#Fading Color Tattoo near me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silentglassbreak · 8 months ago

Note

Please please , write something. Noah and Lily, she is designer and painter, they are working together on design for new album or merch, or something like that. She is redhead, have freckles, have a lot of tattoos, like to wearing skirts and sundresses. thank you! I love your work so so much 💔💔🥲

Bb you are my first ask! So, naturally, you have my undying love and affection for eternity!

Also, this physical description is giving me such inspiration. My best friend has a very similar physical appearance, so this will be fun!! (I just finished this and OMG this got away from me. I did not intend for this to be this long...I really got into this one. I hope you enjoy!)

So let’s get into this, shall we?

Rating: Mature (for language)

Warnings: None.

Into The Ocean

What did I think would happen when I moved to New York City? That I would get here, put a few paintings in some galleries, and suddenly I’d be making millions? How fucking insane am I?

My inner monologue continued as I catatonically stirred my bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes, moping heavily.

It had been six months since I moved here on a whim and a breath of a dream, thinking that with my ‘sparkling personality’, ‘adorably good looks’, and ‘raw talent’ I’d be a success so quick. These days, however, I spent a lot of time wishing I had stayed back home in Hartford, in my Mom’s two bedroom home, with my dog and my normalcy.

No, couldn’t be me. I had to go off with delusions of grandeur, and get myself a full time job as a desk girl at a law firm (which sucked), and had virtually no time to paint like I wanted. My studio apartment in Queens was big enough for me; a bed, a small table, and my paint supplies. I had a clothes rack for my small wardrobe, and a television on the wall adjacent to my bed. My minimal belongings were strewn haphazardly around with no real method. It felt much like my life - off kilter.

Frustrated, I decided to get off the bed, still holding my bowl, and stared at the cereal floating sadly in the milk. It looked so pathetic, the same as I felt.

My eyes wandered to the floor, then the edge of the bed, and eventually to the right of it, where the seven-foot by four-foot canvas sat.

I had that particular canvas since my first day here in New York. I swore that canvas would hold my best work. The piece that would change everything for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t touch it until I was certain I knew what it would be, and was ready.

But now? Staring at it? It mocked me. Day in, day out, it reminded me that I was just another struggling artist in this God forsaken jungle of a city made of concrete and exploitation. It laughed at me. It told me I had failed.

Without realizing it, my arm shot the bowl in my hand clear across the room, the milk and flakes splattering all over my bed, and eventually spraying the canvas. It left a sickly gray hue against the stark white vastness behind it, giving me a sense of anger. A sense of rage.

Climbing up onto my bed, my feet digging into the mattress while I reached for the shelf above it, grabbing random paints from the bowl they lived in. I hastily twisted the caps off of each, my breathing becoming frantic as I felt the sudden anxiety surge through me.

Once the tubes were open, I didn’t bother with my palette, or my brushes, I just squeezed the tubes, three in each hand, until they all sprayed like firehoses over the canvas, all in varying shades of blue and black. I hadn’t even realized I only grabbed blue and black paint.

Finally, after several minutes of raging, smearing paint across the canvas with no structure, using my palms and fingers, I stepped back. The anger and fire in my chest had dulled. I took a step back, and caught a glimpse of myself in my wall-length mirror across the room, and cringed.

Navy blue paint streaked my pale yellow shorts and faded UC t-shirt. I had a large glob of black paint on my face near my hairline, turning that spot of my red waves a midnight color. I needed a shower.

Now that I had thoroughly ruined my clothes, bed, walls, and canvas, I elected to head for the bathroom to clean myself up before the process of cleaning my apartment.

However, as I turned away from the canvas, I caught a sight of it in my peripheral, and something in my brain sparked. The blues and blacks, which turned dark grey when mixed. The lines and swirls they fell in. The non-uniformity of it all.

Waves.

Ocean.

Chaos.

And like that, I was climbing back up on my bed, ready to finish my painting.

It was after 5AM, and I only had three hours before I had to be back at work before I finished. When I did, I gasped at what I saw in front of me.

It was superb.

The waves crashed everywhere as the moon hung low in the sky, storm clouds covering. Amidst the maelstrom that was the ocean, there was one large, beautiful, impossibly sad octopus, thrashing in the waves, bleeding from the eyes.

The octopus was a deep gray, blending but also naturally contrasting the color of the waves, deep crimson blood running from its desperate eyes.

It was painful. It was despondent. It was powerful.

This was it.

Forty-two days had passed, and I was struggling to breathe as my hands trembled where they sat in my pockets, watching the droves of people walk by me. I did my best to smooth down the skirt of my lime-green sundress and tugged at the lapels of my denim jacket. My hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving my waves to cascade down my back loosely, out of my face.

The sun above provided a warmth that was needed, but I had forgotten SPF today, which meant I would likely have a fresh batch of freckles on my cheeks to add to all the others. Today had to be the day. Something in my skin told me it did.

I had been to three art fairs, two open galleries, and a fine arts convention, trying to get something, anything sold.

Three days after I finished my piece, I was told that Burgen & Black no longer needed my position, so this was all I had right now. This, and the three hundred dollars my mom loaned me when I told her I was a little short on rent.

Rent wouldn’t be an issue soon if I didn’t sell anything, as cardboard boxes are real cheap.

This open fair was in Central Park, mid-September, so it was comfortable outside. The sun was getting low, causing a golden sky to reach overhead. I had been here all day, and was beginning to feel defeated.

I hadn’t sold as much as one print. One painting.

After staring at the crowds for another twenty-minutes, I finally decided to start packing up. It was a long bus ride back to Queens, and I would be too cold after dark.

Stuffing a handful of my prints into my portfolio bag, I huffed at myself, shaking my head.

Maybe it was time to go home. Maybe being an artist just wasn’t where I fit. Maybe I did need to reconsider college. It wasn’t too late. Twenty-six was an easy age, right?

“Is this all you?”

A sharp, deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts, making me spin on my heel, to see who was standing at my booth, scanning the pieces set up on the table.

The first thing I noticed was how tall he was. He had at least a foot of height on me. I noticed next that he was covered everywhere in tattoos. The long expanse of his arms that led to the bit of his chest I could see behind his tank top was littered. It made my mouth dry.

His hair was short, hidden under a ball cap, sunglasses perched on his nose.

It took me a moment of staring before I realized he had asked me a question.

“Oh, uh,” I walked back to the table, standing directly in front of him. “yeah these are my works.”

He nodded, looking down at the table and flipping fingers through the prints.

“I like them. They’re different.”

I gave my best ‘please buy this’ smile, and nodded.

“Thank you. I just paint what I feel. It helps me deal.”

He smirked. “I get that.” His eyes came back up to my face. “Not the painting. I can’t do that. But having something to help you deal? I get that.”

That’s interesting. “Yeah? What do you use to deal?”

He flashed his teeth at me. “Music.”

Oh, brother. A musician. Any awe I was feeling was dissolving. I had yet to meet one that was worth his salt in anything, let alone carrying a tune.

“Ah, well, different animal, same results?” I tried not to sound disinterested.

“How much for the prints?”

I felt my lungs tighten. Money?!

“Ten, but it’s two for eighteen.”

He smirked. “What would a hundred get me?”

If I had not caught it quick enough, my eyes would have bugged out of my head. I stifled a cough to cover up my surprise.

“Uh,” I looked around. No one had purchased one hundred dollars of my work before. Not all at once. “Seven prints? Or four prints and a canvas or two? Depends on size.”

I pointed to the side of my table, there I had a cardboard box full of canvases. He glanced over, and turned so he could see better.

With a ‘hmph’, he squatted down and looked through them, nodding at some, disregarding others.

Eventually, he came back up and had two smaller canvases perched in his hands.

A painting I had done of ravens when I was sat in a cemetery one day for inspiration, and one of a dark room that held a single bright red wood chair. That had come to me in a dream.

“Okay, and I’ll take these four prints.” He handed me the laminated copies and gave me a sweet, polite smile.

“Sounds good, it’ll be a hundred even.”

“Can you take card?” My face fell. I couldn’t handle my rent and groceries, let alone a card reader.

He must have noticed, because he raised his eyebrows.

“Got Zelle?”

I nodded, pulling my phone out, a rush of relief washing over me. I gave him my phone number, and he pulled me up, transferring a cool one hundred dollars into my account. My stomach flipped. I was halfway to rent with my borrowed cash, and I still had two weeks before it was due.

It was the first shred of hope I had felt in a while.

“Noah!” A male voice called before a shorter man bounded up, and my eyes popped open.

Nick Folio, the drummer from Bad Omens, stood in front of my table, and I just about fell over with a stroke.

My mouth was hung open, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to me who he had called for.

Folio held a plastic bag, having clearly grabbed something else from another table.

“There’s a guy selling homemade lures, dude. I bought six!” His teeth flashed in excitement, and my customer shook his head, smiling.

“You’re going to go broke buying those things.”

It was in that moment it dawned on me. That voice. Those tattoos. Those sinfully long fingers…

“Are you Noah Sebastian?” My words came out rushed, before I could stop them.

A sly grin fell over his lips. “Never heard of him.” He smoothly turned around, preparing to leave. “Thanks for the artwork.”

Folio gave me a small wave before following Noah. I was frozen.

I just met one half of Bad Omens. I had sold artwork to Noah Sebastian. He liked my art. I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a solid ten minutes before I could move, then packing my things and heading for the bus with my bag and box in arms, glancing around the park a few times for a familiar ball cap and forbidden fruit tattoo.

Nine days have passed since I unexpectedly met Noah Sebastian and Nick Folio, and it had been heavy on my mind until the stress of my rent became the reason I was laying awake at night.

With no other real resolve, my hunt for another nine-to-five not getting very far, I found myself trekking back to Central Park, ready to set up another table. I had fresh prints, and a dozen new canvasses to hopefully sell.

Now that we had crossed the threshold into October, the air was becoming more brisk. Today, I had elected to wear a floor-length forest green skirt with a white crop top, my black zip hoodie keeping my arms warm.

Today was more lively, giving me the opportunity to sell six prints and four canvasses by noon. I had made my rent, and was working on the power bill next. I had slightly raised my prices, given my circumstances, but I justified it with the need to survive.

Did I expect to run into him again? Not at all. In fact, I had convinced myself that my once in a lifetime chance to meet him had passed, and I should be excited about it. I was a Bad Omens fan, and had been since their second album. Their style of music was absolutely cathartic for me, giving me inspiration on more than one occasion while painting.

So, imagine my surprise, when I heard the same deep, smooth voice while I was reorganizing my canvasses.

“Back again?” This time, he wore a hoodie, beanie over his hair, and no sunglasses. His eyes were so big, so brown. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

I snorted. “Me? I could say the same to you?”

He leaned his hand on the table, smiling down at where I was crouched in front of my box.

“Selling a lot?”

Triumphantly grinning, I stood up, leaning my palms on the table. “Actually, yeah. It’s been weird. Central Park isn’t normally a hot spot for me, but today has been great!”

There was a flash of thirty-two stunning teeth, and I held myself upright.

“Maybe the word is spreading?”

“Maybe. Going to buy anything today?”

Raising a row, he scanned the table, tapping on one print. “This one is nice. How much?”

“Fifteen.”

His head snapped up, bewildered look on his face.

“It was ten last week?”

A sheepish blush crept over my face, and I tried to be sweet, brushing some of my loose hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, uh,” I couldn’t look right at him. “I had to raise the price a little. Living cost’s a bitch.” I shrugged.

He looked absolutely amused. “I see.” He pulled his phone out, and began tapping at something I couldn’t see. Afterwards, he picked up the print he chose, and gave me a two finger salute.

“Thanks a lot, Red.”

I smirked, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it for now and approached a young couple who had walked over to my table. I did, however, watch as Noah left, making his way straight out of the park, not stopping at any other tables.

Finally home, I flopped down on my bed, and let my eyes fall closed for just a moment. I had called it early, feeling exuberant and deciding I deserved an afternoon to just relax, not painting, not trying to find a job, just snacking and watching Netflix.

Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I sat up, seeing some missed messages and scrolling through my notifications.

When I came to the last one, I nearly dropped my phone.

Zelle Notification: Noah Davis sent you $100.

My jaw dropped. He only bought one print. Why would he give me so much? He must have done it by mistake.

I bit my lip, bothered. I felt guilty, as if I had stolen the money from him. People were generous, but no one was that generous...right?

Staring at my Zelle account, I took a deep breath, and tapped on the transaction, pulling up the details. My finger hovered over Noah's name, wondering if I'd just get his email. After counting three calculated breaths, I finally tapped it, and a phone number flashed under the name.

Oh God, I had Noah Sebastian's phone number.

It was me being a good samaritan that caused me to pull up a text thread, and begin typing a message. The voice in the back of my head screamed at me that I could just sent eighty-five dollars back, and not invade his privacy by texting him.

But...

Me: Noah?

After hitting send, I physically tossed my phone on the mattress, and pulled my knees up to my chest, breathing erratic. I sat in absolute silence, waiting. Each passing second made my soul fall. What if it wasn't his personal cell he used for Zelle? He was a somewhat celebrity, after all. Would he really just casually give his number out to a random girl in the park?

My phone chimed, and I thought my carotid was going to blow out of my neck. Shaking fingers lifted the phone.

Noah: Who is this?

No confirmation of identity, but the number worked.

I went to type a response, telling him who I was, until I realized I never gave him my name. Sure, I had signed my art, but my signature was decently illegible.

Chewing my lip, I wracked my brain for the right response.

Me: Red.

The text bubbles had turned blue, and I saw he had received and read the message, but his type signal hadn't come up yet.

I was insane, I had to be.

Noah: LOL you mean Lily?

My blood ran cold.

Me: How do you know my name?

Noah: Well, much like my own, your Zelle tells me your first and last name.

I felt like such a moron. Of course it did.

Me: Oh, LOL yeah I didn't think of that.

I typed out another message, before I forgot.

Me: You sent me too much for that print!

Noah: No I didn't.

Me: You did. You sent me $100.

Me: I can send back $85.

Noah: Don't you dare.

This made me pause, already on the Zelle screen, his message flashing as a banner on top, making my fingers halt.

Me: Noah, I can't take that from you for one print.

Noah: ...because...?

Me: Because it's way too much! I appreciate it, but I'm not comfortable with that.

He waited a few minutes, his type bubble appearing and disappearing a few times.

Noah: So I'll buy something else from you, then.

I rolled my eyes.

Me: What would you like?

Noah: You have a portfolio online?

I sighed, embarrassed. My online presence was close to nonexistent. I had an Instagram, with all of five photos on it, and they were all four months old. I didn't have a website, not having the money to create one yet.

Me: I don't, I'm sorry.

Noah: Studio I can check out?

I stared at the screen, and laughed loudly. Oh, I've got a studio alright. Just not what he's thinking of.

Me: Not exactly. I'm a very small artist. I do all of my work out of my apartment.

Noah: Which is where?

My heart sunk. No way. Not letting him in my four hundred square foot, paint covered, disarrayed apartment.

Me: Queens.

I stayed vague.

Noah: Oh yeah, I'm over in Central Park West right now.

I sighed, relieved, and slightly disappointed.

Me: I can send you some pictures of my work? I'll just need a few to take them.

Noah: Can you just FaceTime? Seems faster.

How on Earth did we get here? I was going to FaceTime with a rockstar, and show him my paintings? This couldn't be real life.

Me: Sure. Call when you're ready.

I walked over to the corner of my studio that I kept my completed works in, a sheet thrown over the large canvas in an attempt protect the paint from the sun rays. I had yet to take that one anywhere yet. I hadn't found the right venue to sell.

After about five minutes, my phone began vibrating in my hand, and I looked down to see his name flashing.

My heart was beating so frantically, I was sure it would disconnect and come out of my throat.

I swiped the call open, and held the camera at the most flattering angle I could. Once the call connected, he sat on what appeared to be a staircase, somewhere outside, same beanie on his head from earlier, and was smiling into the camera.

"Hey!"

His enthusiasm surprised me, and I waved nervously, smiling back at him.

"Hi."

"Why do you look so uneasy? Are you being held hostage or something?"

My face fell, wildly confused by his comment. "What?"

His laugh echoed through the receiver, which made this weird jittery thing happen in my stomach.

"I'm just joking. You just look uncomfortable." He pulled his beanie down more, and I swallowed dryly, trying to giggle.

"Oh, yeah. No I'm good."

He sat back, elbow resting on the step behind him. "You sure?"

I felt like we weren't getting past this point. "Can I be honest?"

He didn't respond, just gestured for me to continue.

"I'm a fan. A big fan. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous."

His smile could've illuminated a small town.

"Oh yeah?" He ran a hand over his face. "Don't be. I'm just a guy."

Feeling rebellious, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. A guy who hundreds of thousands of girls would kill to FaceTime with."

This made him blush, so he looked down. "Ah, I don't know about that."

I decided to press my luck. "I do."

He furrowed his brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? So you're just that lucky, huh?"

This made me grin, in near disbelief. "Ah, the great Noah Sebastian. Cocky, huh?"

This made him laugh again, to which I joined.

"Nah. Like, I said, I'm just a guy. Really cool to know you're a fan, though." I nodded in response. "Ever seen us live?"

I shook my head. "Cost of living's a bitch. You think I can afford concert tickets?"

He shrugged. "Fair enough, dude."

"Anyways, you want me to show you the artwork?"

He agreed, and I flipped the camera around, scanning through the various pieces I had out in the corner. At his request, I would get closer to a piece, or pull it up to the camera. I watched as his eyes would get close to the phone, analyzing each canvas.

"I really like the desert painting." He was referring to a painting I had done that was slightly more abstract of a desert with random melted items such as longhorn skulls, cacti, and pieces of driftwood. They melted into the sand below.

"Okay. That would bring your total with the print earlier to fifty, since this one is bigger."

He nodded. "Do you have anything for fifty even?"

Biting my lip, I scanned my eyes, landing on a painting I had of a black cat, perched on the edge of a pond, cleaning it's paw, a skeletal hand reaching out of the water for it. The painting was done in nearly all neon colors, which was different for me.

"This one." I held it up in the camera.

"Oh dude, that's fucking sick." He pulled back from the camera. "I'll take it."

I chuckled. "Okay, do you want me to ship them?"

I flipped the camera back around, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "To Central Park West?"

I shrugged. "I could."

"Nah. I can get them from you. I don't live in New York and I leave back home for LA this weekend."

This made my chest sink only a little. "Right, I can ship them there if you want?"

He shook his head. "Let's meet up and I can get them?" I hesitated to respond, and I swear I saw a flash of concern on his face. "Unless you've got plans or something."

This made me smirk. "We didn't even say when? How would I know if I had plans?"

He huffed out a laugh, grabbing his beanie off of his head and smiling. "Sorry, you're right."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Tonight? I'm busy most of the week, but I'd really like to get my stuff soon."

Pondering this, I sat down on my bed, back to my art corner. "Where?"

"There's an Italian restaurant near my hotel. We can get dinner?"

I'm going to dinner with Noah fucking Sebastian?!

"Sure. Just text me the address?" He nodded in response. "What time?"

"Whatever time works best for you, Red."

I rolled my eyes. "You know my name, Noah."

A small wink, and he smiled. "I know, Lily. I just like your hair."

My face turned a deep shade of crimson, and I felt the urge to pull at my long red waves.

"Well, if that's the plan, I'm going to get ready. I have to leave a while before you to catch the subway."

I stood off the bed and went to turn, but he spoke and stopped me.

"Hey, what's that behind you?"

I turned, scanning. "What?"

"Under the sheet."

It occurred to me what he was referring to, and I waved it off.

"Just another piece."

"Can I see it?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I haven't shown anyone yet."

