#LILIA GIVE YOUR BOY A LAST NAME I AM ON MY KNEES | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

intynidad · 4 years ago

Note

Hi hi!! Could I request the dorm leaders (if that’s too many, your favorites!) with a child MC? (Parental or older sibling sorta relationship) (also by child I mean 8-10 years old) Have a wonderful day, drink some water and eat protein! 💕

@moomoo-mochi OMG THANK YOU??

I love this so much I’m just a sucker for this kind of prompt!!

Also, this will be based on how I acted as a toddler (spoiler I was a stupid kid)

a health potion with risu giggles for a fellow merchant!

(also sorry I didn't know what to write for iidia or vil and I didn't want to write something that I wasn't satisfied

The beginning

-you careless puppy, How many times I told the two of you to be careful!- professor crewel was scolding you and your lab partner...well at your lab partner more than you, you were kinda busy trying to get out of the cauldron to listen

You and your lab partner were assigned to do a regression potion that was supposed to work in reviving dead plants or turning rotten food into edible again but when you were measuring the exact amount of the last ingredient to finish the potion, somebody accidentally pushed you making you spill all of the ingredients...and yourself into the cauldron.

so now there you are extremely confused about what just happened and incapable of taking care of yourself for the 3 days the potion was supposed to last and now your lab partner has to take care of you until the potion wore off or mister crewel finds an antidote

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle has an abusive mother and no younger siblings so our dear tomato is lost, he doesn’t know any rules that would help him take care of a little child so he asks trey for help (like most of heartsalybul when they have problems).

trey lets you eat pastries while riddle does his dorm leader duties but he looked away for a second and oops no child in sight...ok time to panic.

riddle was scolding some heartsalybul students that spilled all of the red paint in one of the chairs so now not only the other members of the dorm couldn’t continue painting but now the unbirthday party had to cancel and you know what happens when you break one of the queen’s rules

-OFF WITH YOUR- Riddle swung his magic pen

-wead!- riddle turn around to see you with a rose in your hand pretending it to be a magic pen

-off widd your wead!- you repeated swinging the rose up and down

riddle was stroked by your cuteness like a truck; he was speechless (also because picking roses was against the rules but lest ignore it) the two students he was scolding ran away because their dorm leader was picking you up and giggling at your little imitation of him

-nono Off, with, your, head!-

-off wid your wead!-

Leona kingschoolar

-agh how annoying- the savanaclaw dorm leader wasn’t a big fan of children and much less taking care of them, he probably was gonna throw you at Ruggie or jack, both of them had younger siblings so they could probably take care of you better but there is one thing he didn’t count off

-LEONA OJI-TAN-...fuck, today was the day Cheka came to visit his dear oji-tan, now Leona is not only stuck with a brat but with a furball too.

-who are them uncle?-(owo who this) Cheka waved at the child that was behind his uncle’s legs-hi I am Cheka, wanna play tag?!-oh ho ho this gives him an idea

-Cheka this is Y/N, your new playmate-the lion cub had a little sparkle in his eyes

-you two can play all day and ill be watching you from that tree so have fun-hell yea he was a genius Cheka and you are entertained, and he can nap is a win-win situation for everyone

-WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH- and there it goes his perfect plan

-oi, what happened- you were in sitting on the ground while hugging your knee and crying your heart out and Cheka kneeled beside you trying to comfort you

-I’m-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to push you it was an accident- now he looked like he wanted to cry

-agh you two cut it out-Leona said in a low growl while kneeling beside you-is just a scratch don’t worry just let me-he picked you up.

now all of you were in his room he gently bandages your knee while Cheka was holding your hand for “moral support”

-kiss to make it better Leona oji-tan!-

-only if both of you promise to be more careful-Cheka nodded- ok “pain, pain go away *woshh*, there you go- you moved your knee and started to giggle while Cheka was already dragging you to continue playing, the two of you were lucky that both were cute because not everybody can see this side of Leona and live for telling it

Azul Ashengrotto

-Come, come everyone!-the leader of octaville tapped his fedora-For the price of 25 madol you can have for a limited time only a photo of our dear Y/N as a toddler!-

and of course, our dear capitalist Ursula is taking profit from this situation.

you were sitting in a little chair all dolled up while jade took pictures of you with different students and Floyd was taking the money from dose poor unfortunate souls

An hour passed and there were still about 50+ students in line for a photo when Azul notice something about you.

your hands were in the form of a tiny fist and your eyes were watery and you haven’t smiled at the camera for the last photos even when Floyd made funny faces behind jade you weren’t enjoying this.

usually, he wouldn’t care about it, he was making some good money and that was the important thing but you were different, you were his friend

-the lounge is closed, everyone get out, Floyd take care of that and jade-he looked for a second at you-make something warm for our little guest-

all of the students in line emitted different protest sounds but a look at Floyd grin and everyone was already on the exit

-sorry for all that little one- he lightly patted your hair-what about I pay you for your work with some treats?-

-*happy gasp* YESH!!-you hugged his leg with a strong grip-

-nee~ nee~, why Azul can have a hug from shrimpy and I cant?-

-FWOYD!! :D-

Kalim al asim

-Kalim, please calm down-Jamil said looking like he is gonna pop up a blood vessel

-LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y/N LITTLE Y-he was let’s say...excited about this situation

-JAMILLOOKATTHEMTHEYARESOCUTEANDTINYIWANNATROWAPARTYFORJUSTTHEMOMGTHEYARESOCUTE-

-Remember to breathe Kalim and please calm down you are scaring them-Jamil said while kneeling to be on your level

-*gasp* I’m sorry y/n, I’m just so happy to be with you, are you hungry?-you give a quick nod

for the surprise of Jamil, the fact that you turned into a child made Kalim more independent???

he knew that crewel sensei asked Kalim to take care of you but he kinda assumed he is the one who will end up taking care of both of you.

-emmm Jamil-and here we go-have you seen Y/N around?-

-excuse me whAT??!!- Jamil shouted- HOW DO YOU LOSE A CHILD?-

-I didn’t lose them I just….temporally misplace them...OK YES, I LOST THEM BUT IS NOT MY FAULT WE WERE PLAYING HIDE N SEEK!-

-sure sure Kalim never anything is your fault-Jamil said between teeth-

Kalim could be a literal ray of sunshine but one of his bigs flaws were his “rich person behavior”

because he was spoiled and lived in a bubble he didn’t understand that his actions had consequences, in the good side he was working on it.

two hours had passed since that moment are you were nowhere to be found

now the scarabia duo was starting to panic

-OMG HOW IM SO CARELESS THAT I LOST THEM WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO THEM IM THE WORST FRIEND IN THE WORLD-

-KALIM CALM DOWN, PANIC WILL NOT HELP IN THIS SITUATION-

-WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME-

-BECAUSE YOU ARE YELLING-

-*snore*-

-..............................-

-Jamil,...did that pillow made a sound?-

-I think so ?-

*SNOOOREEE*

and there you were sleeping under a big mountain of pillows you fell asleep while playing so that, why you didn’t, respond to the calls of the two boys

-ok Kalim we found them and I hope this had taught you a lesson about taking care of things...well taking care of people-

-oh for the great seven I thought I was gonna have a heart attack-

-now you know how I feel and I really would appreciate it if you used this experience to-

-*SNOOOOREEE*-

And now Kalim was sleeping beside you

great seven give Jamil patience and have mercy on both of you when morning comes

Malleus draconia

-arent you a little thing fufufufuf-

-old man be careful with them-silver said

you might be wondering, I thought malleus would take care of toddler Y/N?

Well, that was the plan...malleus is a reserved man, with no friends more than his two guards and the older fae that raised him, that was until he meets you, you looked at him in the eyes with no fear just a hint of curiosity.

you gave him his first nickname,”tsunotaro” a childish name that was almost disrespectful to the heir of the valley of thorns and one of the most powerful wizards of all twisted wonderland, yet you called him that silly name, you hugged him, you listen to him and he listened to you, you were his friend and precisely because that he left you at the care of Lilia, the mere thought of you screaming and running away from him made his heart ache

that always happened…

Malleus is used to that, since he was a child people looked at him with fear or caution but never with kindness except for one person, you

and he was determined to let that like that, but he couldn’t stop thinking what if something happens to you?

what type of friend he would be if he lets somebody take advantage of you in this vulnerable state?

a peek wouldn’t hurt

there you were, in the flower bed of ramshackle dorm both planted, taking dandelions from around and with inexperience and tiny hands crafting a flower crown too small for anyone except you.

he looked at you from the shadows carefully to not being spotted warding you like the dragon he is.

-hewo-small and tired eyes fixed behind a large tree

malleus was behind that tree…

-whats yowr name?-now standing up and slowly walking to the tree in question-are you shy?, is oke I won’t hurt yow-

like if a child could do any damage to him

-I made thwis fow you-you said reveling a second flower crown that was just a little bit bigger than the one in your head

you let the flower crown on the floor near the tree and waited, malleus knowing how stubborn you were he knew you wouldn’t leave so he left his hiding spot thinking about the screams and the fear your little face will have

-waaaa, you big! (giggles)-again, no signs of fear-uppa uppa!-you said while rising your hands to the sky and opening and closing your little fists

malleus emitted a low chuckle and picked you up, when you got to his eye level immediately went for his horns touching and grabbing all your little hands could

-you sure are a strange thing, little child of man-

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lastluvbug · 5 years ago

Note

Oh my god I read the one about Kalim’s suicide after waking up and got emotional all morning. The angst hurts but I can’t have enough of your writings. Can I have a continuation of it, with Kalim’s friends (the second years, the light music club, even Vil) after the whole thing? Like they try to go on with their life but it’s clear that nothing’s the same anymore and they miss the sunshine boy more than they thought they would? Thank you so much!

Toxins (Part 2)

Here we are, love! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Language, referenced suicide

Crying wasn’t like Cater.

But after Kalim’s school-held funeral, that was all anyone could ever see him doing.

Oftentimes, it was silent sobbing into his hands, makeup streaked and runny, hiccups stifled. Comfort did little to provide solace, as he’d simply wipe away the water still leaking from his eyes, smile, and pretend like nothing ever happened. By the outside... it almost appeared as if nothing had ever happened. He was still as camera addicted as usual, still attended class and mingled with his fellow students.

The only difference was perhaps the breaks he had to take between every period, when he’d run to the bathroom to clear his eyes of the built up liquid they’d collected, or maybe it was the way his laughter felt dull, robotic even, or the way he began eating bigger and bigger portions at mealtimes. No one batted an eyelash at Cater when he had to be wrestled out of the mess hall by Trey, who already had himself busy with tending to a Riddle Rosehearts who’d become increasingly strict in upholding the Heartslabyul rules once again.

The serene noiselessness that enveloped the Music Room seemed all but soothing, a vacant memory filled with empty afterthoughts of what it used to be.

Sitting before Kalim’s abandoned drum set, Cater stared at his foggy reflection in the suspended cymbals, inept hands clutching drumsticks that should’ve been used to make a song. Eyes slitted, Cater cried once more, beads of translucent agony dripping onto the forgotten brass.

