've made 343 so far^^

I share pieces of those pieces every now and then. (Not (usually) the entire thing because it would give away too much otherwise.)

They are more ideas than set pieces though, and a lot of those snippets are outdated now.

No matter how outdated or bad, I never delete a snippet though (I don't even edit them in the Snippets file itself; as soon as I start the next one, the previous one is "locked"). Reading the first few makes me shudder. The first ~30 or so are for the trash.

Examples under the cut if someone's interested.

#34 is a relatively mild outdated case because, while it did end up in Ch19, it only ended up there very heavily edited. (Well, the idea stayed, at least.)

“Oh, what´s inside of this one?” Cedric pointed at one of the presents – a little rectangular suitcase made of dark wood.

Cloudia frowned at it. “Well... I´m not sure... Let´s see.” She walked towards it and carefully opened it while Cedric nearly died of curiosity.

When Cloudia had opened the case and looked inside, her eyes widened and horror fell all over her face.

“Are you alright?” Cedric asked her, confused and worried.

She stared at the something inside the case for another second before slamming the lid shut and locking the case.

“I´ll be right back,” Cloudia told him, taking the case by its handle. “Don´t destroy anything until I´m back.”

With these words, Cedric was left alone in her anteroom ‒ never to find out what was inside this mysterious box.

(#34 is so old, I still used the ´ apostrophe. Yikes.)

Other times, I can just copy-paste the snippet into its intended chapter without many changes though. Like #286 which ended up in Curious Disappearance. Here's the entire thing before edits btw:

“Considering how you are and that you inherited your god-awful job from your father, I’m sort of glad that I never got to meet him.”

Vincent leaned back and chuckled. “You really cannot use me as a ‘the apple does not fall wide from the tree’-example when it comes to my father. If you met him and me separately and without knowing our names, you would never guess we were related. I take more after my mother in appearance and in many aspects of personality as well. Franny looks more like him, but the resemblance is not as overt. The same applies to personality: She resembles him more than I do in this regard too, but not that much. He was, therefore, in many ways different from us. Father was a very pleasant person to have around, and I know that what you are thinking right now: ‘Of course, Phantomhive is saying that! He thinks the worst people are pleasant to have around.’ But I am quite sure that you would have liked him, even if only a little bit. I mostly think, though, that you would be quite startled.”

#334 (XD) will be an easy copy-paste with minimal edits too! It's for the third-to-last chapter of the current arc :))

#asks #anon #snippets #I also can't wait for the next chapter XD #(very sorry for all those overly long answers 🙈)

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stillpartofthisworld · 7 years ago

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Synopsis: Angus learns first-hand the risks of his career and begins a new one. Taako isn’t happy.

(I deserve to burn for what I’ve written….)

Story under the cut! Note: Major character death

"You gonna need this gift wrapped?"

Taako snaps out of his daze and brings his attention to the small human girl in front of him. She was holding a book in her hands- the newest installation of the Caleb Cleveland: Kid Cop series. For a moment, Taako wonders why he's there. In a small, cozy bookshop, looking down at a girl who defo needs some face cream, those pimples are just-

"Sir? You alright?"

Oh .

The world finally sews itself back together, memories clicking into place as Taako waves his hand in the universal "no" gesture.

I'm not alright.

"Nah, no gift wrapping for me, hombre. How much is the kid book?"

She tells him and he pays, giving her a tip because that's what he felt like doing today, not because of the understanding look she gives him, or the casual slide of the tissue box that he clearly did not need (he wasn't about to ruin his eyeliner for anything). He gives her a few extra gold and even the name of a good cleanser (it'll do magic, honey, no pun intended-) because that's what he felt like doing as he exited the small shop and put on his sparkling frame sunglasses, even though the sky was overcast with clouds. It was a fine day, he told himself, and he was doing just fine as he headed over to Lucretia’s house.

---

Lucretia's modest cottage is sometimes referred to as a "safe house".

It's a quaint little place, all brick and class-the same things Lucretia herself was probably made out of. Most of the actual property is a green space, filled with forest and meadow and a small greenhouse for Merle's more...interesting specimens. It's also quite close to the Neverwinter Grand Library, Lucretia's only pride and joy on the prime material plane. She spent an unholy amount of time there, only coming home for a change of clothes and to chastise the guests who use her home as a sort of vacation house.