"So? I can be the first!" He seemed so excited, which made me giggle.

"It's an emotion piece. Not like the others."

He raised a brow. "Still not hearing why I can't see it."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I shrugged. "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's not as clean and precise as my other work."

He just shrugged, and I reached over, pulling the sheet off the canvas, and flipped the camera.

I watched his eyes, scanning the screen over and over. He looked so enamored, I was confused. Was the connection bad?

"Noah? You okay?"

He leaned back, blinking. "Lily, that's fucking amazing!"

I laughed, stepping closer to the painting. "It's okay. It's a rage painting. Something I started in a fit, and kind of worked into what it is now."

"I can tell. You can feel the pain in the image. The colors are unbelievable."

"Oh, I don't know. It's okay."

"Okay? Red, that painting is unreal. How much do you want for it?"

His question caught me by surprise, nearly knocking me down. "What?"

"How much? I want it." He was so matter of fact, that the air rushed out of me.

"I haven't priced it. It's a big piece, bigger than anything else I've ever done."

"Okay, well tell me what you think, because I'll pay a lot for it."

My heart began stammering, words not forming on my lips. "Y-You really want it?"

"I don't just want it; I want to use it."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you at dinner. Just do me a favor? Think about a price? I really want that painting."

We agreed to meet at 7PM, but I was late. The subway had been packed, and I missed the first one. I didn't come jogging up to the front of the restaurant until fifteen after, seeing Noah stood outside, same outfit on as earlier today. I had to calm my insides at the sight.

I waved when he caught a glimpse of me, earning a smile in my direction.

"Hey, Red!"

I rolled my eyes. He wasn't letting that go.

"Hi, Noah."

When I approached, he put an arm out, and wrapped it around my shoulders casually. I had to take several deep breaths to remind myself that, like he said, he's just a guy.

An attractive guy. With tattoos. And the voice of an angel.

And this wasn't a date...right? This was a transaction...right?!

Trying to shake off the thoughts, I handed him the bag on my arm.

"Your goodies."

He smiled and took the bag, looking inside. "Nice. Thank you."

I followed him into the restaurant, which didn't look too terribly fancy. We were dressed casually, as were most people here. We were sat at a small table, a little dish with butter and rolls already in the middle.

We sat down, and began scanning the menus. The prices jumped out at me as relatively expensive, and I knew I would be taking my work out again tomorrow to make back the money I would be spending tonight.

Noah ordered a beer. I ordered water.

Noah ordered a steak with linguine on the side. I ordered a salad.

This caught his attention. "You don't want more than a salad and water?"

I hid behind my glass, shrugging. "Not the most hungry."

"Hm," He sat back and eyed me. "okay. For now."

The fuck does that mean?

"So have you given any more thought to how much you want for that painting?" He spoke before I could respond.

"I haven't. I really don't know, Noah." I shook my head, thinking. "Three hundred?"

His eyes widened. "No way, man. It's worth way more."

I was dumbstruck. "Are you asking me to charge you more?"

"Fuck yeah I am. That painting is worth ten grand, at the very least."

As badly as I wanted not to, and prayed I hadn't, I spit my water out onto the table, spraying my salad. My face immediately turned bright red, matching my hair.

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed very unfazed. "What?"

"Did you say ten grand? As in ten thousand?" He nodded. "Dollars?!"

He rolled his eyes. "No. Marshmallows."

Without thought, I picked up a cherry tomato and tossed it at him, bouncing it off of his hand on his plate. He glanced up at me, mouth open, amused.

"Did you just throw a tomato at me?"

I pressed my lips together in a very small, devious grin. "Maybe."

He picked up the tomato between two long fingers, considered it for a moment, and popped it in his mouth.

"I've never had that happen. And I'm a singer."

This made me laugh. "Oh God."

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Seriously, though, Red. You need to price your stuff fairly. Don't accept less than what you're worth."

I leaned back in my chair, considering this. "So, you want to pay me ten thousand for my painting?"

He shook his head. "I don't." My heart sunk for a second. "My label will, though."

My eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? The label?"

He was chewing some steak, and waited to swallow before he responded. I found myself staring at the apple on his throat bobbing.

"I want that painting to be our next album cover."

I felt my jaw physically hit the floor, break through the table and all. I was hallucinating.

"You...what?"

"I've been looking for months. I had been looking at photography until very recently, because I just wasn't finding anything that worked. I started scouting art fairs and galleries almost a year ago."

My eyes were blinking at an alarming rate.

"So, that's why you came to Central Park twice, then."

He smirked, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "That's why I came to your table twice, yes."

I was pushing my salad around on the plate, not looking at him. "Ah, and here I was thinking you came back to see me." I looked up and gave him the cheekiest smile I could, joking.

Snorting, he flashed his teeth again. "Well, that too."

My stomach stuttered, and I set my fork down. I folded my arms on the table, looking straight at him.

"You're serious? You really want my painting for the album?"

He put his hands in his sweater pockets and leaned forward, so his face was hovering over the table.

"I'm dead serious." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip, catching my attention. "There's more to it than just buying it. We'd have to purchase rights from you, so you can't sell copies."

I raised a brow, now intrigued. "Oh?"

He leaned back again. "I don't want anyone else having our original piece that you did. We would, of course, credit you on the album, and maybe even ask you to do some additional work for the rest of the art?"

There was a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. "Rest of the art?"

"Yeah. The back of the album. The vinyl casing and variants. Merch, maybe?"

I couldn't breathe. It was so hot all of a sudden.

Noah could sense my panic. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you."

I gulped down half of my water at once. "No, I just..." I trailed off, staring at the tablecloth. "I've never had anyone want my artwork that bad."

He smiled. "Isn't the point to sell it? Success?"

"Well sure, but to go from selling prints and small canvasses in the parks to doing artwork for a huge band like Bad Omens? That's a bit of a step." I stared at him, trying to mask my anxiety, and failing horribly.

"I don't know if I'd call us huge." His smirk was coy, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wow. Cocky." I echoed my earlier statement, and this made him giggle like a child.

"Listen, think about it? In the meantime, can I ask a favor?" I didn't respond. "Don't sell any copies of that? Once you do, I can't use it."

I shrugged, and nodded, agreeing.

Two weeks had gone by, and I had not seen Noah since the night at the restaurant. I had re-covered the canvas, but the question replayed in my mind over and over.

Noah had decided to buy more pieces off of me, bringing my profits up to six hundred, which had my utilities paid this month and a small batch of groceries in the refrigerator. I agreed to ship them as soon as I could, but he kept telling me to take my time.

I knew what he really wanted to ask, but he held back.

I had thought about it over and over, trying hard to not let my bias toward Noah, or the bad, sway me.

This was a big step. Not owning my own art? Being pressured to make more that met a standard? Being under a contract? That wasn't what I got into this for. This wasn't why I became an artist and moved here. One of the best parts about creating something that you love, is that you get to do it freely. Once you have to do it, or do it a certain way, it becomes all too tedious. It's work now. I wasn't sure I'd be happy with it.

But on the flipside, there was a strange thrill at the idea. Someone wants my painting bad enough that they are willing to give me so much leeway financially, I can paint whenever I want. I'll get exposure. This could be what does it.

This painting could change everything.

And that was the point, right? I bought the canvas telling myself that this was the piece that changed it all. This was my ticket to success. And here it was, in front of me...

Ripping the sheet off of the canvas, I stared at it. The waves crashed over one another. The moon, bright, but somehow so ominous, shone through, bouncing off of the water in a way that made them look almost silver. The octopus, tentacles scattered amongst the waves, stared at me, bleeding eyes seeing through my soul.

"Is this what I'm supposed to do?" I asked the creature. I was met with silence. Loud, deafening, overwhelming silence.

"Fuck it."

I picked up my phone from the bed, bringing up my recent text thread with Noah, smiling at the meme he had sent earlier in the day.

I typed out a quick message, and sighed when I saw he read it quickly, and responded even quicker.

Me: I'm in.

Noah: Oh FUCK yeah!

Six months ago, I met Noah Sebastian for the first time, and he bought some of my art for a hundred dollars. Five and a half weeks ago, he bought more of my art for a hundred more dollars.

Five months ago exactly, his record label offered me twelve thousand dollars for my painting, and the rights to it, and offered me a contract to complete and provide artwork for all pieces surrounding their upcoming album, with an overall gross value of eighty-two thousand dollars to be paid up front, with the understanding that I would provide the artwork within one year of the contract signing.

Naturally, I was a mess.

Still living in my studio apartment, I had rented a painting studio six blocks from my apartment, and spent near all of my time there. I had completed the entire album artwork, maintaining the theme of the original piece, but adding in major twists in each installment.

So far, the label, the band, and mostly Noah, were pleased.

But today, I was stressed. There was one insert in the vinyl copy of the album that needed artwork. It needed a standalone piece, and I was drawing a vivid blank. I had been staring at the 3 foot by 2 foot canvas for two hours, paintbrush twirling between my paint-stained fingers. My old, ratted jeans were blotched with deep blue paint from my last attempt, which had been scrapped.

I was getting nowhere way too fast, and needed a break. I stood from my stool, and pulled my t-shirt off, standing in only my dark red sports bra to fight against the heat. I kept it warm in the studio to keep the paint from hardening in the palette.

Pacing back and forth, music pumping through my Bluetooth speaker, I sighed. I needed emotion. I needed something to throw at this damn thing, like before.

My phone quieted the music for a moment, and I snatched it to check.

Noah: In town this weekend. Want to get lunch?

As badly as I wanted to, I just couldn't.

Me: I can't. Trying to get this piece done.

Noah: Want me to bring you food? Can't paint on an empty stomach.

Considering this, I pursed my lips. He wasn't wrong.

I responded with the address to the studio.

Forty-five minutes later, and Noah was pushing his way into the small studio, bags of Chinese in his hands. I was sat on the stool, still staring at the blank canvas, twirling my brush, and didn't even look at him.

"Hey!" He set the bags down on the table on the far side of the room. "You haven't started yet?"

A hard, deep growl came out of me, and I chucked my brush at the ground, hearing it clatter. I stood, fingers gripping my hair at the root.

He threw his hands up. "Woah, it's okay! I wasn't trying to say anything to upset you."

I took a deep breath, letting go of my mop of hair. "You didn't. I'm just drawing such a fucking blank! I can't figure out what to paint for this insert!"

He tightened his lips, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"What usually helps?"

"Anger! And I've got plenty! But I've still got fucking nothing!" My foot kicked the stool, sliding it several feel away.

He took a step forward, toward me, hands coming out in front of him.

"Okay, so anger isn't working. Any other emotions we can use?"

I raised an eyebrow, halting my pacing. "What do you mean?" My words were sharp, and he cracked an amused smile.

"You're a real fireball, clearly, Red. But, do you have other emotions we can channel?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Of course I have other emotions."

"Like?"

Suddenly feeling cornered, I squeezed my eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"I don't know." I looked up at him. "Sadness? Depression?"

He snickered. "Why all negative emotions?"

"What?"

"Why not joy? Enthusiasm? Excitement?" He looked so genuine, it almost hurt my heart, because I was so angry and it wasn't his fault.

I paced over to the stool, coming down with a screech against the floor. "Sorry." I confessed. "This is just hard to do under pressure, you know?"

He nodded, standing next to me, a soft hand coming down on my mid-back, rubbing slow circles on my bare skin.

"I get it. More than most, I think." I looked up at him. "But if what you're used to isn't working, then we have to do something different."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and smiled weakly. "How?"

He pursed his lips, and his hand came under my arm, pulling me up from the stool. "Grab your brush."

Opting for a fresh one, I held it in front of me, and waited for further instruction.

He smiled, and put both hands on my shoulders, pulling me toward the easel and canvas. I followed absently, trying not to focus on my skin tingling where he was touching me.

"Okay," He moved behind me, pushing me closer to the canvas. "pick a color."

I chuckled, and leaned over to the palette to my right, picking up a deep navy on my brush.

Satisfied, he squeezed my biceps for a second before letting his hands fall away.

"Now, close your eyes."

I turned my head to look at him skeptically, but his eyes pleaded with me, so I obeyed, holding my loaded brush and letting my lids fall closed.

The room fell impossibly quiet, and I could feel his presence heavy behind me. The sensation brought goosebumps to my warm skin.

I was nearly startled when I felt his fingers brush my thick hair over my shoulder, and his breath came across my ear.

"Now," His voice was baritone, so raspy and so close to me. "I want you to picture what you're feeling at this very moment."

Feeling? What is feeling? Who am I ?

"Picture your emotions. Picture them as colors. Objects. Lights." He let out a deep exhale that washed over my neck, making me shiver.

"What if I can't?" My voice was small.

A large, strong hand grasped my right hip, pulling me to lean slightly backward, pressing against the front of his body.

"You can. I know you can."

The fingers of his other and were trailing up my hip, tracing patters over the tattoos on my ribcage.

"You know how to do this, Lily. Just see what you feel."

I wanted to push this. I wanted to see how far I could take it.

Eyes still closed, I let my lips turn up ever so slightly. "What if I can't feel enough, yet?"

His chest, pressed against my back, trembled with quiet laughter, "No? You need more stimulation?"

Jesus this guy's is going to murder me.

"Maybe." I smiled slyly.

His lips ghosted over the side of my neck just under my ear, his hand on my hip slipping around the front of my waist and pulling me even closer.

"What if I," His lips trailed up my skin, grazing the flesh so gently. "give you," Up to my chin. My breath was shaking. "something to feel?"

His lips were testing mine, tip of his nose bumping my own.

The lowest, most whispered moan escaped my lips before he dipped even lower, gently pressing his lips against mine. I molded to him, body encased by his arms, lips slotting into place against his, eyes rolling back behind my lids.

The feeling exploded out of me, pouring into his mouth, hands reaching up to grip his hair.

We stood there, mouths fighting for dominance, before I pulled away, pushing his hands off of me frantically, and nearly jumped toward the canvas.

I heard him breathing heavily behind me, a low chuckle erupting from him.

"I guess it worked?"

I stopped my brush strokes, turning my head and letting my hair flip over my shoulder.

"For now. Might need more stimulation later."

#fanfic #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #bad omens cult

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grapejuicestyless · 1 year ago

Text

What Was I Made For?

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n is a photographer realizing she is not who she had always believed she was. Harry is the one thing she can count on.

Y/n had been made to believe that she was the shining star that led the lonely drivers home each night. Made to be the light at the end of the tunnel. The angel from grace that was sent to inflict pure joy to those around her. So she played the part.

A constantly bubbly joy to be around. Her laugh echoing through every hallway. Her smile infectious and radiant as it reflected one of what could only be described as pure happiness.

Just her being near have anyone that warmth within. Heartbeats hard and faster underneath their winter coats. Cheeks flushed and nose scrunched from fits of laughter. It was almost like she was a spell that was cast on anyone who got to close. A foggy haze that was laid over the infected eyes of the lucky soul who crossed paths with her.

That’s what had drawn Harry to her, in the first place. How her laugh carried around the store without a care for the stares burning the back of her head or the eye rolls from the grumps behind her. How her smile was sincere and her attitude polite even in the worst experiences. Her head remained held high and her respectful demeanor never dwindled under the increasing pressure laid on her shoulders to calm down.

A beauty, inside and out. A heart of gold, to be exact. It wasn’t a shock at how quickly they’d hit it off. Harry not only obsessed with her artistry within her passions for photography, but enamored by her essence as a whole. And how soon he’d fallen for her. How hard he’d fallen. The girl had not a single bad bone in her body. Not a single grudge or hatred being held within her. Love and kindness being her only reflection onto others.

And she continued to be strong and enthusiastic everyday of her life as long as she could. Never wasting that gift of innocence she was graced with.

But even the most optimistic, strong willed people reach their breaking points. And the weight becomes too much, tumbling from their shoulders to their feet. That high held chin falls into the slump of their shoulders and the ground becoming a best friend with their eyes. The smiles becoming painful and achy. Not quite reaching their eyes. The color draining from the victim as the real world crashes down around them, innocence ruined and optimism crushed.

Y/n was no exception. The girl who faced everything with a grin permanently tattooed within her smile lines nothing compared to the constant pressures and horrible truths she could not be spared from.

——————————————————————————

I loved the summer, always had, always believed I would. The warmth was an invitation from the earth to soak up the sun and feel the grass between your toes. How the ocean would crash up on the shore and the birds would sing to their lovers early each morning. The hug that was my own lovers resting tightly around my waist, his breathing even and calm against my neck. Sheets tossed around the bed and bodies sprawled around in the humid heat. It was a peaceful bliss.

I used to wake early, turning carefully to not stir my Harry from his sleep. Allowing myself to be selfish for just a moment and keep him from the world and only for myself. My thumb would find the bridge of his nose, tracing the curves like he was a painting. A masterpiece crafted from Van Gogh. I would curl a soft strand of his hair around my pointer, massaging away any potential headaches from his head. Watching as his eyebrows would scrunch up only to relax into the soothing touch and he would press up further against the palm of my hand.

The smile would break out across my face for the first time that day in those moments. The intimacy overwhelming and private in a way that made it special and endearing. Something I could hold close to me. That smile wouldn’t fade for hours, the feeling of my hands in his hair waking him peacefully, a smile drawn on his face as a reflection of mine. His breath always stunk, but I didn’t mind. It only reminded me of how close he was holding me. How close he allowed me to be to him.

We’d dance in the sunlight that poured through the windows, basking in each other’s presence. The smell of breakfast wafting from the old pan on the well loved stovetop and sticking to the walls. He’d tell cheesy jokes and I’d laugh each time. Even if they weren’t funny, to me they were because they were his jokes.

Then, he’d leave for work. A kiss placed to my temple, lips lingering and drawn out from the desire to remain hidden away in our safe little paradise. He’d be off to write songs of his life, both real and made up from his own dreams and imagination. And I would stay at home, tending to the garden and writing down ideas for new projects I could pursue. Scribbling down sketches that I could turn into reality. A series of photos that would become my identity for only a moment of my life, something I could submerge myself in. Each photo either stored away for only myself to know ever existed, or to be shared on a flashy magazine cover. For everyone to see, for everyone to see when they think of that specific article they read. The different endings for each project exciting and interesting each time.

Yet, as time went on, I noticed the ideas were limited to only that. Ideas. I had not attempted to pursue the projects that had consumed me for the past couple weeks. The heavily detailed writings and sketches turning into an unfinished story that would continue to grow with no ending each time I sat alone in my own home.

I had lost that enthusiasm I always had. The overwhelming desire to start an idea as soon as it entered my mind slipping further and further until it was only a distant memory. Any project I managed to start lost all of my touch in them. The colors fading and the grainy texture more and more as any elements that reminded me of myself faded into the background. Each photograph stored deep in my desktop. Buried within a file of photos never to be touched again. It was almost as if I had dropped off the face of the earth. My mind at a mental and physical block that was sticky and thick with heaviness. My art no longer willing to be shared. I fell deeper and deeper into myself. The only thing keeping me grounded was my love. Those intimate moments that assured me I was still the same in some ways. My lack of material did not reflect my heart, as it still best for the same lover.

But that knowledge was never enough, these days. And the story grew lesser and lesser as the days went on. Harry would leave and I would tend to the garden. But I never wrote about my ideas. I never sketched them out for future me. The strong pull and passion I once had in my life gone like a warm summer day.

I used to know, I always wanted to be a photographer. It was like a gravitational forces pulled me towards it. A feeling that assured me that this was what I was made for keeping me persistent in the field. I longed to capture my memories in a photo that could be kept as a sweet reminder to that moment in my life, or shared with everyone to appreciate. To be placed on a magazine cover with bold letters layered on top, or hung on a wall of an art exhibit in a bustling city. I wanted to share my passion with the world so desperately.

