#but for now slight color until i can figure out how to break up values better yipepeeeeeeee

[shinotail]

totally haven't been hyperfixed on this game for the past two weeks ahaha

+ some sif portrait redraws under the cut

[imaginingmyloki]

A Shift in Reality

Fandom/universe: Marvel

Pairing: LokixReader

Timeline: AU marvel where its after Ragnarok so Loki keeps his character development and no one dies because infinity war/end game never happened :)

Word Count: 2140

A/N: So this is the first non-requested fic I have written in a long time. Reader’s powers are essentially Daisy Johnson’s powers (earthquake/vibrations for those who haven’t seen agents of shield- if you havent seen it I HIGHLY recommend it!  If any part of reader’s powers being used for certain things get confusing I’ll try to link a youtube video of Daisy using her powers doing the same thing to see a visual of it! But here’s an overview video of her using her powers to do a lot of really cool stuff if you’re interested :) not at all relevant to the story but I have a MAJOR crush on daisy haha). I’m already working on part 2 and it should be posted early next week! Anyways, I hope you guys like it :) and requests are open so if you have any let me know!

“Kid, where are you?” Stark came over coms sounding like a frantic father. “I’m fine, Tony. I’m 26 and I don’t need a babysitter.” I had only been with the team for a couple months. Tony had found me in rough shape, running after escaping from Hydra. After a few weeks healing and training, I had been allowed to go on a few easy missions with the team but always had to stay with someone since I was still learning to control my abilities. Hydra didn’t teach me control, they only taught me to use anger as the driving force behind my power and with powers like mine, that could get dangerous quickly. This was my first mission where I wasn’t instructed to stay with someone the entire time. I still ended up walking with Loki for the first few minutes after everyone splitting up. He and I had become friends since I had moved to the compound. He was the only one who didn’t look at me like he was waiting for me to break or pestering me to talk about what I had been through before joining them. It was supposed to be a simple mission just to gather some intel from an old shut down Hydra base. I turned down a hallway that had a door at the end as Loki turned down one on the opposite side of the corridor. He gave me a nod before we went our separate ways as if to reassure me that I could handle this. I made my way towards the door and realized that it was slightly open and I could hear low talking inside. I paused just outside the door to listen, “There’s at least 6 of them here and probably more outside for backup. We need to hurry up and wipe the server and blow the rest of it.” 

I tried to warn Loki over coms but didn’t get an answer so slowly made my way into the room, staying out of sight of the two men sitting at the bank of computers. As I snuck around a large shelf, something came into view. A bomb that had a timer on it and was counting down. It was hooked to multiple, smaller impact bombs that would go off after the initial explosion disturbed them.This would cause catastrophic damage to the building. We had 2 minutes until it would bring the building down on top of everyone inside. Giving up on staying hidden, I stepped out, hands at the ready, and said “Stop the bomb. Now.” The man at work on the computer continued what he was doing and the man who had an air of authority about him slowly turned to face me and the air in my lungs suddenly went cold. His name was Nelson and he was the man that had been in charge of me when Hydra had me captive. It took everything in me to remind myself that I was in control of myself and I didn’t need to tell him that I was ready to comply with whatever orders he would give me. I was free now and there would be no punishments for disobeying. “Well now if it isn’t my most promising weapon of mass destruction. We’ve been looking for you. The boss is not happy with me for losing you. You took out quite a few high value assets on your way out.” He was smirking and the look on his face made me feel like I was missing a piece of the puzzle. With coms still silent and no sign of anyone coming to help me, the fear started to sink in and the room around us started trembling as I began to lose control of my powers. Nelson chuckled, “Still having trouble controlling the fear, I see. Guess we didn’t quite beat that out of you yet, huh?” I glanced quickly at the timer, a minute and 15 seconds left. Loki suddenly came running into the room, a knife in both hands. Before I could say anything to him, the knives left his hands with a swift flick of his wrist. One took out the man at the computer and the other landed in Nelson’s shoulder. “Go, Loki. Get everyone else out of here.” He ignored me and sent a warning out to the others over coms. Mine was apparently the only one not working. I heard Nelson let out a short laugh at my confusion. “Of course we knew you were here, 9213. We may not be able to hack all of Stark’s tech but we can manage to fry a single com unit.”  Hydra didn’t refer to any of their assets by names. It was either “soldier” for those that they tried to replicate the winter soldier on or by your file number. I was file number 9213. Just as I was about to respond, the bomb went off. Without thinking, I dove towards it and used my powers to contain the explosion. Loki punched Nelson, knocking him out. The exertion of trying to hold the explosion in place was starting to get to me. “Loki, I need to let this go. Is everyone out?” he nodded and I told him to go as well. He didn’t move but I couldn’t hold it anymore so I pushed it as far as I could in the opposite direction of Loki. The force of the explosion threw me into the shelves and just before everything went black I realized that Nelson was nowhere to be seen.

                                              --2 weeks later--

I sighed in frustration as I rolled over and adjusted the pillow for what felt like the hundredth time. Every single time I lay down and close my eyes to sleep since we got back from the mission, I can hear a rhythmic humming noise but when I open my eyes to try and find the source of the noise, it disappears. Giving up on sleep, I made my way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. “Oh for fucks sake, why does Thor keep putting the Oreos on the top shelf?” I grumbled to myself as I climbed up on the counter to reach my favorite cookies and heard a low chuckle behind me. “Need some help with that, Love?” I turned around with my arms crossed and looked down at Loki from where I was standing on the counter. “You could have offered before I climbed up here...” I pouted. After grabbing the Oreos and Loki helping me down from the counter, we sat on the couch together. Loki was almost always awake late at night so we had developed a sort of routine. We sat and talked for a few hours about everything or we sat and read together. Tonight was a reading kind of night but after a few minutes of comfortable silence he said “So what’s been keeping you up this late, Darling? Sleepless nights are my forte but before recently, I rarely saw you up and about after midnight.” I didn’t know how to explain the nonexistent noise that was plaguing me and keeping me awake without sounding crazy. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation I sighed and said “Ever since we got back from the mission a couple weeks ago, I hear this humming noise whenever I am trying to sleep but its almost like I’m hearing it through a wall. It’s muted but loud at the same time.” He gave me a look of concern “You hit your head pretty hard on that mission.. you were knocked out until we got back home to the compound. You should talk to Banner and make sure you’re ok.” I told him I would talk to Banner when he came down from his room. The sun was just starting to rise and I wanted to go up to the roof to enjoy the peace that always comes with the way the sun slowly chases the darkness away. 

I had been up on the roof for an hour, enjoying the quiet with my eyes closed and my face turned towards the sun. This was my favorite place to meditate and destress. After relaxing and getting my mind to go blank, I started to hear the noise again. Instead of immediately opening my eyes like I had been at night, I tried to focus on the noise to see if I could tell what it was. The humming noise started to die down some and I started hearing a slight beeping in its place. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a familiar voice say “(Y/n)? Can you hear me?” but when I opened my eyes there was no one on the roof with me. With the addition of hearing voices added to my list of problems I decided to give up on meditating and head down to the clinic to see Bruce. When I got to the clinic and told him what was going on he gave me a concerned look. After he ran a few tests, Banner came back into the clinic and I could tell by the look on his face that he was just as confused as I was. “Nothing in the tests suggests that there is any residual damage from the hit you took and you passed the hearing tests with flying colors so I don’t think that it affected your auditory cortex.” he said as he sat back in the chair across from me, rubbing his chin in deep thought. I could tell it was truly bothering him that something was wrong and he couldn’t figure out what it was or how to fix it. There was a knock on the door and Loki peeked his head in, “Are you alright, (Y/N)?”  I smiled at him and gestured to the seat next to me, inviting him to come sit. As he sat down Bruce said “So you said you only hear it when trying to sleep or when you let your mind go blank while meditating?” I nodded and he said “OK so I have an idea. What if we try giving you something to help you sleep? You can sleep here in the clinic so we can monitor everything and maybe get some answers on what’s going on with you.” He must have seen the hesitancy on my face because he was immediately reassuring me that I would be 100% safe and looked after at all time. Loki grabbed my hand and said “I will sit by your side while you rest and look after you myself.” This calmed my nerves a bit and I reluctantly agreed. After Bruce administered the meds and I got comfortable, I was beginning to feel pretty drowsy. Loki and Banner had pulled the comfortable couch from the library into the clinic and put nice cozy blankets on it for me. Loki had set up a chair next to me and was quietly reading out loud because he knew it helped to calm my nerves. As I drifted off to sleep the sound of his voice slowly faded and in its place was the humming. I started to notice more noises added to the humming. A steady beeping noise, hushed voices that I couldn’t quite make out, and I swear I could hear someone snoring. I reached up to scratch my nose and heard a gasp. “She moved. (Y/n)? Are you awake? Can you hear me?” I knew that voice. Why did I know that voice? I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. “What the hell is this?” I asked. My hand immediately went to my throat, surprised by how raspy and dry my voice sounded and the harsh feeling in my throat as if I hadn’t used my voice in a very long time. I was surrounded by strangers in white coats. “Who are you? Where am I?” I tried to move but realized I was hooked up to machines. Wires and IV lines getting tangled as I moved. The beeping was coming from a heart monitor next to my bed. I was in a hospital. Did Nelson find a way to take me away from the compound? I raised my hand in an attempt to use my powers and make a run for it but nothing happened. I looked at my hand in confusion and then searched the room for any kind of clue as to what the hell was happening. There was a small tv on in the corner that caught my attention. The team was on the tv. It was in New York and they were fighting aliens. “Is that the news? What happened?” everyone was looking at me. A small woman slowly sat on the end of the hospital bed and put a hand on my foot. The familiar voice from earlier came from her and said “(Y/n), honey, thats just a movie. Its your favorite movie. Remember? The Avengers?”

[ot3]

your last post made me think about how I loooove how you use color in your art, it's so vibrant and full of life and movement and expression! I was wondering if you had any advice on how to do color studies? perhaps doing drawings with limited palettes? or anything similar?

First things first, thank you, I really do appreciate comments like these! this post now also has a follow up for finish limited palette pieces

I'm obviously very fond of limited palette art and color studies/color thumbnailing are great ways to get that done. When people think limited palette there's often the association of unrealistic and fantastical color palettes, but learning to limit your color use absolutely applies to semirealism and just builds stronger color theory in general. I was planning to talk about limited palettes in more realistic color use in this post, but this already ended up way too long. If that's something people want to hear about I can talk about it later.

Color theory basics crash-course! I'm sure almost anyone who has colored anything is familiar with this, so I'll be SUPER brief, but I want everyone to be on the same page for this. Color has three qualities you need to take into account: Hue, saturation, and brightness. Hue is what we think of as the 'color'. Saturation is the vibrancy of this color; how bold or dull it is. Brightness is how light or dark the color is. Here's this all labeled on a color picker I stole from google.

As a rule of thumb, things that look good in color should look good in grayscale. Having a strong range of values (brightness) makes for a strong image. Keep this in mind when you're picking colors – knowing what areas need to be light and what areas need to be dark before you start coloring will make your life easier. I'm going to teach you when and how to break this rule later, but for now let's just talk about picking a palette. I've found five to seven different colors to be a really nice sweet spot for working with limited palettes.

There are three main types of color palettes ill work with and ill provide examples each of them. I expect you to all politely refrain commenting on the amount of homestuck fanart that's here.

Monochromatic, where the piece is all within one color family with slight variations in hue, and larger variations in brightness and saturation

Accent, which is essentially the same as a monochromatic type with the addition of a strong, contrasting secondary color in one or two variants. Normally the accent color is lighter and serves as a highlight. This is not any kind of a hard rule, but is instead just what I like.

Split. There are two (or more) main colors at play, each with a couple of different shades.

Cool. Now lets see how we'd go about making one of these palettes.

 I'm grabbing an inconsequential sketch i've already got and we're gonna slap some color on it. Let's start monochromatic – I've gone and just tossed six pretty random shades of green on it, picking what goes where based on what I want to be light and what I want to be darker. 

Keep in mind, by monochromatic, I don't mean just picking one color and making it lighter or darker! Adjust your hue within the same color family – some of these are very blue, definitely more blue than green, and some are much warmer and yellower. Play around. In this stage I like to have every color on a distinct layer, so I can just recolor the entire layer at once as I tweak the palette.

 On the right, I have each color lined up in order of lightest to darkest just so I can get a sense of what I'm working with. Lets go ahead and call this one thumbnail. Now I'm gonna group the layers, duplicate them, and flatten the copy. I'll shrink it down and shove it off to the side so I can compare it to the other ones I make later.

Okay, I did a few more almost completely arbitrary monochromatic palettes. Here they are compared with their grayscale counterparts. 

All of them have the same number of colors, and lights stay lights, darks stay dark, midtones stay mid consistent between all of them, but the range of values is different between them all. The difference in light or dark between each tone is different and it gives a different mood that you can see even in black and white. None of them is more 'correct' than any other, and it's all about establishing the tone and atmosphere you want. Experimentation is key.

Now lets try making this a complimentary palette. With a strong accent color, your accent should be placed at areas of importance. People are naturally drawn to contrast and when using an accent color in a piece it'll make that area stick out, so make sure you're placing your colors with intent. For this I went back to that first set of greens I had because it was my favorite. Since this palette is over all very dark, I am going to make my accent the lightest color, because that'll stand out more. In a lighter palette, try making your accent the darkest color. Once again I must stress these are not hard rules – there are very few hard rules in art at all – but these are very useful tips for getting emphasis in the right place. This is just an example piece so I'm not being huuugely thoughtful with how I'm placing the color. 

Here's the same image but with the lightest green just swapped out for a far more vibrant accent of yellow. Looks pretty terrible. I don't want all of the papers and blinds to seem so prominent. So let's scrap this and try a different approach. We're gonna instead add our accent as a sixth color to our palette.

By adding another color, I've added another level of detail. Figuring out how to manage detail isn't just dependent on how many colors you have, but this is already going to be ridiculously long so I'll spare you that spiel. This is another one of those things I'll talk about more later if people want to hear my #thots. Using the new yellow accent, I emphasized the eyes, the mug, and added some interior detailing to the objects on the table. I also decided to place yellow in some of the windows of the outside buildings, to add a bit more interest in that area, and to justify giving yellow back lighting to our little goblin lad here, which makes him stand out nicely.

A split palette makes things a whole lot more complicated. Now that you're gonna be working with two different base colors you don't just only have to worry about which one is lighter or darker, you have to worry about how the hues look next to each other. Lets work with an orange on top of our original green here. I picked two of the greens and replaced the darker one with a darker orange, and the lighter one with a lighter orange. Now our palette is six colors split 50/50 between orange+yellow, and green. 

But now something interesting is happening. Let's take a look. If you're particularly keen eyed, you might have noticed that there's a third set of colors here, using a greyish brown in place of the oranges. What's up with that?

Well, what's up with that is, they are orange. The palette on the far right is what happens if, instead of choosing my own oranges, I simply hue-shifted the bluegreens until they were technically orange in hue. 

The oranges I chose just based on how they looked without actually checking the value and saturation of actually changed the value hierarchy of the whole piece. The table, instead of being in between the objects stacked upon it in terms of brightness, is lighter than either. This isnt bad at all – there's absolutely nothing wrong here. It's just important to be aware of things like this! This is why I said a split palette is the most complicated of the three I'm talking about here – in many occasions, the hue hierarchy can top the value hierarchy. Keep that in mind for slightly later.

I think split palettes work really well for comics, and I like to make my comics with split palettes. Whereas with a single illustration, you can just putz around with your color thumbnails until you get something good, for a comic you're locked into your palette once you've done the first page. Unless you're some sort of insanely meticulous person, in which case I envy you, you probably don't have every single page of your comic blocked out with respective values and can't apply your palette to the whole thing at once to test it. This means you'll need a palette that's pretty versatile. Having a split palette where one of the hue sets is lighter than the other overall allows you to decide whether you're going to create an overall light panel with dark accents, or vice versa. I'm gonna compare two palettes I'm using for comics to make this point. 

Here's a sampling of the comic pages in full color, at 0% saturation, and adjusted for grayscale respectively. You'll notice a slight difference between the desaturated colors and the grayscale colors – grayscale seems to hold truer to the full color version, doesn't it?

Now, here are the palettes themselves, and some grids showing the relationship between every pair of colors. When you don't know exactly what you're going to be using any given palette for, the relationship between any two colors becomes more important than ever. The bottom palette is split three ways, red yellow and blue each with a light and a dark, and then a completely neutral dark gray color. I'm using it for a long ongoing ace attorney comic I'm drawing. The top one has 4 shades of blue that go from darker and cooler to lighter and warmer, then 3 shades of orange that get yellower as they get lighter. Underneath is just the values – you'll notice that the top palette has a larger value range, with its lightest color being lighter than that of the bottom palette, and it's mid tones spaced further apart. 

What you'll also notice about the bottom palette is that instead of the reds being lighter than the blues and darker than the yellows, the value alternates dark red dark yellow light red light yellow. Take a look at the color grids. You'll notice that for the most part, every color in the palette on the right looks good with every other color. That's not nearly as true for the palette on the left. The light blue has a weird vibration where it meets either of the reds, and a few of the pairings just aren't particularly pleasant. Honestly, from any objective ideas of color theory, this palette kind of sucks shit. Lets make some adjustments to it.

I've changed the dark yellow and light red hues so now the light red is slightly darker than the dark yellow. That's the palette that's on top now. Looks better, doesn't it? But so now the question becomes why am I using a palette that looks awkward, disharmonious, and visually strained when I know exactly how to fix it? The simple answer is because I wanted a color palette that's awkward. I wanted that visual strain. I have trouble working on comics and general, especially anything as long as this one, and I wanted a color palette that already meant things would come out looking a little bit wonky, so I wouldn't be as concerned with nitpicking all the details and making everything pretty. I think the sort of visual upset also fits the tone I'm keeping with a lot of the comic.

Remember earlier when I said I'd talk about breaking the rule of stuff looking good in gray scale and in color? That's now. Take a look at this image. 

Which of the three colors is darker: the red, blue, or yellow? The stupid truth of it is that there's not really a proper way to tell. All three are technically the same 'brightness' but our brain tells us that the blue is the darkest, and the yellow is the lightest. Why do our brains do this? Let’s make em gray now.

On the bottom you can see what the colors look like when they are set to 0% saturation; as you'd expect it's a homogeneous gray blob. So then what the fuck is going on with the grayscale one? The grayscale one is closer to the way our brains interpret the colors, but we know this to be an improper rendering of their respective values. Which is the correct version, then – the grayscale or the desaturation? Luckily, we're using a computer, so we can have photoshop tell us the exact balance of hue, saturation, and brightness of any given pixel. Let's take a look now.

Wait, huh? We can plainly see that all three of the colors are at 49% brightness. But neither the desaturated value or any of the 3 grayscale values have a brightness of 49%. So what does a brightness of 49% look like?

Okay. Sure. Why not.

All of what I've just shown you regarding grayscale is to emphasize the point that your best judgment for which colors look good is a far better measuring stick for a good color palette than any technicalities. Even if the value is the same, the hue can differ enough that you can still get a beautiful finished drawing. Color and our perception of it is so, so vastly technically complex. You can not allow yourself to be bogged down by this. Simply practice, and color will become intuitive to you over time. I have a lot more I could say on the subject of picking and using your colors, but this is already insanely long. Feel free to ask any follow up questions, I hope this was of literally any use!

[poutyhannie]

warnings: fem!reader, painter!reader, smut, fluff, slight sub!hyunjin, slight soft dom!reader, penetration, face riding, praising

word count: +2.2k

Absent mindlessly stepping over one of the numerous drying canvas strewn around your studio, you make your way to the cabinet, moving aside one of the numerous commission pieces you’ve finally finished. There it is, in the back, fearing the prospect of being abandoned by your touch. Cautiously, your stained hands grip the paint tubes as a giddy smile spreads over your lips. Unlike the drying canisters around you, closed or sealed with half hearted hands, these tubes were abandoned because of their value. And finally, after completing all commissions, you finally have some time to yourself by yourself with your precious paints.

