#all her reasons seem really hollow when ash is standing right in front of her :(

[vakarianshepard]

sole survivor!shepard and ashley’s friendship is so important to me. two people who survived an impossible situation, lost almost all their friends, and just. kept going. neither of them really had time to mourn, to process anything. shepard shipped off to N training, and ash is reassigned to the normandy and it’s just go here, on to the next mission. you survived. you’re fine. so what if you don’t feel like you deserve this? so what if your “success” cost you your friends? you’re lucky. right?

no one really gets it, and people bring it up like it’s something you should be proud of. and you can’t really blame them, how could they know? you lived, that's impressive! no one understands what it feels like to be the last person standing, surrounded by the bodies of people you failed care about.

but shepard knows. ashley knows. they don't have to talk about it much, but it's nice to have someone who understands. who you can turn to with your doubts and your questions and your grief. someone who can hear you out and say "i've been there" and mean it. someone who knows WHY you have to push yourself, why you have to be good enough— you have to be worth the lives of all the people who died to get you where you are. (how far are you going to drive yourself? are you trying to be a martyr?)

but no matter what, one of them dies. even if it’s temporary in shepard’s case. the only other person who got it. another friend, gone. whether shepard loses ashley on virmire or ashley loses shepard on the normandy, one of them is left behind. ash outlives two of her closest friends only a few months after losing her entire squad.

it makes me think about foundation, where after ash talks to rasa/brooks, she remembers one of her squad telling her "luck is for the lonely." i really think that would be on her mind again after both virmire and the destruction of the normandy. sure, she keeps getting "lucky" but always being the last one standing is pretty damn lonely too.

[justcourttee]

Daminette soulmate au where Damian really doesn’t want a soulmate cuz of the league and Mari doesn’t know why but doesn’t wanna be a burden and just pushes away everything and the class is being horrible and she gets depressed and when Damien realizes he’s just like fuck. I’m in the mood for angst

This one comes with a bit of a trigger wanner, super angsty, at least I tried. There is so mention of suicide, but no description. I don’t want anyone to read unless they feel comfortable knowing that. 

I hope this is something like what you had in mind. 

A Moment Too Late

The first time Damian had heard the voice of his soulmate, he was only six years old. Her indecent squeals distracted him from the oncoming blow earning him a black and blue cheek and a week of cleaning duties for failing to end his opponent. 

He hadn’t let anyone know what had happened, after all, the league had forbidden contact with the outside world, soulmate bonds included. Damian recalled seeing hundreds of men and women die for contacting their soulmates or allowing them to become distractions that led them astray from the League’s mission. Just because he was the grandson of the Demon Head, it didn’t mean anything in regards to the rules. 

So he did his best to block out her thoughts or outbursts, only focusing on his current tasks, silently begging her to block him out as well. It worked for a little while, but as they aged, she seemed to become more observant of his silence. 

He was eleven years old when his mother first discovered that he had been on the receiving end of his soulmate bond. Marinette, as he soon learned, was trying to coax him into a conversation when Damian snapped, begging her to shut up. The very next day, he found himself drugged and on a boat floating in the dock of Gotham City. 

Never once did he blame his mother for his predicament. No, she was just trying to protect him. After all, if his grandfather had found out, Damian would have been beheaded in front of the others. The only one to blame was Marinette. 

The next time she would contact him would be her last. She tried to reach out, ask him if he was okay, but the sentiment only fueled his rage.

“Don’t you get it? I never wanted this bond! I begged you mercilessly to leave it alone. I begged you to shut up, but you just couldn’t could you? I lost everything because of you, you hear me Marinette? If you just would’ve shut your damn mouth, I would still be able to see my mother. I hope you never use this bond again, I never want to hear from you again.”

There was no response, but it didn’t bother him. This was what he wanted for so many years, for her to never utter a sound to him again. It was a blessed day, one filled with silence as he entered Wayne Manor for the very first time. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Grayson, can you stop mumbling to yourself? You look like an idiot.”

Dick reached back, swatting at where Damian once stood, the goofy smile on his face not wavering. 

“Oh little D, you just don’t understand. If my soulmate wants to talk, I’ll drop everything to take a moment for her.”

“A truly asinine thought, really.”

Damian rolled his eyes as he perched on the edge of the roof, gazing lazily over the darkened city streets. Personally, Damian wasn’t too fond of his brothers using their bonds while on patrol. It was as if they didn’t understand how much of a distraction it could be. No, it was much better to set boundaries, let them know where they stand. 

“Hey little D, have you contacted your soulmate yet?”

Dick squatted beside where Damian was perched, his smile pulling tight as if he already knew the answer to his question. 

“I told you, Grayson, I burned that bridge a long time ago. She hasn’t used the bond since we were eleven and I do not intend to be the first one to break that streak.”

“It sounds like you are too prideful to admit to her that you were wrong.”

“I was not wrong!” Damian could feel the red rising to his cheeks as he turned to avoid Dick’s piercing gaze. “She was the reason I had to leave the league, there is no denying that.”

His voice dropped slightly as he kept his eyes downcast knowing that no matter how many times he told himself that, it only got harder to believe as time passed. 

“Yeah, yeah, same line, less sincerity each time.”

Damian turned, ready to spat a venomous insult when a sudden wave of nauseous hit him like a truck. Doubling over, he could barely make out Dick’s words, the only thing monopolizing his mind was one piercing voice, one he hadn’t heard in years.

“I just want to die! Why won’t you let me die?”

Later, Dick would cry from the fear of the sight of Damian curled tightly on that rooftop, his eyes bloodshot and wide as if he’d seen a ghost. But, in that very moment, he knew that his main priority was to get him back to Alfred in hopes he could figure out any way to save Damian from the haunting phrase that slipped through his lips a hundred times over. 

“It’s all my fault.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

It was close to three in the morning when the pain subsided allowing Damian to slip away from the pestering of his family. His movements were still stiff as if he was just a hollow man trying out his own legs for the first time in years. Her words seemed to be stuck on repeat, even though he was sure that she wouldn’t still be muttering them hours later. 

He couldn’t figure out what had happened to leave her at this last attempt. He couldn’t figure out if he should care or not. 

His gut was still throbbing as if he had been stabbed and the wound wasn’t sure if it wanted to be healed. As he slid down onto his favorite bench in the gardens, he remained locked in a fight with himself as to whether he should reach out or not. Hesitantly, he checked his surroundings before drawing in a deep breath concentrating all of his thoughts on her. 

“Are you okay Marinette?”

It was silent. 

Damian let a minute pass and then another. With a sigh of defeat, he closed his eyes pulling his legs into his chest. Of course she wouldn’t answer, it had been years of silence and carrying the guilt that he so carelessly placed on her.

 Shaking his head, he gingerly lifted it to allow his chin to rest on his knee. No, maybe he was a small part of her problem, but she couldn’t have banked her entire existence on a soulmate. Just what had happened to her over all these years. Certainly, he had been through worse, but even as the words crossed his mind he could hear Dick chiding him, reminding him that everyone carries burdens differently.

“I do not know if you can hear me, but I wanted to apologize for my outburst so many years ago. I blamed you for a lifestyle I was born into and that wasn’t right. Please, I’d like to start again, Even if it’s just as friends.”

The biting wind of the night nipped at his bare arms as if it were her answer itself. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Just as he stood to leave, a soft voice tickled the back of his head, so quiet that he almost missed the harsh words. 

“I don’t have friends or family, hell, I don’t even have a soulmate who wants me. Don’t bother trying now. I’m sorry if my emotions got the better of me earlier, but it was no guilt trip and I don’t need your pity. I just want to be gone and leave Paris a brighter city for it.”

Damian could feel the wheel’s turning at the mention of her home. A private plane could make it to Paris in just six hours. She might not want his pity and he wasn’t sure if he had any to give, but one thing was for certain; he could not let her die no matter what she wanted. 

“What will you be doing in six hours?”

His heart was racing a mile a minute as he waited desperately for her response. 

“I’ll be leaving school I suppose.”

Damian couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips as he turned toward the manner, racing at full speed. 

Six hours. He could meet her in six hours. He could change her life in six hours. 

He couldn’t even focus on his clothes as they lay strewn across his bed, each missing his suitcase as he tore through his closet. Six hours felt like a lifetime knowing the stakes, but it was something he had to try. Even if he had to scour the entire city, Damian would find his soulmate. 

He just hoped that he wouldn’t arrive a moment too late.

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[morganaspendragonss]

turn to dust all that i adore

whoops it’s a 2b spec fic based on two seconds in a promo love that

title from things we lost in the fire by bastille

ao3 | 2.3k | 2b spoilers

The fire continues raging whenever TK closes his eyes, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than the sight that greets him when his eyes are open. He wishes he could wipe that awful night from his memory completely and go back to where they were just a few days ago, happy and safe and in their home. They don’t even have that anymore, the house little more than ash, and TK would be okay with that - they could rebuild from that - if Carlos weren’t so silent and still in front of him. 

The fire was three days ago; TK hasn’t seen Carlos awake in four. He’d been in the middle of a 24-hour shift when the call came through, bickering with Nancy about the merits of various sitcoms, Captain Vega probably rolling her eyes in the back as they returned to the station. 

Nancy had quietly offered to drive when they found out the address, but TK had shaken his head. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, and he’d pressed down a little harder than necessary on the accelerator, praying he’d be able to get there fast enough. The house was a lost cause, if what dispatch said was true, but if he could save Carlos, then that would be enough.

He’d failed - of course he had. An explosion had ripped through the building just as they’d pulled up, the glass shattering as flames leapt from their bedroom window. TK had felt a cold dread settle inside him, and his worst fears had been confirmed when the team emerged with Carlos limp in their arms.

He’s alive, but the damage had been done. Too much smoke inhalation and multiple horrific burns left him hanging by a thread; it’s a miracle, really, that the heart monitor is still beeping out a steady rhythm. TK can’t be thankful, though, not when he knows everything could turn on its head in an instant. Not when they’ve already lost so much.

A soft knock on the door grabs TK’s attention. He looks up to see his dad standing there, a sad smile on his face and a plastic-wrapped sandwich in hand. TK twists his face into a grimace and returns to watching the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Son -”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve been saying that for days,” his dad points out, walking over and pointedly laying the sandwich in TK’s lap. “Starving yourself isn’t going to make him wake up any faster.”

TK barely spares the sandwich a cursory glance. “Nor is forcing myself to eat.”

His dad sighs, crossing the room and grabbing the extra chair. He sets it down next to TK’s and, though he doesn’t look, TK knows he’s being subjected to one of his ‘dad looks’.

“TK, you’ve barely left the hospital since it happened,” he says. “I know it’s hard right now, but you can always come back and stay with me. You still have a home.”

“Not without him, I don’t.”

He hears his dad’s sharp intake of breath, feels his hand running through his hair, but TK’s detached from it all. He studies Carlos’s face, every part familiar to him, but so strange and foreign now. Carlos has never been a restless sleeper - that’s all TK - but there’s usually some movement. A crease appearing between his brows as his face scrunches up, his muscles shifting as he pulls TK closer, his nose gently nuzzling the back of TK’s neck. This still version of him isn’t Carlos. This isn’t the man TK loves.

But it’s close as he’s going to get until Carlos comes back to him, and TK can’t stand the thought of leaving him. In all the months they’ve been dating, they’ve rarely spent a night apart, and most of those were either on shift or still in their bed, with a pillow that smelt like the other and the promise of seeing each other again soon. Going back to his dad’s house would only be bearable if Carlos were with him, but that’s not possible, so neither is leaving.

“TK, I -”

“If you’re just here to give me this,” he interrupts, waving the sandwich in his dad’s direction, “then, thanks, but you should probably go now. His parents are coming in a bit and the hospital barely lets three of us be in here as it is.”

His dad recoils, wounded, but doesn’t budge, much to TK’s irritation. He’s really not in the mood for any more meaningless talk or thinly veiled attempts to get him to eat or sleep.

“Dad, please.”

“I was contacted by the PD this morning,” his dad says instead. TK’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “They found out what caused the fire.”

TK waits, but his dad suddenly becomes very reticent, his eyes flicking between TK and the bed. Clearly, this wasn’t something as simple as the electrics blowing or the washing machine malfunctioning; it’s worse, and TK’s breath seems to stick in his lungs.

“Dad?” he croaks.

Their eyes finally meet, his dad’s face arranged into a sympathetic grimace. “It was arson.”

Time stops.

“What?” TK breathes, shaking his head. Arson. Someone burned their home down and almost killed Carlos, on purpose. And for what? To kill them? The only reason TK wasn’t caught up in it too, after all, is because he was fortunate enough to be on shift that night. “Do they know who?”

“I’m sorry,” his dad says, voice full of regret. “It’s been happening all over the city, no leads so far.”

TK sits back in his chair, a white-hot spark of anger flashing through him as he once more takes in the many bandages on Carlos’s body. He wonders if this was how Judd felt those weeks ago when he found out the guy who’d run them off the bridge was also in the hospital, because TK would very much like to go out and find the people who did this. He wants them to pay for what they’ve done to the love of his life.

As is sensing where his mind has gone, his dad starts rubbing gentle circles on his back, though it doesn’t calm TK like it usually does.

“I think I’ll stay here until his parents show up,” he says. “If that’s alright?”

It’s a non-question; his tone makes it clear that he’s not going anywhere no matter what, but TK doesn’t have it in him to put up even a token argument. He simply nods wearily, and settles in for another day of waiting - another day without his boyfriend’s comforting presence at his side.

*

A week after the fire, he’s told he can go back to the house, if he wants. He doesn’t, really, but he goes anyway, knowing that Carlos will have questions when he wakes up, and maybe he’ll be able to salvage something.

Probably not, but it’s never been the stuff that’s mattered to him. It’s been what the loss of it all represents, the memories that now exist only in his head and in the ashes.

TK stares up at the blackened husk of their home, something keeping him rooted in the middle of the street. Police tape is still up and there’s an officer waiting to escort him in when he’s ready, but TK just… He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“TK?”

He jumps at the unexpected voice, turning to see Carlos’s neighbour from two doors down, Molly, her daughter trailing behind her. TK doesn’t know many of the people around here, but Molly and her husband are often to be found playing with Lilia on the porch, and they always make a point of greeting them. Carlos has even babysat for them a few times, though TK’s rarely there for that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, smiling apologetically. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs. “I’m okay,” he replies, and Molly seems to understand what that really means. “Carlos is still in hospital, but we’re, um. We’re hoping he’ll wake up soon.”

She nods, glancing at the house. “It’s terrible, what happened. You’ve got somewhere to stay, right?”

“I’ve only just moved out of my dad’s place, so I’ll just go back there while we figure something out. Guess he’ll be glad we don’t have to transport all my stuff this time.”

The joke is hollow, and Molly’s face twists in sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, we’re happy to help out however we can. Carlos has always been good to us - to everyone here - and we hate that you’re going through this now. Send him our love, okay?”

TK gives her a small smile, nodding. He’s about to excuse himself to finally go inside, when Lilia tugs at her mother’s hand, whispering something in her ear when Molly leans down. 

“We were baking when we saw you pull up,” Molly explains, straightening. “Lilia insisted on bringing these out to you, didn’t you, Lils?”

Lilia beams up at him when TK looks over to her, thrusting a small tupperware in his general direction. “Cookies!” she exclaims, by way of explanation.

TK chuckles and squats so he’s at her height, taking the box from her. She’s watching him expectantly, so he takes a cookie - clumsily decorated with mountains of sprinkles - and pops it in his mouth, making a show of enjoying it.

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, licking his lips playfully. Lilia giggles, then, without warning, throws her arms around him, the force of it almost sending him on his ass. Molly gasps and reaches to pull her daughter away, but TK shakes his head at her, mouthing an, It’s okay.

Steadying himself, he gently wraps his arms around Lilia’s back, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his neck as she attempts to squeeze him within an inch of his life. It’s enough to pull a real smile out of him, though tears also spring to his eyes, a sudden emotion overwhelming him. He brushes them away hastily when Lilia unwraps herself from him, but it’s clear that Molly noticed, judging by the sad smile on her face.

“I hope Mr Carlos gets better soon,” Lilia says, her voice earnest in a way only a five-year old’s can be. 

TK nods. “Me too.”

“He gave me sweets.”

A laugh bursts out of him at the sudden comment. TK leans close to her, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Shall I tell you a secret? He gave me sweets as well.”

Lilia gasps as though she’s heard something incredibly scandalous. TK laughs again, before standing back up and turning to Molly, who’s been watching the two of them with clear amusement.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “For coming out and talking, and for the cookies.”

“It’s the least we could do,” she says, waving him off. “Like I said, let us know if you need anything, even if it’s just to talk. We’ll be there.”

TK thanks her again, waving at them both as they head back inside. He turns to his and Carlos’s place, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

He can do this.

*

Inside is much as he expects. The worst of the rubble has been cleared, but there’s still some detritus lying around, including a few of their things. TK stoops and carefully retrieves a framed photo from the floor, wiping the dust off the cracked glass. The picture inside is barely recognisable, the colours warped, but he knows the image like the back of his hand - a candid of him and Carlos taken by Marjan during one of their hangs. She’d caught Carlos mid-laugh, a grin plastered on TK’s own face as they’d stared into each others’ eyes.

Marjan had grumbled about how frustratingly lovesick they both were, but the photo quickly became one of TK’s favourites, and it had made its way into a frame less than a week later. TK’s heart aches at the sight of it ruined; he can always print another as it’s still saved on his phone, but it still hurts. Everything does, right now.

As he gazes around the space, eyes catching on mementos and remembering how it all used to look, TK is struck by how much this place had felt like home. He’s only been officially living here for a month, but it’s been theirs for far longer than that, TK’s stuff worming its way in among Carlos’s until it became natural to see two pairs of shoes by the door, two sets of keys in the bowl. 

This was theirs, and now it’s nothing.

He drops the photo frame on his way out the door, not sparing a look back as he walks away.

*

He gets the call halfway back to the hospital and TK forgets all about speed limits as he races the rest of the way. He sprints through the corridors, the path to Carlos’s room learned by heart, and skids to a stop in the doorway, his eyes filling with tears at the sight before him.

Carlos, awake and smiling and alive.

TK lets out a sob, his hand flying to his mouth. Carlos turns, his smile widening when he catches sight of him, and he wordlessly lifts his palm up in invitation.

And who is TK to refuse it?

“Hi, baby,” he gasps, before kissing his boyfriend, palms framing Carlos’s face. Carlos’s hands come up to clutch at his wrists, and TK presses their foreheads together, silently revelling in this moment.

There’s a long road still ahead of them - Carlos needs to heal, and they’ll have to do so much to get back on their feet - but he can’t care about that right now. Being here, right now, with Carlos’s warm touch stroking over his skin, is all TK needs.

Carlos came back to him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

[goodlucktai]

enough here to survive

@natsumeweek 2021 day 3; seasons/change

read on ao3

(previous part)

x

It will take almost a full year to convince his father. 

Shuuichi has to throw around words like “recruitment” and “investment” and “contingency” that taste like ash in his mouth, feeling like some kind of sleazy salesman. 

But that’s what it takes to get the man’s flat refusal to move into reluctant consideration instead. 

Explaining Takashi’s situation at home—describing his bruises and the way he flinches when someone raises their voice—isn’t enough to make his dad think it over, but his own family’s health and safety certainly is.

Shuuichi paints him a picture of a potentially powerful protector, should those vengeful spirits they’re all so afraid of come knocking someday; and, if that fails, a fall guy. A patsy. Someone to take the blame.

This is as much as Shuuichi can do for now. 

In the meantime, he picks Takashi up from school, as promised. 

Sometimes they end up in the park where Shuuichi will help him with his homework, and sometimes they end up at a combini where Shuuichi will cajole him into spoiling his dinner with expensive ice cream. Sometimes Takashi will have marks on his arms from human hands, but at least there are none left there from random yokai anymore. 

He comes out of his shell more and more every day, like a brave little hermit crab. It’s amazing the difference it makes just having someone around who sees the same world he sees. It makes a difference to Shuuichi, too. It peels him out of his bitter, angry armor, piece by piece.

Now and then, they encounter some of Shuuichi’s classmates around town. He doesn’t talk to much of anyone at school—and no one goes out of their way to talk to him, either—but apparently he’s much more approachable when there’s a little kid clinging to his hand. 

“Is this your brother, Natori?” Hinata, a girl from his homeroom, asks one day. They ran into her outside the convenience store and her eyes lit up when she saw them. Crouching in front of Takashi with bright eyes, she coos, “Oh, he looks just like you! You both have such fair hair.”

Takashi glances up as if to gauge Shuuichi’s reaction to this assessment, but at that moment, apparently, the lizard chooses to slink across the bridge of Shuuichi’s nose. Takashi dissolves into giggles, and Hinata clearly thinks he’s the cutest thing since Cinnamoroll. She refuses to let them leave until she’s bought Takashi some candy. 

After that she seeks Shuuichi out in class to ask about his brother—and then somehow that evolves into heated discussions about a TV drama they both follow religiously—and within a month Shuuichi ends up with her cellphone number and a standing invitation to watch new episodes with her and her boyfriend every Sunday. 

“My life has gotten a lot weirder with you in it, kid,” Shuuichi tells Takashi one day, only half-joking. 

He’s sitting in the grass with his arms spread out in front of him while Takashi conducts an experiment with the lizard tattoo, asking yes or no questions for it to respond to—right arm being ‘yes’ and left arm being ‘no.’ So far nothing much has come of it, the lizard curled up in the hollow of Shuuichi’s throat instead, but it seems to like the attention. It keeps wagging its head or tail when Takashi talks to it. At one point it appears to roll over. This is a magical development as far as the kid is concerned. 

“Good-weird?” Takashi asks hopefully. 

Rolling his eyes, Shuuichi says, “Obviously. You don’t have a bad bone in your body, Takashi.”

Takashi beams, as delighted by that as he is by the stupid tattoo. 

“You should give the lizard a name,” Takashi adds a beat later. 

“Absolutely not.”

Then one day in late September, Shuuichi stops by Takashi’s school only to find out he never showed up that morning. Takashi’s homeroom teacher recognizes him and seems to have made the same assumption everyone else has made. 

“Your parents called him in sick today,” she says, looking faintly worried. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Shuuichi doesn’t even remember to say goodbye. He just spins around and starts running. Sasago appears beside him, and he says, “Find him!”

