#and in fact already knew the music itself and yet it still both shattered and consoled my heart and felt like a revelation

[septembersghost]

the stanley donen gene kelly vincente minnelli fred astaire influences in this movie are so immediately potent i'm losing my mind it really says something about me that i've watched like a dozen movies in two weeks and the two that hit me hardest are the one about the *checks notes* real life musician from the late 50s-70s where i knew the basic facts and big hits and tragic ending going in yet still attached so much to the human aspect of the story and *checks again* the romantic musical that intentionally riffs on old hollywood and the illusory draw yet necessity of dreams and is bound to be heartbreaking

[becomingbts]

Time heals (sometimes) - 1

Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the  burning spotlights and the applause and  the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she believed to be broken.

Pairings: Y/N x OT7

GENRE: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series.

Ask or comment to be tagged!

1.5k

Warnings:  The series is going to be heavy with a lot of personal experiences  mixed into the fiction, so this is going to be kind of therapeutic for me. Please, consider not reading the series if you are not comfortable with: abandonment issues, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm (not descriptive and only part of MC’s past), suicide thoughts (in the past), toxic behavior, toxic and abusive relationship (in the past), depreciating self-talk and low self-esteem, a lot of curse, physical and mental pain, near death experience situation (in the past), and maybe smut scenes (happy ending though, but it will probably be quite the ride).

NOTE: So hello everyone, welcome to Time Heals (sometimes). Thank you so, so much for the warm welcoming, it has been my first time getting so many asks, I was honestly overjoyed. I still don’t really know what to call this part; is it a teaser? A note? A full chapter? I believe we’ll get some snapshot of memories like this one throughout the series because there is going to be a lot to unpack on both sides. I think it will be a chapter nevertheless because I have to establish some kind of order as to which parts should be read first, and I think this one is extremely important.

Thank you for reading,

-Dolly

Profiles #2 - here - part 2

Her scream pierced through the air while cries broke in the frenzied arena while a single blond-haired man froze, emptily staring at the stage. It felt like his senses heightened; his skin was shuddering, his eyes were frantically searching for one specific figure while his voice was lost in his throat. The screams resonating in the stadium would have been too loud for his voice to be heard anyway. 

Jimin knew he shouldn’t be there. 

Namjoon had told them more than once that none of them should try to go to one of (Y/N)’s events. It could be dangerous and they could be overwhelmed; anything could happen to them and they would still remain a nobody who fainted in the howling crowd. Would they want to take this risk? No.

So, Jimin would have had to admit that going to her very first concert in Seoul since the pandemic sounded like a very, very, very bad idea. And to be honest, it still didn’t seem to be a bright idea now that he was actually there. 

But he still went because he needed to see her for himself; to see how she was. He had so many things he dreamed about asking her. Are you okay? Are you sleeping well? Did you eat before coming to the arena? Are you nervous? Do you... remember me? 

Maybe he was torturing himself. He kept on watching her lives, following her on all social media, always made sure to leave a sweet comment, and never miss any of her new updates... Maybe he even had a folder of pictures of her on his phone but he’d never admit it to any of his mates. Taehyung would probably take his phone away from him and delete everything and Jimin couldn’t let that happen.

He felt like it was cheating. Don’t take him wrong though. When he thought that, he was not really thinking about the boys. They did collectively agree not to follow her activities as an artist but it was getting harder and harder with how popular she got anyway. Moon was everywhere. In commercials, on the radio, her songs were on the TV… Even if she was known for refusing most of the promotional contracts that were offered to her, her image was still constantly in the media despite her avoidance of it. Ironic, but the media were trying their best to find anything about her, be it positive or negative. One day she was seen on her bike, the next, she was in a coffee shop, and it kept on going on, overstepping on her privacy as if it was just a meaningless word. 

The lockdown had admittedly played a major part in Jimin’s obsession. Being in their apartment meant quickly running out of activities, and his job as a dance teacher was not really filling his free time (a lot of his classes were also canceled). It was also during that time that (Y/N) truly blew up as an independent artist. Advertisement on YouTube started being around her channel and her music, the recommendations he kept on seeing were about also her… Jimin’s resolve honestly broke easily. It was hard not to be curious about his lost soulmate even though he didn’t feel like he had the right to be hurting. 

Anyway, to come back to his main point, if Jimin felt like he was cheating; it was mostly for her. After all, (Y/N) had no means of letting the curiosity get the best of her, to know what they were doing; to simply see or contact them. He had, at first, not really thought about that. Watching her content seemed a very innocent thing to do in his opinion; billions of people were watching her content, why should he prevent himself from doing so? Yet, Jimin could still remember one of her live she did soon after that interview she had given on this damned radio show where she had revealed who her title track ‘TIME’ was about… She had gone live the next day-Jimin had jumped on his phone because of the notification-and one fan had asked her what would she do if she knew that her ‘ex-soulmates’ (and those words left a very sour taste in Jimin’s mind) were watching her. The question had silenced a previously restless Jimin, replacing his initial excitation with dread while a lump formed itself in his throat. He had not even noticed it; he was so focused on her live and her upcoming answer that Jimin had completely missed the sound of a glass breaking in the apartment. Jimin had been home alone, so even if had indeed heard it, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to check what had happened, thinking that the wind knocked it over or something. Jimin had been so absorbed by what he had been watching that he even got surprised a few hours later when Seokjin came home and yelled at him for breaking something when he had been clearly innocent, engrossed in (Y/N)’s live (not that he could tell his soulmates about that part, but yeah). (Y/N)’s live would always be more important than some random glass breaking again in their apartment. Every object was doomed with Namjoon living here anyway.

On her side of the screen though, (Y/N) had seemed taken aback as she had read the question and had gritted her teeth gently. She had seemed to be pondering about her answer even though a lot of people in her chat were telling her to forget about the question if it made her uncomfortable (a lot were even scolding the person who asked). Yet, sighing softly, she had looked up at the screen: 

“I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from asking questions on this topic. It’s not taboo but I’d rather not remember everything that comes with it. However, to answer this-hopefully-last question about it, I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content. It would only be fair after all. I’ve been denied access to their lives six years ago, why would they get a free pass into mine now?” She had not smiled nor had she seemed hurt by her own comment, yet Jimin’s heart had shattered in pieces, unable to press the cancel button. 

Her voice had slowly faded into background noise while her words had been stuck in his head. 

I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content. 

How could Jimin ever do that? He realized that he truly should. Namjoon would even agree with you, as ironic as it sounded for Jimin. Namjoon had been one of the most adamant ones about rejecting your bond, after all. Jimin was shaking with bitterness while ‘Moon’ continued her stream peacefully with music. Jimin could only try to gulp his anger down as he remembered her crumbling features on that fateful day. 

“You’re not our soulmates. This name on our arms means nothing to us. You are nothing to us if not a hindrance. Leave us alone.” 

If Jimin could go back in time, he’d prevent Taehyung from spatting those words at her. Yet, he couldn’t do anything. Playing the scene over and over in his mind wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change that she probably hated them. It wouldn’t change the song she made about them. 

And worst of all, it wouldn’t change the fact that Jimin had let himself believe that their choice had been for the best, trying to console and reassure himself, even if he had already known that it was wrong. Tears were pooling up in his eyes even if none escaped as he finally caught a glimpse of her on the stage. Suddenly brought back to reality after his subconscious memory trip, Jimin finally connected back to the world, looking around while he was still frozen on his spot. People were still screaming around him and he wondered if he looked like an intruder. Because, after all, wasn’t that what he exactly was? She said it herself that she didn’t wish for them to watch her; so what was he doing here? 

Jimin couldn’t help but stare; she looked ethereal, dressed like a queen in the middle of a sold-out arena. People were screaming her name as she yelled her infamous ‘hi people’. It was an opening sentence that Jimin heard way too many times in her vlogs and suddenly hearing it in real life seemed surreal. 

Jimin could only watch in awe, entranced with her everything. 

Screw the boys and what they would think once he’d be back from her concert. 

He had been the one to find her six years ago anyway. He had been the one to bring her to their home six years ago, hoping for the boys to change their mind once they’d meet her.

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Uploaded : 09/04/2021

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[seriouslysnape]

The Start of Summertime

Severus Snape x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Language.

A/N: I didn’t forget about Sev. I could never.

Word Count: 1,262

“I have faith that we’ll actually go this year.”

His heartbeat was sounding in your ear that was pressed against his chest. It beat rhythmically and steadily with each passing second. There was something so therapeutic about listening to the melody of his beating heart. It was the center of his being, and the source of his life. He meant so much to you and you loved him so dearly that you couldn’t help but be fascinated with the organ that kept him in your life.

Suddenly though, you couldn’t hear his heart beating anymore over the sound of Severus speaking to you. His voice was low and calm, as he was being careful not to shatter the peace that the two of you had established over the last thirty minutes.

“You know, most people would go out on a night like this.” Severus announced, yet making no effort to move.

One of his hands moved slowly and lovingly back and forth across the thigh of your leg that was draped over him, his fingertips just lightly dancing across your skin. His other hand was resting on your head, those fingers stroking your hair and keeping you close to him.

Severus did indeed have a fair point. It was the first night of his summer break, meaning the two of you would have three months (give or take) to spend together interrupted. Severus had lots of activities planned for you to do over the course of the break, but as of right now, an outsider wouldn’t have thought so.

He had been holding your clinging frame for about a half hour, the two of you just sitting in blissful silence and enjoying each other’s company. Your living room felt oddly quiet for the first Friday evening in June. Usually there were birds singing outside to finish out their day or neighborhood kids giggling as they made their way home for dinner. But tonight it was just...still.

It wasn’t that you didn’t see Severus during the school year. No, you saw him quite often and he spent some nights at home even during the busiest school weeks. But there was something different about the summer. It was better when you knew that he didn’t have anywhere to be. He didn’t have papers or exams to grade, he didn’t have any faculty meetings to attend, or even Slytherin recommendation letters to write.

Severus Snape was all yours during those sweet summer months.

“That’s true,” You replied, “But we aren’t like most people.”

A gentle chuckle vibrated from his chest as he situated himself on the sofa to get comfortable again. Severus knew that you were no stranger to enjoying quiet nights in, but now that your summer had officially gotten started, he didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay home just because he was too tired to go out.

“I would agree with that, but if you want to go do something I can-”

“No, no, no. I want to stay here with you,” You cut him off, nuzzling your head further into his chest, “It’s your first night off. We have all summer to go out.”

Severus laughed again, his hand burying itself in your hair and beginning to scratch gingerly at your scalp and causing your eyelashes to flutter. He was the one pampering you right now, when it probably should’ve been the other way around. The school year always drained Severus, and the first week or two of his summer break consisted of him sticking around the house to rejuvenate his spirit. You always did everything you could to make him feel relaxed and really get into the summer spirit.

But sometimes his best source of relaxation was making YOU feel relaxed.

“Darling, as long as you’re happy here, I’m happy as well,” He remarked, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I do want to take you to London at some point this summer.”

You snorted at that, tilting your head to where your chin was resting between his pectorals so you could look up at him.

“We go to London every summer,” You reminded him, “Not that I don’t like it. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I know, love. Mine too,” He returned, looking into your eyes that were half-lidded with content, “Maybe we’ll actually make it to that music festival they have every year.”

Your eyebrows knitted in puzzlement, not quite sure what he was talking about.

“Which one?” You asked quizzically.

“The classical music one, pretty girl. You know the one. The one we always say we’ll go to and then never do.” Severus refreshed you.

A grin spread on your face when you remembered what he was talking about. That was one thing about the start of summertime that you and Severus were guilty of. Year after year, the two of you would make indefinite plans to go do something you had always talked about, but then never actually go do it.

Despite the fact that Severus’ summer break was almost three months long, it seemed that the time just always slipped away from the two of you. Along with that, you were both guilty of using the excuse you had just previously used, which was that you had all summer to commit to the plans that you would likely never follow through on.

“I have faith that we’ll actually go this year.” You stated.

“Oh, do you?” He smirked, knowing good and well that was a lie.

You only gave a simple shrug of your shoulders with an even simpler reply.

“No.” You giggled, bringing one of your hands up to fidget with the buttons on his shirt.

Severus liked making plans as much as any organized person, but there was something thrilling about having a little spontaneity. What was life without a little surprise here and there? He pulled you up just a bit so he could reach your lips, leaving a firm, but sweet kiss.

A brief silence ensued, the two of you sitting and touching the other. Not in a sexual way, but in an appreciative way. Touches of gratefulness that the two of you were there together, both of you looking forward to spending some much needed time together. Already casting the stresses and frustration of the school year away, looking forward to the future rather than dwelling on the past.

And a growing excitement for the summertime ahead of you.

“Maybe we should get some dinner, yeah?” You suggested once you broke away from his kiss.

Severus’ hands instinctively came to your hips to keep you from leaving, his eyes brightening for a moment.

“No, not yet. Let’s just...sit here for another minute.” He offered instead, not ready for this moment to end.

Your lips up turned into a smile, kissing him again before returning to your previous position. Your ear was against his chest again, his heart beating just a touch faster than it was before. He would admit that you had an electrifying effect on him, and even still after all these years. Even the smallest of things that you did or said could have him flustered. It was something you had always found charming.

Maybe this wasn’t the most conventional way to start a summer break, sitting in your dim living room with nothing more than your bodies tangled together. But it was how you preferred it, and it was damn beautiful nonetheless. So you were happy to stay there with him. Just listening. Just breathing. Just being there. And listening to the sound of his ever beating heart.

His heart that beat for you.

*****

Tags: @lupinsslut @msmimimerton​ @writingscape​ @thefilmcity​

[darkacademicfrom2021]

It’s very ambiguous

Pairing: Loki x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: You have finally come to age; your soulmate mark draws itself in your skin. You can't figure out who it connects you with, but, oh dear, you can only hope and wish it is to him. But Loki won't make it easy for you to find out. Will you both overcome the pride and fear that would involve your love?

Word count: 4.6 K

Warnings: a bit of angst. (English is not my mother tongue and it’s my first time writing fanfiction in english, so forgive me if there’s any errors, and feel free to correct them!)

Sighing at your reflection, you stared for the Norns know how long to the fresh image that drew itself in the side of your abdomen.

You thanked it was easy to hide; saving you endless mockery from your friends if they saw that. The vivid portrayal of who you loved the most, in the most ambiguous drawing you could’ve ever gotten. How ironic.

What the Heavens would that mean, you asked yourself at least five times until the impatient knocking on the bathroom door pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Hurry up, we’re late”, said Sif. You knew she was already all dressed up for the Ball, and she would kill you, seeing you were still on your robes. You opened the bathroom door slowly, with burrowed frows. You couldn’t hide it, as much as you tried to. “Oh, for God’s sa…” she started complaining, but stopped as soon as she realized you were in a terrible state of mind.

“I got it”, you explained after she made you get out of the bathroom and sat you on the edge of the bed. “I got the mark. Impossible to guess”.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll know who they is when the time is right”, said she, comforting you and eyeing the outfit you’d chosen earlier. “But crytime is over. Guess what time it is now. Yes, you guessed right. The Ball”.

The last thing you wanted to do in that moment was to dance; or to stay in a chair drinking wine the entirety of the night, for that matter. You didn’t need another reminder of your frustrated attempts at making him notice you. And you knew he wasn’t the one (if he were your soulmate, it would’ve already happened years; no, decades ago). But you still couldn’t help but falling in love at every little smirk, every little comment, every little thing he did. Dear, you were lost, completely gone in love.

That’s why you knew you wouldn’t find your soulmate for a long, long time. At least not until your crush for Loki had finally gone away.

“I’d rather stay”, you stated, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, I want to go, and I can’t go alone. Please, at least do it for me”.

“Why would you want to go? Ever since we’re on age of being asked to dance, we have only gotten invitations from… well, anyone except them. And in the Balls we can’t even be their friends”.

“We can be friends, if they talk to us first we can talk back”.

“Yeah, we could, but they don’t talk first. They never do”.

Both of you were completely lost for the princes. But, unlike you, Sif had a chance with Thor. She was graceful, divine, a wonderful woman; a whole Goddess, an amazing warrior. There was no question Thor would sooner or later find love in her friend. But you… why would a prince like Loki lay his eyes on you? Romantically, he never showed a single trace of interest in anyone, much less someone in his friendgroup. You were the closest to him, yet he never said a thing.

He probably knew you drooled over him. He must have noticed how you looked at him in the library when he read to you, how you always defended him from everyone else’s mockery, how you intentionally pretended like you didn’t know any better in spells so that he could help you out. How your heartbeat raced when he fell asleep on your lap. He must have noticed, yet he said nothing.

She finally managed to convince you to go, with the condition that if you weren’t asked to dance at all, or even talk, you’d go back to your manor early.

You got in your best clothes, and undressing the best attitude possible, you both arrived at the palace and entered the ballroom as quick as your feet let you. The ambient was marvelous. Subtle lighting, most of them by candles. The golden details that characterized Asgard so well were everywhere. Both King and Queen were sat in their thrones, waiting patiently for the rest of the royal family to arrive before giving the annual speech and getting the party started.

“Do you think they’re not coming?” asked Sif as you got comfortable in your seats, eyeing the entrances.

“They can’t miss it, they’re sort of the hosts”, you said, “but… well, I don’t know. The other day after training, Thor mentioned something about this year being particularly difficult for them”, you added in such a low whisper that Sif had to pull closer.

“What did he say? He didn’t mention anything to me”, she whispered back. You two looked like you were merely gossiping, if it weren’t for the lack of giggling that would usually follow.

“He said… he said something along the lines of ‘we’re expected so much more than before in these dances, they’re more than just for fun now’, and, Sif, I think he meant…”, but she abruptly interrupted you.

“Courting? Oh, for the Norns, they’re not expected to choose a partner now, so soon, aren’t they?”.

“Soon? Sif, they’re already at each other’s throats for who’s becoming King, and they have been for a while”.

“They’re not exactly competing, anyways. You don’t have to worry about this. It’s not like Loki’s the one winning” said she, earning a subtle kick in the leg. “Auch!”.

“Would you stop being so hard on him?”.

“You know I’m right!”. 

“You know it hurts him. If you think so, at least keep it to yourself, Sif”.

You could’ve kept lecturing her if it weren’t for the sarcastic clapping of the Queen upon seeing the arrival of her sons. You read the ‘you’re late!’ on her lips and the apologetic looks on their faces. But nothing of that distracted you from admiring how marvelous Loki could get sometimes. Just when you thought he couldn't look any better, he outdid himself. You let out a sigh and Sif laughed.

“You’re staring”.

“And rightfully so. Look at him”.

But no matter how much you looked at him for the whole evening, you couldn’t get even a gaze from him. He didn’t even eyed you from the distance. You would’ve even gotten actually mad at him if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t looking anywhere. He didn’t seem like he was avoiding you; he was actively staring at the floor, with the saddest look on his face. And Thor looked pissed off.

“There’s a story in there and I will ask for as many details as possible once Loki spills the beans to you”, said Sif, elbowing you.

“I don’t think he will. Look, it looks like more than a fight. He looks so upset”.

You could only wish you were brave enough to break the stupid rule of the royals approach first so you could take his hand tightly and comfort him in whatever he was going through. As you always did. As he always let you.

The music played for three hours. Everyone was on their feet, dancing away, drinking away and chatting away, as one should in a Ball dance. Everyone except you and certain dark prince you didn’t even bother staring at anymore. You gave up looking for his attention an hour after the dance properly started, and it did nothing good to your pride to have been trying for that long anyways.

Sif got her chance, of course. Thor took his time, but after long he gave up with whatever quarrel he was having with his brother and approached her decisively. You were past pissed. Disappointed. After another sip of your wine, you couldn’t resist and stole a glance to Loki’s seat. To your surprise, you met his gaze. The God of Mischief was staring at you, and he apparently has been for Gods know how long. He quickly dropped his head and went back to looking at the floor, now with a completely red face.

You soon realized he was even more upset than before, as he watched Thor and Sif dance. And then you understood. Everything fell into place. Of course. Of course he liked Sif. Who wouldn’t. That’s why he fought with Thor. That’s why he was so worked up. You didn’t even need to read his mind to confirm it. 

You waited, still holding your eyes on him. You waited for another half an hour, but your patience was already on thin ice and he didn’t look like he would do anything more, anyways. So you did what you should’ve done hours ago. You got up and left.

“No, brother, you can go, I’ll let Mother know I’m staying”, said Loki from his room.

He could hear Thor’s patience shatter in pieces from the other side of the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t miss the Ball. Father will kill you”.

“It’s not my problem”.

“I think it is quite your problem, brother”. Loki sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for his mockery. Thor sensed it and lowered his tone of voice, insisting. “Tell me what it is, Loki. I promise I’ll try to help out”.

But he only scoffed and locked the door, to start pacing around the room, feeding his anxiety even more. He covered his arm with his palm and tried his best to make it go away. It’s just an accidental illusion. I’m making it out of nervousness. I need to make it go away, he kept saying under his breath. But it didn’t go away. It wasn’t an illusion.

“Oh, FOR THE NINE REALMS”, he kicked his chair as a sudden burst of anger ate him alive.

“Loki, let me in!”, insisted Thor. “I’m going in”.

“You can’t help me”.

“I might, if you just tell me what is it. You love the dances. Come on”.

“I do love dances, Thor, I’m not particularly fond of the weight this one has on us; not this year” he growled from the floor, knees on his chest. “Not with what I had planned, I can’t do it now” he whispered. Thor pretended like he didn’t listen to that last bit.

Loki had been circling around the idea of asking you to dance for the last few months. It was all he wanted; to caress your hand and gently hold you by the waist, to move at the pace of the music, to feel your heart on his chest, his rising heartbeat with every breath you took. He wanted you, and if that wasn’t possible (and he was sure it wasn’t) he wanted to dance with you all night long.

But now, he would have to court you and marry you if he did. And, of course, it was what he wanted. It was definitely all he wanted. But he knew you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t risk your beautiful friendship over anything in the world. What if he lost you forever? He could never bring himself to lose you, in any form or way.

“Brother, let me in. Or get out of the room. We’re late”.

“You’re late, Thor. Must I repeat myself? I’m not going”.

“I’m kicking the door”.

Loki sighed, and waited to hear Thor’s intense footsteps get closer and closer to the door to open it just in time and see him land on his face. Thor got up off the floor with blood on his nose.

“It combines with your crimson cape, brother, no need to worry” said Loki mockingly.

But Thor paid little attention to his silvertongue. Instead, his eyes were fixed on his arm. Then, he understood exactly why he was acting so terrified. Loki covered his arm as soon as he realized, mortified, but it was now too late and Thor had already seen it.

“Do you need any other reason to invite them to dance with you?”, he said with a grin of pride.

“It's not them. I’m certain”.

“How are you so certain? It’s such an ambiguous drawing, and you haven’t seen theirs!”.

“They doesn’t even have a soulmate mark yet. They told me the other day”.

“You didn’t have one at that time either, it must have changed. Come on”.

Loki sighed and put on a long sleeved outfit, while letting Thor rant about how much he was sure you’d reciprocate his feelings. And Loki couldn’t say anything against it, because it would only bring ruin to everyone; to spill the obvious secret that haunted him everyday.

The fact that you lusted over Thor.

And it hurted him like anything else, because he knew even though you didn’t say anything. He knew he was the lesser prince. The one that gets looked over. The shadow in his brother’s spotlight. The always-prince, never-King. It hurted like Hell.

But there was nothing he could do about it. And now he had a mark that linked him to the Norns know who, but he only had eyes for you.

Because you were always there. You were the one to defend him against his own insecurities, and everyone else’s accusations. The one to laugh the loudest at his jokes, the one to hold him the tightest when you were in fear, the one to call him first to anything. And you were perfect. But you, for obvious reasons, didn’t think the same of him. You thought the world of him, but not in the way he wished.

And he wouldn’t even get to see you happy from someone else’s love, because his brother didn’t even have eyes for you. The idiot of Thor could not see your brightness, and Loki wondered how could anyone not fall in love with you.

“You need to try, Loki, you’ll never know if you don’t risk a little”.

“A little? To you this is a little? Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I lost them forever? If the person that I love the most leaves me because I just decided to stop hiding my feelings?”, yelled Loki, completely angered.

“Ah, there it is. If I decided to stop hiding my feelings”, repeated Thor, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?!”.

“You are afraid; so incredibly afraid of letting anyone know you fully. That is your problem, Loki. They’ll accept you no matter what, because they already know you. You think you’re hiding, well, you’re not so good with this little lie of yours”, said finally Thor, tired of biting his tongue about it.

“You know nothing about their feelings”.

“I know enough”.

“Believe me, you don’t. And you don’t get to say a word about my love life, or anything about this situation, for that matter. You don’t get to make light of my situation, as you do with everything regarding me. Now, leave. Me. Alone”.

They continued fighting about it until one of their tutors had enough of their unpunctuality and came to look for them. Both entered the ballroom still highly upset at each other and said nothing about it all night. Frigga knew exactly what they were talking about, and didn’t make too much of a fuss about the delay in their arrival.