She spends a lot of time at home now.

Taako slips in through the kitchens back door with a key that hangs fashionably around the neck of his hat. It's one of the few copies Lucretia had made for the IPRE crew, along with a few others. Through the years, her home became sort of like the Starblaster all over again, filled with Lup's laughter, Davenport's postcards, Lucretia’s writing, Magnus's hugs, Merle's dances and Barry's stammer. It was what "home" meant to them now, even when they each had an apartment, a bungalow or a lab somewhere else on the continent. It was where they truly came together again and lived, making up for the lost time through closeness and touch and sight.

It was now also home to whispers and deep sighs, which Taako could hear all the way from the other side of the house.

"...worried about him, Magnus. He's been like this since..."

"...seems to be getting a bit better. He was able to get up yesterday, wasn't he?"

"The symptoms aren't...we can't wait for Lup and Barry forever. He can't wait-"

"He's a strong boy, 'Creesh. He already seems to be on the mend."

"So were you. All those years ago, so were you. "

The voice cracks and dissolves into muffled sobs. Taako hears Magnus's footsteps as he gets up and hugs Lucretia tight, as if he could shield her from the fate of the boy that lay in bed a floor above them.

The same boy Taako was going to see now.

The wooden steps didn't creak under his light weight as he sneaks past the pair and tiptoes up the cedar staircase. Even from this distance, he can hear the boy's labored breathing as he fights a losing battle for his life. Each breath, each step assails the wizard with memories, memories of how, exactly, this all came to pass.

The memory of Angus, dirty but whole, screeching and jumping into Taako's arms when they finally land back on the material plane in the Starblaster.

The memory of Angus's face, stricken but resigned, as the crew starts to decide how to restart and rebuild on this broken continent.

The memory of his cherubic, beaming grin as Magnus offers to take him in, with Taako appearing every so often for impromptu magic lessons.

The memory of a boy slowly but surely maturing into a young man, to the point where Taako isn't even sure exactly when Angus came to be his height, or when he was able to cast level eight spells like it was nothing. He, unlike most teenagers, never adopted a sullen or snappy temperament. Taako is almost sad that this never happened. Almost.

The memory of Angus, now seventeen years of age, taking on a case of a mysterious death by apparent poison. He enlists the help of Lup and Barry for this task, reportedly sending them samples of blood and plants every so often.

The memory of Magnus showing Taako the note Angus left him, detailing that he had found the murderer and would be capturing him during a train ride to Rockport. Back soon, he wrote.

The memory of Angus in a hospital, seizing and shivering violently as Merle tries to draw the poison out of his system. The culprit is gone in a wisp of ash and screams, and the authorities try to explain what had happened to a sobbing Magnus and pale Lucretia. The culprit had apparently found a new species of deadly mushroom spores. Barry and Taako both shoot a glance at Magnus.

The memory of Lup sitting Taako down in their room, telling him what they already both knew. The mushroom shares the exact same qualities as the one they had found on another plane a century before, the one Magnus had succumbed to all those lifetimes ago. Angus is not much younger than the IPRE Magnus. Lup reassures him that they are trying everything they can to create a cure. Taako smiles and high fives his sister, digging his feet into the floor in an attempt to stop them from shaking.

The memory of Magnus rushing in and finding Taako curled up in a ball on his chair, dry sobs escaping him as Magnus holds him tight, nearly crushing his ribs and making him forget whether or not he's breathing.

Is he breathing?

Taako takes a breath.

He's standing outside the kid's door now. The door is never shut, never locked in fear of missing something, of missing someone. The room is dark, save for a lamp beside the bed where Angus lay. He's sitting up now, reaching for his glasses in order to make out the small figure that stood at his door frame. They were no longer the wire-rimmed, owl-eyed glasses he had worn in his childhood-these looked professional, rectangular shaped with gold frames and pieces of jade at the temples. That was Taako's gift to him on his sixteenth birthday. How happy he had looked when he looked in the box. How vibrant. How youthful.

The vibrancy he had less than a year ago has been drained from McDonald's very being. The detective looks ghastly pale, with deep purple bags under his eyes even though he had just woken up from sleep. He moves slowly, painfully, deliberately, as if living needed to be choreographed to ensure minimal pain.