For a shiki that doesn’t truly belong to him, she obeys swiftly. Takashi just has that effect on people.

Sasago has never had any trouble finding Shuuichi no matter where he goes. It’s not something he’s ever thought to test, it’s just something he counts on. He doesn’t know how he knows that she’ll be able to locate one little human in a city of about one million humans, but he knows she will. 

And she does. 

She returns to Shuuichi not even five minutes later and guides him to a nearby hospital.

He’s almost fifteen years old and entirely frantic, and if everyone is going to take one look at them and decide they’re family, then Shuuichi is going to make that work for him. 

“My little brother is here,” he says, his words coming out in unsteady lurches as he gulps for air. He doesn’t even have to fake the plea in his tone. He really doesn’t have to act at all. “Natsume Takashi, where is he?” 

Later on, he’ll scoff about the thin veneer of patient confidentiality, but he’s hardly going to complain about it now, as he’s almost immediately ushered down the hall. He outpaces the nurse when he sees Takashi’s name on a temporary door placard, and lets himself into the room without waiting for permission or approval. 

Some adults are lingering in the corner, talking in low voices, and they barely glance at Shuuichi when he barges in. Whatever, Shuuichi doesn’t care about them either. His eyes fly straight to his shiki, where she hovers protectively over a tiny figure huddled in the chair next to the window. 

Takashi has two black eyes and his arm is in a short cast. He doesn’t even lift his head when Shuuichi stumbles over to him.

“Oh my god, kid,” Shuuichi whispers. “Hey, look at me. Takashi?”

It takes a minute, but Takashi finally glances up at him through his fringe. Shuuichi sinks to his knees in front of the chair. It almost feels like the moment they first met, except it’s a different manner of monster that hurt him this time. And it’s not just cuts and bruises.

There are shadows in his face that have never been there before, ones that look as though they’ll cling to him permanently if no one does something about them. He seems so vacant and forgotten. None of the adults are even looking at him. It’s like no one sees him. He might as well be another ghost. 

“There’s nowhere else to send him,” one of the strangers by the door is saying grimly. “We might have to look into an institution.”

“Actually,” Shuuichi blurts loudly, “he’s coming with me.”

It turns out they have a lot of opinions about that but he doesn’t care. He scoops Takashi up and sits down in the chair Takashi was sitting in and holds him in both arms. Just refuses to get up or let go. His heart is rattling in his chest the whole time, but this is important. 

And Sasago is right beside them, where she always is. She’s ready to attack in whatever direction Shuuichi points her in. He won’t let it come to that, but it’s reassuring to have the option. 

Eventually, when it’s clear he won’t be reasoned with, someone calls his father. 

His father takes one look at Shuuichi and sighs. Shuuichi lifts his chin. His father calls the family attorney. 

Afternoon passes into evening. All the adults are having a heated, complicated-sounding conversation behind a closed door. When it becomes clear no one will be home in time for dinner, a receptionist stops by with sandwiches and sports drinks for Shuuichi and Takashi. Her eyes look ancient with sadness when she takes in Takashi’s battered little face. 

Takashi’s guardians finally show up when the supervising doctor and the Natori attorney start making noises about getting the police involved. By now, Takashi is asleep, but Shuuichi is still wide-awake. He glares at them with all the hate he keeps saved up in his heart for monsters. They don’t even glance at the boys on their way past.

“He’s a clumsy kid,” Shuuichi overhears the woman saying frantically, through the door she and her husband left cracked open behind them. “He fell down the stairs.”

Bullshit, Shuuichi thinks, and is surprised to hear his father say it at the same time. 

“Apparently the child has made quite the impression on the staff here,” their attorney says amiably. You’d never guess how blood-thirsty he actually was from his tone. There’s a reason the Natori family keeps him on retainer. “We’ve got quite a few people willing to come forward if this situation goes to court. Maybe there’s a way we could settle this peacefully.”

By midnight, all the papers are in order. Bureaucracy moves quickly when you have enough money to throw at the right people. Takashi’s guardians sign him away like he’s a used car they don’t want anymore and arrange a time to drop off all of his possessions, and that’s it. 

Shuuichi is no longer an only child. 

It might not stand up if a long-lost relative comes along and presses for custody, but relatives like that seem to be in short supply in Takashi’s family. 

“He’ll be your responsibility,” his father says on the ride home, as if he’s not talking to a teenager who shouldn’t even be responsible for himself, let alone a five-year-old. 

Shuuichi nods anyway. Takashi is asleep against his side again, a heavy reminder. Shuuichi will do whatever he has to. He’ll be whatever he needs to be. 

He promised Takashi he would keep the monsters away, and that’s what he’s going to do.

[stories-to-tell-by-lantern-light]

Who Am I Really?

(Eyeless Jack X Reader)

Iron was all he could taste, as he hugged his arms close to his chest. The white snow that speckled the forest floor contrasted greatly with his newly acquired ash-grey skin. He could feel blood crusting under his fingernails, he could feel the sting of the cold snow underneath his bare feet as he walked. Whatever they did to him, he was no longer human that much was clear, his feet turned more animal-like and had ripped through his old shoes. If he was being honest with himself he knew that from the moment he awoke and could still see that he was no longer human.

Jack Nichols shivered as he caressed the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. They were dripping with the black tar that was mercilessly poured in there by Jenny and her cult.

‘That absolute fucking bitch.’ He thought, and an animal-like snarl tore through his throat. He could feel the stretching and popping of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Killing her and her stupid friends was therapeutic to him, remembering the taste of their blood as it filled his mouth when he tore out their throats made him feel euphoric. Pausing his steps only for a brief moment he let those memories of eating their flesh and organs consume him, it only served to make his mouth water.

What was wrong with him? Why did that memory, which happened only hours ago, make him so god damn hungry? What exactly had they done to him, as much as he tried not to dwell on that thought the hunger that ate away at him even after the slaughter was almost too much to handle. All Jack wanted when he woke up this morning was to go on a date with a cute girl, get a little drunk, and maybe get lucky (though realistically that was just wishful thinking). The true college experience one might say, even for a med student. Especially with a schedule as busy as his...that was as busy as his. He knew he should’ve just stuck to focusing on school and studying his brain out, god why did he have to listen to his friends as they urged him on the date.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

This. This was clearly the worst possible outcome.

What he really couldn’t believe, however, was that he allowed one of the cultists to get a hit on him, and a bad one at that. Turning his head to glance down at the tear in his thigh, it was a deep gash that desperately needed to get medical attention and fast. The only problem the former medical student faced was that whatever was pouring out of his leg wasn’t blood. It was a deep black ooze that stained the white snow that littered the forest floor. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure if normal medical supplies would even heal his wound. Jack grit his teeth trudging onwards into the forest, a faint buzzing reverberated around in his skull like flies buzzing around a corpse that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He placed his hand against a tree the world spinning around him. Whatever the blood-like substance that was pouring out of his leg was, he was losing it fast. Jack heard the crunching of snow in front of him and a small gasp. It took most of his strength but he picked his head up and snarled. Jack bared his teeth and tried to make himself look as dangerous as possible, he felt like a wild animal that was cornered by the hunter. There was a girl in front of him, she had (h/l) (h/c) hair that was stuffed under a furry winter hat. She took a few steps back, her brown snow boots making giant footprints in her wake. He could hear the blood flowing through this girl’s veins, as her anxiety levels seemed to spike. The anxiety caused her heartbeat to quicken drastically, hearing the sound only served to increase Jack’s seemingly ceaseless hunger. Jack tried to take another step towards her, flexing the sharp nails on his hands but collapsed under his own weight, his fucking leg. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“What are you?” The girl’s voice held a slight quiver to it and Jack could feel her sharp eyes burning holes into his body. He watched as she hesitantly took a step closer, her (f/c) parka standing out against the muted colors of the forest.

“I don’t know.” He responded with a raspy breath, she smelled divine but he had no strength to attack. Something in his bones told him that he was beyond human, something so much more, a god perhaps? What a silly thought that he couldn’t shake away. Through his quickly blurring vision, he swore he could make out a pair of fancy dress shoes a little bit behind the girl. He saw the girl drop to her knees and cover her ears, his vision went black and the sound of static accompanied the darkness.

---

Jack was expecting to be dead. He expected to be accompanied by beautiful white light, maybe an angel or something. However, it caught him very off guard when he suddenly awoke in a rather plush bed. He threw the plaid covers off himself unceremoniously and moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The baby god never got far because he let out a howl of pain as a sharp sensation traveled up his thigh. Shit right, his entire upper thigh was practically ripped open. He forgot all about that, glancing down at his wound he noticed it was wrapped tightly in medical bandages and he assumed it was stitched up underneath the dressings. Whoever fixed the wound seemed to have done at least a semi-decent job, at least he wasn’t dead. Sniffing the air with his newly acquired sense of smell he could make out the distinct smell of humans and...was that lavender?

Jack felt his stomach growl and he doubled over clutching it. They smelled delicious. He could practically hear their organs singing out to him, rip open the human, steal us, devour us.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening, in the middle of the doorway stood the exact girl he’d seen in the forest. Immediately going on the defense he bared his teeth opening his jaw as wide as he could, he heard the popping sound of his jaw as it extended, he felt something swirl around in his mouth. He felt a chill run down his spine at the unwelcomed sensation.

Did he have more than one tongue?

Shaking the thought away Jack didn’t move to attack, he was never the type. He would always rather listen to rationality before getting his hands dirty, the only issue was he was starving and the girl would absolutely make a fine meal.

“Don’t try demon.” The girl scoffed eyeing Jack up and down, if he was still his old college self he would’ve gotten flustered at the gesture. A girl showing him attention? Unheard of back them. However, after Jenny, he was almost positive he’d never let that happen again. His sockets looked down at what the girl held in her hands, it was a plate, a plate that had kidneys on top of it. He was only mildly aware of the fact that he was drooling all over himself. “Oh gross.” She scrunched up her nose placing the organs on the bottom of the bed.

Without hesitation, Jack attacked the cold meat shoving it in his mouth with vigor. He knew blood was all over his face and hands but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack knew the girl’s calculated eyes were watching his every move, even so, he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as the food slid down his throat. Once the meal was finished and Jack was satisfied he finally felt he had enough strength to start asking questions.

“Who are you?” He rasped, whipping his mouth with the back of what was left of his sleeve.

“Really? You’re asking ME that question.”

“I’m not a fan of your attitude.”

“I’m not a fan of you bleeding out on my property.”

Jack growled low and guttural.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” The girl had the audacity to laugh in his face was she not aware of what he was capable of now?

“Nice try but I’m not scared of you. You’re not allowed to hurt me as long as you’re under my care.” She pointed to herself with her thumb, puffing out her chest a little however he could hear her pulse increase just the slightest bit.

Jack only scowled.

“What pray tell is exactly stopping me?” He raised an eyebrow watching carefully as the girl lifted up her sleeve to her sweater. Scared into her wrist was a symbol that Jack had never seen before in his life, but for some unknown reason, he felt dread wash over him. Carved into her wrist was an O with an X slashed through it. “What’s that supposed to prove exactly? That you’re into weird tattoos?”

The (h/c)-ette let out a loud sigh like this conversation was boring her. Oh he’s sorry it’s not his fault he was turned into a fucking organ-eating monster by a cult at his local college! If he still had his eyes they would be rolling so far back into his skull, yet he still waited for the girl to explain.

“My name is (y/n), I’m a medical proxy under The Operator. Currently one of the only ones he has left because we keep getting killed off by rogue killers.” The girl, (y/n), clicked her tongue in clear distaste at the mention of said killers. “Since I’m under The Operator it means if you kill me, he’ll kill you, that’s the deal Jacky boy.” That put him on high alert.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“You’re certainly full of questions for someone just waking up out of a coma. If you must know The Operator gave me a brief rundown of your file after we found you in the woods.” (Y/n) crossed her arms over her chest “It’s your lucky day because you just got hired to work for him.” She gave him a round of applause, but it sounded more mocking than serious and he only grew more confused.

“This doesn't make any sense to me. I hope you’re aware.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. It’ll all be explained in due time. For now, all you have to focus on is getting better so you can begin your training. Lucky for you, I’m your registered nurse and caregiver, so enjoy your stay at castle de la (Y/n). Trust me when I say you should value your time here while you still have it.” A thousand more questions ran through Jack’s mind and his little question and answer session with his self-proclaimed nurse didn’t really help.

“So you’re a med student then?” She made a noise of affirmation picking at the strings of her sweater.

“Was a med student Jack, that pretty much came to a screeching halt after I was scouted by the boss man. That, however,” He watched as (Y/n) put a hand to her lips signaling him to stop asking questions, “Is a story for another day. The first order of business now that you’ve eaten is a shower. Cause no offense but you smell like dried blood, and coming from me that’s saying something cause I smell blood all the time.”

Jack still didn’t trust this stranger fully and it got under his skin that she seemed to know everything about him and he knew next to nothing about her. Yet, a shower did seem nice at this moment, he glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails were caked with dry blood. He could only imagine what every other part of his body looked like, (y/n) clearly didn’t bother cleaning him up aside from dressing his wounds.

“A shower sounds good.” Jack nodded in confirmation and the girl gave a relieved smile.

“Oh thank God you agreed, it took me a week of convincing to get Jeff to go take his first shower.” Jack decided it was best not to ask who Jeff was deciding that that was a can of worms he shouldn’t open just yet. She reached out to touch him and he immediately recoiled back almost biting her handoff, the smile that appeared disappeared into a frown.

“Don’t touch me.” Memories of Jenny’s friends holding him down while he pleaded for his life flashed across his mind. The blade coming closer and closer to Jack’s crystal blue eyes before making contact and-

“Alright, cannibal boy snap out of it. Can’t have you succumbing to blood lust just yet. You don’t wanna injure yourself more.” (Y/n) snapped her fingers next to his ears and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that she snapped him out of his stupor. “I was going to help you to the bathroom because you really shouldn’t put pressure on your leg. Is that okay?”

Jack felt himself nodding reluctantly. She was right, he really shouldn’t put stress on his leg or it could cause more harm than good. Especially since he didn’t know the extent of the injury yet, for all he knew he was lucky they didn’t hit the femoral artery. Her arms went around his waist as the god and the human girl hobbled to the bathroom together. On the short walk there Jack was trying to get a feel of the house, in case he needed to make a grand escape in the future.

“I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the door for you, call for me when you’re done so I can help you back to the bedroom.” (Y/n) explained as Jack hobbled into the bathroom, he didn’t feel the need to respond to her as he shut the door in her face. He heard a faint click of a tongue from the other side of the door and listened to the girls retreating footsteps.

Jack leaned against the sink putting most of his weight on his hands. The sink creaked at the newfound pressure and Jack wasn’t sure it was because it was an old house or because he had newfound strength. He glanced up at the mirror, it was weird somewhat seeing when you had absolutely no eyes. It was the first time since the incident he got a good look at himself, he looked about as good as he felt.

Terrible.

His auburn hair curled around his now pointed ears and was caked in mud and dirt. He was almost grateful that (y/n) didn’t touch him aside from the wound while he was unconscious, Jack couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done if he felt anyone go near his face. Speaking of his face, he opened his mouth and saw his teeth were shaved into razor-sharp fangs. His stomach turned as he remembered the exact reason why they were like that, organs. They were like that so he could eat organs. The thought wasn’t nearly as nauseating as it should’ve been.

His skin was unnatural and sickly grey color, as he lifted up his shirt the color seemed to spread all the way down his body. He glanced down at his hands and saw his nails were long and black, almost like those girls who wore acrylics, except he was sure their nails couldn’t rip into people's chests with a single swipe. Continuing down his body he lifted up one of his padded feet, he was correct in his assumption from earlier. They were much more animal-like, he wondered if they made him faster, what purpose could they possibly serve other than that?

Gently letting his footfall back down on the floor he shuffled to the shower and turned it on, the water sprayed out in a burst and he patiently waited for it to heat up. Eventually, he was able to step inside, not before knocking his head not only against the curtain rod but also on the showerhead.