Loki tried to not look at you in the entirety of the night; avoided all the eye contact he could with anyone, specially you. He was too afraid you’d choose that exact time to practice your special abilities at mind reading (since you’ve done this at previous dances, when Loki didn’t approach you), and if he didn’t see you, you couldn’t do it. Because if you dared reading his mind you’d only find yourself. And in those little moments he got to glance at you, while you were distracted with something else, he sank in sadness, because all he wanted was to embrace you and dance with you. You looked as fantastic as you always were and more. You looked especially excellent. And it didn’t go unnoticed to him that you looked annoyed. From the eye-sided glances he got to steal from you, he saw you staring at the seat he and his brother were in. You were expectant. You wanted to be taken out to dance. And Loki’s suspicions about your crush on Thor only got reassured when he asked Sif for a dance and you looked the most annoyed you’d ever looked in ages.

You left the dance early. After about ten minutes Loki decided to go after you. Outside of the ballroom you could still be a friend; that was the whole point of swallowing his feelings. He wandered the palace until he heard fireballs collapsing against the huge walls of your typical training spot, but he lingered his entrance to observe you in an incredibly angry state of your magic.

“You’ll set the palace on fire” said a gut-wrenching familiar voice. Of course Thor was there. Of course Thor would get earlier to comfort you in something that he destroyed.

“Then so be it”, you answered with a crack in your voice. Loki didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but he couldn’t help himself but to listen.

“I know why you’re upset. Believe me, it upsets me too”.

“You have no idea what upsets me”, you answered, and Thor chuckled. Loki could sense that Thor was thinking about how similar you and Loki were. You threw another fireball against the wall.

“Let me guess”.

“Enlighten me, your majesty”.

“You didn’t get to dance with the man you like”.

“You know nothing about the man I like”.

“When will you all stop treating me as if I were blind? Come on, why won’t you tell me? I’m your friend. I know you’re burning up in love and you still think you don’t have a chance because… because what? Because he’s the prince of Asgard?” said Thor. You stopped your magic and stared at him with teary eyes.

“Because the prince of Asgard I love, is in love with Sif. And there’s nothing I can do about it” you answered. Loki’s heart broke. Hearing you admit your raw feelings to Thor that way, and Thor not even understanding you were talking about him.

“What makes you think he’s in love with Sif?!” insisted, still clueless.

But Loki didn’t need to hear any more of that. He ran through the halls of the palace until he got to lock himself in his room.

“What makes you think he’s in love with Sif?!”, Thor asked, and you scoffed. You lowered your gaze to the floor, trying to make the tears go unnoticed. They didn’t, and Thor hugged you tightly.

Thor was almost like a brother to you. You grew up together, but it was more than that. You were always for each other. He never had to ask about your love for Loki, he always knew. And you never had to ask about his crush in Sif; it was transparent. So you both supported each other. You didn’t even bother telling him how she felt about him, it was bound to happen. Now, you and Loki, on the other hand…

“He is, you can’t deny it”.

“I’m denying it, I assure you”. You wiped your tears away and touched your mark over your clothes. He smiled. “You got the mark, didn’t you?”.

“Yeah”.

“What is it?”.

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter. Maybe I should just forget him and start looking for my soulmate. If the mark showed up today, then it must be for something. There has to be a reason”. Thor nodded, still smiling. “What are you so happy about, dumbass? My heart’s broken".

“Nothing. You keep on looking. Can I see it?”, said he, patting your back.

“It’s too ambiguous, you won’t guess it”.

“So I expected”.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know anything?”.

“Nothing whatsoever”.

You got in your fighting position. Loki bent down in his seat, focusing on the next fight. He was sure you’d win; he has been teaching you new moves and you completely mastered them. And your rival didn’t know any better, anyways.

One kick from your opponent; you avoided it and threw a punch. Another kick. Another punch. The rival grabbed your leg, making you lose your balance and almost fall down, but you used that impulse to push him away and get him to the ground. He got up and started using magic. A blue light shone around him and started getting closer to your feet. You closed your eyes and focused intensely; soon, water drops started emerging from the tips of your fingers. They quickly transformed into a stream of water that wrapped your opponent from head to toes, making his electricity magic attack him, instead of you. Loki smiled.

Your rival pushed further his strength and one of the electrified waterjets hit your leg. You fell to the ground with a scream. It hurted, a lot. Loki gasped and Thor had to grab his shoulder to remind him it was just a training fight. For his tranquility, you got up on your feet soon and started using your magic again.

An aura of sparks and wind formed around you while you closed your fists, extremely concentrated. Your opponent waited without attacking, but behind the shield of his armour. Loki saw Thor smile proudly; this was the part he taught you. For your fire side of your powers, Thor was the one to train you thoroughly. Loki sighed, frustrated because you haven’t yet shown what Loki had taught you with such enthusiasm. He still observed you with attention.

“This part is awesome, look, brother”, whispered Thor in his ear, which only made him angrier.

“I’m sure it is. They is awesome. And wait until you see what I taught them”. Thor chuckled.

“No need for jealousy, Loki. They’s all yours”. Loki rolled his eyes and directed his attention to the fight again.

The sparks and wind grew bigger and bigger around you, circling your whole body. Once the sparks became fire, you directed your whole energy to your opponent, sending him against the wall. If it weren’t for the gigant fire-proof shield, he would’ve gotten completely roasted.

You put your guard down, and as you did so, the wind and fire around you dispersed. Loki got to see you again once the magic flew down, and realized you had your clothes slightly lifted up. He tried not to look out of respect, but Thor gasped, and that drew his attention directly to what surprised his brother. And it did not disappoint. Loki’s chest got as tight as it has ever been. His breathing became irregular and unsteady, and his face got completely red. You didn’t notice your shirt had lifted up, so you didn’t realize what was going on. You got closer to your defeated rival and shaked his hand.

“You win. I see you’ve been well trained”, he said.

“I have”, you answered, and directed your gaze to the princes who were watching the fight. You walked closer to them to chatter, as you always did, but Loki got up fast and ran out of the training room. Thor told you to follow him, and Loki heard your footsteps behind him for the entirety of the hall, until you two got to the gardens.

Loki was shaking. He didn’t want you to be there. He didn’t want you to see him that vulnerable. And you knew it, so you didn’t get closer than two meters apart.

“Loki”, you said after a while, behind his back. “What’s wrong?”.

He turned around, face still red. He was usually cold, but at that moment he was burning up inside and out. Maybe he was burning out of love for you. Maybe out of anger, for being so pessimistic and making himself a martyr when his brother was clearly right. Maybe out of rage to himself, for waiting so long to make a move and losing so much time lost in his own head. But you were still standing there, concerned. And he had to say something, because you still didn’t know anything.

“I saw your mark”, he stated. Now you were the one with the red face.

“Oh… I, I don’t, uh…”, you stuttered, and he got closer to you. He grabbed both of your hands and you looked at him in the eyes, clueless. “I try not to give it that much attention”.

“Why?”, he asked. “It’s your soulmate. The person you’ll love the most”.

“I already love someone” you said, in a burst of confidence. Loki swallowed in nervousness. Your hands started to get sweaty. “I… ugh. Sorry. I don’t want to say…”.

“Who? Tell me, I’m your best friend”.

“I don’t want you to be”, you finally said. “It’s you, Loki. It’s always been you. I don’t care about this stupid soulmate mark, because I know I’m in love with you and I always have been”.

Loki stayed silent, which only made your anxiety increase. He finally looked at you in the eyes and formed a subtle smile.

“I thought you loved Thor”.

“What? Why would I…?”.

“I heard you after the Ball; you said the prince you love was in love with Sif”.

“Yeah, you”.

“I’m… what? I’m not… I’m not in love with Sif, darling”.

Your heart stirred, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the pet name he just gave you, or the fact that you got it all wrong. He wasn’t in love with Sif?

“I’m sorry, did we both think…?”.

“We’re idiots, apparently”.

You both laughed. That was it; that cotidianity, that normality that felt, even in the most embarrassing and intense moments, completely fine. Because you were, before anything, friends.

You hugged him. He returned the hug and caressed your neck and back with one hand. You felt his heartbeat rise, and from that position, he whispered in your ear with that beautifully deep and raspy voice; “I saw your mark”.

“I don’t care about it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, ignore my feelings if necessary. But my heart only beats for you”, you whispered back. He sank his nose on the crook of your neck and felt his mouth form a smile against your skin. You shivered and felt warmth in your stomach.

“I don’t want to ignore your feelings”.

“I love you”, you said once again, regretting it in that instant. You couldn't stop your words from falling out of your mouth. You felt like you sounded desperate.

“I love you too, my dear”.

You, in shock, looked at him in the eyes. He kept smiling, and putting a strand of your hair behind an ear, placed a small kiss on your red cheek.

“I don’t know what to do next. I like being your friend”, you said. “And I don’t think we’re meant to be. I got a mark, and you haven’t, so it’s obvious we won’t end up together anyways. And I want you by my side for all my life; even if it’s just as a friend, you know? I don’t want to lose you”. Loki chuckled at your rant. “What?”.

“What makes you think I didn’t get my mark yet?”.

“Well, I… I don’t know. Did you?”.

“Yes”.

“What does it look like?”.

He smiled.

“It’s very ambiguous”, said he, sarcastically.

“Hard to guess, is it?” you chuckled, realizing what was going on. Loki lifted his sleeve, uncovering an identical soulmate mark to yours.

“Hard to guess, yet so obvious”, he said. He grabbed your waist and neck and both melted in a long, desired kiss. You sank your fingers in his hair, caressing his scalp. “Yours?”

“It’s very ambiguous too, you know?”.

[vibraniumwing]

breaking point.

a neville longbottom x reader wherein neville finally reaches his breaking point when it comes to you

WARNING: nsfw, 18+ (really, don’t read if you’re not.),dirty talk, light choking, oral (female receiving), semi-public, slight praise kink, unprotected sex and just plain nasty nasty lmao

A/N: look, okay, i have discussed this headcanon with @minty-malfoy​ and @slytherinsunrise​ about how neville is actually a dom underneath his soft and fluffy exterior and i just really wanted to write this akdjaksjf i love vanilla neville but honestly this hc is the death of me.

DO NOT READ UNDER THE CUT IF YOU ARE BELOW 18.

---

There are certain moments in time wherein people make promises to themselves about keeping things hidden from the eyes of the public, that no matter what would happen, they would carry this burden ‘til they’re in the grave.

However, with you acting like this, Neville is finding it hard to keep himself in place.

---

Neville swore himself into secrecy about keeping this alter-ego of his a secret due to the fact that it doesn’t fit the image that the public has set upon him. He knew he was this soft, little angel in the eyes of his friends and those who knew him; little did they know there was a beast underneath that façade of his.

His eyes watched you like a hawk as you travelled to-and-fro, grabbing items to put in your grocery cart as you dragged him all the way to a muggle one since you’ve running low on supplies back at home. 

He studied the way your face would contort into one of seriousness when deciding what brand to buy for pasta sauce, how your shirt would lift up just a bit and expose the soft skin underneath while grabbing things from a certain height and how innocent you looked in that shirt of his you decided to wear on your trip.

It was driving the lad absolutely mad at how gorgeous you looked without even trying and all he wanted to do was to pin you up against one of those shelves and show you how badly he wanted you. But he was stuck in his own restraints—physically and figuratively speaking— so there was no way he could do that.

Also, he just loved you too much to even do so suddenly.

---

You were currently working on dinner, mindlessly stirring as your head moved to the soft music that was playing through the kitchen. It was a rather cold day so you opted to wear or steal one of Neville’s sweaters that was a size too large for you. Your hands quickly moved to tie your hair in a messy bun and continue on with your task.

What you didn’t know, however, was the fact that the owner of the sweater you were wearing was watching you work silently. His jaw clenched shut as he fought with every patience he had to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you senseless.

Oh how he wished to do that, but he just can’t, not yet to say the least.

---

Of course, there are secrets that no matter how hard one tries to hide, it’ll uncover itself eventually. Unfortunately, one of those was Neville’s.

You had always thought of the idea that maybe your boyfriend isn’t as vanilla as he always was. You’ve always adored how gentle and caring he was when it comes to your intimate moments with him, how he was always aware of what keeps you over the edge and leaves you wanting for more. 

Yet you had always yearned for something that you don’t have the heart to bring up to the man, until you discovered what lies beneath his innocent little mask.

Coming home from a tiring day at work was never fun, but when you have a loving boyfriend waiting with warm cuddles and kisses, you wouldn’t mind the exhaustion at all; probably even looking forward to come home to that everyday.

However, instead of being greeted by your lovers warm smile, you met with silence the moment you walked into the door. Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion since he was nowhere to be seen. Lightly making your way up, you heard soft pants come from your room. 

Your mind immediately went to a difference place, getting ready to be greeted by something very heart shattering but instead what you saw was something rather surprising as you peeked through the small opening of the door

It was Neville with his back against the headboard of the bed you both shared, low groans rumbling from his chest as he relieved himself from his stress, accompanied with strings of rather colorful words on how he wanted to make you know who’s in charge inside the bedroom.

Safe to say that scene left you hot and bothered for the rest of the night— and that you might have cooked up a plan on how to make your adorable boyfriend reach his limit.

Then you commenced your plan, wearing more of his shirts and sweaters around the house knowing how much he loves you to see you in them (which sometimes leads to them being scattered on the floor) and by tying your hair in-front of him, grinning at him cheekily when he goes silent by watching you do that.

You’d get a certain reaction from him whenever he catches you doing that, adoring how he’d have this entranced look while watching you and how he’d immediately be flustered after because you caught him. 

But to no avail- he knew how to control his urges and you weren’t having any of it anymore. As much as you love Neville for his patience and respect, you’ve reached your breaking point.

---

Neville was seated beside you with a certain flare in his eyes as you continued to palm him through the fabric of his slacks, his cheeks were flushed as he watched you casually conversed with Hermione from across the table, acting as if nothing was happening from under the table.

The woman had invited the two of you over for a rather fancy dinner and he was already losing his mind upon seeing the white body hugging dress you wore and you were really drawing the line with your discreet actions under the table. 

“Say Neville, are you really planning on teaching back at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, looking at your boyfriend expectantly with a curious grin. You looked over at your boyfriend who adjusted in his seat, “Oh yeah, I do actually. Professor Sprout’s about to retire so I’m planning to take over for her.” He managed to splutter out, adjusting his tie as you slowly quickened your pace against his pants.

As the table moved on to another topic, your boyfriend was quick to lean in and whisper, “Not here, (Y/N)” with a gentle tone, holding on to the last ounce of patience he had. 

You batted your eyelashes at him, a devilish grin plastered on your lips as you shrugged him off, “I have no idea as to what you are even implying, Nev.” you simply replied, retreating your hand from its position as you felt him starting to twitch under the fabric. 

The male threw his head back in annoyance at the sudden interruption of his pleasure before giving you a stern look, voice low enough so that only you can hear, “You know exactly what you’re doing and I swear if you don’t stop that attitude right now you’ll see what you’re in for.” He said, jaw clenched as you laughed at him softly, igniting his frustrations even more.

“Make me, Longbottom.”

And that was enough for the beast inside Neville to let loose, absolutely enraged at the bratiness you were showing him. He cleared off his throat and stood up, “As much as I love this party, me and (Y/N) have to cut the night short. I still have a few things to pack before leaving for Hogwarts.” giving his friends a rather sad smile and glanced at you.

The sudden change in his demeanor has left you wet in-between your legs, your heart racing as you gathered your purse and waved off to your friends. His larger hand instantly found its way to yours as he led you outside the restaurant and into a rather isolated alley and instantly apparated to your shared bedroom. 

He was quick to pin you against the wall, one hand holding both of your wrists above your head as the other was cupping your cheek, thumb swiping on your lower lip as he spoke, “Princess, I know you love me gentle but do you really think you deserve that? After what you’ve done to me?” his hips grinding against yours, feeling how hard he was underneath his pants.

Your breath hitched at the friction, shaking your head as your brattiness faltered all too quickly by the way he was acting, “No Nev, I don’t.” which led to him wrapping his hand around your neck as he lightly pressed down on it. “Don’t talk to me like that.” 

His usual gentle voice was coated with arousal making you moan, “No, sir. I’m sorry for acting like a brat” which made him groan in satisfaction at the way those words rolled out of your mouth. He then captured your lips in a heated kiss, feeling himself let loose as his hand slowly trailed down to the underneath of your dress, his fingers now ghosting over your heat. 

You felt his lips curl up into the kiss, “Aren’t you a dirty little one, you’ve gone the whole night without underwear on?” He teased, middle and ring fingers dipping into your pussy as he left open mouth kisses against your neck, sucking on the skin rather harshly. 

“So wet for me, aren’t you darling?” he whispered, ravelling in the lewd sounds that left your mouth mixed with desperate pants. You bucked your hips into his hands, begging for more friction as you felt your knees slowly start to give out from underneath. 

Neville slowly pulled his fingers out upon feeling your walls tighten around it, making you whine as he licked your essence off his fingers, letting out hum of satisfaction as he locked lips with you again; hand reaching over the back to unzip your dress, letting it pool to your feet, nimble fingers quickly undoing your bra and letting it join the clothes on the floor. 

“So beautiful” He mumbled, stepping away from you as he loosened his tie, “Be a good girl and lay down on the bed, princess.” His tone sends chills down your spine as you lay on the bed, watching him get rid of own clothes, mouth watering as you watch him stroke his length to soothe it from its aching need.. 

He then approached you, licking his lips as he lowered himself, eyeing how your heat glistened against the dim lit room, “So fucking wet for me.” He growled before diving  right into you, tongue dancing around your clit gently he curled two fingers inside of you, causing your hips to buck up in the process, moans escaping your lips which made the male groan. “Keep still, darling.” He said, his other hand gripping on your thigh tightly as he continued.

You tried your best to keep still, panting heavily as Neville continued to fuck you with his tongue and fingers, back arching as your hand was now gripping on his hair, the sensation too overwhelming for you as a familiar knot form once again. 

“N-Nev, I’m close” You said, only making him pump his fingers in and out of you more quickly, humming in approval which sent you into this state of pure bliss as you reached your high, coating his slender fingers with your juice. 

Neville was quick to lap whatever mess you had made, tongue darting out to clean his own digits as crawled up to your eye level, “You were such an angel for me now, weren’t you, princess?” he questioned, thumb brushing against your bottom lip again as you nodded, taking his thumb in-between your lips to suck on in gently as you locked your gaze with him.

His usual soft brown eyes were filled with lust as he positioned himself, expression faltering slightly as he waited for your approval, making your heart flutter at the fact that he still wanted your answer. With a single nod, he thrusted into you, groaning at how tight you were around him. “So.. fucking tight for me, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Nev, all for you.” You answered, hips jolting up at the way he slowly started to move, teasing you lightly as he trudged on with this pace, making you whine, “Faster, Nev, please!”

Neville happily obliged in your request, pace picking up as his lips attacked all the soft spots of your neck, making you a moaning mess underneath him as he soon became relentless with his speed; your lewd sounds making him go wild, his free hand finding its way back to your clit, the pad of his thumb toying on it as he continued to go in and out of you.

Still sensitive from your first high, you quickly felt your second one forming as he kept his pace. “Go on, baby.” With those simple words, you felt your orgasm crash through once again, sending you a wave of euphoria as he rode out your high, eventually coming down from his own high too.

He gently pulled out of you and smiled, kissing your forehead, “Stay right there, alright?” He said, snatching his boxers off the floor and headed off to the bathroom before coming back with a towel in hand, waving it sheepishly. 

“Let me do the work, my love.” He said gently, cleaning you up before taking you into his arms, carrying you into the bathroom where the bathtub was full and ready to use. 

He gently placed you down and helped you hop in, the warmth of the water instantly relaxing your muscles, before situating himself behind you, a shy grin on his lips, a light pink dusting over his cheeks, “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You laughed at him softly, shaking your head gently as you sensed his fingers massage your scalp gently, cleaning you off. “No, Nev. You were great.” You answered, leaning into him gently as you teased, “Who knew you had that kind of side, my love?”

Neville chuckled at your words, carefully rinsing you off as he shrugged lightly, lathering his hands with soap as he ran his hands against your soft skin, fingers tracing the marks he’s left, “I’ve always had that side of me, I know that you know that, but I just kept on holding myself back because I didn’t want to hurt you like that.” He answered truthfully, voice laced with gentleness.

You turned to face him with a smile, leaning in to press your lips against his, heart jumping everywhere at how pure his answer was, “You don’t have to hide anything from me anymore since I’d accept you either way, Nev.”

And with that the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company as you both got ready for bed once again, Neville doing all the work of changing the sheets and what not before letting you back on the bed and into his arms, peppering your face with a ton of kisses soon afterwards.

“Are you sure that I wasn’t too hard on you, love?” He asked once more, looking at you with a rather guilty look, to which you shook your head, giving him a comforting smile as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips, “You were perfect, my love, trust me.”

You felt him relax against you, holding you closer to his chest as he kissed your lips once more, smiling against them.

“I love you, (Y/N).)” “I love you too, Nev.”

---

TAGS: @theweasleyslut​ @violetravens​ @eunoia-kth​ @starlightweasley​ @minty-malfoy​ @glimmering-darling-dolly​ @slytherinsunrise​

[little-smartass]

THE VAMPIRE LESTAT COVER ALBUM - the legendary Vampire Lestat is back and bigger and badder than ever, this time bringing a whole album of song covers ranging from classic bangers to newer fresh takes on chart hits! get your copy now, complete with a transcript of the artist's commentary on each song!

(songs I think Lestat would cover and release as an album in an attempt to re-kickstart his career and/or make some sort of dramatic statement to Louis. tracklist and "artist commentary" under the cut)

Survival - Muse

“And I’ll reveal my strength, to the whole human race, yes I am prepared, to stay alive, and I won’t forgive, and vengeance is mine, and I won’t give in, because I choose to thrive! Yeah I’m gonna win!”

Oh, I wish this song had been around back on that opening night at the Cow Palace - how apt that would have been! What a fucking anthem! They would have been rioting all night. I mean, they already were, but, like, because of the music. Not because vampires were being immolated in the middle of the crowd. Different kind of riot.

The Bitch Is Back - Elton John

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh the bitch is back, stone cold sober as a matter of fact, I can bitch, I can bitch, ‘cause I’m better than you, it’s the way that I move, the things that I do!”

One day I want to have this play as I walk into Night Island. I’ll time it perfectly so that I throw off my coat - my denim jacket, or- oh, no, a fur! Maximum drama! - just as the chorus starts. Armand will know that I’m coming of course, but I think that’ll just make it even better. And I have good memories to this song... [muffled question] Sorry, gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, bébé. [laughter]

Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic

"Oh my, feels just like I don’t try, look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me, head down, swaying to my own sound, flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me”

Look, do I even need to explain this one? Didn’t think so.

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

"I don't give a damn ‘bout my reputation, I've never been afraid of any deviation, and I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change - and I'm never gonna care bout my bad reputation"

This one's fairly self-explanatory again. It could have been my personal anthem when I was mortal quite honestly. And it's an awful lot of fun to jump about and headbang to, don't you think? That's a new thing I've found out about, headbanging. People have been hopping about to music looking like fools for centuries but now there's a name for it. Fantastic.

bad guy - Billie Eilish

"I’m that bad type, make your mama sad time, make your girlfriend mad type, might seduce your dad time… I’m the bad guy. Duh.”

Creepy? Check. Sexy? Check. Tongue-in-cheek? Check check. This song was great and a lot of fun to cover.

Lover to Lover - Florence + the Machine

“I believe there’s no salvation for me now, no space among the clouds, and I feel I’m heading down, but that’s alright, that’s alright, that’s alright”

I don’t know, this one just felt very relevant. Also the piano was great to do. You might have noticed that I’ve picked a lot of songs with piano, and that’s because I bullied the studio into getting me a goooooorgeous grand piano for the recording space and I wanted to use it as much as possible!

Feeling Good - Muse

“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel, scent of the pine, you know how I feel, oh freedom is mine, and I know how I feel”

I just really like this song - I’ve done a cover of an excellent cover! Can- can you put emojis in this? Do people still use emojis? Well imagine I’ve put the shrug one. Wait, isn’t there- Daniel, Daniel, come here, isn’t there a shrug emoji made up of keyboard- [muffled words] yes! The shrug one! Yes, put that in the transcription. [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] I just like this song.

The Man - The Killers

“I got gas in the tank, I got money in the bank, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man, I got skin in the game, I got a household name, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man”

I feel like this one speaks for itself too. Can you put that shrug emoji thing in here again? [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] Yes!

J'ai Pas Envie - MIKA

J'ai pas envie, de faire comme si, comme les maris, qui disent oui, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie d'te faire plaisir, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, si tu m'aimes viens me le dire"

Look, I'm not going to translate the whole song for you, because it has all this clever wordplay you just totally lose in english… but the gist of it is that these two lovers are… at odds a lot. It's… it's maybe a little spiteful [laughter] but in a fun way! It's a fun song! Louis won't even be mad about it, it's MIKA.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

"When I'm not with you, think of you always (I miss those long hot summer nights), when I'm not with you, think of me always, always"

[Long pause] God, I miss Freddie.

