#she was always trying to spare him from Her (death) Shadow (worse than death = aaravos)

[raayllum]

perpetually obsessed with the way you cannot pry rayla out of what has led callum into aaravos’ clutches. callum being obsessed with the mirror in the first place? is largely because he was looking for a distraction from the pain of losing her aaravos being able to possess him at all? is because callum did dark magic to save her. and even if you subscribe for some reason, framing wise, that he didn’t do it solely for her and instead for the dragon, he only believed in that cause because she convinced him to (“someone has to take a stand when no one else will” “you’re right”). the 4x04 intro implies that the key is directly connected to aaravos’ interest in callum in the first place? callum only has the cube because rayla grabbed it for him even when everything went to hell in a hand basket. callum only asked for the cube because he recognized the symbols from rayla’s drawing, and only pursued magic because she called him a mage even when he dismissed himself as nothing. he only did a spell because she pushed at him to do it: “is this a guessing game? just do it” like they are insane

[milliesfishes]

୨ৎ⋆˚౨ৎRibbons (Act Three)౨ৎ˚⋆୨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: depression, control, mention of a past suicide attempt, angst, pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader author’s note: this work contains topics that may be upsetting pertaining mental health, controlling relationships, depression, and suicide. This is probably one of the hardest things I've ever written. But I hope it's good :) Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Amor vincit omnia

The phrase in Latin was a part of your wedding vows, falling from your lips like a prayer as your utter devotion shone through at the altar. All you had seen was him, glowing with the light of love. He was yours. By all rights and now in the eyes of the law, you were forever bound.

How naive you had been. Starry eyed and innocent with new love. He could do no wrong because the only thing you saw him in the action of was loving you. All other things were behind closed doors he guarded heavily, sparing no mercy.

It was a love worse than death.

Apparently, the seaside had not healed you as permanently as had been hoped. And now, in the wake of the great, terrible secret you'd unearthed, a familiar shadow was settling back into your being, making itself at home and greeting you like a friend. And you let it.

Under lock and key, you kept your musings. Replaying your newly discovered memory over and over, you began to distrust yourself. How much else laid beneath your surface of consciousness, dictating your every move without your consent? And how many more were known by your husband?

Had Venus ever grown weary of her love? Of the constant weight of it? When she was birthed from the sea did her body shudder at the future that stretched ahead- one of endless feeling burdening her hours?

You still loved him. But love does not tie up loose ends. It frays them.

The glow of candlelight could not disguise the whispers clouding the atmosphere of the party like smoke, a low hum exhausting you on your feet. Coriolanus was speaking at length with a member of his advisory, and you weren't paying attention to the nature of his words.

It had been a trial to convince him to come to this one, and you'd held your breath for the entire car ride, nails crushing into your palms to keep yourself under control. But headlines from your brief appearance at the dinner last week had spurred your decision. No more mysterious declinations of invitations, no more avoiding the public.

You were nursing a glass of champagne, finger gliding the edge like an ice skater, eyes trained on the gilded wallpaper in the distance. The few conversations you'd attempted had been all but farces, stiffened words exchanged for the sake of your position. If it ever got back to Coriolanus that someone was purposefully rude, he would have their head.

Nearly subconsciously, his hand found yours, as if he could sense your discomfort. He parted ways with the acquaintance, turning to you attentively. Sliding his arm around your waist, he pressed a kiss to your hair as you leaned into him. "Is everything well?"

"Mhm." You nodded, tilting your head up to him. People were staring, not even trying to hide the fact that they were. But you ignored it, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'm okay."

"Good." He gave you a fond look, thumb rubbing up and down your waist. You held up your undrunk glass of champagne to him and he took it, bringing the liquid to his lips. Leaning down, he murmured. "We don't have to stay much longer."

You inhaled softly, resting your head on his shoulder briefly. "Don't ruin your night on my account. I'm the one who wanted to come."

"I'm glad we came." Coriolanus squeezed your side. "But we don't have to stay the whole time."

Deja vu was overwhelming you, bringing you back to the early days of your marriage. He was always checking in on you, always with a hand on you in some way. The thought made you smile just a bit.

The everything of everything was a burden unremedied by any attempted fix. You wore a mask of contentment, tried to pretend you were unbothered by what ailed you. It was useless, especially with him. You were an actress, but he was the director. The one who knew you best.

At home that evening, you removed your jewelry and unpinned your hair, the night heavy on your mind. You were unsure how many more stares and whispers and headlines you could take before your spine cracked under the weight of it all.

There was a knock on your door, and Coriolanus entered, half unbuttoned from the evening. You turned in your spot at the vanity, giving him a weary smile. He knelt at your side wordlessly, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he watched you through the mirror.

You continued to unravel yourself from the night, his presence a comfort. It had been slow these past few days; the way you let him fall back into your life, fill the ache of the empty space that had gathered dust.

The place you held in his heart had always been achingly clear.

You were his apple of Eden, his Achilles' heel. If he was Orpheus, then you were Eurydice, only he never would have looked back. The amount of trust he held in you was astonishing, nearly dreamt up after all that you'd suffered. But you'd known from the beginning that Coriolanus did not mirror the actions of other men. Even if it was easy to lose his intentions in their translation, the emotion was always crystal.

Maybe he was a snake creeping into your heart. Maybe the threads of him couldn't be cut. You'd have thought all these things if you'd fallen in love with him after he became President.

But who he was now was the man you'd married, worn on with time. Fed too much power through a straw. Made to think he had the burden of every decision in the world. Loving you was likely the same for him. Somewhere inside resided the woman you once were.

There was a glimpse of him as he knelt by your side now. It'd been a habit of his for the past several days- checking on you before he trailed off to his separate bedroom. Something about the way he looked at you was scalding in the best way. Like his passion burned so bright under his skin that it radiated outward. There was a deep-seated yearning inside you for it. It was your ambrosia and now you were starving.

All you wanted was the man you loved. But heaven knew if he'd let you have him.

Shaking your hair free, you turned to him, hands sliding over his shoulders, leaning into his embrace. "Tonight was hard."

"It was." Coriolanus rubbed your side, and you twisted your body to fit better into his. Lips finding your temple, he closed his eyes. "You know we're not required to go to everything they invite us to?"

"With what the headlines are saying about me?" you murmured. "I think we are."

A kiss was pressed into your neck, and he shook his head against you. "We know the truth, sweetheart. That's all that matters."

"But I hate that everyone thinks..." you cut yourself off, breathing in and out, and his grip loosened, giving you some space while maintaining his presence. "Everyone thinks that I'm awful."

"No." His fingers crawled up your cheek, caressing the underside of your jaw. "You're not awful, darling."

"Everyone thinks I am," you lowered your eyes to the floor. "Everything we go to, they're talking about me, whispering about my spending and your bad taste in a wife."

"My wife," Coriolanus started, using his thumb to turn your cheek back, eyes boring into yours. "Is better than anyone realizes. Kinder, more forgiving..." he exhaled through his nose, searching your face. His other hand wove into your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. "You...are a jewel among women."

Lips lifting ever so slightly, you moved forward, sheathing yourself fully in his arms. He held you close, touch as gentle as butterfly's wings. The solemn, soft silence of the night ensued, and you allowed yourself to become lost in it.

After a moment Coriolanus mumbled, "I'll leave you now. It's late." He began to untangle himself from you, but you grasped his arm. Looking at you with widened eyes, he froze. "Darling?"

Your lips parted slightly as you realized your action. But your body had determined what you wanted even before you did. And so you gathered your words. "Will...will you stay?"

Slightly surprised by it, he studied you for a moment as time stilled. You were lost in his touch, inspired by the outward vow of his heart. So true his devotion shone from the outside that it created a sunbeam you basked in. Slowly, your husband nodded, and then you were in his arms once more.

Safe and sound.

The sands of the next few weeks slipped through time's lofty hourglass, tickling your nose with how swiftly they moved. In the backdrop of the past, this had been rendered for the worst. A sign that you were drowning.

In the present it represented your coming back to life.

The unknown memory from before had been lifted from your shoulders, every frustration alleviated once you found the courage to work through it. You were in a unique situation where the problem had already been solved, but it felt new to you, lingering in your mind. Time was the only balm to your troubles, and you found it worked as well as anything could. The weight of the memory never grew lighter, you merely became stronger.

This was reflected in Coriolanus' eyes every time you looked at him, the way he watched your forged key unlock the vault of pain and suffering that encased your previous joy. It was nearly a trick of the light when one saw the person they loved getting better. Every time you smiled, he did the briefest of double takes, as if you were a ghost.

The littlest things began to delight you again, from the first rose budding in the garden to a tiny pale butterfly floating in the gentle breeze. Things that seemed to have escaped your notice for months.

As you rediscovered every wonder of the world, you could feel him watching you. Feel him drinking in the way you became yourself again.

It did not escape your notice that the grasp of change had found him too.

He let go, left you to explore life as you wished, did not limit your bounds as before. You were free to go out on your own again, to call on old friends and find a place in the tumultuous waters of the Capitol once again. Every night when you came home, he greeted you with a gentle kiss, asking about your day but never prying. Coriolanus set you free in a way. Whatever emotions borne of his power from before had dissipated, and now the one you loved was blooming as you were.

You would never be the people you were again. The newlyweds were lost to the dust of the past, mere reflections. Too long had you mourned what had once been pointlessly. The pair of you were like swans, drawn to each other, emerged from your hopeless metamorphic state.

In the wake of all that had come to pass, you were well aware that if you asked for a divorce or an annulment, he would give it to you. And you would be lying if you said you hadn't considered it.

Coriolanus Snow had trapped you, lied to you. He had held you down in the pits of despair even if it was unknowingly, had protected you to the point of suffocation though he thought it was the right thing.

But he had also saved you. He'd taken responsibility for the fallout of his actions and striven to make it better, to earn back your trust. Every time you broke it was him who knelt and put you back together. Through the public's scrutiny and backlash, he had spared no effort to heal you. In this way he had never shifted from the one you loved to begin with.

What were you both if not two broken people, shielded by the tapestries you wove for the sake of each other? The President and the Husband. The Bride and the Aftermath. All this time you'd been viewing them all as versions trapped. But the threads lost their luster and came undone.

It was all layered like the petals of a rose, dripping with a different kind of virginal blood pooling from the wound of the past instilled in each of you. For the first time you felt the desire to begin stitching it back up. You were tired of hurting. You wanted to love.

One morning at breakfast, over your pomegranate, you started subtly, sliding your hand over to his and rubbing his knuckles. He looked up from his morning paper in surprise but turned his palm over to squeeze your fingers. "Sweetheart?"

Leaning your chin on your palm, you blinked up at him. "What would you think if we took some time away together? Just the two of us?"

He set his paper down, searching your eyes. "Where would we go?"

A sweet smile lightened you. "The seaside, maybe?" Coriolanus opened his mouth, his brows furrowed, but you shook your head, cutting him off. "It's okay. I just want you to see it because I love it."

His face softened, and you stood, kicking off your shoes and sliding into his lap. His hands were like magnets to your waist, though their touch was tentative. You could have melted with how careful he was being with you, not trying to push you in any way.

Once you were settled, you curled into him, playing with his collar and murmuring, "I want you to know all the things I love again."

There it was. The spot where you bridged the gap between past and present, smoothing out the course for the future. All he had to do was accept.

Accompanied by the softest of breaths, like a whisper, he nodded. And your smile reappeared, growing even then. "We can do it?"

"Of course." He kissed your temple. "It sounds perfect."

Quiet followed as you rested your head on his shoulder, but you found you did not mind. There was trust that came with silence with another person, the knowledge that they enjoy your mere presence. It had been terribly long since you'd felt that so completely with him.

You fiddled with the pearls on your collarbone, the ones that had arrived on your bedside table the day after the dinner party. Your heart stuttered, and that singular, beautiful feeling built up in your chest. Everything you wanted to tell him, everything you felt he should hear. It swirled and hurricaned until the words escaped in a way you would have forced them to anyways.

"I love you."

Where Coriolanus' fingers had been stroking your side paused, and you used the opportunity to lift your head. Before he could say a word, you shifted to face him better. Taking his face in your hands, you softly said, "We've been through hell and back, haven't we? And I think I've felt every emotion possible towards you. But it all ends the same, doesn't it? It's all stemming from the same place."

He breathed in, cerulean eyes reflecting your beloved ocean, your home always. Maybe your time at the seaside had been so healing because in that way he'd never left you. "My love..."

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his tenderly, holding his cheek in your soft hand. He seemed to hesitate, but then his mouth was moving, kissing you the way he always had, the way you were sure was the only way he knew how. With all the raw, wonderful passion that hadn't dimmed for even a moment even through all these months.

You rested your forehead against his and took in a breath. It'd been so long since you'd kissed or been kissed. He seemed dazed, holding your face in his hands. Making sure you were looking at him, he ghosted his lips over yours once more. "I don't deserve you."

"I love you anyways."

"I'm imperfect. Everything I've done...all the pain I've caused..."

"And yet." You kissed him again for a moment suspended in time, like the dust in the air brought to view by a sunbeam, like a quiet afternoon in his arms. "I love you."

"My sweetheart," Coriolanus murmured, brushing his lips over your cheek, your nose, your jaw. "If you want me to love you I will. If you don't want that, I'll pretend not to. There was never a time I didn't." He caught your mouth again. "And there will never be a time I don't." His hand found the back of your head, eyes holding you in place, your gravity to the earth. You held him there, the crux of your womanhood, the one true love of your life.

The work was far from over. The road was long and forever. But here in his arms you felt complete as you ever had, more yourself when you loved than when you hated.

You were free. Free to love. Free to be whole.

[radiowallet]

Home

Summary: Joel is shocked her words hurt as much as they do. Pairing: Joel Miller x Tess WC: 733 Warnings: 18+MDNI, Grief, child loss, descriptions of blood and wounds. Canonical type violence. A lot of purple prose. Angst. Character introspection out the wazoo. A/N: I don't know guys. I watch the episode. I journal. It's always a mess. I hit post. Honestly, I'm sorry.

~~ Please follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications to be notified of new writing ~~

Gif by @viktorhargreeves

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That’s not my fucking home.

Joel is shocked her words hurt as much as they do. How deep they cut. They tear through blood and bone, carving out a space beneath his ribs where his heart still beats despite all efforts. He could have disagreed, denied, refused. But the damage was done. The pain was real.

When had her words become stronger than bullets? Sharper than steel? The horrid crack of fists against flesh? 

Was it before? Before all of this? Before truck batteries and ration cards and fireflies? Lost in the dark of that shitty apartment, cramped bodies and tangled limbs on a mattress not nearly big enough for two? Two people, trying to survive together but somehow apart? Tending wounds and sharing jokes; crapshoot whiskey passed back and forth as battle scars were spared in the smallest of increments. 

Or maybe it had happened in between. Lost in the sparse few moments where hope seemed like a plausible option. Not one he had been ready to entertain just yet, but an idea. One he could ruminate on when everything inevitably went to shit. Something to help sleep come a little easier, when the liquor ran dry and the oxy ran low.

Or had it been quicker than that? A flash and a crack, the site of her molted skin fused into his memory. Putrid shades of ultraviolet red spreading faster than it had any right. A ticking watch, meticulous and cruel, as it steadily took one more thing away from him.

He knows though, that it’s always been there. That potential for crudeness, that risk of pain, the fear of loss. It’s all too tight, a twenty year old memory sinking its teeth in him, blood stuck to his hands, soaked into this shirt, caked beneath his fingernails. He carries it with him, the weight of his daughter painted across his body, his arms so pathetically empty, her blood drying on his skin. 

He can feel it now. He always has and no matter how hard he scrubs, the stain is still there. The weight hangs heavy, too heavy, for something so distant. Yet there are days, more and more and more, he wishes he could look down at his hands, weathered and beaten and so very empty, and still see that sucky shock of black and red. 

He would beg for it if he had the words. 

Tess keeps talking. Of time, of the future, somehow hopeful in the face of her own shortcomings. Death waits at her door as she pushes away the man she refuses to call home, one single request parting her lips. She asks him one thing. This one thing and all he can say is no. 

No. 

He can’t be asked to do this again. To lose someone to this thing, this nightmare. Monsters in the night, shadows of horrors he can’t control. The kind that peel away his flesh and fill him with dread, with only his guilt to keep him company in that shitty apartment, on that tiny bed. 

Joel feels his lip tremble, his hands shake. Does he lean in? Step back? Does he run? Should he stay? 

There’s only one answer. One. 

And it still feels wrong. 

Or is it just that nothing can ever be right? 

There are no goodbyes. No confessions. Later Joel will say there was no time. The lie no worse than the truth; he didn’t have the words. Not then, not now. And as he ran, faster, faster still, Ellie at his heels and smoke in his lungs, he wonders what the price will be this time around. 

There’s no blood dripping down his arms. No marks to wear. No weight to carry. No stains to scrub clean. All he has are her words - cruel in the name of honesty - and in that moment he failed her. He flinched, in the face of her pain, at the beck of her call, refusing to say the thing he knew she could never ask. 

And so he plays them again and again. A staccato in his head, loud and sharp between his eardrums. He flinches every time, his eyes dry and his heart hard, testing the weight of those words on the breadth of his shoulders. Would he carry them for 20 years? One more scar, another stain? Is he strong enough for one more truth? One more failure?

She says it again. 

Home. 

It wasn’t hers. 

Joel wished he had disagreed. 

[noahaiden2008]

The Stewards/current light side were not that good.

Yes, many of their actions can be interpreted as necessary.

However, they didn't tell the novitiates about the shadows in the chalice before they became Sterwards, you can say that it's necessary to keep a considerable number of Sterwards to fight against the Darkness, but being necessary doesn't make it any less of a jerk. And Jannick, even if he doesn't consider James as his son anymore, was it really necessary to make those comments about James when he was captured, not to mention when Jannick said "That thing is not my son." "Thing", even if James was an enemy, I wouldn't refer to anyone as "thing" possibly, and it wasn't just James that they referred to like that, when they found out Violet was a Lion, she stopped being "Violet" and became "the lioness", Visander also did something similar when he saw her for the first time, but he didn't know her name yet, so maybe it can be overlooked.

"The Dark King" "The Traitor" "Lions". They always objectify their enemies too much, it seems that from the moment you fight for the opposite side, you become some kind of irrational and lying monster, apparently. Because that's how the Stewards see things: They are the heroes in the fight against darkness and all those on the Dark side are monstrous and crazy followers of the crazy King of Darkness.

Even in real-world wars, there are wars in which one side was clearly worse than the other, but does that mean that the worse side is purely made up of bad people and the better side is full of good people? No, even if the leader of a group is horrible, that doesn't mean that everyone who follows him or hangs out with his group agrees with him, after all, some were born there and have no way to escape, others simply have their own agendas, and others don't even have an exact idea of why what they're doing is bad, like Tom, who we discover had little information about everything that was happening. Does that justify it? No.

But it also doesn't justify the way the Sterwards treated Violet, they could have interrogated her and even arrested her if there was any surprise, but they barely let her say anything after they found out about her being a lion and they already tried to attack her and throw her in the dungeon, even though she never attacked them before THEY tried to attack her, did they try to communicate with words instead of immediately thinking about executing the girl? If she didn't attack them first, what used to they try to do things peacefully? I'm not saying that the Dark side is some saint, but the Light side is not what it says it is, the light should be welcoming, kind and merciful, right? Yes, they were at WAR, but when it refers to their enemies, they ignore it, Cyprian claiming that James killed Sterwards, which is true, but what choice did he have? Let himself be killed? It's a war, and James barely had anywhere to run if he didn't sin, besides the way they forget that they tried to kill James first, that may not justify James killing Sterwards in the eyes of some, but that doesn't make him worse than the Sterwards, they're on the same level, after all, what do they fight for so much? Protecting humanity? That they barely have contact with while they're isolated in the Hall? Dirty or disgusting comments about their enemies are allowed, but when they insult them, then they're horrible people, Cyprian got angry whenever someone said something against the Sterwards, but when Jannick spoke badly about James when he was captured or he himself said something mean, then there was no problem, right?

They may even be the side that is fighting for good in this story (the heroes), but their methods and words are still bad. They are hypocrites, obviously that doesn't make the death that they all had fair, but still, they are hypocrites.And let's also remember Mrs. Durval, her brother didn't hesitate to tell Violet information in exchange for her sparing his sister, isn't that the kind of behavior you should expect from the Light side? (Note: When I refer to the Light side, I'm mainly talking about them in the current moments of history, we don't have much information about them in the old world and they may have been different, even if just a little.)

[prose-for-hire]

Kiss me quick

Pairing: Spike x Summers!reader

Request: Hi! Can I request a Spike x Summers!reader, where the reader is trying to keep their relationship on the downlow since none of the Scoobies really approve, but after a big win the reader finally kisses him in front of everyone, proving that they do care deeply for one another and everyone just has to accept it.

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Reader gets injured but nothing serious. sex references/implication of sex.

You looked out into dimly lit street, the dark had surrounded you now but ever since you had been meeting this way you couldn’t help but smile whenever the sun began to descend from the sky. You were stood, under a streetlamp, three streets away from your house. Just far enough where nobody from your household would catch you meeting him this way. You had been meeting like this for a while now.

He got a kick out of coming up behind you and immediately pressing you against the nearest wall and crashing his lips to yours. His favourite greeting entailed leaving you breathless and ready to pull him closer no matter what your surroundings were. He often mumbled his hellos through stolen kisses. His passion never died, he was all in. Completely yours.

You couldn’t shake this feeling. That you were completely in love. You had silently tried to fight it to begin with, knowing that those around you wouldn’t approve. That Spike himself may not even reciprocate your feelings. But soon it became clear that there was no hiding these feelings that always bubbled to the surface whenever he was near.

You had started fooling around to begin with, before it all changed. For the better, both of you agreed. Your feelings had taken hold of you both, fuelled by the touch of skin. The depth of mind. Unspoken emotions kept the two of you in a chokehold before you finally spilled your feelings for the other.

Ever since you quit college, you had spent all of your free time sneaking around with Spike. It was, honestly, as thrilling as it was annoying. As much as you wished you could just tell everyone how much you loved Spike - how amazing he was with you, you couldn’t. You had to hide it, the implications of your friends and sisters finding out would be a fate worse than death. In fact, for spike it may mean actual death this time.

Unfortunately, you were the middle child. You were a year younger than Buffy and she never let you forget about it. Meaning, Buffy thought she was the boss of you. Not to mention Dawn basically clung onto your leg to stop you from leaving the house (and thus, preventing you leaving her behind where she couldn’t follow you around). This meant that, often, you didn’t get much spare time for sneaking around with Spike. But, God, did you make it your biggest priority. After… saving the world… obviously.

When you did manage to share these intimate moments, it was everything. It felt as if you were the only people in the world. The only people that had ever felt anything close to this. Nobody had loved this deep. Cared this much. You were both so sure. These feelings, they were eternal. He vowed it to you, one early morning you had spent with your naked bodies pressed together, baring your souls well into the night.

Any emotional scars you harboured seemed to heal just by speaking to him. By having that soothing voice share his own darkest moments with you in return. How that voice, those eyes could have seen and done so much and still make you feel undeniably safe you weren’t sure. But, you trusted him. Even if danger appeared to surround him at every turn. You wouldn’t change him for anything. You loved the good, the bad and the oh-so-attractive parts of him.

Vulnerabilities turned to strengths when you were together. Rough edges appeared smoother. Promises held meaning. You adored him and he confessed to you that he had never been so comfortable in a relationship. He could be himself, could express his feelings without being concerned you would turn away from him.

The first night you invited him into your home made him elated. You had to make him swear not to tell Buffy because you knew she wouldn’t take it well. Like, at all. As much as he would have loved to rub it in the slayer’s face that he had been given access to her house – he loved you too much to even think to upset you in this way. So, you carried on this way, unable to keep your hands and lips from each other for more than an evening at a time. This meant mostly, he stayed at the Summer’s residence or you left to the crypt. Sometimes, you even went for real dates – so long as you were sure that everyone else you knew would be busy elsewhere.

Tonight, you were going to the Bronze together. It was a little more of a risk than usual, but he had insisted on taking you somewhere he knew you would enjoy. Muttered something about not keeping you in the shadows before taking your hand and leading the way. The truth was, Spike was in fact just very smitten with you. And he pretty much wanted everyone to see that you were with him. This was ‘everyone’ except the scoobies and any family members you happened to have crawling out of the woodwork. It was safe though, everyone else was going to some college party and Buffy had told you that it was uncool to have her younger sibling come along.

Buffy was the only one that viewed you as the ‘younger sibling’ the others were friends with you because they were fond of you. Because, well, sometimes you appeared more mature than Buffy did – not that they would ever say that to her face. Although there was always that slight worry that if they hadn’t been friends with Buffy they wouldn’t have been as close with you. You were barely a year younger than Buffy but she was still incredibly protective of you as she was the oldest.

What you hadn’t banked on, whilst you rubbed Spike’s thigh under the table, was that Xander hadn’t been invited to the party. He saw you immediately and made his way over to you with Anya close behind. You almost choked on your drink as you saw them come up behind Spike. You snapped your hand away in shock much to Spike’s displeasure.

“Hey, Y/n-” he started and then stopped when he saw Spike’s presence, “He bothering you?”

“No, he’s just-”

“Warming you up, right pet?” His eyes glistened as he spoke, an eyebrow raising which made Xander scowl. You tried your best to hide the smile at your boyfriend’s words as Xander looked between you both. Xander liked to think of himself as your older brother and had decided you needed defending. You opened your mouth to say otherwise but ended up being cut off by a very urgent ex-vengeance demon.

“It doesn’t matter that they’re dating right now, we are all going to get ripped into pieces if the demon finds us!” Anya shouted. You hadn’t been as secretive as you thought then.

“An!” Xander hissed, sharing a look. At the exact same time you and Spike shared a look too. You wondered who else had seen straight through your sneaking around and longing glances you shared through scooby meetings.

You were sharing looks for different reasons though. They had obviously discussed what not to say beforehand and Anya had characteristically ignored his warning. There was some kind of demon threatening the town. Again.

“What’s going on, Xander? Anya?” you tried for your ex-vengeance demon friend when Xander didn’t speak. There was definitely something odd going on. At her name being called, despite Xander’s warning, she launched into an explanation.

“Xander got annoyed at our sex-spell and ripped a page out of my very rare copy of ‘magic, sex and me’ which ruined our entire evening!” She scowled and crossed her arms before continuing, “Now we have to kill it instead of having our sexy time” she pouted.

“We’ll pretend we didn’t hear about a sex spell-”

“Well, I want to hear about it. Can’t get it up, mate?” Spike taunted which only made Xander redden further after Anya’s admittance. Xander stepped as if to hit your vampire but you stepped in the way and wheeled Xander away, changing the subject.

You asked instead about what this demon was like. Anya explained that it was a Scorn-demon. Ridiculously hard to kill and bound to the pages of a book as no mortal prison can hold it. It looked as if you were in for a long night. Which is exactly what you and Spike had planned although for a very different reason.

“If all of us are looking, we’ll find it quicker” You offered, Xander had been embarrassed to explain because of the reason they were doing a spell. But now Anya had told anyone anyway, he was grateful of the help. You got to your feet, ready to follow them out as Spike got up beside you.

“Looks like no bugger’s getting any tonight” Spike muttered, rolling his eyes as you apparently volunteered you both to assist your friend.

“Just working ourselves up… right?” You offered which made him smirk. God, he had been rubbing off on you. You almost felt yourself mirroring his smirk at your words. He wanted to pull you in and kiss you until you admitted just his presence could get you worked up enough alone, but he knew the importance of hiding this from your friends. Which, really was the only reason he didn’t take you right there in the middle of the Bronze.

Instead, you just trailed behind Xander and Anya’s bickering and tried to locate this demon. You called Buffy’s cell and left a message. You knew this was probably going to end with a battle you were unequipped for. You just hoped that you ran into your sister before you ran into the demon. By all accounts he sounded nasty.

As you walked, you and Spike kept sneaking glances at the other when you hoped the others weren’t looking. It was hard, having to maintain this distance when all you wanted to do was reach for him. Show him your affection freely. When you caught the other’s eye, you couldn’t help but smile. You felt so lucky, to have someone that cared so deeply. Someone who wasn’t afraid to share their love so freely.

You wanted to slide your hand in his, tell him just how lucky you felt. Just how much you felt for him, although you were sure he must be sick of how often you told him you loved him. He never was, of course. It was the sweetest music hearing that phrase from your lips. He kissed them a thousand times just to catch the remaining sweetness from your tongue. With those words, nothing should be wasted. He wanted to savour every syllable of your love.

You kept walking until you had to come to an abrupt halt. Dawn turned a corner and crashed straight into you. Turns out, your hopes came true: you did come across your sister first. It just happened to not be the one you expected.

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys were ready for, like, double dating yet” Dawn teased. She, too, had decided that you and Spike had to be dating. She often brought it up to annoy you but she believed it all the same. Spike never corrected her and you had stopped bothering too. You would only come off as defensive and she would tease you for that. You honestly couldn’t win living under the same roof as Dawn, she could be relentless.

Spike leaned in to whisper something in your ear, his lips so close to your ear you could imagine the way they would feel if he leaned in further and pressed against your skin. You smiled at his comment, he always made you laugh. He liked to hear your laugh and it passed the time while he waited for the fight that was coming.

When you looked back up, Willow and Tara had caught up with your group. They gave you a knowing look at how close you were stood to Spike. You wanted to lean on him, inhale deeply and press kisses against the curve of his neck. You loved the way he gripped you closer when you did that. But you had to snap yourself out of this thought at the arrival of your sister. Buffy immediately started giving orders, not before she gave you a warning look for letting Dawn come with you after she scowled at Spike for his mere presence.

“I brought the research – I think there’s a spell, but we’ll have to weaken him first” Willow muttered, frowning at Anya and blaming her for this spell and putting her best friend in danger. 

“The spell needs lovers to complete it. Do you think you could help us Anya? Xander?” Tara asked softly, “But I’m not sure if that’s enough to hold him”

Because the demon was attracted to love and sex, couples were needed to cut off his power at the source. It fed from lovers and by concentrating that power it could reverse and thus weaken the demon within a certain spot.

“Well, if we need couples we have at least three pairs here. Maybe that would be enough?” Willow asked. Making everyone look around to count the pairs. Everyone’s eyes then landed on you and Spike. The last to look was Buffy who raised an eyebrow between you both.

“Does everyone know we’re dating?!”

“Pretty much, sweetie” tara nodded.

“We just didn’t wanna embarrass you. It’s… Spike” Buffy cringed at even the thought of it, “I, uh, thought you would have kinda got it out of your system by now though” Buffy hitched her nose up at the idea of the two of you, but shrugged. She saw it as a meaningless relationship. The kind she had with Parker in her first year of college but more often.

From what you gathered as they didn’t correct her, nobody really thought Spike capable of any kind of meaningful relationship. And with him not being able to actively harm you, they just decided to avoid the topic entirely until one or both of you got bored of the sex. The only one that hadn’t thought anything of your sudden proximity with Spike every time he turned around, was Xander. He really would have said something if he had known. But he still wasn’t convinced now – no matter how often Anya insisted.

You slid your hand into his, now that everybody appeared to know that you were together at least. He smiled at this, looking down at your hands back to your face. This smile, it was softer than he would usually show in front of the Scoobies, it was one only for you. Where he felt such genuine happiness. Such adoration.

As usual, nobody really wanted to discuss your love life (rather just ignore and hope it went away) and so began to look away from you and discuss the demon again. You began following the trail of destruction. He wasn’t so hard to locate really and Buffy immediately attacked him as Willow and Anya set up in a large triangle around the fight. Each couple was at each point of the triangle as the recital occurred. A flash of light surrounded the demon and Buffy before it faded, showing the demon now fighting sluggishly.

