#and I was doodling replacement faces in little yellow papers

[arttsuka]

I had a second one and I accidentally ate it 😭

[summercourtship]

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter six: karma [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual content (actual smut here)| word count: 5712 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one |

A stray drop of water hit the crown of your head, pulling you out of the dazed stupor you’d slowly put yourself. You’d been keeping yourself occupied by doodling absentmindedly without really looking at the paper, which was the only way to survive the longer shifts. You peered upwards, frowning at the small wet spot on the ceiling, another drop slowly getting ready to fall. Of course, there was a leak in the store’s ceiling. You grimaced, rubbing the water into your hair before you thought about the fact that the convenience store was on the bottom floor of a four story building. Meaning that the liquid on your head probably wasn’t rain water. Or if it was, it had been a long time since it had actually fallen from the sky.

You stepped to the side just in time for the second drop to fall and hit the floor.

“Ugh.”

You leaned against the counter, staring at the yellowed clock on the opposite wall of the store, the numbers barely visible behind its musty surface. It was probably your job to clean it but at this point it would be more efficient to just replace it and heaven knows that nobody at the store was going to spend the money to get a new one. So you were stuck with the gross clock, squinting at it to make out the time. You’d been in the store for barely three hours and yet it was like an entire day had already gone by.

Only a week had passed since Spring Break had ended, meaning only a week had passed since you’d visited Arkham. On its own, it would have been a fairly uneventful day if not for the surprised job offer from Jonathan, which you put in the back of your mind to think about later. And also coming face to face with Edward Nashton.

It wasn’t like you had forgotten that he currently lived in the asylum, it had just seemed unlikely that you would encounter him given the clearance level you'd been assigned that day and the sheer size of the asylum. But no, of course they had to be moving inmates down that hallway at the same time that you were traveling through it. And of course the Riddler, of all people, had been among them. It was nothing short of proof that there was, indeed, a divine blueprint for your life. The higher power of Gotham had singled you out and decided to make your life as dramatic as humanly possible.

But all things considered, you were proud of yourself for not reacting the way you would’ve expected, given your mental state for the past year. Sure, you’d been startled by his presence and there was a small twinge of genuine fear in your gut. But it quickly dissipated upon seeing him and his reality. Because while he had inspired some dangerous people with his own actions, he, himself, was no longer a threat. He was locked away with little to no access to the outside world, his days of streaming vitriol and murdering corrupt public officials behind him.

It was what he deserved. And yet, there was a small part of you that had recognized a horrible twinge of sympathy when you had made eye contact with him, when you thought about his soft features needing to survive in a place as rough as Arkham.

You looked down at the scrap of receipt paper you’d been drawing on, realizing with a groan that you’d accidentally drawn the Riddler’s symbol, the question mark and barbs mockingly staring up at you. Recoiling backwards like it actually had thorns, you tried not to think about why you’d drawn it. Snatching your pen from behind your ear, you scribbled over it, coloring an entire square inch of your paper black before ultimately deciding to just crumble it up and throw it into the trash can that sat underneath the counter.

And then somehow you missed, the paper ball landing pathetically on the stained linoleum floor.

Sighing, you crouched down, snatching the paper ball off the floor and crushing tightly within your fist. The ink from where you scribbled over the symbol was still wet, staining your skin with the stinky pigment. You stared at the splotch and realized that you apparently hadn’t done a great job covering up the question mark as it was clearly visible on your skin.

The bell above the door chimed out, bringing your attention up from the floor. With a sigh, you finally tossed the ball into the trash can. Keeping your eyes on it to make sure that it had actually made it into the trash can this time, you stood and looked up from where your attention had been focused on the trash can underneath the counter.

And right into the barrel of a pistol.

“I don’t want to shoot you.” The man had on a cloth mask covering the bottom half of his face, his dark eyes laser focused on you. His voice quivered slightly, though the hand holding his gun was steady. “Reach into the register and give me the money.”

You didn’t think twice before you reached over and, with your own shaking hands, unlocked the cash drawer. Grabbing the paper money was hard with the instability in your hands, but you managed. Throwing the wad of cash across the counter, you placed your hands on your head, praying that the amount would be enough for him.

It was then that you realized that you weren’t afraid that the man would shoot you- you were angry that this type of shit was happening again. Your hands were shaking from the adrenaline, not fear.

As you watched the man grab the money, you couldn’t help but think back to your conversation with Jonathan, about Gotham branding you as a victim. You fantasized for a moment launching yourself across the counter, taking the gun from the man’s hand and turning it on him. Taking out the frustration you felt at the lack of control you had in your life and making him pull the trigger- You stopped yourself from going any further in your imagined scenario.

Violent fantasies never helped anyone.

The man counted the cash, quickly flipping through the wrinkled paper.

“This is it?”

“Yes.” You didn’t have it in yourself to say it meekly, to play at being anything other than pissed. Perhaps having too many close calls with danger but being saved at the last minute took away your sense of self preservation. Like a wild animal who had been fed by humans too often, maybe you’d forgotten how to fend for yourself, how to survive in a dangerous city like Gotham.

For a moment, the man looked like he was going to ask you again, or worse, come around the counter himself. You didn’t know what you would do if he did that- it's not like you had anything protecting you back here- no secret weapons, no panic buttons- but you liked having the barrier of the counter between you and the robber, no matter how flimsy it actually was.

But then the man accepted your answer, or decided that the money he had gotten was enough, because he simply nodded once and, keeping his gun trained on you, left the store, walking backwards until he pushed open the door with his back. Then he turned and ran down the street, shoving his gun back into his pants.

You watched him leave, your breathing surprisingly even.

And as the intro to Shake It Off started from the store’s radio, sounding tiny and muffled as the opening drums echoed eerily in the empty space, you sighed and buried your face in your hands, threading your fingers through your hair and pulled.

Working at a corner store in Gotham was an inherently dangerous job.

You knew this the day you applied for the job. You knew it when you accepted the job after a bare-bones phone interview. You knew that’s why the job was so easy to get in the first place.

Even so, you hadn’t had anything actually dangerous happen while you were on the job. Walking home after work? Sure, there’d been a few tense moments and the unfortunate mugging last October. Encounters with Gotham nightlife. But during work hours? You’d been lucky enough to say that you’d been relatively safe. Until today, of course.

But it’s not like you could just quit, right? You needed the money, you had no other source of income. You were barely coasting by as it was.

Though, you did have that other job waiting for you… One that probably paid more than this shitty job that didn’t even cover the cost of living.

“No.” You told yourself out loud, you voice loud in the empty store. You’re thankful the security cameras had no sound, if they were even functional at all. “No, I’m not leaving one slightly dangerous job to go work at Arkham Asylum, not happening.”

Even as you said this, you knew you didn't really mean it. You were well aware that a well placed touch or one perfectly timed glance from Jonathan would immediately entice you to accept the job, or to do anything else for that matter. You were positive that if you told him what had happened during your shift, he would try to convince you to switch to Arkham right now. To forget about the stupid convenience store and work with him- under him.

You continued to debate with yourself as you watched your shift drift closer and closer to its end. Quit your job and work in a hospital for the criminally insane with your psychology professor who you were also sleeping with or stay at a shitty job that didn’t appreciate you? It was a hard decision.

Fifteen minutes before your shift’s end, the bell above the door rang and the last person you wanted to see at this moment entered the store. You groaned, burying your face in your hands again even though you knew what he would say when he saw you.

Sure enough, soon his gravelly voice overpowered the Fleetwood Mac song currently being piped into the room.

“What are you doing, slouching behind the counter like that? I don’t pay you to lean.”

Slowly, you looked back up at your manager. And despite your earlier apprehension at quitting, seeing his smarmy, greasy face with patches of unshaven beard and a dab of spaghetti sauce on the corner of his mouth brought forth all the unpleasant emotions you had been made to feel since you began working there. It was his fault that you were mugged that night, that you were just held at gunpoint. The constant dismissal of your very real concerns about your safety, the audacity of him calling you spoiled for not wanting to work late at night as a young woman in a city with the worst crime rate in the state, if not the entire country, had boiled over into a stew of resentment and anger.

Then he smiled at you, like he was your buddy, and that was it. You were very aware that you had been staring at him silently for longer than was socially acceptable, but you no longer felt any need to care about it.

“I quit.” The quiet words were out of your mouth before you realized you were saying them. It was like you had said them as you had thought them, as you realized how much you truly desired it, not thinking about the change they would enforce on your life. No, you didn’t care about the butterfly effect they would cause from this moment onwards when you said it. Because it was worth it to see how it instantly wiped the smile off of his face. Even though he was certainly used to people quitting on him, you had taken his abuse and turned a blind eye to his mismanagement for so long that he surely thought you would never stand up for yourself.

“What.”

You straightened your back, no longer afraid of angering him. Finally, you had said the two magic words that usurped any power he had over you.

“I. Quit.” You reached down to your name badge, ripping it off of your stained work shirt. The force of your movement created a small tear in the shirt, but you couldn’t care less. You’d rip the shirt off your body and leave wearing just your skirt if it meant you never had to step foot in this store again.

Snatching your purse from where you’d stashed it beneath the register (thank goodness the robber hadn’t seen it and demanded you hand it over, not that you had any money inside), you stormed around it to the other side, brushing past the manager. He was still, watching as you swept out of the store. But before you opened the door to leave, you turned to him.

“Oh, and we were robbed. There’s no fucking money in the register.”

Slamming the door behind you, you scanned the street for Jonathan’s car, knowing he was bound to be here already with how close it was to the end of your shift. You didn’t dare to look back at the shop behind you but you were sure your manager was staring through the window and sending daggers into your back with his eyes from behind the counter.

Finally, you spotted his familiar black sedan, picking up your pace until you were able to wrench the door open with your shaking hands.

You jumped into his car, squeezing your eyes shut and taking the deepest breaths possible as you tried not to break down into sobs. If he said anything in greeting, you missed it. You could feel him staring at you, his concern unspoken in the chilly stagnant air between you. It was that weird time of year where no one seemed to agree on whether to turn on the heat or air conditioning in their cars. Jonathan had decided on AC, making his car uncomfortably cold.

Though his car was running, and he was clearly poised to start driving, he didn’t pull out into the street.

Instead, he placed his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing a circle over your skin. He probably thought the action would soothe you but with each circle, his touch became more and more overwhelming, your already overstimulated nerves screaming to be left alone. It took every ounce of self control to not grab his wrist and yank his hand away from your body.

But he still didn’t ask you what was wrong, clearly waiting for you to break the silence.

So you did.

“Can you just-“ You stomped your foot, all of your unnamed complex emotions from the day boiling over into a stew of frustration and anger. “Drive?!”

Although, you planned to calmly ask him to start driving. But clearly it hadn’t come out that way, and now the air was heavier than before, anticipation weighing you down. You were stuck with him in this car, waiting to see how he would react to your outburst.

You hoped that he would see the sour mood you were in and just take you home.

But he didn’t. The car was horribly immobile, and you could feel the slowly increasing weight of his stare on you. You began to turn to face him when he moved, grabbing your chin with a vice-like grip, wrenching you further around to look at him. You were so shocked by his sudden movement that you were still, a deer stuck in the headlights of his attention.

The gesture itself was gentle, but there was a pressure behind his fingertips that betrayed the underlying tension in his body.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He spoke softly. In a different scenario, this would all be wonderfully intimate. Romantic even, with his touch on your face. But instead it was terrifying, the weight of his attention crushing at such a close distance. His fingers pinched your skin, holding you still. You were a muzzled dog, eyes wide and staring into his.

(And somewhere, deep down in your body, was the familiar beginnings of arousal. But you would examine that later when you weren’t on the verge of tears in his car, when he wasn’t inches from your face and able to see every twitch and quiver of your muscles. Part of you thought that maybe he was able to see it in you anyway, even after you decided to push it down.)

“Now, do you want to be a big girl and tell me what’s wrong?”

Slowly, you nodded. To your relief, he let go of your face, though he still didn’t start driving. It took every ounce of will power in your body to not press yourself against the passenger side door, to give yourself some space from his suffocating presence.

“I quit my job.” Shakily, you began to describe the robbery, but also all of the awful things your manager had said to you, today and for the entire time that you worked there. Throughout it, Jonathan simply watched you speak, not reacting, not offering words of comfort.

Halfway through your explanation, Jonathan started driving, his eyes on the road but sliding over to you every few seconds. Like he was waiting for you to lash out, to lose your calm again. For your part, you kept your eyes on him, though you wanted to remind him to keep his eyes on the road.

“...And that’s why I’m in a bad mood.” You finished speaking, a bit lamely. Any of the frustration and unidentifiable emotions that had been stuck in your throat dissipated as you spoke, leaving you with nothing but a cold numbness and a sense of embarrassment at the rashness of your actions.

He was predictably silent.

You sighed, turning to look outside of the passenger window. At least you no longer felt like you needed to scream, or to cry. But you still had no solutions to the fact that you were now jobless. You knew that Jonathan would, probably, remind you of the job at Arkham and that you’d said you would take it once the semester ended. Surely, you could take it earlier, he would reason with you. But you still didn’t know if you had told him that because you’d actually meant it or just because you wanted to get him off of your back for the moment, to buy yourself time to figure out what you actually wanted to do.

Yours was the eternal curse of indecision, it seemed.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure if he was apologizing for what happened to you or for how he just treated you. If it was the latter, you’d forgive him. You’d already forgiven him the moment he let go of you. His eyes were on you, long enough that you feared he didn’t know what was actually happening on the road. “Why don’t you come over and let me make it up to you?”

You finally tore your gaze away from him, instead choosing to stare down at the ink splotch on your skin. If you squinted, you could still make out the question mark from your absent-minded doodling. It was like the universe was trying to tell you something but you couldn’t figure it out.

“I… suppose that would be fine.” You heard your voice like you were listening through a paper tube, or a phone call with poor reception. You didn’t really want to go over but the idea of being alone was worse than sitting in his sterile apartment.

And you really didn’t want him in your apartment.

“Good.”

Jonathan looked back at the road, the yellow and white lights of the passing buildings and street lamps reflecting in his glasses. You watched him from the corner of your eye, feeling like once again you had lost some battle. And then you berated yourself for even thinking that. You and Jonathan hadn’t defined your relationship but you knew that no matter how you ended up defining it, you shouldn’t feel like you were in a constant war with him.

But your chin still smarted from the pressure of his fingers on your skin and your pride still stung from the humiliation of your own behavior. You had acted like a petulant child, something you never did around Jonathan. He was right to be upset, you reasoned, because you were acting like a brat when you were a fully capable adult who was able to communicate effectively.

Jonathan cleared his throat, something he rarely did.

“The job offer for Arkham still stands.”

There it is.

“I know.” You paused, uncertain how to express yourself. “But-” You stopped, shaking your head before taking a deep breath and starting again. “But I don’t know if I actually want that job. I mean, am I even qualified for this job?”

You missed what he said next from the overwhelming sense of deja vu, a flashback to half a year ago when you were in his office and asking him the same things about your TA position. Which, in reflection, seemed to become less important with the more time that you spent with him. It didn’t even seem like he needed you to do work for him as an assistant anymore. Since spring break, you haven't been given any assignments to grade, even though you knew that he was still collecting them (thank you, annotated syllabus). You couldn’t shake the feeling that he had exhausted his use for you there (and was searching for somewhere else to put you so that he could keep you close).

Then you berated yourself, again, for flattering yourself.

“What?”

He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, a low sigh that almost had you flinching backwards. But he didn’t move, simply repeating what he’d said. You’d overreacted, mentally chastising yourself.

“It’s a secretary position. Hardly anything that needs qualifications.” He smiled, in an attempt to be reassuring. But you still felt like a fish on a hook, right before the line reeled back in. Or perhaps like someone who was about to have the rug pulled from under them.

“But it’s still in a hospital-”

“I wouldn’t have offered you this job if it wasn’t above board.”

“Alright.” You sighed. “I’m not agreeing, but I’ll trust you.” Sorry for doubting you, you tacked on in your head. “Just let me think about it.” The six words that kept him at bay because you knew that, ultimately, he would get what he wanted.

His hand found its way back to your thigh again, though he refrained from resuming the circular motions with his thumb. Whether he knew it was because it was too much for your over stimulated nerves to take or because he didn’t want to risk you lashing out again.

He stopped the car, removing his hand from your thigh and parking with ease. You scrambled out of the car, your legs unsteady beneath you like a newborn deer. Taking a deep breath, you crossed around the car to Jonathan’s side, allowing him to place his hand on your lower back and guide you into his building.

Jonathan’s apartment had remained relatively unchanged in the few weeks since you’d begun sleeping together. You had no drawer of things, no personal effects scattered around his space, nothing to indicate that you spent a large amount of time here. It didn’t bother you. You really hadn’t spent that many nights together, with the exception of the four days you’d spent tangled together over spring break but it was certainly not enough to begin encroaching on his space. And besides, he rarely entered your own apartment, and you liked it that way.

You liked to keep the memory of him visiting you after your Scarecrow encounter sacred. You didn’t want to sully it with random sex scenes and mundane conversations. Domesticity would ruin it, would clear away the romantic haze that your memory had cast over it all and leave you with reality.

Even so, you were more than comfortable entering his space. You no longer felt the need to perch on the edges of seats or linger in his doorways. (Though that’s probably more due to the three and a half days you had spent in various states of undress around his apartment than any sort of newly gained confidence after your first visit).

You sat down on one of Jonathan’s arm chairs, watching as he crossed the room and took his own languid position on his couch, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed against the couch’s back.

“I’m not saying I’m taking the job but I do want to know- what exactly would my duties be?”

“It’s secretarial work but it will be similar to what you do with me now. Just paperwork, running errands around the asylum, pretty mundane things.” He removed his glasses, placing them on the arm of the couch before leaning his head back, closing his eyes. His neck was exposed further with the change in his position, a long column of white against the dark fabric of his suit and the couch behind him.

“Errands?” Your throat was dry and you did your best to subtly clear it. Jonathan’s eyes stayed closed, the inner end of his eyebrows pinched.

“If I need to get a memo to a doctor in the medical wing, you’ll take it. The electronic system they have in place for things like that is flighty. It’s a lot easier to send a person with a paper than to try and send an email.”

“Right.” You nodded absent-mindedly, rising from his couch to look out of the windows. It was quickly becoming your favorite way to view the city, so high above it all but still in the middle of it. You weren’t looking at the skyline but rather observing your place in it.

A thick raindrop splattered against the window before being followed rapidly by others. Splat, splat, splat. The sound was loud in the silent room and you wondered if Jonathan had fallen asleep. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he would do, but he was so quiet. You watched until you were no longer able to see out of the window easily, the colors of the city melting into each other through the coat of water.

Sighing, you turned back to the interior of the room, immediately meeting Jonathan’s open eyes, their arctic blue focused on you. He watched as you crossed through the room before settling beside him on the couch. You were restless, something he now seemed to be keenly aware of.

“Do you enjoy being my TA?”

“...Yes?” Not intending for it to sound like a question, you shook your head before restating your answer more firmly. “I enjoy the work… and I enjoy spending time with you.”

“That I know.”

You smiled at his gentle teasing. Of course, he knew.

“But I do think you’ll enjoy working with me over at the asylum.” He shrugged. “It’s very similar work.”

“You really want me to take this job, don’t you?”

He nodded, his eyes flickering to your lips. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath quickening instantly at the simple gesture.

Insatiable, you thought as you scooted closer to him, crossing the rest of the couch before closing your eyes as your lips met in a gentle kiss. You pressed yourself firmly against him, rising to your knees to kneel on the couch cushion, leaning over him slightly. His hands found your hips, bunching the fabric of your stupid work shirt.

Pulling away from him, you ripped the shirt off of your body, tossing it onto one of the arm chairs, needing to get the disgusting fabric away from you. As soon as it was off of your body, you rejoined your mouth with his, pushing his body against the back of the couch.

You were well aware that he was letting you take control right now, that it was not stolen dominance but temporarily borrowed. The moment he decided to take it back, you would gladly let him.

Your hand drifted downward over his body, lingering over the slowly growing tent in his pants. Smiling against his lips before parting from him, you looked into his eyes as his cool breath fanned over your face. Your fingertips teased at his button and he watched unblinking as you kept tracing vague shapes over his clothed length, obviously debating whether or not you should undo his pants and pull him out.

Like he could sense your indecision, he took your wrist and pressed it down firmly onto his cock, hissing through his teeth at the sudden pressure.

Surging forward and pressing your open mouth to his parted lips once again, you undid the button on his pants, fumbling until you were able to pull him out of his pants. Keeping the pressure that he had guided you into, you began to move your hand. When you pulled back from kissing him, his lips were wet with your combined saliva and flushed, parted as he panted with your ministrations.

Unable to decide which was better, you switched between watching his face and your own hand moving up and down on his cock. When you looked up to his face again, you met his half-lidded eyes as he watched you essentially ogle his member and your grip on it, his lips parted slightly.

You stuttered in your pace and he moved suddenly, gripping your wrist tightly and pulling you off of his cock.

“Get up.” He patted his lap once and you immediately understood. Breathing out shakily, you moved over his body and climbed onto his lap, grinding down onto him, sighing at the pressure against your core. He slipped his hands beneath your skirt, hooking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear before pulling them down your legs. You rose again, helping him in slipping them off of your body.

With a final grind of your now exposed cunt to his hard length, you groaned when the head of his cock pressed against your clit. Now impatient, you reached down and guided his cock to your entrance, slowly sinking onto his hard length with a deep groan from your chest. His head was leaning against the back of the couch again as he looked at you down his nose, his lips barely parted as he watched you slowly impale yourself on him.

With each inch you sank further into your own abyss, no longer caring about the ugliness of the day. What was there to care about when you had Jonathan Crane beneath you, looking like he did as you filled yourself with him?

With a deep breath, you bottomed out. Keeping your breath even, you allowed yourself a moment to adjust before gently pushing yourself upwards, his cock sliding out of you until just the head remained inside of your cunt.

And then you set a slow but steady pace, fucking yourself on his cock.

But with each time your hips met, your pace grew faster, your legs working to pull you up and down until you were practically bouncing yourself on his cock.

“Good girl.” His voice was breathy and deep, muttered against your lips as he allowed you to take your fill of his body.

You knew that you were whimpering and nodding like a mad woman, eagerly grinding down onto his cock as you chased your orgasm. You snaked your hand down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. You could feel yourself clench around his hard length and your bouncing slowly morphed into a frantic grinding, drawing pictures with your hips as you tried to find the spot within you that would send you into your climax.

“That’s it, come on my cock, that’s a good girl.” He whispered and you had no idea if he meant for you to hear it at all but it was enough to push you over the edge, your body caving towards him as you shook with the force of your orgasm. You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, pressing down on his cock until your hips stilled, your body tight with sensitivity.