Let 'Em Talk - Kesha

Ah, full disclosure - I put this song in purely because of the expression Louis made when I played it in the car and it got to the line “can suck my dick” and she did that popping noise… it was incredible, and I just knew I had to cover it so I could see his expression when I said that. I can’t wait to play it to him. [laughter]

So What - P!nk

"So so what, I'm still a rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you, and guess what? I'm having more fun, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight, I'm alright, I'm just fine, (and you're a tool, so)"

I'm actually a big fan of nineties and noughties female stars - all that grrrrrrrl power, it's great fun, you know? I'd say this one is fairly self-explanatory, because I am still a rockstar! This is my new album! Fuck you EMP and your sniffy little article calling me "washed up"!

Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

"But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line, I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"

This one could be self-deprecating, but it's also very vindictively angry at the same time, and that's a combination I definitely get. Like, oh, it's my fault, isn't it? It's my fucking fault again, what a surprise. Perhaps "learn from your mother or you'll spend your days biting your own neck" is a little on the nose… [muffled words] you've read my books, right? [muffled words] Good, good.

Missy - The Airbourne Toxic Event

"But I swear there's still some good in me, I think if you'd stuck around you'd see, all the botched attempts at integrity I once had"

Oh, I was feeling philosophical when I picked this one. No, philosophical isn't the right word… melancholy? Do people still use that word? "I swear I swear I swear I'll never get sad" is both furiously defiant and yet so self-defeatingly ironic. [Exasperated noise] Enough of that. Next!

Please Don't Leave Me - P!nk

"I don't know if I can yell any louder, how many times have I kicked you out of here, or said something insulting? I can be so mean when I wanna be, I am capable of nearly anything, when my heart is broken… (please, please don't leave me)"

Oh, we’re… we’re getting to this section now. [clearing throat] Well, I have to make up for that sucking dick line, don’t I? Get a bit vulnerable. Oh God, why did I decide to do this bit? [muffled words] [bad chicago accent] But why buy the cow? Because you love him, you really do. [sigh, laughter]

Next To Me - Imagine Dragons

"Oh, I always let you down, shattered on the ground, still I find you there, next to me, and oh, the stupid things I do, I'm far from good it's true, still I find you, next to me"

Why did I- I don’t remember putting so many of these ones in.

Run To You - Pentatonix

"I've been settling scores, I've been fighting so long, but I've lost your war, and our kingdom is gone... how shall I win back your heart which was mine? I have broken bones and tattered clothes, I've run out of time"

[Sigh] [clears throat] Yeah. I think we can move onto the next one.

Love of My Life - Queen

“Love of my life, don't leave me, you've stolen my love, you now desert me, love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me”

I play this one sometimes on my baby grand when we've had a fight, and it's impossible for him to stay angry. He's a sucker for this sort of… formality in romance. God, I wish I'd realised that earlier. If I'd written him a letter in fancy copperplate script with scented paper and enclosed rose petals politely requesting him to bend me over his desk back in the day, it might not have taken two centuries of mutual blue balls for us to figure our shit out. Ah well, live and learn… as it were. [muffled words] Look, I did a whole bunch of vulnerable songs! Now I get to make sex jokes! [laughter] oh fuck off.

[miraculous-ninjabird]

Posting this older work at the request of @rosiehunterwolf

No I don't have anything else context wise for you, sorry

No Working Title

Rating: T for swearing and tw

This is Angst.

TW for: panic attack, mentions of pain/injury, mentions of body modification

Word count: 1862

Summary: Lloyd wakes up after a dangerous showdown with his father that ended badly. Something isn't right, he knows it. He's just not sure what. It doesn't help he can't remember what happened

The first thing that Lloyd becomes aware of is the pleasant sound of singing. The melody is unfamiliar, but soothing. It reminds him of a memory he can’t quite fully grasp. Just a fuzzy feeling of warmth, and safety. It’s a feeling he feels the need to cling to with all his might. A large part of him wants nothing more than to stay just like this.

Another, smaller, part of him is telling him he should do...something. But he is tired. So incredibly tired. He would much rather stay as he is, comfortable and listening to the unfamiliar song.

If he had been in charge, he would have stayed as he was forever. Unfortunately, his mind was being incredibly uncooperative and it was becoming harder and harder to focus. There was still something… Lloyd tries desperately to remember what it is. His brain short circuits and in the end he gives up, allowing the music to lull him back to sleep.

When Lloyd comes to for the second time, he is more aware. Soft voices are arguing above him. A throbbing pain makes itself known to him, pressing behind his eye. He makes an attempt to blink, and instantly regrets the choice. Doing so causes the pain to morph from something moderately uncomfortable into a white hot searing sensation that, for a terrifying moment, completely overtakes him. It starts to fade quickly enough, but it leaves him uncomfortable and upset. In an effort to distract himself, he focuses on the conversation above him.

“Please. It’s been three days. You have to take care of yourself Kai,”

“It’s at least partially my fault this happened. I’m not leaving until I know he’s gonna be okay,”

“I’m not going to get into the fault argument since we’ve already been there. But we know he’s stable. I’ll be here the entire time. Nothing is going to happen. Just six hours. Sleep, eat, shower.”

“I can sleep and eat without having to leave,” Kai counters weakly. Even in his hazy state, Lloyd could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“We both know you won’t do either of those things.” Nya pushes gently. “I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve left that chair for something other than the bathroom in the last week. That’s not good for him or you. You won’t be any help to Lloyd, now or when he wakes up, if you can't at the very least take care of yourself. The last thing we need is both of you out of commission.”

There was a pause, followed by Kai grumbling his agreement. Lloyd struggles with himself, making an effort to do anything to let Kai know that he was here. A movement. A sound. Anything to reassure Kai that he is here. He feels himself slipping back into unconsciousness. He tries to fight it, but as the soft singing from before resumes, he knows he’s lost. Barely a moment passes before he sinks into the darkness once again.

When he comes around for the third time, he is actually able to open his eyes. He is once again met with a stabbing pain, but this time it is more bearable. Blinking slowly, his vision begins to come into focus. Something about it was off but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. All he knew is it was making it difficult to think and even harder to focus. The harsh lights do little to help.

The room he’s in is unfamiliar. Sparsely decorated with dull grey walls, there isn’t really much to look at. An empty chair is placed next to the bed with a blanket folded neatly across the back. There is a sink in one corner, and another door leading to what he assumes is a bathroom. He is alone.

As Lloyd struggles to push himself into a sitting position, the door slides open. Nya steps in, steaming mug gripped tightly in her hand. She looks up, starting in shock when she sees Lloyd. The mug slips from her grasp, shattering on the ground. She hardly seems to care as she rushes to his side.

“Lloyd!” She cries. “You’re awake? Since when? How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Urghhhhhhh,” He groans, not quite able to quite form a coherent thought. Nya pauses her questions, seemingly realizing Lloyd wasn’t ready for that yet. Strong arms reach out, helping to settle him into a comfortable upright position. The lights are still too bright. He presses his hands into his eyes in an attempt to relieve the pain. It feels wrong, in a way. The skin under his one hand feels far too cool and strangely...metallic? That couldn’t be right. He must be imagining things.

“Is something wrong?” Nya taps his hand gently, bringing his focus back to her.

“Lights,” he murmurs.

“Oh! Let me fix that…” she gasps. There is some shuffling and the lights dim to a more acceptable level. He lowers his hands and squints. This he could deal with.

“Better?” She asks, and Lloyd nods. Nya gives him a smile. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since...a minute or two ago?” He blinks rapidly as one half his vision blurs strangely, almost like tv static. “Something is wrong with my eye. I can’t quite...I don’t know. It’s all blurry and weird.”

Nya’s smile drops instantly. She reaches out, grabbing both of his hands, fixing him with an intensely worried look.

“Lloyd, how much do you remember?” She presses gently. Lloyd racks his brain.. He remembers going to visit his dad, but the events afterwards are a terrifying blank.

“I...I don’t know,” he whispers. “I can’t remember anything from after I got there.”

Nya lets out a soft ‘oh’. The look on her face tells him there is something he should be remembering.

“Not to scare you or anything but…” She steps away, retrieving a hand mirror from the sink and handing it to him. Lloyd takes it, looks, and immediately drops it. He stares at the wall for a moment before hesitantly picking the mirror back up, studying the reflection.

“What the fuck. What is that? Nya. Tell me right now that I’m imagining things. Fuck. This can’t be real,” Instead of two completely normal matching human eyes, he has...whatever this is supposed to be. His left eye is now entirely black except the iris, which glows an eerie green color. Matching green lines etch the side of his face, extending up into his hairline and across his cheek. WHY DOES HIS EYE LOOK LIKE THAT? What the fuck happend to him?

As he stares, his vision once again starts to blur. Panic surges through him as he realizes what he is looking at. He has a robot eye. An honest to god robot eye that he has no memory of whatsoever. Someone had cut his eye out and replaced it with this monstrosity. Why can’t he REMEMBER?! Desperately he tries to recall something. Anything really. He comes back with nothing. Just one giant empty blank. There had to be something. You don’t just wake up one day with a robot eye and not remember it.

Out of nowhere, a thought strikes him. His eye. It looks just like Zane’s had. The lines carved across his face look just like the ones running up and down Skylor’s arm. The glowed the same shade as everything in his father’s stupid base. Did that mean…?

An uncomfortable constricting feeling takes root in his chest and he lets out a strangled gasp. No no nonononononono this couldn’t be happening. Stupid stupid stupid! He would never...but his dad. His thoughts begin to spiral as he desperately tries to stop himself from piecing things together. He no longer wants to know. Don’t think. Don’t remember. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“Lloyd. Breath,” Nya’s voice cuts through his panicked haze. As she speaks, he becomes aware of the fact he has not, in fact, been breathing. He takes a gasping, shuddering breath. His lungs don’t like that and he devolves into a fit of coughing. The mirror is plucked from his grasp and firm hands squeeze his arms with just enough force to drag his mind back to the real world. Nya speaks again.

“Look at me.” He obeys, turning his gaze on her. She opens her arms, a silent gesture. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate, flinging himself at her with what limited strength he has left and pressing into her. With a start, he realizes that he is crying.

“You’re scared. I would be too. I wish I could tell you it was all a dream,” She murmurs softly. “This is undoubtedly strange and scary for you. There’s no avoiding it.”

Strange and scary? Life altering and utterly terrifying seemed more appropriate terms. Waking up missing part of his memories wasn’t a thing he really knew how to handle. Unexpectedly becoming part android was not something he was equipped to handle. Theorizing his father was responsible was NOT something he wanted to even think about handling. Not in the slightest. How was he supposed to move on from this?

Nya seemed to sense he was spiraling. Maybe the fact he has started to tremble uncontrollably had given it away

“Hey, hey. I wasn’t finished. You may be experiencing something horrible, but you aren’t alone. I’m here. Kai is here. The others are all here. Whatever happens. We are here to support you.” Nya pulls him tighter, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

Lloyd doesn’t really know what to say. There isn’t really anything he can say. He finds himself clinging to her like she is a lifeline. His head is throbbing, and he finds himself feeling drained. Nya’s arms are warm and comfortable, but it’s not enough to drive off the fear. It clings to him, worming its way into every dark corner of his mind. He wants to scream, but the best he can get is a choked sob.

In response, Nya starts to hum. Lloyd recognizes the tune immediately. It was the same one from before. He latches onto the sound with everything he has. The effect was almost instantaneous. When focused on the soft notes, the panic fades to the background. It was still there, but more manageable than before. Slowly but surely, he starts to feel like he can breathe again. His whole body relaxes into Nya’s embrace. Maybe if they could just stay like this...

It’s only a few minutes before Nya hears the soft sound of snoring. Looking down, she sees that exhaustion has won out and Lloyd has once again slipped into unconsciousness. That was a relief. She’d screwed that up big time. Next time he woke, she would make sure to tread more carefully. And when Kai came in to relieve her, she would have to make sure to update him on the situation. He would undoubtedly be mad, but she wasn’t about to leave a panicking Lloyd to go wake him up. Looks like things were going to be far more complicated than they’d originally thought...

[redhawtriot]

Caught in the Act (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

So… this is technically like half of the request but I had way too many ideas for this (and its already long as hell. oops). I’m only doing one Bakugou cheating scenario on this page so go big or go home, right?

I also saw that this blog  that I made like two weeks ago has like 100 of you guys following it wtf?! So to celebrate, I’m making my first actual series an interactive one! The following chapters will be very short (besides this one, she thicc), but each will have a question at the end that will determine the events of the next chapter! I made an account on OpinionStage where you guys can vote on through Tumblr, so hopefully at least one of you is excited.

Part two (the other half of this request) is where this fun will begin, so stay whelmed.

Fuck this site for making me repost this :)

Love you guys

HnM💕

Warning: Don’t read this to your fucking kids

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Essentially, your girls night for the week had been, in lack of better words, a shit show.

The brisk, fall air pierced your skin, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to wrap your arms around yourself for warmth. You didn’t even want to touch your sticky filth.

You just wanted to run home to your Bakugou– he was all the warmth that you needed and more. More than anything, you wanted to forget about the foul man that had assaulted you at your now ex-favorite club.

A frown momentarily sneaked its way onto your face to corrupt the brave expression you had held in front of your girlfriends,

“Hey” you had raised your hands to halt your friend, “Don’t do something ridiculous! I promise I’m alright, Jirou!” You had begged her when she had prepared to fight the man as he grabbed your arms. You had already politely asked him to back away from you after he tried to grind himself against you. He called it dancing—you called it sexual harassment.

The nightclub security had already been watching this man and immediately closed in on him to escort him out of the club as soon as he moved in towards you. But it must not have been fast enough.

Everything happened so rapidly that you could barely blink in time before you were drenched in a sticky liquid. Still, you kept a calm expression on your face. Your friends’ careers as heroes depended on how calmly you acted,

“No, it’s okay! I needed to head home anyway!” you had argued with your girls after the man had thrown his drink at you. You tried to bring a smile onto your face as the slight sting of the alcohol penetrated your eyes, “Bakugou will pick me up,” you blinked heavily.

Of course he wouldn’t pick you up in front of the club.

No, that would just be a disaster waiting to happen.

He would more than likely blow the entire place up once he found out what had transpired.

However, after the fourth failed attempt at calling Bakugou, you had given up. It was honestly a stretch anyway. He barely made it past nine o’ clock most nights, and it was well on its way to midnight. You could see your breath as you gave off a heavy sigh, but you never faltered in your steps.

You just wanted to go home to your man, clean your pathetic ass in a hot shower, and forget other men existed in this world.

You groaned to yourself as you remembered how late your guys’ roommate, Kirishima, would stay up in the front living room playing video games—the same front living room you would have to sneak past to make your way to the sanctuary of your shower.  

You opened the front door as quietly as you could and prodded your, matted, liquor-contaminated head into the threshold of your home. You probably looked like a wild animal as you scrunched your eyebrows and stared at the dark living room for a while before finally building up the courage to tiptoe towards your bathroom.

You didn’t even want to go to your room in fear of interrogation from a very sleepy, very pissed off Bakugou.

Better not poke the bear. Better just wash the stink and sins away and keep it moving like nothing had happened.

Kirishima not being awake on his Xbox for once was a blessing on a normal day, but today it was truly god sent. Hell, even Bakugou not being able to pick you up might have been a blessing in disguise—or so you thought.

As soon as you turned your shower off you heard it– a steady, creaking noise.

“What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself as your face crinkled upwards in disgust. Kirishima hardly ever brought girls home, and when he did, he was as quiet as a mouse with them. In fact, you hardly even knew the women were there until the next morning when they awkwardly wobbled out of the apartment with their heads tucked down.

The pace of the creaking sped up and the smack of the headboard joined in a repetitive thudding, causing you to freeze in place.  Breathless feminine moans joined the little musical number in increasing volume for short while before they became more ‘shrieky’ in nature.

A grimace fell upon your expression, “What the fuck?” you once again mouthed. You quickly snatched your towel and wrapped it around you with haste as you tried to run from the unholy concerto that was being orchestrated in your room.

Wait.

Your room?

Your room was the room that was connected to the bathroom walls—not Kiri’s.

It was in that moment of realization that you heard the moans return, this time a gruff male voice joined the duet,

“Shit!” The moan was drawn out until it faded into a heavy, guttural groan.

You paused again as your heart dropped deeply into your chest. You stretched your hearing and waited for his voice to appear again over her constant whines, “Just like that, baby,” his voice reemerged as he groaned deeply. Your heart harshly reminded you of its existence as it lurched suddenly.

That sounded like Bakugou.

But it had to be a mistake. You rehearsed this thought repeatedly as you sped to your room as quietly as you could—your mind racing even faster than your legs. Your Bakugou was sound asleep in his bed like he was this time of night every night. He was sound asleep and stretched out on his side of the bed with the lights off and with a sock thrown over the flashing light of his work desk computer—he hated that light at night.

You faltered as your hand stuttered uncontrollably toward your door handle. Bakugou’s never even looked at another woman before. It took him years to throw even you, his current fiancé, a second glance. He would never in a million years be on the other side of this door with another woman making those ungodly sounds.

Sounds you hadn’t heard in months.

It had to be Kirishima you tried to convince yourself as you gently twisted the door handle, ‘Please god, he just went into the wrong room,’ you prayed as you threw the door open.

Every single muscle in your body froze as you ingested the sight in front of you—your heart included.

You caught the tail end of their act, and you could only watch in complete disgust as the muscles of your beloved’s back violently contracted in sweat glistened pulses.

The woman made horrified eye contact with you as she was being pinned against your grandmother’s dresser, yet she couldn’t fight the last moan that ripped itself from her, her legs spasming as Bakugou’s flesh smacked into hers for a final time.

He desperately pressed himself into her like he was trying to become her, “Fuck,” he groaned into her neck. You noticed his nails dig deeply into her raised wrists as his hips rashly stuttered to a stop, “Don’t clench around me like that, babe. Relax.” His shaky breath demanded.

The woman looked far from relaxed, “H-Hey!” she anxiously tapped his shoulder, trying to warn him of their impending doom. Her wide eyes were still fixated on your ever-growing livid ones.

“BAKUGOU!” You screeched. The relaxed emotion that you had so desperately tried to keep plastered onto your face that night completely shattered as you angrily marched up to him and snatched the back of his hair, “You bastard!!”

As you yanked downward, he surprisingly fell to the ground, disconnecting with the other slut on trial as they both flew to the ground.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he yelled as his body heavily thudded into the ground.

“That’s my line, you fucking jackass!” you felt your voice crack. Everything hurt. There was pressure in the back of your eyes, the front of your chest, your legs, your throat, your toes, your everything. Everything in your body felt weak under your boiling blood as if you were about to explode.

“Y-Y/N…?” you saw his trademark pissed off expression drop to an unfamiliar one as his eyes finally adjust to you in the darkness of the room. It must have resided in an area between fear and sadness.

You fought the unruly emotions that threatened to take control over your body as you clenched your fist.

Fuck him. He doesn’t get to be sad.

“What?? Were you expecting someone else!?” you spat as you roughly kicked one of his nearby feet, “You probably were expecting more company, you whore,”

No response.

You dug your nails deep into the palm of your hands as if it would somehow release the excruciating pressure that you were feeling.

The woman’s meek voice suddenly broke the extreme silence you all shared, “I-I’m gonna g—”

“GO!” you angrily whipped yourself around to her before grabbing the nearest item that you could, “You dumb bitch! You’re lucky I don’t fuck you up too!” You threw the item as you cursed, not even bothering to know what it was.

It barely missed the naked girl and loudly shattered against one of your walls as she scurried towards the door. You went to reach for another object from your grandmothers’ dresser, promising that you wouldn’t miss this time, but you froze as you found yourself in the mirror connected to the dresser.

You hadn’t realized in your rage that you were crying until you saw your tear-soaked face in the dark reflection. You tried so hard to keep yourself together. You prided yourself on being level-headed in stressful situations, but you were far from level-headed. You were conceited to ever even try to take on that persona.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you could only lament about how pathetic you looked—how pathetic you were.

“I…I’m such an idiot!” you painfully gripped at your hair as you fell into your knees in front of the man you loved. Heavy sobs tore themselves free of your burning throat. You heaved yourself forward into your lap in a failed attempted to catch them, but it was too late.

“I don’t… know what to say.” Bakugou finally spoke up, his face completely flipped upside down from its usual tenseness.

Of course.

Out of all of the times you wanted this loud-mouthed jerk to shut up, now is when he is at a loss for words.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that fell from your lips.

“I don’t see what’s so fucking funny?” he angrily retorted, as he stumbled to make his way up. You were suddenly met with his member being swung at your eye level as you stayed crouched onto the ground. That’s when you noticed–

He didn’t even have a condom on.

He made you get tested for STDs and pregnancy before he even had sex with you with a condom.

“I don’t know where that thing has been,” He had said then. It wouldn’t be until months later when you had started birth control when he had finally decided to risk sex without latex protection. The memory jolted an unexpected emotion from you as your chest bobbed from an oncoming laugh.

“G-get out.” You laughed again, tears still steadily falling from your face. You probably looked absolutely psychotic right now, but it was like all of the emotions that you had been stifling all these years had resurfaced with a vengeance. You struggled to drag yourself to stand so that you wouldn’t have to look at his still wet dick.

You continued to laugh and cry as Bakugou stared at you, his expression becoming disgruntled from the disturbing sight,

“What the fuck is wrong wi—”

“Get. OUT!!” you angrily interrupted him as you roared into his face. He blinked spastically in response as the shock of the altercation finally began to sink into his decelerated mind.

‘F-fuck,’

His heart sank, ‘What did I just do?’ He racked his brain as he tried to remember all of the events that had taken place to lead him to this moment, but the world seemed to be spinning ferociously, shaking up and mixing the timeline of the night.

He was plucked from his thoughts as he caught a glimpse of your face in the darkness of the room.

Why were you looking at him like you hated his existence—like if you could disintegrate his body with your eyes, you would. For the first time in years, Bakugou felt hot tears tingle against the back of his eyes, “Y/N, I…” his voice became stuck in his chest as his heart gave sudden jolt, “I’m so s–”

His chest became tight as you whipped away from him and silently threw a pointed finger towards the door.

He stumbled back a few feet as if you had just thrown a physical attack his way.

After a few moments of watching you hold the same position, he noticed you had started to cry again as your rocking shoulders lurched forward.

His face fell even further into the expression of despair before he froze. He could fix this if you would just let him, dammit!

He growled in annoyance at your ignoring him before he finally thawed his body, “FINE!” he yelled at you before smacking your pointed hand out to the way so that he could stagger out of the room. He loudly slammed the door shut, leaving you alone with your deafening thoughts.

You immediately dropped back to the ground before you curled yourself up into a ball and released painful sobs.

You had absolutely no fear that he would catch you in this state. His pride would never allow him to come back after storming out like that.

However on the other side of the door, Bakugou had already turned back around. Instant guilt had created a cacophony of loud feelings in his mind. How could he have hurt you like that?

The thought caused his heart to thrum and his hands to flinch away from the door handle; however, he strengthened his resolve and firmly grasped the handle once more until suddenly–

“BAKU-BROOOOO!” Kirishima’s booming voice could be heard moments before the front door was slammed open and bounced against your living room wall, “Ya made it back alive, man! We were all worried about you after you disappeared…” he slurred as he fumbled over to his best friend like a toddler taking his first steps.

Bakugou couldn’t find it in himself to reply to the redhead as the latter threw himself at him with a hearty laugh. The laugh, however, came to an abrupt end as Kirishima stared blankly at Bakugous face, “Hey… wha’s wrong, best buddy? Holy hell, w-why are you crying?!” he loudly whispered. A loud rumble could be heard before Kirishima violently gagged, releasing the contents of his stomach.

[sleepawaywriting]

Mornings, Part II

[Piers x Reader, NSFW]

I was actually planning on finishing a chapter about Gordie before this one, but the surge of love for Piers from his 3 second twilight wings finale cameo inspired me to finish this first, so enjoy! (Sorry to whoever made that Gordie request, HE’S A-COMING DON’T YOU WORRY.)

NSFW (18+) UNDER THE CUT

A deep bass throbbed beneath your feet, thrumming up your legs, through your bones, and resonating within your chest. An indigo-tinged darkness bathed your surroundings, a forest of nondescript figures with blurred faces limiting your movement, and in front of you, raised on an invisible stage, was your boyfriend and his band, backlit by a constellation of stark white, neon violet, and hot pink—the colors undulating to and fro like luminescent inkblots. Everything felt too out of focus, your senses phasing in and out like a radio signal in a storm. You almost felt intoxicated, but surely you would have remembered drinking? The music sounded too warbled for your liking, so you closed your eyes, zeroing in on your boyfriend’s distinct voice, his siren song sweeping through your eardrums, swirling around your disoriented mind, suffusing your senses with warmth and familiarity.