A tumult of colors swirl under your brush, bending and swaying to your will and to create the controlled chaos of your mind. Though your palette almost exclusively resides in the cool tones, gently caressing the monochromatic, this time, your mind swirls as sunflower yellows and deep vermillion tones fill your palette. There’s not much to think about, just a feeling to go off of. Even though you never break out these prized paints, there’s confidence in your unknowing strokes. Soon, a calm forest scene beings to materialize under your brush, maybe in sunset, where the cooling sun’s scorch now exhales over the trees with golden breath. These rays drift through the branches, illuminating the rocks, fallen leaves, and roaming critters…And a figure? You’re not sure when your brush strayed, but there’s a brown streak right at the middle of the canvas, where the light is the brightest and one’s eyesight would be drawn. Snapping out of your painterly haze, you begin scrubbing at the streak, only further spreading it. 

Huffing at this obvious blight on your calm scene, you once again allow your mind to wander and doing so usually leads one of two things. When your thoughts aren’t clouded with art, they’re of him. You’ve never thought to mix the two, always held your affections for the both at separate ends of your life. Perhaps that’s not ideal. The brush is lethargic over the brown streak as the silhouette of a tall man begins to form. There’s a halo of gold around his entire figure and you wonder whether or not to delve into the details of him when a pair of arms suddenly pull you back from your canvas. Heart in your throat, your arm stings from twisting away from the arms until a soft chuckle burns you to a stop in your tracks. 

The amused smile tugs his eyes into crescent moons and his plump lips part in laughter as he squeals, “You should have heard the sound you made! You sounded like a dying horse.” Gasps of laughter continue to bubble from him and maybe your barrage of hits to his shoulder will stop the burning in your cheeks. It doesn’t, however his eyes catch on your canvas, smile immediately dissolving into dumb wonder. Almost reverently, he steps towards it, face close and breath drying the paint as he admires it.

“You like it, Hyunjin?” His pouting smile bursts warmth in your chest. “Yeah, its really different from what you usually do,” upon further inspection, he points a long finger at the still not rendered brown figure, “Is this me? Maybe that’s why its so good.” Though you scoff, he’s being pulled close into your chest by your stained hands. A yelp tears from him and he pushes you off, inspecting the residue paint on his shirt. His eyes roll back as he holds the back of his hand to his forehead, dramatically wailing.

“Noo~This can’t happen! This was my favorite shirt,” the guilty paint only further incriminates itself over his shirt as he rubs at it ferociously. Falling to his knees, he chokes, wringing his hands together at you. 

His theatrics raise a giggle in you and you lean down to tug at the shoulders of his shirt, explaining, “Hey, I have a special paint soap. Take this off.” This stops him dead in his tracks and his eyes are wide and curious as he slips the white shirt off his broad back. Fading pink lines made from your nails a few nights ago decorate his back and you blush, turning away to walk to the sink. Under cool water and the pink bubbly soap, the mark slowly fades as Hyunjin looks over at it, his chin resting heavily on your shoulder. You’re careful to not move too drastically to keep him there. 

“There,” you pat it with a smile, slinging his wet shirt over a clean easel. Hyunjin towers over you, his raven locks falling into his eyes as it takes everything in your will for your eyes to not travel down his neck to his elegant collarbones, lower to his lean abdomen and even lower to the regions you’re familiar with. The air is suddenly to hot, too stuffy and his hands burn as they trace up your face and into your hair. As he leans in, his eyes are dark and hooded, closing as you are pulled closer to his plush, glossy lips. The flavor rolling on your tongue is of something sweeter than coffee mixed with his usual taste. The movement of your lips against his is slow but his hands around your head are firm. Goosebumps raise on his tan skin as you trace your still wet hands across his bare expanse in front of you. Pressing you against the sink counter, his hardening member rubs you, causing you to let out a low, soft moan. His hands move down from your hair to the hem of your paint covered shirt, quickly twisting it off. Lips meeting yours again but you step aside, gently pulling him along to your abandoned canvas. 

His eye cracks open to see your hand fumbling for a paint brush. “No, no, no,” he mumbles against your lips, pulling back with a string of saliva between his swelling lips, “you are so not stopping to paint right now.” “It’s gonna dry,” you whine, turning away from him.

He groans, absentmindedly palming himself through his dark jeans, “You’re seriously just gonna leave me like this?”

Though he pleads to you with big, shining, puppy eyes, his neck is sweaty, his chest heaves, and his abdomen clenches when he moves his hand. There’s knowledge that his pouting holds tremendous power over you and he exploits it fully. 

In an instant, like most of your artistic inspirations usually occur, you make up your mind, returning to face him, brush still in hand. The bristles are rough against his soft skin, tracing a brassy red tone from the base of his neck, over his collarbone, to his shoulder. The sensation of cold, wet paint paired with the wiry bristles leave him gasping. 

“B-but aren’t these your special paints, Y/n?” 

“Aren’t you my special baby boy, Hyunjin?” 

This leaves him shivering and you trace the brush lower, flicking his sensitive nipple. The other side is captured in your teeth and he hisses. Kissing up his chest, you dip the brush back into the paint, this time choosing a light crystal blue that compliments his tan skin. It goes beside the red, mixing in the middle to a bright purple. You feel his eyes on you as you trail the brush lower to his stomach, tracing the lines of his muscles, but careful to avoid his clothes. You’d rather paint Hyunjin than wash his clothes again. 

When your eyes meet, the tender, innocent willingness filling him provokes you to grasp his face tightly. There’s a yellow splat on his cheek as you squish them between your hands, looking up at him, endeared. His lips are even more impossibly plump because you’re squeezing his cheeks and your tongues are hot and suffocating against each other. With one hand, you to unbutton his jeans, pulling down his clothes so swiftly that his hard dick slaps against his stomach. 

Smiling, you kneel, tracing the brush around his trembling, soft thighs. However, the glistening red of his tip, spouting precum distracts you and you grab a deeper blue, smearing it on his hip near his hard member. Above you, whines break out from Hyunjin’s swollen lips, begging you to do something. “Am I not making my baby boy feel pretty? Do you not like me painting you?” 

“No,” he moans, bucking his hips forward into air, “I-I just really want you right now.” 

Feigning ignorance, you cock your head to the side, standing up and placing the brush down on the table. “Hm? How do you want me, baby?” You fingers swirl around the colors, proud that you used these precious paints on someone even more precious. 

“Can you please ride me?” He’s whining, fingers grasping at you. You should resist, not give in so quickly to his pouting, but can you blame yourself? Pushing him down to the relatively clean canvas tarp on your studio floor, quickly strip before straddling his hips, the cool paint smearing against your legs. Firmly, you grasp the base of his dick and line it up with your entrance, making him let out a soft, strangled groan. The stretch is nothing you’re not used to but it makes you double over, your breasts squishing against his paint covered chest as you place a trail of wet kisses on his chest and neck. After giving time to adjust, you start moving, relishing the feeling of his member dragging against your walls. He grasps your hips harshly, paint morphing into bruises. Hyunjin’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut, refusing to feel anything but you on top of him and him inside you.

A high pitched, loud, pretty moan rips from Hyunjin’s throat when you quicken the pace, lifting up till he was barely inside you and ramming your hips back down. “You like that, baby boy? You like it when I’m riding you fast like this?” 

He nods, whining loudly and embarrassingly. 

You tsk, “If you keep being that loud, my studio neighbors will hear, kitten.” Deep inside you, he twitches and your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “Oh, does my baby boy like the idea of that? You want everyone to see how pretty you are under me and hear these noises you make? God, you’re beautiful.” 

His hands wander from your hips to your bouncing boobs and a spark burns through you at the contact. “I want everyone to hear that I’m just yours, Y/n. I’m your pretty baby boy,” he gasps, out of breath and chest heaving. Sweat causes his chest to glisten golden, just like your painting and you lean down to kiss up to his cheeks. 

“That’s right, baby. You let me paint you up because you’re mine.” 

“Y-you use your nice paints on me t-to make me,” he gasps softly, “to m-make me pretty.” 

You shake your head as your thighs burn and the sound of slapping skin intensifies, “You’re already pretty, baby. My pretty baby boy,” your hand goes from gripping his hips to caressing his sweaty face and his expression twists into pleasure as he cries out. “P-please! I’m g-gonna cum,” he continues to gasp, his eyes rolling back, “c-can I c—” 

“Cum for me, baby boy.” At your command, he shoots deep and hot into you and you continue to ride on him, chasing your own high as the wet, slopping sounds compound at the introduction of his cum. When you clench around him, electricity sparking through you, he cries out again, overwhelmed by the stimulation. Still riding out your high, he’s trembling under you, eyes glassy from pleasure. The paint on his chest is swirling, disrupted by his sweat and you carefully lift yourself off of him, juices dripping out of you.

“Can you please sit on my face?” Though his eyes are glassy and almost rolling back into his head, he firmly grabs your hand, tugging you down. Though the burning of your recent high overwhelms you, you lower your dripping core onto his eager, outstretched tongue, your thighs squishing his cute cheeks together. The stinging pleasure of overstimulization burns through you but you stay in place, gasping as his hot tongue makes short work of your used hole. His tongue rolls along the outside of your walls and clit, gathering the juices before plunging into you as you gasp. Thrusting and rolling his tongue inside and out of you, he pulls you closer to your second high, crashing over you from overstimulization.

The trembling of your legs barely allows you to get off of him but when you do, you collapse next to him, panting hard. The burning white pleasure of your second orgasm leaves you light headed as Hyunjin takes care of you, getting up to grab a paper towel because he doesn’t trust any of the paint stained towels you have in your studio. A wide, adorable smile spreads across his face as he watches you in post bliss. “It means a lot that you’d use your special paints on me, Y/n. I know you like, never bring those out.” 

Your lips fumble into a smile at him and you stroke his cheek, leaning to gently meet his lips with yours, the residue of both your highs on his tongue. Its soft and slow but not any less intimate as you caress his shoulders, tracing the paint down to intertwine your hands. “You’re beautiful, baby boy.”

[shirophantomvox]

Any Advice?

What’s up y’all? I’m here with another story from the prompt : Alfor learns Zarkon is getting married by @vld-prompts. Enjoy! 

The red sky on Planet Daibaazal seemed rather darker than usual. This was a beautiful darker shade of red. The sky was a beautiful ombre blended red to dark red with the sky full of stars. The sky and ground suddenly were full of light brown dust, quickly flying and dissolving in the air.  Out came the creator of Voltron; King Alfor of Altea. He nearly ran up the many stairs of Daibazaal to meet his friend on the platform. When he removed his helmet, Zarkon looked rather upset than content like he usually did. The snow-white haired king frowned, shaking his head. Zarkon had everything he wanted at his fingertips; what could he possibly be upset about?

“Is something wrong, Zarkon?” 

The King saw that he had something folded in his hands, his fists were clenched; hard. Zarkon looked flushed; so flushed as if he’d seen a ghost. 

As the two friends were on their way to the “Board Room”(The board room is a  room where Zarkon had important meetings with his high ranking generals), everyone was running up and down the halls with flowers, table cloths, balloons, and other elegant party favors trying to place them in their necessary places. The inside of the Galra Palace already looked fabulous, but these gold and red decorations made the little details pop. It was customary that no later than 1 phobe after a proposal, the groom has to provide a “welcoming dinner” for the brides’ family and close friends. This was done so that the “strangers” could be quickly acquainted. This event happened up until a movement before the wedding. Galra weddings were slightly different than the ones on Earth. Both the groom and bride wear matching colors of red, black, and gold while the audience wore just purple, pink, or white. Instead of the bride having a veil, she wore a flower crown full of her planet’s most popular flower. This symbolized delicacy and trust. The groom also wore a flower crown full of red roses. The roses symbolized love and commitment. Instead of reading vows, they light three candles; each symbolizing hope, faith, and encouragement.  It could be said that the Galra valued relationships more than any species in the universe. Alfor had asked Zarkon over and over what was bothering him but he kept skurring around the question. 

“Zarkon, you didn’t answer my question. What’s going on? Why is everyone running around like their heads are cut off?” 

“Boy, you can’t just let it go, can you?”

“Well, you’re acting rather strange.”

“How?”

“Well for starters, you haven’t said anything to Blaytz about him asking the server for his fighting schedule.” 

“I’ve never minded that.”

“You’re lying. Dare I ask? Why are you being so...nice?”

“What? I’ve always been nice!”

“No, you haven’t. You’re very stern.”

Alfor folded his arms and gave Zarkon the stare of slight intimidation. He wasn’t going anywhere until the tea was spilled.  

“Very well. I’ll tell you.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Don’t make a big deal about this but...I proposed to Honerva 3 movements (weeks)  ago.” 

Alfor eyes widened and his mouth dropped nearly to the ground. His reaction was priceless! The King was rather surprised that his stern, follow-by-the-book friend had found love and that he was actually going to pursue marriage for love rather than seeking out a bride. You see, for several deca-phobes, each Emperor, Prince, and Princess would be matched with a partner to marry but Zarkon decided that he would no longer participate in that tradition. When he was a prince, his father tried to arrange for him to be married to a woman that attended the same military school as him. She was very nice and sweet, but he did not love her and she didn’t love him. Some Galra didn’t hesitate to tell  Zarkon about how disappointed they were once they found out that he was breaking tradition. It was more surprising that he was going to marry Honerva of all people. She was free-spirited in a way; not only did she enjoy learning and teaching others about science and the endless solutions it provided, but she also enjoyed her free time and did whatever she wanted. Zarkon on the other hand lives his life on a narrow path. He trained day and night and when he did have free time, he spent it hiding from Kova. Well, you know what they say...opposites attract. 

“That’s wonderful news! I saw her yesterday. Why didn’t she say anything?”

“I told her to keep it a secret. I was planning on telling you all once you came over for dinner. I wasn’t expecting for you to stop by so early.” 

“Well, cheer up! Marriage is a great thing! You’ve found your other half!”

“I’m aware of that I’m just...I don’t know...nervous…?”

Alfor laughed. Is this coming from the strong-willed Emperor Zarkon? No way. 

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Forgive me Zarkon.  You are one of the most powerful leaders in the known universe. What do you have to be nervous about?”

“I may be powerful, but a charmer? No. I’m not funny like her. She’s smart and beautiful but me? All I can do is lead the military and that’s it.” 

“Obviously, there’s something that she likes about you. Whenever we met for our morning meetings for the last 12 phoebs (months), you were all she talked about! She said you had a sense of humor!”

“Huh?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just pulling your string, Zarkon. She said that your ability to lead shows how much you value the people around you and how you care about their safety and wellbeing. Don’t be so hard on yourself, my friend. Everything will be ok.” 

“I hope so. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” 

Zarkon pointed to a room where he and Alfor entered and sat in two cherry red comfortable cushioned chairs. 

“What’s going through your head?”

Zarkon sighed and wiped his face. 

“How were you able to confess your love for Melenor in front of a crowd of people without tearing up?” 

“I imagined that we were alone. If you tear up, that’s ok! It’s perfectly normal to cry. Just look into her eyes and speak from the heart.” 

“I know...but--”

“I’m sure you did that when you proposed, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I have another question.”

“What is it?”

“How did you get through your...honeymoon?” 

Alfor smiled and raised a brow. He was a genius by day and a freak by night. 

“I can’t advise you about that. That’s something you and your wife will have to figure out.”

“How?”

“You’re overthinking it. Just wait for you two to be alone together in 5x5 room. Remember how you felt when you kissed her fo the first time? Multiply that by 10 million. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” 

Zarkon sighed in relief. Talking to his best friend made him feel so much better and more confident. What’s better than putting that confidence to the test? The door flung open and there stood a woman dressed in a purple gown and a purple hat with a beautiful flower on it. This was Zarkon’s royal advisor; she was his public representative. 

“Sir. Honerva is here,  awaiting your presence.”

“She’s here now? I told her--”

A heavenly sound came from behind this woman’s head. So quiet and elegant, I might add. Zarkon already knew who it was. He stood up straight and proceeded to the threshold of the door. 

“May I come in?”

Her bright blue eyes were piercing through his soul. She smiled because she was finally going to have some alone time to talk about their future and any other arrangements.  Her Altean markings began to glow as she began to scratch Kova on his stomach. She knew Zarkon hated Kova, but this was her way to pick at him in the most loving way possible. 

“Please, do.” 

[dearlazerbunny]

If/When/Then

Pairings: Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Genre/Ratings: Five Times trope; G, mentions of severe anxiety

Words: 4200

Summary: Or, five times Kyoya didn’t kiss you (and the one time he did)

WARNING: the last bit gets a little angsty

One

“Kyoya. I swear to god. Can we please just-” you rub your eyes exhaustedly, trying to get the harsh blue glow of your laptop out from under your eyelids- “take a break? Or better yet, call it a night?”

The boy sitting across from you on the sofa glances up, his work reflected in his glasses. “How many words do you have?”

“Kyoyaaaaaaaa-”

“Y/N. How many words?” His tone is partially amused but mostly paternal, like he’s asking a small child how many candies they snuck before dinner. If you weren’t so brain dead it’d piss you off, but as it is you’re mostly just petulant.

“Um… three thousand and… something?”

A slender finger pushes his glasses further up his nose. “And the minimum word count is…?”

“You damn well know,” you mumble, before letting your head drop into your hands. One of your elbows is resting on your keyboard, leaving a long trail of jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjs across your half-finished essay.

“What was that?” A socked foot aims a kick at his shin, but your aim goes wide and he dodges it easily. “I believe the answer is six thousand.”

You give a long, heartfelt groan.

Kyoya sighs. He can easily knock out an essay in under an hour, while you require a little more effort- and a lot more bribery. Even if English is one of your best subjects, he knows sitting here for the past few hours laboring over a boring political comparison has to be dragging on you. And he’s been too caught up in his own work to even try to keep your spirits up- something he’s now regretting, seeing the usual sparkle in your eye dull to something uncharacteristically quiet.

“Here.” He reaches over the edge of his perch and feels for the basket of blankets he knows will be sitting there- his sister has a fondness for being wrapped in a minimum of three layers at all times. Carefully, as so not to disturb his own precious computer, he reaches over and drapes a loose-knit woolen beauty over your lap. He even takes a second to tuck the ends over your toes. You watch, fascinated, so used to his fingers tapping out mile-a-minute documents in a harsh staccato that this moment of softness seems unreal. Maybe you’ve already fallen asleep and are dreaming, or it’s a particularly nice sort of 2AM hallucination. Kyoya notices you staring- of course he does, he notices far too much about you nowadays to try and convince himself he only values you as a friend- and very pointedly looks anywhere but your gaze. He’s not sure he could look away if he caught your eye now, hazy with sleep and reflecting starlight from the nearby open window. “Better?”

“Um- yeah.” You settle a little further into the cushions. “Thanks.”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Of course, when he glances over at you not ten minutes later, you’re fast asleep, laptop precariously close to toppling to the floor. He rescues it and saves your work before shutting it down. There’s a slight smile on your face as you dream, and the overwhelming urge to lean over and press a kiss to your forehead makes Kyoya stop still.

His fixation on you has grown over the past few months, that much is clear, but he hadn’t predicted them to progress this quickly this fast. He has his grades to maintain, a club to run, and a company to prepare for. He shouldn’t have time for silly distractions, like categorizing exactly how peaceful you look curled up next to him, or reaching out and brushing a piece of hair out of your eyes.

He shouldn’t. And yet, he does- he always will, for you.

Two

“Remind me again who said this was a good idea?” You squint your eyes as you turn your face towards the sky, which is lit by a brilliant sun. The Host Club is hosting on location this time- a beautiful stretch of beach peppered by towels, umbrellas, waiters offering fruity drinks, and a couple hundred squealing girls. You know. Relaxing. “I think I might like to punch them.”

“You might talk to Mori about a healthy and productive way to manage your rampant anger issues.” You snort and roll your eyes, which in turn makes the corner of Kyoya’s mouth tick up. He’s under an umbrella nearby, neatly marking down figures on his notepad. “Besides, I thought you liked the water.”

“I do, when it’s not so…” you gesture to the gaggle of twenty or so girls nearby, all primping and twisting in their bikinis to hopefully catch the eye of their favorite host- “crowded.”