But, I’m not sure now. I had lost that eagerness in it. Lost that sure feeling that this was what I was made for. Something I had been so drawn to for so long becoming something of a childhood dream. It was hard to pinpoint the turning of events. The changing in emotions connected to my passion. What was something that made me feel alive becoming something that was merely a hobby.

So when did it end? All the enjoyment? I don’t how to feel. Someday I might, but now I sit in the empty house, the moonlight dancing through the windows just as bright as the morning sun had brought in. The breeze cooler and the air less humid. I sit there, trying to find that desire my heart once held.

I wonder if Harry could see it. See the way the smile didn’t reach my eyes. How the permanent tattoo of happiness that were my smile lines became smoothed out with the weak smiles I gave each morning. How even when we were closest, I was distant. How my notebooks spine wasn’t yet cracked, the pages still white. Not yet stained with the grey of the graphite pencil and smears from my black pens. My camera sitting idly on the kitchen table by the dying flowers and the vacuumed carpet.

We danced just the same each morning and my hands still finding their way to his face. I wondered if he would still love me if I couldn’t be who he fell in love with. If the girl who was continuously happy, careless and enthusiastic in everything she did, didn’t exist anymore, could he still love the remaining pieces of her that were left behind?

He made me feel special, every minute we were together. The laughter and the jokes just the same. The movie nights and the picnics in the park on the weekends just as romantic. I prayed as silent as a whisper that my lifeless eyes and dying happiness wouldn’t drive him away.

My sadness was a secret. A promise to myself that I wouldn’t share my despair and crisis with my boyfriend, a stress I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

My whole identity built around my art and my bubbly mood. Something I wished I still had. But the realization for the lost interest and the loneliness that grew in with it too much to bare. Too much to remain the same. Just for this moment at least. Until I found myself again.

Think I forgot how to be happy. Something I'm not, but something I can be. I can be happy. I can be happy when I’m out. When I’m with my love. When I’m with my friends. When I’m in the garden or at the beach. Being happy is something I wait for.

So, even if it hurt to realize I was not made to be what I always dreamed of, I was still sure about something. When the storm had passed and the waves calmed. When the trees stopped swaying and the clouds cleared, I would always have that relief of happiness that was sure to return eventually.

Being happy is what I'm made for.

Something I'm made for.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles #yn x harrystyles

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redbleedingrose · 1 year ago

Text

Wake Up Call

Girl Dad!Eris x Reader

A/N: 6.2K words later?? I missed Girl Dad!Er and my babes Marwa and Twila! I hope y’all enjoy! As always, please reblog, comment, and like! It means the literal world to me and I will smooch you! (if u want)

~ a special thank you to @augustinerose who inspired me, and pushed me to continue to write, even when I didn’t think I could.

Warmth. It was all I felt. It was all I wanted to feel. I shuffled my body closer to the only source of warmth in the large emerald stained oak bed, wriggling my hips backwards and using the corded bicep that was resting under my head to cuddle further into the sleeping male behind me, the high lord of Autumn Court, my husband and mate. A puff of breath escaped his lips, too sleep-idled to fully be aware of my nestling into him, but sensing through the bond that had been present for multiple centuries now, one that had grown stronger and firmer with every moment we spent together, that his mate was near, but not nearly close enough. Eris shifted his body towards me, groaning as he lifted himself from his back and onto his side, throwing his free arm around my waist and squeezing the soft flesh as he closed the gap between us, yanking my body in one tug to be fully against his, before settling his face into the crook of my neck.

He pressed a soft kiss just behind my ear, humming in contentment before, apparently, falling back into a deep sleep as quickly as he had woken up, his soft snores fading into the fall breeze that was entering our room from the open balcony doors. The sun had barely risen, just peaking above the horizon, the milky orange and peach from the rays blending into the background of the giant sequoia forest that was married with the colored leaves of the sycamore maples and the weeping willows that I so very much loved. Sighing slowly, I dropped a delicate kiss onto a knife thin yet deep scar that marked the cream toned arm that had been acting as my favorite pillow since we had accepted the mating bond. I watched, barely awake, as the sun rose in the quiet peace of the morning, reveling in the end of the cries of the crickets and the start of the singing of honeyed songs by the diamond spotted doves.

I lived for these moments where I had alone time with Eris, as did he, his arm tightening around my waist as the song of the morning became louder and the chill of breeze became stronger, marking the start of a new day. The moments before we became high lady and high lord to our vast and expanding land. The moments before the Autumn Court depended on our daily activities to keep the territory in harmony and fruitful success. The moments before our perfect, mischievous little babes sneak into our room with their “guard” dog, who was really just a runt from a killer hound litter that Marwa and Twila convinced their papa, the usually unshakeable high lord, to buy from the farmers market with their tiny pouts and big brown eyes, in tow, just to jump onto our bed and scream with delight until we would wake and bless them with our coziest of hugs and our sunup smooches.

Honestly, I was quite surprised the babes hadn’t run in yet, the pitter patter of their feet running towards our room that correlated with the sunrise is usually what sent my eyes flying open, shoving a warm and cuddly Eris off of me, scrambling to pull on any clothing that the newly grumpy male had hastily pulled off the previous night before we scar our innocent children for life. An observation that apparently hadn’t gone unnoticed, a groggy murmur emmenanting from the lordling whose hand was now roaming the expanse of my abdomen and breasts, a stray finger sliding over my nipple, “What trouble do you think the babes are getting up to right now, my beloved?”

I caught his exploring hand with my own, twining our tattooed fingers together before bringing it up to my lips and pressing firm kisses that were followed with a tiny bite to each of the available pads of his fingers, humming in response, “I haven’t the foggiest idea, husband.” He growled, shoving his naked leg between my thighs, sighing out as I brought his pointer finger into my mouth for a soft suckle to soothe the sting of the bite I had gifted him with, running my tongue along the length of his digit.

A grin overtook my face as I finally turned to face Er, who was staring back at me with his own lust-filled smirk. A jolt of excitement ran through your core, the warmth that I had felt suddenly, rushing down to my barely covered sex that was starting to throb at the butterfly sensation that had erupted in my belly. My mate pulled me in for a slow kiss, meshing our lips together so that they would melt against each other as they had last night, quickly working in harder and faster pecks. I molded my entire body against his, grinding into the hard muscle as his hand slipped out of my embrace and up to caress my jaw, his thumb carefully pressing into the soft skin of my neck. Another thrill of heat tingeled its way through my entire body, starting from his thumb and spreading down all the way to the tip of my painted sage green toes. I couldn't help the desperate whine that escaped me, further encouraging Er to kiss me more firmly, with intent to continue into what would surely be rough morning sex that would blend into incredible love making as the hours passed.

Unfortunately, the gods had other plans for us two today.

The familiar sound of two pairs of small feet scampering through the hall towards our room had sent me thwarting off the edge of the bed, hurling Eris his pants as he chuckled at my panic. I shot him a dirty, betrayed look, rolling my eyes as I shoved on the silk slip I was wearing last night when I put the babes to bed, tossing myself back into Eris’ arms while pulling the heavy comforter back over us. The lordling grunted in surprise as he caught me when I tossed myself back into bed, pulling me back into his grasp, chortling into my disheveled hair with a planted kiss, “Ah, who would've known our babes would be such wonderful cockblocks, my beloved?”

I clenched my jaw, jabbing my elbow into his perfect abs, hissing at him to “Shut up.” If I was anyone else, if I wasn’t the love of his life and his mate, if I wasn’t the mother of his children, I would already be disintegrated into ash with the force of his magic. Another swift kiss was pressed into my hair by the high lord as the hickory double doors carved with intricate designs and stained with henna were barely pushed open by the two toddlers who tried peaking their heads through the opening.

A tuft of amber hair resembling her fathers along with another tuft of darker hair resembling her grandmother poked into the room through the doorway, curls inherited from their papa that are tangled and in disarray from the dreams of their pegasus’ in Day court, taken care of by their grandparents, mixed in with dreams of milk chocolate swirled with caramels and pecans that their uncle Lucien sneaked them constantly. Tiny grunts are heard as the babes struggle to manage keeping the doors open, their little, pudgy hands too strained against the heavy wood to even allow their shoulders to squirm against each other and through the pressed doorway, “Help pwease, papa.” The request comes grumbled out by Twila, who has decidedly put all her effort into keeping the door open for her and her sister, Marwa, whose back is now pressed into the grand oak, bare feet trying to climb up the emerald green wallpaper to use the force of her upper body to aid her twin, waiting rather impatiently for their papa to save the day, as he always does for them.

I lean back into Eris, chuckling at the effort of the babes, nudging his already moving body towards them. His reply comes swiftly, mingled with mirth at the sweet girls he loves more than the moon, more than the stars and the sun itself, “Coming, my little loves.” Centuries ago, he couldn’t have ever imagined this is what his lifetime would be blessed with. Two perfect babes who were happy and safe, and a perfect mate who warmed his heart more than the eternal fire of Autumn. Now, he wakes every morning to the scent of his high lady who seeks him out for the fire in his blood he once despised, followed by the sounds of his precious darlings sneaking into the room, jumping onto our bed, screaming with laughter to start our day.

He drew the door open slowly, allowing for Twila to release her efforts from holding the doors open and shift them into racing into the room towards the bed, leaving her sister behind who is hoisted into Eris’ embrace. I watched him press soft kisses into Marwa’s cheeks and messy hair while Twila fisted the fluffed out comforter to pull herself onto the bed. I settled myself into the padded headboard, crossing my legs at my ankles and placing my interlocked hands into my lap. A chuckle escaped me once again, Twila’s grunts and reddening face bringing me a sense of delight that can only be ascribed to the pride I felt in her never-ending effort, “Do you need help, little one?” I hummed down at her, leaning down to the side to see her bare feet off the floor and pressed into the side of the bed to steady her climbing.

She whined for a moment, her amber curls falling above her eyes which she swatted away, huffing out a, “No tanks you mama.” In all her struggles, she didn’t notice Er sneaking up from behind her, winking at me with a small smirk when he fisted her daffodil yellow nightgown and gave her the final tug she needed to climb onto the bed, letting go before she could realize how her papa has interfered, and ultimately helped her succeed with her mission. Twila panted against the crumpled bed sheets, her hands curling to fist the fabric for a moment before leaping up onto her feet, jumping on the bed as though the completion of her mission had revitalized her energy, big brown eyes sparkling with joy, leaping into my open arms to shove her face into my cheek, sloppily pressing a wet kiss before she cried out, “Look mama, I did it!”

My arms wrapped around her wriggling body, yanking her into my lap while she giggled and kicked at the feeling of my fingers poking into her sides, “You did it my sweet, good job!” I returned the sloppy kiss two-fold, pressing a smooch to her warm forehead and freckled nose. The mattress shifted as Eris sank in beside me, Marwa quietly pressed into his side, her head leaning on his chest, her heavy eyes watching her sister and I before taking a deep breath and clinging closer to her papa. I reached out my hand to run my fingers through the tired babes hair, giving a soft tug to one curl following it with peppered kisses all over the top of Marwa’s head. A sleepy smile tugged at her flushed cheeks, preening under her mamas attention and love, her half lidded eyes finally giving into the sleep she so clearly felt, sliding shut with puffs of breath escaping her open mouth, soothed by the strokes of Eris’ hands down her back and back through her hair.

Twila kindly babbled on, though, she did so more softly so she didn’t wake her twin, telling Eris and I of the things she planned on doing today, “I wanna eat nachos for breakfast, mama, an then I wanna go for a walk with Ruby,” the pup who had slid into the room with the babes and had nestled himself into the rug, dozing in front of the crackling fireplace, “An then I wanna eat nachos for lunch,” Eris cut in with a small laugh tumbling from his pretty lips, a single brow arched as he eyed the babe in my lap with amusement, “Nachos for breakfast and lunch Twi?”

She brought up her tiny palms to stifle giggles that escaped her like a little sprite at Er’s slightly concerned tone, nodding with a hum in affirmation, finding great pleasure in being a source of what could be called ‘a healthy stress’ for her papa. Twila was always the most mischievous and playful of the two, the one most likely being the mastermind for the adventures she took herself and her sister along in as the outgoing babe she is. Poor, sweet Marwa always found herself roped into whatever Twila had planned, following along with unbreakable loyalty, and a secret knack for getting the two out of any trouble they may have found themselves in.

Eris shot me a look that nearly sent me over the edge with cackles, the hilarity of Twila’s cravings were too adorable to handle, a feeling of delirious content spilled into my heart as I thought back to my pregnancy with the babes that were sat in our arms. I thought back to the countless nights I had woken up Eris, who startled awake with distress, thinking there was something wrong with me or the babes, or that there was some danger that needed to be eliminated, only to find that his high lady was craving cheesy, melty nachos with jalapenos and all sorts of other peppers as toppings. Pressing another kiss, this time into the babes chubby cheek, I let my smile widen as her big brown, sparkling eyes turned up to me, “How about we have scrambled eggs and potatoes, the ones that I make, and nachos for lunch, hmm?” Her replying smile lilted her ruddy cheeks enough for Eris to lean in and press his own kiss onto her.

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It had been hours since the morning lull had quickened into the busy afternoon. Eris and I were immensely crammed with our duties, negotiations of forging an alliance between Night, Dawn, and Day was proving harder than expected. Demands that were being sent by all parties were being denied outright without explanation, driving tensions higher and higher with every passing day. The other problems of the court also required our utmost attention, the lords who remained from the rule of Beron were rebelling against Eris’ new laws that were set into place to protect the farmers and townspeople that were once oppressed, both financially and politically. Changes had to be made in Autumn once Eris took his place on the throne, assigning me as the first high lady of Autumn was the first step he made into bringing these changes. After years on the throne, things hadn’t gotten any easier. The only point of peace we got were the moments we had with each other, and the moments we had with our babes.

We hadn’t been able to see them since breakfast; Er and I had been pulled into different meetings while the babes were whisked away to their morning lessons. I glanced up, looking over Eris’ hair at the clock that had been hung on the wall behind his desk. The times after our meetings were spent decompressing within his office, either through fucking out our frustrations or reading together in a peaceful silence. Today, it had been reading together in a peaceful silence. It was nearly a quarter till the sixteenth hour, which was encroaching on what should be the babes naptime.

Their nanny, Zephyrus, should’ve put them to bed already, and it was high time to check and see how they were resting. Normally, Twila slept like a log, soft snores leaving her, similar to her papa in every way. It was Marwa who sometimes struggled with her sleep, waking up in the middle of naptime, coming to her papa’s office to be snuggled and sung back to sleep. Sighing, I pulled myself up from my seat on the tanned leather couch, lifting my feet from Eris’ lap, lightly smacking his shoulder at the groan he had let out as he threw back his head into the couch. I was ready to kiss the babes and give them a quick snuggle, however sexually frustrated my mate was. “Leaving so soon, gorgeous?”

I nearly tripped at the nickname, my heart stuttering for a moment as the bond between us pulled taught. I recovered rather quickly though, my heart returning into the deep yearning feeling for my babes and their warm bodies pressed against mine, clinging onto my hold and whining in their sleep for more soft kisses to their foreheads and cheeks, their mama’s attention something they craved even in their deepest of dreams. “I’ve been here for two hours Er, giving you my undivided attention,” I replied in a rather deadpan tone, the poor male could really never get enough of me, and he made that quite clear with another groan that slipped from his lips. I scoffed at the high lord of Autumn, “so fucking needy aren’t you?” sending him a smirk, swaying my hips as I turned toward the exit. I could hear him shuffle behind me, the image clear in my head that he was adjusting his hard on; another smirk tugged at my lips, one that was now hidden from my mate.

As I turned to shut the door, I brought my hand up to blow Eris a kiss, and he, wordlessly, caught it, his beautiful gods-forsaken eyes glinting back at me until the knob had clicked into place. The bond between us was now struggling against me with need, enticing me to run back into the office so Eris could have his way with me, but I was more focused on getting back to the babes. I strolled through the halls, tracing with my eyes, the giant archways and marbled columns that opened into the back forest and plains of the estate before looking to the ceiling. There is a haze of lychee and pear in the breeze that guides the hung roses and peonies that cover whole portions in rocking motions, the portions that sit free are painted with the histories of Prythian breaking into the seven courts that stand today. The inner gardens had fountains that spouted water that glittered like diamonds under the afternoon sun, dazzling rainbows sent in every direction, landing on the swaying leaves of the eldred willow trees that Eris had planted in victory after he had defeated Beron.

I reached their bedroom without haste, admiring the peach pink and lavender shade of the stained glass embedded into the entryway to the babes room, a lovely gift from Rhysand and Feyre when they were born. The rulers of the Night court had been delighted to hear that their own son, Nyx, would have not only one, but two playmates whenever we would find the time to visit their home in Valeris. Our alliance had never been stronger with the Night court, and that was something that both Eris and I had taken great pride in. I cracked the door open, peering into the dark room, only to find the two beds where the babes should be asleep, empty.

A jolt of panic shot through me and down the mating bond without meaning to, the answering tug from Eris, filled with concern and worry. I sucked a tense and heavy breath through my teeth, calming myself into believing I was just an overprotective mother hen. I sent back an ounce of reassurance down the bond, back to Er before hurrying down to the playroom. I convinced myself that it was entirely possible Twila woke early and insisted that Marwa join her for a game of pretending, pushing down the weightful sense of dread that began to fill me. The estate was impossibly protected with wards and spells that Eris himself, along with Lucien and Helion had cast, blocking off any chance of breach. My breath was too difficult to catch as I paced down the hall, a horrible voice croaking in my head, ‘Nothing is impossible, you fool. What if they were taken?”

Hot tears rimmed my eyes as I tore into the playroom. Empty.

Scattered toys were all over the floor, the table in the center still set with the tea cups that Marwa had gotten as a gift from Lucien, ready for the babes and their favorite uncle to join in on their ‘princess party.’ The sun shone in through the window, heating the room to the point where beads of sweat had formed at the top edge of my lip. The panic that I had shoved down reared its ugly head, spreading through me and in full force down the bond as I broke into a sprint towards their tiny classroom where they received their afternoon lessons. Maybe they had been kept by Draconus, the fae professor who, before, had taught Eris and all his brothers, and before them, Beron and his siblings, and so on. Marwa had always complained about the elderly male droning on for lengths beyond their lesson time.

The door banged against the wall with the force that I had used to slam it open.

Fucking Empty.

My hand came up to my chest, clenching at the feeling of my heart squeezing too tightly in my chest, like a noose had been tied around it and tugged. A wave of nausea and dizziness swept through me, sending me tumbling backward. I nearly fell over as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, turning me to face the person who had caught me, but I couldn’t see. My vision had blurred, blackening around the periphery as ugly, deep sobs ripped through the lump that had lodged into my throat and out of me. A set of warm hands cupped my cheeks, lifting my gaze to meet crazed amber eyes flickering back and forth with mine, “They are gone. Where are… Where are the… Where are my babes?” It comes out rather quietly, stuttered between short and incomplete gasps. Rather breathless. Almost whispered. As if I couldn’t find it within me to speak the horrid words any louder.

My knees gave out completely, any sensation in my legs ceased to exist, but Eris was there to lift me into his embrace, wrapping his arm around my legs and lifting me into a bridal style before resting me on the small desk that Marwa usually sat at. He didn’t wait for another moment, screaming out to his personal guards in the most chilling voice I had ever heard him use, “Lock down this fucking estate. No one moves in or out. Search the entire fucking house. Leave no room unsearched. Turn every piece of fucking furniture over. Find my children, heirs to the Autumn throne. Immediately. Or heads will roll.” His back is turned towards me as he shouted, but the panic he felt rippled down the bond in heavy waves, focusing into a rage that he had never experienced, not even when Beron lived, “and bring me the fucking nanny.”