“Fuck!” He snarled glaring down at the showerhead. Jack did a little double-take, okay he was also super tall, at least he got one blessing out of whatever the fuck was happening. Jack had to kneel on the ground in order to let the water roll down his body, with a deep breath he enjoyed the warm water pelting his skin. He fumbled around with the shampoo trying to figure out how to open it without popping a hole in the container. As the lid popped open he was hit with the calming scent of lavender.

~~~

“We’ll send someone to come back and check on him in about a month give or take, see how he’s adjusting and healing.” A figure spoke from the kitchen shaking a cigarette into an ashtray, as (y/n) stood across from him. The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair “Then we’ll reassess him, give him a test and see if he’s fit to come to the mansion.” Meanwhile, the girl heaved a sigh of her own and leaned against the cool tiles of her kitchen wall.

“So it’s gonna be my responsibility to explain everything that’s happening to him? Isn’t that supposed to be your job Tim?” (y/n) raised an eyebrow “You realize he’s, like, almost seven feet tall, has no eyes and eats organs right? I’m not even sure WHAT he is.” She muttered, “The rundown I got really only gave me his background and his clear trauma.”

Tim clicked his tongue like the girl in front of him was wasting his time, it made her ball up her fists subconsciously.

God, the main proxies really got on her fucking nerves sometimes.

“You won’t have to worry about that, The Operator will handle all of that throughout the coming weeks. No need to worry. You also don’t need to worry about harvesting organs for him, and hopefully, once he’s healed he’ll work on doing that himself. But for now, someone on a kill close by will be dropping off organs.” Tim’s nose scrunched up a little and the (h/c)-nette’s did the same, she normally prided herself on her strong stomach, but this was a lot even for her. “The only thing you have to do is monitor his eating, see how much he will need on a weekly basis, and obviously keep him alive.”

“Obviously.” They both seemed to have a mutual understanding about that at least, she fucks up and he dies they’re both in deep shit with The Operator. Tim reached to the side where his porcelain mask sat against the countertop.

“Don’t fuck it up.” He pointed to her before slipping out the door leaving the women alone with an organ-eating monster. (Y/n) mimicked ‘don’t fuck it up' in a nasal voice before kicking off the wall and heading back in the direction of her guest's room, she pulled out a pair of crutches from the closet and rested them by the bedside. She gently scratched at the faintly buzzing symbol on her wrist, this is going to be a long month.

[thefanficmonster]

Kick Some Ghost Ass

”Until Dawn Gang x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Sex jokes (excuse my bad humor)

Genre: CRACK, Humor

Summary: It’s one thing when trouble finds this gang, but why don’t we take a look at what happens when they go actively looking for trouble. Needless to say, chaos ensues and no one is spared. Some are more affected than others, and some are dead-ass traumatized, but isn’t that just how life is in general?

Requested by my dearest ever - Until Dawn Anon. Hi lovely! I’ve missed writing your requests and I’m really happy to be back, creating another chaotic fic! I’m sorry it has taken me so long to post it but here it finally is - crazy as ever! I hope you enjoy it! Love you to Blackwood Pines and back baby ❤❤❤

I don’t know how I’ve found myself in this situation but I’m not complaining. If I get to do dumb crazy shenanigans with my crew, I’m ready for just about anything. Not to mention I’m no stranger to ghost hunting. I’m that kid that made DIY Ouija boards and took them to cemeteries with their terrified friends. You should’ve seen us leaving after capturing no ghostly activity - my friends relieved as fuck, and me pissed as fuck.

But today, I’m not expecting nor will I be accepting any disappointment. Especially not with Jess swearing on her Chanel purse that she wasn’t making things up when she said she had a haunted house she wanted us to visit. I must say, I appreciate this group’s enthusiasm when it comes to the paranormal. Never have I had someone who catches my vibe on the subject so well, let alone an entire gang all sharing the same opinion as me - that ghosts, demons and poltergeists are so fucking cool. Sure, Emily took a bit of convincing and Jess is not one to give a shit about the other world creatures invisible to the human eye, but something allegedly happened that changed her mind.

Her a-hundred-and-something-year-old great-grandmother passed away recently and though the death itself didn’t shake Jess up as much as it probably should’ve, the events that followed led to this moment right now - the eleven of us pooling out of two minivans that have pulled up to a terrifying looking house in a wooded are of the suburbs. Jess literally gathered us all on an ‘emergency meeting’ in the courtyard of our college just so she could explain the situation in detail - she doesn’t do well with explaining things in general, let alone when she’s hysterical - so we only understood what she was trying to say when she mentioned the word ‘ghost’. That’s when we all started listening more closely, with the exception of Emily, Beth and Sam but the latter two were intrigued despite trying yo hide it. You can only imagine how excited Josh, Chris and I were, Mike and Matt following a close second behind. Ash was a tiny bit more hesitant but Chris convinced her to give in. And just like that, a week later, here we are.

“I gotta ask, did your great-gran own a VHS player? Or a chest in the attic? Bonus points if there’s a creepy, child-sized doll in there.“ Josh asks as he yanks all the equipment he insisted we bring out of the trunk of the minivan.

“Quit fucking around, Josh! This is serious!“ Jess complains from the spot she’s standing in, shivering in the cold autumn breeze.

“Yeah, Josh! VHS players, creepy dolls, that’s all child’s play.“ I scold him as I pull on my jacket, wrapping it around me more tightly, “Shit gets serious when there’s a secret basement.“

“Y/N!“ Jess shrieks in exasperation. Honesty, how am I supposed to NOT bother her when doing the opposite is so much easier and brings more amusement? “You’re not helping!“

“Wasn’t trying to.“ I wink at her, driving her into a new level of fury that almost leads her to chuck her phone at me. If it weren’t such a prized possession of hers, I’m pretty sure she would’ve chucked it with the intention of knocking me dead. I’m lucky she has the aim of a drunk toddler that spun around fifteen times.

“Hey, quit pissing my girlfriend off, will ya?!“ Mike, who is basically halfway inside the trunk of the other van calls out to us.

I roll my eyes but choose to let it slide. However, someone else doesn’t. Emily does a dramatic turn on her heel, turning to face Mike, or at least the only part of him which is visible. You can imagine how hard it is arguing with an ass like THAT. I don’t know how Emily does it but oh well, I guess I do it too, in a way.

“So it’s girlfriend now, huh? No space between the words?“ Oh that smile she’s flashing him, it could make the Devil himself shiver. I find it kinda hot though - it means shit’s about to go down or hit the fan, either way, the rest of us will be entertained.

Mikey boy straightens up, gracing the rest of us by-standers with his dazzling features. Nah, I’m capping. I honestly think Mike is as attractive as I am patient - very little, almost not at all. It’s surprising how him and Jess are now apparently together since I always pegged her to be the superficial type.

“Got a problem with that, Em?“ He asks, eyebrow raising, head tilting to the side. Oh yeah, it’s on now. But, as someone who’s been quite excited to do some ghost hunting, and also as a representative of the peanut gallery formed of the rest of us who find it amusing and annoying, I feel the need to cut it short before it goes where it shouldn’t. I came to see some exorcist shit, not Keeping Up With The Bitter Exs.

“Jess, I sure hope your grandma is a blood-thirsty ghost cause I can think of at least two people I’d serve to her on a silver platter.“ I snatch the keys the blond has been jingling nervously between her fingers and jog up the stairs to the front door.

Ok I maybe overexaggerated the eeriness of the house. It sure wouldn’t sit right with you if you saw it around sunset or at night, especially not if it’s foggy, but a horror movie house it is most certainly isn’t. It’s pristine and well kept, not a single crack in the walls, the only reason it’s unsettling is because: 1) We’ve all seen a few too many horror movies; 2) There’s been reports of ‘ghostly activity’ - as far as Jess is to be trusted.

While I’m surfing through all the keys, checking each and every single one of them on the door because the real key is unmarked, I can’t help but overhear the conversation going on behind me on the porch.

“Can you believe we got all this in a single day and for a discount on top of all?! Whoever says Craigslist sucks isn’t doing it right.“ Chris’ enthusiasm over the deal him and Josh got on the ghost hunting equipment has been what’s keeping a wide grin on his face this whole time. Though I’m proud of my boys for not getting murdered by the Craigslist seller, I must say I hate that I lost the bet we had - I had to pay them each ten bucks if they didn’t get scammed/kidnapped/murdered and I’m now twenty bucks poorer. I’m not saying I value those twenty bucks more than my friends, though my broke ass needs all the bucks it has and all the dollar bills it could get, but Lord knows I hate losing.

“Yeah, and the guy was only mildly sketchy.“ Josh adds just as excitedly and proudly, “To be honest, Cochise and I were probably the scary looking ones in that parking lot.“

A look over my shoulder shows the twins, Sam, Matt and Ash giving the duo skeptical and somewhat disappointing looks and shakes of their heads. I’ll admit, the equipment is in very good condition and it’s the complete set for ghost-hunting, according to BuzzFeed at least. I’m impressed with the purchase - probably had something to do with how scary Chris and Josh actually look. The all-nighters we’ve all been pulling lately have taken a toll on them worst with the dark circles and bags under their hollow eyes, pale faces and brains turned to mush. I know I’d give them a discount to avoid them pulling out meat cleavers on me.

“That’s all fine and dandy guys, but do you know how to work any of this?“ Sam asks, hesitantly lifting the EMF reader and turning it in her hand, analyzing it with a curious gaze. 

Josh and Chris exchange a look before the former replies, “Just the cameras and voice recorder, the rest falls on them.” He points a finger at me and laughs, “Though they aren’t able to work something as simple as keys, they are more than qualified to be a ghostbuster.”

“You know, Josh, jokes on you, I can work keys! Jess, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be able to work well with organizing things, hence my problem with these keys.“ I hurl the bunch of keys connected my a scarlet keychain at Josh, “Lemme demonstrate my true skills.“ I hop down the flight of stone stairs and approach the pile of equipment the guys have created smack-dab in the middle of the house’s driveway. 

“Oh, I gotta see this!” Mr. Ex-Class-President all but runs over, frowning when we all turn to look at him just as I pick up the spirit box to show off how it works, “Oh that’s what you meant. So you aren’t taking your clothes off?“

Jess and I are alike in one thing - the need we feel to chuck objects at people who piss us off. “You’re girlfriend is, like, right behind you, Munroe. Have some decency!”

“I was gonna enjoy a show as well, but I’m guessing we won’t be getting one.“ The girlfriend in question replies, looking at me quizzically as though that’s gonna convince me into discarding my outfit.

“No, unless you’re a ghost.“ I point the device I’m holding at Mike, “But if your boyfriend here keeps acting up I might turn him into one.“

“That sounds kinda kinky.“ Beth’s comment surprises me. The wink she sends me even more so. “And I kinda like it.“

Ok, ok, ok, hold on. 

Flirting with Munroe is one thing, but Beth is a completely different story. I can be threatening Mike with a knife one moment and cracking sex jokes with him over cold beer the next. While Beth actually has the ability to get me flustered and blushing, and my close relationship with her brother doesn’t help. Mother fucker can just whack me upside the head every time he catches me fussing over my silly crush on his sister.

“Ew, you too! Keep it in your pants or at least get a room.“ Emily doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to being herself. She’s truly a garbage bin full of treasure.

“We’d do the latter if SOMEONE could get the door open.” I glare daggers at Josh who is making hopeless attempts at what I was doing earlier - unlocking that damn door.

“I’d be more than happy to come through for you ladies.“ Mike says, getting in a stance of a runner before a race, his body directly opposite the door.

Oh I can’t wait to see where this is going. I SHOULD RECORD IT.

“Mike, it’s still breaking and entering and it’s still against the law even if the person’s dead.“ Sam points out, entering her mother-like mode, ruining the fun and causing me to pout at her. She gives me a look of disappointment - one worse than I’ve ever seen on my parents - so I just shut my trap before she can also express said disappointment through words and have me feeling guilty for the rest of the day.

A loud crash suddenly echoes causing us to turn our heads to look for the source of the terrifyingly startling sound. One glance is all it takes to put our minds at ease and a second one is enough to provoke different reactions in all of us - the broken window telling the story of where Josh has disappeared.

“What did I just say about breaking and entering?!“ Sam shouts after him while the vast majority of us are cracking up like hyaenas. Jess is just gaping at the broken window next to the front door in disbelief. She obviously can’t decide whether to join in on the fun or serve as back-up to Sam. Josh did technically damage private property that’s partially hers, but if you ask me it serves her right for not marking her keys.

“Sorry, I was too busy breaking the window to hear that part of the conversation!“ Josh’s apologetic smile appears on the other side of glassless frame. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely sorry or holding back laughter but either way, he looks innocent enough for Sam to let him off the hook as long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble - in which case: tough luck. Chris, Josh and I are nothing if not troublemakers, especially when we’re together. Chris tones it down when Ash’s around, and the same goes for Josh with Sam while I’m simply problematic regardless of who’s watching. My chaos is untamable, it’s a blessing and a curse and I love it, even though it’s landed me in hot water more than once. It’s nice to be around people on the same wavelength - chaos resides within this group and not a single one of us can hide it.

“At least we have a way in now.“ Ash offers Josh a helping hand in this argument after she recovers from the overwhelming fit of laughter. “I hope the broken window doesn’t anger your gran, Jess.“

The blond snaps out of her trance briefly, “No, she was a very sweet lady, but damn is Josh creative!” She hurries to correct herself, “Destructively creative.”

I hurry to correct her once again, “Chaotically creative.”

“Guys, do you mind coming in? It’s very creepy standing here alone!“ Josh calls out to us, looking over his shoulder at the interior of the house, “I’m expecting to be snatched and dragged to that secret basement we mentioned.“

“Mention it one more time and I swear to God-!“ Jess screams, fists tightened.

Before her angry wrath could crash atop us, we all make our way into the house through the broken window, carefully avoiding the shards of glass strewn about. One step inside and we’re met with the upmost of horror clichés - a drop in temperature. We’re all wearing thick hoodies because the weather outside is chilly in and of itself, but said hoodies aren’t as efficient at holding the house’s cold at bay and away from out skin.

Chris and Matt make their way in last, carrying the equipment consisting of three cameras, flashlights for everyone, an EMF reader, a spirit voice box, a voice recorder and a motion detector. I help them hand a light to each group member as well as a ghost-hunting device before we venture onward.

“If I were your grandma’s ghost, I’d be ten times more pissed about that window. It looks to me like that lady payed a lot of attention to keeping things in order.“ Matt comments while he examines the expensive looking painting hanging in the hallway.

I hear Emily scoff, “Unlike some.” but the remark is said so quickly and quietly I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who heard it.

Jess laughs, “She did like things in order, but she was never as strict as you might think. As I said, she was very sweet.“

“So do you just not take after her at all or were you adopted?“ Emily’s remarks are no longer a mumbled jumble of words, “No, nevermind, of course you’re not adopted. Your parents are smart people, they wouldn’t have chosen you if they had the chance.“

Jess laughs again, much more menacingly this time, causing me to exchange a look with Hannah who’s walking beside me. “Twenty bucks says one of them isn’t making it out of here.” It’s just a matter of time, to be honest. If not the lodge, or any party we’ve ever attended as a group, this haunted house is the perfect opportunity for a murder. We could even argue it was a ghost.

Luckily, the two cats clawing at each other’s throats don’t overhear, “No, my parents aren’t stupid, but your boyfriend clearly is. He chooses to date you! Or are you holding him captive or something.“

Ok that’s enough. I can tolerate a lot of things, but people calling one of my best friends stupid is not something I’m about to put up with, “How dare you call one of my hoes stupid?” I sneer at Jess, eyes narrowing.

“I thought I was your hoe too!“ She fights back, looking almost offended.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t have called him that! I don’t tolerate my hoes not respecting each other.“ 

I don’t get to see where this argument goes because Ashley’s shriek echoes throughout the hallway, stealing mine as well as the attention of everyone else. 

“There’s a ghost in here!“ Making it to the doorway of the room she’s in first, I peak my head inside and see the EMF reader she’s holding going nuts as if it’s detected something.

“Don’t worry, Ash, there’s a dead cactus here. That’s not the ghost we’re looking for, is it?“ Chris, my amazingly bright friend says, quirking an eyebrow suggesting that remark was nothing short of dead-ass serious.

“Chris, darling, that’s not how it works. Cactuses are plants.“ I point out as sweetly as I can as to mask my laughter.

“Don’t the same ghostly rules apply?“ The genuine look of confusion he gives me almost makes me lose it.

“Ok children, leave the room, we need to set up a motion detector to be sure.“ Beth says with a tone that suggests she’s more than over our insanity. Jeez, count on her and Sam to start parenting us through our chaos. They are of high authority, must admit - one genuinely feels bad if they don’t comply to whatever these two girls demand.

We all pile out in the hallway while the twins set up this interesting motion detector with green dots. I don’t know what Jess’ granny looked like, but I bet that even the most unattractive of people would look hella good with this lighting. Thankfully the room is dark enough with the shutters closed and the curtains drawn, allowing the dots to be perfectly visible.

We stare at the minimalistic room littered with fluorescent green dots on every surface for maybe a minute or two but not much happens to the disappointment to some and relief to others. However, as if not wanting to let us down, the ghost makes a shy appearance if the shift of the green dots is anything to go by.

“Oh shit, is that a ghost?“ Chris whispers, sounding as amazed as I feel in this moment.

“It better be.“ I mutter in response, refusing to blink and risk missing anything important.

The sudden presence of the obnoxious noise of the spirit voice box makes us all jump. As I turn my head to glare at whoever’s using it, Josh speaks up. “Are you an attractive ghost?”

“Josh, that’s my great-grandmother, you ass!“ Jess barks with disgust in her voice.

In the meantime, I catch glimpse of Mike rolling up his sleeves. Oh shit, this ain’t good.

“I’ve been waiting for this!“ He shouts victoriously, cracking his knuckles.

Knowing this won’t end well, the first thing I do is snatch the camera from Chris’ hands and turn it on.

“Um, Mike, what do you mean?“ Sam’s back to being concerned, turning to the rest of us when Mike doesn’t give her a response, “What’s he gonna do?“

“Fight it.“ I answer as though it’s the most normal thing to ever have been done, “Or, ash he calls it - kick some ghost ass.“

“A freaking ghost?! He’s gonna try to tussle with something he can’t see?“ I can’t tell if Matt’s tone is disbelief, amusement or disappointment, but I believe he isn’t about to try and stop or dear ex-president in his pursuit and that’s all that matters. I ain’t about to let someone stop whatever’s about to go down from going down.

“That’s still my great-grandmother, you dumbass!“ Jess shrieks with something alike terror.

“Don’t worry Jess, I’m sure she’ll go easy on him.“ I say in an attempt to reassure her but I can’t even be bothered really, I’m too laser-focused on the circus that’s about to take place in front of me.

Mike, as if encouraged by my words, charges into the room. Much to his dismay, before he could even reach the ghost, he’s met with a much more vigorous enemy - the carpet. The rascal trips him up and Mr. Munroe falls flat on his face.

The group stays silent, looking at the glorious aftermath of the glorious fall. Told ya these lights could make everything fabulous. Must say, it’s truly an honor for me to have been able to catch all that on tape.

“10/10, would ghost-hunt with Mikey Munroe again.“

[teaplease1717]

Ashes of Love and War - Ch 9

Art by the amazing @rennomiya​

Story: Ashes of Love and War

Chapter: 9 / ?

Couple: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo (TodoMomo)

Rating: M (for language and violence)

Betas: @flourchildwrites​ (Link)  & C’s Melody (Link) and 666-HyuugaNeji-999 (Link)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638800/chapters/59830819

Sorry for the slightly late chapter, I’ve been busy with the TodoMomo Mini Bang, but I got this wonderful picture from Rennomiya to say thank you! 

If you haven’t heard of it, the Mini Bang is a collaboration between incredibly talented writers and artists to produce new TodoMomo content and the posting dates are from June 14th to July 13th! Works are tagged to the TodoMomo Mini Bang 2020 collection on Archive of Our Own, if you want to look up the amazing works. Also, if you care to get involved, feel free to pledge to become a Book Club member. Basically, you’d agree to like, reblog and/or comment on a couple of our wonderful teams’ creations. :)

Also, thank you to my wonderful betas: Flourchildwrites and C'sMelody. And thank you to 666-HyuugaNeji-999 for doing a preview read to make sure everything flowed.

XXXXXX

Chapter 9: We Can (Not) Comfort

XXXXXX

29 days post the fall of Troy

Fucking Kaminari. 

Shouto leaned back in the tub and ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the red strands. He had tried not to dwell on it, but Yaoyorozu’s words from the night prior wouldn’t leave him. 

In truth, it wasn't surprising that Yaoyorozu’s friend had been on the receiving end of a god's unwanted affections, but the fact that he had taken her was. 

 Gods were only allowed to bring mortals back to Mount Olympus if they intended to keep them as consorts. Which meant that the god had fallen in love with Yaoyorozu’s friend, enough to marry her.

 He tried to recall if he had heard of any of the gods taking a mortal as a wife but couldn’t remember. After all, it seemed that besides starting wars, fucking humans was all they ever did.

 Shouto's jaw twitched at the thought. He closed his eyes.

 Yaoyorozu had never confirmed it was Kaminari who had stolen her friend, but regardless, it was clear that Kaminari had been sent to protect her. Shouto was sure of it.  But then — why use him? Was he simply a convenient bodyguard? Or was there another motive behind the curse? It couldn’t be that straightforward, could it?

 He ground his teeth and opened his eyes to glare down at the water. The bath had become cold. 

 There had to be a reason Kaminari hadn't simply whisked Yaoyorozu away from the battle.

 His stomach twisted faintly at the idea of the Erotes even thinking of touching her, but he pushed the feeling aside. He glanced at his weapon, Endeavor, leaning against the wall. Even without his godly powers, the Erotes was a decent enough fighter by himself. His sword, Chargebolt, had been given to him by Zeus and could release lightning-based attacks. He could have easily defeated the Athenians, but he hadn’t.

 Was he being controlled? Kaminari wasn’t the smartest of gods, but even he wouldn’t have done something so foolish as to curse Shouto on a whim. Would he?

 Shouto sighed to himself. He had always considered himself intelligent enough, but the mystery surrounding this was making his head hurt. If only someone was here that he could talk to — that he trusted. Midoriya or even Bakugo might have been able to dissect what was going on. 

 He flexed his fingers and stood up. 

 Not that it mattered. None of this mattered. He was still cursed for the time being.

 Shouto scowled at the knowledge as he dried off. Pulling on his perizoma, he picked up Endeavor’s sheath and grabbed his clean chiton, throwing it over his shoulder before walking out of the bathroom.

 It was almost dark outside. The fiery reds and oranges of the setting sun shimmered off of the tiled floors and bathed the marble pillars of the house in golden hues. The day’s oppressive heat had lifted somewhat, and a cool breeze flowed off the ocean. 

 The children laughed as they continued playing in the courtyard, getting their last bit of energy out before bed. A boy threw a pebble-sized bone into the air and proceeded to scoop up as many of the other bones as possible before catching the tossed one in a game of knucklebones. 

 Shouto watched the boys for a moment before a shift in the wind caught his attention. He raised his head and sniffed the air; his eyes narrowed. There were faint traces of magic in the wind. It wasn’t as heavy and oppressing as the stymphalian's. So a god’s. 

 A shiver ran down his spine. It felt like claws raking down his back. Shouto swallowed over the sour taste in his mouth and looked down at his hand. Ever since his fight with Dabi, he’d been crippled.

 His vision in his left eye had been impaired. It was healing slowly, but if it was too bright or dark, he had a hard time making out his surroundings. However, the deepest cuts were the ones no one could see; he still couldn’t use his magic. It was as if it had dried up. He had the memory of it, could still feel the sensation in his fingers, but anytime Shouto reached within himself to pull on his power, he felt hollow. It made him feel bare. Vulnerable.