You tried to protect Dawn the best you could while Spike and Buffy took it in turns to throw punches at the now marginally weakened demon. You and the others helped when you could but he was so strong even now the spell had worked, that humans barely affected him.

Somehow the demon broke from Spike’s hold and started for Dawn - who he had sensed as the weaker member of your group. You charged in front of your younger sister to try and distract him. This lead to him twisting you and throwing you into the air and crashing into a nearby storefront. You were flung straight against the wall and hit your head quite badly. He watched you falling like a ragdoll, appearing limp due to the blow.

His gut dropped. He left Buffy to the fight. All that mattered now was that you were okay. He had never been so scared. Spike rushed over to you, dropping to the floor so that he could cradle your head in his lap. There were a few seconds where he didn’t know what to do.

But then just as he thought he may have lost you, hope was restored again. You open your eyes, your smile a little dazed as you looked at him from your position in his lap. He looked up to the sky in relief, as if silently thanking the powers. His eyes danced with emotion as he looked back into yours. He wouldn’t know what he would do without you. Couldn’t even imagine it less his heart would begin to ache with phantom loss.

He was so overcome by the thought of losing you that he immediately caught your lips with his. Pouring every single feeling he had ever experienced for you into that one kiss. His hand cupping your cheek, the other on the small of your back – pressing you closer to him. As if this kiss may well be your very last. You reciprocated without hesitation, your lips felt as if they had been moulded just for this very moment. This kiss, it said everything. Promised everything and you smiled into it. Your lips moving against his urgently, insisting he feel your love for him. Even in your weakened state, all of your energy went into kissing him.

In the same moment, Buffy managed to finally slay the beast and Tara and Willow muttered some words that sent him into the book he would now again call home. Buffy whipped around to catch you both kissing so desperately. The rest of the group stopped still and staring too. Every mouth agape in shock. At just how much you appear to feel for the other. This wasn’t just a quick shag when the feeling struck. One wasn’t taking advantage of the other. This was love. The truest kind. And nobody could deny it now, not even Xander.

After you parted, reluctantly on both parts, he took on your weight as you all walked back, everyone except him in silence. He doted on you, pressing a kiss against your temple every few paces – just because he could now in this company. He wanted to offer you all of the comfort he could. He was whispering to you trying to make sure you didn’t fall asleep. He was sure you had a concussion (I mean, you kissed him that way in front of all of your friends without any worries after all).

Buffy didn’t even object when it appeared that Spike was walking their way home. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Everyone could see just how deeply you cared for each other. It was undeniable, even to your older sister.

Spike was just pleased you would make it and be okay. And… he began to get smug that he was finally able to show the slayer that he could access her house this entire time.

[siriusmydeer]

Sirius x twin!reader where he runs away and doesn't say goodbye or anything, and they've always had a bad relationship because reader is like regulus and sirius is, well, sirius. baso angst where the reader is now ignoring sirius at hogwarts and sirius is trying to talk to her which is strange because before it was the other way round. she snaps and tells sirius how he knew what would happen if she ran away, and it was that she would get twice as many bad things to make up for sirius not (1)

the forgotten sister

sirius black x fem!twin!slytherin!reader

summary: sirius leaves you with aching despair the the faults that comes with being a black heir.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: child abuse, arranged marriage, angst, mentions of being imprisoned, mentions of death, mentions of violence, being disowned, mentions of death eaters, bad mental health, insinuation of depression, insinuation of a panic attack and bad sibling relationships

a/n: rate this cuz idk how to write angst but this has been sitting in my inbox for so long i’m so sorry

despair.

dejection.

guilt.

it was clear as day in your thought-stricken mind, without a second thought it ran thickly through your families veins for generations. every single heir of the noble house of black had the one ranging emotion of anything in a malicious, loathsome, vile and horrid context.

brothers, they were suppose to protect their siblings, love and nurture them above anyone else. they were suppose to kiss your forehead when you were sad, play with your barbies till they wanted to rip out their eyes because you had nobody else to play with, they were suppose to show another emotion than trepidation.

twins, the bond shared between them in unmatchable to any other sibling, they shared a womb for nine months, a direct bond, no seperation for nine months, thirty nine weeks, two hundred and seventy three days, a total of six hundred, five thousand and seventy hours together. a bond that should last a lifetime, of happiness, absentminded chuckles, homeliness, and love.

that’s what it should have, that’s how it should look in the peering eyes of anyone who had looked upon the similar featured siblings.

sixteen years, the only thing you had receiving in attempts of happiness, absentminded chuckles, homeliness, and love; but not everybody got what they wanted, in return you had received the raw sickly end of despair, dejection and guilt. what could such a young girl do to upset her brother from the very second her life begun? since the first weep that left sirius’ mouth, it almost felt like a duty ringing through your brain like a recurrent lullaby rather than a curse to be ignored by your family, and to only serve them when they deemed necessary for your forgotten presence.

rather than the lullaby on how a spider ran up a web, the only word familiar words in your brain since the ripe age of six was ‘crucio.’ the red tinging flare that sped across your living room like a jolt of lightening from the sky had just become a familiar sight to see at while your panic stricken figure strided through your house for just a few seconds more of peace.

dense words could be shared with your twin, not even a ‘good morning’ on most days. maybe a subtle nod when he first saw you as you both woke from your slumber if you were lucky, maybe even a sparing glance once or twice throughout the day. the first and last born female at the hands of walburga and orion black was simply ignored, a nobody, absolutely and completely nothing.

atleast sirius was there, he may not have spoke to you, or even looked in your direction but his presence in the dreadful household could’ve been enough, enough to put your blearing mind at ease for the night. that you had survived another day, that the next passing day his presence still comforted you because he was still there, that even though he didn’t protect you; he could protect regulus when he deemed fit, and as much as it put you in a absentminded agony, you appreciated his efforts to your youngest brother.

the following morning you woke up, his presence was diminished. his aura had vanished, the pungent smell of nicotine had left no trace on the stygian walls, the husk smell of expensive leather no longer enveloped in your ventilation and the irritating scent of his nose itching cologne was in absentia.

twin-tuition the muggles muttered, when two siblings who shared a whom could know almost everything and anything about each other without a second blip of thought. the walk to his room was excruciating, because in your heart his comforting presence had fled. the pink floyd and beatles posters had been torn from the walls, the mahogany wood from his drawers had been completely dismembered and his closet had been utterly ransacked.

he had left; he had left you.

that was the feeling of despair.

not even a note in his absence, not an explanation, not a second thought, sirius was gone; and sirius was not ever coming back.

the duration of the winter ‘holidays’ had seemingly passed slower than usual with the absence of your brother, the dismembering two weeks had finally been put on hold on your mind. finally finding the will to get out of your bed and put your mental health back to where it could’ve functioned at a less than normal way, the usual way. except you were sent back onto the hogwarts express only clinging onto the younger brother you had left, mind you he would’ve went off the second he stepped aboard but three seconds with your brother could’ve put you off for nine hours.

there was no will to try, no persuasive black ‘i get what i want’ attitude left churning in your system, the feeling of disgust trembling through your veins that your family would never accept you as long as you remained ‘y/n’ and not ‘y/n black,’ so you had to do what was right to protect regulus. because even though his nurturing feelings were inattentive, you would still do what was necessary to protect him.

if you weren’t the keen resemblance of your family you could’ve believed that you were adopted, having no will to become a follower of the dark lord, and no will to produce dark magic.

yet, you did what you had to do, an action that in no way would have been thought about for you; but you had what the other noble heirs lacked, compassion.

every corner you turned you had no will to search for the gryffindor brunette, your eyes didn’t erratically search for his searing silver irises, you didn’t attempt to decipher the red and gold colours from the green and silver that could’ve been crowded amongst the library, or the great hall. any will you had left for the receiving end of love from your family had utterly vanished.

that was the feeling of dejection.

sirius knew that prior years to hogwarts that you had rapidly searched for him in every single corner, mind you even there was a possibility he wasn’t there; you never faltered, you still gaped intently. it gave him the slight aching pain that he carried with himself, but the viridescent green you wore had him believing that you were simply no better than lucius malfoy or evan rosier.

it began to itch at his neck that you no longer had the need to know if he cared, if he was in the same room as you, if you even had the decree to call him your brother anymore. seemingly, you were always in between the walls of the library, a vermillion, maybe amber hued book sturdy between your hands in your grasp as you flipped the pages.

if you hadn’t shared the infamous last name, people would have never believed the two of you were what you called siblings, twin brother and sister. the epitome prankster, outgoing, and womanizer of hogwarts, the timid, skittish, quiet pureblood slytherin; and they just happened to share the same blood.

the female twin adorned reading, not because each book had different words carved upon its ivory paper, and not because there were hidden messages upon the words she so happen to enjoy deciphering but she loved reading partially because it allowed her to cry over someone else’s sadness when she could no longer identify her own.

her heart left sunken, submerged into somebody else’s misery because her own feelings enough weren’t able to bare.

he was silent for once, his mouth not barking up a laugh with his mates, he wasn’t sauntering around like he owned hogwarts himself, he was timidly walking into the depths of the library that were hidden from students. he was suddenly thoughtless, but his mind was not clear, and now face to face with the ghost of his sister; someone whom he had no intention to know, but now the wave of empathy ridden into his bloodstream as he saw the sudden tears glaze her eyes.

“you— you don’t look for me anymore. i noticed that, you don’t try and, try and look.” he started almost rudely, the first sentence he had ever uttered to his sibling was assumably how she didn’t care for his presence anymore. he was unable to produce many words at his shock, his nimble fingers anxiously shoving themselves into the grey slacks he had boughten for this years semester.

“i tried, at first. but you’re not worth a look anymore, sirius, because everywhere i go, the shadow of you is all i see.” as you contributed your words they only continued to be more broken, and stammered. the whimper in your tone clear as day as you spoke to someone you once called family, and now a sudden stranger.

“you left sirius, you left your sister, you left your brother. you left the people that needed you most because you’re selfish, you were thinking of you, not of us. so you don’t fucking deserve to be considered anymore, you don’t earn my respect on being thought about, sirius,” you were tired, achingly tired of fighting. you were tremendously exhausted of trying to fight for just a tinge of acknowledgments from your family members.

“you knew if you ran and you didn’t take us with you it would get worse, and you did it anyway. that makes you a coward, i guess the sorting hat does make mistakes after all.” you concluded, now wearied from your brother suddenly giving you the time of day when you don’t care to yearn for it anymore. his decisions affecting you single-handedly the most, your emotions no longer considering his aching feelings as his sister dismissed him at the similar treatment you had recurrently received.

“now i’ve got this penetrating, life altering ink on my wrist, because of your foolish actions. i have to pay for it, and a husband awaiting me. so now that you’re going all cry baby on me because i don’t try and find you anymore, you can stick your dreary where it came from because your damage is done.”

he had no thoughts, no words, completely ambushed. his older twin sister, someone whomst he adorned as his role model as a young boy, something he would never admit to as a child due to his stubborn nature, was now a death eater and profused in an arranged marriage because he couldn’t give a thought about his despairing twin. but now sirius had finally revived the raw end of the final emotion,

he had felt the emotion of guilt.

because even though he was trying to scoundrel some effort of empathy towards you the only thing displayed in front of him was the way your eyes spoke a thousand words but no one ever took the time to read them.

he never took time to read them.

“you need to leave— you need to run! w—why are you still there?” he started to hastily question as he peered at you erratically. his mind suddenly starting to boggle with questions as to why you would keep yourself in such a harmful situation, why you wouldn’t just run like he did.

it was simple to you, you weren’t selfish, you weren’t sirius.

“because i cannot leave regulus in that god forsaken house, the dark lord and his pesky followers would find me, and our parents would torture me, and murder me without remorse.” you finished, saying it too him like you had scribbled it upon a paper and practiced reading it every night like you were preparing for an exam, as if you would be questioned and persuaded to leave under the hands of your parents.

“i heard you— with regulus, you wanted to take him but not me. you almost brought him with you to the potters,” you revealed to the gryffindor, finally having the will to tell him clearly, on how he had wronged you in life and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to fix his actions.

“why do you never pick me sirius? why do you not want me as your sister? ‘ve always tried to protect you, why haven’t you done the same?!” at first your tone was monotone, almost dead but as your words continued your patience grew shorter and your rage grew larger.

your hand further having to clasp over your mouth by the end of your sentence before your classmates would’ve have gotten curious, and nosy at the altercation that was happening between the death eater and the disowned behind the shelves.

“i don’t— i don’t know, i just, s’different.” he was left thinking in confusion as to why he treated you differently, maybe it’s because you were the eldest, maybe you were female and in his eyes you possibly resembled his mother, maybe he had absolutely no idea as to why he treated you different.

“you dont— you don’t know? suddenly when i don’t give a shit about you, your yearning for your older sisters love. well guess what sirius, you’re not going to get it. your damage is done and there’s nothing to reverse it; so bugger off with your gryffindor mates, and your new family. if you want regulus to have a decent life from what he can live left, take him now before they take him too.” you concluded,

your first and last conversation occurring with your brother, several words left unsaid as you left him dumbfounded in the library, feeling the shoulder on shoulder collision as you left.

breathe in, breathe out. simple, again, again, again. the valley of tears were almost screaming at your waterline to let loose, to cry, to scream, to do something, anything. perhaps instead, you stood astonishingly still inside the girls lavatory, thinking, just thinking.

‘what did i do in my past life to deserve this now’ it was a simple and clear question, one that could never be answered, one without an explanation.

but yet you yearned for such a simple, yet complicated answer, maybe in another life sirius had the will to know you, your parents had the decree to love you, and maybe you weren’t sent down a path of affliction.

but that was another life, it wasn’t yours.

time went by, seconds, minutes, hours, weeks and years. they flew by, and now you were no longer that sixteen year old girl. you were eighteen, dressed in ivory with a small train at your feet, makeup painted on your eyelids, a small veil placed onto your head and your hands throughly squeezed in another’s; with the dreadful matching injected ink into your inner left fore-arms.

as the years had flew to that moment, lost was a lovely place to find yourself, but it simply wasn’t enough; it would never be enough. you had to wear the mask, ever noble heir of black had their own personal one, the one that covered every detailed flaw of you.

because after watching both of your brother’s, your supposed nurturers, your protectors, the ones that were suppose to love each and every bit of your aching soul left, you never realized how strong you had to be until being strong was your only choice that remained.

because in essence happiness is just blissful delusion, that esentially wouldn’t last forever no matter how exceedingly much you pleaded to merlin for it too last a second, maybe a minute if you were lucky.

but noble heirs of black weren’t lucky, they were cursed. and now you were finally brought upon to carry the tradition your children would be barred with, now carrying the last name of ‘dolohov.’

still remembering clear as day, like the sun was beaming into your viewpoint that one conversation you had shared with sirius in the library. the despairing love still left in your heart for your brother, your brother who stood up for regulus.

no matter how much they dismissed you as their protector, as their sister, as someone who loved them, you would always carry love for them in your trembling heart. after the amount of curses you took in their place, the screaming threats, the weeps from both of your brothers that stained your clothes, the times you had to face your parents in their absence.

you still had love for them, even if it wasn’t returned.

perhaps someday when you found the courage you crawl back home, beaten, defeated, maybe half dead. but not as long as you could remember the mark of family embedded into your heart, and your arm.

the noble heir’s of black, imprisoned, dead, and married off.

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @artemis1orion @sirius-animagus @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul

[toastedside]

In Health

Batmom!Reader x Batfamily

Warning: Angst, Angry Tim Drake

Note: I knoooooow it's been a while since I wrote this series and I actually have finished it a while ago. Just figure I want to share the rest. Enjoy!

Masterlist, Previous Chapter

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your eyes travelled constantly to the watch on your wrist. The iced coffee you ordered fifteen minutes ago already half gone. Metropolis was bright and sunny that day, the weather was warm and nice. A welcomed contrast to gloomy Gotham with its perpetual cloud.

The coffee shop Lois had told you about was buzzed with hungry patrons, considering it was almost lunchtime anyway. It was a breath of relief that nobody would recognize you on the first glance, something you had learned fairly quickly since Bruce had publicly claimed you years ago. If you went somewhere with shirts and jeans and nothing shiny, nobody would recognize you that you are Y/N Wayne.

You glanced into your watch again for the millionth time that day. Was the request to meet up too much for them? Were you too harsh on them back in the days? It’s unusual for–

“Hey, oh my god, we’re so sorry. Our meeting last longer than we expected.”

Lois suddenly came into frame. Behind her was a slightly disheveled Clark, eyeing her behind his glasses hesitantly. Something sank at the bottom of you stomach by the sight alone, perhaps you were indeed way too harsh on him.

“It’s alright, I didn’t wait that long anyway,” you mustered a white lie as you gestured them to take a seat across yours. “How’s Jon doing? I miss him coming over on the weekend.”

“He is fine. Clark and I bought him a video game console on his birthday and all he’s been doing was glued his eyes on the TV,” Lois rolled her eyes fondly at the topic of her own son, something you've been doing for years since you are a mother too. “How are the kids?”

“I figure Jon had been talking about his video games with Damian. He asked me if he could buy one just yesterday,” you laughed. “The kids are fine, per usual. Dick and Jason had been a little busy with their job, so they usually only come over on the weekend. Damian tried to woo me into adopt another pet again last week, Cass been practicing ballet a lot lately, and Tim... well... it’s been a little tough for him to fill Bruce’s shoes in the company but he’s doing well so far.”

There was a little shift in the air after you finished. Lois subtly adjusted her seat, silently sent a look towards her husband who looked a little too nervous to be comfortable. It would be funny to see Superman himself squirmed on his seat if the reason behind it didn’t left a bitter aftertaste.

“Lunch?” you swiftly opened the menu book to dissipate the growing tension and gently shoved it into Clark’s lap. “It’s on me.”

The lunch was surprisingly normal and calm, the thought of the dreading event was swept away underneath the nonexistent rug. Lois had been talking about the newest article she was writing about and Clark was obviously waltzed around carefully to not touching the superhero business, and you played your best to ignore it.

“Lois, Clark,” you started as everyone finally finished their lunch and the empty plates were taken away. “I am here to apologize for what I have done... three months ago. And what I might have said.”

There was silence hung in the air as Lois and Clark shared a look together. It was Lois who immediately reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. “Hon, you have nothing to apologize for. We understand, you were–”

“It was still rude and uncalled for, and my circumstance was a mere explanation. Especially to you, Clark,” you rolled your shoulders slightly to face Clark better, eyes fell into the balled fist on his lap. “You were only trying to explain, but I shut you out. I know you lost your best friend too that night and I am so sorry I didn’t try to reach you out sooner.”

“Y/N, it’s–”

“No, no, it’s not.” you breathed shakily. You had prepared your best for this inevitable conversation, but still unaware how painful it could be. “Bruce wouldn’t want me to act that way.”

Silence now had fallen completely and the air had shifted drastically. The only thing that grounded you from withering away and succumb into your own thought was Lois’s thumb gently stroking your wrist. Clark was stunned silent on his seat, the gears on his mind worked twice harder than it usually did in past three months. Nothing had prepared him for this conversation.

“Y/N, I forgive you. I already had long ago. I understand completely, and I would probably act worse if I were in your shoes,” Clark breathed out. All the tension in his shoulders that hinder him in the last forty-five minutes had dissipated into the thin air.

“Thank you,” you lifted your eyes to meet his. Sometimes you forgot how unnaturally blue his eyes were, cold and calculating, even though the corner of his eyes and the smile lines soften it out. It almost reminded you with Bruce. “Can you... can you tell me what happened that night? You were there with him, didn’t you?”

Lois and Clark shared another look, something told you that both knew what you didn’t. “Are you sure you want to hear this now?”

“I need my closure, Clark. And I’d love to know which son of a bitch that take my husband away.”

Clark told you everything in vivid details, the hairs on your shoulders stood in dread by the explanation alone. He talked about the League mission, the warehouse, and the explosion that had killed Bruce and suspected blown his body into unrecognizable tiny bits. By the time he was finished, you were close to tears, and was pleasantly surprised you didn’t weep your heart outs right away in a public place.

“One question,” you wiped the stubborn tears that started to well on your eyes. You mustered a silent thank you as Clark offered his handkerchief. “Was Red Robin there? Was Red Robin called for backup?”

“I can’t remember. What about him?”

You took a sharp breath, the image of Tim weeping on your lap and repeating his apology played inside your mind like a broken movie. “He obsessively investigating his death, saying it was his fault it happened in the first place.”

Lois tighten her grip on your hand and squeezed harder. It wasn’t a secret that your son was bad at letting go and coping with loss, but it had been a huge toll to knew he blamed himself for it. Clark sent you an apologetic look, and you were surprised that you didn’t dread the look.

“It wasn’t his fault. It was supposed to be an easy investigation, an in-and-out mission. Nobody could come prepared for the explosion,” Clark reassured you, although it was addressed more to Tim instead of you. “The machines...”

A sudden rang from Clark’s phone interrupted his words. He watched it rang briefly before let out a dreading, long sigh. “I’m so sorry, but I really need to take this.”

You smiled reassuringly. “Go on.”

Turns out, Lois and Clark had been called for another meeting and had to cut their meeting short. Lois had hugged you tight and drop a promise to come over by weekend for dinner. Clark left a lingering touch on your wrist, his eyes widen as if he had come into a realization he hadn’t before, but he left before he able to muster any single words.

The ride back to Gotham was long and tedious. The traffic had made the trip an hour and half longer than it was necessary, but the sunset at the horizon was a sight for sore eyes. The chance to catch a beautiful sunset was close to zero in Gotham, so you preserved the moment as much as you could. A little part of your soul wished Bruce could witness such sight with you.

You arrived right before dinnertime, the manor was surprisingly quiet, spared for some noises Alfred made in the kitchen as he prepared for dinner. One thing about Wayne household was silent wasn’t a good thing, and one should be suspicious if it happened.

“Where are the others? It’s eerily quiet.” your head popped up in the kitchen. “Alfred, it smells delicious. Are you making Shepherd’s pie again?”

“Miss Y/N, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t surprise me like that anymore,” Alfred deadpanned. “Yes, I am. How was your meeting?”

“It went well. I... I finally get the explanation I deserved,” you sat across the kitchen island, your bag fell into the floor as you did. “Thank you for convincing me into reaching out to him.”

Alfred pressed his lips together into a pleased smile. “You have found your closure, I assumed?”

“I don’t know about that, Alfred,” you admitted. “But it was great to finally know what happened and not left in the dark. Maybe it was a good step for me.”

“I believe so, Miss Y/N.”

“Are those teas for the kids?” you shifted the topic away into a tray full of teacups and biscuits. “Where are they?”

“All of them are cramped together in Batcave, I believe. Master Damian had asked me to brought them some teas.”

“Let me take it to them. You can continue bake your Shepherd’s Pie again.”

Alfred was hesitant, but he nodded away and shoved the tray into your embrace. It had been long overdue for you to step back into the Batcave anyway, figured this would be a great time for you to go back.

You forgot how much you hated the perpetual coldness the Batcave seemed to persistently have, no matter how many efforts everyone had put years ago into make this place warmer and comfortable. The sound of your children bickering with each other filled the cave and it made you smile, for all of its worth, you had always admired your children’s tendency to find things to argue about.

It was until the sound of fist slammed against the table that stopped you in your track and wiped away your smile.

“Stop it, Timbers, stop this fucking bullshit!” Jason’s voice roared, followed with the ear-ripping screeches of bats that had been awoken from their slumber by his roaring voice alone.

“I am telling you the truth!” Tim said heatedly, which was alarming. You quickly hid yourself in the shadows between the costume displays, finding yourself a better spot to watched your children without being known. “Why can’t you believe me?”

“Look at me in the eye and tell me that was not a fucking bullshit!”

“Tim, bud, come on. You need to stop. This isn’t healthy,” Dick’s concerned voice chimed in between the heated stares Jason and Tim exchanged. Your heart sank from that words alone, Tim must had investigating again. “You have us. We can get through this together. But not like this.”

“TT. Drake, you have started to creep me out,” Damian’s equally concerned voice, albeit masked with his usual scowl and sarcasm, piped in. “Also, you look like you hadn’t sleep since you were born.”

“Thanks for the flattery. But listen–”

“Stop it. Stop. Shut your mouth!” Jason yelled again. His finger intimidatingly pointed towards Tim, his eyes filled with rage and frustration. “Have you heard yourself talking?”

“Won’t you all give me a fucking minute to explain myself?” Tim stood from his chair; his fist crumpled together into a ball clenched on his side. It was such an eerie sight to see him so worked up like this. “Cass?”

You saw Cass silently shook her head. She sent Tim an apologetic smile as Tim groaned in frustration.

“Why none of you would just listen to me?”

“Tim, there is no way in hell Bruce is still alive!”

The roar that came from Dick was eerie, but it was his words that split your world into half. You didn’t realize the tray had slipped from your grasp until it clashed with cold floor, your gasp was masked with the loud clang of the tray hitting the floor and the sound of teacups shattered into pieces. All eyes followed towards the sound, and all were surprised to spot their mother was there.

You saw from the corner of your eyes that Dick walked towards you. His shoulders were tensed, his eyebrows furrowed together in frustration and anger. But your eyes fell on Tim whose eyes widen in horror upon realizing that your unknown presence was lurking all these times. You could mentally see the guilt that slowly seeped through his initial shock, the blue in his eyes waver slightly with the swirling guilt. You walked towards Tim, and from the look on his face alone, you wondered if you looked as if you were about to swallow him whole.

“Mom...” Tim croaked.

“Mom, it’s alright. It was nothing.”

“Ma, let’s go upstairs. It’s dinnertime, you never like it when we–”

“Tim.” The firmness on your voice effectively silence your two oldest sons out. Your hands gently placed on Tim’s shoulders as you shut your eyes and counted from one to ten. “Tell me everything.”

“W-what?”

“Tell me everything you know. Tell. Me. Everything.”

“Mom, I don’t think you should see it.”

“He was my husband, Tim. I deserve to know.”

Tim pressed his lips together, his eyes travelled up slowly before he let out a sigh. “Just tell me to stop when it gets too much.”

[elidereads]

You Came For Me (NSFW Elriel Fanfic)

image source

Summary: The night after Azriel rescues Elain from Hybern Elain goes to his tent to make sure he's okay.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: NSFW

Notes: This is my first fanfic. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she shivered remembering the things she was trying to forget, the feelings she wanted to scrub away. She couldn’t make herself trust that she was safe. She tried to focus on Nesta’s steady breathing and failed. Sounds that had once assured her of her safety now felt meaningless. Nesta had always been her safe haven, the only person who wouldn’t fail her or leave her. But the last time they had slept in this tent Elain learned that she was not safe. The cauldron could find her anywhere.

Not that it was Nesta’s fault, really she only had her own stupidity to blame. Her heart and mind warred with themselves, trying to decide what feeling made her cringe more, fear or shame. If she had allowed herself to see what everyone else saw, that Graysen now detested her, then she could not have been so easily lured. But last night she hadn’t wanted to accept that his affection could be anything but true. Even now a part of her brain defended him, reminding her that Graysen had been the one to lead her to the cauldron, is was the cauldron acting alone. She felt an internal embarrassment for continuing to defend Graysen to herself, that she allowed her stupid heart to create some hope that wasn’t there. She was pathetic.

Everyone in her village had grown up hearing terrifying stories of the Fae above the wall. She had always believed them to have godlike strength. Nothing could, or would, break them. Often she envied them. She was always the meekest of her sisters. Everyone assumed she lacked an opinion on anything, just doing whatever her sisters, mostly Nesta, wanted. In reality she lacked confidence in herself, she always told herself that letting her sisters lead made them happy, why should she push back. But she could imagine herself gaining everyone’s respect by becoming Fae or revealing some secret magic. Now, that secret dream made her feel even more pathetic. She had become Fae and had gained no one’s respect. She was still told what to do more often than she was asked her opinion. The lack of any transformation into the strong female she had imagined she truly was only added to her shame. No, even as Fae she was pathetic and boring. Perhaps Graysen had tired of her before her transformation, he just now had an easy excuse to end their engagement.

How many times did she need to suffer embarrassment in front of these people she barely knew? Starting with Graysen making the very public proclamation that he did not want her. Then, she made herself a further fool by wandering off and getting herself captured. In some ways it would’ve been easier if she had died in captivity. Then she could have been spared everyone’s pity that was so palpable she could almost see it hovering over them as they looked at her. But no, because of her stupidity she had to be rescued forcing Feyre and Azriel to risk their lives to save her.

Azriel.

Although now she thought very courageously about her death she had to acknowledge that that had been a very real fear just a few hours ago. She would swear she felt the world shift when she saw Azriel appear in the tent in Hybern’s camp. She had never felt relief like that. His presence had a way of making her feel like the person she imagined herself to be, certain, fearless. He looked at her as if he knew her. Well maybe not her, not the her that everyone saw, but the her she wanted to be, the heroine in her daydreams.

She exhaled loudly and rolled over, trying again to fall asleep. Mother, she was pathetic, creating some romantic scenario in her head where Azriel was the one person who saw her. He was probably the angriest with her. He suffered the most injuries attempting to rescue her. Would he resent the fact that he was injured before the battles had even begun? All because Elain couldn’t let go of her fiancé. What if Azriel’s injuries hindered him in the battle? What if because of Elain’s rescue he couldn’t fight as well and he …

Elain sat up quickly.

No she couldn’t think this way. She would have to speak to him, ensure he was fully healed before he could be allowed to fight. Surely the others had thought of this but if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t allow that to happen, couldn’t allow it. If there was a time for Elain to speak up it would be now. Well not now, not in the middle of the night with everyone sleeping, but now in there proverbial sense. Would he be angry with her if she was the reason he couldn’t fight? It didn’t matter. She was sure he was angry with her anyways.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep.

She slowly pulled back her blankets and set her feet on the ground. Keeping her eyes on Nesta the whole time, making sure she didn’t stir. She pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around herself as she moved towards the entrance of her tent. A part of her brain was warning this was a very bad idea. If she was worried about everyone being mad at her then she should definitely not make it worse by wandering the camp at night. Again. But another part of her brain, likely the sleep deprived part, was urging her on. Telling her a conversation with Azriel was the only way she would be able to calm down and get any sleep. She slowly pulled back the tent flaps and, with one more glance at Nesta, Elain slipped out.

She was almost positive Azriel’s tent was to the left of theirs and Cassian’s to the right. Too soon she and began to doubt herself. Was he sharing a tent with Cassian? Or Mor? Possibly even both. This was a bad idea. She couldn’t even knock and announce herself because how did you knock on a tent. She would just need to go right in.

She began to turn back to her own tent suddenly Azriel was there at the opening, catching her off guard and leaving her standing there speechless, like an idiot.

“Elain?” Azriel seemed to exhale her name after a few seconds of silence.

“How did you know I was here?” A perfectly appropriate greeting.

“My shadows. They patrol while I sleep. They told me you were outside my tent but I didn’t … are you okay?” Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he ran his gaze over her, looking for a source of harm.

“Yes. I’m okay. I just … I wanted to see you. To apologize.” Azriel gave her a look of surprise as a wind whipped through the camp causing Elain to pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“Come in. Please.” Azriel quickly opened the tent further and stepped to the side so that Elain could get out of the cold.

At first his tent seemed smaller than hers, but she saw that was due to the amount of things he had inside. Not that he was messy, but he had a desk covered in neat piles of paperwork. Armor on a dummy in the corner and an impressive display of knives lied out on a small table top. A fire burned near the middle of the tent, immediately warming Elain as the tent flaps closed.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again.

