#also any chance to put glowing hand written letters on a drawing is like a sweet dessert to me >:]]]

[frosted-woods]

listen listen it was just meant to be a quick drawing but my hand slipped a little and i spent waaaaay longer on it than i had planned so @stageturn here's another jon to your collection

wooo here's all stages versions cause i love saving them. also look i'm ALWAYS unsatisfied with any brush i try to sketch with but this time something clicked i had sooo much fun sketching this

[yanderart]

He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.

So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?

Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤

Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.

— — —

   The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.

   You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step. 

   It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect. 

   “So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on. 

   Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...

   “Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”

   The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper. 

   Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features. 

   Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened. 

   “Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands. 

   "Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."

   Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…

   But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness. 

   "You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.  

   You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal. 

   Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag. 

   "I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."

   And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he? 

    If only you knew. 

   "Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."

   That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.

   "You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"

   But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement. 

   A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery. 

   (Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)

   "Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."

   By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.

   "Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer. 

   (Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)

   Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both. 

   As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?

   "You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."

   Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight. 

   "Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"

   To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked. 

   "I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law." 

   Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.

   "Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."

   Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics. 

   "Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"

   His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth. 

   "Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"

   It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.

   "Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"

   But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you. 

    And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.

   Now that was interesting.

   "Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.

   Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down. 

   "Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?" 

   You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.

   "Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"

   You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you. 

   "I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."

   Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments. 

   "So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation. 

   Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role. 

   "Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"

   You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage. 

   "I wasn’t..."

   "Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"

   When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe. 

   "If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out. 

   Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did. 

   When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.

   "I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"

   Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions. 

   You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you. 

   The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear. 

   "Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."

   He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both. 

   "Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries." 

   As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody. 

   It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering. 

   Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore. 

   "Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."

   But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence. 

   When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.  

   Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet. 

   "But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"

   Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

   "Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.

   The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.

   Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)

   "You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."

   At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime. 

   So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)

   Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face. 

   "I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."

    You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway. 

    You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze. 

   For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.

   "Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.

   You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain. 

   (And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)

   "Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."

   By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.

   "But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"

   Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded. 

   "I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"

   You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be). 

   Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped. 

   "Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it. 

   Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped. 

   "I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"

   He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you). 

   When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that. 

   "Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."

   At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.

   The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.  

   "Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.

   If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.

   You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths. 

   Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.

   Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced. 

   It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…

   So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.

   A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.

   The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.

   How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.

   "Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"

   When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer. 

   "Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."

   "Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."

   Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed. 

   "Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"

   A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.

   "Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."

    When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through. 

   Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.

   "Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."

   You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.

   And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit. 

   "Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."

   Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight. 

   "None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…" 

   But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you. 

   "Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say." 

   And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected. 

   The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....

   But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before. 

   "More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.

   Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by. 

   "Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."

   And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment. 

   He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.

   So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.

   (You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.) 

   You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence. 

   You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.

   And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.

   "You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"

   It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home. 

   "Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."

   So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley. 

   What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work. 

   Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.

   And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago. 

   (Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).

   "Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over. 

   The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.  

   "Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips. 

   Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.

   "Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."

   And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides. 

   Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected. 

   A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...

   Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent. 

   "Fucking… get on with it."

   However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body. 

   "But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."

   And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…

   You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.

   Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness. 

   It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks. 

   The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself. 

   If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)

   You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps. 

   So goddamn close…

   Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them. 

   Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all. 

   Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit. 

   When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork. 

   "Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."

    You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment. 

   But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.

   As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most. 

   When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face. 

   And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust. 

   "Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.

   He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured. 

   However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry. 

   "Hold on..."

   Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.

   "Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"

   The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused. 

   "Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."

   To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice. 

   When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.

   One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling. 

   "You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

   And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago. 

   But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed. 

   Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.

   He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you. 

   God, even for villain standards you were fucked. 

But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.

— — — 

And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)

Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha​, @snappysnapo​ and @drxwsyni​ (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL). 

[lovethisletters]

Devilish nights || A fantastic 3 one-shot!

I love this idea ngl, I love the dynamic between the three of them! And I tried to do them justice here but... there's definitely a Whole ass ranch for improvement... :C

also Diavolo is Mexa xd

Summary: the fantastic three go to a concert but things don't go as planned.

Additional notes: I was going to make this a comic but decided against it since it was gonna take me much more time to finish it, but perhaps I'll do it as a small follow up to this one-shot.

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

There's a reason why the Demon elite are very protective of their private life...you see: everyone has a side of their personality only the ones closest to us are allowed to see and for the demon prince, the avatar of pride and the loyal butler this is no exception.

—Uhhh?!?! You're going out?!!—all 6 brothers questioned in surprise.

—Yes, and I hope that when I arrive, the house is not a mess!— Replied the avatar of pride as he placed a distinctive blue coat over his shoulders.

—Ehhh? Are you going on vacation to the human realm, Lucifer ?! And without me ?! How cruel!—Asmodeus inquired dramatically, hugging his older brother's arm like a child begging his mother to go out and play.

The black-haired demon was unfazed by the avatar of lust childish demeanor, released himself from his grasp with ease and continued with his speech.

—Diavolo has important matters to resolve in the human realm and he needs me and Barbatos to support him, it is not a vacation.—

—I hope all of you behave in my absence; Satan, you're in charge, ”Lucifer declared.

-What?!?! Satan in charge ?! - the rest complained.

—As much as it bothers me to admit it… Satan is the most responsible among you — Lucifer looked at the blonde demon in the eyes — I'm counting on you — and the avatar of pride came out hurriedly before he could even hear the answer of the fourth brother.

—Don't— whispered the avatar of wrath as his lips settled into a sinister smile at the plan that was being formulated in his head.

[…]

—Ahhh ~ finally it's THE day! I can't wait any longer !!!— upon hearing the title "prince of hell" we could normally assume that the person bearing it is someone intimidating, ruthless and rude; but there he was ... the heir to the throne of the Devildom jumping all over the place with immeasurable enthusiasm, glow sticks in each hand and a white shirt with the image of a sun with the face of Luis Miguel on the chest.

—Diavolo, I'd appreciate it if you could calm down a bit.

—Calm down?! Lucifer! I have been waiting for this for years! I will finally be able to be at a concert of my favorite singer from the human realm! Do you have any idea how much I struggled to get these tickets?!?! I had to do it the human way! line and everything!—The redhead claimed at the lack of enthusiasm from his best friend.

—His majesty stopped time and he moved a couple of old ladies to be able to acquire the tickets in the front row; it would be appreciated if you showed a bit of enthusiasm, Lucifer.—Barbatos finally spoke, the same formal and cold smile always etched on his face to which Lucifer could only replay in the same way.

—Oh! I won't let you two ruin my night with your formalities! At least pretend you're as excited as I am!—Diavolo begged but his stoic companions could only mutter a mocking “yeeei”as they waved their respective glow sticks reluctantly and the prince of hell could only roll his eyes.

[…]

Mistakes happen, they happen when we least expect them and even worse; at too inconvenient moments.

—Quick, Lucifer, we're next!— The tallest of the 3 hurried, still jumping up and down.

—Give me a second — The black-haired demon searched in his pockets for the tickets that Diavolo had asked him to keep until the day of the concert because he was afraid of losing them among all the paperwork that week and knowing the responsible nature of his friend he entrusted them to him .

The thing is ... Lucifer could not find the tickets ... and when he realized this, with all the tranquility of the world: he cleared his throat, clasped his hands and positioned himself firmly like a teacher about to explain something to a child .

—Diavolo, in terms of tickets… I forgot the ttickets— At first the prince of hell gave his friend an incredulous look and even proceeded to laugh.

—Sure, stop playing games, Lucifer— the redhead expected a laugh from his friend followed by him handing over the tickets, but that gesture never came.

—Your Majesty I think Lucifer is not joking— Barbatos corrected

And oh my god, have you ever seen a child's face when you take a toy that he just can’t have out of his hands? And then the endless crying begins? Yes, at that moment the heir to the throne of hell simply bursted in tears.

—It’s Okay, your majesty, everything is going to be fine— The butler tried to calm him down by patting him on the back.

—Diavolo, I can buy others, don't worry— But the redhead only limited himself to pointing at the sign above the theater entrance "Sold out" was written in large letters.

—Well… I guess I owe you the next concert, how about we go to your favorite restaurant, hmm? My treat — Despite his offer, his friend only let out a sigh of despair and helplessness.

—You have no idea where you left them?

—Ummm… I guess in my office…

—Tell your brothers to bring them to you! Please!!— Lucifer was quick to dial Satan's number, because by the way things were he would not be surprised if Diavolo's despair at this moment led him to pray.

By pure chance, Lucifer noticed that he had several unanswered messages and calls from one of the angels: Simeon

—You can't reach them?—the prince questioned

Lucifer just stood there, glaring at his phone with a mixture of regret and anger.

"Damm you Simeon" was all that came to mind.

—Oh? Aren't those Solomon, Simeon and Luke?—Barbatos voice interrupted his thoughts.

And sure enough, there at the entrance of the theatre were the inhabitants of purgatory hall, dressed in human world clothing, waiting in line, the youngest of the group with tickets in hand.

—Oh!? I didn't knew they had bought tickets for this!

—They didn't

—How do you know?

—Because those are YOUR tickets!

—What?!?!—Diavolo's confused expression was quickly met with Lucifer's phone right in front of his face, showing him the text messages.

—I'll go get them—but before the avatar of pride could take another step towards the purgatory hall group, Barbatos hand stopped him in his tracks.

—Your Majesty, I believe Luke's birthday is just in a few days and he seems to be enjoying himself, why don't we let them keep the tickets?—the butler suggested politely.

It took a couple of seconds for the prince of hell tho make his desicion, but the smile on the small angel face made all trace of doubt dissipate, and with a heavy sigh he finally spoke.

— leat it be, Lucifer...

—...are you sure of it, Diavolo?

—yes, perhaps next year we'll go together...all of us, right?

Lucifer was surprised but with a small smile forming on his face he said yes.

—Now... who's hungry?! We should go to the fanciest place in town, after all, It's Lucifer's treat!—the prince joked

—Perhaps the restaurant we attended last year would be fine, your Majesty?

—Ah yes! That would do!

And while Lucifer's wallet had started regretting his desicions, he was happy he could spend this evening with his dearest friends.

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

I was going to put a drawing of the fantastic three hanging out but I only did Diavolo bc while I was finishing Barbatos and Lucifer my computer crashed and didn't save anything :c

So here's a Diavolo in front of bellas artes to compensate:

If you find any grammatical errors let me know! I'm trying to improve my english and that would help me so so much!

I will forever thank you if you go check out my other profile: @aileysmirnov  where I post things about my OC: edits, one-shots, imagines, art, etc. If you like Greek mythology and the bat family maybe you would get to be as fond of her as much as I am!

Anyway, thank you for reading!

[juuten]

For You | Tenma Sumeragi

@chewie-santatoast​ says:  Merry Christmas! How about ‘secrets’ with Tenten? ❤️💚🤍🧡

Aimee replies: Hello! Thank you so much for requesting! Sorry I couldn’t greet you ‘Merry Christmas’ during that time :< That’s why I wish you a very advanced Merry Christmas! Also, stay safe and healthy!

This fic really took me a while to finish mainly because I needed to revise/shorten lots of parts. But surprisingly, I didn’t stray away from my initial idea when I thought of secrets and Tenma.

Anyway, the story takes place before Act 2. I hope this story will make you smile :D

For ‘A December with You’ event.

Today, Summer Troupe made sure to have the living room for themselves.

Fairy lights hung on the walls, painting the living room with an orange glow. Blankets and pillows surrounded the coffee table with a plate of onigiris on it. However, a winter’s night would never be complete without steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Muku delicately placed three mugs beside the onigiris, Yuki setting down the other two.

“Mr. Triangle!” Misumi grinned at the familiar triangle drawn on his cup of hot chocolate.

Muku grabbed his cup and giddily sat on his star-patterned blanket. "Mine's a crown!"

"The bear's almost like mine.” If one looked closely, a small smile dangled on Yuki’s lips.

Tenma reached for his mug and peeked at what Kazunari drew for him. "Is this a bonsai?"  

"Yep yep!" Kazunari sat on his spot in the living room. Then he winked and made a peace sign. “Kazunari Miyoshi’s latte art, everyone!”

Tenma's lips curled upwards. "Not bad." 

"Yippie! Now everything's set," Kazunari clapped his hands, "Operation ‘Tenten Living as a Non-Celeb: Christmas Edition,’ start!” 

But before Kazunari had the chance to show off his plans, the doorbell rang. Muku, being closest to the door, set down his mug and stood up.

"Who is it?" Muku said as he opened the door.

A brunette man wearing a gray suit smiled at him. “Good evening and advanced Merry Christmas, Muku-san.”

“Ah, Igawa-san! Likewise." Muku politely bowed.

Igawa set down an enormous sack on the ground. It looked like it was about to burst at any moment. "Please accept these gifts for the MANKAI members. Sumeragi-san and I chose them with utmost care." 

Then Igawa placed a thick scrapbook on Muku’s hands. "Also, please give this to Tenma-kun."

Muku obediently nodded. "I will! And thank you so much, Igawa-san!"

Igawa bowed and bid farewell before driving off. Muku secured the scrapbook under his armpit. Then he rolled up his sleeves. Pulling the sack with all his might, he trudged towards the living room.

“Mukkun, are you- Woah! Where did that super-duper big sack come from?” Kazunari’s eyes became as wide as saucers when he saw the boy set down the sack beside the Christmas tree. 

“It’s from Igawa-san and Tenma-kun's parents. They're gifts for us," Muku said in between pants. Tenma made a mental note to call his parents later.

Misumi put a familiar yellow triangle with a Santa Hat on Muku’s palms. “I'll give you Mr. Triangle Claus!”

Muku giggled and said thanks. When Muku returned to his spot, he presented the scrapbook to Tenma. “Tenma-kun, Igawa-san said this scrapbook was for you."

Tenma looked at him with confusion. Igawa always dropped off gifts from fans at his house while he delivered the important ones to the dorms. The gifts for the members were certainly one of those. However, the scrapbook was questionable. He was sure his parents did not make this; their careers always ate almost all of their time. Igawa was possible. However, Tenma knew managing his schedule was currently hectic. He always received more offers for both acting and modeling during the Christmas season. 

Suddenly, another potential person popped inside his head. With wide eyes, Tenma said, “Muku, who did it come from?"

“Um…” Muku flipped the scrapbook. He stumbled upon some initials at the far corner of the scrapbook. “There’s (First Letter of First Name) (First Letter of Last Name) written at the bottom.”

Within a blink of an eye, Tenma grabbed the scrapbook from his hands. All of the Summer Troupe members looked at each other in mild bewilderment.

Kazunari was the first one to recover as he playfully nudged Tenma’s arm. “Hey, Tenten, who’s (First Letter of First Name) (First Letter of Last Name)?”

“S-someone I'm close with!” 

Yuki suspiciously eyed Tenma as he drank his cup. “Hm…” 

Tenma fidgeted under his gaze. “Wh-what is it?”

Yuki placed his cup on the coffee table. Then with a menacing look, he said, “If you don’t tell us who they are, I’ll make you wear that rabbit costume again on Veludo Way. This time, alone.”

Misumi grinned. “I want to see rabbit Tenma again."

“That was supposed to be a one-time thing!” Tenma protested.

“Maybe the money-grubbing yakuza will increase the budget for costumes if I tell him the hack will advertise MANKAI Company this Christmas.” Yuki tapped his chin in thought.

Tenma grumbled. He was always careful to not expose your relationship with him when he was barely prepared. But now that his reputation (dignity) was on the line, he could not remain tight-lipped. Letting out a defeated sigh, he said, “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Tenma breathed in before saying, “The initials stand for (First Name) (Last Name). It’s my girlfriend’s name.” 

“Someone managed to date the hack, huh," Yuki said.

“What do you mean by that!” The man in question violently reacted.

"Hold up, fam. Since we're on this topic," Kazunari wrapped his shoulder around the orange-haired man and shot him a grin, “we should look at the scrapbook together!"

Tenma glared at Kazunari. “No way. And this isn’t part of your operation or what in the first place!”

"It's fine, it's fine!" When Tenma still had a scowl on his face, Kazunari clasped his hands and pleadingly looked at him. "C'mon, Tenten! Please!" 

Tenma hugged the scrapbook to his chest. He knew he was doomed to be teased once he showed the scrapbook. Knowing you, you put lots of pictures he was unaware that you took them. Nevertheless, this was a risk he would rather take instead of wearing a rabbit costume for the whole Veludo to see. Besides, he trusted that his members would never leak his and your private lives to the public. 

Tenma unwrapped his arms from the scrapbook and placed it on his lap. “Fine. But no taking of pictures or videos.” With that, everyone sat closer to Tenma. 

Tenma’s heart pounded as he opened the scrapbook. A photo of a smiling couple sitting on a flowery meadow filled up the upper part of the first page. Below the picture was a handwritten caption that said, "First date planned by Yours Truly ☆." Then at the bottom of the page, there was a colored drawing of the meadow. Tenma's eyes widened in astonishment. Your illustration looked the same as he remembered. The difference was you put a dried sunflower at the center above the flowery meadow and drew its stem.

"(First Name)'s drawing and design are totes amazing! Kudos to her!" Kazunari said, which Tenma replied with a proud 'of course!'

Muku turned to the orange-haired man with excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Tenma-kun, what did you do on your first date?" 

"Did you find triangles with her?" Misumi asked.

"Only the Trianglian will do that there," Yuki commented.

“We had a picnic, talked and took some photos. Then, uh...” Tenma scratched his head, trying to remember any fascinating but not too embarrassing moments from his first date. "We also played Twenty One Questions.”

“So what do you do?” Tenma asked the moment you proposed this game.

“We just alternately ask each other twenty-one questions and answer them. The questions can be about anything at all!” A mischievous glint passed your eyes, which you covered up with a smile.

Your boyfriend seemed to be unaware of it as he smirked. “I’ve handled many interviews, so this one’s easy.”

“It’s still your first time playing this though. That’s why I’ll start asking you.” You intertwined your hands with his. Then with the most serious face you could muster, you said, “If you meet an alien who lands in Japan, what is the first thing you will give them?”

You tried to hold back your laughter when you saw his dumbfounded face. He was so confident seconds ago, and now, he was a flustered mess. 

You brushed your thumbs on his hands to help him relax. “It’s only a hypothetical question, Tenma-san. You don’t need to think too much about it.”

“Still, how did you even come up with that question?”

You wagged your index finger. “It’s not yet your turn to ask a question.”

“I can’t ask at all?!”

“That’s a question, Tenma-san.”

Tenma groaned, making you laugh. Then he scratched his head. “I’ll give the alien a map of Japan, I guess.”

You frowned. “I don’t know if they can understand our language though.” Then you shook your head. “Well, a map’s still a good choice!”

You squeezed his hands. “It’s your turn to ask a question, Tenma-san.”

Now that Tenma paid attention to it, you still used an honorific for him. It was progress compared to the early days wherein you called him by his last name. At that time, it was so awkward for him; it felt like you two were co-workers instead of lovers. But even now, he wanted you to be comfortable with him. With those thoughts, he said, “You know you could drop the honorific, right?”

You nodded. “I know. But I can’t just casually call someone who I really respect and admire.”

At the corner of your eye, you saw a pair of bloomed sunflowers near your side. You unclasped your hands from his and plucked the sunflowers. Giving one to him, you said with a tender smile, “To my sunflower who I adore.”