But Jonathan wasn’t done yet, his cock still hard inside of you. As soon as you were finished coming, his hands found your hips. Quickly, he began to thrust upwards into your cunt, using your body like it was nothing more than a method for him to finish. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting back whimpers at the continued assault of sensations on your overstimulated senses.

He cursed sharply under his breath, his grip tightening as he began to lose his rhythm. With a last few sharp thrusts, he threw his head back, groaning deep in his chest as he filled you with his warm spend.

After a few moments of sitting with his slowly softening cock still inside of you, you started to move away before he grabbed your hips, stopping you from getting up off of his lap. Slowly, you sat back down, not unaware that he was becoming hard again.

“We aren’t done yet.”

Later, in the familiar haze of the afterglow, your nose buried in the crook of Jonathan’s lithe neck, you mumbled your decision. “I’ll take the Arkham job.”

He shifted underneath you- you’d moved to the bed a few rounds ago, but they all blended together into an abstract portrait of sweat and lust- pushing against your arms to pull your face away from him and to look into your face.

“Are you sure?”

Not at all.

“Of course.”

It all felt very familiar, though the last time you’d agreed to something like this with him you weren’t in his arms or his bed. But you felt the familiar twinge of pleasure at the soft, pleased smile on his face. And underneath that, the curl of anxiety at the notion that you had given in too easily.

next part

[thewarriorspecial]

(WIP) Lanterns Light

Rating: Teen

Additional Tags: Angst, description of a flashback

Guy gathers some friends to celebrate Kyle's birthday but the lovely lights in the sky take him to a dark place instead.

Not too bad, not too bad, Guy thought to himself. He’d manage to gather most of their friends, honestly surprised at how many were available and on Earth all at the same time.

Kyle was beloved to so many, it was easy to get a group together to celebrate his birthday. When he had heard about the lantern festival, he couldn’t pass it up. He had a feeling filling the night sky with glowing symbols of hope would really strike a chord with Kyle.

What he hadn’t counted on was the best part, sitting under a tent in a circle of camp chairs with his and Kyle’s oldest friends. Shooting the shit, drinking beers, eating funnel cake. What more could you ask for?

Kyle was deep in concentration, hunched over his paper lantern. Each one came with a little marker so you could draw your hopes and wishes and remembrances on them. Most of them had written special dates, quotes, little doodles. Hal had drawn a Mustang GT. John was adding loving details to his dream home—proverbial dog and fence and all. Guy drew a couple dicks. Kyle was filling every inch with a mural of his loved one’s faces.

As the sun disappeared over the horizon, everyone started getting their lanterns ready. All popped up, they were quite a bit bigger than Guy imagined. Every inch counts and all hur, hur, hur. Guy, Master of Fire, took the liberty of lighting the little candles inside the paper lanterns with his XXL Big Man lighter.

They waited for the music cue and then released the lanterns all together. The crowd was easily a few hundred people. The lanterns floated out of their hands, steadily up and into the wind, glowing golden against the cobalt sky.

Kyle was smiling and tearing up, “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“Happy Birthday,” Guy whispered in his ear.

Kyle turned to look over his shoulder, into Guy’s eyes. The pinpoints of hundreds of lanterns reflected in Kyle’s eyes like stars.

“Green Lantern of Sector 2815 deceased. Searching for replacement,” a metallic voice rang out.

“Arisia?” Guy called out.

“Where?” Kyle looked around excitedly.

“Green Lantern of Sector 315 deceased. Searching for replacement.”

“Killowog?” Guy called out again.

“Green Lantern of Sector 2814 deceased. Searching for replacement.”

“Kyle?” Guy’s head whipped around, searching without seeing.

“I’m right here,” Kyle reached for Guys arm and Guy slapped his hand away like he was blocking an attack.

Hundreds of green rings scattered across the sky. Beams of green and yellow light crisscrossed the sky. Guy’s eyes scanned the sky, but in his heart he knew it was already over. The central battery was blown. Kyle was—

“Green Lantern of Sector 2814 deceased. Searching for replacement.”

“No,” Guy’s voice cracked, barely a whisper. The rage didn’t come this time. There was no flame to burn away the agony and shield his heart.

John slowly stood up from his chair, his arm outstretched, palm down. Everybody stay calm. He looked at Hal, gesturing towards Guy with a tilt of his head, beckoning Hal to follow.

Hal sharply, subtly shook his head no. He didn’t dare move or speak. He had his shirt collar pulled up to partially cover his face. If Guy looked his way and saw Parallax he’d go scorched earth on this place. He turned his terrified eyes to John, pleading, do something.

“What is happening?” Kyle asked

“Green Lantern of Sector 2814 deceased. Searching for replacement.”

“John?” Guy croaked out.

“On your 3,” John strode towards Guy.

Guy whipped to his right, his eyes glassy, but seeing John. Guy opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out.

“Where are we?” John asked, trying to figure out what Guy was reacting to.

“In hell. I lost Kyle, John. I couldn’t stop this.”

“I’m blind, Guy. I need you to be my eyes. Tell me what you can see.”

But Guy had already turned away, fixated on the lanterns floating serenely through the sky. His breathing went quick and shallow. His eyes darted across the twinkling sky.

“I—I’m sorry,” Guy choked out as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Guy?” Kyle tried again.

“I’ll be back. I’m sorry.” Guy turned suddenly and headed toward the trail they had taken from the parking lot—towards the safety of the Jeep. If he could just sit in the quiet he could wait this out. He knew he should probably like, breathe or something but nothing helpful was getting through the memories clouding his mind. He just knew he had to get away.

Kyle turned to John and touched his shoulder, “Go with him, please.”

“You guys relax, I’ll take care of this,” John said, more confidently than he felt.

When John marched down the trail after Guy, Kyle sank into the camp chair next to Hal, “What just happened?”

Most of the paper lanterns had floated to the far side of the field, leaving Hal and Kyle in the night’s shadowy embrace again. Hal’s expressions were a mystery.

Hal had enough of his own flashbacks to know what happened to Guy. He could only guess why but if Guy wasn’t here to speak for himself he didn’t want to insert himself. “John’ll know what to do. He always does. It’ll be okay,” Hal said to calm Kyle as much as convince himself.

__

When John reached the Jeep, he found Guy crouched down, clinging to one of the muddy wheels. When Guy turned to face John his face was twisted in misery. John would rather have been punched than see Guy like this—it hurt less.

“Hey-“ John started.

“I’m good. Go back, okay?”

“When you’re ready, we’ll go,” John kept his voice neutral lest his pugnacious friend feel coddled.

Guy shook his head, “John I—don’t let me fuck this up for him ok? Just, go back. Be normal without me. Please. This’ll go away.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, buddy. Kyle just wants to know you’re okay.”

“He can’t see me like this, John.” I couldn't protect him then. Look at me now. “He can’t.” I’m old. Slow. Weak. “I can’t pull anymore dead bodies outta the water. You understand?”

“Alright.” John said simply, lowering himself to the ground and facing away from Guy. He knelt down, ready to spring if need be and kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

“What are you doing?” Guy asked.

“I’m watching your back.”

[the-crows-typist]

Hello! I recently read your azul's ficlet and i'm close to crying at how beautiful it is (its 4am emo hours). If its okay, may I request a ficlet of Jade with a gn!reader with the word 'sleep' or 'rest' (pick whichever suits better!). Thank you in advance! 💖

CW: Spoilers for the movie Your Name (Kimi no na wa), character death, body switching, angst with a happy ending, and slow burn (sort of)

Feedback in greatly appreciated!

Thank you to @opalmaplehibiscus , @jellyfishstuckinwonderland , and @raven-at-the-writing-desk for the input in the making of this fic. I greatly appreciate your help.

The Possibilities are Endless

“My name is..”

“Please remember me...!”

The crowds on the train pushed them apart, a braided bracelet was tossed towards Jade. A lifeline connecting both of them together, a connection between two souls; the face of one that was desperate to keep holding on, they yelled one last time just as the doors of the train closed and their grip on the bracelet wrap loosened.

“My name is—!”

Jade opened his eyes and he was in his room, his very dark room.  To his side was his closet and to the other a white wall. The sound of bubbling water churned behind the window of his dorm room and with one slow blink, he pulled himself up and hunched over.

The same dream, the same voice, the same bracelet tossed to him.

He craned his head to his lamp stand where the colorful wrap lay next to his earring, he doesn’t remember where he got it nor does he remember why he wanted to keep it for so long. He took the bracelet and looked at it and thought back to the voice in his dream.

“Please remember me...!”

Pushing himself off he moved to the mirror to fix his appearance, with his brush and hair gel in hand he let out a gasp when the lights of vanity shined light on a note. A note written on his cheek with a marker, a message he didn’t remember writing.

“Who are you?”

It was during breakfast that Jade began to notice the strange happenings around him, how Azul asked if he was feeling better or how Floyd said he was wearing his earring again. “What do you mean,” Jade questioned. “I always wear it.”

“You weren’t yesterday. And you looked so lost like some little guppy, you even forget how to get to class yesterday morning.” Floyd complained, eating his breakfast with a huff. “Was it a prank? Cuz’ you got me good.”

What was he doing yesterday?

He woke up, went to school...No. That wasn’t what happened. He didn’t recall anything from the previous day. In fact, he remembered being at  a different place.

In a city full of buildings and faraway from the sea, the familiar smell of white roses, the smile of an unfamiliar fellow and a bento box he had no recollection of him cooking or making.

His uniform wasn’t black but a cream with a tint of yellow, his magical pen was nowhere to be seen and was instead replaced with a pen nib brooch.  He touches his cheek, remembering the message written on his cheek. “Who are you?”

“C’mon, you gotta tell me.” Floyd pestered, his arm over Jade’s neck “Was it a prank?”

“Perhaps.” The twins laughed, Floyd pulling close but in his mind he thought of the message, his incapability to remember the previous day. He needed more answers but only questions filled his head.

His notes were a mess and full of sketches. There were sketches of Night Raven’s facade and the students, his classmates. A slew of messy messages on paper, the handwriting worrying as if the person writing was stressed beyond belief.

“The uniforms are black, the gems are pens.”

“Nothing but roses for miles.”

“Wishing well???”

“Where am I?”

“Mr Leech, please read the next line.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trein’s brow raised and he blinked. “Well, today you actually remember your name. Perhaps you were just feeling ill.” A hum of laughter passed through the class. “And your hair is fixed as well; I was beginning to think you and your brother switched places when you came into class with a messy bed head.”

Jade blinked, tilting his head. “I...see. I’ll make sure to not make that mistake again, professor.”

“Good. Continue on reading.”

“Magic transcends all meaning when twilight occurs, when the sun and the moon share the sky for a single moment.” Trein explained, using a magical pointer. “The word twilight means ‘half-light’ when the light of the sun glows and causes refraction in the atmosphere and signaling the end of the morning and welcoming of night or visa versa. At times like this does magic become unpredictable and free-forming and when realities begin to overlap each other for the time twilight occurs. This was used to the advantage of the earliest magician in recorded history.”

Trein faced his students. “Nowadays, these times of day are known as dusk and dawn as the world twilight has fallen out of favor in recent years.”

“It’s probably because of that one book.” A student yelled from the rows behind and Trein nodded his head. “Ah, yes, ten years ago was an odd time for the word ‘twilight’.” Trein blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Who would have thought the human body produced so much diamonds but that is beside the point.” The bell rang and the students began taking their books. “Be sure to read up on your lesson today, we will be having a quiz tomorrow on the topic.”

Jade stayed in his seat for some time and stared at the diagram on the board.

Twilight.

In the back of his mind, a flash of a memory comes to him. He remembers a train stopping by and the droves of people coming in and out. Jade was alone that time, buying something some seeds or fungi. The sun was setting at the time, the yellow sun turning orange and the sky dimming to a nightly violet.

“Jade.”

He didn’t know the person who called out his name nor did he remember what they looked like but he did remember the smile they had, as if they were looking for him for a long time, it was a  face relief. 

“It’s me.”

He didn’t know who this person was nor did he ever remember their face and yet, at that instant he seemed to have known them his entire life. In his heart was a feeling of warmth, of glee, of content and relief; he was confused by it all. A strike of panic pierced his heart when that smile turned into a confused and upset frown. “You don’t...remember me..?”

The next stop came and people began filing out, pushing the two of them away from each other. “Jade, please remember me!” They said as they were pushed out by the crowd. Reaching up, they pulled the braided tie from their hair and threw it out of him. “Please remember me..!”

He caught the braided tie just as the other let go and doors began to close.

“My name is—!”

“Is there something wrong, Mr Leech?” He blinked, looking to Trein with confusion. He had missed the door and stood by the wall of the classroom. “Ah—I’m sorry.” There was a hissy laugh from Lucius as Trein set him down on the table to collect his papers. “You seem to be in deep thought, is there something on your mind?”

“No, professor, I was just thinking about our topic today.” Jade lied through his teeth and Trein took it with a huff. “I know twilight is a regular phenomenon but I didn’t know that it was an important time of day for mages and magicians.” A nod came from his professor. “Many people nowadays don’t see its importance as magical materials and magic itself have grown and changed over time. With the new technology and the new breakthroughs we have, the archaic practices of the past have since then been abandoned.”

Trein looked to the window and Jade followed his gaze, the sun began to set and the color of orange and violet painted the sky. “Twilight has begun.” Picking up his beloved cat, Trein stretched his back and moved to face the student in front of him. “It’s best to get back to your dorm, you might miss the curfew.”

“Professor, have you ever experienced anything during twilight? Like the way you’ve explained it during class?” Jade asked suddenly, his professor’s eyes widened then looking to the side to think for a moment. “I have but they were more of dreams than the otherworldly claims of recording happenings. I would often see myself in another person’s shoes, seeing a world I did not know about, it wasn’t a pleasant experience but...It was interesting, for a dream at least.”

“I see. Thank you very much, professor. I’ll be on my way.”

He stared at his messy notebook unblinking, the messy handwriting and the sketches were foreign to him. He drew a few doodles but he never put any detail to it nor was he able to do sketches of his peers in movement.

“Where am I?”

Taking his pen, Jade wrote a message. What had happened to him wasn’t a dream, he knew that and he knew that what he was about to do wasn’t a sure fire guarantee that whoever wrote this will see it but the unpredictability of the situation allowed him to push through with an eagerness to see the end results.

“You are in Night Raven College. My name is Jade.”

The night loomed over the dorm, the once blue waters a dark purple and tinge of black. Twilight has ended. Jade closes his eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking back about the lesson and to the confused glances of his peers.

“Please remember me...!” The voice begged, the image of a braided bracelet flowing through the air as it flew towards him. Tugging his sleeve, the bracelet was wrapped around his wrist snugly; its design was simple and bright mix of blue, yellow, and red.

“Please remember me...!”

Jade tugs his sleeves back down, only stepping out of to his bed when he felt tired. The bracelet was removed from his wrist and sat next to him.

“My name is—!”

The voice echoed through his mind, he felt that he should remember it,  he felt like he should know who it was, and all he felt was frustration and eagerness to see this unpredictable situation through. He closed his eyes wanting to rest his eyes rather than sleep.

“So this is what Night Raven College looks like. It’s very pretty, your uniforms are very pretty too but I’m not used to the environment there. It’s probably because of the walls or the silence.”

It had been a few days since the messaging through the notebook began with Jade and his pen pal, of sorts.  It seemed that his new pen pal had been observing weird happenings to them too. Their classmates telling them of their weird behaviors, one time all they ate were mushrooms.

“I don’t even like mushrooms and because of you I ate a whole lot of them in just one day!”

It seemed that his odd dreams of seeing another world unlike his own weren’t dreams after all. The white and yellow uniforms, the sweet smell of lilies, and the pen nib brooch all pointed to Royal Swords Academy. Apparently the person he switched bodies with studied there.

“And I was told that I ate eel for lunch and it upset my brother. It seems both of us are even on this regard.”

He always wrote messages on his notebook the moment he got home and he preferred it that way rather than waking up to writings on his face and arms. The marker ink was hard to wash off, even with large amounts of sudsy soaps.

“We have a notebook to communicate for a reason, please use that.”

“I like writing on your hand, Jade.”

There were moments that he expressed frustration with them, even anger but that soon dissipated into childish antics of messages written on skin, eating disgusting foods they came to like, and a bond that transcended physical reality. They were from two different worlds and yet, here they were being friends.

All this was just like a dream to him.

“Hey, about that braided bracelet...Where did you get it? I had one just like it before it disappeared; I used to wear it on my hair.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that. It just came with me, I suppose. I couldn’t part with it for some reason so I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

“I guess we just so happened to have the same braided tie, huh? Hehehe!”

After class, Jade went to experience the twilight hour for once and see the students filter out of school and run about. It was the end of the week and it was a time for fun, brooms flew overhead and magical swirls of dust were thrown about by fun-loving students.

“What I like about your school is that none of you are afraid to get dirty and have fun.” He remembered his pen pal writing. “I love RSA but the uniforms and the rules we live by stop us from having fun like all of you there in NRC.”

He couldn’t blame them, RSA had some rules to go by and the uniforms really stopped them from having fun too. The chaos that he saw in RSA wasn’t like those in NRC, not by a long shot but he could see the charm it had in it despite the difference in school life.

Jade wanted them to experience this first hand one day. In their own body, of course.

 He went back to his room when the sun had disappeared and the moon stood in its place. Sitting by the notebook, he took his magical pen from his pocket and began writing his response to his pen pal’s recent message. 

“RSA has beautiful scenery, there’s no doubt about it. It’s a nice change of pace from the gothic feel NRC has, I find it rather peaceful. Though the sudden music lessons do tend to throw me off but that is something I will eventually come to get used to.

He tapped his pen on his desk, humming at his short reply. He looked at his wrist; the braid coiled around his wrist and was vibrant under the yellow light of his lamp. Unlike them, he never really gave hints of what his school life was about nor did he give details of what it was like to spend a day in RSA.

“We had a lesson about the magical phenomena known as Twilight. Apparently around that time, magic becomes different and realities begin to overlap...Do you think that’s what’s causing us to switch bodies?”

 “Twilight...I’ve heard of that phenomenon too! It actually makes sense, maybe that’s what's causing it but if it’s really true then that’s some real strong magic!” 

Jade slept that late that night, the braided tie next to his forehead. For once, he didn’t dream of the train station but of a hand coming up to take his own. No, it wasn’t his hand, it was his pen pal’s hand, and it grasped softly then tugged for him to follow. 

He was on a mountain, the sky glittering with millions upon millions of stars. It was a beautiful sight, his eyes widening as the stars grew closer and closer, the heat around him rising and rising; burning his skin and singing his hair. The world around him was destroyed and the last thing he heard was the terrified scream of someone he was beginning to hold dear. 

He awoke with a gasp, his eyes tearful and his lungs out of breath. Next to him were a concerned Azul and his brother Floyd. “We could hear you gasping from the hallway.” Azul explained but Jade kicked off his covers and ran to his desk, his notebook, their means of communication was empty. The messages he had collected with them were gone and only his own remained.

His brother tugged at his shoulder. “Look at me.” He was whirled around, their foreheads touching. “Breathe. You’re gonna give yourself an attack if you don’t breathe.” 

He closed his eyes, leaning against his brother to breathe harshly. A pair of hands pats his back, Azul’s and Floyd’s, in an act of comfort but none of their touches reached Jade. He was too confused, too shaken up, too anxious. “It was just a bad dream.”

A dream...

What he had seen in the eyes of his pen pal was all a dream...?

Pen pal?

“It’s best that you get some more rest.” Azul said, pulling Jade back to his bed. “I’ll explain to the teachers what happened to you.” Floyd nudged him down and pulled the covers up until his brother’s chin. “We need you well rested, Jade. We’ll have the others check on you every once in a while.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly and carefully, his eyes screwed shut and thoughts in a whirlwind. His memories scrambling and confusing, he tries to remember the train station, the lake that was on RSA’s sloping hills and the falling meteorite.

Had there been a meteor shower? There was no news of it, no indication.

A hand caressed his head, shushing his sounds to silence. 

“Sleep, Jade.”

The next day, Jade spent all his time in the library with books about stars and meteors and sleep being the furthest thing from his mind. He poured through the articles about meteor showers, checking online news sites, and pouring through scientific documents.

Nothing.

No recent reports of a meteor shower anywhere near the area of RSA or NRC. 

A frustrated sigh left Jade’s lips and he held his head with a huff, burying his fingers into his hair when a fluffy tail rubbed and pawed against his arm. “Good to see you’re up and about, Mr Leech.” Trein stood over him as Lucius stepped over the articles to sit on one of the books. 

“I didn’t know you were taking a liking to astronomy.” The professor commented, taking an article and reading through it. “Meteor showers, eh? I haven’t seen those for some time. The last one was beautiful but also very tragic.”

“What do you mean, professor?” Jade stared up at his teacher, slightly surprised.

“You weren’t in NRC at the time this happened but there was a meteor shower that passed by Twisted Wonderland, it was a festive time...But that soon became a tragedy when a fragment broke off from one of the passing meteorites.” He sighed, closing his eyes and setting the paper down. “Though NRC and RSA have been rivals for a long time, I can’t bear to think such a catastrophic event would happen to them.”

His heart skipped a beat, eyes wide in surprise. “You mean to say...”

“A meteorite fragment fell on RSA three years ago, specifically on the field just outside the school where some students were watching the shower. Those poor children...” 

The white crystal of his magical pen glowed bright and Jade pushed himself off his chair, figure hunched forward and head hung low. Lucius let out a meow as he scrambled away from the student. “Mr Leech, what are you doing?” Trein demanded but his voice fell on deaf ears, Jade remembers his last dream, the last time he switched bodies. He remembers the falling meteorite, the scream that wasn’t his own, he remembers them.

His pen pal.

In a burst of magic, Jade disappeared from his position leaving a scared Lucius and a confused and upset Mozus Trein.

The landscape around him was heavy, the crater left by the meteorite was massive and no traces of life were seen within the impact zone. The memory of the meteorite fragment falling right on top of his pen pal, killing them instantly played again and again in his head. Jade, normally so aloof and calm, fell to his knees.

They died. 

They died where he stood.

For the first time in a long while, Jade screamed his heart out. A wail of agony loud enough to echo through the empty void that was essentially his pen pal resting place. He sunk to his knees and continued crying until his throat became hoarse and painful.

He laid on his side as the sun went down, the braided tie peeked out of his blazer. 

“Please remember me—!”

The train station...Was that a dream too? What had he been doing when he was in there? What was he there for?

Who was calling out his name.

“Jade...?”

The sun set over him, the sky turning orange and violet. It was twilight hour.

 “Jade..”

“Jade.”