Elain turned away from his things scattered throughout the tent to look at him. “Yes. I promise you I am okay. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to … I hope I didn’t wake you. Were you asleep?”

“No I wasn’t asleep. I was reading.” He motioned to his desk of papers and Elain caught him wince as he lifted his arm.

“Please sit down. I’m sorry I made you get up. Are you okay?” Everything came out in a rush. Gods. What was she thinking coming here and bothering him in the middle of the night. She touched his arm, gently guided him to a chair and sitting herself down across from him.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” She noticed how he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“You’re not okay you’re hurt.” Elain reached to touch his bandage before catching herself, leaving her hand hovering between them. “Is there anything I can get you? Maybe some tea?”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Please. I would like to help.”

Azriel paused, ready to repeat his no, before seeing that accepting the tea from Elain would help her more than himself.

“Some tea would be great. Thank you.”

Elain busied herself bringing water to a boil over the fire and, after Azriel’s shadows brought her the dried tea leaves, making a pot for the two of them.

“Cups?”

“Over there. There are drawers under the table with the knives. They should be in there.”

“Thank you.” She located the cups as the tea steeped in the pot. As she poured the tea she realized how calm her body not felt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here. She suddenly felt exhausted and very ready to sleep.

“Here.” She set Azriel’s cup on the table in front of him. She blew on her own and began to take a sip before thinking better of it and setting it down. Finally, with nothing else to busy herself with, she looked at Azriel. He was already looking at her.

She wasn’t sure where to start.

“I’m sorry.” She decided to lead with the phrase she couldn’t stop repeating. “My foolishness put Feyre and you in danger. I will never forget myself for that.”

Azriel closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. It isn’t your fault the Cauldron tricked you.”

“If I hadn’t been such a fool about Graysen it wouldn’t have been able to trick me so easily.”

Azriel shook his head. “It is not foolish to believe the best about the person you love.”

Elain grimaced. “I don’t love him.”

“You don’t?” He responded, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” she blushed. “Perhaps a part of me does but no … not anymore. I see the situation for how it is. How everyone else sees it.”

Something in that statement made Azriel pause. He looked away from her, as if considering something. “Does it matter how everyone sees it?”

“A few weeks, even days ago I would have said no. It only matters what we, or I, felt but …” She gestured in a direction that she believed was south. “Before today I thought everyone was wrong and didn’t understand what we had. Now it appears I was the only one wrong. When the majority of the people in your life disagree with you, at some point you have to admit it’s probably you who’s wrong. Don’t you?”

Azriel didn’t say anything from a few seconds, continuing to stare at something on the ground, before responding. “That logic makes sense.”

They lapsed into a brief silence where Elain attempted to drink her tea again. This time only slightly burning her tongue before turning back to her next question for Azriel.

“How bad are your injuries?”

“They are fine.”

“I could see you grimacing as you sat down. Please Azriel, be honest with me.”

He raised his head when she said his name and met her eyes. “They are bad, but I have had worse. Rhys, however, has already implied that he doesn’t want me in the battle if it starts tomorrow.”

Elain started to apologize again but he waved her off.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan to listen to him. I will be fine.”

That caused her to gasp. “You cannot fight tomorrow. Not if it’s not safe.”

He offered her a grim smile. “I don’t think battles are ever considered safe.”

Elain did not return the smile. “You know what I mean. You are already injured from rescuing me. You’re already vulnerable. If you were to hurt yourself more, I couldn’t…” She trailed off, not being sure what it was she “couldn’t”.

“I will be fine. I have seen many battles and survived.”

She felt her anger grow, both with herself and his casualness. “You shouldn’t have rescued me. You are more valuable than me. Your life means more than mine.”

His grim smile quickly changed to something close to a glare. “My life means nothing compared to yours.”

Instinctually she reached out to touch his arm, wanting to offer him comfort in any way she could. “How could you say…” But when her arm touched his she was too overwhelmed with images to speak.

They reminded her of the dreams she had been having. Ever since she was Made every night she dreamed like she never had before. Dreams that were as vivid as Feyre’s paintings. Sometimes that how they started. She would be looking at one of Feyre’s paintings and not realize she was dream until it came to life or pulled her into it. Some of the dreams were filled with light, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of a new day. Some filled with shadows and whispers, hidden objects that she could never find clearly.

Surprisingly the dreams of the sun were the ones that preceded her worse days. Days filled with anxiety and unease that made her long to go back to sleep but also made her afraid to. These are the days she spent her time in the garden. Dedicating complete focus to her plants and flowers, working through meal times and until the night was so dark she could no longer see the roots. It wasn’t until day turned to night that her heart stopped racing.

But now she was sure she was not asleep. She could feel Azriel’s arm and hear the crackling of the fire in his tent. Smell a combination of musk and sweat that she noticed whenever he was close. But what she saw was out of place with the war time tent.

Golden, barely-there sunlight coming in through the windows. Another fire in a different hearth. Windows left open, light grey curtains blowing in the breeze. A garden could be glimpsed through the windows full of red roses. A soft moan that sounded vaguely familiar. Was it her own? She looked around to see white sheets were gripped in her hands. She felt a heat climbing through her body starting at her core. She felt something between her legs. She moved her gaze down her body. Heavy breathing moved her peaked breasts up and down as she tried to find air. Scarred hands on her hips. A head of dark hair between her legs. Another moan. She couldn’t help but move her hips in time with his tongue.

Her dreams had never felt this real.

“Elain?” She heard someone call her name, but she wasn’t sure who. She could still feel a tongue moving between her legs, bringing her to the edge of something she had never felt before. Her body began to shake at the feeling, getting closer and closer to a feeling that wasn’t familiar with but was desperate for.

Then her body was truly being shaken.

“Elain!’

Her eyes fluttered. Had she closed them? She tried to focus on why she was shaking.

“Elain? Are you okay?” The scarred hands were no longer on her hips but on her arms. Holding her firmly, shaking her gently. Azriel’s head was no longer between her legs but looking her earnestly in the eyes.

“I … yes. I think. I’m okay.”

“Did you have another vision?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Have you been having many?”

“I’m not sure. I have dreams every night, but I’m not sure if they are visions. They aren’t like this.” She motioned to the air as Azriel lowered his hands.

“What was this one of?”

She hesitated.

“Even if it doesn’t make sense it may be important, for the war.”

“It was of us.” She couldn’t help but answer.

Azriel gave a brief pause, concentrating on keeping his face neutral. “Who do you mean by ‘us’? You and me?”

Elain nodded.

“What were we doing?”

A description of the images flowed out of her. “We were in a house, I’m not sure where. It was peaceful and beautiful. There was a garden outside. We were in bed.” She could feel a blush creeping up her chest to her cheeks. Why did she answer his question. She could have deflected. She must not be fully awake.

Azriel’s cheeks began to blush as he sat up straighter. “Oh. And what were we doing in bed?”

Was it a repercussion of the visions that they had to be spoken whether she willed it or not?

“We … your head was between my legs and you were…”

Azriel stood up suddenly, effectively cutting her off. “I got it Elain. Thank you.” He quickly walked over to the fire and angled himself away from her.

After a few moments of taut silence Elain braced herself and stood. “I don’t know why I said all that. I’m sorry I’ve made things uncomfortable for you. I will go now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

But before she could make it more than a few steps Azriel was behind her. Placing his hand gently on her arm, quickly dropping it as she turned around to face him.

“It’s okay. I know what it’s like being a seer. Some visions must be spoken.”

Elain raised her eyebrows. “Are you a …”

“No.” Azriel cut her off. “But my mother is, I know what it’s like.”

“Did all of her visions come true?” Elain asked, pink staining her cheeks again.

“I cannot remember if all of them did, but I believe most. Although, not often in the way she suspected.”

“Oh.” Elain breathed. The air filling with tension and words left unsaid, until Elain had to say something.

“I would not be upset, if this one came true.” She surprised herself speaking so boldly, but she supposed the vision of the possible future gave her courage that her feelings would be reciprocated.

“Elain.” Azriel repeated her name in a rough tone she hadn’t heard him speak before.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

His scarred hands were on either side of her cheek, pulling her towards him.

Her hands found his shoulder blades, pulling him to her.

A few touches they had shared before. His hand on her elbow. Her hand on his shoulder. Their fingers brushing. Always they had been gentle, reverent even.

This time their lips clashed. A different kind of reverence, as if their bodies were made to worship one another’s.

The line between sin and sanctification had never been so thin.

With Graysen Elain had been always been demure, unsure of herself. She had rarely felt much pleasure of her own and had the vague impression that he didn’t expect her to have any.

With Azriel she felt uninhibited, she could be herself with him. Elain Archeron, the naive, mortal girl and Elain Archeron, the high fae, the seer. Either way Azriel knew her and accepted her. It drove her confidence now.

Her hands moved to his chest, broad and firm. She had been held against it many times when he winnowed her, but she would never forget how it felt earlier today when he rescued her from Hybern’s camp. Now she allowed herself to give into the temptation she had felt so many times before and ran her hands over it. Unbuttoning the top of his tunic.

His tongue ran across the seam of her lips, urging her to open them for him. She did so eagerly and when their tongues met they both exhaled quiet moans. His hands moved down her hips, over her ass, gently squeezing before moving further down to the backs of her thighs. He bent slightly to get a hold of them and life her up. Pulling her closer to himself, so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. Her hands moved from his chest to circle his neck, one hand threading through his hair.

She felt his pause. His uncertainty in what she wanted next. She pulled his mouth away from his only far enough to speak. “Take me to bed.” Azriel emitted a louder groan before moving his mouth back to hers as if to claim her. After a few steps he was gently lowering her to the bed before positioning himself on his elbows above her, ensuring no weight was put on her. But she didn’t want to be treated so gently. She wasn’t afraid of the weight of him, of this. She pulled his neck down towards her as she lifted her hips up to his. Her body responding on it’s own.

Azriel shifted to one elbow so that he could move a hand to her cheek, gently, down to her neck. His hand circled her neck and he squeezed, lightly. Now it was Elain’s turn the moan, the idea of being at his mercy making her come undone. He squeezed harder before releasing and moving his hand down her body, pushing down her loose nightgown until her breasts were exposed. He broke their kiss to look at them.

“Gods.” He muttered before moving his mouth to her neck. Kissing and nipping until he reached her breasts. She arched her back, begging him to take them into his mouth. He looked up at her as his mouth hovered over her right nipple. His breath causing it to tighten, nearing pain. He kept eye contact as his tongue darted out. Barely licking the peak. Elain trembled and moaned his name.

“Azriel.”

It was his undoing. His mouth covering her nipple, a hand moving to the other. He sucked and bit until she couldn’t stop writhing beneath him, then he moved to her other breast and repeated his worshipping. She felt ready to explode from the feeling on her breasts alone, not to mention the hard length she could feel through his pants when she rubbed against every time his teeth closed around her nipple and she couldn’t help but rub against him.

“Take off your clothes.” She managed between breaths. She knew she was shaking too much to manage removing them herself, not to mention she wasn’t sure how to remove them from his wings.

He removed his mouth from her breast and lifted his head up so that he could look down on her and meet her eyes. He paused, as if he wanted to capture the moment like he was afraid that when he moved to take off her clothes she would suddenly disappear. She gently placed her hand on his cheek, hoping to offer reassurance through her touch. He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips but raising himself to stand at the end of the bed.

He made quick work of his clothes and she pushed her own night gown the rest of the way off her body. The soft blues of her gown melting into the dark greys of his clothes at the end of the bed. She barely had an opportunity to take in his hard length, standing straight at attention.

Then he was on her again. Without the barrier of clothes every inch of their skin is touching. Elain had never felt so alive. Like her skinning is on fire and freezing at the same time. Every inch of her taut and screaming for more of Azriel. In any way. In all ways.

He leaned forward to leave another kiss on her lips before moving down her body, leaving a trail of kisses between her breasts, her stomach, above her sex. When he was between her legs he looked up at her. “Is this what you saw in your vision?” He didn’t wait for her reply before his mouth was on her. He wasted no time kissing her legs, her thighs. Suddenly his lips and his tongue were between her legs, her sex, exploring her, feasting on all her. “Gods Elain.” Azriel moaned into her, causing her to write more. “What do I taste like?” She had to ask, had always been curious. Her question caused Azriel to moan again, she felt the vibrations in her core. His tongue dove into her, as if he was trying to distinguish her taste. “Sugar.” She laughed gently at his general assessment. Something, anything, sweet. She wondered how he would taste.

His tongue was unrelenting. Licking her up and down. Moving between her folds. Pushing into her. There wasn’t a spot of skin between her legs that his tongue didn’t touch. Over and over. Her hands moved to his hair, gripping it hard enough that she was sure he must be in pain. But he didn’t relented. She couldn’t help as her hips began moving on his mouth, riding his tongue. He brought one of his hands to her ass, helping to lift herself onto him. She didn’t spare a thought for the fact that they were only in a tent, did not stifle her shouts with the fear of being overheard. She became overwhelmed with the feeling that she was about the explode. Her body barreled towards some kind of release, but there was some a part of her mind that seemed to hesitate, fearing there was something she wasn’t doing right, that her sounds were too loud or her writhing too much.

As if sensing her hesitation Azriel moved his hand from her ass to her clit, rubbing it while his tongue moved inside her.

She saw stars.

Her hips bucking into him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. He continued to lick and suck her until she had all but stopped moving. Once he saw that she was exhausted he left one chaste kiss on her before moving back up her body until they were eye to eye. They held their eye contact until Elain lifted herself up to kiss him on the mouth, tasting herself as she did. “You’re right, like sugar.” She offered, surprised that her own voice was deeper and scratchier than usual. Hopefully that wasn’t an indication of how much she had been screaming.

Her declaration pulled another groan from Azriel as he moved to kiss her more deeply. After a few tangles with their tongues she pulled away, bringing her palm to rest on his cheek. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Never?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

She laughed softly. “No. Never.”

He kissed her again, at first gently, before she was lifting herself to deepen the kiss. To take more of him in. She wasn’t done devouring him, having him. Tension began to find it’s way back into her body, her veins. The satiated bliss she felt just moments ago being replaced with the need for more. One hand remained on the back of Azriel’s neck, gently holding his mouth to hers while her other moved down his body. Over the planes of his broad chest, down to his solid stomach, further down until she could feel course hairs and then her hand found what she had been looking for, had been so curious about. The touch of her hand caused Azriel to hiss.

“Are you okay?” She began to feel embarrassed that her inexperience had somehow hurt him. She and Graysen had had sex yes, but there was no extra touching aside from what was needed. She had been content with what it was, but the orgasm Azriel had already given shattered all illusions of satisfaction she had had with Graysen. She now knew how much she had been missing.

Azriel moved his hips so that his hard length was again touching her hand. “With you I am always okay.”

Her lips turned up in a smile as she kissed him again, capturing his moans with her mouth and she touched his length with her fingers, her hands. Running them up and down him. Marveling at how hard he was, with skin smooth as silk. She wrapped her hand around as much of him as she could and squeezed, pulling another moan out of Azriel. He bucked into her hand once, twice. “Fuck Elain. Fuck.” He moved his mouth to her neck and bit down on the skin between her neck and shoulder, causing her to gasp as the pain and squeeze him harder.

Suddenly he was pulling her hand away from him. “If you keep doing that I’m going to explode.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” She went to move her hand back to him, but he caught her wrist.

“It just depends on what you want.” Azriel didn’t make it a question, not wanting to push her in any direction she didn’t want to go. He wanted to be sure it was completely her decision, her call.

“I want this. I want you.” She had felt that draw towards him, that longing, ever since he first showed up at her father’s estate. Cassian had been the Illyrian who had caused her paused, caused her palms to sweat and her legs to tremble with fear at his presence. But upon seeing Azriel in the doorway she had felt a calm wash over her and had somehow known that if Azriel was with Cassian, then she had nothing to fear.

“Have you ever?”

“Yes. With … yes I have.” She didn’t want to ruin this by speaking Graysen’s name. She didn’t want any thoughts of him in her mind ever, much less in this moment.

Azriel nodded, understanding, before lowering himself, lining himself up with her.

“Stop me if it hurts.” She nodded but he before he moved he looked her in the eyes and repeated himself. “Ask me to stop.”

“You won’t hurt me in any way I don’t want you to.”

He kissed her as he pushed into her, slowly, only a inch but still causing her to gasp. He pulled out slightly before pushing in further. Her gasps mingling with his moans. On the next push her eyes fluttered close, a pain mixing with the pleasure. He moved his left hand to where they were joined, his right staying by her head where is elbow was propped. He moved his thumb between her legs, above where they were joined, he rubbed her until she began moving on him, arching into him, wanting more.

Then he gave her more.

He pulled out nearly all of the way before sheathing himself inside her fully. Pushing her legs wider to accompany his hips. Her hips arching up further to meet his as she let out a loud moan. When he had allowed himself to picture this with Elain he had imagined going slowly. It was an image he had tried to stop himself from thinking but one what often came to him in the time between waking and dreams, when he didn’t have full control of his consciousness. But now that he was inside her, her perfect tightness surrounding him, all rational thoughts were gone and every instinct he had took over. He kept himself from unleashing completely, but only barely.

He squeezed her breast as he moved inside her. She pulled his hair. The sounds coming from her mouth were better than anything he could have imagined. No matter how much he wanted this to last all night he knew he would not last much longer. He raised one of her legs slightly, so that he could push deeper into to her and also be closer to her. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Grazing his teeth down to her pulse point, he bit down, claiming her in all the ways he knew how.

The sudden pain of his bite mixing with the wild pleasure she felt every time he reached a spot deeper inside her pushed her over the edge. She clenched around him, bucking wildly to ride out that final explosion of pleasure, moaning her first coherent words.

“Azriel.”

The feeling of her coming around him, the sound of her moaning his name, brought Azriel over his own the edge. He spilled himself inside her, glad for her clenching walls milking him till he was thoroughly spent.

He stayed on top of her after, catching his breath. Hearing her labored breathing in his ear, feeling her breaths gently moving his hair. He gently kissed her cheek, ending their passionate fucking with something so sweet she struggled to catch her breath.

Then he moved, pulling himself out her. She groaned at the absence of him. He got up and walked over to his wash basin. Dipping a cloth into the water before returning to her and gently wiping her between her legs. After he was finished he tossed the cloth back towards the bin. It landed on the floor near by and he didn’t bother picking it up. Instead he turned back towards her, taking her in as she lay bare in his bed, starting at her toes and ending with her eyes, as if committing her to memory. Then he brought his hand to his face, as if wiping at the shadow of hair covering his jaw. Finally he sighed, seeming to reach some internal decision, and picked up her nightgown from the floor and holding it out to her.

She frowned as she took it from him, hoping that he would lie down next to her instead.

But he caught her disappointment, as he seemed to catch all of the emotions written on her face.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never that. But if Nesta wake and you aren’t there, there would be hell to pay.”

She smiled at that truth. “Do you think I can get in without waking her?”

“I will put you in your bed with my shadows. She will never know.”

Elain pulled on her nightgown and picked up the blanket she had wrapped herself in to come to his tent before turning to face him.

For a moment they both looked at each other. Trying to read each other.

Finally Azriel broke the silence.

“Was that like your vision?”

She blushed. “Yes. Well. It was similar but we weren’t in this tent, we were somewhere else and I didn’t see us do everything.”

He offered one of his rare smiles. “Good. So we don’t have to be worried this was the last time.”

“No.” She agreed, returning his smile. “We certainly don’t need to worry about that.”

[rafecameron]

dance with me

summary: luke decides to step in and stop y/n’s friends from teasing her about never having a boyfriend. this leads to fake dates and real feelings.

pairing: luke patterson x reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: fake dating, alcohol mentions

a/n: my second luke fic which took me way too long to finish because motivation deserted me. Gif is mine :)

It wasn’t a new feeling to feel somewhat left out and like a spare part. Y/N was more than used to her friends chatting away beside her like she wasn’t even in the room. She was sure it should have bothered her more than it did. Countless times people had asked why she put up with it, and the answer was always simple. Because they were her friends, at least one of them was. Yes the other two weren’t the greatest friends, she could at least admit to that. But she had known Jessica her whole life and now they were kind of part of the package, it was easier to be with them. And if she was being honest with herself she liked to sit on the outskirts, only listening in and never participating.

She wasn’t much of a talker. She enjoyed people watching and listening to her friends gossip, she could think of nothing worse than having attention on herself. Plus, if her friends were ignoring her it meant they weren’t pestering her about her love life. And that was something Y/N was more than thankful for. It started out harmless when they were younger. She was the last of her friends to hold a boy's hand. The last one to share a kiss. The last one to have a boyfriend (of course, because she still hadn’t). They had teased her about it.

“Oh, Y/N, why do you never go out? Why do you never have fun?”

“Don’t you want a boyfriend?”

“Please let us try and hook you up!”

But the meaningful pestering had slowly turned to more hurtful taunts.

“You’re so boring Y/N, you really need to lighten up!”

“You’ll never find a boyfriend if you don’t live a little!”

“Are you sure you want to come to the party? Everyone has a date, you’ll be alone like usual.”

She tried not to let it bother her. Rolling her eyes and shaking off her friends comments. She convinced herself she was fine on her own. She didn’t want a boyfriend and she certainly didn’t need one. She had considered finding one just to shut them up, but she couldn’t imagine dating someone just for the sake of it. She was old fashioned. She believed you should love wholeheartedly with everything in you. You should love truly and fiercely and definitely not give yourself away just to be included.

Y/N had seen her friends jump from one boy to the next, some not lasting more than a week. She didn’t want that. She would rather be seen as boring than throw herself at boys just for attention. She knew she had nothing in common with her friends and she also knew people wondered why they even hung out with her. But her friends were popular. And it was easier to be in the popular crowd and ignored than it was to be in the shadows and picked on.

It was near the end of lunch time when her friends finally noticed her again. Jessica was leaning against her locker, eyes locked on her compact mirror as she applied another layer of pink lipstick.

“You haven’t forgotten about my party this weekend, have you Y/N?” She asks before pursing her lips at her reflection.

Jessica was the girl Y/N had known the longest. She could stand Jessica. When they weren’t around everyone else she was back to being the girl she’d met when they were seven. Giddy and excitable, not caring what she looked like. But in public she put on the image of the perfect princess, and she definitely played it well.

“It’s your birthday Jessica, how could I forget?” She rolls her eyes with a smile gracing her lips.

Jessica snaps her mirror shut and forms her pink lips into a dazzling smile, “So you’ll be there?”

“Of course I’ll be there.” She agrees with a nod, she would call Jessica her best friend, she wouldn’t miss her birthday party for anything.

“Are you bringing someone?” Jasmine asks, her perfectly trimmed brow quirking up with her question, “We wouldn’t want you standing on your own in the corner like last time.” She smiles, tight lipped and fake as she waits for a reply.

She opens her mouth slightly, considering for a moment if it was a good idea to lie and say she was bringing someone, just to wipe the smug look from Jasmine's face. But before she can decide if that is a good idea or a train wreck waiting to happen a voice speaks up.

“Of course not,” Amber giggles, “Have you ever had a date before, Y/N?” Amber tilts her head, a smile just as fake as jasmines setting on her lips.

“No, but that’s okay,I don’t revolve my self worth around boys' attention.” She returns Amber's smile.

“That’s good! Because you don’t get any!” Amber retorts back with a laugh.

“Amber-“ Jessica begins to scold her friend but is cut off before she can begin.

“Hey, Y/N.” A voice from behind her catches everyone’s attention.

Jessica raises a brow at the boy behind her friend as she turns to see who exactly was greeting her.

“Oh, hi, Luke.” Y/N replies, her hand coming up in a small wave, she cringes at her own awkwardness.

“I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight,” the boy smiles at her and she can’t help but forrow her brows.

She knows Luke from a couple of her classes but she can’t say she’s ever said more than a few words to the boy. Her memory wasn’t amazing but she was pretty sure she hadn’t made any sort of plans with the boy, he was practically a stranger after all.

“Uh, I-“ she begins to tell him that she has no clue what he’s talking about but he cuts her off again as if he knows what she will say.

“I know I said I wasn’t sure what we should do, but I was thinking we could catch a movie?” Luke raises both of his brows at the girl in front of her, willing her to just go along with it.

And if Y/N has learnt anything from her many years people watching she knows how to read signs, something finally clicking in her head as she quickly nods.

“Right!” She smiles, “Yes, a movie that sounds great! Is seven still good?”

Luke nods, a grin appearing on his face, “Seven, yeah, see you then.” He sends her a last nod before burying his hands into his pockets and turning away, feeling pretty pleased with himself.

Y/N turns back to her friends feeling extremely confused but determined not to show it. Amber and Jasmine look somewhat annoyed but Jessica is practically bursting with excitement.

“Y/N!” She squeals and grabs her shoulders, “Why didn’t you say you had a date with that cute boy?” She shakes her friend for an answer.

The girl laughs, prying her friends hands from her shoulders, “I guess it slipped my mind.” She offers with a shrug.

“Slipped your mind?” Jessica she is sure is about to reprimand her but her scolding is cut off by the ringing off the bell, “I want all the details!” She finishes instead.

She sends her friend one last grin before grabbing onto Amber and Jasmine and pulling them down the hall while Y/N turns the opposite way and heads to literature. She couldn’t honestly say why Luke had come over to them but she was glad he had. The looks on her friends' faces when they thought she had a date was the best thing to happen to her in a long time.

She took her seat in the classroom, the room already almost full of students. The seat next to her was taken up by the boy who had stood in front of her just moments before.

“Hey,” she greets as she opens up her notebook, “What was all that about?” She asks.

Luke looks over to her, his desk empty of anything except a blunt pencil which he was rolling around with a finger. He shrugs, smiling as he meets her eyes.

“I guess I got sick of your friends always making fun of you for not having a boyfriend.” He replies like it’s nothing.

“Wait, you know about that?” She asks, a soft laugh leaving her lips, “I never realised people noticed.”

Luke nods, “I notice a lot of things. It’s not right, friends shouldn’t put each other down. I hate seeing it, so I thought I’d wipe the smirks off their faces. Thanks for going along with it.”

She offers him a genuine smile, “I nearly didn’t, I was so confused!” She admits causing him to laugh, “But thank you.”

He opens his mouth to reply but the late bell sounds and the teacher shuts the door bringing the class to silence. So instead he sends her one last smile before averting his eyes out of the window, his finger still pushing the pencil he’d stolen from Reggie around his desk.

The hour dragged by slowly. She didn’t mind this class most of the time but she couldn’t get her mind to focus on the poem they were supposed to be dissecting. If there was one thing she could never grasp it was poetry. She found it beautiful and clever, but she couldn’t tell you what most of it meant. So when the bell finally rang to signal the end of the lesson she let out a sigh of relief and snapped her notebook closed.

“Not like poetry?” Luke asks with a laugh at her slightly dishevelled look after running her hands through her hair.

“If my life depended on understanding poetry I’d have been dead a long time ago.” She admits, and then frowns at the awkwardness of being death up in a conversation.

“Well, it’s a good thing it doesn’t then.” Luke grins as he follows her out of the glass room.

The pair don’t get two steps away from the door before they are bombarded by a blonde in a pink dress.

“Why haven’t you replied to my text?” Jessica stresses, reaching out and grabbing Luke by the shirt as he tries to slip past her, “Are you bringing your new date to my party?” She deposits Luke back by Y/N’s side and looks at the pair expectantly.

“Oh! Uh, well I hadn’t actually brought it up yet.” She offers with a shrug.

“Well then you’re lucky I brought it up for you!” Jessica grins, “It’s on Saturday at nine, my house. I’ll see you there!” She waves to Luke before disappearing in the crowd of people.

Luke and Y/N share a look, one full of confusion, hopefulness and a tinge of awkwardness.

“Guess I’m your date to a party?” Luke asks with a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N quickly shakes her head, “No! No please don’t feel the need, I’ll just make something up.”

“So you don’t want me to go?” Luke asks holding a hand up to his heart, “I’m slightly offended.”

“I mean…” she bites her lower lip, looking around the hallway desperate for an escape which never came, “I just meant, it’s not necessary.”

Luke laughs, “I’m only messing with you,” he reaches out and taps her arm lightly, “But uh, i'll go, if you want. I kind of want to mess with your friends a little more.” He admits.

She raises a brow and laughs a little, “Like, fake date?” She asks, laughing again when Luke nods. She knows she should say no, roll her eyes and push him away, but the memory of Amber and Jasmines faces from earlier flashed back into her mind. This opportunity was too good to pass up on, it’s not like she was throwing herself at boys like she promised herself she wouldn’t, it’s all fake. And what’s the harm in fake dating a cute boy?

“Okay,” she nods, “Fake boyfriend, i'll see you there.”

------

The more she thought about it the more she was convinced she was crazy. Fake dating someone was one thing, but fake dating someone she’d never even held a conversation with? That was off the spectrum of crazy. How was she supposed to convince her friends that she was actually dating someone who she knew nothing about? What if they actually had nothing in common? What if when they finally do hang out they can’t stand each other? She supposed they could just fake break up just as convincingly as they fake got together. And she decided that was probably the best option. Break it off now before it got too out of hand for everyone involved. It was what she fully intended on doing. Her speech was already planned out and rehearsed multiple times on the walk to Jessica’s party.

She was going to walk up to him, look him straight in the eye and tell him it was a crazy idea and they needed to stop. She didn’t have time for a real boyfriend let alone a fake one and she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. But as she rounded the corner and saw the boy waiting for her the plan fizzled out of her thoughts immediately and she found herself skipping over to him with a grin.

“Don’t you scrub up nicely.” She comments, tugging playfully on his shirt.

He had forgone his usual slogan tees with ripped sleeves and dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, a plaid shirt thrown on the top which she was sure she’d seen a friend of his wearing the week before.

Luke shrugs looking almost bashful for a second, “I didn’t want to stand out and show you up. You look nice.” He adds, finally looking her up and down.

She’d chosen a simple dress, dark blue in colour and stopping just above the knee, “Yeah well, I didn’t want to show you up.” She teases with a nudge of her elbow.

“I guess we should get this awful evening over with then?” Luke jokes, offering his arm to her to link hers through which she does instantly.

The party was already in full swing when they walked through the doors, her friends drunk to the point of not caring about her arrival which she was more than pleased about.

“I don’t really drink.” She comments as she grabs a can of cola from the table, Luke helps himself to one after.

“Me neither.” He smiles, “I’d rather know what I’m doing...And not look like an idiot.” He leans up to look over her shoulder at the girl stumbling around in her heels like bambi on ice.

She looks over her shoulder, letting out a laugh at the sight before turning back, “You mean you don’t want to look like that?” She grins and grabs onto his arm, “C’mon, there's nothing more annoying than drunk people.”

She leads him outside, pulling him down onto a bench beside her. The backyard was quieter than inside the house, fewer drunk people shouting and laughing and mostly just people chilling out.

“Honestly, I don’t really like parties.” Luke comments, taking a sip from his can, “I’d much rather hang out with some friends and chill.”

Y/N nods her head in agreement, “Same, but unfortunately my friends are the ones who throw all the parties.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, why are you friends with them?” Luke looks over to her and raises an eyebrow in question, “You don’t really seem to fit with them.”

“Jessica’s my best friend, the others...Well, they’re friends with Jess so I guess I have to put up with them.” She shrugs, averting her gaze from his intense stare and looking down at her can in her hands.

“Yeah but you don’t have to put up with them being bitches to you.” Luke comments.

She lets out a laugh, leaning her head back against the bench and looking over to him, “It’s not that bad. It’s either that or sitting on my own everyday. And I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“Y/N! Luke!” Jessica practically screams their names, stumbling through the patio doors and pulling her nights catch along behind her, “I’m so glad you came! Together!”

