#and coming up with something strange and kind of mesmerizing regardless

[chaos-event-horizon]

The day after the beginning

Hazel-brown eyes blinked open, taking in the light of the sun as it only barely filtered through heavy blue curtains onto a bland, beige carpet floor. Confused, the owner of those eyes slowly blinked, flexing against the bundle of blanket that--

"So, you're awake."

Rian would have jumped from his skin if he wasn't swaddled up so tightly in what appeared to be a thread-bare old comforter. Instead, his eyes shot up, meeting the bright blue tones of the strange man who had saved him from the lab. Golden-blonde hair wildly exploded from his head, and his skin seemed flush and slightly damp.

He was so shocked and mesmerized by those eyes that he couldn't breathe.

"I'm glad. I was worried the shock would have you out for much longer..." The older man said, ripping his eyes away to look towards the window. "It's well past noon, just so you're aware. I took a shower while I waited... And had someone bring you clothes that are more likely to fit."

The young brunette slowly sat up. His throat was oddly sore, his voice coming out hoarsely. Presumably, he wasn't used to talking. The thought that others knew about his location didn't do much to help, either. "People... Know I'm here?"

"Another villain does, one of my underlings. He's incredibly loyal, and meticulous when it comes to finer details," the blonde said, pulling a bottle of water from a random pocket and setting it on the table near Rian. "He's currently readying a bigger hideout for us to relocate to. One that will have a room you can use. Part of his job within my organization is to handle these kinds of things for me."

He didn't know why, but Rian relaxed a little at that. It felt so safe to be here with this man.

"I..." Rian blushed, taking a sip of water before continuing. "I wanted to thank you again... For rescuing me."

The blonde paused, turning away slightly so the younger man couldn't see his face, though he kept glancing back towards Rian regardless. "... Don't misunderstand. It's not like I'm some kind of... Philanthropist that just goes around saving people in trouble, kid. There was something in it for me."

The brunette gave his hero savior a puzzled look, and the man continued, a soft grumble in his voice. "That lab you were in was built to gather information about me, and to help one of my enemies-- a man who can steal quirks. Saving you kept your quirk out of his grasp, and setting a few fires destroyed some of their dirt on me. It was an entirely selfish decision."

Those were the words the large man used... But the way he rubbed his neck and his refusal to make eye contact softened what was said.

He's... Embarrassed?

Rian looked down, hiding a smile. "Still... If that's the kind of thing you do while being selfish, I don't think you're as bad as you want people to believe."

The blonde gave a sharp chuckle. "If you say so, squirt. Either way, make no mistake... I was dangerous enough to kidnap you and get away with it. So don't go thinking I'm overly soft."

Rian fidgeted for a moment, then looked up. "M-Mister All Might--"

"Just All Might, no need to be formal."

"A-All Might... I can cook, and clean, and do laundry."

All Might blinked, turning fully towards the younger man now and giving him his full attention. "... Excuse me?"

"I can also do add jobs-- I know how to fix some things, like faucets, and I can patch up drywall..." He said, untangling himself from the blanket. If that loose shirt rode up or revealed anything, All Might didn't do more than stare, and Rian didn't notice as he continued speaking. "What I mean is, I can be useful. You mentioned letting me stay here, but I don't want to do it for free. I want to earn my keep, sir."

The blonde was quiet for a moment, then smirked. "Alright, then. First, go to the bathroom and get changed. Then we can figure out how you'll pay off your little life debt... Kitten."

Rian blushed, but quickly nodded, scurrying off to the bathroom he had been in last night, not catching the way his new boss started to reach for him as he trotted by... As if it was perfectly natural for them to touch as they passed by one another.

He also didn't notice the way said boss stared at his ass.

[mamichigo]

shumika // first meeting (nobility au)

note: in this au, shu as a performer prefers feminine terms as a form of gender expression. this is NOT a genderbend.

*

Theater wasn't usually an underground activity, was it…? Mika didn't know much about any form of art the nobility seemed to love so much, but he was at least sure that they normally weren't this much of a complicated ordeal. He glanced at the flier in his hands for the fourth time that night: Dramatica, it read at the top in big, cursive letters. As far as he'd heard, it was a peculiar group that performed without any bit of publicity—they simply sent out invites to random guests, regardless of their social standing. 

The one responsible for getting Mika in was napping away in the seat next to him. He adjusted his position a little so his friend's head wouldn't slip down. Despite the sudden movement and the buzz of chatter around them, Ritsu didn't even twitch in response. 

(Three days ago, Ritsu had invited him in this manner:

"Secchan and Tsukipi are honeymooning again, and Succhan can't be discreet to save his life," he grumbled. "You should come to this play with me."

Mika stopped dusting the shelves in the Sakuma residency's library and turned to Ritsu. He blinked owlishly.

"...We gotta be discreet fer that sorta thing?" Mika asked, his confusion getting the best of him.

"Not usually, just for this particular play. You're not supposed to reveal your identity, something about how nobles peacocking around would distract the audience from 'true art'. I've heard the lead actress is picky about things like that." Ritsu yawned largely from his place on the ground. He skimmed the book in his hand, looking disinterested. "More importantly, my brother was the one to invite me, so I don't want him to know I'm there."

"Wouldn't it be okay to just let 'im know?"

Ritsu turned the page; ten seconds passed. That was that, then.)

If there was any comfort to be found in this strange situation, it was that the crowd really was mixed—if it wasn't for his knowledge of fabrics and their quality, Mika wouldn't have spotted the nobles chatting with other attendants. He could do without the full masks, however: it made everyone's gaze all that more prominent.

Without warning, the lights went off. There was no announcement or any sort of introduction—before he knew it, the play had already started. Mika stared at the stage in a daze.

"Ah, that's probably her…" Ritsu whispered quietly into his ear, almost making Mika jump out of his skin in surprise. Ritsu pressed a finger to his own lips, then pointed to the stage. "Look."

A woman in a stunning gown walked onto the stage. Like everyone else inside the theater, she wore a mask—adorned with white flowers and strings of pearl—but her eyes shone in the light like jewels, lilac and coldly beautiful. She looked down on the audience in a haughty manner. He couldn't tell if that was just part of her character, but Mika squirmed in his seat all the same when her gaze swept across the theater.

Was this the actress Ritsu had mentioned? She certainly had the kind of presence that commanded attention. He sat up straighter in his seat, irrationally afraid to look anything other than pristine in front of her.

The play soon kicked into action. The actress he saw at the beginning appeared often, but she wasn't the "hero" of the story. Maybe they were supposed to cheer for the protagonist, who went through a moral dilemma on whether he should kill the crazed woman or not. Instead, Mika found himself at the edge of his seat as the woman struggled and fought to recruit others to her cause. Everyone else on that stage became side characters in Mika's eyes as he rooted for the woman's victory.

"I, alone, am the master of this world," she declared firmly, her deep voice echoing in a mesmerizing harmony. "Will you fight your faith or be washed away in its waves? I'll realize your every desire, as long as you come along with me."

Looking at the audience, the actress extended a hand out in invitation. For a moment, a mere second, it felt as if she was looking straight at— into him. For the first time, Mika found he didn't mind someone's gaze, lost in it as the theater became quiet around him. On stage, the lilac-eyed actress glowed like a god. Mika raised a hand towards her.

"Mikarin."

Just like that, the god was gone, the moment was shattered—like a spell being dispersed. Mika realized what he had been about to do and smiled sheepishly at Ritsu, his cheeks burning. It was a relief that Ritsu didn't seem upset, just amused—though the hint of mischief in his lopsided grin spelled out trouble for Mika.

"Mikarin," he called again, leaning even closer so his whisper was lost to everyone but the two of them. "Have you fallen in love?"

A denial burned on his tongue, but it refused to leave his mouth. Around them, the audience suddenly stood up, clapping as loudly as the beat of Mika's heart. He had missed the ending scene, he realized. With a quick and apprehensive glance, he found the lead actress lying in a heap on the ground, slayed by the so-called hero.

He did not know her name yet, but Mika thought she might as well be called Destiny.

"I'll talk to my brother," Ritsu said. "He could probably introduce you two."

"No need t'do that fer me! Really!" He protested in a panic. The Sakuma siblings' shaky relationship was a well-known fact—why Ritsu would swallow his pride for something like this was beyond him.

"Don't think she'd want to talk t' me anyways…" He mumbled.

Ritsu huffed, but set his hand gently on the crown of Mika's head, ruffling his hair in small pats.

"You should be more confident," he scolded. "Mikarin is a good and bright person after all."

Although he tried to thank him, what left his mouth was a strange squeak that made Ritsu chuckle. If he felt like teasing Mika more, Ritsu reserved it for another time, as he turned to watch the stage.

Soon, the cast was back on stage. Someone with flowing, light hair spoke with a large grin as he thanked the audience. To his right, the woman in the floral mask remained taciturn, not bothering to introduce herself, much less speak at all. He was so lost in his staring, Mika didn't notice her turn her head until it was too late to look away. She held his gaze almost in challenge. Strangely, Mika felt as if she had been smiling under her mask.

The moment was gone as she lowered herself into a bow, delicate and picture-perfect. The play came to its end, and she disappeared beyond the curtain like a dream. He could still see her silhouette, engraved under his eyelids.

One day, perhaps, he'd get to meet her: his Destiny.

[izzet-league-mad-scientist]

honestly who even needs picrew. I can't see anything wrong with these images at all

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Regeneration Potion (Plat!C!Tommyinnit x Witch!F!Reader)

TW: Mentions of Dream's actions during Tommy's exile INCLUDING his un alive moment. YES I KNOW TUBBO CAN HAVE MORE THAN ONE FRIEND. SHUSH. PLOT.

Reader wears a dress most of the time. Also Tommy is around 17 (I forgot his canon age sorry)

I might make this a series!

☆Tommy P.O.V☆

His hotel was taken over.. His house was practically empty.. He was stared at everywhere he went.. His best friend replaced him instantly without much of a second thought.. His brother was dead, his other brother probably wanted to spill his guts for switching sides... He had... Nothing...

He had died for God's sake! Sure, he didn't expect people to immediately bawl their eyes out at the news, but he didn't expect to be brushed off so damn quick! He didn't expect the person he betrayed his brother for to replace him so quickly! He didn't... he... Was... Tubbo really his friend? He exiled him without checking up on him... He... He moved on so.. quick..

Standing over the giant crater once known as L'manberg, now covered with a thick sheet of glass... He wrapped his arms around himself and gave a sigh. In the distance, he could see Ranboo and Tubbo running around, most likely gathering materials for Sam Nook...

Gritting his teeth tightly, he felt a familiar burning behind his eyes before he stood up from a pile of dirt he claimed as a temporary chair. It took all of his power not to scream in emotional agony as he stormed away from the sight of his old best friend with someone else who he claimed as his new bestfriend.

Don't turn back...

With a few iron ingots and a low durability netherite sword to his name, Tommy walked as quickly as he could away from the memories. The sacrifices. The pain. The lonely feeling...

He had easily walked for a few hours, trying his hardest to find an area completely secluded from everything and everyone.

If they moved on once... They can move on twice..

He wanted to hold on.. He wanted to keep every little memory and object that he found comforting... But now... Everything he looked at caused a sharp pain to jolt through his heart...

He glanced up at the biome around him, only to frown slightly. It was a Dark Forest... But there was many problems..

He knew there were some large mushrooms, but he had never seen massive flowers bigger than a mansion! Everything... Felt weird... Somethings were incredibly varied in sizes! He spun around in awe as he stared at the different sized flowers and mushrooms scattered around him. Then... fear struck into his heart again...

Wilbur... He told him a story about a forest far to the north of L'manberg... Trees bigger than the eye could see, mushrooms taller than a house or smaller than a fingernail, flowers being anywhere from a millimeter tall to miles high into the air, all because of the land was protected by a Witch.

In the story, Wilbur said that only the lost and lonely would find that forest out of desperation to find salvation...

The Forest of the Forgotten...

His lips parted in surprise and he spun around to exit the land, in fear of upsetting the witch... Only to find a silhouette standing against the light a few inches away from him.

A not so manly scream tore from his throat and he hurriedly threw himself backwards, raising his arms above his head as he landed on the ground, "I'm sorry, Dream! I promise not to wander off again! Please don't take my stuff! Please I don't have anything left! Please...! Please!" He begged, tears spilling from his eyes as he scrambled backwards until he hit a tree. Tommy didn't even hear the foot steps wandering closer until a purple light rose into view.

He took a few gasps for air as he slowly lowered his hands. 'Dream's in prison. He's not here. He's not gonna hurt you again..' He carefully rose his gaze, only to see...

A young woman... She looked... Around his age!

She was kneeling on the ground a few feet away from him, just... Watching him. A black pointy hat was balanced on her (h/l) (h/c) hair that was nicely framing her (s/t) face. Her eyes were analyzing his every movement as they surged with purple flames... But they weren't threatening or violent... They were curious but calm..

He stared at her for a solid few seconds before realizing that the soft purple glow was coming from a ball of coloured fire in her hand. Mesmerized by the energy, Tommy hardly noticed when a dull pink glow appeared in his vision, only when the woman made effort to talk, did he notice.

"I... Don't know who Dream is.. But, I'm not here to take your stuff. That's a promise." She smiled softly, and moved her hand that held the pink glow closer to him. It... Was a Regeneration Potion. "Here, you look a little... Uhm... How do I say this nicely... Torn up...?"

Tommy couldn't hold back a frown as he rubbed his eyes free of tears. He forgot that his injuries from Dream hadn't healed yet... And probably wouldn't be healed for a long time. "Thanks... I guess.." He grumbled in an attempt to save whatever dignity he had left.

While he was considered naive, he wasn't stupid. He knew not to trust strangers immediately, so he uncorked the bottle and smelt it as he analyzed the colour to make sure it was really regeneration potion. At first, he wasn't going to drink it, but he quickly remembered that it wasn't like he had anything to lose, so he took a small sip.

It was dangerously sweet, much sweeter than Phil or Techno's potions, but it definitely wasn't awful and it for certain wasn't poison. He rolled his shoulders as he continued to sip at the potion while she stood up.

Dusting her black robe and dark (f/c) dress of any dirt, despite them being already dirty and a bit tattered, the (h/c) woman stood up and continued to clean the dirt off. "It will be getting dark soon... I'm not much of a fighter, so I will not be able to fend for the both of us if need be. Do you have a shelter nearby or would you like to seek refuge with me for the night?"

Did this crazy woman not know the meaning of stranger danger?

☆Your P.O.V☆

No matter how much you threw yourself into your studies, the looming loneliness never seemed to leave you..

Keeping to your daily routine, you begrudgingly lifted yourself out of bed and sat down at your vanity, glaring at your reflection that bared knotted hair and sleepy (e/c) eyes. Your non dominant hand stretched out towards your closet and watched as your irises lit up a bright surging purple, activating your magic. Your dominant hand began to run a brush through your hair while your other hand controlled the magic that was currently being used to sort through the row of clothes in your closet. Once you found an outfit that you deemed adequate, you made a quick gesture with your hand that caused the clothing to float onto your bed.

It didn't take very long to get ready, I mean, come on, you were in a large forest miles away from the closest village! It's not like you were going to be seeing anyone for a few more centuries.

Your house was cozy and rather small, but it housed you and your black cat Salem comfortably. It was nice and quiet where you lived.. Albeit dark and lonely..

The trees often covered the sun and prevented you from knowing what time it was, but you had stopped caring about the date long ago. It never mattered to you anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. Quit meowing. You act like you haven't eaten in a year." You rolled your eyes at the dramatic feline as you prepared your own breakfast first. Salem kept meowing loudly, standing beside her food bowl and swatting it every so often until you used your magic to toss a fish to her. "You done with your whining now? Big baby."

You rolled your eyes as you sat down with your bowl and quickly ate the fruits you had sliced up. Downside to living here, you primarily survived off of fruits and berries because animals rarely wandered into the forest, and if they did, well you kept them for their resources like milk or eggs or wool.

With a small sigh, you got up and washed your bowl, via magic so you didn't have to feel the burning sensation of the water on your skin, as you contemplated what you were going to do today.

Eventually you decided on going to walk through the forest to find more animals or scavenge for more fruits. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you double checked that it was stocked up with healing and regeneration potions just in case, only to throw your shoes on. Waving good bye to your lazy annoying cat, that you still love regardless, you shut the door and walked down the path.

The silence was normal... But god it was deafening when something stepped on a branch or when one of your chickens decided to give a particularly loud squawk, but it did indeed heighten your senses.

Giving a sigh, you rose your hand and a purple pulse flew from your hand then trailed down your body and travelled through the forest. Your magic didn't detect anything out of the ordinary except for once thing near the entrance.

"Ah.. God.. Please don't be a zombie.. I'm not a fighter.." You whispered under your breath before setting off towards the untouched and overgrown entrance of the forest.

Arriving to the main path, you looked over a little bit to see a tall blond male spinning around in absolute awe of the forest.

He then took a sharp breath and spun around, almost immediately coming face to face with you. The loudest scream you had ever heard left the boy and he quickly stumbled backwards until he fell to the ground and hit a tree, "I'm sorry, Dream! I promise not to wander off again! Please don't take my stuff! Please I don't have anything left! Please...! Please!" He practically cried apologies while he curled into a wall.

'What kind of reaction was that?!' You thought curiously as you kneeled down a few feet in front of him. Assuming that the dark had freaked him out, you summoned a ball of fire and held it out, using the time to study the strange boy. His dirty shirt was ripped and torn in several places, his skin was decorated with mud, soot, cuts, bruises and scars and his cheeks were damp with tears. His breath was turning into gasps as his thin frame shook violently.

"Hey... Are you okay?"

He didn't seem to hear as he began murmuring quietly to himself, rocking back and forth a small bit to calm himself down. After a few moments, he lowered his arms and stared blankly at the magic in your palm.

Seeing the injuries on his pale skin, you dug into your bag and pulled out a glowing pink potion before holding it out to him. He didn't seem to notice it until you cleared your throat. "I... Don't know who Dream is.. But, I'm not here to take your stuff. That's a promise." You smiled as politely as possible, and moved your hand that held the potion closer to him. "Here, you look a little... Uhm... How do I say this nicely... Torn up...?"

The male grumbled a bit under his breath but looked genuinely thankful as he took a small sip of the potion. After deeming it wasn't poisoned, he began to take larger drinks of it.

"It will be getting dark soon... I'm not much of a fighter, so I will not be able to fend for the both of us if need be. Do you have a shelter nearby or would you like to seek refuge with me for the night?"

Honestly... The face he made amused you quite a bit...