 There was a touch to his shoulder and a soft shake. His head turned, his eyes widened. A student from RSA stood over him. They smelled of white lilies, uniform a mix of white and yellow, and their magical crystal a pen nib brooch. There was a familiar gleam in their eyes, a smile he came to know from the many days they had switched bodies. 

His pen pal smiled at him, offering their hand for him to take. “It’s really you, Jade. It’s actually you.” 

They laughed, pulling Jade into a hug; his tall figure dwarfing them easily as they hugged his chest. Jade sighed, returning the hug soon after and rocking each other back and forth for a few moments the sun shined in the horizon.

“I thought I lost you, y’know?” They said, looking up at him. “I just...I suddenly couldn’t reach you.” 

“I thought you had died. I saw the meteor fall on you.”

They looked at each other for a moment and a laugh was shared, their foreheads linked together soon after. “I know but...somehow, maybe...I don’t really know what happened to me. I just couldn’t reach you to tell you what happened on that day. I nearly forgot about you and I cried for days wondering why.”

Pulling away, they looked down to Jade’s wrist. “Hey, that bracelet...”

“You gave it to me in the train station.”

It was all coming back to him now. This person, his pen pal, was someone he held dear for a long time.

He felt comfort.

“Oh yeah! I did, didn’t I?”

“Do you want it back?”

“No. Keep it.”

The two held hands for some time but were immediately thwarted by them pulling out a marker. “Hey, why don’t we write our names? That way, if we ever forget each other there’ll always be a reminder. Ah, but I don’t have any paper with me...”

Jade offered his palm, his smile teasing and knowing. “You always liked writing on my skin.”

They shared another laugh and the marker’s cap was pulled off, Jade looking over the horizon as they wrote their name on his palm. “Your turn.” 

He took the pen from them and as soon as he wrote the starting strokes of his name, the marker fell from his grasp.

The twilight hour had ended and the moon took over the sky.

“Eh...? What am I...doing...?” 

Jade was found by his peers not long after, taking him in and letting him rest as they descended the crater near RSA. Mozus Trein was their chaperone, explaining to the staff of the rival school and covering his own students.

“Someone he knew died here,” He explained, looking at Jade being covered with a blanket by his brother. Jade’s eyes were closed and he leaned against him, clearly exhausted from the ordeal and exposure to the elements.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, professor.” Said one RSA’s employees, brows upturned and frowning deep. “The meteorite crash was a very tragic event for all schools. I can’t imagine how much grief that young boy has gone through knowing that a friend of his died that day.”

“I hope you can look the other way on this. I know we shouldn’t come into each other’s premises without proper—“ 

“It’s quite alright. I’ll explain the situation to the headmaster once everything has settled.”

Floyd pulled his brother to his chest and stood up, Azul placing a hand on his back. 

“Let’s go home, Jade.” 

Jade wasn’t alone that night, Floyd and Azul wouldn’t allow him to be alone. They slept next to him, keeping him company but while the two slept, he couldn’t. The moon shone against his window and gave his room a very soft blue glow. He raised his hand to his face, the message from someone he held dear was still visible but slightly smudged.

“Thank you.”

Bitterness rose in his chest and to his throat, his brows furrowed in frustration. The tears forming stung his eyes.

“You idiot,” he brought his palm to his face, sniffling. “I can’t remember you this way.”

A year had passed and the dreams stopped coming after that night. Jade had picked up the habit of sitting outside during twilight hour, watching the set and holding the bracelet that never left his wrist for more than a second. He wore it everywhere he went but when asked; he never had a proper reason for it.

“I feel complete wearing it.”

The yearly magical shift festival brought troves of customers and onlookers, Jade and his brother sat on a bench and let their legs rest after a long day. “I’m gonna go get something to eat. You want anything?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll buy some myself.” 

“’Kay.”

Jade was left alone after that and he closed his eyes for a moment, his nose taking in the different smells of food and perfumes.

There was a familiar smell of white lilies.

“Excuse me.” 

A person stood in front of him, holding a brochure. They were a uniform of white and yellow and a pen nib brooch. They smiled at him and familiar warmth bloomed in his chest. “I don’t mean to disturb you or anything.” 

Their smile was sheepish but it felt as if he’d seen it somewhere before.

“Do we know each other by any chance?”

“I think so.” Jade’s smile was easy and suddenly their eyes began to water. “I had a feeling we did.”

“Hey,” Jade reached over and intertwined their hands, the bracelet’s colors were vibrant against his skin and theirs.

“May I…”

“Can I…”

“...Know your name?”

[fidothefinch]

grow as we go

For Dick & Damian Week, day 3: adoption papers

cw: grief

When Damian had returned, he had never felt more alone than when he realized he would grieve Richard by himself.

Read on Ao3

Grief is a lingering thing.

Damian discovered it when the weather changed.

He slid out of bed the same way he did every morning. The old Manor let in a draft that brought Gotham’s chill with it, and Damian didn’t know why his chest ached.

He ignored the feeling all the way downstairs, and then down more stairs, until he reached the Cave and his feet stilled. They were heavy; sandbags attached to the bottom of his legs.

He stared at the glass case.

He hadn’t looked at it in months. Not since the last time, when he had sobbed himself sick leaning against the memorial, the glass cold and hard against his hot face.

It was so, so far from the embrace he had wanted.

Still, it was the best he had had.

And, still, it was the best he had.

He trudged to the case’s side. Sat. It felt good to be low to the ground. He felt heavy.

He leaned his head to the side, against the glass.

He had thought this was behind him.

Everybody else had already mourned. They were done; it was a trauma processed and dealt with.

Damian didn’t know the date of his death. He missed the public service, and the private service, and the burial after. He missed the nights huddled around steaming mugs in the kitchen, sharing silence and the weight of the sun blinking out of existence. He missed the weekend they spent cleaning up Richard’s apartment, packing away his cherished photographs and trivial doodles and timeworn clothing.

And when Damian had returned, he had never felt more alone than when he realized he would grieve Richard by himself.

Richard liked autumn.

Had liked autumn.

Damian shut his eyes, but it didn’t stop the memory of an autumn afternoon, taking a much younger Titus on a walk. Leaves had crunched under their feet – Richard had gone out of his way to stomp on several of them. He had probably worn one of his baggy sweaters, knit with colorful patterns and stretched at the elbows from use. He had let Damian borrow one that morning, and though it dwarfed him, even with the sleeves rolled back three times, Damian had loved it. He had loved the entire experience, through the idle chatter, the vibrant multicolored scenery, and the homey smell of dirt and leaves and Richard’s shampoo. It had been the first time he had really, truly, felt like he was at home in Gotham.

He hadn’t told Richard any of that.

He wouldn’t get to.

“Damian?”

Damian summed up the energy to wipe the tear tracks from his face. He didn’t look up, even though his skin prickled with the weight of Timothy’s unreadable gaze. He didn’t respond, just dragged himself to his feet to begin his morning workout. He was already behind, and he cared just enough for it to bother him.

Routine. He needed his routine.

A hand caught his shoulder on his way to the mats. “Wait.” The word was quiet, almost whispered into the cool cave air.

“I am behind already.”

The fingers on his shoulder flexed, and relaxed, and fell away completely. “Okay.”

-

After his workout and the shower that always followed, Damian found himself without purpose. He roamed the dark, chilly manor halls, reluctant to return to his room and the loneliness that necessarily followed.

The library door was open, the curtains drawn back to let the wan sun make the dark, cracked leather of the couch glisten. It was more inviting than his own room, at least.

Richard had not been a frequent visitor to the manor’s bookshelves. He had been too busy between his caseload, his day job, and trying to take care of Damian. (Damian knew he had not made it easy for him.) But Richard’s own peculiarities barred him from taking up Bruce’s study after Damian’s father had passed, and the library was the only other room in the vast home that housed a decent desk.

Damian found himself drawn to the room, wishing to see the familiar silhouette of his older brother in the window, or the familiar head of hair peeking over the couch’s arm as he dozed in the midmorning glow.

Except for himself, the room was empty.

Damian floated around the shelves, pretending he wasn’t disappointed that the room felt so hollow. Gone were the sticky notes, the empty mugs of coffee, and the faint smell of Richard’s cologne. The room was perfectly clean. Barren.

His eyes caught on the well-worn spine of a familiar book. The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. It had been Richard’s favorite, when he was a boy. Despite his cajoling, Damian had never been interested in reading it. (He had called it drivel. What he would give to take back those words, to take the opportunity to spend more time with him now.)

Damian ran his hands over the soft leather, faded by the sun. He could read it now. Reclaim that piece of affection he had dismissed so easily before.

Mind made up, he tugged the book from the shelf.

Something fluttered down to his feet.

Damian watched it, confused at first by the folded papers. They were not yet yellowed with age, like the pages of the book were, but they were creased in a practiced way, the way that only came from unfolding and refolding a document over and over again.

He stooped to pick up the small packet. Flipped it over.

“To Damian”

It was Richard’s handwriting. Nicer than that he had used for his notes and scribbles, more genuine than the style he had adopted for his signature. Damian traced the words, unable to move past them.

To Damian.

This was something for him.

Hands trembling slightly now, Damian slid one finger into the packet to reverently unfurl the papers along the first crease, then the second.

It was a note.

Damian,

I know I’m not what you expected when you came to Gotham. I’m not Bruce in any of the ways that matter. (You’ve told me.) But you’ve grown so much since the first time I met you, and I know I can’t take credit for it, but I can be proud.

When Bruce took me in, he promised me he wouldn’t try to replace my parents. I can’t replace your dad, but I have learned through experience that there’s always room for more family, even if it’s a little unconventional. You’re my family now, and nothing you do, no decision you make, can ever change that.

A fat tear smeared the ink on a few words. Damian sniffed and tried to wipe his face with his shoulder to prevent further damage. His shirt was quickly soaked through. He held his breath, trying to quiet the sobs that bobbed in the back of his throat.

Through watery eyes, he scanned the last lines of the note.

I’m so proud of the person you are, and I can’t wait to see the person you’re becoming.

Love, Dick (Richard)

Damian sank into a crouch, and from there back until he was propped against the bookshelf. The uneven spines of books dug into his back, providing points of pressure against his uncontrollable hitched breathing.

He was sick of crying, but there was something different about this. The tears helped. The gasps and sobs hurt, but they snapped some of the tight bands around his chest. Even as he scrubbed at his running nose, he realized that his throat was finally clear.

He gently set the pages on the floor to hug himself.

“I’m so proud of the person you are, and I can’t wait to see the person you’re becoming.” He repeated the sacred words like a mantra, uncaring who may overhear.

When he finally got himself under control, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. Wiping away the last of the water clinging to his lashes, he picked up the packet and flipped to the next page.

At first, he didn’t understand what he was looking at. But as the realization set in, he bit down on the palm of his hand, using the feeling to ground him in the sudden, unexpected glow of peace.

They were adoption papers. Dated for a week before his father’s return, so long ago. Richard had already signed. And over Damian’s empty signature box was a yellowing sticky note:

“Only if you want to. This doesn’t change anything.

“I love you.”

[gentlemancrow]

Continuing on with the Emotober prompts! UM THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME A BIT OOPS! And I originally even said I might do a different prompt since the two for today didn't resonate with me at first then BAM SUDDEN INSPIRATION and I had to make this exist?? I whumped on Jon yesterday MARTIN'S TURN TODAY HURRHURR! Please enjoy!

Oct 4th: History/ “I quit”

Sometimes, in the hush of the night when the institute slumbers, a coiled marble dragon exhaling the fog attended by rheumy-eyed yellow streetlamps, when sound is swallowed up into the cosmos by distant and shivering quasars invisibly ravenous in the silent blanket of dark, when the hands of the clocks linger at their apex, afraid to plunge into their littlest, loneliest hours, Martin allows himself a single vice. No more than ether, a gasp of fear, a lovelorn sigh into a silk pillowcase, he descends to the pit of the archive, a billowing, weighty vapor, to indulge in the gored-out ache of history. Nothing could quite compare with the exquisite oaky-aged sadness of history. With its long dead thinkers and scholars and heroes, consigned to books and busts and paint, its artifacts, entombed in glass with the last fingers to leave their marks, to touch them, mold them, hew them crumbled to dust and bone, with its voices lost to stardust and stretched out radio waves radiating out into eternity, it is a dram to sever the very tethers of one’s soul from their moorings.

The archive is a museum now of sorts, Martin likes to think, rather than a mausoleum. Even though everyone is dead and gone and only he is left to walk the place where they walked, where they laughed, where they lived, they have left themselves behind everywhere he goes.

The ancient chipped mug covered in spidery veins of cracked ceramic stained tobacco brown with tea that no one ever wanted, that always came out last, that always served as the short straw for whose unlucky turn it was to wash dishes finally, is still there in the cupboard. Though no one uses it at all anymore. No one drinks much tea anymore. The trio of electric pink Nerf darts from one of the many neon bright weapons Tim had smuggled into their lair are still stuck to one of the flickering, buzzing fluorescent lights. Martin wonders if the small pool of cash betting on when they would finally fall down is still stashed somewhere in what used to be Tim’s desk. He passes by it, but he only gets as far as the basketball hoop still hung over his rubbish bin before he has to move on.

Sasha’s old desk had long been taken over by Melanie, but her computer rig, loaded with all her various tricks of the trade, as well as her copious electronic volumes of research, had proven invaluable on more than one occasion, and still sits on a rickety folding table pushed up in a corner amidst file cabinet monoliths. Her ratty, pulpy old paperbacks with the cracked and broken spines still gather dust atop them like taxidermy ravens perched in funereal formation. Faded corners of post-it notes peek out between the dog-eared pages with scant snatches of her loopy cursive from her enthusiastic dissection of even the trashiest of literature. Martin is sure if he looks where he once sat, there will still be a few with post-its with his name on them and a cute little doodle of a pleading face, begging him to read it next so she could dish with him about it.

But the museum tour always ends at the Head Archivist’s office. At Jon’s office. It must. It rings with the hollowest, emptiest whispers of the past of all. If he pushes the door open so it squeaks just so, Martin can still hear the hiss of the tape recorder, of the flustered indignation in Jon’s voice at being interrupted and the endearingly drawn-out frustration in the way he would enunciate his name. He is everywhere in his office, from the last cup of tea he ever brought him still sat upon the dark ring where he reliably put every cup of tea without a coaster, to the half-full ash tray shamefully tucked on top of a shelf where he hoped no one would see it, to the organized chaos of notebooks and tapes and boxes threaded neatly together in his brilliant mind alone, to the inside-out umbrella that had betrayed him one morning, got hung up on the coat rack, and never managed to find a bin. Their laughter over it haunts the silence, from once Jon managed to be less of a wet and spitting cat and more accepting of one of Martin’s spare and very much dry jumpers for the morning. At least until his dried. The charcoal gray cardigan still hangs over the back of Jon’s chair that is still twisted at the distinct angle of someone leaving it, never to return. The arms look ready and inviting as he walks over to it and ghosts his fingers along them, like any moment he’ll barge in, sidle his willowy form into it, and start barking orders and jabbing long fingers decisively in the air. Only Jon has faded to the annals of history, too.

Those scarred fingers are quiet now, laid out on starched hospital white for education, a placard reading Hands of The Archivist propped in front of them, twisted up in tubing and gauze. Those are lips sealed in a museum box of plastic, a relic of bombastic passion and stubbornness, of secret gentleness and fragility. A heart that no longer beats is entombed inside the shrine of his very body, a dusty monument to everything that never was, and everything that would never be. Martin allows himself to pick up that cardigan, to lace his fingers into the fine cashmere and bury his icy, unfeeling face into the warmth it does not provide anymore. He is so far away, he’s always been so far away, and he is fading ever still. It still smells like him, like sandalwood and cigarettes and parchment paper, but that too, is a ghost. That too, is only a memory, growing dimmer and colder as the dragon wakes, the streetlights close their eyes, the stars drink their fill and the clocks sigh in relief as their freefall ends and their upward ascent begins.

But Martin revels in that space, that perpetual loneliness, that nebulous cold weapon that is his and his alone, the only way to make sure no one else has to be lost to the stone relief of history. He doesn’t even feel the tears anymore as he replaces a wet cardigan on the back of the chair, and if sobbing takes the place of laughter, it at least resonates at the very same wavelength as it reaches back to touch the cold and bloodless fingers of the past.

“Did you hear something?” Basira asks as she sets her bag down at her station.

Melanie sneers bitterly.

“Don’t you get going. It’s a manky old building. Just because we deal in spooky bullshit doesn’t mean every little thing is spooky bullshit.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Basira relents with a sigh, “Probably just the wind…”

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

(This is based off the lovely prompt you gave me a while ago, and I decided to incorporate it into the kid!verse. Khaleel is five years old now.)

Part 14 of Jimercury Kid series

Freddie’s hands were shaking as he held the wrapped package in his hand and he cursed himself internally, wishing his nerves would settle long enough for him to just open the door and give Jim his damn present. He had never been this apprehensive about giving someone a gift before; he usually couldn’t wait to surprise his loved ones, to see the absolute delight on their faces when they unwrapped the paper and saw what he had bought them. It was usually something expensive, something unobtainable to them, something grandiose that only someone with his paycheque could afford.

That’s what everyone wanted, right? Big, expensive presents?

Not Jim, apparently.

Jim was a simple man. That’s part of the reason why Freddie had fallen so hard for him, aside from his unmeasurable kindness and rugged good looks, of course. And being a simple man, he preferred the simpler things in life; he appreciated the lavish gifts and parties that Freddie treated him to, of course, but Freddie knew fully well that he could have been a road sweeper and Jim would still be in love with him. That’s the kind of person his husband was.

Which was precisely why Freddie was in the predicament he was in now.

--

He had been trying to figure out what to get Jim for his birthday for weeks, enlisting the help of Phoebe and Mary to scout out all the local department stores in search of the perfect gift. Phoebe found a nice pair of garden shears, which would come in useful, given that Jim’s current ones were old and rusting and Jim was always talking about replacing them. Practical, thought Freddie, but not exactly the most personal of gifts. Mary found a lovely ceramic cat ornament, its features hand painted by the artist; Jim would love it, Freddie knew, but he had already bought him a similar gift years before. In the end, Phoebe and Mary purchased the presents to give Jim themselves and the search continued.

It was their son who ended up inspiring Freddie, though that was hardly surprising because Khaleel was always inspiring him. Freddie had come home from a long day at the studio and found the little boy painting at the kitchen table with Phoebe, old newspapers spread out to make sure he didn’t make a mess. They had been at it for a while, judging by how many paintings there were scattered around; paintings of flowers, and dinosaurs and, of course, every one of the cats with their names scribbled underneath in felt tip.

‘These are lovely, Bijou.’ Freddie beamed, after Phoebe had excused himself to wash the paint off his hands. ‘You’re so talented. We should hang them up in your room.’

Khaleel nodded enthusiastically, adding one final dab of paint to his wonky picture of Garden Lodge before setting it beside the others. ‘Daddy said you paint too, Baba.’

‘Did he now?’

‘Yeah. He showed me a painting of Delilah you did. It was pretty.’

Freddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly. He had thought he’d thrown out the unfinished portrait of his favourite cat, but he should have known Jim had held onto it. ‘Baba doesn’t really have time to paint anymore, darling. I’m too busy with my music.’

Khaleel looked disappointed. He glanced down at his messy fingers and began to fiddle with them. ‘Your painting made Daddy smile so much, Baba. You should do it again. It’s pretty.’

Freddie was at a loss for words. He had always loved art and still found himself doing the odd sketches and doodles now and then; but painting was something he had given up long ago in favour of singing. He simply didn’t have the time or the patience to commit to it. But Khaleel’s words were now engrained in his mind.

‘I’ll think about it, Bijou.’ He said softly, before leaning down to pick the child up. ‘Come on, you’re going to need a nice, warm bubble bath to get all this paint off you.’

He smiled as Khaleel squealed with excitement. (1/2)

It had taken Freddie a while to figure out what exactly he was going to paint. He still had the old brushes and materials Phoebe and Joe had bought him years ago, when he was ill and had temporarily been inspired to try his hand at art again; but as he sat there, staring at the blank canvas in front of him, he realised he had no idea what he intended to make for his husband.

He considered finishing the painting of Delilah but couldn’t summon up the motivation to continue it. He tried doing a landscape of the garden, but after a few attempts on some scrap paper, he gave up and decided to stick to what he knew best – portraits.

It was only when he leaned back in his seat and surveyed the room a moment that his eye fell upon the large photo frame he kept beside his bed; the one of himself, Jim and Khaleel, professionally taken a year before. There was a copy of it hanging up in the lounge, over the fireplace, but Freddie always kept the original right by his bed, so it was the first thing he woke up to every morning. Safe to say, of all the hundreds of photographs that lived in Garden Lodge, this one was by far his favourite. He and his two favourite boys. His perfect family.

Without giving it a second thought, he picked up his brush and began to paint.

------

It had been two long weeks of staying up late and sneaking around to make sure Jim didn’t catch him, but on the eve of his husband’s birthday, Freddie’s portrait was finally complete, and he carefully wrapped it in brown paper in preparation for the party the next day. He was satisfied with the finished product, and yet, he couldn’t help but feel his gut twist with uncertainty as he stored the painting away in a drawer to keep it from prying eyes. He knew there wasn’t a materialistic bone in Jim’s body but… what if he didn’t like the gift? Phoebe and Mary had bought him such lovely things, what if Jim was disappointed when he got to Freddie’s?

Thoughts like that were why Freddie was now standing outside the door to the lounge, trying to gather the courage to go back in. He had excused himself under the guise of getting another bottle of wine and had quickly darted up to the bedroom to collect the package and bring it down. Taking a deep breath, he finally pushed open the door and re-joined the others, who were already sitting down to start opening Jim’s presents.

‘Mary, I love it!’ Jim smiled widely as he examined the ceramic cat, turning it over in his hands before carefully placing it on the coffee table beside the garden shears Phoebe had gifted him. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.’

Mary smiled back, ‘you’re welcome, Jim.’ And they leaned forward to give each other a kiss on the cheek.

Freddie’s heart fluttered in his chest. Mary hadn’t been very supportive of his relationship with Jim at the start, most likely out of overprotectiveness and jealousy. But once they adopted Khaleel, she finally had to accept that Freddie had found the love of his life and it was time for her to move on. She seemed a much happier person for it. It touched Freddie to see her and Jim gradually becoming good friends.

Finally, it was Freddie’s turn to present his gift. Despite his best efforts, he still couldn’t help shaking slightly as he watched Jim slowly tear off the paper. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should have gotten Jim a new suit. Or a pair of cufflinks. Or-

‘Freddie…’ Jim sounded breathless and when Freddie looked up, he could see the Irishman’s eyes were sparkling with tears. ‘Freddie, did you paint this?’

The singer nodded, his mouth dry. ‘Do… do you like it?’