She leans down pulling her into a clumsy hug, almost knocking Luke out with her elbow as she pulls back.

“So! This is getting pretty serious, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at her friend causing her to laugh.

“Jess, it’s been three days.” She giggles, she feels Luke's hand grab hers and allows him to intertwine their fingers, “Three great days.” She adds on with a grin she was sure was the definition of cheesy.

“I’m so happy for you!” Jessica pouts grabbing onto her friends spare hand, “I guess this means you’ll be going to the dance together?” She gasps, the grin on her face radiating excitement.

“Uh,” She looks over at Luke expectantly, eyebrows raised in question.

“We wouldn’t miss it.” Luke answers for them, squeezing her hand and shooting Jess a smile.

Jess lets out a squeal before the boy attached to her hand begins to tug her back inside complaining that it's cold. She rolls her eyes and mouths an apology before disappearing back into the throng of people inside.

“We don’t really have to go.” She begins to say quickly but Luke jumps up and pulls her with him by her hand.

“I don’t mind. And uh, as much as I dislike parties, we’re not going to annoy your friends if we sit out here all night.” He shoots her a cheeky grin before dragging her into the mass of the party.

They discard their empty cans on the kitchen table and head to the living room which has been turned into a makeshift dance area. The room was packed and Y/N already felt nervous about the idea of dancing and being surrounded by so many people.

“I can’t really dance.” She laughs, stopping in the midst of the drunk dancers.

“It’s not proper dancing,” Luke shrugs, he grabs ahold of her waist and pulls her into him, their chests pressing together as his arms snake around her back, “And your friends are watching.”

He smirks as she averts her eyes to the left, Amber and Jasmine watching their every move with matching scowls causing her to giggle. She lifts her hands and rests them against Luke’s chest, letting him move her along to the pop song which was playing too loudly.

“I don’t think we fit in.” She mentions, watching the couples around her grind against each other.

Luke laughs, “Well if you want to fit in.” He quickly spins her around, pulling her back so her back is pressed against his chest, “We can dance like this.” He whispers into her ear as his hands rest against her hips.

She feels her face heat up and lets out a laugh hoping to cover it up, “I guess this is more believable, but I’m not doing that!” She motions with her head towards the couple beside them who were grinding aggressively against each other.

“Deal.” Luke laughs against her cheek as he slides his arms fully around her waist.

Dancing with Luke for the whole night was not as torturous as she had expected it to be. They talked, at least as well as they could with the loud music. She found she got on with Luke quite well which she hadn’t expected. He was funny and sweet, his usual rugged appearance not one which matched his personality at all. When they finally decided to leave the party he offered to walk her home and she agreed. Their intertwined hands splitting apart once they were far enough away from the party to not be seen.

“It’s weird, having a fake boyfriend.” She comments, looking up to the night sky, the stars barely shining through the group of clouds overhead, “I almost like it. Like having a boyfriend but minus all the drama.”

“I thought you’d never had a boyfriend.” Luke laughs.

She shrugs and looks over to him, “From what I’ve seen with my friends I’m not sure I ever want a real one.”

“Well I’m glad I make an acceptable fake boyfriend.” Luke nudges her with his shoulder eliciting a laugh from her.

------

The following week at school was full of preparations for the dance, Y/N feeling more excited about it than she ever had before. This time she would actually be going with someone! Fake or not, it was still a lot more exciting than standing around alone for the whole night. She’d also spent the week getting to know Luke more. They were ‘dating’ after all so they had to hang out in public to make it look at all believable. He spent a lunch with her and her friends, but she didn’t blame him for hating every minute of it. Amber and Jasmine weren’t nice to her and they definitely weren’t nice to him.

She spent most of her lunches with him and his friends, having much more fun than she’d like to admit. She watched them rehearse, half of it actual rehearsing half of it messing around. She liked Luke’s friends and even started feeling a little bad about lying to them when Alex said how happy he was they were happy together. She found she got on with Reggie the best. He was silly and it was a nice change of pace to her own friends to be around someone who didn’t care what anyone thought.

She was also getting used to the physical touches, maybe too used to it. She noticed that Luke was a touchy person, he was always wrapping his arms around his friends shoulders and nudging them and that didn’t stop when it got to her. She now wasn’t sure if it was because of the fake relationship or because he really was like that with everyone. But she found she didn’t mind. She quite liked when he would hold her hand in the hallways or throw his arm over her shoulders when they were sat somewhere. She had to keep reminding herself that he only meant it in a friendly way.

Friday came around quickly and she took the day off from hanging out with like to spend time decorating with Jess, something they always helped out with for every dance.

“What colours your dress? Is Luke getting a matching tie?” Jessica asks as she helps her hang a banner from the ceiling.

Y/N was sat atop Jessica's shoulders struggling to secure the string to the ceiling, they knew they would get told off if a teacher saw them like this but neither could be bothered to go and find the ladders so they had to make do.

“I was thinking either blue or green,” She comments, her words muffled around the extra string in her mouth, “And I hadn’t even thought about ties.”

“He has to be matching! Otherwise you will look odd!” Jess complains.

She had always been way more invested in fashion than Y/N ever had, she didn’t really see the harm in Luke’s tie not matching her dress, but also knew Jess wouldn’t let it go.

“I’ll talk to him.” She mumbles out, letting out a cheer when she finally gets the banner to stick.

As she climbed down from Jessica’s shoulders she was met with a pair of blue eyes, her friend quickly slinking away behind her.

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you for a sec?” Jason asks.

She chews on her bottom lip, silently scolding her friend for abandoning her, “Yeah, sure.” She offers a smile.

“I was just wondering if you’d want to go to the dance with me? I know it’s a little last minute but…” Jason rubs the back of his neck with his hand, sending her an awkward shrug.

“Oh! Uhm…” She pauses for a moment at a complete loss for an answer. She was supposed to be going with Luke. But that wasn’t real, whereas this could actually lead to something, she was sure Luke would understand if she cancelled with him, she knew he never usually went to dances anyway.

But as she looked up to answer her eyes landed on the figure walking down the hallway towards them, Luke shot her a smile and raised his brows at the boy in front of her and she thought about how she felt when she was with him. Fake dating or not, Luke was her friend now, and friends didn’t cancel on each other last minute.

“I’m sorry Jason, I’m already going with someone. But thanks for asking me.” She offers him her kindest smile.

“No worries, I thought it was a long shot being this late.” He shrugs again and bids her goodbye before disappearing around the corner.

“What was all that about?” Luke asks, leaning against the locker in front of her with a curious look in his eyes.

“He asked me to the dance.” She answers.

“And?” Luke prompts.

“And I said no.” She laughs.

“You did?” Luke doesn’t try to hide the grin that appeared on his face, “Why would you say no? To an actual date, instead of a fake one?”

“I don’t know.” She fiddles with the bottom of her jacket, pulling it tighter around her, “I considered it, but it didn’t feel right, I didn’t want to cancel on you.”

“Well I’m flattered.” Luke laughs, “I was actually looking for you, what colour dress are you wearing? Jess just shouted at me about ties.”

She just rolls her eyes and links her arm through Lukes to pull him down the hallway.

------

Y/N paces on her front porch as she waits for Luke to turn up, part of her dress skirt scrunched in her hand to prevent her from stepping on it and tripping over. She had never felt so nervous before. She had to keep reminding herself that this is a fake date. Luke doesn’t actually like her and she’s sure the feelings she's starting to get are just results of faking sed feelings in public.

“Why are you out here?” Luke’s voice cuts through her worrying thoughts and she turns to him with a smile.

“My mum was bugging me about pictures. I thought it was safer out here.” She laughs, biting her lower lip at the sight of Luke stood on her porch, his suit fitting his body perfectly and his tie an exact match to the green of her dress.

“You look amazing.” Luke breathes out in awe, he holds his hand out to her and she gladly accepts it and lets him lead her down the steps.

“So do you.” She replies quietly.

The ride to the school is quiet but she’s acutely aware of Luke’s eyes flickering over to her during the drive. She doesn’t comment on it but the butterflies in her stomach go wild at every glance.

“Did you help put this together?” Luke asks as they enter the hall.

The hall was decorated with blue and silver giving it a wintery feel, balloons and streamers around the outskirts and hanging from the ceiling.

She shrugs, “I guess. Jess did most of it, I just helped.”

“Well it looks great.” He compliments.

They stand in the doorway sharing a glance before looking around the room, “So, I don’t usually come to these. What do we do now? I thought people would be dancing.”

She laughs and slaps his chest lightly, “People won't be dancing till later, once the punch has been spiked.” she grins and takes hold of his hand to lead him to one of the tables around the edge of the dancefloor.

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised this is still a thing.” Jasmine comments as she sits opposite them, “Are you not bored yet?” She directs her question to Luke who shoots her a glare.

“Why would I be bored? She’s the most interesting girl I’ve ever met, she's actually real.” He comments back playing with her fingers in his.

Jasmine lets out a laugh, eyebrows raised as she lifts her drink to her lips as if she thought Luke was crazy, which she probably did.

“Where’s your date?” Luke asks.

Jasmine’s glass hits the table with a glare, “I’d rather be dateless than have whatever this is.” She points between the two before standing up and stomping off.

“Sounds like jealousy!” Luke calls after her and Y/N erupts into a fit of giggles beside him.

“I think she hates you more than she does me.” She laughs leaning into Lukes side.

The hall soon began to fill up with students, couples slowly making their way onto the dancefloor as the dance fully started. She had spotted Jessica and sent her a wave as the girl made her way to the dancefloor where she would stay for the entire night. Y/N wasn’t sure how to dance and she would take a wild guess that Luke didn’t know either, this didn’t seem like his kind of scene.

“Do you want to dance?” Luke asks as though reading her thoughts.

“You want to?” She responds.

“I can try.” He laughs and stands up motioning for her to join him, “Can’t come to a dance with an actual date and not have at least one dance.” Her cheeks heat up at the comment about it being an actual date, not sure if Luke meant it or if it was just a slip of the tongue, she didn’t point it out.

His hand finds hers as they walk to the dancefloor, finding a spot in the middle which she was thankful for, less likely people will see them there. Luke's arms wrapped around her waist and hers went around his shoulders, much like at the party except their movements were slower.

“Is this right.” He asks and she lets out a soft laugh.

“No idea, but it feels good to me.” She hesitates for a moment before leaning forward and resting her cheek against his chest.

The stay pressed together for the next two songs in a comfortable silence before she decides to break it.

“Why are people staring at us?” She asks.

Luke hadn’t noticed but looks around at her question and notices a few eyes on them, he shrugs, “Because we’re the best looking couple here?”

She laughs and slaps his arm, pulling her head away from his chest, “I’m serious! It’s making me nervous.”

Luke sighs and squeezes her waist lightly, “I have no idea. Maybe people are just surprised to see us here together.”

She considers it for a moment before finally nodding her head, “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

Luke watches her look around anxiously for another moment before he squeezes her sides again to bring her attention back to him.

“I know we haven’t been here long, but I think we’ve made our point, do you wanna get out of here?” he smiles down at her and she doesn’t have to think twice about nodding her head.

Once out of the building Y/N lets out a sigh of relief, “I didn’t realise how claustrophobic I felt in there.” She breathes out.

“Yeah, it’s tough work being surrounded by people like that.” Luke agrees, “I’d much rather hang out just us two.”

Luke drove them away from the school and to a park, the street lamps illuminating the play area which he led her to. They sat down on the swing set, both angled towards each other as they swayed back and forth slowly. They talked about anything they could think of; family, Luke’s band, memories, movies, music. They talked for what felt like hours before Luke jumped off his swing and held his hand out to her.

“What?” She asks as he leads her to a clear area.

“Well, we’re supposed to be at a dance right? So dance with me again.” He pulls her into his arms as she laughs at him.

“There’s no music.” She comments and he just shrugs.

“I was thinking,” He begins, looking around nervously as he bites his lower lip, “When you’re finished with me being your fake boyfriend, maybe you could let me take you on a real date?”

She felt her cheeks heat up a little bit and didn’t hide the smile growing on her face, “Well, maybe I’m done with you being my fake boyfriend now.”

Luke’s face lights up, his eyes finding hers again and looking a lot less nervous, “Yeah? So you wouldn’t mind if I did this then?” He asks.

He leans forward, his lips grazing across hers lightly before pulling her into a kiss. She felt like the world around her had stopped, the only thing indicating she hadn’t died and gone to heaven was the rapid beating of her heart. When he pulled away she pouted up at him.

“I only mind that you pulled away.” She replies, his smile being covered by her lips again as she pulled him close to her.

They stayed kissing and swaying in the silence until Luke finally said he should take her home. They planned their first real date for the next morning, because neither of them could wait longer than that.

tags: @rudyypankow​ @chrlsgillespie​ @crybabyddl​ @lovesanimals​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @alexpjoyner​

[imaginesmai]

Arvin Russell - The right time

SO YEAH I SAW THE DEVIL ALL THE TIME AND I LOVED IT!! My opinion about it is at the end! In case you haven’t seen it and you still want to read this, you can skip it by not looking at the A/N. Let me know what you think about the film in the comments, please! Or just message me! I’m feeling like writting about him, so please 

SEND YOUR REQUESTS.

Plot: Arvin’s father always told him to wait for the right time, and he thought it was the only right way to do things. Now, when you’ve been hurt because of him, he’s ready to take the matters into his own hands.

WARNINGS: TDATT SPOILERS. Mentions of rape. Murder. 

Arvin didn’t know if the preacher had heard him or not coming in, because he hadn’t turned around to look at him. If anything, that only made him angrier. He was sure that if he had heard him and looked at him, he wouldn’t have spared him another glance. Because Arvin Russell wasn’t of his interest, not because of the money and the gender. The last thought made him tighten his grip around the gun, willing himself not to shoot him before the right time.

Since Lenora’s death, he had been waiting for the right time. That was what his father told him; to wait for the right time, and then to avenge yourself. He had been doing pretty good with that mantra, or at least most of the times. Arvin had followed the preacher to his house and to his adventures with young women. He had watched as he fucked a young girl from Lenora’s class and then went back to his wife, scoffing when dinner wasn’t ready and urging her to satisfy him when bed time arrived. He had held his gun tight to his chest, knowing the right time would eventually come; and then, he had hated his father more than ever, because listening to him had almost caused another precious death.

“Arvin!” his grandma called from downstair. Quickly, he closed the notebook where he was keeping track of the preacher’s actions. “Boy, Mr. Y/L/N is here!”

Arvin frowned at the mention of your father. You had known each other for your whole life, so he knew your family story; that your mother had left you after promising your father that she would leave her adventurous life when she got pregnant. She left with some young man that was going to travel the world, and your father had locked himself up in a unbreakable shell, forgetting about his eleven’s years old daughter.

Not once he had seen your father outside your house, you being in charge of dropping food and money for him. Not matter how many times Arvin had tried to convince you that you would be better on your own. Even living with him, once your relationship wasn’t just friends anymore. But you had just shook your head softly and told him that you couldn’t leave him, not yet.

So it was strange that it was your father and not you who was knocking on his door. He had agreed to meet you that morning to show you finally what he was on lately, since he couldn’t hide anything; but you hadn’t come, with the excuse of visiting Lenora’s grave once more. You were her best friend, so after offering to go with you, he agreed on meeting you at night.

Briefly, he looked to the box where you two were saving a bit of your earnings for your life together. He doubted your father knew about it, so he got up and walked down the stairs.

“Here he is” Emma smiled at him. “Well, I’m leavin’ you to it. I’m in the kitchen”

“Arvin” your father called his name, voice croaked from not using it. “God, you’re a man now”

Arvin gave your father a small smile. The man, once handsome, broad and tall, was now hunched shadow. He had a several days long beard, skinny arms and wide clothes. Mr Y/L/N was hiding his hands behind his body, only making him look worse. Still, Arvin extended one hand and offered him a shake, greeting him.

“I’m – uh, sorry, you didn’t have to come down. But Emma started calling you before I could explain” he gave him an awkward chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Y/L/N. Is there… anything I can help with?”

“Is Y/N here?”

The question caught Arvin off guard, because usually you spent days in Arvin’s house and your father didn’t notice as long as there was food on the fridge. Lately, the man had been doing an effort of getting better, and some nights you had told Arvin how he had attempted to cook for you. From there to wondering where you were there was a huge step, and for a second Arvin tried to sniffle for any track of alcohol. There was none.

“Usually, I wouldn’t really care but, you know – getting better and all” he tried to explain himself. “She spends most of the time here, so I thought that maybe she’s around? I haven’t seen her since yesterday’s afternoon”

The last part caught Arvin attention. He talked with you last time before starting yesterday’s shift, which was before noon. And you told him you were going to spend the rest of the day with your father, and that the next morning you intended to pay Lenora a visit. He hadn’t worried about it, because he had been busy and trusted you to take care of yourself. But if you hadn’t slept on your house, then there was something to worry about.

“She… Y/N told me she was goin’ to spend the mornin’ in the graveyard” Arvin mumbled.

“Oh, she went yesterday after you left her home” he explained, making Arvin’s blood run cold. “I had things to do so she told me she’d go and then pay you a visit”

Your father said something else, but Arvin wasn’t listening anymore. There was another person he had missed last night; the preacher, who usually went home somewhere near eight, didn’t appear until very much later. He knew because he had been waiting outside his house, watching his wife sitting in front of a cold dinner with tears on her eyes. He had thought nothing of it at first, but now, he choked on his breath knowing what could have happened.

Arvin’s body collided with your father when he walked past him and ran out of the house, hearing the man calling out for him. His grandma also looked through the kitchen window, screaming his name before Arvin disappeared into the field that went to the town’s graveyard.

Thinking about it, Arvin knew it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Knockemstiff was full of sinners, bad people and wicked intentions. Even if you didn’t go to highschool no more and worked to provide to your father, Arvin had had to deal with a few men who thought you were available, whether you wanted or not. There were a lot of people who could have hurt you, a lot of reasons why you didn’t go back home last night, and none of them made sense in his head.

You knew how to defend yourself, you had a car that could help you to escape any delicate situation, and you never got lost. Not once you had wandered off without telling anyone, not even your father. Even if he wasn’t listening or paying attention, you always told him where you were going.

Thoughts ran past his mind at the same time Arvin ran past his neighbours and cars, trying not to collide with anyone but finding it difficult, since he couldn’t see much past his oncoming tears. Loosing Leonora had been one thing. His sister, his family and the person he had fought nail and tooth to protect for so many years. He had been waiting for the right moment to avenge her, to put a bullet in between the preacher’s eyes, or maybe a few. One for every second she had suffered hanging from that rope.

And he swore, that if he had had anything to do with your disappearance, there wouldn’t be an inch of his body untouched by the bullets.

He wasn’t as late as he could have been, he guessed. The police was warned, a group of villagers offered to help, and Arvin himself kept running in circles around the graveyard for the whole day. Even Grandma, who wasn’t in the best shape, had helped into the search. And she had been the one who had found you, maybe because she had just this woman-ly instinct or because God had wanted it to be a woman who found your naked, bruised body and not some sinful man.

Arvin had arrived then – and sure, you were alive, recovering in his room because he didn’t want to leave your side ever again, barely saying a word and healing from the bruised kidney. But you weren’t fine, you weren’t smiling at Arvin and cradling his head when he lost his track. It had been obvious what had happened that day, why it had taken Arvin a few hours to find each piece of your clothes and where the bruises around your thighs came.

Your father had dissapeared again, locking himself in his room and forgetting about his daughter once more. But Arvin had been there every second for the past week, getting you to eat what you could and holding you tight through the nightmares. 

The bench he was sitting on creaked under his fingers when Arvin thought about your sobs, how your tried to hide beside him when last week you complained about Virginia heat. The preacher looked back to Arvin, who wasn’t visible because of the cap.

“Excuse me, preacher” Arvin’s voice didn’t waver. “You got time for a sinner?”

Upon hearing Arvin’s voice, and knowing it wasn’t anyone from his interest – a girl – he turned around and motioned for him to keep going. It wasn’t any more about Lenora´s death, because Arvin would have had enough with killing him. Maybe making him suffer for a bit, making him feel the desperation of knowing death was the only answer. Now, however, Arvin wanted to cut off every inch of skin that had touched yours.

“Go ahead” preacher Teagardin told him, going back to his lecture.

Arvin took his time, talking about everything that the preacher had done of thought about since he put a foot in Knockemstiff. He talked about how the preacher forced his wife to please him late at night, how he ordered her around as if she was just a servant. He talked about how he liked young girls, those who were innocent enough that didn’t have to be forced, just manipulated. About the pregnancy, and how he cowered away once his decisions had repercussions.

He watched from behind his cap how the preacher left the book on the bench, his eyes widening in size as he realised the sins Arvin was talking about were his. He turned around finally, locking eyes with Arvin, but not recognizing him. Why would he, though, since everything he looked at were Arvin’s precious girls. First his sister, and now his girl. As he continued, he shifted the gun on his lap, wanting to end his story before blowing his brains out.

“And there is this other girl. She ain’t like the rest, cause she doesn’ fall for the lies. So I decided to approach her when she was alon’, kicked her head open and brought her to the back of my car. Forcer her and left her in the woods” Arvin’s finished. “Didn’ care if she was a ‘right or not. Just fucked her good and left her to die”

“Who are you, boy?” the preacher chuckled awkwardly, getting up. “Why don’t you take off your cap?”

“She was found, thankfully. Naked, bruised, unconscious. She doesn’t talk no more, just cries” Arvin’s voice was full of venom, finally taking off his cap. “But I don’ care, cause I ain’t responsible for that neither”

The preacher went to jump forward, maybe hoping to kill Arvin, scare him away or knock him unconscious. If it came to Arvin’s word against his, probably just a few people would believe Arvin; but the truth would come out eventually, and both of them knew it. No one would ever know what the preacher would have done then, because true to his word, Arvin Russell didn’t leave an inch of the preacher’s skin untouched from the bullets.

-

Later that night, Arvin walked into his dark room, knowing it would be his last night in Knockemstiff. He still didn’t have a plan, didn’t have a way to leave without being chased or hurting his family. For that night, he was just a scared boy whose responsibilities would have to wait.

He climbed into the room through the window, not making any noise and avoiding his grandma and grand uncle. If they didn’t know he was there that night, they wouldn’t have anything against the police; they would be safe. They would be just fine with the money he was leaving behind, probably a bit tight but enough to have a good life. The next problem, however, was harder. He let you nest against him when he crawled into bed, let you hide your face against his neck and not talk for another night of what happened that day. Not that there was much to talk, because it wouldn’t happen again.

Not knowing if you heard him or not, Arvin told you what he had done. Tears ran down his cheeks when he told you how he couldn’t stop pulling the trigger on him, how he would do it again and again, and how he felt guilty about not doing it sooner. The same as your father, he expected you not to hear a word of what he had said. But you surprised him when your shaky, thin hand made its way to his cheek and made him look at you.

“You can’t say anything, Arv” your whispered, the pale cheeks a contrast with your hard voice. “We need to run away”

“W-we?” Arvin frowned, confused. “You can’t – darlin’, I-I can’t… you and, uh, we –“

“You’re not leaving without me, Arvin Russell”

For the first time in a week, you pressed your lips against him. He had almost forgotten how it felt to have something good, not just rage and pain. Arvin let more tears fall as he slowly cradled the back of your head, not wanting to move in case it would end. It didn’t last longer, anyway; soon, you were tearing away. But rather than just cuddling his side, you laid your head against his shoulder and hug his middle.

He had thousands of thoughts that he wanted to say. That he was sorry, for not telling you sooner what he was doing and for not taking better care of you. That he should have taken care of the preacher on the begging, and not trusting on the advice of someone who killed himself in front of their kid. But he didn’t say anything, just hug you close, knowing there was no way he would leave the town without you.

Because together, everything felt like the right time.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists​, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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A/N (my opinion on tdatt):

So, WOW. I saw it last night because I don’t have Netflix, so I had to meet a friend to watch it. And it was - wow. The way Tom Holland and Robert Pattinson go out of their way to work their accents and roles is amazing. Even though I hate the preacher’s character (who doesn’t), I loved how Robert works with him and makes him his. He’s always an amazing actor, but this time he outdid himself!

And Tom... Well, he got me with the first word he said. That part when he’s with Lenora and gets beaten up... and then, the way he avengers her from the bullies is amazing. I also loved watching how he had a relationship with a fem character that wasn’t romantical. He showed every emotion, thought and action with just his face, and I love him for it.

I don’t think it’s a film that should be seen just becuase he’s in it. It’s amazing, breath-taking and beautiful. I love this kind of films, but if you don’t is understable. It’s quite violent and can tigger anybody. Still, I’ll give it 8/10 - becuase I would have loved to see more of other characters! Message me if you want to talk about it

[ibijau]

The Noble Art of Tree Climbing / On AO3

Since he lost his mother, Lan Xichen hasn't felt anything at all, and his cultivation is starting to suffer. His worried uncle decides to take him to the Unclean Realm for a change of air.

It was not a common gift to see the threads of fate between people, but Lan Xichen’s mother had called it a blessing from the heavens when she’d still been alive. She had said it was a sign fate trusted him to be wise enough to deal with that knowledge, and that he would have to be worthy of it. Lan Xichen had promised that he would try, though he wasn’t always sure what that was even supposed to mean.

At that time, all he had really known was that his mother’s thread went out of the Cloud Recesses, and his father bore no thread at all.

It was only after his mother’s death that it had hit him how odd it was for a marriage to have happened between them in spite of this, and even more so for his brother and him to have been born of such an improbable union. He had been told that dual cultivation was necessary for children to be born, and that it could only be practiced with one’s true love. His teachers couldn’t have lied, so clearly his parents had to have been in love, even without a red thread of fate, right?

It often threw Lan Xichen into a pensive state whenever he looked at the thread attached to one of his fingers, or his brother’s thread. Would that fate be enough to make them happy? It clearly hadn’t been enough for their mother, who’d had that melancholy air about her, especially in her last few months, as if even visits from her sons weren’t enough to lift her spirits anymore. But maybe it was just that she had never had the chance of meeting that person at the other end of that thread. Or else, since she didn’t have Lan Xichen’s gift, she hadn’t known that person’s true value, and had gotten roped into another match that did not suit her. Unless it was for that person’s sake that she had committed the crime that Lan Xichen wasn’t supposed to know about, the murder that had caused him and his brother to be born even when they shouldn’t have.

Lan Xichen thought about his mother a lot in the weeks after she passed away. He was not as demonstrative as Lan Wangji about missing her, but the pain was still there and he didn’t know how to deal with it at all. It paralysed him sometimes, and he would spend half a day staring at the red thread on his hand, wondering how different things could have been for his mother, if she had only known better, if she’d gone to that other person, if Wangji and him had never been born. Maybe she would have been happy. Maybe she wouldn’t have died.

Maybe it would have been better for everyone, if Lan Xichen had never existed at all.

Those thoughts became so bad that his grief started to impact his cultivation, which was when Lan Qiren decided to intervene, and to find some distractions for Lan Xichen. He took his nephew along to a few conferences, hoping it might cheer him up. Lan Xichen, dutifully, tried to be entertained by all those old people discussing arcane cultivation techniques or chatting about politics, but it was very boring and just gave him more time to think about his mother. 

He could have tried to go play with the children of those other sects, but grown-ups always praised him when he tried to stay with them and to act serious, so he figured playing would have been a bad thing. He was going to be a sect leader someday, anyway, and he had to be serious. If he wasn’t serious enough, then he’d disappoint his sect, as his father had done. Lan Xichen didn’t want to be a disappointment. And anyway, even when he did try to play with others, he was often too sad, so they would leave him behind and continue their games without him. It was better to stay with the grown-ups.

It went on like this for half a year, Lan Xichen withdrawing further and further upon himself, Lan Wangji stubbornly waiting daily in front of their mother’s prison to see her. Lan Qiren appeared to be at his wit’s end, which only made Lan Xichen feel worse. After having lost his mother, he started worrying that his uncle too would leave them, disappointed that his nephews refused to behave themselves. He tried, hard, to act as if things were fine again, as if he didn’t miss his mother at all, but it was all for naught. Even if he could sometimes fool those who only knew him in passing, his cultivation was still suffering greatly from his too intense grief, and so Lan Qiren knew that things still weren’t right.

Out of other options, Lan Qiren decided that a longer change of habit might do his nephews good. Lan Xichen, privately, thought that it showed their uncle really didn’t understand Lan Wangji at times, because his brother thrived on habits and would be upset over any change. At the same time, Lan Qiren was older and knew better, of course. So Lan Xichen kept any remarks he might have had to himself, and nodded along to his uncle’s idea.

The place where Lan Qiren took them was a far away one, too far in fact for him to have taken Lan Xichen there to conferences before. Lan Qiren wasn’t the strongest of flyers, least of all when he had to carry along a boy of nearly ten years old. And yet he managed, with both his nephews riding his sword with him. Lan Xichen figured his uncle had to be really desperate, and he felt awful for causing so much trouble.

That place had an unpleasant name, an unpleasant look, and the disciples of that sect had an unpleasant air to them, grim and a little rough, completely unlike the people Lan Xichen was used to at home.

Privately, and as soon as he laid eyes upon the Unclean Realm, Lan Xichen found himself hoping that Lan Wangji would throw a tantrum and they’d have to go home soon. If he had to be miserable, he’d rather be miserable in a familiar place.

For the time being, they were welcomed at the gate by a very tall woman, taller than Lan Qiren or any of the disciples of her sect. She was Nie-furen, Lan Qiren explained as she guided them inside the Unclean Realm. The warning was appreciated. She really didn’t look much like the few women Lan Xichen had seen in his life, and wore men’s clothes. If he hadn’t been warned, he might have mistaken her for a man, though he would learn in the coming days that nearly all the women in the Unclean Realm dressed in that manner to be more efficient in Night Hunts. They only wore normal dresses for conferences, and only if they felt like it.

Nie-furen took them to a great hall where, seated upon a high and mighty throne, Nie-zongzhu greeted them with rather less effusions than Lan Xichen was used to from sect leaders, although that sober manner seemed to please Lan Qiren rather more than Jiang-zongzhu and Jin-zongzhu’s warmth.

Grown-ups were rather odd, and Lan Xichen didn’t quite have the capacity to reflect on that at the moment, too fascinated by the sight of Nie-zonghu.

Certainly, there was a lot to be fascinated by, when confronted by such a man. Although he was a little shorter than his wife when he eventually stood up, he was at least twice as broad, with hands so large that they could probably have wrapped around Lan Xichen’s shoulders and still have length to spare. None of that really mattered to Lan Xichen though. What really caught his attention was a detail that others wouldn’t have seen.

Nie-zongzhu had two red threads hanging from his hand.

Upon seeing this, Lan Xichen, who had struggled to feel anything for months and months now, was overcome with irrational anger. How unfair was it for that man to have two people fated to him, when his own parents had been denied such a happy fate? Sure, upon looking more closely, Lan Xichen realised that one appeared to have been severed. It had to have been rather recent, since its colour had only started its slow transformation toward the dull white it would become when the worst of the grief was over. Still, that man had had two fated lovers, when Lan Xichen’s mother had never lived with hers, when his father had been forced to accept the shadow of a love that could never be his.

How very unfair. Lan Xichen would have cried from rage if it wouldn’t have been disgraceful for his sect.

“And how long do you want to stay here then?” Nie-zongzhu asked, continuing a conversation that Lan Xichen hadn’t paid attention to.

“I was thinking a week to start,” Lan Qiren replied. “If it seems to be having positive effects, and if Nie-zongzhu has no objections, I’ll return to the Cloud Recesses and come back in a month or two to get them back.”