[slashbitch2]

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

[sgrayonderii]

nom de guerre

SSM21 Day 17: a gentle man

In which some titles are more accurate than others. Samurai-esque AU

It is common knowledge that for a noble title and a swath of land, her mother was sold to a warlord.  

Haruno Sakura had the great misfortune of being born as the daughter of a destitute samurai family. Their master had long been vanquished and their lands long sold to make ends meet. And yet still longed for days yonder. 

But her mother also had the great fortune of being born a beauty, so when the opportunity arose; a passing hegemon looking for a bride, Sakura’s parents took a chance. 

They say that the young warlord was so mesmerized by her mother that he immediately accepted the terms of the expensive bride price and took her as his wife. 

On their wedding day, mother was dressed in her finest robes while her father arrived late in a full suit of blood soaked armor. 

The ceremony itself was a soleum affair. Her parents pledged themselves before the gods and swear to their union.

And so Haruno Sakura becomes Lady Uchiha no Sakura, the wife of Lord Uchiha no Madara.

----

Sarada has faint memories of her father; more often than not her father is sent to the battlefield and only returns a few days to weeks at a time between campaigns. 

The Uchiha clan is one of the important noble families of the Konoha and known for its long history of bloodthirsty warriors. Her father is no exception. 

Whenever he returns home, Sarada hides behind her mother’s skirt. Her father is an imposing demon-like man, larger than life, and taller than a mountain. Someone more suited for stories and legends than real life. 

They call him a man more fearsome than Susanoo-no-Mikoto itself. So violent, so blood crazed, it is a wonder that Sakura lived as long as she did when a male heir had yet to be born. 

Thankfully, it seems that as a daughter, her father pays very little attention to her. Whenever he returns from the borderlands between here and Oto, he barely spares her a glance. 

However, whenever his eyes meet her mother’s through his helmet, he beckons her over. 

“Sakura,” he commands, voice deep and low, “bring some tea to my quarters.”

Sarada always remembers her mother looking angry but determined then. Sakura dutifully follows her husband into the inner chambers. She doesn’t emerge until late morning.

Sarada is usually having lessons during this time, but one day she sneaks out of her etiquette classes to find her mother. 

She searches almost the entire unusually empty manor before finding Sakura in the kitchen brewing tea. Her mother’s clothes are covered in blood and her hands are covering her tears. 

Sarada has never seen her mother sob so terribly before.

From then on, she decides that her father must be an especially cruel man. 

---- 

Whenever her father returns from war, her Papa also comes home. 

Today she finds him on the engawa overlooking the gardens. He is sipping some tea while looking over some scrolls. He appears injured, bandages wrapped around his torso, but otherwise in good health. 

If her father is the devil incarnate, then Sarada’s papa is a handsome devil. 

No wonder her Mama is so taken with him. Sometimes when she is supposed to be asleep, she can hear her Mama fuss over Papa. They hold hands when no one is looking and share secrets no other soul knows. 

Despite the cold manor they reside in, Mama is an affectionate woman at her core and her Papa is receptive to all she has to give. 

And Papa must be someone important too; after all he is allowed to leave and enter from the inner quarters that a normal Uchiha foot soldier could not. 

Sarada pads over to him, he looks up and beckons her closer. 

“Have you been a good girl, little peanut?” 

Sarada scoffs. “ I’m not a nut.” But she holds out her hands anyways. 

Her Papa chuckles and pulls out some dried persimmons from his sleeves. “Don’t tell Sakura.” 

Sarada smiles at their little secret before taking a bite. “What are you reading?” Her Papa allows her to climb onto his lap and drapes the scroll over her. Sarada squints, only understanding a fraction of the words on the paper. She points and reads aloud the characters she recognizes.

“Good girl.” He slips her another dried persimmon.

That is when her mother finds them. 

“Sasuke-kun!” her mama enters the scene in a huff, “I told you to stop that, you’ll ruin her dinner.”

Sarada quickly shoves both persimmons into her mouth. Her papa has the decency to look sheepish. 

“You can’t keep spoiling her like that! She is going to get an upset stomach!” Sakura continues.

“Do you want me to spoil you too?” 

Her mama sputters, all red and flustered. Her hands move to cover her flaming cheeks.

Sarada meanwhile uses the distraction to hold out her hands for another treat. Her gentle papa instead leans down and kisses her forehead.

---

For the past year, her father and his retainers had been defending the borders between Oto and Konoha. After the dissenters were finally defeated, a grand celebration is held in her father’s honor. 

She remembers that her father was hailed as the second coming of Madara, the legendary clan head from the distant past. The comparison is uncanny, both bloodthirsty and merciless but dauntless in the face of adversary. Soon it becomes her father’s mantle; Lord Uchiha no Madara, the slayer of the Orochi. 

Sarada hadn't been invited to the banquet due to her age but that night she is much too excited to sleep. She has never seen so many people gathered in one place in her life. And even though her father’s presence makes her nervous, she loves the tales about his exploits. 

The banquet hall is rowdy and the envoy’s drunken singing could be heard from down the halls. The fuzzy silhouettes of her father’s soldiers line the banquet hall, she has a hard time making out who is who. Everything is quite blurry even with the multiple lanterns.

The only one Sarada could identify for sure is her mother. Sakura’s features are distinct, like a lone flower against the night sky. Her mother sits obediently at the head of the table beside the man that is her father. 

He has forsaken armor this time, but there is still a sword at his side. From the distance, her father doesn’t look particularly like he was enjoying the festivities. 

He appears bored. Perhaps his blood is not used to peace, after all a beast belonged in the wild and a warrior to the battlefield. 

Sakura every once and a while would refill her father’s sake cup or serve him more of the feast in front of him. Occasionally, when her mother would lean over and her father would whisper something into her ear. 

Her mama would stiffen and her face would become strained. At first Sarada can’t make out the expression, until a small smile blooms on her mama’s visage. 

Sarada goes to bed soon after, not quite understanding their interactions. 

---

Her earliest memory of Papa is halfway past her fourth year. 

Father had been back for a few days now, not that she had really seen him. And to be perfectly honest, her father is a scary man and she would rather not run into him. 

But Sarada is also curious so she puts on a brave face and finds herself outside her mother’s quarters.

Peering through the crack in the paper screen door, Sarada spots her mother’s figure and a man she doesn’t recognize. 

Her mama is leaning on the man’s shoulder while he serves her sake with his free hand. Back then, Sarada found it a strange role reversal that a man dressed in such luxurious robes was pouring her mama a drink. 

Sarada has seen some men in her father’s army throw a tantrum when a pretty lady wouldn’t attend to them. Even Sakura during official functions knows to serve her father first before anyone else can even eat.

But this man sat with her mama so nonchalantly and closely, breaking tradition as if it was nothing!

Her shock was audible to where her mother and the man turned to see her crouched by the entryway. 

Sarada felt as if she interrupted a private moment, but man’s expression morphed into something soft and Sakura giddily rushes over to pick her up. 

“Sarada! Come, come! Papa is here, see?” Sakura hands her over the stranger’s awaiting arms. She doesn’t want to leave her mama’s embrace but the man’s is just as warm. 

“Hello little peanut, have you been good while I was away?” 

How is she supposed to answer him? She opts for a nod and reaches for the familiarity of her mother.

“Sasuke-kun…” 

“It’s alright, she probably isn’t used to my face.” He leans over regardless and kisses her mother’s forehead. Then he looks Sarada straight in the eye. “I am you papa.” 

Sarada thinks she likes this ‘Sasuke-kun,’ this Papa. Someone so kind to her mother can’t be a bad man. 

----

As she gets older, Sarada becomes privy to the rumors about the current acting head of the Yamanaka clan. How her son looks nothing like her deceased husband but has the same eyes as the court painter. 

And Sarada has her own theories about her mama and the man that is her papa.

She just hopes that her father never finds out. 

---

Even though her mother is essentially the lady of the house, Sarada still hears whispers of her lineage. Even more so now that Sarada begins wearing glasses. 

Before her father leaves for his next campaign, he gives Sakura his inkan. 

As the wife of the lord, Sakura officially acts as his surrogate in any official business even if some of the family retainers aren’t happy about it. 

Fortunately, many would rather swallow their pride that incur her father’s wrath. 

All except one. 

Uchiha no Shin, a rather minor branch clan member, always disapproved of her father and even more so now that he left his wife in charge of the estate in his absence. 

It all comes to a head when Sakura denies him funding for a rather ill thought out building project. 

“You dirty wench! ” 

Sarada can hear the screams from her room. She rushes to the scene. Sakura is still standing her ground when she arrives. 

“I don’t see any benefit in this strategy and I doubt my dear lord husband would either.” 

“What do you know?! You are nothing but a plaything you stupid bitch, I’ll teach you some manners!” Shin chooses that moment to raise his hand at her mother. 

Sarada feels the anger seep into her bones but her mother chooses that moment to retaliate and punch Shin square in the face herself. 

Shin falls back unceremoniously. Sarada is slack jawed. 

“How dare you!” he seethes. Shin tries to get up only for another person to rush to her mother’s aid. 

Shin’s screams are agonizing and it takes Sarada a moment to realize that not only had her father returned, but he had drawn his sword and stabbed it clean through Shin’s arm, effectively pinning it to the tatami. 

“Sasuke-kun!” 

Sarada blinks once. Twice. 

“Are you alright Sakura?” Her father, her papa asks, completely ignoring their screaming relative. 

Sakura nods and he turns to her as well “Are you okay Sarada?” his voice deep and low but the same kind cadence up close as her beloved papa.

Suddenly her father’s mysterious and distant features that were always hazy to her meld with the papa in front of her now.  

Sarada adjusts her glasses. She feels really stupid in that moment. 

---

This time, Sarada is invited to the banquet. 

It’s an annual harvest festival and her father is the guest of honor. The local leaders once again announce him as ‘Lord Uchiha no Madara’ much to his chagrin. 

“I really hate when they call me that.” Sasuke tells them later when the food is being served and drinks are flowing freely. Sakura is on one side while Sarada is on the other. Habitually he is discreetly putting any sweets that make it his way and the tenderest pieces of meat onto their plates. 

“Anata,” with time Sarada notices that her mother only ever uses this term in public when her father needed more placating than usual, “they are just just in awe of how great you are!”

“I wish they had chosen something different, Madara was such a pain in the ass.” 

“Sasuke-kun!” Her mother tries to be scandalized but can’t help but devolve into a fit of giggles. 

As her father continues to look on adoringly at his wife, Sarada can’t help but agree with him. 

A name like that is unfitting of her gentle papa. 

A/N: Happy Sasusaku month 2021! My brain is mush right now so excuse the multitude of grammatical errors. Thank you for reading!

And just to note in historical Japan, men tended to change their names depending on significant life events. For example, Minamoto no Yoshitsune's childhood name was Ushiwakamaru.

@ssskmonth

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] Compliments from the Demon Brothers + Undateables

[Non-Appearance Related Compliments]

I used these quotes and paired them up with a character to write a short snippet/HC. I hope you like them!! these types of compliments always make me warm :))

--

“You light up the room.”

Simeon

It’s strange to think that seeing you walk through the door would make him so happy. He knows he’s written plenty of adventures and romances, but to think he’d be able to live through one is something else entirely. 

When Simeon laughs, you turn toward him in slight confusion and walk to him when he beckons you. “I almost forgot there was no sun in the Devildom for a moment,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You light up the room.” he says teasingly, enjoying the flustered expression on your face. “Did you know that?” 

You’re more than just a pure soul-- full of conviction, bursting with love and a strength that you don’t even know you possess-- and Simeon feels lucky to be able to hold you in his arms like so.

“You have the best laugh.”

Mammon

“You have the best laugh,” Mammon tells you, laying his head on his arms as he watches you throw your head back after retelling a funny story. It’s not something that he’s thought through in saying-- it just came out because it was the simple truth. How many times has he thought before about how lucky he was to be able to have you in his life, giving him the best time of his life, full of laughter and love. He’s always thought your laugh was cute-- and if it wasn’t cute it was contagious, and he loves every laugh that he can coax from you. 

He wants to be able to make you laugh like that for the rest of your life together.

Of course, after saying it, he’s immediately embarrassed, but you cajole him into removing his hands from his face so you can bury him in kisses instead. 

“You inspire me.”

Diavolo

Diavolo has met and seen more people of all kinds as the stars in the sky, and yet the one he is most mesmerized by is you. Life has not always treated you kindly, and he admits that whisking you away to the Devildom to attend his exchange program without warning played a part in it. Regardless of what happened, you always manage to make the best of it all, creating close relationships with the brothers, with the angels, and even with him. You are but one human, and yet you seem to be the strongest person he’s ever met.

“You inspire me,” he says warmly as the two of you enjoy drinks together in a rare quiet moment of the ball. “Truly!” He tells you, laughing when you look at him incredulously. “It might sound strange, but you have many traits to be admired. Many more, I believe, if I continue to get to know you better.” He smiles at you even while you flush. “I hope you’ll allow me that opportunity during your stay in the Devildom.” 

“I love how passionate you are.”

Satan

It’s no surprise that Satan would value the mind out of all the brothers. There is something inherently breathtaking to see you speak with such fervor about the things you care about. The topics in which you talk about ranges, but even when you talk about something from defending the rights of the lower-class to how there shouldn’t be uniforms for RAD, he feels himself fall a little more of you every time-- with your mind full of ideas and words that seem to overflow.

“I love how passionate you are,” he says almost breathlessly. “No, I mean it!” He tells you, chuckling when you give him a strange look. “I’m not... being sarcastic or anything. I truly, truly love the way your mind works, and I like hearing about the things you care about.” His eyes twinkle, and the way he sits up straight, attentive, and hands folded in front of him and eagerly listening to you makes your heart skip. “Keep going,” he says. “What else did you think about it?”

“You make the world better just by being in it.”

Barbatos

“Why do you look so surprised?” He would ask you, chuckling as he watches you gape at him with a flushed face after his spoken compliment. “Is it that  much of a surprise to hear me say that?”

These words coming from Barbatos means so much more than you could possibly imagine. How many timelines has he seen? How many worlds has he merged and destroyed with his powers? He isn’t one to mince his words, and yet to hear him say that you make the world better just by being in it is something that holds meaning. And it does-- he’s seen the things you’ve done, the good you put into the world just by being: the small smiles you give those who are down, the kindness in which you treat others, and most importantly, the way you love him and make him feel.

Barbatos truly means what he says, and you have no choice but to accept that as truth.

“You make me feel comfortable being myself.”

Beelzebub 

Beel has always thought it a little strange that whenever you’re around, his voracious appetite quiets down to something as little as a stir that, if he’s talking to you, almost disappears completely from his mind. He’s convinced that perhaps it’s best that he likes spending so much time with you, because he may as well spend all his time with you if it meant he could stop eating so much-- or so he thought. But you never fail to sneak him a snack during class, suddenly when you walk together to town, or after waiting for him after club. Beel knows his appetite is something monstrous, but you never seem to mind. You tell him you love him anyways, 

He finds that this thought is enough to quell his hunger completely, even for a moment. 

“You make me feel comfortable being myself,” Beel tells you when you settle next to him for a movie, snacks in hand. “I never feel like I have to change or hold myself back so...” He smiles at you warmly, holding your hand in his. “Thank you.” 

Leviathan

Levi used to lose to you in Mario Kart only once every five games, but he watches you speed past him, cackling at his side, and realizes that he’s coming closer to loving once every three. Yet, seeing you laugh, shoulders touching as you lean against him, he can’t find it in himself to mind at all. 

Laughter has never come as easily to him. Words and affection have never come so easily to him before now. It feels so natural being by your side that he supposed he forgot he’s ever been alone. 

“You make me feel comfortable being myself,” he tells you one day, just as he finishes talking about another anime that has him excited. He’s flustered, but he feels the need to tell you how you make him feel, and how much he’s grateful for the fact he feels heard and truly seen. “I hope you feel the same with me too.”

“You make this world so much more beautiful just by being in it.”

Lucifer

Lucifer doesn’t think he would have been able to lie in his own bed as often with you convincing him to join you. Or go enjoy the carnival rides with you there. Or see the colors of the lanterns as vividly or think the view as charming without you. And he knows that it’s because of you that he feels like he can breathe-- that he feels like the world will be fine without him for a moment-- that he can laugh and love even after everything that has happened. 

The two of you lie in bed together, talking in low voices before sleep overtakes you both, and Lucifer is so full of love. “You make this world so much more beautiful just by being in it,” Lucifer whispers to you, cupping your cheeks and enjoying the way your cheeks warm under his palm. “Good night,” he tells you, hoping he’ll be able to say this to you every other night thereafter. 

Belphegor

It means a lot to have gotten to know you and to be by your side, especially considering the fact he almost prevented that from happening. It’s something that he regrets, giving a twinge of guilt every time, but whenever you’re with him, the guilt gets easier to bear and he can focus more on how much he loves you. How much happiness you bring to him and to others, and how much you enjoy life and all the little things in life-- all the bitterness that used to overtake his entire body seems to ebb into nothing when you’re around. 

“Thank you,” he tells you just as you leave him to his nap. “For being alive.” He peeks his eyes open when you turn around and stare at him with wide eyes.  “You make this world so much more beautiful just by being in it,” he says, and he lets you walk up to him and engulf him in a hug that’s as warm and loving as the afternoon sun.

“I love hearing from you!”

Asmodeus

He adores you when you go off on tangents when the two of you spend time with each other, whether you’re in the bath together or while he’s painting your nails. The sound of your voice is very soothing to him and he’s always endeared by the way you’re excited when you speak about something you love or even when you just talk about your day-- he really can’t get enough of you.

“Sorry,” you say, feeling yourself redden. “I feel like I’ve talked a lot.”

“No, no!” Asmo tells you, leaning over to you so he can pepper small kisses onto your cheeks. “I love hearing from you! About your day, about what you did, what you ate,” he says, entangling your hand with his. “You make everyday life just seem so... exciting! And I want to be a part of that world with you.” 

“Your mind is so powerful!”

Solomon

As a man (whom I suspect has lived for centuries), having the opportunity to have gotten close to you and see how your mind works is incredibly rewarding to him. Within your ideas or your plans or your jokes, he feels like he gets to see a different side of you and gets to know you more-- and fall in love with you again and again. 

You scoff when you first hear this coming from Solomon though. Any compliments could have any type of meaning, but when you turn around, you immediately feel yourself flushing when his gaze is unwavering and sincere.

“I mean it,” he tells you even when you huff at him, laughing. “Your mind is incredibly powerful. The ideas you come up with always have a twist of your own personality, whether it means it’s unique, or creative, or kind.” 