“...Cater? What are you doing here?”

The ginger looked up stiffly, the lights flicking into action as he made brief visual contact with the last remaining member of his club, Lilia Vanrouge. The shorter tilted his head slightly, standing at the foot of the door, as Cater exhaled a breathy laugh like he’d been so accustomed to doing. “Lilia... I just... needed some time alone, is all. Nothing to worry about.” He grinned, betraying the droplets that formed pretty trails over his visage.

“It’s... It’s about Kalim, isn’t it?” Lilia prodded, voice low as he stepped fully into the room. He didn’t require a reply, as Cater’s sagged shoulders and clutched drumsticks revealed everything he wanted to say. Solemnly hanging his head, Diasomnia’s vice lumbered over to his grieving peer, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not fair...!” Cater wailed before Lilia had even touched him. “Kalim, he’s—he’s not here anymore, and it seems like I’m the only who cares! He was suffering, so much... and I didn’t... didn’t have the brain to see it!”

Lilia’s wide magenta orbs locked onto the weeping boy, whose blood red diamond had nearly been washed away thanks to the water pouring over it. Kneeling, he gripped his shoulders firmly, forcing Cater to meet his stare. “Cater, you can’t blame yourself for this. You couldn’t have known what he was feeling, none of us could. It’s a tragic thing, to have lost someone full of so much light, but you have to understand that—“

“...You don’t get it either... didn’t he mean anything to you people?!” Lilia froze midsentence, his hands pushed away harshly. “Why? Why am I the only one who cries over him?! I didn’t even know him that well... but I don’t want Kalim to be forgotten! I don’t want to wake up everyday, knowing he’ll never speak to me again! Never make music, with these stupid sticks!” He lamented, tossing said drumsticks away, the carved wood skidding across the hard flooring.

Draping his palms over his face, Cater sniffled, Lilia speechless on his knees. Huffing a petulant sigh, the ages-old student spoke quietly, as if afraid to shatter the glass he knew he treaded upon. “Cater, in all my years... I’ve seen my fair amount of demises.”

“H... Huh?” Cater stopped, makeup-blackened tears ceasing as well.

“I’ve had to watch friends, loved ones, even family, fall. Some by the hands of fate, and some by their very own. And thus, I’ve seen how humans react when it comes to such occurrences. You aren’t the only one who cries over the loss of Kalim, I guarantee it.”

“Th-That’s...” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true! Riddle does nothing but hole himself away in his room and behead people anymore! You can’t call that coping!”

Lilia stared him in the eye, words frank and pithy. “Cater, tell me, what do you think he does behind those closed doors? Why do you think he’s become so sensitive to even the smallest of mistakes?”

“Because...! Because...” Cater caught himself, finding that he had no answer to retort with. “...I don’t... I don’t know.” He responded after a pause, holding his head in his hands.

“This is Riddle’s way of coping. Kalim was a dear classmate to him, and now, there’s no getting him back. He’s gone, we have to live with that truth.”

“Then what about you?! Why aren’t you reacting at all? Wasn’t he a dear clubmate to you?” Cater shot, voice thick with emotion as he felt the weight of Lilia’s authenticity asphyxiate him.

“Simply because I know that wherever Kalim is now, he’s happy,” he smiled softly, folding his hands in his lap, “I didn’t know that Kalim was suffering so, but now he’s cradled by the arms that come past death. He can finally rest easy, the way he was meant to in the first place.”

Cater looked down to Lilia, glassy eyes widening to see the glittery tears that pooled in the corners of the other’s, a soft smile at his lips. For a split moment, Cater could see no one but Kalim as Lilia opened his arms, amaranth streaked hair and magenta eyes shifting into pure white and candy red.

Hiccuping, Cater fell from the seat before the drums and onto his knees, being carefully pulled to Lilia’s smaller, yet wonderfully soft frame. Hit like a bag of bricks to the stomach, misery stole Cater’s oxygen as he sobbed, clinging to Lilia like a petrified animal.

“Don’t worry guys! We’ll do great at the performance tomorrow!”

“Keep it up, Cater! You sound amazing, just one more practice song!”

“Oh, a picture? I want in! Haha, cheese!”

Kalim’s childish voice echoed in the room, the ghost of a caress against his cheeks making the ginger bury himself under his peer’s chin. He felt as if he’d never forgive himself for overlooking Kalim’s pain, every heartfelt compliment or encouragement from him becoming bland and tasteless upon the realization that they were all empty words, meant to fill him up with false courage.

“Cater, he may be gone, but as long as he stays tucked in here,” Lilia tapped on his head, stroking his messy orange hair, “the magic will keep his memory alive. That’s perhaps the best gift we can give him; the guarantee that he won’t be forgotten. Not as long as you, and I, remember him, right?”

Cater inhaled a quivering breath, nodding as he parted from Lilia’s warm arms. “R-Right...” He nodded, using the back of his hands to clear away his streaked makeup, leaving a smudged mess instead.

“Let’s get you back to Heartslabyul. It sounds to me as if you could use a little conversation with your dorm leader.” Lilia prompted, standing and offering his hand, to which Cater accepted.

“If I must... oh! I need to get those first!” He cried, spinning on his heel and traipsing over to the discarded drumsticks. “I’ll keep them safe for him.” He grinned, earning a sly smirk from Lilia, who now stood outside of the club room.

Joining him, Cater sent a glance over the lone drum set, replaying the times from when Kalim would lean over them with a smile, waving as he entered, guitar strapped across his back. It didn’t hurt any less, but it reminded him that somewhere out there, Kalim was waiting for him, for that day when he’d return his drumsticks.

Switching the lights off, Cater shut the door cautiously, heart simultaneously lifted and sinking as he left, those invisible hands drifting away as he strode farther from the Music Room.

<————>

Treading down the busy hallway felt more like wading through swamp water to Silver, each student seeming to obstruct his path in any way they could.

Heading by the open walled courtyard, the grey haired Diasomnia boy’s gaze softened, looking to the vacant blue sky holding the warm sun as it’s only attraction. Running a finger over the rim of his grasped textbook, Silver sighed out of a brew containing both frustration and awe, feet instinctively guiding him about the corridors as his mind wandered elsewhere.

Every single waking day had been the shining example of a picture perfect storytelling, like something that had hopped from the pages of a fairytale since Kalim’s overcrowded funeral. No rain, no clouds, just the pure sky and the giggling sun.

Silver had half of a mind to call it unfair, for a tragedy to be celebrated and honored with such weather. Though, he had to admit he didn’t know Kalim as well as he wished. The boy had waltzed into and out of his life with alarming ease, both of them sharing the same class together and bonding over their blatantly oppositional personalities. If it weren’t for Kalim’s persistence, Silver probably wouldn’t have even remembered his name, let alone dig himself deep enough to call him a friend.

After his passing, Silver’s academic world just went... dull, following the same drearily tedious routine, and beginning to fall behind in even the most basic of lessons, simply because he found it impossible to keep himself awake for more than five minutes at a time.

Kalim had been the one to help him in class, had been the one to discover how to shake him to consciousness, both physically and mentally. Whenever Kalim was around, Silver wanted to skip his unhealthily long naps, painstakingly addicted to the boy’s light that practically radiated from him, filling any room he set foot in with warm magic.

Now that he laid still, taken by the hand of never ending slumber, Silver felt blank, like he was caged in the perpetual state of an emotional reset that declined progression.

So lost sorting through his muddled mind, Silver nearly fell backwards as he slammed headfirst into something firm, making his eyes water as he rubbed the liquid away, a yawn escaping his throat. “Hah? What’s this?” Growled a scratchy voice, making Silver snap to attention. He came face to face with a brawny Savanclaw lackey, a freakish two heads taller than Silver, the student nearly shrinking into a ball at the murderous glare sent down his direction. “Ah, it’s one of those Diasomnia pricks. What, beating us to a pulp in Magift and trampling over our test scores isn’t enough? Now you gotta own the whole damn hallway?”

“H-Hey, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about... If I could just—“ Silver attempted to reason, trying to get past the wall of muscled students, all bigger and stronger than him.

“You wanna play dumb now?” The other rasped, grabbing Silver by the collar of his uniform and lifting him in the air as he stalked dangerously close. “Listen here, bastard, just because my dorm leader tucks his tail at the sight of you doesn’t mean I’ll do the same! I have no idea who you think you are, but to me, you’re no better than baby cats who yip—“

“Alrighty fellas, that’s quite enough!”

Twisting with what little leeway available to him, Silver found the source of the voice to be Ruggie Bucchi, another member of the beastly dorm. “Ruggie? The hell do you think you’re doing?” The bigger boy barked, tightening his grip on Silver.

Crossing his arms and smiling slyly, Ruggie marched over to him, not an ounce of fear on his baby-face. “Look at him, bud. The poor guy’s practically shaking in his shoes! I think you’ve done enough to scare him, so put him down, you’re tarnishing the Savanaclaw name.”

“Enough? He ran into me! If I don’t threaten him now, then who’s gonna put him in his place later?!”

Ruggie clucked his tongue, floppy ears twitching in annoyance. “Let’s get one thing straight here; you weren’t threatening him, you were aggressively complaining. First, comparing him to a baby cat, which by the way, would be called a kitten, is neither intimidating nor masculine. Second, dangling him in the air like a doll proves nothing more than what you lack in brain, you make up for in brawn, hence why you’re practically a brick wall of muscle. Third, if you’re going to threaten someone, do it properly, you brutish simpleton.” Ruggie smirked, standing on his tip toes as he narrowed his eyes.

“Now, I suggest you tuck tail and scram before you show everyone here that you’re as composed as a bitch in heat.” He threatened, hands on his hips as the animalistic boy’s ears drooped, heeding the maliciously ingenious hyena and dropping Silver, who was close to choking thanks to the constricting pressure on his throat. Legs too weak to stabilize his body, he collapsed in a heap on the ground, textbook flying a few feet away, hacking his lungs out while trying to drink the sweetly refreshing air.

After the roughly uncivilized students scampered off, whispering curses and profanity Ruggie scoffed at, he huffed, bouncing over to Silver and extending a single gloved hand. “Um... you okay? They didn’t hurt you, right?” He asked.

Spluttering into his elbow, Silver took the hand, brushing the dust off of his black school suit and suppressing the yawn that fought to rise in his newly released esophagus. “...I’m fine. Thanks for the save...” He bowed awkwardly, avoiding the shorter’s stare. Without anything left to say, he stood turning away. “See you.” He sluggishly bid, starting to leave.

Ruggie was inches away from letting him go, until he tossed his glance to the floor, noticing the thick book fallen face first a few steps from him. Scooping it up, he flipped through a few of the pages, hoping to find something interestingly personal before returning it to the original owner. What he found was... beyond what he’d imagined.

It was a history textbook, the very first page carrying Silver’s signature, a cursive so intricate, it bordered calligraphy with all of its whorls and intercepting lines. At a glance, it didn’t look anything worthwhile, a few scribbled notes here and there but nothing out of the ordinary. Secrets weren’t revealed until Ruggie flipped to the center of the book, his normally neutral face contorting out of shock and intrigue.