Nie zongzhu nodded, as did his wife.

“It’ll be good for our boys as well,” he said. “Huaisang hasn’t been the same either lately… not that I expect your boys to spend much time with him anyway. From what you’ve said about them, I think they’ll get along more with Mingjue, even with the age difference. Which is good too. He needs friends, that child.”

Nie-furen rolled her eyes at these words, and glared at her husband. He glared right back, and though there seemed to be no heat or anger between them, Lan Xichen still shivered at the intensity of emotion displayed there, right in front of outsiders. Things like that just didn’t happen at home, at least not in his experience. But then again, he’d never been in the same room as both his parents, so what did he know?

“Well, I guess that’s settled,” Nie-furen grumbled. “I’ll take those two to the training grounds so you can have a chat about politics. Don’t forget to tell Qiren about that thing that happened the other month at the border, I really didn’t like that.”

Without waiting for an answer, Nie-furen walked to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, grabbing both of them by the hand to lead them out of the hall. Lan Wangji tried to pull away, but stopped quickly after one severe look from Nie-furen who probably mistook his disgust for rebellion, the way some teachers did at home. Lan Wangji looked very miserable over being touched that way by a complete stranger, and Lan Xichen knew already that the rest of the day wasn’t going to be a good one for his little brother. He sighed. When Lan Wangji was having a bad day, everyone was having a bad day.

Feeling depressed over this situation, Lan Xichen’s gaze dropped to the ground. After just a few steps, his eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he realised that for some reason, they were following his red thread, something that had never happened before.

After years and years of seeing his own thread go far into the distance, Lan Xichen had stopped paying attention to it. Whenever he’d travelled with his uncle, the thread had always gone in a different direction from the one they were headed. At the venerable age of ten, Lan Xichen had determined that he was never going to meet the person fated for him. Considering his family’s luck with love, and after hearing his uncle’s many complaints on the topic, Lan Xichen usually thought it was for the best.

And yet, in spite of himself, Lan Xichen felt a little excitement start to spike inside his chest the longer they followed his thread. Things had been terrible for so long, but if he could just have one good thing again…

That excitement rose ever higher when Nie-furen called out her sons’ names, and Lan Xichen first laid eyes on Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue was a few years older than him, and a good deal taller too. He had the same hard eyes his mother had, and broad shoulders like his father. Lan Xichen had never really taken the time to wonder what he liked as far as others’ appearance went, but even he could only acknowledge that Nie Mingjue was a very handsome teenager, and one who very obviously already had a golden core. Combined with the things he’d heard here and there people say about Nie gongzi…

To Lan Xichen’s great joy, the red thread on his finger really was going toward Nie Mingjue, which sent his heart racing… until Nie Mingjue was close enough for his hand to be visible, and Lan Xichen realised there was no thread at all attached to the older boy. Instead, his own thread continued going behind Nie Mingjue, and toward another boy who was struggling to run as fast as Nie-gongzi, his round face all red from the effort.

Everything Nie Mingjue was, that boy wasn’t. He was small, a little scrawny, with ears too big for his face and his teeth looked all weird, perhaps because they were a mix of baby teeth, adult ones, and a lot of gaps where the adult teeth hadn’t yet started to grow.

Whatever spark of joy and hope Lan Xichen had felt quickly dissipated upon seeing the person whom fate had chosen for him. He should have known he wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Mingjue, these boys are Lan Huan and Lan Zhan,” Nie-furen announced. “They are the sons of Lan zongzhu, and will be staying here for a little while. I’ll leave them in your care, so be a good host.”

Nie Mingjue nodded nonchalantly, apparently not particularly impressed by his mother’s severe appearance. The same could not be said of the second boy who went very still when Nie-furen turned her attention to him.

“Huaisang, for once, be good as well and don’t cause trouble. Don’t bother them, and don’t create problems when others have decided what game they want to play, or else I’ll deal with you.”

“Yes, mother,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, giving his mother a half hearted bow. “If they’re here, does it mean we don’t have to train today?”

“You lazy boy, of course that’s your only worry!” Nie-furen sighed, trying not to smile. “It will be up to your guest, depending whether they’re interested in a demonstration or not. You’d better put in some real effort if they do.”

Nie Huaisang bowed again, but not quickly enough to hide a grimace. Worse still, when Nie-furen left, Nie Huaisang immediately stuck out his tongue in her direction, which scandalised both Lan boys.

Lan Xichen in particular felt his heart sink. If this was the person who was destined to share his life… it seemed like a fate even worse than his father’s, and it almost made him want to cry. He would have, if not for Nie Mingjue’s presence. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of an older boy this accomplished, his pride just wouldn’t survive it.

“Stop being a brat,” Nie Mingjue ordered his brother, lightly slapping the back of Nie Huaisang’s head. This, in turn, made him bite his tongue, hard enough to cry a little.

“Mean! Da-ge is the worst!”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, all of his attention on the Lan brothers. Lan Xichen tried to stand as tall as he could, to make himself look older than he was.

“So, you’re Lan Huan, uh?” Nie Mingjue asked. “My father says he’s seen you at some conferences, and that you’re always very well behaved. He’s always saying we should be more like that. I guess that’s why you’ve been invited here?”

There was something in Nie Mingjue’s tone of voice that seemed to imply that ‘well behaved’ wasn’t a good thing to be. Lan Xichen, who worked so hard to meet all the expectations of his uncle even when he was so constantly sad and empty, felt baffled by the idea. A little embarrassed as well. He so wanted Nie Mingjue to think he was cool too, but apparently he had failed before even having the chance to prove himself.

“Do you know how to fight?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Or are you still too young for that?”

“I’m ten,” Lan Xichen retorted with perhaps a little more annoyance than was really polite. “Of course I know how to fight. But I didn’t bring a sword for a demonstration, and Qinghe Nie uses sabres, so I can’t borrow something to spar with you.”

“As if you’d be good enough to spar with da-ge anyway,” Nie Huaisang claimed, earning himself another light slap on the head from his brother. “What? It’s true! Nobody’s better than you. You can even fight with grown-ups already, and everyone says the Lans are just a bunch of monks that only play music, and…”

“Huaisang, shut up,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “I swear I’ll tell mother if you keep insulting our guests.”

“I’m not insulting… oh. I was rude?”

Nie Mingjue nodded, which made Nie Huaisang look a little awkward.

“Spar with me, Lan Huan” Nie Mingjue decided. “We do have some swords, for training. It’s always good to know how to use more than one weapon. Come with me, we’ll find you something.”

Maybe Lan Qiren had been onto something with his idea of coming to this strange place, because for the first time in ages, Lan Xichen found himself feeling genuinely excited about something. He was going to spar, with an older boy, and one that looked really cool, and who wasn’t even acting like it’d be a chore to practice with someone younger.

It was fun, fighting with Nie Mingjue. The sword Lan Xichen had been given wasn’t great, nothing at all like the one he used at home, but even with an inferior weapon he held his own. Nie Mingjue had the advantage of size, training, and experience, but Lan Xichen’s smaller size could be an advantage too, and he almost landed a few blows, for which Nie Mingjue complimented him.

It had been a long while since a compliment really thrilled him.

They sparred for a long while. Longer perhaps than was quite wise, considering that Lan Xichen hadn’t trained very seriously that past year. Even as he grew tired and started making mistakes, Lan Xichen refused to give up, desperate to absorb every little bit of fun he could while the feeling lasted. He didn’t even mind when Nie Mingjue started pushing him into a corner of the training field, clearly on the verge of winning their friendly fight.

Lan Xichen didn’t mind, but Lan Wangji did.

He was always a bit of an odd child, wary of strangers, protective of family. If Lan Xichen had not been so taken by his match with Nie Mingjue, he would have noticed his brother’s growing distress about the fight, would have seen that Nie Huaisang wasn’t paying attention to Lan Wangji (nor the fight for that matter), that there was no adults around them to check what they were doing. He would have reacted faster when Lan Wangji ran onto the training field, would have deflected Nie Mingjue’s sabre to protect him.

Lan Xichen would have…

He didn’t.

Because it was only a friendly spar, and because Nie Mingjue was so skilled, he managed, just barely, to avoid inflicting any serious injury onto Lan Wangji. Still the little boy now had a bleeding gash on his forearm, spilling blood in a thin but steady flow. 

"I'll take him to the doctor," Nie Mingjue announced, picking up Lan Wangji as if he weighed nothing. It said a lot about Wangji's shock that he didn't try to escape and just kept uselessly pressing his hand on the wound, wailing like a miserable kitten. "Huaisang, stay here with Lan Huan. If someone comes looking for us, tell them what happened."

Nie Huaisang, who'd just trotted toward them when he'd heard shouting, rose on his toes to catch a glimpse of Wangji’s wound. 

"Is he going to die?" he asked. "That's a lot of blood, and mommy says…" 

"Shut up, you're rude again," Nie Mingjue snapped. 

Nie Huaisang flinched and stepped away, falling silent. Nie Mingjue left, all but running away with poor Lan Wangji in his arms while Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang stood there, watching him disappear. 

When Nie Mingjue was out of view, Nie Huaisang grabbed Lan Xichen's hand and tried to drag him away. 

"Let's go, it's boring here." 

Lan Xichen tried to pull his hand free. He was less difficult than his brother, but they shared a dislike of being touched by strangers, which Nie Huaisang was. Even if they were linked by fate… In fact, because they were linked by fate, because Nie Huaisang had joined their hands that carried that horrible red thread, Lan Xichen was even less inclined than usual to let himself be touched.

“He said to wait here,” he complained, pulling hard to get free, in vain. Nie Huaisang was small and skinny, but he had a strong grip. “We can’t disobey.”

“Yes we can,” Nie Huaisang said. “It’s easy, I disobey all the time. And mother said we had to be good hosts. It’s too boring to stay here, so I’ll take you somewhere more fun. Do you like candies?”

“Sugar is bad for you,” Lan Xichen recited. He did like candies, very much so. His uncle said candies were bad for his health and for his teeth, but his mother always used to give him some anyway.

He hadn’t had any candies since she’d died.

That thought, combined with fear about Lan Wangji’s wound, finished ruining Lan Xichen’s fragile good mood.

“Mommy used to say it’s only bad if you have too much,” Nie Huaisang protested. He pulled again on Lan Xichen’s hand. “Do you like birds?”

The question surprised Lan Xichen. He had never really taken time to wonder if he liked birds or not. Nobody had ever asked before.

“They’re pretty. I guess I like them well enough.”

“I love birds,” Nie Huaisang announced proudly. “Do you want to see a raven’s nest? There’s chicks in it, and they are very ugly, it’s very cute.”

“Things can’t be ugly and cute at the same time.”

“Yes they can. You have to come and see the chicks, and then you’ll understand. Let’s go check on them, please?”

Lan Xichen hesitated. Nie Mingjue had told them to stay where they were, implying that adults would soon come to check on them. After that incident with Wangji, it was almost certain that Lan Qiren would realise his plan was not going to work, and that he would take his nephews back home right away. Lan Xichen wanted to go home. Home was very sad, but it was also very safe, and he didn’t have to feel any big emotions over there.

But if they went home as soon as adults came to fetch them, that meant Lan Xichen would not have a chance to see those raven chicks. It would be upsetting, because then he would spend the rest of his life wondering how any creature could be both ugly and cute.

“Is it very far from here?” Lan Xichen asked.

Nie Huaisang grinned, and pulled again on Lan Xichen’s hand who stopped resisting and followed at last.

“It’s really close,” Nie Huaisang claimed as they walked. “It’s in the gardens by my bedroom. Do you like flowers? We have very nice flowers there. It’s not the best season for it, but dad planted mulberries there for mommy and me. Because of what she called me, you know?”

“You talk a lot,” Lan Xichen mumbled. “Do you need to hold my hand?”

“You could get lost,” Nie Huaisang replied, and then tried to be quiet for a moment.

It was true that Lan Xichen might have gotten lost easily in that place. It felt very different from the Cloud Recesses, with walls and turns everywhere, more a fortress than a place for cultivation. Maybe it was better that Nie Huaisang kept holding his hand. He’d gotten used to it anyway, and already stopped minding. In fact, it was even a little nice. Wangji used to hold his hand a lot when they went places, but his hatred of others’ touch had become too intense in that past year.

“You said it wasn’t very far,” Lan Xichen remarked after a while, growing worried that maybe their escape would be noticed and they’d be punished.

“We’re almost there,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “Just a little further… I had to take a different way than usual so mother wouldn’t see us. This is a secret way she doesn’t know about. You have to promise you won’t tell!”

“You shouldn’t keep secrets from your mother.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged, and kept pulling Lan Xichen forward.

“It’s okay, it’s not actually bad if I keep secrets,” he said. “She’s not my real mother anyway. She’s just dad’s wife.”

“I don’t understand,” Lan Xichen said, which was almost entirely a lie.

He thought he understood, but it couldn’t be that. If it was what he was thinking about, then surely Nie Huaisang wouldn’t speak so freely about it. Things like that… the adults didn’t speak about them, and the children weren’t supposed to know anything at all about them. It was gossip, and gossip was forbidden.

Nobody must have told that to Nie Huaisang, who cheerfully chattered on.

“It’s like this: Mother isn’t my real mother,” he explained. “She married dad when they were both young. Then she had Mingjue, and he’s the real son that matters. But then dad had me with my real mommy, because he met her on a Night Hunt and she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and also she called him some very bad words when he acted like an idiot, so he fell in love with her even if he was married. And then… ah, that’s the garden!”

At last, after turning endlessly among grey walls, they had indeed reached a little oasis of green. It was a very pretty little garden, neatly kept and organised around one very tall tree. Lan Xichen guessed the nest had to be somewhere up there.

He badly wanted to see it, now that they had come all that way, but Nie Huaisang was still chatting and it would have been rude to interrupt.

“It was real nice when I lived with mommy and my aunt and uncle,” Nie Huaisang said, walking toward the tree, still pulling Lan Xichen by the hand. “But then a while ago mommy got sick real bad, so dad brought us here because cultivators have better doctors. But then she died anyway, and my uncle didn’t want me back even though I thought he liked me, but actually he didn’t because mom having me when she wasn’t married was real bad? I don’t get it, but it’s what da-ge says must have happened, and da-ge is always right. So dad said I should be taught to be a cultivator, and now I’m stuck here.” 

Nie Huaisang paused for breath and sighed deeply. “I really miss mommy.”

“I miss my mother too,” Lan Xichen said without thinking. “She died last year.”

Nie Huaisang froze, and threw him a terrified look.

“Was I rude again? I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have talked about mommy.”

Lan Xichen gave the question some consideration before shaking his head.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I don’t get to talk about her a lot,” he confessed. “Uncle and her didn’t get along. I think he was very angry at her sometimes, so I don’t want to bother him.”

“Mother is angry at dad about me,” Nie Huaisang said, as if sharing some great wisdom. “Da-ge says mother still likes me, though. But also that I shouldn’t talk too much about my real mommy, and also I shouldn’t call her my real mommy because it hurts mother. Oh! But I’m not angry at your mommy, and you’re not angry at mine. If you want you can tell me about her! And I’ll tell you about mine?”

It was a very tempting offer. Lan Xichen missed his mother so much it hurt every time he thought about her, and he was indeed thinking about her most of the time. He’d always been thinking a lot about her, even before she got sick and died. He’d missed her even when she was alive, he sometimes thought. But he couldn’t have told that to anyone. His father never wanted to see them unless it was important or a holiday, and Lan Qiren really didn’t like hearing anyone talk about his sister-in-law, and Wangji… Wangji still missed her so bad, he still didn’t really understand that she was gone for ever, so Lan Xichen didn’t say anything for fear of making things harder for his brother.

Maybe it was fine to talk to Nie Huaisang.

“She was sick a long time,” Lan Xichen explained, letting his eyes fall to the ground. “But even when she was sick, she would still try to be nice to us. She’d read us stories. Then she got really too sick, and it was me who read stories for her and for Wangji. Then the month after we were told we couldn’t visit her like usual, and I heard people say she’d died.”

“You didn’t live with her?”

“No, of course not,” Lan Xichen said, which earned him a look of horror from Nie Huaisang, as if he’d said his mother had two heads. “Nobody lives with their mother.”

“Yes they do!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “I lived with my mommy my whole life until she died! Everyone lives with their mommies. How else is she going to give you a kiss before sleep?”

“She didn’t.”

Nie Huaisang gasped. “But then you’re not protected!”

“Protected against what?”

Nie Huaisang threw Lan Xichen a pitying look, as if that were the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

“Against the nightmares! You have to have a kiss before sleep,” Nie Huaisang explained in a very serious tone, like a teacher giving a lesson, “or else you’re going to have bad dreams. It’s most efficient if it’s your mommy who does it, of course. Dad does it too sometimes, but he’s busy and I don’t like his moustache anyway because it scratches my cheek, and also he doesn’t give as good protection. Now it’s mostly da-ge who gives me a good night kiss. He complains a lot, and he tickles me sometimes, but it’s really good for protecting, almost as good as mommy.”

A little dark ball of cold and hot formed over Lan Xichen’s heart at the idea that in this world, at least one person had had constant access to their own mother, to her hugs, to her kisses, to her soft words. And maybe it wasn’t just Nie Huaisang who’d been that lucky: after all, Nie-furen had welcomed them alongside her husband, she had chatted with Nie Mingjue quite easily, and seemed free to come and go as she pleased even though she was the sect leader’s wife. Maybe it was a Nie thing.

But now that he thought of it, everywhere his uncle had taken him that past year, sect leaders would welcome their guests in person, with their wives at their side if they had one.

Maybe it wasn’t that children living with their mothers was a Nie thing.

Maybe it was Wangji and him not seeing their mother more than once a month that was odd, just as it was odd for their parents to not be linked by fate, the way so many other married people were.

Lan Xichen didn’t know when he started crying. He only realised when Nie Huaisang squeezed his hand, and tried to wipe his face with his sleeve, looking as if he might cry too.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude!” he cried out, scrubbing Lan Xichen’s cheeks a little too hard, unaware of his own strength. “I always say the wrong thing like that. I don’t even understand what I say that’s bad, but people always get angry and say I’m insolent and rude. But I didn’t want to be rude! Can I do something so you’ll stop crying?”

“I miss my mother,” Lan Xichen sobbed.

He’d hoped that talking about her would make it hurt less, but it hadn’t worked. He still missed her as much, but now he also had to deal with the realisation that if his family hadn’t been so strange, he might have seen her a lot more before she died.

“Oh. Then I guess it’s okay to cry,” Nie Huaisang said, giving up on drying Lan Xichen’s face and instead squeezing his hand again. “I cry a lot too about mommy. Everyone says I shouldn’t, because it was long ago and because boys shouldn’t cry. But da-ge lets me cry and he doesn’t tell anyone. I won’t tell either, I promise!”

Lan Xichen tried to thank Nie Huaisang, but only ended up sobbing harder. His face was awash with tears and snot, his eyes and throat hurt from crying so hard, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. Except for the day he’d heard his mother had died, and a little at the funeral too, he hadn’t really cried in all that time. He’d just felt numb and cold. He’d felt as if nothing really mattered, not in a world where his mother wasn’t there to smile at him anymore.

After such a long time feeling so little, there was a twisted joy in giving in to his sorrow, in crying until there were no tears left in him, until he couldn’t even stand anymore and Nie Huaisang had to help him sit under that big tree.

The whole time Lan Xichen cried, Nie Huaisang stayed silent. He shed a few tears of his own, either out of sympathy or because he’d been reminded that his mother too was gone for good, but didn’t say a word.

He also didn’t let go of Lan Xichen’s hand, not even one moment, even though there was no risk of getting lost now. Lan Xichen was grateful for that. In the midst of the immense sorrow that had finally overcome him, it was nice to know he wasn’t alone.

After a long, long while, Lan Xichen calmed down at last. He was hiccuping a little, and felt a little bit of headache on his forehead, but other than that he felt better than he had in a long while. Not good, not yet, but better.

“It was a good big cry,” Nie Huaisang said when it was over. “Sometimes, you need a good big cry, da-ge says. Do you want to go back now?”

Lan Xichen wiped his face clean, or as close to clean as it was ever going to be without some fresh water to help.

It was already late, he figured, and by then people had to have noticed they had disobeyed Nie Mingjue’s order to stay put. They were going to be punished for that. Lan Xichen didn’t like being punished, but he also felt that since it was going to happen anyway, he might as well try to make it worth the future discomfort.

“I think I’d like to see those baby ravens now,” he told Nie Huaisang, who grinned as if he’d been given all his favourite candies at once.

“Yes! But we’ll have to climb up the tree. Do you know how?”

Lan Xichen shook his head. Tree climbing wasn’t part of the official curriculum of Gusu Lan.

“It’s fine, I’ll teach you,” Nie Huaisang offered. “I’m very good at it, because da-ge taught me how.”

“He seems like a good da-ge,” Lan Xichen remarked as he stood up.

“There’s no better da-ge in the whole entire world,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “He is always grumpy, but he gives me hugs and also he lets me have all his mushrooms and sometimes he shares his desserts with me. If you want, I can share him with you. But he’s my da-ge first, so don’t forget!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t steal him,” Lan Xichen promised, though he would have dearly liked a hug, and also maybe some dessert.

For the time being, Lan Xichen contented himself with Nie Huaisang’s explanation on how to climb a tree. It turned out that it wasn’t too hard, especially not for someone with martial art training, so Lan Xichen quickly got the hang of it and followed Nie Huaisang high up that tree.

The raven chicks really were extremely ugly, but Lan Xichen had to admit that they were also strangely cute. Nie Huaisang and him were laughing together about it when Nie-Furen and Lan Qiren found them. They’d been sitting on a branch for so long that it was very nearly night, and they had to be rescued. Nie Huaisang might have been very good at climbing trees, but it turned out that he still hadn’t learned how to get back down except by falling, or by having his brother climb up to get him. 

Since Nie Mingjue wasn’t there, it had to be Lan Qiren who went up to grab them. He looked very cross about it, which scared Lan Xichen at first. Then he noticed that Nie Huaisang was struggling not to giggle, and… and it was true that Lan Qiren was making a very funny face as he went up the tree, so Lan Xichen found himself laughing as well.

They were both still laughing when they hopped down from Lan Qiren’s shoulders onto the ground. Surely this insolence, combined with their earlier disobedience of Nie Mingjue’s order, should have gotten them punished. Indeed Nie-furen appeared in favour of that, but Lan Qiren looked at his nephew in a funny way before asking Nie-furen for leniency.

“I haven’t heard him laugh in all that time,” Lan Qiren explained, and immediately Nie-furen’s anger cooled down a little.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad in the Unclean Realm after all, Lan Xichen thought as they all walked away together to go have dinner. And maybe it would be okay that he was apparently linked by fate to someone like Nie Huaisang.

Lan Xichen was glad when his uncle told him that night before bed that since Lan Wangji’s wound was nothing bad at all, that their plan hadn’t changed and they would be staying a little while in the Unclean Realm for a change of air.

After all, Nie Mingjue had just promised Huaisang, Wangji, and him that he’d teach them how to climb down from trees, and that would surely be great fun.

[maxwell-grant]

Ok, but how would the Shadow get along with Superman?

I'm gonna try something a little different with this ask, because I couldn't really find the right words to answer it the way I usually do. So instead I took the more complicated route and ended up writing a fanfic of sorts, about potential interactions between these two I could think of.

I don't think I'll make a habit out of answering replies through fanfic but, I don't know, something about this question kinda demanded from me a different type of answer. I never wrote Superman before but I do need to get back to writing.

So here you go, the Shadow - Superman fanfic I wrote to answer this. Hope you enjoy.

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They were not friends. They were not enemies. They had their separate worlds to watch over, and rarely did they cross each other. Rarely did they meet under desirable circumstances. 

 The Shadow, as Superman knew him, was not a part of Superman's world. In more ways than one.

Clark knew that he was a man who was mainly active during the 1930s and 40s, that he had been a crimefighter active in the United States during that time, that he has some connection to Bruce and other heroes he knew, and that he has an associate related to Lois named Margo, but somehow, Clark could never find him on his own accord.

Even when he time traveled to said period, he could never find him. Lois and Margo share a bloodline, but Lois does not recall what exactly of what sort, not even under Clark's machines. When he asked some of The Shadow's associates, they could not recall him, and Clark knew for a fact they could not have been lying. Some of them existed in this world but with "ordinary" lives, and others didn't.

Although he seemed to come from an alternate world,there were times when The Shadow appeared to have history in this world as well. Real, tangible history, that seems to be willed out of thin air and to dissappear when Clark goes looking for it. Even Bruce seems to not remember him, and Bruce's the one who seemed to have spent the most time in his presence.

He couldn't quite say he looked fondly on his meetings with The Shadow, if he could be honest with himself. He was cold, remote, harsh and manipulative. He murdered criminals without remorse, something that even he admitted had soured his relationship with Bruce, and terrorized those he fought to a much greater extent than even Batman, who Clark already thought was going too far at times.

Clark knew he was not an evil man, he was certain of the compassion within him that thundered to protect the innocent, but Clark could hardly be certain of how much he knew about him in the first place. Clark, who could see through crowds and make a shopping list out of what each person had eaten for breakfest that morning, could not identify The Shadow's face through his mask, could not see what was behind his eyes.

Clark is extremely aware of the standards he must adhere to in order to operate as Superman, the ways in which he must be held accountable as someone operating above and within society. He understands the importance of his friends and allies that can stop and defeat him, the family he must look after, the reputation he must uphold, the control over his powers and a lifetime of experience in holding himself back. At times he was even grateful for the existence of Kryptonite as a desperate measure. He knows that Bruce goes through a lot of measures to keep himself in check as well.

But he knows little about The Shadow, who works for him, why they do so, who can hold him accountable, who is going to help him when he can't help himself. He worries about what his world must look like, to create a man like him, brainwashing people and gunning down criminals in the streets while laughing. How much good can such a man do if this is what his approach to justice looks like? What is the toil that such a grim approach to life has taken on this man's life?

He knows that overthinking is one of his worse flaws, but Superman can't help but dwell sometimes on the worlds he cannot save, on those that must take on such realities. He only wishes he knew how to find The Shadow of his own accord and try to bring peace to the man, even if he knows better than to assume peace is what he's looking for.

It is the nature of Superman to never stop trying to bring everyone to a world beyond death, darkness and sorrow, and to blame himself for those he cannot save even from themselves.

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It was a well-known fact that The Shadow always worked alone. And like most known facts about him, it was not entirely accurate.

The Shadow strives to cultivate the image that he's alone, untouchable, that all who work for him do so because he forces them to. That he always tells those he saves that their lives belong to him, that they are trembling slaves to a monster sniffing blood in gutters.

Distractions, lies, smokescreens he must create, to allow his agents to operate as spies, and spare them from the wrath of the police and the criminal underworld alike, too busy hunting a legend to notice the flesh and blood people working under their noses, people they would otherwise be all too happy to neglect or stomp on.

Misdirection, the secret of any magic trick. The true secret of The Shadow's invisibility.

There are days where the only positive thought in his mind is that his agents cannot join him wherever he goes.

The success of The Shadow depended heavily on the vast networks of agents and allies he'd gathered over the years, people from all walks of life who trusted him and had chosen to join him. Every courageous move, sacrifice and pivotal role they played was carefully recorded in his files, and never forgotten. They had skills and capabilities The Shadow did not, and The Shadow was proud to see the ways in which they would cultivate those into the betterment of the world around him.

And though the bridge between them was unassailable, though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them and they could never know more than he allowed, they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation, and at many points The Shadow had made said bridge less unassailable for their sake.

But they were not his friends. His allies were distant and occupied with fights The Shadow could assist, but not fight for them. His agents were subordinates rather than equals, expected to play the necessary parts and leave the scene for their own safety just as quickly. His friends were few, and often dead. And when it was the moment of danger, The Shadow fought alone. The protection of others came above all else, and on field, although they were expected to think and strategize for themselves and work together, The Shadow's word was final.

There could be no distractions, no hesitations. Those had cost him more than enough on the battlefields of the Great War, mistakes he would never repeat again. The sacrifice of companionship, his own personhood and self-preservation is an acceptable loss for the sake of those he must protect.

There are occasions when The Shadow is forced into circumstances beyond what logic and physics should allow, and in some of those occasions, Superman had been involved in them. There are occasions also where he has to work side by side with other vigilantes, and sometimes, they also include Superman.

He couldn't quite say he looked forward to working with Superman. His arrival almost inevitably carried chaos into the inner workings of reality. The existence of an omnipotent being able to crack planets with a footstep and liquefy crowds with a gaze, held back only by his human personality, was a danger that thankfully did not exist in The Shadow's own world, but was a worrying prospect regardless.

Few of his experiences with aliens and superpowered warriors could be said to be positive ones, and a lifetime of knowing the evil in the hearts of men had taught The Shadow how easily even the best of intentions and the most solid of morals could be corroded and destroyed. It didn't help matters that this being was also a public crusader and celebrity passing judgement on criminals, even while secretly holding a private dimensional prison to throw them into should they be sufficiently dangerous. Someone completely unstoppable and unaccountable, even to death itself.

The Shadow understood Superman to be a good man, a moral man who had been raised well to be the best he could. The Shadow respected and treasured the existence of those like him, men and women and everything in between that could breathe in the sun and uphold mankind, while he dwelled in the underworld to make sure those more like him would not rise to attack them.

But whatever the rewards of these partnerships, he was glad when they were over. His work requires full control. He cannot tolerate the loss of it.

Others can dream of better tomorrows and work to make them happen, his is the task of clearing the darkest paths so others need not tread them.

Hope, light and comfort are noble gifts, but they are not his to give.

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The first time they met had been the result of Vandal Savage's Hypertime Collider, a trap designed to keep Superman running circles through the timestreams, cycling through alternate versions of himself. He had landed in the 1930s, somewhat depowered, in a world where some allies of his existed, but superheroes were nowhere to be found (although some people reacted in terror at him, shouting "IT'S DANNER! HE'S COME BACK TO KILL US!", the significance of which was lost on Clark).

He had met a woman named Margo Lane when looking for this world's Lois, telling her he was a farmboy from Kansas lost in the big city looking for a friend with the same last name. Margo didn't recognize anyone named Lois, and Clark could tell she was only pretending to believe his story (even though it was true, in a sense), but through her, he met a tall, gaunt and hawk-like millionaire by the name of Lamont Cranston, a name Clark recognized from an old radio show Jonathan used to listen.

He had an idea of who The Shadow was. An old detective from a radio show or pulp magazines, sure, Superman's been to worlds he used to think were fictional before, some people still think he's as real as Santa Claus (who was going to join him and the Easter Bunny for checkers next Sunday).

Their conversation of platitudes was cut short, as it wasn't long before the Hypertime Collider was soon transporting him to a different time period, but before he was ejected, he remembered the moment their conversation ended.

Shortly before he could feel the Collider breaking and warping time and space in a chokehold around him, he remembered an eerie silence fall on the room. Though his hearing senses in this world were diminished, he could still pick up minute sounds from miles away, and it was a strange sensation to hear the sound of nothing. A sound that did not exist but silenced everything around it with deafening precision, a sound that Clark had not heard even in the deepest recesses of space, when he could still hear his body's metabolism at work. For a moment, though he did not need it to survive, Clark worried his heart had stopped working, for he could not hear it.

It surely was the Collider's effect at work, he reasoned.

But in that brief moment, whatever surprise he expected to find on Cranston's expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, scattered shadows slashed across his face as the air around him changed and he closed his eyes. He was still wearing Cranston's face when he opened them, and once again, they did not match his face.

The last thing he remembered before his ejection was a voice that cut through the air and the meters separating them, that sounded like a python hissing in Clark's ear, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"This is not your world."