Muku tightly hugged his pillow to his chest. “That’s so romantic of (First Name)-san!”

“Yeah… but then she asked another random question for the game.” Tenma sighed at that. Then he looked at the next page. Red painted his cheeks as he saw a stolen shot of him eating your homemade sandwich.

“The sandwich is a triangle!” Misumi grinned.

“You’re right, Sumi! It is!” Kazunari patted him on the back. 

Meanwhile, Yuki pointed at the picture and said, “Hack, you eat like a kid. Look at the crumbs on your mouth.”

“It only happened during that time! Besides… (First Name)’s sandwich was delicious,” Tenma murmured the latter part as he munched on an onigiri.

As Tenma continued to tell what happened in the other photos, his gaze softened. He never thought that he would enter a romantic relationship and last this long. After all, school and his career demanded so much of his attention. But this scrapbook proved him wrong. It carried the many memories both of you made. If he had to choose his fondest memory of you, it would be you watching his performance. Tenma beamed with pride whenever he saw you laughing, crying, or overall getting hooked alongside the audience. It meant that Summer Troupe’s efforts paid off. Moreover, he got to express his gratitude towards you through his acting. Nonetheless, the ambitious actor would never stop improving and showing you the best performance. 

As Tenma flipped to another page, a photo fell out and landed beside Kazunari’s lap. The latter looked down and picked it up. Kazunari stopped chewing his onigiri, his jaw dropping in surprise. 

“OMG! Tenten, you look super cute!” Tenma had no time to react as Kazunari shoved the photo to his face. Tenma grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand out of the way. 

“Kazunari, what-” 

The orange-haired man froze. Out of all the pictures, why did you include this one in the scrapbook? It was a photo he definitely could not show to anyone without stripping his dignity away. But you were an exception since you begged for it as your birthday present. Still, you owning the photo did not mean you could put it without letting him know first! Anyone else could see it the moment the scrapbook landed at the dorm. And news traveled fast in a dorm with many people.

Misumi giggled. “It’s baby Tenma.”

“He doesn’t have the ‘Ore-sama’ air around him yet,” Yuki said as he stared at the photo.

Tenma snapped out of his trance and snatched the picture from Kazunari. "Oi! You don’t need to see it!” 

Misumi tilted his head in wonder. “But it was in the scrapbook.”

"Yeah, but still!" 

Then Muku noticed the black ink on the back of the polaroid. Tugging on Tenma’s sleeve, he said, “Tenma-kun, I think there’s something written at the back.”

Tenma begrudgingly flipped the photo on its back. He immediately recognized your handwriting that wrote the following message:

I hope your true friends will see all of your sides that I love, including this one. 

P.S., Merry Christmas, Tenma-san! I hope you like my gift ♡ 

Tenma covered his face with his hand, trying to fight off the smile forming on his lips.

[kittydemon9000]

SO @blursed-ninjago-ideas​, sorry how long this took! The prompts was Cole turning evil by a weapon, I took that prompt, and only partially followed it. Hope you like it.

—————————

Spirits In My Head And They Won’t Go

The cave was very dark with the only light source coming from the small lamp Kai had lit.

The four ninja had been receiving many warnings, calls, and even letters about the cave and the legends surrounding it, and had eventually decided to check it out for themselves.

The plan had been to stay in one big group, but it seemed like fate had other plans.

Barely five steps into the cave, the floor had collapsed, separating the ninja among the many caverns. The ground was too unstable for Cole to try and open up new tunnels, so he was stuck using the already existing ones.

So now Cole was alone, in the dark, with only a small lamp for light and no idea where he or the others were.

And on top of everything else, his scar was absolutely throbbing. It had since they first entered the cave, and it only seemed to get worse with every step he took. Spectacular.

There were small moments like this where he missed being a ghost. He would have been able to find the others so easily if he could just travel through walls.

Hello.

Cole jumped, snapping his head around trying to locate where the voice had come from.

“Who’s there!” He exclaimed. He didn’t expect whoever it was to answer, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

A friend. Someone who wants to help.

The Voice, if you could even call it that, was strange. There wasn’t any sound to it, but it was clear as day. It was as if someone had written the words in his head, but there were no letters to be seen.

It set him on edge.

“Is that so?” Cole asked. He scanned the tunnel again.

You can’t find me that way.

"Oh, really? Cole said aloud. “Then how can I find you?”

Cole jumped as a ball of small green fire appeared in front of him. Then another. And another and another and another. They bathed the cave in an eerie green glow as a clear line of the strange orbs led further down the tunnel.

Follow the Wisps.

And once you find me, I can get you out.

“And why would you help me?” Cole asked aloud. ‘If that’s what you’re really doing.’ He thought to himself.

“For all I know, you could be leading me straight into a trap. Or keep me down here forever!”

Because I know what it’s like to be left behind.

Those words left a chill down Cole’s spine.

“What…..what do you mean?” He hesitantly asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Your so-called friends left you, did they not?

“What are you talking about? They haven’t left me!” Cole exclaimed, anger seeping into his voice.

Take a look.

The wisp closest to him came closer. Cole watched it with hesitancy, reading to bolt at a moment's notice, but much to his surprise, in the center of the fire were the other ninja!

All of them were gathered in a group, seemingly safe from harm. They all had a greenish tint, but Cole choked that up to the green wisp.

“What do you mean we should leave Cole behind!” Jay’s shrill yelling echoed in the tunnel.

Cole stopped. They were going to leave him behind?

“I’m not saying that! I’m just-“ Lloyd said, but he was cut off by Jay again.

“No, that’s exactly what you’re saying!” Jay yelled, taking a step toward Lloyd and jabbing a finger in his direction. “We can’t just leave him in there!”

Cole couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Zaptrap.” He whispered under his breath.

“If we go in now, we’ll just get lost!” Lloyd argued back.

“Calm down Jay. Lloyd has a point.” Nya said, placing a hand on Jay’s shoulder.

Those words felt like a punch in the gut. Nya was agreeing that they should leave without him.

Jay seemed to share his sentiment and looked at her with an incredulous face. Nya made a motion to Kai, probably asking him to back her up.

Kai hesitantly glanced behind him. “I’m with Jay on this one. The longer Cole’s in there, the more likely he is to get hurt.”

Then Zane jumped in. “But if we go in now without a plan or more surprise, we could get hurt ourselves.”

The warmth Kai’s words had given him was quickly stamped out by the cold ones of Zane. Yes, he understood that Zane was the logical one…...but was he really thinking that leaving him behind was the best option.

Lloyd let out a sigh. “So it’s decided. We’ll all head back to Master Yang’s temple.”

“No! No, it’s not decided!” Jay shrieked again, but this time Kai was the one to stop him, silently shaking his head with a sober look on his face. He whispered something to Jay, but Cole couldn’t hear. The group slowly walked out of the frame of the wisp, but not before Jay cast one final look back.

The wisp went back to the line.

You see.

Something wet started dripping down Cole’s face, and when he reached up, he found tears.

It was a lie. A trick. It had to be. His friends.....they wouldn't. Not again......right?

But if this wasn't a trick.....and his friends really had left him...... then this was just like the Day of the Departed.

“So how did you get here then?” Cole asked, his voice wavered slightly as he wiped the tears from his eyes. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as we learn things about his only company.

The voice hesitated, before two more wisps broke away from the line, sending another throb through his scar. Much to his shock, the wisps started changing and growing until they took the form of two small children, each one no taller than his waist.

The two were smiling, dancing, and playing in a way that reminded Cole fondly of his own childhood.

I wasn’t always stuck here.

The children were hand and hand as they started running down the tunnel. Not wanting to lose them, Cole was quick to follow.

We wanted to go on an adventure together, experience what the world had to offer.

The two children reached a crossroads, unsure which was to go. They eventually picked the left tunnel. Cole followed, but it was a dead end.

Neither of us knew where we were going, and we got lost.

The two children started yelling at each other, but no sound was coming from their mouths.

Julie wanted to keep looking to try and find a way out while I wanted to stay put.

One of the children, Julie, pushed the other away and stormed toward the tunnel.

“You can stay here if you want,” she said. “But I’m going to find a way out!”

And then all the wisps but the first child disappeared.

I waited and waited, hoping that on the off chance she’d made it out, that she’d come back for me.

The room was much darker with only the one wisp, and it was rapidly growing smaller.

She never did.

The wisp went out.

The only thing left to light the cave was the lamp and Cole’s scar.

Ever since that day, I swore that if I somehow made it out, I’d do everything in my power to make sure no one would be left behind like I was ever again.

The voice let out an empty chuckle, one that struck a chord in Cole.

A rather unrealistic goal, I know.

“I don’t think so.” Cole found himself saying. He felt the confused silence, so he continued. “I mean, it definitely wouldn’t be easy, but I do think you could make a difference.”

…….you really are different than her.

Cole’s confusion was short-lived, as a plethora of wisps ignited around him, giving him a good look at the cave he was now in. Stalagmites and stalactites littered the edges, but the center was different.

In the middle of the room was a small podium with a scythe. It is a dark, black metal with small green gemstones embedded at the end of the handle and parts of the blade. It was an elegant weapon and the designs that littered it were not much unlike the wisps that had led him here.

If you take this weapon, you will be granted control over my wisps, and be able to help the lost spirits, living and dead alike.

Cole couldn’t tear his eyes away from the weapon. Some far off part of him was screaming at him to run away, that this was all a trap that he’d walked into.

But that part was drowned out by his memories. Of becoming a ghost, of the Day of the Departed…….and of the conversation he’d just heard. He remembered the pain of not being seen or heard. Of not existing.

He didn’t want anyone else to feel that.

Cole reached forward and grabbed the scythe.

———————————

PS: I was also able to to a drawing

[shuuenmei]

resolution

BEFORE WE BEGIN:

Admittedly, I didn’t want to reveal this at first but after some thought and discussions, I decided to publish this out. This contains a big part of what I plan for Yuu (Rei) and how “black or white” will run in the future, and because it’s potentially very long, I’m placing this under the cut.

The sound of the clock ticking is the only thing keeping her company as she searched through the library.

Not this book, not that book, not this one either.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she doesn’t care.

She had to keep looking.

She refused to stay helpless and vulnerable like how she nearly died from those vine thorns-

She find herself idly touching onto her neck now covered in the bandages to hide the tiny scars from those thorns.

There’s so many things happening in such a quick span of time she finds herself unable to properly react and adjust how to adapt and survive.

“You were on a near dangerous spot, pup.” The words of her homeroom teacher rang when he was called by the headmaster to check on how severe her injuries were shortly after they brought Riddle back to his senses.

Of how she was lucky to have escaped strangulation when the vines enclosed on her neck.

Of how she nearly died from blood loss due to the thorns piercing her skin.

And the situation now truly sunk on her that she could have truly died not long after arriving in this world.

A deep, deep part of her mind screamed, feeling that for the first time, she wanted to live and survive.

To struggle for survival than to succumb to the temptation of sleeping forever, never waking up.

I don’t want to die I don’t want to die-

“That’s quite a heavy stack of books, little one.”

She couldn’t help but jump at the voice calling her from behind.

Her head turned to see who it was that spoke.

“You surprise me Lilia-san.”

The older student gave out a light hearted chuckle in response.

“It’s good to see you.” He greeted before he wondered. “Now what brings you here to the library?”

“I wanted to look up something.” She answered.

She made up her mind after her homeroom teacher’s diagnosis of her state.

She honestly still feel sluggish from the injuries she had and Professor Crewel issued a permit to Coach Vargas to excuse her (And by extension, Grim) from physical education class until she is fully recovered.

With much time to spare after the rather disastrous duel yesterday, she decided to head over to the library.

There’s something that she wished to know about and if she can’t find what she’s looking for... she’ll just have to make do.

“That’s quite a lot of books you were holding.” He pointed towards the stack of books she was holding.

“It’s fine Lilia-san, I can handle this.” She shook her head as the two started to walk their way towards the table where she placed her bag and some of the books she had borrowed earlier.

“I heard you and your friends called for a duel with Riddle yesterday.” Lilia started once he was seated.

“Ah, so everyone heard about it?”

“It’s quite impossible to not know it, little one.” The old fae chuckled.

She numbly nodded, her hand idly reaching out to her neck as if there is lingering pain sticking to her neck like a phantom.

The fae’s magenta eyes looked at the covers of the books she had brought, now placed on the table.

“Hmm, interesting choices you have there.” With an ever present smile, he used magic to make the heavy books float to his way.

“The Origin of Magic, History of Magic Tools... they all seem to cater towards a specific time frame, to an even older time...” The fae soon implored as he placed the books down. “What has brought you to wish to learn such a subject?”

She pondered for a moment.

Should she speak about it?

She may have only known about Lilia for a few days, a week, even. But she felt that she can truly trust this older student and ask for his aid.

The Headmaster doesn’t seem too keen in watching over her own well being and had a very hands-off approach.

He’s not the kind of person she’d trust her worries of.

In contrast, Lilia, in his own way, had been helping her from the start.

The Headmaster may have tried, but seeing first hand at how he seems to be giving a hands-off approach, how she was told that the Headmaster wouldn’t have rushed her to the infirmary and call for Professor Crewel immediately until the fact that she is nearly dying from blood loss truly sunk in, with the rest of Heartslabyul having to urge him out to get her the aid she needed.

(There’s something about the Headmaster that reminded her of an ill memory of the past, but she has yet to recall the full context of it all.)

Lilia, from the way he speaks and how he treated her, makes her think of the senior as an almost father like figure.

Doting yet keeping a firm watch of those he consider his children.

So she took her chance and spoke quietly.

Of the events that led to Riddle Rosehearts overblotting.

________________________________________________________________

“...I see. That explains the bandages covering your neck.”

She nodded.

“...But pray tell, what convinced you to search for a specific time frame involving magic in the days of old?”

She didn’t say a word to Lilia, deep in thought, trying to think of an answer.

It was a spur of a moment and she couldn’t help but be curious.

Curious to know if there is a point of time where people are not naturally born with magic.

Maybe those of old do magic differently than those who lived in the present.

She also vaguely remember of a story she once read of how people of the past request the world to lend their energy to use magic.

If such method also exist here, does she have a chance to survive?

So she won’t be so weak, helpless and vulnerable like today-

Still, there’s a chance that she won’t be able to find what she searched for.

But nevertheless, she doesn’t want to give up so easily and find a way so she can survive in this unfamiliar world.

She needs to see the end of the tale that she is entangled in no matter what.

She found her answer.

“...I just don’t want to stay weak and helpless as I am right now.”

She spoke and continued.

“After I was told of how I nearly died... I felt myself getting reminded of how easily vulnerable I was as a magicless person.”

She clenched her right hand to a fist, her nails dug onto her skin deep enough to hurt.

“I’m an easy target to the whole school as the lone magicless person. Regardless of how I’m actually capable of being able to fight back, all my skills... they had limits. I can’t always depend on my new friends all the time, and eventually, I’ll run out of options and will get badly hurt like how I did today.”

She had decided, her resolution to her decision firm.

“So I plan to look for an information that can potentially help me survive against other students who would try and target me for as long as I’m here. I refuse to be an easy target just because I’m the lone anomaly of this school.”

That’s all that there is to it.

She wanted to survive longer in a world where she is placed in between many prideful magicians who could potentially end her life with their magic if they so wish it.

Maybe she won’t be a burden to her new friends that way.

She felt Lilia’s silent gaze at her prickling, almost like he is scrutinizing her.

“Do you have an empty paper available to use?” Lilia questioned after a moment of silence.

“I can tear one page off, but what do you plan to use with it?”

Lilia smiled. “You’ll see, little one.”

Despite the fae’s cryptic reply, she obliged and brought out one of her spare notebooks, ripping one of the papers out and handed it to him.

“May I borrow a writing pen as well?”

She wondered where this is going but gave the fae one of her blue pens in the pencil case.

Lilia draw a large set of letters enough to fill a whole paper that is set in a landscape like orientation.

When he is finished, he threw the paper above him and spoke out what sounded like a magical chant in a language she couldn’t recognize.

In response to the fae’s chant, the letters written in the paper glowed, almost like magic, and then the paper shifted it’s shape, shredded into small parts and then rained down on the table, small cuts formed at the empty space of wooden table besides them, as if the paper has turned into small shards of blades.

“Oh, I still had it in me to use them.” Lilia mused at the sight as the papers soon disintegrated into dust, residual magical energy following it. “Well, I shall repair it soon enough lest that young librarian aim for my neck.”

As Lilia reached for his magical pen and used his magic to fix the table, she felt herself feeling awed at the sight of the paper turned to small sharp shards.

“That was just a normal pen right...” She utter out.

She had to wonder how it was possible.

All that the fae did was just drawing rune like letters onto the paper...

“Indeed it is.” The fae answered her.

“I simply use the paper as a medium and the letters as a gateway for magical energy to enter the medium and give form to what the medium will function as.”

The fae’s serene smile remained ever-plastered on his lips. “Simply put, what I did is request for the world to lend me their magic through a medium.”

“...So you used the world’s magical energy instead of using the one that most magicians are born with?”

So such method existed here...

“Bingo, little one.” The fae gave out a good natured chuckle. Elaborating. “Before wands and magical pens came to be, people of days old once used to ask the world to do magic for them. However, this method had since been considered obsolete as society advances due to how many requirements it takes to actually use the world’s magical energy.”

He put the magical pen back into the pockets of his vest. Concluding. “For you, someone who is inherently magicless, this should be the perfect method for you to defend yourself should any of the other students dare to attack you with magic.”

Her eyes lit up. Feeling a glimmer of hope at the senior’s words.

“Are you sure you don’t mind teaching me?”

“Why of course not.” Lilia smiled at her. Reasoning.

“You are but a young lady thrown into an unfamiliar place with little to no contact of anyone you are familiar with, and no way of being able to return to whence you came from. You also happen to be placed in a school of prideful, magicians who can get easily provoked with little prompting, and can potentially harm and give you fatal injuries should they wish to do so. Anyone with a child of their own would worry for you.”

His smile then curved to a frown. “Though I supposed Crowley doesn’t seem to be that keen in regards to your safety following today’s events.”

After what happened yesterday, and of today, she felt what little trust she had on the Headmaster start to crumble.

She can’t completely trust the man anymore after today.

Not when he’s all too content to leave her to fend for her own self outside of providing her the basic necessities and the like.

(Deep down, that unpleasant feeling, almost like seething anger, of a memory she has yet to recall of people acting like the headmaster echoed in her mind)

She soon felt a hand on her head.

She was brought out of her thoughts as she realized that Lilia is patting her.

The gesture felt familiar to her.

Like a parent’s firm hand, guiding and assuring the child.

“The weekend is soon and it’s best that you recover first.” Lilia let his hand go as he advised her.

“I shall be free to teach you how to utilize the world’s magic to aid you for Monday, Wednesday and Thursday after school in the library. Is that an alright time for you?”

“...Yeah, that’s a good time.”

She felt herself smiling wide, almost genuine, grateful for the senior’s help.

“...Really, thank you for this. Lilia-san.”

The Diasomnia vice dorm head smiled back. “It is of no trouble, young one.”

Yep, this is what I planned for Yuu (Rei) in light of Heartslabyul and onwards. She doesn’t stay magicless for long.

This was inspired by the formalcraft concept from the Fate series, where you make the world do the magic for you. Think of it as not using your own MP in video games and use a specialized item that does the magic in RPG games.

Yuu (Rei) is still magicless inherently. So the method only makes her a magician by a technicality. Rather than making her an actual pure magician overnight.