 His fingers spasmed, and his hand drifted to Endeavor’s hilt. For the time being, all he could rely upon were his instincts and sword skills. His hand tightened on the hilt until his knuckles turned white. 

 It would have to do.

 He was strong. 

 “Hey, mister!” A high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts.

 Shouto started and looked down. A young boy with dark marks around his eyes and sharp teeth shrunk back. The other children stopped their game of knucklebones to watch. 

 Shouto rolled his jaw and forced himself to relax. He hadn’t meant to scare the kid. “What is it?”

 The boy shifted. Tamashiro, if he remembered correctly. He was half tempted to ask the child to save his question for later, but this was the first time any of the children had addressed him unprompted.

 The kid looked at his sword, then up at him and straightened. “You can fight, right?” the kid asked, lifting his chin. “Are you any good?”

 A small boy with short black hair and gold horns scowled next to him. “Obviously not if he ended up here,” he said, scoffing.

 “I ain't asking you, Kota,” Tamashiro snapped. Then he turned back to Shouto, and a small grin pulled at his mouth as he took a step forward. “Teach me! I want to learn to fight.”

 There was an audible pause, and then Kota stood up. “If you're learning, I want to too!”

 It was like a flood gate had opened, as all the other boys began standing up and yelling over each other. 

 “Teach me!”

 “Teach me too!”

 "I want to kill a cyclops!"

 Shouto stared at them in surprise as the boys surrounded him.

 He didn’t know what to say. He had never dealt with children before. But he couldn’t think of a reason not to teach them. They’d eventually have to fight one day, whether they wanted to or not; the life of a half-breed was dangerous. They’d never be fully accepted by the gods or humans. The only way they’d survive was by relying on their own strength. 

 The smell of the god’s magic hardened his resolve. Shouto curled his hand into a fist.

 The strong live, the weak die.

 Shouto nodded faintly. “Okay.”

 The children shouted in triumph and began shooting off questions at him. He shifted awkwardly under the sudden attention. He really wasn’t good at this.

 There was the click of sandals on tile.

 “Everyone!” The familiar voice pulled at him. “It's time to get ready for bed.”

 The boys had vanished before the speaker had even finished her sentence. Shouto turned to look down the hallway and tried to suppress the feeling of his stomach flipping as Yaoyorozu drew closer. 

 It was the curse, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, even as he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders begin to relax.

 “Oh, Todoroki?” Yaoyorozu said, then paused; her eyes grew wide. She dropped her gaze, then looked back up at his face and away again. Her face appeared flushed, and something inside of him reveled in the tinge of red that was spreading across her cheeks. 

 He straightened, smothering the urge to smirk, as Yaoyorozu shifted.

 “Are - Are you done bathing,” she asked, her voice slightly higher. The curse pulsed in his veins. She pushed her bangs behind her ear without looking at him. “Aizawa said to come meet him when you are.” 

 “Hmm,” Shouto said. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he watched Yaoyorozu nervously bite her bottom lip. He stepped toward her unconsciously. 

 Her eyes seemed to grow impossibly wide; her pupils were dark. She stepped back slightly, and he followed her. Her hand curled in front of her mouth. She still wouldn’t look him in the eyes, and he couldn’t suppress the part of him that wanted to see what she’d do if he cornered her. Would she look at him then? 

 He wanted her to look at him. 

 Movement behind her snapped Shouto back to awareness as Tokoyami appeared out of one of the side rooms. He looked at Shouto, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion, then glanced back at Yaoyorozu. She jerked and abruptly dropped her gaze to the ground, her hands twisting together in front of her. 

 Tokoyami turned back to Shouto; his stare was hard. And if he could read Tokoyami’s bird-like features, he’d say he looked furious. 

 Shouto felt the urge to scowl. His fingers twitched and tightened unconsciously on his sword’s hilt as he looked back at Tokoyami and met his cold glare.

 There was a long silence. 

 “Oh good, Todoroki,” Asui’s croaking voice suddenly interrupted, cutting through the tension as she stepped out from behind Yaoyorozu and Tokoyami. “Aizawa was looking for you, kero.”

 Shouto breathed deeply to calm himself before schooling his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression. “What is it? Did something happen?” he asked Asui.

 She shook her head. “Good news, actually," she said. Her tongue stuck out slightly from the side of her mouth. "There's an aurai here if you wanted to send your message, kero.” 

 That explained the smell from earlier.

 “Send a message?” Yaoyorozu asked, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked up at him. Her face was still slightly red, but her eyes didn’t flicker from his face as they had earlier. “To whom?”

 Shouto glanced at her. “I’m sending a message back home. To Sparta.” 

 “And you’re using an aurai to do so?”

 "Out here, the only way to contact anyone is to ask a favor from a minor god or one of the nymphs of the sky to carry it for you, kero,” Ausi explained.

 “Oh, I see,” Yaoyorozu said slowly. 

 Shouto stared at her for a moment before turning back to the nereid. “And you’re sure this aurai can be trusted?” Shouto asked skeptically.

 “Kero.” Asui pressed her finger to her chin. “Hado Nejire has helped Aizawa with small tasks before. It shouldn’t be a problem for her to bring your message back to Sparta.”

 In truth, he hated dealing with aurai — they were airheaded and generally unreliable, not to mention taxing to deal with. Out of all the nymphs, the aurai were the most energetic and nosy. Two characteristics Shouto hated. But, he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to contact Midoriya.

 He sighed to himself. “Where can I find her?” 

 “She’s out front right now.” Asui paused and looked him up and down. "And you should put on your chiton, kero," she added, her slightly croaking voice teasing.

 Shouto raised a brow questioningly, but Asui just smiled up at him, pressing her index finger to her lips as if she was letting him in on some sort of secret that he wasn’t understanding. Shouto didn’t dwell on it as he slipped on his clothes before going to find Aizawa and the aurai. As he passed, he glanced back at Yaoyorozu, but Tokoyami stepped in front of her. His eyes were narrowed in disdain.

 Shouto’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t miss this chance.

 He stepped out into the fading sunlight. The smell of magic abruptly intensified. It smelled sweet and fresh, like myrtle, and he looked up. Aizawa was standing by the statue of Hephaestus, talking to a woman who was floating in the air. She had long flowing hair that fell past her knees and gleamed lilac in the fading sunlight.  

 Shouto moved closer.

 “They said they’re on their way,” the woman said with a giggle. 

 He could see Aizawa nod. “Good.”

 The woman looked up, spotting him. Her eyes went wide, and she hurried closer until her face was centimeters from his. “Oh! Who are you? You’re so handsome. But that scar!” she said, circling him with child-like curiosity.

 Shouto scowled and threw her a sharp look that she ignored. 

 “Todoroki,” Aizawa said, turning. “This is Hado Nejire.”

 “Hello! Hello!”

 Shouto nodded stiffly in greeting. 

 “Nejire can take the message for you,” Aizawa said, his voice dull.

 The woman twirled in the air, unperturbed. “Of course! Leave it to me,” she said, giving him a mock salute. 

 Shouto sighed to himself, the sound barely audible. He hated dealing with aurais. He rolled his jaw and looked back at the sky nymph. “I need you to deliver a message to Midoriya, one of the princes of Sparta.”

 Nejire nodded eagerly. 

 Shouto paused. The aurai had poor memories, so it wasn’t likely that she’d remember anything complicated. “Tell him that I’m okay and heading home. If everything goes as expected, I should be home before winter.” 

 He paused, his eyes sliding to the side to look discreetly at Aizawa. Shouto didn’t want to let the old man know more than he needed to, but the sinking feeling in his stomach said that Aizawa already knew. 

 The older man was far too smart for Shouto’s liking. 

 He brought his hand to rest upon Endeavor’s hilt as his gaze flickered back to the aurai. “And ask him how much he knows about Kaminari and his powers.”

 “Kaminari?” Nejire asked, blinking in surprise. “Hmm. I don’t get it.” She tapped her lip with her pointer finger. Then she smiled at him. 

 “But okay!” she said gleefully, almost bouncing. “Anything else?”

 “No.” His tone was clipped.

 “Okay! I’ll be off then!” She spun and gave Aizawa another mock salute. “Bye bye!” she half-sang as her body shimmered and then disappeared with a soft pop.

 Shouto watched the space where the nymph had been for a moment longer before turning towards Aizawa. 

 The older man was staring at him, his expression closed but eyes calculating. Shouto stiffened. It felt like a lump of dread had formed in his throat. If it wasn’t clear how much Aizawa knew before, it was now. He swallowed hard. 

 “I’m taking Asui and Tokoyami for the first watch. You and Yaoyorozu have the second shift,” Aizawa said, abruptly changing the topic. 

 Shouto felt his shoulders relax slightly, and he nodded. “Something has changed.” There was an unspoken question in his tone.

 Aizawa looked out towards the ocean. “Nothing for now,” he said at length. “But, I have a bad feeling. Ever since you all arrived, the stymphalian have been acting strangely. They’ve only been sending the omegas and gammas of their flock to attack. It doesn’t make sense. It’s almost like they are waiting for something, but I don’t know what.”

 “Do you think they are testing us?”

 “Possibly.” Aizawa tilted his head back, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “They could be weary and trying to determine how strong you three are.”

 “Perhaps,” Shouto agreed as he turned to look fully at him. “It hasn’t always been like this, has it?” 

 Aizawa didn’t look at him, and Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “What’s changed?” 

 Aizawa didn’t say anything. 

 Shouto studied him silently. He debated pushing Aizawa for more information. The older man was entirely too secretive for his liking, but Shouto knew he wouldn’t say anything unless he wanted to. 

 He scowled. Shouto hated people like Aizawa. He couldn’t read the older man at all. He was better with straightforward people like Bakugo. At least he always knew where he stood and what Bakugo wanted. 

 Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention as Asui and Tokoyami emerged from the house. 

 "We’re heading out.” Aizawa looked back at him, breaking the silence. "Do a full sweep of the grounds. We need to be extra vigilant until we figure out what is going on.”

 Shouto nodded and watched the three disappear over the ridge before he turned to go check the perimeter of the house.

 xxxxxxx

 It was getting late, and the moon was shining brightly by the time Shouto finished checking the grounds. There had been faint traces of something in the bushes surrounding the house. 

Someone had been watching them. 

Yet, it was too dark for him to be able to track down whatever it was until morning. He’d have to bring it up to Aizawa when he returned. 

Shouto’s jaw twitched as he returned to the house. The place was silent. Yaoyorozu must have retired after putting the children to bed. 

It would be another four or five hours until Aizawa and the others returned. He might as well try to sleep as well. The night prior, he had only slept for two hours before he became restless. And the night before that, Shouto slept even less. 

He made his way towards the courtyard and paused. 

Yaoyorozu was standing under the veranda. The moonlight caught in her dark hair and cast her profile in silver. She was staring up at the cloudless night sky.

She looked ethereal, and Shouto could feel his heartbeat stutter as he gazed at her silently for several seconds before stepping out of the house. “Yaoyorozu.”

She jerked and whirled around to look at him. “Todoroki!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared me.” Shouto’s steps faltered, and he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry.” 

Yaoyorozu shook her head, her posture relaxing. “It's okay.” She gave him a small, forced smile. “I was just startled. I didn’t hear you approach. Were you able to send your message?” “Mhm,” Shouto hummed as he moved closer. His fingertips ran over Endeavor absently, before resting his hand fully on the sword’s hilt. “I asked her to deliver a message to Prince Midoriya. To let him know we’re alive, and we’ll be coming home soon.” 

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I see.” She looked down and grew quiet. 

His eyes narrowed as he studied her profile. There was something off about her tonight. Shouto hadn’t noticed it earlier, so whatever had happened must have occurred while he had been out. He wondered if she'd tell him if he asked. 

Probably not. 

He sighed to himself. “Go get some sleep. You didn't sleep well last night."

She shook her head faintly. “I'm fine, but I could say the same for you.” She looked up and met his eyes. “You and Aizawa get the least amount of sleep out of all of us. You should be careful and watch your health.”

He scoffed silently. “I'm fine. There were worse nights during the war.” 

It was a half-truth.

Yaoyorozu didn’t say anything. He looked away as they lapsed into silence for several moments before he glanced back at her. Yaoyorozu was staring blankly out at the courtyard. He watched as her lips thinned, and she wrapped her arms over her stomach. His fingers twitched. “What are you thinking about?” 

She was silent for several seconds. “Many things,” she finally said. 

His hand tightened on Endeavor’s hilt when she didn’t say anything else. It had been a long time since he’d dealt with a woman’s feelings, but he vividly remembered that anytime Fuyumi refused to tell him what she was thinking, it meant something was wrong.

“Todoroki.” He looked up. “Would you tell me what Sparta’s like?” she abruptly asked.

Shouto’s mouth went dry, and he stood still trying to remember. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. He looked away. His voice was stiff. “I haven’t been there in over ten years — probably looks like any other city. Nothing special.”

“I see.” 

Shouto glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She looked almost sad as she continued to stare out across the courtyard. Her onyx eyes flat. 

Was she grieving? Remembering Troy and all those she had lost? Shouto swallowed hard. He had his own memories of the war. Of the people he had killed, those who had died honorable deaths of a warrior and those who had been too young to deserve to  meet Thanatos. 

He rolled his jaw. He didn't know how telling her about Sparta would help, but Shouto didn’t like seeing Yaoyorozu like this. He didn’t want her to suffer. The war wasn’t hers to bear.

He searched his mind for something to give her. 

“It’s pretty,” he began slowly. “The city is made of marble and limestone. And the pastures are rich, and the forests are filled with game, so we never go hungry. It… has its problems, but Midoriya and Bakugo, the princes, are trying to change things to make life better.”

Yaoyorozu looked at him. Her eyes studied his face as if searching for something. “And your family?”

“I’ve lived with my sister ever since Ares took me away from my mother when I was around six or seven.”

Her expression grew pained, and she dropped her gaze back to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “I’m used to it being just her and me.”

Yaoyorozu swallowed. Her hands tightened around her stomach. “And your slaves? How many other slaves do you have?”

“Just you.”

“And Tokoyami.”

“No, just you.” 

Yaoyorozu’s head snapped up, and her eyes widened as she stared at him. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” He lifted his hand off his sword as if he were reaching to touch her. His chest tightened. 

She glanced away, and he let his hand drop. “It’s nothing.” Shouto frowned. “Did I say something?”  She shook her head faintly. “No. I just - I just don't know where I fit in anymore.” “What do you mean?” he asked, studying her. “I…” Yaoyorozu dipped her head so that her bangs fell in front of her face, obscuring her expression. “Nevermind,” she said quietly.  Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

She shook her head again. “It’s not like that...I’m just....I’m thinking too much.” She curled a piece of black hair around her fingertip. “I’m just not used to this...” 

Yaoyorozu swallowed and took a shaky breath before continuing. “Back at the temple, I’d always be working. I had my job, and I knew what was expected of me, but these days...I...I just don’t know where I fit in anymore. I have too many thoughts, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do...” she choked, and her voice trailed off. Shouto swallowed hard as Yaoyorozu’s words hung in the silence. It felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He had never expected to feel as though he could relate to another so well, least of all, to Yaoyorozu. But, she was voicing the sickening feeling that had been swirling in the pit of his stomach for weeks. The war had stolen his youth. And now it was over, leaving him a warrior, a soldier, but without a purpose besides returning home. 

His fingers twitched. He had never considered that Yaoyorozu could feel the same sense of helplessness as he did. Shouto’s fingers curled into tight fists. “You were a healer, right? Back at the temple.”

She nodded.  “Why don’t you ask Aizawa if you can help him then?” She looked up. “Are you really okay with that?” she asked suspiciously. Shouto tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  She dropped the piece of hair and looked away, folding her hands in front of her. “Is it really okay for a slave to learn those types of things?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Shouto felt his stomach twist. He turned to fully face her and took a step closer. “I’m not the best with words. I’ve always felt that actions are what matter.” Her eyes darted up to his face, and Shouto swallowed. “So, I know my words probably won’t make you feel better, but, even so, I’ll just say that I don’t want you to feel like you have to suffer by yourself. If - if there is anything I can do to help, I want you to let me know.”

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widened as he brought his right hand up. His fingers, unfurling and half-hesitant, wavered for a moment before he brushed her loose hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to forget who you want to become just because you’re with me.”

She gasped softly. His fingers lingered on her face for a moment, and then his hand slipped under her chin to cup her jaw, lifting her head up. 

“Yaoyorozu.” Her name rolled off his tongue. He felt her pulse jump underneath his thumb. It sent a rush of excitement through him. “I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to take care of you.” 

She sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything. Her eyes were dark, almost pitch black. He could feel her warm breath on his face. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and he felt his heartbeat speed up.

Slowly, Shouto leaned down. Yaoyorozu was still underneath him, and his lips skimmed over hers.

“You’re mine. Let me care for you,” he whispered as he kissed her.

 XXXXX

 Ahh! So they finally kissed again! I was really thinking of making us all suffer longer, but I was itching for a little romance. And since the chapter is a little slow otherwise, I hope you all liked it. :P

 Notes:

Aurai - nymphs of cool breezes.

Erotes - The Erotes are a collective of winged gods associated with love and sexual intercourse in Greek mythology. Kaminari is one of the Erotes.

Hephaestus - was the god of fire, metalworking, stone masonry, forges and the art of sculpture. He was also the patron of cripples and outcasts.

Knucklebones - a game similar to jacks or fivestones, but played with the ankle-bones of goats or sheep. 

Perizoma - A loinclot

Thanatos - Thanatos, in ancient Greek religion and mythology, the personification of death.

[the8thsphynx]

*Insert Seinfeld Slap Bass*

Prologue | Chapter 1 |

Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjquez, Kugo Ginjo, Kukaku Shiba, Kisuke Urahara, Ichigo Kurosaki, Shukuro Tsukishima Pairings: Grimmjow/Ginjo, Kisuke/Yoruichi Genre: Comedy, Romance, Family, Government Espionage Warnings: Mature language, s3xual humor, fighting/violence, alcohol, mentions of death, rap battles with government officials

Chapter 1:

‘Shaking a Bag of Catfood Outside of the Shiba Residence’

The air on the outskirts of the Rukon District always had a lighter feel to it. Kukaku had seldom stepped away from her fireworks shop to enter the inner districts by the Seireitei ever since her brother’s passing, but even so she would occasionally indulge herself by standing outside of the Shiba manor to take in the sight of the mountain-like structure in the distance. The wind blew gently through the field of grass and Kukaku cursed herself for not wearing her prosthetic arm today to help protect her smoking pipe.

Through the whistling of the wind, she heard the front doors of the manor clatter open and someone approach her. By the familiar light jingling of a silver chain, she identified her visitor without even turning her head.

“I’m taking it by how soon you’re back, you couldn’t fix it?” she remarked with a puff of tobacco smoke.

The voice that replied was deep and male, “Don’t know what to tell you. I said I’m not familiar with pyrotechnic equipment since I worked with cars.”

Kukaku waved dismissively at him with her right stump, “Bah, I already told you not to try and explain that modern living world stuff to me. If you can’t fix my launcher then I guess I gotta pay someone to look at it. Anyways, did you let the cat in, yet?”

There was a pause from her visitor, followed by a shallow and sharp breath. Removing her kiseru from her mouth and flicking the ashes into the wind, Kukaku turned to face him and raised one eyebrow.

“You didn’t hear me or something, Ginjo?” she said with smoke coming from between her teeth, “I like that cat. I like his regular visits. Almost as nice to have come by as Yoruichi. Has he come by yet and have you let him in?”

Kugo Ginjo tossed a rag blotched with black stains over his shoulder and looked away from Kukaku, “Yeah, and I told you he’s irritating as hell.”

The head of the Shiba clan stuck her pipe between her teeth and wrinkled her nose, “Gotcha. Hang on before I go through with your request, lemme find the slip of paper that says you pay the rent to have an opinion over me.”

The chutzpah in Kugo fractured and by the twitch of his eye and clench of his jaw he knew he was backed into a verbal wall. He fixed the collar of the haori that the Shibas had lent him as he bit his tongue to avoid saying something he shouldn’t to the head of the household.

Unfortunately, with being ‘dead’, that meant he had come to the Soul Society with the clothes he had died in and nothing else. When Kukaku took him and his other two companions in, she offered him clothes that resembled a Meiji-era style, but unfortunately for Kugo this was the closest to ‘modern’ the styles got outside of very expensive custom-made clothing orders. This particular outfit was a fern green kimono with a scale pattern and a dark grey haori. Not that Kugo had any room to complain to begin with, but at least this one was bearable to wear.

As he opened his mouth to respond to her, the front door clattered open again and two men nearly double his size in twin uniforms disregarded his presence completely and bellowed to Kukaku like two henchmen to a yakuza boss.

“MY LADY, WE HAVE FOUND THE CAT IN THE EQUIPMENT STORAGE ROOM TODAY,” they thundered, “SHALL WE BRING HIM TO THE PARLOUR, MA’AM?”

Kukaku flickered her slate grey eyes from the giant men to Kugo and gave a wink, silently flaunting her intuition for the ‘cat’ having just arrived. She flicked the ashes in her kiseru into the wind again and began moving back inside of the Shiba manor, on the way smacking Kugo’s arm with the back of her hand.

“Storage room?” she mused, then waved her hand, “Nah, I’ll meet him there. Probably was looking for this guy, anyways. Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko, set things up for us in the parlour and we’ll be up shortly. Come along and help me greet our guest with me, Ginjo.”

One of the guards held out an open box with a fitted silk interior to Kukau and the other a small ceramic bowl with a wooden lid. To the ceramic pot Kukaku dumbed the rest of her ashes from the pipe and then carefully placed her kiseru in the silk-lined box. After closing the containers, the two giant men bowed to her and then went off back inside of the manor with shockingly light footsteps for their stature. 

Kugo grimaced and followed behind her down a flight of stairs, “...Hey, at least he didn’t end up outside like the first few times.”

The Shiba residence was certainly a fascinating structure; from the outside it looked like little more than a shack aside from Kukaku’s gaudy, ever-changing outdoor decorations and the massive sealed ‘chimney’. Directly inside, however, there was a staircase that lead to a labyrinth of lower levels, lit by a strange light-emitting herb that the Shibas planted inside of the walls and left open with shelf-like holes in the ceilings.

She lead Kugo to a specific sliding door on left hand side in the middle of the hall. The rest of the doors were normal, everyday-average sliding doors, but this one had a window beside it with a panel in place that said ‘CLEAR’ likewise with an opposite side that would say ‘WORK IN PROGRESS’. This was where Kukaku and her pyrotechnics team would construct, prepare, and store every manner of launchers, mounts, or casings for fireworks that were ordered. Despite the sign currently displaying ‘CLEAR’, Kukaku still knocked.

“Heeeyyyy, Grimmjow!”she called as she began pushing the door open, “You in here? We’re coming in!”

Being perfectly content with his distance from the room, Kugo had remained behind Kukaku with his gaze fixed into a half-annoyed glare looking away from the storage room door. It wasn’t that he outright hated Grimmjow, it was just… well…

The sound of the wooden door clattering open was enough to cover the sound and of course neither of the two were paying attention to their surroundings, so a black figure was able to successfully swing down from a hole in the ceiling where the light-emitting herbs were.

“VIBE CHECK.”

Perhaps it was his keen intuition or his reflexes honed from nearly two decades of combat, but Kugo was just barely able to catch an assailant’s foot before it came in contact with his head. In the space contained in a half-second, Kugo turned from confusion to burning irritation. Gritting his teeth, he yanked his attacker’s leg towards him, throwing them off-balance and sending them to the ground. Without missing a beat, Kugo used his free arm to come down with his forearm full-force on the attacker’s neck; they were just as fast as he was, though, and threw one arm up to brace the blow as they were slammed intot he ground with a residing ‘THUD’.