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

The second time was in another dimensional sojourn, this time of his volition.

Having borrowed a portal from Cyberwear Enterprises, Clark was rehearsing a speech intended for the Reginellian people of the Bohren System, one he was expected to give through blinking in reverse morse code, and in order to ensure the atmosphere of their planet would allow them to hear him, Clark intended to pay them a visit. But instead, he was transported somewhere else.

Before he could properly register the time period and location he had landed, he had encountered The Shadow in the middle of rescuing a steamship on fire from sinking.

He was clinging to the side of it unseen from the panicking passangers, drilling bullet holes to the bottom of the ship so it would fall to the side and steer clear from a passing fireworks yacht. He was holding a rope attached to a nearby tugboat with one hand, and with the other he was clinging to the boat's window. The tugboat was moving outside of the steamship's range, and as it moved, it would drag The Shadow and tilt the steamship as he gripped it, just enough to prevent the steamship from colliding head-on with the coming barge.

The tugboat had three men within it, one piloting it and two holding on to the rope that The Shadow had attached, working along with The Shadow to try and pull the steamship. One of these men had a missing eye and was dressed in aviator gear, presumably the pilot of the autogyro atop the tugboat. The other was a tall, muscular black man in suspenders, who dwarfed the pilot in both size and strength.

The strain of their pull could dislocate The Shadow's arms at the very minimum, if not outright kill him, his plunge would carry him 20 feet into the water and potentially under the sinking steamship. Still, they pulled with grim determination, although the boat driver had his eyes closed, and Clark recognized the Yiddish mutterings coming from his mouth as a desperate prayer.

Though they did not see him, these men were extremely thankful when Superman had blown out the inferno with a single breath, and pushed the boat all the way necessary for it's passangers to land on the barge safely, and rescued The Shadow.

Of course they knew the Chief was gonna pull through, he always does.

If The Shadow was thankful for Superman's interference, he didn't show it. In the second he had regained enough strength to talk, he rattled off dozens of names, of passangers in the steamship that had been bruised, by either the flames, the panicking crowd, or the criminals that The Shadow had stopped. People that needed to be taken to medical assistance faster than the ambulances could carry them, of family members that had to be contacted.

He did so without looking at his rescuer, for he remembered Superman, who expected his presence in this timeline to have been erased after he'd destroyed the Hypertime Collider.

Nothing indicated it hadn't been.

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

Their most recent encounter was the outcome of an accident where Vandal Savage had trapped Superman in the Arctic and rebuilt his Hypertime Collider, in the hopes of contacting alternate versions of himself so they could all gain Superman's powers and conquer their worlds.

One of said versions was hunted by The Shadow through the portals. The adventure ended rather quickly as the Savages all turned on each other in their tried-and-true method of solving problems with large rocks, but amidst the chaos, a final burst of energy had granted The Shadow a temporary access to Superman's powers.

Thoughts passed through Clark's head of the last time Bruce had accidentally gained access to Superman's abilities, and how despite his best intentions, Bruce couldn't help but overestimate his own ability to wield said powers responsibly. Of how many times he's come across iterations of Bruce who've gained superpowers and used them poorly or tyranically.

He thought of how often he needed to reign himself back, and of the man in black who stood before him, with eyes like thunderstorms ready to break.

The ways in which he is like Bruce, and the ways in which he is decidedly not.

But before Superman could take any sort of action or even ask how he was feeling, The Shadow turned around silently and started walking, straight in the direction of the Fortress of Solitude.

Upon reaching it, he took the million-ton key from beneath the rug that spelled Welcome in a million languages, opened the door, and walked straight into a high security anti-Superman cell within it, designed specifically as a desperate measure against rogue Kryptonians, only stating Superman was going to have to watch him so he couldn't escape.

Clark had never even told him about the Fortress.

He stayed there for the next 12 hours, as Superman ran tests on him to ensure his body wouldn't be negatively affected by the transformation. Clark chose not to remark that some of the bone-deep injuries he had spotted on The Shadow's body previously had healed, as he knew it wouldn't take long for him to acquire new ones after this was over.

They talked briefly at points, and for much of it, The Shadow assumed the façade of Cranston. Sometimes he remembered to breathe and blink, things he forgot to do with startling ease once he no longer needed them.

Clark understood it to be a diplomatic gesture, a façade over the untameable and fearsome Shadow who was frankly unnerving to be around. Even a kind gesture, an effort to address Superman as a man asking for help. Not different than how Superman would prefer to be Clark Kent in order to approach people and ask questions and say things that Superman could never say.

There was a discomfort, of course. There would always be one between the two.

Still, Superman took it as a victory when, after the 12 hours were over, he heard that familiar hiss, with equal intensity but no aggression or even contempt, spell out a "Thank you", as he turned around and was unsurprised to find The Shadow no longer there.

They were not friends, they were not enemies, they belonged to different worlds. They were opposites in their battles for truth and justice.

But truths are often opposite. It is a truth that not all opposites are opposed.

Truth is often as chilling as it can be comforting.

[colossal-fallout]

First kiss 💋

With Reiner Braun

Notes: SFW. Smut of the smuttiest. More fluff than a prancing kitten. It switches between she/you/yn a lot I just edited it from a previous piece I'd made a little while ago and mobile Tumblr isn't the best for my fat thumbs.

As soon as my computer is fixed I'll tidy it up ✌️

It's year three of the cadets. Reiner finally has you all to himself as you browse the market stalls in the quaint town of the Trost District.

But a summer shower quickly dampens his already low spirits, knowing these feelings for you are strictly forbidden...

As the sky began to darken over Trost, Reiner glanced up at the gathering clouds and wondered if he should call it a day. He was reluctant to; it wasn’t very often he got to have you all to himself.

His golden eyes glanced at y/n as she pondered over the stall she was standing at – the vendor excited to show the wares. His eyes then fell to the pavement under his feet. She looked gorgeous as usual. Her white dress hugged her curves and it flowed right down to just above her ankles. He’d noticed the glances she gotten from men, of course he did. He also noticed the second looks he had gotten.

Eyes filled with envy.

Those men thought you were a couple and Reiner secretly loved it. What he wouldn’t give for that to be true.

“Reiner?” Your soft voice called out, snapping his attention.

“What do you think of these gloves for Mikasa? They’d definitely help with her training.”

Sweet y/n.

Whenever she had spare money, she would spend it on her friends. Mikasa had been getting blisters from her pairing blade hilts. They’d joked she takes out her frustration towards Eren’s behaviour out on her grip; pretending they were his neck.

“Uh, yeah. I think they’ll come in handy, sure.” He replied half dazed.

“Everything okay?” she asked as she handed the salesperson the cash. “You seem a bit out of it.”

He instantly pulled up his usual facade. “Me? I’m fine. Looks like it’s going to rain though. We should head back.”

“Okay.” She smiled slightly, taking the paper bag with the leather gloves inside. They began to walk down the street back towards the barracks.

He silently kicked himself.

He wanted to take each step as slowly as possible, trying to wring out as much alone time as he could.

When did it get so bad?

If she didn’t have her swarm of friends around her constantly, and Bertolt didn’t act as his shadow maybe he wouldn’t be so desperate to be alone with her in the first place.

Why did he even want that though?

He wasn’t dense. He knew he had a soft spot for her and despite his best friend’s warnings, he ignored his advice to stay away. It got worse and worse like an neglected cavity in a tooth. The longer he left it, the deeper she bore into him. He wondered if the pain of a toothache would be better than this constant yearning to be near her.

When did he become so pathetic? When did he become so... weak?

Reiner Braun was the strongest male in the 104th with the highest grades. Dedicated. Focused. Yet this H/C'd girl walking beside him with her sparkling e/c eyes could easily bring him to his knees.

He’d gone through the implications in his head over and over. His friends from back home wouldn’t approve. It’s not like they didn’t like y/n... In fact he was surprised how well she got along with them.

It was because they didn’t join cadets to fool around with beautiful women.

They were there to return home. Home... He wondered what his family would think of her. That was when he shook his head.

No.

There wasn’t any use in going down that trail.

“Oh no...” y/n winced as fat rain drops began to fall from the swollen clouds.

It was a summer day so they didn’t think to bring a jacket. In fact, none of their friends earlier had been wearing one.

Within seconds the heavy drops were crashing down all around them, people ran for cover and merchants began to hurriedly set up a canopy over their goods.

Reiner grabbed her wrist and began to run.

“Summer shower.” He explained. “It won’t last long, but it’ll be a soaker.” . Women around them let out a squeal as a loud rumble of thunder echoed out over the town. Puddles were already forming as Reiner hurriedly led her down the clearing street. As they ran, water splashed around their ankles from collecting on the road.

With his free hand, he began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“What are you doing?!” you called out over the loud crashing of water. “You’ll catch your death!” By the time she uttered the last word of her sentence he whipped around and lay his large shirt over her head before returning to pull her along.

“Dont want that pretty dress to be ruined, do we?” he joked, yet his face stayed serious. “Reiner...” you whispered in awe, inaudible due to the rain.

Not long after, you'd reached the stables where the transport horses were kept. It was deserted, being the cadets weekend off and were carting the soldiers to their home towns for the next couple of days.

Reiner pushed open the large wooden door of the hay storage barn, before ushering you inside.

“Are you crazy?” you laughed once they were tucked in away from the downpour.

Beads of rain rolled down his bare flesh, trailing down his pronounced pectorals and solid abs.

Reiner shrugged. “Didn’t want you getting cold and wet.”

Your eyes softened gorgeously as he turned to rub his hand over his hair, getting excess droplets off him.

His back muscles flexed with every small movement before he turned back around, Goosebumps raising on his skin and his nipples hardening from the chill.

The barn was filled with the relaxing sounds of the heavy pattering of rain on the wooden roof above their heads. This was the side of Reiner you'd been waiting to see.

You knew he had it in him, underneath the crude jokes and the flirting attempts. He was a gentleman through and through. He just liked to hide it for whatever reasons she didn’t know.

His shirt was warm and his scent rolled off it into her nose.

You hadn’t realised how much you actually enjoyed his smell until now. It sent waves of comfort over you, like the smell alone was his big strong arms wrapping around your body, ensuring your safety and comfort.

Yes.

You'd decided.

You had been pondering on your feelings towards your classmate for a little while now and wanted to be sure. The torment of professionalism as well as distractions from training had been hanging over your head.

But there was just something about him that you was pulled to.

He jumped a little when you placed your soft hand gently on his forearm. The skin across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes instantly heated up, turning a hue of pink.

You were so close to him and he got what he always yearns for – for your skin to be touching his.

The next thing he knew you were reaching up and planting a tender kiss on his cheek.

The breath caught in his throat and that pinkness burned more brightly. Every muscle in his body tensed and his eyes enlarged slightly. But what really sent his chest thudding was when you pulled the kiss away.

You kept your face close to his, now bearing the same pink hue. Your gorgeous eyes glistened, long lashes framing them beautifully. You smiled adorably, pulling at his shirt that was now draped across your shoulders.

“Thank you...”

Y/N spoke softly, her hair a little messed up from the shirt but it just made her look even more beautiful.

“For what...?” he replied in a haze.

“Being you...”

Those last words penetrated straight through his macho exterior and felt like they pierced into his heart, injecting some sort of warm fluid that quickly spread across his entire chest.

He didn’t even think.

It was like he went on auto pilot and his instincts just took over.

Placing the side of his index finger under her chin, he tilted her head up slightly and closed the gap between them, gently pressing his lips against hers.

His heart smashed against his solid barrel chest as she kissed him back, her lips softer than he had ever imagined them to be.

She ran her hands up his shoulders and hung them, opening her mouth a little wider as they kissed, giving him full permission to explore her mouth.

He did so without hesitation.

Sliding his tongue passed her sweet lips, he entwined it with hers.

It felt like fireworks and explosion were going off around him and he thought he could see stars behind his closed eyelids.

Having her kissing him and getting to be this close and intimate with her was the best feeling he’d ever had.

The adrenaline was richer and sweeter than any fight he’d been in or any training exercise.

It just felt perfect.

It began to get heated pretty quickly as their pace quickened slightly, deep exhales leaving his nose and his brow became furrowed and desperate.

She truly did make him feel weak.

He handled her gently. Although he knew she was strong, it she also felt delicate, like his big lumbering body could break her at any moment.

Her fingers ran through his hair and she pressed up against him, his arms wrapping around her in a sweet embrace.

Although he thought he was the luckiest man alive to be able to kiss her, his body quickly began needing more of her.

He battled with it, keeping it under control and letting her now take the lead of the kiss.

She gently pulled his pouty bottom lip with her teeth, making it that much harder for him to not throw her down and lift up her dress.

Instead, he settled for a please grunt, his brows creasing deeper as he became hungrier.

She slowly pulled away.

He pressed his forehead against hers, unable to hide the dumb grin that spread across his face as he caressed her hair with his right hand.

“What’s with that goofy grin?” she joked quietly; her sweet breath warm on his face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He replied, his grin stretching further.

Smiling, she lowered her head almost shyly at that titbit of information.

She then fixed her eyes on his. “Really?”

“Of course...” he looked genuinely surprised. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Oh stop.” She laughed.

He took her hand and placed it on his bare chest over his rapid heartbeat. His honey eyes not removing their gaze from hers. “I swear.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Well, you have awful taste.” Was what she settled for.

But having Reiner Braun, of whom didn’t really catch her eye at first, now she’d gotten to know him was extremely attractive; his chest bare and holding her close like this set a burning desire deep within her.

One that she would have to keep under control.

...For now.

She gently placed her hand on his jawline before replacing her mouth onto his.

He let out a small unintentional exhale from his nose, more than happy to slide his warm tongue back inside of her.

Her hands gently caressed his broad shoulders, her pace quickening and her teeth grazing his lip.

She didn’t want to let things get too heated too quickly, but battling her urges seemed like an uphill battle. He’d grown on her a hell of a lot over the last three years and having him hold her like this felt amazing.

As Reiner kissed her, he pushed away the little voice inside of his head that was telling him this was all a big mistake and he had just complicated things massively.

He didn’t care.

His feelings for her had always surpassed the doubts that swirled around in his mind. And now, knowing she had some reciprocating feelings it was incomprehensible that he would now turn his back on her.

He grazed his hand lightly up her arm as he slowly and almost gracefully devoured the inside of her mouth. Her skin was the softest thing he’d ever touched like some fine silk from a faraway land. He almost felt like he was ruining her just by having his unworthy hands upon her flesh.

She pulled away once again and he sealed their kiss with another gently peck.

“This is crazy...” she sighed taking a step back. “We’re training to be soldiers.”

“I know how you feel, believe me.” He muttered, a frown tugging at his mouth. “But I think life’s a little too short to be putting good things on the back burner.”

She pondered on that for a moment.

He began to feel desperate. Now that he had her affections within his grasp, he wasn’t about to let them slip through his fingers.

“I mean...” he took a step forward and held her hand into his large pair. “I know I joke around a lot but you...”

He paused for a moment, choosing his words.

“I didn’t kiss you with the intention of just having you then leaving. ...I want us to be together. Properly. Hell, if we weren’t in Cadets, I would be asking you to marry me right now.”

That blushing hue returned to his face as he shyly looked away, not used to spilling out his feelings like this.

But the humiliation and discomfort would be worth it if he managed to gain her as his own.

Again... When did I get so weak?

She did a better job than he at hiding the grin that was threatening to spread across her face.

Instead, her face matched his reddening tone.

“Are you saying... You love me, Reiner Braun?” she spoke softly.

He pushed away every instinct that told him to run and hide.

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I am.” He replied steadily.

Now it was her turn to ignore her instincts to run.

“R-Reiner. It’s not that I don’t care for you too, I do. But... Ah, it’s complicated.” She grimaced. “I don’t know when.. uh... I’ll be ready to...” her face was almost glowing at this point.

“Hey hey...” he soothed. “Its okay. I love you. I don’t care about waiting.” His face returned to the familiar serious soldier expression she was so used to seeing during training. “Even if you’d wanna wait until after marriage. I don’t mind.”

She squirmed uncomfortably. “Its not that. Maybe we can talk about it... Another time?”

It perplexed him but he didn’t mind. “Of course.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“So...?” He melted back into that cheeky smirk.

The classic Reiner grin. Mischievous and cunning.

“You wanna give this a shot?”

Y/N noticed the rain had slowed to a stop, the clouds had moved on and the sun was shining once again.

She’d known Reiner now for almost two years. Spent every single day pretty much in his presence. They’d worked together, laughed together and well... Now this.

She reminded herself how strong that urge was to kiss him only minutes ago. Why she initiated closeness in the first place. Her mind fluttered through the pages of her recent memories and how he had been making her feel these days and how her eyes have been lingering upon him a little longer than she’d like.

She let out a sigh before smirking back at him. “Sure. But don’t get comfortable now. Just because you have me doesn’t mean you can start slacking your charm.”

She playfully pushed his cheeks together with her index and thumb, resulting in a chuckle rumble from his broad chest.

“I swear it.” He grinned, kissing her.

“Come on. We’d better head back.” She smiled, handing him back his shirt.

[danny-chase]

Delirium - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Titans (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Roy Harper & Lian Harper, Lian Harper & Dick Grayson, Lian Harper & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Tim Drake & Roy Harper Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Lian Harper Additional Tags: Hopsitals, delirious, Anxiety, Panic, POV Tim Drake, Canon Divergence, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Tim Drake is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Batman, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Damian Wayne is Robin, Lian never died, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Dick Grayson gets a forehead kiss, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Caring Batfamily (DCU), fluff at the end, Teen Titans as Family, Tim Drake emotional whump, Damian Wayne emotional whump, Lian Harper is a ray of stubborn sunshine on a cloudy day, gunshot wound, Head Wound, Coloring Books Series: Part 4 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Tim has to be the oldest for like five minutes and decides he doesn't like it (but does a good job anyways).

Full story under cut

“Alvin? Alvin… Draper?” A nurse called from across the room. Tim pulled his head out of his hands, careful not to jostle his fake moustache. “This way please.” She intoned, waving a hand towards a bustling hallway.

Damian nearly leapt out of the stiff plastic chair, and he slowly followed suit, trying to act causal. He doubted he was fooling anyone; his legs shook as he walked forward, and he was pretty sure he left a ring of butt sweat on his seat. Taking deep breaths to calm his fraying nerves, he concentrated on taking steady steps forward – he didn’t care much for Damian, but there was no way he’d let a child go through this sort of thing alone. Especially one who probably had never visited someone in the hospital (let alone been in one) before.

 He’d gotten a panicked call from Barbara a few days ago. Gotham in ruins, streets in chaos… the usual. Bruce was gone. He couldn’t miraculously pull them out of these things anymore. The first Batman was dead, and this time… they could lose the second.

 “Report.” Damian demanded, his harsh tone penetrating Tim’s thoughts. He was suddenly aware of the chaos of the hallway, of people jostling them as they rushed by, a cacophony of machines squealing and loud voices, and bright lights illuminating tacky flooring. He’d fallen a pace behind and quickened his step to stand firmly next to his… little brother.

 As much he’d tried to deny it, at the end of the day, that’s what bound them. Fealty to a dead man, he’d once hoped they could be something more – but this family was ripping apart at the seams and Tim had to wonder what even kept them all here anymore.

 Though – that wasn’t hard to figure out.

 Dick was in trouble, and he came running. He’d been in trouble and Dick had come running. They were brothers in every sense of the word, without Bruce tying them together. His stomach clenched at the thought that it might all be lost to him forever, and he swallowed the bile burning at the top of his throat.

 Dick had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world – when you talked to him, he listened, gave advice, and would drop anything to help. He quickly crawled his way into your life, cementing you as family. Things were never perfect, and they’d had their fights, but Dick always bent first, forgiveness freely given rather than earned. Tim had needed that. And from what little time they’d spent together, he knew Damian did too.

 Panic. That was the only way to describe how he felt. He couldn’t be that for Damian – he couldn’t be Dick. He let out a shaky breath – Dick had to be fine – he couldn’t – not after Bruce – he couldn’t do this again – he was on the verge of shattering after finally picking up all the broken pieces of himself and –

 “I said, report.” Damian squeaked. He jolted back into reality, steading his breath, and replaying the last few minutes, his mind trying to catch up.

 The nurse seemed unamused, her nostrils flaring and brow tight as she glanced back. “Sorry, my brother’s a little uhh… stressed…?” He stammered, not wanting to offend Damian – or worse, start an argument in a crowded hallway. But he didn’t flinch at the comment, a testament to the seriousness of the situation they found themselves in.

 Dick was shot in the back of the head, and Tim honestly had no idea if they’d gotten him medical attention in time. He could be comatose for the rest of his life, would never breathe on his own, never talk to them again, never walk, never think, never… god… he’d never talk to Dick again, and it was all his fault for being too late, too unprepared, too much of a failure to-

 “The operation went well, we need to keep him for observation, but we’re hopeful he’ll make a full recovery in a month or two.” Tim blinked back tears as a weight lift off his shoulders, bringing a hand up, covering his eyes for just a second. He looked up to find Damian frozen; too stunned to move. He gently placed an arm around his shoulders, tugging him along so he wouldn’t be swept up in the tide. Surprisingly, that much was allowed today, the child’s thoughts were elsewhere, so Tim focused his thoughts on him.

 Damian was only ten. And he’d almost lost Dick to a fate worse than death, after seeing him shot before his eyes, helpless to stop it. They didn’t have hospitals in the League, it was kill or be killed, and then there were the pits. Had he ever watched someone recover naturally?

 “He’ll be okay.” Tim hissed, in a tone that only Damian could hear. Damian startled back into the present, glaring at him briefly, shaking off Tim’s hand, and storming after the nurse. He kept his expression carefully out of view.

 They turned into a private hospital room, pulling the door shut behind her, and winked. “Timothy Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne, I presume.”

 He could feel the kid freeze beside him, his own heart threatening to escape his throat.

 “Oh, sorry - don’t panic, I’m with STAR Labs, we’ve worked with Richard and his team for years.” Damian huffed in annoyance. “Your identities aren’t compromised; Oracle made the arrangements for our team to take over when he arrived.” She passed her clipboard to Tim. “The walls are soundproof, you can stay as long as you want, I trust you can get out on your own, and it’s not like I’m going to stop you if you decide to stay longer than I recommend.” She sighed. “Just, don’t distress the patient, he’ll be confused when he wakes up, it’s normal. Call if you need, our monitoring systems are top notch, we’ll be watching – but not listening of course.”

 And with that, the nurse turned on her heel, exiting as fast as she’d arrived, leaving Tim opened mouthed next to a wide-eyed Damian.

 He watched as the door slowly turned on its hinges, picking up speed until it slammed shut. Almost immediately it popped back open. “If he tries to get up, don’t let him escape.” She rolled her eyes. “You human patients are always the worst.” And with that, she was gone. A few awkward, silent moments passed.

 “Are you coming, Drake?” Damian’s voice had lost its normal edge, as he determinedly stared at the windows. He couldn’t see Dick from where they stood, but he could make out the edge of the bed, a pure white sheet neatly tucked under the edge.

 He shifted, hesitantly - he always hated this part. But regardless, he took the lead, striding forward, and allowing Damian the comfort of walking in someone’s shadow. Because even if he wouldn’t say it, there was no way the kid wanted to do this alone. He couldn’t replace Dick – was thankful he didn’t have to, but this – this was the least he could do.

 Hospital beds have this way of making the people inside them seem smaller. Tim braced himself as he stepped into view, and well, it could be worse. Dick was out cold, drooling on his pillow still hooked up to a few monitors, which steadily droned and beeped in the background. A lump of gauze and bandages swathed the base of his skull.

 Damian flitted past his side to sit in the chair next to the bed, and Tim sprang into action, taking the chair next to the window. He flipped through the charts without really reading anything, and the two sat in stony silence. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through dozens of missed calls and unanswered texts before shoving it back in his pocket.

 He spared a glance at Damian - he was curled up in the chair, grimacing and staring at the wall. He didn’t dare try saying anything more, lest they start fighting in Dick’s hospital room. He contented himself with staring out the window, watching the dawn break, violets and purples dancing across the sky. The sun rose with pinks and oranges blossoming soon after.

 Things would be okay. They had to be okay. He slowed his breathing, focusing on the sky rather than the scent of disinfectant. The steady beep of machines slowly fading into the distance. Closing his eyes, he could pretend for a moment, that this was normal. He was in a hotel, maybe on a vacation, in some city that wasn’t destroyed every few months. There had to be a place like that still out there.

 A little chickadee hopped around on the windowsill, fluttering back and forth, before flying off again. “Bye.” Tim snapped to attention, whirling around to find Dick squinting out the window. Damian sprung out of his chair. “Bruce?” He asked confusedly, frowning at Damian.

 Panic flickered across the kid’s face, and he recoiled, stepping back. “No. I’m Damian, don’t be foolish.” His voice wobbled at the end, and Tim’s heart throbbed painfully at the way Damian stiffened, meticulously shutting off any signs of vulnerability.

 “Remember what the nurse said, he’s going to be confused for a bit.” Tim reminded, striding over to sit at the edge of the bed. Dick went back to looking at the now closed window. “Dick, you with us?” He leaned into Dick’s line of sight, trying for a smile, and waited for a minute before leaning back. “I’m going to take that as a no.”

 “-tt-” Damian stepped forwards again. “Don’t bother him, Drake.” He spat.

 Tim didn’t really know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. Damian climbed back into his chair, tucking his legs up to sit crisscrossed, his back stiff and upright. Tim grabbed his chair, pulling it closer to the edge of the bed. He placed a hand over Dick’s, rubbing a finger over his knuckles, taking comfort in the fingers twitching slightly under his own.

 Dick was alive. He would live. Would recover. He hadn’t lost his older brother.

 “His name’s Tim.” Dick mumbled after a few minutes. Damian rolled his eyes. “Tim.” Dick repeated, his eyes glassy as they gazed through Damian’s forehead.

 “Yeah?” Tim lightly tapped Dick’s hand. He didn’t move from his focus.

 “Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim.” He continued repeating Tim’s name, staring up at the ceiling.

 “Why is he doing that?” Damian demanded, jumping out of his chair. Dick obliviously repeated the word, seemingly unaffected. “Drake, she said the operation went <em>well</em>.”

 “I dunno.” He sighed, Dick probably had no idea what was going on, nor would he remember this. “Look, he’s delirious, he’s going to be messed up for a bit. He got shot in the head.”

 “I know that. I was there. But if the operation was successful, then why-”

 The door opened, and they fell silent, footsteps approaching. Roy Harper poked around the corner; a phone pressed to his ear. “Okay, he doesn’t look too bad, all things considered. Hey, you, kid, you should actually answer your fu-fudging phone.”

 “That’s a dollar for the swear jar.” A little girl, Lian, he presumed, materialized at his side. She carried a bag with her and zoomed over to Damian. “Daddy says you like to color, so I brought crayons.” She grabbed a pack from her bag and shoved them at him. Damian looked mildly disgusted but took them anyway. “Say thank you.” Lian demanded.  

 Damian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tim glanced at Roy, he winked, doing his best not to laugh as he finished talking with whoever was on the phone.

 “Thank you.” Dick replied, patting Lian’s head. His eyes seemed to find hers before darting away to stare at the ceiling.

 “Not you.” She groaned. “Him.” She pointed at Damian.

 “Thank you.” He repeated. Lian cracked a smile, giggling.

 “Don’t laugh, it isn’t funny – he’s delirious.” Damian replied harshly, eyes narrowing. Lian shrugged, turning, almost sizing him up. She was only maybe an inch shorter than him, if he had to venture a guess.

 “Uncle Dick is always happier when you laugh.” She pointed out. “It’s contagious.” Sure enough, a wide looping grin had materialized on Dick’s face.

 “But we’re in a hospital.” Damian looked outraged; his hands balled in little fists.

 “Daddy says laughter is the best medicine.” She retorted, crossing her arms. Roy tossed his phone (it landed perfectly in the center of the little dresser next to the bed), and scooped up his daughter in a big hug, sweeping her off the ground.

 “Look, kid.” He looked down at Damian. “I know this is scary and it sucks, but my kid’s got a point.” He kissed the top of her head, prompting more giggles. “She’s a smart cookie, and this isn’t exactly her first rodeo.” Damian’s ears flushed, his face unchanged, but his ears beet red.

 “This is not my first rodeo, and if you were more competent, than-”

 “If Dick was a dumb-, I mean, if he was more competent, we wouldn’t be here.” Roy pointed out, speaking over Damian. Lian smacked his face lightly.

 “Daddy, that’s rude.” Roy rolled his eyes. Dick started speaking in a language Tim vaguely recognized, looking displeased at the argument.

 “Sweetie, I’m trying to make a point.” He set her down, ruffling her hair. “Why don’t you get out the coloring book and let Damian pick out a page.” Damian opened his mouth to comment, but Roy cut him off. “Look, you should see how happy Dick is when Lian gives him coloring pages. I think he’s earned one from you.” Damian closed his mouth. His brain seemingly compiling the information. “What she said isn’t wrong, he’ll recover faster if he’s happier, Timbo, you’re a bat-nerd, back me up here.”

 “Well according to a study done in-” Roy held up a hand.

 “Point made, don’t put me to sleep.” Tim rolled his eyes, remembering why he used to avoid hanging out with (some of) Dick’s friends. For now, he joined Roy in staring down Damian, Lian gazing at him too, an unlikely team up in a battle of wills.

 “Only if Drake makes one too.” Damian miraculously relented after a few minutes. Tim nodded, peace from Damian was worth doing some coloring. Dick would be incredibly happy – these pages would likely be framed; it would be worth it to see the smile on his face. It was worth it now to see Lian’s face light up, as she rushed to unpack her things.

 “Oh, and I brought Uncle Dick a stuffy.” She pulled out a stuffed elephant and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Say thank you.” Dick replied – still not speaking anything he could place, and Lian smiled, Dick smiled back.

 “What’s he been saying?” Tim asked, looking to Roy, as Damian slid to the floor, selecting coloring pages with Lian. Roy sat on the side of the bed, carefully leaning Dick forward, to get a better look at the back of his head. He whistled, ignoring Tim for a moment.

 “You really did it to yourself this time, jeez Dickie.” He muttered to himself before turning back. “He’s speaking Navajo, he was counting to ten earlier, and he told Lian thanks.” Roy rolled his eyes. “Would you believe his pronunciation is always better when he’s like this?”

 “No, that seems on brand.” Tim mused. “Apparently my French gets exponentially better the less I’ve slept.” Roy shrugged, and turned back on Dick.

 “Quit rubbing off on the kids, you don’t want them to turn into you, yah? Bunch a’ weirdo bat-nerds.” Dick was apparently, not listening, and was more into petting the plushy.

 “Zitka.” He replied, showing it to Roy. Roy patted his shoulder.

 “Yeah buddy, I know. Isn’t she cute?” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Dick’s forehead. Something seemed to click in Tim’s brain, as Dick garbled on, fascinated by the toy.

 “How many times have you done this?” He asked, watching as Roy leaned back, taking the seat next to the bed. He shrugged.

 “I stopped counting after Blood fried his brains, back when he ran around in a V-neck.” Tim cringed, that was before he even became Robin. “Don’t look like that, he didn’t die.” Not that time, or this time – but things had been too close for comfort more times than Tim wanted to think about. Roy’s fingers drummed against the armrest. “I don’t know, Garth tried out the elephant thing a while back. It keeps him happy.” He pulled a book out of Lian’s bag, starting to flip through the pages. “Take nap kid – you look deader than him. Lian and I got this covered.”