As for why I went this route for Yuu (Rei):

1: The SI in Yuu (Rei) only know Twisted Wonderland based on Pre-release trailers and as such, has zero expectations of what the game would actually be. She doesn’t know that the game was meant to be a Joseimuke genre game with RPG, action and rhythm game mechanics mixed in, and only know based on what she could remember of the original stories the Disney movies are based on and the Disney movies that she remember watching, outside of what she remembers of the Pre-Release trailers. As far as Yuu (Rei)’s impression of the game’s story goes, she thought that she is in an FGO-esque Shounen genre story. So it’s either she stays magicless and die quickly, or survive and get stronger.

2: While yes, it’s established that it’s against the rules to use magic on others for personal fights, the main story proves that a good portion of the NRC student body WILL use magic on others when prompted. Unlike Ace, Deuce and Grim, the canon MC is completely defenseless. Despite Yuu (Rei)’s friendship with the ghosts and her own physical skills in Kendou, every single one of them has limits. Lando isn’t always guaranteed to tag along with her 24/7, someone will use magic to destroy the makeshift sword she had first before beating her down and giving her fatal injuries via magic. Additionally, Ace, Deuce and Grim won’t always be with her, so she’ll eventually run out of options to defend herself. At the end of the day, the real world doesn’t give a damn about what narrative importance you have in the grand scheme of the plot you’re involved in. Yuu (Rei) might be lucky this time, but the same can’t be said for the future.

...Welp.

Anyway, long story short, this is where Yuu (Rei) fully diverges from the canon MC.

I’m also going to start talking, writing and/or drawing stuff for things I plan for “black or white” in the future from here on out so do look out for those!

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Ch 8

On Friday Amity is tired, but she relishes every minute she spends at school and not home, because the weekend was looking to be just as exhausting. 

Blue moon masquerades are a Blight family tradition, her parents have been throwing the parties for as long as she can remember and it’s a tradition that they begin throwing these parties at sixteen. With this being the first blue moon since the twins turned sixteen it's finally time for them to do it. 

Normally the two are all about parties, but considering all the rules and protocols their parents have set for the event, any enthusiasm the twins might have had is well and truly dead before the party planning even begins.  

Now it’s just one more thing expected of them and Amity can tell how much they hate it, so she tries to help them with the planning whenever she can.

Someday it will be her turn after all. 

She also still has yet to speak to Luz since Wednesday and she feels bad about it, but facing her is too hard right now, especially when the object of her affections seems to actively pushing her toward this secret admirer she has.

She clutches her book to her chest as she walks down Hexside’s quiet and deserted hallways. 

Maybe Luz is just a pipe-dream she needs to try and forget about. She was never going to have the courage to face her and tell her how she feels, and if Luz had any inclination toward her at all she wouldn’t be advocating so hard for a mysterious stranger. 

Her lips quiver and her eyes burn but she quickly shoves it down. She is not going to cry at school, she’s a Blight!

A mantra she uses to steel herself even as she hates it. 

She shakes her head and continues on toward her locker. 

When she stops to stand in front of it the creature looks annoyed and she realizes why when it opens its mouth unprompted and sticks out its tongue.

She's started to get a little more used to these surprises but the one waiting for her this morning makes her gasp. 

Sitting there on her locker's tongue is a small maroon colored velvet box she knows immediately is a jewelry box. A piece of folded paper sitting beneath it.

She hesitates a minute before picking up the box and the note. Curiosity gets the better of her and she opens the box before anything else and stares wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape.

Nestled within the satin lining is a brooch. 

Fine lines of gold shaped to look like thorned vines twist and loop in random but pleasing patterns, overlapping each other in places. At the center of the vines is a small tear-shaped gemstone in a gold setting. She's not sure what kind, but it's a deep fuchsia color that sparkles and gleams when it catches a stray beam of light from the hallways overhead lights. 

It's beautiful and Amity is in awe of it as she pulls it from its box with hesitant fingers and holds it gently in her hand. She runs her thumb over the hard and smooth facets of the stone, feeling the different, sharp cut sides press into the pad of her thumb. 

The metal is cool and hefty in her fingers and her heart thuds in her chest that someone would go through all this trouble for her.

It's a common misconception among the student body that Amity Blight must be beating suitors off with a staff, but the truth is no one had ever pursued her.

Her family was highly influential and well off, everyone assumed she was above them, unattainable; so they didn't try. Not that she’d done much to change that opinion. 

Of course, when it finally does happen she's head over heels for someone as unattainable as people think she is…

With gentle fingers she puts the jewelry back in its box and finally turns her attention to the piece of paper, unfolding it.

"Amity,

When I saw this in the market I could only think of you. I hope you like it. This is my final gift as your secret admirer.

Even if you can't return my feelings, would you dance with me tomorrow night?

I'll be wearing a black and purple horned demon mask.

~Your soon-to-be-not-so-secret Admirer 

Amity's heart is thumping loudly in her chest, the meaning of the letter is clear. Her secret admirer is going to be at the masquerade tomorrow night. 

She clutches the box in her hands and bites her lip.

Maybe… this was her chance to let go of Luz… 

Her heart aches at the thought, but her mind knows that it would be the better choice. 

Luz is human and while it's rather uncertain right now if she'll ever actually leave the Boiling Isles since the only known portal has been destroyed, Amity's parents would have an aneurysm if they were to ever find out she was in a romantic relationship with a human, the Owl Lady's apprentice no less. 

Despite that, if the opportunity presented itself Amity would still leap headfirst into it without any reservations.

She's never known anyone like Luz in all her life. The girl is kindness and sunshine incarnate, something exceedingly rare in a place like the Boiling Isles. 

She’s made her a better person in the time they’ve known each other. 

Looking back now she finds it hard to believe that she ever hated her.

She looks down at the maroon box in hand and frowns, chest tight. Conflicted emotions run rampant through her mind

For all the things she loves about Luz, of which there are many, she knows that she'll never have the courage to tell her so, and Luz has made it clear in just as many ways that she doesn't see Amity in the same light, and at the end of the day, all her longing and feelings are for not if Luz doesn't return them.

But here, in the palm of her hand, she has a chance at something that might be real and not just a flight of fantasy.  

She takes a deep breath and puts the box and note in her bag and heads to class.

She doesn't see Luz at lunch, for which she is grateful but disappointed. She sits with Willow and Gus when they wave her over.

"Hey, Amity, have you seen Luz today? We missed her this morning," the plant witch asks. Amity frowns.

"No, I haven't seen her all day." 

"She must not be at school today…" Willow frowns.

That's unusual, Luz loves school. Amity wonders if she's sick, but in the back of her mind, she wonders if Luz is avoiding her.

She looks down at her lunch and is suddenly not very hungry, but she stays and chats with Gus and Willow.

~ ~ 

Luz probably should have told her friends that she decided not to go to school today in order to have more time to get ready for Saturday night, but she’s on a deadline, there was no time to go to the school to tell Gus and Willow. She really needed to get a scroll. 

She only has one real problem left.

Hiding her ears.

If either of the Clawthorne sisters had magic it would be an easy thing to cast an illusion spell over her ears, but they don't; so it's not.

She's been leafing through Eda's various magic books, searching for a practical solution to her problem.

So far, no luck.

"Ugh!" Luz groans, shelving the books and stalking to her room, grumbling under her breath. "Why couldn't I have been born with a bile sac!?" she laments, dropping face down onto her sleeping bag.

She’s running out of time and unlike the way she handles most things, no plan, full steam ahead and flying by the seat of her pants, she needs to have this figured out before the party or everything was going to be for nothing! Now wasn’t the time to sharpen her improv skills. 

She has her clothes and her mask, they were easy. She was pretty pleased with herself on that front.

“Aghhhhh” she yells into the fabric before she ran out of air and was forced to flip over onto her back. 

Her time is ticking away and she can’t waste anymore with her frustrations. With a sigh, she hauled herself up and looked around her room, spotting the book about ancient, wild magic Amity had leant her and leaned over to grab it, dragging it into her lap and flipping it open.

She quickly leafs through page after page, hope waning as the minutes turn to hours and the next thing she knows the orange rays of the sunset are leaking through her window.

She sighed and twisted around, trying to relieve the pressure in her back from sitting hunched over the heavy tome for so long.

Maybe she could wear a hat, would it be okay to wear a hat?

She tiredly flips another page and scans it quickly as she reaches for the next but stops. 

In front of her are some illustrations of witches, but unlike other images in the book, these ones have what look like glyphs drawn on their skin; tattoos maybe?

Some of the book is written in a language she knows and some of it is not, and this section is, of course, not. 

But the longer she studies it the more an idea forms.

She sets the book aside and scrambles to her bag for a pen.

With one in hand she moves back over to the book The studies it again before laying her hand flat against its pages.

Steadily she draws the illusory glyph she'd been experimenting with across the back of her hand. She observes the final product and hesitates.

This could be dangerous.

She doesn’t allow the thought to take up much more than a few seconds of her time as she slaps her other hand over the glyph and willing it to do what she wants.

Her hand is enveloped in a light blue glow and when it fades her hand is tipped with long claws, the glyph still visible on the back of her hand. 

She flexes her hand tentatively and slowly a grin begins to split her face.

“It worked… It worked!” She jumps up with an excited whoop. She licks her thumb and rubs at the ink, as soon as the circle is broken the illusion fades with the same soft blue glow as before. She takes her pen and closes the circle back up and casts the spell again, and again, her hand transforms.

Giddy energy is filling her to near bursting as she shoots out of her room and runs into the bathroom.

It's an hour later that King is banging on the bathroom door.

“Other people live here and need the bathroom!” he squeals angrily, stomping his feet.

He almost falls over when the door suddenly swings open just as he’s pounding on it.

“Weh!” He stumbles, but catches himself and looks up, ready to lay his wrath upon whoever is hogging the bathroom but stops short at the sight in front of him.

“Well? What do you think?” Luz asks excitedly, but she doesn’t wait for his answer before bolting down the hall.

“Eda, EDA!” She calls pounding down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where she can hear someone moving around. Lilith looks up from her place on the couch as the girl passes and does a double take. 

“What?” Eda grumbles looking up from the large pot of potions she’s stirring. “Where’s the fir-” she trails off when she actually sees Luz.

She looks totally the same.

Except where once her ears were round, they are now pointed like any other witch on the Boiling Isles. 

“Wha-?” Eda looks at her wide eyed.

Lilith has followed into the kitchen to get a better look at the girl.

“Fascinating, how did you accomplish this?” She leans in close to get a better look. The illusion is seamless and if she didn’t know better she would have never guessed Luz wasn’t a witch.

“Well, you know that illusion glyph I taught you?” she asks and they nod. “Well, I was looking through this book Amity gave me and it showed wild witches with glyphs drawn on their bodies. So I figured I'd give it a shot!” she grins and reaches up to flick the tips of her now pointed ears. 

Eda walks over and turns her around, brushing Luz’s dark hair out of the way, she can see that  drawn on the back of both of Luz’s ears are small illusory glyphs. The older with grins.

“Kid, you’re brilliant.” She ruffled the girl's hair and Luz beamed. 

“Thanks, Eda.” 

“And think of the scams we could pull with this!” She grins and Lillith rolls her eyes.

Luz just chuckles, not even a little surprised.

[writer-k-pop]

Five Petal Flower - Pt. 2

미지의 길을 나와 함께 가시오. Take the unknown path with me. 

Description: [Set in old Korea, think Joseon era} After an attack makes (y/n) do something she never thought she’d have to do, she must be more careful of where she walks at night. But when her best friend, the 5th Prince Tae, gets tangled up in the aftermath of an attack, she has no choice to reveal secrets she wanted to keep secret. Warnings: Swearing, nothing too gory, Genre: Action, Angst, Romance Word Count: 2.9k

BTS Masterlist | Masterlists

"I want to know what the 5th Prince was doing outside the palace WALLS!!" The Crown Prince, Jin, screams at the counselors who have gathered in the throne room.

(y/n) waits outside the throne room, still in her outing wear and cloth mask. Her hands wring together, nervous that she will have to reveal herself to the Crown Prince.

"Your Highness, the civilian who saved the 5th Prince is here." The servant in front of you announces your arrival.

"Let them in." Crown Prince Jin allows the entrance.

The doors swing open and eyes of the counselors, military generals, and princes in the throne room whip their heads to take in the appearance of the 5th Prince's savior.

"Your Highness." (y/n) bows to 90 degrees, hands securely against her stomach.

"So you are the one who saved my brother." Crown Prince Jin inquires.

"Yes." She answer, properly.

"I would like to thank you, first of all, for saving him." The Crown Prince nods his head.

"We," The 3rd Prince, Seok, steps forward, "would also like to thank you for saving our brother." The other princes step forward and bow their heads in gratitude. The rest of the counselor's take note and copy the motion of the princes.

"I was only protecting the royal family. It is but a duty of ours." (y/n) answers. 6th Prince, Ji, cocks his head to the side before shaking away whatever thought he had.

"I understand you already gave information about the assailants to the Royal Investigation Bureau." Crown Prince Jin states, "But I was wondering if there was anything else you could tell us and the military generals that may help us figure this situation out."

(y/n) chews on the inside of her cheek.

"Psst." One of the military generals whispers, "You should probably take off your mask."

(y/n)'s eyes widen, having completely forgotten about the piece of cloth that hangs from her face.

Reaching behind her, she unties the cloth and pulls it off as she explains what she heard that she kept from the Royal Investigation Bureau in hopes to have this chance.

"They said that they were tasked to kill a servant of the fifth counselor's residence along with the family of the servant." (y/n) reports, avoiding analyzing the shocked expressions written on the princes' faces. "The servant was a fraud and the family was to be taken out as well. They were to leave everyone else and get in and get out with no witnesses."

Crown Prince Jin slowly rises to his feet, "(y/n), how-"

"I was out for some night practice with my bow and arrow." She interrupts him, "I had no intention of fighting, killing, or saving anyone. I just wanted some peace and quiet, some time with my own thoughts, your Highness." (y/n) raises her head and meets the crown prince's gaze, "But I do not regret being in the right time at the right place. Rather me there than anyone else."

A servant walks in with a cloth wrapped item. They bow and quickly walk to the first counselor, whispering something in his ear before handing over the item and leaving.

"This is one of the arrows pulled from the assailants." The first counselor announces, unwraps the arrow, and holds it out for Crown Prince Jin to take.

As Crown Prince Jin holds the arrow gingerly, the first counselor continues. "This arrow, along with its brother, were pulled from the bodies of the two assailants who attacked the fifth counselor's residence and the 5th Prince Tae tonight." The counselor turns to (y/n), "Do you claim this arrow as yours?"

(y/n) nods, hesitantly. "They are mine."

The 4th Prince, Joon, points towards a side of the arrow. "We've seen that mark before, haven't we?"

The arrow turns over in the crown prince's hands until the engraved flower is on full display. "The killings from two nights ago. These arrows had the same marking on them."

(y/n) swallows hard, knowing that her gig is up.

"You, you were there two nights ago?" The 7th and youngest prince, Kook, sputters out.

Taking a deep breath, (y/n) stands straighter, "Two nights ago, the attack on the fifth counselor's residence had the same goal as tonight. However, what the assailants didn't know was that the counselor was having a celebration that night that ran late. When they attacked, there were too many people so they aborted." She explains the events she saw that night. "I was traveling along the roofs when the screams turned from joyful to terror. I waited and when they exited the residence, I did what I did." As she continues, tears line the bottom of her eyes with the fear and worry she'd been holding in for the past two days, "I didn't know Prince Tae had snuck out. I didn't know he'd been on his way towards the screams. When I agreed to learn archery, I made an oath to the King. An oath to protect the royal family, the palace, and the country, no matter where I was. Two nights ago, I had no intensions of breaking that oath and protected the counselor's family."

"I am afraid we will have to take away your arrows. You must know that, don't you?" The First Counselor says apologetically, while the princes try to soak in the information thrown at them. (y/n) feels a bit bad for them, learning that their brother's best friend has an oath with their father is not an easy pill to swallow. Especially not after what their brother has been through.

(y/n) nods, "I understand."

"You are dismissed." The First Counselor announces.

Bowing towards the princes, she backs towards the door. Just before she steps out, Crown Prince Jin stops her.

"Does the 5th Prince know?" He asks.

Her hand grips the cloth still in her hand tighter as she turns back around. With a tight jaw, she answers, "No, he does not. And I ask the princes that they not say anything. I will tell him when he wakes up. I need to be the one to tell him. Please, your Highness."

The crown prince sets his jaw and nods in agreement. She walks out of the throne room and heads towards her residence for some sleep that will probably never arrive.

Footsteps rapidly following her make her slow down so they can catch up, whoever they are.

"Were you ever going to tell us?" 7th Prince Kook asks once he reaches her side. 3th Prince Seok appears on her other side.

Not knowing how to answer, (y/n) keeps her mouth shut for the time being.

"Come on, (y/n)." Prince Seok pleads.

(y/n) takes a deep breath before answer, "No. I wasn't." She says honestly, "It was only supposed to be the one night. I was never going to use my arrows again to kill anyone. But Tae, Tae," Her voice starts to tremble and the princes immediately stop her walking to support her, "He shouldn't have been out at all."

"I'm glad that you were there." Prince Seok gives her a side hug.

"Lady (y/n)!" Min comes running into the courtroom, "Lady (y/n)!" Once she notices the princes, she quickly bows in greeting.

Wiping away her tears, (y/n) addresses her servant. "What is it, Min?"

"The 5th Prince is awake," Min informs her breathlessly, "He's asking for you."

"We'll wait out here." Prince Kook says, putting a hand on her shoulder as they stand outside of his room, "We'll see him after you."

"Unless, hyung comes barging in." Prince Seok attempts to make a joke.

(y/n) gives them a small smile before turning to enter the room.

The candles flicker in the night, giving the room a low orange glow. Tae lays on his mattress, eyes clothes and breathing deeply as a nurse wipes his hands clean. The cut on his throat from the knife is covered by a gauze patch.

"Your Highness." (y/n) says softly and bows. "You asked for me."

Tae attempts to sit up but the nurse tries prevent him doing so. Unfortunately, Prince Tae has always been stubborn and tonight's events did not falter that stubbornness one inch. Knowing the nurse will not win against him, (y/n) shuffles over to assist.

"Tae, lay down." She instructs, using his real name, "You're hurt." Her hands gingerly push down on his shoulders and his body obeys her commands. The nurse throws her a questioning look but (y/n) quickly dismisses the nurse before she could ask any questions.

In the silence of the room, (y/n) dips the towel back into the water basin and wrings it out before dabbing at Tae's forehead.

"Say something." Tae whispers, his gaze following her every movement, "Please."

"What do you want me to say, Tae?" (y/n) asks in return. "You snuck out again. After you promised me you wouldn't."

"I know." Tae sighs, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" (Y/n) repeats incredulously, "Tae that's all you can- You could've died out there. I mean, look at you!" She practically screams at him.

"But you were there." Tae mumbles quietly with a small smile, "You weren't going to let me die."

"Of course I wasn't going to let you die! Do you know the kind of fear that ran throu- wait, what?" (y/n) stops abruptly, pulling back and sitting on her heels. "You, you knew?" She asks, meeting his knowing gaze.

Tae nods, "It took me a little while to figure it out." He sits up but (y/n) makes no move to stop him, her eyes glued on the towel clutched in her hand. "I asked Soon about the arrows but he was a dead end. Then I was thinking because the flower seemed familiar to me somehow. Like I've seen it all my life but I couldn't remember where I had seen it."