His guards immediately drew their iron swords at his orders and dispersed rapidly, some running further into the home, some running outside. Splitting into groups of two, one ran towards the outskirts of the estate where Zeyphrus lived to drag her back here, and the other towards the outer forest that surrounded the home. My hands shook as I traced the little carving of Marwa’s name on the small desk, left by what looks to be a very sharp pencil, or possibly, a tiny dagger. I could hardly feel the indents into the wood, my hands tingling with panic and nerves as Eris turned towards me, the fire in his eyes still evident. His hand caught mine, squeezing tightly, “We will find them my love, they will be fine. They are strong and will take care of each other.”

Another sob escaped me as I collapsed into his arms, clinging to his figure for a moment before the shouts of the nanny were heard down the hall. Two of the guards were dragging her by her elbows, she glanced wildly around the room in confusion until she was brought to her knees facing us. She took one long look at Eris’ face, wincing at the cold fury that was directed at her and turned to stare down at the ground, “Where are Marwa and Twila?” Her head snapped up, confusion washing over her face, “I– in bed my lord,” stuttering it out, more as a question than as a statement. She shifted her gaze to me, maybe hoping to find more mercy, mercy that I could not find within me as long as my babes were missing.

She continued, her voice trembling as her body began to shake, the guards tightening their grip on her elbows and yanking her up to face us once more, “My lord, I put them to bed for their daily nap, I– are they not there?” Her cerulean blue eyes filled with tears, panic shone across her face as she begins to process the implications of not knowing where Marwa and Twila were. My tone was piercing, “No, they aren’t.” She began stuttering, but the patience of Eris and I had already been drawn out the moment we found their classroom empty, Eris had fully shifted into the ruthless high lord he once feared becoming, slamming his hand onto the wooden table next to him, his eyes filled with the fire that was stoked by the fear of losing his children, the greatest joys of his life. Zephyrus cried out in fear, flinching as the nearby supply closet lit into a controlled fire, the pent of rage and horror Eris felt bleeding into his surroundings through his fae magic.

But there was something in the way that she had looked at us, the way she had been truly confused, almost flabbergasted that we had been questioning her about the whereabouts of our babes that made me feel as though, deep in my gut, she had nothing to do with this. I felt weak, my hands still tingling from the panic, shakily resting on one of Eris’ forearms, “She doesn’t know anything Er.” Both of their heads jolted towards me, Zephyrus with a look of relief muddled with confusion, and Eris, shaken and upset. The babes adored their nanny, and she loved them. Marwa always has stories of the cuddles she and Zephyrus had, and Twila was filled with tales of their afternoon walks through the forest. She had looked after them since they were born, setting up to help me on the toughest of nights, and the busiest of days.

Er jerked his head at the guards, gesturing for them to take the woman away, likely to a holding cell for further questioning until the babes are found. But it would be pointless. We had sworn her into secrecy and loyalty the day she signed on as our babes nanny, and any movement away from that sworn loyalty, would result in her immediate death by the magic that bound us together. I painfully swallowed against the hard lump in my throat, still struggling to breathe, the pressure in my chest making it only possible to catch my breath, even in small gasps of air.

The fear burned my eyes, I blinked back the stinging tears to prevent them from streaming down into an endless sea of panic. Blowing out the breath from my puffed cheeks, I stared into Eris’ flickering irises, still flaming from the worry. His warm hands came up to cup my cheeks, pulling me closer into him until his forehead was pressed against mine, “You can find them my love,” his lips fluttered above my upper lip as he spoke, “You know them better than anyone. They are your soul, as they are my heart. C’mon sweet girl, think.” His hand marked by our shared tattoo reached down and grabbed hold of my own, pressing it against his chest right where his heart beat. It felt like a hummingbird fluttering against my palm, only slowing with pulses of comfort that waved down our bond.

I tightened my palm into a fist, gripping the soft material of his blood red shirt as I forced myself to think back to where the babes could possibly be. All the areas I had checked were my firstline stream of thoughts, but it was possible they were elsewhere in places I hadn’t even initially thought of. But the possibilities remained endless. Eris and I had been quite strict with incorporating family outings into our schedules. Even as high lord and lady, we still made sure to have one on one time with the babes, girls’ day out with their mama and daddy's day out with their papa, even their favorite uncle, the newly ascendent high lord of Day, Lucien joined in on occasion.

From having their own treehouse built in the sacoya, to private pathways in the forest, to small alcoves for a game of hide and seek, to the rapids of the Sienna river where Eris took them fishing.

They could be anywhere.

And who even knows if they were together?

I sent a silent prayer to the mother and gods above, to any deity who had the sympathy to listen and hopefully, the benevolence to answer such prayers, that they were together, that they remained as a unit of sisters, stuck together with the everlasting love of siblings. I prayed a prayer that they would give me even the smallest of clues as to where they could possibly be, And I hoped that Ruby, their pup, was with them, even as small as he was, it was possible that–.

The pup.

The hounds.

Though Eris’ palm was rubbing the back of my neck, keeping me close to him as he eyed my now concentrated face, I felt myself hurtle back. The fucking hounds. “I– I think I know. Gods, please, I think–,” I couldn't even finish my sentence, already using all my force to push myself off the desk, legs pumping underneath me, carrying me before the thought could even finish itself. I continued crying prayers to myself as I ran, “gods, please, please.” I could barely hear the thudding of Eris’ leather boots against the marbled floor and then the evening dewed grass over the blood that was whooshing in my ears.

Eris slammed into my back, not expecting me to suddenly stop in my tracks. His arm wrapped around my hips as we both stumbled forward, trying to prevent me from being thrown over the stable door as the force of his impact made its way through me. But my feet were planted on the floor, my hand frozen stuck on the door handle. A question comes out of Eris’ mouth, one that I do not hear as I forced myself to take another deep breath, a final beseeching prayer to the cauldron before heaving the heavy door open.

One of my hands reached back to grab Eris’ as I pulled him and I inside, eyes searching over every millimeter of the stable, over and over. The stalls remained childless, with only hay and curious horses peaking at us. My grip tightened its hold on Eris’ hand, squeezing three times on occasion as he paced behind me, rechecking every stall that I have peered into. I switched my path away from the horses and towards the area where the killer hounds were kept. The ones that belonged to Eris, even before I was in his life. The ones who are supposed to tear apart any enemies to the Autumn Court into literal shreds. The ones who are known to maul intruders of the estate.

The ones that have the softest of soft spots for the babes and I.

The ones who used to whine at our bedroom door until Eris would get out of bed to open the door for them. The ones who would rush into the room and pounce onto the bed to snuggle against me. The ones who refused to leave my side during my pregnancy, taking turns laying their head on my swollen belly. The ones who stood at the doorway during the birth of the babes, growling at any sentry who walked past the room. The ones who licked the small toes of Marwa, and sniffed at Twila’s little fists. The ones who ran ahead during our family hikes to warn us of any pedestrians ahead. The ones who slowed their trots to match pace with the small toddling of Marwa and Twila. The ones who patiently allowed for Twila to climb onto their backs, who screamed with joy, “Onward Buster!” forcing them to carry her to wherever the little one pleased. The ones who sat with Marwa, who settled herself on their side, reading tiny books to them, pointing out the pictures with her chubby pointer finger which they would attentively stare at.

And there they are.

I took a moment, soaking in the scene before me, pressing my hands into my belly, trying to quiet the sobs that are forcing their way through my body. I heard a gasp of relief from Eris, who hugged me from behind and stroked the backs of my hand, popping a quick kiss into my cheek and then on my temple before resting his head on top of mine. He slowly swayed us side to side, enjoying the most adorable, relieving sight he had ever seen in his entire lifetime.

Twila was curled into Marwa, her pudgy arm clinging to her sister's soft, plush belly. Marwa’s head was turned toward Twila’s, her tiny hand tightly gripping her sisters, the both of them fast asleep, cuddled together, surrounded by the warmth of the twelve killer hounds that Eris had raised. Their pup lay on his stomach, snoring softly as the babes feet rested under him, acting as a miniature comforter.

It was Marwa who woke first, hearing the shuffling of her mama and papa trying to move around the hounds to reach them. Her tiny fist released her sister's hand, rubbing at her sleep crusted eyes, a tiny yawn escaping her as she sat up and stretched, her adorable rounded belly sticking out. “Mama?” Her voice is heavy with sleep, her eyes half lidded as she fought off falling back into her dreams.

I choked down another sob, reaching down for her, my smile watery and full as her arms automatically reached out so she could be held, “Hello my beautiful little babe.” I pulled her into my embrace, clutching at her dress and stuffing my face into her messy, knotted hair, “And what kind of mischief have you and your sister gotten into little one?” Her legs could barely wrap around my waist, her arms tightly wrapped around my neck as she buried her face into my shoulder, taking a deep sigh of content as she took in her mothers scent. Eris finally reached the passed out Twila, who continued snoring quietly as he lifted her up into his chest. He planted a kiss onto her nose, which twitched at the tickling sensation, before she snuggled deeper into his warmth. He rocked her, patting the space between her shoulders to soothe her back into her deep sleep. The hounds lifted their deadly stares at us, taking a moment to recognize who we are, before resting their heads back onto their feet.

I huffed out a snort, rolling my eyes while I approached Eris, focused more so on bending over to kiss Twila’s ruddy, warm cheeks than the napping hounds. Marwa grumbled, wriggling deeper into my embrace when Eris landed a sloppy kiss onto her forehead. He sent a smirk my way, bumping his hip into mine as we strolled out of the stables, “They really are your children,” his voice is hoarse, but filled with mirth and fondness. I scoffed, bumping his hip in return, much rougher than I had initially intended, “And what is that supposed to mean fireboy?” I side-eyed him, pursing my lips into a wicked grin as he flushed red at the nickname. “I mean, they fall asleep anywhere and everywhere at any time. And I wonder who they got that from,” boring his amber eyes into mine without any sense of hesitation.

I playfully gasped at the hidden accusation, tickling the bottoms of Marwa’s feet who kicked them out and cackled as I stared incredulously at her, “Do you hear your papa little one? How ridiculous is he?” She leaned in, pecking my lips with a tiny kiss, before pulling back, her chocolate brown eyes bright and sparkling, “So so ri-ducky-lucky mama.” Eris chomped his teeth at her, “Honk honk,” snickering at her cheerful yelps. He settled the napping Twila, who had a tranquil smile gracing her face, on his hip, reaching his free hand, tattooed with our marriage vows to rest on the small of my back as we walked back to the estate.

They were most definitely sleeping in our room at nightfall.

Masterlist

General taglist: @nyotamalfoy @brekkershadowsinger @kennedy-brooke @fieldofdaisiies

#Girl dad!Eris x reader #girl dad!Eris #girl dad eris x reader #girl dad!eris vanserra #marwa and twila #babes #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra as a girl dad #girl dad!#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris acotar #girl dad!er

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wannabepoeticischiya · 27 days ago

Text

if I can stop one heart from breaking

[ 08 ] — the unravelling

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He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight. He was there. In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn... he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere... except right here. He existed in every corner of the cosmos-just not in the space beside her.

“Where’d you get that camera?”

[Name] walks to him with a smile, holding the gadget close to her kimono-clad chest.

“This?” She raises it to her eye, trying to get an angle to capture a photo, “The store manager let me borrow it. She said I could take the last two films as samples.” [Name] grins at him, waving the camera around as her eyes search for something to photograph.

Soushiro watches her with warm affection, fisting a hand over his mouth to hide the smile that denied his every will to disappear.

He was glad there was little to no crowd in the small store lest he gets pointed at and called a creep.

It felt strange to him, given that it was nearing the beginning of March which meant that students were about to graduate, but there was no one here.

A little over a year ago, he was standing in this spot as well, looking for cameras to take to his graduation ceremony because, unlike his peers, he didn’t have a phone. And Narumi Gen, who oh-so gladly pointed it out to the rest of the school, took delight in knowing that he had the upper hand when it came to social standings as he so wonderfully had put it.

Soushiro thought less of those meaningless titles, they could have been stapled or tattooed to Narumi’s skin for all he cared.

Still, there was a little part of his soul that thought it would have been nice to have someone to talk to after he gets off from school, or have the scenery of the passing days be locked in a still image—never to be forgotten, perhaps keep the memory of someone’s voice inside the pockets of his uniform.

Back then, Soushiro didn’t have anyone with him. Not when he asked his father if he could have a phone, or when he denied his son’s request and suggested he get a camera instead, even when he walked the path to this shop with nothing but his glove to keep him warm.

To Soushiro in the past, it all seemed like big problems—as though the entire universe was plotting against him on everything.

But now, he had her.

And never in his wildest imagination would he have ever thought that the world was so much brighter when the light of her smiles ended their journey in his eyes, forever casting his soul in infinite gladness at the reminder of her love.

“Go stand over there.” She points to the bare wall on the other side of the store, telling him to pose however he wishes as she readies the camera.

You who would listen to everything I have to say.

“Like this?” Soushiro holds up two peace signs, waving them mindlessly.

You who wouldn’t even hesitate to come along with me anytime, anywhere.

“Yeah—hey, stop moving around.”

You… I have you. In all this endless nothingness, I have you.

At the sound of a shutter and the blinding light of a flash, Soushiro crosses the distance that once separated them, finding his place next to her.

[Name] bounced on the balls of her feet, waiting with unsuppressed eagerness for the picture to print out of the camera.

“Aha, here it is!” She beams, flapping the still undeveloped photo in the air.

“You don’t need to do that, ya know.” Soushiro points out as he laughed at her antics, catching her wrist with his calloused palm, pulling her closer to where he is until her back hit his chest.

“It’s instant film, you only need to wait…” he whispers, hugging her close, relishing the faint scent of her shampoo that floods his nose.

The midnight color blanketing the small rectangle gradually fades, bleeding in the colors of violet and red. “It really is instant!” She smiles, raising the picture to the ceiling as though it was some sort of treasure.

[Name] wriggles free from his hold, tucking away the photograph of Soushiro in the small bag she brought with her.

“Now you try.” She hands him the camera, not noticing the small frown that paints its way onto his face at the loss of her warmth.

[Name] fixes her hairpin and flattened any creases she might have had on her clothes. She looked to Soushiro, wanting to ask him if she looked alright. It was the last film and [Name] wanted him to keep it. To paint an image of her in time unsullied by the cruelty of the world. She wants Soushiro to remember her like that, but the words never got to leave her lips.

The blinding flash of the camera colors her vision white.

When her sight adjusted from the momentary blindness, the reality of what happened had dawned on her.

“I wasn’t ready!” [Name] yells in horror, selfishly wanting the camera to malfunction before she—or worse, Soushiro—sees what creature has been conjured up in that little rectangle.

“Let’s see what we have here!” Soushiro grins as he places the camera on the nearby table, waving around the film as though he hadn’t just said to her a few minutes ago that there was no need to.

[Name] circles the violet-haired man, looking for an opportunity to try and grab the photo from his evil schemes.

Once he stopped to stare and what was probably the most humiliating evidence of her existence, [Name] lunges at him—desperate to preserve what was left of her dignity.

“No can do, princess~” He laughs, circling an arm around [Name]’s shoulders to pin her to him.

[Name] grumbles in annoyance, not only was her kimono ridiculously heavy, but the added distance as Soushiro moved it away from her reach had thrown all her attempts to the trash bin.

“Wow! It looks amazing!” Soushiro gushes and [Name] looks at his expression in disbelief.

He had a silly big grin plastered on his pretty face, as the apples of his cheeks were dusted in vermillion. “You could be a model, [Name]!”

Soushiro lowers the photo for her to see.

And [Name] was sure she would never be able to show her face to the world if that ever got out.

“Wha—I look terrible!”

In great contrast to her perfectly centered picture of Soushiro, following all the proper rules of photography, the swordsman’s take of [Name] was her, just her.

[Name]’s face took up the entire film leaving no room for any type of background, the flash painted her face in a lighter shade, emphasizing the foolishly confused expression painted on her face.

“I think it looks nice.” Soushiro leans his head on hers, rubbing the side of her shoulder up and down as though it would help soothe her ire.

“You think everything’s nice.” She pouts, wriggling free from his hold once more.

“Only if it’s you.”

“Urgh,” [Name] rolls her eyes, fighting off the fires that threatened to set her face in flames, “What a flirt.” She scoffs, taking the camera from the table and walking towards the manager.

Soushiro watches her in delight. He would never admit it but sometimes, [Name] felt too good to be real.

The swordsman would wake in the middle of the night asking himself if she actually existed, that she wasn’t an entity morphed from the feelings festering in his chest, if [Name]… loves him as much as he does her.

“Thank you for lending us the camera.” [Name] bows in gratitude.

But in the shimmer of her eyes, the shadows of her smile…

“No problem. I hope the photos last a lifetime.”

…they made his doubts falter, withering until all that remained was the thrumming sensation of his deeply rooted adoration for her.

[Name] hooks her arm with his as Soushiro and her leave the shop with nothing but the free pictures to commemorate their visit.

It felt like a crime… leaving the store without actually buying anything.

“That’s a good catchphrase. ‘Pictures to last a lifetime’ isn’t that nice?” [Name] leans her head on his shoulder, still thinking about the photos the two of them kept: hers with Soushiro’s perfectly centered photo, and Soushiro with her abominably large face conquering the majority of the frame.

“Sure, princess, whatever makes you happy.” He smiles, patting the hand that rests on his bicep.

Domed by an ether dyed in eternal blue, the zephyrs tethered the whispers of warmer days, casting spells for buds of flowers to sway to their melodies, for trees that were once frozen solid in the wake of the season, to rattle their branches and reach for the endless sky. The wonders of winter were long gone from the earth, melted under the gaze of the warming sun.

Cradled underneath them all were the swordsman and the princess, basking in the comfort of one another. No matter how many people passed them by, shoulders Soushiro would clash against so long as [Name] didn’t have to, tremors of noise that bounced against every windowpane and corner, they remained in their own little world—where nothing existed besides the two of them.

Soushiro closed his eyes, feeling his heart sink into the ocean of contentment. He swore then and there, that he could have spent all the days to come doing mundane things—looking at flowers, staring at the sky, watching the stars—as long as he would have her by his side as he did so.

As the curtains rose to reveal his crimson irises, Soushiro found himself watching as [Name] stared at the flowers across the street.

He failed to suppress the smile lingering at the edges of his lips, he always did that—unfailingly.

If [Name] were to ask him why he was smiling so much, he reckons his entire body would combust and his brain would cease to work. He’d fumble over his words, lose focus, and forget how to breathe.

Soushiro wasn’t embarrassed, he could have declared it to the world, and he would find no shame in doing so. But there was something about [Name] when she would look him in the eye, laugh, and poke his face—tell Soushiro that she loves him, like there was no surer thing in the world other than the sentiments she held in her heart, as though no power could ever deter her adoration for him.

All while he never said it back, overridden by fear that the illusion would fade—that [Name] will disappear—that it wouldn’t be enough to cover for everything that she is.

Even when he gave her forty-two roses for Valentine's Day, bought her cakes in her favorite color, favorite fruit, and favorite flavor. He had never once told her those three little words, fearful that they may mean too much or mean nothing at all.

But Soushiro knew that [Name], above all else, deserved to hear those from him. He could see it in her eyes, even if she didn’t say it outright, that she longed to hear him say those words, too.

Soushiro wanted to cross the space that lay between them when a flicker of light tore his attention away.

Scaled on the building on the other side of the intersection was a digital billboard, flashing the faces of Shinomiya Isao and Shinomiya Hikari with the headline as ‘The Power Couple of the Defense Force’.

Who would have thought otherwise? When Shinomiya Isao was the captain of the first division and Shinomiya Hikari was the famous numbers weapon holder captain of the second division.