 Tim leaned back in his chair, tucking his legs up with him. He watched as Dick happily turned the toy over and over in his hands, blearily blinking at the world. Damian was quiet where he sat on the floor, inspecting each of the colors. By the time he put his first stroke to paper, Tim was already fast asleep.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Servant and The Prince | Four

Mama Mia, here we go again lovelies!

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter four

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: anger, mentions of abuse (not graphic), mentions of death (not graphic)

Tags: angst, fluff

Word count: 6.2k (oh god)

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Master List

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

“Come on you churl—” Estrid hisses, her demon-esq nails digging into her arm where her step mother’s hand curls over sleeve— “you are making us look bad. At least pretend to have some couth.”

Estrid drags her forward for a moment, ushering her— all but kicking her— through the blinding gates before losing interest and rushing to meet Anna. Y/n bites her tongue. There are many things she could say. It is almost strange just how many retorts rush to her tongue. They race through her skull, infecting her mind like a sort of mould. Unlike with the bread back home she cannot seem to pick away at it— she cannot make the bad spots go away.

Perhaps if they had not left her to carry all of their things then she would not be taking so long. Do they really believe the princes will spare their diamonds a glance anyway? They are sure to be able to smell the fakes from miles away!

Y/n blinks a few times at the roar of fire that swells in her chest, encasing her very lungs in flames, almost stumbling over the marble stairs beneath her. It feels as though if she does not scream right now— if she does not say everything on her mind, unleash this pent up resentment— then she will surely cook from the inside out. It bubbles, simmers, does the thing pots do when they begin to sizzle— like they are screaming but she is not screaming; she only wishes she was. But she has never wanted to scream and she has been through so much worse. What is one little name, one hand yanking her arm? It is nothing but still she is ready to let the flames engulf her and burn the entire city.

It is terrifying— this kind of all consuming rage.

Estrid turns back towards Y/n, who is still stumbling over the steps, always the faithful servant, and her step mother scoffs. Estrid mutters something under her breath that she cannot hear. An insult, no doubt. It does not reach her ears. There is no way she would have been able to hear it anyway, not over the sound of the flames disintegrating her bones and blood and flesh from the inside out. It makes her want to scream louder— harder, make the castle walls crumble the same way she feels like she is— loud enough to hear over the roar.

Can you not hear it? Do you not care? She can taste the words as they beg for mercy on her tongue, wanting nothing more than to die on the cobblestone before her, spat out in a string of venom like they are meant to be. Can they not see that she is burning to the ground?

She barely swallows the words— she can hear them crying as they pass her throat and she almost changes her mind. She almost sets them free. It is all she can do to bend her neck at her step mother, wonder if the flames are visible in her eyes, and try not to cough up smoke right here on the castle steps. That would be very unladylike— a dishonor on her family. Oh— wait— no it would not be. Her family is dead. She can vomit as much smoke and flames as her little, burning heart desires. She has no one left to bring shame to. Gods, she is so terrified.

Why she is terrified, she does not know. She has never been scared before— not like this.

She was scared of the dark for the longest time. She used to see shadows on her walls and under the waves in the wash basin and against the trees when her mother would make her fetch the cat before bed. She used to think that was true fear— the night. The shadows. The wash basin. But then the morning sun would come and fight the shadows— then her mother would empty the basin— and before long there was nothing left to be afraid of.

But then there was no mother to empty the wash basin and suddenly she was afraid of death and the dark. Surely death must be the greatest fear one can have. Right? The all consuming nothingness, the longest sleep, the unknown. What could be scarier than the unknown? Than losing the people she loves the most and being left to wonder where they are and what they are doing— if they can even do anything— and are they okay? Please, someone just tell her, are they okay? She is not okay.

Darkness and death— death and darkness. At least those were always the scariest things and at least she had overcome them— both of them. There is nothing scarier than those two things. Except, apparently, herself. That is all there is left to be afraid of. Not Estrid or Anna, not pain. Not him. Those are all things she has survived. Overcome. Enjoyed. There is only herself to be afraid now, and the overwhelming, unbearable anger unfurling in her chest and arms and neck and skull. She is terrified of herself.

She is terrified of the anger.

“This way ladies— your chambers are this way!”

Y/n blinks— certain her eyelashes are singed and the blur in her vision is from the smoke in her eyes— and finds that she is no longer on the marble steps but in a long hallway. Pillars rise to her left, showcasing an expansive forest and a smudge of blue that must be the ocean. It feels so close— she can see the waves cresting with white foam so it must be. She can smell the salt, like it is right next to her. She can almost feel the surf lapping at her toes, cooling some of the burning tingle. She would do anything for it to rush up her legs. Soak her dress. Make her skin sticky. She would take the stickiness over the relentless flames. There is no time, though, to take her moment of peace. No time for stickiness. There never is.

“Are you deaf?” Estrid’s hand presses down on her spine, right where the bruises are from the last time the two came in contact. “Move! I will not take kindly to getting the worst chamber because of your dawdling.”

Are the bruises purple? She wonders. Perhaps they are red and black— like molten lava, shifting under her skin. She does not voice her musings aloud, of course. She swallows those thoughts alongside the rest of them. She can feel the precise way they fall on top of their partners, each wasted syllable mushing into the last. They fill her aching belly all the way, pressing on the hollow dip of her throat. If her thoughts were food she would never be hungry again.

Of course, she does not say any of that. Instead she bows her head, eating the flames as they rise. She is so full already though. “I am very sorry, Milady.”

Estrid scoffs. “You should be. Henry should have drowned you at birth had he known you would be so slow.”

At the sound of her father’s name her head snaps up. Estrid is already walking away again, hurrying to meet her impatient daughter. Anna taps her heel against the marble. Click, click, click. Each tap makes her head pound harder. Soon she cannot hear the clicks anymore. Her father would never do anything of the sort— her father was kind! They are not looking at her anymore. They cannot see the smoke billowing from her ears. They cannot see the blackness she feels flashing across her vision. They cannot see the hate. Just like she cannot see the bruises. Are they purple? Are they scarlet? What would her father think of them? She cannot see the bruises but she can feel them. Hot and itchy and painful. Can they feel the hatred? Are they just ignoring it like she is ignoring the volcanic bruises?

Probably. And they are not the only ones. Y/n weaves through the crowded hallway, dodging women of all shapes and colors— quite literally, she narrowly passes a woman with purple tinted skin— all of whom spare her not even a glance. It makes her feel invisible. It makes feel like she can finally breathe. It makes her angry. She is breathing the smoke again. Every face that passes her that does not look at her makes her charcoal lungs ignite even more. Her only solace is the all too familiar feeling of being split in two. The anger is not wholly her own— it is his as well. She can feel him in her chest, that aching part of her anger where he demands to be seen.

Is he mad at her?

She stops dead in her tracks. Just like that, her own anger is gone, replaced with something ice cold and unbearable. It starts in her hands. Her wrists begin aching— freezing— as the ice flows up through her veins. She thought the fire was bad. She takes it all back in this moment— she wants the flames again. The ice is in her chest now. She can feel it creeping closer to her heart. She wants the anger back. Her anger. Why would he be angry with her?

Does he hate her? She can no longer feel her heart beating— the ice has done its job. It is after her throat now, climbing higher and higher. What would it feel like to throw up shards of Ice? Nevermind, she does not want to know. She had wanted to scream before. She had wanted to burn the kingdom down with her voice and words and screams. Now she cannot even whimper. Her tongue is frozen. Her knees hit the floor— she does not feel it. Maybe it does not even happen, maybe her eyes are just frozen now and playing tricks on her. They make her feel as though she is falling— pull the ground from under her and send her vision spinning— but perhaps she is still standing. Still following. Still invisible.

Why would he hate her?

She watches as feet pass by her, heels and boots of all colors all slowing when they cross her path. Well, maybe they are slowing. Maybe that is just her mind continuing to play tricks on her though. She would not be able to tell the difference right now— if there is one, that is. She cannot look past the soles of the shoes, cannot meet the eyes of those passing her. She is stuck— her neck which was so hot only moments ago now stiff. To think that a simple thought could send her reeling in such a grand way as to literally floor her. It is almost impressive, actually. If she could feel anything other than the crushing, ice cold weight on her shoulders then perhaps she would laugh.

To think that a nameless, faceless man could make her feel such torrential and devastating emotions. Anger and sadness. Longing and desperation. It is unreal the things he makes her feel. Otherworldly things. Impossible, tragic, wonderful things. There is no way that any of it is real. She must be losing her mind. She wishes she was losing her mind. Her chest zaps where the emerald ring hits her sternum, tied to a thin strap of leather around her neck, the ice melting for a fraction of a second. It taps against her skin as her hands meet the marble floor, a gentle reminder that this— he— is real. Gods. A measure of the anger sparks back up and this time she knows that it is entirely her own.

When she was a little girl she used to watch the dust devils in her neighbours corn field. Her father would watch with her sometimes. One of those times he explained what was happening. He told her that wind only spirals like that when the cold air meets the hot air. When that happens— and the temperatures collide— they begin to fight. Imagine them like two rivals, her father had said. The cold air grabs the hot air’s hair. In turn the hot air kicks out at the cold air’s knees. They keep doing that— kicking and shoving and biting and pulling— until finally their limbs are but a blur. That is all a dust devil is, my girl— two rivals fighting. She had not thought to ask him what happens when the cold air and the hot air are not rivals— she had not thought to ask what would happen if the hot air and the cold air were actually lovers. Would the same thing happen? Those little dust devils? Would it be better?

Would it be worse?

Much like most things in her life, she does not know the answer to that. All she knows is that she can feel the air— be them rivals or lovers— punching and kicking, kissing and touching, in her chest and it hurts. All she knows is that if he is real then he better come and get her right now before her body caves to the icy fire tornado that is swirling in her lungs. She is going to implode.

“My dear—” a warm hand lands on her shoulder and it is like magic the way her thoughts are silenced, leaving behind nothing but a harsh ringing in her ears— “are you alright? That was quite the spill you just took.”

Whoever is speaking to her has a voice that is like honey and silk. It wraps around her, soothing every ache in her weary body. The hand rubs a circle into her shoulder, not letting her go, and she begins to thaw, the ice around her eyes and throat and heart melting away in seconds. Not back to the anger— no, that is long gone, a mere thought in the back of her mind— but instead to a new feeling. She is neither ice nor fire— she is springtime. She is warm and calm, her fingers flexing against the marble like small creatures emerging from hibernation. She curls them a few times, relishing in the blood as it returns to her hands and the way it does not feel as though it is burning her. It is not fire, it is just blood.

“Do you think you can get up?” The soft voice is right next to her ear now and she closes her eyes for a moment. It sounds so familiar— so gentle. She never thought she would hear that voice again. “I think maybe we should go to the healers— just in case, my dear.”

She can smell it now— the yeast. The berries. She takes a deep breath in and she can taste the strawberry jam on her lips like she is eight years old again. Her father used to always sneak her an extra pastry after dinner. They would split it on the back porch, their fingers sticky and their laughter twisting into the twilight. Her mother must have known— she was meticulous. She was so aware of the things around her at all times. She was beautiful and kind and made the best jam in the entire realm.

“Mother?” The word slips off her tongue instinctively. Naturally. She cannot stop it because, for a moment, it is as though she is right next to the woman she misses most. It is as though everything is okay again.

Y/n lifts her head— she finally can, her neck is no longer stiff with ice— her eyes landing on a woman with flowing golden hair that twists and curls against her chest. It is not her mother. Her chest squeezes. She knows that it should not— it was never going to be her mother and she knows that— but she cannot help but feel deflated. If there was ever a time for a miracle it would be right now. Preferably a miracle that makes the best strawberry pastries and gives hugs that feel like taking a warm bath. She shakes her head lightly, clearing the thought and the mist that has begun to gather in her eyes. It is not the time for sentimentality.

The woman— the woman who is not her mother— has soft blue eyes— iridescent almost— that bore into her own. There is a ring around her pupils where the blue turns to a darker coal. For a moment it looks like the ring is pulsing. The longer Y/n looks into her eyes the deeper she falls into them. It does not feel as much like drowning as one would think. It is a softer kind of falling— it is as though the woman can see every inch of her soul with a simple look. Her aroma strengthens, changing slightly. The yeast is no longer present— that was only ever her imagination— and now there is a strong, flowery scent. It is strangely intoxicating.

She has to blink a few times, turning away for a taste of fresh air, her gaze falling to the woman’s flowing silk gown. It is a delicate ivory number with beautiful embroidery all over the bust. Little flowers. Perhaps that is where the scent is coming from, wafting off the garden around her collarbone. She really is springtime.

The woman laughs and the flowers sway, moved by a breeze of breath and glee. “Oh my darling, I think you just confirmed my thoughts. Let's get you up, alright? See if we can find someone to take a look at you. Your head must be pounding.”

She is like an oasis in the desert. Y/n has never been to the desert but still— this is what she imagines it would feel like. Gentle and easy, like a cool breeze or a patch of shade. It would feel like the soothing touch of this woman’s hands as she pulls her body from its heap on the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from toppling right over again. Her legs feel unstable and her knees are shaking but everything is okay. But oasis’ are just figments of the imagination— or at least this one is. They are doomed to fizzle away eventually, taking with them the joyful shade and leaving behind the scorching heat.

As the golden woman begins to turn with her, no doubt pulling her in the direction of the supposed healers, there is an ear piercing screech.

“There you are! You were supposed to be following us you dense child.” Estrid is in front of Y/n in seconds, her narrowed eyes locked on her and the familiar, gut wrenching sneer on her scarlet lips. “It is like you never listen on purpose— you just mill about in your own little world. Always about Y/n, never about anyone else.”

The fire from before— the scorching heat— begins bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It splashes like tar, slowly coating her insides in that all consuming hate. She bites her tongue, clenching her jaw. She can still feel the woman’s hand on her shoulder. There is still a piece of the oasis and she clings to it. But even that is being consumed— the touch melting into the lightning in her veins. She is definitely going to explode.

Her step mother takes a step towards her but halts, her eyes darting to the floor where they stay for a long moment. When her neck snaps back up she is positively fuming. “You dropped our things! Why you ungrateful little brat, I—”

In less than the blink of an eye she is no longer looking at her step mother but rather at the back of a blonde head, her hand laced with a hand so soft she would think it an evening glove.

“This young woman has tripped.” The blonde woman’s voice is calm still but holds no more of that gentle tread. Her hand squeezes softly, a contrast to her firm tone. “I will be escorting her to the healers to see what has happened.”

Estrid blinks, her eyes darting away from Y/n and up to the new woman. When she does her entire face goes pale, as though she has seen a ghost. How odd.

“Your Majesty.” Estrid bows her head, her knees bending slightly in a curtsy.

Your Majesty? Y/n’s eyes drift back to the gown— the marvelous ivory silk. It is as though all the little details begin appearing in that moment. The high thread count, the intricate stitching at the waist and bodice, the gemstone bracelet on her dainty wrist. That bracelet alone must be worth more than her entire life. Sapphires and rubies and emeralds. She wears it as though she has no idea how much it is worth— as though she has no idea it is even there at all. She wears it as though she is royalty and she has many more of them in her room.

Oh no— no, no, no.

The blonde woman turns back to her, her crystal eyes softening marginally from what she can only imagine was an icy stare moments ago. “Come on, dear. I will take you to my healer.”

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes wide. Her spine aches as she does. Her mouth feels like it is filled with cotton. She cannot speak but she has to. She has to refuse.

“No, no, your Majesty—” She copies Estrid’s greeting, she does not know what else to call her— “I am alright, truly. I do not wish to burden you further. I will—” She pauses, woozy all of a sudden, the salty breeze ten times stronger— “I will be fine.”

The woman’s crystal eyes narrow but not in the sharp way her step mother’s usually do. “My child, I insist. You do not look well.”

Y/n can practically feel Estrid’s stare burrowing into the side of her face. She can feel the bruises on her back— perhaps purple, perhaps yellow. It does not matter. If she does not go now then they will surely be black in an hour. Less. There it is— there is the fear she had been missing. She wobbles slightly on her feet. The salt air mingles with the pine trees. It is intoxicating— it is deadly. She is going to pass out if she does not move. She shakes her head at the woman, hoping there is something in her eyes that conveys the danger she feels.

“I am alright,” even she can hear the pleading tone in her voice. “Please.”

The woman— the Queen— stares at her for a moment. It is only a few seconds, the coal ring around her pupils pulsing gently, but it feels like days. It feels like a lifetime. She purses her rosy lips, taking a deep breath.

A hand— one much more rough and hot— wraps around her other wrist. “Your Majesty—” Estrid’s nasally voice is high pitched, like she is attempting to hide her cruel intentions— “my daughter just needs to sleep I think. I can take over from here.”

Y/n forces a smile to her lips— one that tastes like metal and blood— like betrayal— hoping it is enough to convince the queen. She adds a little nod in there for good measure. It is all about appearances. For a moment she thinks it is actually going to work. The Queen’s shoulders sag gently, her chin dipping down in a partial nod. It is actually working— maybe she will not get punished too harshly. She will pick up the bags and hurry to their room and stay as silent as a mouse and everything will be fine. Right?

Estrid squeezes her wrist harder— enough to make her bones whine in pain— and she can feel the on her face grin falter. It is for only a fraction of a second, the corner of her lips peeling down in a grimace that she cannot suppress, but it is enough. By the time she has painted the fake smile back on her face the Queen is at her side, that silky hand curling around her shoulder, gentle but firm enough to pull her away from her step mother. Y/n does not know if she would rather thank her or cry.

“I am afraid I truly must insist. As a Queen—” She stresses the word, her title. This is no longer a suggestion; it is an order— “it is my duty to ensure that all my guests are properly taken care of. It will not take long; just a quick check up.”

The Queen’s hand ushers her a couple steps down the hallway. Estrid follows, her brows pulled together dramatically. “But your Highness, I—”

The Queen holds up her hand, an elegant and dangerous gesture, her kind face cracking under the weight of her furious eyes. She does not even try to conceal the rage swimming in the crystal pools. She does not have to— she will face no repercussion for her anger.

“But nothing. She is to go with me and that is final.” Her burning crystals glance down to the bags, all of which are still spilling over onto the marble, draping the stone with bits of lace and silk, none of which look nearly as exquisite as the Queen’s gown. “I will send someone to gather your belongings and return them to your chambers. Now, if you will kindly excuse us.”

With that she is spinning, pressing her hand gently against Y/n’s back and leading her back in the direction she had come from. She can feel Estrid’s glare on her neck, burning holes in the back of her head. If stares were able to kill then she would be laying in a heap on the marble again, she just knows it. Soon, though, they turn a corner and she can no longer feel her step mother’s lethal gaze. That does not stop her heart from racing so hard that she wonders if it will jump out of her chest. It does not stop the vomit from pooling in her throat. She should feel relieved—grateful— but all she can think about is the pain. Both the pain she is in now and the pain she will be in later.

“It was okay really,” she mutters. It is a last ditch effort, one that is destined to fail before it is even out of her mouth, but she has to try anyway. “I am okay. I think I just slipped.”

She did not slip— she lost it. She does not know quite what it is but she knows whatever it is has been lost. Her sanity. Her grip on reality. Her damn mind. Any and all of them, now gone.

The queen stops, turning her bright blue eyes on her once more. She sighs, her smile understanding. “I think if you had slipped then you would have gotten back up.”

The Queen’s tone is pitying, her fingers gentle on her hand, and Y/n drops her eyes to the ground. She resents it— all of it. She does not want pity. “I needed a moment is all.”

A hand presses under her chin, bringing her gaze back up. There is no more smile on the Queen’s face— only a firmness in her eyes. She does not look so much like a Queen here; she looks like a mother. Her mother. She can see some of her own mother in the faint lines near her eyes and the cupid's bow above her rose petal lips. She has to bite down to keep the ache from her throat at bay.

“That was not a moment, my dear. I was there. That was quite a few moments. You were ready to let those girls trample you, were you not?”

“I— I just—” she swallows hard, trying to make her words work. It seems like she cannot string a sentence together for the life of her. Like her entire vocabulary has vanished— “I needed a moment, your Majesty. That is all.” All she can do is repeat herself.

The Queen narrows her eyes, her thumb smoothing over her jaw before she finally releases her. “Frigga.”

Y/n’s heart stutters and she has to cover her cough from the way all the air whooshes out of her lungs. “Pardon me, your Majesty?”

“Please, call me Frigga.”

This time her heart does not just stutter; it stops completely. She presses a hand against her chest, taking a tiny step backwards. She cannot breathe again. The smile on the Queen’s— Frigga’s— face is too kind. Too gentle. Too much. This is not a trick, she is not trying to get her in trouble. She is not telling her to shut up or to hurry up or to grow up. She is just being kind. No one is kind to her. Not even when they want something from her. What could the Que— Frigga, Y/n, her name is Frigga— possibly want from her? What could she give her that would mean anything more than what she already has? She sucks in a breath, sounding quite like a dying animal in the middle of the thankfully empty corridor. It is too much— it is all too much.

“No, I could not. You Maj—”

Frigga grabs her hand again, her warm skin stilling her own, clammy hands. “Calm child. It is alright. You are alright” Her words are slow, her tone a low murmur. It works wonders on her nerves. It is magic. “Frigga. Please, nobody here calls me anything formal. You should hear my sons.” The side of her mouth quirks up, her tone becoming teasing, “mother, where is father? That is all anyone around here says to me. I am not used to such formalities. I would prefer Frigga, my dear.”

Y/n takes another breath, nodding her head.

“Y/n—” she whispers back, not sure what else to do besides introduce herself back— “my name is Y/n.”

Frigga’s smile grows, nodding as well. She makes it feel like this is a normal exchange— like they are just two new friends meeting for the first time. “That is a lovely name.”

The Queen turns after that, pulling her once more to continue walking down the grand hallway. They move in silence, Frigga no doubt trying to give her some room to breathe. It is surprisingly easy to just be there with her. It is serene. She stares out past the pillars as they walk, her eyes dipping back to the faraway shoreline. Now the water is sparkling in the high afternoon sun, the cresting waves catching the light and bouncing it back and forth amongst each other. It is as though each wave that passes winks at her before smoothing against the sand. She cannot tell if they are saying hello or goodbye. Perhaps neither. Perhaps they are just acknowledging that she is there. She bows her chin gently, acknowledging them as well.

She does not know how long they walk for, her attention too focused on the blinking shore, but soon Frigga is pulling open a heavy wooden door— one that has the most intricate carvings on it’s frame that Y/n longs to stare at in depth—and tugging her in behind her. She has no idea what she is expecting— maybe a herb closet and a long table for practicing healing— it is a healer’s closet after all— but whatever it is, what she sees is not it. She is not expecting the most exquisite room in all of existence.

The first thing her eyes fall to is a wonderfully large pool of water sitting in the middle of the room. It must be the size of her entire bedroom, which granted is not that large but in comparison to her own tiny tin basin at home this is pure luxury. The sides of the pool are golden and tiled with colorful gemstones. She cannot even name all them, not recognizing half of the stones. They catch the light pouring in from the expansive balcony, sparkling against each other. There are steps leading up the side, promising entry into the luscious looking water. Altogether it is hypnotizing, calling her name until she is taking a few stuttered steps towards it. As she gets closer she can smell the fragrant oils, much more rich than anything she is used to.

“Oh my.”

“It is quite something, I will admit.” Frigga laughs from behind her, meeting her next to the edge of the tub. She dips her hand into the water, submerging the expensive bracelet in the water without a care. “It was a present from Odin for our first anniversary. I was just as shocked. I did not leave this room for weeks. I even slept here, can you imagine that?”

“I think I would as well, if I were you. It is stunning.” She, too, dips her hand below the water. She almost gasps at how warm it is— at how soft the water is. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Frigga pulls her hand from the water, shaking the droplets lightly from her skin. She turns back to Y/n, her crystal eyes sparkling with joy. “Perhaps later— only if you would like, of course— you could try it.”

Her mouth falls open, her own hand, still swirling through the silky water, pausing. “Oh no, your Maj—” Frigga purses her lips, her eyes crinkling gleefully— “Frigga, I could not.”

The Queen laughs again and she can hear the way her own mother used to giggle. “Of course you can my dear. In fact, you must! But first let us eat.”

Y/n’s brows pull together— what about the healers? Is that not why she is here?

Frigga must notice her confusion because she lifts her hand to her face, the Queen’s fingers now scented like rose petals. “I have found that the best medicine is a full belly, would you not agree?”

Instantly the tears well up in her eyes again. They are not from sadness this time— nor from longing— instead they are from the relief she feels coursing through her body. It is so foreign that she does not recognize it at first. It is neither hot nor cold. There is no pressure on her chest alerting her to it. In fact there is nothing. She feels nothing. It is exhilarating.

She does not notice the first tear fall until Frigga’s thumb catches it. “Thank you.”

The Queen sighs, her smile faltering. It is still there but barely. “Come, child.”

Y/n follows Frigga to the balcony, passing under some gem coloured curtains and into the warm sunlight. She almost freezes in her tracks, the memory of the last time her back was in the sun still fresh on her mind. Her mind falls back to the man, her nose filling with salt and pine which leaks in from the gardens below. She can feel his hands on her back, crawling over her hips. She does not wonder what color her back is this time— be it purple or yellow or molten red— it does not matter anymore. For some reason the thought of him makes it not matter anymore. He makes it better.

Frigga turns on her heel, her eyes lighting up, her hands shooting out to grasp Y/n’s shoulders. It is all she can do not to reel back from the suddenness of the action, wobbling slightly but smiling. She, in turn, reaches for the Queen’s hands, steadying herself on her silken skin.

“I completely forgot my dear, I told my son to meet me here for afternoon tea. You do not mind, do you?”

Y/n’s breath catches in her throat, her memories surging again. She can taste him on her lips for a brief moment. A short, silly moment. She pushes him down, shaking her head lightly to clear her thoughts. That would be impossible.

“No, of course not this is your home.”

Frigga squeezes her shoulders. “Wonderful!”

As the blonde woman releases her, moving to sit in one of the golden chairs on the balcony, there is a voice that sounds from the door. It is deep, impossibly so, and sends shivers racing down her spine.

“Mother, are you in here?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tag list: @crystal-siren

[birdhouse-of-shadows]

Hello everyone! So here is a fic that I left in my askbox for a hot minute lol. This was all submitted by an anon who you may or may not have seen a few times. This is a compilation of all of the asks and the whole story.

My comments will be in green, any notes from the author will be in blue and the rest will be in the normal text color.

PLEAAASEE be careful if you are sensitive to the following subjects:

Tw: Child Abuse, torture, multiple abusive foster homes, bondage(kinda, quirk inhibiting cuffs), Heavy injury, blood, smoking,

im currently running on no sleep and a bottle of pepsi, sour this is sloppy asf I apologize in advance 😗

im in an angst mood, so i come with this.

Tokoyami’s biological parents abandoned him when he was four. To this day he has no idea why, and has very little memory of them. All of his memories take place in one of the seven abusive foster homes he lived in before he entered U.A.. Over the course of that time, Fumikage has accumulated a large variety of scars, from deep, jagged scars, to cigarette burns, to just really, really bad bruises. Out of all the foster homes he’s been in, none of Fumikage’s foster parents have been fond of mutants, or mutant-type quirks. In several of the foster homes, Fumikage was forced to wear quirk suppressant cuffs 24/7, since his parents “didn’t want a monster running rampant in their house.” Between his mutation, and the violent tendencies of Dark Shadow, Fumikage was basically what nobody wanted in a child. His foster parents would yell every possible derogatory insult at Fumikage, saying he should’ve never been born, even though they weren’t even his real parents. Over time, the verbal abuse would mess with Fumikage’s mind. He’d stare at himself in the mirror, wondering why he was born the way he was, and why he’s the monster everyone says he is. And just when he thought the verbal abuse couldn’t get any worse, as he got older, his foster parents would resort to physical punishment. At first, it wasn’t that bad, at least, in Fumikage’s eyes. Just a slap here and there, plus some cigarette burns on his arms and shoulders. It was painful, but he fought through it, knowing no one would come to help him. But over time, the “discipline” would get even more brutal. It doesn’t matter what he did, every little thing seemed to set his parents off. From accidentally breaking something, to giving a snide comment unannounced, it wasn’t often that Fumikage went to bed at night without being beaten sometime before then. He would be pinned down by his throat and violently beaten with whatever blunt object was nearby. He eventually gave up trying to apologize, as it somehow only upset his parents even more. Once, when he was eleven years old, Fumikage was beaten with a glass vase after pushing one of his foster siblings. The glass eventually shattered, and the broken ends of the vase dug into Fumikage’s back, leaving horrible, jagged cuts all over him. Witnessing Fumikage being beaten day after day made Dark Shadow feel overwhelmingly guilty. Fumikage was in quirk suppressant cuffs ninety percent of the time, so Dark Shadow was pretty much helpless in most situations. Those damned cuffs made it feel like an invisible wall was put up between where Dark Shadow resided, and the outside world. A wall that agonizingly sat between Dark Shadow, and Fumikage’s safety. There were nights when Fumikage lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body numbed by pain. Whether he was laying in a bed or not, unfortunately varied by foster home. But it was on those nights where Dark Shadow would apologize profusely to Fumikage, saying that they’re nothing more than the monster that brought misery to Fumikage’s life. Saying that they’re the reason Fumikage gets beaten so often, and yet do nothing to help him. They vow that once they’re in a safer home, away from their abusers, that they will always protect Fumikage. Always. But by then…Fumikage had already fallen asleep.

Overall, Tokoyami’s home life…was nothing worth smiling about. Thankfully, his time at school was less painful. He often got comments about his looks, saying that he was ugly and all that, but by then, he was more than used to it. Eventually, he faded into the shadows (no pun intended) at most of his schools. He eventually was just forgotten about, which truthfully, didn’t bother him. It was a bit lonely, sure, but it was much better than constantly being beaten simply for existing. In Fumikage’s eyes, school was just a break from his disastrous home life. Though, he tended not to talk during class, and had very little interaction with his teachers, for…reasons. Even so, it was actually during his first year of middle school where Fumikage discovered his dream of being a hero. Just because he was spared from the excessive discrimination of mutants, others happened to be less fortunate. Fumikage would witness how his fellow mutants were treated by others. They had their work stolen, their bags dumped out, over were overall just treated like dirt compared to everyone else. So anytime Tokoyami saw a fellow mutant, or anyone really, being bullied, he’d go and help them, telling them that they don’t deserve to take shit for the way they look, or what their quirk is, and that quirks don’t make villains, it’s how those quirks are used, meaning that the people bullying them are more like villains than they will ever be. With his newfound motivation, Tokoyami decided that he wanted to become a hero to show others that they don’t have to fear who they were born to be, or, as he put it, “To not be daunted by their inner darkness. Instead, to embrace such, and with it, become your best self.” Love that for him honestly. One of the students he helped was a tall, slim girl with a head reminiscent to that of an elephant, her most notable feature being her long trunk that was about the length of her entire upper body. She was shy, and avoided any sort of conflict like the plague. At one point she was harassed by another group of girls, before Tokoyami came and stopped them. He gave his long winded, motivational speech to her, and saying she was grateful was quite the understatement, and the next day, as a thank-you gift, gave Tokoyami a red choker, saying that it was just like the one Dark Crystal wore, knowing how much Tokoyami admired the hero. (In other words, he never shut up about him) Tokoyami relayed his gratitude countless times to her, and the two agreed to become friends, even though they wouldn’t see eachother often. Reluctantly, the girl also pointed out the horrible scars and bruises on Tokoyami’s neck, and figured that he’d want to cover them. Tokoyami stiffened at the mention of his scars, but continued thanking her anyway. The two often saw eachother in the halls and waved at one another, on friendly terms, but strangely enough, they never spoke again.