The writing on the edges of the paper, where the fine print of knowledge past left indents and gaps of white space lay, were little notes penned in two vastly different handwritings, one quite obviously belonging to Silver. The other was unrecognizable to Ruggie, but reading the script was what led to him the creator.

“Silver-kun, Silver-kuuuuun! Did you hear what Trein said? I was too busy doodling!!”

“Kalim, you’re going to fail the class if you keep nodding off, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know I know..... but at least I stay awake most of the time!”

“Pssh, so mean, using that against me! Sit with me at lunch today, and maybe I’ll share my notes.”

“Oh! Alright, Silver!”

Ruggie was blown away by the authored conversation he stumbled upon, reminded of the distance growing between owner and eavesdropper as he sent a startled look up from the book. “H-Hey! Silver!” He called, having learned the sleepy Diasomnia student’s name.

The other paused, looking over his shoulder to watch as Ruggie weaved through the river of people, holding out the textbook once he’d managed to stand beside the grey haired. “You dropped this back there... it is yours, isn’t it?” He asked, feigning an ignorance Silver doubted.

“Yes, thank you very much. But... how did you know my name?”

“Eh, you’re from Diasomnia. I bet the whole corridor of people here know your name.” Ruggie waved, almost sweat dropping.

“...If you say so. Thank you for returning my book... I’ll be out of your hair now.” The other sighed, tucking said book under his arm while wearing an expression that simply felt subdued.

“Ah—wait! I’m pretty sure you’re a second year, can I walk you to class? Wouldn’t want to run into someone again, right?” Ruggie wasn’t given a verbal response, only a hitch in Silver’s movements and a mild nod.

With his arms fanned out from his head, Ruggie walked alongside the enigmatic teen, who remained eerily silent, his hazy eyes and apathetic stare giving him the hint that he was lost deep in thought, a thought that must’ve been distasteful. All too altruistically eager to break the silence, Ruggie brought up thr only topic that seemed to occupy anyone’s mind. “So... you were friends with Kalim?”

Silver flinched, directly halting in his tracks, eyes hidden by his overgrown bangs. “W-What... What did you know about him?” He asked, the flow of students never once ceasing around them.

“I... well, other than the fact that he was rich... not much.” Ruggie admitted, fiddling with an ear.

“That’s it? That’s all you knew about him, even as a second year yourself?”

“Wait, how did you—?”

“He talked about you like you were some kind of idol. He talked about everyone that way.” Silver whispered, eyes still hidden. “He was what everyone wanted to be, the only real person here who didn’t carry any ill intentions for anyone. Even that Viper, who used him for what? Years?” He continued, hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

Ruggie had nothing to say. What could he say? Kalim, to him at least, was a fun acquaintance, a buddy he’d occasionally fall back on for spare change or home cooked meals, of which were made by Jamil Viper, the Viper that Silver was quite obviously placing the entirety of the blame upon.

While drama wasn’t something Ruggie was aiming to stir up, the hyena had to admit... he didn’t find anything Jamil did to be wrong. Kalim had ideas, grand as they may be, but he hadn’t the skill or the focus to execute them, pushing the work onto Jamil and Jamil alone. Ruggie saw no problem with the vice using his talent the way he did.

“I wonder how he feels now... knowing that he’s the one who drove Kalim to such measures. But... I can’t say I’m any better. How could I have been so ignorant...? I may as well have damned him to death too, watching him deteriorate every day. Watching him... fake that cheery smile, and never doing a thing about it.” Silver seemed to be working himself into a craze, hands covering his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey, don’t take this on yourself y’know...”

“Why not? Tell me Ruggie, why. Not? My ignorance is what killed him, and now, I have to sit through class after class after class of reminders. Reminders of how I failed my duty to—“

“Geez, you’re annoying,”

“H... Huh?” Silver froze, finally opening his eyes to meet Ruggie’s cheeky grin.

Ruggie offered no explanation as he grabbed a hand, dragging him off through the hallway. “I may not be the best at comforting, and I’m certainly no Kalim, but... I think it’ll be okay. That’s what he liked to say, right? Yeah, he’s not here anymore, but are you really going to let what he believed in die?”

Struck speechless similarly to his rockstar guardian, Silver gaped like a fish out of water, silently allowing Ruggie to pull him along. “He knew there was good in everyone,” Except himself, Ruggie thought, but had the brain to hold his tongue, “he’d want you to move on, to love in his place. This, what you’re feeling now, is the farthest thing from what he wanted. So... you should smile. You can live without Kalim, you’re stronger than that.”

Ruggie stopped, a few steps away from Silver’s designated classroom, holding his clutched hand up as he spoke, smiling gently, like he actually believed the speech he by chance strung together. Still, any excuse for a better hope was a good one to Silver, so, he ducked his head, forcing out giggles that after a minute, ended up too real. “U-Uh... did I say something funny?” Ruggie stammered, eyes wide in confusion.

“No, it’s just—“ Silver let go of Ruggie, lavender eyes shiny with the aftermath of laughter, “—you remind me of him.”

Ruggie flushed, turning red to his ears as he spun away, covering his mouth and pretending to cough. “Y-Yeah, sure, whatever. Come on, let’s get you to class!”

Chuckling, Silver sped up to close the rapidly growing space between them, running a clammy hand through his argent hair. In complete honesty, he meant what he’d said.

Albeit too assiduous and orderly to be a carbon copy, Ruggie held one same trait that so painfully reminded him of Kalim; his confidence. While Kalim was a leader, Ruggie preferred to follow. While Kalim was extravagantly grandiose, Ruggie was self-effacing and simple. While Kalim had dreams of far off lands and magic carpet rides, Ruggie stayed firmly planted on the ground.

But for certain, the one thing they both shared the same substantial confidence to just... be themselves.

And it was that confidence that made Silver wish to cling to Ruggie, protect the light that he failed to do before.

“Oi! Silver! You coming?” Ruggie called hands on his knees as he waved from further down the hall.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes I’m coming!” Silver smile back, having realized he stood alone in the middle of the passage. Once again dashing to join the hyena, Silver made a vow, a vow that no one would hear other than himself.

“I promise Kalim, I’m not forgetting you. I’ll never forget you. But this time... this time I want to do things right.”

<————>

The rushing of water from the tap was the sole sound in the Mostro Lounge, accentuated only by the brisk chill that followed the lifeless restaurant-esque space.

It’d been that way since morning, the hollow flooring catching the footsteps that walked over it and tossing the sound against the walls, creating an echo Floyd Leech didn’t think was possible, what with the amount of furniture and decor lined about. Switching off the water, and the only audible commotion in the lounge, he tossed himself onto a stool before the polished bar, setting his hat aside as he laid his head within his large, white gloved hands. A sigh escaped him as he threaded his fingers through his deep teal hair, almost feeling as though he was glued to his seat.

Despite the deafening quiet that would blow any normal person’s eardrums out, Floyd closed his eyes, heavy from premature exhaustion, and heard not the empty silence, but instead voices. More specifically, he heard Kalim’s voice; his cheering, the laughs and giggles that seemed reserved for Floyd and Floyd exclusively, even his sobs after he was thrown across the desert by one of his trusted companions.

Swimming through the sea of his memories made his eyes burn with an indescribable solemnity, his hands tugging rather roughly at his hair as the memories grew into a thousand pictures behind his shut eyelids, each of them painting Kalim an angel in all of his bubbly optimism. And while Floyd was naturally agile in water, even he found himself drowning in the sorrow that replaced a past stemmed from charm and delight.

Broken like a hammer through glass, he was all but ripped from the isolation of his over imaginative brain by the doors of the Lounge being thrown open, the conversation of the two welcoming themselves in drifting over to his sensitive ears. He paid them no heed as he slumped on the bar counter, inexplicably cold while heartache whittled away at his chest.

“Ah, Floyd. Jade and I were just discussing, and there’s been an alarming drop in the amount of customers attending— Floyd?” Azul faltered, cutting his debriefing short as he noticed the state of the lithe eel.

Hunched over, head collected in his hands as he carded his fingers through his hair, Floyd looked the model of a kicked puppy, not a trace of his carefree smile on his lips. Beyond confused, Azul turned to Jade, who simply folded his hands and smiled politely, mincing over to his brother.

Jade didn’t need to do too much investigation to find the source of Floyd’s troubles, already knowing full well that the reverse of his brother’s attitude was a byproduct of Kalim Al-Asim’s death. The funeral was what sealed the transformation, Floyd’s laugh disappearing altogether as he turned away from the outside world, whether he was aware of it or not. Most days, he tucked himself away in the Mostro Lounge, polishing the same glass until in could be used as a mirror, or staring blankly into the distance, becoming especially clingy to both Jade and Azul. Any prodding was met with a lackluster response, any attempts to push him towards re-venturing back into the convoluted world of society with dejected refusals.

Sitting in the stool beside the mourning boy, Jade reached out, settling his hand on Floyd’s back as the other jumped at the touch. “Floyd?” He asked, earning his brother’s familiar glazed attention.

“Jade...? Oh, Azul, too... I’m sorry, did I do something wrong~? You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost...” He laughed unimpressively, placid smile not quite reaching his dual colored eyes.

“Floyd, please explain what is troubling you. I hate seeing my brother this way.” Jade pleaded, leaning on a fist as he expectantly stared at him.

“E-Eh? Where’d you guys get that idea from? Hehe, I’m alright, Azul, Jade.”

“No, Floyd, you’re not. As your colleague and friend, I ask that you indulge us on your turmoil.” Azul chimed in at Floyd’s nonchalant display, years of memorizing his roller coaster-like moods revealing the cracks in his façade.

Drooping defeatedly, his smile vanished as he fell onto the counter, tracing imaginary shapes into the smooth marble. “I... I miss him...” Floyd whispered, only audible because of the noiselessness.

Jade perked up, sharing a pitiful look with Azul before rubbing circles onto Floyd’s back. “You’re referring to Kalim, correct?”

The other nodded, sighing heavily as he hazed blankly at the positively reflective surface below him. “It’s—I just can’t... wrap my head around the fact that he’s gone... Sea Otter is gone, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” He said quietly, the sting in his eyes returning as he swallowed thickly.

Azul tipped his hat as Jade’s circles ceased. The passing of Kalim hadn’t particularly affected Azul, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It, at the very least, was supposed to attract more customers, in need of a distraction in the form of fine food and drinks. But for Floyd to have lost his spark... the cogs in Azul’s brain couldn’t comprehend how the two had even managed to become close after Jamil’s overblot.

“I remember,” Floyd started, sliding a thin finger over the edge of the counter, “how he used to laugh at everything. Sea Otter was so energetic~! Always bouncing to and fro, like a hyper little siren. When did... when did that all stop? Why did it all stop? Is it a curse from land-dwellers to feel this way...?” Floyd asked his friends, seeking genuine answers to his inquiries.

“Floyd, what you are feeling is grief. You are mourning over the loss of a... a comrade.” Jade hesitated, speech for once unrehearsed.