His answer was Jim leaning over and pressing their mouths together in a passionate kiss. When they pulled away, the tears in Jim’s eyes had spilled down his cheeks. ‘Sweetheart, it’s beautiful. It’s amazing, it’s perfect.’

Jim wasn’t usually one for PDA, but he was so overwhelmed in that moment, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing every inch of Freddie’s face, while their guests admired the gift that had enthralled him. It was a painting of Freddie, Jim and Khaleel, almost an exact copy of the family portrait hanging up above the fireplace except they were surrounded by flowers; yellow freesias, azaleas, and Khaleel’s favourite, Eden roses, all painted in watercolour.

When Khaleel saw it, he almost fell off Phoebe’s lap in excitement. ‘Baba painted me! Baba painted me!’

After the party was over and their friends had gone home, Jim snuck up behind his husband as the singer was placing the canvas on the mantlepiece and wound his arms around his waist. ‘So, this is why you wouldn’t come to bed all those nights? You were working on this?’

Freddie nodded, leaning back into his husband’s embrace. ‘I was going to buy you something, but I know how you always feel guilty when I spoil you. I wanted to give you something personal, that I made with my own two hands. Even if it isn’t perfect…’

He felt Jim kiss his ear, his thick Irish accent murmuring softly, ‘it’s the greatest gift anyone’s ever given me, sweetheart. And the best thing about it is that it came straight from your heart. I love it and I’m going to keep it with me. Always.’ (2/2)

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

OMG THIS IS PERFECT😭😭😭 This is the best interpretation of the prompt, MY HEART😭😭

Call me dumb, but whenever I'd think of Freddie doing something for Jim, it'd always be related to music. Until now, I had never considered art as one of the possible ways in which Freddie could've expressed his love for his husband. But this... this is so beautiful, oof.

I genuinely marvel at your ability to convey so many emotions in these short drabbles. You managed to portray Freddie's insecurities, his want to please his husband and do something special, his nervousness and fear so brilliantly. And Jim's reaction was so sweet🥺 This was truly such a special gift for him, and for their family, I am crying😭

Thank you so much for this, anon💙💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

[ayzashl]

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack (i think)

Also um, im new to these so sorry for possible gramatical errors or typos (i dont double check bc I literally was bored doing this and just, decided to share it on tumblr lmao)

Disclaimer, I made this out of boredom because I was thinking about exams and stuff and was wondering about how my husbando would react about my situation, having placed on high ranks barely putting efforts towards studying lmao (Not rlly bragging im sorry if it came out as bragging :((, i jusy rlly be curious and hopefully I portrayed it like how I expected for him to react, sorry im new to writing bc I mainly draw🌚👉👈)

***

It was already sunset. The hues of yellow, orange and red envelops the dorms of U.A high school, its gradient tinting the windows of the students occupying the rooms shine bright, displaying its vibrant colors on the inside of each dorms facing the sunset.

You, who were sitting on your knees, switching positions time to time, searching for a particular pose to get comfortable while drawing on your boyfriend's kotatsu in his dorm, door leading into the balcony open, making the cold breeze of late October allow itself to enter the room.

Autumn has already arrived, and that also means midterm exams. It had just finished today. After a almost whole month of preparing for the exams, and the 3 days of taking it, the students of 1-A was relieved and relaxing in their rooms as the days of hardhips were finally over, plus its a Friday so the students were scattered on each others dorms due to the upcoming weekend.

You were taking a sip of your juicebox, almost emptying it now out of frustration for having a hard time drawing a hand. In your opinion, the struggle was equal or actually a lot harder than your midterms. Art frustrates you a lot and your boyfriend wonders why you still do it, yet never really ask you since he can also tell you're really passionate about it than your other hobbies.

He was sitting on his futon, leaning againts the wall as he stare at your back figure, watching you scribble something on your sketchpad and aggressively erasing it afterwards, making the papers crumble into the direction on where you rub it, making you groan in annoyance even more.

As he observes your actions, a thought runs up his mind, asking himself the same particular questions over and over again.

"Why?"

He asks himself. Why were you putting most of your effort into this drawing? Why were you more irritated in this than the midterm exams?

"Just..... why?"

Shoto had noticed you since the start of your so-called-library-dates, although its mostly just you accompanying him to gather resources for the upcoming exams while you just scan your notes or draw, or read a completely different book whose topic is not related to your exams.

Its always been like that everyday, he never really saw you offer a lot of your energy in terms of studying, like most of the students does, as he noticed the library being almost full as soon as October started.

He saw you scan your notes time to time, yes. But full on concentration on studies? no, never seen you. The most of what he saw were you fixate immensely on your math notebook before exams started, and that was it.

The exams ended abruptly on the second day but there was extra curricular on the Hero's Course on the third day before their final grade were posted. And yes, both of you did well. After the announcement, Shoto (and you) were shocked to find out that you were in 6th place and he placed in 5th. You both exchanged congratulations, you mostly squealing out of joy to actually achieve this particular rank.

Shoto on the other hand was, doubting?. Of course he feels happy for you, but at the back of his mind, he was a little agitated. You both got the exam results at the end of the third day and to his surprise (and also yours, but internally) your scores were high, almost having the amount of same mistakes as him, except your math which you devastatingly, almost failed (lmao), which merely affected your overall result since your scores were high anyways.

Your boyfriend wasnt the type to get irritated over these things, heck yeah he feels ecstatic over your accomplishment, signal the kiss he gave you on your forehead plus the soft look he gave you with a slight smile displayed on his face. But there was a faint thought of doubt running through the back of his head, how did you get such results when you were barely even studying? There was no way you would cheat right? He didnt want to accept it, he didnt want to doubt you, but it was the one of the highest possibilities that was mostly that likely happened, as he could think of right now.

He couldnt let go of this thought unless he confronts you about it right now, so he decided to ask you, waiting for a few moments, observing you, waiting for you to calm down a little from your work.

"Y/n...."

"Hmm?" you hum, not turning yout back at him, eyes and most of your attention fixated on the paper.

"How did you manage to get a high rank even though I barely saw you studying?" he finally asks, hoping you wont get offended by it, but this thought had been bothering him a little, and he wouldnt be satisfied until he gets his answer, as the stubborn man that he is.

"Are you doubting me?" you say in an offended tone, although you meant it sarcastically, turning your back, giving Shoto your full attention now as you crawl towards him, pencil dropping in the background as you make your way towards your boyfriend, offering him to lay down as you pat his futon. He complies so, already knowing you wanted to cuddle whenever you do that certain action.

You cuddle next to him, facing him as you give him a smile to reassure him that you werent offended by him back then. "Did you notice that in class, I always, almost bury my head on my notebook, writing on it almost 24/7 whenever lecture starts?" you ask him, as you start to fidget his hair on the sides which you and him really enjoy, making its way up to his bangs, and back and fort.

"You were.... writing?" Shoto asks, raising an eyebrow with the same stoic face who seemed not to show a lot of emotions, a little dumbfounded. "I thought you were doodling". You burst out in laughter from the small misunderstanding of your boyfriend.

"Of course I was. You see, whatever the teacher blurts about that sounds important to me, I write it down because, you know, its usually what appears in exams" you explain to him, closing your eyes time to time as if you were a philosopher, passionately explaining your beliefs, only with an added self-sense of humor. As he was on the other had was, fascinated.

I mean, who knew?

"Also just to clarify things, I do put some extra effort on, some of my studies"

"By some you mean just the science topic you reported you keep rereading everyday"

"......yes"

Shoto lighlty chuckles as he moves your head to his chest, placing an arm on your head, planting a kiss on your forehead, as a sign of affection like he always does. He feels a little guilty, assuming you were cheating but in the end, you were just and always has been the genius that you were. Heck if you actually put a lot of effort in your study, you might actually come out at the top in the class, but he's aware you have other things to focus and worry about as his eyes gaze at the table with a slightly crumpled juice box standing out.

"Were you mad?" you ask, out of curiousity. You had assumed he was maybe upset about the results because he gets a little too competitive or has the sentiment that he has to prove that he only isnt good with his powers, but in academics as well, considering his situation.

He lightly shook his head as he fully encloses you to his grasp, leg placed on your sides, locking you in as he settles his face on your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your lavender shampoo in which he always adores.

You on the other hand, was relieved now that the matter was somehow resolved? Putting those thoughts at the back of your head, your perception of relief was shortly replaced by a wave of worry as you lightly chuckle of uneasiness.

"Shoto?" you tap his sides, body tightly secured onto his. This was the one that made worry. His hands tightly clutching you, but not too much, leg on your sides, locking you in so that you wont get away easily, to him it made him feel happy, knowing that you werent going away and draw for a while. You've had situations like these already and all you ever do is give up and shower him with affection, already knowing he was slightly, probably getting a little touch starved, craving for your attention and affection. But in your situation right now, it was, unpleasant, so to say.

Not after you just finished your juicebox.

-Disclaimer, uh, I made this from

He hums in response, head tilted a little more into your head's direction. He was sure you would have given up already, knowing that he will never let you go.

"I need to pee"

"..."

"Shoto..."

"........"

"Sho"

"All I can say is good luck getting out"

"......"

"Noooooooohohohoooo!!!" you exclaim, with a sarcastic crying in your tone. This was gonna be one hell of a struggle.

.

Im bad at explaining things, hope you did enjoy reading this as much as I did though :))

[avversiera-writes]

try again; in everyday we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Then

Summary: some comedy,, more doing the deedddd, some comedic relief, hah! light-hearted stuff while the glaring dramatic irony lingers

Word Count: ~4k

Author’s Note: ik ik it’s been a while! almost done tho. thank you for reading <3

also on AO3.

Chapter 1 - Now | Chapter 2 - Then, part 1 | Chapter 2 - Then, part 2 | Chapter 3 - Now | 

Tobirama is busy meeting with delegates from Kumogakure, and you are stuck being a wife in your own home, trying not to get embarrassed in front of the servants as you talk about replacing the broken bed in your room and changing the curtains around the house, or some other household detail that needs attending. You also talk with the cook in the kitchen about dinner, as Tobirama’s students are going to come over tonight, and you want to make sure that the food will be up to their tastes. 

  You trudge through your day until past noon, deciding that it is a good time to drop by the Hokage mansion to get your stubborn husband to eat something. The more Tobirama gets busy, the more he ignores the simplest ways to sustain himself. It is even harder to get him off when he is hard at work and is very focused on his tasks. He has a way of zeroing in on whatever he is doing, and while he is quite efficient at it, hours can pass him by before he even considers taking a break. 

This part of Tobirama, you admire and loathe him for it, because he rarely thinks about taking care of himself. It has always been work for him, and you know that he enjoys it more than anything, despite the stress that it brings him. 

  Now that you have taken a step back from being an active shinobi, you are able to look after him in your own way. There are times he resists being looked after, but after some pushing and prodding on your part, he would grudgingly accept it. 

  Being married to him and getting to know more sides of him is thrilling, and it makes you fall for him even more. 

In your bedroom, preparing to drop by the Hokage office, you study your clothes, deciding which kimono you should wear and which outer robe or pair of sandals you want to match it with. You have never really thought about fashion that much, because you often opted for practical clothing. Now that you are the Hokage's wife, you know you have to look the part, and also, it does not hurt to wear something pretty for your husband. 

  After deciding with a light green kimono with a slit on the left leg, and pairing a yellow outer coat to complement it, you step out of the bedroom to head down the kitchen. 

  The house is quiet, except for the quiet footsteps just outside the house, indicating that the servants of the house are keeping away to give you some privacy. You really do not mind their company, but they are gone before you can express your sentiments. 

You make a mental note to change that. Despite being in a village where classes of people are blurred, it seems to be different within clans. You know that some of the Senju have married with the common folk and into other clans, but since the two heads of the clan are Hokage, that part of the family is treated almost like royalty. 

  You shake your head. Hierarchies were the least of your problems, especially one that involves family. In the shinobi world, it is simpler, and there are many opportunities to move up your rank. Whereas, being part of the more mundane life, it is a whole different world from what you knew. 

  You uncover the pan where the cook had left the fried fish that Tobirama likes and you begin to pack it into a box, along with rice and some side dishes that he sometimes eats along with this kind of dish. You prepare his tea, and a few rice cakes, then you wrap everything into a nice blanket to make it easier to carry. 

Footsteps approach the long kitchen, and you whirl around, only to spot Miura Kimiko. 

  “My lady, I am so sorry to interrupt!” Kimiko expresses. 

“Oh, it’s you,” you greet. You throw a smile at the last minute to reassure that there is nothing to worry about. You are completely caught off-guard by her presence, since no one is really around you at the moment. “I have been meaning to talk to you.” 

  Kimiko smiles kindly. “Really?” 

  You let out a nervous giggle. “Well, it turns out that I may need your help after all. You know, with the...” You trail off and you give Kimiko an embarrassed look. 

Kimiko’s face lights up in joy, and you finally let out a genuine smile. “That’s great, my lady!” 

  You press a hand to your forehead and laugh. “I had no idea that he would be so quick to decide. He seemed very eager.” 

Kimiko laughs, and you take Tobirama’s wrapped lunch. 

“I see,” Kimiko walks towards you, and pauses at the cupboards. “I will have to make a quick trip to the market. We can talk later, and I can show you and give you your first batch of tea for fertility purposes. Then, along the way, we’ll talk of the supplements that will ensure a healthy birth.” 

You meet her eyes. “Thank you, Kimiko-san. I really appreciate this.” You give her a small bow. “I will put my trust in you.” 

  “I am honored, my lady,” Kimiko replies, and from there, you leave her be in the kitchen to make your way towards the Hokage office.

//

There was some waiting to be done, once you get in the Hokage office. The mansion is flourishing with many people, delegates and their aides that have been authorized to stay there for the duration of their visit. It seems that peace negotiations are coming along well, judging by the atmosphere of the place. There is no tension that you feel. You hope that Tobirama’s alliance with Kumo will come along soon, though you foresee the many months of more political talks that will ail his office hours. 

  Sensing that Tobirama will not be available immediately, you tell one of his guards that you will be waiting in the library for him, and make your way there. 

You smile at the familiar sight, the moment you step in. It has been a while since you have been here, in this place, where you and Tobirama had spent a lot of your earlier years together, and where your love probably first budded from. You learned more from each other through observation and silence, and of course, your nonstop banter that somehow turned into a dance of flirtationship. 

  It seems so long ago. 

You look to the table where the two of you had spent countless hours poring over research books, record books and writing into scrolls and manuscripts about plans for the growing Academy. This place has evolved–it used to be smaller. There are now more bookshelves that are being filled with newer books, and the restricted section, only accessible to those jounin level and higher, are also growing, no doubt due to your husband’s non-stop inventions. He had a huge hand in writing a lot of academic research and theory that will certainly help the future generations. That is what he is hoping for, after all, to build something that will last. 

You finally sit at your table, where dust is gathering and swirling in motes due to the sunlight peering in from the window. There is a clock at the back of the library, and it clicks loudly, echoing in the dusty, warm place to signal the passing time. 

  You trace a finger on the table, remembering that Tobirama found it childish that you doodle on random things, and then you remember telling him off and to mind his own business. 

“What are you smiling about?” Tobirama’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you turn your head to his direction. He comes closer and he glances at the table, probably coming into a realization. “I see. You were a bit of a terror back then.” 

Tobirama sits across from you, and you notice that he is wearing his Hokage clothes. 

“Long day?” You ask. 

  “The day has not even begun to start,” Tobirama sighs, and he begins to roll his sleeves back. “It is hard to keep track of the delegates coming in and out, and harder to make sure that our own delegates in Kumo are not messing up anything.” 

“Well, have a little faith,” you tell him. 

  Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure a little faith will do it. One of them, by the way, is my eldest nephew, and he is everything Hashirama is and none of his mother’s tact and charm.” 

  “Your brother is charming, stop it.” You crack a smile. 

  Tobirama narrows his eyes at you as he unpacks the lunch you have brought him. “Yes, he has charm, and he is sunshine and all about inspiration, that will dazzle the leaders of Kumogakure.”

You roll your eyes. “This is a good thing. He gets to show off the youthfulness that peaceful times can only bring.”

  If Tobirama could laugh out loud, this moment would be it. However, he lets out a huff of breath with a small smile, his version of being amused. “Perhaps. That ought to be the winning argument.” 

You let Tobirama eat in peace, and instead, decide to wander around the library to find the old places you used to crash into when you and Tobirama had to pull all-nighters, or when you just needed some space from him being a blunt asshole. You pull out the books that he used to recommend you, and flip through the pages where he had left tiny notes and markers for you to find. All of them, you have kept and preserved. 

  Back then, you found this part of Tobirama confusing and annoying, because he keeps passing you one book after another in the guise of studying it, but now that you think about it, this was his way of letting you know that he was interested. You remember the folded papers and bookmarks that would fall out when you open them, and your miffedness from trying to collect them from the ground. You were convinced that Tobirama was out to get you. 

“You know what, husband, I take it back. You were a bit of a charmer back then,” you note as you sense him approaching. You slide the book back into its shelf, creating a cleaner path from the dust.

  “And you were quite mean,” Tobirama says with a hint of mock wonder. “What were your words? That I was a senile, arrogant bastard who can go stick–”

  “Alright, alright,” you interrupt and shoot him a glare. “I said I take it back.” 

  “Yes, but my poor heart,” Tobirama sarcastically replies. 

You look at him, feigning bewilderment. “Are you joking around with me? Wow ! You are capable of such things!” 

  Tobirama smirks. “I am capable of many things.” 

You scoff. “Your audacity at this moment, Lord Nidaime.” 

  Tobirama does not even look like there is a hint of shame on that proud, stoic face of his. 

You bite back a smirk, and the two of you stare at each other for a short moment. The air between you changes, and before you know it, Tobirama is pushing you against the bookshelves, his mouth on yours, and his rough hands slipping through the slit of your kimono to grope your hips. You hear books fall to the floor and scrolls rolling on its surface, and your hand goes above your head to find some sort of purchase. 

“Maybe I should have done this earlier and saved us the confusion of finding out if we really did like each other,” Tobirama roughly whispers into your ear. 

  “If you did, I would have certainly, absolutely have stabbed my katana into your–” 

Tobirama steals your last words by pushing his tongue through your mouth and you moan, pleased. 

“Can you really afford to waste time like this?” You gasp as Tobirama delves into your neck intensely. 

  “I’m the Hokage,” Tobirama answers curtly. 

  “Some abuse of power right there.” 

You close your eyes as Tobirama’s hands cup your ass and presses you against his body, where you can feel his half-aroused erection. You grind against him, and he pushes you into the bookshelf again, where you can feel the edge of the shelves pressing against your back. 

“Haven’t you had enough?” You ask him beguilingly. 

Tobirama stares at you with a serious expression, and something about it makes you weak. “Of you?” He plants a tender kiss on your lips. “If you begin to impose too much.” 

  You roll your eyes. “Alright, goodbye. I’ll see you at home. Enjoy your erection.” 

You attempt to leave his grasp, but he steadies you in one place with firm hands. 

“Where are you going, and with this cut in your clothing? Let’s put it into good use, shall we?” Tobirama says in a low voice. 

  He whirls you around, and hikes up your clothes up to your hips. The cool air makes you shiver, and you grab onto a shelf to steady yourself. Tobirama is taller, and he is pulling you against himself, making your balance unsteady. 

  Your husband runs a hand between your thighs, and you can’t help but moan when he begins to rub his fingers against your heat. He stops, and then you hear quick shuffling of clothes behind you. You reach behind you to feel Tobirama and you let out a low chuckle when you realize that he has opted to shed his Hokage robes. 

“You have got it bad, Lord Nidaime,” you murmur. 

  “Yes, poor me, whatever shall I do now,” he says quickly. He grips your hip and positions it so that he can perfectly align against your entrance. 

  Then, he slips in, and you let out a long drawn moan as he sheathes himself inside you completely. 

  You hear him murmur curses, and you gasp as he rears back, only to slam himself back in with a precision that immediately paints your vision white. You forget you have legs, and you almost fall down as Tobirama begins to thrust into you unforgivingly. You let out a cry, and his hand quickly slaps over your mouth. 

  You hear his harsh breaths, getting louder and faster. Your lower back curves a little bit more, and the angle changes, and Tobirama begins to pound the spot that makes your body buck into him wildly. 

With nothing to support yourself, you accidentally tear the shelf in half above your head, and more books come crashing into the floor. Tobirama moves the two of you away from the mess, and he plasters you against the wall. You can only gasp as he resumes his fucking, and the slick sounds of skin against skin, of the neck-breaking speed that Tobirama snaps his hips to, makes you come so hard that you only remember worrying about the roof or the floor caving in until Tobirama places you on a table, and begins to fuck you there. 

  You cry out, slewing curses with a creativity that only comes when you are high. 

The table beneath you breaks, and Tobirama lowers your conjoined bodies onto the floor. You hold on to his shoulders, and lean back as he uses his tongue and his lips trace your neck and to plant light bruises there. You grind into him, chasing another high, and you end up pulling at his hair to expose more of his neck. 

You suck on the side of his neck, and his hands on your hips begin to guide you into a slow, agonizing rhythm. Finally, the two of you kiss, and Tobirama gives you a hard thrust upwards that sends your legs flailing, and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he breeds you with his hot seed. 

“Oh my gods,” you murmur, but you are not sure if you have said it out loud. 

Tobirama is still breathing harshly against your shoulder, and he is holding onto you like a tight coil. You feel his heart thundering against his chest, and as you come to, Tobirama shows no sign of letting up his grip. Slowly, you run a hand down his arm to soothe him. You give light kisses on the side of his face, and you continue to caress him gently. 

"Too much?" You ask teasingly. 

  Tobirama coughs, and even that sounds embarrassed. "We're really doing this." 

  "It hasn't set in yet, huh?" 

Tobirama squeezes your waist with his arms as his reply and you rest your head on his shoulder. 

  "Are you going to let go of me?" You ask tentatively. 

Tobirama lets out a sigh and you stifle a giggle. It is rare to catch a very soft Tobirama. 

  "Are you not tired?" Tobirama asks. 

  "No, not at all." You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "Are you? Is your age catching up?"

  Tobirama scoffs and he immediately scowls. "I am not that old, and I can go for more if you want." 

You lean towards him languorously, a victorious smile spreading across your lips. "Yes, but you have a job to do." 

Tobirama slowly eases you off of him. "They can wait. I think I'll get a chronic migraine because of some hard to please delegates." 

  "With that expression of yours, one might think you already do," you can't resist saying back.

Tobirama stares at you blankly. "Now I get why people are wondering why I married you,” he deadpans. 

  “I beg to differ, Lord Nidaime, I’m quite the catch,” you smile cheekily as you watch Tobirama’s ears flush pink. 

You give your husband a few quick kisses on the lips before he can react, and you move away to stand up and gather yourself.