Opening your eyes, you were suddenly being pressed against a brick wall. Where were you? A nearby alley? Wait, wasn’t there a concert going on? But your thoughts were put on hold, because Piers was right there, entire body flush against yours, face mere inches from your own. He was fully clothed, but the heat radiating from his body amorously dripped down onto your own, seeping into your skin, as if both of you were completely naked. His face moved down to your neck—arms caging you in—and you felt the tickle of his long, silky hair at your collar and across your shoulders. You wanted to say something like, “Piers, we can’t do this here,” but he was already kissing slowly down the smooth column of your throat, sucking sharply at the junction of your neck and shoulder. You exhaled in a shudder as he moved down to your collar, and your stomach flipped at the possibility of being caught like this, but your jaw was sealed shut by some magical force, your tongue caged hopelessly behind your teeth. Suddenly, the top half of your body was bare, exposed to the chilled nighttime air and dim light of the alleyway, but any confusion you felt was overrun by desire as the musician began to caress you chest.

The first inklings of heat pooled between your legs, which, like the rest of your body, was chained back against the wall by an unseen force. You were at the complete mercy of the singer working his tantalizing lips and searing tongue over your flushed skin, leaving a trail of faint, rosy marks in his wake, pulling you apart bit by agonizing bit. You couldn’t see much, not that you could move your head to begin with, but you felt his bangs brush across your sternum, hot breath tickling your goosebump-laden skin. You felt his tongue encircle one of your nipples, slow and teasing, before capturing it in his mouth and sucking salaciously. Your breath hitched, his mouth sending a pang of arousal deep into your lower belly, a sweet gush of warmth permeating your gradually soaking heat. You felt him smirk before continuing his ministrations, alternating between persistently sucking on one nipple, and gently playing with the other between his thumb and forefinger. You couldn’t stand it, not being able to look at him, not being able to run your fingers through his thick, two-toned locks, not being able to tell him how good he was, how you so desperately needed more. You writhed slowly when he switched sides, an image painting itself in your mind—he was staring up at you, under long lashes and sharp eyebrows, his striking blue eyes—rimmed with faded charcoal—gleaming with lust and mischief. His mouth against your breasts, wet, hot, and so inviting, made your mind wander to other parts of your body, parts where the press of his lips and sweep of his tongue would work you over so sinfully, shattering any semblance of composure as you devolved into an absolute wanton mess. A gentle bite around your nipple drew you from your thoughts, gasping against the delicious sensation. Drawing away, he replaced his mouth with his other hand, squeezing your breasts together and playfully encircling each nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“Always so sensitive here, love,” he purred, voice muffled and too far away, yet still dripping with unbridled arousal, “Wonder if I can make you come just by doin’ this,” he mused, pressing against your flushed nipples for emphasis.

If you had a voice you would keen, whimpering like the hopelessly needy thing you were, but instead you could only sigh, arching into his touch with what little strength you had. You gasped when he gave your nipples a loving pinch, chuckling lowly, the rich, melodious sound shooting straight to your dripping pussy, aching and clenching fruitlessly around, well, nothing. Gods, you suddenly felt so empty. Another image manifested itself in your haze, of him pressing you further against the wall, wrapping your legs around his waist, burying himself inside of you to the hilt with a husky groan, and pounding into you with wreckless abandon, not caring if anyone heard or saw the two of you in such a compromising position. Would he even stop, if you were caught? The thought made heat bloom in your cheeks and spread down your neck, imagining your chaotic, fearless rockstar making it clear to whomever stumbled upon you that only he could make you, the literal Champion, fall apart so beautifully. You were drawn from your fantasy by the feeling of Piers’ lips traveling down your stomach. He paused to nuzzle your soft belly, humming in appreciation as he squeezed your supple hips, the tender gesture making your heart melt. You deeply cherished the way he made every single part of you feel so attractive, so loved.

You sensed him kneel down, feeling your legs being shouldered further apart, and the rest of your clothing seemed to make itself scarce. You barely had time to dwell on how impossible that was, because the next thing you felt was your boyfriend’s breath tickling the course hair between your legs, the gentle suggestion of what was to come making your clit throb. Softly, so softly, he drew his thumb up the length of your heat, not nearly close enough to give you the sweet contact you needed.

“Hmm… so wet already, love,” he hummed, “Y’ such a good girl.”

You wanted to moan, but you could only exhale in a lustful huff. He chuckled again, his voice utterly intoxicating, and several moments passed thereafter—no sound or movement to ease the tension in your gut. You were holding your breath in anticipation, when finally, he moved, but instead of diving into your aching pussy, like you so desired, he moved back, clearly wishing to torture you just a bit more before indulging your wishes. Nuzzling into your plush inner thigh, he released an affectionate sigh, his breath fanning along your skin, igniting your nerves. Legs tensing around his shoulders, you felt his lashes graze flirtatiously against your thigh, before he moved upwards, kissing and nibbling on the delicate skin all while his hands roamed and massaged the outside of your thighs, reaching around and giving your ass a sultry squeeze. When he reached the space between your thigh and groin, he sucked harshly on the tender area, drawing out a breathless whine from your throat, and before he moved any further, any closer, he retreated again, repeating his smothering affections up your opposite thigh. You were panting by the time he reached your groin again, or whatever the approximation of panting was in your paralyzed state, and to your utter delight and horror, he denied you yet again, drawing back to tease both of your sensitive thighs once more. By now, you felt your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, despite the fact that he had barely given that area any attention. You wanted nothing more than to grab a fistful of his thick, beautiful hair and shove his face into your eager cunt, and you knew for a fact that the handsome bastard would love nothing more. He enjoyed doing this sort of thing to you, drawing you to the absolute brink of neediness and desperation, always ever-so-patient and frustratingly thorough to the point where you were practically begging for release.

Your hips were trembling by the time he reached your upper thigh again, mere inches from where you needed him most. Something within you gave way then, allowing you to cut through the invisible strings that wired your jaw shut. It felt as though your body was working in slow-motion, every movement like wading through glue, but you managed to make a noise.

“Piers…” you breathed his name, just a hint of a syllable, tumbling from your lips in an amorous whimper.

The wanton sound seemed to destroy his resolve, as the next thing you felt was his long, smoldering tongue flush against your sensitive heat, parting your folds with a thick stripe up the length of your pussy. A surge of warmth shuddered up your spine, and the alleyway began to melt around you, brick and mortar giving way to pillows and wrinkled sheets, the darkness absorbed by the soft golden hues of morning’s light.

You awoke with a whine into the heated atmosphere of your shared bedroom, body melting against the mattress as you carded your fingers through your boyfriend’s tousled hair. Blinking the haze from your eyes, your lids felt heavy as you gazed down at him. His bangs were hooked behind his ears to gain uninterrupted access to your pussy, exposing both of his gorgeous, tired eyes, gleaming against his beautifully flushed cheeks as they regarded you lovingly from between your thighs. You had no idea how one person could look so adorable while ravishing you so fully, and from the look he was giving you, you could tell he would be smirking if his mouth wasn’t otherwise preoccupied. Your stomach erupted in butterflies as you watched him lick another languid stripe up your dripping cunt, your head falling back against the pillows as you tugged on his scalp. He groaned against you, the sound making you shudder, the vibrations of his husky voice drawing a sigh from your throat, and you practically keened when he twirled his tongue around your clit, ending in a gentle suck that sent sparks dancing down your legs and into the soles of your feet. Everything about him was overwhelming—his mouth insufferably warm, lips impossibly soft, and tongue absolutely ravenous as he tasted every inch of you, making your toes curl. It all felt so wonderfully slick, and at this point you couldn’t who was making more of a mess. His movements were somewhat sloppy due to what you assumed was sleepiness, but the unpredictability in his actions only added to the tightness building in your hips. The pressure in your abdomen built with ferocity as you squirmed, forcing him to hold your hips down with both hands, chuckling at your eagerness.

His tongue drew more lazy circles around your pulsing clit, before sliding down and diving deep into you aching entrance as far as he could go. Your walls fluttered, body desperate for something thicker, longer, and your grip on his scalp tightened as you dug your heels into his upper back.

“Please…” you whimpered, shocked at the desperation in your own voice.

He needed no further encouragement, sliding a hand down between your thighs, slowly pressing his middle and ring fingers into your welcoming heat while planting a heated kiss to your clit. You almost came from the sensation alone, his long, nimble fingers working you open so much more beautifully than yours ever could. Groaning into you, his movements became more insistent, purposeful, moving around your clit in feverish patterns, your body jolting whenever the flat of his tongue slid across the exposed bud. The noises emitting from the two of you were obscene—the wetness of your heat providing a filthy accompaniment to your pants and moans, as he pumped his fingers deep into your pussy and borderline slurped on your clit. You gasped as he curled his fingers inside of you, your back arching up off the mattress when he pressed against your sweet spot, rocking his hand against your entrance and creating a delicious pace of varying pressures against your inner walls, your pussy squeezing around him instinctively.

“Piers—!“ you cried, losing any semblance of self control and moaning shamelessly as a coil of pleasure tightened inside of you. It was white-hot and exquisite, magnifying every little movement the singer made against and inside of you, until it snapped and released, careening you over the edge as you gasped his name at the ceiling, eyes rolling back before shutting them tight. He groaned as you pushed his head against your quivering heat, grinding against his heavenly mouth and skilled fingers, prolonging your orgasm as your thighs tensed around him. Waves of warmth shuddered through your body, starting deep within your pelvis and working out to your fingers and toes, until finally, finally your body relaxed, whimpering as your boyfriend gave your oversensitive clit one last kiss, before slowly pulling his fingers from your heat. You fell limp against the mattress, your chest heaving as you steadied your breathing, head spinning as you descended from your magnificent peak.

You looked down just as he began to sit back up, his hair cascading in loosely-tangled waves down his pale shoulders, and watched, captivated, as he shamelessly licked your essence from his fingers, an impish gleam in his eyes. You squeaked and covered your face, cooling cheeks now reheating in embarrassment.

“Un-believable,” you groaned, voice muffled by the palms of your hands, “One of these days you’re going to kill me with something like that, I swear.”

He chuckled deeply, and it sounded like a song, sweet like a spoonful of honey and warm like cashmere. You felt a weight land carefully on top of you, followed by the faint whiff of spiced soap, and you lowered your hands to find your boyfriend nuzzling into your chest, gazing up at you with tired, lovestruck eyes and an adorable, lop-sided grin. Your heart fluttered. Gods, you loved him.

You smiled, cradling either side of his face in your hands and pulling him into a kiss, humming affectionately when you tasted yourself on his lips, combing your fingers back through his hair. He moaned softly when you rubbed the sweet spot at the base of his skull, and you giggled as he nibbled lazily on your lower lip. The two of you lingered for a bit, simply enjoying the closeness, before Piers broke away, yawning and burying his face back into the swell of your breasts. You smiled, yawning yourself as you soothingly played with his hair, bringing a sigh from his throat.

“You tired, love?” you asked, pressing a tiny kiss to the crown of his head.

“Mhmm,” he hummed. You felt his voice resonate against your chest.

“I can imagine…” you mused, pondering for a moment. You were still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm he had so generously gifted you, but something was bothering you—and that something was the long, firm erection pressing insistently against your upper thigh through the musician’s briefs. Going down on you had always managed to rile Piers up, which was something you found incredibly attractive about him, but he usually wasn’t one to ignore it completely, let alone fall asleep before resolving the issue. Although, this was the first time he had done it right after waking himself up, you assumed. Perhaps giving incredible head this early in the morning had knocked the wind out of his sails.

“Babe?” you started.

“Hmm?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you asked, a hint of flirtatiousness in your voice, shifting your leg ever-so-slightly to rub your thigh against him, his cock practically jumping in response to your gentle attention. Piers sighed heavily, turning his head up towards your face, not yet opening his eyes, and you smiled at the way his cheek smooshed against your skin.

“Yeah, but… ‘m real sleepy… kinda jus’ wanna nap,” he mumbled.

A soft laugh rolled through your chest, lightly jostling the musician’s head. He smiled into your skin, your joy soothing like a lullaby.

“Here,” you started, running your fingers across his scalp one last time before shifting beneath him, “Come and lie next to me, love.”

He mumbled something in response, before lazily crawling up the bed and plopping down beside you, wrapping a long arm around your waist and nuzzling into the small of your back. Biting your lip, you began slowly grinding against him, the soft curve of your ass making his cock twitch. He groaned, pulling you closer and grinding up into you in kind, the friction utterly delicious and tempting.

“We can do it like this, nice and slow, if you want” you hummed, your voice soft and sweet, turning to look back over your shoulder, batting your eyelashes for extra effect, “Please?” your voice lowered, dripping with desire, “I… I want you to come inside me, Piers.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when he immediately shot his hand down to fish out his cock, grumbling into your skin as he did so. You arched your back slightly, lifting your leg to get into position, breath stuttering when you felt his hot member flush against your bare ass.

“It should be easy… since you did such a good job already,” you cooed, shifting against him as he guided his cock to your entrance. Piers shuddered as he dragged the entirety of his aching erection across your pussy, and you gasped when his tip grazed your clit, still sensitive from your previous climax. He helped hold your leg aloft as he began pressing into you, squeezing your inner thigh as he slowly, carefully sank into your folds, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. Flames began to lick at the edges of your mind, within your chest, and across your lower regions as he pressed further, and you gasped as his head gave way to his shaft, tensing as he stretched you further than his fingers had before. Piers immediately froze.

“You alright?” he asked, his smooth, silky voice against your ear, helping you relax.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reassured him, “It didn’t hurt, just caught me off-guard, is all.”

He hummed in response, and you smiled. Even in his sleep-addled state, he was still so attentive and careful with you, warmth blooming in your chest and traveling down between your legs as he continued to press inch by gentle inch, until he was finally sheathed inside of you.

The feeling of fullness sent a shudder clambering up your spine, your walls fluttering around him instinctively, feeling absolutely weak when he groaned in response, his tired voice rich and husky as his breath fanned across the shell of your ear. Gods, you were already so hot and bothered for the second time this morning. How the hell this musician always managed to turn you into a sopping wet mess was beyond you, but you were by no means about to complain.

There was something uniquely intimate about this position, despite not facing each other—his heated body pressed flush against your back, face buried into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he sighed fondly at the absolute perfect feeling of his cock enveloped in your snug, tight heat. You laid together for a moment, simply basking in the sleepy atmosphere of the room, the morning sunshine filtering through the blinds, bouncing off the ceiling and bathing the room in a soothing glow. Piers’ breathing deepened, relaxing even further into you, and you wondered if he had somehow managed to fall asleep while rock-hard and fully inside of you. You were about to turn and look over your shoulder, but you gasped when he suddenly moved, pulling your leg further upwards and bending it closer to your side, hooking the crook of his elbow into the inside of your knee. You barely had enough time to appreciate the new position, when his long, slender forearm managed to reach perfectly between your legs, his middle finger pressing against your swollen clit. You whined, arching your back as he began to toy with the sensitive nub, your hips beginning to rock of their own accord.

Piers didn’t move just yet, choosing only to swirl his agile fingers around your quickly-soaking heat, reveling in the way you ground back against his cock, squeezing his shaft so sinfully with every sweep of his fingers over your throbbing clit. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted more of his tantalizing fingers or more his wonderfully stiff cock as your hips swirled, your heated breathing turning into desperate panting, shuddering when he licked a hot stripe up the column of your neck.

“Piers…” you moaned, lifting your arm and drawing a hand back through his hair, your nails scratching along his scalp, causing the other to groan softly into the crook of your neck.

“You’re so good for me,” you praised, looking back over your shoulder, your beautifully debauched voice and heavily-lidded gaze tugging at his cock, as well as his heartstrings.

“I love you so mu-uch!“ you gasped as his hips jolted, thrust shallow, yet unexpected, watching as his eyes squeezed shut, the rouge in his cheeks deepening in hue. You couldn’t help but smile, grinning so wide that your eyes crinkled.

“Piers…” you breathed, asking for his attention. He opened his eyes, bright, crystalline, and glossed over with a combination of sleepiness and arousal.

“I love youuu,” you purred, giggling as he buried his warm face back into the crook of your neck.

“Stop…,” he groaned, his cock throbbing inside of you, transforming your laugh into a moan, “You’re gonna make me—ah—‘m not gonna last, if ya keep sayin’ that,” he breathed deeply, steadying himself. Your heart swelled within your chest. You truly loved your sweet, caring, sappy musician so, so much.

Piers reigned in his own pleasure, focusing all of his energy on the finger circling your clit. You felt that familiar coil tighten deep within your gut, your orgasm an inevitability, torn between wanting to savor this moment for as long as possible, and succumbing to sweet euphoria. The way your voice grew louder and more strained, the way your entire body began to writhe, and the way the fluttering pressure around his cock became more frequent, told Piers how close you were to coming undone. The movements around your clit increased in intensity, one finger turning to two, then three, as he massaged your heat at a scorching pace, sending shockwaves through your body and setting your nerves ablaze.

Feeling that something was missing, you drew your hand back, tugging on your boyfriend’s hair. He raised his head with a groan, and you twisted your upper body around, pressing your lips against his own. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but completely worth the effort once his tongue slipped past your lips. Everything built so nicely as you panted against his eager mouth, and when the pleasure boiled over, you were forced to break away as your entire body writhed in ecstasy. Piers watched, completely enraptured as your back lifted in a gorgeous arc, eyes screwed shut, face flushed, and head thrown back against the pillows, moaning his name like a prayer as pulses of warmth surged through your body. His breath hitched as you rode him through your climax, gasping as his hand returned to your thigh, gripping it for dear life as he began pounding into you. His thrusts were slow, deliberate, and powerful, fully indulging in the way you clenched so sweetly around him in your euphoria.

“Shit,” he groaned, voice hot and heavy against your ear, “Keep tight, just like that—good girl.”

You sighed at his praise, whimpering as the rhythm of his cock prolonged your orgasm.

“So fucking good—you feel so fucking good, I fucking love you so much,” he shuddered, voice ragged, practically babbling in his pleasure. You adored the way he came undone when he was close—praises, curses, and declarations of love tumbling freely from his lips as he completely lost himself in you. You rocked your hips back against him, matching his pace, biting your lip as you voluntarily clenched down around him to further draw out his orgasm.

“Shit! Ahh—you’re so good, love, fuck ‘m so close—!” he gasped in your ear, voice pitching in the most vulnerable, sexy way as he came, giving way to shameless groaning as he spilled inside of you. You shuddered at the feeling, almost embarrassed at how much you enjoyed being filled with his cum. It was a reminder of how good you were for him, and you couldn’t help but feel a special type of pride that you could make someone so beautiful, so kind, so talented, feel so good.

Piers panted for a few moments, before exhaling deeply, gently lowering your leg, moaning softly as he pulled out of you, making you shiver at the loss. You sighed as everything softened, muscles relaxing and body sinking into the mattress, the warm, hazy aura of the room tempting you into sleep. Despite your better judgement, you really didn’t want to move, let alone get out of bed, so you decided to save cleanup to future you, who would very much spend the entire time cursing present you. Piers seemed to agree, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you in and spooning you as he buried his face into the nape of your neck, breathing softly, dreamily, as he mumbled against you.

“Seriously love you so much…” he confessed, placing a soft kiss to your cooling skin, “…’m so lucky to ‘ave you…” his voice grew softer, slower, as he was lulled into sleep, “…wanna spend the rest of m’ life with you…”

You hummed happily, relaxing against the sheets, breathing in the scent of cotton and the lingering amber of his cologne, until you fully registered what he had said. Your eyes snapped open, contemplating whether you should ask for further elaboration, but as you felt his body fall limp, the rise and fall of his chest slow and steady against your back, you decided that conversation could wait for another day. For now, you chose to bask in the afterglow, allowing the warm, comforting presence of your blissfully snoozing boyfriend to pull you swiftly into dreamland.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, smiling to yourself, placing your hand over his.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

Werewolf Thomas x Merman Sammy.

This might end up taking multiple chapters, in addition to me digging in too deep, this ship in general just gives off a petty enemies, to reluctant allies due to supernatural circumstances, to ‘hey you’re not as bad as I thought.’, to friends, to lovers vibe.

Occam's razor indicates that the simplest explanation to a scenario is also the most likely scenario to be the true one.

For example: when an animation studio suddenly closes down and gets condemned, people who are on the outside looking in are much more likely to blame the studio's poor money management than go look for some extraordinary truth. That, paired with the workers of the said studio also coming out to site the terrible conditions of the place as an added cause for the studio's demise. When people have to work long hours with little pay to show for it in a dingy, gloomy, constantly-falling-apart studio that clearly wasn't going anywhere except six feet under or lower, they aren't exactly motivated to work hard or happy.

The Hunger was intense, growing beyond mere gnawing and was now consuming the cursed mechanic. The first change he felt was his teeth, the Curse deciding it was easier to make them all fall out at once so his new ones would grow in. He cut up his own tongue on the newly-made fangs. Call it an act of mercy or an act of mockery, but the tongue followed the teeth's example, falling out altogether so that the tongue of a wolf could grow in.

No one batted an eye when a majority of the studio's former workers left with some of them being untraceable, the lucky ones moved on to greener and happier pastures, others simply got a change in scenery, and sadly, accidents happen all the time in such an unsafe studio, people got severely injured in there all the time, so it was gut-wrenching for many, but not a shock to discover that it was common for unlucky people to lose their lives in the Dancing Demon's domain.

His entire body burned on the inside and outside, taking off his clothes did nothing for him as his new, thick coat grew in, a coat that was the same pitch black as his hair, at least, most of it was. The change did not hurt as much as he thought it would. As painful as it sounded when his bones became a crackling choir that reminded him of fireworks, it was not pure agony, he was sore, afraid, and so, very, very, hungry, but he was physically fine.

No one suspected anything like somebody intentionally sabotaging the many pipes that pumped ink through the entire building, that would just be silly! It was more than obvious that the pipes got the same treatment as the rotting wooden walls: they were ignored until it was too late. With all the wood, paper, flammable ink, candles, no windows, and avid smokers in that place, it was only a matter of time before that place went up in flames.

Colors began to dim and fade out leaving him with vision that could only see black, white, and the several shades of gray inbetween them. The trade off with his senses made itself clear as his sense of smell and hearing both grew stronger, he could barely think as the smells and sounds his human self had been blind to came to him at full force, overwhelming the mechanic. He held back the urge to scream and call for help, he knew none would come, unless it was the dogcatcher at this point. However he would not hold back the urge to whine, whimper and cry, as pathetic as he looked and sounded, he would at least give himself that mercy, even if he didn't deserve it.

No one thought the ink machine was anything more but an expensive and stupid project that definitely sped up the studio's already fast decline, but only with it's mere presence. Honestly, a machine that made models out of ink, wouldn't it be cheaper and easier to make a statue of your beloved mascots out of plastic or something like that?

Thomas yelped in surprise when the tail grew in, it felt like somebody gave his spine a good sharp yank. He was furious, scared, even remorseful as he knew he was responsible for this happening to himself and possibly others knowing Mr. Drew, and by god, did he want to sink his teeth into something.

No one except for crazy cross-clutching worrywarts who want to spoil every one else's fun and or conspiracy theorists would assume that the Little devil darling who graced the comics and silver screens for at least a decade would have literal satanic magic going on behind the scenes, no matter how screwy the man in charge seemed.

He was starving all day ever since the ritual, but now that the changes were over, he felt hungrier than ever before, like his stomach was a black hole that would make him consume everything in his path.

No one would ever seriously suggest that magic was real and led to being the studio's final nail in the coffin instead of becoming its savior like it's founder had wanted it to.

In the moment, Thomas Conner believed that Occam's razor was bullshit.

The mechanic knew what he'd seen, he knew to an extent what he took part in, he saw what happened to some of the unluckier members of the "Missing" studio workers, and most importantly of all, he experienced what he just went through. There was no 'simple' or 'normal' explanation for it; the ritual failed and as a result, he and a handful of other people had gotten cursed.

Here the new wolf was, squeezing his now much larger body underneath his bed to do nothing but cower like a frighted animal while trying to convince himself not to panic or to eat his pet snake. Keeping his human mind at the moment was both a blessing and a cur- -some extra salt to rub into his fresh wounds.

On one hand, the fact he was still smart enough to know better than to jump out the window and follow his nose for food like his instincts were telling him to was a lifesaver that kept him safe from animal control. On the other hand; if he was a beast in mind, he would at least be doing something more productive than sulking in his apartment thinking about anything else other than how badly he got fucked over, how his life was in shatters and how he had nobody but himself to blame for it (Well, aside from Joey, but that wasn't the point).

While far from ideal, his current plan was to remain under that bed, try his best to go to sleep, and occasionally chew its legs to stop himself from going on a rampage. He might not be the most supernaturally informed person, but he had seen enough werewolf horror flicks to know that nothing good would come if he gave into his hunger or if he tried to leave. Best case scenario; he'd become as sick as a dog after eating something he found in the garbage. Worst case scenario; Somebody decides that he'd make a great living room rug and BANG!