“Ah.” He can sympathize with that. The smell of salt and brine takes him back to childhood, with the two of you making castles in the sand and pestering the other with seashell-finding competitions. Beach days were lazy days when your parents couldn’t be bothered to have either of you in the house, but to the two of you they were worth their weight in gold. Today, as he watches you stretch into the heat, his childhood friend is overshone by the you of here and now. You’re gorgeous in a simple one piece more stunning than any of the frills the other guests are wearing and hair in a sea-woven braid dangling down your back. Likewise, the Kyoya of here and now is having some thoughts that his five-year-old self have would never even dreamt of.

“I’m going swimming. If I don’t come back in an hour, tell Tamaki it’s his fault for dragging us all out here.”

“Hm? Oh,” Kyoya clears his throat. “Yes, of course.”

You throw him a glance- is he acting strangely? You can’t quite tell; it might just be the heat- before jogging off towards the waves, well away from the party as a whole.

He watches you go, and thinks about going with you, before a guest trills his name and his attention is dragged back to where he doesn’t want it to be.

At the end of the day, the crowd has left, and the club gets a precious hour or so of pink sky and calm surf to themselves. Hikaru, Kaoru, and Haruhi are searching the shoreline for shells and sand dollars; Mori is hauling damp sand for Honey’s massive sand castle; and Tamaki surveys all of them like a proud father. You and Kyoya are sitting a little away, just close enough to the water to let it kiss your toes. “This is more what I remember,” you murmur, a smile on your face, and Kyoya digs his fingers into the sand so they don’t accidentally wind their way around yours like they want to.

“Oh, here.” You pluck your friend’s glasses from his face and use the towel draped loosely over your shoulders to wipe the lenses. When you hand them back, Kyoya has a bit of a stunned expression on his face, making you giggle. “Sorry. They had salt on them. Seemed like it would annoy you.”

“Indeed,” is what he says, willing his tone to be nonchalant or at least neutral. What he wants to say is, do you remember when we were eleven, and you tried the same thing? You ended up getting knocked over by a wave and lost them in the ocean. I was so mad at you, but I still had to hold your hand on the way home so I wouldn’t fall. You didn’t let me trip. Not once.

If he were a braver, bolder, better person, he’d kiss you right now, and see how you taste like salt and sunshine and memories. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t- he lets the Hitachiin twins, who are sneaking up behind you, douse you in water instead. He lets you shriek at them and take chase, threatening to drown them both, breaking the moment and leaving him sitting by the sea alone to remember what was and what might be.

Three

It’s safe to assume that Valentine’s Day is never a dull affair in Music Room 3.  

Everything is decorated with lace and delicate crystal trimmings; the roses are even more bountiful and in every color the human eye can see. The attire is more formal than usual, the cheeks rosier and the lips pinker, and it tends to be the one day when the hosts receive more than give.

Each of their tables is piled high with gifts, cards, baked goods swirled with elaborate frostings. Even though Tamaki keeps insisting that the girls should be the ones receiving sweet nothings, not the hosts, you can tell he’s more than pleased by the growing mound of sentiments slowly dwarfing the other boys’. As it should be, Kyoya supposes.

Honey’s haul is mostly sweets, naturally, and this year Mori also has a surprising armload- apparently one of the only times his admirers hear him speak is when he says ‘thank you’, leading to multiple gifts just so they can hear his voice more than once. Hikaru and Kaoru’s combined mountain looks more like a dragon’s treasure horde than a pile of presents. Haruhi adamantly refused everything until one guest brought her a particularly excellent platter of fish, based on the way she’s been sitting in the corner with her cheeks stuffed for the last twenty minutes.

Kyoya notes all of this with a vague smile, adjusting his calculations and trajectories for the next few months to match the turnout. Valentine’s Day is one holiday he can generally sit out. Sure, there’s a small stack of cards and remember-me’s on the sofa next to him, but his persona as the analytical and aloof host tends to leave him further down in the ranks than the other boys. Which is just fine with him, if he’s being honest- he has manners, but being constantly charming is tiring at best and egregiously aggravating at worst.

“Mother Dearest, it appears you have another card to add to your beautiful collection!” Tamaki flounces over in his wine-colored suit, at least thirty guests in pursuit. “It doesn’t come with a giver, unfortunately- oh! Perhaps you have a secret admireeeeeer!” He wiggles his fingers excitedly and hands over the card with a flourish. “How exciting! A mystery for Valentine’s Day!” His groupies sigh and fan their faces, overcome with the romance and intrigue of it all.

“Thank you, Tamaki,” Kyoya says drily, nimbly plucking the proffered gift from the boy’s fingers. “Please, don’t ignore your guests on my account.”

“I would never! Each and every one of my princesses mean the world to me!” As he and his followers fade back to the other side of the room, Kyoya props his glasses back up on his nose and curiously slides his thumb under the flap of the envelope. It’s a plain white paper, not embellished with hearts or gemstones or ribbon or any of the other garish decorations usually attached to such a thing. The card is similarly simplistic, with only a pencil-sketched heart on the outside and a greeting that reads, “To My Favorite Host.”

Interesting. Perhaps there’s a mystery here after all. He flips it open, not sure what to expect- and immediately has to keep himself from laughing outright. Inside is a crude sketch of two stick figures- one has comically large glasses drawn on its blank face to helpfully distinguish itself as the Kyoya of the pair- and note in chicken scratch: You’re such an asshole, but I guess I love you anyways.

Only one person could be responsible for such a thing. After all, you were never renowned for your artistic talents.  

…

“I got your… note.”

You don’t look up from the book you’re paging through out in the courtyard underneath a spectacular old tree. The leaves frame you beautifully against the afternoon sky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mmm. I found the art particularly museum worthy.”

Now you smile a bit. “Well, you’re a museum worthy sorta guy.”

“Favorite host is quite the compliment.” He’s getting dangerously close to… something; toeing a line he hasn’t touched before, and it’s making his heart race.

“Don’t get too cocky. Mori’s still got like, an eight-pack.”

Kyoya sits beside you, careful to leave several tree roots between you and him. “Why a valentine? I see you every day; you could have just told me yourself.”

“I dunno.” He fixes you with a look, one that says sure, I believe you. You give a halfhearted shrug, shoulder almost brushing Kyoya’s. “I went by the music room. Everyone else had, like, mountains of stuff and I just… felt like you were under-appreciated, that’s all.”

“I see.” A beat passes with nothing but the wind ruffling your hair. “That’s… kind of you.”

Now you do close the gap between the two of you, nudging your knee against his. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Four

Your laugh, Kyoya thinks, is the best thing he’s ever heard.

You’re draped over the edge of his bed, head towards the floor, giggling wildly to yourself as you mutter an inside joke that only make sense to you. Your cheeks are flushed, and the bottle of alcohol you snuck into Kyoya’s room is sitting a few feet away, half full. He’s had a few sips, but he isn’t much for relinquishing his mental faculties so easily. It’s tempting, though, what with you so lazily tapping his shoulder or nudging his side to get his attention- it’d be so easy to demolish all his carefully crafted walls and drown in you.

But someone has to be the responsible one- and if he’s honest with himself, the thought of you or he regretting what happened in the dead of night come light of day makes him sick to his stomach. So he sits primly against his headboard, the computer on his lap a boulder pinning him to his spot, only glancing at you every so often to make sure you haven’t tumbled off the bed completely, despite your absolutely intoxicating mood coaxing him closer and closer to throwing caution to the wind.

“-and you’re just… you’re just a good person,” you continue, meandering through your thoughts. “Like, seriously. Why do you have to be so amazing. It’s so goddamn annoying.”

He desperately hopes you’re too out of it to notice the reddening of his own cheeks. “I am hardly what anyone would call ‘good.’”

“Lies! Lies. And. Slander.” You emphasize every word with a poke to various parts of his body- his big toe, his elbow, his knee. “Like- okay. What are you working on right now?”

In actuality he’s browsing through the Ootori Group’s latest research and development journals, evaluating their recent findings and sifting the unimportant from the extraordinary. But you’re most likely far too gone to actually understand any of that, so instead he just generalizes: “refining new data from the company.”

“Yeah! You wanna be a fucking doctor, that’s like- that’s amazing!”

Kyoya quirks an eyebrow. “You do realize my entire family is in the medical profession.”

“No, your entire family throws their money at the medical profession.” You wave a finger in the air like a drunk scientist hypothesizing their theories. “There’s a difference.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“No, listen you jerk!” You haul yourself up and place yourself face-to-face with your best friend, close enough that Kyoya can see the intensity in your eyes. “It’s one thing to pay for shit, it’s another to actually be in the room when someone is having a heart attack and wanting to save their life. You care. More than anyone I know. And that makes you amazing.” You let out a rush of air, the sudden verve in your words having worn you out. “I dunno. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense. Whatever. I’m gonna lay down.” You curl up next to his knee and half heartedly arrange a blanket around your legs before falling asleep.

Meanwhile, Kyoya’s gaze has never left your face. The words may have been spoken by a loose tongue, but anyone could hear the honesty in your voice and see the passion in your eyes. You really think that much of him? Or rather, could you possibly think as much of him as he does of you?

He wishes he could shake you awake and ask you to elaborate. He wishes he could tell you that if he’s amazing, you’re a supernova. He wishes he could get drunk and fall asleep next to you while pressing lazy kisses anywhere he can reach.

His reaches for the bottle, but his fingers barely brush the glass before changing course and clicking off the lamp instead.

Five

God, I hate these things, you think to yourself as you tug on the straps of your dress. You’re not quite sure if you’re referring to the pins sticking your scalp, the uncomfortable formal gown you’re squeezed into, or the entire event in general- actually, it’s most likely all of the above. As much as you love Kyoya and the rest of the boys, you adamantly refuse to attend any of their grand balls. You’re not a fussy person, so the general pompous air of the things always gives you a headache, and you hate wearing dresses anyways. But today you zipped yourself into a slinky black sheath number that’s long enough to hide tennis shoes under the hem, forced your hair into something presentable, and even threw on a little mascara.

Because of Kyoya.

Kyoya, who mentioned in passing that this was the best celebration he’d ever planned, and seemed extremely proud of it to boot. Kyoya, who always grumbles as he slips on his suit, wishing he could spend the night with his charts and figures instead. Kyoya, who always returns to school the next day more stressed than usual, a tight smile plastered on his face as he fends off hordes of fangirls.

The things you do for this boy.

It’s immediately clear when you arrive that you stand out in your ebony gown, a wisp of smoke and night sky amongst a sea of flouncy pastels. Luckily, each of the boys steps up to greet you- a sweet hug from Honey, carefully avoiding wrinkling your dress; good natured teasing from the twins; a particularly extravagant complimentary poem from Tamaki. Eventually you meet Haruhi at the table laden with food, grateful for someone down to earth to laugh with.

After an hour, you’re almost convinced Kyoya finally worked up the nerve to skip the event altogether when there’s a delicate gap on your shoulder. “Would you care for a dance?”

“No,” you say, because that’s what you always say when Kyoya asks you to do something (even if he knows you’ll do it anyways). He smiles and takes your elbow, ignoring the whispers and glares from the other guests- who is she? What makes her so special? Everything, he wishes he could tell them. So many things he it would take him years to count them all.

“I thought you hated these things,” he says when you’re safely tucked in his arms on the dance floor. The fabric of your dress shimmers softly, as though marking you as something uniquely precious amongst all the other attendees.

“I do,” you reply. You’re slowly taking his lead, following the waltz music played by a six-piece orchestra. “But I think you hate them more, so I figured if anything I could help put you out of your misery.”

“Hm. Poisoned boutonnière, perhaps?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of hiding up in the rafters with a blowdart gun.”

Kyoya chuckles, sweeping you along. You’re not a bad dancer, all things considered. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness, though that might be difficult given your choice of attire.”

You grin at him playfully, raising your hem up just enough so he can see your battered old sneakers on your feet. “Nah, I always come prepared.”

It’s such an odd juxtaposition- this beautiful girl in the sinful dress accessorizing with sharpie-covered shoes that are peeling rubber- he can’t help but laugh, a real laugh, perhaps the first one he’s given since the night began. Even out of your element, you still maintain something that is so quintessentially you. He wishes he could tell you how beautiful you look. He wishes he could nudge your sneaker with his dress shoe in a secret invitation to follow him somewhere quiet, to steal small fleeting moments that would make the whole night worth its while.

He thinks about this every time you scuff your feet, hearing the slight squeak of rubber against the polished tile floor.

And the beginning…

“Stop it, Kyoya,” you grit out through a clenched jaw, using all your strength to unfold your friend’s fingers from his bloody palms. His fingernails have dug so far into the skin they’ve left bright red crescent moons dotting his hands. You focus on those, trying to soothe the sting with the fabric of your shirt, because if you look at his face and the tears crawling down his cheeks you’ll start crying too, and that’s not what either of you need right now. “Just talk to me. Please.”

No response. He’s trembling as though there’s a blizzard only he can feel, so you sit him on your bed and wrap him in every blanket you have, leaving his hands free so he can clutch at yours like a lifeline. “Just focus on me, okay? Everything is fine.” You try to keep your voice steady as you murmur anything reassuring you can think of, trying to coax life back into his eyes. You knew his anxiety had gotten worse, but this… this is the most catastrophic yet. You sit cross legged in front of him, so close your knees brush his, and hold onto his fingers for dear life. “Keep breathing. I’m here. It’s all okay.” Please please please come back to me. Come on, Kyoya. Don’t let the demons win.

Slowly, piece by piece, something in him seems to uncoil. His grip lessens just a little, and his breathing becomes audible enough to reassure you he’s still with you. Gently, you put a hand to his forehead, then cheek, testing his temperature. “Hey. You with me?”

Something like a sob escapes his lips, thin and heartbroken. Your own shatters along with it. In an instant you have him in a hug, arms as tight around him as you can possibly manage. Kyoya tucks his head into the crook of your neck, practically collapsing on top of you until you aren’t sure where he stops and you start. He says your name over and over and over again, a hymn only he can hear. You press your lips to his temple just to reassure yourself he hasn’t left you and let him cry; only able to offer comfort in presence and spirit. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your skin, and you hold him tighter.

“I’m always here. You know that.”

He sniffs and wipes away a tear with the heel of his hand, wincing when the salt burns his cuts. “Idiotic. I apologize for… all of this.”

“Stop,” you say firmly. You bring his eyes up to meet yours, so he can see the fire in your gaze. “You have nothing to apologize for. Ever. Okay?”

Kyoya stares back at you, feeling small and worthless against the monsters in his own brain. Every second spent with you banishes them a little farther back into his mind, loosening the vises wrapping his chest and letting him breathe a little easier. It has almost consumed him today, so he ran to the only safe place he knows-  you. And you had held him and wiped his tears and not for a single second judged him for falling apart.

It occurs to him you are one of the few people on earth who see him for who he truly is, and will still hold his hands anyways.

Ever so gently, he presses his lips to yours- soft, tentative, and barely there. It’s a thank you, and offering, and a question all at once. It’s not the grand romantic gestures he’s planned late at night, wanting to sweep you off your feet in a shower of confidence and joy, or even really a conscious decision- it’s instinct, want, and something like bittersweet love.

You blink at him, eyes wide. “Kyoya… I-”

He stills. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, bringing a hand up to press your fingers against his cheekbone. “Don’t ever be sorry,” you say again, and then you kiss him back. You kiss him like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do; like you’re saying to him what took you so long, you idiot?

He doesn’t know. But he won’t ever make that mistake again. He’ll kiss you every day for as long as he lives to make up for all that lost time, all those late nights and seaside musings and dances with a hand on the small of your back.

When the sun rises, it illuminates a world of a thousand new possibilities.

[raqnguyen]

The Dragon Game, Book 1, Chapter 1 (Prologue)

Mono opened his eyes and saw nothing but black. It was a bright type of black, maybe better described as an extremely dark gray. The monotony of the color made it hard to perceive depth. He couldn’t tell if he was in a room or not, whether there was a wall near or far. 

Where was he? Was this a dream? He looked around but only saw the same gray in all directions. He guessed it was a dream — though he’d never experienced one this lucid before. That was the last time he ate Smith’s cookies before bedtime, he vowed. This dream was trippy on an entirely different level.

Wasn’t something supposed to happen? It was so quiet that Mono could hear his own heartbeat. The quiet drum gradually grew louder and faster as he continued to search for something that could help him orientate himself. The lack of sensory input made the atmosphere feel cramped, quickly growing claustrophobic, and he hated the feeling of being trapped. 

“Let there be light,” he joked out loud. It was both a joke and wishful thinking; anything to break the silence and lighten the mood. There was a slight echo but not enough to help him determine anything about his surroundings. What was this place? Mono was getting a bit panicked now. He really, really hated the feeling of being trapped. 

Suddenly, a bright light flashed and a woman appeared wearing a white dress. She was floating, gradually descending with her eyes closed and arms outstretched as if in imitation of angels found in paintings. She spoke in a light yet serious tone.

“Hello Yamada, and welcome to Passing. Unfortunately, you died saving that girl from the automobile accident.”

As her descent brought her closer, Mono could make out more details about her. She looked to be about his age and wasn’t actually in a dress. It was a white, flowing garment with a golden sash of cloth tied around the waist – probably a gofuku or kimono, though he wasn’t too sure about oriental fashion and their semantics. She was beautiful, but in a way that made him uneasy. Her face was completely symmetrical down to the tiniest detail. It made her look pretty but alien. Like something trying to be human; a painted face on an image.

“We, the spirits and deities of Japan, noticed your courageous act and would like to reward you with a choice while also submitting a request. You see, Yamada Taro, we –”

“Excuse me, but I think you have the wrong guy. And I’m pretty sure I’m still alive.”

When she had first started talking, he hadn’t registered what she was saying. The sudden appearance and her appearance itself caught him off guard. But when Mono heard her call him “Yamada” again, he couldn’t help but speak up. She scowled at being interrupted and opened up her eyes before gawking at the sight of him. 

“You’re not dead!”

“Yeah, that’s what being alive means – though I know a few classmates who’d argue otherwise.”

“Th-this is impossible,” she stammered, her tone no longer as formal as before. “No living person should be able to get here. How did you?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I was hoping that you could tell me. Who are you? Where are we?”

“This is Tsūka, a place where the dead go before moving on into the afterlife. My name is Sojourn, and I’m a greater Dōsojin who is in charge of this portion of the Passing in Japan. I don’t know how you’re still alive, Yamada, but you were brought here so that we, the spirits and deities of Japan, could both reward you with a choice while also submitting a request.”

 This didn’t seem like a dream anymore; she was too real, too concise, and too loud. But this couldn’t be real either, the situation was exactly like a Japanese cartoon he had watched a while back. The main character, a boy who dies in a car accident trying to save a girl, meets a goddess in the afterlife and is sent off on an adventure to another world instead of remaining dead. He didn’t know what to think.

“I was getting to this before you had rudely interrupted, but we actually –” 

“Look, I really think you have the wrong guy.” Mono spoke up again without waiting for her to finish. “My name isn’t Yamada Taro, it’s Mono Somnium. I’m not even from Japan.”

“Are you sure?” Her question was so forceful it took him aback. How could he not be sure? Maybe this really was a dream and Mono was supposed to follow along. No, dream or not, following the script meant that he would be sent to some other world or dimension. On the off chance that this was real, Mono refused to leave his current life behind; he had just gotten it figured out after years of struggling.

“Yeah, can’t you tell?” Mono asked. “We aren’t even speaking Japanese.” 

“I’m a Dōsojin,” she reminded him. “I can communicate with people of all languages.” 

Oh, that explained a lot. As they had been speaking, the uneasy feeling inside of Mono kept growing. Now he knew why. She had been speaking in Japanese to him and he had understood the meaning of her words without actually knowing a speck of the language. When she had said Dōsojin, Mono immediately understood that she was a Japanese god of travelers – specifically, she was a goddess of foreign travelers. This also explained why he kept hearing the name Tsūka and the word Passing interchangeably. A chill ran down Mono’s spine. The reality of his situation was starting to sink in.