  “Whoah.” Your legs wobble slightly as you take a step.

  Tobirama catches you by the elbow, and you feel your face blush from his action. 

“Careful,” he warns. 

  “Right,” you say in a quiet voice. You survey the damage and you swallow nervously. “Um...I am going to stay here, and clean up and also make sure that I do not look like I just got mugged.”

Tobirama throws you a dirty look as he searches for his clothes. “Don’t worry about the mess, I will take care of it.” 

  “I was talking about myself,” you run a hand through your hair. 

Tobirama quickly puts on his clothes, and you watch him, surrounded by the broken bookshelves and the books littered on the floor. You can sense that the two of you are panicking about getting caught, or having someone walk in here, especially when the Hokage mansion is housing so many people. 

“You’re the worst,” you blurt out. 

  Tobirama raises an eyebrow and slides on his sandals. His serious expression becomes funnier as his hard features begin to morph into helplessness. You note the blooming bruises on his neck, and you gesture at it, with the same helplessness. 

  “Right,” Tobirama awkwardly says and tugs his collar up. 

  The two of you stare at each other with the familiarity of two strangers in the wrong place, and Tobirama skeeters out of the library in the most elegant way that he can muster, and when he is gone, you slide to the floor, staring at the space in front of you, then, you begin to laugh out loud. 

//

Instead of going straight home, you try your best to clean up the library, and to check your image on the glass window to make sure you look representable. Then, you wait for Tobirama in a common lounge since this whole ordeal took the whole afternoon, and it is now nearing dinner. 

  You wrap your outer coat tighter, and try to mask the slight limp that you have developed over the course of the afternoon. 

  Finally, your husband is out of his work’s clutches for now, and the two of you hurry home, trying to beat Tobirama’s students there so that the two of you can freshen up. 

  However, your plans are ruined, when you find the six of them standing on the yard, aghast as the servants haul out the bed that the two of you have broken, and they watch, as a new bed is carried into the house. 

Tobirama stiffens beside you, and you manage a small smile, knowing that you look disheveled as you feel. 

  In the yard, both Hiruzen and Danzo look horrified, Torifu is pale, Kagami and Homura have their mouths opened, and in all of their eyes you can see a growing realization, while Koharu struggles to keep her face from deviating from her usual strict expression. 

Tobirama stands beside you, calm and collected, regal and shameless. He nods, and he leaves you in the yard and walks abruptly into the house. 

“EW!” The boys shouted. 

  Koharu rolls her eyes and she starts to walk away. "Get it together," she snaps. 

  You resist the urge to put a hand on your face to cover up your embarrassment, and instead, choose to walk towards the house with your whole chest. 

To be continued...

Chapter 5 - Then >>

[bakugou-tm]

Karma with an artist s/o? Does he pester them to see their drawings? Does he list off all the different ways to kill someone with a pencil? Does he tease them for drawing him? Basically any head canons or scenario you have because I’m a desperate person.

OOoOooooOOOOooo this is a cute idea, but forewarning this is my first time writing for a character other than Bakugou so if it isn’t super on point d o n t @ me pls :’)

Rating: S for karma being a little S h e t

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Who knew being in a class filled with children training to be assassins and an unkillable octopus like teacher could be so morning.

If you had told anyone else that this was the environment you walked into everyday they would probably put you in an insane asylum, but sure enough it was your boring reality.

Sure things were exciting at first, everyone hoping they would be the one to end that stupid yellow octopus’ life; but as months went on it was clear you needed to learn from the master to kill him.

Most of the time you were honestly paying attention, subjects like math and science you tended to struggle in, but with your sensei blabbering on about some time in history, you decided to partake in your other skill to kill the time.

You started doodling in class about the second month in during school. Whether it's to calm you down, lighten your mood, or just to prevent you from smacking your head against the table and snoozing away; you grew a liking to doodling. This liking getting to the point where you bought your own journal just for doodling.

The drawings started out with simple things like nature, your classroom, your family... but soon you decided you wanted to draw everyone in your class. 

Each person had their own unique features, especially Korosensei himself, but the person you loved to draw most of all was your infamous boyfriend: Karma Akabane.

Though you did draw him more often because he was your boyfriend of course, you also loved drawing his perfect features in many unique ways. It always reminded you how lucky you had been to call him your soulmate, making sure to drill each unique feature he had until you could picture his face with your eyes closed.

His simple vermillion locks, his calm yet mischievous smile, that jawline so soft yet sharp you swore he carved it at night, to your favorite feature of all: his golden eyes. In a way you almost saw them as bronze, the way they shimmered with delight whenever he had his way to even when they darkened when it was the opposite.

All he ever had to do was glance at you with those ravishing golden eyes and you felt like you would melt before him every time.

Most people in the class didn’t quite understand why Karma chose you. He was stereotyped as a heroic lunatic, meanwhile you always preferred to stay calm and rational.

Honestly most of the time you didn’t even know why he had chosen you, the only thing you did know is you would try your best to never lose him. Sure in person he didn’t seem like a fan favorite, but when you two were alone he treated you as if you were an angel from heaven.

The feeling of his love you hoped would never be replaced.

During the last five minutes of the class you had dozed off in your own thoughts, lightly shading your boyfriend’s light locks in your notebook. When five minutes passed and the bell rung for lunch, you hadn’t even noticed the loud sound or your classmates obnoxiously getting up to grab their lunch.

All you could focus on was your beloved boyfriend, continuing to admire everything about him. It was almost as if you could hear his voice beside you..

“If you get any closer to that notebook you’ll be making out with it (F/n).”

This comment made you realize that it wasn’t indeed your mind filling Karma’s voice in your head, but actually himself speaking right beside your desk.

Letting out a small gasp of surprise you decided to slam your book closed, disregarding the sharp pencil that was still inside before you felt a sharp stab to your finger.

Karma didn’t look over your mini panic attack or the way you flinched in pain from obviously stabbing yourself. Though he did want to ask about both things, he knew if he asked about the book he would never know. So to play along with it, he focused on your new wound.

“You seem a bit startled their doll, everything alright?”

It wasn’t long before your felt a rush of warmth flood to your cheeks, you only hoped it wasn’t as visible as it felt. Standing up quickly you shoved your notebook in your bag and covered your now bleeding hand with your other palm, “Yup! Everything’s just dandy! I just got a paper cut is all.”

The red haired boy raised an unimpressed eyebrow at you before letting out a chuckle. You hadn’t even noticed how quickly he snatched your right arm from your own grasp, holding your hand firmly so you couldn’t move away before inspecting your oozing finger.

“I’m sure lead poisoning is just dandy too right?’ Karma said with one of his many teasing grins.

Karma simply admired you in this state. Your soft lips pinched together and puffed out just in the slightest to match your rosy cheeks, giving you the perfect pout as you avoided his gaze. Small expressions like this he made sure to save to his memory every time, you didn’t even try to but you were so damn adorable.

“Relax pouty pants, let’s just get you to the nurse before this lead poisoning makes you even more klutzier.” Karma said smoothly, grabbing your bag from you grasp before leading you to the door, grinning as you shouted profanities and arguments the whole way out.

-----

Honestly, Karma didn’t think his plan was going to go so smoothly. From him grabbing your bag from you to you being in the nurses office (or at least Korosensei’s office) for a solid twenty minutes.

All of this gave him plenty of time to see just what those pretty fingers have been creating every class. It was obvious by the way you focused so intensely on your notebook every class that you were doodling something. 

Karma never cared too much because he knew you had good grades, and if it kept you from falling asleep then kudos to you for finding a way not to pass out during that snooze fest.

But ever since you’ve been so secretive and protective of this damned book, he knew he had to figure out what you were hiding.

He never assumed he would be offended by what you drew, infact by the way your rosy cheeks grew even darker in shades each time he neared you while the book was open, he figured he would find some fantasy crap in here.

Though as he looked through every page of your notebook, he came to realize there was nothing embarrassing at all. Just pages and pages of his classmates, more specifically of him.

He was astonished at how well your artistic abilities truly were. With just a pencil and paper you were able to capture every feature of him so perfectly. Though he would never admit, it made his heart swell when he thought of the idea of you daydreaming about him.

Love was such a mystery to him during the few years of his life, never would he of imagined he could discover every detail of it just spending a few months with you. You always kept surprising him, day after day just giving him another reason to love you even more.

Though even with these strong feelings he held for you, he knew he would never reveal them until the time was right. So in the meantime, he would make it his life’s mission to see that pouty look on your face over and over again.

Just in time, the door slid open your form walking out still facing the door frame as you waved a goodbye and offered a warm smile to your sensei before closing the door behind you.

Whipping your head to the side another shriek ripped from your mouth to see Karma leaning against the door frame, smirk on his face as he raised his brows to you.

“My goodness Karma, how many times are you going to scare me like this?” You said with a nervous giggle as he wiggled his eyebrows down to you.

“Sorry I just can’t help it, being the best assassin in the class and all.”

At this you rolled your eyes, poking his cheek with your now wrapped finger before  grabbing your bag from his hold. Karma watched as you began to walk down the hallway, expecting him to follow you.

“But now I know who the best artist is.”

Your footsteps suddenly froze. A wave of fear flowing through your body as you prayed those very words didn’t just escape his lips.

Spinning around you felt as if your entire body was on fire when you saw your boyfriend waving around your sketchbook, devious glint written all over his features.

“K..Karma how did you-”

The vermillion haired boy placed a finger against your lips staring down to your frame as he flipped through the pages, “Well after you had your seizure when I came to your desk today, I decided to distract my attention to your bleeding finger instead of your book. Obviously my plan worked as you handed your bag right to me with ease.”

Inhaling sharply you felt as if you could float away with the draft of the hallway. All of your doodles, all of your kind words written next to them. He saw all of it, and oh what does he think of you now? An obsessed crazed person? A psycho stalker?

“I..I..” You stuttered, not even finding words as you felt warm tears fill at the rim of your eyes, the only thing keeping them in were your long lashes and the sheer will to not cry in front of Karma of all people, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to draw you without your permission! I..I was just bored.. and I love looking at you and d..drawing you it just.. it just makes me calmer and-”

The more words that flooded out of your mouth the more you felt yourself fall apart, you thought you were done with for good until you felt his smooth fingers grip your chin and his lips smash against your own.

This kiss wasn’t like his usual intimate ones, though it still had his crazed passion he always carried. It seemed more like one to shut you up, and to send you the message he couldn’t always say aloud.

Once he pulled away he analyzed every feature of you. Your shimmering (e/c) eyes still glossed over with a layer of tears making them shine more than usual, your silky (h/c) locks sliding off your shoulder as your head was tilted up to reach his own, your smooth lips parted slightly as small breaths of air came in and out of them after such a sharp kiss.

He wished he could kiss you for hours, days, years. You were to damn perfect for him, but he would be damned if he let anyone else treat you less than the royalty you were. 

You felt your breath hitch when you noticed his expression darken in the slightest. His thumb tightened on your chin as he remained close to your lips, eyes narrowed as they stared right through you.

“Listen now angel face, I don’t want you having any damn fear when it comes to me learning more about you. I don’t care if you had the strangest thing in the world in there, I will always love you for you and I will forever want to know everything about you do you understand?”

You let a small sliver of your lower lip slip in between your teeth, your eyes falling to the floor before you let out a small sigh, “Y..Yes, I’m sorry...”

Karma felt his face soften in the slightest as his arms snaked around your own, holding you tight against him as your arms found their place on his chest, “You having the fear to hide those drawings from me pisses me off..”

Looking up to him quickly you noticed the rising anger in his expression, but as your hand cupped his cheek you saw it disappear as fast as it came.

“I didn’t want you to be upset Karma, I just was scared you would be weirded out if you found out I was drawing you randomly.” You admitted, feeling a wave of relief as his eyes met yours once more.

“You kidding? Those drawings were amazing! I’m always down for an ego boost.”

A small grin broke across Karma’s face when he heard your angelic giggle fill his ears, running his fingers through your strands of hair he held your head to face his one last time with a serious expression.

“Promise me you’ll be honest next time, alright?”

Smiling softly you placed your lips on his with the sweetest kiss he’s ever had before pulling away, “I promise Karma-kun.”

Placing a quick kiss on your forehead, the red haired boy slid his fingers down your arm until they were locked in your palm, leading you to the rest of your classmates to eat lunch.

“You know babe since you’re so good with drawing with that pencil, I can show you how to be good with murdering with it.” Karma spoke in a husked voice, your head whipping up to his to see that trademark grin of his that made sure to show all his canines that only made him look more mischievous as he held your pencil up right in his hand.

Bursting out into giggles you snatched the pencil from his hold, enjoying how his eyebrows furrowed before leading him to the lunch room,

“Maybe later my little demon, but first let’s eat, I think all this lead poisoning has me starving to death.”

[rachel1987]

Hatter’s Idea

Guys... I did a thing.

I wrote a Hatter and Hare story, guys! I’m not normally a writer but I got to thinking about this silly little story idea and I just couldn’t help myself. I’ve xposted it on AO3, but I’mma copy/paste it here too.

Also, it’s now on FF.Net.

--

Hatter’s Idea

Synopsis: The Hatter comes up with an interesting idea for an activity he can do with the Hare during a tea party...

It was five o’clock and Hatter and Hare were more than an hour into their daily tea party when Hatter suddenly sat upright, slamming his teacup on the table as an idea came to him. This wasn’t unusual, the pair usually came up with their best schemes when they brewed ginger root tea. And they were well into their second kettle when that wide grin crossed Hatter’s face.

“Hare!” he exclaimed, his eyes nearly glossing over as his mind raced. “I’ve just thought of something!”

“Oh! I think we may have had the same thought!” Hare replied with a smile. “But I dont think a giraffe would make a good comedian because all his jokes would go over everyone’s head.”

Hatter opened his mouth to say something, paused and shook his head, and muttered, “No… I think we need to spice up this tea party a little.”

“Maybe we should have let it steep longer?” Hare furrowed his brow and looked into his cup, swirling around his now lukewarm tea. “Mine has plenty of ginger in it.”

“Nooo!” Hatter exclaimed, waving his arms around in the air before reaching across the table and gripping Hare by the shoulders. “Wanna go for a field trip?”

“As a matter of fact, I already have my permission slip signed!” Hare smiled, pulling a yellow slip of paper from his jacket and waving it in Hatter’s face. “Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain on the way!” Hatter laughed, gripping his hat and getting to his feet, racing off with Hare on his heels.

--

The pair snuck up to the courtyard on tiptoe, hiding behind the hedges for a moment before peeking their heads around them to make sure the coast was clear.

The palace was deserted, as they knew it would be. This was usually the time when the Red Queen and Rabbit took their afternoon walk around the kingdom and they would be out for probably another half hour. More than enough time for Hatter and Hare to get in and out without being noticed.

“Okay, Hare, you know what to do…” Hatter stage whispered as they snuck past the heart-shaped gate and hedges.

Hare covered his mouth as he giggled, following Hatter on tiptoe to their destination. They snuck their way through the throne room and down the hall, through the kitchen and into Rabbit’s quarters. Hatter flamboyantly slammed the door and locked it tight once they were both inside.

“Here we are!” he announced as the pair looked around Rabbit’s small room. There wasn’t much to look at, a bed and desk and a wardrobe filled with vests and shin guards, but Hare giggled at a picture of Rabbit and his mother from when he was five.

“Hatter, look at this!” Hare gawked, snatching up the photo and giving it a better look. “Can you believe he let his mother cut his bangs like that?”

“Not now, Hare! We have a mission to accomplish!” Hatter furrowed his brow and waved his friend away. “How much time do we have?”

“Uh…” Hare replaced the photo and looked at his wristwatch. “Maybe another 25 minutes. We should get to work.”

“Righty roo!” Hatter exclaimed, beelining his way to the Rabbit’s bookshelf. He picked up an armful and flung them onto Rabbit’s bed, throwing his long body onto the mattress after them. Hare shrugged and also jumped onto Rabbit’s bed, crawling his way up next to his friend before taking a seat amongst the pillows. He made sure his butt was on the one that Rabbit put his head on to sleep. They were, after all, 12 year olds in adult bodies.

Hatter plucked a book up from the pile and held his hand out to his buddy. “Hare, you brought the markers?”

“Of course I brought the markers!” Hare beamed, reaching into his jacket and retrieving two thick black pens. He gave one to Hatter and watched him uncap it, sticking out his tongue as he flipped through the pages of the book. The Hare did the same with his own book, finding that it didn’t have anything he was looking for before tossing it onto the floor.

“Aha!” Hatter shouted, slapping his hand against the book as he got to a page with a small illustration on it. “Found one!”

Hare’s ears perked as he got on his knees, biting his lip as he watched Hatter slowly move his marker toward the paper.

“Hatter, wait…” Hare reached out and stopped Hatter, biting his lip a little as he started thinking about what they were doing. This was vandalism! “Don’t you think it’s kind of mean to do this? I mean, these will be permanent.”

The tall man paused and looked down at the marker in his hand, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. “Hare, old buddy, you’re right. What was I thinking…” he frowned and tossed the marker out the window. “Pencils would be a better idea.”

“Right ahead of you!” Hare chuckled as he reached into his jacket and produced two very large pencils, one yellow and one purple. Hatter took the purple with his left hand and returned his attention to the book.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hatter admired the image, a little bunny boy pushing a bunny girl sitting on a swing. 

“Yes…” Hare agreed, picking up a book of his own and flipping through the pages. “I think they need big sombreros.”

Hatter gasped and looked at Hare with admiration in his eyes. “Hare, you’re a genius!”

Hare blushed and shrugged his shoulders, adding little devil horns and a spiked tail to an illustration of a school teacher tutoring children on their English.

The pair worked their way through nearly a dozen books each, doodling little additions to each illustration, giggling to themselves all the time. They ran the gamut from simple mustaches to adding characters to scenes. Hatter was halfway through doodling a penis on the face of an evil Queen when they heard a familiar voice from the throne room.

“Rabbit! I require more ice in my lemonade!”

Their eyes grew wide and Hare’s hands went to his face as they looked at each other.

“Yikes!” Hatter stage whispered as he got to his feet, scrambling to pick up the books strewn around the bed and floor. With lightning speed, the couple cleaned up the room so it looked more or less as it did before they had arrived. Hare took the time to rub his butt on Rabbit’s pillows one last time before the Hatter unlocked the door.

“Time to go, pal!”

Once again, they tiptoed down the hall and paused at the throne room door, peeking around to see the Queen sitting on her large chair with her feet up. The Rabbit was taking her walking shoes off her feet and she was drinking her lemonade through a straw.

“How are we going to get past them?” Hare squeaked, looking up at Hatter with a furrowed brow.

Hatter narrowed his eyes and looked around the room, his mind racing. He wished he had more of his ginger root tea, it seemed that his thinker had slowed down. After a few moments, he patted Hare on the shoulder.

“I think maybe we should just leave through the front door.”

Hare blinked, his mouth gaping open for a moment before chuckling to himself. Of course! The front door! Why hadn’t he thought of that before!? He then chuckled again, because he made a rhyme.

They tiptoed their way down the hall and, just as Hatter’s hand turned the knob on the front door, there was a noise behind them.

“Hatter! Hare! What are you doing here?”

The pair gulped and looked at each other with wide eyes again, turning on their heels and looking at the Rabbit with overly bright smiles.

“Rabbit!” Hatter greeted him with an over enthusiastic wave. “The door was unlocked and we figured we’d just walk our way in.”

The Hare nodded in agreement, tapping his fingers together in front of his chest. “We came to ask a favor.”

“A favor?” Rabbit cocked his brow at them.

“Yes!” the Hatter agreed, nodding largely at the Hare. “We need to borrow some cream.”

Rabbit looked at them incredulously, blinking slowly. “You came all the way here to borrow… cream?”

“For the tea party!” Hare nodded. “We went to the see the Cow but she’s off on her mission to the Moon and won’t be back till next Tuesday’s tea party.”

“Oh, yes…” Hatter pursed his lips. “I hope she makes it all the way over the moon this time and doesn’t get stuck in the Milky way.”

“Maybe then she can bring us back some milk too…” Hare remarked, jabbing Hatter in the ribs as he laughed at his own joke.

The Rabbit was done with this and sighed. He was about to tell them so when another voice came from the courtyard.

“Rabbit!? What’s taking you so long?” The group turned to see the Red Queen stalking her way toward them, her bare feet showing beneath her dress. “If I don’t soak my toesies  soon they’re about to fall off… oh! Hatter. Hare. What are you doing here?”

Rabbit rolled his eyes. “They’re here to borrow cream, your Majesty.”

“For our tea party.” Hatter nodded, Hare agreeing with him silently from beside him.

“Oh…” the Queen muttered, suddenly very aware that she was barefoot and now ludicrous it must seem to see her indecent in front of her subjects. “Well, Rabbit, give them what they want so they can be on their way. And get me my bucket with hot water. And don’t skimp out on the bubbles!”

The Rabbit’s shoulders drooped as he returned his attention to the Hatter and Hare, both of them beaming at him with obviously guilty looks on their faces. He wracked his brain as he looked around, trying to see anything out of the ordinary as he walked them into the kitchen and to the fridge, where he gave them a pitcher of cream.

“Thanks, Rabbit!” Hatter said gleefully, slapping Rabbit on the back as Hare took the pitcher. “We knew we could count on you!”

“Yes, well…” Rabbit’s whiskers twitched as he looked at them with tired eyes. “Any time.”

“You’d better get the Queen that bucket!” Hare smiled, ears bouncing as he gestured toward the throne room with his head. “You make the queen wait much longer and she’ll put her foot up your-”

A hand was clamped down on Hare’s mouth as the Hatter stage whispered “Filter…”

Hare nodded and remained silent.

“Yes…” Rabbit agreed one final time, waiting for the pair to make their exit. The three stood there awkwardly before the Rabbit finally added, “Was there something else?”

“Oh, no no!” Hatter laughed, tapping his hat nervously. “Come Hare!”

Hare nodded his head again and followed Hatter through the throne room (and the Queen still waiting for her bucket) and through the courtyard and the heart-shaped gate.

--

“That was a close one!” Hare breathed as he put the pitcher of cream down on the tea table.

“Yes, well…” Hatter sighed, taking a seat on the table and looking at the platters of sweets before plucking up a tart and taking a nibble from it. “That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

“Sure was,” Hare agreed, picking up the kettle of tea and shaking it, feeling that it was still half full. “Should we brew a fresh pot while we wait for Rabbit to discover our work?”

“Indubitably!” Hatter exclaimed, scarfing down the rest of his tart before picking up the other kettle and leading the way into the Hat house.

They didn’t know they would have to wait a few days before their work was discovered. They had nearly forgotten about it when they heard a bunny wheeling his way up their walk, shouting their names at the top of his voice.