Kukaku was frozen for a moment at hearing the attack behind her, but then turned on her heels and snapped at the two, “GOD DAMMIT, I SAID NONE OF THAT IN THE HOUSE.”

Kugo didn’t look up at her, instead keeping an unamused scowl at the being below him. Bright blue eyes like lightning stared back at him and were paired with a grin more animal-like than human.

“Heheheh. You’re gettin’ slower,” a gravelly voice chuckled, “Careful, all you need is one misstep and you die, Ginjo.”

The fullbringer grit his teeth, “You’re a little late for that, Grimmjow.”

Kukaku slapped her one hand against the wall, making a noise loud enough that the two men separated begrudgingly and stood on their feet. The humanoid being that stood before Kugo was very clearly not human; not persay for his wild blue hair or the jawbone mask on his cheek, but for the air about him… a look in his cobalt eyes that gave the sensation that you weren’t talking with another person so much as facing a wild animal. What was it that Tsukishima told Kugo this feeling was…? Ah, right, the ‘uncanny valley’; a survival instinct in humans to recognize something that looks like a human but isn’t.

Kugo knew the origins of Grimmjow and what he was classified as, though, as thanks to Tsukishima-- his former mentee and current fellow guest of the Shibas--having used his complicated ability to see into others’ pasts to learn about Hollows, arrancars, and the Espada from others who had encountered him. Of course he couldn’t register Grimmjow as a person, for the pure fact that Grimmjow was the end of a long chain of congregation, mutation, and evolution of thousands of Hollows-- dead and forsaken or vengeful souls that became one person with their own unique personalities, typically with a lack of human emotion or empathy. It wasn’t as though Kugo was completely disgusted in such an existence, though; after all, a Hollow was the only reason that he was born with his own particular powers.

“Did you bring me my delivery, Grimms?” Kukaku piped up, holding out her one arm and beckoning for the blue haired man.

Grimmjow kept his eyes locked on Kugo and wore a flat expression while  fixing his short jacket and collar. Still maintaining eye contact, he reached inside of his black zip-up shirt and retrieved a white envelope packed full and thick.

“Right here for ya,” Grimmjow responded, “And you can uphold your end of this deal, right, Shiba woman?”

Kugo blinked at the arrancar and then turned to shoot Kukaku a questioning glare. He was no stranger to deals of a certain nature happening regularly outside of the club or even down the street from where he lived, and typically he didn’t care, but… was this really what was happening between Grimmjow and Kukaku? She didn’t seem like that kind of person.

...However, she seemed to ignore Kugo completely as she grinned back at Grimmjow and rested her hand on her hip.

“That’s a good man,” she nodded, “Knew I could count on ya to deliver for me. Alright, now before we talk this out let me get you upstairs and settled into the parlour. It ain’t right for me as lady of the Shiba clan to not treat a business partner with hospitality. You hungry, Grimmjow?”

Kukaku didn’t wait for a response before turning around and heading back down the hallway. The arrancar gave Kugo another glance, warranting another small scowl from Kugo which caused Grimmjow to smirk. Folding his arms behind his head and locking his fingers in place, Grimmjow meandered down the hall in the same direction as Kukaku.

He scoffed, “I told ya I don’t need to eat human food unless I’m in a gigai. Although… if you’re offering to feed me regardless, you ain’t gonna like what I tell you I can eat.”

Kukaku waved her hand, “Forget it, then. It’s other Hollows, right? At least that’s what I heard from Tsukishima. That’s not really an easily accessible game for people like us for a plethora of reasons but I mean hell, who knows? If I’m satisfied with my delivery I might just have to send Ginjo out to grab me a few of those little bastards for you. What’s a former Soul Reaper for if not odd jobs like that?”

Kugo begrudgingly found his way behind them and felt his eye twitch slightly again, “Excuse me, so now I’m just your live-in Hollow exterminator…?”

“Hollow catcher,” Kukaku corrected.

Grimmjow curled his lips and made a noise in his throat, “Ugh, as if I’m such a poor hunter on my own that I need an already half-assed fighter to catch a meal for me. No offense, Shiba, but if you’re gonna make this guy do anything for me I’d rather you get a--”

A stub of an arm was pointed back at the arrancar, “Business in the parlour. I’ll listen to you fully, but if I’m trying to maintain a system here I can’t go about making deals in my storage rooms.”

Kugo felt a familiar muscle in his left shoulder tense up as it normally did with stress. As he reached up to try and give himself some relief to it, he debated if he should make another remark to Grimmjow and Kukaku that he wasn’t just some chore boy or exchangeable item… then again, with how weird and wild these two were, his words would fall on deaf ears, anyways.

--------

A/N: This chapter took longer to come out than I intended simply because in the time frame I wanted to finish the last five paragraphs I ended up getting a looottt of work piled on me, but fortunately it’s up now! Next chapter will hopefully be only a few days behind it!

[miswaken]

excerpts from House of Leaves that I just think are neat + inform my portrayal of Alice

---------------------------------

      Of course, [Will] Navidson’s pastoral take on his family’s move hardly reflects the far more complicated and significant impetus behind the project -- namely his foundering relationship with longtime companion Karen Green. While both have been perfectly content not to marry, Navidson’s constant assignments abroad have lead to increased alienation and untold personal difficulties. After nearly eleven years of constant departures and brief returns, Karen has made it clear that Navidson must either give up his professional habits or lose his family. Ultimately unable to make this choice, he compromises by turning reconciliation into a subject for documentation.

      None of this, however, is immediately apparent. In fact it requires some willful amnesia of the more compelling sequences ahead, if we are to detect the subtle valences operating between Will and Karen; or as Donna York phrased it, “the way they talk to each other, they way they look after each other, and of course the way they don’t.”

-------------------------------

      In the living room, Navidson discovers the echoes emanating from a dark doorless hallway whish has appeared out of nowhere in the west wall. Without hesitating, Navidson plunges in after them. Unfortunately the living room Hi 8 cannot follow him nor for that matter can Karen. She freezes on the threshold, unable to push herself into the darkness towards the faint flicker of light within...

      This is the first sign of Karen’s chronic disability. Up until now there has never been even the slightest indication that she suffers from crippling claustrophobia. By the time Navidson and the two children are safe and sound in the living room, Karen is drenched in sweat.

--------------------------------

      Navidson was no longer around, except of course Karen still saw him every day and in a way she had never seen him before -- not as a projection of her own insecurities and demons but just as Will Navidson, in flickering light, flung up by a 16mm projector on a paint-white wall.

-----------------------------------

      Leslie Stern, M.D.: More importantly Karen, what does it mean to you?

      Funny how out of this impressive array of modern day theorists, scientists, writers, and others, it is Karen’s therapist who asks, or rather forces, the most significant question. Thanks to her, Karen goes on to fashion another short piece in which she, surprisingly enough, never mentions the house, let alone any of the comments made by the glitterati.

      It is an extraordinary twist. Not once are those multiplying hallways ever addressed. Not once does Karen dwell on their darkness and cold. She produces six minutes of film that has absolutely nothing to do with that place. Instead her eye (and her heart) turn to what matters most to her about Ash Tree Lane; what in her own words... “that wicked place stole from me.”

      ...Karen gives her piece the somewhat faltering title A Brief History Of Who I Love...

-------------------------------

      There are only 8,160 frames in Karen’s film and yet they serve as a perfect counterpoint to that infinite stretch of hallways, rooms and stairs. The house is empty, her piece is full. The house is dark, her film glows. A growl haunts that place, her place is blessed by Charlie Parker. On Ash Tree Lane stands a house of darkness, cold, and emptiness. In 16mm stands a house of light, love, and colour.

      By following her heart, Karen made sense of what that place was not. She also discovered what she needed more than anything else. She stopped seeing Fowler, cut off questionable liaisons with other suitors, and while her mother talked of breaking up, selling the house, and settlements, Karen began to prepare herself for reconciliations.

      Of course she had no idea what that would entail.

      Or how far she would have to go.

-----------------------------

      “He’s still alive,” she tells Reston over the phone. “I heard him last night. I couldn’t understand what he said. But I know I heard his voice.”

      Reston arrives the next day and stays until midnight, never hearing a thing. He seems more than a little concerned about Karen’s mental health.

      “If he is still in there Karen,” Reston says quietly. “He’s been there for over a month. I can’t see how there’s any way he could survive.”

      But a few hours after Reston leaves, Karen smiles again, apparently catching somewhere inside her the faint voice of Navidson. This happens over and over again, whether late at night or in the middle of the day. Sometimes Karen calls out to him, sometimes she just wanders from room to room, pushing her ear against walls or floors. Then on the afternoon of May 10th, she finds in the children’s bedroom, born out of nowhere, Navidson’s clothes, remnants of his pack and sleeping bag, and scattered across the floor, from corner to corner, cartridges of film, boxes of 16mm, and easily a dozen video tapes.

      She immediately calls Reston and tells him what has happened, asking him to drive over as soon as he can. Then she locates an AC adapter, plugs in a Hi 8 and begins rewinding one of the newly discovered tapes.

      The angle from the room mounted camcorder does not provide a view of her Hi 8 screen. Only Karen’s face is visible. Unfortunately, for some reason, she is also slightly out of focus. In fact the only thing in focus is the wall behind her where some of Daisy and Chad’s drawings still hang. The shot lasts an uncomfortable fifteen seconds, until abruptly that immutable surface disappears. In less than a blink, the white wall along with the drawings secured with yellowing scotch tape vanishes into an inky black.

      Since Karen faces the opposite direction, she fails to notice the change. Instead her attention remains fixed on the Hi 8 which has just finished rewinding the tape. But even as she pushes play, the yawn of dark does not waver. In fact it almost seems to be waiting for her, for the moment when she will finally divert her attention from the tiny screen and catch sight of the horror looming up behind her, which is of course exactly what she does when she finds out that the video tape shows...

-----------------------------

      nothing more now than the mere dark. The tape is blank.

      Finally when Karen does turn around to discover the real emptiness waiting behind her, she does not scream. Instead her chest heaves, powerless for a moment to take anything in or expel anything out. Oddly enough as she starts to retreat from the children’s bedroom, it almost looks as if something catchers her attention. A few minutes later, she returns with a halogen flashlight and steps towards the edge.

      Hanan Jabara suggests Karen heard something, though there is nothing even remotely like a sound on the Hi 8. Carlos Ellsberg agrees with Jabara: “Karen stops because of something she hears.” Only he qualifies this statement by adding, “the sound is obviously imagined. Another example of how the mind, any mind, consistently seeks to impose itself upon the abyss.”

      As everyone knows, Karen stands there on the brink for several minutes, pointing her flashlight into the darkness and calling out for Navidson. When she finally does step inside, she takes no deep breath and makes no announcement. She just steps forward and disappears behind the black curtain. A second later that cold hollow disappears too, replaced by the wall, exactly as it was before, except for one thing: all the children’s drawings are gone.

      Karen’s action inspired Paul Auster to conjure up a short internal monologue tracing the directions of her thoughts. Donna Tartt also wrote an inventive portrayal of Karen’s dilemma. Except in Tartt’s version, instead of stepping into darkness, Karen returns to New York and marries a wealthy magazine publisher. Purportedly there even exists an opera based on The Navidson Record, written from Karen’s perspective, with this last step into the void serving as the subject for the final aria. 

      Whatever ultimately allows Karen to overcome her fears, there is little doubt her love for Navidson is the primary catalyst. Her desire to embrace him as she has never done before defeats the memories of that dark well... In this moment, she displays the restorative power of what Erich Fromm terms the development of “symbiotic relationships” through personal courage.

      Critic Guyon Keller argues that the role of vision is integral to Karen’s success:

I believe Karen could never have crossed that line had she not first made those two remarkable cinematic moment: What Some Have Thought and A Brief History Of Who I Love. By relearning to see Navidson, she saw what he wasn’t and consequently began to see herself much more clearly.

      Esteemed Italian translator Sophia Blynn takes Keller’s comments a little further:

The most important light Karen carried into that place was the memory of Navidson. And Navidson was no different. Though it’s commonly assumed his last [recorded] word was “care” or the start of “careful,” I would argue differently. I believe this utterance is really just the first syllable of the very name on which his mind and his heart had finally come to rest. His only hope, his only meaning: “Karen.”

      Regardless of what finally enabled her to walk across that threshold, forty-nine minutes later a neighbor saw Karen crying on the front lawn, a pink ribbon in her hair, Navidson cradled in her lap.

------------------------------------------

      As to what happened after Karen disappeared from view, the only existing account comes from a short interview conducted by a college journalist from William & Mary:

Karen: As soon as I walked in there, I started shivering. It was so cold and dark. I turned around to see where I was but where I’d come from was gone. I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die. But somehow I managed to keep moving. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I found him.

Q: You knew he was there?

Karen: No, but that’s what I was thinking. And then he was there, right at my feet, no clothes on and all curled up. His hand was white as ice. [She holds back the tears.] When I saw him like that it didn’t matter anymore where I was. I’d never felt that, well, free before.

[Long pause]

Q: What happened then?

Karen: I held him. He was alive. He made a sound when I cradled his head in my arms. I couldn’t understand what he was saying at first but then I realized the flashlight was hurting his eyes. So I turned it off and held him in the darkness.

[Another long pause]

Q: How did you get him out of the house?

Karen: It just dissolved.

Q: Dissolved? What do you mean?

Karen: Like a ad dream. We were in pitch blackness and then I saw, no... actually my eyes were closed. I felt this warm, sweet air on my face, and then I opened my eyes and I could see trees and grass. I thought to myself, “We’ve died. We’ve died and this is where you go after you die.” But it turned out to be just our front yard.

Q: You’re saying the house dissolved?

Karen: [No response]

Q: How’s that possible? It’s still there, isn’t it?

END OF INTERVIEW

--------------

      In Passion for Pity and Other Recipes For Disaster (London: Greenhill Books, 1996) Helmut Muir cried: “They both live. They even get married. It’s a happy ending.”

      Which is true. Both Karen and Will Navidson survive their ordeal and they do exchange conjugal vows in Vermont. Of course, is it really possible to look at Navidson’s ravaged face, the patch covering his left eye, the absence of a hand, the crutch wedged under his armpit, and call it a “happy” ending? Even putting aside the physical cost, what about the unseen emotional trauma which Muir so casually dismisses?

      The Navidsons may have left the house, they may have even left Virginia, but they will never be able to leave the memory of that place.

[potscenarios]

Hiiii! I don't know if I'm requesting right but headcanons or scenario (whichever you prefer) with Yandere!Sanada finding out that his darling has been engaged to another guy by her parents? Thank you if you get to answer this 😆

Yup, don't worry, you did send in the right format! Thank you for following the rules! ♡ 

Mmmm yessss, yandere boys are my favourite!! *chef's kiss* as you can tell from how long this became oopsies

Tw: yandere (duh), stalking, possesive behavior, toxic parents, death

Sometimes you feel like you're being watched.

It's a weird feeling, to say the least. Whenever it happens, there’s a very subtle change in the air, but you always gets goosebumps at the back of your neck, and you know that something - no, someone, is watching your movements from the shadows. Whoever does it conceals their presence so well, you don’t think anyone around you ever realizes. The only reason you realise that something feels wrong is because you've been raised preciously in your traditionally oriented family, and you've learned to take cues and be cautious of everyone else's needs, so you’re quite sensitive to changes in your surroundings. 

You’re thankful that you’re childhood friends with Yukimura Seiichi and his younger sister, because somehow you end up being friends with the whole Rikkai Dai tennis club members, and that means you can always count on them to walk you back home. Even though practice mostly run until late, you would rather wait and watch, because it’s still better than going back alone, and you don’t exactly have other close friends. Your parents doesn’t like it, but you manage to convince them that it’s better than being alone in case something happens, since you’re not allowed to have a cellphone.

Besides, you can always count on Marui to stop by some newly opened cake shops, Yukimura to entertain you with his stories of how he had just added a new plant to his collection, and Kirihara to drag you to the convenience store near the school to sneak in some light snacks before dinner. 

But out of all of them your favorite is still Sanada; mainly because he always seem to know what’s in your head.

On the times you don’t feel like going back home (there are very minimal entertainment sources in your house, because your parents hates technology with a passion), he would ask whether you want to drop by your beloved cafe and spend some time here until it’s right before dinner time. Whenever you feel like taking a walk outside before going back home, he’s always there to accompany you, buy you a drink when you’re tired, and sit in silence with you as you stare at the orange colored sky. He just knows.

Sometimes it feels like if you ask him to steal you away from that stuffy prison you call your home, he would comply without question.

There’s a part of you that desperately want to confess to him already.

But that’s unfair to him because you know you’re going to get married off to some guy you never met before. Your parents don’t change their mind that easily, and they’ve continuously drilled this knowledge into you way back since you entered middle school, and the implication is clear in your head - you’re not allowed to have boyfriends. Period.

That, and it’s shameful to confess first, being a woman. Or at least that’s what your parents taught you. You used to think it was common sense, until you saw girls confess to their crushes under the infamous Rikkai sakura tree and you saw how happy they look as a couple at school. It was the first time you realized that maybe your parents aren’t some kind of holy existence that never makes any mistakes.

You think you can just go on with your life. It’s what you’ve been doing all your life; being the perfect daughter for your parents, and then the perfect wife for whoever they want to ship you off to. That’s just how your life is.

“I don’t think that’s what you really want,” Yukimura’s younger sister said when she stopped by your house after the shopping trip to look for Seiichi’s birthday present, and you tell her your situation, “I still think you should just confess to Sanada-san. He’ll make it work somehow.”

“How?” you ask, frowning.

“.... I dunno, but knowing him, he’ll do something about it,” she tilts her head, “I didn’t want to say this but one time onii-chan told me Sanada-san also loves you very very much.”

Ironically, the very morning you decide you would take your only female friend’s advice, is the same morning your parents stop you from coming to school.

“Omiai...? Now? But... I... I have school....”

Your mother says she has already contacted the school. Your father says it doesn’t matter, since once you get married you can just stop attending school altogether. You stare at them in disbelief, unable to believe that this was happening so fast. You’re only in high school. You’re not even an adult yet by law.

You really can’t do this anymore.

You find that your soon-to-be husband is a few years older than you (honestly Sanada would have passed as an adult as well). He’s healthy, first-born son of a well-off family, did fairly well on his academics (Sanada generally does well on his academics too) and is splendidly helping to manage his father’s company (you imagine Sanada as a civil servant or an office worker and you think he’ll just look even better wearing a suit). He’s quite handsome (though Sanada is more handsome, you think) and has no criminal records (you’re pretty sure neither does Sanada). Your parents think he’s perfect (you don’t).

He’s throwing polite compliments to your mother, empty praises to your father, and tells you that you look beautiful in a kimono. If only your parents know how devoid of emotion your smile is, compared to the smile you showed when Sanada awkwardly tells you the same praise upon seeing you with casual clothes for the very first time outside school. If only your parents sees you as their daughter and not mere object. If only.

You’re seeing them off outside the kaiseki restaurant when you feel it. Eyes watching your back, somewhere, somehow. The car of your fiancé drives away, and when it turns into a corner you let out a heavy sigh, which draws the attention of your parents.

You really can’t do this anymore.

“I don’t want this.”

Nothing prepares you for the force against your cheek upon your slip of tongue. Your knees feel weak and you fall down onto the ground, eyes blinking back tears of pain, mind in disarray. Your left cheek stings and your hand instinctively comes up to cover it. Your other hand prickles as they graze against the rough ground. Despite this, the two adults look apathetic as they glare down at you.

Their words of scolding enters your right ear and goes out your other ear without being processed in your brain.

You really can’t do this anymore.

That night, you don’t remember how you manage to sneak out from your house at two in the morning, but the next thing you know you’re already sobbing into the nearest payphone pleading for help, and in just five minutes Sanada shows up, wraps you in his jacket, grabs your freezing cold hand, and leads you to his home.

For some reason he readily has the t̵̜̓ea you like on hand, and the guest room is perfectly prepared and cleaned. It’s as if he knows things would turn out like this.

But then again, he always knows, and you’re so tired and the futon is so comfy and Sanada’s arms feel so safe, so you slip into a deep, deep sleep.̵

When you wake up the next day, you feel a lot lighter and fresher than usual.

It’s thankfully Saturday, and so Sanada lets you sleep in, which is very nice of him. You know he’s a man of routine, so you assume he’s probably doing some kind of training, and you don’t want to disturb him. It would be rude to wander about the house you weren’t formally invited as a guest in, and you can’t just leave without telling Sanada first. There’s a TV in the room, and so you excitedly switch it on, flicking through the channels aimlessly.

It’s when you flick over to the news channel that your excitement completely disappears and is replaced by shock.

Your house - or at least what's left of it - is showing on the TV screen. The wooden building is barely standing, burnt pillars looking like it might crumble any second. In fact, several sections has given out, ashes and soot piling up. The sight is so familiar and yet so foreign. You can point out where the kitchen was, where your bedroom would have been, and yet they don't look like anything you remember.

You listen silently to the news anchor's words but they don't make any sense.

"..... police suspect it's accidental fire....."

"..... the spread was exceptionally quick....."

"..... two unidentified bodies were found and transported...."

Maybe it's five minutes later, or it could even be five hours later, you don't know. But when you hear your name and you turn towards Sanada, your eyes are red and the crushing sadness in your chest has been replaced by a hollowness you don't know if you'll ever be able to fill back in.

"Sanada-san....."

He briefly glances towards the television screen. The burnt down house isn't displayed anymore, but seeing the news program and your physical state are enough for him to piece the information together.

But all he says as he hands you what he was carrying is, "I brought ice for your cheek."

"..... Oh. Thank you."

The coldness feels good against your slightly swollen cheek. The television shuts off. You can see Sanada quietly sitting down in front of you. Still, you keep your head down, not really able to think of any conversation topic at the moment. Not when your world feels like it's falling apart rapidly.

"How are you feeling?"

Surprisingly it's him who tries to start the conversation. Sanada might not be as rigid and silent around you, but you're usually the talker - the one who entertains him, because you're groomed to do so.

"... Not... Good...."

You were always taught to smile and pretend things are okay, but... But it's fine if it's Sanada, you suppose. And it's not like your parents are around anymore to correct your behavior.

The soft call of your name - your first name, makes you look up, eyes wide in surprise. It's so foreign to hear your name in his voice.

"It's going to be okay."

You don't know how he can sound so convinced.

"How can... But I don't... I don't know what to do now..."