And then, his ears perked up as he heard the song.

It was a simple, repetitive tune, made with a music box maybe? It was the first time he heard it yet it felt familiar to him. The song itself was muffled, used a lot of ambiance in its melody, and if he strained his ears enough, he could almost pick up the sound of a voice singing along with it, but it was far too faint for him to tell who or what was singing, let alone what the lyrics to the song were. It sounded nice in spite of it's strangeness, but it gave him goosebumps. He knew it wasn't playing from the radio, he only kept it on when he was fixing something at home.

The curious wolf struggled to push a window open with his snout to figure out where it was coming from. He was making progress, the song did sound slightly less muffled now that he was poking his head out the window. Was it just him, or did the tune become faster? And it was also louder and more frantic, and he swore that the constantly repeating motif sounded like something he knew. The mechanic never considered himself to be a man with a keen ear for music, but he knew he heard it before.

Three short notes, three slightly longer notes, three more short notes, again and again and again repeating endlessly...---...Wait a minute. Thomas didn't recognize that pattern from a song, he recognized that that was a call for help!

"Don't do it..." He grumbled to himself as he put his paws up on the windowsill. "You don't know what'll happen, or if you'll even get there in time. Just go back inside and you'll figure out what to do with yourself in the morning."

The song, almost as if it was aware he was trying to ignore it like he was ignoring his hunger, grew louder and faster.

"Don't give in..." The wolf turned back. "You can't help anyone like this anyway, you'll only end up hurting yourself."

It... started to die down, back to its regular, chilling melody and grew even softer. Flickering away like a candlelight in the cold.

"Don't..." The wolf let out a very tired sigh as he looked out the window. "Oh fuck me."

Thomas leapt out the window and sped towards the source of the song, not caring who or what saw him in the city that never sleeps, he bolted directly into the forest. He tried to block out the new sounds of various creatures he couldn't hear before as well as the new smells of the earth underneath his paws and the plants all around him.

Strange marks were on the ground, they looked like someone dragging themselves through the dirt and the marks themselves smelled vaguely of fish and ink.

The song, while faint was very close, he was hot on the mysterious caller's trail! In fact, the wolf's new sense of smell started to become useful as he picked up some familiar scents in the woods; the smell of ink, smoke from a fire, and the smell of cologne- Wait, he recognized that specific cologne, it was that fancy European brand that the "missing" hot-headed music director used to keep himself from smelling like cigar smoke, vomit, and despair.

And the voice of the singer in the distress call 'song' did sound like him now that he was close enough to hear it. He felt a pit of dread in his stomach that almost made him forget his hunger. He knew that the musician was far too prideful to call for help for anyone unless this was his very last option and his will to live made the difficult task of overpowering his ego.

Squelch.

Almost confirming his fears and adding a new one that he was too late, the mechanic made the mistake of looking down and saw that he stepped on a severed leg. A black, tar-like substance that smelled like ink and rotten meat was squeezed out of the part of the thigh that should've been attached to a person.

"...Mr. Lawrence?" He hesitantly called out, thankfully getting him an exhausted groan in response. "Lawrence, where are you?"

"Here." A hoarse yet relieved sounding voice answered. "Look down."

The wolf looked down into a shallow pool to see what had become of the musician. If he was being honest with himself, he wouldn't deny that the music director was always easy on the eyes, and while the curse effected him drastically, that fact about him didn't change.

The water was clear enough to show off the musician's jet black, fish-like tail which glistened in the moonlight, the still human half of his body went through some changes as well; his hands were webbed and clawed, unlikely to properly hold any instrument, let alone use it, his torso, arms, and neck had patches of black scales scattered about haphazardly like splashes of paint on a canvas. Aside from the siren's new set of teeth (which looked like they could haunt anyone's nightmares), waist-long hair when it was previously shoulder length hair, and glassier eyes, the man's head seemed relatively unchanged.

"Could you stop gawking!?" Sammy re-positioned himself to keep his tail out of sight, or at least he tried to, the damn thing was two thirds of his body and he didn't exactly have something to cover himself up with. "I'm not exactly 'thrilled’ about this... Change, for lack of a better term."

"That's one way to put it." The mechanic almost let out a sympathetic chuckle. "I’d never thought I’d be saying this, but it’s great to see you haven’t died yet.”

“Why thank you.” The merman sarcastically responded. “That’s exactly why I went through all the trouble of literally singing my fucking lungs out!” He exclaimed while gesturing to a pair of charcoal-black things that the wolf previously thought were rocks. “To hear you tell me that ‘it’s great I haven’t died yet’.”

The wolf rolled his eyes.

“So why did you go through all the trouble for summoning me here then? Aside from the whole ...fish thing, you seem perfectly fine.”

“It... wasn't intentional.” The fish-man begrudgingly admitted, his voice sounded bitter, but his eyes shone with fear. “I wasn’t thinking about who or what would hear me or come at the moment. My body was falling apart before my eyes and all that was on my mind during it was; ‘Oh god, I’m going to die here, aren’t I?! And if not, my life will be ruined beyond repair!’. And when I sang out as a panicked response, you became the first to show up. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The siren swam to the other side of his aquatic prison and sighed resignedly.

Tom’s ears folded back in guilt, It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the musician was cursed by the failed ritual HE played a giant part in. As strongly as he disliked the musician, it didn’t feel right to leave him like this; alone, scared, and immobile in a place that could even spell out his death if he was unlucky enough.

He walked over to the other side of the pool and laid down beside the edge of it.

“Hey, you don’t need water to breathe, right?”

The siren looked confused.

“I’ve been breathing air just fine, in fact, I think one of the few advantages to this new body is that it replaced my old lungs with healthier ones. Why are you asking?”

“Climb on my back and I’ll take you out of here, granted, I don’t know where we’re gonna go, but where ever it is, it’ll be better than sitting around waiting for your pool to dry up.”

The merman, while hesitant, did climb up on the wolf man’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck to keep him from falling off, the wolf stood up and ran deeper into the woods.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

To Cure the Inevitable

Summary: Roman is so tired of endangering himself and everyone around him everytime he changes. Logan promises to help cure him, an old agreement never straying far in his mind

Warnings: major character death, body horror, gore, injury, needle, injected euthanasia. 

Prompt: Painful Transformation, requested by Nico on AO3

Ships: Logince QPR (Logan x Roman)

WC: 2303

“Logan if none of these work-”

“One of them has to.”

“Shut up and listen for a second.” Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. “I know how hard you're working and I love you so much for it but...if none of these work- Logan I can’t keep doing this.”

Logan knew. He knew how hard it was for Roman every month, saw it in the scars tracing his body and the guilty conscience he bore every time after. Months of repeating the same thing over and over again without coming close to what they wanted. Logan knew but he was still loath to hear it.

“If these don’t work I want to die.”

-----

“Logan.”

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. 

“Roman I- this is it.” Logan held up the syringe full of liquid, the smooth glass reflecting the full moon’s light shining through the window. The room was dim save for that; dim lighting didn’t make for accurate scientific endeavors  but Roman hated the bright lights, especially when he- well, he cared more for his friends comfort than any rules he learned getting his degree. He supposed it was odd, going from working in a small research lab to making one of his own out in the middle of nowhere. An unassuming cabin with just enough homey touchy to assure no one would break in on the assumption it was abandoned. Enough furniture had been moved to it that it was a comfortable weekend stay to any who may wish it, fireplace stacked with wood and no perishables shoved into the cabinets for overnight stays. It was comfortable but he and Roman usually only came here once a month. Two days out of the month this was their home, though they usually stayed in the basement.

The basement that was also well stocked but with very different supplies. First aid kits lay on practically every surface with more advanced surgical supplies within easy reach anywhere you happened to stand in the room. Sterilized countertops were a;ways optimized to have something laid on them for examination and two big industrial sinks were set on either side of the room considering  how messy the work often was down here. A dolly and cart sat nearby the steps to get any supplies Logan needed from upstairs to down in the basement and ample shelving space provided room for it all. The biggest installment however, was a rather large, iron and silver coated cage; Logan didn’t know if those metals really helped anything but when it came to this he wasn;t sure if “overprepared” was ever a word he’d use.

Roman sat cross legged in the middle, hair tousled messily from running his fingers through it all night from stress. His too large hospital gown pooled around and left him looking small and vulnerable, which was a far cry from his normally boisterous and extraverted self. He was only twenty-five but the lines on his face spoke a different story, wrinkles pulled far too many times from stress and pain and regret, bags sagging under heavy eyelids as he struggled to even look Logan in the eye. Par for the course when they were down here together, neither of them ever quite ready to address what they knew was coming whether they ever wanted it too or not.

Logan gripped the vile tightly, the needle covered for now as soft music played in the background. Everything was tuned to Roman as much as Logan could possibly make it. Soft disney instrumentals played to fill the tense air, lights turned dim so the brightness never hurt his eyes, hospital gown made by him and Logan themselves using softer but cheap materials so it was comfortable but didn't cost too much to fix or replace when it was torn to shreds. The clock was put in plain view for Roman to see since he often got time based anxiety when he was down here, which Logan could hardly blame him for. They had tried lining the cage comfortably with pillows and carpet and blankets a couple years back but it hadn’t gone over as well as they had hoped so they had  spent a couple days extra at the cabin cleaning up the unexpected mess before agreeing that unfortunately, a bare cage worked best for their purpose. 

“Logan.” Roman twisted his fingers together and looked up at him finally, face tight and eyes wide as they caught the time and the angle of the  moon. “Can you...not the whole time obviously but...can I maybe hold your hand?”

Logan had always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check even through the most painful situations. Scientific research often had you making tough calls and difficult decisions that needed to be made fast with any guilt pushed to the background as you carried out what needed to be done. But hearing Roamn ask for such a simple thing, voice hesitant and quiet, his heart nearly cracked at the mere thought of denying him though they both knew how dangerous it had the potential to be.

“Roman, of course.” Immediately he was on his knees, vial stored safely in his pocket and reaching out with his now free hands to clutch at Roman’s desperately, squeezing every ounce of reassurance he had into the gesture as he smiled thinly. His chest grew tight at the realization that this really was all he could do, hold onto Roman pale, shaking hands through a cage while they both sat on the floor and waited. Both of them let the simple ambiance of soft violins wash over them as the minutes ticked away, their hearts beating rapidly through their hands.

“I said- I said goodbye today. Just in texts I- normal send off from talking about nothing. They don’t know that I might...I didn’t make it obvious.” Roman hung his head. “We don’t know if this one will be the cure right?”

Logan swallowed thickly, not daring to look up. “No, we don’t”

“If it doesn’t work...I don’t want to leave.”

“I know.” The last one hadn’t worked, and Logan was determined for this to be the most comfortable setting he could muster. He wouldn’t break, not yet, not while Roman still needed him. Over the past month he had hid his expenses from his friend, setting things up he knew Roman would enjoy. He could tell Roman had an idea it was his “just in case” plans and played along accordingly. Logan didn’t have the heart- no, the courage to tell him he had known it was the end a month ago. The last “cure” he had tried had failed to reverse anything like it was supposed to. Years of research carefully poured into a mix of perfect chemistry failing miserably and settling its weight on his heavy shoulders every time he had taken Roman to that restaurant he liked, or the park where they had first met, or the hill they had first danced on. All of the memories  that brought joy and laughter to Roman’s face spoiled in Logan’s eyes every time the thought that he had failed him entered his mind. 

He had successfully kept Roman in the dark however, knowing how hard Roman would take it. They had discussed this before, Roman knew on some level that this was coming, it was Logan’s job to tell him when. But...Roman had said his goodbyes. He had lived as best he could, he trusted Logan to know what was best. Even if Logan felt as if he was simply taking an old dog through the motions one last time, the thought made even worse with the fact that he had stolen enough euthanizer from a vets office to serve his purpose. But Roman was relatively happy, he was still hopeful, he still clung to Logan like a lifeline; so Logan couldn’t tell him there was no cure left. There was nothing at all but a syringe full of death that Logan would use when Roman had turned because it was easier to see the pain of a beast's eyes rather than the pain of the person he loved most.

He fell backwards suddenly as Roman shoved him away, face already twisted as his limbs began twitching. Logan forced himself not to look away- this was his punishment. He had to watch every second of this to burn it into his memory as petinance for what he had done, what he was going to do. He hoped it tortured his mind every second until he died and continued to do so while he burned in hell. He hoped Roman hated him for it, resented him and told him so in his dreams if he ever managed to sleep again. He watched wide-eyed and stiff as Roman curled into himself, a pained whine escaping through his mouth as his back spasmed and split, instantly soaking the gown he wore with thick, dark blood and splattering on the bottom of the cage. Twisting limbs slid on the slippery surface as joints popped and bones cracked under the force of his transformation, becoming longer and bent to accommodate for the hulking form finally shredding the gown as it flopped to the floor. His face was the worst, mouth open in a shrill scream that echoed in the soundproof basement as rows and rows of teeth shattered the pre existing ones and the jaw jutted forward to accommodate them all. Acid spilled from it, making the swelling tongue writhe in pain and temporarily cut off the scream, replacing it with a dull gurgling that had haunted Logan’s worst nightmares for years. His hair fell in clumps as his ears tore from their usual place to reposition themselves, becoming pointed and alert before folding back as his body shifted one final time to adjust itself to the beast it had become.

Roman’s new forn barely fit in the cage, twitching muscle pressed painfully into the bars as the skin worked desperately to knit itself back together, sticking to the bars in its haste and being torn away as he attempted to turn in the small space. Growling low the beast swiveled its massive head to look directly at Logan, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen as Logan slowly stood and wiped the annoying rivulets of water that ran down his face. He wasn’t crying, he needed to hold it together for Roman. Roman needed him right now, more than he ever had in the years after Logan had found out about this, in the years he had studied to be able to help him, in the months leading up to the final try. Roman needed him and Logan would be damned if he wasn’t there for him as he needed him to be.

Taking shaking steps forward he fumbled in his pocket for a second before grabbing the syringe and bringing it out. The beast looked warily at the needle as it was exposed, the glint from the moon flashing briefly in his eyes. Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He took a steadying breath as he reached the cage, bringing his hand up slowly, both of their eyes locked onto Logan’s hand as he positioned it correctly on the plunger. With a quick movement the liquid disappeared from the glass, the caged beast jerking away as far as he could but only succeeding in distancing himself an inch or two. The empty syringe dropped to the floor at the same time Logan’s knees hit it with a resounding crack.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He brought his hand up to lay on the bars of the cage, trying his best to smile in reassurance. Roman's eyes flashed once before they began to dull, muscles finally untensing as he slumped to the floor slowly. Watching as he closed  his eyes Logan reached in carefully to take his deformed hand  in his own, squeezing it gently despite the burrs that dug into his skin. He held it long after blood began to run from his much softer flesh, long after it grew cold in his palm and the blood dried and the fingers relaxed, long after the sun came up and went down again and enough time passed for whatever it was that plagued Roman’s body to leave once more leaving only a small, scarred form behind. A form that was far too cold and stiff to be Roman’s but one that Logan forced himself to accept that it was. His back hurt and his legs were numb while his stomach growled and his dry throat spasmed in unspoken sobs but he refused to move. 

Moving meant he had control of his actions. And that meant he had had the choice of doing what he had done. He could have tried and convinced Roman to bear through the pain just a few months longer while he tried to find something else. But he hadn’t.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his expression set in death to haunt Logan with its misplaced hope and fear and trust. He hoped Roman had finally found peace even as he prayed he himself never would. The lights buzzed faintly as Logan looked at their hands still intertwined together as comfort for him or Roman he couldn’t remember.

This work is also available on AO3!

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, and let go.

If you like this, please consider reblogging, as sharing a creator’s work is very encouraging to us and helps our creations reach more people!

[bellesque]

idk if your requests are open still but royal loki concept with a midgardian reader— yeah? maybe? take it wherever you want from there and be creative because your other fics are and just amAZING! i might be late but anywayy— happy birthday, even though it was yesterday!

Midnight’s Mischief (Loki x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

You only wanted to feel like a princess for a night.

You didn’t expect to meet an actual prince.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Royal Loki, some Cinderella Elements

A/N: Listen you can’t give me so much freedom like this because I feel in my bones this is going to turn into a multichaptered fic and I have a million other wips side-eyeing me rn

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids @rorybutnotgilmore @myraiswack @green-valkyrie (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

BEING IN A whimsical, fairytale ball has always been high on your list of escapism fantasies.

You wondered if princess parties (like the ones in movies) were actually real when royalty was still a thing. If they got to attend extravagant, lavish balls in venues that seemed to reach the high heavens, with castle corridors illuminated by candlelight and crystal chandeliers. Whether fact or fiction, you’ve never been more excited for a night than you are now.

Just for tonight, you allow the indulgence of looking—and feeling—like royalty.

Your heels clack against the marbled tiles of the venue as you and your friend Leigh navigate your way to the Regency Ballroom. Careful not to trip over your ball gown, you glance at Leigh. Beside you she shimmies, adjusting the top of her gown to fit her boobs better.

“I feel twelve,” she mutters, brazenly cupping her breasts.

“Oh, please. As if you’ve never wanted to be a princess for a night.”

“I mean, yeah, when I was twelve. And I’m saying this with love, but the fact that you’ve got on a fucking crown isn’t exactly helping me feel like an adult here.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “I’m sure I’m not the only one,” you say, a little defensive. “And by the way, it’s a tiara.”

Leigh smirks at you, perfectly painted lips curling at the edges. “Twenty bucks?”

“Fifteen.”

“Bo-ring.”

“Fine.”

She claps her hands, looping her arm with yours. The Regency Ballroom is right ahead. “I hope you know that I agreed to this because you said there’d be some yummy men. Potential knights in shining armor, all that jazz.”

“And I value your honesty,” you say, nodding a thank you to the servers who open the large doors as you approach. “But, for the record—”

“Whoa, the organizers of this thing were not playing.”

It’s true: the place is more than what you imagined from the email invite you received prior. Aside from the grandeur of the venue itself, the entire ambience transports you into what feels like another world entirely. Soft, regal music swells from the mini orchestra that plays on the raised platform, and everyone’s dressed in gowns of all colors and periods and styles.

It makes you a little giddy to see everyone commit to the event to such an extent. You wish this becomes a regular occasion.

“You don’t mind if I ditch you, right? If I, hypothetically, find someone cute?” Leigh grabs a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Because I saw this guy in a tailcoat on the way inside, and he was kinda giving me looks already, so…”

Leigh is neither best friend nor fair weather friend. She’s in town for a few days, and having been partners in a high school class once, she somehow felt the need to ring you up, pleading for you to take her anywhere because she was dying of boredom.

You mentioned that you had an extra ticket, and she said yes before you could even finish your sentence and tell her it was to a costume ball.

“Hey, no worries,” you beam, plucking the wine glass from her fingers and taking a dainty sip, “by all means, mingle! Meet someone! Get swept off your feet! It’s a party. It’s what I was going to do whether or not you came anyway, so don’t be too guilty.”

“Okay, great!” She kisses you on the cheek. “Because he’s kind of already waiting.” Leigh jerks her head to the buffet table across the room, where a broad-shouldered man stands tentatively, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He’s clearly waiting for someone—that someone specifically being Leigh, if the not so surreptitious glances your way are any indication.

Before she can leave, a lady with a hoop skirt that’s draped more than the large windows of the ballroom comes into your peripheral, something glittering atop her bouffant hair.

You lift your chin at Leigh triumphantly. “Pay up first, baby, you saw that tiara.”

“Fifteen.”

“You said twenty!”

“I changed my mind!” she calls as she lifts the hem of her gown off the floor, retreating. Laughing, Leigh waves and you bring up a hand as the man places a meaty hand on her shoulder blade.

Well. You knew you’d lose her for the night. Just not this quickly.

Still, what you said is true. Leigh’s absence doesn’t dampen your mood. You’re happy standing by the tables at the side, observing people and their different gowns, with a glass of rosé in hand. Couples trickle into and out of the ballroom dance floor; others mingle by the tables like you, occasionally nibbling on the fanciest finger food you could ever imagine. The light reflecting from the gorgeous, majestic chandelier dances over the partygoers, and you revel in the moment, wanting to commit this to memory. Simply existing in it. The minuet transitions into a waltz, and more people and their partners taking to the dance floor with excited grins on their faces.

You would like to take your dress out for a twirl at some point before the night ends. If only a gentleman were to ask.

“That’s a lovely color on you, my lady.”

Speak of the—you turn around, glad you didn’t startle so much to the point of spilling perfectly good wine, to face whoever spoke to you. A subtle smirk plays on the face of a lithe man dressed in what looks to be costume straight out of a period film. Or fantasy period film. It doesn’t really make sense, but somehow he makes it work.

You glance down at your gown: a rich forest green with silver detailing cinched around your waist. “Oh, uh… thanks.” You smile politely.

Only it falters after a couple seconds, because he pins you with an expectant look. “My… lord…?” you try, uncertain.

Satisfaction spreads across his face, confusing you mildly. Did he really wait to be addressed…?

“Would you care to dance?” he asks, taking a step towards you and bending forward. A bow, you realize, as he holds the posture while awaiting your answer.

“O-okay, sure.”

You slip your hand in his outstretched one, his slender fingers clasping around you and leading you gently to the middle of the dance floor. His back is as straight as a board as he guides you towards him, and when you’re a pace away he pulls you closer. His hand settles on the small of your back, yours on his shoulder.

And then you’re waltzing; slowly, tentatively, shyly. Though he takes the lead you can’t follow as well as you should, your bafflement blocking you from waltzing like you do in your daydreams. And as weird as it sounds, he’s distracting you from dancing—even if you’re dancing with him.

He’s good-looking. Strong, cutting features with a regal gait. He stands much taller than you are, his head angled down towards you so his green eyes pierce you with the intensity of the sun at high noon.

He doesn’t break eye contact with you. As much as you try to look away, fixate your attention instead on the couples that sway around you, your gaze always finds his. And he probably hasn’t looked away from you once. There’s no malice in it though—he regards you with somewhat of a silent, amused curiosity.

If it’s awkward to be dancing with a good-looking stranger who seemingly can’t take his eyes off you, it doesn’t help that you’re both painfully silent. You expect him to make polite small talk as he guides your steps—only aside from the lovely orchestra playing and the faint chatter of the attendees around you, all that’s heard is the sound of your breathing.

The music winds down, violins sustaining their last note, and your expectations are shattered once again when instead of this mystery man guiding you into a twirling finish, he spins you into the next dance.

Another waltz.

“Do I scare you, princess?” he asks, raising his chin slightly.

You jump a little at his sudden question. “Um. Maybe a little?”

The man sighs, giving a short chuckle as he shakes his head minutely. The hand on your back releases you as you circle around him, one of your arms outstretched as gracefully as you can manage, before you come back in front of him and rest your hand back on his shoulder.

“Perhaps my reputation does precede me,” he mutters.

You blink, even more confused now. “Sorry?”

“Do you…” He narrows his eyes in near disbelief. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I think I’d remember if you told me your name,” you say with a sheepish laugh. Of course you’d remember. With a face like his and the rich voice to match, meeting him on a night like tonight? You’d remember it forever.

“Ah. Then—forgive me, my lady.” He pulls away from you to bow cordially. “Prince Loki, of Asgard.”

Stunned doesn’t seem to cover the emotion racing through you. No one else seems to mind that you’ve both stopped smack dab in the center for him to bow to you with a flourish of his cape. He looks up at you, expectant, yet again, and so you hastily curtsy and mumble your name.

He rises, taking you once again in his arms and picking up where you left off in perfect rhythm to the music. It’s a little disorienting. Your mind struggles to catch up: so far he’s bowed to you twice, is leading you through a perfect waltz, and is, apparently, a prince.

“And your kingdom, my lady?”

“What?”

“Am I to believe you’re a princess with no people to rule over?” he smirks.

And then somehow, realization dawns on you: he’s an actor. Trying to get you into some kind of fantasy, medieval, whatever character to really sell the idea to yourself that you have actually been whisked away, into a story akin to fiction.

“Okay,” you snort, “since we’re doing this whole made up thing, fine, I’ll humor you. Uh”—you rack your brains, glancing at the chandelier overhead—“Genovia.”

“Genovia,” Prince Loki repeats, as though testing the name on his tongue. It comes out melodic and velvety, making you shiver involuntarily. “Sounds… quaint. Not as dreadful or painfully dull as some of the other kingdoms I’ve heard of tonight. What in the Nine is New Jersey?”

You laugh this time, an actual belly laugh, your head tipping back in mirth at his delivery. You sober up sooner than you’d like when you see he’s still absolutely mystified.

“Well, that’s what it is,” you add helpfully. “Genovia… it… yeah.”

“What are your people famous for?”

Damn. He’s really making you think. “Gosh, um…” You blow out a raspberry. “Horses? Apples? Archery? Oh! Mattress surfing.”