“Hatter! Hare! Get out here at once!”

The pair put their tea cups down and looked up to see both the Rabbit and Alice coming their way, each holding stacks of books.

“That's an awful lot of library books...” Hare commented, rushing forward to open the gate for them. “Are you getting late fees on all of them?”

“What have you two numbskulls done to my books!?” Rabbit didn’t waste a second laying in on them, a furious look on his face with the books in his arms. Hatter wanted to laugh, Rabbit’s face was nearly all one shade of red.

“What are you talking about?” Hatter asked, his brow furrowed.

“Someone has vandalized over half my book collection!” Rabbit shouted, stomping his foot. “And this has your name all over it!”

Hatter honestly didn’t know what the Rabbit was talking about. He lifted his hat and scratched his head with a gloved hand. “How could someone do something so awful?! Hare, clear the table, let them put the books down.”

Hatter and Hare shoved half the cups and saucers off the table to allow Alice and the Rabbit to free up their arms.

“We know it was you, Mr Hatter,” Alice sighed as she rubbed her tired arm. “You kept adding top hats to all your pictures.”

“And Hare wrote ‘Hare wuz here’ in the back of my copy of Bunnyrella,” Rabbit said, straightening up his vest.

Hare grimaced as he looked at the Hatter, who suddenly remembered what they had done.

“Oh! Oh! Wait!” The Hatter slapped his knee and laughed boisterously like he just understood the punchline of a good joke. Hare joined in and the pair laughed until they were red in the face and had tears streaming down their cheeks. The Dormouse, who was alarmed by all the shouting, stuck his head out of his tea pot and shook his head at them.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about?” Hatter said between laughs, wiping a tear away from his eye as he approached the Rabbit.

“Oh, you don’t do you?” The Rabbit mused, picking up a book with a red cover and flipping through the pages. He stopped and cocked his brow, before he thrust the picture of the evil Queen into Hatter’s face, the one with the penis on it. “I had to explain to Alice what this was!”

“Oh, yes, I was very proud of that one!” Hatter beamed, laughing joyously as he looked at it. He turned his head to the side as he showed his handwork to everyone, only looking up when the Rabbit shouted in frustration.

“You both are going to erase every bit of profanity out of these pages!”

“Oh… but it would be such a shame!” Hare sighed, his ears drooping a little. “We worked so hard on all these.”

“I don’t care. This is vandalism and I want it eradicated from my books immediately.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” Hatter asked, thrusting the book at Rabbit.

“Because he didn’t do it, Mr Hatter,” Alice said sternly. “You did. And it was mean of you to trick Mr Rabbit like that.”

“I don’t think it was very mean,” Hare shrugged. “I think it was mostly funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t very nice. And it wasn’t something a friend would do to another friend.”

Hatter and Hare looked at each other with defeated looks on their faces. A 12 year old girl had gotten the better of them.

“How true that is, young Alice. Fiiine…” Hatter heaved, holding his gloved hand out for Rabbit to give him an overly large rubber eraser. “Get a rubbin, Hare.”

Hare scrunched up his face and took the eraser from Rabbit.

“Also,” the Rabbit added, looking Hare in the face as he spoke. “The Cow never jumped over the moon. She had to reschedule due to low cloud coverage.”

“Wash your pillows recently, Rabbit?” Hare asked with a chuckle.

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 22 - That’s What We’re Here For

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Logan in therapy is a thing I care about very deeply and he needs a good therapist to help him out. Did you really think I'll write about anyone else in therapy?

"This is Dr. Blake's office," Johnny told Logan as they left the horrid medicinal smell of the office building and entered a room that could best be described as what would happen if a unicorn projectile-vomited.

Well, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but still! The walls were a light lilac color, decorated with fairy lights and childish doodles painted on colorful paper; the wall near the door had several bookcases on it, full of crafting supplies and tabletop games and books Logan didn't care to check out, and next to them was a white desk with two colorful chairs right up against the wall.

There were also a small coffee table and a light blue suede couch opposite the desk and chairs. The couch was covered with plushies and there was a soft blanket folded neatly on the armrest. That was the biggest offender in his opinion. That couch in particular.

On that couch sat a young man, about somewhere in his thirties, sipping a cup of tea and looking straight at Logan. He sported slightly messy light brown hair, in a way that still seemed intentionally so, and frameless glasses that sat high on the bridge of his nose; Logan believed that, had the glasses been different, maybe his green argyle sweater vest and khaki pants combo would look less nerdy and more… well, more like something. Anything, really.

"Dr. Blake," John greeted the man, nodding a bit as a courtesy.

"Senator Wright." His voice was calm, but as his face broke into a smile Logan could hear it change into something else. "And this must be John—"

"Logan."

"Yes, of course. Excuse me." As the therapist stood up, Logan could see him grab a cane he hasn't seen before, that until now was resting on the small table. At a closer glance, he could see the man's leg wrapped in a bandage of some sort. "It's nice to meet you, Logan. I'm Arin Blake, you can call me Arin, or Dr. Arin, or Dr. Blake if you so fancy, I honestly wouldn't mind."

"Yeah…"

"Don't fuck this one up," Johnny threatened Logan as he turned to leave. "Your psychiatrist recommended him to us. Don't make her regret it—"

"Actually, Senator, I'd rather you joined us today."

The man was already on his phone by then, but at least he didn't leave, which meant he listened probably. Still surprised at the suggestion though, which showed on his face. Logan just scowled as he went to sit on the truly offensive couch - as instructed by the doctor - and grabbed a cat plushie to hold.

A brown cat plushie, not too fluffy, with embroidered black eyes and a stupid expression.

Kinda reminds him of Julian. In a way. He's not sure which. 

"In order to understand what we're working on here, I'd like to also hear your side of the story," Blake continued as he sat down in a chair in front of them. Johnny took the other side of the couch. "Can I offer you coffee, tea? Water?"

"Coffee is fine," Logan shrugged.

"To me as well."

"Just remind me for a moment, which medication are you prescribed?"

Logan may have rolled his eyes at that.

"Prozac, and I'm starting to take adderall soon."

"I see…" he hummed to himself as he got up and left the office, leaving Logan and Johnny in uncomfortable silence.

Dr. Blake's cup of tea was in a big blue mug, decorated with a print of tiny cartoon citrus slices. A clear plastic teaspoon stuck a bit over the top, and Logan inspected the little tag on the tea bag. Hibiscus apple cinnamon. Sounds fancy enough.

He just about took his phone out and started playing something when Blake came back, hopping on one leg almost, and put two disposable cups in front of them. Johnny's was a cup of coffee. His, though…

"I asked for coffee."

"And isn't this it?"

He took a sip. "It's… it's fine." It wasn't. There was too much milk, he could tell just by looking it. This was just a confirmation. "Thanks."

"So how about you both tell me why you're here?" The doctor sat back down in his chair, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know if you've heard in the news, but there was a fire at Logan's school—"

"Don't act like that's the reason we're here." Logan waited for his father to get red in the face. He always did. So he just leaned back and counted the seconds. "You brought me here because you think that everything wrong in your life is the result of me simply existing, and your only excuse to actually do it is that the people you dumped me on when you couldn't bother with keeping me around anymore can't look after me now."

"How do you think people would have reacted to my campaign if they knew—"

"Oh, come on, not everything is about your FUCKING JOB!"

"Okay, okay, Logan put that cup down." He did as he was told. After all, he can't fuck this one up, can he? "Now, without exploding on each other, please tell me what's going on."

"Logan's school burned down back in March—"

"February."

"—and he's only been getting worse since. He's always had anger issues, but since then he won't stop acting out. Usually over quite… petty things too."

Blake pushed his glasses further up, if that was even possible. "Petty things like what?"

"Like…" Johnny faltered, fumbling for words. So Logan spoke for him.

"Like that time last week when I asked if I can go visit my friend in California and you said I can't because what if his mom says no."

"Ms. Larson is a very busy woman, Logan. You can't just expect her to let you stay over because you wanted to on a whim."

"Well, I'm not five anymore, I don't think it really matters so much whether or not she can—"

"Let's stop it right there, again, Logan." Dr. Blake's stare made Logan curl up into himself. "Repeat that, now calmly."

Logan swallowed rather hard before talking again.

————

"Tell me a little about your friends," Dr. Blake asked at another meeting, about five weeks later. Logan sat on the chair closest to the desk, hugging the cat plushie again, and focused on drawing some flowers.

Lily of the valley. It was the only flower he could draw well. And isn't that just sad.

"There's Derek," he started, drawing the stems. "He… well, if he put half as much energy into caring for himself as he does for caring for me, I think the world would be a much better place. I think he's trying to compensate for this with girlfriends. It's kind of worrying, to be honest."

"But he cares for you?"

"Yeah. Sometimes a bit too much. It's… it's funny, actually, because… he really needs to work on himself. He can't fix me no matter how much he tries, because he's not some miracle worker and my mental health isn't fixable—"

"But it is treatable. And that's what we're here for."

"Yeah. I just… I find it funny, because he spends so much time trying to fix me that he's completely ignoring himself, and then he goes off and thinks having a girlfriend is a good replacement for self care. But I can't just tell him that… he'll get upset and then say it's not important and I'm just obsessing over it because reasons, and then when I get upset over not understanding he says it's my anger issues and I should be medicated."

"And why do you think he's doing this?"

This was the type of question that Logan quickly learned Blake loved asking. 'Why do you think', 'why do you feel', as if he wasn't the expert here. It was weird, having someone interested in his opinion without calling it anger issues and shutting him up, or telling him it's stupid and all that. He wasn't sure he could get used to it, but he certainly felt like he was, and it scared him.

"I think… I think he's just worried… he has anxiety, and I think he's reflecting it onto others because he doesn't know how to deal with it himself…? I know his parents don't know how to. So neither does he."

"And your other friend?"

Logan put down his pencil and picked a yellow one, throwing Blake a look.

"Julian is… he's cool. I miss him, I haven't seen him in months and he can't come over for vacation because his mother won't let him."

"Is he just cool?"

"I mean… he's one of my best friends, so… he's cool. He's very snarky sometimes… well, most of the time… and we talked about it a while ago, about why he's like this, and it was before revising my diagnosis, and he didn't really understand that I was insulting him back as a fight or flight response and he thought I was enjoying it… umm…"

Blake just pushed a mug closer to Logan. It was a clear mug, full of a bright red liquid. The hibiscus apple cinnamon tea. He made it for Logan today, as an attempt to get him to like something with no caffeine. Apparently coffee was bad for adderall. He assumed it'll be okay though.

"We're working on it now. And he needs physical therapy, so it's not like we really can do it in person, but we call each other every day and stuff…"

"You should visit him, then," the doctor suggested, making Logan snort. 

"I don't think he wants me around… his boyfriend is there to keep him company. It's fine. Well… not his boyfriend. I'm not sure what they are. It's complicated, I think. Jules says they're not dating but they sure have a—"

"Dearie, are you jealous?"

He just laughed again. "Of Julian? Nope. Not in a million years. Of Sebastian? I… I don't actually know. I mean, he and Julian aren't together even if sometimes it feels like it, and Jules did say I'm his best friend and stuff, but on the other hand he makes him happy, and…"

"And being jealous is okay, so long as you put it into a healthy outlet and not into anger. Talk to Julian about it. See what he thinks and says."

"But… we talked about it… kind of… he said he's in love with me, but it wasn't at a very ideal situation, and… we agreed to not talk about it. Just… let ourselves work through it, figure out what we really feel… what he really feels… and then we'll see where we go from there."

"That's good. But ask him for clarification, okay? Don't make your head spin like this."

Logan just nodded along, grabbing a blue pencil to shade in the flowers themselves.

"So I think I'm going to visit Julian soon," he continues. "I'll ask Derek to join me too… maybe I can buy him a gift…"

"That's a nice idea. What does he like?"

"He likes… cats, and candy… maybe I can get him new sunglasses. I think he'll like sunglasses. Or coffee…"

"Is coffee a gift?"

"Expensive coffee, maybe."

The doctor just laughed. "How about starting small… what about flowers?"

"...I can get him flowers…"

"That you can. I fear we're running out of time, though." Logan looked up from his drawing, a bit disappointed. "We can keep talking about this next week too, okay?"

"Okay… sorry for wasting time like this."

"You've wasted no time, dearie. It's all good. Just remind your father to write me a check, yeah?"

————

Logan crashed on the blue suede couch and covered himself all the way up over his head the second he made it to Dr. Blake's office that day. Sure, he was still wearing his huge coat — New York was especially snowy this winter, like, much more than usual — but he didn't really want to show his face to the world, and the receptionist who asked him to wait earlier was on the receiving end of his panic attack. It wasn't fair to the others, and it just… it wasn't…

"Do you want me to make you tea, dearie?" Blake asked him, rubbing his back. He sounded worried.

Logan just nodded and whimpered.

"Okay… try to breathe while I'm gone, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four. Think you can do that?"

He nodded again.

"I'll be right back."

As Logan waited for Blake to come back, he started crying again. Winter vacation wasn't treating him too well, between fighting with Julian back at school right before coming home and getting yelled at by his father for flirting with the son of an associate (well, the guy was pretty cute, and certainly down to fuck) and probably the cherry on top, he was late. It wasn't as bad as the others, but he was late to this appointment, and he had so much to talk about, and…

"Logan, can you hear me?" Blake asked after what felt like forever, holding his hand. Logan whimpered again in response. "Come on, let's breathe together. I'll count."

He didn't even feel how long it took before he was sitting up, a second, weighted blanket on his shoulder, drinking his tea. Dr. Blake was still there, helping wipe his cheeks with a tissue as Logan tried to calm down.

"...Julian and I had a fight."

"Okay… what was it about?"

"I… I tried talking to him again, about… about us, and our relationship, and where does our friendship go, and he screamed at me that he's tired of talking about it and that I need to stop bringing it up, that he's with Sebastian and that's it, and then I yelled back and I… I may have slapped him, but…"

"That's bad, dearie. You know it's bad."

"I know! And I hate myself, I hate myself so much for doing this! He doesn't deserve a friend like me, I'm… I'm possessive and an asshole, and he just…"

"Okay, here's where you're wrong," the doctor told him, taking one of his hands. "You're wonderful, Logan. You're a great friend, and Julian didn't tell you he hates you. He didn't say you're terrible."

"But he implied it."

"He did not. It was an intrusive thought. What did Julian say, exactly?"

"...he… he said it's, he said that he's tired of talking about it, and that… that he already has a boyfriend, so I can't... " He hiccuped.

"Exactly… nothing about you as a friend. Open your phone and call him for me, okay? I want you to talk to him, and I want to see you do it."

Logan just nodded, a bit hesitant. He fumbled with his phone, trying to avoid looking at Julian's number, but ultimately he just… did.

Julian answered at the third ring.

"Hey, Lo."

"Hey…" he sniffled a bit. "I just… I need clarification on… on something." He looked at Blake for approval, wiping his eyes with a finger. Blake just nodded.

"Sure, what's up…?"

"Just… when we… had the fight. And you screamed at me and I screamed back, and…" Logan took a second. "Jules, do you hate me?"

"...are you high right now? Seriously. Are you?"

"No… I'm in… never mind."

"Okay... Lolo, I can't hate you. You're my best friend, you know how much I love you, but sometimes I can get mad or frustrated. Just like you do." He could hear the disappointment in Julian's voice almost. "I'm with Sebastian now. I'm happy with him. I love you, I really do, but you constantly asking me if I'm sure I'm happy and if we can give it a chance is getting tiring. I'm sorry, but it's getting really difficult."

"I… I'm sorry… Jules, I—"

"I accept your apology. I'm not mad at you, you don't have to get so anxious about this. You're starting to act like Derek."

"I'm still sorry…" he could finally take a breath, looking at his therapist for approval again. "That's… that's all I… I'm just in therapy, and…"

"Okay… go back to therapy. Don't waste time talking to me. I love you."

"Yeah… me too."

Logan hung up after that and turned to sip his tea, which has now cooled down.

And then the doctor spoke. "I'm proud of you. You don't need to apologize so much, you're doing just fine, but you did great. I'm so proud."

"Thanks." Logan forced a smile.

Maybe… maybe things would be okay, at the end of it all. He sure hoped so.

————

"I'm going to ask Julian out," Logan announced one day, two years into seeing Blake, just waltzing into the office. He may have caught his doctor by surprise, but as he sat down and grabbed his cat plushie, Blake straightened back up and cleared his throat.

"Doesn't he have a boyfriend, though?"

"Not anymore! And he said he doesn't want a rebound but then we talked about it and—"

"Okay, slow down. Let's start from the top. Julian broke up with his boyfriend?"

Logan nodded, then started rambling — "apparently they grew apart, at least it's what he told me, but I'm kinda pretty sure Sebastian cheated on him with Blaine? Blaine is my ex, he's kinda… meh. But yeah. So they broke up, like, three weeks ago, and Jules said he doesn't want a rebound so fast after the relationship, but I can build up to it! I can… I can start talking to him about it, right?" — all while Dr. Blake listened, nodding along to what he was saying.

"...okay… we can build up to that, then. I can help you do it if you're nervous about it."

"I'm really nervous about this…"

"Okay, okay, I can help. But first, how was your week? I made you tea."

"I saw that, thank you, but…" his stomach fell. "My week was so boring… college is boring. I have an exam in two weeks that I'm not sure I'm ready for, Alex had a mental breakdown the other day that I had to help with because nobody else was around, my dad visited…"

"And how is your dad?" Logan rolled his eyes at this question. "No, no no no. You answer me. How is your dad?"

"He still thinks I'm gay for the rebellion part of it. I mean, he'll get over it, I have faith in Michelle to make him change his mind, but… he and Michelle visited, and it was really nice. I missed both of them so much. But the second he saw my friends again he started talking shit, because Drew's voice dropped a lot since the last time they met and he started making transphobic remarks and it was… it was bad. It was so bad."

"Did you help Drew out?"

"Yeah… and then my dad got mad at me and we went into a screaming match. But it's okay, Michelle… did her best to get us to talk. I think he understands it now… not the gay thing, but… the transgender thing."

"That's good…"

Logan opened his phone right before the end of the session, as Blake was reminding him to remind his father to pay and that next week they'll talk in video chat, same day same hour. He nodded along, looking through to his messages to Julian — there —  and getting up and out.

Lolo: I know you said you don't want to get back at it this early, but when you're ready, wanna go on a proper date…?

Lolo: also, can we talk about something? I have an exam soon and I'm anxious as shit

He kept staring at it as he went downstairs and to his car, watching the text on the screen dance with a pain in his chest.

J is typing...

[hpdabbles]

Kindness and Remorse Part 3

“Have a good first day of school darling!”  Petunia calls once more from the doorway. She dapped her eye with a handkerchief, but she was beaming at him none the less. Around her various adults were doing the same, waving and smiling at the classroom of little people.

She’s one of the few who can get away quickly. One little boy was crying and holding onto his mother's leg with dear life, another little girl demanded her father to sit at the small tables and refuse to allow him to get up.   

If Dudley wasn’t an adult trapped in a human body he’s pretty sure he be one of the wailing ones too. 

“Bye-bye Mommy.” He calls back waving the hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s in a death grip. He didn’t want the boy to wander off, seeing as his little cousin had the curiosity of monkey and tended sniff out trouble if left alone for too long.

Just the other day Dudley had seen him walk into the street after seeing a stray dog he just had to pet. Thankfully there hadn’t been any traffic and he was able to successfully get him back into the front yard without a trip to the hospital. 

Since they had turned four just a few months ago, both were officially starting schooling. Harry had been a little nervous but seem to be happy he would be staying with Dudley. He hadn’t gotten fussy, but Dudley did see his lower lip quiver when Petunia started for the door.

“I love you!” Petunia’s voice shook a little as she presses her hand on her chest dramatically, as if though he was going off to war. His mother was reacting to him not being around the house all day rather hard it seems.  

“I love you too,” He says not nearly as dramatic but just as genuine. It hurts to still love them after everything he’s been though but he can’t help it. He loves his parents, had when he cut them out of his life and he thinks he’ll still love them till the day he died.

But loving someone doesn’t mean you are willing to forgive them.

Petunia’s whole face soften, glowing in warmth. “Listen to your teacher, behave and I’ll pick up later alright pumpkin? Once you get out, we can go get ice cream!”

“We really getting ice-cream, Aunt Petunia?” Harry cuts in, excited at the idea of a frozen treat. At once his mother’s face tenses but with the crowd around she doesn’t yell at him. She can’t even sneer since it will ruin the kind heart image she been building up.

She waves at her son as if though her nephew hadn’t spoken before turning on her heels and walking away. 

Dudley is quick to reassure Harry before his face could do so much as fall. Swinging their linked hands he leads his cousin to one of the empty round blue tables. “Did you hear Harry? Mommy said we can have ice cream!”

“Ice-cream!” Harry cheers. The little boys take a sit just as the teacher rushes over to give them each a long piece of paper and a bucket of crayons. She’s got warm light brown curls that end just around her shoulder with equally brown eyes. 

Dudley stares at her, usually not one to take notice of someone’s looks, but she bares a heartbreaking resemblance to Tiffiny at first glance. She’s got the same shape of lips, but they are a bright red, something that snaps him out of his daze.

His wife was many things, but a wearer of bright lipstick wasn’t one of them. Looking away, he rubs at his chest willing it to stop aching. It’s been four years now (counting the one year he spent with Harry’s house in the future) but he still feels her absence every once in and a while. 

“Hello, boys. I’m Ms.Williams and I’ll be your teacher this year.” Ms. Williams says. “We’re going to start the year off by drawing our houses. All the people and pets that live there too. Can you two do that for me?”

“Uh-huh!” Harry bounces in his chair. Picking up one of the blue crayons he quirks a shy smile upwards to the teacher “Me and Dudley color all the time Ms. Williams.”

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Potter. While you two draw, we’re going to wait for more boys and girls and then we’re all going to show each other our drawings”  Ms. Williams says reading the name tag on Harry’s uniform. Dudley had pinned it to his shirt after neither of his parents attempted to do so.  

It’s a good thing he did, he had a faint memory that Harry was always getting in trouble with losing his name tag in primary school. He’ll have to keep an eye on the pesky thing. It wouldn’t due for Harry to develop a habit of misplacing his things. 

Harry is quick to start filling up his paper with lines of various colors. He’s got the basic shape of a square done, even if it is lopsided and he is happy to add a triangle. He bites down on his lower lip just slightly- a sign that Harry was in deep concentration.

Dudley watches him work for a moment before turning to his own paper. 

Over the last two years, he’s been able to successfully turn his cousin’s attention to the way of drawings and doodles. Harry still had a blast when playing with his toys, but he seems to be extra excited that Dudley decorated his room’s walls with his pictures. 