[iceeckos12]

what if... for the prompts... “you’re cold, come here” for gerrymartin... as a treat... (thank you please drink some water)

sorry i know it’s been a few days ;_; however i have been UNABLE to get pre s1 gerrymartin out of my head since you sent this ask

putting this beneath a read more since it got kind of long alskdjfskf;

Martin stood at the bus stop, wearing his beat-up old headphones, staring into the middle distance, still coming to terms with the fact that he’d had to drop out of school a few weeks ago. He felt as though he’d be digesting that one for a while, like missing a step on his way down the stairs and tripping over his own feet, over and over again.

He’d asked for more shifts at Tesco’s, but it didn’t matter whether or not they were approved. The bills kept coming in, the sums adding up higher and higher, to numbers that may as well have been astronomical for all he had in his bank account.

This wasn’t sustainable. But what could he do? He was only seventeen, he had no degree, no -

“Need a cigarette?”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden interruption, too surprised to do anything other than look mutely over. If he hadn’t already been stunned into silence, the sight that greeted him would’ve done the job.

The teen was tall, a little disheveled; there was a mean looking scrape across one side of his face, like his head had been shoved into pavement. His hair was dyed pitch black, dirty blond roots peeking out around the roots. Eyes the color of the cold, grey ocean stared back at Martin, stealing his breath right out of his chest.

The silence stretched on, but the teen didn’t speak, or take back the proffered cigarette. He just waited, expectant, endlessly patient, the same way a lighthouse waits, lonely but resolute.

“I - “ The words choked and stuttered on their way out. “I...I don’t smoke.”

“Hm.” The teen shrugged and took the cigarette back, setting it loosely between his teeth. Martin watched the movement, mesmerized by the shine of his black lipstick. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “You looked like you needed one.”

Martin let out a high, embarrassed laugh. “That obvious?”

He hummed in agreement, the sound coming out through a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly Martin wished he’d accepted the cigarette, if only to see if he could capture the same feeling this teen seemed to exude in waves. The poet in him wanted to smooth that midnight black hair behind one ear and ask what’d happened to make him look so tiredly sad.

“That’s your bus,” the teen said, jerking his chin toward the incoming bus. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Martin turned, then realized that yes, that was his bus. He paused, realizing that he’d never told the teen - but when he turned around, the stranger was gone, almost as though he’d never been there in the first place.

-0-

For years after, Martin wondered if he’d imagined the whole incident. A mysterious, handsome stranger offering him a cigarette at a bus stop before disappearing into the ether? That sort of thing didn’t happen outside of the movies.

Until he saw the man at the Magnus Institute.

The first time he saw him, he had to do a double take, sure he’d imagined it. But no, there was a familiar person with poorly dyed black hair sitting on the front steps of the Institute, blowing cigarette smoke into the sky. He was in all black, from his combat boots to the shiny obsidian of his lips.

Martin wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the man’s lips. Too long obviously, because when he looked up, he met cool, ocean grey.

The man quirked a dirty-blond eyebrow, a small, almost experimental smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Martin, mortified at having been caught looking, ducked his head and almost ran the rest of the way up the steps.

They ran into each other on and off after that. Martin sometimes saw him wandering around the Archives, coming in and out of Gertrude’s office regardless of the time. He always seemed to be able to tell when Martin was watching him; after a few seconds, he would perk up and turn around, smiling that small, experimental smile.

Martin started to accept that he had a massive crush on this gorgeous, unattainable stranger. He decided to get the fuck over himself and wave instead of running away like a coward, which made that experimental smile turn into a true, genuinely pleased one.

And it was....safe. Good. Martin admired from afar, enamored of the man’s tattoos, his grey eyes, the quiet tragedy he carried with him like a shroud.

Ironically, the first real conversation they ever had was at the bus stop in front of the Magnus Institute.

It was late, later than Martin usually went home. It was cold too, unusually so for the time of year, enough so that Martin was wearing his warmer jacket. He was lost in thought, staring far into the middle distance, composing a poem about Indian summers and unusual chills and the way weather balanced finely between them -

There was a click from somewhere behind him, a muttered curse. Another click, and then a low, relieved sigh. Martin frowned and turned around, because no, it couldn’t be -

But it was.

The man looked up as soon as he felt Martin’s eyes on him, his cigarette hanging loosely out of the side of his lips. He’d gotten a new set of piercings since the last time Martin’d seen him, two shiny studs in his bottom lip that made Martin’s mouth go dry.

“Hey,” the man said. He sounded exactly the way Martin remembered.

“Hi!” Martin squeaked, clutching his bag closer to him nervously. Oh god, oh god, the inspiration for half his poetry from the past few months was standing right in front of him. “Um - hi. Hello.”

The man’s grin widened, like he found Martin’s frantic stuttering endearing. “Hey.”

Fuck. He was doing this all wrong.

“I’m Martin,” Martin blurted. Almost went to shake the man’s hand but decided against it last second.

“Gerard,” Gerard said, the glowing tip of his cigarette dancing in the dark. “But you can call me Gerry.”

“Oh,” Martin said faintly, his heart fluttering too-fast in his chest. Then, just because he could, said, “Gerry.” Rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting how it felt against the back of his teeth. Decided he liked it. “Nice to meet you, Gerry.”

Gerry’s grin widened, his teeth very white under the curve of his painted black smile. There was a gap between his front teeth, and Martin felt almost dizzy with the knowledge of it. “And you.”

Then unexpectedly, he shivered so hard that his teeth clenched around his cigarette. It was only then that Martin realized that the man was only wearing a thin black jacket over his graphic t-shirt, and that he must be absolutely freezing.

Martin was acting before he could think it all the way through, rummaging through his bag and removing his scarf from its depths. It was a heavy, woolen thing that he’d knitted for his mother’s birthday but - she hadn’t wanted it, muttered something about it being too itchy.

“You’re cold,” Martin said absently, brandishing the scarf in front of him like a weapon. “Come here.”

Gerry stared at the scarf, his grey eyes stretched wide, then looked to Martin, then back to the scarf. Surprise didn’t sit quite right on his face, like it was an emotion he wasn’t used to wearing. “Um. I’m...that’s okay. You don’t have to...”

“Nonsense,” Martin said, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was gibbering mindlessly at his boldness. “You’re hardly dressed for the weather, and it’s not like I’m using it.”

Gerry opened his mouth - paused, a strange light entering his eyes. He looked at the scarf, and his surprise faded into a blank, neutral frown. Then, “That was cruel of her.”

Martin frowned. “What?”

“Okay,” Gerry said, and took the scarf from Martin. He stared at it for a moment, studying the simple pattern, before wrapping it around his neck. He looked warmer at least, and that made something in Martin’s stomach settle, relaxed the part of him that wanted nothing more than to nurture. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Martin responded, still feeling a bit off-kilter by the strange comment, like Gerry had known what his mother had said to him and disapproved. “Anytime.”

They stood in silence for a couple more seconds, the atmosphere strangely charged with anticipation. There was something Martin was supposed to say here, something important, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

And then the bus came.

Martin stared at it for a second, disappointment a sour taste in his mouth. His window of opportunity was steadily closing, he could feel it, but he was lost, grasping at the tail end of something strange and unknowable.

“That’s your bus,” Gerry told him gently, and when Martin looked over, he was holding the scarf close to his neck.

“Will I see you again?” Martin asked in a sudden burst of confidence.

Gerry froze almost imperceptibly for a moment, but Martin had been learning to read body language ever since his father had left home. He looked away, that clear grey gaze focusing on the sidewalk in front of him, studying the cracks in the concrete. “If you like.”

“I’d like to,” Martin responded firmly, then deflated as his confidence faded and his uncertainty returned. “If you would.”

That small, experimental smile twitched the edges of Gerry’s lips again. Martin was suddenly struck by the fact that it didn’t sit quite right, as though it wasn’t an expression he was used to making. The thought was as endearing as the rest of him. His voice was unexpectedly low, unexpectedly shy, as he said, “I would.”

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 27

I actually wrote an entire fic for this that was a part 2 for Abandoned on day 8, with a part 3 to come later, but I wasn't overly happy with it and decided ultimately that it would flow better if there was no middle part. There will still be a part 2 (only, no part 3), but not for another couple of days. So, I deleted that entire fic and started over and wrote this. Which meant that I had less time to work on this one, as I'm already catching up with myself and hoping that I don't have to put off any updates! I'm not necessarily entirely happy with how this one turned out overall, but I do like the middle at least and I hope you guys enjoy it regardless of my feelings.

Read on AO3

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Day 27 - Extreme Weather

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: hypothermia

“Pidge, radar check. It looks like the temperature is dropping rapidly.”

“Okay, just a sec...holy crow, you’re right. Storm coming your way, fast. You guys need to find shelter now.”

That was all the warning they got before the wind hit. It howled across the plain with all the fury of a hurricane, so loud in his ears even through his helmet that he could barely hear Shiro’s voice shouting over the comms. 

“If we can get to the other side of this hill we should be out of the wind.”

“Roger!” Keith yelled back. It wasn’t like they had much choice in moving that direction, anyway. The wind was shoving them along, causing them both to have to lean backwards into it even while running to keep from tumbling over.

They were almost to the small mountain when the storm fully arrived. Suddenly the air was filled with so much white that Keith couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and he had lost sight of Shiro completely. 

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see, either. “Just keep moving forward! Once we get there we should be able to work our way around to the other side by feel.” 

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. As long as neither of them somehow missed it and wandered off into the open plain on the other side...but they were close enough that it should be fine. He hoped. And they both had on their armor, which was made for much colder temperatures than this in deep space, so even if they did get lost they probably wouldn’t die. Probably. As long as a hundred other variables didn’t happen.

“I can hear you worrying from here. Just keep walking, Keith.”

“You just keep walking,” he lamely replied.

The good news was, he found the mountain. “You here yet?”

“Yep. Turn east, that’s the closest end.”

“Got it.” 

The bad news was, after several long, stumbling minutes of walking blind with one hand trailing the face of the hill...something happened. He wasn’t ever really sure what. All he knew was that suddenly his feet were flying out from under him, and he was smacking face first into some unseen object hard enough to make his forehead impact with the inside of his helmet. Before he could reorient himself, Shiro was nearly tripping over his feet.

“You okay? What happened?”

“Think I hit a slick spot, or a root or something. I’m okay. Just watch your step for the next couple of feet.” Pushing himself back up, he shook his head slightly to rid himself of the slight dizzy feeling, then kept moving forward.

It seemed to take ages, but they eventually turned a corner and had the wind at their backs again. It was only a few paces more from there until they turned again and the world fell relatively calm. There was snow shooting around the sides of the hill just behind them, and it was still swirling in the air all around them. But he could see again. 

And one of the things he could see was a little starburst cut into the center of his faceplate.

At first he thought it might be a snowflake, and tried to brush it off, but no, there was definitely an indentation there, and maybe even a longer crack coming off from the center. Whatever he had hit must have been sharp to do that kind of damage to a space helmet. It wasn’t a big deal, though. Yeah, the display inside his helmet was fritzing a little, but he could just rely on Shiro’s information until they got back to the Castle and could get his helmet fixed. 

There was no reason to tell Shiro. Then he would just be the one excessively worrying.

“Did you guys make it?” Pidge asked.

Shiro nodded. “Yep. Looks like we’ll just have to hunker down here until the storm passes.”

“Could be a while by the looks of the radar. I’d offer to come pick you guys up, but…”

“No. There’s zero visibility out here. Stay put, and we’ll do the same.”

He looked over at Keith and gave a smirk. “It’s not like we’ve never had to kill time together before.”

Huffing a small laugh, Keith settled back against the rocks, folding his arms over his chest. “View here’s not quite as nice as the Garrison roof.”

Now Shiro smiled for real. “Nope. That view was definitely the best.”

They sat mostly in silence for the next several minutes, just staring out into the strange patterns of whirling snow. It seemed so natural to feel cold while watching a snowstorm that Keith didn’t even think anything of it until a shiver shook his body. That’s when he finally realized that something wasn’t quite right.

He was cold. Not only cold, but goosebumps were forming on his skin underneath his flightsuit. That shouldn’t happen. The whole thing was designed to regulate his temperature. He had floated out in open space before and felt perfectly comfortable, so there was absolutely no reason that a snowstorm should have made him cold.

Unless the armor or the flightsuit was compromised, of course. Like, say, a crack in the helmet.

He didn’t want to tell Shiro. He knew he really should.

“Um.” He cleared his throat, nonchalantly tried to rub a little warmth back into the part of his arms that wasn’t covered by armor. “Don’t like, freak out or anything -”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I said don’t freak out! It’s not a big deal, okay? I just wanted to let you know that, uh...I think I may have cracked my faceplate when I fell earlier? And it’s possible there’s some air leaking in.”

“What?” Shiro was in front of him immediately, clapping his hands onto either side of Keith’s helmet so he could tilt it up toward him. That close, he could actually just make out his voice over the wind without using the comms. “Keith, why didn’t you tell me as soon as you noticed?”

“Who says I didn’t?”

“Me, because I know you. Do you see what the temperature is out here? ‘Some air leaking in’ is not good!”

“Um, no, I don’t see. My, uh...display has kinda been on the fritz ever since it happened.”

“Keith!”

Jerking his head out of Shiro’s hands, he glared up at him. “I’ll be fine! I’m just a little cold, that’s what made me realize. It’s nothing to worry about, though. It’s not like the air is toxic.”

Shiro gave him one of his patented stern dad looks, which then fell into the even more common - at least around Keith - exasperated dad look. “You let me know as soon as you start feeling any colder.”

“Yeah, sure.” He was already feeling colder than he had at the beginning of the conversation. But it wasn’t like there was really anything Shiro could do about it. They couldn’t walk through the storm, and no one could come get them. He’d just have to deal with it.

Unfortunately, his thoughts of not actually telling Shiro anything didn’t work out, because he sat so close that their arms were touching and could feel when he started full-on shivering. To his credit, though, he didn’t say anything. He merely nudged Keith forward a little and swung one leg around behind him, pulling him up close to his chest and wrapping his arms around. It was awkward with the bulky armor and the jetpack, but Keith imagined he could feel the tiniest bit of warmth on his arms where Shiro’s rested on them.

It didn’t really help anything. The temperature inside the helmet was still dropping quickly, the cold creeping down his body and seizing every inch of skin and muscle. He couldn’t stop shivering. 

After a few minutes, Shiro muttered something under his breath and pushed Keith gently forward, beginning to unbuckle his armor at his shoulders and sides. He pulled off just the back portion, and did the same with his own chestplate, before hugging him close again. 

He could feel the pressure, which was nice against the tremors wracking his body. He could maybe feel a little bit of the body heat. The problem was, the suits weren’t just meant to keep out cold temperatures. It was going to take a whole lot more than body heat to get through two of them.

“Pidge, tell Lance to be on standby in his Lion. As soon as there is any kind of break in the storm, I want him to get to our location as quick as he can.”

“Roger that.”

“Keith, bud? Do you think you can cover up the crack with your hand any?”

“I c-can t-t-try.”

His arm didn’t want to cooperate. When he finally did get it to raise, it was shaking too badly to keep it in one place. Shiro must have seen his struggle, because he reached up and grabbed onto the hand, pressing it in close to the helmet. 

“Is here good?”

“Y-ye-ah, I...I… ’s good.”

It was a bit hard to keep track of time. The snow kept flying by in mesmerizing loops and waves, and the two of them sat silently with both of their hands pressed over half his faceplate. Gradually, numbness began to steal over him, replacing the cold with blissful nothing. Even his shivers calmed, leaving him exhausted but relieved to be done with them.

“Keith. Keith, you still with me?”

“Hm? Yeah. ‘m good. Feel...better. Stopped shivering.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s not good. Don’t you remember the Garrison training?” Shiro’s free hand began pumping up and down his arm vigorously. “You’re okay, though. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you warmed up.”

Keith wasn’t really sure which of them he was trying to reassure. Personally, he was feeling too sleepy to care much about any of it anymore.

“But whatever you do, don’t fall asleep on me, okay? You can’t fall asleep. Talk to me, Keith.”

“You’re not my dad.”

Shiro chuckled. “Oh, yeah? Well, tell Lance that. He’s the one that’s dubbed me ‘Space Dad’.”

“Whaaat? That was totally not me, that was...that was Hunk!”

Oh, apparently Lance was on comms now. Probably waiting in his Lion like Space Dad had said.

“Are you kidding me? That was most definitely you, and we all know it,” Pidge butted in. “But seriously, Keith, listen to Space Dad. Don’t fall asleep.”

“‘m sleepy, though.”

“Well, wake up! Hey Shiro, got any embarrassing stories you can tell us about Keith?”

“Oh boy, do I ever. How about the time when he was sparring with this kid named Brandon, and -”

“Daaaad,” Keith whined. “Be nice to me while I’m dying.”

Shiro’s tone suddenly sobered. “You’re not dying, Keith. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Yeah, Mullet. Even if I have to figure out how to activate a snowplow feature on Blue, we’ll come get you before anything happens to you. No dying today.”

Everyone fell quiet, and through the slight haze in his brain Keith wondered if he had done something to upset them. It wouldn’t be the first time, and probably not the last. Just as he was thinking of apologizing, Pidge spoke back up, as perky as before.

“So. I’m pretty sure Keith hasn’t heard yet about what you did in the kitchen the other day, Lance.”

“And he doesn’t need to! Ever! Too many people know about that already! I mean...nothing happened in the kitchen the other day, what are you talking about?”

Pidge launched into her tale, Lance protesting all the while and Shiro laughing along. It actually did keep his mind feeling more alert, as did Lance’s answering story of something Pidge had done back in their Garrison days...to start with. By the end of it, though, heaviness had started to overcome him, inviting him to sink down into deep, comfortable darkness.

On the edge of his consciousness, he thought he could feel someone shaking him, and Shiro’s voice calling his name. He tried to answer, he really did. But his tongue had already succumbed to the heavy sensation, and all he could do was give a little hum. 

Then Pidge’s voice came, curiously close to his ear. “Uh, guys? Red just left her hangar.”

“She what?”

Lance’s voice, also really close. What were all these people doing in his ear? “Yeah, I see her! She’s like...wow. She’s just burning a path through the storm. I’ve never seen anything like it. And she’s moving fast.”

The body he seemed to be leaning against heaved a giant sigh and relaxed. “Thank you, Red,” someone whispered.

That was the last thing he was aware of for a while.