Prince Loki hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Either he’s an exceptionally good actor, or he really hasn’t seen The Princess Diaries. Or, a part of you begins to argue, he could actually be who he says he is—

But that wouldn’t make sense.

Could it?

“Well, what about you?” you say quickly, seizing the opportunity to deflect. “What’s uh, what’s Asgard famous for?”

“The Realm Eternal,” Loki says, completely serious. “Warriors of strength, leaders of justice.” He pauses at your lost expression. “Have you not heard of it?”

You have a feeling he has more to say, so you shake your head. Prince Loki spins you around once, before continuing.

“Asgardians are the peacekeepers of the Nine Realms, endowed with strength of all facets to keep the realms from falling. Thwart the possible dangers it can be to itself before it starts, or finish disputes where they arise. We protect. Asgard plays a vital role, if not the most vital of all the realms.”

“And you’re their prince.”

The corners of Loki’s lips curl upwards. “One of them.”

“So you have a brother.”

You’re not sure why you’re still entertaining him at this point. The waltz’s cadence does nothing to separate you from each other, and neither does the lively first note of the polka. Instead Loki’s leading you into a quicker step, bouncing in the most poised manner you’ve ever seen a man dance in.

“Aye,” he says. “Most prefer him to myself.”

“I prefer you,” you blurt out mindlessly, immediately feeling regret in the form of heat crawling up your neck.

Prince Loki’s piercing green eyes light up in surprise. “Not many would,” he murmurs.

“Well, I mean—” you backpedal, “—I don’t—I haven’t met—”

The entrance to the ballroom rattles in its hinges, followed by a booming thud. Heads swivel to the source of the commotion and even the orchestra falters. You are no exception, craning your neck to look behind Loki and at the doors.

He is the only one who seems completely unfazed.

“Perhaps that is for the best. Ready for our big finish, princess?”

Bang! The doors swing open, and strange men in very detailed costumes—metal armor, odd-shaped helmets—charge in, long spears in hand. Your mouth falls open. You’ve never seen anything like them. The attendees gasp collectively, some dancers pulling away from their partners to retreat to the sides of the room.

But Loki places his hands on your hips, lifting you off your feet and into the air, and instructs, “Eyes on me, princess.”

“Wh—” He spins you around, the world around you blurring, and you fix your attention on him so as not to get dizzy. “Prince Loki, I think we should get ou—”

He sets your feet on the ground, a mad intensity in his eyes—and Loki wraps his arms around you and kisses you.

Well. You’ve had multiple daydreams about how tonight would go. This is definitely not one of them.

His arms tighten around your waist, and swarms of butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. Your feet are on the ground, but with your fingers and toes tingling with every soft movement of his lips against yours, it feels like you’re floating. He’s kissing you. You’re kissing him.

The clanging of armor jolts you apart, but Loki keeps you within arm’s reach. Your heart pounds against your sternum.

“I like it when you say my name,” he murmurs.

“Prince Loki!” one of the strange men shouts. The prince in front of you flinches slightly, and then huffs in amusement.

“Don’t like it when they do.”

“I—what?”

Loki sighs. “I’m afraid I have to bid you good night. And farewell.”

“Wait, who are they?” Question after question presents itself, your mind a jumbled mess and your knees still shaking from that damn kiss. “What do they want?”

“The Einherjar. Ah. Well.” He brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. “What’s life without a little mischief?”

“Your Highness!”

“Where is he?”

He pulls you by the elbows, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, and whispers in a voice that could melt butter, “Something to remember me by.”

And then he takes off, a cheeky grin splitting his face as he keeps his eyes trained on his pursuers, slinking through the crowd and towards a nondescript door. An exit.

The strange men sift through the partygoers. Some shake their heads in fear, cowering; others shrug. You simply hope they do not approach you. And by some mad stroke of luck, when they’re a few feet away from you—they ignore you entirely.

Loki catches your eye by the small archway, and with a mischievous wink and a heartstopping smile, he disappears with a flash of his green cape.

You exhale, a little shakily, as one armored man shouts instructions and points to the door. They bolt after him, each footfall thunderous. A few seconds tick past, and once the clatter disappears completely the orchestra warms up again.

Back to normal. Just a little. But you—you’re still reeling from what just happened.

Leigh sidles up to you, poking your side.

“So,” she says, “who was the knight in shining armor, and what’d they want with him?”

His kiss, the feel of his mouth against yours, still tingles at your lips, lingering like the warmth of a fire. You stare at the open door, still trying to make sense of what on Earth just happened.

“I… I think I just met a prince.”

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Left to Heritage”

Summary: A fight between her fairies and Griffin’s witches leaves Faragonda looking at the past in a desperate attempt to prevent losing someone else she cares about like the friends the war took from her. All she finds is pain, yet she can’t let go of the relationships burning her fingers with the impossible choices everyone bound by them has to make. Set after 1x05. Canon divergence.

I have been incredibly salty about the way the whole theft of the Ring of Solaria was handled on the show so you get this canon divergence in which Winx actually do the smart thing and tell Faragonda what the hell happened. How things play out from there is not necessarily better but definitely more emotional for Faragonda. Aka here is also something about the fallout between her and Griffin that was never explained on the show.

“If the ring isn’t returned, the Solarian court will issue an official demand to Cloud Tower for its retrieval.”

Bloom’s eyes had caught fire despite their aquatic shade. They’d burned like an ocean turned from water into flames and her tone had carried the assertiveness of a queen that Faragonda had only heard once before despite the numerous royal heirs Alfea had provided education to ever since she herself had been a student. So many born rulers and none had had the bearings of such natural authority, almost innate, as the Earth girl that had stumbled upon her powers by accident.

Faragonda had almost slipped into the past through the hole Bloom’s fiery stare had burned into her soul. She had to do it regardless of the searing pain of touching the edges she’d cut into herself to stop the spreading rot. She had to do it to look for more similarities, some tangible proof that she wasn’t grasping at straws to hang her hope by. It could be the universe answering her prayers with abysmal delay. Or it could be an illusion she’d trapped herself into when nothing could compare to the cruelty of the real world.

The surface of the oval mirror in her office rippled like she’d cast a stone in the stream of time and found the memory her five students shared now along with the trauma and crushing responsibility chasing royalty out there in the real world where Alfea’s walls were but a blissful fantasy of deceptive safety. The school had hardly protected its students back when she’d been one of them and things would only get more dire if she were right about the witches Cloud Tower was raising in the heart of its spiky structure that welcomed intruders to leave while they still could. It was not an empty threat.

The gloom hanging over her girls like an aura in the image in the mirror was yet more frighteningly precise proof of the truth she already knew. Stella was lying in her bed as if she’d been taken down by a plague she couldn't fight with Flora fretting over her, Musa tapping on her knees as she sat cross-legged on the floor like she was trying to hold a rhythm slipping away from her and Tecna sifting through a boatload of digital information less daunting than the emotional waves reality was rocked by.

Bloom was leaning over Stella like a guard, her fists clenched so hard that her knuckles had turned white as if the fire in her veins was trying to burn its way out of her body and eliminate the threat she’d had to succumb to. Faragonda had seen that instinctive determination right before another threat had been eliminated to take away with itself any remaining sparks of hope for the company left behind.

Flora straightened up like a flower reaching for the mercy of the light finally gracing it. “What if we tell Miss Faragonda?” she asked and just like that the grave silence was dispelled. And so was the self-absorbed focus that had swallowed Bloom to separate her from her friends. “She could help us get it back.”

“No!” Stella bolted up in bed as if to drop the reason that could save them from smashing their heads. “No one can know that I’ve lost the ring of Solaria,” her frantic voice was spilling out the worries of her heart in the trust in their friendship they’d forged with their lives and signed with their blood. “That I failed as a princess.” New tears welled in her eyes as if the soreness hadn’t bruised them with enough red already without the light of her magic to relieve the strain in them.

Faragonda would’ve wondered how the mirror did not crack from all the pain flowing from her to hit directly where her reflection would have been if the memory was not still playing like the room had witnessed it.

“You didn’t fail, Stel.” Bloom sat down on the bed, her hand on Stella’s shoulder as if to ground her concerns. Or to ground Bloom’s impulses in the warmth of her friend instead of that of the flames no doubt licking at her opened fists. “You were ready to defend it with your life.”

Faragonda had deduced that much even if they’d tried to steer her attention away from the specifics. Bloom had only relayed that Stella had been kidnapped to demonstrate the gravity of the situation but they’d tried to beat around the bush about any other details except for the fact that the witches had walked out of that confrontation with the ring of Solaria. And her girls had walked away with a Stella who was alive and intact, and eaten through by guilt she’d had ingrained in her along with her royal bearings and the responsibility for the ring on her finger to have its absence crush her more than its weight on her shoulders had.

“Bloom’s right,” the sound wave of Musa’s vehemence could have shattered the windows. Perhaps it had even carried the subconscious intention to rid her of the sounds stuck inside her – cries that were years old and other fresh ones from a few minutes ago. “You did everything you could. It was those witches that are guilty for everything,” she slammed her fists down on her knees to no other result than hitting herself as she kept her tantrum away from her magic.

“It was their third attempt at the ring that we know of,” Bloom’s words had everyone else nodding in support of her reassurance but it only had Faragonda pressing her palm against her mouth to keep it all in. Even if she couldn't stop herself from asking herself why she didn’t know what dangers were lurking for her girls out there. “They’ve been targeting you since Gardenia.” That much would have been a safe guess even for her despite the limited amount of information she’d had but she hadn’t wanted to make it before Bloom had confirmed it for her. It said too much about the determined claim both her fairies and Griffin’s witches had over the royal heirloom.

“It’s a powerful magical object,” Stella made the fact sound like the most biased opinion Faragonda had ever heard. Or maybe it was just the purpose of her words that made it so. “They’re not the first ones to want it. But they are the first ones to get it.” It wasn’t just her who was biased anymore, Faragonda’s own convictions rising from the ashes in her lungs almost like a phoenix with the only exception that they’d never died. “And it happened on my watch,” Stella cried out. “I’m the only Solarian royal that failed to protect it.” She buried her face in her hands, the lack of the ring on her finger startling not with her incompetence but with the competence of those who currently had it.

The low spirits of her girls were left in place of how much they’d put into the confrontation to be that drained from both energy and faith and they’d still lost regardless. She may have been one to be blinded by endless optimism when younger but after being sucked into a war and spat out with its teeth marks all over you, you learned to take pure power into consideration. And her girls had had a lot of determination to draw from which left their defeat sending familiar chills down her spine at the thought of the enemy.

Tecna put away the gadget she’d been tinkering with and the discomfort of the emotionality they were all drowning in to lend the others the logic they desperately needed, making Faragonda give the image in the mirror a proud smile despite her mixed feelings on its existence forced by necessity. “Getting the ring back is a priority over anything else, even covertness. And Miss Faragonda is our best bet on that,” she rationalized, the words reverberating through the rest like they shared a mind on top of the heartfelt bond they’d formed so quickly. “We can insist on it being done discreetly,” Tecna continued, finding her sensitivity as well to fit into the collective flawlessly, the way they gravitated towards each other pulling even Faragonda closer by the strings in her own heart it had touched. “After all, I doubt Miss Griffin will be thrilled with the imprint this crime will leave on Cloud Tower if it becomes public knowledge. It’s in everyone’s interest to keep this quiet.”

Faragonda could only hope every mentioned party would be as reasonable as Tecna had accounted for. She’d had the same belief in her friendship once that Tecna was putting into logic but she couldn’t bet on it anymore with all the walls in the way. It had come to that for her when certainty had been pulled out of her reach along with the warm hand that had held it and all she could do was hang on to the prospect that if she was right, Bloom would be able to count on her friends more than she could on her heritage, that there would be no walls Bloom would be left outside of again.

“Tecna’s right,” Musa pushed herself off the floor as if with a sonic blast but resolve was the only magic that lent her the speed and coordination to rise to her feet in one swift, graceful motion worthy of the dancer that the fairy of music was. “We can’t just sit around now that we’re all back together,” her hands were balled into fists as if to hold on to the presence of her friends once she didn’t need them to support herself. “We have to act. Unless we want to find out what they want with the ring the hard way.”

Stella nodded, a small smile barely tugging the corners of her lips upwards to meet the tears still rolling down her face. The inevitable sniffle that followed was enough to shake her whole body and disintegrate both the smile and the confidence.

Flora was quick to grab a tissue from the nearby box and offer it to Stella as she sat down on the bed next to her. “It will be okay, sweetie. You’ll see,” she put her hands on Stella’s shoulders to have Bloom let go of her so that Flora could draw her into her soothing softness while Stella bunched up the tissue in her fist instead of using it.

“I hope you’re right, Flora,” Stella whispered, turning to her in an attempt to nestle her tear-stained face into the crook of Flora’s neck and hide her weakness into the warmth of the nature fairy even if it weren’t the light of her own magic. “I can’t disappoint my father after he entrusted me the ring.” A sob shook them both alike as Flora held her, only gripping tighter at her despite the crease carved into her forehead and the glassiness of her eyes as they tried to mirror Stella’s and shed their water that only Flora’s will to put her friend’s comfort before her own held back.

Bloom caught Stella’s hand that was hanging limply at her side instead of having wrapped itself around Flora in search of more support. There was no need for her fingers to prob for it, however, as Bloom laced hers through them gently but firmly – in perfect contrast with the flames burning in her gaze with no cautiousness to rein them in, only fierce protectiveness to feed them.

The heat was tangible both through space and time to explain why Stella had flinched at Bloom’s warning about making the issue official and taking it to the appropriate authorities. Not only that, it was also familiar.

Faragonda had been defended with the same vehement warmth to the point of almost becoming collateral of it but despite the burning coldness of the hole left behind once it’d been gone, she had no definitive proof of Bloom’s origins. The ferocious protectiveness she’d known had come from two people, one of which undoubtedly had nothing to do with the fire in Bloom’s veins or the flaming color of her hair. It was the determined commitment of true friendship she’d seen in the girl and nothing more. Not without solid proof that the ring could give. She had to get it before someone got the confirmation of her suspicions first. If she was right, she had more duty towards Bloom than just that of a headmistress and Bloom had more burden to shoulder than the weak grip of Stella’s hand on hers in the absence of the ring.

She cut off the magical flow turning the mirror into a pool of memories instead of the solid reflective surface that it was and focused her magic into overcoming space this time. It wasn’t the spell or the physical distance she had to conquer–she had regular practice with that as she was still a constant presence on the Red Fountain invitation list for any and all events–but the emotional chasm that had opened between her and Griffin. It was just a few years old and it was already as deep as their friendship had ran in their souls.

A gasp almost tore from her at the weightlessness overwhelming her senses when she knew it would be gone faster than it had appeared. And indeed, the negative energy of Cloud Tower clung to her aura long before her atoms assembled themselves together again to leave her standing in Griffin’s office.

It hadn’t changed one bit in the days she hadn’t seen it–that had to be over one thousand at this point and more–and carried the spirit of the same frighteningly elegant professionalism and academic pursuit as well as overwhelming flair for the dramatic and inclination towards honoring history’s scariest and most threatening moments. The pointy edges and horned skulls were only the props for the powerful dark spells stored in the tomes lining the shelves that almost drew her eye to them in search of something that didn’t belong there. That would have swallowed her attention if not for the witch whose presence commanded every bit of the space – from the interior to the magic flowing in the walls through the veins of Cloud Tower.

Griffin hadn’t changed either, familiarity streaming from her almost deceptively. “Someone had better be dying,” she emphasized each word to compensate for the cold her gaze wasn’t piling on Faragonda as it remained on the book opened in front of her. Faragonda couldn't even tell if it was work or passion that she’d interrupted from the unnatural stillness clinging to the witch as she refused to move a muscle for her. “If not,” dramatic pause right on cue, “it will be your life on the line.” A ball of violet power formed in Griffin’s hand, the seriousness of the threat in no way undermined by the lack of attention to back it up.

“It’s really urgent,” Faragonda pushed the sounds through her teeth, almost choking on the shredded mass that came out as justification for her presence instead of the animated greeting that had once been the norm. She barely dared breathe in the room looming over her and threatening to bury her alive, her arms sticking to her sides to avoid alerting Griffin further. The witch had no desire to take her presence, much less the inconvenient news she’d deduced Faragonda was bearing.

“You should hope so.” The magic in her palm slowly faded, each change in the paling shade like a drop of water slipping from Faragonda to never come back and only assault her ears with the passing seconds. As if Griffin was giving her the time to adjust and begin on her squirming to fit the witch’s agenda. “Otherwise, you’ve wasted so much energy coming here for nothing,” Griffin looked up at last, slamming her book closed just as she locked eyes with Faragonda in a cheap intimidating technique that may have made her flinch back at their student days but those were long buried and it couldn't get even as far as the sound wave of it did.

There was an invisible force squeezing her heart like her ribs were made of foam and couldn't protect a diamond, not to mention something so fragile. It wouldn't be past Griffin to use one of the relatively harmless hexes–though, anything would be harmless compared to the forbidden magic Faragonda was on the lookout for–on which she’d just been refreshing her memory but she’d made it known after their fallout she wouldn't throw away her magic on revenge. The hexes could have been for an advanced class or for the personal vendettas on her list that Faragonda hadn’t been added to after Griffin had crossed off their friendship. She’d ended all contact between them, running school-related business through Saladin as if she’d erased from her mind any trace of the private language only the two of them spoke.

No curse could top that. A curse would require her to put some feelings in the casting, at the very least, to take an interest in the fact that Faragonda still existed so that she could make her life hell. Instead, she was letting her poison all her days on her own like she’d never seen her wings in the mirror and every attempt to be the witch she’d never believed she could be was blowing up in her face. If only she could blame everything that stood between them on the inherent divide between fairies and witches.

Faragonda squared her shoulders looking at Griffin through the emptiness between them. Their personal drama had waited so long it could take a backseat to the responsibility she had towards her girls. “My students have reported to me that your witches–Icy, Darcy and Stormy–threatened the life of Stella, the princess of Solaria, to steal her ring from her.” She didn’t pause before forcing the names off her tongue when she knew the last time they’d cracked against Griffin’s ears it had cracked their friendship but she had to borrow some air from the witch’s domain to continue. Not too much, though, lest Griffin snatched the word away and never found the benevolence to give it back. “They want the ring to be returned or they’ll take it up to the Solarian court and you’ll be hearing from king Radius.”

Griffin rose from her chair, her aura casting a shadow over the whole room as a mantle of darkness fell over the golden of her eyes to suffocate it much the same way it gripped at Faragonda’s throat to throw her in a memory that should have died long before all the other death had plowed into them. “Are you threatening me?” her voice was quick to mirror the intent she’d read into the words to draw a clear line between them and leave them on opposing sides once more as if they hadn’t found home in each other after they’d lost it all.

“Griffin, please,” Faragonda raised her hands – an old habit that had gotten her beaten down multiple times during the war when it still left her words to use on the witch. It had been words that had gotten between them, and not the numerous spells they’d thrown each other’s way voluntarily and not at all. “This is not a threat.” A pulse of Griffin’s magic stung her eyes nearly to tears with the reminder of the witch’s distrustful heart. “I’m just trying to save us all the trouble that this whole situation will cause if it blows up.” Coming clean had to be easy when you didn’t have a hidden agenda–at least not a malicious one–but one wrong word would paint her a bigger villain than anyone Griffin had had to deal with in the past. The notion was preposterous after it had been her winx that’d kept Griffin huddled in the depths of Cloud Tower and turning herself into a vessel for dark spells.

“Of course, you are,” the tension rolled off Griffin’s frame like the taunt rolled off her tongue but she’d take it if it meant Griffin trusted her “insufferable goodness” as she’d once put it, all in good faith. There was no joke now, only open distaste that was still preferable to unrestrained hostility. “Always so considerate. Getting worked up over a trinket,” Griffin flaunted the mockery in her face in a challenge Faragonda wouldn't normally take but Griffin’s own reputation as headmistress could be on the line.

“This is a royal artifact, Griffin,” she forced her voice to stay level–an ounce of asperity would leave the space between them even more slippery than the frozen surface of a dead planet–despite Griffin’s attempts to get a raise out of her as she rolled her eyes in purposeful ignorance, pushing all the buttons she could still find without having to look. It was in her heart she’d stored the knowledge and Faragonda had the chance to reach in it if she’d just keep it open long enough. “You know this is serious.” A split second’s hesitation. Just enough to take a page out of Griffin’s book. “You know how much efforts Oritel threw into hiding the Book-”

“Fine,” Griffin’s tone cut her off like a knife she was aiming at her throat next.

She could hate her for digging up the ghosts haunting the shared home of their past only to spill into the present and link them together with the tears trembling on the surface of Griffin’s voice to mirror her own. As long as she didn’t let the effortless connection they’d had–still had between them if only Griffin would let it out of the dark basement she’d locked it in to rot away without light and oxygen–join them. Faragonda was already right there with her, the echo of her own words burning her tongue and down her throat even in the airless emptiness filling her after the memory of their lost friends had sucked everything else out of her.

“You’ll have the ring on your desk in the next few minutes,” Griffin crossed her arms, almost hugging herself as if to make sure Faragonda wouldn't give into the impulse to wrap her in her own embrace. As if she didn’t know it would only pull her closer with a might she could hardly resist while the cold was still in her veins spreading with every beat of her heart that she couldn't share with the royal pair of Domino. “If there isn’t anything else,” there was only everything else, lingering in the air around them and making it heavy to draw in as it fell towards the floor to escape the struggle of their lungs, “let yourself out. It’s too late for noisy visits.” Too late for her.

There went her chance to see the friend she hadn’t lost in the war only to push away. Common sense dictated she had to hope there wouldn't be another one like this, for the sake of the universe and not just the girl for whom affection was already flaming in her heart upon recognition. She couldn't let this moment slip through her fingers like the life she’d shared with the half of the Company now residing in unknown locations had. At least have some good come out of everything the three young witches had done.

"Griffin-”

The sigh Griffin released in an abrupt bout of frustration carried the rest of the thought away to leave the accompanying feelings clawing at her ribcage to get out. “Business related, Faragonda,” the witch stressed either word before gliding over her name with indifference. “This was not a slumber party invitation,” her irritation spiked again to pierce through Faragonda’s stomach and spill her guts out in a violent display that would have made the ancient evil Griffin had initially picked over her cackle with abandon at her misfortune.

"Business related...” They had too much business together for Griffin to just brush her off like she was the dust on a tome of spells the witch had stolen when she’d still been with them . “Your students have kidnapped one of mine and threatened to kill her to steal a royal artifact. That is grounds for expulsion.” It was enough to get them convicted if she could convince Stella to testify and let her friends do so as well but she’d promised she hadn’t come to threaten Griffin so she had to steer clear of her students as well. Griffin never did do well when cornered so the most she could afford was to implore her to listen to reason.

"No,” Griffin’s instant stubbornness echoed off the walls to crash down on her and beat her into the floor. A little more force and it would bury her right there under the roof of the powerful organism Cloud Tower was that Griffin had employed to protect the three witches when she’d let them into the school.

"Come on, Griffin!” she urged, her pleading almost pathetic to her own ears with how little it moved the witch, almost enough to convince her it was their affiliations exactly that were getting between them instead of their own hearts. “You should be able to see by now that they are following into the footsteps of their predecessors.” A shudder ran through her just at the thought of how far that road went. Right to the frozen surface of Domino. “You know what the ring can do.”

"It doesn’t matter,” Griffin’s eyes bore into hers, the seriousness of her dismissal drilling a hole into Faragonda’s mind to let out over her muscles the overflowing impulse to grab Griffin and shake her. They’d lost everything while putting all their efforts into preventing just that. They couldn't sit idly by and watch it happen again, only this time letting it unfold without interfering. “It’s not going to lead them to anything but ghosts.” Griffin’s look changed, accusation almost covering the agony underneath just like she was barely breathing through the losses Faragonda had forced on her once again after all attempts at burying them had been in vain.

Faragonda drew in a shaky breath before jumping off the ledge without the certainty of Griffin catching her. “I’m not sure about that.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers curling at her sides for her short nails to dig into her palms when Griffin’s heart visibly jumped into her throat.

There was no going back as Griffin forced herself to swallow it along with all the questions bubbling from inside her to make her burst and Faragonda forced her magic to flow between her palms and form an orb of light that started shifting until it accommodated the image of Bloom with every little shape and vivid color. Griffin had to see it as it was so that she could tell her whether it was reality or illusion.

Griffin’s gaze was fixed on the image as the colors bled in until they reached their full vibrancy to have her eyes lighting up with another million questions exploding in them upon recognition. “Who’s that?” her voice came out as if in slow motion while she was trying to catch her mind from speeding away from her with conclusions.

"That’s Bloom,” Faragonda said only. For someone who wanted an objective opinion, she sure was twisting her words to steer them into the desired direction. Not that it mattered what she’d say when she could count on Griffin’s brutal honesty.