“That’s awesome, and this has been a really interesting experience,” Mono began. “But since I’m clearly not who you think I am and this wasn’t meant for me, I’d like to go back now or wake up. Whatever is convenient for y–”

“That’s not possible,” Sojourn cut in. 

Mono’s palms started sweating and his heartbeat, which had slowed down after she had shown up and saved him from that swallowing emptiness, started racing. He felt trapped. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Tsūka is a place of passing,” she explained. “If you enter here, you have to leave a different way you came. Normally, I’d offer the choices of either entering the afterlife or going to a different world. But since you’re alive, you don’t get a choice. You have to go.”

“Can’t I just pass over to the new world for a brief second and then come back?” Mono agitatedly asked.

She shook her head. “Passing between worlds is extremely difficult and can only happen once every twelve full moons. Once you go through, you’d be stuck until this time next year.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. Mono could feel his chest start tightening, he almost couldn’t breathe. This was really bad. What was he going to do now? He was going to lose everything and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Don’t worry!” Sojourn had noticed his anxiety and tried reassuring him. “In a year's time I can call you back here and you can go back. That’s not too bad right? Spending a year away from boring, normal life in a world with magic?”

The tightening eased up a little. “Magic?” He repeated. 

She smiled. “Yeah, magic! It’s not like the magic you find in most books on Earth either. It’s unique for everyone and changes based on their perceptions, beliefs, and values. The world you’re going to is one of infinite possibility – especially for someone from Earth where encountering creative writing on a daily basis is normal. You won’t be able to do anything at first but you will once you get the hang of it.”

Mono loved stories. When he was younger and before life had taken a hard twist, he used to read as many fantasy stories as possible. His mother had once scolded him for trying to sell his clothes on the internet so that he could buy more books. He couldn’t help himself, the worlds he read were amazing and kept him up late at night thinking about the “what if”s that they created. What could he do there? Would he be able to fly? Fling spells from wands like his favorite characters? Mono stood there for a moment imagining the possibilities.

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” He said at last.

“Great!” Her smile grew wider. “I’ll just finish the process and you’ll be on your –”

“Wait.” She frowned as Mono interrupted her yet again. “How will I speak with people I meet? Doesn’t this world have different languages?”

She scrunched her face in annoyance. “I almost forgot about that. You’re right, and I normally give people who decide to go my blessing so that they can talk to people like I do. I’ll do it right now by putting my symbol on the side of your forehead.”

Sojourn raised her arm, her index finger pointed at Mono, and began to walk towards him. Instinctively, Mono took several steps backwards.

“What’s wrong now?” She huffed. 

“Can you put it on an item or something?” Mono asked. “And make some way so that I can toggle it off to be more immersed in the languages of people I meet.”

The truth was, Mono hated being touched. It didn’t matter if they were average or attractive, no one touched him and especially not his face. He knew he couldn’t say that to her though, because he was certain that would have offended her somehow. So instead, he said the first thing that popped into his head to get out of that awkward situation.

Sojourn gave him a hard look and stared at him for a few moments. At last she raised her hand and light began to coalesce in her palm. It grew so bright that Mono had to look away until it dimmed. When he looked back, a white stone sat in the palm of her hand. Sojourn extended the stone to Mono and he took it.

“I’m a goddess of Japan, so my presence in the other world is limited,” she warned him. “If you lose that stone, I won’t be able to locate you to send you back.”

“Got it.” The stone was pure white which contrasted with the dark gray surroundings and was slightly warm to the touch. Mono pocketed it and looked back at Sojourn.

“Anything else?” She asked. “No more last-second interruptions or unexpected reveals?” 

Mono shook his head.

“Well then, good luck on your journey and see you in a month’s time.” She snapped her fingers and a glowing circle formed around Mono’s feet.

A month’s time? How would she see him in a month when it was supposed to be a year? Actually, what about his clothes? He was still only wearing the clothes he slept in before all of this happened. 

“Wait! I did forget somethi–” Mono was quickly cut off as the world turned from dark gray to pitch black. He lost consciousness. 

[meganshinsou-tm]

technicolor. (f)

☙ pairing: bakugou x reader

☙ theme:  soulmate au

☙  cw/tw: profanity, slight angst not really though, mention of death (side chara), rough baku, pro-hero baku

☙  a/n-request:  Uhmm, how about some Prohero!Bakugou X Villain!Reader soulmate au? The one where touching brings the world into color? I live for the angst of hero loving villain, to be honest. I would really it if she has a mind reading quirk.

Villains Backstory: Your entire life up until now was normal. You grew up well taken care of and loved by your single father, happy and full of hope. That changed though when he was torn from your life so suddenly, leaving you all alone with no clue what to do anymore. Heartbreak and mourning consumed you, all your logical thinking went out the window. Soon you had blown through every penny you had giving your father the funeral he deserved, what were you to do now in order to live? You needed something of value, something that would be enough to get you through another day. That’s how you drastically became the worst wannabe villain ever, and that’s how you met your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugou.

Bakugou scanned the alleyways, crimson eyes sharp around each corner. The more time it took to find you the more pissed off he got. The pro-hero was ready to go home, have dinner and drinks alone then turn into bed. But no, some fucking maniacal woman kept evading him after she poorly attempted to rob a jewelry store. Bakugou had only caught of glimpse of you before you took off, dropping the bag of jewels and weapon in your hands but he knew who you were. Being that his world was still black and white you’d figure his task would be difficult, not knowing what color your skin, hair or eyes were, but over the years he learned to have a very good photographic memory and your face, it was burned into his brain for some reason. The fact that he didn’t know all the colors that made up you drove him mad and he raged over that! Ever since the first time he saw you, those black and white eyes and that scared face never left his mind or dreams. He hated it, he hated you.

You were a poor excuse for a villain, you had yet to make a successful name for yourself. You only committed petty crimes such as theft. Sometimes you’d get away with it and others you ran away in fear like today. You had to of just now decided to follow the villainous path, judging by your poor skills. Bakugou also had yet to learn your quirk. You were a fast little shit, maybe it was super-speed? Every time he got close enough to touch you, even after using his own quirk to propel himself, you’d push harder and escape his grasp by mere inches. He knew nothing about you and it haunted him for some reason, caused him to feel lonely but why the fuck did it!

“Ah! Where are you shitty girl!!!”

Just as Bakugou yelled, he heard a crash, making his head snap in the direction it came from.

“Alright, stop fucking with my head! I’ve got you now!”

Using his quirk, the blonde propelled himself in the direction of the crash. Sure enough there you were, on your hands and knees surround by massive boxes and plastic barrels. You seemed to have run into them and fell. Your back was facing him and you slowly stumbled to your feet. He was about to run after you again until he heard a cry. It wasn’t sad, but it held a lot of pain, resentment - loathing. Bakugou knew that kind of cry, all too well. His heart started to shatter as he slowly and quietly walked towards you. 

“Shitty villain or not…I have to – I need to help her,” he thought.

“I don’t fucking need your help! Just go away! I don’t feel like hearing it today!”

You suddenly cried out and went to run off again, but you tripped on your shoes and fell over, landing on one of the barrels and crashing to the ground as it rolled out from under you.

Bakugou froze in place, his red eyes wide. “Did I say that out loud?” He questioned himself.

“God, do you ever shut up! Do you not have any friends or something? Is that why you think to yourself so much?” 

You asked him through gritted teeth as you tried to sit up on your palms, hissing as you felt a massive sting down your arm. 

“Goddammit,” you cried out seeing the skin of your forearm looking mangled from skidding across the concrete so much.

“Hah!” Bakugou grit his teeth and cut you a glare that could kill.

Huffing and puffing he stomped his way over to your limp and pathetic body, you weren’t going anywhere this time! Once he stood above you, you looked up at him, smirking and rolling your eyes before turning away from him. This made the hero’s blood boil and steam emit from his ears. He growled lowly and gripped you roughly by the elbow, yanking you from the ground as a profanity left your mouth. Then out of nowhere you both gasped sharply, your black and white world suddenly going full technicolor. Blasts of vivids flashed before your eyes in small blurry dots before finally clearing. Bakugou dropped you instantly, backtracking and stumbling, falling flat on his ass across from you. His eyes widened and his heart thumped in his chest hard. You were frantically looking around, taking in all the new colors and then you fucking did it. 

You looked at him!

Katsuki grunted as your vivid hues glimmered in his direction. Your hair was a bright and shiny (h/c), it looked so soft. Your skin, it was flawless, well except for the gnarly road rash you had on your arm. Other than that, it was warm and your cheeks. 

“Fuck, fuck – fuuuck!”

Your brows furrowed at him, “You have a bad fucking potty mouth you know that!” 

Your voice spoke to him with a confidence, that fear that he had saw every time he chased you, it was gone.

“You’re one to fucking talk! I didn’t even say anything, how the hell do you know what I’m think – wait! You’ve got to be shitting me!”

“Looks like you finally caught on. I can read your mind moron!” You smirked and wiped the dirt and tears from your face.

“I’ll kill you!” 

Bakugou yelled and jumped to his feet, storming over to you again.

You smiled and waited for him to grab your elbow again, which he did but not as roughly. He held you by the front of your shirt, making the tip of your toes barely leave the ground as he held you inches from his face. Your (e/c) eyes widened as you took in the depth of his own crimson eyes, a pretty deep red that faded out into orange when the sun hit them just right. Now that you could finally see the colors that made up this man, you were finding yourself drawn to them. Why wouldn’t you be though, this asshole apparently was your soulmate. He gave you such a mean and intimidating look, the same look that had you shaking in your boots every time he chased you but now, it was kind of cute.

“No you won’t Bakugou!”

Katsuki grunted and gripped your shirt tighter. You made his blood boil before, but now, his blood was literally evaporating! His grip loosened, you were in fact right. In your world, everyone came out of the womb only seeing in black and white, the second you touched your so called soulmate, the world would then explode in color, exactly the way it did just a few minutes ago. But what kind of fucked up world would pair him up with a villain, well … sort of villain?

“What are you doing?” Katsuki questioned.

You blinked, taken back by his question. “What do you mean?”

“You’re obviously not an accomplished villain, more like a fledgling. You’re fucking shitty at whatever it is you’re doing, but you keep on. Why?”

You looked away from Bakugou, “Why does it matter? You said it yourself, I’m a shitty villain.”

Those thoughts, they didn’t bother you at first, now they held so much hurt. Your soul mate was a pro-hero, a hero that had been after you. There was no way this would work. Bakugou seemed like the type of man that needed someone just as equally powerful and smart to stand beside him, which wasn’t you. So why, why was fate doing this to your already broken heart.

Katsuki growled and shook you, making you look at him with teary eyes that you didn’t even realize you had. 

“Shit, she’s crying. Fuck what do I do! Wait, fuck, stop it!” Bakugou basically screamed at you in his thoughts as you stared at him, listening to it all.

He shook his head and growled, for once he stopped thinking and his body acted, closing the short distance between your mouths. You squealed at first from how rough and harsh the hero kissed you, but once he got over his anger and confusion, his mouth softened on yours and his grip on you loosened. He slowly lowered you back, flat on your feet and both his hands cupped your face as he continued you to kiss you. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you accepted your mates first display of affection. Your small hands braced on his chest as you kissed back, slowly your heart started to come alive for the first time in what felt like decades. Katsuki’s lips were warm and they felt strong and protective. You hummed with content as he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth. The hero himself felt complete, like the void in his life was starting to slowly be filled. Nothing felt wrong, it felt right. Breaking the kiss he looked at your confused and lost face. That was it, you were indeed lost, that’s why you were so bad at being - well bad!

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou smirked down at you. 

“It matters because you are a shitty villain, actually hardly even a villain at that. You’re more like an annoyance to the police force and they just want you out of their hair. So that means there’s a chance at saving you and if you’re my soulmate then you bet your ass I’m going to save you. Now, tell me what your fucking deal is so I can fix it!”

Your eyes blinked at Bakugou, his crimson ones glaring back. He was serious, 110% serious. He was also concerned and worried, you could tell from his voice and his thoughts. You chuckled at how quickly he kept forgetting your quirk. Your mourning heart was slowly starting to mend, maybe Bakugou was more than your soulmate, maybe he was your something of value, something that would be enough to get you through another day.

[pervasivescariness]

[ A Gathering of Threads ]

Part Three: Ghosts

( @ivaan-ffxiv​ )

"Come then, let us discuss what sort of compensation you might require in exchange for a look at that key."

It took a moment for Ivaan to process that he had gotten through to her, a revelation which came as a pleasant surprise. Nodding, Ivaan bent down to pick up his own lantern, keeping an eye on Bee all the while. Slowly, he advanced. His polearm was kept with its point low as he walked, being sure to keep a good berth between him and the stranger. Though she appeared to have been mollified for the moment, he would not put it past her for this all to be some sort of ruse. There was a soft scraping sound of metal against stone as Bee seated the lantern back in the little flat nook upon the remains of the pillar, tracing a finger along its top rim once she had set it down fully. A quick shimmer of aether lit the ring along its edge and within moments the lantern had relit itself, glowing with a soft, warm glow akin to that of a regular flame. Bee stood on the opposite side of the pillar, keeping it and the lantern between her and Ivaan, the light fully revealing her to Ivaan as she waited. 

The deep blue of the cloak was now visible from the gloom, the mass of ginger curls fully aflame in the new light set before her, golden clasps which held the cloak in place at her throat, glittering. With her hands on her hips, she waited for him, the cloak pulled away over one shoulder to reveal to him the strange silver hilt attached to her hip which boasted no blade as well as the smart black blouse tucked carefully into her pants. The onyx buttons glimmered in the light alongside a teardrop shaped stone of deep-red which hung from her neck. The color was cut diagonally up the center in a jagged line, as black as her outfit beneath the cloth. 

"I haven't much gil on me, but I can promise you, if what you have truly is the key which opens this door, I will see to it that House Moineaux compensates you properly for your cooperation."

As the pair settled at the site, Ivaan had just set his own lantern down adjacent to hers when the rim of the whole pillar flared alight with a shimmer of aether. The sudden brightness had Ivaan take a step back, raising a hand to shield his eyes for a moment. Strangely enough, it was now plain to see that there were no slits in his helm to speak of. His grip on his weapon tightened for a moment... and relaxed as no attack came. 

"I do not care for gil. As I said before, I want to be sure that..." 

As he had spoke, Ivaan had taken in his company's newly revealed visage, the shadows pulled open like a curtain by the swelling light. The armored figure was as a statue again, staring. The warm glow of the light they shared caught her long curls, wreathing the woman's crown like flames, framing a freckled face... Mismatched hues of blue and green stared back at him, the round pupils of a Keeper of the Moon at their center. She was beautiful, he thought, and reminded him of... A glint caught the lower periphery of his sight, a flash of crimson. From behind his helm, his eyes darted downward like a hawk upon a rabbit to the source. Somewhere well outside of his universe, which had shrunk to the edges of his tunneled vision as he stared at the stone, something metallic clattered to the floor. His weapon had fallen from his hand, Ivaan not even having noticed its slip from his loosened grasp. 

Bee watched his approach in silence, choosing to remain still so as to not accidentally move in a way that might be perceived as a threat. He had the reach on her with that polearm of his and while she knew she was fast, she did not yet know how fast her opponent was. As he came fully into her light, now within a distance for details, her eyes began their slow crawl over his form. It was not an armor she had seen before and as she studied the strange curves and points along the shoulders, she wondered just where it had been forged; as if knowing its origin could offer her some clue as to the wearer's identity. From toes to head her eyes roamed, coming to rest at that featureless helm which stirred a slight amount of unease now that she was looking at it up close. From a distance it had looked like any other full helm, its defining feature, or lack thereof, not immediately noticeable until he was closer. Her thoughts were pulled away from from the stranger's appearance by the sudden clatter of metal upon stone.

"T-That stone... No..."

Immediately Bee tensed, her hand sliding from hip to hilt to grasp it tightly as she took a tentative step backwards in surprise. Staring at him wide-eyed for a moment, her eyes darting from helm to hand to the ground, double checking to ensure that he had indeed just dropped his weapon. She barely registered what he had said through the sudden confusion which followed watching such a fierce-looking man discard his weapon as though in fear. She had meant to check behind her, to see if his reaction had something to do with the door which stood a few fulms away...and then it fully registered what he had said. Instinctively, her left hand flew to her chest, grabbing the stone in question and hiding it behind pale fingers. 

Staring at him with a mix of confusion and suspicion, Bee ventured a defensive, "...What? What of it?" It was a harmless river rock, after all, its value held merely in sentiment...so why was he reacting as though he was seeing something unnatural?

Ivaan did not even see the hand move to the odd silver hilt in surprise at the sudden racket. What of it? It should be the most obvious thing in the world! How was this possible? How could she be alive? Ivaan had seen the corrupted crystal formations splashed across the coasts, heard of the eye-witness accounts of Bahamut himself swooping over Limsa Lominsa. How. Was. She. Alive? In his stunned stupor, he managed to take a step forward, that armored head tilting as his gaze scoured her anew... If he squinted, he could imagine that long hair of hers at shoulder length, with the tips of her canines just barely poking out from under her upper lip. 

"Bee..." The armored figure rattled, his voice strained to the breaking point between hope, fear, and heartbreak.

Her grip tightened on the hilt as she tensed, the armored man suddenly taking a step towards her with his head tilted at an odd angle. What was he doing? She held her ground, watching him with a confused frown, trying to understand his movement. It wasn't a hostile step and he had made no move to pick up his weapon. It was as though he were in a trance and for a brief moment Bee wondered if perhaps whatever lie beyond that door might be affecting him...and then he said her name. The confusion was doubled, ears flat back to her head now as she looked him over, alarm bells ringing in her mind. He had only moments ago acted a mere stranger...so then how was it that he knew her name? Her grip on her necklace tightened as she tried desperately to figure out if she had perhaps met him somewhere...worked with him on something...perhaps he was familiar with her through someone else? Yet, she knew at her core that she had never seen that armor. This was not a man she had met before...was it? 

Cautiously, she replied, "I'm sorry...have we met?”

The confirmation nearly sent him to the floor. Bee... His heart thundered, a maelstrom of emotions washing over him. Elation, regret, relief, shame... He was actually glad for a moment that she had not been able to suss out who he was. Gave him time to recover from the emotional shock of this revelation. His hand, shaking, moved to the bag slung over his shoulder. Sight was not required to retrieve what he was looking for... Innermost compartment, all the way at the bottom. A blocky shape wrapped in fabric was placed upon the flat part of the broken stone pillar. Pulling the knots in the thick twine free, the waxed fabric was unwrapped to reveal a polished walnut box. The top of this box was pushed sideways, not lifted, the top panel sliding along a hidden groove expertly carved into the wood where the two parts met. Within, nestled in soft fabric... a spiral seashell. The lanterns flanking the box set the pearlescent surface of the trinket alight in the yellow glow that now lit their little corner of the room. 

Bee had continued to watch his movements carefully, keeping absolutely still, tensed and ready to spring away if need be. Yet the man simply pulled a small box out from his bag, setting it between the two lanterns on top of the pillar. Her fear of an attack was slowly fading, overtaken by the sudden curiosity over just what was in the box, who this man was. Relaxing slightly, she watched him unknot the twine, pull away the fabric, and slide the carefully crafted box open. Unbeknownst to her, she had begun to lean forward slightly, curiously peering into the box as it was opened. The gleaming shell which met her eye gave her pause and for a moment she merely stared at it, a sudden sense of familiarity now overtaking that previous fear and suspicion. It looked like--

"I-It is me, Bee. Your Ivaan..."

His words reached her ear, a name which she had not heard in what felt like forever, causing her to tear her eyes from the box to stare at that featureless helm wordlessly. Gone was that cautious frown, the suspicion and the worry, replaced with naught but wide-eyed shock. Her lips parted slightly, as though to refute his claim, yet no words came. The shock had taken all the thoughts from her head, dashing them to fragments which rattled uselessly around her mind as she stared at him. Bee no longer held her weapon, her right hand moving up to cover her mouth as she began to shake her head slightly, refusing to believe what was presented. It couldn't be!

"But you..." the words seemed distant, as though someone else were speaking them, "...this can't..." 

It was hard to speak, her voice quiet and beginning to tremble along with the rest of her as she fought the swell of emotion within her chest, "...you're..." 