(y/n) closes her eyes, realizing she'd given herself away to him her entire life, the shock of the reveal quickly taking a back seat.

"And then it hit me." Tae continues, "You were always drawing that exact flower everywhere. In your notebooks, in your letters, in your study books."

"That doesn't explain why you snuck out tonight." (y/n) finally looks at him with a scolding look.

"I was following you." Tae lowers his eyes in shame, "I wanted to talk to you because of the engravings but I saw you sneaking out with your bow and quiver full of arrows so I followed you. I didn't know they would be attacking again."

As the tears build in (y/n)'s eyes, her mind races to find the next step.

"I just wanted to see where you usually go out to to shoot at night." Tae explains, "You always talk about how you go there at night to think and practice and I wanted to actually see what it was like out there."

"And you decided that quietly following me was better than letting me know of your presence so we could go there together?" (y/n) questions, the next step still unclear in her mind.

"By the time I realized I should probably say something, you were already up on the roof and the shouts were rising in volume." Tae reasons. "I'm sorry." He apologizes again.

"Tae," (y/n) sighs, "I don't know if sorry is enough, Tae. You risked your life for something you could've spoken to me about. You broke the promise you made, too. You ran straight into harms way. I had to watch my best friend be dragged away and have his life threatened."

The first tear falls onto her cheek. It burns a trail down her face. "The momentary doubt I had that I could successfully save you. The fear that held my breath, the- And you know the most screwed up part?" She looks directly at him, his eyes following every tear falling from her eyes, his own heart breaking with every tear that hits the ground. "In the moment I shot those men, I wasn't even thinking about the oath I made to your father. The oath to protect the palace, the country, and the royal family. The only thing that was running through my mind was saving my best friend. Not the 5th Prince. My best friend. The man I couldn't bear to live life without."

Tae reaches to wipe the tears from her cheek but she backs away.

Rising to her feet, she folds her hands in front of her, "Tae, in every situation, an archer has two choices. Stay to shoot, or run." She tries her best to control the shaking in her voice.

Tae's eyes flood with tears as he realizes what she's about to do. "Please, don't."

(y/n) sniffles and wipes her tears, "Rest well, your Highness." She bows and quickly leaves the room. As the doors close behind her, she hears the crashing and splashing of the water bin against the floor. Along with the sobs of 5th Prince. She keeps her eyes glued to the ground, avoiding the faces of the 3rd and 7th princes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun beats down on (y/n)'s back as she roams the palace grounds. After not getting a minute of sleep last night, she thought staying cooped up in her room wasn't the best idea. Her heart still aches from last night's conversation. Walking away was difficult, but she knew it was the only choice she had, at the time. Between the anger, the worry, the fear, and the doubt, she needed to clear her head but she couldn't do it with him in the room. She had to leave.

"It was my only option." (y/n) reminds herself and kicks the dirt at her feet.

"You said you couldn't bear to live life without me." Tae's voice stops her in her tracks.

She clenches her hands together but doesn't move to face him.

"What did you mean by that?" He asks, quieter.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, and we aren't to be seen together, your Highness." (y/n) reminds him and moves to continue walking but Tae blocks her path. She lowers her gaze to the ground, not wanting to appear rude towards the royal in front of her.

"Do you know why we were told not to be seen together?" Tae questions, waving off her concern.

When (y/n) doesn't answer, he answers his own question. "Because I begged my father to not arrange my marriage, to let me only have one wife. He agreed on one condition. I was not to see the person I wanted to marry for 8 years. And if I still loved her, I would be able to marry her and only her."

(y/n) doesn't hide the tears or the sniffles, "That was a terrible deal." She comments.

Tae chuckles, "In hind sight, yeah, it was kind of terrible deal. But I was determined to marry the girl I love so I took it."

When Tae grabs her hands, (y/n) tries to pull away but Tae's grip only tightens. "You, (y/n), are the person I couldn't bear to live life without." He gives her words back to her. "If I know you as well as I think I do, I know you're scared and angry but you're not sure if you have the right to feel that way."

(y/n) raises her head to meet his gaze. The understanding gaze that always could comfort her even when her thoughts were in the deepest grave. It always surprises her how well Tae could decipher her emotions without her ever saying a word.

"You have every right to feel those emotions, (y/n)." Tae reassures her, daring to wipe a tear off of her cheek. "You admitted something last night that you weren't intending on admitting. You're angry at yourself for saying it but you're also scared of what comes next because you can't prepare for it."

Feeling cornered, but cornered by the right person who won't let her fall, (y/n) admits to what she's been holding in.

"I always thought it was because of the oath I took with your father. That the oath was the reason we weren't to be seen together in public." She explains, "You're right, I didn't want to admit it, but it just slipped out in all the confusion. I was going to tell you. I wanted to. But now that I have, I can't see my available next steps because the answer is in your hands. That scares me. It scares me that this is the one thing I've spent years trying to find the right path for and I still haven't found anything. Once I practically said 'I love you,' I took the first step into the unknown path and-"

Tae presses his lips against hers, stopping her from saying any more. His arms slowly wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and she responds. Finally letting her inner feelings emerge and show themselves after years of hiding.

Pulling away, Tae rests his forehead against hers.

"Tae, we still need to talk about last night." (y/n) declares, "A confession and a kiss aren't going to fix everything that happened."

Tae rolls his eyes, "I'm sorry for sneaking out."

(y/n) shakes her head, "You have to promise me that you'll never to it again."

Tae opens his mouth to answer but (y/n) places a finger on his mouth, quieting his response. "And that you'll never leave my side."

When Tae's boxy smile breaks out onto his features, (y/n) can't help but mirror his expression. "I promise." He promises and pulls her in for a hug.

"I have one more question, (y/n)." Tae holds her at arms length.

(y/n) nods and waits to answer his unknown question.

"Take the unknown path with me," Tae starts, "Will you marry me?"

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Pathetic

My first fic for the Penumbra Podcast! And it’s angsty self loathing masturbation! Of course!

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, it means so much

---

Juno Steel didn’t like the night.

A strange thing for a PI to think, given that so much of his work took place in it, that he made use of it so much when he didn’t want to be seen or when he wanted to snoop around places he shouldn’t be.

Maybe it wasn’t so accurate to say he didn’t like nights. Rather he didn’t like nights where he had nothing to do. When all there was to fill the time was to make futile attempts at sleep he didn’t want to need, wander his lonely, cramped apartment and be alone with his own thoughts. In other words, Juno’s own personal hell.

It was a hot night, oppressively so, close and sticky and typical of a Martian summer. And, also typical, his crappy air conditioner wasn’t working. He’d slammed it with a frustrated fist and cussed it out but the thing had only blinked balefully at him and, as if in retribution, spat out even warmer air.

“Fine,” Juno grumbled to no one in particular and went over to the window, having to wrestle with that too before it deigned to open with an especially nasty, rusty screech.

He didn’t like to have the windows open. It let in the noise, the rabble from down below, the car horns and shouts and shitty music from shitty bars. Juno’s main goal was to always forget, as far as possible, that he was in Hyperion City. And it was damn hard to forget, when your nose was full of it’s exhaust and acrid fumes and your ears were full of two distant people screaming at each other about who even knew what.

But it was marginally cooler with them open. Marginally.

Juno hitched a leg over the windowsill, bare foot hitting the sharp metal of the fire escape that ran the height of the building like a hideously broken spine. He used it to lever himself and find a semi comfortable perch on the sill, slouching against the wall, half in and half out. Not something he could maintain for any length of time but he was in desperate need of air. And the smog the city had to offer would need to suffice.

He was badly underdressed to be dangling out of a window but if anyone wanted to take issue with the fact that he was in full view of any upwardly turning eye wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, they were welcome to. He needed someone to yell at. Something other than his air conditioner, anyway.

Juno let what meagre, damp breeze there was move the curls piled messily on top of his head. His hair was getting long, too long, but getting it cut was such a chore. Rita would do it if he asked though he knew that had the potential to go badly wrong. Five percent chance he came out looking decent, twenty percent chance she dyed his hair pink for the fun of it, seventy five percent chance he lost an ear.

More than Juno needed a haircut, he needed a cigarette. But he was currently experiencing one of his fits of madness that led him to try and quit. He’d be damned before he let this crappy night have that victory too. He had to maintain control where he could, even if his fingers were shaking slightly and he was compulsively bouncing his leg.

Juno ran through his mental list again. No ongoing cases. Nothing interesting in the police transmissions he’d had Rita hack and rewire to his comms ages ago. Nothing spooky or unexplainable in the news. Hell, not even anything good on the video feeds.

In short, nothing to do.

The thought made him sick.

He didn’t do well without some kind of occupation. Feelings he didn’t want to feel and thoughts he didn’t want to think clamoured for every scrap of undivided attention and if they got too much of a grasp then...then he was screwed, basically.

He could already feel the signs coming in, like the symptoms of a slow, degenerative illness. First every breath didn’t feel like enough, like he was actually forgetting how to breathe with each passing second. Then he would start to shake, nerves firing and muscles twitching when he hadn’t asked them to, with nowhere to put the energy they gave out. Other parts would go the opposite way, they’d go numb, his extremities prickling with pins and needles but unable to feel. Sweat would bead uncomfortably under his arms or on his forehead, though that one was already a given with the heat of the night.

And then things would draw in, the walls pressing but also everything far beyond them, all moving in and crunching down like cheap tin, like the whole universe was trying to crush itself into Juno’s heart.

He shook himself, pinching the bridge of his nose hard, muttering, “Stop it, stop it, stop it…”

He was doing exactly what he needed to avoid, wallowing in it. Still muttering, he launched himself back into his dark apartment, staggering when his legs weren’t ready to listen to instructions yet though he managed to catch himself on the windowsill. A few strides took him into the kitchen and within seconds he had his hand around the half empty bottle of bourbon. At least there was that to be said for having a depressingly small apartment. You could never be that far from a drink.

Juno didn’t bother with a glass, feeling the insides of the bottle slosh as he raised it and it carried that momentum straight down his throat. It burned in the best way, molten gold spreading through his chest, helping it expand and stand firm against the pressure of just...everything.

Now he was swaying though it had nothing to do with his legs. Juno tried to do the math in his head, work out how much more he needed to drink to drown his dreams, how to walk the tightrope between the alcohol bringing him blissful oblivion and rendering him unable to get up for work in the morning. But the math was hard so he took another long pull.

Then he was moving, bare feet slapping against the cheap plastic painted up to look like a wooden floor. Then the whole universe tipped on his axis and then he was in bed, the old springs squealing their protest as they took his weight. Devastatingly, the bottle slipped from his grasp as he did and thunked against the floor, the rest of that oblivion he desperately needed glugging sadly into an old shirt of his, staining it probably beyond redemption.

“Ah shit…” Juno cursed, trying to grope for it while doing as little moving as possible, not trusting himself not to slip and spend another night on the floor. That would kill his bad back.

He didn’t find the cool touch of glass under his fingers. He found paper. And he didn’t need to see it to know what it was.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Juno flew onto his knees then, snatching the paper up, not caring if he fell now. His voice sounded so small in the dark, empty space, like a child begging the universe to be kind, “Please, please, please…”

He held it to the one square of sickly yellow light above his bed, coming from a glow lamp outside. It was fine. No bourbon had touched it, the ink was dry and readable as ever, the hand it was written in perfect as when he’d first looked at it. He could still read the name, done in looping, exaggerated cursive. Peter Nureyev.

Juno exhaled a long, shaky sigh of relief, letting his forehead hit the wall, limbs feeling leaden as the last of the panic concentrated there before evaporating away.

Pathetic, he told himself, after everything he did, clinging to his fucking goodbye-I-screwed-you-over note like it’s a god damn safety blanket.

And it was pathetic, he knew that. To have the parting glance of someone who’d stolen so many things from him as an anchor, to keep it and read it over and over again ‘for the case’, like that was fooling anyone. What case? Nureyev had fucked him good and not even in the way Juno had wanted him to. He’d probably never even see him again. What case was there?

But reading the words brought the memory of that cologne back into his nose, the spices from another planet, hell, another universe. They brought back that look he’d given him back at the Kanagawa’s, the look that had made him feel like he could do anything. It brought back the hope he’d been able to nurse for four fucking beautiful hours, that maybe he could have a partner, that he would feel a little less lonely. That someone saw him for more than he was.

It had been a lie, of course, all of it. But the fading memories of a beautiful lie where all Juno had right now.

And he was pathetic enough to cling to them until his fingers bled.

Juno sank down into the pillow again, the letter in his hand, thumb running across the words. He was still thinking about that kiss. One of the best ones he’d ever had, for all it’s brevity and unkept promises. The way Nureyev’s lipstick had left a ghost on his mouth, the way his lips had parted after just the right amount of time, the way Juno had felt him moan, not just heard him, with his fingers resting so lightly at his throat. His sleek black hair had felt just as soft as it looked, under Juno’s other hand, and he’d wanted so badly to see it mussed up out of it’s perfect arrangement.

How would it have happened? Would Nureyev have wanted to keep control, he seemed like being in control. Sure it had been a bitch when you were the guy’s mark but in bed...Juno didn’t think he’d mind. He pictured being pinned under him like a butterfly to a board, having his legs straddle his hips, having those perfectly manicured hands holding his wrists tight enough to leave marks.

Outside of his dream, Juno was straining against the elastic of his boxers. He was hot all over, not just from the weather. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d rolled onto his back and his hand was down between his legs, holding himself through the thin cotton.

Once that was done, it was a simple thing to slip under the fabric and feel his own skin. He was ridiculously hard, when had that happened? Even with the two good swallows of sour whiskey, he was standing straight as soon as he pushed down his boxers, springing free with an action that deserved it’s own goddamn comedy spring sound effect.

Fine… the voice inside him sighed, resigned. It was better than a fucking panic attack.

Juno’s own fingers were rough and clumsy but he was imagining slimmer ones, delicate, with hidden calluses you wouldn’t notice until the contact was this intimate. He was leaking enough pre to reduce any friction though he didn’t mind it a little rough.

Would Nureyev be rough with him? Would he take what he wanted, would it be hard, snapping muscle and tension, a struggle? Juno didn’t know why but he thought- hoped maybe- that it might be sweeter than that. Maybe they could be equals, kissing heavily while their hands fumbled. Nureyev was so slight, it would be so easy to bring him close, to cover his body with Juno’s own. To have them be so tangled that suddenly there’d be no border between them.

The groan tore out of Juno’s chest and he threw his arm over his face to muffle any sounds, the other arm working fast.

But he’d be loud for Nureyev...he’d shout and scream and not give a damn, for once. And Nureyev would look at him as their bodies crashed together, he’d give him that look from before, the one that made Juno feel so, so good.

He came before he wanted to, shuddering and moaning the name under his breath. And then it was all gone, the fantasy shattered. Juno was lying in his own bed, sweating and panting, come sticking to his palm and dripping off his fingers.

Pathetic. It came harsh, like the crack of a whip this time and Juno actually flinched.

He rolled onto his side and curled up small, letting the letter fall from his grasp over the edge of the bed, and tried not to feel the tears in his eyes.

The city continued on outside, blaring loud through his windows, and Juno Steel shut down and hoped he wouldn’t dream.

[amicablestone]

Day 15: Changing Times (not so little Part 2)

[Read part 1]

When Marisa returned from the village, Reimu had prepared lunch. They really did have a lot to get ready, but there was always time for tea.

“So, what do you think?” asked Reimu after they had settled in on the front steps of the shrine, “about Kosuzu, I mean.”

“She’s definitely a smart kid, curious and attentive, but she’s got herself convinced that this is all way harder than it is.”

Reimu nodded. To a point, that was to be expected. Kosuzu had spent her whole life up until this point hearing larger than life stories about incidents and duels in the sky, and now she had to accept that she was a part of that world.

“On the other hand,” Marisa continued, “she’s got a ton of potential, and if she’s already started to fly after just a day of trying...It’s more than I could do on my own at her age.”

Reimu raised a wry eyebrow, “Really? And to think, she didn’t even have to consort with any strange ghosts to do it.”

Marisa laughed “Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, we can’t all be prodigies.”

It was Reimu’s turn to laugh, “You say that like it was all easy for me. I needed help in the beginning too, you know.”

“Oh yeah, your training wheels, I forgot about him! How’s the old fart doing, nowadays?”

Reimu smiled warmly, “Genji is currently enjoying a peaceful retirement, I’m happy to say.”

They lapsed into a contented silence, that was broken when Marisa set down her empty teacup.

“Okay, now tell me what’s really going on. Why the sudden interest in Kosuzu’s progress? Up until now you’ve been happy to let her figure it out on her own.”

Reimu looked down, “It’s just that calling her the ‘little sister of the incident resolvers’ only protects her from the rabble around here, that won’t work against the moon, or hell, or Seija.” she spat the name and then sighed into her teacup. “It feels like every year the world gets a little more dangerous and I’m just not sure if I can keep up. Some guardian I am, can’t even protect one little girl so I ask her to do it herself.”

Marisa punched her friend in the arm. “Don’t give me that. As the number two ‘guardian’ around here I’m uniquely qualified to say that Kosuzu and Gensokyo are both in the best hands possible,” she stood up, “and besides, you know that as soon as she finds out it’s an option, she’s going to throw on that little apron and dive straight into hell. Might as well make sure she can defend herself before that happens.”

The ‘night shift’ at Suzunaan was even more quiet than the day had been. It was always like this when Reimu threw her parties, not everyone went of course, but a lot of the big names did, so all of the little names felt like they could stretch their legs. On nights like this one you could find any number of smaller, seedier gathering dotted around Gensokyo.

Kosuzu knew she should be using this opportunity to catch up on sleep, but she simply had too much on her mind, and when she couldn’t sleep, she read. So with just one candle (to not wake her parents), Kosuzu sat behind the counter (on the off chance a customer did show up), flicking through a field guide to a place called Makai, allegedly the ancestral home of the Tengu.

Kosuzu stopped dead. The way flying felt, the source of her ability, her peepers. She could have kicked herself for not putting it all together sooner. She closed the field guide and gave the cover an appreciative tap, then she set off hunting through the shelves.

Suzunaan had always had youma books; her parents tend to buy in bulk from scavengers and there was nothing particularly unusual about an ‘import’ nobody could read. For just as long, Kosuzu had been drawn to them, she could remember pouring over the strange letters and fanciful drawings before she could understand kanji, let alone high tengu. She had no idea if it was the work of just one, or an effect of growing up around so many, but there was now no doubt in her mind that she had these books to thank for her eyes.

By definition, a youma book is anything written by a youkai, in the modern era they are also almost always the last remaining evidence of their authors’ and subjects’ existences. For a youkai, to be know is to live, so when a youma book is read, its contents are brought to life in a very real way. Some of the books see their new lives as prison and, after a few missteps, Kosuzu had learned to appreciate those types form a safe distance. Most, however, where like the well-worn tome she pulled from a back shelf and practically glowed with gratitude when they where read.

It was the personal memoir of a Tengu scout, if you where feeling particularly uncharitable, you could call it the predecessor to the Bunbunmaru. It didn’t offer any dark secrets or mystical powers, so it wasn’t checked out very often, but it was still one of Kosuzu’s favorites.

She carefully scanned through the dogeared pages. Accompanying bombastic accounts of the scout’s daily life where a number of hasty sketches and there, near the beginning, was a self portrait. It was exactly the figure she had seen when she was flying.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier” Kosuzu whispered only a little self-consciously to the image, “but thank you for helping me.”

Book in hand, she returned to the counter and, before she could think better of it, climbed on top. She took a breath and made for the edge.