You're pretty sure Sanada is preparing to launch into a whole lecture in mind. He's going to tell you to go to the hospital and the police to sort our everything. He's going to ask you whether one of your relatives are in town and bring you there for the time being. And when no one offers you to stay with them, which is very likely seeing as your parents were definitely not the most social people on Earth, then-

"Then leave everything to me."

"..... Huh?"

Sanada sees your shock and apparently interprets it as rejection, for his frown deepens and something dark seems to shift in his eyes.

".... Would you rather go back to that... appointed partner of yours?"

You hadn't even thought of that possibility, and you shake your head immediately in response, a strong denial at the tip of your tongue - before the thought hits you and this time you look at Sanada in confusion, "H-How.... How did you know about the arranged marriage?"

For a moment, the male in front of you looks a tad guilty, but he quickly schools his face to his stone cold expression, though you can still see warmth and concern in his eyes.

"Don't worry about that. More importantly, if you do not wish to be engaged to that man, then-"

"Sanada-san, were you the one who had been stalking me all these time?"

The words come out before you can stop them, sharp and accusatory and it’s as if they echo within the suddenly quiet room.

Please say no.

Maybe all the while you've already known, because how else can he just seem to know what you did whenever he's not around? But the very thought that someone you love, someone who is always so courteous and kind, had been doing such a creepy thing behind your back was just...

Please say no.

"I wasn't stalking you," he says calmly as your heart is palpitating faster.

Yes. Oh, thank g-

"I was guarding you. Making sure you got home safely. That no one is giving you a hard time."

No. No no no nonono no-

"That-That's still stalking," you manage to say, though your voice is shaky and you think you're about to burst into tears or vomit the entirety of your stomach or maybe both, "I can't believe- Of all people, w-why did it had to be you?! Why now! H-How could you..!!"

Again, the sweet sound of your name comes from his lips, and he’s using that soft, loving tone that normally always made you feel all tingly and warm inside, “You need to calm down.”

It's unfair that he's acting like this when you have nothing left to hold on to. You shouldn't be content with crying into his chest; you should be running away and telling the police. It’s unfair how is he so comforting and gentle, with calloused fingers running down your back to comfort you, when you should be pushing him away. But how are you supposed to push away the only person who’s keeping you sane in this bleak nightmare?

"You have me. You have nothing to worry about."

First your family, and now the man you love.

"Let me take care of everything."

It seems like your fate is to be a bird trapped in a birdcage.

"I will make sure n̴o one can hurt my dearest future wife, ev̴er again."

[raziroo]

Karma | The Marauders

[Chapter 5] Nothing More

Gulping slightly, Karma turned to her left, and lo and behold – there stood Sirius. But God, oh, God, what had they done to him? What did they do to the person she once lived and breathed for, the one who was all the life she had left? The Prince Charming in her fairytale, the Casanova of Hogwarts, Padfoot? What had Dumbledore done to him? His face had become gaunt and weak and exhausted to the point where you wouldn’t know he was Sirius Black, a man who once looked to be sculpted by the gods themselves. His eyes had sunken drastically, there were circles underneath his grey orbs; his cheekbones stood out against his face which wasn’t in the least bit attractive – they weren’t sharp as they were scary. His skin that he spent hours on was now full of spots and ridges he’d have been disgusted by; well, the past Sirius would have, at least. His body, just from afar, looked frail; his once precious, luscious, silky locks were matted as if they hadn’t been washed properly, just hastily combed through. His cheeks were hollowed, his forehead had lines – lines, oh, her Sirius would have never – his stubble was messy, and his eyes, those grey, no, that wouldn’t do them justice – the storm in his eyes had calmed down immensely, and not in a good way, no, not at all. All the glory of the ebony and the pearly sheen and shadows and ash and charcoal, which could be disrespectfully simplified to clouds and the rain and thunder, it was all gone, just… gone.

And that was why it hurt. Because this person who was standing before her – this was not her Sirius. It couldn’t be. This was a man who didn’t have a trace of the storm that were Sirius’ eyes. This was a man who’d bore the full weight of being wrongfully thrown in a cell in Azkaban. And she knew, she knew it was so selfish of her, so incredibly selfish to not accept him for what he was now, but how could she? Sirius and Remus – those two were the only parts of her life she didn’t burst into tears thinking about. Their images in her mind had become spotless, flawless, whilst everyone else’s had become this miserable remnant with tears and holes and spots she didn’t ever want to think about again. She’d be damned if she thought about them fondly.

But who was she to care? After all, Sirius wasn’t hers anymore, was he? All this talk about her Sirius doing this and her Sirius saying that and her Sirius, when the reality was that her Sirius had died – died along with Lily and James and Marlene and Regulus and all the others. Her Sirius was just a false hope she’d been clinging to all this time. A hope that when she’d come back, if she’d ever, he would be standing there with open arms and that warm and cheeky smirk and smug expression on his face saying ‘told you so’. That she’d act annoyed, hit him on the head and they’d go back to what they were; not the high school sweethearts, never. They weren’t the high school sweethearts – tat title was reserved for James and Lily. They were that couple; the one with a not-so-serious forbidden love that was more teasing than romantic; the heartbreakers, the rebels, the ones with family issues. The ones who you looked at and thought, them? But you looked closely and that furrow in your brow disappeared and you understood why it was them, why it was always meant to be. And sometimes the fantasies would extend so far that their friends would join them and voila! – Slytherins and Gryffindors bantering together, what a sight. But then the true nature of those words together – Slytherins and Gryffindors – would come seeping in, and the friendly teasing and chummy banter would turn to hostile duels and vicious sneers and disgusted scowls.

But that – the sneering and scowling and curses and jinxes – was what Karma liked to fondly look back at, now, fourteen years later, at thirty-three.

Mentally smacking herself across the face because she was just staring at Sirius and Sirius back at her and everyone else at both of them, the woman pressed her lips together, and managed in as curt a tone as she possibly could, ‘Sirius, nice to mee-’

Holy crap.

She squinted her eyes just a bit, going over the boy’s face once again. The same raven, nest-for-hair, the ditto tan skin, that replicated slightly-mad-slightly-confused look in his eyes for having been woken up in the middle of the night – but wait a second – his eyes weren’t hazel… they were… green. Lily’s green. Her eyes jumped to his forehead, and there it was – the infamous lightning scar. James would’ve envied it, if Karma was being honest, because it made this boy look kind of rad.

But on second thought, James wouldn’t’ve been jealous at all; he’d have been proud. After all, this was his son. Harry James Potter.

Getting over the initial shock because she was sure she looked dumb, Karma turned to Sirius once again. She’d be getting straight to the point this time.

‘Where’s Dumbledore?’

Sirius made a face. ‘Dumble… Why would Dumbledore be here? It’s the middle of the night, Karma.’

She suppressed an eyeroll. ‘I know that. I got a letter… about twenty letters, actually, inside the deepest crevices of my home saying that he wanted to see me. Dumbledore. So, do you have any idea where he might be, beca-’

‘Didn’t he give you any address?’

‘Well, I was just going to mention that before you cut me off. All the addresses he gave me were of here. I found it weird too, but it’s Dumbledore, so… what can you expect, really?’ she mumbled the last bit in frustration. The man had asked to speak with her, given her this address, and was now clearly not here. What was she supposed to do?

‘I… Karma, I really don’t know why he’d do that. None of us have any clue as to why he wished to meet you. None of us even knew that you were… that you were supposed to be coming here.’ A couple, who she assumed were Arthur and Molly, nodded in agreement.

Karma sighed. Why couldn’t Dumbledore behave like a normal human being? Yes, the man was wise and powerful beyond anyone she knew, but this was preposterous. She hadn’t apparated across the Earth at 6 o’clock in the morning just to be greeted by remnants of her past that she was coaxing herself to forget. Time flew past especially quickly, and she was sure that it’d been half an hour already. If her neighbours didn’t find her in the morning, who knew what could end up happening? And then there was-

‘Well, you’re welcome to come inside,’ Sirius offered with a hopeful smile. How could she resist?

. . . . .

‘Si- Siri…Sirius, hey, hey, listen,’ Karma breathed out, chest heaving as she panted for air.

‘What, what is it, love?’ She looked up to see the boy look at her with pure mischief, mixed with adoration in his eyes. She wanted to kiss him so bad.

‘…First of all, I’m not your “love”, okay?’

Sirius had this smug look on his face. His smirk was ever-present. ‘You sure ‘bout that, love?’

Karma growled slightly. A look of pleasant surprise crossed Sirius’ face, then he began laughing. ‘Ooh, she growls.’ He’d gotten closer to her face, impossibly closer. His shallow breaths were felt on her skin, and the look in his eyes had switched to something else completely, something that she didn’t have the wits right now to decipher. If only she just pushed a little closer, there lips would brush, and-

‘Pads! Padfoot, you there?’ They jumped apart impossibly quickly; pretty violently too, it seems, because Karma ended up slipping and falling among a heap of mucky cauldrons. Gross.

Sirius helped her up, and dusted her off. ‘…Pads?’ Sirius rolled his eyes.

‘Yes, James, it’s me, your dearest friend. Stop shouting please.’

‘Where are you, anyway?’ asked Karma with a frown.

‘Here!’

‘AHH!’ Karma jumped. James had poked out his head from the window she was standing in front of, her back facing it. Her and Sirius were serving detention in an abandoned classroom for ‘vandalism of school property’. As if. They’d been stuck scrubbing old cauldrons while the entire school was at Hogsmeade. Unfair, and impossibly so. The reason why Karma had been panting earlier on was because the two of them had engaged in quite an enthusiastic soap fight.

‘I came to rescue you-’

‘That doesn’t matter, you nitwit! You know McGonagall is already mad at you, you don’t want to make her angrier, do you? You’ve already gotten six detentions in the past four days, you both.’

‘Eh, since when did you become such a buzzkill?’

‘I’m not-!’

‘Love, Minnie loves us,’ said Sirius casually. ‘James, wand.’ James handed Sirius a wand – it was the former’s – and the latter whipped it about a bit, and boom! Cauldrons squeaky clean.

‘You have an extra broom?’

‘What d’you think?’ Both the boys grinned impishly at one another. Karma frowned.

‘Wait…if there’s one extra broom, then I’m sitting in front.’

‘Why, love, don’t you trust me?’ questioned Sirius.

‘Nope,’ she made the ‘p’ pop. Snatching the extra broom James was holding, Karma swiftly perched on it.

‘Well, Padfoot. Hop on.’

. . . . .

‘So, Karma,’ said Sirius as the woman took a seat on the couch, ‘would you like something? Tea, perhaps?’

She simply shook her head, missing the way Sirius’ face fell. The man’s godson didn’t.

‘Who are you? How do you know Sirius?’ asked he.

Sirius and Karma looked at each other.

‘We just happened to be attending Hogwarts at the same time, and had a mutual friend. Nothing more,’ said Karma.

Sirius nodded, a cold look suddenly overtaking his eyes.

‘Yes, Harry. Nothing more.’

[shijiujun]

May I please request a fic where LY realises that he is in love with QCS but then agonizes, really agonizes, over it as QCS is a ladies man? I kinda just want LY to suffer a bit while realizing that he took QCS for granted before he gets his happy ending. LY did say he cherished QCS but I wish the series showed more QCS cherishing by him. Thank you and looking much forward to your green dragon gang LY fic!! *__*

sad, hungry, angry and lonely

Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Lu Yao knows he’s the furthest thing from Chusheng’s ideal type. He’s not a nice person, for one. He’s not mature at all and ends up getting into trouble more often than not. He rarely goes out of his way to make someone else happy without something in return.

Most importantly, he’s no woman, and Chusheng is a ladies man.

—

5

Unlike what he’s read in romance novels and heard from some of his friends, no fireworks go off when he realizes that he’s in love with Chusheng.

It’s not something to celebrate about, Lu Yao thinks, a heavy weight settling into his abdomen as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that he prefers Qiao Chusheng to any of the women he’s ever dated in the past few years. That he wants Chusheng more than he has ever wanted anyone else.

He wants Chusheng to have eyes only for him, to reserve all his affection and adoration for him.

Lu Yao watches as Chusheng leaves his car, looking all dapper in a fresh suit. A different outfit from when he was at the station earlier with Lu Yao, and he must’ve gone home to change before picking his date up.

A long, slender leg is revealed from the other side of the car, and as Chusheng helps the woman — his date for the night — out like the gentleman is he is, he doesn’t notice Lu Yao standing there at the entrance to Bai Le Men.

It’s only when the couple turns around, ready to head inside the club that Chusheng’s eyes land on him, and surprise floods him.

“San Tu, what are you doing here?” Chusheng asks. “Did something happen? There isn’t a case, is there?”

I wanted to see you, Lu Yao thinks.

Lu Yao can’t really explain why he’s here either. Realizing that he is in love with Chusheng, the first thing he did was to find him, to take a look at the man he loves. His eyes rove over the features on that lovely, handsome face. From Chusheng’s brows, to his eyes, his nose, his lips, his neck… all the way to his toes.

A man that Lu Yao cannot help but love, and cannot have.

“Nothing much,” Lu Yao says, trying to sound nonchalant even as the pain in his chest burns on. “You’ve never brought me here to have fun even once, just felt like coming over.”

“I-“ Chusheng blinks, then looking between him and his date, he seems a little conflicted, put on the spot. “If you wanted me to bring you, I’ll bring you next time-“

“It’s alright,” the woman hanging on Chusheng’s arm says with a lovely smile, and Lu Yao feels the urge to snatch Chusheng over from her, “Qiao-ge, I’ll get us a table for three and wait for you inside.”

Then charmingly, she turns to Lu Yao and goes, “Detective Lu, I’ve heard a lot about you from Qiao-ge. It’s nice to have you join us today.”

Before Chusheng or Lu Yao can reply, she saunters into the club.

Chusheng sighs, but now that it’s just him and Lu Yao, it’s easier for him to talk.

Stepping forward until he’s right in front of Lu Yao, he says, “Look at how understanding she is. You, on the other hand… I did tell you I had a date tonight, didn’t I?”

And yet, because it’s Lu Yao, because he’s used to Lu Yao being ridiculous and childish, Chusheng’s voice softens as he asks, “Have you eaten dinner? Bai Le Men has excellent snacks on Thursdays-“

Look at how understanding she is.

“I forgot,” Lu Yao interrupts Chusheng, straightening his back. “I’m going home.”

He moves past Chusheng without another look, biting at his lips. Lu Yao is feeling all hot over and a little nauseous, but he doesn’t want to be here for a moment longer. Ignoring Chusheng’s call, Lu Yao walks in the direction of his home quickly, his mind focused on putting one foot after the other, the gravel on the road crunching loudly under his shoes.

Look at how understanding she is.

Of course, Lu Yao laughs, the sound hollow and wistful.

He’s not the least bit understanding.

It hurts like a jagged knife carving away at his flesh bit by bit, knowing that Chusheng is nice to him not because Lu Yao is special to him, but because he needs Lu Yao around to help him solve cases and along the way, he got used to Lu Yao being demanding and unreasonable.

Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Lu Yao knows he’s the furthest thing from Chusheng’s ideal type. He’s not a nice person, for one. He’s not mature at all and ends up getting into trouble more often than not. He rarely goes out of his way to make someone else happy without something in return.

Most importantly, he’s no woman, and Chusheng is a ladies man.

===

4

Lu Yao likes it when Chusheng’s hands are on his skin — wiping at his mouth, grabbing at this wrist, pulling him in around his shoulders — and it’s something that Chusheng continues to do without much thought. If Lu Yao enjoys the attention more than he should, no one is any the wiser.

He should have known that he is anything but special to Chusheng.

Chusheng brings him to Bai Le Men for a night out as promised a few weeks later, and as much as he resents having to spend the next few hours watching Chusheng flirt with other women, it’s more time he has with Chusheng and he’s all the more greedy for it.

Almost fifteen minutes in, Lu Yao is pissed off enough to regret it.

Right in front of him, three women surround Chusheng on both sides, all speaking in sickeningly sweet tones. Lu Yao’s mood darkens for the rest of the night, but he keeps quiet. After all, the food here is good as promised, and as much as he felt the momentary loss of his appetite, Lu Yao reasons that there is no need for him to punish his stomach too. So he buries his head in the dishes and finishes it all.

Halfway through, when Lu Yao looks up, the first thing he sees is Chusheng’s arm is around Mei Xiang’s shoulders, drawing her into his embrace.

The sight makes his blood boil, and if Lu Yao sits here for any longer, he’s afraid he’s going to cause a scene.

“I’m done,” he says, wiping at his own mouth with the napkin on the table and getting to his feet almost petulantly.

“… San Tu?” asks Chusheng, bewildered. “What-“

It’s hardly the gracious thing to do, Lu Yao knows, but he still turns on his heel and leaves the private room Chusheng reserved. He doesn’t stop even after Chusheng calls out for him one more time.

Lu Yao doesn’t know how if he’s disappointed or relieved that Chusheng doesn’t chase after him.

===

3

He doesn’t even make it into the room this time. Chusheng headed straight to Chang San Tang earlier to meet Yao Qin, who may have some leads on the new case they’re on at present. He sent Ah Dou to pick Lu Yao up in the morning and by the time he turns up, he hears soft, melodious laughter coming from the room both of them are in, the door open wide.

Lu Yao pauses in his footsteps before he reaches the door. From where he’s standing, he can see Yao Qin in a fitting, gorgeous green cheongsam, her long hair coiffed to perfection and her makeup accentuating the loveliest features on her face. Out of all the women that Chusheng knows, Lu Yao has to say he actually likes Yao Qin to some degree.

The last time they were here, Lu Yao remembers wolfing down some pastries, the same ones that are sitting on the table in the room right now. Chusheng’s thumb was gentle then, brushing away the crumbs stuck to the side of his mouth.

Today, it seems Yao Qin has that honour instead.

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes wide as he watches Chusheng’s hand reach for Yao Qin’s beautiful face. He forces himself to keep his eyes open as Chusheng’s movements mirror what he did for Lu Yao that afternoon.

She’s like my sister, he said then.

He wonders if he’s like a brother to Chusheng in this case.

It’s Yao Qin who realizes he’s standing frozen outside the door, and the warmth that surfaces on her features eases the tightness in his chest slightly. Lu Yao wants to run, but they have a case to solve.

“I’m hungry,” Lu Yao says instead, schooling his expression and walking in.

“What do you want to eat?” asks Yao Qin, her eyes brightening. “Lu Yao, didn’t you like those dumplings I made the other time? I’ll get the kitchens to send a set up.”

Before Lu Yao can say anything, she’s on her feet and out the door.

“You’re such a glutton,” Chusheng sighs, exasperation obvious as he pats at the seat next to him. “You didn’t even say hello.”

Before his epiphany, Lu Yao might have found Chusheng’s comment fond, but all he hears now is rebuke and disapproval. He picks up the last pastry sitting on the plate in front of him.

It tastes like ashes on his tongue.

===

2

Who was the one who said he would be my wallet, seethes Lu Yao.

His anger simmers like the pot of stew sitting on the stove before him as he tries to tune out what Youning and her new friend, the latest addition to the tabloids that Youning works at are chattering on about. Seated opposite them at the dining table waiting for dinner to be done is Chusheng, who is listening to both women intently, unaware of Lu Yao’s change in mood.

“… Chusheng-ge, I saw this camera at the store on Fu Lu street last week, but… it’s really expensive,” Youning whines. “Chusheng-ge, can you…”

In the span of half an hour, Youning has managed to coax a promise out of Chusheng to buy her an imported dress, and also to bring Youning and her friend out to one of the classy restaurants near Bai Le Men. Xiao Xu came to Shanghai all on her own, leaving her parents behind in Nanjing to better provide for them, and Chusheng-ge, let’s welcome her to the city, what do you say?

Lu Yao looks up, turning around for a peek when he hears the sound of a loud thud. There lying on the table between Chusheng and the two women is his leather wallet.

“Just take my wallet and go, I don’t want to hear any more about this,” sighs Chusheng. “You’re no longer a kid, Youning.”

“Aiya, Ge I know you dote on me the most! Even more than my silly father-“

“Youning, you’re so lucky to have such a doting brother,” Xiao Xu exclaims.

“If you need anything,” Chusheng adds kindly, speaking to Xiao Xu, “Feel free to look me up at the station. It’s tough being in Shanghai alone, without friends and family.”

You’re not that special, Lu Yao bites at his lips as he quickly returns his attention to the pot.

Chusheng has so much money and he never promised that he would be Lu Yao’s exclusive source of money. He has no right to be jealous, he knows that. Furthermore, this is Bai Youning! It’s his sister, and is Lu Yao going to go green with envy over Chusheng’s annoying sister?

Even so, miserable thoughts swirl in his head — Chusheng declared that he would be his wallet, but he refused to pay for Lu Yao’s baguettes a few times too. When Lu Yao asked for Chusheng’s money to buy that claypot over from the kitchen help a few cases ago, the inspector’s unamused glare almost made Lu Yao back down, despite eventually handing over his wallet.

It was simply a few pieces of bread and a pot then, and here Chusheng is at present, easily giving up his actual wallet to Youning to buy a dress and a camera at exorbitant prices.

It’s not that Lu Yao is greedy for the money itself, he has to admit. More than that, he yearns for the attention Chusheng seems to give him, that fond roll of his eyes, that wide, doting smile, whenever he ends up paying for Lu Yao’s meal or shopping. He wants it all to himself.

What if… what if Chusheng stops treating him to things altogether?

Chusheng peels the hard-boiled eggs Lu Yao made during the dinner a little later. He drops one in Lu Yao’s bowl first and Lu Yao should be happy about that, but he can’t find it in himself to be truly delighted when Chusheng drops the second and third eggs into Youning and Xiao Xu’s bowls too.

For the first time in a long while, Lu Yao finds his appetite entirely absent during a meal.

===

1

“She’s someone I might have considered marrying,” says Chusheng wistfully on a Wednesday evening.

They both watch as one of the suspects in the case, now cleared of all charges, walks away, and if Lu Yao wasn’t so in love with Chusheng, he might find himself agreeing to that.

It feels like Tong Li all over again. Seeing Chusheng’s dreamy smiles and that faraway look whenever he thought of the woman, sitting there quietly as support when she turned out to be a murderer and tear drops trickled down Chusheng’s cheek in a rare show of vulnerability, being with him as both their hearts broke for different reasons.

And here this womanizer is all over again, falling in love with another mysterious, intriguing and intelligent woman.

Qiao Chusheng has a type, and Lu Yao is once again reminded of how impossible it is to have his feelings returned.

Lu Yao wants to try. Right this moment, he wants to tell Chusheng just how much he feels, how much he thinks about Chusheng all the time.

How he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

He knows it’s a lost cause, however. This was a battle lost even before Lu Yao had a chance to fight it and he knew it all along, through every instance of burning jealousy, his eyes green with envy as they tried to devour a man who would never be his.

Chusheng saying this is the last nail on the coffin. As much as Lu Yao wants to ignore the jagged knife digging into his heart, he knows he has no way to tie Chusheng to him.

“Mnn,” he responds, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “You could, if you wanted to.”

“… San Tu-“

“Inspector!” Salim marches into the interrogation cell, saluting Chusheng firmly. “The Commissioner is here in your office looking to speak with you.”

Chusheng’s eyes snap to Lu Yao, and then for some reason, he’s frowning as he grabs onto Lu Yao’s hand. He says, “San Tu, wait for me. I’ll be done in a bit, I have something to say, okay?”

What else is there to talk about?

He doesn’t reply or look at Chusheng, and in the end the man lets him go.

It’s an escape for Lu Yao and he takes it, walking away without another word.

===

0He knows he’s being petulant, but Lu Yao doesn’t have the slightest bit of energy to move. All Lu Yao feels is exhaustion and grief, his limbs leaden with weight as he hides under the covers on his bed. How long has it been? Two days, or three?

Not even Youning has dared to come and disturb him these few days. As much as they don’t get along, Youning can sometimes be terribly attuned to his moods when they’re at extremes. She tried coaxing him out once the first day, and when Lu Yao continued to lie in his bed unmoving, his head covered by the blanket, she left him to it.

He’ll be better once there’s a case. Before that, he’s entitled to a dramatic, ridiculous bout of self-pity as he wallows in utter misery.

Chusheng said he wanted to talk to him, but Lu Yao doesn’t want to hear any of it. He doesn’t want to listen to Chusheng drawing lines and distancing himself away from Lu Yao deliberately because he knows how Lu Yao feels about him. He has to know.

So wrapped up he is in his thoughts that he misses the sound of soft footsteps approaching, and it’s not until the bed dips that Lu Yao realizes there’s someone here in the room with him.