She had taken a step around the pillar, continuing to stare at him as she tried to make sense of it all. "You can't be. I-Ivaan is...he's...."  

She couldn't quite say it. Couldn't get the words from her lips. She looked at this armored ghost wordlessly, helplessly, desperately trying to piece her words back together from the jumbled fragments of thoughts and emotions in her head.

Ivaan nodded gently, "I know..." He placed his hands upon the edge of the broken pillar, leaning his weight into stone. "You gave me this, the summer after I gave you that stone." 

A motion of the head toward her accompanied his words. "The summer we made our plans for us to come visit your village... Our last summer."  

Not that she needed reminding, of course, but it was something to bolster his claim a bit. He fell silent, just trying to make sense of all of this. Just... how? The shock was overriding all other thoughts still, such as vaulting over that stone to take her in his arms. To cry out in elation, to shed tears, all of it just bowled over by how impossible this was. Part of him expected to wake up at any moment, with naught but the shell.

"Our last summer..." She echoed his words with a whisper, taking another small step around the pillar as she continued to stare at him. 

She didn't dare move her eyes from him on the off chance that he would disappear into the darkness which hung about the rest of the room, leaving her there with nothing more but a pair of lanterns and an old shell. She had so many questions, so many things she wished to say. Our last summer. There was no way around it. It was Ivaan. It couldn't have been anyone else. There was only one person that would have known about the shell, only one who would've remembered which summer she had gifted it.

Bee was moving before she realized it, rounding the pillar fully, moving with a desperate step. She closed the distance between them, gaining speed as she did, springing forward upon that last step. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for her as she extended her arms towards him, letting that last small leap carry her the rest of the distance towards him as she made to do the very thing his shock was keeping him from doing. "Ivaan..." It was the only warning she gave him as she leapt forward to embrace him, heedless of his armor which separated them from any real hug. She didn't care. She couldn't stop herself, carried by the desire to touch him, to make sure he was real, to close the gap both in distance and years with a tearful embrace. In the absence of words, only action remained.

<< Two || Four  >>

[scarrfacezik]

the path to demigodhood has no doubt been long and fraught with danger.

after weeks of training, combat, and near-death experiences, you feel your power beating ever stronger within your chest.

it all comes to a head one night as you fall asleep alongside viktor; slowly but surely, you are pulled out of consciousness and under --- to a place that may have once held great importance to you. or perhaps it's more surreal than that --- either way, the details come into focus with every blink you take.

describe your surroundings. what do they look like, smell like, feel like?

are you alone?

The apartment is big, dark, and modern. It looks as expensive as it actually is, worthy of every drop of envy coming from people that value the material.

The space makes Yves's stomach clench unpleasantly. It's been eight years since he'd seen his place; since he packed his bags and left. Yet it feels like none of that ever happened. This place, his birth home, it's always with him with it's sheer emptiness and coldness, it's lack of that special something that makes a house a home --- love.

The big windows that go floor to ceiling and take up the entire wall in width have turned reflective due to the night. And Yves gets a good look at himself and the vast emptiness that surrounds him. It's such a familiar image, such a familiar feeling of loneliness.

He knows not to call out for his father. Years of living here had taught him no one would ever come if he calls. Because no one ever cared enough to stick around.

the ceiling is suffocatingly familiar and the floors are cold against your feet.

that pit in your stomach only grows the longer you stand, the longer you stare into the mirrored surface of the too-clean window; your heart beats in your ears. thump thump. thump thump. it grows ever louder and ever faster, overtaking the sheer silence of the apartment.

then, a sound cuts through the beating.

it's a phone; and it lies steadily ringing and vibrating on a table nearby.

Yves's head snaps around, his heart up in his throat from surprise. He could hear his spiked up pulse drumming in his own ears and it almost blocks the ring of the phone with its intensity. The apartment is so big and empty that the sound echoes with such force it makes the walls tremble.

It makes Yves tremble.

But he's a warrior now, a member of the Pali house. Sucking in a breath, he finally crosses the slight distance and picks up the phone, voice solid as a rock when he speaks. "Hello?"

as you pick up the phone, that stark, deafening silence sets back in.

it's only for a beat, but it feels like a lifetime.

then, you finally hear it --- a voice, calling out as if it hadn't heard you in the first place. what does it say? is it masculine, feminine, or something else entirely?

"What?" Yves says, frowning at the floor as he tries to make out the sound coming from the receiver. It's a strange static at first, then some buzzing. Eventually, he starts to recognize speech patterns, but it takes a while for them to make sense.

The voice he hears isn't just one. It starts off that way, but like the sound a radio makes as it's trying to tune in to the right frequency, the voice on the phone changes constantly, moving from one sound to the next. Every voice throws Yves into a flashback, the faces of different men coming to mind as they say something specific his mind associates only with them. Like Jean who wouldn't stop talking about the sad grayishness in Yves's blue eyes, or Gabriel who would always mention the taste of Yves's kisses. The sobs of Louis when Yves told him they have to break up after only a week of blissful togetherness because the closeness was starting to feel too suffocating. Arthur on the other hand would always yell, but that's only because he was almost deaf and in denial about it. Yves loved that about him because there was no room for silence when Arthur was around. Then came the familiar instructions Côme gave every time he used Yves as a model for his paintings, giving him strict directions wth the softest smile. Ismael's snort-laughter, Yanis's deep sighs, Ulysse, Adam, Gustave, Rafael...

Until the voices finally calmed and he could hear one clearly. Unmistakably.

"Котёнок?"

it takes a second, but like an FM radio, eventually it gets the job done. with every flashing voice comes with it a flash of a memory, streaking across yves' thoughts in a show of vivid color. with it, comes their emotions.

Котёнок?

it's there, and it's much more vivid than the rest.

Котёнок?

it repeats, almost like a recording - and the memories accompanied with it is much more tangible.

you blink, and like a hallucination, there they are: the eerily empty apartment is empty no more. there the figure stands, holding a phone much like you are.

describe what you see.

"Viktor?" Yves grins ear to ear, relieved to hear his boyfriend's voice. It meant Viktor knew where he was. And if Viktor knew, then he would come get Yves and bring him home to camp. It's how this worked --- Viktor took care of him, so Yves could finally feel at ease in the world. "I'm so glad you called, I'm---"

The room is now unnaturally full. Yes, his father's apartment had the capacity but this space was never meant to be full of people. The purpose of such a large property was to showcase the money you had to buy yourself the distance from everyone else. Seeing the room full with so many familiar faces made Yves feel uneasy.

The faces are all so beautiful, ones Yves had nothing but love for. And here they were, all of them, together. It didn't feel right.

He lets go of the phone, starring from one face to the other, searching for Viktor's.  The more he looked though, the more their individuality melted away. Soon they all looked the same and Yves found himself starring at identical copies of Adonis's face, the most beautiful man Yves had ever seen in his life. While brief, their meeting in London during his quest had left a lasting impression. That didn't mean he'd get swayed away from the important topics at hand.

"Where's Viktor?" Yves asks, weary but without fear. "Did you bring me here for some kind of ploy? You and Anteros really need to learn how to schedule dates properly."

almost like a nightclub, the room fills, bodies bumping into each other (and you) near constantly. ADONIS seems to multiply in front of your very eyes - he's simultaneously all of these people, somehow. the surreality only grows as he speaks --- they speak --- seemingly in unison. one adonis steps forward, seemingly the mouthpiece, statuesque, seemingly built by the gods.

𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑, 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑, 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑. 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄, 𝐊𝐈𝐃?

he smiles, a mouth full of conspicuously white teeth that glint in the light.

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒.

𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓?

Adonis's beauty is so grand Yves feels weary when the talking copy steps closer. His poor knees want to give out when faced with such beauty and it's an effort to keep himself upright. "Like what? You're just bitter no one chants your name like that anymore." Then again, maybe people do. Yves has no idea what kind of life these beings lead. Anteros seems quite content to paddle in their camp lake all day and maybe occasionally shit on people as he flies over them. Immortality did funny things to one's personality.

While true, it feels very uncalled for to drag Yves's equally pretty face through the mud of his insecurities. "I know," he says after a too-long silence. These speculations are a sore topic and an inevitable future. Yves isn't under any illusions that Viktor will be his happily ever after. Mistakes will be made and Viktor will get pushed away. And even if he doesn't like it, Yves knows that's as inevitable as falling in love. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to cherish him while I can."

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓?

the man huffs a laugh and takes a seat on a nearby armchair, never once letting his gaze leave yours. hands move to cradle the back of his head, relaxing fully into the leather. the rest of the bodies stare expectantly at you, like statues in a museum.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐘.

The attention of the statues suites him, in a way. All eyes on him feels as natural a state for Yves as it can get, outside of the intimate setting of a bedroom and a bulky Russian near him. "No. I'll probably cry for weeks when it's over." But it's something Yves knew would happen even when he agreed to go exclusive with Viktor, despite his better judgment.  "It's just how things are when it comes to love. Great suffering is always nearby."

The statement makes Yves snort. The sound surprises him more than it does Adonis. "Doesn't it?" he asks amused. "Do educate me on love then."

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

the mouthpiece adonis leans forward, resting his chin on a palm. once more, his gaze doesn't leave yours. do educate me on love then. the next time you blink, the room is empty once more - even the ADONIS in the chair has disappeared. once more, your heart beats in your ears. thump thump. thump thump.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄.

thump thump. thump thump.

Yves bristles instantaneously at the comparison. "We're not!" he yells, spinning around to locate where that conniving man and his impossibly beautiful face went. "Fuck you!"

Feeling absolutely fed up, Yves marches towards the exit of the apartment. He knows this walk well - the stomping of the feet, the power in his hands that yearned to yank that door off its hinges on his way out. The quick heavy thumping of his heart is just a product of the anger he feels at the mention of Aphrodite. Of hearing someone refer to her as his mother.  "Fucking bullshit!"

Yves needed out. And he needed to smoke.

silence replies to your question, easy and all-encompassing.

you approach the door like clockwork, a routine that's happened far too many times for you to count. this time, however, the entire apartment shakes and trembles with every step, every crescendo and every flare of anger that you feel. the door, if tried to open, opens easily.

if opened, however, it simply opens to a solid brick wall.

your heart thumps in your ears, the echos of ADONIS' words invading every crack and crevice of your mind.

"No..." Yves says weakly, paling at the sight of the bricks. "No!" Panic takes over, filling Yves up like a balloon to the point where he's ready to explode. "Let me out! LET ME OUT!" He can't stay here in this void apartment, in this shell of human existence. "VIKTOR!" he pleads, hitting the wall with his bare hands, using every ounce of godly power he has in him. He will break through this damn wall and out of this apartment, even if it's the last thing he does. "Let! Me! Go!" he repeats, never wavering. Fists and legs take turns in assaulting the brick wall, and for the first time in a while, Yves doesn't care how he looks from the side. He just needs to break free of this place before the loneliness suffocates him.

as your anger bubbles, the ground continues to tremble and shake, threatening to rip apart down the middle.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃, 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓? 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃.

the wall holds steady even under your assault, however --- even if you can hear the very apartment's foundation creaking. as your emotions continue to flare, however, you feel your fists move faster, your kicks carrying your entire weight behind them.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐊𝐈𝐃.

your heart pumps ever-faster.

"I never said that, you beautiful fucker!! I meant--" Yves pauses to throw his whole body at the wall, never stopping his attacks, not even for a breath. He refuses to remain a single second more in this place. "Viktor won't stick around. I hurt him! I'm too selfish, and mean! I'm inconsiderate and don't think twice when I speak sometimes! He will grow tired! Or worse --- I'll do, or say something that even his big heart can't forgive! Because no one thought me to be better! I'm sorry it's not as poetic as you getting trampled by a fat forest pig!"

Yves takes a step back after his body bounces off the wall once more, not bulging. An idea lights up his eyes and he turns around, glaring at the dark windows. He can see Paris behind the glass, sparkling and beautiful. Yves grips the necklace under his shirt, breathing in as he thumbs over the shape of the little compass and the bullet shell given to him by Viktor. He lifts them up to his lips, a kiss for good luck.

"Love is about breaking boundaries," Yves says more to himself than to Adonis and sprints off, straight to the windows. Bricks might not bulge, but glass always does.

the rumbling is near deafening by the time you turn around, kiss your necklaces for good luck.

then, you're off. the rumbling stops the exact moment you hit the glass, shattering it easily --- soon after, you realize you're stuck in a free fall.

you're stuck in a free fall.

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐔𝐓𝐒!

the nausea of falling sets in, slowly but surely, as you pick up speed. the ground looms ever closer, closer, closer.

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐔𝐘, 𝐊𝐈𝐃. 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍�� 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒.

just as you pick up terminal velocity, what feels like a gust of wind and the feathery down of swan wings slows you down to an immediate halt --- but it's a smooth, comfortable transition. if you look around, you see that you're on what looks like the back of a great, phantom swan. the anger, and the panic, and the anxiety --- it's all gone, too, you realize. for some reason, you feel as if you have a clear head. for some reason, you can't help but feel as if it's due to ADONIS. you're soaring over the city lights gracefully.

as you look at the swan, does it have a distinct coloration?

𝐈 𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 - 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓! 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃, 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓? 𝐈'𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Yves floats, gasping for breath from the adrenaline until it all melts away leaving only calmness behind. It's magic, it has to be.

When Yves falls on top of the swan, there's no mistaking the black smoothness of Anteros's feathers. Yves wants to believe his brother showed up out of familial love, but everything about the situation screams Adonis. And now that Yves is finally free from that apartment and its crippling influence, he can appreciate the help the man landed by saving Yves from turning into a crepe on the pavement.

"No promises," Yves smiles and looks around, feeling better than he had in a long while.

you soar over the city in complete bliss for a few moments more before your eyes awaken back in your tent in undertown, cradled by your loving boyfriend, viktor zalessky.

the dream feels like a far-off memory, though you remember it vividly - and you can feel the strength of your desire coursing through your veins.

for a second, a thought flashes through your head.

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓, 𝐘𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

[auralite776]

Hi, I’m a horrible human.

I wrote this thing, so here you go!

Word count: 1,959

What if the three house lords became children thanks to a spell?

———————————————————————

Suddenly, three screams came from an unknown room. Geez, how many rooms were in this monastery, anyway?

It seemed nobody else heard the sound, so I assumed it was up to me to find the source. I had to make sure everything was alright before heading back to the classroom where the Black Eagle students were headed. Anyway, I head to the door, and cracked it open just a little, making sure nothing would leap out. “Not a single sound...hopefully everything is alright…” I whisper to myself before opening the door the rest of the way.

Oh my ever loving Sothis.

To what might as well have been my horror, three small figures peered at me. This must be a nightmare...or some sick joke.

“No, you dummy! Of course it’s real! You got knocked in the head with a club earlier today, remember?” Sothis’ voice rang as she spoke.

“Sothis, now is not the time.”

I walk over to get a closer look at the three people, and again to my shock, they look exactly like Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude respectively. What seemed to be their school uniforms were wickedly big on them, and because of that, they fell over when they tried to stand.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” I say, raising an eyebrow. They said nothing. At that, I heaved a sigh. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this…

“Well...alright. Let’s get you three to Manuela to see if there’s a way to get you back to normal.”

When I finished speaking, Edelgard managed to get her uniform in such a position so she could stand up, and walked to my side. Claude, however, came up with his brilliant plan to get up on my shoulder. Dimitri seemed too scared to stand up for some reason. I guessed it was best to carry him.

—————————————————————

“Oh… Oh my…”

“What is it, Manuela? Is it something that can’t be cured?” I said, somewhat frantically.

“Not that it can’t be cured, per se, but…” Manuela went on with a distressed tone mixed with an uncertain frown.

“But what?”

“It’ll take time for that spell to wear off. The question is how long, depending on the potency of that specific spell.”

Dammit. Now I’ll have to watch over three toddlers somehow and still be expected to carry out my duties. Just what I needed.

“You dragged yourself into this.”

Gee thanks, Sothis. As if I wasn’t aware of that in the first place!

“Just… Please, figure out how long it’ll take to wear off.”

“I’d say in about a day, though I’ll need to look over a few things, so it might be longer. Could you watch over them until it does?”

“I can try, hopefully Lady Rhea can alter my schedule or something.” I said as I scoop the three house leaders into my arms. “What do I need to do to watch over them, exactly?”

Manuela giggled. “I’m sure you’ll figure that out soon enough, Professor. Good day.” she giggled again as she left.

Well, a day or two won’t be that bad, right?

—————————————————————

Shit.

One hour and my room is a complete disaster. Figures. I can’t keep my eyes off of those three for a second! If only I could get some advice…

Dimitri started wailing once there was a knock on the door. In my desperate attempt to calm him down, I then heard the door slam into part of the wall. Which, in turn, caused the crown prince of Faerghus to scream even louder. Claude just stared in curiosity while hanging from the ceiling, and even then I wonder how he did that, while Edelgard covered her ears with a pillow.

“I gotta say, kid. You’re doing a decent job keeping yourself together.” Father remarked as he made his presence known.

“That’s incorrect.” I sigh. “I feel wickedly exhausted already and I can barely tear my eyes off of them without one crying or another object broken.” Finally, Dimitri stopped his cries. A relief to my ears.

“How long until the stupid thing will be done and over with?”

“A day or so. Hopefully. Manuela said it had something to do with the potency of some spell. Do you...know of anything I can do to keep them from destroying everything or screaming?”

“You’d be better off with trying to make the gremlins go to sleep.” Father sighed. “It’s pretty much the only thing that keeps them quiet and from causing mass destruction.”

“Gee thanks, Father. I know that, but how do I make them tired?”

My father opened his mouth to say something just as soon as Claude bolted out of the room as fast as his little legs could go. Which was unbelievably fast. I didn’t say another word before I took off after him. I cannot trust him out of anyone to not stay out of trouble. Yet I was already too late…

There was the stench of rotten meat everywhere.

Lady Rhea—the poor woman—was completely drenched in water.

Thanks to Claude, Seteth has made me his sworn enemy, or so I guessed from his soul-revealing glare. Yet the Archbishop laughed.

I stopped, completely out of break. Damn that kid is fast… Better leave it to the guards to catch him.

“Got rather busy, I see? And with quite the troublemaker, too.”

“I…” I panted. “I’m sorry...about him…”

“It’s alright, Professor.” Lady Rhea said calmly as she placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get the guards to go after him. How about you keep your eye on the other two?”

I nod, my dry throat and exhaustion catching up to me. I slowly make my way back to my quarters. My father left, it seems. Dimitri curled himself up with one of my overcoats as Edelgard stayed wide awake, gazing out the window. She looked terribly sad…

Her thoughts seemed to have escaped her as I pat a spot on my bed, seeing if she wanted to join me. She did, oddly enough, making herself comfortable while making sure she was as close to me as she possibly could. Poor girl must’ve had a bad memory resurface, by the look of things. It was silent, for a while.

“P...Professor…?” Edelgard’s tiny voice squeaked.

“Yes, Edelgard?”

“Can you...call me El? My older sisters used to call me that...before...you know…”

That moment of tension caused her to sniffle. I gently traced a single scar on her back, which might’ve been one of her worst. “Hey, it’s okay. I can call you that, if you wish. But all things aside, if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, you know where to find me, alright?”

“Alright…”

More silence filled the room as Edelgard scooted herself upward, allowing her head to rest on my chest as she promptly fell asleep. A good thing, yet very curious. Soon enough, there was this warm, but indescribable feeling deep within my chest. When I put my hand on it, I, of course, felt nothing. There was nothing. No heartbeat…

I still held Edelgard close. What happened to her was one of the worst things I could possibly think of. All I could do now was be there for her to lean on, to be there to comfort her whenever needed. Despite being numb to some emotion, I felt...warm, I felt relaxed, and...it felt...right, somehow.

“Professor, are you...smiling?”

“What do you mean…?”

Edelgard seemed embarrassed when she asked that question. Avoided eye contact all together. “Er...it’s nothing…”

“If you say so.”