There was something about them that tugged at his soul. A warning, perhaps even a nudge in another direction.

Albeit faintly, he remembers a few distant memories, seemingly swept under the carpet from the sudden sensation of comfort.

He looks back to [Name] who was now walking to where he remained standing, a lone buoy in the ocean of people.

“Hey,” she greets, booping his nose to get his attention, “you okay? You’ve been standing there that I almost mistook you for a standee.” She laughs, pressing a hand to his face to caress the underside of his eye.

Soushiro breathed in her scent, relishing in the warmth of her hand before weaving his fingers through their gaps, bringing her hand close to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly.

“Hiro?”

Oh, how he loves it when she does that. I love you. When her breath would stagger, and his name would fall short of the first syllable. And he figures she doesn’t even know.

“What do you think of the defense force?” He gives her a small smile, hopeful on one end, hesitant on the other.

And his look didn’t escape [Name]’s eyes, even as her brows furrowed in confusion from both his question and reluctance.

“They’re okay, I guess?” She answers after a breath, “They’re biased against swordsmen so that’s a minus from me.”

[Name] chuckles at her own remark, her words holding the truth at the same time her faith in him. “Why do you ask?”

Soushiro sees right through her, she doesn’t want to talk about it. Even if she didn’t say it outright, her eyes held all the words she couldn’t convey. Perhaps it was a touchy subject given that her clan is well-known for Kaiju-killing, and Soushiro understands.

So, he pats her hair, knowing that she hates it when he ruffles them, and [Name] is left to walk the rest of the way home looking like she collided with a tornado. A simple gesture so it seems, but it was enough for [Name] to know that he wouldn’t speak of it until she was ready. He is kind. Always was, always will be.

“Nothing.” He smiles, taking her hand in his as they make the journey back home.

Soushiro would tell her soon enough. Maybe not now or even tomorrow, but surely an opportunity will present itself, and he would be sure to seize it when it does.

---

Silence blanketed the grounds of the Hoshina estate. The spring gale waltzs about the empty streets—free from narrow eyes and thin eyebrows—swaying the vines to their endless tunes, freeing the petals from their restraints, having them paint the heavens with a kaleidoscope of colors found only when the season of frost had long disappeared.

[Name] sat on the couch, finding solace in the peace that came with the stillness. Normally, she would have spent her hours sitting on the engawa, watching the rain of leaves and the hurricane of flowers in the gardens, but her nose would be begging her to rip it off her face.

She inhaled the scent of spring, taking in the way her muscles relaxed—free from the tension.

Unceremonious thudding shattered the silence, followed by garbled sounds of somebody whining, and the clinks of silverware hitting the floor, then the stillness.

[Name] waited for the seconds to pass by to see if anything else was to be destroyed, when nothing arose, she closed her eyes once more.

A loud bang erupted from the direction of the kitchen, footfalls echoing amidst the chaos, and the door was slid open by none other than the perpetrator himself.

“Did you cause the explosion?” [Name] asks, looking at Soushiro from over her shoulders.

“Wow, princess, so you’ll only ask once I get here?” He sighs, drawing closer to where she was sitting.

“What if I died back there, huh? Will you only ask me if my corpse comes crawling here?” This time, [Name] looks to him just in time to catch him pouting at her like a child, with soot and ash painting his face.

“So dramatic.” [Name] playfully rolls her eyes at him, wetting her thumb as tries to rid of the stains on his face.

Soushiro looks at her, not saying anything. He didn’t want to tell her that his attempts at baking were absolute rubbish. Finding that it was either too stale, too mushy, undercooked, or severely burnt. There was no in-between. A lot of ingredients went to waste with him, flour blanketed the floors like snow, egg yolks on the counters accompanied by hills of sugar.

The only thing he got right was cutting the meat into perfectly even slices, thin so they could be crispy just how she likes it.

“It’s not coming off, my love.” [Name] blinks at him with a warm, amused, smile plastered on her face.

“Better go wash up instead.”

“Why?” Soushiro tilts his head in question, and [Name] failed to suppress the laugh bubbling in the insides of her throat; surfacing as a snort which she tried to cover as a cough.

With furrowed brows, he looks past her to see his reflection in the mirror: two streaks of soot were smudged on both sides of his cheeks, a mustache of ash, and raccoon eyes. [Name] was totally toying with him!

Soushiro turns to look at her again, her cheeky grin greeting his vision, hands dyed ebony as the only evidence they had ever touched his face.

He could never be mad at that—not when she was staring at him like he was the greatest discovery she had ever made, even if he did look like a lost barbarian from an ancient tribe.

“I’ll get you for this.” He playfully glares at her as he stands up, a promise of vengeance for her little trick.

Soushiro sauntered the empty halls, finding comfort as the usual bustle of servants had dulled into nothingness.

Every aid and family member was gathered down by the main building, celebrating his lovely brother’s promotion to Platoon Leader. He called (and the only reason he ever did was to brag about his achievements and bathe in everybody’s praise) the other night, and as expected, their father had already arranged a congratulatory event for his pride and joy. That’s another blade squeezed into Soichiro’s rack of weapons to fuel his growing ego.

Soushiro doesn’t even know why he bothers with Soichiro’s arrogance. Somehow, deep inside, he figures he was still bothered by his older brother’s words. And now that Soichiro has another flame to hold over him, it gave light to how empty his accomplishments were compared to his brother.

He douses his face in water, washing away the last of the ash—even in simple things like baking, I fail.

Angrily, Soushiro rubs away the water from his face, leaving red to color his face from his ire.

In everything—anything, it’s a failure when I’m the one who does it!

His steps were heavy as he walks back to where [Name] is, thinking of the words he was going to say when he eventually runs into his brother in this household. Soushiro didn’t want to appear envious of Soichiro’s triumphs, he wasn’t—not even in the least bit—but he knew his brother would always find a way to twist his intentions and make it appear as if Soushiro’s sentiments were driven by another motive.

The younger Hoshina will always mean it when he says he’s happy for where his brother stands now. He means it when he says he admires Soichiro’s skill with the blade, even more so that he’s got the combat power to fire weaponry made for exterminating Kaiju. Soushiro will always mean it but… he hates it that it will always remain as that: being happy for someone.

Because he wants to achieve great things, too. Out there, doing what he thinks is best, what he would love to do more than anything—Soushiro wants to be like him, too. He wants to use his skill, his talent, all that he has to offer, to kill those creatures.

And it was like a slap to the face when he realized it—that he doesn’t want a life on the sidelines, living the rest of his days watching other people reach the places he could only dare to dream about. The silence was nice, and he knew that somewhere down the road of time he would kill just to have it back again, but right now… he yearned for the thrill of it. To try and reach for a life that he wanted to live.

Soushiro was certain that he would only find that life if he joins the ranks of the Defense Force.

"What on earth are you mumbling about?" [Name] asks, watching Soushiro grumble to himself about the things spiralling in his head.

"Nothing." He shakes his head and yet the distant look in his eyes remains.

[Name] found it strange. She wasn’t so naïve as to not notice when Soushiro was hiding something, and he is—right at this very moment. He might think he’s so clever or that he hides it so very well, but his mannerisms could never escape her gaze.

When he’s awfully quiet, scratching his fingers against one another, whispering under his breath about something but his head is far too preoccupied to voice out what that something is, [Name] would know then that he’s bothered by that very something that he struggles to find the words to express what he really felt.

"It's clearly not nothing when I can hear you groveling from all the way over here, best to let it out." She encourages.

"No. It's stupid—and," He shakes his head in denial, not quite ready to put it all out there, but he sees the patient undertone dyeing the pools of her irises, wordlessly telling him that she would listen… even if he says the wrong things—especially if he says the wrong things—and that she would be there either way.

And her kindness gave him the push to purge the last of the hesitation in his veins.

“I have something to tell you.” Soushiro takes a seat next to her, avoiding her gaze.

Now [Name] was certain that it wasn’t a small matter, and her guesses were proven true when Soushiro’s words were let out to ring within the four walls.

“You… you want to join… the defense force?” She whispers, finding it difficult to wrap her head around it even as she speaks the words that carried his dreams.

“Are you sure?” [Name] voice was uneven, unsure of what to make of it all. She looks to him in hesitance—in hope, hope that he’ll—

“This is what I want to do. I want to get rid of them—all of them. Their doubts. Assumptions. I want to prove them all wrong—that I can kill kaijus without a gun. I can and I will.”

Soushiro’s resolve tore at her heart more than [Name] would have ever liked to admit, pulling at the seams of it like it was testing just how far it could tug before it all came undone.

And her silence was proof of that. Soundless, wordless, heck she didn’t even have to look at him!

It was all Soushiro needed.

“Do you not think—you don’t think I can do it, do you?” His words were careful, if anything they were tamed, because the last thing he wanted was to use [Name] as a basin for his anger.

“No! No, that’s not it!” She tried to protest, flailing her hands in denial.

“Really, [Name]? Not even a little bit?” He chuckles dryly, carding a hand through his recently dampened hair. Was he supposed to be in shock? Relieved? Sad? Disappointed? “You were the only person I thought would be the one to support me on this—”

Of all people, [Name] was the one who believed the most that he could do it, that Soushiro would achieve great things simply because he was a great person, and even more so because he was determined, that he, out of all the people in the world, deserved it the most. Yet the look on her lover’s face, painted in all the colors of disbelief—[Name] knew… that there would be no swaying his thoughts. Because as much as he was kind, Soushiro was stubborn to a deep-rooted fault.

“And I do!” She interjects, trying to reach for his hand to hold only to retreat when she sees him pull away.

[Name] prays that the hurt wasn’t too obvious, that the sound of her heart shattering from his denial wasn’t too loud—that he can’t hear the shards of it clinking around as he looks at her like she was everything but herself. When he calls her as though she was the mirror of the people who discouraged him in the past. [Name] didn’t know what to make of it all, not when Soushiro acted like she was anything but his lover.

“Well, you sure don’t sound like you’re happy about it.” He snaps, his crimson gaze burning in the colors of anger and disappointment, perhaps even a hint of betrayal.

“Happy?” [Name] echoes. She decided then that if he was going to be difficult, then she was not going to back down either. “You want me to be happy with sending you out there? To die?”

“Die?” Soushiro repeats, desperately trying to push down the rage bubbling in his stomach.

“Is this what you this is as, [Name]? A dream to end my life?” His words came out in a flurry, and before he even put it together… he realizes that the steam from an overboiling pot burns just as much as its water.

“No! Wha—I can’t believe you would even say that…” [Name]’s voice grew weaker with every word she spoke, her anger dying out with the flames of her misplaced concern.

The room was left in heavy silence, leaving [Name] to realize that her worry—her fear of the unknown, and her idea of the world—was blinding her from seeing how her words must have sounded to Soushiro.

And it left the swordsman to wonder as well, how the declarations of his death must have rattled her—that the blade might have cut far too deep when he only ever wanted to show it.

But Soushiro needed to see her, just as much as [Name] needed to see him.

“You don't seem to realize that not everything can be mended by hopes and dreams, Soushiro.” [Name]’s words were cold, tethered to the reality that keeps chasing them both.

“So, now this is just some hopeless make-believe?” Soushiro sneers, crossing his arms in defiance.

“No!”

“Then what?”

“You need to see the reality.” [Name] presses a hand above her eyes, as though it will help hold out the dam of tears that threatened to break under the pressure of Soushiro’s adamancy. She was getting tired of all the endless yelling.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, she cared not if the veins that littered her sclera were pulsating red, but [Name] would not have him twisting her intentions into something she would never dare even dream of.

“Hard work and resolve won’t cut it.” The sentiments she spoke were the frost-covered truth, “Out there, people will discourage you—”

Soushiro scoffs at her words.

“They’ll shove you to the ground—”

“Like that hasn’t happened already.”

[Name] pinches the bridge of her nose, releasing a shaky sigh as her words were spoken in a silent whisper reserved only for him to hear. Please, enough.

“…break you piece by piece because they don’t understand—”

“And you do?” He challenged, deriding her to reply. “What do you know, [Name]? Because between you and me, you have a better life, don’t you? No one to compete with, praises sung at your name. You never worked a day in your life—”

A harsh slap silenced the rest of his words. And it dawns on Soushiro… that his anger had poured down on [Name].

“You—you have no right to say that to me.” Her breath was ragged, like it took everything in her to say it to him—everything in her not to break down and cry from the wounds he inflicted, the scars he had unknowingly opened.

“What… and you do?” Soushiro chuckles dryly, choosing to look at the floor—anything, so long as it was not her face. Because the sound of her breaking voice had him feeling like he was the scum of the earth, that looking at her was a privilege that he was not worthy of. “What’s so different about you that you’d know what it’s like?”

And all too suddenly, glimpses of a flowery kimono greets the back of [Name]’s vision. Flashes of angry obsidian irises glaring at her from so high up. A frown of disappointment thrown at her for every passing glance.

‘—should have never given birth to you.’

‘If only you were a—’

Contempt directed at her very existence for something that was beyond her control.

I’ll fix it. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.

‘She cannot be an heir—'

’…only first-born sons are appointed—’

The shouts and the screams that rang in her ears.

Don’t leave. Papa will be sad. I’ll fix it. I’ll be better.

And when the dust settled, everything was still.

“Because I can accept the truth.” [Name]’s words were simple, so painfully mundane that it was often overlooked by the questions of what-if.

“I have seen honorable people lose who they are for the promise of power, a chance at acceptance. They told lies for the sake of approval even if it came at the price of the heartbreak of someone they love.”

Because that’s exactly what happens when people are blinded.

They leave.

And they don’t come back.

“Upon knowing that—tell me now, that I have not seen the cruelty of the world. That my life is as easy as you make it out to be. That my every waking moment was greeted by revelry. That I had it easy and that I did not work for a single day in my life.”

Her words were cold, plunged in the same frosty ocean from when they first met. She spoke like a perfect wife—no, she spoke like a leader. Untethered by the frailty of emotions.

But when Soushiro mustered the courage to look her in the eye, he couldn’t have been any more wrong.

“Stop staying in that bubble of yours, thinking that problems can be solved by pretending that they don’t exist because it won't work.”

She was crying.

[Name] was crying.

Eyes brimmed with silver as the hills of her cheeks were dyed red, stained by the waterfall of tears that swept past them.

And it was all his fault.

“You’re right!” Soushiro yields, dragging a hand over his face, feeling as the guilt seeps in through the cracks that littered his heart at the sight of [Name]’s sadness.

Do you think I don’t know that? I know—more than anyone—that I have to give ten times more to make up for what I lack.

“Hopes and dreams won’t put food on the table. They won’t cover the holes in the roof. And they won’t magically give me everything I want.”

But Soushiro knew he had to say it now, lest he’d be living his days ridden in regret of what could have been. And he needed [Name] to see him, too. That he was more than just this Hoshina swordsman that she came across. There was more to Soushiro than just teaching swordplay. That his life wasn’t simply just made for domesticity.

And he wanted her to see that.

“But you… more than anybody else, I wanted you to believe. I wanted you to support me. Because it wouldn’t have mattered what others would say—what they’d do—as long as you were my ally.” He confesses bitterly, now finding the strength to look her in the eye.

And like hell did it hurt. Because even as he hands his heart out on a silver platter, [Name] remained hesitant to break it into little pieces.

Even at the expanse of his anger, she stayed tethered to her concerns… her concerns for his life.

Isn't it enough that I love you? Soushiro could read her eyes clear as day.

He wished it were so, that love alone could have sufficed for everything the world demanded. More than anything, he wished it were enough. Still, much like hopes and dreams… it was not. Perhaps it shone in a much incandescent light, blazed brighter than any star in the sky, but in forever it will remain untouched.

You cannot pay in love because heartbreak is what you’ll get in change.

Dreams are crushed under the weight of reality.

No lie is more believable than those we desperately wanted to be true.

If love alone would suffice then cheaters would be praised, for it seems they have so much of it to give.

“Why… can’t you be happy for me, [Name]?” He whispers, desperately trying to fend off the itching feeling to just latch himself in her warmth.

Was it such a task? To offer him a menial slice of faith? He wasn’t asking for the world, nor did he wish for things to be easier. All he ever wanted… was the promise of her heart, of her trust.

“Do… you really think I’m not capable?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Hoshina Soushiro.” She intercepted with a tone of finality, effectively shutting him up. [Name] didn’t want another argument.

“Heaven knows I believed in you when you didn’t even think that you would make it. But a clear line is drawn between what is within reach and what is not. I didn’t—not even for a second—let my faith in you blunder so don’t go yelling that I looked down on you and your abilities because I didn’t. And I never will.”

“Then why…”

“Why?” She echoed, taking his hands into hers, looking him in the eye, despair riddling her heart. “Hiro, one day my words will ring true. And you will see that there are some things in this world that power cannot alter. There are no second chances when it is your life that is on the line. So why—why would I willingly send you to a place where I can lose you?” she pressed her forehead against his.

It was always his life that she held above all else. The fear of losing him—living in a world where he was not near, that he wasn’t in the next room, or a call away—it was all too much.

I just got you… don’t leave me so soon.

“I know you are able, more than anybody else. But you are far too kind, and I know you will put your life at risk to save somebody else. You have to understand that out there, anything can take you away.”

[Name] felt the warmth of her worry trickle down her cheeks, hands shaking as they anchored on either side of his cheeks—the sole proof that he existed in this space beside her, that he was breathing, that he was real.

“I know I’m being selfish…” She whispers, “But I don’t want you to go.”

“[Name]…”

“I want to tell you that you won’t make it—if it gets you to stay. I will say the same things others have told you if it keeps you alive even for a second longer. Desperately do I want to see you safe, free from harm’s way…”

She pulled away, choosing to look him in the eye instead of cowering in the warmth of his soul. Because Soushiro needs to hear her words, and he needs to know that she means them.

“But I do not want you to feel like a bird in a cage. I do not wish to see you unhappy. I do not want your hopes to be crushed by my hand, by my words. And I don’t want my concern to feel like a leash. I can’t say that I understand… because I don’t—but I swear to you, I’m trying to. I’m trying because I love you.”

[Name] shut her eyes, clutching tightly onto his hands, afraid that if she weakens her hold on him for even a second… the cruel world will take him away.

“If this is what will make you happy, then I will support you.” Through silver-brimmed irises, she looked at him with steely resolve, “But if you get hurt, I will rush to you. If your life is threatened, I will get you out of there. Even if it’s at the expense of your animosity.”

Somebody has to draw the line somewhere. [Name] would rather have him angry at her for the rest of her days than not have him anywhere at all.

"Is fighting with a blade no longer comparable to fighting using a gun? Everybody—" Soushiro’s voice trembled, feeling as the worlds of his dreams and reality threaten to collide and destroy him from the inside out.

And [Name] was at the center of it all, so it seemed. Everything beyond and all that lies in between.

"Since when did you start caring what everybody else thought?" She cuts, offering him a small smile.

“But you—”

“And I’m sorry.”

With a small sigh, [Name] put away her pride and opened her arms, wide enough to let Soushiro slip through them and put his weight on her, burying his face between the space where her shoulder meets her head.

[Name] wonders then, how she could have stomached saying those hurtful things to him when this was the wake of her words. The swordsman who smiled so effortlessly, laughed when she couldn’t, lifted her up when it was hard to even open her eyes, parted her lips when she couldn’t breathe. Soushiro was trembling—suppressing the urge to cry. All that she said to him, when all he ever asked was for was her support. That she stands by him as he reaches for a dream he knows he can have.

"If you keep worrying about other people's opinions, you'll never be strong enough to take the step forward that will change everything." [Name]'s hand that previously traced up and down his back had now made its way to weave through his impossibly soft hair. "People will always try to discourage what they fear, my love. They destroy the things that don't make sense, and that includes the things that most of them can't do."