“But he was more than a comrade to me, Jade! I didn’t feel so... out of place with Kalim. He embraced the world around him, in all of it’s cruelty, with open arms. I don’t get it! He—he... he...!” Floyd wavered, hand reaching up to prod at his gold eye, which now spilled thin water over the rim of his cheekbones.

He was... crying? Why was he crying? Wasn’t that something said to be impossible for merfolk to accomplish?

“Hey, Azul... what’s this?” He asked with a joyless laugh. “Am I melting...?” He smiled bitterly, the current dribbling down in an irritatingly slow pace.

Not half a second was given to Floyd before he was enveloped by two arms, in all of their lissome strength. Azul couldn’t think of another thing to do; he’d never seen him genuinely cry before. “No, you’re not melting, Floyd.” The hug was stiff, the tallest eel’s hands on the edge of his seat while water scattered about.

“I’m scared, Azul...” he whined, sniffling. Jade flinched, the downright hopelessness of Floyd’s tone striking a place in his heart that nearly brought him to tears as well. “I can’t—I can’t lose you two. I can’t. Please, promise you won’t leave me, like Sea Otter did?” The very thought of being alone was enough to bring Floyd to trembles, was enough for him to toss away his pride as he looked to his brother, his friend.

Moving as swiftly as the flowing waters of the sea, Jade lifted himself from his seat, twining his arms around both Azul and Floyd, most of the focus turned towards the latter. “Don’t be ridiculous. As your brother, it is my responsibility to always be by your side. Always. The death of a friend doesn’t change that, nor will anything else.” Jade soothed, pressing his forehead to Floyd’s.

“Ah, Jade is right. While I may not share familial ties, I believe it is my duty to stay with you two. After all, who else would have the impertinence to stand up to your spontaneity, Floyd? Certainly no one from around here, I’ll say that much.” Azul added, earning a chuckle from the comforted.

“So... it’s a promise then? You won’t leave me?”

“Never,” Jade and Azul replied confidently, successfully sealing off the last of Floyd’s tears as he used his gloves to soak up the excess.

Finally returning the hug with ten times the force, Floyd sighed out of relief. Though, he still felt the incomparable pang of gloom over the loss of one of his companions, the twang was cushioned by the soft words of his near-family, their eager reminder that even if their world was changing, they’d have one another to rely on.

Nothing could replace a life, Floyd knew that eerily too well, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t move on. It might take a week, it might take a year, but as long as he still had them to guide him, then maybe the pain would ebb away in a matter of months.

With their promise written across the slate of his heart, Floyd let his laughter splash across the lounge.

Some part of him felt that if Kalim could see him, hear him right now, he’d been laughing too.

<————>

“Roi de Poison, may I come in?”

“Door’s unlocked, Rook.”

Granted access by the curt invitation, Rook welcomed himself into Vil’s room, having returned from yet another rowdy wrangling session of dealing with Epel. The blonde was expecting to see his dorm leader fussing over his presentation, either in the form of reestablishing his blade sharp cosmetics, or redoing his naturally flawless locks. Instead, he was met with a scene that broke his fully enchanted heart, the magical symphony in his ears screeching to a halt.

Vil sat at his elegantly carved vanity, a thick book with yellowed pages flipped to somewhere close to the center spread before him, twisting an equally as golden bottle in his hand while the other tousled his loose hair, free of it’s usual braided crown. What perhaps made Rook double-take the most was the all natural look Vil wore, the tips of his nose and ears dyed an unhealthy red as not a smear of makeup hid the semi-wet trails reflected in the spotless mirror.

“Vil? Fairest, what ever is the matter?” Rook inquired hastily, skidding over to the beauty’s side and kneeling before him, feathered hat temporarily set on the floor while his head of canary hair still rose beyond the edge of the vanity table. “Vil...?”

“Do you know... what this is, Rook?” Vil asked out of the blue, holding the golden vial to the light.

“...If I had to guess, I’d say that would be an antidote.” Rook responded, having studied nearly as hard as Vil on the subject of poisons and cures.

“Correct. This... This is the antidote that could’ve saved him. I could’ve saved him.” Rook could taste the burn of Vil’s self doubt, the blame he took upon his shoulders as he desperately tried to look into Vil’s lavender irises.

“Non, Vil. It’s been said before, and I’ll not stutter when I say it again. You cannot control anyone but yourself. What Kalim did was of his own volition, you could not have done a thing to prevent it.”

“Do not lie to me, Rook Hunt!” Vil shrieked, rattling the table after he slammed his fist onto it. “If it weren’t for the poison I handcrafted, Kalim would be alive right now! If I would’ve chased after him the minute I realized the bottle was missing, then maybe—no, he would not have had the opportunity to use it! It’s my fault this happened, and now the blood’s on my hands!” Vil shrilled, delicate hands concealing his face.

Struggling to create a refute, Rook placed his hat back onto his head, standing to his full height. Circling behind Vil, he stared into the mirror, at the broken beauty who wallowed in the depths of his own despair before him. He loathed seeing Vil in such a state, poise and elegance replaced with a fiery fury aimed at no one but himself. He couldn’t bear to see him tear himself down.

Exhaling quietly, Rook laid his gloved hands over Vil’s, gently prying them away. Picking up a brush, he let it hover above his mauve-and-platinum hair, only setting it down on his scalp when Vil nodded ever so marginally. “Vil, my king, the fairest of us all, it pains me to no end to see you like this. Do you realize how dishonest it is to harbor this blame?” Rook rhetorically asked, noting the way his green orbs locked with purple for a split moment.

Brushing through the last section of Vil’s thin hair, he set the brush aside, peeling off his gloves to instead grab a comb, folding and looping the strands as he continued to speak. “What Kalim did was out of your jurisdiction. Yes, you may have made the poison, but he was the thief who stole it. Yes, you were too late to have realized it was missing, but had you sent me after him, he would’ve drank it before I could save him.” Rook assured, sealing off the crown and moving onto the next area in need of his expertise.

Lifting Vil’s chin with a curled finger, Rook brought a new besom to his eyes, painting on a deep violet shadow over the lashes, of which he diligently extended with top of the line mascara. Having someone else so casually apply his cosmetics made Vil’s shoulders sag as they released their tension, almost leaning into the affectionate sweeps were it not for his budding insecurity.

“How can you say that when it’s quite obviously my fault?” Vil murmured once his vice paused to reach for a shimmery lipgloss.

“Don’t you see? Kalim would’ve found a way to end his life with, or without your assistance. You were just naive enough to fall for his game, and thus, you now hold within you a guilt that doesn’t belong. Mon ange, let this grief go.” Rook finished, capping the gloss and smiling broadly, waving towards the mirror.

Turning to his reflection, Vil did nothing to hide the satisfied grin that formed, appreciative of the effort the blonde-haired hunter was investing to comfort him. “What if... deep down, I still blame myself, at the end of the day?” He asked, twirling a section of his hair around his painted nail.

“Fret not! I shall sing you lullabies until you can rest soundly at night. This tragedy will be a memory far faded after I’m done!” Rook sang, offering a hand as he bowed.

“Alright, Rook...” Vil chuckled, taking his hand and squaring his shoulders as he stood, balancing on his thin heels. “...I hope you will make use of that promise.”

“Anything for you, Vil. Now let us depart for supper, the dorm was ordered to keep their paws to themselves until you arrived.” Rook urged, spinning over to the door. Swinging it open, he gestured out to the hall, smiling. “Shall we?”

“Indeed. Let’s go.” Vil nodded, clicking out as Rook followed close behind.

Kalim still weighed on his mind, the boy’s peacefully shut eyes as he laid in that glass casket forever an image burned into his brain. He made a dire mistake that day, leaving the poison unguarded in his bathroom, even just creating it in the first place, but Rook helped Vil realize a truth that eased the sting, if only lightly.

He hadn’t known Kalim well, the first full conversation between them only occurring the day of his demise. Part of Vil found solace in the fact that Kalim’s death was quick, a brighter alternative to anything else Kalim would’ve attempted. The other part wept for what his knowledge of poison brought, the pain he’d inflicted on not only Kalim, but the rest of the school in tandem.

Still, holding his head high, Vil wasn’t going to let the suffering crumble him. Antidote clenched in a fist, Vil dropped it in his concealed pocket, the vision of elegance and poise.

Though he may have had a hand in Kalim’s downfall, he wasn’t going to let himself make a foolish mistake like that again.

<————>

Kalim Al-Asim’s death did not come in an ear piercing bang or an uproarious festival. It came not in sweet whispered nothings or love brimmed words. It came not as peaceful or soothing, but by preference spotlighted with nothing except a dark room, a clear night, and the whitest moon the sky had to offer.

Time had been at fowl play, some days passing within the sound snap of a finger, and some lasting for aeons painted in dull colors of anguish and shame. The people were mortified by the discovery, even more so to find that the act hadn’t been committed by the sinful nature of another, but instead the self destructive hatred of himself. Blame had been a projectile, shot into anyone who even held his name inside the confines of their brain, running amongst them like a smooth stone over a pond of ice until there was no one left to terrorize.

The wayward mechanism of coping bore down on everyone, weighing them with ten thousand pounds of a hopelessness they could neither hide nor run from. At their darkest hour, the entire venerated school of Night Raven College was brought to their knees by the passing of optimism personified, their trust a fractured knife used to stab skepticism and condemnation into the hearts of anyone who dared raise their bowed heads.

But even the dark of night must soon come to an end, the sun of a new day bringing a dusk painted in the hues of resumption over a horizon of black. It started with an idea, a finicky thought that grew until it could no longer be held within the sole mind of the creator, escaping from a pair of lips upturned in a rare smile that shortly spread to the listeners.

The idea spread like a contagion, from one to another, dorm to dorm, student to teacher, until every person shared the unison objective, some setting upon a laborious work to meet the desired outcome. Tirelessly, the students used the extents lf the gifts bestowed upon them, whether that be the farthest reaches of magic, or the unique skill to create banquets of delectable food.

It was far from a single day job, many returning to their rooms with sore muscles and blistered hands, the only thing driving them through their hard hours being the vision of the payoff come the conclusion. The prize of their exertion was a spectacle even a stranger would find extraordinarily echanted.

On a pedestal above the normal person’s head, crafted from the best brass up for the taking, stood a perfect recreation of Kalim Al-Asim, each detail scrutinized by the expecting eyes of none other than the mourning Jamil Viper.

Though he took it upon himself to mold the finer minutiae, he accepted every numerous offer of assistance with the bulky creation of the base, sending out handwritten thanks to each participant. Using too many sleepless nights, Jamil poured his strength, his breath, his heart into smoothing out the edges, refining the statue until it looked so real, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it up and moved.

The unveiling had been as palatial as Kalim would’ve wanted it to be; Jamil planning and throwing a celebration that welcomed nearly every resident of the campus, brandishing and explaining the statue in a way that made even Mozus Trein’s heart of steel melt.