If only my heart actually beat...then perhaps Edelgard would be more relaxed. It might not be the case for her slight fidgeting, but she did cling. Was this...due to all of those experiments? Was she scared of letting anyone close to her go? I can’t change the past, no matter how hard I try…

“May I ask you something, Professor…?” Edelgard said quietly.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Do you… Do you think that those who suffer can be saved…?” Edelgard sounded hesitant, afraid. “That...when given a hand to hold, can escape…?”

“It depends. It depends on the person, what said person is struggling with coping, and the person who reached out to them. Not everyone can escape their traumatic childhoods, but if I had to offer my opinion, it would be that anyone could use that experience to change the world.”

The white-haired girl that made her home in my lap blinked with such wonder that I didn’t dare to try and understand. And yet, she frowned, her small arms wrapping around me and clutching my overcoat. “I want to change the world...for the better. You’ll help me...right?” she whispered as her body began to shake.

Edelgard relaxed as soon as I put a hand on the back of her head, gently threading my fingers through the strands of colorless hair. I always wondered what Edelgard’s natural hair color was, but then again she’d look beautiful no matter what.

She nudged me gently, her head burying itself in my chest. “I hate it. My entire body is scarred… I don’t doubt they won’t heal, but...they look horrific.”

Not to say that I didn’t agree. Some scars bore bad memories, others embarrassing accidents, but I had to shake my head. “El, that’s not entirely correct. They might look horrific to you, reminding you of those painful memories, yet in actuality, they only add more value in who you are. The scars made you the woman you are today, did they not? I believe that they enhance your beauty.”

Oh Goddess, I can’t believe I just said that.

Edelgard, however, grinned. “Thank you, Professor!”

The moment of peace was interrupted by Claude being gently shoved into the room, looking very disappointed. He yawned, crawling onto the bed next to Dimitri, who surprisingly was still asleep.

Hopefully the spell that made them like this would wear off. Soon.

“I guess it’s time for bed.” I yawn, looking back at Edelgard who leaned on my shoulder, fast asleep.

I lay down and pull the covers and sheets over my body, which made Claude and Dimitri move in order to stay warm, so the three huddled around me when they forced themselves under the sheet.

Soon enough, I shut my eyes, a curious warmth dwelling within my chest.

—————————————————————

Snap!

I jolted awake as soon as I felt something crushing me. Whatever it was, it was almost suffocating me. Until I realize…

The spell wore off. In my bedroom. On my bed. And it caused me to be in need of a new bed.

Something moved and immediately panicked. I opened a single eye, and Dimitri was awake, back to normal. One thing I did notice, his face was bright red.

Claude also moved, beginning to snicker, but stopped as soon as he realized what had happened. He was going to have an earful, that much was certain.

Edelgard stirred, but didn’t stand up like Claude and Dimitri did. Instead, she looked at who she was laying against and quickly rolled over, internally screaming.

They all demanded to know what happened yesterday. After I finished telling the story, they all had various responses.

Dimitri ran out of the room.

Claude laughed to hide his embarrassment.

And Edelgard…

Edelgard profusely apologized and hurried away to her quarters.

It was quite an interesting day. The three could barely even speak to me without growing flushed in the face. They did snap out of it later, when the fiasco was long such forgotten.

Oh, and the bed? I got a new one. Frankly, nobody dared to ask how it broke.

[sunmisgirl]

Rose-Colored Boy

For 🍇 anon: may i also request the full scenario of the exo reaction to fighting with their s/o, but with baekhyun?! :)

Couple: Baekhyun x female reader

Genre: Angst (don’t worry; this one has a happy ending)

Length: 2k

Warning: brief mention of drinking

Nina’s Note: This scenario developed from an EXO reaction I wrote previously. Thanks to Seohyun who gave me an idea for the storyline and helped proofread it.

The expression “opposites attract” applies perfectly to your relationship with Baekhyun. Others describe him as a very playful and energetic person whereas you’re more introverted and selective with who you speak to. 

You met Baekhyun through mutual friends and went on a few dates not expecting much in the beginning. However, his charm, humor, and carefree personality sealed the deal. 

You’ve been dating for approximately two years but live in separate places refusing to succumb to friends’ pressures about moving in together. He respects your space and acknowledges that you value privacy and it takes time for you to open up about things. Usually you gravitate to each other like magnets despite your differences, but things are a bit tense lately.

You tend to take things very seriously meanwhile he has an easygoing approach towards life, always acting carefree and being the life of the party. Whenever you try to explain things from your perspective, he tells you to liven up and not take life so seriously before carrying on in his own little world. 

Some days you become so frustrated and wonder if Baekhyun is the right person for you. He fails to act serious in the relationship and brushes everything off with no cares whatsoever. 

Relationships consist of trial and errors and it seems you reached the ultimate test. A mutual friend invites you to a small gathering that ends up becoming a full blown house party. These gatherings usually aren't your scene but you attend them because of Baekhyun. He changes the atmosphere of any party the second he walks through the door.

People naturally gravitate to his energy and he welcomes everyone that speaks to him. After a few hours you grow restless and tap Baekhyun on the shoulder but he's completely immersed in a story Chanyeol is passionately reenacting in the living room.

“Baek, let's call it a night,” you suggest but the music drowns out your voice. He furrows his eyebrows and leans closer to hear you better. “I'm feeling a bit tired. Can we go home now?”

He begins responding but gets dragged by Sehun to play a round of beer pong. He calls out, “Five more minutes!” before following the small crowd to the other end of the house.

Those requested 'five more minutes' quickly changes into an hour and you're stuck sitting on the couch with a can of soda watching Baekhyun land another ball into the overflowing cups. The crowd cheers loudly while Sehun sulks about losing another round.

Yixing passes by noticing the evident frustration on your face. “Are you not pleased with the party? Where's Baek?” he jokes lightly and nudges your shoulder. “He's having the time of his life. Just another day in paradise,” you remark bitterly glaring at Baekhyun across the floor. 

His eyes meet yours and he grimaces immediately remembering the promise he made an hour ago. He bids everyone farewell and rushes over to you apologizing for the wait. Yixing briefly greets Baekhyun and waves to you before mingling with a few other partygoers.

You exit the house with a sour expression etched on your face and Baekhyun follows behind with a slight stumble. He is somewhat inebriated which automatically designates you the driver for the night. 

It’s frustrating that he completely ignores you while spending time with friends and then rambles during the car ride barely giving you time to speak what’s on your mind. This night is one of many reasons why you argue with each other.

Baekhyun thinks everything is about him and only him. The fact you feel ignored and unable to speak to him encourages you to bottle up your emotions. 

You become more reluctant to share any good news with him and he catches onto this rather quickly. He easily notices the disinterest in your eyes whenever he rambles about his day or shares stories. 

Whenever he cracks jokes you only respond with a tight-lipped smile or half-hearted laugh. He feels like he’s losing you day by day. His best friend. 

Baekhyun assumes you’re acting cold towards him because he hasn’t spent much time with you. Therefore, he sends a text one day instructing you to get dressed by 7 pm for a night out. Curiosity about his intentions outweigh the hesitation in your mind as you rummage the closet for something to wear that evening. 

Once he picks you up in his Audi, he remains silent the entire drive refusing to reveal the surprise regardless of your constant pleas. Your questions are answered once he arrives at the restaurant where you had your first date.

Baekhyun happily escorts you into the restaurant and pulls out the chair waiting for you to sit at the reserved table. It's completely unexpected and such a sweet gesture. Conversation flows easily between you two and you smile for the first time in weeks. It seems like everything is finally starting to go back to normal.

However, he eventually falls back into the same pattern of making everything about him. You take a deep breath and try to hide the disappointment on your face during the meal. 

Baekhyun instantly notices your cold behavior that evening when you reply curtly and tries persuading you to share what’s on your mind. No matter how many questions he asks during dinner, you stay solid as a rock and pretend to have a headache to end the night faster.

He tries prying a response out of you one last time before dropping you off at your place. “It’s my job as your boyfriend to make sure you never frown. Come on, what’s troubling you?” he asks sincerely, briefly looking over at you on the passenger side. 

“Can’t we just enjoy a silent ride? You’re always trying to psychoanalyze me. Maybe I need some peace and quiet instead of your voice droning on the whole night,” you retort and shift your body to rest against the interior of the car door. Deep breathing nor a simple meditation technique can relax you right now. The one person you thought you can’t live without is causing so much strife. 

“You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes,” he mumbles to himself and parks in your neighborhood. “Get out of the car.” You blink a few times shocked by his sudden change of mood and peek out the window, noticing your apartment building is further down the road. 

“Why are you kicking me out?” you question and unbuckle the seat belt. He pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing, “I don’t have time for this right now. I try everything to make you happy and all you do is push me further away.” 

You scoff in frustration and reply, “Hate to break it to you but the world doesn’t revolve around you, Baekhyun. A relationship is about two people, not one. Lately you ignore me and never take anything seriously. You see everything through rose-colored glasses. Not all of us can be happy-go-lucky!”  

“I already told you to get out!” he yells and hits the steering wheel in frustration. You exit the vehicle rolling your eyes and exclaim, “Do what you always do, Baek. Run from confrontation. That’s what you’re best at anyways!” 

He drives off the second you slam the passenger door and doesn’t look in the rear-view mirror to find you still standing on the curb. You watch Baekhyun zoom down the street until his car lights fade into the night. 

Tears form in your eyes as you walk to the apartment building down the street clearly embarrassed by the turn of events. You never imagined the relationship would reach this point. After turning off your phone for the night, you take a quick shower and change into comfortable pajamas before dozing off still upset.  

Baekhyun tries to erase the last 20 minutes from his memory by increasing the music’s volume on his car radio. His hands unconsciously grip the steering wheel clearly agitated about the state of your relationship. 

When did everything change between us? 

Once he reaches his place, he swipes to your contact on his phone ready to call you but realizes you probably want nothing to do with him tonight. Baekhyun tries to sleep but can’t get you off his mind so he gets dressed and drives to your place. He makes sure not to startle you when he enters the apartment with a spare key and settles on the couch in your living room to sleep for a few hours. 

You expect to forget everything that happened last night by the morning. However, Baekhyun’s words still resonate as you emerge from bed and shuffle to the kitchen to brew some coffee. 

You notice a slumped figure lying on the couch and quickly realize it’s the last person you want to see right now. You consider hurling a pillow directly at his sleepy face but decide to be the bigger person and wake him gently. Baekhyun stirs from his slumber and rubs his eyes before peering up at you. 

“When did you get in here?” you inquire looking at him dressed in last night’s attire. “A bit past two a.m. I have a spare key, remember?” He rises from the couch and runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Did you come back for round two?” you huff and turn to enter the kitchen busying yourself with making breakfast. He silently follows you and casts his eyes to the floor. 

“I want to apologize for last night and the past few weeks. It kills me that I left you alone like that last night. You deserve so much love and recognition. I admit I’ve been emotionally absent in the relationship but I’ll work on it. You’re such an important part of my life; I can’t bear to lose you now.”

He stays quiet awaiting your answer but you continue ignoring him and rummage the drawer for utensils. Baekhyun idles by the kitchen counter wondering if this is how the relationship will end. You completely shutting down and walking out of his life forever. 

He sighs looking around the apartment one last time before fishing out the spare key from his pocket and placing it on the coffee table. He then approaches the front door and turns the knob but you stop him from leaving. 

“Wait.”

He faces you with a crestfallen expression but hope still gleams in his eyes. You slowly move closer to Baekhyun and utter, “I must apologize too. I’m not exactly innocent either. I should try opening up more in general instead of shunning you. Since the start of this relationship, you’ve always supported my decisions and respected my space. You’re not psychic; you can’t possibly know everything that’s going on in my mind.”

You anxiously play with the hem of your pajama shirt waiting for him to say something. Anything. He nods upon hearing your words and meets you halfway before wrapping his arms around you. 

“The universe can try breaking us apart but I’ll just hold on tighter,” Baekhyun says aloud. You hum in agreement becoming slightly emotional at the thought of losing him. Losing two years worth of memories. 

“Maybe we should listen to our friends and move in together,” he whispers in your ear and holds you tighter. “Baby steps, Byun. Many, many baby steps,” you respond while pulling away from the embrace.

“Go brush your teeth. You have morning breath,” he teases while scrunching his nose and releasing his grip on your waist. You lightly shove him out the way with a smile and walk to the bathroom relieved that the relationship survived the ultimate test.

Life is difficult as it is. If we all take a step back and see things from each other’s perspective, amazing things can and will happen.

[littlestsnicket]

⭐

thanks!! (this got out of hand, but I had fun thinking about these things :D)

I’m going to talk about “Promise not to lie, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll tell the truth” 

First, this title is ridiculously long, and I clearly remember having one of those, fuck, ao3 will not let me post this without a title moments, but I kind of like it; it works. 

Second, I’ve done this a lot less in this fandom (where as like... i think all of my doctor who fic is like this) but the easiest fic for me to write are the ones where I read a fic and think, well that’s not quite right. And I had read a bunch of Violet is a Snicket fic and none of it was quite right. Which is definitely not a slight on the people who wrote it (a lot of it is really good! it just didn’t jive right with my personal understanding of the characters and themes of the series, and well... a lot of it seemed more influenced by netflix than the books), so I went and wrote my own.

Cut because I went through a nearly 2000 word long fic practically paragraph by paragraph.

“What a coincidence, I was about to make myself some tea,” said Violet. Even though this was an entirely plausible statement, Violet was certain it sounded like a bald faced lie, and she was certain by the way Lemony’s eyebrows drew together, that he thought so too, but he took a second mug from the cabinet above the stove, placed it next to his own on the counter, and dropped in a second tea bag. Violet thought she caught him scanning the room for exits, but it might not mean anything—Lemony did that constantly. She sat down at the worn kitchen table.

I like the idea of characters letting each other get away with lies. And I also think it’s important to asoue--there’s a reading of a lot of things that happen with disguises (like when Klaus and Sunny disguise themselves as doctors, and Madame Lulu, and maybe even Olaf disguising himself as Stephano) where I think there is some vfd *thing* where you are trained not to call people out on lies unless you are certain you have more to gain from doing so than you might gain from playing along and seeing what else happens. That’s not terribly related to this fic, but it’s something I was thinking about when I wrote Lemony letting on to Violet that he didn’t really believe she wanted tea, but going along with it anyway (and then Violet doesn’t even drink the tea (but that’s maybe not super clear from the way I wrote it), so Lemony knows at the end... and of course they are both very observant and spend a lot of time watching people both as a matter of personality and circumstance.)

“Thank you for finding us, Mr Snicket, and reuniting our family.”

One of the things I’ve put a lot of thought into is how characters use names/nicknames/titles. It’s something I became very concerned about when I was writing Twin Peaks fic, and I carried it along to this fandom too. And I really liked the idea of Violet using Lemony in her head but still calling him Mr Snicket out loud until they resolve their relationship. 

“I couldn’t say no to Beatrice,” he responded without looking at her.

And then Lemony half denying that he’s done anything special or admirable. I tend not to think of Lemony as particularly self hating, although I don’t know if it comes across that way (especially in “platonic equivalent of hate sex” but that’s from Olaf’s pov and he sees Lemony in a certain way that is not necessarily accurate). This has more to do with Lemony not wanting to make moral judgements about himself, or really allow other people to commit to making moral judgements about himself. Which could certainly be read as self hating, but I think has more to do with pragmatism and a result of his world view which is very accommodating of moral grayness (except when it very much is NOT at all--like no one is ever all good in Lemony’s head, but there are certain people that Lemony allows himself to think of as 100% bad even though he intellectually knows otherwise).

but she was nearly twenty six now and the guardian of a child; she understood now that nothing, but especially trying to do right by a child, was ever as straightforward to an adult as it was to a young person.

The idea that Violet should be a properly grown up adult for this conversation was very much a reaction to reading other fic. It’s also the only thing that makes sense with my head canons about the timeline of when things happen/books are published. And this is also a sort of reference to atwq where Lemony has the line about children inevitably becoming adults that I am not going to look up. 

“I know you were engaged to my mother,” Violet said.

I’m not sold on this. Violet is Bertrand’s child, and this sounds like more of a Beatrice/Klaus thing to say--it’s so very direct. But (a) given how relatively short I keep my fic, I needed to cut to the chase and (b) this was pretty early in my involvement in fandom. While most of the things I think about Lemony are things I’ve been thinking about since I was, idk, twelve or thirteen (Lemony has ALWAYS been my favorite), I had to flesh out Beatrice, Bertrand, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny a lot to be able to write them.

Then the next bit of dialogue--it was important to me to establish that Violet and Klaus (and Sunny too) had been researching Lemony. And there is a lot of information out there about Lemony. (And maybe the Baudelaire parents have been deliberately keeping their children away from information about Lemony, because the Quagmires are familiar with him in tvv--and the particular way they bring it up makes it seem like general knowledge not something that they discovered researching Olaf.) For one thing, I think the Baudelaire’s (especially Klaus) would research Lemony, but it was also important to me to sort of... balance out the amount of knowledge Lemony has about them.

And then of course, there is the thesis of the fic:

“Violet, I have always believed that genetics are a negligible part of paternity. And somewhat selfishly, if I were to think of myself as a father figure—even in a limited capacity, I would have to admit I was a monstrous failure.”

The idea that Lemony hasn’t already worked through his feelings about having a kid (in the strange capacity that he does) is just ridiculous to me. Like... families of choice is one of the KEY THEMES of the book series he wrote. It’s almost a non-issue. And I think when we see Lemony being completely un-self aware, that’s a deliberate rather than passive act on his part. All that performative grief we see in his narration isn’t something that just happens, it’s something he’s actively doing because he cannot deal with the complexity of his actual feelings. Where as this is something he’s worked through and consciously let himself off the hook for, and can concisely and accurately explain to Violet. Because he’s an adult. And even as a child in atwq, he’s pretty self aware about the things he’s not deliberately lying to himself about. 

He placed one mug on the placemat in front of Violet, although the wood of the table top was so scratched and damaged one would never be able to pick out one more ring of water. 

This might be my favorite thing I’ve written in this fandom, and it just... the thing about not using coasters being a sign of evil. I will never get over that. it’s so perfect. Because, when it comes down to it, evil is synonymous with carelessness. And giving up on the idea that small acts of care are worthwhile. And how that is so core to who Lemony is as a person and what being a Volunteer actually means.

blue gray like the sea during a storm—the same blue gray eyes she saw when she looked at Beatrice, the same blue gray eyes that looked back at her from the mirror.

(a) I wanted to connect the Snickets to the sea--it seemed important, and (b) I have a random and unfounded head canon that the Snicket siblings don’t look at all alike besides having the exact same color eyes--so that is the “Snicket” trait that Violet has as well. 

I already talked about the name thing, so I’m going to skip a head a tiny bit. When I wrote this, it was really important that the fic actually be about something other than Violet being genetically a Snicket--it was the only way to show that it’s really a non issue. So Violet and Lemony talk about the Baudelaire parents and casually refer to them as such without any caveats because that’s the truth. 

“Sometimes, it feels like I didn’t know my parents at all. They had so many secrets, so many things they never told us.”

“I am all too familiar with that feeling. I knew your parents quite well; I would like to help if I can.”

And this is Lemony breaking one of the many negative cycles of vfd involvement. And, despite their genetic relation, Lemony is going to interact with Violet primarily as a friend of her parents, and a someone who fundamentally understands what she is going through in loosing ones parents especially in situation of not really knowing what they were thinking. 

I’m going to skip ahead to the sugar bowl bit because the discussion about moral ambiguity and what the Baudelaire parents would have wanted pretty much is what it is. Lemony is able to give Violet closure that I think she really needed. It’s nice. It’s what I want for her. I think it’s something Lemony knows Jacques didn’t have and needed as the eldest sibling. 

Yeah... there is nothing in the sugar bowl. I am sorry. Those are the facts. It’s also something Lemony is not comfortable telling Violet. He wants to prepare her for disappointment, but she doesn’t have the context to really get it yet. Even though Lemony hints at it earlier (”they would be proud to have raised children who were brave and resourceful enough to barter the location of the sugar bowl for their sister’s safety”). That the Baudelaire’s instinctively understood the real value of the sugar bowl. Also, I was already planning what ended up becoming “To share a kitchen” at this point. The original draft was primarily focused on Sunny figuring out what was in the sugar bowl, and that being something that Lemony wasn’t comfortable telling anyone because it’s something that one has to figure out for ones self. But that ended up being kind of tangential to that story in the end. 