[sloppy-butcher]

Angel of Music

The Wraith (Philip Ojomo) x Survivor!Reader 

ok so

I’m probably very late to this, like 3 years late, but whatever just hear me out

My smooth brain has been going crazy lately for Phantom of the Opera and i just realized how similar Wraith’s “Angel of Music” cosmetic is to the drama (i mean, i known it is inspired by it but like). 

so now with this glorious revelation, me and the monkeys in my head have come up with the brilliant idea to write a Phantom of the Opera inspired Wraith fic. gods speed you funky lil dudes. 

note;; this is going to be very OOC for him. I’m am going to model wraith to be more like the phantom he is dressed as, thus expect a more devilish, seductive creature rather than the tree-man we already know. also, he can talk now. maybe sing

literally no one asked for this

word count: 4110

TW: Death and blood. Stalking and obsession. Musicals 

This place is an undeniable and indisputable nightmare. An eternal night that twists and corrupts all with shadows and despair. From the repetitive game of cat and mouse that almost always ended in death to the ever-present feeling of eternal damnation, there is absolutely nothing inherently good about the Fog. There wasn’t even light. As if stuck in the haze of an ecstasy-trip, time bleeds into itself seeming to stretch on forever yet also never move an inch. A true paradox.

And to make matters somehow even worse, you had started to hear voices in your head.

It first spoke to you on one of your regular trips into the woods. Scavenging for tools and items that could be used in trials, you hummed to yourself. Oblivious to the world around you, lost to the music playing in your head. It was easier to forget the horrors of the night and give in to the melody of some old song than to ponder on dangers yet to come. You found personal peace in singing, drowning out all your earthly worries by the power of your own imagination. The fog swirled and swelled with the rise and fall of your song and out in the darkness the voice made its presence known. ‘Sing louder.’ You obliged willingly.

Initially, you had chalked it up to your heightened sense of purpose and inner monologue being superimposed so as to form its own being. You would command yourself in third person, detaching and driving your body as your thoughts spoke. Intuition personified. This theory made sense; endless panic often causes those to develop the most peculiar of coping mechanisms. In passing conversations with the other trapped souls you realized that they too had their quirks; one had a rubber band that he snapped on his wrist whenever scared, another rubbed dirty into her palms to stop them from sweating and so on. Unfortunately, you had developed the most bizarre habit out of everyone else. You only started to question the voice’s true intention when its orders became more sinister.

‘Leave him.’ It spoke over your shoulder referring to your teammate dying on hook, an open exit gate before you. ‘Run away.’ It commanded to your half-way through healing another when you spotted the killer fast approaching. All these new and selfish instructions, although ensuring your survival, left you feeling hollow inside. You escaped but at what cost? The lives of your friends. If it really was your true self talking to you then, by default, did that mean you were as evil as the voice was? No! You plead. You were a good person. By God you were human, and the weight of all the death and suffering inflicted by your obedience to the voice began to crush your conscience. You couldn’t even look the others in the eyes anymore.

You couldn’t just ignore the voice either. When it spoke there seemed to be an almost physical force behind it, driving it and giving it momentum. Sometimes it even felt as if someone was standing right behind you reaching out and instructing you with their hand as they whispered in your ear. There was also the fact that you drew strange comfort from the voice. In this desert place, so drained of softness and angry with hate, you depended on what little gentleness the voice offered you.  

It even occurred to you that maybe, the voice wasn’t even yours - as in it belonged to someone else entirely. An unknown watcher, a ghost or phantom, who somehow had a deep connection to you, a one-way mode of communication. A large part of you wanted desperately to believe that who were just overreacting and that it was all just in your head. Regardless, you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

For what felt like days now the voice had been uncharacteristically silent. You noticed it in your first ever trial with the killer that could go invisible with the toll of his bell. There was no guidance, no consoling vector to take your hand and help you through your problems. You had been left alone like a new-born chick, blindly searching for the love and warmth of a guardian. Feeling completely lost, the panic that sat on your chest was overwhelming in that trial. But oddly enough, no matter what you did wrong, how many times you blew up a generator or accidentally revealed your position, the killer never disturbed you. You didn’t even see him until the end where, standing in the exit gate looking in on the realm, you spotted the figure. Bright eyes gleamed back, a bloody weapon in his hands. He allowed you a moment longer to gawk at him before ringing his bell and disappearing into the night.

Even after escaping the voice didn’t return. Your ears yearned for the sound of it, hungry for its filling noise. You sat alone at the campfire, eyes staring unblinking into the mesmerizing flames. It was so lonely, the panic and unrest mixing into a dangerous concoction in your head. There was nothing good anymore. Why do you keep on trying? Perhaps it would be better if you just gave in already. You almost jumped out of your skin when, as if manifested by your desperate cry, the voice called.

‘Come.’ It sounded from the treeline, darkness bending and beckoning you into it. It didn’t feel real. Perhaps you were imagining it. ‘Come,’ It said again sensing your hesitation. You looked around at the other survivors none of which appeared to notice the disturbance. You faced the forest again, it opened to you like the mouth of a great fish. Your feet itched to run to it. There was a powerful pull and before long you followed it.

The woods were freezing, broken branches grabbing out as you passed them. Through all these adversaries, pushing past doubts and warranted skepticism, you kept your eyes focused ahead. Even with all the warning flags the voice had given you, the pure desperation you had to find anything even remotely kind lit the fire of will under your feet. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? You were dead either way. The trees swayed and whined as a tired wind blew through their crumbling leaves, oddly not even making a noise. As the voice continued to call, luring you away from the safety of other people and fire, you spotted something ahead of you. There just through the fog, like a lighthouse over a raging sea, was a light. It bobbed and sway and wondered away from you through the trees. It was hypnotizing to watch the light flicker deeper into the trees, your feet not needing motivation to follow.

The light and voice mingled in your head, overwhelming every sense until it felt like you were walking through a dream. Your pace was sluggish and sloppy, you couldn’t feel the ground anymore. Just as it seemed you’d never catch up to the light, it suddenly stopped, blinked a few times then popped out of existence. You went to its last location, looking around for any possible signs of anything to help you but instead found yourself completely surrounded by an all impressive mist. It danced through the trees creating unbreakable walls of wood and water. It felt wrong to be here, your head spin around for an exit which came to you in the form of an out-of-place stone archway.

The bright yellow of the stone contrasted brilliantly against the somber atmosphere it lived in. Your mind wasn’t your own as you unknowingly went to it. Beyond the mouth of madness lay a beast in wait, purring as he felt your impending arrival. Eagerness overtook him and slowly the wooden door creaked open to welcome you inside. The tunnel that lay behind was one lit by old candles tinting the world with a much-appreciated golden light. It stretched on for miles, leading down into the earth where, at the bottom drifting up to you like a breeze in a cave, the voice beckoned.

‘Come.’ You stepped inside. ‘Come to me.’ If, by some strange miracle, you could have stopped yourself for a brief moment from descending the tunnel, you might have noticed the voice’s odd word choice. You might have even noticed the person on the other end licking his lips and smiling. Walking as if through honey, you unhurriedly made your way to the yearning voice. Before long the warm light that had bathed you drew back its loving embrace and faded back to absolute darkness.

At the edge of the last candles reach was a room - so large and empty of light that it appeared to have no roof, no walls, no end. You couldn’t help but feel like you had walked into the lair, the most secret and quiet place, of a monster. You couldn't shake the feeling that you had passed the point of no return. The artificial night swallowed you whole; your eyes strained in the pitch black, your ears burning from the total silence save for your own beating heart. The shadows inspected you, looking you up and down while you were none the wiser. His eyes also ate you up, so pleased to have you alone that he let the moment slip into an uncomfortable length.

You wanted to speak, make your claim against whatever had brought you here. You could sense something out there just outside of your already limited view. But the silence held you tight in its suffocating grasp. You dared not even breath. You had to wait for him to make the first move.

“Bravo.” The voice called from somewhere behind you, startling you to the point of drawing a gasp. “Bravo! Bravissimo!” Someone started to clap. You could hear him stepping around you, his voice echoing endlessly around the room, impossibly loud and booming. Although there was something deeply unsettling about the voice, the only thing you could take from it was odd comfort. It was real. A person. A guardian Angel! You spun around on your heels desperate to see the source of your guidance however he managed to remain hidden in shadow. You swear you could hear him grin at your confusion.

“You listen well, my dear.” There was no denying it, it was the voice. Although only now, when it spoke so openly, did you notice that it was inherently male. So relieved with the news that you weren’t going completely mad with disembodied voices, you glazed over the other implications this reveal came with. If it wasn’t yourself than just who have you been talking to all this time? And, the more pressing matter, just who were you stuck with in the room.

The stranger claps again and moves around in the black, shuffling from one side of the room to the other and at times seeming to even be above you, looking down. “I am beyond impressed my dear.” The stranger smiled, unbeknownst to you getting closer with very advance. “Do you know where you are?” No reply. Honestly you had no clue. You had never been in this place before - it felt so detached, so different when compared to all the other realms you had grown accustomed to in the Fog.

“Hell.” The voice answered, purring like a cat with a trapped mouse, teasing it - relishing off its fear. “The deepest pit. And, what’s more, you came here all on your own free-will.” He moved again not content to stay in one spot for too long, trying to view you from every possible angle before he made his last move.

“Won’t you sing for me. My Angel of music. You know the one I mean.” His words hit you like a ton of bricks. A song? As you wracked your brain for whatever he could be referring to, a faint idea began to materialize right in the tip of your tongue. Words of a melody that you swear you had never heard before but still feel familiar with in your heart. The voice, it sang to you. How could you forget!  

“Every night I was there. Whispering my song to you in hopes that one day, you could join in with me.” That was true. Each time you dared to drift off to sleep, the voice would appear. He sang to you, gently and softly, talking into your ear to lull you safely away - only to wake hours later with no memory of the night before. Perhaps that is why you were always so attached to the voice, why its absence impacted you so deeply. There was a build of pressure behind you and suddenly he was there. The stranger towered over you without even looking, his chest pressed tight to your back. Exploring hands went down your arms and slowly brought them up like the two of you were about to start a dance. His head hung low to your ear, his breathing touching your exposed neck. He sucked in and exhaled meaningfully, taking in your smell and touch and your reaction to his closeness.

“Sing.” God, his voice was so smooth, demanding and rich. A sonorous tone that had never been shown to you before this. It shocked you to your core. He sighed again, one hand moving to caress your neck with the other holding your own hand. “Sing my Angel.” Up till now you were passive, sitting ideally in a dream-state as you let the stranger do as he wished. But now you wanted answers.

“Let me see you.” No answer came from the man be it verbal or physical. He remained completely unphased and unchanging.

“Sing.” He commanded again, no anger or annoyance in his tone only patience and hunger. He yearned for you to sing with him, to join in with his symphony. For too long has he gone silent, his soul dying along with his music. The bells no longer tolling and his music fading out like a lit match in the rain. When he found you, fallen like an angel right out of Heaven, humming alone to yourself, he felt the fire of passion ignite within him. You were perfect to him and now, you couldn’t resist him. You were defenseless, night having accustomed you to its unfurling beauty to the point that you were addicted to it – needed it, just as he did. There was no way either of you could go back now. You breathed into him, your nose filling with the smell of pine and smoke, and hesitantly after closing your eyes, you began to sing the words now burning hot in your head.

“Say you’ll share with me,” It wasn’t really singing, rather just breathless talking – a whisper that only the keenest of ears could hear. Regardless of what you sounded like; the stranger cherished every word that left your mouth. He started to shake, his hands holding on to you for support.

“One love, one lifetime.” He joined you now, singing as you did in a volume that only you could truly appreciate. His raspy, low-pitched voice mingling wonderfully with yours, sounding almost desperate to get the words out. Lips grazed your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“Say the word,” His hands tightened their grip as if to empathize his lyrics. “And I will follow you.”

“Say you love me.” Your combined voices bounced around the darkness stirring whatever creatures lay in hiding, your harmony compelling and immensely sorrowful. While a part of you faded into the song’s words, swaying and melting with the stranger content for once, something crawled into your head. The song was ending, and while you wished to stay forever in this blissful embrace, you demanded to know the face behind the voice. Your moment was coming.

“That’s all I ask of -” Slipping out his grasp at the moments climax, you spin around to finally lay your eyes on the stranger. He froze under your gaze, surprised by your sudden action. Looking up at an incredibly tall man, you felt your knees threaten to give out. Staring back were the glowing eyes of a killer, the very one that had, not long ago, tormented your friends. You couldn’t help but gasp and step away from him, breaking his hold on you. You inspected him as best you could in your lack of light, squinting your eyes as hard as you could but nothing in the darkness made itself known to you save for his unmistakable eyes. The stranger noticed your efforts and, fuming at your defiance to play along with him, raised a hand.

“You wish to disobey me? Fine!” The ground shook under foot, his shouting voice ricocheting off the rooms stone walls and sending the world into disarray. “Look at me Angel! In all my glory!” He snapped his fingers.

Suddenly your senses were overwhelmed by blinding white light. You flinched, shutting your eyes to the dramatic change in the room. When next you opened then you found the room to be hazed in familiar yellow candlelight. As if by magic, all candles had all be simultaneously lit. Your attention darted around like a trapped bird before resting on the man standing in front of you, his arms open and expression unreadable. Bathed in new light you could see him in immaculate detail.

Yes, it was the invisible killer, no doubt about it. But something was off about him. He looked different somehow; maybe it was his prim suit, navy fabric decorated with golden lace that fit his slender body snugly giving him a sense of proper and divinity. Behind him hung an extraordinary cape that fluttered in a non-existent breeze. On his face sat a white mask, crooked and dirtied from years of neglect which, in all honesty, covered little to none of his truly disfigured and burnt flesh.

Unparalleled fear began to rise in your chest. He was so tall, powerful and strange that it terrified you to be standing next to him. You stepped backwards, edging closer to the exit. The stranger’s eyes flickered. How could you fear him? He had never hurt you, Angel. All he has ever wanted was to be by your side, to never be lonely in the dark again. He has given you no reason to distrust him, he has never shown you his monstrous side. Yet still you shrunk away from his touch, choosing rather silent suffering than a lifetime of music with him. He felt something break inside him.

You saw his hand twitch, his off-center head bobbing as his labored breathing intensified. He took a small step forward and you replied by taking a large one back. He halted and so did you. Next to the broken thing that rattled around in his bones, he heard something else. A beating heart, weak and faint but somehow still alive. It moved and leaped, reaching out for you to take it and hold. Just standing in your company he heard music start to swell in his ears. You had listened to him once before, maybe he could get you to again.

The stranger's head dropped; through the lumpy cape you saw his shoulders deflate. What was he doing? Playing possum so as to catch you off guard? Whatever it was, you didn’t let the tension ease out your legs. You waited for his next move, ready to run if he tried anything suspicious. You didn't expect the sound of his voice to suddenly start singing again.

“Say you’ll share with me,” He sang his solo, his voice that of an airy murmur as if afraid to sing alone. Every word he sang clung to your ears, kissing your heart and mind with a complex sorrow. Your guard started to halter.

“One love. One lifetime.” He paused, swallowing the lump building in his throat warning to overflow and render him speechless.

“Lead me,” He raised a cautious eye to find you still waiting, offering him the chance to try coax you closer. A fist clutched his chest in an attempt to sooth his aching heart. “Save me from my solitude.” He was certain he was crying but he couldn’t feel the tears; you had his undivided attention.

“Say you want me here...” He faltered here, hand itching to reach out and grab you. “Beside you.”  The stranger could barely form audible words anymore, so slurred and choked up that you unknowingly leaned forward to try hear him better. 

“Anywhere you go,” He tried again, begging you to close the distance and join him. It was heartbreaking, this phantom, this person and the way he sang to you, each syllable dripping with an ocean of unimaginable pain and beastly hopelessness. It was infectious really; you could feel his sadness take over your heart shaking it in an iron grasp. Miserable eyes glared you down as you took the smallest step forward. “Let me go too.”

He didn’t continue - he couldn’t. The horrors of the whispering darkness and this god-awful place left him near-drained. Everything pushed down on him, suffocating him until he thought he was going to pass out. He could only keep his eyes on you. Blurry from tears he held onto your figure like your were a buoy in a raging sea, his only safety, his air. The stranger heaved from trying to maintain his composure. Finally the curtain fell and you gave in. 

Your foot falls were the only sounds that broke the silence in the room. You approached him with little to no conflict in your mind. Yes - he was scary. Yes - he was a monster. But the way he looked at you now, the way he sang and spoke; no killer would beg to be loved the way he did. It was like he was afraid of the dark, of being alone, of being condemned to an existence of pitiful silence. You craned your neck to look up at him, sucking back the wreckage still wavering just outside his control. 

“Pitiful creature of darkness,” The words tumbled out of your mouth, through teeth unfazed by their possible repercussion. You were speaking from your heart. A small hand connects with his unmasked cheek taking in the feeling of old, burnt skin and years of mud. He leans into your warm embracing having forgotten what it was like. “You are not alone.” 

Even on tip-toes you still were short of his lips. It was only when he gave in and leaned down that you were able to kiss him. Eyes closed, shoulders tensing, you melted into the kiss. His lips were rough, chapped, but gentle. He didn’t give anymore pressure until you asked for him, dragging you tongue along his bottom lip asking for entrance. He opened to you gratefully. Inside his mouth housed monstrous sharp teeth and an excited tongue and moved inside your mouth, tasting ever inch of you. He was greedy, demanding everything of yours. When you had nothing more to give, he relented and let you go.

You sank back on your heels gasping for breath. You noticed he was smiling, an odd sight of such a distorted and sad face. 

“My Angel. My Muse.” You felt him move on top of you, a hand sneaking behind your back making to bend over so as not be pressed uncomfortably against his chest. “I have many names of which to call you. I am eager to use them all.” He laughed, the sound rattling your whole body with its bass leaving you quivering. “But you, can call me Philip.” He tilted his head in a mock bow, his free hand grabbing the edge of his cape and fanning it out in respect. You offered you own  meek nod. His smile only widened at your compliance. 

“Come now,” Philip said standing up to his full height, his hand still securing your back. “Let me take you away. Away from all this numb light and into the darkness where no one will find us.” He raised his arm and cape and quickly brought it down around you, sweeping it around the both of your until he had you cocooned. 

The world fell into black again and all you could sense was him; his breathing, his reinforced arms cradling you. You could also hear a faint thumping when you put your ear to his chest - his heart. Once diseased and weak now pumped with vigor and delight. He had you in his grasp and he was never letting you go. You were his everything; his Angel of music.

[argyleandjonathansmokingajoint]

Say Me, Say You

Will’s skint knees are on display; his rolled up jeans bare a new tear in the right cuff. Hazards of a skateboarder. He’ll just try to sneak it by his mom without her noticing later, then pass it off as an old pair. His red sneakers squeak against the pavement as he hops back on his board. Just as he flips an ollie, there’s the sound of shoes walking up behind him, startling Will out of his focused state.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Will’s back is still turned, but as he hears the voice his tense shoulders deflate.

He faces the other person and smiles, face breaking out into a huge grin. “Mike!”