Still... standing before it felt surreal, almost sorrowful. Dressed in his dorm garb and clutching his signature staff in his left arm, he waved out to the Scarabia he protected with his free one, a broad smile swelling his cheeks, eyes wide and curious. It had been the students’ choice to place him at the entrance of their dorm, believing Kalim’s face a fitting first sight upon entrance.

Drenched with gold in the early morning light, he smiled angelically as a lone figure knelt before the pedestal, hand tracing over the plaque carved into the stone base.

“I hope... I hope this did you justice. It was all I could give you for now; I know it’s not much, but this way, your legacy will carry on.” Jamil whispered, laying his forehead on the smooth metal.

Though he may not live to see it, Jamil wished with the very power of his soul that Kalim’s statue would last a lifetime, perhaps even longer as he stood and left, the words engraved finally visible:

He who breathed laughter,

He who stood proud,

He who was strong as the current of the ocean.

In fond memory of Kalim Al-Asim, the light in a world of shadow.

May we all discover the same strength he held.

Oki dokes! I didn’t originally plan for a continuation, so it took a little long bit to spark my ideas.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading! Special thanks to @lionheartanotheraccount for the request!!

Stay lovely!

#twisted wonderland #twst #kalim al asim #angst #cater diamond #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #ruggie bucchi #jamil viper

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leopardprinttrashchild · 6 years ago

Text

An Empty Sun

[Lilia POV, surrealism; written for the @yoiprimadonnazine] [AO3]

It is quiet.

This is the first thing she notices – or no, maybe it is not the first. Time is as faint and distant as the flecks of light scattered across the inky expanse that lies before her.

Perhaps this is an old realization as well as a new one, or perhaps it is a flicker of knowledge from a future self, a different self.

She does not know.

It does not matter.

It is quiet.

It isn’t a silence borne of hushed noise, of the sudden loss of sound: it is the absence of sound itself, of the idea of sound, of its past and present and future.

It is quiet.

She does not know why.

It does not matter.

She is alone.

This is the first thing she notices – or no, maybe it is not the first. She does not remember if anything has come before. The stars lie before her, constant, constantly changing. They are what they have always been. They are not what they will be. They are faint and distant.

She is alone, and she does not remember why.

It does not matter.

She has not forgotten: to forget is to lose something that was once known. It is an absence made notable by the presence it used to have.

Perhaps she has not yet learned what it is to remember, to be remembered.

It does not matter.

She is alone, and she does not remember why.

It is quiet, and she is alone.

Perfect silence. Perfect stillness. And yet, they are not perfect – cannot be, can never be. Perfection is the opposite of imperfection, its balance and counterweight. Without imperfection, there can be no perfection.

Silence. Stillness.

It is not silent. Silence is the absence of sound. Without the possibility of sound, it isn’t silence. It simply… is.

Stillness.

Is there such a thing as stillness without the potential for motion? Nothing without something is not precisely nothing. It simply… isn’t.

She speaks aloud, and her voice echoes into starlight.

It is not silent.

She dances.

It is not still.

She is alone, and she does not remember why.

She dreams.

She remembers.

She is not alone.

In her new world, she is old.

Or: she is not young. She is not old compared to the rocks that make up the stone steps leading up to her front door, nor even to the large, leafy tree whose shadow falls across the pavement.

She is not young. She is not old.

She is.

As usual, Lilia’s feet ache in the narrow points of her shoes. She barely notices, but in the moments when she does, she thinks that it is a fitting echo of her past. Her feet always hurt when she was young.

Her doctor had insisted that she spurn heels of any height. Instead, he told her, she should fill her closet with the sort of sturdy, sensible loafers that women are meant to wear once they reach a certain age.

She’d allowed him to speak for exactly sixty seconds when he brought up the matter, talking about bunions and knee strain and arthritis. Once the minute came to an end, she nudged him into silence with a slight nod.

Lilia doesn’t think back to his courteous displeasure as she strides into the athletic complex. Her heels count out sharp, measured, twinging clicks against the tiled floor.

“Lilia. Thank you for coming.”

“Good morning, Yakov,” Lilia replies. He is unsure of himself. His voice is too loud and his movements are tense as he tries to find the balance of their meeting. It is tiresome. “If you would introduce me to your student so that I may make my decision?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

Yakov hadn’t been a bad husband – he was merely unexceptional. Lilia does not surround herself with the mediocre.

She does not regret her choices. She does not doubt herself.

She does not reconsider.

Yuri Plisetsky is talented and ill-mannered, brittle and bristling behind his sneering, arrogant veneer. Above all else, he is changing, growing, evolving; he is a flickering spark that must be guided before it bursts into an uncontrolled blaze or gutters out in a wisp of smoke.

He will do, even if his flexibility leaves something to be desired.

“People who can be reborn as many times as necessary are the strong ones,” she tells him, and Yuri understands in a way that Yakov never had.

The self cannot be constructed from memories. It must be created anew each moment, willed into being again and again and again. There is no room for doubt.

The present cannot be remembered. It can only be.

She wakes, and she is.

Before her dream, she was not silent, because there could be no sound. She was not still, because there could be no movement. She was not alone, because there could be no others. Before her dream…

But no, not before. Nothingness has no space even for something as small as time.

Rather: she was not. Now there is a now, and in that now, she finds herself. She finds silence, stillness. She is alone.

She remembers.

The flaws of her dream haunt her. It is an unfamiliar sensation.

It feels like being trapped.

It feels like being free.

She isn’t sure if they’re truly so different.

She remembers, but she does not understand.

“I miss you.”

She murmurs her confession to the distant stars. They do not hear. They are not listening.

“You never knew me.”

She is remembering, and she is dreaming. She is not alone.

“I created you,” she says.

She speaks to a young man who holds a golden ring. The metal is impure, but it is beautiful. She speaks to him – a different him, who knows a different her. He is older, greying. He stares down at the ring in his palm. She speaks to a boy who is everything she is and everything she isn’t. She speaks to Lilia with her sharp eyes and ruined feet.

“But you never knew me,” they reply.

“I made you.” She turns her thoughts to Lilia. “I am you.”

“You are not.” Lilia is not lost in the nowhere that is everywhere. She stands, confident in herself, confident in her judgement. “You are not. You are nothing.”

“I was, and I am.”

“To be is to become. It is to act, not to remember, not to dream. A memory is nothing more than a ghost of what no longer is, and a dream is a ghost of what never was.”

“You taught me that,” Yuri adds. “That’s how you created me, Madame Lilia. A beautiful, ever-evolving monster, born and reborn as many times as necessary.” He grins, quick and bright and sheepish. “Yeah, I know you kept that article. I found it in your desk.”

“When?” She does not remember this.

“Huh.” He tilts his head. “I guess you haven’t gotten there yet.”

“You keep a lot of things,” Yakov tells her, tells them, tells Lilia and she-who-isn’t. He holds up the golden ring but doesn’t put it on. “Your name. Your shoes. Your dreams. They must be more than ghosts, Lilechka.”

“Whatever they were, they are not now,” Lilia retorts. “They are nothing. We are not our pasts.”

“We are who we have made ourselves.”

“We are who we make ourselves.”

They – Yakov and Lilia and Yuri and a thousand other faces – turn to her. “Who are you?”

“I am me. I am now.”

Lilia frowns. “Who are you becoming?”

“Myself.”

“Who were you?” Yakov asks.

“I…”

“Why?” Yuri looks up at her, as if he’d heard the answer she couldn’t give. He’s young, a child both driven and directionless.

“I don’t know,” she finally replies. “I haven’t gotten there yet.”

She is young.

She is young, but she is not new. Lilia has seen enough of the world to scoff at its mysteries. She has seen enough to tell gilt from gold.

The difference is this: gilt will eventually be tossed aside. Gold will be treasured.

Lilia sometimes wishes that she hadn’t chosen to dance, but it is who she has always been, even if it’s not who she always will be. It is who she is, and so Lilia walks in every day on torn feet.

She keeps her pointe shoes from the Bolshoi’s last show of each season. Lilia does not look at them where they rest, stained with old memories and dried blood, but it is safer to store the final performances in a box than in her mind. The future will hurt her if she allows the past to creep in too frequently, and that is something she is not allowed to forget.

“You are art, lily girl,” the director croons. Her title is not capitalized on his lips: there are many lilies and many girls. Both are transient, fleeting. “I am the artist.”

The dancers are tools. They are the canvas, but not the hand that holds the brush; they are the flute, but not the breath that calls the notes to life.

The dancers are tools, and Lilia is the prima ballerina assoluta. She is art, and she is beautiful, and she is to be discarded once her bristles begin to bend and fray.

“Yes, Kostya,” Lilia says. She smiles with the sweet delicacy of water thawing beneath a frozen surface. She is spring, and she is blooming, and she is dangerous. Art can hold more power than its artist, even if she has not yet learned to wield it. “I am art.”

“Do you hate him?” Yakov asks her. He scowls before grumbling, “I do.”

“I can’t hate him, Yasha. I need him.” Lilia knows that he does not understand, will not understand. Yakov will skate, though he may not win, and then he will teach. He is a man. He will not expire. “There are many dancers.”

“Not like you, Lilechka. You’ve always been more than he’ll ever be.”

“I dance his steps.”

“For now,” Yakov says, his eyes soft. “Don’t forget that.”

She sighs. “I never do.”

Lilies wilt. Girls grow up. Men die.

A heart attack. It’s explained in short, soft, gentle words by men who look down on the gathered ballerinas as if they’re speaking to children. The male dancers have been told already.

A few of the girls begin to cry. What will become of the season? they ask each other. What will happen to us?

The new director will be another artist. He will have his own visions, his own palette.

But Lilia is the prima.

“We will continue,” Lilia tells them sharply. “We will dance.”

She leaves lilies on the grave of Konstantin Pavlovich Ignatyev. She does not cry. She does not gloat. He is nothing, and she is here. She is art.

She will not be painted, played, written. She was created, but now she will create.

She is not a lily girl.

She is not gilt.

She is gold.

She watches the stars.

Did she dream them, she wonders, or did they dream her? Neither feels true. They are and she is, without beginning or middle or end. There is nothing to shape her.

There is nothing.

In this emptiness, she has no past to remember and no future to await. She is only what she creates in each moment.

Lilia stands beside her. “It is perfect.”

It is nothing, so it is perfect. There are no flaws. It is everything that her dream is not, was not, will never be.

It is nothing. It is not perfect.

“Why can’t it be?” Yuri asks her.

“I dreamed it. I am not sure that I created it.”

He huffs. “We can make it better.”

“Would you change everything, Lilechka?” sighs Yakov.

“We are more than our pasts,” she tells him. She looks to herself, to Lilia. “We are more than this moment. We create, and we remember. We are remembered, and we are created.”

She turns to Yuri. Softly, she says, “We are more than who we will become.”

“Who are you?” they query.

“I am the dreamer.”

“And will you dream?”

“No.” She smiles into the perfect, imperfect nothingness. “We will live.”

Lilia dreams and she wakes. She moves and she is still. She is alone and she is not. She remembers and she forgets. She creates and she is created.

She was.

She will be.

She is.