Violet was silent and perfectly still, puzzling over all of this not terribly helpful information, as Lemony finished his tea. 

Call back to Lemony saying “he was so still and quiet when he was thinking through a puzzle”. Because Violet is Bertrand’s daughter. 

“Thank you, at least, for not telling me it is too dangerous for me to know.”

“My track record is far from perfect, but I do make a sincere attempt to keep my word.”

This is a direct refute of Widdershins saying that it’s too dangerous for young people to know what is in the sugar bowl. That was very deliberate. Lemony and Widdershins have some shit to work out. I don’t know that they ever get the chance. (I tend to think Widdershins doesn’t know what is in the sugar bowl. And that is a beginning of the rift between them; they seem close in atwq and Lemony seems so casually disdainful of him by the time he is writing tgg.)

And then the last paragraph is just... Lemony is not and never is going to play the role of a father figure for Violet, but they are a FAMILY in the way that matters--they’re comforted by each other’s presence and the small noises they make when going about their normal habits. 

And that is that!

[bi-bi-richie]

A Little Deadlight Never Killed Anyone ( 2 / 3 )

Richie is about to leave Derry, he’s about to leave for the last time and move on. He’s about to leave Eddie. But, first, he’s got to carve something back into the kissing bridge he left in 1989. Little does he know that a short trip to find closure will give him everything he’s ever wanted and more.

...

“Eddie?” A voice chirped behind him. Eddie felt his heart freeze for just a second, then it started beating faster than he’s ever felt it beat before. He whips his head around and is met face to face with a boy, a boy he knows. It may have been years, twenty-seven of them to be exact, but Eddie would recognize that mop of curly blonde hair anywhere. The clean polo paired with neatly ironed khaki shorts that stopped just above the knee. The perfectly white shoes that had white socks that rode up just below the knee. Eddie would recognize him anywhere.

“Stan,” he breathed, he suddenly felt light as air and charged after him.

...

Chapter 1

It’s bright. It’s so fucking bright. Eddie swears that he’ll go blind after this, but then he has a horrifying thought that is will there be an after this?

In an agonizingly slow pace, Eddie starts to make out shapes. There’s trees, the green on the leaves are so heavily shined on, he can barely make out the color. He slowly begins to realize things, like how green the grass below his feet is and how… small his feet are. In fact, now that he’s seeing it, he’s not wearing the shoes from that morning, or even the same pants. Fuck, he’s not even wearing pants, he’s wearing shorts. Red shorts. He pulls his hands up from his sides and looks at how small they are, how childish they are. He turns his head and sees a small body of water, one he recognizes but won’t dwell on because he needs answers. He breaks into a small run and almost trips over his own tiny body. When he reaches the water he drops to his knees to look at it and almost falls over when he sees his own reflection. He was thirteen again.

“Eddie?” A voice chirped behind him. Eddie felt his heart freeze for just a second, then it started beating faster than he’s ever felt it beat before. He whips his head around and is met face to face with a boy, a boy he knows. It may have been years, twenty-seven of them to be exact, but Eddie would recognize that mop of curly blonde hair anywhere. The clean polo paired with neatly ironed khaki shorts that stopped just above the knee. The perfectly white shoes that had white socks that rode up just below the knee. Eddie would recognize him anywhere.

“Stan,” he breathed, he suddenly felt light as air and charged after him. Stan had a look of confusion and hope, as he took in Eddie running after him, it changed into pure joy.

“Oh my god, Eddie!” Eddie crashed into him, they almost felt backward but Stan managed to stabilize the hug because that’s what he did. That’s what he always was to Eddie, the most stable man he ever knew. Eddie wrapped his arms around Stan’s torso and buried his face into his chest. You never really know how much you miss someone until you see them again, at least that’s what Eddie thinks.  

Eddie pulls away from Stan after a minute or so and finally gets a good look into his eyes. They’re sad but happy at the same time, Eddie wonders if he’s been alone all this time. Well, it hasn’t been a very long time but time has still passed and to be alone when you know you’re dead, well, it’s not comforting.

“I’m sorry,” Stan whispers as tears start to collect in his eyes, “I’m so sorry I didn’t come back.”

Eddie shakes his head, “no don’t do that. It’s okay, Stanley, it’s okay.”

“I left you guys.”

“We all tried to leave, Stan. Me, Richie, Ben, Beverly… Mike and Bill were the only ones who didn’t get their stuff and try to leave. It’s okay, Stan.”

Stan nods his head in a way that says no, I don’t believe it but I won’t push it, and as much as Eddie wishes he didn’t feel that way, he doesn’t think he’d think any differently if he were him.

“At least you didn’t go up against him and die like me, right?” Eddie tries to joke, but there’s real fear behind it that Stan doesn’t miss.

Wordlessly, Stan presses his left hand against Eddie’s chest and just holds it there for a moment. Eddie can’t help but notice how cold he is despite how warm the air around them was. After a second, Stan pulls his hand back and shakes his head at Eddie.

“You’re not dead,” Eddie doesn’t miss the slight disappointment in his voice, “you wouldn’t have a heartbeat if you were dead.”

Eddie pulls his own hand up to feel his chest and slightly nods his head. “Well, being a coward still brought me here, didn’t it?”

Stan gave him a confused look, “what’re you talking about?”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders and started to lower himself onto the soft grass below him. “I mean, look at me. The rest of them are fighting out there, probably winning, and avenging countless deaths, then look at me. I’m sitting in… heaven, talking to you instead of helping them fight.” He let out a humorless chuckle and started to let his eyes fill with tears, “before I came down here, Richie told me that I was braver than I thought I was. I thought I’d get to prove it to myself today and I didn’t. I bet they’re all- all being brave over there, attacking It with everything they’ve got and being heroes.”

Stan narrowed his eyes on the boy who suddenly looked much smaller than he really was, the boy who has put himself down for so long, he doesn’t realize his own worth and it’s killing him. Stan wonders if Eddie has been living his whole life like this, never knowing his real strength and forcing himself to be okay with it. But there’s no time to ask.

“Eddie,” he takes a seat next to him, “you don’t need to fight a monster to prove that you’re brave.”

Eddie looks at him with a wary gaze and opens his mouth to say something but Stan doesn’t let him.

“Listen to me. Eddie, you are braver than you know, but if you could only prove it by defeating supernatural beings, well, then nobody could really prove they’re brave.” Eddie chuckles and it makes Stan laugh, maybe he’s getting through to him. “You’ll be able to show how brave you are eventually, and it doesn’t need to be down in a disgusting sewer being faced with certain death.”

Eddie pulled him into another hug then. It wasn’t as tight as the other hugs but it still meant a whole lot to both of the boys. “Thank you, Stanley,” then he pulled away and just watched his friend. He really did miss him a whole lot.

“Will you be okay here?” Eddie asked.

Stan smiles, “yes. I’m not as alone as you think. I’ve been here with Georgie and Georgie has been here with the rest of the kids from before, I’m guessing that those who have had an encounter with It have their own sort of heaven. I like that idea, it means I’ll get to see all of you guys again when it’s time.” Eddie smiles and thinks that he’ll be okay with dying if it means getting to see Stan and Georgie again, the others will be too. “Just, could you do one thing for me?”

“Anything, Stan.”

“Could you tell my wife, Patty, that I’m sorry? That I love her?”

Eddie hesitates, realizing that Stan must’ve had a good life before he died, he must’ve died so suddenly on her. But he nods, he would do anything for Stan, especially now. And then, the world around Eddie started tearing at the edges, the brilliant heaven starting to be overcome with darkness and Eddie realizes that something must be happening back in the real world. He stands up and starts to frantically look around and realizes that everything is coming apart and he’s in the center of it.

“Stan!” He chokes out and starts reaching out to his friend. “Stan, I don’t want to leave you!”

Stan just smiles, he stands up again and walks towards Eddie to give him one last hug. A hug that Eddie almost can’t reciprocate in his panicked mind.

“It’s going to be okay, Eddie,” he whispers, “I’ll be okay.”

And before the world finally fades away, Stan says, “you’re going to be okay.”

Then Eddie finds himself falling, his back hits the cold floor and he realizes that he’s back to real life. He’s back and he’s in one peace, but nobody is around him, so how could he have possibly woken up? Then a piece of the ceiling above him falls and hits the top of his head. He looks up and realizes that everything is coming apart, across from him he sees a stone figure of what he’d consider to be a very fucked up version of pennywise. He doesn’t have time to inspect it, though, he needs to run. It is dead and he needs to find his friends.

He needs to find Richie.

…

Now Eddie is sitting on a rock looking out to the water of the quarry with Richie’s hand in his. He thinks about how much prettier the place looked in heaven, but how he enjoys it so much more with Richie sitting right next to him. He wonders if Stan can see them and if he’s at least a little proud. He hopes he’s proud.

Eventually, Richie drove Eddie back to the Derry Town House and rented out a room for another night. The woman at the front gave him a weird look but Richie didn’t pay it any mind, he needed to get Eddie a shower before he met back with the other losers anyway. After Eddie finished (and made out with Richie for about an hour) they decided to leave and go back to the quarry where they would hopefully meet all the losers again soon.

“Why didn’t you tell them I was alive over the phone?” Eddie asked as they got out of the car.

Richie smiled shyly and shrugged his shoulders, “oh, I don’t know. Maybe I like the shock value… Maybe I didn’t want them rushing back here so I’d get a few hours alone with the man I love. But those are all maybe’s.”

Eddie chuckled and grabbed for his hand, “maybe I don’t mind being alone for a few hours with the man I love. But that’s just a maybe.”

…

The first loser to walk through the bushes was Mike. He looked concerned, no doubt hoping that Richie had good news but, to be fair, the last time he saw Richie he was scared he was going to drive himself into a river and die. It’s a really dramatic scenario but that’s just how depressed Richie really was, and Richie couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t have tried.

“Richie, what’s the news-” then Eddie turned his head and Mike lost all the air in his lungs. Something told Eddie that all the losers were going to react in a similar fashion.

And they did. Mike started crying when he realized what was going on and pulled Eddie into a tight hug. Bill, who was the next loser to show up, started laughing hysterically but in joy, realizing that they didn’t actually lose Eddie. Ben and Beverly showed up together, Beverly latched herself onto Eddie immediately and held him as close as she could while she cried into his shirt. Ben wasn’t quite as affectionate but he still cried.

“I have a lot to tell you guys.” and this time, there was no clown to stop him.

[anonwriterthethird]

The Ring of Mages

Chapter One - Siv of Olcar

Words - 3,129

Warnings - Death, slight mention of blood, bad writing

_____

The village was still, all that was moving was the swaying grass and trees from the light breeze. Everything was illuminated by the moonlight, completely captivating Siv. The girl sat on top of a hill in the grass, leaning back on her palms while staring out at the land before her. There were rolling hills littered with buildings and surrounded by walls that looked beautiful in the night, but she was more focused on what was above.

The sky was filled with colorful swirls shaded of blues and purples, all of them spotted with bright shiny dots that reflected brightly off of her golden eyes. This was the only time of day that Judith could find peace, late at night when staring at the painted sky. Of course she had to leave to bed at some point though, training was set for very early in the morning.

Siv reluctantly stood from her spot, not wanting to leave such a pretty sight. But she had to leave eventually so she made her way down the hill and towards her little cottage. She slowly creaked open the main door and tried to be quiet as to not wake her parents. Siv had gotten to her room making sure not to make a single noise and lit up a lantern placed on her desk. She opened up the top drawer and took out a worn leather journal along with a quill and inkwell. Judith wrote of what she saw that night, of every swirl and color in the night sky. Then right next to it she attempted a drawing, making it as detailed as her memory allowed.

Before Siv was able to finish her drawing there was an enormous explosion, startling the girl into spilling the inkwell all over the pages. After a few moments there was yet another explosion followed by the panicked shouts of guards and screams of citizens. Siv stumbled her way towards her window and all that was seen was chaos. The Northern wall was broken down, laying scattered in pieces. Soldiers with spears and axes ran through the broken down wall on foot, a few rode on horses wielding bows armed with flamed tip arrows. The people on foot burst into every home and slaughtered all those inside while taking anything of value. People ran outside screaming trying to get away only to be ruthlessly killed. The cavalry shot their arrows through the air, catching both people and building on fire to suffer a slow and painful death. When watching all of this horror unfold, the bedroom door had slammed open, jumping Siv out of her shocked daze.

“Siv! There you are, we must hurry. Grab your cloak,” It was her father who spoke low and rushed, “C’mon, we must go before they reach us!” He quickly went to the main door, dragging along the stumbling young girl. Siv’s mother met them there from the kitchen holding a small black cloak and a pack filled with food. She kneeled down towards the trembling girl, wrapping her with the cloak and handed her the food. Then she leaned in a bit closer, placing her forehead onto her daughters with her hands holding the other’s head.

She whispered,“If anything is to happen, anything, just keep running. Do not look back,” She peeled away, tears brimming her eyes, and placed a soft kiss on top of her daughter’s forehead.

“Promise me.”

All the girl could do was nod her head. Siv let out a few stray tears, not knowing what to expect to happen in the next few moments.

Her mother gave a shaky sigh and a weak smile, “Thank you…”

The girl’s father cracked open the door just enough to pop his head out. He looked left and right, looking for an opening to run to safety. Once he deemed it safe he opened the door further and led them all down the path. He looked back at his wife and daughter and talked to them in a hushed but urgent voice, “We go to the stables, there we can grab two horses. Siv, you ride with me,”

They both nodded in response, ready to follow. He continues to make his way to the stables, using the back paths and hiding in the shadows while making sure his family was close behind. They get closer and closer with each step they took, being careful to stay hidden and quiet. The mother kept her arm around Siv’s shoulder as they walked not wanting to let go of her daughter, not wanting to lose her. Although she would not lose Siv, Siv would lose her. A roar was made from a soldier behind them as a spear was thrown through the air. It had gone straight through the mother’s chest. Her dress gradually stained red as she had fallen to the ground.

Siv fell to her knees at her mother’s side as she balled out raging waterfalls of tears, “No, no, not like this, mother…”

The only response she could get was a cough of blood and one muttered word said so quietly that she could barely hear, “Run…”

“No… no!” Siv began screaming, giving away their location to even more soldiers. The one who killed her mother had begun to make his way towards them so her father had to roughly grab Siv and drag her away from her now lifeless mother. She screamed and clawed at her father as he picked her up and started sprinting towards the stables which were now right in front of them.

“I know, I know. But we can no longer stay, we must run,” He tried to talk Siv down as he placed her on top of the horse’s saddle, which was thankfully already set up beforehand. He untied the horse and got on back behind Siv. He reached around to grab the reins and swiftly turned the horse while making it go into a sprint. Some of the cavalry took notice of their attempt to escape and chased after. They started to aim their arrows, although these ones were not set aflamed. They launched the arrows making them soar through the air but most of them miss. Until one makes its way through the father’s throat, then his back, then another in his back, and another. They just kept coming, but they fortunately only his him and not the daughter he had sworn to protect since birth.

Just a few seconds after Siv’s father was hit with arrows, an arrow had landed on the horses leg making them crash into the ground. The girl was about to get up and try to run away but realized how foolish that would be after taking a saddening look back at her dead father who still had arrows sticking out his back. Instead she opted to stay laying down, unmoving to make them think that she was killed as well. Some cavalry had trotted up to the fallen horse to inspect if the job was done. A hooded figure had jumped off the horse to look more closely. Siv made the mistake of moving her gaze up to him. If they noticed, which they surely did, then they either didn't care or for some reason took pity because they didn’t kill her or order her to be killed.

The person stood up straight and hopped back onto their horse, “It seems we have cleared this area, let’s start moving to the Eastern side of the village,” with that they were off, making their horses sprint in the opposite direction.

Once everyone was completely gone Siv had begun to slowly stand. Her face was red and blotchy while still being covered in stray tears that couldn’t be held back. When all the way up she had looked around herself once more and then started to run as fast as her feet could take her away from the village, away from her home. She ran and ran, not knowing where to go or what to do. Her lungs burn, her legs and feet begin to ache, but she refuses to stop. She does not stop until she is deep into the forest that surrounded the walls of her home. After Siv has stopped she lays against the tree, breathing heavily to catch her breath. After the short break she begins to walk. Where to, Gods only know.

After walking for what felt like hours Siv had stumbled upon something amazing. A secluded hut. She found it right as the sun had begun to show, meaning she has been up all night and was in much need of rest along with food and water. She makes her way up to the door, wrapping herself further into her cloak as she knocks.

After hearing some shuffling and footsteps the door swings open. Standing before her was a tall woman in a light blue dress. “Oh my, you poor thing you look exhausted! Come in, come in,” The woman ushers Siv into her home, “You look just dreadful, is that blood on you?”

Siv shakily nods her head, letting some more tears slip by when remembering whose blood it was. Although, she did not know whether it was her mother’s, father’s, or both. Probably both.

“Come sit, tell what has happened,” She leads Siv over to the kitchen table where a young boy sat. “Sindri, go fetch a pot of tea,”

“Yes mother,”

While the tea brew Siv had begun her story from when the village was first attacked to when she ran through the forest and stumbled upon their doorstep. Sindri set down the tea just as Siv was choking up on tears when getting to each of her parents death. She then had left out the part where she was spared by the cloaked figure, she didn’t know what to think of that part and thought it best to be excluded.

“My dear you have been through so much, you may stay here as long as you wish,”

“Thank you… “Siv trailed off waiting to learn the woman’s name.

“Nadia,”

“Thank you, Nadia,”

Before they could carry on their conversation the door was kicked open by a large man with a dead deer in his arms. “I’ve brought dinner,” The burly man dropped the deer down onto the table where they sat, causing it to rattle.

“Alvis! Don’t be so rude, we have a guest,” Nadia had given the man, Alvis, a look of judgment and anger.

“My apologies, love,” He turned his attention away from presumably his wife towards the stranger sitting at his table.

“Siv, from the village of Olcar,”

Nadia had piped in after Siv’s introduction, “Her village was attacked just last night,”

Alvis scoffed at the news, “Why am I not surprised? It was likely a group of Vikings, our foolish King Frey has been refusing to pay the Danegeld.” He picked up the deer from the table while talking and started making his way towards the back door to get it out of the way.

Siv looked up to Alvis in confusion, “Danegeld?”

“It’s a tribute the kings pay to keep Vikings from attacking, although paying just one group does not protect the kingdom from all Vikings,” Alvis tried to explain it the best he could for her to understand, for there are multiple groups of vikings where none of which are united. “King Frey really ought to know better by now…” he muttered while walking out the door to get dinner prepared for cooking.

Nadia looked back over to Siv, “Well since Olcar has been ravaged, as I said before, you are welcome to stay here,” she stood up, taking her cup over to the other dirtied dishes, “You’re too young to be on your own, you may stay in the spare bedroom,”

Siv smiled up at her and responded with a quiet, “Thank you,”

“It is no trouble at all. Now, you must be so exhausted after fleeing all night. Sindri my dear, would you be kind enough to show her to her room?”

Sindri who has just been quietly listening perked up at his name being called, “Of course, this way,” Sindri motioned for her to follow him. It was a small room filled with just a bed, desk, and a single small window. “Once you awake I will give you a tour of the rest of the house,” He closed the curtains to block out the sun then moved out the door, leaving her to rest.

Siv had fallen asleep as soon as her head had touched the pillow. Instead of a dreamless sleep, memories of the night before kept playing through her head. She saw her mother telling her to run and then getting killed by a spear. Riding the horse with her father, getting so close to escaping with at least one of her parents, only for him to be shot over and over again by arrows. Then the dream had moved on to a cloaked figure staring at her, it felt as if their eyes were boring straight into her soul.