The other boy is tall, lanky and has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, with wild, dark curls, ever since he let the untamed mass of swirls grow out. He has dark, smoldering eyes, a soft, but intense brown Will would say. Mike is still growing into his teenage features, his ever growing body and Will is completely in love with him, regardless of the fact.

“Hey! I- Oh, ouch! Did you wipe out? Bring bandages?” Will blushes as Mike starts fussing over him, making him sit and get out his emergency pack.

“You do know my mom, right?” They share a look and a smile. “Of course I did. Kinda ruins the whole bad-ass skater image, but-”

“Aw, come on, I think you’re bad-ass!” Mike nudges his shoulder then reaches into the pack, grabbing band-aids and antiseptic ointment.

“This might sting a bit. Or, uh a lot.” 

“Ha. Ha.” Will rolls his eyes and pretends to be unamused.

The first bit of ointment that Mike presses into his skin does, in fact, sting. He doesn’t wince or grimace but instead looks to Mike’s face while he diligently applies it, then carefully places bandages over the scrapes. Mike looks thoughtful while he works on the task, his administrations ever so meticulous and gentle. Will waits patiently, in awe as Mike seems to take such a small thing to heart. 

Why? He’s always patching him up, always there when Will needs to vent through some emotion he’s feeling. He’s just always there beside him with a smile on that stupid, pretty, freckled face. Will’s starting to get mixed messages. Or is he? Because the signals Mike’s been sending since they were thirteen seem pretty clear, actually. Maybe it’s just Will who doesn’t know how to read the messages Mike’s been trying to send. Maybe he’s been too scared to.

“Ok, all done.” Will is broken out of his thoughts by the sound of Mike, looking up to see him flash his pearly whites, almost a bit self consciously. He looks handsome in this light, the sun behind him casting a glow around his body and turning his cheeks slightly pink, or perhaps something else is the cause of that. His hand is still on the side of Will’s knee and he make’s no move to remove it now.

“Thanks. What would I do without you?” He almost tacks “man” onto the end, but he makes a conscious effort not to. He’s trying something new this time. And if it works, then great! And if not, well it’s only his entire lifelong friendship he could be ruining, right?

“Oh, probably be completely lost, duh.” It’s said as a joke, but Will knows more than anything how true that is. 

“Yeah y-

“I-”

They both chuckle awkwardly for a moment. 

“You go!”

“Oh, no you!” Mike looks slightly nervous and maybe a little scared now, so Will decides to spare him. He’s gonna do it.

He takes a breath. Releases. “Mike, I- Well, I guess I just wanted to talk about how I’ve been feeling.” Mike’s face changes from embarrassed to concerned now, but Will just holds a hand up and he waits. “Don’t Worry. It’s not like that or anything.” A small smile lifts the corners of his cheeks. “For a long time, really long- I think since third grade maybe even, I’ve felt this way. It’s just hard-” here, Will loses courage and Mike, feeling his friend in need of some bravery, puts his hand on Will’s, squeezing. 

“Sorry. I meant that... It’s hard for me to tell you-” Mike tilts his head to the side, almost like a puppy and Will can’t help himself, he has to smile. “That I like you.” 

Nothing happens for the first five seconds. Mike doesn’t yell or punch him or call him names or run away, which should be a good sign. But he doesn’t say anything and Will holds his breath for the whole five seconds. He just keeps holding Will’s hand, but then those five tortuous seconds are over (Will counted) and he does something strange and altogether lovely. He squeezes Will’s hand, and then in Will’s pure and radiant joy, he does all he can think to do, which is of course to squeeze back.

Mike looks up at him and his eyes are definitely wet. Is that a good or bad sign? Will can’t decipher it because of the way Mike’s looking at him. He’s never looked at anyone that way, but those eyes are for him only in this moment. Then there’s the fact that they’re still grasping at each other's hands, somehow even tighter now. 

And then, Mike’s mouth finally opens and words just start flying out. “Well, it’s about time.”

Will does a blink. “H-huh?”

“I’ve been waiting around long enough, don’t you think?”

“Uh-”, Mike doesn’t give him time to answer though.

“Since we were thirteen! Thirteen, Will! I’ve been throwing out feelers to you left and right! I tried stepping up my game, even. You just asked me if I was sick or somethin’!” He pauses to take a breath. Will is mesmerized. How had he never seen it before? He was so caught up in his own self-loathing that he couldn’t see the pain that his best friend and love of his life was going through.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I never saw what you were dealing with. I mean, I thought it was jus-”

“Thought it was just you? No way, dude. I’ve been in love with you since fifth grade. All I ever wanted was for you to notice me in that way, but I hated it at the same time, hated myself for feeling that way. You know my dad.” Will does. Will’s dad may be a prick of the first-degree, but at least he isn’t around to say and do the kind of things that hurt Will anymore. The same can’t be said for Mike. His dad voted Reagan for goodness sake! He was always on about ‘Those jeans’ll turn you into a queer’ or ‘I’ll have no son acting like a damn hippie’. Will squeezes his hand again in what he hopes to be a comforting gesture.

Mike grabs his other hand in return. “Why do you think I tried dating El?” he snorted and kept going. “’Tried’ being the keyword. Didn’t exactly work out, you know with me being-”, He looked around before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, “Gay and all.” 

“I love you!” Will shrinks again, realizing what he’s just said aloud, no matter how true it may be.

Mike’s eyes are wide as they stare at him, round and globe-like. “Really? I love you too.”

It’s a soft moment and caught in it as they are, they both lean forward slowly with hands held tightly. Will can just feel the slightest graze of Mike’s lips against his own when they hear the sound of a motor rattling its way up the road. Their eyes jolt open and they scoot apart as fast as they can, looking at each other and bursting out in mirth as the car rattles past them an on down the road. When it’s quiet again and they’re sure no one is around, they push themselves back together until their feet are touching. Mike interlocks his pinky with Will’s and all feels right again. 

Mike starts to hum some tune. It’s a familiar one and it makes Will ache in a heart-stopping kind of way. Their cheeks are both tinted. They could lie and say it’s the sun, but it seems the only lie they’ve ever told each other is no problem any more and why start now? The tune Mike hums is picking up now but it slows again and just because he can, because he’s in love and he’s happy, Will sings along.

“Say you, say me say it for always That's the way it should be”

[dante-vergil64]

To the Stars, The Moon Pleaded “Stay”

Sasuhina Month 2020

Day 1

Rated T

She is a most wonderful vision.

A figure of sensuality and virtue as if tailored by the gods to bring about salvation and sanctuary to this undeserving mortal ground. With skin pristine like unstained glass and smooth like tender velvet bathing soothingly in the essence of the sun as if beckoning and rejoicing in its warmth. Her hair dark, lustrous and silky beyond words in its descent against her form as if embracing her in protection and serenity. And her eyes, wide and jolly, the most captivating shade of lavender, bewitching and consuming beyond comprehension.

How is it, he wonders, that a woman like her exists? How is it, that her mere presence provokes this intense change in the contractions of his heart, in his gathering of breath, in the formation of his thoughts?

She is more than beauty, more than grace, more than warmth, more than light. She is kindness and respect. She is honesty and compassion. An angel fallen from the sky, a fairy without wings.

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. After all, it had been her, the one that handed him the stars, the one that found him in the dark. When he was drowning in the pain, in the loneliness of his own insignificance she had dared to reach her hand, to look at him and form a smile.

“Please don’t cry, don’t let tears inside your heart when there is so much happiness around. Smile instead, all teeth and wide, and I promise that this pain that hurts so bad…it will be banished to the sky”

It is a memory of youth, his most precious treasure.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. Merely the second son, the shadow of his brother, the spare of his father. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. He knows his place, he knows his role.

“Lady Hyuuga turns more beautiful everyday, doesn’t she?”

“She does, undoubtedly so”

He can feel his lips smiling, his expression lost in the gift that is her. He allows himself to indulge, if only just this once, to gaze once more at her eyes, at her nose and her lips.

How is it, he wonders, that he is so lucky to be alive at this moment?

His eyes turn to his right, resting on his favorite cousin before turning around ready to head back to the station.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Shisui asks, and despite the smile lifting his lips there is something sad about his eyes

“I know my place, I know my role” he smiles, all teeth and wide “come on Shisui, there’s a ton of paperwork waiting for us”

He’s unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

But there is much he can still do, much more still left for him to give. He can vie for her protection, bring peace within the walls. He can take the burden off her friends, can take the troubles off her mind. He can wish for her happiness, can pray for her health. However far she may be, however unreachable to him, he can still try with all his might to keep the smile that she once gave, all precious and irreplaceable, illuminating her face. . . . . She’s an exhilarating performance, all fierceness and grace following wherever she goes.

Her movements, so calculated and precise, cast judgement upon the wicked in a continuous dance of silence that holds a simmering gentle fury in each and every of her soft feather touches. Dead stillness falls upon conclusion as her form forever gorgeous basks in sorrowful solemnity. Her spirit, both tranquil like the waters of a pond in coming spring and infinitely warm like the air of enduring summer, casts a blanket of protection on the weary, a promise of safety to the innocent. Her heart, pure as it is stubborn, weeps for the forsaken, prays for the forgotten, absolves the repenting. It is a tender and forgiving heart, more forgiving than anyone has any right to.

How is it, he wonders, that she continues to find the strength to forgive those who wrong her despite the pain that they cause her? How is it, that they don’t realize what an amazing woman this is, how strong and resilient and skilled she has become?

She is more than strength, more than speed, more than instinct, more than talent. She is discipline and hard work She is practice and repetition She is determination and never going back on her word

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. Like it was yesterday he can remember, that time he learned of the lion hiding beneath her eyes

It’s an easy memory to recall, after all, it was the first time his flash step was faster than Shisui’s, his eyes sharper than his brother’s. It begins with the report of an ambush, with her as the target and him as the backup. With fear palpable in his tongue and overwhelming in his trembling hands, he runs. But by the time he arrives she has begun, a force of nature twisting and charging with every one of her practiced steps, the absolute might of the sixty-four palms discharged upon her foes in a crescendo. And her eyes, they are still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. This goddess given flesh is a sight to behold, and even now he remembers the staccato his heart played at the scene before his eyes. It ends with her fingers near his throat, her surprised lavender gaze overcoming the sheer look of concentration from before. He does not allow himself to wallow in the memory too long, for he knows that if he does the delicate scent of hyacinth will reach his nose and the distance that lies between them will be breached by his treacherous heart.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that sa-chan! I could have hurt you really badly. But, thank you…you know, for coming to help me”

“You really are amazing Hina”

He cannot help the strange feeling of pride every time he recalls that memory, she has grown so much, has become so strong.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. Yet, he is so thankful to be able to witness this girl, a little shy and innocent and everything that is right in the world, become such a confident mature woman. It is a privilege he will never take for granted. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

“Tell me dear boy, who is she? Who is this woman that consumes all of your thoughts, the one that has taken ownership of your heart?”

His gaze falls upon his mother, a look of wonder and joy in unhidden display. She’s just as lovely as when she sang her first lullaby, as attentive and caring as when he was but a young boy.  

“There is no one like that. I know my place, I know my role” he gifts her a loving smile “you don’t have to worry, mother”

He brings her into his embrace, a warm farewell and a see you soon. He does not see the light of her eyes dim. He does not see the tight grip of her fist close to her heart.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

But there is plenty he can do, a lot more left for him to see. He can marvel in her movements, both the peaceful and the violent. He can wallow in her laughter, both from memories and in her presence. He can take care of her sister, to bring both joy in any way. He can steal just one more glance, lie to himself just one more time. . . . . She is a breath of fresh air, quite familiar and comforting.

Her voice is soft and sweet like cotton, her words woven with patience, thoughtfulness and care. Even so, he can’t help but compare it to the allure of a siren’s song. The hypnotizing melody of her chords. So relaxing and consoling it has long become his favorite sound. And the silence in between, that is its own special gift. The offer of her company, of her presence within reach, of the sounds of her breath and the image of her form. As if the world was in stasis, saying it’s okay, to gaze at her just one more time. And her authenticity, her concern, her love for her family and her friends is so mesmerizing and so disarming he wants nothing more than to forget her, because he knows that it is possible, downright certain that these feelings in his heart will only grow.

She’s more than innocent, more than friendly, more than loyal, more than extraordinary She is security and peace She is the water and the wind The steady rock in minds of many, the anchor deep within.

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. There is one such instance of time, a time his brain cannot ignore, when the mere sight of her left him speechless, because it was a glimpse into the future, another treasure in itself. And it begins with his arrival, his form weary from a mission. The night is long as stars are bright, yet his feet carry him regardless into her warm welcoming home. What awaits him is a lady, a few years younger than her sister, yet her beauty is not diminished, only hidden by mischief.

“Sa-san, you’re back! Did you bring it?! Did you?!” “Hello to you too, firecracker. I said it was a promise didn’t I?”

Her eyes sparkle in the light of her front door, a sweet souvenir within her palms, and he knows he is being ridiculous but the thought comes anyway. She has taken after Hinata. As he holds the child in his gaze he cannot help but feel content. But the moment is then stopped, not destroyed, but expanded. She emerges from inside, all porcelain and silk and lavender in her wake. And his heart gallops one more time, long surrendered to her smile. And that is when it finally happens, the vision in his eyes travels through time. And there, standing steps ahead is a much more mature woman, with no less beauty, no less grace, no less warmth. And in her arms is not her sister, not the rebellious adventurer filled with passion and mischief, but a much more inexperienced little thing, wide eyes in wonder and curiosity. It takes everything he has to dissipate that very scene, for he knows that deep within, he’s not strong enough to face it.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time patrolling near the Hyuuga compound. Something you want to say?”

His gaze falls upon his father, the commander of the police force, forever strict and infallible. An old wound threatens to reopen, a hurt of times long past.

“I know my place, I know my role” he salutes in subordination “Sir”

He bows and he departs. He does not see the hesitation, the inklings or regret.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

But there is much he can endure, much more left for him to bear. He can handle frozen nights, her form sound and in blissful rest He can fight against exhaustion, peace and order his reward. He can perpetuate his distance, only admire from afar. He could accept his place as second, a meager warrior and protector. Whatever price he pays is little, when measured against her smile. . . . . She is an inescapable revelation, a bright enchantment of the truth.

Her mind benevolent and understanding, captivating in humility glimpses past layers of deception, offers redemption and mercy. And her eyes, like stellar windows, like nebulous ice reflections glimmer sharply with intelligence and observe with calm rapport. Despite her powers of deduction, the blessing of her sight, her only passion is to aid, to sooth the spirit and the mind. And so she sees the hearts of men, so full of sin and of regret. And yet her hope never falters nor declines, her gaze set in the path towards the sun.

She is more than perception, more than intuition, more than introspection, more than sensation. She is experience and involvement She is patience and rumination

The culmination of her years, of her talents and her efforts.

This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. And he’s not the only one. This ethereal creature of benevolence, of boundless wisdom and stability has already taken stage, has become a steering knight. And she is power and authority and compassion and bravery. There is no soul that does not listen, there is no dimming of her light.

“We will not risk civilian settlements! That, I will not allow! If it’s gold that is the issue, then take it from my vaults. If it’s men you are In need of, I will gladly join the fight. Whatever else may come our way, whatever hardships they may be, I will protect them with my life!”  

It is the idealistic way, the laborious road ahead, yet all it brings is inspiration, optimism and unification. He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while. The path she walks he cannot follow, he’ll never join her in the sun. She is destined for so much more, to such great heights, he can only be grateful, from the bottom of his heart, that he was allowed the chance to meet her.

“You should tell her how you feel. If you truly wish to make her happy, then that is the only way”

His gaze falls upon his brother, the man most treasured in his heart. With tired lines along his eyes, his pupils still glimmer with the kindness and the brilliance of his being. And it is him, Hinata’s promised, what she truly deserves. A man of honor, and integrity, and strength, a man whose everything that he could never be. A true pacifist and seer, so altruistic it almost hurts.

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

“I know my place, I know my role” he smirks at his sitting brother, the white-red hat resting closely by his side “And I know yours. You have worried all your life, made me into who I am, I will always be grateful that I got to be your brother. So now it’s time for you to let me worry, for you to let me protect you.”

His feelings are inconsequential, they would only be a burden. More than anything else, his one single wish has been for them to be happy, for them to smile always, to repay them, to thank them. Because before he was nothing, before he was no-one. Shadow he may be, that is no longer the case. He knew plenty of happiness, reveled in their glow. Now it’s just time to look away, now it’s time to fulfill his role.

“Foolish little brother, your eyes are still closed even now. For all your prowess and your foresight you are still so incredibly blind. By choice no less. There is only one man who is in possession of her heart, only one man who consumes all of her thoughts, only one man who can evoke that precious smile. For all that you see her, that you know her, that you love her it never occurred to you that she felt the same” his smile is easy, teasing yet honest “She has rescinded the contract of marriage this very morning, confronted her father too. What will you do little brother, I wonder”

He is unworthy of her heart, unworthy of her mind. This he knows all too well, has known it for a long while.

And yet… She is a most wonderful vision. An exhilarating performance A breath of fresh air An inescapable revelation

He doesn’t have the chance to pursue her, to ask after the cancellation of the contract. She finds him first, refuses his words, grabs onto his body, kisses his lips.

And as her lips meld with his, as his tongue caresses hers, as he drowns in her essence he has to acknowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, he knows nothing after all.

[artificialqueens]

I Just Wanna Dance With You, 1/2 (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary:

Brooke and Vanessa work at the same strip club, and Brooke takes Vanessa under her wing to help her out. But when business at the club slows and Vanessa desperately needs money, they resort to a risky scam to stay afloat.

(Hustlers au)

A/N:

Hustlers au is here! I honestly came very close to writing this last year, but decided to do Mateo’s Eight instead. It was really fun to finally take this on, and there are a lot of people to thank for this one! First off, thanks to thackeryisatop for posting about this idea, and then to Ortega for nominating that I write it. They were both super encouraging and open of me taking on the idea, and I really appreciate it. Also, thank you so much to Writ for betaing and supporting me with all of this, especially because this fic is so different from what I normally write.

I’ll be honest here: writing smut is not my thing, so there WILL NOT be any explicit sexual content in this. I wanted the sexier aspects to be vague/implied and just parts of the overall vibe. This also does differ from the movie a bit—I streamlined certain parts of the plot and removed others entirely, so it won’t follow it exactly. Regardless, you don’t need to know the movie to read this. I really hope you enjoy, and I’d appreciate any feedback you have. I’ll have the second part out as quick as I can with school starting soon.

Title from Gimme More by Britney Spears.