Sure, they were just random squiggles with lines all over them and quite frankly didn’t resemble much of anything, but they were made with lots of love. His parents weren’t going to praise Harry for his art, nor would they ever hang on the fridge like Dudley’s but the pieces of random color swirls were appreciated by someone. 

Petunia and Vernon didn’t quite like it. Often times they would tear down the papers. It didn’t matter since Harry was always quick to replace them with new pieces. Dudley lies about storing them somewhere in the attic for the future since he loved them so much to not hurt Harry’s feelings.

At age four, Harry’s drawing abilities while not wonderful works of art were pretty advanced for his age and if his skill was cultivated more, Dudley had no doubt he quite gifted.  Not that he wants to force Harry into any field but a slight nudge here or there wouldn’t do no harm. 

Josh Sr. did say drawing could be a good coping mechanism once when Dudley was still just beginning to date his daughter. He’s not overly sure if it can do anything for Harry but giving the boy some mind health tools now would do him some good in the long run.

He hopes. 

“What wrong Dudley?” Harry asks while gesturing at his blank paper. “You not having fun?”

Smiling at his cousin Dudley picks up the black crayon   “Nothing wrong Harry. I’m just thinking.” 

“What about?”

“How to draw mommy.”  

“I can show you!” The little boy pushes his paper over allowing the time traveler to get a glance at his work. So far he’s gotten the house done, and three figures floating above a green line- the lawn maybe?- that could be humans. 

Dudley inwardly frowns that only one of the figures has a smile. The smallest one, with bright yellow hair. 

“Wow, Harry you did a good job!” He gushes dramatically. It takes all his will power not to baby-talk, but he manages. Tapping his finger against the smiling figure he asks “Is that me?”

“Thank you, Dudley,”  Harry smiles bashfully, a please blush on his face. “Uh-huh, that’s you. This is Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.”

The child’s finger points at a large circle with a mustache, then a talk nearly stick figure, holding a purse. Both have large frowns and angry slanted eyebrows. More worrying, however, is upon closer examination he can’t spot Harry. 

“Where are you?”

“Huh?”

“Where are you in the picture? Or are you not done?” 

“Silly I’m where I’m supposed to be.”  Harry points to the house window, where a little figure with wild black lines at its head has been added, half-hidden behind the-um curtains?. The figure is smiling at least.  

It doesn’t stop his stomach from turning over.  Despite how hard he’s tried to make things better seems Harry is still being affected by his monster of guardians. 

Of course, he is, you dumb oaf. A nasty voice snickers mockingly in his head. It sounds awful like his father. Kids repeat what they hear. Kids draw what they feel.

Inhaling deeply, while mentally counting backward from ten, Dudley manages a smile at his cousin. It hurts somewhere deep inside that Harry thinks this is normal or that maybe, for the first time around, the drawing of the first day of school was the exact smile with the slight change that only drawing-Harry was smiling. “ It looks nice.” 

Harry beams back at him. He then launches into his explanation of how to draw Petunia. Dudley listens to every word, making the appropriate sounds to prove he’s is, but remains mostly silent. 

“You want to add more to your picture Harry?”

“Yeah, the flowers Aunt Petunia had me put in the garden.”

A strain grin.  “Put them in then.”

“Okay, Dudley.”

Later, the class presents their drawings. Harry’s is one of the best ones, he notes with a smile. Dudley holds a crudely drawn house with only two figures on the outside of it. Both with large smiles, holding hands.  One of the figures has a lighting mark above it’s dotted eyes.

Harry loves it. 

The rest of the day passes in a slow blur of singing kid songs, drawing pictures and little kid’s laughter. The rules are explained to them all, the kids eager to either do as they told right away or run about without a care in the world. About twenty kids are ranging from the ages of four and five. All of them were allowed to pick different colored tables with no more than six. 

There is chatter, squealing and giggles all throughout the day, some kids choose to scream their thoughts instead of talking. Ms. Williams is quick to remind everyone what an inside voice is.

Dudley is honestly surprised Ms. Williams can keep up with them all and not drop from exhaustion. He’s all for nap time, the moment it arrives, and he’s not even in charge.

Dudley didn’t really approach the other kids in the classroom but he did respond if any of them talk to him. Preferring to stay in the background he watches them go about their lives contently. Harry, on the other hand, had been invited to a playground game of kickball and had struck up a friendship with Piers Polkiss, the two almost attached at the hip afterward. 

Piers had even moved over to their little blue table away from the overflowing green table just to keep talking to Harry. Apparently, the two enjoy coloring just as much and this meant they were now best friends.

Funny how life works sometimes. 

Petunia had kept her word taking the boys to get ice-cream after picking them up. She nearly didn’t buy Harry a cone, but Dudley started to cause a scene in the ice-cream polar, and she was finally forced to give in. 

Not wanting her to do something like forcing Harry to throw his cone out the car window, Dudley had requested they stay to eat in the booths so he could show off all his drawings. Vernon wasn’t to be home for another three hours, and Petunia could get dinner done by then, meaning she didn’t see the trouble of staying.

The family got home and Petunia was quick to order Harry into the kitchen. “Come, freak. Dinner needs to be done. Get in here to cook. Now.”

Dudley's face darkens but he followed after them silently. He’s forgotten that his mother had started her ridiculous chore list around the time Harry was four. He never really thought about how awful that truly was until he had grown. It was sickening she expected Harry to be anywhere near the stove as a four-year-old, never mind the forced labor he had to do the following years.

Well, she’s not going to get away with it this time. Not while he was around. 

Harry had been forced to work in the garden most of yesterday afternoon with his mother giving sharp instructions. Against his best efforts, it seems he couldn’t spare Harry of his chores. Not while his mother lived with the jealousy and rotting ideas of normal.

He knew this was a problem he couldn’t just scream at until it went away. Resistances in some cases just weren’t the answer. Much like swimming against the rip currents, he needs to find a way around the problem.

It took him all of last night and today to think about it but Dudley may have figured something out.  

“ We’re making dinner Mommy?” He asks following the pair. Petunia turns around with a warm smile.

“Oh, not you darling. Why don’t you go watch the telly while we work?”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Popkins, please-”

“I want to cook.” He says stubbornly. He hugs his upper arms, in an ill imitation of crossing his arms. Its something he quite remembered Daisy doing at this age, where she just couldn’t get her arms to cross over her tiny chest and he uses it whenever he’s throwing a tantrum. “Why can Harry cook but not me? Do you love him more?”

Petunia splutters “Popkins of course not! I just don’t want you getting hurt, is all!”

Dudley hugged his arms harder, pouting up a storm. Harry was watching everything with wide eyes. He glances at Dudley’s poster before quickly coping it and turning to his mother with his own pout. 

Yes, Harry, join the resistance.

“Mommy I want to cook!” 

“Popkins, wouldn’t you rather-”

“I want to cook! I want to cook! I want to cook! I want to COOK!” He shouts the last word stomping one of his feet. He then starts huffing and puffing, right before letting out a loud and long scream. 

His tantrum on full force.

Petunia fretts in front of him.  This must be tough for her, seeing as she never had to choose between letting her son get his way over not putting a child in danger. 

Serves you right. He thinks viciously. Either she gives in and Dudley helps cook, which lessens the load on Harry or she doesn’t which makes Dudley upset that Harry is enjoying something he isn’t. This could lead to her not making Harry cook at all even.

“A-alright,” She says eventually.  “You can help. Just listen to everything I say alright?”

“Yes, mommy! Thank you, mommy!”

As Petunia chops the vegetables she has the boys mixing one bowl together, doing most of the work herself while explaining why she does what she does. In a rare moment of affection, she answers every question Harry has, even biting back a smile when the little boy claps his hands and tells her how smart she is.

It seems Harry really taken to the idea of being a little helper, and his mother loves positive attention. She preens under it, as she carefully crafts them up something to eat. 

At one point she even offers to teach the boys how to bake cookies this weekend, when she buys the groceries. Harry is beside himself. 

She then hands them both some vegetables to wash, which really she had already done so, and made various points to not going anywhere near the stove to Dudley. By proxy, Harry had received the same warning. 

Dudley watches the pair throughout the whole thing and wonders if his mother wasn’t a lost cause as he originally thought. She then tried to get Harry to wash the dishes, large cutting knives and all. He imminently stood beside his cousin at the sink fighting back the disappointment. 

Petunia just took one step forward and two steps back.

Sometimes the ones that hurt us the most are the ones who should love us the most. Tiffiny’s voice echos into his ears as he helps Harry dry the dishes. Petunia had taken to the actual washing once she realizes Dudley wasn’t going to let Harry touch the soapy water before him. You have to remind yourself not to let those people back in once you kick them out. It’ll only cause you more pain.

When Vernon got home that night, Dudley had planted himself next to Harry at the kitchen counter refusing to take a seat at the table until his cousin was allowed to. This was something that had become a tradition over the last two years and like the nights before Harry was eventually seating at dinner time. 

“How was school, Dudley?” Vernon asks his son halfway through the meatloaf and steam vegetables, Petunia had put together with their help.

“Fun! Harry and me, got to take naps and Harry made a friend!” He answers with fake excitement. Moving his green beans and baby carrots from his plate onto Harry’s, with a pointed look at how little he’s been serve- They are not starving him this time!- before he asks.  “What is his name again?”

“It’s Piers. He likes to draw too! He made this really big fire truck!” Harry chirps. He happily starts feasting upon the green beans, one of his favorites. He doesn’t speak with his mouth full since Petunia hates it- only when Harry does it apparently. Swallowing his food, the green eye boy is quick to describe his day. “Ms. Williams let us draw twice! We got to sing songs, and play kickball and-”

“I was asking Dudley.” Vernon cuts in a cold voice “Not you boy.”

“Let him finish Daddy,” Dudley says just a notch away from the stern, but only barely able to keep his disdain out of his tone. He pouts his lips and makes his eyes wide at his father. The man takes one look at him before grumbling into his meal.

“Fine. Keep going, boy.”

Harry hesitates for only a minute before he’s back into talking about his new best friend. Dudley makes sure to respond, and for a while, it’s only the kids speaking. He starts to talk about his day, his parents now joining the conversation.

Towards the end of the dinner, Dudley launches into his other plan of attack. Without changing his outer behavior he casually slips in “I told Ms. Williams Harry sleeps in the cupboard sometimes and she made a funny face.”

Both adults freeze.  Acting like he doesn’t notice, Dudley and his cousin share a laugh. “She’s so silly to not know you can sleep under the stairways right Harry?”

“Uh-huh. Ms. Williams kept asking me funny questions too.”

“Questions?” Petunia chokes. “What kind of questions?”

“She asked if you hit me, isn’t she is funny? She didn’t even believe Dudley when he said where my room was until we showed her the pictures.”

“Pictures!? What pictures!?” Vernon demands jumping up.

“From my camera Daddy,” Dudley says unable to hide his wide grin. His parents had given him an old polaroid a few months ago. Dudley had made an effort to be seen taking pictures all around the house, using Harry as a model, as to not raise suspicion when he took pictures of Harry’s room. 

No one had known what went on in at 4 Privet Drive which is why they were able to get away with most of their abuse on Harry but Dudley remembered how quick his parents were to make things look better the day they thought someone was watching Harry.

True, it had been someone magical,  but the point still stands that it was the sense of thinking no one cared enough to look let them act as they wished.

They could do nothing now that another adult had evidence. 

“She really liked them! She said I took the best pictures ever mommy!”

“Popkins, where are these pictures of Harry’s room?”  Petunia asks, her face pale like milk. 

“Ms. Williams has them.”

The adults trade some looks before they have them go up to Dudley’s room. Later that same night, they sit the boys down to explain that Harry’s room is no longer going to be under the stairway. He will now be living in the extra bedroom they kept Dudley's toys. 

He would be sleeping with his cousin tonight and while his mother tucked him in, and by extension Harry, Petunia took much a very long time to explain that Harry’s old room wasn’t a bedroom but a playhouse. 

If Ms. Williams asks again they were to tell her that’s where they played make belief but it was considered Harry’s since he was the one that found it. Dudley seeing his chance asked if they could have a treehouse or a playhouse in the yard as a secret base for more make-belief games. 

Petunia's whole face brightens as if an idea struck.  “Why we could get you both a playhouse couldn’t we? Harry’s old room was just a practice one until your Daddy made enough money to get you these ones. Tomorrow, we’ll all go to the store and pick something out.”

“Wow! We’re going to have a secret base!” Dudley says to Harry who is laying next to him. His cousin is all but vibrating in child adrenalin ecstasy, his hands gripping his half of the blanket tightly. “Wait till we tell Ms. Williams!” 

“Oh, I bet your teacher would just love to hear all about your secret bases boys. Maybe sure to let her know. Both of you.”  Petunia orders as she flickers out the lights. The room is bathed in the soft brightness of his night light, the color-changing built making the stares that it shoots extra lovely. “Goodnight Popkins. Sleep tight. Mommy loves you.”

“Night Mommy, I love you too.” 

Once she leaves, closing the door behind her, Dudley turns to Harry, tucking him in a bit better and whispers  “Goodnight Harry. I love you.”

“Night Dudley. I love you too” 

There is a moment of quiet before Harry whispers “I got a room now like you.”

Dudley can’t help the rush of triumph sing through his body. Yes he doubts this will last, and there is still much more to do to make sure Harry has a happier life but this is his first real sign of progress. His first two real victories in a roundabout way. “Yeah, you do.”

“This is the best day ever!” Harry whisper-shouts. 

“It really is.” 

A rush of warmth surrounds the boys as they drift off to sleep, Harry pressing his face into his cousin’s hair while Dudley had an arm secured around him in a hug. Neither realizing the warmth was unnaturally comforting or the slight silver shine of the air surrounding the bed, blessing their dreams with happiness.

[identityexcavationstation]

The High Fidelity Remake is Good and my Identity is Irreversibly Linked to Music Consumption

Hi! So, I’m kinda insane about playlists.

This year I’ve made a lot of them. They’ve been short and snappy on index cards, scanned and pasted in a book and uploaded to the internet. (I’ve really fallen in love with index card playlists and they’re my thing now and I think everyone should do them always and forever.) They were easy to churn out as a retrospective exercise because the music I listened to as a teenager really defined my high school experience. Also, I have most of my favorite songs from that period in a very dramatic playlist I started in 2014 so it was really a game of copy-and-paste. 

Making these smol boys in batches has been a really peculiar experience because for years now, I’ve only made one playlist at a time. In my second semester of college, I’d officially burned myself out listening to only CHVRCHES for three months and began venturing elsewhere. (Don’t get me wrong, CHVRCHES absolutely bangs, but you can only listen to “Never Ending Circles” so many times before getting seasick.) All of the random songs I was listening to made me feel kinda hazy and purple, like I’d done all of this before. So I made a playlist full of them and called it “Deja Vu.”

I added to it all semester, and then suddenly it was summer and I didn’t feel purple and hazy anymore⁠—everything was blue and crisp on the way to South Haven as my friend blasted “Settle Down” by Kimbra in her beat-up Honda. So I started a new playlist and named it the first word that popped into my head: “Roots.”

Using Deja Vu as a rubric, I developed some ground rules for the playlists I would go on to create. They are pretty nonsensical but also exceedingly firm because if I don’t make rules for every area of my life I feel like I’m falling into a deep and limitless void. Health! Anyway, the rules are:

The playlist’s title has to be a short noun (seven letters maximum).

This has since transformed into a noun that is also a verb.

To generate a title, I ask myself what short word I would use to describe the phase of life I’m currently in. The answer comes quickly and reflexively, and I choose the very first word I think of.

One song per artist, no repeats!

Exceptions are made for artists who are featured on a track.

There have been times when I’ve obsessively listened to a whole album or an artist’s entire discography, so I have to choose just one song that represents the very best of that album or artist.

Tracks are added chronologically, based on when I first hear them and/or start listening to them compulsively.

The playlist has to contain an amount of tracks that is divisible by five.

If a song in a playlist is deleted from Spotify, I have to find a replacement asap that is accurate to what I was listening to when that playlist was being created.

and, most importantly, 

I can’t make a new playlist until I feel I’m finished with the current one.

These playlists represent seasons of my life, cycles in which I change and evolve and stagnate and fuck up and try again. The only rule I have for beginning a new playlist is that I feel done with the current one—those songs are a little stale and don’t represent me anymore. These “seasons” don’t have any set length, and I can never predict when I’ll feel like a new being who needs new songs to define her. So far, my life has looked like this:

Deja Vu - 176 days (12.03.16 - 05.28.17) Most common lyrics: now, love, time, need, take

snow that covers ivy that covers bricks, towers made from dining hall dishes, smiling at the bus stop without knowing, sheet masks in the dorm bathroom at 2am, pink string lights and pink crocheted blankets and pink shag carpeting, cheap beer behind tarps and walking everyone home

Roots - 111 days (05.28.17 - 09.16.17)  Most common lyrics: love, one, give, wanna, know

t-shirt tan lines, mozzarella and tomato and basil and singed spaghetti, sunset walks around abandoned high schools, green leaves outlined in watercolor, the smell of mildew and old paper in banker’s boxes, sweat-soaked french braids, the knife twist of eye contact, tarot readings under lamplight

Walls - 110 days (09.16.17 - 01.04.18)   Most common lyrics: wanna, know, baby, take, feel

crying in the gender-neutral restroom, pretty boys holding guitars or rolling rock, photos in the forest, blue carpeting and lofted bedframes, pitch-black bonfires, sitting in the dining hall to just watch the people pass, snow on eyelashes in large wet clumps, laughing at lies

Bite - 78 days (01.04.18 - 03.23.18)    Most common lyrics: know, love, stay, come, need

impatience at the airport, texting on the laundry room floor, nervous night drives, five grilled cheese sandwiches, acne like freckles, ceiling photos taken in secret, watercolor lines and paper houses, broken glass on the sidewalk, ink-stained forearms, notebook paper comics, writing small on basement walls

Windows - 131 days (03.23.18 - 08.01.18)   Most common lyrics: love, now, know, baby, fall

books piled up by the bed, rum and coke and orange juice and vodka and cheap white wine, rainy day night walks, streetlights turning the leaves orange, echoes from the party upstairs, solo trips to the grocery store, always leaving the blinds open, aperol and chai lattes and smørrebrød, never coming home

Grip - 136 days (08.01.18 - 12.15.18)    Most common lyrics: know, boy, lost, girl, night

read receipts, the creaking of an empty house, sand and bricks and traffic cones, sitting on the curb and shaking, applause at dinner, bubble tea, bike rides in torn jeans, mr brightside blasting at 10am, doodles during lectures, embroidery at the kitchen table, blue bus panic attacks, half an apple for lunch

Wait - 117 days (12.15.18 - 04.11.19)  Most common lyrics: heart, want, one, back, know

crying in the lobby, measuring oats by the quarter cup, drunken voice memos, shoes on power lines, another bowl of granola, reading all the lyrics, photos taken with the flash on, sleeping on strange couches, shoeboxes full of photographs, wire catching the sunlight, fifteen minutes of windchill

Wave - 108 days (04.11.19 - 07.28.19)  Most common lyrics: wanna, know, now, love, come

dancing on the porch, reading on the roof, tipsy trips to the corner store, silent heavy parlor air, chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting, barred windows and string lights and exit signs, highlighting the important parts, nails tapping on wooden tables, wet wind before the storm, biking straight into the smoke

Home - 178 days (07.28.19 - 01.22.20)   Most common lyrics: down, know, now, wanna, think

steep downhill walks, fingertips covered in graphite and lead, blank faces on green walls, forest walkways, hands gripping thighs too tightly, light leaks in darkrooms, the handwriting of strangers, chains trapped between teeth, white words left unread, twirling at the tennis court, yellow becoming blue

Hand - 63 days (01.22.20 - 03.25.20)   Most common lyrics: know, time, love, die, back

masking tape messages, laughing four shots in, BiC .07mm HB mechanical pencils slipped into coat cuffs, cheeks blushed with red ink, green floodlights and kissed knuckles, windows fogged from the inside, falling asleep with earbuds in, finger guns and everything in boxes, wedging open locked doors

_______________________________________________________________________

It’s interesting to look back at these playlists altogether, see them as self-contained units, little stories I tell about myself, about the people I used to be. Adding a song to one of these playlists was like making a vow, entering a relationship with a collection of sounds. It’s like I was saying “this song is now a part of me.” I constructed this little world for myself in the space between my ears, and it, in turn, created me.

I really mean it when I say that the first word that floats to the front of my mind becomes the title of whatever playlist I’m making. I never question what the word means, and its meaning always ends up describing that season of my life. 

“Roots” became a period of reconnecting with essential pieces of myself I thought I had abandoned. 

During “Grip,” I was holding on so tightly to things that had left me ages ago, and I think I knew that, even if I was unable to admit it to myself. 

“Wait” revealed itself in two ways: it was a time in which 1.) I felt stagnant and restless, unable to be patient, and 2.) I was forced to grasp with a physical and emotional weight that had been bearing down on me. 

The mind is a magical thing—it processes what we refuse to recognize. 

Speaking of which, these playlist covers have been driving me up the wall for ages. They’re like nails on a freaking chalkboard for my synesthesia. Is “Bite” a heavily blue playlist? Sure. But is “Home” purple? Is “Grip” pink??? I think the fuck not! 

(I could do a whole goddamn blog post on synesthesia, and I might.)

Now that I know how to switch out playlist cover art (can you believe it’s taken me this long to figure out how to do that?), I have decided to issue myself a challenge/project/way to procrastinate actual work I have to do. 

I’d like to make a piece of cover art for all of the above playlists. And because I am, to reiterate, insane, I’m setting up some Rules For Creation:

All works must be the same size, on the same type of paper using similar materials (tbd but probably graphite, colored pencil, watercolor, fineliners, and/or collage).

The preliminary sketch for each cover must be created while listening to the playlist.

Each piece can (must?) incorporate the five most common lyrics as listed above because goddammit I did not spend four hours compiling lyrics in a web-based word cloud generator for nothing.

If I’m not having fun, I won’t make myself do it because this is literally just for laffs. 

Anyway, I’m looking forward to creating some fun weird art! I know nobody is gonna read this and nobody is gonna comment but if, by some miracle, you feel like it, comment a playlist you’ve made that you’re really proud of! Or comment if you have some weird playlist rules! Or cyberbully me! Anything’s fair game. 

TL;DR playlists are fun and I’m a maniac :)

[mostweakhamlets]

Fic prompt: Warlock tracks down Aziraphale’s bookshop and swings by.

Thank you so much! This was much longer than I expected it to be, and it took a turn I wasn’t expecting. 

Warlock was always curious about what happened to his nanny and the family’s gardener. They had left only a week apart--first, the gardener and then Nanny Ashtoreth--and had always seemed… close. 