She stopped just short. The floor of the shop would be much less forgiving than the shrine’s yard, and the noise would definitely wake her parents. That was not a conversation she wanted to have.

She was about to climb down, but then remembered what Mamizou had said. Instead, she griped the memoir close to her chest and tried to hold on to the image of the scout in her mind. She took a step forward.

From the darkened storefront of Suzunaan came the faintest tinkling of bells.

[delicateduckpatrol]

Okay time to post something!

I have started writing a few book but I cant choose one to focus on so I'm gonna post what I have of the stories on here and have you guys pick.

NUMBERO UNO

Untitled

 Anyone caught trespassing on this land will be punished by the The Rat Lord!

A sign warns as a young man enters the woods, bordering his town. The man is quick to find an area to scout out decent food. A tree with sturdy branches on the outskirts of a tiny clearing of tall grass. Having only been eating the scraps of whatever he could find in the back alleys for the past few days. He is willing to receive punishment for trespassing as long as he is able to eat something. 

    “Please give me a deer, a rabbit, hell even a racoon would do, just anything please.” He whispers into his hand, laying down his bow. 

 With the setting sun the night chills, and the animals begin to move. The man listens for a sound but none come and he is alone in the cold.  He waits and waits and the few moments that he has a chance to catch something they are stolen away just as quickly. With frozen fingers he is unable to draw his bow back far enough without it slipping from his grasp and alerting the prey.The man retires for the night and heads back to his shack; he'll try again in the morning.

Now the second choice!

The title for now is rainfall

Chapter 1 

“Where is She Giles? She should be here by now!” I exclaim sighing as we continue waiting for our client. 

“Calm down Miss Raia, Lady Masi will be here shortly!” Giles waves his hand at me, annoyed by my impatience. After some time at the station Giles jumps up and shouts, 

“There! Her carriage Miss Raia!” I turn around to check for myself and sure enough coming down the path a carriage with the clients crest; a swan engraved with gold. I motion for Giles to stand by me as the driver pulls up. As he does he shakes his head at us, saying the his Mistress wants Giles and I to stay at her residence to work on her dresses to make sure there done to her liking.

“If it helps any she also included some material for you to look at on your journey.” I turn to Giles telling him he can stay behind if he wants since I don’t know when we might be back and that traveling to Reif can be a tad dangerous. 

“No, it’s fine Miss Raia if I didn’t go what kind of apprentice would I be.” Giles smiled kindly. The driver told us that Lady Masi has clothes for both of us and she wants Giles and I back as timely as possible. The driver whose name we learned is Hank said that if we leave now we can rest at The Twelve Travelers, and make it back by noon. I thank him and step to go into the carriage. 

“It's no problem at all Miss Raia.” he says as he helps me, Giles soon joins me in the back as Hank returns to his bench. 

“Alright Hank we’re all set!” Giles shouts out the window. Hank grunts and turns us around and as our journey begins we here the crack of the reins.

Chapter 2

“Wow Giles look at these fabrics they must have been so expensive; it’s so considerate of Lady Masi to provide the material.” I smile putting away the light colored fabric. 

“Yes, she probably did that so that she could guilt us into coming.” He snickered. As we near the inn Hank mentioned earlier, the carriage hits a pothole roughly and a small chest falls from the shelf above me onto the bench. 

“I wonder what’s in it? “ I face Giles in glee. I reach my hands for the wooden chest and undo the lock. 

“ Wait wait! What if it’s not for us, Miss Raia what if it’s a government secret and they’ll behead us for opening it!” I give him a blank stare. 

“Yes because, top government secrets are going to be hidden in a jewelry box.” I chuckle at him and open the little chest. A note is layed on top of everything, it’s written in a fine cursive hand. Before I snoop any further I decide that I should read the note out loud incase it actually is a government secret and thus I won’t be executed alone for knowing it...Sorry not sorry Giles.

#3

Untitled

Chapter 1

A Fool’s Beginning  

“Finally done!” a tall woman stands up smiling at the finished room barely believing that she had just moved away from her parents. Her small apartment offered little space to decorate and even less to move; but the woman made the best of it. In the main area she had placed a love seat in front of a small television, the walls a stomach-turning yellow. She tried her best in hiding the color with pictures of her friends, family, and her pets; but alas the color seemed victorious. 

She of course had a lovely bedroom with only the most age appropriate decor; such as a laundry basket that came with a basketball hoop, posters of pairs heros from a show her best friends niece showed her while on babysitting duty, and of course glow in the dark stars on every surface. 

    After placing just a few more finishing touches to her new home the woman peeks at her phone.

“Yes! 11:45 mail should be here!” She runs up to the door then very suddenly turns on her heels and starts walking back into her room with a rather sour expression. 

“There is no need to get locked out on your first day here.” She sighs picking up her apartment keys. Finally returning to the door she opens it and marches down the stairs to grab her mail. A man stood in front of the mail boxes with a stern look on his face as he read a letter.

“What utter nonsense!” The man mumbled to himself, tossing the letter away. The woman walked up and motioned for the man to move. 

“ Oh my bad.” He quickly apologized and stepped out of her way. The woman grabbed her mail from box 5. “Wait box 5 are you new in here?” the man asked excitedly.

“Why yes I just moved in!” She smiled brightly at the man, and extended her hand to him. “My name’s Lydia, and you?” 

“Simon Rogers the name.” He replies gladly accepting Lydias’ hand. “Well Lydia if you every need anything i’m just three doors down on your left. I hope you have a good day.” Simon said before leaving.      

THERE IT IS FOLKS YOU CHOOSE A STORY AND ILL CONTINUE WORKING SOLELY ON THAT ONE AND YES ILL POST HERE

Now if more than one person where to vote I'll take do the story with the most votes.

Alrighty y'all have a great day now!

[feminarrie]

under the same moon - three

a/n: sorry for the wait, loves! i’ve been in a lot of pain the last week, but finally managed to finish chapter three! it’s a little over 2.2k and a whole lot of soft niall! a big big big thank you to @fireawaynjh for beta reading this chapter! 

want to be added to the taglist? send me an ask!

Niall sighs as he gets out of bed, chest heavy and eyes still bleary with sleep. He’d gotten almost a full eight hours last night, but his lack of a consistent sleeping schedule never allowed him a day without some sort of fatigue. And it’s aggravated slightly by Hanna’s presence in his life, but he’d rather lose sleep talking to her than miss out on the small glimpses into her life back home.

He widens his eyes in an effort to wake himself up more, prolonging his blinks to clear whatever blurs his vision. It doesn’t help much, but he hasn’t got time to sit around. He’s got a six hour shift at the record store just a block away from his flat. Plus one of Liam’s friends, Zayn, had asked if Niall would mind recording some of his music. Which, of course, Niall has agreed to when Zayn promised to pay him a hundred quid.

Fingers comb through the tangled mess atop his head, leaving some strands sticking straight up and others flopping down on his forehead. He supposes that a shower was likely a good idea, even if it meant skimping out on a healthy breakfast in favor of an overpriced scone and coffee from Starbucks.

Niall gets up to rummage in the black chest of drawers, finding a pair of black Calvin Klein’s and wandering off into the single bathroom in the flat. He’s grateful that Liam’s likely still sleeping in because he’s genuinely never met somebody that takes so long in the bathroom just to come out looking the exact same.

(Which also frustrated Niall because Liam was already fit. He could get just about any girl as soon as he steps out on the street. So, it really isn’t fair that he makes the water run cold before Niall’s had the chance to shower).

After he’s turned the shower on and while he is waiting for it to heat up to an appropriate temperature, Niall types out a quick good morning text to Hanna.

Good morning, love. Getting ready for work, but hopefully I’ll be out before you’re even awake. Hope your day starts off well!

After he’s pressed send, Niall scrolls through some of his curated Spotify playlists. He settles on one that is a compilation of his most listened to titles and turs it up to full volume. Take It Easy by The Eagles echoes of the white walls of the bathroom. Niall hums along with it as he steps into the shower. Before long, though, his voice is carrying over the sounds of Glenn Frey’s own vocals.

Niall sings his way through two more songs on the playlist before he’s stepping out of the shower. Brunette locks are plastered to his forehead and beads of water travel down the bridge of his nose only to drip to his lower lip. He licks the droplet away as he reaches for the grey towel that’s neatly hung over the metal rod of a towel rack. He uses it to quickly dry off his hair, leaving it in loose curls and sticking up in different directions. His body follows next where he starts from his feet and then all the way to his broad back before he steps outside of the porcelain tub to tug on his boxer briefs.

As he unlocks the door to exit, Niall grabs his phone from the shelf that’s hung exactly in the middle of the two towel racks beneath it. He pauses Jackie and Wilson by Hozier because he’s sure that Liam wouldn’t appreciate the blaring music as Niall makes the trek back to his room.

He doesn’t expect Hanna’s name to pop up on his screen, though. It’s only a quarter past seven in the morning, so he had expected Hanna to be tucked into bed for the night. Especially after she had groaned about needing to get back into a decent sleep schedule before classes resumed.

Sonam and Tyler are back!!! We’re out for Taco Tuesday and dancing!

Wish you could party with us n not have to go to work. ): ): ):

Niall sends a message that tells her that he would much rather be out with them than getting ready for his shift. Especially when his 8am to 2pm doesn’t generate the most traffic or revenue. Instead, he spends the majority of his time typing lyrics down on the notes app or texting Hanna when she’s awake.

He tosses the phone onto his bed and pivots to find an outfit within his closet. It’s mostly an array of deeper tones—browns, navies, oranges—but, they’re broken up with some white graphic shirts and striped short sleeved tops. He settles on a heather grey top that he pairs with his signature black jeans. Niall doesn’t bother with a sleek boot, but picks a pair of worn black Nike SB Blazer Mids.

The clock on his phone reads 7:38am when Niall finally all of his stuff ready to go. A phone charger and notebook thrown haphazardly into his backpack, his wallet tucked into his back pocket. He pulls his beanie and peacoat from their respective hooks just to the right of the door

When he steps out the door, he doesn’t bother to lock it behind him. He figures Liam will likely be leaving in only a few short hours and would need to lock up regardless. Even so, he texts his roommate a reminder to make sure everything is locked up before he leaves. Not that there is much worth stealing, if you asked Niall, but his laptop and guitar could sell for a pretty penny if they were taken.

Their flat is on the third floor, so Niall doesn’t bother with the elevator like he usually does. But, he can see from the electronic numbers that are lit up above the steel doors, that waiting for it isn’t worth it. Instead, he’s jogging down the stairs and pushing the door open to reveal an empty lobby.

With the holidays just passing and the upcoming semester drawing nearer, he had expected there to be more commotion. But, he reasons that it’s likely that most people won’t be leaving for their morning commute for another half hour or so. At least, those with traditional nine to five desk jobs.

Niall doesn’t dwell on it, though. He simply shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and uses his weight to push open the entrance door.

The wind licks and bites at his skin, dyeing his cheeks and nose a shade of pink. The windburn and frigid temperatures have never been kind to his skin, but Niall has yet to learn his lesson. He routinely leaves the house without a scarf or gloves. Hell, he isn’t even sure if he owns any.

And he thinks about buying them, sure. But, whenever he actually pops into ASOS or TopMan, they’re never first priority.

He’s grateful that the walk to Starbucks is only two minutes because he’s ducking inside before he even realizes it. The smell of ground coffee and pastries occupy his senses. His eyes flitter across the menu as the scents swirl around him, twisting and turning until his stomach makes an audible growling noise.

The line is fairly short, only four others in front of him when he finally decides on his order. He takes the time to dig his phone from his pocket once more, seeing that Hanna had texted him back only three minutes ago.

Really wish you could be here!

You’re all I keep thinking about tbh.

Oops. Gotta go, the tacos are here and I’m so hungry. ):

Niall is smiling down at his screen like a proper idiot. Face lit by the blue light of his phone and teeth on full display. He doesn’t really know what part of Hanna’s messages have him grinning from ear to ear. He knows that, in part, it’s because she’s just so cute. It pains him at times, if he’s honest. Puts his lower lip in a pout because he almost always thinks about how he’d like to kiss her and tell her just how cute she is.

As he rereads the texts again, inching forward as the next person in the queue is ordering, he finds himself reading over the second message the most. Hanna’s admission, though small, has Niall rising up that much closer to cloud nine. He won’t allow himself to take up residence there, for fear that Hanna may not actually feel the same. Even though he’s fairly positive that she does.

He’s satisfied with how he is feeling now, though. He’s warmed by his proximity to the sun. Lightheaded from the fast growing altitude. Weightless as he allows himself to float just beneath the surface of cloud nine.

Niall’s only brought back down to earth by the impatient barista behind the counter. His tightlipped smile is disingenuous when Niall finally steps forward. He pays him no mind, though. Still feeling as though nobody can touch him even though his feet have settled back down on the ground.

He orders a simple black coffee with a few pumps of vanilla syrup and a buttered croissant. Niall pays for both and before he’s even wedged his wallet and phone into separate back pockets, his order is so waiting for him at the opposite end of the counter.

His movements are quicker after he’s noticed the clock. He’s got about seven minutes to make a ten minute walk to the record store. So, he fills the remaining space in his cup with cream before securing the lid and venturing back out into the cold.

One hand is shoved back into the warmth of his coat pocket while the other holds a coffee that would be too hot if it weren’t for the below freezing temperatures outside. The beverage sloshes inside the cup, only contained by the green plastic stopper that Niall had knicked before stepping outside.

He manages to arrive thirty seconds early and with only a quarter sized coffee stain atop the lid. He balances the cup in his left hand while his right digs for the keys to open up the store. They’re deep in the corner of his coat pocket, where Niall’s fingers must pinch and shift them until he can get a decent grasp on the cold metal.

The inside of the store is dark when he enters, save for one neon sign in the back that Niall never remembers to turn off. It hangs above the listening area that is tucked in the left back corner of the store. “Good vibes” is written in all lower case letters and glows pink in the dimly lit space.

Niall thinks the sign is somewhat cringeworthy and hardly fits with the rest of the store’s aesthetic. The open layout is contained by exposed brick and covered with records that are chosen weekly by the staff. What is left of the empty wall space is occupied by signed posters that almost always have a glare from the string lights hung throughout the room.

After setting his stuff down, he flips the black and white “closed” sign, so that it reads “open.” He switches the lights on next before rounding the counter to prepare the register. It only takes five minutes for him to completely settle in. It takes another five for his hands to finally thaw enough for him to grab his phone.

Hanna’s name appears on his screen once again.

hello again. I’m a little drunk already.

margaritas and a vodka cran will do that to ya though.

still wishing you were here!

probably best you aren’t, though.

not the prettiest drunk, you know?

Niall is about to text her back to let her know he’s seen her pretty drunk. He had seen the way her lightly freckled cheeks were flushed and likely warm to the touch when they had first met. Her hair had been tossed up into a messy bun that barely contained her thick brunette hair. Niall had also watched her shovel fries into her mouth without a single breath that night, too.

But, Hanna already sent another message by the time he finished typing up his own response.

can’t have the boy that i like, but have no chance with, seeing me like this.

Niall watches as his cursor jumps backward as he backspaces his message.

Is it too early to be that giddy over such a simple declaration of mutual interest? Niall doesn’t think so.

In fact, he allows himself to float just that little bit more until he is sitting comfortably on cloud nine. He feels floaty and yet, never more anchored down than he does now. Even as his thumbs hover over the keyboard, unsure of how to properly respond, he feels at ease.

He settles for a simple response. Short, clear, and hard to misinterpret.

Don’t say that. Call me when you get home, love.

He types out another message asking her to be safe while she’s out. With an extra reminder to have fun with her friends as they celebrate being back together.

And on the opposite side of the world, Hanna is making her own quick ascension to cloud nine. Even being as intoxicated as she was, she is still capable of reading Niall like an open book. Which is how she feels a potentially blooming relationship should be:

Easy.

feedback? | series masterlist

taglist: @stylishmuser | @exoticniall | @irish-nlessing | @niallersdirtylaundry | @niall-is-my-dream | @fireawaynjh | @starboyhaz | @klairelavarias 

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Fragile Hearts Ch. 5: It’s Delicate, Isn’t it?

Click the OP if the READ MORE link does not show!

Click Here for Chapter 1

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Feedback is super appreciated!!!!

When morning came around, Pidge had barely managed to sleep. She’d been too anxious, and her stomach was in knots, but she wasn’t sure why. Sam woke up and got ready for the day, but Pidge just paced around and nibbled on a piece of toast until they could leave. Hunk had texted her good morning and it actually managed to soothe her nerves at least for a little while.

Sam, all primped and ready for the day, finally grabbed her keys and her coat and gestured to the door. Pidge followed and felt her hands begin to sweat. She slid into her car and started chewing on her thumb as Sam pulled away from the apartment. She could tell that Pidge was nervous, so she didn’t try to talk to her much.

Maybe Sam knew there was more than Pidge was telling her. She wasn’t stupid and no one got this worked up over a book series. Still, she was kind enough not to prod.

When they reached the bookstore at the mall, Pidge followed Sam through the aisles. She stopped and pointed. “The books should be in there. You’ll notice them easily because they take up a few shelves. I’ll be over here in the textbook section, alright?” Pidge nodded and watched her walk away.

She was close. She was very close to the books. But she couldn’t get her feet to move. It felt like she was back in the bakery, frozen in place as she stared at Hunk at the register. She gulped and shot Hunk a quick text.

@ bookstore..

She tucked her phone away and focused on moving her feet. She scanned the shelves slowly before she caught Lance’s name. Her breath caught and swallowed as she tried to breathe normally. Her mouth felt dry.

She followed the books as they numbered backwards until she reached the first one.

The Galactical Defender Series was written at the very top. This one had a cave depicting a glowing lion drawing and the title Zurtron: An Unexpected Team Book 1. She picked it up and opened the to the first page which had praises for the book. She turned and saw the publishing information. One more page turn and she’d gasped as tears pricked at her eyes.

To the best team in the universe. There’s no one else I would’ve gone to war with.

She stared at the italic letters for a while, feeling her eyes water before gaining the courage to turn the page again. It had a quote about bravery in the center. She turned to the next.

Chapter 1: Signals From Space

Pidge began to read, quickly immersing herself in the words and the memories. He’d written it from his own point of view and changed their names, but it was easy to see who was who. To begin, there were only three characters at the beginning; Leo the narrator, Chuck, and Jamie. The descriptions were so obviously them. Lance had kept Pidge’s character true to her and kept her posed as a boy, but she knew it was her because Jamie was the one looking for his family.

The art was exquisite. Every other page had a colorful rendition of them, even with similar clothing and color palettes.

Before long, Pidge was halfway through the book, reading on about how messy the practices were, laughing and crying at the same time at the inside jokes and obvious jokes Lance had incorporated. Keith and Shiro’s characters, Kyle and Makira respectively were also true to their characters and Pidge didn’t sense any malice around Keith’s character.

The book ended when the first battle was on the verge of starting, ending with a piece of art with each of the five characters looking frightened and ever so young.

Pidge hadn’t realized how profusely she’d been crying until she turned the page to find the acknowledgements. Lance had thanked his editor, his agent, his therapist, his family, his sister-in-law for the art, and his readers. And then-

Lastly, to the friends who showed me the universe. You each taught me different things, whether it was how to be a friend, how to be an adult, how to be a leader, how to be a supporter, or simply how to love unconditionally. And I will never forget any of you. I think of you each every day and I can never thank you enough for all the years we spent together. Maybe one day we’ll reconnect, but for now I hope you all know I keep you close to my heart. A team then, a team now, and a team for the years to come.