—

Every night, Vanessa leaves A’keria and Silky in the noisy dressing room, settles herself among half-drunk business men that are sleaze wrapped in suits, and watches her.

Every eye in the place stays locked on the stage as Britney Spears trickles over the speakers and she emerges in a glittery red panty set that matches her lips perfectly, long legs encased in fishnets that make them even longer, show off the beauty beneath those thin strands of lace. She flips her blonde hair and drops into a split that makes the men cheer, bills fluttering like confetti.

The dim stage lights brighten in the face of someone worth watching, casting a golden glow as the woman grips the pole and spins herself around. Vanessa watches with the rest of the men, jealousy curling in her stomach as they throw fresh-from-the-ATM bills stamped with double digits and pictures of old men who were just as rich as they are. Bills they don’t give Vanessa.

The woman calls herself Destiny, though Vanessa knows it’s not her real name. With the way men let their money-stained hands linger on her pale skin as they tuck bills inside her fishnets, Vanessa doesn’t blame her for using a fake name. Hell, Vanessa uses a fake name, and she’s nowhere near as popular.

Destiny leaves the stage, blowing kisses to the men still cheering. She always heads to the roof of the club in between her performances and sessions in the private rooms, and tonight, Vanessa follows, chasing that magic and mystery of her, wanting tonight to be the night she finds out more.

Destiny gazes out at the city, looking more like a person out here than she does inside, where the stage makes her a goddess. In the night air, you could almost believe she’s human. Then that eyebrow raises as she takes in Vanessa, and she’s an angel again.

“Where’s your coat?” Destiny asks.

“Left it inside.” Vanessa shivers as chilly air hits her.

“Here.” Destiny opens up her coat, a massive faux fur thing big enough for both of them.

Vanessa slips inside, her arm searing where it presses against Destiny’s. She hopes Destiny can’t feel her heart racing. Destiny has always seemed untouchable, so effortlessly beautiful that it’s slightly intimidating, especially with how she finishes her makeup before anyone else and returns with fistfuls of cash. She’s a pro, an idol to the newer girls like Vanessa, and as much as Vanessa has wanted to talk to her, get close to her, she hasn’t quite worked up the nerve. But she has the courage now, and Destiny’s face is warm and kind as she huddles beside Vanessa.

“Did you like what you saw?”

“What?” Vanessa’s face warms, because even though A’keria and Silky tease her every night and warned her that Destiny would catch her spying eventually, she didn’t really believe them.

Red lips pull into a wicked smile. “Did you like what you saw? I always see you out there with your mouth wide open, you better hope no flies come in—“

“My mouth wasn’t open that wide,” Vanessa protests feebly.

“Uh-huh.” Destiny winks, actually winks, and Vanessa has to grip the edge of the building to stay upright.

“How do you do it?” She blurts.

“Do what?”

Vanessa sighs. “You make more in one number than I do all weekend. How do you do it?”

Vanessa needs that money, needs it more than she’d care anyone to know. And no matter how much she flips her hair and winks and smiles, the money just doesn’t come the way it does for Destiny. Vanessa wants to be bitter, but she can’t deny how much Destiny deserves what she gets. Vanessa just doesn’t understand why she can’t get it too, why bills fly for Destiny but have to be wrestled from sweaty hands for her.

Destiny bites her lip, lipstick so perfect it doesn’t even get messed up. “Vanjie, right?”

Vanessa nods. “My real name is Vanessa.” She’s not sure why she says it. Maybe because underneath that perfect makeup, she knows Destiny is trustworthy somehow. Or maybe because she just wants this woman to know her, know the real person she is beyond her makeup and boots and lacy gloves.

“Vanessa,” Destiny repeats, and the name seems more special on her lips. “To answer your question, I don’t know how I do it. It helps if you treat them like friends, I guess.”

Vanessa nods. It seems so simple, but she hasn’t mastered it, can’t think of clients as anything but clients whose money she needs to help her mom. “I wish I could,” she mutters.

Destiny sighs. “Look, you’re beautiful, Vanessa,” she says, and Vanessa’s stomach leaps. “And that’s what they want–an escape with a beautiful girl. They want the fun, and that’s what you have to give, not the reminder that you’re gonna pay your bills with their tips.”

Vanessa’s heart sinks. Destiny is right.

She looks at Vanessa with the brightest green eyes Vanessa’s ever seen, smooth yet sharp like pieces of sea glass. They’re a part of her you can’t get from the stage, something you can only see if you’re close enough to her. The real person, not the illusion. “I’ll tell you what. Can you come here early tomorrow?”

Vanessa nods.

Destiny smiles, and that smile, like everything else, lures Vanessa in. “Good. I’ll teach you.”

“Thanks, Des—“

“And call me Brooke.”

—-

Vanessa doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into when she walks into the club early the next night. It’s strange to be here during the day, the overhead lights revealing scuffs in the tables and the straws and trash littering the sticky floor. The illusion is gone, and the club is just a cold room rather than the warm fantasy it promises at night.

Brooke is in leggings and a white tank top that shows off the firm muscles peeking beneath her skin. She’s softer somehow, gentler without the hard rhinestones and blinding glitter she’s usually armored in.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Brooke says.

“Hey.”

“You ready?”

Vanessa nods firmly. “There won’t be a test or anything after, right? I’m not so good at tests.”

“There might be.” Brooke gives a mischievous wink and points to a black chair right before the stage. “Sit there. I’m gonna do one of my routines for you. Watch me, okay? Watch how I dance just for you, like me and you are the only ones here.”

“Me and you are the only ones here.” Vanessa grins, swallowing hard against the idea of them being alone.

Brooke rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s just us here now, and you want every client to feel like it’s just you and them.”

Vanessa nods, and then Brooke takes the stage. She shakes out her arms and stretches her long legs, grips the pole, and begins.

The change is jarring–she’s not Brooke anymore; she’s Destiny, both the person and the thing itself, the thing mesmerizing men and making them want to spend hundreds on her, because she’s their destiny. She’s equal parts danger and dangerous, a lit cigarette just begging you to take hold and breathe her in, even if you know it’s wrong.

Watching her this close, Vanessa is mesmerized. If she had money, she would throw every cent on the stage, but it’s more than that. It’s the way each movement is light and delicate, the way she holds you in her gaze and smiles right at you, the way she rests a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder and makes her shiver. Vanessa wants to reach out and touch her, pull her into bed and sleep beside her, all because of this dance.

“Now, these are moves for the pole, okay?” Brooke’s voice snaps Vanessa out of her dream.

She does her best to focus as Brooke shows her the different grips and spins, coaching her to smile and shake her hair through them all.

“What if I don’t have muscles?” Vanessa asks, pointing to her arms. They’re not flabby, but there’s no way in hell she can pull herself up like Brooke.

“You have muscles!” Brooke insists.

“I don’t.”

Suddenly Brooke’s hand is in hers, pulling her onstage. “Come on, you try,” Brooke coaxes. “I’ll spot you. You won’t fall, I promise.” The danger is gone and she’s just Brooke now, and Vanessa trusts the promise even if it might burn her later.

She grips the pole and pulls herself up, following Brooke’s orders to point her toes and smile as she spins around, and she’s flying. She’s a fairy flying through the air, drunk on Brooke’s smile and flashing her own to the invisible crowd.

With a burst of courage, Vanessa climbs, shimmying and twisting her way up, muscles burning. Brooke’s hands are waiting below, strong and sturdy and just waiting to catch her, and some part of Vanessa wants to fall and let those hands do what they’re waiting for. Let those hands touch her and hold her tight. But she also wants to make Brooke proud, show her she can do this, and Vanessa pulls herself up with a massive grunt.

“Lose the grunt at the end and you’re golden,” Brooke praises as Vanessa slides down, steadying hands cupping Vanessa’s hips and making her heart skip a beat.

“Will do.” They perch themselves on the edge of the stage, and Vanessa watches her legs swing a much shorter arc than Brooke’s and can’t help but smile.

“Were you at any clubs before this?” Brooke asks.

“No. This is my first … y’know … job.”

Brooke nods.

“I never really planned on this,” Vanessa continues. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it! I just–I have a day job, and my mom is sick and outta work, so she lost her work insurance, and I started doing this to get more money to cover her treatments.”

“I get it,” Brooke says. “Sorry to hear about your mom.”

“Thanks.” Vanessa sighs. She’s glad Brooke didn’t pry, because she’s sick of talking about her mom’s illness, sick of thinking about it and how it might take her mom away from her. She wants to focus on Brooke instead, because Brooke takes the weight of it all off Vanessa’s shoulders somehow. “What about you? You’ve been here a while, right?”

“You saying I look old?” Brooke teases.

“No, no! Just that you’re so good,” Vanessa says quickly.

“Nice save.” Brooke smiles, though it quickly turns to a frown. “I, uh, I used to dance with the city ballet. You hit 25 in ballet, and you’re basically ancient. I left the company five years ago and decided to keep dancing, make some good money.”

Vanessa nods, because Brooke’s toned muscles and delicate grace make sense now, another piece of the puzzle that adds up to her. And this close to Brooke, intoxicated by her perfume and the soft curves of her shoulder, Vanessa wants to find more pieces.

“Think we can do this again tomorrow?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke grins. “You got it.”

—-

Nina marches over to Brooke’s station like a woman on a mission. She’s the only decent one of the club’s owners, and would happily take things over herself if she could get the other owners to give up control. She’s a mother to the girls, always ready with a listening ear, and the click of her heels over the tile is comforting, a sound everyone counts on when they need help.

“Am I hearing things, or have you made a friend?”

Brooke sighs. “Well …“

“Brooke made a friend! Kam, Pri, Brooke made a friend!”

Kameron and Priyanka crowd around Brooke’s station, whispering in excitement. Brooke groans and hides her face in her hands.

“A friend, and she’s not even imaginary?” Priyanka squeals. “I’m so proud of you, Brookie!”

“I didn’t think I’d see the day you made friends besides us,” Kameron says.

“You’re one to talk,” Brooke shoots back. “Have you texted little Miss Asia yet—“

“Yeah, you never shut up about her,” Priyanka says.

“That’s enough of that.” Kameron quickly returns to her makeup, and Priyanka follows, using the opportunity to make fun of Kameron instead.

Brooke sighs, finally facing Nina’s broad grin. “Look, I think Vanessa’s nice. She—she reminds me of myself, when I started. Figured I’d give her some tips, look out for her.”

“You mean look at her.”

“Nina,” Brooke whines. She’s had her eye on Vanessa since she started here, she’ll admit that. Vanessa is absolutely beautiful, one of the most beautiful women Brooke’s ever seen. There’s real joy and passion in her, the kind you can’t teach, can’t really find in many people. Vanessa is a breath of fresh air over dirty money and sickly-sweet liquor, and Brooke’s had more fun with her than she has in a while. She wants to help Vanessa, make sure she keeps herself safe from the darker aspects of the club and uses the lighter parts to her advantage. Make sure she doesn’t lose that joy. Brooke’s just helping, that’s all.

“I’m just teasing, Brooke,” Nina says fondly, rolling her eyes. “It’s good that you’re getting to know her. She seems great, from what I’ve seen.”

“She is.” Vanessa really is, and Brooke can’t help but marvel at how quickly she picked up Brooke’s steps, how beautiful and free she is in her routines.

Not that Brooke has feelings for her or anything. She’s just helping.

—

Brooke decides to give Vanessa the lowdown at their next practice. Her knowledge of clients is based on years of collecting information, from each leather wallet pulled from a tailored suit to each set of eyes that seek to own her. She knows how things at the club work, and when you know the rules, you can play the game.

“There are three levels of clients,” she explains to Vanessa. “The ones at the bottom are so desperate for power, to be on top, that they’ll break out hundreds if you smile. Guys in the middle are… in the middle. They don’t do much one way or another.”

Vanessa nods, eyes wide as she waits for the rest. Brooke can’t help the thrill in her heart at having Vanessa’s eyes on nothing but her, soaking in her every word. Part of Brooke has always liked the thrill and rush of attention, whether on a fancy theatre stage in silk or a sticky club stage in fishnets. But the thrill is that more intense and intoxicating in the form of Vanessa, in the form of letting someone close to her, close enough to know her name and not the persona she creates.

“The ones on top—they’re the ones who blow thousands a night and it doesn’t even make a dent. They have a private entrance, but even if they got caught, they’d never see the consequences. They want attention, want you to show off for them. They’ll treat you like dirt but pay you like you’re gold, and you can milk them for every cent they’re worth. That’s where the real money is.”

Brooke has found her success, found a nice apartment with more than enough space for her and her cats, found security in her life, all from the bills those men in the top tier slide her way. With practice, Vanessa can get that same success.

Vanessa nods again. “I think I always get the middle guys. They all look the same. Like someone copy-pasted them or somethin’.”

Brooke snorts loudly, a far cry from the gentle laughs she does for her clients. This is her real laugh, one that hardly anyone can wrestle from her.

“Hey,” Vanessa says suddenly, “do you have time to get coffee? Then we can talk somewhere nicer than this.”

Brooke just smiles.

—

The more Vanessa watches Brooke, the more tiny signs of the real her poke through her mask of makeup and confidence. There’s the way she starts chewing on a cuticle, before looking at her manicured black nails and immediately stopping, or how she spills some coffee over the edge of her mug after an enthusiastic nod. It’s like getting a peek behind the curtain, and Vanessa is going to treasure each glimpse she can get.

It’s nice to be here and just talk to Brooke, free of dazzling lights. At the club, there’s idle gossip in the dressing room, and it’s fun, but it’s not personal. It’s a way to pass the time between numbers and client sessions, to laugh before they go out there. But now she gets to just talk to Brooke without interruptions, her heart racing with each of Brooke’s smiles.

“You said you had another job, right?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa nods.

“So, what do you do?”

“I do makeup at a department store. I like it, you know? Getting to talk to people, make them feel good.” Vanessa smiles to herself at the thought of all the clients that have sat in her makeup chair, their grins at how confident they felt after her help. “The pay is okay, but not enough for things like medical bills.”

“I get it,” Brooke says. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“Yeah. Once I get enough money here, I should be good with just that job.” Vanessa pauses, glancing over the strange look of sadness on Brooke’s face that quickly disappears. Is Brooke sad about the idea of her leaving, or something else? Brooke doesn’t talk too much about herself, but Vanessa wants to know more about the old Brooke that used to dance, and maybe she’ll talk. “Did you have any jobs besides ballet?”

“No.” Brooke takes a sip of coffee. “I went right from that to this, and the pay’s been enough that I don’t need anything else. Don’t really know what I’d do anyway.”

Brooke still seems a little upset, and Vanessa decides not to press anymore. She really can’t see Brooke doing anything else, if she’s being honest. There’s just something about the way she moves, like the whole world aligns and stops for a moment when she’s dancing. It’s magical, and Vanessa’s heart leaps just at the thought. She changes the conversation to the cat she’s thinking of getting, and things are okay.

—

It’s a week later that Vanessa gets her first top-tier client. From what Brooke’s taught her, Vanessa is getting better at recognizing them. Every inch of their outfit is expensive, from coat to shoes. Their walk is firm and confident like they own the place. And they hold out hundreds with the casual air of a dollar bill.

She walks past the hall’s dim red floor lights, each one illuminating a plain black door. Vanessa takes a breath before the room she’s using and reminds herself to be like Brooke, to give the man attention, like he’s the only one she’s doing this for, even if she’s already done it tonight. Vanessa walks in, and she walks out with over a thousand dollars.

Rinse and repeat.

—

“It’s working, huh?”

Vanessa looks up from the stack of bills she’s struggling to stuff into her knee-high black boots. Brooke stands next to her, grinning smugly, while Brooke’s friend–Vanessa’s pretty sure the redhead with the muscles and tattoos is Kameron–grins behind her, giving Brooke a push until she bumps into Vanessa.

Vanessa laughs as Brooke swats Kameron away and turns back to her. “It sure is working,” Vanessa says. “Got so much money I can’t even get it in my boots.”

“Can I help?”

Vanessa nods, and then one of Brooke’s hands curves around the back of her knee, the other carefully unzipping her boot. Vanessa doesn’t breathe as the zipper slides down and Brooke delicately arranges bills around her calf, soft fingertips brushing over her skin. She’s close enough that Vanessa can smell her perfume, close enough to grab Brooke and maybe kiss her–the zipper screeches back into place, and Vanessa straightens up.

“Thanks,” Vanessa says, trying to remember how to breathe.

“No problem.”

“Damn, Vanj,” A'keria mutters, open-mouthed in the chair beside Vanessa. “Destiny needs to teach us all how to get that coin.”

Silky nods, swinging her hairspray in excitement. “Miss Destiny’s Stripper School. I’d sign up.”

Vanessa shushes them and finishes getting ready. Brooke winks at her after she’s done, and Vanessa pretends her next lap-dance is Brooke.

—

It happens fast.

One day, Brooke hears some news report coming from Kameron’s phone, a guy in a suit talking about fiscal collapse and crisis and economy again and again. Say economy three times, and a middle-aged white man in a business suit will appear like Beetlejuice. It’s all they ever talk about, and Brooke doesn’t think much of it, just goes to work and comes back with her usual wad of cash she had to mop off the stage floor.

A few nights later, there are empty seats in the club. When the music stops, it’s quiet enough to hear ice cubes clinking in glasses, hear the rustle of the one or two single-digit bills they hand her.

Brooke walks off stage in confusion. For the first time in over a year, her wad of tips is slim enough to fit in one hand. She heads straight to Nina’s office, where Nina is running a hand through her messy hair and drinking from a bottle of wine.

“What the hell is going on, Nina?” Brooke asks. “It’s totally dead out there.”

Nina sighs. “It’s the stock market. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but stocks are down, apparently, and those Wall Street business men aren’t coming anymore.”

“Are we … we’re not gonna close, are we?” Brooke’s stomach is twisting in knots just at the thought of losing all this. The same knot that had formed when Vanessa said she would leave after she had enough money, because Vanessa has quickly become one of Brooke’s favorite parts of the club, a part she doesn’t want to lose. But she might lose it all depending on what Nina tells her.

“No.” Nina takes another swig of wine. “We’re staying open, but your tips won’t be like they usually are. The real rich ones will still come in, but I doubt they’ll spend as much.”

“I–” Brooke shakes her head, needing to get out of here. It’s too stuffy in here, the wine burning her nose and the bright office lights burning her eyes. She runs to the roof, the coolness clearing her head and allowing some air to reach her lungs.

What is she supposed to do now? Brooke joined the strip club because it made sense–it gave her a performing outlet without the constant body aches from ballet, a chance to use the dancing ability she had trained decades to perfect. A way to keep the thrill of performing, the love of a crowd, when she couldn’t be on a theatre stage anymore. She can’t walk away from this, try to find whatever minimum wage job will hire someone whose place of employment for the last five years can’t go on a resume. She’s wondering if she’ll have enough saved up to weather the next however-many months when the roof door slams, and hoarse sobs arise.