[Name] felt hypocritical saying that when just a moment ago, she was trying to tether him into living a life only she had wanted. Wanting to tie him down to a life of security where only she was happy, and he would be left dreaming of a life he could have lived.

“But your dreams will never come true if you give up.”

She wants to say so many things to him, apologize for the words she uttered when her emotions were all over the place, tell him why he needed to fight for what he wants—even if [Name] was on the other side opposing him. But she fears that even if she spoke every language of the world, there would never be enough words to express her regret.

“I can’t promise that I can help you with everything but remember that I’ll love you through anything.”

Because even if love is not enough… it doesn’t merit that it will not suffice in times of need, that it won’t bring comfort when hurricanes of sadness rage, or that it won’t soothe a heart that’s been crushed by words of anger—or the weight of reality.

Soushiro hugs her tightly, wanting to take in as much of her as he could—feeling as his tears pooled in the space on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, [Name].”

He got so used to floating in the sea of her love that he didn’t even realize he was taking it all for granted. So many people would have traded worlds to have what he has: someone who understands, someone who tries… someone who stays. It was why he didn’t want his anger to blow up—why he tried so hard to cage it all in. Because when he gets angry… everything turns red, and he forgets that he, too, loved her.

“Hey, that’s supposed to be my line…” [Name] chuckles, a tune laced with more sorrow than she anticipated.

She gets so wrapped up in what’s within reach, what’s in the plan, what’s viable… that she doesn’t even see that it is stopping her from dreaming, of hoping for a brighter day to come, of a future liberated from the shackles of what was expected of her. And before it dawns on [Name], she had already projected the visions of what she wanted, what made her happy. And it slips her mind… that loving someone means taking their happiness into account—even if they do include fighting big scary monsters.

“No… no—” Soushiro shook his head, “I made you cry—damn it.”

But then his grip loosened as he fell to his knees, clawing at the fabric of her clothes.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, [Name].” He cries as his tears stain the front of her clothes.

[Name] took his shaking hands into hers, kneeling to wrap her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, too, Soushiro.” She whispers, patting his back with one hand as she runs the other through his scalp, feeling as Soushiro hugs her tighter.

“You’re a natural-born artist, aren’t you?” She laughs, pulling him away from her so she could wipe his tears with the pads of her thumbs, “From drawing blades to drawing conclusions. Idiot. You beady-eyed, bowl-cut, reckless, little brat.”

"And if you think about it, throwing a knife will be less suspicious if you have to assassinate someone, right? Bringing a gun will get stares because it's big, but a knife can be folded, and hidden! It's really the most practical of choices if you think about it." [Name] smiles, shifting in her position so she sits on the floor.

"The Defense Force eliminates Kaiju, [Name], not people." Soushiro sniffs, leaning his head on her shoulder.

"Hey, it's all a matter of perspective if you ask me. When it comes to dealing with the small stuff, no one comes close to you! Remember that cockroach from the bathroom, totally zeroed! Or that spider in the bedroom? What would I do without you, my knight in shining knives? Don't throw knives inside the house though."

Soushiro believes that it should be the other way around. What would I do without you? He should be the one saying that. [Name] could thank all her stars if she wanted to, but deep down, he knew… that he would always be the lucky one.

"You're such a dork."

"But you love me."

"I do, unfortunately." Soushiro sighs, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Hearing her ramble was like a warm breeze after a heavy storm.

"That's rude. But what if the Kaiju really are just people shifting into those big monsters? Or that they're secretly commanded by a Dark Lord of the Sith or something? Or better yet, vamp—"

Before she could drown him in any more Kaiju theories, he unwraps her—albeit reluctantly, but Soushiro was certain he’d start believing her words if she continued to talk about it with such passion. And he sure as hell would not be applying for the Defense Force with the ideology that the Kaiju they swore to eliminate were commanded by a sparkly vampire-turned Sith Lord.

"Okay, that's enough craziness for today!" Hoshina gets up and extends a hand to [Name].

"You're one to talk! You love the craziness, admit it! If you don't believe my theory now, you will when you see that it's true! And I'll make sure to rub it in your face when I prove it to you!" [Name] stuck her nose in the air, standing by her words… because she was stubborn like that.

“Of course, I’ll wait for the day with utmost patience, my love. But for now, why don't we go to the carnival, Princess [Name]?" Soushiro smiles, waiting for her to put her hand in his.

Soushiro never got out of the habit of calling her princess. Even if she says that she was just the Clan head’s daughter, and retorts by reminding him that he was the son of a clan leader, too, but [Name] never referred to him as Prince Soushiro.

He wouldn’t want that anyway. Soushiro didn’t call [Name] a princess because she was a prominent figure in a powerful family but because in his eyes, she is a princess. Beyond her position and familial ties, a princess she will remain.

"Maybe it's time to let off on reading those shining vampire books—" his words were halted by a sudden hit on his bicep.

"It's called Twilight, excuse you! Team Edward all the way." [Name] pretended to wave a flag in the air as she walks with Soushiro down the winding halls to her room.

"Ugh, what did I get myself into?" He playfully sighs, lagging behind her just a little so he could watch her—just take in the image of her.

"Again, rude. You love my nerdiness! You wouldn't be head over heels for me if you didn't."

"You're absolutely right! No sane person would be able to tolerate you with all these shiny vampire, dark Sith lord, supreme commander of the kaiju theories!"

"Hey!"

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#chiya's head rent 🎐#kaiju no.8 #ao3 #kaiju 8 #kn8 #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soushirou #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro

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blackjackkent · 2 months ago

Text

Rakha is still coming down from the gentle high of the bard's music when Wyll gestures with a grin at the circus booth nearby.

The dryad is a bit of a strange outlier among the city folk around her on all sides. She is clothed in a cloak of plants and her skin bears a pattern of strange, luminescent green tattoos. She looks Rakha up and down with a strange, doe-eyed intensity as she draws near.

"This city of stone and steel is an endless scream in nature's womb," she intones gravely. "I have felt no peace here... until now." She examines Rakha's shadow-lined face intently, seemingly untroubled by its dark aspect. "Your eyes, stira..." she murmurs, lifting a hand and stopping just shy of touching Rakha's cheek. "There is pain, endless and deep. But also devotion... blazing like the sun." She smiles slowly. "You're in love, are you not?"

Rakha has no experience with charlatans and performers, the idea of pandering for coin. And - especially with that lingering warmth still sitting in her chest - this appraisal feels so deeply accurate to her current situation that it doesn't even occur to her to view it with cynicism.

You're in love, are you not?

She has never put the word love to what she feels for Wyll, to what he feels for her. Not aloud, at least. But they both know it. It's been said a hundred other ways - in how he stays at her side in spite of all her struggles, in how she fights down the darkness within her in order to be someone he would be proud of.

She doesn't deeply relish the idea of acknowledging it first in such a public setting, though, and she shifts with an uncharacteristic attitude of embarrassment, unsure of what to say.

If Wyll were not directly next to her, watching her expectantly - if she were not still warm with the high of the bard's music in the next stall over - perhaps she would shrug the comment off with sardonic dismissal. Indeed, she tries, but the words stick in her throat, and in the end she speaks the truth, low enough to not be heard by Lae'zel and Minthara and Jaheira off at a distance behind her.

"I do... care for someone..."(*) she says haltingly. Deep olive color flushes her skin under the spiderwebbing of the tadpole's influence. "Someone close to me, actually." She's gratified to see similar color rise in Wyll's cheeks, and the smile that tugs again at his lips.

"You are wise to admit it," the dryad murmurs. "When it comes to love, vulnerability is armor. Truth, a sword. And trust, a shield. I pray you wield all three, stira."

She tips her head to the side and smiles slowly. "Bring the one you love to me. I will look into your hearts and see if your love is eternal - or doomed eternally."

Rakha's eyebrows shoot up and she looks at Wyll with alarm. But he laughs and shakes his head. "Not really so serious as all that," he says in an undertone, chuckling. "It's just a game." His eyes are bright, unusually playful. "But I wouldn't mind hearing you speak on the subject a little further."(**)

She relaxes - slowly - and reaches into her pack, pulling out a stack of the gold the dryad requests. Vulnerability is armor. Perhaps the dryad is right, but vulnerability feels supremely uncomfortable in Rakha's experience, most of the time. This is an act of trust from her to Wyll, more than would likely be obvious to any onlooker.

The dryad accepts the coins with a placid smile and lifts a hand. The Weave begins to swirl around her in dramatic, prismatic arcs, and Rakha feels a strange leaden heaviness settle through her, a feeling like sleep but not quite the same, drawing her inwards.

"Close your eyes, little ones..." the dryad says. "Be still as stone to earth, and remember to breathe..."

Rakha's eyes drift closed. The noise of the circus around them fades to a distant hum.

She's dimly aware of an impatient snap from Minthara behind her - "Surely there are other things more deserving of our time--"

And then all is silence.

-----

She opens her eyes again to the sound of rushing water.

Within her mind, she stands at the edge of a river, sprayed intermittently by the crashing foot of a nearby waterfall. A long fallen log stretches across the river in front of her. She is alone, and a stab of panic rocks her in spite of the serenity of her surroundings--

"Wyll--" she starts to cry out.

And then he's there, across the bridge from her, and the panic fades again as he smiles at her.

"I see you," says the dryad, standing off to the side, watching them both. "I see the bond between you. So tender. So fragile. But do you see it for yourselves?"

She meets Rakha's eyes and gestures at Wyll. "Wyll - the courageous heart tormented by the infernal," she goes on. "Listen. Think. What, on his darkest day, would make him smile?"

Ah. She understands now. This is a test - a quiz to see if she knows Wyll well enough to deserve him. A game, Wyll said, and yet the subject feels more serious than almost anything else she can think of, and so she hunches her shoulders a little and her face screws up with an expression of fervent concentration.

What, on his darkest day, would make him smile?

Wyll smiles at a lot of things. She has seen him smile in spite of many terrible things they have experienced together, many terrible things she herself has done. He has smiled when things have seemed hopeless, and made her believe they can face it all together. He has made her believe that she herself is something worth fighting for, in spite of all the darkness in her.

She remembers, abruptly, the softness of his smile and the taste of his lips on the night they killed the drider, the night he danced with her in a shadowy corner of camp, the first night they kissed. She doesn't know if that was his darkest day, but it was certainly hers... at least until he brightened it.

"Memories of our first night getting to know each other," she says slowly.

She doesn't really know if it's true. She wants it to be, though. She wants to believe that it is a memory that bolsters him as it does her.

His eyes brighten as she speaks. "Indeed," he says softly. "You were a source of light among shadows. Still are, for that matter."

He has always said she brings light. She still doesn't fully know why...

Some unseen force draws her forward a few steps along the bridge, closer to him.

The dryad nods approvingly. "Hear how your bond thrums with pleasure..." she purrs. "Strong. Vital. Pulsing with affection." A pause. "We cannot live this life without others - others to guide us. To aspire to. Who does the Blade most admire?"

Rakha considers in silence for a moment. She knows this answer easily - but she does not like to say it. Ulder Ravengard, Wyll's father, has informed so many of his actions, so many of the stories he's told her... but in Rakha's eyes, Wyll deserves someone better. Ulder turned his back on Wyll and exiled him for his pact. And Rakha knows he did not have to, because Wyll himself has seen greater darkness in Rakha and not looked away.

"His father," she finally says, as carefully even as she can. "Ulder Ravengard."

Wyll nods slowly; his smile softens to something more pensive. "Indeed," he agrees. "We've not always seen eye to eye, but his every thought, every act, was in service to his people. Among men, there is none greater."

She moves another few steps along the bridge closer to him. She wants to reach out to him, to find the comfort of his hand on hers. Despite the calmness of the scene, she feels ill at ease in this strange moment. But she waits, holds back, as the dryad speaks the last question.

"The sweetest loves dance lightly on the tongue," Zethino says. "But now we must dig deeper, into the most painful reaches of the spirit. Life is a difficult and tumultuous thing. With every smile, a tear often follows. What is Wyll's greatest regret?"

Joining up with me, Rakha almost says, bitterly. It's an unworthy thought, one she knows Wyll would chastise her for - it's her own thought, not his. Even now, even in this moment of deliberate connection, she does not feel she deserves him. He should regret the day he met her and all the struggle that has followed - but he doesn't.

She knows the actual answer, anyway.

"Leaving behind his father - and his city," she mutters. She's seen how it's touched him, even just being on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate again. She knows how much it pained him to leave it.

Wyll's smile flickers. "He gave me no choice," he answers. "But it's true. I often wonder... what if I'd said the right words, made the right promises? Mayve I'd have been with him on the journey from Elturel. Maybe there'd be no Absolute, no infections..." He trails off, cocks his head, and then the smile comes back. "No this..."

He crosses the few remaining feet of space separating them, reaches out and takes her hand between his. The warmth of his touch is steadying and comfortable, and she exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You know me," he murmurs. "You understand me. And for that... I am forever grateful."

She opens her mouth to respond - though she isn't sure what she's going to say - but before she can speak, she's cut off by the dryad, who is watching them with a sudden sharper-edged intensity.

"How close you are..." she croons. "Two hearts beating a perfect rhythm... but I know the truth." Her lips curl in a sudden harsh smile that doesn't match her face. "Only one face haunts your dreams each night. Close your eyes, sweetness... and she will come to you..."

Wyll turns, a question in his eyes, and Rakha stiffens defensively, trying to understand this accusation - but before either of them can respond, their eyes are forced shut. The sound of the waterfall disappears and is replaced by the sudden rumble of chattering voices around them.

Rakha hears Minthara shout and Lae'zel and Jaheira curse, and wrenches her eyes open again.

The dryad is nowhere to be seen. Instead, before them stands the third Chosen from the fleshpit below Moonrise. The follower of Bhaal, the mystery figure cloaked in red flesh.

Orin.

Pain stabs through Rakha's head and she staggers back a step, one hand closing on Wyll's arm in a desperate search for balance.

"Look at it," Orin purrs, clicking her tongue with gleeful disdain as her eyes trace up and down over Rakha's body. "Come crawling home, hands stained with the Bone Lord's soot..." Her thin eyebrows lift, twisting her pale face in a sneer. "And you carry his stone."

She steps forward until she is only a few inches from Rakha; the pain in her head redoubles and she flinches backwards again, almost stumbling off the step behind her.

"You waste time soft-soothing these fleshbags for the knife," the Bhaalist hisses. "I could end it now..." She rests one long-fingered hand on the hilt of a lethal-looking dagger on her hip - but does not draw it. "But I'll be patient." She giggles, her blank white eyes blank with some emotion Rakha doesn't understand. "Father will see us together again! He-- will-- see-- you-- bleed!"

The pain is blinding. Rakha stumbles, falling to her knees, clutching at her head.

Then it eases. She looks up. Orin is gone.

Minthara and Lae'zel both have blades out. Jaheira stands as a panther in front of them, tail lashing with fury and agitation. But the threat has passed, and none of them seem quite to know what to do.

Rakha gulps down mouthfuls of air, struggling to catch her breath, to steady her thoughts. All the warmth and calm of the moment with Wyll has faded into a shattered memory, torn apart by the immediate terror engendered by Orin's appearance. It is a reminder that the Chosen are still a terrible threat - that defeating Ketheric only left two other equally dangerous enemies ahead.

Who is that woman? Why does my head ache to think of her?

"So Orin is a shapeshifter," she whispers unsteadily. "How long has she been watching?"

-----

(*) The line in game, obviously, is "I do love someone," but there is no way the first time Rakha says that word out loud is in this inherently silly situation. :P

(**) Replaced Rakha's in-game dialogue here - "This sounds like fun, Wyll. Want to try?" because realistically this is entirely Wyll's idea, not Rakha's. XD

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #long post alert lol #this one was a roller coaster XD

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storyowls · 3 months ago

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Anna Harris: Pre-Embrace drabbles

Some of the drabbles I did for my VtM character Anna!

Warning, these works can include: Mentions of a body, negative feelings towards family, death of a family member, and strong language.

The weird, uneasy feeling that I expect to have in my tiny dorm isn’t there. All media has told me that I’d feel weird being away from my family, so removed yet so close. But I don’t, I don’t feel that at all.

I feel relieved.

The relief fades as I realize what that means. That nagging, aching, buried in my chest and squeezing my throat feeling. My hands cover my face as I try to hold it all inside, like the scared seventeen year old that I am. All my cousins are so much older than me, the youngest was ten when I was born. And uncle Rocco….he was nine, when I came around, but he cared.

He cared so much.

The others didn’t.

I was just there, a constant, annoying, young kid who was too small to do what they wanted to do. I was just annoying to teenagers, young adults. They had moved on so far with life when I was a teenager myself.

The severed feeling I felt from that side of the family when he died is still strangling my soul so hard.

I don’t belong, I never belonged. I’m so sorry Rocco.

I’m sorry.

And I hate that I will never belong.

Mom insisted on putting a full body mirror in my tiny dorm (I’m tossing a sheet over it, fuck this) and I don’t want to tell her how I feel. We stand in front of it, and I just stare at myself. Try to ignore how different we look, how Dad’s genes won over hers except for the color of my hair.

I can’t even look like the others, can I?

She makes a comment about how beautiful I am, placing a hand on my shoulder. Am I, Mom? Am I really when I’m so far detached from the family? I can’t tell her about the aching in my chest, the longing for a sense of belonging.

How I’ve wanted to scream at her for making me have a different last name than everybody else.

She seems to be done with her check in on me (please give me space to grieve whom I never was in peace), and starts to walk towards the door. I follow her, we talk for half an hour more as her hand rests on the handle. I watch as she leaves before stepping back in and shutting the door.

And I toss a sheet over that stupid mirror.

The sketchbook is full.

Looking down at the last page, I study the drawings of a dissected tulip. The Darwin Hybrid tulip breed; beautiful, steady, a resilient flower for any discerning gardener. Or the favorite of a somewhat depressed, extremely bored college student. It’s my sophomore year, still stuck doing my general classes. I’ve moved to a somewhat bigger place; a near by apartment complex with my first roommate from the dorms.

And she’s currently out on a date so I have the place to myself.

Letting out a content sigh, I grab my fancy colored pencils and begin to color the pictures. I’m happy with this, feel like a real artist. And a real big dork too, haha. I soon finish up, closing the sketchbook up and going to hide it for now. Maybe I’ll share these one day.

Hell maybe I’ll design my own tattoo sometime.

But for now, I’m just get another sketchbook and fill that up too. Got a lot of plants to draw after all.

And a lot of college ahead of me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad. A country singer and a man who, if he so decided, could break the blue grass music industry with a smile and a wave created me. I do not sing country, I do not play blue grass.

I do metal.

I quietly pluck my guitar strings, my roommate out for the night to celebrate her first degree. We’re both very driven, ready for more, and we’ve agreed to move into one of the college apartments once we leave this dorm. More room, more privacy. And the parking doesn’t suck.

As for me, I’ve recently finished my minor in music theory, making Mom prouder than the day she got her first platinum album. Dad voiced his pleasure in a letter, and I can feel the radiating warmth of his joy. This degree has made Mom back off a little, giving me room to go after my true joys.

The sound of my music quietly fills the air as I try not to be a disturbance to our neighbors. Music sheets litter the tiny, shitty desk I have crammed into a corner. I pause, picking up my marker to connect a few more notes, write down another line in the lyrics. This has been my little project for a while, a hidden knowledge and joy. Smiling, I hold the pages up to see what I have.

Mom probably wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. The words work, the music works. I just need somebody else to be part of this, and the song will be perfect. It’s me, all the way down to the screams and the resentment, it’s me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad, and the song from me and me alone.