Judging from the lack of noise, it’s probably not Youning.

“You didn’t listen to me finish,” Chusheng’s low voice sounds.

“I wanted to say that she’s someone I might have considered marrying,” he continues with a soft sigh when there’s no response from Lu Yao still. “Before I fell in love with you, stupid.”

At that, Lu Yao finally sits up, the blankets falling from him. Before he can even accuse Chusheng of being a bastard and lying to him right now, the inspector snags Lu Yao’s arm with a firm hand, and Lu Yao almost yelps as he falls right against Chusheng.

He’s too stunned to say anything else.

“I’m sorry it took me a while to notice,” Chusheng murmurs in his ear, his arms tightening around Lu Yao, as if scared that he might run away again. “You must’ve waited for me for quite a while, huh?”

Lu Yao swallows with difficulty, torn between pushing Chusheng away and staying right here where he wants to be.

“You like… women,” he stammers.

“I do,” Chusheng agrees. “But I love you. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Well I couldn’t tell at all-“

“I haven’t been to Chang San Tang and Bai Le Men in months,” Chusheng interrupts, pressing a kiss behind Lu Yao’s ear and as expected, the action makes Lu Yao weak as he melts entirely against Chusheng now. “I know you don’t like it when I get too close to others. And… I’ll leave my wallet for Youning, but you can have everything else I own.”

After months, months of having to quietly deal with his feelings for Chusheng, this seems too good to be true.

Lu Yao can’t bring himself to pull away, even if this turns out to be a lie.

Gosh, he would give anything for this to not be a lie.

“Why did it take you so long, you bastard,” he chides instead, one hand hitting at Chusheng’s back. “Do you know how long I waited-“

“I know,” Chusheng replies, sounding helpless. “I’m sorry I hurt you. And… thank you for waiting for me. I wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I couldn’t quite figure out where to begin.”

His thumbs carry away the tears on Lu Yao’s face, and his heart breaks at the dark eye circles under those bright eyes.

Chusheng leans forward and kisses Lu Yao sweetly.

When he pulls away later, Lu Yao is smiling a little, and Chusheng finds his own lips curving upwards in answer to that.

“I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, Lu Yao,” he promises, pressing their foreheads together.

“Everything?”

“Everything,” Chusheng agrees with a laugh.

===

There’s a lot Chusheng has to make up for, but here is where he wants to start.

***

[symphonyofthewrite]

Such Fragile Things (Ch2) 

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Summary: Dracula thought love was gentle...but it is more piercing than any stake. He knows this best when his son is born (Ch1), and in his final moments (Ch2).

Character focus: Dracula and Alucard 

Notes: I also posted this on my writng blog @antihero-writings if you want to check it out there!! 

A huge thank you to everyone who commented and/or reblogged the first chapter!! <3 <3

**Major spoilers for S2 E7:"For Love"**

Chapter 2: His Father's Death

Dracula throws the golden man into wall, hard enough to break it, revealing the room on the other side.

Nails against the wood, against stone, footsteps merciless as a death toll, blood in the burning halls; Dracula is the monster from the stories after all.

He stalks into the room, his cloak furling behind him, seeking his prey. The kind of snarl only things not-quite-human-anymore make emanates from his throat.

The moment he crosses the threshold, that snarl morphs into a gasp, and, as if it were some magic barrier…everything looks different.

His cloak falls softly, quietly, like a hand on his shoulder.

This dhampir, this man, up until now has been Alucard. The reverse of him. The thing meant to destroy him and stop his war. A hunter of vampires that is himself a vampire—(or half of one at least). No, not a vampire hunter. Just Dracula’s hunter. All he has been is another thing in Dracula’s way.

But this thing sitting against the bed, failing to catch his breath, golden hair falling about his face…looks different.

A little boy is gasping, leaning on his wooden sword just to stay up.

“Father, do you think we can stop? I need a break.”

Vlad laughs, and the sound is warm. His hands fall to his sides and his smiles, stepping up to his son.

“Of course, Adrian.” He puts his hand on his shoulder/ruffles his hair. “You’ve done well today.

He is…so small.

This bed. A bookshelf. A wardrobe. A desk, with charts and maps. A basket of toys in the corner. All too small. Too dusty.

The window is letting too much light in.

On the wall, a painting of a family. Too happy.

…a boy, hurting, beneath the bed.

Not a hunter, or an annoyance, or an enemy. Not a mindless, heartless, thing. Not an other. Not a him or an it to be disposed of, but a living, breathing, thinking, hurting you.

A very specific you. A you with a name. A you with whom Dracula had shared so much of his life. A you who perhaps knew Vlad more than anymore else. Not a him or an it to be destroyed, a you that he needed so desperately to keep alive.

Not Alucard; the thing meant to destroy him.

Adrian.

“It’s your room.”

His fingers, a moment ago poised to claw at this man, curl gently into a fist, hiding his nails.

The rest of the castle was drenched in bloodshed. The rest of the castle was full of war. The rest of the castle had turned itself towards it’s master’s deeds, destroying itself in a pointless fight, just like him.

But not this room. He had protected this room from all the blood. He dare not bring it with him.

The heavens turn from hazardous red to delicate blue.

Both of them stare up into the stars. Not the real ones—though they are here to guide them too. The ones on the ceiling. The ones they played under, read under, the ones this golden man once dreamed under, the ones he used to learn their names and places in the sky when he was but a child. The rich blue like a spell, putting the warriors into a trance in the middle the battlefield.

—(But this isn’t the battlefield, and that’s why the war must stop here)—

The blood is clearing from Vlad’s view. It has been a long time since he’s seen the world without the blood.

The room has been empty for a while, but the boy it belongs to is here now.

And, in his proper place, all at once this golden man is that fragile thing again. That thing that could break if Vlad held him wrong. That thing Vlad, more than anything, wanted to keep alive, to protect, and who he would die for before he ever saw him get hurt.

Barely perceptible, Vlad is shaking.

His hands are no longer claws against the walls. He sees them for what ugly, monstrous things they are. Ugly, monstrous, because of what they’ve been doing. He crosses them over his chest, as if to cage them; as if trying to keep them from hurting anything, ever, anymore. As if to feel his own heartbeat, and remind himself there is still something living there.

This is the boy who he played cards, and chess, and swords with. This is the boy who asked about the myths in the stars, and the ones in our hearts. This is the boy who he bounced on his knee, and read to, and comforted when he cried, and on very special occasions sang to sleep.

“My boy.”

Adrian is trying to stand, and for a moment his father sees a tiny thing on wobbly legs reaching for his open arms.

“I-I’m killing my boy.”

Dracula steps to the painting—(though he can barely feel his feet)—where an echo of his wife sits on canvas, holding that infant golden thing.

He remembers her now. He wasn’t sure he did before.

“Lisa…I’m killing our boy.” His voice is soft and cracked and breakable itself. “We painted this room. We…made these toys…”

He was never one for sentiment, never grew attached to objects…but as he looks around at this room, and the things in it, those moments are flickering through his mind now—(is this what they mean when they say one’s life flashes before your eyes? Had he really forgotten so much? Had he really forgotten what life was?)—and the blood seems so obscene now.

Not in front of Adrian.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

With an exhale Alucard gets up, and it sounds like the world being crushed into a fine powder. The motion is not gentle…it comes with a cracking and all-too clear purpose, and now his steps are as calculated and foreboding as Dracula’s were moments ago.

Vlad’s hands are now too dangerous to let sit at his sides, so he uses them to cover his eyes…to hide his pain from the world, to hide the world from his pain. A feeble defense against the pointed intention in his son’s own dangerous hands. Playing peekaboo one last time.

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He hears Adrian’s breath very close to him, but it is not that of a beast ready to pounce, it is heavy, like the world is sitting on his chest.

He takes his claws from his eyes to look into his son’s face.

Vlad laughs, and the sound is cold.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.”

“What?”

“You didn’t kill me before. You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.”

“Do I?!”

“You died when my mother died. You know you did. This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

And if he could hurt this boy—Adrian—who he loved more than anything, then:

“I must already be dead.”

Adrian’s eyes are not full of malice. He is not like anyone else that would try to kill the vampire king. Anyone else’s eyes would not be soft; they would be solid and still, pointed and gleaming with with hunger and hate. Anyone else wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t be gentle.

Even now, Adrian’s eyes are still full of sunlight; trembling, rippling, ripping sunlight.

It is not fear, nor anger that makes his eyes shudder. It is heartbreak. Imminent heartbreak.

Because he wishes he could save him. Because he knows he cannot.

His heart has been aching for a very long time, slowly coming apart, and it is about to shatter. This golden man is about to split his own chest for the sake of saving the world.

Once upon a time all the stories they told him ended happily, and families stayed together, and no one ever died. His heart must fracture, for he knows their own cannot.

How could Dracula ever try to take that sunlight from the world, when Lisa had brought it down to him from her place in the sky? He’d traveled the world in search of the sun...but his sunlight was right here…and if he couldn’t see that then…

He closes his eyes. He opens them. A silent ask. A silent answer. They both know.

Alucard steps closer. And it is not to hold him tight—(no matter how much he they both wish he could just wrap his arms around him and cry, like long ago, and understand that after the rain everything would be better).

Now Dracula is the fragile thing. And they both know what he must do.

He is trying to be gentle. For love is the only thing that can be harsh in the kindest word, and gentle in the cruelest stroke.

That horrible cracking, crackling, squelching sound. Red drips from his chest along the golden man’s sleeve.

It isn’t death, really. It is mercy. Mercy on humanity. Mercy on Vlad himself. Death had already administered its kiss when Lisa died. And in his undead state Dracula had tried to spread that death to everything and everywhere else, in the world’s most exorbitant suicide note.

“Son.” The word is soft, rasping; the wind in a hollow house.

“Father.” The word is a broken plea; the sun on the abandoned floorboards and dolls, wishing it could illuminate the family that once lived there instead—

And this hurts, yes, but even so, it is the love behind it that is more piercing than any stake.

Love has never been breakable. Love is what does the breaking.

There is something defiant in Alucard’s eyes as he drives it in farther.

His heartbeat fills the room.

And, after much bending, the stake bores through, and the mirror breaks.

—(And for a moment Adrian could have sworn the sound came from his chest)—

Dracula does not burst into flame. Death, for him, is not an explosive show. It is soft whispers: he turns slowly to ashes, without any burn.

Vlad wants to wrap his arms around this small, precious, golden thing one last time. To say goodbye.

Adrian never looked at his father like a monster before, never backed away from his touch, but Dracula could swear the fear in his eyes now—(a little boy hiding from the thunder)—is the only reason the breath is leaving his chest.

Adrian is so, so tiny. (And after everything, he cannot bring himself to deliver the last stroke.)

Dracula’s last thought, the sonnet of a dying monster, is not a curse, or a threat, but something very gentle indeed.

Lisa, Adrian…I’m so sorry.

The only thing left of him is a wedding ring.

[the-darklings]

can i request for march blurb night in advance?? like a santi/v au where they meet after a few years of v being manager and santi being married (and expecting a kid)? im really curious about how the conversation would go down👀👀

—IN MY PLACE;

⤫ pairing: santino x reader!V

⤫ wc: 2.9k+

⤫ notes: BRO. For context, please read this first. Also, blast “In My Place” by Coldplay for extra feels.

“I’m afraid that I cannot—”

Your head snaps up, the pen in your hand stilling as you raise your head towards the door of your office. Charon’s voice is familiar to you but you rarely hear it anything other than soothing monotonous. The unease, the reluctance—those are not things that you hear often, if at all.

Has that dreadful individual arrived already?

No—no, Charon would have rang to inform you first. The Adjudicator is distant in their ruthless professionalism, but they won’t force their way into your office. They better not.

The door slams open and your fingers rest against the comforting weight of a sharpened blade, tensing. Your role now may be to keep order but very few do it as efficiently as you do. There is a reason why you have become such a renowned manager and it has little to do with kindness.

But—

Something clenches around your heart, your spine, dragging you years back at the sight of the face in front of you.

You haven’t seen him since—

Since Santino came to you personally after the news about his engagement broke—not since you told him face-to-face that the only way to keep his power was to follow through with it. Camorra council was getting antsy for heirs, for the security that comes with a continuous line of succession. He could not delay any further without risking an outright rebellion or attempts to take his power.

The power that’s been in his family since Camorra was founded centuries ago.

He hasn’t changed. Same hair, same irritated expression, same arrogant posture, same fancy suit.

Same intense eyes that latch onto you like he’s been starved for the sight of you.

You try to ignore the stab right into your heart at the glimpse of a golden wedding band around his finger.

You try to ignore the way he exhales slowly, like some invisible weight has dropped away from his shoulders now that he’s in front of you.

“My apologies, Miss,” Charon begins and you drag your eyes to your right hand, rising to your feet. “But I’m afraid Mr D’Antonio was rather…insistent on seeing you. I told him you were busy and unavailable—”

Santino’s lips part, his expression dark, but you speak before he can. “Don’t worry,” you reassure Charon, giving him a measured look. “This will not take long. Please continue with the preparations.”

A polite dismissal.

Charon hesitates. Behind his glasses, his dark eyes slide towards the Italian—one of the most powerful men in the world, now—and if you didn’t know any better you would say that Charon gives Santino D’Antonio a warning look before he nods at you. 

He obeys without another word, closing the office door softly behind himself and all is silent.

You have no idea what to say to him. You told him that he should never see you again. That it would be for the best; a clean break. His presence here, now, is like a knife—a slow, dull, searing knife you could spend days twisting inside your heart. Always just a bit more, just a tiny bit longer; you would hold onto him till you can almost pretend that you’re both happy and free. 

“(Name).”

He seems to choke on your name; exhale it from deep inside his chest, soft and loving and hungry. His eyes journey over your features and you see, feel, taste his longing for you in that simple gesture alone. In turn, you chain your own longing tighter. Chain that part of you that wants to do nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and—

I’ve missed your stupid, sleepy face. 

“Congratulations,” you whisper gently instead, trying to keep the pain from your expression and voice by injecting coolness into your words. “It’s wonderful news. I hope it’s an easy pregnancy—”

“Don’t,” he snarls, his expression twisting with rage as he cuts the distance between you but you step back before he can touch you. “I am not here because of that. I’m—”

“Then why are you here, Santino?”

He exhales loudly, the frame of his body restless as it is tense. Upon closer inspection, you realise that you were wrong. He looks miserable. The bags under his eyes are so deep and dark, he looks at least ten years older. Like the cocky ease with which he’s always held himself has crumbled away into nothing. 

“Why?” he breathes unsteadily, and tries to reach for you again but you pull back again, the back of your thighs almost brushing against your work desk. “Why won’t you let me touch you, amore? Let me. Let me.”

His voice is a wrecked whisper as he steps closer, leaning his face closer while his fingers come to cup your cheeks. He’s as frantic as he is hollowed out, unsteady, and you both exhale when your skin meets his. A shudder rolls across your limbs and you have to swallow down your own relief. You know him intimately; the heat of his palms, the tickle of his breath, the scent of his cologne and the security of his presence by your side.

For a moment you simply stand together, your foreheads almost touching, your breaths mingling. You breathe. Deep, haggard breaths. A part of you wonders if this is the first time in a year since either of you has been able to breathe properly. 

“Mi manchi,” he exhales in the space between you, his voice thick, warped. His fingers trace over the curve of your jaw, breathless, and your palm settles against his chest and the thundering beat of his heart alone betrays him. “So much I can’t sleep at night. Every minute, hm, every minute of every day, you haunt me. Tell me—tell me I am not alone in this sickness. This longing. Please, amore.”

Your fingertips hover over the round curve of his cheek, his chin, and you only offer him a pained, “You’re not.” 

You’ve been just as sick with longing for him as he’s been for you but—

He slams into you. The back of your legs crash against the desk but you don’t care because he’s kissing you and god—

It tears through you like a bolt of lightning, just like the first time you’ve kissed and all the times that followed. All those secret, stolen moments between you. The overwhelming heat that explodes through you every time.

His hands are cupping your face, his tongue eager and desperate as it refamiliarise itself with the taste of you and you lean into him too. Your nails scratch against his neck and he groans—that deep, rumbling sound—his hips pressing against yours and you can feel every inch of him. Every exhale and the heat and the taste of him—

You’re burning. You’re not drowning. You’re burning and you want to burn till there is nothing left of you at all. Till you’re both ash and can blow into the wind together, never to be controlled or dependant on the wills of others ever again. 

Your fingers slip into his hair, and he caresses your cheek, jaw, neck. His other hand trails down your neck and the curve of your breast before settling against your waist, greedy and selfish. His movements are barely controlled—like he wants to rush but knows that he needs to savour this—and you grind yourself into him, making him hiss out a breath when you break apart for a second. 

His self-control has snapped long ago, and his fingers snake around your thighs, coaxing and sensual, and your body knows his, so you obey. With his help, it takes only a tiny boost for you to settle on top of your desk. His slender fingers trace up your skin and your legs part for him, making all the room he might want or need. He slips between them easily, without hesitation; a dance and a play you have done a thousand times before. An effortless shifting and coiling of your limbs and—

And his lips are on your neck, the hollow of your throat, the cut of your collarbone. His burning fingers rest against the back of your neck and you sigh at the hotness of his mouth on your skin. Ravenous. His lips and tongue turn the blood in your veins into liquid flame as he explores. Your own fingers are in his hair again and that welcoming, warming heat in your lower stomach blooms—

“Ti amo così tanto.”

You crash back into reality. 

And with it, you push him back so hard, he stumbles.  

You get off the desk at once, smoothing your clothes as you gasp for breath, trying to not look at him. 

“We can’t—” it sounds like you’re talking through a mouthful of crushed glass but ignore the weakness of your own heart. “We can’t do this anymore, Santino.”

“Why not?”

He barely sounds coherent, but you still don’t look in his direction. Because he has such a way of ripping those walls down. Ever since he’s found a way to do it, he can do it with a blink and you hate him for it. You have to be strong now, more than ever, and you resent the fact that it’s you that has to be strong for the two of you.

You douse the heat in your veins, the inferno in your heart that only he has ever managed to ignite to such a degree, and lift your head.

Santino is breathing so heavily, his shoulders are moving with his inhales and you ignore the wild look in those green eyes of his.

“Because you’re married,” you spit out, pained, forcing the words out even as they shred your heart into ribbons, leaving a gushing, bleeding mess behind. “Because you’re expecting a child. Because there are lines we can’t cross anymore. I’m not that kind of person. We—we can’t be together. It’s time to accept that. Let me go. For your own sake just—”

But he’s shaking his head, his fingers flexing, and he approaches you purposely. Fury deepens the line of his face, sets his jaw into a rigid line. “Never.”  

“Please, Santino. You have a wife—”

“I don’t love her,” he snarls lowly, and stalks even closer, his eyes flashing. His gaze is merciless, almost cruel, as he murmurs his next words to you like a confession. “I will never love her. I can’t stand the sight of her, do you understand that, hm? She repels me in every way. On our wedding night, I imagined it was you.”

God, you don’t want to hear this. You can’t—

“Stop.” 

Your plea goes unanswered as his digits settle on your forearms, and he stares at you imploringly, still effortlessly cruel.  

“When I kissed her, I imagined that I was kissing you, tasting you,” he continues softly, and you shake your head, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block his words out if you don’t see the despondent look on his face. “When I fucked her, I imagined that it was you underneath me, amore mio. I imagined that it was love when I forced myself to touch her and make her feel good. And when I came it was with your name on my lips, not hers. How lucky for me that it only took once, no?”

“Stop,” you growl harshly, and shove him away from you again, your blood roaring in your ears. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear this. I—”

Your eyes burn as you turn your head away, trying to control the tsunami of emotion battering against your heart. 

You don’t want to know about a woman—his wife—who exists in your place now.

Santino is silent, his expression drawn, empty. 

It’s so unfair. It’s so fucking unfair. 

“Do you still love me?”

Your heart stops in your chest for a second, your throat closing up as your head jerks back towards him. 

“You know that I do.”

But it doesn’t make a difference. How you feel never makes a goddamn difference. Life never allows you happiness—not really. It throws you scraps of something good before its torn away from you again and again. 

Alone. Always so terribly, awfully alone.

“I don’t want to see you again,” you tell him quietly, and you feel your heart tear itself into tiny pieces. But it needs to be done. It needs to be. “And I forbid you from ever touching me again.”

He’s so still, he doesn’t look like he’s breathing. His expression frozen, his eyes wide, and lips parted in disbelief.

You place your hand against the back of your desk, gripping it so tightly your fingers ache. Something to anchor you to reality, something to help you ignore the lost look on his face, the bob of his throat as he forces himself to swallow. 

“You have your new life, and I have mine,” you tell him, your words devoid of emotion. “We finally got what we both wanted. Power. Don’t you think we should stop ruining each other’s lives? We should both move on and be happy.”

His gaze is frantic. 

“Don’t do this—” 

A sharp knock interrupts him. Santino’s mouth snaps shut and you turn towards the door.

“Come in.”

The door swings open before you’re even done speaking and Charon’s guarded stare goes straight to Santino as he enters. The tall man regards the Italian coolly for a moment before his head tilts in your direction respectfully. 

“Miss, the Adjudicator has arrived and wishes to see you at once.”

Santino is still staring at you, and every second of silence that stretches between you just leaves you colder and colder. 

You both have power now. But there is a price to pay for everything as he’s always been so fond of reminding you. 

Santino straightens, his chin tilting in that painfully familiar, proud manner and you almost crumble then. He empties his features of that longing and desire. Empties himself of everything till you’re left staring at the shell he projects. 

“This is not happiness, amore,” he says, his voice tinted with resentment, and his hands slip into his pockets. “This is not—”

His eyes go to Charon and he looks up the silent man up and down before his eyes cut back to you. 

“Lo sceglierò sempre te,” he states coldly, and you suck in a breath, gripping the table tighter. “Keep that mind, cara mia.” 

With that, he turns around and stalks out of the office, taking your heart with him. 

His footsteps disappear down the corridor and the silence left behind is so dreadful, you can’t bear to look at Charon.  

Minutes drag, but you can’t seem to get rid of the burn in your eyes. You hiss an angry breath from behind your tightly clenched teeth, and press your palm over your eyes. 

“Am I—”

The lump in your throat won’t let you speak, and you work to get rid of it for another few moments before you finally articulate your thoughts. 

“Am I really that undeserving of happiness, Charon?” you wonder in a fragile, wet whisper. “First John, now Santino. Am I really that awful that I can never be h-happy?” 

Crisp steps draw nearer and you lower your hand, staring at the floor. Charon pulls out a serviette from his pocket, offering it to you but you only shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“You more than deserve happiness, Miss,” he says quietly, almost kindly, and your watery stare raises to his face. “After all you have been through, it is not selfish to desire for such a thing.”

He puts the serviette back into his pocket and seems to hesitate. “Permission to speak freely, Miss?”

Your eyebrows knit. “Always.”