#Yuri on ice #lilia baranovskaya #an empty sun #YoI primadonna zine #my writing

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thechillingadventuresoflili-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter twenty, my sweet people. Lilia is back and she knows who she is. Hope you enjoy it. Even though this chapter is probably shorter than the others. As always, this is dedicated to @zeciex, @lovelykhaleesiii, @frucienlover, @hedgewitchhollow, @heda-mikaelson, and @satanskittles.

Chapter Twenty After The Ritual

Lilia opened her eyes after the ritual was complete and stared into the black, demonic eyes of Michael Langdon, the love of her life. She smiled and flung her naked body against his, her arms wrapping around his neck. His long hair tickled her nose and she laughed.

“It’s been too long, Boy Wonder.” She whispered as she leaned back to look at him, moving a strand of hair from his face. “Your hair grew. It looks great. More to tug on than your curls.”

Michael chuckled and placed his bloody hands on her cheeks. “God, I missed your sassiness.” He leaned in and kissed her. A sweet kiss that told her how much he had missed her.

She pulled away and smiled at him, moving away from his lap. “Come on. Let’s get this blood off us. We have catching up to do.” She turned on the shower and waited for him to join her.

Half an hour and one very satisfying shower later, she was sitting in the chair before the fireplace, watching him. “What happened after you set the identity spell?”

“I met with The Cooperative and started building the Outposts.” He crossed his legs and smiled when her eyes moved down his form. “I take it you like what you see.”

She blushed and looked away from him, smiling. “And what of the witches? Where are they?”

“I thought the bombs had killed them off, but I believe at least one remains. The Grey, Mallory, is one. She damn near burned off my ass the other day.” He chuckled and looked at her. “There is a package coming in the next few days filled with apples. Venable and Mead will be filling them with venom from the snakes.”

She shivered as she thought of the snakes coming back to life after they had cooked them. “That was you, wasn’t it? You asshole.”

He chuckled again and waved his hand around. “This place was boring before I came here. Admit it.”

“You made Gallant unbearable.” She hesitated and looked at him. “You didn’t fuck him, did you?”

Michael looked at her and shook his head. “No. That was magic in the rubber suit from the Murder House. I saved it before the blast. Do you really have little faith in me?”

Lilia bit her lip and looked away. “You’re a man. The Antichrist. You have needs and I wasn’t there to fulfill them for you.”

He got up and knelt down to one knee to look her in the eyes better. “I didn’t want anyone else, but you. You are my other half. My Lilith. My lover. My Queen. Don’t ever forget that.” He leaned in and kissed her with a passion that burned through her all the way from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes.

Lilia smiled against his lips as the alarm went off for the perimeter. “I’m guessing that’s your apples arriving. “

Michael nodded and smiled, standing up and moving to the door. “You will meet me here when they are all getting ready for the Halloween celebration they have planned, yes?”

“Halloween is coming up? That’s how out of the loop we all are.” She rolled her eyes and stood up with him. “May I come here tonight? I missed you too much to be away from you any longer.”

Michael leaned down and captured her lips in another kiss, nodding when he pulled away. “Of course, you can.”

And with that, Lilia went to join the rest of the Outpost to hear the announcement from Venable about the Halloween celebration.

Looking around the room with her memories of before the bombs dropped, Lilia smiled as she saw Dinah Stevens, the Voodoo Queen, with her son, Andre. Coco and Mallory were witches. She was sure about them being the last of the Coven. She wondered what exactly Cordelia was planning when she put them in this Outpost.

At least she knew she was safe. Lilia remembered Michael saying that he would erase her from the Coven and anyone associated with them. She just hoped that it worked.

Everyone was a buzz with the party for Halloween. Some wondered if Michael would announce the people chosen to go with him to the Sanctuary. But, Lilia knew better. It was a means to an end. She was happy that all of the annoying people would be dead after Halloween. She was tired of them all. Especially Gallant, who wouldn’t shut up about the man who had fucked him and saying it was Michael.

“Like he would ever want to fuck you.” She snapped at him one day in the parlor as she was looking for a new book. “Has he come to you since you ‘found’ your precious nana?”

“Well no. But, that’s because he’s been busy interviewing the Greys.” He said with such confidence it made her blood boil.

“You moron. You really are dense. I thought gay men were supposed to be smarter when another man was into them.” Lilia chuckled as she stood up to walk over to him, not knowing that Michael was in the shadows. “Just to let you know, while you were hiding in your room, masturbating to Langdon.” She got up real close and whispered. “I was riding him and screaming out his name as I came all over him.”

“That’s a lie!” Coco jumped up to defend her hairdresser. “What would Langdon want with someone like you?”

“Everything.” Lilia told her and turned to see him standing in the doorway. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

He smiled and nodded, walking away towards his office. She looked over her shoulder at the two and winked at them, walking faster to catch up with him.

In his suite, she bit her lip as she closed the door behind her. “Was I in the wrong? Putting them in their place like that?”

Michael stalked over to her and sighed. “Just as stubborn as ever. What am I going to do with you?”

“Love me. Duh.” Lilia smiled and kissed his lips softly.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He walked away from her and went back to his Macbook, sending an email to the rest of The Cooperative who had managed to survive. “I think it would be better if you stayed in this room with me until Halloween. Wouldn’t want any of them to go telling Venable about us and then them trying to kill us, now would we?”

She sat in front of the fireplace and watched do his work. “No, we wouldn’t.”

“If you continued to have run your mouth, one of the Greys would have told her.” He turned to look at her. “As much as I love you, I can’t lose you again. Not even permanently.”

“When are you going to bring back Mead’s memories? She’s a bitch now.” Lilia whined. She normally wasn’t like this, but her soul told her that something was wrong.”Michael, I feel weird. Like my skin is itchy. I don’t know how to explain it. I feel as though something will happen.”

He got up and walked over to her, kneeling in front of her. “Nothing will happen. I swear it.”

That night, the Banshee in her made itself known. The dream was awful. The witches had made their way to the Outpost and challenged Michael. He tried to fight, but when Mallory enacted Tempus Infinituum and went back in time to kill Michael before he learns he is the Antichrist.

Lilia woke up screaming as she felt the car run over her lover and his life force leave his body. Michael tried everything he could to get her to be quiet, but this scream was different than any of the others that he heard her do.

When she finally calmed down and stopped, she clung to him, sobbing so hard that her whole body shook. “They are going back in time.” She whispered.

“What? Who?” Michael pulled her away from his body to look at her.

“They are going back in time to kill you.” She sobbed as she tested every bone in her body. “They send that bitch, Mallory, back in time to kill you when your grandmother kicks you out of the house. I felt you die!”

He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”

“Tempus Inifintuum. That’s what they use.” She got up and went over to the chair she was sitting in earlier that night, tears still pouring down her cheeks. “You kill everyone else, but Cordelia, Myrtle, and Mallory. Mallory gets stabbed and is taken to the tub in my room of all places. They try to heal her but can’t. Cordelia confronts you and stabs herself, dying to give Mallory the power to do it.”

He got out of bed and walked over to her, moving her hair from her face. “We have to stop them. You have to do it. Perform what they do.”

“I don’t know if I’m powerful enough to do so, Michael. I’m powerful, but not Supreme powerful.” Lilia was now terrified of him dying.

“You can do it. I believe in you.” Michael kissed her head and got ready for the day to deal with Venable and Mead later that night.

Lilia wrapped her robe around her and went to her room, trying to think about how to help him. She ran her hands through her hair and bit her lip as she paced her room. She looked to her bathroom and thought about how he used his rituals to talk to his father. Maybe she could talk to Lilith.

Lilia went to the bathroom and undressed. Waving her hand, she lit all the candles in the circle and stepped in the middle of it. She took a deep breath and sighed as she sank to her knees. Making lines up her wrists with her finger, she gasped as the skin split, blood pouring from her body. “Lilith, I need your help. Michael is going to die if I don’t do something. Rise from the void and help me.” She drew a pentagram in her blood like she had seen Michael do so many times before. “The witches are going to kill him. Please, help me, Lilith!”

She closed her eyes as whispers began to fill the room. She tried to listen to what they were saying, but there were too many of them. She sighed, thinking that she had failed when a gentle hand touched her cheek.

“Open your eyes, my child.” A feminine voice whispered in her ear.

Her eyes popped open and her face was looking back at her, but with dark hair. “Lilith.”

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dahcyst · 8 years ago

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A Flower for the Bee [Chapter 7 : My favorite flower]

[AO3 link : ]

Mila had literally killed him, he could swear it. Yakov had shown up after lunch, his eyebags a little darker than usual. He didn't say anything about the night before, but there was probably nothing to say, really. Yuri and J.J.'s constant quarrels were now kind of a habit and it only made people sigh -actually smile, most of the time.

The training had been something. Yakov was silent for a big part, letting Mila lead the thing the way she wanted. It wasn't like ballet at all and for the whole afternoon, he understood what would be the main problem for this program. It needed his full strength in addition to his abilities for spins, loops, jumps. He knew he was able to do all of this. Of course. Why couldn't he?

But at his umpteenth attempt for a move he couldn't get, wasn't able to properly understand yet to recreate the way they needed for the choreo, Mila had put a stop. "You're tired," she'd sighed. "And so I am. Let's do something we're more used to do for now, okay?"

The first day of this new training ended with Yuri still frustrated by his own skills. His lack of skills actually –and it was rare for him to think that way. Exhausted, he'd gotten something to eat on his way back, and was already done with it when he reached the door of the small house. The last thing he did was going in his room, fall on his bed, his bag lost somewhere in the entrance. He'd let if fall without even thinking further about his stuff in it. He would see in the morning. Eyes burning like hell from tireness and the cold air at the rink, he just needed to sleep, with the hope that it would help with the dull pain ramming along his body. Between the suddenly different training, his lack of sleep, and his current growth, it had been a day in hell. And Mila was Satan. Next to her, Lilia, Yakov and Victor were barely some cute devils, he could swear.

His whole body muffled in that pain didn't let him find a nice position to sleep. In the end, he just found himself half sleeping on his side, his fingers brushing the edges of his phone resting near his pillow.

He hadn't answer Otabek since the morning practice, since the man had been eating that lettuce thing. Since what he'd said. Not that he didn't like it, actually knowing that Otabek was treasuring their conversations at the point he would be denying his need for sleep really made him happy. Really. So much, even. But he didn't know how to answer that in the right way and every time he didn't feel confident enough to answer Otabek, he ended up with an absence of answer.

Checking his mailbox, he'd read a few more messages from the Kazakh and he sighed. He needed to see his nickname amongst his notifications. There were some retweets, then a picture of the ice rink in Almatin popping in his feed. The place was empty, it was probably late when he'd taken it. There was only a figure still skating, and it had taken Yuri a few seconds to understand that it was Otabek. Someone else might have taken the photograph for him, and he had squinted his eyes a little to be able to read the caption under it. 'Beka never sleeeeppppp wanna go home'. It wasn't Otabek picture, he finally understood, but someone had tagged him in it and it had appeared in Yuri's news feed somehow.