Pidge put the book down and held it close, stifling her sobs in her jacket sleeve. She took her phone back out to see a message from Hunk. She responded with a picture of the acknowledgement page.

It was a while before Hunk responded, and Pidge wasn’t sure if it was because he was busy or because he felt as emotionally strung out as her. He called her again and she answered, sniffing. “Hello?” she whispered.

“Was it good?” he asked. His voice was shaking too.

She laughed through the tears and nodded before remembering she actually had to speak. “Yeah, it actually was. He put in everything that we went through those first few weeks. And it’s so funny, Hunk.” She started crying again, unable to hold back her tears. “Your name is Chuck in here. I’m Jamie and I’m still a boy right now.”

Hunk laughed and she could hear him sniffing periodically. After a while of silence, he asked, “Does it say anything about him? Like the short author bios that are on some books?”

“Um, lemme check.” She turned to the back cover and her breath caught.

There was a picture of Lance, long face, all angles and sharp edges. There was the scar on his jaw from one of their missions. He was smiling, hands stuffed in his pockets almost shyly. But those were the same blue eyes and the same tousled brown hair, slightly longer than it had been when she last saw him, looking windswept and unruly.

There was her other best friend.

She chuckled and read aloud.

“Lance Charles McClain is a Cuban author, inspired to write after dealing with heavy post-traumatic stress. He says he’s always felt like he’s a little kid inside and relates well to them with his numerous siblings and nephews. This led him to write his hit series, Zurtron: Galactical Defender, aimed at middle school kids. Still, his easygoing, humorous writing has captured the hearts of kids and adults across the world. Lance now lives in… New York City with his pet dog, Leon. Although he has no social media outlets, he has consistent book tours to greet his young fans.”

Below that was a picture and a small bio of a young woman with long, wavy black hair and brown eyes. His sister-in-law and illustrator. But Pidge was more focused on the last two sentences of Lance’s bio.

“Hunk. He’s in New York. That’s like… a three hour drive from me.”

“Hold on, I’m searching up book signings in New York.” Pidge ran her hand over the cover, struggling to reach up for the next book. She flipped to the back as though the pages could hold new information. She stared at the books and hugged them to her chest as Hunk mumbled. “Okay, so there’s a store on Union Square that’s going to hold some authors. Lance is one of them. They’re going to speak a little then have a break then do some signings.”

“When?”

“February the 24th from like noon to five. It’s a Saturday.”

It seemed so far from now, but the only other option was scouting through the millions of people that inhabited New York city to find Lance. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to focus on school now. She had found Hunk and now they were close to finding Lance. And surely, with the note he’d left behind, he would be glad to see them, right?

“I’m buying the books,” she said, pulling herself up off the floor. She grabbed the first five and checked her account to be sure she had enough. “There’s pictures too. Looks like us when we were younger.”

“I can’t believe he’s an author now.”

Pidge laughed and ran her hand through her hair. “I’m an emotional wreck, Hunk. I’m sobbing in the middle school section of the damn store.”

Hunk laughed, but not teasingly. “Yeah, you’re not alone there. I had to take a very early lunch break when you sent that picture.”

“Shit. I totally forgot you’re working. I’m so sorry.”

“Pidge, we just got one step closer to finding Lance, and you’re apologizing?” She laughed and wiped at her face with her sleeve. “Look, I’ll head over to your place that Friday night and we can head out, stay at a hotel for a night, then go to the signing. How does that sound?”

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Okay. I have to get back to the bakery and probably take the chance to actually eat. But keep me updated, okay?” Pidge hummed in affirmation. “What time do your classes end tomorrow?”

“I’m usually back home by six.”

Hunk hummed and then said, “Okay. Well, I have to go. Let me know how the books go.”

She chuckled and patted her stack of book affectionately. “It’s probably all I’m gonna talk about, Hunk.” He laughed and her heart elated at the sound. “Okay, I’ll let you go now. Bye, Hunk.”

“Bye, Pidge.”

He hung up and Pidge went to the cashier to buy her books. As soon as they were bagged, she grabbed the second and started reading.

Sam came up to her a few seconds later and nudged her foot. “Wanna go home?”

She nodded and stood up, reading as she walked with Sam. Sam let her read the ride back and as she went back to the apartment, but after that, she sat down on Pidge’s bed and tapped her shoulder. She hummed, not looking away from the book, even though she had lived it.

Her roommate sighed and tugged the book away, despite Pidge’s protests. “Look, Katie, I’ve known you for a while now. And I’ve tried not to pry too much, but…. I know you’re hiding something. About your past. I’m not really sure what, but I know it has to do with Hunk and the author of that book, and something with that series because your eyes look incredibly red and I know it’s not because you got high.” Pidge narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “I want to be able to help you. But I can’t do that if I don’t know what upsets you.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Honestly, if you’ve hid it this long, I’d be willing to believe anything you told me. I just want to understand.” Pidge looked at her nervously and took a deep breath, keeping her mouth shut. “I won’t judge. No matter what happened.”

Pidge took a breath and let it out slowly. Then she looked at Sam and lifted the book. “These aren’t fictional.” Sam furrowed her eyebrows and looked at the book then at Pidge in confusion. “I lived it. I’m in it. The book, I mean.”

“You’re… in the book?”

“Jamie Gunderson at your service. Paladin of the Green Lion.” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed further as she stared at Pidge. “If you don’t believe me, then ask your brother to tell you what’s happened in the books, and then I’ll tell you what I went through. You can see what parts align and what doesn’t.”

“Um. Okay…. Why don’t you tell me first?”

She shrugged and hugged a pillow to her chest. She tried to explain in a concise way. Why and when she got into the Garrison, how they’d come across the cave, the castle, the lions. How Hunk was the yellow pilot and Lance was the blue pilot. She gave her roommate a gist of some of their major battles, and the major turning points for the team. The time they found out about Keith, when Shiro went missing, when she found her brother, when Keith left to join the Blade. She told her about the time Lance had nearly died and Hunk had been tortured. She told her about Keith and Lance becoming a couple and those little moments she reminisced with Hunk that weren’t all serious and bad. The holidays, the planets, the movie nights, the Space Mall.

Sam had looked incredulous and apprehensive at first, and Pidge was certain she would call a mental institution at first. But once Pidge finished with them returning to Earth and going their separate ways, she looked more shocked than anything.

“I remember my brother calling me to complain about Kyle leaving Zurtron. And he called me crying when Jamie found her brother, and I got confused because the last time he’d mentioned Jamie, it was a boy.” Pidge chuckled and nodded. “So…. You pulled a Mulan and passed for a boy?”

“Have you seen me? I’ve always been underdeveloped and small. It wasn’t that hard to make fake documents and look like a prepubescent boy.”

“So… that’s why you started college later than most of us?” Again Pidge nodded. “And… the scars you have are from… battles?”

“And messing with the lions. Yeah.”

Sam ran her hand through her hair and scoffed. “I just… I thought you had a bad family or something. I never thought… you were a war vet. You lived real life Star Wars!”

“Not exactly like that… but sure.” Pidge chuckled, grateful that Sam believed her.

“And your nightmares…. Oh my, God. Katie, I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that for so long.” She wrapped her arms around Pidge and hugged her tightly. “No wonder you freaked out when I told you about the books.” She took one of the ones on the pile and flipped to the back where Lance’s picture was. “Whoa, he’s really hot. I can’t believe this stuff is real.” Pidge laughed and shook her head. “Honestly, if I could get my brother to meet him…. But never mind. Are you… gonna try to find him?”

Pidge nodded. “Hunk and I are going to one of his signings.” She plopped back on the bed and ran a hand through her hair. “But it’s not for another month almost, and I don’t know what to do in the meantime! I have no idea how I’m supposed to focus on school.”

“Well, why don’t you just take it one day at a time. Trust me with the amount of shit the professors have us doing, the time is going to speed past.”

Pidge hummed apprehensively. Before either of them could say anything else, the front door opened, and she heard a familiar voice calling out for them. It seemed Ana had come back.

She walked into their room and smiled at them brightly. “How was break?” she asked.

Pidge looked at Samantha and they smirked. “It was alright,” Sam said with a shrug.

“Nothing major,” Pidge added.

“Well, it feels good to be back. We should go out to eat tonight before having to start classes tomorrow.” She put a hand to her hip, her silver rings contrasting with her dark chocolate skin. “What do you two think?”

“I’m up for it,” Sam answered. Pidge shrugged in agreement.

Samantha left the room and went off to catch up with Ana while Pidge snuggled into her bed and began reading again. As she read, she couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes and simply tried to stay quiet enough as to not alert her roommates. She read until her eyelids had gotten too heavy and finally managed to fall asleep.

She dreamt of Voltron. But it wasn’t a war anymore. It wasn’t capturing, torture, or trauma. She dreamt about the good times. The day they’d been handcuffed together and started a food goo fight. The day she found Matt. The ridiculous shows they had to put on when forming the coalition. The day Keith came back to stay.

When Sam woke her up, she felt drained and melancholic. She was nostalgic for those moments, and remembering them made her feel heavy. But she preferred it over the nightmares.

She managed to join her roommates as they went out for wings and managed to remain engaged in the conversation. It was a bit of a struggle for her to keep her mind off of New York, off of Lance. She kept wondering what she and Hunk would say to him, or how they’d approach him.

Every now and then, Samantha would look at her worriedly, but Pidge managed to refocus and tried to enjoy her time with her roommates.

The next day, classes were a bit of a blur. One dove straight into the curriculum, but others took a moment for introductions and going over the major points in the syllabus. Pidge ended up doodling in the margins of the papers, creating rough sketches of her friends. She even drew what she thought Keith and Shiro might look like.

They had all changed so much, and yet not at all. It was strange to see Lance looking so much older and mature, yet child-like and playful in that photo. And Hunk was still the same guy with the same protective hugs and bright smile, just with a beard and tattoos. Pidge was still small and looked younger than she was, but her hair was different as was her personality. She was far more careful around people than she was when she was in the comfort of the castle.

She wondered if Lance got nightmares. She wondered who was there to comfort him, or how he did it himself. She wondered if he was different around people now too.

“Ah, miss?” Pidge blinked and looked up, realizing with a start that she was alone in the classroom. “The class has been dismissed. Are you alright?”

She cleared her throat and stood up, grabbing her things. “Oh, yes. Sorry…. I guess it’s just the nerves.” She chuckled nervously and left, thankful that it had been her last class anyway.

She returned to her apartment where Samantha and Sophie were already home and watching something on the television. Meanwhile, she scavenged the pantry, hoping to eat something other than noodles.

Before she could look for long, her phone rang. It was Matt.

“Hey Pidgeon. How was the first day back?”

Pidge smiled to herself. Four years later and he still called the first day of each semester. “It was okay. Kind of pointless, and I already got assigned some homework, but it’s cool.”

“Well, just keep your eye on the prize. You’re not that far from finishing.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I get nervous just thinking about that.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I was just looking, but I think I might just order something online in a bit.” She padded over to her room and laid down on the bed. “You won’t believe what I found out the other day.” Matt hummed inquisitively. “Lance is a writer. He has a book series and it’s based off of Voltron.”

“No fucking way?” Pidge laughed and turned on her side to grab one of the book on the bedside table. “How did you find out?”

“My roommate. Samantha. Her little brother reads them. I went to go find them, and they’re really good. Really funny, and… a lot of memories.”

Samantha walked in and waved for her attention. “Your pizza’s here.”

“I didn’t order a pizza,” she answered.

Same shrugged. “Pizza chick is here and says the pizza is for someone with your last name.”

Pidge frowned and stood up. “Hey, Matt gimme a second.” She walked over to the front door and saw a girl holding out a pizza. “Um, hey. Who is that for?”

“Pidge Holt,” she answered. “It was paid online, so….”

Pidge furrowed her eyebrows, and she took the pizza, thanking the delivery girl. She walked to the table and chuckled. “Matt, why’d you get me a pizza?”

“I didn’t,” he answered. “But now I know why Hunk asked for your address earlier.”

Pidge froze and stared at nothing. “What?”

Matt laughed on the other end while Pidge felt herself go completely red. “I’ll let you go so you can eat and thank your future boyfriend.”

“Oh my God, shut up!” she whined. “Ugh. Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” He hummed suggestively and Pidge hung up. She opened the pizza and bit back a smile.

Medium supreme pizza with a stuffed crust. She couldn’t hold back the smile or the way her mouth watered. She took a soda from the fridge and took her pizza to her room, trying to hide her blush.

She pulled her laptop out and texted Hunk, asking if he had a Skype.

No? I can make one tho?

Pls do.

A few moments later, he sent her a text with his username. She figured he wasn’t too busy and decided to call him, chewing on her pizza with a smile. After a few seconds of ringing, the screen widened to show Hunk’s inquisitive face. He broke into a smile when he saw her eating.

“So you remembered my favorite pizza,” she said. “And after asking Matt where I live, you ordered it online for me?”

Hunk chuckled, and the camera moved. Pidge could hear a bit of commotion in the background as he moved away from the kitchen. He was on his phone and still at the bakery. Pidge wanted to slap herself for not remembering the damn time difference.

“Well, it was your first day back. I figured you deserve it.” Pidge felt herself blush, and she was thankful her room was dark enough so he couldn’t tell.

“Well, thank you,” she answered with a smile. “It was a great surprise.”

“Katie, are you not going to share that- Why are you smiling?” Samantha and Sophie had come into the room and Pidge froze mid-bite, looking at the screen frantically. “You never video chat. Who are you video chatting?” she asked.

Pidge chewed carefully and swallowed her bite. “Hunk…,” she answered honestly.

Samantha’s eyes lit up, and Pidge realized she’d made a mistake. “Oh my God, did he get that pizza for you? That is so sweet! Can we say hi?”

“Who’s Hunk?” Sophie asked, crawling over to see the screen.

“He’s working right now, I was just-”

“Who is that?” Hunk asked looking confused.

Pidge sighed in resignation and turned her laptop. “My roommates. Sophie and Samantha. Guys, this is my friend, Hunk.”

“Friend?” Sophie repeated with a smirk.

“Oh my God, I’m going to strangle you!” she snapped, putting her laptop aside. She ran toward them, ushering them out of the room.

They protested, laughing and teasing her. “A friend who gets you pizza from the other side of the country, yeah okay!” Sophie giggled.

“Bye, Hunk, it was nice to meet you after everything I’ve heard about you!” Samantha shouted over Pidge’s protests and Sophie’s teasing.

“Get out, get out, get out!” Pidge shrieked, shutting the door. She could hear them squealing and laughing rambunctiously on the other side. She groaned and returned to her laptop, mortified to see Hunk covering his mouth to hide a smile. “I am so sorry. College girls, what can you do?”

Hunk uncovered his mouth, and Pidge noticed a slight blush in his cheeks, but she couldn’t be sure with the damn beard covering half his face. She cleared her throat and held up her pizza. “Um, but seriously thank you for the pizza. I didn’t even realize how much I was craving it.”

“It was no problem,” he answered. “It’s not weird, right? I mean, what one of your roommates said-”

“No, no, not at all,” Pidge answered trying to keep her voice light. But she felt like something had dropped in her stomach. “Best friends can do this kind of stuff. People just you know… get weird about guys and girls being friends.” She shrugged and chewed on her pizza to keep her face unreadable.

“Oh okay, cool,” he said with a sigh of relief. That made the feeling worse.

“Um, I should let you get back to work. I keep forgetting the time difference, I’m sorry.” She laughed nervously, but Hunk only smiled at her.

“No, it’s fine. Really. I was really happy to see you get your food.” He chuckled and Pidge felt her heart flutter again. “I can call you when I get off work, if you’re not too tired?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “That’d be nice. I’ll see you later then?” He nodded with a smile. “Okay…. Bye, Hunk.”

He smiled crookedly, an expression that made Pidge’s heartbeat skyrocket. “Bye, Pidge.”

She took a deep breath and ended the call. Then she tossed her computer aside and hit her head against the wall in frustration. She stuffed her face with more pizza, hoping to just eat the day’s frustration away and grabbed her book, careful not to get grease on the pages.

Before she could read far, the door opened again and Sophie and Samantha came in with smiles. “So, how’s the pizza?”

She snorted and held out the box. Sophie took a slice, but Samantha shook her head. “So, who was that guy?” Sophie asked.

“Just a friend,” she answered, remembering how uncomfortable he’d gotten over the teasing. “And that’s all he’ll ever be.” She bit into her pizza in frustration, ignoring when Sam scoffed.

“You’re joking, right? Katie, the guy bought you a pizza. That means he thought of the time difference and managed to order it in time for you to come home. People don’t do that stuff for just friends.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and shook her head. “We’re just best friends. That’s all. I’m not a girl people like, okay?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie questioned, licking her fingers.

Pidge felt something heavy settle in her chest as she ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, he’d never like me. He’s known me for too long, he probably sees me like a little sister or something. He does sweet things assuming I won’t read into it because it’s ridiculous for him to like me.”

“Why wouldn’t he like you?” Sam asked. “You’re both really smart, you spent a lot of time together, and with everything you went through-” Pidge shot her a warning look, and Sam sighed. “I’m just saying, there’s no reason he wouldn’t like you.”

Pidge grimaced and ate her pizza with rising self-hatred. Of course there was. She wasn’t tall and curvy like her roommates. She didn’t have smooth skin like Ana, or curves in all the right places like Sophie, or long legs and a small waist like Sam.

Pidge was small, underdeveloped, covered in battle scars, weird little freckles, and if she wore a shirt that fit too tightly, everyone could see the chub in her stomach. The only thing she had going for herself were her eyes, but even those were surrounded by eyebrows she always forgot to tweeze. Her legs were bulky and she hadn’t shaved them since November because of how cold it got. She didn’t even know how to use makeup well enough to at least pretend she looked better.

“Katie?”

She gasped as Sophie’s voice pulled her out of her daze. “Yeah, no, sure. Probably just being pessimistic.”

“I mean, you’ve dated before, haven’t you? Guys do like you, Katie,” Sophie said encouragingly.

But that only made Pidge feel worse. Because yes, she had dated. Two boys, both of which only saw her as an object. They didn’t like her because she was smart and pretty, they liked her because they thought she’d be an easy, desperate lay. And thinking about it made her angry.

But aloud, she just answered, “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Well, we made it through our first day back. What do you girls say to changing into sweats and hoodies and binging Criminal Minds?” Pidge smiled as Samantha squeezed her free hand. “And you can bring your pizza, Katie.”

She chuckled and nodded, joining her roommates in the living room.

They didn’t know her all that well, and it wasn’t easy to comfort her. But they had tried, and they weren’t leaving her to wallow alone. For that, Pidge was grateful.

That night as she got ready for bed, her phone buzzed with a picture message. It was from Hunk. She opened it and saw a screenshot of an airline website. The code for two tickets had come up, and Pidge saw that the destination was New York.

Look what I just bought!!!

Pidge smiled and sent back a row of excited emojis.

Everything was fine. She’d gotten one best friend back. She would get the other back soon. And all of this mess about unrequited feelings wouldn’t matter, because they’d all be together, and they’d all be a family, and everything would be fine.

It had to be.

Click to read ch. 6

[amaranthinecanicular]

Mob receives a love letter. It’s the duty of the Body Improvement Club to support him.

[Happy belated Valentine’s Day, folks. Originally written for the MP100 Valentine’s Week but not finished in time because of course.