Taako moves closer as the boy's eyes focus on him, and his listless features carve themselves into a deliberate smile. "Hello, Sir," he rasps weakly, waving at him with long, skeletal fingers as he grasps for a drink with his other hand, missing the glass on his nightstand by a mile.

Taako waves his wand. The glass gently lowers itself into Angus's outstretched palm, the water from the pitcher floating up from its vessel to fill the glass. Angus smiles and takes a sip, clearing his throat as he settles himself into a cross-legged position. The light green shirt that used to be barely his size now hangs free from his body, his legs still covered by the heavy duvet. He seems to get chills often. It also seems to be summer.

Taako breathes.

"Hey there,kid," he says as he ruffles the kid's hair. "Guess what your dude bought you?" He puts the book behind his back and flashes him a smirk when he sees Angus's face scrunch into a small scowl at his words. "I'm not a kid, sir," he protests, which only makes Taako want to call him a kid even more. "And I already know you got me the next Caleb Cleveland novel. Your hand tapping gives it away.” Angus pauses, bringing up information catalogued in that huge brain of his. “Are you nervous, sir? You always hand tap things when you're nervous.”

Damn. The kid’s dying and can still read him like a book.

Hesnotdyinghesnotdyinghesjustsick-

“Why would I be nervous, bubbleh? I'm just giving you a hint.” He flashes him a sly smile, as if he had planned everything in advance while handing him the book. Angus, to his credit, just rolls his eyes and accepts the gift, his frail arms straining to carry the weight of two pounds of writing. A memory assails the elf-one of Angus challenging a slightly drunk Magnus to a pushup competition and carrying the weight of both Davenport and Merle on his back before collapsing in a heap of laughter and sweat, glasses pushed up to the top of his head. The boy had loved to show off his strength to the rest of them, especially when they treated him like the ten year old they had met so long ago on a train to Rockport. Humans-so quick to age. So quick to die.

But never quite this quick. Never quite so young.

Angus pushes his glasses up his nose and winces uncrossing his legs and letting himself sink farther back into the bed. The book had already been set on his lap, and judging by the dazed yet determined expression the human had, he was set on reading it all before he fell asleep again, something he was now prone to doing (Magnus used to doze off at the most inopportune times when they were on that planet. They thought he would be killed by his sleeping spells before the poison took him). He saw the boy’s hands dance along the cover of the book, excited to read the newest adventure of the character he had strived to be like for years. He also saw the pain and weariness that coursed through his body, as if living needed to be choreographed to minimize pain, and he had stumbled on a number he did not know.

Taako takes a breath.

“Wanna hear a bedtime story kid?”

He casts a feeble Mage Hand, picking the book up from the human’s lap and flipping it open to the first page. He looks up to see Angus staring at him, a myriad of emotions swirling beneath his dark pupils. He could see some happiness, yes; through the way his eyes crinkled at the idea of being read to at such an age, and the way the boy said “Thank you, sir!” as if he had just saved the kid's life.

But mostly, all he saw was weariness.

Angus was tired.

So, so tired.

The thought stays with him as he begins to read aloud, watching the child sink into his bed and slowly close his eyes. The only indication that he was awake was the regular expansion of his chest and the way his mouth quirked upward when Taako uses different voices for characters. After a while, Taako forgets to look at the boy every so often, losing himself between the pages of a book that both of them are too old to read. It's a welcome distraction, and Taako doesn't even notice when the boy's breaths start to even out and deepen.

He does notice his name being whispered from the back of the room.

“Taako?”

He turns around to see Kravitz.

The reaper is still in the smart suit of his profession, the only flashes of colour being in the blood red of his tie and the gold bands that adorned his hair (both which were obviously chosen by none other than Taako himself). He has a clipboard in hand, and he glances down at it briefly before looking back at the wizard. He looks absolutely stricken as he whispers Taako’s name again, causing the elf to put down the novel and tilt his hat backward to see him in full.

“‘'Suuuuup, babe,” he shout-whispers. “You finished work early today.”

Kravitz swallows, his Adams apple bobbing visibly in his throat. “N-not yet, exactly.” His voice still carries a Cockney accent, growing fainter by the day as Lup bullies him about it during work hours. He only uses it on solo missions now. Taako swings his feet and gets off the chair, gently setting the book on Angus's nightstand, not taking his eyes off Kravitz for a second. “Aww,” he cooes, striding over and straightening the reaper’s suit, smoothing the collar as he asks “Did you miss me? Your boss isn’t going to like it if you skimp on work just for lil’ol’me.”