It took a year after they left for him to realize that they were weird. It took a year’s worth of odd looks by his parents when he mentioned “sister slug” or when he casually brought up nanny’s lullaby. It took a year’s worth of therapist appointments his mother made him go to. 

They were weird. 

But he still remembered them fondly. 

By the time he was 15, he was too curious to not do anything about it anymore. He searched high and low for Nanny Ashtoreth’s presence anywhere online. There was no resume, no LinkedIn, no business number, not even any social media. He moved on to sneaking into his father’s office in the middle of the night, rifling through drawers and filing cabinets to try to find any shred of evidence that Nanny Ashtoreth or Brother Francis even worked there. But there was nothing. No contracts, no business cards, nothing. 

Warlock had began to wonder if he had hallucinated the entire thing. But how could he make up Nanny rocking him to sleep and tucking him into bed? Or Brother Francis showing him a deer that had wandered into the garden early one morning, both of them holding their breath so as not to startle it? 

How could he make up the morning Nanny left? When she hugged him and told him to be whomever he wanted to be? She had wiped his tears by the front door because he cried so hard. She was never necessarily tender, but that morning she was cupping his face and whispering to him. She had also promised, though it turned out to be a lie as far as he knew, that she would see him again.

Warlock grew from being curious to bitter. His teenage angst increased with the mystery and the feeling of abandonment. 

Most of his childhood, he realized after more thought, was weird. His eleventh birthday was weird, though he enjoyed it. And not long after that there was the weird weather and news stories coming from England while his family was abroad. And what was with that weird guy that smelled like poo? No one talked about the summer of 2018 often. It was something that most people wanted to put behind them because it was… weird. 

Warlock decided to start embracing weird to find weird and fell down a deep rabbit hole. 

There was a magazine. New Aquarian. It had gone out of business for a few years but began publishing new issues online in 2018. Warlock read through the conspiracy theories of the 2018 apocalypse, the reports of people seeing aliens, the articles detailing the M25’s fire. There were interviews from people who claimed that their homes had been destroyed but suddenly repaired themselves when they woke up one Sunday morning. Everyone talked about that one Sunday morning. 

There were two interviews from Soho that Warlock poured over. The first was of a woman who seemed fairly normal for being in that magazine, but Warlock thought that maybe the reporters were the only ones who would listen to her. 

She worked across from an old bookshop--a very old bookshop, she specified. It had caught on fire, which was a tragedy since it had been there for over two hundred years, and she had watched as it burned down. The owner wasn’t there, fortunately. But then a man appeared in sunglasses (which didn’t appear out of the ordinary at first) and walked right in despite the firemen telling him to stay out. When he came back out, she swore his eyes were different. She swore they were yellow with slits instead of pupils. No one else seemed to notice but her. He drove away so fast there was no time for anyone to. Maybe it was contacts, she had pointed out, maybe it was part of a costume. 

The next day, the bookshop was fine. It looked just as it had for the past two centuries. She watched the owner stop outside in the street, looking up at it. She had described him as a polite man that always wore a pale suit with white hair, though he didn’t seem to be quite old enough to have such white hair. She had met him only a few times. She had wanted to see him that Sunday. She almost walked out to meet him in the street, but she thought better of it. 

“This poor man lost his entire shop--his entire home--and then it was there again with no explanation. I thought maybe he needed some time alone. Heavens know I would.” 

She said that everything went back to normal after that. The bookshop returned to its normal hours (as normal as they had been, she supposed). Business went on as usual. 

The second interview was about the same bookshop. The interviewee seemed more appropriate for the magazine. He talked about how he had been in the shop before, how the owner was polite but somehow not pleasant, how he seemed old and had worked there for years but never seemed to age past his mid-to-late 40s. 

The man fixated on the 0wner for a while. Warlock didn’t care. A lot of people aged well. A lot of people were eccentric. Then, he fixated on this man that was always in the shop. He always wore sunglasses. Looked the same age as the owner and didn’t age, either. Dressed equally eccentrically but in black with flaming red hair. 

But the man started talking about the fire as well. How he came by after the fire was out, looked at the charred sign that had read “A.Z Fell & Co.,” stood by the crowd who shook their heads in sympathy. The owner wasn’t anywhere to be found. Rumors were beginning to go around. There were other fires through London that no one could explain, but some people wondered if the owner had burned the shop himself for the insurance money. Since the owner came back the next day when it was magically repaired, the interviewee doubted it was an insurance scheme. 

He blamed supernatural beings. Warlock ignored that part. 

Warlock printed out the articles. He felt like a conspiracy theorist himself, underlining and highlighting anything that he thought looked important. He made notes and found the address and phone number of the shop. This was, to be fair, done mostly out of procrastination. He had a mountain of homework to do that weekend, but his research was more fun. And he supposed that any research would lead him somewhere--maybe not to find his nanny, but to put together some sort of logic for what happened four years ago. 

It was approaching early morning. His eyes itched. He thought about calling it a night and curling into bed. There wasn’t much left for him to do besides hang up his notes on the wall and connect them with red string. 

He used blue highlighter for the descriptions of the shop owner and his friend. He circled the line about yellow eyes and made a note: “what does this mean?” Were his irises yellow? Did he just have jaundice? Maybe he had light eyes, and the flames were just reflecting off of them. Maybe he had green eyes and the lady was colorblind. And the slits could be anything. Warlock had a friend who had a pupil that dipped into her iris. David Bowie had one large pupil. 

Warlock used his colored pencils to doodle in the margins of the paper after he listed every possibility. He drew eyes with pupils that slipped down to the bottom of the iris. He drew irises that were pale green, very light hazel, and green with flecks of hazel. He drew little martians in the corner that were beaming cows up into the spaceships. 

After his martian break, he went back to his laptop. He closed out the directions to the bookshop and pulled up a new window for fresh research. He typed in: “slit pupils.” There had to be a medical condition for it. 

Warlock scrolled through a page of pictures of cats and the burst pupils he had seen in his friend. Then, he froze. 

Among the pictures from medical websites and cat blogs, there was one of a snake with a bright yellow eye and a long, thin pupil. 

He had seen snakes before. Obviously. But none with yellow eyes (snakes at the zoo always had muddy brown or red eyes) and not when he was trying to imagine them on a person. 

He leaned back in his chair. He could perfectly imagine the snake’s eyes on a human face, framed by red hair. Red curls, specifically. It seemed almost familiar. 

Whatever. He was just tired. 

Turning off the lights and shutting his laptop, he crawled into bed. It was silly. The interviewees probably just missed renovations. The fire probably wasn’t as bad as they thought. If it was an old shop, it must have some sort of recognition and protection by the city. They probably had people come by as soon it was over to start replacing the sign and windows and door. The inside could still be burned for all anyone knew. Maybe that was why the owner came back the very next day. 

The familiarity of the eyes had to have a logical explanation as well. There was probably a movie with an actor with red hair that had snake eyes. A horror movie or something. That had to be it because the more Warlock thought about it as he began to fall asleep, the more he could make out a woman’s face. Her jaw was square. Her cheekbones were sharp. Her hair was styled and perfect, curls resting across her forehead. She was middle-aged, and Warlock could only imagine her in a modest black outfit. 

Warlock’s chest tightened. He sat up, turned the lights back on, sat back down at his desk. 

He could remember, somewhere deep in the farthest reaches of his memory, being five and sitting on Nanny’s lap in the garden. They were roughhousing, as they often did. He had squirmed too much as she grabbed him in a ticklish spot. He was laughing when she fell back into the grass, taking him with her. Her hat fell off. And so did her sunglasses. They slid down her nose and one stem fell off her ear. 

He had stared at her eyes for the brief few seconds she was too flustered to compose herself. They were yellow and here pupils belonged to an animal, not a human. She quickly closed her eyes and righted her glasses. 

“Nanny--”

“I think it’s time to go inside now.” 

He had never brought it up again. He had forgotten about it by that evening, his childish mind moving on to something more exciting. 

Warlock wrote a note to his parents: “Ground me when I get back. I’m going to Soho.”

He called an Uber and ate a couple handfuls of cereal as the sun was rising, too shaken (and perhaps excited) to be tired at 7 am. He gave the driver the address and five stars 20 minutes later when he stepped out of the car. 

He read the sign on the front door, shaking his head at the absurd description of hours. It seemed the only way to know if they were open was to check if the door was locked. 

“Young man, I’m terribly sorry, but we’re not quite ready for customers yet--”

The owner stood behind the front counter. He was everything the articles described him as. White hair, maybe in his 40s, pale suit. But he stared at Warlock, then, he smiled. 

“Actually, I suppose it might be time to open,” he said. “How can I help you?” 

Warlock walked forward, running a nervous hand through his long hair. “I don’t know.”

He looked so familiar. 

“I think I’m looking for someone,” Warlock said. “Or maybe a couple people.”

The owner wrung his hands together and looked ready to speak before a voice cut him off. 

“Is someone actually here at 8 in the bloody morning?” 

The man in sunglasses stepped out from the back room. His hands were shoved in his black jacket--not the only black item of his ensemble. When he looked at Warlock, he didn’t react for a few seconds. Then, he stopped and stared just as the owner had. 

“He’s looking for someone,” the owner said with a tight smile. “He appears to be lost.” 

The man in the sunglasses didn’t say anything. The owner recovered. 

“We can call your parents, young man,” he said, picking up the receiver of vintage phone. “Tell them they can meet you here.”

“I’m not looking for my parents,” Warlock said. He made eye contact with the sunglasses. He nearly shivered thinking about what could be behind the dark lenses. “I’m actually looking for… my nanny.”

“Well, we can call her. It makes no difference.”

Warlock didn’t say anything. The owner sighed and put the receiver down. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Sunglasses asked. 

“Warlock Dowling.” 

The owner shook his head at Sunglasses. 

Sunglasses took a few more steps forward. He was tall, but Warlock had grown to reach his chin--his square chin that was a painful giveaway with the sharp cheekbones. 

“I can’t imagine your parents are happy that you’re here on your own,” he said. “Soho isn’t the place for kids to run around by themselves.”

That wasn’t true by any means. The parents part, maybe. But Soho was perfectly safe. 

Warlock stood his ground. “I’m just looking for my nanny. Their name is Ashtoreth. Or that was at least their name.”

Sunglasses smirked. He looked back to the owner who gave him a disapproving look. 

Warlock’s heart pounded. 

“I heard weird things have happened here a few years ago,” he said, trying to soldier on. 

“Weird things happened everywhere a few years ago,” Sunglasses said. 

“But… weirder things happened here. And I had a weird nanny.” Warlock took a deep breath. “And I read this article that there was a man here that some lady saw with yellow eyes.”

Sunglasses paled. The owner stepped out from behind the counter. 

“And I think that my nanny also had yellow eyes,” Warlock said. “And I think you might have been my nanny. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I really think it might be time to call someone to collect you,” the owner said. 

“Stop it, Aziraphale,” Sunglasses snapped. 

Sunglasses took Warlock by the shoulder and lead him to the back room. Aziraphale trailed behind them. 

“Have a seat,” Sunglasses said. 

Warlock sat on the only sofa there. Sunglasses paced. 

“Alright,” Sunglasses said. He turned to Aziraphale. “Can we wipe his memories?” 

“Wipe his memories, Crowley?”

“Yeah.”

“No! Not from 10 years ago! You should have distracted him when it happened. And who is this other person?” 

“Look, I won’t tell anyone,” Warlock said, beginning to think that he had made a mistake because maybe people with snake eyes and snake face tattoos that went by Crowley weren’t the nicest. “You don’t have to fight about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“We’re not fighting, my dear,” Crowley said. 

My dear. Warlock hadn’t heard that since he was a kid. 

“And this is a big deal,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley sat next to Warlock. 

“Here’s the deal.” He made a face. “I was your nanny when you were a boy--”

“Crowley.”

“And I was there when you turned 11. It’s a very, very long story. We dragged you into something you didn’t need to be involved in, and as soon as we could we got you out. You wouldn’t understand any of it.” 

“But I can try.” 

Crowley sighed. “There are things that you shouldn’t be involved with. It’s better to not know anything.”

Warlock shook his head. “I want to know. Something happened when I was a kid and something happened in 2018. I think I deserve to know about it all.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Warlock crossed his arms. 

“I know that this shop burned down one day, and I know that you were here, and I know that someone saw that you have snake eyes, and I know that the next day everything was fine. I also know that when I was five, I saw you without your dumb sunglasses on and you--”

Crowley pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Warlock felt like ice water had been dumped over him. 

“We can talk,” Crowley said, “as long as you swear none of this gets repeated.”

Warlock nodded. 

“And as long as you don’t call my sunglasses dumb again.”

[thedyingmoon]

💜 This I Promise 💜

***

XLII. Honestly

***

Elvis Shunerman waited for the door to open, patiently, yet nervously carrying the fruits basket for (F/N).

He was very anxious because of what happened the other day that he finally decided to visit her, despite knowing the fact that the Dawk family might hate him for starting that stupid race with Erwin.

Still, he waited for that large wooden door to open.

And when it did, he was greeted by none other than Rosemarie Dawk, herself.

At first she was frowning, clearly not amazed and unhappy by his very sudden visit. But, the moment he announced his intentions of visiting (F/N), she sighed, shrugged her pretty head, and finally let him enter.

"Miss Dawk?" he began. Rosemarie just stopped walking, but didn't look at him. "Has,... has Commander Smith visited, yet?"

"Yes. Just yesterday."

Yes. Of course, he would.

"Who was it, dear?" Marie, who just came from the kitchen, said, and was surprised to see Elvis in the entryway.

"Madam," Elvis uttered and gave a slight bow, not once forgetting his current role as honorary noble.

Marie nodded, acknowledging his presence. "I assume you're here to visit her."

Elvis' eyes slightly widened, then immediately went back to normal. He just nodded in response.

"Well, then. This way, my Lord." Marie said, gesturing to him to come with her towards the living quarters in the second floor, leaving Rosemarie behind.

The way towards (F/N)'s room was very awkward. Elvis suddenly remembered Jacqueline's advice to be more sociable towards other people, so he mustered all his courage to start a conversation with the older, yet, stunning woman.

"H-how is she, madam?" he stuttered, uncertain whether he was doing good on the conversation or not.

"She's doing good. Well, she still has a fever, as of the moment." Marie announced, not once looking at him as she treaded on the wide stairs of the mansion.

"Fever?!" he exclaimed, the slightly high pitch of his surprised voice purely unintentional and unheard of.

But, Marie, staying calm as always, just gave him a slight glance.

"Yes. She's sleeping. But, I guess it won't hurt to see her without waking her up."

Elvis gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you, madam."

The two of them turned to the right and stopped on the second door.

"This is her room." She said, about to open the door,...

... when she suddenly took Elvis' arm and led him to another room to the left.

"Madam?!" Elvis retorted, clearly surprised and worried of the married woman's sudden, unwifely action.

Marie just ignored him and opened the door, hastily shoving Elvis inside then entering afterwards.

Elvis looked around the room and realized, to his vast relief, that it was not the master's bedroom, but an empty nursery that was, once, occupied by all three of Marie's children. He was also relieved that the fruits from the basket he was holding did not come tumbling down on his feet with the sudden movement. He turned behind him, facing the woman who brought him there.

Marie didn't say anything. Instead, she just went closer, and closer to him. Elvis took little steps further away from her, beginning to get scared of the woman.

"M-madam?" Elvis stuttered once more, deciding whether to knock the woman unconscious or not.

She stopped going towards him and sighed.

"Please, Mr. Levi. Stop pretending and just reveal yourself." She said dejectedly.

Levi's eyes widened until his pupils dwarfed in comparison to his sclera. It took him a while to process what Marie just said, and when it finally hit him like a bullet straight to the head, he sighed heavily, brought the fruits basket down on a nearby table that was ridiculously ornamented with Ivanna's colorful doodles, and carefully removed his blonde wig, revealing his raven - colored hair, confirming Marie's words.

Levi placed his wig down beside the basket and faced Marie.

She just smiled at him, throwing him off - guard.

"Does Nile know?" Levi asked her.

"No."

"How,... did you find out?"

"Instinct." Marie said, smiling at him, and gesturing at the nearest chair beside the table. "I just want to have a word. Please, have a seat."

Levi did so. Marie situated herself on the opposite chair, placed her hands primly on her lap, and faced Levi once more.

"I'm sure you have questions. Fire away." She offered.

Levi gasped, unable to control his emotions any further.

"Why did you agree with this?" he said to her in a pleadingly, heart - wrenching way. "Why?"

Marie's smile vanished to be replaced with the most regretful frown he had ever seen.

"I agreed because Erwin's intentions towards her seemed to be honest enough. He wants to marry her and give her the best of everything he could offer her. He wants her to be happy."

"And you agreed by altering her identity and taking advantage of her condition?!" Levi was actually on the verge of tears. A phenomenon that was rarely seen by anyone, let alone a woman he barely even knew of. "Is that it?!"

"No! That is not my intention." Marie sincerely felt the pain in Levi's heart, seeing that he truly loved (F/N). "Please, do not assume that I' am badmouthing Erwin. He wants her to forget her feelings for you, by making her fall in love with him. And now with her memories gone with a slight chance of returning, it seems that he has the upper hand. But, that is not working, isn't it?"

Levi remained silent, unable to deny her assumption.

"Are you doing this because you felt sorry for him?" Levi asked, knowing very well what he was talking about.

Marie seemed to fidget on her seat, looking uncomfortable with what he said.

"Marie, what is the story you heard from him about us? About (F/N) and me?"

The blonde looked at him, her resolve not breaking even a bit, despite her tears on the verge of falling.

"You've hurt her and caused her a lot of suffering. She got involved with an accident by saving you, and it nearly killed her."

Levi raised an eyebrow. "And what is this accident?"

"I,... don't know." Marie whispered. "I'm telling the truth."

He observed her for a bit, searching for any sign that could tell him that she's just lying. But, there was none.

Of course, with the cult - related killings, Erwin wouldn't want her to know. He wouldn't want her family, or just her, alone, to get involved with the mess.

Wait -

"So, is it,..." he hesitated, but finally decided to let it out, since his whole disguise was blown by her, anyway. "... is it Erwin's plan to fill the hole you made in his heart by bringing (F/N) to his own life?"

Marie was startled at what she just heard from him.

"What?! No! No,..." if Marie wasn't lying a while ago, she definitely looked lying right now.

"You said it. You told me that he seemed honest with his intentions towards (F/N). Was it because of that?" Levi said, cornering Marie with her own words.

Finally, tears came falling down her face.

"You love her, don't you?" she suddenly said to him. "Prove it. Win her. Win (F/N) back. It doesn't matter what Erwin would think after this. This is all a lie. You must atone whatever sin you did to her. You must get her memories back. You must get her back!"

"Y-yes." Levi agreed, not sure how to exactly respond to her request.

"Promise me!" Marie sure was acting like (F/N)'s mother, or aunt, in this case.

"I promise." Levi gave his solemn oath.

I promise I will before Erwin wreaks havoc here in Wall Sina by revealing the nature of the true murderers.

That was what he really wanted to say, but couldn't. He doesn't want the people who took care of (F/N) to get involved with it. They're good people who took her under their wing without even knowing how dangerous it was to even talk to (F/N).

"And we'll do anything to take her away from here. Hange and I, I mean."

"Oh. Jacqueline, was it?" Marie's smile was back upon hearing Levi's honest response.

He nodded and stood, picking his wig and carefully putting it back on top of his head.

"When did you realize?"

"When you and Erwin raced."

"Oh."

"Where's Hange? I mean, Jacqueline?"

"She went back to the Legion to take care of something." Marie said, also standing up. She was about to open the door when she found out that it was already ajar.

Was it open before? Thought Marie, pushing it on the back of her mind as she accompanied Elvis back to (F/N)'s room.

Levi, on the other hand, was glad that he had gained her trust.

Other than that, he was so worried of (F/N),...

Marie, thinking what he was exactly thinking, allowed him to have privacy with her.

Even for just an hour,...

***

Rosemarie was startled when her little sister Ivanna suddenly invaded her room.

"Go play in your room." She said without looking up from the paper she's examining.

Ivanna ignored her and just stared at her. Rosemarie felt the eyes of the child boring into her like a drill. She put down her paper for a while to look at the girl.

"What is it?"

The little girl put her doll down and went to her elder sister. Rosemarie, anticipating what her sister was about to say, leaned towards her,...

... only for her hair to be pulled painfully by the mischievous child.

"Ouch!" Rosemarie pulled her hair away from the little one's tight grasp. "What the heck was that for? That is not very funny!"

Unfortunately, Ivanna doesn't look like she was making fun of her.

In fact, she remained to stare at her,...

... with that very serious look on her face.

"Okay, tell me what just happened to you." Rosemarie told her, crossing her arms and trying to understand the child.

Ivanna just shrugged her shoulders and went back to the floor to play with her dolly.

"Mister Shining Man pulled his hair." She simply said.

Wait,...

What?!

"What do you mean by that, Ivanna?"

Ivanna started combing the hopelessly tangled hair of her play thing. "Mister Shining Man pulled his hair! And there's another hair, but not yellow! It's black!" the little girl looked back at her elder sister. "Why can't you do the same?"

What in the world - ? Rosemarie thought.

Elvis Shunerman,...

... was wearing a wig?!

That would only mean one thing,...

.... That he's not really Elvis Shunerman!

***

Levi looked up from the document he was working on in time to see the new recruit Petra Ral closing the door of his office.

The girl seemed surprise with the look he gave her that she almost dropped the teacup she's holding.

"Careful, Cadette." He said to her.

Petra apologized and giggled like a giddy school - girl.

Levi smiled. It's not like everyday he sees girls like her,...

... knowing the fact that most of the young recruits die on their first expeditions.

"I brought you tea, Captain Levi." She announced while saluting him.

He nodded and just gestured for her to put the tea on his desk. The girl did as she was ordered.

It was then that he realized something upon observing the girl. That ginger - head -

It really was her!

"Wait, were you the one who assisted the Elites during the last expedition?" he carefully asked her, trying very hard not to intimidate her.

Petra's eyes widened, looking as if she wasn't really expecting him to notice, at all.

"Yes, Captain Levi." She said to him.

Slowly, but surely, he cracked a simple smile for her, which made her heart lurch in all directions with total bliss.

"Good job, Cadette." He told her. "See you on combat training tomorrow."

Petra saluted once more, a big smile plastered on her face.

"Yes, sir! Gladly!"

It wasn't the only time they met. They met many more times after that combat training. Soon after, they started eating together, working together, and training together.

For the both of them, it was the start of a blooming, personal relationship between them.

It had been one of the biggest mistakes he had ever made.

For it was because of it that the real person who loved him got hurt.

If he could blame anyone for her memory loss,...

... it would be him,...

... and only him.

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @nerdyphantomlady , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , and @emilyackerman78 . 💜

***

💜💜💜

***