I’m sitting through a classmate’s dissertation defense. While most people outside us would be bored, I and the others here are fascinated. Out of the corner of my eye I see their family; a bunch of fellow nerds in some degree. They may not fully understand, but they’re clearly interested.

I wonder how mine will look, if they come.

While most of them went to some form of schooling beyond high school (yes, trade school counts and it’s very important), their interests didn’t exactly align with mine. Most went into business, music, trades, and a couple became lawyers.

I once more settle under the very lonely “odd ball” section of the family.

Sitting back in my seat, I let my mind snap back to my classmate. Charles catches my attention briefly, tilting his head as if asking me a question. I nod in reply, knowing what he’s curious about. Giving me that soft, knowing smile, he turns back to the front and I follow his lead.

Damn, he’s good at knowing when I need him.

The defense wraps up, and we all stand around to talk for a little. After about ten or so minutes we disperse, going off in our own merry little ways. My mind thinks about Charles, trying to not think about who I will see at the end of the week. I spot him ahead, clearly waiting for me with a hand out stretched.

I eagerly take it when I catch up to him.

I try not to look too much at them as I give my defense, I don’t need to see. My paternal grandparents clearly are into it...mom and her side are doing their best to be supportive, but it’s all falling a little flat. Of course it is, but I’m trying not to let it get to me.

My classmates are into it, watching and listening intently. They’re my people, and I’m their person. I keep my attention on them, giving little glances once in a while as they watch. Charles is here, of course, and there’s a big smile on his face. It breaks my heart for a moment, knowing that we’re going to be parting ways after graduation.

I’m going to LA, and he’s going to Alaska.

I let my mind go back to the task at hand, finishing with a sense of triumph and confidence. My family come up to talk with me a little before leaving. Mom lingers a little, the smile of a proud mother on her face as she tells me I did great. I know I did, but I don’t say anything. I watch her leave before going to my classmates. We talk, and I let the pain melt away for a little bit.

I try to ignore the fact that I’m part of the painful, lonely “odd ball” section of the family where nobody else resigns.

It’s midnight, and I need a rush of caffeine before I fall asleep on the next job site. I know I’ve joked about wanting a dirt nap during exam season, but I did not mean like that. Pulling into a parking spot at the random gas station between point B and C, I look at the building. Lively enough to hopefully have coffee, but quiet enough that only the single person on shift will be there to judge my piss poor life choices.

Perfect.

Grabbing my purse, I pull my lanyard off and shove it in there so as not to just hand out my name to random people. My van shifts slightly as I open the door and climb out, which doesn’t surprise me anymore. Maybe someday I’ll get something else, something that hasn’t seen Michigan winters. Double check the doors locked before shutting the driver’s side and heading inside.

I don’t even check to see if somebody’s at the counter, I’m technically on break so I can take a moment to just look around. If they’re off doing something, they’ll come back. And since I’m here, might as well get some sort of lunch…late dinner, early as shit breakfast? I consider getting a hot dog, but eh, I’m just going to chip it.

Looks like I haven’t really gotten out of the college mindset yet. Getting a PhD will do that to ya.

After grabbing my chips of choice, I look at the coffee. Oh, oh no. It looks like the last shift made this, and I know stuff happens, but not this. Even I have standards for my coffee, and something I’d do to torture myself during my dissertation period isn’t on the list.

Once was enough, thanks.

This means I’m stuck with energy drinks, fuck me. Turning, I look at my choices, no to the Red Bull, the Monster….shit. I resign myself to my fate of the tiny, weird looking bottle of 5-hour Energy. Picking it up, I decide to stop wasting time and go up to the counter.

The person on shift looks like they don’t wanna be here. Don’t really think I can blame them. As they scan my items I notice the multiple magazines they have laid out to read when nobody’s around. I wonder when the last customer they saw before me was. I count the change out once they’re done, handing it over. The worker quickly glances it over, seeming somewhat grateful for exact change, and puts it in the register.

Once I’m handed my receipt, I pick my things up, say bye, and leave. There’s a strange, lingering sense of emptiness as I step out into the parking lot. I decide to chalk it up to the time of night, and unlock my van before slipping inside. It shifts as I get inside and slam the door closed.

Double checking that the doors are locked, I turn it on just enough for the radio. I put on the lanyard once more, making sure my work ID is facing out so people know who I am. Ripping the energy drink open, I let out a sigh before drinking it the only way I know. Chugging it.

If these people wanted me to sip it like a fine wine, they’re going to have to make the idea seem good.

Once done, I put the bottle and its cap in the little bag I have for trash. Fully starting my engine, and after buckling up, I start to back out of the spot I’ve been holding onto. I can eat in the parking lot of my next destination (damn me for not packing a real lunch), chill out for the rest of my break before pretending to be a whole person for some other botanist.

It’s sometime after midnight, and I’m banking on a rush of caffeine to carry me through the rest of the night.

Well, this certainly wakes me up.

Pulling out my phone, I find the non-emergency line for the police. After giving them the details of where I am, and what I found, I hang up and call my boss. She seems surprised and states that she’s on her way to me.

“How far back are you standing?”

“I backed up like five feet the instant I saw what I dug up.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be there soon, you just wait.” She hangs up and I put my phone away.

I back up a few feet more, just to make sure. I’m still within sight so I can keep an eye on it, and this way nobody has to try and find me.

Luckily I already have lights set up so I’m not just sitting in the dark. Sighing, I go and get my book from my purse before sitting down. I leaf through the pages, and wait.

It’s not like the body’s going anywhere anyway.

My boss gets here a few minutes before the police who instantly go to the body. She and I discuss how this will probably slow down the job site for a few days. There’s promises that I’ll still be paid, even though I’m not working. Works for me; I probably just saved her a lot of legal headache by finding it tonight.

I hear a cop remark that the body looks pretty fresh, and my heart sinks.

I try not to think about how it took some willpower to not just stand and stare at what I found for a few minutes before calling. The classes I took in college really piqued my curiosity in this line of work, though I was going to stick with the botany.

I hope whoever this is gets identified and returned to whoever cares about them.

A cop comes over to talk to me. I pull out the laminated map showing where the dig sites were supposed to be and explain I was to get dirt samples. The workers during the day dug up the exact spots already, I didn’t have to do much that night.

“However,” I pull out a white board marker, circling the spot where the body was, “this was not supposed to be dug up. Naturally this got my attention, and I was very careful during my look over. The soil seemed to be dug up later too. So I carefully dug up some of the dirt and well…”

“You found the victim. What’d you do then?”

“I dropped my tool on the edge of the hole I dug up and then backed up about five feet before calling. I already messed with the scene enough, I didn’t want to do more damage.”

“Well, you didn’t do enough to mess with our work, and thank you for calling right away Miss Harris, we appreciate it. We’ll get our stuff set up so you can get yours and get home. Hopefully this won’t keep you up tonight.”

“Yeah, hopefully, thanks officer.” I watch him walk away before standing back, not wanting to get in the way. I’ve definitely earned the right to spend the rest of the night at a karaoke bar after this.

And that’s where I’ll be.

I stand in front of the shitty, second hand full sized mirror I got at the thrift store. I’ve shoved it into a corner of my bedroom where I can easily hide it, turn it away. But I’m looking myself over, thinking about how I’ve grown and changed since the last mirror I had.

The one I smashed in college.

I have the stare of a stubborn fool who got a doctorate in something most people don’t wanna hear about. It’s going to be a struggle making friends, I feel like, for many reasons. I can just imagine the awkward silence when I introduce myself now.

The stares that tell me I don’t belong here.

I turn, staring over my shoulder as I check out the backwards reflections of my patches. Most collected over the years, bought myself or gifted. A couple of them…well, if Ridley wanted to keep them he should’ve come the fuck back to Detroit.

The thought that I probably won’t find him ever again catches in my throat and I choke down the tears.

Instead, I just stare at myself, Mom’s words about how beautiful I am ringing in my ears; metaphorically of course. Straightening myself up, I grab the tattered sheet I brought with me and toss it over the mirror. I can bring myself to stare at it some other time.

But for now, I’m going to a quick job to do before I go to church.

I exit the church, disappointed but somehow not surprised. There’s the aching pain in my chest, again, the longing of…something I’d rather not admit. Times like these make me wish I smoked so I’d have something to cut the anxiety.

Coffee doesn’t help and I’m not too keen on having too many college level nights with a punch bowl again.

My mind turns to the one guy I sat down by, the one with the stare of a man who hated nearly everybody he saw in there. It was fucking creepy, but somehow, I related. Maybe he feels just as let down by this whole shitshow like I do, maybe that’s what led me to talk to him. That or the fact that I’m dressed like a metal head dipshit and he was rocking the crusty punk look.

Fucking hell, what good is a PhD if you don’t know how to control your emotions?

I realize that I paused by the door’s side, not blocking the entry way but still close enough to hear any loud praying inside. I wish that stuff worked, gave me any sort of peace. Instead I have to deal with the fact that I’m just an idiot who thought that moving to LA would fix me in some fashion. Sure, being away from Mom helps, but…

Shaking my head, I turn and go towards the parking lot. Maybe I’ll just go drink some shitty coffee at Mic’s, scream the emotions out. Probably going to make some shitty art tonight, that’ll help for sure.

And I just need to ignore the aching in my chest.

Oh fucking hell, is this another body?

Is it going to be a common trend for me to find bodies while on the job? If so I’m going to need more...personal test tubes. I look around, spotting nobody. Fuck it, might as well. I back up to my equipment, grabbing one of the “spare” test tubes I keep on hand. In reality it’s for more, well, opportune moments like this.

I need to back up my college work somehow, right?

I’m quick to grab some of the dirt that’s furthest away from the body. I stare at it for a moment, guessing that it’s been in this spot for at least six months. A guess, of course, I’m no expert. I desperately want to study it more, but I can’t. Pocketing the tube, I back up and make yet another call.

I just hope nobody saw me.

I’m having the dream again.

Rocco sits across from me at one of the many coffee tables my grandparents owned in one of multiple sitting rooms. We’re on the floor, playing cards sprawled out in front of us. Probably UNO, not that the memory would serve me well. He’s got that smile on his face, and I can feel my heart sinking.

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

“Oh, same old…”

“College done?”

“Yeah, moved out to LA.”

“...didn’t wanna be by your mom?”

“….I couldn’t take it anymore. Being there.”

“Come on kiddo, you know she loves you.”

“And she loved you.” My voice breaks a little as I stare at him. His face falters for a second as he glances at me. “I know she blames herself for what happened. Over heard her talking to Dad once.”

“And why does she blame herself?”

“I know she asked you to come pick me up from school, surprise me. I was having one of my days after, after…”

“The diagnosis.”

“Yeah, that. She knew that you getting me would just make my whole day so much better. So she asked you, and you were coming..”

“And the guy side swiped me.” He pauses, looking me over. “You don’t blame her, do you?”

“Never.”

“Then who do you blame?” I don’t want to answer, feeling like I can’t breath despite it being a dream. “Anna, darling, who do you blame?”

“Me, I blame me.” The tears start to roll down my face, “If only I’d been normal, I wouldn’t have had one of those days, you wouldn’t have to come get me!”

“Anna, hey, hey.” He reaches out, drying my face with his hand, “It’s not your fault, that guy would have hit anybody coming his way. The way the universe shook that shit out isn’t your fault, okay?”

He gives me that smile, and all I can do is nod as I feel like a scared nine year old again. Grabbing a tissue from the box on the table, he cleans me up, humming softly. Soft, knowing, loving. Like the piece of my soul that was severed from me that day.

“Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Roc.”

And with that, I wake up.

#c. Anna Harris #Vampire the Masquerade #Story's writing

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bitbybitwrites · 7 months ago

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Wanted to say thank you to the lovely folks who have been tagging me for Six/Seven/Several Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday for the past few weeks: @porcelainmortal , @annepi-blog , @daisyishedwig , @sunnysideprince , @itsmaybitheway

, @nocoastposts , @getmehighonmagic , @onthewaytosomewhere , @forabeatofadrum , @iboatedhere ,

@wordsofhoneydew , @duchessdepolignaca03 , @taste-thewaste , @14carrotghoul , @rockitmans . . . Thank you for thinking of me! 💖💖💖

Haven't written too much lately ( damn you Real Life getting in the way as always), but here are bits from two WIP ( one Klaine and one RWRB) for you all!

1.) From my final chapter for Falling For You (Klaine Secret Santa 2023 Fic) (Psst . . cc @mynonah)

“Good lord, Cooper, “ Blaine said as he tried to walk into the living room with the tower of precariously balanced, yet beautifully wrapped boxes in his arms. “Did you buy everything in the store?” “It is the holidays, “ Cooper announced loudly. “And if I wish to spoil my family, then so be it.” He removed his winter coat, handing it over to Kurt. “You may find a little something under the tree for you too, as the newest part of our jolly crew. “ Cooper winked at Kurt. “Just think, when you two becomes official, then I can really start some fun gifts. But if nothing else, I think you and Squirt will both have fun with what I'm giving him this year.” Kurt blushed at the thought of “officially” becoming part of this crazy Anderson-Lopez clan in the future. Blaine stared at one of the presents in his hands and then at his brother. “Wait. Cooper, is this gift something that should not be opened in the presence of a 6 year old?” Kurt’s eyes widened as his head whipped around to stare at Cooper, who looked like the cat who drank the proverbial cream. “Maaaaaaaaybe . . .” Cooper sing-songed gleefully as he sauntered away towards the kitchen. “Batteries are included.” He chirped happily over his shoulder to them. Kurt and Blaine both glanced at the shiny box warily, half expecting it to start vibrating on its own at any minute. “Should . .should I ask? Do I even want to know?” Kurt whispered. Blaine sighed as he placed it down among the presents around the tree, nudging it around to the back where it was hidden well. “No, no you do not.” he muttered.

2.) From the phantom touch of your hand (RWRB Fantasy/ cursed tattoo! AU)

No one dared approach the hooded figure who appeared in the doorway of the inn that night. As he entered, a hush fell over the room while everyone watched the stranger shuffle across the room to sit alone at a table closest to the fire. His eyes were ice blue, his stare hardened, and his mouth set in grim line. The visitor's clothes bore witness to many a rough day upon the road. There were mud-caked boots upon his feet as well as a worn leather jerkin and breeches upon his frame. He sat hunched under a faded cloak that looked like it was once a thing to be coveted, but was now near threadbare in patches: it’s fine metallic embroidery dulled and its rich color faded. The stranger scowled at anyone who dared look his way, a thin scar that marred his fair skin rippling along his jaw as he did so. There was a sword strapped to his waist which gleamed bright as its razor sharp blade caught the the reflections of the flames - its presence a visible and deadly warning for all to stay far enough away. A brave small boy scurried over to deposit a bowl and some bread in front of the visitor. The swordsman tossed the child a coin for his trouble. “Ale, sir?” the boy inquired. Henry shook his head. He had to keep his wits about him. There would be time enough to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a tankard. Later. Once he and Alex made sure this blasted curse was lifted.

Tagging ( but no pressure of course) : @kirakiwiwrites , @madas-ahatters-world , @little-escapist , @gleefuldarrencrissfan ,

@gleefulpoppet , @hkvoyage , @esilher @datshitrandom @myheartalivewrites ,

@madas-ahatters-world , @spaceorphan18 , . . and open tag for anyone else who wants to share any projects their working on. 💖💖💖

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wherethefireliliesgrow · 2 years ago

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(6) 970 days: mahogany red

Myoui Mina x reader

Part of the series: Palette

Previous chapter: (5) 1005 days: roseate pink

970 days.

It has been a month since the incident at Karina's, and her condition has deteriorated significantly.

What began as occasional vomiting had progressed to frequent nosebleeds and constant fatigue. Her eyes were vacant, and her memories were a jumbled mess. Even the simplest tasks, such as clicking the camera shutter, now required a Herculean effort from her weakened body.

You tried and failed, to talk to her about the pink teddy bear, about her possible soulmate. She would always rebuff your efforts and shake her head in defeat whenever you brought up the topic. Not even the CEO, Irene, could persuade her to take action to prevent further harm. Everyone was worried, but it's challenging to save someone who doesn't want to be saved.

You were growing more and more frustrated as Karina sat slumped at her desk, pretending to edit already finished photos from the JYP shoot.

“Please just tell me!” You yelled in desperation, desperate to help her.

Haerin flinched at the sound of your raised voice.

“Too loud, unnie.” She whispered.

You patted her arm in apology, and said in a softer tone, “I just want to help, Karina.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Karina replied weakly, “I have to get this edited before we leave for JYP later.”

“They. Are. Already. Edited” You said firmly, turning off Karina's monitor and turning her around to face you.

You and Karina were supposed to present the photos to JYP's management team and CEO, Park Jin-young, in person later this afternoon, as Seulgi and Irene were in Japan for another filming. Karina's condition was pretty bad, so you decided to take Haerin along as backup.

Karina stubbornly refused to speak, staring at you in silence.

Finally, you blurted out, "Is it Ryujin?"

You had been worrying about her for a month and couldn't take it anymore.

Karina's face drained of color, confirming your suspicion.

"Is that why you tried to get your tattoo removed on the day we had the ITZY shoot?"

Karina slowly nodded and said softly, "I always knew it was Ryujin. Even before the shoot. Her face was plastered all throughout Korea, I couldn't walk anywhere without seeing her face.”

She put her hands in her face, “Even on social media, she was there. And her being your friend didn't help. Whenever you mentioned her, I would die a little inside."

“I-I’m sorry.” You muttered. “I didn’t know.”

"I know, I'm not blaming you," she said with tears in her eyes. "I'm just trying to tell you my side. All that is bearable, you know? I could just close my eyes and pretend I didn't feel anything. But seeing her in person that day really drove me insane. I felt all these feelings that I couldn't control, and I didn't want that. So I tried to get my tattoo removed."

She glanced at her tattoo. The wound never healed and was still profusely bleeding, as if it were a reminder of what she did.

"It's already too late anyway," she said, her voice low.

You quickly shook your head at this, mind running for a way to solve this situation.

“What if…” you hesitated, “what if I introduced you to her? Just a small gathering, you don’t have to tell her anything.”

Karina quickly shook her head. “I don’t want to burden her.”

“You won’t be!” You quickly interjected. “Ryujin has always been waiting for her soul mate to find her.”

You could tell Karina was hesitant.

“I won’t say anything to her about the connection. I promise,” you begged. “If you choose to fade away, at least fade away comfortably. Having your soul mate near you lessens the symptoms, and I’m sure you want to befriend her at least.”

Karina looked up at you and Haerin, uncertainty in her eyes. You gave her an encouraging nod, and Haerin did the same enthusiastically.

"Fine. Only because I can't stand throwing up at the smell of food," Karina relented stubbornly. "And just... don't tell her anything."

“I swear.” You sighed in relief.

Finally some progress. Ryujin would most definitely kill you if you knowingly let her soul mate die.

“Love you!” You kissed Karina on the forehead and headed out the door. “Meet us at the front door in twenty.”

Haerin, daring to do the same, cautiously leaned over and kissed Karina’s head too before sprinting away.

“Yah! Kang Haerin!” You heard Karina yell from her office behind you. “What was that?”

“A kiss.” The cat-like girl called back.

“Shouldn’t you be at school today?” Karina called out again.

“I skipped.” Haerin whispered next to you as you two continued to walk away.

“What?” You stopped to look at her. “You told me you had a half day.”

“I lied.” She ran.

The drive to JYP was quiet. Karina was fast asleep in the backseat, while you and Haerin traveled in silence, with her gazing out of the window.