Kravitz looks down at him and for the first time in his life, Taako can't read his facial expression. The reaper brings his hands up to his chest and curls them around the elf’s, sending shivers down his spine and for a second Taako nearly loses his balance, caught in the riptide of both fear and excitement as he watched Kravitz try to find the words to say in a moment he has no name for-

“Taako,” The words are slow, hesitant and Kravitz drops off for a bit before swallowing again and continuing. “Could you cast Blink?”

What?

Taako overrides his confusion with an arrogant eyebrow raise. “That's a spell slot, babe,” he says, splaying his fingers on Kravitz's chest because dammit, that kid was right, I really do tap my fingers - “Mind telling me what for?”

“You’ll know when you cast it.”

The tone is enough to get Taako untangled from his grasp and ready the spell, fear coming over him in a cascade as his eyes begin to close, memories nearly a century old dripping into his brain like ink of monsters-

Of eyes-

Of darkness-

Blink.

The world seems to bleed in front of Taako’s eyes, slowly yet instantly losing their color and tangibility around him. His body does a quick 360, an instinct instilled in him from years of scanning, spotting, scaring, running-

He does not find the Hunger (how could he, how could he).

He finds something much, much worse.

“Hello, Sir.”

Angus McDonald sits on the edge of his bed.

The boy detective looks better than he has in months. His sickly posture and demeanor are nonexistent, and he slides off the bed and walks toward Taako with the ease a young man should carry, as if living was a wild dance without choreography. His glasses are gone too, although he does paw at his shirt for a second, looking for them although he doesn’t really need them now, does he? He comes and stands in front of Taako, hands in his pockets and a sheepish grin on his face.

“Ango?” Taako looks at him, blinking. “You can’t be here.Did you use a spell slot in that condition, kid?”

Angus looks at his mentor, the sheepish smile watering down into something a bit sadder, a bit regretful. “I didn’t need to this time, Sir. Apparently, you can Blink into the ethereal plane...or you can just die.” His gaze shifts away from Taako, settling on a figure behind him. “Isn’t that right, Kravitz?”

Taako turns and sees his boyfriend in all his monochrome glory, nervously glancing between the two mortals. He looks a bit guilty, Taako realizes. Like he had known this was going to happen. Kravitz sees the realization dawning on his face and sighs, flipping pages on his clipboard. “Angus McDonald, seventeen years of age, dead by poison aftereffects.” He looks at Angus, who nods imperceptibly and Kravitz clears his throat to read the last line. “Slated to become a reaper under the guidance of Her Worship, the Raven Queen.”

Silence.

“Ok, what .”

Taako gestures at Angus. “This kid. Is seventeen. Seventeen! That isn't even half a century yet! And you're telling me he’s dead?”

“Sir, I did die of poison.”

“You were getting better, Ango. I heard Lucy talking about you downstairs.”

“She's certainly not going to be happy with a dead body in her house, is she?” Angus smirks a bit and Taako stares at him, exasperated.

“Is this a phase for you, kid?” Taako leans in and pokes Angus’s chest, his heart dropping as his finger actually meets flesh. He keeps going. “Are you finally going all emo on us? Death isn't a good thing, boy, take it from someone who’s been there, done that .”

“Hey,” Kravitz mutters, but Taako ignores him.

“Listen,” His voice drops, his voice drops in that way it only does when he's negotiating, when he's bargaining, when he's desperate. “The Raven Queen owes us, like, a bajillion favours. I'm sure we can get her to overlook a soul.”

“And go back into my body?” A flash of pain goes through Angus’s eyes, and for a second Taako regrets not thinking of all the suffering this child has gone through in his fragile human body. “No, thank you.”

“We still have Barry’s body-making thingamajig.” He could practically hear Barry now, chiding him and telling him to “stop referring to the blah-blah-blah as a thingamajig!, but the thought of his family still gives him a small dose of confidence. They had outwitted death over a hundred times; they could do it once more.