Siv woke with a start, panting heavily and covered in sweat. Reliving those moments was the very last thing she wanted. She tore off the covers and shakily stood up, making her way over to the window. She drew open the curtains to see that it was still day. Siv walked to the door and stepped out, going towards the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re awake. Whenever you’re ready I can give that tour,” Sindri had offered the girl. She stayed silent but nodded her head. Sindri looked at her a bit weirdly, “Are you alright? You seem a little shaken up…”

“Yes, I am quite alright. No worries,”

Sindri didn’t believe her at all but still said, “Ok if you say so…”

“Well I do say so, but how about we get on with that tour now,” These words came out sounding ruder than she meant it to be, but she did not want to talk about her dream.

Sindri raised his hands in mock surrender, “Ok, ok, let’s go then,” He lead her around almost every room when they had made their way outside. Sindri led Siv down a short dirt path that weaved around the trees.

Siv has no idea where Sindri could be taking her, she got more and more confused the deeper they went. She hardly knows him and is starting to question if it was safe to stay here, safe to follow him into the forest. “Where might you be taking me, Sindri?”

“I’ll be showing you the sparring ring, it’s just a little further,”

Siv was still very confused, only now about why they have a sparring ring, “Why do you have one of those?”

Sindri sighed and looked down at his feet while they walked, “Well you may not know but King Frey is planning on building an arena, one similar to the old colosseum down in Rome,”

Siv gave Sindri a perplexed look while cutting him off, “Wait are you going to fight in a new colosseum…?”

“Yes I am, the king has been recruiting men at random to take part and become something like gladiators,” he started to give a saddened look, “Unfortunately I am one of the recruitments…”

“Oh…,” Siv turned her head away, an awkward silence starting to settle. At least until they had come upon a clearing in the forest. The sparring ring was just a simple dirt circle surrounded by huge oak trees.

Sindri had stopped right at the edge of the ring, “Well this is it, the sparring arena. I figured you might have wanted to see it just in case you’d like to try training at some point,”

Siv gave a small smile, “Maybe I could train along with you! That could be fun, right?”

Sindri gave a slight scoff in response, “I don’t recommend training with me. My training is to prepare me to fight in a ring to the death while people chant and yell, excited to see my blood spill,”

“Exactly, I should prepare to face the worst,”

Sindri had sighed yet again, “Yes, I guess you should, just in case…” He then looked over to her and sternly told her, “Just know that training with me does not mean you can just run into battles or join me in the arena. Only a fool would want such things,”

Siv scoffed at this, “I am no fool,”

In response she had gotten a small smirk, “If you say so…” Sindri got a good smack on the back of his head for that remark. “Ok, ok, you are not a fool!”

Six smiled triumphantly, crossing her arms and tilting her head up. “That's what I thought. Now let's head back, I'm starving,”

Chuckling, Sindri looked down and shook his head, “Very well, let's go,” He turned his back to the ring and marched down the path once again with Siv trailing behind. “Siv, I must ask you something. The people who attacked your village, did they by any chance attack from the waters?”

Siv furrowed her eyebrows together in thought, “I am not entirely sure, Olcar is a huge village and I lived far from the waters so I did not see. Why do you ask?”

“I am trying to figure out who exactly attacked, if it were the vikings then they most likely would have attacked from the waters. Did they have much cavaly?”

“Yes they did, quite a bit actually…”

This puzzled Sindri, cavalry was not exactly the Vikings strong suit. They were more fitted for off-land battles with their longships. “That is very odd, but I suppose if it were a group of Vikings then they might have wanted to perfect yet another craft,”

Siv hummed in agreement, it was strange for vikings to use mainly cavalry. Especially when they were masters when it came to off-land warfare with their longships. But like Sindri had stated, it is not impossible for this group of Vikings to learn yet another fighting skill. “When do you think I could start training?” Siv had asked, just not wanting to think of her old home anymore.

Sindri glanced over to her once again, “Well if you rest up tonight then I suppose, if you want, we can start tomorrow,”

Siv smiled over to him, “Sounds great! But for now, our mission is food so…” She started to sprint ahead of him and looked over her shoulder to yell, “Hurry your ass up!”

Sindri shook his head again and laughed while beginning to run forward, “Alright, alright, I can already tell you’re gonna be a lot of fun to have around,”

“Of course I will be, I'm a delight to have around!”

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Temporary Ideal (Part 1)

The Beach FanFic (Leonardo DiCaprio) - Written decades ago. (uff!) Can find in entirety on Wattpad. May add additional parts if it ever gets some likes/reblogs.

~~~~~

The shade from the palm made the dampness of the air around me more palpable.  I could feel the condensation on my arms, face and lips.  I shivered in the early dawn, waiting for him.  Waiting and thinking.  This spot, near Bugs’ bridge, was the unofficial entrance to the village. It was where I had laid eyes on him for the first time.  I remembered it clearly, like it was yesterday.  Recalling that moment, surrounded by the soft rays of a new day, it was hard to believe it had been six months since the “Three Musketeers” had backpacked into our community.

~~~~~

It happened right after Vera had thrown me the last of the bed sheets.  I had taken the worn nub of the last remains of Unhygenix’s homemade soap, and rubbed it lazily against the sheet draped over the granite slab.  I hated laundry duty.  Even though Vera moaned and groaned when we had the garden shift, I would gladly trade in my pruned fingers for dirt strewn ones.  There was the quiet that was only disrupted by the buzz of an insect or the occasional tears of dead leaves. The hope experienced planting seeds for the new crop. Picking the ripe fruit and sneaking a taste of one, delicious pear before the rest of the community.  My innate green thumb surprised me.  I wouldn’t have looked twice at a cornfield or row of tomato plants in my “other” life. Here, though, things were different.

“Oh… my… God!”  Vera’s faux valley girl inflection had taken over for a moment.  Alarmed, I froze, staring down at the water flowing past my bare thighs.  The last time Vera had voiced that exclamation while doing the wash had been when she had a spotted eel wrapped around her calf.  We never were sure if the eel was very friendly, very horny or very tired of intruders in that particular spot of the lagoon.  She had grabbed that sucker and smashed it against a rock like a bullwhip.  Poor thing never knew what hit him, or her, or it.  I made a mental note never to sneak up on Vera after that.

“What?”  My focus shifted to Vera’s line of sight, which hadn’t been the water.  My mouth opened slightly, feeling the dryness that had suddenly appeared.  I’m sure everyone in the community had the same feeling at that moment.  There they were, walking over the bridge, entering our territory.  Keaty led the way.  His tour of duty by the waterfall had turned out to be the most eventful one in two years.

“Three.”  Vera waded toward the bridge.  My mind had quickly processed the total.  My attention was all on the person following six steps behind Keaty.  I could tell immediately that he was American.  I’m not sure what gave him away first, but the quick nod of recognition he gave Vera solidified it.

American.  Even though I felt fear and uncertainty at their presence, I still smiled.  There was another one of us.  Four now.  And there was another reason I was smiling.  That flight of butterflies that had remained dormant in my stomach for what now seemed like an eternity, was performing aerials I couldn’t remember ever experiencing.  It may have just boiled down to the fact that there was new meat.  Available meat.  It was obvious, the solitary way he strode ahead of the other man and woman, that he was alone.

He was tan, lean and long.  Everything about him screamed California boy, kissed by the sun from his golden-brown strands to the shine of his skin.  He tightly gripped the end of what looked like a trash bag over his right shoulder, eyes darting this way and that, taking in the entirety of the environment.  He passed over me as quickly as he had everyone else.  I was too far away to make out the color of his eyes, but his stare was intense enough for me to feel he meant business.  They hadn’t just stumbled across our paradise.  This had been a quest.  And I was pretty sure he was the one who had been in charge for most of it.

Vera looked over to me after they had passed.  “Let’s hurry this shit up and get our asses back to the longhouse.  I don’t want to miss Sal’s face when she sees this.”  I nodded in agreement, and then shook my head at the thought of Sal’s expression. I hoped I would be able to get some prime seating.

~~~~~ 

We slipped in after the impromptu “family meeting” had already taken place.

Sophie stood in the darkened corner and motioned quickly to both of us as soon as we came in.  We huddled together for catch up.

“They have a map.”  Sophie nodded her head toward the middle of the longhouse, where the majority now congregated.  Sal was in full mother-hen mode.  I spotted the paper in her hand.

“To the beach?”  Vera asked and Sophie nodded.  My eyes canvassed the area.  I saw the back of blonde boy.  “Who are they?”  Vera questioned again.

“The couple is French.”  I looked over at Sophie in time to see a slight smile.  It would be an addition to the already large French line.  “Etienne and Francoise.  The other one is Richard.  An American.”

Richard.  I let the name dance in my head a few times, unable to hide the vindication that my guess to his nationality had been correct.  I didn’t need to hear any more from Sophie.  I walked around the circle, just outside the radar of being noticed.  Blending into the background had always been my best skill and too much was going on for anyone to pay attention to me anyway.  They were all fixated on the visitors.  I could spot rage on some faces, fear on others.  But Sal would not let these new arrivals leave.  I had known her long enough to realize that fact.

I sat on my bunk thankful Richard was on the exact opposite end.  My legs crossed.  I could hear the buzz of conversation around me.  All of my senses besides sight had dulled, been drowned out, by the activity occupying me.  Taking in every aspect of this man was now top priority.  Boyishness graced his face, but the dominance of the man emerging was putting up a fierce battle with that appearance.  In his 20s definitely, but as to which end of the scale he tipped closer to was still up in the air.  The beauty and symmetry of his face elicited one word into my mind.  Perfect.  The shadows of late afternoon, however, didn’t allow a peek at his eye color.  The somber, stuffy atmosphere of the hut matched the mood of its inhabitants.

My hearing tuned in at the sound of his voice, answering a question from Sal.  I let the pitch and tone of his words flow inside.  Even his words felt right to my ears.  “It was on my hotel door one morning.  I’d had this weird conversation with a guy staying next door to me the night before.  He kept talking about this beach.  So when I found the map, I figured it was from him.  The guy who drew it…”

“Daffy.”  Sal finished his sentence for him.  The name jarred memories and haunting images of the rift that formed right before Daffy had left the island.  The friction between Daffy, Sal and Bugs had become unbearable.  I wanted to ask about Daffy, but the question only screamed inside my mind.  There would be no disruptions while class was in session, at least not from the well-behaved students.

“Yeah, he’s dead.”  My mouth dropped open, hearing that cold, factual sentence from Richard.  That sentence did not come from one who had spent countless nights listening to Daffy’s stories around the fire.  Not one who had ventured back with him to the mainland at least a dozen times for rice runs.  And not one who had seen the love for something pure turn into an obsession to protect it.  I tried to let the realization of Daffy’s death sink in, but I knew it would take forever to finalize it.  I saw the whispers and stunned expressions take over the group.

Someone, I think Dale, exclaimed, “No way!”

Richard continued.  “Yeah, he cut his wrists open in a hotel room on the Ko Sahn Road.”

Gregorio stared in horror at Richard.  “You have seen this?”

“Well, I came afterwards.”  There was no easy way to break this kind of news to a family.  It was like a police officer knocking at a son’s door in the middle of the night to tell him his parents had been killed in a car accident.  Empathy is a hard feeling to fake.  You just don’t know until you have been there.  I guessed Richard had yet to experience a close death. 

“Well, that’s sad news.  He was one of the founders of our community.”  I spotted Vera, still in the corner with Sophie, listening to Sal.  I hoped she had sense enough to hold her tongue.

“Oh.”  Richard nodded his head slightly.

“But he became depressed.”  There had been a clearing of the throat, somewhere from the crowd, after Sal’s addition.  My stomach tensed up.  It was amazing how fast people forgot all the good.  Most of the bad feelings toward Daffy were present because of Sal’s talks and speeches since he had left.  How he had become a liability, an acceptable loss for the protection of our community.   

I saw Richard survey the reaction quickly.  He had felt the bad blood and my eyes narrowed as I watched him try and feed off of it.  “The police didn’t know what to do with the body so I guess they’re going to like incinerate him or something.”  His smile and sudden laugh felt forced, out of place.  He immediately realized his mistake, turning his head to the side to avoid the eyes of the community.  He scratched the back of his head.

Sal took no note of it.  I knew she was concerned with only one thing.  “Do you think he gave a map to anybody else?”

Richard stared at her for a second, shaking his head in doubt.  “Ah, no… I don’t think so.”  I noticed relief on his face, thankful that the attention had been shifted from his foot-in-mouth display.

She looked at Etienne, Francoise and Richard, one by one.  “And you, have you shown this map to anybody?”

They answered one after the other.  “No.”

“Good.”  She handed the open map to Richard.  I felt another example coming on.  She grabbed Bugs’ lighter and smiled, “We value our secrecy.”  She lighted the map at the bottom as Richard held it.  I heard the clapping begin.  With that, our new members had been baptized.

~~~~~  

After dinner, the nightly ritual of bedtime began for all in the longhouse. The newly arrived were given their sleep locations. I quietly prayed to whatever Thai god had whispered in Sal’s ear and placed him an easy glance across the floor from me. It was a beautiful change of scenery.

Keaty was filling him in on how things ran daily in the hut when Sonja stood up. I sighed. It was a language class tonight. She politely requested everyone’s attention and began her translation prompt.

“Listen up, everybody.” Her blonde bob shook a bit as she scanned the room. Linguistic learning was mainly someone reciting a line in English – which everyone on the island spoke – and expecting a translation in the teacher’s native tongue. In Sonja’s case, we’d be regurgitating the phrase in Croation. I always cursed Sal when it was time for this, as it had been her bright idea to begin this ages ago.  I enjoyed poetry night so much more. I didn’t have to worry about getting called on to speak in front of the class.

“OK. Tomorrow I will travel for many miles on a bicycle.” She nodded her head towards the right of the hut. “Um, Vicki.”

Sitting just off to Richard’s side, Vick stopped in mid hit. I was curious if she had spoken to Richard much upon his arrival. She was a California girl. If my assumptions about where he was from were right, they might have a lot to talk about. She took just a second to contain her smoke before beginning. “Uh, sutra cu potovati mnogo milja bicicklom.”

I watched Richard listen intently before looking to Sonja to see how well Vicki had done. “Great, very good.” Sonja went on to her next victim. Though I should have been paying attention in case I was called, I was spending more time studying Richard.

After Helene, it was Keaty’s turn. In typical fashion, he stood up proudly. “All right. It’s far too easy, though.” With little effort, the words flowed freely out of his mouth. Cockily, he continued the rant. From what I could tell, his bicycle ride was going to be in the park after he ate a big breakfast. I shook my head, laughing at his pompous behavior as the rest of the group jeered. They eventually drowned him out. “There’s more, you know.” Before he sat down he took over Sonja’s duty and called out the next name. “Richard!”

There was an immediate hush. The newbie looked around and cleared his throat. To all listening, he choked out the words in a broken fashion; but, still surprisingly correct. Keaty yelled out in admiration, “Richard, you’re represented, man!” As was customary, the rest of the community applauded in sign language with their hands shaking while raised above their heads. I joined in on the compliment.

Richard grinned from ear to ear as he looked around the room. I felt that hiccup in my chest again as his eyes fell on me for a brief second. His eyes sparkled in the lantern lights. It was time to curse myself for being such a sucker for blue eyes.

~~~~~  

Six months later, he was still only someone I studied from afar.  There was the occasional friendly or duty-related chit-chat.  But he had assimilated quickly, making a name for himself in the process.  He still had a while to go, still only the second-string quarterback of the island.  I, on the other hand, was hardly in the running for head cheerleader or homecoming queen. 

He had become chummy with Keaty.  I had gotten most of my information on Richard through him.  The one thing I didn’t need explained to me was the crush he had on Francoise, the French girl that had accompanied him on the journey.  I wondered if Etienne’s ignorance to his friend’s feelings about his girlfriend was simply a show.  The looks Richard gave Francoise were just a bit too long.  I hoped my crush was not as obvious to everyone else.

“Beth!”  Keaty strode up beside me on the way back from a day of tilling in the garden.

“What’s up?”

“Have a question for you, love.”  I always grinned when he said that.

“Shoot.”

Always the gentleman, he took my shovel, and leaned it against his right shoulder as we walked.

“Triple A’s.  In short supply.  Got any I can borrow?”

“God, Keaty, what have you been doing with them lately?”

“Not me only, Richard’s been hogging my GameBoy as well.  We’re thinking of starting our own group.  VGAA.”  I stared at him curiously.  He smiled explaining, “Video Game Addicts Anonymous.” 

I laughed, shaking my head.  “Well, I don’t know if I should be a facilitator then, supplying you with the means to continue this addiction.”

“Ah, but the first step on the road to recovery is admission, which I’ve already done.  Can’t stop cold turkey, right?”

“I’ll have some for you after dinner.”

“Thanks, Beth.  You are a life saver, have I told you that?”

I nodded.

“Well, you are.  I’m not the only one that knows it, love.”

“Enough sucking up, I already said I would give them to you.”

“Right.  How about trying a game of cricket with me tomorrow then?”

“That’s OK, I prefer watching.”

“I’ve noticed.”  I slapped his arm after that comment.

“Don’t hit me over the truth.”  We both laughed, approaching the clearing to the beach.  I didn’t spot Richard until Keaty had called over to him.  “Richard, my man, we are back in business!”

Richard turned upon hearing his name.  He sat on the beach with Christo and his fishing spear in hand.  He nodded, smiling.  “What Keaty!?”

“Got our dealer right here!”  He placed his free hand over my shoulder.  “Kong competition tonight!” 

I felt myself blush with his attention on me. “Cool!  Thanks Beth!” He waved over to the both of us.

I nodded and freed myself from Keaty’s grasp and grabbed the shovel back. “Gotta wash up, Keaty.”

~~~~~

I’d settled down in my bunk after a satisfying meal of rice and catfish, accompanied by an unexpected salad.  I thought about the crop we would be working on the next day and couldn’t wait for the tomatoes to ripen.  They’d be a great addition to Unhygenix’s menu. 

I searched in my satchel for the book of poetry by Thoreau.

“Beth?”

My eyes looked up to find Richard towering above me.

“Yeah?”  I smiled despite myself.

He bent at the knees, lowering himself to my eye level.  “Don’t mean to be a pain, but Keaty and I,” I stared into his blue eyes a bit longer than I should have.

“Oh!”  I mentally slapped my forehead.  “The batteries.”  He smiled, nodding.  “Sorry, I forgot all about it.”

“No problem, just didn’t know how much longer Keaty and I could last before we experience withdrawal symptoms.”  He chuckled, leaning his forearms against his knees.

I laughed, reaching over to my cigar box, my little treasure chest.  “What are some of the symptoms?” 

I turned back to see him hunched over, eyes wide, with his thumbs rapidly pressing invisible buttons.  “Nothing too severe.”  He started twitching his head.  He continued the act.  “Jump…  Right… Punch”.  I waved four batteries in front of his face, grinning.  He relaxed immediately, opening a palm for the alkaline gems to drop inside of.  “Whew, thanks.”  He winked, and then smiled, as his hand clutched them tightly.  “Could have gotten ugly.”

“Glad I could fix you up.”

“I owe you.”

I smiled, thinking of a few ways he could pay me back.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Night.”

“Good Night, Richard.”

I watched him stand up and turn, ready to make his way over to Keaty’s corner.  I was about to resume the search for my book when I saw him turn back out of the corner of my eye.  “Beth?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I was wondering… well,” he knelt down once again, “if you could help me with something?”

I nodded.

He looked around, I guessed to make sure no one was paying close attention.  I noticed him lingering his gaze in Sal’s direction before continuing, slightly above a whisper this time.  “It’s about Daffy.” 

It had been months since I had heard anyone utter his name.  “Daffy?”

He nodded.  “It’s just that… ever since we came here, I’ve had a lot of questions about him.  I mean he’s the reason we’re here.  But, no one talks about him.  I’ve asked Sal once, and Keaty a few times, but they just clam up or change the subject.  The only thing I got out of Keaty was that you were close to him.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Could you tell me something about him then?  Tomorrow maybe?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll meet up with you after fishing duty.”

“OK.”  I smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Good night.  Again.”  He smiled, walked off.  I lay back, placing my hand under my pillow.  That’s where Thoreau turned out to be hiding.  I pulled the worn book out, inspecting it.  Thoughts of curling up with a few of his verses were now long gone.  I had someone else to dream about.