If he enlighted the screen, he knew his phone was still on the profil page of the person who had taken the picture. There was those huge dark eyes, that long hair, that slightly tanned skin, on the profil picture. He immediatly disliked her name 'Nadya'. What a lack of originality, really. There was nothing interesting in her feed. Pictures from Almaty during the day, during the night, the ice rink, people skating on it, Otabek going out of the changing room half naked with that annoyed scowl on his face, the cafeteria, a bunch of coaches talking together, a stupid dog...

Wait.

What?

Yuri blinked a little and made the pictures pass back to get back to that one that took him off guard and he frowned a little. It really was Otabek, and the man looked almost angry through his usual so-called blasé face. Something had upsetted him somehow, probably that Nadya he was looking at -if she was the one taking the picture. With a hint of curiosity, he pressed on the picture to get the caption. 'hes so embarrassed ahahah!' A towel around his hips was all that was hiding his body, and in the back another girl was laughing at them.

Yuri sighed. He'd never heard about a girlfriend before, or anything, and had always thought that the Kazakh was a bit like him -too much of a busy skater and student to actually get one or even think about that. But maybe he wasn't the same, and in a sort of way it couldn't be a bad thing after all. But...

Stretching a little on his matress, with his blanket sliding against his body, Yuri sighed and groaled at the same time. He wanted to send a message to Otabek, didn't know what to put in it. It was quite ravaging, keeping him away from sleeping.

At some point, the thought that he still hadn't called Otabek crossed his mind. It was late. The Kazakh wouldn't answer his call, and somehow it was reassuring. Nor would he answer his message right now. A wave of pain killed his knees, making him hold his breath against his own will.

He had closed Nadya's profil with a slow forefinger sliding on the smooth surface of the screen, the phone flat on the matress near his pillow. He tipped on it softly -it was always amazing how his finger made him open Otabek's chatting window without even thinking about it.

Yuri litterally jumped when the small phone vibrated under his finger without a warning, and he pulled it a little closer to give an eye at the enlighted screen without having to mode his head.

Ota-bee : "Sleeping?"

It took him a few seconds to register that no he wasn't breathing anymore. God knew why. The tip of his finger was already crashing against the smooth screen, right on the blue frame with that phone icon.

He was stupid.

The ring echoed slowly in the room due to the high speackers he'dput on. The ringbecause there was only one. Then, he swallowed slowly, hardly, at the small sound, that 'click' as Otabek was taking the call.

"I wondered if you'd ever call me again."

Yuri closed his eyes. For a moment, he needed to stop everything, and that deep, amazing voice was probably everything he needed. How weird it was when the same words, used differently, didn't mean the same thing at all. Otabek's voice was suddenly filling the room, and it was incredible, even though it was slightly deformed by the phone.

"So you doubted?" he replied.

It wasn't a reproach, actually Yuri didn't even bother making his voice sound like it could be one. He was talking so low, was actually so tired, and Otabek at the other side of the phone call could probably understand it.

"Never."

The stony tone made Yuri laugh a little, and a long sigh answered to it. Something resigned, tired as well. The boy rolled on his side, staring at the ceiling barely enlighted by the screen on the bed.

"So, you called," Otabek stated, and for a second Yuri felt like he was caught on something. But he didn't know what, why, and didn't know how to answer to that. So he just mumbled some "Yeah, and?" in a grumpy voice. The Kazakh's voice instantly smoothened, with a soft noise as he was probably keeping back a little laughter.

"I like it."

Yuri frowned at it.

"Man, you'd rather keep that line for your girl."

Oh shit.

The silence on the other side weighted all of a sudden, heavy in the entire bedroom air. A few seconds passed by and once again, he sucked in a breath sharply, looking for something to add.

"I--"

"My what?"

Yuri blinked. Otabek's tone was just so genuinely surprised that it had taken him by surprise. But he didn't say anything, waiting patiently -or rather impatiently, hungrily as Otabek was processing things out and answering with some time. Too much time. Tireness might be what was taking him so long. Somehow. Probably. He wasn't sure. He didn't know.

Oh man, why was his mind so full of questions and so empty with answers?

But a soft huffing in the room made him shiver a little under his blanket. He knew that Otabek was smiling.

"Are you making fun of me?" Yuri growled.

"I'm not. Were you serious when you thought that I could have a girlfriend?"

The way Otabek said the last word was a bit weird; he made it sound so funny, so impossible, so not him that Yuri wasn't here for a second, blinking with disbelief. Well. He hadn't been expecting that.

The silence was back, as if Otabek was waiting for something and--

Oh.

Yuri gulped.

It wasn't a casual chatting through written messages.

He couldn't escape giving an answer by ignoring Otabek. They were talking. Hanging up, and he felt it so deep under his skin, in his chest, was the last thing to do.

He took a breath. He wasn't a big amator of this topic. Especially toward Otabek. God knew why.

"Difficult not to think you have one," he finally sighed after what sounded, to him, an eternity.

There was that light laughter resonnating in the room from the high speackers, and it warmed him for a few seconds. Watching the fragile frame of the cellphone on the sheets was frustrating.

"Did it upset you?"

Otabek's tone wasn't weird or anything. There was no innuendo in his words, and somehow it stopped Yuri's heart from beating too much –beating? He frowned a little at the realization. Everything sounded normal and it was...Particularly annoying.

"Na," he mumbled.

"Really? You sound pissed off."

"I'm not."

Otabek huffed softly in the microphone and Yuri tried to imagine his face at that moment. It was difficult. Photographs weren't enough to show him enough of Otabek features and what he might look at that moment.

"Ok, I believe you then," was all that Otabek said. And that pissed Yuri off, but he didn't say anything this time.

Sometimes, there were those soft sounds in the mic, and Yuri knew that the young man was moving in his bed, probably changing his position.

"What would you do?" Otabek suddenly asked.

Yuri blinked, surprised. "Eh?"

"If I had a girlfriend. What would you do?"

"I don't get the question."

This time, the soft laughter Otabek gave him sounded a little different. Yuri couldn't point what it was about, but there was something, and the fact that he wasn't able to answer here and now suddenly got on his nerves. Why couldn't he find an answer right away? What was wrong with that question?

What was wrong with Otabek getting a girlfriend?

What was wrong with the picture of Otabek hugging a cute girl with long dark hair?

"Ah, sorry, I'm saying weird things again I guess?"

What was wrong with Otabek kissing a girl?

What was wrong, really?

"Yura?"

He wasn't thinking about the pain radiating in his entire body anymore, to be honest. He wasn't answering Otabek anymore at that moment, staring at the screen. The ellapsed time for their conversation was running slowly and quickly at the same time.

"Eh, Yura, you're sleeping?"

"Everything sounds bad," Yuri finally breathed out.

"Uh?"

"You having a girlfriend."

Otabek only giggled at it. "Really? That's mean." His laughter echoed a little in the microphone, and Yuri sighed.

"That's not," Yuri replicated with a small pout. "Just..."

Hesitation was always a bad thing, and Otabek didn't take his time before jumping on the occasion.

"Just what?"

Yuri snorted, mubling a "nothing" while rubbing his face in his pillow with the hope that it would erase all of his previous sentences.

But it didn't. The screen was still enlighted, projecting its pale light on the ceiling.

A heavy sigh filled the room through the cellphone and Yuri shivered a little. "Just in case, Yura, I don't intend to have a girlfriend."

The teen didn't answer, staring again at the phone.

"I have something else in mind, ok?"

At that, Yuri snorted again, unable to hold back a funny smile. "Like taking my title during next year Grand Prix?"

"Like skating my favorite program with my favorite flower."

He chocked, sucked in a breath and waited a few seconds before being able to speak again. It was long enough to make Otabek worrying about that silence.

"Sorry, was 'flower' too much here?"

"What do you mean your favorite program?"

Was he himself deliberately skipping the favorite flower thing? Actually, both were taking him appart, but he had to put a priority on the skating part.

The ice was all that mattered to them. He had to remember it as often as possible, and it was hard to focus on it when Otabek's laughters resonated again in the room.

"I'm going to skate it with you, how can't it be my favorite?"

Fuck.

"Fucker," the boy mumbled, and even he couldn't miss the heat suddenly spreading all over his face and body at those words -Otabek had always had a deep voice, even through a fucking cellphone. He swallowed, annoyed and at the same time he could feel his heart jumping stupidly in his chest.

Not only his heart, by the way, and not only in his chest.

"You're a dead Don Juan if you keep saying things like that," he hissed, and he used his own voice to cover the sound of the sheets while unfolding his long legs to feel more at ease. Why didn't he take his trousers off when he had the time, by the way?

"W-wait, what? Did I say something again?"

"Any girl would fall for less than it, I swear!" Yuri growled again. He wasn't angry, of course, and he could hear the hint of panic in the young man's voice, but he couldn't let Otabek continue this way -his night depended on it and on his own ability to stop his body from reacting too easily to--

To what, by the way?

To his voice? Why? He knew Otabek's voice for long now.

To the sound of the sheets moving around him through the microphone? His sighs due to his tireness? It wasn't the first time and it was still damn sexy.

Shit.

"Yura, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, was I bothering?"

Otabek's tone was genuinely concerned and worried, and at that moment Yurifelt unable to answer.

"Eh, Yura, I--"

"It's ok."

"Really? You sound pissed off..."

He sighed. "You're with it again?"

Actually, Yuri knew that he might sound weird instead of pissed off. But...He couldn't casually say I'm having a boner because of you, right? It was the second time in less than a week, by the way, and somehow the idea that Otabek's stay would be awfully long kind of hit his mind.

He just had to hope that those accidents woudn't happen with the Kazakh beside him.

"Sorry," Otabek breathed. And it got worse, his raspy voice lingering in Yuri's mind.

Well.

It woud be a long stay, for sure.

"I'm way too impatient for friday," the man added. "Can't sleep well. I'm sorry for saying stupid things."

"You--"

Yuri hesitated this time, but in the end he gave up trying to stop Otabek from speaking like that. It wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last.

He mumbled instead, and he knew he was digging his own grave. "I don't mind."

"You don't mind?" Otabek sounded surprised.

"Well, uh, how to say...You can say...Whatever you want...?"

What an amazing idea, Yuratchka, amazing, really. But this time, the silence was back, settling softly between the two of them until Otabek's voice break it, low and deep.

"You should keep this line for your girlfriend."

Yuri's heart was beating.

Hard.

He knew it, he could feel it. His heart was racing more and more, and he wasn't sure if he hated or liked it.

He didn't waste his time.

"I have something else in mind," he murmured, taking Otabek's words from before.

Was it a game?

He didn't know. He didn't even know if he wanted to understand what was behind it. For now, he just felt the need to say those things, those lines, to the man.

Two minutes before, Yuri was annoyed by the fact he was starting to have an erection to his friend's voice.

Now, it didn't even matter, it felt normal. Otabek taking his lines first was like a silent agreement, like a "It's ok".

OK for what? He didn't know. But it was ok. Because, well. It was Otabek.

They were friends.

And through this innocent relationship, Yuri knew that something was there, special, yet amazing, and making his heart beat so much. He was just unable to get it, transforming it into something frustrating he was craving for.