Alternative title card: that one profile pic of Musashi, which reveals that he is a zero at love but a hero at nosiness.] 

Gouda Musashi’s lovelife is, to be frank, nonexistent.

This is fine. More than fine. There are other things to focus on, more important things. The club, and the members that compose it. Muscles. Not flunking out of high school. Squats. Justice. Leg day, which is every day. Even if by some chance he did wish to engage in a teenage romance, there was no one he wanted to receive his affections. Spring of youth or no, Musashi knows that his time is well spent.

That is not to say that he has no interest in love whatsoever. “Musashi!”

Onigawara jogs up beside him. This is a surprise; Musashi dismissed the club ten minutes ago, and though he elected to run for a while longer, he could have sworn Onigawara had retired with the rest of them. Maybe he did–he’s still in his work out clothes, but he’s heaving for breath like he just sprinted to the club room and back. Musashi thinks to slow down for him, but there’s no need; in Onigawara’s eyes is a spark of fierce determination that never dies, and he keeps pace.

More important things, Musashi thinks. In spite of all his demons, in spite of all the cards and boulders and mountains stacked against him, perhaps just in spite and nothing else, Onigawara has persevered. It’s been two years since he joined the club, and even though he’s all but stopped getting into fights, he never really stops fighting. The things he fights are just different now–he fights to improve and he fights to overcome, and these days Musashi can’t look at him without feeling a pang of admiration. More important things. Onigawara is one of them.

He asks what’s up, and waits patiently while Onigawara pants out an answer.

“Shadow… leader,” he says, a nickname of Mob’s he never kicked the habit of using, “got a… he got a… love letter,”

This draws Musashi up short. Jogging in place counts as drawing up short. “A love letter?”

“Yeah. Someone–someone stuck it in his gym locker. Real fancy paper, too, nice handwriting. Asked him to meet behind the school tomorrow, after club ends.”

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” Musashi says, and if he’s pointing out the obvious it’s only because he’s so shocked. Onigawara doesn’t mention it. The surprise fades; secondhand joy sets in. The hard lines of Musashi's face are not naturally given to smiling but he smiles all the same. It must be a fearsome sight because Onigawara’s gaze barely touches him before it skitters away again. He coughs into a fist like he tried to regain his breath too fast, and Musashi wipes his face clean and channels his positive energy into lifting his knees higher. He doesn’t mention it either.

Instead he says, “Kageyama deserves congratulations,” and Onigawara meets his eyes again to nod.

“Figured you’d say that. That’s why when everyone else was patting Shadow leader’s back, I came to get you.”

He’s smirking–it matches well with the way he finally stands straight and puffs out his chest. Musashi is touched by Onigawara’s thoughtfulness, but before he can thank him a thought occurs: Mob has not received a love letter since middle school The first one was a trick played by Onigawara; the second was a trick played by a girl called Emi. Musashi frets. What if it’s another trick? What if it isn’t? Will Mob know what to do? Over the years he’s seen Mob grow, exponentially and in more ways than one, but he has never had the best luck with romance. And tomorrow is Valentine’s Day—surely that makes preparation all the more complex. Which doesn’t even touch the question of who.

“We should help him,” he says, and Onigawara blinks his eyes into twice their size. He grins, tells Musashi it’s a great idea, and then, remembering he’s meant to be scowling, grumbles, “It’s alright, I mean.” He looks embarrassed to have been caught out being sincere. Musashi doesn’t mention it.

The others are waiting in the clubroom to fill Musashi in; apparently, despite Onigawara’s efforts, they missed Mob by a handful of minutes, so the club extended Musashi’s congratulations for him. In return Musashi tells them about the plan to help out Kageyama out tomorrow. They are… less enthusiastic than he thought they’d be.

He crosses his arms over his pecs and flexes. “I’m sensing some reservations. Care to tell me why?”

Kumagawa runs one hand through his mohawk and says, “Isn’t it Kageyama’s business?”

“Yes, and as his fellow club members it’s our business too.”

They exchange glances. Musashi realizes he’s missing something. “What?”

“Well,” says Shimura, who elbows Yamamura, who elbows Kumagawa, who elbows Sagawa, who says, “You can be kind of nosy, Captain,”

He says it very gently, like he’s breaking the news of some great secret, which is absurd. Musashi doesn’t say that it’s absurd because that would not be befitting of a captain, but he does correct him, exactly as stern and patient as does befit a captain.

“I’m not nosy. I’m attentive. The wellbeing of every member of this club is my responsibility.”

“Even of their love lives?” says Yamamura.

“Especially their love lives,” Musashi wants to say, except he doesn’t, because Yamamura’s dubious tone makes him suspect that would be unwise. Instead he says, “Kageyama is an invaluable member of this team. It’s our job to support him.”

No one looks particularly convinced. No one except Onigawara, who bulls his way to Musashi’s side and thrusts his brow down and his shoulders forward. Suddenly it’s two against four instead of one against the world.

“I’m with Musashi,” he says. “Shadow leader’s putting his heart on the line and you losers want to let him go into battle alone? How the hell does not having his back make any sense?”

He challenges them with his scowl. He doesn’t need to—Musashi can see as his words take effect, begin to turn the minds of the club one by one. Yes, Mob had always been there for them in his soft and steadfast way, had always given all of his effort, and he would be more than willing to lend his hand, powers, and friendship during a romantic crisis of theirs, wouldn’t he?

This time the level of enthusiasm meets what Musashi originally expected. Onigawara flashes him a private grin, there and gone, and he swells with pride, and stands a little taller.

“You want to help me?”

Mob’s surprise shows in little ways, the slight uptick of both brows and the slackening of his mouth. He stands in the club room dressed in his work out clothes and still clutching the letter, which Musashi can now confirm is, yes, tucked into a very nice envelope with very nice handwriting. He wonders if Mob has let it go since yesterday.

“To formulate a plan of attack,” clarifies Onigawara, which isn’t the phrasing Musashi would have chosen but works just as well. Mob considers it. Into the silence filters the white noise of other clubs getting started: band practice in the music room down the hall, whistles blowing from the track and fields outside. The sounds are cheerier, the rooms seem to glow–a result of adolescents in the throes of Valentine’s Day, Musashi knows, though he has never empathized. The overall feeling he’s gotten all day is pink: pink roses passed from boys to girls, pink hearts exchanged and received, pink in the sky, even, as the sun begins to sink. It’s there in Mob’s cheeks, a faint rosy hue as he comes to a decision.

“Thank you all for thinking of me,” he says, sincerity shown through his crinkled eyes if not his smile. “That’s very nice of you. But I think I can handle it.”

Musashi manages not to show his disappointment. “If you’re certain,” he says, and thinks that It’s too bad Onigawara’s work to bring the club around will go to waste. But even he can admit that if Mob doesn’t want their help then it would be wrong to push it.

Mob is still talking, thoughtfully. “I think so. It’s not first time I’ve been confessed to, so I think I know what to say. Though, I guess the first time was just a trick by Onigawara-senpai.” Onigawara slouches even closer to the floor, which is a feat. He slouches a lot. “But the second time—well, I guess that was a trick also, because Emi lost a bet. Um. B-But I made a friend that time, too, so, um. So.” Now the flush is making him look vaguely ill. He’s certainly sweating like he’s ill. “Maybe. Maybe I could use some help.”

Musashi nods once and tries not to look too glad of it. He turns to the club: they square up, crack their knuckles, bright eyed and ready to help. “All right, boys. We need ideas for what Kageyama will do if he decides to accept or decline his admirer’s affections. Do you have any idea who this person might be, Kageyama? Not that you have to tell us if you’re uncomfortable. We respect your privacy, of course,” he adds, not at all hastily and not at all because he’s nosy. He can feel the club side-eyeing him and refuses to look at any of them.

Mob does look a little uncomfortable, but also like he’s panicking, and eager for help. That side wins out. “I think… I think it might be Teru,”

The name rings familiar, but not familiar enough for Musashi to place it. The rest of the club seems to be feeling the same. Mob is too busy twiddling his thumbs to elaborate. Onigawara is busy gaping.

“Teru?” he squawks. “As in Black Vinegar High’s shadow leader, Hanazawa Teruki?”

“Ex-shadow leader,” Mob corrects, seemingly on instinct. Then he blushes. “And yes, that Teru.”

The grainy image in Musashi’s mind snaps into clarity: a lithe boy in the bruisey colors of Black Vinegar Mid, blond and blue-eyed, with incredible strength that belied his appearance. He could never forget such exceptional musculature.

“You walk home with him sometimes,” says Shimura, and yes, Musashi remembers that now too. The neutral lines of Mob’s expression seemed to soften, just a little, whenever he met Hanazawa at the school gates. They’re softened now. This would explain why.

“Oh my god,” says Onigawara. “Oh my god. You two would be the ultimate power couple—you could rule the whole prefecture. Oh my god.” Musashi coughs pointedly, and Onigawara remembers that he is no longer a delinquent. He still looks a little starstruck.

“He’s very special,” Mob agrees. He’s smiling–really smiling, with his mouth and not just his eyes. Musashi doesn’t think he knows he’s doing it. “I care about him a lot. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Not on Musashi’s watch. “You won’t. We’re here to support you and make sure of that.”

So they start spitballing ideas. Yamamura suggests Mob sing a song to express his feelings. Kumagawa suggests he make chocolates and a card, to show that Hanazawa is worth the effort. Shimura suggests he draw a puppy on the card, because puppies are the best. Sagawa suggests just speaking from the heart. This is seconded by Onigawara. But Mob has no talent for art, no time to make chocolates, and the likelihood of him freezing up in the middle of a song is too high. In the end, after much debate, Sagawa’s idea is the one that sticks. (Personally, Musashi likes the puppy option, but he is willing to concede that he is less than an expert in the field of romance.) Composing the most eloquent way for Mob to express his feelings is harder, and the gentlest way to let the confessor down if it turns out not to be Hanazawa is harder still, but they manage. For optimal productivity, they lift weights at the same time.

In no time at all club hours are over. The shadows have grown long with the setting sun and Mob, armed with two separate speeches jotted on flash cards, a storebought box of chocolates (courtesy of Shimura, who dashed down to the nearest convenience store and back and sacrificed the perfect coiffe of his hair in the process), the original letter and six pillars of support, he sets out to meet his mystery admirer. By the wobble of his knees and the sweat clinging to his brow Musashi would say he still looks like a man on his way to the gallows. But there are other tells too–the perpetual color in his cheeks, the brightness of his eyes–and Musashi thinks, mostly, he just looks excited. Happy.

Out of the school, around to the back. Kumagawa sees him first, being the tallest among them, and points him out to the rest. Hanazawa is exactly where he said he’d be: framed by the school on one side and the treeline on the other, backlit by the sky. He catches sight of them–of Mob–only seconds later, and the friendly smile he’s sporting visibly brightens into something genuine. Mob makes a very particular sound to see it, something between a pleased hum and the dying croak of a bullfrog. Musashi thinks he can hear the frantic hummingbird-patter of his poor heart making a break for it.

Mob trips his way up to Hanazawa while the Body Improvement club pretends to walk away and then piles together behind a tree. Who’s nosy now, Musashi thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s straining to hear what’s going on as it is.

“Hello, Hanazawa-kun,” Mob says, his voice crackling over each word, and Hanazawa says it back–oh, his voice broke too, that’s actually precious.

“Hello, Kageyama-kun,” Hanazawa says again, looking only mildly mortified, and this time manages to keep his tone even. “Are you surprised to see me?”

“Not really. I thought maybe you liked me for a while, but I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it. I guess I wasn’t,”

Hanazawa’s pride takes a visible hit at Mob’s bluntness–Musashi feels a sympathetic wince ripple all through their party–but he rolls with it admirably. More than admirably. The expression on his face is too raw for admiration, too tender. “I shouldn’t have expected you to be. You really are amazing. Here.”

They exchange chocolates, Hanazawa smoothly and Mob fumbling. Hanazawa says he’ll cherish it, tucks it away, and then holds out his hand—a question. Mob, looking confused, drops the letter into his palm in answer, and Hanazawa chuckles, reaches out with his other hand to weave their fingers together as clarification. Mob stares down at the delicate knot made of their hands, and Musashi can no longer see his expression.

“Kageyama-kun,” Hanazawa starts, “I—”

“Yes.”

Hanazawa chokes on his tongue. The Body Improvement Club collectively chokes on each of theirs. Mob’s brain catches up with the breathless intensity of one word that fell out of his mouth.

“Ah, wait, I did it all out of order. I had. I had things prepared to say, and so did you, and I interrupted you. Oh no. I’m sorry. Um. Do you—do you want to start over? I didn’t ruin it, did I?”

“Did you say yes?”

Hanazawa’s tone of awe makes Mob duck his head, and the duck becomes a nod. He says, almost too quiet to hear, “Yes. Um. Are you saying yes?”

“Yes. Yes, of course, yes,”

“Then—then are we…?”

“I think so. Are we?”

“Yes. Can we…?”

“Yes,”

Mob kisses him, a quick and earnest press of lips, and Onigawara whoops. Four sets of hands slap over his face at once. Mob and Hanazawa take no notice; the kiss has ended but their foreheads are still pressed together, they’re levitating an inch or two off the ground, they’re giggling and they’re smiling—Musashi thinks they’re smiling, but his vision is too blurry to tell. He’s surrounded by suspicious sniffling, though, so he doesn’t feel particularly bad about it.

The okay for cheering is given when they touch back down. Mob whispers something into Hanazawa’s ear; Hanazawa laughs, nods, kisses Mob’s cheek, then starts to make his way round to the front of the school; there’s a definite spring in his step. Mob watches him go with a tender look that melts back into shyness when he turns to the club and gives a little thumbs up.

They explode from behind the tree, tripping over their own feet and each other to dogpile Mob, take turns ruffling his hair and lifting him into hugs and slapping him on the back.

“I’m sorry I forgot all of your advice,” Mob says between jostles, “I got nervous and eager and confused and I didn’t know what to do-”

“You did great,” Musashi says, to a fervent chorus of agreement. He knows his face isn’t the kind for smiling but he honestly can’t help it. “Where did Hanazawa go?”

“I told him I’d meet him at the front gates, after I was done speaking to you.”

Some playful coos. Sagawa might be crying. “Then we’ll walk you to the gates and he can walk you the rest of the way. Come on.”

The parade starts again. Shimura and Yawamura lift Mob onto their shoulders, and Musashi is just thinking that this might be the most successful Valentine’s Day he’s ever experienced when Onigawara calls his name.

“Can you hang back a minute? I’ve got something to say to you.”

He looks unhappy–or maybe not unhappy. Maybe anxious. He didn’t a minute ago, and why should he? The plan went off without a hitch–minor hitches, inconsequential hitches–but here he is, chin jutting out and cutting down, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shadows carving deep pockets beneath his eyes. Concern bubbles up in Musashi’s gut, and all thoughts of romance flee his mind. There are more important things.

He sends off the rest of the club without them and ignores their curious eyes. And they called him nosy. “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing’s the matter. Why would something be the matter? Can’t a guy just wanna talk to another guy? What’s the matter with that, huh?” He cuts himself off at Musashi’s raised brow, screws up his face, screws up the words in his mouth. “Ugh, sorry, that’s not what I meant to say.”

He takes a breath–Musashi breathes too–and says what he means to say.

“There was a girl, back during all that recorder crap. She told me–when we were kids, she told me she was gonna marry me. I thought if anyone would believe me it would be her. But it wasn’t. It was you.” 

“You’ve, uh, you’ve done a lot for me the past two years, even when I was being an ungrateful little shit and didn’t deserve it,”

Musashi blinks. This… isn’t what he expected this to be about. “Don’t sell yourself short. You were the one who chose to change and followed through, and you were never once ungrateful.”

Onigawara looks furious, and maybe embarrassed. “Oh my god, shut up. Do you have to be so–so fucking you all the time?”

Definitely embarrassed. Musashi’s mouth twitches. “I think I always have to be me, yes.”

“No, nope, shut up, I was talking and I don’t need your once-in-a-blue-moon sense of humor fucking this up. I was saying. I was saying, that I used to be an ungrateful little shit–do not interrupt me, I swear to god–and I don’t want you to think I’m still the same ungrateful shit I was back then, so. Fuck. So, here.”

He pulls one hand from his pocket and shoves a box into Musashi’s chest. Resting on the pink tissue paper within are slightly misshapen, undoubtedly homemade, and undeniably heart-shaped chocolates. His brain short circuits. “I–Onigawara, is this–?”

“Tenga,” Onigawara says. “Call me that from now on. If you fuckin’ want to, I guess.”

Pink rises into Onigawara’s cheeks like the dawn, and Musashi remembers, very suddenly and very unhelpfully, that they are both only sixteen. He has no idea what the hell he’s doing.

“Thank you,” he says, because he’s a fucking idiot. If looks could kill Onigawara would be a murderer. Musashi wants death. “I mean. I mean thank you for the chocolates, and yes, I will call you that.”

They stare at each other. Onigawara’s face is practically glowing, with sweat and anger and with–happiness? Is that happiness? If Mob’s heart was a hummingbird then Musashi’s is a sledgehammer, pounding away in his throat, and he thinks he might look the exact same. Does that mean he’s happy too?

He thinks that’s what that means, so he says so, and Onigawara’s eyes go wide, and then he punches him.

It’s almost a relief. This is much more along the lines of what he expects from Onigawara, except no, he was mistaken, it’s not a punch at all. It feels like a punch because everything about Onigawara feels like a punch–he’s so brutally passionate about everything he does, Musashi has never seen anything like him, he barrels forward and never looks back, with a glare like an uppercut and a smile like a left hook and a kiss like a haymaker. Because that’s what he’s doing now, kissing Musashi’s cheek with bruising force, and ding ding ding Musashi is down for the count. KO. Match over.

Onigawara shoves him away, almost gently, and immediately turns and stalks off. Musashi would say it’s more of a dead sprint if he had the capacity to think at all, let alone identify exercise techniques.

“I like you,” he blurts out after him. Onigawara—Tenga—stops, turns, and smiles. Left hook, utterly devastating. How unfair to hit a man while he’s down.

Tenga says, “You damn well better,” and then he does run. As soon as he’s out of sight the rest of the Body Improvement Club spills out from where they’d been eavesdropping behind a tree, while Musashi is left trying to blink stars from his eyes. They don’t want to go.

“Way to go, Captain,” says Kumagawa, and “Looking good, Captain,” says Shimura. Yawamura says something similar and Sagawa doesn’t say anything because he’s crying a little. Mob nudges him.

“Congratulations, Captain,” he murmurs. His smile is a soft curve on his face, except for right there at the very corner, which is just a little sly. Musashi has no idea what the fuck is going on or what the fuck just happened, but he thinks, maybe, his love life is not as dead as he thought it was. Not by a long shot, apparently.

And that’s–that’s fine. Musashi thinks he might have some dopey expression on his face and he doesn’t care. The club is still clapping him on the back, punching him on the shoulder, congratulating, smiling. The stars are still in his eyes and the chocolate is still in his hands and the whole world is dyed pink. It’s more than fine.

(“Am I really that nosy?” he asks, not too many days later. He’s appreciating the new pages of the manga Tenga has been sketching in his free time, though he loses his place in favor of nursing his pride at the answer. 

“Duh. You could give that damn student council a run for their money.” 

Musashi wilts; Tenga barks a laugh. But he adds, “Besides, if you weren’t so nosy I would’ve never joined your stupid club at all.” And Musashi thinks, well. Well, in that case, being nosy isn’t all that bad.)