It was also around that time that he became more interactive with Dark Shadow, and began to explore more darker concepts. He founded a love for reading, specifically horror novels and manga. He also became fascinated with poetry (specifically the edgy variety), both reading and writing it. He found that writing poetry gave him an outlet for expressing both himself, and Dark Shadow’s feelings, without having to risk angering his foster parents. Eventually, the tone found written by his favorite poets began to make its way into Fumikage’s speech patterns. He felt more comfortable with it, and it wasn’t something people easily understood, which ultimately meant his foster parents would just ignore him, thinking he was going through an emo phase. And miraculously, it worked. Although he was still physically and verbally abused throughout his middle school years, his foster parents eventually backed off, as Fumikage became more introverted. Now, he’d look in the mirror at all of his scars, and use his past trauma as motivation for becoming a hero. Though, it wasn’t easy. Those painful memories would always come flooding back whenever he looked at those scars. Since he spent most of his life surrounded by abusive adults, he believed that most adults were the same way, and refrained from speaking with adults at all, in fear of angering them. Hearing them yell would make him flinch out of pure instinct, and being stuck alone with an adult would make him an anxious mess. But he did his best to mask this fear with the brooding, edgy side of him. It was his best, and pretty much only way of coping with this fear. He tried his best to overcome his anxiety, but it was never that easy. But he managed to get through middle school mostly unscathed.

And finally, after three agonizingly long paragraphs, Fumikage makes it into U.A.. Of course, that didn’t exempt him from any of his current foster parent’s rules. He had to keep quirk cuffs in his bag at all times, and if he came home without them on, he would be beaten. Tokoyami remained obedient, not wanting to show up to his first day at U.A. beaten half to death. Armed with his scars, his motivation, and of course, Dark Shadow, Tokoyami entered U.A with confidence. And everyone… was so nice???? Almost immediately after he sat in his designated seat in class 1-A, people came up to him, talking to him. He met a variety of different students, some more…mellow than others. But overall, he liked his class. But the teacher? Well…not so much. In Tokoyami’s eyes, the man who dubbed himself their homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa, was completely and utterly terrifying. ‘He probably has a machete hidden in that sleeping bag ready to kill us at any moment-‘ Dark Shadow said on the first day. Tokoyami couldn’t help but agree. But not in a comedic way. Something about Aizawa was all too reminiscent of one of his foster fathers, specifically the one who gave him all of the scars on his back, after beating him with a glass vase. Any time he was around him, he was anxious. But eventually, little did Fumikage know, this man who he deemed “terrifying” would eventually become one of the people he trusted the most.

okay okay I’ll stop for now, I’ll write more eventually, but I’ll wait until this is answered so I won’t be flooding your asks, and I promise I will never submit anything this long ever again 😖

part 2 yee yee

also, as you can tell, i have heavily observed canon, and elected to ignore it :)

Fumikage’s year so far was hectic. No, scratch that. It was hellish. It seemed like everywhere the class went together, they were attacked by villains. Aizawa seemed to be getting more and more tired by the day. Fumikage didn’t blame him, as he had a class full of trouble magnets. But following the skirmish at the forest training camp, and All Might’s retirement, things seemed to be looking up, at least a little bit. However, there was rumor going around that U.A. was planning to implement a form system, leaving Fumikage with mixed feelings. One on hand, he was ecstatic. He could finally, even if it was just for a short time, get away from his foster home. The training camp incident left Fumikage shaken more than he’d like, and having to deal with verbal abuse at the hands of his father wasn’t doing him any favors. After being released from the hospital, his father berated him four what felt like hours after hearing that he’d lost control of Dark Shadow. The day he got home, without any second thought, his father grabbed him by his shirt collar (which hurt more than it should have due to the fresh bruises on Fumikage’s back) and mercilessly screamed at him. Even though it only lasted about ten minutes, it felt like forever. He was forced to stand just inches away from his father, the thick smell of cigarette smoke emitting from his breath. Dark Shadow shrunk within him, trying desperately to drown out the heinous comments that they’re directly responsible for. Following the “lecture”, as his father like to call it, Fumikage was put back into his quirk cuffs, but this time, as what his parents described as a “precaution”, he had a thick, tight quirk suppressant collar locked around his neck. It dug through Fumikage’s skin, and it felt like he was being strangled. Even so, just like everything he’d been through up to that point, he had to bear with it. He tiredly trudged back to his room, or, well, it was a linen closet. He had a small pile of blankets that acted as his bed, as well as several books lined up neatly against the wall. He’d read most of them several times already, but other that his phone, it was pretty much his only source of entertainment. The closet was always freezing, and he was rarely allowed out. But Fumikage always forced himself to be grateful for having a roof over his head at all, since he knew there were always going to be people who were less fortunate. With a sigh, he lay down on his small pile of blankets. He curled up within himself, trying his best to keep warm. Normally, one of his siblings slip whatever packaged food their parents gave them under the door. It always tasted like it went bad two weeks ago, but at this point, to Fumikage, fuck it, food was food. But much to his dismay, Fumikage’s parents told him that he was “on punishment”. And while on punishment, he knew well enough, that they refuse to feed him. Over the last 18 months that he’d been living in that foster home, he’d been on punishment five times, and during that time, he lost a very unhealthy amount of weight, and his overall health tanked. But, like he said for every terrible thing that’s befallen him over the past 12 years, he was used to it. So, Fumikage went the next three days without eating a single thing.

But it was after those three days, when Fumikage’s life changed. Whether it was for better or worse, he was forced to wait and see.

One morning, or…was it evening? It was hard to tell when you’re stuck in a dark linen closet with no sense of time whatsoever. But anyway, Fumikage woke up shivering, not that he wasn’t used to that. But he did hear the faint sound of his parents talking. However, there was one other voice. Fumikage’s hearing wasn’t the best, with him being a bird and everything, but he knew that voice. He knew that voice from anywhere. It was Aizawa’s. Fumikage forced himself up. His back was stiff, and the thick collar around his neck weighed him down. His stomach was begging for food, but that wasn’t important. He smoothed out his feathers best he could, and quietly opened the closet door. He could hear Aizawa conversing with his parents, and they talked about the newly constructed dorms. Aizawa explained that for the Fumikage’s safety, he requested that Fumikage lives in a secure dorm system. He’d have his own room, full access to a kitchen full of food, and of course, he’d have a common space to mingle with his peers. To Fumikage, it sounded like heaven, but unfortunately, his parents weren’t having it. They went on and on about how Fumikage would put his peers in danger with his destructive quirk. Aizawa, thankfully, wasn’t willing to put up with them either. He went on to tell them about how Fumikage has excelled with the control of Dark Shadow. Fumikage felt a warm feeling in his stomach after hearing his teacher, that same one he’s so afraid of, speak so highly of him. But there was one thing that left Aizawa’s mouth that his parents really couldn’t respond to. “Well, why not let Fumikage have a say in this? Where is he?” he asked them. There was something about his teacher’s tone that showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. Fumikage looked down at himself. He was still wearing the same black long sleeved shirt and blue jeans that he’d worn three days ago. His quirk cuffs were tight around his wrists, and his collar, though he’d gotten used to the feeling, was madly uncomfortable around his neck. He had two choices. Go down there and let Aizawa witness firsthand the extent of Fumikage’s constant neglect, and risk being punished even further by his parents, or play it safe, and potentially let Aizawa find him on his own. But…the world was never that nice to him, so instead, Fumikage heard an irritated sigh, and footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, Fumikage shut the closet door and sat back down against the wall. Just moments later, he watched the closet door open, and felt his father’s sultry gaze fall on him. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He took the cuffs off of Fumikage, and let them fall to the floor. Before taking off the collar, he leaned down, glaring daggers at his foster son. “You say anything out of place boy, and I reopen those cuts on your back, god help you.” he said in a low growl. Fumikage stiffened, the memory of jagged glass tearing his skin open flashing through his mind. He nodded, and took a breath of air as the collar was removed. He really didn’t care that all he breathed in was cigarette smoke. That feeling of being strangled by a metal collar was finally gone, even if just for a little while. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the living room, where Aizawa sat across from his mother.

Aizawa knew right away that there was something seriously off. Tokoyami had a few feathers out of place, and his shirt hung limply over him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. But what pisses Aizawa off the most, was something Tokoyami was clearly trying to hide, and that was the dark ring of bruises around his wrists. He really needed to confront his student about how these two were treating him. But for now, he just needed to get the kid to agree to move into the dorms. He watched the avian teen sit down between his two caretakers. The boy looked very uncomfortable, almost afraid. Aizawa felt his gaze soften upon seeing his student in the state he was, but he had to do what he came here for. So he directed his gaze to Tokoyami, and asked him his thought of moving into U.A.’s dorms. It concerned him hearing how fast Tokoyami answered. “I’d be glad to.” He responded almost instantly. “It would be a great opportunity to get to know my peers better, no?” He looked to his mother, who gave him an irritated look. Aizawa held back a smirk. The kid had a way with words, that was for sure. Aizawa cleared his throat, and spoke up. “Well, it seems he’s all for it.” he said, looking at the two adults in front of him. They looked very unamused. The boy’s mother rubbed her temples, and sighed. “Fine, fine.” she grumbled. “But if Fumikage has any issues with behavior whatsoever, so let us know.” She said, giving her son a pointed look. Aizawa nodded, and stood up. “I doubt that will be an issue, he’s very well behaved.” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes fell to his student. He once again noticed the loose feathers sticking out from the sides of the boy’s head. There were only about two or three, but Aizawa took the initiative anyway. He leaned down toward Tokoyami, and smoothed out his feathers carefully. The boy stiffened, but relaxed. Once Aizawa was satisfied, he stood back up. Tokoyami brought a hand to the side of his head, and gave Aizawa a dumbfounded look. The man gave him an amused look, and turned around toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Tokoyami.” he said, laying his hand on the doorknob. The teen nodded in response, and Aizawa left the house.

As soon as he shut the door, Aizawa clenched his fists. Of course he noticed Tokoyami’s disheveled-looking appearance. But there was one thing, one tiny little thing, that Tokoyami did. Since the moment he sat down, to the moment Aizawa left. Tokoyami rested one arm on his leg, and began tapping his knee. Aizawa didn’t think much of it at first, but then he remembered something he learned while he was still in training. Whenever someone did that, no matter the age, it was a warning sign. Tokoyami was trying to get his attention the entire time.

There was something seriously wrong.

And that’s it for part two I suppose. I feel like this part is significantly worse than the last one, but when it comes down to it, consistency isn’t my thing 🙃

i forgot to proofread part two before submitting it so uh….if there are typos to there aren’t <3

Its perfectly fine!! I never saw them~

part 3 let’s goooo

After Aizawa left, Fumikage relaxed his hand over his knee. He really hoped his teacher noticed his warning sign, but whether he did or not, he was still stuck with his parents until he moved into the dorms. A sudden wave of unease fell over him. He knew his parents were staring him down. And he knew they were not happy. He took at deep breath, and met his father’s gaze. The man’s eyes narrowed. “You got somethin’ to say, brat?” he spat through gritted teeth. Fumikage shrugged. He knew he wouldn’t be living with his foster parents for much longer, which made pushing their buttons much more tempting. He held back a smirk. “Me? Oh no. Although, judging by that look on your face, I figured you’d have something to say, no?” the teen hummed. He rested his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. Fumikage watched his father’s eyelid twitch. It was quite amusing, really. “Just get your ass upstairs, brat. I don’t want another goddamn word outta you.” The man hissed. “And put your cuffs on too.” Fumikage let out a sigh, but nodded anyway. He’d best be obedient now, since, if possible, he’d like to make it to U.A.’s dorms in one piece. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, before trudging back upstairs to his “room”.

After closing the closet door, Fumikage took another look at the cramped area he’s forced to call his bedroom. For the last eighteen months, he was stuck in this hellhole of a house. He had felt more alone than any other point in his life, even with Dark Shadow around. He had no freedom in this house. Hell, he can hardly think of a time he’s ever had any freedom throughout his life. He’s been chained down, locked in cages like an animal, abused in pretty much every way possible…he hated it. More than anything. For most of his early life, it was hard for him to tell if Dark Shadow was really his quirk, or just a voice in his head, given how rarely the two would be allowed to see eachother. But to Fumikage, quirk or not, Dark Shadow was his closest friend. His only friend. And the idea of them getting an entire room, bed and all, just to themselves, with no restrictions, made Fumikage feel more excited than he had ever felt before. Fumikage put a hand to his chest, letting out a relieved sigh, and couldn’t help but smile. Even if it was just for a little while, he, alone with Dark Shadow, could finally be free.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Fumikage’s eyes eventually fell to his quirk cuffs, laying menacingly on the pile of blankets before him, his collar just a few inches away. He felt Dark Shadow stir restlessly within him, not wanting to be trapped by the cuffs. Even though Dark Shadow never got the chance to come out while they were off, it felt liberating to not be bound by what was, in the long run, thick pieces of metal. They’d felt more relaxed for those tense twenty minutes during the conference then they had been throughout their entire time living there. But they knew, for Fumikage’s safety, that, at least until they moved into the dorms, that the cuffs had to stay on. With a sigh, Fumikage grabbed the cuffs, and, after lining them up with his already existing bruises, snapped them shut. Dark Shadow felt like chains held them back the second the cuffs came on. They let out an agitated whimper deep within Fumikage. The teen sighed, bringing a hand to his chest. He hated when his quirk felt like this, but he knew it would all be over soon. He picked up the collar, feeling the cold metal in his hands. With a huff, he threw it aside, and sat down against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, and reached deep within himself. It was faint, but he managed to connect with Dark Shadow. “Just a few more days, Dark Shadow…” he whispered. “It’ll all be over soon. Not for long, but…things will lighten up. I promise.” That promise was a bit of a stretch, in Fumikage’s opinion. But it would be that promise that got them through the next few days. Fumikage laid down on his “bed”, and reached for one of his books. He didn’t care which one, since he’d read them all about a million times each, but he just needed a distraction. The book he’d ended up grabbing, he knew was more philosophical than he would’ve preferred, but hey, he wanted a distraction. So he opened the book, and proceeded to read.

Fumikage had gotten about 90 pages in before he heard the lock on the closet door rattle. The door swung open, letting a wave of light into the room. Fumikage looked up from his book, and low and behold, his father stood over him, an angry look on his face, as always. “Can I help you?” Fumikage asked, laying the book down on his lap. The man in front of him snorted. “Get up, brat. It’s bath time.” he said, an amused tone in his voice. If he could, Fumikage would’ve raised a brow. That tone in his father’s voice was never a good sign, but Fumikage didn’t have much of a choice. So he laid the book aside, and stood up. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the closet. Fumikage had no idea what his father meant by “bath time”, but as the two walked directly passed the bathroom, Fumikage knew, that his parents had something else in mind…

and that’s it for part 3. i never actually have a set plan for these, i just go until I feel like stopping. These also aren’t written beforehand, I just chill in your asks for an hours writing these, making things up as I go along. I basically treat it like my notes app lmao

I'm glad my ask box has served well as your notes app! Just be careful that things save!!

part 4. this was so fucking hard to write you don’t understand 😭 and im too tired to proofread this shit so if you see typos no you don’t. enjoy.

You're doing great!!

Trapped within his father’s grip, Fumikage nearly tripped as he was dragged down the stairs. Being dragged around like a rag doll was uncomfortable enough already, but having thick quirk cuffs clamped around his wrists, digging into his skin, made the whole ordeal more painful rather than uncomfortable, but either way, whatever his parents had in store for him, like always, Fumikage wasn’t looking forward to.

Before Fumikage knew it, the two were in the kitchen. A metal bucket sat in the kitchen sink, hot water running into it. Next to the sink stood his mother, a sultry grin on her face. Thick clouds of steam rose from the basin, and suddenly it hit him. Fumikage’s breath hitched, and he froze in place. He stumbled back, pressing himself against the wall behind him. His father let out a low chuckle. “What’s the matter brat? You were all smug n’ shit earlier. Where’d all that giddiness go?” He asked, leaning toward Fumikage. The man gave a sultry grin, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into Fumikage’s face.

Fumikage’s eyes fell to his mother, who had her hand laid against the bucket. The painful reality all started coming together. Much quicker than Fumikage would’ve preferred, given that he’s on the receiving end of yet another one of his parent’s grueling “punishments”. His mother had a heat quirk. Not fire, but heat. She could alter the heat of any object she touches, reaching heats of up to 315 degrees celcius. Fumikage has been burned before. Several times actually. It hurt like hell, but nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the searing, agonizing pain of being touched by anything heated by his mother’s quirk. And here he was, backed into a corner, at his parent’s mercy.

He knew what was coming. As much as he hated what was about to come next, there was no getting out of it. Not with both of his parents right in front of him. As Fumikage watched that bucket of water begin to boil over, and his mother’s grin grow wider. he felt Dark Shadow begin to tremble within him, helplessly. He could feel his hands begin to shake, and without even having to look, he could hear his father chuckle in amusement.

Fumikage clenched his fists. He couldn’t just submit himself to his parents so easily. But then again, at the end of the day, he was helpless. As always. There was no escape, because when has there ever been? Fighting back was pointless. It always has been. Because to him, this wasn’t torture. This wasn’t abuse. To him, this was just another punishment. Another, grueling, agonizing, painful, god-forsaken punishment.

He was used to this.

Fumikage felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He looked up at his father. What was this sudden burst of emotion? Fumikage had never felt like this before. Was it anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it made his head spin. Either way, he planned to use his sudden rush of negative energy for something he should’ve done months ago. And the consequences that came with it?

Fuck the consequences.

A twisted, pained smile forced it’s way to Fumikage’s features. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he locked eyes with his father. “Sick bastard.” he muttered. “You know I’ll be out of this hellhole in two days, so you take every opportunity you have to put me in as much pain as possible.” Fumikage wiped a tear from his eyes with his sleeve. “Sounds like you’re getting desperate, wouldn’t you agree?” Fumikage grinned upon seeing that irritated look wash over his father’s face. Oh, how much he loved that look.

Over the years that Fumikage has been in foster care, he was never liked by this parents. They blamed it on his violent quirk. Funny enough, almost none of them had even seen his quirk. Fumikage never got around to asking about that, since a lot of the time, talking ended up getting him in trouble. Looking back on it, Fumikage realizes just how stupid it was. Talking, of all things, got him in trouble. What was next? Breathing?

And this foster home was no different. If he “talked out of place”, as his father liked to put it, he was punished. It was hard to decipher exactly what was considered talking “out of place”, since it seemed like nearly everything Fumikage said warranted punishment. So eventually, he opted not to speak at all. But there were always those times, now included, where talking back just felt so right. When Fumikage is finally able to stand up for himself, despite the inevitable consequences that came with it.

And boy, were there consequences.

Before he knew it, Fumikage’s head was slammed against the wall behind him, beak first. With how sensitive his beak was, that pain rung throughout his brain, dazing him. Then he was kneed in the stomach, three times actually, right on one of his fresh bruises. Fumikage let out a choked sob as his breath left him. Even if it only lasted seconds, Fumikage felt as though he were suffocating. And as much as he hated the feeling of air leaving him, that just so happened to be the least painful thing he experienced that night.

Through his pain, Fumikage caught a glimpse of something shiny. Because of course he would. It looked to be metal, with a sharp tip. In his dazed state, he could only guess that it was his Father’s six-inch knife. And right he was, because that exact knife tore down the back of his shirt, exposing all of the scars that littered his back. Pinning him against the wall, his father ripped off his shirt, before kicking him to the cold hardwood floors. Just as Fumikage attempted to sit up, he felt another hard kick to the back of his head. The teen brought his hands to his head almost immediately, gripping tightly at his feathers in an attempt to ease his head’s throbbing pain. But at that moment, Fumikage realized, he had let his guard down.

Just seconds later, he felt it.

That agonizing, searing pain.

All over his body.

He let out a gut-wrenching scream as he felt blisters rapidly forming all over his back and arms. He found himself clawing at his arms, in a desperate attempt to ease the stinging pain, only for thin, deep cuts to form on his pale skin. He felt his quirk cuffs reacted to the heat, getting ever more tighter around Fumikage’s thin wrists. Any and all obscenities his parents threw at him were drowned out by this unbearable pain. Through his sobs, Fumikage began to wonder, was it really worth it? Was it ever worth it? He almost didn’t care. He just wanted it all to be over.

He just wanted the pain, the suffering, the torture, all of it, he just wanted it to go away.

Once the pain died down to the point where it was at least bearable, Fumikage forced himself up on his hands and knees, struggling to keep himself stable on the wet hardwood. Between both the burns, and the quirk cuffs nearly suffocating his wrists, his hands were blistered and swollen. Fumikage locked eyes with his father, who looked down at him, satisfied with his work. Fumikage’s breathing was slow and heavy, as he tried to fight through the pain. “Is…is that all you got?” he managed to choke out. “Two kicks and some hot water? Is that your last line of defense? Seems pretty lackluster if you ask me.” His entire body trembling, Fumikage managed to get to his feet. Steam emitted from his entire upper body, and he was throbbing with pain. That satisfied look on his father’s face suddenly turned to one of pure rage. Without a word, the man walked toward Fumikage, his knife in one hand, and empty glass bottle in the other. Pressing any further in this situation, with this many injuries, Fumikage knew, would be incredibly risky. But then again, heroes are supposed to take risks.

Fumikage forced his beak back into that same twisted grin he wore before, but this time, it was more reluctant. Either way, there was no turning back now.

“Bite me.” he muttered through gritted teeth.

It went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. But that silence was short lived.

Fumikage heard the deafening sound of glass shattering. There was a sudden flash of bright light, leaving as quick as it arrived, and Fumikage’s world became black.

i dont plan on writing any more violent scenes, simply because they’re hard asf to write lmao, so the next part is basically an unneeded time skip because im lazy <3

I'm sure whatever you will write will be perfect!!!

part 5 bitches. or is this part 6? idk this feels like a part 6. anyway proofreading is out the window, it was a long time ago, but either way this might look at but messy. fuck it it’s 3am idc anymore. enjoy.

Fumikage’s eyes opened. His eyelids felt heavy, and his back was stiff, but other than that…he felt no pain. He sat up and looked around. He wasn’t in the linen closet. In fact, it didn’t look like he was in his foster home at all. He looked to be in an apartment. It was on the small side, but it felt…comfortable. The furniture wasn’t dusty, and the air was free of cigarette smoke. Beneath him, was a dark grey couch. He had to have been sleeping on it for a while, as he had shed a single feather onto the fabric of the couch. But either way, Fumikage somehow felt…safe.

Then, he caught something from the corner of his eye. Well, not something, rather, someone. A tall figure, their face and body obscured by shadow, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The figure began to walk toward him. Their hands were tucked into their pockets, and they stalked toward him, almost tiredly. It felt so…familiar. But Fumikage’s world felt fuzzy. It was hard to tell if what he was seeing was even real. The figure kneeled down in front of him their obscured face looking him in the eyes. He watched their lips move, but there was no sound. Fumikage wanted to speak, but all he heard was his own confused, stuttered breathing.

The figure tilted their head, and their eyebrows furrowed. They reached a hand behind Fumikage’s head, ruffling his crown feathers gently. The figure spoke again, yet Fumikage was still met with silence. The figure’s face, as far as Fumikage could see, was painted with concern. But before Fumikage could make another attempt to speak, another figure appeared from a hallway. They were taller, slimmer, and just like the first one, their body and face was completely obscured. The second figure came over, kneeling next to the first, trying to get Fumikage to say something. Anything. But the world around him was completely silent.

Fumikage felt his vision blur at the edges. What was happening? Who were the people in front of him? Why did they look so worried? His mind was runny by a mile a minute, not knowing where he was, who he was with, and why any of them were there. Fumikage looked around desperately for anything that could pose as a distraction. In the midst of his panic, he saw one of the figure’s shadowy hands reach toward him. Fumikage swatted at the hand and tried to back away, but instead was blocked by the back of the couch. His gaze went back toward the two figures in front of him. Once again, one of them reached toward him, carefully grabbing his arm. The touch felt cold, and staticky, much like how Dark Shadow felt. Fumikage squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt tears run down his cheeks, afraid of what’s to come next. But, much to his surprise, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Through the haze, Fumikage could finally make out what this person was saying. It was a faint, hollow echo that rang through his ears. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.” They said.

Fumikage’s breathing slowed as he lay his head on the figure’s shadowy shoulder. “I’m…safe…” he repeated, almost hypnotically. Then he heard the second figure join in. “That’s right. You don’t have to be scared anymore. You’re in a new home, with a new family.” they said. Their voice was slightly higher, and had a softer tone to it. But those words…

Fumikage lifted his head slightly, just enough to see over the figure’s shoulder. His vision was hazy, and he felt as though he were in a trance.

“Family…” Fumikage whispered. That word…that word alone. ‘Family’. It just felt so…right. As though what Fumikage saw as paradise was finally coming to pass. He felt tears well up in his eyes. But unlike before, he felt tears of relief. For the first time in what felt like years, he really felt safe. Fumikage lifted an arm, and whipped away his tears with his sleeve. When his vision cleared, yet another figure appeared. However, this one was…small. Then Fumikage realized, it was a child. His head tilted as the obscure figure carefully walked over to him. They kept their hands in front of them, almost as if afraid to hurt him. Although Fumikage had relaxed, he still felt dazed, and somehow, his movements almost didn’t feel like his own.

Just like when he reached his arm out toward the child. They were just barely out of reach, but in response, they brought both hands to Fumikage’s, and a smile came to their obscured face. They looked…happy. And for the first time in what Fumikage felt like forever…so did he. He felt a small smile form on his beak. He hated kids. Normally, anyway. But right now…this wasn’t so bad.

He felt the older figure pull away from him, still carefully running their hand through his feathers. The second also leaned back, relaxing a bit. Fumikage lay back against the couch with a sigh, before looking over the three figure’s one last time. Was this really his family…? Hell, whether they were or not, he could get used to it. He just couldn’t help it. After years of pain, years of terror, a family, a kind, loving family, was what Fumikage had always dreamed of.

He eventually felt his eyelids, as well as his whole body, become heavy. He felt his grip on consciousness slowly slip, the world around him slowly swirling into a dark grey void. That same word echoed through his mind throughout, becoming more faint each time he heard it. Family. family….family….

Fumikage’s eyes slowly opened one last time, but this time, he didn’t just feel tired. He felt cold, he felt sore, but above all…he felt uneasy. That cold, painfully familiar feeling washed over him. And painful it was. The second he dared to move, Fumikage felt a sharp pain up his back. He sighed, letting his body relax. He looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

He was home.

and that’s it. i feel like i use too many commas, but fuck it im sleep deprived i do what i want :D anyway the next part will be done…whenever the fuck i feel like writing it idk lmao

Please sleep, you're doing great!! I too suffer from overuse of commas, but I don't think they hurt too much!!

sigh. part 7. maybe. idgaf anymore lmao

toward the end I pretty much forgot how to write, so this is uh, a mess to say the least. but enjoy I guess? yea

Fumikage slowly sat up, and let his hands fall solemnly in his lap. With his level of pain and exhaustion, it was hard to keep himself stable, and his quirk cuffs acting as six-pound weights wasn’t doing him any favors. Which, now that he noticed, wasn’t the only thing Fumikage was wearing. He felt his quirk collar clamped around his neck, even tighter than before. He was surprised that it hasn’t cut off his airflow by now.

Fumikage brushed off the pain, still in awe by his dream. As abstract as it was, it just felt so…real. Everything around him felt as though it were really there. And those shadow figures….he felt their words, their touch…as strange as it was, it just felt right. Fumikage leaned back against the wall behind him. ‘Dark Shadow…’ he whispered. ‘Did you…feel that? In the dream?’ Within him, Dark Shadow stirred restlessly in response to their host’s bewilderment. ‘Mhm…but…Fumikage? Would it be weird to say I…miss it?’ they asked. That restlessness quickly turned solemn as Dark Shadow deflated a bit, wrapping themself protectively around Fumikage’s rib cage. The teen hummed quietly to himself in thought. ‘Well, as weird as it is, you aren’t alone. I don’t know why but…that dream world just felt so surreal. It was…at least compared to what we’re used to, amazing.’ Fumikage replied. He lay his head against the wall behind him as he felt tears in the back of his eyes. Dark Shadow seemed to mimic his movements in a way, as Fumikage felt them curl within themselves, hugging Fumikage’s ribs tighter. ‘I just want a new family…’ they said, barely a whisper. Fumikage felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks, soaking his feathers. It feels like every day that passes, Fumikage feels more and more isolated. More and more alone. It’s just him and Dark Shadow. It always has been. Fumikage thrives off of his quirk’s company. Dark Shadow is the only reason he’s kept a positive outlook on life throughout his last few painful years. If not for Dark Shadow, Fumikage’s life would have ended long ago. But even with Dark Shadow around, Fumikage couldn’t help but feel lonely. He wanted someone else to talk to. A human to talk to, because let’s face it, Fumikage’s social skills are…underwhelming. He never speaks unless he knows exactly what he’s going to say and when. He comes off more confident that way, because otherwise, he’d let his anxiety get the best of him.

Having a kind, caring family around, and having other people in general around, just made Fumikage feel safer. Even his foster siblings. They all despised him, but when they were around, his parents were less violent with him. There was always less expected of him when there were others around to steal all of the attention. But that didn’t mean Fumikage didn’t want attention, he just didn’t want negative attention. And every foster home he’s been in, year after year, has been exactly that.

He just wanted to feel loved, was that so much to ask?

Fumikage slouched back against the wall, only to quickly regret it as he felt a sharp pain shoot up his side. He sat back up with a groan. What exactly happened to him? He knows he blacked out at some point, but it was hard to tell what happened after. His body was numbed with pain; his back and arms were covered in burns that sting when touched, and he had a large, dark bruise right in the middle of his abdomen.

His memory of the previous night was cloudy, among other things, but he does faintly remember that sharp glint coming from his father’s knife. Fumikage put a hand to the source of the pain, feeling around for anything of interest. The closet was nearly pitch black, and as good as Fumikage was at seeing in the dark, he couldn’t do much other than carefully feel his wounds to make sure there isn’t anything too serious. But at this point, getting out of a punishment unscathed would be a miracle.

Fumikage ran his fingers across what felt like a gash along the side of his waist, approximating the length. He winced at the stinging pain, but kept going nonetheless. The wound went from just above his waist halfway up his chest. Pulling away he felt something warm and wet lining his fingers, which he could only assume was blood, given the stinging pain that shot through his body right after.

The teen let out a low groan in response, before wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. Slumping back against the wall, Fumikage looked as his blood stained hand. Even in the dark linen closet, he could still see the dark, smeared blood stain his palm and fingers. Suddenly he felt a surge of negativity rush through him, and he clenched his bloodied fist. Was it disgust? Frustration? Or just pure, justified, rage? It was always so hard, just trying to identify this one, burning, unbearable emotion. Fumikage felt it so often but could never tell what he was really feeling. Dark Shadow growled in reponse to their host, growing increasingly larger, metaphorically, desperately wanting to break free and release this unbearable surge of negativity. It didn’t take long before Fumikage boiled over, and slammed his fist against the wall behind him, causing the paint to crack and a dent to form in the wall. Fumikage looked to the wall next to him, and the result of his outburst. And just like that, he deflated, completely, and utterly, defeated. Defeated from what? It was hard to tell.

The teen choked out a sob, curling up within himself, burying his face in his knees.

Just one more day.

yeah. that’s it. short and painful sweet. no comments, bc i cant think of any. next part coming in uh….idk like a month? who’s to say lmao

I absolutely loved this!! I am so happy you shared this! The writing was phenomenal and this is such an interesting take on Tokoyami’s past. It has the perfect dose of angst~

I hope everyone else enjoys this as much as I did!