When he was trying to think about it, it was even worse.

"Like keeping your title next year at the Grand Prix?"

Yuri giggled a bit. A mirroring chatting was funny, somehow. His cheeks were hot from the excitation settled under his waist, and for once he dared slip a hand against his crotch.

"Like--"

He sighed at the feeling and somehow hoped that it wouldn't be too obvious, before continuing his sentence.

"--waiting for you to come to Moscou."

Mirroring Otabek's words wasn't his thing anymore. Well. It would do.

There was a chocked noise in the phone , and soon Otabek's voice came again. "You're one to talk, Yura! You're even more flirty than me, oh god!"

His voice sounded halfway between panic and surprise -and something else but he couldn't figure out what. He chuckled a little at that, letting his hand press a little against the dark and thick fabric of his trousers. He wasn't used to palm himself -nor doing more by the way, so the light touches were already pretty effective. He heard himself laugh a little at Otabek's words and how he felt taken appart. It sounded...Great. Somehow. He wasn't sure if it was the good word to use in this situation, but still.

"Probably," Yuri sneered in a low voice. A loud moan of disapproval echoed in the room through the phone, and it killed him somewhere down in his low waist. Lips tight not to let a weird sound escape his mouth, he just sighed through his nose, trying to muffle it in his pillow for a second.

That wasn't a healthy situation.

"Man, if I'd been a girl, I'd fell for you with less that this."

Yuri gulped. When would Otabek stop genuinely saying those things? "You're silly," he sighed again. But under his hand, he knew that Otabek's voice was feeding his awful boner.

"Really? I could fall for your voice here and now with no problem."

Yuri blinked -and his cock twitched joyfully at it and he just hated himself and how he liked that deep and low voice talking to him this way. Wasn't it going too far?

"What?"

Was it still a friendly thing to says such things? Otabek suddenly stammered, his usual small panic showing off through his voice. "Ah, oh, w-wait, that's weird, forget it!"

"Really," Yuri moaned a little at the request. How the heck could he forget all of that!?

"Please, please, just...Well, I'm tired? There's, uh...Nothing weird, ok?"

Otabek could beg all night long, Yuri suddenly thought. It wouldn't be a problem to him, only to his mind and body.

"So, you don't like my voice?" he gently teased.

"Oh my god, that's definitely not what I mean, I--uh--"

"It changed," Yuri cut him without a warning. His hand had a strong grip aroung his own crotch, the feeling of the pressure as excited as painful somehow.

"Of course it changed. It had already started when we've met at the Grand Prix."

"You noticed it?"

"Yura..."

The boy didn't talk. He'd hoped that the subject would stop his body -it didn't. Instead, Otabek's soft and nice voice only sounded even worse to his ears. Sweet.

"I already asked you," Otabek continued. "Did something happen?"

He sighed. "Not really."

"I'll take it as a yes then."

"Don't turn things the way you want..." Yuri hissed a little between his teeth. His other hand had slid the tip of his fingers under the belt of his trousers, the tip of his fingers in search of the swollen head stuck in his underwear.

Otabek chuckled softly and a sudden urge filled him -his fingers tried to circle around his penis, his other hand half stroking through the thick fabric and be damned that fucking fly. It was like his pelvis was in fire.

"What is it about, Yura?"

Damn. That guy and his voice. His concerned voice.

At that moment, Yuri felt a little jealous. Having a voice like Otabek's would be a dream. Now, it was too late to hope.

He swallowed. There was no lump stuck deep in his throat, just...

Just that. That feeling that was crawling under his skin, making him need even more of it. He didn't want to like it.

But...

He couldn't hate it either.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

His voice was the sweetest thing in the world. He could swear.

"I--"

He was breathless -he didn't expect that. Gulping even more, he gathered his thoughts all together to think properly -not about your fingers, Yuratchka, don't think about what's happening in your pants.

"I don't want to change," he shyly admitted.

There was a soft sigh at the other side of the phone. Something nice, gentle, and Yuri didn't wonder anymore if he had made the right choice by telling Otabek.

"You don't want?"

There was no reproach in his voice.

His beating heart was still so fast, but he wasn't sure about the reason anymore.

"It's...Scary...?" he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I don't feel like myself anymore..."

And hell, it was the case right now. Some time ago, he wouldn't have been caught doing that in his bed, hidding his voice, hidding his moans as much at possible from the microphone. From Otabek.

It wasn't him.

"Hey, that's normal, Yura."

The boy closed his eyes for a few seconds -the heat radiated in the lower part of his abdomen.

"But...Don't refuse it, ok? Remember it's for the best."

"What if I can't?"

"Can't what?"

Otabek's voice was still doing its job, soft and low, nice. He wanted to loose his mind listening to it.

"Accept my new self."

A sighed answered at first and Yuri shivered.

"Can I say something weird, this time?" Otabek asked.

The loud beating was still echoeing in his ears, but Yuri growled in response, earning an amazing chuckle.

"I'll like it for you, man."

He stopped breathing. "Uh? What do you-"

"I'll like you no matter how you change, Yura."

His fingers trembled around himself, the hot and wet feeling suddenly spreading between his phalanges.

It had been a little too much this time and this time he'd been unable to hold a small scream.

"Yura?"

Breath, breath, it's ok, answer as quick as possible!

"You're ok? What's going on?"

"N-nothing--!"

His heart still drummed hard in his chest, and he was...Breathy. It was difficult not to let it appear.

"You...You're silly," he murmured.

An embarrassed laugther answered him. "I told you it was weird! But...That's how I feel, I guess? Well, like...You're important to me. And...See? Uh. Well, that's weird actually, jeez!"

Yuri grimaced a little -but more because of the sticky feeling on his skin. His underwear felt wet now. Great.

"But..."

Otabek's voice had lowered a little, earning Yuri's attention.

"I think I understand you. Changing is scary when you don't have a hold on it."

"That's...Right..." The boy mumbled.

Talking to Otabek about what was making him feel so bad for a moment wasn't so bad after all. The young man wasn't pitying him, at least.

It was even more that it. It was different. There was that real interest, and his way to show how concerned he was by the situation.

"I guess that's why you've been hiding yourself from the cameras 'til now?"

Yuri chocked on his saliva at that. "You noticed?"

"I'm not stupid, eh! You haven't posted any picture of yourself in the last two months, it was weird enough for me to worry!"

"Uh--I'm sorry...?"

His fingers were sticky and felt disgusting, his cock getting soft in his dirty pants. Amazing. How comes adults were all about sex and that stuff?

Gross.

"Don't be, it's ok. Well...I'm impatient now."

Yuri growled a little -more for his clothes. "What for?"

"To see how much you changed."

"Continue like this and I won't even pick you up at the airport."

"So mean!"

"Of course I am." In the darkness, Yuri spotted a small pack of tissues and he rolled a little until he could grab them from the nightstand. "Are you staying at the hotel?"

"Yeah, that's what my coach said."

"Text me the name later, ok?"

"Mh. What are you doing? That's noisy."

Yuri had been moving a little too much, unbuckling the belt and pulling the trousers off as much as possible in order to clean himself -he'd juste forgotten about what had just happened a minute before.

"Uh. Nothing. Just, uh--taking my pajamas..."

"Your--Ah, must be the sheets then--You're in your bed?"

"Uh, yeah..."

A new silence settled slowly. He could hear Otabek's breath in the microphone and still, the light sound of fabric moving constantly around him.

All of a sudden, reality hit him and he frowned. "It's getting late, will it be ok for you?"

"Oh..."

It had to be more than 1AM for the young man. Training would start early, for sure. A deep and annoyed sigh resonnated.

"I don't know. That's the least of my preoccupations."

"Sleep," Yuri sighed.

"You don't want to talk a little more?"

"I--"

He shook his head, even if Otabek couldn't see it.

"We'll talk later," he murmured. "Friday..."

"Friday sounds great," Otabek continued in a murmur mirroring Yuri's voice.

He liked it. The proposition sounded like coming from the both of them.

He liked it.

"Friday sounds too far," he complained.

"It is."

"Don't be late."

"I won't be."

They didn't call each other during the next days, but the already huge amount of messages between them seemed to increase after that. Everyday, through Mila's awful training, through the pain in his body, through his desperate need to forget everything from his daily life, giving an eye to his phone was the best to do. No matter the time, the weather, the topic going on at that moment, there was his name in the corner of the small screen, that small colorfull notification for a new private message waiting for him.

And it was reassuring not to feel alone through life.

Despite the pain, despite the stress and the pressure.

Despite the absence of the people he cherished around him in the small house.

Busy with his life, he didn't take the time to think more about what had happened on that night phonecall. He didn't need to think about it, anyway.

Otabek would be here soon.

That was all that mattered now.

"Yuri! Hurry up!"

The big voice of the old man suddenly awoke the boy as he was taking his time in the changing room. It was the day. His nervousity had been a little too much overwhelming actually, and Mila had spent the whole morning mumbling against him. In the end, she'd even tried to lift him over her head to frightened him.

She hadn't been able to do it.

He was too heavy, now. Too tall.

A loud shot made the door tremble and he jumped in surprise.

"IF YOU DON'T MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS I'M COMING MYSELF!"

Ah, Mila. Yakov might have called her to give a hand at getting him.

Hair undone from changing his clothes quickly in the end, Yuri opened the door before she could hit again. There, a large smile was waiting for him.

"It's today," she said. "Still nervous?"

"Shut up," he growled. "I'm not."

"Sure, big baby!" she giggled. "Yakov's in the car already. Don't make him wait!"

She didn't need to say it twice, the boy was already running to the main exit. His heart was beating loud, fast, and he could almost feel it in his ears. In his pocket, his phone hadn't vibrated for more than three hours, and he knew that he had to be patient. Otabek couldn't contact him during his fly.

In the car, the idea that Otabek would be in Moscou for real suddenly sounded more real. Like...What would they do? Or say? Through a phone, everything was easier, but in real life? Would they even talk as casually as they always did during those last months?

Of course, they talked a lot in Barcelona during the Grand Prix. But it was different now. They weren't discovering each other anymore.

It felt incredibly different.

"No pressure, boy," Yakov suddenly say. "Stop eating your fingertips."

Unaware of that sudden bad habbit, he raised his eyes to the old man. He was driving slowly, with care, not giving any importance to Yuri's impatience. Anyway, it wouldn't make the plane land faster.

"That's not you," the man continued.

Yuri only pouted at that. "Well, I'm...Not used to it..."

"Used to what? You know the airport by heart!"

"Welcoming a friend."

"Oh."

Yakov let a soft smile linger on his face after that, but Yuri didn't say anything about it during the two hours of the journey.

In a few time, Otabek Altin would land in Moscou.

_____

Finally caught up with all the chapteeers heeeeeeere! XD I’m one to often forget about my Tumblr existence, so well, better to follow my work on AO3! ;p (or Twitter, I tweet a lot uh)

#yurionice #fanfiction #yaoi #cute #otabek #altin #yurio #yuri #plisetsky #otayuri

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