Karina was tough, and her unwavering loyalty to her promises was what concerned you. A few months after meeting each other, you and Karina made a vow to live without any boundaries or limitations. You both viewed the soul mate bond as a curse and as a form of incarceration, entwining your destinies with those of others and confining you within set boundaries. However, observing Karina in such pain, you started to question if your initial ideas might be wrong. Maybe giving in to the connection wasn't so bad compared to enduring the symptoms?

Haerin was singing softly to herself, making waves with her hand as she tried to avoid the lampposts as you drove by. The kid had grown on you, and you started to care for her like a little sister. Her stares had toned down a bit, and she had started to share some of her thoughts with you. You enjoyed her talkative side, albeit her thoughts were a bit odd sometimes. You also got into a habit of buying frog or cat-related things for her whenever you went out.

“Can you grab my phone and text Ryujin for me?” You asked the singing girl.

She nodded and looked at you patiently for the next steps.

“Can you tell her that I’ll be going to her company for a meeting, and ask if she can meet up after?”

Haerin typed furiously on your phone before sending the text.

Your phone dinged as you pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car with Haerin.

It was from Ryujin, and honestly, you weren’t surprised by the outcome.

The three of you stood in front of the towering building of JYP, waiting for one of the people from the management team to let you in, as a sense of nerves coiled within you.

As you spoke to the security, an excited voice called out your name.

You turned around and were met with Nayeon waving excitedly.

“Long time no see, Nayeon-ssi.” You quickly bowed, with Karina and Haerin following suit.

“There’s no need to be so formal.” Nayeon waved her hand good-naturally, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We have a meeting with your management team and Mr. Park about the photo shoot.”

“I’m also on my way there! I didn’t know you were the one who was going to present.” Nayeon nodded understandingly and motioned to security to let you in. “I’ll take you guys there.”

As Nayeon led you down the luxurious hallways, your eyes couldn't help but wander at the extravagant decor. You were awestruck by the plush velvet carpet underfoot and the golden elevator doors that opened to the 12th floor.

Nayeon chattered away about their upcoming comeback, but your thoughts couldn't help but stray to the thought of seeing Mina again. The burning sensation of your tattoo indicated that you were close to the girl. You quickly wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt and tugged at the collar of your blouse in nervousness.

The anticipation of what was to come was almost too much to bear.

“Don’t worry,” Nayeon reassured you with a warm smile. “Our management team is really nice.”

As she led the way down hallway after hallway, you couldn't help but feel like you were in a maze, with posters of every JYP group adorning the walls at every turn. Your heart pounded louder and louder with each step, and Karina seemed to weaken by the second. Haerin subtly wrapped her arms around the tall girl for support.

Finally, Nayeon stopped in front of a towering set of doors, wishing you good luck before she slipped inside.

You stared at the rich, mahogany red doors as you tried to gather your wits. The dark color made you feel like an outsider in this sophisticated world of glamour and fame. The thought of facing one of the most influential people in the K-pop world was enough to make your legs weaken. But with Karina's weak pat on your shoulder and a nod of encouragement, the three of you pushed open the doors and walked into the large meeting room.

. As you entered the room, your heart rate skyrocketed at the sight of Park Jin-young and the other stern-looking managers seated around a long table placed in front of the stage.

You quickly scanned the room, and saw that the idols were all seated in the back. Your eyes met Ryujin’s, and she gave you a thumbs up in encouragement. You didn’t have time to locate the Twice members, but your irregular heartbeat indicated that Mina was also in the room.

The presentation began, and you and Karina took turns presenting the photos. Karina's tiredness started to show, and Haerin had to support her for the latter half of the presentation.

However, the management team seemed satisfied with the photos, and even Park Jin-young applauded after seeing the group photos. As the final photos were shown, the three of you bowed, and the management team gave nods of approval as they left the room one by one, with Park Jin-young leading the way.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as he warmly shook your hand.

As soon as the management team left the room, Karina excused herself, her face pale and covered in cold sweat. The presentation had taken a toll on her, and she was close to throwing up.

You tried to accompany Karina to the bathroom, but she insisted that you had to stay for a while longer out of respect. It wasn’t until Haerin promised you that she would take good care of Karina and notify you if she needed help, that you let the two girls walk unsteadily out the door.

Still filled with worry, you stood by the doors and bowed as the idols left distractedly.

Dahyun and Chaeyoung pulled you in a hug when they arrived in front of you.

“You guys did great!” Dahyun exclaimed.

“Thanks, Dahyunie.” You ruffled her curly hair.

“You have got to teach me photography.” Chaeyoung said, squeezing your cheeks with her warm hands.

Before you could respond, a teasing voice that made your heartbeat go into a frenzy said, “Please teach me how to paint first.”

Mina had arrived, followed closely by the rest of the Twice members. She was dressed in casual jeans and a beige long-sleeved shirt, but still managed to pull it off, taking your breath away. Any willpower left in you completely flew out the window at the sight of her.

“Umm..I..” you stammered, “y-yeah, no problem!”

Chaeyoung snorted at your comment. She had caught on about your crush on Mina, but little did she know it was way more than a crush.

Unsure of what to say next, the two of you stood in awkward silence.

You couldn't help but steal a glance at her, noticing the way her hazel eyes sparkled in the light. Her gaze was on you, making your heart skip a beat.

You quickly looked away and studied the mahogany red doors again as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. The color seemed to be warmer than what you saw earlier before, almost more alive. It was as if Mina's calming presence was affecting everything around her, turning even the color of the doors into something softer and more inviting, making you feel as if you belonged.

Ryujin suddenly whispered loudly behind you. “Ask for her number, you stupid idiot.”

The ITZY girls had also arrived, and were listening in on the dead conversation between the two introverts.

Yeji slapped Ryujin on the arm, scolding her for being rude.

“Oh, um, can I have your number?” You asked awkwardly “So we can arrange a date... I mean, a time for the painting lessons, if that's okay?”

You peeked at Mina again, who was still smiling her gummy smile at you.

“I'd like that.” Mina ran her hands through her wavy hair and extended her hand.

You stared at her in confusion.

Did she want you to shake her hand?

Your phone?" Mina chuckled, amused. She was growing more confident at your reactions, and the idea of getting to know you better intrigued her.

"Right, sorry." You mumbled, feeling like a fool.

The girls around you burst into giggles as Mina typed in her number and handed it back to you.

“You'll text me today?" Mina persisted, her tongue caught between her teeth as she grinned.

"Ye-" you were caught off guard by a panting Haerin bursting through the doors.

Her large eyes were wide in panic as she ran over to you.

"Wha-" You caught sight of her white shirt, stained with droplets of red.

"Karina," was all she said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the room.

You ran down the long hallway, following Haerin to the bathroom, the urgency of the situation palpable.

Karina was lying on the floor, her right sleeve completely soaked with blood, and her nose bleeding profusely, staining her blouse with dark red.

“What happened?” You urgently asked Haerin, as you crouched down and gently shook Karina’s shoulders.

“She was throwing up when she suddenly started to bleed from her nose.” Haerin was sobbing, “And then she just collapsed.”

Just then, Ryujin and Mina burst into the bathroom, followed closely by the rest of the Twice and ITZY members. They gasped in shock at the sight of so much blood, with Ryujin almost turning green.

“Ryu, call an ambulance.” You threw your phone over to her and she immediately started dialing.

“I’m sorry, I tried to wake her.” Haerin was full-on weeping, her voice wavering.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Yeji pulled the shorter girl into a comforting embrace.

You started to pull up Karina's sleeves to work on stopping the bleeding. She was bleeding an alarming amount from her tattoo, with the blood pooling onto the floor in a large puddle. As you finally managed to roll up Karina's drenched sleeve, you drew in a sharp breath in shock.

Her tattoo had somehow managed to get even worse; the numbers had transformed into deep cuts into her veins, reaching all the way to the bone.

A loud ripping sound came from beside you, and you saw Mina had torn off the entire sleeve of her own shirt.

"Use this," she said as she passed you the fabric. "Tie it tightly to stop the bleeding."

You quickly wrapped the soft cloth around Karina's arm, tying it tightly to reduce the blood flow. The flow lessened immediately.

"Thank you," you let out a sigh of relief, turning slightly to look at the woman crouching next to you.

Mina gave you a soft smile and gently wrapped her arm around your shoulder, "She's going to be okay." The warmth of her body and steady breathing brought a sense of calm washing over you.

You would've had a major heart attack at her gesture if you weren't so worried about Karina. You thanked your lucky stars that you chose to wear a buttoned-up shirt today, as it prevented any skin-to-skin contact with Mina.

“Y/N, the ambulance is almost here.” Jihyo called from outside the door, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You clumsily tried to lift Karina in your arms, but her weight and your shaken hands made you stumble.

“Here. Let me.” Ryujin crouched down and effortlessly scooped up Karina in her arms, as if she weighed nothing.

The group rushed downstairs, footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

With a burst of urgency, Ryujin laid Karina on the ambulance cot and the paramedics quickly took over. As the ambulance drove away, Ryujin stood frozen, feeling a strange sensation course through her body.

An electrifying shock as her skin came briefly into contact with Karina’s. It was a fleeting moment, like a tidal wave upon the shore and retreating back into the depths.

But before she could process the feeling, it was gone.

Ryujin slowly turned around to face you.

And the both of you stood there, motionless.

Droplets of dark mahogany red were scattered across your clothes,

somber and heavy, as if foreshadowing the weight of the truth that was at the tip of your tongue.

But the look in her eyes already conveyed it all.

She knew.

Previous chapter Next chapter

A rollercoaster of emotions for this one. Promise there will be a bit more fluff for the next chapter!

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sleepingsun501 · 2 years ago

Text

Same Heart, Same Blood

Character(s): Fives, Rex, Kix, Hevy's ghost

Summary: Fives' near-death experience after getting shot.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Character death, near-death experience, talking to dead people, coma, organ transplantation mention. (Lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 link

A/N: This goes along with my work Set to Stun, so if you haven't read that, I highly recommend you do!! This is all based on a late-night headcanon discussion, my being sick, and very little editing, so I hope it's not too rough. I also apologize for any medical inaccuracies. But hey, Star Wars medicine! Special thank you to @rexxdjarin for talking me through the organ transplant HC, and to @writingbylee for letting me use her bacta HCs!! You're both awesome!!

Same Heart, Same Blood

He was floating, oddly disconnected from his body but still trapped within its confines. His hearing was irritatingly muffled, and he could not tell up from down or left from right anymore. He was simply there.

Through the cottony filter, he could hear what sounded like Rex, but he could not tell what he was saying. The brash voice of General Skywalker was there, too, but it was quickly fading, replaced by another brother’s voice.

“Six… minu… nee… mo… him… ow…” said the distorted voice. “ves… kno…in…ther… Fi… ang… on.”

He barely felt a pinch in his neck before an ethereal coolness enveloped him, taking him deeper into the welcoming darkness. He let himself drift, unable to do anything to stop it, and was content that he had done all he could.

***

Fives opened his eyes but saw nothing. The inky blackness was all-consuming, but it did not cause him any alarm. There was no need for panic. The deep dark space was calm, tranquil, and welcoming in an odd way. He was no longer in any pain, and there was no danger, no war, and nothing left to fight for. Peace at last.

Was this where death had brought him?

Before he was done registering the question, he saw a wisp of the most beautiful blue glide in a ribbony trail past his vision. Another quickly followed on his other side, splitting through the dark like hyperspace trails. More and more streaked across his line of sight from all around him, and he tracked their movement until he realized they were leading him away from wherever he was.

Fives took an automatic step, not realizing he had been standing on anything at all, and joined the swirling colors in their dance to wherever they were headed. He could not tell how long he walked, for there seemed to be no concept of time at all, but the wisps soon blended and faded into a warm, misty glow. He had no name for the color of the space, but he could see movement in the distance beyond—a figure drawing closer.

“Hello?” he asked. His voice sounded like his own, but it was also more like an echo in his head.

The figure took shape and became more solid the closer it got, and Fives wondered why his heart was not beating through his chest. He knew them—the tattoo on his jaw was unmistakable.

“Hello, Vod.”

“Hevy!” Fives breathed, reaching out for his long-dead brother.

Hevy’s semi-corporeal form reached back, locking a hand around Fives’ neck and bringing their foreheads together. “You did good, Vod, but it’s not your time yet.”

“What?” Fives asked, feeling like he should have been shedding enough tears to fill Kamino’s oceans. The wisps around them started moving faster, becoming brighter, until they were whiter than Fives’ could bear to look at directly. “You’re dead. So, am… am I?”

Hevy released him and gave him a gentle, familiar smile. “There are many things you still need to do.”

“Hevy, I-I don’t u-understand,” Fives stuttered, but the hand on the back of his neck gripped him more firmly.

“You will. Just listen for the echo.” Hevy removed his hand and suddenly began to fade into the bright wisps around them.

“Echo?” It was only then that Fives felt a surge of panic. Echo was dead. But why had Hevy come to him instead? “Hevy, wait! Where’s Echo?!”

Fives felt a hard tug behind his navel, pulling him into the bright light. “Where’s Echo?!” he kept calling. “Hevy!”

***

Beep… beep… beep…

It was a sharp, repetitive sound ringing in his ears every few moments. It was downright annoying. It was too bright now, pain shooting through his head.

Pain.

Once part of him had registered it, he became aware of it all at once. Every muscle, every limb, every inch of him down to his toes ached. He felt like he had been hit head-on by the Resolute jumping to lightspeed. His throat was dry, his lips hurt, his bones ached, and his lungs felt raw. He squeezed his eyes shut harder against the bright light, and even that hurt.

“…aking up,” said an urgent voice somewhere in the distance. “Contac… Rex…”

Fives groaned, realizing there was some kind of obstruction in his throat. He coughed against it, and it was quickly, albeit painfully, removed. As he slowly came around, blinking his crusty eyes furiously, he realized it was Kix hovering over him.

“Welcome back, brother,” Kix nearly laughed, smiling down at him. “Hang on, this will make you feel better.” He picked up a line and injected a generous amount of myobacta into it. “Thought we lost you there for a while, Vod.”

Fives tried to form the words he wanted to say, but he ended up in a hoarse coughing fit instead. Even as the bacta spread through his body, everything still ached.

“Easy, easy,” Kix soothed, elevating him into a reclined sitting position and adjusting the overhead light so it was not directly in Fives’ eyes. “You’ve been out for a few weeks, and you’ve got a new heart. It’s gonna take some time for you to fully recover. Just try to relax for me. I promise you’ll be all right.”

A new heart? Fives wondered. He lifted a weak hand to move the medical gown aside and looked down at his chest. There was a long, new scar over his sternum and a blotchy burn scar that was still sealed under a bacta patch on his left pec. No wonder everything hurts.

His thoughts were still disconnected and sluggish, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known since he was a shiny that the bodies of fallen brothers were often recovered after battles, and their organs were harvested and put into stasis in case another clone needed a replacement organ. It had always made him feel like the Kaminoans had done that purposefully, just to reinforce how expendable they were. He had tried to own it all the same, recalling telling the cadets on Kamino they all had the “same heart, same blood.” It was one of his more poetically symbolic moments, and he remembered Echo saying it would make a good tattoo.

Even though the dark truth was hard to admit, and it made him angry that such a thing as harvesting organs from fallen clones would be necessary, he also knew it had probably saved hundreds, maybe thousands, of other clones’ lives over the years—now including his own.

“Hey, you listening to me?” Kix asked.

Fives nodded weakly, thankful that Kix had moved the unforgivingly bright light. He had to wonder what had happened to him, though, to warrant receiving another brother’s heart. Kix’s bedside manner was also never this good unless someone had really been through hell, but he did not have long to dwell on the thought before the door burst open.

Rex came surging through the door as if he had sprinted the length of the Military Complex parade deck at full speed without stopping. He looked a little worse for wear, sporting an expression that was somewhere between elation and relief, and a new pale scar on the side of his head.

“Fives!” he all but laughed. “You’re awake!”

Fives nodded again. Why did everyone keep saying that? He had never fallen asleep that he could remember. He was with Hevy, and before that…

It all came flooding back in a rush. He remembered the plot, warning Rex and the general, picking up his pistol and screaming in a panic, aiming it at the red-clad Corries sent to take him away. He had been shot. Commander Fox had shot him directly in the heart. He remembered the searing, burning pain as his heart had ceased to exist in his chest, reduced to carbon and ash from the plasma.

“Fives? Hey, talk to me,” Rex said, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“He needs to rest up a bit. Here, drink a little of this if you can,” Kix said, bringing a straw to Fives’ chapped lips. When Fives did as he was told and made a scrunchy, disgusted face at the bitter taste, Kix chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the reaction I expected. He’ll be fine, Captain.”

***

Hours later, Rex had still not left Fives’ side, explaining at length what had happened. They had figured it out after all.

“You made me and Kix dig further into your warning, and we found out the truth about the chips in our heads,” Rex explained, pointing to the healing scar just past his right temple. “We uncovered a whole plot by the chancellor to destroy the Jedi Order, and we would’ve been his tools if you hadn’t tipped us off. The Jedi managed to remove him from power, and he was promptly executed.”

Fives had slowly regained his voice, but he still sounded like he had been screaming over blaster fire on the battlefield for too long. “Still can’t believe I got shot,” he snickered hoarsely. “Can’t say I blame Fox for doing his job, though.”

Rex’s lips pressed into a tight line and twitched at the corners into a tense smile. “It wasn’t his fault, Fives. He doesn't remember doing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was Palpatine, too. He’d been manipulating Fox’s chip like a test dummy for years. It caused him to have memory blackouts. Cody found records of it in a journal Palpatine kept while they were sorting through the intel after he was executed,” Rex explained.

Fives grimaced. Even fresh out of a coma, his blood boiled because of all the injustices and inhumanities every clone had endured, all for Palpatine's war. They were human, and they deserved to be treated like humans from the beginning, given rights and choices—not manipulated like programmed droids. “That’s fucked up.”

The captain nodded, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands. “Actually, Fox said he wants to come visit you—as long as it’s all right with you. Says he wants to apologize and hopes you can forgive him. He’s been pretty beaten up over it.”

“Nothing to forgive. He can come anytime and I’ll tell him myself,” Fives said with a genuine smile. He could not help the wave of grief that swept over him, though. None of this should have happened to any of them. “I just wanted to do my duty, what was right.” Fives’ said sorrowfully. His already hoarse voice cracked. “For Tup, too. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

Rex nodded solemnly in agreement. “But you saved us all, and Tup’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. With Palpatine dead, peace talks have started all over the galaxy with fracturing Seppie worlds. The CIS is falling apart, but there are a few holdouts that keep fighting. I’m headed to Anaxes with Cody tomorrow. They are proving difficult to counter. It’s like they know our moves before we make them.”

Fives gave a cheeky smile, one that still showed all of the inner fire he still possessed. “I wish I could be there with you, sir.”

Rex squeezed Fives’ atrophied bicep reassuringly. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of fights left for you once you’re better. Kix might actually skin me alive if I try to sneak you out.” He stood and gathered his bucket, chuckling with his vod before making for the door.

Tell him. Fives thought. He should know. “Rex?” he asked, causing the captain to pause. “I… I know this sounds crazy, but while I was out, I saw Hevy.”

“Your batchmate? The one who died on Rishi Station?”

“Yeah, him. He told me that it wasn’t my time yet, and… he told me to listen for the echo. That’s when I realized… wherever I was, wherever Hevy came from, Echo wasn’t there.”

Rex looked skeptical, furrowing his brow and eyeing Fives curiously. He had his suspicions about an afterlife, but after spending enough time around the Jedi, he had long decided nothing was too farfetched. “You think Echo may still be alive?”

“I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m not sure I entirely believe it myself,” Fives sighed, shaking his head. “But I just have a gut feeling, you know? Just do me a favor and… listen for him, I guess.”

The captain offered him a confident smirk and a nod. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

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