Vanessa.

Brooke immediately forgets her problems and runs to Vanessa, who’s shaking with sobs. She wants to wrap Vanessa in a hug, let her arms circle that soft skin, but she stops herself. Touch is something they do all night. They touch bills and stripper poles and men, everything washed away with the apricot soap Nina stocks the bathroom with. But if Brooke were to touch Vanessa, it would be different from touching a client. More personal. And Brooke knows she won’t erase that touch no matter how much she scrubs her hands.

Instead, she pulls Vanessa to the edge of the building, uselessly whispering that it’s okay, even if she knows it’s not. When Vanessa is finally able to talk, she looks up at Brooke with bloodshot eyes burning with exhaustion and sorrow, and again Brooke wants to hug Vanessa and let her rest inside her arms.

“I’m guessing you heard,” Brooke prompts.

Vanessa nods. “What am I gonna do, Brooke?” she cries. “I was starting to make a lot of money, but it’s not enough. I–I don’t have enough to help my mom, and if she doesn’t get her meds and everything then she’ll …” A fresh sob erupts from Vanessa, and Brooke doesn’t hesitate this time. She pulls Vanessa into her arms and gently rubs her back as she cries. Vanessa is real and solid, realer than anything the club offers. She smells like coconut and Brooke wonders when she started liking that scent so much. Wonders when she started liking Vanessa so much, because she can’t deny it anymore. But Vanessa doesn’t need that now; she needs help.

Brooke selfishly hadn’t even thought of Vanessa and her mom when she first heard the news. Now, she has to accept how bad things are, what might happen to Vanessa’s mom without the money Vanessa needs. The money she can’t get anymore. If only they could take that money that the really rich Wall Street guys still have and give it to Vanessa and the other girls somehow …

But maybe they can.

The wheels in Brooke’s head are spinning, weaving together a plan. It’s risky, sure, but they don’t have a choice. They all have bills to pay. Some of them have relatives to care for and medication to buy, and hell, just normal lives to live. Brooke might lose her home depending on how long this lasts. The other girls might lose theirs too, might even lose their jobs if it comes to that. And Vanessa will almost surely lose her mom. Vanessa always talks about her with such love in her eyes, with such joy in the memories of the two of them cooking or dancing together. She doesn’t deserve to lose that. Brooke has to do something.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Brooke says gently, “I think I have an idea.”

[soldierswar]

Crush (Pt II)

Bucky X Reader: Fluff, comedic angst

Warnings: Very light smut. Nothing else but cuteness.

Thanks to @elfmama and @veganfangirl5 for responding for a part II.

Plot: Part II of the fic Crush  (Click on the word, it’s a link ;)

You have a massive crush on Bucky while out on assignment and feelings get real.

                                                       ...

“Y/N, are you alright?” asked Bucky as he grabbed a slice sitting on the same couch as you. You made sure that you were sitting as far away as possible from him. Apparently, and unfortunately subtlety went out the window the second you were in any form of  visual distance from him. You didn’t even realize until then that you were pressing yourself to the far corner of the couch with your arms wrapped around your knees and rocking yourself in a cartoonish daze. “Did any of those men do anything to you? Did one of them traumatize you?” Oh, there was a man traumatizing you. But it wasn’t one of the ones he was thinking. “Not at all, you know I can handle myself just fine,” you answered sternly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But you’ve been acting…Different?” You responded with a pathetic ‘pshhh’. “Please.” “You might think so. But we’ve never worked together this closely before; so how would you know if I’m acting strange or not?” He shrugged, and turned his attention back to the tv. Your cheeks were so hot, you were in sudden need for freezing cold glass of  water…Frankly you were wondering if you needed to shove some of that ice down your underwe— ‘Stop it, Y/N!’ said a voice inside your head. Well, it was less a ‘said’ and more of eardrum-splitting scream. 

“Hey, you want water?” You asked nonchalantly. At least you were pretty sure that you did. “Sure,” he replied. As you made your way back to the couch, you handed him the glass from behind the couch. And of course…Clumsy, flustered you had to come back. As you handed it, his warm hand brushed against yours. Rather, it was more like it rested on top of your fingers. You couldn’t deny the electric feeling that coursed throughout your entire body within a split second. The second that it happened, you managed to drop your glass of water straight onto your right foot. “Fuck!” You yelled. That was a heavy glass. “Y/N, are you sure that you’re alright?” “I’m FINE, gosh!” you snapped. You realized that you might have sounded mean. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” You could tell that he was trying to hold down a chuckle. You bent down to pick up the glass that wasn’t broken thanks to your foot breaking the fall. But the rug was wet. ‘Oh well,’ you thought, resolving to at least just pick up the ice. Before you knew it, he was right in front of you helping you pick it up. How did he get in front of you so fast? Oh right. Winter Soldier. He was fast. He was stealthy. When you picked your head up, his face was right in front of yours. You really hoped that the stunned expression you were feeling looking into his bright, mesmerizing eyes was just in your head. You found yourself attempting to channel your inner Elsa with the mantra, ‘Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show.’ You desperately hoped that it was working. Before getting up to get back to the kitchen, he gave you the most charming of smiles. How the fuck was it possible for a human to be able to carry a smile like that? There was no way that this was a super soldier thing. That was just him. How? Before you had time to really process that, he swept you up and sat you down on the couch. ‘Breathe, Y/N, breathe.’ He sat not too far from you, grabbed your foot and set a cloth full of ice on it. “Thanks,” you exhaled when you realized that a bruise was in fact starting to form. You moved your foot away from his grasp, pulling it close to your body once again keeping the ice on your foot. “Thanks,” you whispered. “Now, Y/N,” Bucky said. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?” You engaged in a stare-down. He was trying to figure out what was going on behind those eyes of yours, and you were trying to convince him that everything was just fine. You realized that you were no longer convincing when you felt your right eye start twitching. Damn it. He pulled himself closer to you and lightly used the tips of his fingers to hold your chin. Gulp. But…Now you were the one to notice something suspicious. You saw…what was it? Hints of nervousness on his end? No. It couldn’t be. His hand lingered on your chin with no signs of letting go. And then… And then… He pulled his face closer to yours, and kissed you softly. You could tell that he was cautious, just in case he misread things and you wanted nothing to do with him like that, or in general. But oh God you did. You were able to fully admit to yourself, and to him that you were all for it. All for him. You pulled yourself closer and kissed him deeper. He rested his hand on your cheek, and softly brushed his thumb along your cheekbone. You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and softly brushed your fingers along the lower part of his hairline. You could tell that he also had an electric feeling going through him. When you both pulled away to catch your breaths, he looked like he was drunk. Drunk off of you. And you had the same feeling. “Hey,” he said breathily, carrying that irresistible smile. “Hey,” you replied, suppressing a girlish giggle. “You caught me didn’t you?” “Oh, I caught you on day one of this assignment,” he chuckled. You gasped dramatically, channeling a caricature of woman from the 1940’s from a movie. “Mr. Barnes,” you replied gasping dramatically one more time while fanning yourself with an invisible fan. “Whatever do you mean?” He responded by kissing you once again, and dipping you backwards since you were acting old-fashioned. “Okay,” you said narrowing your eyes, still being held backwards. “Maybe I have like…a crush on you.” He smiled, pulling you back up. “Doll,” he chuckled. Doll. You liked that. Oh, why did he have to be so charming? “Do you know how long I’ve been noticing you?” You shook your head. This was not happening. This could not be real. This specimen of a human being found you…desirable? You were speechless, but this time you didn’t feel the need to mask it. You noticed that for the first time in the days you were in the hotel together that your shoulders were actually relaxed. You scooted closer to him, turning back to the tv, held his hand and laid your head on him. He then brought your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. For the rest of the evening, you did nothing but enjoy each-others company. Nothing more, nothing less. You were content.

Epilogue: Those last few nights in Paris were pure bliss. You had actually accomplished your mission a couple of days earlier than anticipated. Everyone involved in the undercover crime ring were arrested and faced many years, (if not the rest of their lives) in prison. But, since you guys still had the hotel for a few more days, you decided to spend them out and about in Paris. (The fucking capitol of love.) You both agreed that you weren’t quite ready to have sex yet; but regardless, you had a wonderful, blissful time getting to know each-other better. No first few dates could have ever been more perfect than they were. But…When you got back to the compound? It was on. You guys were hot, and heavy. You could barely get your hands off of each other. But, you didn’t quite want to let anybody know about it yet. At least not for a couple of weeks. Besides, for the past week since you had gotten back, it was kind of fun sneaking around playing risk when you made out in dark corners knowing that somebody could catch you at any moment, but hoping they wouldn’t. In one of those moments, you were in a corner in an empty hallway. He was pushing himself against you as you were being pushed against a wall. You were basically somewhere between a rock and … a hard place. (Pun intended). You both knew that within the next few moments you were going to be rushing to one of your rooms to put out (or should you say feed) the inferno that burned between the two of you. He started slipping his hand down your pants atop your underwear. Oh gosh. “I fucking knew it,” said a familiar voice that belonged to none other than Natasha. “I could have gone my whole life without seeing that.” Sam. Bucky swiftly pulled his hand out of your pants, and you both stared at the two of them like deer in headlights. “Umm…” you croaked. “Umm?” asked Natasha. You turned to Bucky, and you both simultaneously shrugged, silently agreeing that the cat was out of the bag. But at least it wasn’t the end of the world. “Well…” You started. “Guess that’s our que to go,” Bucky said finishing your sentence. “Use protection!” yelled Natasha as you both scurried off. Best crush ever.

Thanks for reading, guys. I love you all. 

Also, if you want me to tag out in future fics, just shoot me a dm. 

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (8)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 8: Same Link, Different Mettle | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Chapter 7 | Next: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

Alyon greeted you with black cliffs topped with green patches of grass that rose to the skies, seafoam that’s whiter than bone striped the deep blue seas, and golden patches of sand mingled with the lush green jungles resting at the foot of the mountains.

The Mantis found a nice spot to land on—by the mesa that overlooks the seaside town not bigger than the one in Hoga.

“This place is mesmerizing, [y/n],” Merrin commented.

“It’s not every day we get to beautiful places in the galaxy without the Empire chasing us,” Cere added.

“Yeah, well, hopefully this time—they won’t,” you abruptly stood up from the seat. “I’m gonna take a look around,”

You darted towards the room and got dressed, donning Cal’s Bracca scrapper poncho for the first time. With the Holocron gone, it felt like a load has been lifted from your shoulders—literally and figuratively—as you wore the straps of your bag. BD-1 hopped onto your shoulder as you leave the room.

“I don’t have to tell you again, [y/n],”

“Yes, Cere, I know. Don’t die. Or was it be careful?”

“Both, actually.”

“Gotcha,” she smiled.

It’s a perpetual question in Cere’s mind how you’re able to smile in the midst of all this predicament. Perhaps, it was an indication of your strength. After all that torment you’ve endured in Cal’s absence, you weren’t just back to normal—you’ve changed but for the better.

Compared to your pit stop earlier, trekking through the terrain was a breeze. The sight of the ocean lifted your spirits, the blades of grass tickled your calves, and the sun mildly shone above your head. Along the way, you frolicked in the wild plains—spinning and sprinting around with a child-like innocence—the flaps of your poncho felt like wings as the untamed winds blew to your direction.

There was no sign of the Empire in that seaside town, diverse peoples inhabit the settlement. Yet, the population seemed sparse for a sizable settlement. Your arrival was met with curious stares and vendors’ hollers. There’s no team of armed men marching to your general direction for the welcome wagon—nevertheless, you remained vigilant.

“Stay close, BD,” you muttered.

You approached a fruit stall and browsed; an animal penned inside a stable right next to the stall bleated to get your attention. Ever the curious friend, BD-1 perched onto the fence post and scanned the animal that was chewing on a stalk of hay.

“I knew you’d take a scan of it!” you teased.

BD-1 chirped, you translated it to him saying the animal’s name.

“That, my dear, is a Dimal,”

The fruit stall owner pointed at the tall, woolly animal, its jowls flopped and its rounded upright ears twitched with every chew of the hay stalk. You treated it to a Meiloorun fruit. You brought it close to the Dimal’s mouth, sniffing it first before gobbling it up in its mouth.

“You’re welcome,” you chuckled.

Even with its mouth full, it replied with a muffled grunt and continued gnawing on the large fruit in its seemingly narrow mouth.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts,” the same shop owner blurted, his native dialect was thick.

“I’m a traveler, I just got here,”

After shopping, you headed back to the ship, the old man was kind enough to slip in a few extra berries for the road. You expressed your thanks and went around the town some more—and there was a lively sound coming from up ahead.

Music.

“Do you hear that, BD?”

“Booo!”

“Come on, let’s go take a look,”

You followed the music, colorful notes emitted from the various instruments. A group of dancers performed in perfect synchronization in the middle of the square, their footwork followed the speed of the fifes, the bystanders that circled them clapped to the beat of the drum, and for the finale they cheered once the abrupt strum of all strings of the lute signals the climax of the song.

The dance concluded by a round of applause from the crowd, which you’ve included yourself, you try not to stand out so you immediately vanished from the scene—though it was such a nice sight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen a street performance or festival.

—–

Three days of refuge in Alyon.

For once, things are seeming fine. But you know perfectly well this wouldn’t last, you’re still gripped with the anticipation of the Inquisitor’s arrival now that you’ve engaged with them—Cal, in particular.

You decided to tell your encounter with Cal through the Force with Cere, and you made sure you speak to her about it in great confidence.

“Cere, something strange happened on the day we left Tatooine and headed to Alyon,”

“And what’s that?”

You don’t even know where to begin explaining it.

“Well, it’s… how do I put it? I sort of saw Cal, here in the ship,”

“You mean, in meditation?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t even meditating! I was doing something on the workbench and then I heard a voice call me, there was like a feeling that I can’t explain. At first, when I turned around there was nothing, so I thought I was just hearing things; but the second time around, I… I find Cal standing inside my bedroom!”

Cere’s head angled to the side, something about her expression alarmed you the same way you alarmed her with your story.

“Could it be…?” she muttered under your breath, though it was still within your earshot.

“Cere, what is it?”

Cere gradually stood up from the couch, “Hold on, I think I have something!”

She retreated to her own quarters where she rummaged through her rucksack. Shortly after, she reappears with a tome with a maroon leather cover, the metal accents along the corners and spines have tarnished, and the edges of the yellowed papers have chipped away due to age. She flipped through the pages looking for one specific section.

“Cordova learned about this phenomenon with the Force many years ago, while I was still his Padawan. Whatever he could find that pertains to it—he wrote it down, drew figures and diagrams, and added his own insights of his research!”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s a Force-Link. Look here,” she scooted closer beside you, pointing at the written paragraph on the page, her finger following the words as she read it out loud. “It’s said a phenomenon when the Force connects two Force-sensitive individuals, regardless of the distance in between, who have forged a dyad.”

In her excitement, Cere beat you to it—though, it felt like she sensed you’d ask about the last word in the paragraph—and flipped over the pages in search of the entry about Force dyads.

“Here,” she pointed at the first paragraph written underneath the header word, and read out loud word-for-word. “A connection that is forged with the Force between two Force-sensitive individuals.”

Cere skipped the longer metaphors and the personal diary entries that Cordova has written. More pages unraveled its mysteries and the woman impulsively read out loud—mostly for her own indulgence.

“Those who are out of the dyad could not see, feel, or hear the other side of the occurrence,”

This explains why the crew couldn’t hear Cal’s voice as you spoke to him during the first Force-Link encounter. Unfortunately, the explanation about manipulating it to either wielder’s whim—such as when will the connection start and when it’ll be severed—appear to be vague.

“Do Force dyads and Force-Links really seldom happen?”

“Yes, it’s quite rare. When I was a Padawan, I never met another Jedi who shared a dyad with another. But now, coming from you, I truly think Cordova was onto something back then. The bond you’ve shared with Cal factored the Force in allowing you to communicate.”

“I wonder if it’s another sign that he can be turned back to the light,” you thought out loud.

Apart from skimming Cordova’s manifests, strolling along the shoreline in barefoot, skimming rocks, seashells, and coral fragments that beached along the sand became a new pastime for you.

You enjoyed this new breed of solitude, but you’re still haunted by that mirage encounter of Cal back inside the Mantis. You find yourself secretly hoping that it would happen again.

On the other side of the galaxy, Cal has been poring page after page for any result about your Force-induced encounter. There were few resources found in his chambers in the command ship, there weren’t any valuable information found in the holotable’s databank either. The whole ordeal irritated him.

“How is it possible not a single manuscript was written about this!?” Cal roared, his mask did little in muffling out the sound, he punched the rim of the holotable in fury.

The last thing he thought of was retracing his steps, but the problem is: where does he even begin?

After all, it only happened abruptly and he had no control over it, because it felt like it came to him naturally. Cal theorized that it might be your own doing, but in reality, it wasn’t. He immediately dismissed that theory and went back to pinning down the Force as the primary culprit—frankly, it was the only logical culprit.

“Deep breaths,” he chanted to himself, doing exactly what he tells himself as he paced back and forth inside his room.

In the most uncanny of timings, that very same sensation returned to him—as if someone tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention—he abruptly turned around, he was surprised to see you standing inside the chambers with him.

“You’re quite elusive,” he initiated.

Your reaction to his appearance was understandable, your shoulders flinched while gaping at him. This is also the first time you saw him wearing a mask which muffled his voice, yet still coherent. Although the first time was docile, you can’t always count on him to be the same in the next.

You didn’t reply. You secretly fiddled the small seashell you’ve hid inside your fist while you conversed.

“I still don’t understand how and why this is happening to us. Can they see me?” he added.

“I don’t know…”

There was a stale air looming between you and the Eleventh Brother; the crashing waves of the sea and the machine hum spoke on each other’s behalf. You pursed your lips and your fist clenched tighter, the thin edge of the seashell dug into the flesh of your palm.

“You seem confident. Confident that I’ll never find you after you fled Cameegon like a coward.”

“I’m no coward! I’m not the one who gave in so easily!” you snarled.

“I take it that you’re not coming in quietly,” when he got the silent treatment from you, he continued. “Alright, then you’ll have to watch another innocent town be reduced into rubble like Cameegon. You wouldn’t want, would you? That’ll be a lot of blood in your hands.”

The Inquisitor noticed you flinch and he took pride in provoking you. He takes one step forward and you ignite your saber, having him at swordpoint.

“Ooh, feisty aren’t we?”