Charon sighs faintly, his head tilting slightly as he gives you a piercing look. “I do believe that if Sir were here, he would tell you to the hell with the rules. Go with your heart as they say.” 

You chuckle weakly, glancing towards the floor before your eyes lift back to the man before you again. “Winston cared about rules above all else.”

Charon’s eyebrow arch into a pointed line. “I do believe, Miss, that it would not be presumptuous for me to say that he cared about you even more. This hotel has always been more than a job, more than a duty to him—it was Sir’s legacy and he entrusted it to you because he believed you could lead better than anyone. But not at the expense of your own happiness.”

Inhaling deeply, you clear your throat, pressing your fingertips against the corners of your eyes. 

“Would you like me to contact Mr D’Antonio—”

“No.”

Charon’s expression slackens with surprise, and you give him a firm look. 

“We have business to attend to,” you tell him resolutely, wiping your face of emotion, of vulnerability you showed him because you trust him just as Winston once did. “Like you said, we have a legacy to uphold. Let’s go and show that terrible, annoying Adjudicator what we’re made of.”   

Charon stands taller, his posture ramrod straight, and he inclines his head with that cool professionalism. “Of course, Miss,” he says, but you see the sadness buried deep in that dark stare. “As you wish.”

Santino has his new family. 

And you have yours. 

It’s time to wake up and live in reality. 

… 

an: AS IF I WAS GONNA WAIT FOR A MONTH FOR THIS PAIN FEST. I would have written this sooner but this ask came through in the middle of my 48 hour COA 11 lockdown and then I had work. But maaaaaan. The pain of this AU………it hit differently. We are here to suffer and suffer only. Hope you “enjoyed” it!!!     

[theamberwriter]

Drawn to Love [Katsuki Bakugo]

[ONE]

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Word Count: 2982

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Lmfao, so - Lumix and Aurelius may or may not be from a comic of my own that I came up with ages ago! I’ve been having a lot of fun writing this! I hope you guys like this just as much as Drawn to You!

"Why don't we hang out in your dorm tonight?" Katsuki asked as the two of you walked back to the Heights Alliance. You panicked, there was a reason you hadn't let him in your room.

You smiled warily. "Why would you wanna do that -"

"I've never been in your dorm, first off. Second, my floor is getting too freaking noisy to study." He glared straight ahead, his grip on your hand tightening a little. He was right though. The people on his floor had been running amuck lately. 

You groaned. "Fine."

"What? Got something you don't want me to see?" Katsuki teased. "Did you save one of those Papergos to sleep with at night?"

Your face grew hot as you remembered the incident a few months before that lead to your dating. "No! My room is, uh, just a little cramped. That's all."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. He wasn't buying it. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

Your stomach twisted as you got closer to your room. He was going to think that you were weird. You just knew it. Your quirk was fun, what could you say? It brought you endless hours of entertainment.

"Uh," you stuttered, standing in front of your door. "Are you sure you don't want to -"

"You're not getting out of this, nerd." You could see the amusement in his eyes. No matter how he tried to hide it.

Your shoulders slumped. "Rude."

To say Katsuki was a little confused when you opened the door was an understatement. There was a lot going on at once. Lots of movements, noises, and colors. Shapes he recognized but were a little off. Mostly due to the materials they were made of.

Over the years, you'd drawn and brought to life many things. One of your passions was making pets and plants that didn't need upkeep. As Katsuki stepped in, a little paper dog and cat circled around his feet. Tiny creatures scurried and flew about the room. A colorful paper toucan was propped on a paper tree growing out of your wall. On the other side of the room, an owl hooted from a tree trunk jutting out.

Paper vines hung from your ceiling, clinging to the walls. All pulsing with life. Paper plants, which actually had color and scent, were growing in real pots. Some were even sentient, nudging your leg as you walked by. You patted them on the head. Your room was alive, basically.

"Uh, welcome to my dorm," you said, stretching out your arms. The owl flew out, landing lightly on your shoulder. "You see why I didn't want to hang out in here? I - uh - I got a little carried away -"

"This is amazing," you barely heard Katsuki muttered. You could see the slight freak out in his eyes as the toucan flew to him and landed in his hair. It nuzzled down, apparently not planning on moving anytime soon.

That's when your bathroom door slid open and out walked two people. An extremely tan boy with cinnamon red hair and facial stubble was talking to a pale girl whose purple hair dragged the floor behind her.  "- No, you're an idiot, you can't just - [Name]! You're back!"

The girl flew over and wrapped you up in a hug. The owl hooted at her aggressively and went back to the hollow in the tree trunk. "[Name], you're back! You've been gone forever."

"What the f -" Katsuki started.

You grinned at him anxiously. "Aurelius, Lumix - I brought someone."

The girl, Lumix, dropped you and got in Katsuki's face. The toucan in his hair didn't even flinch. The guy, Aurelius, pulled her back by the shoulder. "Lumix, don't be rude."

You rushed over, grabbing Katsuki's arm. He looked ready to blow them up. "GUYS, this is my boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugo. Katsuki, meet Lumix and Aurelius. They're, uh, characters from my comic."

"AAAHHHH, FINALLY!!!" Lumix yelled. "You're a lot cuter in person."

"They're what?" Katsuki sounded angry and baffled at the same time. "You can bring people to life?"

"You know it!" Lumix cheered, spinning around in a circle. Katsuki realized then that she was in futuristic garb. Nothing like he'd ever seen.

"Uh, yeah," you laughed nervously, pushing him towards the far end of your room. "It's a war story about different countries. Each have a theme. These two are are sci-fi and steampunk. It's a whole - nerdy - thing. Uh, let's get to studying."

"Why are some things colored but some not?" Katsuki asked suddenly. And something dawned on him. Something that made his insides burn with guilt. He really could be dense. He had so many questions. About your quirk, about you, about everything. 

"Wha -" you started, turning to find Katsuki's face scrunched in obvious annoyance. "Hey, 'Suki, you okay?"

Katsuki could act cool and hard all he wanted. But, and he found it weird and irritating, he'd already imagined his whole life with you. Even after only knowing you since the school year started. You'd really gotten under his skin and into his heart. Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just realized, after all this time, I don't actually know a damn thing about your quirk. Or about you, really."

You smiled and waved him off. "I'm nothing interesting. My quirk is stupid and full of rules and technicalities. It's all super boring -"

"I don't care how damn complicated it is," he started. Katsuki sat on your bed. Your heart ached. He really looked like he belonged there. Amongst all of your drawings, and the craziness that you could bring to life. You sat next to him. He turned your face to look at him. His eyes were very serious.

"I don't care how dumb you think it is. If we're doing this, being together, then I have to know. - I want to know. About this." He pointed to the toucan. Then to Lumix and Aurelius who were listening intently. "About these nerds. About you."

Your heart felt like it swelled. An overwhelming feeling of happiness overtaking you. But it was cut short as you watched in horror as he reached for the toucan. Your eyes grew wide as he tried to pull it out of his hair. "Wait - no! The toucan -"

But it was too late. Katsuki's gentleness disappeared as the bird chomped down on his finger. He immediately lit it on fire. Only realizing as ashes fluttered in front of his face what he'd done.

"Bites," you finished weakly. You barely held in your laugh.

"Oh, shit," Katsuki muttered, then louder, "Damn it! I didn't -"

You got off the bed. "It's fine. I can remake him."

You rummaged through your desk until you found your drawings box. You took out a binder and held it up to show him. "This is a comprehensive collection of everything I've brought to life. This is a technicality of my quirk. You can destroy what I've made, it will simply go back to being a drawing. However, if you destroy what it's drawn on -"

"Then it's gone forever," Aurelius stated dramatically.

You nodded, then flipped through the pages. "You can see these are all blank. - Except for this one, with the toucan."

"Are you sure that's a toucan?" Katsuki asked, squinting at the page. It was just a vague shape. You thumped him on the head with the binder. That earned you a small glare.

You rolled your eyes. "I was small when I drew him. We'd gone to the zoo and wanted to make one for me. It may not look like much, but I bring to life what's in my mind's eye. Watch."

You focused for a second. Thinking about how you wanted the toucan to appear this time. Then put your hand to the page. In a glow, the marker toucan peeled away from the paper as you lifted your hand. Bringing life was a bit more elaborate than just producing a building. The marker outline rose, rotating until the toucan was up and down.

The marker lines bent into a recognizable outline of the toucan. Then the outline started to expand like a bubble. Soon a white, 3D, paper bird floated there. Then the colors flooded in, like someone pouring paint. They were totally different than they'd been before. With a final flash of light, you could see the spark of life flood in.

You cupped your hands under the toucan to catch it. It plopped right into your waiting palms. Katsuki stared in amazement, not even trying to hide it this time. That's when the toucan turned to stare him in the eye.

"I must thank you," the toucan said. The color drained from your boyfriend's face. "If you had not blown me up, I may never have gotten the gift of speech. Also, thank you, [Name], for the new coloration. It's quite beautiful."

"Why thank you," you said, smiling. "Back on the tree, then?"

The bird nodded. "Yes, please, if you would."

You climbed on your bed to put the toucan back in his perch in the corner. You sat back beside Katsuki, who was weirdly silent. He looked disturbed.

"You okay?" you giggled. "Not used to the 'miracle of life'?"

He was silent for a long moment before asking, "That bird isn't going to hold a grudge, is it?" 

"Sir Beaksaplenty?" You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "No. He's a very forgiving bird. I've destroyed himself by accident before. I just have to promise to bring him back better than the last. I'm thinking about giving him a top hat and monocle."

Katsuki eyed the bird's perch warily. "And he remembers everything?"

You nodded. "Only if I want him to."

Katsuki nodded, but you didn't think he was convinced. You were quiet as you watched him take in your abilities. You could see something flicker in his eyes. He kept looking around. His eyes going to where Aurelius and Lumix were arguing over a board game on the floor.

You took Katsuki's hand gently, giving him a smile. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything you want to."

He seemed to flip through a few ideas in his head. "You never answered my question before."

"About the colors? Well some I accidentally brought to life, like the Papergos. And some I was too tired that day to give color. If I don't have enough juice left or enough focus, they come out the same color as what they're drawn on." You shrugged. "Some I colored before bringing them to life. Like the flowers, I used scented marker so they'd have smell nice. Others, like Beaksaplenty, I had to concentrate. See the colors in my mind as I brought him to life."

"So far nothing you've told me has been complicated," Katsuki teased. "Can you bring something to life out of anything?" 

You nodded. "Yep, I drew Lumix and Aurelius on chunks of wood meant for carving. Their bases are in this box." You pulled out two one-inch wooden cubes, showing your boyfriend their blank sides. "I keep everything in here for safekeeping. I don't think I could reproduce these two."

Lumix grinned. "We're one of a kind!"

"Do they just follow you everywhere?" Katsuki grunted, thinking about how this would affect your future living arrangements.

"I did try to leave them with my parents," you groaned, glaring them down. "But two someones decided to sneak into my suitcase."

Lumix pouted. "We didn't want to get left behind! School is much more fun than home!" 

"How the hell you even fit in a suitcase?" Katsuki asked.

"Easy!" Lumix shrugged, shrinking down to the of a doll and then growing again. "We can shrink to the size of the object we're drawn on. And as big as we are in context. We can't grow any bigger than this. But we'll also never be the size of ants."

Katsuki looked at you. You shrugged, laughing, "I told you. Rules, technicalities."

"I guess I still have a lot to learn, huh?" he noted, mostly to himself.

You took his hand, interlacing your fingers. "It's nothing time won't fix. And we have all the time in the world."

Katsuki's heart fluttered at those words. Not that he'd ever admit to being soft. You two spent the night talking. He would ask you questions; when did you draw this? or how did you do that? or what was the biggest thing you made? His subtly slipping the more you talked. The closer the two of you got.

Before you knew it, it was late and dark out. The two of you wrapped up on your bed. He was thinking deeply about something, you could see it in his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. Aurelius and Lumix were passed out on the floor. Lumix had asked Katsuki a million questions of her own. She’d finally worn herself down.

“I’m sorry about them,” you said softly. “I should’ve told you. - But I was afraid.”

Katsuki grunted, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “Afraid of what?”

You hesitated, playing with his shirt. Katsuki grabbed your hand and turned his head to look at you levelly. You sighed. “Of you. What you would think. How you would react. I was afraid that you would think I was weird. That you’d leave me because of ...all this.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “You’re really an idiot sometimes. - Do you really think any of this would change my mind about you? You’re mine, damn it.”

“Katsuki…” you breathed. You lifted your head to look at him, his cheeks were pale pink.

“You have a damn cool quirk. You’re strong and use it well. All this is just like training,” he said, a bit softer. “There’s no point in being able to bring shit to life, if you don’t use it to make yourself happy every once in a while. - How many people can say they do what you do? I’m guessing not fucking any. Leaving someone for their quirk is damn stupid. Especially someone as amazing as you. So don’t be an idiot.”

Katsuki kissed your forehead, which sent a herd of butterflies teaming through your stomach. He yanked your head back down to his chest. Then he pulled you tightly against him. Your heart felt warm as you wrapped your arms around him. You wanted to be like this forever.

After a long while in silence, Katsuki spoke softly. “Why would I think your quirk was weird? I knew damn well what I was getting into. I wanted to be with you, even after you unleashed a bunch of mes into the dorms. - That paper runt was right. I was flattered that you’d drawn me.”

You played with his shirt again. You muttered sleepily. “Well - there have been a few times in the past that people haven’t reacted well to my quirk. They want me to draw them. Then bring them to life. But people never see themselves from the outside. They accused me of messing with them when I brought them to life. But I hadn’t. They just didn’t like themselves, and who they truly were from the outside. Mina loved the doppelganger I drew for her. That’s how we became friends in the last year of elementary school. In middle school, I hid my quirk. But, when someone asked me out, I always made something. The few that asked me out thought I was some sort of mad scientist. Saying they’d heard about me and the things I’d made before.

“So I was terrified for you to meet Lumix and Aurelius. I thought you were going to think I was some sort of freak. Assume I was doing something pervy. Or that I was so pathetic, that I had to create my friends. Or some sort of mad scientist, just like the others had called me. Or just - completely freak out about something else. I know those two can be a bit much to handle. And, sometimes, they’re very 2D. So you can tell they aren’t real. But I gave them the ability to learn and become more of themselves. Not just how I imagined them to be. I just laid the groundwork. They did everything else. They’re much more real now than they’d been when I made them. I love them like family, regardless. Even if it makes me Dr. Frankenstein.”

“You worry too much,” Katsuki stated. “And those people were idiots. What you do is fucking awesome. Raccoon eyes gets on my damn nerves. But I’m glad she stuck around.”

Your face filled with heat. Mina was the only one to ever call you awesome, or call your quirk cool. No one you were interested ever though what you could do was neat. Or they only thought it was a pathetic parlor trick. They never took your powers seriously. You grinned to yourself, thankful to the darkness. You were embarrassed, honestly. You silently chuckled in excitement. 

“Also,” he added, sounding more asleep than awake. “Frankenstein would be a fucking cool hero name.”

Soft snores followed. Katsuki’s breathing evening out, his heartbeat slowing under your ear. You honestly felt so relieved. He was going to stick with you. Even after you’d accidentally brought a bunch of Papergos to life. Finally, someone who didn’t think you were a joke. Finally, someone you could actually invite into your paper world. Someone you could actually love. Someone who would love who and what you made, just like you did.

You gave Katsuki a light squeeze. Letting your mind wander. Playing around with ideas about raising children in your world of drawings. How Lumix and Aurelis would be as babysitters. How you all would be as a family. How Katsuki would handle an apartment with you. You could see it all. You fell asleep to a sweet, warm image in your mind that you hoped you could bring to life.

[sinakakyralih]

It had been a good idea. For her, if for no one else. And they didn’t look like they were doing poorly without her - not that she had ever doubted that. She left someone responsible in charge; someone she watched mature and rise and fall and rise again; they’d be fine. They were fine.

The Keeper smiled as she leaned on the bridge’s railing with her chin in the palm of one hand, her grey tail curling up fondly as a Lalafell threw open the doors of the Mare Tranquilitatis -- er, Shady Boughs -- with an armload of gardening implements. The young woman gently kicked the door shut behind her and dodged around the table on the front porch, maneuvered down the stairs, and dropped the lot of tools in a semi-organized manner on the edge of one of the garden plots in the front yard, made a show of rolling up their sleeves, tugging the brim of their hat into place, and diving in to dig out the weeds and tend for whatever crop they had coming in. 

The sunlight felt good. The breeze off the lake and the sound of the little waves upon the shore were relaxing, tranquil, and she closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of Lavender Beds, of home, though she made no move towards the house across the waters. This feeling was different than before, where home felt like the night, the wind rushing across the roof, the cacophony of the waterfall behind their little cottage; the shouting, the running, the friends bursting in at all hours. Back when they couldn’t afford their own houses. Then, they were constantly in each others’ hair and business and lives. … but those friends were gone now, moved on with their lives and their own adventures, and she’d been trying that too, lately, hadn’t she?

The first to drift had been Kel; it hadn’t been long after moving into the larger house in a different district - this district - that he had taken up semi-permanent residence in Ishgard, setting in motion what would eventually become the Ishgard Restoration Project. She’d seen him once or twice around the city - they had had tea once, but he was a busy man now and while she had thought his talk a little technical before this undertaking, now it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way - in that… well, that nostalgic Kel sort of way. 

Next had been… Cae. Cae had always been the “mom friend”: strong and driven and organized and strict with her expectations, and welcoming, caring, people-oriented. She was a caretaker and a fierce friend and she missed having her influence in her life, but somewhere along the way they had drifted, and while Cae had continued to count herself part of the Pretty Guardians for a long while after, she felt it was more for nostalgia and loyalty than for that feeling of connectedness. She had moved on - she met new friends, started an amazing and flowery business - she was a full-time healer, now, and wandered to collect the best herbs for both her medicines and her tea; her place was very pretty, very soft and pastel, and very much Cae. She seemed happy, and she was glad for her. And for Kal, and L’uana; she didn’t often have a reason to visit Shirogane these days, but she always made a habit of stopping by when she was there, and when the big-hearted owner wasn’t home, she doodled in her guestbook.

During that time was when their influx of new recruits really started to grow; at first, it was just one or two, like in the old days: just picking up strays that needed a home, like Alannah and Kel; but over time their registered numbers really started to climb as individual members started picking up one or two adventurers that needed an affiliation for safety, even if they didn’t really stick around the house all that often. She had been happy to give that: the Pretty Guardians were there to help, even if it were just to lend their name and a hand to their members when necessary. Some, however, stuck around, getting close with everyone, even as the old guard started fading away…

Alannah got married to that rascal Nine from the neighbourhood around their first Free Company cottage - their story not exactly typical in any way beyond ‘they were somewhat neighbours’, but that was their story; she was happy for their happy ending, even though it was sad to watch her move out of Lavender Beds and into a charming little cottage in La Noscea. She wasn’t around as often after that, not that she could blame her. She had a baby, Ash, that she brought back for meetings and playdates with her “aunties”; the little girl was adorable and was fun to teach things to that Alannah may not have exactly wanted her to learn so quickly, but that’s what she got for their free babysitting services. Alannah was still there, welcoming in new members, keeping track of the day-to-day goings-on, connected to the house through moogle mail and linkshell while not there in person. She entrusted her with everything.

But it had always been Adelpha and her that were the fixtures of the house - its caretakers, trainers of new recruits, calling shots, and organizing FC activities, but…

Adelpha’s retirement had been unexpected. She wasn’t that far away - she was back in Gridania, having taken a steady job as a researcher, going into the family business after her father had suffered a fall. She knew her father - they had met through her father; but what she was doing wasn’t just being noble or making a sacrifice for her family, it was what she wanted to do. They had been friends for nearly a decade; she had dragged Adelpha clear across Eorzea and beyond, had pulled her into the Scions, thrown her into dangerous situations and jumped in right after. They’d had fun; they were each other’s backup. Adelpha was her playmate, her grumpy, easily-aggravated-on-the-outside, clearly-enjoying-acting-that-way-on-the-inside best friend. … but adventuring forever hadn’t been her dream. 

It was Sinaka’s. 

And maybe that was what she needed to realize, and to let go of. All of her original friends had moved on, left their adventuring in their twenties or early twenties, and settled down into the occupation they wanted to have for the rest of their lives: occupations that made them happy and fulfilled, callings that they had found and fought for, and while that didn’t align with the dream they had shared nine years ago, it didn’t make that dream any less real. The time they had spent together had been real, and special, and something she wouldn’t forget for the rest of her life, and had to believe that they would never forget, either. 

But still, Adelpha leaving had led to a period of loss for her: the end of an era, and the idea of facing it while still running operations for the new recruits -- a reference she really had to stop making, seeing as how it had been years since most of them had joined now -- left her feeling hollow, unable to give the same lively performance they were used to, so she took time off to travel, to reflect, to see if adventuring was still her calling or if she had been hanging on out of duty and nostalgia and stubborn loyalty to the people of her past… 

It had been five months since she had transferred leadership to Alannah and left in the middle of the night. She had left a letter, sure, but she could just imagine the face the hyur would have had upon reading it. She grinned, taking in a deep breath that smelled of water lilies, and let it out slowly. 

She wasn’t ready to go back just yet, but she would be.

It was good to see the place was still standing, though, and that the symbol above the door still matched the pin she wore on her lapel, even if the house’s face had changed drastically from when she had seen it last. She didn’t know how Alannah was dealing with all the flowers, but it looked nice. 

The Pretty Guardians were okay.

And she was okay. 

She’d be back.

Idk if those mentioned would want to be tagged ^^’ But yeah, feeling nostalgic for the “old days”, of 2012-2016, and when this definition came across my dash this little snippet fell into place and I feel like it explains not only character feelings and development and what’s been going on with Sinaka (wow I haven’t written for her since Heavensward? Waow XD (btw I had headcanoned years ago that her Path Companion, Sol, had traveled not 5 years into the future but to a different shard and man did shadowbringers bring me glee in letting that be a storyline I could wrap up hahahah)) but also give me a little moment to say...

Thank you.

Thank you Cae, and Adelpha, and Kal and Kel and Alannah (♥ still here with me, heehee) and those friends who weren’t part of the FC but were there for me back then (Sieg!). Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for logging so many hours with me doing stupid stuff like racing around zones and playing hide-and-seek and having hours-long hot-tub parties where we did literally nothing productive, just chatted about anything and everything in a basement hot tub through the text chat box. Thank you for the memories and the companionship and the silly stories. 

Thank you for being there.