[thelibraryfanfiction]

Chapter Eight

Barbara came in and set another cup of tea down on my bedside table. It was the fourth one today.

“Hey babe, its nearly dinner time. Do you want me to make you something to eat?” she asked gently.

I shook my head, I wasn’t hungry.

It didn’t surprise me that I had been in bed all day, the hours had dragged by with such an achingly slow pace that I felt as if I had been lying in bed for weeks instead of a measly twenty-four hours.

Ian’s lawyer had explained that Ian had lung cancer and had passed away last week and that he had been put in charge of handling his affairs. He had explicably asked his lawyer to return the book to the library and leave me, a girl he only identified as ‘Clara, who works at the library’, a blue light torch.

I’d been too shocked to press the lawyer for more information. I felt strangely unreal, as if I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. I didn’t cry. I didn’t do anything, I just stood there, feeling numb as I tried to rationalize what had happened.

My brain was working too slow. Ian was dead. How could that be?

I was so absorbed with trying to make sense of that statement that I didn’t notice that James called Barbara. I barely noticed when Barbara wrapped her arms around me and took me home. I was vaguely aware that once we were home, things started to feel a little more real and I immediately started to cry.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop and Barbara held me the entire time.

I’d never cried so much in my life. Ian was gone. How could he possibly be gone? How could I possibly come to term with the fact that I would never see him again when I had seen him every month for nearly the past three years?

Eventually I went into my bedroom and cried myself to sleep. But when I woke up in the morning, my first thought was of Ian. I momentarily forgot about last night and I wondered if today would be the day I would see him again after his long absence from the library…

Then I remember what had happened and the crushing weight of knowing I would never see him again hit me all over again.

I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. Even though I was supposed to be going to work, I just couldn’t muster the thought of going there, a place that had been the source of my interactions with Ian.

Throughout the day, I thought about a lot of things.

If Ian had died from lung cancer, he obviously knew he was going to die. So why didn’t he tell me?

He probably knew the last time he saw me was going to be the last time. Why didn’t he say goodbye? Why didn’t he give me the chance to say goodbye?

Part of me hated him for that. I hated that he had been so selfish to deny my closure. But then I felt guilty for hating him. And I didn’t hate him, not really. I loved him. I had loved him and now he would never know just how much.  

But mostly I thought about what might have been. If I hadn’t been so shy and had asked him out the first time we’d met, what would our relationship have been like? Or even later, when he had broken up with Jemma and we were playing with Maggie; I could have easily asked him out then, why didn’t I? Was I seriously so afraid that he would have said no?

Such a fear seemed stupid now.

I kept playing it over and over in my mind about what might have been all day.

“James came by,” said Barbara, “He left you these.”

I lifted my head to see her place the Alice in Wonderland book and the small blue torch on my bedside table next to the cup of tea. I didn’t say anything as I stared at them; the last items he had left me.

“I’ll be in the lounge room if you need me.” Said Barbara quietly before she walked out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind her softly.

Barbara was so lovely. I knew she was staying home from work to take care of me. I couldn’t even insist that I was fine and that she didn’t need to because the truth was, I did need looking after. Even though her gestures were so simple as holding me when I cried and constantly offering me cups of tea, the were warm and they were welcome.

I was pretty sure in Barbara’s mind there was no situation on earth that could not be made slightly better with a cup of tea. I didn’t share her philosophy, but I appreciated the gesture

At some point in the night, I reached over and grabbed the little torch Ian had left me, staring at it curiously as I held it in my hands; why would he leave me this? What did it represent? What did it mean?

Curiously I pressed the button, causing the blue light to shine over at my wall. For such a small torch, it cast quite a large blue hue on the wall.

If there was something more frustrating than trying to figure out why Ian hadn’t told me he had cancer, it was trying to figure out why he had left me a blue light torch.

I hadn’t bothered to turn any lights on as night time crept in and I lay in darkness. I took to switching the torch on and off, pointing it at different objects in my room, as if hoping that Ian would spring out of the darkness and deliver the answers I so desperately needed.

The blue light illuminated my wardrobe, my chest of draws, my bookcase, my desk, my door, my bedside table, my lap, my tea cup, the Alice in Wonderland book…

There was something strange on the Alice in Wonderland book when it was illuminated. It looked as if someone had spilled white paint on the corner of it. Sitting up, I switched on the lamp by my bed and peered at the book; it looked perfectly fine. There was no paint or damage of any kind.

But I was positive of what I had seen. Experimentally, I turned off my lamp and pointed the blue torch at the book, once again the corner of it lit up, as if it had been dipped in white paint.

Curiously I opened the book and began to flip through the pages; all of them had a little white mark in the corner of the page, almost like an ink spill that could only be seen under the light of the blue torch. Every page until the last page, the one that most books left blank; it was not an ink spill but a letter there.

Opening the book, I switched the lamp on to look at the last page… but there was nothing written there. It was as blank as the last page in every book. So I switched the lamp off and shone the blue forced over it and suddenly the page was glowing with big white letters. It was a message. A secret message, for me.

‘Dear Clara,

This is probably the last message I will ever write to you.

Thank you so much for everything.

I’m sorry I didn’t come say goodbye in person. Everything just happened so fast and I didn’t want to worry you.

But I did want to tell you that despite the fact that we spoke very little, I could always hear your thoughts. I hope you heard mine too.

Thanks for recommending the last good book of my life.

I’m going to miss you.

Love Ian.’

I stared at the back of the book in shock as a fresh wave of tears overwhelmed me. I sobbed so hard that Barbara came in to check what was wrong. I couldn’t even manage to explain what I had just found; I was such a blubbering mess. She held me once again as I cried.

Once I had stopped sobbing, I told her what had happened.

“What do the other messages say?” she asked immediately.

I sniffed and turned to look at her in confusion, “Other messages?”

“He said that was the last message he would write to you. That obviously means he’d written before. What do the other ones say?”

I blinked in shock, “Oh my god.”

Throwing back the blankets I scrambled out of bed in a rush.

“Wait, where are you going?” asked Barbara in a panic.

“To the library!” I exclaimed, “I have to see the other messages he left me.”

“Clara, its ten o’clock at night! You can’t just go to the library-” she began.

“I have to know Barbara!” I said firmly, “he was speaking to me all this time and I never heard him.”

She sighed, seeming uncomfortable. I could tell she didn’t want me to go, but she also didn’t want to argue with my logic.

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.

I shook my head; this was something I had to do alone. Barbara had seen me cry enough over the past twenty-four hours.

Grabbing my set of keys that I used to open up the library in the morning, I rushed out the door.

I was in such a hurry that I couldn’t wait for an uber, which at this time of night was going to be a whole ten minutes away. Instead I grabbed out my bike and peddled as fast as I could to the library.

My legs screamed in protest at being forced to work so hard after lying in bed for so long, but I didn’t listen to them. My heart was beating so hard, it threatened to break right out of my chest. I didn’t even bother to lock up my bike when I arrived at the library, I was so intent on getting inside.

It vaguely occurred to me that I was technically breaking the law and abusing my power as a librarian to open the library up after it was closed, but I didn’t care.  

Fumbling with the keys, I opened the door, tapped the code into the alarm on the wall, I flicked on the light before I ran over to the computer desk.

Wiggling the mouse, I was so anxious that I had to type in my password three times before it would accept it. I then searched Ian’s name and brought up his rental history; I saw each and every book he had ever borrowed that could have a potential message for me.

Taking a picture of the screen I ran around the library finding the books that he had borrowed. When there were multiple copies, I shined the blue light on them and looked for the white ink stains. Soon I had too many books to carry, so I left them on the counter as I continued to run around the library, finding book after book.

Eventually I had all thirty books, two years and six months worth of borrow books from our library that Ian had read. I started with the most recent:  

June 2019; So great that James is getting married. I’ll only be going of hopes of seeing you in a pretty dress again.

 May 2019: You were smiling a lot today. I’ve always wanted to tell you that you look so beautiful when you smile.

April 2019: My daughter loves you. She talks about you all the time. If you ever leave your job I’m going to hire you as my nanny.

 I remembered playing with his daughter and how happy she had always been and how he would look at the two of us playing with a kind of satisfied smile….

 March 2019: Thank you for playing connect four with me today, though I have to admit, my daughter plays better than you. I got some tough news today and you made me smile.

 Tough news, did he mean he had found out he had cancer? Had he known for that long?

 January 2019: I can’t believe its been two years since I started coming to the library. Since I started writing you these notes. Time really does fly.

November 2018: I’m getting a divorce. I keep thinking I should feel sad but I don’t, I’m relieved. We were never that good together anyway, the best thing that came out of our marriage was Maggie. I wanted to tell you because I knew you’d understand.

September 2018: You weren’t here today, James said you were sick; I hope you’re ok. It disappointed me far more than it should have that I didn’t get to see your smiling face; I look forward to it every month. I’ll just have to finish this book quicker so I can see your face again.

 I remembered so many months ago when I had been sick and James said he had asked about me…

 July 2018: You wore a dress today that took my breath away. You looked so beautiful, I think even my wife saw I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You should wear dresses more often; they suit you.

 I remembered the sun dress I wore on the day he came in to return his book. I remember the way he looked at me. I’d dismissed it at the time as just my imagination but I now knew that he was looking at me because he thought I was beautiful.

 May 2018: I proposed to Jemma. It was the right thing to do. I don’t know why but when I did, I thought of you.

March 2018: I don’t know why I still write these notes to you. I guess I like talking to you this way. One day I hope I have the courage to say all this to your face, but right now, this is all I can manage.

 I anxiously read note after note and it was as if I was having one last conversation with him…

 January 2018: One year. One whole year since I started borrowing books from your library. That is twelve times I’ve seen your face and each time I do, I find something new I like about you; today it was the way that even though you’re so tall, you still stretch up on the tips of your toes to put a book back instead of grabbing a step ladder.

October 2017: My little girl was born today. I’ve never loved anyone so instantly as I loved her. I can’t wait for you to meet her.

 I remembered when he came into the library for the first time cradling his little girl. How proud he looked to be the one holding her. How he held her with such a gentle touch, as if he was afraid she might break…

 July 2017: She’s pregnant. We just met and she’s pregnant. I know I have to do the right thing and be there for her and the child, but she’s not who I want to spend the rest of my life with, I don’t love her. But I know I will love our baby and that is what matters.

June 2017: This is without a doubt the most stupid book I have ever read. How is this a love story? I can’t really see myself having a future with this girl if she is going to recommend books like this.

 I remembered him bringing Jemma into the library and her recommending that he read Twilight…

 May 2017: I noticed you were sad today. I wanted to ask if you were ok? I hope it’s not your fiancé getting you down, you deserve so much better than a guy who makes you look so sad.

 I remembered the day he had come in. I’d just taken my ring off after Alex had hurt me. I must have looked as miserable as I felt...

 April 2017: Of course you have a fiancé. A girl as great as you couldn’t possibly be single. That’s ok. I’ll keep talking to you here, it can be our secret.

 I remembered the day he had seen my ring…

 March 2017: Thank you for your book recommendation. It was a really interesting read and I really enjoyed it. It made me like you a whole lot more knowing you have such good taste in books. It’s an attractive and rare quality.

 I remembered the day I had recommend he read ‘Tomorrow When the War Began’ and how closely he followed me as I showed him over to the books…

 February 2017: You didn’t call. That’s ok. I’ll just keep coming to borrow books so I can see you. Maybe one day I’ll pluck up the courage to talk to you. But I really liked the lipstick you wore today.

 I remembered like it was yesterday the day I had tipped the entire contents of my handbag on the floor in search of my lipstick. One that I didn’t think he even notice I’d applied but he had. He’d noticed everything about me.

Tears were streaming down my face as sob after sob racked through my body. I grabbed the last book entitled ‘Black Light; The Lost Art of Invisible Ink’ and so many things suddenly made sense.

This was the first book he had ever borrowed from the library and was obviously what had given him the idea to write these messages to me. I felt as if my heart was breaking as I realized I was about to read the first note he had ever written me, the last one I would ever read. Sobbing I flipped to the back page and shone the torch on it, that I now knew was not a blue light, but a black one;

Hello There,

I’m the weird guy you met the other day.

Thank you for helping me find this book.

I wanted to repay you right then by asking you out to dinner, but I saw that noise was prohibited in the library and I’m a little too shy to just go and ask you out.

So, I thought I would write you here instead.

If you’re ever interested in going out together sometime, to talk about books or anything else you might be interested in, here’s my number.

 My sobs were so big now they were racking through my chest, causing my shoulders to slump with the effort it took to draw another breath in.

Grabbing my phone, I punched in his number before I typed out a message of my own:

Ian,

I wish we had more time together.

I wish you had spoken to me sooner.

I would have loved to have had dinner with you.

If we could have spoken so honestly from the start, things might have been different between us.

But since we’re being honest now, I just want you to know that I love you.

I’m going to miss you.

And I will never, ever forget you.

                                                         The End

[readingfordummies]

Witches of East End  - Chapter Ten

Witch Business

Just as Ingrid had predicted, Tabitha was soon pregnant. It took only a week for the news to spread around town, and only a few days before certain women decided that they, too, wanted to see if their local librarian could help them with their problems. On a bright Monday morning in June, the glowing mother-to-be entertained yet another group of women gathered around the main counter with her story. It was one they had heard already, but it didn't keep Tabitha from telling it, and her audience was happy enough to hear it once more while awaiting their turn to see Ingrid.

"The doctors said it was a medical miracle! Because our tests came back, you know, and they were bad. They said it was virtually impossible for me to get pregnant, but it happened! All thanks to Ingrid! Did you hear what she did for Stephanie Curran? Cured her of that rash that never went away! I swear, the woman is a miracle worker! Well, not a miracle worker but some kind of witch, maybe!"

"Witch!" Mona Boyard repeated, a bit shocked.

"Witch, please," Hudson interrupted, with a hand on his hip. "This is North Hampton. We prefer 'special caregiver.' You know, like a reader or a psychic," he said brightly.

No one knew exactly how Ingrid helped people, only that it worked without any obvious medical or scientific explanation. So it had to be some kind of . . . magic? But who believed in magic in this day and age? The women of North Hampton didn't care what it was called, only that they wanted it for themselves if it worked.

At first Ingrid had not wanted to take the credit for Tabitha's pregnancy, or to pass around any more help or advice, but she soon found it difficult to refuse. Since no lightning bolt came flying out of the sky after she'd given Tabitha the fertility charm, it seemed only fair to help everyone who asked. Maybe Freya was right, maybe it had been so long that the Council had forgotten about them, maybe nothing would come of it this time. Ingrid was willing to take that chance. She couldn't deny it either: practicing magic again was not only enjoyable but gave her a sense of purpose. There was meaning in her life again. She had wasted so much time and effort in denying her natural talents, burying herself in endless small tasks and taking a job at a library: one she enjoyed, of course - but still. This was what she was put on earth to do. To hell with that restriction, surely after so many years they had earned a pass? Maybe the Council wouldn't even notice. Besides, the citizens of North Hampton were open-minded, neither fearful nor superstitious. They were curious and doubtful, but willing to try something new.

She was surprised to find an unusual run of bad luck in each person’s tale. Some problems, while minor, had been impossible to fix in the ordinary sense: strange aches and pains that no amount of medicine could cure; temporary blindness, bizarre headaches, frequent nightmares. There were several women, much younger than Tabitha, who had also been having trouble conceiving, their spirits blocked by the same silvery mass she had first seen in her coworker. Ingrid worked hard, creating pentagrams, lighting candles, giving out a few little knots, a charm or a spell or two. She accepted clients, as Hudson called them, only during her lunch hour. After all, she had an exhibit to plan and documents to steam. As recompense, Ingrid asked that they donate what they could afford to the library fund, raising money by charging people for something they wanted and that she could give them. Maybe she could close the gap in that budget, and their ambitious mayor would drop the idea of selling off the library.

Her last visitor was Emily Foster, an attractive woman in her late thirties. Emily was a well-known artist around town, known for her giant abstract murals of seascapes and horses. She lived with her husband, Lionel Horning, who was also an artist, on a farm at the city's edge, where they raised animals. They kept the Beauchamps stocked with fresh eggs and milk and never asked for payment since Joanna regularly dropped off vegetables from her garden. "How can I help you?" Ingrid asked.

"It's such an odd thing," Emily said, blowing her nose. "But I need something to . . . I don't know . . . it's so stupid. . . ."

"There are no judgments here, Em," Ingrid promised.

"I just . . . I can't seem to focus lately. I've never had this problem before . . . being blocked, you know? But it's like I can't even paint or anything. . . . It's so strange. I mean, of course once in a while you get stuck . . . but it's been two weeks now and I can't seem to concentrate on it. It's like my mind is just . . . blank . . . like I can't see anything, no shapes or anything . . . just grayness." She barked a laugh. "Can you cure artist's block?"

"I can try," Ingrid said.

"Thank you." Emily's eyes watered. "I've got an exhibit in a few months. I'd really appreciate it."

She placed Emily in a pentagram, lit the candle, and assessed her spirit. Yes, there it was, that same silvery mass, right in the middle of her torso, and by now Ingrid was quite expert at yanking it out. Ingrid realized it did not just block the creation of life, but it blocked the process of creation itself. Ingrid thought she might have to mention it to Joanna at some point. There were just too many instances lately to be random. There was something odd going on here.

Later that afternoon, Ingrid resumed her real work and began the task of preparing the Gardiner blueprints for the show. She stood at the conference table and slowly unrolled the heavy set of drawings. The sheets were large, almost as big as the table, and the paper was yellowed and fragile. Ingrid expertly thumbed through the pages until she found the site plan. She always started there. A set of design plans was like a novel in a way, a text prepared for the builder, a story written by the architect on how the house should be built. The site plan was like an introduction to the novel.

The site plan showed wavy concentric lines circling a single point at the center, a blocky shape drawn in dark pencil, which represented Fair Haven. She leaned in closely to examine the heavy pencil lines. Each set of drawings contained its own language of keys: symbols and marks that led to specific drawings for each part of the house. A design set blossomed from the outside in, from the site plan to the main floor plan to specific elevations and details.

As she moved through the drawing set, an image of the house began to form in her mind. She glanced from the key on the main floor plan to an elevation of the main ballroom, and turned back to make sure she had read it correctly. That was odd. The elevation key was different from the one that resided on the site plan. Most architecture keys were made up of numbers and letters such as "A 2.1 /1" inside a small circle, but this number tag was thoroughly decorated with twisting patterns.

Ingrid pulled a chair out so she could sit down and look more closely. There was something fascinating about the dense pattern of shapes. The swirling lines appeared floral in nature, suggestive of the arabesques of art nouveau, and as she continued to stare at them, the shapes began to resemble letters; but if they were letters they were from a language she could not understand, had never seen before. They weren't Egyptian hieroglyphs or any dead language that she had a passing familiarity with in all her time on earth.

She went through more of the drawings and found several similarly decorated tags, not just room tags and wall tags, but tags for fixtures and finishes, each adorned with the elaborate script, and each one unlike the other. She had never seen anything like it in any drawing set before. Ingrid was familiar with the standard architectural keys, and was certain that whatever was written around the keys was not meant for any builder or contractor. Drawing keys were meant to carry the reader from one drawing to another, but these keys had some other meaning hidden within them, one that had nothing to do with the architecture or construction of the house.

Ingrid pulled her phone from her pocket, zoomed in on one of the strange tags, and snapped a picture. She dropped it into an e-mail. While she couldn't read the language, she knew someone who might, thinking of the letters she always kept in her pocket.