"Who is she? Where does she come from?” Griffin fired out at her as she rounded her desk to get a closer look, already having jumped on track with Faragonda’s suspicions.

"She’s from Earth.” Chasing down the words was much easier once Griffin was taking them from her eagerly. Faragonda could practically hear the logical deductions weaving themselves together in her mind and the emotions boiling in her heart like Griffin had allowed it instead of fiercely protecting her privacy after the last time Faragonda hadn’t liked what she’d read in her. It wasn’t about the fight between them now but about a promise they’d made together and had been forced to give up on if they’d wanted to keep hearing each other’s breaths. Maybe it could bring them back together if it was brought to life like the little baby in the center of it that they hadn’t gotten to hold in their arms.

"There have been no fairies on Earth for centuries,” Griffin’s eyes were on hers again, checking for a lie only to scorch her with their insistent shine once she didn’t find one. Almost like she was looking to see the explanation inside Faragonda’s mind as if they hadn’t reached the same theory despite the deafening cries of the past echoing around them without their permission.

"She’s sixteen, has fire powers and the spirit to match the physical resemblance,” Faragonda dared lay a little more of her soul out there along with the hope threading itself in it again. If Griffin was seeing it as well, then she wasn’t-

"And she dropped right on your doorstep?” The arch of Griffin’s brow was like a slap in the face as it was followed by a scornful smile. “It should have tipped you off instantly how easy this is. Your wishful thinking is blinding you. That relentless optimism never did lend you a clear grasp on things.” The mocking tone might have been scraping against the walls of her heart from inside to leave abrasions behind but the cold in Griffin’s eyes was so unbearable with the reflection of her own loss it was that she had to look away.

Her hands dropped at her sides, the image of Bloom long lost along with her focus that was now carried away by the merciless winds lashing over the once welcoming surface of the most beautiful planet in the magical dimension. “It made me stick with you,” she barely found the strength to whisper through the ice pushing at the inside of her eyes to smother every memory of fire and warmth she’d ever had. She’d known better back then and it’d brought Griffin back to her. Why couldn't the same happen with Bloom? Why couldn't the universe finally answer her passionate prayers and give them back at least a part of what they’d lost on the battlefield?

Griffin’s derisive chuckle shattered the hair-thin glass she’d been hiding behind in her run from reality. “Thick as thieves we are,” despite the spiteful resolve it was wrapped in, her voice was raw like it’d been flayed alive and left to bleed out by a careless cut of a knife and Griffin had always been one for perfection and precision. She couldn’t have been the one to cause this to herself no matter how careful Faragonda lied to herself she always was. “I’ll get you the ring but do me a favor and don’t drag me into your blind pursuit of will-o-wisps.” Griffin turned her back on her and walked back to her chair, every click of her heels against the floor crushing yet another part of Faragonda’s broken heart like it was snow.

"What if it’s her?” she pushed even though it was low to attack Griffin in back. She couldn’t lose her completely when she’d come in pursuit of finding – Bloom and the ring, and Griffin and their friendship.

"What if she’s an impostor?” Griffin countered, in no hurry to face her as she was confident she could lead that battle even blindly but Faragonda could do that. They’d always been counterparts, reflections of each other. Until she’d broken away with the storm in her eyes. “What if she’s working with the Trix?” Griffin’s logic had her blood run cold. It could never happen. The blood in their veins would never allow such alliance of hell. “They never would have gotten the ring if they’d had to face the intuitive protectiveness of the Dragon Fire,” Griffin forced the cursed words out of her mouth with less effort than Faragonda would need to get out of the trap that she’d walked right into when her eyes had seen whatever she’d wanted them to and her heart had operated according to the same logic. “She’s probably a fake they’ve infiltrated among your girls. How did she even get to Alfea?”

Griffin’s gaze was boring into her again in her impatience to dig out the answer herself if she could and bury Faragonda in its place, get it over with. It was starting to lick a little bit too much like flames at her tender skin, just like Griffin’s magic had been protecting her on par with the Dragon Fire, and had her mind tossing between the tangible past out of reach and the threatening future she was speeding towards.

Her students. She couldn't let them pay for a lapse in her judgment. She was no longer a reject transmagic graduate of Alfea who wasn’t even sure she had a best friend to lose. She was the headmistress and had some of the responsibilities her friends had died fulfilling. She had young girls to take care of and she couldn't shake the image of Bloom holding Stella’s hand to let her have at least a little of the safety Faragonda hadn’t secured for her. For either one of them. She had to celebrate if she was wrong about the fate resting on Bloom’s shoulders but that was exactly why she couldn't afford to ignore the possibility of being right, as insignificant as it was.

"Stella brought her,” she made herself return to the present stopping on the way to pick up the question Griffin had asked her. “She accidentally discovered her powers when she tried to help her against an ogre and some goblins.” A coincidence for those who believed in them. But after they’d all been pawns in a vicious game that had been going on for centuries, it would be foolish to think there was anything not driven by a reason... or a person.

"Oh, yes. The coincidence of the century,” Griffin deadpanned, reading her thoughts in a backwards fashion. They’d never been so out of sync before. “This is a blatant set up and you’re naively falling for it.” No wonder when Griffin didn’t want to give in even an inch still firmly grounded behind her desk and seeing to it that she didn’t move either. In fact, her look would be enough to glue Faragonda to the floor, no spell, no magic. “This kind of gullibility flew when we were students but after everything you’ve been through, you should know better. You’re awfully trusting for a war veteran and a headmistress with the responsibility for hundreds of lives.” Her teeth left marks in Faragonda’s heart even though it was her own lip Griffin almost bit into in her vehemence.

She could have it all, swallow it one piece at a time, if it meant they could be together in their signature complementary existence. Griffin was the spice to Faragonda’s sugar making it hard to eat too much to keep your teeth from rotting. She’d been the mindfulness to her optimism, the logic to her faith even back when they’d both been witches and their dynamic hadn’t failed them throughout the rest of the way, Griffin keeping them grounded while Faragonda had carried them, hopeful, into the future. “I’ll keep an eye on her-”

"And please, don’t inform me,” Griffin was fighting her on every step now, her words piercing Faragonda’s wings like they hadn’t even done back when both of them had still been getting used to the sight and feel of them. She’d accepted the change in her once with the whole history of the magical dimension standing between them and she’d done it again after the war had ripped out not just the warmth of their friends, but also the pieces of themselves touched by it. She’d held her cold body to get shaken by the same shivers only to back away from the possible return of the small flame they’d mourned like Faragonda was coming to burn her and everything she’d built out of the remains of her life for the crimes she’d committed before.

"You have to keep an eye on the Trix as well.” It wasn’t her that was threatening everything they’d suffered for, everything they’d built out of the ashes of their hope. And it wasn’t Bloom either. She couldn't take away the desperation choking them every time they tried to speak the names seared into their hearts but they could speak hers with the faith she’d need to survive the monstrous responsibility of her heritage. “You’re also responsible for hundreds of lives as headmistress.” It wasn’t just the two of them anymore and they had people to take care of besides themselves... or each other.

"At least I’ve taken the time to look at them before jumping to conclusions,” Griffin muttered through the unwillingness to bring to life the past she wouldn't have had without Faragonda’s interference as she’d stood up for her even with the pile of bodies under Griffin’s feet, even with the hole in Griffin’s heart that wasn’t hers to fill. “Expelling them will only push them further into any ambitions of greatness they have,” Griffin continued, giving voice to logic instead to hide behind like they didn’t tell each other everything. Like they wouldn't see the truth regardless of the words spoken. Like their souls were not one whole.

"That’s hardly possible,” Faragonda’s own voice rose in turn as it looked to reach her friend. “You’ve read their admission letters.” Rule them all.An agenda they’d heard before coupled with powers they’ve seen in action to barely survive them. What more did Griffin need to recognize the impending threat?

"Unfortunately, I also had the bad judgment not to keep them confidential,” Griffin squeezed at her heart as if to crush it even if her hands were gripping at her desk like she was trying to hold herself upright.

"You had concerns just like I did,” Faragonda would drag Griffin, kicking and screaming, back to the memory of standing together if she had to but she wouldn’t let them fall apart over three little witches that weren’t even the real deal, only offspring left behind like weeds. “You’re the one who’s set off on some misguided mission to save their souls.” She bit her tongue as her fists unclenched–the marks her short nails had left in her palms oozed blood–and her hands flew up to clamp over her mouth but it was too late.

"Your facade is crumbling, Miss Sunshine Positivity and Acceptance,” Griffin growled at her like a guard dog that had caught a trespasser red-handed.

"Griffin,” her tongue probed around with each letter curling in anticipation of the witch pouncing only to stiffen once the familiar name hung in the air waiting to drop like a bomb on them if she didn’t secure it to the words that would follow. Faragonda swallowed and licked her lips as she lowered her hands back at her sides lest she accidentally brushed the trigger. “It’s not your personal failure you couldn’t save them from the three monsters’ ways.” A chance. They’d agreed to give them a chance that the three witches had thrown away long before the attempted murder they’d almost covered and were still getting away with. Griffin had shrugged off their total lack of morality and humanity as witch-typical bullying even when they’d caused permanent damage to fairies and witches alike in her attempts to protect them but she had to open her eyes to the fact that there was no one to protect them from and everyone to protect from them. “It has never been.” They were the ones that hadn’t given Griffin the chance she’d wanted to help them by following their ancestors’ plan too closely to be unfamiliar with it.

Griffin’s shoulders slackened, leaving her tall frame sagging like she would fall back into her chair when Faragonda’s next breath breezed over her. “I was beyond saving as well when you stepped in but that didn’t stop you.” The insistent burn of Griffin’s eyes frantically touching every corner of her soul ran through her in higher voltage than Griffin’s refusal to look at her had been back when Faragonda had saved her life with the portal that had brought them on the same side. Griffin may have had a hard time finding a place in the home Faragonda had had waiting for her inside herself but now her fingers were frozen at her desk after their failure to even find the doorknob. “What’s different now?”

Everything.

Faragonda shook her head to throw the word away before it could fall from her mouth. They were still the same friends, the same parts of one whole... even when they were broken apart. That at least Griffin had already experienced for herself to believe it was possible. “You saved yourself, Griffin.” Had she failed to mirror Griffin’s own light back at her the same way she’d given her hers, too caught up in their duality of counterparts, their forbidden friendship of a witch and a fairy? “You’d made the right choice. It was what brought you to me.” She’d left a part of herself behind to find her way to Faragonda while her students were looking to take everything that didn’t belong to them and the ring slipping from one finger to another so easily was only the start. “And what brings me here now is a matter of interrealm security they’ve dragged us into.”

Griffin rolled her eyes as if to counter the words rolling off Faragonda’s tongue and keep them from reaching her. “I’ll fix that,” she strengthened her shoulders again to take the burden that wasn’t hers to bear along with the guilt for leaving anything of her soul with the Coven to corrupt but it hadn’t been her fault. Icy, Darcy and Stormy had never been touched by their predecessors–thanks to the sacrifice that had left Bloom and Stella their unsuspecting targets–yet they were still following the same agenda of their own volition, cut from the very same cloth as the witches they were descended from like everything else those monsters had left behind in their inability to create anything but destruction.

"What if you can’t?” Helplessness had strapped her hands to her sides, yet the question slapped Griffin in the face moving her backwards and further away from Faragonda to the opposite of her intentions. She’d just wanted to dig her out of the past now that they could witness a future that had been stolen from them.

Griffin raised her chin like she did in defiance and not to stare her down, though Faragonda was still way down below her to have Griffin’s words dropping on her head like bricks to crack her skull open rather than wall her up outside Griffin’s heart. “You should worry about yourself. Save whatever’s left of you if there’s anything at all from the old Faragonda.” It was the sharpness of Griffin’s words that cut her loose from the strings moving her around for her lungs to draw in a gasp of air. It’d been her Griffin had been looking for in the past rather than the piece of herself forever encased in ice. “She would never advocate for me to turn my back on three young girls.” The contempt was unlike anything Griffin had ever regarded her with. Not even when she’d accused her of betraying her by turning into a fairy.

"I still trust you, Griffin,” she stepped forward only to bite her tongue and stop dead in her tracks at the sight of Griffin’s demonstrative retreat. She was still herself... even if she’d failed to give the reassurance her best friend needed that she hadn’t turned against her in her pursuit to rid them of every trace of the witches Griffin had left in a show of heart she’d made her question.

"I don’t trust you,” Griffin put them on opposite sides again drawing a clear line between them that she couldn’t cross as easily as the distance between Alfea and Cloud Tower. No fairy dust could fix what she’d broken with the cold inside her. “I don’t know you,” Griffin’s voice spilled out in frozen waves that would make Faragonda’s lungs burst if she opened her mouth to risk swallowing them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to run this midnight errand you’ve sent me on.”

She dematerialized without sparing another glance at Faragonda to leave her alone in the emptiness of the office like they’d never been there together. The room only seemed to broaden around her to leave her hopeless in the middle like a star that was flickering out in the vast void swallowing its dying light. Cloud Tower remained asleep to her light magic instead of closing in its dark energy on her to suffocate her or chase her away – whichever came first. Griffin had left her unsupervised in her office like she wasn’t enough of a traitor to be kicked out, let alone hunted for vengeance like Griffin herself had been when they’d been brought back together.

She wasn’t coming back and Faragonda had to return to her own office, to her own school and to her own life. A task she almost failed amidst the panic engulfing her consciousness as if to consume it once her body dissolved in her magic and left just her soul behind to wander aimlessly without the anchor of a home. It was just the sight of flames burning in green and blue eyes alike that grounded her back in her rightful position of leadership – a legacy she’d taken over for her friends to rest in peace after they’d done their duty at the price of an inhuman sacrifice.

The ring was waiting on her desk even though it had to have been just a few minutes. She’d lost track of time in the tomb of cold loneliness she’d found herself in when she’d been left on her own.

She picked it up, the weight of it almost non-existent in her palm to contrast with the ton of emotion it had brought out in just a few short hours only for the trouble to be resolved so quickly through cooperation. Maybe Griffin was right. Maybe the terror that had been nestled inside her ever since that day on Domino when her soul had only remained grounded in her body by the warmth of Griffin’s hand in hers had resided in her too long to hollow her out and fill her with paranoia. Maybe she was judging unjustly after the unfair hand the universe had dealt them all on that battlefield.

Or maybe they were being made pawns again to be shoved on the front of another war. She didn’t have Griffin’s warmth anymore–only the burning hurt in her gaze–but she had her students–maybe even the girl she’d sworn to protect with her life–to take care of. She’d have to let Griffin look after herself this time and do the same when the witch refused to be her support and let her be hers.

It was too ironic to be left to the heritage of fairies and witches fighting each other just like their students. Only, that was not what left Griffin unable to look at her. And she had to hope against all logic that there wasn’t another legacy their students were fated to uphold, that it was just the everlasting argument between fairies and witches that was the only thing connecting them all. But she couldn't. Her and Griffin’s friendship was too powerful to be cut in half by an ancient yet superficial divide. And the Dragon Fire was too strong to be extinguished by the evil of three witches.

The ring had found Bloom in an endless universe to bring her to her friends and her heritage. All that was left was to give it back to them and hope it’d acted like a lucky charm rather than a jinx. That and believe in their friendship after the one she’d had left after the unimaginable hatred the universe had been subjected to had given in to the fight they should have ended on Domino instead of inherited in place of the lost crowns Bloom would never get to see.

[vxlkyrieee]

ignorance is bliss [part 1]

Dick Grayson x female reader

Word Count: 1864

Warnings: angst

Dick was the one who had invited you to the stupid gala. If he hadn't, you'd make plans with other friends, or perhaps just stay home. His family teased you playfully for days before the event, insisting that he would ask you on a date. Or perhaps the gala itself was a date. When he asked, "Come with me? I'll be alone otherwise," you couldn't help but to say yes, for the sake of aborting his loneliness. But it seems he isn't so lonely after all.

It wasn't even Dick that had greeted you at the door. Alfred had took your coat for you, and welcomed you with a "Good Evening, Miss (L/N). It's a pleasure to see a familiar face attend tonight." You kissed the old man's cheek as usual, and asked "Where's Dick?"

"Aah. Master Dick is currently mingling. He's with a few ladies along the bar, (Y/N)."

"Thanks Alfie." He nodded in response, closing the manor door behind you. When you spotted Richard, clad well in a dashing tux, flirting with girls and sipping a few drinks, you thought he'd maybe see you and dismiss himself from them. So when he nodded to you, waved, and turned his attention back to them, you felt like a knife had been driven through your friendship. You winced, grimaced and then headed upstairs. Moping and brooding, you leaned over the edge of the staircase. You didn't like to watch Dick and his sultry intentions, but for whatever reason, failed to tear your eyes away from his form.

There he goes off again, moving with the grace and smoothness of a lion. A lion who knows what he wants. He waltzes across the great hall of Wayne Manor, eyeing the countless beauties attending the fundraising gala for Bruce Wayne's latest philanthropic advances. His prey for tonight stands at an average height, with blue eyes and blonde hair. Of course. She's a perfectly good looking woman, with slender legs and a slim waist. Perfect enough to be the cover or centrefold of a magazine.

Dick takes a step towards her, sharp in his tuxedo, baring a charming grin like a lion would wear a predatory snarl. As soon as she sees him, she obviously swoons, her knees buckling a little at the sight of him. He hands her a flute of champagne, and she smiles. Her teeth shine white under the light of the grand chandelier, and she does nothing to even attempt to suppress the dreamy, dazed-like expression on her face. And just like that, the lion strikes. He gets his prey, and hooks his arm around her waist triumphantly. That's one more girl who'll sleep in his bed. One more heart broken. Not that she knows it yet. A strand of his dark hair falls in his eye, as he whisks her away. He has to sweep it out of his face to turn back to the woman. He smiles again, wider if even possible. The crinkles next to his eyes accentuating the victory in his catch. His teeth gleam like her's do, almost blinding.

They supposedly belong together. Both beautiful. Both perfect. Both completely unaware. 

She is blind to the fact that by tomorrow morning, her heart will be shattered amongst discarded clothes. He ceases to notice that his habits not only hurt his partner for the night, but they pain him too. It brings him pleasure only for the time being, and ebbs away in the morning, unable to feed his hopeless hunger for love. What he doesn't realise is eating his true-self away; Ignorance is a poison that kills love. Kills everything in love's way.

"(y/n)? Are you alright?" Bruce's fingers grace your arm in gentle kindness.

"Yes, yes. Just fine Mr Wayne," you reply, pasting a smile onto your face. The anxiety in Bruce's ice-blue eyes is always ever-present, so when they turn to you with worry for your well-being, you pay it no mind. He offers you his arm and smiles. "Would you like to dance with me tonight? I'm afraid my date is a no-show, and I'd like a word with you." You nod hesitantly, placing your hand on his bicep. A number of people applaud his presence on the dance floor, also nodding to you, his eldest son's close friend. The two of you begin to dance, feet moving in time with the melody of a live musical performance.

"I'm surprised Dick hasn't made a move on you yet." He speaks up suddenly, catching you off guard. "I'm sorry, what?" You crease your eyebrows and search the billionaire's face. He wears a smug smirk as he looks at you, almost pointedly, as if it were your fault that you weren't dating your best friend. "It's just, you too have been quite close for quite some time now. I would expect that he would've asked for an intimate relationship with you. A serious one."

You scoff and let out a sarcastic laugh. "Bruce, you know Dick isn't one for serious relationships. And he certainly does not have an eye for me."

"I suspected the opposite. You're a smart and kind girl. Not to mention, you are a beautiful young lady-" Dick didn't seem to think so. "-Especially tonight. I'm glad you wore the dress Alfred bought you."

"Thank you. I was contemplating on showing up in sneakers." You gesture to your stilettos, looking down at your feet. Your somewhat 'father figure' chuckles lightly. "I thought you might've," is all he says, smiling. His eyes wander up to the ceiling, squinted as if examining each and every jewel that was encrusted in his chandelier. You had broken the last chandelier not too long ago, using a handgun. It was a dangerous situation, in which Ra's Al Ghul planned on kidnapping the boys to join the league of assassins. Just seeing Bruce look up at the webwork of gems, shot a trickle of guilt through your spine, despite your apologies being forgiven already.

You spot Dick and the blonde across from you, laughing happily as they dance. They'll be dancing all night together, assumedly. Being the observant, sharp-eyed person you are, you find it effortless to collect minor details and precision in how he acts. How his nose moves ever so slightly when he talks, the tip of his nose twitching adorably with every motion of his lips forming words. How his smile gleams from ear to ear, charming and contagious. Every one of his scrupulosities was almost enchanting to you.

"Bruce, it's kind of you to think all of those things of me. Really, it is. But I just-" He cuts you off, placing a firm grip on your shoulder, as if to assure you of something. "Please, (y/n). The compliments weren't just to be polite. I think highly of you." Your heart swells at the praise you receive, and you can't help but feel a bit more confident. You hold your head a little higher, like a peacock displaying it's feathers. At least, until he adds "And I think Dick does too."

Of course, being best friends, Richard surely would have thought the best of you. But this is not where Bruce's path of conversation intended to go."No, Bruce. He doesn't see me like you think he does. He never will." You aim to clear up Bruce's clouded judgement. But just as his parents before him were, Bruce is always headstrong. Stubborn. He stands his ground. "I refuse to believe that," he muttered shaking his head. "Bruce." You almost spit out his name, as if scolding a child. It is at your tone of voice, that he finally decides to consider your honest confessions. "I don't understand. You've been with him through everything. You possess all qualities of a smart, kind-hearted, attractive young woman. You're like a daughter to me. I'd find it hard to believe that my son doesn't care deeply for you."

You offer Bruce a sad smile, as your heels still move to the rhythm of the music, in time with his own glossy shoes. "He does care, Bruce. Just not like that." Your eyes lead themselves back to where Dick stands with his new date, laughing carelessly and hysterically. Bruce follows your gaze and attempts to console you, one hand patting between your shoulder blades.

"He'll realise, (Y/N). It might take time, but he'll realise." He nods along with his own sentiment, taking your hand in sympathy. His hands are warm, but not as warm as Dick's. You furrow your brows. "Realise what, may I ask?"

"That he loves you." with that said, he is swooped away by a rather broad man in a fine tailored suit and a monocle. Bruce and the man seem to start talking business, probably about Wayne Enterprises. Dick had told you once that he would loathe to run Wayne Enterprises one day, leaving it to Bruce to pick another son as an heir to his company. You used to laugh at his sarcastic imitations of Bruce in office meetings, acting gruff and obstinate.

But those characteristics never sit well with a man like Richard John Grayson. He was the kind of guy everyone thought to be perfect. 'A Golden Boy,' Jason always called him. And a Golden Boy he certainly was. Whenever Dick strode into a room with that charming, boyish grin of his, it was as if the windows would start filtering slices of pure sunshine. The aureate rays would smooth over the aura of the room with the solace of a warm Summer breeze. His hugs felt the same; warm and comforting. Like home. Of course, being the man he was, Richard Grayson could sweep a girl off her feet in seconds. But not you. You had not been so naive to Dick's book of tricks, refusing to fall for guy who knew how to play the game all too well. You stood your ground and refused to let your mannerism reveal any inkling as to what you thought of him. Except, that was but a facade.

Your insides all but dissolved every time he walked past you. If he was the Sun, then you were Icarus. You loved him too much for your own good. Too close. If you got any closer, the wax wings of your friendship would melt into a relationship that would not mend. So the friendship would have to remain, and let him have his distance. Let your heart ache at his affection towards other girls, whilst the wings flourish. For if the wings melt, so does your heart. You couldn't stand it. You couldn't stand to feel this way, and not have him. You couldn't stand that he would walk straight past you with such ease. If only he were observant as you, he would  see just how much you ached. They say ignorance is bliss, but can it truly be, when the pain feels like this? Dick's ignorance was certainly a manifestation of ecstasy for himself. If only you were just as blind as he was.

"I wish I could ignore you, like you ignore me," you whisper under your breath, secretly hoping that somehow, Dick would hear you.

Taglist: (names with strikethrough means I couldn’t tag)

@bookish-and-shy @avengingnatasha​

[zidian-enthusiast]

Character study: Nie Huaisang

I wrote this a few weeks ago and I didn’t share it here, I’d rather show it before Fatal Journey premieres. Imagery based on CQL’s first episode.

Liquor pours into the small cup. Beyond the closed curtains, in a hall buzzing with activity, an old man tells a story to a young and quite easy to impress audience.

Nie Huaisang takes the cup he just filled and, as if he was drinking to honor someone, he raises it to the empty seat across his own. He downs the wine and its taste is surprisingly bitter. Fond of refined sweet flavors, he finds it mediocre at best. Too disgustingly similar to the metallic taste of blood, in fact, to dare take another sip. 

“Well,” he mutters, smirking. “Isn’t it ironic? Adequate, even.”

No one answers because no one is there, but if there was, he suspects the answer could be a smack that would make him taste blood in his mouth for real. Or, rather, a deafening roar first, one that would make everyone around cower in fear.