“That takes months to work.” Angus points out. (Kravitz mutters something about breaking the whole damn rulebook, but they both ignore him.) He's about to open his mouth again when Angus puts a hand on his shoulder. “Taako,” He says, and for some reason Angus suddenly looks much, much older than seventeen. “Thank you for thinking about me, I-I really appreciate it. But I've known that I've been dying for weeks now. I've settled my accounts and everything-my will is in my nightstand drawer, take that to Lucretia by the way-and I got Kravitz to secure me a job so, so I'm not really gone, sir. I'll just be a while.”

Taako feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

He's felt it before, when he saw Magnus taken over by darkness as the Starblaster flew away all those years ago. He felt it every single time his sister died, when she became something other with her lover to save them all. He felt it multiple times here, even when his mind was split and his memories fractured. He felt it every single damn time he looked at Lucretia's face.

“Don't patronize me, kid,” he mutters and knocks his hand off of his shoulder, tipping his hat down to shade his face. “Fine, go. Don't blame me if Lup makes you work your ass off.”

Angus is silent for a beat before breaking into a beaming grin and enveloping Taako in a bear hug. The elf goes stiff in his arms but allows this to happen, trying to remember the paper-and-blood smell the detective had when he was alive and ignoring Kravitz and his nervous habit of twirling his scythe. “Don't worry about me, sir!” he says and Taako nearly says “Screw it,” and shoots Kravitz for even daring to take this one good thing away from him but he doesn't, he merely nods and says “Good luck with reaper training, homie,”

And just like that he's gone, walking side by side with Kravitz and the spell wears off, Taako appearing back onto the material plane 10 feet from where he cast, sinking back into the chair beside Angus’s dead body. It's only been minutes, primary flaccidity already setting in but other than that he looks as if he's just sleeping.

Taako stares at him for a long time.

He should probably move, go downstairs and tell the rest of them the news, give Lucretia his will and assure them that he was coming back to annoy them all as a reaper in probably, like, a week but he just sits there, stewing in the cool darkness of the room before a knock echoes and Lucretia comes in, balancing a tray of food in one hand.

“Angus?” she says and stops when she sees Taako. “Taako? What are you-” She reads his expression and her face goes slack, hands moving up to her mouth as the food tray hits the floor with a loud crash.

“No.” She says, and the sorrow in her voice is like a jolt of electricity, racing down his spine and restarting his heart and mind as they both process the still body lying on the bed.

“No, is he-?”

“He's a reaper, now, Lucy, calm down.” He’s by her side in an instant, holding her by the elbows because she'll crumple to the ground if he doesn't, just as she did every year Magnus died on the Starblaster even though she knew he'd be back and dammit, he's feeling a bit shaky as well.

“Were you-” she swallows, drawing her eyes away from the bed and towards him, and in that moment he felt nothing but pity and compassion towards her, like all those times when they would drink tea and mourn together in those horrible cycles where both Magnus and Lup died, the vitality of the group drained with their nonexistence.

“Were you there for it?”

“The kid knew his time was coming, Lucretia. He even left a will for you, we talked in his ghostsona.” She chokes back a sob and he sighs, rubbing her back. “You did everything you could, Lucy,” he mutters, feeling the vibrations of the wood floor as Magnus rushes up the stairs, probably to investigate the loud crash. “You always do,” he says and suddenly Magnus is there, he's there and he's staring at Angus and it looks like he's reliving his own death all over again. He reaches for the two of them and they let him envelop them in his arms, all of them shaking as they take in and truly realize that death wasn't something they had the luxury of running from anymore.

He's back a week after his funeral, already able to hold a scythe casually in one hand and look through files with the other. He's back and he looks healthy and happy, talking about his new job looking through the special cases that hadn't been solved yet (“He's already Big Momma’s fave,” Lup teases and Angus blushes before clapping back, “Is it because I can actually do my job?”. The whole group explodes into laughter, even as Lup pulls up her sleeves and Barry has to physically hold her back from fighting him.).

He's back, and he's happy and Taako tells himself that's all that matters, but when the boy reaper puts his arms around him and he's cold, unbearably cold Taako nearly crumples in his arms and cries, wanting to tell him that he was sorry, he should have protected him somehow, he should have saved him somehow from death but he just smirks and calls him “boy icepack” before retiring into the kitchen and whipping up some mean ceviche.

Because sometimes, it's all you can do.

#the adventure zone #the adventure zone fanfic #taako and kravitz #taako and angus #angus mcdonald #taz fic #taz angst fic #taz angst #taz balance

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