“You’ll never find me,” you hissed softly, although it was still within Cal’s earshot. “You’ll never turn me into what you’ve become!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. We always find our way to each other, don’t we?”

He spoke the exact same words from his secret projection, a line that you knew too well and caught you off guard; a great thunderclap coming from the horizon startled you—the saber fumbled in your hand and the seashell fell from the other—and he disappeared from where he stood when you looked again.

The same went for the Eleventh Brother. The vibrant apricot seashell clattered on the polished black floor of his chambers. He took the delicate object into his hand and examined it. You unintentionally have given him a clue.

The boy Inquisitor rushed to the command ship’s bridge as fast as he can. His entrance alerted the attending officers; he approached the admiral and held up the shell to his face.

“I want this scanned. Trace its origin planet.”

The officer didn’t have the luxury to ask why and simply obeyed. The admiral took the shell from the young man’s hands and handed it over to one of the computer operators. In less than two minutes, the operator returned the shell along with a small datapad containing the findings.

“Sir, analysis traces it back to Alyon, a tropical planet in the Enca Sector, Ganiv System—it’s in the Outer Rim,” the admiral reported.

“Transmit the coordinates to my ship. Two TIE Fighters and an escort shuttle will come with me.”

“Right away, sir!”

The Eleventh Brother leaves the bridge on the way to the hangar.

“I have you now, [y/n].”

A storm was brewing that evening in Alyon. The thunderclouds have loomed closer to the shore in a dramatic speed. The winds have already picked up, the rain flew in like tiny knives pricking your skin, and the downpour caused the tide to rise earlier than usual. You hurried to getting on higher ground before the water has fully covered the shore.

You pushed through the raging winds, sheltering BD under the flap of your poncho. You blamed yourself for strolling farther from the ship, nightfall has reached you as a consequence, additionally, the town wasn’t any nearer either so it’s not an option.

“No…!” you gasped when the sky had gotten much darker, it doesn’t help with the storm joining in the problem.

The surroundings were all gray and visibility has dropped to zero. You barely see anything in this smokescreen of hail and fog. BD-1’s lights paled in the darkness. You stamped through the damp fields, the harsh winds swayed you farther with every step, but you fought it.

“Almost there, BD-1, hold on!”

Neither you nor BD-1 are safe, not until you’ve set foot into the Mantis. The growing sound of the TIE Fighters’ engine growls signaled their approach and a TIE Interceptor landed at a close distance from you. The hatch opened and out comes Cal, the Eleventh Brother. He stood upright in the midst of the storm, the bright red beam of his lightsaber lit up in the deep grayness.

You’re not going down without a fight.

Cal darted the air towards you, lightsaber at the ready, he found your block weak—it seems the storm has taken its toll on your body. However, he gave credit where it’s due—he admired your fighting spirit. You remained more on the defensive for the greater portion of the fight. The lightning afforded you short bursts of light to see your opponent better—rather, his next attack position.

“There! I see them!” Cere cried, peering through her binoculars and spotting two streaks of light dancing in the fog.

A TIE Fighter sends twin projectiles flying towards the Mantis, barely missing the dorsal fin of the ship but close enough to give it a rumble. Greez started the engine in a panic, Cere ordered him to stay low so they can still pick you up; although, that plan didn’t go so well.

The bitter cold of the wind disoriented you, the angry waves muted the hisses of lightsabers colliding with each other, your head was swirling, the veins on your temple throbbed, and your body had a battle of its own from within. Your lungs struggled as it sucked in cold air, fog wafted through your teeth as you dueled Cal.

The Eleventh Brother watched you charge towards him, ready for a dashed strike, and he prepared himself to time it just right.

Close enough!

You feel your entire body freezing up again, as if an icy gust blew throughout your entire being. The last thing you remember is a hearing a thunderclap mingle with the crash of the ocean, a flash of lightning glowed brightly in your puffy, heavy eyes and then suddenly darkness.

The Eleventh Brother caught you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style, and marched to the escort shuttle that he ordered to be included in his convoy.

“NO!!” Cere cried, a crack of lightning flashed as she witnessed him carry your unconscious body.

Your eyelids blinked the dancing lights away until your eyesight has adjusted to the brightness of the room. You gasped upon waking up, you weren’t sure how long you’ve been, but it felt like a long time. Your arms and legs had limited movement, later discovering that you’re strapped into an interrogation machine. Your heartbeat sped up tenfold, you surveyed across the room starting from the ceiling and then the middle part until you found a Stormtrooper standing beside silhouette across the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” the silhouette spoke, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Do you have any other orders, Eleventh Brother?”

“No, I’ll handle this myself. Leave us and wait for my orders,”

“Yes, Eleventh Brother.”

The Stormtrooper departs, leaving you and the Inquisitor in full privacy.

The red glowing accents of his mask lit up in the shadows, he blended perfect well in the darkness. You don’t know what to say back first, frankly, you don’t know what’s happening and how it came to this.

“Is that what they call you now: Eleventh Brother?”

Your snarky question got no reply from him. He removed his mask and placed it on the nearby podium. With that accessory gone, he massaged his jaw and craned his neck until you heard some bones popping.

“Yeah well, you can still call me Cal,” His roguish grin played along his face.

“Where are Cere and the others?”

“No idea,”

“You lie!”

“I never lie—especially to you,” he calmly said.

The young Inquisitor stepped into the light, revealing himself to you once more. There were a few inches dividing you from him. The white light shone over his hair, revealing the faint redness of his hair past the darker tints. You find that there was no terminal like the one in Nur; it was only him and you strapped into the contraption. Surely, this confused you, at the same time it relieved you that you’re spared of the electrifying torment—for now. No wonder the Stormtrooper was suggesting a better chamber.

“Where am I?”

“In an escort shuttle, en route to Koboth,”

“What is it that you really want, Cal?”

He clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes to the side, and then grinned as he spoke.

“Oh, I think you and I both know that already.”

For every word he said, he took one step closer, “I want the Holocron.”

You smirked, even chuckled, in retaliation. You teased him, inching your face closer just so he’ll hear better.

“I don’t have it.”

The small yet sadistic smile that painted his face melted away. Part of him doesn’t want to believe you, and the other does. With your natural talent for theatrics, it’s hard to decipher you—even for him.

Your smug face and arrogant sniggering was beginning to bother him. So much so that he was starting to think you’re not playing around.

“You’re wasting your time and energy, you know,”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” he sighed. He starts to remove his glove.

Preemptively, you know what he’s about to do to you. Your heart pounded in the wildest pace; suddenly, his Force-ability that once fascinated you, now terrifies you. Cal ignored your desperate scrambling in the contraption, but it somewhat satisfied him.

“That’s my poncho,” he cooed and an evil smirked curled at the corner of his lip.

He reached for you, avoiding his touch is futile. His bare hand is now at a fingertip’s reach from the fabric, sinking away into the contraption wasn’t much help for you either. His grip clutched a portion in the middle—your shirt underneath it was caught in his hold as well—and sharp pangs of light jabbed his vision, a hollow rippling warm drummed in his ears.

“Good night, Cal…”

Your memories have ingrained into every thread, a vision plays out in his mind: he sees you snuggling up to the poncho in bed, keeping it close to your face as you slept, the nightly sobbing rung in his ears, and the warmth that the poncho gave you during cold, sleepless nights wrapped over his shoulders.

“This isn’t who you are!”

“All this time… and we never even got a look.”

That sudden shift of emotions startled him, but he kept his grip—physically and mentally. The Inquisitor wanted to extract as much as he can to exploit you. To him, it was a game; for you, it was a mental war. He witnessed your recent memories—he now knows that you opened the Holocron and took a glance of the contents, he heard the festival music from the town in Alyon, and then he saw the waves tugging away from the shoreline.

“You saw what’s inside the Holocron!” he exclaimed. He pushed further into you using his Psychometry. “What did you do with it?”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”

The boy Inquisitor was surprised to find that you’re able to fight him off—at least, his grip on your mind. When his influence is now absent in your body, your head hung low as you gasp for breath and fight off the throbbing pain in your head. His mischievous grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Interesting…”

He nestled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting you upwards so you face him, your head bobbed slightly as you’re weakened by the infliction of his Psychometry. He inched closer to your face, the tips of your noses touched.

“My darling, you never cease to amaze me.” He teased you, the bottom of his lip softly brushed across yours while keeping an open grin, his stubble scratched your chin. Your indifferent expression met his roguish smirk as he pulled back inches away from you. A sadistic snicker hummed from his throat and he gently releases his hold on your face before leaving you in your cell.

[dinrelsanddragons]

A drabble I wrote in early December. Takes place prior to Twilight Princess.

In her little dress, Noel carefully peered around the corner, hoping no one would see her. In truth, several people saw her, but not the two she meant to avoid, for they were quite distracted with each other.

Mama. Papa.

It had been a while since they had talked. Vair hadn't come home for a week now, choosing instead to sleep in the barracks with the other knights. Shanzira couldn't fathom why he would do this– she hadn't done anything, not a thing in years, that would drive him away from her. After first realizing her attractions to him, she'd attentively noted his dislikes so as to avoid them.

"Vair?"

Even as she approached, on those ginger tiptoes that pointed inward with anxiety, she feared this wasn't going to go well. "Vair, please talk to me. What's wrong?" In his years of experience at his post, Vair knew how to ignore distractions and focus on his job. Never before, however, had that distraction been so personal– his wife, the mother of his daughter, his beloved. On the verge of tears, at that. He didn't know what to say, and it was only the thought of his duty that kept his expression straight.

Shanzira gave him a few seconds for good measure. She wondered if he needed a moment to compose what to say to the wife he had been avoiding. But that seemed not to be the case; he seemed intent on shunning her as if they'd never met. "What did I do, Vair? What's going on? Noel misses you." Not returning to the arms of his wife meant not seeing his daughter. His eyes flicked to a corner, around which he could just see a tinge of red hair– oh, goddesses, the girl had followed her mother here. In truth, Vair didn't know what to do. Avoiding Shanzira had been the simplest solution to his problem, but a temporary one, apparently.

He wondered how 'temporary' this marriage was to be.

His wife was under investigation. They had met on the field of battle years ago, Vair saving Shanzira from the horde of monsters and gifting her his halberd for her own protection. But there were absolutely no records of her existence prior to that. None of residence, none of birth, not even gossip about a red-haired, round-eared woman. Anywhere.

He had wondered how this had not been apparent before. How it was that this literal nobody had been able to create an existence for herself, a comfortable life in a crucial position– married to one of the king's guards. She had never spoken of her past, but focused solely on the present. Never of the future, though. Vair had been the one to bring it up, when he had proposed to her. He had never once thought to look the other way...

She had crafted the perfect position for a spy. That was the king's fear. Vair was the perfect conduit to receive information about the royalty from. He was careful never to repeat any sensitive information he accidentally overheard, and he thought he had vetted Shanzira for any sign of a volatile temperament.

In truth, he couldn't imagine her to be anything but who she said she was, who he had seen her be. An artist, a wife, a mother, a storyteller...

"Vair, can't you even look at me?" Her voice shivered with grief from what felt like some distance away as he was in his thoughts, despite there not being so much as a foot of distance between them. A small hand rose up as if to touch his face, but pulled back quickly, as Shanzira feared what his boundaries on the job might be. "Please stop this. Please come home. Talk to me again. Spend time with your daughter, let her see her playmate again."

Zelda. Goddesses, the princess and Vair's daughter got along like two peas in a pod. Shanzira would recite stories to them and the children would listen attentively, mesmerized by every word. Those stories were laced with information only the royals could have known, was what the king told Vair. Shanzira knew such facets and details that it was as if she had personally lived through those events... Vair had had to choose where his loyalties truly lay, and they were with the king. But it was a painful choice to make, and every night he had lost hours of sleep thinking, wondering: Had he been right? Should he have protested further the king's decision? To do so would have been to risk his livelihood... but now he risked his heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vair witnessed tears snaking down his wife's face. He had only that brief moment of warning before she turned around and began to sob, unable to stand looking at his face anymore. She tugged her hood over her face and exited, walking briskly to the point that the now-apparent Noel had to run to keep up.

From behind the door Vair guarded, he faintly heard something. If he had to take a guess, it was a deep sigh... from none other than the king himself.

He felt a twinge in his chest. Even the king had his regrets. Perhaps, then, he would be willing to listen to reason, assuming the investigation bore no fruit that would incriminate Shanzira. Perhaps traces of an idyllic past could be brought up, but from what Vair had been able to tell, there was simply nothing to find. As if she had sprung into existence on the day they'd met.

A cry rent him from his thoughts. A child's wail, filled with pain. His child's wail. "Paaapaaaa! Want Papaaaa! Mama, pleeeeeease!"

He closed his eyes, gently as he could when he was so aggrieved. Tears streamed down. Would that his uniform had the luxury of a hood like his wife had, that he could have hidden them...

PART 2

For over a week, Shanzira had been unable to bring herself to put pen to parchment. Inspiring as emotions could be– even the negative– there was nothing artistic about what she felt. She could not continue to write her stories– she had no motivation when she had only Noel to tell them to– and she had thrown out every charcoal sketch she had thus far made. There was nothing to do regarding her work but place her head to her desk and try not to cry. If she hadn't had Noel to look after, she might have gone mad. Something about being responsible for another person kept her sanity in check.

As the little one napped in a chamber adjacent to Shanzira's study, she heard a click. The distinct sound of a doorknob turning. Shanzira twisted around in her chair, wondering who it could be. Perhaps someone had arrived with divorce papers. She prayed not. Or she was under arrest. Or something worse yet... As the door began to open, Shanzira leapt to her feet with a hand on the hilt of her dagger, ever prepared to defend herself. Her thoughts went to the halberd displayed on the wall, with a twinge of pain– the same halberd her husband had given her so long ago.

The door swung wide, and Shanzira dropped her arm by her side in shock. How could she have seen this coming, a visit from the king himself? Trembling in fear and anticipating the worst, she hurried to a kneel– praying that a show in sincerity and loyalty would mitigate whatever punishment lay in store for her.

She betrayed a single glance back up, and noted her husband behind him. What was this? What could it be?

"Rise, Lady Shanzira. I would speak with you."

It called back to her youth, of being summoned to authority figures to be scolded and punished. When being in trouble was the worst imaginable fate. Regardless, Shanzira stood back up, unsteady at first but regaining her balance quickly enough. Averting her eyes, she didn't see the king's expression. Nor did she really know his face that well. She had no indication apart from tone of voice of what his intent might be.

"You have presented quite the quandary of late, a quandary that we should have seen long ago. You are the spouse to a royal guard, and on occasion a caretaker of Princess Zelda. Yet there is no information on you prior to five years ago. Your history cannot be tracked by any means imaginable, though prior to now it has not been a problem. Thus you have eluded any kind of investigation... until your role as my daughter's storyteller began."

With that final sentence, a revelation hit Shanzira like a blow from her husband's claymore.

The dazed look on her face must have betrayed her thoughts, as the king cleared his throat before continuing. "Your tales began as fanciful and clearly works of a creative imagination, though at the apparent request of your daughter turned more historical. So historical, in fact, that they hit the nail on the head. They could not be more accurate. Or detailed. Such information has been privy only to members of the royal family until you appeared. You have paid few visits to the royal library, and you could not possibly know the location of the secret library. This was why I ordered my agents to look into your past. I do not like unanswerable questions."

"They have found nothing. There are no records of you, or anyone like you, existing anywhere. Even one so close to you as your own husband and daughter have no inkling of where you came from. My final recourse is to turn directly to you. So, you will tell me... and we will be here as long as it takes to hear the truth out of you."

A silence followed.

Where to begin. Shanzira thought briefly of Noel, still asleep in her crib, and wondered if she might wake before she finished telling her tale. A tale she had no choice but to share, at this point. She chanced a look to Vair's face, over the king's shoulder, and noted a regretful expression, his eyes cast down and to the side and his brows tented.

"I don't know if you'll believe the truth." She wanted to be clear with that. "I hail from a very strange and technologically advanced world, with no magic or monsters. There is but one intelligent species of life. In this world, the world of Hyrule is known but considered entirely fiction. Stories are told from the viewpoint of the hero, of his struggles against evil. They span many different eras and ages. They are stories that I followed intently.

"I didn't know what to think when I awoke on a battlefield, surrounded by monsters. If Vair hadn't been there that day, I would have died without a clue. I did my best to blend in to my environment and say nothing about this bizarre place I came from, or I'd be written off as a madwoman. I was extremely lucky in that the same man who defended me from monsters also found me a place to live and gainful employment. Not to mention, we ended up falling in love and having a kid. I suppose I couldn't have it all for long, though."

Her eyes drifted downward at the last sentence. She didn't believe it likely, even now, that the king would believe her. And Vair, his regretful expression? It could have meant anything.

"So you do not know how you came to be here." The king scratched his chin thoughtfully. Shanzira had definitely explained the cause of her knowledge, but her presence was a mystery. "Very well."

Eh? Shanz risked a glance at his face, but failed to read his expression in the brief time she saw it. "I am not satisfied, but for now, it will be enough. I understand this investigation has caused your husband and you much grief. I will allow you to resume watching over my daughter... if you know Hyrule as if it were a book, then perhaps your knowledge may come in useful."

"Your Majesty," Vair piped up, "does this mean–?"

"Yes, Sir Vair. You may return to the arms of your loving wife."

Oof!

Shanzira almost fell over from the force with which Vair collided into her, one of his arms wrapped tightly around her upper back and the other resting atop her head. Shanz could barely breathe with her face trapped in her husband's chest. She pushed against him just enough to look at his face, and saw radiant joy upon his features, to the point of tears glistening in his eyes.

"I'm never doing that to you again. Never."

Shanz still needed a moment to process it all, but for now... it was welcome to have Vair back.

"He ordered me not to say a word," he explained at the quizzical look on Shanz's face. "He tried to hide the whole thing from me... but I could see you were being watched."

"Indeed." The king almost chuckled, or perhaps scoffed. "He was beside himself when he came to me with his little discovery. I have work to return to."

"Of course, Sire." Vair didn't so much as turn his head to the king, but kept his eyes focused on Shanzira. Silence followed but for the king's footsteps as he exited, and once those faded from earshot, Vair released Shanzira. "I'm so sorry."

She wasn't a hundred percent sure she had forgiven him yet, but... he'd been between a rock and a hard place. If nothing else, Shanz could forget. She raised a hand to rub out the tension between her eyebrows. "I'm still upset over it, but I at least understand. And you might like to know that Noel is asleep right now..."

Vair blinked. "What... does that have to do with this?"

"I will tell you," Shanzira answered lowly. "It has to do with the fact that you're coming with me to the bedroom. And we're going to be there for a bit while you pay me back for over a week of loneliness..."