“Honorless! Coward! Is this what the QingheNie sect comes to be in your hands? A swindler’s den, backstabbing, plotting in the shadows? Is this what’s left of my teachings?!”

He can almost see him, red in the face, veins popping in his temples, sitting across the table with the poise of the ruler of heaven and hell. He can almost hear him, shattering his eardrums with his furious, hurtful words. 

But in reality, he is not here anymore, is he? And the thing is, Huaisang will never forgive those responsible for that.

“… a man whose deeds are so cruel, it makes this old man’s skin crawl, I’m telling you!” says the voice of the storyteller opening his tale, and Huaisang’s lips curve again, this time into a cold grin.

If the unfair story the man’s telling taught him anything, it’s that cruelty comes in many forms. From the powerful oppressing the weak, and from the wronged weak seeking revenge. Cruelty naturally gives birth to more cruelty, in an endless cycle of pain. But also, cruelty can be born from something as pure as love, too.

He knew that already. After all, Nie Mingjue loved him, and yet, he was incredibly cruel to him.

His brother, who only knew the way of the blade, was devoted to it with a passion that could probably impress even their most strict ancestors. He owed them nothing– if anything, they had to thank them for dooming them to inherit the gruesome fate of this cursed line of cultivators, all dead by qi deviations– but still, Mingjue carried the weight of the entire sect and the risky path of their clan’s cultivation with utmost dedication until the end. 

A man like him would hardly find any appeal on subtle arts like literature, painting or music. Of course, to a man like him, a brother inclined towards those things was an utter disappointment.

“Playing all day with those useless brushes instead of training with your sword! How much longer will it take you to develop your golden core? You are behind your peers for at least four years! I will not stand for you making the Nie clan into the laughing stock of the entire cultivation world!”

And yet, it was Mingjue himself who provided him with the means to play around. It was just the two of them since the beginning, and Huaisang’s fragile life was entirely in his hands– still, even against his own harsh words that more often than not brought tears to his little brother’s eyes, he never denied him any of his whims. For every object he broke and every slap he gave him, he’d always find a way to compensate him later, be it with gifts he’d deny ever giving to him, or any superficial entertainment he’d judge to his little brother’s taste.

Now, none of these actions were any less cruel in Huaisang’s eyes. The act of awkwardly rubbing the wounds he inflicted didn’t make him feel any less frustrated or scared. Simply, at some point, he got resigned to the fact that his brother really didn’t know any better. And as time went by, he also understood it had to be the same for Nie Mingjue; both wanted something from their brother that the other couldn’t provide, and yet… At the end of the day, they still were the only family the other had. 

And, regardless of anything, Nie Huaisang knew, from the bottom of his heart, that his brother would die for him without hesitation if needed– after a good fight, that is. Huaisang liked to think he’d do the same. He wasn’t that confident in his own guts but yes, indeed, he would at least have the intention. 

He never thought it possible, but he had the chance to confirm it. That day, when his heart tore apart as his feet propelled him forward without hearing reason, having to be forcefully restrained by treacherous arms that kept him away from Nie Mingjue as his qi deviation turned him into a formless, bloody mess. 

What hurt the most was that, no matter what, the great Chifeng-Zun, the rightful Nie Mingjue, his dear, only brother didn’t deserve that. Righteous, honest Nie Mingjue deserved a dignified end. 

Nie Huaisang cried, and mourned, and searched, and despaired, and then… he decided.

He could never, ever rule their sect like his brother, so he wouldn’t even try to. After all, all that hard work led him to the same miserable end their ancestors met, why would he follow that? Why try to be a pathetic imitation under the long shadow his brother left? Why stay in the rightful path, offering his back to the same surreptitious knife that stabbed him in cold blood? 

If his love of literature and human understanding in general left him something that the blade certainly couldn’t provide, it was a good eye for deceit. And oh, there was so much of it in this whole image. The mastermind? An artist. His hand, relentless yet soft, made itself the god that decided the fate of so many people. Nie Huaisang could never stand when good art was underappreciated. He was a generous patron of the arts– how could he not give the artist all the credit he deserves?

“…and so, who could say for sure that the Yiling Patriarch… will never walk among us again?”

As if to give the storyteller the perfect climax for his tale, a strong wind makes the curtains of the shop flutter and the crowd gasps audibly.  It ended in such a terrifying note, but luckily, it was just that: a tale! 

Nie Huaisang, however, chuckles softly. After reconsidering, he takes the wine bottle and pours himself another cup. Once again, he raises it to no one.

“I know you won’t enjoy it, but your own story of revenge is about to unfold. Please forgive your younger brother… You know he could never resist a well-written tragedy,” he says in a low voice that gets lost in the crowd’s noise. He drinks, then scrunches his nose. It still tastes like swill, but he downs it in just one gulp, and then stands up.

That disgusting taste like blood would last just a fleeting moment. In fact, by the time he tosses the gold piece to the storyteller and leisurely walks down the street, fanning himself, it’s almost gone. 

The sensation of having his hands sullied by blood, though, will last longer, but he is fine with it. The pieces have been carefully set into motion. He stares into his fan, one of his favorites. He painted it himself long ago. He smiles at it.

He’s a bit rusty, but he is actually a pretty good painter. In fact, he’s sure he can be even better than the other master who provided the right inspiration. Inspiration, just like cruelty, comes in many forms. 

Nothing says he can’t shape it into a beautiful masterpiece, painted with sorrow and love.

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter IX

Lost in Translation

Read the full story on Ao3 HERE

You stood there, sweating half to death, as the priest droned on and on about “Mawage and Twoo Wuv” (he had a very noticeable lisp). You were stuffed into a corset that was much too tight, much too revealing, and your arms were itching from the taffeta. It was awkward and tedious, and you'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Fredrick stood in front of you, oblivious to your discomfort, beaming brightly, and for this reason alone you hadn't just picked up your floofy skirt and walked out.

“If anywon has any Owbjections to this union of man an wife, speak now, ow fowevew hold youw peace” The priest spoke out, and a moment of silence passed over the crowd.

In the distance, the sound of what seemed like barking dogs got louder, and louder..but they sounded odd.

arf! Arf! ARF! ARF!

And then the heavy oak church doors burst open, revealing two massive sea lions, their entrance causing the congregation to scatter. Seagulls followed, squawking noisily. It was complete chaos.

In the centre of the storm, being pulled by the two sea lions, was a wagon with a large fish aquarium. It looked as if Cinderella's fairy godmother had drunk a little too much gin and tonic when granting her wish.

There, seated up to his waist in sloshing water, was Vergil, as handsome as ever, lounging back as if he was King of the Ocean, and looking very dapper with his blue bow-tie that matched his scales. On his wrists were matching cuffs, which on any other man, would look like a knock off Chippendale's dancer, but just added to his good looks.

The pinnipeds made their way to the steps leading up to the altar and stopped. Vergil, calmly and with great conviction spoke loud enough for the priest and the wedding party to hear.

“I object”

“Now listen here,” Fredrick's father, red with fury attempted to say something, but Vergil shot him a glare that could have cut diamonds. The man turned pale, and stepped back, hiding behind his wife. (she was wearing a garish fox stole over a white dress)

Vergil's glare vanished when he saw your face, “Please, my love.... will you choose me instead?”

You needed no other persuasion, as you launched yourself at the man, for a passionate kiss. Vaguely, you could hear your mother shriek “THE DRESS!” but you couldn't care less as you leapt into the tank with him, and with a sound that reminded you of a dolphin click, Vergil commanded the lumbering beasts to turn around and pull the wagon out of the church, leaving the congregation flummoxed at what just happened.

You, on the other hand, were the happiest woman alive......

*****

You awoke, your eyes wide in the early morning darkness.  You could still feel the pressure/pain of the corset squeezing your ribs, despite the fact you were wearing dry, loose fluffy pj’s.  The sickening sweet smell of lilacs still lingered in your nose. It had been so realistic...but it had all been a dream.

So, why did you feel so disappointed?   That the wedding was still going ahead as planned? Or…

You looked over to the surface of the water, almost as smooth as glass, reflecting the dawn sky, purples, pinks and oranges giving the water the appearance of being made of flame.  And at the edge of the inferno, his head resting in crossed arms on the platform, was Vergil, softly dozing. He must have been asleep for some time, as his hair was dry and swept back, aside from a few unruly strands that fell over his face in defiance.  His face looked calm, almost peaceful, and you idly wondered if that was how he truly was in the wild. The more you admired this side of him, the more you…

Oh

Oh no…

You loved him.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, threatening to pull you down into an endless vortex of emotions, both good and bad.

With Fredrick, you felt like you were separated emotionally by a pane of thick glass that could never be shattered.  He’d listen to your problems, but everything was just a credit card swipe, or a written check away from being solved in his mind.  He respected you as a person, but as a partner? Never.

Contrast this to Vergil, who while most of the time, was literally separated from you by a pane of glass, had gotten closer to you than anyone ever had.  You’d laughed with him, discussed human and merfolk culture, tried foods, and built up a closer bond with him, closer than only a few other people including Fredrick .  And now, you were growing feelings for him.

Which led to the turmoil.  You knew there were several roadblocks to your feelings.  First was the fact that you were human, and he was a merman.  Despite the fairy tails, something like him turning into a human was an impossibility (and the fact there was no way in hell Vergil would ever want to).

And you were certain that he would never reciprocate your feelings.  He might be cordial, even friendly with you, but the fact was: he was your prisoner.  Anything he would feel would be tainted by the fact that he could never escape, despite him denying your requests to free him every morning.  (You still didn’t know why he said no, but you remember Doctor Griffon had something called a ‘leash’, did it have anything to do with that?)

This wasn’t right.  You shouldn’t feel this way.  You were practically a married woman, only a month and a half to go.  Fredrick would be home soon, and the final preparations were already in progress.  You couldn’t hurt your fiance like this, you couldn’t hurt yourself, and you certainly couldn’t hurt Vergil.

So, you made up your mind, you needed to set him free.  But if he kept saying no…. Well, you’d find a way to convince him, or find a way to get him home.  That way, he’d be happy and free.

Even if it broke your heart….

A slight splash took you out of your morose thoughts to see the still sleepy, yet piercing grey eyes watching you curiously.  His head was cocked to the side, and for a brief moment you panicked, terrified that mind reading was another merfolk ability.  But you needn't have worried, as he gave you a small smile.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, and you faked a smile, masking everything you felt at the moment.

“Never better” It wasn’t a lie.   Even after the emotional rollercoaster you had been on yesterday, and the most awkward dream (you were pretty sure merfolk couldn’t command sea life), you felt more refreshed than you had in months.  You looked up at the skylight, still flooding the room with burnished bronze.

“I don’t usually wake up at the crack of dawn, it feels weird,” you stretched and yawned.  You got up to make some breakfast, (bacon did sound delish right now), but his hand gripped your forearm, causing you to freeze.  Oh god, merely his touch, which once had been easily brushed off, now had the ability to stop you dead in your tracks.

“I... “ he asked, attempting to put words into a sentence, “I haven’t seen the Dawnfather rise in a very long time, not since my capture,”  your chest caved in at that realization. He’d spent most likely a year or more trapped indoors, and the fact that he hadn’t gone insane was a miracle in itself.  A lightbulb went off in your head. Perhaps, even if he declined your offer of freedom, there might be a way.

“Hey Vergil,” you asked hesitatingly, unsure if he'd get offended, “I have an idea…. I, uh… how averse you are to be being carried?”

******

A few minutes later, you and him were sitting on your back patio, with him wrapped in a wet towel.  Surprisingly, despite his size he wasn’t too heavy to lift, and other than him being a bit slippery, you’d managed to carry him as if he was a fishy bride out of the house, and into the fresh air.  All nervousness you had about him being insulted at being carried around like a prized tuna vanished as he let the first rays of sun hit his face. His eyes closed, his breathing stopped to nearly nothing, and for a moment, you’d thought he’d fallen asleep, but then… he smiled. It was soft, gentle, and absolutely genuine.

“It has been far too long,” he murmured.  To himself, or you, you had no idea. It just made you feel so happy to see him look so content.  You let him sit in the late dawn light in silence for a few minutes, just soaking in the natural light and air, fearing that reminding him of your presence would shatter the moment of calm.  While he’d smiled at you before, this was unlike anything he’d done before. Was he like this in real life, out of captivity? Or was it just the reaction to being outside his little prison for once?  

“I… I can bring you out more often, now that the weather is much better,” you stammered, “Or if you’d like I could just let you go back home…” the sentence hung in the air, lingering for a moment, before being blown away.

“While I appreciate the offer, I must still decline,” his smile did not abate as he looked at you, but there was something different about it, some sort of sadness?  What was he hiding?

A robin chirped and landed a few metres away from the patio, pecking at the dewy soil, before breaking out into a song, as it’s mate came down to join it.  Vergil watched in fascination as the two of them hopped and sang to each other, in a cute ritual of courtship.  

“Do all birds do this?” he queried, “we do not see them very often on the open ocean, they’re usually either feeding or en route to a new location.  Their cries are not as musical, or perhaps they do not sing while on the wing.”

“Not all, some use their plumage to attract their mate, some do dances, some sing, and some do all three” you explained, watching as the birds flew off in tandem, before disappearing into the branches of a nearby spruce tree.  You closed your eyes, enjoying the first rays of sun, and listened to the distant chirping and song. For once, there was no wedding preparation, no business deals, just you, nature….and your feelings for the man beside you. You attempted to shove those intrusive thoughts back into the deep recesses of your mind, including the latter.  ESPECIALLY the latter.

A beautiful melodious sound seeped into your ears, one that confused you.  No bird that you knew of had that crystal clear tenor song. Perhaps you were just imagining it?  You slowly opened your eyes, worried that it would be carried away like a dream upon waking. In the clear sunlight you saw what it was coming from, and you were entranced.  Not a bird, nor the wind, nor a tune coming from your cell phone.

It was Vergil. Singing.

Isil shem’ore

Isil lin’ore

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

D’rashana karif’ore

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

Sa kintal o sa polim

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

His eyes remained closed as he finished the haunting melody, leaving everything else seeming muted and drab in comparison.  You let the silence linger for a few moments, hoping against hope that perhaps he would go into another verse. And also because you had to take a minute to keep the tears from flowing.  You didn’t want to give him the wrong opinion of why you were crying.

“That was…. beautiful,” you slowly spoke, just above a whisper, as you quickly wiped your eyes.  Vergil smiled at you, just like he had when he had taken his first breath of fresh air, and you felt yourself heat up, and you hoped it was because of the intensifying sunbeams.  “That was Old Mer, right? Do you mind giving me a rough translation of it?”

He cocked his head and averted his eyes, and for a brief moment you thought you had overstepped your bounds.  “It’s… an ode to the rising of the Dawnfather, a celebratory song.” “You know,” you joked, “we have legends of the alluring sound of merfolk, whose entrancing songs would lure ships to their doom.  I guess there’s a kernel of truth in that.”

“Well, we never wished to draw attention to ourselves” he explained, “but when you humans are spending multiple cycles alone on your ships, I suppose any source of singing could be considered captivating”

You laughed of the mental image of some poor godforsaken sailors being lured in by a bunch of mermen singing the equivalent of a raunchy ballad. “Well, it’s absolutely gorgeous, would you mind singing it again?  I mean,” catching yourself, “if it isn’t against your customs or anything.”

He chuckled, and closed his eyes, and with that, began singing again, just as beautiful as before.  The only thing that worried you was that he was turning a bit red. You hoped that his stay indoors for such a long time wouldn’t cause him to sunburn.

******

So, for the next few weeks, you’d added a new habit to your morning routine.  You’d wake up earlier every morning, wrap him up in a wet towel and carry him to the back patio to soak up the sunshine.  Occasionally, you’d cook up some breakfast to bring out to him, sometimes you’d just sit out and enjoy the mid spring air.  And every so often, he’d start singing. Sometimes that song, sometimes others, but they were all beautiful. You really liked those times.  You tried to bottle those feelings you had for him, but you couldn’t help it, his smile and singing would reel you back into admiring him.

But not today.  You awoke to a deafening bang, and as you sluggishly panicked for a few moments, thinking an accident happened, before a flash of light from outside made you realize there was no issue, it was merely a thunderstorm.

You padded out, cheap instant coffee in a mug (despite your father’s insistence that you could afford better, your fellow college students had introduced you to your addiction) to the platform to see Vergil already primed and ready to go outside.  There was electricity in the air, and not from the storm.

“Sorry, looks like the weather’s not great for our usual get together.” you apologized, but his eyes seemed different, eager.

“I don’t mind storms, in fact, I enjoy them very much” he replied, “If you are not against the idea, I would like to experience it first hand.”

So, you sat there, soaked to the skin within a few minutes as the rain poured down.  You didn’t mind, especially when you saw the look on his face as the rain and wind hit him.  With the sun, he had seemed the very picture of contentment. But with the storm, he looked practically ecstatic.  There would be no singing today, especially with the howling of the wind and the roaring of the thunder drowning out everything, but you were willing to put your selfish desires away to watch him truly enjoy himself.

“It’s nice to have someone to enjoy the storm with,” you spoke, “my mother was always terrified of the things, father was always too busy, and my friends thought I was crazy to go outside during times like this.”

“I have always enjoyed storms, the sharp divide between the calm of the ocean, and the chaos when one breaks through the surface”  he responded, a nostalgic smile on his face, “my brother and I would enjoy these times as finlings, seeing who could stay above the surface the longest before being swamped by waves.”

“Your brother?”  you stiffened at the revelation.  In all the months you’d known Vergil, he’d never divulged anything about his family.  You’d never asked, letting him have as much privacy as you could give him, but you’d always wondered.  If there were family members, perhaps you could contact them, to find a way to free him safely.

“Yes,” his smile faded, “had you told me that I would miss his annoying presence, I would have said you had been playing with the pufferfish for far too long.  But now…”

“You had a falling out?” you probed gently.

“I suppose that would be putting it lightly,” he grimly explained, “you would have liked him, he was much more friendly with humanity than I ever was, even after….”

“Vergil, you don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t feel comfortable,” you slowly told him, even though you were dying to know about this mysterious family member.

“No,” he replied firmly, his eyes going as hard as the driving rain, “you deserve to know this, after all this time,” and despite being soaked to the bone, and beginning to feel a chill, you focused intently on him.

“I resided with my brother, and my mother and father, most of the time to the north, where there were once innumerable fish.  A few seasons ago,” he paused, refusing to face you, “a ship with one of those infernal nets that scoured the bottom of the ocean passed through, and despite my parents best efforts to evade it, they both got caught up in it.” he took another deep breath, and you held yours. “By the time my brother and I were able to cut through the ropes, it was too late, both were suffocated by the mass of fish that crushed them.” His hand went out and began to draw on the sole dry part of the wood, sheltered by the awning.  “The ship had an unusual design on its hull, instead of the figure of the merfolk in better times, it was three marks…” he drew them out with his wet finger, three circles, one for each corner of a triangle, a jagged line connecting them. Your heart sank. The official logo of Mundus Inc.   “I was furious, I would have sworn to wipe out every damn ship off the surface of the ocean at that very moment.  But,” he pulled up his fins, hugging them close, “I knew that was impossible, so I decided to destroy every ship that carried that cursed mark.  My brother, Dante, soft hearted as he always was, told me that going on a rampage ‘wouldn’t bring mom and dad back’ as he said, but my anger clouded my judgement, so when he attempted to stop me, we fought.  It was a vicious battle, but in the end, I was victorious.”

“You didn’t...” you asked, horrified.

“No, I did not kill him, I’d already lost my parents, I was not going to destroy my last blood relation. We merely went our separate ways.  Although,” he sighed as the wind and rain began to wind down, “perhaps it would have been better had I lost to him, captivity can be rather humiliating,” he turned to you, his smile returning, “at least it hasn’t been as bad as I had feared.  I met you, after all.”

You flushed at his compliment, and you hoped he didn’t notice.  His disdain for your father, and humanity in general now made perfect sense.  Guilt by association flooded you. The fact he even tolerated you was more than you deserved for what the company you were about to take over had done.  And now to add insult to injury, he was being kept prisoner by the killer of his parents. How he had restrained himself from strangling you these past few months was nothing short of amazing.  The leash….. Perhaps that was the key to it all.  

You shivered, partially out of the thought of how he must have hated you, and partially at how chilly you felt, now that the storm was over.

“Are you cold, Sifa? ” his voice intruded into your despondent thoughts.  You looked up, to see him watching you in what seemed to be concern.

“A little…” you admitted, before the thought of what he said, “Sifa? What does that mean?”

Vergil was taken aback, as if he didn’t realize he spoke the word, before cautiously answering, “It’s an old mer term… it means, ‘human’.  Not in a derogatory term though,” he clarified as you picked him up to bring him back into the warmth of your home, “more of a nickname. You do not mind…?”

“I like it!  It sounds so beautiful!” you exclaimed.  Vergil’s reaction seemed to be one of relief, which was odd.

You came back, dressed in dry clothes, and with some time to think.  Perhaps, there was a way to get Vergil to the freedom that he so desperately craved.

Toweling your hair as Vergil scarfed down a plateful of sardines, you ventured, “Vergil, do you think your brother would want to know how you’re doing?”  

He froze, brows furrowed as he thought hard about it.  “He is fairly easy going, slow to anger, and quick to forgive,” he chuckled mirthlessly “a bit too quickly in my opinion.”

He seemed amenable to the idea of reconciling with his brother, so maybe… “If there was a way to contact him, to let him know you’re still okay, how would I be able to give him the message?”

There was an agonizing period of silence, before Vergil slowly reached for the amulet that was around his neck.  To your astonishment, he took it off and handed it to you, like it was the most precious thing to him.  

“This was a gift from our parents, I was given one, and Dante the other.  It was a way for us, being twins to ‘sense’ each other’s presence. Taking this to the ocean should alert him to me, and if he is amenable to a reconciliation, he will come.”  He looked at you, his gaze hard and fixed. “This information is not to be revealed to anyone aside from him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Vergil, I’m honoured that you trust me enough with this”  and he softened, smiling at you, “I swear to you,” you firmly proclaimed “I’ll keep this secret safe.”

*****

It was the third day you had taken out your personal sailboat out into the bay. The fates could not have aligned better.  The weather was perfect for sailing, the last of the wedding preparations had been completed, and your father was still out on business, leaving you with days of free time.  And due to it being mid week, any nosy pleasurecraft were nowhere to be seen.  

Well, it would have been perfect, if the guest of honour had shown up.  Three days you’d been sailing, looking like Captain Ahab searching for your Moby Dick, except he hadn’t appeared.  You’d spend all morning, docking around noon for a quick lunch and a phone call to Fredrick (He was planning to come home with your father, but business would keep him in Japan until the very last moment, much to your dismay), before heading back out, sailing far enough from the shore to give you some privacy, but close enough to the shallows so that it was safe for your small vessel.

Each day ended the same, with you coming home, looking at Vergil despondantly, shaking your head and handing back the amulet for him to keep for the night.   Your failure seemed to affect him as well, and you could have sworn his tail was losing its newly regained lustre. But he would always seem to be hopeful when he handed it back to you the next morning.

So, this afternoon was no different as you fingered the precious gem around your neck.  It felt wrong to wear it like that, but he had assured you that he didn’t mind, and besides, it would be less likely to get lost.

The only difference was that instead of eating a sandwich, or a smoothie, you had treated yourself, and bought yourself a pizza.  So you sailed around the cove, humming the tune that Vergil had sung for you, attempting to take your mind off the fact that you’d seen neither fin nor gill of his brother.  Part of you worried that perhaps this Dante wasn’t as forgiving as Vergil had said he was, or worse, he’d been captured as well....

PHUNK!

You lurched forward, nearly face first into the wheel, as the boat lurched to a stop.  You picked yourself up, attempting to figure out what went wrong. You hadn’t hit anything, as the sudden stop didn’t feel like something blocking the boat, more like something pulling it.  You quickly checked your anchor, assuming that perhaps in your worry, you were unaware that you had set the anchor by accident. But nope, the metal contraption still lay on the stern deck, the chain only mildly disturbed from the sudden stop.

Perhaps kelp?  You closed the box of pizza, before grabbing your jackknife to cut whatever obstruction was holding your boat back.  Heading to the stern, you crouched down to see what the hell was going on. You’d passed this area before, and never had any issues, and yup, even in this shallow water, you couldn’t see much vegetation, let alone anything that could snag your boat.  Taking a deep breath, you plunged your head into the water to get a better look.

Of all the things you were expecting, a pair of eyes, white hair, and brilliant red scales wasn’t what that.  You stared shocked for a few seconds, a few dumbfounded bubbles blurping out of your mouth, before the man’s (who aside from fin colour, looked like a carbon copy of Vergil) hands reached out, and with a vise like grip on your shoulders, yanked you clear off the deck.

You panicked at the sudden submergment and began flailing wildly, but his hands never loosened.

All you could hear, over the stream of terrified bubbles that contained your screams, was a voice echoing through your skull.

Where the Hell is my brother?